The Girls of Hogwarts

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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Author's Note: I don't really know how to define the twistedness that is in my head and works perfectly for this, so if you're confused about either of their motivations or who is really dominating, just rest in the knowledge that they both want to get one over on the other. And to those of you who called Ginny a wimp, sorry you felt that way. She's not totally limp in this fic, and I implore you to just read. Much love to where_is_truth for the beta.

“I'll return your quill,” Draco said simply, causing Ginny to snap her head up in surprise. The hopeful light that gleamed in her tear-filled eyes was almost enough to make him sick that he was going to play this game, but only almost.

“In exchange for a little play-acting,” he finished. He half expected her eyes to droop but instead her tears dried and her face turned an unbecoming shade of red.

“You want what?” she fumed, trying to push him away from her and only succeeding in bringing his now-smirking face closer to her own.

“Oh, I think you know, Weaselette,” he drawled, reveling in the hot feel of her breasts pushing against him. “Just think - you wanted to humiliate me, so you can attempt to do so and get the bonus return of your quill, or you can go sniveling to Potty and risk me deciding to let the whole school in on your letter writing skills.”

“Don't threaten me, Malfoy,” she spat, fighting like a cornered cat.

“Or what?” he asked, somewhat relishing her struggle. “Why let yourself be humiliated when you can humiliate me?” His emphasis on the word was unmistakable and he felt his favorite smirk working itself into place. He had rather thought that Ginny Weasley was more than just shaggable, and though he'd rather die than admit it, he had imagined himself spilling thick streams of pure white come onto her delicate face and flaming hair.

“You've gone round the bend if you think I would so much as look at your ferrety bits,” she said snidely.

He could feel his features suffuse with an angry heat as he said, “Oh, really? Then perhaps you could explain why you seemed so keen on them in your letter?” Taking the opportunity, he shoved those now impressively hard ferrety bits toward the cradle of her hips, fitting them intimately together. “Besides, Weasley, you won't even have to see them. Not when they're deep inside and fucking you senseless.”

He inclined his head sharply, as if to kiss her. Her angrily contorted features softened into a mask of surprise when instead of melding their lips he dropped a hot, open-mouthed kiss on the small, pulsing hollow of her throat. The heat caused an instant sweat to bloom on her forehead and her mouth opened to say something decisive, but no words came.

Her mouth dropped and her chin bumped his upturned cheek. Delving his tongue once, twice into the space and pressing to feel her blood pumping within, he turned his head and met her warm lips squarely.

Ginny hadn't expected such a heinous arse like Malfoy to kiss quite so well, or for his tongue to be toffee-flavored. She spent more than a few moments defining his taste and getting a hint of chocolate before her wits came flooding back and she shoved at him violently.

“What are you doing?” she demanded, stifling the childish urge to wipe her lips just to piss him off. A slow smile spread over his face, begging her to either kiss it away or slap it off.

“Baiting you, obviously. I'm just waiting to be humiliated and here I'm doing all the work,” he said, letting the barest hint of a smile creep through as he backed away from her, beckoning her without making a motion at all.

A clunk sounded as she dropped her notebook and bag to the floor.

“You want humiliation, Malfoy?” she asked, stalking him in the small space he had created. Bumping her chest with his, she matched any steely glare he'd ever produced. A small pair of hands came up and wrenched apart his neatly buttoned collar. “Humiliation is listening to your cultured accent belittling me and my family because we don't wear starched white shirts from Madam Malkin's.” Her lip curled in an unbecoming way and she bent her head, setting strong teeth into the next button and ripping it away. Satisfied with the pink print her lip gloss left, she faced him once more.

Putting both hands in the gaping shirt, she rent it smartly down the center, mother of pearl buttons scattering on the hardwood floor. He stared at her, a mix of curiosity and mild surprise, as she set her fingernails into his skin and raked the shirt off his strong shoulders, leaving livid trails in her wake. He couldn't suppress a small shiver as the pain wrought from those small fingers sent more confirmation to his groin that he was about to be well-fucked.

“Humiliation is you using those arms to knock my brother off his broom when you shouldn't be near the goals at all,” she growled, squeezing the hard muscles with all her might and leaving faint impressions that would bruise on the morrow.

Eyes that had hardened in Flourish and Blotts those years ago when he taunted Potter met his gaze again. Without words, she lowered her head and nipped sharply at one small, extended nipple and then the other. Draco yelped uncontrollably, and when his hands went to soothe the bitten flesh, she was already at his navel and continuing down.

“And there's humiliation here, Malfoy,” she said, nimble fingers unfastening his trousers' fly. “All those girls you've supposedly slept with. They moon over you, but you forgot their names, maybe even while you were shagging.” She exposed his boxer shorts and yanked them down, uncovering his throbbing, weeping erection. She closed her hand around his length and squeezed tightly until he groaned.

“I'm going to make bloody sure you won't forget about me.”

And meeting his wide-eyed gaze, she calmly shoved his left leg to the side, pressed her index finger to his perineum and proceeded to scrape her teeth down his cock.

“Bloody fuck,” he yelled as a dry orgasm rippled through his veins. Stumbling, he reeled backward with flailing arms until he struck the side of his bed and heaved himself atop it, away from her.

She regarded him there, he holding his still hard and reddened cock, trousers and boxers about his knees and wondered fiercely how he was still allowed to appear so edible in that state. Grasping her wand, she waved it and muttered a banishing charm, watching his clothing jerk from his body and wing into the fireplace.

“Hey!” he said indignantly, though whether from the burned clothing or his sudden nudity she wasn't sure. Stalking him, she observed his frightened scramble to the far corner of the bed as she boosted herself onto the pillow-soft mattress.

“Now who's afraid?” she sing-songed in a low, quiet voice. “Look at the snake slithering away from the li-on.” From all fours, she reached out and raked the fingernails of her left hand down his near thigh.

Instead of flinching in pain he arched his back and moaned, rigid erection throbbing visibly. And then she realized she had no idea what she was doing, why she was here, or even why humiliating Draco Malfoy in return for her ruined quill was a good idea in the first place. She simply had no idea how to handle him now, now that she'd broken from her scary reverie. A single thought ricocheted through her mind. If only he'd cried out in pain I'd be making him do it again and again.

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After recovering from the glorious shiver she'd wrought from his body, he glanced at her and at once saw and comprehended the confusion on her face. Can't lose her now.

“What's the matter, Mistress Weasley? I'm not yet feeling properly debased,” he taunted. “Aren't you going to command me to do something beneath my station, like taste your cunt?”

Her eyes widened and it took a moment for his crude, effective comment to sink in, and then the sheer audacity of his word choice made her bare her teeth and her eyes narrow.

“Why, yes, Malfoy, something like that,” she snarled.

“Well, then, Mistress,” he said, letting the word come off his tongue with a distinct hiss, “perhaps as your slave I ought to remove your clothing.” Before she could answer with a scathing affirmative, he slid off the bed, out of her sight.

In turn she moved over the smooth sheets to the floor, expecting him to stand and walk over to her.

She wasn't prepared for the wet, nipping kiss at the back of her knee. The bastard had crept on his belly underneath the high bedstead and came out on the other side. Yelping, she tried to move away from the teasing touch but he held her fast, not letting go until he'd paid the same treatment to the sensitive skin behind her other knee.

Breaking free, she threw herself forward a few steps and turned to face him, his body still half under the bed.

“Don't even dare do anything I haven't given you permission to,” she said warily, shaking a finger at him. His eyelids lowered to half mast and he nodded submissively.

“Of course, Mistress. My apologies.”

Then, reaching out as a panther would stretch out a paw, he came out from beneath the bed, slinking toward her on all fours, long legs and arms flexing as he made his way one limb at a time to her still-shod feet.

And because she could momentarily do nothing else, she watched as he set his impossibly white teeth into the sturdy laces of her black oxfords and began to pull them apart. Only when he had loosened them, he braced himself on his knees and ran a hand up her calf to prompt her to raise her foot.

Standing now in sagging knee socks, she was about to command him to remove them until she saw him doing it himself. One foot at a time, he pulled the sock down with his teeth and off, flinging it behind him with a careless flick of his wrist.

When that toffee-flavored tongue began to caress her dungeon-chilled toes she felt a rush of warmth pool in her knickers and thought that perhaps there was something to be said about this sick little game.

“Stop now,” she said. “And stand up.” She couldn't suppress the shudder borne of the sight of him looking up from her dainty foot, tongue extended to tickle her big toe. A wave of concern washed over her, as it dawned that even though she was in charge it seemed suspiciously like he was guiding her, negating her entire focus.

He stood, and was so close she had to step away from his erection, bobbing as near as it was to her waist. She began to circle him, sizing him up as if he were a side of beef. Neither spoke, and she went around him no fewer than five times. Once she traced the defined line above his spine, another time she traced the corresponding line down the center of his chest. Twice she trailed her fingers down his leaping cock, and the last time she fell to her knees and set her teeth into his perfectly rounded, muscular buttock.

His flinch and accompanying groan set her nerves on fire. She bit again, heedless of his low cry, forgetting herself and not wanting to remember.

Of its own accord, her other hand rose to knead his other buttock, while she concentrated on outlining the exact crease where his buttock met his powerfully muscled thigh. His legs spread unexpectedly but she allowed it, and her tongue fit perfectly into the groove that connected from his flank to his inner thigh…

“Sweet Circe,” she heard him breathe, his moan directly connected to her sex. Momentarily stopping her tongue's tantalizing journey, she pulled her body up the backs of his legs and draped her arms over the angles of his hips, fondling his cock from behind.

“You will not come,” she said softly, matter-of-factly, her conviction the strongest it had been all night. “You won't come until I tell you to.” Sealing her words with a kiss to his hip, she came down once more and picked up where her tongue had left off.

“Maybe you ought to test me, Mistress,” he said, his tight throat belying the silk in his tone. “If I come you'll get to punish me.” Punish me, hurt me, fuck me.

A perfect idea.

He wasn't prepared for her to turn like lightning onto her back, slide partway through his legs and take one of his balls into his mouth.

“Merlin's bloody teeth!” he swore, trying desperately to keep his balance. The sight of her there, underneath him, her red hair dragging the ground, her bright eyes staring up at him, was daring him to come. The slight pull she had on his sensitive sac was aiming his cock down as well, and when she suddenly released him to suck lightly on the tip of his cock, his entire body shuddered, the temblor before the earthquake.

His whole-body vibration surprised her, and the suction she made when she let go of his penis was too much, and, just like his dreams, spurted gouts of semen into her ruby hair.

Horrifyingly, the scene played out in slow motion for him, as he helplessly watched his ejaculate sully her hair and spatter on her near cheek, her bright eyes wide open in disbelief and then later distaste.

The last emotion he saw her face play out was one of fear as she watched his knees turn to water and he fell heavily atop her, barely able to brace himself to avoid crushing her.

“Get off me!” she shrieked, hand wrenching itself out from underneath his shin and instinctively reaching for her ruined hair. Her fingers tangled in the wet mess, and from what he could see of her, she was about to explode.

“You fucking pervert, get off me!” Ginny yelled, her tone earsplitting. He was sitting so high on her chest that she was able to maneuver a knee up and effectively kick him in the kidneys.

“Ouch, dumb bint!” he gasped, rolling off her. Reaching for his surely bruised back, he massaged it and winced. “Merlin help me if I'd had the misfortune of coming in your mouth,” he muttered.

By this time she had stood and was making a beeline for her wand to clean the mess when she heard his offhand comment.

“Too bad you didn't,” she threw back darkly. “Maybe I could have spit it back at you.”

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Author's Note: Thanks to ClanMalfoy, Kirixchi and Where_Is_Truth for reading this for me! The spell “chatouillio” is based on the French infinitive verb “to tickle.”

She raised her wand to fire off a scourgify to her hair and then a refreshing spell. As she tamed her hair, he heard her muttering something that sounded suspiciously like ask Harry.

Prepared to walk out the door, her back high and proud, Ginny was stopped by a single word.

“Wait,” he called out, sitting cross-legged on the floor, softening cock nestled in the white-blond thatch of curls at his groin. He was trying desperately to look pious, and thought he was carrying it off fairly well.

“What?” she snapped, leaning on the doorjamb.

“Well, I've not really been punished all that much,” he said, and the words were true, much as she didn't want to hear them. “I did exactly what you told me not to and now you're leaving? Did Mistress Weasley miss her turn with the family backbone?”

He'd never seen her move so fast.

She planted her small foot in the middle of his chest and pushed hard enough to make him fall and bump his head on the floor.

“We don't buy it, we fucking earn it,” she raged. Clasping his long fingers around her ankle and stroking, he grinned.

“Why don't you prove it, then?”

***

It was odd that she should feel uncomfortable in her clothes when he was completely starkers. But he was sure of himself, and content to live inside his perfect skin.

Jabbed by his cruelly-tipped barb about her mettle, she squared her shoulders and pushed them back.

“Get up and take off my knickers.” It was the only thing she could think of to tell him to do that would still leave her some clothing.

Gracefully, he flipped from his prone position and knelt at her feet like a supplicant. Starting at her calves, he flattened his hands to touch as much of her fragrant body as possible. Slowly his hands advanced above her knees, then to the backs of her thighs, and suddenly moved her skirt up and ducked beneath it, full lips and teeth latching on to the elastic waistband and drawing them down, interminably down.

The crotch of her plain pink knickers was damp against his chin and he could feel his nose nuzzling the equally damp curls as he brought the garment down. Gods, her scent was dark and heady, and he fancied he could just taste the rain of her desire on his lips.

Her gasp broke his reverie, and he realized his view was still blocked by the skirt that was still partially covering his eyes. Bowing his head and neck, he brought the knickers to her ankles and tugged, forcing her to step out of them.

“Now my shirt,” she commanded shakily. Again, the slight, spare moves with his Seeker's skill, and he was standing before her, pulse beating visibly in the small hollow at his neck and he was staring right into her eyes as he released each button from its hole.

And then, damn him to hell, he just stood there, his expression blank and unreadable, his eyes still fixed on hers.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” she forced out, hating how trapped she felt and here she was supposed to be in charge.

“Aren't you supposed to tell me?” he asked, lifting a silky eyebrow, breath puffing softly against her cheek.

“Just do it,” she hissed. “Don't ask me for permission.”

“Sorry,” he said lightly. “You are the Mistress, after all.”

Her cuffs were already unbuttoned, and it was easy for him to brush the shirt off her shoulders in a whisper of cloth. Her breasts were hiding behind the modest cups of her matching pink bra, but he could see the tops heaving with almost gasping breaths.

Circling her as she had done to him, he sized her up and then stood directly behind her, his body inches from her own. The skin on her back tingled as she felt him release each of the three catches on her bra. The tired straps and soft cups went sliding over her shoulders and to the ground, and forgetting about what he was really doing, he guided his hands underneath her arms and closed his warm palms around the weight of her breasts, groaning.

The heat made her stumble in surprise, and she collided with his solid chest and the contact made both of them sigh. He held her there, fast against him, and it was difficult not to melt into those hands and that chest and share the simple pleasure of two lovers. Before she could make herself wrench free, his fingers had molded stiff peaks of her nipples.

“I didn't say you could do that,” she said slowly, moving away from him and coming up to face him with strangely bright but downcast eyes.

“You make the rules,” he stated, but it was without rancor.

“Just…just take my clothes off, okay, Malfoy? Anything beyond that, you ask.”

She hadn't even crossed her arms while defending herself.

***

Standing her ground, she allowed him to remove her shirt. Pebble-tipped breasts skimmed over him with every breath she took, and he reached behind her to pull the zipper down. With nothing underneath it, it rustled to the floor.

“I've exhausted my permission,” Draco said. “So I'm asking for it again.”

“And what exactly are you going to do with it?” Ginny asked, her grouchy voice music to his ears.

“Whatever the Mistress wants, of course.”

Suffused by a dull flush, Ginny felt her cheeks and upper chest heat in embarrassment.

“I can refresh your memory, if you've run out of ideas,” he casually suggested.

She had turned her back to him. Two pale, rounded cheeks greeted him, and crazily he wondered if he just ducked his head to her waist level if he could see the pouting lips of her sex.

“Suggest away, ferret,” she said, trying desperately to sound bored. She'd only turned to save face, after all, because her breasts were clearly heaving now and she was immediately embarrassed about the wiry strawberry thatch of hair visible to him between the tops of her thighs.

“Oh, I could lick your quim until you scream,” he stated, unemotional words belying the excitement he felt. “Of course, I'd have to keep myself from gagging, and of course feel the utter disgust that must surely come from eating a Weasley.” The calm lashes of his whip-like tongue infuriated her.

Turn around, turn around, little one, let me see you.

“You insufferable prick!” Ginny half-shouted, the noise constricted by the sad lump forming in her throat. Pivoting on one delicate ankle, she crossed the few steps to him and while he ogled her full-frontal glory, she caught him unawares and shoved him down to the floor by his shoulders with prizefighter strength.

Momentarily bested, he lit hard on the floor, knees cracking on the wood and yelping. Taking advantage of his confusion and pain, she tilted her hips viciously, thrusting her mound into his sharp chin hard enough to make her wince through the tears that were threatening to fall.

“Do it, Malfoy! Degrade that pretty mouth of yours. After all, you wanted this, right? Fucking do it, you right bastard! Make me scream, can't you?”

His mouth, full of her damp skin and his nose with the scent of her, prevented him from answering in the split second she demanded.

“Can't you?” she screamed, voice thin and shrill.

***

The hard clamp of his hands over her hips broke the haze of anger clouding her eyes. His tongue split her like a silk-edged knife, and the sheer pleasure from the single touch nearly brought her to her knees as well.

No time to speak, or squeak, as the case was. Bracing herself, willing her legs to hold her, she attempted to survive his onslaught. His hands only held her up, held her apart, held her together.

The liquid velvet of his touch was everywhere, lightning fast, and not in the places she quickly discovered she wanted him to be. He swirled around the pearl hidden in folds of flesh, and when he sought it, she cried out and clutched his head closer.

He let her peak build and fall, ebb and flow, driving her to distraction. Her small hands tugged at his hair, his ears, anywhere she could find purchase, but it was not enough.

The heavy, fluid feelings of her orgasm taunted her; she was unable to grasp it, only view it from a maddeningly short distance. She moaned her displeasure and he jumped up, erection jutting again, heavy and proud.

“Not enough for you, Weaselette?” he purred. Before she could draw her eyes away from the glistening smears of her juice on his lips and chin, he set his large hands firmly into the spot where her buttocks met her thighs and lifted.

Now six feet into the air, Ginny gasped and pitched gracelessly into him, trying with all her might not to fall. Her efforts to balance herself were thwarted by Draco's masterful tongue invading her again, thrusting in short, staccato bursts across a small place inside her that made her buck with pleasure. Aloft by the grace of only his hands on her backside, she didn't know how much she could trust those instruments of pleasure.

He wouldn't stay still. He moved them around the room, making her scream with fear when he dipped and moan when his movements made him hit that spot just right. She couldn't tell where they were in proximity to anything; her closed eyes only hoped they didn't see stars. Knowing he couldn't see anything either did not comfort her, for his face was buried between her thighs, which were tightly clenched on his shoulders to keep her from tumbling to the ground.

And then she was falling, falling, and she screamed her lungs out from stark terror, the very wind knocked out of her when she alighted on the cool sheets of what was presumably Malfoy's bed.

“Accio, accio!” he demanded sharply, voice hoarse. Trying to draw breath back into her lungs and pry her eyes open were two tasks she could just not do simultaneously. Once her eyes were open, she saw Malfoy's long-fingered hand reaching out to catch his wand and the damned stub of her quill.

“I'll make you scream,” he promised feverishly as he whipped his wand and produced a short robe to bind her wrists together. “I'll make you scream my name when you come.”

“Chatouillio!” Draco hissed, and before she could struggle against her soft rope bonds, the teeny, tiny scrap of a feather that was left began to vibrate so quickly in mid-air that it became a gray blur. And then the blur touched her turgid nipple.

When her shocked gasp came, she rocketed off the bed. Her body arched toward him, and he sank two of his crossed fingers into her constrictive sex. The canal wasn't prepared for the intrusion, and the tightness nearly made his eyes cross as she released a keening wail when her body stretched to accommodate him.

“That's almost screaming, Mistress,” he bit out, a reckless tilt to his lips.

And because she couldn't help it, she arched her body up as far as she could stand it and pushed his head down to her again.

Unable to control the grin that welled up, he busied himself once more to the task she had so plainly bid him to do. It was trickier now, now that he was tasting her and pumping her with his fingers, to determine exactly when she was close to release and backing off. He only had to hear his name dripping from her honeyed lips and he'd shove her into the abyss.

His erection was weeping, he was sure, as he eyed as best he could the feast of her flesh. As her whole body moved with his fingers, her breasts swayed and the teasing feather moved back and forth between the diamond-hard nipples, never giving her a moment's reprieve.

“What does Mistress want now?” he asked, the mirth in his voice foreign to even his own ears.

An incomprehensible moan issued from her lips.

“Sorry, I couldn't quite get that,” he teased. Again, the moan.

“Pardon?” he queried.

“I want you to make me come, Malfoy,” she grit out between clenched teeth, the breath she had been holding exhaled like a whistle.

“Finally, something I can understand!” he said brightly. He dove back into her, lips pursing around her clit and holding it steady, flicking with snake-like speed. Mindlessly, he let his fingers plunge into her again and again, this time curling them to catch the spot that made her gasp on each stroke.

Her orgasm built like a volcanic eruption. As the molten core of her poured over his lips and fingers, she shuddered out one single word on far too many syllables.

“Draco.”

He removed himself from her body, letting her sweat out the aftershocks of her release. When she pushed aside her damp fringe so she could see him clearly, she watched him lick her essence from her lips.

His perfect white teeth glittering, he spoke two words. “Your move.”

-->

She found it difficult to reply when her sex was still constricting around an absent length. Her eyes drifted shut, and Ginny was madly trying to sift through the haze of release, to stop the vague clenches her sex was still executing.

When she chanced to glance at him again, he was still hovering, chin still covered with her. Deliberately, he swiped fingers through the liquid and brought them to his mouth, watching her reaction.

“Don't,” she muttered weakly, shading her eyes from the suddenly too-bright room.

“Don't what, Mistress?” he asked innocently.

“Just stop,” she said, raising a languid hand to massage her temples. The vision they surely presented right here had manifested itself in her head, and it was all she could do to suppress the moan.

“I could stop,” he said agreeably, moving so that his swollen cock brushed lightly against her bent knee. “But you know, I'm still feeling Malfoyish and not broken at all.”

Her lips curled savagely and he squelched a laugh.

“You know, Mistress, by your own admission many women have been in here,” he began conversationally. “And while their appetites are as lusty as mine, there's one thing I never let happen. I never let them get the best of me. I never let them mount me. You know why? Because I'm better than them. Because I dominate them. Because they're not worthy enough to have the upper hand.”

“Or maybe you're scared they can fuck you on their own terms, hmm?” she spat, moving to escape from the invisible cage he'd made with his body. Uncoiling his body, he pinned her instantly with the weight of his eyes and not at all with the corded arms that he'd planted alongside her head.

“What about your terms?” he said, pointing to the sad scrap of feather he'd long since banished to the throw rug on the hardwood floor nearby. “I don't think mine have been met yet. I'm not very inclined to return your quill.”

Her eyes squeezed shut again, wondering if she was ever going to get out of this not-quite nightmare.

“I have an idea, Weasley,” he said brightly, allowing his turgid flesh to slide just inside her slick nether lips. She jerked underneath him, and her eyes opened wide.

“Pray tell?” she asked tiredly, trying not to concentrate on the flutters he was causing in her stomach.

“Oh, it's wonderfully sinister,” he said, and she stared at him, trying to determine if he was joking or not. “We've established that you're the mistress here. Maybe you ought to climb atop me and get what you want.”

His steely eyes bored into hers and she could hardly believe what he was saying.

“Perhaps it's the only way to put me in my place,” he taunted, trying to spur her to action. “And certainly the only time a Weasley would ever best a Malfoy.”

His head snapped to the side as she slapped him sharply.

“No matter whatever your filthy family does to us, we're always better than you,” she hissed. “Fucking, fighting, bloodlines, loyalty.”

“Prove it, then,” he snapped, gathering her roughly to him and executing a roll on his bed. Once she was draped over him, she moved quickly to sit up and get away, but he again employed his wiry strength to pin her arms in place.

“Not so fast,” he snarled. “This isn't over.”

“The hell it's not…” she yelled, and then her voice switched abruptly to a keening wail as he lifted her up and dropped her on his waiting shaft.

He bucked his hips sharply into her, growling as he held her down over him.

“Well, Mistress, here we are,” he managed tightly. “I'm looking to be punished and you just said you're better than me at it, so let's get to it.”

She felt boneless and light-headed as he made small thrusts into her to keep her attention. His words were penetrating and infuriating, but his cock inside her was taking away her ability to put together a coherent thought.

“No, I, this…” she said weakly.

Like a shot he sat up halfway, his face inches from hers.

“I said fuck me, you weasel bitch,” he rasped, and had to recoil almost immediately as she recovered and snapped her teeth viciously at the end of his nose.

“With pleasure,” she growled, raking her fingernails down his face, outlining livid streaks.

Leaning down, she angled herself so she could move back and forth on his shaft as quickly as possible. His fingers tangled painfully in her hair, holding her head in place. Ginny bit his near shoulder out of pure spite, taking small pleasure in seeing the deep indentations her sharp teeth left.

He grunted and shoved her upper body to a steeper angle, granting him access to her breasts. Her hands came up automatically to brace herself when she screamed as his teeth set into her right nipple.

He worried and pulled and nipped, sending streamers of fire down her body and straight to her quim. Now that she had unthinkingly propped herself up on him, he was able to take his hands away from her waist and hold her in place, levering his hips up and into her as quickly and roughly as he possibly could.

“I'm barely breaking a sweat, Mistress,” he bit out, taunting her as her own sweat dripped down her flushed face and splashed on his abdomen.

But he was lying, she could tell. His platinum hair had dampened at the roots, and a line of perspiration broke across his smooth forehead.

She let herself fall heavily on his chest, forcing the air out of his lungs. His next breath was full of her as she captured his lips and bit at them, drawing blood and showering his face with her own sex sheen and dripping tendrils at her temples.

She pulled away, hoping she had silenced him for a moment, but he grinned madly back at her, teeth gleaming and bared.

“Oh, Weasley, what a gaping great cunt you have,” he sneered, grinding his pubic bone into her clit just to see her wince and whimper in dark bliss. “How many other boys have you let plow you like this?”

His words had the desired effect and he delighted in watching her face screw up in near-tears. To punctuate his point, he drove himself as deeply as he could into her rather snug confines, knowing his jibe was one of the worst a woman could ever hear.

A sob escaped her and she brought her fist down in the middle of his chest, wetness seeping from her warm brown eyes. Each heaving gasp tightened her body around him, and she was still moving out of recently acquired habit.

“I hate you,” she cried bitterly. “What have you done to me?”

Despairingly, she reached her free hand between her legs and grabbed him, intending to pull him from her passage. Her slickness made it hard to grasp his member, but she tilted her pelvis in order to remove him. He groaned loudly and instead thrust through her clenched fist and into her. The angle of her body was different, and he went so deep that he triggered her orgasm.

When she collapsed upon him and screamed in his ear, he thought he might lose his hearing. Paroxysms gripped her body and him in turn, and he took advantage of her near-incapacitation to thrust several more times into her clenching body, letting her climax bring his own.

Her body, weakened by sex, pain and exhaustion, promptly fell unconscious.

***

He was still inside her, hard as rock again when he could have rightly made a case against it.

Her breathing was even now and steady in his ear, and Draco found he didn't mind one bit that her hands had clasped loosely atop his head.

He'd long since summoned his wand, only moments after she'd passed out. Taking great care not to wake her, he'd whispered the strongest contraception spell he'd been taught, one that protected the woman for nearly two days. And after that, he'd lain there beneath her, reveling in the amazing sensation of becoming hard again within her body and how nicely that body fit over his own.

His own body was heavy with stupor, but his groin always got the last word. Whispering a wingardium leviosa, he put his arms around her and rotated their bodies, staying joined. Settling her into the deep, warm spot where he'd just been lying, he saw her snuggle slightly into the mattress and fingers grasp at sheets that weren't there.

Finding a gentle rhythm that continued without him consciously directing it, he slid in and out of her slowly, watching her face contort slightly and listening to her sighed exhalations. Examining her in the now-guttering candlelight, he could see her lips were swollen and chafed, red with overuse.

When he touched the very tip of his wand to her mouth she stirred and her eyes cracked sleepily. It was almost as if she didn't recognize him, he thought. Yawning, she lifted her eyes to his own.

“What are you doing?” she asked softly, squirming a bit below him. Deciding stating the obvious wasn't the best, he did tell the truth.

“Healing your lips.”

“Oh,” she said, her eyes closing again. He murmured the reducing spell and watched the obscene swell vanish from her mouth.

Her nipples were dark pink and tender, he discovered, when he inadvertently brushed against one. An anti-pain spell and the reducing spell took care of that, and when he found bruises on her wrists and arms from holding her, he massaged them gently while scanning his mind for the spell to stop subcutaneous bleeding.

Her deep and slow breathing told him that she'd fallen asleep again. No matter, he thought, it only afforded him more time to heal the marks she'd accumulated. He hadn't realized she would fight that hard, excite him so much. He didn't regret one hurtful thing he'd said to her, as it had all served to further their explosive orgasms. No one had ever reacted to him as she had, and he knew after one session that her easily raised ire would provide excellent fodder to lure her into it again.

Because in all honestly, he wanted her to win their little game. Wanted her to dominate him so thoroughly he'd gladly service her on all fours and call her Mistress and mean it. He was skilled in true domination, having found no one to best him, and always had great pleasure from it. But this…this fiery Weasley, she would make him pay.

Setting aside his wand, he concentrated now on wringing this very last bit of pleasure from her. He'd reduced the swelling between her legs and soothed it with the tiniest hint of charm-generated lubricant. His way eased even more, he braced his hands on the bed and she must have felt the sudden change in weight, because her eyes opened and she looked at him with more comprehension.

“Draco,” she muttered, unable to muster the strength to push him off. “Haven't you hurt me enough?”

He leaned down to kiss her gently, though her words speared through him and he felt a twinge of remorse.

He was about to tell her he was sorry when the depths of her body rippled with orgasm, tearing his own from him and rendering her insensate.

***

Five short hours later, Ginny woke and wished she hadn't. Her body was painfully numb and stiff, and as she determined how best to extricate herself from Draco's arms, she realized he must have performed some sort of glamour on her. There was no way she'd be leaving without marks unless he charmed them away.

He was pressed against her back, head tucked just behind her neck. He'd linked both hands over her midriff at some point, and gingerly she pried them off and disconnected his long fingers to allow escape. As quietly as a silencing spell, she moved gingerly off the bed and located her wand and clothing.

The sunlight peeking in around his drapes showed her that he still bore the marks of her sharp fingernails on his pale cheeks, slightly bloody teeth marks on his shoulders and three distinct bruises where she had hit him. If she'd had the time for a closer inspection, she'd have seen the half-moons her fingernails dug into his thighs and a myriad of other small battle wounds.

Had it been anyone else she might have been upset over marring that pale perfection. She bared her teeth in a feral smile and dressed immediately, leaving his dungeon quarters and the hate they begat.

***

One full day later and she'd been studiously avoiding him, though she heard the whispers that someone had attacked Malfoy and he had the nasty scratches to prove it.

She was back in the library, studying for an exam, tucked into a far corner away from the infernally chattering students.

Though she faced the wall, she felt a presence approach her. A shiver ran down her spine and with that small affirmation, she knew who the intruder was.

“What do you want, Malfoy?” she asked, her tone measured but strained. She refused to turn around, to look at him, to see the evidence of their sex clearly outlined on his face. Her back became rigid as he seated himself in the chair next to her and turned sideways, so close she could feel his hot breath.

"Here," he said, brushing her cheek softly with an expensive-looking quill.

She shivered at the memories the caress brought to mind, but tried to pull herself together and stay icily calm. "What's this for, Malfoy?"

"So you have something to write with." He smiled devilishly and she felt the bottom drop out of her stomach as she realized that nothing had ended when she snuck out of his room before he woke. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to keep your old one handy for the next time you come to play."

~finis~

Author's Note: Thanks to all of you who stuck with this fic through the many months it took to finish it. Special mention goes to Mynuet who wrote the last few paragraphs for the ending on the first day I proposed this fic. I've altered it slightly to fit the events.

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