-Welcome to my Ginny Weasley fic.

I am not all that great of a writing and I admit it – but I do try. And this fic is supposed to be funny and insane, and I hope it hits the nail on the head. And the readers. Well, not really, but that would hurt. But, mmhmm, Let me get started.

You may call me Reb. Got it? No cutesey little nicknames – unless I know you well enough? Good.

I like criticism, but don't over do it, please. I would enjoy tips, pointers, etc. But don't say "this sux i h8 u n u shud di since u said my stori sucked111!" Yeah. No "revenge" things. Give me tips - sandwich it. Good thing, bad thing, good thing. Yeah. But, I don't care. I WOULD like to know any grammatical errors, or comma errors. I MAKE A LOT OF THOSE. Ellie, I'm leaving that mainly up to you. -winks-

Okay, enough about me. You're hear to read and enjoy, or diss me. But don't diss me, please.

Rules

1.Don't diss me or the fan fiction

This Is PRE HBP. Not a rule. It is pre Half Blood Prince and is Alternate Universe.

All right. With all of that out of the way, let me move on with the fic. Perhaps you were interested with the title, no? But, alas, the title took me forever to come up with, so don't make fun of it.

Let me go through the title.

Mad Hatter Tales from a Weasel.

As you may guess – Mad Hatter is crazy. And also, by the resemblance to Harry, it thus represent him. I guess

Weasel is obviously a Weasley. Ginny.

If you hate her – giver her a chance in this fic. She is quite different then the books

..Prologue

THE TURNIPS ARE COMING.

Welcome to the complicated inner workings of my brain. Or mind- not that I've got one anyways.

Or was that sanity?

Anywho, I must get on with my story, or life, as those with more pluckage in the mind call it.

Pluckage in the mind? Ahh well, at least I can admit my sanity disappeared. I might not be willing to say that it never existed, but, as they say, another day, another confession.

Or at least that is what I say. ON TO THE STORY, as Lena would say, Lena being the insane accomplice in the everyday lives of Hogwarts. We call ourselves the Sane's. Because we aren't. That actually came up in second year when Michael Rennington called me crazy- surprised when I was not affected (surprised was he to know it the truth) Lena shouted to the world that we were, in fact, sane, and the rest of the world was crazy. Michael then proceed to choke on his slice of vanilla cake (vile, flavor it is…a bean plant…hauntings of the inner mind) and spit it all over Harry Potter, the handsome devil, making him leap up in horror. Lena then proceeded to shout "ARISE TO THE DEVILS WARRIORS," making me ponder if she even has less sanity than me.

Then again, she shoves her thirteen siblings into closest when boredom haunts her, so I find the answer to my question upon my feet, on a welcome mat, screaming "YES, YES!"

Anyways, onto my enchanting tale of my sixth year at Hogwarts- the worst of them all, as they say, inbetween testing years- which I find completely and utterly insane, as, well, me, considering there are no tests. Why, might you ask? No tests for goodness sake, and as I have been boding over my O.W.L. grades yet to arrive, I feel as joyous as to dance in the rain wearing nothing but a house elf's tea cozy for joy of no tests this year! And the raindrops will be screaming freedom, freedom, freedom! But, alas, I shall not go so, as to what my little Harry might think, who is, by the way entering his seventh year.

Alas, he shall not be the most tolerable person now, considering his NEWT's, but, then again, who wouldn't go insane? Just look at Percy…well, don't. He's not that attractive, trust me and my curiosity- and his kissing looked like nothing spectacular. Then again, about his NEWT's, he was insane before…I mean, he liked eating his turnips for dinner.

Honestly- turnips are about the most crazy food I have ever met- you might think we would love, but alas, you think wrong, as you often might! Turnips are the enemy, I cry, the enemy! Loving them is like loving Draco Malfoy dancing in a tea cozy!

Now that, is disturbing. Almost as disturbing as Percy singing in a shower. Almost as disturbing as watching that incredibly hot and irresistible boy who lived dance around in his nuddy pants!

Well, actually, that last one might not be so bad.

So, signing out for the night…or whatever it may be…until pen meets paper, and pigs fly, Ginny is out.

For the night. A peck from the chicken beak, and I am off to sleep.