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This Or That
By Calixa

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Category: Post-OotP
Characters:All, Harry/Ginny
Genres: Fluff, Humor
Warnings: None
Story is Complete
Rating: G
Reviews: 41
Summary: It's a hot summer night at the Burrow, and everyone's bored. Why not play a game to pass the time? Fluff warnings.
Hitcount: Story Total: 7524







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This or That


A/N: Fluff because I needed a little cheering up. Don’t we all, sometimes? Enjoy!


“That’ll be five galleons, Harry,” said Fred cheerfully; extending his palm over the stack of scattered playing cards that littered the floor of the den. Harry could see the same grin on both his face and his twin’s.

That teaches me to play poker with them, thought Harry, as he reached into his robes, fumbling for money. Fortunately, he hadn’t needed anything other than the books on his Hogwarts list and some new robes when Mrs. Weasley had taken the lot of them — Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny — to Diagon Alley the previous day, so he still had some extra gold handy.

“Or,” said George, “you can eat this-” he held up a brightly wrapped candy, “-and we’ll consider the money paid.”

Harry promptly plunked his coins down. “There. Five galleons.”

Ron, who was sitting in the corner with Hermione, smirked.

“Who are we to deny a fellow if he wants to part with his gold?” said George, sweeping the gold into his pockets swiftly. He beamed at Fred.

“I’m not stupid,” said Harry, grinning. “I’d rather be five galleons poorer than walk around for a week with boils in…er, places you can’t see.”

Fred shook his head sadly. “We’ve never been able to figure that one out.”

“The boils went away eventually,” commiserated George.

“Hurt like hell, though.”

Hermione looked up from her book, her nose wrinkled. “Haven’t you played enough rounds of that?”

“Haven’t you read enough of that book?” quipped Ron, grinning at her. “Come on, Hermione, we still have nearly a week before term starts.”

“Yeah, come play a round, Hermione,” urged Fred. “You too, Ron.”

“We feel bad winning all of Harry’s money.”

Hermione peered at them all over the top of her book. She caught Harry’s eye, noted the pleading look in his gaze, and grudgingly nodded. Lowering Wizarding Politics of the Fifth Century and its Implications on History, she set down on the floor with a thump and scooted over to sit in between Ron and Fred.

“All right,” said Fred, “This time we’re not playing for money.”

Ron looked at his brother in surprise. “We’re not?”

“We’ll, winning money from guests just isn’t very chivalrous, is it?” intoned Fred. “Mum won’t be happy if she finds out we cleaned Hermione’s book fund.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “You had no qualms about winning Harry’s money.”

“Harry doesn’t count,” said Fred, grinning. “Harry’s like our brother.”

“We can take his money,” added George in agreement.

Despite himself, Harry felt a little stirring of pleasure at Fred and George’s words. Like their brother, he thought, a smile creeping onto his face. Hermione looked at the twins in dismay, obviously trying to figure out if she was offended or not by their declaration. Fred and George saw her reaction also, and exchanged small grins.

“We wouldn’t take money from Ginny, either,” said Fred, dealing out the cards. “We’d just make her do chores for us.”

Hermione looked at them suspiciously. “What sort of chores?”

Fred grinned. “Don’t worry — you won’t have to do chores. We’ll play for chocolate frogs.” He reached behind him and dragged a satchel into view.

“HEY!” shouted Ron in outrage, “Those are MINE!”

“We know, we’re just borrowing —”

“Give them back!” Ron snatched the bag out of Fred’s hands. “You gits!”

“Come on, we’ll buy you more,” said George, rolling his eyes. “Don’t be greedy, Ronniekins. We’ll distribute them for the next round — whatever you win or lose we’ll double!”

Ron let go of the satchel reluctantly. “Fine,” he agreed.

They played again, and much to Harry’s disbelief, he lost again. And again.

After six rounds, Hermione emerged the big winner. She looked insufferably smug as she gathered her chocolate frogs into a neat pile — and the twins admitted defeat. She was a good poker player. Even Ron looked impressed.

“It’s just not your night, is it, Harry?” said Ron sympathetically. “You’re really bad at this game, you know.”

“Thanks.” Harry looked at him darkly. “I think I’m quitting for the night.”

Fred patted him on the shoulder. “It’s all right, Harry. Everybody’s bad at something.”

“You’re tonight’s big loser,” said George. “So…”

“Right,” said Harry warily. “What do you want?”

The twins beamed at him in a manner that he did not trust in the least. He threw them both cautious looks, and said, “I’m not trying any of your inventions!”

“You don’t have to,” said Fred. “We’ve got other people to do that.”

“Willing test subjects,” said George, “Who understand the nature and importance of scientific research.”

Ron snorted, his hand surreptitiously creeping towards Hermione’s pile of chocolate frogs. Hermione, picking up her book again, seemed to know what he was doing and gave his hand a sharp slap. He withdrew it sulkily.

“Let’s play a game,” said Fred, standing up. “Harry, since you lost, you get to go first.”

“What game?” asked Harry suspiciously.

“It’s simple,” said Fred, winking at his twin. “Come over here — c’mon, we’re not going to eat you.”

“Do a handstand,” instructed George, “Against the wall.”

Harry stared at them blankly.

“What? Don’t you know how to do a handstand?”

Harry scowled and rolled up his sleeves as Ron and Hermione watched on in amusement, chewing on their winnings. He did a wobbly handstand against the wall like George had said, and glared up at the twins. “Now what?”

“We’re going to ask you a few questions,” said Fred, “You answer the first thing that comes into your mind.”

“Okay…”

“Ready?”

Harry grunted a yes.

“Right,” said Fred, looking at George. “Care to do the honours?”

“It would be my pleasure,” said George, clearing his throat. “Quidditch or Chess?”

Harry blinked. “Quidditch.”

“Apples or Oranges?”

“Apples.”

“Potions or Divination?”

Harry paused. “Neither.”

Ron smirked at Harry, and stole another chocolate frog from Hermione’s winnings’ pile. She slapped his hand away but he’d already popped the frog into his mouth, grinning cheekily.

“Fair enough,” said George, making a mark on a notepad he’d conjured up. “Butterbeer or Pumpkin juice?”

“Butterbeer,” said Harry promptly.

“Briefs or boxers?”

Harry choked. “What?”

“Answer!”

“Boxers,” he muttered, going red as Hermione ‘tsk’ed at the twins in disapproval. Fred gave him a roguish wink and threw a piece of fudge at Hermione.

“Can I get down now?” he asked, finding it a bit hard to breathe with all the blood in his body flowing into his head.

“No,” said George. “You’ve still got a few more to answer.”

“Hurry,” he complained.

“All right, keep your boxers on.”

“Hogwarts or Hogsmeade?”

“Hog…warts.”

“Ron or Hermione?”

“Ron.”

The twins smirked, Ron grinned at him, and Hermione threw some popcorn in Harry’s direction, pretending to be indignant.

“Less syllables!” Harry stuttered, his arms shaking. Hermione laughed and elbowed Ron.

“He doesn’t really like you more,” she teased. Ron used the opportunity to steal another chocolate frog. Hermione swatted his arm.

“Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw?”

“I don’t know!” said Harry, struggling to keep himself upright. His arms were starting to shake. “I can’t feel my arms!”

“You call yourself a Quidditch player?”

Fred wagged a finger at him. “No answer means another question.”

Harry gritted his teeth.

“Cho or Ginny?”

“Ginny,” He snapped hastily, as his arms gave out. Harry fell with a thud, in a position that was rather painful. He sat himself upright, groaning, and saw all four faces grinning at him.

“What?” he asked irritably, rubbing his elbow.

“Ginny has two syllables, doesn’t it Fred?” asked George airily.

“Why yes, George, I believe it does.”

Oh.

Harry blushed furiously. “Not fair,” he grumbled, wishing he could somehow wipe the teasing smirks off Ron and Hermione’s faces.

“Oh look, here she comes now.”

“Hey Ginny.”

Ginny came cheerfully down the stairs, her hair still wet from the shower. She had a towel draped over her shoulders, and she was wearing shorts and an old t-shirt. Harry had to avert his eyes from the sight of her freshly scrubbed skin, fairly glowing with cleanliness. His stomach did a strange little flop that only intensified as she smiled at them all.

“Hello Fr-ed. Ge-orge.” She settled herself down between Harry and Hermione, and looked around brightly. “What did I miss?”

“Oh, not much. Harry was just telling us abut how he likes monosyllabic words.”

Ginny raised an eyebrow at them, and turned to look at Harry, perplexed.

Harry felt his face heat up and he avoided her gaze, mumbling, “They’re just kidding.”

“Ah,” she said, grinning at him. “What else did you do? I heard someone fall.”

“That was Harry, too.”

“He was showing us his gymnastic skills.”

“I was not!” said Harry, highly embarrassed. Ginny raised her eyebrow again. “I was playing their game,” he explained. Hastily, he added, “They made me.”

“You did it of your own free will,” said George, looking deeply wronged. “We would never force anyone into doing anything they didn’t want to.”

Ron snorted loudly.

“We merely encourage them to expand their minds,” said Fred nobly. “So, wanna play, Gin?”

Ginny took a moment to consider. She looked at Harry intently, as though checking him up and down for mutations. She grabbed his arm and pulled him forward so she could see his back, which was against the wall. Harry looked at her in puzzlement.

“Er - Ginny?”

Ginny let go of him, looking satisfied. “Okay, I’ll play.”

They all looked at her in surprise.

She shrugged. “Well, Harry played, and he doesn’t look like he’s got extra fingers or anything.”

“Excellent,” said Fred, rubbing his hands together. Harry, for some reason, felt slight misgivings at the look of mischief in the twin’s eyes. “Do a handstand against the wall,” he instructed.

“Okay…” said Ginny slowly, tucking her shirt into the waistband of her shorts. She did what they said, and then looked up at them expectantly. “Now what?”

“We’re going to ask you a few questions. You answer the first thing that comes to mind, OK?”

“OK.”

“All right then, first question: Quidditch or Chess?”

“Quidditch.”

Fred beamed. “Apples or Oranges.”

“Apples,” said Ginny.

“Potions or Divination.”

“Ugh,” she replied, blinking, and blowing at a loose strand of hair that had fallen into her eyes, “Do I have to choose?”

“Harry said neither,” Ron chimed in helpfully.

“Then I say neither, too.”

Harry avoided all the amused glances that Hermione, Ron and the twins cast in his direction. He opted not to look at Ginny’s face either. Instead he found himself staring at her neck. It was very clean and smooth. He blinked and lifted his eyes further up along her collar… No, don’t look there! Look at her stomach, that’s safe…He focused his gaze on her t-shirt, which was bunched up inside her shorts, but he soon had to avert his eyes from there, too, because it was slipping out on one side, and he could see a glimpse of her waist…get a grip!

Harry moved his eyes up again to her shorts, which were blue and perfectly intact (no rips, no holes where he could see any skin) so it was safe, but he just didn’t feel right, looking… there. He coughed weakly, his mouth suddenly very dry. He realised after a few seconds that he was staring at her thighs, where the hem of her shorts had slipped down… STOPPIT, STOPPIT!

Eventually, he found himself staring at her knees. Good, he thought weakly, trying to compose himself. Knees are safe. No one ever complains about knees. She has nice knees. Way nicer than mine…

Someone nudged him — Ron’s foot, to be exact, and he jumped a little. Ron raised his eyebrows at him. Harry felt the heat creeping up into his cheeks. What would Ron say if he knew Harry was staring at his sister’s knees? Her knees, for Merlin’s sakes! You weren’t just staring at her knees!

“You OK, Harry?” asked Fred, waving a hand in front of Harry’s face.

Harry blinked. “Yeah… I was just thinking of something else.”

Fred turned back to Ginny, and asked, “So, Butterbeer or Pumpkin juice?”

“Um… Butterbeer!”

“Four to four,” muttered Fred, elbowing George. “Continue.”

Harry glanced at Ginny, his face still burning, and she gave him a brief, intent look (don’t blush, don’t blush — she’s looking at you — don’t BLUSH!)

She smiled ruefully at him. “You know, my arms are starting to hurt,” she said.

“Oh c’mon, Ginny,” said Ron, throwing popcorn at her. “Even Harry got to the fifth question before complaining.”

Ginny gritted her teeth. “Fine, just hurry.”

“Briefs or Boxers?”

What?

Harry choked.

“She doesn’t wear them, you gits!” said Ron. Hermione rolled her eyes.

“On boys,” corrected Fred, winking at Harry.

“Boxers, then,” said Ginny with a straight face. “Go on before I fall over.”

“Hogwarts or Hogsmeade?”

“Argh — Hogsmeade!”

Fred frowned a little and made a scratch mark on his notepad. Harry felt a teensy bit better. He could only imagine the amount of teasing he’d get from them if Ginny gave all the same answers that he had.

“Ron or Hermione?”

Ginny laughed. “Hermione.”

Harry laughed along with everyone else. Ron pretended to look hurt.

“Just one more, Ginny.”

“The final question!”

“The moment of truth.”

“The one —”

“Oh, just ask it!” she snapped, her arms shaking.

George sniffed. “Just trying to add a bit of drama.”

“Yeah,” added Fred. “You’re no fun.”

Ginny rolled her eyes.

“Michael…”

Harry’s smile faded as he saw the look of surprise form on Ginny’s face.

“Or…”

Both twins turned their heads to look at Harry, and he felt his insides sink to the bottom of his stomach. I’ll kill them.

“…Harry?”

Ginny stared at them for a moment. She clamped her mouth shut, and then, much to everyone’s surprise, lowered herself and sat up.

“Hey!” shouted Fred. “We didn’t say you could come down!”

“You didn’t answer the question, either!”

Ginny looked at them calmly. “I didn’t like it.”

“That’s not in the rules!”

“You made up the rules!”

“So?”

“I’m not playing anymore.” She stood up. “Anyone else thirsty?”

Fred and George watched her go into the kitchen, both looking sulky.

“She’s no fun,” commented Fred.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have mentioned Michael,” said Hermione from the corner, frowning.

“Well, isn’t he someone else’s boyfriend now?” demanded Ron.

“Exactly,” said George. “Girls.”

Hermione threw them all exasperated looks and shook her head before delving back into Wizarding Politics of the Fifth Century and its Implications on History again. Ron frowned at her, but he looked a little repentant.

“You know, maybe she’s right. Maybe Ginny’s still not over Michael.”

Harry’s stomach did a strange flop. “She seemed fine on the train,” he muttered, trying to remember what she’d said about Michael and Cho dating.

“Yeah,” said Ron.

“Anyway!” George said brightly, shrugging it off. “Who’s in for another round?”

*

Harry made a lame excuse half an hour later to steal into the kitchen, but Ginny didn’t seem to be there. He felt a bit guilty — even though it had been Fred and George who had asked the stupid question. Nevertheless, he felt obliged to find Ginny, and somehow… do something about it.

How could they ask that? He wondered, feeling a brief flash of anger.

It took him a few minutes to find her outside, sitting in the grass lawn, playing with Crookshanks. Harry summoned up his courage and went over to stand a few steps behind her.

“Hi,” he said.

She looked up at him and smiled. “Hi, Harry.”

“I thought you were thirsty.”

For a split second, she looked purely embarrassed, but she covered it up well with a nonchalant shrug, and patted Crookshanks, who was now lying contentedly in her lap. “I didn’t feel like it after all.”

“Ah.” Harry stuck his hands into his pockets, racking his brain to find something a little cleverer to say.

“Sit down,” she said after a moment, patting the ground next to her. Harry did, awkwardly, making sure to keep a bit of distance between them. For a few minutes they sat in silence, the only sound being the soft purring noise that Crookshanks was emitting.

“How come you didn’t choose?” he blurted out suddenly, breaking the quiet. He immediately flushed and was extremely grateful that it was dark. He hadn’t realised he was dying to know. Ginny looked at him in surprise.

“Oh,” she said slowly, blinking. Harry wanted to smack himself. “Well, I… I didn’t want to have them teasing you.”

“Oh.” Harry looked down at the scuffed sole of his trainers, not knowing what else to say. Brilliant, Harry. He didn’t quite dare look at Ginny, somehow.

“They wouldn’t let me hear the end of it if I’d chosen,” continued Ginny, her voice overtly casual. “You know?”

“Yeah,” said Harry, licking his lower lip, and pretending to be interested in a small stain on his t-shirt. He rubbed at it with his hand, trying to resist looking up at Ginny’s face.

“I mean, they’re like that.”

“Yeah, they are.”

“Before you know it, they’d have mum on our case.”

“Mum?” Harry blinked. “I mean, Mrs. Weasley?”

“Yeah…,” Ginny nodded, rolling her eyes. “They’d tell her we were dating or something.”

Harry looked at her, confused. “Why would they tell her that?”

“Because…” She looked at him uncertainly. “Well, I’d have chosen you, of course.”

Oh. Ohhhh. Harry clamped his mouth shut, feeling foolish. He also had an inexplicable desire to grin. He tried to conceal that by ducking his head in between his knees and running his hands through his hair.

“Yeah,” he said, his face burning. “Me. I mean — yeah, they’d make fun of me. Us.”

Ginny laughed, touching his arm gently. “Are you Ok, Harry? You look a little flushed.”

“I’m fine,” he muttered, somewhat flustered. “It’s just… really hot out here.”

“Mmm, yeah, it is.”

They sat around for a little bit after that, chatting quietly about Hogwarts and classes and Quidditch — all the things Harry was looking forward to for the year ahead. He laughed a few times when Ginny told him about the antics Fred and George had been planning for him before he arrived in August, but hadn’t managed to pull off because Mrs. Weasley had found out.

“Honestly,” said Ginny, “You would think that moving out would make them more mature, but not Fred and George. They think we’re their personal guinea pigs.”

“As long as they don’t feed you anything, it’s not so bad,” said Harry, grinning.

“No, they just make fun of Ron, mostly,” said Ginny, petting Crookshanks. “Or Hermione. Both of them, really. Fred and George even promised to cater their wedding. Ron went through the roof when he heard that.”

Harry laughed again. “I wouldn’t put it past them, would you?”

“I guess we’re all just the butts of their jokes.”

“Yeah,” said Harry. “We could all use a little cheer.”

“Good luck getting cheer out of them,” said Ginny wryly. “They’d be more likely to make fun of you.”

“I can handle it,” he said teasingly. “You grew up with them, can’t you?”

“I’ve learned a few things here and there,” she said, grinning. “Maybe I should go back and answer that question…”

“…go on, dig a deeper grave,” he joked.

Ginny rubbed Crookshanks ears thoughtfully, and the orange ball of fluff shifted in her arms. “If I did… aren’t you afraid of being made fun of?” she asked, and the hint of earnest in her voice surprised him.

He forced himself to look at her. “No.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m pretty sure.”

She smiled. “Good. We might be up for a lot of teasing, then.”

She didn’t bother to explain, but Harry didn’t really care. He grinned at his shoe and thought that maybe he didn’t mind being made fun of, after all.

Not really.


The End.
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