Author's note: Hee hee! My first attempt at a comedy! Hope you like it. It's a little confusing (even to me). I suggest reading the spoken parts out loud if you have trouble following it. Or just listen to Abbott and Costello's Who's on First! Oh, and I know Harry may seem a little out of character. It was originally going to be Ron but I can't see him getting accepted to England's team. Oh well, if you don't like it, replace all the Harrys with Rons. Have fun! See you at the end of the fic!
Who's First Chaser?
Harry Potter could hardly believe his luck. Forget the fact that he had survived the wrath of Voldemort numerous times and saved the world from certain doom. Forget the fact that the Ministry of Magic had offered him a very high-placed, low-hassle job fresh out of Hogwarts. He had been asked to play for the English Quidditch team and that was all that mattered. The second he had received the letter from Mr. Abbott, the owner and manager, he had leapt from his seat at the Gryffindor table and wrote two letters. One to the Ministry, declining their offer, and the next to Mr. Abbott, which he gave to Hermione to read over and correct (well, he did want to make a good impression).
And now, here he was, sitting in front of the empty desk of one of the wizards he held in awe. Sure, Professor Dumbledore as almost a grandfather figure to him and maybe he had rubbed elbows with the Minister of Magic, and he was sort of related to Sirius Black, but this was different! This was Mr. Abbott!!!
Keep cool Harry, he told himself. You've been in much more stressful situations. You can handle this! But his hands were still sweating and his heart was beating so fast and so hard that he was a little afraid it would burst out of his chest.
Harry was halfway through the breathing exercises Sirius had taught him to calm himself when the door burst open. A tall, thin man with a black bottle-brush mustache that made him look as though he had an incredibly fuzzy caterpillar perched on his upper lip, strode energetically to the seat behind the large desk. He folded his hands and brought them down on the desk with a loud thump.
"Well, Harry, it looks like you're on the team!" he said, smiling so that the caterpillar curled up at the edges. Harry let out a sigh of relief. Without his knowing it, he had been holding his breath. He shook the hand Mr. Abbott held out to him and then sat down again. "And now that you're on the team, you should learn the player's names. After all, they're about to become you're second family!"
"Oh, of course, Mr. Abbott!" replied Harry, sounding sickeningly like Percy for a moment.
"All right then, but let me warn you, it seems to me that they give these Quidditch players some pretty strange names nowadays. Yes, very, very peculiar names." Harry frowned.
"You mean funny names?" he asked. Mr. Abbott nodded.
"Strange names. You know! Pet names," he said as he pulled out a few papers for Harry to sign. "Now lets see. We have three Chasers, of course, and they're given numbers according to rank and all that nonsense. Who's the first Chaser, What's second, I Don't Know's third—"
"I'm sorry?" Maybe Harry hadn't hear correctly. "You are the owner of the team aren't you?" Harry interrupted. Mr. Abbott nodded.
"That I am, my boy."
"And you're also the manager?"
"Yes I am. I wear many hats." Mr. Abbott responded a bit proudly.
"And, um," Harry didn't quite know how to ask without offending his future boss. "D-Don't you know the player's names?"
"Well, I should!"
"Then who's first Chaser?"
"Yes," replied Mr. Abbott. Harry tried again.
"I mean the fellow's name."
"Who."
"The first Chaser."
"Who."
"The guy that plays first Chaser."
"Who."
"The guy playing—"
"Who is first Chaser!" Harry was becoming very confused and very frustrated.
"I'm asking you who's first Chaser!"
"That's the man's name," replied Mr. Abbott, looking a little strangely at Harry. Harry sighed.
"That's who's name?"
"Yes."
"Well go ahead and tell me."
"That's it."
"That's who?" asked Harry.
"Yes." There was a pause. Both men stared at each other. Harry cleared his throat and leaned forward.
"Look," he said. "Do you have a person playing first Chaser?"
"Certainly we do!" Mr. Abbott responded. He also looked as though he was ready to start the whole thing over.
"So who's playing as first Chaser?"
"That's right," he gave Harry a big smile, as though Harry were in grade school and had just answered correctly to a question. Harry decided to take a different approach.
"When you pay off the first Chaser every month, who gets the money?" Mr. Abbott nodded.
"Every Knut of it!"
"All I'm trying to figure out is the fellow's name that plays first Chaser!"
"Who."
"The guy that gets—"
"My dear boy, that's it."
"Who gets the money…?" Harry asked again. Mr. Abbott reached across the desk and placed a hand on Harry's.
"He does. Every single Knut of it. Why, sometimes his wife comes down and collects it!"
"Who's wife?" asked Harry, seeing a small window of opportunity to clarify this whole mess.
"Yes…What's wrong with that?" he asked, seeing the look on Harry's face. Harry promptly shut his jaw with a sharp snap of his teeth. There was one more thing he could try…
"So, when you signed up the first Chaser, how did he sign his name to the contract?"
"Who."
"The guy."
"Who."
"How does he sign—"
"That's how he signs it!" Mr. Abbott looked worriedly at Harry.
"Who?"
"Yes." There was another, longer pause as Harry tried to make sense of what had just taken place.
"All I'm trying to figure out here is what's the first Chaser's name!"
"No, no! What is on second base." Mr. Abbott said, matter-of-factly. Harry blinked.
"I'm not asking who's second Chaser," he said, his voice a little shaky from disbelief.
"Who's first Chaser."
"Lets do this one Chaser at a time, please."
"We don't change the players around Mr. Potter," Mr. Abbott said, looking a little disapprovingly at the young man seated across from him
"I'm not changing anyone around!" Harry jumped up, not intending the tone of his voice.
"All right, take it easy." Harry sat down again and gripped the armrests of the chair.
"I'm only asking you, who is the first Chaser?"
"That's right."
"Okay," Harry sat back, thinking they were finally about to get somewhere.
"All right," replied Mr. Abbott, also sitting back. There was that darn silence again. Harry raised his brow questioningly.
"So, what's the first Chaser's name?" he ventured. Mr. Abbott sighed.
"No, What is second Chaser," his voice was strained and he sounded as if he was trying very hard to be patient. Harry started to sweat again.
"I'm not asking who is second Chaser."
"Who is first!"
"I don't know!" said Harry.
"No, he's third Chaser; we're not talking about him."
"Wait! How'd we get to the third Chaser?" asked Harry, who was starting to lose his patience.
"Why, you mentioned his name," replied Mr. Abbott. Harry shook his head.
"If I mentioned his name, who did I say was playing third Chaser?"
"No, Who is playing first Chaser."
"What's first Chaser?"
"No, What's second."
"I don't know!"
"He's third."
"There we go! Back on third again!" Harry took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment. Mr. Abbott's face was recovering from the red it had turned and he was now counting under his breath. Harry decided it was time to move on.
"Let's just stick with third Chaser and not go off topic, all right?"
"All right. What do you want to know?"
"Who is third Chaser?" asked Harry, glad they had struck a truce. Mr. Abbott's face started coloring again.
"Why do you insist on placing Who as third Chaser?!" he bellowed.
"What am I placing as third?!" bellowed Harry equally loudly.
"No! What is second!"
"You don't want who as second?!"
"Who is first!!"
"I don't know!!!" shouted Harry, and then he shouted just as Mr. Abbott replied exasperatedly: "Third Chaser!" They stared each other in the eyes. The friendliness that had first been in the room was gone now. Both men though the other was equally stupid and was seriously regretting that Harry was going to be on the team. It struck Harry suddenly that the man before him could take away his chance at playing professional Quidditch for his country.
"Look, lets just not bring up the Chasers anymore. There are other players on the team right?"
"Sure."
"Okay then, the first Beater's name?"
"Why."
"I just thought I'd ask you," said Harry, a little put off.
"And I just thought I'd tell you."
"Then tell me who's playing first beater!"
"Who is first Chaser!"
"I'm not—Stay away from the Chasers! I want to know what is the first Beater's name!"
"No! What is second chaser!"
"I'm not asking you who's second chaser!"
"Who's first!"
"I don't know!" shouted Harry, and again, bellowed "Third Chaser!" just as Mr. Abbott did. Mr. Abbott lost his patience and banged his head on his desk. Harry was considering doing the same thing.
"Would you just give me the first Beater's name?"
"Why," replied Mr. Abbott, not lifting his head from his desk.
"Because!" said Harry, then regretted having answered at all, because the Mr. Abbott's next response brought him close to tears.
"Oh, he's our Keeper!" Harry took a moment to himself.
"Look," he pleaded. "Do you have a Seeker? Reserve or otherwise?"
"Yes." Mr. Abbott's voice was muffled by the stack of parchments his head was resting on.
"And his name?"
"Tomorrow."
"You don't want to tell me today?"
"I'm telling you now, you dolt!"
"Well then go ahead, fathead!" said Harry, refusing to be insulted. Mr. Abbott's head snapped up.
"Tomorrow!" he said through clenched teeth.
"What time?" asked Harry, his hands balling into fists.
"What time what?"
"What time tomorrow are you going to tell me who's Seeker?"
"For the last time! Who is not Seeker!"
"I'll break you're head if you tell me Who is first Chaser! I want to know what's the Seeker's name?"
"What's second Chaser!"
"I don't know!!"
"THIRD BASE!!" they shouted together. Mr. Abbott jumped up and started pacing the area behind his desk.
"Do you have a second Beater?" asked Harry, sitting down a little too forcefully and crossing his arms across his chest.
"Of course!"
"His name?"
"Today," replied Mr. Abbott, without missing a beat.
"Today, and tomorrow's Seeker?"
"Now you've got it."
"So all we have is a few days on the team then?" Harry mumbled. Mr. Abbott stopped and glared at him. Harry bit his lip.
"You know, I'm a Seeker too." 'Atta boy Harry, change the subject.
"So they tell me," replied Mr. Abbott.
"I could be useful! Let me give you a scenario. Er, Tomorrow's Keeper, right? Well, lets say we play against a vengeful Beater on day. Now, the Beater whacks a Bludger towards the Beater. Now, being the good Seeker that I am, I'm going to warn the Keeper by flying past him, while at the same time pulling a feint on the other teams Seeker, getting him off the trail of the Snitch. The Keeper then knows to dodge the Bludger and passes the Quaffle, which was in his possession, to who?"
"That's the first thing you've said right all day!"
"I don't even know what I'm talking about!" shouted Harry in exasperation.
"You know, that's not even your job," said Mr. Abbott. He had stopped pacing and was now standing with his hands on his hips. He reminded Harry, just then, of Hermione.
"All right, if the third Chaser is busy, the second Chaser passes the Quaffle to who?" asked Harry.
"Naturally," replied Mr. Abbott.
"Look," said Harry. "If the second Chaser passes the Quaffle, someone has to catch it! Now who has it?!"
"Naturally!"
"Who?"
"Naturally."
"Naturally?"
"Naturally."
"So the second Chaser passes the Quaffle to Naturally."
"No, he throws the Quaffle to Who."
"Naturally," answered Harry, feeling like he was taking a Potions test.
"That's different," replied Mr. Abbott.
"That's what I said."
"That's not what you said."
"He throws the Quaffle to Naturally."
"He throws it to Who."
"Naturally!" Harry repeated. Mr. Abbott nodded.
"That's it!" he was starting to look relieved.
"That's what I said!" Harry was becoming confused again.
"Listen, you ask me."
"The second Chaser throws the Quaffle to who?"
"Naturally," replied Mr. Abbott.
"Now you ask me," said Harry.
"The second Chaser throws the Quaffle to Who?" Mr. Abbott asked.
"Naturally," replied Harry.
"That's it!" Mr. Abbott clapped his hands together.
"I said the same thing you did!" shouted Harry. Now he was really confused. Was he right or wrong? "I pull a feint, Tomorrow passes the Quaffle to what? What gives the Quaffle to Who? Who gives the Quaffle back to what? What throws it to I don't know? I don't know gives the Quaffle Tomorrow, who beats the Quaffle into the goal. Ten points! Another guy goes up, makes a long pass to because. Why? I don't know! He's third Chaser and I DON'T GIVE A DARN!!" Harry was hysterical by this point. Mr. Abbott seemed unconcerned, however.
"What did you say?" he asked Harry.
"I said, I don't give a darn!" replied Harry, too tired and confused to say anything else.
"Oh, he's one of our reserve players!" smiled Mr. Abbott. Harry burst into tears.
Author's note: Ha! How was that? I know what you're thinking. This was way too confusing. But look at it this way, it could be worse! You could be in Harry's shoes. Or worse yet, you could have written it! Hoped you liked it! Please read and review! If you're following Every So Often (which all but 6 of you probably aren't) then you'll be sad to know that I'm stuck and need ideas! Help me if you can! I don't mind the e-mail; my address is on my author's page but only email me if you have something nice to say or if you have any ideas for ESO. Flames will be laughed at, encouragement will be much appreciated! Bye all!
~*~*The Pixie Stix Fairy*~*~
Disclaimer: None of its mine except for Mr. Abbott. Harry Potter, Quidditch and everything else dealing with it belongs to JK Rowling, a nice lady who writes a wonderful little series. Who's on First belongs to Abbott and Costello, two very funny gentlemen who always managed to get a laugh. That's about it I guess!