Of Lust and Pie

SkoosiePants

Story Summary:
Sweat glistened over his leanly muscled chest, his jet black hair thick and curling over his eyes, sticking to his cheeks and neck. He looked... well, he looked bored, actually, but that was beside the point - Hermione couldn't take her eyes from him. Ginny nudged her shoulder. "Did Malfoy just sing 'I love my stinky cheese weasel'?"

Chapter Summary:
Sweat glistened over his leanly muscled chest, his jet black hair thick and curling over his eyes, sticking to his cheeks and neck. He looked... well, he looked bored, actually, but that was beside the point - Hermione couldn't take her eyes from him. Ginny nudged her shoulder. "Did Malfoy just sing 'I love my stinky cheese weasel'?"
Posted:
05/17/2004
Hits:
8,035
Author's Note:
I don't know what prompted me to write this... scratch that, I know

The making of... and pie

The Slytherin common room was nearly empty, only a few six years daring to stay after Draco glowered most of their housemates out of the chamber, so the five members of the newly formed 'outlet for artistic expression,' as Pansy had coined it, were left in relative peace as they argued.

"No."

"Why not?" Draco pouted, slouching further into the leather couch. "What's wrong with Wombat Vengeance?"

"Nothing, specifically," Blaise said, tightening the strings on his cherry red bass. "I just refuse to be linked with anything named after a wombat. I didn't want to start this band," he arched a brow pointedly, glancing up from his instrument, "and have little to no qualms about walking away from it." Which was only a very small lie, as he had a very small problem with being left out of things. He knew, though, that Draco wouldn't ever call his bluff.

Instead, the blond predictably scowled at the common room fire. "You haven't exactly given any better suggestions."

"How about 'I don't give a flying fuck'?" Blaise queried with a deliberate dig.

Draco shot him a glare, then stood and yanked his guitar strap around his body, spreading his legs and striking a pose in front of the hearth. "How do I look?"

"Like a poof with a guitar around his neck."

With a snarl, Draco chucked his guitar pick at the dark boy.

"Temper, temper, Draco," Blaise admonished, brushing the small piece of plastic off his lap.

"How about," Millicent said slowly, eyes finally leaving her Quidditch magazine, "My Girlfriend Knows Karate?"

"Stupid," Blaise shot it down.

"What's," Draco's face screwed up, "car-roty? Is that some sort of Weasley reference? In which case it is a stupid name - who'd want to be associated with a Weasley?"

Blaise's cough sounded suspiciously like "You," and Draco narrowed his eyes at him.

"Devil's Acolytes," Pansy put in suddenly, twirling her drumsticks, losing control of one and hitting herself in the head. "Ow."

"If we're going that route, we might as well call ourselves Satan's Puppies," Blaise commented dryly.

"Not bad, Zabini," Colin Creevey said from his position on the floor. "Not bad."

"Figures you'd go for the puppy bit, Creevey," Draco bit out derisively. "I know," he went on, plucking out the beginning riff to Day Tripper, "Draco Malfoy Plus Four."

Pansy threw one of her drumsticks at him. "Not helping, Draco."

"What? I'm serious!" he exclaimed, rubbing his injured shoulder.

"Well," Blaise repositioned his bass and added the bass line to Draco's lead guitar, "it's the best I've heard so far."

"You can't mean it, Blaise... Draco Malfoy Plus Four?"

Millicent leaned forward and started to sing in Pansy's face, her butter-soft voice in direct contrast to her bulky frame, "She's a big teaser, she took me half the way there, now. She's a big teaser, she took me half the way there..."

Pansy batted her friend away, a frown pulling at her lips. "Stop it, Millie. We're trying to have a decent conversation."

Blaise sighed and rolled his head against the back of the couch, closing his eyes. "I still don't understand how you manage to sound like pure sex, Millie."

"But you're not complaining."

"No, I'm not complaining at all."

A giant ball of yellow-orange fur came streaking down the stairs and leapt upon the couch, a hiss and a yowl and several cranky merows emanating from its mouth.

"What the hell is that?" Draco demanded, backing away from the snarling animal, which looked to be mad at the world purely on principle.

"Relax, Draco, it's just Crookshanks."

"Granger's fleabag? How did he get in?"

Pansy sniffed and shifted in her seat. "He hangs about Blaise. I've seen him before."

Draco pursed his lips. "Well, he can't stay here. I'm allergic."

Blaise snorted in disbelief. "Sure, Draco."

"Anything of Granger's is bound to make me itch," Draco insisted.

Millicent coughed "Weasley" under her breath.

"Shut up, Bulstrode," the blond growled.

"What?" Her eyes were widened in overt innocence. "I didn't say a thing."

Blaise strummed up a deep, sloppy version of Wild Thing, and Millicent and Pansy chimed in, advancing on their fellow Slytherin. "Wild thing, you make my heart sing. You make everything... groovy..."

Draco backpedaled warily, then tripped over Colin's feet and landed with an undignified 'oof,' the bottom of his guitar digging into his abdomen.

The girls tackled him, pinning him down to the thickly woven carpet. "Weasley, I think I love you... but I wanna know for sure."

"You two are dead," Draco groused, struggling in their grip.

"Aw, come on, Draco," Blaise said amiably. "It's your song."

"Shut it," he snapped, face red. "I do not want anything to do with that flame-head Muggle-lover. He's poor," he added, just for good measure.

Colin made a choking noise, but refrained from commenting. After all, he was lounging in the middle of enemy territory and felt it wise not to draw any undue attention. With a bemused smile, he watched Millicent sit on Draco's legs and Pansy drape herself across his chest.

"You look so cute when you're spitting mad," Pansy cooed, smiling down at Draco.

He froze. "Do I?"

Pansy nodded. "Adorable."

He sniffed. "You're forgiven, then. I'll only kill Millie. And Blaise. And Creevey for not getting the fuck out of my way."

Crookshanks let out a huff of breath, and then weaseled his way onto Blaise's lap, forcing the Slytherin's hands off the bass. With gruff fondness, Blaise dug his fingers into the orange fur, knowing the exact spot behind the feline's ear that never failed to elicit a gravelly purr. Glancing up, he saw Pansy, Draco and Millicent staring at him with odd looks on their faces. "What?"

"Seem awfully friendly with that cat," Draco ventured, a smirk curling his lips.

"So?" He shrugged. "Like Pans said, he hangs around a lot."

The blond arched a skeptical brow, but let the subject drop fairly easily. Which was unusual for him, of course, but then, he'd rather not leave himself open for more teasing about Weasley. Mild attraction aside, he didn't fancy the boy. The mere thought made him queasy. And hot. And was that sweat beading on his perfect brow?

Tugging his arm out from under Pansy, he sat up and glared at Millicent until the girl shrugged and got to her feet, offering him a helping hand.

Settling back into their original positions around the fire, the five of them officially became Draco Malfoy Plus Four, because, well... they couldn't be arsed to come up with something better. And with unanimous consent, despite Pansy's grumbling, they went directly on to the next order of business.

"So, Creevey first," Pansy stated, and the four Slytherins turned to study the slight brown-haired boy. They weren't exactly sure what he did, really, but he was the only Gryffindor who'd shown up at the auditions, and they felt they needed a Gryffindor edge if they wanted to go school-wide. An all-Slytherin band was too risky - students were bound to suspect their concerts were Death Eater traps.

"All one color," Draco said, tilting his head to the side. "Hufflepuff yellow to confuse the masses."

Blaise stared at him. "What? No."

"That's incredibly stupid, Draco," Millicent said, rolling her eyes.

"Fine," he huffed, "what do you think?"

Millicent looked thoughtful for a moment, then shrugged. "He can wear a different version of the band's t-shirt to every performance."

Pansy made an assenting noise and Draco smirked, suitably impressed. The boy would be lame - as a Gryffindor, he really couldn't be anything but - and also a walking advertisement for the band. "How about me, then?" he asked. "I can be the shirtless sex god."

"Merlin, no," Pansy gave him a horrified stare. "We'd all go blind."

"My forgiveness has just been yanked out from underneath you," Draco snapped, crossing his arms over his chest and lifting his chin indignantly.

"Draco, you're beyond white. No one wants to see you in your naked glory under stage lights."

"She's got a point," Blaise commented, his mouth curving up in a mocking grin.

"Now, Blaise here..." Pansy licked her lips.

"Oh, no," Blaise shook his head vehemently. "No, no, no. I'm not going to be a half-naked bass player. No way."

"But, Blaise," she whined, giving him her best wide-eyed pleading look, "if you're the shirtless sex god, then we can make Draco wear obscenely tight leather trousers and overly ruffled blouses."

"In other words," Blaise said wryly, "if I'm not the shirtless bloke, I get to be shoe-horned into cowhide."

"Cows will never touch my skin," Draco stated imperiously, running a hand over his thigh. "Only the finest dragonhide will do."

Blaise shifted his glare between his housemates. He wasn't exactly an exhibitionist, but when faced with ill-fitting leather, nakedness was the lesser evil. "Whatever," he groused. "I'll be fucking shirtless. Hurrah."

"Now," Pansy went on, ignoring Blaise's obvious disgruntlement, "Millie will be the bombshell starlet."

Millicent's mouth dropped open. "What?"

"Come on, now. Stand up." Pansy jumped out of her seat and beckoned the other girl towards her. "Straight. No slouching," she admonished, patting Millicent's hunched shoulders so the girl was forced into her full height. "Good."

She circled the tall, thick girl, hands on her hips. "You're on the edge of statuesque, Millie. Just a few hair charms," she grabbed the girl's robes, balling the excess material behind her back so the material stretched taut around her body, emphasizing her breasts and hips and slightly indented waist, "and a Muggle dress - floor length silk with a slit up to here." She positioned her hand near the top of Millicent's thigh. "Blood red with just a hint of cleavage. Add in some self confidence and that amazingly sexy voice of yours, Millie, and you'll have everyone drooling."

"She's right," Blaise said, staring at her in wonderment. "You'll be stunning, Millie."

With an uncharacteristic blush, Millicent hurried back to her seat and pulled her legs up underneath her. "What about you, Pans?"

"I," Pansy said grandly, "will be the token androgynous female."

"Hmm?"

"I'll wear baggy trousers and a newsboy cap, smoke up my eyes, gloss my lips, and perfect a direct, broody stare. I'll be intriguing without taking any of the shine off Millie."

"You're a bloody genius, Pansy," Draco said, in a rare fit of magnanimousness.

She gave him a blinding grin and dropped down onto the couch next to Blaise. "I know. Now--"

"I've got an idea for a song," Colin piped in, leery of speaking out of turn, but knowing that if he didn't just blurt it out, he'd never get their attention.

"If it's about friendship and kittens you can forget about it," Draco drawled.

Millicent smacked him on the back of the head. "Don't be rude, Draco."

Colin blinked owlishly at them, and then tilted his head back to glance at Blaise on the couch behind him, who merely shrugged. "Well, actually," he clutched his hands together and his large brown eyes turned serious, "it's about the struggle between an emotionally damaged hero and his arch nemesis... and their quest for pie."

"Pie?"

The small Gryffindor nodded solemnly. "Pie."

After a short pause, Draco said, "We can work with pie."

******

An interlude with moving pictures

Ron eyed the flyer suspiciously. "And you say this is above board, Colin?"

"Well," Colin squinted down at his picture, "I'm not a Death Eater, am I?" His voice suggested that he wasn't quite sure.

"And there's pie?"

"Um..."

Ron waited patiently for Colin's answer as the younger boy bounced nervously on the balls of his feet. Pie was serious business.

"Actually," the boy said finally, "Eat Pie is one of our hit songs." Never mind the fact that they hadn't yet played any venue outside the Slytherin dorms.

"So there's no pie?" The paper clearly read 'Draco Malfoy Plus Four Rocks the Great Hall. November 14th. Eat Pie.' Although it did go on to say, 'Dog on the Fire,' 'Carnage,' and 'Paper-thin Time.'

Still, without pie, it was just Draco Malfoy on a stage in, if the band photo was to be believed, obscenely tight leather trousers. And that wasn't something Ron particularly wanted to witness.

"I suppose you could bring your own pie," Colin suggested with a shrug.

Ron scowled. If he had to bring his own pie, then what was the point of going?

Harry came up behind the boys and peered over Ron's shoulder. "A concert?"

"Yeah," Ron groused, "but no pie."

With an odd look, Harry asked, "So?" but Ron merely shook his head sadly.

"You'll come, Harry, won't you?" Colin jumped a little in his excitement and Harry took a step backwards.

"Sure," he answered warily. "Can't be that bad, right?"

"Look at this," Ron said, tapping the middle of the photo. The small, gyrating Draco stuck his tongue out at him.

But Harry was captivated by the shapely brunette in the center of the picture, standing straight and unnaturally still amongst the other fidgeting members of the group. Her eyes were half-lidded and her mouth, a slash of dark red, curved invitingly up at him. "Bulstrode's a girl," he said finally, awe in his voice.

Ron clapped him on the back and laughed. "Sometimes."

"But... she's a girl."

"Yeah," Ron agreed, baffled by his friend's reaction. "I don't think it's a new development, Harry."

"But..." Harry drifted off, speechless.

"But?"

Harry shoved a hand through his dark hair and shook his head. "I mean... didn't you sometimes... well... she was quite manly... and now... I mean... wow."

Colin nudged his elbow and grinned slyly up at him. "She sings exactly how she looks, too."

"Really?" Harry nearly groaned. "We're going, Ron," he stated emphatically. "Pie or no pie."

Appearing over the top of the stairs, Ginny loped up to the three boys standing just outside the Gryffindor common room and wrapped her arms around Colin, pecking him on the cheek. "What are you gentlemen up to?" she asked cheerfully.

"Colin was just inviting us to watch him play," Harry replied, pointing to the flyer.

"Ooo, they're out already?" She snatched the paper from Ron's fingers and waved it about excitedly. "I can't believe Dumbledore's letting you have a real concert!" Eyes roving intently over the announcement, she smiled a fond smile at the small replica of her boyfriend, worn gray t-shirt sporting the name Draco Malfoy Plus Four in Seventies bubble letters, hands stuffed in the pockets of dirt-green trousers. Every once and a while he'd dart a wary glance towards Malfoy before flashing a wide grin. "You look great, Colin," she said softly, pressing another kiss to his cheek.

Colin, face slightly pinked, beamed over at her. "Do you think Hermione will come?" he asked hopefully.

"If I bribe her," Ginny only half-joked.

"Don't be silly, Gin. Of course Hermione will come if we're all going," Ron stated confidently.

Ginny gave her brother a withering glare. "She doesn't have to do everything you two do. And you know she'd rather spend the night locked up in the library than in a deafening music hall."

Ron had the decency to blush. "You're right," he mumbled.

"But do you think you can get her to come?" Colin persisted.

The youngest Weasley cocked her head to the side quizzically. "Why? Is it important that she come?" If she wasn't so entirely secure in her relationship with the boy, she would have been suspicious of his intentions.

"Well," he said, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial tone and darting his gaze around the corridor, "Zabini specifically asked me if she was coming."

Ginny looked at him blankly. "And?"

"And he's been known to hang about her cat, if you know what I mean."

Ron shifted on his feet. "Where're you going with this, mate?"

Colin sighed and rolled his eyes. "I think Zabini likes her."

"..."

"Likes her, likes her."

"..."

"Wants to make sweet love--"

"Argh!" Ron clapped his hands over his ears. "The burning!"

The portrait behind them swung open and Hermione's petite form slipped into the hall. She stopped short when she saw the group of Gryffindors, Ron still holding his head and moaning painfully. "What's going on?"

"Ah," Ginny shot the boys a quelling look and stuffed the flyer quickly into her bag, "nothing."

Taking in the girl's impeccable appearance, hair tightly wound back into a bun and Prefect badge perfectly positioned over her left breast, Ginny decided Hermione needed a bit of ruffling up. And who better to do the ruffling than a handsome Slytherin? "So, Hermione," she said, throwing an arm about her friend's shoulders, "what are you up to Friday night?"

******

During it and lustful thoughts

Hermione couldn't believe she let Ginny drag her to this. It was loud and crowded and hot and the light was so dim she could hardly read her book, the words blurring together as her body was jarred by the subwoofer reverb.

Beside her, Ginny squealed and clutched at her arm. "Colin just winked at me," she said excitedly. "My boyfriend's in a band!"

"That's great, Gin," Hermione said, not bothering to look up from her text.

"Although, you know, he's not doing much. Just the cowbell."

With a long-suffering sigh, Hermione said, "The cowbell is an essential musical instrument."

"Is it?" Ginny asked skeptically.

"Sure," Hermione insisted, although she really wasn't sure how it would be essential. She just wanted Ginny to let her read in relative peace.

As the band started singing words that sounded something like 'crisscross my jumbled naked puzzle' - which couldn't have been right, because that was just wholly stupid - Hermione happened to glance up for the first time since Draco Malfoy Plus Four had taken the stage in the Great Hall. She froze. And then swallowed thickly. Zabini wasn't wearing a shirt. Why the hell wasn't Zabini wearing a shirt?

Sweat glistened over his leanly muscled chest, his jet black hair thick and curling over his eyes, sticking to his cheeks and neck. He looked... well, he looked bored, actually, but that was beside the point - Hermione couldn't take her eyes from him.

Ginny nudged her shoulder. "Did Malfoy just sing 'I love my stinky cheese weasel'?"

But Hermione wasn't listening to her friend in the least. She was basking in the glow of a half-naked Blaise Zabini, trousers riding sinfully low on his hips, long fingers curved elegantly around the shiny red bass.

Merlin, how long had they been there? Ten, twenty minutes? She stuffed her book back into her knapsack. She'd been wasting valuable time.

******

Harry and Ron were squeezed into a corner of the Great Hall, hot bodies bouncing around them, raw music echoing in the cavernous chamber, the enchanted ceiling showcasing a spectacular emulation of the Aurora Borealis. The redhead, though, was not happy.

"Please gods, has he stopped yet?" Ron yelped, a hand over his eyes.

"It's sorta sweet," Harry laughed.

"Sweet? Sweet?" Ron uncovered his face to glower over at his best mate. "Stinky cheese weasel?"

If the reference to 'weasel' hadn't tipped them off, the blown kisses, gyrations in their general direction, and the fact that Malfoy was gazing towards their corner with hooded eyes as he sang was enough to make them pretty sure that the song was about Ron. He was clearly traumatized.

Harry grinned and, knowing it would rile up his friend, started humming along. Everyone around them, including their dorm mates, was screaming the chorus - "I love my stinky cheese weasel" - with the band, and Harry gleefully joined in.

"You are so cruel," Ron groaned. "So, so cruel."

"It's catchy, Ron. You have to admit that."

"I'm going to kill myself."

"Stinky cheese weasel," Harry sang, picking up on the repetitive lyrics with ease, "stinky, stinky cheese weasel."

"It's an insult," Ron groused. "Stinky?"

"But he lurves you," Seamus cut in with a smile, leaning over to yank on a red lock.

"You've got my heart in your stinky cheese paws." Malfoy ended with a flourish, ruffled shirt billowing from a charmed wind.

"He's a bloody ponce. Look at that shirt!"

Harry shrugged. "Looks good, though."

The cheers from the crowd were deafening, chanting Malfoy's name and then segueing into Bulstrode's as she moved back to center stage, the slit in her dress flashing the length of her pale thigh as she walked.

"Oh, Merlin, Bulstrode's up again," Harry rasped. He'd nearly melted from her last performance, 'Don't You Need My Darkness.'

As it was, he almost swallowed his tongue when the lights dimmed and her golden voice wrapped around his body like a Warming Spell, her first words, "Tell me a story of your strangeness," sending shivers down his spine.

"Oy, Harry, are you listening to me, mate?" Ron waved a hand in front of his face.

"She's brilliant," he breathed, and Harry knew that he was done for. He wanted that voice all to himself. He wanted to wind his arms around that big-boned body and curl his tongue into the hollow of her throat as she told him to crisscross her jumbled naked puzzle - whatever the hell that meant. "Damn."

"What?"

"You're coming with me backstage after the show," Harry rushed out.

"I am?" Ron looked bewildered. "Why?"

"I figure she'll be more agreeable to certain... things," Harry murmured, eyes still glued to the perfection on stage, "if I bring a present."

"You're not making sense, Harry."

"I know, but you'll hang out with Malfoy anyway, right?" Harry went on desperately.

"Hang out with...?" Ron's eyes bugged out. In an amazing feat of intuitiveness, he put two and two together and blurted out, "You want to give me to Malfoy to butter up Bulstrode?"

"Well... that sounds rather bad out loud. But yeah." He gave Ron a hopeful, puppy dog look.

"I'm not going to chat up Malfoy, Harry," Ron said sternly, "just so you can have an in with Bulstrode."

"I'll do it."

Harry and Ron whipped about in surprise to see a group of random Hufflepuffs behind them. "What?"

Ernie Macmillan shrugged. "I'll chat up Malfoy for you."

Without a second thought, Ron rounded on the boy with a growl. "Are you his stinky cheese weasel? I don't think so, Macmillan. If anyone's going to chat up Malfoy, it'll be me, so bugger off." Breathing hard, his glare shifted from the startled Hufflepuff to Harry, who was looking at him as if he'd sprouted horns. "Oh, shit." He clapped a hand over his mouth.

"Ron?"

He hung his head in shame. "I can't believe I just said that."

******

Bulstrode was at the front of the stage, her entire demeanor a huge contrast from the rest of the band. But her still, almost elegant presence was weirdly perfect somehow, and that voice of hers... well, she could make the words, 'Dog on the fire, see him through the flames,' sound like a sensual caress. Hermione was half captivated by the girl.

"They really did a number on Bulstrode, didn't they?" Ginny commented breathlessly.

Hermione nodded, then shifted her gaze to study Zabini again who was... grinning at her? She started, and then glanced warily around at the other concert goers. He could be looking at any one of them, really, but just the way those lips curved up lazily at the corners, his light eyes peering wickedly out from behind the sweaty fringe falling over his brow, made Hermione wish desperately that he was staring right at her, the thrum of his bass for her benefit alone.

Catching Hermione's expression out of the corner of her eye, Ginny asked, "Who would have thought Zabini had all that hidden underneath his robes, eh?"

Hermione bit her lip and mentally ran her fingers along that tempting dip at the crook of his neck.

"He doesn't sing," Ginny continued, "but Colin said he wrote some of Bulstrode's songs."

A half-gasp, half-moan left her mouth as the boy in question arched his back, eyes mere slits as the song climaxed, then fell silent. "Damn," she whispered. "Gin, you're meeting Colin backstage afterwards, right?"

The younger girl nodded, then cried excitedly, "Oh listen, they're playing Eat Pie! Colin wrote this one with Malfoy."

Hermione was momentarily thrown off track. "Colin and Malfoy? Working together?"

"They have a mutual understanding about the importance of pie."

"Does Ron know this?" Hermione asked curiously, one brow arched.

Ginny grinned evilly. "Well, if he doesn't, he will soon."

Shaking off some very disturbing images, Hermione got back to her original point and asked, "Am I allowed to go as well?"

"Backstage? Of course," Ginny enthused. "That's a great idea." She chuckled slyly. Hermione was playing right into her plan.

******

Afterwards and the art of hitting

When the house lights came up a half-hour later, Hermione's sanity flooded back to her in a rush, scaring off her desire to go anywhere near backstage.

What had she been thinking? She couldn't actually approach Zabini. She couldn't actually speak to the boy. What would they even talk about? How much she enjoyed his revealing performance? How much she wanted to smooth her palms over his bare abdomen? Yeah, she was sure that would go over real well.

"All right?" Ginny asked her, face etched with concern. "You're... a bit green."

Hermione's breath was shallow and her eyes were painfully wide, dreadfully sure she was rushing headlong into a panic.

"Hermione? Ready to go?"

The brunette shook her head slowly. "Why don't you just go without me?"

Ginny furrowed her brows. "What? Come on, Hermione, you can't back out now." She tugged on her arm and urged her against the flow of students leaving the Great Hall. "Look, there's Ron and Harry, too. It'll be fun."

"Fun. Right," Hermione said woodenly.

The redhead rolled her eyes and ploughed forward, dragging her friend up to the dais and around the heavy velvet curtain that they'd hung behind the drum kit, Draco Malfoy Plus Four flashing in bright silver lettering upon it. Dumbledore had been kind - or crazy - enough to enchant the back half of the stage to look like a comfy lounge, armchairs and sofas lining the perimeter, a small bar filled with Butterbeer and sweets set up on one end.

It wasn't overly crowded, but a good many students - mainly Slytherins - were settling into seats and laughing, still in high spirits from the concert. Hermione spotted Zabini almost immediately, standing next to Pansy by the far wall, a drink in one hand and a towel in the other, busy rubbing the terrycloth over his damp neck and chest.

Hermione's throat went dry.

And then, fortunately or unfortunately, depending, he pulled on a blue t-shirt and leaned against the wall with a sigh, taking a long pull on his Butterbeer. Scanning the room tiredly, he caught Hermione's gaze, and she had to force herself to be strong and not tear her eyes away. She was already there. She might as well talk to him. She wasn't a coward.

He smiled at her and her knees nearly gave out.

******

Harry didn't have any clear conscious idea of what he was doing. He just knew that if he didn't at least touch the girl, he'd explode. So with that single thought in mind, he abandoned Ron to find his own amusements and approached the tall Slytherin, taking her hand in his without consent.

Millicent started and stared at him in surprise. "Potter?"

"Bulstrode." Harry nodded, threading his fingers through hers and tightening his grip. "Just wanted to congratulate you. The show was amazing."

Glancing confusedly down at their clasped hands, she said, "Thank you," but didn't try to pull away.

"You're welcome."

They gazed at each other, Millicent with a hesitant curiosity in her eyes and Harry's green irises alight with blatant admiration.

"Um... would you like a drink, Potter?" Millicent finally asked.

He smiled. "Yes."

"All right, then." She stood there, looking at him expectantly. "You're going to have to let go of me," she pointed out softly.

"Oh." Harry's gaze slid downwards and he reluctantly untangled their fingers. "Right. Sorry." His grin turned slightly sheepish.

"It's okay," she said, smiling back at him. "Give me a minute."

Millicent made her way to the bar and grabbed hold of Pansy, pulling her close to her side. "Pansy, I think Potter's hitting on me," she hissed. Both girls glanced furtively over to the boy in question, who'd taken a vacant seat and had started chatting with a fifth year Ravenclaw. Millicent grimaced. "What do I do?"

Pansy calmly placed two Butterbeers in her hands, urged her around, and then with one final nudge, said, "Hit back."

******

Ron felt more than a little out of place. Among the scads of overdressed Slytherins, his bright orange Chudley Cannons t-shirt seemed shabby, despite being almost brand new, and he frowned down at his scuffed and mud-stained trainers. Sitting awkwardly on an overstuffed purple couch, Ron absently fiddled with the paper logo on his Butterbeer bottle, and wished he was anywhere but there.

"Weasley," a voice purred softly from his right.

The Gryffindor froze and stared straight ahead, hoping against hope that if he just ignored him, Malfoy would go away. Instead, the prat curled up next to him on the couch. Bugger.

Hot breath tickled along his jaw line as the other boy leaned in to whisper, "Care for some... pie, Weasley?"

Ron's ears pricked. Pie? Jerking his head around, he glared at Malfoy and tightened his fingers around his drink. "What are you on about?"

The blond's lips curled up and he lifted a small plate to Ron's eyelevel. "Pie."

It was the perfect slice of pumpkin pie, rich orange-brown, crust crumbling only slightly, a dollop of fresh whipped cream topping it. Ron's mouth started to water. Hand half-way out to it, he paused and sent Malfoy a suspicious glower. "What did you do to it?"

"I didn't do anything, Weasel," he drawled, his free hand tracing lazy circles over Ron's forearm.

Clenching his teeth, Ron dropped his hand and forced out a "No, thanks." He obviously couldn't believe a word the Sytherin git said.

Malfoy's brows rose mockingly. "Are you sure?"

Ron gave a tight nod.

Shrugging, Malfoy picked up the silver fork himself and slowly sank the prongs into the precisely shaped point at the tip of the wedge. He gave a small moan as the morsel slid into his mouth, his catlike tongue flicking out to capture a wayward bit of cream.

Ron licked his lips and watched the line of Malfoy's throat as he swallowed. "Ah... Malfoy?"

The blond closed his eyes on a low, "Mmmm," as another piece of the ginger pie passed his lips, the fork making tiny indents against the soft pink skin as he pressed his mouth closed around it.

"Malfoy, can I--"

"Uh uh, Weasley," Malfoy tutted lightly, taking another slow bite. "You said no."

The pie smelled like heaven, and Ron stared longingly at the blond as he chewed and swallowed bite after bite, making all sorts of happy noises that nearly made Ron groan. It was completely unfair. Malfoy was eating all the pie.

Tucking the last piece into his mouth, Malfoy proceeded to lick the fork clean, tongue curling around the prongs for an unnecessary length of time, watching the redhead with half-lidded eyes.

Ron was having an inordinate amount of trouble breathing, and he thought that maybe, just maybe, if he leaned in towards the other boy's softly parted lips, he could inhale that delicious sweet and spicy pumpkin scent into his own mouth. It would almost qualify as having a bite himself.

******

When faced with an insanely handsome Slytherin whom she'd seen half-naked not moments before, and whom she'd hardly spoken three words to over the past seven years despite having more than half her classes with him, Hermione entered into what Ron had always called her dither state.

She worried the hem of her red t-shirt and stared up at the tall, smiling boy, heart skittering wildly, then did the unthinkable and stretched out her hand to him. "Zabini."

With a low chuckle of amusement, the dark-haired boy clasped the proffered hand in his, but instead of the simple handshake she'd intended, Zabini lifted the small appendage to his lips and gently kissed her palm. "Granger," he replied affably.

"Erm..." Hermione resisted the urge to tug her hand out of his grip.

"Enjoy the show?" he asked politely, rubbing his thumb over her plump mount of Venus.

She sucked in a shallow breath and nodded. "It was great. I never knew Bulstrode could sing like that." Good. She'd managed to sound semi-normal.

"She's a talented witch," Zabini agreed.

"You, ah... you were rather good yourself." She could feel the beginnings of a traitorous blush and bit her lip, willing her heart to slow.

"I try," he said absently, cocking his head to the side and studying her face intently. "I'm glad you came."

"You are?" she squeaked, eyes wide.

Blaise didn't answer, merely roved his eyes over her, head to toe, a small frown on his face. Even in casual clothes, even when so clearly off-kilter, she appeared far too... staid. He wanted to see her mussed. Rumpled. Foggy-eyed and red-lipped. Perhaps with a small, bite sized mark there... He slid his hand from hers to rest against the rapid pulse at the base of her neck.

What would she do if he leaned forward? If he pressed his thumb to her full lower lip? If he licked her teeth and slipped past, curling his tongue into her small warm mouth?

******

"Butterbeer all right?" Millicent asked, handing Harry one of the bottles before perching herself on the arm of his chair.

"Perfect," he said gratefully, eye drifting towards where the slit in her dress had parted.

Embarrassed, she tugged on the material, trying to get the watered silk to stretch closed and cursing her thick thighs.

"Don't," Harry protested, covering her hand with his.

She flushed but stopped worrying the dress. It wouldn't have done any good anyway. "You're not all that articulate tonight, Potter," she pointed out with a smirk, compensating for her slightly mortified state.

He shrugged, unconcerned. "You've poleaxed me, Bulstrode," he explained, rubbing the smooth strip of her exposed skin. "All I want to do is touch you."

Millicent was stunned. "What?"

"All I want to do," he reiterated slowly, wrapping an arm around her waist and tugging her gently down into his lap, "is touch you."

"Potter," she protested, pushing at his chest, "I'll crush--"

"You're perfect," Harry cut in, pulling her more fully against his body. Her amber eyes were thickly fringed, her cheekbones strong and handsome, her lips a contrasting soft red bow. Wavy brown hair fell to her shoulders and he swept tendrils back from her face, wondering how much longer he had to wait before he could kiss her.

******

Ginny and Pansy leant against the bar, Colin in a nearby seat, fast asleep, his head tilted back and mouth wide... snoring.

"It's somewhat sickening," Pansy said, gesturing to the room at large.

The Gryffindor giggled. "Somewhat." She was feeling quite proud of herself, really. Hermione was suitably ruffled, and it seemed to be an ongoing process. Harry was clearly in heaven, although she supposed that was Pansy's doing more than anything else, since she'd known about Bulstrode's little crush on him for months now. And Ron, well...

"I mean... they're all kissing," Pansy went on derisively. "And here we are, chatting about them kissing. It's all a little too voyeuristic for my taste."

"You could always go find yourself a nice Ravenclaw to snog," Ginny pointed out.

Shooting the redhead an unreadable look, she said, "I'm holding out for Finnigan, actually, but he never bothered to show up. Despite several heavy hints I'd given him at lunch yesterday."

Ginny recalled the incident at lunch, and, if that twisted display was any indication, she had to really wonder what exactly Slytherins thought was the proper way to show affection. "Yes, well, Seamus is a bit thick about most things. You might want to come on a little stronger." She winked at the girl.

"Now," Pansy said matter-of-factly, "I understand the attraction, of course, but how do you think Draco got your brother to give in?"

Ginny gazed over at the entwined couple thoughtfully, spotting the empty porcelain plate that was in danger of sliding off the sofa, the fork clutched in Draco's fingers as he buried his hand in Ron's shock of hair. "Had to be the pie," she murmured. And the fault of that, Ginny knew, lay squarely on Colin.

"Pie?"

"Definitely the pie."


Author notes: If you recognized "Wombat Vengeance," then you've unfortunately seen "Rock 'n' Roll High School Forever," with Corey Feldman back when he though he was Michael Jackson. I sympathize.

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