The Mattress

"Any luck?" Remus asked as Harry slumped into a chair across the table. It was evening and they had all had a long and remarkably hard day. Neville, in particular, was worn out by all the unaccustomed attention. He was already dozing with his head on his arms and Sirius reached over to remove Neville's plate before he got his head in the gravy.

"Poor kid," he murmured. "He's just not used to it. After all, what did he do before?"

Draco smiled and reached across to tug Neville's robe straight. "There's that fic with me," he said, his black painted fingertips lingering for a moment on Neville's shoulder. "Funny how a well written fic can change your perception of somebody. And before you ask, Remus, no, I had no luck at all."

"Ron?" Remus asked.

"I tried to talk to Pansy but...why Pansy for pity's sake?"

"There must be a challenge on somewhere. I spent part of the afternoon with Madam Hooch," Remus sighed. "I also had the opportunity to speak to Hermione for a few minutes but she didn't seem that interested either. Harry, how about you."

Harry glanced up from where he was pushing his cous-cous around his plate. "Too busy to talk. The only bright point in my day was watching that troll Marie-Suzanne reappearing over the battlements ...again... and again..."

"And again," Draco joined in with a delighted grin. "That was brilliant!"

They all laughed, waking Neville, who sat up blinking warily until they told him what had happened.

"That's my boy," Sirius grinned at Harry, "or rather James's boy. He'd have been so proud."

"It was my idea," Draco muttered morosely but nobody heard.

"So," Remus put his knife and fork together on his empty plate, and rested his chin on his hands, "how do we get a chance to speak to the ladies? I mean, they never come down here..."

"Not since that business with the Wheel of Time boys," Sirius confirmed. "Poor young Perrin's still walking with a limp and if you want to see Mat or Rand leap like a goosed moose just get one of the riders of Rohan to blow his horn...that Eowyn is a hefty wench. They tied her up in the cupboard out of sheer self defence."

"Well, what're we going to do then?" Harry asked. "Don't we...I mean...aren't there occasions when we are allowed ...?" he nodded towards the sweeping marble staircase.

"Ladies' Night," Remus breathed. "Every so often the married ones decide that they would like their spouses to visit and so the unmarried ones are allowed to invite a few lucky gentlemen up for dinner, drinks and polite conversation."

"When's the next one?" Draco demanded, his bored pose suddenly abandoned.

"We can never tell," Sirius informed him. "There's no rhyme or reason to it."

"We have to find out," Draco said urgently.

"What we need...," Neville began then stopped, blushing, as they all turned to look at him.

"Go on," Remus said encouragingly.

"Well, what we need," Neville continued, "is someone who can come and go as they please. Doesn't Elrond go up there from time to time? To liaise with Nurse Chappell?"

"Elrond? He's management." Sirius' tone left them in no doubt that he might as well have said scum.

"No, not Elrond but I think Neville may have a point," Remus said, thoughtfully. "In fact, I think I know the very man for the job."

Although House loyalties should have been obsolete, it couldn't be denied that there was some comfort to be derived from 'flocking together' - or writhing together in the case of the Slytherins. Snape, Mulciber and Avery had their heads together and Lucius Malfoy was listening to their conversation while keeping a wary eye on Glurrk at the next table. He still hadn't managed to dislodge that sausage and nobody wanted to be on the receiving end when it finally came free. A few places away - in isolation at the end of the table - sat a sad figure, stolidly working his way through a heaping helping of fried rice.

"Hey Blaise," Draco greeted.

"What do you want Malfoy?" Blaise demanded, his fork not breaking its regular rhythm.

"We need you to do a little job for us," Harry said. "It's right up your street."

A few words sufficed to bring Blaise up to speed and he scowled and set his fork down. He folded his massive arms across his massive chest and his beard bristled like a tomcat. "I know what you're going to ask," he said, "and the answer is no! Historically speaking, Blaise is and always has been a male name. Should I have to suffer because people have ignored that fact? I am male. Look, I have a big brown beard," he spread his arms demonstrating, "I have muscles, I have hair on the backs of my hands, I have..."

"Whoa! We believe you...OK." Draco rolled his eyes at Harry as Blaise refastened his robe.

The raised voice attracted the attention of the older Slytherins and Lucius and Snape came to add their encouragement.

"You may well be back up there tomorrow," Snape pointed out. "So you might as well do something useful."

"You expect me to volunteer?" Blaise's voice rose. "You have no idea what they do to me, do you? The pain. The humiliation. The stresses and strains of the constant shift back and forth, up and down..."

"Look," Sirius voice grew gruff with sympathy, "we've all - well almost all - been there, kid. It's tough but it's a job only you can do."

"For Merlin's sake stop the self pity, Zabini," Lucius snapped. "You are in a position to perform an act of benefit to us all. Just get on and do it."

"And when," Blaise demanded, "was the last time you volunteered to have your bikini line waxed?"

Back at their table they sat in silence for a moment then Harry sighed.

"Me too," Draco agreed. "Back to the drawing board."

Neville looked desolate and Remus patted his shoulder. "It was a great idea, Neville. Thanks. You're a credit to the fandom."

"Of course he is," a new voice chimed in. "You're a clever lad, Longbottom. We've come so far we can't let our 'forward momentum' slow now."

"Eves-dropping again, Miles?" Sirius asked with a grin and Vorkosigan grinned back.

"Got to stay ahead any way you can," he said unrepentantly. "Honestly, you'd think you Potterverse types had never heard of crossfandomcooperation!"

"We haven't," Sirius replied.

"Not surprised, I just made it up. Come on, boys, surely you can think of one other person with our best interests at heart and who ..um..has a foot in both camps?"

Sirius and Remus swivelled round and stared across the room at the table where a broad-shouldered young individual with waving brown hair was currently arm-wrestling with Wolverine and apparently winning.

"Are you sure...," Remus began and Miles shrugged.

"I can ask," he said and strolled across the room.

Harry and the other boys watched him intently. Generally the characters of the various fandoms tended to keep to themselves, perhaps feeling that better the devil you know. But friendships did form across the divide, generally like calling to like. For instance, one round table, close to the food counter and very close to the lavatory, had been commandeered by the veterans. The First Doctor sat there together with Dumbledore, Loren Silvercloak, Gandalf, Saruman (though the last two kept their distance), Zed and Obi Wan Kenobi and they drank tea and played a cut throat game of pinochle. Once a month Remus got together with Rupert Giles and Charles Xavier for a 'poetry appreciation society' though it tended to break down into a red wine fuelled moaning session about the plight of the modern teacher. However, at the table that Miles was approaching some of the largest, most testosterone heavy individuals in the factory had congregated and were cheerfully having a knockout arm-wrestling competition that had so far resulted in one broken wrist and a dislocation. Barak was laughing and quaffing his ale one handed while Worf roughly strapped the damaged wrist and Conan had put his shoulder back together by the simple expedient of banging it violently against Lan the Warders chest. If the men weren't massive and hairy they were lean and dangerous and the fresh-faced individual that Miles was hailing seemed out of place...until you considered, Harry remembered, that this particular person seemed to be welcome just about everywhere. He looked suspiciously at his godfather who was carefully avoiding his gaze and Remus who smiled reassuringly even though his cheeks were very pink.

The young man listened intently as Miles whispered to him then laughed, slapped Wolverine on the shoulder and stood up. He accompanied Miles back to the HP table, adjusting his long-legged stride to accommodate Miles shorter legs and gave them all a friendly grin.

"Gentlemen," Miles said formally, "may I introduce my good friend Bel Thorne."

"Just a friend, Miles?" Bel said, his lips pursing into the briefest of pouts. Then he smiled a sunny smile. "Besides, some of these gentlemen and I are already acquainted. Hello, Sirius, Remus."

"Hi, Bel," Sirius replied. "Nice to see you looking so - er - fit."

"One does one's best," Bel husked, smoothing his shirt down and Harry's jaw dropped as he realised that there was something extremely odd about Bel's pectoral development.

"So," Bel said, "I understand that you need me to - um - infiltrate the Ladies Quarters, see if we can bring the little dears into line with our current work ethic."

"Work ethic?" Remus asked, startled.

"Yes," Miles smiled a superior smile. "I thought I might as well formalise it. We are currently working to rule - and the rule is "only if I feel like it"."

"Good rule," Remus said. "So, Bel, think you can do it?"

"Do elves shag in the woods?" Bel replied, rolling an amused eye towards the Silmarillion table where the sons of Feanor were playing Monopoly.

"Eerrrm," Harry hesitantly raised a hand. "Just one thing. Won't the guards stop you? I mean, last week when Rincewind's hat wound up on their landing everyone was daring each other to fetch it and no one would and he had to wait until Sibyl brought it down for him the next morning."

"Oh," Bel smiled, "I have certain advantages that none of you boys possess. Want to see?"

"No, thanks, Bel," Sirius hasty denial overbore Harry's interested "OK". "When can you do it?"

Bel Thorne cast a glance up at the large clock that ruled all their lives and sighed. "No time like the present," he said. "I'll just need to make a couple of adjustments first."

Harry stared. It wasn't much more than an alteration in Bel's stance and facial expression but suddenly instead of a rather pretty young man he was being smiled at by a very handsome, if Amazonian, young woman. Bel gave him an exceedingly wicked glance through his - er - her - oh, what the heck - lashes and tied her shirt in a knot in front, baring a few inches of tanned and toned midriff.

"Jeez, Bel," Miles said hurriedly, "tone it down a notch or two."

But it was too late. The Silver Horde may have been shaky in the leg and grey in the muzzle but that only ensured that certain of their other senses worked overtime.

"WOMAN!" Truckle the Uncivil bellowed, as Boy Wullie reached for his crutches and Mad Hamish slowly spun his wheelchair on its axis.

"Don't worry," Bel said, setting a hand on one rounded hip, "the poor old dears won't catch me but it cheers them up to think that one day they might."

Harry watched open mouthed as Bel ran the gauntlet of the interested parties between their table and the foot of the Stairway to Heaven. Pursued by wolf-whistles, shouts of "Hello, darlin'" and the accelerating squeak of Mad Hamish's wheelchair, Bel moved smoothly, a swing of the hips or a lithe twist of the shoulder evading patting or clutching hands, and achieved the stair foot. Caleb the Ripper's arthritic fingers just missed grabbing the back of Bel's combats and he let out a groan.

"Sorry, boys," Bel trilled. "Better luck next time," and was gone.

"Ummm," Ron said. "Errrrmm, wasn't he - um - didn't he...?"

"Yes, I thought so too," Draco said thoughtfully and turned to Sirius and Remus.

Harry was already fixing his godfather and his friend with a steady eye. "Would anybody care to explain what just happened? Who was that and what did he do?" he demanded.

"Steady now, young Potter," Miles intervened cheerfully, "and before you start tossing words like 'he' and 'she' about you'll need to understand that with Bel Thorne there's always another option and that's best summed up by the word 'it'."

*~*

It reached the top of the stairs with only the barest of interference from the guards - nasty, clammy, chilly things that they were - and walked, humming along the upper gallery towards the large drawing room. Fics were few and far between, its schedule usually fairly sparse. Perhaps the authors were scared, it thought. Or too lazy to attempt describing two sets of everything. It paused on the threshold, ran its fingers through its waves to fluff them up and sauntered into the room. "Hi," it called, "anyone home?"

"Bel, sweetie!" There was a concerted rush for the door and Bel was enveloped in warm arms. Soft lips were pressed to its cheeks and it was tenderly led to a chair and seated.

"Have you eaten?" Hermione demanded.

"Yes, but - oooh, are those profiteroles? Just the one then and easy with the chocolate sauce, I must watch my waistline." Bel beamed around at them all and they beamed back.

"To what do we owe the pleasure?" Harriet Vane asked. She was far too cool to join the scrum around the visitor but she had set her book aside.

"Just a vague nostalgia for civilised conversation in a place that doesn't smell like a fox's jock-strap," Bel replied, crossing its legs neatly and pointing one foot in as dainty as manner as possible while wearing cleated military footwear. Then its eyes sharpened. "Ginny, dear!" it said, horrified. "What happened to your hair?"

"Marie-Suzanne ," they all chorused and Bel shook its head.

"Honestly! She's a menace. Mmm, this is good," Bel daintily mopped the corner of its mouth with a pristine white napkin then turned a warm hazel-gaze on Harriet Vane. "By the way, Harriet dear, Sir Peter sends his love. He says he's missing you. Oh and I need to speak to Polgara, too. Durnik is pining, poor darling, and the others are teasing him about it."

"That's too bad," Harriet said, rising to her feet. "I'll go and tell her, I'm sure these young ladies will be delighted to entertain you."

"Oh, we will," Lavender said hurriedly.

The door closed behind Harriet's elegant back and, as the latch snicked home, Bel sat up and raised its eyebrows. It uncrossed it legs and straightened up, setting its plate aside, and the temperature in the room went up a degree or two.

"Ooooh, Bel..." Parvati began, moving closer but Bel captured her hand and kissed the back of it.

"One moment, gorgeous," it said, its voice now back to its former low register. "Ladies, have I got news for you?"

"What?" Hermione demanded. "You're the messenger? We were expecting Blaise!"

Bel grinned, leaning back in its chair. "Blaise wouldn't come."

"Never has yet from what we've heard," Lavender said. "Bel, can I...?"

"Lavender, shush," Hermione said severely. "Bel's here to tell us why Nurse Chappell is wandering around with a face like a slapped bottom."

"No, I don't think we should waste time talking, now, should we?" Bel chided, softly. "I won't tell you myself but if you just help me out a little I know a man who can."

*~*

"Damn!" Remus watched Bel wearily, but very smugly, climb the stairs on its way to bed.

It was very late and the boys had been sent, protesting, to their rooms. Miles, yawning, had stayed up to take Bel's report and Severus had come to join them as had Sam Vimes and the Librarian. Legolas and Aragorn, too, were in attendance. All eight men (or rather, six men, an elf and an orang-utan) looked glumly at each other.

"It's not the end of the world," Sirius said after a moment or two. "After all, there will be a Ladies Night later this week. They're bound to pick one of us."

"Oook, ook, eek, oook," the Librarian muttered morosely.

"I know, I'm sorry," Sam replied.

"Oook ook ook, eek."

"But it gets in the soup," Sam reminded him. "Legolas offered you a loan of his 'Nair'. Or you could try waxing."

"Eeeek!"

"Rotten timing, though," Aragorn grumbled. "Full moon night." He gave Remus an apologetic glance. "We were counting on you to make our case."

Remus shrugged. "It's a pity," he agreed. "But I'm sure one of you lot will be able to speak for us."

"Well, it's the Star Trek girls turn to pick the lucky fellows," Sam pointed out, "and those high tech types tend not to go for the - um - fantasy heros."

"I don't know about that," Miles said quietly. "Rumour has it that Deanna Troy has the hots for the Mighty Thor." He scowled. "Him and his big hammer!"

"Come on, Miles," Severus said. "Our friends here are depending upon us to do their thinking for them. Don't let me down. Have you any other intelligence?"

"Well..." Miles cocked his head thoughtfully. "Ellie Quinn was chatting to me the other day while we were waiting for make-up..."

"Ship blew up again, did it?" Remus asked.

"Yes, it was a standard 'Stranded on an Asteroid with an Earth Type Atmosphere and Malibu Beach' fic. Anyhow, she said they had been running a book on it and mentioned a few names as likely candidates and, thinking about it, at least half of them are black haired and blue eyed." He grinned at Sirius. "You aren't amongst them - not since that incident with the puff adder and the punchbowl."

Sirius face assumed the air of extreme innocence that Remus and Severus had come to know and distrust. He drew breath to speak but Legolas cut across him. A month before the elf would never have dared to do such a thing but now he smiled coolly and said, "Surely a solution suggests itself? I'm not well acquainted with the people involved but I am assuming that, when the chosen few are collected and led to - er - meet their hostesses, the guards will be withdrawn? Then all we will need is a minor distraction to keep Elrond off balance."

"I'm not sure I follow you," Aragorn said.

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" Legolas asked himself. "Listen, King of Gondor and I'll put it into words of one syllable."

Astonishingly, the plan was one that might possibly work. Even Severus couldn't see much wrong with it and Miles was positively giggling at the silliness of it.

"But are you sure you're prepared to do this?" Remus asked, remembering the pale-faced, quivering wreck he and Sirius had met outside the bathroom on the day all this business had started.

"Quite sure," Legolas's face had taken on a new line of determination - in fact you could have cracked coconuts on his jaw. "This is our chance," he said through gritted teeth, "our chance to escape this life of sexual slavery. Did nobody ever read Tolkien's back story. Has nobody ever realised that the reason the whole of Middle Earth wasn't hip deep in elves is that we don't actually possess a libido except for once every three hundred years - and even then we're not that fussed. I want my freedom!" He paused, closing his eyes, his face glowing with hope and enthusiasm. "I want to take up macrame."

"Ooo - ook," the Librarian whispered, rotating a finger beside his temple and the others nodded.

"Once every three hundred years?" Sirius whispered to Aragorn who nodded sadly.

"And that's why I'm not likely to be a candidate either," he said. "By my count, Arwen's got another two hundred and forty-three years to go."

"Two hundred and forty-three years," Miles sounded aghast. "No wonder your wrist muscles are so well developed."

Aragorn gave him a look and, under the table, flexed his fingers. Hand cramp really was a bugger.

"So... a distraction? What shall we do?" Sirius asked. "Another food fight?"

"No," Severus said, scornfully. "You may well enjoy getting covered in custard, Black but some of us here are adults. If there's food fight, Elrond will just send Carrot in to deal with it again and keep an eye on the big picture himself. We need something so extreme that all Elrond's attention will be on that."

The silence only lasted until Remus looked up to find all seven pairs of eyes fixed on him. "Me?" he said. "I'm not scary!"

"Oh yes you are," Aragorn told him.

"Under the right circumstances," Severus assured him.

"And so are some of your friends," Sam Vimes added.

Remus thought back to the last time that he and Oz and Quentin Collins had run riot in the refectory and grinned. "Elrond'll go spare, " he said. "I'll do it."

***

TBC and I promise I'll try to get in a few more fandom references next time - for instance, I think the Twins and Jack Sparrow need a seeing to, don't you?