Story Author: Molly

Disclaimer: I own nothing, sadly.

Author's Note: All right. First off, to all Bloodsucking Fiends fans: do not panic! (And maybe, if I want to think of a little self-preservation: please don't murder me.) Just because I'm writing a new story doesn't mean that I'm abandoning the older one. But, unfortunately, there will be much fewer updates for Bloodsucking Fiends because I'll have to be writing this story at the same time. But I will finish both stories! To those of you who have been with me since the beginning, you know I like to start something before I finish another (cough Harry Potter Meets Ginny Weasley—Again? cough). And I think this Fic will be much shorter than my other two.

Another Note: To make the plot work, this Fic is SUPER AU. Harry has never officially met any of the Weasleys (except for George because he frequently buys Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes), but they still went to Hogwarts together. Harry just shared a dormitory with different boys. Everything Harry did in the books happened, only without the Weasleys. (He killed the Basilisk in the Chamber, but neither Ron nor Ginny were there.) Yes, it is very mind-boggling, but whatever.

1. Of Murderous Thoughts and Unexpected Meetings

Bloody mother of God.

I want to murder someone. Not literally, though, because that's too Moldywarts-like. But still. Anyone would want to do something completely evil after having a run-in with Draco Malfoy like I just did. It's bad enough that George picked me to (unwillingly) test his new love potion spray, but then to run into Malfoy still wearing it!

The universe hates me. If you don't believe me, here's my conversation with Malfoy after unexpectedly running into him outside Madame Malkin's:

Malfoy: Whoa! It's little Weasel.

Me: Bugger off, Malfoy.

Malfoy: Or what?

Me: Or I'll make your face a permanent home for the little bat-bogeys.

Malfoy: Cool it, Gin. I'll leave you alone if you kiss me.

Me: I'd rather kiss a cross of an Acromantula and a Flobberworm than kiss you. And don't call me Gin.

Malfoy: Come on. Just a little bitty—

Me: Get your filthy hands away from me.

Malfoy: Or you'll do what, exactly—Aargh! Bloody hell—

Madame Malkin (just walking out her door): Draco Malfoy, you watch your tongue!

Me: Heeheehaha!

Argh. In murdering "someone", I actually mean Malfoy.

Mega Argh. I turn away from Malfoy, who's lying on the ground in agony, arousing curious stares from passers-by, and run straight into Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the Savior of the World and all that.

So, firstly, because I was suffering from extreme anger following my encounter with Malfoy, I was walking extremely fast when I turned into the Chosen One. Secondly, the Chosen One himself is seriously…hard. From afar, he looks tall and lean. From his feet, he looks extremely tall and muscular.

You may be wondering how I know this—what he looks like from his feet, I mean. The answer is that I am lying next to his feet, staring up at his wonderfully handsome face. Not that I find him attractive, or anything. I mean, yes, he is very handsome (and the snowflakes in his hair are a bonus!), but that doesn't mean that I'm attracted to him. Seriously, I'm not. Anyway, I'm lying at his feet because I knocked into him very hard and fell.

Which just goes to show how much the universe hates me. Exactly. Because now that loveable (not that I love him!), raven-haired, green-eyed, beautiful nineteen-year-old is staring at me with a look of worry splashed across his face. I highly doubt it is a look of worry like "Oh, Merlin, this lovely girl just fell to her death" but more like a look of worry of "Oh, this is bloody great—a mental witch with crazy red hair has just knocked into me and now I probably have to help her up to keep up appearances." Not that Harry Savior Potter would ever be nice just to keep up appearances, but I'm sure he'd rather have nothing to do with me. And I'm sure my hair is looking rather horrid after my tussle with Malfoy. And I bet I look like a bloody idiot because I keep blowing strands of hair out of my face.

So then Harry Potter reaches his hand down towards me and says, "Sorry about that. Are you all right?"

Instead of answering, I stare off into space. This is because (a) another wad of hair has managed to enter my open mouth and I have to blow it away; (b) Malfoy is muttering curses not far from me and I'm wishing I had my camera so I could snap a photograph of him; and (c) Harry Potter's voice is much softer and more musical than I'd ever imagined.

Merlin, can he get any more perfect?

"Are you all right?" He's still holding out his hand, but I get up with out his help. I'll spare him the pain of having anything to do with me.

"I'm fine." I have to look up a bit to look him in his emerald eyes.

"You're a Weasley, aren't you?" he asks, smiling a bit.

"How do you know that?" Oh my God! How does he know that? This is just my luck. The Boy Who Lived has been stalking me! I knew I felt someone watching me that day at the Burrow when I threw Crookshanks into the attic with the ghoul. I knew it—

"Your hair pretty much gave it away."

Oh.

Well, that just goes to show that my hair caught his attention. And not in a good way. Not that I care, anyway, but it's still better to not have complete strangers thinking you're mental.

I brush snow off of my robes and say, "I'd better get going."

Harry Potter just nods and smiles. Gosh, he has a nice smile. And eyes. Why are they twinkling, anyway? He's probably planning on telling all his friends about the mental girl who knocked into him in Diagon Alley.

I turn away and push my way through the street; it has been much more crowded since said Savior of the World finished off Voldemort over a year ago. I reach the door of Flourish and Blotts and before entering, I look back towards Harry Potter—and find him looking back at me. He smiles and waves and I duck my head.

Bloody fantastic. Now he probably thinks I like him or something. I can just see the headlines now: Mental Redhead Desperately In Love With World's Savior.

O, well. It's not like worse things haven't happened to me. My encounter with Malfoy is proof of that.

"Ginny!" Oh, sodding hell. It's Hermione. I should have known she would be at the bookshop. She's probably planning on getting books for everyone for Christmas.

"Hermione." I don't even pretend to be enthusiastic. Ever since she came home from her honeymoon with my brother, she can't seem to stop smiling and she expects everyone else to be happy. I don't even understand how she can be happy when she's going to have to spend the rest of her life with Ron. Honestly.

"What's wrong?" She's back to her regular, serious tone.

"Oh, nothing. Just had a little run-in with Malfoy." Not to mention the Chosen One, who is probably laughing is handsome bloody head off at me right now. If he even remembers me. Which I'm sure he doesn't.

Hermione's eyes narrow at the mention of Malfoy. "What happened?"

"Nothing, Hermione. Except he's clutching his privates in pain at this very moment."

Hermione doesn't say anything, but I can see the sides of her mouth twitching. "Well, I'll leave you to your book-shopping."

Translation: "I'll be throwing deathly uninteresting books your way every five minutes and convince you to buy them."

Which is why I get out of there.

Now I think I'll go to the Quidditch shop. I need more—

Hang on. Harry Potter will probably be at Quality Quidditch Supplies. Apart from defeating the most dangerous wizard of our time, he's the best bloody Seeker in the world. There are always photographs of him at the Quidditch shop in the Prophet, always looking dashing without even trying. I'm definitely not going to put myself in his path again. He's forgotten me, and that's how I like it.

I'll go to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. I need to punish George for spraying me with his sodding love potion. And maybe I'll buy a few Extendable Ears. They're useful for spying on Order meetings.

"Hey, Ginny!"

Bloody hell. It's Malfoy again. Maybe I didn't hit him hard enough.

"You better stay away if you know what's good for you!" I shout.

I've reached the door of George's shop by now, so I pull it open and look around for something useful I can throw at Malfoy.

"Ginny!" Malfoy calls out. "Two beautiful purebloods like you and I deserve to be together!"

I'm going to murder him. I'll murder him and then bring him back again so I can practice my Bat-Bogey Hex on him.

"I'll murder you and then bring you back again so I can have someone to practice my Bat-Bogey on!"

Feeling smug, I back into the shop. Only something's in my way. Something that's hard, tall and… smells nice.

Merlin's beard.

"That's quite a threat, Ms. Weasley." Goodness. It's so nice to just listen to him speak. "I may have to take you in to the Auror office."

Right. He's training to be an Auror.

"No," I say casually, turning to face him. He's looking down at me with his beautiful, emerald eyes. "I was just speaking to Draco Malfoy."

"Ah." Heeheehaha! I know Harry Potter and Malfoy never got along at Hogwarts, so I bet Malfoy must have been really dumbfounded when Harry kicked Moldywarts to the bucket.

"What's so funny?" Harry Potter asks me.

Great. Now he thinks I'm a nutter, along with having absolutely horrible, flaming red hair.

"Nothing," I answer smoothly. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to murder my brother."

He smiles again and raises an eyebrow.

Gosh, he has good eyebrows. Not that I care, but a girl can notice, can't she? Exactly.

I push past the Boy Who Lived and head straight for George, who is staring at me suspiciously.

"What?" I ask.

"Would you care to tell me why Harry Potter came in here asking about you?" he says.

Dobby's socks! Harry Potter was in here asking about me? Omigod—

"Ginny?" George's looking at me like I'm mental, and I realize I've just said that last thought out loud. In a shrieking, girly voice.

"I mean…why would Harry Potter ask about me?"

"How the hell should I know?" George exclaims.

"So," I say casually, "what did he…ask?"

"Your name."

"Why?"

"He had it in his head that you beat the living daylights out of Draco Malfoy."

Oh. I didn't know he had seen that.

So he wanted a name to go with his story of the mad redhead in Diagon Alley. Fantastic.

"Great," I say jokingly," now he knows who to send flowers to."

"Don't be ridiculous, Ginny," George says, shooting a deathly stare at a customer.

How dare he! I know I'm not beautiful and fantastic and everything, but does he have to throw it in my face? Just wait—

"I didn't tell him your name."

Oh.

"Do you really think," George continues, "that I'd hand out your name to any bloke that asks for it? I'd rather my little sister stay single, thank you."

Bloody sodding hell. George's in a bucket of trouble.

"How many times have I told you that I don't need your bloody protection when it comes to the male species?" I scream, pulling out my wand.

"Wait a minute, are you telling me that you want Harry Potter to know you?"

"No!" I say quickly. "Don't change the sub—"

"I thought you'd gotten over your 'silly little crush,'" he says, smirking his bloody head off.

Argh! Have I mentioned that the universe hates me? Well, it does. Because now all the customers are staring at me curiously and George has a malicious look in his eyes.

"Is little Ginny in love with Harry Potter?" George asks innocently.

I scream in fury and storm out of the shop.

Or at least I try to.

Because, in my anger, I fail to notice the figure approaching the door from the outside and I push the door with all my might.

This is unlucky because it connects with Harry Potter's face—hard. The next thing I know, he's lying in the snow and his nose is bleeding.

Oh, Merlin. The Boy Who Lived is now the Boy Who No Longer Lives Because He Stepped Into the Path of a Psychopathic Red-haired Witch With a Door.

I've killed the Savior of the World!

Oh, no. And he was so handsome and nice and a complete gentleman.

Gosh. I just imagine throwing myself on top of him and confessing my undying love for him.

I've killed the love of my life—

Hang on.

Oh. He's not really dead. I know because his head just popped up from the ground and he muttered, "Holy hell."

Fantastic. Not that I want him to be dead, or anything. But still. My life is over.

And I don't really love him. I just thought those things before because he was dying and he needed someone to love him.

But I don't. Honestly.

AN: Questions, comments—they are always appreciated.