This story was written for the First Round of the Seventh Season of the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition. I'm writing as Beater 1 for the Tutshill Tornados.
Name of the round: Snake Humor
Prompt for Beater 1: "Four Yorkshiremen". Best dialogue? "You were lucky to have a LAKE! There were a hundred and sixty of us living in a small shoebox in the middle of the road." / "Cardboard box?" / "Aye." / "You were lucky. We lived three months in a brown paper bag in a septic tank." Write about making a mountain out of a molehill.
These are the optional prompts I'm using:
1. Humour (genre)
2. Cream (color)
Disclaimer: I don't own any part of the world J.K. Rowling has created.
Thanks to my team for betaing!
WARNING: I don't know the first thing about baking, so please forgive me if you try to bake this pie and it doesn't meet your (probably very high) expectations.
Title: Potter's World Famous Choco-Dream Cream Pie
Words: 2998
It was Saturday, 14th August 2004, and Harry Potter woke up late.
"Oh no no no!" he exclaimed as he read the clock opposite him stating that it was half past ten, "This wasn't meant to happen! Merlin, Robards is going to Avada me." Harry jumped around his room, hastily clothing himself with whatever was lying around. He practically leaped to the bathroom, where he found the door locked. Now in full-on panic mode, he banged his fist on the door, "RON! I'm so late for work, mate. I need to use the bathroom before I get into more trouble."
Out the door came six-foot-tall Ronald Weasley in his Chudley Cannons boxers and matching tank, calmly brushing his teeth. "'arry, for Gah-ric's sahk-"
Harry interrupted him, "Can you remove that shite from your mouth first?"
"Oh, oh-khay," the redhead took out the toothbrush, spat out the fluids, then wiped his face with his bare arm. "Don't you remember when Robards forced you to take the day off today, seeing as you haven't had a break from fighting evil wizards since Bill's wedding?"
Comprehension dawned on Harry's face, "Ah yeah, that happened." He slapped his friend on the shoulder, "Sorry mate, please continue." As he was leaving, Harry could've sworn he heard Ron grumbling, "Mad bloke, that one..."
He returned to his room and saw the chaos he caused five minutes ago. With nothing better to do, he quickly had the room set to rights, sparse from habits ingrained living with the Dursleys.
Flopping onto his desk chair, he looked at the clock again which now read eleven AM. Harry realized one incredibly important thing: he, The Boy Who Lived, The Chosen One, The He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named Destroyer, among other monikers, was bored. Admittedly, he could say that the last time he was bored was during the long summers in-between terms at Hogwarts or during their seventh year when they were camping, but Harry knew that both times didn't count because he was always waiting for something to happen. Sure, he could say that he was waiting to go back to work or for Ginny to come back after her current season, but it wasn't the same as waiting to escape the maltreatment by his Muggle relatives or to end the existence of the most powerful Dark wizard of all time. No, he hadn't been this kind of bored since before he knew magic existed.
Harry bolted straight up in his seat. "That's it!" he exclaimed to no one in particular. Without a moment's hesitation, Harry rushed down the spiraling steps of 12 Grimmauld Place and summoned Kreacher.
"Yes, Master?" the house elf asked expectantly.
"Tell me, Kreacher, do we have the basic ingredients for cream pie?" Harry questioned the elf so intensely that the latter instinctively thought this was some sort of prank.
"Y-yes?" Kreacher hastily replied, subtly looking around him for clues that might suggest he was about to get Punk'd by the squib Ashton Kutcher. "We have eggs, salt, sugar, cornflour, and milk," he listed, then turned to look up at the human who was anxiously pacing back and forth.
"So-" he quietly mumbled to himself, thinking rapidly as if he was strategizing his next moves in battle. Harry stopped abruptly and look down in front of him, "We don't have butter? And how about a pie plate?"
Kreacher became even more confused. It was like his Master knew what he was talking about... "Only salted, Master. And we have one that's twenty-three centimeters wide and around four centimeters deep."
"That size will work. Get butter. Unsalted, obviously. We also need vanilla extract, double cream, bourbon biscuits, chocolate wafers, a bar of white chocolate, those milk chocolate drops, and the finest dark chocolate you can find. Can you do that, Kreacher?"
The house elf jumped up and down excitedly, "Yes, Master! Right away, sir!" he exclaimed, then Apparated out of there.
"Whut wuz zat all about?" Ron grumbled as he entered the kitchen, still half-asleep.
Harry brightly turned to his best friend and announced, "We're baking!"
In about five seconds, Ron went from sleepy to confused to surprised, "Baking? Baking what? You bake?"
"After you told me that I needed a break from chasing evil wizards, I thought about what I did before when I wasn't saving the world. Then it suddenly came to me: my world famous Choco-Dream Cream Pie! I thought that I'd become legendary solely because of this pie recipe. Turns out, I was already legendary and I just didn't know it yet. Who knew?"
Ron slapped his upper arm lightly. "Quit fooling around mate, what do I need to do?"
It was Harry's turn to be surprised, "You know how to bake? I thought your mum did everything."
"She once had a masterclass with all of us and taught us the basics so that we weren't completely hopeless in the kitchen. I'd help her out once in a while because I enjoyed it."
"Sweet," he replied as Kreacher popped back in with the groceries in his arms, "Let me take that Kreacher, thanks," Harry picked up the bags and set them on the counter.
"What kind of pie is this?" Kreacher curiously asked.
"It's called Choco-Dream Cream Pie, apparently," Ron beamed.
"Wanna help, Kreacher?" Harry suggested.
"Of course!" the house elf piped up joyously.
"Great! The more help we can get, the faster the pie can be in our mouths. Hermione's still working, right?"
Ron nodded, "Yep, she'll be back home around seven."
"Alright, we can just save her a piece. Kreacher, can you start on the crust? It's pretty simple, just crush up the wafers and biscuits and then mix in melted butter." The house elf nodded and started right away. "Ron, you'll help me with the filling. It's tricky if you're not careful, but it's so worth the risk." The redhead jumped up and down, similar to the way Kreacher had earlier.
Together, the three of them collaborated on their tasks of crushing, mixing, beating, and stirring. Soon, the crust and filling were completely chilled and the topping was almost finished. As Ron was waiting for the sugar and double cream mixture to form stiff peaks, he asked, "How did you create this recipe, Harry? I'd imagine the Dursleys wouldn't let you near ingredients like these."
"You'd be surprised," Harry responded humorously while shaving off the white chocolate bar, "I was in charge of meals and I'd always get complaints like 'This needs more butter!' and 'You used too much salt!' I'd turn these insults into constructive criticism so that I wouldn't hear the same complaint again. Eventually, I became really good at cooking through trial and error and exceeded the expectations of the Dursleys. They even stopped complaining about my cooking and moved onto complaining about my entire existence!
"One year when I was seven, they hosted a Christmas party and locked me in the cupboard under the stairs. A drunk middle-aged woman stumbled in and gave me her slice of pie. It was the most delectable thing I'd ever eaten. So on the rare occasions when they left me in the house, I'd use small portions of Aunt Petunia's baking ingredients and my cooking skills to try to replicate the most delicious pie on Earth. After two years, I managed to make this pie that made the original taste like it was store-bought. The last time I baked it, I still didn't know I was a wizard."
"Crikey, Harry. That must've been brutal. But why haven't you done anything in the last, I dunno, six years we've been living here? We made Hermione do everything on Kreacher's days off and she's barely one notch above rubbish!" Ron asked, obviously very annoyed that he'd been living with a talented chef for years without knowing it.
Harry shrugged, "I knew I was good at it, but even the thought of making the meals I used to make brought unpleasant memories of all the abuse I had to endure. This pie was the only thing I made that had any positive memories attached to it. I just forgot about its existence until now."
Ron awkwardly patted Harry's shoulder, "Sorry mate, I didn't mean to make you feel bad about it. I've just been used to good cooking all my life that I never realized it could be a negative thing for someone else."
"No worries, it's been years so I think I can show you my impeccable cooking skills from now on. Making this pie with the two of you definitely helped me reconcile with my past in the kitchen." Harry smiled at them, then peered into Ron's bowl. "Stiff peaks at last!"
Kreacher set down the vegetable peeler he used to make dark chocolate curls, "I think this is enough curls for the pie, Master."
Harry examined them, "Excellent, Kreacher! We're almost done, boys." With a spoon, Harry transferred the cream mixture on top of the filling in the pie plate. Kreacher then magically added the chocolate curls in an aesthetically pleasing formation and Ron sliced the pie into eight pieces.
With a slice in front of them and a fork in hand, they all took a bite and experienced the taste of heaven simultaneously, as evidenced by the collective shouts of pure joy. The gorgeous bourbon and chocolate wafer fusion crust was an innovative and genius creation, the filling sparked different dimensions of chocolate to life, the cream-colored whipped topping was light, fluffy and somehow managed to add a beautiful note of je ne sais quoi to the masterpiece, and the white and dark chocolate curls garnished on top tied it altogether. Somehow, the pie went beyond the expectations of its name. It wasn't just a chocolate dream, it was chocolate paradise incarnate.
"Merlin, Harry! This is incredible! Holy shite, I honestly can't get over how good this is. You should start a restaurant just to share this with the world. Once Mum catches wind of this pie, she'll hunt you down for the recipe. Hell, I'm gonna hunt you down for keeping this from me for so long..." Ron continued to rant and praise Harry for the next thirty minutes, switching between the two.
Kreacher experienced such an overwhelming sugar rush (that may have included Olympic gymnastics) that he was forced to retire to the attic for the rest of the day. Harry and Ron took this as an invitation to share the elf's second piece.
Presently, there were two slices left, which took up all of the attention of the two men. "We're saving these for 'Mione, right?" Ron asked cautiously.
Harry's lips were shut tight as he nodded his head in response. He carefully covered the dessert and placed it in the refrigerator. They both looked down, mesmerized by the food as though it had Veela blood. "Hermione will have these pieces. Hermione should have these pieces. She lives here, so that means she's entitled to have these two pieces..." Harry rambled to stop himself from drooling.
In a moment of strength, Ron forcibly shut the refrigerator door and turned to Harry. "We've got to stop this. We already had our fair share of the pie and we can always make it again later, right?" Immediately, they agreed to recreate it the next chance they got and reluctantly left the kitchen, both with their heads hung.
As soon as they headed to their respective bedrooms and closed their doors, Harry opened his as silently as possible, casted a Notice-Me-Not charm towards Ron's room, then quietly crept down the stairs once more. He couldn't help it, he needed to go back for more.
Gleefully, he took a slice and savored the flavors anew. He couldn't believe how he'd forgotten about his most important achievement to date. Sure, many people regarded his greatest achievement as the defeat of Voldemort, but... well, they hadn't tasted this pie yet, had they?
A couple hours after they left the kitchen together, Ron gave in to temptation and trekked the path towards their Garden of Eden to taste the forbidden pie once more. He opened the refrigerator door and saw the isolated piece of pie standing. "That greedy git! Well, if he can have another one then—"
A loud yawn suddenly emerged from the left side of the kitchen, startling Ron so much that he hit his head on the freezer door. "What the bloody hell—"
"Oh hey, Ron," Harry stretched his arms as he innocently asked, "Whatcha doin' there, bud?"
Agitated, Ron properly lowered his head to meet the gaze of the Chosen One, "I was about to get the last slice of pie because apparently someone ate the other one."
Harry puffed out his chest and haughtily replied, "Well, it's my pie in the first place—"
"Our pie, Harry. Don't you remember Kreacher and me helping out a few hours ago?"
"But it's my recipe that prompted you and Kreacher to help me initially!"
"You wouldn't've even remembered about this pie in the first place if it wasn't for me!" Ron raised his voice indignantly and slammed the refrigerator door, "You didn't remember that you had the day off today until I reminded you!"
Harry huffed and responded, matching his opponent's volume, "How about this? You would've never been able to remind me if I didn't let you live here in the first place!"
Ron laughed and languidly walked towards Harry, "Oh yeah? Do you also not remember that you asked us to come to live with you since you were lonely with Ginny traveling for the majority of the year?"
Harry's eyes bulged slightly, feeling stumped, "Well- uh, yeah! But you didn't have to accept!"
"Mate, you practically begged us to. It was sad, really. Agreeing to live here was more out of pity rather than actual need," Ron calmly stated.
Harry sighed, "Yeah, that was a weak argument..."
Ron's whole demeanor brightened up, "So the pie's mine!"
"NO! NO, no that does not mean that the pie's yours because you live here out of pity," Harry hastily countered, "because you still owe me!"
The redhead's eyebrow shot up, "Owe you for what?"
It was Harry's turn to feel triumphant, "If it wasn't for me, you wouldn't even be with Hermione!"
"What? I owe my whole relationship to you?"
"Who was the one who remembered that Hermione was in the bathroom when Quirrell said that the troll had escaped? Me! And who convinced you to go see if she was safe? Also me! Face it: if we hadn't faced the troll, then you would still think she was an insufferable witch and you wouldn't have gotten close to her. And she probably would've died or something, so there!"
Ron shrugged, "That's a fair argument."
"HA! It's mine now!" Harry cheered.
"Wait a minute, it most definitely isn't yours. Remember: you still got a whole extra piece than me." Ron thought for a second, then the comeback came to him, "If it wasn't for Hermione, you wouldn't be with Ginny!"
"And why's that?" Harry curiously asked.
"She was the one who urged Ginny to actually talk to you so you'd get to know her. You know, the part of her that made you fall madly head over heels for her."
Harry contemplated briefly, then asked, "So you're saying that Hermione should get it?"
They both looked at each other for a second, then answered "Nah..." at the same time.
Ron bounced back with, "How about that time when I saved our memories from Lockhart?"
Harry rolled his eyes, "Ron, that wasn't something you did directly. It just so happened that your wand broke and Lockhart used it to his disadvantage."
"And why was it broken in the first place? Oh yeah! Because you're always cursed and that always leads us to dangerous situations, including crashing into the Whomping Willow!"
"Well sorry, Ron," Harry replied sardonically, "but I just can't help that an evil overlord murdered my parents and tried to murder me as a baby, thus making me the mortal enemy of the most insane psychopath ever to exist."
"You can't bring your dead parents into the conversation, Harry, that's just unfair."
"Hmm..." Harry mockingly thought out loud, "Last time I checked, I'm the reason you don't have a dead parent, considering that I saved your dad from getting eaten by a snake."
"WELL," Ron was absolutely livid at this point, "I SAVED YOUR LIFE WHILE YOU WERE FOOLISHLY FLAPPING AROUND IN A STUPID FROZEN LAKE!"
"OH YEAH, RON?" Harry couldn't believe the guts of this guy! "AND DO YOU REMEMBER WHAT HAPPENED BEFORE THAT? YOU KNOW, WHEN YOU ABANDONED US IN THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE JUST BECAUSE YOU COULDN'T TELL THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN REALITY AND THE LIES FROM A DAMN NECKLACE?"
A loud gasp cried out next to the refrigerator. "Harold! Ronald!" Hermione exclaimed indignantly.
"Harold's not my real name..." Harry pointed out.
Hermione huffed out, "Honestly, what could've possibly made the both of you bring up such horrible and irrelevant things from the past? Last time I checked, we were adults and not some petty school children." She slammed her fork and plate down the table and placed her hands on her hips, "This is completely unacceptable—"
"'Mione..." Ron interrupted her in a dangerous tone, "what were you eating just now?"
All eyes were on the fork and plate sitting on the table, which had carefully scraped-off marks of whipped cream and very few crumbs left over from the chocolate-fusion crust. Her eyes bulged in surprise as she looked up from the silverware and glanced between her two best friends. "The pie slice left in the fridge? I was hungry so I ate it while watching you both throw temper tantrums at each other. It was amusing until... well, you know."
Harry and Ron met each other's eyes, instantly knowing what the other was thinking. They both turned back to Hermione with identical death stares and groaned angrily, "THANKS, HERMIONE!"