Okay, after so loooooong with not updating, I finally got around to doing so! I apologize about the wait,but with school, family, my other, bigger story, and various other projects, coupled with writer's block, I just didn't have the time or motivation. But without further adooooo... I bring yoooouuu... Chapter Tres.

Enjoi

Ron barked off a hearty laugh and slapped his knee. "Oi, I always did hate that twit," he breathed, gasping for air. "And Ginny bat bogey-ing her, that's priceless. Simply, elegantly priceless."

"You never hated Cho," Harry protested. "You gave her a good look-see as much as I did."

"What?" Ron gushed, obviously insulted. "I never fancied Cho; I always had eyes for 'Mione."

Harry sighed and looked down at his watch, shaking his head. "It's eight-twenty three, I'm gonna head back to Grimmauld. Rosmerta!"

Ron waved Harry's hand down and gave him a shove towards the door. "Dun worry about it, you chum. I'll cover you."

Harry's hero complex, which mandated that he not rely on someone else for anything, made him voice his doubts. "No, mate, I'm-"

"Harry, how many times do I have to tell you? For the first time in my life I have two galleons to rub together, and it's all because of you. Lemme front you."

Harry's friendship won out on his selfishly selfless desires and he consented. With a facetious smile he patted Ron on the shoulder. "Jolly good, then."

"Sarcasm won't win you anything, you twat. Just remember who your best man is."

"My bride's brother?"

"Get going, you prat."

With a muffled whoosh Harry appeared out of the fire and walked into the common room of Number 12, Grimmauld Place, straight into a smothering hug.

"Harry! There you are, dear," Crooned the voice of Mrs. Molly Weasley.

"Oh, hey Mum, didn't see you there. Why are you in my living room?"

Mrs. Weasley scoffed at Harry's blunt rudeness, and then smiled as she pulled him into another death-squeeze. "Oh, I just wanted to see my favorite future son-in-law!"

Unless Percy has come out of the closet and has gotten engaged to a Frenchman named Jean-Pierre, I'm fairly certain I'm your only future son-in-law.

"I also wanted to tell you, Fleur and I decided to have Ginny wear Muriel's old tiara at the wedding! She'll look so beautiful, won't she?"

Oh, Merlin's beard. "Yeah, Mrs. Weasley," Harry intoned monotonously, going into full-on "Guy Auto-Pilot Mode." For some reason he dreaded Ginny wearing that blasted tiara. Why?

"Oh don't call me that anymore, Harry! I'm your mum now, and don't you forget it! Now, have you got your dress robes in order…?" Mrs. Weasley prattled on motheringly. Harry didn't hear anything she said.

To be more exact, he didn't hear anything except "Muriel, tiara, wedding." Why was Muriel in the picture, anyway?

"Mum, please tell me Muriel isn't coming to my wedding," Harry deadpanned, his voice drawling out in that same monotone.

"What? Dear, Muriel passed on a year and a half ago, remember? From a stroke? God rest her weary soul, that lovely old woman. Now about your corsage…"

Oh, right. She did kick the bucket, didn't she? But why did he forget that? Oh, that's right…

"Mum, could you please excuse me? I have to go write a… er, this thing down. I'll send Artemis to you before I come down to the Burrow."

Rule Number 3-Never tell Ginny Weasley she said something different immediately after she said something completely opposite.

It was almost two years ago when Percy, the only Weasley (much less human being in general) that Aunt Muriel liked, stopped by her home and found her slouched in her rocking chair, with a burnt out cigarette in one hand and a bottle of half finished FirewhiskeyFire whiskey in the other.

Ginny was back from Hogwarts for Christmas holiday, and she was staying with me at Grimmauld for the period; much to her mother's chagrin…

"I just can't believe she's gone," Ginny gasped dramatically, drying her snotty nose with a tissue and swiping her watering eyes with her free hand. She shifted herself on Harry's lap and nudged her head tighter underneath his chin. "She was too young."

Too young? Too YOUNG!? That stupid old cow was, like, I dunno… eight hundred!

"Oh, yeah, Muriel had a long life ahead of her…" I didn't even know she smoked. Emphysema graduating class of '00, with a minor in lung cancer, anybody?

"Oh, Merlin, I'm so sorry, Harry, you shouldn't have to see me like this. All snotty and crying and…"

"Oh, no, it's all right. You're keeping me warm on this cold, ruthless winter night. Can't say that about ole' Kreacher."

Ginny giggled sadly and burrowed herself deeper into Harry's chest. "You always know what to say to make me laugh, even when I shouldn't."

"Why shouldn't you?"

"Uh… my favorite aunt is dead?"

"Gin, just because somebody is dead… you shouldn't stop smiling. They're in a better- wait… 'Favorite aunt?'"

"Muriel was such a sweetheart!"

"You hated her guts!"

Ginny's face went sour faster than a snitch. The red face, bared teeth and evil, hate-laced brown eyes was something that was all too familiar within my then one and a half years of being with her.

"How dare you. How dare you."

"Ginny, you yourself said that she was a batty old windbag. She gave you a sack of hippogriff dung for your sixth birthday! Hippogriff dung that actually turned out to be a bunch of dead Bundimuns!"

"To fertilize the garden!"

Okay, the story behind "the garden" is this: when Ginny was six, she decided that all prim-and-proper little girls had a garden. Muriel had caught wind of this and had decided that Ginny would enjoy a bag of fertilizer for her little collection of flowers. Problem was, she intentionally bought a bunch of Bundimuns, an oozing, goopy species of creature that spat acid- corrosive acid- at predators. Stuffing them into a stolen fertilizer bag, she sent it to Ginny, by owl, on her birthday. The card told her it was for her garden, and that she should hurry and put the "dung" on her flowers immediately. Ginny, believing her great aunt, rushed to dump the bag on her garden of daisies and petunias. End result- Ginny's flowers were eaten away courtesy of corrosive acid, and her hands were severely burned in the process.

Kicker? Muriel thought that a proper pureblood lady never dallied in such degrading tasks such as playing in dirt. So she gave a bunch of rotting acid spitters to Ginny to steer her away from the garden, which she boldly told Molly, and ah-your-welcome!

I've hated Muriel even more since Charlie told me that story. And I never thought that even was possible…

"To stop you from having the garden! This is madness, Gin!"

"Madness?"

"Aye, madness!"

After that, all I can remember thinking before finding myself on the street of Grimmauld Place is "Uh oh."

…

"I can't believe she kicked me out of a house she doesn't even live in!" Harry roared as he kicked his front door in rage. "Madness!"

Kreacher sighed and looked up at his master imploringly. Then, noticing that a bum down the road could see him, he disappeared. Artemis, his new owl, which Ginny had gotten him just earlier that week, hooted in exasperation. The Great Horned Owl ruffled his feathers imperiously, and then promptly covered his eyes and beak with a wing and started dozing.

"Lazy bird."

"Oi, cut yer yappin' boy!" the old beggar screamed from the end of the lane. "I'm try'n ter sleep here, eh!"

"Oh, suck it! Why don't you go get a job!" Harry screamed back, turning to the dirty old bum's direction violently.

"I'll-" the beggar started before getting choked off as Harry pointed his wand at the man and sent him flying further down his alley before obliviating him.

"I need a pint," Harry seethed as he tore to Grimmauld's apparition point. Casting a patronus, he quickly sent a message to Ron, and with a crack, apparated to the Leaky Cauldron. Walking in the front door, he regarded the sign.

"No Bums: Beg for your Knuts somewhere else!"

I couldn't help but snort at that. I felt that it was rather ironic how only the homeless were begging change at that time. Only the muggle-borns who had lost everything they owned were actually saying "Hey, there's a problem! Voldemort's regime left us wandless, jobless, and homeless!" And this was the same Ministry I was trying to help?

"Knuts?" A random teenage girl asked as she and her friends walked by. "Why would a bunch of bums beg for nuts?"

"I dunno, so that they can eat?" A guy piped in from the group, obviously trying to impress the girl.

"Ugh," the teen seethed. "Can't even spell 'nuts' right, stupid drunks."

It appeared that I wasn't the only one with romantic problems that night.

"C'mon, Dwayne!" Harry heard the girl shout. Looking in the groups general direction, he noticed that the guy had stopped dead in his tracks and was staring at him as he walked to the bar entrance. The look on his face was shock. What did Harry do?

Was there something on my face? Did I accidently use magic without knowing? Was he the only one that noticed? Or the only one who cared? I remember gripping my wand, expecting the worst.

The guy stared curiously for a moment more, and then the girl called to him again. Snapping out of it, he shook his head and sent me an apologetic look. "Sorry, thought I knew that guy."

It was mistaken identity! MERLIN, I'M TURNING OUT TO BE MAD-EYE!

Sighing, Harry released his grip on his wand, and opened the door to the pub. As soon as he did, however, he wished he had pulled the magical stick out anyway.

"Oi, I got your patronus, mate. How come you didn't send that new owl of yours, Artemis?" Ron practically jumped on Harry as he came through the door. "Is Ginny alright? Mum said she was not taking Muriel's death that well."

"Oi, back off! I came here to talk to you, not play twenty questions! And no, Gin is not 'all right.' She's a bloody monster."

"Monster?"

"Monster. 'Oh, I can't believe it! Muriel was my favorite aunt! I miss her already!'"

"What? Ginny said that?" Ron asked quietly, dumbfounded.

No offence to my best mate, but he seems to do that a lot. Look like a fish out of water, I mean.

"Yeah."

Ron nodded thoughtfully, biting his lip. "Well, there is only one thing we can do."

Harry nodded and smirked at his best mate. "Get sloshed, piss faced drunk."

Ron smiled broadly and clapped Harry on the shoulder, holding a mug up in toast. "Now that, my dear mate, is something I can drink to."

"I just can't believe him, 'Mione! He was just so cold, and mean!" Ginny all but screamed into Hermione's arms, as the bushy haired witch ran her hands up and down her best friend's back. As soon as she'd kicked Harry, his damnable owl Artemis, and that foul Kreacher out of their own home, she had floo'ed Hermione and got her over in little to no time.

"It's okay, Gin. What did you argue about?"

"Muriel."

"What? You argued about Muriel? What, has Harry somehow grown some kind of oddball liking for that old hag?"

"Hermione!"

"What?"

"How could you say that," Ginny looked at her friend, hurt and feeling misunderstood. "When my poor aunt has died?"

"'Poor?' The only person she remotely liked was Percy, and we all know how questionable that was. You yourself said you couldn't wait until she got what she had coming."

"I didn't want her to die!"

"No, but you sure as bloody hell didn't like her!"

Ginny paused, glaring her friend down, to very little effect. She was, at least a little, trying to cover her shock at hearing Hermione curse. She knew Hermione was right, too, but still. Muriel… All she wanted was for her family to love each other, even batty old Muriel. The only reason she said she hated the woman was out of frustration from always being thrown out on the curb emotionally by the one person whom she wanted respect from. So it was natural that she was heartbroken because she never got the chance to actually get Muriel to love her. Right?

Ginny really did know that Hermione was right. But that didn't stop Ginny from being stubborn- she really did not know how to put to words why she was acting so foolish, she just didn't know. So, being the kind of person who wore her emotions proudly upon her sleeves, she spoke from her heart.

"I just wanted her to love me."

Hermione's face softened and she pulled Ginny back into a bone-crushing hug as the fiery red head sobbed uncontrollably. "I'm so sorry, hun. You deserved her every ounce of respect, but you can't feel guilty over something you had no control over- Muriel was her own person. If she didn't love anybody in this wonderful family, than that was her fault. I know that's kind of harsh to say about a dead woman, but it's the truth. It is."

"I know, 'Mione. I know."

Pulling herself from Hermione's rather comfortable hug, Ginny sniffed and wiped the tears and dripping snot from her nose. She nodded quietly and sobbed slightly again. "You always know what to say, 'Mione. I'm sorry."

Hermione smiled sadly and put her hand on Ginny's shoulder. "Yeah, but I don't think I should be the one saying it, Gin. I think there is someone else you should apologize to. And I just so happen to have the knowledge of where he, his decrepit house elf, and that damnable owl are currently staying."

"Yours and Ron's flat in Blackpool?"

"No. Much, much worse…"

"…So kiss me! I'm shit-faced! And I'm soaked, and soiled, and proud!" Harry sang slurring with Ron and the pair of Irish blokes at the Leaky Cauldron's bar.

Hey, I might be British, and they may have been Irish, and damn proud of it, but they were damn good drinking buddies. Despite the fact that the bloody wankers drank me and Ron under the table…

"In the trousers, so kiss me! And I'll on'y buy ye one round!"

"Eh, I loov this clatty song! Written by a bunch a' bloody yanks, but I loov' it!" Declan, the muscle head hollered belligerently, with a hearty slap to his knee.

"Aye, laddie, it be brilliant!" O'Donnell, a weedier football fan screamed in agreement.

"It bloody is," Ron mumbled lovingly, looking up at the ceiling in wonder. "Bloody hell, the ceiling is painted in swirls!" He exclaimed before falling off his stool backwards and landing on the floor with an audible thump.

Ah, this must be why I don't remember this story so well; traumatic events plus alcohol makes this Chosen One a dull boy, indeed.

"Yoooo alright dare, Ronniekins?" Harry asked drunkenly.

"Harry, my aunt is dead! My aunt is dead!"

"I bloody well know, because of that witch I'm home-hic- less!"

"But my auntie Muree- Mur-hic- Muribel isss dead! I want my mummy!"

"I want your mummy, too! She'd know how to clean thish mess up! She knows how clean a moving snitch without touching et."

"Now that's a Wan, I say, lads!" Declan laughed. "That's one hell of a woman."

"I'll drink to that," O'Donnell agreed, and the two Irish men clanked their mugs and bottomed them dry as Harry, as if on cue, as if his tank itself ran empty, passed out and fell to the floor on top of Ron.

"Oof, Harry! OOF!"

"Megnanamak."

"Hunhh?"

"He said 'is back is killing 'em."

"How do you know, you Irish scaleeweg?"

"I'm an Irish, you tool! I don't jus' speak drunk, I invented my own dialect of eet!"

"Oh," Ron said, looking far off at the ceiling again. And then he giggled uncontrollably.

"Oi, you drunken swags! My bar ain't a hotel bed, you bloody knobjockeys! Get these pissed boys outta me bar!" Tom the barman bellowed. As Declan and O'Donnell grabbed the two heroes up by the armpits and dragged them out the bar's door and into Diagon Alley, Tom muttered under his breath, "And to think all of Britain loves them fer savin' 'em. Bloody alcoholics."

I love Tom. So quick to throw us drunk bastards out on the street. Of course, Britain is not known for it's rowdy, Yankee-style American party drinkers, so I guess he had a right to be fuming mad at us…

"Oi," Declan asked his skinnier companion. "Whatcha think we ought to do with these blokes?"

"Didn't the black haired fella, Harry, have an elf and owl with him?"

"Yah…"

"Well, what was the old dingbat elf's name?"

"Cretin?"

"Nah, that wun't it. Kreacher?"

"Yes maste-"The ugly, gray skinned elf materialized in front of them, and immediately cut himself off as he stared at the four drunk men standing, and leaning, in front of him. "Kreacher thanks the foul, ugly, mudblood Ire's for taking care of the master and his disgusting, dirty mouthed blood traitor mate for Kreacher. Kreacher will take them from here, filthy foreigners."

And with a pop, the three of them vanished.

"Oi, I like that ugly kid."

"Nah," O'Donnell spat with a shake of his head. "He wasn't no kid, ye clatty arse. He was some kinda… flying, pop rock eatin' monkey."

"I like monkeys," Declan grunted with a grin and a nod. "Bunch a' bloody lemurs. Ha ha! We got pissed with a buncha' lemurs! Primates can't hold liquor worth salt."

Just as soon as Ginny and Hermione were about to apparate, Kreacher appeared with the two drunken idiots at his feet and Artemis' cage in hand. "Kreacher believes that tis prudent that the filthy mudblood and the Master's blood traitor scarlet woman take care of the Master and his git Wheezy."

"Oh, you brought them home, thank you, Kreacher!" Hermione exclaimed exuberantly, looking over Ron worriedly. "Ronald, you know I hate it when you do this!"

"Yeah, thanks, you insulting, git," Ginny cursed the elf under her breath as she tugged Harry up from the floor. "Harry, are you in there?"

"Jeeny, what be you doin' in this bar?" Harry's eyes didn't focus, and were so bloodshot that they seemed like rather macabre Christmas decorations.

"I'm taking Ronald, home, Gin. I'll owl you tomorrow."

"Okay, Hermione. We aren't at a bar, Harry. You're home."

"What? But I dunwanna be at Privet Dwive, the Dursley's hate me when I'm skunk."

" No, you're not at Surrey, Harry, you're at Grimmauld Place, in London. With me, and Kreacher. We'll take care of you."

"Oh, okay..." Harry trailed as Ginny put her boyfriend's arm around her shoulders and dragged him up the stairs to the master bedroom.

"You're deadweight," she panted as they came through the threshold of the room. Plopping him down on the bed, she started undressing him.

"Ginny, I ain't gonna mood this bed tonight, I'm whiskey in the beer-o."

"I'm not coming on to you, you drunken loon, I'm getting you ready for bed."

"Oh, otay."

She sighed as she leaned him back into the bed and tucked him into his side. Pulling out a potion phial from the bedside drawer, she uncorked it and held it to his lips. "Drink this; it will kill your hangover tomorrow morning."

"I can't die tomorrow, I gotta be an Auror for le offus!"

Ginny giggled, despite herself. "It's okay, you don't work in the morning, it's Friday."

"I see," Harry drawled as his eyes bugged out in awe. "Is this a shot?"

"Yeah, Harry, it's a good, hard shot."

"Oh, well one more the road, zhen, Tom!" he exclaimed as he downed the phial. As soon as he did, his face contorted into disgust. "What is this! American piss juice?"

"Yes, Harry, that's all Tom had left- you and Ron drank all the rest of the good stuff."

"We did?"

"Uh huh."

"Ooohhh…"

"Yeah, now it's time to sleep."

"Sleep with me, Ginny, I don't want them, to come back."

"Who, Harry?"

"Them."

"Who's 'them,' Harry?"

"The zombies. Like Fred, and Dumbledore, and Tonks. And the Dead Eaters. They want revenge for me killing them…"

"They-" Ginny stopped herself. She had done it again, just like after the Battle. She had gone and played the foolish, selfish little girl while Harry had been haunted by demons…

"I'm sorry, I'll keep them away, love."

Harry smiled drunkenly, and gripped her hand as she sat on her side of the bed. "I looove yooou. I'm sorry I was a prat."

Ginny smiled and squeezed his hand back, lying at his side. Facing him with a sad smile of her own, she kissed his nose. "No, I'm sorry. I was the prat. I just… never told you about my heart."

Harry giggled stupidly. "That makes no sense…" and that's when he started sobbing. "I'm gonna miss her!"

"Me too, Harry. Me, too," she soothed as she hugged him to her chest. As he quieted, he continued.

"Hedwig was such a great owl; I knew I wasn't the only one who loved her!"

With a slight pang in her heart, she decided that she would tell Harry about how she felt about Muriel and formally apologize in the morning. At least then he wouldn't cry…

Maybe.

Ginny is, simply insane. But… that's why I love her.