Delirious - Ginny

Post by **bistyboo1974** » Wed Mar 10, 2004 8:54 pm

Disclaimer: Are you crazy?? Of course I have no rights to Harry Potter. Do I look like J.K. Rowling to you? ;)

Author's Note: The lame title is subject to change since this is a work in progress.

Rating - TEEN

***

Chapter One – Delirium

Ginny sat down to breakfast that morning, feeling as if her head were a water balloon filled to the bursting point. The people surrounding her might as well have been a batch of strangers for as much as she could recognize them through her bleary eyes. Her stuffy nose could faintly make out the fumes of the burnt toast on the plate in front of her.

“Everything copasetic, little sis?” asked Fred as he slid the butter dish towards her.

“Huh?” Ginny tried to say, then groaned in pain. It hurt to even make the slightest utterance.

“Are you all right?” asked Ron looking at her concernedly. “You look like you spent last night with Dad’s stash of Fire Whiskey.”

Fred chuckled over Ron’s comment as he tossed another serving of well-done toast at him.

“You didn’t, did you?” Ron asked her suddenly, noticing the dark circles under her brown eyes and the splotches of crimson on her freckled nose.

Fred laughed even harder.

“What are you laughing at?” Ginny tried to say, in defense of her ability to hold Fire Whiskey (this skill had never been tested, but Ginny felt like she could manage should the opportunity ever arise). Sadly, the only noise that emitted from her sore throat was a feeble squeak that sounded like something pathetically akin to a noise a baby mouse would make.

Fred continued to snicker, while George added in tones of mock sincerity, “Leave Ickle Ginny-kins alone, Frederick. Can’t you see she’s got a touch of the sniffles?”

Ginny rolled her blood-shot eyes and turned to Ron. “Where’s Mum?” she squeaked in her pitiable voice.

It was a good thing Ron could somewhat read lips. “She had to head out on an early errand,” he replied as he slathered copious amounts of butter on Fred’s excuse for toast. “Maybe we should try to send word to her that you could use some Pepper-Up.”

“Eurgh,” Ginny vocalized in objection as she clasped her hands over her throbbing ears. She suddenly had a vision of herself as an eleven-year-old girl steaming like a teakettle in front of – people – she’d rather not have looked like an idiotic teakettle in front of. The chances that – people – would just show up totally uninvited today was in the highly-unlikely category, but nevertheless, the image was just too emblazoned in Ginny’s long-term memory to be ignored.

“Have it your own way,” Ron said after seeing Ginny’s fervent refusal of his offer to try to get her a remedy for her infirmity. “Be miserable.”

Ginny glared at Ron for not being understanding, even though she knew this was unjust – how was he to remember a seemingly minor incident that had scarred her for life during her first year? Most people could only identify the major event of that year, but Ginny could pinpoint every, single ostensibly inconsequential humiliation – especially the ones revolving around certain – people.

She quickly picked up her glass of pumpkin juice and swigged down a couple painful gulps. That’s one…no, two…wait a minute, three…Knuts for the Harry Jar.

She had made herself a promise in June, not to think soppy thoughts about Harry Potter, and each time she broke that promise she had to put a Knut in what she privately dubbed the Harry Jar. Last week alone she ended up writing the jar three I.O.U.s until her dad gave her some money for allowance, but at the rate she was going she was going to be writing out even more this week. And at her current pace, by the end of the summer her earnings from the Harry Jar would afford her a new set of dress robes from the posh rack at Madam Malkin’s and the new prototype model of the Firebolt she saw advertised in the Quality Quidditch Supplies flier in last Sunday’s edition of the Daily Prophet. Hypothetically speaking, of course. She wondered if vendors in Diagon Alley were currently accepting promissory notes written out to oneself for breaking promises to keep one’s thoughts Harry-Free…

“Did you hear me?” a voice said, breaking Ginny out of her reverie.

“Hear?” Ginny said meekly, as if hearing was a foreign concept to her. “Oh,” she said after realizing that it was Ron who was speaking to her. “You told me to be miserable,” she said in barely a whisper.

“Ten minutes ago I said that,” Ron said with mild agitation in his voice, “and I wasn’t serious…what I just tried to tell you was that I think you should lie down. You look bloody awful.”

And looks were not deceiving in this case. Ginny felt bloody awful.

“I expect you’re right,” she muttered. She glanced around the kitchen, wondering when and where the twins had gone. She noticed the heap of breakfast dishes stacked precariously in the kitchen sink. Mum would have a fit over the fact that they weren’t scrubbed and put away, but it made her head ache even more to think about matters of a domestic nature.

“Here,” Ron said tugging Ginny by the arm into the living room. “I don’t think you’ll make it up to your room, so you’d better make due with the sofa for now.”

Ginny’s head felt like she was teetering in her dad’s old car on a roundabout as Ron whisked her quickly to the sofa and made her rest. She sneezed as she tried to take a seat.

“What do you need?” Ron asked.

“Blanket,” mumbled Ginny as she curled up like a cat on the overstuffed cushions, sniffling.

“Are you daft?” Ron said incredulously. “It’s got to be 95 degrees in here…” But he paused when he saw Ginny trembling with the chills. “One blanket coming up,” he said, then added, “and a hankie wouldn’t hurt, either…if I didn’t know better, I’d think you put the Bat-Bogey Hex on yourself.”

Ginny barely comprehended what he was saying, but she made a mental note to owe Ron a complimentary Bat-Bogey Hex for making that remark while she was incapacitated.

***

“Just a few more minutes, Mum…please…just a few more minutes. I’m soooooo tired.”

Ginny wasn’t sure if she actually said those words aloud, or if she was still dreaming. She felt a warm hand on her forehead and felt the same hand move down to grasp one of her clammy ones.

“She looks awful,” she heard a familiar voice say.

Well, I realize I’m not going to win any beauty contests in my present condition, she thought groggily, but really…

She felt someone tug back the fuzzy, Snitch-patterned blanket Ron had brought down to her a while ago.

“She’s soaked through with perspiration,” said another voice…a soothing voice…her Mum’s voice.

“Mum,” she croaked. Oh, Merlin…is that my voice? She had gone from sounding like a mouse to sounding like a frog.

“She sounds awful,” said that familiar voice again.

“She begged me for a blanket,” said another voice, slightly laden with guilt.

Must be Ron, Ginny thought. I was so cold when I went to lie down before…I feel like I’ve been dropped in a hot cauldron now.

“Can you boys help me get her upstairs and into her bed?”

That was Mum’s voice again. “Can you boys help…?” The twins must be back, Ginny thought through her haze.

Someone slowly nudged her into an upright position and Ginny’s head reeled, making her feel as if she were diving for the Golden Snitch in the final Quidditch match of last season.

“Take that, Chang,” Ginny gurgled faintly.

“Huh?” one of the boys’ voices said in response.

“She doesn’t know what she’s saying…poor child’s rambling…the sooner we get her up to bed, the sooner I can talk to a Healer.”

“No Pepper-Up, Mummy…please,” Ginny heard herself whimper. “What would Harry think?”

“Harry will think you’re a sensible girl for taking the proper medicine when you’re ill.”

“Oooh,” Ginny moaned pathetically. “I owe another Knut.”

“She’s delirious, all right,” she heard Ron say in her right ear. “And she owes me about twelve Knuts.”

Git, Ginny thought. Leave it to Ron to remember a debt at a time like this.

Several minutes and quite a few wobbly steps later, Ginny heard her mother say, “Here’s the bed…boys take it easy now. Ron, you come ‘round here…Harry, you make sure to hold her up as Ron comes to the other side of the bed.” Mrs. Weasley was using her best take-charge voice. Ginny was thankful her Mum had told Harry to hold her secure and not Ron.

Damn, that’s another Knut, she thought. But wait a minute…

“That’s it, Harry…hold her steady…she’s swaying…” Mrs. Weasley’s voice was getting panicky.

As were Ginny’s thoughts. I’m delirious…Ron said it himself. I. Am. Delirious. It’s Fred’s who’s holding me up, and every time Mum says his name, I deliriously hear ‘Harry’ instead…or is it George who’s holding me up? Either way, I’m simply hallucinating. I think I owe the Harry Jar a couple Galleons at this point…

Ginny tried desperately to pry her eyelids open, just to prove to herself that she was experiencing a good, old-fashioned, run-of-the-mill, illness-induced hallucination.

When did Fred get glasses? she thought desperately as the person who was supporting her limp body came into view. And since when does he dye his hair black?

“Fred?” she said in her croaky voice.

“’Fraid not,” said the very familiar voice of Harry Potter as he and Ron reclined her onto the periwinkle blue Maggie the Magic Magpie sheets she’d had ever since she was six-years-old.

Bollocks, Ginny thought, wishing she could dissolve into nothingness.

And just then she thought of a good use for her Harry Jar money. She hoped Harry wasn’t too fond of his memories today, because as soon as she could finagle it, she’d be paying someone to use the strongest memory charm imaginable to wipe away what he’d seen and heard.

TBC

Post by **roswellkitkat** » Thu Mar 11, 2004 1:24 am

No one does Potter like you Bisty!! <img src=http://www.uniquehardware.co.uk/server- ... humpup.gif ALT=":thumbsup">

Post by **bistyboo1974** » Thu Mar 11, 2004 6:24 pm

Thanks, Melisa <img src=http://www.ezboard.com/intl/aenglish/im ... /smile.gif ALT=":)"> *** Chapter Two – A Spoonful of Sugar “Come on, Ginny…you’re being stubborn,” fussed Molly Weasley as she wielded a spoon at her daughter. Ginny sat in her bed, arms folded and mouth clamped shut as her mother persisted with her spoonful of Pepper-Up Potion. “Do you want to have another episode like yesterday?” Ginny shrugged her shoulders as if she were indifferent to the humiliating events of the day prior. “You’ve got to be the most wilful child I’ve ever encountered!” said Mrs. Weasley in exasperation. “No, I’m not,” began Ginny in protest. “Have you ever met Fred? Not to mention Geor—” But before she could finish her complaint, her mother had taken the opportunity to shove the spoon in, with a little more force than intended. Ginny gagged as the tip of the spoon grazed her tonsils. Molly raised her wand in quick response, muttering an incantation as she did. Ginny gulped against her will before she had a chance to retch the medicine out. “Thank Merlin for that little anti-heaving charm,” Molly said with a sigh. “I used to use it all the time when you lot were little… no one ever wanted to take their Essence of Prickly Ash.” Ginny made a face as she began to feel the steam rise from her ears. “Perhaps that’s because it tasted like soot and stung all the way going down,” she said sarcastically. “I’ll thank you not to take that tone with me,” Molly said, raising her right eyebrow ominously. “It prevented toothaches and if you recall, not one of you ever had a toothache from the moment that you cut your first tooth.” Purely coincidental, I’m sure, thought Ginny as she plopped back down on her pillow – which incidentally was in the shape of a giant, overstuffed, crow-like bird. “Don’t pout,” Molly said soothingly, stroking some of the ginger locks away from Ginny’s sulking face. “Is it at least making you feel better?” “I suppose,” Ginny conceded. She didn’t want to seem overly enthusiastic, otherwise her mother would be cramming spoons in her face at every turn. “I just don’t like the steam.” “That’s how you know it’s working,” said Molly, wafting some of the steam away from Ginny’s face so she could see her more clearly. “Mum?” Ginny said as she suddenly kicked her sheets back and sat up. “Yes, dear?” answered Molly, who looked slightly alarmed. “You called me a child,” Ginny said, gripping the Maggie Magpie pillow and looking like she wanted to thrash it to bits. “I…you…what?” stumbled Molly as she observed her daughter’s face screwing up in frustration—quite a sight considering the steam issuing from her ears. “You called me a wilful child…and I am a child…just look at these stupid sheets!” She tossed the Maggie pillow to the foot of her bed to emphasize her point. “How many other fifteen-year-olds do you know who sleep on Maggie the Magic Magpie sheets?” “Well, Ron’s sixteen and sometimes he still uses his Martin Miggs sheets,” Molly replied, trying to comfort her. Ginny’s first thought was to yell out, Well, Ron’s a git! – but she knew she couldn’t do that. Plus, deep down she knew she was being unjust again. Instead, she vocalized something she’d been thinking for a while now. “I presume that means you think we’re both still little children.” “Ohh,” said Molly, comprehension suddenly dawning. “Is that what this is all about? You don’t think your father and I treat you enough like grown-ups?” She slowly stood up and crossed her arms. Before she could stop herself, Ginny said, “Not Dad…just you.” “Hmph,” said Molly, her right eyebrow elevating again. “Hmph,” she said again. “I see. So, the young lady who makes a royal upheaval over taking a mere teaspoon of Pepper-Up Potion wants to be treated like a grown-up, does she? When all I was trying to do was to make her feel better…” Molly’s face reflected her current displeasure with her daughter. Ginny would have gladly gulped down a whole bottle of Pepper-Up Potion to take back what she had said. Her bottom lip began to quiver. She hadn’t intended on hurting her mum’s feelings. “I’m just tired of these Maggie sheets is all,” Ginny moaned piteously. She hopped up and promptly collapsed into Molly’s arms. Molly’s admonition promptly melted away and she stroked Ginny’s hair and cooed, “There, there…it’s all right, love.” She helped Ginny back into bed, reached for the magpie-shaped pillow and tucked it under her head. “You just rest, dear…we’ll sort this out when you’re feeling better.” Ginny closed her eyes and drifted off into a dreamless sleep. *** When she awoke an hour and a half later, she saw a stack of cream-colored bed sheets with eyelet trim, neatly folded and placed on her bedside table. A note was pinned to the top that read: I found these in the attic. Perhaps it’s time to let Maggie fly south. Love, Mum Ginny made a mental note never to fuss over her Pepper-Up Potion again. TBC

Post by **majiklmoon** » Fri Mar 12, 2004 9:00 pm

The queen of the Potter fics is on a roll <center>It all started with a boy, a girl, and a silver handprint.</center><center><a href=http://pub84.ezboard.com/bmajiklmoonsrealm><img src=http://members.aol.com/majiklmoon/image ... a></center>

Post by **bistyboo1974** » Fri Mar 12, 2004 9:13 pm

Thanks, Tracie...except that I've hit a tiny snag on chapter three. I've gotten half of it finished, but I just can't work out how to wrap up the second half. *sigh* Time to break out a new bottle of shampoo... <img src=http://www.majiklmoon.com/ezboardsmilies/lol.gif ALT=":lol">

Post by **bistyboo1974** » Tue Mar 23, 2004 9:43 pm

Chapter Three – Every Breath I Take… Ginny swung her legs over the edge of her bed and slowly began to rise. She knew from past experience that getting up too quickly after a dose of Pepper-Up could result in disastrous consequences. And the last thing she needed was to shriek for assistance only to have Harry rush in and find her lying in a heap on the floor. When her equilibrium was ensured, Ginny switched out the Maggie sheets for the pretty cream-colored ones and admired them at a distance. “Much better,” she said about her new bedding, and in the process noticed how much easier it felt to speak and (now that she thought of it) breathe. She wasn’t quick to admit it, but the potion had improved her health. As she searched through her bureau for a pair of jeans and a blouse, Ginny began to wonder what in the world Harry was doing at the Burrow so early in the summer. He had barely spent three weeks at Privet Drive this summer, which was a record. The earliest he had ever been permitted to stay with the Weasleys was the summer before Ginny’s first year, even though the word “permitted” had to be used loosely when referring to the means in which he arrived that particular year. Ginny suddenly had to fight back the impulse to blush at the memory of her reaction to finding Harry in her home that day so many years ago, though when compared to how she discovered him yesterday… She caught her reflection in the mirror over her bureau and glared at the crimson glow on her cheeks. “Something making you uncomfortable, dearie?” the mirror asked dolefully. “Oh, shut up,” Ginny snapped as she pushed her sock drawer closed. She snatched up her clothing and braved a trip to the bathroom, hoping to avoid all forms of humiliation on the way there. *** As she washed her hair with Madam Morgana’s Milkweed & Honey Shampoo, Ginny realized just how many times she had broken her promise to keep her thoughts Harry-Free that morning alone. And after several minutes of scrubbing her scalp while trying to calculate how much money at present she owed the Harry Jar, she finally gave up. After all, it made very little sense to try to not think about someone who was currently living under her roof. Didn’t it? She rinsed the last bit of shampoo from her head and stepped out of the shower onto the bathmat, dripping wet and fumbling for the last fuzzy yellow towel on the linen shelf in which to dry herself with. As she blotted the dampness from her face, she was startled into taking a couple steps in reverse by a definite knock at the door – nearly slipping on the wet tile floor and back into the bathtub in the process. “What do you want?” she shouted almost immediately – an involuntary response to fifteen years of reacting to one brother or another pounding on the bathroom door while she was trying to bathe. “Sorry,” a voice called back. “I thought it was Ron in there.” She heard footsteps quickly recede. Harry. Ginny buried her face in the fuzzy yellow towel and tried to pretend she wasn’t letting his presence get to her. After several minutes of indulging in denial, she came to the harsh reality that she was going to have to deal with it. In any case, hadn’t she dealt with it just fine all last year? Granted, dealing had been easier with a distraction – she winced as she imagined Michael Corner’s reaction to being called a “distraction” – so all she had to do now was come up with something else to divert her attention away from certain – people. She toweled off her hair and slipped into her clothes, determined to find a diversion – and quick. *** “Mum’s out back and wants to know how you’re feeling,” called Ron from the sofa as Ginny came downstairs to breakfast. He and Harry were fishing around in the case of a broomstick servicing kit for something – Harry with the Firebolt across his lap and Ron with the Comet across his. “I see you found Ron,” Ginny said to Harry nonchalantly, though it took all of her nerve to speak to him (she refused to revert back to being mute in his presence, no matter what her feelings were). Harry nodded, not bothering to look up from the twig trimmers he had just found in the kit. Ron ignored their discourse and repeated, “Mum wants to know how you’re feeling.” “I caught that the first time,” Ginny said curtly, but immediately felt remorse. There was no need to take her irritation out on Ron, though that was what she had been doing ever since they’d come home for summer holidays. She slipped out the back door and found her mother up to her elbows in damp earth, and a bushel of garden plants surrounding her on three sides. “Hi, Mum,” Ginny said brightly. “Thanks for the sheets…they’re lovely.” “Glad you like them, dear,” replied Mrs. Weasley as she grabbed a sapling from a cluster of greenish-purple sprouts. “They were mine when I was younger, but I didn’t get much use out of them.” “Why not?” asked Ginny, grabbing a spade to help her mother dig a shallow hole in the ground for the wee plants. She couldn’t help but think that gardening with her mother would provide the perfect diversion for the afternoon. “Because I was given them as a graduation gift from my great-aunt Marta when I finished Hogwarts, but it wasn’t long after that your father and I were married,” said Mrs. Weasley, who it seemed just realized her recently ill daughter was outside digging holes in the earth with a spade – and also that this action could possibly be detrimental to her recovery. She gasped, grabbed Ginny’s spade and pointed to the door. “You should be inside resting,” she said resolutely. “But Mum…I feel fine,” Ginny protested. If she went back inside, she’d no longer be diverted. “Nonsense,” Mrs. Weasley said firmly. “Twenty-four hours ago you were on death’s doorstep, so I say rest and lots of it. No more objections, either…Harry and Ron’ll be heading up to the paddock for Quidditch practice any minute now, so you’ll have all the peace and quiet you’ll need.” Ginny felt a pang of envy at not being able to fly around the paddock with the boys. But what was that all about? Running through Quidditch drills with the person her mind was so intent on wasn’t exactly helpful if she was trying to forget about him. Still, a little part of her ached to have the wind whip around her as she raced to catch the Snitch first, with Harry in pursuit… Ugh, she thought. Someone ought to take a Beater’s bat to my addled head. She relinquished the spade to her mother half-heartedly and trudged back into the house, hoping that Ron and Harry had already made their way outside for practice. When she moped back into the living room, she discovered half of her hope had come true. Ron was nowhere to be seen. Harry, however, was sitting on the sofa, gazing straight ahead – seemingly lost in thought. His Firebolt lay across the coffee table, but Ron’s broomstick was gone. Ginny very well could have slipped upstairs without Harry taking notice. Whatever his daydream was about, it was apparently all consuming. But something in his gaze made Ginny stop. Something made her speak to him to pull him out of his thoughts. There was a look on his face that suggested a well-hidden suffering. Something in his unblinking eyes made her own eyes burn with his subconscious grief – she fought back tears at the very thought of what his heart must still be feeling. She had to say something – however stupid and petty – just to bring him back to the present, and to rescue him from thoughts of the past. “The twig trimmers really did wonders,” Ginny said, gesturing towards Harry’s broom. Oh, that was stupid, all right, she thought. The Firebolt always looked pristine. Harry could spit-polish it and it would still look fine. Harry jerked his head and looked to find Ginny standing near the sofa. He stared at her as if she were a total stranger. “What?” he asked. “I was just commenting on how nice the Firebolt is looking,” Ginny said, feeling like a total twit. “Oh,” said Harry absently. “Er…thanks.” His voice was vacant. Ginny began to regret interrupting his reverie. After what seemed like an eternity, she went to leave. Just as she did, Harry’s voice cut through the uncomfortable silence to stop her. “Thanks,” he said again. This time he sounded more like Harry. “You’re welcome,” Ginny replied, feeling her hands warm up as she spoke. The sensation was traveling up her arms. So much for finding a diversion today, she thought. “I reckon you were going back up to rest?” Harry asked. Ginny could have sworn there was a trying-to-be-casualness in his asking. And if she didn’t know better, she would have said she detected an I-wouldn’t-mind-if-you-stayed air about the question as well. “Mum suggested it,” Ginny said, trying to uncover any other hidden nuances in Harry’s demeanor as she spoke. Unfortunately, he was guarding any further hints. “But I’m not really all that tired.” Harry nodded thoughtfully, as if he were always being asked to get some rest when he wasn’t all that tired. “Why aren’t you out flying with Ron?” asked Ginny as she perched on the arm of the sofa. She figured she might as well make herself comfortable if she was going to stick around. “Dunno,” said Harry, shrugging. “I planned on going, and then…I just didn’t really feel like it after all.” Ginny gave a sympathetic “hmm” and slid onto a sofa cushion, the arm having grown uncomfortable to sit on after only a short time. “So, what’re your plans for the afternoon instead?” She propped her feet up onto the coffee table, being careful not to nudge them into the Firebolt. With all of her plans for creating diversions for herself, and subsequently failing miserably at following through with said plans, Ginny had come to terms with one thing – if Harry was going to be there with every breath she took, she might as well just go with it. In spite of everything, she had forgotten how good it felt to just sit with him and talk. And then, out of the blue, as Harry shrugged his shoulders in answer to her question, she had a brainstorm. She remembered a large, green container her mother kept in the kitchen for urgent situations. “Then might I suggest pondering the day’s plans over a chunk of chocolate?” Ginny queried. Before Harry could answer, she sprang into the kitchen and returned almost instantaneously, the sweet promise of chocolate in hand. *** TBC <center><img src=http://img.villagephotos.com/p/2003-4/1 ...

Post by **majiklmoon** » Wed Mar 31, 2004 12:44 am

Excellent, as always Bisty. As far as shampoo goes, suave has some new fragrances out <img src=http://www.majiklmoon.com/ezboardsmilies/lol.gif ALT=":lol"> <center>It all started with a boy, a girl, and a silver handprint.</center><center><a href=http://pub84.ezboard.com/bmajiklmoonsrealm><img src=http://members.aol.com/majiklmoon/image ... a></center>

Post by **bistyboo1974** » Wed Mar 31, 2004 6:34 pm

<blockquote>Quote:<hr>suave has some new fragrances out <hr></blockquote> LOL! You know me too well, Tracie! <img src=http://www.ezboard.com/images/emoticons/wink.gif ALT=";)"> Believe it or not, my latest shampoo is actually from a salon...it's this clarifying stuff from Kenra. It smells like grapefruit, though. *wrinkles nose* Not my favorite scent, but the clarifying apect is wonderful. <img src=http://www.ezboard.com/images/emoticons/smile.gif ALT=":)"> As for the muse...she runs away when I get stressed out, and right now, she's MIA. <img src=http://www.ezboard.com/images/emoticons/frown.gif ALT=":("> I don't know if a whole vat of shampoo would work on her at this point (after the major stress I've been under this week at work) but I'm gonna see what I can possibly do to coax her out this evening! <center><img src=http://img.villagephotos.com/p/2003-4/1 ...

Post by **bistyboo1974** » Wed Mar 31, 2004 9:23 pm

I coaxed my muse into coming out to play! <img src=http://www.ezboard.com/images/emoticons/wink.gif ALT=";)"> *~*~* Chapter Four – The Effect of Chocolate Ginny carried the box of chocolate into the living room, removing the lid as she went. The scent of cocoa wafted into her nostrils and she felt her taste buds dance in anticipation of the first bite. Oh, how she loved the smooth, rich, (and for lack of a better word) chocolaty goodness of it. As she eagerly eyed the dark chunks stacked carefully inside the wax-paper lined box, she almost forgot Harry was in the room – she was quite ready to seize a piece and give into her sweet addiction. But having been brought up with better manners than a garden gnome, she offered the first piece to the houseguest. “Take a bit, Harry…Mum’s chocolate is a sure-fire way to make the rest of the world go away, if only for a little while.” Harry didn’t look as enthusiastic about the chocolate snack as Ginny, but he politely took a section and squinted through the lenses of his glasses at the gold lettering on the green chocolate box. The lettering elaborately spelled out the name of the company in which Mrs. Weasley special-ordered her chocolate supply from: Desmet & Van Waerebeek: Belgian Chocolatiers Since The Middle Ages. “Quite a pedigree, hmm?” asked Harry as he went to take his first taste. Leisurely, he chewed the first few bites and then paused, seemingly to let the rest melt in his mouth. After a moment, a partial grin broke across his face. He slowly swallowed and said, “Not bad. If you don’t mind, I think I’ll have another.” “Not at all,” Ginny said. She smiled as she watched him grab his second piece with more enthusiasm. And then she could resist no longer. There was no telling what would happen if she didn’t get a piece of that delectable chocolate soon. She closed her eyes as she savored the sumptuousness of each bite. Heaven, she thought as her taste buds when into sensory overload. It was no wonder Healers prescribed it to cure what was ailing their patients. This stuff could make a blind man see. “This is really good,” said Harry, reaching into the box for his third piece. “I’ll never be able to go back to Chocolate Frogs again.” Ginny nodded. “It’s all in the cocoa bean,” she said knowledgeably, sounding a bit like Hermione Granger in the process. “Chocolate Frogs are made with bland South American beans, while this Belgian stuff is made from robust African beans…” Harry gaped at her while he helped himself to a fourth piece of chocolate. “How do you know all of that?” he asked before putting the whole chunk into his mouth. Ginny picked up the box and showed Harry the bottom, which revealed a label chronicling The Glorious History of Belgian Chocolate. Harry laughed, nearly spraying her with a chocolate shower in the process. Ginny grinned at him. She hadn’t heard him laugh in a very long time. *** Even though she couldn’t bear the sight of lunch that afternoon, Ginny had no regrets about sharing half a container of chocolate with Harry earlier in the day. Of course, Ginny thought as she passed on a serving of pickled beets, I might be lamenting if Mum finds out most of her prized chocolate has gone astray. But Ginny soon swept away any lingering feelings of guilt, rationalizing that she had used the chocolate for a worthy cause. It had seemed to brighten Harry’s mood. Over sandwiches, Harry and Ron chatted about England’s chances at a World Cup title, as Ginny looked skeptically at the fat tuna fish sandwich her mother had prepared for her. “With Begley Seeking, no one will be able to touch England in the elimination rounds,” said Ron before greedily taking a bite of his tuna fish sandwich – he had apparently worked up a hearty appetite flying that morning. Harry, on the other hand, took only a nibble from his own sandwich – his morning’s activities, by comparison to Ron’s, had squelched any remnants of an appetite, though he was eager to talk Quidditch. “Begley is excellent,” Harry agreed, but before he could expound on his statement, Ginny interrupted. “He’s may be excellent, but he’s a git,” she said flatly. “How can you say that?” asked Ron in a stunned voice. “So far, England is undefeated, and Lucas Begley is the prime reason…” “He’s backed by a stellar squad,” interjected Ginny curtly, “who – if you hadn’t noticed – receive little to no credit for their performances in games due in great part to the media’s fascination with Lucas Begley’s big, fat head.” Ginny noticed that Harry was trying to disguise the fact that he was finding Ron’s reaction to Ginny’s candor amusing. “You can’t seriously tell me you don’t think Begley deserves the attention everyone is giving him?” asked Ron incredulously. “You saw the photo in The Daily Prophet last week…the one showing Begley’s infamous Under-the-Opposing-Team’s-Seeker’s-Broom Catch.” “The press wizards at that rag probably enhanced the photo,” said Ginny after sipping from her glass of water slowly. “Besides,” Ginny added, “he was showing off, the arrogant git…just trying to get his picture on the front page of the Prophet yet again. He could have made that catch the normal way.” “But where’s the entertainment value in that?” asked Ron desperately. “It’s in that you pay to see a game of Quidditch played by professionals, Ron…not by a brash, self-important, camera-hog!” Ginny replied, with more fervor than she meant to put forth in this discussion. Harry couldn’t disguise his amusement over Ron and Ginny’s disagreement any longer. He sat back in his chair, grinning at the both of them. Ginny suddenly felt like a voice-over would boom across the kitchen any second, announcing, “The role of Hermione Granger is being played by Ginny Weasley this afternoon,” except for the fact that – unlike Hermione – Ginny wouldn’t be leaving this conversation with any sort of sweet feelings about Ron’s thick-headedness. Ginny was right. Ron was wrong. That was all there was to that. Having a bellyful of chocolate must fortify a person in arguments. Ron’s reply to Ginny’s last comment really got her feathers ruffled. “Pay?” Ron chided. “When was the last time you paid to see a game of Quidditch? And while we’re on the topic, when was the first time you paid to see a game of Quidditch?” “I WAS SPEAKING IN GENERAL TERMS!” Ginny shouted, scowling at her brother fiercely. She added under her breath, “Forget Begley…you’re the git.” So much for Harry’s good mood – Ginny noticed his amusement had faded away, replaced by a look of concern for the two youngest Weasley siblings. Ginny hadn’t meant to raise her voice, but Ron had been so persistent and things just got out of hand. She channeled the remaining positive effects from the chocolate she’d eaten that morning and called a truce with Ron. There was no reason to let a disagreement over Quidditch spoil the good mood the chocolate had given Harry. *** Author’s Note: The names of the chocolatiers (Desmet & Van Waerebeck) are taken from a cookbook I own called the Everybody Eats Well in Belgium Cookbook. Van Waerebeek is the last name of the author (her first name is Ruth), and Desmet is the last name of a friend of the author’s grandmother. The book features a chapter on the Belgian passion for chocolate (a passion I share in, since I’m half Belgian!) and I thought it only fitting to work in a bit commemorating that into my chapter. Also, the title of this chapter is derived from the chapter in OotP (Career Advice) where Harry and Ginny are sharing chocolate Easter eggs in the library. In that chapter, Harry finds himself speculating over why he’s feeling more hopeful after he’s had some chocolate, recalling Professor Lupin and the “effect of the chocolate.” Of course, I also think he has a brief thought of feeling better since he’d been talking to someone… ;-) <center><img src=http://img.villagephotos.com/p/2003-4/1 ...

Post by **majiklmoon** » Thu Apr 08, 2004 9:31 pm

Great update Bisty - glad to see the shampoo still werks <img src=http://www.ezboard.com/images/emoticons/wink.gif ALT=";)"> <img src=http://www.majiklmoon.com/ezboardsmilies/love.gif ALT=":love"> the author's note <img src=http://www.majiklmoon.com/ezboardsmilies/lol.gif ALT=":lol"> <img src=http://www.majiklmoon.com/ezboardsmilies/lol.gif ALT=":lol"> <img src=http://www.majiklmoon.com/ezboardsmilies/lol.gif ALT=":lol"> <center>It all started with a boy, a girl, and a silver handprint.</center><center><a href=http://pub84.ezboard.com/bmajiklmoonsrealm><img src=http://members.aol.com/majiklmoon/image ... a></center>

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Delirious - Ginny

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