The Meredith Series

Title: The Purple Blob.
Author:sa_kun On LJ
Rating: Child-friendly
Prompt Set: 50.1
Prompt: 022, purple
Word Count: 519
Summary: The Fantasy Flurry
Warnings: None
Notes:

Purple | 022

“I, um…” Harry trails off, a frown on his face. “No?” he chances.

Ron's jaw drops and Ginny groans. The twins cackle. Obviously the wrong word. He makes to stand, Charlie’s name on his lips, but Ron grabs his wrist and tugs him back down. Harry pulls away with a flinch and a glare. “Don't touch me!” he hisses.

Hermione frowns, her eyes troubled and it is obvious to Harry that she is trying to work out his far too peculiar behaviour. The rest of the Weasleys shrug it off, if they even notice. He wonders sometimes if Granger doesn’t read too much into everything because she is too curious by far and a busybody, indeed.

“But seriously,” Ron exclaims. “You don't have a favourite team?!”

“You make it sound as if it is a terrible offence, Ron.”

He has begun using their given names solely because it is far less confusing. To the Weasleys that is. Harry thought he had perfectly fine and usable names for them. Charlie disagreed.

“Well,” he sputters, “It is!”

Harry blinks slowly. “Charlie?”

“Puuuwpa!” Meredith answers for him, jabbing his hand out towards Harry. There is a purple ball in his grubby fist.

Harry nods. “Very good, Meredith. The Prides,” he says to Ron.

Ron blinks. “The...Prides?”

“They are purple, aren't they? Charlie?” Charlie sits down on the armrest of the armchair and Meredith at once tumbles off his lap and down into Harry's. The child giggles and claps his hands.

“They are. Used to like them in school.”

“‘A-rie?”

“Yes, Meredith?”

Meredith holds out his hand. “Puuuwpa,” he says and places the sticky ball in Harry's hand.

“Thank you.” Meredith grins and claps his hands again.

“But don't you like Quidditch?” Ginny asks, looking both curious and as if she is just barely refraining from scowling. He suspects it's because Harry's addition to the Slytherin Quidditch team had cost Gryffindor the Cup three years in a row. The only way that offence could be made worse would be if Harry were completely uninterested and indifferent to the game.

Harry shrugs. He runs his hand through Meredith's soft auburn hair and the child curls up to his chest, eyes drooping. “Yeah, I guess. But I don't really care about who wins when I don't know the players.”

“George. Fred,” Charlie suddenly growls and Harry looks up to see him investigating the purple blob. The twins grin and edge back. “What the fuck—”

“It's a Fantasy Flurry!” George exclaims and Fred nods enthusiastically.

“Fairies and birds and elves—”

“—and stars and sparks come out of it when you smash it under your boot!”

“Children love them!”

“I am banning them,” Harry says quietly. “No more of your products in my home.”

“What do you think would've happened if Meredith put it in his mouth?”

“...'A-rie...puuuwpa...” Meredith mumbles, fast asleep.

“Hasn't Bill already told you not to—”

“—he did, most honourable brother,” Fred nods solemnly.

“Aye,” George agrees. “Never again.”

“We beg your humble apologies, Masters.”

“Twats,” Harry mutters. He runs he fingers through Meredith’s soft hair.

Next>>>>