Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own Harry Potter or any of these characters. And I don't know or own Vin Diesel! This silly plot is mine.
Summary: Part two of stag/hen night in Las Vegas. Will Hermione and Draco find each other? (Sequel to Friendly Fire.)

Ginny Weasley was seeing things. There could be no other logical explanation. Sure she'd been pounding back the Fuzzy Navels and Kamikaze shots all night, but the vision before her eyes was too disconcerting to be the result of alcohol consumption.

Draco Malfoy—who had disappeared from the club for a good hour—had just waltzed back in and he wasn't alone. He was with Vin Fucking Diesel. Not only that, they appeared to be chatting and laughing like old uni buddies and wearing matching dark shades like "Blues Brothers" wannabes. (Well, at least in Malfoy's case, Ginny thought, cause the Diesel man looked hot and self-assured. What in Merlin's name was he doing with Malfoy?)

She was gawking at Vin, but it took a moment for the B-movie action star to notice her. When he did he exclaimed, "Holy fuck! My foxy lady friend!" (It sounded way cooler than it reads, trust me.)

Draco found this highly amusing. "Chill out, dude, that's Ginny Weasley Potter," he said.

Dude? Did he just say dude? Ginny's head was spinning so much she hadn't even wondered about the "chill out" part.

Vin's reaction was a flash of disappointment then he regained his composure, sort of. "No shit! No fucking shit!" He looked at her now with renewed appreciation. "I should have known a bunch of fine looking mamacitas like yourselves were witches."

Pansy was all flirty smiles, though Luna still seemed a bit suspicious and appeared to be clutching her back in the vicinity of her pancreas. Ginny was blushing from the attention. "How... how do you know about Harry and," she lowered her voice to a loud whisper, "Witches."

And much to their amazement—in addition to Ginny, Pansy and Luna those gathered included Daphne Greengrass, Katie Weasley, Lavender Thomas and Tonks—Draco (with an assist from Vin) spun the fantastic tale of his brush with certifiable A-list celebrities. (Even Vin was willing to concede that he wasn't on that level, noting that the more famous the muggle star, the more FUBAR.) 1

It was quite a story and needed no embellishment—though Draco was happy to provide some. Like the part where he claimed the mad muggles had offered him a virgin sacrifice. But much to the former god's disappointment what really captured their interest was Vin's true Wizard origins.

Luna had relaxed considerably and she and the others were lavishing him with attention. Not that Draco minded all that much. If he had ever been privy to the American sitcom "Seinfeld," he would have realized the stirrings he felt toward the half-blood were the makings of a "man-crush." (The author pauses to consider how many reviews crying "Noooooooooooooooooooooo not slash!" she'll receive if she fails to clarify the crush was completely non-sexual and did not cause even the teeniest, tiniest, itty-bittiest ache in Draco's totally heterosexual manly-man loins. She will not be held responsible if Draco/Vin becomes all the rage. Ahem.)

By the time the hen party moved on to a new location the actor happily joined them. He managed to convince the leader of his elite Wizard commando squad that he'd "monitor" Draco and his crew the rest of the night to ensure they didn't get into trouble. Of course, Vin's interpretation of this task was to buy round after round of drinks.

That's why within a few hours Draco was as intoxicated as he'd been before the "bathroom abduction" and his interaction with Vin had devolved from "Dude, Where's My Car?" (not exactly "Masterpiece Theater" to begin with) to beer commercials.

"Wassssssssssssup," Draco prodded.

"Wassssssssssssssssssssssssssup," Vin replied.

"I love you man!"

"I love you man!"

It was all in the name of good fun and nobody was hitchin' a ride up Brokeback Mountain. In fact, everyone was having a grand 'ol time. Except for one little problem. They were already an hour late in meeting up with Hermione and the stag party refugees.

Hermione was pissed and not in the fun, hugging everyone around her and dancing on a table way.

Sure the night had gone reasonably well. Nobody had gotten lost or killed among her wizard charges. (Even if she couldn't throw the hen party, she remained the "mother of all hens.") Mitchell and the rest were more than content having had their fill of Vegas tits and arse. They'd made it to the rendezvous point in the Red Room at Pure right on time.

Hermione had felt a bit tingly as she recalled her earlier visit with Draco when they'd um...tested...the venue. But an hour and a half later and her blood wasn't heated from wicked thoughts, but boiling with indignation and no small amount of anxiety.

After two hours she made the decision to go find them. Fred had wanted to join her, but she was adamant about going alone, insisting he stay and keep an eye on the others.

As she moved through one casino after another in her quest, she considered the evenings' events. Things had been surprisingly relaxed between her and Fred since his confession. It felt like a weight had been lifted. Not that he'd see it that way. Plus, she knew this new development might upset Draco. Well, that was putting it mildly, but she couldn't keep it from him. The only way he would trust her and she could prove her love was to be honest.

You see, Fred's feelings while initially causing more confusion for the witch had lead to an epiphany of sorts. Suddenly faced with a choice, it was now clear as day to her that Draco was the wizard she wanted. Yes, Fred was important to her, but whatever pangs of more than friendship that lingered were nostalgic—like hearing an old tune from her past while knowing her taste in music had changed.

More accurately, Fred was like a brother. She chastised herself for not really expressing this to him earlier, but she'd been bowled over with shock and concern when they'd spoken. Still, Hermione wasn't the cleverest witch of her age merely so fanfic authors could gratuitously use the phrase to assert just how fucking smartastic she was. The woman did have some mega-brains under that bushy hair. And she was also an astute observer of human—whether it be Wizard or Muggle—nature.

Given Fred's insistence that he wanted her to be happy no matter what, she suspected that deep inside his "love" for her wasn't all that different from her more sisterly feelings for him. Well, at least this is what she told herself knowing that she'd have to push him away. One thing she was sure of was that he didn't burn for her with the same intensity as Daco. She felt confident that the situation would work itself out.

That was of course, if she didn't murder Draco when she finally found him.

These were the thoughts that buzzed through her mind as she entered yet another casino. The ping and clang and applause and smoke were beginning to play havoc with her senses.

As she passed a group of Blackjack tables the noise grew louder, jerking her out of her contemplation. There seemed to be some sort of disturbance.

A rather belligerent drunk man was screaming at a dealer, his friends holding him back. "Listen, fuckface, there's no fucking way the house can win every fucking hand unless you're cheating or you're some kind of a fucking wizard!"

Hermione had just walked past and made to move quickly away from the scuffle when the dealer's words—and his voice—stopped her dead in her tracks.

"That I am," came the reply. "And you my friend are a bloody genius for figuring it out. I suggest you contact Mensa immediately as I'm sure they'll want to know about such impressive intellect... Unless of course you're one of those idiot savants."

The loose cannon was practically climbing over the table, despite his friend's best efforts to contain him. Hermione turned around slowly, gripped with curiosity.

No way, she thought.

Her eyes were reluctant to confirm what inside she already knew. After a long moment she looked at the card dealer. He was tall and lean, his dark hair long and pulled back in a band. He didn't see her as his own eyes were coldly dismissing the boozed-up buffoon, who still foamed at the mouth in anger.

"Now, are you going to do this esteemed establishment a favor and leave, or shall I have these gentlemen show you out," he gestured toward two excessively large security guards. "Or perhaps you would rather find out just how powerful a wizardI am when dealing with insolent, pathetic little cretins like yourself?" he asked venomously.

Hermione stared open-mouthed. It couldn't be. It couldn't be. It couldn't be. It was...

"Professor Snape!" she yelped, drawing his attention and a look of abject...annoyance.

"Bugger all," he muttered. "I knew I should have stayed at the monastery."

Roughly an hour later at an establishment just steps away from Hermione's encounter with Snape, a booming voice announced, "And now ladies, and quite a few gentlemen, the Playgirl Lounge is proud to present for your viewing pleasure, the one, the only, Wanton Wizard!"

Draco whooped (sarcastically) at yet another costumed git in yet another "male review." Pansy and the rest of the witches were relentless. It was getting kind of tiresome and even though he was still pretty high, he was starting to come down. However, the current performer's stage name and get-up were enough to keep him amused for a bit longer.

The dancer wore an obscenely tight-fighting red leather outfit, complete with a cape and mask. He was actually doing magic as he disrobed and even in his woozy state, Draco could tell he wasn't faking. There was something unsettling about the man, who was clearly a real wizard.

The more red leather he vanished away, performing spells that any of the Muggles watching would assume were slight-of-hand, the more Draco's discomfort grew. As the buff, ebony-skinned man peeled down to nothing but a g-string, Draco noticed the former Slytherin witches were riveted. Something was dodgy. The guy was well built, sure, but all of the men who they'd seen tonight were like Adonis.

What Draco saw in Pansy and Daphne's eyes wasn't just lust—it was recognition.

Even before the wizard on stage cast his final spell and removed his mask Draco knew who he was. In fact, when it happened he shouted—along with Pansy and Daphne: "Blaise!"

The others looked at them curiously then gasped in surprise. Sure enough, that bit of exotic hotness—canon style—was Blaise Zabini standing in all his blooming glory. The moment he'd heard his name called (amidst the thunderous applause) he gave his old classmates a saucy smile.

Then he spotted his blond-haired school chum and the grin broadened. He pointed his wand (his magical wand, get your pervy minds out of the gutter) in Draco's direction. "Accio Malfoy," he said under his breath.

Draco was too stunned to react before he was sucked onstage and Blaise had uttered another spell, transforming his regular outfit into a black leather getup. The witches and Vin cheered wildly along with their Muggle counterparts.

The costume Draco wore now had black leather trousers so snug they melted to his skin and buttoned up the sides, highlighting his gorgeous bum. On top he wore a vest that stretched temptingly across his cut chest and washboard stomach. There was a leather band wrapped around the bicep of his muscular left arm. To complete the look, his grey eyes peered out from a leather mask. (The author allows herself and her readers a moment to drool in contemplation of leathery Draco hotness. Ahhh.)

Just as he was about to scream bloody hell at Blaise for pulling him up there, the yells of "Take it off, blondie!" and "Shake it, sexy!" reached his ears. The women were going absolutely insane for him. Well, naturally, he reminded himself. I am after all, me. 2

Blaise had moved off to the side and the deejay had started to spin a new song. Draco didn't know what it was, but between the babes fainting in the aisles (well not quite) and the steady beat, his arse started moving of its own accord.

The catcalls reached new heights and Draco threw his arms up and declared without a trace of irony, "I'm a golden god!" 3

Hermione was sitting in a bar—as luck would have it just next-door to the Playgirl lounge—having one of the most fascinating conversations of her life—with Severus Snape. While her immediate instinct upon running into her former Hogwarts professor had been to go—quickly—in the opposite direction, she couldn't resist the urge to find out just how in the name of Morgan Le Fay he'd ended up here.

Following the incident with the wasted muggle thug, Snape had left his shift early and agreed to join Hermione in her search for Draco and the others.

But first he offered to buy her a drink, noting her harried appearance and the fact that they both could use a stiff one. "If you find Draco with that bug still firmly up your arse no good will come of it," he stated wisely. "One drink to calm down and then we'll locate the wayward Mr. Malfoy."

Almost an hour later (as Blaise Zabini prepared to go on for his nightly show) Snape was telling Hermione about his experiences living among Tibetan Monks for over five years.

"I assure you, Miss Granger, that nothing could have brought my life into focus more than that simple, quiet existence," he said, nary a sliver of sarcasm in his voice. "Had I discovered that serenity as a young wizard my life would have turned out quite differently."

"But how could you trade that for this?" she asked, gesturing at the chaos around them.

"My guru," he started, and then gave her a sharp look as she snorted with laughter at the thought of Snape seeking advice from a lama. "My guru," he began again, "felt I needed to face a trial out in the world again before I could move on to the next level in my studies. And what better place to be tested?"

"Still, it seems extreme," she said.

"I would have thought so once, but you can't imagine the peace it gives me to resist the urge to lash out at this madness," he said. "It's a lesson I wish I could pass to Draco, but I know he's not ready. Still I'll admit his alliance with you is… enlightening. He's obviously trying to deal with his demons at a much younger age than I did."

"How so?" she asked.

Snape smirked at her, "Don't be coy, Miss Granger. As much as your tendency to stick your nose firmly up every instructor's arse grated on my nerves to no end, even I will concede you were always more than a pedantic parrot. You know exactly how you fit into Draco's need for redemption."

"But there's more to it than that," she said defensively.

"I don't disagree, which is why I wonder at you wasting even a moment over a Weasley," he snapped.

Hermione choked on her drink, "Draco told you about that in his letters?"

"That surprises you?"

"Not that he would share things with you, but that he felt threatened enough by Fred to even mention him," she said.

"Put yourself in his place," he said impatiently, but not unkindly. "The entire wizarding world expected you to marry one of those insufferable plebeians." She started to protest and he added, "Spare me. I'm not saying they're simple-minded, just bloody intolerable."

"Well it doesn't matter, I'm with Draco," she said, startled she was discussing something so personal with Snape.

"Have you told Mr. Weasley that? Because from Draco's perspective the man is waiting in the wings for him to fall on his face," he said.

Hermione was stricken. All her musings tonight had been about Fred's feelings--first her reaction to them and then how to let him down gently. Except to worry about how he would react, Hermione never once considered how the situation had been hurting Draco. And not just tonight, but for months. "I've been such an idiot."

"Well, don't expect me of all people to disagree, but I don't think the damage is irrevocable," he offered. She looked like she was going to start crying and he let out an exasperated breath. "Really, Miss Granger, don't you think it's about time you stopped acting like a bloody Gryffindor and became an adult? It's clear your involvement with Draco has improved you to some extent—the brilliant plot he told me you conceived is proof enough, but you cling to your childish beliefs. Including the one that says a wizard like Draco will let you down, otherwise you would have told Weasley to stop sniffing around long before the situation was out of hand."

"The situation's not…"

"Please. You forget whom you're talking to. You're as obvious as an Elvis float in the Las Vegas Day parade," he snapped.

At mention of Elvis Hermione suddenly remembered that they still had to find Draco and complete the task that would finally seal their revenge. And then, looking at Snape, she had another thought. But she had to tread carefully.

"Professor," she said gingerly, unable to call him Severus and Mr. Snape sounded too weird. "I know you're right and as soon as I have the opportunity I'll make everything crystal clear to both Fred and Draco. I know it may seem unreasonable to you, but I really didn't see until earlier tonight what Draco was telling you about in his letters. I will get the matter sorted. But right now we have to go find him… and," here eyes developed an unmistakable gleam. "I need to ask a favor."

The stars were aligned and the golden god was ascending in front of his apostles. Or, more accurately, Draco had stripped down to nothing but a silky green g-string and was causing quite a few pairs of knickers to moisten in the packed nightclub.

He was a sight to be seen, but little did he know that just as he'd declared his goldenness to the crowd and started to dance and disrobe, his former Head of House and his girlfriend had entered the lounge. After their tête-à-tête Snape and Hermione had left the bar and heard the rambunctious din that spilled out from the strip club. Naturally, they went to investigate.

Hermione had spotted Draco right away. How could she not? His bright blond hair like a beacon as his sexy body writhed and shimmied to the beat of the muggle group Abba's disco classic "Voulez-Vous."

Snape sighed, "Surely if I pass this test I'll be ready to move on."

She would have laughed if she wasn't so flabbergasted. Women were literally trying to throw themselves on the stage to get to Draco and she couldn't really blame them.

Usually she was able to contain any jealousy she felt when other women undressed her wizard with their eyes. But to observe how they reacted when he was on display like this—all of them seeing what she suddenly felt belonged to her alone—well, it made her seethe.

She slowly crept through the masses to the platform where he danced. The closer she drew the more a newly formed but powerfully possessive ache tightened her chest. By the time she'd reached the edge his sweat slicked body shone brightly and her throat was dry with desire.

At that moment a muggle woman vaulted onto the stage and started doing some "forbidden dance" moves with Draco. Oblivious to Hermione's presence, he didn't discourage the tart, brushing up against her suggestively. As the woman grasped the edges of his g-string to pull it down, Hermione decided she had witnessed enough.

Without thinking of the repercussions, she drew out her wand and cast a spell that threw the woman off the stage (hard enough to cause alarm, but not injury as she landed on her friends). Draco looked in Hermione's direction and when he saw her his eyes widened in disbelief. At first he felt a surge of panic that she was upset with him. But then it dawned on him that she had just hexed another woman for him and he couldn't suppress a satisfied grin.

The music was still pumping and the throngs still watched Draco lustfully, but as far as he and Hermione were concerned, everyone had disappeared the moment their eyes locked.

He was about to stalk over to her, but she flew—literally—onto the stage and into his arms. Had she shown that kind of enthusiasm for flight at Hogwarts, doubtless she would have been much more proficient on a broom. Draco swirled her around in the air, like she was "Baby" and he was Johnny Castle and they were having the 'effin "Time of Their Lives." Then he put her down, not letting go. 4

"This has been the longest night of my life," he said.

"Mine too," she agreed.

And then as those around them roared—some with delight, some with envy—he pulled her firmly against him so she could feel just how ecstatic he was to see her. He moved his mouth over hers in a searing kiss, parting her lips and shoving his tongue inside aggressively. And the two vanished—courtesy of a quick spell from Blaise—in bright Vegas lights and a puff of sex-filled smoke.

TBC

A/N: I'd just like to say that the reason I think Snape will turn out to be a good guy in canon is I've decided that the only logical future for him is to become a Tibetan Monk and a Vegas Blackjack dealer. I'm sure J.K. Rowling will agree :p

End notes:

1 FUBAR: Fucked up beyond all recognition. Used here by Vin Diesel as a nod to his role in the very A-list film "Saving Private Ryan."

2 This line is uttered by Sigourney Weaver as the arrogant boss in "Working Girl."

3 From "Almost Famous" -- scene where a very high Billy Crudup proclaims this just before jumping off a roof into a swimming pool. I thought it would fit Draco in this situation.

4 "Nobody puts Hermione in a corner..." No really, this is from "Dirty Dancing."