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I'd Rather Fall in Chocolate | ||||||
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Category: Alternate Universe Characters:Harry/Ginny Genres: Comedy Warnings: Negative Alcohol Use Story is Complete Rating: PG-13 Reviews: 421 Summary: Ginny's got a new enemy - she's just not sure who it is ... Harry knows what he wants - he just doesn't know how to get it ... Hitcount: Story Total: 100780; Chapter Total: 10278 Awards: View Trophy Room Author's Notes: Viola! - OOPS! *ahem*
Voila! |
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Harry Potter had known his date for less than twenty-four hours but she had already called him honey, baby and pooky. Now she was hanging from his neck, begging him to use his influence to eject some poor uncoordinated witch who’d spilled a drink and allegedly ruined Adrianna’s dress. Harry couldn’t see anything wrong with the blue, sparkly … frothy thing, apart from that it made her chest look small and her bum look big. He didn’t know much about witches but he was reasonably sure that’s not what they usually went for. Harry’s eyes flickered in the direction Adrianna was pouting and pointing. He caught sight of Hermione levelling a glare in his direction and a rather timid looking, mousy witch with stringy hair who was staring at the table top. “I mean, like, it’s just not right!” Adrianna screeched in Harry’s ear and he winced, squeezing his eyes shut. Harry wondered, not for the first time, what Seamus had been thinking when he recommended Harry take Adrianna out. The woman in question had beady little eyes, snorted nasally at the end of every sentence and brayed like a horse at everything he said. Harry didn’t think it was particularly funny to ask for another Firewhisky only ten minutes into their date — but Adrianna laughed anyway. “I’ll, um … be right back,” Harry muttered, patting her shoulder ineffectually and trying to avoid staring at the fake black dot she’d stuck under her left eye. Adrianna screwed her face up and squealed, undraping herself from him and tottering to her seat. Harry had to assume she was happy and he smiled tightly, running a hand wearily through his hair. He strode around the table motioning to Ron who was smiling and nodding politely at an older couple with Hermione. Ron excused himself, joining Harry a few steps away. “Merlin’s baggy Y-fronts!” Ron hissed. “What the hell was that?” “Seamus gave me her details,” Harry said, running a hand through his hair. “Said she was a fabulous sort. He said she doesn’t get out much-” “Can’t imagine why.” “-and since I needed a date for the benefit ...” “He must have been trying to get rid of her,” muttered Ron. “They went out for two years apparently,” Harry said, eyeing Ron’s Firewhisky. “Are his ear drums still intact?” “I should never have broken up with Luna,” Harry said morosely. “Harry, that was four years ago,” Ron said patiently. “I really do think it’s okay to move on.” “I should have done things differently-” “Oh, shut up,” Ron groaned. “We were so good together.” “You went out for less than six months before you dumped her at the end of sixth year!” “It was the best almost six months of my life,” Harry sighed. “So hook up with her again,” Ron said with exasperation. “She’s in Madagascar,” Harry said morosely, “and I have to go back to Bulgaria in a week.” “Well, at least you’ll be rid of short, dark and strident,” Ron said, clapping his best friend on the back. “Come on, we need to go sit down.” “Yeah all right for you, you get to sit next to Hermione,” Harry grunted darkly. “I have to sit next to … to …” “Your date, you poor wanker,” Ron said solemnly, clapping him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, Mum’s on the other side. Harry groaned and elbowed Ron in the ribs before steeling his resolve and heading back to his seat. Sitting next to Mrs Weasley wasn’t exactly high on his list of desirable activities. Luna had been very understanding when he told her they needed to break up before he went off to find and destroy Voldemort. He hadn’t exactly expected her to wait for him, but when he realised she hadn’t — and was perfectly happy with Dean Thomas — Harry was disappointed, and in the aftermath of the war he’d avoided romantic entanglements entirely. Harry had worked across most of Europe for the past three years, it was the perfect excuse for not forming any sort of permanent attachment and it kept him away from Mrs Weasley who kept trying to introduce him to ‘nice young ladies’. The last nice young lady she had introduced him to turned out to be an underwear thief and Harry ended up going commando for a week before figuring it out. Lucy Hornblest had been going through his clean laundry piles, and if he wasn’t mistaken, his dirty piles as well. Now Harry only took dates to formal functions, like the one Hermione had convinced him to attend tonight. And never, ever the same witch twice. “Hello, Harry dear,” Mrs Weasley said, kissing him on the cheek and patting his knee. “We haven’t seen much of you lately.” “Been busy,” Harry mumbled, reaching for his wineglass. “Well, they can’t keep you at work on Sunday,” Mrs Weasley said. “Five o’clock at The Burrow, young man. I’ll make your favourite treacle tart.” “Oh! Snookums, that sounds lovely,” Adrianna said with a snort. “I do love a home cooked meal! They are so in now! I’m sure we’ll have time to squeeze that in!” “It’s a family function,” Mrs Weasley said coldly, her hand clutching her knife convulsively. “Oh, diddydums! I didn’t know we were meeting your family tonight!” Adrianna simpered, sprawling across the table to offer a limp hand to Mrs Weasley who looked at it as though it were a piece of rotting fish. Harry twitched involuntarily. Images of Aunt Petunia superimposed themselves over Adrianna’s face. The horse-like laughter wasn’t helping. “I didn’t know we were meeting the Hag of Hogsmeade tonight,” muttered a dishevelled red-head from across the table. Harry snorted in amusement and tried to cover it up with a cough. The redhead glared at him briefly before clutching her wineglass and using one eye to stare daggers at Adrianna’s sequin-clad bosom which, now that it was squashed alarmingly across the tabletop, looked entirely too large for her body. The mousy witch with stringy hair was staring avidly at Adrianna’s illusory bosom and Harry wished he could swap dates with her. The redhead looked as though a blind barber had done her hair and her dress seemed to hang a little crookedly from her left shoulder and wrinkled unflatteringly across her waist as she glared out at the world with only one eye. Harry was still drawn to the delicate blush that swept across her cheek and the swell of her breasts as one tiny hand fluttered ineffectually across her neckline, trying to pull it up. Harry would really rather she didn’t because she had quite nice breasts, showcased perfectly in the dark green fabric with which they were swathed. Her shoulders were tense but Harry’s eyes traced the line of her collar bone and up her throat which bobbed as she tipped her head back and swallowed the last drops of wine in her glass. The redhead reached again for the bottle and Mrs Weasley hissed like a cat. Harry glanced at Mrs Weasley as she tried to snatch the bottle from the vision in the dark green dress. Hermione, seated next to the distinguished man, made a strangled noise and asked Harry loudly about the weather in Denmark — which he hadn’t been to in nearly six months. “Um it’s … lovely this time of year,” Harry said, searching blindly for his own wineglass as Adrianna lid a possessive hand on his arm. “Wouldn’t it be snowing?” asked the mousy, stringy haired witch, staring at Adrianna. “Yes … er lovely if you enjoy the snow … which I, um … do,” Harry said uncomfortably as Adrianna scooted closer to his chair, practically climbing into his lap. “It’s just perfect for cuddling,” Adrianna brayed and the distinguished man peered at her over his glasses. Harry thought he could see Hermione glaring at him and the redhead poured another glass of wine as the mousy witch with stringy hair began a very boring monologue about snow in Southern England — or the lack of it — as their meals were served. Harry tuned the mousy witch out and focused on the redheaded disaster that made is heart bounce a little in his chest and his fingers twitch whenever she adjusted her dress. Harry hadn’t been attracted to anyone since he’d gone out with Luna but nothing he’d experienced as a sixteen year old in the Hogwarts corridors compared to the way his stomach twisted when this woman tried to sweep the hair out of her eye and he caught a flash of her creamy wrist. Harry imagined capturing that hand in his and kissing the soft skin that stretched over delicate bones. Only one person had ever had skin that particular colour before and she had never made his breathing quicken. Harry peered at the woman, looking for signs of the little girl who had followed him and Ron doggedly every summer since he was twelve. Her brown eye matched Mrs Weasley’s as she eyed the wine bottle now just out of her reach. The dusting of freckles across her flushed cheeks resembled the ones scattered across George’s forehead as she looked askance at something the mousy witch said. Her hair glowed with the same fiery colours as Bill’s as she whipped her head around to face Ron on her other side. She both fascinated and intrigued Harry — and she was hitting Ron on the arm. “So help me, this is the last sisterly favour I’m doing for you,” hissed the redheaded witch. The woman sitting across the table was little Ginny Weasley. And she was making Harry’s insides squirm. |
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