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Ginny Weasley and the Trouble With Post-Its by fluff ducky
The Post-It by fluff ducky
Author's Notes:

Hi! This is my first story posted on DandG, so please be kind, but also honest in your opinions. Thanks.

Disclaimer: Sadly, Harry Potter is not mine.

Chapter 1: The Post-It

When I woke up this morning, I thought today would be a good day.

In reality, though, the day could not have ended up worse. Walking through the hall, I reflect that not only have I lost Gryffindor 30 house points in Potions, but I also have been chucked.

By Jack.

By Jack the Hufflepuff.

By Jack the Hufflepuff, on a post-it.

It simply reads:

Ginny, I donte want too sea you annymore. -Jack

I am so angry I could spit fire. Well, I realize that I could by simply casting a spell, but that's not what I'm talking about.

I am not sad.

And this is not the kind of "I am not sad" I say to convince myself. I am actually not sad. I have wanted to chuck Jack for a while now, but couldn't find a nice way about it. Apparently, Jack does not have such tact. Nor, any sense of proper grammar.

Stupid prick. What if I were some sensitive bint? I might’ve cried! I suppose that really, Jack has done me a favour. I will not be seen as an evil wench who chucked her caring boyfriend. And, as a bonus, I will never have to put up with Jack's "Relationship Talks".

"Ginny, I think it’s time to have one of our relationship talks," he would say. And then he would proceed to talk about himself and all his woes until I snogged him just to shut him up.

Serves me right for thinking Hufflepuffs were datable.

I tuck the offending post-it into my potions text, and make my way down to the Great Hall for lunch. Well, it's all in the past now, isn't it? The very recent, just occurred past, but the past nevertheless. The past is in the past. Well, of course it's in the past, where else would the past be?

It's also just occurred to me that I am now dateless for the Hogsmeade trip next week. Damn Jack, I was supposed to go with him. But I guess that would be awkward, what with him chucking me and all.

I just wish the love of my life would pop up and announce himself, but I am reluctant to try out any more tests, seeing as today, Test Day 7, was also a failure.

Test 7: Decided that the love of my life was heroic. Theorized (or daydreamed, whatever) that maybe I would trip, and loverboy would catch me before I fell. Or, seeing as I am quite clumsy, I thought that maybe if I dropped my books, he would pick them up. Decided to go with the second test, as it would not result in broken legs if loverboy was incidentally having an off day.

I had stopped and looked around the crowded hall. It was worth a try, certainly. It sure seemed like a good idea at the time.

I extended my hands, dropping the books unceremoniously. They made a sharp thud, and a few people gave me a queer look before turning back to whatever it was that they were doing.

Test 7 Results: Complete, utter, FAILURE.

Okay, so that was bad enough, wasn’t it? You would think that if I had done something really horrible, and the gods wanted to punish me, their task would be complete. But really, someone up there must hate me. How else would I end up here, lying on the ground, with a really horrible weight on top of me? As if falling on my arse isn't bad enough, some really fat fuckwit has to land on top of me.

I try to get up, but I can't. I let out a string of curses my mother would wash my mouth out for, but stop when I realize the person on top of me is cursing also, in a very sharp male voice.

Now really, what right do they have? They're on top aren't they? And is their nose currently spouting out blood? And is it their hair that is being painfully pulled out?

Now really, I can barely breathe! "Get off me!" I try to shout. But with my now bleeding nose and the fact that I was being smothered, it came out, "Gebobmeh!"

Amazingly, the mysterious fuckwit understands. "I’m trying, you silly girl!" He replies.

Silly? Who’s he calling silly? Who is this guy?

The sharp voice speaks again: "Your hair is caught on my watch; I'm trying to loosen it!"

Yes, well, that explains why my scalp is burning me. I can tell whoever he is, he's in a hurry to get off me. I must admit, I am somewhat insulted. Really, most boys would be happy to have a girl lying under them, no matter what the circumstances. Stupid poufter. I am suffocating here, why can't he move his fat arse?

"My arse is not fat!" Comes the indignant reply.

Shit. Must've said that out loud. He is moving too slow, much too slow. I reach out and give the guy a sharp pinch at what I thought would be his wrist.

"Oh my God!" Is exclaimed, and the weight is off me almost instantly. Gods, if I had known that, I wouldn't have waited so damn long. Relieved to finally have the ability to move, I look up at the fuckwit.

He said it right: Oh. My. God. Another string of curses fills my mind, and I am completely mortified.

Draco Malfoy is currently holding his private parts and glaring down at me, wincing in pain. "Are you mad?! Do you have any idea what type of damage you could have caused?!"

Ohgodsohgodsohgodsohgodsohgods.

He is going to kill me, isn't he? So this is it, huh? This is how my life will finally end. The thought that I survived being possessed by Voldemort, only to be killed by an angry 18-year-old pops into my head.

I couldn't help it. Really, I tried. But I absolutely could not stop the laugh that bubbled out of me.

Draco Malfoy looks really angry, and really, I should stop laughing. But it's like Newton's third law or something. For every action, there is a reaction. And the more I try to stop laughing, the harder I laugh. And, oh gods, is that all blood from my nose? Stop laughing Ginny, stop it right now. Malfoy is pulling out his wand. He's going to curse me! Stop laughing, Ginny!

I cannot stop laughing. I am going to die laughing.

No. I am a fighter. I am a survivor. I am still bloody well laughing.

Malfoy is still screaming, but I can barely hear him over my own laughter. Oh, no, he's raising his wand. Quickly, with mad speed I didn't know I possessed, I grab my fallen text and bolt down the hall.

Chortling the entire bloody way.



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