Author's Notes: Despite a serious lack of reviews from everyone, I decided to go ahead and post chapter two. Okay, to be honest the only reason I'm posting this is because I already had it done and since it took three hours of my precious time (I had other things I could have and probably was supposed to be doing but noooooooooooo I decided to please you all and post something! And what do I get?! NOTHING!!!) I figured there's no sense in just tossing this away.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Harry Potter characters, places, or things, nor am I the owner/creator of the gags seen in the movie "Monty Python and the Holy Grail". I own nothing! Sue me and you'll get just that.
Harry Potter and the Quest for the Golden Snitch
Chapter Two: Mud, Blood, and Dirt
Meanwhile, in another part of the Ravenclaw-controlled territory, a completely unrelated event was occurring. A thin, gangly man was making his way down the muddy, festering street. Peasants crawled through the muck all around him, wailing and groaning. The pubs must not be open yet, he thought to himself.
His name was MacNair, former executioner for the Ministry of Magic. However, for the sake of this story and this chapter in particular, he was now nothing more than a lowly, bitter dead collector. Behind him, creaked along his rancid cart, piled high with the twisted corpses of the day's deceased. He beat upon a tin saucer pan, crying out into the streets for the inhabitants to bring out their dead.
A tall man, with long jet black hair waded through the mud and peasants towards the cart, a lumpy package swung over his shoulder. His name was Sirius Black, supposed ex-convict and godfather to "King" Harry Potter. The package was none other than the "dead" Peter Pettigrew.
"Hold up there!" called Sirius, making his way over to MacNair and the cart. "Here's one!"
"Nine knuts." MacNair held out his hand for Sirius to deposit the bronze coins into. Sirius did with some difficulty, as the supposedly dead body began to squirm.
"I'm not dead!" it squeaked.
MacNair blinked, startled. "What?"
"Nothing," dismissed Sirius, choosing to ignore Peter. "Here's your nine knuts."
"I'm not dead!" repeated Peter.
MacNair handed Sirius back his coins. "Here. He says he's not dead."
"Yes he is," insisted Sirius. "It was all over the papers."
"I'm not!" Peter protested.
"He's not," concluded MacNair.
"Well... he will be very soon," said Sirius. "He's um… very ill."
"I'm getting better!"
"You're not." Sirius rolled his eyes in annoyance. "You'll be stone dead in a few minutes."
"Is that a threat?" challenged Peter.
"Shut up, Wormtail!"
"I can't take him like this." MacNair shook his head. "It's against regulations."
"Since when do you care about regulations?" asked Sirius. "Here, it's dead. Take it! Please!"
"I don't want to go on the cart!" Peter was now beginning to whine.
"Don't be such a baby," Sirius shot. He looked at MacNair pleadingly.
"I can't take him," he shrugged.
"I feel fine," Peter was insisting.
"Do me a favour?" asked Sirius.
"I can't."
"Well, can you hang around a couple of minutes? He won't be long."
"I promised to be at the Bone's today," said MacNair, gesturing down the street. "They've lost nine today."
Sirius sighed. He'd just have to put up with the little traitor for one more day, that's all. "When's your next round?"
"Thursday."
"I think I'll go for a walk!" Peter suggested.
"You're not fooling anybody." Thursday?! Drat! He couldn't put up with Wormtail until Thursday! He'd probably go crazy and try and kill Moony if he had to! "Isn't there anything you can do?"
Peter, meanwhile, had launched into song. "I feel happy! I feel happy!"
MacNair looked at the desperate Sirius for a moment before gazing up and down the street. If he was caught, he'd be sacked and then what? In some sick and twisted way, he enjoyed this job. It was better than dirt collecting. But what was one tiny slip? No one would ever have to know. MacNair raised the saucer pan and clubbed Peter over the head with it, knocking him out.
Sirius sighed gratefully. "Thanks very much."
"That's all right," replied MacNair, watching Sirius unload the unconscious Peter onto the smelly cart. "I'll see you next Thursday."
MacNair was just about to continue on his way when, lo and behold, Harry and Colin came "riding" by through the mud. Sirius grinned and waved but Harry, in all his egotistical snobbery didn't notice. Sirius frowned, feeling forgotten which he was.
"Funny," mused MacNair. "That Potter boy looks like a king."
"Harry? A king?" Sirius laughed. "What gave you that idea?"
"He hasn't got shit all over him."
* * *
Harry was glad to leave the murky filth of the street behind him. For a brief moment he could have sworn he thought he saw his godfather but dismissed the notion almost immediately, knowing Sirius would never be caught wading through human filth. If only he knew...
Getting back on track of this basic plotline, Harry had decided to forget the Ravenclaws altogether and seek out a new court to recruit knights. He hadn't gone very far, Colin still supplying the low budget sound effects, when he spotted an elderly looking Hufflepuff, making her way through the fields, a small cart in tow. How Harry knew she was a Hufflepuff, is beyond the knowledge of anyone, (not taking into consideration the stained yellow rags) but subtle facts like that are rarely important... such as right now.
"Excuse me, miss?" called Harry. "Old Hufflepuff?"
The peasant turned around, startling Harry. They weren't a woman at all! Or a Hufflepuff for that matter. It was Terry Boot, yet another Ravenclaw! Why he was dressed in filth and yellow instead of filth and blue was beyond Harry, but then again, Ravenclaws are weird.
"Man! I'm sorry!" apologized Harry hastily. "Old man, what knight lives in that castle over there?"
"I'm the same age as you," was the reply.
Harry blinked. "What?"
"I'm the same age as you, Potter! I'm not that old!"
Harry shrugged nonchalantly. "Well... I can't just call you 'man.'"
"You could say 'Terry,'" sniffed Terry.
"I didn't know you were called Terry," admitted Harry defensively.
Terry stared at Harry accusingly. "Well you never bothered to find out, did you? You Gryffindors are all alike! Never caring about anyone outside your own house!"
"Look," sighed Harry, "I said I was sorry about the whole Hufflepuff woman thing, but from behind you looked—"
"What I object to is that you automatically treat me like an inferior!" protested Terry.
"Well," Harry puffed out his chest again. "I am king."
Terry rolled his eyes. "Oh, very nice. King eh?" He snorted in sarcasm. "I expect you've got a palace and fine clothes and courtiers and plenty of food. And how'd you get that? By exploiting the workers! By hanging on to outdated imperialist dogma which perpetuates the social and economic differences in our society! If there's ever going to be any progress—"
"Oh, Terry, there's some lovely filth down here!" Harry was trying to get his mind around what Terry had just said (he had gotten lost at "courtiers") when one of the Patil twins, Padma joined Terry, digging in the dirt. She looked up and spotted Harry. "Oh! How do you do?"
"How do you do, good lady," smiled Harry. Here was his second chance. She seemed more polite than Terry. Maybe Padma could help him find fellow knights. "I am Harry, King of the magical community. Can you tell me who lives in that castle?"
Padma blinked. "King? Of what?"
Harry sighed. "Of all of us... witches... wizards..." He gestured towards everyone present... yep, all three of them. "I am your king."
"Oh! I didn't know we had a king," admitted Padma. "I thought we were an autonomous collective..."
"You're fooling yourself," Terry interrupted. "We're living in a dictatorship, a self-perpetuating autocracy in which the working classes..."
"There you are, bringing class into it again," accused Padma.
"That's what it's all about. If only—"
"Please, please, good people," interrupted Harry. All this political talk and the big words were confusing him. Besides, he was getting side tracked. "I am in haste. What knight lives in that castle?" He pointed over yonder.
"No one lives there," Padma answered simply.
Harry looked confused, which he was. "Then who is your lord?"
"We don't have a lord."
"What?"
"I told you," insisted Terry. "We're an anarcho-syndicalist commune. We take it in turns to act as a sort of executive prefect for the week."
Harry nodded. "Yes."
Terry continued, believing Harry was actually following what was being said. "But all the decisions of that prefect..."
"Yes, I see..." Harry was growing impatient.
"...must be approved at a bi-weekly meeting by a simple majority in the case of purely internal affairs."
Harry had completely lost interest, fake or not by now. It was time to shut Terry up. "Be quiet!"
Terry continued on, unphased by Harry's sudden outburst of royal command. "...but a two thirds majority..."
"Be quiet!" Harry ordered. "I order you to shut up!"
Padma turned to Terry. "Order, eh? Who does he think he is?"
"I am your king!" The vein in Harry's temple was throbbing again.
"Well I didn't vote for you," sniffed Padma.
"You don't vote for kings," Harry sighed exasperatedly.
"Well how did you become king then?" asked Padma.
Harry went starry eyed as he launched into another epic explanation, complete with radiant light and an unearthly choir. "The Lord of Black, fresh from the dungeons of Azkaban, sent forth the Firebolt to signify by Express Owl Mail Order ... that I, Harry, was to carry the Firebolt ... That is why I am your king!"
"Look, strange men from prison sending out broomsticks..." Terry shook his head. "That's no basis for a system of government. Supreme executive power derives from a mandate from the masses, not from some farcical owl delivery!"
Harry was now thoroughly insulted. "Be quiet!" was all he could muster to say.
Terry, however, was having a field day with this rant. Determined, it seemed to make Harry snap. "You can't expect to wield supreme executive power just 'cause some murderer gave you a broom!"
"Shut up!" cried Harry. Sirius was not a murderer! How dare Terry insult his godfather like that!
"I mean, if I went around saying I was an Emperor because some ragged ex-con had mailed me a gift, people would put me away!"
Harry had had enough. He grabbed Terry by the collar of his robes and shook him violently. "Shut up, will you? Shut up! No one insults Sirius like that!"
Terry looked quite shocked and lost his nerve for only a moment. Then the all too familiar Ravenclaw look of superiority crept back along his face. "Aha! Now we see the violence inherent in the system!"
"Shut up!"
A crowd was beginning to gather from all the shouting. Colin looked around nervously.
"Come and see the violence inherent in the system!" called out Terry to the gathering crowd. "Help, help! I'm being repressed!"
Harry was suddenly aware of everyone staring at him. He began to feel a bit uneasy. Terry had tricked him into this. He had planned all along to make him look bad! Growling, "Bloody peasant," Harry pushed Terry down into the mud. He motioned for Colin to come and the two hastily rode off, leaving the ranting Terry and the perplexed crowd far behind.
* * *
Harry didn't stop traveling until he was sure they were well out of Ravenclaw territory. This took some time as Harry was never really sure about anything. Eventually, they slowed down as they discovered themselves in the midst of a dense forest. It was a happy forest, where sunlight shone brightly through the trees. Clangs and dramatic battle music could be heard through the trees beyond. Harry and Colin made their way towards a clearing, eyes widening at what they saw.
Two knights were locked in extreme combat, parrying blows back and forth. One, a Slytherin, clad in black armour; the other, a Slytherin, clad in green armour. Harry and Colin watched the action eagerly as the two knights exchanged blows. With a cry, the green knight lunged at the black knight, who stepped aside gracefully and kicked away his adversary's sword. The green knight was quick to recover, magically retrieving a nasty mace out of nowhere. Harry watched with keen interest; could the black knight still survive the fight? With a psychopathic scream of rage Harry recognized to belong to Adrian Pucey, the green knight charge forward, his mace held high in anticipation of a fatal blow. In brutally instinctive response, the black knight hurled his sword forwards, sending it through the visor of Adrian's helmet. There was a shudder of breath and the green knight fell with a clanging thud. As Harry and Colin applauded at the large black knight's triumph, the knight went over to the fallen form which was once Adrian, kicked him once and pulled out his stained sword.
"You fight with the strength of many men, brave sir knight!" exclaimed Harry, running forwards towards the black knight. The knight turned to face Harry, leaning on his sword but said nothing. Harry figured the knight had no idea who he was. "I am Harry Potter, King of the magical community." Harry paused, waiting for a reaction. Nothing. "I seek the bravest and the finest knights in all the world to join me in my court at Hogwarts." Silence. "You have proved yourself worthy... will you join me?" Still nothing. Harry frowned. "You make me sad. Come, Colin." Harry motioned for Colin to come and made to move past the knight but the black knight moved to block his path.
"None shall pass." Harry recognized the voice to be none other than Marcus Flint. Suddenly, Harry understood why Flint hadn't answered him... he probably hadn't understood. However, Harry was at a loss for what Flint was playing at.
"None shall pass," repeated Flint, when Harry asked him to explain what he meant.
"I have no quarrel with you, Flint," said Harry, forgetting the polite formalities. "I just have to cross your bridge."
"Then you shall die."
Harry rolled his eyes. Why was he surrounded by idiots? "I command you, as the Boy Who Lived to stand aside."
"I move for no man."
"So be it!" challenged Harry, unsheathing his sword. Harry could have easily done Flint in with his wand but for the sake of action, he chose to prolong a fight sequence.
Harry and Flint clashed swords, parrying blows, locked in combat for about fifteen seconds until Harry swung his sword and severed Flint's left arm. It fell to the ground, Flint staring, as Harry stepped back in triumph.
"Now stand aside, troll," ordered Harry.
Flint shrugged. He wasn't out of the fight yet. "'Tis but a scratch."
"A scratch?" repeated Harry incredulously. "Your arm's off!"
"No it isn't," objected Flint.
"Well what's that then?" asked Harry, pointing to the arm on the ground.
"I've had worse," shrugged Flint.
"You're a liar!"
"Come on, you pansy!"
Flint ran at Harry again, his sword held in his right hand. Again they battled, this time for ten seconds before Flint found he had lost his other arm and his sword.
"Victory is mine!" Harry called triumphantly. He got down on his knees to say a grateful prayer but was interrupted by Flint kicking him in the head.
"Come on then." Flint was bouncing on the spot in anticipation for a fight.
Harry was confused. "What?" Flint kicked Harry again, knocking him over. Harry quickly got to his feet, brandishing his sword. "You're either extremely brave or incredibly stupid, Flint, but the fight is mine."
"Had enough?" mocked Flint.
"You stupid troll, you haven't got any arms left!"
"Course I have!"
Harry pointed to the arms on the ground. "Look!"
"It's just a flesh wound," dismissed Flint. He kicked Harry again.
"Stop that!" Harry ordered.
"Had enough then?"
"I'll have your leg!" threatened Harry. Ignoring him, Flint kicked him again. "Right!" Harry swung his sword and chopped off his leg.
Flint continued to stand, hopping around on one foot with great difficulty. "I'll do you for that."
"You'll what...?"
"Come here!"
"What are you going to do, bleed on me?" shot Harry.
"I'm invincible!" cried Flint.
"You're a loony."
"The black knight always triumphs!" Flint cried manically. "Have at you!" Harry swung his sword and cut off Flint's other leg, leaving him as an immobile torso on the ground. Flint took one look at his present situation. "All right, we'll call it a draw."
"Come Colin," sighed Harry, sheathing his sword. The two crossed the bridge, leaving Flint behind.
"Oh, running away, eh?!" Flint called after them. "You Gryffindor bastard, come back here and take what's coming to you! I'll bite your legs off!"
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See why it took me forever to write this?! There's so much! Now, normally I write just for the hell of writing but for the love of pete, REVIEW!!! Now... it's off to work on my hobbit costume.