Ron Weasley let out a drawn-out moan and closed his eyes, leaning back onto the pillows as fireworks sparkled inside his eyelids. His left hand moved down, fingers tangling in the curly hair of the bombshell whose head was currently positioned between his legs; his right hand grabbed the wand from his nightstand. He managed to cast Muffliato just in time: as he went to put his wand back on the table the girl did something amazing with her tongue, and his eyes rolled back into his head. This was definitely the best birthday present Ron had ever received!

"Merlin, Hermione, where did you learn to do that??" blue eyes met chocolate brown, and Hermione's lips smirked around a rather large obstruction. She didn't answer; Ron was glad she didn't, because he couldn't bear for that tongue to be parted with his cock any longer than necessary. They kept eye contact as she slowly moved her head closer to Ron's body. Inch by warm, wet inch…

Ron couldn't hold it back; he threw his head back and gasped, mouth working, forming words that he didn't have the breath to say. Suddenly, just as violently, his head snapped forward again, and he watched the brunette's hair as it swayed with her movements…

This was certainly a memorable night. Ron had begun working on his Potions essay at around 7:30; Harry had helped him as much as he could, but had given up around 11. Hermione had been nowhere to be found, and Ron couldn't help but feel a bit put out—it was, after all, the day before his birthday. He had finally "finished" the essay at about 1:30, and collapsed into bed—only to find that it was already occupied by a warm, curvy, inviting body. All annoyance and fatigue had been thrown to the winds, and he had accepted his apparent birthday present with relish. He was brought back to the present by a loud, beautiful slurping sound, and Hermione's amused eyes met his again.

But they weren't Hermione's eyes; instead of chocolate brown, they were a clearish blue-gray, and they were much less warm than his girlfriend's. Ron stared for a few seconds, a small crease appearing between his eyelids, and then choked. Those eyes—they weren't Hermione's, but they were just as familiar.

"Malfoy?" The blue eyes widened, then squeezed shut; there was a choking sound, and Ron realized that, in fact, Draco Malfoy was choking on his cock.

As Malfoy came up for air, Ron stared at him, speechless. Hermione's hair was shrinking back into his skull, and becoming the infamous Malfoy ice-blonde. The shoulders grew broader—much broader—ridiculously broad, and the soft fingers that had been palming Ron's arse grew longer and more elegant. As Malfoy half-sat, Ron realized why he had choked—he had been laughing. The whole situation was far from funny, in Ron's opinion.

"What's going on?"

Malfoy stared at him, mouth open in amazement.

"Do you mean to tell me you don't understand?"

Ron raised his eyebrows. "Is this really what it looks like?"

"Well, what does it look like, Weasley?"

"It looks like…you Polyjuiced yourself into looking like Hermione so you could suck my cock." It was late, and Ron had turned his filter off hours ago.

"Well, those baby blues aren't fucking with you," Malfoy answered, still smirking. Ron was amazed at how at ease he seemed; it was like he didn't mind being caught. Or that he had planned it.

"So…why aren't you sucking my cock?" Wow, he really must have been tired. Unanswered questions flashed through his mind—where was Hermione? How did Malfoy get in here?—but he was too horny to ask them at the moment. And he was pretty hot, for a Slytherin.

Malfoy grinned—that was a first—and, without a word, went back to his talented ministrations.

He really is evil, thought Ron, before his eyes rolled back again.