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I can't sleep.

After tossing, turning and thinking restlessly, I checked my old pink clock (I got it when I was in first year- I most certainly do not still like the neon pink pigment that my 11 year old messed up self had seemed to be obsessed with) which read 00:16 am. It had a flowery print of 'GMW & HJP' still etched onto it: a reminder from my younger, naïve self.

It's Harry's birthday now, being after midnight.

If only my eleven year old self could see me now- having gotten together with the guy of her dreams, but having been dumped by that very same stupidly endearing person at a funeral of all places (Thanks a lot, Harry. Adding to the sombre theme and making me even sadder than I was anyway. Not to mention that most of the furniture in my room is badly damaged due to the angst that he caused in me through the break up).

Sighing heavily, I rolled onto my side to check my battered clock for what must have been at least the twentieth time within that hour and sighed again.

Can you sigh while sighing heavily?

Well if you could, I achieved that very goal.

Well done, Ginny. Have a trophy.

It was now 00:19.

You'd have thought that pathetic, deep, emotional thinking would take longer than 3 minutes but no.

Why, Merlin, why?

Oh, whatever. I need food. Food cures everything. I decided, shuffling out of bed.

It maybe be after midnight, but there is no limit to a Weasley's eating ability.

Especially not mine.

I passed Hermione, who was sleeping on a mattress next to my bed, a book covering her face. I smirked and lifted the book off her face.

She could've suffocated- I just saved her life.

Ha, 'Mione, now you're in my eternal debt.

Forever... I thought, starting to giggle madly. I'd love to see her expression if she saw me now; clutching her book and laughing like a maniac. Now you'll have to let me copy all your work since, for some reason, she keeps all the work she's ever done; ever since first year. At the end of each year, I revel in burning all the notes I made that year.

I'm not that bad of a student...

...and I'm not a weird maniac either.

I also have an uncontrollable twitch in my eye. It's annoying.

Which leads me back to my frequently debated argument that Merlin hates my guts.

What is this book that nearly suffocated her? I turned it over and sighed.

Hogwarts: A History.

I rolled my eyes. Of course it was.

How can someone read the same thing over and over again, and not want to throw it into the depths of hell?

Not to mention that it's the most boring book of all time.

I tried to read it, but I fell asleep after reading the first page or so, I-er-I-

I fell asleep. I'm not even kidding. Hermione was pretty annoyed after that.

What? I didn't inherit Percy's bookwormish tendencies. Or any tendencies at all, concerning staying awake while reading an extremely boring book, such as this.

She never stops reading, that one.

Just like a Weasley never stops eating.

See, she's practically a Weasley...

...sort of.

And she definitely will be when she marries Ron (though I have no idea she would choose him of all people to crush on...) and I am Maid of Honour.

Hermione says I'm not organised, but I've organised her wedding and everything! I may not do my Transfiguration essay until the lunch time before the lesson, but I've planned her wedding 10 years ahead of its actual date!

But they have to get together first. I'll figure out a plan...somehow. Even if it means I have to Hippogriff my way through it. (Hippogriffing is a routine of bobbing your head, flapping your arms and running around in circles. It's actually quite good for relaxation).

Cue evil laugh. Even though getting them together isn't evil, because everyone knows they love each other.

What if they're already together?

What if they've already gotten married?

What if they've already eloped?

If they've eloped, I'll eat Polly, the chicken downstairs.

Although we recently ate Dolly, Polly's sister.

Why Mum would name her chickens after a rhyme of her own name, I have no idea.

But this is the woman that named me Ginevra.

Oh yes, food.

This Weasley is hungry.


I made my way down to the kitchen, flung open the door and promptly made my way over to the fridge.

Hmm. Foodfoodfoodfoodfood...

"Do you feel like a Pumpkin Pasty or a Treacle Tart?" I asked, looking down at my stomach.

I'm sure everyone talks to their stomach. I'm not weird or anything.

"Yes I agree, Mr Stomach. Both!" I sang, grabbing both, turning around and-



Ron looked terrified as he stood before me, cringing at my sudden outburst.

Or maybe he was cringing/ looking terrified because he dropped his chicken drumstick.

That's probably why.

"Why the hell are you down here?" I whisper screamed, aware that me shouting may or may not have woken the whole Weasley household.

Probably not though, because we Weasleys can sleep through anything.

Seriously, Fred and George once decided to build a bonfire at midnight in this very kitchen when they were seven and no one noticed.

Well, no one noticed until we came in for breakfast the next morning and realised that the kitchen was very much burnt.

You do not want to be around Mum when someone does damage to her kitchen.

"Eatin'. I'm 'ungry." Ron shrugged with his mouth full, stuffing more food into his face.

Wow, at least I'm not as messy an eater as he is.

"I can see that," I rolled my eyes "But why at midnight, of all times?"

I ate a Pumpkin Pasty. Finally. That's so good...

Ron raised an eyebrow "Says you."


"Well, let's just eat this before Mum finds out-"

A loud creak interrupted me. It was in the direction of the door.

Oh bugger.

"We're screwed, we're screwed, we're screwed," Ron chanted.

"Well, hide!" I whisper screamed, as one does in these sort of life threatening situations.


I threw myself underneath the table.


We are dead. Like Dolly the chicken. We will be cooked into a Weasley casserole.

I don't even like casserole.

I braced myself as the door opened. Ron had chosen to hide behind a dustbin (seriously) which barely concealed his lanky form.

Someone tapped me on the shoulder.

Wait. What?

Stay calm. If a Death Eater enters our kitchen, there would alarms going off. Probably.

It can't possibly be Ron...right?

I craned my neck to check if he was still there.

One Ronald, check.

One chicken drumstick clenched in said Ronald's hand, check.

One grinning red headed figure behind Ronald and looking as if he's about to scare him, check.


If Fred's over there, then the person over here must be-

"Hello sister dear," George grinned.

"Hey George," I said casually. Well, as casually as you can get while hosting a conversation with your brother (who is supposed to be at their joke shop, not in the Burrow) under a kitchen table.

"You're not surprised, are ya?" He sounded slightly disappointed.

Oh well.

"Well, since I'm not screaming and hexing your buttocks off, no." I raised an eyebrow and we continued observing an oblivious Ron snog his chicken drumstick.

Sigh, cheating on your future wife with Dolly the chicken's leg is not very nice, Ron Weasley.

"How long till he notices?" George asked, wisely casting a strong Silencing charm on the door.

"Any second..."

Sure enough, Fred tapped Ron on the shoulder, and he screamed like Bill when he doesn't get his meat when it comes to his time of the month.

His wolffish tendencies I mean.

Not that time of the month.

We burst into laughter, holding our sides, as Ron realised that it wasn't Mum with a death wish who had tapped him, but his brother.

A brother who might have a death wish, but that's highly unlikely.

But who knows?

Fred, George and I were still laughing as Ron grumbled "I'm still hungry," and continued his search for more food.

"What are you two even doing here?" I asked, having just recovered from my laughter and (unfortunately) finished all of my midnight snacks.

I also need more food.

"We wanted to surprise you guys by staying overnight before Harry's birthday tomorrow-"

"-we were going to kip on the couch but we heard something from the kitchen-"

"-and thought maybe Death Eaters were invading-"

"-but it was only our little Ronnie and Gin-Gin..."

I smacked them both on the arm "Actually, it's past midnight by now, so it's already Harry's birthday," I corrected.

Happy Birthday Harry.

I felt...

...well I don't know.

I felt something.

I've never been good telling what other people are feeling like (or myself) but at least I'm not as oblivious as Ron.

"An emotional range of a teaspoon," was how Hermione put it, apparently.

"Ronnie, what do you thinking you're doing-"

"-that cake is for Harrykins-"

"-and he won't appreciate it much if it's in your stomach."

I whipped around and saw Ron standing by Harry's Snitch cake, a chunk in his hand, which he hastily shoved in his face.

"Ron!" I exclaimed "Why are you eating Harry's cake?!"

"It was only a tiny bit..." He grumbled "And I'm hungry. Harry doesn't even like cake very much."

No one gets away with stealing my boyfr-I mean- friend's birthday cake! He's hardly had any birthday cake in his entire life, no thanks to the Dursleys. (They're on my 'Must Seek Revenge' list, along with Umbridge, Voldemort, Death Eaters in general and Zacharias Smith. That dickhead).

"Well, just don't!" I said angrily "Step away from that bloody cake and find some other food!"

"Language, Gin-Gin," Fred reminded me mock seriously.

I knew he was kidding, but I wasn't in the mood this time.

I whipped out my wand and pointed it at Ron, who was still crowded around Harry's cake and- oh no you don't- took some more and ate it!

The twins probably realised that Ron (who was, as usual, just oblivious to the Hex he was about to get and carried on stuffing himself) was going to get it, and put an arm each out to stop me.

"You know you're not allowed to use magic-"

"-you're underage, and Mum'll freak out if she finds out,"

"Well, I don't care! We live in a magical household, they won't be able to tell," I argued, and pointed my wand at Ron's back, casting my infamous Bat Bogey Hex.

I should get an award for that.

He immediately jumped away, trying to bat the giant green bats emerging from his nose.

Fred and George were half amused, half shocked- they never thought of me as much of a rebel- and patted me on the back as they chuckled.

"We'll make a rebel out of you, little sis," George laughed.

Sigh, I wish I had a camera to capture this beautiful moment.

Ron's lanky limbs flailed everywhere, attempting in vain to expel the oversized green bats, and since he hadn't stepped away from the cake, he knocked it over.

"YOU IDIOT!" I shrieked, as I heard the twins mutter:

"She gets more-"

"-and more-"

"-like Mum everyday..." They finished together.

"Hey!" I protested.

I'm not like Mum. Ugh. I am my own person, and will not be compared to anyone else. I was only shouting at my brother- because, I mean, who doesn't shout at Ron because of his annoying antics?! I will not be-

"She's got that Mum face on. She's having an inspirational mind set like Mum! Awww like Mother like daughter, am I right George?"

"Right you are, Fred."

I'm not like Mum at all. I mean, we have no resemblance whatsoever.

Apart from your hair, your freckles, your gender, your commanding presence, your violence...

Ok that's enough, Brain.

I whacked them both upside the head again and drew their attention to the fact that Harry no longer had a birthday cake.

"That's a problem isn't it?" Fred said, leaning against the litchen counter and conjuring up some popcorn to watch the great show of Ronald Weasley And The Bat Bogey Hex.

"Well, duh." George said, the twins for once having an actual conversation rather than finishing each other's sentences.


"So what do we do?" I sighed, snatching Fred's popcorn away from him and cancelling the Hex.

I'm so nice.

"About bloody time," Ron gasped, wiping his face with his sleeve and covering it with mucus. Ew.

Even though it was my fault.

Oh well...

"Why did you have to go and knock the cake over, Ron?" I muttered, even though it was kind of not really my fault...

"Erm," Ron said, raising his eyebrows "Are you really asking that question?"

"It's not like it's my fault!" I said.

It probably was, but I wasn't going to admit that. Weasley pride, much?

"You cast that freaking Hex on me!" He protested.

"Because you were eating Harry's cake!" I argued.

"But I was hungry!"

"Why are you always hungry?!"

"I'm not the only one who came down here for a midnight snack, was I?"

"Well..." I started, before deciding to refer to my original argument "You're the one who refused to stay away from the cake-"

"What is your obsession with that bloody cake? You've broken up with him, why do you care?"

He did not just say that.

He did not just say that.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Fred and George exchange some coins.


"Ronald Bilius Weasley," I growled, hopefully tiger like. In these sorts of situations, you have to make your prey scared of you. Ew, why did I use the word 'prey'? It's not like I'm going to eat him. Ewwwwww... It's the Weasley brain that's always on 'Food mode', no matter what the situation is. "Just because I am not dating Harry anymore," I looked down, overwhelmed by this tide of emotion.

I didn't want to feel like this anymore.

Stupid, noble Harry.

That's what I love about him.

"Just-just because I'm not dating Harry anymore," I repeated, forcing my voice to remain neutral. You learn not to show weakness in a house full of boys "Does not mean we aren't friends, and definitely does not mean I don't care about him," I paused, remembering what this argument was about in the first place "And if I care about him, I care about his cake. Yes. Cake is essential to one's happiness on their birthday...and it's gone. Poof. Dead."

I made an explosion gesture with my hands, fit with sound effects.

I bent down, and picked up some stray cake, and flung it at Ron's face before he could react.

Bullseye I thought, satisfied, as the yellow icing of the remains (could you call it the corpse of a cake if it was never alive?) slid down his nose.

That's the aim of an amazing Chaser, ladies and gentlemen.

I smiled, not quite in the mood for laughing just yet, scooped some more icing up off the floor with each hand and flung them simultaneously at Fred and George, who were passing coins frantically to and fro.

"That's for betting about whatever you were betting about," I smirked with a smirk awesome enough to rival Malfoy's. Scratch that. My smirk is way better than that ferret fart face's.

I then realised that I'd made a terrible mistake.

Fred and George looked at other.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking, brother of mine?"

"As always, brother,"

"FOOD FIGHT!" They screamed together, scrambling over to the death site of the Snitch cake (RIP) and picked part of its corpse up (RIP) and started flinging it at me and Ron, who was standing in shock, as if Dobby had appeared in front of him and forced him to wear only his tea cosy.

That's not a nice image.


Bad brain. Bad, bad brain.

Ok, let's replace the mental image of Ron with Harry instead.


Wait. Nope. Never mind.

Screams, icing and (for some reason) feathers filled the air, effectively coating us all in a sticky, feather covered mess once we had called (convincing Fred and George to calm down took too long considering they're 3 years older than me) a truce.

"Guys," Ron panted, since we were all tired out. Food fights use a lot more energy than Quidditch if you're using no magic (I only noticed that I could've used magic after it was over. Stupid Ginny) and are against Fred and George. "What do we do about Harry's cake? Mum is going to freak if she finds out we destroyed it."

True. Very true.

Mum is going to kill us for destroying her cake, then she'll resurrect us and kill us again for being in the kitchen after midnight, because that's the sort of thing she would do.

No kidding.

What time is it anyway?

"What time's it?" I asked, echoing my thoughts, just as Fred said "Oh Merlin! Ron said something productive! Mark it on the bloody calendar!"

Ron flipped his middle finger up as George high fived his twin triumphantly. Don't know why, because it isn't much of an achievement.

Come on, I can think of better insults than that.


I was a bit annoyed because no one asked my question, so I grabbed George's arm to have a look at his watch- 00:51am.

It's nearly 1am?

Oh well.

"We need to make another cake," I spoke up.

That got their attention.


"We can't cook!"

"There's no bloody time!"

Honestly, boys these days have no sense of perseverance.

"Well, what do you suggest we do instead?" I glared at all of them. "You two," I pointed at Fred and George, who looked like they were going to protest and say that they weren't involved so why should they help? "will help Ron and me cook, because if Mum finds out you're here, she's definitely going to blame you over us anyway,"

"Me?!" Ron spluttered "I can't cook!"

"Well, it was your limbs that cause the death of Harry's cake, so your limbs will have to serve their penance," I snapped.

"Ok, so what are we supposed to do this-"

"-we've never cooked in our life!"

"You've created Skiving Snackboxes and whatnot haven't you?" I sighed, trying to find Mum's recipe book "So you must know something."

"What're you looking for, Gin?" Ron asked, rubbing his eyes.

"A recipe book, you dimwit...look! Drink this, all of you," I'd just found Mum's supply of Pepper-up potions, and handed each brother half a dose, before downing my own, instantly feeling more jittery "This should keep us alert for a few more hours,"

"Cheers," Fred and George clinked their bottles together and drained it. Ron looked a bit uncertain, but shrugged and drank it.

After what seemed like ages of searching the Muggle way (when the reality was probably about 30 seconds) when I just got annoyed and just Summoned it with a quick Accio!

Unfortunately, since Mum had so many bloody recipe books, they all came zooming regards me and made me lose my balance and fall onto the floor.

Which was also covered in feathers and icing. Lovely.

That was when I realised that the feathers were from Dolly the chicken.

RIP Dolly, and RIP Harry's Snitch cake.

I'm covered in corpses. Eww...

Fred, George and Ron just laughed, not bothering to help me up, or even dig me out of this pile of books. Sigh.

Honestly, some brothers.

I busted my way out of this mini mountain with a hasty Depulso! (I don't know how Muggles cope without magic...) and continued in my search for a cooking book.

I dug my my into the pile, throwing books behind me as I searched, when Fred and George suddenly burst out laughing.

I froze, turned around and raised an eyebrow.

"You look like a weasel burrowing," Fred explained.

"Ugh- whatever! Are you lazy arses going to help or not?!" I demanded, giving them The Glare.

I spent ages practising that Glare in the mirror. You need it in a house full of boys.

They hastily started clearing the kitchen- without magic.

Why am I surrounded by idiots?

"Are you wizards or not?!" I screeched, cleaning myself up.

I could've sworn Ron muttered "Ok, Mum," under his breath.

I'm nothing like Mum! So naturally, I kept screeching at him like the vulture on Neville's Grandma's hat.

After more burrowing (certainly not anything like a weasel) I finally found a relevant cooking book among the many Lockhart books that Mum still seemed to have.

Why she still has books from that old fraud, I don't know.

Which is why I'm nothing like her- did I ever have a crush on that ego inflated dung head? Nope.

You were instead infatuated by another celebrity by the name of Har-

That's enough, Brain.

Once I'd flicked to the relevant page, I Summoned all the relevant ingredients with my wand and lined them up neatly on the now very tidy kitchen counter.

"First," I read "Cast the following spell-"

Ok, how the hell are you supposed to say that? There's a photo of a witch in very flowery robes doing the gestures, but it all looked like gibberish. I noticed that it had a 'Non-Verbal' underneath it- but since I haven't actually learnt how to cast spells non verbally, it won't make a difference, will it?

"Fred, George?" I called, tapping the page restlessly with my finger "Can you cast this spell?"

They peered at it curiously over my shoulder and George said

"No can do, Gin-Gin-"

"-can you really imagine us doing spells meant for Housewitches?"

"That's sexist!" I chastised, sighing "Ron?"

He simply raised one eyebrow as if to say Really? I'll blow the bloody thing up!

Well, I suppose it can't hurt to try... bad can it get if it goes wrong, anyway?

I looked further down the page and saw that every single step had a complicated spell and weird wand movements.

That's not helpful. I think they assume you've passed your Household Skills N.E.W.T with an O.

Which, obviously, I have not. I don't even think they offer that as a freaking elective at Hogwarts they?

Well, I suppose I should be used to it by now, since it's been five years at that bloody school and I still get lost to my Herbology lessons.

"Erm," I started again, when I realised I had probably been staring at this book creepily for quite a while now "Ok, let's try this spell. Posui-in-alveolo-miscere!" I probably did the wrong wand movement or said something wrong, because the moment I finished my phrase, the bowl I was pointing at exploded.



"Well done, Ginny," Ron laughed, while the twins were clapping slowly.

"Ugh- shut up! You weren't expecting it to actually work were you?" I defended. I was actually hoping it would work, but cooking spells were never my strength anyway. Therefore, it's not my fault. "And I'm the youngest out of you three!"

"Well; we aren't the ones who got cooking lessons from Mum once a week," Fred reminded me, smirking.

"It's not like I learnt anything anyway!" I protested.

Idiot. I had had lessons last year on 'how to be a Housewitch' (which I'm never going to be, ever. Who wants to clean the house and take care of the children all day while your husband is doing all the exciting job work outside?) from Mum, obviously thinking that my life goal was to be like her.

Which it isn't, Mother dear. 'Cause seriously; I'm not going to get some chickens, nurture them, and then slaughter them for dinner.

Which is why I learnt absolutely nothing during those bloody lessons, and thankfully Mum stopped forcing me to learn how to cook a casserole.

I hate casserole. As mentioned earlier tonight.

George spoke up, being useful for once tonight "We should get cracking on that cake for Harrykins, shouldn't we? I salvaged the Snitch wings from the rubble of the cake's corpse-"

See? I'm not the only one who thinks of the remains of that cake as a corpse!

"-so now all we need to do is make a gigantic yellow sphere shaped cake and stick these wings on!" George finished, a triumphant smirk on his face.

"Excellent thinking, brother mine! Now, let's start cooking like boring old Muggle women!" Fred grinned.

Why are my brothers so sexist?

Eh, I'll hex them later, because we can't afford to lose anymore time over this bloody cake.

"The Muggle way?" Ron said stupidly, scratching his head. I don't know if that's from lack of sleep, or just him being Ron. "Why are we doing that? We're wizards!"

"...and witches." I added grumpily "And it's because the spells in Mum's recipe book are too hard, you idiot. Ok, how big is this thing supposed to be?"

"Erm...the size of a Quaffle?" Ron guessed.

"Or a Bulger?" Fred and George added.

"Let's just do something in between," I decided, being clueless about this sort of thing and not wanting to witness another fight.



"Ok, so if we add 4 eggs..." I ordered, as Ron moved to dump four eggs into the bowl with their shells on "Ron, no! You have to crack the eggs first, you dimwit!"

Oh Merlin, how dumb can you get?

He mumbled something about only eating food, not making it.

Ugh. This is beyond frustrating. If I'd just been able to fall asleep and not have deep thoughts about Harry and the time, I wouldn't be here because I wouldn't be wanting a midnight snack because I'd be asleep.

Why do you hate me so much, Merlin?

" crack them..." Ron said uncertainly, banging all four of the eggs so enthusiastically against the bowl, that more of the egg shell than the actual content of the eggs went it.

"Well done, brother-"

-you've really got flair for this cooking business," the twins joked.

"Maybe you should've just put all the eggs in whole," I sighed, half serious and half amused.

"That's what you told me not to do..." Ron mumbled, but I could tell he was hiding a half smile.

"But-I-it's better to crack the eggs, and I thought maybe the great Gryffindor House Keeper could crack a few eggs, but nope." I spluttered through my barely concealed amusement. "Ok, so four eggs-"

"And the eggshells," Fred interrupted.

I rolled my eyes and ignored him, however true it was.

"-check, so we need sugar, salt, flour, milk-"

I was interrupted again. Guys, really?

"Ok, so if we chuck all o' that in..." George threw some flour in.


That isn't flour, is it?

I picked up the packet the George just emptied into the bowl, along with the eggs (and the egg shells)-

"This is salt!" I groaned, banging my forehead against my palm. I mean, who mixes flour up with salt?! I understand mixing sugar up with salt but...oh, Merlin, why? "George! I thought Ron was the dumb one!"

George and I looked over at Ron, who was walking around with a bowl on his head and doing weird robot noises.

"Point taken," Fred said, Apparating right behind me and whispering in my ear.

"Buggering hell! Fred!"

Why am I surrounded by immature idiots?

I watched, shaking my head, as Fred and George high-fived each other (yes, I'm sure that they are utter dolts when it comes to cooking, despite their age) and Ron continued to be a robot. So this is what a lack of sleep and cooking at midnight does to you?

"Ok! Guys!" I said "We need to bake this bloody cake before dawn, and it's already-"

I seized a protesting George's wrist.


Shit, we only have three hours minimum until dawn.

We're screwed; the very phrase Ron is probably chanting right now-

"Beep! Boop! I-am-a-Ro-bot!"

-or not. Never mind. This is the guy who's going with Harry to fight You-Know-Who?

They are so lucky they have 'Mione.


This is not going very well.

My brothers somehow managed to stick a whole wedge of cheese in that cake (mistaking it for butter. Because why not?) and are currently stirring some yogurt (as a substitute for milk) into the 'cake batter' as well.

It's going to be horrific. Well, I can at least try to save this sorry excuse of a cake batter.

"Why don't we try adding ingredients to make this...thing," I said, pausing for lack of a better term. I couldn't exactly say 'this pile of shit' because of tact issues. I mean, the twins and Ron (finally stopping his robot antics. He's not right in the head, I'm telling ya) actually look pretty proud of this thing.

"Yes!" Fred exclaimed, looking up from adding some broccoli ('Because dear old Harrykins needs one his five-a-day!') "We can add some Nosebleed Nougat!"

"Splendid idea, my dear twin," George said in a terrible posh British accent, pulling some out of his pocket.

I don't even want to know why he brings nosebleed triggering sweets wherever he goes.

"Cool!" Ron said excitedly "Gimme some and I'll put them in-"

"Wait, stop!" I ordered, putting my hands on my hips. "When I said 'let's add some more ingredients in', I meant normal ingredients- flour, sugar, whatever. And why would you want to add thatin?!"

I think if we wanted to make people feel sick, they would be barfing their arse off (even though vomit comes out the other end...) with the 'cake batter' we have, which currently consists of tons of salt, eggs, eggshell, cheese and yogurt.

And this is just the beginning.

"Well, we're not done yet, are we?" Fred insisted "We can just dump a bunch of this in..."

Before I could protest, he threw a whole slab of nougat into the mix.


This is going to be the death of me. I'll come back as a ghost and haunt our kitchen.

Could I move to Hogwarts? Maybe I could make friends with Myrtle...

Wait. No. Bad Ginny.

You know you've gone round the bend when you start thinking of forming friendships with a girl who died and then came back and stalked the person she was bullied by until the bully in question got her under house arrest in Hogwarts. And whilst at Hogwarts, she decided to sob and float aimlessly around a bathroom of all places for all eternity.


"Fred!" I groaned "Now people will start bleeding all over the place!"

"It's ok, we can just give them the antidote." He shrugged. I have a feeling he's experimenting to make a new product. I would discourage him, but hey. If people want to buy products that taste like salty yogurty cheesy shit, that's not my problem.

"That's not going to work..." I muttered, but they took no notice.

Ron was actually nearly jumping up and down with anticipation. I'm sure people with nose bleeds excite you very much, brother.

Although the jumping up and down but might be the cause of lack of sleep...

...but probably not. Acting like a dufus is probably normal male Weasley behaviour.

Not female Weasleys, obviously; I'm the sanest person you've ever met!

"Ginny, why are you smiling creepily?"

I wiped the (definitely not creepy) smile off my face at once.

"Is it a crime to be smiling nowadays? I know it's depressing with You-Know-Who, but seriously." I defended, trying to look innocent.

Well, I smile for no reason when contemplating the weirdness of Weasleys. At least I don't make robot noises like Ron does.

"You were just smiling weirdly..."

"I was not!"

"...and you were chanting something under your breath that sounded like 'die duckie die'-"

"Anyway..." George interjected "Let's add something else to this cake!"

Yup, moving on...

If he was going to add something like chicken food or gnome saliva, I'm going to barf.

"Like-" Fred started, sharing a look with his twin.

That looks dodgy.

"If you're going to say something like -I don't know- gnome saliva-" I interrupted, before being interrupted by the twins:

"Now, what makes you think that?"

I raised an eyebrow.

"Ok, let's add some normal cake stuff," I said with a finality, Summoning some sugar and flour.

"Can I put the flour in, can I, can I?!" Ron pleaded, bouncing up and down.

I worry about that guy sometimes.

"Sure?" I said, hesitantly passing him the flour "But don't spill anything."

I feel like his freaking mother. I'm only fifteen, (well, nearly sixteen) I'm too young for motherhood!

Ok, calm down Ginny, it's not like he's your actual child. He's older than you, for Merlin's sake! And if you were really pregnant, your 'child' (who's actually your brother) would murder you.


I searched through the cupboard that looked faintly cake batter worthy.

I found some lime juice, peanut butter, and yeast.

So naturally, I dumped the whole lot in. Because lime juice is...fruity. And peanut butter is...brown.

And cakes are normally brown, aren't they?

Well, yeast sounds fancy. I remember Mum making bread with it. Because bread, cake, same thing, right?

Well the cake can't get any worse, can it?

"Ron-Ron, little brother-"

"-I don't think you're supposed to dump the whole packet of flour on the floor..."



Is my brother's ignorance my penance for hexing Smith at the beginning of the year?


Once the floor had been cleaned up, all I could think was When you and Hermione get married, Ron, you are NOT to go anywhere near the kitchen for fear of burning the house down.

I turned to a sulking Ron (pouting in the corner) and gave him another one of Dolly's legs. That cheered him up.

Fred rushed over to the bowl (in which I had recently added the yeast, peanut butter and lime juice) and sniffed it.

"If it smells nice, it tastes nice, right?" He grinned.

"Erm," I hesitated "Maybe?"

"So," George continued "we have to add some stuff that smells nice, so it tastes nice!"

This isn't going to work, is it?

Well, it's not like I have a better solution.

"Ok, why the bloody hell not," I nodded my assent to George, who was on the brink of dropping a whole packet of Drooble's Best Blowing Gum into the mixture.

I questioned the twins on why they were adding so much bubblegum to it, after they had plonked a tenth packet in.

"Well, it's got to be sweet-"

"-because after the amount of lime juice you poured in-"

"-it's bound to be as sour as Ron's face when he has no more chicken."

"Hey!" Came a muffled grunt from the corner of the room.

"How does Mum make the icing?" I asked, before realising that they of all people would have no clue whatsoever.

But you never know, right? It's like the time when we thought Percy would never get a girlfriend...

...but he's a Ministry loving moron who's married to his job, so I suppose it doesn't really count.

They shrugged, as I had expected.

I'm a Seer. I knew Trelawny was being a miserable old bat (but Snape wins in the ultimate overgrown retarded bat contest) by failing me in Divination because I obviously have the Sight...

Anyway. Back to the cake.

"If we can't ice it," I wondered aloud "we could..."


Guys, stop looking at me!

"We could what?" Ron asked, having come back to Earth to join us with our task because the remains of the chicken now resided in his stomach.

"We could use food colouring to make the original cake batter yellow!" I shrieked, after contemplating for a while. (Possibly a bit too loudly, judging by the speed in which all three of my brothers covered their ears.)

I thought I heard a window shatter, but that just be my brain being weird.

"Ginny, you broke the back window!"


I repaired it with a quick charm and turned my attention back to the cake. Do I have to do everything?

"So how can we make this thing turn yellow?" I wondered aloud, looking at my brothers for some sort of assistance. Or maybe even recognition that they had heard my proclamation.

"Is there a charm we can cast on it?" I asked again, after no one replied.

Really feeling the sibling love vibes here.

"Ah, no, sister-"

"-I thought you said we had to do it the Muggle way?"

Ugh. Really?

Now they force me to go back on my own word?

Those sneaky bastards.

"Come on!" I whined "You've got to know something! You guys are supposed to be good at magic!"

"I am good at magic!" Ron defended.

I was talking about the twins, actually. But ok then.


"-the only colour changing charm you know is-"

"-sunshine, daisies, butter mellow-"

"-turn this stupid black rat yellow!"*

Ron threw a flower pot at them, but it was Vanished midway.

"Nice try, Ron."

Ron swore and trudged back to his corner.

Sigh. And I here I was, thinking that older brothers were supposed to be wiser than me.

I think that after Bill and Charlie, the male Weasley genes went: Nope. I've produced two perfectly normal male Weasley spawn, and I'm not going to make any more.

Can genes think?

These philosophical questions that one asks extremely early in the morning...

I think I've gone loopy.

"Fred...George..." I turned to them and gave them my best puppy-dog eyes (that Sirius had helped me to perfect).

They raised an eyebrow each.

I turned to Ron, but he just shrugged and continued to sulk.

Well, it seems like the puppy dog isn't gonna get me anything.

Lies, Sirius (RIP), lies.


"Ok, how'd you say this thing? Colovaria? Ok." I said, after many futile attempts to convince my brothers to turn the freaking cake batter yellow. They refused, and instead gave me the wand movement and incantation to 'Just do it yourself, Gin!' Ugh.

I pointed my wand at the cake mix (if you could even call it that) and braced myself. This is a sixth year charm, after all.



"Shit, what did you do?!"


A small cloud of yellow smoke surrounded the bowl and smelt strongly of Drooble's Best Blowing Gum.

Well, at least I got the colour right.

As the smoke cleared, I squealed "I did it!"The batter was now a sunny yellow, but when I moved to pour it onto the tray I found it had solidified and would not move.


The twins started to laugh at my efforts to get the rock-hard batter out, and smirked "I don't think spinning holding over your head and shouting 'Out, out, out!' is going to help, Gin."


After one final shake, the batter fell out with a thump! onto a plate.


"I think the silencing charm has worn off," George said, looking pale "Mum's gonna come any second. Hide!"

As Ron (who had done nothing helpful) and I scrambled under tables and chairs for fear of our lives, Fred and George just doubled over in laughter.

"It's a prank, isn't it?" Ron sighed.

I nodded in shock.

Not because of the prank, but because Ron had actually said something insightful.

Woah. You don't get that very often.

I got up and smacked my two chuckling brothers upside the head, smirked at their winces and went back to the cake.

Can't let Harry down, can I?

"Ok, if it's already rock hard," I said, tapping the yellow (cake? It's definitely inedible) form with my knuckle "we don't need to bake it," I deduced, quite relieved, since we probably only had about half an hour until dawn.

It looks nothing like the original Snitch cake.

It actually resembles a Niffler...

"...see look, there's the snout and there are the paws!"

"No, Ginny, that looks nothing like a Niffler."

"Ugh." I rolled my eyes. Some people just can't see the obvious. "How do we make it look like the cake that Mum baked?"

"Let's cast some really strong Glamour charms on it," Fred offered. Is he actually trying to being helpful?! "Because after this, we can go back to bed, right?"

It's just because he wants to sleep. Should've known.

"Yeah," Ron said "Hurry up, so we can go to sleep,"

I sat back and relaxed for once (as well as you can relax at 4:37am in the kitchen) throughout this whole escapade, and watched as Fred and George transformed the yellow splodge we had made into a Snitch cake that was worthy of Harry.

Because he deserves the best.

But the Snitch cake was only an illusion- it would still taste like shit.

But we can cross that bridge when we to it.



Wait...if we emptied about 10 packs of Drooble's bubblegum in there... know, because once you've blown them up until they can't hold any longer (which will take half a day at least- unless provoked)...the yeast we put into the cake respires- which means the gum will be blown up...

...the bloody cake is going to explode when we provoke it with a knife.

Explode very violently.

"Shit." I muttered, looking up at the Snitch cake on the dinner table.

Luckily Mum didn't hear me swear, or else she would have my head.

Hermione heard me, though.

"Language, Ginny!"

"Of course, 'Mione..." I sighed "What did the Minister say to you guys, anyway?" I asked her, since she had just come back from talking to the Minister, with Harry and Ron.

"He just gave me the Tales of Beedle the Bard, and said Dumbledore left it to me in his will."

"Erm, ok then..." I said uncertainly. Why would the Queen of all books need another book?

Well, it's probably like Dumbledore and those woollen socks he always wanted.

"Yes, I know," she fiddled with her hands that rested on her lap "Everything just seems so unclear..."

We sat, immersed in our own thoughts, while people everywhere showered Harry with more happy returns.

"TIME TO CUT THE CAKE!" Mum announced.

Oh no. This isn't going to end well, is it?

I looked frantically to the twins and Ron, but I couldn't catch their eye. Ugh. Our sibling mind reading skills aren't very good are they?

"Why are you muttering under your breath?" Hermione asked, her brow furrowed. I can literally hear the cogs whirring in her brain. "Is something wrong?"

"Why don't we just stay away from the cake? Because-erm-I'm allergic to cake?" I lied feebly, pulling her sleeve gently in the opposite direction to the dinner table.

"What? Of course you're not allergic to cake, you stuffed your face full of Cauldron cakes yesterday!"

People say that I'm like Mum, when it's obviously Hermione. Maybe she's my long lost sister?

Maybe we have a very distant cousin/ uncle/ fish who doesn't have red hair and freckles?

But if she's my sister, that means she's Ron's sister too, and we can't have that, because they have to get married.

Anyway. At least she hasn't called me out for avoiding her question.

"And you haven't answered my question!"


"You trust me, don't you?" I asked.


Ok, not the answer I'm looking for.

"Cut the cake, Harry!" Mrs Weasley beamed, as our (very badly sung) edition of 'Happy Birthday' came to a stop (probably for the best, since none of us have very much musical talent).

I caught Ron's eye. I think we have the same expression: eyes wide, sweating gently and imitating a fish laying eggs.

We watched in horror as Harry sunk the blade into the cake- which flickered and turned back into the yellow mess we had made for a split second- before exploding violently and covering everyone in...

...what is this?

I frowned, wiped a bit of eurgh! yellow slime off my shoulder and observed it carefully.


So this is what happens when you mix eggs (+eggshell) + salt + yeast + bubblegum + colour changing charm done badly + hell knows what else...

I turned to Ron and muttered "You know what, I don't think cooking is our best strength,"

"Agreed," he wiped an extensive amount of yellow gloop off the edge of his nose.

"You guys made this?" grinned Harry, who was completely covered in the yellow slime.

"It was mostly me, to be honest," I sniggered "But the twins were there too. Can you really imagine Ron cooking?"

"True, true," he laughed.

Before I could stop myself, I leant up and wiped a smudge of slime (and was that a bit of eggshell?) off his glasses.

Time seemed to stop in that very essence. Ron by his side and Hermione by mine were forgotten by the two of us.

I smiled.

He smiled.

I couldn't help but think of the birthday present I had given him earlier that day.

After lots of extensively wonderful staring and smiling, he leant forward to tuck a piece of my hair behind my ear, when-


Oh shit.

Hello! This is my first one shot (and my first challenge) so I'd really appreciate it if you'd let me know what you think of it :) Please review!

* : taken from The Philosopher's Stone.

'Posui-in-alveolo-miscere' is 'Put into a bowl and mix'' in Latin.

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