I really want to update Big D, but with finals here...hopefully that'll get an update after finals! In the meantime, here's a little something that I decided to put up. Hope you enjoy!

Sure, Ginny had specifically requested a low-key evening, but this wasn't what she had meant. She only wanted to dissuade Luna and Hermione from going along with the Harpies' threatening plan to spirit them all of to Ibiza for a weekend of wild partying. When she'd said low-key, she thought Luna and Hermione would understand that she wanted to go to a local bar, get plastered, and do whatever it was that people normally did at hen-dos. Of course, neither Luna nor Hermione ever really got plastered, and none of them had ever actually been invited to a hen-do before, but Hermione had said something about studying up on what muggle bridal traditions were, and Ginny had gotten her hopes up. Apparently, though, Hermione's study had been purely academic.

So here they all were, Ginny, Luna, Hermione, Angelina, and four of the Harpies, sipping tea and discussing hairdos for the wedding on the couch in the Burrow's living room. Pathetic. Ginny sighed dramatically every now and then, but every time she did the rest of the women just smiled indulgently at her, assuming that she was pining for her groom or maybe getting some wedding jitters.

As if Ginny ever pined for anything in her life.

Three of the Harpies were starting to look rather bored and tired by the evenings subdued revelries when the party finally got the kick-start it needed. Interrupting Luna's musings on the dangers that nargles posed to a wedding—or whatever it was she was saying, Ginny had somewhat lost track—a glowing silver stag came soaring through the window to canter across the living room to Ginny. Seeing it, Ginny grinned broadly and sat up. Harry's voice, slurred almost past recognition and periodically interrupted by manic laughter, emanated from the stag.

"Love you, party's great—" here was laughter and some shouting in the background "—can't believe I'm not even drunk yet. I really want to marry you, Ginny, you're hot. Please come to my wedding, love you, ye-ah, another round, George!" With a faint pop, the stag disappeared. Ginny stared open-mouthed at the spot where it had been.

"Is he really not drunk yet? He doesn't sound himself," Luna observed. Ginny turned to stare at her instead.

"Ginny, don't worry, they won't do anything stupid," Hermione said reassuringly.

"I'm not worried that they'll do something stupid," Ginny snapped. "I'm worried that we are. All right, get up, everybody. This is ridiculous and I'm not letting it continue. You all have ten minutes to put on your hottest party clothes, and then it's girls' night out. We're going into London, we're going to find a busy bar, and we're going to get drunk off our asses."

"Yes!" Angelina crowed, leaping to her feet.

"Oh, Ginny, I'm not sure I—" Hermione began, but Ginny cut her off.

"Look, Hermione, I'm getting married. I am. It's my hen-do, ok? In a month, when it's your turn, fine, we'll stay in and do this, whatever this is. But I will not spend tonight sitting around like Aunt Muriel drinking tea and gossiping. Not while Harry and Ron and everybody are out sending me drunken patronuses. So get up, get your party gear on, and let's go." There was no arguing with Ginny when she was like this, particularly not when it concerned anything wedding-related. Hermione looked apprehensive, but she dashed off to acquiesce to the bride's commands.

The bar was busy but not overcrowded when they got there. It was a muggle establishment, so Luna's eccentricities were exaggerated, the Harpies didn't know how to order, and Hermione seemed surprisingly at ease. Ginny was satisfied and promptly ordered a round of tequila shots for the group.

It wasn't long before the whole group was laughing too loudly, slurring their words, and generally acting the way that a group of women out to celebrate their friend's upcoming wedding would be expected to behave while wholly inebriated. Several rounds in, the group members began suggesting alternate activities to while away the night.

"We should see if the bartender knows where to find a Crumple-Horned Snorcack," Luna drawled at one point.

"Yes!" Hermione agreed enthusiastically, spilling some of her third martini. "No, wait, Luna, we can't he's—he's a muggle," she giggled in an undertone. "He doesn't know what Snuffle-Horned…a Crumpet-Snore…a Crinkle-Cut Snurple is, right?"

"We should invite Professor McGonagall to come out with us!" Angelina declared. "We could shed—send an owl to her."

"An owl," Ginny said. She and Hermione looked at each other, and they burst into a fresh wave of giggles. "Hoot hoot," Ginny said, giggling some more.

"We should get tattoos," one of the Harpies—whose name, by that point in the evening, Ginny simply couldn't recall—suggested.

"Oooh, yes!" Hermione squealed in a very un-Hermione-ish way. "I want to get 'Ronald' tattooed across my…across my…" She trailed off, looking confused.

Ginny draped her arms around Hermione. "Across your heart," she sighed. "I'll get 'Harry' tattooed on my arm."

"George," was Angelina's contribution to the discussion.

Excited by their new plan, the eight ladies stumbled out of the bar in search of a tattoo parlour. Somehow (and when Ginny told the story to Harry later, she couldn't figure out how), they found their way into a tattoo parlour that didn't seem to be too dodgy. The process of getting tattoos, they soon found out, took longer than they had expected. By the time the first two Harpies had finished getting broomsticks tattooed on their forearms—much to the confusion of the muggle tattoo artist—both Luna and Angelina had fallen asleep, and the other two Harpies had mysteriously disappeared.

"Who's next?" the tattoo artist asked.

"Go on, Hermione," Ginny urged.

Hermione took her place, and the tattoo artist studied the design that Hermione had sketched while waiting.

"Same spot, love?" he asked absently, gesturing to Hermione's right forearm. It was clad in a long-sleeve, as it usually was when Hermione went out, the asymmetrical dress baring her shoulder down to her fingertips on the left side.

Hermione snatched her arm back. "No!" she shouted.

The tattoo artist raised his eyebrows. "That's all right then, love, I can do the other arm if you like," he soothed. Hermione put her arm back down warily. The tattoo artist smiled and fiddled with his tools. "So what's a Roonil?" he asked casually.

Ginny lifted her head from where she'd pillowed it on her arms across the room. "A what?" she demanded. Hermione gave no answer, just stared at her blue-sleeved arm.

"A Roonil. That your boyfriend's nickname?"

"Fiancé," Ginny called over.

"Oh yeah? This a hen-do?"

Ginny nodded, then yawned. "Yeah, mine," she said. Hermione was still staring at her arm.

"Both engaged, are you?"

"Yeah. She's marrying my brother."

"So Roonil's your brother?"

"I've changed my mind," Hermione said suddenly. She looked up, first at the tattoo artist then at Ginny, her eyes bright with that steely look of determination she usually got when talking to Ron.

"'Bout marrying Roonil? I don't blame you, love, his name's enough reason to call it off, I say."

Hermione shook her head. "I want to change the tattoo."

"Now's the time, love, can't do much about it later."

Ginny stood up, curious, and came over to watch Hermione scrawl out her new tattoo design. "And I want it on this arm," Hermione said, starting to roll up her sleeve. With a frantic motion, Ginny put her hand on Hermione's trying to stop her.

"But, Hermione, that's—" she started.

"I know exactly what it is," Hermione said fiercely. She yanked the sleeve up and turned her right hand palm up, exposing the pink, horrible scar etched into the otherwise smooth skin of her forearm: MUDBLOOD.

The tattoo artist whistled. "Oh, love, where'd you get that?"

Hermione shook her head again. Ginny looked back at the new design Hermione had drawn and grinned.

"It's brilliant," she told her sister-in-law-to-be.

The tattoo artist looked taken aback, but he quickly got to work. When he was finished, Hermione turned her arm this way and that, studying the new addition. "Ginny," she said slowly.

"Yeah?"

"I know it's a late change but…I think I want to match the other bridesmaids after all. Take the sleeves off the dress. Is that all right?"

Ginny took Hermione's hand and squeezed it. "You'd better," she said, her words thick. "And if Ron says anything stupid, let me know. I'll Bat-Bogey him twice a day, every day, for a week. And I'll kick his ass, too."

"He won't," Hermione said softly.

She curled her right hand into a fist, and the scar on her arm seemed to stand out more than ever: MUDBLOOD. And beneath it, in bold block letters, her new challenge issued out: WHAT'S YOUR EXCUSE?