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SIYE Time:1:04 on 29th March 2024
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I'd Rather Fall in Chocolate
By Kezzabear

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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: 100596; Chapter Total: 8101
Awards: View Trophy Room




Author's Notes:
Hi! I'm back! That wasn't too long a wait now, was it? :D




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There was really no understanding how’d she had gotten here, Ginny decided as she watched Harry out of the corner of her eye, unable to figure out what to do next. She had been sitting cosily in her parents’ sitting room, in front of a nice fire, in a comfortable chair.

Although, if sitting in the same chair as The Git wasn’t something quite stupid, Ginny wasn’t sure what was. She honestly wasn’t sure what had come over her. Probably a spell from George — after all the residual sparks she could feel along her leg pointed to spell work, and just the kind of spell work George favoured. But once she was sitting there, Ginny could hardly get up again, could she? And the chair was big enough for the two of them. Ginny was simply saving space. Quite noble of her really. Ginny had focused on finishing her bottle of mead while Hermione continued to prattle about colour choices and wedding favours.

“So, I was thinking we could go with the traditional sugared almonds, but they don’t exactly come in orange.” Hermione waved a lurid yellow quill in the air above the wedding planning book. “But of course I managed to talk Ron out of orange as a theme anyway. There really isn’t enough distinction between pumpkin and carrot, and tangerine was just not vibrant enough. I wouldn’t have minded peach but Cho did say that orange isn’t a good luck colour for weddings at all.”

“Why are you taking wedding planning advice from Cho?” George asked, still leaning against the mantelpiece.

“It’s best not to discount any advice or assistance,” Hermione replied, flipping pages in the wedding planner.

“It really isn’t, Harry,” George said pointedly. Ginny looked sideways at Harry who was still sitting in the chair with her. He seemed to be a bit red in the face and was staring into the fireplace with fixed determination. He didn’t answer George, only clenched his jaw.

“Luna did suggest yellow,” Hermione continued as though George had not spoken, “but you know I’ve never really taken Luna seriously.” Hermione continued to flip through the book and Ginny frowned. She could feel Harry tense beside her. So he should. Git.

Ginny was about to die of boredom over this wedding talk though. Merlin, if she ever got so caught up in whether or not the ribbons were sky blue, cerulean or cobalt she hoped someone would slap her. Of course she wouldn’t be having blue; it’d be green to match the groom’s eyes. Probably. Because a lot of men had green eyes and the odds of marrying someone with shining emerald eyes was quite high after all.

As Ginny downed the last of her mead she wondered if the fire was blazing a little too high. She felt rather warm. The blackened logs collapsed in the grate, making the glowing coals of the fire settle at the bottom of the grate and a shower of golden sparks flew up the chimney. Ginny shivered (despite still feeling quite warm, maybe she was coming down with something?) as Harry shifted beside her, his hand brushing the bare skin of her leg. The Git sounded like he might have been choking but he looked as serene as always when she looked at him, the stubble on his face making him look slightly dangerous — in a good way, not the way Alvin Pinnock wore it where it made him look like a stalker.

Although it could have been the sixty five love notes and twenty bunches of biting roses that made Alvin look like a stalker. To be fair he didn’t realise they were biting roses, and that florist really did deserve to be shut down. Ginny shuddered at the memory of one of the more persistent of her recent dates. Her life had been so much quieter, and less painful, once Alvin had the Bat Bogey experience.

Hermione kept droning on about wedding plans. At least she’d moved on from colours, but Ginny did not find pansies, hyacinth and grevillea any more riveting than counting the shades of aubergine. If Hermione wanted that many flowers, shouldn’t she get married in a garden instead of a church? Ginny tried to ignore the scorching heat on her thigh where Harry’s hand was (perhaps he had a fever?) and toyed with the neck of the mead bottle. If she had to sit through much more of this wedding talk she was going to die of boredom.

Ginny couldn’t wait for the wedding to be over. To just put on the ridiculous bridesmaid dress (which was green, despite Hermione’s long winded explanation that it was emerald), walk up that flowery aisle, hold Hermione’s bouquet during the ceremony (and who cared what type of flowers they were?) and give her speech and then Ron and Hermione could go on their honeymoon and ... eeeeewwwwww.

“So, Harry,” George began, “weren’t you just saying you had tickets to Puddlemere and Falmouth tonight?”

“I wa —”

“And you know a Quidditch game is better when shared,” George continued. “It’s such a shame I’ve got a date.” Ginny prayed it wasn’t anyone she knew. That was always awkward.

“I’d love to go Harry, but ... you know, Fleur ...” Bill shrugged sheepishly. Ginny rolled her eyes.

“I should like to have attended but ...” Percy just trailed off. Given that he reluctantly attended Ginny’s own debut match, Ginny doubted this.

“Eh, I’ll go,” Ron said lazily. “It’s no Cannons match but —”

“Ron,” Hermione practically hissed. “You can’t go!”

“Why not?” Ron looked affronted. “I like Quidditch and — unffff!”Ginny eyed Hermione suspiciously. She probably didn’t need to lean her elbow so forcefully on Ron’s chest. Not that Ginny blamed her, not really.

“Yes, someone who likes Quidditch!” George said with a little more enthusiasm than necessary. Ginny narrowed her gaze at George.

“But George, I —”

“I wonder who we know who likes Quidditch ...” George mused, cutting Harry off.

“And is available at short notice,” Bill added.

“I rather think Ginevra likes Quidditch,” Percy said, sounding suspiciously like he was making a joke. George’s leer got wider.

“Such a shame if the tickets went to waste,” George mused.

“Yes it would, except —” Harry was starting to look a little green. Hermione might have called sick green or even ‘Pasty I’m About To Vomit Green’.

“Are you all right, Gi — er, Harry?” Ginny asked, putting her hand on his forehead. Last thing she needed was The Git to throw up all over her. His head was all sweaty and Ginny grimaced and wiped her hand on her dress. Gross.

“You’re not busy, are you Ginny?” Bill asked.

“Of course she’s not, it’s Saturday night,” Ron said. Ginny shot her idiotic brother a glare designed to freeze his insides and shatter him into tiny pieces. Pity it didn’t work.

It looked like it worked on Harry though. He was sitting completely still staring in shock, or possibly horror, at Ron.

“I could have plans!” Ginny protested hotly.

“Yeah, but you’re here, aren’t you?” Ron said with a smug grin. Ginny growled at him.

“Wannagothegamewime?” Harry suddenly babbled.

“Sorry, what?” Ginny stared at Harry. The Git still looked like he was going to throw up.

“Excellent!” George cried. “I’ll get your cloak, Ginnikins!”

“Where am I going?” Ginny called as George disappeared into the kitchen.

And that was how she found herself here, with The Git, at the very top of Ilkey Moor Stadium shivering in the stiff breeze that whipped across the top deck. She was going to kill George. And the stupid Flamouth Seeker. He’d flown within inches of the Snitch four times already.

“Where did they find this Seeker?” Harry muttered, blowing on his fingertips. Ginny hunched further into her cloak and shook her head. She was completely rubbish at warming charms and the coffee she’d purchased was cold. Ginny stared at the dregs in the bottom of the paper cup, wondering why she had agreed to come.

Falmouth was a rubbish team, she didn’t like The Git and she spent enough time with Quidditch as it was. So how did she end up here, with Harry Potter, at the top of a Quidditch stadium with the most disgusting (and cold) coffee she’d ever tasted?

“Even Chudley’s Seeker could have caught that Snitch by now,” Harry muttered.

“Oliver looks pained,” Ginny said. “Even he’s probably seen the Snitch.” Puddlemere’s Keeper was furiously signalling to their Seeker who seemed to be having difficulty keeping up with his opponent.

“Someone needs to catch the bloody thing before we all freeze to death,” Harry muttered. He shivered and his lips were turning an unattractive shade of blue.

“We could ... just ... leave,” Ginny suggested tentatively, her teeth beginning to chatter. Harry stared at her and Ginny began to regret saying anything. Of course The Git wouldn’t want to leave a game that wasn’t finished. He was almost a bigger Quidditch nut than she was.

“Yeah, who said we had to wait for the game to finish?” Harry said suddenly, jumping up and grasping Ginny’s hand, pulling her along as he strode towards the aisle. Ginny stumbled after him, her numb legs barely keeping up. For a short guy The Git had a ridiculously long stride. Not that Ginny minded short men; they were much easier to kiss than Wally Styles who was taller than Ron and wider than Gilderoy Lockhart’s ego.

Harry navigated crumpled popcorn bags, empty mead bottles and a particularly nasty looking wad of candy floss stuck to the back of one of the seats to plunge down the narrow staircase between angrily gesticulating Falmouth fans and groaning Puddlemere supporters. Ginny saw the Seekers narrowly miss the Snitch again and Oliver Wood shouting viciously at one of the Beaters. As Harry jumped down the last three steps, pulling Ginny with him onto the wooden platform that led to the food and beverage section, the paper coffee cup she had been clutching flew out of her hand. Ginny watched in horror and then giggled as her almost empty coffee cup flew through the air and hit the nose of a rather large and florid Flamouth supporter. Harry snorted and quickly dragged Ginny around the corner before they were spotted.

“Come on, let’s go and get a real coffee,” Harry said, tugging on Ginny’s hand and bypassing the beverage stalls. “I don’t know about you, but I need to thaw out.” He grinned mischievously, his eyes twinkling as he checked behind them to make sure they hadn’t been followed by an irate, coffee drenched behemoth, and Ginny didn’t know if she actually needed to thaw out any longer.
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