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!”