Author's Notes: Right. Well. This little piece of insanity is . . . well, insane. But everyone likes the line "Are those handcuffs, Harry Potter?" from Oh, Ron so much that I figured I'd write this and get millions and millions of reviews. (Hint, hint.)

Beta'd by Opalish, who had to work today.

A penny (or review) from everyone who feels sorry for her would be greatly appreciated. She really needs our support.

Breaking The News

I am not afraid of a girl. A younger girl. With slightly homicidal tendencies. And six brothers. And a killer bat-bogey hex. And a temper that Voldemort himself would cower from. In short, I am not at all afraid of Ginny Weasley. I have faced the greatest evil in existance - possibly ever - and lived. I have spat in Death Eaters' faces and stood up to Lucius Malfoy. I've been insolent to the Dark Lord and spent the past six years enduring the unendurable: Severus Snape.

Someone who has done all these things can not possibly be afraid of a fifteen-year-old girl.

So, right. I'm not afraid.


"G-Ginny?" I poke my head in her door. She is laying stretched out on her bed, her hair spread around her like a halo of dazzling fire. Her chocolate eyes gaze hungrily at the book in her -

Oh, forget it. She's lying on her bed reading as I enter, and arches an eyebrow in my general direction. I nervously finger the handcuffs in my back pocket - I'm only going to use them if there's absolutely no other option. I swear.

"All right, Harry?" She asks, a little coolly, fingering her wand.

Not afraid. Not afraid. Not afraid.

"Brilliant," I squea - er, that is, reply in a deep, manly, unafraid voice. Because that's what I am . Manly and unafraid. She says nothing but continues to look at me as if I'm slightly unhinged. This may have something to do with the fact that I have sat on her floor and am clutching her stuffed pink bunny-rabbit pillow as if it would save my life.

Which it might. Pillows can block some of the less advanced hexes and jinxes.

I smile shakily and remind myself to breathe. "Right," I say aloud, "So. I came in to - uhm - talk. About - things. Because I didn't want you to ki - to be angry at me, which you might be if I didn't tell you about them."

She frowns. "Harry, what's this about?" She asks, sitting up and looking suddenly interested. Then her expression falls. "Is ... is it about Voldemort?"

I hate it when she does that. She always seems to know exactly what's on my mind and it makes it very difficult to surprise her. And that was my main advantage, my battle plan! Spring it on her and then run hell-for-leather before she can process it.

And if that fails, I chain her to her bed.

There's no way around these things, sometimes.

...Why did I have to fall for the frightening, forceful type? Why can't I be in lo - er, that is, why can't I fancy Eloise Midgeon, who'll probably do what I tell her to without asking any questions?

I could ignore the fact that her face looks like a balloon. With warts. Warts that are red and greasy and . . . ugh.

So, maybe not.

"Yes," I admit, shrugging my shoulder and edging nervously towards the door. She frowns, getting up from her bed and walking slowly towards the door, pushing it shut in an almost annoyed manner.

"You're not going anywhere," she promises, "Until you tell me what this is all about."


Well, then.

"That's exactly that it's about, actually," I mutter, looking hard at the floor because I'm afrai - I'd rather not see her crushed expression when I say what I'm about to say. "Me going anywhere. Or - somewhere. Or everywhere. Well, anywhere, I suppose, but more just a 'where' because I don't know where I'm going yet."

Ginny blinks. "Was that . . . English?" She asks, bewildered, and then shakes her head. "So . . . what you're telling me is that we're going on an adventure of some sort, and it has to do with Voldmort?"

I shake my head, steeling myself.


This is where it gets sca - difficult.

Ginny throws her hands in the air, frustrated. "Well, Merlin, Harry, what are you trying to say?"

"Uhm," I say. "Well - I am going on an adventure, if that's what you want to call it, to defeat Voldemort but . . . " I take a deep breath. "Butyoucan'tcomebecauseit'sdangerousandIdon'twantyoutogethurtpleasedon'tkillme."

While Ginny is trying to translate what I've just said, I make a mad dash for the door. It's close, so close, I'm only a few metres from it and freedom and safety - but Ginny's suddenly clicked in and now we're both sprinting full speed for the exit - she's going to get there first! - She leaps in front of the door and throws her arms out to block my escape.


"Sorry, Harry, I could have sworn you just said you were going off to defeat Voldemort and I couldn't because it was too dangerous." She pauses meaningfully. "I'm sure I heard wrong because if I didn't there are going to be dire consequences, do you understand me?"

This is the part where I crawl under her bed and hide.

"Uhm . . . yes?" I edge back towards the window.

Dangerous, yes, but desperate times call for desperate measures. It's not that far of a fall – I might lose a leg, maybe an arm, but sacrifices must be made for the cause.

"Yes you understand, or yes you're going on an adventure and I can't come?"

"Well - uhm - both? "

"Harry . . . "

I'm close to the escape. On the way down I can yell into Ron's window that it's time to go. Hermione will fix me up when we catch up in the garden.

It's a shame to ruin Mrs. Weasley's magnolias, but . . . well, some things are worth it.

"Ginny," I whine, "Please listen to me? Just this once? Trust me on this, it won't be any fun anyway - "

"This isn't about having fu - Harry, are you backing up towards the window?"


"Nooo . . . why would I do something like that? I'm not afraid of you."

She shoots me an odd look and shrugs, turning away for the tiniest of a second - and I seize my chance! I turn around and shove the window open, leaping out of it and sailing towards the ground.

Unfortunately, Ginny screams "Accendio!" before I can escape. I shoot up towards the roof and then back down until I'm hovering just outside the window. Ginny's left hand is on her hip and the other is holding her wand, which is still pointed at my chest. She beckons with her finger and I resign myself to a slow and painful death. "Right," she says firmly as I crawl miserably back into her room. "We're going to have to sort this out the only fair way known to man."

She casts a locking spell on the window and the door. Then she holds out her hand for my wand. "Give it," she instructs firmly.


Let me think here.

Then it would be . . . me, an very angry Ginny, and no wand.

What part of this don't I like?

Oh, right.

All of it.

"M-Maybe I'll just - keep it?" I ask.

She arches an eyebrow and takes a step closer to me. "Beg pardon?" She asks, her voice low and dangerous and I almost wet my pants.


That is.

If I weren't . . . you know. Manly and . . . whatever else I was. Am!

She hands out her hand again, her face trained into a dangerous scowl. "Uhm," I say meekly, "That is - sure. Of course. Here, take it."

I hand over the wand.

Wouldn't you?

She nods, taking both my wand and hers and putting them on her bedside table (but only after using my wand to magically push everything to the side, leaving the floor clear). "Right," she says firmly, rolling up her sleeves. "We're going to have to do this the hard way."

Hard way . . . ?

I frown. "Uhm - jumping out your window wasn't the hard way?" I ask. She shakes her head.

"Nope. We're going to have to duke it out."

"Oh, all right."



"You want me to fight you? Are you mad?"

Ginny scowls, rolling her eyes. "No I am not, thank-you-very-much. But if I can beat you in a fist fight then I can come with you. If you win then I can't. Those are the rules."

"I can't fight you! You're - well, you're a girl! And anyway, your brothers will kill me!"

The redhead shrugs, pulling back her fist and socking me in the gut. "I guess that means I automatically win, then," she says nonchalantly.

Bloody hell, that girl can pack a punch!

Ginny nods, smug, and pretends to brush dirt off of her shoulders. "Well, that settles it," she says cheerfully, offering me a hand. "I'm coming."

I'm going to feel very, very bad about this in the morning. "Sorry, Ginny!" I cry, sinking to her level and swinging my leg out, sending her crashing to the ground.

Please God, or whoever, if you do nothing for me again, please let Ron not find out about this.

She shrieks as she lands with a heavy thump. "Harry!" She cries, surprised. "You cheated!" She scrambles over to me and leaps, clawing and scratching viciously.

Did she just . . . pull my hair? Sodding hell - "Ow!" I flip us so that she's pinned to the floor and I'm in a crawling position above her.

"Oof," she grumbles, and I smile triumphantly.

"Hah!" I crow victoriously. "I win, you're staying here."

She looks at me mournfully. "Harry, I just want you to know," she says sadly, "That I'm very, very sorry about this."

And then her knee flies up out of no where and comes in contact with my - well - my hoo-ha, as Petunia used to call it.



I fall limply to the ground beside her, nearly in tears.

Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, . . . "Merlin," I whimper, "I think I just died."

Ginny sighs sadly, standing. "Sorry," she apologizes. "But - I win!"

I must stay strong.

In spite of my fea - er, discomfort, and the pain in my lower regions, I must remain above her in order to keep her safe and alive and . . . well, I want the food that would have gone to her if I'm honest with myself.

"No," I choke out. "You're - not - owwwww - coming."

Ginny stares at me. "But I won!" She cries, furious. "I won, fair and square!"

"Kneeing a bloke in the - er - well, you know - isn't exactly fair!" I retaliate. "Do you know how much that hurts?" Ginny ignores me and starts packing. "You're not coming!" I shout finally, putting my very life on the line.

"Oh, please," she says scatchingly. "You can't even get up off your bloody knees, how are you going to stop me?"

I groan. "Do you not understand that I'm going after VOLDEMORT? Voldemort, Ginny! We might all die! This isn't some holiday!"

Part of me is panicking, thinking that the whole 'yelling at angry redhead' is a bad idea, but then . . . the whole say-it-and-run thing didn't seem to work. "I'm coming," she snaps. "If I have to bat-bogey the three of you until you're blind in order to do it!"

She throws my wand at me and it jams into my eye. "Ouch!" I shriek.

Great, now my entire body is in pain.

"I'm not afraid of your Bat-Bogey," I say defiantly.

She arches an eyebrow. "No?" She asks, and turns on me suddenly, holding a - a -

Oh, no.

Oh, Merlin.

Sweet Whoever, please don't let that be her -

"That's right, Potter. The Pillow of Doom. I've got it and I'm not afraid to use it." She holds it out threateningly and I shrink from her whimper - that is, crying out in surprise in a very manly manner.

"That's - that's - " Dangerous.

Maybe I should employ the use of the Pillow of Doom against Voldemort?

"That's what you're going to get if you don't shut up about keeping me here," she threaten - no, promises.

Oh, bollocks.

That's just not fair.

"YOU CAN'T COME!" I blurt suddenly, bravery welling inside of me.

That, or madness, as Ginny is now in possession of both her wand and the Pillow of Doom.

"YOU CAN'T MAKE ME STAY!" She returns, her face red. "I'M COMING WITH YOU!"


I can see that this is not going to end unless I can find some way to forcefully keep her here.

I didn't want to employ such underhanded tactics but - well, she did knee me in the groin, after all. It's only fair.

I reach conspicuously into my back pocket as Ginny continues to rant - "You're not my mother, and I am not a child, you have no business telling me what I can and cannot do! You think just because I fancy you that you can boss me arou - ARE THOSE HANDCUFFS, HARRY POTTER?"

I smile apologetically. "I'm really, really sorry about this," I promise.

She darts from the bed and I follow. We circle her dresser a few times until she leaps over her bed so that she's between it and the wall. She fakes one way, then the other. I mirror her movements.

We are at a standstill, it appears.

Then she makes a daring move, leaping onto the bed and over my head. I whip around and we run in circles a little more, around the room. Finally, I give a frusterated yell and tackle her. We wrestle for control for a while, but I'm older and stronger and manlier.


I had no reason to be afraid.

Not that I was.

But . . . you know.


If I had been.

I latch her hand to the bedpost and step back, grinning. She yanks her hands desperately. "Don't you dare walk out that door, Harry Potter," she threatens.

"Sorry," I apologize again, bending in and giving her a peck on the cheek. "It's for your own good."

I don't press my luck, though, because she's too strong for her own good. I make a break for it, unlocking the door and tumbling down the steps yelling, "Ron! Hermione! Let's go - she'll break out of the handcuffs soon!" as I do.

It's takes them a while to get into the kitchen, but once they do we all take a brief look around. This is the last time we'll be seeing the -


We freeze, and I turn my eyes to the top of the steps. There's Ginny, half of the handcuff still around her wrist. Her eyes are blazing and she looks fit to kill.


I'm out of here.

"LET'S GO!" I shout, grabbing my best mates' hands and making a break for it. We lock the door behind us, leap on our brooms which are waiting out in the garden, and are gone before Ginny thinks to break a window and leap out of it.

As we disappear into the clouds, the last words I hear the redheaded girl shout are, "I SWEAR TO GOD, HARRY POTTER, YOU'D BETTER WRITE ME!"


That, at any rate, I can manage.

And honestly, I can probably manage Voldemort, too. After all, didn't you see the situation with Ginny? I handled it with finesse, (manly) grace, and a cool head.

Voldemort will be no problem.