The Head Boy's Laundry: Lingerie

Draco Malfoy woke alone and stiff in his bed. Unwelcome sunlight was filtering into his chambers, an event that distinctly did not happen at this time of year and at the time he should have been awake.

Shite. A quick glance at his wall clock verified his fears. It was after eight, and he had missed breakfast. As he rolled over, the unmistakable scent of sex and a shimmering strand of long red hair greeted him.

“Bloody fuck!” he burst out, finding himself far more aggrieved with Ginny Weasley's abrupt departure than he rightly should have been. Not only had he overslept and missed his rounds and breakfast, but she was safely in Potions and not there for him to wake her.

His first class wasn't until nine, so he called for a house elf and ordered breakfast sent to him. Staggering slightly from the sweet ache in his legs, he made his way into his private bathroom and showered. Brushing away the mingled flavors of her and his own dragon breath, he wondered how to best handle the situation.

He fuzzily remembered allowing her use of his invisibility cloak to escape to Gryffindor Tower. Dejectedly, his shoulders slumped. There was no way for her to find it, hidden as it was in his wardrobe. Sighing, he walked out into his room and headed toward his wardrobe only to find the doors wide open, clothing shoved haphazardly to one side.

A lopsided, wry grin lit his face. Sneaky Weasel, she'd found it, though he supposed it wasn't perhaps his greatest mental feat to decide to hang it in his closet at the end of the bar. Probably the hanger that looked like it was cut off at the neck had tipped her off. Suddenly glad she had something of his and he had an excuse, he dressed and ate his breakfast. He would see her at lunch.

He spent his first few classes daydreaming and replaying selected scenes from their escapade in his mind. The morning flew and by noon, he was more than ready to see her in the flesh. But he chit couldn't deign to be seen at lunch. Draco was sure steam was curling from his ears as he watched the empty spot her housemates had allotted her.

Raging through the afternoon, he was going to strangle her if she showed up to dinner. Why was she avoiding him? Did she find their actions so distasteful she couldn't even look at him? Draco Malfoy was beginning to have the creeping idea that Ginny Weasley was going to ignore him. Malfoys didn't take to being ignored.

***

At dinner his emotions were barely assuaged. She showed up, but her head was bowed and there was no way for him to catch her eye to signal that they should meet outside. He knew he was livid and could feel the heat rush to his cheeks. Furious, he looked down and began to shovel food into his mouth, rivaling Crabbe's caveman style of eating.

A few minutes later, he had calmed down enough to look at her again. But this time he was staring at her empty spot. A quick glance at the massive doors to the Great Hall confirmed she was skipping out, a flash of red hair visible above her dark robes. Damn and blast it! There was no subtle way to go about this.

It wasn't even about the return of his cloak, either. He had no qualms over that. She was far too Gryffindor not to return it, and she would return it to him in one of three ways. Of course, the most desirable way was for her to secret herself into his chambers and surprise him, nude underneath. He smirked a little at that, knowing that unfortunately two other methods were more likely. She'd either stomp up to him and present it to him along with some tongue lashing or she'd try to surreptitiously leave it without being seen by anyone, including him.

He didn't see her at all in his usual Friday routine, and he knew he couldn't alter his life too greatly or Pansy would sniff him out like a wet dog. Even Goyle, who was emerging as surprisingly perceptive, would be able to discern that something was amiss. He spent the remainder of the weekend sulking, planning, and behaving like a git.

***

He found himself eagerly anticipating Wednesday night. She would be patrolling then, and perhaps this mess could be sorted out. Finally, he decided what rankled so much was that she had left him later that morning. Despite the fact that he was rumored to be the castle's Casanova, he simply hadn't been with as many girls as purported. Some of them wished, of course, but the orgy rumors weren't true as much as he would have liked them to be. Contrary to popular belief, he'd learned his skills with the few partners he had and practiced them assiduously when given the chance.

Certainly they'd never shared his bed, that much was true. He had made a conscious decision to let her stay, and had rather anticipated waking with a warm female body next to his. Their shag had been fantastic and he was not averse to a replay. Idly he wondered what his father would say. But Father, she's got a body that would make grown men cry. Probably the bastard would hex him until he cried.

Relegating himself to dreams of her red hair pooled around him as she gave him a nice blow, he slept soundly and counted the nights until Wednesday.

***

Come Wednesday night it was all he could do not to crack his door so he could hear her footsteps. Determined to stay awake through her entire shift, he sat at his desk and tried madly to finish a scroll on the use of asphodel in mood-altering potions. Around 12:30, his eyes were drooping. Angry at himself for not being able to stay alert, he vowed to only take a short nap.

An hour later, he was roused from a deep sleep by frantic, heavy knocking at his door. Waking, he threw himself off the bed and bolted for the door. He looked askance at the corridors, but they were silent and empty now. What sat in front of him was a brown paper bag.

Instantly he recoiled. Last year Ron Weasley and Seamus Finnegan had placed Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes' finest Flaming Dungbombs in front of the Slytherin common room door in retribution for a particularly nasty airborne Quidditch scuffle. This was eerily similar to those bags and he had no desire to end up like Pansy and Theodore Nott, who had had the misfortune of trying to stamp them out with their shoes.

This bag wasn't flaming. The top was folded neatly down, and he didn't discern any foul odors or sense any particular magic coming from it. Leaning over, he opened the top carefully. The bag was empty. Why would she leave me an empty…

Frustrated, he picked up the bag and felt a sudden light weight, and then smiled. It wasn't empty. His cloak was neatly folded inside, simply invisible to the naked eye. So she'd acted exactly as he predicted, and left it while scurrying off.

So if she wouldn't come to him when it was definitely the safest, and he couldn't go to her for obvious reasons, he would make her come to him. The only problem was how and when.

***

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Draco schemed for the rest of the week and the entire following one, trying to dream up some appropriate retribution. He had gone so far as to contemplate Apparating to Diagon Alley from Hogsmeade, but decided that being expelled for doing it without a license wasn't worth it. He'd known how to do it since fourth year, but only because his father was teaching him in the ways of deception.

Ten days after he received his cloak from a fleeing Ginny, he decided on a plan. It was a Hogsmeade Saturday, and he quickly distanced himself from his pack of goons and slipped off to the ladies' boutique a few blocks from the main street of the village. On the few occasions that his mother had chanced to visit him at school, she always insisted on patronizing this particular shop. And if it was good enough for Narcissa Malfoy, it was fine for him.

He strode into the small shop, head held high. After all, hadn't he spent many of his formative years accompanying his mother on her interminable shopping trips? There was no way to count the endless hours he had spent sitting in a comfortable chair while his mother artfully haggled over expensive fabrics. It had been boring, but he had picked up one or two things along the way.

The short, effusive witch bustled out and stopped short when presented with a rather tall, ice blond male.

“Doubtless young master Malfoy. How may I assist you?” she asked respectfully, and Draco half expected her to dip into a deep curtsy.

“Show me your finest lingerie,” he said boldly, and the shopkeeper did a fair job of keeping her eyes in her head.

“I have an excellent selection of silks, satins, laces - anything you could wish for - for your lady friend. Tell me, do you know what size you are looking for?”

The witch - Griselda Bumbershoot by name - summoned a thick piece of tailor's chalk and drew an outline in the air. “Would you say that is close to your lady's shape?”

Sneering, Draco snatched the chalk from her. Watching all those dress forms and store model-witches had taught him a thing or two about eyeballing women. And after having held this particular woman in his arms, having mapped her curves with his own hands, he drew his own figure. Through the white line, Ginny's lush body came to life, showing in simplistic detail the generous size of her breasts, the inward lines of her waist and the slight flare of her hips.

He handed the chalk back to Griselda and stood for a moment, contemplating what he had drawn. Standing before the hovering outline, he took his hands and held them just outside the lines, verifying that he'd drawn the dimensions true to life.

“That's it,” he announced. “That's her.” Griselda nodded, and pointed her wand at a nearby dress form and muttered a resizing spell, changing the mannequin to make it emulate Ginny's body. Draco moved toward the form and actually put his hands on it, nodding to the witch.

For the next hour and a half, Griselda dressed the Ginny-form in all kinds of frothy concoctions designed to accentuate the body and titillate the mind. Well, at the very least, it was fetching eye-candy-wrapping. It was interesting to see the form grow legs when needed, to display stockings and tiny knickers.

“I'm beginning to think you have nothing for me, Ms. Bumbershoot,” he sighed, massaging his forehead as he slumped in the overstuffed chair she brought him. He'd summarily dismissed those things in red, yellow and pink. White was too wedding-like for his tastes. Black was always an option, but he didn't want her to look like a ghost in his bed.

“Master Malfoy,” Griselda huffed, “I am the premier maker of ladies' lingerie in all of Scotland. If I have nothing to satisfy your tastes, perhaps your tastes are better satisfied in Knockturn Alley!”

He looked up to glare at her and tell her in no uncertain terms that she was speaking of Lucius Malfoy and he didn't appreciate her insinuations. Lifting his gaze, it trained instead on the dress form and his words halted in his throat.

Slytherin green lace-covered satin gleamed back at him. The garment was a teddy, featuring a corset-like top that would plump her breasts up and give her deep cleavage. The waist had a soft ruffle around it, tapering into a thong of the same lace over satin design. Garters stretched from the waist down thigh-high stockings of the same shade of rich green.

“That's what I want,” he announced. “Package it discreetly and shrink it.”

Griselda nodded tightly and swept imperiously across her store to the front counter. Summoning the clothing, she had no reservations about letting the floating stockings smack him in the back of the head.

Glaring at the witch, Draco set his hair to rights and paid the ridiculous amount of Galleons he was charged. When all was said and done, he exited the store with a long, narrow brown paper packet that fit neatly into the interior pocket of his robes.

***

Back in his rooms that night, he unwrapped the lingerie and stared at it. In its still-shrunken form, it looked like lewd clothing for an overgrown girl's doll.

He spent an inordinate amount of time trying to decide how to get her into it and back to him. He couldn't very well leave it outside the Gryffindor common room, and flying on his broom to her dorm room wouldn't do in the least.

It wasn't until he was lying in his bed and lazily stroking himself that the idea came to him in a flash. If - IF - he could use the dress form spell, he could get it on her. And then he couldn't concentrate, because he was imagining her in the silky confines of the outfit. After cleaning himself up with a few swishes of his robes, he snuggled down into the softness of his bed and took up with the dress form spell again.

The dress form spell was essentially a sophisticated banishing charm. That would take care of getting it on her. Perhaps if he shrunk the lingerie even more, it would zoom up her robes or through her sleeves to her body. Once the spell was cast, it used whatever body it was aimed at. So he had to get her either alone or have a direct line to her.

He could do that. She was usually the last one to the Prefect meetings, because her class just prior to that was in the Astronomy tower. If he could lose himself in the students streaming by, he could get a good line to her before she entered the door to the meeting room

While trying to think up a locking charm Granger couldn't get her out of, he remembered a charm that locked the Malfoys' private living space in the Manor. It was a simple charm, honestly, but modified slightly to recognize only Malfoys when the words were said in a certain order.

Content that his mum or father wouldn't be caught dead trying to undress Ginny Weasley, he fell asleep with a smile on his face. The next Prefect meeting was only four days away, and what an interesting Wednesday it would be.

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Draco had less than two hours before the prefect meeting began at 4:30. His classes over for the day, he retreated to his rooms with a devilish smile on his face. Sitting at his desk, he took a quill and began to write out the spells that he needed, making sure he remembered the exact wording.

A simple reducio and the garments were even smaller. After he found her and had good aim, he could hold the lingerie in the palm of his hand and shoot the vestio corpus across it. That would get her in the lingerie, and once she had to come to him to get it taken off, he could charm it off her.

Or something like that. Peractio obfirmo Malfoy would unlock the catches on her lingerie just like it unlocked his rooms in Malfoy Manor. It was easy. It was simple. It was an excellent plan and he didn't intend to fail.

***

All the prefects had their schedules arranged so they did not have any 4:30 classes on every second Wednesday, so barring unforeseen sickness, absence was not excused. Ginny had no real wish to attend the meeting, as she could not find the courage needed to look Malfoy in the eye.

Curious, was that, since she had left him. She supposed she should feel liberated and womanly and independent, but it wasn't coming to her. Instead, all she could feel was a deep fluttering clench in her abdomen when she remembered him curling up around her in his sleep.

When she had woken in the earliest hours of the dawn, she was loath to leave the warm nest of tangled limbs and soft down. His arm had still been around her midsection, and she gingerly lifted it from her body to leave. One single candle was still lit and in its low light she could see his face, relaxed in sleep.

Once she'd had a day or ten to think about it, she admitted to herself that she had had fun shagging Malfoy. Of course, it had been too much sensory overload at the time to realize this, but after the sweet ache suffusing her body that Thursday, she wasn't averse to doing it again.

Trouble with that was, oh, nearly everything. If she told anyone she'd gone and had some slap and tickle with the Bouncing Ferret, it would be as good as announcing her allegiance to the Dark Lord, and that wasn't a tempest she wished to stir up.

So she found herself rushing to the Prefect's meeting, about seven swinging stairways and four disappearing doors away from her Astronomy class with Professor Sinistra. As always, her hair was flying and she was running short on breath when she collided with Neville as she stepped off the last flight of stairs and rounded the corner.

“Ginny!” he said, his sweet face alight. “I was hoping to talk to you before I go help Professor Sprout.”

Peeking into the meeting room and seeing that Malfoy wasn't yet there, she dared a few moments with Neville. He'd grown out of his awkward body and grown into his personality, and he was a wonderful gardener. He would be a sweetheart to a green-thumbed girl some day. But until then, he'd seen fit to ask her to every Hogsmeade weekend he could finagle.

“Hi, Nev. How are you?” she asked.

“Oh, I'm grand,” he said, smiling toothily. “Look!” Ginny's eyes followed Neville's pointing finger to his mouth.

“Your teeth! Who straightened them?” Ginny gasped, thinking that whoever had reorganized the crooked mess in his mouth needed a medal.

“Hermione,” he said proudly. “She worked with her dad and some Muggle-born who was going to need some sort of metal straightening device on his teeth. After she got it down, she did it for me today after lunch!”

“That's brilliant, Neville,” Ginny enthused. He really did look nice, and his now-even white teeth added to the overall effect.

“Thank you,” he said, still smiling. “I don't reckon it might put you in more of a mind to visit Hogsmeade with me next time around?”

Inside, she deflated, but kept a cool exterior.

“I'm not quite sure about planning that far ahead,” she hedged. Glancing at the Muggle wristwatch Harry gave her for her last birthday, she noticed she was far too late for the meeting, whether Malfoy was there or not.

She crept closer to the open door.

“Let's say yes for now, okay, Nev?” she asked. “But I have to keep up on my homework, you know, so if something comes up, don't be upset,” she warned. He merely beamed again, obviously too proud of his shiny new teeth to think of much else.

She smiled back at him and made to turn into the meeting room. Just as her back turned to Neville, she heard him say, “Thanks Ginny, I really enjoy Hogsmeade weekends with you!”

And then there was a sharp smack on her arse. Realizing immediately that Neville had just lecherously swatted her bum like Zacharias Smith did to unsuspecting Hufflepuffs, she whirled around and slapped him smartly on the cheek.

“Neville Franklin Longbottom! Don't you ever touch me like that again! You can forget Hogsmeade, you disgusting prat!”

Ginny knew her face was red and furious as she marched into the meeting room, avoiding the stares of an incredulous band of Prefects. Neville still stood outside the door, slightly dazed and rubbing his cheek.

***

Draco didn't think he could have planned it any better. Struggling to hold in his laughter, he wrapped his arms around himself and shook with silent guffaws. It was all so perfectly placed, as if he had staged it. When Ginny turned to enter the room, she had presented Draco with a perfect target to shoot at: her nicely rounded arse.

The sound she had heard was actually the fabric of the lingerie sucking itself to her body. But the fleeting pain was, as he'd hoped, a nasty little wedgie he'd taught himself to give with a wand. In truth, it was nothing more than a tailoring spell that took in clothing for period of seconds, allowing the tailor to determine the right fit.

Imperiously, he brushed past Longbottom, who had since moved away from the meeting room door but was still babying his cheek and muttering, “But I didn't touch her!”

***

Ginny found, to her dismay, the only seat left was next to the head of the table, where Hermione and Draco sat. More precisely, she would be at Draco's right hand. Sighing, she sat down, fidgeting uncomfortably. Her clothing was chafing her strangely, and she tried desperately not to give in to the need to scratch.

Draco stalked in, looking impossibly tall from her diminutive seat. He threw his dragon's hide-covered folio down and glanced at Hermione.

“What, couldn't start without me, Granger? I knew you loved me.”

Ernie MacMillan was forced to restrain Ron before he hurdled the long, scratched table and throttled Malfoy.

Hermione shot both Ron and Draco a withering glare and began to open up the meeting.

Ginny continued to squirm uncomfortably. Something was wrong. She hadn't noticed it in the immediate aftermath of Neville's swat, but she felt slightly constricted, as if she wore a garment that was too small for her. Shifting in her seat, she felt her knees slide against one another in a way they distinctly shouldn't have.

***

Draco watched her try to move as surreptitiously as she could to ease the lingerie's hold on her body. The expressions that she was making would have certainly alarmed someone if she was seen, but everyone else was raptly watching the Mudblood. After one particular change in her position, he saw her face go pale.

Moving slightly to his right and angling his head, he was able to see her reach down and pull up the hem of her robe several inches. Of course, her parents had picked this year to buy her a proper robe that reached her toes, and it had aided him immensely. There, casing her shapely leg, was a stocking in the purest Slytherin green.

She dropped the robe as if it was burning, and she sat like a statue for several moments. Then, obviously thinking that no one was watching, she pulled the collar of her robe away from her slim neck and peeked down it.

Color rushed back into her pale cheeks as she tried to suppress a squeak. All eyes at the table turned her way and, if possible, she became redder.

“Ginny, are you all right?” Hermione asked, her face creased in concern. Ginny gulped a breath so hard Draco could see her throat move.

“Yes, ah, well, just had an awful cramp in my leg,” she said, and it was apparent she was trying to control her breath. “Best if I go walk it off.”

“Go ahead,” Hermione said. “We're almost done here, right?” She looked at Draco for confirmation, and he nodded. Not that he ever paid attention to her agendas, but he supposed it was about the right time for her rants and spiels to be over.

But Ginny had already gathered her books, shoving them into her rucksack and pushing away from the scarred table.

She was almost outside the door when he cooed sweetly, “Feel better, Weasley.”

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She ran all the way back to Gryffindor Tower, her smoothly-stockinged legs swishing together, her robe flapping behind her. Her breasts jiggled uncomfortably, being pushed up as high as they were.

Flying into her room, she was glad to see that her roommate wasn't in. Taking advantage of the momentarily solitude, she heaved her rucksack onto her bed and frantically ripped her clothing off.

She'd never seen herself like this. Dumbfounded, she stood and looked at her reflection in the mirror, scarcely believing it was her body in this sexy confection. The green complimented her skin tone well enough, but it was the actual shape, form and function of the garments that caught her attention.

She stood staring for many minutes until she reached behind her to take the bloody stuff off. It was pretty, Malfoy'd gotten his joke in (and really, who else but him would do this?) and he'd paid her back in some twisted way.

She was sure there should be a catch somewhere back here. Contorting her body, she put her back toward the mirror and searched vainly for a stay, a snap, a zipper. A seam? Agh. Nothing. A body was not made to be in these positions, she thought, as she finally located a cleverly-hidden seam with a tiny flap concealing the myriad hooks and eyes.

It seemed to go from the small of her back to the deeply scooped neck of the teddy, so she hoisted her arms over her head and dangled them over her back, fingers scrabbling on the barely-there seam. There was no purchase there, so with an exasperated sigh she repositioned her arms behind her back as if she were removing her brassiere.

It was as if she was touching something as slick as ice. There was no way to even get her fingers to clamp on to the seam long enough to get any leverage to ease the hooks out of the eyes. Momentarily stumped, she decided to start with the garters instead. They had tiny clips, and those had to flex and let go of the fabric, right?

She pressed at the clips so many times she felt like a laboratory rat in Hermione's Muggle science textbooks. The tiny teeth were holding fast and the clips wouldn't open for anything. Jaw clenched, she stormed back to her bed and rooted through her discarded clothing, locating her wand.

Alohomora. Divestio. Deshabiller. None of these charms or any others she could think of would release the catches. On the edge of crying out in rage or just plain crying, she stared at her reflection again. Her face and skin were beyond red, flushed a dull, angry purple that never meant anything good.

There was no way in the world she was going to ask Hermione to help her. Gods, no. Hullo, Hermione, care to get me out of this? Oh, yes, well, Malfoy. Payback for shagging and leaving him, I'm sure.

She buried her head in her hands when finite incantatem did nothing. Finally, after trying to calm down for several minutes, she stood again and looked at herself in the mirror. Her breasts were heaving invitingly, and she was sure that somewhere Malfoy was laughing at her.

Surely this spell would wear off after some time. Perhaps the thing to do was wait it out. She would just wear her robes to dinner, see how that went. And for now, maybe a short nap was in order.

***

She woke nearly an hour later to Hermione banging on her door, reminding her loudly that dinner was about to begin. Shouting her replies, Ginny stood sleepily and began to dress, making sure she was covered from head to stocking toes before exiting.

Sitting down at the supper table, Ginny groaned. Bodily functions suddenly reared their ugly head, and she vowed to make it through dinner, just to see if maybe she could corner Draco and get him to end this ridiculous game. She wouldn't drink anything, either, so as to not exacerbate the problem.

But Draco wasn't at dinner. The ferret didn't even bother to show up and smirk, and Ginny was furious.

“Don't you want some pumpkin juice?” Ron inquired, holding out the frosty pitcher to her.

Ginny shook her head frantically.

“No, no, thank you!” she chirped brightly. “Just not in the mood.”

“Don't you need something to drink with that?” he replied, gesturing to her rather salty potatoes and roast beef.

“I think I'm perfectly capable of deciding whether or not I want something to drink, Ron, so kindly bugger off,” Ginny snapped. Ron scowled at her and turned back to Harry, rolling his eyes at his sister's obvious battiness.

She bolted her food, hoping no one would notice.

“Are you serving a detention or something, Ginny?” Harry asked. She stared at him quizzically.

“You're still wearing your robes,” he elaborated. Most of the students at least shed their robes after a long day.

“I'm just cold, is all,” she said. “Excuse me.”

With that, she exited the Great Hall as quickly as she could, breaking into a run after the huge doors shut behind her. Panting, she pulled up in front of the prefect's bath, nearly shouting out the password.

Though her urge to urinate was not particularly strong, it would certainly become so. Standing in the private toilet stall, she hauled her off her robes, jumper and skirt, leaving her in battered oxfords and green lingerie.

Closing her eyes, and willing herself to be calm, Ginny began the task of trying to remove the clothing. The progression of her success and ensuing mood were roughly equal to what they had been before. But she realized something worse. The fabric wouldn't even peel away from her skin. It stayed firmly in place, like a second skin.

She stood in place and screamed.

After screaming, she felt a measure calmer, but rage still bubbled hot and ready just below her volatile surface. Her bladder seemed to be burning with the need to be relieved, and there was nothing else she could do.

She dressed again and began to pick her way from the prefect's bath to Draco Malfoy's room.

***

A bold knock sounded on his portrait and Draco looked up from his desk. He had wondered how long it would take her to come down here for him to remove her little frock.

Striding smugly to the door, he opened it and was met with her open palm laying a stinging blow to his fair cheek. Instantly, his hand went to soothe the sore spot, and in his moment of pain, she darted inside and slammed the door.

Before he could even begin to ask if that was how her mother taught her to greet her host, she whirled on him, brown eyes filled with tears.

“You bastard!” she hissed, silver tracks rolling down her face. “I have to go to the lav.”

Dumbstruck, he stared at her for a moment before breaking out in a rollicking laugh unbecoming to a Malfoy.

“Weasley,” he managed between guffaws. “Even I'm not that cruel.”

“What?” she questioned, her voice going up a sharp note and hands resting on her hips.

“There's…there's a snap on it,” he said, laughing even more, face turning red from the effort.

“I bloody well know there's a seam!” she shouted, turning her back to him and pointing it out. “You know damn good and well I cannot open it!”

“No, no. Between your legs. There's a snap that opens,” he snickered, staggering back onto his bed under the weight of the hilarity. “You thought I'd let you soil that? Come on. Even Death Eaters don't want to deal with piss and shit.”

He watched with stunning clarity as her face twisted into an unreadable expression, but one that was shot with humiliation, anger, and hate.

She turned smartly on her heel and raced into his private lavatory. Her face burned with embarrassment. She'd never even checked to see if there was any sort of gusset or split seam to allow nature's most basic function. Locating his toilet behind a small privacy wall, she gingerly felt for the small snap that released the crotch of the teddy.

It gave way and she relieved herself. Recalling his earlier, rather crude comment, she cast a powerful freshening spell on herself. She might have to undergo the indignity of having him undress her, but she would not be anything but clean when he did it.

Finishing in the bathroom, she emerged to find him lounging on his bed and now clad in pajama bottoms and nothing else.

“Better now?” he drawled. Apparently, he was over his derisive laughter.

“No thanks to you,” she returned. “Get me out of this.”

“With pleasure,” he smirked, patting the bed beside him.

“You think I'm going to fall for that?” she blustered.

“I have to touch the seams to make them unlock. And I'm not moving. You want out of that silk and lace, you'd better come over here.”

She stood her ground for a moment, then looked up to the oak-beamed ceiling and wondered why the Fates hated her.

Dragging her heels, she walked over and stood next to the side of his bed, between him and the window. Silently, she presented her back to him.

“I told you I have to touch the seams.”

She sighed heavily and her hands bolted to the clasp on her robes.

“Not so fast,” he said, reaching out lightning-quick to stop her haste. Lightly, he slapped her fingers away. “Let me.”

Nimbly he released the catch. Very slowly, he drew the robe off her, letting it fall to the ground.

“Turn around,” he rasped. “I'd like to see my purchase modeled a bit.”

“Fat chance of that, Malfoy,” she snarled. He smirked in response, and merely ogled her shapely legs in the stockings and admired the way the teddy framed the curve of her arse.

“Hmm,” he murmured, then used both hands to stroke her buttocks. “Lovely.”

“Hey!” she sputtered indignantly, turning around. “Get your hands off me!”

And then she realized she had done exactly what he asked her to do.

His cool gray eyes roved over her breasts, lingered over the relatively flat expanse of her abdomen.

“I knew you'd look brilliant in this,” he said. “Took me forever to find it.”

“Do you like humiliating me, Malfoy?” she asked tartly.

“Yes,” he said honestly, answering far too quickly and surely for her liking. “I find your humiliation particularly enticing.”

She scowled at him and crossed her arms over her chest, presenting her back to him again for expedient removal of the lingerie.

“Don't you want to know why?” he asked, pulling her between his legs as he sat squarely on the edge of the bed. He perched his chin on her shoulder.

“I really don't care to know,” she said.

“It makes your nipples hard,” he announced. “It's like your blush is connected right to your tits.”

“For fuck's sake, Malfoy, get me out of this!” she yelled impatiently.

“Indeed,” he murmured into her ear.

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He made a snap decision not to tell her his one unlocking spell would release every catch on that thrice-damned eye-candy wrapper. Deftly he reversed their positions by sliding to the ground and then hoisting her up on his bedstead as he had several weeks ago.

“Sit, please,” he said cheerily. Her wary expression reminded him that he'd probably need to watch his bits as he released her from the cloth prison. He knelt at her feet and drew his fingers lazily up the slick stockings.

“Must you prolong this?” she asked shakily. His answer was a smile as both hands closed around her right thigh, coming near the band and clip that held the hosiery high on her leg.

“Peractio obfirmo Malfoy,” he intoned quietly.

“What was that?” she questioned, straining to hear his unfamiliar words.

“Nothing you need concern yourself with,” Draco returned, releasing the clip on the front and reaching underneath her thigh to pet a broad expanse of her skin while loosening the matching clip. She sighed heavily as he slowly, deliberately removed the stocking. When he reached her toes, he planted a kiss atop her slender foot.

“Not necessary,” she huffed, face burning with a characteristic Weasley blush.

“Very necessary,” he rejoined, loving the flush that spread down her neck and into her nicely displayed cleavage.

She tried to sit absolutely still as he removed the other stocking in an identical manner, down to the kiss on her foot. He spoke the unfamiliar unlocking spell again, and all she caught was that the spell contained his own damned surname.

“I don't belong to you, Malfoy,” she said softly.

He looked up from his careful folding of the nylons.

“Come again?” he queried, taken aback by her fallen face.

“That ruddy spell. It's only attuned to you. It's a personal property spell.”

A full-blown grin spread over his face.

“You're observant. No, you don't belong to me,” he said agreeably, startling her. “This frothy little getup does, though.”

“Then what's all this for, then? We shagged, I got out of your hair a little earlier than expected. I even left your jumper. I brought back your cloak as promised. You've gone to elaborate lengths to get back at me for something I don't deserve!” she burst out.

“If you think this is a payback, you're sorely mistaken,” he spat back, face clouding over. “You fucking left here with your tail between your legs like I'd beaten all the life out of you. You were - are - ashamed. You think I'm bloody ashamed? I had plans to wake you up and suggest we try shagging eight or nine more times to make sure we had the hang of it!

“Think about it, Weaselette. Payback from me might have been owling you my jumper in the Great Hall at dinner. Recounting in great detail how I had to silence you before you woke the entire dungeon. Standing up in front of Potty Wee Potty and reciting poetry about how you're an excellent fuck.

“Hell, this stupid spell would have worn off after midnight, so if you were really determined not to see me you could have gone to bed and woke up naked. I just wanted you to come back!” he finished, face red and temper hot.

“What would you have had me do, Draco?” she shrieked indignantly. “Excuse me for not staying around, but I really didn't have any desire to be made fun of or kicked out at the crack of dawn because you suddenly came to your senses and realized you'd had a bit of how's-your-father with Weasley pond scum!”

“You know what? I'm up to my ears in your little pity party,” Draco shot back, rising from the floor and looming over her. “How about you forget for three seconds that we hate each other and just let me fuck you?”

“What?” she asked, stunned.

“Oh, yes. Unless having sex with me was that bad?” he said. She blushed fiercely again.

“No! I mean, it wasn't bad, I told you, I—

“Save it, Weasley,” he smirked. “And open your mouth.”

It already was open, dropped in shock. He pressed her back against the bed and connected his mouth with hers. He kissed her hard, and he could tell she was deciding whether or not this was such a good idea.

“You know, a one-off with me isn't going to change our lives,” he said gently. “Unless we want it to. So relax. If you don't want this, say it now.”

She took her sweet time meeting his eyes. What harm could it do?

“I want you…to get this scratchy thing off me!”

***

Somehow they maneuvered themselves into the center of his bed, and he took his time pulling the teddy down her body. Draco discovered Ginny was ticklish when he turned her over on her stomach and ran the tip of his nose up her spine than traced his path back down with his tongue.

“For the thousandth time, will you just get this off me?” she harangued, voice muffled in his sheets.

“You're so bossy,” he complained, but slid the garment the rest of the way off, smacking her bum lightly as he revealed the rounded flesh.

“Someday, my fantasy is to order you around like a house elf,” she said lazily, arching into the kiss he was pressing into the small of her back.

“Draco! Help Miz Wheezy get undressed! Draco! Rub Miz Wheezy's feet! Draco! Kiss Miz Wheezy's naughty place!” he mocked in horrible imitation of her, smiling wickedly.

“You're so disgusting,” she harrumphed. “Can I turn over now?”

“Mmm,” Draco considered. “Nope. On your knees.”

She regarded him warily over her shoulder.

“Just something I want to try,” he said lightly, grasping her legs just beneath the hollow of her knees and pushing her up to a semi-kneeling position.

“You're not to touch my arse unless I say so,” she warned. A half-smile twisted his lips and she blushed madly.

“I'll keep that filed away for future reference,” he snickered, moving her to his liking.

“This isn't exactly comfortable,” she said, squirming slightly. “I don't like having myself just…out in the open like this.”

“You'll forget that soon enough,” Draco promised, lying down and scooting himself underneath her, now faced with an eyeful of pink, aroused folds. She gasped in a shocked wheeze when she realized what he intended to do.

“Draco, you can't—

“Just stick that pretty arse up high in the air and see how nice it makes you feel when I lick you.”

Against her better judgment, Ginny pushed her behind a bit higher. Her clit felt a bit stretched, elongated and erect. And then, his mouth latched around it. The sensations were almost too much from the start, but she experimented with moving around a bit and found an excellent angle.

This freed his fingers to slip inside her, a promise of things to come. She'd never felt penetration from that position before, and the tingles it shot through her were marvelous. It didn't take much to make her come, something a smirking and slightly-smeared Draco took great delight in crowing to her.

Draco wiped the last bit of her from his chin and summoned his wand, then moved behind her to cast a contraceptive spell.

“You're such a boy,” she told him, rolling her eyes good-naturedly. She was resting her head on her folded arms, bottom still slightly elevated. “You enjoying the view back there?”

“I see London, I see France, I see Ginny's spiffing ass,” he chuckled, spreading her legs a bit so he could enter her slick core.

Her reply was muffled but definitely a mixed word halfway between a curse and his name.

“You okay?” he asked worriedly, unprepared for the sound that came out of her at his entrance.

“Yes,” she moaned. She wriggled against him, trying to bring her knees closer to her body and put her arse higher in the air.

He had heard from much older Slytherins, many years ago, that it was suave to have a girl this way, and that he could enjoy a nice view to boot. He supposed that was true, but it didn't stop him from pushing their bodies close enough to the headboard so he could get a good grip and really pound into her.

Draco leant over her back and tried to angle his arms so he could at least brush against the sides of her jiggling breasts. When he couldn't quite manage that feat, he hooked his chin over her shoulder and panted into her ear.

“Rock back against me. It'll drag your nips across the sheets.”

Ginny thought that sounded like a brilliant idea.

Several inelegant moans and grunts later, Draco shot inside her, collapsing over her back. After huffing and puffing for a few minutes, he rolled off Ginny and she finally turned over, muscles aching. She shut her eyes, and thought maybe she might want to drift off to sleep for a bit.

“Oh, fuck,” she heard Draco murmur.

“We just did. What's wrong now?” she asked tiredly.

“You didn't come. I mean, I don't think you did. Right? Or did you? Hell, I don't know,” he said, obviously frustrated that he couldn't correctly detect whether she had or not.

“I already came once, Draco. Is that not enough for you?” she asked peevishly, as if she had underperformed.

“Well, you came more than once when we had sex before,” he pointed out, propping himself up on his elbows to look at her.

“Draco, come on. Get over yourself. Just because you didn't reduce me to happy tears doesn't mean I didn't enjoy it.”

He still looked disgusted with himself. It was rather endearing, really. She wondered if he would be this diligent all the time, or if he was simply trying to live up to the Slytherin Sex God image.

She broke in to his little reverie.

“How about we sleep on it, yeah?” she cajoled. He snorted derisively.

“Ah, yes, sleeping. How am I to know you won't pull another disappearing act?”

A small smile crossed her lips.

“I'm pretty sure you won't kick me out until I come again.”

“Too bloody right,” he agreed, easing back down. Summoning his wand, he looked over at her speculatively. “Cleaning spell?”

“Please,” she agreed, letting him direct the freshening spell over their bodies. As fun as sex appeared to be, wet spots were the pits. She wasn't too keen on waking up a sticky mess again. After Draco was satisfied the bed was pristine again, he pulled the single sheet over their still-warm bodies.

“And if you're thinking about leaving before I wake up, at least have the decency to tell me,” Draco said.

“Okay,” she yawned. “Decency. I'll remember that.”

***

“Bloody fuck!” Draco burst out, woken from deep sleep by the hot, slick feeling of a warm tongue sliding over him.

“You said to wake you up if I was going to leave,” Ginny said, voice muffled by covers as she licked his rapidly hardening cock.

He threw the sheets away from her, feeling himself spring to full attention as he watched his shaft disappear between pink lips. He looked her in the eye once before groaning at the sight of her mischievous grin circling his erection.

“Good Gods,” he moaned. “If you want to get to class at all today, you'd better suck that thing dry or else I'm going to have enough energy to tie you to the bed.”

“Maybe we can save that for later,” she suggested, tickling his balls with her fingertips.

His almost eighteen-year-old body quivered over the mental image of Ginny Weasley tied up in his bed. Seconds later, it was over for him.

She giggled a little at his obvious surrender to her ministrations, then moved to his side and kissed him, making sure he was tasting himself. Once she pulled away, she rearranged the blankets over him.

“I need to get ready for Potions,” she said, moving off the bed and gathering her robe, shoes and wand. She gestured to the discarded lingerie. “You'll put this up for safekeeping? I might need it again some time.”

~finis~

Author's Note: This is complete, and is the end of the Head Boy's Laundry duo. Thanks for sticking with me these many months. I appreciate your reviews.

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