A Bitter Bean to Swallow
Challenge: Ron, bouillabaisse flavored bean, Ron's dorm room
Rating: K+
Words: 1350
Summary: How can something you've never tasted for be associated with a memory?
Muscles aching after a brutal practice, Ron shambled off the pitch, sighing when he heard Angelina barking at everyone to show up early tomorrow. He was doing good just to get through a regular practice, without adding more time to it. As it was, he felt as if he was going to be violently sick the entire time he was in the air. He wished Harry was here, because he could have used the support. Ginny was there, but she was family, and that didn't quite count. At least if family had to be around, it wasn't his brothers. He hated that they had been chucked off the team, but they were far less likely to embarrass him than Ginny was.
Twitchy little first, second, and third years roamed the halls, and Ron waded through them, calling out a few halfhearted warnings as he passed by. There. He was acting like a prefect; Hermione would be proud. Prouder than she would be about his skills as a Keeper, anyway. He shook his head as he entered the prefect’s bathroom, not wanting his mind to go there. Fiddling with the taps, he took off his sweaty Quidditch gear as quickly as possible, tossing it on the floor by his bag. With a groan, he slid into the warm water, letting his body relax. As the muscles in his thighs throbbed from gripping the broom, he had to wonder if all this was worth it. He had tried out for Quidditch for several reasons, but he didn't seem to be making any headway on any of them.
He ducked his head under the water, blowing bubbles thoughtfully. One reason he had joined had been to prove to himself that he was good enough. He had thought that if he was good at something, it would drown out the nagging voices in his head that were constantly telling him that he was never going to make anything of himself. So far, the only thing he had proven was that he wasn't going to be scouted for the professional leagues anytime in the near (or distant, for that matter) future. Another reason was to show that he could do anything his brothers could do; second verse, same as the first. His third reason...... well, that was obvious, wasn't it?
Hermione.
He didn't know why he had thought it had been such a brilliant idea to impress her with Quidditch. It wasn't as if she was keen on the sport. He paddled into the middle of the bath, and floated on his back as he gloomily contemplated further. Alright, he was lying. He did know why. He thought that maybe, just maybe, she might fancy a Quidditch player, since she had gone with Krum to the Ball. The results had fallen as flat as his confidence level, but he couldn’t say he blamed her. It wasn't as if his performance up to now had been very inspiring. But what else could he do? Aside from staring at her like an addled fish, he didn't have any other ideas about how to get her attention.
Thinking that he had spent enough time in the water, he decided to get out before he resembled a pink prune. He toweled off, and pulled out his slightly rumpled uniform out of his bag. After finger-combing his wet hair, he gathered his things and made his way up to the Common Room, where Hermione was busily scratching away on a piece of parchment. For once, the room was otherwise empty, and Ron looked upon it as a golden chance to spend some time alone with her. He walked over to the small table where she sat, and tossed his bag into one of the empty chairs.
“Hey, Hermione. Harry still in detention?”
She gave a startled jump at the sound of his voice, but smiled up at him. “Yes, and I expect we won't see him for hours, yet. I really wish he’d stop being stubborn, and tell McGonagall about his hand.”
Ron thought she was right, but he knew Harry would only get more irritated if they pushed him. “Are those your Transfiguration notes? Can I have a look?” He asked, hoping it would head her off before she decided to badger Harry again.
Quickly, she covered the parchment with her hand. “Um, no, my notes are in my room; I’ll bring them down later, if you’d like, although you really should learn to take better ones for yourself. I just have to finish this letter to Viktor, and take a shower before the rush hits, alright?”
At hearing the name of the person she was writing, he deflated. Why would she want to talk to someone who had nearly fallen off their broom twice during practice, when she had Viktor Bloody Krum? Eyes averted, he picked up his bag.
“Sure, later’s fine. I’ll just.....go and put my things up.”
Ignoring her puzzled look, he tromped upstairs to his dorm, thankful to be the only one there. Neville must still be out in the greenhouses, and he knew that Seamus and Dean were in the library, desperately trying to finish the Potions assignment that was due tomorrow. He threw his bag on top of his trunk, and then fell gracelessly onto his bed, groaning into his pillow. He lay there for a few minutes, letting himself feel dismal. Today hadn't been one of his best, and he could use something to cheer him up. Brightening, he remembered that he had some sweets squirreled away in his night table, and he rolled over to raid his stash. He had already decimated the Chocolate Frogs, so he had to settle for a box of Bertie Bott’s Beans. He popped a medium brown one into his mouth, and bit down hesitantly; turkey. Eating them one by one, he was careful to set aside any that looked questionable, saving them up for a prank he had planned for Fred and George.
After a parsnip flavored bean (which he wasn't sure how he felt about) he dug out a white one, with small flecks of color. It reminded him of the Muggle cake Hermione’s mum had given him when he and his dad had gone to pick her up that summer. It wasn't very likely to be the same flavor, but he decided risk it anyway.
He bit down, and the flavor spread like a warm flood across his tongue. It wasn't cake-like at all; in fact, it was almost completely unfamiliar to Ron, although there were some bits he recognized. Fish, and some sort of herbs and spices. As he was puzzling over it, a memory came to him of Hermione describing something like this last year; what was it, again? It had sounded like a sneeze. B something.....boo....booli..... Bouillabaisse! That was it! He had refused to try it at the time, but it was actually quite tasty.
Why hadn't he tried the stuff when it had been right there on the table in front of him? He had been too busy making a numpty of himself over Fleur and her Veela magic. As he chewed, he thought about last year, and how much he had missed out on. He had been too busy worrying about his image to realize that Hermione would have been the perfect girl to ask, until it was too late. He hadn't listened to her, and had given his chance to someone who was smart enough to see her for what she was, instead of just as his other friend. And now......now he had probably lost her for good. He was helpless to get her attention, and she was already pretty cosy with someone he could never compare to outside of his wildest dreams. He swallowed the bean around the lump in his throat, nearly choking, the flavor taking on a tinge of bitterness. He knew it was supposed to taste like fish stew, rich and savory.
But if anyone ever asked, he’d have to say that it tasted an awful lot like regret.
Rating: K+
Words: 1350
Summary: How can something you've never tasted for be associated with a memory?
Muscles aching after a brutal practice, Ron shambled off the pitch, sighing when he heard Angelina barking at everyone to show up early tomorrow. He was doing good just to get through a regular practice, without adding more time to it. As it was, he felt as if he was going to be violently sick the entire time he was in the air. He wished Harry was here, because he could have used the support. Ginny was there, but she was family, and that didn't quite count. At least if family had to be around, it wasn't his brothers. He hated that they had been chucked off the team, but they were far less likely to embarrass him than Ginny was.
Twitchy little first, second, and third years roamed the halls, and Ron waded through them, calling out a few halfhearted warnings as he passed by. There. He was acting like a prefect; Hermione would be proud. Prouder than she would be about his skills as a Keeper, anyway. He shook his head as he entered the prefect’s bathroom, not wanting his mind to go there. Fiddling with the taps, he took off his sweaty Quidditch gear as quickly as possible, tossing it on the floor by his bag. With a groan, he slid into the warm water, letting his body relax. As the muscles in his thighs throbbed from gripping the broom, he had to wonder if all this was worth it. He had tried out for Quidditch for several reasons, but he didn't seem to be making any headway on any of them.
He ducked his head under the water, blowing bubbles thoughtfully. One reason he had joined had been to prove to himself that he was good enough. He had thought that if he was good at something, it would drown out the nagging voices in his head that were constantly telling him that he was never going to make anything of himself. So far, the only thing he had proven was that he wasn't going to be scouted for the professional leagues anytime in the near (or distant, for that matter) future. Another reason was to show that he could do anything his brothers could do; second verse, same as the first. His third reason...... well, that was obvious, wasn't it?
Hermione.
He didn't know why he had thought it had been such a brilliant idea to impress her with Quidditch. It wasn't as if she was keen on the sport. He paddled into the middle of the bath, and floated on his back as he gloomily contemplated further. Alright, he was lying. He did know why. He thought that maybe, just maybe, she might fancy a Quidditch player, since she had gone with Krum to the Ball. The results had fallen as flat as his confidence level, but he couldn’t say he blamed her. It wasn't as if his performance up to now had been very inspiring. But what else could he do? Aside from staring at her like an addled fish, he didn't have any other ideas about how to get her attention.
Thinking that he had spent enough time in the water, he decided to get out before he resembled a pink prune. He toweled off, and pulled out his slightly rumpled uniform out of his bag. After finger-combing his wet hair, he gathered his things and made his way up to the Common Room, where Hermione was busily scratching away on a piece of parchment. For once, the room was otherwise empty, and Ron looked upon it as a golden chance to spend some time alone with her. He walked over to the small table where she sat, and tossed his bag into one of the empty chairs.
“Hey, Hermione. Harry still in detention?”
She gave a startled jump at the sound of his voice, but smiled up at him. “Yes, and I expect we won't see him for hours, yet. I really wish he’d stop being stubborn, and tell McGonagall about his hand.”
Ron thought she was right, but he knew Harry would only get more irritated if they pushed him. “Are those your Transfiguration notes? Can I have a look?” He asked, hoping it would head her off before she decided to badger Harry again.
Quickly, she covered the parchment with her hand. “Um, no, my notes are in my room; I’ll bring them down later, if you’d like, although you really should learn to take better ones for yourself. I just have to finish this letter to Viktor, and take a shower before the rush hits, alright?”
At hearing the name of the person she was writing, he deflated. Why would she want to talk to someone who had nearly fallen off their broom twice during practice, when she had Viktor Bloody Krum? Eyes averted, he picked up his bag.
“Sure, later’s fine. I’ll just.....go and put my things up.”
Ignoring her puzzled look, he tromped upstairs to his dorm, thankful to be the only one there. Neville must still be out in the greenhouses, and he knew that Seamus and Dean were in the library, desperately trying to finish the Potions assignment that was due tomorrow. He threw his bag on top of his trunk, and then fell gracelessly onto his bed, groaning into his pillow. He lay there for a few minutes, letting himself feel dismal. Today hadn't been one of his best, and he could use something to cheer him up. Brightening, he remembered that he had some sweets squirreled away in his night table, and he rolled over to raid his stash. He had already decimated the Chocolate Frogs, so he had to settle for a box of Bertie Bott’s Beans. He popped a medium brown one into his mouth, and bit down hesitantly; turkey. Eating them one by one, he was careful to set aside any that looked questionable, saving them up for a prank he had planned for Fred and George.
After a parsnip flavored bean (which he wasn't sure how he felt about) he dug out a white one, with small flecks of color. It reminded him of the Muggle cake Hermione’s mum had given him when he and his dad had gone to pick her up that summer. It wasn't very likely to be the same flavor, but he decided risk it anyway.
He bit down, and the flavor spread like a warm flood across his tongue. It wasn't cake-like at all; in fact, it was almost completely unfamiliar to Ron, although there were some bits he recognized. Fish, and some sort of herbs and spices. As he was puzzling over it, a memory came to him of Hermione describing something like this last year; what was it, again? It had sounded like a sneeze. B something.....boo....booli..... Bouillabaisse! That was it! He had refused to try it at the time, but it was actually quite tasty.
Why hadn't he tried the stuff when it had been right there on the table in front of him? He had been too busy making a numpty of himself over Fleur and her Veela magic. As he chewed, he thought about last year, and how much he had missed out on. He had been too busy worrying about his image to realize that Hermione would have been the perfect girl to ask, until it was too late. He hadn't listened to her, and had given his chance to someone who was smart enough to see her for what she was, instead of just as his other friend. And now......now he had probably lost her for good. He was helpless to get her attention, and she was already pretty cosy with someone he could never compare to outside of his wildest dreams. He swallowed the bean around the lump in his throat, nearly choking, the flavor taking on a tinge of bitterness. He knew it was supposed to taste like fish stew, rich and savory.
But if anyone ever asked, he’d have to say that it tasted an awful lot like regret.