Entry tags:

2008, character: draco malfoy, character: harry potter, character: pansy parkinson, character: susan bones, fic, pairing: harry/draco/susan, pairing: susan/pansy

Fic: Taming of the Prude (Harry/Draco/Susan, etc., NC-17) for the community
Author: odds_are_evie
Recipient: the community
Title: The Taming of the Prude
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco/Susan, Harry/Draco, Susan/Pansy, various promiscuous Slytherins
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended. All characters engaging in sexual activity are 16 years or older.
Summary: Susan Bones is a nice, polite girl. Maybe a bit on the boring side. Okay, okay, so she owns four pairs of tartan trousers! But Susan's also got a crush on Harry Potter, and she'll do anything to get his attention, including leaving her fate in the hands of Pansy Parkinson.
Warnings: Voyeurism, threesome, mentions of casual sex and drinking
Word Count: ~8200
Author's Notes: Happy Christmas, everyone! This fic absolutely ran away with me, and I had a blast writing it, so I hope you enjoy! Thanks to my beta S, who is far too good to me, and a very big thank you the amazing K and T, who were endlessly patient with me and are just awesome in general.




The Taming of the Prude


Harry Potter had a strut.

He didn't know it, of course. Men like Harry were never aware of that sort of thing – strolling through their lives, completely oblivious to the look-at-me vibe that each step demanded. But a strut it was, effortless and inimitable. A stride full of confidence. A masterpiece of fluid muscles and casual grace. A set of perfect buttocks, showcased in a pair of well-fit trousers…

"Sue? Suze. Susan Bones!"

Susan's head snapped up and immediately she could feel the flood of heat rushing, unbidden, into her face. "What?" she asked, trying – and failing – to feign indifference.

Across the office, Hannah Abbott just laughed. "You were staring again, I saw you this time. You're so obvious, Sue."

"Oh, shut up, I was not," Susan grumbled, but that damned blush in her cheeks refused to go away, proclaiming her "caught" as loudly as if she'd held up a bleeding sign. Why, why did she always have to blush?

"Were too," Hannah sung lightly, giving her head of shining blonde hair a smug toss.

Susan glared. She hated Hannah. She hated her stupid, lovely hair and her bright blue eyes and her easy charm. Most of all, she hated the non-existent blush that would never dare to show itself on the likes of Hannah's pleasing round face. Oh yes, she hated Hannah. And that was obviously why they were best friends.

"I hate you," Susan reminded her, for good measure.

"Yes, you've told me that." Hannah had gone back to her writing, occasionally giving a quizzical glare to the pile of papers spread out next to her.

Deciding her friend was distracted enough for the moment, Susan risked a glance at the spot Harry had last occupied, but he was gone, fitted trousers and all. She let out a small disappointed sigh. Damn.

"Are you ever going to actually say something to him?" Hannah still hadn't lifted her gaze from her work, but there was a slight smirk on her face as she spoke. "Honestly, if you keep staring like that, I'm afraid eventually his trousers will burst into flames."

Snatching up the nearest useless object – which happened to be a memo from the Ludicrous Patents Office that she had no intention of reading – Susan balled the paper in her fist and whipped it at Hannah's head, growling her irritation when Hannah dodged nimbly out of the way.

"Repressed anger is no remedy for unrequited love," the blonde chided.

Susan groaned, burying her face in her hands. "Will you please just drop it?" she pleaded. They'd had this same conversation at least once a week since Susan had turned sixteen and discovered that Harry was, well, quite nice to stare at. But Hannah – perfect, male-attracting Hannah – didn't seem to understand the concept of admiration from afar.

Hannah fixed her with a long-suffering stare. "I'll drop it the day you actually say 'hi' to him instead of going 'nnrgh' and running away," she said.

"There's nothing wrong with going 'nnrgh' and running away," Susan protested.

Snorting a laugh, Hannah replied, "Oh yes, just like there's nothing wrong with wearing tartan trousers."

What's wrong with tartan trousers? Susan had opened her mouth to answer when she caught the slight sneer on Hannah's face. She quickly changed her mind, instead scribbling a quick note on her hand. 'Burn tartan trousers. All four pairs.'

"Besides," Hannah went on, "it's been ages since you've even been out with a bloke. You could use one in your life."

Susan rolled her eyes. Hannah, she knew, had many blokes in her life, and couldn't seem to understand how Susan functioned without someone to open her every door and pay for all her meals. "I do not need anything in my life that I do not already have," she said. "Besides, I have Reginald and Adalbert."

"And that right there is why it's scarily obvious you do need one!" Hannah burst out. "Normal women don't have… ugh, spiders as pets!"

"They're not spiders, they're Mexican Red-Knee tarantulas," Susan replied smugly.

Hannah gave her most exasperated stare. "Please, do continue to add weight to my argument."

With a sigh, Susan relented. "Honestly, even if I were to have a bloke, it would never be Harry. He's handsome and famous and an Auror. And I'm…" she gestured helplessly to herself. "I'm just Susan, plain, boring Susan from the Muggle-Worthy Excuses Committee."

"Oh, Suze, you're not—" Hannah began.

"Susan, who owns four pairs of tartan trousers!"

Hannah winced. "Well, that does cause a bit of a problem."

"So let's just accept that I'm boring Susan, who will forever be watching the likes of Harry Potter from afar, yeah?" Susan said weakly. All the fight had gone out of her, with all her insecurities now sitting in front of her face where she couldn't ignore them. She buried her face in her hands, trying to force them away.

"Oh, Susan." Hannah was beside her in an instant, wrapping her arms around her best friend's shoulders. "Don't. You're much better than that! I bet if you just talked to Harry once, he'd like you! Yeah?" She gave Susan a squeeze. "C'mon, it's after five. Let's Floo to the Leaky and get some drinks or something."

"I can't," came Susan's muffled voice. "I promised McClaggen I'd have that list of updated Quidditch excuses to the Sports department before day's end." She finally lifted her head, offering a tired smile. "Besides, I'm sure you've got one bloke or another who'll want to see you tonight."

Hannah's return smile was slightly guilty. "You know me too well." She grabbed the jacket off the back of her chair, slipping into as she headed for the door. "But you'll call me if you need anything, right? Sue? I'm always here for you."

"I know," Susan answered, "and I love you for it. Now go, or it'll be six before I'm out of here."

Giving her friend a last searching glance, Hannah disappeared into the hall.

Susan waited until she heard the lift doors at the end of the hall rumble closed, then she sat back into her seat with a sigh. Hidden underneath her elbow and a few loose sheets of paper, the Quidditch department's list sat, completely finished. She hated lying to Hannah, but all she really wanted now was her quiet little flat, her most comfortable pyjamas, and not a single remaining thought given to Harry Potter.

She took her time gathering up her things, walking with no great speed as she made her way down through the Ministry to the Department of Magical Games and Sports. Most of the offices were quiet now, with their respective occupants having called it good enough for a day, and Susan took the moment to enjoy the small peace it offered her.

It was a few minutes to six when she finally stood waiting for the lift, humming a soft tune to herself. She was starting to feel better about her evening, with the prospects of a hot cup of tea and a good book in her near future.

So of course she wasn't expecting to run face first into Harry Potter as she stepped into the lift.

"Bleeding hell!" Susan gasped as she stumbled back against the wall of the lift. Already she could feel the accursed blush creeping its way up her neck.

"Oh god, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you! Alright, Susan?"

He was talking to her. Harry Potter was talking to her. She had to answer.

"Nnrgh."

No, not that!

"N-no worries," she stuttered, trying her best not to look like a startled idiot. Which she was, of course. "Not your fault. I'm just… easily startled, I suppose." Great, now he would think she was mental and would start talking to her slowly in small words. The blush continued up her face.

"Happens to the best of us," Harry said, offering her a smile.

Susan laughed nervously, "I'm sure."

They met each other's gaze for a moment, and then the awkward silence descended, giving Susan's blush plenty of time to move past her cheeks and on up to the tips of her ears. Harry cleared his throat. She had to say something.

"So… how's your, er…" she cast around, blurting out the first thing that came into her field of vision, "broomstick!"

Harry glanced at her, then the object he held in one hand. He raised a curious eyebrow. "Erm… fine? And… yours?"

"Good! Good. Very… hard." Oh god. She hadn't just said that. "Broomy, I mean." Why was she still talking?! "And made of wood." Shut up, shut up, why could she not just shut up?

To her amazement, Harry laughed. "Suppose that's the best state for a broom to be in, yeah?"

"Yes." She forced her lips tightly shut, refusing to let them have so much as another syllable.

Apparently realizing Susan was a hopeless twit incapable of conversation, Harry took up the effort. "So are you heading home then?"

"Yes," Susan said again. Okay. This was better. If she could keep on like this, she might be alright.

"Me too. That's why I've got my, erm—" he gave his broom an indicative shake. "It was supposed to be brilliant weather this evening, so I figured I wouldn't waste it."

Now he was talking about the weather. She really was a twit. People only talked about the weather when they desperately wanted to end the conversation; Susan did it herself all the time. She cast around the corners of the lift, wondering if there was a small hole she could possibly crawl in.

At long last, the lift gave a light chirp, sliding open to release them to the Atrium.

"Our stop," Harry said, giving Susan a warm smile as stepped out. Susan felt her knees wobble. Outside the lift he paused, glancing back at her. "Coming?"

Susan stared across the Atrium, calculating in her head the time it would take to reach the closest Floo hearths. At least half a minute. That was long. What if he asked her another question? What if it required more than a single word answer? She couldn't risk that.

"Erm, no…" she said slowly, feeling even her forehead getting in on the blush as she attempted to lie. "I've, erm… just realized I've… forgotten my… wand! Yes, forgotten my wand." Her wand was sticking out of her handbag. She wondered if he could see it. She tried to tuck it behind her back. "So I'd, ah, best go back for it, because, rather important, after all…" She trailed off, secretly hoping she might drop dead from embarrassment.

"Oh! Well, yes then, you probably should go back," Harry agreed, looking surprised. "So I'll… see you later then?"

"Sure," Susan said, feeling a little surprised herself. "You know where to find me."

"Yeah, I do." Harry smiled again, and now Susan was sure she'd felt her heart stop for a moment. "See you, then." And he was gone, strutting across the Atrium.

Susan kept up her best fake smile until the lift doors had closed again, and then she collapsed against the wall, sliding down to the floor. She pressed her forehead against her knees. She was a monumental idiot. An idiot who had just blown her single chance with Harry Potter. Honestly, who asked about other people's broomsticks? And 'broomy' wasn't even a word. She was such a fool.

Tears began to prick Susan's eyes and she lifted her head quickly, determined not to cry. She forced herself to glare at the floor, focusing on being angry at herself rather than let the misery sweep over her as it so desperately wanted to…

And then she saw the note.

It was sitting by her toe, demanding her attention with its very presence. Harry must've dropped it.

With slightly trembling fingers, Susan snatched it up. Surely it was just a memo, or some boring reminder to clean the loo before Tuesday; there was no way it could possibly be meant for her. But all the same, her heart sped up as she fumbled it open, hoping against all hope.

Inside, in slightly scratchy male handwriting, she read:

Can't stop thinking about you. I have to see you. Meet me. The password's 'alihotsy.'

There was a London address scrawled underneath and a tiny heart inscribed on the bottom.

Susan's breath caught in her chest.

Oh god. Maybe it was. Maybe it really was for her.

But… no, of course not. It was probably a note to Harry, from one of the countless admirers that kept a constant stream of owl post across his desk. It was just too impossible that something as wonderful as this could happen to her, let alone from the man she… well, this kind of thing just didn't happen to girls like her.

Susan sighed as the bitter taste of disappointment flooded her mouth. She'd better give it back to Harry, or he'd be missing it.

She stood up, struggled to collect the shattered remains of her ego, and at last made her way out of the lift, expecting to find Harry there in frantic search for his note.

But the Atrium was empty.

Susan paused, bewildered. Certainly, he'd be looking for the note, unless it really was…

Unfolding the small paper, she read it again, a renewed flicker of hope in her heart. He wasn't looking for it, perhaps because it had already found its intended recipient? And, she now noticed, the ink was still slightly wet in places, as though it'd been written not so long ago.

A tiny explosion of confidence seemed to take place inside Susan.

Yes, she decided. The note was for her. And Harry had said, "See you later," not "See you tomorrow." Which meant he wanted to meet her yet this evening.

She was moving before she'd even stopped to think, nearly running for the nearest hearth as her mind raced ahead of her. She had so much to do! She needed a shower, and she'd have to do something with her hair, and a bit of make-up, if she could manage it, and oh god, what to wear!

Skidding into the glowing green flames, Susan kicked up a storm of ash onto her clothes as she shouted her address. But she was smiling as the Floo network whisked her away home.

After all, she had a date with Harry Potter.

*

Susan stared at the wall. The wall stared back at Susan.

"We seem to have reached an impasse," she told it.

It was a nice enough wall, she supposed, as far as walls went – gray brick at the end of a mostly tidy little alley. And it also happened to be the location of the address Harry's note had given.

Well. The note had also given a password, hadn't it? And it was common practice for wizarding locations to be hidden by mundane things… like plain brick walls. So she could just try it.

Giving a glance around to make sure no one was watching, Susan leaned quickly up to the wall and whispered, "Alihotsy."

Nothing happened.

Susan frowned. "Alihotsy," she tried again, louder this time.

Still nothing.

"Oh honestly!" she burst out. "What do you bloody well want from me? Alihotsy please?"

A soft grinding noise began to her left, and she spun to find a curved archway exposed by the receding wall. Without waiting, she hurried through, uttering a short little "Thank you!" as she passed.

So, this was it then. A tiny thrill of excitement worked its way down her spine as she studied the long, faintly lit corridor stretched out before her. Palm-sized bluebell flames crackled along the floor, splashing pale light against dark walls. The muffled thump of music was filtering down from somewhere ahead. Susan took a breath and started down the hall.

Visions of fancy tables, low-hanging chandeliers, and well-dressed patrons flitted through her mind. A ballroom floor, a slow song played by a well-trained orchestra. A smile, a dance… a kiss. A thousand possibilities, waiting for her on the other side of a simple black door…

But she was definitely not expecting the dance club.

For a moment, her vision seemed overwhelmed by a haze of smoke and cloying darkness. The frantic beat of what she now recognized as disco music assaulted her ears, vibrating her until she could feel the heavy bass thumping in her chest. Heat and laughter and low neon lighting wrapped around her until Susan felt dizzy. She reached out blindly, catching hold of the back of what looked like an empty black sofa. Steadying herself, she forced her mind to focus.

Where the hell was she?

At last her eyes began adjusting to the dimness, and with a bit of concentration, she could make out a low, long room, with a dance floor at one and a well-stocked bar at the other. Long couches, squashy chairs and low tables seemed to be clustered around, with a only a few occupied by small groups of people. No one seemed to take any notice of Susan.

This was… not at all what she'd anticipated. Harry had invited her to a dance club?

No, Harry hadn't invited her at all. She'd been right from the start – the note was not hers. How could she have been so foolish? Harry Potter would never invite someone like Susan anywhere - Susan, who didn't even have a date to the Yule Ball while Harry had taken the best looking girl in their year. What had ever possessed her to believe that she had a chance with Harry Potter?

Unable to handle this sudden knowledge, Susan collapsed onto the couch, feeling upset and mortified. Here she was, unexpected and unwanted at this strange club, where any minute now Harry would be walking in with his gorgeous date and – oh god. What if Harry saw her here? Like some sort of… stalker? She'd never be able to show her face again anywhere. She'd have to quit her job and change her name and move away to a place no one would ever recognize her.

Oh god. She had to leave now.

She got shakily to her feet, casting a last, swift glance around the room just in case fate had cursed her and Harry was already here… and found herself sitting heavily back down as she took in a sight she couldn't even begin to comprehend.

It was Harry. She was almost positive it was – his raven-black hair was tousled as ever and the low lighting gleamed off his glasses. And sitting beside him – well, more like draped over him – was… was…

Her eyes knew the figure to be Draco Malfoy, but her brain refused to process this, because it knew there was no way Harry would ever let Draco Malfoy sit that close to him. And Malfoy would never have his arm around Harry's shoulders, running his fingers idly through Harry's hair, and…

As she watched, Malfoy bent down and laid his lips gently against Harry's neck, tracing a slow path up to Harry's ear. His pale white hand circled over Harry's chest and down into his lap, pausing to undo the zip of Harry's trousers. And, with much intent and deliberation, Malfoy's fingers disappeared into Harry's pants. Harry sagged back, his eyes slowly fluttering shut.

Susan gaped. What… how could… what was happening? Had the world gone completely and utterly mad?

She put a trembling hand to her own arm and pinched, waiting for the dream to dissolve itself.

Nothing happened. Across the room, Malfoy had crawled into Harry's lap. She could see Harry's strong hands, wrapped firmly around Malfoy's arse, and Malfoy grinding himself obscenely against Harry.

This was—this was wrong. Very, very wrong.

Susan couldn't look away.

They were kissing, in the slow, deliberate way of two people completely absorbed in each other, their fingers twined together as Malfoy held Harry's hands pinned against the back of the couch. Harry stretched up to meet Malfoy's mouth, his features a mask of want and need.

Slow, trickling heat was building itself between Susan's thighs, making her squirm uncomfortably. She bit at her bottom lip, her hands tightening to fists until her nails dug into her palms.

And suddenly Harry and Malfoy were moving, a single entwined entity lifting up off the couch and moving purposefully across the floor. Harry seemed to be carrying Malfoy, who had his legs curled around Harry's waist. They mingled their way steadily to the bar, and on towards a small, inconspicuous doorway behind it that was almost swallowed up by darkness.

Susan was on her feet with absolutely no idea of what she was doing.

She crossed the room in what seemed no time at all, her gaze locked on the spot where Harry and Malfoy had disappeared. Her mind was a crowded mess of the images she'd just witnessed. She had to do something! Malfoy, all over Harry like that! And Malfoy's hand, grabbing for Harry's… and the way they'd been kissing! She had to… she had to…

She had to stop, because a leg in black, tight-fitting trousers and lace-up leather boots was now barring her way through the dark doorway.

"I can't let you in, of course," a cool, slightly amused voice informed her. "Not that you'd be able to handle it if I did."

Susan stared up, finding the face to match the voice. Iced blue eyes met her, set in a thin face with a slightly upturned nose. Short, straight black hair shone glossily in the light from the bar, and miles of fair, pale skin was barely concealed by the tiny black halter top she wore.

Pansy Parkinson considered her. "You don't belong here, Susan Bones."

Susan's mouth dropped open. How did she—

"Yes, I know who you are," Pansy said, as though reading Susan's thoughts. "Just because I have better things to think about doesn't mean I'm oblivious. It's my job to notice things. Like mousy little brunettes who are completely out of their element."

"What do you want from me?" Susan hissed back. She felt oddly naked under Pansy's piercing gaze, which was surprising considering the fact her underpants probably had more material than Pansy's entire outfit.

A smirk curled up the corners of Pansy's elegantly painted lips. "I want to know what you're doing here, because as I already pointed out, you don't belong here," she said. "Although I must admit, I'm impressed by the very fact you're still here, after that little show. I'd have thought you'd run out crying by now."

"So pleased to have impressed you," Susan spat.

Pansy waved a dismissive hand, as though brushing away the comment. "Calm down, Bones. You're hardly in a position to be confrontational. As it is, I could easily have you thrown out, and then make it so Harry would never want to speak to you again."

All the color drained from Susan's face. She murmured, "How do you know—"

"That you're in love with Potter? Please, you couldn't have been more obvious staring at him just now. I was starting to worry if you kept it up, they might burst into flames."

Why did everyone keep saying that to her? Susan wished she could make people go up in flames just with her stare. She decided to try it on Pansy now. Glaring, she said, "So what are you going to do about it? Go tell Harry I'm stalking him? I'm not afraid of you." Actually, she was terrified, but damned if she was going to let Pansy know that.

Pansy laughed, a frightening sound in itself. "Yes you are. Bones, you're afraid of every single thing in this room right now, including me. But," she leaned forward, invading Susan's personal space until she could smell the warm, spicy scent of Pansy's perfume, "you're most afraid of what you just saw, and how it's making you feel. I can see it in your eyes, you're ten seconds away from throwing your hands in the air and running out screaming." She sneered, clearly enjoying herself. "So why don't you turn around, skulk back to your home and your quiet, boring life, and forget this place ever—"

"No." A voice spoke, and Susan was startled to find it was her own. "I'm not leaving."

Pansy's chilly smile faltered a little. "Excuse me?"

"I said, I'm not leaving," Susan repeated, more firmly this time. She had no idea what she was trying to accomplish, but she was too upset and distressed and humiliated to care at the moment. She just knew there was no way in hell she was leaving right now.

"Listen, Bones," Pansy began, with a pinched, exasperated look to her features, "I cannot make it much clearer to you that you do not belong. This just isn't a lifestyle for someone like you."

"Teach me," said Susan, casting around desperately. "I could learn."

"Some things can't be taught." But despite her words, there was a slight glimmer in Pansy's eye, and she seemed to be evaluating Susan now. Susan decided to press her advantage.

"Try!" she insisted, leaning over the bar until she was only inches from Pansy.

Something like amusement seemed to flicker through Pansy's gaze, and a smirk curled up the corners of her mouth. "Why should I?"

"Because…" Susan was desperate now; she could hear it in her voice. "Because…" She could think of only one thing to say, that would either get her everything she wanted or get her laughed right out of the club. Then again, at this point what did she have to lose? "Because I want to know how to be with Harry… and Draco."

At Susan's final words, Pansy's eyebrows raised in surprise. She studied Susan with a long stare, as though trying to decipher something complicated. Then her smirk returned full strength. "Well then. There may be more to you then I thought, Bones. I think I'll help you."

Mingled victory and relief washed through Susan, allowing her a smile of her own.

"But," Pansy said suddenly, and Susan's smile faltered, "you only get one week. I've got enough to do besides going around helping charity cases."

Susan released the breath she was holding. "One week. Fine."

"And if I still think you're hopeless after a week, I never want to see your face again at my bar. If I do, I'll make your life so miserable you'll have to buy a new face. Understand?"

"Perfectly."

"Then we have an agreement." Pansy stood, and Susan couldn't help but stare at her barely-concealed body. Pansy was petite, with slender limbs and a slight, elegant figure, all accentuated with skin flawless and smooth as milk.

Pansy caught her glance. "Are you sure it's Potter and Malfoy you want to be with?" she asked smugly.

The familiar blush invaded Susan's face, making her irritable. "I was just thinking you looked like a slag," she snapped.

"And you look like my dead aunt Beatrice," Pansy shot back, eyeing her long grey dress. "We'll have to work on that." She spun, remarkably graceful on her feet. "Meet me back here tomorrow night at seven sharp. Do your make-up, do something to your hair, and…" she regarded Susan's ensemble once more, "try to wear something attractive."

She had guided Susan to the door, pausing only to give her one final, piercing glance. Susan met her gaze evenly. "How do I know you're not tricking me?" she demanded.

Pansy just smirked. "The new password will be 'dittany.' Don't be late."

*

At half past six the following evening, Susan found herself in a state of mild panic.

Her make-up was done, as nicely as she knew how, and she had taken the time to cast a curling charm on her hair until it looked, to her utter surprise, rather cute.

But now, faced with her final task, Susan decided she was doomed. She sat in the middle of her bed in her underpants, staring at the open wardrobe before her. Something attractive, Pansy had said, but Susan was becoming quite convinced she didn't own anything attractive. Well, at least nothing like what Pansy had been wearing, and she was fairly certain that was Pansy's definition of 'attractive.'

Susan, however, liked skirts. Long ones. And jumpers that were a bit on the lumpy and shapeless side. Most of her trousers were tartan or gray and at least two sizes too large. None of the shoes she owned had heels.

Oh yes, she was doomed.

With a sense of foreboding, she crawled off her bed and slipped into the only halfway decent outfit she'd been able to muster - a knee-length black skirt and a short-sleeved white silk top. Stepping into her best pair of black shoes, she drew up the courage to glance in the mirror.

Pansy was going to laugh at her.

For a second, Susan let logic and despair wash over her. This was nothing like her. This was ridiculously out of her comfort range. This was not Susan Bones.

But…

In her mind's eye she recalled that warmly familiar image of Harry and Draco together, only now, she was there, wrapped up between the two men, Harry's mouth at her throat, Draco's hands on her breasts. A flood of warmth washed through her and a tiny moan slipped past her lips.

Susan opened her eyes. A wild, slightly hungry face looked back at her from the mirror.

Without another thought, Susan headed out.

*

Tonight the club was more crowded, with several bodies now undulating on the dance floor and far more scantily clad witches and wizards occupying dark corners. Immediately Susan knew she was over-dressed, but it was too late to worry about it. She moved into the room, her eyes casting about for Pansy.

She'd made it halfway to the bar when a head of short, glossy black hair caught her attention from a nearby chair. Susan started to call out when she realized Pansy was… indisposed.

A stunning blonde in an astonishingly tiny blue catsuit was curled around Pansy, nuzzling her ear. She glanced up at Susan's approach and whispered something, provoking a short laugh out of Pansy. For a moment, Pansy continued to ignore Susan, raising one delicate hand to the blonde's face and drawing her in for a kiss. Her free hand stroked down the length of one long, tan leg. The blonde seemed to melt into Pansy's touch.

And in the moment it took Susan to blink, Pansy had slid fluidly out from the chair, leaving the blonde to stare disconsolately after her. "But Pans…" she mewled.

"Later, Daphne." Pansy was completely focused on Susan, making her almost uncomfortable with the intensity of her stare. She took in Susan's minimal make-up and bland outfit and chuckled softly. "I suspected it would be something like this," she mused, setting her hands to her hips.

"Erm, I didn't mean to interrupt…" Susan apologized awkwardly, unsure what else to say.

"Oh, you weren't," said Pansy lightly. "Actually, you did me a favor. I adore Daphne, but she's so goddamn needy these days, ugh." She snorted a laugh. "She needs to be back with Tracey, but neither one of them will say sorry, because they're so bloody alike. Well, come on then. I've only got an hour till my shift starts and then you'll be on your own." Pansy started off towards the bar.

As the prospect of being 'on her own' in the club sunk into her mind, Susan hurried to catch up with Pansy. "Wait, you… you're going to leave me?"

Pansy's mouth curled into a smile. "Attached to me already, Bones? It's quite sweet, but I didn't agree to that." She guided them behind the bar, moving around with a familiar ease. "Besides, you didn't expect me to handhold you the whole time, did you?"

Susan frowned. Actually, that was exactly what she'd expected. But before she could say as much, a chilled glass half-full of clear liquid was thrust into her hand. She sniffed it cautiously. "What's—"

"Firewhiskey," Pansy said, and tossed back a shot like she was drinking water.

"Firewhiskey! But I—"

"Will be much easier to deal with once you've had a few." Pansy's cool stare did not leave room for objections. "Now drink."

Susan sighed, lifting the glass to her lips with no small amount of trepidation. Slowly, she drank—and nearly coughed it all back up as the liquor began its trademark burn down her throat. Somehow she got it all down, with no small amount of choking and sputtering, and when she could finally see Pansy through her streaming eyes, she found another glass being thrust in her face.

"Consider this your first lesson," said Pansy, meeting Susan's horrified look with an amused smile.

Susan sighed again. Well, at least she was unlikely to remember any of this in the morning.

*

Waking up was possibly the most miserable experience of Susan's adult life. Her alarm was a knife, stabbing relentlessly into her brain and the small amount of sunlight that had managed to break past her curtains was currently trying to set her eyeballs on fire. Something nearby smelled atrocious.

"Oh god," she groaned, rolling over to the edge of the bed.

On the floor below her was a now-cold puddle of vomit.

"Oh god!" She was running to the bathroom, and with seconds to spare, she re-welcomed the remainder of her stomach contents into the world.

Two hours, three cleaning spells and a cup of coffee later, Susan finally made it into the office. She glared at anyone who attempted to look at her and contemplated punching Hannah in the face when she chirped a loud, "Morning, Suze!" as Susan shuffled into the office.

"Oh my god, Sue… what happened to you?" Hannah demanded as Susan slumped into her desk. "Are you… hung over?"

"Hush," Susan grumbled back, letting her head fall to the desk as she tried to block out the piercing light. A chunk of her hair dipped into half-finished cup of coffee. She failed to care.

The scraping of a chair was followed by quick footsteps and she could smell Hannah's perfume as her friend hurried over. "Oh my god, you are hung over, Susan! I can't believe it! You went out drinking and you didn't even call me?"

"Could you not be so loud?"

Hannah was apparently oblivious to the tiny angry man kickboxing inside Susan's head and continued to screech cheerfully in her ear. "You have to tell me everything!"

"I can't believe you don't shut up," Susan groaned. She threw her hand out blindly, hoping to punch Hannah in the face and instead knocking her paper tray to the floor. But Hannah finally seemed to get the message.

"Erm, maybe later then…"

Her footsteps retreated back across the room and Susan took the opportunity to fall asleep with her face in the inkwell.

*

"How was your morning?" Pansy asked with a knowing smirk. She was lounged along the length of a black velvet couch, looking decidedly gorgeous in a green and silver corset and fishnet stockings.

Susan attempted once more to set her on fire with a glare, to no avail. "I hate you," she said instead.

Pansy laughed, a light and surprisingly melodious sound. "You didn't hate me last night," she said, taking hold of Susan's hand and pulling her down. Susan was too tired to even argue as Pansy curled her arms around Susan's waist. "And you seemed downright fond of Marcus and Miles." She pointed across the room where two burly, dark-haired boys sat drinking ales. They both smiled lasciviously at Susan when she glanced their way.

"God kill me," she moaned, burying her face into the arm of the couch.

"Don't be such a weed." Pansy pinched the inside of Susan's thigh, making her jump. "Besides, tonight you're going to go make friends without being pissed."

Susan sat up so she could look properly distressed. "Wait, what?"

"You heard me. I expect you to have it off with at least three guys before you leave tonight, or there's no point in you coming back tomorrow," Pansy said, reaching up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "I mean, how do you expect to be with Harry and Draco if you can't even have off with one bloke?"

"But…" Susan could feel her blush coming on. "But I haven't, erm… you know…"

"Oh god, you're not a virgin, are you?!" Pansy looked horrified.

"No! No, no, no. I'm not a virgin, I just… haven't… had it in a while, that's all," she mumbled, and there was the blush, washing full-fledged across her features.

Pansy smiled a disturbingly sweet smile. "Don't worry; everyone else here knows what they're doing," she said. She stretched to her feet, almost catlike, and then paused as she caught full sight of Susan's attire. "Wait, I can't in good conscience send you out like that." From inside her corset Pansy produced her wand, flourishing it at Susan with two quick slashes. Susan felt a sudden chill across her abdomen and thighs as several inches of her skirt and top fell away. She gave Susan an appraising gaze as the brunette attempted to cover her newly-exposed flesh. "Hmm, not bad at all, Bones. You might actually be sexy under all that fabric."

"What did you do?" Susan cried. Her favorite blue shirt now stopped several inches above her belly button, and her skirt barely covered her thighs. She felt nearly naked.

"What you asked me to," said Pansy, and with a last smirk, she pushed Susan out towards the dance floor and disappeared behind the bar.

Susan froze like a Seeker staring down a speeding Bludger. There were now several pairs of male eyes focused on her with the same curious, hungry stare. What the hell was she supposed to do now? She was casting around nervously, trying to plan her next move, when a warm hand fell on her shoulder. She turned to find the deepest pair of brown eyes she'd ever seen in her life holding her captive.

"Hello, Susan," said a voice as smooth as Belgian chocolate.

He was tall and black and incredibly attractive and he was touching her arm. Susan gurgled.

"Pansy said you might like some company?" he tried again, inclining his head and raising a perfectly-shaped eyebrow. "You do look a bit lonely."

This time Susan nodded, unable to trust herself not to dribble down her front if she opened her mouth. He was easily the most attractive man she'd ever seen – with the exception of Harry, of course, although she was having a bit of trouble remembering that at the moment. The vague recesses of her mind eventually reminded her that his name was Blaise Zabini, and that he had scowled at her a few times during their school years. Now he smiled, warm and inviting.

"Would you like to get a drink?" he asked in the polite tones of a true gentleman.

Susan contemplated for only a second before answering, "That would be lovely…"

*

Her hips hurt. She was covered in sweat. Her hair was a disaster.

But she'd gotten laid.

Susan Bones, prude of the century, had made love – no, she had fucked a delicious god named Blaise Zabini, and she had loved it. Of course, she couldn't quite remember where she was at the moment, but she figured it would all work itself out.

After all, Hannah always made it into work in the mornings.

*

The rest of the week seemed to melt by for Susan in a haze of alcohol and attractive men. Each morning she stumbled into work, hung over and sore, but unspeakably satisfied with her life in general. Each evening she disappeared into the dark of the club, feeling ever more comfortable with this new side of herself.

As most of the skirts she'd worn to the club had undergone one of Pansy's keen severing charms, she'd finally given up and finished the job, leaving them all at reasonable mid-thigh. In the same fit of closet adjustment, she'd tossed out the lumpiest of her jumpers and taken an Incendio spell to four very sad-looking pairs of tartan trousers.

But even as she acknowledged the change to her wardrobe, she seemed almost oblivious to the slow switch in her personality.

Hannah, however, was not.

"You just had a ten-minute conversation with Oliver Wood. The Oliver Wood! The star Keeper for Puddlemere! And you didn't say 'nnrgh' once! Susan, what is going on with you?" she demanded, cornering Susan the moment she walked into the office.

Susan stared quizzically back at her, trying to figure out the look of incredulity on her friend's face. "His landlady's been asking him about all the bruises he's got and he's afraid she'll report him to the police; he wanted something to tell her so she'd let him be." She shrugged.

"But… Sue! You were talking to an attractive male. I think I even saw you flip your hair. You were flirting!" Hannah insisted, taking Susan's shoulders and shaking her.

Susan laughed, prying Hannah's hands gently off her arm. "Han… he's just a guy."

Both Hannah's jaw and arms dropped in shock as Susan strutted back to her desk.

*

Friday night found Susan sprawled out on her own soft chair, one leg kicked casually over the edge and Pansy's head resting on her thigh. It never failed to amaze her how the icy-eyed girl had forced her way into Susan's personal space, until she was more comfortable around Pansy than she'd ever been with… well, anyone, even Hannah.

Casually Pansy reached up and twined her fingers with Susan's, tugging gently. "C'mon, I want to show you something."

Susan let herself be pried from her chair, taking a quick inventory of the glances she got as she rose to her feet. She sent a sweet smile at Blaise and cast a wink at Marcus as they passed, fixing everyone else with a coquettish gaze.

Pansy led her past the bar and, before Susan fully realized where they were headed, they'd passed through the darkened doorway that had been the subject of all her focus only a week earlier. Only the faintest glow shimmered through this hallway, a cool, liquid light cast by two flickering torches halfway down the corridor's length. Susan could make out countless doorways as they passed, each labeled with a set of golden numbers.

"Where are we—" she began.

"Shh." Pansy reached back to run a gentle silencing finger over Susan's bottom lip, leaving the brunette all the more curious.

At the door number 22, Pansy finally stopped, shooting a small knowing smile at Susan before leading her into the room. It was extremely lush, finer than even the nicest of London's hotels could hope to provide, with soft surfaces and warm colors everywhere she looked. A large bed, clearly the centerpiece of the room, was draped with deep burgundy curtains and linens.

Quietly Pansy shut the door behind them. "Sit, if you like."

Susan needed no other invitation and immediately threw herself down onto the bed, stretching herself across the silken sheets. She felt the bed dip beside her and a moment later, Pansy was curled against her, her cool forehead pressed against Susan's neck.

"This is nice," Susan murmured, reaching out to curl an arm around Pansy's waist. She tilted her head so she could see Pansy's perfect pale features. "Did you bring me here to seduce me, Pans?"

The corners of Pansy's mouth curled into a smile. "Well, now that you mention it…" In an instant, she was on top of Susan, her small body pressing down warmly. "We never discussed my fee, for all the hard work I've done."

"Hard work?" Susan snorted, running her fingertips down the soft flesh of Pansy's side. "There's nothing hard about you."

A sly smirk crept across Pansy's face. "No?" she mused. "How about them, then?"

Susan heard the soft snick of the door as it fell closed, and she looked up in time to see a shirtless Harry Potter lounged casually against the frame. Wrapped around him like a human blanket, Draco Malfoy stared keenly at her.

"Hello, Susan," Harry said warmly.

For the first time in her life, 'nnrgh' didn't even cross her mind. "Hey, Harry. Malfoy."

"Bones," Draco inclined his head politely, running his fingertips down Harry's exposed abs. "I hear you want me. But that's hardly uncommon." He leaned down and bit Harry's nipple, bringing a flush of color to Harry's face.

In a daze, Susan turned back to Pansy. "Did you arrange this?" she asked.

"You were ready," Pansy said lightly, and with liquid grace, she bent to kiss Susan. Her mouth was soft, moving against Susan's with ease. The soft taste of champagne was on her tongue. Ever so gently she nibbled at Susan's bottom lip until a soft moan purred up from the brunette, and at last she leaned away. Into Susan's ear, she whispered, "Enjoy it."

Susan had only a moment to gasp in a breath before Pansy's weight was gone and a warm, lightly stubbled jaw was nuzzling her neck. "I never thought you would like this," Harry said, and she could feel his hand making slow circles on her stomach.

"I always thought she was a bit of a prude," came Draco's voice, appearing above her as the stately blond kneeled by her head.

"She's incredible," purred Harry, dropping slow kisses along the length of Susan's collar bone. A slight, disgruntled cough from above made him smile and add, "Almost as incredible as you, love."

"Yes, I am rather incredible," agreed Draco, sated. "And I must admit – grudgingly, of course – that she is quite delectable." He lightly kissed Susan's neck before leaning across to kiss Harry, long and slow. Susan watched them hungrily, a low whimper burning in her throat.

When the kiss broke, the two boys turned their gaze upon Susan.

"Do you want her?" Draco asked, his long pale fingers tracing down Harry's jaw. Harry nodded mutely, his gaze torn between the luscious brunette and the regal blond. "Then she's yours."

Permission apparently given, Harry's whole focus turned suddenly upon Susan. He moved to hover over her, his strong body fitting almost perfectly to her own. His green eyes held her until she barely noticed the cool hands locking around her wrists, holding her gently but firmly in place. Before she could think, Harry's mouth was moving down her body, his tongue tracing the curve of her navel, the soft hollow of her hip. His hands soothed up her thighs, pulling away the lacy lingerie she'd only bought today.

Susan moaned softly as Harry's hard length pressed against her, entering her torturously slow until Susan's fingers curled, her nails digging into the soft flesh of Draco's wrists.

Draco hissed. "Damn it, Harry," he growled, his voice low and needy.

With long, precise strokes, Harry moved against Susan, angling each thrust to make her gasp as he rubbed against all her most sensitive spots. Low pants had begun to shake Harry's chest, his slow kisses turning faster and more frantic. It was almost too much for Susan; desperately she flexed her hips up to meet each thrust as a slow warmth seeped through her abdomen.

She didn't even notice the pressure ease off her wrists, but she heard Harry's sudden low growl and felt a surge of strength as Harry's thrusts grew deeper. Her eyes fluttered, and she could see the shape of Draco curled over Harry, his fingers clamped against Harry's hips. Draco's mouth moved along Harry's shoulder, biting, licking, leaving perfect red circles down the stretch of warm flesh.

Susan's head snapped back as a wave of pleasure shuddered through her. "Fuck," she groaned, "fuck."

In answer, Harry moved faster, the combined passion of Susan beneath him and Draco above him dragging long, loud moans from the boy. His cock throbbed, painfully hard and so deliciously close to release.

As Harry's back arched, Draco drove hard into him, the hot pressure of release racing up through his veins in rhythm to the cries of his partner.

"FUCK!" Susan cried out, and all the world around her faded to black.

*

There was warm body draped over her left side, another curled to her right, and Susan Bones lay bathed in complete and utter peace.

She could feel Draco breathing, slow and even against her neck, but as she turned her head to gaze at Harry, she found him awake and gazing up at her.

"Hey," he whispered.

"Hey yourself," she whispered back, curling one hand into his mussed black hair.

"So… how was my broomstick?" he asked, and a broad smile washed over his features.

Susan chuckled softly. "One hell of a ride."


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