A/N: This story is dedicated to mynuet, first apostle of the DG gospel, without whom none of this would have been possible. The humor, the ideas, even some of the writing are a true collaboration between us, and I've enjoyed every moment of it. Thanks also to the gals in the hour challenges, who've read the fragments and provided feedback and encouragement. You guys all rock!



The sun shone, as it did most mornings. Birds sang from their nests in various sheltered spots amongst the roofs of the castle. Meanwhile, underneath those same roofs, students grumbled and yawned and stumbled into the Great Hall for breakfast. Just another ordinary day in the hallowed wizarding institution of learning known as Hogwarts.

Well, this would have been an ordinary day at Hogwarts were it not for the fact that some of the 6th and 7th year girls in each house were decked out with layers of bracelets of varying colors on their right arms. Even the perennially strict and unimaginative Hermione Granger had at least 12 differently hued bangles. They slid up and down her wrist as she ate breakfast, practically mesmerizing the tall, orange-haired boy sitting across the table from her.

Several seats down, Ginny Weasley took a swig of orange juice, sending an avalanche of bright colors cascading down her arm. A number of male gazes followed the movement with great interest, including one set of gray eyes from across the room. The majority of gazes (minus one from the Slytherin table, which stayed focused on the exact same place) shifted down the table, where Parvati Patil, equally laden with bracelets, listened avidly to Lavender Brown, who waved her colorful arm in the air as she talked.

Throughout the Great Hall, intermittent flashes of a rainbow of colors broke into the casual observer’s vision. At the Hufflepuff table, Hannah Abbott and Susan Bones--two of the four bracelet-bedecked girls seated at the table--conferred over an issue of some seriousness, although it was somewhat odd to think of their being serious with that many trinkets adorning each girl’s right arm. Even more unlikely were certain members of the foursome sporting identical jewelry at the Ravenclaw table, ranging from the strange and quiet Luna Lovegood to the exotic and striking Su Li. For Slytherin, the bracelet-clad girls sat in a straight line of four, a bright beacon of color against the left wall of the Great Hall. Millicent Bulstrode and Pansy Parkinson proudly displayed their ornaments and sent a number of challenging stares at the twelve other bracelet-adorned girls in the room, particularly those at the Gryffindor table.

Seamus Finnigan, never one to beat around the bush, leaned towards Ron Weasley, who sat on his left.

“What’s the deal with the bracelets, Ron?” he asked.

Ron looked stumped. “I have no idea,” he whispered back.

They both looked at Harry, who was seated on Ron’s other side. “Harry?” they both hissed in unison.

He shook his head.

Suddenly, three pairs of eyes turned on Hermione, who froze in place, bacon-laden fork hovering in the air.

“What?” she asked, rather more self-consciously than normal.

Seamus made an elaborate display of eyeing her right arm. “What’s with all the finery?”

Inexplicably, Hermione blushed. “Oh, uh, well…” Looking meaningfully at the other three adorned Gryffindors, she said finally, “It’s a girl thing.”

She was met with three stupefied expressions.

Feeling more self-conscious than before, Hermione snapped, “Well I am female, believe it or not.”

Harry recovered from his surprise first, and began assuring her that they meant no offense, while Seamus nodded quickly before returning his attention to his food. Ron, however, remained silent, the full weight of his regard still on Hermione.

Rolling her eyes at Ron’s glazed look (while admittedly a little unnerved at the same time by the unabated pressure of his eyes on her), Hermione glanced at Ginny, who was intently staring in a direction that looked suspiciously like the Slytherin table. Following the path of her gaze, Hermione spied a smug-looking Pansy Parkinson whispering into Draco Malfoy’s ear. Her eyes narrowed. It only figured that chit of a girl would try and get a head start by blabbing everything to the Ferret. Half the school would probably know of the competition by the end of double Potions, at that rate. Or Pansy might get Malfoy to aid Slytherin’s cause... At that, she shuddered and refused to finish the disturbing picture that accompanied such a thought. However did she let Ginny talk her into this?

Returning her gaze to the said instigator of events, she noticed that the redhead’s attention hadn’t shifted, and her brow had dropped into a deep “v” that bespoke annoyance. Probably she had come to the same conclusion Hermione had. Although, Hermione mused, looking at her more closely, that didn’t seem to be a good enough reason for Ginny to look as peeved as she did right at that moment.

Suddenly, Ginny stabbed her fork into her scrambled eggs with a vehemence Hermione had not seen since the time she hexed the Prince of Slytherin himself at the end of her fourth year. Slowly, elaborately, she raised the fork to her lips, allowing for a prolonged explosion of color as the bracelets slid down her arm. Hermione knew without looking that every male gaze at the table, not to mention much of the room at large, was fixed on the youngest Weasley.

Across the room, Draco Malfoy went still, his eyes riveted on the exaggerated display. Beside him, Pansy Parkinson fumed silently. She glared daggers at Ginny, who seemed strangely unaware of it; her mouth was curved in a slow smile that a hopeful young man might have called seductive.

Draco Malfoy certainly would have agreed with that description, although it clearly didn’t help him function in an academic frame-of-mind. Watching Ginny Weasley had fast become a regular habit, truth be told, but nothing that had ever extended beyond mentally undressing her with his eyes. Now, however, there was good potential for him to cross the threshold to the next level--through something as seemingly minor and inane as the bracelet competition.

Draco allowed a smirk to cross his lips at the thought that this whole exercise--presided over by Granger, no less--was, in actuality, the perfect solution to a growing problem. For all that the idea of cavorting with a Weasley had initially sickened him (despite his early recognition of the beauty of the Weasley in question), he had reached the point where not tussling in the sheets with her at least once would probably result in a massive brain hemorrhage. Inevitably, this possible scenario led to the conclusion that Draco had to find a way to approach the object of his desire--no small task, what with the Magnificent Trio blocking the way. Since school had started a month ago, the dearth of good opportunities to remedy this issue had almost begun to depress him. Until now.

“So, you understand the gravity of the situation, don’t you, Draco?” Pansy’s voice hummed in his ear.
Blinking in surprise--he’d been so caught up in his thoughts he’d failed to notice her lean in--the Prince of Slytherin forced his attention off of Ginny Weasley with carefully hidden reluctance.

Pansy hadn’t even given him a chance to reply before whispering at him again. “We need to make sure that Slytherin does not lose to Gryffindor in this matter.” Wrinkling her nose, she added, “Although with those two sluts on their side, I’m sure they consider themselves as having an advantage.”

The Malfoy smirk surfaced again, although for different reasons than his companion could have surmised. It was true that Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown were each a real piece of work. Contrast them with the other two Gryffindors on the team, however, and the similarities melted away. Granger, for all that he abhorred her, had never earned Pansy's particular label, not even from him. And as far as his red-haired temptress was concerned, any slut-like tendencies would be quickly wiped out by the time he got to her. He intended to monopolize her entirely, and no one, not even the Perfect Harry Potter, was going to stand in his way. Twelve bracelets did not scare him--in fact, they had quite the opposite effect.

Pansy was still blabbering on. “Millicent and I have a bet going on whether Granger will actually follow through with this. She says not, but I think Granger’ll use this as the excuse she’s always wanted to shag Potter and Weasley to her heart’s content.”

Draco snickered at the thought that picture painted, but still ventured no remark. Her commentary was more than amusing in its own right, and entirely one-sided in nature--the perfect situation, as far as he was concerned. Whenever his thoughts intervened, he could let them without anyone being the wiser.

Redirecting her eyes to the Gryffindor table, Pansy murmured, “Still, it’s too bad that we can’t laugh over the prospect of some unsavory boy jumping one of those self-righteous Gryffindors against their will. The charm will prevent any of that sort of thing from happening.”

Draco’s sense of gleeful anticipation began to deflate as the significance of her words registered in his mind. “Charm? What kind of charm?”

For an instant, Pansy refrained from comment, choosing instead to study him with an unreadable expression on her face. Just as Draco began to grow aware of his own nervousness at the thought of her figuring out his motives, her face cleared, and the strange moment was lost.

“A locking charm. Placed on each of the bracelets with the intent that only when there is reciprocal attraction between the girl and boy in question can both the charm and the bracelet itself be broken.”

Draco nodded automatically, but his thoughts were racing miles ahead, stirred up over the information.
Locking charms. Just what he needed to take the wind out of his sails. Sub-consciously, he could feel his shoulders slump just the tiniest amount. Ginny Weasley was still guarded, if not by her obnoxious prat of a brother, than by magical means. Nonetheless, this was just something he needed to think of as an irritating setback. How effective the charm really was had yet to be determined, admittedly, and figure it out he would. No Malfoy would ever admit defeat this early in the game, and Draco had no intention of being the first scion of his family to fail to live up to that standard. Magic or no magic, he would find a way to get around the damn charm. Although the prospect of having to deal with the stupid spell in the first place was more than enough to put a distinct damper on his mood.

Pansy cast a sidelong glance at him as his gaze wandered from her to the room at large--honing in on Ginny Weasley after only a few seconds’ delay. “Granger researched and designed the charm, of course,” she added quietly.

A sneer formed on his lips. Of course she had. He should have known that mudblood Granger would have come up with a safety net like that. Cowardly little bint. If the other occupants in the room were to suddenly disappear, Draco had little doubt that he’d be happily throttling her for making his life difficult. The fact that he couldn’t keep from inwardly acknowledging that the magical move was also clever--and, given Granger’s obsession with school work, probably as close to unbreakable as it got except under the specified conditions--did not improve his disposition.

Pansy was regarding him with a curious expression on her face. “Is something wrong, Draco?”

He sniffed in irritation. “What makes you say that?”

Pansy’s smirk was nearly as impressive as his own. “Well, aside from the fact that you normally go through each day looking like you’ve smelled something vile—” she grinned as he scowled at her, “—you’re not usually this pensive, even when annoyed.”

Draco shrugged. He had nothing really to say to that. Inwardly, he hoped his reticence would intimidate her into silence, or at least a change of subject. But he knew her too well to be able to hope for that.

Once again, his intuition was on the mark. Pansy leaned in, her face mischievous. “I think I’ve figured it out. You’ve got someone in mind for the bracelet breaking, don’t you?”

A mixture of annoyance, indignation, and the slightest tinge of panic rose up in Draco as her words registered. Damn it, the last thing he needed was Pansy, of all people, divining his motives. His House would give him hell for aiding and abetting the enemy if it ever came out, despite the fact that he knew any number of Slytherin males would gladly leap at the chance to shag the delicious Ginny Weasley. The hit his reputation would take was momentous--not that he was going to let that deter him. But as for Pansy--well, the odds of her harboring any sort of understanding of his predicament were about as high as Snape and McGonagall getting together to play strip poker. Moreover, though he’d never admit it, he enjoyed the degree of respect and even the camaraderie that Pansy provided him with. Losing it was not something he was willing to consider.

With this jarring thought in mind, he fixed guileless eyes on his companion, hoping his thoughts were efficiently masked. “My, Pansy, your powers of deduction are astounding.”

Let her try and figure out that enigmatic statement without sounding like a dunce. He allowed the ghost of a smile to cross his lips.

Pansy’s subsequent frown--a clear indication of her struggle for a suitable response--broke his smile into a full-fledged grin. Reading his amusement, Pansy grimaced at him before embarking on a new line of attack.

“You do realize that you are going to be quite sought after as the competition progresses,” she ended on a high note, a question with an implied answer.

Inwardly, he inclined his head to her new stratagem. It was far better than he would have given her credit for.

“We aim to please,” he said lightly, reaching for his water glass and elegantly raising it to his lips. Now that was a magnificent performance, if he said so himself. Lucius Malfoy couldn’t have done any better.

Pansy pursed her lips. “I hope you don’t plan on contributing to the cause of another House.”

She looked pointedly at the Gryffindor table.

Draco was internally impressed with how well he masked the reactionary wince at her implication. “I can’t imagine why you would presume such a thing, Pansy. The very idea of cavorting with a Hufflepuff would turn generations of Malfoys in their graves.”

“It’s not Hufflepuff that I’m worried about,” Pansy muttered under her breath, her eyes fixed on Ginny Weasley drinking orange juice with deliberate precision.

Draco let the remark pass, aware on some level that pursuing it would only open channels of inquiry he had no desire to enter. Besides, he was having enough trouble forcing himself from following the direction of Pansy’s gaze, an action that would merely give her more fodder for her interrogation. Instead, he focused his attention on the last remains of his breakfast, which he frankly had little stomach for. Anticipation and Ginny Weasley had monopolized what should have been his eating time. He looked at his scrambled eggs disdainfully.

Next to him, Pansy was surprisingly quiet, her gaze still fixed on the Gryffindor table. Draco suspected that she was debating over what her next line of attack should be, and thus wondered whether a timely exit on his part was soon to be in order. After all, he had some charms research to do in the library, and a morning free of class presented an ideal period to get started.

Now if only he could think of a good way to escape without being obvious about his motives. He scowled into his drink, wondering if he was acting like a ninny by being so concerned about Pansy’s suspicions. Malfoys were not supposed to care about what the lesser wizards of the world thought of them. However, Draco suspected that even his father would blanch a bit at the potential stickiness of his son’s current situation. Time to cull that Slytherin cunning--if he could only siphon more of his central concentration from the increasingly difficult task of not looking over at Ginny Weasley.

Therefore, it came as a surprise to Draco that the perfect opportunity to depart appeared in the ungainly form of Vincent Crabbe. While reaching for his sixth helping of bacon, the mammoth young man happened to come in contact with his steaming hot cup of tea. The result had the teacup flying across the table to land inches from the edge of the table. However, the nearly scalding liquid rushed over said table’s edge to cascade into the unfortunate boy’s lap.

“Christ on a crutch!” Crabbe’s surprisingly high-pitched screech reverberated throughout the room.

All eyes turned to the Slytherin table, where the red-faced 7th year was ungraciously clutching at his nether regions. Large grins spread across the faces of the multitudes as Draco Malfoy’s snarling rejoinder echoed in the hall.

“The next time you decide to roast your gonads, Crabbe, pray sit next to some other unfortunate victim!”

Draco was on his feet, brushing at his left sleeve as if it were on fire. “This is my brand new robe, you lummox!”

Crabbe merely looked at him, gasping like a fish out of water. Were Draco not so annoyed, he might have found the incident amusing. Yes, if it had been Goyle stuck next to Crabbe instead, the whole thing would have been immensely entertaining. As it were, Draco was now left with tea staining the smooth satin of his new attire, presenting both the excuse to leave, as he’d hoped for, along with a further delay to his plans to adjourn to the library. Life certainly seemed to have it in for him today. He was damned if he would let it continue.

Shooting Crabbe a last glare, Draco artfully tossed his head. “I’m leaving anyway.”

Without a backward glance at the rest of the Slytherin table, who were presumably gaping at him, Draco stepped over the bench he’d occupied and began to take long strides to the door. Scant moments later, a square blond presence came up alongside him. Pansy.

“I have a good cleaning charm if you want it, Draco,” she said helpfully.

Draco nodded. “Thanks.” He was going to need it.

After a quick pause, he laughingly shook his head, “That idiot Crabbe. Poor fool.”

Pansy smirked, but the expression on her face was somewhat ambiguous. A few seconds later, Draco knew why.

“Crabbe may be unfortunate, but his timing was perfect, wouldn’t you say?” her smirk had turned distinctly smug.

Draco’s pace faltered for an instant. “What are you implying, Pansy?” he asked, utilizing the oft-employed tone of command.

Clearly, the fact that he did so in a low murmur did not overly impress the recipient of the Malfoy Displeasure. Her face was sober, but the smirk was still in place. She came to a stop and got up on her tiptoes, craning her neck to whisper something at him. Foul enough was his mood that he did not lean down to accommodate her, although he did give her the small courtesy of halting his onward progress.

“You do have someone specific in mind for the bracelet competition, don’t you?” she hissed in his ear. “I’m willing to bet 25 galleons that it isn’t someone in Slytherin.”

Draco raised a disbelieving eyebrow, a perfect imitation of Lucius Malfoy’s own superbly practiced gesture. “Ah Pansy, that is why one must never take up gambling,” smiling condescendingly at her, he resumed his trek to the exit.

Over his shoulder, he added, “That is, unless one can always stack the odds in one’s favor.”

Noting the annoyed expression on her face at his sally, Draco smiled pleasantly. He’d certainly fielded that attack well. More were likely to be forthcoming, however, and those he preferred to handle away from the interested gazes of the entire student body. He quickly passed through the door and entered the massive entrance hall. Near the main stairs, he came to a stop, debating whether to ask Pansy--who would obviously be following him--for her cleaning charm now, or to look one up himself while in the library. While he deliberated, his companion entered the room and made a beeline towards his position at the foot of the stairs. He watched her progress silently, face blank. Let her make the next move.

Pansy came to a stop a few feet in front of him. The look with which she regarded him bespoke equal doses of annoyance and amusement. “I shouldn’t have to remind you that stacking the odds in one’s favor is part of the Slytherin creed, Draco. I bet you’re going to the library to go read up on charms.”

It took all Draco’s years of training for dignity maintenance to keep a straight face. “Read up on charms? Why would I do something like that? Aside from getting a good cleaning one, that is,” he added, wrinkling his nose for extra panache.

Pansy rolled her eyes. “You do realize that you’re contending with Granger, here? Much as I dislike the little snot, I know that this charm is unbreakable except under the specified conditions. You’re just wasting your time trying to find a magical method to break it.”

Draco sneered and promptly directed his gaze to the floor. “We shall see.”

Pansy merely shook her head, bemused. “You’d be a lot better off practicing your skill at charming the ladies than reading up on magic. Because, if the person you’re interested in is who I think it is, you’re going to need all the help you can get.”

With that parting remark, she inclined her head, and headed for the dungeon stairs.