Week 7 topic - "What's your favourite guilty pleasure?"
"Oh, not again!"
Neville Longbottom tried to catch his Chocolate Frog as it wriggled out of his fingers and made a desperate bid for freedom, leaping off the end of his bed. He lunged through the curtains but only succeeded in pulling them free of the bed frame as he slithered slowly to the floor, narrowly avoiding a collision with several brooms propped against the wall.
Nobody noticed a streak of grey fur dart from under Neville's bed in the confusion of the laughter-filled half-dark dorm, or heard the faint shuffling and scraping of activity in the shadowy corners of the room.
"You're nod habing much 'uck wib 'em unight, Nebille." Ron's mouth was full of less lively but almost as troublesome Treacle Twisters, the toffee sticking his teeth together as he attempted to move his jaw.
Harry tossed another frog across the room with a grin as Neville pulled himself back up, straightening his dishevelled pyjamas.
"Thanks, Harry." Neville held onto the wrapper tightly as he tipped the frog out into his cupped hand, trapping it safely until it stopped trying to get away.
The room heaved a collective sigh of relief as Neville nibbled on a chocolatey webbed foot at last, wriggling his way happily back into his bed as he chewed.
Gradually the conversation lulled into yawns and the drawing of bed curtains. Jaw finally freed from the sticky toffee, Ron buried himself in his blankets, mumbling incoherent complaints as a dusty nose and too-sharp claws nudged and scrabbled their way alongside him.
"Gerroff, Scabbers." Ron's usual grumble was ignored as always. Scabbers knew he didn't mean it, and if he didn't push and worm his way into the hollow of Ron's arm he'd be missed. Ron was snoring gently by the time he was settled comfortably, warming himself against the boy's heat.
Scabbers settled down for a light doze, keeping an ear open to track the routine of the night in the Gryffindor dorm. He could relax safely; Ron was as predictable in his statue-still sleep habits as the other Weasley boys had been in their fidgeting and arm-flinging. Especially Percy. Scabbers knew for a fact that boy hadn't spent a night with his hand outside his pyjamas for at least five of his school years, not that he held a grudge. Well… maybe for that time he accidentally fell asleep on the boy's right hip and had an unexpected early morning awakening. He ran his tongue around his whiskers and huddled closer to the skin-warmed cotton of Ron's pyjamas, lazily licking occasionally as he snoozed.
- - - - -
A sleepy shuffle of bare feet and a creak of bedsprings woke him a couple of hours later. That would be Seamus coming back to bed after his bathroom visit, right on schedule. Either that boy drank too much pumpkin juice or he had a serious bladder problem developing. Scabbers stretched in his cosy hollow and wriggled his way up until he clawed his way onto the bedclothes. Ron was still sleeping soundly, mouth wide open and breathing heavily.
Dropping silently to the floor, the large grey rat crept over to the bed nearest Neville's, head bobbing sleepily from side to side in the gloom. Dodging a thrown off sheet that trailed down over the side of the bed, he ducked underneath and headed for his hoard. A small gap under a section of missing floorboard never seen by human eyes - to the best of his knowledge anyway - held anything he could nudge into it, and was currently nicely topped up with a collection of escaped Chocolate Frogs. Not a bad evening's haul if he said so himself.
He leaned into the gap and closed his jaws around the hard abdomen of the nearest frog, shuffling it about to grasp it without the awkwardly angled legs sticking into him. Once gripped safely enough he backed up, hind legs scrabbling against the extra weight of the load.
This particular room was perfect for late night excursions. He had discovered many years ago that both it and the nearest bathroom had doors which never quite shut properly unless considerable effort was applied to them; something the boys who used them rarely bothered to do. The doors were on the heavy side for a creature of his size, but with a little effort he could usually get them open enough to slip through. He dropped the frog to the ground and scraped at the side of the door with a dusty paw, levering it enough to get his nose around it and pull it far enough open to slip through. He snatched up the frog and darted through before it could swing slowly back into place.
The Gryffindor bathroom door on this floor was wide open, so he was spared the trouble of dropping his snack again before scurrying through onto the damp tiled floor. He hurried under the nearest cubicle door that was almost closed, and sat up, sniffing and twisting his head a little. With a gesture almost like a shrug, the grey rat suddenly unfolded into a shabby little man, the door behind him slamming shut as his uncurling back suddenly occupied a great deal more space than it had a moment ago.
With a low mumble and a twitch of his nose, Peter Pettigrew struggled awkwardly to his feet, his limbs unused to having room to stretch and to supporting his weight on only two of them. He steadied himself against one wall with a shaking hand, the other retrieving a rather sticky and dirty mass of chocolate from between his yellowish teeth.
Pulling down the toilet seat lid, he sat down, carefully locking the cubicle door. He looked ruefully at the mess in his fingers and carefully began to remove what he could see of the larger bits of fluff and dust in the moonlight. After a few feeble attempts it was too much for him, however, and closing his eyes he slipped the chocolate into his mouth, careless of what was on it as long as he could taste the creamy sticky sweet.
A slapping sound reminiscent of wet skin on tile jerked him out of his temporary ecstasy, and he leaned closer to the door, ready, if unwilling, to change back into Scabbers at a second's notice if his ears hadn't deceived him. He looked down, making sure his feet were well away from the gap under the door.
He croaked a near silent laugh as a pair of round, unblinking yellow eyes stared up at him from near the floor.
"You again, eh, Trevor. We have to stop meeting like this." His voice was cracked and husky from lack of use, and necessarily kept low in the echoing empty bathroom. Trevor just stared up at him expectantly.
"All right, I know." Peter stood up unsteadily to check the high window sill for bugs. As usual there was no shortage of suitable toad snacks way up out of Trevor's reach. Trapping a couple at a time, he settled the glassy-eyed toad on top of the cistern and fed his supper to him as he licked every last trace of the melted chocolate from his lips, swirling it around his mouth slowly.
It was good to have a friend, even one as silent as Trevor. In fact, Trevor was just about perfect. People made even more fun of him than they did of Scabbers. He couldn't give away Peter's secret even if they fell out and gave up their occasional midnight snacks together.
But there was one thing above all that made him the best friend a rat with few pleasures in life could have, Peter decided as he carefully put the satisfied toad down on the floor and prepared to change back into Scabbers.
Trevor didn't like chocolate.
Muse: Peter Pettigrew
Fandom: Harry Potter
Words: 1304
Neville Longbottom tried to catch his Chocolate Frog as it wriggled out of his fingers and made a desperate bid for freedom, leaping off the end of his bed. He lunged through the curtains but only succeeded in pulling them free of the bed frame as he slithered slowly to the floor, narrowly avoiding a collision with several brooms propped against the wall.
Nobody noticed a streak of grey fur dart from under Neville's bed in the confusion of the laughter-filled half-dark dorm, or heard the faint shuffling and scraping of activity in the shadowy corners of the room.
"You're nod habing much 'uck wib 'em unight, Nebille." Ron's mouth was full of less lively but almost as troublesome Treacle Twisters, the toffee sticking his teeth together as he attempted to move his jaw.
Harry tossed another frog across the room with a grin as Neville pulled himself back up, straightening his dishevelled pyjamas.
"Thanks, Harry." Neville held onto the wrapper tightly as he tipped the frog out into his cupped hand, trapping it safely until it stopped trying to get away.
The room heaved a collective sigh of relief as Neville nibbled on a chocolatey webbed foot at last, wriggling his way happily back into his bed as he chewed.
Gradually the conversation lulled into yawns and the drawing of bed curtains. Jaw finally freed from the sticky toffee, Ron buried himself in his blankets, mumbling incoherent complaints as a dusty nose and too-sharp claws nudged and scrabbled their way alongside him.
"Gerroff, Scabbers." Ron's usual grumble was ignored as always. Scabbers knew he didn't mean it, and if he didn't push and worm his way into the hollow of Ron's arm he'd be missed. Ron was snoring gently by the time he was settled comfortably, warming himself against the boy's heat.
Scabbers settled down for a light doze, keeping an ear open to track the routine of the night in the Gryffindor dorm. He could relax safely; Ron was as predictable in his statue-still sleep habits as the other Weasley boys had been in their fidgeting and arm-flinging. Especially Percy. Scabbers knew for a fact that boy hadn't spent a night with his hand outside his pyjamas for at least five of his school years, not that he held a grudge. Well… maybe for that time he accidentally fell asleep on the boy's right hip and had an unexpected early morning awakening. He ran his tongue around his whiskers and huddled closer to the skin-warmed cotton of Ron's pyjamas, lazily licking occasionally as he snoozed.
- - - - -
A sleepy shuffle of bare feet and a creak of bedsprings woke him a couple of hours later. That would be Seamus coming back to bed after his bathroom visit, right on schedule. Either that boy drank too much pumpkin juice or he had a serious bladder problem developing. Scabbers stretched in his cosy hollow and wriggled his way up until he clawed his way onto the bedclothes. Ron was still sleeping soundly, mouth wide open and breathing heavily.
Dropping silently to the floor, the large grey rat crept over to the bed nearest Neville's, head bobbing sleepily from side to side in the gloom. Dodging a thrown off sheet that trailed down over the side of the bed, he ducked underneath and headed for his hoard. A small gap under a section of missing floorboard never seen by human eyes - to the best of his knowledge anyway - held anything he could nudge into it, and was currently nicely topped up with a collection of escaped Chocolate Frogs. Not a bad evening's haul if he said so himself.
He leaned into the gap and closed his jaws around the hard abdomen of the nearest frog, shuffling it about to grasp it without the awkwardly angled legs sticking into him. Once gripped safely enough he backed up, hind legs scrabbling against the extra weight of the load.
This particular room was perfect for late night excursions. He had discovered many years ago that both it and the nearest bathroom had doors which never quite shut properly unless considerable effort was applied to them; something the boys who used them rarely bothered to do. The doors were on the heavy side for a creature of his size, but with a little effort he could usually get them open enough to slip through. He dropped the frog to the ground and scraped at the side of the door with a dusty paw, levering it enough to get his nose around it and pull it far enough open to slip through. He snatched up the frog and darted through before it could swing slowly back into place.
The Gryffindor bathroom door on this floor was wide open, so he was spared the trouble of dropping his snack again before scurrying through onto the damp tiled floor. He hurried under the nearest cubicle door that was almost closed, and sat up, sniffing and twisting his head a little. With a gesture almost like a shrug, the grey rat suddenly unfolded into a shabby little man, the door behind him slamming shut as his uncurling back suddenly occupied a great deal more space than it had a moment ago.
With a low mumble and a twitch of his nose, Peter Pettigrew struggled awkwardly to his feet, his limbs unused to having room to stretch and to supporting his weight on only two of them. He steadied himself against one wall with a shaking hand, the other retrieving a rather sticky and dirty mass of chocolate from between his yellowish teeth.
Pulling down the toilet seat lid, he sat down, carefully locking the cubicle door. He looked ruefully at the mess in his fingers and carefully began to remove what he could see of the larger bits of fluff and dust in the moonlight. After a few feeble attempts it was too much for him, however, and closing his eyes he slipped the chocolate into his mouth, careless of what was on it as long as he could taste the creamy sticky sweet.
A slapping sound reminiscent of wet skin on tile jerked him out of his temporary ecstasy, and he leaned closer to the door, ready, if unwilling, to change back into Scabbers at a second's notice if his ears hadn't deceived him. He looked down, making sure his feet were well away from the gap under the door.
He croaked a near silent laugh as a pair of round, unblinking yellow eyes stared up at him from near the floor.
"You again, eh, Trevor. We have to stop meeting like this." His voice was cracked and husky from lack of use, and necessarily kept low in the echoing empty bathroom. Trevor just stared up at him expectantly.
"All right, I know." Peter stood up unsteadily to check the high window sill for bugs. As usual there was no shortage of suitable toad snacks way up out of Trevor's reach. Trapping a couple at a time, he settled the glassy-eyed toad on top of the cistern and fed his supper to him as he licked every last trace of the melted chocolate from his lips, swirling it around his mouth slowly.
It was good to have a friend, even one as silent as Trevor. In fact, Trevor was just about perfect. People made even more fun of him than they did of Scabbers. He couldn't give away Peter's secret even if they fell out and gave up their occasional midnight snacks together.
But there was one thing above all that made him the best friend a rat with few pleasures in life could have, Peter decided as he carefully put the satisfied toad down on the floor and prepared to change back into Scabbers.
Trevor didn't like chocolate.
Muse: Peter Pettigrew
Fandom: Harry Potter
Words: 1304