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SIYE Time:12:17 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: 100608; Chapter Total: 10273
Awards: View Trophy Room




Author's Notes:
Okay, you were right, it was Harry waiting for Ginny at Reception ;)




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Going after Ginny Weasley, brothers or no brothers, was either incredibly smart (Harry’s first thought) or incredibly stupid (the thought that occurred to him after he remembered how many older brothers she had). So far, however, it did not appear that Ginny’s brothers had figured out what Harry was up to. They were still setting her up with woefully inadequate wizards who couldn’t make a good impression in wet sand. Ron was particularly excited about Duke Pondsby who was Ginny’s potential suitor for next Friday. Harry couldn’t see anything at all appealing about a used flying carpet salesman who still lived in a one bedroom flat with his mother. The potential for romance was severely limited. Not that Harry wanted Ginny to have romantic potential, so technically Harry was more than okay with the idea.

Harry thought about Duke Pondsby and his sofa bed with his mother in the next room and then imagined bringing a girl ‘home’ to the Dursleys and shuddered. Then he realised that bringing a girl home to The Leaky Cauldron wasn’t doing much better. Harry scowled as he arrived on the windy Welsh moor that was home to Ginny’s training ground. After Ginny’s dramatic and disastrous exit from The Leaky on Friday night, things had not gone well for the rest of the weekend, and despite Duke Ponsby’s woefully inadequate bedroom potential Harry felt slightly threatened because Ginny only rolled her eyes at Ron whereas she was still glaring at Harry. When she deigned to be in the same room as him — which was not often.

After Sunday tea at The Burrow, where Ginny had given him a death stare, avoided him completely and actually muttered something threatening about putting Harry’s eyes in a swamp, he went to Neville for a pep talk. Well, technically he went to the pub to wallow in self pity and stare into a bottle of Ogden’s Finest but Neville managed to get to him before the whisky did. Almost.

“I think I made a mishtake, Neb — Nebil — Nefil,” Harry slurred when Neville found him sitting in the corner of the second best parlour at The Leaky. The bottle was almost half empty and Harry was slouched in an oversized armchair.

“You’re lucky I know some good herbal remedies then,” Neville muttered as he banished the bottle and summoned a small cauldron and a case of herbs.

“I should have shtayed in Bul — Bull — Bugaria and gone out with Alish-ter,” Harry moaned. “Ginny hatesh me and she didn’t let me heal her eye and she is going to kill me with her glaring. Her shtaring ish a lethal weapon.” Harry punctuated each word with a finger stab to the air while Neville nodded sagely.

“Harry, you’re not gay,” was all Neville said, while adding things to the cauldron, carefully chopping and measuring one ingredient at a time. “You wouldn’t enjoy a relationship with Alistair.”

“I know,” Harry said morosely as Neville pried the glass out of his hands. “I bet I’d enjoy one with Ginny if she shtopped looking at me as if I killed her Pygmy Puff. I didn’t kill her Pygmy Puff! It wash Shh — Shheemm — Finnegan!” Neville handed Harry a vial that was smoking slightly.

“Drink this,” he commanded. Harry eyed him balefully.

“Wheresh my Ogden’s?”

“Gone. Drink this,” Neville said patiently. Harry took the vial slowly and raised it to his lips before swallowing the nasty concoction in one gulp.

“Merlin, that’s disgusting!” Harry exclaimed sitting bolt upright. “What is in that thing?”

“A bit of ginger, some nettles, bit of mint —”

“Mint? Then why does it taste so bloody disgusting?”

“Imagine if it didn’t,” Neville said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Sober yet?”

“As a judge,” Harry replied.

“So what are you going to do about Ginny?” Neville said, settling into a chair opposite Harry.

“Pine away slowly?” asked Harry, closing his eyes and slouching in the chair.

“You came all the way back from Bulgaria to sit in the corner of my second-best parlour pining for my best friend?” Neville asked. Harry didn’t answer. He just nodded and then sighed.

“No, you’re not,” Neville said forcefully, leaning forward. “You both deserve better. She deserves more than a shoddy date with a guy who keeps mice in his pocket —”

“Who does that?”

“Mervin Humple, but that’s not the point. She deserves better than that and you deserve better than an Amazonian Drag Queen and Sophia Reichstein.”

“Sophia wasn’t too bad,” Harry protested. Neville raised an eyebrow.

“You told me she had twenty —seven cats!”

“Twenty-six.”

“Whatever,” Neville shrugged. “The point is that anything worth having is worth fighting for and she is worth fighting for.”

“So why didn’t you marry her?” Harry asked belligerently.

“Because her brothers are kinda scary,” Neville admitted. “I thought Fred was going to jinx me when he found us in the broom cupboard in fifth year.”

“You’re lucky Fred found you,” Harry said with a laugh. “He was the easy going one!”

“Ron didn’t speak to me for a week,” Neville said gloomily.

“I remember.” Harry grinned. Seamus had gone mad trying to be the messenger between the two of them and had famously blown up half the dormitory to make the point that he was not an owl. Harry frowned, thinking of the turmoil caused by what Dean always called Young Love at Hogwarts which sounded like the title of a very bad romance novel. Harry looked at Neville. “Still, you went out with Ginny for two years. You survived.”

“Only just, anyway we’re better as friends,” Neville said with a shrug. “I don’t know why we went out for so long. Maybe it was just easier; it was comfortable — until Hannah.” Neville smiled.

“It was comfortable to go out with a girl with six brothers?”

“Honestly, Harry, they don’t matter,” Neville said earnestly. “Ginny knows how to handle them — and herself.”

“They’re still scary,” Harry pointed out.

“So is she,” Neville said with a smirk.

Harry had gone to see Ginny straight after work the next day, before his nerve failed him (or he ran into one of her brothers). Harry stared at the stadium for a moment before he braced himself and walked into the reception area. An aged janitor pushed a broom around the floor and a black cat sat on the end of the counter watching him balefully.

“Yair?” greeted the receptionist without looking up. She was chewing gum and twirling her dirty blonde hair around one finger as she stared at a worn copy of Witch Weekly.

“I’m looking for Ginny Weasley,” Harry said quietly.

“She’s trainin’,” the receptionist said shortly, flipping the page in her magazine using her wand.

“Well, do you think when she finishes —” Harry didn’t get any further because the witch looked up at him and her jaw dropped. Her chewing gum disappeared, she straightened in her seat and she began blinking furiously.

“Hello Mr Potter,” said the receptionist in a decidedly more sultry tone. Harry remembered the main reason he stayed away from England so long ... and he’d just walked into the training ground of the only all female Quidditch team in England. The only male here was a decrepit janitor who reminded him of Filch. And possibly the cat but it was hard to tell.

“Can you just —”

“Training doesn’t finish for another fifteen minutes,” said the receptionist, “but maybe I can help you? I know a lovely little pub just down the village. We could go and ... talk.”

“Er, I’ll just wait,” Harry said politely, leaning on the counter and staring at the black cat intently. The cat turned its back on him and commenced washing its paws thoroughly.

Harry masterfully ignored most of the things the receptionist did to get his attention. It wasn’t difficult because she had a particularly ... vibrant hair sprouting from the mole on her chin and it was a little distracting. Harry wondered briefly if she was able to twirl that hair around her finger. He leaned in to get a closer look. The witch started blinking again and smiling at him which only made the hair in the mole quiver relentlessly. Harry squinted, trying to see how long it was.

“What are you doing here?” The abrupt question was thrown at him suddenly and Harry straightened up. Ginny Weasley was glaring at him, a scrape on one cheek, her black eye still swollen, and bristling like one of Aunt Marge’s dogs.

“Thought we could grab something to eat,” Harry said, backing away slightly. The pack of women behind Ginny looked only a little less menacing than Ginny herself.

“Why?” Ginny demanded.

“Because ... you’re hungry?” It came out like a question and Harry glanced at the cat hopefully but the feline remained impassive — and facing the other way. Ginny glanced at her team mates, one of whom was now wearing a feral grin and looked kind of big and scary.

“You’re buying,” Ginny said shortly before limping past him to the door. A little blonde who’d been standing behind Ginny giggled and bounced slightly. Harry gave a little wave before backing away towards the door, following Ginny through. They walked silently for a moment. Well he walked, Ginny sort of shuffled a bit.

“Hey, are you all right?” Harry asked. Ginny turned to glare at him. He was getting that from her a lot.

“Not really,” she snapped, “but don’t let that bother you.”

“I was just asking,” Harry said defensively.

“Why are you here, Potter?” Ginny asked. She suddenly sounded tired and stopped in the middle of the footpath. “You haven’t been around for years and now ... never mind.”

“I’m home now,” Harry said, although he was starting to wonder why he’d bothered.

“Yeah, well better late than never,” Ginny muttered. “And you didn’t answer my question. Why are you here?”

“To grab a bite,” Harry said.

“Who put you up to it?” Ginny asked, her voice laden with suspicion she was balanced precariously on one leg, wobbling dangerously.

“No one — hey do you always look this bad after training?”

“Sod off, Potter,” Ginny spat, losing her balance spectacularly. She wobbled all the way into the garden bed at the side of the footpath and fell over a small shrub before landing sideways in a quivering bush, scaring a garden gnome who’d been hiding under it.

Harry didn’t know whether to help her up or not. This wasn’t the reception he’d imagined. He rather thought she’d be happy to see him. Or at least pretend to be.

“If you’re intent on getting something to eat, you’d better help me up,” Ginny said dryly, after a moment. Harry reached a hand out and hauled her to her feet. Ginny winced and limped out of the garden bed.

“Look,” Harry said rubbing the back of his head, “maybe this isn’t the best night to do this? You’re kind of ... injured.”

“It’s nothing,” Ginny said dismissively, waving a hand that threatened to unbalance her again. “You know how Quidditch is.”

“Well, let me at least fix your cheek,” Harry said, drawing his wand. “What happened?” Although Ginny’s black eye was fading, the remaining swelling still made her squint as she looked at him warily.

“Are we getting food or not?” she grumbled, turning away. Harry sighed. It was an improvement that she wasn’t shooting daggers at him, but it was probably only because she only had one working eye. Which probably accounted for her terrible balance.

Ginny hobbled off in the direction of the nearby village pub and Harry trailed after her, hastily stowing his wand back in its holster. He supposed he should probably be a little more wary, given her ability to turn his insides to ice with one glance but she seemed safe enough at the moment. Hopefully he could thaw her out with a meal and some witty company but, considering she was with him, maybe he’d better just rely on the food to thaw her out.

“You going to stand out there all night?” Ginny called from the doorway of the pub while Harry was still thinking. He shook his head and hurried inside. Ginny threw herself onto a chair at a little table near the door and looked up at Harry expectantly.

“I’ll have the steak,” she said pointedly.

“Right,” Harry said, “I’ll just ...” he gestured to the counter vaguely and backed away from the table wondering exactly why he’d thought this was a good idea. He was rubbish with women, had been for years and he’d clearly not been thinking for a good hour considering the spot he was now in. He wondered briefly if it was possible to check oneself for Imperious but he couldn’t think of anyone who’d want to force him into asking Ginny Weasley for a meal. And this morning it had been his idea.

Bloody stupid one apparently.

Harry ordered two steaks with chips and two soft drinks. As he leaned on the counter to wait for the drinks he pondered his current predicament. What was he thinking to completely change his job and his home for a woman? He was living out of his trunk in a pub and working a crazy schedule for retraining. A couple of weeks ago he lived in Bulgaria and did nice orderly paperwork in a nice orderly office and went home to his nice orderly flat.

Sweet Merlin, he’d turned into Percy!

Harry turned to look at Ginny, who was thankfully still sitting at the little table by the door. She was tugging at her hair, pulling it out of the ponytail she’d worn it in for training and as he watched her hair cascade around her shoulders Harry wondered what it was going to take to win her over. He carried the two drinks back to the little table and offered one to Ginny. She sipped it slowly, eyeing Harry like he was some sort of bug. It was an improvement on the glaring daggers look.

“How was training?” Harry asked as he sat down.

“Brutal,” Ginny replied shortly. Harry nodded and sipped his own drink. It was far too sweet and disgustingly fizzy but there was no way he was going to get drunk at this point. It was far too risky. Harry’s eyes roamed the dingy pub for some sort of inspiration. It hadn’t been this difficult to talk to his date since Krum had set him up with that woman who only spoke Mongolian. Except Harry wasn’t at all sure that Ginny would agree this was a date. He watched her silently as she made a face at the drink and set it on the table. Her fingernails clicked on the tabletop as she drummed her fingers and her eyes darted from side to side as if searching for escape. Harry took a deep breath.

“Look, I know that you don’t really ... like me,” he said.

“You’re perceptive,” Ginny muttered.

“But I was hoping we could be ... civil.” Harry cringed. He wanted to be more than civil. He wanted to be downright friendly, leaning towards carnal, but he’d settle for civil right now.

“Oh civil, like the way you were with Gertie?” Ginny’s eyes flashed dangerously as Harry tried to figure out who Gertie was. “You should let her know sooner rather than later how long you play to play with her.” Ginny’s arms crossed over her chest defiantly.

It really would be better for Harry’s sanity if she didn’t do that ...

“She’s a useless receptionist at the best of times!” Ginny said, throwing her hands up.

“You thought I was flirting with the receptionist?” Harry asked. “She is not my ... type.” Ginny narrowed her eyes.

“What is your type?” she asked. Harry leaned forward a little.

“I like women who are petite and feisty,” he said in a low voice. He stared at her for a moment, watching a delicate pink flush stain her cheeks. She shifted in her seat and looked away. Harry took the opportunity to drink in the tantalising curve of her neck and imagined Dudley in his Smeltings uniform to stop himself from diving across the table like an idiot and nuzzling her.

“You look pretty when you blush,” Harry murmured, the visualisation of Dudley not able to stop the thoughts leaping out of his mouth. Ginny looked at him out of the corner of her eye and the blush darkened. She shifted slightly, a frown creasing her brow.

“Why are you following me around?” Ginny asked suddenly. Harry practically felt his heart stop right there, in his chest.

“I ... have been a lot of places you’ve been lately,” Harry said carefully. Ginny raised an eyebrow delicately as their meals arrived; saving Harry from what had the potential to be a fate worse than death. Ginny picked up her knife; she suddenly looked menacing, brandishing a steak knife.

“You’re following me, admit it,” Ginny said, pointing the knife at Harry’s chest.

“I just hoped we could be friends!” Harry exclaimed, holding his hands up in surrender and completely understating his case.

“Why now? Why not before?”

“When before?”

“When we were kids, at school, before the war, just ... before.”

“We were kids,” Harry shrugged. “Girls were ... they weren’t friends.”

“Hermione was,” Ginny shot back immediately.

“She’s ... different,” Harry said, searching for a way to describe it and failing spectacularly. Ginny glared at him again. He really did need to find a way to harness that power for good and not evil.

“I’ve always been told you can never have too many friends,” Ginny said conversationally, twirling the steak knife idly. “I’ve never really tested the theory. So, if you stop following me —”

“I’m not —”

“ — and stop all that ‘pretty’ stuff, we can be friends,” Ginny said, ignoring Harry’s interruption. She picked up her fork and waved at her plate, “but you’re still paying for dinner.” Her face was still flushed and she looked a little pink but a small smile was playing on her lips as she studiously started to cut her food. Harry felt rather positive about the whole thing. Ginny Weasley was going to let him be friends and he hadn’t thought about being maimed by her brothers over it for at least ten minutes.

Things were looking up.
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