MY SWEET CASSABANANA

Chapter 2

People still saw Potter as a hero. She even heard some reporters go as far as to call him the official "chosen reporter," whatever that meant. Nobody seemed to care what he looked like, as long as he continued creating brilliant articles that kept the public riding on the tips of their broom sticks.

Pansy looked at him as he rudely interrupted her special moment with Draco. He was such a complete nerd. He'd never get a new girlfriend with his hair all over the place like that. It's no wonder why Ginny dumped him cold. She might've had enough just trying to groom him and pick out his wardrobe on a daily. "I hear you're heading for Italy tomorrow," Harry said. He pushed up his glasses with the same hand holding his cup of hot coffee. It sloshed over the rim and onto his hand. "Ouch." He licked at his fingers, and eyed Pansy. "Damn, hot."

"You should use Murlap on that." Draco said instantly.

Potter looked at him with his finger in his mouth.

"No, try troll boggies." Pansy said with a nasty tone.

Draco looked at her. "Really, you seriously would tell an injured man to put troll boogies on a flesh wound?"

"Yes. Regular troll boogies for you Potter. They stick better." She'd had always been sensitive to other people's injuries, in fact she could almost feel the sting of the burn when he done it. But she had become accustomed to Harry doing silly things like that to grab her attention and to get her to speak to him. "And go do it soon, or it'll give you a splendid blister to match with that scar of yours."

"Ouch!" Draco replied.

"Yeah, Erm. Thanks. I'm sure I have some—troll—boogies in my desk for safe keeping. A few I collected from you."

Pansy smiled. "I'm sure you do."

Harry turned to Draco instead. "So you are going to Italy right?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Rita wants me to tag along with you."

Disappointment spilled all over Pansy's shiny new opportunity. Talk about a loser! Every other witch who'd gone with Draco had the pleasure of going with him alone. It would be just her luck that when it was at last her turn, that Harry Loser the Potter had to tag along. It was like the stars were aligning against her horoscope prediction.

Draco didn't to seem any happier about having Potter come along as she. "What for?" Draco asked somewhat heated.

"The Minister of Magic is still having trouble contacting the Prime Minister about a computer problem at a university there. It seems that someone has been cursing student equipment with some sort of zapping jinx. The muggle professors are calling it a virtual virus that literally tries to French toast anyone that comes near it. Mitchell, Arthur and Longbottom have gone over already, but neither of them have been able to straighten things out. They've be obliterating lab students and half the staff for a week now. Considering Mitchell and Longbottom aren't familiar with muggle artifacts much; Arthur has sent a request asking for my assistance."

"What's a cumpooter?" Draco asked.

"Not much mind you. It's an electronic. Er—a muggle tool used for, keeping journals, classwork, mathematical calculations and exploring the net."

"Exploring a net huh? Seems like an awful waste of time. Does Rita know I wasn't coming back until Friday morning?"

"Uh, yeah sure. Arthur has booked me a room at one of the hotels there. It's no problem having a place to stay it's just that getting another port-key schedule in time could be a bit of a hassle. My cousin Dudley use to own a computer, so I know a little about them when their normal; not sure I'll be much help if their cursed but it's worth a try."

Pansy studied Potter with a look that wanted to melt his face off.

How could she spend the night with Draco and Potter not know about it, if he found out, she'd never be able to explain to the girls that nothing happened and that she wasn't going to just be another one of Draco's one-night-babes. Even if she was!

But she had to be alone with Draco to give it her best shot and here was Pothead to throw folly in her plans. He was such a pest! She could tell from Draco's body language that he didn't want to take Potter along, but the poor dear really had no choice. He couldn't very well say no to an order given by a Minister himself, merely because he was planning a roll in the sack with a reporter.

"I have to be there by eight." Draco said. "Oh, and Pansy's coming with me to take notes at the meeting," he added casually.

Harry didn't blink an eye, so apparently he already knew about that. He just looked down and glanced at her, his expression as sour as summer porridge. "Yeah, Rita mentioned she might be going," he said but his gaze said more. "No problem."

He might be acting like he was okay with it, but she knew what he was thinking. She felt a blush of shame coming on. Having Harry think poorly of her bothered her more than she wanted it to. Who was he trying to be anyway; a hero in a pumpkin plaid sweater? "Go down to the infirmary and get some murlap," she said, "before that blisters on you."

"Okay, I'll do that. See you in the morning." Potter trotted off. The horrible letter "H" that had been crotched into the pocket of the sweater remained in her mind. Pansy felt herself growing irritated remembering the ridiculous looking letter just hanging there. He was a well-respected reporter and a man with an astounding past there were famous tailors that would give their left and right arm to fashion a wardrobe for him if he'd just take the time to visit one of them. He could even have them set up an appointment in his office for Merlin's sake. She felt the urge to erase any lingering effects from the cold stare Potter had given her.

"Hasn't Potter ever heard of Michal McClelland's Wears for Warlocks?" She muttered. McClelland, was a British Wizarding designer known for his fashionable men's clothing for the up scaled wizard wear. New jackets, sweaters, British sport coats that could easily convert into a formal cloak; things of that nature.

Draco laughed. "Do you worry about Potter?"

"No!" she glanced up at Draco. She couldn't believe he said that. He seemed to be implying that she was having second thoughts about their going to Italy together. And he probably was.

"Good, because you shouldn't."

Sexual excitement curled in her stomach. "Okay, I won't."

"I'll pick you up at seven-thirty," he said. "assuming you still plan to go." His expression told her he knew she would go anywhere he asked her to.

She lowered her voice. "You do plan to take off without Potter don't you?" she didn't want Harry to go, for her it would be just as well if they left him standing alone, in say, a false location, waiting.

Draco leaned over her desk, which brought his face very close to hers. He kissed her lips softly. "I bet my father's best bottle of nettle wine that he doesn't make it on time." He smiled at her. "And I'm porting out at eight."

She nearly passed out from the sexy savor of his lickable lips as they made a sure path for her earlobe as he spoke.

"Aye, aye, Mr. Malfoy sir." she murmured.

"Mother, what do you think of this color?"

Mrs. Lowderseid looked at her daughter sitting across the dining table. All mothers thought their daughters were beautiful, she supposed, but Pansy grew lovelier to her every day. She had inherited her father's green eyes. That odd mixture of toad green mixed with watery blues specks had been the primary reason to why Pansy had been conceived. Her hair was like her father's too, the same color of licorice taffy, deep as midnight whiskey.

As a young girl Pansy favored a simple cut that brushes just above her cheeks. No potions or charmed highlights to ruin the natural inkiness of her hair. Only now it had bloomed well past her shoulders, long and flowing.

No wonder why the Malfoy boy wanted to take her on an overnight stay. Pansy's Mother sighed. She worried about her going anywhere with Draco Malfoy. She knew Pansy had been chasing his cloak-tail ever since she was a young witch in school. The boy seemed to show admirable feelings towards her as well; in the beginning.

But as they spun away into adulthood, her little girl no longer seemed to be enough to appease his sexual appetite. Oh she heard the stories of the ever famous Lover of Ladies Lucius Malfoy. And his son Draco wasn't any better. "I expect you're going doesn't matter if you chose the perfect shade or not." She watched as Pansy began to sort through her new line of spring lipstick and extended glosses.

"Well of course. Oh my nails are chipped. I can't arrive in the morning with a chipped nail."

Mrs. Lowderseid knew her daughter was playing her like a fiddle. Whenever she began to whine and pout it worked, because she knew that what her mother always wanted of her— was to be the kind of elegant and well respected young witch equal to that of all respectable witches. "How will you and Draco be arriving to Italy?"

"By port-key. His father as scheduled one for our departure at eight o'clock sharp. And we'll be staying at the Genevieve Hote`l."

"Who cares? He could have treated you to dinner first Pansy. Perhaps joined you for dinner with your father and I before whisking you away half around the globe."

There was a time that she feared Pansy would have been foolish enough to get herself pregnant with the Malfoy's boy child in hopes of preserving a life with him. Thank goodness she had taught her far better than that over the years. It was unfortunate that her daughter had come home tonight with such an ill report of her workday today. It absolutely ruined her mother's surprise. She never dreamed of becoming a new mother at this old age, but this afternoon she received an owl from their family's Healer. The procedure had worked and she and Nicholas were going to be parents to a new baby. She was with child again after all these years.

"Mother. You, I and Nick have been to Italy loads of times and you know Draco, why is it so important if he comes to dinner or not." Pansy spread out her fingers on the rich pine of the elongated dining table. "I think a French manicure this time, don't you? It's more natural looking and it'll go with whatever I'm wearing." Pansy lifted the delicate golden brush and gently stroked the tip of each finger. A beautiful glossy French manicure finish coated each finger with the smallest stroke. She used the other tip of the brush to tiny diamond gem on each of her nails.

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