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The Ginny Project.5 — The Ginny Project
Beta = potterfreak0515.

potterfreak0515 = awesome beta.

Awesome beta = good.

Anyway… All I have to say for this particular entry is that the originality concerning my title 1) is epic, and 2) practically outdoes book 7’s chapter 22.

Please don’t laugh at it.

The Ginny Project: Entry 5
The Ginny Project

~ In which our hero freaks out, the Ginny Project is revealed, aliens wank, the Nature of the Celery, Ginny kills, Remus interrupts sex, Beckett confides his worries ~



After having finished her shopping in downtown London, Ginny came back to her flat, in which she put her brown paper bag on the table and the other plastic ones on the living room’s couch. She looked inside them sternly: red, purple, and black wall paint could be seen, alongside some plastic stencils.

Her fingers trembling slightly, Ginny opened the three paint containers and smiled. Then, she picked up the one with the black paint: it symbolised Harry and Cho through their hair colour. Ginny thought of them, of the loss of her life’s goal and she who was the reason for it. She yelled and threw the opened container against the wall, off which it ricocheted and fell on her white couch, paint spilling everywhere like hot lava. She retook the container and threw it time and time again, picturing Cho’s devilish face, Harry’s erect cock, until no paint remained.

Now for the purple, symbolising joy: it was the colour of lingerie she had worn on the evening Harry had first penetrated her. She threw it, too, denting her wall, staining her leftover pizza boxes.

At last, the red paint, the colour of blood. For this one, she yelled louder than ever, threw harder than ever; then, she took a paintbrush and drew with some purple and red paint, to then use the black one with the new stencils. The result of her temper tantrum looked something like this, occupying most of her living room’s wall, couch, carpet and aforementioned pizza boxes, in a handwriting that wasn’t hers just so it wasn’t too obviously her who had written it:



She looked at her creation in complete awe. She knew that now, all that needed to be done was her Duty, the Ginny Project of Total World Domination.

Or, lack-of-a-world domination. Well, okay, the world would still be there, but it would be nothing but a huge rock flying through space. Maybe she could do something like add a big poster, or even an arrow, saying, ‘Ginny was here.’ in big letters. Or maybe she could even paint the whole planet with her newly designed logo… hum… So many good ideas to choose from…

Well, to start off – take the first baby step – she needed to wipe out the human race. Okay, she thought to herself, taking a deep, deep breath. Let’s focus on that.

Ginny left her flat to knock on her neighbour’s door. That neighbour was a fifty-year-old man who lived alone with his dead mother. His place stank of air fresheners.

‘Hello, kid,’ he mumbled. ‘What d’you wants?’

‘Do you have some celery I could borrow?’ Ginny asked in an innocent voice. ‘For a recipe. I ran sho—’

‘How much?’ asked the man. His name was Wilbur, if Ginny remembered correctly.

‘Just… give me the bag and I’ll give it back to you with the remaining sticks, man,’ said Ginny in a polite voice, even though there was a slight hint of annoyance into it. Fortunately, this man lived with his dead mother, for fuck’s sake (thought Ginny), so his skills of reading people were a bit… well, dead. He was very good at reading his mum’s expression, though, and frequently painted her on big canvases.

‘All right,’ he said. ‘Just don’t play around with ‘em. Now: Do you want apium graveolens dulce, also known as “stalk celery”, usually grown in North America and Europe for its delicious petioles; apium graveolens rapaceum, also known as “celery root” or “knob celery”, grown in Europe for its large roots, or apium graveolens secalinum, also known as “leaf celery”, grown in Asia and Mediterranean regions for its leaves and seeds?’

Ginny’s mouth fell open.

‘My mother is a celery engineer,’ explained Wilbur.

‘Yeah? What’s that?’ asked Ginny before she could stop herself.

‘She grows celery. I mean, I plant the seeds in her, then she makes ‘em grow. Anyway. Which do you want?’

‘Er… the knob one,’ said Ginny.

‘All right.’

When he came back two minutes later, a time during which a very bored Ginny looked at the wall, scratched her cheek, and told herself that as it apparently involved waiting around, killing people might not be so much fun after all, she thanked him for his celery and went back to her own flat. There, she hastily took out two celery sticks and put them in her fridge. It needed to look, she told herself, as though she really did need celery.

Then she took all of the remaining celery sticks – knob celery sticks – and turned her fist so the leaves of the celery were nearest the floor. Ginny then seized the flask from the little paper bag on her table, unfastened it and dripped a bit of the colourless liquid in every celery. After waiting a couple of seconds for the liquid to ‘do its thing’, as had explained Mundungus, she put the celery back in their plastic bag and knocked on Wilbur’s door once again.

‘Hello, kid,’ he mumbled. ‘What d’you wants?’

‘Er… I’m handing you back the celery you lent me.’

‘Oh, right. The mama’s gonna be happy, she was just telling me how she missed ‘em, she was.’

And he closed the door. And that was it. The man was going to die.

Ginny smiled and started singing once again.

‘I’m having my revenge,
‘It won’t take anything,
‘I will have my time and I will conquer…
‘Celery sticks…
‘Celery STICKS!’

Ba-da-da, bum!

*
Several days passed. Sirius and Remus were to take care of Teddy for the night; he was in his cot, sleeping sweetly. Today was the day, Remus knew, that Ginny would start her first course at the Ministry. He forgot which ones she had taken, precisely, but remembered having thought they were rather odd choices.

And now, Sirius had cranked up the old music player, and was playing a ‘70’s song, to which Remus had not listened since Sirius’s death. Sirius liked to magically enhance the player so the bass played very loudly; all you could now hear was a BOOM-silence-BOOM-silence-BOOM-silence, so strongly that Remus hair twitched with every BOOM.

And now, in harmony with the music…

‘Padfoot—’

‘Moony—’

‘Padfoot—’

‘Moony—’

‘PADFOOT—’

‘MOONY—’

‘PADFOOT—’

‘MOONY—’

‘PADFOOT—’

‘MOONY—’

‘No, no, Pads! Stop!’

Sirius got out of Remus’s arse; Remus grabbed his wand and stopped the music.

‘What?’ Sirius said, panting.

‘We… We need to… to talk, Sirius.’

Remus didn’t know how his lover had managed to get him in the bed once again, but it certainly had felt like rape – once again. But, this time… now that the music was playing, the same music that had played the night of their first date, twenty years back… and he couldn’t even see Sirius anymore; he was behind him… it was fine again. Just like the good old days.

‘What? What’s wrong? Moony, isn’t everything just lovely and perfect?’

‘Yeah… It’s just that…’

And in the past days, Sirius had taken many showers, combed his hair… It… It actually wasn’t that bad, he told himself. He had eaten a lot, too, which was good.

‘Teddy’s… Teddy’s in the house, that’s all. I’d rather not have him be awakened by the music or, er, hear us.’

Which wasn’t a lie; Remus had, just now, decided that he didn’t care anymore if Sirius were ugly. He was beautiful nonetheless. Remus put his face in his undead lover’s neck.

At least he hadn’t stopped sex because Sirius was ugly. That would really have been bad.

‘I’m… sorry.’

‘That’s fine,’ said Sirius, quite mechanical and, suddenly, stiff.

‘Okay,’ Remus said, even though he was well aware that Sirius was still annoyed because of the whole Teddy business. ‘I… I love you.’

After a little while spent huddled together in the wet blankets, they both fell asleep.

*
‘And what has Shacklebolt done that would displease you, one may ask?’ asked one, who was in fact called ‘Umbridge’.

Beckett observed her for a moment. She looked absolutely mad, imprisoned here and awaiting power for too long. This did not suit her. She would make, as soon as mentally stable once again, the perfect Minister for Magic.

‘One may get answered that I am afraid he learns about werewolves, and such creatures, with the openness with which Shacklebolt deals with them. So few restrictions are only calling for unrestricted full-lunar behaviour.’

‘“He”, you say?’

‘Yes, “he”. Sparrow.’ He took out a prepared teacup and sipped it. ‘No reason for him not to use the wolves against the East India Trading Company, with which said wolves are not very content. And, of course, you may leave whenever you please. À la Sirius Black, you will mysteriously come back in the free world.’ Beckett smiled softly over his vaporous cup. Umbridge got up from the dirty floor and swept her tainted peach robes, which fluffed around like a big ball of cotton candy.

‘Thank you, Lord,’ she said, without a smile, to then leave Beckett alone inside the cell.

Little did she know, this was the exact one that had been occupied for twelve years by a dog. She would now, he was most certain of it, have a very irritating flee problem.





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