This chapter is from the witches' P.O.V.s: Gus, Hermione, Ginny, and Pansy.

I have used a few idioms in this chapter that probably need more explanation:

'jumped-up' - someone who behaves as if they are very important, having come from a much more lowly background.

'a bit of strange' - when you want to have sex with someone other than the person (or type of person) you usually get it on with, because you crave something different.

'moll' - archaic English term for a woman of loose morals; the modern day definition usually relates to a gangster's girlfriend.

'upstart' - a person who has suddenly achieved power or an important position and unpleasantly takes advantage of it.


Chapter 58

Friday 21 March 2003: PM

Augusta 'Gus' Gilmont waits until she is sure they are out of range of the nearest dining table to inform Harry Potter of their news.

"Auror Potter, we've just spoken with Dunkeld and Wessex," Gus refers to two of their colleagues. "They came straight here after their shift change at St Mungo's: they told us that Flint has regained full consciousness. The Healers were still running a battery of tests on him when they left."

"What's Flint said? Has he confessed, or named his co-conspirators?" Harry urgently demands.

Kolton answers, "No – he's touting amnesia. Claims his last clear memory is from six months ago." Her partner's disgust is manifest. "Wessex reckons Flint's trying to set up an 'Imperius' defence. The Healers haven't yet been able to ascertain whether there are any medical grounds to claim actual memory loss."

"Sly bastard – though once we're cleared to use the Veritaserum, Flint will have a hard time clinging to that shaky lifeline," Harry growls.

"There's more, Auror Potter," Gus reluctantly divulges. "Barry Bones has been released on bail. His wand is still confiscated, and he has a tracking spell placed in his person… but he's free. For now."

The trio share a look of mutual frustration and anger. Harry claws at his thick jet-black hair; Gus is amazed he's gone this long without mussing it up.

"Do you want us to head to the hospital and see what we can find out about Flint?" Kolton offers. He detests the tedious waiting duties with which they are currently employed; Gus can see him jittering at the welcome thought of putting some metaphorical thumbscrews to the duplicitous Marcus Flint.

"No. It's highly unlikely Bones will show up here, and I'm confident Flint is securely guarded at the hospital – but I want you both to watch Hermione and Draco like hawks, OK? Watch everyone at our table, actually. Trust no one," Harry bleakly advises.

"What – not even you, sir?" Gus jests, hoping to alleviate the strained tension lines that have recently returned to her boss's amiable face.

Harry studies her for a few moments before he sombrely replies, "I think we all realize that Flint's groundwork for an 'Imperius' defence is utter bullshit… but if anyone – even me – starts acting oddly, or doesn't promptly respond to any of your clearly stated directives… Stun them. Without hesitation, do you understand?" he stresses.

"Yes, sir," Gus and Kolt answer in unison.

"Thanks, guys. Are you alright? Do you need me to grab you some food? I'm sorry, I should have already organized something– " Harry seems annoyed with himself.

"Zabini already donated a plate of scallops to Gus," Kolton blabs.

Thanks, mate. Gus zings an unimpressed glare his way.

"Is Blaise hassling you, Gilmont? I'll set him straight," Harry bristles.

Gus holds out a placating hand. "No, it's fine… Bla– Zabini was nice, actually. Considerate, I mean. And he's not said or done anything untoward, Auror Potter," she assures.

The thought of Harry chastising Blaise isn't a welcome one. He looked so crushed, yesterday… Don't be stupid and naïve, witch. He's probably perfected any number of sad puppy-dog faces to play on the sympathies of soft-hearted women. You don't have any time for those kind of shenanigans – and even if you did, there's Tavi to think of. You haven't struggled and scraped and sacrificed this long to lose your way over a pair of pretty eyes and some well-rehearsed seductive patter. Wise up, Gus.

Harry appears unconvinced. "If Blaise says or does anything that makes you uncomfortable – you come straight to me, OK? There are procedures in place to quickly stomp out sexual harassment."

"Oh, no – he's not harassing me, Auror Potter! We understand each other, I think." Gus's agitation eases when Harry smiles.

"You guys know you can call me Harry, right? All this 'Auror Potter' business is making me feel old," he grins ruefully.

"Yes, sir," Gus and Kolt chorus.

"Hopeless. Alright, keep me apprised of any developments, or if anything unusual or suspicious takes place. I'd better get back to the table before Malfoy and Ron come to blows," Harry wearily declares.

"Do you need us to handle Mr Weasley, sir?" Gus raises her eyes at Kolton's clear avidity to engage in some action.

"Not yet, no. But keep your eye on him, please. Thanks, guys." Harry briefly claps them on the shoulder before he returns to his party.

Kolton stretches his neck and shakes out his arms, jumping up and down a few times as he complains, "This babysitting caper is getting old, Gus."

"Cool your jets, Kolt – would you rather be embroiled in a free-for-all duel in the middle of the ballroom floor? Don't bother answering, your pissy face is all the reply I need," Gus chuckles.

Her partner and best friend ceases his fidgeting for a moment, his deep blue eyes continuing to scan the bustling crowd as he gravely asks, "Gus... are you seriously contemplating giving Zabini the time of day? You know what a playboy he is, right? Not to mention, rich, Pureblood, and completely out of– " he stops abruptly.

"'Out of my league? Thanks, Kolton. It's none of your business, but FYI: I'm not an idiot. And you're not my brother – or my father – so you can keep your intrusive counsel to yourself, thanks," Gus attempts to keep the hurt from her even, husky tones.

"I didn't mean that – I was going to say, 'out of your sphere of experience'," Kolton gulps. "Sorry, Gus. I don't mean to pry... I'm just worried about you. I know... I know you get lonely, and you've missed out on a lot of stuff – history – that someone your age would have already explored by now. Sorry," his abashment is clear as he miserably hangs his head.

"It's alright. Most days I feel like I'm forty, not twenty," Gus punches him lightly on the shoulder. "Blaise Zabini's just a... a gregarious kind of guy, you know? I'm not taking him seriously. Tavi and my job are still my primary focus."

"OK... but if you need to talk, I'm here."

"Thanks, Kolt." Gus smiles genially at her bestie, before her eyes seek out Zabini's tall form across the room; a bolt of strange awareness flashes through her mind as her gaze collides with his. He doesn't look away, though she can see Daphne Greengrass chattering nineteen to the dozen beside him. There is an intensity in the tall Slytherin's onyx eyes that makes her rethink her casual deflection of a few moments ago.

He doesn't look gregarious: he looks determined. But... for what?

Wrenching away her regard, Gus wills away a blush.

Kolt was right – Zabini's rarefied air isn't something I'm ever going to aspire to.

Not that I want to, she reminds herself. Not. At. All.


"Hold still, Hermione – you need a light dusting of powder, your forehead's all shiny," Pansy clucks, as her friend tries to shy away. "Grab her, Ginny."

"There's no need to gang up on me – help! Luna!" Hermione giggles as the three women plonk her down on one of the plush velveteen stools in the mirrored bathroom vestibule. I suppose I do look a bit… het up. All Draco's fault, of course. Not that I'm grumbling about that.

"Just submit, Hermione... this won't hurt a bit," Luna soothes, as Pansy approaches with a loaded miniature powder puff, beryl-green eyes glinting.

"Juno's sandals – you'd think I was coming at you with a sharpened stiletto, Pollyanna! Shut your eyes… There–" Pansy expertly pats the powder across her face. "All done, you big sook."

Snapping shut her purple silk reticule, Pansy teases, "Serves you right for indecently groping Draco underneath the table, anyway. Way to go, Golden Girl!".

Hermione sputters while the three other women laugh merrily at her dumbfounded expression. "What– no– I wasn't– it's not– unhhh – "

"Honey, your face is a dead giveaway," Ginny snickers. "As was Draco's, five minutes ago. You two are just filthy! You were sitting right next to Harry, no less!". Her observation sets off a fresh burst of hilarity, though Hermione remains agape, her cheeks fiery.

"Oh, both Hermione and Draco are very open with their loving sexuality, Ginny," Luna chimes in. "Which reminds me… you'd better double-up on your contraception charms tonight, Hermione; while Spring Equinox is not as fertile an occasion as Beltane, it's still known to increase the chances of conception by up to seventeen percent," she sagely explains.

"That's an oddly specific statistic, Luna?" asks a curious Pansy.

"It's based off my personal research into the comparative breeding habits of Gnomes, Fairies, and Pixies, Pansy – which I then used to write my Magizoology dissertation, 'Fecundity of the Fey: Or, If Your Flutterby Bush is Rocking, Don't Come A-Knocking," Luna proudly informs. "I can send you a copy, if you'd like? I included a fascinating anthropological appendix about the recent resurgence of liberal feminism among urban Gnomes."

"Sounds intriguing, Luna," Pansy smiles. "Send us all one, please; I'd love to compare how Hermione and Draco's randy antics compare to some sexed-up Pixies."

"We're not 'randy' – and we're not copulating in gardens like shameless Gnomes!" Hermione vociferously defends. Her friends merely cackle louder.

"They're not shameless, Hermione, merely misunderstood. Gnomes have quite complex familial relationships and they fornicate freely amongst low shrubbery as part of their courting rituals: it's a show of dominance among competing females," Luna adds.

I wonder if Draco's read Luna's thesis? It would have definintely come in handy while he was researching his elven sex ed manual. I can't really mention it now, though; this conversation has already devolved alarmingly fast, Hermione inwardly groans.

"Can we change the subject, please? Why don't we talk about the sultry looks that Ginny and Viktor are swapping like Chocolate Frog cards, huh? And they're feeding each other by hand!" Hermione leans back, clasping her hands on her knees in smug satisfaction as Ginny sniffs dismissively and fiddles with her long, silky russet locks.

"Yeah – talk about steamy!" Pansy jumps in eagerly. "Whoo-mama: that boy is fine with a capital 'V'! Are you going to– you know–" Pansy makes a ring shape with her left thumb and forefinger, provocatively wiggling her eyebrows while dipping her other index finger through the circle a few times.

"No! Well, not tonight. I don't think," Ginny ruminates, hastening to add, "But… Viktor did ask me if I am 'single – and ready to mingle'. I think he… I think he likes me." She smiles ingenuously as their four gazes amiably meet in the huge mirror.

"And I… like him… a lot. He's really sweet, you know? And soooo sexy," she confesses. "I kinda wish now that Ron hadn't torn down all his old Krum posters in a fit of rage after you were Viktor's date at the Yule Ball, Hermione."

Urgh. Ron. Hermione's face clouds as she hesitantly enquires, "Ginny – do you know what's wrong with Ron? Specifically tonight, I mean." Damn, that sounded cruel. "Apart from seeing me and Draco together, that is. There seems to be something else bothering him…?".

"Ronald may be envious about the strong sexual tensions permeating the atmosphere at our table," Luna observes. "And perhaps his longing to be similarly paired is manifesting in his heightened emotional responses?" she theorizes.

"You're not upset about not being paired off tonight, Luna. No… Ron keeps glaring at Harry. Maybe they had a fight?" Hermione ponders.

Pansy's voice is low as she states, "I think I know why he's angry, Hermione… but you're not going to like my explanation."

Before Pansy can elucidate, an unwelcome interruption struts around the corner, dressed in a dazzling gown of seafoam-green taffeta and sequins.

Astoria Greengrass pushes past Ginny at the counter; the petite blonde makes a big production of checking her flawless maquillage, her candy-pink long nails pulling a thin cylinder of lipstick out of her silk purse. Her elder sister Daphne silently follows. She looks uncomfortable, but at least greets the quartet of witches with a slight nod.

"Well… isn't this cosy? Tell me, are the wizards at your table running some sort of competition to see who can bring the most pathetic witch?" Astoria goes on the offensive immediately, her snobby tones dripping acid.

"Astoria, please– there's no need to start trouble– " Daphne mutters quietly.

"Shut up, Daphne. Why don't you run back to your stupid date and call him out for constantly staring at that hulking Auror all night? If I wanted your moronic opinion, I'd ask for it," Astoria snipes, as Daphne's face falls.

"What's your problem, Astoria? You should listen to your sister – you don't want to get into it with us," Ginny warns. "Walk away while you still have the chance."

Scoffing, Astoria finishes re-lining her pursed lips before she turns around to face them properly. "My problem? The Ministry's woefully low standards for admission to what should be an elite event – that's my problem. Look at your ragtag bunch: a notorious slut, a penniless jock, a tragic lunatic… and a jumped-up Mudblood," Astoria points to Pansy, Ginny, Luna, and Hermione in turn.

"Draco's clearly just amusing himself with a bit of common strange before he settles down – there isn't any other plausible explanation as to why he's bothering with the likes of you," Astoria continues mercilessly, her elegant finger stabbing perilously close to Hermione's irate face.

"As if you'd ever be welcomed at Malfoy Manor… Lucius would just as soon tar and feather you as grant you admittance through the front gates," she sneers. "You're as cheap as your knock-off dress, Granger. And you're not half as smart as you think you are, since you can't see that Draco is just using you for temporary sexual gratification. I feel sorry for you, truly," Astoria remarks triumphantly. "He needs a Pureblood wife, not some bushy-headed guttersnipe whose dopey parents gave her a name as obnoxious as her face."

Oh, bitch… you didn't. Hermione rises off the velveteen stool, cold fury replacing her hot indignation. She waves off her three friends as they move in.

"Guys – I got this," she assures. Stepping forward until Astoria's finger is but a hair's breadth from her nose, Hermione icily instructs, "Get your hag talon out of my face, Astoria – and start apologizing. To each of my friends, first; and then you can beg for my forgiveness. Don't forget to ask pardon for insulting my parents, too."

Finger remaining defiantly in place, Astoria laughs shrilly. "You wouldn't dare touch me! I'm Astoria Greengrass – and you're just some pushy upstart who happened to be in the right place at the right time when the Dark Lord went down."

Hermione doesn't bother to grab her wand to hex the living daylights out of the silly little cow, preferring a show of brute, 'common' strength. Grasping Astoria's finger, she bends it back, whipping a now-shrieking Astoria's hand up and around, pushing her arm up her back and crowding the fool against the counter to hold her immobile with very little effort.

"Stay back, Daphne – this is between Hermione and Astoria," Ginny has pulled her yew wood wand on the other Greengrass sister, while Luna stands guard at the bathroom door. Pansy nods sternly as Daphne's hands still; the brunette witch then casts a quick 'Silencio' as Astoria continues to wail piteously.

"I'm not hurting you, Astoria. Your finger isn't even sprained – but you will cease your caterwauling, and you will listen to me. If you refuse to apologize after I'm done speaking, I'll Transfigure you and your sister into Pygmy Puffs for the night, and tell your table that you suffered food poisoning and went straight home," Hermione vows.

"Shut up, slag," Pansy spits the words at Astoria. "I'd tell you to get fucked, but you wouldn't enjoy it, you horrid, vicious, vain little moll."

"Your ugly heart spoils your pretty face, Miss Greengrass," Luna sorrowfully tells the blubbering witch. "Projecting your insecurities and self-hatred onto others will simply rot away your joy and reward you with nothing but unhappiness and loneliness, I'm afraid."

"I'd rather be a poor athlete than a rich, sour shrew," Ginny growls. "The only thing 'pure' about you is your poisoned soul, Astoria."

"Guys – give me the con, OK? Let me speak," Hermione amends, as her mates react blankly to her Trekkie slang. "But thank you, for the back-up."

She tut-tuts as Astoria reaches back a clawing hand; the attempt to fight back is short-lived as Hermione angles the chicken-wing grip a little higher.

"Ow! You're hurting me!".

"Astoria, your bitterness and vitriol is pointless. I can understand that your snotty nose is out of joint because Blaise originally told you that Draco would be your escort tonight; but Draco never wanted to take you anywhere. Theo only agreed to be your replacement date after Blaise offered him a carte blanche marker for a future reciprocal favour. No one wants to be around you, Astoria – because no one likes you."

Disregarding Astoria's sniffling sobs, Hermione keeps on. "You're petty, and spiteful, and dreadfully elitist. You obviously understand nothing about positive, healthy adult relationships. It's past time you got off your skinny arse and found some meaningful employment, instead of polishing yourself up like an empty trophy, to be somehow 'won' by the highest bidder. Do you know what happens to trophies, Astoria? They are placed on a high shelf, forgotten, to gather dust. You've relied on your physical attractiveness your entire life, to the detriment of developing a decent personality. Time to drop your Pureblood persona and become a real, flawed, worthwhile human being."

"You don't know me – you've– you've no right to judge me like this!" Astoria bleats. Her baby blue eyes are distorted by tears… possibly genuine this time, Hermione decides, the sight making her soften a little, despite her ire.

"No, I don't know you… does anyone? Do you even know yourself? Is this really the woman you want to be, Astoria? Slinging slurs and malice at your fellow witches, just to shore up your own feeble self-esteem? You could be beautiful – inside and out – if you just laid down your arsenal and tried for a genuine connection with another human being," Hermione concludes.

She releases Astoria; the diminutive blonde huddles against the counter, unresisting as her sister tentatively pulls her into a loose hug and carefully strokes her hair. Luna gently places a handful of clean tissues into Daphne's hand; the elder sibling accepts them with a grateful tilt of her chin and begins applying them to Astoria's crumpled visage.

The room is silent as Astoria's tears roll down her face. Clutching her sister for support, she eventually composes herself.

"I'm sorry… for what I said. To… all of you. And… about your parents, Hermione. Can I go now?" Astoria's subdued voice is a dismal whisper.

"Not exactly a rousing apology," Pansy complains, brows beetling. "And you were warned not to start any shit, so don't expect me to feel sorry for you. You're lucky Hermione is essentially gooey-hearted."

"I don't want your pity," Astoria has retained enough vim to bite back. "Just leave me alone, OK? I won't say anything else rude to you."

"Or about us," Ginny presses. "If I hear you've been talking smack about Hermione and Draco, I'll stick my biggest Quaffle ball up your nasty arse. Ungreased," she emphasizes.

"Good one, Gin," Pansy and the youngest Weasley perform a congratulatory fist-bump.

"Come on, let's go," Hermione is tired of the drama. I feel a little guilty for being so hard on her… but Pansy's right, Astoria did deliberately start a row. Stuff her.

As they walk quietly out of the bathroom, Pansy achieves the last word.

"By the way – Hermione's dress is an original Elie Saab; as if I'd let her wear a designer knock-off," she sneers. "Kiss my slutty bum, Astoria."

Hermione drags out Pansy, sending Daphne an apologetic grimace over the top of Astoria's pale, bent head.

"That was interesting, and dramatic," Luna breezily opines, as they stroll back to the table. "This night is really broadening my horizons: thank you, ladies."

Oh, Luna. You darling. Hermione squeezes her Ravenclaw buddy's waist affectionately.

Hopefully, the only drama remaining is Draco finally following through on his sexual promises… before, or after the dancing?

Catching her tall blond lover's eye as they approach their table, she delights in his slow, sizzling smile as he hungrily drinks her in.

Before – let it be before, Hermione fervently prays, her pulse thumping.

I am damn near ready to combust!


Ginny claps enthusiastically as Viktor finishes his speech on the podium; she is pleasantly surprised by his confident oratory abilities. Though public speaking is evidently not something he particularly enjoys participating in, Viktor managed to draw the attention of the burbling, restless crowd almost immediately, using a few funny anecdotes from his Quidditch career – and even a sly, witty dig at Minister Dankworth's obsession with the sport – to win over the room.

Viktor gives a final little bow, his gaze scanning the crowd until it settles upon their table. His candid smile broadens as he drops an almost imperceptible wink at Ginny. She ignores her friends' sniggers and her brother's aggravated sigh, choosing to send back a far saucier wink of her own.

"You've made him blush – isn't he the sweetest?" Pansy admiringly comments.

"He's not blushing - it's hot up on the stage," Harry crabbily defers. "Krum's not nearly as cute as you witches make him out to be."

Is Harry disturbed by my interest in Viktor? Ginny is relieved to discover that Harry's attention is wholly centred on Pansy. Aha – he's just jealous of Pansy's throwaway comment. Phew. They're darned cute together, Ginny marvels. Good for you, Harry.

Thank Venus, I am no longer preoccupied with Harry to the point of obsession. Ginny cringes as she considers some of her disgraceful past behaviours in their long-term relationship. I was so jealous of his friendship with Hermione… the special bond that the Golden Trio had… I always felt excluded from their inner circle. Instead of focusing on developing my own personality, I twisted myself in knots trying to be the woman that I thought Harry wanted. Not too bright, Ginevra.

Shaking her head regretfully, Ginny reminds herself to focus on the present, not the past. Hearing another faint, sad vocalization from her brother beside her, she lays a hand on his tense arm.

"Ron… are you OK? Do you want to talk about what's bothering you?"

"What – so you can take the piss out of me and tell me to grow up, like everyone else at this bloody table…? No, thanks," Ron morosely replies.

Ginny tries again. "Ron. I'm not being facetious, or critical. I promise. C'mon, I mean it… I care about you, you know. It was always you and me against the world when we were kids, remember?" she cajoles, worried by Ron's pervasive apathy. "I won't judge you… I just want to be your supportive sister again… if you'll let me."

Ron gives her a long, considering look, stress lines etched on his freckled face. "No judgement?".

"No judgement, I swear," Ginny pats his arm again. "A shoulder to cry on and sisterly support, that's all."

Swinging his legs to the side to better converse, Ron mumbles, "I think I've messed up my life, Gin. I dropped out of the Auror program because I couldn't hack it– "

"You realized it wasn't for you, and you made a brave and intelligent decision to move forward, Ron," Ginny rapidly interjects. "You're too hard on yourself, bro."

"– and I wrecked my relationship with Hermione by taking her for granted and making no effort to see her needs were met," Ron rolls on, showing no signs he heard Ginny's correction.

"Honestly, Ron: I don't think you and Hermione were ever well-suited," Ginny offers. "That's not your fault, or hers; it just is what it is."

"Yeah… but I was still a sorry excuse of a boyfriend. You can't deny that, Ginny."

"Umm… no. Sorry, Ron. But hey – you're man enough to admit you were wrong, and you've learnt from your mistakes, right?".

He shrugs guardedly in reply.

"I know George initially only gave me a go in the shop because Mum and Dad begged him to – no, don't sugar-coat that, too. He told me as much, when he blasted me for being a lazy, self-indulgent sod, and threatened to sack me. At least I'm happy with my work effort now, I suppose," Ron sits up a little straighter.

"So you should be – you've done wonders with your sports-based expansions, and your charitable foundation is awesome," Ginny warmly praises. "I'm really proud of you."

"Thanks, Gin. That means– that means a lot," Ron chokes a little, gulping at his tumbler of pumpkin juice and making a funny, grumpy face. "Wish that were Butterbeer – but I suppose our table got an immediate ban on anything alcoholic because of Tall, Pale, and Pratty," he nods sideways in Draco's direction.

Ginny smiles as she scolds, "Shhh! At least you didn't call him Ferret, I guess."

"Malfoy's still a stuck-up jerk – but I can see how much he loves her. Don't repeat that, Gin," Ron grouses. "And – well, I realized recently that I've treated witches poorly… I got a taste of my own medicine, and now my nose is being rubbed in it," he cryptically enunciates.

"I dunno – I feel like everyone's moving on, and I'm just stupid old Ronnikins, still living in the attic bedroom and being a burden on his family and friends. I need to grow up, Ginny… but I– I don't know where to start," he mumbles, big hands flexing in aimless gestures of uncertainty and frustration.

Ginny pinches his cheek gently, grinning as Ron irritably bats away her fingers.

"Hey – Ron, everyone feels like that… everyone has moments of self-doubt, dark nights when you lie awake thinking you've missed so many opportunities, and hopelessly messed up your life. And then you wake up and look at your sad, haggard reflection… and you laugh at yourself for being such a dramatic fool, and remember you're still in your twenties, and you survived a war – you fought a war and you helped defeat an evil demon when you were still a ruddy teenager, OK?! Cut yourself some slack, bud."

"Do you… feel like that too, Gin? Really?" Ron breathes in amazement, as she nods assent. "But you – you always seem so confident, and popular – you've got a brilliant career, and you're smart, too."

"Ron, did I not move home because my long-term relationship went belly-up, and I didn't have the funds or the fortitude to set up my own place? Am I not right there with you, letting Mum fuss over us, feed us, do our laundry and basically treat us like overgrown teenagers?" Ginny wryly points out. "I think we both need a helping hand in the young adult growth and maturation department, don't you?".

Ron awkwardly pulls Ginny closer to bump foreheads. "We're gonna be OK, do you reckon, Ginny?". He sounds brighter than he has since they first sat down.

"Oof – geez, Ron, your head's as hard as a house brick," Ginny cavils. "Yeah – we'll be fine. We should probably think about moving out of The Burrow, though: I know it's convenient – and cheap – but you have to leave the nest if you want to fly, correct?" she prods.

Ron's spontaneous smile lightens Ginny's worries about her brother's fraught mental state. "Agreed – but I volunteer you to tell Mum we're going! She'll sulk for a week, you know."

Ginny puffs out a mock-aggrieved breath. "Sure… but I'll tell her it was your idea," she chuckles, nervily smoothing out the filmy netted fabric of her lower skirt as she spies Viktor striding purposefully back to their table.

Her giddy heart speeds up as she registers how intently Viktor is watching her… watching him. Memories of their unexpectedly incendiary liaison last year engulf her mind; the clean, spicy taste of his firm, wide lips against hers; the breathtaking dichotomy of his immense strength with his careful, gentle touches; the gravelly endearments he'd whispered against her mouth in a charming mash-up of accented English and Bulgarian; his insistence on seeing her safely inside her hotel room, despite her disappointment at his refusal to come in with her to finish what they'd started.

"I do not vant to be on list of regrets for you, Ginny-evra," Viktor had rumbled, cupping her head between his massive hands for a last, lingering smooch. "I am patient man… and I believe that if time is right for you, for us – you come back, da? Lock the door behind me, mila. Good night."

As she now beams at the strong, darkly handsome wizard sliding into the chair next to her, Ginny hopes her uninhibited welcome – and acceptance – is wreathed across her face.

You were mostly right, Viktor… when the time was right for us… you came back.


Pansy steels herself for an unavoidably unpleasant conversation. I need to tell Hermione, before she hears it from the horse's mouth… more like the horse's arse, in Ron Weasley's case. And then… I guess I should tell Harry. Fuck.

"Has something happened, Pansy? You look… troubled," Harry whispers, concern evident in his tenor tones. He reaches for her hand, flipping it palm-up on the table to delicately stroke the afferent skin; Pansy quivers like a tuning fork in instant response.

With an effort, she slips from his grasp as she stands up. "We got into a stoush with Astoria Greengrass – but Hermione annihilated her. Mentally, not physically, don't fret," Pansy assures, as Harry's eyes round behind his glasses. "It's fine– I'm fine, I mean. Just have to talk with Hermione for a moment. Please excuse me," she mumbles.

"Hermione? May I have a word with you, please?" Pansy quietly requests. "Don't look so peeved, Draco – I'll return her to you within five minutes, you big possessive baby."

Draco reluctantly stops forking bites of tiramisu into Hermione's mouth, waiting for his girlfriend to swallow the last morsel before kissing her passionately. Hermione blinks dazedly as he finally pulls away, using his thumb to wipe a droplet of mascarpone cream from the corner of her mouth, before transferring it to his own. "Delicious," he smugly proclaims.

Fuck's sake. Pansy grabs Hermione as she sways back in Draco's direction. "You guys are really pushing the envelope tonight – come on, Pollyanna. He's not going anywhere," Pansy steers them to a quieter spot to the far side of the podium, ensuring Hermione's back is to their table.

"Hello? Hello? Are you still in there, Hermione? Do I need to slap you out of it?" Pansy peers into Hermione's logy chocolate eyes as she mocks her friend's love-struck demeanour.

"Hey! No slapping!" Hermione sucks in a cleansing breath, shaking her head as if to clear it. Noting Pansy's disparagingly hiked eyebrow, she argues, "He's my soulmate, OK? Now, what's up?".

"I have to tell you why Ron Weasley has been glaring at us… well, at me, I suppose… all night. And before I do, I just want to say that I never thought this would be an issue– it meant absolutely nothing, and we weren't even friendly then– you and I, I mean– "

"You slept with Ron, didn't you," Hermione carefully states, as Pansy wheezes in shock. "Pansy, Draco already guessed that might be the case. I won't say I'm not… erm, surprised, but I'm not bothered by it. Truly. Whatever went on with you and Ron – did it happen after I broke up with him? Or… when we were still together? I'm sorry to pry – I suppose it doesn't really matter, what's done is done– "

"March 1st – I stumbled across Ron – literally – in the lower field at the Lovegoods' place, in Ottery St Catchpole," Pansy blurts. "He was nude, it was dark… I was a feeling a bit horny, and I wanted to teach him a lesson about using witches for casual sex… so I took him home and basically used him as a walking, talking vibrator."

Pressing at her temples, Pansy avoids looking at her new friend as she clarifies, "I called him 'Big Red', I didn't let him kiss me – hell, I made it perfectly clear that he was not to do anything without my express permission… and once I came, I rolled away and went to bed – alone. I didn't sleep with Ron – I had completely casual sex with him, once. He spent the rest of the night on my couch and Apparated home in the morning. He was a bit too drunk to do so the night before – but I made sure he was sober enough to give consent, I made absolutely certain of that," Pansy underlines, loathing the thought that Hermione might think her capable of taking advantage.

Concluding her awkward confession, Pansy tells Hermione, "I don't regret it – we were both single, willing adults. I scratched an itch and used the experience as an object lesson in forced empathy. The only lament I have is that I sent him home wearing my best cashmere throw rug – which he never saw fit to return, I might add." She folds her arms, annoyed anew by the sheer lack of basic manners on Ron's part.

Hermione tips back her chestnut head to guffaw loudly; Pansy stares at her in astonishment… and no small relief.

"You're not… angry? If I'd known you were going to become one of my best friends, I wouldn't have touched Ron with a sterilized barge pole," Pansy vigorously avouches. "And if I'd known…" No. Don't say it – you'll jinx things, for sure. You always do, she reminds herself.

"… If you'd known that Harry was going to fall head over heels for you?" Hermione shrewdly finishes. Pansy flushes, negating the outrageous statement with a swift jerk of her chin.

"Look, I can't promise that Harry won't be somewhat… taken aback; but he isn't a prig. And you've nothing to regret or be ashamed about, of course," she emphasizes.

Astoria's vile jeers float back into Pansy's head without her conscious volition. "You don't – you don't think I'm a… slut?". She winces at the word she's spent years trying to outrun… trying to forget.

"Don't you dare let Astoria get to you!" Hermione fiercely hisses, gripping Pansy by her bare shoulders as though she intends to shake some sense into her. "She knew exactly which of our buttons to press for maximum damage, didn't she?! You are most definitely not a slut – hell, Pansy, I wish I were more like you – you're a goddamn queen, and a boss, and a role model for witches everywhere! That rotten little beast – I should have tied her scurrilous tongue in a knot…" Hermione trails off, actually growling now.

"Easy, Pollyanna," Pansy snickers, her fear of rejection and criticism greatly alleviated. "I thought I should tell you about Ron before he blabs it in front of the whole table – I don't know him well enough to judge his level of discretion."

"His impulse control is traditionally rather poor," Hermione sighs. "Thanks, Pansy. You're a dear friend – and thank you so much for all your help with tonight. I'd have been quite lost without you, you know."

"Yeah, I know," Pansy regains some of her usual brassy bluster. "Honestly, I'm surprised Draco didn't take one look at you and immediately whisk you back upstairs for the rest of the evening! Please, can you two piss off already and work off your boiling lust? It's driving the rest of the table crazy," she groans.

Hooking their elbows together, Hermione grins impishly. "Once the speeches are over, I fully intend on having my wicked way with Draco in the privacy of my office; can you do me a favour by convincing Harry that we don't need anyone following us up there? Please?" she coaxes.

"Yeah, yeah – I'll do what I can… on the proviso you quit bullying Harry into asking me to dance, Golden Girl," Pansy grouches. "I don't want an unwilling partner… in anything."

"Ha! Harry can't keep his eyes – or his hands off you, Pansy. I'm just helping to speed up the process a tad," Hermione's eyes twinkle.

They are back at the table; Draco immediately scoops Hermione into his lap. Harry stands, solicitously pulling out Pansy's chair.

"About bloody time," Draco carps. "And Potter tells me that Astoria Greengrass had the absolute temerity to provoke you in the bathroom? What happened – and I'll hear the full particulars of it, nothing less," he autocratically demands.

"We bested her, Malfoy – don't fash yourself about it," Hermione placates, raking her fingers through Draco's flaxen hair.

"I must insist, Granger," he pompously maintains, while Pansy and Harry roll their eyes in unison.

Pansy decides to spill the beans herself, pithily describing the malevolent insults Astoria bandied about, and Hermione's kick-arse response.

"And when we departed, Astoria was still crying on Daphne's shoulder," she exultantly describes. "She'll think twice before she comes for our crew ever again."

"I'm going to ruin her. I'll demolish her family's finances, leaving her penniless and begging in the streets," Draco savagely pronounces. "Come Monday morning, Astoria Greengrass will be wishing for a Time-Turner and praying to Merlin that someone will take pity on her unkind, useless hide."

"Draco! I absolutely forbid it – and you don't want to cross me on this," Hermione returns to her own chair, the better to remonstrate with her furious boyfriend. "I think Astoria might be inspired to change her catty ways, if she takes some time to consider what I said to her."

"She insulted your honour, your intelligence, your heritage, your name, and our relationship, Hermione – I will not allow such heinous infractions to go unpunished," Draco stiffly contends.

Hermione cocks her head. "Well, if you won't see reason, I guess I won't…" she whispers the rest of her sentence into the reddening shell of Draco's ear. Despite her straining efforts, Pansy fails to learn the conclusion.

"You make an excellent point, ma petite: I bow to your superior wit and judgement," Draco performs an about-face with impressive rapidity. "Perhaps we could adjourn to your office, to further discuss the topic?".

"No, you don't – not without accompaniment," Harry jumps up as Draco begins to squire Hermione from the table. "You both promised, remember?".

"Send Gilmont and Faulkner to the end of the hall – we shan't be long," Draco airily waves at the Auror team. "No one comes inside though – or they'll live to regret it." His pale hand dips to the generous curve of Hermione's bum, squeezing strongly as she giggles.

"Malfoy! Oi! Wait!" Harry exasperatedly rumples at his hair before summoning his colleagues to follow the amorous pair. He repeats Draco's haughty instructions; they hurry out of the vast space.

"Let them go: at least this way we aren't forced to witness them audaciously mauling each other all night," Pansy grins at a petulant-looking Harry. She reaches for his warm hand before she realizes what she's doing; Harry holds on as she tries to pull away.

He links their fingers more securely as he quietly admits, "I'm mostly bothered because I had intended for Gilmont and Faulkner to keep watch on the pair of lovable twits while we danced, Pansy… and now, I have to wait. I really want to hold you in my arms." He brings her trembling hand to his lips, slowly kissing the inside of her wrist.

He must be able to feel my pulse jittering beneath his mouth. Oh, Circe… this man is killing me softly with his tenderness. Feeling reckless, Pansy wears her heart on her sleeve for once.

"I can't wait either… Harry." Revelling in the way his pupils blow wide as she speaks his given name, Pansy ignores the alarmed little voice in her brain hollering at her to shut the hell up.

Instead of extricating her digits from his, she scrapes her chair closer, the better to facilitate their handhold without stretching.

I am going to slow dance with Harry James Potter; and I am bloody well going to enjoy every second of it.

You bet I am.


Bulgarian translations:

da – yes

mila – honey