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Author: sweety_sorbey Story: An Insight Into the Decidedly Awful Life of Ginny Weasley Rating: Young Teens Status: WIP Warning: None Reviews: 14 Words: 9,256
A/N: Ok, because I've been very, very bad and haven't updated in very, very long, here's a quick reminder of the story so-far, so you don't need to go back and read it all again. Please don't kill me. **Ginny. At home. For the summer. Bill and Fleur's wedding is approaching, hence the Burrow is over-run by various part-Veela, and Ginny is being forced to share a room with Gabrielle, an exceptional snorer. Fleur's attempts to find suitable dress robes for Ginny to wear to the wedding have been shot down by a very angry Mrs Weasley, and Ginny has been spending a great deal of time in a certain chicken coop. Twin Weasley cousins, Laura and Vicky, have arrived for the wedding, and, to be frank, they are a pair of gits who have both decided that they would make a far better girlfriend for Harry Potter than Ginny did. They snore a lot, too. A chance encounter with Luna at a Muggle play-park means that Luna is now staying at the Burrow, in addition to Neville, who has arrived with Harry, Ron and Hermione, because, well, I really don't think we see enough of good ol' Neville in the books. Everyone's just got back to the Burrow; Ginny and Luna are walking upstairs, Harry comes crashing downstairs, Ginny goes crashing with him, Fleur finds them stuck together at the bottom of the staircase and now we're all mad at Ron and want to find out why Harry fell down the stairs. Sound familiar? Thank God. Read on. :) What does a girl have to do to get some peace around here? I mean, really, if I want to wallow in my own solitary mortification for ever-more, I should bloody well be allowed to. But oh no, the very second I set down my quill after my last diary entry, who should come barging into my room but a very shocked-looking Hermione, a still-hysterical Luna and an almost-as-mortified-as-me-looking twin? Humph. "Ohmigod ohmigod!" This is an extremely irritating habit that I have come across in many a Muggle-born girl. You'd think Hermione, with a brain like hers, would be an exception to this ridiculous, higher-power-calling babbling, but oh, no. "Are you ok?" "I'm fine," I sniffed. "He he!" You know, there are times when I really could kill Luna. I settled for sending her a death glare. That sobered her up. "Ooh – I could've killed Ron – why he had to stick the two of you together like that – so unnecessary –" I love Hermione. I really do. "—and now, of course, Fleur is under the impression –" "STOP! I don't want to know," I wailed. And I really don't. Hermione nodded. "It really wasn't that bad," said Luna, in an attempt, I presume, to comfort me. Her wide, I'm-about-to-start-laughing-at-any-second-and-there's-nothing-you-can-do-to-stop-me grin rather ruined it. I grunted, feeling it would be rude to ignore her. Luna actually seemed to sense that she hadn't helped, as she quickly wiped the grin from her face and changed the subject. Sort of. "Why did Harry fall?" Now it was Hermione's turn to try and keep the grin off her face. It's times like these, when her eyes light up with suppressed mirth, – at my expense – that I really don't love her all that much at all. Simultaneously, The Twin, (who, I admit, I had completely forgotten about, and who had apparently been listening in to our conversation) groaned and buried her head in her pillow. I trust that you have discovered enough about The Twins to realise that this is extremely uncharacteristic behaviour. "What?" I snapped at Hermione, resigned to the worst, but burning with curiosity nonetheless. Not that I was going to show it, of course. Hermione took a deep breath, and cast a cautious look in The Twin's direction. "Well, we must have arrived about a minute before you two. We went straight upstairs. When we got to the third landing, I went to open your door, you know, so I could get unpacked and everything, but, almost before I even opened it –" With an almighty CRASH, my bedroom door swung open; The Twin jumped to her feet; Luna screamed; I whipped out my wand (I must say, I'm getting faster), and Hermione gasped. Framed in the doorway was The Other Twin. Dressing-gown clad, hair wrapped in a towel, and face plastered in some awful gloopy-looking green stuff – the sight was one of the most alarming I've ever encountered. And I've run all around the Department of Mysteries. "WHAT THE BLOODY HELL ARE YOU DOING?" I screamed. To be honest, I hadn't intended to say anything, but really, I was feeling pretty distressed. "- that happened." Hermione finished in a small voice. The Other Twin let out a dramatic wail and threw herself into the room, slamming the door behind her with as much force as she'd used to open it. The second the door closed, The Twin (who had been lying with her face in her pillow), leapt up, pointed an accusing finger at her sister, and squealed, "YOU!" I looked over at Luna. She, I could tell, was as bemused as I was; she was watching the scene unfold with her trademark look of dreamy unconcern on her face. "You ruined everything!" The Other Twin began sobbing. It was not a pretty sight. Her tears dribbled down her face and into the gloopy green stuff, and chunks of it began to plop off her face and land on the carpet with disgusting "splodge" sounds. I was in too much shock to tell her to cut it out, and it ended up getting all over my carpet. "Everything!" The Twin repeated. The Other Twin looked up. "Only for me," she managed to choke out. "Right," I said, having had enough. "Would someone please explain to me what –" "I opened the door, and she burst out," Hermione said hurriedly, nodding to The Other Twin. "Harry, understandably, got the fright of his life, jumped back, tripped over Ron's trunk, and, well – crashed down the stairs. Into – into you." The Twin let out an angry scream and actually stamped her foot, something I hadn't realised was actually done. "And now, thanks to you, every time he sees either of us, he's going to think –" "Only when he sees me. You didn't make a complete fool out of yourself, did you? You were just an onlooker. It's me who –" "Vicky!" screamed The Twin, who, I'm going to assume, must have been Laura. "We look the same! He's not going to know which of us –" "Um. I hate to interrupt..." interjected Hermione, who did not look as though she hated to interrupt at all, "but, who are you?" Hermione's so lucky. I mean, she got through almost eighteen years of her life without ever even meeting these two. What I wouldn't give to be Hermione. (Except, of course, for the whole dating-Ron-thing, which, ok, hasn't actually happened yet, but, come on, it's only a matter of time.) "These," I said, in my sweetest voice, "are my cousins. Laura and Vicky. Laura and Vicky – meet Hermione Granger, Harry Potter's best friend." The twins looked at Hermione in absolute horror, before turning on their heels, and positively sprinting out the door. Merlin, how we laughed. I have no idea where they ran to, or, indeed, why. Like, running away from an embarrassing situation means that it never happened? I mean, yeah, I do it all the time, but they could have salvaged the situation, you know? Anyw – uh-oh. Mum says lunch is ready. Oh no. I don't want to go down to lunch. He's going to be there. And Fleur. Ohmigod ohmigod. You know what? That actually helps. "Ohmigod"-ing, I mean. I think I might just join the ridiculous, higher-power-calling-babbling-brigade. Or not. Vicky managed to wash that stuff off her face, get dressed and dry her hair all in about two minutes, so that she managed to look fairly presentable in time for lunch. All, naturally, without the help of any magic whatsoever. Ha ha. Still, her eyes were rather red and puffy, so I'm sure, had he been there, that Harry would have been able to identify which of the twins he had encountered in the hall. But he wasn't. There, I mean. Ron and Neville came downstairs, saying that Harry had a headache, and didn't think he could face lunch. Pff. A seventeen-year-old boy, unable to face food? Give me a break. Even I wasn't that embarrassed. Although, I suppose that he was the one who decided to stick around and try and explain everything to Fleur, so maybe I shouldn't be too harsh. Not that Fleur looked particularly bothered or anything, when she glided into the room. I mean, she never does look bothered, but whatever. I don't think she said anything to Mum, so we're safe for now. Right. Ok. So the Twins and Gabrielle are still sharing my room – snoring like bloody foghorns as I write – and Hermione and Luna are sharing with Fleur in Bill and Charlie's old room. The other part-Veela creatures who'd been sleeping in there decided to go and stay in some bed-and-breakfast place in the village for a few nights, what with the house being so crowded and everything. I could tell that Mum took it as a personal insult, but hey, I'm not complaining. The fewer gorgeous blondes there are swarming around all over the place, the better. I'd really rather go share with Luna and Hermione and Fleur (whose snoring, while pretty horrendous in itself, isn't half as bad as her sister's), but Mum said it would be rude to the Twins and Gabrielle. Typical. So, anyway, I'm sitting here, unable to sleep, because, quite apart from the wailing cacophony which has impaired my sleeping pattern since school finished, I am now being kept awake by worry. Yes. Worry. Don't get me wrong. I'm not worrying that we'll all be murdered in our beds by Death Eaters. Or that this diary is suddenly going to start writing back to me. Or even that the Twins are, even now, cooking up ways in which to seek revenge on me for not embarrassing myself quite as much as Vicky embarrassed them just before lunch. Oh no. That stuff – I can deal with that stuff. I mean, yeah, it would be awful, but I could deal with it. Not this. I can't deal with this. Fleur. Has. A. Plan. A plan to make Harry fall in love with me. No. Not joking. She cornered me on the staircase when I was on my way down to dinner, grabbed me by the arm, and shoved me roughly into the nearest broom cupboard. "'Ere's ze plan," said Fleur. "As I'm sure we all already know, 'Arry and Ginny 'av broken up. So, we must get zem back togezzer." There was a pause. "Harry and Ginny have what?" I asked. "Broken up," Fleur repeated, rolling her eyes. I'm not entirely sure why she was referring to me in third person, but I was a little more concerned with exactly what she was saying at that point. "When were they –" More eye rolling. "Ginny, don't. I know perfectly well what 'as been going on. But eet must stop. 'Arry deserves to 'ave fun, and I theenk that ze only way we can ensure that 'e does, is to get ze two of you back togezzer." Hermione looked rather alarmed. "You know, I really don't think –" Fleur rounded on Hermione, looking annoyed. Hermione shut her mouth. "I'm not doing it." I said defiantly. "Not doing what?" "Anything. Anything to do with – er –" Fleur waved her hand airily. "Don't talk rubbeesh. You will 'ave to do 'ardly anything. Just leave eet to me, and do as I tell you. Come," she grabbed Hermione's arm. "You will 'elp." And so Fleur flounced out of the cupboard, dragging Hermione along in her wake. Leaving me, seething, in the now pitch-black broom cupboard. I didn't see them again until I finally made it down to dinner. They were sitting side-by-side, and kept shooting knowing glances at one another. So I think it is safe to say that Fleur has converted Hermione. Oh well. I'll just have to make sure that I avoid both of them, that's all. And Harry. And the twins. And the various part-Veela relatives of Fleur's. This holiday is going to be such fun.
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