Chapter 5: Bustin' Out

"So," Pansy said as they re-entered the Slytherin common room. "Do you have a plan?"

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Sure," he replied. "You stay here while Bonfoy and I go after Ron."

Pansy's eyes blazed. "Like hell, you bloody sexist pig!" she retorted. "In for a penny, in for a pound—I'm coming with you!"

"Pansy," Bonfoy said patiently, placing a hand on each of her shoulders, "the trio thing was for Dumbledore's benefit. Harry and I can do this without you being in harm's way."

She smiled maliciously. "Trying to protect me, Draco?" she asked.

"That's right."

"Rather silly, you trying to protect me when you can't even protect yourself." Still smiling, she planted her knee squarely in his groin.

Bonfoy dropped to the floor with a groan as Pansy turned on Harry. "Any patronizing platitudes to utter before you join your friend?" she asked sweetly.

Harry held up his hands, his eyes wide. "Okay, you can come," he told her hastily.

She beamed. "Right answer."

---

Before leaving for London, they checked in with Crabbe and Goyle, who fitted them out with a number of nifty gadgets that could be of assistance in their mission. Pansy took particular delight in a small one-shot pistol disguised as a tube of lipstick; Harry preferred the pack of smokes that was actually a grenade. Bonfoy, meanwhile, requested a groin guard.

An hour later, they stood across a trash-littered street from a hovel whose neon sign identified it as Busty Bombshell's.

"All right," Harry sighed. "I'm not being sexist, Pansy, but you're going to look suspicious going in there with us. All the clientele are men."

"Well, given that you're boys," she sniffed, "I hardly see how I'll be more conspicuous. I can always say I'm going in to work."

Bonfoy arched an eyebrow. "Oh, really, now."

"Yes, really, now," she countered, then pulled her wand. "Finite glamourie." Instantly, her appearance charm disappeared, and she became a pretty, petite young woman in a spaghetti-strap tank and denim cut-offs. "I ask again: Anymore platitudes to part with?"

Bonfoy caught Harry's eye. "You have to admit, she's good."

Harry shrugged. "I s'pose we can go in five minutes apart," he conceded. "Her going in to work, you and me to have a drink and, er, take in the scenery."

"That's the best idea I've heard from either of you all day," Pansy said. "Just don't get so distracted by the scenery that you forget what we're here for."

---

It took far longer than Harry had anticipated for them to find the back stairs leading to Fleur's flat, and, to his and Bonfoy's chagrin, it was largely due to the scenery. At last, however, they caught up to Pansy, who led the way to the first floor, muttering about the stupidity of males the whole way.

The stairs terminated at one end of a dusty hallway, down which the trio silently tiptoed. They came to a door at the other end, and Pansy knocked at it.

"'Oo eez eet?" Fleur's voice called.

"Room service," Pansy answered. "I've got your order of pickled truffles, extra-slimy escargot, and extra-crispy frog legs with a bottle of Pinot Blanc.

"Fah-nah-lee!" Fleur snapped. They heard her stomping toward the door. "Ah ordered zat 'alf an hour ago!"

"I know," Pansy whispered to Harry and Bonfoy. "I kayoed the cook who took the order."

The door flew open, and Pansy leapt through. "Get Ron!" she shouted. "I've got the slut!"

"Ah'm ze slut, Meez Streetwalker-Dresser Person?"

"Oh, that's it!" Pansy fumed. "You just ordered up an extra-large can of whupass!"

Harry and Bonfoy ran past the catfight and conducted a rapid search of the premises. They found Ron trussed up in the bathtub, bound hand and foot with duct tape.

"Well, he's alive," Bonfoy observed. "That's a start, anyway."

They hauled him out of the bathtub and tore off the duct tape, eliciting from Ron screams that nearly drowned out the row between Pansy and Fleur. Once freed, Ron stared at Bonfoy as if he could scarcely believe his eyes. "What the hell are you doing here?" he demanded.

"Blackmail," Bonfoy answered, deadpan. "Harry found some compromising pictures of Pansy Parkinson and me. That's why we're so surly about the whole business."

Harry snorted and rolled his eyes. "Let's get out of here."

By the time they reached the entryway, the shrieks and screams had died down. They found a very unruffled-looking Pansy standing over a bloody, crumpled mess that Harry assumed to be Fleur.

"Nice work!" Harry said with an appreciative whistle.

Pansy smirked. "At the request of Ancalimë Erendis' beta-reader, I took great pleasure in kicking the little French tart's arse," she replied. "Are we ready, then?"

Ron raised his hand.

"Yes, Mr. Weasley?" Pansy said, raising her eyebrows.

"Um, who are you?"

It belatedly occurred to Harry that Ron had never seen Pansy without her glamourie. She took it in stride, however, and answered, "Alex Munday."

Harry frowned. "Hey, isn't that one of—" he began, but Bonfoy's elbow in his ribs cut him off.

Ron didn't seem to have heard. "You're an angel!" he declared.

Pansy smirked at her fellow Slytherins. "That's the general idea." She looked appraisingly around at the three of them. "So, shall we bust our way out of here?"

Bonfoy opened his mouth to comment, but Harry clapped his hand over it. "Sure," he said. "Let's go."

---

They actually left in quite an undramatic fashion through the kitchen. Once they emerged in the alleyway, Bonfoy cleared his throat.

"I have to ask," he said. "How come you never dress like this at Hogwarts?"

Pansy rolled her eyes. "Because I don't dress like this, Draco," she replied testily. "But when a girl knows she's going to a place called Busty Bombshell's on a covert mission, odds are, if she's got more brains than God gave men, that she's going to dress accordingly." When three blank stares greeted this revelation, she let out a low growl and stomped off.

"I think she thinks we're stupid," Bonfoy remarked in an injured tone.

"Can't say she's entirely wrong," Harry countered. "At least not about you. Come on; we need to get back in time for the next chapter."