AN: All recognisable characters belong to J.K. Rowling. All quotes, lyrics, and characterisations belong to Team StarKid.

The nameless brown-haired man shifted the papers on the desk a little uneasily. He was an aspiring journalist, and today he was going to do an interview that would either make or break his career.

His interviewee, a man with messy jet-black hair and round glasses, walked into the room. He had a scar on his forehead, and his eyes were darting around as he muttered furiously to himself.

"Mr Potter," the interviewer exclaimed, standing up. "May I ask why you called the meeting so urgently? Is it because of your FlooTube hit sensations—"

"No, it's not that, it's Ginny," Harry Potter replied, sounding irritated. "I can't get her out of my head, and every time I look at her, I get these pains in my chest, and I just know it's her fault—that bitch!"

The interviewer blinked, confused by the direction of the conversation. "Er, okay. Please, take a seat."

They both sat down, the interviewer behind the desk, his interviewee across him.

"Now," the interviewer said. "Please kindly start at the beginning of the story. You've been out of the public eye for the last two years, until the release of your FlooTube songs. Tell us why you suddenly decided to make a comeback."

The man gave a slightly sarcastic laugh. "I know, I know. I marry Ginny, I live happily ever after; there is literally no way to move forward from this point."

The interviewer stared. He was seriously reconsidering taking up this interview. He wisely kept his mouth shut. Harry pulled out an old edition of the Daily Prophet, and waved it at the bemused man.

"I was on the Ministry Express when I began to get chilly," Harry said, "and decided to use it as a blanket."

He spread the Prophet on the desk, and pointed to a particular title. "Half-Elf And Muggle-Born Have Son".

The interviewer furrowed his eyebrows. Harry explained, "I've decided to tell you a fascinating story about an experience of mine."

Internally, the interviewer shrugged. Outwardly, he said, "Please, do continue."

Harry Potter sung a little song as he waited for the Floo queue to move.

You're tall and fun and pretty

And really really skinny

Ginny

He danced a step forward, ignoring the looks he was getting. He was the coolest bitch on earth, goddamit; he could do whatever he wanted.

I'm the Mickey to your Minnie

You're the Tigger to my Winnie

Ginny!

He stepped unto the green flames, chanting, "Floo Powder Power! Floo Powder Power!" Within minutes, he was dusting himself off on his fireplace.

A cry he'd hardly ever heard, but one he recognised immediately, sounded in their second bedroom. Jumping as though he'd been electrocuted, he ran in the direction of the cry.

He threw the door open, and stared, flabbergasted, at the wailing baby in a crib.

When did that get there?

He noticed its nappy looked full. He set about trying to change it, before he demanded an explanation from his wife. It's cries were shrivelling his ears.

The moment he lowered the top flap of the nappy, a jet of yellow liquid was squirted on his face. Harry gingerly touched his nose in shock.

"You have a poop nose now," an amused voice said from the doorway.

Harry turned, and was faced with his smirking wife. "Get the poo off," he said desperately. "Get the poo off me!"

Ginny laughed, and moved forwards. She bypassed Harry and headed for the still-wailing baby.

"I give up," Harry exclaimed.

Ginny turned to look at him, her hands searching for a clean nappy. "You can't just give up."

"I give up two," her husband continued. "I give up three."

The redhead rolled her eyes. "Just watch," she instructed. "You could actually die if you're not ready."

"Uh, in case you haven't heard," Harry interjected, but following Ginny's heed and paying attention. "I'm the Boy Who Lived, not Died, c'mon—"

"Actually, I have heard those things, Harry," his annoyed wife interrupted. "About a thousand times, but never have they been told to me with so much sass."

She raised a hand and mimed shutting his mouth. "So drop the attitude, Harry Potter."

She went back to her chore, muttering, "You're acting like Garfield on a Monday."

She ignored the melodramatically insulted face of her husband, and finished changing the nappy. Then she turned to the most famous man alive.

"Harry, meet Baby Dummy."

"What?"

"I got him off a pregnancy clinic," she explained. "For practice. You weren't supposed to know this early, and certainly not this way, but we're having a baby boy."

"So after I wake up from the wipe-out, I've been telling everyone about the good news, and here we are, almost a year later," Harry concluded.

The interviewer sighed a little as the Quick Quotes Quill stopped skating across the parchment. It wasn't what he expected it to be; maybe it wouldn't make his career after all.

"So why did you call your wife a bitch, Mr—"

A furious redhead entered the room, hearing the last sentence. The interviewer saw her, and quaked under her livid glare.

"—Ginny We—Mrs Ginny Weasley!"

"Yes, I'm a girl," she said, irate. "Harry Potter, you get me to the hospital right now. I'm having our baby!"

At once, the Boy Who Was Going To Die If He Didn't Get His Wife To The Hospital jumped up, and proceeded to half-carry his hugely-pregnant wife out the door.

"It's my first!" he shouted joyfully to no one in particular.

The interviewer rushed around, not finished yet, but understanding the situation. "Any last words, Mr Potter?"

The famous man laughed, before singing at the top of his lungs:

I'll tell you now I'm something GREAT!

I'm Harry freakin' Potter!

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AN:

Written for my AVPM/AVPS-obsessed faithful-reviewer-slash-awesome-friend HPJellicleCat. Hope you likey =]

Yes, I know, I know. I'm losing my touch with these fan-fan-fics, but I'm still trying my best here! =P

Also shout-out to everyone who reviewed my other AVPM/AVPS fics:

YOU GUYS ARE SUPER-MEGA-FOXY-AWESOME-HOT!

Review your thoughts and opinions.