This is a new story that I just started writing tonight and for a change I decided to post. I have no clue how long this will be or how regularly it'll be updated, but I hope it's enjoyable.
And while this is definitely taking a page from the film Anchorman, this is not a rewrite of the film.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Episode One
WELCOME TO THE TEAM
-
"Breaking news out of South London…" The anchor looked up, his deep red mustache folding in a self-serious manner over his monochromatic lips. "A mad old woman has gone on the rampage and begun shooting passerby with a paintball gun at the intersection of Wandsworth and North. Dean Thomas is on the scene. Dean?"
"Ron, usually this neighborhood is the picture of solemnity," said the field reporter, smoothing his tightly packed hair. "Not today. Today police are on the scene and desperately trying to calm the mad woman to no avail."
"I won't go!" the woman screamed. The camera-work was shaky. "I'll take you all down!"
"Ma'am -"
The police officer crumpled in agony as his face was splattered with red.
"OH MY GOD," screamed a visibly shaken teenage boy. "OH MY GOD HE'S DEAD!"
"Don't be daft, it's just a paintball," Dean said, unaware he was on camera.
The camera cut back to the live feed.
"As you can see," Dean remarked into the puffy microphone, "the area is chaos. I've only avoided damage myself through gratuitous speed and good fortune."
Dean recoiled into the camera all of a sudden and his shoulder was green. A woman's cackle could be heard in the background.
Grumbled: "I'm Dean Thomas for YTV. Back to you, Ron."
"Terrible, terrible," said the anchor, shuffling his papers. He looked to his colleague. "Sometimes it seems the world is going to the dogs."
"Too right you are, Ron," said his companion, a man with scraggly black hair (much unlike Ron's slicked-back red hair) and a matching mustache. "Speaking of dogs, we have the cutest video of Tyke the terrier playing water polo…"
"I'm so glad you could make it out today, Ms. Granger" Minerva McGonagall said, ignoring the news feed (the story was rather harmless, after all - and Ron was the more liable of the two to sudden fuck-ups, no pun intended). "I hope you're liking London so far?"
"Oh, yes, well it's no Coventry, but it's quite nice, I think." Granger flipped her hair back and smiled. "I like the setup. It's quite homey. Much better than my hotel room, I assure you."
"Tsk, tsk. We'll have to see about getting you a nice flat nearby. I'll ask one of the girls to help out." There was a change in voice and Minerva realized that Harry had just handed off to Seamus. "Oh dear. I need to keep an ear out for this. One moment."
"Thanks, Harry." Seamus's bright orange suit clashed terribly with the blue background behind him. "Well, gang, it was a tough day for Manchester City when they went up against their heated rivals from across-town: the Red Devils of Man U! The exhibition took place at ol' Wembley Stadium right here in the Big L, but that doesn't mean that there weren't some Mancunians in the area! Oh no, there was beer and you bet your tush there was fighting!"
His glance darted upwards and he noticed McGonagall's stern expression. "But hooligans aside, the real action was on the field! City started the match off strong when…"
Ron and Harry were ignoring Seamus, their attention instead directed to a cheap chess board splayed across the top of the news desk. McGonagall hated it, but after the infamous Muttering Incident two years prior had allowed their game, provided that the board was easily movable and the pieces were flat.
"Should they really be playing chess right now?" Granger whispered to one of the techs, Dennis Creevey, as McGonagall was still monitoring Seamus.
Dennis explained the situation and, upon further pressing, the Muttering Incident:
Harry: And now we'll pass it over to Lavender Brown for your weather forecast. Lavender?
Lavender: Why thank you, Harry! (Wink, grin.) The skies are clear and Venus suggests thunderstorms for all you tempestuous spirits…
Ron: God, I'm bored. (Microphone still on.)
Harry: (Blank stare.)
Ron: Just shoot me.
McGonagall, in the booth: Will someone TURN OFF THE FUCKING MICROPHONE?
Euan Abercrombie: I'm trying! It's not working! I must have jammed the button!
McGonagall: I'll jam my hand up your bleeding -
Ron: (Singing.) Shooooooot me, just shoooot me…
Harry: (Mouthing silently but urgently.) Idiot! Shut up! Your microphone is on! I can hear you in my earpiece!
Lavender: I've spent much time asking the heavens for guidance...
Ron: I wish she'd spend more time figuring out what the hell she's doing and less time trying to figure out how to look like a tramp. Good God, her tit is falling out of her shirt.
McGonagall: Cut the transmission!
"You know, Euan was fired the next week," Dennis noted.
"Why not Weasley?" Granger asked, curious and already forming a vendetta in her mind against this red-headed chauvinist.
"Because he's Ron Weasley," Dennis replied as if it were that simple - and it was. "He's part of London's best broadcasting duo and he does that stuff all the time, but Euan forgot to turn his mic off, so really it wasn't Ron's fault."
Granger had half a mind to argue but didn't, for Dennis's sake. He seemed sweet.
"Thank you, Seamus, for that wonderful impression of Ron Atkinson," Harry said. He and Ron both looked into the center camera as the end music came on. "For Ron Weasley and the entire YTV London news team, I'm Harry Potter. Stay classy, London."
"Thank God that's over," McGonagall sighed as Dennis and Justin began wrapping up the feed. "Did it give you a feel for how we run things, Ms. Granger?"
"Oh yes," Granger replied, prim smile almost breakable in its stiffness. "Interesting cast of characters, to say the least."
McGonagall sighed again, deep and long. "Don't say that. You haven't even met Luna."
"Excellent job, everybody!" Ron called out to the entire team as he stood from his desk. "One of your strongest shows this month, Seamus, and on a weak night outside of the Manchester brawl, as well."
"Ernie, really enjoyed the beginning of that expose on the prostitution ring," Harry said, clapping the blond reporter on the back. "I think by the end of this you might have yourself a Telly award for investigative excellence."
"Oh, really, it was nothing, Harry, just took a little hard work and a little spit - don't ask about the spit, you'll see that tomorrow, old chap - and besides, I really think that prostitution is a serious problem that we need to address right away…"
Harry's eyes glazed over. On his opposite side, Lavender Brown approached Ron, her breasts firmly in place behind her blouse.
"Ronald," she purred.
"Lavender," he retorted, smirking.
She licked her lips. Lavender Brown was a shameless flirt, quick to forget past insults from a good-looking man and quick to remember any snubs from a pretty woman, and also, Ron could claim from personal experience, the best blowjob this side of Bigmouthed Betty Dimble.
She was also unable to resist a handsome man with fine facial hair and thus easily hurt. Harry - who had long ago rebuffed Lavender's advances and firmly placed himself in her Friends Zone - often had to stop Ron from calling Lavender for a quick hookup, if only to spare her feelings. She loved children, loved her family, and had six pets that she'd adopted from abused animals' shelters. She was an easy lay with a heart of gold but, as Harry quietly admitted, he was trying to fix the first part.
"We're a relatively new station - I helped found our London branch eight years ago - but we've quickly become one of the premier stations in the country," McGonagall informed Granger as they made their way onto the set. "Between them, Harry and Ron have upwards of twenty Tellies and EMAs, and our production staff isn't too shabby, either."
"If they're such wonderful anchors -" Granger found herself spitting the sentence "- then why even bring me in?"
"Because you're an excellent investigative journalist that can put Ernie in his place - the pompous ass over there in the white suit," McGonagall added, seeing Granger's inquisitive look, and she was right, he was in a blinding white suit that screamed shit-for-dick to anyone with a brain. "And I'd like to bring more diversity to our news team. It will be nice to have someone to push the boys, not to mention have someone that can come in and give us options for our anchor team. Both of them used to be great journalists, but they had such great screen presence that we had to keep them at the desk. We just desire some flexibility, you see."
"I see," said Granger, unable to take her eyes off of Weasley and Potter, sizing them up and trying to decide the best way of shooting them down - in a figurative sense, of course.
"Ron, Harry!" The two mustaches stopped their conversations and grinned over at McGonagall. "I'd like you to meet your new coworker, Hermione Granger."
"A pleasure," Ron said, bounding over the edge of the platform on which the desk stood and dropping to a knee. He playfully took Hermione's hand and kissed it. "I'm Ronald Weasley the First, by the way. Maybe with your help we can make sure that I'm not the last, either."
"Not likely," Hermione muttered, grimacing and withdrawing her hand.
"Leave her be, Ron," Harry laughed. "Sorry for him. I'm Harry Potter. Nice to meet you."
"Yes, the pleasure's mine." It wasn't, but that was hardly the point. "I've heard many things about the two of you."
"Most of which are untrue and unproven in a court of law," Ron said, and it was impossible for Hermione to tell whether he was joking or not.
"Ron's a joker," Harry clarified.
"I can tell," replied Hermione. "Nice mustache, by the way. Maybe one day you'll be able to grow a beard."
Harry frowned at her coldness but decided not to comment. Ron had always been the confrontational one, and he was about to snap back at her when McGonagall intervened.
"Now, now, let's not have squabbling between the three of you." Hermione stared right back at Harry, unafraid of his green eyes. Which were, she decided, actually quite attractive. "Ron can be a bit forward, Hermione, but he means it all in good fun. Now, Hermione here will be doing investigative work -"
"Please tell me she's replacing that miserable excuse of an arse Macmillan," Ron whined. The white suit still shone in the fluorescent lights. "I can't stand his voice for another week, Minnie."
"How many times have I told you not to call me Minnie?" McGonagall flustered. Ron shrugged, and her shoulders sagged in defeat. "Anyway, as I was saying, she'll be doing some investigative work and some anchor work here and there."
"Anchor work?" said Harry, eyebrow raised. "We're adding a third anchor?"
"Well, no, we were planning on rotating. Some, I mean. Just a bit."
"This is an outrage!" Ron exclaimed, cheeks reddening and tongue dancing with his mustache. "Harry and I are the Dynamic Duo! The best team around! We're Batman and Robin, Abbot and Costello, Bonnie and Clyde, Romeo and Juliet, Cronkite and `That's the way it was'! You can't just break that up!"
"We're not - you two are still are number one team." Hermione smirked when McGonagall wasn't looking. For now they were, she thought. "But it will also free you two up to do more investigative work."
Ron still looked angry, but Harry's expression was harder to read.
"I'm not sure about this," he finally said, "but I'm intrigued. I'll give her the benefit of the doubt."
"For now," Ron added in an acid voice, so accurately reflecting her own prior thoughts. "I'm a nice guy, so I'll try to get along. Just don't cockblock us or take away the chess board and I think we'll be all right."
"Er…" Hermione smiled weakly. "Right."
"Ron!" barked Seamus from across the room. "It's the second Thursday of the month!"
McGonagall's face paled. "Excuse me, I have to leave."
And she dashed away, Harry chuckling behind her.
"What's the second Thursday of the month?" Hermione asked, feeling quite alone without the older woman's presence.
"The day before the second Friday of the month," Lavender answered as she softly kneaded Ron's shoulders. Harry touched her hand gently and she stopped, frowning at him.
Hermione rolled her eyes and growled, "No, really?"
"What Lavender is trying to say," Harry explained, wary of the bushy-haired vixen's glare, "is that tomorrow is a very special day."
"And what would that be?"
"SWEEPS FRIDAY!" Ron boomed, leaping up to high-five Harry in the air. An orange blur crashed into them at full speed, sending two anchors and one sports reporter into an ebullient heap on the ground.
"On Sweeps Friday we get together and Ron and Harry's and have a nice little party," Lavender sniffed, obviously hurt by Hermione's sarcasm. "It's technically before the sweeps ratings come out on Saturday morning, but we party for good luck."
"Yeah, everyone enjoys it!" Ron said, playfully tackling Seamus to the ground. "Even you'd enjoy it, Granger!"
Harry laughed and his mustache shook as Seamus kicked Ron in the groin. Hermione thought for a moment, watched Harry's face carefully, and nodded. "Sure. Why not?"
"That's the spirit," Seamus said, pulling both of the anchors to their feet. "I've got a hot date tonight, mates, so I'm gonna have to bail on drinks. Dean's busy, too."
"I bloody well know that," Ron growled. "Don't see what Ginny sees in him, cheeky bastard -"
Ron and Dean had been great chums until two weeks earlier, when Dean had finally gotten up the guts to ask Ginny Weasley out on a date. It had been a raging success and ever since Ron had hated Dean and his silly wannabe afro. He looks like Tina Turner! he loved to tell anyone who was drunk enough to listen.
"No post-news drinks tonight, I guess," Harry sighed. "I guess we'll just go back to the flat and see what's going on there."
"I'll come out for drinks!" Ernie offered.
"Er, no post-news drinks tonight, I guess," Harry repeated, eyeing Ernie with much caution. "C'mon, Ron. Let's get out of here."
"Later, folks!" Ron waved as the mustaches retreated through the studio doors and into the main hallway. "Stay classy, news team!"
Hermione Granger was already formulating Ron and Harry's downfall.
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