Hi guys! I've wanted to write something like this for a while, and I thoroughly enjoyed writing it, and I really hope you thoroughly enjoy reading it! It's most definitely not really Canon, as I doubt Ginny would brandish a cucumber at Fleur (Next chapter) in canon, but ah well.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter!

Review please!

Invaders. Of the French kind.

"Geeny!"

Oh, bollocks.

I automatically went into red-alert mode, my body tensing up as I stood in the kitchen. I was frozen, my eyes darting around, fruitlessly searching for an escape from the gawd-awful voice that promised my doom. Doom involving a vomit-worthy perfect face, a voice to match, bouillabaisse and possibly French lingerie. The frilly kind.

My heart started thumping EVEN harder at the alarming thought of the frilly kind of French lingerie. A distant part of my brain, that wasn't screaming "Code Croissant! Phlegm alert!, was wondering if this was what Harry looked like when any danger was around. . .

Momentarily distracted, I mentally screamed back at the very mental (oh, haha. Snort) part of my conscience "What does that have to do with anything? How does Harry link to Phlegm cornering me in the kitchen and suffocating me with her overpowering French Fleur-iness?

"Oh, you know everything links to Harry" the part of my brain said back to me. I could just feel it waggling its eyebrows and smirking at me. Git.

I ground my teeth in frustration and pulled back to my Current Predicament. I ducked down and swiftly rolled under the dining table. Knowing Phlegm, she probably wouldn't duck to look under the table, in case her silvery locks touched the floor and got dirty.

I briefly considered using my discrete position to my advantage to get out my wand and perform a little bat-bogey on Fleur dear. Like an initiation into the family, I reasoned.

"No,' The less Fred and Georgish part of my mind said. "You won't get away with that."

True. My family would automatically think of me as soon as they saw the huge flapping things around a Fleur that would be imitating a banshee. I snickered at the image, but sacrificed it at the altar of the more rational part of my brain. As much as Mum hated Fleur, she would bring the number of imitations of a banshee in a day to a grand total of two, if she saw Phlegm floundering around. Even worse, Bill and Dad would do that disappointed look thing that liquefied my insides.

As for the ministry, I didn't think they could detect underage magic if I did any, because of the Burrow positively functioning on magic. But, even if the Ministry wasn't being bitter prats about us being right about tommy boy being back all along, I doubt I could get away with an unnecessary (ahem) hex.

"No,' said that voice in the back of my head 'you're not Harry, after all." Oh, I could just sense that smugness.

I heard Fleur trilling my name as she searched for me, probably wanting to discuss the colour of, oh, I don't know, the tiles on the blasted dancing floor for the wedding. She really thinks I care? That girl needs thinking lessons, not English lessons if you ask me. Oh, har-de-har. I'm so amusing. Though, the way she says my name, I don't think Bill taught her pronunciation correctly during those lessons. Then again, considering they're getting married, I do think they must have been a little preoccupied doing other things than teaching and learning English.

"Ginny?"

Deciding that if the person had pronounced my name correctly, they were safe to reveal myself to, I craned my neck and looked up from under the table. Hermione stood there, clutching a book (figures) and wearing a faintly amused expression.

"Shhh!" I said frantically, my gaze darting around and towards the stairs, and my ears strained for the sound of Phlegm's footsteps. Apparently, I was still in Harry-mode. Oh, Merlin. Look what little Miss Madeline (Hermione called her that, I don't know what or who that is, but it was in a mocking tone; therefore, I'll call her that.) was doing to me. Making me act like slightly awkward, hot-tempered boys whose moods swung faster that beater's bats. Admittedly very good-looking, cutely awkward boys, though I might add.

Wait, what?

I hadn't had thoughts like that for a while. I mean, yes, I always acknowledged how he looked better and better every time I saw him, but that was unconscious! Checking him out was like a habit from my fan-girl crush days, an action that I did so frequently back then that it was now ingrained in my system to do so every time I saw him. I was over him! Of that, I was positive.

"Sure."

Three guesses who that was? Bloody smug voice.

"Ginny? Uh, Ginny?"

I looked up, startled. I must have looked gobsmacked at my internal battle and musings about Harry freakin' Potter, because Hermione was looking at me very strangely right now. Snapping out of my daze, I grabbed Hermione's arm and yanked her down. She dropped her book with a loud thump, and gave a surprised shriek. I made a noise that was a cross between a groan and a cry of anguish.

"Now you've done it!" I hissed as I heard light footsteps come down the stairs. Hermione finally seemed to realise what I had been hiding from (honestly, for someone so bloody smart, she could be really thick sometimes.) and gave me a desperate but silently apologetic look. We both peered out from behind the leg of a chair to see Fleur, aka Phlegm, step off the stairs in all her haughty French glory.

Ever since Bill had brought her home, things had gotten rather barmy. Barmier than usual, you ask? Yes. Barmier than usual indeed.

After the announcement of their engagement, Mum spluttering and nearly passing out, and much repetition of "What!", everyone in the Burrow seemed to have a different opinion on the matter. Ron was dumbstruck; Dad was just 'supportive of his eldest son' and Fred and George thought it was hilarious (as usual). Mum and I weren't so accepting though. And when Hermione arrived yesterday, she had joined our ranks too.

A while ago, when Hermione was with me instead of Ron and Harry (for once), she had told me how her mother wanted to go on vacation to France again to see some tapestry from a very famous muggle invasion in medieval times.

When I had been stupid enough to ask her about it, she had explained that some guy called William, who was a Duke, from France had invaded England and took to the throne to become king.

Sound familiar?

So, Billy the Conqueror probably evilly cackled and planned to lord all over the good English peoples.

The Brits, however, had other ideas. Whereas the south of England put as much of a fight as a flobberworm,

Again, sound familiar?

The rest resisted. Anyway, so apparently this tapestry is about the Battle, and shows that English king get hit in the eye by an arrow. Idiot.

Yes, I know. I'm so bloody impressed with myself for remembering this. It's incredible. Pat on the back, Ginevra.

But after the detailed lecture Hermione had given me, who would forget? If there is one profession she shouldn't attempt, it's being an Unspeakable. I mean, if you haven't figured it out already (then you must be thicker than the fur on the Durmstrang uniform) but, well, being an Unspeakable involves not talking much. Not ideal for Herm-own-ninny, if you ask me. Honestly, she's a walking, bushy-haired, non-flying, not to mention human, Pigwidgeon. But I do love her. In a very appropriate manner. I think my relationship with Dean Thomas proves that.

But, with being One-of-those-who-shan't-speak, it's a lot about being tight-lipped. All secrets, y'know. And Hermione does certainly have a lot of practice with THAT when it comes to the mysteries surrounding her best friend, Boy-Who-Saves-All, our own dear Harrykins, and what next world saving thing they're up to. So . . . maybe better an Unspeakable than anything to do with seers and Divination. She's more likely to spontaneously combust from some old coot asking for their future to be read in bird shit than not talking.

Yeah, I can practically feel your nod of agreement.

I think I'm getting a little off track here. Or very off track.

So, in my head, Phlegm has rode in on her high horse like Billy the Conqueror and invaded. Ron, dad and the twins are south England, which are about as useless as Neville's old Rememberal. And Mum, Hermione and I are the resistance, the nobles taking a stand against flouncing, croissants, discussions about weddings, bouillabaisse and frilly French knickers.

So, here Hermy and I were, under the dining table, while Phlegm the Invader flounced in, still looking for me. Suddenly, Ron trudged into the kitchen. I think Ron spends half his holidays in the kitchen. He seemed to freeze at the sight of Fleur. He looked around, as if searching for someone. The looked back at her with a disbelieving expression on his freckly face, as if pleasantly surprised to find himself in the presence of Fleur all alone. Git.

"Oh, Ron. 'Ave you seen your seester, Geeny?"

Yeah, because my mother produced so many females that you need to specify which 'seester' you're referring to, I thought as I rolled my eyes.

"Uh, N-No. I, uh, haven't. Sorry, Fleur." My bumbling brother blithered.

"Honestly." Hermione huffed next to me.

I hid my snicker behind my hand. I swear, I will get Mum drunk, throw THE biggest party, set off ALL of Fred and George's fireworks, snog Harry and round it off by vigorously dancing the Futterwacken when Ronald and Hermione finally snog each other senseless and just admit that they werein hopeless love with the other.

I think I might try getting them together just so I can snog Harry. I mean, Mum and Dad always taught me to keep my promises.

Oh, god. I cannot believe this. I could hear that voice in my head sniggering at my expense again.

"Ah. I 'ave been looking for 'er everywhere!' Fleur said in a tiredly manner. I grinned at the fact that I had caused her any discomfort whatsoever.

"She'll ah, turn up. Sit down?" Ron asked.

"Oh, you are so charmante, Ronald!" Fleur trilled as she pulled out the chair next to Ron and sat down, her slim legs just inches away from me now. Oh, the temptation to do something to her was unbelievable! Hermione, who had been glowering at both pairs of legs, now gave me a warning look. She must have seen the temptation to amputate Fleur dear's perfect legs on my face. Damn.

Suddenly, I realised that if either of them moved enough, they would likely kick me in the face. Looking behind me, I saw a cupboard ajar, revealing some vegetables and fruits. I reached into the basket and grabbed one or two things, ready to utilise them against the reincarnation of billy the Conqueror if necessary. Or not necessary. I wasn't really bothered, either way.

Hermione was looking at me questioningly, eyes wide with bewilderment as to what on Merlin's magical earth I was doing, but I just smiled at her reassuringly. Needless to say, she didn't look the smidgest bit mollified. I resent that.

As I shot her a grumpy look at her lack of trust in me, I didn't notice me right hand inching forward. Then, Fleur got up out of her chair, pushed her chair in and made to leave.

Well, I certainly noticed when the leg of a chair landed on my hand.

"ARGH!" I screamed in pain.

Then three things happened simultaneously.

Hermione looked at me in alarm and anger for giving our position away, then seeing the chair leg crushing my hand, hurriedly pushed the chair off my hand and back out.

Fleur and Ron started to ben to look under the table, looking shocked and bewildered.

And the chair that Hermione had pushed back out hit Ron in the groin. Right in the family crown jewels.

What can I say? I love Alice in wonderland, and Johnny Depp. And I want to learn how to Futterwacken.

Well? Did you like it? Was it a fail? Do you look forward to the next chapter? Go on then! Review, my darlings!

Oh, and do us a favour, and tell me what parts you liked, so that I write the next chapters more like that.

Cheers, bros!

Next up: "I don't want your French fries or frilly knickers! And I will not let you conquer me!" I yelled, brandishing the cucumber.