Potter47
You'll have noticed that there are now three chapters in this story — for the Curse of the Bambino did not win once and for all in '03, much to Harry's dismay, and the Red Sox have returned to the playoffs, and for the one person in Montana that hasn't heard, they have beaten the Yankees as well. So here goes: Harry Potter and the Curse of the Bambino, chapter three.
Curses!
Harry Potter was a very happy young man. And why shouldn't he be? After all, he was happily married, happily ambiguous in his community, and happily not in Azkaban despite an illegal curse he may have used about a year prior to the start of this tale. And above all else, the Boston Red Sox (Harry's most-hated team in all professional sports) were about to be swept by the Yankees.
He knocked on the door to Ron's house — Harry didn't know why, but he always thought of it is "Ron's house" not "Ron and Luna's" house, despite the blonde witch always being the one to answer the door.
"Hi, is Ron—" said Harry, about to ask if Ron was there so that he could ask if they wanted to go with himself and Ginny to Boston to see the Red Sox get swept by the Yankees, but stopped short, seeing Luna's headgear.
She was wearing a Red Sox cap.
He blinked.
It was still there.
"Is Ronald what? Blue? Purple? Spotted? Snorkackian? No, I'm afraid not," said Luna forlornly.
"What are you wearing?" Harry couldn't help himself from saying, despite knowing perfectly well the meaning of the 'B' on her head.
"Clothes, of course," said Luna obviously, for it is obvious that only Luna would have said it.
Harry didn't know what to say now — Do you want to come with us to see your team lose horribly? didn't sound too nice. Neither did I sure hope that's a Boston Braves hat, Luna, because your team's about to be crushed.
Just then, Ron arrived, to Harry's relief — or at least, it would have been to Harry's relief, if Ron hadn't been wearing matching headgear to Luna's.
"What are you wearing?" Harry asked again.
"He's wearing clothes," said Luna, frustrated. "How many times to I have to explain this...?"
"What, the hats?" Ron inquired, tipping his own as he said so. Harry nodded. "Keeping the faith, of course," said Ron obviously, for it is obvious that only Ron would have said it.
"What do you mean?" said Harry.
"Well, the Sox are losing—three games to none! And you and I both know that doesn't mean they're going to lose—just think of what you and the Cannons did last week!"
Harry's team had made it to the championship the previous week, going undefeated after losing their first three games. Not that Harry wanted to admit the similarity, of course.
"That's completely different..." Harry defended weakly.
"So, what did you want to ask? Or say? Or state? Or inquire? Or demand?" Luna asked, said, inquired, and demanded.
"I was wondering," began Harry quietly, "if the two of you wanted to go to Boston tonight."
"Boston?" said Luna. "That's entirely coincidental."
"You don't have tickets," said Ron, gaping.
"I do," said Harry.
"Then what are we waiting for? The game starts at eight-nineteen!"
Harry, Ginny, Ron and Luna arrived at Fenway Park just before gametime. Ron was going on about how David Ortiz was due to hit a home run, and occasionally Harry interjected that the Red Sox' chances of winning with Derek Lowe pitching were about as good as the chances that Dumbledore and McGonagall had secretly been married for the past fifty years or so.
"Well, we don't know that they haven't," Luna pointed out. Harry decided to ignore the statement.
Ron had brought a big sign reading
but Ginny made him change it to say 'SPORTS' instead of 'MUGGLE' so that he didn't do anything illegal. She glanced at Harry suspiciously as she did so.
To Ron, the game felt like it went by in a moment, gone before he could even cherish the memory.
To Harry, the game felt as though it lasted five hours (which it did).
In the bottom of the twelfth inning, Harry was getting very upset. The game was tied at four, as it had been since Mariano Rivera gave up a run in the ninth to blow the Yankee lead (Harry had felt like cursing him, but had miraculously held back) and the Red Sox' pitching didn't seem to be showing any signs of weariness. When was the Curse of the Bambino going to show up again? Was it not going to? Did Harry really have to do it himself again?
He decided, while Ron and Luna began their fifty-millionth "LET'S—GO—RED—SOX!" chant, to take matters into his own hands.
There was a runner on base, and David Ortiz was at the plate. Harry stood up from his seat, pulling out his wand and aiming at the batter.
"Imp—" he began, only to be tackled by Ginny the next moment.
She had him pinned to the ground, and he looked up at her disbelievingly.
"Why did you do that—?" he demanded, stopping short at the look on her face.
She shook her head slightly. "Not this time," she said, and it seemed for a moment she was going to lean down to kiss him, but they jumped apart at the sudden roar from the crowd.
"They won, didn't they?" said Harry disparagingly.
"Yes," said Ginny, nodding, helping Harry back up to his seat.
Ron and Luna were bouncing up and down, though it seemed that Luna wasn't actually coming into contact with the ground at all, but rather floating at different heights.
"The Yanks have three more shots, though," Harry reminded them.
Ron answered only by holding his sign up high.
"And they won't have any help, will they, Harry?" whispered Ginny threateningly.
Harry glared, and glumly said "No."
"That's a good little Harry," said Ginny, grinning.
The next day, Ron turned up at their hotel room door in the very early morning, waking them with his excited knocking.
"I've got tickets!" he shouted as a very tired Harry opened the door reluctantly.
"Wha—why are you of all people awake at this hour?
"Because I've got tickets!" he said again.
"Joy," said Harry sarcastically, yawning.
"Have you been out all night?" Ginny said, sipping a cup of coffee she had magicked for herself to wake her up fully. Ron did look as though he had never turned in after the one-o'clock twelfth inning. "What does Luna have to say about that?"
"Oh, she's asleep," said Ron dismissively, holding the four rectangles in front of his sisters face. "Tickets!"
"You woke us up to tell us this before you told your own w—"
"I'll tell her!" said Ron. "But can you believe it? I got tickets! Game five, Boston Red Sox versus New York Yankees, five o'clock! Top box, too!"
"There's no top box in Fenway Park," objected Harry.
"Monster seats then," corrected Ron. "But I can't believe it."
"Good for you," said Ginny. "Now leave us alone and tell your wife."
That night wasn't a bit happier for Harry; in fourteen innings, David Ortiz won it again for the Red Sox, sending Ron into a panic because the next game was in New York and they didn't have tickets.
"Can I please do something if it looks bad tonight?" Harry begged Ginny after Luna of all people had miraculously come up with tickets.
"No," said Ginny simply.
"Damn it."
The Red Sox pitcher was Curt Shilling, who had lost game one for his team with a hurt ankle. Ron showed Harry, through his smuggled omnioculars, the blood on Shilling's sock.
"Now that's a red sock."
"Very funny."
Shilling, to Harry's dismay, pitched wonderfully. And the Red Sox second baseman, Mark Bellhorn, hit a ball right into the chest of Ron's black jacket. He was unbelievably depressed when it bounced right back onto the field.
Harry had to struggle to keep himself from Imperioing the Umpires when Alex Rodriguez slapped the ball out of the pitcher's hand, but a look from Ginny ended any thoughts of that distinction. The Red Sox won yet again.
Game seven was scheduled for the next night, and Harry was dreading it. If the Yankees lost again, the Red Sox would be in the World Series, with a chance to win it all. He didn't like the idea in the least.
They somehow managed to secure tickets once again, this time right behind the right-field fence at Yankee Stadium.
In the first inning, David Ortiz hit a home run their way, and Ron wished desperately that it had been the slightest bit lower. His wish was granted in the second inning, when Johnny Damon hit a grand slam right into his smuggled butterbeer, causing it to splash all over the place.
"YES!" shouted Ron exuberantly, pumping the ball in the air.
"No," muttered Harry weakly, wiping butterbeer from his trousers.
Damon hit another homer later, a deck or two above where the four were sitting, and the Red Sox were leading eight to one.
As the game wound to a close, Harry made his way away from his friends, claiming he had to use the loo. But when he had escaped his wife's suspicious gaze, he made a last-ditch effort to kill the Red Sox' chances.
"Imperio!" he cursed, aiming at the Red Sox' coach, and for a reason unexplainable to anyone but Harry, Terry Francona put Pedro Martinez into the game for the eighth inning, and he gave up two runs before Harry even got back to his seat.
It didn't make any difference, however. The Red Sox won, adding two runs to their total before doing so. Harry was furious on his way back to the hotel.
He didn't care what Ginny said; he would not let the Red Sox win the World Series.