The Quidditch League (Round 6)
Holyhead Harpies - Chaser 1: The Bear and the Maiden Fair
Prompts: [food] peach, [character] Fred Weasley, [pairing] Ginny/Luna
A.N. This story is based around certain themes of the song "The Bear and the Maiden Fair", including - but not limited to - spending time with friends, don't judge a book by its cover, and going to a fair.
Word count: 2549
a girl and her peaches
Astoria Greengrass' early childhood is defined by a loose conglomeration of memories. They're scattered here and there; attached to a mother, a father, an older sister. Within them, there is always featured an estate: a large behemoth of a structure, made entirely in accordance with Greco-Roman architecture. Rows of perfectly manicured trees frame its front lawn, beds of flowers - of jasmines, calla lilies, and snowdrops - arranged so artfully that one can barely even tell they are arranged.
There is the fountain, the bird feeder, and the stables in the back - flickers of Astoria's very first meeting with the equine, of her first horseback ride of many, and carefree days spent in the sun, gathering freckles on her nose and cheeks.
The hedge maze, yet, tells of another tale: of a distinctively hot summer day so many years ago, lost amidst the bushes, brambles, and thorns; the first time her skin ever felt the heat and wrath of the sun. It speaks of mother's anger, father's worry, and Daphne's amusement, each of them wondering "What on earth possessed you to go into the maze alone?" and "Weren't you afraid of it in the first place?" She was - she still is - but fright is an emotion so pedestrian, so very un-Greengrass, that Astoria has never let it daunt her.
And yes, that is another thing: her effrontery towards the emotion of fear.
Afraid of heights? Climb up a tree.
Scared of the dark? Sleep without the lights on.
Fearful of flames? Jump over a bonfire.
Quite simple, really, and not at all Gryffindor-like, despite what her sister may say. She is a Slytherin - through and through - and that's why she's forever dealt with her fears in this way: the logical way. What else is she supposed to do? Curl up into a ball, and cry like a Hufflepuff? No. That's not her way. It's not the Greengrass way.
Somewhere, far off in the medley of memories that have made Astoria who she is, there is a spark. A faint recollection of sorts - of bonfires, sticky fingers, and wind whipping through her hair. Displays of grapes, apples, and peaches; an overturned basket of wheat and the loud, overwhelming sound of music echoing in the air. All at once, she is flying through time, to peaches, gingers, and a pretty blonde girl with her imaginary creatures.
"Go on, then!" A faint voice calls. "Go on and jump!"
Jump, she will.
Jump, she did.
It is - or was - late summer, sometime in the beginning of August. The sun is out in full force, and the day has dawned bright on the 250th day of Astoria Greengrass' tenth year. She knows exactly how old she is because she's been marking the days down, counting eagerly the time left until she gets her Hogwarts letter. It is something her sister mocks her for, but they both know it's all in good spirit - Daphne is not much different, having done the same up until two months ago herself.
For Astoria, no Hogwarts letter will arrive today, but today is perhaps the only day where that is not a thing she is upset about. Her mind is preoccupied with other things; with the brand new dress she's wearing, and the pretty braid her hair is in. She's also thinking of the festival, with its harvest, dancing, and music - a grand affair, to be sure, and one she's been looking forward to ever since the last one ended. Lammas (or Lughnasad, if you're Astoria's old, ancient grandmother, who insists on pronouncing everything by its Celtic name) only comes around once a year, after all!
This year, it's being held in Holyhead, a wizarding village in the northwest of Wales. Daphne's been buzzing about it in her own Ice Queen way, clearly thinking no one can see her excitement, but Astoria is aware of her sister's obsession with the Quidditch team that have taken their name from this town. If any of the Harpies - or better yet, their captain, Gwenog Jones - are sighted, and Daphne doesn't immediately lose her cool, then Astoria will eat her own shoe. But that, really, is neither here, nor there.
On the 250th day of her tenth year, wearing a brand new sage green dress and her hair done up in pretty braided buns, Astoria Greengrass side-apparates with her mother to the village of Holyhead, ready for a spectacle.
She isn't disappointed.
The village square is packed with witches and wizards who are all there for the celebration. Astoria recognizes most of them; the Selwyns, the Fawleys, the Parkinsons, and even the Malfoys, who - for once - have deigned to show up to a fête that they themselves haven't thrown. Narcissa Malfoy, as per usual, looks beautiful in flowing robes of silver that match perfectly with her eyes, but the expression on her face can't be described as anything but pinched. It could be due to the mud that is dragging and dirtying her beautiful dress, but Astoria figures it's likely because of the sudden influx of red-heads heading that way.
Daphne smirks, nudges her shoulder. "Here come the Weasleys. I wonder what'll happen this time…"
She isn't wrong to speculate. Something always happens, whenever the Weasleys and the Malfoys are so much as in the same breathing space. It's ridiculous, but at the same time, entertaining - the subject of many of mother's gatherings (which, in reality, are just sessions for gossiping) and father's grumblings.
"Who cares?" Astoria answers, beginning to drag her sister away. "I think I see pies. Do you want a pie?"
"You and your pies," Daphne's eyes roll. "I much prefer a good strudel."
"Are there any with peaches, d'you reckon?" Her older sister's ridicule goes ignored. "Or cherries?"
"They always have cherry pies, Tori. And ones with apples. But peaches are out of season - you'll be lucky if you find anything that has them."
"Maybe a cobbler, then." Astoria mutters, finally reaching the stall she'd spotted the pies at.
There is a variety of them: blueberry, pecan, banana cream, and yes, the aforementioned cherry and apple. No peach, though, as Daphne had said. Astoria's favorite fruit seems to be missing from the bunch, and she can't help but frown; yes, it's out of season, but only by a little bit! Peaches are a spring fruit, after all, and it's summer now.
Her sister begins to pull away, clearly meaning to walk in a separate direction. Astoria frowns at her. "Where are you going?"
"I think I saw Tracey." Tracey Davis, her best friend. "I'm going to go say hi."
The younger girl pouts. "More like you're abandoning me."
"Well, you can come." Daphne offers, though she clearly doesn't mean it.
It only makes Astoria more reticent. "No," she huffs. "I don't want to be a third wheel. Go off then, if you prefer her over your own sister."
"Don't be a baby." Daphne rolls her eyes. "I'll be back soon." And with that, she's gone.
All on her lonesome, Astoria continues the hunt for peaches, quickly getting over her sister's abandonment when she comes across a fruit stall with a basket full of them.
"Hello, dearie." The lady behind the stall smiles at her. "Anything I can get you?"
"Two– no, three peaches, please." Astoria answers, ever so polite, despite how mouth-wateringly delicious the fruits look.
"Very good!" The woman beams, rolling her "r" the way the Scots do. "That'll be nine sickles, then, lovie."
Scooping the coins out of her pouch, the young witch slides them across the stall, receiving her bounty in return.
"Come back soon!" The woman calls out, though Astoria has already bitten into one of her peaches, and is thus dead to the rest of the world.
Her feet take her farther into the festival grounds, to a square where music - played by pipists and fiddlers - is especially prominent. Peach juices escaping her mouth and rolling down her chin in a most uncouth way, Astoria settles down to watch them, head tilted in intrigue as a group of Irish set-dancers join the fray. She's just finished her first peach and is about to dispose of its stone when she feels a shadow fall over her.
"Are those peaches?"
Astoria slowly turns around, hands cupping the fruit to her chest protectively. She narrows her eyes, raising a brow at the ginger-haired boy in front of her who can only be a Weasley. "...Yes?"
He looks around, lowering his voice as though whispering a secret. "Can I have one?"
She does a double take. "I'm sorry, what?"
"Can I have one?" He repeats. "A peach, that is."
She wrinkles her nose. "No. Go get your own."
He shakes his head. "You don't understand. I can't."
"Why… not?"
"Becauuuuse," he drags the word out. "I'm technically not supposed to be having peaches. And the fruit lady knows it."
"The fruit lady knows you're not supposed to be having peaches?" Astoria arches an eyebrow.
"Mhm." He's rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet now, looking more like a child than she does. "She's friends with my mum, and mum told her not to give me any."
"Well, why do you want one if you're not supposed to be having it? Better yet, why aren't you supposed to be having it?"
"'Cuz I'm allergic." The boy grins. "Duh. And besides, twice the fun of having peaches isthat I'm not supposed to be having them."
Astoria stares at him consideringly, before shaking her head. "You know, you haven't even asked my name. And I don't know you, either. It's mighty rude of you to ask for my food without introducing yourself first."
"Right, of course! Where are my manners?" He sketches a dramatic bow. "George Weasley, at your service."
And because Astoria wasn't raised in a cave, she replies, "Astoria Greengrass, at yours." Then adds, "I'm still not giving you any peaches."
He opens his mouth in protest, probably to offer her a whine not dissimilar to Draco Malfoy's when he hasn't gotten something he's really wanted, but is interrupted by an almost identical looking redheaded girl barging next to him.
"There you are!" She exclaims. "You just–" Her eyes land on the fruit in Astoria's arms. "Are those peaches?"
"Let me guess: you're allergic, too?" Astoria stands up huffily.
"Yeah," The girl nods, staring at the fruit longingly, before shaking her head all the same. "I'm Ginny, by the way. Ginny Weasley."
"Astoria Greengrass." The blonde nods. "You have more manners than your brother."
Ginny scoffs. "Please. Half the world has more manners than Fred."
"Fred?" Astoria repeats. "He said his name was George."
The younger Weasley rolls her eyes. "Yeah, he does that sometimes. Just be grateful the real George isn't here. Then we'd never know which one is which."
"Wait, so there is a George?"
Ginny nods. "Fred's got a twin. He's George, and he's currently sick at home, so he isn't here."
"I can see how that might be confusing." Astoria mutters, before glancing down at the peaches in her arms. She can always buy more later… She makes a decision, and nods. "I suppose you and Fred–" She turns to give Ginny's brother a glare, but he isn't there. Confused, her head swivels to the left, and then to the right. "Where'd he go?"
Ginny doesn't seem like she cares. "Somewhere to cause trouble, probably. Mum'll catch up with him eventually."
"Well, alright then." Astoria nods, accepting the answer for what it is. "Do you want a peach?"
"I'd like one." The red-head admits. "But I'd be better off without it. Last time I had a tiny slice, rashes were covering my arms for days."
Astoria wrinkles her nose. "Nasty."
Her new friend nods emphatically. "There were just loads of spots, literally everywhere. If they were green, I would've looked like I had dragon pox."
"So no peaches for you, then." The Greengrass concludes, selfishly relieved that she won't have to share her snack.
"No," Ginny affirms. She hesitates for a second, before continuing, "Although… I do have a friend who might like one. If you're sharing?"
"A friend?" Astoria bites her lip.
"Her name's Luna. Luna Lovegood. She just lost her mum, and, well… this is her first time out since the funeral."
"Oh," Astoria blinks. "Yeah, sure. She can have one."
Ginny beams, and grabs her hand. "Brilliant. Come with me."
And with nary a word, nor a second left to tarry, she's dragged to almost the opposite corner of the square, where a girl with pale blonde hair is sitting at one of the crafting tables, making a wreath.
"Hey, Luna." Ginny calls out. "I've brought someone who wants to meet you."
The girl - Luna - looks up, a dreamy look in her blue eyes. "Hello, friend," she says softly. "Do you want to make a wreath with me?"
Astoria glances at Ginny, and replies, "Hello. And sure, I'd like that. I'm Astoria, by the way. Astoria Greengrass."
"Nice to meet you, Astoria Greengrass. Did you know you have nargles flying all over your head?"
"N-nargles?" Astoria frowns. "What are those?"
"Luna's dad owns the Quibbler." Ginny says in a stage-whisper, as if that's supposed to explain everything. To her friend, she says, "Astoria's brought you a peach, Luna. You always loved those, didn't you?"
"Oh, yes." The waif-like blonde hums. "They're quite good for repelling the wrackspurts. I enjoy them."
"Well, here you go, then." Astoria smiles awkwardly, handing her new acquaintance one of the peaches. "There's always more where that came from."
Luna smiles, her eyes seemingly a thousand miles away, and takes the proffered fruit. She puts it to the side, however, and goes on making her wreath, refusing to touch the peach Astoria had worked so hard to find.
The Greengrass girl finds her attitude odd (what are nargles and wrackspurts, anyway?), but she puts it up to Luna's recent loss. Losing a mother can't be an easy thing to digest. And besides, she's better company than Daphne, who'd abandoned Astoria at a moment's notice. So the girl contents herself and settles in, beginning a Lammas tradition she hasn't partaken in since she was six: wreath-making.
There are flowers - peonies, and geraniums, and hollyhocks - along with different colored ribbons, twine, and even glitter. Astoria's fingers intersperse as she binds them all together, forming a wreath, and then a crown. She looks up from her completed work, then, and is faced with Luna Lovegood's curious smile. Ginny, who'd been sitting next to her, is gone.
Astoria scoffs, slightly startled, although no one has even done anything to make her so. "Do Weasleys like pulling disappearing acts on people?" She wonders.
"Ginevra tried asking you to go to the bonfire with her, but you didn't answer." Luna replies.
Astoria's frown intensifies. "What? But I didn't even hear anything. Why would the bonfire be on, anyway? It's only…" Her voice fades out as she looks up, faced with the setting sun on the horizon.
"I told you." Luna says softly. "There are nargles all over you."
The Greengrass girl shakes her head. "I have no idea what that means."
But Luna only smiles and picks up the peach, thoughtfully rotating it to and fro. "You will," she says. "You will."