Smoking in the Head Boy's Room by sugarbear_1269

Rating: NC17
Genres: Angst, Romance
Relationships: Draco & Ginny
Book: Draco & Ginny, Books 1 - 5
Published: 16/12/2004
Last Updated: 18/12/2004
Status: Completed

When Ginny decides Draco is the only boy in the castle who can teach her how to effectively woo
her crush, she learns more than just technique. **Prize fic written for Sarea Okelani, who gave the
plot device.** COMPLETE




1. Conversations
----------------



Written for the inimitable Sarea
Okelani, who won my birthday fanfic contest drive. This was *supposed* to be five thousand
words, but would you readers be okay with thirty-three pages and over 17,000 words? This story is
complete and will have chapters posted every three days. Please do not forget to nominate your
favorite D/G fics in the Reader's Choice Awards. Go to the rec board and check them out!

Ginny frowned as she digested a new and unwelcome piece of information about her crush. The
brainy Ravenclaw *smoked.* It was the least expected act Prefect Spencer Pierce could have
committed.

Filing it away under the folder “things I can change about him,” Ginny tried to take the news
with aplomb.

“Oh, yes, he was smoking like a chimney,” Luna Lovegood told her dreamily. “Filthy habit, but he
was charming his exhalations into his House crest.”

It was hard to imagine the dapper Spencer smoking cigarettes in a partially covered outdoor
alcove of the castle with Head Boy Malfoy and Prefect Zabini.

***

Ginny decided Spencer was the boy to take home to her family, his interest in Muggle Studies not
withstanding. She'd been his project partner in that class, as there were neither enough
Gryffindor nor Ravenclaw sixth or seventh years signed up to justify a split class.

He seemed amazed by her Muggle knowledge, even musing that he'd someday like to meet her
father and mother. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with capable hands that assisted her through
Muggle chemistry lessons. With hazel eyes quick to crinkle in laughter and a merry smile, the
dark-haired boy made her look forward to the subject she'd literally lived all her life.

When the fall term ended, she couldn't bear the thought of not seeing his sunny face each
day in class. So like a lovesick girl, she'd asked Luna about his habits and found out about
his least desirable one. Luna had been out on the grounds on an unseasonably warm January evening
to pick crocuses and spied the three boys huddled together, smoke billowing above their heads and
low voices occasionally rising in laughter.

She had heard that smokers, often bonded by their ostracism, formed good friendships. So it
stood to reason that perhaps Spencer would talk about girls, or at least what he preferred, with
Malfoy and Zabini.

“Luna, can you show me where that alcove is?”

***

The alcove itself was not located far from the Great Hall. Blaise and Spencer often patrolled
together, and sometimes Malfoy would join them for a smoke after dinner before the two prefects set
out.

She'd spied on them - well, spied wasn't the word, eavesdropped, really - as many nights
as she dared, though a crack in the cold stone wall of the castle. It was sometimes difficult to
make out voices as the winter wind whipped around them. She could often smell the pungent smoke
that swirled around them, and tolerated it better than she would have imagined. Still, she thought,
a little suggestion spell to the back of Spencer's head wouldn't do any harm.

Listening unhappily, she was dismayed to learn that this particular group of boys talked
Quidditch scores more than anything. On the off chance that girls were mentioned, it was usually a
notch on the belt for Malfoy or Zabini. And on one particular instance, both Slytherins related a
raucous romp with Daphne Greengrass and Millicent Bulstrode a few weekends back.

“Poor Daphne, Millie was more interested in her than us!” Blaise (or maybe it was Malfoy)
crowed.

“Blaise tried to get her to pay attention by stuffing her full but she wouldn't take her
eyes off Daphne's quim!” Malfoy howled. “I finally told Millie if she thought she could do a
better job than I, maybe we ought to have a going down contest.”

She wished she didn't remember *that* particular eavesdropping session.

Tonight, the boys were laughing and she could only pick our words and phrases that turned out to
be nonsensical once they made it to her ears. The wind was howling so badly she was amazed the
smoke was still coming in through the crack.

And then, as clearly as she could wish for, were voices directed at her. *They turned toward
the castle to keep the wind at bay,* she thought.

“There's nothing sexier than a girl who goes right for your bits, you know?” one of the boys
stated. Blaise? Spencer? Malfoy?

“As long as she knows what she's doing…can't have her be overeager and muck it all up,”
another said lazily. Had to be Malfoy.

“I do like educating virgins,” a third chuckled. “Spoil `em for me and ruin them for another
man.” *Positively* Malfoy. Mentally deciding Spencer didn't want someone to be overexcited
was better than thinking he wanted a brazen hussy or exploit a shy virgin, the very category she
fit into.

“You ever put yourself between a girl's breasts?” one of them demanded from the others. “One
look at her getting dizzy from it coming at her and I'm coming *on* her!”

General laughter. As she'd not even seen a penis, she couldn't really visualize what the
boys were surely seeing, but imagined it was probably awkward for the girl.

“That's good and all, but nothing compares to unloading inside that hot quim,” one said
thoughtfully. “Gods, you spoon her and come into it from behind…your hands are free to touch
everything.”

“Touch her?” another questioned archly. “You even do that?” Ginny grit her teeth. Trust Malfoy
not to want to dirty his hands with a woman's pleasure.

“Come on,” a voice boomed suddenly. Definitely Blaise. “You get your fingers going while you
fuck her, and she'll scream all night long.”

“I value my hearing,” was the snarky reply.

Ginny found she could only roll her eyes so far.

“I just can't handle the taste,” said one. “I've tried everything I can think of, but
the cinnamon-flavored charm I put on the last one made her scream and claim it was burning her.
“

“You get used to it,” another said thoughtfully. “If you ask me, you make her happy doing that,
she's a lot more likely to try wild shite.”

“And I suppose you're the master, eh?”

“Practice makes perfect.”

“The ultimate is getting her to kiss you right after. If she'll taste herself, she'll do
anything. Not to mention it's hot to see her licking herself off her lips.”

“Oh, so you must do it with the candles on. I keep them off so they don't get any ideas that
my expression when I come means I love them.”

“Full on, that's me,” one said cockily. “That way, you know right then and there what she
looks like.”

“Not one subtle bone in either of your bodies,” the third scoffed. “You boff her with the lights
blazing, she's nervous; you do it in the dark and she doesn't get any good out of it `cause
she thinks you think she's a troll. It's all very mental.”

Someone laughed at the last comment, but whoever it was had chattering teeth.

“I don't know about you blokes, but I'm going in. We've got patrol in ten
minutes.”

The voices trailed off and Ginny was still crouched low to the crack. Trying to process what
she'd heard, she missed the sound of the nearby doors opening, their heavy bulk scraping
against the flagstone floor.

Springing from her hiding place, she sought a dark corner to hide in. The three of them entered,
cloaks swinging around long legs encased in dark trousers, boots stamping off accumulated snow.

“We're off, Malfoy. Blaise and I have to go relieve Weasley and Granger.”

“Go on then. I've got to lock this back up tight and clean up the water, else Filch will
trot down here with his mangy cat straightaway,” Draco said, turning his back to his friends and
muttering drying spells.

“I've heard Muggles use something called “kitty litter” to dry up such things,” Spencer said
absently to Blaise as they walked away.

***

Ginny flattened herself against the wall, and a thought flashed in her mind. What if Spencer did
really like more experienced girls? She'd done nothing more than coyly kiss, and that certainly
wouldn't have held up to the three boys' conversation just moments earlier.

She simply had to find out what Spencer wanted. She was sure if she could get him to notice her,
he'd be willing to date her. Willing to kiss her. Willing to do some of the less distasteful
things spoken about over cigarettes.

If there was going to be anyone to help her, it had to be a boy. A boy who knew Spencer. A boy
whom Spencer would confide in. A boy who was known to make first years faint with a mixture of fear
and lust. It had to be Malfoy.

As he started to walk toward her, toward the stairs leading to the dungeons, she darted out and
caught him by the sleeve.

“What the fuck?” he swore, whirling around and wrenching her hand off his cloak before he'd
even had a good look at who grabbed him from the shadows.

“Malfoy, I need your help!” she said frantically, watching his gray eyes turn to slate.

He took a deep breath and examined her.

“Are you injured?”

“No,” she said, puzzled.

“Is anyone else injured?”

“Erm, no.”

“Have my father and his merry men attacked the castle?” he demanded.

“I hope not,” she said, blanching.

“Then what help could you possibly need besides a handout? Dash it all, I'm out of pocket
Knuts. So go back into your corner and huddle. I'm going to bed.”

He turned on his heel and began to stride briskly down the hallway, his one step taking one and
a half of hers as she ran to catch up with him.

“You don't understand! You're the only person who can help me!” she panted, latching
onto his sleeve again.

He stopped short and glared at her. “What part of `go away' don't you understand?” he
asked.

“Look,” she said desperately, feeling her skin prickle at the words about to come out of her
mouth. “You're friends with Spencer Pierce, right?”

A sleek, dark gold eyebrow quirked. “About as good as you can be while smoking clandestinely
outside.”

“I, uh, I, well, you see, it's like this…” she said, trailing off.

“Like what, Weaselette?” he said impatiently, tapping his toe.

“I overhead - I mean, I *overheard* - him talking about doing things with women,” she
stammered. “But it sounded like he really had a lot of experience.”

As if he had leftover bathwater in his ear, Malfoy cocked his head to the side and wriggled his
finger in the canal.

“Come again?” he queried, his normally smirking face condensed into a frown. His swift change in
demeanor made her falter, and her voice sounded shaky.

“I, uh, erm, well, I heard him talking with you and Zabini,” she said uncertainly. “And well, I,
um, well, I like him.”

Malfoy spoke slowly, forming the words perfectly.

“You *like* him? As in, you are *enamored* of him?” he asked pointedly. Her answering
blush gave him all the reply he needed. A snarky smile rushed back to his lips. Licking them, he
bared his teeth slightly.

“And what exactly, my dear Weasel, do you need me for? I'm sure if you grovel at his feet,
he might take pity on you. Maybe even spare a pat on the head.”

*Now or never.*

“Because I heard what he was saying outside with you just now, and he wants someone who knows
that they're doing!” she blurted.

“But that still doesn't answer…” he began, but she cut him off.

“Because you get the most arse in the castle, that's why!” she burst out, her face reddening
to a most unbecoming shade.

His slate gray eyes widened, and his brain tried to process the sentence she'd just uttered.
Before his cock could say *She's right, mate,* his head wrapped around what she was
implying.

“Are you asking me to help you entice Pierce?” he asked, his voice a sibilant hiss.

“Trust me, ferret, I wouldn't be asking if I didn't think you could help me. Merlin
knows I heard the vile trash you said about women tonight too!”

He didn't remember saying anything particularly vile; at least, no less vile than usual.

“Refresh my memory. What did Pierce say?” he asked, curious to learn what she knew.

“Only that he wanted a girl who wouldn't muck things up, and that he, ah, liked different
positions,” she nearly whispered, feeling her ears grow hot with the relatively nondescript
phrasing, looking down as she spoke.

“And what did I say?” he demanded, looking very superior and smug from his full height.

Her anger over his horrible words flooded back and raised her hackles.

“Oh, I'm sure you remember. Putting a flavor spell on a girl that hurt her, not even trying
to give her pleasure, `spoiling a virgin' so she's ruined for anyone else. Sound familiar?”
she bit back.

She fought the urge to slap the grin off his face.

“Oh, yes, I'd forgotten that. It *does* sound rather familiar, now that you mention
it,” he said jovially. Watching her eyes narrow was the best fun he'd had all day.

“Well, Weasley, I've decided to accept your offer. Of course, you realize this will take
tremendous work on my part not to curl up and die from the humiliation of consorting with a
Muggle-lover, but teaching you about my considerable knowledge will be entertaining because I know
fucking Potter won't be benefiting from it.”

A stifled giggle broke from her throat, easing the tension. Reaching out, he snatched her
forearm and began to pull her along behind him to his room.

Recoiling, she regarded him with thinly masked horror.

“What? You mean right now?” she squeaked.

Speaking coolly, he replied.

“Little girls ought not to play with dragons unless they're prepared to be burnt. Either we
start now or we never start.”

A moment's hesitation allowed her to reflect on her actions. If Spencer was the prize, and
she only *learned* about sex and didn't actually experience it, no one would be the
wiser.

“Let's go, then,” she said, far more bravely than she felt.

With a carefully blank countenance, Malfoy gestured down the long hallway that led into the
dungeons.

***

He stopped in front of a richly painted portrait of a hulking mansion set deep within heavy fog
and trees. Tapping his wand thrice on the frame and muttering a word, it swung out to admit
them.

The Slytherin Head Boy's room was somewhat different than Gryffindor's matching chamber.
Floored in glossy hardwood and furnished in oak and leather, the entire setup gleamed in the
brightly burning fire crackling in the grate.

She noticed a private bathroom to her immediate left, and what must have been his wardrobe. In
the middle left of the room was the fireplace, and before the hearth was a plush throw rug and an
enormous black leather chair, easily big enough to hold her twice over. His desk and bed were
further on, the four-poster edged against the right side and his desk on the left wall. A
garden-seated window was the only indication his chambers weren't entirely below ground, and
had it been daylight Ginny would have seen the shimmering surface of the lake.

“Don't get used to it,” he said, strangely devoid of his usual mocking tone. “Young Spencer
doesn't get chambers like these for being a prefect.”

“I hadn't intended on it,” she said lightly, trying to calm the passel of butterflies in her
stomach.

She looked up from her perusal of the room and saw that he had seated himself in the imposing
chair, facing away from her. The crown of his bright head was just visible over the padded
backing.

“Come here, Weasley,” he said, and his voice sent shivers through her. Not exactly a true
command, but dark enough to caress her nerves.

Slowly she skirted his chair and stood in front of him, the fire's heat scorching her
backside. Dragging her eyes up from the floor, she realized that with no effort at all, he looked
all the world for a boy-king in his throne, secure in his station.

“I suppose I'll have to dispose of calling you Weasley,” he said cryptically, eyeing her.
“Please tell me your given name isn't Virginia.”

She laughed, a bright sound that seemed incongruous in the quiet dark.

“It's not,” she said. “It's Ginevra.”

“Ginevra,” he said, rolling the name around his mouth and voicing it in dulcet tones. “Hardly
something I'd remember to call out in climax.”

“Ginny is fine, thank you,” she returned tartly, thinking that his own name was rather silly,
really.

“It will have to do,” he sniffed. “The first thing I will teach you is the art of pleasing a
man. There's a definite mystique to it that few women can master. With my help, you will.”

She would have laughed outright at his innuendos, but delivered as they were he sounded more
like a lecturer.

“First you need to undress. No matter what position you're in to go down on a man, feeling
your skin against his heightens his awareness of you.”

His eyes had closed, and his voice took on a slightly hypnotic tone. “I won't watch you, not
now. But I will. And when I do, I expect to be entertained. When you're undressed, come closer.
You will undress me.”

The racing pulse at his throat would have given him away if she could have possibly discerned it
in the semi-dark. If he could imitate Professor Snape's cool tones, perhaps he could control
his raging erection and his reactions to this unschooled girl-woman. But this was somewhat serious
business, though…not only would he get no-strings-attached action but something to hold over her
odious brother and his friends.

The soft rustle of cloth to the floor broke his reverie, but he kept his eyes closed, head leant
back against the chair. A swish indicated she'd probably kicked her clothing out of the
way.

“I'm done,” she said, voice little more than a whisper.

His eyes opened and he made his first appraisal of her.

Perhaps that disgusting red Weasley hair wouldn't look too hideous when it covered his
crotch. And those surprisingly well-formed breasts fitting in his hands, or those shapely legs
hitched across his shoulders while he tasted her.

Shaking his head to clear the thoughts, he saw his action had confused her.

“Kneel here, and remove my robe,” he said, separating his legs enough to allow her to crouch
between them.

Tentatively, she dropped to her knees, feeling the heat of his strong legs against her flanks.
She hoped her hair hid the cranberry-colored blush that was surely staining her cheeks.

“We'll work later on acting like you like it,” he said tightly before her hands had even
reached the heavy silver clasp of his robe. Nimble fingers flicked the catch and he felt the weight
of it rise from his shoulders.

His mouth opened to issue some other instruction when she cut him off.

“Malfoy, would you kindly shut up?” she asked in a low voice. His eyes snapped open at her
impudent words.

“I've never done this before, but I think I understand how clothing comes off. How about you
stop me if I do it wrong?” she asked, her tone more deferential.

“Fine,” he snapped. She hid a small smile and turned her attention to his ridiculously sexy
leather boots and socks. Setting them to the side, she decided she hated him for even having
aristocratic feet.

Deciding this was taking far longer than her nerves would allow, she skidded her palms up his
thighs and darted for the button on his tailored black trousers.

“Not yet,” he hissed. “Shirt and tie, maybe?”

Making an indistinct sound, her fingers flew to the partially loosened knot of his Slytherin
tie. Picking it apart, she soon had the ends draped around his collar. His erection was leaping
against the fly of his trousers most uncomfortably. Straining to not push her head right into his
crotch, he vowed that by Circe he was teaching her and there was no way he was going to let this
little session be shortened by anything.

Button after button slipped though finely sewn holes until he could feel her hot fingers
brushing against his skin, on their way up to divest him of his shirt and tie.

Growling, her caught both her hands by their fragile wrists and bored his gaze into surprised
eyes.

“I made a mistake,” he said tightly. “It *is* time for this.” Bringing his hands together,
he pushed her small palms down and covered the throbbing length of him that was threatening to
burst.

Nearly frightened of doing anything else, she immediately flicked the button through its hole
and pulled the zipper down with more force than was really necessary.

And then, unencumbered by an undergarment, his erection sprang forth, jutting hard and heavy
into her fingers. In a split second, his body relaxed.

“That's better,” he said pleasantly. “Now, take some time, and find your way around. If you
get lost, let me know.”

She looked up to see him languidly tilting his hips toward her, cock framed by the split halves
of his trousers, the defined musculature of his chest outlined in stark relief by his white
button-down as he raised his still-clad arms and crossed them behind his head.

He was perfectly still, but Ginny could tell he was utterly relaxed now that he'd been freed
from the confines of his pants. There was something vaguely obscene about the tableau she was sure
they were presenting, but it was difficult to feel embarrassed. Being presented with her first
penis was too interesting a task to pass up, even if it was attached to a Malfoy.

He made nary a sound as she explored the ridges and veins of his sex with her fingers. She
placed the tip of her middle finger at the base of it and measured it against her palm, noticing it
came to her wrist. Having a fair idea of the distance and instinctively knowing Malfoy wasn't
lacking, she allowed herself a secret smile and continued feeling her way around the soft, musky
skin.

A pearly drop of moisture wept from the tip and she swept it away, feeling its texture between
her thumb and forefinger. Since she knew the mechanics of this business, she figured she might as
well get used to the taste.

Draco opened his eyes long enough to catch a glimpse of her dainty tongue tasting her thumb and
nearly exploded. Wrestling mentally with his unruly cock, he calmed down and she was none the
wiser.

He didn't urge her on; after all, he had no real desire to speak and hadn't had a virgin
in this room for months. Though he'd not have admitted it to anyone else, it was a small treat
to be serviced by someone who wasn't jaded from dozens of other encounters.

It took all his strength not to rocket out of the chair when she first closed her mouth around
him.

It was strange to be doing this, but not unpleasant. Though she couldn't fit all of him in
her mouth, her hand rose to assist. Taking her time, she traced her tongue around the lines of his
head, sweeping through the tiny slit at the top and earning a languorous stretch from him.
Experimenting, she discovered how far down she could stroke her tongue and bring it back up, and
that moving her head up and down and in swirling motions simultaneously seemed to draw a tiny sigh
from Draco's lips.

She'd once heard a fifth year Slytherin slag tell her equally distasteful friend that if one
made these motions fast enough, it would precipitate the man's release. Wondering idly how fast
that was, she increased her speed, bobbing up and down on him. His legs clamped unexpectedly at her
sides, and she was startled enough to slacken her furious rhythm. She could feel the muscles in his
legs flex against her, even thought the fine fabric of his trousers.

Her unschooled ministrations pushed him to the brink, and her speed encouraged his release. If
she kept up, he'd not only spill before he wanted to but she'd undoubtedly choke, an
unpleasant occurrence. Levering his hips up and into her one more time, his wantonly relaxed arms
came down and long fingers touched her head softly, just above her ears.

She was about to flick his hands away like an airborne pest when his ten fingertips slowed her
speed, and guided her up and down with the lightest of pressure. The unexpected warmth of his
fingers shot south and she felt her previously disregarded sex release a torrent of heat.

Merciful Zeus, he could smell her excitement, and even if she had no idea what it meant or how
it affected a man, he knew all too well. Tipping his head once more and clearly envisioning the
picture they made, he arched his back and brought her down one last time, as slowly as he could
bear.

And as though she'd been made to anticipate his every move, she accepted his release into
her mouth and didn't let him go until she was positive he had nothing more to give. His hands
were still tangled in her hair when she allowed him to slip out of her mouth.

“Excellent, Ginny,” he said, the words foreign on his tongue but meaning them. He was utterly at
ease and finally deigned to open his eyes to see her still kneeling between his legs, clearly
waiting for his signal to leave.

“Come back tomorrow night.”

She noted as she left that he still looked majestic, half-undressed in his leather throne.

-->



2. Prelude
----------



**Author's Note:** Because I would like to have this story finished on Portkey before the
end of the Reader's Choice Awards nomination period, I will be posting chapters every day until
this is finished. Please expect at least two more chapters after this. I (and any other D/G writer
on PK) would appreciate your nomination. Thank you.

Ginny took her thousandth calming deep breath as she walked (tiptoed, really, she tiptoed) down
to the dungeons, her heart, skin and brain running riot underneath her robes. It had been pride
that made her come back. Pride and the teeniest, tiniest shred of satisfaction she derived by
getting praise from Malfoy. But her heart still felt virtuous. There was no harm in learning a
little more about men. After all, she anticipated dating a certain man, so this was purely working
in her and Spencer's favor.

The nervous heat rose off her in waves and she could smell a hint of the heady perfume she'd
applied just minutes before. Rounding a corner, she—

She was whirled around by an unseen face and crushed against a warm, very *excited* male
body. The words she tried to form were squelched by the hot tongue forcing through her open mouth
and stroking the roof of it. The boy's arousal was evident as it pressed insistently against
her midriff. Finally, she wrenched away, shoving her attacker back toward the damp stone wall with
a force she'd not thought herself capable.

Draco Malfoy's body collided hard with the stones, knocking the wind out of him but not
wiping the feral, amused grin off his face.

“What were you thinking?” she hissed angrily, fingers reaching absently to soothe her swollen
lips.

“You've got to be prepared, Weasley,” he said, approaching her again. “When young Spencer
steals you away under the cover of darkness, you need to know how to react.”

Without further ado, he once again latched onto her forearm and began leading her the short
distance to his room.

“I hardly think Spencer would accost me in the hallway,” she accused in a disgusted whisper.

In a moment she was backed up against the wall, with Malfoy's lips hovering just above hers,
a leg between hers.

“Don't be too sure about that, Weasley. The element of surprise is a potent aphrodisiac,” he
rasped, nipping her bottom lip. Her lips parted again to expel a squeak and he took them, plunging
his tongue none-too-gently into her minty mouth.

When he released her, she was gasping, and he took one last moment to look at her before tugging
her down the corridor.

“Surprise makes a man's blood run hot and he won't stop until it's cooled.”

***

“We're going to use the chair and the bed tonight,” he announced once they were inside.
Flinging his robe to the desk chair, he turned and faced her.

“Can you kiss? Or am I going to have to teach you?” he asked, rapid fire. “Because there
wasn't much response just now.”

“Well, how am I bloody well supposed to know what to do when I've never been attacked like
that? Of course I can kiss!” she protested indignantly.

“Fine. We'll stay clothed for most of this. It's essentially a warm-up to sex,” he said
matter-of-factly. “Take off your robe and shoes.”

She nodded, feeling a fine tremble begin to course her body. He'd already made his way to
the chair, dimming the candles and dampening the fire with artful waves of his wand.

When she worked up the courage to come around the chair, she nearly gasped. His longish hair was
hanging about his eyes, and he'd seated himself sideways in the chair, his taut Seeker's
thighs offering her a perch.

“Well, come here,” he drawled. “If you knew better and I was Spencer, I'd already have my
hand up your skirt.”

Scowling, she approached him, hating the moment when she had to turn her back to him and allow
him a full-on view of her bum. His hands grasped her waist and put her in the correct position.
Settling her, he lifted a finger and turned her chin toward him.

“Put your arm around me,” he instructed. “The other one is left free to touch and fondle.”

There was no earthly reason why he began to nibble at her earlobe first instead of diving into
her fresh-tasting lips. But she was gasping and squirming already, so he figured his flight of
fancy was worth it.

Puffs of warm air escaped her and grazed his cheek. He continued to work on her ear, finding out
for her that tracing his tongue around the sensitive inside edge made her shiver and her nipples
hard. She was rooted to the spot; the sensations Malfoy was creating not allowing her to move into
or away from his touch.

His left arm pulled her flush against his chest, the warm side of her right breast crushed into
him. A curious ache spread through her, something she could not name and had no idea how to
assuage.

And then the palm of his right hand brushed over the rigid tips of her breasts and her body
clenched, igniting a spark within her that made every beautiful hurt burn brighter and hotter. The
arm she had around him fisted in his hair, and she swiveled to see him dead-on.

He wasn't smiling -- certainly wasn't smirking -- as if this was surely serious
business. His hand settled on a breast and began making love to it through a soft layer of clothing
and she let a cry escape.

Of her own volition, she leaned forward and captured his lips, needing something to distract her
from the pleasure one hand with five fingers was building. But he wouldn't react, not the way
she wanted him to. He was coy with his lips, forcing her to seek him out, to make her kiss him like
she thought she wanted to be kissed.

A tentative tongue passed between his lips and he touched it lightly with the tip of his own,
sparring teasingly with it, wordlessly coaxing her to turn hers to the side so he could rub the
surfaces together. The quiet, one-breath moan she uttered from the back of her throat sent a jolt
of fire to his loins. He'd been less than even semi-hard as this whole thing started, as if his
brain and his cock were of one mind and that one mind recognized this wasn't really something
over which to be too aroused.

Mindlessly she searched for his tongue as he deliberately pulled it back from her, and when she
squirmed in exasperation his mouth thrust forward, catching the entire organ between his lips and
sucking on it, stroking and milking it in reverse of what she would ultimately experience.

Pulling back for breath, reeling, her addled mind pointed out that somewhere beneath her thighs
he was becoming hard, the bulge pressing across the cleft between her buttocks. Heat radiated from
the spot and she wriggled, unused to such a thing between her legs.

A sharp hiss indicated he'd felt her movement, and with a shocked expression she turned
toward him, seeing his eyes drift open and his mouth relax from a grimace. Horrified she'd hurt
him, she tried to leap off him but he held her fast.

“Do that to a man more than twice and he'll be done before you even start,” Draco said
hoarsely. “And no, it doesn't hurt. Not in a bad way.”

Not sure if she was totally satisfied with his explanation, she tried to gingerly resettle her
weight on him. He huffed impatiently at her actions, and merely scooped her up and closer to
him.

“Mal…” she began, but he cut her off.

“Draco,” he corrected swiftly. “I don't see you calling Spencer `Pierce' in the heat of
the moment, do you? And while I obviously like the sound of my surname, it's fair inappropriate
in this instance, *Ginny*.”

Gulping like a fish out of water, she merely nodded. In the space between his last words and his
next, she discovered he'd been stroking her far hip leisurely, long fingers reaching around and
testing the flesh of her backside. To say it felt nice was an understatement.

“Draco,” she said pleadingly, but not knowing what she wanted.

“There's more, don't worry,” he said, voice muffled against her neck as he suckled at
the soft skin there. “There's more.”

***

She was wearing a cream wool sweater knitted by her mother, one blessedly bereft of her initial.
Draco decided that as good as she looked in it, it needed to come off.

Darting forward, he pressed a light kiss to her lips, then pulled away. Before she could follow
him, his fingers were cold on between her warm skin and the hem. Inexplicably careful with the
material, he drew it up and she obediently raised her arms. The drag of the cloth over the thin
cotton of her bra pebbled her nipples, making them stand out in sharp relief.

Interesting how she almost felt more exposed than last night. Her arms instinctively went to
cross over her aching breasts, but he stopped them with firm hands to her wrists.

“Don't cover yourself. Showing that you're proud of your body even when you're not
is sexy. Men don't see your imagined imperfections,” he said, his tone low and lilting, a
teasing tag on the end.

Her eyes said she plainly disbelieved him. He decided to show her.

“Like these freckles, here, there, everywhere. They invite a man to memorize them,” he said
slowly, leaning forward to place his lips over a particularly dense patch on her left shoulder. “He
wants to be able to count them from memory.” As he spoke, his mouth laved clusters and individual
freckles, and out of the corner of his eye he could see her pert toes clenching through knee
socks.

“And you're probably wondering what you ought to be doing at this point,” he continued
softly. “For the most part, it's perfectly fine for you to lie there and enjoy it. But be a
little vocal. Tell us what you like and want. We can't read your mind; hell, even the best
Legilimens aren't disciplined to do it while they're hard as rock.”

His proclamation produced a giggle from her, and that, as much as anything, spurred him on. As
he kept working his way down to her breasts, he began to tickle the small of her back with light
fingertips, making her laugh out loud and smile in between gasps.

“Good wizards have perfected the wandless magic to deal with brassieres,” he muttered against
her skin. “*Evanesco!*” he said, waving his free hand. Suddenly there were no barriers between
them now, and he took advantage of her gasp of surprise to cup her generous breasts together and
begin laving both at once.

“You can't do that!” she wheezed, hands going to his shoulders and mindlessly pulling him
closer and shoving him away, as if she couldn't decide if the exquisite pleasure was too much
or not enough.

His thumb came up to take his tongue's place as he responded.

“Yes, I can,” he said languidly. “A good man will buy you a better one and then do it
again.”

“But *you* won't,” she said indignantly, finally deciding she needed to pull him closer
despite her wrath. He didn't answer as his mouth was full of her again, rolling the distended
nipple in his mouth, grazing his teeth over it relentlessly.

Her hands fluttered uselessly, not knowing where to put them but wanting to find purchase.

A spasm of heat burst through her like the summer sun when Draco, not releasing her nipple,
looked up at her through hooded eyes and took her hands in his, placing them behind his neck.

Given leave, her fingers speared restively through his thick locks, feeling the smoothness of
the strands cascade coolly over her hot skin. Then she moved to his ears, reveling in the blood
warming the peach-fuzzed skin covering them, finding that she could make him voice masculine
versions of her earlier whimpers when she traced the contours of them with her fingernails.

Intent as she was on his ears she almost didn't realize when he released her breasts from
his questing tongue. He surfaced, face mere centimeters from hers.

“We're not made much different,” he said, thumbs and forefingers pulling gently on her
nipples. “We like the same things you do.”

When he leaned in to kiss her fiercely she was ready.

“Do you want to try?” he asked, seeing barely leashed excitement on her face.

“Yes,” she said resolutely. When he let go of her, she shook her head vehemently. “No, no, stay
here,” she said absently, bringing his hands back to their task. “I think I can manage to unbutton
you.”

Her fingers were far more nimble than the night before, and she took more than a little pleasure
in yanking his shirttails out of his expensive trousers and crumpling the fine linen into a ball,
tossing it carelessly to the floor.

Swollen lips descended slowly to his tiny nipples, mimicking his earlier motions. And for many
minutes, she continued her ministrations while he ever so gently slid his warm palms down the back
of her school issue skirt and inside her satiny knickers, kneading her buttocks and holding her to
him.

Reclining his head, he simply reveled in the warmth of her and in how she picked up his actions
and was returning the favor. She was making him hot again. Whenever she would squirm to get a
better angle she'd brush against his hardness, and it was all he could do not to let his
unmanly gasp escape.

She broke contact with his now sweating skin and raised her head.

“Draco?” she asked, registering first his hands on her arse and then his utterly delectable
expression.

“Yes?” he rumbled.

“I think I'm going to try what you did to me before,” she said, her voice questioning as if
she wasn't sure he would allow it. “And, erm, by the way, you have your hands down my
knickers.”

“Yes,” he stated unequivocally, and squeezed her.

Deciding that Spencer might well do that too, she shook her head slightly and began to rove her
tongue around, but it was different, with him. His skin was so pale and the imperfections so
miniscule she almost couldn't justify mapping them with mouth and eyes. Abandoning her quest
there, she tilted his head to the side and began to trace the cords in his neck with her tongue,
feeling the strength and tension coiled within.

When she needed more leverage to reach his ear, he sensed it and pushed her further up his
chest; her bare breasts level with his collarbone. Her torso lay along his, and the heat between
them was starting to build sweat, and he could barely resist the urge to stroke her body up and
down his. And then she touched his ear with her tongue.

She felt his body jerk, and tried to bob her head up to make sure she'd not hurt him. Her
answer was his heavy hand on the back of her head, pressing her to his ear.

“Again,” he said throatily, hand still pressing on her. Tentatively she tried once more, and
elicited the same rasped response. Building confidence, she tried to remember all the things
he'd done. Her tongue seemed to have a mind of its own, tracing, tasting, touching as deeply
inside his ear canal as possible, twisting in quickly and moving away just as fast.

“Sweet Circe,” he breathed, and then his mouth was on *her* ear, thrusting and parrying,
drawing a low, extended moan of surprise. To her credit, she didn't release him, and he
rewarded her as best he could, ignoring the full-to-bursting feeling in his trousers.

He couldn't stand one minute more of this, of being a sweat-sheen away from her fragrant
skin, of her curved bum fitting all too precisely in the cradle of his thighs.

“I think we should…” Ginny heaved on a gasping breath, with Draco finishing the thought.

“Move this to the bed,” he rejoined, having already put one arm under her knees and the other
around her back. Pushing off the chair, he stood and did an admirable job of not wobbling as his
weak legs carried her.

In the dim light, he could still see the glistening of perspiration and saliva on her skin, and
he knew it was on his too. He laid her on her back, her excited nipples pointing to the sky. Her
tartan skirt was bunched high on her thighs, but still hiding her sex.

He scrambled atop the bed beside her, stretching out and pulling her to him. Their mouths met in
a messy kiss, his now-damp hair curtaining their lips. One hand was behind her head, and he used it
to keep her mouth crushed to his. The other lit on her thighs, rubbing mindlessly just below the
rucked-up hem of the skirt.

Unexpectedly turning on her side, his hand caught partially between her thighs as her dainty
palm began in vain to release his hardness. A rush of adrenalin shot through Draco and it was all
he could do to unzip his trousers with shaking hands.

She pushed the offending fabric down, amazed that he'd yet again gone bare beneath, and
grasped him firmly. Moaning in her mouth, he pulled his hand out of her warm thighs and bore her
shoulders back to the bed. Realizing he meant to give both of them better access to the other, she
relented, moving close enough that she could rest him alongside her thigh as she squeezed and
pulled rhythmically.

When his hand came down unmistakably between her thighs, she opened up without any prodding.
Still fully dressed from the waist down, skirt, knickers and knee socks intact, she vaguely
wondered what he would do with her.

She didn't have to wait long. As he tenderly plundered her mouth, he insinuated his fingers
against the sodden fabric of her knickers. Her parted legs allowed her musky scent to rise, and he
knew he had to have more of it. Fingertips brushed softly against the cloth, feeling with a few
strokes that her sex had opened itself to him, her distended clit palpable below.

Tracing the ridges of her folds through her knickers, he felt her grip increase on him. Gritting
his teeth, he sought the tactile nub. The tiny protrusion was enough. With exactly seven soft
swipes of his thumb, she clenched around his hand, breaking their kiss long enough to gasp the air
to vocalize.

The renewed flood of wetness seeped though to his hand, and he took advantage of their parted
lips, licking the spot like a lolly.

“Draco!” she moaned, her hand speeding up on him, his hot flesh branding her thigh. In the end,
it was the sight of her unoccupied left hand wandering down to touch her newly flowered sex with
astonishment that broke him. Pressing hard against her hand, he moaned, spilling himself over the
perfect skin of her upper leg.

Mesmerized, she went to touch his semen, unconsciously spreading the silky substance into her
flesh.

He growled and one last spurt came flooding out, his body quaking.

For many minutes, all they could hear was the other panting.

Later, he heard her intake of breath, and he didn't want her to speak, didn't want her
to spoil it.

He stopped her egress with a hand to her hip and a fleeting bite to her shoulder.

“Stay,” he grated.

***

He'd have to try and curb his regrettable habit of falling asleep soon after coming. Though
it was a reliable way to progress to an afternoon nap, it wasn't exactly going to serve him
well while teaching Weasley.

These and other thoughts occurred to him as he lay in the darkness on his bed, his only reminder
of Ginny her perfume on his duvet and pubic hairs caught painfully in the open zipper of his
half-shucked trousers.

His loosely formed fist came up and he popped himself ruefully in the forehead a few times
before braving his sex-weakened muscles and actually getting undressed. Crawling to the side of his
large bed, he hung his legs over the bed and pushed off to the floor. Approaching the bureau, he
opened a drawer and fished out a random pair of pajama pants, cringing when he had to ease the
delicate hairs out of his zipper before he could change.

As he went through the motions, he tried to remember if he'd realized when she left his bed
and no doubt scurried back to her own. Hell, he couldn't even clearly recall when they'd
first met in the dungeon hallway. His forgotten watch told him it was after 2 am. Shaking his head,
he padded back to the bed and shoved the down comforter and flannel sheets toward the foot.

Sliding in and wiggling his bare toes against the soft cotton of his sheets, he pulled the part
of the comforter that still bore her scent up to his face and fell asleep.

***

It wasn't until her alarm clock pointed to “Get up or regret it” that she became fully
cognizant of the dried semen on her thigh, her still-fragrant knickers, and her hurriedly tugged-on
sweater over bare breasts.

Every move she made while unwrapping herself from the sheets chafed the wool against her
nipples, sending shocks to her sex and a blush to her face.

She did clearly remember telling herself that she had to get to her bed before daybreak, that
Draco didn't know he had pulled her against him, hands lacing her to him protectively. He
didn't know he'd wedged a long, strong leg between her thighs that stimulated her beyond
belief.

Honestly, she wasn't sure how she'd gotten any sleep caged in his arms.

She had heeded his command to stay with him without any question.

***

She knew she'd passed Draco in the hall when she caught the now-familiar scent of spiced
cologne and hints of smoke. She honestly couldn't tell if she'd actually passed him more
often than she thought or that he was now purposely walking her way.

Regardless, he'd not contacted her for another session and she'd not made any effort to
do so either. Her own reaction to his ministrations became frightening for the simple reason that
she wasn't sure she would respond to Spencer like she did Draco.

Frightening, was what it was, to think that she'd finally snag Spencer and he'd not be
able to rouse the fire she felt when Malfoy touched her. It was enough to scare her into
reticence.

Three days had passed and she still felt him holding her at night.

-->



3. Mirror, Mirror
-----------------



**Author's Note**: This was probably my favorite chapter to write. I hope you like it as
much as I do.

Scowling, he finished the note with customary flourish and slammed his sealing wax imprint on
the envelope.

He opened his right-hand desk drawer and rummaged in it without looking, the tiny whistle coming
nimbly into his fingers. Scraping his desk chair back over the stone floor, he strode briskly to
the window and blew the whistle. The sound that emanated was mute to his ears, and it was only
intended for his falcon. Father had procured that illegal post animal for him and he cherished it,
having trained it since he was young to respond to the whistle and silently gestured commands.

Leaving the window cracked, he went back to his desk and capped his ink and cleaned the quill,
knowing Siren would be there soon. He'd named her Siren because all the other male falcons in
the shop had been fawning and calling over her, and Draco clearly remembered the shopkeeper telling
his father that this particular bird's lineage reached back to those bred for Grindelwald some
forty-five years earlier.

A flutter of wings announced his pet's arrival, and she swooped and perched on his shoulder,
rubbing her head on his ear.

“Took you long enough,” he said, trying to sound cross, but in reality he enjoyed her company,
however silent. In response she nipped reproachfully at his hair with her sharp beak.

“Forget it,” he said dismissively. He proffered the sealed parchment and she clamped tight on
it, preferring to carry it in her mouth than the indignity of having a parcel tied to her leg.

“Take this to Ginny Weasley, in *Gryffindor*,” he said, and jumped when Siren flapped a
wing and whapped him in the back of the head. She flew off his shoulder before he could reprimand
her, but thankfully she had turned the right way around the castle.

***

Ginny had just returned from a Hogsmeade Saturday, and quickly she raced to her room to put her
packages on her bed before running just as fast down the corridor to the loo.

When she returned, a fierce pecking grabbed her attention and she swiveled toward the window,
not believing that she was seeing a falcon outside.

The falcon was relentless in its request for admittance, and, fearing this falcon was perhaps a
special messenger carrying a harbinger of doom, she slipped the latch on the window and the bird
darted in and landed on her bed, walking gingerly on the soft surface.

“Give me your letter and go,” she instructed in a shaking voice, reaching a tentative hand out
to the bird. It strutted haughtily up to her and deposited the parchment in her outstretched palm,
ruffling its feathers and obviously waiting for a treat.

Huffing impatiently, Ginny opened her desk drawer and pulled out her small package of owl treats
she kept for Pigwidgeon and Errol, when he made the trip. The falcon fair snatched it from her
fingers and she pulled back, afraid the sharp beak would pierce her skin.

The bird twittered almost as if it were laughing at her, and she scowled back, prying open the
sealed letter.

After she saw the bold hand in emerald green ink, the bird made perfect sense.

*Ginny,*

*You're not going to learn anything if you hide in your wretchedly red common room. Be at
my door at nine tonight.*

*And if you even so much as think of reporting Siren to the postal authorities she will peck
your eyes out. Now give her a treat and get her out of Gryffindor before she gets attacked by that
buzzing bee of an owl of yours.*

*Yours, Draco*

Git. Only he would send a damned imperious note with his equally imperious devil bird.

“Here, Siren,” she said coaxingly, holding out another of Mrs. Petree's Mouse-Shaped Owl
Treats. “Now go back to your snaky owner before I sic Pig on you.”

***

She was sickened when she realized, halfway down to the dungeons, that she'd had no inner
battle over whether to wear slacks or a skirt.

This particular skirt was not school issue, but a shorter concoction that hit her squarely mid
thigh. The black cotton framed the pale curvature of her legs, and the white button-down she'd
donned complemented her hair and skirt nicely.

A wave of regret washed over her just as she put her hand up to knock on the door.

***

He'd known she was there before he even heard her approach, and had to work hard to quell
the urge to open the door immediately. Instead, he let her knock and waited a count of five before
grasping the knob.

His breath caught in his throat and he croaked, “Tarty getup there.”

She frowned deeply at him, and it was the first time he could remember saying his favorite
flirty phrase with the voice of a pre-pubescent.

“Come in,” he commanded, clearing his throat and hearing his regular tone of voice creeping out.
He ushered her in by walking directly behind her, giving her no other choice than to retreat
further into the room.

The candles were so dim she could only advance because she knew where the furniture was in the
room. He continued to herd her toward the bed, not speaking, but she could feel his gray eyes
boring holes into the back of her neck.

“What are you doing, Draco?” she asked warily, finally turning on her heel and facing him. He
stopped all of six inches from her and grinned wolfishly.

“Don't take all the mystery out of it, Ginny,” he said. “Are you going to ask Pierce about
every move he makes?”

“He's less likely to require asking,” she snorted. “And in addition, I don't have to
fear him sending a brassed-off falcon after me either.”

“Speaking of which, she threw up your chintzy owl treat. Thanks a lot. You have any idea how
difficult it is to get falcon bile out of a robe?”

With his words he reached forward and began to unbutton her blouse.

“Not offhand, I don't,” she stuttered, her hands fluttering to his. “What are you doing?”
she asked again, a bit frantic.

He leaned forward and his tongue touched her ear. It was all she could do to keep her knees
under her when he whispered, “A new lesson.”

She let him kiss her, because he could, and he could do it well. Standing up was quite a
different proposition, though, but luckily he was there to support her. Delicately, their lips met
halfway, his tongue coming out to lick her.

Her motions were unconscious now, that much he had taught her. Their lips stayed breaths apart
as he finished unbuttoning her shirt, and it was the memory of her indignant cry when he banished
her bra that kept him from performing the same spell tonight.

Luminous skin met his eyes, her white brassiere almost blending in. With one hand, he held her
in place, feeling her squirm as he unhooked the offending garment. Letting it fall to the floor
atop her shirt made his stomach clench in desire. Suddenly it was imperative for him to have her
naked there in front of him, to have her open to his ministrations.

She successfully distracted him by loosening the already careless knot in his tie and pulling it
softly up and out of his collar, the silk of it brushing his jaw. A helpless shudder went to his
toes.

“When did you learn that?” he asked breathlessly, eyes locking on hers.

“Just now,” she said shyly, and instantly he wanted to take her there, standing up, fucking her
senseless and bugger the lesson.

“I learn something new each time,” she continued as her hands sought and unbuttoned his
shirt.

His shirt hit the floor and then he was hugging her to him, dragging his bare torso down hers,
over her extended nipples, until he knelt before her on the cold floor.

Unerringly his tongue found her navel and delved it. Immediately her hands tangled in his hair,
pulling him closer to her as he mocked with his tongue what his body had wanted to do from the
beginning.

“Draco,” she said, trying to will the quaver out of her voice as she gathered her bravado. “Take
off your pants.”

Like a shot he released her midsection and stood, stepping just far enough away that his
erection wouldn't touch her when he disrobed. He'd already been barefoot on the stones,
finding the chill effective in keeping his libido in check, but nothing could hold back the
galloping of his blood as she innocently appraised him. He'd tried to remove his trousers
slowly, to make a show of it, but his cock leaped toward her and he couldn't strip fast
enough.

“Take off your skirt,” he returned, eyeing her and wondering if it were possible for him to
perform this task for her while standing sideways so he couldn't touch her.

When her hands darted to the zip, he amended his request.

“Slowly.”

Pale fingers made their way to the front of the garment, where a trouser-like fly and button
were hidden in the black fabric. Hampered more by uncertainty than attempting to tease him, she
finally released the button and drew down the zip. As soon as he heard the telltale slide of metal
over metal, he cursed his erection and lay his palms over her hips, easing the fabric over
them.

When her knickers were revealed, his indrawn gasp was enough to alert her, shaking her from her
haze.

“What? What?” she questioned frantically.

“Where did you get these?” he asked, trying to keep his voice even. She sighed in heavy
relief.

“A birthday gift, from Hermione,” she declared, inordinately proud of the way her satiny
knickers caught his attention. He breathed deeply.

“As long as they're not from another bloke, I—*Spencer*, I mean, won't care.”

“No!” she gasped, a hand flying to her throat, the very thought horrifying. “Hermione, she, she
just…”

“She did something right,” he growled, running his hands over her bottom, feeling where the
high-cut legs gave way to her heated skin, liking the way the satin slicked over his fingers.

An inarticulate moan escaped her lips in response. She couldn't quite muster the wherewithal
to combine words into sentences. Instead, she concentrated on how sinful it felt when his fingers
met underneath her knickers and tickled the tiny dimple at the top of her arse.

He laughed at her, a low rumble that resonated through his chest and into hers. When he ran his
fingertips down her cleft and sought to separate and knead her cheeks, she could barely support
herself.

When his cock lodged squarely between her thighs, bumped against her mound, they both gasped and
clutched one another. Tipping her head up in sheer amazement, she tried to catch a glimpse of his
expression, to see if it was affecting him in the same way.

She discovered it was hard to see when he was bearing down on her, capturing her lips with a
ferocity she'd not thought possible. Strong hands held the back of her head, cementing her in
place, requiring her submission.

“If you make me fall down from weak knees,” he threatened, snarling softly in her ear, “I
won't be coming up for air for a long time.”

“But I didn't do anything particularly…” she began, only to be silenced by his long finger
probing her mouth, making her automatically remember her first encounter with him and respond
without conscious thought.

“Just being you,” he hissed back.

***

He withdrew his finger so quickly from her mouth that he felt her teeth scrape painfully down
his finger. The pain trailed into hot streamers of need as he swept her nearly boneless form up in
his arms, carrying her bride-style toward the huge mattress that had barely contained their passion
only a few nights before.

*Knickers off. Knickers off.* The hand underneath her knees hitched to the left, sharply,
and he grasped vainly at the slinky fabric. It eluded him twice before he got a good grip on the
elastic and started to tug them down while she was still in his arms.

A twist of satisfaction settled in his gut as he rather unceremoniously dumped her on the bed,
catching her knickers in one finger and pulling them effortlessly down her legs, tossing them to
the floor.

Only a flash of her sex was revealed to him in the dim light, and he realized that until now
he'd never seen it, only drank indirectly from its well and touched it softly through cloth
barriers.

“I'm going to teach you a lesson tonight,” he said savagely, falling atop her, thigh wedged
securely between her own. “I'm going to teach you what you'll like, what you should want
and what you need to demand from a man.”

In a move almost like retreat, her eyes widened and she scuttled back to the center of the bed,
moving toward the pillows as if trying to find respite from his startling behavior.

He liked the feel of her surprisingly long legs settled loosely around his hips and thighs. He
liked it too much.

“If this wasn't your first time, I'd have you up on the bloody Head table in the Great
Hall,” he growled. “For everyone to see how you look when a man does this to you.”

His words penetrated her mind, and for a split second, she was frozen in stark terror. She
screamed when his tongue touched underneath her clitoris and stroked up firmly. Instinct closed her
legs around his ears and wanton sexuality made her part them again. Seeming to understand her
virginal need and her body's demand, he bowed to the latter, sliding broad palms underneath her
buttocks to bring her closer to his questing mouth, using his shoulders to burrow underneath her
knees.

The shriek she'd loosed went right to his cock, hardening it even more to the point of pain.
Fighting the urge to seat himself between her moist thighs, he instead concentrated on voraciously
devouring her newly flowering sex.

Words escaped in incoherent little gasps from her lips. She couldn't stop her body's
rocking to his rhythm any more than she could gather the breath to ask him to go faster, to push
her over the edge with his too-knowing lips and tongue.

Suddenly her ability to vocalize wasn't important any more as he did just as she mentally
willed him, releasing her from her exquisite cage of pleasure. Up until that point, she'd not
known that the barest nip from his teeth would send her spiraling into orgasm, her arousal slicking
his chin and lips.

She bucked violently underneath him as she came, and he moved out of the way in time for her
released hips to thrust up, the muscles in her thighs tensing as her body squeezed every bit of
release out of her before she came to rest fully on the bed again.

Taking advantage of her panting respite to crawl up the bed toward her, he gathered her in his
arms and stroked her sides as she came down from her climax.

“I'm thinking that you liked that,” he whispered in her ear, taking inordinate pride in the
way she shivered when his tongue touched her ear. “Kiss me.”

Lust-hazed eyes finally opened in his direction and widened slightly.

“But you just…” she began, and he didn't care that she'd be shocked, just needed her to
do it. He affixed his mouth to hers, making sure that their tongues rubbed, transferring some of
her own musky taste to her.

A tingle down to her toes and back zipped through her as she learned the taste of her pleasure.
A taboo that she'd been vaguely aware of fell as she took it upon herself to disengage their
lips and taste what covered his chin and the area surrounding his mouth.

He pulled her half atop him and she found she didn't mind, in fact; she welcomed the
closeness. Only now was she starting to realize and understand the innately female need to caress
after her climax and she was taking full advantage of his strange acquiescence.

Warm hands snaked down her body to knead her buttocks and she found the action more soothing
than anything else.

“Find someone who likes to taste you and keep him,” he stated lazily, releasing his hold on her
and moving a reluctant Ginny back to his side. “Don't be afraid to say what you want. Of
course, I know I'm expertly skilled, so there was no need to ask, but…”

His words were cut off by a small fist landing squarely in his stomach, and he grabbed her hand
and held it hostage.

“Pompous arse,” she muttered, trying to wrestle it away from him.

He allowed himself a quiet laugh as he turned on his side toward her.

“You should demand to be on top more than once in a while,” he said, hand straying toward her
sex again. “And while you're there - or in any position, for that matter - act like a queen. If
your man's any good, he'll know you require and deserve to be treated as such.”

For the life of her Ginny Weasley could not see Draco Malfoy treating any woman like she
deserved something, much less like a queen. She couldn't hold back the unladylike snort that
escaped.

“And while I realize we're in a teacher/student situation here,” she returned, “what about
you? How do you treat your women as queens?”

In the dim light the corner of his lush mouth tipped in a smirk.

“I like to go down on them, really,” he said, pausing to think a bit. “And while I like the view
of my lady on top, I don't like for there to be too much distance between me and her. She's
too far away. I need to have her close, so I can show her how much I want her.”

And before she could react to his unexpected and intensely personal comment, he started to turn
her body on the bed.

“What are you doing?” she asked, resisting his pushing on her.

“I'm going to teach you how we taste one another at the same time.”

And when she realized what he meant, what he was doing, and that she would be atop him and
facing the door, she squeaked.

“Do you mean to put me face forward so that if we get caught I'm the first in trouble?” she
asked indignantly.

The smirk became full blown.

“No. The first reason is to show whoever catches us how beautiful you'll look there, being
pleasured *and* sucking my cock. The second reason is to show how good a job I'm doing
*making* you look like that.”

While maneuvering her body atop him, he summoned his wand.

“*Accio* mirror.”

The full-length mirror he owned swiveled over on little wheels. Openmouthed, she watched him
coax the swooning mirror into just the right angle at their side, cocked so they could both turn
their heads slightly and see what the other was doing.

In any other instance she would have been embarrassed and amused. Embarrassed by how erotic
Draco's blond head looked between her legs and how intently he was stroking the curve of her
arse, and amused by how gangly he looked as his legs from the knees down bent over the side of the
bed and dangled.

“This is a good look for us,” he observed unthinkingly, angling his head so he could see the
fall of her hair tenting his weeping erection, see the mound of her near breast pressed into his
lower abdomen.

When her stomach clenched in pleasure from his words, she couldn't form words. Instead, she
locked her mouth around his cock. Jerking underneath her, his back arched and he moved both of them
in gasping surprise.

“Fuck, Ginny,” he wheezed. “Don't do that without warning. You want to make me come on the
spot?”

She murmured around his member, buzzing it with the back of her throat for fun.

“That's not fair,” he growled, and it was her turn to gasp when she found the tongue could
hit all sorts of new places when one was in a different position.

For the most part, she worked in tandem with Draco, giving and receiving pleasure in equal
parts. But either his stamina was incredible or he wasn't thinking about himself as he worked
her over, because he didn't seem to mind when he brought her so close to the edge she
couldn't concentrate on him any longer. Lying her head on his thigh with his cock jutting out
of the pool of her hair, she watched, spell-bound, in the mirror.

He liked the claw marks she dug into his skin as she tried not to scream her orgasm. He liked
even better how she blushed and apologized profusely when she came to and realized he was still
unsatisfied. Most of all he liked watching her finish him off while she lay between his legs and he
was propped wantonly on his pillows, his fingers threaded though hers as he encouraged her not to
use her hands.

It wasn't until she was walking the line of sleep and she thought that she rather liked
holding his hands as he came, feeling his strong fingers grasp hers and squeeze. The fact it was
the second time she'd slept in his bed strangely didn't bother her at all.

Several hours later, in the earliest moments of the morning, he roused her with kisses on her
shoulder. Biting back a ridiculous pang of sadness, she silently pushed back his heavy bedclothes
and prepared to slip into her discarded clothing.

A hand on her side stopped her, and with a roguish smile and husky whispers, he communicated
that he'd thought of something else he needed to teach her. It wasn't long before he'd
urged the mirror closer to the end of the bed and scooted both of them down in front of it. He
positioned her in the vee of his long legs and pressed his chest to her back as he instructed her
in the fine art of pleasuring herself for another's view. He especially enjoyed assisting her
while she did this, and she decided she was fine with having him sit in front of her with his head
on her shoulder and both their hands bringing him to climax.

-->



4. Ruined for any other man
---------------------------



**Author's Note:** This story is now completed. Thank you for your readership and your
wonderful comments. I really appreciate the response I've gotten. Additional author's note
will follow at the end.

He realized a few days later that he'd completely stopped meeting Blaise and Spencer to
smoke outside the castle, ever since she'd left him and he woke alone. In fact, he'd almost
quit smoking altogether. Once in a while, on the days between her lessons, he'd had a few, but
he'd just finished the pack he'd had when she first propositioned him.

The annoying part of it was that she'd never told him outright she disapproved of the habit.
Innately sensing her ideas, he'd automatically tapered off. Now he was brushing his teeth four
times a day, which was *more* than excessive, and had ordered the house elves to bring him
some sort of cedar-scented sachet for his drawers and closet.

It was enough to remind him he was only teaching her, not making her his own. Though it was
unbecoming for a Malfoy to brood, he took mental potshots at the ridiculous prig. He'd once
considered Pierce as more than just an acquaintance, but now, he saw only how the boy was
none-too-subtle about flirting with other girls, or how he was infuriatingly Granger-like when
answering questions in class. His eyes always narrowed when he pictured Ginny trying to woo
Spencer.

Draco hadn't called her for another lesson because he knew she had a rather nasty Potions
midterm this week on the proper preparation of Ministry-restricted herbs, fungi and plants. But
she'd be done with it on Friday, and he stomped back to his room and put a napping Siren to
work.

***

The note Siren brought her was two lines consisting of date and time to meet him. Ginny swore
that demon bird snapped at her while delivering the missive…bitter thing was probably recalling the
owl treat episode.

Friday night she found herself dressing carefully, and recognition struck her squarely in the
face. She was truly getting ready to see Draco, not just to learn something from him. He'd
complimented her before on her clothing, before it came off. Pains were taken to make sure her hair
looked just right, even though it would be beyond rumpled in a matter of minutes. He seemed to like
it loose over her shoulders and back and she'd taken to wearing it that way most of the
time.

Sometimes she caught him smiling at her, as if he were trying to put it under cover of a smirk
and not quite succeeding. She knew she always blushed and looked away, but the tiny bit of moisture
that seeped through her panties belied her composure.

It was hard to reconcile in her head that the first time in a while she even bothered to think
about Spencer was when she caught a glimpse of him when she'd once turned to watch Draco's
retreating form and Spencer crossed his path.

***

Unnerving, that's what it was. Unnerving how naturally they had moved into one another's
embrace, how easily their clothing came off and they ended up snuggling and kissing in the middle
of his bed.

Vaguely aware that this was becoming too routine, she let it slip her mind when his hand and
later his mouth slid below her waist and touched her softly and fiercely in turns, making her
orgasm a living, breathing, ever-changing experience.

He was being lazy and she didn't mind, as it gave her time to explore his body. Considering
he seemed to know hers well, she deemed it imperative to become just as familiar with his.

Her hushed and thorough investigation aroused him and soon he was atop her, her legs wrapped
around his middle as he plundered her mouth and shaped her breasts with eager hands.

They both started moving, and bodies shifted *just so* that his cock brushed over the silk
glaze of her sex and she made a strangled sound between a moan and a yelp. It nearly drowned out
his own grunt as he tried to control his raging erection.

“Ginny,” he rasped, trying to adopt a didactic tone and failing miserably. “You realize that
birth control is a part of sex.”

“Yes, of course!” she snapped back, her body trying to connect with his again in the same
tantalizing way.

“And are you taking the precautions?” he questioned, groaning as he tried to still her hips.

“Not yet, git,” she replied breathlessly, her voice getting higher in displeasure. “I'm not
exactly having sex.”

“Doesn't matter,” he breathed. “It only takes one seed to grow a tree.”

Turning to the side and still managing to stay in contact with her, he snatched his wand from
his bedside table. Grasping it firmly in hand, he said an incantation she didn't even know. He
tapped her forehead once with the tip of his wand and discarded it to the floor.

“What was that spell?” she demanded as he started planting hot kisses on her collarbones.

“An old one my mother used to keep my father from getting her pregnant again after I was born,”
he said, his face buried in the crook of her neck. “Malfoy men are lusty, you see, and she taught
me the day my voice finally changed for good.”

Her laugh was punctuated by breathy gasps as he hit sensitive spots.

“This will protect you for two more nights,” he said unevenly as he allowed her to move her
lower body into contact with his again. “But I want you to brew the potion tomorrow. What you
don't have I'll get for you.”

“But we haven't, you know, and aren't…” she said, trailing off as she felt her slickness
spread on his smooth penile skin.

“I know!” he said, exasperated even as he made her close her eyes in bliss. “The potion is
better than a spell, Gin,” he said, leaning down to lick her ear. “My mother told me it protects
for a week at a time and helps make sure your period is the same time each month.”

“If we were actually seeing one another,” she said icily, “you're effectively killing the
mood.”

“If we were actually seeing one another,” he parroted, “we'd have discussed it before
now.”

“Well, you've never had your, your, erm…” she said, trailing off, looking away from him.

“My what, Ginny?” he asked saucily, his demeanor changing instantly. He could positively feel
the blush that suffused her features and chest as he prodded her to say the words.

“Don't, Draco,” she said warningly. His smile gleamed in the dim candlelight, his full lips
drawing back into a long, slow grin.

He rolled off her, moving her body into a position that pleased him as she squawked all the
while.

“Be quiet,” he said firmly. “You're going to love this.”

Suddenly she felt his hardness insinuated between her thighs, lying against her nether lips.
Draco's desire to run his cock over her folds as they accidentally had before was
blistering.

And when he did, they both gasped from the sheer heat of it. It was crazy, he thought, that he
was even playing with this fire, but he had to, was *compelled* to.

He began rocking his hips, holding her leg up and away from her body so he could have the most
room in which to maneuver, wishing he'd had the presence of mind to summon the mirror so he
could see his slick erection slide over her folds and up to her clit on every stroke.

If it was this sinful just to touch her this way, he couldn't fathom being the first
sheathed by her. He could feel sweat and pressure pooling in the base of his spine, signaling his
impending orgasm. Instantly his mind switched to something other than concentrating on the feel of
her and the sounds she was making as his free arm slipped around her and teased her nipples in time
with his strokes.

“You never did answer my question, Ginny,” he said. “I've never had my what where?”

“No, Draco,” she moaned on an unhappy whine. “I don't want to talk about it.”

“I see,” he said, his breath tickling the downy hairs on the back of her neck. “I've always
heard that if you're not mature enough to talk about sex you're not mature enough to have
it.”

She bristled, but it was tempered by the exquisite feelings shooting like sparks though her
every time her clit was grazed.

“I am mature enough,” she grated out, squeezing her hands over his on her breasts.

“Then why can't you say it?” he returned. “You don't have to be precise…any slang term
will do.”

Purposely his hips slowed, and he took more time sliding his cock just inside her lips, barely
touching her now. She groaned and tried to move toward him, but he eluded her.

“Come on, Ginny,” he said, a warning note in his voice, and he stilled.

Her words came out on a sob.

“You never had your cock near my pussy before,” she said harshly, as if the effort burned her
soul.

“Oh,” Draco moaned, the words sweet music in his ears.

In a flash he'd pulled away from her and pushed her flagging leg down, rolling her to her
back and hauling her knees up. His erection thrust steadily against her, going through the motions
of sex but only penetrating her outermost skin.

“Realize how good this feels now and know it's only a mockery,” he stated through grit
teeth. “I'm only touching the outside of you and ohgodsI'mgoingtocome!”

Rearing up on his knees, he grabbed his throbbing erection and directed thick spurts of semen
onto her lithe belly.

Seeing him lose his famed control brought Ginny's climax. Her walls contracted and he drove
two long fingers into her and she whimpered with delight as her body clenched around his thrusting
fingers. Tremors coursed her body as he fell to her side once more and coaxed aftershocks out of
her, dipping his head to taste her.

“You're going to love sex with m…” he said, and stopped abruptly, his gaffe jarring.
“You're going to love sex.”

In her post-orgasmic haze, he didn't think she heard his first try at the sentence. She
turned her head, pupils dilated, expression blissful.

“You think so?” she questioned, and he nodded tightly.

“I hope so,” she yawned, stretching like a cat and moving toward him sleepily. “Or else I'd
feel bad for making you go to all this trouble.”

“No trouble at all.”

***

It galled him that he decided after the fact he'd looked forward to his lessons with Ginny.
*Hell, so would any healthy man.* But he absolutely hated the niggling feeling his excitement
was something more than the solid knowledge he was about to get some arse.

These and other unsettling emotions ran through his head like firsties from Snape. His dour mood
matched the cold, dank air of the dungeons and didn't leave as he made his way through the
other floors of the castle.

It was his week to patrol the hallways after the last of the prefects went to bed. Primarily his
duty was to check the main classrooms to be sure no one was hiding in them, plotting to steal a
rare tome or, worse yet, some of the Potions stores.

The third floor housed the main classrooms for Charms, Ancient Runes and Muggle Studies. He
always rolled his eyes in the Muggle Studies room, as it never failed to have something ridiculous
lying about. Today it appeared to be dolls with mean, masculine features and some sort of weapon.
The blackboard proclaimed tomorrow's lesson as “Action Figures and the Muggle Psyche.”

The Ancient Runes classroom was always dusty and he did no more than take an obligatory peek
into the sneeze-inducing room. Shutting the door, he walked a few meters to the Charms classroom,
hoping he wouldn't find Flitwick asleep at his desk as he had once before.

Of course, Flitwick charmed the door so it opened silently. Draco swung it open on noiseless
hinges and saw a writhing, naked Pansy Parkinson lying on the table Flitwick used as a stage, being
rutted so hard by Spencer Pierce that her body kept creeping toward the end of the wood.

“You're such a hot bitch, aren't you?” Spencer growled, pinching Pansy's nipples so
roughly she cried out. “You have such a hot cunt you like to use to tease me.”

“Harder, you fucking ponce. You fuck like a Hufflepuff!” Pansy taunted, gripping his flanks with
her short legs.

Draco decided he'd seen enough.

***

As he stormed back to the dungeons, blind with rage, he didn't know who he wanted to kill
more, Spencer, or Pansy. It was bad enough that Pansy was the Slytherin slag, but couldn't she
just keep her legs crossed once in a while?

But Spencer. That stupid, randy fucking *boy* that Ginny was going to trust with her
virginity. As he'd stood there, his mind cruelly inserted Ginny in the tableau. And
Spencer's harsh words, his hurting hands…in Draco's mind, Ginny was crying. She
couldn't - and *wouldn't* - come back with an insult. She couldn't fight Spencer
off if he decided to get too physical with her.

She'd idolized this boy who obviously had the morals of a tomcat and had no problem poking a
girl who was rumored to have picked up a Muggle sexual disease while completely pissed in a pub
over the last summer's break. She'd come to him asking for help in seducing this bloke that
she thought she could take home to Mum and Dad Weasley.

With the intense, precise calm of the livid, he cast a silencing spell on his chamber and
screamed.

***

*She was crying. Why was she walking down the corridors nude? And what was trailing on the
floor behind her?*

*Sobbing. “Draco! Draco, please help me. He hurt me. I'm bleeding, and it won't stop.
I'm bleeding. I'm bleeding.”*

*His hands shot out to catch her before she fainted, but she slipped through his fingers. His
fingers, now slick with red, obscenely red blood, rushed to help her.*

*Scratches and welts decorated her breasts and abdomen. Her thighs were streaked with blood,
and he instinctively knew she'd been ripped apart there. Her back was a mass of huge splinters,
dug deeper into her skin by each thrust on the ancient table.*

*There was everywhere and nowhere to begin helping her.*

He woke with a start, cotton sheets stuck to his body and soaked through with sweat. His
rational mind decided he'd been dreaming, but the vivid images in his mind kept him awake and
pacing his chamber.

***

Siren woke her with an infernal pecking on the frosty glass window. It was still dark out, and a
Saturday morning, no less, and what in Merlin's freezing hell did Draco want with her this
early?

Grumbling, she took the parchment from the hated bird and shooed her off the casement.

*Come back tonight for your last lesson.*

It was odd, she thought, that there was something she *hadn't* learned with Draco. And
damn it, he was spoiling her plans. She had wanted to ask Spencer to accompany her to dinner that
evening and then perhaps to a dark, cozy corner where she could try and assert herself.

But if there was something left to learn, perhaps she'd better know it. There was Sunday,
after all.

***

He'd given her the password to his chambers ages ago. And when she entered, dressed simply
in a faded pair of dungarees and a jumper, his heart thumped against his ribs despite the tension
radiating from his pores.

“Hello,” she said softly, and walked to where he sat on the edge of his bed. He merely extended
a hand to her, and when she took it he swept her up and sat her across his lap. He hugged her to
him, but didn't release his tight grip on her. His face was buried in her hair and he breathed
in the clean scent of it, knowing it was the last time he would do so.

Under the guise of a last lesson he brought her here because he couldn't stand letting her
out and into the world of love and sex knowing nothing about the one she wanted to hold most
dear.

She sat silently across his thighs, and waited for him to speak, to act, anything. When he
didn't, she felt compelled to speak.

“Draco?” she asked questioningly. “What is going on? You're scaring me a little. I know
there's something wrong because I can feel it in the air.”

He sighed heavily, stirring the thick skein of hair that had fallen over his cheek.

“There is no lesson,” he managed in a tone she'd never heard before.

“But what…” she began, and his index finger rose to shush her.

“Last night I was patrolling the third floor, in the Charms classroom. And…” he said, breaking
off, trying to regain his confidence. “And Spencer was there.”

She stiffened in his arms at the mention of Spencer's name.

“What about him?” she asked, voice steely.

Another pause. “He was there with Pansy.”

“You mean they were patrolling there. I heard Blaise say he was switching with Pansy. I
overheard them talking about it in the hallway before dinner.”

“No, sweetheart. It's not what I mean,” he noted sadly.

The endearment was out of the blue and she whipped around, smacking his face with her hair and
looking at him squarely.

“What in Merlin's name are you trying to say?” she demanded, her eyes narrowed.

His eyes closed, and he leaned his head back, as if what he had to say was painful and he
couldn't bear to look at her as he voiced it.

“Say it, Draco! Come on!”

“They were fucking, all right? They were having sex, Ginny.”

He opened her eyes to watch her mouth drop open and wished he hadn't. She paled so quickly
he clutched her harder for fear she'd slip out of his hands like his dream. And just as
quickly, her face reddened in abject anger. Her fingers curled into fists and she landed them
solidly on his shoulders.

“Take that back!” she raged. “This isn't very fucking funny, Malfoy. You bring me here to
tell me a *joke*? Is this your idea of fun? Because it's not bloody funny, you pig.
It's not funny!” she screamed.

*Notrealnotreallyinglyinglyinggitwhyisn'thelaughing?*

His face was drawn as he spoke.

“It's not a joke. It's the truth.”

He wasn't prepared for her to dissolve into tears as his words hit their mark.

He could feel the heat from her tears radiating off her face in the small space between them.
Clutching her to his chest, he began the instinctive rocking motion that all of humanity used to
calm a crying being.

A steady, plaintive mantra of *no* came from her lips*.*

“I didn't know,” he said, stroking her back in circles. “I didn't know, Gin, and I would
have told you sooner if I had.”

It brought a fresh rain of despair.

“He was being so rough with her, Ginny,” he whispered, still having trouble comprehending the
whole thing. “And I stood there and I saw them and Pansy turned into you and he was hurting you. I
dreamed he hurt you and I couldn't do anything about it.”
She could barely process the strain in his voice, let alone piece together her own thoughts.
Suddenly she was cold, chilled through and through. So cold. So empty.

His hands were cupping her cheeks then, and they were like hot irons as he brushed away some of
the tears with his thumbs. Resting his forehead on her shoulder, he made his final confession.

“I couldn't let you go to him without knowing. I couldn't stand the possibility he would
hurt you and I couldn't do a damn thing about it because nobody knows about this.”

His words begat more tears and when he couldn't brush them off her fast enough he started to
kiss them away. And when the tears he missed reached her lips, he followed them there.

***

Apologetic kisses kept her from being numb, and somewhere in the back of her mind she welcomed
them. Her hands burrowed under his untucked shirt, gripping the small of his back with her
fingernails.

He in turn welcomed the pain, hoping she could somehow release her anguish on him so he could in
whatever inadequate way try to make it better.

When she finally kissed him back it was a blind response.

***

Hands under clothing. Hot kisses, gentle touches, no words. Shedding clothing. Rustle of sheets.
Closed eyes. A moth to flame, the fire killing the pain. He was holding her and she was kissing him
and she was still crying and was he crying or were they her tears?

His body's worship of hers was automatic and her response was mindless, taking what he gave
her and unconsciously demanding more. He'd remember later they'd rolled all over his bed,
never breaking grip on the other, the constant nearness the only peace of mind they had. She
recalled the sweet weight of him bearing down on her as he covered her for their thousandth kiss,
each one better than the last.

But the moment when he bore down on her and she tilted her hips just so, he slid into her and
pushed through to the hilt, pain and surprise registered starkly on both their faces. She arched
her back through the searing tear and he scrabbled desperately to get off her, to apologize again,
for something he'd done unintentionally.

“No,” she moaned, clamping her hands over his forearms. Instantly he started to withdraw, his
actions hampered only by her unmercifully tight sheath. His erection seemed ten times harder and
bigger when he moved within her.

“I didn't,” he began, but she pried one shaky hand off his arm and laid a finger to his
lips, stilling him.

“You told me once that if my man was any good, he'd see to it that I was treated like a
queen,” she whispered unevenly, a fresh trail of tears rolling over her cheeks, her lips, her
chin.

His eyes closed reflexively as he discerned her meaning.

“Potion?” he croaked.

Her hips rose to meet his, answering his question and negating his retreat.

“Long, slow and deep. That's how she needs to be treated,” he said.

He suited action to words, sinking down the rest of the way into her, letting her adjust to his
size and girth, reaching over her head for a pillow to prop her hips on. Once he adjusted her, the
angle and her comfort increased exponentially.

“Long,” he said, pulling almost completely out and pausing. “Slow.” His length began to creep
back in, inch by inch. “Deep.” His pubic bone met her clit, its intended destination.

Her body accommodated him then, and every slow plunge he took was like the first time without
the pain. His musculature flexed and released as he poured every ounce of concentration into his
movements. She punctuated the air with moans that were his name, sighs of affirmation and whispers
that told him she'd let him know if she was ever unhappy.

Every stroke was a revelation, every retreat a test in beautiful torture. Her mind was
shuttered, her field of vision a narrow swath between them. All her blood had pooled hotly in her
center, and she was sure the feeling of every throb, every pulse, every thrust would overload her
senses.

Perhaps in a different time, a different place and with a different man she would have been
mortified to vocalize her pleasure and wantonly follow his hips with hers. But now, she found
herself pushing him away so she could see his flesh sinking into hers, watch the glint of
candlelight in the reflection on his moisture-slicked erection.

“Don't get too comfortable,” he groaned in her ear, his neck bowed and hair tickling her
cheek. He ground himself down and circled his hips. “I don't like to be so far away.”

He was relieved to hear her breathy giggle. Energy surged though him and he longed to speed up,
to show her what he was made of. He'd been trying to control his impulses, but with the tight
hold her body had on him, he didn't think she could handle it without experiencing pain.

Causing the pain that had led to this was bad enough. Distracting himself by kissing her neck,
he tried to banish the thoughts of taking her with hard, sure thrusts. It was useless. He barely
heard himself moan as he gave in and bit none too gently the skin where her shoulder merged with
her neck, simultaneously plunging deep.

Her shocked wheeze broke his reverie and he jerked up, face a mask of horror. Her hand flew up
and covered his mouth, and her eyes were wild.

“More of that,” she whimpered. “Harder.”

With that said, she turned her head to the side and arched underneath him, aching to let him
pound into her as long as he kept hitting all the spots that made her feverish.

“Something else,” she managed, voice quavering. “Bite me there. Again.”

His resolve shattered into a million tiny shards as he scooped her into his arms, only his
elbows supporting his weight. She screamed in pleasure as his balls slapped against her now, his
hips pistoning mercilessly into her as his teeth found countless spots to imprint with his
brand.

Her ragged breaths puffed hotly into his ear, as stimulating as if she'd actually licked it.
The tingle reached his cock and he could only helplessly drive harder into her, all chance of
rational thought gone as he concentrated solely on making her come.

“I'm going to make you scream,” he promised, voice both strained and predatory. “You're
never going to come again without thinking of me first.”

The possessive words were as effective as stroking her clit. Invisible strings drew tight across
her body and she curled into herself, her sex closing down and over Draco's cock so quickly she
thought she was going to faint.

Animal growls filled the air as he began to fuck her in earnest now, her body clenching him like
a velvet fist. Her climax rolled over him in waves and she sobbed in prolonged completion as he
thrust through each and every one, letting her body milk his own release out of him in long,
satisfying pulses.

He collapsed atop her and she didn't mind his weight. It forced her to take deep breaths
instead of shallow gasps like those of an athlete. As her body calmed, so did her mind. It was
blessedly free of most thought, really, and she never knew that sex could provide this sort of
whole body expurgation, this cleansing of her soul.

She thought Draco was two breaths away from falling asleep on top of her when he groaned and
abruptly began to pull out of her. The withdrawal made her moan as the relatively cool air caressed
her soaked and aching sex. He rolled off her with a muttered string of irate curses and immediately
turned his back to her, hauling himself up and sitting tensely on the other side of the bed.

He had wrapped his arms around himself and she could see him moving his hands up and down his
arms in a nervous, restive motion. Though she honestly had no idea what to expect after one was
completed with sex, she didn't think this was a good reaction.

“Draco?” she questioned softly, touching languid fingertips to his back. He jumped as if
she'd branded him, and she gathered her strength and propped herself on her elbows.

“What is wrong?” she asked, exasperation coloring her tone.

“This. This is all wrong!” he burst out, and she clearly heard his hand broadside his own
forehead.

“This wasn't supposed to happen. *You* said we weren't having sex, *I* said we
weren't having sex, and here I practically fucking maul you because I can't keep my cock in
my pants.”

“Excuse me?” she queried incredulously. “What are you on about?”

He turned toward her then, and she wished he hadn't. His pale skin was tinged with dull red,
and his face was misery and fury twisted into one.

“My sole purpose in asking you to come back tonight was to warn you off that rotter before you
got in over your head. It wasn't to fuck you, that much is too true. And then I let myself get
carried away and take away the one thing you could have saved from Spencer bloody fucking Pierce
and given to someone who deserved it!”

She was stunned into silence, mouth hanging open.

“You know, I get enough guilt from my father on every thing you could imagine. This is just as
bad, just as fucking bad,” he lamented, gesticulating tersely. “Because this was supposed to be
like a business arrangement, you see, and you're not supposed to be involved because that's
how it sneaks up on you, slugs you in the gut,” he rambled, turning away from her again.

“Draco,” she said, comprehension dawning. In her head, a swirl of voices standing outside the
castle in the cold became very clear to her now, and she could easily pick out the voice that had
run the gamut from whispering in her ear to explicit requests.

He ignored her and picked up his tirade again.

“And I'm bloody sorry, Ginny. I'm sorry for letting things go this far and not stopping.
I've ruined it and ruined you.”

He grunted savagely, and it was obvious he was disgusted with himself.

“Draco,” she said again, louder this time, touching him again.

“What?” he grated irritably.

“May I have a cigarette?” she asked calmly. His eyes narrowed.

“What?”

“I said, may I have a fag?” she repeated.

Regarding her strangely, he then turned and opened a drawer on his bedside table. She sighed a
little, glad at least that her odd request had both thrown him off and afforded her a lovely view
of the muscles moving underneath the skin of his smooth back. He rummaged for a moment and then
turned back to her, putting it first in his own mouth and lighting up, inhaling deeply before
handing it to her.

His eyes were intent on her now, peering at her as she took an experimental puff and admirably
managed only a tiny cough. She leaned back and he was amazed at how languorously she moved, not
even bothering to cover herself as she propped her upper body on one elbow, facing him.

“Everything just clicked,” she said slowly. “It should have before, but now everything is making
sense.”

“What is making sense?” he asked warily. He didn't like her tone, and it rankled. He was
sure she was about to suggest he had tricked her into this whole ordeal.

“The things you said, what you actually said to Spencer and Blaise the night I approached you to
help me with this. It was hard for me to make out who was saying what, but now I'm matching
actions to words.”

“Telling me to find someone who liked my taste tells me you wouldn't have cast some silly
flavoring spell on a girl. And then you got me to taste myself on you, and outside you said if a
girl would do that, she'd do things that were wilder.”

“The night you lay behind me and pretended to have sex with me. I remember that position now
because I thought it sounded so romantic when I thought it was coming from Spencer.”

Draco grimaced, and she took another drag, watching as the ash from the cigarette retreated
instead of grew, and she surmised they had been charmed that way.

“And the candles…always low but never out, just enough light to be flattering,” she said.

“So what?” he defended hotly, trying not to let the curl of her lips around the fag tug at his
cock. “You told me up front what you thought I said, and you were wrong about nearly
everything.”

“I didn't say I was angry with you, Draco,” she said. “Oh, make no mistake, I'd gladly
make balloon animals out of Spencer's bits, given half the chance, but I'm not one bit
sorry about this.”

He couldn't hold back a laugh at the horrifyingly funny image, and his strained mood was
broken.

“In fact,” she admitted, “I suppose I was just as guilty when I realized I'd only noticed
Spencer one time in several weeks and it was when I was watching you walk down a hall and he
crossed in front of you.”

Her admission had him reaching across the bed and plucking the cigarette from her slim fingers
and taking another long, calming drag before tucking it back in her still-outstretched hand.

“What are you trying to say, Weasley?” he asked, refusing to reveal anything until she showed
her hand.

Staring intently at her, he watched in unabashed wonder as she smiled mysteriously and her
nipples hardened under his gaze.

“You said you liked to educate virgins, didn't you?” she asked, stubbing out the filter on
his wrought iron headboard and discarding it.

“Yes,” he said through gritted teeth, his mind calling him ten kinds of fool for ever saying
those things, for ever getting caught up in this, for getting caught up in her.

“You've ruined me, all right. Ruined me for any other man. I mean, as long as that's
okay with you, of course.”

~finis~

**Author's Note:** Portions of this chapter were inspired by Jade Okelani's **Our Winter. Specifically, I reference the portions
where the words are italicized and run together and also the small paragraph where it is unclear
whose tears are whose. Please read her fic as it's a beautiful story and also inspired by Sarea
Okelani. Shh, brat.

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