I'd Rather Fall in Chocolate by Kezzabear
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 ...
Rating: PG-13
Categories: Alternate Universe
Characters: None
Genres: None
Warnings: None
Challenges: None
Series: None
Published: 2011.07.19
Updated: 2022.08.28
I'd Rather Fall in Chocolate by Kezzabear
Chapter 1: Firewhisky and Blue Sequins
Author's Notes: Ginny Weasley skulked along the side of the Ministry’s largest ballroom, trying to skirt around the edges of the room without drawing attention to herself or the stupendous mess that Lavender Brown had made of her hair. Her heels caught on the edge of one of the carpets that lined the side of the room and a portly wizard with a monocle turned to glare at Ginny as she stumbled into the chaise lounge upon which he was sitting.
“Terribly sorry,” Ginny murmured, thankful that her hideous hair disguised her easily recognisable features. Because Lavender seemed to think that hanging half of her hair down the middle of her face was a good look. Either that, or the wizard hadn’t been near a Quaffle in his life. He certainly looked as if he’d never broken a sweat unless it was running after the dessert trolley. Ginny puffed a breath upwards, trying to dislodge a clump of hair from her forehead where it had stuck fast with the assistance of several ounces of an unidentifiable Wonderwitch product.
Ginny tugged the hem of her dress down and scowled as she snagged her stockings. Her mother would have performed a scouring charm on the spot, had she heard the words that spilled out of Ginny’s mouth as she watched the ladder appear as if by magic and run the full length of her calf. The dress stayed stubbornly too high on her thighs and Ginny cursed her best friend’s ability to talk her into wearing clothes made for someone two sizes smaller. What had looked perfectly fine as she stood, sucking in her stomach in her bedroom, moments after she’d dressed, now looked as dreadful as her hair after riding here in the Ministry provided car and evading Stig Wynter for half a hour.
“Ginny! There you are! I thought you’d decided not to come!”
Ginny groaned and froze as she heard Hermione behind her. She loved her brother’s fiancée, she really did. Most of the time. Just not right now. Ginny took a deep breath, clutched her tiny beaded evening bag that wasn’t even big enough to hold her wand, brushed the clump of hair half an inch to the left and almost out of her eye and turned around to see Hermione clutching Ron’s arm and beaming.
“I’ve been looking for you!” Hermione exclaimed. Ginny wobbled as she tried to surreptitiously untangle her heel from the fringe of the carpet. The portly wizard on the chaise lounge glared at them all. “I didn’t think you’d come, but I’m so glad you did.”
“I told you I would,” Ginny replied shortly, trying to tug her hemline down and her neckline up. “Where’s the bar? I need a drink.”
“Honestly, Ginny,” Hermione shook her head while Ron jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “We’ll see you at dinner then?” Ginny waved absently as she picked her way across the floor, trying to avoid the carpet fringing as she went. She nearly made it before tripping over a bright blue plush rug that had no business being in a ballroom and careened into the bar.
“Firewhisky,” she barked out, clinging to the edge of the bar and trying to shake her foot free of the blue strands that began to behave uncommonly like Devil’s Snare. Ginny was sure they were actually crawling up her leg, trying to suck her down into the plushy depths of hell.
The bartender looked at her for a moment before slowly pulling out a glass and pouring her a drink. Ginny nodded perfunctorily as she shook her foot free and took a step away from the bar, neatly careening into a short witch with dark hair in a low-backed, blu= sequined dress that fishtailed at the bottom. The Firewhisky sailed through the air and landed with a plop on the floor, splashing up onto the ghastly blue sequinned creation. Ginny stumbled over the train of the dress and barely managed to stay upright, clinging to the glass in her hand, she felt the hair on top of her head wobble precariously.
“Oh my goodness!” shrieked the blue sequin clad witch. “You incompetent, bumbling fool! You’ve ruined this dress!” Ginny peered at her in the dim lighting. The first part she could agree with because she’d been battling with impaired vision since leaving Lavender’s Hair Salon, but she could not agree with the second part.
There was nothing she could possibly do to ruin that dress even further. It was shiny and puffy and had ruffles. The witch wearing it was still screeching like a harpy about Ginny paying for her dress while Ginny signalled to the bartender for another drink.
“I mean you can’t just think you can waltz in here and ruin people’s lives!” the dark haired witch sounded like a siren and heads were starting to turn in their direction. Ginny tried to pay attention to the witch who began asking who had invited Ginny and questioning her parentage. “This dress cost me a pretty penny, let me tell you! And I don’t need the likes of you ruining it with your uncouth, drunken behaviour! How did you get in here anyway? I should have you ejected! I have contacts you know!”
“I think your dress will be fine,” Ginny muttered, edging away from the bar and towards the dining room.
“It’s ruined!” shrieked the witch. “I’m going to make sure you don’t destroy this benefit single-handedly! I know people and they can have you ejected!” Ginny rolled her eyes as the witch trotted off, shuffling in her tight skirt and teetering on her too-high heels.
The barman smirked at her as she signalled for another and slid a smoking Firewhisky across the bar to her which Ginny downed in one gulp.
“Don’t worry about her,” the barman said, wiping glasses with a pristine white towel. “I’ll be able to get you back in.” He winked at her, leaning forward and leering a little as he did so. Ginny began to wonder if no one here had ever seen a Quidditch match or if she should let Ron know Lavender’s skills were wasted at her beauty salon when she could be doing disguise work for the Auror Department.
“I’ll be fine,” Ginny murmured. The barman reached out and put a hand on her arm. It was faintly sticky and there was a large wart on the knuckle of his index finger.
“Course, we could always go out back — if you know what I mean,” whispered the man. “Ain’t no need to be coming back in here really.” Ginny pulled her arm away and placed her empty glass gingerly on the bar.
“I’m good,” she said, backing away. “Thanks for the drink, I’ll be heading into dinner now.”
“I’m here until eleven.” The bartender winked again and Ginny shuddered. If he’d been the worst wizard to come onto her in the last week she might have lost her appetite but not much could really top the foot fetish guy she’d been out with last Saturday. Ginny suspected he’d actually stolen her shoes in an effort to spend more time with her feet. She’d never met a man so uninterested in her chest. It was unnerving.
Still that’s what you got for going on dates your mother set up.
Not that Ginny did that often but she’d been desperate to avoid a second date with the balding chess champion that Ron had found at his Muggle chess club. Stanley Myers had picked her up from Ron’s flat wearing brown carpet slippers and taken her on the bus to see a chess tournament. Harvey Toll, dubbed Freaky Foot Fellow by Hermione, had seemed like an absolute prince in comparison but Ginny’s idea of a good date did not involve grape stomping and cleaning her feet by having someone she met only two hours before try to lick her feet clean.
Ginny picked her way across the room carefully, tugging at her skirt and trying not to drop her evening bag. She scanned the tables with her right eye for a glimpse of Hermione who had promised she could sit at their table and she wouldn’t try and set her up with anyone. It was the price Hermione paid to have Ginny come to her benefit — no introductions to eligible young men. Ginny finally found Hermione who was smiling and talking pleasantly to a well dressed woman with grey hair and her distinguished companion.
“I’m just so pleased you could come, Mr Harrington,” Hermione was saying as Ginny sidled up to her friend. “It’s an honour to have you sit with us. I do hope you will enjoy our company this evening.”
“Oh we’re just thrilled, dear,” said the woman. “Bertie and I are just so happy to be here and meet your wonderful family.”
“Well, they’re not really my family,” Hermione began.
“Oh don’t be silly, dear,” Ginny’s mother said, materialising suddenly behind Ginny. “Soon enough is near enough.” Ginny found herself caught up in introductions to the Harringtons and their rather timid looking daughter, who’d been standing behind her mother the entire time, and greeting her parents. It wasn’t until she sat down that she noticed the dark-haired witch in the blue sequined monstrosity had seated herself opposite Ginny and was glaring at her malevolently. Ginny smiled and waved cheekily and the witch scowled.
Ginny wondered idly what the horrible witch was doing at their table but Hermione distracted her by trying to convince her that mousy Abigail Harrington was an avid Quidditch fan.
“So … who’s your favourite team?” Ginny asked, wishing for Firewhisky and reaching for her wineglass. It was going to be a long night.
“I like those ones in the blue?” Abigail said, as if it was a question. Ginny just nodded and gulped at her wine. “I’d like to go and see a game one day but … I really do prefer chess.” Ginny idly wondered if she should introduce Abigail to Stanley Myers.
Ignoring her mother’s frown, Ginny moved the bottle of wine closer to her glass and plastered a rapt expression on her face as Abigail listed her interests which included, apparently, herb gardens, collecting Wellingtons and doing things with wool and other fibres. Ginny made a mental note to tell Hermione later that ‘not setting Ginny up’ applied to both men and women. Ginny refilled her wineglass and nodded as the other girl explained the difference between macramé and crocheting. Abigail’s description of her latest crochet pattern was interrupted by the shrill voice of the blue sequinned witch.
“See, baby, she’s right here — at our table! Can you believe that? You simply must get rid of her for me, pooky!” Ginny looked up to see Harry Potter draped in blue, ruffled sequins.
Her newest enemy was Harry Potter’s date.
And she called him pooky.
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