The Fox and the Grapes

One hot summer's day a Fox was strolling through a park.

Pansy spelled her pushcart to stay and took a long drink from her ever-cool water bottle. She hated the heat, but there was no denying it was good for business.

She needed the money, since Daphne had moved out to marry Marcus Flint, leaving her to juggle the rent until she found another flatmate. Or a husband.

She came to a bunch of grapes just ripening on a vine which grew over a lofty branch.

Both seemed in short supply; the wizarding world had bought into the post-war marriage frenzy, and most were on their third child by now. She should know—she had sold a ton of fudge-pops to the little tykes that very day.

She noticed a gaggle of urchins in Quidditch gear gathering near the Hogsmeade youth pitch, and pushed her cart in their direction. Nothing sold ice cream faster than boisterous activity.

Drawing back a few paces, she took a run and a jump, and just missed the bunch.

And halted abruptly when she realised Potter was their coach. Hadn't the Weasel Princess thrown him over for Wood recently? Pansy licked her lips and rattled her cart, causing the bell to tinkle merrily.

She was overrun by sweaty brats when Potter distractedly gave them a break, but no amount of giggling drew his attention.

Again and again she tried after the tempting morsel, with no greater success.

She tried dropping things and bending low to pick them up.

A throaty, suggestive laugh.

Her never-fail hair toss and trademark pout, usually a deadly combination.

To no avail.

Potter remained oblivious.

At last, she had to give it up, and walked away with her nose in the air.

'I'm sure,' Pansy thought, 'Potter's todger was cursed flaccid.'

~~***~~***~~

Originally written for round two of pphp_ldws on Live Journal.

Prompt: A vendor, the park, grapes. Between 200 - 299 words.

Italics belong to Aesop.