A/N: hi, everyone. After much internal debate, I decided to write more of my What NOT To Say To Harry Potter. It's written in a different style, but hopefully you enjoy it as much as you have my other stories. Of Love and Nargles is on a bit of a hold for now, as I'm starting college and won't have very much time on my hands. I just couldn't resist posting Look - A - Like, though. All together it will be probably about 3 chapters long - a short story.
Everyone knows how the story goes.
The Potters were just a normal wizarding family. Really, they were - but one day (well, night really, but the details don't matter too much) a dark, evil wizard came to their little cottage in Godric's Hollow. No one knows why, but the wizard - You-Know-Who... Or do you? - killed James and Lily Potter. He was going to kill their son, Harry, too.
But something strange happened... No one really knows exactly what; we can only speculate. There's one thing everyone knows for sure, though: somehow, little Harry Potter didn't die that night.
He lived, surviving the killing curse that officials say was cast on him. Then You-Know-Who vanished - just like that, leaving Harry Potter alone with no parents, no home, and a lightning bolt scar smack dab in the middle of his forehead (his very attractive forehead).
Harry Potter became famous. And you know what they do to famous people, don't you? Well, they make look-a-like dolls!
Now, being a small witch of three - a small witch who was obsessed with the story of Harry Potter - I had one of the horrid things.
I still do, actually. I've kept it those long nine years. Granted, it just sits in the back of my closet, doing nothing, looking nothing like the real Harry Potter, but I still have it. Why would I get rid of it anyway - it's a collectors edition!
The morning I went down my stairs to see Harry Potter eating my breakfast, I charged back up to my room scared silly. Do you know what I did once up safely hidden in my room?
Well, I took out my Harry Potter doll and compared faces. I've surmised that the real Harry Potter is much more handsome, but then real people usually look better than pig-nosed, squinty eyed dolls, don't they? (Well... Most people, that is. Ron could give the doll a run for it's galleons... If the doll had any money... Ergh, you know what I mean!)
Well, I chucked the thing lovingly back into my closet, but not before Fred and Georgep barged in to my room. "Oh, dear sister! We couldn't help but notice how taken you seem with -"
"Our dear... Harry?" George finished with a weird look, staring at the blonde, pudgy doll with the crude lighting bolt etched onto the forehead.
"Fred, boy-oh, do my eyes deceive me?"
"I think not, brother dearest." Fred answered with wide eyes.
"Ginny, you still have that thing?" George asked with an amused grin.
"It's magnificent! Looks just like him!" Fred crowed dramatically, swaying like the bloody idiot that he is.
"I - well, I was just-"
"Just what, my dear midget?" George asked, putting a hand on my shoulder and looking at me mock-encouragingly. "Don't be shy, there's no Harry here to make you go all scarlet and batty."
"Aw, bugger it all!" I said exasperatedly, my face heating up. "You better not tell him!"
"Why wouldn't we?" challenged Fred, squinting oddly, obviously trying to look menacing. He just looked a bit constipated, to be honest. "You're our eleven year old kid sister, why would we not exploit your embarrassing fetishes and obsessions?"
"You know what happened last time," I warned them, my face getting even warmer - this time in anger..
Fred and George paled, looking at me like I had grown two heads. "You wouldn't!" George said scandalized.
"I would!" I argued, holding my head up high. "So you better leave me alone, or you'll be sorry!"
They traded weary glances. "Come on, Gred," George eventually said. "We don't need this confrontational confrontation."
"I agree, Feorge. This confrontation has gotten way too confrontational." Fred said, backing away slowly, George following his lead. They never once turned their backs to me, their eyes stayed forward at all times.
I kept my eyes focused on them, suspicious, but keeping my face neutral. "That's right," I said. I couldn't help but be a bit smug. "Just walk away."
I win. I always do - I'm the blackmail master.