“Draaaco,” Pansy purred, sprawling across the green satin bedspread. She wasn't terribly practiced at this purring and sprawling business, but women in those horrible glossy magazines Millicent Bulstrode kept in her chest all posed like this, seductive and feral with eyes like leopards in heat. Pansy, in a lacy negligee purchased from a tawdry little shop near Knockturn Alley, was doing her best to look equally fierce and seductive, but crouched on all fours and trying not to slip off the bed, she felt less like a feral leopard than a frog sitting on a lily pad.
“Pansy, can't you see I'm busy?” Draco was fiddling with an intricate clockwork mechanism on his desk.
“But Draco,” Pansy said, breathing heavily, “you've been playing with that... thing all afternoon and you haven't paid any attention to me!”
Draco glanced at her and cast his eyes up to the heavens. “Oh for Merlin's sake, you know what will happen if I don't duplicate this key before Potter and his friends find the third one.”
“They still won't have your key, and you still won't have theirs.”
“But then they'll have two and I'll only have one, and if they can get mine...” Draco squinted again at the mechanism. It was an elaborate bit of machinery that could duplicate any lock in the world, and if Draco could make a key that would open the lock to which it was now set, that same key would open the real lock, the third lock on Helga Hufflepuff's Three Lock Box.
Pansy collapsed onto the bed with a 'whuff' of frustration and sprawled in earnest, arms akimbo and face pressed into the sheets. Stewing with resentment and rejection, she wrinkled her nose and tugged at the uncomfortable bustier.
Really, she thought, who sleeps under green bed covers?
“You know,” she said, her voice muffled by the green satin pressed against her face, “you could just steal Potter's key and then you'd have all three if you can duplicate the third.”
“Just steal Potter's key,” Draco mumbled, as he poked at the mechanism with tiny bronze and silver pins. “Yes, let's just walk up to him and ask him for it, shall we? It's not as if my aunt Bellatrix would have ever thought of simply taking it from him if it were that simple.”
“I didn't say take it by force, I said steal it. Stealthily.”
“If you have any ideas on how to do that, I'm all ears.” Draco was barely paying her any attention at all now.
“Maybe,” Pansy said slowly, still staring at the green satin, “I could seduce him.”
She said it in a sardonic manner, not really expecting Draco to take it seriously. But his sudden, sharp burst of laughter was like a slap in the face. She lifted her head from the bedsheets to stare at him. He actually tossed his head back and laughed some more, laying the bronze and silver pins on the desk in front of him.
“Oh, that's brilliant, Pansy,” he said. “You, seduce Harry Potter? Yes, that's a fantastic idea! Why ever didn't I think of that?”
He chuckled and picked up the pins again to resume his work, completely oblivious to the way Pansy's jaw had dropped and the heat was rising from her flushed cheeks.
It wasn't the way he dismissed the idea out of hand – it had been a flippant suggestion to begin with. It wasn't even the laughter, really. It was that little sneer of emphasis when he said, “You, seduce Harry Potter?” Not as if Harry Potter was unseduceable, but as if Pansy Parkinson couldn't possibly seduce him.
She lowered her head slowly back to the bed, summoning anger to banish the tears threatening to fill her eyes. Yes, it was true that Harry Potter and his friends hated her as much as she hated them, and she harbored no illusions that she was a great beauty, but she thought she did fill out this ridiculous lingerie rather nicely, at least, and Potter was a boy. Presumably, as horny as any other teenage boy. And he was a Gryffindor, and he hung out with Weasleys, and he had a thing for the Weaselette. How hard could it be to seduce someone that dumb?
She rolled her eyes upwards to regard Draco sitting at his desk fiddling with that infernal device. Some boys, she thought, were dumber than others.
~~~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~~~
Hermione was nose-deep in books about Helga Hufflepuff and the early history of Hogwarts. Ron and Harry had made token efforts to assist her research, but now they were kiting folded bits of parchment at each other across the table. Hermione blew air out of her nostrils while she read, each time becoming a little louder, until she was beginning to sound like an asthmatic. Finally she slammed her book shut and glared at the two boys, who stopped their game and assumed the penitent expression of first-years caught trying to stuff Bowtruckles into a professor's boots.
“You do realize what will happen if Malfoy gets the third key before we do?” she said, in the tone of someone who intended to spell out the dire consequences regardless of whether or not her audience already understood them.
“Umm, it will be bad?” Ron offered.
Hermione gave him a withering look.
Harry cleared his throat. “Actually, Hermione, we don't know what's in Helga Hufflepuff's Three Lock Box, do we?”
“No,” Hermione said, “but we know that Malfoy wants it, which means we don't want him to have it.”
“He can't get at it while it's in the British Museum anyway,” said Harry. “The Order is watching the museum night and day.”
“But we have to get the third key before Malfoy does! Once he has it –”
“He still won't have our key, and we still won't have his,” Ron said. “Having two keys doesn't matter much as long as neither of us can get the third. So shouldn't we be trying to figure out how to get the third key from Malfoy?”
“The second key,” Hermione said. “Malfoy has the second key.”
Ron's mouth hung open for a second before he spoke, giving him an unfortunate momentary resemblance to a baffled fish. “How do you know he has the second key and not the third? It's not like they're numbered.”
“Malfoy has the second key,” Hermione said stubbornly. “You can't say it's the third key when we only know of two right now.”
“Second key, third key, bloody hell, we don't have it!” Ron said. “So instead of trying to decipher clues about where Helga Hufflepuff left the last key, maybe we should concentrate on the one we do know about.”
Hermione folded her arms. “And just how do you suggest we get Draco's key? Mug him?”
“That works for me,” Ron said.
“We can't just mug him here at Hogwarts,” Harry said, before Hermione could object. “And outside of Hogwarts, he's got protection just like we do. What we need to do is get into his room.”
“Or just pick his pockets,” Ron said. “He probably carries the key around with him. I mean, he'd have to be an idiot to leave it in his room when he's not there.”
Hermione and Ron both looked at Harry, as if for confirmation.
Harry took off his glasses slowly and polished them. When he put them back on, they were still looking at him. “What?”
“Harry, where's the key?” Hermione asked.
“Locked up. Completely safe. I even put a Thief's Curse on it,” Harry said.
Hermione's eyebrows went up, impressed. “You've learned to cast a Thief's Curse?”
“No.” Harry's shoulders slumped. “But it is locked up.”
“Harry!” Ron and Hermione both shouted. This earned them a savage hissing from Ms. Pince, who would have kicked them out of the library if they hadn't already been on their feet to rush back to Gryffindor Tower.
Harry retrieved the key from the footlocker in his room and emerged with Ron back into the common room, where Hermione was waiting, tapping her foot angrily.
“See?” Harry held up the large golden key.
Hermione snatched it from him. “Maybe I'd better hold onto this.”
Harry snatched it back, then said, a bit sheepishly, “Look, I've been thinking –”
“Not so you could tell,” Hermione said.
Harry ignored that. “I think the idea we had before is a good one. Get close enough to Draco to steal the key from him.”
Hermione did not look impressed.
Ron scratched his head. “How are your pickpocketing skills, Harry? Can't say I've ever done it myself.” Neither of them even looked at Hermione. “And I don't think we'll get away with sidling up to him and saying 'Accio key'.”
“No, no, I had another idea.” Harry held up his hands, as Hermione was already preparing her next retort. “Hold on, this is really brilliant: Pansy Parkinson!”
Ron and Hermione both stared at him wordlessly.
“Pansy could get the key from Draco,” Harry said. “She could even go into his room, I'll bet.”
“Probably does,” Ron said with a snicker.
Hermione jabbed him with an elbow. “So we'll just ask Pansy to steal the key for us? You're right, Harry, that really is brilliant!”
Undeterred by her sarcasm, Harry said, “Not Pansy herself, Hermione...”
Hermione's eyes widened as her mind caught up to Harry's and then skipped several steps ahead. “Oh no. Not a chance. Forget about it, Harry! There is no way you are going to get me to drink Polyjuice Potion again, especially not to disguise myself as Pansy Parkinson!”
“Pansy's not as hideous as Millicent Bulstrode,” Ron said.
Hermione hissed and raised her fist as if to punch Ron in the arm. He flinched, but she dropped her fist to her side and glared at both of them.
“I was a cat!” she cried.
“Well, really more of a cat-girl,” Ron said, then “Ow!” as Hermione punched his arm.
“No,” she said. “Absolutely not.”
“Come on, Hermione, we have to get the key,” Harry said. “And it beats mugging Draco. And anyway, Pansy's not so bad-looking. I mean, not that she's as good-looking as you... What?” Hermione and Ron were both staring at him again.
“Fine,” Hermione said, “I'll make the Polyjuice Potion.”
“Brilliant!” Harry said, beaming.
“But you have to get some of Pansy's hair,” she said.
Harry frowned.
Hermione folded her arms. “You can't expect me to do everything.”
“But – all right, fine. I can, I don't know, bump into her or something,” Harry said.
“Bump into her and pull out some of her hair?” Ron grimaced. “I think we might need to work on that plan a little.”
“Yes, you might.” Hermione looked amused. “Also, one of you has to drink the potion.”
The boys both turned to Hermione, mouths hanging open.
“What?” Harry exclaimed.
“Hermione!” Ron protested.
Hermione smirked. “If you think I'm going to trust any hair samples you two collected...”
“You're the one who collected cat hair from Millicent's robe,” Harry said.
Her eyes narrowed. “Yes, well.” She sniffed. “I'll make the potion, but I'm not drinking it. That's final.”
“But, but,” Ron sputtered.
Harry spread his arms. “You can't expect one of us to –”
“Turn into a girl?” Hermione said. “Why not? I turned into a cat.”
“But,” Ron continued.
“It's not natural!” said Harry.
Hermione's eyes narrowed even more. “Neither is turning into a cat.”
Ron and Harry looked at each other.
“Flip a coin?” Harry suggested.
“Your idea,” Ron said.
“So what, that doesn't mean –”
Hermione scoffed. “I doubt you can even get a strand of her hair.”
“I can absolutely get a strand of her hair,” Harry said.
“'Bump into her or something,'” Hermione said dryly. “Good luck with that.”
~~~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~~~
Pansy walked down the corridor wearing clingy robes that flashed a bit of ankle and a bit of cleavage. Only a bit, because the professors could be awfully stodgy about such things, but when she added a hip-swaying saunter to her stride, boys eyed her and nudged each other.
So she wasn't a great beauty and the boys weren't all panting after her like Lavender Brown or Cho effing Chang. She could still turn heads when she had a mind to. She was dealing with boys, after all.
Pansy only had two classes with Harry, and Draco was also in Potions. Pansy wasn't about to try to seduce Harry Potter with Draco watching. Not that the prat would even bother to get jealous. No, he'd just smirk and snicker and make snide comments and ruin the whole thing, then tease her endlessly that evening.
Also, flirting with anyone around Snape was like trying to eat around a moulting Fester-Pigeon.
That left Care of Magical Creatures. Draco mocked her for taking that class, too. It was true that she didn't learn much from that half-breed cretin who called himself a teacher, and she thought 'Professor' Hagrid's fascination with anything that was slimy, scaly, or acid-spewing bordered on a fetish, but his class was the only way she ever got to see unicorns and winged horses.
It was also the only way she got to see Harry Potter without his friends or hers around.
Care of Magical Creatures class was a less than ideal environment to put operation 'Seduce Harry Potter' (she wasn't terribly imaginative at coming up with code names) into action, but for the past week they'd been doing nothing but watch a Mooncalf burrow Hagrid had discovered near the lake, and listen to him babble on about how much he was looking forward to seeing it dance under the next full moon. With no actual creatures to handle, Pansy thought she could dress a little more filly than she usually did.
She was quite dismayed to arrive outside the stables and find that the clean, flat ground that yesterday had been nothing more than a bare field of dirt had been transformed into a great swampy pit. It was an ocean of mud, and Hagrid was standing in it almost up to his waist.
Pansy thought, He would look happy as a pig in – and then she noticed the thing next to him.
“What. Is. That?” she asked in horror. The students who had arrived before her were already standing well back from the mud hole. More students came trudging down from the castle to stop and stare, including Harry Potter.
Sharing the mud hole with Hagrid was an enormous beast that looked like a long-necked cow except for the scales on its back. Its neck stretched nearly the length of its body and supported a head that seemed too large to be supported by it. Indeed, its enormous head drooped so that its nose was actually in the mud. The neck moved slowly and the head followed, making happy, disgusting bubbling sounds as it blew air out of its nostrils, splattering thick wet goo as it snuffled its way along the edge of the pit.
“This is Bessie,” said Hagrid, patting the creature on its flank. “She's a catoplebas.” He sounded as pleased as if he'd discovered the Lost Tomb of Merlin.
“What's a... catoplebas, Professor?” asked Harry.
Pansy started to roll her eyes, then remembered she was trying to seduce him. Next to a mud hole. Right.
“Very rare creature,” Hagrid said. “Endangered, thanks to drought conditions in Ethiopia, and, er, the fact that Muggles are awful busy killing there. You all are lucky to see a living beast. A friend of mine who travels in East Africa told me about poor Bessie's plight...”
Hagrid rambled on. Pansy noticed that Potter was looking at her. She smiled. That's right. Who would you rather look at, me or a mutant cow?
Harry sidled up to her, ever so casually, and said, “Don't see something this ugly very often.”
Pansy's eyes narrowed. “What's that supposed to mean?”
Harry blinked.
Pansy cursed herself. “I mean – oh, yes, you're right.” Seduction was harder than she thought.
Harry stepped closer. “I... think you have something on your robes.” He reached a hand towards her.
“What?” She backed away from him, looking at her robes. “I don't have anything on my robes, Potter.”
He paused, and she saw his gaze suddenly drawn downward to linger on the plump white swell of her breasts revealed by the loose collar of her robes. She smiled again and raised a hand to primp her hair a little. “What are you looking at, Potter?”
He reached for her again. “Umm, your shoulder...”
“My shoulder? What's on my shoulder, Potter?” she snapped. She shrugged his hand away, took a step back, and slipped on the muddy slope. She fell right on her ass and tumbled into the mud, making a splash in the brown muck with an embarrassing 'Plop!'
“Ewwww!” exclaimed the other students in a chorus as they all backed away together. Pansy sat up, blinking, in shock. Mud dripped from her hair. Mud covered her face. Mud plastered her clingy robes to her body, making her look like a wet, brown...
“Catapul – pleb – cattle – cow!” Harry sputtered.
Pansy turned red. “What?!” Her hand fumbled for her wand. She didn't care what happened to her, she didn't care if she lost her Prefect's Badge. First Potter pushed her into the mud and now he was calling her a –
“Miss Parkinson!” Hagrid bellowed. “Don't move!”
“Oh, naturally, you'll let Potter assault me!” Pansy shouted, brandishing her wand. “But now you're worried that I'll – ”
Hagrid was grunting and there was a great splash that rained more mud down on her. Pansy winced, turned her head to see what was going on, and realized with dismay that the catoplebas's head was swinging in her direction. Hagrid had grabbed its neck and was trying to pull it back towards the middle of the mud hole, but it seemed intent on investigating the intruder. The great nostrils of the beast blew disgusting bubbles that sprayed sticky droplets of mud at her, and its tiny, piggish eyes, not like a cow's at all, seemed to burn with malevolence as they fixed on her. Pansy became aware that the creature stank. It really, really stank, with a foulness like nothing she had ever smelled before.
“Miss Parkinson,” Hagrid panted, still wrestling with the catoplebas, “you've got ter get out of there!”
“You told me not to move!” she exclaimed, and choked on the stench. She thought she could actually see grass withering at the near edge of pit.
“Bessie's breath is poisonous,” the huge teacher said. He was beginning to look a little green himself, despite his distance from the catoplebas's head and his prodigious height. “If a catoplebas breathes on yer, yeh're done fer!”
Horror and nausea both threatened to overwhelm her. Pansy tried to rise to her feet, but the sucking mud was unwilling to let her go. The catoplebas made a long, drawn-out snorting sound and its shoulders swelled just behind where Hagrid's arms were wrapped around its neck, as if it were drawing in an enormous breath.
“Run!” Hagrid bellowed. “Run fer yer lives!”
The students safely on dry ground all screamed and ran. Pansy wailed in terror. A pair of hands grabbed her under her armpits and hauled her out of the mud. She kicked and screamed, which did very little to speed her evacuation from the mud hole, but made it much more difficult for Harry to hold onto her. “Stop struggling!” he gulped, trying to hold his breath while he pulled her free.
“My shoes!” Pansy cried, seeing her twenty-Galleon genuine imitation Naga-hide slippers floating on the surface of the mud.
“Forget about your shoes!” Harry snapped. He dragged her up the hill just as Bessie let out a breath that turned the air visibly brown. Even the mud seemed to recoil, and grass died in a circle where Harry and Pansy had just been standing. Hagrid had released the beast and was already staggering away from it in the opposite direction, with his giant hands clasped over his mouth and nose. Pansy finally got her feet under her. Harry tried to help her up, and his hands slipped on her slick, muddy arm. He dropped her, and she fell on her butt.
“Look what you've done to me!” she wailed. The tears running down her face didn't make any tracks at all, so thick was the mud plastered all over her. Harry stood there, nonplussed, and when he reached for her again, she began flailing at him, her hands slapping ineffectually against him until he stepped back out of reach. He looked uncomfortable and clueless and idiotic. Pansy staggered to her feet, caked with filth. She stumbled back to the castle, crying miserably.
~~~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~~~
“And after all that, you didn't even get a strand of hair?” Hermione asked.
Harry was wearing clean robes – he'd burned the old ones – after spending a very long time in a very hot shower in Gryffindor Tower. He sank deeper into the seat and wrinkled his nose. He could still smell the stench of toxic mud, and he noticed that Ron and Hermione were both sitting on a couch across from him, as far away as they could reasonably sit while carrying on a conversation.
“It didn't seem like the right time to grab for her hair,” Harry said.
“Seems like the perfect time,” Ron said. “If she was already mad as hell and hysterical, pulling her hair couldn't have made it much worse.”
Hermione gave Ron an appalled look that couldn't quite conceal her underlying amusement. “I don't have any words for how abominable you can be sometimes.”
“Funny, usually you manage to come up with a lot of words,” Ron grumbled.
Hermione shook her head. “You know, Harry did save Pansy's life. Honestly, what could Hagrid have been thinking? Catoplebases are very dangerous! They're classified as XXXX by the Ministry of Magic.”
“This is Hagrid we're talking about,” Ron said.
Hermione propped a book up on her knee. “One of these days, one of his beasts really is going to kill someone. I hope Pansy's family doesn't make too big a stink...”
Ron sniggered. “Couldn't possibly make a bigger stink than Pansy.”
Hermione paused, mouth open in disbelief, then continued speaking as if the interruption hadn't happened. “You remember how he almost lost his job a few years ago over Buckbeak.”
“Yeah, but that was because of Draco's martyr act,” Ron said.
“I don't think Pansy will cause trouble for Hagrid,” Harry said, looking glumly at his shoes, which still looked pretty filthy even after he'd used scrub brushes and Scouring Charms on them. “She was pretty upset, though.” He saw how Hermione and Ron were staring at him. “What?”
Ron cleared his throat. “Anyway... now that your brilliant plan is a wash, what next?”
“Wait a minute,” Harry protested, “why are we giving up already?”
“Do you really think Pansy's going to let you get anywhere near her now?” Ron asked.
Harry frowned at him. Hermione curled a hand in front of her mouth and tried to look absorbed in her book.
“Fine. You two keep trying to figure out where the third key is. I'm going to go for a walk.” Harry got up from his chair.
“Might want to take another shower or two before dinner,” Ron suggested. When Harry glared at him, he shrugged. “I'm just saying.”
Harry stalked out of the Common Room and headed for the Hospital Tower. He was annoyed and bothered. He hadn't shoved Pansy! And she could have been a little bit grateful. For some reason, that glimpse of soft white bosom, just before she'd slipped and fallen into the mud, kept floating before his eyes like twin slices of the moon, a more persistent and compelling image than Cho's smile and long black hair or even Ginny's lips.
Well, he thought, it certainly wasn't because he had a thing for Parkinson. So she had nice boobs. He was a guy, he noticed things like that. Ron was such a hypocrite. As if he hadn't joined in with Dean and Seamus talking about which girls had the best racks, and they all admitted Pansy was at least a 9 in the rack department.
(“Too bad about her face,” Dean had added. And then Seamus had mentioned Ginny and the impromptu judging panel had been disbanded by an impromptu fistfight.)
Harry's not-so-aimless stroll brought him to the Prefect's Bathroom. If the bath in there, with all the taps gushing magical soapy water, multicolored bubbles, and otherworldly fragrances, couldn't clean the stink off of him, he might as well just resign himself to scrubbing away a layer of skin in the shower back in Gryffindor Tower. He gave Boris the Bewildered the password and passed by the portrait into the bathroom. He entered the bath area, and came to an abrupt halt.
Pansy, lying in the tub surrounded by bubbles, with her head lolling back against the tiles at the edge, sat up abruptly, crossed her arms over her chest, and screamed.
“Sorry!” Harry said, holding out his hands.
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?” she shouted.
“I didn't know –”
“Didn't Boris tell you the bathroom was occupied?” she demanded. “He's an idiot but that's his one job! How hard can it be?”
“I, er, I didn't ask.” The flush that had already risen to Harry's cheeks deepened.
Pansy glowed red with indignation and embarrassment. “You're supposed to ask if anyone is using the bathroom before you enter, or don't they give Quidditch team captains that speech? You are such an incredible prat, Potter! First you push me into the mud –”
“I didn't push you!”
“ – then you and that imbecile almost got me killed – ”
“I did not! And Hagrid's not an imbecile.”
“And now you come to harass me while I'm trying to have a nice, luxurious soak –”
“I'm not harassing you!”
“ – in the Prefect's Bathroom! I earned the right to be here, Potter. I'm a bloody Prefect! You're just a-a –”
“Quidditch team captain,” Harry said. “I earned that.”
“GET OUT!” Pansy screamed.
Harry had already retreated when Pansy realized that he probably had the key to the Three Lock Box with him – on his person – and he'd been coming here to get undressed and take a bath. She brought the heels of her hands to her forehead, smacking herself. She would never have a better opportunity, and she couldn't even seduce Harry Potter when she was naked in a tub!
Then she lowered her hands and smiled. Maybe – if only he's still planning to use the washroom –
Please be waiting outside, Potter, she thought as she leaped out of the tub, quickly toweled herself off, and put on her robes.
When she exited the bathroom, Harry was lingering in the hallway outside. She glared at the portrait of Boris the Bewildered. “Why didn't you tell him the Prefect's Bathroom was occupied?”
“He didn't ask,” Boris said.
“Finished?” Harry asked.
“No, I came out to ask if you'd like to join me,” Pansy said.
She was obviously being sarcastic, but color rose to both their cheeks when she said it.
She pushed past him and hurried away down the corridor, leaving a jasmine and plum scent in her wake. Harry's eyes followed her until she was out of sight, but his mind was on that glimpse of white bosom – and he'd seen considerably more this time than the flash of cleavage she'd been displaying with her ridiculous outfit that afternoon – and the rather shapely bottom now in retreat from him.
“The bathroom is unoccupied now,” said Boris officiously.
“Thanks a lot,” Harry said. “Great job you're doing here.”
He went inside and began drawing fresh water from the taps. Idiot! he thought. Pansy had been right there, naked – he could have –
“What?” he asked himself aloud as he took off his robes. “Grabbed her by the hair while she was bathing?”
He slid into the hot water, trying to put images of plump white bosoms and buttocks out of his head. He set his glasses on the tiled marble next to one of the golden faucets, then cupped his hands beneath it. It spilled liquid into his hands that almost felt lighter than air. When he rubbed it into his hair, it lathered up instantly, accompanied by a melodious chiming sound.
The Prefect's Bathroom was definitely one of the best perks of being Quidditch team captain. He sighed and laid his head back, almost exactly where Pansy's had been resting.
“Well, don't you look comfortable.”
He might have been dozing off, but he sat up with a start when he heard the female voice. He dunked his head into the water to wash the soapy suds away from his face so he could open his eyes. He raised his head again and blinked. Pansy was standing opposite him at the far edge of the marble tub.
“Not bad, Potter,” she said, giving him an appraising look.
“What are you doing here, Pansy?” He reached for his glasses.
“Turnabout's fair play. You peeped on me.”
“I was not peeping on you!”
“You still aren't looking at my face now that I'm dressed.”
He raised his eyes to her face.
She smirked and leaned towards him, imitating a pose she'd seen in one of Bulstrode's magazines, pressing her breasts together with her upper arms. Harry's eyes fell almost involuntarily back to her cleavage.
“If you'd stayed around, you might have gotten to see more of them before I put my clothes on,” she said.
His eyes snapped back to her face. “Pansy, get out of here. If we're caught in the Prefect's Bathroom together –”
“Oh, fine. You're right.” She stood up. “One other thing, Potter.”
“What's that?” He looked rather more hot and bothered than the steamy water could account for.
She pointed her wand. “Accio key!”
Harry yelped as an enormous golden key flew out of the pile of robes he'd laid by the water's edge and into Pansy's hand.
“Ta ta,” Pansy said. She ran for the door, ducked as a curse rebounded off the stone arch above it, and turned back toward the enraged Gryffindor, who was climbing naked out of the water in pursuit.
“Don't wave your wand like that, Potter,” she said. She lunged out the door and slammed it shut. Something struck it and made a cracking sound from the other side. Smoke curled around the edges. She cast a Sticking Charm followed by a Warping Charm, and the door wedged itself quite solidly against the frame.
“Didn't you just leave?” asked Boris, bewildered.
“Yes,” she said. “If anyone else comes by, you can tell them it's unoccupied.”
The door rattled, and there was the sound of fists pounding and Harry's muffled shouting. Pansy giggled madly as she ran down the corridor clutching the key to Helga Hufflepuff's Three Lock Box.
On the other side, Harry beat against the door to let out his frustration. He knew he could shatter it with a Blasting Charm, but he'd probably lose Gryffindor about a thousand points, and anyway, Pansy wouldn't have stuck around. He stomped about the Prefect's Bathroom for a few minutes, pulling at his hair and cursing himself. Finally he returned to the water's edge, resigned to rinsing himself off and then going downstairs to face Ron and Hermione.
That's when he saw it. By his toes at the edge of the tub, at the very spot where Pansy's head had been lolling when he came in: a wet strand of long, black hair.
~~~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~~~
Two weeks later, Draco was no closer to obtaining the third key and Pansy was no closer to distracting him. She strode through the central courtyard just past the north tower, feeling aggrieved and petulant.
You'd think the prat would show more gratitude that she got his precious key for him. But all she got was a kiss on the cheek and a lot of smirking questions about what Potter looked like naked. Boys! She couldn't understand them at all.
She had just entered the north tower and was heading for Snape's office when she came to an abrupt halt. Harry Potter was standing at the juncture to the corridor beyond, blocking her way.
“Hi, Pansy,” he said.
“Potter.” Her eyes slide side to side nervously. “What do you want?”
“That was a really nasty trick you played.”
“All's fair, Potter.” Pansy was clutching an armful of books to her chest. Slowly, she slid one hand down her side to the pocket where she kept her wand. “You'd have done the same to me. Or Draco.”
“Not to you,” Harry said. “Draco, maybe.”
“Oh, too gentlemanly to attack a woman?” Pansy asked.
“Maybe he is,” said a voice behind her. “But I'm not. Petrificus Totalus!”
Pansy stiffened and fell forward, rigid and immobile. Harry rushed forward to catch her.
“Bollocks, Harry, you were supposed to just zap her, not talk to her,” Ron said.
“Sorry, Pansy,” Harry muttered. He grabbed her by the shoulders and Ron grabbed her feet, and Harry threw his Invisibility Cloak over them as they hurried upstairs and into the second floor girl's lavatory.
Hermione was waiting for them. “All right,” she said, as Harry pulled off the cloak, “set her down in that stall there.”
Ron let go of Pansy's legs, and watched as Harry very carefully tried to stand her up. “What are you doing, Harry? Just lean her against the wall.”
“Oh, for goodness sake, both of you.” Hermione pushed between them. “Out.”
Harry and Ron withdrew from the stall. Hermione closed the door.
“Oh, you're going to be in sooo much trouble,” cooed another female voice. “When Dumbledore finds out...”
“He won't unless you tell him,” Ron said. “Are you going to be a sneak, Myrtle?”
“That was hurtful,” said Moaning Myrtle. The ghost, floating just below the ceiling where she could watch the two boys while also looking into the stall where Hermione and Pansy were, folded her arms and sniffed.
Neither Harry nor Ron paid much attention to Moaning Myrtle, who, notwithstanding her protests, was unlikely to do anything to put an end to her entertainment. After a minute, Hermione emerged from the bathroom stall with Pansy's robes in her arms. She closed the door to the bathroom stall and handed the robes to Ron. “All right, Ron. Time to change.”
“Literally,” said Harry with a grin. Overhead, Myrtle cackled.
“This is so unfair,” Ron said, taking the robes. “It's your fault we have to do this in such a hurry anyway. You're the one who let Pansy steal the key, you should be the one to get it back.”
“You told me to keep it on my person, and anyway, you lost the game, fair and square.”
“You cheated.”
“How can you cheat with rock, paper, scissors?” Harry asked.
“I don't know. It's a Muggle game. You grew up playing it. You had an unfair advantage.”
“Honestly, Ron.” Hermione walked into the next bathroom stall, where she began ladling something out of a large cauldron perched over the toilet.
Ron walked into a third stall and slammed the door shut.
“I gave you two out of three,” Harry said.
“I wanted to play chess for it!” Ron said from within the stall.
Myrtle giggled. “I can't wait to see what kind of creature you turn into.” She had eagerly awaited them every evening when they came to check on the potion. Despite her pestering them whenever they entered her washroom and occasional 'meowing' at Hermione, she obviously enjoyed having regular visitors, which no doubt explained why their potion-making apparatus had been safe for the past two weeks.
Ron stepped out of the stall wearing Pansy's robes. “I'm going to turn into a girl, that's what kind of creature,” he said sourly.
Harry tried to stifle his amusement, then gave up and laughed out loud. “You are definitely the world's ugliest cross-dresser.”
“Then I should be very convincing as Pansy,” Ron grumbled.
“Maybe you'll be a cat-girl, too,” Myrtle purred. “Or perhaps a dog-girl this time?”
“The only dogs at Hogwarts are Hagrid's, and I'm pretty sure Pansy hasn't been petting Fang,” Harry said.
Ron said, “Well, I am mimicking a real bi–”
“RON!” Harry and Hermione both shouted, then Ron and Hermione both looked at Harry.
“What?” he said. He jerked his head towards the stall containing the stripped, petrified Pansy. “She can hear you, you know,” he whispered.
Ron gave him another baffled look, then his eyes widened. “Oh, no – I just thought of something. What if that hair wasn't Pansy's, but that caterpilbus – ”
“I think I'd know the difference between a human hair and a catoplebas hair, Ron,” said Hermione.
“Like you knew the difference between a human hair and a cat hair?” Ron shot back.
Myrtle erupted into peals of delighted laughter, while Hermione huffed angrily.
“The catoplebas was brown,” Harry said.
“Of course it was brown, it was covered with mud!” Ron groaned. “If I turn into a half-human cow with bad breath, Harry, I'm going to kill you –” Abruptly, the look of horror on his face faded, and he began snickering.
“What?” Harry, Hermione, and Myrtle all asked together.
“I am going to turn into a half-human cow with bad breath,” Ron said. “I'm turning into Pansy Parkinson!”
Myrtle chortled along with him, while Hermione shook her head.
“That was uncalled for, Ron,” Harry said.
Ron tilted his head. Hermione let out a breath of long-suffering patience, but her expression was amused as she held out a steaming, bubbling flask of deep purple liquid. It looked a bit like plum wine thickened with mud.
Ron's face twisted back into a mask of disgust and horror. “One more game of rock, paper, scissors?” he pleaded.
“Ron,” Hermione and Harry said together.
Ron snatched the flask from Hermione. “All right. If you buggered it up, Harry, I will kill you. Hermione –”
“Harry, is Draco still in his room?” Hermione asked.
Harry unfolded the Marauder's Map. “Yes.”
“All right, all right,” Ron said, still making faces as he contemplated the flask.
“Oh, this is going to be good,” Myrtle said, clapping her ghostly hands together while flitting around the trio in an erratic orbit passing through walls, stalls, and sometimes the tops of their heads.
“Right.” Ron took a deep breath. “Well then.” He wrinkled his nose. “Bottoms up.” He tilted the flask back and drank. He managed to get it all down in one gulp, and then lowered the flask, slowly.
“Well, blimey,” he said. “Pansy doesn't taste that bad.”
Harry coughed. Hermione curled a hand in front of her mouth and made a sound like 'snerk.'
Ron frowned at Harry and held the flask out to him. “What, would you care for a taste?”
Harry blushed, and then Ron burped and his face began rippling. He gagged, moaned, and doubled over.
Ron's ginger hair fell all about his head and shoulders, lengthening and darkening at the same time. He remained crouched before Harry and Hermione for several moments, then slowly straightened before them. Pansy's robes no longer stretched across his chest and shoulders and ended at his upper calves – they fit his curvaceous body perfectly.
“I'm a girl!” he squeaked, in an airy, strangled approximation of Pansy's voice.
“Yes, that was rather the idea,” Hermione said. “Try not to enjoy it too much.”
“It's brilliant! Hermione, you're brilliant!” Harry said. “He looks just like her.”
Ron blinked at them with Pansy Parkinson's dark lashes. Then he raised his hands to his chest and cupped his – Pansy's – breasts.
“Good lord, she does have big knockers,” he breathed.
“Ron!” Hermione slapped his hands. “Don't be a pig. Stop pawing her!”
“What do you mean 'her,' they're my –”
“Just go get the key, Ron. You've got the Sleeping Powder for Draco. Don't get distracted by anything else in his room, and if you're thinking about any petty pranks or vandalism –”
“You have so little faith in me,” Ron said. He looked a bit disheveled as Pansy's robes settled around him. He spread his arms. “Well?”
Hermione sighed and moved to adjust his collar and tug at the belt. “Go.”
“If he tries to kiss me I'll break his nose,” Ron/Pansy said.
“He probably will try to kiss you. That's why you've got Sleeping Powder,” Hermione said.
“You should have let Hermione make that Sleeping Powder lipstick,” Harry said.
“I don't care if it's the only way to stop You-Know-Who himself, I'm not kissing Draco Malfoy!” Ron snarled in Pansy's voice.
“Then don't mess it up,” Harry said.
“Just knock him out and get the key,” Hermione said.
Ron/Pansy hurried out of the washroom. Moaning Myrtle said, “Oh, I do so want to follow him!”
That made Harry and Hermione look at one another nervously, but as far as they knew, Moaning Myrtle only ever moved through Hogwarts via the plumbing, and her hauntings seemed to be limited to bathrooms. Myrtle didn't follow Ron out the door, but she did suddenly dive into the bathroom stall where they were keeping Pansy, and made a large splash.
Hermione peeked inside the stall. “Oh dear. I wonder where she's gone to.”
“How's Pansy?” Harry asked.
Hermione closed the stall door. “Pansy's fine. Is there anything you'd like to tell me, Harry?”
Harry began blushing and stammering. “I didn't mean anything by it, I just... you know, it feels wrong to prop her up naked in a bathroom stall like this, and –”
Hermione squinted at him. “I was talking about what you and Ron have planned for Draco's room.”
“Oh.” Harry cleared his throat and tried to assume an expression of innocent bewilderment. “What do you mean?”
“I don't believe for a minute Ron will resist the temptation to have a bit of 'fun' once he's knocked Draco out. Just tell me how much damage he's planning to do. If he goes overboard, and especially if Professor Snape gets involved...”
“Nothing much,” Harry said. “Just... a few petty pranks, a little vandalism. Very little.”
Hermione kept looking at him.
Harry's shoulders slumped beneath her gaze. “Javanese Spider Dust, an Extra Moist Dungbomb Variety Pack, Depilation Powder, an Amulet of Itching, a Wand Magnetizer, Urge2Go drops, a Boxed Poltergeist –”
“Boxed poltergeist?” Hermione exclaimed.
“I don't think it's a real poltergeist. It's just a time-release curse that does things like short-sheet your bed and tie your hair in knots – ”
“Fred and George,” Hermione groaned.
“Come on, you've got to admit, Draco's got it coming.”
“Harry! Does the word 'discretion' mean anything to you?”
Pansy moaned.
“I guess the Full Body-Bind Curse is wearing off,” Harry said. “You did take her wand off her, didn't you?”
“Of course.” Hermione patted her pocket.
Pansy moaned again, this time more loudly. Harry frowned. “She sounds like she's in pain.”
“You didn't drop her on her head, did you?” Hermione asked.
“Of course not!”
Pansy made a sobbing sound of real agony. Harry started to move toward the stall, but Hermione held up her hand and stepped in front of him. “No peeking,” she said. She opened the stall door, and Harry caught a glimpse of Pansy, mostly naked and huddled on the floor next to the toilet.
“Pansy, are you hurt?” Hermione asked sharply.
“They broke my fingers!” Pansy wailed.
“What?” Hermione asked in alarm. She cast a glance over her shoulder at Harry.
“We did not!” Harry protested, pushing to join Hermione in the stall.
“My fingers are broken!” Pansy shrieked, holding up her hands. “You animals!”
“We didn't –” Harry said.
Pansy screamed. “Don't let him in here!”
“Hold on, Harry.” Hermione nudged him back out of the stall and closed the door. “Let me see,” Harry heard her say.
Pansy sniffled. “See – I can't – AAAAAH!” She screamed in pain again.
Harry twitched. “I swear, we didn't do anything that might've broken her fingers.”
“Pansy, let me see,” Hermione repeated, sounding like a fussy babysitter. “Would you hold still? If you want me to – Pansy!”
There was a crack, a thud that shook the stall, and a loud splash.
Harry drew his wand. “Hermione?”
He reached for the door, and heard Pansy say, “Ignis pedis!”
Flames blossomed from his shoes and wreathed his ankles. He yelled and immediately began jumping around as the stall door burst open and a furious Pansy, in knickers and bra, pointed her wand at him. “Gryffindors,” she said contemptuously. “Stupefy!” The red flash hit Harry like a Ford Anglia slamming into his chest, and then he blacked out.