Scabior's Christmas Bash
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter names, characters and locations belong to J.K. Rowling. I own nothing that you recognize.
A/N: This story was originally published in 2012 by RedandBlack24601. The story was taken down after a year or two on the site. I have spoken with the author and have been given permission to republish their story. Please note that the story was never completed. It is only two chapters long. And in order to preserve it in it's original form, I will not be adding to it.
Dawn had just broken when Scabior woke up that morning. He fell out of bed, onto his face, groaned and staggered upright. He yanked open a drawer and pulled out a bugle horn. Blowing it until he was red in the face, he roused the Snatchers, who all fell out of bed and hastened to line up against the wall, youngest to oldest. Scabior moved along the line, checking that each one of them was there.
Stewart, only twenty-three, was skinny and tall, with short hair. He had a permanent mud-mask around his eyes and frequently got abused by Scabior. Stewart was an all around nice guy, but was forced to join the Snatchers because Scabior was an old family friend.
Steve and Bob, the Snatcher twins, were twenty-four. They wore big puffer jackets with hoodies. The only way to tell them apart was their jackets. Steve wore a white one, and Bob wore brown. Steve could talk to Inferius and Bob bred Dragon Elves. They fought a lot.
Dingo, the Australian Snatcher, was twenty-six. He had short blond hair, and wore shorts and a top bearing the legend "I love Aussie!" He rode stingrays in his spare time.
Hohepa, the Maori Snatcher, was twenty-seven. His whole life was based around Maori culture and his roots. He frequently insisted that the Snatchers take part in a group hongi, hangi or haka. He often used Maori words in conversation.
Abdul Ali was a Buddhist Snatcher. He loves Buddhism and often tried to levitate things. His favorite places to meditate were bushes and underneath rocks.
Dirty Dog Hat Man was thirty years old. Nobody knew his real name, so they gave him his nickname because of his hat, which was filthy, with little flaps that hung down like puppy ears. He had an extreme fear of Greyback.
Flagon the Snatcher was tall, thin and pale. He thought he was pretty crash-hot, and used his Italian accent to win over the ladies.
Frank was possibly Irish, but nobody was sure, and thirty-five years old. He thought he was a leprechaun and every time he saw a rainbow he ran towards it, singing, "Fiddledee diddley, catch and griddle me. Quick or I'll be gone! Fiddledee diddley, catch and griddle me, I'm a leprechaun!" His grandfather was one eighth leprechaun.
And finally Greyback. He was about forty, but nobody was sure. Nobody wanted to ask him either, because they were scared of his werewolf powers. He liked to play the triangle.
Scabior finished checking them off the list and pulled a long roll of paper from behind his back. The Snatchers groaned.
"Right, Snatchers," Scabior announced. "As you all know, today is the day of my big Christmas bash! Now, there will be lots of alcohol and partying, but first we've got to get this place cleaned up and do our regular chores. First up, Greyback needs a walk. Ummm...Stewart! Walk him, and bring a pooper-scooper."
"Do I have to?" Stewart complained. "I don't like watching him do his business. It's not pretty."
"Stewart the Snatcher!" Scabior threatened. "You will do as I say. We don't want a repeat of last time, do we?"
"No, Scabior," Stewart whispered and went to fetch the leash. After they had left, Scabior turned to Steve and Bob.
"Okay, you two. Go get us a Christmas tree."
"What's a Christmas tree?" they asked, looking at each other in bewilderment.
"It's a tree," Scabior said exasperatedly. Steve and Bob left with a sled and a saw.
"Flagon, go get the invitations sorted, and try to use your charm for the ladies, please. We need some, we really do."
Flagon left.
"Dirty Dog Hat Man," Scabior called. "Go get us some decorations. Dingo, get us some alcohol and put up the storage tent."
"I'll go levitate," said Abdul Ali.
"I think you're confusing Muslim with Buddhist," Scabior said.
"How do you know that?" Abdul Ali asked.
"My parents were Buddhist," Scabior said proudly. "I think..."
"Right, I'll go get food," Hohepa said.
"Hohepa, you're coming with me!" Scabior said.
"What do I do?" Frank asked.
"Clean the place."
"Okay."
Scabior and Hohepa left, and Frank went to work.
Stewart was having a tough time walking Greyback. He looked away politely as Greyback did his business up against a tree. Greyback then bounded away, dragging Stewart behind him, crashing into leaves, branches and tree trunks.
Steve and Bob marched through the woods, still debating over what a Christmas tree was. They came to the place where Stewart and Greyback had just been.
"Okay, listen," Bob said. "Let's just cut down a tree and hope for the best." So they sawed away at a tree and hauled it onto the sled, not noticing the brown stuff clinging to the bottom.
Flagon was busy writing Christmas cards. Unfortunately, he couldn't write English very well, so his cards ended up looking something like this.
Deer Sid,
D'ya wanna come two r Xmas bash? Bring smokes an some booze an some cash. Is at Scabioor's tnet.
Luv, Flagin
Dirty Dog Hat Man was getting the decorations. Being a Snatcher, he didn't quite know exactly what decorations were. So he picked up whatever empty beer bottles he could find on the side of the road and in his Snatcher tent. Then, he snatched some candles from a store and shoved them inside the bottles.
"Eh," he shrugged. "Good enough."
Dingo, with fifty-two crates of alcohol beside him, was trying to figure out how to put up a tent. He was busy treading a tent pole through the stretch of fabric that was supposed to be the tent. It wasn't budging. Then, as Dingo had his face really close to the tent, trying to see what wasn't working, the tent pole flicked out and hit him in the skull. It shot right through. Dingo pulled it out.
"Well, that's a worry," he said, looking at his brain impaled on the end of the pole. "It's gonna leave a mark." He absentmindedly rubbed the massive gaping hole in his skull that was spewing blood in copious amounts.
Abdul Ali was sitting in the middle of a bush, his legs crossed, his hands resting on his knees and his eyes closed.
"Ooooommm," he sang. "Ooooom." Abdul Ali couldn't levitate a feather in a gale force wind, but he didn't know that. He just convinced himself that the Wingardium God was taking a nap each time he failed. Suddenly Greyback, dragging Stewart behind him on his leash, sprinted through the bushes and landed right on top of Abdul.
"Ah!" I levitated!" Abdul cried.
Frank was dressed in a black apron with white frills around the sides and a white cap. In his hand was a feather duster.
"Oh, this is such hard work for a poor old leprechaun like me!" he sighed, wiping nonexistent sweat off his forehead. He then swished his skirt and fell into a hard, fake-leather armchair to take a nap.
Hohepa and Scabior were strolling through the forest.
"Wai' a minute," Scabior said. "What exactly are we doin', walking around like this?"
"I don't know about you, bro, but I'm gonna make a hangi," Hohepa said.
"Wha's a hangi?" Scabior asked.
"It's kumara and chicken and moa cooked underground, bro!" Hohepa said enthusiastically.
"I don' think you can get moa in Britain, Hohepa," said Scabior, brows furrowed.
"Eh. Kumara and chicken then, bro." Hohepa shrugged. "We'll have some kai tonight, my brother!"
"Er, I'm not your brother," Scabior replied.
"Oh, we're all whanau here, bro."
"Whatever you say, Hohepa. Whatever you say."