Just Give Me the Damn Firewhiskey, Already

by Murphy AT

Valentine's Day has always rubbed Ginny the wrong way, and the incident with Lockhart and his gnome cupids (shudder) didn't help. This year, she intends on spending it face down on her hideous couch.

A/N: Just a little blurble for my lovely squash-muffins on Valentine's Day. Enjoy!

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXX

Ginny heard the door to her flat creak open. She remained face down on the couch, thoroughly uncomfortable and even more thoroughly determined not to move.

Footsteps and the rustle of robes, the clatter of the fridge opening and of things being placed with particular order in their designated places. Ginny continued not to move, but felt suddenly that if she were to remain still, she would eventually sink into the couch's 1970s checkered pattern and become the couch. She shifted, and groaned.

The clattering continued unperturbed.

Ginny sighed and groaned louder.

"Alright, Ginny?"

Finally. "Did you get my owl?" she asked, peeking up from behind her mussed fringe, "Do you have the merchandise?"

"Merchandise? Ginny, you're ridiculous."

"I hate you."

Hermione rolled her eyes and hefted a grocery bag. "4 pints of double trouble chocolate frog ice cream. I took the liberty of adding a bottle of Firewhiskey."

"I love you."

"Happy Valentine's Day, Ginny."

Ginny hissed at the cursed word and grasped for the ice cream.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXX

Love and hoodlums to you on this, the day of the Chaucer-induced commercialized celebration of a martyred saint!