person123
11-23-2006, 11:04 AM
I was in the mood for a creative break from my November novel, so I wrote this short little thing in the Harry Potter universe.
Blueberry Pie
Harry always liked eating pie. It was one of his few indulgences. If he couldn’t take some time off from finding a way to defeat Voldemort, sorting through his jumbled and confused feelings for Ginny, and trying to deal with all of his emotional scars, he could at least garner some comfort from eating pie, right?
How wrong Harry was.
“Hey Harry! Long time no see, eh?”
Harry turned around in his seat to glare in utter disbelief at his friend Ron.
“What are you talking about? I’ve been staying at your house for the last month and a half, and I sleep in your room.”
Ron’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Wha…really? You mean my whole life before this has been a complete LIE? Oh my God, what am I going to do? I don’t even know who I am anymore, I don’t know who YOU are—“ he began to scream, jabbing Harry furiously between the ribs. Then he abruptly stopped and walked away in a daze, and Harry stared after him for several moments, bewildered.
“Sorry Harry, I’ve been practicing some memory charms on him. Everything he remembers happening in the last two weeks has been erased.” Hermione ran after the tall redhead into the Weasleys’ backyard, waving her wand and muttering Latin phrases in vain.
Harry frowned, and then, deciding it wasn’t worth worrying about, went back to his slice of pie. He stared out the kitchen window dreamily while digging his fork into the tart, bringing the fork to his mouth. He frowned. Something wasn’t right. He wasn’t tasting the delicious sweetness of his blueberry pie exploding on his tongue. All he could feel with his tongue was the cold metal of the fork. He brought his gaze from the beautiful blue sky, where soft, lacy clouds drifted by lazily, to his plate, expecting to see the mound of dribbling blueberry goodness that he had put there upon realizing Mrs. Weasley had made pie that afternoon.
Instead, all he saw was a small puddle of purple jelly and a few crumbs.
Harry saw red.
His nostrils flared, his eyes narrowed, his eyebrows drew together on his forehead like a big black caterpillar. He immediately stood up, setting his empty fork on the table with as much force as he could muster without stabbing a hole through the worn-down wood.
“WHO TOOK MY PIE?”
Normally, when a cry is blood-curdling, people describe it as a shriek or a scream. But Harry let loose a bloodcurdling roar that chilled the very insides of one Ginny Weasley. She quickly set off, holding the plate of blueberry pie in front of her as steady as possible so as not to drop it on the ground. She ran for the old, gnarled tree that must have been a mile away from the Burrow and scrambled up its trunk, still cradling the blueberry pie in her arms.
Harry tried to calm himself. There was more blueberry pie in the pie pan on the windowsill, right? He might as well eat his pie first, and then go after the thieving cur who had stolen his pie. But when he reached the windowsill, the pan was empty. Not one slice of blueberry pie remained.
Harry’s nostrils flared, his eyes narrowed, his eyebrows drew together on his forehead like a big black caterpillar.
He roared once again, in a blood-curdling manner, of course, and burst out into the sunshine raining down on the sweet-smelling grass in the yard. However, all these lovely sentiments did nothing to calm his mood, and he took a long sniff. Years of coveting whatever blueberry pie he could had trained his nose to detect the slightest whiff of blueberries, and soon he had caught the scent. He ran after it, sniffing repeatedly to keep on the trail.
Where was the pie? Harry growled to himself, his hands beginning to shake, his mouth watering. He needed to eat blueberry pie. Once he caught the scent, he wouldn’t be able to rest until he had gotten what he wanted. He continued his search, raking his eyes across the fields in search of something that would signal the location of his beloved pie.
Meanwhile, Ginny curled herself into a ball in the highest branches of the tree. She had no idea why Ron had told her to steal all the blueberry pie, only that it sounded like a right good idea at the time, and great fun at that. So she did as she was told, scooping all the slices she could find in the entire house onto one big plate while Ron and Hermione distracted Harry and whisking it away to her secret hiding place.
Ron had instructed to stay where she was and keep the pie with her at all costs, no matter what happened. That bit of advice had sounded strange at the moment, but as Harry’s blood-curdling roars shook the household she soon discovered the reason why. It was a well-known fact that Harry loved his blueberry pie almost as much as he loved Quidditch, and she was amazed that no one had thought of depriving him of it as a prank before now.
However, now that she was sitting in the tree, she realized that she had missed lunch in all the excitement of her prank, and since she had slept in that morning she had missed breakfast. The blueberry pie smelled delicious.
…
Harry sighed, his face cupped in his hands as he sobbed brokenly. Where in the world was his pie? He had been searching for what must have been an hour, looking all over the Burrow and the land surrounding it. At one point he thought he was extremely close to the blueberry pie, judging from the strength of the smell in his nose, but he still didn’t find it.
He thought he would be in for the greatest treat of his life when he saw Mrs. Weasley making the pie—until then he’d only tasted it at Hogwarts, and if the other food made by Mrs. Weasley was any judge this pie would’ve been delicious. But now all prospects of eating the heaven-sent dessert looked gray and flat, and he was about to give up.
Suddenly he smelled it, and his other senses went hazy with desire. The blueberries…he was close, he knew it. He stumbled to his feet and wandered about, not knowing where he was going. He bumped into a tree, and, without thinking, began climbing it. Surely he would see it from the view at the top of the tree!
He heard a small noise of surprise, and it brought him out of his daze. He frowned—his eyes were unfocused, and all he could see was a blur of red and purple. As his eyes came into focus, he saw Ginny.
She was sitting in the seat formed by a myriad of branches and leaves, and in her arms was a plate covered in pie crumbs and bits of blueberries. Her white sundress was stained violet, and her hands were sticky and purple as well. Her hair was tousled and filled with leaves and small twigs, and on her face was a look of pure surprise, finished off with the gigantic ‘O’ her purple mouth formed.
Harry thought she had never looked more beautiful.
“You took my pie.”
Ginny nodded fearfully, frightened by the unreadable expression on his face. He leaned closer to her.
“And then you ate it all.”
She nodded once again, licking her lips from the sticky sweet juice from the fresh blueberries her mother had used.
“You know I won’t be able to eat any for a while now.”
Ginny couldn’t breathe. His eyes were dark with something she had never seen in them before, and she clutched the empty plate closer to herself.
“So I suppose I’ll just have to have the next best thing.”
Before either of them knew what was happening, he ducked his head down to her level and kissed her.
When Harry pulled back, he smiled despite the layer of blue gunk coating his lips. It had tasted even better than he’d expected.
…
Ron and Hermione were sitting on the saggy couch in the livingroom of the Burrow, his arm around her shoulders.
“So, your diabolical plan worked?” Hermione asked with a small smile, her head nestled in the crook of his arm.
Ron grinned as well, quite pleased with himself. “I’m proud to say it did. Harry had no idea what was coming to him. Ginny was quite clueless as well. Surprising, to say the least. I’d have thought she would’ve seen right through our plan.”
“It wasn’t very well thought out, anyway. No one would’ve understood it.”
Ron gasped in mock outrage. “What are you talking about?”
“All you did was tell Ginny to steal Harry’s pie, and run for it. What kind of plan is that?”
“It’s a plan that worked. Harry’s snogging Ginny. There we go.”
“Speaking of snogging…”
I know this is somewhat unrealistic. We all know Ron just doesn't have the balls to ask Hermione to be his girlfriend, and that Harry's favorite dessert is treacle tart (or maybe I'm just the only HP nerd here). I just like to take advantage of my artistic liberty.
Blueberry Pie
Harry always liked eating pie. It was one of his few indulgences. If he couldn’t take some time off from finding a way to defeat Voldemort, sorting through his jumbled and confused feelings for Ginny, and trying to deal with all of his emotional scars, he could at least garner some comfort from eating pie, right?
How wrong Harry was.
“Hey Harry! Long time no see, eh?”
Harry turned around in his seat to glare in utter disbelief at his friend Ron.
“What are you talking about? I’ve been staying at your house for the last month and a half, and I sleep in your room.”
Ron’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Wha…really? You mean my whole life before this has been a complete LIE? Oh my God, what am I going to do? I don’t even know who I am anymore, I don’t know who YOU are—“ he began to scream, jabbing Harry furiously between the ribs. Then he abruptly stopped and walked away in a daze, and Harry stared after him for several moments, bewildered.
“Sorry Harry, I’ve been practicing some memory charms on him. Everything he remembers happening in the last two weeks has been erased.” Hermione ran after the tall redhead into the Weasleys’ backyard, waving her wand and muttering Latin phrases in vain.
Harry frowned, and then, deciding it wasn’t worth worrying about, went back to his slice of pie. He stared out the kitchen window dreamily while digging his fork into the tart, bringing the fork to his mouth. He frowned. Something wasn’t right. He wasn’t tasting the delicious sweetness of his blueberry pie exploding on his tongue. All he could feel with his tongue was the cold metal of the fork. He brought his gaze from the beautiful blue sky, where soft, lacy clouds drifted by lazily, to his plate, expecting to see the mound of dribbling blueberry goodness that he had put there upon realizing Mrs. Weasley had made pie that afternoon.
Instead, all he saw was a small puddle of purple jelly and a few crumbs.
Harry saw red.
His nostrils flared, his eyes narrowed, his eyebrows drew together on his forehead like a big black caterpillar. He immediately stood up, setting his empty fork on the table with as much force as he could muster without stabbing a hole through the worn-down wood.
“WHO TOOK MY PIE?”
Normally, when a cry is blood-curdling, people describe it as a shriek or a scream. But Harry let loose a bloodcurdling roar that chilled the very insides of one Ginny Weasley. She quickly set off, holding the plate of blueberry pie in front of her as steady as possible so as not to drop it on the ground. She ran for the old, gnarled tree that must have been a mile away from the Burrow and scrambled up its trunk, still cradling the blueberry pie in her arms.
Harry tried to calm himself. There was more blueberry pie in the pie pan on the windowsill, right? He might as well eat his pie first, and then go after the thieving cur who had stolen his pie. But when he reached the windowsill, the pan was empty. Not one slice of blueberry pie remained.
Harry’s nostrils flared, his eyes narrowed, his eyebrows drew together on his forehead like a big black caterpillar.
He roared once again, in a blood-curdling manner, of course, and burst out into the sunshine raining down on the sweet-smelling grass in the yard. However, all these lovely sentiments did nothing to calm his mood, and he took a long sniff. Years of coveting whatever blueberry pie he could had trained his nose to detect the slightest whiff of blueberries, and soon he had caught the scent. He ran after it, sniffing repeatedly to keep on the trail.
Where was the pie? Harry growled to himself, his hands beginning to shake, his mouth watering. He needed to eat blueberry pie. Once he caught the scent, he wouldn’t be able to rest until he had gotten what he wanted. He continued his search, raking his eyes across the fields in search of something that would signal the location of his beloved pie.
Meanwhile, Ginny curled herself into a ball in the highest branches of the tree. She had no idea why Ron had told her to steal all the blueberry pie, only that it sounded like a right good idea at the time, and great fun at that. So she did as she was told, scooping all the slices she could find in the entire house onto one big plate while Ron and Hermione distracted Harry and whisking it away to her secret hiding place.
Ron had instructed to stay where she was and keep the pie with her at all costs, no matter what happened. That bit of advice had sounded strange at the moment, but as Harry’s blood-curdling roars shook the household she soon discovered the reason why. It was a well-known fact that Harry loved his blueberry pie almost as much as he loved Quidditch, and she was amazed that no one had thought of depriving him of it as a prank before now.
However, now that she was sitting in the tree, she realized that she had missed lunch in all the excitement of her prank, and since she had slept in that morning she had missed breakfast. The blueberry pie smelled delicious.
…
Harry sighed, his face cupped in his hands as he sobbed brokenly. Where in the world was his pie? He had been searching for what must have been an hour, looking all over the Burrow and the land surrounding it. At one point he thought he was extremely close to the blueberry pie, judging from the strength of the smell in his nose, but he still didn’t find it.
He thought he would be in for the greatest treat of his life when he saw Mrs. Weasley making the pie—until then he’d only tasted it at Hogwarts, and if the other food made by Mrs. Weasley was any judge this pie would’ve been delicious. But now all prospects of eating the heaven-sent dessert looked gray and flat, and he was about to give up.
Suddenly he smelled it, and his other senses went hazy with desire. The blueberries…he was close, he knew it. He stumbled to his feet and wandered about, not knowing where he was going. He bumped into a tree, and, without thinking, began climbing it. Surely he would see it from the view at the top of the tree!
He heard a small noise of surprise, and it brought him out of his daze. He frowned—his eyes were unfocused, and all he could see was a blur of red and purple. As his eyes came into focus, he saw Ginny.
She was sitting in the seat formed by a myriad of branches and leaves, and in her arms was a plate covered in pie crumbs and bits of blueberries. Her white sundress was stained violet, and her hands were sticky and purple as well. Her hair was tousled and filled with leaves and small twigs, and on her face was a look of pure surprise, finished off with the gigantic ‘O’ her purple mouth formed.
Harry thought she had never looked more beautiful.
“You took my pie.”
Ginny nodded fearfully, frightened by the unreadable expression on his face. He leaned closer to her.
“And then you ate it all.”
She nodded once again, licking her lips from the sticky sweet juice from the fresh blueberries her mother had used.
“You know I won’t be able to eat any for a while now.”
Ginny couldn’t breathe. His eyes were dark with something she had never seen in them before, and she clutched the empty plate closer to herself.
“So I suppose I’ll just have to have the next best thing.”
Before either of them knew what was happening, he ducked his head down to her level and kissed her.
When Harry pulled back, he smiled despite the layer of blue gunk coating his lips. It had tasted even better than he’d expected.
…
Ron and Hermione were sitting on the saggy couch in the livingroom of the Burrow, his arm around her shoulders.
“So, your diabolical plan worked?” Hermione asked with a small smile, her head nestled in the crook of his arm.
Ron grinned as well, quite pleased with himself. “I’m proud to say it did. Harry had no idea what was coming to him. Ginny was quite clueless as well. Surprising, to say the least. I’d have thought she would’ve seen right through our plan.”
“It wasn’t very well thought out, anyway. No one would’ve understood it.”
Ron gasped in mock outrage. “What are you talking about?”
“All you did was tell Ginny to steal Harry’s pie, and run for it. What kind of plan is that?”
“It’s a plan that worked. Harry’s snogging Ginny. There we go.”
“Speaking of snogging…”
I know this is somewhat unrealistic. We all know Ron just doesn't have the balls to ask Hermione to be his girlfriend, and that Harry's favorite dessert is treacle tart (or maybe I'm just the only HP nerd here). I just like to take advantage of my artistic liberty.