Author's Note: Yes, I WILL finish Pieces, but it's just not coming well at all. I am working on other fics and also have a fanfic contest going on right now. I'd love to have you enter! I'll also be posting the fic I'm writing for myself under the contest heading. But for now, enjoy the first chapter of Girls of Hogwarts. All mistakes are mine, with where_is_truth doing the on-the-spot beta.
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Hiding behind her edition of that morning's Prophet, Ginny scratched absently in her notebook with a half-broken quill.
Dear Draco Malfoy,
We, the girls of Ravenclaw, would like to take this opportunity to discourse on our favorite topic: you. You see, Draco, frankly we've discovered that since we're statistically very sure that you've joined Dumbledore's side, you could be a very important person to know. All those contacts your family has in the Ministry would surely help us further our careers.
By marrying one of us, you will show the world that you are forward thinking and all for witches' rights. It would be an advantageous union that would not require much from you, as we're simply educated enough to take care of our own needs, thank-you-very-much. The occasional shag and polite conversation would suffice. Of course, our own suite of offices in a private wing in Malfoy Manor would help to keep us happy. There is quite a lot of scientific research to be done, and we need lots of quiet and books, which we're sure the Malfoy library is chock-full of.
Therefore, in your quest to become engaged to a suitable witch, we present our lovely class of Seventh Years. Upon receipt of the Malfoy family signet ring, we will take care of all applicable details pertaining to our sensible wedding.
Sincerely,
The Ravenclaws
Ginny had to stifle her laughter as she read her ridiculous "letter" to Draco over again. This stupid idea had manifested itself when she had overheard Pansy Parkinson simpering over a letter she had received from Narcissa Malfoy, inviting her to tea.
"I'm positive it's to ask me to agree to marry Draco after graduation," Pansy simpered to Millicent Bulstrode as they approached the library. "You know, our families have been friends for simply ages."
Ginny, who had rolled her eyes behind the pug-faced blonde, decided to entertain herself by choosing a suitable witch for Slytherin's prince. Her ever-present notebook provided the means and her handy quill the impetus.
Later on, while she listened to Professor Binns lecture in History of Magic, she decided to compose letter number two.
Dear Draco Malfoy,
We, the girls of Hufflepuff, have decided it is time to declare our undying adoration for your rather pale body. Though we would like to catch you and snuggle you into our collective bosoms, we can't for the life of us figure out why you keep running away whenever more than one of us is near.
We're good girls, surely you know that! And of course, we'll stand by your side and gladly be trampled under your aristocratic feet if that's what it takes to become Mrs. Draco Malfoy. We're loyal to a fault, and some people have even said we're not so bright, but we're not sure why. We require less care than magical creatures! Simply a small expense account, a garden to till, and a word or two from you a day (they don't even have to be civil!) will send us to the stars and back.
Therefore, we look forward to your speedy reply and on-bended-knee proposal. Should we not receive this within a day or so, we will seek you out and get to the bottom of the problem!
Very truly yours,
The Hufflepuffs
The next day had dawned and she was in Muggle Studies before the words for the third letter came to her mind.
Dear Draco Malfoy,
We, the girls of Slytherin, would like to remind you that you and your family probably have some sort of blood or business ties to our families. So we ask that you choose wisely when you select your charming Slytherin bride.
Though we rely solely on house elves for menial tasks, we are quite up to planning simpering teas with our friends and spending buckets of your Galleons on art, charity or publicity. Of course, should you decide to become a Death Eater, most of our young ladies are already familiar with the time commitment required. Some even have their own masks and robes.
It would be in your best interests to choose one of us quickly, as we are wont to rush directly to our fathers and report that "Drakie" has been sullen and unresponsive to our advances as of late.
Bonded in the Dark Lord's blood,
The Slytherins
Ginny had to suppress a chill as her rapidly-deteriorating quill finished off the last words of her letter. She wondered if some of the Slytherin girls did have their own Death Eater accoutrements.
That night, she found herself in the library, idly passing the time doodling in her notebook. Curfew wasn't for another forty-five minutes and she had no wish to go back to Gryffindor Tower and deal with the boisterous inhabitants before she absolutely had to. After some deliberation, she decided to pen Gryffindor's very own letter to Draco Malfoy.
Turning the uncomfortable chair to the side so the back of it wouldn't be pressed up against hers, she arranged her quill and ink pot and began to dip and write. As she got deeper and deeper into her letter, she pressed too hard on her tatty quill's fragile shaft. It snapped not more than two inches above her quill point. Upset but realizing it was her only quill and she'd have to keep using it, she gamely continued on.
Some hour and a half later Ginny woke when an exotically-scented body cemented itself to her back and hissed in her ear.
"Fancy yourself a matchmaker, hmm?"
Jerked into consciousness, she found a slyly grinning Draco Malfoy plastered to her and one long arm across her breasts, keeping both her arms in place. Willing herself not to scream, she struggled to disengage him, but he only seemed to hold on harder.
"Let's not fuss, shall we? I'm this close to awarding house points for a job well done of amusing me."
"Get off me, Malfoy!" she whispered through clenched teeth, trying very hard to ignore how intoxicating his cologne was and how warm and solid he felt around her.
"Now, now," he chided. "I'm merely doing my job. It's nearly midnight, and you are out after curfew almost two hours. Don't be rash and spoil my fun, Weasley, when you've obviously provided such humorous entertainment." His free hand indicated her notebook and the fluttered pages, the book open to her Slytherin letter.
A rather inhuman, wounded growl escaped her throat at his comment and it was then his teeth caught her earlobe and flicked it with the tip of his tongue.
"If you let me read this without any interruptions, you can scamper on back to Gryffindor Tower and I won't deduct anything. Deal?"
Ginny didn't see many options at this point. Perhaps if she let Draco read her letters he would simply let her go as promised. If that failed, she was not above screaming like a stuck pig to bring some professor's wrath down upon him.
She nodded tightly. She felt rather than heard his approving rumble and wished he would remove his arm from its rather embarrassing placement. Instead, he only held her tighter against him as he leaned forward and dragged the notebook closer.
"Your Ravenclaw letter was clever," he said briskly, as if he had been critiquing it. "And the Hufflepuff letter was both frighteningly dead-on and amusing." He paused, nuzzling his lips closer to her ear.
"And just for the record," he said softly, tongue brushing against the shell of her ear, "I'm not a Death Eater."
A sarcastic "uh huh" escaped her lips before she could silence it.
"Manners, Miss Weasley," he reminded her as he turned the page to the Gryffindor letter she had penned. A blush of epic proportions suffused her features and Ginny tried to avert her eyes as best as possible, to avoid seeing her neat script spelling out in detail just exactly what the girls of Gryffindor might do with Draco. To her overwhelming horror, he began to read out loud in a dulcet voice that she would have deemed irresistible had it not been attached to a Malfoy.
"Dear Draco Malfoy," he began pleasantly. "We, the girls of Gryffindor, would like to take this opportunity to tell you that we are all currently unavailable should you decide to ask one of us to marry you. Though some of us are obviously dating a special someone, those of us who aren't will make up a hulking jealous boyfriend or even spontaneously change sexual orientation to avoid you at all costs."
"But let it not be said that a Gryffindor woman eschews beauty. Despite the fact that we know you are unequivocally a pompous, egotistical prat, we cannot overlook your natural splendor. A common theme throughout the female dormitories is contemplating what exactly you are hiding beneath those designer black and green robes."
"In point of fact, we'd like to make it a very thorough exploration. Some of the ladies among our ranks are very detailed, and we would like to take the time to drink every drop of you. We've not collectively decided on a locale, but the Gryffindor common room seems a fitting place to begin your humiliation. The lovely juxtaposition of your platinum hair against the bold red-gold backdrop makes us think your robes will very nicely complement the carpet."
"We will most likely have ladies armed with silencing, binding and stunning spells if need be. We'd rather not have to use them, so your cooperation is appreciated. And because few of us have clothes as fine as yours, please excuse whichever witch is given the joyful duty of ripping every button off your shirt."
"After divesting you of your shirt, the removal of your trousers via teeth on the zipper commences. We are of course eager to learn the answer to that age-old question, whether you dress to the left or the right. A simple tailoring spell removes your undershorts, and you would be revealed to us in all your glory or shame, whatever the case may be."
Here Draco paused. "I won't keep you guessing, Weasley. It's most definitely glory," he whispered into her ear.
"And now your torture begins. A simple feather will be enough to make you laugh and squirm so we can experience the bewitching smile we always knew was hidden behind those pouting lips and blindingly white teeth. Perhaps we'll traverse the lines of your defined chest, for we know not to dismiss the physique we have heard on good authority you spend hours perfecting."
"The use of this feather will begin to have a pronounced effect on your groin. Because we're a progressive house, your erection will be used to train some of our ladies on the proper technique for making a man wild with desire. Don't expect pity or release; the sole purpose of this is for our edification and amusement."
"You've failed to mention my renowned control, Weaselette," Draco nearly purred. "Don't delude yourself into thinking I'm a sexual weakling."
"Eventually our ladies will tire of you, but your erection shall remain unflagging and you will be reduced to a needy, sweaty beggar. A swirl of hushed conversation flows through the women present and you will deduce that we are meting out your fate. After much discussion, it is decided that one of the Gryffindors will fornicate with you in the name of house pride."
"The two obvious candidates are Hermione Granger and Ginevra Weasley, as they represent nearly everything you hate about our house. Though Hermione puts in a strong showing, protesting that she is older and more suited to you as a partner, Ginny Weasley will be chosen. Unfortunately for you, you secretly think she's prettier. Not only has your family detested the Weasleys for untold centuries, but your father tried to kill her and she has something to prove."
"Kill is a strong word," he said, pulling her notebook even closer. Ginny set her teeth against what she knew was coming…
"Ginny will feed off your disgust, reveling in the fact that you must spend yourself or leave unsatisfied. How poetic, sullying her greatest enemy. And you will hate yourself twofold, not just for being forced to have sex with a Weasley against your will but a very beautiful, nubile Weasley whom you've used in wanking fantasies."
A strong set of teeth scraped against the nape of her neck, forcing a shiver.
"I don't recall sharing the subjects of my fantasies with you, Ginny," he said, letting her name roll off his tongue. "But let's press on, shall we?"
"And there, amongst a cadre of jeering Gryffindor girls, you'll be mercilessly fucked…" Draco broke off, and Ginny had to look past the hardened tips of her breasts to see the bottom of the paper where she had stopped her scribbling in favor of dropping off to sleep.
Abruptly, he let her go, plucking the broken quill from her hand and standing in a swift motion.
"Well, Weasley, that's quite amusing so far, but what good is a letter that's unfinished? Looks like I'll just have to take your quill as punishment for not completing your work the first time."
She couldn't quite shove her chair back with the same panache as the long-limbed Seeker. In her desperate attempt to bolt upright and chase after the stealing git, the soft flesh of her thighs connected solidly with the unfeeling library table.
The impact bringing tears to her eyes, she tried valiantly to stifle them and dash after Malfoy, who was headed rather directly toward the library door.
"I have to have that back," Ginny blustered tearfully, wiping her streaming eyes with the back of her hand and grabbing her notebook. Limping painfully, she lunged after him only to see him disappear inexorably to the heavy oak doors of the huge room, light, masculine laughter trailing after him.
"Come and get it, Weaselette," he challenged, when she finally got to within ten meters of him, dangling the stubby feather by thumb and forefinger as if he were baiting her. She stopped short, trying to rub her aching thighs and keep her temper at full flare.
"Please, Malfoy, I'm sorry," she said, the words coming out of her in a ridiculous rush, the only things that came to her mind to help appease the nicking arse.
"Oh, you'll have to do better than that. Come now, where's that Gryffindor pride and rage?" Insolently, he sent her quill winging its way toward her, keeping it high enough with his wand that she had to try and jump for it.
Momentarily mesmerized by the girl Weasel's plump breasts bouncing as she tried to catch her feather Snitch, he remembered this was revenge and intended to play it to the hilt.
"You want this pathetic stump back? You're going to have to earn it." Clenching the quill in his fist, he smirked at her and darted out the door. A fresh batch of tears brewing, Ginny sped after him as fast as her bruised legs would allow, having to stop momentarily outside in the deserted hallway to listen for which way he had taken off.
She heard the clacking of his shiny black boots on the stone floor down to her left. Racing blindly after the sound of those boots, she twisted and turned in the corridors, he never in her line of sight, leading her by sound and occasional laughter. When she finally realized she was deep within the dungeons and not quite sure how to get back to the warmth of Gryffindor Tower, she skidded past an open portrait with Malfoy lounging indolently against the frame.
"Looking for this?" he said, eyeing her as she panted softly and gave him a glare that he fully believed would stop a Dementor.
"Give it back," she growled, launching herself at him and connecting solidly with his chest, not exactly sure how this was going to help her get back her quill but certain it would surprise him into letting down his guard.
Grunting, he doubled over, not expecting her unskilled attack.
"Fucking harpy," he snapped at her, shielding his masculine bits. "It's a broken quill."
Furious with his incomprehension, she righted herself and shuffled backward, cocking her arm and delivering a gut-wrenching punch to his stomach.
"It's…my…only…one," she ranted through clenched teeth as he bent over yet again to cover himself in fear. "Bloody fucking rich boy like you just pulls them off his eagle owl and uses them fresh!"
Incensed by her ridiculous claim, he grabbed her by the arm and hauled her inside the portrait frame, slamming it behind her and pushing her up against the entrance.
"Taunt one stupid hippogriff one time and you're marked for life," he complained bitterly. "You know how much an eagle owl costs?" The words had no sooner left his lips than he realized how incongruous they were spoken to a Weasley. The laughter returned to his voice as he finished his thought. "Of course you'd have no idea what an eagle owl costs. You're too busy feeding all those mouths at the dinner table."
At the mention of her rather impoverished family, she went limp between him and the door. Inexplicably he moved to keep her from falling by shoving a knee between hers and hauling her back up by the armpits.
"What the…" he began, dipping his head like a deranged heron to see her face. Her pale skin was mottled with the pink of emotion, and tears gushed down her face as if she'd been using her eyes as dams.
"I can't ask for a new quill," she wailed piteously. "Mum and Dad are saving every spare Knut to send Ron to the Auror Academy and I promised them I wouldn't waste my school supplies! Writing stupid letters about your love life doesn't exactly count as conservation!"
For a moment, Draco was mystified, then his mystification turned to disbelief, temporarily forgetting about the sobbing lump of humanity in his arms.
"Your parents are sending that git to the Academy?" Draco wondered aloud, hardly believing what he was hearing. "Thank Merlin. Death Eaters everywhere are safe."
Her intense release of emotion continued unfettered, despite his disparaging remark.
"I won't be able to scrape together some pocket money until the winter hols and I work at the joke shop," she choked, throat closing off. "I just want my quill back, Draco. Please. I just want it back." An enormous cry wracked her slight body and her small hands came up and bunched in the fabric of Draco's shirt as she stood and wept.
Faced with a crying girl and a rapidly disintegrating quill on his hands, Draco found himself strangely speechless. He reflected fleetingly on the many times it would have been amusing -- even desirable -- to have a Weasley, any Weasley crying, but now it was merely a wet mess. He was about to command her to stop when he noticed her very firm, pebble-tipped breasts grazing his chest each time she took a heaving sob.
"And if I don't get this one back," she lamented, breath coming in great, gulping gasps, "I'll have to ask Harry to buy me one and then Ron will go nutters!"
Hearing Scarhead's name spoken in his private quarters was akin to taunting Voldemort with his Muggle name. A burst of heat stabbed through him as he thought just exactly how Miss Ginny Weasley could circumvent asking the Boy Who Lived To Annoy Him for a new quill.
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