Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own Harry Potter or any of these characters, though this particular plotline, for what it's worth, is mine.
Summary: Draco and Hermione have begun to plot bloody revenge against Pansy, Millicent (now Mitchell, as she became a he after Hogwarts) Bulstrode, Harry, Ginny and Ron after they caught the group eavesdropping on a very private moment. This is a sequel of sorts to "Friendly Fire" but if you're too lazy to go read it, all you need to know is that they're all friends, D/Hr have finally hooked up, and Pansy and Mitchell are betrothed. (And if you do want to read "Friendly Fire," you can find it by visiting my author page.) Oh, and this is a lot of silliness. You have been warned.
Ginny Weasley (she'd kept her name after her marriage to Harry, thank you very much) and Pansy Parkinson (who would also keep her name because who the hell wants to take on the last name Bulstrode? And Pansy Bulstrode? Bleh!) sat thoroughly engrossed in the latest issue of Witchin' Weddings. (It was a useful journal with important articles such as: "Don't be a Banshee Bride!"; "Stroke His Wand: Keeping the Magic Alive After the Honeymoon"; and "Wanton Wedding Night: 8 Spells to Turn Him On!"--Pansy had actually clipped this last one.) They didn't hear Hermione enter the kitchen of Ginny and Harry's flat (she'd flooed in moments earlier) and continued to pour over the magazine as she approached from behind.
She glanced over their heads for almost a minute before finally alerting them to her presence, "What utter rubbish."
Pansy shrieked, "Granger! Don't sneak up on people like that!"
"Oh, sorry about that," she said innocently. She looked around the table. Bridal magazines were strewn about, including muggle ones.
Both women had turned their attention from the article they'd been reading ("What Wizards Want") and eyed Hermione with caution. Neither had seen her since the "spying incident." They were absolutely dying to ask her about Draco, but didn't want to do or say anything to remind her of what had happened--as if she'd forget.
Hermione sensed their eager uneasiness. Stew in it, bitches, she thought evilly.
Ginny did have some idea of what was going on--simply because Harry and Malfoy had a business partnership. Several years after the war, Malfoy had helped Harry to buy-out Quality Quidditch Supplies from its former owner. It was one of many ventures the obscenely wealthy wizard was involved in, while Harry ran the shop on a day-to-day basis (not that he wasn't also extremely wealthy, he just enjoyed the shop). His dreams of being an Auror had shifted into nightmares in the aftermath of all the bloodshed.
So Ginny knew that Malfoy had seen Hermione a number of times since the engagement party, but only because of what Harry referred to as the "prat-o-meter." He'd casually give the ratings over dinner: "Malfoy was a solid eight today," or "Let me decompress, Malfoy was a flaming 15 today." (The meter officially went from one "giddy as a schoolgirl" to 10 "total prat.") Harry could usually tell when Malfoy had spent time with Hermione, as he rated about a seven under her influence. (Expected less pratness? Come on, this is Draco Malfoy we're talking about.)
But yesterday had been a record-breaking day for the prat-o-meter. Malfoy had shown up at the store after lunch, his hair mussed up (okay, maybe not mussed up, but one or two carefully placed strands were blatantly amiss) and looking...chipper.
Harry had been so spooked that he'd called Ginny at work the second Draco left. "Sweetie," he'd told her, "Malfoy just left and he was a three!" Considering he'd never been below a five before, Ginny had squeaked in horror. Harry continued, "He also looked a bit out of sorts. I'm fairly certain he had lunch with Hermione. Based on his mood I'd say either they shagged or they have a plan to get back at us."
As it was, both guesses were correct. They had in fact met with the intention of discussing their plans for vengeance. Being an extremely passionate pair, the heated plotting had led to rather heated...well...you know... (Author blushes coquettishly.)
However, more important than the great sex (yeah right), the two had formulated the beginnings of a completely EVIL (as opposed to partially evil or kinda sorta mean) plan.
In fact, Hermione had shown up at Ginny's on recon, trying to figure out the best approach to take in setting the plot in motion. At the moment, both Pansy and Ginny continued to study her, anxiously waiting for her to say something.
"Looking for wedding ideas?" Hermione finally asked.
"No, don't you know I normally read this shite? Fascinating, really. Did you know that it's possible to make an orgasm last for the entire honeymoon?"
"Would kind of get in the way of the scuba diving, don't you think?"
"The what?"
"Never mind, muggle thing," she said.
"Well," Pansy said, while turning to another article in the magazine, "we're actually considering a muggle-themed wedding in Las Vegas."
Hermione stifled a laugh as she read the headline to the story Pansy pointed out: "Viva Las Vegas: Magical Muggle Weddings in Sin City," she paused for a beat. "You have got to be joking."
"Muggle chic is the way to go for pureblood weddings these days," Pansy explained without a hint of irony. "I heard Malcom Baddock got married at a muggle resort in America. There are wizard wedding planners who arrange everything."
"I think it's brilliant," said Ginny.
"Of course we'd stay in wizarding Vegas, but the actual wedding and the hen and stag parties would be in the muggle part," Pansy clarified.
"Of course," agreed Hermione, the wheels spinning in her head. The plan she'd hatched with Draco began to take root. If Bulstrode and Parkinson married in Vegas it could work into their nefarious scheme. If she had a mustache, Hermione would surely be twisting it about now. But of course she didn't! She waxed regularly! (I know what you're thinking, why get waxed when she could use magic to remove unwanted hair? The fact is, Hermione was addicted to certain muggle habits, and hot wax was one of them.)
Later that night, Hermione and Draco compared notes over dinner.
"Muggle Vegas?" he asked, between bites of his falafel.
"Yes, but that's not all," Hermione said. "Apparently there's this wizard Elvis impersonator, calls himself 'The Great and Powerful Elvis' who officiates weddings."
Draco gave her a blank stare, a dab of hummus clinging precariously to his pointy chin.
"Goodness, don't pureblood wizards know anything about muggle culture?" she asked.
"Why should we?"
She reached over, placed a finger to his forehead and tapped, "Is there anything in there?" Then she moved it down and flicked the hummus away.
He swatted her hand. "Hey, I am not Weasley!"
"Don't insult Ron," she said. "Anyway, my point is, knowledge is power and you of all people should realize this." With that she took a nibble of her veggie burger. She still wasn't used to eating in front of Draco, which was just weird.
"Sure sure, so what's the significance of this Elvis bloke?"
Hermione delicately placed the 'burger' back on its plate. "He was a legendary muggle rock star from America. And since he died he's become an even bigger legend. Muggle Vegas is filled with so-called actors who make a living just by pretending to be him. He's probably one of the most famous muggles from the 20th Century," she said. "Anyway, by calling himself 'The Great and Powerful Elvis' this wizard impersonator is also making a reference to a very famous muggle movie, 'The Wizard of Oz.'"
Awareness flashed in Draco's eyes. "I've heard of that."
"I have it in my collection," she said.
"Right. So how does this help us make them rue the day they crossed Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger?"
She laughed, "Well the Elvis thing doesn't, I just find it rather amusing that muggle kitsch is now considered chic in pureblood circles. And the best part is they take it seriously. You should start calling yourselves thickbloods."
"Funny Granger. But once again, how does the Vegas thing work into our plans?"
She smiled rather maliciously. "Well, you know our little friend who I've enlisted for our mission?"
"Creevey?" Draco had reluctantly agreed that in order to be successful they would need outside help from at least one other muggle-born.
"No, the munchkin," she said impatiently.
Once again Draco's face was void. A chalky blank slate. Anger seeped into his voice, "Will you please stop throwing in snide little muggle remarks that you know I can't follow, it's bloody annoying."
"Yes, Creevey! Who else?" She gave him a superior look (which she'd perfected after years of practice) and continued, brushing off his anger. "Anyway, our photo-fiend friend told me he has muggle cousins who live near Vegas."
Draco's eyes lit up, "Are you effin' kidding me?"
"No, I'm not," she swore. "But it gets better. These cousins have children. Five to be exact, between the ages of two and 10."
Draco burst out laughing. At this point Hermione got up from the table and walked over to a nearby counter, grabbing a muggle photo from a neat pile. Draco composed himself (he'd nearly fallen off the chair) and watched her eagerly as she sat back down.
There was a baleful glint in her eye. "Here's the best part. The muggles have a vehicle that's used for family vacations. It's rather common, especially in America." She pushed the photo toward Draco.
He moved aside his now empty plate, looked at the photo and gaped in disbelief. The picture showed a group of rather slovenly muggles in front of what appeared to be some kind of large hideous metal container--with wheels. "What...is...that?" he said, not hiding the horror from his voice, almost wondering if their idea to get back at Potter, Weasley, the Weaslette, Parkinson and Bulstrode was too cruel. Well, almost thinking that, but not quite.
"That, my love, is a Winnebago," Hermione finished triumphantly.
To be continued...