The Magical Pastime (or, What ELSE the Characters Do Between Books)

EXT QUIDDITCH PITCH -- DAY

The pitch has been modified for some strange new game. McGonagall and Dumbledore sit in the risers with various other teachers, students and sundry characters.

MCGONAGALL: (munching popcorn) Are you sure this is wise, Albus?

DUMBLEDORE: (munching popcorn and a hot dog) Of course, Minerva. I find a little friendly competition very stimulating, and an excellent way to pass the time. Besides, we've got to do *something* to keep us all from being bored shitless until the next book.

Down on the pitch, there is the sound of leather slapping leather.

LUPIN: Steeeeeeee-rike three, you're out!

The Quidditch pitch has been transformed into a giant baseball diamond. Harry, on the pitcher's mound, has just struck out Bellatrix Lestrange, who whips out her wand furiously.

BELLATRIX: AVADA -

Lupin's whistle blows as he grabs her wand.

LUPIN: Foul! No Unforgiveable Curses on the field, Bellatrix. Penalty point to Gryffindor!

Bellatrix storms back to the bullpen, glaring daggers at Harry and Lupin.

MCGONAGALL: But honestly, Albus...no brooms, no bludgers, no magic at all...what on earth do the American Muggles see in this game?

DUMBLEDORE: I find it has its own special appeal. Peanut? (offers bag)

MCGONAGALL: (looking queasy) No thank you.

Down on the pitch, Aunt Petunia steps up to bat. The Slytherins, Dudley and Uncle Vernon cheer her on from the bullpen.

UNCLE VERNON: Go on Petunia, whack it down his ungrateful throat!

HARRY: It's just a game, Uncle Vernon...

UNCLE VERNON: Balls it is! Come on Petunia, brain him with the ball and give him a scar on the other side!

AUNT PETUNIA: (game face on) Bring it on, Potter, let's see what you've got.

Harry pitches. To everyone's surprise, Aunt Petunia wallops a beautiful fly ball to center field.

MR WEASLEY: (playing second base) Ooh, I've got it; I've got it! ACCIO BALL!

He waves his wand and the ball obediently zooms right into his glove. Lupin's whistle sounds.

LUPIN: Foul, foul! Everyone, please try and remember, there's no wands allowed at all in this game, alright?

MR WEASLEY: (looking embarrassed) Oh, right. Sorry. Got a bit carried away. (throws the ball back to Harry)

LUPIN: Ball one, then.

Harry throws again. On the second pitch Aunt Petunia bunts the ball and legs it for first base, where Mrs Weasley stands waiting. Aunt Petunia tries to bulldoze her - and bounces right off Mrs Weasley's ample bosom and onto the turf as though she's just hit a brick wall. Mrs Weasley casually catches the ball.

LUPIN: Out!

MRS WEASLEY: (looking down at Aunt Petunia) Yes, I rather think she is. Madame Pomfrey, we've got another one!

Some medi-wizards appear and magic Aunt Petunia off the pitch.

LUPIN: Right. Next batter, please!

SIRIUS (from the risers): Oh, you've got to be kidding me...

Snape has just sulked up to the batter's box, his bright silver-and-lime-green baseball cap clashing horribly with his pale face and black robes.

SIRIUS: Hey Snivellus, why don't you just drop the bat and hit the ball with your nose? You'd stand a better chance!

SNAPE: Oh, be quiet Sirius; you're just jealous you can't play 'cause you're DEAD.

Sirius looks rather hurt and shuts up.

HARRY: (uncertainly) Are you sure you've played this game before, Professor?

SNAPE: Just throw the ball, Potter.

MALFOY: (leaning off from second base) Yeah, hurry up, Potter. This stupid Muggle game of yours stinks.

Harry shrugs and prepares to pitch.

SIRIUS: Hey batta-batta, hey batta-batta, hey batta-batta...SWING!!

Harry throws, and again leather slaps leather.

LUPIN: Steeeee-rike one!

SNAPE: I wasn't ready.

RON: (playing catcher) Not ready?? You're standing at the bloody plate - what else do you need; a written invitation?...(Snape glares at him)...uh...'sir'?

SNAPE: Just throw the ball back to Potter, Weasley, and hope I don't slip a freckle fractal-ator in your butterbeer tonight. (Ron goes red and throws the ball back to Harry)

Harry draws back for another pitch.

SIRIUS: Hey batta-batta, hey batta-batta, hey batta-batta...SWING!!!

Snape does...and his bat turns into a real flying vampire bat and flutters away.

FRED and GEORGE WEASLEY: (standing up in the risers) Bat-imaguses; a galleon each! Liven up any boring old Muggle game!

SNAPE: (icily) That's NOT funny, Weasley.

FRED: Comes with a built-in anti-rabies vaccine!

SNAPE: Sit down, you two, or I'll tell everyone about the Double Mint ads you did when you were three.

The twins go very red in the face and sit down, looking embarrassed.

MRS WEASLEY: (mistily) Oh, bless them, they were so sweet in those little matching bunny outfits...

LUPIN: Erm...right then. We'll just call it 'ball one' then, shall we?

Harry pitches again.

SIRIUS: Hey batta-batta, hey batta-batta, hey batta-batta...

SNAPE: ARRESTO MOMENTUM!!

The ball stops in midair three feet away from Snape, who starts whacking it manaically. The ball rebounds like a cork in water as Lupin's whistle sounds.

Lupin: Foul, foul!

HERMIONE: (playing shortstop) Oh, for heaven's sake! How many times do we have to tell everyone - NO WANDS!!

SNAPE: (indignant) I didn't use my wand!

HARRY: But I thought you could only do unfocused magic without a -

HERMIONE: *clears her throat loudly, indicating the eavesdropping newsgroup, where this is a sensitive subject*

HARRY: ...oh, right. Um...shall we go on then?

Ron retrieves the ball from midair and throws it back to Harry. Before Harry can deliver the next pitch, however, Malfoy makes a mad dash for third base.

MRS WEASLEY: Ooh, Harry, quick! He's trying to - oh, what's the thing? Steel a bass!

Malfoy bolts full steam for third...and is halted by a spectacular flying tackle from Mr Weasley. They both go tumbling across the pitch.

MR WEASLEY: I got him; I got him! Good lord, that was exhillerating. So - have I won a first down then?

MRS WEASLEY: (running up) Arthur, no! Let him up! There's no tackling in baseball, that's American Muggle *football*!

MR WEASLEY: (crestfallen) ...oh. So...do I have to take a penalty freethrow now?

He looks at Hermione, who is shaking her head with her face buried in her hand.

HAGRID: (very far in the outfield) What's goin' on up there? Is it haltime yet?

MAFLOY: (from underneath Mr Weasley) Dear sweet suffering Centaurs, *please* let her finish that bloody book soon...

THE END