A/N: This was written for the House Cup tournament on the Jedi Council Boards. I was playing for Team Slytherin, naturally (and we won, BTW). Because the story became lengthy, I decided to split it into three parts for posting here on .

Witches Bewitched

I. Prelude to Disaster

Harry Potter was hiding in the last cubicle of the girls' toilets.

If this behaviour seemed at all suspicious, Harry would have liked to point out that it was not his fault that at all. He came to be hiding in the last cubicle of the girls' toilets not by choice, but by necessity. If it made his situation look any better, it was Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, and thus Harry's male presence should not really matter since this toilet was consistently out of order.

He just hoped most people remembered that. If they did, he was safe until this disaster rode itself out. If they didn't, he was – to put it lightly – screwed. While he waited, his fate dependent on the memory banks of Hogwarts' female population, he rapidly leafed through his one and only weapon against this horde of incensed girls: the Half-Blood Prince's copy of Advanced Potion-Making. It was his only salvation if the girls found him. He could either a) brew up an antidote or b) hit them over the head with the textbook and make a run for it.

The slightest hint of sound echoed from the taps across the bathroom. Harry paused, one hand gripping the spine of the textbook. Slowly, he positioned himself carefully on the top of his cubicle's toilet so his feet were out of view. He paused, heart thumping wildly, and listened for any incoming sound that could herald the appearance of a fanatic female mob.

Nothing.

He exhaled a sigh of relief.

"Hello Harry!" a girl's voice said brightly.

Harry shrieked an ironically girly scream and fell off the toilet, crashing on to the cold, damp bathroom floor.

"Oh dear," Moaning Myrtle said. "Are you all right?"

***

Three Hours Earlier.

It was Double Potions with Slughorn. As it was part way through term, Harry had settled into a comfortable routine and Potions was quickly becoming one of his favourite classes. It was the one he excelled at, by far – a strange turn of events, considering his Potions class in previous years. However, his skill at Potion-making had more to do with his specific copy of Advanced Potion-Making than any inherent talent, but Slughorn didn't know that and Harry was keen to keep it that way. Hermione could grumble under her breath as much as she could that Harry was cheating, but Harry simply maintained that he was only following different instructions than the rest of the class. He couldn't help it if the Prince was a better Potioneer than Libiatus Borage.

Today's lesson was one of Slughorn's "randoms", as the class had begun to call them. Slughorn gave them a randomizing spell, which chose a different potion from the textbook for each of them to make. They were instructed to brew him a sample and if he could tell what it was supposed to be, they would pass. Harry had the unfortunate luck of having his randomizing spell choose a potion whose instructions were so heavily corrected and changed that he himself didn't even know what it was. He could have compared page numbers with Ron and Hermione, but Hermione refused to tell him and Ron encouraged him to go for the adventure of a mystery potion. Harry resigned to the fact that he was going to have to brew this potion blindly, and started trying to decipher the Prince's cramped hand-writing.

By the end of the lesson, his potion was a swirling, pale lavender solution and was giving off the strange scent of broomsticks mixed with flowers. Odd combination, that…

"All right, time to pack up!" Slughorn announced. "Let's see what you've got! As most of you have finished your Potions, please bottle a sample and give it to me for marking."

Hermione's hair had curled into a frizzy halo exploding around her head. She had soot on the tip of her nose and she looked exhausted, but happy with the results of her bright blue potion. She quickly corked a sample and began to wordlessly clean up as Ron gouged the cement-like results of his potion out of his cauldron. She sniffed the air cautiously and eyed Harry's potion meticulously.

"What?" Harry said as he corked his own sample.

"Nothing," Hermione answered.

"Don't worry about her, Harry," Ron said quickly, "she's just sour that your Potion looks perfectly fine."

"No!" Hermione snapped back. "That's not it at all, Ron. I was just going to say that I'm not sure Harry should have followed the Prince's instructions on that one – his Potion looks nothing like the –"

"Shh!" Ron said, holding up a hand to stop her. "That's for Slughorn to figure out, not you."

Hermione glowered at him, turned on her heel and marched towards their professor.

"Yes, Miss Granger? What do you have for me today?"

She silently handed him her vial.

"Oho!" Slughorn's eyes lit up excitedly. "Yes, yes… I think I know what this is. Well done, Miss Granger. Now, let me see…" He scanned the shelves lining the dungeon. They were all filled. Slughorn's expression fell. "Erm… Class!" he called.

The clattering of packing up slowly came to a halt.

"If I could ask a small favour," Slughorn said. "As you may see from the shelf-space around you, I've run out of room for student samples… and I would hate to misplace any of your assignments. If you could keep your samples on you until the next lesson, that would be greatly appreciated. You are NEWT students! I trust you are capable of storing your own potions safely until I can mark them."

"Safe… right," Ron muttered as they packed up and left the classroom. "What's the bet that this bottle is going to get broken when I see Lavender in ten minutes –"

"If you're so worried about it, I don't see why you don't put it somewhere safe instead of waving it around like a buffoon," Hermione snapped. She glared at Ron and rushed away, stampeding up the stairs and out of the dungeons, taking the steps two at a time.

Ron gawked in her wake. "I really don't know what's gotten into her lately," he said. "She's gone bonkers! I mean, you're still carrying your own vial around, aren't you?"

Harry held up his lavender-coloured potion and waved it in Ron's face.

"Exactly!" Ron said. "So, what's the prob—"

"WON-WON!"

If Harry didn't know better, the problem was coming down the marble staircase with the speed of a stampeding Hippogriff. Lavender Brown had caught sight of them coming out of the dungeons and she was flying towards Ron with a single-mindedness reminiscent of a Blast-Ended Skrewt going for its dinner. Harry had to dive out of the way to avoid being trampled. As soon as he had time to regain his bearings, Harry saw that Ron had been engulfed by his girlfriend. He had dropped his bag and his textbooks, but somehow managed to keep a firm grip of his vial of grey, cement-like potion.

Harry stood awkwardly in the middle of the Entrance Hall. People were beginning to stare. He wasn't sure if he should keep going to wait for Ron to finishing being suffocated by Lavender. He had suffered more embarrassing things in his Hogwarts career, but that didn't stop him from wanting to hit Ron over the head with a cave troll's club.

"You know, you can always snog me if you're looking for something to do."

Harry turned and saw Romilda Vane standing a little too close for comfort, flashing a pearly white smile and tossing her long, dark hair over her shoulder in such a way that it caught a shine from the light of the lanterns lining the hall.

"Err… no thanks. I'm fine, Romilda."

She giggled a high-pitched giggle that was so fake it could be used in a cheesy Muggle romantic comedy.

"Oh, I was only joking, Harry!" she said through her wide grin, her voice just loud enough so the entire school could hear her flirting with the Chosen One. She moved closer and patted his arm in an overly friendly manner.

Harry was very tempted to ask her where she took her acting classes and very much wanted to suggest a couple of bad Muggle films she could audition for.

"No, really," he said, more firmly this time. "I'm fine, Romilda."

Romilda laughed again, her smile never faltering once as her eyes darted behind Harry, past the still intertwined Ron ad Lavender, and took in the amount of people who were watching the proceedings. Unfortunately, it seemed like most of Hogwarts was watching, including several of the professors.

"Oh, you're so funny, Harry!" Romilda giggled. "Oooh, what have you got there?" Her eyes fell on his bag, which was slung haphazardly over his shoulder, and on the vial of potion still in his hand. "That's a lot of stuff to carry around," she continued without pause, "you must be awfully strong—" She stepped forwards and tried to take his bag.

Harry backed away. "Really, Romilda, it's just class stuff – whoa!"

Romilda tripped (most likely purposefully) and fell forwards into him. Acting on reflex, Harry caught her.

"My hero!" she squealed, straightening herself and smiling broadly. "See you around, Harry!"

Romilda winked provocatively at him and pranced off, her closed fists raised in triumph as she went to rejoin her friends, who began shrieking with laughter when she reached them.

Harry straightened his bag and swore that he would never again try to be polite to Romilda Vane. He walked over to Ron and Lavender (who were still in their little Won-Won world) and dragged his best friend forcefully away.

"Let's go, Ron," Harry said. "Sorry, Lavender."

"Oi, Harry, mate—"

"Shut up, Ron."

They climbed the marble staircase, heading towards the library. Harry didn't want to run to risk of running into Romilda Vane in the common room. Ron was sour, because Hermione was most likely hiding in the library and he didn't want to have to speak to her.

"Look, you don't have to talk to Hermione, okay?" Harry said. "You don't have to say one word."

Ron grumbled something under his breath. He and Harry did not speak to each other again until they reached the library. Ron was too disgruntled with Harry for interrupting him and Lavender, whereas Harry was purely annoyed with Romilda Vane and her group of menacing little idiots. He was so frustrated that he didn't even realize that his vial filled with the mystery potion was gone.

***

"What is it?"

"Let me see!"

"I can't see! Let me closer!"

"No! This is my spot!"

"Now, now, settle down, girls," Romilda Vane said. "Everyone will get a turn to look at it."

They were seated around her four-poster bed in the fourth-year Gryffindor girls' dormitory. Romilda was perched on her crimson and gold comforter, the vial of lavender potion clutched in her hand. Only fifteen minutes ago, she had given Harry Potter their first hug. Fifteen minutes from now, she was sure she would seal their first kiss. This was all thanks to the brilliance of sixth year Potions class, Harry Potter's potion-making skills, and her own superb charm, wit and beauty.

Now if only she could keep these little tramps quiet…

Romilda smiled pleasantly at the girls she ruled so well.

"What is it?" Natalie asked.

Romilda rolled her eyes. Natalie was such a dunderhead sometimes! At least she gave Romilda the opportunity to show who was boss around here.

"This, girls," Romilda said, holding up the vial, "is the ticket to our success."

They gasped. Natalie clapped her hands. Then she frowned.

"Why?" she said.

Romilda glared at her. "Natalie," she said imperiously, "ask another stupid question and you can go back to the first-year dorm."

Natalie blushed bright red and fell quiet.

"As I was saying before I was rudely interrupted," Romilda said, "this here is something quiet special. It appears Harry Potter has been brewing love potions in class. This is a much higher calibre love potion than anything we could get out of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, so we must count ourselves very, very lucky. Harry Potter is truly magnificent to brew such a love potion!"

The girls gasped and applauded.

"Can I have some?" Agnes piped up.

"NO!" Romilda snapped. "There is only a small sample, and we must use it sparingly. I was going to add that I think that this love potion is unlike anything we've ever seen before—"

"Ooooh!"

"Harry Potter makes up potions!" Kathleen exclaimed, bouncing up and down in her chair.

"That just proves he really is the Chosen One!" Joan added. She and Kathleen nearly tipped their chairs over giggling, which only caused them to laugh even more.

"Now we mustn't let us get ahead of ourselves," Romilda continued imperiously. She glared at Joan and Kathleen and they immediately stopped laughing. "We must give this potion a test run."

All of the girls shot their hands into the air.

"NO!" Romilda shouted. "I am the creator of the Harry Potter fan club! I am destined to date him! That means I get to take the love potion!"

Natalie's bottom lip began to quiver.

"Oh, stop that," Romilda shot at it. "You're only eleven, he wouldn't date you even if he wanted to."

"You're mean!" Natalie wailed. She got up and ran from the room, crying uncontrollably.

Silence fell.

"Good riddance," Romilda sniffed. She uncorked the vial. "Now—"

"No!" Joan said, standing up. "Romilda, this isn't fair! We should all get a turn. Why do you always have to be first?"

Romilda stared at her. That was such a daft question!

"That's what I thought," Joan said. "You know, you're such a… such a…"

"Such a what, Joan?"

"SUCH A WITCH!" Joan's face was scarlet now. "There. I said it."

Romilda blinked. Slowly, she started to laugh. "Good one, Joanie," she said.

"Don't call me 'Joanie,'" Joan grumbled.

"No, seriously, Joanie, that was a good one— HEY!"

Joan had leaped forwards and snatched the vial from Romilda's hand. In an act of pure defiance, she re-corked it and ran from the room, charging down the stairs to the common room. Romilda and the rest of the girls followed her, but when they reached the common room, Joan was nowhere to be seen.

"That's it," Romilda said. "Joan is out."