Standard Disclaimer: All the nifty characters belong to JK Rowling, not to me. I haven't got anything to sue for, anyway.
Summary: 6th year at Hogwarts. Draco Malfoy is dating Pansy Parkinson. Ginny Weasley is dating Harry Potter. They can't be with the ones they love, and they can't love the ones they're with. Or... can they? In which Draco is not completely cruel, Pansy is not completely whiny, Ginny is not completely pathetic, and Harry is not completely straight.
Pairings: Draco\Pansy, Harry\Ginny, Draco\Ginny, what may be the fandom's first Ginny\Pansy, and of course, Draco\Harry. Obviously, this story includes HET, SLASH and FEMMESLASH, virtually guaranteeing that there is not only something for everyone, but also something for everyone to be offended by. I really wanted to write this NC-17, but it's rated R to prevent fanfiction.net from sending the mob after me. A very high R.
For all the dedicated H\D 'shippers out there who simply want to vomit at the idea of H\G and D\P, rest assured that those pairings are repulsive to me as well and it'll all turn out good in the end. I promise. I hope someone out there wants to read this. I would also appreciate a volunteer beta reader as my current one is not a Harry Potter fan and has only checked me for grammar, style and spelling, not for content.
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Ginny and I did not go to the infirmary. Our journey across the castle took us down staircases and through musty disused corridors, on a path preceeding as rapidly towards the dungeons as was possible given that the staircases tended to shift direction mid-step and some of the more convenient corridors only appeared on Sundays after lunch. Once we were safely out of sight and earshot of any random passers-by, Ginny slid her wand out of one slightly tattered sleeve and murmured a healing spell in the direction of my abused nasal passage. The pale flesh knit itself quickly back together and I removed the handkerchief, which was now stained a permanent tie-dyed crimson. Without speaking, I pulled a small pocket mirror from my robe and studied my reflection in the smoky glass. Silver-grey eyes gazed back at me, and I fancied that I could see a soft tinge of faint blue. More to the point, the straight, delicate line of my profile seemed intact, with no readily apparent evidence that my aristocratic nose had been smashed at an awkward angle only moments before. I smiled approvingly, replacing the mirror with satisfaction.
"I'm sorry about that," Ginny said when I had completed my self-study. "For Ron I mean, acting like a complete git, well, he always does that, but... what I mean is I'm sorry for... you know. Putting you in that position. I honestly didn't mean for it to look so bad, I just wasn't thinking and I sort of wanted to make you keep talking. About her."
"You accomplished this by pinning me against the wall with the intent to ravish?" I asked, with a slight smirk. A blush crept across the younger Weasley's face.
"I expect it's partially my fault," I continued, pretending to ignore the tomato-like hue of her freckled complexion. "I've been deliberately growing my hair out, you know. Just for you. It's quite close to the length of Pansy's now although she's rather more yellow-blonde than I am. I can't help the natural veela coloring. Her hair is very soft to run my fingers through... silky, and it smells of strawberries, or coconut, or whatever sweet fruity product she's using this week. This morning I think it may have been vanilla. I examined it quite closely, so that I could come and tell you --"
I suddenly found myself pushed against the wall again, a pair of widened blue eyes gazing steadily into my own. "You," Ginny nearly spat, half in laughter and half in softly desperate panting, "are a sadistic bastard. I love you for it. Do your sheets smell like her? Is the imprint of her head still resting on your pillow?" Her hands were worming around my waist again, until her soft fingers clasped my slim ones and drew my hands to the skirt inside her half-buttoned robes. I drummed my fingertips against her thigh thoughtfully, watching her as my mind worked. Concentration was slipping away. There was a girl right next to me, just waiting for something to do...
"I believe I'll show you." Before she could protest, I scooped Ginny into my arms and slung her over my shoulder, one hand resting indecently on her shapely arse as she kicked half-heartedly at me through her giggles. For all her bravado in constantly shoving me up against corridor walls, I decided she would do well to remember that I am considerably taller and quite a bit stronger than she is.
I whispered a password to the statue of Scylla that loomed above us and a section of the stone wall slid obediently aside, revealing the little-known second entrance to the Slytherin common room. Once inside, I proceeded directly into my bedroom and locked the door. Being a prefect does not automatically grant private-room privileges, at least not to 6th years, but being a rich aristocratic prefect whose father has donated considerable funds to the school does. The room was small, and did not have its own bathroom, but it was entirely mine. I deposited the wriggling Ginny onto my bed and smiled indulgently as she immediately stretched out full-length like a cat, rolling around on the luxurious satin sheets.
"Emerald green, of course," she remarked. "They would be. Slytherin to the end. Or did you choose the color because it matches his eyes perfectly? I spent quite some time gazing into them this morning, probably while you had your nose buried in Pansy's hair. He likes me to look into his eyes while we --"
Damn the girl. She was playing dirty, and she'd learned it from me. I fixed her with my best arrogant, haughty gaze. "If you keep that up, I will hex you into a stun until lunchtime and leave you here to explain to a houseful of Slytherins how it is that you happen to be sneaking out of my bedroom while Pansy's in Divination."
The words seemed to float right over the top of her red head and dissipate into the air, unheard. Ginny was always far less modest when she was aroused. "You're the one who seems to be keeping it up," she said cheerfully, with a pointed glance at the slight bulge visible in the front of my expensive suede pants. "And all I had to mention was shagging Harry this morning and the colour of his eyes? Draco, you need to get off more often." As she spoke, her agile hands were quickly divesting herself of robe and shoes, and pushing up her skirt to a scandalous height around her thighs. She lay back against my sheets, which I had most certainly not chosen with the sparking gem-like vision of Harry's eyes in mind. I had deliberately not even noticed the match. I did not regularly spend every meal and most of Potions surreptitiously glancing over at the Boy Who Made My Heart Stop, foolishly hoping that he would look up and fix that piercing emerald gaze, whose color I had definitely not memorized nor dreamt about, on me, even for the briefest of moments.
Now that Ginny had pointed out the similarity in colours, of course, I could see that she was correct. I was sleeping every night on bedding that brought me as close as I would ever come to falling deep into those bright green eyes and never coming out. I sat carefully on the edge of the bed, closing my own eyes as I drifted off into a daydream about --
A soft whimper brought me back to reality. I glanced down to see that Ginny was indeed clutching my pillow to her breast, inhaling the faint scent of vanilla. What a pair we made. I lost myself thinking about Harry's emerald-coloured eyes, and she gazed into those eyes while whispering soft endearments. She tormented herself with visions of Pansy nearly every night, and I woke with my arms wrapped around Pansy nearly every morning.
Pansy, who was soft and warm and blonde and not nearly as obnoxious as she had been in her childhood. We had been betrothed nearly since before the day we'd met. It was only natural that our relationship blossomed as we grew into adulthood.
I didn't love Pansy. She didn't love me in return. Whomever she dreamed about while we slept entwined, I didn't know, and had never bothered to ask. Maybe she didn't know either; if she loved anyone at all she probably would have gone to them and I would have known, because such secrets were not kept between us. Pansy never hesitated to go after whatever she wanted, and she almost always got it. Our relationship must be maintained for appearance's sake; for my father and her mother to believe that we would produce appropriately blonde and aristocratic pureblood heirs together. Perhaps we would, someday, but we weren't expected to be in love and I would happily indulge Pansy in whomever she wished to give herself to, so long as it remained discreet, and she would do the same for me. It was an unspoken amicable agreement between the two of us.
As for the other side of the coin, Ginny didn't love Harry, either. I had an idea of the dynamic involved in their relationship, as I had sent expensive robes with tear-logged and bogie-stained shoulders off to the house elves for dry cleaning many times after comforting the heartbroken Gryffindor while she poured out her heart and other bodily fluids. The Boy Who Lived and the Girl Who Loved Him were such a natural couple that no one ever thought to ask Ginny if she had changed her mind in the four years since she had sent him the singing Valentine. They were simply expected to be together, and so they were. The famous Gryffindor Trio had evolved into a quartet; Weasley had Granger and Harry had Ginny. It was a perfect storybook tale. Perfect, if you didn't count the fact that Ginny preferred the softness of her own gender and specifically, the vanilla-scented blonde hair of Pansy Parkinson, my girlfriend. I felt it was fair to indulge her in this fantasy as I wanted nothing more in the world than to take her place lying contentedly next to the boy I had been enamored with since fourth year; one Harry Potter.
The fantasies were not all that we indulged each other in. Stretching myself out on the bed beside Ginny, my hands wandered down to her hiked-up skirt. She would rather that I were softer and curvier, but as she didn't intend to touch me anyway it wasn't important. There was a reason I had acquired a reputation as the sex-god of Slytherin and most shaggable boy at Hogwarts. My slim fingers probed gently around her thighs, eventually sliding into the slick wetness I found there. Ginny moaned beneath my touch, thrusting her hips up wantonly. With Harry she felt she must always remain decorous; good girls who dated wholesome boys did not scream and writhe and tremble like cheap sluts. I suspected that most good girls did not shag their wholesome boyfriends before the marriage bed, either, but I wisely remained silent on this issue. I enjoyed the knowledge that the Boy Who Lived wasn't as goody-goody as his vast legions of fans promoted him to be.
With me, Ginny needn't worry about the sounds she made or the way her body shuddered in pleasure as my questing fingers thrust deeper. She didn't have to care that she might inadvertently call out the wrong name, a name not belonging to a dark-haired fellow Gryffindor but rather to a blonde Slytherin. A blonde female Slytherin, I corrected myself, as I was under no illusions that Ginny ever gave me a second thought beyond platonic friendship and incredibly talented hands. I slid my thumb caressingly over her clit, and smiled in satisfaction as she went wild beneath me, blue eyes clamped shut as she clutched the pillow and shuddered, moaning Pansy's name over and over. Damn, I was good.
After a moment she sat up, stretching, and looking entirely sated. The proverbial cat that ate the cream. Or was it a canary? My own perverted mind preferred the former idea; it was my turn now and I had several entertaining suggestions involving the digestion of cream. Unlike Ginny, I would much rather that my partner's physique included hard Quidditch-toned muscles and a flat, smooth chest, but the portion of my own anatomy that made these decisions did not much care who attended to its ministrations. There were two unspoken rules between Ginny and I: We would never shag, and we would never kiss. These did not exclude putting her soft mouth to much better use than tonsil hockey. I at first believed that Ginny's tongue wrapped around me was a far more intimate act than my fingers pressed inside her, and one that she had every reason to object to, but she seemed to find it certainly tolerable and almost pleasant. After several occasions it occured to me that because performing fellatio on a boy didn't really evoke any blinding passion in her, she was free to spend the experience concientiously and coherently torturing me as best she could. Which was very well indeed.
Ginny seemed to sense my mood immediately, and understood what it was that I wanted as I stroked her back softly, pressing ever so lightly down on her shoulders until she obediently rolled onto her stomach and faced me, propping herself up on her elbows so that her mouth was mere inches from the precise spot I wanted it to be. I leaned back against the collection of pillows with a sigh, reaching down idly to tug at my zip. To my surprise, I felt my hands pushed away, and opened my eyes to look down at Ginny's smiling expression.
"Let me do that," she purred slinkily at me, and proceeded to demonstrate her knowledge of the fastenings of boys' pants. With her teeth. The girl definitely played dirty.
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Author's Notes
To my reviewers:
Crystal Illusion: I'm glad you like it! I personally can't understand what makes my story any better than all the other crap that's posted here, but I'm thankful that you, apparently, can.
The Big Flaming Sign: You know, I've seen you post reviews for so many other stories I've read here that it's almost an honor to get one from you. I'm being reviewed by someone whose name I recognize. Cool. Thank you for the comment on my originality: I really don't know where this plot bunny came from, but I can't remember ever seeing G\P before. I hope that isn't because it squicks people.
SatanicGnomes: I think D\P and H\G are rather evil myself. Don't worry, this is definitely a slash story, if that hasn't become apparent by now. I don't know how people will react to the second chapter being crammed with het, but I tried not to make it too vomit-inducing. I've never really minded Ginny so long as she isn't stealing the heart of one of the boys. I mean, I lust after their bodies myself, so it'd be hypocritical of me to expect that she doesn't. She'd just better stay away from their hearts.