This is a little plotty thing that struck me when I was watching the Japanese drama ‘Long Vacation’. But no fear, it’s not a complete rip off, it’s just I borrowed some concepts from the series. Also, this is probably the first time ever that I wrote a prologue without a chapter one, so don’t be surprised if it changes sometimes…. So without further ado, here goes my second attempt at an HP fic…

Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter and Long Vacation, cause if I did, Harry Potter would know kung fu and Momoko and Shinji would have ended up together. ^^

Ginny held the small slender stick tightly with two fingers, her eyes screwed shut and her breath held in her lungs. It wasn’t as if she had any doubts about her condition. The signs were already way too clear to herself. But she just had to make sure; just had to be absolutely positive on probably the most important point of her life.

The signs had started a few days ago, and even before then, she had already been suspicious. After all, her mother once told her that she should always trust her own, grade A, Woman Intuition on matters such as these. However, she still needed to really, really, scientifically know.

After all, this could be the moment she’d been waiting for, for her and Gary, that is. 

‘Yes, this could be the best thing that’s happened to us since…since… it could be the best!’ she thought firmly, eyes still shut.

Then again.

‘Then again then again, but, but, wait, wait….’ Annoyance flared through her suddenly. Gary did have an irresponsible side to him. His nature did tend to be a tad flighty and high strung, but he did love her. He did! It was just a matter of…of showing it! No, no, that wasn’t it…of owning up to it. That’s it. And besides, he liked kids. He did….didn’t he? He would welcome this news with open arms… Arms about as open as a tinned can of tuna…with relish, and a lot of mayonnaise…Hey, that might go great with graham crackers!

Ginny gulped. What was she thinking? Graham crackers and tuna cans. Really now, her mother would be ashamed. She’d much more prefer something like pizza with ice cream…

‘Enough! Enough of food! No more! No more!!!’  Ginny grit her teeth. ‘Must look now! Come on, Virginia! You are a woman, not a cowardly, dastardly man! Be strong, be bold, look! Look….’

Finally releasing her pent up air and taking another lungful, Ginny cracked her eyelids open just the teeniest bit, enough to recognize something other than light or dark, and looked at the little white stick.

Part of the stick had turned blue.

Ginny swore and promptly turned to throw up in the toilet.

“Goddamn…” Draco pressed his lips into a thin straight line, eyes reflecting a cold calculating calmness. He sensed many in the spectators’ growing unease as what Draco had realized himself dawn on them. In spite of a crowd of over a hundred, there was a silence so thick, one would be able to cut out pieces of it and make a damned tutu from them. Not that one would want to.

‘Damn. Damn. Alright. So… Fruit. Yes, what will happen to the fruit? Mother ordered eight hundred pounds of hell spawned fruit, and what does she expect me to do with them? Eat them? I should very well hope not! Apples, bananas, grapes, don’t even think about the nectarines. She! Is a nectarine. No! Even worse. The woman is peach. A furry one, with a lot of fur. I hope she chokes on her fur. FUR. And Zabini is a…he’s a…a… an orchard of peach trees. He’s gonna be a dead orchard of peach trees once I get my hands around his scrawny peachy neck.’

The priest, an old fattish durian to Draco’s mind, sighed covertly and glanced at his watch.

‘Old fart.’ Draco tetchily thought. He could tell that the older man guessed what had happened as early has he had, and hadn’t bothered to do a thing about it.  Everyone else was starting to get the picture and still nothing was being done about it. As a result, the quartet his mother had hired was slowly running out of music to play. In fact, hadn’t they already played Canon in D Major twice before?

                Lucius Malfoy, sitting in the front row, was very slowly starting to smirk.

‘Took him long enough, the stupid prune.’ Draco scowled.  He now had four choices. One, stand like an idiot for another hour or so until everyone, including his uncle Bruno *who was notoriously thick* got the message, two, grab the microphone and rant about the unloyalty of women and declare celibacy, three, storm out of there and find Zabini, then proceed to mash him with his too-tight new leather shoes until he was peach yogurt, or four, calmly announce and enlighten those that were not yet enlightened that his bride had run off with the best man, and would all who attended kindly accept his greatest apologies for this troubling bit? The reception is down the hall to your left, thank you.

The first made him look like a fool, the second cramped his style, the third was very, extremely tempting, but he refused to do the dirty work, and as for the fourth, that was the most reasonable, but definitely the most boring. To hell with it.

                Fortunately, before Draco could decide between number three and number eight *which contained something about hot pokers, spiked boots, and ancient Chinese martial arts*, the door burst open, and Pansy Parkinson, one of the bridesmaids, came barreling up the aisle, waving a note clutched in one manicured hand.

                “She’s gone! Genevieve’s gone!”

‘And thank you, Ms. Wormy Apple, for stealing my scene.’ Draco thought irritably.

As gasps broke out among the congregated ones, Pansy thrust the note into Draco’ hand and was hurriedly helped to a seat in a flurry of pink frills and lace. Draco read the note impassively, noting that the key words were ‘wouldn’t work, I’m sorry, Blaise Zabini,’ and ‘Bora Bora.’

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Draco finally settled for option number four. “It seems as if the bride has deserted along with my best man. I apologize for the inconveniences that this has brought all of you, I’m sure you all have more important things to do. There is a reception further along the hall as you leave, please feel free to take the food offered and drink the champagne before you go. That is all, thank you.”

He hurriedly left the altar, trying to get away before the photographer from the Daily Prophet could snap any more pictures.

Don’t worry, this is just the beginning, and it will hopefully get more interesting as it progresses… do review, and feel free to offer constructive criticism. Danke!