Viva Revenge, Part 12/? "Plan Overboard"
Title: Plan Overboard (Part 12/? of Viva Revenge)
Author: Thea Witchiepooh
Pairing/Characters: Draco/Hermione, Fred, George, Harry, Ron, Ginny, Mitchell Bulstrode, Pansy and the Creeveys
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own Harry Potter or any of these characters. This silly plot is mine.
Summary: The Muggle adventure continues, various plotting, heartfelt discussions and misunderstandings. This is nearing its conclusion, just one or two more chapters. (Sequel to Friendly Fire.)
A/N: This is the longest I've gone without updating because I've just been so busy. Hope this isn't too rusty!
Hermione had never seen Draco quite like this before. Sure he had jealous tendencies, but normally they didn't border on psychotic. She would have thought the fanbloodytastic-though slightly alarming in its intensity-morning shag would have calmed him, but it had done little to curb his aggressive behavior.
If it wasn't for the blond hair, he would have surely been mistaken for an Elvis impersonator with a bad attitude, given the way he snarled and curled his lip every time another man so much as glanced at his witch. Hermione wasn't sure which impulse was stronger: the one telling her to run away, fast; or the one urging her to pull him behind the nearest gaudy Vegas statue and ride him like he was the Commando 10,000 Broomstick.
As appealing as that second option sounded, there were more pressing matters at hand. First, they had to prepare for the expected “counter-attack” from Harry, Mitchell and company, now that the revenge scheme was fully in motion. To that end, Draco and Hermione were waiting for Fred and George at an “outdoor” cafe in the pseudo-piazza of the Venetian Hotel-a shopping and dining area inspired by the famous Italian city, (complete with faux blue skies and canals winding between posh boutiques).
Second, there was the tiny issue of dealing with Fred’s declaration of love. This went a long way in explaining Draco’s regression from cultured Wizo sapien to a grunting, sneering (even more than usual) Wizo erectus-the most recent evolutionary ancestor to the “Modern” Wizard. Thus his current impulse to drag Hermione by her bushy hair into the nearest tattoo parlor and have “Property of Draco Malfoy” stamped on her arse.
Of course, Hermione Granger was nobody’s property! No way, Jose! No sirree, bub! She was an independent witch. (Well, except maybe in the throes of the greatest bleeding sex ever.) She brutally gnawed at her lip as the two Hermione’s-take charge woman of the world and subservient love slave-waged war.
Meanwhile, Draco was staring daggers at a poofy opera singer performing nearby. The man had incurred the wizard’s wrath a few minutes earlier when he’d approached Hermione and declared she was a “Bella cincia.” (This translated roughly to “beautiful pheasant.”)
The guy was obviously not a real Italian, thought a peeved Draco. Not that Hermione had noticed his obvious inferiority. She’d cooed like some kind of silly bird when he announced he would dedicate his first aria to her beauty. Draco’s audible growl in reaction had spurred her current lip-chewing contemplation.
Both were lost in their own thoughts and didn’t notice the twins approaching until they parked themselves at the small café table. Draco’s lip curled to alarmingly EVIL!Elvis proportions as George (though he thought it was Fred) sat next to Hermione and planted a chaste kiss on her cheek.
“Afternoon, luv,” he said, ignoring the steam that billowed from Draco’s ears.
Fred nodded uneasily at Draco and gave Hermione a sheepish grin. “Sorry we’re late, but George was suffering from the mother of all hangovers.”
Draco relaxed just slightly as he realized it was married George who’d kissed his woman hello, not the bloody git that was trying to steal her away.
The mood was decidedly tense until Hermione wisely brought up the subject of their meeting. “So then, I spoke to Colin earlier and he’s planning to join Martin and the others at the Hoover Dam.”
“Do you suppose they’re there already?” asked Draco. “I can’t tell what time it is in this bloody place.” It was true. If you didn’t step outside (and the oppressive heat was a good reason not to) it was hard to know what time of day it was in Vegas. Gamblers, revelers and scantily clad cocktail waitresses prowled the city 24/7.
Fortunately, Hermione had a watch. “It’s about 15:00 now, I imagine they'll be there soon if they haven't already arrived. We’ll need to chat with Colin when he comes back, but in the meantime I have a plan to deal with any revenge they might seek.”
“To prevent it?” asked George.
“That would be ideal. But I’m guessing they’ll strike hard and fast,” she paused, blushing ever so slightly at the image the words “hard and fast” conjured in her mind-especially with Draco looking at her and licking his gorgeous lips. “I mean,” she stammered, “we may not be able to avoid some kind of payback, but I have an idea of how we can get back."
“So,” Fred said, the humor evident in his voice. “You have a plan to avenge their revenge on your revenge? What pray tell, will you do when they decide to avenge the revenge of their revenge on your revenge, hmmm?”
George, who was still suffering from the remains of the hangover to end all hangovers, dropped his head on the table like it was made of lead.
The attractive, cunning glint had once again entered Hermione’s brown eyes. “As much fun as all this plotting has been, I’m fairly certain the coup de grâce I have in mind will bring our little cycle of vengeance to a fitting end.”
George lifted his head warily and joined Fred and Draco as they gave the crafty witch their full attention.
His ravenous jealousy temporarily replaced by admiration, Draco smirked at Hermione. “Do tell, love.”
****
Pansy Parkinson was having an epiphany. It was quite a moment for the pureblood witch. For at least half her life the lowliness of Muggles had been drilled into her brain. Even in the years since the second war she had stayed cloistered in the Wizard world. Sure, with changes to that society and friends like Hermione her vision had broadened. And yes, she found Muggle culture (at least the aspects of it that were currently all the rage in sophisticated pureblood circles) intriguing-it was why she’d chosen a Muggle-themed wedding in Las Vegas. Yet she’d never felt any real admiration and her childhood prejudices lingered.
But now this creature before her, with her Lee Press-On Nails and gravity-defying hair, shook the foundation of those beliefs.
“And you don’t use any magic? You didn’t get your sister-in-law to charm these products?” she asked, reverently holding a gleaming bright purple can of something called Aqua Net Extra Super Hold Hairspray.
Tricia Creevey snorted, “Of course not! Besides, I’m not sure how the chemicals would react. Wouldn’t want to blow up the house, hee hee!”
Pansy held the can, poised near her dirty-blonde locks. “You don’t think I’d have some kind of reaction to it?”
Ginny, who had been introduced to the wonders of Muggle beauty products years ago was watching with amusement. “Don’t worry, Pans, if your hair falls out we can just magic it back!” she teased. At the horrified look on her friend’s face she quickly added, “Kidding!”
Tricia-who had gotten a degree in cosmetology from the Athena Beauty School in Hackensack, New Jersey and worked at a salon-developed a wise and all-knowing tone to her high-pitched voice. “Oh, no worries dear. Marty’s sister has been using this stuff for years and she’s never had any problems, except, well, you’re not a smoker are you?”
Pansy made a face, “Not a chance. That is one Muggle habit I would never pick up, so uncouth!”
“So then you have nothing to worry about,” Tricia said. After a moment of reflection she added, “Though if you use as much as I do I suggest you stay away from any flames. I have a client at the salon and she told me her cousin knows a woman who torched her hair off, just like my little Carly’s doll, when she went on a date with a chain smoker.”
“So I guess you could say there were real sparks between them,” offered Mitchell, who had been listening in on the conversation.
“Boo, Bulstrode! That was bad!” said Ginny, but despite her remark she giggled enthusiastically.
The four were gathered in the rear of the Winnebago, as they headed to the Hoover Dam. At this point they knew vague details about the contract that had bound them to the Creevey family. Harry was up in front, telling a fascinated Marty all about the horrid Dursleys and trying to get more clues to their captivity. The two youngest children were napping while the Creevey twins huddled in a corner working on a “project.”
Ron sat nearby the EVIL!twins (he wondered if all twins were devious little pranksters) and tried to ignore the fact that the eldest Creevey brat, Molly, was staring at him.
Several factors compounded his unease with the little bint. First, there was the way she bossed around the other children-like a mini version of both his mother and Hermione. Then there was the red hair, not to mention the coincidence of her name. Worst of all, the girl seemed to have some sort of fixation on him-perhaps it was their shared ginger hues and freckled faces.
“Why aren’t you married?” she suddenly questioned him-not in the benign manner of one who is merely curious, but with an accusatory edge to her rather deep voice.
“What?”
“All of your friends are, or going to be,” she pointed out.
“So?” he was getting defensive. He felt like a helpless bunny cornered by a wolf.
“Is there something wrong with you? Don’t you like girls?” she pressed.
He fought the urge to tell her to sod off, but something (perhaps the magic of the contract) held his temper in check. “I like women just fine. Just haven’t met the right one, is all. Besides, I have some single friends.”
Molly rolled her eyes, “Please! It’s so obvious you have commitment issues.”
“Bloody hell, are you channeling my mum?”
“You’re the wizard, not me,” she said, as if Ron was the most dimwitted person she’d ever met. “Maybe the problem is your hair.”
“Wha..what?” he was incredulous now. “Maybe you should look in the mirror!”
The precocious little angel merely rolled her eyes again. “The color’s just fine. But you really need to get it cut.”
The twins, who had started to pay attention to the exchange, stood up and looked at Ron with matching grins and scissors that had appeared as if by magic. “We can give you a trim!”
Ron jumped to his feet and stumbled backwards into the Winnebago’s “kitchenette” area. “Stay back! I have a wand and I know how to use it!” he yelped. However, when he went to find said wand, he came up empty. “Where’s my…Harry!”
His panicked scream woke both toddlers, who began crying loudly.
Tricia-her hands extended to preserve a fresh coat of nail polish-had moved in to defend the hapless wizard from her demented offspring. “Boys! How many times do I have to tell you to stay out of my hairdresser kit!” She snatched the scissors as the previously bold duo cowered. Then she turned toward Molly and snapped, “And you! Go check on Carly and Kip NOW!”
Harry had rushed back from the front of the vehicle to find a green-faced Ron (the motion sickness had hit him hard when he stood) who looked like he was about to join the babies and burst into tears.
“What’s going on?”
“My wand! It’s gone!”
Mitchell had walked over as well. “I’d be willing to wager all of our wands are gone,” he said. “What’s amazing is that none of us even thought about using magic to get out of here until just now.”
“That bloody contract,” spat Ron.
****
There’s no doubt about it, Draco thought proudly, as he listened to Hermione explain her plan for counter-vengeance. Whilst his witch possessed certain “unfortunate” Gryffindor characteristics, she was clearly Slytherin at heart. The realization comforted him on some level, as if to reaffirm she belonged with him, not the Tweasel.
The three had been plotting for more than an hour, with Hermione doing most of the talking. At first there had been some opposition from the twins, mainly because at this point it wasn't clear the others knew of their involvement in the initial revenge. But the witch was extremely persuasive when she needed to be. And as with everything she did, it was well thought out.
“So what do you think?” Hermione asked as she finished telling them the last details of the scheme, anxious for their approval.
“I think your bloody brilliant,” said George.
“Brightest witch of your age,” added Fred.
“It’s an honor to call you my girlfriend,” piped in Draco.
Fred shot him a bitter glance, then turned back to Hermione. “Really, it is fantastic.”
She blushed, “Thanks! Of course it isn’t just me,” she said, trying to be humble.
“It’s completely you,” Draco said, then leaned in and kissed her-not a peck but a full-on snog-as Fred’s face turned as red as his hair and his twin whistled and looked away.
“Get a room!” George complained.
The lovers broke apart, Hermione’s face flushed with embarrassment. She wasn’t a public display of affection kind of gal, but Draco was just so…domineering…today.
Draco looked smug. He got up from the table. “So I’m going to head to the casino to get things rolling,” he announced. He pulled Hermione up, causing her to fall into him roughly, and kissed her again-this time putting his hand possessively in the small of her back. When he finished thoroughly exploring her mouth with his tongue, he placed his lips near her ear. “I trust you’ll take care of your business now?” he whispered. His warm breath caused a rush through her, making her wish she could skip the business part and go back to the hotel suite.
“Yes, I will,” she said as they pulled apart. She grabbed the back of the chair to steady her weak knees.
“Lads,” Draco mock-bowed to the twins. “We’ll catch up later when Creevey returns.” He moved in for one last quick kiss with Hermione and then he was off.
She felt slightly breathless as she watched him go. She looked hesitantly at Fred and George. They were both standing now.
George observed the anxious behavior of his brother and the witch. He knew that Fred had professed his feelings the night before. He had a bad feeling he was about to get his heart handed back to him on a cold platter.
Hermione steeled herself for the inevitable. “George, I’ll see you later for dinner.” Then she looked at Fred. “We need to talk.”
“Right then,” said George, creeping away. “I’ll be um, shopping. Fred, why don’t you find me when you and Hermione are finished.”
Fred winced at his brother’s choice of words. He wasn’t an idiot, he could see the heat radiating off of Hermione and Malfoy the entire time they were together. “Sounds good,” he said weakly, the confidence he’d felt the night before completely gone.
****
Harry and Ron were standing on the observation deck of the Hoover Dam. The Creeveys and their reluctant passengers had arrived at the landmark about an hour earlier. Following the "excitement" in the Winnebago, the lot of them were glad to be out of that confined space.
"Nope, there's no 'effin way he could have survived that drop," said Ron.
"It's only a movie, Ron. And besides, it wasn't even filmed here," protested Harry.
"Doesn't matter, I still say there's no way he survives that fall. He's not Superdude."
"That's Superman! And the dam he falls from in The Fugitive isn't as high up as this one."
"Well, I still think you'd have to be daft to believe a bloke could just swim off after that," argued Ron.
"He's no ordinary bloke, mate he's Harrison Ford and..." Harry was about to make another point, something about the actor's ability to not only survive perilous leaps, but outrun trains and explosions, when he spotted Colin Creevey standing just outside of the souvenir shop.
"Creevey!"
Not knowing Harry was talking about the Wizard member of the crazy clan, Ron went pale. "I thought we'd lost them!"
"Not those blasted Muggles," said Mitchell, who had walked up with Ginny and Pansy. "The pain in the arse we went to school with."
Colin came over to the group. He looked around nervously, "Oi there, how's things?"
"How's things? How's things? Are you mental? How in Merlin's name do you think they are?" asked Ron, who was clearly the most on edge of the five.
Based on his sudden surprise appearance, it seemed Colin had apparated from Vegas--which didn't do much to appease the irate, wandless, complacent-beyond-his-control victim.
"What are you doing here, Creevey?" asked Mitchell, sounding slightly less cheesed off than Ron. It wasn't that they were having a terrible time with the Muggles. It was the complete lack of control that burned them. Only Pansy--her hair having reached epic heights thanks to Tricia and her Aqua Net--was in good spirits and actually willing to admit she was enjoying the experience. But it didn't matter. They could have been partying in paradise and being treated like royalty and they'd still need to get back at Hermione and Draco for duping them. It was a matter of principle.
Colin briefly considered getting out of there, but the knowledge that they were wandless put him erroneously at ease. "Just checking in to make sure my family is showing you folks a good time."
"More like spying, you traitorous little shite," said Ginny.
"Well, you should know," he countered.
Mitchell gave Colin the once over before grabbing him by the collar. The vertically-challenged wizard squeaked in shock. Even if Mitchell had still been a woman, he was much larger and stronger. "If you think we're harmless just because we can't use magic on your skinny arse, you're grievously mistaken," he said.
"I can't do anything to break the contract," he said quickly.
"Breaking it isn't what we had in mind," Mitchell said. "First we'd like to know who else besides you, Granger and Malfoy put us here."
"There was no one else," he chirped rather unconvincingly. As frightened as he was of Mitchell, he feared that revealing the Weasley twins' involvement would have even greater repercussions.
"I've got to say, Creevey, you're a far better liar with a studio audience to back you up," said Mitchell. "Now tell us everything or you'll be doing more than hosting the next episode of Strange Encounters"
****
Fred and Hermione were floating on a gondola through the tacky canal system of fake Venice. Thankfully, their gondolier had stopped singing his mournfully romantic songs and they were finally able to talk. Though Fred wouldn't have minded the illusion of a romantic date lasting a bit longer.
Hermione swallowed her fear and began, "Listen, I owe you a massive apology."
He put up his hands. "Don't, Hermione. I'm the one who put you in this bloody awkward position." He laughed nervously, because they were both emotionally and physically uncomfortable at the moment. "I never should have said the things I said last night. They were meant to be spoken years ago, but not now."
She couldn't disagree. "That may be true, but I don't know that it would have made a difference. We've both changed a lot over the years. I do love you and always will, but what happened last night made me see that it isn't...that way. You're family, Fred." He didn't respond, just put his head down, so she continued. "I think perhaps you feel the same way, otherwise you wouldn't have needed to see me with Draco to have this revelation. You would have known."
Fred looked up. "I don't think of you as a sister, Hermione. That's not what this is."
"Cousin?"
"Maybe, a very distant cousin," he conceded. "Look, it makes no difference because you're obviously bonkers for Malfoy. I don't quite get it, but I accept it. I have to."
"I'm really sorry," she said.
"Don't be. You're happy. I've known it for months and it just made me insane to recognize that I wasn't the cause of it. What I did last night was truly selfish, because I know you and Malfoy just...fit."
"You think so?" she asked, hesitantly.
"I wouldn't admit something so bleeding...disturbing...it if I didn't believe it," he said.
"Fred..."
"Don't get your knickers in a twist, Hermione. I'll be just cushty in no time." He paused, then grinned like he was batty. "It could be worse! I mean, he's not half bad for a Slytherin. He's a clever bloke. Imagine the horror if you were preggers with say, Marcus Flint's love child."
Hermione laughed so hard that the tiny gondola teetered precariously, threatening to spill them into the murky water. "Merlin, do you know he actually tried to chat me up at a party Pansy had a while back, before I started with Draco."
"See, I already feel better knowing that travesty was avoided."
They smiled at each other warmly and for the first time in a while, both felt completely at ease.
Neither spoke and the gondolier took it as his cue to break into song again. "O sole mio," he burst out, as the boat neared a bridge.
Hermione and Fred didn't see that Draco was standing on top of it, seething as he watched them from above. To him, their cozy appearance made it look as if Hermione hadn't brushed the Tweasel off, but encouraged him. Without thinking, he pulled out his wand and in a flash the comfortable pair--and their singing gondolier--were thrown overboard.
The water was shallow enough to stand and as Hermione pushed her sopping curls from her face, she looked up to see Draco storming off. Fred had spotted him as well. Perhaps a day or even an hour ago he would have felt a sense of triumph and would have clung to the mistaken belief that an angry Malfoy meant he had a chance. But seeing the despair in Hermione's eyes, he knew more clearly than ever before, that she belonged with the blond prat and nobody else.
"Don't worry, luv. I'll get him sorted," he said as he helped her out of the water and pushed himself up next to her. She looked unsure, so he went on. "It's my fault this happened."
"What if he doesn't come around?"
"He will, luv." He hugged her then added gingerly, "And if not, perhaps it's not too late to ring Flint?"
Take me to Part 13, NOW
Endnote: So like I said above, this is definitely nearing the end. I've grown rather fond of my particularly insane interpretation of these characters, so perhaps I may visit them again down the road. One note on this chapter. The character of Molly Creevey is based on a young cousin of mine, who happens to be named Molly and has red hair. Her conversation with Ron is actually very similar to one she once had with me. Yikes!
Author: Thea Witchiepooh
Pairing/Characters: Draco/Hermione, Fred, George, Harry, Ron, Ginny, Mitchell Bulstrode, Pansy and the Creeveys
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own Harry Potter or any of these characters. This silly plot is mine.
Summary: The Muggle adventure continues, various plotting, heartfelt discussions and misunderstandings. This is nearing its conclusion, just one or two more chapters. (Sequel to Friendly Fire.)
A/N: This is the longest I've gone without updating because I've just been so busy. Hope this isn't too rusty!
Hermione had never seen Draco quite like this before. Sure he had jealous tendencies, but normally they didn't border on psychotic. She would have thought the fanbloodytastic-though slightly alarming in its intensity-morning shag would have calmed him, but it had done little to curb his aggressive behavior.
If it wasn't for the blond hair, he would have surely been mistaken for an Elvis impersonator with a bad attitude, given the way he snarled and curled his lip every time another man so much as glanced at his witch. Hermione wasn't sure which impulse was stronger: the one telling her to run away, fast; or the one urging her to pull him behind the nearest gaudy Vegas statue and ride him like he was the Commando 10,000 Broomstick.
As appealing as that second option sounded, there were more pressing matters at hand. First, they had to prepare for the expected “counter-attack” from Harry, Mitchell and company, now that the revenge scheme was fully in motion. To that end, Draco and Hermione were waiting for Fred and George at an “outdoor” cafe in the pseudo-piazza of the Venetian Hotel-a shopping and dining area inspired by the famous Italian city, (complete with faux blue skies and canals winding between posh boutiques).
Second, there was the tiny issue of dealing with Fred’s declaration of love. This went a long way in explaining Draco’s regression from cultured Wizo sapien to a grunting, sneering (even more than usual) Wizo erectus-the most recent evolutionary ancestor to the “Modern” Wizard. Thus his current impulse to drag Hermione by her bushy hair into the nearest tattoo parlor and have “Property of Draco Malfoy” stamped on her arse.
Of course, Hermione Granger was nobody’s property! No way, Jose! No sirree, bub! She was an independent witch. (Well, except maybe in the throes of the greatest bleeding sex ever.) She brutally gnawed at her lip as the two Hermione’s-take charge woman of the world and subservient love slave-waged war.
Meanwhile, Draco was staring daggers at a poofy opera singer performing nearby. The man had incurred the wizard’s wrath a few minutes earlier when he’d approached Hermione and declared she was a “Bella cincia.” (This translated roughly to “beautiful pheasant.”)
The guy was obviously not a real Italian, thought a peeved Draco. Not that Hermione had noticed his obvious inferiority. She’d cooed like some kind of silly bird when he announced he would dedicate his first aria to her beauty. Draco’s audible growl in reaction had spurred her current lip-chewing contemplation.
Both were lost in their own thoughts and didn’t notice the twins approaching until they parked themselves at the small café table. Draco’s lip curled to alarmingly EVIL!Elvis proportions as George (though he thought it was Fred) sat next to Hermione and planted a chaste kiss on her cheek.
“Afternoon, luv,” he said, ignoring the steam that billowed from Draco’s ears.
Fred nodded uneasily at Draco and gave Hermione a sheepish grin. “Sorry we’re late, but George was suffering from the mother of all hangovers.”
Draco relaxed just slightly as he realized it was married George who’d kissed his woman hello, not the bloody git that was trying to steal her away.
The mood was decidedly tense until Hermione wisely brought up the subject of their meeting. “So then, I spoke to Colin earlier and he’s planning to join Martin and the others at the Hoover Dam.”
“Do you suppose they’re there already?” asked Draco. “I can’t tell what time it is in this bloody place.” It was true. If you didn’t step outside (and the oppressive heat was a good reason not to) it was hard to know what time of day it was in Vegas. Gamblers, revelers and scantily clad cocktail waitresses prowled the city 24/7.
Fortunately, Hermione had a watch. “It’s about 15:00 now, I imagine they'll be there soon if they haven't already arrived. We’ll need to chat with Colin when he comes back, but in the meantime I have a plan to deal with any revenge they might seek.”
“To prevent it?” asked George.
“That would be ideal. But I’m guessing they’ll strike hard and fast,” she paused, blushing ever so slightly at the image the words “hard and fast” conjured in her mind-especially with Draco looking at her and licking his gorgeous lips. “I mean,” she stammered, “we may not be able to avoid some kind of payback, but I have an idea of how we can get back."
“So,” Fred said, the humor evident in his voice. “You have a plan to avenge their revenge on your revenge? What pray tell, will you do when they decide to avenge the revenge of their revenge on your revenge, hmmm?”
George, who was still suffering from the remains of the hangover to end all hangovers, dropped his head on the table like it was made of lead.
The attractive, cunning glint had once again entered Hermione’s brown eyes. “As much fun as all this plotting has been, I’m fairly certain the coup de grâce I have in mind will bring our little cycle of vengeance to a fitting end.”
George lifted his head warily and joined Fred and Draco as they gave the crafty witch their full attention.
His ravenous jealousy temporarily replaced by admiration, Draco smirked at Hermione. “Do tell, love.”
****
Pansy Parkinson was having an epiphany. It was quite a moment for the pureblood witch. For at least half her life the lowliness of Muggles had been drilled into her brain. Even in the years since the second war she had stayed cloistered in the Wizard world. Sure, with changes to that society and friends like Hermione her vision had broadened. And yes, she found Muggle culture (at least the aspects of it that were currently all the rage in sophisticated pureblood circles) intriguing-it was why she’d chosen a Muggle-themed wedding in Las Vegas. Yet she’d never felt any real admiration and her childhood prejudices lingered.
But now this creature before her, with her Lee Press-On Nails and gravity-defying hair, shook the foundation of those beliefs.
“And you don’t use any magic? You didn’t get your sister-in-law to charm these products?” she asked, reverently holding a gleaming bright purple can of something called Aqua Net Extra Super Hold Hairspray.
Tricia Creevey snorted, “Of course not! Besides, I’m not sure how the chemicals would react. Wouldn’t want to blow up the house, hee hee!”
Pansy held the can, poised near her dirty-blonde locks. “You don’t think I’d have some kind of reaction to it?”
Ginny, who had been introduced to the wonders of Muggle beauty products years ago was watching with amusement. “Don’t worry, Pans, if your hair falls out we can just magic it back!” she teased. At the horrified look on her friend’s face she quickly added, “Kidding!”
Tricia-who had gotten a degree in cosmetology from the Athena Beauty School in Hackensack, New Jersey and worked at a salon-developed a wise and all-knowing tone to her high-pitched voice. “Oh, no worries dear. Marty’s sister has been using this stuff for years and she’s never had any problems, except, well, you’re not a smoker are you?”
Pansy made a face, “Not a chance. That is one Muggle habit I would never pick up, so uncouth!”
“So then you have nothing to worry about,” Tricia said. After a moment of reflection she added, “Though if you use as much as I do I suggest you stay away from any flames. I have a client at the salon and she told me her cousin knows a woman who torched her hair off, just like my little Carly’s doll, when she went on a date with a chain smoker.”
“So I guess you could say there were real sparks between them,” offered Mitchell, who had been listening in on the conversation.
“Boo, Bulstrode! That was bad!” said Ginny, but despite her remark she giggled enthusiastically.
The four were gathered in the rear of the Winnebago, as they headed to the Hoover Dam. At this point they knew vague details about the contract that had bound them to the Creevey family. Harry was up in front, telling a fascinated Marty all about the horrid Dursleys and trying to get more clues to their captivity. The two youngest children were napping while the Creevey twins huddled in a corner working on a “project.”
Ron sat nearby the EVIL!twins (he wondered if all twins were devious little pranksters) and tried to ignore the fact that the eldest Creevey brat, Molly, was staring at him.
Several factors compounded his unease with the little bint. First, there was the way she bossed around the other children-like a mini version of both his mother and Hermione. Then there was the red hair, not to mention the coincidence of her name. Worst of all, the girl seemed to have some sort of fixation on him-perhaps it was their shared ginger hues and freckled faces.
“Why aren’t you married?” she suddenly questioned him-not in the benign manner of one who is merely curious, but with an accusatory edge to her rather deep voice.
“What?”
“All of your friends are, or going to be,” she pointed out.
“So?” he was getting defensive. He felt like a helpless bunny cornered by a wolf.
“Is there something wrong with you? Don’t you like girls?” she pressed.
He fought the urge to tell her to sod off, but something (perhaps the magic of the contract) held his temper in check. “I like women just fine. Just haven’t met the right one, is all. Besides, I have some single friends.”
Molly rolled her eyes, “Please! It’s so obvious you have commitment issues.”
“Bloody hell, are you channeling my mum?”
“You’re the wizard, not me,” she said, as if Ron was the most dimwitted person she’d ever met. “Maybe the problem is your hair.”
“Wha..what?” he was incredulous now. “Maybe you should look in the mirror!”
The precocious little angel merely rolled her eyes again. “The color’s just fine. But you really need to get it cut.”
The twins, who had started to pay attention to the exchange, stood up and looked at Ron with matching grins and scissors that had appeared as if by magic. “We can give you a trim!”
Ron jumped to his feet and stumbled backwards into the Winnebago’s “kitchenette” area. “Stay back! I have a wand and I know how to use it!” he yelped. However, when he went to find said wand, he came up empty. “Where’s my…Harry!”
His panicked scream woke both toddlers, who began crying loudly.
Tricia-her hands extended to preserve a fresh coat of nail polish-had moved in to defend the hapless wizard from her demented offspring. “Boys! How many times do I have to tell you to stay out of my hairdresser kit!” She snatched the scissors as the previously bold duo cowered. Then she turned toward Molly and snapped, “And you! Go check on Carly and Kip NOW!”
Harry had rushed back from the front of the vehicle to find a green-faced Ron (the motion sickness had hit him hard when he stood) who looked like he was about to join the babies and burst into tears.
“What’s going on?”
“My wand! It’s gone!”
Mitchell had walked over as well. “I’d be willing to wager all of our wands are gone,” he said. “What’s amazing is that none of us even thought about using magic to get out of here until just now.”
“That bloody contract,” spat Ron.
****
There’s no doubt about it, Draco thought proudly, as he listened to Hermione explain her plan for counter-vengeance. Whilst his witch possessed certain “unfortunate” Gryffindor characteristics, she was clearly Slytherin at heart. The realization comforted him on some level, as if to reaffirm she belonged with him, not the Tweasel.
The three had been plotting for more than an hour, with Hermione doing most of the talking. At first there had been some opposition from the twins, mainly because at this point it wasn't clear the others knew of their involvement in the initial revenge. But the witch was extremely persuasive when she needed to be. And as with everything she did, it was well thought out.
“So what do you think?” Hermione asked as she finished telling them the last details of the scheme, anxious for their approval.
“I think your bloody brilliant,” said George.
“Brightest witch of your age,” added Fred.
“It’s an honor to call you my girlfriend,” piped in Draco.
Fred shot him a bitter glance, then turned back to Hermione. “Really, it is fantastic.”
She blushed, “Thanks! Of course it isn’t just me,” she said, trying to be humble.
“It’s completely you,” Draco said, then leaned in and kissed her-not a peck but a full-on snog-as Fred’s face turned as red as his hair and his twin whistled and looked away.
“Get a room!” George complained.
The lovers broke apart, Hermione’s face flushed with embarrassment. She wasn’t a public display of affection kind of gal, but Draco was just so…domineering…today.
Draco looked smug. He got up from the table. “So I’m going to head to the casino to get things rolling,” he announced. He pulled Hermione up, causing her to fall into him roughly, and kissed her again-this time putting his hand possessively in the small of her back. When he finished thoroughly exploring her mouth with his tongue, he placed his lips near her ear. “I trust you’ll take care of your business now?” he whispered. His warm breath caused a rush through her, making her wish she could skip the business part and go back to the hotel suite.
“Yes, I will,” she said as they pulled apart. She grabbed the back of the chair to steady her weak knees.
“Lads,” Draco mock-bowed to the twins. “We’ll catch up later when Creevey returns.” He moved in for one last quick kiss with Hermione and then he was off.
She felt slightly breathless as she watched him go. She looked hesitantly at Fred and George. They were both standing now.
George observed the anxious behavior of his brother and the witch. He knew that Fred had professed his feelings the night before. He had a bad feeling he was about to get his heart handed back to him on a cold platter.
Hermione steeled herself for the inevitable. “George, I’ll see you later for dinner.” Then she looked at Fred. “We need to talk.”
“Right then,” said George, creeping away. “I’ll be um, shopping. Fred, why don’t you find me when you and Hermione are finished.”
Fred winced at his brother’s choice of words. He wasn’t an idiot, he could see the heat radiating off of Hermione and Malfoy the entire time they were together. “Sounds good,” he said weakly, the confidence he’d felt the night before completely gone.
****
Harry and Ron were standing on the observation deck of the Hoover Dam. The Creeveys and their reluctant passengers had arrived at the landmark about an hour earlier. Following the "excitement" in the Winnebago, the lot of them were glad to be out of that confined space.
"Nope, there's no 'effin way he could have survived that drop," said Ron.
"It's only a movie, Ron. And besides, it wasn't even filmed here," protested Harry.
"Doesn't matter, I still say there's no way he survives that fall. He's not Superdude."
"That's Superman! And the dam he falls from in The Fugitive isn't as high up as this one."
"Well, I still think you'd have to be daft to believe a bloke could just swim off after that," argued Ron.
"He's no ordinary bloke, mate he's Harrison Ford and..." Harry was about to make another point, something about the actor's ability to not only survive perilous leaps, but outrun trains and explosions, when he spotted Colin Creevey standing just outside of the souvenir shop.
"Creevey!"
Not knowing Harry was talking about the Wizard member of the crazy clan, Ron went pale. "I thought we'd lost them!"
"Not those blasted Muggles," said Mitchell, who had walked up with Ginny and Pansy. "The pain in the arse we went to school with."
Colin came over to the group. He looked around nervously, "Oi there, how's things?"
"How's things? How's things? Are you mental? How in Merlin's name do you think they are?" asked Ron, who was clearly the most on edge of the five.
Based on his sudden surprise appearance, it seemed Colin had apparated from Vegas--which didn't do much to appease the irate, wandless, complacent-beyond-his-control victim.
"What are you doing here, Creevey?" asked Mitchell, sounding slightly less cheesed off than Ron. It wasn't that they were having a terrible time with the Muggles. It was the complete lack of control that burned them. Only Pansy--her hair having reached epic heights thanks to Tricia and her Aqua Net--was in good spirits and actually willing to admit she was enjoying the experience. But it didn't matter. They could have been partying in paradise and being treated like royalty and they'd still need to get back at Hermione and Draco for duping them. It was a matter of principle.
Colin briefly considered getting out of there, but the knowledge that they were wandless put him erroneously at ease. "Just checking in to make sure my family is showing you folks a good time."
"More like spying, you traitorous little shite," said Ginny.
"Well, you should know," he countered.
Mitchell gave Colin the once over before grabbing him by the collar. The vertically-challenged wizard squeaked in shock. Even if Mitchell had still been a woman, he was much larger and stronger. "If you think we're harmless just because we can't use magic on your skinny arse, you're grievously mistaken," he said.
"I can't do anything to break the contract," he said quickly.
"Breaking it isn't what we had in mind," Mitchell said. "First we'd like to know who else besides you, Granger and Malfoy put us here."
"There was no one else," he chirped rather unconvincingly. As frightened as he was of Mitchell, he feared that revealing the Weasley twins' involvement would have even greater repercussions.
"I've got to say, Creevey, you're a far better liar with a studio audience to back you up," said Mitchell. "Now tell us everything or you'll be doing more than hosting the next episode of Strange Encounters"
****
Fred and Hermione were floating on a gondola through the tacky canal system of fake Venice. Thankfully, their gondolier had stopped singing his mournfully romantic songs and they were finally able to talk. Though Fred wouldn't have minded the illusion of a romantic date lasting a bit longer.
Hermione swallowed her fear and began, "Listen, I owe you a massive apology."
He put up his hands. "Don't, Hermione. I'm the one who put you in this bloody awkward position." He laughed nervously, because they were both emotionally and physically uncomfortable at the moment. "I never should have said the things I said last night. They were meant to be spoken years ago, but not now."
She couldn't disagree. "That may be true, but I don't know that it would have made a difference. We've both changed a lot over the years. I do love you and always will, but what happened last night made me see that it isn't...that way. You're family, Fred." He didn't respond, just put his head down, so she continued. "I think perhaps you feel the same way, otherwise you wouldn't have needed to see me with Draco to have this revelation. You would have known."
Fred looked up. "I don't think of you as a sister, Hermione. That's not what this is."
"Cousin?"
"Maybe, a very distant cousin," he conceded. "Look, it makes no difference because you're obviously bonkers for Malfoy. I don't quite get it, but I accept it. I have to."
"I'm really sorry," she said.
"Don't be. You're happy. I've known it for months and it just made me insane to recognize that I wasn't the cause of it. What I did last night was truly selfish, because I know you and Malfoy just...fit."
"You think so?" she asked, hesitantly.
"I wouldn't admit something so bleeding...disturbing...it if I didn't believe it," he said.
"Fred..."
"Don't get your knickers in a twist, Hermione. I'll be just cushty in no time." He paused, then grinned like he was batty. "It could be worse! I mean, he's not half bad for a Slytherin. He's a clever bloke. Imagine the horror if you were preggers with say, Marcus Flint's love child."
Hermione laughed so hard that the tiny gondola teetered precariously, threatening to spill them into the murky water. "Merlin, do you know he actually tried to chat me up at a party Pansy had a while back, before I started with Draco."
"See, I already feel better knowing that travesty was avoided."
They smiled at each other warmly and for the first time in a while, both felt completely at ease.
Neither spoke and the gondolier took it as his cue to break into song again. "O sole mio," he burst out, as the boat neared a bridge.
Hermione and Fred didn't see that Draco was standing on top of it, seething as he watched them from above. To him, their cozy appearance made it look as if Hermione hadn't brushed the Tweasel off, but encouraged him. Without thinking, he pulled out his wand and in a flash the comfortable pair--and their singing gondolier--were thrown overboard.
The water was shallow enough to stand and as Hermione pushed her sopping curls from her face, she looked up to see Draco storming off. Fred had spotted him as well. Perhaps a day or even an hour ago he would have felt a sense of triumph and would have clung to the mistaken belief that an angry Malfoy meant he had a chance. But seeing the despair in Hermione's eyes, he knew more clearly than ever before, that she belonged with the blond prat and nobody else.
"Don't worry, luv. I'll get him sorted," he said as he helped her out of the water and pushed himself up next to her. She looked unsure, so he went on. "It's my fault this happened."
"What if he doesn't come around?"
"He will, luv." He hugged her then added gingerly, "And if not, perhaps it's not too late to ring Flint?"
Take me to Part 13, NOW
Endnote: So like I said above, this is definitely nearing the end. I've grown rather fond of my particularly insane interpretation of these characters, so perhaps I may visit them again down the road. One note on this chapter. The character of Molly Creevey is based on a young cousin of mine, who happens to be named Molly and has red hair. Her conversation with Ron is actually very similar to one she once had with me. Yikes!