FALCONS FANS RUNNING WILD—PORTREE STADIUM VANDALISED IN A “GOOD SPOT OF FUN”
With tensions running high for Saturday’s upcoming match between the Falmouth Falcons and Pride of Portree, a few enthusiastic fans have been leaving the Falcons logo emblazoned across the country. Efforts to stop the tomfoolery have been ineffective at best, with officials from the Department of Magical Games Fair Play Division desperately trying to keep up with the Falcon’s hooligans. Fair Play officials are presently trying to remove the large falcon defecating upon the Portree’s star from the stadium’s walls. Thus far, they have managed to vanish most of the obscenities charmed upon the pitch.
“It’s been a right nightmare,” claims Fair Play Enforcer Dennis Creevey, “We’ve got Enforcers working overtime to try and get the stadium cleaned up for the match. I’m sure the gits responsible think the stinging hex was clever, but it is really quite unappreciated.”
The Prides have been calling for fines to be levied against the Falmouth Falcons, a cry which has been echoed by eight other teams in the British-Irish League in the past three days. A spokesman from the Department of Magical Games Regulatory Commission has refused to comment on the pending investigation.
The Falcons, for their part, have reacted to the vandalism with fiendish glee. “It’s a good spot of fun is all,” says Chaser Katie Bell, “No one’s even been maimed. Portree needs a sense of humor.”
Pride of Portree fans have not taken this suggestion well, and Gwenog Jones, the Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports, has already arranged for an increased security force at Saturday’s match.
“Bell! What have I said about talking to reporters?”
Katie Bell tried her very best to look contrite under the sharp gaze of her ever so strict Captain. Amir Saffar looked ready to smack her upside the head with the newspaper he had shoved under her nose. She batted her eyelashes as a wicked grin curved her lips.
“Make sure to show off my tits?” She queried, and promptly darted back to avoid the newspaper aimed at her nose. Apparently Saffar did not find her comment as amusing as she had. The bear of a man shot her a look that told her very clearly how deep he would love to ram his foot up her ass. Katie’s smile faltered a little. She didn’t doubt his ability to puppet her head with his boot.
“Merlin’s tits, Katie, don’t
. You’re a walking PR disaster. I don’t want you talking to reporters unless it’s to say, ‘no comment’.”
“Pft,” Katie rolled her eyes, “That’s no fun.”
“No fun though it may be,” Saffar snapped, “But your job is to make goals, not piss off the country. Behave, Bell.”
Katie Bell was not a witch accustomed to behaving
. Behaving was for boring people. She was a god damned Falmouth Falcon; it was practically in her contract that she raise as much hell as humanly possible. Saffar had this weird notion that, while skull breaking and troublemaking was at home on the pitch, they conduct themselves with some false dignity off it. She thought he was rather off his rocker, but the fact remained that Saffar was one of the greatest bloody beaters she had ever met, and he had been playing for eight seasons straight. She respected him, albeit grudgingly, even if she had no desire to obey him.
Besides, she reasoned as she ducked out of his office, she hadn’t even said anything that horrible. Everyone knew that the Falcons enjoyed a bit of vandalism and a hefty dose of trash talk. She was just playing the part! She had received just as much fan-mail as howlers for her comments in today’s Prophet. And she’d been doing Romilda Vane a favor, one long-owed from the Christmas party of 2002. Well, okay, it wasn’t so much a favor as blackmail, but that was irrelevant.
Katie had never grown fond of apparition. However, it was the fastest mode of transport their world had to offer, and she fancied a pint at the Leaky Cauldron before heading home for the day. A present, she told herself, for having yet again successfully avoided Saffar’s boot finding her rectum. She managed to avoid being sick as she appeared in front of the familiar pub, which was even better. A muggle sidestepped her with a scowl, completely oblivious to the fact that she hadn’t been there moment before. Ah, muggles. Never change.
The pub was exceptionally busy. Katie managed to swing herself a seat at the bar, greeting Hannah with an enthusiastic wave as the woman bustled about. The Leaky Cauldron somehow remained the coziest and loveliest pub she’d ever been to (and Katie had visited them all), even when it was packed to the brim. The blonde accepted a cup of tea from a serving girl, scanning the crowd. No paparazzi today, thank Morgana. Katie tried not to be a slob, but she hadn’t exactly primped after practice today, and she didn’t fancy her mug all over Witch Weekly
with a critique on her ponytail and desperately plain Weird Sisters shirt and jeans. The worst part of being a nationally renowned Quidditch player was seeing your face in magazines and having your weight meticulously tracked for changes. It was enough to drive a girl batty.
Hannah had a black and tan in front of Katie within moments, and the chaser contented herself to people watch in the mad little pub.