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.

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