Dancing with Death… (or more precisely; a megalomaniac, self-absorbed and highly psychotic Dark Lord)
Ginny Weasley had been having a very normal summer, thank you very much. A little boring, a little mundane; but normal all the same. Well… as normal as life generally became around the Burrow, with the whole, and considerably large, Weasley clan in residence.
Her father had found a Muggle television that someone had dumped by the roadside in Ottery St. Catchpole, and had spent the summer trying to make it work without electricity. After experimenting with an impressive display of charms and transfigurations, he had succeeded at electrocuting himself after his wife forced him to wash his hands following dinner. Entirely too eager to get back to his little black box, he had absentmindedly forgotten to dry his hands. It appeared that even magically induced televisions object to dripping wet, tinkering hands. With a few puffs of blue steam, an impressive crackling noise and a bolt of electricity, Mr Weasley was sent tumbling across the room, shrieking in pain, and now sporting a very orange hairstyle which looked like it was imitating a rather scrawny hedgehog.
Her mother had spent the best part of twenty minutes shrieking demonically at her father, before deciding, upon reflection, that an unconscious subject just didn't display the range of fear she usually elicited. Unfortunately, after taking her husband to St. Mungo's, she then wasted a further quarter of an hour when she was asked by the receptionist which ward Mr Weasley needed to be taken to. Apparently, deciding between; Ground Floor: Artifact Accident; Fourth Floor: Spell Damage (incorrectly applied charms) and Fourth Floor: Spell Damage (long term residents, aka, the loony ward), was just too much for her. A very irritated nurse had finally had to step in and tackle the problem instead.
Her eldest brother, Bill, was aiming for a promotion at Gringotts, and currently had a bizarre collection of cursed chests spread out over the living room floor, as he worked to remove the harmful spells. Ron had accidentally tripped over one of these and spent a week hopping around on one foot, as his other had mysteriously vanished.
Charlie had rescued one of his baby dragons from a spate of bullying it was enduring from its elder siblings, and was currently housing it in the garden shed. He had yet to tell his mother about the Burrow's newest resident; she was, after all, still recovering from the latest incident involving her two identical sons.
Percy was in the dog-house.
Fred and George had nearly succeeded in giving her mother a heart attack with their latest inventions; a range of trick products disguised as house-hold cleaning detergents. Mrs Weasley had spent an entire afternoon the size of a dormouse, after she had unknowingly used the twins' new washing up liquid to clean her dishes with. Fred and George had been delighted to discover that the infamous shouting prowess of Mrs Weasley was far less imposing when she was a mere two inches tall; they had been severely unimpressed when she, and her voice, returned to their normal size.
Ron was trying to decide on the right way to tell Hermione he loved her. Well, he hadn't realised this himself yet, but he spent enough time daydreaming into space that Ginny assumed he was conjuring up melodramatic images of their very first kiss. She had also gained very good control over her ruthless teasing ability; this new talent had come in very useful when she had walked into Ron's room to find him flirting with himself in the bathroom mirror.
As for Ginny? Well, Ginny had completed her summer homework, rescued her mouse-sized mother from being eaten by their pet owl and thought up fifty-seven different ways that one Harry Potter would finally realise his true feelings for her.
Ginny was also about to get a very unusual visitor, and a very unwelcome surprise.
Suffice it to say that Ginny Weasley's perfectly normal summer holiday was about to become decidedly abnormal…