Drunk by sugarbear_1269

Rating: NC17
Genres: Angst, Humor
Relationships: Draco & Ginny
Book: Draco & Ginny, Books 1 - 5
Published: 30/12/2003
Last Updated: 22/01/2004
Status: Completed

Safely hidden away in a corner of the dark club, she watches him get drunk.




1. Drunk
--------

**AN**: This ridiculous little plot bunny came to me after a friend let me borrow her Nine
Inch Nails *Pretty Hate Machine* CD. I’ll list the pertinent and abbreviated lyrics below. By
the way, if you like what I write, Draco/Ginny style, I will divulge my secret. Lots of angry
music. NIN, Alanis Morissette, Madonna, No Doubt, Evanescence and David Bowie. Trust me, though
I’ve never done a song fic, Draco and Ginny are ripe for the musical pickings. And of course, as
always, dedicated to Manda, who reminds me that Slutty!Draco is unequivocally hot and needs to be
jumped up on. I’ve never written a fic like this, so I really need reviews and thoughts. I plan for
this to be completely slutty, smutty, and pretty damn hardcore. Warnings for OFC FemmeSlash and
sexualized violence later (NOT rape).

*The Only Time*

*I’m drunk.*

*And right now, I’m so in love with you.*

*And I don’t want to think too much about what we should or shouldn’t do.*

*Lay my hands on Heaven and the sun and the moon and the stars.*

*While the devil wants to fuck me in the back of his car.*

*Nothing quite like the feeling of something new.*

*Maybe I’m all messed up. Maybe I’m all messed up in you.*

*But this is the only time I really feel alive.*

*I swear. I just found everything I need.*

*The sweat in your eyes the blood in your veins are listening to me.*

*Well I want to drink it up and swim in it until I drown.*

*My moral standing is lying down.*

*Nothing quite like the feeling of something new.*

Through the cloud of smoke and haze of heat that covered the sweaty, gyrating room, she observed
him intently. Sipping her drink carefully, she noted smugly that she appeared to be quite the gate
crasher here at this obvious birthday party.

She’d stepped into Every Flavor that night with every intention of meeting her friend, who was
the bartender, and sitting gracefully at the bar. Just home from America, she needed a stiff drink
and Colin would provide it.

The night was damp and an earthy smell had pervaded the air. An April shower sprinkled
relentlessly. She’d Apparated home and changed into muted clubbing attire. She confidently strode
on spike heels from her apparition point in Diagon Alley to the most celebrated club in English
wizarding society.

The special doorman for that night had obviously assumed she was hired entertainment, or was
simply beautiful enough to be with this crowd. He’d not even checked his lengthy list for her name,
and had he known who she was, would have laughed her into next week.

***

Good Merlin, was that really him? He’d come a long way from slicked hair and black robes. Ebony
leather boots were topped with form-fitting, low slung black leather pants. And, holy Circe, that
shirt. He was dancing so quickly it was hard for her to tell for sure, but he appeared to be
wearing a silver mesh shirt that exposed, yes, *exposed his midriff.*

He was quite skilled at holding his tumbler of what Colin had told her was lemon vodka aloft
over his fellow dancers’ heads. Unencumbered locks of platinum fell over his forehead and out of
the black thong that held it in a tight gather at his neck.

*Of course he’d grow it out. His father’s dead, there’s no one to nag him on it.*

She spied on him from her perch at the end of the bar, where she was cloaked in darkness and he
was unlikely to approach the bar, seeing as how his many friends (*many friends?)* kept
stampeding up, clamoring Colin for another drink for the brat prince.

Gods, even drunk he was sensual. His tall body was certainly well-fleshed, muscular, she was
sure, from Quidditch and probably a healthy dose of vanity. She’d seen his smirking face leering at
her from countless newspapers and magazines. He was successful, buying and selling property, making
hundreds of thousands of Galleons on every transaction.

Eight years since she’d last seen him in the flesh and Ginny Weasley still couldn’t help stare
at Draco Malfoy and wonder what he looked like naked.

***

“So how long ‘sis party going to be?” Ginny asked, re-crossing her own leather-clad legs. “I
wanted to dance before the night was out.” Colin shrugged and refreshed her drink.

“I don’t know, only that my manager told me that I was to stay until the last person was gone. I
guess it’s Malfoy’s 25th birthday or some rot like that. He probably just wanted to
surround himself with people who will pretend to like him for one night and buy him drinks,” Colin
remarked sagely.

Ginny contemplated his words. Perhaps he was right. Wherever Malfoy decided to sit, a space
cleared automatically for him and leggy, beautiful women that represented all the colors of the
rainbow surrounded him, massaged his shoulders, ruffled his hair. It made her sick to see everyone
pandering to him. Oooh! She still hated him, probably always would for no particular reason at
all.

But she was still a woman. A woman would have to be blind and deaf to be immune to his charms,
however slimy they might have been. And she sat, hating herself, hating him, for all she had ever
wanted to say to him but didn’t, for the times his gray eyes had involuntarily made her shiver, for
all the times she wished she could peel off his immaculate robes and clothes and get him dirty.

She checked her watch. It was only eleven, and the real club goers would be coming out soon. How
disappointed they would be if this insufferable git and his band of tagalongs were taking up their
dance floor.

Her gaze went back to Draco and the clot of people that were immediately surrounding him. Mostly
they were his women, and to Ginny’s distinct dismay, their clothes were starting to come off.

***

The music thundered with a heavy, primal beat as Draco watched five of the ladies in their group
cluster around him and begin stripteases in front of him. He briefly turned round, raised his drink
and threw a triumphant smile to the men in his party who weren’t nearly as lucky. He was Draco
Fucking Malfoy.

Of course, the beauty of these bare breasts and toned torsos was distorted somewhat from the
liquor haze that clouded his vision. He would have to ask around for a Pepper-Up potion soon,
because there was no way he was going to miss more of this.

He didn’t know their names, only knew that they were his male colleagues’ dates and fuck if they
weren’t licking one another! A particularly stunning black witch was distinctly tonguing the very
extended nipples of her pert Asian neighbor.

A blonde behind him was running her cool fingers up his spine, and he was inspired to hand off
his drink for a moment and whisk off his clinging mesh shirt. He flung it in no general direction
and it landed halfway between the dance floor and the bar. Smiling boozily, he reclaimed his drink,
downed it, and began some very excellent dancing with these fine ladies.

As he danced madly, blood began to hammer through his head and without the constant additive of
alcohol, he was beginning to realize something. These “dates” of his friends were a pretty assorted
bunch indeed. In fact, when Draco chanced a glance at the remaining few ladies and their escorts,
he noticed that they weren’t acting very chummy at all.

And these women who were dancing nearly naked now seemed a bit eager to grope one another.
Something was very wrong here and he was going to figure it out. Perhaps it required another shot
or two of vodka. He struggled to exit the knot of girls and staggered to the bar, where he flopped
halfway across it with his empty glass.

“Creevey, gimme another two. An’ sugar the rim *reaaal* good, y’know what I mean? ‘Course,
I’m sure you’re no stranger to rims, eh?” Draco laughed at his brilliant joke. There was no way
that Creevey wasn’t a pansy. Never mind that he had shadowed Ginny Weasley. She was probably just
his cover for all those years. Though, Draco mused, the flake sure did make an excellent drink.

Ginny Weasley. Now there was a tart he’d not thought about in ages. He’d heard she was working
in the Ministry under the newly reorganized Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office. ‘Course, her barmy
excuse for a father, *excuse* *me,* Minister of Magic, sure made it easy for her to land
a prime job. The department had been renamed the Department of Muggle Relations and that bint
headed the whole damn thing. He’d heard she was flitting back and forth between countries, forging
relationships with select groups of Muggles to help strengthen wizarding relations blah blah blah.
It sounded like a pile of shit to Draco.

As Colin handed him his drink, Draco reflected that the only thing that was good about Ginny
Weasley was that she’d been born a girl. Though she was no less annoying to him in school, partly
by association and partly for a reason he could not name so he simply ignored it.

Cold drink in hand, splashes of his sweat left on the bar, he swaggered back to get to the
bottom of this puzzling group he was with.

***

“I’m sorry, Colin. Ignore him. He’s drunk,” Ginny said, suddenly aware that she was apologizing
for the most uppity, awful man on the planet and having no idea why she was doing it.

During his whole exchange with Colin, she’d eyed him steadily from her dark corner at which he
never deigned to look. She was about halfway to completing her mental image of naked, bound and
mouth-hexed-shut Malfoy. His defined, perspiring chest was sprinkled with blond to match his hair,
and it had heaved invitingly as he draped himself over the bar. *Lucky bar.*

“I don’t pay any attention,” Colin said shortly. “My only consolation is that I’ll make almost a
quarter of my pay this night with tips from his party, and that I have Kevin to go home to.” Ginny
giggled. Colin was such a cool number when anyone questioned him. She thought of Kevin in their
functional little house, keeping Colin’s favorite foods warm until he arrived home in the early
hours of the morning. They were so well matched that Ginny had to admit she was a little more than
jealous.

Everyone fucking had someone. All her brothers were married or engaged and many of her friends
were too. *I’m 24 years old, and am barely less than a virgin.* Ron had scared away Dean
Thomas, and of course, there’d been the whole thing with Michael Corner. Perhaps she could get Fred
and George to create a magic man for her that wouldn’t speak unless spoken to. It was worth
asking.

***

Draco was inordinately pleased with his behavior. He’d not fallen down once this night. Not that
he made a habit of it, but still! He worked his way back to the tables and noticed for the first
time that there sure were a lot of people with him. Who was paying for this? It was his
birthday!

He only knew a handful of the four or five dozen people that were there with him, and those were
his business associates. He tripped lightly to the nearest table to talk with said associates.

“Now, look here Morgan, this beautiful young lady is your escort for the night and you’re not
paying her a whit of attention!” Draco said sadly, slurring ever-so-slightly and beaming brightly
to Morgan’s companion, the black witch.

Morgan seemed pleased that Draco was talking to him, and immediately tried to immerse him in the
minutiae of the deal his company was trying to secure with Draco’s. Draco waved him off with an
off-kilter smile.

“Morgan, please! This is not the time for business; it’s time for us to get gloriously smashed.
Please do feel free to join in at any time!” Morgan smiled blandly.

Draco swept off to the next table, hardly teetering at all. MacNelly and Borden sat with their
respective dates as well, and Draco was eager to sit with everyone. He was feeling very expansive
and open tonight and decided that it was high time he made some friends.

“Lovely ladies, respected gentlemen, may I have a seat here?” Draco asked, smiling sunnily,
quite comfortable, really, being bare-chested in this smoldering room. He sat gracefully, listing
only slightly to port as the two men tried to engage him in business natterings that involved
*their* company and his.

“Good gods, men, can’t we just sit here and chat with one another?” Draco cried. Borden and
MacNelly eyed one another surreptitiously.

“Mr. Malfoy,” Borden said, leaning in conspiratorially, “my date has taken quite a shine to you.
I wouldn’t be brokenhearted if you decided to let her accompany you home. And for that matter,”
Borden said, casting an appraising eye on MacNelly’s companion, “I think her friend wouldn’t mind
joining you.”

Draco’s eyes widened for a moment, thinking fragmented thoughts of being ensconced between these
two very accommodating witches. Then, fractiously, his eyes narrowed, losing their jovial sparkle.
As a Malfoy, he knew nothing was free.

“And so what do you propose I do in return for you?” he asked, suddenly icy and a measure more
sober. Borden looked taken aback.

“Well, uh, nothing, of course, Mr. Malfoy. We just want to wish you a happy birthday, is
all!”

“By offering me your dates? I’ve never been propositioned quite this way before, and as nice as
it sounds, I’m going to have to say no.”

“But, Mr. Malfoy,” Borden pleaded, seeing his chances of selling his land to Malfoy decreasing
exponentially with every word, “this has nothing to do with business, sir, nothing at all!”

Draco sneered. “Of course it doesn’t.” Borden first looked cornered, then his face darkened.

“Mr. Malfoy, in all my years of dealing with your company, I’ve never been treated this way
before. Your father wouldn’t have liked it, not one bit!”

Draco’s anger flared hot and quickly.

“Of course he wouldn’t!” Draco said, his voice increasing volume at an alarming rate. “He would
have taken your “proposition” with no qualms! I, however, have no wish to be investigated by the
Commerce Council for taking whores in exchange for favored business! I am *not my father and you
would do well to remember it!*” he screamed. The entire assembly stared.



2. Watching
-----------

**AN:** Thanks for waiting for this. I’m working on four fics at once, including Cut, which a new chapter
should be up soon, perhaps by the weekend. As always, many thanks to where_is_truth and
rainpuddle13 for
their quick and insightful beta jobs!

***

***

***

The outburst took Ginny and Colin by surprise. She’d been sitting and regaling him with tales
from America, and then suddenly Draco was bellowing about whores and his father. The sheer rage had
purpled his cheeks as he stood now in front of the men he’d just lambasted.

“Get out, you sodding fucks! The whole lot of you, out!” he screamed when no one budged. His
beautiful assembled crew began to mutter amongst themselves when Draco seemed to completely go
round the bend. He began rushing each of the small tables, upsetting drinks and flailing his arms,
screeching for his guests’ imminent departure.

For a fleeting second, Ginny almost felt a speck of sympathy.

Almost.

As she watched him ransack the room and literally chase away his people, she was disgusted and
embarrassed that this had to happen here on Colin’s watch.

Colin stood impassively behind the bar, mopping up stray water rings.

“Aren’t you just barking mad?” Ginny hissed as Draco continued his childish drunken rage.

Colin shook his head. “There’s nothing in here that I can’t clean with my wand. It’s money,
Ginny dear, unfortunately, it’s all money.”

***

Draco stood piss-drunk in the middle of the dance floor he’d just effectively vacated. Scanning
his bleary gaze to the tables that lay beyond, he focused on the half-empty drinks he’d missed,
then the broken glasses dripping sticky liquor concoctions on the bright parquet floor. His head
felt heavy again, and he plopped down on the floor, massaging his temples.

He’d had such a searing moment of clarity when Borden mentioned his father. Oh, Merlin, how he’d
tried to dissociate from his father’s image.

Draco’s business was all aboveboard-- he was obsessively meticulous about keeping it so. And so
he worked hard during the day while partying his arse off at night. His precious *father*
would have never done that. No, his sneaky, evil, violent bastard of a father had nearly ruined any
chances Draco had of becoming successful, and that was even after Lucius had died quite neatly in
Azkaban.

And here he sat, hunched over, head swimming and a couple of stray tears falling on the floor of
the nightclub he’d just signed the deal on that day.

***

Colin exited the bar, striding purposefully to the now-prone Draco. Colin crouched alongside
him, retaining the demeanor of a long-time butler or valet. Ginny had no idea how he kept his
cool.

“Mr. Malfoy, shall I arrange a room for you at The Leaky Cauldron?” Colin asked quietly. Draco
cracked an eye, wondering how he’d ever saddled himself with poncey Creevey as a barkeep. But the
man *did* mix a good drink.

“No, no, I’m staying here,” Draco declared, struggling to his feet. When he got to his knees, he
began to sway and grabbed onto Colin’s leg for support.

“Gimme some help here, man. I’m going to the corner table and holding court like a fucking
king!” Draco crowed, the prospect of surveying his land suddenly important.

With a blank face, Colin helped Draco to the corner table. With a swish and flick of his wand,
Colin cleared the table of soggy napkins, shattered glass and spilled libations.

“Oopsie! Looks like I spilled my drinky-poo on my new puffskein coat!” Draco laughed, not
exactly sure why this was so funny to him.

Colin got Draco situated in the booth so he could learn the lay of the land, albeit the
*empty* land.

“Mr. Malfoy, do you wish to sit here alone or shall I open the club to its regular patrons?”
Colin asked, picking up Draco’s lush black fur coat and whispering a quick cleaning spell to remove
the pink stain from the lapels.

“’Sokay to let ‘em in,” Draco said, thinking he needed to know his customers. Yes! That was it!
He needed to meet them personally! Creevey handed him his now-clean coat and he slipped it on with
only a bit of trouble.

“And my last question for now. To whom do I send the bill for your party?” Draco thought for a
second, his eyes nearly crossing with the effort of deciding who to stick with the tab.

“Jus’ send it to me. An’ stick on twenty five percent for yer trouble,” Draco said negligently,
losing his cultured accent.

Colin nodded impassively; turning back toward the bar where he saw sparks flying from Ginny’s
corner, where she was aiming cleaning spells at other portions of the room. Smiling to himself, he
wondered if she could resist aiming some harmless hex at the drunk.

“An’ keep those drinks comin’!”

***

A half-hour later, Colin had floo’d in the eleven other employees, collected Draco’s discarded
shirt, cleaned the dance floor and the surrounding tables, and managed to keep Draco suitably happy
with watered-down vodka and pumpkin juice.

Ginny marveled at his efficiency.

Colin instructed the two regular doormen to let in the clubbers. A flood of lavish, outlandishly
dressed witches and wizards streamed in. There was a reason the club was named Every Flavor; people
of every ethnicity and color and creed frequented the bar, known for its carefree attitudes. It was
not unknown for couples of every kind to be found snogging or more in the lavatories or on the
mezzanine that overlooked the dance floor. As long as you didn’t hurt or offend anyone, anything
went.

Ginny smiled, waving to several people she knew and often danced with, but they didn’t come to
the bar. She knew they wouldn’t. Right now, the excited crowd only wanted to start dancing to the
slinky beats the Music Maker, the in-house music director, could make. The Music Maker took no
requests and was not visible behind his black-tinted booth. No one was exactly sure of his name,
but Ginny had heard a few credible rumors that it was Ernie MacMillan. It didn’t matter - he was
famous for his erotic sounds. The management of Every Flavor had no problem upping his salary when
he was courted by other clubs.

And those beats were certainly pumping tonight. It was getting harder and harder to see Draco in
his corner, but she occasionally caught a glimpse of him toasting some patron or another. Once in a
while someone walked over to him, but it was quickly evident they realized how drunk he was and
decided not to continue their probably inane conversation.

Colin was making his drinks weaker and weaker as the night wore on, keeping just enough alcohol
in so Draco could smell it. Ginny sneered at his obvious inability to hold his liquor. During a
prolonged period when most of the dancers had moved to the side, she could see him absently
stroking his luxurious coat and drinking with the other hand.

Funny how he should have looked ridiculous, but he didn’t. If you forgot the face and looked at
him from the neck down…wow. She’d seen the way his leather pants fit earlier, and topping off that
marble translucence with the black fur coat made her distinctly throb in places she shouldn’t.

It was well past two a.m., and Ginny could not sit in her corner any longer. Colin was busy now
preparing drinks, and he had no time to talk to her. She had come here to dance, right? Sliding
from the impossibly tall stool onto her impossibly high heels, she strode onto the dance floor and
took up with a group of her club friends.

***

Whoa. These pumpkin juice and vodka stingers were harsh! Draco decided he’d had enough, telling
Colin so when he brought the next round. Counting seven glasses in front of him, Draco thought
perhaps it wouldn’t be prudent to have any more now that the club was filled with people he’d like
to keep as customers.

His stomach was sloshing and he was in desperate need of a leak. His vision was extremely muzzy
and it took him ten minutes to navigate the path from his table to the loos and back again. He
returned refreshed and glad he’d not thrown up. Appearances were very important to Draco. *Even
drunk,* he thought, *one must be in control.*

A clean table, a tall glass of water and a plate of tidbits sat in front of Draco as he eased
himself back into the booth. Ah, maybe this was why he’d felt exceedingly drunk. He’d not eaten
that night, or at least, so much earlier that he’d forgotten. He tucked into the tiny sandwiches
Colin had prepared for him, nibbling on the strawberries and pineapple that garnished his plate. He
had no idea clubs kept these sorts of things on hand. This was bloody good. He’d have to look into
the club serving actual food.

As the music changed from one throbbing beat to another, Draco cast an eye toward the music
booth. The manager of the club, a florid wizard in his forties called Tedrick Goodnight, had told
him it was his old prefect friend Ernie MacMillan, manning the controls. Draco had laughed
privately when Goodnight had said *friend*, but he let it go. Draco had no idea why MacMillan
would want to do something so mundane as creating dance tunes, but from the looks of the salary he
was paid merely to stay at the club, it was worth it.

People were dancing in little clumps, some groups obviously better acquainted than others. The
group directly in front of him was casually dancing and talking while groups nearby were so close
together it was hard to tell people apart. Draco smiled a little, raising his water glass to anyone
who glanced his way.

The Music Master changed the music to something that was obviously a crowd favorite, because an
appreciative roar rose from the dancers. People began to clear from the dance floor, though, and
Draco jostled the table in order to see why.

Two men and two women were in the middle of the floor.

A dark, clashing, raspy song came on. The lyrics indecipherable- the singer ran the gamut from
whispering to shouting.

One woman was startlingly blonde, clad in tight red leather. Her male partner was equally
Teutonic, and matched well enough. The other male was dark, with short, spiky black hair, and on
his arm was quite possibly the most magnificent woman he’d ever seen.

The lights were low enough that Draco couldn’t distinguish the true color of her hair, which he
pegged as rich, thick brown. She wore an almost painted on white leather halter and pants on her
lithe frame, leaving little to the imagination. Her feet were encased in delicate high heels, but
the fall of her pant leg belied her true height. When a moving light chanced upon her, Draco could
see her flawless skin and white teeth.

He would meet this woman just as soon as her little troupe finished their incredibly erotic
dance and his raging erection subsided. From the precious little Draco could discern from the
lyrics, they were acting out the song. The brunette and her darker partner were simulating the
sexual act so well that he could see other patrons beginning to sneak hands into private places and
placing furtive kisses along exposed skin. Some couples stole away to the mezzanine or the
loos.

The song began to slide into its parting notes and the brunette was swept into the air by her
partner. He pushed her down his body suggestively and a few moments later the end of the song came
as did, Draco suspected, more than a few of the watchers. The woman was in the dark man’s arms,
bowed back, her hips pressing into the cradle of his. He held her with one hand and traced down her
body with the other.

Those still assembled burst into rousing applause. The quartet took gracious bows and walked off
the floor, gleaming with perspiration that shone as the house lights unexpectedly went up. The
Music Maker called them back to the center for another round of applause. Draco stood to applaud,
taking care to brace himself against the table.

Draco was stunned to realize that not only did the witch have glorious red hair, but that he
knew her. Fucking shame he couldn’t remember her name…



3. Wanting
----------

Many thanks to the reviews who stuck with this little smut bunny. I’m still working on
*Cut* and
shaping the third and final part of the *Who?* Trilogy. Many
thanks to where_is_truth and
rainpuddle13 for
their excellent beta skills. Read their stuff…it’s light years ahead of mine in terms of quality
and originality.

***

***

***

Flushed and smiling from all the applause, Ginny made her way to the bar for a refreshing juice
drink. Colin quickly stirred a fizzy drink for her, she gulped it down, breasts still heaving. Her
dance partners had already disappeared from sight.

She noticed that fewer people had come back onto the floor after their little show. That always
happened. The primitive, sexual beat of the Muggle song always had that effect. Ginny smiled and
watched the four or five dozen people left try to make it out on the wooden floor. Some dancers got
applause, but most didn’t -- not like Ginny and her friends. It was a small, private source of
pride.

Slamming her now-empty glass back on the bar, Ginny walked as fast as her heels would carry her
back to the dance floor. It was her favorite Weird Sisters song, and she intended to get down to
it.

The best way to dance to this song was to put your hands in the air and belt out the lyrics
along with everyone else. Her spike heels were about to become dust, dancing like she was, grinding
and stomping the floor in pure abandonment.

And then she felt the tap on her shoulder.

She whirled to find herself almost eye-level with a pair of molten silver eyes.

***

“Dance with me, will you?” he asked without a flicker of recognition. Ginny stopped cold,
desperately trying to determine if he was just playing with her or if he honestly didn’t know who
she was.

Dilated eyes and the sharp tang of alcohol seeping from his pores told her he was still
sufficiently drunk to make getting rid of him a problem. She took several steps back and he
followed her, surprisingly steadier on his feet than before.

“Come on, I’m not going to eat you,” he said, shades of his infuriating leer rising to the
surface.

If she could satisfy him with one dance in a dark corner, perhaps he’d go away and forget about
the whole thing. At best, given his present state, the most he’d remember was dancing with someone
whose name he didn’t quite catch.

There was something about the total lack of recognition in his eyes that spurred her on. One
night, one dance, one memory to fuel her for the rest of her life.

“Sure, why not,” she said agreeably, hoping he missed the tremor in her voice. She turned to
walk toward the edge of the floor when a strong hand on her forearm stopped her short.

“No. Out there,” Draco said, gesturing to the empty middle of the floor.

***

He knew all eyes were on him as he brought the magnificent redhead to the center of the floor.
Casting about a glance, he saw that eyes were indeed bulged. Smirking, he pulled her to him,
causing her to nearly lose her balance, steadying herself with a warm hand on his bare chest. Heat
shot to his groin and he tried not to groan.

“Mac…I mean, Music Maker! Put on that song again -- her song.”

The low-level din of the club instantly stopped with the shouted request. Would the Music Maker
honor a request from the powerful Draco Malfoy?

Silent seconds ticked away. Draco left Ginny in the middle of the floor to walk to the booth.
Gasps sounded as the black door was cracked open and Draco made a few gestures and more than a few
comments. The door shut and the strains of the erotic song she’d danced to earlier filled the
room.

Reaching her in a few strides, he took her gently in his arms.

“I don’t know your dance,” he said. “But I’m sure we can make up our own.”

***

He was a quick study and an even quicker creator. By the first verse they’d found a sinuous
rhythm, grinding into one another occasionally. She shimmied in front of him as their dance became
a game of hungry cat and sexy mouse.

Somewhere during the chorus he’d lifted her, spun her around, dipping her head almost to the
ground, then pulling her tightly against his hard body.

Along the bridge they’d executed some sensuously complicated footwork.

By the final notes he’d bent her back, pressing a bold kiss in the deep plunge of her halter and
trailing his tongue quite visibly up her breastbone and throat before kissing her breathlessly.

He didn’t stop kissing her until the applause stopped and long strands of her fiery hair clung
to his sweaty chest.

“Go home with me,” he said, breaking off the kiss and tenderly rubbing the pad of his thumb over
her lips.

Her heavy eyelids opened and she assessed his gaze. He still didn’t know. What he didn’t know
couldn’t hurt him.

“My place or yours?” she asked saucily.

***

Ginny nearly choked when Colin met them at Draco’s table with her wand and Draco’s discarded
articles of clothing and his wand. Colin looked at Ginny meaningfully.

“Mr. Malfoy, do you feel well enough to Apparate?” Colin asked solicitously. Draco waved his
hand negligently while Ginny examined him closely to be sure he was capable of Apparating without
splinching himself.

“Yes, Creevey, quite. I’m feeling capital, really. Positively brill. Add on an extra ten
percent, just for you. Now, the lady and I are leaving.”

With that, Draco put his arm around her waist, settling his fingers on the bare skin of her
abdomen above her waistband. Shivering, she followed him out into the misty, dark morning. With his
clothes in one hand, Draco outstretched the other to turn slowly in the cool rain, reveling in the
soothing spray on his hot body. His platinum hair clung wetly to his neck and he frowned. Casting a
quick levitating spell on his clothing, he untied the leather thong that had held back his hair.
Running long, strong fingers through it, he slicked the shining mass back and deftly knotted the
thong one more. Ginny was instantly reminded of how icily handsome he had been on his graduation
day. Age had only enhanced his animal magnetism.

He broke the spell, grabbing his clothes once more.

“You’ll have to hold on to me, love. I’d let you go alone but you’d splat against the wards. So,
hold tight, and don’t think of letting go,” he said, guiding her to his chest and linking her arms
around his waist.

“Here we go,” he muttered, and waved his wand behind her back.

***

They each appeared in one piece in a white marble foyer illuminated by bright moonlight. Draco
muttered a spell and his coat and shirt zoomed from the room, leaving him with only his wand.

Ginny extricated herself from his grasp to look around the eerily lit room. Its ghostly beauty
took her mind to the more immediate fact that she was standing *in Draco Malfoy’s house!*
Death Eater stronghold, house of probable torture, home of hate.

Why was she here? *Because you’ve always wanted Malfoy, whether you’ve admitted it to yourself
or not.* *Since there’s a good chance he won’t remember you, you can shag him to your heart’s
content and not have to worry if it was good for him or not, because he’ll forget by
daybreak.*

Her time to think was over when Draco swept her into his arms as if she weighed no more than a
leaf. Her squeak of surprise was lost in his hot, vodka-sharp mouth. Carrying her bride-style
should have been taxing, if not downright dizzying, for someone who’d drunk as much as he, but he
was surefooted -- almost impatient -- in his strides down a long corridor.

He wove his way through at least three rooms, Ginny was sure, until he pulled away for a breath
and muttered a spell the second he broke from her. She caught a glimpse of his face in the
moonlight. Tendrils of hair too short to be caught in his tieback framed his face, silver eyes now
iron gray. He balanced her easily as he kicked open a door. Ginny expected to be thrown onto a
plush bed and clumsily fucked while she tried to convince herself she was having fun like an
independent woman.

Instead they were back outside, the same cooling, healing mist on her arms and face as outside
Every Flavor. Though it was warm enough, she shivered and he held her closer.

“Why out here?” she asked softly, trying to control her voice, which threatened to waver either
in desire or uncertainty.

“Because a bed inside is too mundane for a creature like you,” he murmured, and lay her down.
Her bare back came into contact with a wide lounge chair that was certainly large enough for two.
Standing over her, backlit by the moon, Draco looked every inch a pagan god tempting her to her
death. Her quiet sigh was interrupted when he lay down beside her, gathering her to his chest.

His kisses were dark, heady and full of fire. Unbidden, her hands went to his chest, tracing the
lines of his musculature. He broke from her as her fingers danced on his chest.

“More, more of that,” he moaned when her thumbs flicked his nipples. Wetting her lips, she
replaced her thumbs with her mouth. He arched toward her, letting low breaths escape his full lips.
She smiled knowingly. Perhaps this would be more fun than she’d first expected.

He let her continue until he had to forcibly pull her head away from his chest.

“If you keep doing that my renowned control will slip away from me,” he chided gently, slipping
his hands behind her neck to release the two tiny catches that held her halter to her.

Her generous, unfettered breasts were revealed to him, topped with pouting pink nipples that
begged for attention. An almost musical sigh left her lips as he lay her down and tongued her
gently. For a stark moment, the contrast between the chilled rain and Draco’s undeniably hot tongue
galvanized her, streamers of need and want flooding her core. She arched beneath him, prompting him
to rearrange himself.

He crawled over her, careful to support his own weight. Meeting her hot gaze over the valley of
her breasts was electrifying. Pushing her breasts together, he allowed a smirk as he tasted her
nipples simultaneously. Sweat and an elemental flavor filled his nose and mouth, and it was
intoxicating. Watching her watch him was incredibly arousing.

She could not take much more. She had to move or she’d come on the spot. Struggling from his
embrace, she spoke quickly to assuage the questioning look in his eyes.

“We’re both overdressed,” she panted, pushing him to her side. Rounding on him, she caught his
zipper in her teeth and pulled down slowly, letting her lips graze over the bulge in his leather
pants. The supple material let him feel everything she was doing to him.

“If you can get those blasted trousers off of me, a gold star to you,” he gasped as she worked
them down teasingly. Truthfully she hadn’t expected him to be wearing something so normal as
underwear, but was wickedly surprised to find black silk shorts with black embroidered dragons and
snakes. She smirked. Of *course* Draco Malfoy would wear shorts like these.

Once she divested him of his shoes, socks, (*Damn him, how can he even have aristocratic
feet?*) pants and shorts, it was time to pay some attention to his throbbing cock that flexed
invitingly in front of her. She stood to admire her handiwork, and held out both hands.

“Up!” she demanded. He eyed her warily.

“Whatever for? Are you suggesting we run about the garden?” he asked. She smiled devilishly.

“Maybe later. For now I’d like you to stand so I can take care of that for you,” she said,
indicating his manhood. For once, he smiled honestly, in appreciation of the woman’s bravado.

“Let’s not be hasty now. I need this to be around in a little bit so let’s go easy, eh?” he
asked, sliding forward on the lounge. With her standing in her high heels, his face was at
waist-level with her. His large hands spanned her hips, caressing, measuring.

“You know, normally I don’t use magic for this,” Draco said, summoning his wand. “But I think
this is a special occasion.” Before she could speak, he waved his wand and pointed them at her
leather trousers. They split at the seams and reformed in a pile next to the lounge. Ginny
shrieked, not expecting the sudden spell. She stood in only her black spike heels and a Muggle
undergarment called a thong. During her American expeditions, the witches there turned her onto the
incredibly sexy scrap of fabric.

“Well, what have we here?” Draco mused, pulling her closer to him. As her breasts heaved in
labored, excited breaths, Draco inspected this patch of cloth and the strings securing it to her
body. He ran his thumbs under them, tracing from the front of the triangular patch to the cleft in
her buttocks, making her shudder.

“This is interesting, to say the least,” he said conversationally, bringing his hands back to
the front. “Do you honestly expect this thing to protect you from randy wizards?” He flattened his
hands on her, thumbs now delving under the fabric, brushing over the slick lips of her sex. A
shudder coursed through her as a gasp left her lips, and she was forced to put a hand on his
shoulder to keep her knees from buckling.

“You didn’t really want these, did you?” he asked, ripping the cloth casually as he spoke. She
groaned with the dismay of a woman who has had a garment ruined by an inept man.

“No, of course not. They were for display only.”

“I assumed as much,” he said smoothly, tossing her ruined panties to the side. “I must say,
those shoes are quite fetching. Why don’t you leave them on?” he asked, inordinately aroused by the
way the straps touched her ankles. Gods, he never had asked a woman to do that before.

“Uh, well, I mean,” Ginny stuttered, unprepared for this request.

“Let me convince you,” he said, leaning forward, tracing his exceedingly hot tongue just inside
her sensitive flesh.

“Oh, Merlin!” she cried as he went deeper, pulling her pelvis forward and burying his tongue in
her.

“No, love, it’s Draco. What’s your name?” he asked offhandedly as he crooked gentle fingers
inside her impossibly tight sheath. Her only answer was a thin, high wail when his fingers searched
out, finding a spot she liked. “I’ll ask again later, love,” he laughed, stirring her curls as she
rocked above him.

He had always liked doing this. Perhaps it was the power he wielded in this simple act. Maybe it
was the sheer taste of arousal that fueled him. It could have been the sounds he elicited. But
nothing spurred him on as much as the reckless screams of this flame-haired vixen standing above
him. He wrapped his hands around her hips and concentrated on taking her over the edge.

He wasn’t drunk any more.

***

Her fingers had since fisted in his hair, flexing and scoring his scalp with sharp nails. Ginny
tried to form coherent words before he sent her into the abyss. She always liked waiting to come;
it heightened her experience, but she was nearly in favor of letting him continue. How many times
would she have the great, fearsome Draco Malfoy’s tongue buried in her most private of places?

“S-S-Stop,” she said shakily, trying to pull him away from her. Without disengaging his mouth,
he looked up at her incredulously, an eyebrow cocked questioningly.

“’s not anything you didn’t do,” she gasped. “I come much, ah, harder if you leave me on the
edge,” she managed through Draco’s lazy strokes.

“Hmm,” he murmured noncommittally, vibrating her. She yelped and he let her go. “If you say so.”
He eyed her critically and could almost see her swollen clit peeking out from underneath her
pouting folds.

She pranced carefully in her heels, trying to keep from sinking too far into the soft grass.

“Stand up!” she directed breathlessly, sighing in relief as he obeyed her. Did he always sport
that insufferable smirk? Apparently so. He circled around her, smiling, as if he were observing
some object of great value that he owned. When he was quite done appraising her, he leaned down to
kiss her, allowing her to taste herself.

She moaned when his soft, puffed lips touched hers. She’d done this before but couldn’t remember
when the mix of man and minx had combined quite so well. When he broke his gentle assault on her
mouth, he pulled back, licking each of his fingers like a lolly. Biting back a groan, she sank to
her knees.

She’d always been a modern witch. When Dean Thomas showed her that this was a pleasurable act
for a man, she took it and made it her own. It was as arousing and powerful for her as it was for
the receiver. And she recalled the many times she’d wondered baldly what a Draco Malfoy would have
in the below stairs department. She’d rather convinced herself back in school that a boy as
horrible as he had to be compensating for something.

She discreetly measured him from the tip of her middle finger to her wrist, having a fair idea
of the distance. More than satisfied, she gave a cream-licking smile. Oh, this would be fun.

He wasn’t prepared for the burning heat that enveloped him. Nearly buckling at the knees, he
struggled to support himself. A few moments later he’d gathered enough sense to be able to look
down without coming on the spot. The fall of her hair concealed most of her actions, but he was
finally able to tell that she couldn’t take him all down. A triumphant grin crossed his features,
but it was soon wiped away as he realized she was doing all of this to his shaft sans hands. In
fact, one of her busy little hands was fondling his sensitive sac, and…wait. Where was the
other…*oh!* She was most definitely touching her tight little quim all by herself. And those
noises she was making were vibrating the hell out of his cock. Resisting the urge to desperately
haul her up by her hair, he reached down, shoving her shoulders away from him.

She released him with an audible pop, more than a little upset with him and longing for that
lovely column of flesh.

“What was that for?” she asked indignantly, trying to take him in her mouth again.

“You can’t play with yourself and expect me to be understanding,” he managed. “That’s all mine.”
Gingerly, trying to avoid touching his cock to her, he pulled her up and pushed her back onto the
lounge.

He pounced like a lithe cat. Unhindered by height or thought, Draco dove back into her pussy
with lips, tongue and teeth. She was so sensitive that it didn’t take much to make her scream, and
he was only beginning.

“Watch me,” he growled. “I want you to see me make you come.”

Forcing herself to do so, she kept her eyes riveted on his silver eyes.

It was then she made her mistake.

***

In a split second, she threaded her fingers through his platinum locks, tearing out the tie,
feeling the strands flow over her skin like silk. When her eyes dropped closed in sheer pleasure,
her expression jolted Draco back eight years.

*Late night rounds were hell on his required amount of sleep, and Draco was determined to
finish in record time, sign off on his Head Boy log that all was safe and sound. Swiveling his head
like an owl, he strode briskly through the passages and corridors, hearing and seeing
nothing.*

*Twenty paces past* *Gryffindor* *Tower**,* *a muffled moan barely reached
his keen ears. Stopping cold, it took only a moment to pinpoint the sound as coming from a nearby
supply closet. The moans grew more frequent, the volume unchanged.*

*Oh, Merlin. Sheer joy followed by equal disgust coursed heavily through his veins. He pressed
his ear to a crack in the door. It was definitely a female urging someone on, and from the sound of
it, her partner was doing a good job.*

*He whispered his password, which the door was obligated to obey.*

*Three things happened at once.*

*Dean Thomas sent a very flushed, eager and topless Ginny Weasley over the edge with his able
tongue buried deeply within her, his excited face hidden by her hiked skirt.*

*Draco’s cock threatened to burst when he witnessed firsthand the visage of the Weasley girl
in the throes of an intense orgasm.*

*Ginny’s valiantly muffled gasp turned into a terrified scream when she realized she had an
audience.*

*The three seconds it had taken for the entire scene to transpire were seared indelibly on
Draco’s mind.*

The frustrated growl that left his lips frightened her. He nipped her clit hard with his front
teeth, making her scream in a mix of pleasure and pain.

Rearing unexpectedly on his heels, he plunged into her, relishing her gasp. Rolling over
swiftly, she was atop him, gorgeously impaled. His mix of anger, surprise and satisfaction held his
own release back as he began to fuck her mercilessly.

“Always hated him more after that,” Draco said, pulling her hips down as far as they could go
before lifting her again. “Wishing it’d been me,” he panted, enjoying how bewilderment and pleasure
warred on her face.

“Should have told him to switch places. I’d have done it better,” he hissed at her as she was
forced to support herself on wobbly arms.

He was able to splay his palms sufficiently enough on her slender waist to get his right thumb
on top of her super-sensitized clit.

“Gods, I’ve waited for years to ask you this, Weasley! Would you have let me tongue-fuck your
pretty pink cunt?” he ground out, bucking his hips roughly.

His harsh words simultaneously shamed and inflamed her. The motion of his cock lodged deep
inside her was too much to bear any longer. Head thrown back, she screamed so hard she thought her
lungs would burst.

It was as if she’d placed his cock in a vise. Her core held him fast, forcing him to stay buried
while powerful muscles drew out his own release.

“Always wanted you, Weasley,” he choked, mustering the last vestiges of his waning strength to
buck into her once more.

***

She’d obviously fainted., or else she wouldn’t have collapsed on his chest in a sweaty tumble.
Not that he minded. He was quite enjoying her slight weight on him, and even more so the incredible
feeling of his cock coming back to life inside her.

“No, no, no, no,” he heard from under her mass of hair, a steady, plaintive murmur. Wrapping his
arms around her, he rolled them again, shaking gossamer strands of her hair out of his face.

“I’d say it was a resounding yes,” he said softly, grinning cheekily.

Her brown eyes opened, muddied by passion and fear and something else he could not define.

“Let go of me!” she said as she tried to struggle underneath him. Her intense orgasm had nearly
wiped out her strength, and she appeared to be as weak as a kitten. He ignored her futile
resistance and cupped her flushed, agonizingly embarrassed face with his hands.

“How about you lie still for a moment, Weasley, and let’s get this sorted out.” He punctuated
his sentence by sliding gently within her. He was rewarded by a gasp and he kept his movements
sparse enough to keep her focused on him.

Sorted out. Ha! How exactly should she contribute to the sorting out? *Well, Malfoy, it’s like
this. You see, I’ve always wanted a good shag with you. In fact, the few times I’ve done anything
sexual I’ve had to picture you. Poor Dean, he had no idea that I wished it was your sharp tongue
that night. I’m sure you can imagine that your barging in made it quite nice, but I was horrified.
I always secretly thanked Merlin that you didn’t take away more points than you did.*

*And, of course, there were all the times I saw you in the media. You smarmy git, why couldn’t
you be a greasy prat who was hard on the eyes?*

*Then you went and made yourself the perfect target, piss-drunk and half-naked. It’s hard for
a girl to miss that. And when you invited me back here, how could I turn down the one night I’d
wanted for ten years? You just ended up recognizing me, you fucking ruddy toad.*

“You weren’t supposed to remember,” she said petulantly, closing her eyes in exasperation. He
chuckled, and moved suddenly.

“That will teach you to keep your eyes open when you’re talking to me,” he said softly. “I have
to hand it to you, Weasley, if you’d not closed your eyes like that you’d not have triggered my
memory.”

“I thought you were drunk,” she said, shifting underneath him.

“I was, that much is true. But somewhere around ripping off those ridiculous knickers and
tasting you I rapidly sobered up.” She sighed, and chanced a glance over his arm toward the
horizon. The sun was just barely peeking through.

“Look, Malfoy, I’m sorry I wasted your time. If you’ll let me up I’ll be out of here in a few
moments,” she said, averting her eyes, not wanting to see his invariably smug smile.

Instead his body tightened around hers.

“You call that wasting time?’ he asked dangerously. “You just want to leave, just like
that?”

“I’m trying to retain what dignity you might let me escape with, so, erm, I’m sorry. Let me
go.”

“I’m not sorry,” he said, rolling his hips tightly. “Obviously, I’ve already admitted a distinct
obsession with you. And obviously, you wished to come home with me. So why don’t we settle this
after we make love while the sun comes up?”

His lips descended before she could reply.

***

He reveled in the sweet taste of her mouth, the soft interior that seemed to invite him in. She
slowly began to respond to him, sparking some hope within him. Tentatively, her arms reached across
his back and linked as he slid his hands underneath her shoulders to gather her to him.

It should have been illegal for him to be able to kiss like that, unhurried and meaningfully. A
sigh left her lips as he explored her ears, her neck. His constant strokes were almost soothing,
enough to keep her excited, but a world apart from their hard, frantic coupling.

An unbidden moan bubbled from his throat when she began undulating below him.

“You know,” he said softly, stirring the hairs at her temple, “at the risk of drawing your ire,
you should be aware you were made for me.” He pulled back from her in the morning light to show her
where they were joined.

“Look at that, would you?” he urged until she rose delicately to see for herself. “I could watch
that all day, me disappearing into you.” He watched her carefully, and stopped her next words with
a finger on her lips.

“No more last names. You’re Ginny and I’m Draco and we’re beautiful.”

She gave an unladylike snort of laughter.

“Draco,” she said, rolling the name around her tongue, tasting it. “I think you’re still under
the influence.”

“I have been known to wax poetic after particularly rough benders,” he said airily. “But I
assure you that I am in full possession of *all* my faculties, wouldn’t you agree?” he asked,
picking up his pace before she could answer properly.

“I’m going to let you in on secret,” he said, kissing the valley between her breasts. “I’m the
proud owner of Every Flavor. In fact, in a few hours it will have been mine for an entire day.” He
let her digest this, as well as adjust to his faster strokes.

“Would you like to know what the deciding factor in buying it was?’ Draco asked tightly, feeling
his climax slinking down his spine.

“Su-sure,” Ginny said, unaware of what the club had to do with this, with them, with
*now.*

“I’d always intended to buy it, but I decided not to sell it. When I asked the manager about the
clientele, he rattled off a dozen names, all newsmakers, all publicity-hounds. Except the last one.
‘That Ginny Weasley comes in here, and she refuses any special treatment. Even though her father’s
the Minister, she’s just nice as could be, she is. Cute as a button too.’”

Ginny was panting a bit now because Draco had stopped speaking and was using his questing tongue
to match his sleek movements below.

“That’s a silly reason,” she managed between indrawn breaths. “Why does it matter?”

“Does your brain just shut down during pleasure? Honestly! Of course I kept it when the manager
said you came in,” he said tartly. “I just happened to be drunk enough that you nearly thwarted
me.”

She squeezed her muscles as hard around him as possible, just to hear him groan.

“As you’re thwarting me now,” he continued.

“Could you pipe down? The sun’s coming up,” she said softly, letting a gentle imitation of his
smirk cross her lips.