Tuesday, February 2, 2010

R-rated Fanfic, the Final Chapter!

Here it is! Enjoy.

+++

“I believe that the storm ought to break by morning,” said Albus Dumbledore, “at which time it will be safe for both of you to return to Hogwarts. Until then, I recommend that you spend the night here. The very accommodating Prudence Temperata has been good enough to loan this room to you for the evening.” His eyes twinkled as he gave Draco and Ginny a sugary-sweet look over his spectacles.

“Miss Weasley, Mr. Malfoy… I expect both of you to behave yourselves properly,” said McGonagall briskly, “which is why I have requested that the standard ‘Crystal Palace Welcome Basket’ be left at the bedside. It should appear shortly, and I trust that you will use its contents in such a fashion as to bring honor upon both Slytherin and Gryffindor. House points will be awarded on your return to school, so I expect a full report.”

“Goodnight,” said Dumbledore in a kindly voice. As McGonagall swept out of the room ahead of him, he leaned down to whisper to Ginny.

“Mr. Malfoy really does have a rather extraordinary wicket set, doesn’t he? And such very impressive equipment overall… yes… you see, I know all about the spyholes you’ve cut in the Slytherin boys’ Quidditch changing rooms. Especially those in the showers. You’re a regular visitor at three o’clock on Tuesdays and Fridays, which just happen to be the precise times when Mr. Malfoy may be found there, isn’t that so?”

She looked up at him with terrified eyes and opened her mouth. Nothing came out.

“Never fear,” said Dumbledore conspiratorially. “Your secret is safe with me.”


The door slammed shut. How can Dumbledore know? He can’t… he absolutely can’t… nobody can possibly know I cut those spyholes this spring. I imagined the entire thing. Yes. That must be it. Ginny decided that for her continued sanity, it would be best to decide that she had suffered a temporary attack by an Audersnatch, a miniscule bird which Luna had told her was very fond of flying into people’s ears and planting bizarre conversations that had never taken place.

“Whatever did he say to you?” Draco asked her.

“Uh… he just wanted to remind me that I should act in a pure, maidenly, innocent way that would, um, bring honor on the name of Weasley and all of Gryffindor House, even though I was spending the night in the most famous whorehouse in the entire wizarding world,” said Ginny. Shite! This is getting worse and worse. I wonder if I really was attacked by an Audersnatch! But in that case, I really did imagine it all. That simply has to be the case. My secret spying on soapy, sweaty, showering Slytherins is safe… well, only one showering Slytherin, actually…

Draco raised his eyebrows, but let the comment pass. Then he let a perfectly wicked smile spread over his face. Ginny answered it with her own. She began to giggle, and he began to snort, and within seconds, they were both rolling all over the heart-shaped bed, screaming with helpless laughter.

“Oh! Oh,” gasped Ginny. “What was your favorite one, Draco?”

“When I asked you if I could pet your pussy,” Draco answered promptly. “I knew the top of your brother’s head would come off when he heard that one.”

“I’m sure it did! Hermione probably had to fasten Ron’s head back on again…” Ginny laughed until she had to clutch her stomach and gasp hopelessly for breath before she could go on. “My, my favorite had to be when you said we could play ‘hide the salami’ all afternoon.”

Draco laughed harder than Ginny had ever imagined he could. “I’m glad we kept that one,” he finally managed to say. “I wanted to try ‘taking old one-eye to the optometrist’, but there really wasn’t any way to make it work.”

His face was right next to hers, and it looked so happy and alive, Ginny thought. She would never, never have believed that Draco Malfoy could look that way. He’d always looked so dreadfully unhappy when she watched him in the Slytherin changing rooms; she’d hardly been able to restrain herself from bursting into the door and taking him in her arms, although she was rather glad that she’d been able to restrain the usual insanely brave Weasley response in that case. He had sneered and scowled at her for days on end when they’d first been assigned as Potions partners, which had first made Ginny furious, and then made her plan hideous revenge involving Transfiguration spells, detrousering, and ferret cages, and then led to sad decisions that she’d just have to keep her appallingly strong attraction to Malfoy a deep, dark secret. Even when they’d found out that Ron was hatching his demented plot to have them followed all over school, even when they’d decided to come up with their own plan to fool him, yes, even when they’d found that list of sexual euphemisms and picked elaborate scenarios to act out for their favorites… she’d never imagined that Draco could look the way he did now.

“You’re so much more handsome when you laugh,” she said without thinking, and then wanted to bite her tongue off. Idiot!

“So you’re implying I’m not devilishly handsome all the time?” Draco asked impishly.

“I—no. I mean yes. I didn’t mean that. I mean—“ Ginny could feel that she was beginning to blush. For a Weasley, this was not a good thing, as it gave the distinct impression that her head had been dipped in red paint. “I mean that it’s been awfully fun to fool Ron this way.”

“Almost too easy, though,” said Draco. “A bit like shooting flobberworms in a barrel, isn’t it?”

Ginny’s brows drew together into one thick line.

“Sorry, sorry,” Draco said quickly.

“Ouch!” yelled Ginny.

“What? What happened? Did you hurt yourself?” Draco was instantly alert.

“No. I, uh…” Ginny bit her lip. “Look, I pinched myself, all right? I couldn’t really quite believe that a Malfoy had apologized to a Weasley for anything.”

“Ah,” said Draco. “I see. Yes, I didn’t realize.”

An awkward silence fell.

After a few minutes, the bed creaked as Draco got off it. Ginny fought down a feeling of disappointment that was clearly ridiculous. She cleared her throat. “I suppose we should both go and find where we’re supposed to sleep now,” she said.

“Yes, that’s what I thinking as well,” Draco said tonelessly. “Dumbledore said that we’d been provided rooms, didn’t he?”

“Uh…” Ginny tried to remember exactly what had been said. Something odd about a ‘Crystal Palace Welcome Basket’ that was going to appear shortly. Unless that had been part of the Audersnatch problem too… “I think so,” she said rather lamely.

“After you,” said Draco, opening the door.

Except that it didn’t open. The handle didn’t even turn. Draco shook it several times, and then took out his wand. His eyebrows shot up. “Ah… Weasley...”

Apparently they were back to last names now, Ginny thought drearily. “What is it?”

“We’re locked in. And we will be until morning.”

Ginny didn’t look at him. She took out her own wand and tried a few opening spells, none of which worked.

“It’s a rather powerful spell,” said Draco. “There’s nothing I can do about it. We’ll have to stay in this room.”

As if drawn by an irresistible force, both of them turned back to look at the bed at the same moment. The one bed. The one heart-shaped bed. The one heart-shaped, vibrating bed. Suddenly, Ginny was absolutely sure that she could hear her own heart beat. Draco was looking at her. She just knew he was. She could feel his gaze on her. She remembered what had happened as they studied Potions together, how he’d first begun to look at her, really look at her, or so she thought, how she’d convinced herself that he’d first begun to see her as something more than a Weasley. Sometimes she was sure she was right, and sometimes, particularly at about three in the morning, after one of her awful nightmares about Tom Riddle, she had the bone-deep conviction that she was simply wrong about Draco Malfoy. He was a cruel spoiled brat at best, and a twisted, amoral excuse for a human being at worst. She could never forget that he had knelt to Voldemort and taken the Dark Mark at sixteen, and that he had tried to get Death Eaters into the school and to kill all her friends only the year before. But then there was the way his face lit up sometimes when they were working together on an assignment, or the way they’d smiled and laughed together when they were plotting revenge against her brother… or the way they’d sat so close together, their heads bent only inches from each other, their hands touching, when they’d been reading over that list of euphemisms for sex.

“Weasley?” asked a voice. She looked up and saw Draco’s face only inches from hers, looking confused. Confused, and… beautiful. He’s beautiful, and his lips are so pink and so full, and they’re sort of half open, and he’s looking at me with those big gray eyes, and—and neither one of us can get that door open! And we’re stuck here until morning with a heart-shaped bed! And… and he smells like chocolate…or something… what is that?

Ginny leaned closer. Draco stepped back from her. A stab of despair darted through her chest. And suddenly, horribly, all the euphemisms they hadn’t used popped into her head.

Draco started poking around the room, looking dubiously at some very large and oddly shaped pillows. “Weasley, I don’t really know what we’re going to do for sleeping accommodations…”

A bit of the old in & out. The act of darkness. Adam and Eve it. All's well when ends meet. Oh, God, what’s that pillow for? I don’t want to know!

“You can have the bed, of course. I suppose I’ll just have to sleep on the floor…” Draco bent over to examine a pillow more closely. “Why is this thing square-shaped, I wonder?”

Ginny edged closer to him and gave a small squeak. He was leaning over in front of her. And Ron was right! His trousers really were altogether too tight in back. Dance the buttock jig… do the deed… dip the chip… eating the cream puff in the enchanted forest…

“There’s a very nice bathroom over here,” called Draco. She followed him as if pulled by a string. “Yes, Weasley, lots of towels, er… oh. A heart-shaped tub. Quite a theme around here…

Featherbed jig. Feed the kitty. Filling the cream doughnut.Fit end to end. Fit her clap flap.
Five knuckle shuffle. Oh, God, no more! Ginny began to whimper.

Draco started taking some blankets down from a shelf and arranging them on the floor. Ginny breathed a little easier. Just a little. He’s making up his bed on the floor. He’ll sleep there, I’ll sleep on the vibrating heart-shaped bed—stop it, Ginny! It only vibrates if you put a Knut in! All right, the decidedly non-vibrating heart-shaped bed, then. If I can just get through that bit, then everything will go smoothly. I won’t think about dancing the Funky Chicken, giving juice for jelly, or having a bit of sugar stick, and especially not hopping on the good foot and doing the bad thing!

Draco arranged a square-shaped pillow. Ginny fluffed the blankets on the bed. Thank all the gods! The hard part’s almost over… that long, long agonizingly hard part… um… scratch that. Anyway, it’s smooth sailing from here on out.

At that moment, a huge wicker basket appeared in a puff of smoke. Ginny had a sudden presentiment of doom. An exceptionally long moment of silence dragged by. Draco was staring at it without moving a muscle. He could clearly see it from his position on the floor, as she could not. Finally, she cleared her throat.

“That must be the official Crystal Palace welcome basket,” Ginny said brightly. “The one McGonagall was talking about.”

Draco said nothing.

“I’ll bet it has sweets and fruit or something,” said Ginny. “Maybe crackers too! A snack would be nice right now, don’t you think, Malfoy?”

More dead silence.

“Uh…. Malfoy?” Ginny knelt down on the floor beside him. “Are there any bananas in it?”

In answer, Draco held up a large purple dildo.

“Oh,” Ginny said weakly.

She had a very good view of the contents of the basket. It certainly was a wide and varied selection, she thought numbly. She’d heard the whispers in the Gryffindor girls’ common room about the Hogsmeade Floral Bouquet and Sex Shop. She knew what to expect. They certainly don’t leave anything out, she thought.

At last, Ginny felt she had to say something to break the silence. “I didn’t know there were so many shapes that latex could be formed into. Look at this… and this… and, uh, this… and I had no idea there were so many types of Vibrating charms… oops, I think I’ve turned this one on and I don’t really know how to turn it off and… oh dear…”

The buzzing latex item bounced enthusiastically across the floor towards Draco. Stone-faced, he picked it up, clicked the off switch, and stuffed it back in the basket.

“Uh… thank you, Malfoy. And I wonder what these are,” said Ginny, lifting a pair of items linked together by a chain. “I think Bill used something like these to clamp together two pieces of wood for a project he was working on once…”

Draco plucked it from her fingers and threw it across the room, glaring at her fiercely.

Ginny gulped. “And this… sort of feathery thing--- hmmm…” She waved it in the air. It tickled Draco’s nose. He snatched it out of her hand. Then he broke it over one knee and handed the pieces back to her without a word.

Ginny took a deep breath. Suddenly, horribly, she was close to tears. She jumped to her feet and ran to the door. Draco was behind her in a heartbeat, his hand on her shoulder, trying to turn her round, and oh God, even that sort of contact sent tingles all the way down her body and it shouldn’t, she knew it shouldn’t.

“What do you think you’re doing, Weasley?” he snarled.

“I, I, I’m finding a way out of this room,” she hiccupped.

“You can’t get out of here, and neither can I! Weren’t you listening to me? Didn’t you see me trying to unlock the door?”

“I’m getting out of here no matter what I have to do!” Ginny began hammering on the door with her fists. Draco grabbed her from behind.

“Stop it, you bloody idiot! Stop it right now, right this second, you can’t get out. Just come back and lie down and we’ll go to sleep. Can’t you just be quiet?”

Ginny whirled on him, her eyes blazing. “No! No, I can’t just be quiet, Malfoy, and I don’t want to lie down! Unless—“

“Unless what?” Draco demanded, his furious face inches from hers. “Unless we’re going to lose the match and pocket the stake?” An expression of horror spread over his face. “Wait—wait—I didn’t mean to say that—“

The floodgates finally came down. “No!” shrieked Ginny. “Unless you’re going to throw me onto that heart-shaped, vibrating bed and show me what every last one of those latex things is used for! And those clampy things too! And the bottles of Sizzling Sorceress Lubricant! And those odd inflatable items! And I’m quite sure the square pillows are somehow involved! Not unless you’re going to have sex with me, Malfoy, because I’ve had a bellyful of euphemisms, and I can’t stand one more! I never want to hear another as long as I live! Sex! That’s what I want! Sexy sexy sex! From you! Right here! Right now! I’ve petted enough unicorns to last me a lifetime, Malfoy, so you’d better drag me into that bed and deflower me this instant, or I’m going to empty that entire basket of quite heavy-looking sex toys over your head!”

Draco looked at her blankly.

Ginny’s shoulders drooped. “I’m going to sleep in the heart-shaped tub in the bathroom,” she whispered sadly, turning to leave. “Just give me one of the square pillows, if you don’t mind.”

“No, just wait a moment,” said Draco. “I’m in complete and utter shock.”

Ginny waited. “Are you over it yet?” she asked impatiently. “Look, I’d like to know one way or the other, Malfoy.”

“Fair enough,” he said. “Just one more minute.”

The seconds ticked by. Ginny looked at her watch.

“All right,” said Draco. “I’m ready now.”

“Good,” snapped Ginny, “because I think I’d rather like to run a bath— oh!” All the breath was slammed out of her as Draco shoved her against the wall and began kissing her with all his strength.

“The past three months of constant proximity to you,” groaned Draco, lick, lick, lick, “followed by a steady diet of sexual euphemisms,” sluuuuurp,, “ and combined with the general state of heterosexual seventeen-year-old boyhood,” passionate, searing, desperate, devouring snog!, “have all conspired to drive me mad. I’ve wanted nothing more than to fuck your brains out for a long time now, Ginny Weasley, in every position, combination, and setting imaginable. Now that I know that you’re ready, willing, and eager for sex with me, my biological drives have taken near-complete control of my mind. Everything seems to be going black. It’s a sexual emergency, Ginny…”

“I’d like to rescue you,” said Ginny. “How about if I offer you my naked body? Or, well, you’d tear my clothes off, and then I’d be naked.” A pause. “Draco?” she asked rather anxiously. “I don’t have a current certification in wizarding CPR, you know.” She nudged him with a foot. He sprang to life with alarming speed and scooped her up in his arms.

“Offer… accepted,” panted Draco. “I am now… going… to fuck you. We will start on the vibrating heart-shaped bed.” He dumped her on it. “Continuing said activities in a heart-shaped tub sounds like an excellent idea, which we will explore at a somewhat later hour of the night, as well as locations such as up against walls, on the floor, and hanging from chandeliers. I’m going to make you scream for me, Ginny. I’m going to learn about every inch of that luscious sensual little body of yours, I’m going to stimulate every nerve… And I’m going to introduce you to the contents of that basket, slowly and thoroughly, except for certain latex items that I can assure you will be very redundant.”

“I know,” breathed Ginny, her hands moving up to the collar of his shirt. She had forgotten how to get buttons through buttonholes, she realized, so she began to simply rip it off. “I’ve been watching you in the Slytherin boys’ Quidditch changing rooms all spring.”

“Have you,” purred Draco. “Then you know how large my equipment really is, Ginny…”

“I do.” She smirked at him. “You have the biggest broom in Slytherin, Draco. But after watching you, I know the truth.”

“And what’s that?” asked Draco.

“It’s nothing compared to your penis,” she said. She gave a contented sigh and ran her hands over his smooth, muscled chest, feeling him shiver as she flicked at his flat male nipples with her fingernails. “We’ve run out of euphemisms at last, and you know, I’m so glad. Because now I can just tell you that you’ve got the most beautiful cock, Draco.”

“I do, don’t I?” he said, leaning down to kiss her. “So let’s take each other’s clothes off, then enjoy some long, slow, astonishing foreplay, and I’ll give you so many orgasms that you’ll lose count and so will I and we’ll have to start all over again… and then how about if I fuck you with it all night long?”

Ginny started to give enthusiastic assent, but Draco started kissing her again and then deftly tearing off her blouse in strips, and she gave the effort up for lost. That’s the best idea I’ve ever heard, she thought contentedly. Sex, sex, and more sex…

“Yes, I quite agree,” murmured Draco, kissing his way down her neck. “Why does anybody think they need to make up euphemisms for it, anyway?”

+++

Four o’clock the next morning…

Albus Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall stood in the corridor of the Crystal Palace, surveying the locked bedroom door.

“Ah, young love,” Dumbledore said, his eyes growing misty. “So very sweet, isn’t it?”

“I quite agree,” said McGonagall. “It’s really preferable to our other plan.”

Dumbledore nodded. “Of course, that would have been effective as well.”

“Dressing Miss Weasley in nothing but green lace lingerie and then chaining her to Mr. Malfoy’s bed in the Slytherin dungeons certainly would have proved quite effective,” McGonagall agreed. “A light sedative would have been most useful to facilitate the matter.”

“And yet, not as touching and tender as young love,” said Dumbledore.

McGonagall smiled at him. “Albus, I do believe that you are a romantic at heart.”

“Ah, yes,” he said, pressing his ear to the door. “Unfortunately, I can’t hear a thing. I wonder if the matter has been, er, consummated as of yet? It’s nearly dawn, so one would think…

“According to the rumors circulating in the Slytherin dungeons concerning Mr. Malfoy, it’s been consummated several times, and quite successfully too,” said McGonagall dryly. “He’s put a Silencing charm on the door.”

“Such a clever boy,” said Dumbledore, beaming. “Far too clever for him to be allowed to fall into Voldemort’s clutches.”

“But Albus, do you really believe our plan will work?” McGonagall asked, a frown creasing her forehead.”Voldemort will attack the school at the end of term. We both know this. He will try to lure Draco Malfoy back to his side with promises of power.”

Dumbledore patted her hand. “Now, now, Minerva, don’t fret. He is a seventeen-year-old boy, and after all, Voldemort can only offer him dominion over the entire wizarding world. Ginny Weasley, however, can offer him endless hours of hot sex. That is, after all, ‘the power which the Dark Lord knows not.’”

“How right you are, as always, Albus!” Minerva said coquettishly, peeking at him from under her lashes. “And since we know that our vigilance is no longer required… would you care to play a game or two of pickle-me, tickle-me? Or perhaps twenty-toes, or tiddlywinks?”

“Why, yes, Minerva, I would,” said Dumbledore, leading her down the hall to an unused bedroom. “I simply adore those games, as you know. And then after playing them, perhaps we could spend the rest of the morning in mutually enjoyable fucking.” He smiled fondly at her. “I do so enjoy playing a spot of cricket for both teams, don’t you?”

“Thoroughly,” agreed McGonagall. “Also, there’s nothing like having plenty of sex with both men and women, Albus. I’m a firm believer in bisexuality as well! Just ask Madam Hooch.”

Ron sat bolt upright in bed. “Hermione!” he whimpered.

She stirred at his side, yawning, running her hand along his back and arms. Mmm. Who knew that Ron Weasley’s biggest Beater’s bat isn’t the one he uses on the Quidditch pitch? “What is it, Ron?” she whispered.

He stared into the darkness, eyes full of horror. “I just overheard something bloody awful. It was horrifying. Dumbledore was talking about my sister and Malfoy and hot sex and Voldemort, and then McGonagall said something about pickle-me, tickle-me. And twenty-toes! And tiddly-winks! Oh, Hermione—hold me, you’ve got to—“

“Shh, sh,” said Hermione soothingly. “It was only a dream, Ron. Shh, it’s all right… But she shuddered, because she knew that it hadn’t been. The door of their room had been open just a crack, and she’d not only heard Dumbledore and McGonagall, but also seen them. But there were some things in this world, Hermione decided, that a girl just had to keep to herself.

“Do you want to go back to sleep, Ron?” she asked gently.

“No,” murmured Ron, grabbing her hand and guiding it to a location that caused Hermione’s eyebrows to shoot up. After that last session, she’d rather expected Ron to need several days of recovery time, at least. Apparently not…

“I want to shag some more, Hermione. I think I’d like to just keep shagging you for about a month… maybe we could just stay here… Anything new you’d like to try? Any ideas? Hermione, I just want to fuck you until we both come so many times that we melt into quivering puddles of ecstasy. Not sure where that phrase came from, but I rather like it… I have some ideas about how to do it. I was wondering if you had some as well. Do you? Will you share them with me? ”

“Well,” whispered Hermione, a smile quirking up her lips, “Idid spend a great deal of time in the Restricted Section studying Dr. Popperworth’s Agonizingly Detailed Dictionary of Sexual Positions this spring, Ron. I could tell you about some of them… or maybe show you…”

“Show and tell sounds good,” said Ron with a smirk worthy of Draco Malfoy. And even as show and tell began, Hermione couldn’t help having a fleeting thought. I wonder if this sort of enthusiasm and experimentation is a Weasley trait? Er… could it be that Ginny has it as well? And is it possible that Malfoy’s finding out about it right now?

If so, decided Hermione, that she rather hoped for Draco Malfoy’s sake that his stamina was close to superhuman. But… it wasn’t really necessary to share her theories with Ron, now was it? A smile quirked up the corners of her lips. Oh, yes! There are things that a girl needs to keep to herself.

“Ron,” she managed to gasp. “Let’s try Position #678.9. Unless… can boys really bend that way?”

“Don’t know until I try,” said Ron, with a perfectly devilish glint in his eye.

Except for things like that, decided Hermione.

And since Draco was thinking more or less the same thing as Hermione was at that moment, except that bubble bath, Ginny Weasley, and rubber duckies of various sizes were involved, everything worked out for the best. (Oh, really now! The rubber duckies were floating innocently in the bathtub while Draco and Ginny proceeded to… well, this fic’s rated R, so we’ll just stop there.) Anyway, it can honestly be said that all’s well that ends well. Evil was later defeated, good ultimately triumphed, and Voldemort slunk away at the end of term after a failed attempt at enticing Draco back to the powers of nastiness, gnashing his teeth and hissing, “Curses! Foiled by a nubile Gryffindor sex kitten again! How can the Dark Side ever hope to compete with the fleshy allure of parking one’s pink Plymouth in the garage of love? Not to mention all that lengthy hard-core fucking Ginny offers him in the backseat on a regular basis. Oh, well… back to the drawing board, I suppose. Maybe Sauron is hiring. At least in Middle-Earth, nobody ever seems to have sex.”

Let’s see… what other loose ends might there be to tie up? Well, Harry burst in upon the scene just in time to fail to save the day, heroically proclaiming “Ginny! I’ll rescue you from the clutches of evil!” in best hero-ish hero-y fashion, brandishing his wand, spear, sword, staff, magic helmet, and various other phallic symbols meant to supplement personal inadequacies. Ginny, however, was more than happy to be in the clutches of—well, not quite evil, perhaps, but Draco did have a little devil’s outfit that he was very fond of teasing her with sometimes. When Harry made his far-from-welcome appearance, she was both highly unimpressed and quite busy in Position #9878.pi, which involved handcuffs, twisting one leg round a chandelier, and whistling Dixie whilst Draco fucked her senseless and fed her Death by Chocolate cake with a spoon. Harry laid eyes on Draco’s impressive equipment and immediately suffered the most devastating ego loss in history, which was made immeasurably worse at the sight of the magnificent Malfoy penis (really, as if the sight of Draco’s broom propped up against the wall wasn’t bad enough…)

“Oh, Bob… Rob… Rick… Ralph… whatsisname….,” whimpered Harry, staggering down the corridor. “And the other one… whosis… oh, the one with the tits… My dearest, oldest friends! I need them so much!” He burst into Ron’s room, arms outstretched. “Comfort me!” he whined.

Unfortunately, Ron and Hermione were currently engaged in Position # 876.985, otherwise known as “riding the disco stick.” This gave Harry the maximum opportunity for unbelievably unflattering comparisons to his own, shall we say, “disco stick.” This was really quite unfortunate, seeing as how it drove him to run all the way to Hogsmeade, screeching incoherently about “burping the worm in the mole hole”, “doing some ladies' tailoring”, and “crashing the custard truck”. Harry ran out into the main street, still screeching, which precipitated a crash with an actual custard truck. He was then taken away to the psychiatric ward at St. Mungo’s, which was probably best for all concerned.

“Oh, come on, Draco,” said Ginny in the other room, as he slowly painted her naked breasts with melted dark chocolate. “I really feel like I should do something to help Harry… oh!! You’re making it awfully hard for me to think.” He swirled his tongue around one of her nipples in a leisurely way.

“All right, all right. Since you ask so nicely. But I may have to make you beg a little harder later on to make up for it, Ginny…” He cocked an eyebrow at her. Then he dipped his finger in the chocolate again and slowly traced a trail down between her breasts, following it with his tongue. Ginny shivered, shook, moaned, grabbed onto Draco’s hair, clamped her thighs around his hips and started wriggling the samba, and forgot all about Harry.

But Draco didn’t. After they had eaten all the melted chocolate in various creative ways and sponged each other off in the bathtub, and Ginny was taking a short nap, he sent the ghost librarian at Malfoy Manor a note.

Dear Ziggy—Do you think you could provide a bit of help for Harry Potter? Yes, yes, I know this is asking a lot, and I’m quite certain he’s going to be the most hopeless case you’ve ever seen in your entire career, but perhaps some friends and colleagues would be willing to lend a hand as well. My girlfriend feels sorry for him, you see, and I really need to secure my continued access to a supply of amazingly hot sex. You know what you’ve always said about the id. Also… well… I’m beginning to think… only beginning, mind you… that it’s within the realm of possibility that I may be... well,I don't even want to hint at it quite yet. Don’t tell anyone I let a hinty hint drop; it’s strictly against the Malfoy code, as you know. Promise me you’ll carry the slightest clue to the grave!! Bit late for that, I suppose, but you know what I mean. Anyway… do try to help me out with Harry Potter, all right? Must dash. Ginny’s waking up and she’s got that look in her eye, and that feathery tickly thing in her hand. –D.

The ghost of Sigmund Freud read the note, shook his head, and thought glumly that founding modern psychiatry had been a walk in a Viennese park next to trying to help Harry Potter with his problems. “Ach, but what a pain in the tuchus this will be!” he sighed. A delayed postscript appeared on Draco’s note. P.S.: If the Harry Potter project seems a bit much to take on, maybe Carl Jung would be willing to try. Freud’s eyebrows rose as he chomped ominously on the end of his cigar. “That scheisskopf Jung is not getting one over on me! Him and his archetypes…”

In the end, the largest gathering in history of psychiatrists, psychologists, social workers, counselors, life coaches, personal trainers, pet therapists, snake handlers, and reiki practitioners, living and/or dead, worked together on the ultimately fruitless attempt to improve Harry Potter’s mental health in any way. (Pet therapy was a particular failure. The cats all bit Harry on the first day, and the gerbils committed mass suicide.) After a year of intensive daily therapy with no results, Colin Creevey sneaked into the back ward of St. Mungo’s on a hippogriff for a friendly visit. Nobody ever knew exactly what happened that night, but in the morning, Harry’s room was empty. Nothing was left behind except for several photographs so scandalous that they were immediately locked in a top secret high-security vault at the Ministry of Magic. However, rumor has it that Colin, Harry, and Butch (the hippogriff) are currently all quite happy and living in a straw hut on one of the more remote South Sea islands.

The only odd thing about it all was that the Excessively Extensive List of Salaciously Sexual Euphemisms originally used by Draco and Ginny mysteriously disappeared from the Hogwarts library and was never seen again. There are rumors, of course, that it ended up taped to the wall of the ‘Top-Secret Gryffindor Male Homosexuality Subtext Gymnasium and Leather Bar’. However, all questions as to its whereabouts are always met with extremely innocent looks from Justin Finch-Fletchley, so really, dear reader, that’s simply the end of the story.
== the end===

=== epilogue===
“Wait! Wait! Wait!” panted Nick, running frantically alongside the final chapter and jumping in the air repeatedly in an attempt to catch it. However, it picked up steam, pulling smoothly out of the station, and his efforts were in vain. Ginny popped her head out of a window and stuck her tongue out at him.

“Missed!! Haha!” she jeered. “And no, I’m not letting you on, Nick, so don’t ask.”

“But I’ve been chasing you for four chapters now,” he pleaded.

“I don’t care. This fic has a simple plot and we’re keeping it that way, which means that you’re not allowed anywhere near it.”

“But, but you can’t. I was going to send you on a convoluted journey through the steppes of Outer Mongolia on the back of a yak after Draco, who was in a desperate race against time to find the lost kumiss recipe of Genghis Khan, except that then you were kidnapped by the eighteenth cousin of Deepak Chopra, who forced you to attain enlightenment with the direct descendant of Amida Buddha, who was running a snack bar called Custard’s Last Stand in Rosebud, South Dakota--“ Nick ran faster.

Ginny’s eyebrows drew together into one straight, furious line. “Nick, if you ever even try to get me stuck in the fic you just described or anything remotely like it, being cast out of heaven by the angels into the depths of the eternal lake of fire will be a pleasant stroll in the Mall of America compared to what I’ll do when I get my hands on you.“

“That’s it!” exclaimed Nick, clapping his hands together. “You and Draco in the Mall of America! With that sixty-foot Spongebob Squarepants statue! Wearing giant cheese hats! Sipping blue raspberry slurpees! Tragically separated by evil techobots who turn Draco into a mutant Transformer! I can see it all now.”

“Oooh—“ Ginny began furiously.

Since Draco pulled her back into the chapter at that precise moment, purring, “Where’s my naughty little kitten with a whip?” and dangling a pint of chocolate ice cream on a chain, that was the end of the conversation, which was undoubtedly—at least from the point of view of Draco, Ginny, and continued hot, steamy, scorching, sweaty, and very, very sticky sex—a Mighty Good Thing.

“Damn,” said Nick, watching the chapter disappear over the horizon. “This fic was supposed to be… let’s see…well, according to my original evil plan, anyway… Delirium, be a doll and give me that, would you?” He rummaged in a tote bag, throwing out several squeaky cartoon chess pieces that bounced on the floors and chased each other around in circles, a very distracted-looking white rabbit, and a yellowed parchment scroll.
“There’s that manuscript that has the secrets of the vampire ancestor, they’re looking for it in the other fic, and it’s a matter of life, death, and the fate of millions…” muttered Nick. “Well, it’s just their hard luck that it showed up in this one, I’m afraid.” He stuffed it back into the bag and yanked the rabbit up by the ears. “But I’m late, I’m late, for a very important date!” it said anxiously, pressing its paws together. Unmoved, Nick tossed it the rabbit after the scroll and pulled out a staggeringly huge book, which fell on the floor with a tremendous thud. “This fic was supposed to be 4,398,879.8 chapters long,” he sighed. “Oh, if I could have just caught Draco and Ginny in time!”

“Cheer up,” Delirium said consolingly, skipping at his side. “I’ll bet we’ll get them next time. Here. Have a balloon.” She picked one from a large bunch she was carrying between two fingers and gave it to Nick. He looked dubiously up at it. The Mad Hatter and the March Hare were cackling wildly as they chased Alice around a tea table, both throwing handfuls of gold stars everywhere.

“Oh, Delirium, why did they do it?” moaned Nick. “Why?”

“I can never figure out why anybody does anything,” said Delirium. “Sometimes I do try to think about it…” She tried, frowning hard. Each of her mismatched blue and green eyes swirled in a different direction, and the fish swimming around her red-gold hair swished their tails nervously. In psychiatric hospitals around the world, patients suddenly looked blank or began mumbling to themselves again, and their doctors sighed, and wondered why yet another medication had stopped working. Damn Glaxo-Smith-Kline! Still, they do keep giving me all those free pens and post-it notes.

“It’s just too difficult,” Delirium finally said. “I’d rather think about things like new flavors of ice cream. Chocolate telephone might be nice.” She jumped neatly over a puddle of mermaid’s tears and kept walking next to Nick. “Oh, I almost forgot! Here’s a note. Draco gave it to me.” She handed it to him.

Dear Nick—Dreadfully sorry about leaving you behind, but it was necessary, as I’m sure you can see. I always appreciate the fics with the insanely intricate plots, you know. I do hope you realize it. There’s a bit of a problem with them, though. They do get to be rather long, and because so much space does need to be taken up by the plot and related trimmings, there’s only so much left over for me to have endless hours of pantingly hot sex with Ginny. I’m a seventeen-year-old boy—what do you want? Also, well… I’m beginning to suspect that I can be fairly certain that it’s possible to believe that I may be able to theorize that I think… I love her. I know, I know; ten thousand generations of Malfoy ancestors are revolving in their graves like Rock Cornish Game Hens on rotisserie spits. But if I can’t tell the Prince of Darkness about it, really, who can I tell? Anyway, must dash—Ginny’s got that look in her eye and those nipple clamps in her hand, and she’s coming for me! Ciao, D.

Nick crumpled up the note in his hand and sighed. “That little devil! So to speak. All right, Delirium. I guess it’s just you and me.” And so they skipped off into the sunset, splashing through puddles, hand in hand, singing "Oo-De-Lally, Oo-De-Lally, Golly, What a Day", from Disney’s Robin Hood.

Well… what can I say? At least this fic managed to end on a G-rated note.

== really, truly, absolutely and finally, THE END!!!===

Here's the link to a video of "Oo-De-Lally: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wyfYcE8g59Y

Some of Draco and Ginny’s conversation on the heart-shaped bed really is adapted from this: http://www.folklore.ms/html/books_and_MSS/1870s/1879-1880_the_pearl_journal/issue_12_-_june_1880/index.htm
The next time somebody starts talking about how TERRIBLE porn is these days, and it’s ALL the internet’s fault, and there was NO SUCH THING back in the good old days… nothing has ever surpassed The Pearl for sheer NC-17-ness, in the opinions of many, and it was written over 100 years ago. There has never been NC-17 writing that’s measured up to what the Victorians churned out in either quantity or quality (which doesn’t necessarily mean a lot of it was good, but they did believe in the details!)
Here’s that list of euphemisms: http://www.starma.com/penis/richardkitty/richardkitty.html


A/N: If you’re wondering where the normal NC-17 content is… because it’s been a looooong time since I wrote anything that wasn’t NC-17… well… (Anise opens a package of triple chocolate cookies with chocolate chips and chocolate frosting. There’s chocolate sauce to dip them in, too. Mm.) I think there might be an NC-17 D/G cookie coming up from this fic at some point after MoM is all done. It’s possible. What do y’all think?

And look at what category this fic is in now! COMPLETED!! MWAH HAHAHAH!! Oops... they're just about to catch up to me with that straightjacket. Bye now! (Anise takes off running.)

Thursday, January 28, 2010

3rd Installment of R-rated Fanficcy Goodness

+++

“That was such a lovely lunch,” said Ginny.

“Yes, sausage pizza’s my favorite these days,” said Draco. “It’s such a Muggle thing… it never even crossed my mind that I could learn to care for it. But then, so much has changed, hasn’t it?”

“Yes,” said Ginny in a softer voice. “It has, hasn’t it, Malfoy?”

“More tea, Weasley?”

“I suppose.”

There was a pouring sound, a long silence, and some unidentifiable rustling noises that made Hermione feel rather nervous.

“You could sit a bit closer to me,” said Draco softly. “If you wanted to, that is. This sofa is rather small.”

“All right,” said Ginny.

“Weasley, I was wondering about something…”

“Yes?”

“I don’t like to ask.” Draco’s voice sounded oddly shy.

“Well, you can’t know if you’ll get an answer until you try,” said Ginny.

“I was wondering about a bit of ‘how’s your father’?”

“Ooh!” Ron started up, but Hermione glared at him fiercely and stabbed at the screen. Draco and Ginny flickered into view. They were sitting in a small, cozy teahouse in Hogsmeade, and Hermione recognized it immediately with a slightly nervous feeling. It was called Madame Recherche’s Rendevous Parlour, and it was located right behind the infamous Crystal Palace, the oldest continuously operating brothel in the entire wizarding world. Not that she’d ever been in it, of course, but she’d read A Sinfully Detailed Sexual History of Great Britain, and she’d seen the pictures… thank goodness that Ron wouldn’t recognize it, at least. It did look rather cozy; she had to admit that. Rain was streaming steadily down the windows, and a fire burned brightly in a snug little fireplace.

“Dad’s fine,” whispered Ginny. “But… how’s your father, Draco?”

A bitter half-smile turned up the left side of his mouth. “Why on earth would you ask me a question like that, Weasley?”

She shrugged. “Maybe I really want to know.”

“He’s still in Azkaban,” Draco said bitterly. “And I’m sure he’s happy about that, because otherwise he’d have to face not only Voldemort’s wrath, but also my mother’s. Not sure which one is worse, really.”

She smiled slightly. “I can understand Voldemort, but why your mother, Malfoy?”

Draco looked away from her. “Because… because if it hadn’t been for my father’s great expectations for me, I never would have become a Death Eater, and she knows it. Wherever she is.”

“You don’t know where she is?”

He shook his head. “I don’t even know if she’s alive or dead, actually.”

“Oh,” Ginny said awkwardly.

“So, Weasley.” Draco took a deep breath and smoothed his face into a cynical mask. “I’m afraid that’s one bit of information that you won’t be able to share with your brother, or pass along to Potter. I don’t even know where my mother’s hiding.”

“You know I wouldn’t tell anyone else anything that you told me, Malfoy,” Ginny said angrily. “And I haven’t heard a bloody thing from Harry anyway since he set out on the stupid quest last autumn.”

“I, uh…” Draco cleared his throat. “I didn’t know that.”

“Well, it’s true,” said Ginny huffily. “And if that’s all you’ve got to say, then we might as well cut this study session short!” She began to get up.

“No,” Draco said quietly. “No, wait—I’m sorry… Ginny.” He put a hand on her arm to keep her from going, and he looked up at her. She looked back down at him. The scene winked out.

“Er… Ron?” Hermione asked worriedly. He was altogether too quiet.

“Yes?” he replied pleasantly.

She glanced around cautiously. Cyanara Slanderpool was nowhere to be seen, but if Ron had carried through on his threat to murder all members of Slytherin House, surely there’d have to be some blood, wouldn’t there? A note lay on the top of the table. Granger—Thanks for the essay. Let me know if you need any more spy services, all right? – C.S. P.S.: BTW, if you ever decide you’ve had enough of glowering, gorgeous, and ginger-haired, you might throw your Gryff my way. I rather like the snarling bad-boy type, you know.

“Oooh!” Hermione crumpled up the note. “That slutty Slytherin skank! Of course, she doesn’t know just how pointless her attempts really are…” Her voice trailed off as she thought sadly of how six years spent with Ron Weasley were clearly going to culminate in a sobbing midnight confession on his part, leading to a dear friend, shopping partner, and hairstyle consultant. But a shagging partner… not so much.

“You shouldn’t upset yourself that way, Hermione,” Ron said peacefully.

“I, uh… shouldn’t?” asked Hermione, glancing around the room quickly for possible exits.

“No, you shouldn’t. And I’ve decided that I won’t, either. You see, I’ve decided that there’s only one thing to do,” Ron said tranquilly.

“Err… you did? And what might that be? Oh!” Hermione jumped as a sudden, awful rumbling noise followed by a flash of light, before rather sheepishly realizing that it was only the storm beginning in earnest.

“I’m going to hunt down Draco Malfoy myself, and I’m going to get proof of what he’s doing to my sister, because I obviously can’t trust anyone else to do it,” Ron said meditatively. “Then I’m going to tear him into little, tiny, itty, bitty, teentsy, weentsy, blood-soaked shreds with my bare hands.”

“You’re… uh… oh. How very interesting,” said Hermione, frantically making hand signals at the attack dogs in the painting on the opposite wall. However, they all simply continued to ignore her in favor of a rather vigorous group balls-licking session.

“It’s going to be interesting, all right. But I haven’t told you the best part yet, Hermione.” Ron smiled beatifically. “You’re coming with me!”

Hermione sighed, and went to look for her umbrella.

“Just give me a sec,” Ron called after her. “I need to owl Justin Finch-Fletchley and let him know that I won’t be able to wrestle sweaty boys with him tonight in the ‘Top-Secret Gryffindor Male Homosexuality Subtext Gymnasium and Leather Bar’. He’s said it’s somewhere in the basement, but I’ve never seen that room, have you, Hermione?”

“No, I haven’t, Ron,” Hermione said sadly. “But I’m sure it won’t be hard to find later on.”

Two hours later, Hermione was wedged into a tiny, pitch-black closet at the Crystal Palace in Hogsmeade with cold water dripping down her back, wondering how exactly she always seemed to manage to get herself into these perfectly mad situations. The expanded Marauder’s Map had shown exactly where Draco and Ginny were headed. That certainly had a lot to do with it. She was beginning to feel rather curious herself about just how there could possibly be an innocent explanation for the way that Ron’s little sister had ended up in a bedroom with Draco Malfoy in the most notorious whorehouse in the entire wizarding world, no doubt about that. But more than anything, she was there for Ron’s sake, and she knew it. Hermione sighed.

She felt obliged to keep Ron from serving a lifelong stint in Azkaban for the premeditated murder of Draco Malfoy if there was any way of avoiding it. It was only because they’d been friends for so long, of course. Ever since Harry had left Hogwarts on the quest to find Voldemort last autumn, nobly refusing to plunge either of them into doom with him in his noblest nobilityness-filled way, she and Ron had grown…closer. They’d studied together. They’d spent many late nights playing chess and talking in the Gryffindor common room. When he fell asleep around three in the morning, Hermione always cuddled with him on the sofa and stroked his hair, and he held her and murmured something that sounded suspiciously about bodacious totties, although Ron never seemed to remember anything about it in the mornings. Of course, she was always sure that she had simply imagined it, since Ron was clearly as bent as a used paper clip, as she was also sure that she would shortly find out when he finally got round to the dramatic revelation scene. That was all. It had absolutely nothing to do with the way she’d noticed long ago that he really had a very nice arse. Sort of round and tight and compact, and it filled out his trousers so nicely… But there was no point in her noticing it, she thought sadly. Ron’s arse might as well have ‘Property of Justin Finch-Fletchley’ written on it in pink Magic Marker, after all. It simply seemed downright cruel that she was currently pressed right Ron’s lovely, lovely arse, because that closet was so dreadfully small…

A set of light footsteps walked into the room, followed by a set of heavier but very graceful ones. “This must be the right room, Ginny,” said Draco.

“Yes, Draco, it is,” Ginny. “I mean, they are here, after all.”

“See? They’re calling each other by name!” hissed Ron. “Oh, let me at him, let me at him, just let me get one good punch in, I’ll catapult him all the way back to Hogwarts with one right cross, Hermione—“

“Ron, shh!” Hermione whispered reprovingly. “You know we can’t get out of this closet for ten more minutes. I don’t know why it would be on a Timer charm, but it is. So why don’t you just try to calm down?”

“Because Malfoy’s about to brazenly seduce my sister with his wicked Slytherin wiles, that’s why!”

Hermione had no reply to that statement. In truth, she was starting to wonder herself if Ron might be assessing the situation correctly after all.

A pause.

“Oh!” said Ginny. “I love this bed, don’t you? It’s heart-shaped, how sweet! And look, it rotates… do you have a Knut?” A buzzing noise began. “Now it’s vibrating. Tee hee!”

Hermione took one look at Ron’s face and simply cast a Silencing charm on him without further comment. There were times when decisive action was clearly necessary.

“So it is, Ginny,” said Draco. “So it is. Here, why don’t you sit down? I think you’ll be more comfortable.”

For several minutes, only some very ambiguous rustling sounds could be heard. Hermione began to bite her lip.

“Mmmm,” said Draco. “I think we’re ready to start, don’t you?”

“Yes,” said Ginny. “I do. Why don’t you go first?”

“Ginny,” said Draco in a low, intimate voice, “wouldn’t you like to exhibit your voluptuous charms to my ardent gaze?”

Ginny giggled. “My maidenly modesty forbids any such display, Draco,” she said shyly.

“Oh, I quite, quite understand,” said Draco, “and your natural timidity does you credit, Ginny. But only imagine the mutual pleasures we might enjoy…”

“Oh… well… if you’re sure that you’d promise to never, never breathe a word to anyone that I let my girlish defenses slip to such a shocking extent…”

“I shall be as silent as the grave,” said Draco.

More rustling noises. Ron made an awful strangled mmmphing noise. Hermione distractedly redoubled the strength of the Silencing spell.

“Ahhh,” said Draco. “Dear Ginny! Sweet Ginny! Your pure, virginal beauty has enthralled me! I shall draw you to my bosom and commence my titillations forthwith! Allow me to show you the ecstatic joys of which women can only procure the full enjoyment when in the arms of a man!”

“Well… when you put it that way, it does sound rather tempting…” said Ginny thoughtfully.

“You’re improvising, aren’t you?” Draco asked slyly.

“Shut up and turn to page three hundred and eighty-three,” said Ginny. A pause, and more rustling still.

“May I gaze on the deep carnation of your luscious love-niche?” he asked.

“Feel free to gaze,” she sighed.

“I want to toy with the pearl of your womanhood,” said Draco.

“Oh, yes, Draco yes! Toy with me,” moaned Ginny.

“I want to insert my finger into your cream jug,” said Draco.

“Oh, yes, Draco! Insert it!” moaned Ginny.

“I want to thunder at the portals of your innocence,” said Draco.

A crack of lightning split the air at that exact moment, followed by a tremendous peal of thunder.

“Well, that was impressive,” said Ginny. “Er… yes, yes. Feel free to thunder, Draco.”

“Are your modesty and virtue entirely conquered?” Draco purred.

“Pretty much,” she said.

“Then brace yourself, Ginny, because I’m coming aboard!” he chirped.

HA!” roared Ron, bursting out of the closet. “The timer’s UP! Prepare to DIE HORRIBLY, Malfoy, because I’m going to KILL you for the utterly loathsome and lustful things you’ve DONE to my SISTER!”

“I beg your pardon?” Draco asked politely, looking up from the book he was holding.

Ron stopped short, staring at the scene. Draco and Ginny were sitting primly next to each other on the heart-shaped bed, separated by several feet. Each was reading from a copy of a large book entitled The Pearl, Journal of FacetiƦ and Voluptuous Reading, No. 12.

Ginny wore severely cut robes buttoned up to her chin and down to her wrists, and her hair was scraped away from her face into a tight bun. And… Ron gulped… Minerva McGonagall was seated in a chair right next to the bed. She lowered her reading glasses and gave Ron a stern look.

“Mr. Weasley, I assume that you have a good explanation for this… intrusion?”

“I… uh… um…” stuttered Ron, twisting his hands together.

“We are attempting to evaluate materials for next term’s sexual education classes, before we were so rudely interrupted,” she said icily. She turned back to Ginny and Draco. “Miss Weasley, Mr. Malfoy—I do feel that The Pearl is perhaps just the slightest bit inappropriate, although your dramatic interpretation is much appreciated. Perhaps we’d best move on to The Kinsey Report. Don’t you agree, Albus?”

“Minerva, I believe that you are, as always, correct,” said Albus Dumbledore, who was seated in another chair just across from her. He lowered his half-moon shaped eyeglasses and smiled at Ron, his eyes twinkling. “Quite educational though, isn’t it?”

“Uh…. Um… yeah… I guess…” Ron began backing out of the room.

“I should advise, Mr. Weasley,” Miss McGonagall said sharply, “that you do not allow the door to strike your posteriortoo forcefully on your way out of the room. And Miss Granger, I expect you to see that he behaves himself for the next few hours!”

“The, uh… the next few hours?” asked Hermione.

“Oh, I wouldn’t advise a return to Hogwarts just now,” said Dumbledore placidly. “Not at all. It would simply be too dangerous, considering the severity of the storm. We’ve received permission from Miss Prudence Temperata, the owner of this delightful establishment, to lodge ourselves comfortably until the weather has improved, which is not expected to occur until much later in the evening. It may be necessary to remain until morning.”

Hermione’s heart stopped. Dumbledore had definitely said remain until morning. She’d heard the words come out of the Headmaster’s mouth. She was going to have to remain within the walls of the most notorious brothel in the wizarding until morning. With Ron Weasley, who was currently backing out of the room… very slowly… in front of her.

“A very pleasant room has been prepared for the two of you, Miss Granger,” said McGonagall. “Goodbye.”

It was a rather clear invitation to leave, though Hermione. She gulped and starting dragging Ron by the shoulder. She really ought to have turned him round, she supposed, but it seemed so difficult, somehow, to keep her eyes off Ron’s backside when it was displayed to her so prominently.

Dumbledore patted her hand good-naturedly. “Yes, it is rather a nice arse, isn’t it?” he whispered conspiratorially. “Mr. Weasley’s tushie rather reminds me of Gilbert Grindelwald in his prime, actually.”

You’re more right than you know, thought Hermione, although she decided that for the sake of her continued sanity, it would be necessary for her to decide that she had suffered a temporary attack of auditory hallucinations, and to just keep right on dragging Ron out of the room. He gave Ginny a confused look as they backed out of the door. She was still sitting sedately next to Draco on the heart-shaped bed, and her face was innocent and serene as a vestal virgin ready to stoke up the flames in a Roman temple. Draco smiled back at Ron as innocently as a prepubescent soprano in the Mormon Tabernacle Choir, and Ron allowed Hermione to close the door, a befuddled look on his face.

“I’m a little confused,” muttered Ron as they began walking down the hall.

The corridor turned suddenly to the right, and they were confronted with a dead-end and a single door. Ron stared at it blankly. ““I mean, I just never seem to know what’s going on these days…”

Hermione raised her eyebrows. A large, floridly red heart covered the entire surface of the door, ‘Ron and Hermione’s Potential Torrid Love Nest’ emblazoned upon it in blinking silvery neon. She wished it would go away.

“What are we supposed to do now? That’s what I’d like to know,” mumbled Ron. “I just wish that some sort of sign would appear…”

Several cherubs popped out of thin air and swirled around Ron’s head, each scattering confetti and playing Kiss Me, Thrill Me, Love Me in perfect three-part harmony. You’re wasting your time, Hermione thought glumly.

Ron swatted at them irritably. “I never get the slightest clue…” he sighed.


Two of the cherubs winked out of existence. The third shrilled angrily in Ron’s ear. He smashed it absent-mindedly against a wall. “Can’t imagine how all these mosquitos got in here… anyway, Hermione, the truth finally dawned on me! Obsessing over my sister and Malfoy was only a symptom of my problems, especially because it turned out that they were always only talking about cherry pies and broomsticks and salamis anyway.”

“What are you talking about?” Hermione asked dully. Here it comes! The penultimate moment before Ron’s bum-boy confession of doom. I do hope he doesn’t tell me any florid details; that’s all I ask, really.

“I’m talking about all the frustration, Hermione,” Ron said earnestly. “The burning… throbbing… aching frustration that I just couldn’t get rid of no matter what I did. It’s been bloody awful lately, ever since we started studying together in the Gryffindor common room and falling asleep together on the sofa. Dunno why it started then. Anyway, I tried all the manly activities, just like Justin Finch-Fletchley recommended—doing full contact yoga with muscly men in saunas, dancing to techno music until three in the morning wearing nothing but leather chaps at those odd all-male clubs where everyone kept swatting my arse, diving into coconut-oil wrestling with sweaty boys—but none of them helped.” He grabbed the collar of her robes. “Hermione, we’ve been friends for six years. What do you think I should do?”

Hermione clenched her fists. “Ron!”

He blinked at her. “What?”

“Ron, I’m perfectly aware that you’re gay,” she said through gritted teeth. “And you know that I’ll support you in your sexual preference, no matter what. But for the love of Merlin, please, please just tell me! Get it over with!”

Ron’s mouth dropped open. “Is that what you thought? That I’m bent?”

“You mean… you’re not?”

“Are you joking? Do you have any idea how many cold showers I’ve been taking all year long, and how many Ice Cube hexes I’ve been casting over my bed in the Gryffindor boys’ dormitory?” demanded Ron. “I’ve gotten exactly three hundred and ninety-eight proposals from the homosexual population of Gryffindor House in the last three months, and if I was queer, it would have been bloody easy to do something about all the sexual frustration, believe me. I’ve been about to burst any moment! And you haven’t exactly been helping, Hermione, with the way you sort of curve into me when we’re asleep on the sofa in the common room… and the way you keep leaning over the library table while we’re studying Potions and your perfectly bodacious totties are sort of spilling over those robes—but I know you think of me as a brother, so that’s that. Anyway, I was sort of hoping you could give me some advice. I saw a note Cyanara Slanderpool left yesterday, and it sounded like she was rather interested-- mmmph…”

Ron’s soliloquy was cut off by Hermione pinning him against the wall in a scorching kiss. Then she flung the door open. “Get in this room right now, Ron Weasley,” she ordered, “and fuck me senseless.”

Ron obeyed, a sly smile on his face. He’d just known that the innocently befuddled act was going to work. Although he did have to admit that he still wondered what the hell Malfoy could possibly be doing with his sweet, innocent , untouched, virginal sister. His eyes misted over briefly. Ginny had looked so adorable in that white lace dress last week petting the unicorns at the edge of the forest… although I really thought I heard one of them saying, “Yes, yes, we really appreciate all the visits, and we love the sugar cubes you always bring, but when are you just going to shag Malfoy rotten and get it over with?” Well, it must’ve been one of those auditory hallucinations Hermione’s always talking about--

At that point, however, Hermione threw Ron on the bed, slammed the door, and jumped him without preliminaries, which pretty much wiped his brain of any coherent memories at all, including his name, house, and ice cream flavor preference. It can’t be said that he much minded.

A/N: Next chapter…. The long-awaited Ginny’s POV. ;)

Saturday, January 23, 2010

Even More R-Rated Fanficy Goodness

And now it's time for Chapter Two of:

Of Draco, Ginny, and the Excessively Extensive List of Salaciously Sexual Euphemisms (if you click on that link, it takes you back to the original hosting site. But just stay here for now.)
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Is everybody following along? Good. Remember, Chapter One was yesterday. Note: Gryffindor Sophia Tillich-Spong's name is a play on the names of two of the great theologians of our time-- Paul Tillich + John Shelby Spong.

(crickets chirping)

Allrighty then. On with the sex farce. This entire thing was inspired by a Three's Company episode, btw...

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On Wednesday, thirteen-year-old Sophia Tillich-Spong sat bolt upright in a chair in a corner of the Gryffindor common room as Ron glared at her. She gave him a cool, appraising stare in return. “It’s perfectly all right,” Hermione said soothingly to the Ravenclaw third-year girl. “We really appreciate what you’ve done, don’t we, Ron? And you’re not going to break any more windows this time, are you, Ron? Are you?

“We’ll see,” muttered Ron. “Maybe we’ll hear some good reasons to break every bone in Malfoy’s body, one by one, and then separate him into several plastic sandwich bags and hand them out as door prizes at the next Christmas party for security trolls.”

“Does Ronald Weasley have Antisocial Personality Disorder?” Sophia asked Hermione curiously. “Or just paranoid delusions?”

“Well, I’ve had times when I’ve wondered about that myself,” said Hermione. “But just tell us where you saw them, Sophia, and everything will be fine. And I’ve got your homework completely finished. The essay on the Gnostic symbolism in Herman Hesse’s Steppenwolf is right here.”

“Thanks. I can’t help feeling a bit like I’m cheating,” sighed Sophia. “Normally, of course, I’d have finished The Gospel of Thomas, The Three Steles of Seth, and The Exegesis On the Soul myself by Tuesday—all in the original Coptic of course—and I’d have gleaned the Gnostic themes pretty well from that, but I was refreshing my mind with trash (Dialectical Behavioral Therapy in Clinical Practice) and I got a bit behind. I do appreciate it. I offered to do extra credit projects on The Naj Hammadi Gospels for the next month, but Professor Binns just beamed at me and said I was a glorious representative of Ravenclaw House, and then ushered me out. Anyway, I followed Draco Malfoy and Ginny Weasley to the Charms classroom. That’s where they were on Tuesday night.”

“You saw him trying to Transfigure her robes into a harem girl outfit, didn’t you?” Ron snarled at Sophia. “Didn’t you?”

Sophia ignored him. “Does he need to be on psychotropic medications?” she asked Hermione, who shot Ron a death glare. “Sorry, sorry,” he mumbled to Sophia. “Malfoy’s the one I want to Transfigure into a bowl of cat food in a room of really, really hungry Kneazles, not you.”

“I see. Well, here’s the recording of the two of them,” said Sophia to Hermione. There’s only sound at the beginning.” She held out the camera phone and pressed the screen.

Draco gave a long, long yawn. “It’s so late,” he said. “Mm. What was that? I heard a noise…”

“Nothing,” said Ginny. “We need to keep studying, Malfoy, or we’ll never get through it all.”

“Oh… I see what it is.” There was a rustling sound.

Ginny sighed. “Malfoy… will you please just ignore it?”

“No.”

“I mean it.”

“No,” said Draco, more playfully this time. “I don’t think so…”

More rustling. Then the unmistakable sound of Ginny’s giggling. Ron’s nostrils flared. Hermione shot him an uneasy glance.

“Oh, come on, Weasley, do let me touch your pussy,” said Draco.

“No, Malfoy, you can’t. We’re supposed to be studying potions,” Ginny said in a very prim voice. ‘

“We’ve been at it for simply ages. It’s time for a break. And it’s such a nice pussy, with such lovely ginger hair. Come on, Weasley, let me have a go.”

“I said no and I bloody well meant no. Now let’s get back to the nine hundred and ninety-one uses of Asphodel. There’s a test tomorrow,” said Ginny, sounding entirely unconvinced of any such thing.

“I’ll bet I could get it to purr,” said Draco, his voice low and seductive.

Ginny hesitated. “But I never let boys touch my pussy.”

“Really,” said Draco. “You ought to let me, though. I could do it so well. “

“I shouldn’t…”

“You should. Just a stroke or two to start with.”

“I couldn’t…”

“You could. I’d make it so happy.”

“I really oughtn’t to, Malfoy.”

“Come on, Weasley. Do let me give your pussy a taste of cream,” said Draco coaxingly.

“Well… all right. But just for a minute,” said Ginny.

“I could go a good deal longer than that,” said Draco. “Why, I could spend all afternoon long with your pretty pussy, Weasley. And I’m sure that once I get going, you won’t want me to stop.”

“The… the voice recording stops there…” Sophia called down from the ceiling. She was hanging from a chandelier, where she had jumped with the help of an Elevation charm to avoid the chunks of flying tile that resulted from Ron smashing his fist into a mosaic set into the wall. “That really wasn’t necessary, you know,” said the remaining one-half of St. Dympha the Dreary in a morose way.

“I hope you realize, Ron, that you’ve just destroyed a priceless third-century work of art,” said Hermione. “ Sophia, is there any video?”

“Oh, yes,” said Sophia. “It starts right here.” She dropped the camera phone into Hermione’s outstretched hand.

Draco and Ginny were sitting next to each other in chairs in the Charms classroom. Between them, a large orange and white cat was licking cream from a bowl. It purred happily as Draco stroked its head.

“Do you like that, Princess?” Ginny asked the cat, smiling. “It’s so funny, Malfoy. Princess never lets boys pet her normally; she always bites them.”

“Well, Weasley,” drawled Draco, “I do have a way with girl’s pussies.”

“Oh,” said Ron, subsiding back into his chair. “They were, uh… they were talking about Ginny’s cat. I forgot all about Princess.”

“Yes, Ron, they were talking about a real cat,” said Hermione through gritted teeth, picking up her camera phone from the floor. Sophia had fled.

“I suppose I don’t have any excuse to Transfigure Malfoy into a gallon of petrol and throw a match on him then,” sighed Ron. “But I’ll get him next time!”

Hermione gave a long, long sigh. “Ron,” she said as gently as she could. “Don’t you think that it might be a good idea for you to get some sleep before you carry on with this?”

“No!” he snapped. “I’m getting closer and closer to the truth, Hermione! Soon, I’ll have proof… any day now… closer and closer and closer…” He stared at the floor and began muttering incoherently. Hermione could catch only snatches of conversation, brief phrases, and individual words as they surfaced.

Black helicopters… 9/11 conspiracy… X files… Area 51… Undershorts of Evil…

“Ron?” she asked fearfully.

He glared up at her. “Malfoy’s trousers are altogether too tight in back!” he snarled. “And don’t you try to tell me they’re not, Hermione!”

Oh dear, thought Hermione. Things were decidedly going from bad to worse.

On Wednesday, fourteen-year-old Cyanara Slanderpool sat backwards on a chair in a corner of the Gryffindor common room, legs spread wide, arms draped casually over its front, as Ron glared at her. She smirked at him. “It’s perfectly all right,” Hermione said soothingly to the Slytherin fourth-year girl. “We really appreciate what you’ve done, don’t we, Ron? And you’re not going to break anything this time, are you, Ron? Are you?

“We’ll see,” muttered Ron. ““Maybe we’ll get a good excuse this time to shave off every inch of Malfoy’s skin with a Rusty Razor hex… I can’t believe we’ve stooped to using Slytherins to get information!”

“Stuff it, Gryff boy,” said Cyanara, rolling her eyes.

“Just tell us where you saw them, Slanderpool, and everything will be fine,” said Hermione, ignoring Ron. “And I’ve got your homework completely finished. The essay on the arguments for feminist themes in Thomas Hardy’s Jude the Obscure is done, and it’s some of my finest work, if I do say so myself—“

“Whatever,” yawned Cyanara, snatching the scroll from Hermione’s hands. “I didn’t bother to get it written for Binns’ class in time. I was a sight too busy working on my tan out by the lake yesterday afternoon. Good thing I did, because it certainly looks like rain today. I promised I’d have it in by tomorrow, because I knew I’d get you to do it. I think he knows, because he smiled at me in that demented way he has and told me I was a shimmering star of Slytherin, and that he was quite looking forward to reading Hermione Granger’s work. Anyway, he can’t prove a thing.” She handed Hermione the camera phone.“I followed them all over the castle and grounds. It’s in bits and pieces. Sometimes they’re in the Potions classroom, sometimes they’re in the corridors or the library in some supply closet or other, sometimes Merlin only knows where they are. Some of this is only sound, and some is video; nothing’s continuous. I ‘ll warn you, I really don’t know how much sense it will make. Are you going to let me keep that essay anyway?”

“Yes, yes, I’m not going to take it back, Slanderpool, no matter what you saw or didn’t see,” Hermione said impatiently. “Let’s just take a look.” She pressed the screen.

“I’d like to jump your bones, Weasley,” said Draco.

“I really don’t think you should,” said Ginny. “I’ve never let anyone do it before.”

“I’ll be very careful,” said Draco.

“Oh… well… all right,” said Ginny.

“There! There! See?” demanded Ron.

The video on the camera phone whirred into life.

“Ouch,” said Draco. He was lying amidst a pile of bones on the floor of the Potions classroom, rubbing his arse. “I really thought that would work.”

“The instructions for the last step in that spell weren’t at all clear,” said Ginny, helping him up. “It really did look as if it might have meant that you had to physically jump on that skeleton Snape assigned each of us last year in order for it to come out right.”

“It certainly didn’t,” said Draco, examining a bubbling cauldron filled with a black substance. He indicated another skeleton hanging from a stand. “Tell you what, Weasley. Why don’t you jump my bones?”

“Oh,” mumbled Ron. “They were talking about those skeletons Snape gave us last year. I completely forgot about those… I think I lost mine…”

“I think you’ve lost a lot of things lately, Ron,” said Hermione, “including your mind.”

“Maybe I have and maybe I haven’t,” Ron said darkly, “but I’m going to see the rest of what’s on that phone! And anyway, we’re nearly at the end of seventh year; I don’t need my mind anymore.”

“For your sake, Ron, I certainly hope not,” said Hermione. Something hummed steadily in the background, and she heard the clattering of pans. “They’re in the kitchen now, I think.”

“What’s that noise?” asked Ron.

“They’re probably doing something perfectly innocent, like washing the dishes—“ She stopped, realizing that Draco Malfoy had surely never washed a dish in this or any other previous lifetime. He probably had house-elves who washed dishes for his house-elves who even thought about washing his dishes.


“Where are you, Weasley?” asked Draco, a teasing note in his voice.

“Wouldn’t you like to know-ww,” called Ginny in a sing-song voice.

“Don’t think you can hide from me, because you can’t… I’m going to find you, oh, yes I am…”

“No you’re not, Malfoy!” called Ginny.

“Yes I will! Aha!” Something crashed loudly. “Oh, what have I found?” said Draco. “I think I’ve caught a wild Weasley in her natural environment.”

“Hee hee!” giggled Ginny. “Oh, ha, ha, ha, hahaha…”

Hermione grimaced. “It’s not starting out well, is it?”

“Wouldn’t you like to get your jollies, Malfoy?” Ginny asked in low, intimate tones.

“Why yes I would, Weasley,” replied Malfoy. “I’d like that very much. Are you going to give them to me?”

“I certainly am. I’m going to give them to you right here. Right now. Alllll of them, Malfoy.”

“Mmm, I like the sound of that! And then you’d better start licking, Weasley…”

Proof!” screeched Ron, stabbing his finger at the phone. “I’ve finally got proof! Now I’ll be able to get Malfoy locked up in Azkaban for the next nine hundred years with Rollo the Mad-Dog Rapist as his permanent cellmate!”

Cyanara rolled her eyes. “Could you please tell me exactly why he isn’t just kept heavily sedated at all times, Granger?”

Hermione cleared her throat. “Well, the idea isn’t without merit,” she admitted. “But you do have to admit that what we heard was rather incriminating.”

Cyanara clucked her teeth disgustedly and pressed the screen again. “There was a bit of video right after this.”

“Here you go, Malfoy,” Ginny said cheerfully, handing a large bag of Jolly Ranchers to Draco. They were sitting side by side on a large metal table in the downstairs kitchens, surrounded by house-elves.

“I must admit, Weasley, that I’ve grown rather fond of these particular Muggle sweets,” admitted Draco. “Especially the watermelon-flavored ones.”

“Oh,” mumbled Ron. “But there’s more. Slanderpool, you said there was more.”

“Fine,” sighed Cyanara. “Just try to keep him on a leash, would you, Granger?” She pressed the camera phone again.

“You know what I’d like to play, Weasley?” asked Draco.

“Is it something we’ve played before, Malfoy?” asked Ginny.

“Oh, yes,” said Draco. “And I seem to remember that you told me you rather liked it before.”

“Mmm… why don’t you remind me what it was?”

“Oh, I’d be happy to,” said Draco, lowering his voice. “We spent the entire afternoon playing that little game last time.”

“I think I remember what it was now,” said Ginny.

“You do?” Draco asked teasingly. “Well, how about if we spend another afternoon playing a nice, long game of ‘hide the salami’, Weasley?”

“See?” shrieked Ron. “See? What did I tell you? That sinister slimy Slytherin ferret swinishly seduced my sweet sister!”

“Ron, I really think you should hold on just a moment,” said Hermione. “She’s working on getting the video up again. Have you got it yet, Slanderpool?”

“Yes, and I really hope I can get sound and picture synchronized from now on,” said Cyanara, “because otherwise I think Ronald Weasley’s going to have a heart attack, and then I couldn’t do any more spy work for you, Granger, and you couldn’t pay me. And I rather think I like having you write my essays. Here it is.”

Ginny took a large dry sausage from a shelf in the refrigerator and raised her eyebrows. “Really, Malfoy. That’s the most idiotic hiding place I’ve ever seen in my life. How on earth were we supposed to get an entire afternoon’s worth of ‘hide the salami’ out of that?”

Draco looked rather shamefaced. “I suppose you’re right. I did a better job of hiding it in the cutlery drawer last time, didn’t I? You were mystified about its location until nearly three o’clock.”

“Oh,” said Ron. “They were talking about an actual salami.”

“Do we really need to continue this inane exercise in futility?” asked Hermione.

“Yes,” he said through clenched teeth, “because I haven’t yet found a good enough excuse for putting Malfoy through a sausage grinder, and I’m going to keep listening and looking until I do.”

Hermione and Cyanara exchanged a look.

“Say what you want about Slytherin House,” said Cyanara, “but I don’t think we’ve ever had anyone go this thoroughly round the bend over a relative. We’re all too selfish for that.”

“Let’s just see the rest of what you recorded, Slanderpool,” said Hermione, thinking that while she would die before admitting it, there just might be a certain virtue in selfishness that she had never considered before.

“You know what I want to give you now, Weasley,” said Draco.

“No, I don’t,” said Ginny, in a voice that sounded altogether too innocent, thought Hermione, if you asked her. “I simply couldn’t imagine.”

“Oh, couldn’t you?” asked Draco, his voice going lower.

“No.”

“Really?”

“No, Malfoy.”

“Well… what about if I show you this?”

A pause.

“Oh!” gasped Ginny. “I’ve never seen one anywhere near that size.”

“I’m quite sure you haven’t,” said Draco. “Now that you’ve seen it, do you want it?”

“Well, I’d like to try it, anyway.”

“Hold on tight, then,” said Draco, “and get ready for the hot beef injection, Weasley.”

“Mmph!” Ron glared furiously up at Hermione, who had clapped a hand over his mouth. Cyanara punched rapidly at the video.

Ginny held a pan with a dripping, uncooked pizza. Draco looked at it dubiously, a large turkey baster in one hand.

“That wasn’t exactly what you’d call a culinary success, was it?” he asked.

“Not so much,” said Ginny. “I don’t know why we thought that warmed-up beef broth would be a good pizza topping. Let’s try something else.”

“Yes, let’s,” said Draco, tipping the soggy pizza into a rubbish bin with a disgusted look.

Ron looked slightly shamefaced. The screen flickered and then went black, and the background noise of the kitchen started up again.

“I think this part is going to work out rather well,” said Draco.

“It really will,” said Ginny. “It’s so long and hard and stiff, and it looks just delicious.”

“Wouldn’t you like a taste, Weasley?” asked Draco. “You know, I don’t let just anyone taste it.”

A giggle. “No, let’s save it for a bit later.”

“Ron, you know perfectly well that they’re still talking about lunch,” sighed Hermione.

“We don’t know that at all,” snarled Ron. “That ’Hide the Salami’ thing earlier could all have been just a cover, you know!”

The video flickered briefly to life, showing Draco and Ginny busily slicing up the salami. Ron subsided slightly.

“How much more of this is there?” Hermione demanded.

“Well, there are a few more,” said Cyanara, looking warily at Ron.

“Can’t we just skip through some of them?”

“I think we could… just give me a moment.” Cyanara began fast-forwarding.

“Yes, that would be for the best, because if it goes on much longer, I’m just going to save the wear and tear on the Gryffindor common room by having Ron committed,” said Hermione. She snatched Ron’s wand out of his hand. He had nearly finished carving out ‘Death to All Slytherins’ in the marble floor.

“All right, I’ve skipped past the part where Draco Malfoy said he was going to give Ginny Weasley a good bang, and then it showed him cutting her hair… and the part where she said she wanted to knock boots with him, and they were slamming their shoes together… and the part where they agreed to do the horizontal mambo, and it turned out that they were in the dance instruction studio. There’s just this last one,” said Cyanara, handing Hermione the camera phone. “Actually, it’s from less than an hour ago.”

“You wait,” Ron said darkly. “You’ll see. All right, everything else may have been a false alarm, but this… this will be the one!”

Friday, January 22, 2010

An R-rated Fanfic For All to Enjoy

Unlike most of my fanfics, this one is suitable for all audiences over 17 and those accompanied by an adult. :) Unaccompanied minors should stay far, far away. It's hosted on: The Fire and Ice Archive, a Harry Potter fanfic archive for all things Draco/Ginny, which is clearly the one true pairing and the one that J.K. Rowling would have written if her brain hadn't been kidnapped by evil aliens from the planet Zoltar. Anyway, here's Chapter One of:

Of Draco, Ginny, and the Excessively Extensive List of Salaciously Sexual Euphemisms

This is an AU seventh year at Hogwarts. Harry went off on the quest to find Voldy without Ron or Hermione, Dumbledore lived, and Draco stayed at school. Oh, and Ron’s a Beater now. Why is that important? Um… you’ll see. Yes, this fic is complete. All done. It will be posted in three chapters. Personally, I think this is one of my favorite Anisefics ever, and it’s 100% complete! I wrote “The End”! They said it couldn’t be done!! Mwah hahahha! I wonder why those men in the white coats are chasing me? Hmm… they do have a straightjacket… Well, I guess I’d better start running, but enjoy the fic!
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“That’s it,” Ron said flatly, slamming down his Remedial Potions for the Utterly and Thoroughly Feeble-Minded Who Really Oughtn’t To Be Allowed Outside of the House Without a Keeper down on the library table and glaring at it.

Hermione winced. “Honestly, Ron, I wish you wouldn’t do that… what’s it?”

“You know perfectly well what,” said Ron.

“No, I don’t,” said Hermione, although she did.

Ron put his head down and gestured for her to do the same. He jerked his thumb towards a table at the very back of the library, where a silvery head and a red-gold one were sitting suspiciously close together. “Them! Supposedly studying! Sinister Slytherin! Sweet, innocent sister!” he hissed.

“Ron, Ginny and Malfoy were assigned as study partners in Potions for the entire semester,” Hermione said wearily. “We’ve been over this and over this, and frankly, I’m getting a bit tired of—“

“Study partners, ha! It’s all part of Voldemort’s sinister plot to hand a helpless victim over to his favorite junior Death Eater masquerading as a seventh-year student—“

“Ron,” Hermione said even more wearily, “when was the last time you slept?”

Ron blinked. “I don’t know. Does it matter?”

“Yes. Mostly because you’re keeping me awake by rabbiting on endlessly about your latest minion-of-evil theory involving Draco Malfoy. Dumbledore must have known what he was doing when he decided to keep Malfoy here for his seventh year, and when he assigned him Ginny as a study partner. And even if Malfoy were a minion of some sort… what exactly is a minion, anyway? I’m sure I saw Webster’s Unabridged Wizarding Dictionary around here somewhere… I highly doubt that Voldemort is concentrating all the powers of darkness on finding snogging partners for him—“

“Aha!” screeched Ron. “So you’ve thought about it too, Hermione!”

Draco glanced up at the noise, and his amused grey eyes met Ron’s decidedly bloodshot ones. Ginny shook her head, turning back to the books spread on the table in front of her. A small smile curved up her lips.

Ron glared daggers back at them both. “Did you see? Did you see what happened? My sister smiled at him! He’s got her hypnotized or something… I know what we have to do,” he whispered frantically to Hermione. “I’ve got it now! We have to start spying on them. We have to spend every waking moment following them everywhere. We have to get evidence… we have to prove it… he’s taking advantage of her, I just know it…”

Hermione glanced surreptitiously at the table where Draco and Ginny sat. Their heads were together, and they were whispering to each other now. And… Hermione frowned. Ginny’s hand was decidedly resting on Draco’s arm. Her eyes narrowed. She was rather glad that Ron hadn’t seen that. “Ron, I’m not going to give up sleeping, eating, and especially studying in order to pursue projects that really ought to be left to MI5,” she sighed. “So why don’t we try this? I’ll recruit trustworthy first and second-years and pay them to go round and follow Ginny and Malfoy wherever they go. I’ll let them use that little camera phone my cousin gave me last Christmas, so they can record what they see and hear, and we’ll know exactly what happened. How does that sound?”

“Well…” Ron looked up from Remedial Potions. The beakers on the cover had all formed into a conga line and were smirking at him with each kick. “All right. I suppose it’s worth a try. But if it doesn’t work, I’m reserving the right to throw Malfoy into a cauldron of sulfuric acid.” He started flipping through pages. “I’m sure I saw the formula around here somewhere…”

Hermione sighed again. With Ron’s luck, that would likely end up being the one Potions formula he’d succeed in making correctly that year.

“Argh!” Ron threw the book down on the table. “That’s it. I can’t study. I just can’t. I’ve got to work off all this tension somehow. I think I’ll just go down to the Quidditch pitch and have a long, hard, hot sweaty practice with Justin Finch-Fletchley. He does keep on at me about it, and then he always asks me if I’m ‘batting for the other team.’ He’s quite a decent bloke, really…”

Hermione looked sadly after Ron as he walked out of the library, and she sighed.

Three days later, eleven-year-old Griselda Flinchbody squirmed uncomfortably on a chair in a corner of the Gryffindor common room as Ron glared at her. “It’s perfectly all right,” Hermione said soothingly to the Gryffindor first-year. “We really appreciate what you’ve done, don’t we, Ron?”

“We’ll see,” muttered Ron. “It depends on whether or not she’s found a good excuse for us to go and rearrange Malfoy’s pretty face until his own mother wouldn’t recognize him with the help of Dental Record Charms.”

“Ahem. Well. Anyway, Griselda, just tell us where you saw them, and everything will be fine,” said Hermione. “And I’ve got your homework completely finished. The essay on the ninety-one magical reasons for the Punic wars is right here.”

Griselda’s eyes gleamed at the sight of the parchment. “I’m about to fail first-year Magical History,” she said frankly. “I’m just not very clever, I’m afraid. I tried to get extra credit by offering to re-create each war on the Quidditch pitch against the entire class of first-year Slytherins, and Professor Binns told me I was a credit to Gryffindor House, but he wouldn’t take me up on it. Anyway, I followed Draco Malfoy and Ginny Weasley to the lake.”

“You saw him trying to feed her to the giant squid, didn’t you?” Ron snarled at Griselda. “Didn’t you?”

“If I had, I would’ve rescued her myself, just for the extra House points,” Griselda said proudly. Hermione shot Ron a death glare. “Sorry, sorry,” he mumbled to Griselda. “Malfoy’s the one I want to chop up and feed to the merpeople, not you.”

Griselda did not look particularly comforted by the reassurance, but she went on speaking. “Here’s the recording of the two of them. There’s only sound at the beginning.” She held out the camera phone and pressed the screen.

“I think a walk around the lake is very nice after a study session,” said Ginny’s voice.

“Yes, very,” said Draco’s voice.

“It’s awfully refreshing,” said Ginny.

“Mm-hm,” said Draco.

“Hard to think of anything better,” said Ginny.

“You’re right,” Draco agreed.

“Yes, I see what you mean, Ron,” said Hermione. “Malfoy was clearly seducing Ginny into sinister webs of unimaginable evil. Can we pay this poor girl now and let her go?”

“Well-- we haven’t heard the whole thing yet,” muttered Ron. “Wait a bit.”

“Actually, I can think of something that might be even more relaxing,” said Malfoy. “Relaxing, and yet stimulating, in an enjoyable sort of way.”

“Oh?” asked Ginny. “And what might that be, Malfoy?”

“I wonder if you’d be interested in taking a long…. slow… hard… ride with me,” said Draco.

“A ride,” Ginny repeated thoughtfully. “I have been thinking that for a while… going for a long ride on your stick, Malfoy.”

“It’s so long and hard and thick,” said Draco. “And you can ride it for a really long time, because I’ve got such magnificent control.”

“The best in the school, I’ve heard,” said Ginny.

“It’s quite true.”

“I’d like to see the rest of your equipment as well, Malfoy. I’ve heard such complimentary things about all of it.”

“I’d like to show it to you, Weasley,” said Draco, his voice dropping an octave or two into a smooth, low purr. “In fact, I’d like you to try it out with me.”

“I wouldn’t be disappointed, would I?”

“I haven’t had a single complaint yet.”

“But I’m not used to rides like that,” Ginny said pensively. “I’ve only ever ridden by myself, you know.”

“Really? I’d be happy to break you in, Weasley,” said Draco. “I’ve got loads of patience.”

“Well… I’m not sure… I really shouldn’t…”

“Of course you should.”

“All right,” said Ginny. “But you’ll have to show me how to do it.”

“Oh, I will, Weasley,” said Draco. “Now let’s go and get it on, shall we?”

“The… the voice recording stops there…” said Griselda, in a trembling voice, the likes of which had not been heard in the Gryffindor common room since 1183, when a herd of maddened giant Nifflers with an extraordinarily bad sense of direction had rampaged through it in search of the lost treasure of the Sierra Madre. However, she did have some excuse, since Ron was glowering at her from the ruins of the table and chairs.

“Honestly, Ron,” sighed Hermione. “It’s going to take forever to fix all that broken furniture. I think I may have to invent some spells in order to do it properly.”

“That’s when the video starts, though,” said Griselda. She tapped another part of the screen and showed it to Ron and Hermione.

“Right,” Draco said briskly, walking side by side with Ginny. “Let’s go to the Quidditch pitch, then. I’m sure you’ve never been on such a good broom as mine, Weasley, so do try not to get it dirty.”

“Oh,” Ron said faintly. “They, were, uh… talking about brooms.”

“Yes, Ron, they were talking about brooms,” said Hermione through gritted teeth, picking up her camera phone from the floor. Griselda had fled.

“I suppose I don’t have any excuse to tie an anchor to Malfoy and throw him into the English Channel, then,” sighed Ron. “But I’ll get him next time!”

Hermione groaned silently. She’d learned from six years of friendship with Ron that there were times when it simply wasn’t worth opposing him on a particular subject.

“I can’t be expected to study after this,” said Ron. “I heard that there’s an overnight camping trip some of the Gryffindors are going on. I might do that.”

“Don’t tell me, let me guess,” Hermione said glumly. “Justin Finch-Fletchley will be there, won’t he?”

“I suppose so,” said Ron, shrugging. ”They said something about ‘getting their rope knot Boy Scout badges on.’ Not sure what it means, but I do need to get away for awhile.”

“Have fun,” sighed Hermione.

“I’m sure I will,” said Ron. “Only Justin told me I’d have to be careful to not catch poison ivy in some very inconvenient places…” He frowned. “Wonder what he meant by that?”

“Something tells me he’ll help you figure it out, Ron,” Hermione said unhappily.

On Saturday, twelve-year-old Theodora Creechcritch squirmed uncomfortably on a chair in a corner of the Gryffindor common room as Ron glared at her. “It’s perfectly all right,” Hermione said soothingly to the Huffepuff second-year. “We really appreciate what you’ve done, don’t we, Ron? And you’re not going to break any more furniture this time, are you, Ron? Are you?”

“We’ll see,” muttered Ron. “Maybe I’ll have a good reason to break Malfoy’s demonically attractive face into several thousand unidentifiable splinters instead.”

“Just tell us where you saw them, Theodora, and everything will be fine,” said Hermione, ignoring Ron. “And I’ve got your homework completely finished. The essay on the arguments for the inclusions of giant flobberworms in Plato’s ideal republic is right here.”

Theodora smiled timidly. “I didn’t do very well with Plato,” she sighed. “I tried awfully hard, but I just didn’t understand it, I’m afraid. I couldn’t remember if he was Greek or Roman or Antarctican. I offered to help clean up the classroom for the next month, but Professor Binns just smiled and said I was a shining representative of Hufflepuff House and sent me on my way. Anyway, I followed Draco Malfoy and Ginny Weasley to the kitchens. That’s where they went last Thursday night after a really long study session.”

“You saw him trying to stuff her into an oven, didn’t you?” Ron snarled at Theodora. “Didn’t you?”

The Hufflepuff shrank back into the chair. Hermione shot Ron a death glare. “Sorry, sorry,” he mumbled to Theodora. “Malfoy’s the one I want to dismember and pulverize into liquid Kool-Aid, not you.”

“Did he just escape from the psychiatric ward at St. Mungo’s?” Theodora whispered to Hermione.

“Well… no… but I wouldn’t rule out the possibility that he may be headed there at some point for an indefinite stay,” Hermione said dryly.

Theodora did not look comforted by the reassurance, but she gulped and went on speaking. “Here’s the recording of the two of them. There’s only sound at the beginning.” She held out the camera phone and pressed the screen.

“Where are all the house elves?” asked Draco’s voice. “Aren’t they supposed to be hanging about underfoot, looking up at us adoringly and falling over themselves to obey our every command?”

“They all fled when they heard you were coming, Malfoy,” said Ginny. “Dobby may be gone these days, but--“

“Oh, yes, he scurried off to Saint Potter, didn’t he?” Draco asked snidely.

“He’s helping Harry, if that’s what you mean. But word got around about your mean, nasty, icky, and downright evil behavior, Malfoy, as it tends to do,” said Ginny. “You were a horrid little brat when he was a house-elf at Malfoy Manor.”

“This is going really well,” Ron said approvingly. “She’s treating him like a squashed cockroach under her shoe, which he is. Hmm… Hermione, is there a spell that could maybe Transfigure Malfoy into a cockroach? Then all we’d have to do is lure him someplace and get a really, really big shoe, and—“

“Do be quiet, Ron,” Hermione said reprovingly.

“I was pretty dreadful,” Draco said cheerfully. “But that was years ago, Weasley. Years and years… I didn’t have any good influences, that was the problem. Father was cold and harsh and unforgiving, setting impossibly high expectations… he used to whip me every Friday when I was a child, you know… I think you can still see a scar here…”

“I don’t see anything,” said Ginny.

“Look closer.”

“I still don’t… oh. Oh. Well, yes, that does make a difference, I suppose. But still, Malfoy, you did become a junior Death Eater last year, and you tried to kill everyone in the school. That’s rather hard to overlook.”

“But that was because I was hemmed in all sides by dark, sinister, nasty, evil, hideously un-nice powers that were threatening to murder me and my family and undo all the forces of sweetness and light,” said Draco in a sad voice. “If I’d only had one real friend… someone on whom to unburden my tortured soul…”

4There were several moments of silence. Then some scuffling. Then a few giggles.

“I don’t like the way this is going at all,” said Ron in an ominous voice.

“Let’s have a snack,” said Draco.

“I do feel a bit hungry,” said Ginny.

“Mmm! I know what I’d like,” said Draco in a low, seductive voice.

“And what’s that, Malfoy?”

“Why don’t you let me at some of your pie, Ginny?”

Another giggle. “Oh, Draco! You’re awful. No, no… I really couldn’t… I was saving that for Harry, and I still wanted so much to wait until he got back.”

“But I’d just love to taste your… ahem… cherry pie, Weasley. It looks so deliciously hot and steamy. And the smell… simply scrumptious,” drawled Draco. “Can’t I have just one lick? Just one… little… lick…”

“Why?” asked Ginny saucily. “Do you want to find out if you’d like it?”

“Oh, I already know just how much I’d like it,” said Draco. “And you’d like it too. You’d love it.”

“But once I give it away, I can’t get it back,” she whispered.

“You’ve been saving it long enough,” murmured Draco. “Potter could never appreciate it as much as I would. He’d never know how to savor it. Come on, Weasley…give it to me…”

Yet another giggle. “All right, Malfoy. Here. If you promise to be good… very, very good… I suppose you can have it.”

“Mmmm!” Draco groaned with pleasure. “Ohh… oh, it’s even better than I thought it would be, Weasley, especially once I start to really lay into it…mmmm…”

“The… the voice recording stops there…” said Theodora from across the room, where she had fled to avoid the shower of broken glass resulting from Ron throwing a chessboard through a window depicting the adventures of Benilde the Excessively Befuddled, who had set out to discover America in 354 B.C. and had ended up circumnavigating the Hogwarts lake for several years on end instead.

“Oh, dear,” said Hermione. “I really liked that window.”

“Have I at least got to Greenland yet?” Benilde asked hopefully, waving an oar.

“No,” said Hermione. “Theodora, is there any video?”

“Oh, yes,” said the Hufflepuff girl. “It starts right here.” She stepped gingerly over the broken glass and held the camera phone out for Hermione to see.

“I must say, Weasley, that you really do know how to make a good pastry crust,” Draco said briskly forking up the last bites of cherry pie from a plate. “And keeping it in the freezer for a year is more than long enough, don’t you think?”

“You’re right, Malfoy,” Ginny admitted. “I mean, I did want to save this pie for Harry and all, but Merlin only knows when he’s going to get back. I can always bake him another one. I think he’d rather have lemon meringue anyway.”

“Oh,” Ron said faintly. “They, were, uh… talking about a real pie.”

“Yes, Ron, they were talking about a real pie,” said Hermione through gritted teeth, picking up her camera phone from the floor. Theodora had fled.

“I suppose I don’t have any excuse to tie prime rib steaks to Malfoy and throw him into a pit of starving hippogriffs, then,” sighed Ron. “But I’ll get him next time!”

Hermione hit her head against the wall. This project really wasn’t going well, and, as she could tell by the particularly insane gleam in Ron’s eye, there was, as yet, no apparent end in sight.

“I’ve got to get out of here,” Ron muttered at last, leaping to his feet.

“Where are you going?” Hermione asked cautiously.

“Some Muggle musical group or other is playing at a new club in Hogsmeade. 1970’s nostalgia, I think they said. They’re called the Pillage People or something like that.”

“Village People,” Hermione corrected him unenthusiastically.

“Anyway, Justin asked me to go with some of his friends. Sounds like a laugh,” said Ron.

“Yes, I’m sure loads of merriment will be involved,” Hermione said gloomily. “I’m sure everyone will be very happy. Happy and gay.”

“Yeah, that’s exactly what Justin said. I dunno, Hermione…” Ron held up a pair of polyester day-glo orange bellbottoms. “What do you think of these?”

“Have a good time, Ron,” said Hermione, deciding that the better part of valor in this instance consisted of leaving the room without further delay.