Chapter Eleven: Bloody pants…

"Come on, Harry, Ron-we're going to be late!" muffled thumps from inside accompanied Hermione's shout.

The door opened, expelling a rather winded red-head. At the sight of Hermione's puzzled face, Ron burst out laughing again, eventually sitting down on the staircase before he'd gotten himself under control again.

"What's taking so long? Is anything the matter?"

Ron clutched his stomach and only barely managed to gasp, "He can't…get his…bloody…pants on!"

Harry chose that moment to appear at the top of the stairs (fully clothed, mind you), looking rather worse for the wear. He glared at his slowly suffocating best friend as he gingerly made his way down.

"Gee, thanks for announcing that to the entire wizarding world, Ron."

Hermione couldn't decide whether or not it was a good idea to ask Harry about his dilemma, but the choice was taken from her.

"They're too small, Hermione," Harry's eyes pleaded with her not to laugh, "They were my Christmas gift from the Dursleys last year, and I never intended to wear them, but yesterday was laundry day and Dobby spilled bleach all over every other pair I've got. It's just that they're about five sizes smaller than the hand-me-downs I'm used to, and-"

Ron burst out into a fit of giggles again, drawing a good impression of Malfoy's Glare-o-death from Harry, "You should have seen him, 'Mione! Rolling around on the floor, begging for help…"

"You're not going to let up are you."

Ron was still chucking as he stood up and slung one arm about Harry's shoulders, "You're my best mate, Harry," he grinned as the three made their way to the common room door, "It's my responsibility to tell embarrassing stories to any and all offspring you ever produce. I'd be remiss in my duties if I ever let you forget this."

Draco flopped onto her usual stool and put her head to the coolness of the lab table, staring down at her own dull reflection. She sighed, obliterating the image with the fog of her breath. She heard the heavy door open behind her and a few seconds later, Pansy sat beside her.

"As your best friend, I feel I need to warn you. You weren't at breakfast this morning, so you didn't see him coming down the hall, but believe me- you've been spared some serious agony. However, as he's in class with us, I thought you might need to know about it so you can be prepared," Pansy looked sympathetic.

Draco raised her head and glared at her, "Pansy, what are you talking about?"

"Harry Potter! Don't you know what he's done?"

"Do I care?"

"You should!" she lowered her voice to a whisper, "He's sent three girls to the infirmary in a dead faint already this morning!"

Students started to trickle into the classroom, "How did the Boy Wonder manage that?"

Pansy's eyes went round, "Look for yourself," she nodded at something behind Draco.

Draco's mouth went dry as the topic of their conversation walked across the room, downcast and eyes averted. He reached his seat and dropped his bag.

"There's no way he'll be able to sit-" Pansy began, but was interrupted by the very act she'd deemed impossible.

As Harry's denim covered posterior met the flat surface of the lab stool, the hand that had been supporting Draco slipped, making her scramble not to be dumped onto the floor. The clatter of the fallen chair drew Harry out of his own thoughts long enough to send a questioning glance at the pink-tinged face of his sometime nemesis. Fortunately for said nemesis, Snape billowed in at about that time, distracting everyone.

By the time she righted her seat, the little cogs in Draco's brain had ground back into motion. It had hurt. That made her cranky.

"So the little bugger's got on jeans that actually fit him. What's the big deal?"

Pansy looked at her as if she'd begun to steam at the ears, "Those jeans don't just fit, Draco…they accentuate. That boy's arse was already a source of much curiosity with it hidden. Now with it so wonderfully displayed…"

Draco shuddered at the thought of Pansy looking at anyone's arse, then sniffed, lifting her nose her nose slightly, "I hadn't noticed anything so special about it."

As she turned to face the front of the classroom, she heard Pansy whisper under her breath. She couldn't be completely sure, but it sounded a lot like "Bullshit."

Draco tried very hard to keep it from happening, but she found her thoughts returning to Harry's ass all too often the rest of that day.

By the time dinner came, she was furious at the lack of control she had over her run away mind. She was seriously considering a lobotomy when the humiliation sense built into every Malfoy tingled.

Nearly Headless Nick glided through the double doors and over to the Gryffindor table. Harry was turned the other way, speaking to Ron, when Nick reached his side. What happened next, we'll blame on an eternity spent being ignored.

Nick leaned over and blew a blast of frigid air at the side of Harry's face.

Harry stiffened, a look of vague horror playing on his face. He slowly turned to see Nick smiling down at him.

"Now that I have your attention…"

Nick never got to finish because Harry let out a bloodcurdling scream and ran for the doors as if he was chased by…well, ghosts.

Draco grinned and asked a stunned Blaise to pass the potatoes.

Disclaimer: You know the drill, anything you recognize belongs to the rabid squirrels-oops, I mean to Ms. Rowling…

A/N: Goo, I can't believe that took so long. Truth is, I've had this and the next chapter written for a very long time...but I had dozens of excuses (most of which involve school) for not updating for so long. I doubt you really want to hear them, so I'll just say that hopefully I can update more frequently now that I'm out of school.