My Bloodline Made Me Who I Am

A line from the song "Long Line of Losers" by Montgomery Gentry.

In a few weeks, they would all be leaving for summer holiday; and final exams were approaching with alarming speed. He'd spend hours upon hours studying in the library with Pansy and Draco. Pansy's unusually shrill voice was starting to wear heavily on his nerves, and he'd finally had enough. Quickly making up an excuse, he pushed his chair back and stood up gracefully, blatantly ignoring Draco's pleading eyes, clearly begging for him to stay and not leave him alone with his precious Slytherin pet.

"Sorry," he mouthed silently, attempting to shrug his shoulders apologetically. He felt bad, but he wasn't concentrating anyway, and if he had to listen to Pansy's whining anymore he might just have to shove his wand through his ears. He made his way back to the common room, lowering himself into an emerald green armchair, draping his long, lean body over it with the careless elegance that only a well bred pureblood could achieve.

He could not get the image of her out of his mind. It was branded there, searing with the intensity of a thousand suns: Ginny Weasley. The sun shone off her long, beautiful ginger locks tumbled down her back like a waterfall; a striking contrast with her pale, milky white skin. The smooth curves of her body made his head pound, and the way her hips swayed when she walked made his breath catch in his throat.

How could he think about her like that, with unadulterated desire?! How could he ever want to touch a being so associated with mudbloods and blood traitors? In truth, she was a pureblood witch; neither of her lazy, good for nothing parents had a drop of tainted blood in them, despite the fact that they practically worshipped the Muggles. Be that as it may, she was still a blood traitor. She was not raised in the noble way of the purebloods. Her upbringing was poisoned by her Muggle-loving father, and even more disappointing was her mother, Molly. A part of the Prewett family, she'd grown up alongside her brothers Fabian and Gideon, the most talented and respected wizards of their generation, and she'd married that fool Arthur. Stupid woman.

Blaise had been with his fair share of girls, but all of them were part of a selective circle of Purebloods in London. He'd had a bit of an affair with raven haired Daphne Greengrass, a fellow Slytherin. Her family owned several prestigious London nightclubs. They would sneak up to the penthouses on weekends and holiday breaks. His mother would have loved for him to marry her. Their social rank would rise higher than ever, and they'd have more money than Merlin himself. She was too meek for his liking, though she had great tits. He continued to periodically hook up with her throughout the school year, but it was never anything serious. A couple summers ago, he'd had a fling with one of Draco's blonde-haired, blue eyed cousins, but that didn't go very far. Her name was Cecilia, and they'd gotten together in the midst of a Zambini/Malfoy joint family holiday to the beaches of southern France. He'd never forget their nights spent rolling around in the sand, and how she could twist her body in ways he never thought possible. When they parted ways that summer, he was sad to see her go, but he'd known it wasn't going last. Both Daphne and Cecilia had been good lovers, but he' d never felt anything beyond physical feelings for them. And certainly neither of them had ever been seared into his brain like the fiery female Weasley had.

He'd been strolling along the lake when he saw her. It was a bit chilly out, but a hint of summer teased him in the surrounding air. He liked to come out along the lake whenever he could to smoke and think, as there was a strict no smoking rule inside the castle. He sat down next to the only other peaceful willow tree along the lake, its willowing branches falling lightly beside him. Located in the outside corner of the grounds, it was usually very calm and quiet… except for today.

He'd just lit his cigarette and taken a long drag from it when the branches of the tree rustled slightly. He peered around, and to his surprise, saw a girl setting her books down lightly in the grass. The leaves were rather thick, and she had not the slightest inkling that she was not alone.

Weasley, he thought, exhaling irritably, the smoke carried quickly away by the late spring wind. The lake was HUGE. Why must she come HERE to study of all places?

Under the impression that she'd come out to study, he was shocked when she' d began to pull off her robes. It wasn't all that warm out yet; surely she couldn't be hot. He continued to watch wordlessly as she removed her shirt. She wore a deep emerald colored lace bra, her milky white chest barely contained. He felt himself flush.

She went on to remove her shoes and her Levi's, until she was standing before him in only her undergarments. Her flaming hair fell down her back like liquid, the moonlight shining off it brightly. It was a striking contrast to her creamy pale, freckled skin. The curves of her body were much more womanly than he'd ever guess hidden underneath her thick Gryffindor robes. He realized he was holding his breath, and he let it out silently.

His eyes opened wide as her panties fell to her ankles. Finally, her bra joined the pile of discarded clothing on the dewy grass. Pointing her wand at herself, she muttered something and then set it down on top of the pile. Ginny pushed aside the enveloping branches of the willow and entered the moonlit lake. The way she swiveled her hips when she walked was absolutely maddening. He wanted to ravish her right then and there.

Blaise could take no more; if he stayed there any longer he might have to join her. He scrambled up off the grass, stamping out his cigarette and practically running up to the castle. A cold shower was in order, a very cold shower indeed.