A/N: This was my first ever fanfic. Looking back, I realize that as wonderful as I thought it was at the time…there is much room for improvement. It is also corny as hell in some parts. I cringe reading some of this. However, the plot is humorous, and a lot of people liked it. So, at the moment, I suppose I'll reserve judgment and let it stew a bit before I decide to completely delete it.
Help! The Butter Dish is Attacking Me!
Of Evil Butter Dishes and Rampaging Bulls
"Stupid, Ginny! Stupid Ginny! Stupid, stupid, stupid, Ginny!"
I was sitting in a chair at the end of the Burrow's kitchen table engaging in the perfectly normal activity of…banging my head against the wood...repeatedly.
Why, you might ask? Obviously, something must have happened to put me in such a state as to where I felt compelled to subject my forehead to such torture.
Considering that this is the Burrow, the Weasely family does live here, and they do tend to be slightly insane, you might only be slightly surprised. And if you know me personally, you might not be surprised at all. In fact, you might not even notice. My temper matches my hair…it's fiery. So, I am often found doing strange things such as introducing my forehead to rather hard, solid objects.
But this particular bout of insanity was unique. Even for me. I hadn't been jinxed, hexed, or poisoned in the previous twenty-four hours, the entirety of my six overprotective gits of brothers were off doing Merlin-knew-what at their jobs, and I had recently found out that I was being hired to the staff of Witch Weekly, the most popular magazine in the wizarding world. So, why? Why would I be banging my head against the table in this time of seemingly happiness?
Well, I'll tell you. Three words...Harry bloody Potter. Yes, that's right ladies and gentleman, the boy-who-lived, the-man-who-defied, the-bringer-of-peace, the-man-who-defeated-you-know-who (I could go on forever, but…I digress). And once again, Why? What had Harry done that had forced me, little Ginny Weasely, to give myself a headache?
The answer…he said "Hey, Gin." That's it. Two words. TWO BLOODY WORDS! And do you know what the effect of those two words was on me? DO YOU? I, a TWENTY-ONE year old witch, stuck my elbow in the BUTTER DISH!
But that wasn't what really set me off. Oh no, not even close, it gets worse. See, here's the thing. Until that day, that very second when Harry toppled out of the fireplace, stood up, straightened his glasses, smiled, and opened his mouth to say those two disastrous words, I had managed to convince myself that I did not, under any circumstances, still have feelings for the boy-who-lived, the man-who-defied, the…right, you get the picture.
So, that was the reason for my frustration. After 8 years of successfully convincing myself that I didn't fancy Harry Potter. After 8 years of not melting on the spot when I looked into his emerald-green eyes. After 8 years of intense training on not doing stupid things like putting my elbow in the butter dish whenever he was around, what did I do? I PUT MY BLOODY ELBOW IN THE BLOODY BUTTER DISH WHILE HE WAS BLOODY AROUND!
And you know what else? You know what else I did? What other humiliation I put myself through? Well, I'll tell you…I stared. And I blushed. Stared and blushed, did not even say hello. Not a cheerful "Hi Harry! How are you?" Not a distracted, " 'Lo Harry. Why're you here." Not even a grunt. Not a sound, not one peep, just a stare. And I stared for about a minute before he waved a hand in front of my face saying, "Gii-iin? Anybody home?"
And you know what I did? It's horrible. It's humiliating. I won't tell you…I can't…I can't write it down. It's too utterly atrocious to even put on parchment. I won't crack, not even if I'm under the Imperious Curse. Not even if you make me swallow Veritaserum. You can't make me…alright, you can, but only because I know you'll attack me if I don't tell you now that I've lead you on so much…so, I'll tell you…I squeaked, jumped about ten feet in the air, and then I toppled off the chair backwards, sending the butter dish flying. And you know where it landed? Right smack dab in the middle of my face. And then you know what I did? I blushed. A lot. It was a full-fledged Weasely blush. My entire body was blushing. I was like one, giant, incredibly red…me…with margarine on my face. If I had started yelling Toro! Toro, I'm pretty much positive that all of the bulls in England would have come charging at me…not that there are any bulls in England, but you get the point.
And to top it off, you know what Harry did? He laughed. Hard. He was gripping the back a chair crying he was laughing so hard. And me? I just blushed some more, saying absolutely nothing and not moving. And then, when he calmed down enough, he straightened saying, "Merlin Gin, what is it with you and butter dishes?" which made me blush some more as I recalled that humiliating experience way back in first year…cringe.
So then he looked at my mother's clock, saw that Ron's spoon was pointing at work, and walked back to the fireplace, stepping over me because I hadn't moved one inch since the incident. Yes, this meant that the butter dish was still stuck to my face. He looked down at me, chuckled, and said, "See ya around, Gin…Oh, and tell your mum I'm coming to dinner tonight…The Ministry of Magic!" and he disappeared in a whirl of green flames.
So that's when I realized that I was still on the floor, blushing like mad, with a butter dish on my face. I slowly got back into my chair, wiped my face on my sleeve, and promptly began beating my forehead on the table.
"Stupid Ginny! Stupid Ginny! Stupid, stupid, stupid Ginny!"