Disclaimer: Oh, pah, you know the drill! Harry Potter J.K. Rowling's.

When Harry found Pansy an hour later, she was drunk as a skunk, high as a kite….and half-naked.

While he himself was quite freaking drunk, and quite liked the view of Pansy's nearly exposed breasts, he was sober enough to know that they had to return to Hogwarts before anything truly troubling happened.

And so, with a sigh, he quickly pushed through the fast-gathering crowd of horny men, finally reaching Pansy, who was enthusiastically dancing her pants off, literally.

"All right blokes," he yelled, his words slurring, "time for PanPan to go home! She'll be back next Tuesday!"

He unsteadily climbed onto the table Pansy was dancing on and unsuccessfully tried to pick her up. The duo tumbled over the table's edge and onto the floor, in a tangle of limbs, empty beer bottles, and Harry's not-so-little problem.

'Half-naked Pansy--', Harry thought, '--on top of me.'

Harry was pulled back to the present when Pansy proceeded to use his chest as her own personal gripping surface, and then tried to pull herself up.

Unfortunately, she slipped, and her hand fell across a particularly stiff part of his anatomy, and he groaned at the contact.

Fortunately for Harry, Pansy was too drunk to notice that she was groping him, and only relocated her hand (this made Harry sigh with relief) to a more suitable surface. Finally, her shaky hand found the floor and she managed to pick herself up, only to fall against the table.

Now, considerably more sober due to the alarmingly close call, Harry followed her lead and then steadied her, pulling her arm around his neck and placing a hand on her hip to keep her from falling.

It was in this position that they walked to the door, through the tunnels, and back through the trap door to Harry's room, which was, surprise, surprise, still locked.

With a grimace, Harry picked Pansy up and tried his best to lay her down on the bed, positioning her on her stomach. He didn't need to be accused of murder, whether it be the first, second, or third degree.

Being drunk, it was harder to repress his emotions, and Harry knew that there was more than just that. He cared about her, he really did, and it scared him to death. She was a Slytherin!

With a resigned groan, he flopped down on to the floor.

Drunk, he may be, but even drunk, Harry Potter was a gentleman.

Pansy's eyelids felt like they had been stupefied. They would not move, and to be honest, she was quite all right with that.

She had a pounding headache (it felt as if obese trolls were tossing rocks at the walls of her noggin), and everything hurt.

To top it all off, she remembered nothing from last night, except that…

"SHIT!" she exclaimed, jumping up. That was a bad idea, because it made her headache feel ten times worse.

Rubbing her head, she looked around her and realized she wasn't in her room. In fact, she wasn't even in the Slytherin dorms!

She groaned. Everything came rushing back and the memories of what happened the night before was certainly not helping her headache. She remembered that bloodtraitor Weasley girl had locked her and Harry in his room (looking around, she noticed that while not too horrid for a guy, his quarter of the room was in shambles), and then they went on to escape, only to go searching for some brothel, where she remembered yelling at some bartender, and then going on to get drunk off her ass, which resulted in table-dancing, and she believed there was stripping involved, on her part.

The one thing that really befuddled her was, how in the world did she manage to get back here?

Pansy looked around her. Her eyes fell across the sleeping form of Harry Potter, who was snoring loudly. She just had to laugh, although that didn't do much for her aching skull.

She concluded that he must've been quite pissed himself, for his glasses, which he had forgotten to take off, were slanted and threatened to fall off his face the next time he exhaled, his hair was a mess, his clothes were in a disarray, and he had only one shoe on.

While not his best state, the sight was quite endearing to Pansy, and she found herself gazing at him fondly. She hadn't even realized what she was doing until she found herself looking straight into his emerald eyes.

"Pansy? What are you…" Harry trailed off as he recalled the events of the night before.

His reaction was identical to Pansy's, only as he shot up, his head hit the not-so-cleverly placed bedside table, and he hissed in pain. Pansy grimaced, before quickly rushing over to assist him.

"Harry..." She said softly, so as not to frighten him. Harry opened his eyes, which had been squeezed shut, to glance at her.

"How many fingers am I holding up?" She quizzed, holding up three fingers.

"Twenty-six," Harry replied, looking dazed.

Pansy frowned. 'Great, he has a concussion. Now what am I supposed to do,' she thought.

With great effort, she picked Harry up and lifted him into a sitting position.

"I'm going to check your pupils for dilation, okay?"

Harry only nodded dumbly.

As she got closer and closer to him, she wished she had just called for Madam Pomfrey.

The close proximity of him was really getting to her senses. When she was close enough, (and she made sure that it was just close enough, no more) to inspect his eyes clearly, he spoke again.

"You look pretty in the morning."

Then he lost conciousness.

AUTHOR'S NOTEeheheheh I'm on a roll! Read and review please. –smiles sweetly-