The prompt was to write a brawl (definition: noisy quarrel or fight). The catch ... the reason for said brawl had to be trivial.
Please bear in mind the prompt, SPaG, and the overall fabness of the drabble when you vote.
IMPORTANT NOTE: AS WE HAVE OFFED OVER HALF THE BRAWLERS AND AREN'T THAT FAR IN, THERE WILL ONLY BE ONE BRAWLER LEAVING US THIS WEEK. CAST YOUR VOTE WISELY!
Title: Family Fights
Reason for brawl: The Next Gen loses a Quidditch game and James blames Lily
Warning/Rating: 1st-2nd years/none
Word Count: 500
Lily swung out, whacking James with her new Firebolt X while swerving to avoid Fred, who was blindly kicking around him, hitting and angering everyone.
‘Ouch!’ James grunted and grabbed her broom.
‘James! That’s mine!’ she shrieked, tugging it back.
It was hard to believe that a mere half an hour ago they had been on one team, having fun playing Quidditch against their parents, aunts and uncles on a lazy summer day. A cool breeze and the laughter and cheers from her younger cousins set an idyllic scene – which was now ruined.
Brutally torn from her thoughts as someone – Rose? Teddy?- knocked into her from behind, Lily reluctantly relinquished her hold on the broom. She shrieked angrily again and jumped forward, snatching at her prize. When James pulled it from her reach she punched him in the stomach and he tried maneuvering the broom so he could use it as a shield, but instead hit Fred’s arm and was tackled in return.
It had all started when she missed the snitch and her dad made the catch, securing the win for the grownups. Lily had been frustrated with herself, as she knew she could have caught the ball, but when she saw James land angrily a few meters away, aiming a kick at nothing, she knew there would be trouble. They started trudging back to the Burrow in a tensed silence before she spoke: ‘I’m sorry, okay?’
‘Not your fault, don’t worry about it,’ Teddy had said graciously, but she hadn’t been worried about him anyway. James had given a derisive snort.
‘It’s fine – but it’s still your fault!’ he had said.
‘Hey, you weren’t playing that well either!’ Rose had defended Lily, and she had smiled at her cousin, glad to have an ally.
‘It’s just a game. Everybody calm – ‘Teddy had put in before being cut off by James.
‘I was fine. If Lily hadn’t been sleeping, we would have won!’
‘Well, if you had played better, we would have won anyway!’ Lily had retorted, angry tears shooting into her eyes. Why was he so competitive? Why was it always her fault?
‘You wanted to play seeker! It’s a seeker’s job – ‘
‘Oh, so a seeker has to do everything alone?’
‘I didn’t say -‘
‘Yes you did!’
‘You did, James,’ Fred had assented while Rose and Albus nodded.
‘I didn’t! And you were all playing lousily!’ James had stopped walking. ‘How did this become my fault?’
‘It didn’t, I just said that you had said that seeker’s the most important position.’
‘And you aren’t better! You’re a bad seeker,’ Lily cut in again.
‘Watch it!’ James had warned, and in response she had raised an eyebrow and accidentally on purpose stumbled into him, making him trip.
And so it started: the hitting and kicking, scratching and screaming.
At the time it didn’t seem so, but they would all forgive each other by the end of the day, bruises blooming but smiles on their faces once more.
Title: Sibling Rivalry
Reason for brawl: Quidditch complaints/bad losers
Warning/Rating: 1-2nd, none
Word Count: 499
A/N: I think Charlie would make it home for more frequent visits after Fred's death.
Hermione’s concentration was broken by the sound of brooms landing in the distance. She looked up from her book but was unable to determine who had won the Quidditch match. In fact, judging from the angry voices in the air, the matter was of some dispute.
Fleur, too, had glanced up from her knitting to watch the drama. The sisters-in-law sat in the garden, quietly enjoying the fine weather until the loud arguing could not be ignored.
“The teams weren’t fair!” Ron shouted in Bill’s direction.
Charlie laughed. “You’re joking—you had one player more than us.”
“Percy? You can’t be serious,” Ron spat back.
Percy crossed his arms. “I’m standing right here.”
“Sorry, Perce,” George piped up. “But it’s true.”
Hermione glanced at Fleur when her knitting needles resumed their incessant clicking. She always knitted by hand—a practice Hermione believed was done primarily to irritate Molly, who had been quickly rebuffed when she’d tried to teach the Knitting Charm to Fleur years ago.
“Zese boys and their games.”
“Ginny’s as bad as any of the men,” Hermione said.
As if on cue, Ginny’s voice rang out. “You’re a sore loser, Ron! You had George and Harry, so shut it!”
“George is out of it, and you know Harry’s out of practice.”
“Hey!” Harry objected.
The insults began again in earnest and everyone was talking at once. Someone pushed someone else, and then George and Charlie were on the ground wrestling. Ron yelled at his sister over Harry, who told Ron to stop antagonizing his wife. Hermione’s eyes widened as Ginny—obviously not interested in Harry’s protective gestures—pushed her husband, causing him to stumble over those on the ground and land unceremoniously on his bum. Soon Ron and Ginny were in the fray, and only Bill stood back, laughing at the sight.
“Ron’s a ‘orrible loser, don’t you theenk? ‘e always overreacts.”
Hermione shifted in her seat. She couldn’t deny the truth in Fleur’s words, but they galled her just the same. She might give her husband a hard time in private about his excessive enthusiasm for the game, but no one else was going to insult him in her presence. “Ron’s passionate. Perhaps if Charlie and Bill didn’t work so hard to antagonize him,” she trailed off, leaving the thought unfinished. “Besides, everyone knows Percy is a liability on the pitch.”
Fleur gathered her things and gave Hermione a look of supreme pity, obviously thinking her judgment poor and misguided.
Hermione tried unsuccessfully to resist the slow simmer of anger bubbling inside her, thinking how Fleur occasionally needed to be put in her place. As Fleur went inside, Hermione eased her wand out of her pocket and gave it a little “flick” toward the house. When high-pitched squeals mingled with the noise of battle in the garden, satisfaction swelled within Hermione. I knew that Hair-Thickening Charm would come in handy some day, she thought as she raised her book to eye level and began to read.
Title: The Prince’s Plot
Reason for brawl: The irrational fear of poisoning
Warning/Rating: 1st/2nd Years — None
Word Count: 500
A/N: Crabbe and Goyle are at their stupidest when they try to think, lol.
The plans were drawn and the trap set. A darkened corner of the Slytherin common room beckoned you to watch the plot unfold from its shady confines. The view was excellent, so you settled in and waited as your prey arrived. This part was worth waiting for, watching those two trolls ogle the solitary biscuit sitting on an end table. They never would’ve shared, this was certain. It was exactly what you required of them.
Crabbe was the boldest and inched toward it first, only to have his progress halted by Goyle’s grip. Excellent — right on schedule. But Crabbe, being ever so, well . . . Crabbe, wrenched his arm away and grunted at his counterpart. And then the stalemate continued. Both gazed at the confection, lust in their eyes, but for the longest time, neither moved.
You felt frustration that they mightn’t take the bait after all, despite your certainty that their combined intelligence was, in a word, dire. Their hesitance, however, took a curious turn, and the biscuit no longer enraptured them. Instead, they fell into deep conversation. You couldn’t hear what was being said from that distance, but the occasional glance back toward the end table confirmed that they were, indeed, up to something of their own.
It was quite a surprise when their attention shifted across the room, where Malfoy snoozed in a chair. You were captivated as they approached their sleeping ringleader. Goyle shoved Malfoy roughly, rattling him awake. His face, mottled in rage, demanded explanation for the assault, but it was Crabbe’s turn to react.
“Not funny, Malfoy,” Crabbe said loudly. “Don’t think we’re stupid enough to fall for the same trick twice.”
Now you were interested. Despite the disappointment that your plan had already been taken, it begged to question what had directed the duo’s ire toward Malfoy.
And Malfoy seemed to wonder much the same. “What are you two dolts on about?”
“Well, we reckon it was you who gave us that drugged cupcake earlier this year,” Goyle interjected. “And that biscuit —” he jabbed his finger toward the offending snack, “— ain’t fooling anybody.”
Draco stared. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said finally.
“I’m not ridic’luss!” Crabbe growled.
Your lips curled in glee as the far larger Crabbe dragged Malfoy to his feet. This wasn’t what you’d planned at all; it was far, far better. You were hard-pressed to stay silent when Goyle elbowed Malfoy in the ribs whilst muttering his agreement. Malfoy’s accompanying girlish whimper of pain only heightened your enjoyment. But Malfoy lashed back, swinging a puny fist wherever he could land it — namely, Crabbe’s jaw. And then the skirmish really started.
The plan had been to embarrass Malfoy through his lackeys’ poor discipline. However, as you watched your housemates beat each other senseless, you reminded yourself that, while you weren’t quite the Heir of Slytherin, you, Blaise Zabini, were definitely the Prince of Slytherin house. And Malfoy would have a black eye or two to remind him of that.
Title: Seamus Wanted Lemonade
Reason for brawl: Gandalf and other minor atrocities.
Warning/Rating: 3rd-5th years; Mild Profanity
Word Count: 499
A/N: Eejit is Irish slang for idiot.
Dean took a long sip of Butterbeer and sighed. Seamus sat opposite, glaring at the other people enjoying their evening drinks in the Leaky Cauldron.
“You haven’t said a word since we left the cinema,” said Dean, breaking the tense silence. “Well, apart from the grunt you aimed at Hannah when I ordered your ale.”
“What?” snapped Seamus.
“Oh come on, mate. What’s your prob—”
“Forget it!” Seamus exclaimed loudly. An elderly wizard at the next table tittered, shuffling his chair in the opposite direction.
“Look, I’m sorry you didn’t enjoy the movie but you were the one who asked if we could have a lads night out,” whispered Dean, trying not to disturb anyone else. “And since you nearly broke the International Statute of Secrecy the last time I took you to a footy match…” Dean shook his head trying to focus on something more pleasant. He was getting tired of Seamus’s moods since Lavender married Zabini.
“You want to know what’s wrong?” asked Seamus. “First of all, what the hell was that thing you just made me watch? It was over three hours long! Secondly, who does that Gandalf eejit think he is? Dumbledore? Well, if Dumbledore were still alive then he wouldn’t be galloping around some volcanic wasteland with Lucius Malfoy’s walking stick! Why doesn’t he use a wand like normal wizards, eh?”
Dean bit his tongue, trying not to laugh. “It’s a staff—”
“AND,” interrupted Seamus with a large huff and more flaring of the nostrils, “WHAT THE HELL IS A HOBBIT?”
Dean burst out laughing, unable to hold it in any longer.
“Seamus, you realise it’s just a story, right? Fictional?”
“Oh, please!” bellowed Seamus, sending a shower of spittle across the table. Fictional, my arse! I know what I saw and it was all there on that giant rectangle!”
Dean groaned and sent a frustrated glance at Hannah and the other customers who were now staring at Seamus with annoyance and disgust.
“Gandalf and Frodo weren’t actually standing behind the screen…”
“And you want know what’s even worse?” Seamus yelled.
“They gave me Coke at the cinema! I ordered lemonade! I ASKED SPECIFICALLY FOR LEMONADE.”
Dean slumped forward onto the table, burying his face in his hands. What on earth had possessed him to take Seamus to the movies, especially after the footy debacle?
Unexpectedly, there was a light tap on his shoulder.
“It’s okay, they’ve gone now." whispered Seamus. “The movie was great by the way. That Eowyn bird was fit!”
Dean stared back at his friend in confusion.
“What on earth, Seamus? You were screaming at me about a walking stick one minute ago!”
“I know, mate, but I had to scare them off, somehow! There was no way I could stomach another drink with those two snogging in the corner behind you.” Seamus took a long draught of ale.
“Who?” asked Dean, completely lost.
“Lavender and that Zabini git, of course. They just left!”
Title: The Day he Died
Word Count: 498
Warnings/Ratings:Very very mild profanity/1st-2nd
Fred and George never argue.
That’s what they used to say about us. Load of rubbish, of course. We spent so much time together that no matter how close we were there was bound to be occasional trouble. And if there was one thing we were good at, it was trouble. They were usually over something so stupid, but once we got going we could really shout the place down with our arguments.
Like the one we had the day he died.
“You can be such a git sometimes.”
I looked up at Fred as he stomped into the living room of our flat and threw himself onto the sofa.
“Have I done something in particular?” I asked, running through any potential misdeeds in my head. Nothing immediately stood out to me as likely to have upset him.
“Oh don’t pull that one. You know damn well what.”
“Not if you don’t tell me. I know we’re twins, but in case you’d forgotten we still haven’t figured out the mind-reading thing.”
“Julie,” Fred shot back.
He didn’t need to say anything else – it was suddenly all clear to me. I had to fight keep a smirk off my face at the memory of my practical joke on Fred’s latest love interest. “Oh of course, the wonderful Julie. “What happened? Did she turn you down?”
For one tiny moment, I thought Fred might hit me. “Well she was hardly going to say yes after what you did!”
“It was just a bit of fun!”
“You didn’t have to pretend to be me when she caught you! Now, not only does she hate but she thinks I’m a mental case as well. Couldn’t you just back off and let me be happy for once?”
This stung a bit. “Wow, Fred, what’s got into you. She’s just a girl! And you hadn’t even asked her out yet. It’s not like it was that big a deal. I don’t know what’s got into you recently.”
This was clearly the wrong thing to say.
“You don’t know what’s got into me? Maybe it’s the fact that you just drove away yet another girl I’ve been interested in, or that we’ve got the Ministry breathing down our necks, or, oh yeah, the fact that we might die.”
For a minute I was too stunned to reply. Fred never
talked like this.
Before I could say anything else, a high pitched chime rang through the apartment. Suddenly, everything changed. Turning away from Fred, I ran over to the chest of drawers where the noise had originated. It was our galleons – magically enchanted to make a noise every time the inscription changed. I looked down at the message and turned back to Fred, all thoughts of our argument forgotten.
“We’ve got to get to Hogwarts.”
For one terrible moment I thought he might refuse, but of course he wouldn’t. Instead, he grinned at me, and instantly everything was normal again. “We’d better be going then.”