Sticky Picky Peeves
Summary:
Canon, One Shot. Set any time Fred and George Weasley are at Hogwarts. Peeves steals some fruit, and the twins make a spectacle of his greed.
With a mad crash and bang, Peeves burst around the corner, spilling a suit of armour across the corridor. A dozen house elves made chase after Peeves, throwing wooden spoons while the armour scoffed and returned to its post.
In Peeves' arms was a bundle of large green fruit he had stolen from the kitchens. While continuing to float up the stairs to the first landing, he munched down a big gulp of the fruit, looking thoughtful as he chewed slowly, then tossing the pulpy rind over his shoulder and started on the next.
Witnessing all this from the banister above was Fred and George, smirking as they watched the mayhem approach. They skirted around the chaos to follow Peeves up the next set of stairs to see where this was all leading. As the growing crowd rushed up the steps, the twins whispered to each other, pointing to Peeves and nodding their heads as they counted off a sort of rhythm on their fingers.
Fred stooped to flip over a rind with his wand, affirming to George something that seemed very important, and they continued their fervent discussion.
As Peeves floated his way to the third floor corridor, Fred and George shook hands in an agreed compact. Smiling, they strode a few steps up towards the floating Peeves and extended their arms in a grand announcement.
"Friends!" proclaimed Fred,
"Foes!" cried George,
"And females too!" winked Fred.
"A poem" said George,
"A sonnet!" declared Fred.
"A sage and mystic saga of shameful indulgence! As played by our very own….PEEVES!" cried the twins together, pointing up the stairs.
Peeves choked, turned and held a hand to his chest in mock recognition, dropping a couple more soggy rinds to the carpet below.
The twins cleared their voices and recited:
When you feel your tummy grumbly,
And you need a quick nibble.
You could grab some apple crumbly,
Which will set your drool to dribble.
You might try some pork pie-ah,
Or smear some jelly on bread.
You could make a jambalaya,
But it really must be said: (that).
Peeves!
Doesn't!
Like!
PAPAYA!
As Peeves was nodding his head to the rhythm, his bloated stomach began to heave, and his face began to sour. His grin faded and he dropped the remaining fruit, scattering the students below.
Peeves descended somberly to the stone floor and placed his hand on the banister, the other on his roiling belly. With a belchy roar, he upchucked a violent green stream across the hall to a group of first years who yet lacked the good sense to stay clear of the poltergeist. An unsuspecting girl was pelted by the full force, launching her down the stairs in a pulpy luge.
Fred and George flashed a momentary glance of disbelief at each other, then regained their composure to bow and accept the applause of the passing students. Peeves smiled despite himself and tried to clap in between dry heaves as he leaned against the railing.
End
Luka Stilheere