Young Writers Society

“Good day, folks…”

Harry Potter turned at the sound of his best friend’s voice. One eyebrow rose at the sight of the flame-haired Weasley swaying on the stage, the microphone held loosely in his hand.

“I have a treat for y’all…” Ron slurred. “Two of my…hic…best mates are going to serenade us with some mix of Sexy Back and With Love. Anybody know ‘em?”

He was rewarded with excited murmurs. “It’ll be on in just a mo’…”

He stumbled off the stage and in a couple of moments was beside Harry, “Harry, mate, you don’ mind—hic—pa’ring up w ‘Ermione? She’s waiting…”

“What?” Harry frowned, racking his brain. No mention of a song popped up in his memory box.

“M-mate, ya said you do anything for my birthday.”

Harry smiled sheepishly as that memory floated up on cue, “I... I didn’t mean a song.”

“Too late...” Ron smiled back at him. “Go on now. You’ll talk with her about the lyric stuff... Music’s all taken care of…”

Harry reluctantly left his spot by the buffet table and wove his way towards backstage. He knew the song "Sexy Back," but he wasn’t fond of singing the song.

Especially in public.

Hermione was waiting for him backstage, her hair tucked up in a black wide-brimmed hat and the folds of a purple trench coat shrouding her figure. Her face had an expression that surpassed livid.

“Ron’s going to pay for this,” she hissed at Harry as she clenched her raised fist on air. Then, as if she realized the shortage of time, Hermione retied Harry's tie. “It's crooked," she said hastily before she went on. "I think you should do the chorus first and I can throw in a couple of ‘With Love’s, and then I can do the second chorus. I’ll do the second and third verse, and you do the first. Then we finish with the chorus for the last couple of minutes?”

Harry mused, “First verse, first chorus… Got it.” Not really. How come I'm never prepared for stuff like this?

Hermione nodded, “And you can throw in a ‘be gone with it’ in the second verse. Just do anything you believe will sound goo--”

She barely finished a second when a voice slurred over the speakers.

No second thoughts--it was redheaded Ron Weasly. “And now, my best mates are performin' a remix of 'Sexy Back'... And 'With Love' combined!”

Harry and Hermione emerged to wild cheering and the beginning of a pounding club beat. There was nothing but a silver steel chair on the stage, flanked by two similar microphone stands.

Harry began to sing as soon as he reached the microphone. He just wanted it over with. “I’m bringing sexy back…”

He was doing all right until Hermione sang, “Just do it with love, love, love.” for the first time during the chorus.

She's amazing! Harry's mouth would've dropped two inches, if not more, but blood flushed in his face as he tried to remember and sing the next lines.

And then it was Hermione’s turn again. Harry watched her take off the hat and was again shocked. She was wearing a short black wig! She threw the hat down next to the chair, dancing a little as she sang. Harry stumbled through the “be gone with it” and then took the microphone off his stand, sliding over to stand next to Hermione.

The frightening part of all this was that he had no idea what the hell he was doing.

Hermione did, though. She was dancing a dance Harry never saw her do. It was…sensual. On another impulse he grasped one hand as she sang “Slow me down,” and he started twirling her under his arm.

“Take off my wig,” she murmured between lines. Harry obliged, pulling off the black bowl haircut. Hazel locks cascaded to her shoulders.

Ooh, she’s nearing the end of the third verse…

“I’m bringing sexy back,” Harry could barely sing. His mouth was dry.

“Just do it with love, love, love...” Harry snuck a second to lick his lips while Hermione's soprano voice rang.

“I’m bringing sexy back...”

“Just do it with love, love, love...”

“I’m bringing sexy back...”

“Just do it with love…”

Then was the combination of both choruses. And then cheering echoed in Harry’s ears. He was hot and sweaty, and he wasn’t sure if it was just by the performance.

Hermione had unbuttoned her trench coat, revealing a form-fitting black minidress that—shockingly—didn’t reach her knees. Harry had never seen her in something that…un-Hermione-like.

Harry walked off the stage, his eyes on Hermione—had she ever been that pretty, that curvaceous?

“I swear I am never going to do that again.” Hermione muttered, now pulling off the coat.

Oh, for the love of…

Harry kept his eyes on Hermione’s nostrils—it was one part of her that suddenly didn’t seem more attractive—as he dabbed at his sweaty forehead and neck with a washcloth, like Hermione was doing. Her chest heaved and Harry swallowed hard.

Wait, wait…slow down, boy. This is Hermione!

“You mean you didn’t like it?” Harry asked when her words made sense to him."

“Well, it was enjoyable,” Hermione admitted. “But it’s not me. I could never be a sex kitten.”

“You looked like you knew what you were doing out there,” Harry noted.

Hermione smiled. The black dress vanished from sight. The white knee-length dress was over it, seemingly erasing every piece of the Hermione out there two minutes ago…

“My cousin made me take a pole-dancing class one summer,” Hermione rolled her eyes. “I quit after the first class. Honestly, a bookstore owner can’t have a kitten. Only pin-up girls have that.”

“I don’t know…” Harry smiled mischievously. “You looked pretty hot out there.” Oh damn. Wrong thing to say. WRONG THING!

Hermione leveled a glare at him, pursing her lips, and fluffed her hair like some foxy thing, “Well now, don’t ya think?” She grinned at him, her hand falling to her side. “Honestly, Harry. The only person that could convince me of that is—” Her voice faltered. Crimson stained her cheeks. She turned away from Harry and almost ran out.

Harry frowned after her. What was that all about?

CHAPTER TWO _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Harry watched with faint amusement as Hermione was met with yet another invitation from the opposite sex to join her for a drink.

And once again, she shook her head.

But, the guy insisted. Something that tonight no “suitor” had ever done. Harry shoved away from his slouch against the wall. He knew Hermione could take care of herself, but if she had to use her wand, he could file a complaint.

“Excuse me,” he said as he came up behind Hermione. Both gazes locked on him. “Is there a problem here?”

“I’m just asking her for a drink,” the man drawled.

“And apparently, she refused.”

“Ah, all she needs is a little…persuading.”

Hermione spoke now, “Oh…yeah?”

A burning sensation began to eat at Harry’s gut as his best friend’s hands crept up the man’s shoulders.

“Here’s my answer,” Hermione whispered. The fire got to the edge of painful as Hermione drew the stranger’s face towards hers…

Then the sensation dissolved as Hermione’s knee rammed in the man’s groin. Looking down at the doubled-over wizard, she hissed, “Find some other toy, you miserable prick.”

She left with Harry, muttering, “Another reason why I won’t do that again.”

“Mate!” Ron lurched to a stop in front of the duo. “I got some…”

“Alcohol?” Hermione asked.

“Tequila!” Ron brandished his glass like his wand.

“Ron!” Hermione’s jaw dropped. “You know you hiccup when you drink that stuff! How many did you have?”

“A couple before the show,” Ron mumbled.

“Are you serious?” Hermione began, but was cut off.

“Mate, I got the worm this time!” Ron shoved it towards Harry. “Talk to it! Tell him I don’t wanna drink him!”

Harry gazed down at the worm curled up in the liquid, “Fine.” He muttered a couple of words and the worm stretched out, flopping over the rim of the glass.

“Thanks, mate!” Ron was grinning, but Hermione’s face was set, her arms crossed like she was cold—even though the club was a sweltering 75 degrees.

“The party’s over for you,” Harry said as Ron drank. “Time to go home.”

Ron stopped drinking and muttered, “Yeah, yeah…”

“Seriously, Ron,” Hermione grabbed his arm. “We need to go.”

Ron was just about to reply when they Disapparated.

“God, I haven’t drank that much since the party of the defeat of Voldy-mort,” Ron staggered in Harry’s office. The black-haired man watched with amusement as his best mate slumped in a chair.

It's Voldemort. Not Voldy-mort. Wow, you're really out of it, Ron. “You know you’re not the only one,” Harry informed him. “Lepus has a headache too. Apparently, she’s eager to please.”

“Yeah, but Lepus doesn’t have to have her ass kicked by her partner.”

“Ah, well…” Harry smiled. “At least you slept.”

“Did you?”

“Of course.”

“Please get me a vial of hangover medicine and entertain me with your dream,” Ron moaned.

Harry was motionless. In fact, the dream he had had last night was…inappropriate for the office. He had, in fact, dreamt about last night. Only this time a scantily-clad Hermione had pushed him backstage and—

“Mate?” Ron’s voice snapped Harry out of his recollections.

“Sorry.” Harry went to his medicine cabinet. “It was about last night.”

“What happened last night?”

Harry returned to his desk, vial in hand, “Oh, my God. Now, I know you were wasted,”

Ron gulped down the potion eagerly, “As you were saying…”

Harry gawked at the empty vial. “You like that stuff?”

“It’s not the best but I’ve grown used to it.”

“Man, I can’t even smell the stuff.” Harry shuddered. He could hear Madam Pomfrey, in his head, complain about him being too eager to heal so quickly. Hogwarts seemed like ages. Seven years were ages.

“Neither can I,” Hermione had paused in the doorway. She was wearing a rather nice set of robes: lavender velvet with the silver nametag gleaming on her chest.

Hermione stepped closer to her boyfriend, “Trying to jog his memory?”

“You could say that,”

“Downplay the performance and I’ll buy you lunch.”

“With pleasure,”

“Thanks Harry,” Hermione headed towards the door.

“Anything for you,” Harry called. She shot him one last smile before she left.

Ok im not going to catsh it all but i like it i ony got to read the first ch. tough. You could tell the first ch as written by a us person because he doesnt exactly sound british....

i liked it yay