So ... um ... I don't know if anyone's even reading anymore and I know it's been a looooong time. I do ...
2 years is a really long writer's block and I'm not sure it's entirely broken but hey, let's give this things a whirl anyway!
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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: 100790; Chapter Total: 6808 Awards: View Trophy Room Author's Notes: |
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“So, how’d it go?” George asked as Harry entered the shop. “Did you send it?” “Yes,” Harry said slowly. “But I still think you’re barking.” It had been George’s idea to send Ginny some flowers but there wasn’t much to be found on a Sunday afternoon during winter and Harry had ended up with a rather odd looking arrangement made up of some sort of red flower that drooped a little if you held it wrong, and what he strongly suspected was broccoli although Harry wasn’t entirely certain that broccoli came in precisely that shade of purple. “Girls love flowers,” George said with authority as he carefully restocked a case of Immediate Itching Powder. “And you need to follow up, if you know what I mean.” George winked as he levitated the empty box into the back storeroom. Harry just grunted. He had not been, and was still not entirely convinced that this was a sound plan. “What if she hates it,” Harry argued as he followed George to the Wonder Witch display and idly picked up a tiny pink bottle of Beguiling Bubbles. “Then you’re no worse off than you were before,” George replied, taking the love potion out of Harry’s hands and putting it back on the display. “Not those, you could try Flirting Fancies though. Merlin knows you need help with that!” “Oi,” Harry protested halfheartedly, knowing George was right. Things hadn’t gone badly after he and Ginny left the Quidditch Stadium, but they hadn’t exactly gone right either. The previous evening played over and over in his head like one of Flich’s records stuck on the gramophone — but with pictures. Harry cradled a cup of tea in his hands and stared at the flickering lamp on the table as he and Ginny sat on a sagging red couch that was crammed awkwardly into a booth created by flimsy paper screens. She was sitting right next to him but he didn’t dare look at her because then he might feel compelled to lean over and kiss her and Harry thought that holding hands all the way from the top of the stadium to the coffee house on the corner was rather enough to be going on with. The only reason his hands weren’t still shaking was because they were clamped so tightly around the teacup that if it wasn’t for the liquid inside providing counter pressure, it would surely have shattered by now. So Harry didn’t dare actually drink it. He wasn’t sure what Ginny was drinking. He vaguely remembered her ordering something that sounded like Mocha Latte Chino. Or something. And so they both sat on the couch, drinking (or not drinking in Harry’s case) and neither of them had said a word in fifteen minutes. Normally they’d be sniping at each other, so Harry was at a bit of a loss. “Rubbish Seeker,” Ginny said suddenly. Harry hummed in agreement and blew across the top of the teacup, trying to think of something he could say about the game, which was really difficult because he’d spent most of it acutely aware of Ginny sitting next to him and not actually paying attention to the game. “Awful coffee,” Harry blurted, looking at Ginny for the first time since they’d sat down in the dimly lit coffee house. “No it isn’t,” Ginny said, sounding puzzled. “It’s actually really very good.” She took another sip from her cup and stared at it thoughtfully. “No, no, I meant at the game,” Harry said. “You know from the beverage stall.” Harry briefly wondered if one could be worse at conversing with a woman than he was. This was even more awkward than the date with Miranda Dungworth where she spoke through a frog puppet for the entire three hours. “Oh! Yes,” Ginny seemed to nod, “terrible coffee. It’s much better at Holyhead. You know ... in the bunker. I mean I’ve never had it from the beverage stalls. That might taste as bad really. I wouldn’t know, would I? Of course ... well ... yes it wasn’t very good coffee.” She lapsed into silence and Harry hummed in agreement again. Ginny shifted slightly on the saggy red couch so that her knee was a hairs breadth from his own. Harry made a concentrated effort to breathe. “This tea is good,” Harry felt compelled to say a moment later. “Oh yes, so’s the coffee,” Ginny agreed and they both took a large gulp before Harry returned to staring at the table lamp. He could have killed George, Harry thought. What sort of nutcase threw a man to the wolves like that? Although the bright side was that it seemed like none of Ginny’s brothers actually wanted to kill him. Except maybe Charlie. Harry didn’t know what Charlie thought. He stared at the elephant statue lurking malevolently in the corner of their booth. “It’s sort of creepy, isn’t it?” Ginny murmured. Harry turned to look at her and found her eyes also trained on the elephant. “I’m not sure why it’s ... there,” Harry said, tilting his head to one side and eyeing it carefully. “Probably the same reason as that, erm ... well that, um ... fountain is,” Ginny said, nodding at a large, glistening water feature next to the cash register. A tall, obelisk shape rose proudly above two exact spheres — the three black marble objects glistening as water ran over them and into the dish on which they rested. “What possible reason could anyone have for that?” Harry asked. Ginny giggled and Harry smiled nervously. He still didn’t know what to do next, but at least they were no longer talking about the coffee. Ginny sipped her drink and stared at the glistening black object on the counter and Harry stared into his tea. “You have nice skin,” Harry blurted suddenly, wishing he could take the words back as soon as they had fled, unbidden from his mouth. Ginny looked at him quizzically, one eyebrow raised. “Skin?” “Yeah, I mean, as skin goes,” Harry added, not making a better impression with his second statement. Harry clamped his jaw closed and fervently hoped Ginny had suddenly gone momentarily deaf. “Okay,” she said, shifting slightly, her eyes darting about the tiny booth. They sat awkwardly for a few more moments before Ginny put her cup down, shuffled her feet and then opened her mouth as if she were going to say something. She didn't. Harry drank some of his tea and searched desperately for something to say, and the courage to actually say it out loud. His search was aborted when Ginny stood up abruptly. “Um, game tomorrow,” she said. “Gwenog will skin me alive if I’m not ... you know ... if my game isn't, well, up to the — if I, yes well I need to get home.” “Oh, um ... yes, right then, okay, um ...” Harry stumbled incoherently through a series of monosyllables as Ginny pulled her cloak off the back of the couch. “I’ll, well I guess I’ll see you around,” Ginny said as she pulled the cloak on. “You know — at The Leaky or something ... yeah.” She backed slowly out of the booth, one hand half raised in farewell. Harry sprang to his feet awkwardly, the tea spilling over his hand and soaking into his cuff. He swore and began searching for a napkin to clean the mess up. By the time he looked up she was gone and the door was slowly closing in her wake. Harry slowly made his way back to his room at the Leaky Cauldron, his sleeve dripping lukewarm tea the whole way. George had dragged him out of bed at noon the next day to interrogate him and then rubbished him mercilessly for what he called ‘a woeful effort that wouldn't have impressed a flobberworm’. “I’m not cut out for this,” Harry complained as George straightened up several boxes of Penelope’s Purple Pussy Cats. “She probably hates me even more now — if that’s possible.” “Pull yourself together,” George muttered idly as one of the boxes tumbled off the edge of the shelf and split open as it hit the floor. Several wispy purple cats stepped delicately out of the somewhat gelatinous mess that began to form on the floorboards. George sighed and pulled his wand out of his pocket. “She doesn’t hate you, she’s completely smitten — anyone can see it.” George flourished his wand at the cats which were now delicately stalking a stand of Rubby O’Chickens. “I can’t see it,” Harry muttered mutinously as the purple cats began to multiply and spread out across the floor of the shop. “Then you need glasses,” George said, stabbing his wand viciously in the direction of a particularly large violet cat that had climbed onto the counter and was strutting around the portrait of Fred. Harry grimaced and began ineffectually waving his own wand at several lilac kittens that had somehow made their way into a display of Tiny Twisters and had knocked over several of the jars, setting miniature tornados loose across the shop floor. The kittens danced among the resulting destruction and knocked over a barrel of Screaming Yo-yos which all screeched as they tumbled across the floor. Harry finally managed to vanish several of the cats but it was a somewhat futile effort. George swore and flourished his wand in a way that would have made Lockhart proud but the purple cats just kept multiplying. “Does this happen every time you drop something?” Harry asked in exasperation. “No, just randomly since the time I accidentally sped up the Bubble Machine while it was full of permanent bubble solution and nearly choked Ron,” George said, still trying to contain the cats. “One day I am going to find out how Ron does it!” He flicked his wand aggressively at an indigo version of Crookshanks that was hissing at a unicycle-riding miniature Umbridge. “It’s not Ron,” Harry said, expertly dispatching two lavender cats that were sliding down a banister at the rear of the shop. “Let’s put it this way — it’s a good thing Hermione was on our side.” George continued vanishing purple cats while Harry attempted to remove the gelatinous substance from which they formed but his best spells didn’t make any difference and mulberry, mauve and magenta cats continued to pour out into the shop faster than he and George could vanish them. “Finite Incantatum!” The cats suddenly vanished and the gelatinous goop dissolved into a powder that settled innocently on the floor. Harry spun around to see Hermione standing smugly in the doorway, a smirk on her face. He scowled at her. Ron was standing behind her, a satisfied grin on his face. George bowed with a flourish before shaking his head. “Good one, Granger,” he said genially. “Can I interest you in empl — ” “No,” Hermione said with finality. “I do not want a job at Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. Now are you two ready to go?” “Go where?” Harry asked, pocketing his wand after banishing the split packaging. “Exmoor,” said Ron. “Harpies are playing the Wasps tonight. Ginny finally decided to give us some tickets. I’ve only been asking for three years! Better late than never I suppose.” “Well,” said an irate voice from outside, “I’m going to be late if you lot don’t hurry up. I don’t know why I let you talk me into letting you come on my Portkey.” Ginny. “Keep yer shirt on,” Ron grumbled as George hustled Harry out of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes and began casting the protective charm on the door. It was getting chilly and there was a brisk breeze, making Harry shiver and pull his cloak tighter around him. Standing in the middle of Diagon Alley, a massive Quidditch bag in one hand and a dented cauldron in the other, eyes glinting with annoyance and cheeks flushed, Ginny waved the cauldron menacingly and hissed. Harry couldn’t tell if Ginny was hissing at him or Ron. His insides turned to ice anyway. She could be scary. There was nothing to be ashamed of. “Come on Potter,” George muttered, dragging a reluctant Harry towards the Portkey. It wasn’t that Harry didn’t want to watch Ginny play Quidditch, he’d watch her do anything — he’d watch her sleep if that wasn’t considered creepy — but Harry had no idea what to do now that he’d sent her flowers. Was he supposed to ask if she got them? Ignore that he’d ever sent them and play it cool? Wait till she brought it up? What if she never brought it up? Why was there no rule book for these sorts of things? And then, just before the Portkey activated, Harry caught a glimpse of purple and a drooping red flower poking out of the pocket of Ginny’s robe. He risked looking Ginny in the eye and was rewarded with a shy smile that warmed his insides up. |
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