Wow. um. hello.

You have no idea how good it felt to actually write something and finish it today. I neglected studying for a practice exam, doing my final piece for Studio Art, and an essay for English, yes, but after so long with no inspiration or anything, when I finally started and got going today, I couldn't stop. I will admit I'm not very proud of this chapter. The only part I enjoy is when she finally sees Harry for the first time-oh yeah! that part, it's finally here! but after that, all the conversation is as it is in the book, so it's not that exciting. at all. I'm sorry if you're disappointed :s But, well, yeah. um. yeah.

You guys gotten your copies of Casual Vacancy? How is it?

Disclaimer : I do not own Harry Potter, or any of Jo's characters, or any of the parts of HBP that i have used in this story or chapter.

Please leave a review. I know I'm quite rusty, because it's been a .time since I last wrote. But whether you have praise or constructive criticism to offer, please, leave a few words. or sentences preferred.

Been good to you, puberty has.

I don't know why I was tip-toeing. This is MY house. Hello, why am I nervous and not stomping up the stairs like I own the place?! Because as the adored youngest and only daughter of the house, I practically do, GODDAMIT!

'Honey, careful, or your ego won't let you fit through the door of the room to see Mr-no-one-hotter-Potter.'

"Shut up!" I said aloud to the irritating voice in my head. The sudden moan that the ghoul let out echoed through the landings, letting me know just how loud that was. What was the point of tip-toeing? I looked around cautiously, making sure that I disturbed no one but our resident already-pretty-disturbed ghoul. Lowering my voice, I whispered 'And you really need to make a decision and settle on one name for him. And my ego is NOT big!'

"Oh, so you agree that you think that way of his green-eyed majesty?'

I fumbled, gasped in annoyance and outrage, gave a muffled groan of frustration, mentally slapped the voice and proceeded to now stomp up the rest of the stairs, done with being cautious in my own home just because of his green-eyed beautiful majesty.

Oh, for the sake of Merlin's curly grey locks.

"And how would you know that his hair was curly? Don't make assumptions, Ginevra. I'll have you know that Merlin had luscious pin straight brown hair, darling."

I paused, one of my feet hovering in mid-air, and closed my eyes, praying to any godly entity for patience that Weasleys or red-heads were not usually blessed with.

"That makes absolutely no sense." I thought.

"And how not?!" The mental voice exclaimed, me recognising an indignant note in the tone. "What, only girls these days can have pin-straight hair? I'll have you know, Merlin needed no potions to achieve the look. It was as natural as the absurd red of your hair (cue the narrowing of my eyes), as the idiocy of your brothers and the passion that you, as a female, have for Mr Hot-and-brooding Harry and certain anatomy of his-'

"WHOA!' I exclaimed, my feet slipping and nearly ending in me taking a fatal tumble down the stairs. Recovering from the near-death experience, I straightened myself up and held my hands out, screwing my eyes up, nose scrunched up as a deep blush stained my cheeks.

"Please, please shut up, shut up, shut up, for the sake of Merlin's pin straight brown locks" I begged, snapping my head from side to side, as if to have the mental voice fling out of one of my ears. I really didn't need this. I didn't need talks of Merlin's hair, and certain anatomy of Harrybabes (I choked at the thought). Especially whilst I was walking up stairs. That's dangerous stuff on any good day, and my situation here was as deadly as it could get.

"Can't handle the truth of your conscience, I see? Now, tell me how it makes no sense that Merlin had model-worthy pin-straight hair" The stubborn voice demanded. It was times like this that I could appreciate that this certainly was one of my my inner voices speaking. The stubborn-ness was so evident, that I could just imagine it crossing its little imaginary arms as it took a defiant stance.

"Because I never knew, never have known, what Merlin's hair was like. And as you are a part of me, and your knowledge only consists of my knowledge, I believe you shouldn't know anything about what Merlin's hair really was like either. Therefore, your information is faulty and frankly, you could shut up anytime now." I rambled off, reminding myself slightly of Hermione with my use of logic, as I climbed the rest of the stairs to the landing that Fred and George's room was on.

The voice snorted, and my confidence at my winning response dimmed.

"Nice try, sweet cheeks, but you seem to have forgotten that as a mental part of you, I also represent unconscious, repressed, and suppressed thoughts. Like, the suppressed guilt at being the one that accidently knocked Trelawney out with that crystal ball, and the secret joy you feel when you do have a flashback of the incident, the hexes you've sent at Filch, the annoyance you feel at your mother sometimes for babying you, and the rumours that have spread about the size of Harry's-"

"Gah!" I choked and spluttered, effectively not being able to hear the end of that sentence as the blush that had previously been fading returned

'And you have in fact, heard of Merlin's true appearance in one of those rambles of Ms Burbage's which make it as clear as Phlegm's skin that was he not dead, Charity Burbage would totally want to get into Merlin's pants.' It finished off smugly.

"Can you not" I whispered furiously. Okay, this is getting out of hand. The voices just made occasional snarky comments before. Now, I'm having full arguments with them! Oh lord, Merlin, Jesus, Santa, Jack Frost, please help me retain my sanity.

And as I was praying to all magical beings that I could think of at the given moment, I heard it.

'-looks a bit like a walrus and he used to be Head of Slytherin..'

And then I was certain that there had been no point of me trying to tip-toe my way up the stairs, because my heart started pumping so hard and loud, that I was pretty sure Viktor Krum could probably hear it.

I lost complete focus of annoying voices in my head, the rest of the sentence spoken behind that door, and my sanity, Santa and his reindeers could crash in Amsterdam for all I cared at that moment. I took a step forward, before stopping and quickly trying to finger-comb my hair. My fingers came to an abrupt halt halfway down, and got stuck like all combs end up in Hagrid's hair.

"Shit shit shit shit." I muttered furiously, yanking my hand down to the point of pain as I tried to get it free of its flaming and hairy prison. It finally came free in a crucio-worthy yank, making me gasp and let out a stream of explicit mutterings. I shook off the bunch of my own hair that I had managed to pull out, and took two large steps toward the door of Fred and George's room. Taking a deep breath to calm my erratic heart, I pressed my thumbs against my eyelashes in attempt to give them an uplifted, curlier look. I pulled my hair in front of my chest, hoping that it would cover the attempts of my heart to burst through my chest and dance over to Harry and offer itself as a sacrifice to him. Or something.

As I wrestled with my hair, I noted that Phlegm probably never had to deal with anything like this. With her hair cooperating, effortlessly looking gag-worthy good, no heart bent on committing suicide, all 'Beel-bask-in-my-perfection'. It made me frown, then scowl and then angry-scowl. Giving up on my stupid hair, I was brought back down to earth from my inner-girly world's high. What was I thinking? I didn't like Harry anymore. I thought that was blatantly obvious since I could actually speak to him without resembling the colour of my house, Gryffindor, and oh yeah-My boyfriend, Dean, maybe?

"Stop being a bloody idiotic prat, Ginny." I said firmly to myself.

'Talking to yourself? Signs of madness." A snide voice commented inside my already fried head.

Why must life be so difficult?

Looking at the door in utter desolation, I heard the one and only say 'He can't be worse than Umbridge, can he?"

I don't know why I was upset, and why I was suddenly feeling so utterly pissed off at Phlegm. Someone logical would easily be able to point out that maybe I was just a little bit maybe not jealous but envious of her lack of need to care.

Whatever.

When all else fails, Anger never fails to work for a Weasley.

So I made my entrance. Without really thinking, I slouched in and said the first thing that came to mind.

'I know someone who's worse than Umbridge,' I said, my voice dripping with irritation. Ron, the bloody big buffoon, was blocking my view. I needed my first glance already.

Walking a few more steps into the crowded, dusty room, I manoeuvred myself so that nothing would obstruct my view. And then I turned to face Him.

Oh. My. Fucking. Merlins. Pin. Straight. Hair. And. Pants.

Is it just me, or did the world just stop?

Even my inner voices are awed. They ARE a part of me.

Dancing dragons. Lolloping llamas. Careening carrots. Tap-dancing tomatoes. Prancing potatoes.

Gilderoy Lockhart will be long forgotten and seen as a gargoyle when everyone wakes up to how good puberty has been to Harry Potter.

He's…beautiful. Ugh. But he is. His eyes are so bright, even with his glasses on, as his attention turns to me from Hermione. They're like the green of the leprechauns at the World Cup. Like..like the sprouts that Mum makes us peal. Like a prettier version of Slytherin's emerald green. They seem to be awakening the golden snitches inside my intestines as he looks at me.

His face has lost all last traces of softness, leaving his face all cheekbones and a sharp-edged jaw. And his hair, oh god, his hair. The infamous Potter hair is even messier than usual; the inky, soft strands all over the place and stubborn bits of his slight fringe partially hanging sexily over his forehead. It's like, ultimate sex/bed-hair. Oh dear lord. Someone grab a quill and write down my last will and testament, because my heart is about to do a suicide dive out of my chest. But as my attention turns to his mouth, I know there won't be enough time to write down my last wishes. His lips are quirked up in a dreamy-sigh-eliciting half-smile thing, as he notes my posture and tone. He's still half under the bedcovers, but I could see his torso. Lord almighty. He was still skinny, but being the female that I am, I could see that the width of his shoulders and chest had gotten slightly bigger, and the slight, lean muscles he had going on.

I'm dead and gone. Mummy, Daddy, I love you. Ron, make sure to make a move on Hermione before you're 70, she can't have kids after she's 55. Actually, Hermione, if Ron makes you feel anything remotely like what I'm feeling now, (though I can't comprehend or imagine that ever happening) jump his bones as soon as you can.

Speaking of jumping bones, there's a bed in here, and me and him. The only thing we need to take out of the equation is my brother and Hermione, and maybe a few pieces of clothing, and then I could jump onto that bed and let him know just how much I've grown up and how I'm not just Ron's little sister.

'Whoa.' My inner voice finally comes out of its trance. 'Keep it young-witches -&-wizards-rated there, my hormonal teen llama.'

'And for Xeno's sake, you have a boyfriend!' one of the more moral voices scolds. That's right! What the hell am I thinking?!

Taking a deep breath to calm myself, I finally realise that I haven't said anything since I walked in, and a slightly breathy, embarrassingly dreamy 'Hi, Harry' slips out of my mouth before I can rectify my tone.

I immediately want to slap my hands over my mouth, as a slight blush forms on my face. It can be passed off as colour due to me being pissed off, but I catch the smug, entertained look that Hermione sends my way. I grit my teeth in annoyance. He's a magical, gorgeous being with amazing sex-god hair, but I can't let others realise the affect he has on me!

Ron, mistaking my blush for anger at the someone who's worse than Umbridge, as he should, asks 'What's up with you?'

As my mind is too preoccupied with keeping my body from crawling onto Harry, I let my mouth mindlessly talk.

'It's her,' I say, and decide that the only way I won't jump on him is to sit down, so I plonk myself down on the bed. Oh so close. Some of my less immoral inner voices cheer at the sudden close proximity, and I realise that sitting near him might not have been the best choice.

'She's driving me mad." I finish, whilst thinking that if I replace that 'she' with a 'he', it would be much more accurate.

"What's she done now?' Hermione asked me, sympathy clear in her voice.

"It's the way she talks to me – you'd think I was about three!' I responded, my mind more focused on Harry's legs shifting under the covers near me.

"I know." Hermione agreed, now totally focussed on our little gossip sesh. "She's so full of herself."

I noticed Harry looking adorably surprised and confused, making me want to kiss him, ('Dean! Your boyfriend!') just as Ron decided to exclaim in a pissed off tone 'Can't you two lay off her for five seconds?'

That annoyed me. In the back of my mind, I knew that he was sort of right, and that the comparison I made of Phlegm against Umbitch was pretty unfair, but why so defensive? And honestly, I didn't even want to have this conversation. I just wanted him and Hermione to leave so I could run my hands through that amazing hair and-

Starting to get annoyed at my own train of thoughts, I snapped at Ron. 'Oh, that's right, defend her, we all know you can't get enough of her.'

"Who are you-' God, even his voice had gotten better over the few weeks I hadn't seen him! He was gorgeous before, but this was just ridikulus. Harry, please. I'm barmy enough already, please, please, stop doing this to me. I mentally begged him and in my head, collapsed as my knees buckled from the overpowering attractiveness of He-who-I'm-having-seriously-inappropriate-thoughts-about.

But my mental collapse was blown apart as the bedroom door was flung open and I found myself suddenly on the floor in reality, beside Hermione as Harry instinctively yanked the bedcovers up to defend himself. Huh. Some hero.

I turned slowly, and narrowed my eyes dangerously. Behold, it was the one and only herself.

Phlegm.

Carrying a breakfast tray.

For Harry.

''Arry, Eet 'as been too long!' She exclaimed.

Oh, sorry. A breakfast tray for ''Arry'

She glides over the threshold towards him, and I really wish I could put up a barrier around him so she couldn't come within at least 100 meters of him. Ahh, and there's Mother dearest, huffing and puffing in anger behind Madeline.

"There was no need to bring up the tray; I was just about to do it myself!' Mum says angrily. All my envious and jealous and spiteful and non-French particles are screaming in approval of Mum's words. I want to cheer her on, whilst kicking Phlegm out, whilst getting Hermione to drag Ron out, whilst feeding Harry that toast myself, and then tasting-

Shut. Up.

"Eet was no trouble,' Of course it wasn't.

I see her set the tray on his knees, thinking that now that she has delivered what she came to deliver, hopefully she'll just leave and it'll all be fin-

Why is she leaning down?

WHY IS HER UPPER BODY BENDING AT A 90 DEGREE ANGLE!?

I watch, horrified and steaming in anger as her face gets closer to his, and his face turns slightly red.

When I see her lips touch his cheek, I nearly lose it.

Did she not learn ANYTHING from me threatening her with a cucumber yesterday?! I want to Bat Bogey her so badly that my ears hurt from the absence of the sound of her screams.

"I 'ave been longing to see 'im. You remember my seester, Gabrielle? She never stops talking about 'Arry Potter. She will be delighted to see you again.'

My eyes are narrowed so much, I think I'll get my wish of looking more like Cho Chang soon enough.

'Oh…' He sounds so...wonderstruck. Why does he sound wonderstruck?! Oh my llamas, does Phlegm always have to ruin everything?!

'Is she here too?' He continues hesitantly. Does he want her to be? I nearly whimper. Why does everyone love the French girls? Why am I being such a teenage girl?

"No, no, silly boy,' She laughs, and stuffing that wind chime down her throat seems so appealing that I almost get up off the floor to go get one. 'I mean next summer, when we – but do you not know?'

She widens her eyes dramatically, and gives Mum a reproachful look, to which Mummy replies with a 'We hadn't got around to telling him yet.'

Wow. Good one mum. I hope your sarcasm-detector isn't faulty.

To show the annoyance Fleur feels at a friend of hers, (as I suppose that's what she considers Harry to be, as they bonded over the difficult Triwizard tasks, and Harry 'saving' her sister and all,) not being informed of the big news of her wedding, she turns and swings her hair so that Mum gets a face full of silvery, Merlin-pin-straight semi-Veela hair, and announces;

'Bill and I are going to be married!'

As I avoid Hermione and Mum's eyes, a teeny-tiny part of me doesn't fail to hear that real excitement and happiness in her voice as she says it.

But it all disappears and my whole being is dying to Bat Bogey her like I've never Bat Bogeyed anyone before when she swoops down oh Harry and once again, presses her lips to his skin.

Get off, get off, get off, get off, get off.

"Bill is very busy at ze moment , working ver 'ard,…' I tune out as she prattles on in her French accent about her Eenglish and the chickens at the Burrow-I've heard it all way too many times over the last fortnight or so. I come back down from my fantasies (let's not go into too much detail. I'm afraid they're not 'young-witches-&-wizards-rated) when I hear Mum makes some weird noise of irritation, that sounds like 'tchah!'

"Mum hates her.' I decide I want to be Captain obvious, and point out.

"I do not hate her!' She whispers in a tone that totally contradicts her words. 'I just think they've hurried into this engagement, that's all!'

"They've known each other a year.' Ron says as if in a trance, still staring at the closed door. I resist the urge to roll my eyes.

Mum continues to ramble on about the same 'rational' reasons she apparently doesn't entirely agree with Bill and Fleur's engagement, and it's not until she mentions people eloping left, right and centre do I decide to invest my input.

'Including you and Dad." I mutter slyly.

'Yes, well, your father and I were made for each other, what was the point in waiting? Whereas Bill and Fleur…well…what have they really got in common? He's a hard-working, down-to-earth sort of person, whereas she's-'

'A cow,' I jump in, nodding. 'But Bill's not that down-to-earth. He's a curse-breaker, isn't he, he likes a bit of adventure, a bit of glamour…I expect that's why he's gone for Phlegm.'

Mum tells me to stop calling Phlegm, Phlegm, but I'm too busy doing a victory jig with much hip trusting as Harry laughs at my choice of name for her.

She leaves the room, and Harry asks a punch-drunk looking Ron 'Don't you get used to her if she's staying in the same house?

'Well, you do,' Ron starts to respond, and I can already see Hermione tensing up, 'but if she jumps out at you unexpectedly, like then….'

"It's pathetic,' Hermione finally seems to have lost patience, and storms away as far from Ron as she can before turning to face him once again.

'You don't really want her around for ever?' I ask him incredulously. I mean, I know as part-Veela, she affects him, but does he really want her around as a part of us? He shrugs, which knowing my brother as I do, translates to 'I honestly couldn't care less.'

'Well, Mum's going to put a stop to it if she can, I bet you anything.' I say, though I don't really believe there is much Mum can do about it.

"How's she going to manage that?' Harry asks, probably thinking along the same lines as me.

I explain how Mum seems to be hoping Bill will fall for Tonks instead, and we banter about the pro of having Tonks in the family versus having Fleur in the family. The only thing that stands out is when Harry decides to stick up for Phlegm.

'Fleur's not stupid, she was good enough to enter the Triwizard Tournament,' he says. And though I can see that he's merely pointing it out, and that it is true, I can't help but get irritated. Whoa, step back everyone, Fleur was in the Triwizard Tournament, and kisses on the cheek, and is effortlessly gorgeous. Let's all sacrifice some potatoes and llamas in her honour.

"I suppose you like the way Phlegm says "Arry", do you?' I say, full of scorn and irritation at Phlegm.

"No, I was just saying, Phlegm – I mean, Fleur-' My heart melts a little at hearing him stutter like that. Aw, Mr-Sexy-in-pyjama-Potter, don't worry. I can forgive you.

'I'd much rather have Tonks in the family,' I continue. 'At least she's a laugh.'

I nearly groan out loud at Ron and Hermione's idiocy when they get into how Tonks' apparent depression and difficulty with her Metamorphosing is because of survivor's guilt and how she believes it was her fault that Sirius died. I can see Harry getting visibly uncomfortable, and wish for the umpteenth time that I could use magic and shut them up.

The door suddenly opens, thankfully finally shutting their stupid, stupid mouths. I'm less thankful, however, when I discover its Mum coming to grab me to come downstairs and help her with lunch.

I am an independent woman! I don't belong in the kitchen! Get one of the boys to do it!

"I'm talking to this lot!' I'm outraged. Of course I'm outraged. I finally have time to be included in an exclusive Harry-Hermione-Ron conversation, and ogle Harry without being obvious, and here she is, my own mother, taking that away from me!

'Now!' Mum says, and leaves.

'She only wants me there so she doesn't have to be alone with Phlegm!' I huff. I figure I might as well make a dramatic exit, and as making Harry laugh seems an effective way to get closer to getting into his pants and life and heart, I imitate Phlegm and prance out ballerina-style, being as prettily graceful as I can.

'You lot had better come down quickly too,' I say as I take my leave.

And then I stop abruptly outside, nearly sending myself tumbling down the stairs, as what I just thought seconds ago really sinks in. Did I really just once again, make a conscious effort to be appealing to Mr Harry James Potter?

Galloping goats, I thought we were done with this!

yeah, it wasn't exactly fantastic. I'm sorry, but...leave a review, and just let me know what you personally thought (err. nicely.) cause that's what matters.

It's nearly twelve here, so I better get started on my studying! Happy Llama dreams :D

-pun33t.n