Thursday, January 28, 2010

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 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.