Author's Note: Yes, this is actually an update! *large audience gasps* It's been way too long since I've updated, I know, but life has been both busy and slightly confusing for me lately, and it's been hard not only to find time to actually type up chapters but also get into the right mood to type them. This story will be finished, though, so don't worry; I'm not abandoning it. It may just take me a while to finish it.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger…*goes on for several hours, listing all remaining characters* They all belong to J.K. Rowling.

Chapter 4: A Real Kick Out of Sports

"Remind me to never go near a movie theatre again!" said Fred, blinking against the bright sunlight as he, George, and Lee stepped outside and headed down the street. "I don't think I'll be able to get that stupid song out of my head as long as I live."

"Yeah," said George with a slight shudder. "That movie should win the National Dungbomb Award; it stunk."

"Dunno know why they let children in," added Lee, massaging his temples as though trying to get rid of a pounding headache. "It'll give 'em nightmares for sure."

"Speaking of nightmares," said George, pausing with his hands in his trouser pockets and looking ahead with a look of mingled amusement and bewilderment, "What d'you reckon happened to them?"

He nodded his head further up the street. Fred and Lee followed his gaze and were just in time to see a group of men dressed in brightly colored sports clothing with cleats slung over their shoulders, one of them carrying a football (a/n: soccer ball; it's called football over there), disappear into a building.

"No idea," said Lee, his tone the same as the expression on George's face. "They were dressed odd, though, that's for sure."

"Let's see what they're up to," said Fred, striding forward and ignoring George, who was following behind with Lee and muttering something along the lines of, "It had better not be a movie theatre."

Upon entering, however, Fred, George, and Lee saw that George needn't have worried, for the building turned out to be a pub, and a very sports-oriented pub at that. Large televisions lined the walls, each showing a different type of sport being played by Muggles dressed in various clothing, and posters that depicted much the same thing (in still form, of course) lined the walls. There were several small round tables filled with Muggles, mostly men, who seemed to be cheering at the televisions one moment, then swearing very loudly at them the next, and the bartender, a Muggle of about thirty or so, was busy trying to serve drinks at the rate the crowd was ordering them. Fred turned to George and Lee, trying not to cough as he breathed in the musty scent of whiskey and tobacco.

"Bit odd, really, how these Muggles entertain themselves," he said, jerking his head toward one of the various television sets while trying to breathe in through his mouth to see if that helped with the smell and discovering that it only made him choke rather than cough.

"Too right," said Lee. "They're not even on broomsticks! Where's the excitement in chasing a black and white ball all over a field, getting all out of breath and sweaty? Why not just hop on a broom and throw the ball around? No fun at all if you don't run the risk of falling at least fifty feet to the ground."

"They certainly seem to like the teams, though, don't they?" said George as a particularly loud cheer went through the pub.

"Reckon it's because that's all they know," said Fred, as though commenting on a child that had been walking around with a blindfold on for its entire life. "Don't know that there's a better sport out there."

Though the programs weren't much to their liking, the sight of the Muggles shouting themselves hoarse at the televisions as though thinking that the referees on the game fields could actually hear them proved to be a very amusing sight in deed, and the three of them went and sat down at a booth to watch the drama.

"That team isn't doing to well, though, is it?" said George after a while, indicating a television across the room where a bunch of men were busy trying to reclaim the ball that the other team had just taken from them for the umpteenth time.

Lee glanced over at the screen just in time to see one of the people on the team that George had commented on being flattened by a rather large member on the other team and shook his head sadly. "I haven't seen anything so pathetic since that match against Hufflepuff back in our third year."

Slam!

Fred, George, and Lee turned around as the sound of glass slamming into wood rang through the air of the pub like a gunshot. In the booth behind theirs, a man with bulging muscles and a bald head was glaring at Lee, foam from his whiskey dripping down his face from when he'd slammed his mug onto the table.

"What did you just say?" he said through clenched teeth, his hand gripping his mug so tightly that small cracks appeared in the glass.

Lee gulped and glanced at Fred and George for help, but they were eying the man warily. "Er...nothing, mate," he quickly, not wanting any trouble from a man who was, though sitting down, obviously much taller than him. "Nothing at all."

The man from the table rose slowly and wiped off his dripping face in one swift movement, all the while keeping his eyes locked on Lee, who tried to force an apologetic look onto his face and feeling, to his alarm, that he'd managed a smirk instead. Even this look slipped from his face, however, as the man edged out of his booth and walked over to their booth. Every time one of the man's leather boots hit the ground with a low thud, it was as though the volume of the entire pub was turned down a notch until everyone in the pub was looking at Fred, George, Lee, and the man, a tense silence taking the place of their previous jabbering. The only sound that could be heard was the continuous stream of commentary from the televisions, though no one was paying attention to that any longer. The man stopped right next to the bench on the other side of Fred, George, and Lee's booth and slid deftly into it, leaning forward as he sat so that his face was only inches from Lee's.

"Nothing?" he repeated softly, sending the smell of whiskey into Lee's face. "Are you sure? Only from over there, it sounded like you were insulting my team."

Several gasps split the silence of the pub and a few mutters that sounded horribly like "he's doomed, that one" reached Lee's ears. The bartender, who had been filling a tankard of whiskey, set the drink on the counter and began to head in their direction, his eyes fixed on the man.

"Now listen here, Rob," he said, addressing the man in an authoritative tone. "You've already taken out two of my customers this week, and I won't...won't...ahhhhh," he said, his voice fading away as Rob sent him a look of pure rage. Suddenly, the bartender looked about as tall as Lingsworth, and when he spoke, even his voice seemed to have shrank considerably. "I-I won't...won't have anyone insulting your team. Carry on, then!"

And he scuttled back to the bar. Rob now turned back to Lee.

"Now, where were we?" he said, his voice low and menacing.

"You were just about to leave and go block someone else's view of the television," said Fred, rising to Lee's defence. Lee shot Fred an appreciative look while the man turned to gaze at him with a look that was anything but appreciative.

"You stay out of this," he said. "That is, unless you'd like to join your friend here in the little lesson I'm about to teach him."

"No, we've had enough lessons in our life, thanks," said George from Fred's other side. "Never did very well in them, of course, but we did graduate...early, mind you."

This was partly true; he and Fred had left school on their own in their seventh year due to a particularly horrible teacher. The man, however, did not seem to think that there was anything funny about George's bold comment. Quite the contrary, he lunged forward suddenly and grabbed George by the neck of his shirt.

"I've changed my mind," said the man evenly, drawing one of his toned arms back behind his head and aiming his fist at George's face. "You can go first."

Fred and Lee both made moves to stop the man, but Rob let out a loud yelp of pain and released George before they'd even set a finger on him. Still trying to figure out what had happened, Fred felt George pushing him and Lee quickly out of the booth.

"Don't just stand there, run!" he said, proceeding to push them to the door at a run as though Fred and Lee were small children who didn't know what the word "run" meant.

As they made a hasty retreat against a vast babble of murmurs that had broken out, Fred glanced back over his shoulder to see that the man had gotten out of the booth and had his legs squeezed together as he shuffled toward them with a look of intense pain on his face, saying, in a very high voice, "Come back here!"

George did not allow Fred and Lee to stop running until they had made it down the street a good way from the pub. Lee, who had apparently missed the expression on the man's face, turned to George with a look of both astonishment and confusion.

"What in the name of Quidditch happened?" he asked.

Fred raised his eyebrows and turned to George, who seemed to be resisting the urge to smirk broadly. "Don't tell me you..."

"Uh-huh," said George simply.

"Bugger," said Fred softly, shaking his head and looking at George with new respect. "I wanted to do that to Snape about fifty times a day while we were at Hogwarts."

Lee, however, still seemed to be unaware as to what they were talking about. "Wanted to do what?" he asked exasperatedly, as though it was a secret that was being purposely kept from him.

Fred and George exchanged a knowing glance, then George turned to Lee, the smirk he'd been fighting beginning to creep onto his face. "Well," he said at last, trying and failing to look a bit sorry for what he'd done. "Let's just say this: that bloke won't be too eager to watch a ball get kicked around on television for a while"

Lee looked confused for a moment, then his eyes widened as he at last understood. "You mean you kicked him in the--"

"Yep," said George, shaking his head at Lee's slowness. "Honestly, Lee, I was starting to think I'd have to re-enact the thing with you as old Rob before you got the picture."

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Sorry if this chapter wasn't as good as the other ones, but, as I said, I'm having a bit of trouble with this story, and I'd appreciate it if you reviewed anyway! *smiles hopefully*

Response to reviewers:

Psychozzy: I love it when that happens. That is, I'm thinking about a story one minute and then see that it's been updated the next! As to the psychic idea, I'll see if I can work it in, as it'll be interesting to see what they make of a psychic after their experience with Trelawney who is, as we all know, a truly wonderful *smiles sarcastically* psychic. Are the hot Russian construction workers still around? If so, send 'em here! !-)

lightyearsaway: I'm glad you thought it was funny! I only hope you enjoyed this one as much, seeing as how it doesn't seem to me like it's up to my usual standards. Ah well, school's bothering me at the moment, so I blame it for the way everything's turning out. *glances at waiting homework with a look of loathing*

Tori: Ah, so you like George as well? I'm not sure what it is about his character that I like, but he just seems a bit more down to earth that Fred does, though I like Fred as well. Luckily, though, the fact that George is more down to earth does not, in any way, keep him from causing loads of problems for the Londoners to deal with, as a certain Rob became rather painfully *smirks* aware of in this chapter. :-)

kind of detached: I laughed when I read your review, as it seems as though the term "RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!" could apply not only to that, but also to just about anywhere Fred, George, or Lee happen to turn up, don't you think?

Mr. Poopy Doopy: Don't worry, you beat S.D. this time! I always like to see which one of you manages to review first, and it seems to amuse Fred, George, and Lee as well...

Fred: You bet it does; I just won ten Galleons. George bet that S.D. would win.

George: *muttering under breath* Well, she won last time...

Lee: I bet both of you ten Galleons and a Dungbomb that S.D. wins this time.

Fred and George (no longer sulking): We'll take that bet.

Oh dear, now they're gambling! What is this world coming to?! *slips over to Lee and mutters, "Count me in on that as well."*

S.D. Chesko: Ah, we have a challenge! *Fred, George, and Lee cheer excitedly* The little review war that you and Mr. Poopy Doopy have started with each other is probably the most entertaining aspect of this story. *Fred, George, and Lee all look indignantly at me* Er...other than Fred, George, and Lee, of course. *Fred, George, and Lee grin and nod in approval* Just pretend that Rob was Vector...*smirks at the thought* Ah, if only George could've kicked him there!

MarauderLuver4-ever: I see that homework is driving you insane (with the help of Sirius) as well. My advice is to invest in one of Fred and George's Skiving Snackboxes; that'll get you out of school, at least. Hm...a zoo, huh? I like that one! They'll be used to zoos, as that's probably what their bedrooms look like, at any rate.

Fred: *indignantly* They do not look like zoos!

George: Yeah, they're more of junkyards, really.

Now that the chapter's over,

You know just what to do.

Just go down to that button,

And send me a review!