A/N: All things Harry Potter belong to J.K. Rowling. I merely insult my own fanfiction here. Also, I can't bear to send this to my beta, for fear she'll run screaming and never return. So any errors are my own fault. Enjoy.

Chapter Two


"Welcome back, Ginny. Did you enjoy your break?"

Ginny plopped onto the edge of the table and irritatedly began tapping her wand against it. "Oh, yes," she replied sarcastically. "Those ten minutes to use the toilet and grab some food were fantastic. Thanks sooo much!"

The author shook her head. Stupid girl. "It's the Room of Requirement for a reason, dolt. A real intellectual, you are."

Ginny glared up. "Bugger off."

"Language, Ginny. Impressionable minds may read this and get ideas."

Ginny squeezed her eyes closed.


A large bowl of Fizzing Whizbee flavoured ice-cream and a pile of Cadbury Flake appeared next to her. Digging right in, Ginny moaned rapturously.

The author eyed the ice-cream enviously. "You know, I defended you when Draco called you fat, but I'm not so sure that it's the clothes, Ginny."

She swallowed the hideously large mouthful of ice-cream she was currently devouring. "Hey! I've hardly eaten anything today. And this reading thing almost qualifies as torture. You said your story is a romance between Malfoy and I." She tried for a very pathetic face and toyed with the half-full bowl in front of her. "It's all very stressful."

The author choked on the cake she was shoving into her mouth. "Don't be snotty. I can make it tough on you, too. You're lucky I like you."

Ginny's face brightened. "You like me? Really?"

"Yes. But I'm tired, and I want to go to bed, so if you don't mind..."

Putting down her spoon, Ginny scooted over to the pile of papers. "Oh, right. Got it." She began to scan through the pages quickly, reading random lines.

"No! You're doing it all wrong! You have to read it! Besides, this chapter is short and pretty much focussed on you."

"Fine," Ginny sighed. With one last longing glance at her ice-cream, she began to read.

... I'm arguing with a statue. Oh Merlin, please just end my misery now...

"What sort of rubbish is this? You made me a nutter?" Ginny looked up quizzically.

"Grrr. Keep going, you'll understand."

... "Well I don't care if you have the passcode, you silly little girl. You are not the Head Boy, you are not on the list of witches and wizards the Head Boy said I am to grant entry to, and your colouring is far too garish for you to be a house elf here to clean."...

Ginny dropped the story and began to fluff her hair and preen. "Garish?! Me? But my hair is the colour of fire, with blonde, honey and chestnut highlights that ripple down my back in a glorious cascade! I'm beautiful!"

"Are you sure you've never read fanfiction before?" the author accused. "That sounds very familiar."

"No, that's what Mum has always told me!"

Mothers, the author thought sourly. They always lie to you about the wrong things. "Yes, well. I think your hair looks more orange than fiery red."

"Hey!" Picking up a lock of hair, Ginny studiously examined it, even holding it up to the light.

"What? I'm being honest. My hair is bushy, if it makes you feel any better."

"I guess," Ginny said distractedly, pulling more hair over her shoulder to look at.

The author cleared her throat loudly.


"Sometime today, Princess."

Throwing her hair back with a dramatic toss of her head, Ginny found the spot where she had left off.

Perplexed, she said, "And what's with the Princess bit?"

The author sighed heavily. This was turning out to be more work than she had thought. "Let's think. How many female Weasleys by birth over the last century or so?"

"Just me, I think... Oh!"

"Thank you, Jessica Simpson," the author smirked.


"Forget it. Shall we move on?"

... Ginny eyed the statue of Salazar Slytherin menacingly...


Ginny looked around. "Hey, I know I heard a 'pop'. Who is it?"

The author pointed at the door, forgetting that she can't be seen. Shit. Let me try that again. "What, not who. Look over by the door."

A bust of what looked to be a monkey (a very ugly monkey with mange and scaly skin) with hair and a pointy goatee stood on a pedestal.

Ginny jumped. "Yikes! That is one ugly statue. What did you bring it here for?"

"Impertinence? From a fat child?! I won't tolerate it. Remove yourself from my presence, you flobberworm," the statue remarked sourly.

"I. Am. Not. FAT!" Ginny shrieked, throwing her spoon at the statue.

"I told you to lay off the sweets," the author said smugly. "Read."

"I hate you," Ginny fumed.

"No you don't." The author considered her previous statement. "Well, you will when you read the eighth and ninth chapters. You'll have plenty of reason then."

Ginny clapped her hands over her ears. "Please don't tell me that." She lowered them cautiously and pointed at Monkey Man. "I'll read if you keep that thing quiet."

"I'll try, but it's hard to tell a statue what to do."

... "If you don't let me in this instant, I will hex you into oblivion."

"Bah. What do you take me for, a fool? I am school property; if you harm me, you'll be punished most grievously. Now go away."

"Why won't you let me in?" Ginny wailed, frustrated almost to the point of tears...

"Hideous, ugly, mouldy old thing. I should have guessed Slytherin himself was infinitely worse than the students in his House. Yuck."

"Blood-traitor," Slytherin accused presciently, without having any way of knowing that the Weasleys liked Muggles. Well, no way of knowing, other than the author deciding that it was the appropriate insult for him to have here.

"Scum!" Ginny spat back.

"Children," the author warned.

Ginny dropped her head into her hands. "Oh, the hell with you both."

... "Enlighten me. Please." Ginny thought, I really have to owl Fred and George. I'm sure they'll know a way to destroy a statue without getting caught. She smiled darkly, imagining the ugly old face in thirteen different pieces, each of which she would feed happily to the Giant Squid...


She sat up straight. "Oh, thank Merlin! Nasty, worthless piece of rubbish!" Ginny scratched her nose a moment and considered. "It doesn't really exist, does it? Because if it does, I really, really want you to let me smash it to smithereens."

"I'll think about it. Okay, you win." Author makes note to have Fred and George send her a very creative invention that destroys talking statues of Salazar Slytherin.

... Shaking her head, Ginny took a deep breath and rolled her shoulders a few times for good measure. It helped her to calm down a bit. She pictured fuzzy bunnies, the time Neville was turned into a giant canary, and the bizarre hat Luna had taken to wearing at any Quidditch match Gryffindor was playing, except against Ravenclaw, of course. Finally back in a frame of mind that didn't include the demise of anything to do with Salazar Slytherin or Draco Malfoy, she began to laugh. After all, the situation was rather ridiculous...

"Wait. I actually go into Malfoy's room?"


Ginny looked back at the paper. "I like the fuzzy bunnies thing. And it was great when Neville turned into a canary, very cute. But Luna's hat? That was just odd."

The author scans her copies of the Harry Potter books. "Hey, all of that is true. Deal with it."

"This story would be funny, if it wasn't me," Ginny observed.

"Oh, I think that it's funny because it's you."

"You would. Sadist."

... Oh yes, Ron, I just rummaged through all his drawers, looking at his pants. That is, right after I had a nice long chat with a statue of Salazar Slytherin. Why? He asked if I was pure-blooded, and... Oh. Why I was in Malfoy's room, rifling through his things. Right. In between bleeding all over everyone trying to help him and admiring my breasts- well, I did accidentally stick his face in them... That would most certainly not go over well...

"Malfoy's pants? You're kidding, right?"

"Nope. Keep going, it gets worse."

"My brother is going to kill you when he hears about this."

"I know. I can't wait."

... 'Classical Heroes and the Tragedies That Befell Them'...

Ginny giggled. "Ha! That sounds like a book tailor-made for Harry!"

"It's called tongue-in-cheek, Ginny."

... Surprisingly, his bedclothes weren't made of silk. Or even satin. They were the softest cotton she had ever felt. Cool and smooth, they slipped underneath her fingers with the barest of whispers...

"Okay, stop. I'm touching Malfoy's dirty bed-linen?"

"Mmm hmm. Want to know what you were thinking?"

Miserably, Ginny shook her head. "No, I really think I don't."


Ginny looked at a replica of herself from across the table.

"Er..." she rubbed her eyes. "Am I missing something here?"

... The voice in her head gasped in delight. Ooh, I would die to sleep in a bed like this! Wait - this is Malfoy's bed. Yuk. Scratch that...

"Ginny, meet Ginny. You know how you talk to yourself sometimes?"

"Oh, I get it."

... But it would be so soft! The other voice, her "bad" side, countered. There's one sure way to sleep in this bed, you know. And that part would be over in 20 minutes or so, if Dean was anything to go by...


"Another one? This one is..." Ginny looked at her mirror image lounging at the end of the table. The doppelganger smirked wickedly. "Er... she looks like a trouble-maker."

"You got it in one. Ginny, meet your inner wild child."

"And what's this nonsense about me and Dean Thomas?" she snorted. "I'm not going to sleep with any of the boys here."

"That's what you think," the author and Wild Child Ginny said simultaneously.

... All twenty-four times? Come on now; don't lie to yourself, it's bad for one's credibility. It takes me longer to file my nails than it does Dean to, ahem, finish. 'Special', indeed. How many orgasms, hmm? One? Oh yes, that boy's certainly a stud. Now don't go shrieking about this, but I bet Malfoy would make it a whole lot more interesting...

"That's just wrong on every level," the original Ginny groaned.

"And not very nice," her conscience added.

"And likely true," Wild Child Ginny sneered.

The author clapped her hands delightedly. "I think I like you the best, Wild Child Ginny. You should come out more often."

"Can we not talk to the fake Ginnys?" She looked from one to the other. "They're scary."

"Well, if you read, you don't have to look at them."

... She shook her head. Arguing with myself. Speaks highly of my mental stability, I'm sure. With a last longing glance at the bed, Ginny made her way to the wardrobe in the corner...

"Now I'm going through his clothes?" she sighed tiredly.

"Read on, young heroine. You'll love the next part."

... Well I'll be gored by a graphorn! He hasn't any! Draco Malfoy, it appears, does not wear pants!

Oh, this was priceless...

"Eeeww!" Ginny exclaimed.

"Eeeww!" her conscience moaned.

"Yes! This is brilliant!" Wild Child Ginny whooped.

"Can I go see that therapist now?" the original Ginny mewled.

Refusing to take pity, the author replied, "Nope. But you can say goodbye to your other selves now."

"Wait! I want to play with the pantless Draco!" Wild Child Ginny pleaded.

"Sorry, that comes later. Toodles."

(Pop! Pop!)


"You are so mean! My appetite is completely ruined."

"Can I have the rest of your ice cream, then?"


Author mumbles, "Spiteful little ingrate." She yawned. "C'mon, c'mon, stop pouting. We're at the end."

Ginny muttered and kicked the leg of the table. "Pants. Hmph. Not funny, author."

... His toiletry bag sat on a little pedestal by the mirror, next to an extremely large bottle of Sleekeasy's Hair Potion. Mustn't look untidy. Every last hair shellacked in place before he goes up to breakfast. Ginny snickered as she tried to stuff the bottle into his toiletry bag. The stupid thing was too big, so she took it back out...

"True. That actually makes sense. I always wondered why his hair never moved during Quidditch matches."

"You took this very well, Ginny. I'm surprised. Be a doll and fetch Draco for me, alright?"

"Erm, sure. But you have to let me out first."

"Alright, alright. It's the last line."

... With a last envious glance round the room, Ginny piled everything in her arms and walked out...



A/N: Who would have ever thought I'd get so much pleasure out of insulting my own fanfiction? Oh well. I guess I'm just a tiny bit warped. Though I credited it in the original story, 'Downfall', "sometimes a cigar is just a cigar" is attributed to Dr Sigmund Freud, even though it never appeared in any of his writings. Also, the French Guard from 'Monty Python and the Holy Grail' inspired the personality of Slytherin's statue. I'm still not sure how that happened.

Enjoy it? Review!
Leave a Review
You must login (register) to review.