Chapter Six – Part One

The Wicked Witch Vs Glinda

"Ron, will you shut up!" Hermione shouted shrilly, cutting off my brother's mumbled explanation of the day's events. "If you don't mind, I'd appreciate it if you could wait outside. I'd like to talk to Ginny…alone."

With a hurt puppy expression firmly in place, Ron walked out of the hospital room. Ten minutes ago, I had arrived in a flurry of panic, pinning passing nurses to the wall for information, leaving a path of destruction and knowing mutterings of 'time of the month' in my wake. Hurtling onto the seventh floor and down the corridor to the small room at the end, I had found Hermione sitting cross-legged on the bed with my brother clucking beside her like an old mother hen. Her hair, usually a popular tourist spot for nesting pigeons, was in a state of complete disarray with several false nail gripping for dear life in her fringe. Her arms had been lovingly decorated with long scratches and her mouth was twice the size as usual, which, when talking about Hermione was pretty damn huge. My brother meanwhile had been wearing a look often worn by those greedy blighters who have a packet of biscuits in one hand and a bag of half-eaten sweets in the other. He had refused to look Hermione in the eye. When attempting to refill her glass, he had tripped over my foot, soaked the bed and sent the jug crashing spectacularly to the floor.

I never knew ears could turn such a vibrant shade of red.

"Thank God! He's gone!" Hermione muttered, stretching out and standing up. I quickly put my hand on her shoulder and pushed her back down.

"Not a good idea. I don't fancy giving you the kiss of life right now. I mean, I would normally, because lets face it I'm a giver, but I forgot to brush my teeth this morning…Well, I could give it a try I suppose…pucker up!"

Sitting grumpily back down, Hermione responded, "I'm not dying Ginny. In fact I've never felt better! That insane doctor, Mr McDouble Chin or whatever his name is, insisted that I stay in this prison overnight! It's absolutely insane…keeping a perfectly healthy person in this place. I'm in the right mind to sue! I bet its all part of some scientific experiment- seeing how long a person can stay normal in here before turning into a tweed wearing zombie addicted to cough drops and wearing gowns with the bottoms cut out. You know I'm right."

Discreetly looking out the 'help' button, I nodded and smiled (always a safe bet when dealing with loonies.)

"Say Hermione," I asked gently, "they didn't happen to give you any drugs, did they?"

Hermione picked up a mug and waved it around in the air. "A tiny sedative, they said to calm me down or something. It hasn't worked yetttt…."

With my cat-like reflexes I caught Hermione's snoozing head and lowered her on the mattress. Well really! I thought dismally as I picked a red fingernail from her hair. That was rather anti-climatic. I expected a blow-by-blow account at the very least. Something like, 'Lola's eyes had a sliver of madness in them, a shine of no-good malice. The devil lived in her, deep down, past the silicon and in the black, black heart! She was perched like a wild beast, ready to pounce…Grrrr! She growled as she leapt over the bar stools and collided with the innocent maid Hermione, who in turn, spun round and judo-kicked her into a bloody, beaten, resembling a battered plum, thing…'

But no, I got a snoring best friend. No gossip, no intrigue and no reasonably priced merchandise of the big match. Perhaps I should have dragged Lola away from suckling on band-man-flesh and instigated a re-match. (…and in the red corner we have Lola, weighing just over 50 pounds and just what is that deadly weapon she is storing in her t-shirt?) Purely in the pursuit of knowledge, you understand.

Ron's head popped nervously around the door. "I just brought you this, darling…" He dared to look at Hermione and finding her fast asleep, smiled with relief before plonking himself down next to me. Joy.

"You brought her a bag of grapes?" I asked incredulously, eyeing up the huge, multi-coloured bunch in his hand.

He shrugged and replied, "Yeah, what's wrong with that?"

I give you my brother, ever the clueless chump… (Seriously, I'm giving him to you…last chance…sold to the guy with a whip and moustache)

"Don't you think an apology would be more apt?" I said disapprovingly. "Or how about a public thrashing of your traitorous, spotty arse? I mean, how could you Ron? Inviting both Hermione and Lola to the pub at the same time? That's bordering on moronic even for you."

"Hey!"

"Did you expect them to become boyfriend-sharing buddies over a pint of bitter or something?"

Ron peered miserably at his shoes. "Well, I thought we could come to some kind of arrangement."

Arrangement? What does that mean? Surely not the kind of 'arrangement' watched by Percy late on a Friday night? Good Lord, no…Must. Remove. Mental. Images.

I slammed my fist into my brother's filthy, depraved 'we-are-so-NOT-related' knee and hissed, "Ronald Weasley! That's disgusting! Just wait till I tell mum!"

After staring at me blankly for a few seconds, Ron's eyes finally widened. "You think I meant…that! And people say I've got a dirty mind… tut, tut, little sister."

"You have!" I said more quietly, not wanting to wake up Hermione from whatever dream she was having, which knowing her would involve a romantic scene in an abandoned library with Gilderoy Lockhart in a ripped shirt, tight trousers and waving a 100 question exam paper.

"Remember when I found your, erm, well worn copy of 'Wobbly Witch Bits' under the bed? Now you can't tell me that was for 'educational' purposes only…"

A scowl appeared on Ron's red face and he huffed, "I liked the articles – they were full of journalistic merit. Not like some of the crap written nowadays. Talking of which, how was your day?"

Murder is a sin. Murder is very naughty…

"Same old, same old. The usual humiliation, degradation and drunken marriage proposals, but its all part of my glamorous lifestyle as a- "I cast a sharp look over my brother. "Are you even listening?"

Ron slowly averted his eyes away from the patient. "Sorry sis, I was only being polite. I don't actually want to know."

How utterly charming.

"By the way," Ron went on, "Harry's outside. Wants to talk to you privately for some reason. You're not seeing him again, are you?" A disapproving frown appeared, making Ron look like my Great Aunt Sheba, old, crotchety and very much like someone I'd want to place in a maximum security prison, guarded by man-eating huskies and devil worshipping dwarves.

"He left me, remember?" I pointed out with a scowl. "I was the one whose heart was smushed into a milkshake of misery."

Ron frowned, this time with 20 per cent more brood. "Well, you probably provoked him. Didn't darn his socks properly or smile enough, I don't know, it could have been anything. Living with you can be hell, take it from an expert."

Brothers have a habit of showing their love in the worst possible way. Age five, darling ronniekins (along with his bed wetting problem) made me eat live earthworms. Age fourteen, he told the whole world/Hogwarts about my crush on Remus Lupin. For the record – I did NOT used to make fluffy, wolf-shaped finger puppets and any found, even with the initials GW 4 RL on them, have most certainly been planted by others. Honestly.

"Ok then, I better go seduce hapless Harry with my wily femme fatale charms," I said in Scarlet Woman mode. "Tell me Ron; are my boobs too pointy in this top?"

It can be highly amusing watching your closet relative being scared for life…

"Good God Woman! Get your fat arse out!"

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"As I exited Hermione's room of drug fuelled rest, it occurred to me that Harry was outside. I know what you're thinking, didn't you know that already? Didn't your less-attractive and dim brother just say exactly that! Ok, yes, the answer would be. But the fact that I would meet the love of my life in an outfit snubbed by lap dancers for being too smutty, had only just begun to sink in. What would he think of me? Harry, who was always so (relatively) normal and well dressed?

Harry, who was sat on a nearby chair, wearing a priest's robe and a dog collar…wait just one almighty minute…

"Father Potter," I said soberly, walking up to him. "Forgive me for I have sinned. It has been forever since my last confession."

"Two Hail Mary's and all will be forgotten," Harry spoke with a lopsided grin as he pulled a finger through his collar.

"Prayers or cocktails?" I asked, playing along.

Harry stood up and bowed. "Right now, I'd take a very big drink. How about I treat you to a delicious meal of mouth-watering culinary prowess?"

"You mean the cafeteria, don't you?" I asked, laughing.

Father Potter held out his arm like a gentleman. "I sure do, honey. Lumpy custard is on me."

I took his arm and off we went. Just a normal, everyday vicar and his stripping, ex-girlfriend…