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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It was a dark and stormy night.

I had some inkling why the line had become a favored cliche of Muggle writers. It invoked feelings of black, melancholy emotion. It set the mood for violence as raindrops drove like needles into the landscape and the thunder overhead crashed out a cacaphonous rhythm that destroyed the melody of rational thought. I sat in the top row of Quidditch stands in the Slytherin section, staring out at the storm from under the shelter of the emerald green and silver canopy that protected spectators from the elements during foul weather games. Quidditch had never been cancelled due to inclement weather. Through rain and snow and dark of night the games went on, but the morale of the players decreased visibly when they not only had to fly through freezing rain and slush but also without the benefit of all but the most dedicated cheerleaders. After the canopies had been built, different and vibrantly coloured magical awnings for each House's section of the stands, attendance during spring-rain and winter games improved considerably.

Pansy Parkinson sat perched on my lap, my arms wrapped casually around her waist. That was definitely my wand in the pocket of my high-quality pressed cotton robes becuase I was not at all happy to see her. She'd followed me out onto the pitch after dinner in the Great Hall, determined to lend cheer to my obviously foul mood. If it were anyone else, such as Crabbe and Goyle, I'd have told them flatly to go find somewhere else to be. In fact, I had indeed told the dumb duo exactly that. I didn't have the heart to chase Pansy off, though. Or the energy. Sometimes the girl could be harder to discourage than a horny Ginny Weasley, and that was saying something. Pansy's presence usually made me think of Ginny. In my more hopeful fantasies I imagined my crimson-haired paramour showing up suddenly to rescue me by taking my girlfriend off my hands, and off my lap, but it never came to pass. Ginny worshipped from afar and I was stuck dealing with the reality. Did she ever wish she could foist Harry off on me? There ought to be some way to make a simple trade.

"... and Violet has her eye on that horrible Creevey," Pansy was saying. "The younger one, not the camera freak who follows Potter around like a panting lapdog."

Colin, I almost corrected her. I had become uneasy friends with Colin Creevey after catching him in several compromising meanderings through the Hogwarts hallways after curfew and promising not to take points if he'd agree to provide me with the occasional locker-room post-Quidditch-practice photograph of The Boy Who Showered. Ostensibly these pictures were to be used somehow for humiliation purposes, or perhaps he thought I was sending them home to my father for some evil Dark Arts magic requiring a clear image. I didn't really care what Colin thought or suspected. He was too terrified of me as a prefect, a 6th year, and a Malfoy to say a word to anyone. The boy was not foolish.

Pansy didn't know about any of this, of course. "Do you have other sisters named Rose and Peony and Daffodil?" I replied instead, ignoring the gossipy complaint.

She laughed. "No, but I have two cousins named May and June. My mother's sister has the same deficiency as mine in choosing names for her children."

"At least you're a delicate flower. My parents named me after a fat, heavy lizard that does nothing but sleep and blow smoke all day. I'd rather be an eagle; majestic and strong and proud," I told her. "When I learn how to transform into an Animagus, I'll become a golden eagle and soar through the sky without a broom for once. I'll outrace Potter on that stupid Firebolt of his."

I'd asked my father for a Firebolt in fourth year after Harry showed up at Quidditch practice smugly mounted on one, but Lucius refused to buy me my own until I'd defeated Harry by beating him to the Snitch in front of the entire school. How was I supposed to do that while he flew mockingly around my Nimbus 2002 as if to deliberately taunt me? It wasn't that I tended to spend more time staring at Harry's ass than looking for the Snitch. He just had a better broom. That was why Slytherin had never won a game against Gryffindor. Not because I had trouble concentrating on anything besides Harry's lithe figure racing around the pitch performing impossibly athletic feats of bravado.

"I'm going to be a dove," Pansy offered. "Soft and small and sweet, and I'll sit on your shoulder and coo --"

"And I'll eat you," I said, smirking at her. She smirked back.

"That was the idea."

Besides incredibly talented hands, I was also possessed of an incredibly talented tongue. It kept Pansy in my bed and prevented her from thinking too much about the times that I simply couldn't get it up for her. I'd keep my black silk boxers where they belonged and instead slide off those frilly things that she insisted sufficed as underwear even though they seemed to be composed only of incredibly thin strings of material. She had pairs in several colors and materials; silk, lace, satin, pink, white, black. I had the idea that they were designed purely for aesthetics, because there was no way they could possibly be of any function at all. Personally I didn't understand what the attraction was, but I suspected that most boys would and so I made sure to compliment the microscopic bits of fabric everytime I undressed her. I wondered whether Pansy wore them all the time or only when she came to my bed at night. I really had no interest in dragging her off into a closet unexpectedly some afternoon between classes to find out.

Pansy wriggled around on my lap and slid nearly off, resting her small feet on the ground so that she could lean forward slightly. I took the hint and stroked my fingers through her shoulder-length blonde curls, neatly dividing the silky stuff into three strands and plaiting it for her. "Do you know how to do French twists?" she asked, humming softly in pleasure.

"You'd look ridiculous as a dove with a French twist," I said. "A little knot on the top of your tiny head. But yes, I do." I unbraided my careful work as I spoke, smoothing my hands down her temples and gathering it back away from her face. She sighed in contentment and snuggled back against me. Irritated, I pushed her forward again so that I could continue twisting. I wasn't feeling snuggly. I was tired of wrapping my arms around soft, curvaceous bodies that smelled of sweet vanilla and strawberries. Not for the first time, I wondered what Harry's scent would be like. I imagined he was a mixture of outdoor smells; Quidditch and wind and grass, perhaps blended with plain white soap and the pink lemonade he liked to drink instead of pumpkin juice.

Breaking into my train of thought, Pansy said: "How do you know so much about girl's hair, anyway? I thought only poufs were good at this sort of thing." A lock of gold slipped out of my startled fingers suddenly. I snatched it back a bit roughly and Pansy squeaked.

"Sorry," I muttered. "I have more fashion sense than you as well, my sweet. Perhaps you're a skirt-chaser and I'm a shirt-lifter?" Here was hoping that I sounded like my normal confidently arrogant self indulging in a playful tease. My voice didn't tremble. Good.

There went the soft laughter again. One of the reasons I didn't mind Pansy's company was that she had avoided picking up that annoying airheaded giggle that personified most other girls of my acquaintance. "Well, now that you've brought it up, we could invite Millicent into our bed tonight..."

I made a strangled choking sound. "In order for you to have a girl or for me to have a boy?" Yes, I am cruel. It's one of my fondest traits.

As we both entertained ourselves by viciously insulting our rather unfortunate-looking yearmate, a brilliant fork of lightning suddenly struck the canopy-pole with a dangerously loud hissing sound that would have made Salazar proud. Pansy shrieked shrilly as I tried not to wince. "It's late," I said after she had finished her girly panicking. "I think that was a sign that we should go to bed."

She squirmed suggestively in my lap and I almost smiled, grateful that the Quidditch pitch always reminded me of Harry.

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Author's Notes

I'm sorry it's taken me so bloody long to update this. I know this chapter is rather lame, but I needed some filler to avoid jumping straight from the introduction of the conflict into the resolution with nothing in between. The next chapter's rating is back up at R, I promise. In the mean time I edited the first two chapters very slightly -- and if anyone is able to spot the changes, and tell me why I did that, I will be so impressed that I may offer to write you a short one-shot fic of your own design. The only hint I'm giving is that I wanted to add in something for each chapter to have in common.

To my reviewers:

Bubblie Bunnie: Even I was a bit skeptical at my own pairings in the beginning. This plot bunny hopped up and informed me it could work, and I hope it will. Thanks for the compliments on my writing style! I keep trying to write something serious and the humour just leaks out. As for Ron, I don't know if we'll be coming back to him. Maybe.
MistWalker: Thank you. I'm trying to be original. It's the only way to survive on fanfiction.net. As for the other characters' points of view -- well, we meet Pansy in this chapter, though it's kind of hard to tell what she's thinking. There'll be more Pansy in chapter four and a much better insight. We don't meet Harry until chapter five.
B T: The slash is coming! I promise! There will be slashy goodness soon.
SatanicGnomes: Do you think my Ginny is one of those extremes? I didn't intentionally write her as a slut in this story; she's faithful to Harry (aside from the occasional Draco interlude) because she basically wants Pansy and only Pansy. No interest in anyone else.
The Narfketeers: I'm sorry it's taken me so long to update! Chapters will be out much more frequently from this point on. I hope to have the entire thing finished within a week. I think you'll be very happy with chapter four.
Ru Av Natten: Slash is on its way. I promise. Thanks for sticking with me through the icky het.
NotQuiteSara: Here is the new chapter. Your wait is over!