Title: The Absinthe of Reason
Author: Mundungus42
Rating: R
Disclaimer: I got plenty o' fanfic, but copyrights? Golly gee!
Summary: Response to the WIKTT Gryffindor Stud challenge
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Hermione woke the next morning and rather wished she hadn't. Shutting her eyes again did nothing to placate her brain, which seemed to be staging a violent demonstration against her skull. The pounding was made worse by an odd tickling sensation in the back of her consciousness, as if she'd forgotten something important. She took inventory of her physical state, adding "gives horrendous hangovers" to her mental filing system for "Butter Rum," and cast a sobering spell on herself. A second casting downgraded her photophobia from unbearable to merely awful, so she pulled out her alcohol journal for Snape and began to write.
June 24, 1998 11:48 pm to 1:30 am on 25 June
Experience with Butter Rum in a social setting. First round drained quickly, led to revelations of a highly personal nature. Experienced heightened degree of alcohol induced sexual awareness. Compromised decision- making skills. Because all drank second round together, passed personal threshold. Hangover experience is unparalleled. Nausea, headache, blurred vision, dry mouth, photophobia. Took two sobering spells to have effect.
Compromised decision-making skills.
The sense of foreboding that until that moment had been cleverly disguised as hangover chose to manifest itself. The piece of knowledge that had been tickling the back of her brain burst forth into full-blown, panic-inducing splendour.
The previous Friday, Hermione had been reading up on ritual imbibing at weddings and stumbled across the name of a monograph, called "In Vino Veritas," in a footnote. From the context in which the monograph was mentioned, she had concluded that its subject was the fates that befell witches and wizards who had not followed through on oaths made under the influence of alcohol.
Oh hell.
She hurriedly threw her blue Weasley jumper over her head. The name of an article wasn't much to go on, but if she didn't know where to look for more information on the subject, she wasn't worthy of the epithet bookworm.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Hermione propped her elbows on the enormous book in front of her, rested her still somewhat sensitive head in her hands and took a deep, shuddering breath.
As the afternoon wore into evening, Hermione had become more and more convinced that the information she was looking for did not exist. The Hogwarts Library was second to none, but it was to no avail; not a single book offered advice on how to get out of an alcohol-bound ceremonial vow, which was, she had concluded, exactly what she and the boys had made the previous evening. A number of references had conflicting information on the essential elements of a drinking "ceremony," mostly niggling about how drunk the wizard had to be, but they all agreed that celebration and strong alcohol were necessary, and that making frivolous oaths while under the influence was a very bad idea. Since the magic involved was ancient and functioned in unpredictable ways, the only way she could get out of it was to fulfil the oath or accept the consequences for breaking it. The latter was hardly advisable.
In 1677, Bergamot the Barmy refused to answer to an oath he'd made at a cousin's wedding. He had been driven mad by constant visions of the very dragon he'd sworn to slay. And in 1893, Wasps seeker Augusta Primus boasted that she could beat the Arrows seeker at one-on-one Quidditch during a post- match pub crawl, but then refused to play. She broke her neck in a broomstick accident a year later. Analytically, it was all circumstantial evidence, but the theory of alcohol's binding nature was consistent with its historical ceremonial use, not to mention every potion she had studied with Professor Snape.
Hermione slammed the book shut. Damn it all, the boys should've known better! They'd grown up in the magical world, for heaven's sake - well, except Harry. Then again, she should have known better, too. She was studying the dratted substance, after all. To hell with being the Stud of Gryffindor. She'd be lucky to get through this with all higher brain functions intact.
She stared out the window where a gibbous moon was rising over the Forbidden Forest. She and the boys had agreed to "go after" their loves. Worse, they had bound themselves to that course of action when they drank to Neville's challenge.
She began stacking the books on the reshelving cart with a bit more force than necessary, causing the binding of one particularly old volume to rip. She was instantly sorry. One reparo charm later, the book was in better shape than it had been before her rough handling. She sighed, sound echoing off the stone walls of the deserted library.
If only the circumstances had been different. She hadn't lied to the boys; she had planned to pursue Snape, but after graduation and on her own terms. But thanks to Fred and George's Butter Rum and her sexually frustrated housemates, she was bound, and she certainly did not want to risk her sanity and well-being.
There was nothing to be done. Starting now, her primary objective was no longer her NEWTs. What good would studying do her if she went mad? Her new focus was seducing her professor.
Before this really had a chance to penetrate, she realized that it was suppertime and that she still had three essays to write. They were due the following month, but with her independent study and the Snape project to research, she would have to budget her time wisely. She briefly considered warning the boys about reneging on their promise, but figured their egos would be sufficient incentive.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
When Hermione brought her easily digestible sweetened porridge and hot tea to the table, she was relieved to see that all of her fellow potential Gryffindor studs were equally bleary-eyed, but definitely up to something. Seamus and Neville were in deep conversation, while Harry and Ron were arguing quietly at the foot of the table, at least three empty chairs away from the rest of the Gryffindors. Ron's ears were bright red, and Harry looked as if he was close to dumping a tureen of pea soup on Ron's head. All of them seemed engrossed in their own discussions, so she began to read her borrowed copy of "The Unabridged and Exhaustive Compendium of Hogwarts Rules, Regulations, Standards, Weights, Measures and Timetables," volume twenty-three, and began discreetly thumbing through the index for anything on the subject of student-teacher fraternization.
After her less than flavourful or informative supper, Hermione found herself irresistibly drawn to the restricted section. On the very first night of exploring her Head Girl privileges, she had discovered that the Restricted Section housed not only arcane magical subjects, but also books that Madame Pince had deemed a distraction to or inappropriate for younger students.
Since all the books on courtship in the library's regular collection were at least three decades, or in some cases three centuries, out of date, her access to the explicit texts in the restricted section proved invaluable.
Throughout the year, Hermione had developed a taste for reading up on the social history Binns didn't cover in his class. Her favourites were richly illuminated texts from 14th century Italy. She suspected a number of the firsties would wet themselves if they glimpsed the expanses of entwined human flesh in the marginalia. Though she appreciated the pictures on an aesthetic level, they didn't interest her particularly. The stories, on the other hand, sometimes made her wonder if she were any better than Eloise Midgen, who had had at least ten paperback romances confiscated for reading them in class. Hermione had devoured all flavors of romantic artifacts, from Lady Birdy's 1291 account of her greatly anticipated wedding night and Plato's ode to male beauty.
She wandered over to her favourite shelves, on which were housed all manner of raunchy, ribald, and risqué accounts, organized chronologically. She was strongly tempted to re-read Candide- not the expurgated, bowdlerized version the Muggles read, but the violent, unashamedly sexual version that graced the shelves of the restricted section. But she had already memorized Cunegonde's shrewd seduction of the Grand Inquisitor of Lisbon and all the other parts that she felt were particularly delicious mixes of intellect and sensuality.
Skimming the shelves with a practiced eye, she gathered a stack of promising looking titles. "What a Piece of Work is Man" by Sal Oume, an 19th Century polyandrist, "l'Escrime e l'Amour" by La Maupin, and a number of biographies on history's most famous beauties including Hsi Shi and Cleopatra.
Long past curfew, Hermione decided that she was sufficiently educated on the subject of love. However, she still wasn't quite sure how to apply this knowledge to her situation. Fortunately, there were a number of common threads that ran through each narrative- mainly preparation, control, and confidence. Since she felt that she had a fair grasp on the first two, it seemed that confidence was the key.
Hermione began moving her books to the reshelving stack and caught a glance of herself reflected in the window glass. She was reasonably pleased with her own face and body- everything seemed to function properly. But, she thought as she ran a hand regretfully through her unruly hair, there was certainly room for improvement on the sexiness front.
She began gathering her notes, eyes touching briefly on some of the ideas she had scribbled down. Cleopatra suggested melting a cone of scented wax on one's head to prepare herself to meet with a lover or important politician, and Cliodna recommended a paste of potato and black cat hair applied to the breasts the night before to increase their attractiveness, but Hermione doubted those solutions would be of much use to her.
Still, she thought as she closed the heavy doors behind her, she had to start somewhere, no matter how close to the bottom.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"You want us to do what?" screeched Lavender.
"So you can do what?" cried Parvati.
Hermione had anticipated this reaction and shrugged noncommittally. "I think you heard me the first time. Are you up for it?"
The girls traded looks.
"Maybe," said Parvati reluctantly, "but I don't know why you think we'll be any help to you."
"Because you know what men look for, " said Hermione. "You know about style. You know how to make someone look good."
Parvati looked unconvinced, but Lavendar smiled. "Well, that's nice," she said. "But I think you're overestimating our skills.
"What do you mean?"
"Well," Lavendar said with a shy smile, "Where do you think we learned it all?"
Guessing games. Fortunately, her voice didn't betray her annoyance. "I haven't any idea. Where?"
"Pansy Parkinson," they chorused.
Hermione felt another headache coming on. "OK, er- thanks. Just promise you won't tell anyone else about this, especially not the Gryffindor Stud part?"
The girls looked at one another before answering.
"We'll promise," said Parvati, "if you tell us who else was involved and who they promised to ask out."
"How about if I just tell you who else is in the running for Gryffindor Stud?"
Lavender caught Parvati's eye briefly, and they nodded in unison.
"It's Me, Harry, Ron, Neville, and Seamus."
At the mention of Seamus's name, the girls dissolved into giggles. That was not a good sign.
Hermione glared sternly at them. "You promised not to tell anyone. You can't mention the pact and you can't mention who's involved. Any blabbing might make the contest unfair." Or more unfair, she added silently, noting that none of the others had to seduce a teacher.
"We promise," said Parvati and Lavender solemnly, fingers crossed resolutely behind their backs.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
By the time Pansy Parkinson had stopped laughing, Hermione was just about ready to curse her.
"So are you going to help me, or not?"
This sent Pansy off into further whoops of mirth. "Stud of Gryffindor?" she was in danger of falling on the floor. "Oh, Lord, I may split something."
"If you don't shut up, it'll be your head," snapped Hermione, pushed to the edge of her patience. "I've got into this mess and I need you to help me get out of it. I'll do almost anything you ask."
"The Gryffindor know-it-all needs my help," she said, recovering somewhat. "What's in it for me?"
Hermione thought of Ron and Harry. "I can help you embarrass Draco Malfoy."
Pansy's eyes were guarded. "Why should I care about Draco Malfoy?"
"Because he treats you as if you're not fit to wipe his boots. You think nobody notices?"
"If you want my help, mudblood, you're going about it the wrong way." She turned to leave, but Hermione sensed she was still listening.
"He's in love with a Gryffindor," she said, praying her instincts were as good as she thought they were.
Pansy turned and looked her in the eye. "If you're lying, you'll regret it."
"I know. I haven't anything to lose. I'm begging you. Help me."
Pansy gazed at her perfect fingernails. Hermione noticed that her hands were trembling slightly.
"You will proofread all of my essays for the rest of the year and you will oversee my study for the NEWTs," said Pansy. "You will also tell me the name of the Gryffindor Draco likes."
Game. Set. Match! "I will proofread your essays and help you study. I will also brew you a cauldron full of Psyche Potion. But I will not tell you the Gryffindor's name."
Pansy's nostrils flared. Psyche Potion was the second strongest truth potion after Veritaserum, but it was not as strictly controlled by the Ministry of Magic. For someone like Pansy, whose knowledge of other people's desires determined her place in the pecking order, Psyche Potion was a powerful incentive.
"You are in no position to make demands," said Pansy, a little too quickly. "But I accept your offer."
Hermione clasped the extended hand with a sigh of relief. Psyche Potion was one that contained alcoholic components, and therefore one whose brewing Professor Snape would oversee with very few questions.
"Thank you, Parkinson."
"The pleasure is all yours, Granger. First things first. What on earth do you use on your hair?"
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
That Tuesday when Hermione walked into Potions, there was something different. Pansy smiled to herself. With a little more subtle polishing, Granger could be almost promising.
Nobody noticed the individual elements- her skirt was two inches shorter than regulation, and the heels on her shoes an inch and a half higher. The vee of her school jumper was lower, and the top button on her shirt was undone, exposing a few inches of flesh at her throat. Her curls tumbled, rather than frizzed, and a subtly applied cosmetic spell made her cheeks and lips a shade darker, and her eyelids more pronounced.
However, anyone who noticed Hermione's appearance forgot abruptly when Snape swooped into the classroom with an overpowering aura of menace. Hermione threw her shoulders back- Pansy was trying to improve her posture- but it was soon forgotten when the actual brewing began.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
At her tutorial that evening, Hermione was no longer thinking about the advice Pansy had given her. She was exhausted, barely able to stir the glop that was first stage of the Psyche Potion. She was beginning to wonder if perhaps Pansy might have settled for a less labour-intensive potion.
Professor Snape appeared at her shoulder. "I see nothing immediately wrong, " he admitted with a scornful twist of his lip. "But we won't know until the potion has been tested. Anything that went wrong in the first stage will manifest itself in use, but no earlier."
"That's why I chose this potion, sir. Occasionally I am uncertain in my potions-brewing skills, and this potion is an excellent confidence- builder."
Snape snorted derisively. "Only if it is made correctly, which I sincerely doubt anyone with less than ten years of potions study can do."
Hermione smiled, finding the buried compliment in his pessimistic humour. "Thank you for your vote of confidence, sir. I will do my best to live up to it."
He looked at her suspiciously. "I advise you to watch your mouth, Miss Granger. I only suffer your presence as a special favour to the Headmaster. Even he cannot reinstate you if you seriously displease me, and you are in danger of doing so now."
"No disrespect meant, sir. I apologise," she said hastily. "I assumed that if you thought the potion beyond my ability you would have said so when I expressed a desire to brew it.
"I feel that some lessons are best learned the hard way."
She wasn't quite sure how to respond, so she stared at the surface of her potion. "The instructions say that the potion must simmer for twelve hours, which means that I must tend to it at the beginning of my Transfiguration lesson. May I have a pass to give to Professor McGonagall?"
He made a sound of annoyance. "That will not be necessary, Granger. As a Potions Master, I am more than capable of removing a cauldron from heat."
She smiled impishly. "I have every confidence in you, sir."
"Out, Granger!" he barked. "And don't come back if you know what's good for you!"
Grinning widely, she ran out the door.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
By the next potions class, the boys' eyes lingered on Hermione for a few moments before they returned to staring at the wall. Hermione felt acutely self-conscious.
When they met in the loo before class, Pansy had shortened her skirt another inch and made the heels of her shoes even higher. Hermione had protested the expanse of leg, but Pansy insisted that it was necessary. She also shrunk Hermione's school jumper so that it clung tightly to her breasts and waist. Apart from the treatment she'd administered two days before, Pansy left her hair alone. She called it an identifying trait- something that set Hermione apart.
The make-up charms were not darker, but the contrasts were more pronounced. Hermione liked the makeup, but hated the changes to her clothes. She didn't feel sexy. She felt ridiculous, and complained as much to Pansy.
"You obviously don't know the least bit about Slytherin men," she said, scornfully.
"If I thought I did, you don't think I'd submit to this humiliation?" She gestured to her skirt, which now hit her mid-thigh. "It's not like he notices it anyway."
"That's where you're wrong. The trick to snaring a Slytherin male is contradiction," said Pansy. "The complex nature of the Slytherin is drawn to opposites. They expect you to put forth an effort to look good, but shun you if it looks like you put too much effort into it. You're a goody-two- shoes bookworm, and that's why the stiletto Mary Janes and a scandalously short skirt work for you. Do you think Parvati Patil could get away with what you're wearing now?"
Hermione smirked, remembering an occasion in which Professor McGonagall had lengthened Parvati's skirt in Transfiguration after a tart comment about the usefulness of augmenting spells.
"I thought so," said Pansy smugly. "If I were you, I'd wear impressive undergarments to your next independent study meeting. You may need them."
"Impressive undergarments?" Hermione spat. "What's the use of those lacy little scraps-"
"Honestly, woman, have you no experience with seduction?" a deep voice came from the loo entrance. Millicent Bulstrode lumbered into view.
"Granger's attempting seduction without impressive undergarments," Pansy said, nastily.
Millicent looked at her in amazement. "Not even a matching knickers and bra set?"
"Well, it all matches," said Hermione huffily. "It's undyed brushed cotton. Very comfortable."
Pansy and Millicent burst out laughing.
"Oh, Granger," said Millicent. "Have you got a lot to learn." She undid the top buttons of her blouse, exposing an expanse of iridescent silk that seemed to ripple of its own accord.
Oh Neville, Hermione thought, If only you were a fly on this wall...
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Author's Note: Huge thanks to my beta readers Dana and Jeff! Also, know that I am totally floored by all the positive feedback y'all have given me. I'll try to keep it up with the weekly updates and hope that this chapter and the next ones satisfy your expectations. Ooo I absolutely love challenges!
*blows kisses in a non-theatrical way*
You guys are the best!
Author: Mundungus42
Rating: R
Disclaimer: I got plenty o' fanfic, but copyrights? Golly gee!
Summary: Response to the WIKTT Gryffindor Stud challenge
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Hermione woke the next morning and rather wished she hadn't. Shutting her eyes again did nothing to placate her brain, which seemed to be staging a violent demonstration against her skull. The pounding was made worse by an odd tickling sensation in the back of her consciousness, as if she'd forgotten something important. She took inventory of her physical state, adding "gives horrendous hangovers" to her mental filing system for "Butter Rum," and cast a sobering spell on herself. A second casting downgraded her photophobia from unbearable to merely awful, so she pulled out her alcohol journal for Snape and began to write.
June 24, 1998 11:48 pm to 1:30 am on 25 June
Experience with Butter Rum in a social setting. First round drained quickly, led to revelations of a highly personal nature. Experienced heightened degree of alcohol induced sexual awareness. Compromised decision- making skills. Because all drank second round together, passed personal threshold. Hangover experience is unparalleled. Nausea, headache, blurred vision, dry mouth, photophobia. Took two sobering spells to have effect.
Compromised decision-making skills.
The sense of foreboding that until that moment had been cleverly disguised as hangover chose to manifest itself. The piece of knowledge that had been tickling the back of her brain burst forth into full-blown, panic-inducing splendour.
The previous Friday, Hermione had been reading up on ritual imbibing at weddings and stumbled across the name of a monograph, called "In Vino Veritas," in a footnote. From the context in which the monograph was mentioned, she had concluded that its subject was the fates that befell witches and wizards who had not followed through on oaths made under the influence of alcohol.
Oh hell.
She hurriedly threw her blue Weasley jumper over her head. The name of an article wasn't much to go on, but if she didn't know where to look for more information on the subject, she wasn't worthy of the epithet bookworm.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Hermione propped her elbows on the enormous book in front of her, rested her still somewhat sensitive head in her hands and took a deep, shuddering breath.
As the afternoon wore into evening, Hermione had become more and more convinced that the information she was looking for did not exist. The Hogwarts Library was second to none, but it was to no avail; not a single book offered advice on how to get out of an alcohol-bound ceremonial vow, which was, she had concluded, exactly what she and the boys had made the previous evening. A number of references had conflicting information on the essential elements of a drinking "ceremony," mostly niggling about how drunk the wizard had to be, but they all agreed that celebration and strong alcohol were necessary, and that making frivolous oaths while under the influence was a very bad idea. Since the magic involved was ancient and functioned in unpredictable ways, the only way she could get out of it was to fulfil the oath or accept the consequences for breaking it. The latter was hardly advisable.
In 1677, Bergamot the Barmy refused to answer to an oath he'd made at a cousin's wedding. He had been driven mad by constant visions of the very dragon he'd sworn to slay. And in 1893, Wasps seeker Augusta Primus boasted that she could beat the Arrows seeker at one-on-one Quidditch during a post- match pub crawl, but then refused to play. She broke her neck in a broomstick accident a year later. Analytically, it was all circumstantial evidence, but the theory of alcohol's binding nature was consistent with its historical ceremonial use, not to mention every potion she had studied with Professor Snape.
Hermione slammed the book shut. Damn it all, the boys should've known better! They'd grown up in the magical world, for heaven's sake - well, except Harry. Then again, she should have known better, too. She was studying the dratted substance, after all. To hell with being the Stud of Gryffindor. She'd be lucky to get through this with all higher brain functions intact.
She stared out the window where a gibbous moon was rising over the Forbidden Forest. She and the boys had agreed to "go after" their loves. Worse, they had bound themselves to that course of action when they drank to Neville's challenge.
She began stacking the books on the reshelving cart with a bit more force than necessary, causing the binding of one particularly old volume to rip. She was instantly sorry. One reparo charm later, the book was in better shape than it had been before her rough handling. She sighed, sound echoing off the stone walls of the deserted library.
If only the circumstances had been different. She hadn't lied to the boys; she had planned to pursue Snape, but after graduation and on her own terms. But thanks to Fred and George's Butter Rum and her sexually frustrated housemates, she was bound, and she certainly did not want to risk her sanity and well-being.
There was nothing to be done. Starting now, her primary objective was no longer her NEWTs. What good would studying do her if she went mad? Her new focus was seducing her professor.
Before this really had a chance to penetrate, she realized that it was suppertime and that she still had three essays to write. They were due the following month, but with her independent study and the Snape project to research, she would have to budget her time wisely. She briefly considered warning the boys about reneging on their promise, but figured their egos would be sufficient incentive.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
When Hermione brought her easily digestible sweetened porridge and hot tea to the table, she was relieved to see that all of her fellow potential Gryffindor studs were equally bleary-eyed, but definitely up to something. Seamus and Neville were in deep conversation, while Harry and Ron were arguing quietly at the foot of the table, at least three empty chairs away from the rest of the Gryffindors. Ron's ears were bright red, and Harry looked as if he was close to dumping a tureen of pea soup on Ron's head. All of them seemed engrossed in their own discussions, so she began to read her borrowed copy of "The Unabridged and Exhaustive Compendium of Hogwarts Rules, Regulations, Standards, Weights, Measures and Timetables," volume twenty-three, and began discreetly thumbing through the index for anything on the subject of student-teacher fraternization.
After her less than flavourful or informative supper, Hermione found herself irresistibly drawn to the restricted section. On the very first night of exploring her Head Girl privileges, she had discovered that the Restricted Section housed not only arcane magical subjects, but also books that Madame Pince had deemed a distraction to or inappropriate for younger students.
Since all the books on courtship in the library's regular collection were at least three decades, or in some cases three centuries, out of date, her access to the explicit texts in the restricted section proved invaluable.
Throughout the year, Hermione had developed a taste for reading up on the social history Binns didn't cover in his class. Her favourites were richly illuminated texts from 14th century Italy. She suspected a number of the firsties would wet themselves if they glimpsed the expanses of entwined human flesh in the marginalia. Though she appreciated the pictures on an aesthetic level, they didn't interest her particularly. The stories, on the other hand, sometimes made her wonder if she were any better than Eloise Midgen, who had had at least ten paperback romances confiscated for reading them in class. Hermione had devoured all flavors of romantic artifacts, from Lady Birdy's 1291 account of her greatly anticipated wedding night and Plato's ode to male beauty.
She wandered over to her favourite shelves, on which were housed all manner of raunchy, ribald, and risqué accounts, organized chronologically. She was strongly tempted to re-read Candide- not the expurgated, bowdlerized version the Muggles read, but the violent, unashamedly sexual version that graced the shelves of the restricted section. But she had already memorized Cunegonde's shrewd seduction of the Grand Inquisitor of Lisbon and all the other parts that she felt were particularly delicious mixes of intellect and sensuality.
Skimming the shelves with a practiced eye, she gathered a stack of promising looking titles. "What a Piece of Work is Man" by Sal Oume, an 19th Century polyandrist, "l'Escrime e l'Amour" by La Maupin, and a number of biographies on history's most famous beauties including Hsi Shi and Cleopatra.
Long past curfew, Hermione decided that she was sufficiently educated on the subject of love. However, she still wasn't quite sure how to apply this knowledge to her situation. Fortunately, there were a number of common threads that ran through each narrative- mainly preparation, control, and confidence. Since she felt that she had a fair grasp on the first two, it seemed that confidence was the key.
Hermione began moving her books to the reshelving stack and caught a glance of herself reflected in the window glass. She was reasonably pleased with her own face and body- everything seemed to function properly. But, she thought as she ran a hand regretfully through her unruly hair, there was certainly room for improvement on the sexiness front.
She began gathering her notes, eyes touching briefly on some of the ideas she had scribbled down. Cleopatra suggested melting a cone of scented wax on one's head to prepare herself to meet with a lover or important politician, and Cliodna recommended a paste of potato and black cat hair applied to the breasts the night before to increase their attractiveness, but Hermione doubted those solutions would be of much use to her.
Still, she thought as she closed the heavy doors behind her, she had to start somewhere, no matter how close to the bottom.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"You want us to do what?" screeched Lavender.
"So you can do what?" cried Parvati.
Hermione had anticipated this reaction and shrugged noncommittally. "I think you heard me the first time. Are you up for it?"
The girls traded looks.
"Maybe," said Parvati reluctantly, "but I don't know why you think we'll be any help to you."
"Because you know what men look for, " said Hermione. "You know about style. You know how to make someone look good."
Parvati looked unconvinced, but Lavendar smiled. "Well, that's nice," she said. "But I think you're overestimating our skills.
"What do you mean?"
"Well," Lavendar said with a shy smile, "Where do you think we learned it all?"
Guessing games. Fortunately, her voice didn't betray her annoyance. "I haven't any idea. Where?"
"Pansy Parkinson," they chorused.
Hermione felt another headache coming on. "OK, er- thanks. Just promise you won't tell anyone else about this, especially not the Gryffindor Stud part?"
The girls looked at one another before answering.
"We'll promise," said Parvati, "if you tell us who else was involved and who they promised to ask out."
"How about if I just tell you who else is in the running for Gryffindor Stud?"
Lavender caught Parvati's eye briefly, and they nodded in unison.
"It's Me, Harry, Ron, Neville, and Seamus."
At the mention of Seamus's name, the girls dissolved into giggles. That was not a good sign.
Hermione glared sternly at them. "You promised not to tell anyone. You can't mention the pact and you can't mention who's involved. Any blabbing might make the contest unfair." Or more unfair, she added silently, noting that none of the others had to seduce a teacher.
"We promise," said Parvati and Lavender solemnly, fingers crossed resolutely behind their backs.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
By the time Pansy Parkinson had stopped laughing, Hermione was just about ready to curse her.
"So are you going to help me, or not?"
This sent Pansy off into further whoops of mirth. "Stud of Gryffindor?" she was in danger of falling on the floor. "Oh, Lord, I may split something."
"If you don't shut up, it'll be your head," snapped Hermione, pushed to the edge of her patience. "I've got into this mess and I need you to help me get out of it. I'll do almost anything you ask."
"The Gryffindor know-it-all needs my help," she said, recovering somewhat. "What's in it for me?"
Hermione thought of Ron and Harry. "I can help you embarrass Draco Malfoy."
Pansy's eyes were guarded. "Why should I care about Draco Malfoy?"
"Because he treats you as if you're not fit to wipe his boots. You think nobody notices?"
"If you want my help, mudblood, you're going about it the wrong way." She turned to leave, but Hermione sensed she was still listening.
"He's in love with a Gryffindor," she said, praying her instincts were as good as she thought they were.
Pansy turned and looked her in the eye. "If you're lying, you'll regret it."
"I know. I haven't anything to lose. I'm begging you. Help me."
Pansy gazed at her perfect fingernails. Hermione noticed that her hands were trembling slightly.
"You will proofread all of my essays for the rest of the year and you will oversee my study for the NEWTs," said Pansy. "You will also tell me the name of the Gryffindor Draco likes."
Game. Set. Match! "I will proofread your essays and help you study. I will also brew you a cauldron full of Psyche Potion. But I will not tell you the Gryffindor's name."
Pansy's nostrils flared. Psyche Potion was the second strongest truth potion after Veritaserum, but it was not as strictly controlled by the Ministry of Magic. For someone like Pansy, whose knowledge of other people's desires determined her place in the pecking order, Psyche Potion was a powerful incentive.
"You are in no position to make demands," said Pansy, a little too quickly. "But I accept your offer."
Hermione clasped the extended hand with a sigh of relief. Psyche Potion was one that contained alcoholic components, and therefore one whose brewing Professor Snape would oversee with very few questions.
"Thank you, Parkinson."
"The pleasure is all yours, Granger. First things first. What on earth do you use on your hair?"
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
That Tuesday when Hermione walked into Potions, there was something different. Pansy smiled to herself. With a little more subtle polishing, Granger could be almost promising.
Nobody noticed the individual elements- her skirt was two inches shorter than regulation, and the heels on her shoes an inch and a half higher. The vee of her school jumper was lower, and the top button on her shirt was undone, exposing a few inches of flesh at her throat. Her curls tumbled, rather than frizzed, and a subtly applied cosmetic spell made her cheeks and lips a shade darker, and her eyelids more pronounced.
However, anyone who noticed Hermione's appearance forgot abruptly when Snape swooped into the classroom with an overpowering aura of menace. Hermione threw her shoulders back- Pansy was trying to improve her posture- but it was soon forgotten when the actual brewing began.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
At her tutorial that evening, Hermione was no longer thinking about the advice Pansy had given her. She was exhausted, barely able to stir the glop that was first stage of the Psyche Potion. She was beginning to wonder if perhaps Pansy might have settled for a less labour-intensive potion.
Professor Snape appeared at her shoulder. "I see nothing immediately wrong, " he admitted with a scornful twist of his lip. "But we won't know until the potion has been tested. Anything that went wrong in the first stage will manifest itself in use, but no earlier."
"That's why I chose this potion, sir. Occasionally I am uncertain in my potions-brewing skills, and this potion is an excellent confidence- builder."
Snape snorted derisively. "Only if it is made correctly, which I sincerely doubt anyone with less than ten years of potions study can do."
Hermione smiled, finding the buried compliment in his pessimistic humour. "Thank you for your vote of confidence, sir. I will do my best to live up to it."
He looked at her suspiciously. "I advise you to watch your mouth, Miss Granger. I only suffer your presence as a special favour to the Headmaster. Even he cannot reinstate you if you seriously displease me, and you are in danger of doing so now."
"No disrespect meant, sir. I apologise," she said hastily. "I assumed that if you thought the potion beyond my ability you would have said so when I expressed a desire to brew it.
"I feel that some lessons are best learned the hard way."
She wasn't quite sure how to respond, so she stared at the surface of her potion. "The instructions say that the potion must simmer for twelve hours, which means that I must tend to it at the beginning of my Transfiguration lesson. May I have a pass to give to Professor McGonagall?"
He made a sound of annoyance. "That will not be necessary, Granger. As a Potions Master, I am more than capable of removing a cauldron from heat."
She smiled impishly. "I have every confidence in you, sir."
"Out, Granger!" he barked. "And don't come back if you know what's good for you!"
Grinning widely, she ran out the door.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
By the next potions class, the boys' eyes lingered on Hermione for a few moments before they returned to staring at the wall. Hermione felt acutely self-conscious.
When they met in the loo before class, Pansy had shortened her skirt another inch and made the heels of her shoes even higher. Hermione had protested the expanse of leg, but Pansy insisted that it was necessary. She also shrunk Hermione's school jumper so that it clung tightly to her breasts and waist. Apart from the treatment she'd administered two days before, Pansy left her hair alone. She called it an identifying trait- something that set Hermione apart.
The make-up charms were not darker, but the contrasts were more pronounced. Hermione liked the makeup, but hated the changes to her clothes. She didn't feel sexy. She felt ridiculous, and complained as much to Pansy.
"You obviously don't know the least bit about Slytherin men," she said, scornfully.
"If I thought I did, you don't think I'd submit to this humiliation?" She gestured to her skirt, which now hit her mid-thigh. "It's not like he notices it anyway."
"That's where you're wrong. The trick to snaring a Slytherin male is contradiction," said Pansy. "The complex nature of the Slytherin is drawn to opposites. They expect you to put forth an effort to look good, but shun you if it looks like you put too much effort into it. You're a goody-two- shoes bookworm, and that's why the stiletto Mary Janes and a scandalously short skirt work for you. Do you think Parvati Patil could get away with what you're wearing now?"
Hermione smirked, remembering an occasion in which Professor McGonagall had lengthened Parvati's skirt in Transfiguration after a tart comment about the usefulness of augmenting spells.
"I thought so," said Pansy smugly. "If I were you, I'd wear impressive undergarments to your next independent study meeting. You may need them."
"Impressive undergarments?" Hermione spat. "What's the use of those lacy little scraps-"
"Honestly, woman, have you no experience with seduction?" a deep voice came from the loo entrance. Millicent Bulstrode lumbered into view.
"Granger's attempting seduction without impressive undergarments," Pansy said, nastily.
Millicent looked at her in amazement. "Not even a matching knickers and bra set?"
"Well, it all matches," said Hermione huffily. "It's undyed brushed cotton. Very comfortable."
Pansy and Millicent burst out laughing.
"Oh, Granger," said Millicent. "Have you got a lot to learn." She undid the top buttons of her blouse, exposing an expanse of iridescent silk that seemed to ripple of its own accord.
Oh Neville, Hermione thought, If only you were a fly on this wall...
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Author's Note: Huge thanks to my beta readers Dana and Jeff! Also, know that I am totally floored by all the positive feedback y'all have given me. I'll try to keep it up with the weekly updates and hope that this chapter and the next ones satisfy your expectations. Ooo I absolutely love challenges!
*blows kisses in a non-theatrical way*
You guys are the best!