I couldn't put it off any more, couldn't deny it any longer. With the flimsy canvas bag clutched in my hand and held to my side in a desperate attempt to hide it from public view, I strode purposefully down the third floor corridor. As I passed groups of students, I stared straight ahead. My goal was to not see the curious stares that I assumed followed me; however, by not looking, my imagination allowed me to believe that I received as much attention as a notorious criminal being led to his execution.

I felt myself flush with the embarrassment of being watched as though I had a spotlight trained upon my clumsy, hurried movements. My eyes, however, remained locked on my goal. It was not the portrait of fruit that led to the kitchens, but rather the one that led to the Prefects Bathroom.

I hadn't been able to enjoy chocolate cake for some weeks, and perhaps that was a cause of my irritability. Whatever the reason, I had tried to avoid being stared at, especially by a certain Slytherin seeker. Thus, why I avoided the kitchens. No excuses.

My policy of avoidance, however, did not prevent me from wondering if he was there every time I passed the portrait. Or remember his mischievous expression after staring blatantly at my lingerie.

Damn that underwear. It had allowed Draco Malfoy a glance that he sure as hell had not earned. And now it was responsible for the humiliation I faced. For the canvas bag concealed that pink lacy garment, and my destination, the Prefects Bathroom, housed the only private sink in which I could wash it.

I glanced left and right down the corridor, checking for professors, students, anyone. I had decided not to ask Harry to borrow his Invisibility Cloak; what if he had asked why? I couldn't lie to him, and once I admitted that I didn't trust the House Elves with my delicate laundry, he would have had reason to tease me forever. And I did not want those two boys to get any ideas about what lingerie I did or did not have. I was, however, beginning to regret that decision. Because with an Invisibility Cloak, I would not have had the need to continuously check over my shoulder as though I was guilty of some horrible offense.

The portrait opened (had it always opened so slowly, and with such loud creaking?) and I deftly slid in and closed it behind me before it had even opened all the way. A few quick glances showed an empty bathtub, towels neatly lined up, and a shower curtain neatly drawn. I listened, but the shower apparently was off. I sighed with relief. Alone.

I like to believe that I am a smart girl, so I knew that my solitude was subject to change. I didn't waste a moment; I sealed a white, marble sink to my left, and then went quickly to the tub, turned on a faucet, and used a spell to cause the stream of soap to shoot into the sink. And then I turned the water on. Mistake number one.

The soap frothed more than I had expected, covering the faucet. I lost precious moments feeling around in the white mess to find the faucet to turn the sink off; by then, I was drenched all down my front with vanilla-scented bubbles, which were uncomfortably soaking through my thin shirt.

Grunting to myself in anger, I unbuttoned my sleeves and rolled them up. This task took several precious moments, as my hands were slick with the vanilla soap.

Archimedes was a mathematician who discovered that an object placed in water displaces a volume related to its mass. Being flustered as I was, I completely forgot about displacement at all. Therefore, upon placing my arms into the sink, I showered myself in yet another wave of bubbly, vanilla water.

I sighed angrily, and without thinking wiped back a few misbehaving curls, thereby coating my hair with suds. I resisted the urge to curse loudly (barely) and once again, and more slowly, placed my hands and lingerie under water. I scrubbed fiercely, seeking to vent my anger.

Then I removed my underwear from the sink and placed in the next one to my left. With slight difficulty, I reached deep into the sink to allow the water to drain. Apparently I had not thought this out at all; I managed to coat my nose to waist in soap bubbles. I was reduced to sputtering out bitter-tasting soap bubbles, but was at least successful in emptying the sink.

Therefore, it came as no surprise when I lost my purchase on the next faucet and sent a giant stream of water gushing forth into the sink. Such was the strength that it sprayed in all directions, managing to, once again, soak me.

By this point, I was thoroughly drenched. However, I continued. I carefully rinsed out the pink lace and the set them to dry on the counter. Tiredly, I turned around, and began fixing my dripping hair into the semblance of a bun.

And just when I thought my washing trip could not get any worse, I turned around to realize I was not alone.

I sighed angrily. First, Draco Malfoy ran into me dressed like a Victoria's Secret model-wanna-be, shoving chocolate cake into my mouth. Now, he saw me garbed like some bimbo in a wet T-shirt contest, with soap bubbles running down my thighs. Great.

He coughed embarrassedly.

"I see I'm" – he cleared his throat– "interrupting." I stared at him, surprised that he had the cheek to grin at me and raise an eyebrow insinuatingly.

"Yes," I replied shortly. He shrugged.

"Care to join me?" he offered mischievously. Only then did I realize he wore a bathrobe with a clean towel slung over his left shoulder. I glared at him. He grinned back.

With his back to me, he began to turn on the taps, allowing the large bath to begin to fill. Afer a long moment, the bath was filled. He turned off the taps, and suddenly there was silence. And I heard the heavy, warm bathrobe drop to the floor.