… Soulsister! Congrats to you!
SophieB: The bucket, you see, actually belonged to Hagrid, so it was very big as buckets go. Ginny and Ludo – I dunno how they work out, I haven't planned it out that far. And – tell me – what overwhelming personality flaws does ol' Parv have? Tell me so I can correct them!
WhiteBearWrites: Justin?… Hmm. But I have plans for Terry… *evil laugh*
Bwaybaby79: I like Padma/Hermione. C&B is the only fic where I saw that pairing. As for H/D – I would so love to write smut, but I suck at smut… *sob sob* I'll try to maybe co-author with someone if you guys really wanna see 'em get it on. ^_~
* * *
Seamus, drunk as can be, was staggering down the Hogwarts path that led to the castle gates; he carried in his arms a dozen empty bottles of Red Wand lager, the most popular beer among the Hogwarts student body. He planned to return them to get the five-Knut refund – and with the sixty Knuts he planned to buy more lager.
Or… Maybe whisky this time. Or Gin. Gin. Ginny. She has red hair. So does Ron. Ron…
Disturbed at the thought of Ron, Seamus turned abruptly about and stepped without knowing it on the dock of the Hogwarts lake; he kept walking until he reached the end, where he promptly fell in, with an enormous splash – inside the eight-foot-deep water.
A few seconds later he floated back to the surface, unhurt. The Hogwarts squid poked out a long arm and pushed him back to the shore, where Seamus lay, blubbering and breathing, immobile, small waves lapping at his knees.
By a perfect coincidence, Ron himself walked by the lake. He was heading to Hagrid's hut but stopped when he saw the intoxicated blonde on his back in the muck.
"Seamus? What on earth?" he asked, and, not receiving an answer, he rushed to the sandy-haired's side.
The promiscuous boy opened a bleary, glazed eye. "Mammy?" he muttered, hooking an arm around Ron's neck, an endearing gesture of childish trust. He pulled himself to his feet and stumbled. Ron put an arm around him to keep him from falling, enjoying the heat emanating from Seamus' body, and feeling guilty about it – given the boy's current state, this was almost taking advantage of him.
"I have to take you back to Gryffindor Tower," Ron said, "I can't leave you here."
But there was a problem: Seamus couldn't take three steps without falling over. Ron, sighing, scooped the boy in his arms as one might cradle a baby. Seamus, accepting this, dug his chin into Ron's shoulder and began, "Mammy, I've… been… bad… aw'fly bad…"
"Sh," said Ron, patting him on the back lovingly. He looked up. The castle was still a few dozen feet away.
* * *
Parvati was bored. It had been two weeks since the Dance, two weeks since she'd stepped out of her dormitory. She had missed class after class and ignored the constantly growing pile of little red slips sent to her dorm by the teachers. She was beginning to consider ending her 'period of isolation' – rumours were going about that she had killed herself.
When one was confined to one's dormitory, there was very little that one could do. Parvati longed to go to the common room – or to class – or to Quidditch matches… She could easily get her mother to owl Dumbledore and make up an excuse for her absence at classes.
There was a knock at the door. It was Ginny, of course – the handful of people who dared enter the dormitory, Lavender and Hermione included – would never have knocked except her.
"Come in," Parvati called out lazily. She was gracefully sprawled on the bed, head and feet propped up with little red cushions.
"Hey," Ginny said. She sat down on the bed, a tad shyly.
"What's the latest news?" demanded Parvati. She hungered for gossip – malicious, spiced, evil-minded gossip – spreading horrible untruths was her favorite, most-used method of revenge. She had caused quite a few nervous breakdown in her previous Hogwarts years.
"Nothing new," sighed Ginny, "nothing has happened all day – unless you count the fact that Neville lost his stupid toad again."
"Neville," said Parvati pointedly, "is an idiot."
"He's nice enough," Ginny protested, blushing from head to foot as she spoke.
"You're only saying that because he sent you a Valentine three years ago," teased Parvati with a snort.
"Regardless."
"I was considering leaving my room," said Parvati, "and going down to the common room – really, if I miss any more classes, I'll have to repeat seventh year."
"Good idea," Ginny approved instantly. "There are enough people going around saying you're dead – as if you'd kill yourself over Ron! You've got to get out of here and set them straight, you know?"
"Yes, I know," sighed Parvati. "In fact – I think I'll change my clothes – put on some make-up –"
"If you put on any more make-up," Ginny said with strange frankness, "you would be unable to lift your head because of the weight."
"Oh," said a surprised Parvati. "Well, I'll go freshen up –" and she entered the bathroom, and came out minutes later with a freshly washed and made-up face. She looked lovely, and went to her wardrobe to choose an appropriate outfit.
"Damn," she swore suddenly, "my best jeans aren't in here…"
"Second-best," suggested Ginny, and Parvati pulled on her second-best pair, a blue-and-gold striped shirt, and she painstakingly brushed out her hair, which needed no brushing at all, and fixed it on top of her head in a Pebbles Flintstone-style ponytail.
"Right," Parvati said with an evil hell-queen smile, "nothing's happening now, but within an hour the school will be buzzing with rumours – you wait and see…"
* * *
Hermione, head swimming with dizzy half-crippled thoughts, was pondering the situation. The tangled web of confusion all came down to one choice that she had to make: Terry or Padma. She felt like a salmon fighting to swim upstream.
Terry was a perfect gentleman, who knew exactly what to say to make her feel like a million dollars, but a lash-veiled smiling glance from Padma was more likely to make her heart flutter.
Also confusing was the fact that Padma had first kissed her three days ago, and she had dated Terry for months, and she was even considering leaving him… But then again Terry was so… so… blah. She really preferred Padma…
Someone knocked at the door. "Come in," said Hermione wearily, and Ginny walked into the room.
"Hi," she said, then: "you okay?"
"I've got… a personal problem," Hermione answered somewhat stiffly.
"Matters of the heart?" asked Ginny sagely. "Heh. Bootboy not giving you enough lovin'?"
"Why does *everyone* call him Bootboy?"
Ginny chose not to answer, and instead told Hermione, "I came to borrow a magazine." She walked over to Hermione's bookcase. "Witch Weekly. D'you have the issue with the review of 'Lolita'?"
"Dunno," answered the morose Head Girl. The fragrant bouquet of hyacinths that Terry had sent did not help her in her decision-making.
"Y'know, I'm sure they have a help column for people with problematic love lives," Ginny quipped helpfully.
"Mm," muttered Hermione sullenly, in lieu of a reply.
"Well, thanks," said Ginny cheerfully, rolling up the magazine and pushing it into a robe pocket. "Bye." She left the room in a flurry of red-and-black. After a few minutes, another knock.
"What now, Gin?" exclaimed Hermione in annoyance.
"S'not Gin," came the door-muffled reply.
Hermione paled the tiniest bit. "Come in, Padma," she said loudly, and Padma did. She wore Muggle clothes that looked – and did – as though they had come straight out of Parvati's wardrobe: very dark very tight blue jeans, and a navy blue V-neck shirt. A blue-and-white-striped bandana (Ravenclaw colors) covered her coal-black hair; half-a-dozen bracelets jangled on her arms; she wore no makeup.
"Hi," she said, smiling wryly.
"I told you I'd owl you when I made a decision," Hermione told her, irritated. Padma's presence, albeit pleasant, did not help under the circumstances.
"That was yesterday," remarked Padma, nonchalantly lying on Hermione's neatly-made bed. She stretched her legs before adding, "I figured I'd help you decide."
"Ha."
"No, honestly." The Ravenclaw paused to rearrange her bandana. "I won't get very mad if you choose Bootboy over me. I'll just… worship from afar."
"This is harder on me than you think," said Hermione plaintively.
"Hermione Granger," divined Padma, "I bet you already know who you're going to go with."
"Well…" Hermione half-blushed and directed her amber-spotlight eyes onto Padma's face; if she couldn't say it with words she would say it with her eyes – something she had learned from her mother despite herself.
Padma, realizing immediately, smiled in a sultry way. "I told you Bootboy wasn't right for you," she said triumphantly, patting the eiderdown as an invitation. Hermione found herself getting out of her chair obediently and sitting down next to her. "He deserves a pureblood witch from a rich family who wants nothing more from life than settling down with him and bearing his brats."
Hermione sighed, knowing that Padma spoke the truth – or a distorted version of the truth – but it still stung to hear it.
"You're both so ambitious that it wouldn't have worked," Padma went on. "You would have seen so little of each other that the relationship would have disintegrated."
"Meaning you're not ambitious?" Hermione arched an eyebrow; her hand traveled up and down Padma's thigh.
"I have different ambitions," replied the black-haired, leaning down to kiss her obsession – Hermione's nose got in the way, and she giggled. "Stand still," whispered Padma, her hands grabbing hold of the Head Girl's shoulders; Hermione cocked her head to the side. Their lips met, and in the middle of their kiss Parvati walked in.
"I came to return – oh," she said. "Finally gave old Bootboy the boot, huh?" She sniggered at her own joke, then dropped a worn paperback copy of Lord of the Rings on Hermione's desk. "Right. I'll just… leave you at it, then." She started to leave but stopped to add, "Don't be too noisy!" and then, "Are those my pants?"
"Fuck off," said Padma lightly, but her twin had left already, and her mouth dove into the sun-browned skin of Hermione's neck, with the intention of marking the girl's skin with possessive lovebites.
Hermione made a vague dove-like cooing noise and hooked an arm around Padma's neck, the other behind her, holding her up; she vainly tried to remember the last time she had felt like this. But she pulled away, slightly panting.
"Hey – come back here," said Padma.
"I… I'd rather… tell Terry… now," Hermione managed. "Otherwise I'd feel all guilty and…"
Padma made a sudden, small movement of fear. "What exactly are you going to tell him?" she asked in a panicky voice.
"Why do you ask?"
"Herm –" Padma leapt off the bed. "You can't tell him that I'm the reason you're dumping him! He'd kill me!" She waved her arms around, windmill-fashion, for added emphasis. "He really would – just say it's not working out –"
"I highly doubt he'd stoop to murder you," said Hermione with a small giggle, "but have it your way." She smoothed her robes with her palms and turned to leave. "I'll be back as soon as possible – no, on second thought meet me in the library?"
"Okay," agreed Padma. She watched Hermione leave nervously.
* * *
"Well," said Draco.
Harry said nothing, merely went on panting on the pillows.
"Well," said Draco again, with more emphasis.
"Well, what?" wheezed the Boy Who Lived.
"Well, that goes to show how far you really can bend over," said Draco. "Oh, dinner in twenty minutes."
"To hell with dinner," wheezed Harry, "I think I punctured a lung."
"You punctured my ear-drums," Draco said reproachfully, as though a Malfoy's ear-drums were something irreplaceably precious. "I didn't know anyone could scream that loud."
"You live, you learn."
"Among other things." Draco wrinkled his nose. "You hit an octave that is usually reserved for calling dogs."
"Well, you are a bitch sometimes," Harry said candidly.
"Oh, shut up." Draco threw a pillow at him, then whined, "What shall I wear? I have nothing to wear. Dammit." He kicked the wardrobe door crossly, then cried out at the pain – it was rather hard wood – and spent the next few seconds hopping madly about on one foot.
"Go naked, that would make everyone happy," suggested Harry as he ran his fingers through his hair in lieu of a comb. "Especially Snape."
"Snape?" echoed Draco in disgust. "Ew – he's all greasy and stuff." He shuddered convulsively.
"I saw the way he was eyeing you during Potions last week," said Harry. "Rather – not you, but your crotch."
"The utter pervert!" exclaimed the blonde. "How about this one?" He pulled out a robe that seemed, to Harry, absolutely identical to the other one already on the bed.
"I don't see the difference."
"This one is fifty percent cotton, and this one is eighty," explained Draco impatiently.
"And the difference is?"
Draco didn't answer, but rolled his eyes to the ceiling with a scoff. Harry strongly suspected that he didn't know either, and the two of them dressed in silence – Draco, of course, put on no robe, still uncertain as to whether fifty or eighty percent cotton was better.
At that moment there came a knock at the door.
"Methinks it's Blaise," Draco said, brightening up.
"Uuuugh. Blaise hates me."
"Well, she saw you sticking your fingers down your throat after she said hello to you last Tuesday," Draco told him. "That wasn't very nice. Even if you do hate her –"
"She hates me –"
"You could at least be civil. Come in, Blaise."
Blaise entered, scowling, and she scowled even more as soon as she spotted Harry. "Dinner in fifteen," she said, "you'd better hurry – what the hell are you doing, Draco."
The young Malfoy had pounced on her to examine the tag on the back of her robe. "Fifty percent," he announced, "I'll wear my fifty-percent too."
"Oh, who cares what percentage of cotton there is in the bloody robe?"
"I don't either," Harry said meekly but politely. Blaise shot him a glare that said plainly, 'I don't think you're good enough for Draco but I'll put up with you for his sake. Just stay the hell away from me', thus Harry shut his mouth and pursed his lips.
"Dinner," said Draco happily, "I have a feeling something is going to happen tonight."
"Something," growled Blaise under her breath, "will happen to Potter if he gets any closer to me."
* * *