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Harry Potter Alternate Universe >> Harry Potter and the Ginny-Splitter by Oddish

Simple Text - To view MORE chapters use the chapter jump box to the right.
WARNING: This man who wrote this story is emotionally unstble and has an extremely twisted sense of humor. Of curse, if you've read the previous four installments, you already know that. But he outdoes himself in this one. It doesn't reach the R-threshold (in eleven years of writing fanfiction, Oddish has never posted an R- or X-rated story), but it comes darn close.

Ch. 1 - Ginny Messes Up Big Time

Even though the calenders on every wall stated that the vernal equinox was drawing near, Old Man Winter still held Hogwarts School and the surrounding land in his frigid and merciless grip. Bare trees clawed at the wind-swirled storm clouds in a dreary, pewter-colored sky. The mercury sat squeezed into the base of the thermometer and refused to budge. And snow, hail, and frost had continued their unrelenting assault until the ground was encased beneath a meter-thick crust of grimy ice. It sometimes seemed as though the very concept of spring had been crushed and buried beneath that endless frozen winter wasteland; and that eventually the cold and dark would spread to the sun itself, freezing it solid and plunging even the most verdant and tropical lands into endless winter night.

With the obligatory descriptive writing completed, we now turn our attentions to Miss Ginevra Weasley. Despite the atrocious cold, the Gryffindor Quidditch team had not cancelled practice, and she was now stalking the team captain. For those of you who are reading this dubious effort without at least skimming the previous installments, the bad-fanfictionesque Evil Green Tummy Monster sequence was somehow averted. Ginny’s feelings for Harry remained as intense as ever, but Harry wanted to keep as much distance between them as possible. A quarter-million miles would have been about right, but there were three issues with that. First, he had no idea of how to go about sending Ginny to the moon; second, he did not know how to stop her from returning; and third, he didn’t even want to contemplate what she would do to him once she did.

Ginny had worn her hooded arctic camo robes for this occasion, making her nearly invisible in the dreary night. Harry’s scarlet robes, by comparison, made tracking him almost laughably easy. She could feel it: tonight would be the night. After a good session of full-frontal snogging, Harry would finally realize that she and he were destined to be together until the end of time.

Harry was so occupied with carrying the box with the beater bats and the four balls to the broom shed, where it was stored when not in use, that he had no clue that anyone was behind him. Ginny swept along fifteen yards back of him, silent as a shadow. He vanished into the gloomy but reasonably warm room, and Ginny moved after him. A blur of movement in the dark, and she pounced on it, saw a blur of pale skin and black hair and dragged their owner to the ground and began furiously sucking face with him. It occured to her at some point that Harry had more hair than she thought, and it was greasier than she remembered from their last snog session, and he had misplaced his glasses as well.

“Lumos,” said a familiar voice from some distance away, and Ginny realized it was Harry. But that was impossible, because she was snogging Harry, and Harry could not snog and talk at the same time. But that meant… she realized that she had not bothered to ensure that the room was untenanted before she and Harry entered it. She quickly broke off the kiss, and stared into the wrathful face of… “Professor Snape! I… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… I thought you were…”

If looks could have killed, the Potions Master’s glare would have sizzled her up like a sausage, as Roald Dahl would have put it. “Headmaster’s office, Miss Weasley,” he said. “NOW!!!!!!!”


Ginny stood in nervous silence as Professor Dumbledore sat at his desk and pored through a very thick folder marked Discipline Reports - Ginerva M. Weasley, and read out loud some of the more lurid highlights.

“September 2, warned for stalking Harry Potter. For the sixteenth time, I might add. September 7, given a detention for sexually harassing Harry Potter. Then, on September 9, you assaulted Harry Potter while on said detention.”

“He looked gloomy,” Ginny said with a shrug. “I just thought a good snog session would cheer him up.”

“On September 10, Harry Potter filed an injunction with the Wizengamot to have a restraining order spell placed upon you,” Dumbledore said. Such a spell, had it been placed, would have caused Ginny violent nausea whenever she came within twenty feet of Harry. “He was turned down, because Minister Fudge was still sore at him for being acquitted, the previous year.”

“So he likes to play hard-to-get,” Ginny said with a shrug.

“Much of the same for over five years, Miss Weasley. Harassing Harry. Kissing Harry without permission. Sending Harry obscene love notes. Pinching Harry’s buttocks. Breaking into Harry’s trunk and stealing his knickers. Sending Harry to the hospital wing with butt-bogeys because he flat out told you that he wasn’t interested. Attempting to hire Colin Creevey to take nude pictures of Harry. Sending Colin to the hospital wing with butt-bogeys for reporting you to your head of house for the same.” He peered over his half-moon glasses. “Sending your head of house to the hospital wing with the aforementioned butt-bogeys for telling you to lay off Harry.”

Snape, also present, took the folder and selected one of the write-ups. “Here, Headmaster. This one’s my personal favorite.”

“Oh, yes,” Dumbledore said. “Breaking into the prefect’s bathroom, hiding in the bathtub, and jumping on Mr. Potter when he climbed into the water.”

“After stealing some of my gillyweed,” Snape reminded him.

“It was so not fair for Harry to jump out of the water and run screaming out of the bathroom the way he did,” Ginny groused.

“Leaving his clothing behind,” Dumbledore said caustically.

“I mean, he knew that I couldn’t breathe air until the gillyweed wore off, so I couldn’t follow him,” Ginny said.

“And the firstie that Harry plowed into in the hallway outside, and then mugged for her school robe, happens to be the granddaughter of Minister Fudge,” Dumbledore said. “And he sent me that in response.” He pointed to a charred spot on his desk, the ignition point of an expended Howler. “What do you have to say for yourself, Miss Weasley?”

“I know it seems bad right now,” Ginny said. “But trust me, some day he will realize that we’re perfect for each other. That studly Boy Who Lived is destined to be mine.”

Dumbledore sighed angrily. “Miss Weasley, I have tried lectures, detentions, massive point subtractions from Gryffindor, and letters to your mother. Nothing has worked. And if it weren’t for that compromoising photograph that your father has, I would expel you in a heartbeat.” We will not reveal the exact nature of the photo, other than that it contained Albus Dumbledore, Pius Thicknesse, and no clothing other than two pairs of fuzzy pink bunny slippers.

“You could drop that silly rule against transfiguration as punishment,” Snape said in a helpful tone of voice.

“Forget it, Severus,” Dumbledore said firmly. “I’m not going to give you carte blanche to turn Harry into an iguana whenever you feel like it. His mental state is delicate enough as it is.”

“Awwww,” Snape said. “Well, why not break out the Hogwarts Magical Buns-Whacking Cane?”

“I tried that, too,” Dumbledore said. “But it didn’t work. Miss Weasley actually liked it.”

Sure enough, Ginny proceeded to drape herself over the headmaster’s desk and wiggle her fanny invitingly. “Ooooh, Daddy, I’ve been soooo naughty,” she purred. “I need to be… ssspanked.”

“See what I mean?” Dumbledore queried.

Snape didn’t reply. When your jaw drops so far that it's bouncing off your shinbones, coherent speech is generally out of the question.

Dumbledore continued: “Anyway, I have something far more drastic in mind.”

Snape went pale. “Not… not that.”

“Yes. That,” Dumbledore said, then lowered his voice so Ginny could not hear. “And if you ever tell anyone about this, I’ll tell everyone at the school that you were still wetting the bed when you started at Hogwarts.”

Snape gasped. “I was not!”

Dumbledore snorted derisively. “I know you weren’t. But who’s everyone going to believe, you or me?”

Snape glared at him. “You know, I suddenly don’t feel so bad about killing you later on.”

“But that’s not going to happen until Oddish thinks it’s funny,” Dumbledore reminded him. “And since there’s nothing funny about death unless it’s Voldemort passing on on a new gruesome manner, I’m most likely going to be around for a very long time. So remember, mum’s the word.”

“Yes, sir. Mum’s the word.” Shuddering, Snape left the room.

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