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What Would Slytherin Harry Do: The Mud Wrestling Match

Disclaimer: Not Mine. No Profit. No Shit.

by Big D

About the Edit: Exactly one word has changed. There’s a note at the bottom if you’ve already read this and don’t want to go looking for it.





“How in the name of all that is unholy did you pull this off?” Blaise asked him incredulously. The young black man gestured at the huge crowd filling the Room of Requirement. The Room had been set up as a large, bowl-shaped arena with enough seating for almost three hundred people, or the entire school above second year. (Harry figured that if you were old enough to go to Hogsmeade and drink alcoholic butterbeer, then you were probably old enough to see this.) At the bottom of the bowl was a wide, shallow pond filled with thick, rather chilly mud. A sign hung on the wall opposite from the door declared: BIKINI BOOKWORM MUD WRESTLING GRUDGE MATCH.

“Well,” Harry replied. “Do you remember last year, after Umbridge crashed the DA and we had to start doing one-on-one tutoring?”

“Hell yes. I had to replace three brand new sets of robes trying to teach Creevy how to cast a flame whip. Little son of a bitch has hands of stone and a brain to match.”

Harry nodded sympathetically. “Sorry about that, couldn’t be helped. Anyway, I was tutoring Granger and Davis, and you know how much they hate each other, so I might have mentioned to each of them that I had a foolproof, watertight, can’t-miss plan to completely embarrass the other one by making them show up in front of the entire school dressed in nothing but a bikini on the first day of term, sixth year.”

Blaise was already laughing. “I bet they jumped at that,” he said.

“You better believe it. But I said that I would only do it for them if they in turn swore the Unbreakable Vow to do me one favor, no questions asked.”

Zabini’s jaw dropped. “Wait a minute. Let me get this straight. Granger swore to do you one unspecified favor in return for you getting Davis to humiliate herself in a bikini, then Davis swore to do you one unspecified favor in return for you getting Granger to humiliate herself in a bikini?”

“That’s about the size of it.”

“What did they say when they found out that the favor you wanted was for them to mud wrestle each other in front of the whole school?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“You realize they’re going to kill you once this is over.”

He shrugged. “Maybe, but I’m pretty sure they both thought that I was planning on using my favor to shag them, and the idea didn’t seem to bother them all that much, so I think I might get away with it if I play my cards right. Besides, they can’t kill me, I’m the Chosen One.”

Blaise rolled his eyes. “Chosen, maybe. Deranged, definitely.”

Ernie Macmillan stepped up onto a small platform across the way from them and placed his wand to the side of his neck. He had pestered Harry from the second they’d stepped on the train to school about being allowed to emcee this, and Harry had been forced to either give in or kill him and bury him in a shallow grave. He still wasn’t sure he’d made the right choice.

“WELCOME... ONE AND ALL, TO THE FIRST ANNUAL SIRIUS BLACK MEMORIAL BIKINI MUD WRESTLING MATCH!!!” the poncy Hufflepuff bellowed.

Blaise leaned towards him. “First annual?” he asked.

Harry grinned and nodded. “Next year’s gonna be the Patil twins. But they don’t know that yet, so keep it under your hat.”

“Let’s worry about surviving this one first, shall we?” Zabini said, shaking his head in amusement.

“Pussy.”

“ENTERING FIRST... WEIGHING IN AT: NONE OF YOUR BLOODY DAMN BUSINESS... SHE’S THE BUSHY-HEADED BRAINIAC... THE TIME-TRAVELING TEACHER’S PET... THE GIRL VOTED MOST LIKELY TO BECOME HEADMISTRESS OF HOGWARTS... I GIVE TO YOU... HEEERRRR-MYYYY-O-NEEEEE... GRAAAAAIN-GERRRR!!!”

Blaise was making gagging noises. “Great Hades, did you let him write that himself?” he asked disgustedly.

“I’ve been under torture curses that were less painful than listening to him whine,” Harry admitted sadly. “I would have signed over the Black Family Trust to make him shut up.”

The house lights dimmed and a narrow spotlight from nowhere landed on a small curtain set to Macmillan’s left. A sharp, militaristic drumbeat, also from nowhere, sounded in the background as the curtain parted to reveal a determined-looking Hermione Granger, head held high, her normally rather frizzy brown hair tamed into a luxurious mane that cascaded down past her shoulders. She was dressed in a hip-length red silk robe that was pulled closed over her upper body, but left displayed a pair of long, firm, nicely tanned legs that, after a very pleasant journey, led to dainty bare feet.

Eyes fixed firmly forward, as if she could vanish the crowd by simply refusing to acknowledge them, she stepped out into the arena and up to the edge of the muddy pond. Her facade of proud indifference cracked slightly as she fumbled nervously at the belt of her robe, and by the time she had it undone, her face was red enough to match the dozens of banners that the Gryffindor faithful had brought out to support her with. She held the robe around her for a few seconds, then took a deep breath and allowed it to slip off her shoulders and fall away.

The crowd leapt to its feet and roared in thunderous approval. Somewhere in the back, a wall-shaking chant sprang up, as if they were at a Quidditch match.

“MORE-MORE-GRYFF-IN-DOR!!! MORE-MORE-GRYFF-IN-DOR!!!”

Blaise shouted into Harry’s ear. “You reckon they’re cheering her on, or trying to get her to lose the rest of her kit?”

Harry grinned. “Both!” His smile faltered slightly when he glanced back at Hermione and saw her glaring at him with a look that promised slow, terrible, and painful revenge at the first possible opportunity. He blew her a two-handed kiss and she bared her teeth at him. It would’ve been damned sexy, had it been directed at anyone else.

It was pretty sexy anyway. He had been rather vague in his description of just what a bikini should look like to Winky, other than that it should be “small”, and she had obliged with something that looked like it would barely fit a house-elf. The scant collection of string and cloth was scarlet trimmed with gold, and magic was the only force in existence that could have prevented Granger’s cups from running over, given the outward growth spurt she’d undergone between fourth and fifth years. If he squinted, he could just barely make out a tiny Gryffindor emblem stitched into the fabric over her left breast, and was also able to deduce that it was getting pretty cold down there on the floor.

Despite ample evidence to the contrary, Harry wasn’t a cruel man. After all, just because he was willing to trick two of his closest friends into degrading themselves in front of hundreds of horny teenagers for no other reason than to prove that he could, didn’t mean that he wasn’t going to give them every opportunity to prepare themselves. He’d made certain that they’d both had the entire summer to make sure they were in the best shape possible before being forced to strut their stuff before an audience.

Granger had clearly taken advantage.

Wherever it was that she had gone for the holidays, it was obviously somewhere with plenty of sun and privacy, because she sported a rich, warm brown tan that was clearly of the all-over variety. And while she was displaying more than her fair share of soft, round curves, it was apparent that she had gone to great lengths to rid herself of any leftover “puppy fat”. The result was an image that was burning itself into the retinas of an entire generation of young wizards, and would fuel many a wank session in the coming weeks.

Blaise was staring just as hard as anyone else, but was distracted by someone near the door waving for his attention. Romilda Vane was a fourth year Gryffindor who had decided last year that the best way to prove her bravery was by bedding Harry, and had joined the DA in hopes of doing just that. Her plan had involved pretending to fall behind during her tutoring sessions so she could get some alone time with him. She was attractive enough, but needed a little more time on the vine to ripen properly, so Harry had put her to work apprenticing under Fred and George, so that she could take their places as his contact in Gryffindor House when they left. She had taken to the job like a duck to water, and was now flashing a series of hand signals at Blaise. A few feet away, Draco Malfoy stood with his arms folded, glaring at her impatiently.

Blaise nodded and nudged Harry. “Malfoy wants to put fifty galleons on Davis. We might not be able to cover that if she wins,” he said quietly.

“Take his bet, then kick him out,” Harry answered instantly.

Zabini chuckled and flashed another series of hand signals at Romilda. She grinned and got Draco to sign a magically-binding betting slip before motioning to a pair of tall Hufflepuffs, Beaters, if Harry wasn’t mistaken, who “escorted” young Mister Malfoy to the exit by taking each of his arms and simply lifting him off the ground. He was so infuriated that, for a split-second, Harry almost thought he saw a spot of color in his cheeks.

“What if he wins?” Blaise asked.

Harry shrugged. “If he wins, I’ll cover it myself. But I’ll be damned if I’m going to pay him and let him watch.”

“What if he loses?”

“If he loses... well, it’s probably best that he doesn’t see. It would only break his poor little heart.”

Blaise shook his head, but simply went back to watching Granger. She had closed her eyes and was psyching herself up by taking deep, even breaths and bouncing lightly on her toes, which did all kinds of marvelous things to her upper body. Harry wondered for a moment if she had actually managed to convince herself that no one was watching, or if she was so focused on the upcoming match that she didn’t realize what kind of show she was putting on.

Needless to say, the percentage of wank sessions she was inspiring had just gone way up.

Not far away, Ernie’s head was nodding in time with each of Granger’s bounces, which meant that he didn’t notice that the spotlight had shifted to his right and a soft horn had begun to play a snake charmer’s theme in the background. He managed to catch himself in time and began Tracy’s introduction, in a slightly more broken voice than he’d been using before.

“ENTERING SECOND...” he warbled, then cleared his throat and continued. “WEIGHING IN AT: GET OUT OF MY FACE BEFORE I HEX YOU... SHE’S THE TINY TERROR OF TRANSFIGURATION... THE HALF-PINT, HALF-BLOOD PRINCESS... THE GIRL VOTED MOST LIKELY TO BECOME MINISTER OF MAGIC... PLEASE WELCOME... TERRRR-AAACEEEE-DAAAAAA-VIIIIIISSS!!!”

Blaise cringed. “Tiny terror?” he said to Harry, “Half-pint?” He shook his head. “You might have to wait in line for Davis to kick your ass.”

Harry could only nod in disbelief. Macmillan had to be just as suicidal as he was pompous to mention Davis’ height like that. Then another thought occurred to him. Ah... hell, she’s probably going to blame this on me, too.

Tracy hadn’t bothered to wait for her curtain to open, she had come barging out as soon as she heard Ernie’s description of her and was glaring at the Hufflepuff prefect with a look that could have shattered concrete. He paled and beat a hasty retreat, disappearing into the mass of students before she could mount the stage and throttle him.

Granger had tried to ignore the crowd during her entrance, but Tracy, perhaps unsurprisingly, took the opposite route. She turned her fierce blue eyes on the audience and dared them to let loose with one catcall or lascivious suggestion. Naturally they obliged her by raining down whistles, shouts, and monetary offers for various sexual favors.

After all, she couldn’t kill everyone, right?

Davis seemed to be considering doing just that, but apparently couldn’t come up with a way to avoid the Dementor’s Kiss afterwards, because she snarled in frustration and turned away from the crowd. It was probably the wrong thing to do if she wanted to avoid any more lewd comments, as her backside was considered by many at Hogwarts to be by far her most flattering feature, and quite possibly the finest example of Grade-A rump roast in the entire school. There were calls that verged on begging for her to drop the robe and show it off, which, much to her annoyance, she was soon forced to do.

In the round-heeled boots she normally favored, Tracy didn’t quite reach five feet tall (something she was none too pleased about). In her bare feet, she was four feet, ten inches of stunning, blonde-haired, blue-eyed splendour, who at first glance summoned images of adorable pixies flitting about, perching on flowers and giggling musically.

Of course, had Davis actually been a pixie, she likely would have lost her membership card for the stream of vile obscenities she was spewing in Harry’s direction. Luckily for her (or at least for one of them), most of it was being swallowed up by the deafening cheers of the crowd, though he did manage to catch a word or two over the din.

He frowned and made a mental note to send Hedwig back to Grimmauld Place for a few days.

Green fabric must have been in very short supply this year, because Tracy’s bikini looked to be even smaller than Hermione’s was, if that were actually possible. Her body possessed the smooth, lean lines of a dancer or a gymnast, and she wasn’t nearly as well-endowed as her Gryffindor opponent, but what she did have looked to be an extremely pleasant handful, and jiggled quite nicely when she shook a fist at him.

And then there was that delightful derriere.

Harry didn’t have the best view from this angle, but he was well aware that five years spent hauling piles of massive books up and down the innumerable flights of stairs at Hogwarts had sculpted Tracy’s bum into a living, gravity-defying work of art. Trips to Hogsmeade were always notable for the chance to observe the female wildlife of Hogwarts sans their usual billowy, unflattering school robes, and many a young wizard only considered his day complete after he had snuck a glimpse of Davis striding through town in her painfully tight denims and those wonderful boots that gave her just the right lift to drive every male behind her insane.

Blaise tapped him on the arm. “What’s Weasley doing?”

Ron had emerged from the crowd and was striding towards the mud pit with a massive grin on his face. His feet were bare and he was dressed in a black and white striped shirt and a pair of black shorts. He stepped into the pit and beckoned the two girls towards him.

“I told him he could be the referee,” Harry explained. “I figured I still owed him one for spying on Umbridge last year.”

Zabini made a face. “But he was a horrible spy! And didn’t you let him use your father’s cloak in exchange for that?”

Harry shrugged. “Yeah, but once the twins found out that he was working for me, they decided that the best way to help him keep his cover would be to start pranking him twice as hard as they had been when they’d thought he was actually a rat. I don’t think he got a full night’s sleep until after they left.”

“Oh...” Blaise nodded.

“And then when they did leave, Ginny decided to take over,” Harry continued. “I’m pretty sure he didn’t get any sleep at all after that.” He shook his head. “That girl can be pretty vicious when she puts her mind to it. Can’t help but wonder if she still has a little bit of Tom Riddle left in her.”

“I doubt it,” Blaise said wisely. “It’s like I keep trying to tell you. No one will fuck you over quite like family will. You should be grateful you’re an orphan.”

“What are you talking about? Your mum’s alright.”

“If you were about five years older, she’d have already married you and killed you off for the inheritance.”

“Not if I killed her first.”

Blaise looked at him sideways, then shrugged. “Good point.”

Ron had gotten Tracy and Hermione into the pit with him, but seemed to have forgotten what he was supposed to do next. He just kept looking from one nearly-naked girl to the other with a big goofy smile on his face until Davis finally smacked him on the arm.

He blushed and cleared his throat. “All right, then,” he barked, trying to sound official. “This is how it’s gonna be. Victory is by pin-fall or submission, and there must be a winner. No punching. No kicking. No biting. No eye-gouging. No hair-pulling.” He pointed at each of them. “And especially no magic. There is no time limit.”

He held a clenched fist between the two of them, then pumped it dramatically. “NOW, LET’S GET IT ON!!!” he roared.

Both girls looked at him as if he were something foul that they had just yanked out of a clogged drain. He took a small step back and glanced down sheepishly. “I always wanted to say that,” he muttered.

They rolled their eyes, then dismissed him and glared at each other contemptuously. Tracy put her fists on her hips. “It’s not quite the way I imagined it happening, but I knew one day I’d get to kick your ass,” she said smugly.

Hermione quirked an amused eyebrow. “Less talk, more fight.” She paused for a bare second, then added. “Bitch.”

Davis’ eyes narrowed. “Have it your way, slut,” she said, then charged at Granger, grabbing her legs and yanking them out from under her. The crowd howled in approval as Hermione landed in the mud with a huge, wet splat. Davis pounced on top of her, that beautiful bottom wriggling in the air as she tried to force Granger’s shoulders down for a quick three count.

It wasn’t going to be nearly that easy. Hermione scooped up a handful of mud and shoved it into Davis’ face, temporarily blinding her, then rolled them over so that she was on top. She grabbed Tracy’s wrists and held them away from her body, trying to use her superior size to hold the other girl down.

What she actually managed to do was mash their breasts together in an incredibly erotic manner as they writhed angrily against each other.

Ron dutifully knelt down to render the three count, but seemed to lose track somewhere between one and two as he stared openmouthed at the mud-splattered duo, or rather at the still relatively clean quartet of squished-together sweater puppies in between them. His distraction granted Tracy the opportunity to wedge her legs in between herself and Granger and monkey flip the other girl onto her back with another resounding splash.

They both tried to stand, but with their hands and feet now coated in slick, gooey muck, getting proper traction was becoming something of an adventure. They fell awkwardly into each other and ended up tangled together on their knees, wrapped up in a rather intimate-looking embrace as they each tried to toss the other back down into the pit.

Tracy managed to twist her hips and sling Hermione face first into the mud. She straddled the other girl’s back and attempted to shove her head into the mire, but it was only six inches deep and Granger was strong enough to get her arms underneath her and push herself up. Her entire front emerged plastered in glistening mud, giving the impression that she was completely naked. The position she was in was like some kind of odd yoga pose: legs flat behind her, shoulders back, upper body lifted up so that her breasts thrust out proudly. Her breath was now coming in heavy pants, which, combined with her slightly trembling arms, was enough to set those gorgeous globes heaving and shaking quite merrily.

An evil grin spread across Davis’ face. “You know, I just realized that the rules didn’t say anything about no choking,” she said, slipping an arm under Granger’s chin and hauling back on her neck viciously. Hermione’s body was being bent backwards like a pretzel, her wind partially cut off from the forearm around her throat, which she pulled at with both hands to no avail.

Ron circled around to ask her if she wanted to give up, but was struck dumb by the sight of Granger’s muddied melons quivering at him like a pair of overinflated water balloons. He flushed a shade of red that was remarkable even for him, and Harry wondered if the boy might not be in sudden need of a change of skivvies.

“Eeewwww...” he groaned to himself. “There’s a mental image I could have done without.”

Hermione clearly wanted nothing more than to bite down hard on Tracy’s arm, but her Unbreakable Vow wouldn’t allow her to violate the stated rules. She struggled futilely in Davis’ grasp, but still couldn’t free herself. Davis wrenched back on her neck again and she let out a strangled yelp. Through watering eyes, she saw Weasley leaning closer and felt a spasm of anger when she realized that he was staring transfixed at her breasts.

Then it occurred to her that there was something else the rules didn’t expressly prohibit.

Ron yelped girlishly when Hermione reached out and grabbed him by the collar, jerking him towards her with all the strength she could muster and sending him sprawling on top of her and Tracy in a muddy heap that was two parts nubile teenaged flesh and one part gangly, freckled git.

His head conked painfully into Tracy’s, stunning both of them momentarily. When he regained his senses, Ron couldn’t help but wonder why everything had gone so dark. He nearly went into convulsions when he lifted his head up and realized that his nose had been wedged squarely between Davis’ bodacious butt-cheeks. He gingerly tried to extricate himself from the tangle of bare, mud-slick feminine body parts he was on top of, but seemed to have no idea where he could possibly put his hands without running the risk of one of them deciding to prune his twig and two berries once this was all over with.

“Mother of Zeus,” Blaise gasped, staring at the spectacle with wide eyes. He grabbed Harry’s shirt and pulled him closer, but didn’t look away from the pit. “It’s my turn to be referee next year, right?” he asked.

Harry shrugged. “Sure, what the hell. I’ll even let you pick which flavor pudding you want them to fight in.”

From between Weasley’s knobby knees, a blond head appeared. (There’s a Malfoy joke in there somewhere, but Harry wanted no part of it.) Tracy took stock of the situation in a matter of nanoseconds and apparently decided that the last thing on Earth she wanted to be was the “meat” in a Granger/Weasley sandwich. With a disgusted grunt, she heaved her body to the side, forcing Ron off of her. Her freedom was short-lived, however, because no sooner had she stood up than she was knocked back down by an eight-stone freight train named Hermione Granger, who had regained her feet and was looking for payback.

“Oh, bloody hell.”

That was all Ron had a chance to say before the breath was knocked out of him by the two of them crashing into his chest. Any other time, he would have given his last knut (which also happened to be his first knut) to have Granger and Davis squirming and grunting on top of him, but he was finally beginning to figure out what everyone meant when they said “be careful what you wish for”.

Meanwhile, Tracy was coming to her own realization. The only thing worse than having Weasley on top of her was having him underneath her. She could hardly focus on fending off Granger’s frenzied attacks for the knowledge that... that was poking into her back. She suddenly felt very dirty, and it had nothing to so with the mud working its way into places she didn’t care to think about.

Hermione growled and tried to wrap her hands around Tracy’s throat, but couldn’t get a firm grip with the other girl’s arms in the way. Snarling in frustration, she shoved them off of Ron and sat down on Davis’ chest, trapping Tracy’s face between her thighs and using both hands to hold her head down.

A part of her was aware of what it must have looked like, but she was too angry to care at this point.

Ron looked over and saw that Hermione had Tracy pinned, and after taking a moment to admire the way she had her pinned, scrambled over to make the three-count. His hand came down once... twice... and was making it’s final trip into the mud when Tracy did the only thing she could think of to save herself.

She grabbed Hermione’s bikini top and yanked on it as hard as she could.

Granger’s surprised squeal was so loud that it could even be heard over the ear-splitting cheers of the crowd. Her bountiful bosom sprang free of its cruel prison with at gleeful bounce, pink, galleon-sized nipples showing clearly in the partially clean spots where the bikini had covered her.

Blaise was clapping just as hard as everyone else, but his eyes were puzzled. “I can’t believe they forgot to put Sticking Charms on their suits!” he said after a moment.

“They didn’t,” Harry smirked. “I just made sure to put a counter charm on the mud.”

“Remind me to name my firstborn after you.”

Hermione let go of Tracy and clapped her hands over her chest, then stared around in horror until Tracy managed to shove her backwards into the mud. Tracy looked at the remains of Hermione’s top she was holding with an expression of pure evil, then hurled them deep into the stands.

Hermione watched her top flutter into the crowd and disappear. The horror in her face slowly faded away, replaced by seething, righteous anger. “Fine, then,” she hissed, “If that’s how you want it...” With a howl of rage, she dove at the smirking Slytherin girl and hooked her hands into the waistband of her bikini bottoms.

Tracy seemed to realize that she had made a huge mistake sometime around the point where she was yanked off of her feet and sent sprawling into the mud, fighting desperately to preserve what little modesty she had left. Her legs flailed and her fingers clawed for any kind of purchase she could find, but with pure Gryffindor stubbornness, Granger slowly and inexorably pulled the green knickers down her legs, fully exposing that beautiful backside in all its impossibly-firm glory, as well as the neatly trimmed tuft of fur at the apex of her thighs that proved once and for all that Davis really was a natural blonde.

“Pay up, sucker!” Blaise taunted.

Harry cursed under his breath and handed his friend five galleons.

“What made you think that she dyes her hair, anyway?” Blaise asked him.

He shrugged. “I only bet that she wouldn’t have blonde hair down there. I didn’t really care about the color, she just struck me as the clean-shaven type.”

Zabini shook his head. “Don’t you hate it when you outsmart yourself?”

With a final mighty tug that sent Hermione off her feet and onto her bum, Davis was fully de-briefed. Granger thrust her trophy into the air to the delight of her now adoring fans, before standing up and twirling the tiny scrap of cloth around her index finger several times, then flinging it into the back rows to be fought over by eager souvenir seekers and potential stalkers.

Hermione folded her arms underneath her breasts, no longer terribly concerned about her near-total nudity, now that the line had been crossed and there was no going back. She was, after all, a Gryffindor, and whatever else one had to say about the House of the Lion, they didn’t sit around crying when there was a fight to be won. She stared down at Davis with a look of pure disdain, every line in her face and body daring the other girl to get up so that they could finish this.

Davis rose, trembling with fury and embarrassment, her pale skin flushed where it peeked through the layer of muck that coated her. Slowly, like a pair of tigresses trying to stare each other down, they stepped closer until they were practically nose-to-nose and chest-to-chest.

Well actually, it was more like nose-to-chest in Davis’ case.

Tracy glared up at her taller rival, then flicked her eyes disdainfully at Granger’s impressive endowments. “Big brains... big tits,” she drawled. “Still just another worthless Griffy slag. Bet you love this, don’t you? Getting to flash your wares in front of all these potential customers, all the while pretending that you’re only doing it because Potter tricked you. I’m sure by the time you get back to your little tower, there’ll be a whole line full of eager young lions, just waiting for you to milk them dry, one by one.”

Granger smirked, not rising to the bait, then grabbed the cups of Tracy’s top and gave them a ferocious yank that broke the strap in the middle and left Davis wearing the world’s smallest green waistcoat, one that did nothing to cover her own pair of smaller, but still mouth-watering breasts. “Might as well not be the only one flashing my wares,” she said cheerfully. “Who knows, maybe you can even lure a few clients yourself. After all, who wouldn’t want a tart that can use her mouth without even having to go on her knees?”

Tracy had staggered backwards and gasped angrily when Granger ripped open her top, but it wasn’t until the other girl taunted her about her height that she lost all control. If he hadn’t been watching for it, Harry might have missed the look of triumph that flickered across Granger’s face when Davis abandoned all strategy and mindlessly charged at her.

It just went to show that just because Slytherins were cunning and ambitious didn’t mean they were immune to being stupid sometimes.

Granger bent low and caught Davis by the waist, using her own momentum to flip her high in the air and send her crashing into the mud with a splat that appeared to knock her senseless. Adding insult to injury, Hermione then pinned her by grabbing her ankles and pulling them back in a manner that brought to mind a particularly intrusive gynecological exam while practically sitting on her face.

As soon as Weasley’s hand came down for the third time, Macmillan reappeared out of nowhere. “HERE IS YOUR WINNER... HEEERRRR-MYYYY-O-NEEEEE... GRAAAAAIN-GERRRR!!!” he shouted, but it was drowned out by the stomping and hooting in the stands. A few people were groaning in annoyance and ripping up their betting slips, but for the most part, everyone agreed that there was no real loser when it came to a Bikini Mud-Wrestling Match.

“Well, that was certainly entertaining,” Harry mused to Blaise, looking to his left only to see that his friend had suddenly disappeared. He frowned and glanced around. It seemed that everyone in his immediate vicinity had cleared out almost a soon as the match had ended. It didn’t take him long to figure out why. With the match over and the Vow fulfilled, being next to him was probably the least safe place in Hogwarts.

He grimaced and looked down at the pit. Hermione stood in the middle with her hands on her hips, gloriously naked and sizing him up the way an executioner looks at a man on the gallows. He flashed her a winning smile and subtly gripped his wand. He could handle this. After all, they weren’t armed.

Behind her, Ron was trying to help Davis up, while pretending that he wasn’t ogling her for all he was worth. She hissed and shook off his hand, then snatched at something sticking out of his belt and pointed it at Harry.

Harry reminded himself to strangle Weasley at the next convenient opportunity.

“Accio Asshole!!!” she screamed.

He barely had time to wonder if the “asshole” part had been an exclamation or a spell modifier before he was yanked out of his seat and sent hurtling face first into the mud. Suddenly, the roars of the crowd didn’t seem quite so funny anymore. Instinctively, he rolled out of the way of Tracy’s next spell, which exploded into the spot he had recently vacated, and raised his wand.

Or he would have, had he not dropped it during his unexpected flight. He stared at his empty hand blankly for a moment, then glanced around wildly. Luckily, he spied it almost immediately. Somewhat less luckily, it had landed right at Hermione’s feet. With a vengeful grin, she snatched it up and pointed it straight at his heart.

“Now what did I ever do to deserve this?” he wondered out loud, as both girls trained their wands on him and got ready to hex him into oblivion.

But Harry wasn’t the Chosen One for nothing. He dove to his left to avoid the first volley of spells, then grabbed Ron by the leg of his trousers and pulled him into the path of a rather nasty Skin-Shriveling Curse. He shoved the screaming, pruning boy at Tracy, knocking her over as he drew his back-up wand, the one that had once belonged to Dumbledore, and blocked Hermione’s incoming stunner, then fired off a pair of Disarming Spells that sent the girl’s wands sailing towards him.

“GET OFF ME, YOU BLOODY MORON!!!” Tracy screamed, shoving Ron’s face out of her cleavage and springing back to her feet. She looked around and saw that they had both been disarmed, her face twisting into a animalistic snarl. “Fuck it! I’ll kill you with my bare hands!” she growled, then began advancing on him, Hermione at her side.

Harry wanted to roll his eyes. Now they decide to work together.

“Waitwaitwaitwaitwait– WAIT!!!” he yelled, waving his wand threateningly. Tracy and Hermione stopped just a couple of feet in front of him, fingers knotted into claws, naked, muddy chests heaving with each furious breath.

“Now, hold on,” he said reasonably. “I realize that you’re both mad at me, and you have every right to be. But you should also keep in mind that you’re just as much to blame for this as I am.” They both hissed at him. “Think about it,” Harry continued quickly. “If you two weren’t so obsessed with one-upping each other, then you would have told me to go stuff myself when I was trying to trick you into humiliating each other, and you never would have been here.”

Their eyes flickered uncertainly as they contemplated that. “Look at yourselves,” he pressed on, “You’re the smartest witches in the school, but you’ve been acting like complete idiots. You stood up the Ministry together, you even saved each other’s lives when we fought the Death Eaters last year, but you still act like wet cats in a sack whenever you’re in the same room. It’s stupid, and frankly it was starting to get on my nerves. I tried getting you to cooperate last year, and we all saw how well that worked out, so I figured that if you really wanted to fight each other, then I might as well let you have at it.”

That was total bullshit, of course. He’d just wanted to see them rolling around naked in the mud. But it sounded good, and if they actually did learn a lesson from this, all the better.

Tracy and Hermione were still flushed, but it was as much from embarrassment as anger now. They turned to look at each other. Granger raised a questioning eyebrow, to which Davis responded with a scowl, but then nodded. She reached out a hand, which Granger took. Their eyes met again, and this time they actually shared a smile.

Then they rounded on him as one. “DIE, POTTER!!!” they screamed, and dove at him, claws extended.

Harry had never flicked and swished so fast in his life. “Windgardium Leviosa!!!”

They were close enough together that he was able to catch them both with the same spell and the two of them floated into the air, a writhing ball of sweaty, muddy, naked fury that showered him with threats and promises, most of which he suspected were of an anatomically-impossible nature.

Either way, he wasn’t hanging around to find out. “I can see that you two still need a little more time to work out your troubles,” he said, backing away slowly and wishing he knew a way to use this charm without holding his wand on them. “I’ll just... come back later, once you’ve calmed down some.” He reached the edge of the pit and stepped out of it. “I know it doesn’t seem like it now, but one day you’ll thank me for this,” he finished, then canceled the spell and ran for his life, shoving people out of his way until he reached the door.

He made it safely out into the hall, only to see Tracy and Hermione burst out behind him, still hot on his heels.

Hogwarts had been witness to many odd sights over the last one thousand years, but none were any odder than the sight of Harry Potter sprinting down the halls with two naked, muddy girls chasing after him, howling for his blood.

As terrified as he was, Harry couldn’t help but think that Sirius would’ve loved it.

(End)




AN: Brought to you by popular demand. Not sure how happy I am with this one. It was definitely a struggle to write, and I’m not very satisfied with it, which is odd, because I managed to work in pretty much everything I wanted to. Maybe the sheer ridiculousness of the premise threw me off. My betas (Foz and Tazz) seemed to get a kick out of it, which is a good sign, but I had trouble getting into it, which is why it took so long to write.

Still, I hope you liked it.

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Deathly Hallows Edit. Here’s what changed:.

He shoved the screaming, pruning boy at Tracy, knocking her over as he drew his back-up wand, the one that had once belonged to his mother, and blocked Hermione’s incoming stunner, then fired off a pair of Disarming Spells that sent the girl’s wands sailing towards him.

Became...

He shoved the screaming, pruning boy at Tracy, knocking her over as he drew his back-up wand, the one that had once belonged to Dumbledore, and blocked Hermione’s incoming stunner, then fired off a pair of Disarming Spells that sent the girl’s wands sailing towards him.

And yes, I am talking about THAT wand. So how did Slytherin Harry obtain it well before seventh year? Not quite ready to reveal that yet. After all, any idiot can foreshadow a future event, but it takes a special kind of idiot to foreshadow something that has already happened.

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