Over Hot Chocolate
Summary: Ginny Weasley could probably not have cooked to save her life, but she could make a flavour of hot chocolate to suite any personality. She lived by the weighted philosophy that all things emerge over hot chocolate, and that hot chocolate was a simply inevitable part of life. Inevitable or not, when her friend Hermione Granger gets dumped, Ginny is fully prepared to earn her badges in the war of revenge and wit--not only will she come up with a plan so ghastly ill-fated and devious that not even hot chocolate will be able to save her, but somewhere along the way she'll truly learn the meaning of fate and inevitability.
Chapter One: Heartbreak Over Hot Chocolate
Ginny had almost made it. Almost. All week she had been away from it, all week! You would have thought she was avoiding it--but of course not! Who could avoid something so pleasurable, something so sheerly wonderful and natural that even the most primitive of people found themselves engaged? Whom? One whole week without it, and she felt as though she were a drone, as though monotony laboured through her days, making them harshly prolonged and bitterly comparable. One. Whole. Week.
Her knees had only touched the silky Egyptian cotton of her sheets (that had probably taken a month's worth of her salary to buy) when her door was attacked. Yes, attacked. Assailed. Ambushed. There was no other word to describe it. A insistent banging accompanied by a banshee-like wail of her name. It was horrible when amassed to the horrifying rainstorm already consummating outside; it was absolutely dreadful.
But Ginny figured she could ignore it.
She dropped, exhausted, into the welcoming grasps of her bed, the sheets piling in around her, carressing her skin with undue ease. Oh, one whole week of adding caffeine to her hot chocolate, one whole week of no sleep. She felt she could probably hibernate for the rest of the year, locked up in her bedroom, wrapped up in her cool sheets, just sleeping.
But then it started.
And if it was one thing Ginny could not sleep through, it was Ivan's barking. Woofing. Howling. Roaring. That damned dog. She heard his heavy footsteps rush to the door, nails scratching it unmercifully, trying to open it for whatever demon was assaulting it from outside. Then, the scratching stopped, and Ginny's heart clenched in anticipation of what she knew was about to happen. There was a flurry of steps, then suddenly the bed sunk, springs creaking in complaint, and she herself was attacked, the two hundred pound Mastiff pouncing on her with all might and proceeding to lick her bare arms, neck and whatever other skin his large, slimy appendage could reach.
She groaned, lids heavy with fatigue, all limbs seeming just a little slower than usual. At sign of life, Ivan hopped off her, barking possibly louder. His excitement was untouchable at this point--the prospect of some one new to lick never failed to arouse. And that some one who would soon be subject to his undivided salivary attention was still banging, as if for dear life, upon her poor front door, which at this point must be about to crumble into a million, abused pieces.
Ginny couldn't have bothered to think at that point; she simply found herself stumbling to the front door with Ivan rushing animatedly about her ankles, as though he were a cat and not a very, very large dog. As the door flew open, propelled by the extraordinary force of the wind, a large, wet and brown thing fell in, clutching at Ginny's knees to stop from losing its balance, but failing miserably as they both fell, unceremoniously, to the ground.
Shock welcomed Ginny to her new position, pinned beneath a distraught and sobbing Hermione, who in turn was pinned beneath a slobbering and precariously overjoyed Ivan. She took a few moments to gather herself, blinking in confusion. "Herms?" she asked, as if in disbelief.
"Ginny? Oh Gin--" the rest was lost in a barrage of hysterical sobbing that had Ginny even more confused than before.
But at least the fact that the soaked and bawling creature atop her was Hermione Granger had been established. Now Ginny had somewhere to base her investigation.
"Herms, if you could--" she shifted, uncomfortable, as the girl seemed unwilling to remove herself from her perch atop Ginny. "Off, please--"
"I'm-m sor-ry," the distressed Hermione said, rolling wetly to the side of the now dripping Ginny, "Yo-u probably d-don't h-ave time for m-e." And the brown-haired girl burst into possibly more tears.
Ginny got up, now fully awake as the cold of the rainwater soaked into her night clothes--a comfy pair of boxers and a sheer white tank top. She closed the door, realizing the the whole of her foyer was now just was wet as she and Hermione, and that Ivan had just run off for a romp in the three o'clock in the morning and sludgy mud.
She sighed deeply, eying the still hysterical Hermione who was now curled up in a small, clammy ball of clothing, hair, and tears, then switching her disappointed gaze to another ball of fuzz that was now caked deeply in mud. 'Perfect,' she thought, 'I just knew I was going to get to sleep tonight. After all, it is a Friday, and I have worked a total of, well, let's see, a million hours this week--one would think one was deserving of a little shut-eye.'
But for now, she had other, more pressing matters to handle.
Ginny knew the situation called for it as soon as Hermione said his name.
"Draco..."
Yes, yes, the situation practically screamed for it--it would help Hermione to talk more freely, and it would prove more consolement than Ginny felt herself capable of mustering this night. Definitely.
And, ah, the Slytherin Prince, and, oh, the irony that she should still call him that after all these years. They were, after all, adults now, and the old house feuds at Hogwarts had just about dissolved into nothing more than vacant unease--and even that had withered away over the past three years, especially after the Slytherin Prince and the Gryffindor Know-It-All made their uncanny and uncalled for attraction to each other apparent to the world, just about a year ago. However, despite the fact that the young Malfoy seemed to be a 'changed man', and considering the toll the war had taken on him and his mother, Ginny still couldn't help but grimace at his mere name.
No matter how much Hermione had attempted to convince her he was the epitome of sheer goodness, just laced with unduly sarcasm and misplaced arrogance, Ginny had never come to like the boy. He was a git, and whenever she was forced into his presence, which (thank the lord!) wasn't much, the two usually ignored each other outright. There was something not quite right with the world, Ginny figured, if a Weasley and a Malfoy could come to get along. Apparently, her brothers had thought so, too.
And now, Ginny suspected, she was in for it. The sobbing Hermione, who Ginny had just managed to dry, along with the rest of her London flat--dog and herself included--seemed to break down all over again, and Ginny wondered if it was really raining so hard outside, or if Hermione had simply cried herself drenched. Nevertheless, she hushed the distraught girl, padding barefoot out of the cozy living room and into the adjoining kitchen. She watched the girl's head bob up and down, clearly anguished, as she got out her materials.
Oh, this was a bad case; Ginny could tell, and she hadn't even heard it yet. Her two biggest muggest clinked gently against the marble counter as she set them down--the big blue one, hers and hers alone. Cold milk and blocks of chocolate extracted, she wondered what Malfoy could have done that could put the usually self-assured Hermione into hysterics. Milk and sweet chocolate to pot, pot to stove...Ah! How could she forget, how could she forget...What was Hermione's ingredient again?
Half a teaspoon of vanilla and a touch of cinnamon. That was it.
She sighed, breathing in deeply the smell of her own hot chocolate, as she handed the steaming mug to her friend, the girl smiling weakly in appreciation. Ginny bristled softly in satisfaction as she saw the girl visibly relax at the first sip. Ginny sat, legs up, next to her friend, trying to look more consoling than tired. She tasted her chocolate, visibly settling into her seat--the caffeine she had dripped into it making the flavour bitter and sweet, the foam around the top clinging to her top lip.
She sighed, and looked expectantly to Hermione, the hot chocolate thankfully easing her early-morning irritability. "What did he do, hun?"
The girl seemed to hesitate over her cup, before eagerly taking a large mouthful. She swiped away her tears and lay back into the plush cushions, apparently becoming more relaxed herself. "He..." she sniffed, and for a moment Ginny though the girl would burst out into tears again, "He..."
Ginny frowned, trying to be patient. She took another sip of her hot chocolate, the liquid searing pleasantly down her throat. Hermione was only starting to recover from her previous wetness. The fireplace had come alive about fifteen minutes earlier, now playing lazy shadows along the carpeted ground and warming the two women with its glow, causing their cheeks to flush. Ginny now wore a large t-shirt that had, most probably, belonged to one of her brothers; she had loaned Hermione a sensible pair of pajamas, since it was obvious the girl would be staying over tonight.
The room was silent for a few moments, and Ginny heard Hermione hold back a sob. "We...he...broke up with me!" All of a sudden the dams seemed to have broken once more, Hermione's brown eyes overflowing with tears, her whole body wracked with sobs. "I...I..." The hot chocolate lay, forgotten at her lap, Hermione's shaking hands barely able to hold it still. Gently, Ginny pushed the divine concoction to Hermione's trembling lips, watching as the formula eased her crying once more.
Ah, so it would be a case of heartbreak over hot chocolate, then, Ginny thought inwardly.
"He broke up with you?" Ginny asked, softly, "Why?"
Suddenly Hermione rose defiantly, her untameable hair like a fuzzy halo around her indignant face, "He's a git! A ponce! An...an asshole!" she said, loudly, her voice still shaking. Ginny winced at her use of language--usually Hermione was so much more composed. The redhead listened, complacently, as Hermione swore at her ex-boyfriend, letting her vent the negative feelings, every other moment taking a sip of her hot chocolate and watching as Hermione mirrored her movements. Hot chocolate was very calming, or in Hermione's case revolutionary, when it came to situations like this. Hopefully, once she had finished insulting the Malfoy, they could get some sleep.
Exhausted, Hermione collapsed onto the sofa, the squishy piece of furniture sinking with her weight. Her empty mug lingered on her lap and she looked ready to drop dead. "Shall I get you another cup?" Ginny asked, gesturing to the mug. Hermione nodded, holding it out, and Ginny smiled, hopping back over to her pot full of hot chocolate, scooping some in, then adding in Hermione's ingredients, "Feel like some whipped cream tonight?" she called to the girl, and heard a grunt of approval. She dug in her fridge for a minute, coming up with the store-bought mousse and dishing some on top. She sprinkled another bit of cinnamon for decor, before returning the cup to its waiting occupant, and herself to her seat.
It was quiet for a moment, then, "Ginny, I want you to help me get revenge on him."
Halfway through a mouthful of hot chocolate, Ginny choked. "Revenge?"
"I want you to help me show him that I was the only girl for him. That he'll never find another woman like me."
Ginny rolled her eyes, smiling, "Herms, that's something he'll realize after a while without you. You don't need to show him--it'll hit him like a barrell in the face, eventually."
"No," Hermione said, after a pause, "I want to show him. And I want to be there when he sees it."
"Herm--"
"Ginny, he hurt me. He broke my heart," Hermione said, and despite the fact that she gulped down a bit of hot chocolate, Ginny did not see the tears recede, "I loved him...I think I still love him. But I want to teach him a lesson. I want to let him know he can't just tell Hermione Granger he doesn't want her any more, that, 'maybe we should spend some time apart'. I want him to know that I want to spend the rest of my life with him. That I love him, even though..."
The thought was left unfinished, and Ginny could imagine the answer. Hearing about the Slytherin Prince in such a way was highly disturbing to her; she found it hard to believe that kind-hearted, intelligent and utterly lovely Hermione could have fallen in love with such a stooge. Sure, Malfoy may have had some things going for him--but personality wasn't one of them. Hermione on the other hand...Hermione was great; she was helpful and genuine, ever the Gryffindor, even after school! She had a successful Ministry job, her own flat and great friends. Why, oh why did she need some one like Draco Malfoy?
"Will you help me, Gin?" Hermione asked, her eyes pleading and innocent. Ginny felt her heart go out to her friend...if she really loved Draco Malfoy, who was Ginny to judge? Hermione was her friend, and if to be a good friend Ginny Weasley had to plot against Draco Malfoy (which would be the easy part), and eventually stand the two getting married then...then so be it!
"Of course I'll help you, Herms."
For the first time that night, a vivid smile broke out on Hermione's face, her large teeth coming into plain view. "THANK YOU! I knew you'd say yes--"
Ginny's eyelids grew heavy as her friend continued on a string of praises; she took in the last mouthful of her caffeine-laced hot chocolate. The drink was getting cold now, but it still gave her the little boost she needed to drag the chattering Hermione into the guest room, and herself into her bedroom. She groaned when she found Ivan sprawled across her bed, eventually just giving in and sprawling herself across the dog.
Hazily, she thought of what she could do to help Hermione. Usually, hot chocolate was her most effective weapon--she could enchant anybody with her chocolatey creations, as long as she knew their flavour; and not even, any brew of chocolatey ancestry developed by Ginny was more than likely to enthrall the senses. That was just her gift, she guessed, her strange, awkward gift. Everybody possessed at least one of those, and this was Ginny's: hot chocolate was, to her, a little piece of heaven placed on earth, one that only she could manipulate.
Ah, how lovely hot chocolate was; so rich and creamy--not to mention the fact that you could add anything right down to oranges to it, and still manage a mind-blowing taste. Hot chocolate was definitely powerful--that much Ginny knew. It was powerful, and it was fated. No matter what, people could not escape their hot chocolate flavour. Try as they might, it would always stun them to silence, calm them to submission. Some would call her crazy, but this she knew. Hot chocolate was simply a part of life, and thoroughly unavoidable.
But how could she use this against Malfoy? She decided she couldn't, that hot chocolate would very probably have no place in this affair...and yet, the edge of her mind twinkled on something precious, something she knew was going to work...
Languidly, she let it go. She was too tired to be plotting, too tired...
In the morning, she'd wake up early, make some hot chocolate, and think.
Author's Note: My happy-go-lucky Christmas fic. Going to be pretty long; I definitely won't finish it by Christmas. Still, it's based mainly on hot chocolate, which may seem to you a bit bizarre. However, I have developed a complete love for the drink, have become quite a master at it, and am intent to continue on this tangent :-)
If you're not a fan of hot chocolate don't flame me.
If you think the writing was terrible, don't hesitate to flame me.
And if you think I am a genius, please leave a review.
Cheerio!