Work Text:
Last Time, on "Best Mates, Maybe More"...
Hogwarts Quidditch Pitch, Friday Night:
The commentator's box door was locked—of course it was—but a quick "Alohomora" took care of that. Inside, two microphones sat on the announcer's desk: one covered in Hufflepuff-colored stickers and what looked suspiciously like glitter (clearly Penny's), and one pristine and professional-looking (obviously Malcolm's).
Albus pulled out his wand, remembering all the hours he'd spent practicing this particular combination of charms in an empty classroom.
"Confundo Maxima," he whispered, tapping Geoff's microphone. The metal vibrated under his touch, almost like it was purring.
The microphone gave one final shudder before settling back into innocuous silence.
Albus allowed himself a small smile.
Tomorrow would be interesting.
And now...
Quidditch Pitch, Saturday Morning:
"I still can't believe you're actually coming to a match voluntarily," Tim said as they climbed the stands. "You hate Quidditch."
Scorpius, walking ahead of them, turned back with a suspicious frown. "And so early. Not at all like you." The brisk morning breeze tousled his silver-blonde hair in that trademarked Very Malfoy Way that Albus found maddeningly irresistible.
"I don't hate it," Albus protested to Tim. "I just prefer activities that don't involve potential death by gravity." And to Scorpius: "Also I resent the attack on my character. I'm never late."
Scorpius chuckled. "Okay. Yeah. Sure."
Scorpius wore the Ravenclaw scarf Albus gave him Christmas, second year, just a bit too loosely around his neck. The bronze and blue brought out the storm-grey of his eyes, and when he smiled—that perfect, crooked smile that made Albus's stomach do backflips—the morning sun caught his prefect badge just so.
Albus came early to make sure they found the perfect seats in the stands, that they could see his plan come to glorious fruition. From below, Penny Zhang's panicked voice drift up from the spiral staircase leading to the Commentators Box: "...and I really can't do play-by-play alone! Malcolm always handles the main commentary—"
"I don't mind at all," came Geoff's smooth reply. "I'm just happy to help."
Of course he was.
Albus smiled innocently at Tim's knowing look. This was going to be fun.
"Ladies, gentlemen, and esteemed faculty," Penny's voice rang out across the Pitch. "Welcome to today's match: Slytherin versus Ravenclaw! I'm Penny Zhang, and filling in for Malcolm Davies today is Geoff Creevey!"
A respectable cheer went up from the crowd. Geoff had that effect on people.
"For Slytherin," Geoff's voice carried clearly across the pitch, "we've got Captain Victoria Flint at Keeper, Raj Zabini and James Potter as Chasers—"
The charm kicked in, with the microphone making its own announcement in Geoff’s smooth baritone: "—and what a fine specimen of a Chaser Potter is—"
A confused murmur rippled through the crowd. Geoff cleared his throat. "Er, that is to say... Elena Nott at Seeker..."
Albus smiled. His jinx was working; his plan, coming together perfectly.
The match began poorly for Slytherin. Ravenclaw scored thrice in quick succession, with Victoria Flint looking increasingly murderous. Then James attempted a complex maneuver that involved a lot of barrel rolls.
"And Potter shows exceptional broom control—" Geoff started.
"He really knows how to handle that stick of his!" the microphone purred.
The reaction rippled through the stands: third-years collapsed into poorly stifled giggles. The Head Boy gasped. Mavis Longbottom, James’s girlfriend, nodded knowingly. Professors Creevey and Longbottom spat out their butterbeer directly onto poor Professor Flitwick's hat. Even McGonagall's lips twitched—though she would later deny it under threat of Veritaserum.
Geoff slapped both hands over his mouth in horror, which only made things worse as James chose that exact moment to execute a completely unnecessary spin, accompanied by an exaggerated wink at the commentator's box.
Albus smiled. This was going exactly as planned. He glanced at Scorpius, eager to see him finally realize what a complete tosser Geoff was—but Scorpius was too busy explaining every Quidditch manoeuvre to Tim, who had to repeatedly remind him that yes, America did, in fact, have Quidditch, and no, they did not, in fact, play it on mechanical bulls. Scorpius's politely skeptical expression suggested he remained unconvinced.
Geoff's strangled voice cracking over the magical megaphone drew Albus's attention back to the commentator's box.
"Potter takes position—" Geoff tried again, tugging on his collar.
"And I bet he’s good in any position," the microphone added helpfully.
Geoff nearly fell off his chair.
"And Boot takes possession," Penny quickly added, clearly trying to smother her laughter. "Passing to Goldstein—"
"Potter's diving for the intercept!" Geoff called out, thick with desperate hope.
"Lovin’ the way he goes down—" The microphone's tone was positively scandalous.
The crowd roared. Mavis began fanning herself, her eyes as wide as her smile, until her father shot her a stern parental look. (Who knew Professor Longbottom could be "stern"?)
"DIVING FOR THE QUAFFLE!" Geoff practically shrieked. "I MEANT, DIVING FOR THE QUAFFLE!"
But Albus noticed something odd happening. Rather than being embarrassed by the increasingly suggestive commentary, the Slytherin team seemed energized by it. James, especially, was flying better than ever, spurred on by each flustered compliment.
"Potter's really showing his endurance today—" Geoff commented as James made his sixth consecutive scoring run.
"I bet he could go all night!" the microphone swooned.
Penny covered her microphone and stage-whispered: "Someone's hexed your microphone, mate."
"You think?!" Geoff hissed back, just as James winked at the commentary box.
But the crowd was fully invested now, cheering wildly with each goal and each bit of salacious commentary. To which James had taken to bowing dramatically after each one, which in turn spurred on the hexed microphone until soon it was interjecting lewd innuendos even when Penny announced a play: "And the score is—"
"Oh Potter’s gonna score, all right. Pfwoar!"
Geoff ignored the remark, even if the crowd hadn’t. He cleared his throat. "Potter's going for another goal, applying pressure—"
"Pounding away at the opposition—"
"APPLYING PRESSURE!" Geoff practically shouted. "TO THE RAVENCLAW DEFENCE!"
James had scored eight more times by the time Elena Nott caught the Snitch, and the entire stadium was in hysterics. The Slytherin team did a victory lap, and James paused by the commentary box to blow them an exaggerated kiss. Geoff slid off his chair and under the desk.
"And that's the match!" Penny announced cheerfully. "Slytherin wins, 340 to 180! This is Penny Zhang and Geoff Creevey, currently hiding under the desk, signing off!"
As Albus made the excruciating trek back up to the castle with Scorpius and Tim, he had to admit: he was thoroughly defeated. Geoff Coileán Creevey had won. Every attempt to undermine the sixth-year had only made him shine brighter—and now Albus had to think of a new plan.
Later in the Great Hall, Albus watched in mounting dismay as the entire Slytherin team mobbed Geoff to thank him for 'the most entertaining commentary in Hogwarts history,' with shouts of 'Well done, mate!' and 'Bloody good craic, that was!'
James, especially, seemed to enjoy recreating some of the more memorable calls, while Geoff still looked like he was seriously considering transferring to Beauxbatons.
"No, it was brilliant," James insisted, resting a hand on Geoff's shoulder. "Really got me going."
Geoff's face went pink. "It . . . got you going?"
"Yeah, got all of us going!" James amended, then announced to the gathered crowd: "Three cheers for Creevey!"
Students from all Houses had crowded around the Slytherin table where James and his teammates had cornered their unwitting commentator. Even Gryffindors had joined the raucous celebratory response: "Hip, hip, hip—hooray!"
Meanwhile, Albus sat at the far end of the Ravenclaw table, staring intently at his plate as if it held the answers to his spectacularly backfired plan. Each fresh round of cheers felt like another Bludger to his dignity. He stabbed viciously at his potatoes.
Well, at least Scorpius wasn't present. For that, Albus was grateful. Scorpius had already mentioned in passing how Geoff's commentary "was quite clever, actually," in that thoughtful way that usually made Albus's heart flip but now just felt like another twist of the knife.
Tim leaned over to Albus. "Well done, Potter. You really done it this time."
Albus was inconsolable. "I don’t understand. The hex worked. It bloody well worked. Why does everyone love Creevey even more now?"
As if by cue, a chorus of "For he’s a jolly good fellow..." rang out from the Slytherin table.
"I must admit," Tim said, watching the celebration with a fair bit of admiration in his voice, "your jinx was good."
"Then why didn’t it work?"
"...for he’s a jolly good fellow..."
"Tim shrugged. "Not sure. But..." He paused, his face scrunching up the way it always did when he was deciphering particularly challenging ancient runes. Almost against his will, he heard himself say: "You know, it's weird—did you notice the mic only seemed to focus on James?"
The moment those words left his mouth—and Albus’s head snapped up—Tim knew he'd made a terrible mistake. "I mean—"
"What do you mean 'only James'?"
"...for he’s a jolly good fell-oohhhhhh...! "
"Nothing. Forget I said anything. Look, there's probably some perfectly reasonable explanation for why a hexed microphone would exclusively make suggestive comments about your brother instead of the entire Slytherin team like you planned—" Tim clapped a hand over his own mouth. "I'm making it worse, aren't I?"
”...and so say all of us!"
But Albus wasn't listening. He was watching Geoff attempt—and spectacularly fail—to casually escape the crowd of admirers. James's quick smile and wink sent Geoff stumbling, though he managed to recover with a smooth little spin that almost made it look intentional.
"Interesting," Albus said, his fork pushing cold potatoes around his plate as wheels turned in his head.
Tim groaned, recognizing that dangerous gleam in his friend's eye.
"No. Absolutely not."
"What?"
"That's your 'I'm about to start investigating something that's none of my business' face. It's like your plotting face but more..."
"Detective-y?" Albus suggested.
"Deranged." Tim sighed. "Look, maybe we could focus on your Charms homework instead? You know, the essay due tomorrow that you haven't started?"
"You’re absolutely right!" Albus said.
"I am?"
"I layered the Discomfit Jinx precisely on top of the Confundus Charm so that it would reveal embarrassing things about Creevey. The matrix should have been perfect—no, it was perfect! So... why, then, did it only talk about my brother?"
Tim took a deep breath, saying to no one in particular, 'Wait for it.' Time seemed to crawl to a full stop. And then:
Albus lit up with realization as everything clicked into place: Geoff's constant presence at Slytherin practices, his nervous babbling around James, that completely un-Geoff-like display just now. . .
"That’s it! It’s all making sense now! Geoff's trying to get close to James to get to Scorpius through me! It's the perfect plan!"
"That's... what?" Tim stammered.
"Think about it! Everyone knows the way to a Ravenclaw’s heart is through his best friend’s Slytherin brother!"
"No one knows that," Tim said weakly. "That's not even a thing."
"Classic Slytherin manipulation."
"Geoff’s a Hufflepuff."
Ignoring Tim, Albus continued: "I should know—I live with a Slytherin. Well . . . two, sort of. But definitely one!"
"But, you’re Ravenclaw and—"
"Exactly! Which means my theory must be right! Oh, yes, Geoff Creevey," Albus whispered, already formulating plans. "This changes everything."
"It really doesn't," Tim said, but Albus was already halfway down the stairs, mind racing with possibilities. "Oi! Where are you going?"
"Library!" Albus called back. "Need to check out some books—research! Maybe 'Serpentine Seduction: A History of Slytherin Courtship Rituals' and 'Social Networking Through Siblings: A Wizard's Guide to Complicated Relationship Webs'!"
"Those... can’t be real books."
"Then I'll write them myself! The evidence must be documented!"
Tim watched his friend bolt from the Great Hall, nearly knocking over a group of Hufflepuffs in his haste as he ran. "I'll get you yet, Geoff Creevey!" echoed back through the doorway. Tim turned toward the main staircase—no way he wanted to be anywhere near Albus during a manic detective phase—and walked straight into Geoff Creevey.
"Sorry, mate," Geoff said, smiling that maddening, perfect smile of his. And Tim suddenly understood why Albus hated that smile so much. "Good match, eh?"
Tim nodded. "Yeah, it was." Then, a thought crossed his mind and Tim decided to test something: "James played well."
"He—" Geoff swallowed hard "—he really did." Then, catching himself, Geoff quickly added: "I mean, the whole Slytherin team did. Very... sportly."
"Sportly?" Tim repeated flatly.
"Sporty. Right. Well. I should..." Geoff gestured vaguely down the hall towards the library, then practically fled down the stairs, nearly colliding with a group of first-years in his haste.
"Interesting," Tim said, his theory proven true.
From his new vantage point at the base of the marble staircase, Tim watched as Geoff attempted—and spectacularly failed—to casually pass James Potter and a small group of Slytherin seventh-years lounging by the entrance to the dungeons. James's quick smile and wink sent Geoff stumbling, though he recovered with a smooth little spin that made it almost look intentional.
At least this was actually entertaining.