Disclaimer: The only things I own are Butch, Erik, Matt, Luke, and Kirk, and they really don't count.

Of Twerps, Cockroaches, and Mashed Potato Mountains

"Why me?" I asked desperately, to no one in particular, "What have I done to deserve this?"

"Probably lots of things," said Butch as he took out an arrow and began polishing it on his boxers.

I glared at him, "It was a rhetorical question," I said.

"Well then why did you ask it?" he retorted, continuing with his polishing.

I glared at him and turned back to staring at the papers now residing in my hands.

Mrs. Bartleby had taken the liberty of titling the interview, "Chatting with the World's Most Mysterious Hottie, Harry Potter." I grimaced. He was not going to like that.

The little summary beneath the title was even worse. "For years, our world's hero, Harry Potter, has declined all interviews asked of him. Now, however, our very own Witch Weekly has managed to get an exclusive interview with The-Man-Who-Conquered-You-Know-Who. With Valentine's Day approaching, we have to wonder, what kind of girl, exactly, will convince Harry Potter to give up his bachelorhood? Harry saved all of our lives by defeating You-Know-Who, becoming our very own hero, and now, we want to know who will be saving him from his station as a single wizard. Who will be the hero's heroine? Well, you won't have to wonder for long, because we've asked him. Welcome to the mind of a hero, ladies and gentlemen. Hold on to your broomsticks, you're in for a wild ride!"

Oooooh, Harry was really, really not going to like this.

He hated publicity. Especially if it had to do with his personal life. I was pretty much positive that who his heroine was going to be fit in under his personal life. I really, really, did not want to give this interview.

I mean, this couldn't really be happening to me, could it? My life could not have been completely turned upside down in less than 24 hours…could it?

I looked down at the coffee stain on my blouse and brushed a hand through my hair, sending a cloud of floo powder floating onto the papers in my hands. Well…maybe it could.

I spent the rest of the day contemplating on the best way to ask Harry for the interview. I had pretty much ruled out all possibilities involving the threat of a Bat-Bogey hex if he didn't do it. I really wanted to Bat-Bogey him anyways after how he treated me that morning. I mean, he could have at least been a little bit gentlemanly and helped me up after I humiliated myself!

However, I didn't think he would take too kindly to a threat, and since he would be doing me a favor, I decided that I should be nice about it. So, my most effective method of getting what I wanted was out of the question. But that didn't mean I couldn't use some kind of trickery if I had to.

I thought about maybe just asking him the questions without telling him what they were for. I could just like, you know, incorporate them into the conversation or something.

But then I thought about how that would sound in his position. Just imagine, I'm talking to him at dinner…

"Hey Harry, could you pass the potatoes?"

"Sure, Gin."

I take the imaginary potatoes from imaginary Harry. "Thanks. So, what's your preference, Harry, blondes or brunettes?" or "Thanks Harry. What's your favorite snog spot?" or "Wow, these potatoes are good! Hey look! I can make them look like a mountain! Speaking of mountains, what would you consider a better date, a hike in the mountains or a stroll on the beach?"

…No, fitting them into the conversation most definitely would not work. Besides the fact that any attempt to fit these questions into regular conversation would make me seem incredibly nutty, Harry would be furious after I had published them. He would probably hunt me down and do something horrendous to me. Like make me sprout an extra head. Or shave my eyebrows off.

No, I definitely didn't want to face the wrath of the-man-who-defeated-the-most-powerful-wizard-of-our-time. Because that would make him the most powerful wizard of our time. Scary thought.

When five o'clock rolled around, I was still void of ideas. So, I walked sullenly over to the fireplaces and flooed home, looking forward to a relaxing evening spent in the tub. I figured that maybe, just maybe, if I stayed in there long enough, the interview would go away. Or maybe everyone would think I had drowned myself and Bartleby would give the assignment to someone else.

Come to think of it, maybe I would drown myself. That way, I wouldn't have to deal with it at all, and Bartleby would feel all guilty for blackmailing me like she did. No, I couldn't do that. I would look dreadful in my casket at my funeral viewing. I would be all wrinkly, like a shriveled up prune. Who wants to look at a shrivelly dead person? Gross.

But still, a bath might clear my mind. I might have a miraculous epiphamy while I was in there that would solve all of my problems. Yes, I would definitely take a bath when I got home.

Or not.

The second I stumbled out of my fireplace I was attacked by four, flying, red-capped projectiles that were otherwise known as my nephews, Eric, Kirk, Matt, and Luke.

Eric and Kirk were George and Alicia's. Matt and Luke were Fred and Angelina's. They were both sets of twins. Apparently, having twins is a genetic thing in the Weasely family, just like the red hair and ferocious blush. And since Fred and George are twins as well, and their sons look just like their fathers, they might as well all be quadruplets. Especially since Gred and Forge had managed to get their wives pregnant at exactly the same time, meaning they all had the same birthday. I don't even want to fathom how they managed that.

"Auntie Ginner-Pinners!" they all yelled.

"Ginner-Pinners?" asked Butch incredulously.

I glared at him and tried to pry them off my legs, as two of them had latched themselves onto them and were now yelling, "Auntie Ginny-kins is a horsy! Go, Auntie Gin-Gin, Go!"

"Yes, Auntie Gin-Gin, go," said Butch amusedly.

I gave him my best eat-poo-and-die look. Anyways, they wouldn't budge, so I started dragging them towards the kitchen.

But then the other two latched onto my arms and threw me off balance, sending me toppling to the floor. They accosted me, pulling ropes and rolls of duct tape out from under their shirts and beginning to tie me to the coffee table leg.

Butch burst into raucous laughter and bent over double holding his stomach. He wasn't going to be of much help, so I turned to my next available savior.

"Mum!" I screamed, "A little help here, please!" I managed to yell this just before one of the little demons slapped a strip of duct tape across my mouth. "MMMMPH!" I said.

Butch laughed harder, tears streaming down his face.

They were now crowding around me all with identical evil grins on their identical evil little faces. They were so like Fred and George sometimes it was frightening.

One of them pulled out a wand. My wand. My eyes widened and I struggled wildly against the ropes. How did the little buggers get my wand?

The last time they stole someone's wand, Ron had ended up transfigured into a fly. We didn't know that they had done it, so we were all swatting at the annoying fly buzzing frantically in our ears. It went so far as to where we all had fly swatters, chasing him around the room before someone pointed out that Ron was missing and that the Fearsome Four were laughing hysterically. We figured it out pretty fast after that. Needless to say, Ron was none too happy about the situation.

Anywho, the one with the wand scrunched his face up in concentration and took aim at me, poking his tongue out of the corner of his mouth.

What made this situation even more terrifying was the fact that the quadruplets were really, really smart kids. They inherited it from their mothers. Obviously, they had inherited Fred and George's personalities. Therefore, they were very dangerous when left to their own devises. Especially if you gave them a wand.

I scrunched my eyes closed, preparing to enter into insectdom. They would probably turn me into a cockroach, keep me in a jar, and feed me leaves for a week before someone figured it out.

So there I was, eyes closed, preparing for the worst. Maybe I would get lucky and they would turn me into a butterfly or something. At least then no one would attempt to squash me.

Then I thought about my day and the amount of luck I had going for me, and I decided that I would most definitely be turning into a cockroach.

Then again, maybe this was lucky. They might keep me in the jar past Valentine's Day, and I wouldn't have to worry about Harry's interview! Bartleby would be out of my hair too, as she would probably fire me. I was starting to think that this might not have been such a bad situation after all.

But, true to form, my luck ran out. Right as Mini-prat number 1 was about to cast his spell, the wand flew out of his hand, and all four of the quadruplets were flipped over, hanging upside down in mid-air. They looked shocked.

Just then, I heard a deep male voice say, "Now, now, boys, is that any way to treat your dear Auntie Ginner-Pinners?"

Oh, no, not that voice. That was Harry's voice.

Butch had managed to stop laughing. "Oh, look, Ginner-Pinners!" he said, "it's lover-boy! You sure you don't want me to shoot him?" he notched a an arrow in his bow and took aim.

I narrowed my eyes at him and said, "Mmph!" Translation: no.

Butch just shrugged, put the arrow back in the quiver, and hovered with his arms crossed, "Suit yourself," he said, "But now you're just gonna have to tell him yourself."

I ignored him and looked towards the door where Harry was. He was standing there, an amused look on his face, one hand pointing his wand towards the quadruplets, the other twirling my wand in his fingers.

I glared at him, and looked down at the ropes around my writsts and ankles, indicating that he should vanish them. He grinned and obliged. I slowly stood up and faced the twerps.

"Listen up twerps," I said. They all looked at me innocently, "If you ever attempt to turn me into an insect again, I am going to Bat-Bogey you until kingdom come. I don't care what the Child Services say, hexing the spawn of Satan can not be considered child abuse."

Mini-prats 's numbers 3 and 4 pouted and said, "But Auntie Ginner-Pinners! We weren't going to turn you into an insect."

"Yah, we were going to get rid of the floo powder in your hair," said Mini-prats numbers 1 and 2.

"And the coffee stain on your shirt," added numbers 3 and 4.

"And the bruise on your forehead," said numbers 1,2,3,and 4 together.

I clapped a hand to my forehead, and looked across the room at the mirror on the wall. Yep, I had a big, blue, circular bruise right in the middle of my forehead. Why didn't anyone tell me these things?

Butch smirked at me, "That tends to happen when one bangs their head against hard objects."

I grimaced and looked back at the twins. They were all smiling evilly at one another. They went back to looking somber when they saw me glaring at them.

"Lying is bad," I told them. I held my hand out towards Harry. He put my wand in it.

"Bad children who lie get punished, " I said, sending a tickling hex at them. They all started squirming, and their faces turned purple. Probably because they were laughing so hard. Hanging upside most likely had something to do with it as well. They looked like radishes...with red hair.

I left the hex on them a while and then asked, "Had enough?" They all nodded as best they could, still laughing hysterically. I lifted the hex just as Harry let them go. They toppled to the floor in a heap.

They stayed that way for about two seconds and then launched themselves at Harry.

"Uncle Harry!" they all yelled, "Tell us how you beat Old-Voldie again!" The twerps were fascinated with Harry's defeat of "Old-Voldie." Then again, who wasn't?

Harry laughed, "Maybe later boys," he said, "Why don't you go show Uncle Ron you're new Flaming Tongue Lollies?"

The evil grins reappeared, and they ran off to set Ron's tongue on fire.

I watched them leave, "Poor Ron," I said. And then I turned to Harry, "How come you get a normal name while I get to be Ginner-Pinners?" I asked him.

Harry laughed and shrugged his shoulders. "Don't forget Gin-Gin, and Ginny-kins," he said. He opened his mouth to say something more, when my mother stepped out of the fireplace in a whoosh of green flames. All you could see were her legs, as her upper boy was hidden by grocery bags.

She peeked her eyes over the top of the bags. "Harry, dear!" she said. "How lovely to see you! Are you staying for dinner? Ginny, dear, take some of these bags, will you?" she said as she dumped two of the bags on me. I tottered slightly under the weight of the bags.

Harry nimbly grabbed them from my arms, and then turned to Mum to do the same. "Yes, Mrs. Weasely. Is that alright?" he asked.

Mum glared at him, "Of course it's alright," she said, "And how many times do I have to tell you to call me Molly?"

Harry looked abashed. "Yes, Mum," he said without an inkling of sarcasm.

Mum gaped, and then beamed. Tears pouring out of her eyes. Then she launched herself at him, hugging him fiercely. "He called me MUM!" she wailed.

I grabbed at her robes, "Mum! You're squashing the groceries!" I yelled. Then I added, "And Harry."

Mum, let go, sniffling loudly. "Well, I'll just go clean up then. Ginny, dear, could you start dinner please?" She left without allowing me to answer.

I scowled, and followed Harry into the kitchen.

"Sure Mum, no problem," I said sarcastically, "Just don't blame me when we're all poisoned."

Harry chuckled and said, "It's okay, Gin. I'll help you."

"You can cook?" I asked in disbelief.

"Yep."

"Ooooo, brownie points," said Butch. I glared at him and mouthed, 'shut up.' He just raised his eyebrows at me and mouthed back, 'no.'

And then out loud he said, "You should go ahead and tell him about the interview. Otherwise, you'll get fired. You've only got four more days."

I glared at him some more, but decided he was probably right. It would be better to face the wrath of Harry now, in my own house.

If worse came to worse, I could always run and hide in my room. My brother's had insisted on charming it so that only females were allowed in it. They said it was to "protect my innocence." The room only allowed themselves and dad into it, unless a different male had special permission to enter from one of them. I don't know what they thought I would attempt to do in my room with a boy under the same roof as my parents. I'm really not stupid.

I took a few deep, cleansing breaths to calm myself down, something I learned from those muggle "Goya," or "Yoda," or some such weird name, classes Hermione had made me take. I had to quit because I couldn't control myself from laughing when I was told to get in positions such as the "downward dog," or when they told me to "stretch forth towards the sun."

Anywho, back to the story.

"Harry?" It came out as a squeak. So much for the deep, cleansing breaths. Damn yoda, or goya, or...whatever.

He looked up from the potatoes he was peeling, handing me one to mash, "Yes?"

I got a fork and began mashing the potato. "I have something to tell you," I said. So far, so good. I could do this.

He raised an eyebrow, "Which is?"

I stayed silent, looking at him. No, I couldn't do this. I would rather be fired. It wouldn't be so bad living with my parents for the rest of my life. I could build plugs with my dad. I could sew Weasely sweaters and make fudge all day with Mum.

So, I mashed the potatoes harder, "Ummmm…" I looked around frantically, trying to think of some way to tell him. My eyes alighted on the potatoes I was ferociously mashing into a pulp, "Oh look!" I said, "These potatoes look like a mountain! Speaking of mountains, which do you think is more romantic, a hike in the mountains or a stroll on the beach?"

Butch burst out laughing, while Harry just stared at me, unmoving, his knife poised over the potato he was peeling.

Oh…my…god. I did not just say that!

I seriously considered just turning myself into a cockroach, then and there.