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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: 100779; Chapter Total: 9915 Awards: View Trophy Room Author's Notes: So ... how did Ginny pull up after her evening? Find out in the next riveting installment ... |
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Ginny swept her hair into a low ponytail and eyed herself critically in the mirror. Her eyes were bloodshot and her face was pale but she’d finally stopped throwing up and her hair was returned to the soft waves she was used to. There was no telling what Lavender had used in it last night and it clearly reacted badly to vomit. She had no more of Mrs Skower’s Magical Mess Remover left, but Ginny’s scalp only tingled slightly now. She really needed to find another hairdresser. “You look exhausted, dearie,” the mirror said apologetically. Ginny just grimaced and turned to get her jumper. She felt exhausted. Abigail had talked her ear off all night, keeping a low, buzzing monotone running constantly through Ginny’s head while she surreptitiously swapped her goblet with Ron’s, trying to find and consume as much alcohol as possible, not only to block out the nauseating sight of a certain blue-sequinned witch, but to keep Ginny from going over there and slapping him across the face. She’d gotten horribly drunk which actually worked in her favour because Ron had to take her home early, but she’d spent the night throwing up in her toilet and trying to forget the pained and pitying looks Harry had been throwing her all night. At first he’d screwed his face up as if he couldn’t remember her name and then he’d just stared at her chest for several long minutes before looking perplexed as he studied her hair. Ginny feigned indifference and stabbed viciously at her entrée when it arrived, wishing she could take the fork to Harry’s face before realising she sounded a little too vicious, even in her own head. A nice Bat Bogey hex would have done. If she’d had her wand with her. Harry kept staring at her throughout the entire meal and Ginny watched as Adrianna tried to catch his attention by flirting shamelessly and shoving her non-existent chest in his face. Ginny glowered darkly as she pulled her jumper over her head and wondered why he’d taken that trollop to the benefit if he was going to ignore her all night. But that was just like Harry Potter anyway, Ginny thought as she picked up her wand and thrust it viciously into her back pocket. He overlooked and ignored everyone anyway, so really Ginny shouldn’t be so surprised. Adrianna should probably learn sooner, rather than later that he never really paid anyone attention except himself. “Stupid git,” Ginny muttered as she wound her way through the piles of dirty laundry, shoes and her Quidditch gear that littered the floor of her bedroom. Closing the door on the mess Ginny vowed to clean it up later and headed to the fireplace, grabbing the Floo powder and tossing it haphazardly onto the flames before calling out ‘The Burrow’ and stepping into the grate to whirl away in the green flames. She was frowning even more when she tumbled out of the hearth at The Burrow moments later, having caught her foot in a passing grate and losing her balance completely as she arrived at her destination. Arms flailing and body lurching, Ginny went headfirst into the wood basket, banging her elbow on the rough brickwork of the fireplace and kicking the fire irons into the fireplace. The bellows shuddered helplessly on their hook as Ginny toppled over, collecting them with her head on the way down. The rubber band in her hair snapped and the bellows fell to the hearth with a pathetic wheeze, dragging her hair with them and making her swear viciously. Ginny groaned and yanked at the bellows, dropping them to the floor as she scrambled upright. She let fly a string of colourful swearwords and tried to pull the poker out of the fireplace. The metal was hot and Ginny hissed as she dropped the poker back onto the coals before using the tip of the bellows to pull the poker onto the hearth. A cluster of coals fell out of the grate and a shower of sparks flew into the room, harmlessly fizzling out in mid air. “Bollocks,” Ginny muttered as she hooked the poker around the handle of the tongs. Kneeling on the hearth rug she used the tongs to drag the shovel out and scoop up the errant coals before stowing the fire irons in place. “You shouldn’t put your wand in your back pocket, you know,” said a deep voice from behind Ginny. “Elementary wand safety … it could ignite, you could lose a buttock.” Ginny spluttered as she pushed her hair out of her eyes, swearing again as she spun around, scanning the room for the owner of the deep voice. She scowled. “What would you know about my buttocks?” Ginny asked, glaring at Harry Potter who was leaning against the door frame and watching her with a smirk. “Not nearly enough,” replied Harry, crossing his arms and tilting his head, his gaze wandering lower. Ginny fought the urge to remove her wand and simply crossed her arms over her chest. Ginny felt a blush heat up her cheeks before she growled and pushed her way past the arrogant man in the doorway. If she had known The Git would be here she would not have come. Harry Potter hadn’t been around for so long and everyone was fine, and there was no reason for him to turn up now. They didn’t need him, and if his little trollop of a girlfriend was here Ginny was going to need all her self control not to use the wand in her back pocket on her. Ginny flounced into the kitchen, still resisting the urge to remove her wand from her back pocket. “Oh hello dear,” Molly Weasley said with a smile as she stirred a cauldron on the stove. She handed her daughter a carrot and pointed her towards the chopping board on the table. Ginny grimaced and took the carrot, slapping it on the chopping board and searching for a knife. She located a small vegetable knife and frowned. It was not very satisfactory implement with which to take out her frustrations but Ginny was used to making do and she slashed viciously, stabbing and chopping until the carrot resembled little more than a pile of orange shavings. Ginny sighed as she surreptitiously swept the mangled carrot to the side and selected another from the pile of vegetables on the table and began peeling it. She peered in the direction of the kitchen doorway, breathing out a sigh of relief when she saw Harry was no longer standing there. She would put up with him throughout dinner but then she and Ron were going to have a serious talk about his best friend and bringing him around for dinner — or rather not bringing him around for dinner. Ginny listened absently as her mother prattled on about the herb garden, old Mrs Wintergarden and her illicit flying carpet, Charlie’s latest letter and Errol’s recent mishap. “I mean, honestly, you would think Percy would know better,” Molly Weasley shook her head. “But he sends that bird, laden with a package of heavy books and wonders why it took longer than a week to make it here from London. Of course we finally found the infernal bird, face down in a gnome hole and the books just soaked through.” Ginny nodded in all the right places and peeled the mountain of vegetables, separating them into cooking pots and scooping the peelings into a bucket for the chickens. She let her mother continue telling her about the brown chicken with the crooked leg, George’s incident with the burning cauldron and Hermione’s wedding table linens. “I said to her that ecru was just as good as cream, but she wanted eggshell and they’re just quite a bit more expensive and they don’t look any better.” Molly Weasley frowned as she peered at the cooking vegetables. “I think Audrey’s going to talk her into ivory in any case but I don’t think that will suffice at all.” Ginny rolled her eyes as she pulled open the cutlery drawer and searched for enough cups. The smells wafting from the pots on the stove made her stomach rumble and Ginny was reminded that she hadn’t really eaten since last night. “Go and get the boys, Ginny dear,” her mother said absently, her wand flashing madly as she put the finishing touches on the meal. “I think your father’s in the shed and see if you can find Hermione.” Ginny sighed and wiped her hands on a tea towel before tossing it into the small scullery, hoping it landed in the laundry hamper, before stomping into the hallway and yelling up the stairs. “Get down here you lot, before I eat the entire pot!” “Ginnikins!” George called. “You’re here!” “Yes!” Ginny hollered. “Thanks for coming to meet me!” “We sent Harry to do that!” Ron’s voice drifted down. “That way we don’t have to be bothered.” “Gits!” Ginny yelled back before stomping back into the kitchen. Fleur was setting the table, whisking knives and goblets across the top of the table with a well practiced flick of her wand while balancing a chubby blonde baby on her left hip. “Oh, Ginny!” Fleur beamed while baby Victoire babbled incoherently and waved a soggy bundle of unidentifiable rags at Ginny. “I did not know you were ‘ere!” “Every Sunday,” muttered Ginny, rolling her eyes as Fleur pocketed her wand and shifted the baby on her hip. “I was ‘oping we could ‘ave a … talk,” Fleur looked Ginny up and down, pursing her lips disapprovingly and tossed a shining curtain of hair over her shoulder. “Oh, I really couldn’t think what we have to talk about,” Ginny said sweetly, resisting the urge to pick up the closest knife and gouge at something in case she accidentally went for Fleur’s eyes. “I was thinking ‘ow we could find you ze wizard of your dreams,” Fleur said as she settled the baby into a highchair. “It ‘as been ‘ow long now since Godfrey was ‘ere?” She made it sound like Godfrey had proclaimed his presence on the wall of The Burrow in graffiti. Ginny wouldn’t be surprised if he had. He had been the one who’s idea of a good second date was to get matching tattoos. Ginny still wondered what had possessed her to go on the second date in the first place after their first date had been to seen a chalk footpath artist. In the rain. “Er … no thanks,” Ginny muttered, sliding into her seat and staring avidly at her fork. “Well,” Fleur said, lips pursed, “we need to at least do something wiz your wardrobe.” Ginny scowled darkly. “I just don’t understand,” Ginny’s mother said, levitating a large tureen over to the table. “You’re such a lovely girl. I don’t know why you don’t … you know … flaunt it a little.” She winked and Ginny shuddered. “There’s nothing wrong with what I’m wearing,” Ginny said with a sigh, wondering if it was too late to feign stomach cramps and make a slightly less than gracious exit. “Oh Ginny,” Molly Weasley said with a patronising pat on the head before muttering something about the boys and heading out of the kitchen, calling threats and promises up the stairs. A sudden thumping and thundering echoed through The Burrow and Ginny could hear George laughing while Percy protested fiercely. Ginny blocked her ears. That usually meant Audrey and Percy had been found in a … compromising position and last time Ginny hadn’t been able to erase the mental images for a week. She still had no idea why of all her brothers it was Percy who seemed unable to control himself or what made The Burrow, during the weekly family dinner the best time and place to get busy. Ginny lived in fear of the day one of the others tried to better Percy’s record of sexual prowess. She had no desire to see anyone else in her family going for it in the orchard. Her parents had been quite enough. Audrey walked into the kitchen still blazing red and buttoning her pristine white cardigan and sitting primly at the table. Ginny poured herself a generous serving of pumpkin juice as the kitchen door spilled open and a tumble of legs, arms and freckles fell through, still laughing boisterously. Fleur was still complaining about Ginny’s dress sense, commenting on the messy hair that fell across Ginny’s shoulders, the rubber band probably still snagged in it, the unflattering shape of Fred’s old Christmas jumper from her fourth year which had a spot of swamp stain at the bottom of the F and Ginny’s dirty white tennis shoes which sported a hole in the left toe. “And zose Muggle … jeans — zey will not do!” Fleur said, shaking her head ruefully “Oh no, they do just fine,” whispered a distinctly non-familial voice near Ginny’s elbow making her choke on her pumpkin juice. Harry Potter made his way to the other end of the table and heaped his plate with potatoes, nodding at Hermione and ignoring Ginny completely. |
| Reviews 421 |
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