The Hippogriff Rodeo

CHAPTER ONE

See, let me explain how this all happened. A few years ago, I was sitting in the Leaky Cauldron with Sirius Black (we used one of the back rooms because the poor bloke was still on the lamb and all). We'd been drinking the purple stuff old Tom keeps in the special vault and chatting it up but good.

So then Sirius tells me that he's got himself a hippogriff buddy.

"A what?" I yelled.

"A Hippogriff!" Sirius yelled back. "Are ya deaf or just drunk?"

Well, I was drunk. Drunk enough to get a harebrained idea that to me, seemed a sure way to fame, fortune and riches. I had been seeking an alternative way of funding my future, since the Weasley gits had taken my idea of a joke store that would compete with Zonkos.

After a few more glasses of the purple stuff, Sirius and I had a gentleman's agreement of sorts. Now, the details remain, to this day, rather fuzzy, but this much was clear: I was now the proud owner of the Wizarding World's only Hippogriff Rodeo Franchise.

Now, I am the first to admit that the next year got a tad hectic. You-know-who came back to power, that Harry Potter kid was being slandered and libeled left and right, Dumbledore discounted, and Hogwarts under siege by all underage accounts. Then my business partner had to up and get himself sucked into some weird veil thingy. Dead, they say. Not true, say legions of his admirers. I dunno which is right, personally. And frankly, I didn't care. I had a grieving Hippogriff on my hands. There aren't enough ferrets in the world that can fill the void of a 'griff's broken heart.

So I gave Buckbeak a reason to live, a fight to have, and all the glory his sharp beak could handle. By mortgaging almost everything I own, as well a few lucrative side dealings with my old pal Mundungus, I was able to finance the first, the only, the amazing.... Hippogriff Rodeo!

What? You don't know what a Hippogriff Rodeo is? Pshaw. Ya'll must be joking. Surely you've heard of it? No? Well, perhaps you are British and haven't had a chance to experience this uniquely American sport.

First, you take your hippogriff. Then you put a rider on the critter and have 'em try to hang on for dear life for at least twenty seconds. Riders are judged on their ability to stay on the 'griff, as well as their poise, flair, and hippogriff etiquette. Never, but NEVER underestimate the final criteria. A po'd griff is not a happy camper. But it can make for one hell of a ride!

The Rodeo takes place in a large stadium, lined with wooden benches for the audience. I fondly call it the Hippodome. The shoot, from which the 'griff is released, is at the far end of the sandy arena. I borrowed a right nice House Elf from Dumbledore, a lad by the name of Dobby. (Apparently he was causing somewhat of a riot among the Hogwarts Elves, from what I understand). He's helped on occasion by a friend of his, sweet little Elf named Winky (sad tho, the little Winkie lass has a bit of a drinking problem).

There is a maximum of three riders per beast, per night. These are the rules that the Hippogriff Union has developed and I must abide by them. On occasion, we may have four riders, however, such instances must be pre-approved by the council for care of magical beasts and have the express written approval of the hippogriff being utilized.

The winner from each night's round wins nothing more than our sincere admiration. Side bets are allowed but it is recommended you place such bets with Winky. There have been some goblins skulking around, I cannot guarantee their honesty or integrity.

I do the announcing at the rodeo - it isn't lucrative enough for me to sit back in the owner's booth and pop bon bons just yet - but I do have a fill in, a recent Hogwarts graduate, actually. I understand he was right good at the Quidditch color commentary. At least, Dumbledore said so. I don't generally take into consideration what that git Snape has to say on anything.

So, anyhoo. I think you'll like our little set up. Three riders, and then the judges give their marks. Not to difficult, eh? And a hell of a sport to watch.

Oh, and if you ever find yourself in the Leaky Cauldron - stay away from the purple stuff. Honest. It'll be the death of ya.