3rd Installment of R-rated Fanficcy Goodness

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“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 Facetiæ 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. ;)