Revamp, revamp! New story, one chapter – let's hope I actually finish one of my multi-chapter stories for once.

It's a hope.

She's a Bitch

(but you get over it)

chapter one

No one dares question the princess.

"Who's the fucking princess?" snapped Harry. His hand went up in a sweeping motion before chopping back down. "And where's Hermione? I need Hermione or the closest bottle of gin in the building before this is over, Ron, I swea—Hermione! Over here—no, gah! By the door!"

"Someone throw a chair at Pothead's skull before I do," muttered Draco.

"Go piss on someone else's day, dickface!"

"Today's your day, Harry," Blaise calmly stated, his eyes never leaving his screen. "We have a schedule we strictly adhere to."

"Not that chair!" Luna leaped into the man's path. "I'm planting sunflower seeds there."

One silver sleekly-groomed eyebrow ticked. "I'm afraid to ask why."

"'Cuz your desk's closest to Blaise's happy vibes."

"What?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake." Harry aggressively wiped his glasses. "Hermione!"

With maximum flailing and minimum success, he managed to wave the irate-looking woman over to his cubicle. "What, Harry?" she snapped. "I have three extra cases to finish because dickhead also decided to fuck with my day." Her voice got louder towards the end.

The dickhead in question simply flashed her a gleaming smile in return.

"I swear, one day, I am going to tweeze all of his pubic hair off," she snarled. "He doesn't deserve wax."

Harry dropped his head back wearily onto his chair.

"What else is new?" Ron moaned. "He's such a prat."

Luna swaggered over with a dreamy smile. "Just a fair warning from Blaise, Hermione, but Draco's threatening to add another case if you're," she imitated the taller man's usual stance, "'too busy chatting up your old squeezes.'" And with that, the dreamy woman floated away to the abused tea-break table.

"My God," Hermione whispered. She thumped her head twice. "Sorry guys—I'll skin his hide when I get the chance." Half turning away, she asked, "Do you think Tom'll help?"

"He does seem to be sniffing after your skirts, so there is that."

"At least there's a fighting chance."

Ron looked over his friend's shoulder, glimpsing over at the blinding monitor. "Huh, so you got invited too."

"To what?" Harry muttered, his hand covering his eyes, glasses limp in the other.

"The Princess's welcome party, mate."

"Which leads me back to my original question: Who in the name of Draco's current flavor of the hour is the bloody princess?"

"That," a prim tone answered, "would be me."

Both men spun back. A pair of glasses fell to the ground.

Pansy Parkinson stood in an afternoon Chanel tea-dress, black-tipped nails accenting hands that quietly clicked when she adjusted her phone. Large sunglasses covered a good portion of her eyes, but were lowered enough so that one could see the devilry prancing in their depths.

She leaned over to Harry, arms coming down to situate themselves on the arms of the chair. Harry closed his eyes and sighed and wondered when life got better after graduate school.

"Long time no see, ex-fiancé."

Rating will change accordingly as the story progresses. I have the skeletons of an outline, but nothing serious. This will most likely be a light-hearted fic with occasional angst (lots of angst), some traditional bed-rocking, and maybe a love story (or two. Stop me).

xoxo