"Butter beer." Harry muttered to the waitress upon her query, not bothering to look up.
"Butter what?" she asked between smacks of gum. Harry meant to shoot her a mean look but his eyes softened on the big tan cleavage peeking over her apron, and her promiscuous blue eyes. He coughed and lowered his voice.
"Er, whiskey. Double. Double whiskey."
She triple-smacked her gum and swished away with a smile. "Won't be a minute, love."
Harry watched her plump spots swivel like they were on ball bearings, feeling his rod swell instantly. He quickly cleared his throat and adjusted himself. These muggle broads aren't the hideous creatures his classmates had sworn them to be.
Another man entered the bar, Harry looked him over for any signs of a threat, but he was just some old bar-fly in for his daily poison. But with poly-juice potion available to the Ministry, how could you ever be sure?
"I like your scar."
"Huh?" Harry started.
He snapped back to attention and the busty waitress had appeared back at his table, his whiskey in front of him.
"I said I like your scar. (smack) Where'd ya get it?"
"Oh, er, childhood accident." he said, absently rubbing his lightning-bolt.
"It's cool, it makes you look rough and tumble, for a kid your age."
Harry swelled his chest up a bit. "I only look young, I'm really uh.. 25."
Her face lit up with a sinful smile, and she leaned in to expose a few more yards of tan skin.
"That's a good age." she said with a quick wink.
Harry blushed and sipped his drink, barely swallowing it before he could spit it back in her face. Burned God dam that burned! Who drinks this shite?
He played it as cool as he could, winking back with one watery eye.
"Thank you... babe."
She eye-fucked him briefly and swiveled away again, the tightness of her skirt betraying the thong beneath.
Harry patted his hair down and slyly cast his eyes around the pub, parsing it's denizens for any sign of danger. They all looked soggy and downtrodden, hanging over their drinks and muttering their Cockney diatribes to each other. He sipped his drink again, wincing.
The waitress/bimbo slid back by to check on him, her perfume giving him a nice bloom of heat in his groin to match the one growing in his gut from the whiskey.
He felt his grin widen centimeter by centimeter, good cheer replacing what had been a gloomy day. Two crusty muggles were arguing over darts, alternately cursing each other and chucking missles at the board. Harry inched the head of his wand from his cloak, whispering a spell that turned the next dart into a woodpecker, which promptly hit the bullseye beak-first.
"You cheatin' fooker!" one muggle yelled.
"It counts!" yelled the other.
Fists and bottles flew, Harry leaned back to nearly piss himself laughing. This was great.
"Havin' fun, love?"
The waitress was back, her gum smacking.
"Er..." he said, embarrassed.
"You know ya could get in big trouble casting spells out in the city."
"Spells? I don't know what you're.."
She glared at him, her features pinched and accusatory. Something looked familiar about that LOOK.
"Don't play coy with me, Harry Potter."
Harry jumped a bit, knocking over his glass.
"Who? How do you.."
She dug her fists into her hips and leaned towards him, her hair drawing up shorter and curlier like...like magic.
As her eyes and nose and lips quivered and changed shape, Harry realized what he had been looking at, something he had seen a hundred times over.
The effects of Polyjuice Potion wearing away.
The waitress was gone, standing before him now was Hermione Granger, wand in hand, pointed right at his heart.
