For Duckie, who taught me the proper pronunciation of 'shite,' and also a few more words that are either gibberish or too obscene to be allowed.

And also for all of you who have been waiting nearly a year for this chapter.

Yeah.

Sorry about that. Hope this makes up for it.

7. Of Butter Dishes and Dress Robes

Have I ever mentioned that I loathe butter dishes? Well, I do.

They are positively evil.

Why, you may ask, do I despise these innocent, inanimate objects that do nothing but innocently house one of the world's most beloved animal by-products, a creamy, golden substance so often referred to as "butter"?

Firstly, there is a slight chance that they are not altogether "inanimate," as it were. This is the Wizarding world, after all. I've seen fireworks mate with each other and drunken house-elves running around in tutus. It is not altogether unlikely that butter dishes could in fact be evil souls hiding behind so-called "innocent" disguises until they are ready to unleash their creamy evil upon the world.

Which leads me to my second point.

Butter dishes, contrary to popular belief, are hardly innocent bystanders. I've been the subject of numerous torture at the hands (if they had hands) of these cruel kitchenware. I first suspected the evilness in them a few years back, at the Gryffindor table during breakfast.

It was my fifth year, and I was staring at Harry Potter, who was sitting a little ways down the table. He was the most gorgeous person I'd ever seen. Not that I still had a crush on him. I was totally over him at that time.

Anyway.

He was bloody handsome. The way his raven hair fell across his dazzling emerald eyes; the way he pushed his glasses to the bridge of his nose with the tip of his finger; the way he ran his hands through his hair when he was frustrated about something…God, how I wanted to run my own hands through those thick, black locks…

I was suddenly angry as I watched him pick through his breakfast, all alone. Why did he have to be so alone? I suppose everyone would want to be friends with him, but that's probably the reason he had no friends. If I had been in his position, I doubt I would have been able to trust that other people didn't want to be associated with me just because of my fame.

It was just not fair.

Harry looked up from his nearly untouched plate, probably sensing that someone was watching him, and those dazzling eyes of his connected with mine. He looked at me inquiringly, his concentrated gaze bringing butterflies to my stomach. And before I could look away, I did it.

Or, the butter dish did it. I swear, it must have moved on purpose, because one minute it was ten feet away and the next it was right under my elbow. Which is how I came to stick my elbow in the butter dish.

I didn't notice the unique position my elbow was in until I heard loud laughter. I finally turned away from Harry and looked into the faces of my friends, who were howling with laughter at my little accident. It wasn't my fault, all right! It was the bleeding butter dish!

I turned away with a scowl, only to have my eyes land on Harry' face again. And he was grinning at me. Instead of piecing together the fact that he was laughing at me, too, I just stared at his sparklingly white, perfect teeth.

And then I stuck my other elbow into the butter dish.

Which goes to show that the butter dish somehow moved on its own, since I didn't place it in any such way that my other elbow could have landed on it.

Since then, I've despised butter dishes. There have been several other occasions when butter dishes have gotten the better of me, all of them somehow related to Harry Potter. After the third incident, I swore to never have anything to do with butter dishes. I was doing pretty well on this promise to myself.

Until today.

It all started with the Second Annual Ministry of Magic Gala to Celebrate the Downfall of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, also known as SAMOMGCDHWMNBN. But a whole bunch of us call it Potter's Victory Dance, since Harry was the one who kicked Voldemort to the bucket. You know—Harry Potter. My boyfriend.

Yeah.

Anyway, the gala was created a year ago supposedly to celebrate everyone who helped defeat Voldemort, but everyone knows the real purpose is to make Harry give a speech. This means loads of reporters will be on the scene snapping photographs and trying to get a glimpse of the Boy Who Lived.

Obviously, the gala is Harry's least favorite thing in the whole world. He said it even beats that time when his aunt tried stuffing him in his cousin's horrid sweater, plus getting chased through the Forbidden Forest by hundreds of vicious acromantulas.

I feel the same. I mean, hours wasted getting ready for the dance isn't my idea of a perfect day. Although, they do have quite good food at the gala. And there's always really famous wizards walking around shaking people's hands. Plus the little goody bags they gave us last year were really great. They were little Harry Potter figurines who kept blowing the brains off some evil dark lord.

Okay, so I don't hate it. But still.

I would hate it if I were Harry. I mean, he has to write a bloody speech!

Plus, there was the whole Butter Dish Incident, which I wouldn't exactly describe as a walk in the park.

But more of that later. My troubles started way before The Incident.

It was this morning, actually, when everything started to fall apart. I was trying on my dress robe, just to make sure it fit right. Normally I'm not some brainless, giggly girl who cares about how her clothes look, right down to the last piece of thread, but this was not normally. This was Harry's ball. I had to look marvelous.

The dress robe I'd picked out was wonderful. It was long and elegant, with an open back. The best part was the royal blue color. It went perfectly with my hair.

I slipped it on, and did a little twirl. Did I mention the dress robe was long? Yeah. So, since I wasn't wearing my heels yet, you can guess what happened. I tripped on the hem and fell flat on my face, my hair forming a wild mane around me.

Oh shite, I thought. Because I had just heard a distinct tearing sound. Usually, those sounds mean that something has torn. This time was no exception.

There was a large rip at the bottom that not even a good Reparo would be able to fix. I was beginning to panic. My mum would probably be able to fix it, but she was so stressed already that I didn't want to bother her.

Maybe Hermione—

No, she'd just go on and on about how "this is why we pay attention during class, Ginny. Haven't I told you over and over again? ..."

Please. Like anyone ever needs that stuff.

Er. Not counting situations like these.

Anywho.

I was saved from having to throw myself at Hermione's mercy a moment later when Mum called me from downstairs.

"Yeah?" I answered, poking my head into the kitchen, trying to hide the tear in the dress robe.

"What are these?" Mum asked, four boxes reading "Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions" sitting at the kitchen table. "They're addressed to you."

At that point, I started inwardly hyperventilating, my thoughts completely out of focus. The first words that popped out of my mouth were "I've never seen those in my life!"

Which was so totally true. I'd never seen those boxes before, had I? I didn't matter that I had a pretty good idea what I'd find inside.

Anyway, this was obviously the wrong thing to say because Mum started opening one of the boxes, saying, "Well, maybe it was supposed to go to someone in the village."

"No!" I cried, lunging across the room to take the boxes.

Too late. Mum had the box open and was fishing out a short, yellow dress robe from inside. "What's this?"

If I recall properly, my response was: "Eek!"

"Ginny!" Mum said, looking at the tag. "These are your exact measurements!"

"R-really? How odd."

She opened the next box and gasped as she pulled out another dress robe, this one long, silver, and glittery.

"This also is your size."

"Hmmmmmmm."

She brought out a slinky black dress robe from the next box, which also happened to be my perfect fit.

From the final box came a long, green, silk dress robe. Mum was silent as she looked at the measurements. She said nothing for a full minute, twenty-three seconds, and forty-one milliseconds.

You know those times when your mum catches you doing something so extremely horrible that you want to pull out each individual hair on your arms and then drown yourself in a bucket of hot dragon dung just to not have to listen to the painful silence because said mother is so furious and disappointed in you that she has absolutely nothing to say, but then the silence isn't so bad when you think about how horrible it would be if she were actually screaming at you for the whole Wizarding world and maybe a third of the Muggle world to hear?

Well.

This was not one of those times.

I think my eardrums will never be the same after this morning. Mum was screaming so loudly you'd think it was a Howler.

"YOU BOUGHT FIVE DRESS ROBES?! FIVE! GINEVRA MOLLY WEASLEY!"

"I didn't buy them, per se—"

"WHAT WERE YOU THINKING? WHERE ARE YOU GOING TO FIND THIS TYPE OF MONEY?"

"I'll be able to pay Gringotts the money they loaned me in a jiffy, Mum—"

God, it wasn't that big of a deal. The final tryouts for the Harpies were last weekend and I made the team. Gwenog Jones said that I could become a starting player in just a couple of months if I try hard enough. I'll be raking in the Galleons then, and I'll be able to buy hundreds of millions of dress robes.

"BUT WHY ON EARTH DO YOU NEED FIVE DRESS ROBES? FIVE!"

Why did she keep repeating that? It's not like five is a big number. I could have bought a hundred dress robes. Or even a thousand. She should've actually been glad that I only bought five. There were another few dress robes I was also dying to buy, but I resisted the urge. She should have been proud.

"Because," I said. "I had to be prepared if something went wrong. Look at the one I'm wearing: there's already a tear at the hem."

So there.

"So you bought five of them."

Ugh! She was looking at this the wrong way. See, I knew loads of Quidditch superstars would be at the SAMOMGCDHWMNBN, and I was planning on making a big impression. This meant that I couldn't be running around in tattered dress robes. I need to look smart to make a good impression. So really, these dress robes were an investment in my future.

"Well, there are loads of things that can go wrong," I reasoned. "I could spill a drink on one of the robes, or fall into a lake, or get attacked by acromantulas—I hear they get very ravenous during spring—"

"Ginevra."

Whenever Mum whispers my name like that, I know I'm in big trouble.

"Y-yes?"

"You will return all of these to Madame Malkin's immediately."

"Okay," I said, nodding obediently. "I'll go there tomorrow—"

"Today."

"But her shop won't be open—she's not going to miss Harry's Victory Dance for anything."

"Then you will take them all with you to the ball and you will return them there."

"How do you expect me to carry all that?"

"I figured you had that all planned out," she said, smirking—Mum never smirks, by the way. "Weren't you planning on bringing all of them along in case something goes 'wrong'?"

The only thing I could think was "Fudge."

Not the ex-Minister of Magic, by the way.

In case you were wondering.

Anywho.

Because no, I hadn't thought of that. I mean, I had bigger things to worry about!

Mum left the kitchen, leaving me alone with all the dress robes. And I swear, I was going mad because it was like they were giving me admonishing looks.

"Don't you guys start too!" I yelled. And then I realized I probably sounded like a nutter, so I clamped my hands over my mouth. Grabbing the dress robes, I went up to my room and started thinking of a way to take them all with me to the ball.

Hours later, I still had no idea what I was going to do. I'd tried on all the robes, and after long consideration I decided to wear the green one to Harry's Victory Dance.

Don't give me that look.

What was I supposed to do—wear the torn one to the ball? This is the biggest event of the year. The only people in the world who weren't going were Bill and Fleur, because their daughter was born today. But they still honored the event by naming her Victoire.

So I have nothing to feel ashamed about.

And besides, the green dress robe would match Harry's eyes. His amazing, lovely, emerald eyes…that were staring right at me!

"Omigod!"

"Calm down, Ginny!" Harry said from the other end of the two-way mirror. "It's only me." For some reason his words sounded a little slurred.

"I know it's you," I said, taking long breaths. "You just gave me a fright, that's all."

Harry gave me this mirror a month or so ago, but I still haven't mastered its usage. It sounds simple—"Just say my name"—but it's not. It's more than just saying someone's name. There's other stuff involved, like…other stuff.

But anyway.

"Sorry about that," Harry said. "It's just—"

"You sound weird," I interrupted. "Are you all right?"

"About that," he responded. "Can you come to my flat, please? I'm having a little dilemma."

"I'm not doing so great either," I said. "I've got some problems of my own."

"Well, why don't you come over here and we can work them out together?"

That sounded pretty good. Plus I was pretty sure there would be snogging involved.

And, you know—other girlfriend/boyfriend stuff. Like talking, and helping each other solve our problems.

Yeah.

"Okay, then," I said. "I'm bringing Mr. Norris."

Okay, I have a confession to make. I think Mr. Norris loves Harry more than me.

It's true.

Whenever Harry is around he's always springy and doing things like chasing his tail, but when Harry leaves, he's his normal, lazy, fat self.

Of course, I'm never going to tell Harry this. He'd just get even more arrogant.

Throwing all the dress robes into one large bag, I picked up Mr. Norris with my other hand and Apparated outside Harry's flat.

Harry opened the door to let me in, already wearing his own dress robe. Mr. Norris immediately tangled himself through Harry's legs.

"You look fantastic, Ginny," Harry said, kissing me.

Hmm. See, I knew there would be sno—

I stopped my train of thought as I took in the taste of Harry's lips and the two empty bottles of firewhisky that were lying on the kitchen table.

"Harry Potter!" I cried. "Have you been drinking?"

"No!" After taking in my admonishing look, he ratified his statement: "Maybe? Yes."

"You're drunk!"

"Only a little," he said, closing the door behind me.

"But you have to give a speech in just a few hours! In front of the entire Wizarding world, practically."

Harry's eyes glazed over at "entire Wizarding world." He fell on his couch and laid his face in his hands.

"I know, I know!" he said. "That's what I've been trying to figure out the whole damn day."

"How you're going to speak to thousands of people when you're completely zonked, you mean?"

"No," he said. "I have to figure out what I'm going to say before I have to worry about that."

Okay. Last week, I specifically asked Harry if he was ready for his speech. And you know what he told me? No, you don't know, so I will tell you. This is what he told me:

"I've got it all covered, Ginny, don't worry."

Exactly.

Which is why I was pissed. I mean—what kind of person lies to his girlfriend?

Have I ever lied to him?

Well.

We weren't talking about me, were we?

Anyway.

"You told me you were ready!"

"Well, I'm not!"

"So what are you going to do now?" I ask, sitting down next to him.

"I don't know. Can we just run away, Ginny?"

This, coming from the Chosen One?

"Harry," I said, sighing. "You defeated Voldemort. You even set yourself up to die just to protect us. That must have taken immense courage. And now you want to run away? From silly little reporters?"

"But that's just it," he said, getting up and taking out another bottle of firewhisky from a cupboard. "They're hardly 'little' and—hey!"

Because I had just grabbed the firewhisky from his hand. "You are not drinking anymore. As your girlfriend, it is my duty to get you to this ball in one shape."

He was still looking the firewhisky. After a second of silence, he pleaded, "Can't I just have one more sip?"

"No."

He stumbled back to the couch, groaning. "This is useless, Ginny. I'm never going to get that speech ready in time."

"Don't be so sure," I said, a brilliant idea popping into my head. "I have a brilliant idea."

"You do?"

"Yes. You're simply going to say the same thing you said last year."

"That's your brilliant idea?"

I didn't like that tone. "What? Do you have a better idea?"

"How the hell am I supposed to remember what I said last year? I don't think I even wrote the bloody speech!"

"So why didn't someone else write it this time?"

"Probably because they want me to suffer," he said, adding darkly, "buggers."

"Look, Harry," I began. "This is going to be really simple. It can't be that hard to remember last year's speech. Now, go get a piece of parchment and some ink, and we'll have it ready in minutes."

Harry looked doubtful, but he got up and went in search of parchment, grabbing chairs and walls on the way for support.

God, what was I going to do? He was completely zonked, and there was no way I'd be able to make a Sobering Potion in the little time we had. I just had to make sure he didn't get so drunk that he'd go up to the stage starkers, or something.

Oh, bugger, I thought. We were in a load of trouble. Uncorking the bottle of firewhisky, I took a little sip. Just a little.

You know—to calm my nerves and all. Because I needed to be calm if I was going to help Harry. It was the logical thing to do.

Harry came stumbling back to the couch, parchment and ink in his hands. "Now what?"

"Now you just think of exactly where you were and how you were feeling last year," I said wisely.

"I felt like I wanted to puke."

"Good, good," I said. "You see—we're making progress. Now, there were probably loads of people staring at you, and probably hundreds of photographers were snatching pictures of you—"

"Yeah," Harry said, nodding enthusiastically. "And Kingsley introduced me, and he magically magnified my voice as I stepped on stage—"

"See? I told you we'd get somewhere!" I cried, proud of my work. "Now write everything you remember saying on this piece of parchment."

"Okay."

Harry took the parchment and ink and began to hastily scribble words on it. I could tell he was still drunk because the quill kept on moving off course. Finally, after a few minutes of writing and scratching off mistakes, he put down his quill and said, "Okay, this is all I can remember."

"Well, at least it's a start," I said, sitting up importantly. "Read it to me—and make it convincing, like you're speaking to the entire world. Have poise, charisma, elegance!"

"Poise, charisma, elegance…" Harry muttered, taking large breaths. "Okay, here I go." He took another large breath, and began: "Good evening, ladies and gentlemen."

He sat there looking at me with a look of pride on his face.

"Well?" I said. "Go on."

"What do you mean? That's all I have."

I stared at him in silence, my jaw dropped. Finally I said, "But what in the world have you been writing all this time then?"

"Well, I had to figure out if I was going to add 'My name is Harry Potter.' I couldn't remember if I did last time, but if I did, it would be a bit pointless, don't you think? But then I don't want people thinking that I think they all know who I am, because then I'll just look like a big prat…"

I was silent again for another minute, contemplating the situation.

"Shite."

"Yeah," Harry agreed.

I uncorked the bottle of firewhisky and took a large swig, feeling the steam coming out of my ears. I passed the bottle to Harry, who copied my actions.

"Mega shite."

"Yeah."

"Harry, I think we're going to need another few bottles of firewhisky.

Stumbling over to his cupboard, he said, "My sentiments exactly."

Okay, we didn't mean to get pissed. It just happened. These things happen all the time. It's like getting caught in the rain without your wand. There's absolutely nothing you can do to not get soaked. This is exactly like that, because, well…

Just because.

So obviously, it wasn't our fault. After our first bottle of firewhisky, Harry and I just couldn't resist having another. I mean—what would you have done? It was our only choice, obviously. It was either show up to the ball completely sober and witness Harry's non-existent speech with a sinking feeling of humiliation, or show up and not have a bleeding clue what anybody is talking about.

Anybody would have picked the latter.

Besides, Harry and I had it all worked out. We put Silencing Charms on ourselves, so that we wouldn't randomly blurt out some nonsense and get Mum screaming at us for being irresponsible.

Correction—screaming at me. She's so taken with Harry that I don't think she'd notice if he were chucking dungbombs right and left completely in the buff.

Which, considering his current level of intoxication, wasn't all that unlikely.

But anyway, apart from the whole drunken stupor mess, the afternoon wasn't all that bad. Harry figured out a neat little spell that allowed me to put all my dress robes inside my tiny little purse, and I—even a wee bit drunk—managed to get my hair to look halfway decent in a messy bun on top of my head. As a matter of fact, I looked quite brilliant, if I do say so myself. I chose to wear the long green dress, which matched Harry's handsome eyes perfectly.

Harry himself looked amazing, but this was normal. I don't think he even bothered to comb his messy, raven hair, but it still managed to fall perfectly across his eyes. He wore black dress robes with a green trim, which matched my dress handsomely.

After we finished getting ready, Harry and I Flooed to the Ministry of Magic, where we were able to take a Portkey to the gala. (We weren't sober enough to Apparate.)

The gala was being held at the home of Lady Carmilla Sanguina, which is in the middle of nowhere. For security purposes the mansion is the perfect location for thousands of wizards to convene because it is Unplottable and Muggles have never been able to penetrate its defenses. Plus, it is the biggest place I've ever seen, save Hogwarts Castle. The Ministry did consider using Hogwarts for the ball (they weren't too eager to be indebted to vampires, and the inhabitants of Sanguina Mansion are all vampires), but after last year's security fiasco at Hogwarts, the Ministry decided against using the school.

Besides, the grounds of Sanguina Mansion are much, much larger than Hogwarts's, which means thousands more wizards can gather in one place.

The knowledge that there would be thousands of people staring at his scar as soon as he arrived at the ball did nothing to calm Harry's nerves. As the guest of honor, he was required to walk down a red carpet before entering the mansion. I, as his date, had to do the same thing.

I was ready to puke all over my new dress, and/or jump around screaming in excitement as we landed on our feet. (Harry's entourage of Aurors were holding us up, otherwise we would probably both have collapsed from (a) having a shiteload of firewhisky in our system, or (b) the sudden chaos of thousands of witches and wizards screaming at us.

Or—at Harry.

But still. I was with him, so they were basically screaming at me too.

Whatever. It does matter who they were screaming for, because it was totally chaotic. Even if I had been able to speak, I wouldn't have been able to hear my own voice. The sound coming from the people around us was deafening.

The Aurors had created an invisible barrier surrounding the red carpet, but it was taking a lot of magic to keep it standing. People were pounding on it with fists and trying to break through with their own magic, and there were just so many of them that the Aurors guarding the barrier were continually being replaced so that they wouldn't collapse with exhaustion.

As Harry and I passed through the crowd, I saw many crying faces, and people reaching their hands out, trying to touch the Boy Who Lived, the reason it was all over…

Before today, I had never truly appreciated how many lives Harry had saved by sacrificing himself. I glanced at him from the side, and as I took in his flushed cheeks and his downcast eyes, I realized that if anyone else had been placed in his position, the world would probably be burning right now. Because no one had his courage, his compassion. Of this, I was absolutely certain.

I stepped in closer to Harry as we walked forward. His hand tightened on mine.

I glanced behind me and realized that the crowd was closing in on us. We must have been the last to arrive for the red carpet, because the Aurors were collapsing the barrier behind us. In front of us, another prominent veteran of the war was disappearing into the Sanguina Mansion.

Of course, I realized. The Ministry was saving Harry for last.

When Harry and I stepped into the Mansion, I was blown away. Every inch of the place was covered with decorations. The first thing that caught my eye, though, was the giant marble statue of Harry, which looked like the exact replica of the one that currently inhabits the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic.

The statue was of a seventeen-year-old Harry. The sword of Gryffindor dangled from his left hand, and in his right he held the Elder Wand. His robes looked tattered and as if they had been through a hard battle, but the statue still looked magnificent. His bangs had been swept to one side so that his lightening scar was easily visible.

Harry always tells me that this statue gives him more credit than he deserves, because Neville Longbottom was the one who cut off Nagini's head with Gryffindor's sword. Personally, I think Harry totally deserves it. After all, he did withdraw the sword from the Sorting Hat, it was just years before Neville did. Plus, it gives the statue a nice touch.

Not that Harry needs anything to make him better.

But still.

Following the war veteran in front of us (I vaguely remembered him from the times I spied on Order meetings), Harry and I walked through the entrance hall and into the great hall, where hundreds of wizards were already sitting.

Okay, here's the thing about the MOMGCDHWMNBNs. The Ministry never has enough space or resources to feed the thousands of witches and wizards that convene each year, so only the people who actually did some fighting in the war are invited to the actual dinner and dance. The rest of the world comes to watch Harry walk by and give his speech (which is always saved for last).

The minute we walked in, all the people in the room immediately stood up and raised their goblets to Harry, who was blushing furiously again. As we made our way to the Weasley table (which was considerably larger than anyone else's), witches and wizards lined up to shake Harry's hand. Some of them even wanted to shake mine!

I could see Draco Malfoy a few tables down, scowling darkly in Harry's direction. I was pretty sure I knew the reason for this. It was only a few months ago that Malfoy was begging me to date him. Ugh. Just thinking about it made me want to puke. The only reason the Malfoys ever even got on the guest list was because Mrs. Malfoy helped Harry escape Voldemort. But otherwise they might all be stuck in Azkaban right now.

It's a shame.

I mean, of course I'm glad that Harry isn't dead, but it wouldn't be so bad to have Malfoy out of my life once and for all.

As we approached the Weasley table, I could see my mother's face glowing with pride, so I was half sure that she had forgiven me for the whole Dress Robes Fiasco, but I didn't get too confident. You never know, with Mum.

When Harry and I sat down at the two open seats at our table, the rest of the room did as well, but everyone was still shamelessly staring at Harry. I squeezed his hand under the table, and he gave me forced smiled.

After Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Minister of Magic, said a few words (he never once mentioned Harry personally, to Harry's relief), the plates magically filled themselves with food, like they do at Hogwarts, and everyone began to eat.

Between large bites of chicken, Ron told me and Harry, "You two looked weird as you walked in. Like you were about to fall over or something."

"Swallow your food before you speak, Ronald," Hermione reprimanded. "And with everyone staring at them, I would be surprised if they didn't feel nervous." However, she shot me a glance that told me that she knew all too well that nerves had nothing to do with the way I was walking. (Though I couldn't say the same for Harry.)

I nodded at her in thanks (the Silencing Charms were still in effect), and returned to my food, trying to avoid any more questions.

And then it happened.

You know what I'm talking about.

The Butter Dish Incident.

I had noticed The Butter Dish the moment I sat down, laying a hand's reach away to the right of me. I had vowed to never, ever touch a butter dish again, which is why I didn't move this particular butter dish away from me. Normally I would have asked someone else to do it, but seeing as I was Silenced, this was not an option. I figured if I stayed as far away from it as possible, everything would be fine.

How very wrong I was.

While I was very intently cutting a piece of steak, Harry nudged me on my side. I looked up at him.

Yes?

Okay, Harry and I have developed a cool way of speaking when we don't want other people to know what we're talking about. It's nothing like Legilimency, or anything, but we always know what the other is thinking.

He looked pointedly at The Butter Dish, which I had been trying hard to ignore.

I think I could have died. I am able to put up with Harry's little faults, like always leaving the toilet seat up whenever he's at the Burrow, or smirking haughtily whenever he's right about something, or leaving a Snitch wandering around his flat twenty-four hours a day, and even his big temper, but this?

I glared at him. You're a Butter Disher! I accused.

What? he thought-asked. What the bleeding hell are you talking about? Whatever it is, I'm not it.

Yes you are!

I'm not! Now pass me the butter dish, please.

See, see?!

No, I don't see. Are you feeling all right, Ginny? He placed his palm on my forehead. You do feel a little hot. Maybe it was all the firewhisky—

I swatted his hand away. I'm feeling perfectly fine, thank you very much. It's you. You're a bloody Butter Disher. You use butter dishes!

Well, what do you want me to use? Mr. Norris's food dish?

I don't care—anything but a butter dish.

Okay, fine, Harry thought-said. If you'll refuse to pass it to me, I'll just get it myself.

NO!

I grabbed his arm as he reached across me.

You don't understand, Harry, I told him. Butter dishes are evil. If you even so much as look at it again I'll sick Mr. Norris on you.

Harry rolled his eyes. You and I both know, Ginny, that Mr. Norris loves me more than you.

Shite, I thought (to myself). Because (a) now I knew that Harry knew that I knew that Mr. Norris loves him more, and (b) now I had nothing to threaten him with.

Which is why when Harry reached for The Butter Dish a second time, I leaped to my feet and tackled him.

Okay, I know what you're thinking. You're thinking that I've seriously gone mad now.

But I haven't. Honestly.

I mean—yes, it's always the crazies that go around screaming that they are actually quite sane, but this is different. I'm not crazy. If I hadn't pushed Harry away, who knows what would have happened if he'd actually touched The Butter Dish?

As it is, we are now laying on a pile of mashed potatoes and gravy, me on top of Harry, with the entire room staring at us in amazement.

I think Mum's going to have a heart failure.

Plus, this dress is now covered with food. Yeah, Mum is definitely going to murder me.

I utterly loathe butter dishes.

Everyone is still in shock. Finally, Mum pulls a green bean out of her hair (everyone at our table is covered with food), and very slowly says, "What do you think you're doing?"

Okay, this is a pretty stupid question. Obviously I'm lying on top of Harry Potter, on a table, in the middle of a room filled with hundreds of witches and wizards who have been doing nothing but stare at said Harry Potter the entire night.

Thankfully, the Silencing Charm is still in effect, preventing me from voicing my thoughts.

I feel a sense of déjà vu as I lay there on Harry, because the only things I can think are: Ginny, don't you dare stick your hands into his robes and Wow, Harry's really well-built.

My mouth is beginning to water just thinking about him.

Or maybe it is because the delicious scent of hot gravy is wafting toward me from his hair.

But whatever. Harry is tastier than gravy, obviously.

Anyway.

Harry is having a little trouble breathing, I think. This could be because he is lying on a pile of food and everyone is staring at him, or because I may have just knocked the wind out of him.

But who's pointing fingers?

I feel myself being pulled off of Harry and placed on my feet. Everyone's attention turns to me. Harry is still on the table, stunned.

Pulling my wand out discreetly, I silently mutter the counter spell for the Silencing Charm. (Harry isn't the only one who learned nonverbal spells, so there!)

Thankfully, the hours I've gone without firewhisky have managed to sober me up a bit, so I am able to say a quick "Excuse me" and go searching for the bathroom.

I hold my head high as I walk through the room, but I can still feel a banana peel sliding down my face.

Plus, did I mention the photographers? Because there are a lot of them.

You know what that means. That's right—tomorrow the entire world will see my lovely face on the front page of the Prophet.

I can just see the title: MAD GIRLFRIEND TACKLES HARRY POTTER.

God.

Bloody butter dishes. I told you they are evil. This never would have happened if it wasn't for the BD.

I realize that I've reached the bathroom, so I push the door open and step inside.

The first thing that pops into my mind is "Bloody mother of God. Oh Merlin, not now—I don't want to leave Harry. Oh, he better not get together with Romilda Vane when I'm gone. Someone needs to feed Mr. Norris."

Because I think I'm going to die. In the literal sense.

Because there are two teenage vampires already occupying the loo. Are they really teenagers, though? I mean, they look my age but vampires never get old, do they? Which means these two could be thousands of years old.

But why am I thinking about their age? I bet they're thinking about eating me.

Oh God.

I'm going to be eaten.

Oh Merlin.

I'd never expected to die like this. I figured I might die during the Second War, or maybe by some horrible Quidditch accident, or perhaps even when I'm really old and married to Harry and we have loads of grandchildren, but never like this. As food.

"Please don't eat me!" I can't help myself from shouting. "I'm not juicy enough!"

The two girls exchange looks. "We're not going to eat you," says the taller of the two.

"You're not?"

"No. I think your Ministry looks down on that kind of action."

Psh. I knew that.

I had my cool all along.

Yeah.

"Well…" I say. "I'll…just leave you…"

"But what about the food?" asks the second girl.

Oh my God. They are going to eat me. Why would they care what the Ministry thinks? All they can think about is food.

I start to splutter. "Wha—I—you—but—huh?"

I'm going to be eaten!

"Aren't you going to clean up the food in your hair and on your robe?"

Oh, yeah. That.

"Uhm. I guess."

I can't get out of this, can I? I mean, if I try to run away they'll think I'm a weak target. So I slowly pull out the remaining dress robes from my purse and begin the process of cleaning away the food.

Suddenly, the tall vampire is at my side, holding the silver dress in front of her. "Wow, this is pretty. Ada, come look at these!"

Ada joins the tall vampire so quickly that it looked like she'd Apparated. She grabs the short, yellow dress from my pile. "This one is nice."

They both look at me. "Are you going to wear these?"

"Erm…no. You can have them if you want," I say. They're vampires. What am I supposed to do, say no? Mum can't blame me for this.

"Thanks a lot!" Ada says. She smiles brilliantly. Wow, those are pointy incisors. She pulls me into a tight hug.

The taller girl smiles as well. Her teeth are equally pointy. And I mean, really, dangerouly pointy.

Merlin.

"I'm Analilian, by the way. This is my sister, Adabella."

"Erm…Ginny Weasley."

They both gasp.

"I knew you looked familiar!" cries Adabella. "Ana, she's dating Harry Potter!"

"Erm…"

Honestly, I need to expand my vocabulary.

"Is he a good kisser?" Adabella asks.

"Ada!"

"What?" she says. "Don't pretend you don't want to know, Ana. I've seen you staring at his photographs in Witch Weekly."

Okay, this is officially getting weird.

"Look, I have to go," I say, slipping off the green dress and putting on the black one, the only one that's left. "My family is waiting for me."

"Okay," says Ana. "We'll see you around, yeah?"

"Of course." Not.

I plan to stay as far away from them as possible. They may not want to eat me now, but you never know.

I quickly exit the bathroom and make my way back to the great hall. It's completely deserted.

Where the bleeding hell is everybody?

Merlin's beard. I've suddenly just realized that I'm alone in a house full of vampires.

"Ginny! There you are!"

Thank Merlin. It's Hermione.

"Where have you been?"

"In the loo."

"Well, come on!" she cries. "Harry's about to give his speech."

Oh, no. Do I really have to listen? I mean, I have to be the supportive girlfriend and everything, but I have enough on my plate as it is.

However, Hermione leaves me no choice. She grabs my arm and pulls me out into a large balcony overlooking the courtyard, where thousands of people are gathered. The people from the dinner are all on the balcony, surrounding Harry, who looks ready to drop dead.

And he looks drop dead gorgeous too.

Harry shakes hands with Kingsley Shacklebolt, who takes out his wand, points it at Harry's throat, and mutters, "Sonorus."

Harry clears his throat. Everyone immediately stops talking. It's really eerie. There are thousands of people gathered in one place, and yet I could have heard a pin drop.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen."

At least he sounds like he's sobered up a little. Plus he sounds exceptionally sexy. As always. And he's all mine.

I can't help the grin that forms on my face. I stop smiling though, when I hear his next words.

"My name is Harry Potter. I mean—obviously you already know that. That is—I'm not saying that you should know it. It's just…everyone pretty much knows who I am. But I don't expect you to know who I am—it's just, you know—you do know me. I mean—you don't know me, know me—but you know my name…

"Anyway, good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Did I already say that? Is it even evening? Is it past midnight? Because that would mean that it's morning. And then I'd have to say 'Good morning, ladies and gentlemen.' But is 'ladies and gentlemen' enough? Because with all the people here, there's bound to be some who are transgender…"

Someone taps me from behind and I happily turn away. Harry's speech is worse than I imagined.

I come face to face with Analilian and Adabella, and another vampire woman. Oh, Merlin. Can this get any worse?

"Erm…hi!"

"Ginny, this is our Mum," Ada says. "Lady Carmilla Sanguina."

"Erm…hi!" My voice is unnaturally high-pitched.

Lady Carmilla smiles at me. "Ana and Ada have informed me about how kind you were to them today," she says.

"Erm…yeah."

I notice that the two vampire sisters are wearing the dress robes.

"It's no problem," I manage to squeak out.

"It's very unusual, though," Lady Carmilla says. "Humans usually want nothing to do with us."

Yeah. I can understand why.

"Well," I say instead, "that's me: unusual!"

"Well, I will of course repay you for the dresses."

She places a large bag of gold in my arms. I can tell by the weight that I would be able to buy ten dress robes with this small fortune if I wanted.

"This is too much…I can't…"

Yes, I can.

"You must."

Okay.

"But…"

"I insist."

"Well, okay. Thank you."

I mean, who would argue with a vampire? Exactly.

Lady Carmilla is gone in a flash, leaving me with Ada and Ana.

"Ginny," Ada says, "you've been great to us. If you ever need anything—and I mean anything—you can always call us."

"We heard you were having a little problem with a certain girl named Romilda Vane?" says Ana.

"How do you know?"

"It was all over Witch Weekly. Someone from Hogwarts sent in the story."

"So if you ever need us to…you know…give her a little fright…we'll be there for you," Ada says, smiling dangerously.

You know, I'm starting to like these two.

I smile as well. "I'll remember that."

I turn back and look at Harry, my spirits high. He however, looks completely flustered. I haven't heard the last parts of his speech, but on the looks on everyone's faces, it's been…bad.

But I can't help but smile when Harry breaks down and yells, "It was The Butter Dish!"

AN: Okay, are you satisfied, now? That was a random chapter, but it was only filler. I'm a bit in a hurry, so I haven't completely edited this, so please excuse any big mistakes. I have plans for the next chapter, but I thought it would be moving a little too fast if I didn't add something first. Please review, since it's really hot and I've been working with practically no AC to get this chapter out to you guys. ;)

Next chapter: Harry and Ginny need to have 'a talk.' Uh oh. (But I don't know how long it will take me to write, so if you need some H/G awesomeness, you'll find some great fics in my C2 archive.)