Harry Cotter and the Philosopher’s Brothel.
Figbitch.
They’d carried Haggis home, tossed him on his doormat and ran up to the common room, trying to grasp some sleep before the sun rose. At 7am sharp the badgers were removed from their cages, given rabies and left in a small cage ready to be released when the 9am game began.
“Should be easy.”
“Hm?”
“The game, Harry, where’s ya head at? We’re against the rapists and it’ll actually kill us if we’re not careful.”
“Yeah, sorry.”
“You better get that bastard titch, or I’ll shove this stick so far up your…”
“LET’S HEAR IT FOR THE WANKERS!” Wood was broken off by the doors opening and the commentator’s voice echoing down the wooden corridor, but his movement and hand gestures spoke a thousand words.
No one died, as far as Harry knew. Clinging to his broom he focused on spotting the titch; but it was too hard. On occasions he followed the rapist seeker, some fourth year he didn’t recognise, but this got his nothing other than a badger hurled towards his head, mouth foaming.
Above him flew coloured blurs, shielding the faces of his friends stood within the stands. Mi kept waving something pink and hard in his direction while Ron kept shouting all these ‘code-words’ which hadn’t been previously agreed on.
“Cottage Cheese Suicide Mission.” And a photo of Harry on a banner distracted him for a brief moment, waving from Draco and the rapists, distracting him just long enough for a gold club to skim the back of his head. One of the twins, it was hard to tell who, called out something which was either an apology or ‘I’ll get you next time, scum’.
It was then he spotted it. The titch, vaguely resembling the emo Ron, but instead of ginger locks, they were dark black, heavily dyed. It was gone. No more than a moment later it had flown off out of sight…straight into the clutches of the rapist seeker.
Boy, would he be beaten tonight.
Luckily they did win. Scoring many points, although Harry wasn’t quite sure how as the goal posts were down for maintenance: 175: 203. Personally he believed the game was rather dependant on how many players died, were knocked out or seriously injured. Some poor boy had developed rabies but being told to, “Ge’ ov’r it mate”, by Professor Minor soon shut him up.
“Should be easy.”
“Hm?”
“The game, Harry, where’s ya head at? We’re against the rapists and it’ll actually kill us if we’re not careful.”
“Yeah, sorry.”
“You better get that bastard titch, or I’ll shove this stick so far up your…”
“LET’S HEAR IT FOR THE WANKERS!” Wood was broken off by the doors opening and the commentator’s voice echoing down the wooden corridor, but his movement and hand gestures spoke a thousand words.
No one died, as far as Harry knew. Clinging to his broom he focused on spotting the titch; but it was too hard. On occasions he followed the rapist seeker, some fourth year he didn’t recognise, but this got his nothing other than a badger hurled towards his head, mouth foaming.
Above him flew coloured blurs, shielding the faces of his friends stood within the stands. Mi kept waving something pink and hard in his direction while Ron kept shouting all these ‘code-words’ which hadn’t been previously agreed on.
“Cottage Cheese Suicide Mission.” And a photo of Harry on a banner distracted him for a brief moment, waving from Draco and the rapists, distracting him just long enough for a gold club to skim the back of his head. One of the twins, it was hard to tell who, called out something which was either an apology or ‘I’ll get you next time, scum’.
It was then he spotted it. The titch, vaguely resembling the emo Ron, but instead of ginger locks, they were dark black, heavily dyed. It was gone. No more than a moment later it had flown off out of sight…straight into the clutches of the rapist seeker.
Boy, would he be beaten tonight.
Luckily they did win. Scoring many points, although Harry wasn’t quite sure how as the goal posts were down for maintenance: 175: 203. Personally he believed the game was rather dependant on how many players died, were knocked out or seriously injured. Some poor boy had developed rabies but being told to, “Ge’ ov’r it mate”, by Professor Minor soon shut him up.