Legal Disclaimer: I own my stuff, but not the original source material. That belongs to whoever. Also, the opinions and interpretations I use here may not reflect the same in said whoever that owns the source material. Look, I'm just a poor college librarian. Suing me isn't going to get you anything but tears.

Warning: This work may be offensive to some readers. Feel free to back out if that's you.

Author's Note: Finally moving this into actual publication. Also, this is part of why Ron has an Allergy Elixir in his pocket. In case anyone was wondering.

Submitting Info:
Stacked with: Hogwarts (Term 11); MC4A
Individual Challenges: Rainbow Focus; Black Ribbon; Black Ribbon Redux; Feast; Small Fry; Food Roulette; Gryffindor MC; Seeds; Ways to the Heart; No Proof; Golden Times; Interesting Times; Old Shoes; Themes & Things A [Love]; Tiny Terror; In a Flash (Y); Yellow Ribbon; Yellow Ribbon Redux; Two Cakes!
House: Hufflepuff
Assignment No.: Term 11 – Assignment 07
Subject (Task No.): n/a
Other Hogwarts Challenges: Insane Prompt Challenge [12] (Verve); 365 [306] (Basket); Galleon Club (Crimson)
Space Address (Prompt): Fa Bingo [4E] (Fruits/Vegetables)
Representation(s): the Weasley family; Severe Allergy; Law-Breaking
Bonus Challenges: Second Verse (Not a Lamp; Persistence Still; White Dress; Nontraditional; Sneeze Weasel; Mother Hen; Spinning Plates; Unwanted Advice; Corvid Brain); Chorus (Pear-Shaped; Wabi Sabi; Peddling Pots; Mouth of Babes; Tomorrow's Shade; A Long Dog; Larger than Life)
Tertiary Bonus Challenges: T3 (Terse; Tether); TY (Enfant)
List (Prompt): Service Prompts (Rescue)
Word Count: 547

(^^)
Tropical Fruit
(^^)

"I don't want any," Percy declared with all the authority that an eight-year-old could muster. He shoved the bowl of fruit away from him.

Immediately, three-year-old Ron stuck his hand in it and pressed the resulting handful to his mouth. Not to be outdone, little Ginny grabbed the bowl to pull it closer to herself, taking her own handful with her other hand. The crimson and orange of the tropical fruits matched the exact shade of her curls. The mango and papaya quickly turned to a sticky paste as the toddler seemed more interested in playing with the new food than eating it.

Molly sighed, already anticipating the cleaning up that would be necessary after her younger children had eaten their fill of the treat. It was rare to be able to afford anything that they couldn't grow in their own garden or that wasn't grown from one of the local farms. However, she had just sold a knitted blanket at the same time that the grocer in town had gotten a shipment of various fruits from the tropics. It was just an excellent stroke of luck.

Her instincts suddenly screamed that something was going wrong. Out of unfortunate habit, she turned to check on the twins. Even at just barely six years old, Fred and George had all the rambunctiousness and verve that her brothers had had while they were still alive. They were certainly a handful in just themselves. Any time they were quiet, it was a safe bet that they were up to something.

The twins had a bowl of cut fruit in front of them. It was mostly empty, having clearly been eaten in a more precise method that what Ron and Ginny had used. Unfortunately, both twins were rubbing their throats which were flushed to a crimson color that almost matched the papaya. Whining gasps sounded as they struggle to breathe. Molly could see their faces turning crimson as well from the effort. She rushed over trying to get them to open their mouths, which they did willingly. Fear pounded in her heart at the sight of their red and swollen tongues.

Her mind swirled at possible steps and solutions. It would help if she knew what was causing what was happening. Desperate, she flew to the pantry where she kept her first-aid potions. It was unlikely that a bezoar would hurt, but by Merlin, did she have two? She did! Prize in hand, she raced back to the twins to feed them the stop-gap solution, at best—if it worked. Please, please let it work.

Then she was left with the quandary of figuring out how to get herself and five little ones to St. Mungo's. She couldn't Side-Along the lot of them. Flooing with small children was always a gamble, even without the added distraction of sick children. Whipping out her wand, she summoned a length of crimson ribbon from her sewing basket in the living room. Another flick of her wand had it glowing the tell-tale blue that signified a Portkey, the law restricting their creation be cursed.

In less than a minute, she had all of the children who were home right then gathered up and touching the ribbon. Then they were gone, sucked away to the Healers.