Yeah, so, while this is probably tying for my favorite story with Ten Minutes To Midnight, I really haven't had the urge to write anything. But then, for some reason, in the past few weeks a few people rediscovered it and were all "UPDATE OR I MURDER YOU" so I figured if I valued my life I should update. Also I sort of wanted to figure out what happens to Ginny. So here goes the final chapter: (drum roll, please.)

(I DON'T HEAR YOU DRUM ROLLING)

DRUM ROLL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Thank you.

Oh, and also I realize, looking back on this story, that my brain was completely obsessed with toilets a year ago. So I apologize for all the minds that were damaged. Also for all the toilet stuff in this chapter. I set up a lot to do with toilets in the plot line.

You may continue drum rolling

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So that was a bad idea. Again, what is with me and the bad ideas? Obviously I am stupid and therefore don't deserve such a wonderful human being and Harry Potter, even if he did love me back. But he doesn't and never ever will. So I should just drown myself because without Harry my life is meaningless.

Except drowned people look kind of gross, all bloated and icky. And I want my death to make Harry love me, not puke up his supper. Poison? But it probably tastes bad. I couldn't stab myself because that would make a mess and would be painful and RUIN whatever clothes I was wearing. And I would like my death to be in a beautiful satin gown so that I can be tragically sprawled out with my hair everywhere and look so fabulous that Harry cries about how he never admitted his undying affection for me and my brothers will feel bad for treating me like a baby all these years when obviously I am a simply stunning young woman.

But I won't kill myself. For one thing I haven't got the guts (get it? Guts? Cuz if you kill yourself than you don't have any guts!! HAHAHAHA!!!) and for another thing it probably wouldn't work because Harry would just be "Oh my poor sister figure. How horribly tragic. I'm just going to look noble and sexy now with my ohso perfect eyes and bum and. . ."

Stop it Ginny. You're getting off track. Now tell the nice pink diary what happened.

So I went downstairs late last night to flush the magazine in the toilet. (Which probably, in retrospect wasn't the best idea as I could just have easily had hid it in the mess that is my room. But I suppose it's too late now.) However, as anyone who isn't nearly as stupid as I am would have figured out that it would clog the toilet. And I am no good with de-clogging spell. Bat-bogey hexes, certainly. But anything household-y I am as bad at doing as Harry is at looking ugly.

So I'm standing there, with the toilet over flowing from the soggy tabloid stuck in the toilet bowl, thinking "whatdoIdowhatdoIdowhatdoIdo" and of course followed my basic instinct; that is, to sob hysterically for being such an idiot. Don't shake your head and say "Of course you're not an idiot Ginevra. You are a wonderful person." Let me prove how idiotic I am.

I flushed a magazine down the toilet.

I peed in bottles.

I poured said bottles out of the window.

I told Witch Weekly, which is read in literally read by every witch household in the country, that I am still in love with Harry Potter.

I am still in love with Harry Potter.

Oh, and I managed to clog the only usable toilet in the whole house with a magazine that declares my love for him on the front cover.

To explain something to you, my darling little fuzzy pink book, we have two bathrooms in the whole house. So there is often a line for the bathrooms. At the moment, however, there are pixies in the upstairs bathroom so everyone is using the one by the kitchen. Of course, that is the one that I clogged.

So of course I pulled out the most that I could from the toilet (hey, no one had peed in it, so it was only water at that point) but the damage was done. A big corner of it had ripped off and had been flushed partway down the toilet so that it was completely blocked up and looked about ready to explode. I ran back upstairs and here I am.

Oh Merlin's tonails. WHERE IS THE COVER OF WITCH WEEKLY??????

The soggy, stupid cover must have gotten ripped of when I was pulling it out. Lucky for me, the cover has the horrible headlines which will bring me to my doom.

Oh no oh no. Now I'll have to go into hiding and never come out until my darling Harry is dead. Because not only will he never want to speak to me again, my entire family will never let me forget that I was in love with Harry Potter and he doesn't love me back and I was idiot enough to tell Mum's favorite magazine that I was in love with him and liked his bum.

That drowning option is starting to look pretty good.

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On the other hand, cancel the drowning.

I was lying on my bed, wallowing in misery and preparing to spend the rest of my life in hiding in a cave taking no baths and being utterly repulsive as penance for my stupidity, when I heard a knock on the door.

I moaned "Go away" but then I heard a very familiar, deep voice say, "Ginny? Um, can I come in? Please?"

I wanted to sink through the floor. I wanted to kill myself by drowning, no matter how yecchy it would make me look. I wanted to Apparate to the Australian outback or the Sahara desert or one of those mainly uninhabited places where no one will ever find me.

But of course I did none of those things, and figuring I might as well get the humiliating conversation over with so that I could commence with the hiding and repulsiveness, I said "Come in". And sat up.

Harry entered, looking amazingly sexy with his hair all messed up. His hands were behind his back, and I had an inkling I knew what he was holding.

Harry: Erm, Ginny, can I talk to you?

Me: Alright. (Much more cheerily than I actually felt)

Harry: Takes out Witch Weekly cover

Me: thinking NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Harry: Ginny, is this true?

Me:

Harry: (talking really fast) Because, you know, I was maybe hoping it was.

Me!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Harry: See, I liked you but then you acted all like a friend to me and I figured you probably didn't like me that way anymore. So do you? Like me that way anymore?

Me: (really quietly) Yeah.

Harry: Um. Wow.

Me: But-

Harry: What?

Me: You didn't look at me.

Harry: When?

Me: When you came home. And when I wasn't really wearing a shirt. Plus, didn't I spill, you know, at your feet?

Harry: I was shy. I thought you wouldn't like me anymore. And I didn't know what to say to you. And I didn't want to be rude and stare at your chest. (And then he said the most incredible thing) Though I sort of wish I had. And the "you know"? I just figured that was George or someone. I won't hold it against you, though. Provided I can kiss you now.

I knew he was meant for me.

Because before I knew it one of his hands was on the small of my back and the other on was in my hair and he was snogging the daylights out of me. And I have forgotten how that boy can kiss. He has such nice soft lips, and. . .

All of a sudden he pulled back and said, "Do you really like my bum?"

I grinned and pulled his face down to mine and proceeded in giving him the best kiss of his life.

This story is done.. Au revoir!

And review. Because this story has FOUR TIMES the amount of views as one of my others, and only two more reviews. Which is ridiculous.