One day, three young wizards (well, two wizards and a witch) were playing a practice game of Quidditch together. One of them, Ronald, chucked the Quaffle as hard as he could towards the brunette witch. She was rather annoyed at him, because she was attempting to study for her Malinowskian ritual practical exam on a broomstick, and the huge red ball kept blowing her notes around. There was one good thing, though - she was getting very good at speed flying to avoid letting her notes drop into the mud.
Harry avoided his friend's Quaffle passing as he kept his eyes peeled like grapes for the enchanted doorknob they were using for a snitch. One time, it had run away so far that he'd had to climb down someone's chimney - all the way in Ottery- St-Catchpole!- to get it, and a child had run away screaming that someone needed to get Santa Claus a calendar for Christmas... for Easter?
The Quaffle soared back towards Hermione and instead of catching it, she pointed her wand at it and it floated away like a balloon. Actually, it was a balloon that she'd enchanted (and was now wishing she hadn't), but it wasn't a helium balloon, and the laws of physics stated that normal balloons should not spontaneously fly away. Years ago, when Hermione didn't know she was a witch, she would have screamed that the balloon was violating the laws of physics and then probably had a heart attack or something.
But she was a witch, so she just went back to her studies, muttering under her breath, "half a Proverbial Toadstool dipped into springwater at the last stroke of midnight..." and more nonsense that probably made lotsofsense to her.
Ron grumbled and chased after the escaping Quaffle, getting in a bit of Seeking practice along with his Chaser practice. He did a loop-the-loop and a few ballerina twirls, then apparently forgot about the Quaffle altogether and started chasing a garden gnome.
Harry chuckled at his ridiculous friends and kept searching for the elusive snitch, humming the mission impossible theme song under his breath. As a chew toy of Dudley's, Harry had always wanted to be a spy when he grew up, but then he turned out to be a wizard and so he was forced to be a major celebrity instead. Now, Harry planned to combine the roles of spy and Auror and maybe even Seeker, which was what he was doing at the moment.
He was just searching for the darn snitch when a voice told him commandingly, "Freeze and put your hands against the wall!"
Harry obediently pulled his broomstick to a halt, but replied, "But there is no wall as I am fifty feet off the ground." (Harry, being British, preferred to use the imperial system, instead of the sensible metric system that all sensible North Polians like I prefer.)
"Drat," replied the voice. "I'll make one, then."
A lovely concrete wall appeared, suspended in the middle of nowhere. Harry sighed and rested his palms against the concrete, as he was instructed. Then he recognised the voice.
"Voldemort!" He gasped, hand flying to his lightning scar.
"Ahem," Voldemort replied, "it's Chief Constable Riddle, actually."
Harry was confused, but he kept his hands on the floating wall just in case Voldemort blasted him to bits.
"You see," Voldemort elaborated, "I've decided to take a break from being a murderous psychopath (it's pretty hard work, you know) and work on upholding the Muggle law while I come up with some great new ideas for some evil plots that I can throw at you!"
"Great," Harry enthused. "But there's one problem. Chief Constables don't normally fly around on broomsticks."
Voldemort was delighted with himself. "I know! That's why I'm not on a broomstick. You see, I've employed this lovely sofa to fly me around, and I employed myself to enchant it."
Harry frowned, but then he caught sight of the snitch and he flew away to catch it, with Voldemort tagging behind him, protesting about keeping his hands on the wall. Harry snatched the snitch and placed his hands against the concrete.
Meanwhile, below, Hermione had lost her notes (they were lying in the mud like the Twenty-Five Little Pigs) and was instead revising Quidditch Through The Ages. She came to a chapter on Seekers, and nearly had a heart attack when she realised that, by forcing the Seeker into a position in which he was unable to play, Voldemort was heartily breaking the rules. Hermione screeched and shot her broomstick upwards, bashing him over the head with her enchanted beaded bag, screaming about rule breakers.
Voldemort, however, laughed in her face. "Silly mortal!" He laughed. "Look at this, Potter is holding the snitch, which means the Game is over, which means that we are no longer playing a game, which means there are no rules, and therefore I'm not breaking them! He laughed manically, clicked his fingers and disappeared, leaving the wall to drop down fifty feet and cause a tidal wave in some toddler's paddle-pool.
The end.
So I don't know what I was thinking with this. I guess I just wanted to have some sort of writing connection to Harry Potter, the series that has been such a big part of my life ever since my mother introduced it to me... I could never replicate JKR's writing style and nor do I wish to try, so I decided to write a crack fic. Whenever I read them, I always think to myself that I could write something like that, wouldn't take me too long, it'd be another story on my 'story count' thing. It takes more effort than I'd realised, and I want to thank all the unnamed, but no less remembered authors whose one-shots and crack!fics have inspired me.
Of course, I'm sorry for putting this thing in your mind, and I do hope that you don't have an assessment of any kind within the next week or so to give your poor brain some time to recover from this monstrosity. Thanks!
(I don't own Harry Potter)