The Girls of Hogwarts
by sugarbear_1269

Rating: NC17
Ship: Draco & Ginny
Canon: Books 1 - 5
Genre: Angst, Drama
Status: Complete
Length: 13,305 words in 4 chapters
Published: 4 Oct 2004
Last updated: 17 Jan 2005

*CH 4 upload problem solved*Ginny's caught writing faux love letters to Draco from girls in other houses. When he steals
her sole quill in retribution, Ginny's forced to give in to a twisted version of domination and submission. WARNINGS:
violence, D/s, and mind-f***ing.

From the Unofficial Portkey Archive: https://portkey-archive.org/story/3081/

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1. The Letters

Author's Note: Yes, I WILL finish Pieces, but it's just not coming well at all. I am working on other fics and also have
a fanfic contest going on right now. I'd love to have you enter! I'll also be posting the fic I'm writing for myself
under the contest heading. But for now, enjoy the first chapter of Girls of Hogwarts. All mistakes are mine, with
where_is_truth doing the on-the-spot beta.

***

***

***

Hiding behind her edition of that morning's Prophet, Ginny scratched absently in her notebook with a half-broken quill.

Dear Draco Malfoy,

We, the girls of Ravenclaw, would like to take this opportunity to discourse on our favorite topic: you. You see, Draco,
frankly we've discovered that since we're statistically very sure that you've joined Dumbledore's side, you could be a
very important person to know. All those contacts your family has in the Ministry would surely help us further our
careers.

By marrying one of us, you will show the world that you are forward thinking and all for witches' rights. It would be an
advantageous union that would not require much from you, as we're simply educated enough to take care of our own needs,
thank-you-very-much. The occasional shag and polite conversation would suffice. Of course, our own suite of offices in a
private wing in Malfoy Manor would help to keep us happy. There is quite a lot of scientific research to be done, and we
need lots of quiet and books, which we're sure the Malfoy library is chock-full of.

Therefore, in your quest to become engaged to a suitable witch, we present our lovely class of Seventh Years. Upon
receipt of the Malfoy family signet ring, we will take care of all applicable details pertaining to our sensible
wedding.

Sincerely,

The Ravenclaws

Ginny had to stifle her laughter as she read her ridiculous “letter” to Draco over again. This stupid idea had
manifested itself when she had overheard Pansy Parkinson simpering over a letter she had received from Narcissa Malfoy,
inviting her to tea.

“I'm positive it's to ask me to agree to marry Draco after graduation,” Pansy simpered to Millicent Bulstrode as they
approached the library. “You know, our families have been friends for simply ages.”

Ginny, who had rolled her eyes behind the pug-faced blonde, decided to entertain herself by choosing a suitable witch
for Slytherin's prince. Her ever-present notebook provided the means and her handy quill the impetus.

Later on, while she listened to Professor Binns lecture in History of Magic, she decided to compose letter number two.

Dear Draco Malfoy,

We, the girls of Hufflepuff, have decided it is time to declare our undying adoration for your rather pale body. Though
we would like to catch you and snuggle you into our collective bosoms, we can't for the life of us figure out why you
keep running away whenever more than one of us is near.

We're good girls, surely you know that! And of course, we'll stand by your side and gladly be trampled under your
aristocratic feet if that's what it takes to become Mrs. Draco Malfoy. We're loyal to a fault, and some people have even
said we're not so bright, but we're not sure why. We require less care than magical creatures! Simply a small expense
account, a garden to till, and a word or two from you a day (they don't even have to be civil!) will send us to the
stars and back.

Therefore, we look forward to your speedy reply and on-bended-knee proposal. Should we not receive this within a day or
so, we will seek you out and get to the bottom of the problem!

Very truly yours,

The Hufflepuffs

The next day had dawned and she was in Muggle Studies before the words for the third letter came to her mind.

Dear Draco Malfoy,

We, the girls of Slytherin, would like to remind you that you and your family probably have some sort of blood or
business ties to our families. So we ask that you choose wisely when you select your charming Slytherin bride.

Though we rely solely on house elves for menial tasks, we are quite up to planning simpering teas with our friends and
spending buckets of your Galleons on art, charity or publicity. Of course, should you decide to become a Death Eater,
most of our young ladies are already familiar with the time commitment required. Some even have their own masks and
robes.

It would be in your best interests to choose one of us quickly, as we are wont to rush directly to our fathers and
report that “Drakie” has been sullen and unresponsive to our advances as of late.

Bonded in the Dark Lord's blood,

The Slytherins

Ginny had to suppress a chill as her rapidly-deteriorating quill finished off the last words of her letter. She wondered
if some of the Slytherin girls did have their own Death Eater accoutrements.

That night, she found herself in the library, idly passing the time doodling in her notebook. Curfew wasn't for another
forty-five minutes and she had no wish to go back to Gryffindor Tower and deal with the boisterous inhabitants before
she absolutely had to. After some deliberation, she decided to pen Gryffindor's very own letter to Draco Malfoy.

Turning the uncomfortable chair to the side so the back of it wouldn't be pressed up against hers, she arranged her
quill and ink pot and began to dip and write. As she got deeper and deeper into her letter, she pressed too hard on her
tatty quill's fragile shaft. It snapped not more than two inches above her quill point. Upset but realizing it was her
only quill and she'd have to keep using it, she gamely continued on.

Some hour and a half later Ginny woke when an exotically-scented body cemented itself to her back and hissed in her ear.

“Fancy yourself a matchmaker, hmm?”

Jerked into consciousness, she found a slyly grinning Draco Malfoy plastered to her and one long arm across her breasts,
keeping both her arms in place. Willing herself not to scream, she struggled to disengage him, but he only seemed to
hold on harder.

“Let's not fuss, shall we? I'm this close to awarding house points for a job well done of amusing me.”

“Get off me, Malfoy!” she whispered through clenched teeth, trying very hard to ignore how intoxicating his cologne was
and how warm and solid he felt around her.

“Now, now,” he chided. “I'm merely doing my job. It's nearly midnight, and you are out after curfew almost two hours.
Don't be rash and spoil my fun, Weasley, when you've obviously provided such humorous entertainment.” His free hand
indicated her notebook and the fluttered pages, the book open to her Slytherin letter.

A rather inhuman, wounded growl escaped her throat at his comment and it was then his teeth caught her earlobe and
flicked it with the tip of his tongue.

“If you let me read this without any interruptions, you can scamper on back to Gryffindor Tower and I won't deduct
anything. Deal?”

Ginny didn't see many options at this point. Perhaps if she let Draco read her letters he would simply let her go as
promised. If that failed, she was not above screaming like a stuck pig to bring some professor's wrath down upon him.

She nodded tightly. She felt rather than heard his approving rumble and wished he would remove his arm from its rather
embarrassing placement. Instead, he only held her tighter against him as he leaned forward and dragged the notebook
closer.

“Your Ravenclaw letter was clever,” he said briskly, as if he had been critiquing it. “And the Hufflepuff letter was
both frighteningly dead-on and amusing.” He paused, nuzzling his lips closer to her ear.

“And just for the record,” he said softly, tongue brushing against the shell of her ear, “I'm not a Death Eater.”

A sarcastic “uh huh” escaped her lips before she could silence it.

“Manners, Miss Weasley,” he reminded her as he turned the page to the Gryffindor letter she had penned. A blush of epic
proportions suffused her features and Ginny tried to avert her eyes as best as possible, to avoid seeing her neat script
spelling out in detail just exactly what the girls of Gryffindor might do with Draco. To her overwhelming horror, he
began to read out loud in a dulcet voice that she would have deemed irresistible had it not been attached to a Malfoy.

“Dear Draco Malfoy,” he began pleasantly. “We, the girls of Gryffindor, would like to take this opportunity to tell you
that we are all currently unavailable should you decide to ask one of us to marry you. Though some of us are obviously
dating a special someone, those of us who aren't will make up a hulking jealous boyfriend or even spontaneously change
sexual orientation to avoid you at all costs.”

“But let it not be said that a Gryffindor woman eschews beauty. Despite the fact that we know you are unequivocally a
pompous, egotistical prat, we cannot overlook your natural splendor. A common theme throughout the female dormitories is
contemplating what exactly you are hiding beneath those designer black and green robes.”

“In point of fact, we'd like to make it a very thorough exploration. Some of the ladies among our ranks are very
detailed, and we would like to take the time to drink every drop of you. We've not collectively decided on a locale, but
the Gryffindor common room seems a fitting place to begin your humiliation. The lovely juxtaposition of your platinum
hair against the bold red-gold backdrop makes us think your robes will very nicely complement the carpet.”

“We will most likely have ladies armed with silencing, binding and stunning spells if need be. We'd rather not have to
use them, so your cooperation is appreciated. And because few of us have clothes as fine as yours, please excuse
whichever witch is given the joyful duty of ripping every button off your shirt.”

“After divesting you of your shirt, the removal of your trousers via teeth on the zipper commences. We are of course
eager to learn the answer to that age-old question, whether you dress to the left or the right. A simple tailoring spell
removes your undershorts, and you would be revealed to us in all your glory or shame, whatever the case may be.”

Here Draco paused. “I won't keep you guessing, Weasley. It's most definitely glory,” he whispered into her ear.

“And now your torture begins. A simple feather will be enough to make you laugh and squirm so we can experience the
bewitching smile we always knew was hidden behind those pouting lips and blindingly white teeth. Perhaps we'll traverse
the lines of your defined chest, for we know not to dismiss the physique we have heard on good authority you spend hours
perfecting.”

“The use of this feather will begin to have a pronounced effect on your groin. Because we're a progressive house, your
erection will be used to train some of our ladies on the proper technique for making a man wild with desire. Don't
expect pity or release; the sole purpose of this is for our edification and amusement.”

“You've failed to mention my renowned control, Weaselette,” Draco nearly purred. “Don't delude yourself into thinking
I'm a sexual weakling.”

“Eventually our ladies will tire of you, but your erection shall remain unflagging and you will be reduced to a needy,
sweaty beggar. A swirl of hushed conversation flows through the women present and you will deduce that we are meting out
your fate. After much discussion, it is decided that one of the Gryffindors will fornicate with you in the name of house
pride.”

“The two obvious candidates are Hermione Granger and Ginevra Weasley, as they represent nearly everything you hate about
our house. Though Hermione puts in a strong showing, protesting that she is older and more suited to you as a partner,
Ginny Weasley will be chosen. Unfortunately for you, you secretly think she's prettier. Not only has your family
detested the Weasleys for untold centuries, but your father tried to kill her and she has something to prove.”

“Kill is a strong word,” he said, pulling her notebook even closer. Ginny set her teeth against what she knew was
coming…

“Ginny will feed off your disgust, reveling in the fact that you must spend yourself or leave unsatisfied. How poetic,
sullying her greatest enemy. And you will hate yourself twofold, not just for being forced to have sex with a Weasley
against your will but a very beautiful, nubile Weasley whom you've used in wanking fantasies.”

A strong set of teeth scraped against the nape of her neck, forcing a shiver.

“I don't recall sharing the subjects of my fantasies with you, Ginny,” he said, letting her name roll off his tongue.
“But let's press on, shall we?”

“And there, amongst a cadre of jeering Gryffindor girls, you'll be mercilessly fucked…” Draco broke off, and Ginny had
to look past the hardened tips of her breasts to see the bottom of the paper where she had stopped her scribbling in
favor of dropping off to sleep.

Abruptly, he let her go, plucking the broken quill from her hand and standing in a swift motion.

“Well, Weasley, that's quite amusing so far, but what good is a letter that's unfinished? Looks like I'll just have to
take your quill as punishment for not completing your work the first time.”

She couldn't quite shove her chair back with the same panache as the long-limbed Seeker. In her desperate attempt to
bolt upright and chase after the stealing git, the soft flesh of her thighs connected solidly with the unfeeling library
table.

The impact bringing tears to her eyes, she tried valiantly to stifle them and dash after Malfoy, who was headed rather
directly toward the library door.

“I have to have that back,” Ginny blustered tearfully, wiping her streaming eyes with the back of her hand and grabbing
her notebook. Limping painfully, she lunged after him only to see him disappear inexorably to the heavy oak doors of the
huge room, light, masculine laughter trailing after him.

“Come and get it, Weaselette,” he challenged, when she finally got to within ten meters of him, dangling the stubby
feather by thumb and forefinger as if he were baiting her. She stopped short, trying to rub her aching thighs and keep
her temper at full flare.

“Please, Malfoy, I'm sorry,” she said, the words coming out of her in a ridiculous rush, the only things that came to
her mind to help appease the nicking arse.

“Oh, you'll have to do better than that. Come now, where's that Gryffindor pride and rage?” Insolently, he sent her
quill winging its way toward her, keeping it high enough with his wand that she had to try and jump for it.

Momentarily mesmerized by the girl Weasel's plump breasts bouncing as she tried to catch her feather Snitch, he
remembered this was revenge and intended to play it to the hilt.

“You want this pathetic stump back? You're going to have to earn it.” Clenching the quill in his fist, he smirked at her
and darted out the door. A fresh batch of tears brewing, Ginny sped after him as fast as her bruised legs would allow,
having to stop momentarily outside in the deserted hallway to listen for which way he had taken off.

She heard the clacking of his shiny black boots on the stone floor down to her left. Racing blindly after the sound of
those boots, she twisted and turned in the corridors, he never in her line of sight, leading her by sound and occasional
laughter. When she finally realized she was deep within the dungeons and not quite sure how to get back to the warmth of
Gryffindor Tower, she skidded past an open portrait with Malfoy lounging indolently against the frame.

“Looking for this?” he said, eyeing her as she panted softly and gave him a glare that he fully believed would stop a
Dementor.

“Give it back,” she growled, launching herself at him and connecting solidly with his chest, not exactly sure how this
was going to help her get back her quill but certain it would surprise him into letting down his guard.

Grunting, he doubled over, not expecting her unskilled attack.

“Fucking harpy,” he snapped at her, shielding his masculine bits. “It's a broken quill.”

Furious with his incomprehension, she righted herself and shuffled backward, cocking her arm and delivering a
gut-wrenching punch to his stomach.

“It's…my…only…one,” she ranted through clenched teeth as he bent over yet again to cover himself in fear. “Bloody
fucking rich boy like you just pulls them off his eagle owl and uses them fresh!”

Incensed by her ridiculous claim, he grabbed her by the arm and hauled her inside the portrait frame, slamming it behind
her and pushing her up against the entrance.

“Taunt one stupid hippogriff one time and you're marked for life,” he complained bitterly. “You know how much an eagle
owl costs?” The words had no sooner left his lips than he realized how incongruous they were spoken to a Weasley. The
laughter returned to his voice as he finished his thought. “Of course you'd have no idea what an eagle owl costs. You're
too busy feeding all those mouths at the dinner table.”

At the mention of her rather impoverished family, she went limp between him and the door. Inexplicably he moved to keep
her from falling by shoving a knee between hers and hauling her back up by the armpits.

“What the…” he began, dipping his head like a deranged heron to see her face. Her pale skin was mottled with the pink of
emotion, and tears gushed down her face as if she'd been using her eyes as dams.

“I can't ask for a new quill,” she wailed piteously. “Mum and Dad are saving every spare Knut to send Ron to the Auror
Academy and I promised them I wouldn't waste my school supplies! Writing stupid letters about your love life doesn't
exactly count as conservation!”

For a moment, Draco was mystified, then his mystification turned to disbelief, temporarily forgetting about the sobbing
lump of humanity in his arms.

“Your parents are sending that git to the Academy?” Draco wondered aloud, hardly believing what he was hearing. “Thank
Merlin. Death Eaters everywhere are safe.”

Her intense release of emotion continued unfettered, despite his disparaging remark.

“I won't be able to scrape together some pocket money until the winter hols and I work at the joke shop,” she choked,
throat closing off. “I just want my quill back, Draco. Please. I just want it back.” An enormous cry wracked her slight
body and her small hands came up and bunched in the fabric of Draco's shirt as she stood and wept.

Faced with a crying girl and a rapidly disintegrating quill on his hands, Draco found himself strangely speechless. He
reflected fleetingly on the many times it would have been amusing -- even desirable -- to have a Weasley, any Weasley
crying, but now it was merely a wet mess. He was about to command her to stop when he noticed her very firm,
pebble-tipped breasts grazing his chest each time she took a heaving sob.

“And if I don't get this one back,” she lamented, breath coming in great, gulping gasps, “I'll have to ask Harry to buy
me one and then Ron will go nutters!”

Hearing Scarhead's name spoken in his private quarters was akin to taunting Voldemort with his Muggle name. A burst of
heat stabbed through him as he thought just exactly how Miss Ginny Weasley could circumvent asking the Boy Who Lived To
Annoy Him for a new quill.

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2. The Challenge

Author's Note: I don't really know how to define the twistedness that is in my head and works perfectly for this, so if
you're confused about either of their motivations or who is really dominating, just rest in the knowledge that they both
want to get one over on the other. And to those of you who called Ginny a wimp, sorry you felt that way. She's not
totally limp in this fic, and I implore you to just read. Much love to where_is_truth for the beta.

“I'll return your quill,” Draco said simply, causing Ginny to snap her head up in surprise. The hopeful light that
gleamed in her tear-filled eyes was almost enough to make him sick that he was going to play this game, but only almost.

“In exchange for a little play-acting,” he finished. He half expected her eyes to droop but instead her tears dried and
her face turned an unbecoming shade of red.

“You want what?” she fumed, trying to push him away from her and only succeeding in bringing his now-smirking face
closer to her own.

“Oh, I think you know, Weaselette,” he drawled, reveling in the hot feel of her breasts pushing against him. “Just think
- you wanted to humiliate me, so you can attempt to do so and get the bonus return of your quill, or you can go
sniveling to Potty and risk me deciding to let the whole school in on your letter writing skills.”

“Don't threaten me, Malfoy,” she spat, fighting like a cornered cat.

“Or what?” he asked, somewhat relishing her struggle. “Why let yourself be humiliated when you can humiliate me?” His
emphasis on the word was unmistakable and he felt his favorite smirk working itself into place. He had rather thought
that Ginny Weasley was more than just shaggable, and though he'd rather die than admit it, he had imagined himself
spilling thick streams of pure white come onto her delicate face and flaming hair.

“You've gone round the bend if you think I would so much as look at your ferrety bits,” she said snidely.

He could feel his features suffuse with an angry heat as he said, “Oh, really? Then perhaps you could explain why you
seemed so keen on them in your letter?” Taking the opportunity, he shoved those now impressively hard ferrety bits
toward the cradle of her hips, fitting them intimately together. “Besides, Weasley, you won't even have to see them. Not
when they're deep inside and fucking you senseless.”

He inclined his head sharply, as if to kiss her. Her angrily contorted features softened into a mask of surprise when
instead of melding their lips he dropped a hot, open-mouthed kiss on the small, pulsing hollow of her throat. The heat
caused an instant sweat to bloom on her forehead and her mouth opened to say something decisive, but no words came.

Her mouth dropped and her chin bumped his upturned cheek. Delving his tongue once, twice into the space and pressing to
feel her blood pumping within, he turned his head and met her warm lips squarely.

Ginny hadn't expected such a heinous arse like Malfoy to kiss quite so well, or for his tongue to be toffee-flavored.
She spent more than a few moments defining his taste and getting a hint of chocolate before her wits came flooding back
and she shoved at him violently.

“What are you doing?” she demanded, stifling the childish urge to wipe her lips just to piss him off. A slow smile
spread over his face, begging her to either kiss it away or slap it off.

“Baiting you, obviously. I'm just waiting to be humiliated and here I'm doing all the work,” he said, letting the barest
hint of a smile creep through as he backed away from her, beckoning her without making a motion at all.

A clunk sounded as she dropped her notebook and bag to the floor.

“You want humiliation, Malfoy?” she asked, stalking him in the small space he had created. Bumping her chest with his,
she matched any steely glare he'd ever produced. A small pair of hands came up and wrenched apart his neatly buttoned
collar. “Humiliation is listening to your cultured accent belittling me and my family because we don't wear starched
white shirts from Madam Malkin's.” Her lip curled in an unbecoming way and she bent her head, setting strong teeth into
the next button and ripping it away. Satisfied with the pink print her lip gloss left, she faced him once more.

Putting both hands in the gaping shirt, she rent it smartly down the center, mother of pearl buttons scattering on the
hardwood floor. He stared at her, a mix of curiosity and mild surprise, as she set her fingernails into his skin and
raked the shirt off his strong shoulders, leaving livid trails in her wake. He couldn't suppress a small shiver as the
pain wrought from those small fingers sent more confirmation to his groin that he was about to be well-fucked.

“Humiliation is you using those arms to knock my brother off his broom when you shouldn't be near the goals at all,” she
growled, squeezing the hard muscles with all her might and leaving faint impressions that would bruise on the morrow.

Eyes that had hardened in Flourish and Blotts those years ago when he taunted Potter met his gaze again. Without words,
she lowered her head and nipped sharply at one small, extended nipple and then the other. Draco yelped uncontrollably,
and when his hands went to soothe the bitten flesh, she was already at his navel and continuing down.

“And there's humiliation here, Malfoy,” she said, nimble fingers unfastening his trousers' fly. “All those girls you've
supposedly slept with. They moon over you, but you forgot their names, maybe even while you were shagging.” She exposed
his boxer shorts and yanked them down, uncovering his throbbing, weeping erection. She closed her hand around his length
and squeezed tightly until he groaned.

“I'm going to make bloody sure you won't forget about me.”

And meeting his wide-eyed gaze, she calmly shoved his left leg to the side, pressed her index finger to his perineum and
proceeded to scrape her teeth down his cock.

“Bloody fuck,” he yelled as a dry orgasm rippled through his veins. Stumbling, he reeled backward with flailing arms
until he struck the side of his bed and heaved himself atop it, away from her.

She regarded him there, he holding his still hard and reddened cock, trousers and boxers about his knees and wondered
fiercely how he was still allowed to appear so edible in that state. Grasping her wand, she waved it and muttered a
banishing charm, watching his clothing jerk from his body and wing into the fireplace.

“Hey!” he said indignantly, though whether from the burned clothing or his sudden nudity she wasn't sure. Stalking him,
she observed his frightened scramble to the far corner of the bed as she boosted herself onto the pillow-soft mattress.

“Now who's afraid?” she sing-songed in a low, quiet voice. “Look at the snake slithering away from the li-on.” From all
fours, she reached out and raked the fingernails of her left hand down his near thigh.

Instead of flinching in pain he arched his back and moaned, rigid erection throbbing visibly. And then she realized she
had no idea what she was doing, why she was here, or even why humiliating Draco Malfoy in return for her ruined quill
was a good idea in the first place. She simply had no idea how to handle him now, now that she'd broken from her scary
reverie. A single thought ricocheted through her mind. If only he'd cried out in pain I'd be making him do it again and
again.

***

After recovering from the glorious shiver she'd wrought from his body, he glanced at her and at once saw and
comprehended the confusion on her face. Can't lose her now.

“What's the matter, Mistress Weasley? I'm not yet feeling properly debased,” he taunted. “Aren't you going to command me
to do something beneath my station, like taste your cunt?”

Her eyes widened and it took a moment for his crude, effective comment to sink in, and then the sheer audacity of his
word choice made her bare her teeth and her eyes narrow.

“Why, yes, Malfoy, something like that,” she snarled.

“Well, then, Mistress,” he said, letting the word come off his tongue with a distinct hiss, “perhaps as your slave I
ought to remove your clothing.” Before she could answer with a scathing affirmative, he slid off the bed, out of her
sight.

In turn she moved over the smooth sheets to the floor, expecting him to stand and walk over to her.

She wasn't prepared for the wet, nipping kiss at the back of her knee. The bastard had crept on his belly underneath the
high bedstead and came out on the other side. Yelping, she tried to move away from the teasing touch but he held her
fast, not letting go until he'd paid the same treatment to the sensitive skin behind her other knee.

Breaking free, she threw herself forward a few steps and turned to face him, his body still half under the bed.

“Don't even dare do anything I haven't given you permission to,” she said warily, shaking a finger at him. His eyelids
lowered to half mast and he nodded submissively.

“Of course, Mistress. My apologies.”

Then, reaching out as a panther would stretch out a paw, he came out from beneath the bed, slinking toward her on all
fours, long legs and arms flexing as he made his way one limb at a time to her still-shod feet.

And because she could momentarily do nothing else, she watched as he set his impossibly white teeth into the sturdy
laces of her black oxfords and began to pull them apart. Only when he had loosened them, he braced himself on his knees
and ran a hand up her calf to prompt her to raise her foot.

Standing now in sagging knee socks, she was about to command him to remove them until she saw him doing it himself. One
foot at a time, he pulled the sock down with his teeth and off, flinging it behind him with a careless flick of his
wrist.

When that toffee-flavored tongue began to caress her dungeon-chilled toes she felt a rush of warmth pool in her knickers
and thought that perhaps there was something to be said about this sick little game.

“Stop now,” she said. “And stand up.” She couldn't suppress the shudder borne of the sight of him looking up from her
dainty foot, tongue extended to tickle her big toe. A wave of concern washed over her, as it dawned that even though she
was in charge it seemed suspiciously like he was guiding her, negating her entire focus.

He stood, and was so close she had to step away from his erection, bobbing as near as it was to her waist. She began to
circle him, sizing him up as if he were a side of beef. Neither spoke, and she went around him no fewer than five times.
Once she traced the defined line above his spine, another time she traced the corresponding line down the center of his
chest. Twice she trailed her fingers down his leaping cock, and the last time she fell to her knees and set her teeth
into his perfectly rounded, muscular buttock.

His flinch and accompanying groan set her nerves on fire. She bit again, heedless of his low cry, forgetting herself and
not wanting to remember.

Of its own accord, her other hand rose to knead his other buttock, while she concentrated on outlining the exact crease
where his buttock met his powerfully muscled thigh. His legs spread unexpectedly but she allowed it, and her tongue fit
perfectly into the groove that connected from his flank to his inner thigh…

“Sweet Circe,” she heard him breathe, his moan directly connected to her sex. Momentarily stopping her tongue's
tantalizing journey, she pulled her body up the backs of his legs and draped her arms over the angles of his hips,
fondling his cock from behind.

“You will not come,” she said softly, matter-of-factly, her conviction the strongest it had been all night. “You won't
come until I tell you to.” Sealing her words with a kiss to his hip, she came down once more and picked up where her
tongue had left off.

“Maybe you ought to test me, Mistress,” he said, his tight throat belying the silk in his tone. “If I come you'll get to
punish me.” Punish me, hurt me, fuck me.

A perfect idea.

He wasn't prepared for her to turn like lightning onto her back, slide partway through his legs and take one of his
balls into his mouth.

“Merlin's bloody teeth!” he swore, trying desperately to keep his balance. The sight of her there, underneath him, her
red hair dragging the ground, her bright eyes staring up at him, was daring him to come. The slight pull she had on his
sensitive sac was aiming his cock down as well, and when she suddenly released him to suck lightly on the tip of his
cock, his entire body shuddered, the temblor before the earthquake.

His whole-body vibration surprised her, and the suction she made when she let go of his penis was too much, and, just
like his dreams, spurted gouts of semen into her ruby hair.

Horrifyingly, the scene played out in slow motion for him, as he helplessly watched his ejaculate sully her hair and
spatter on her near cheek, her bright eyes wide open in disbelief and then later distaste.

The last emotion he saw her face play out was one of fear as she watched his knees turn to water and he fell heavily
atop her, barely able to brace himself to avoid crushing her.

“Get off me!” she shrieked, hand wrenching itself out from underneath his shin and instinctively reaching for her ruined
hair. Her fingers tangled in the wet mess, and from what he could see of her, she was about to explode.

“You fucking pervert, get off me!” Ginny yelled, her tone earsplitting. He was sitting so high on her chest that she was
able to maneuver a knee up and effectively kick him in the kidneys.

“Ouch, dumb bint!” he gasped, rolling off her. Reaching for his surely bruised back, he massaged it and winced. “Merlin
help me if I'd had the misfortune of coming in your mouth,” he muttered.

By this time she had stood and was making a beeline for her wand to clean the mess when she heard his offhand comment.

“Too bad you didn't,” she threw back darkly. “Maybe I could have spit it back at you.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------

3. Comeuppance

Author's Note: Thanks to ClanMalfoy, Kirixchi and Where_Is_Truth for reading this for me! The spell “chatouillio” is
based on the French infinitive verb “to tickle.”

She raised her wand to fire off a scourgify to her hair and then a refreshing spell. As she tamed her hair, he heard her
muttering something that sounded suspiciously like ask Harry.

Prepared to walk out the door, her back high and proud, Ginny was stopped by a single word.

“Wait,” he called out, sitting cross-legged on the floor, softening cock nestled in the white-blond thatch of curls at
his groin. He was trying desperately to look pious, and thought he was carrying it off fairly well.

“What?” she snapped, leaning on the doorjamb.

“Well, I've not really been punished all that much,” he said, and the words were true, much as she didn't want to hear
them. “I did exactly what you told me not to and now you're leaving? Did Mistress Weasley miss her turn with the family
backbone?”

He'd never seen her move so fast.

She planted her small foot in the middle of his chest and pushed hard enough to make him fall and bump his head on the
floor.

“We don't buy it, we fucking earn it,” she raged. Clasping his long fingers around her ankle and stroking, he grinned.

“Why don't you prove it, then?”

***

It was odd that she should feel uncomfortable in her clothes when he was completely starkers. But he was sure of
himself, and content to live inside his perfect skin.

Jabbed by his cruelly-tipped barb about her mettle, she squared her shoulders and pushed them back.

“Get up and take off my knickers.” It was the only thing she could think of to tell him to do that would still leave her
some clothing.

Gracefully, he flipped from his prone position and knelt at her feet like a supplicant. Starting at her calves, he
flattened his hands to touch as much of her fragrant body as possible. Slowly his hands advanced above her knees, then
to the backs of her thighs, and suddenly moved her skirt up and ducked beneath it, full lips and teeth latching on to
the elastic waistband and drawing them down, interminably down.

The crotch of her plain pink knickers was damp against his chin and he could feel his nose nuzzling the equally damp
curls as he brought the garment down. Gods, her scent was dark and heady, and he fancied he could just taste the rain of
her desire on his lips.

Her gasp broke his reverie, and he realized his view was still blocked by the skirt that was still partially covering
his eyes. Bowing his head and neck, he brought the knickers to her ankles and tugged, forcing her to step out of them.

“Now my shirt,” she commanded shakily. Again, the slight, spare moves with his Seeker's skill, and he was standing
before her, pulse beating visibly in the small hollow at his neck and he was staring right into her eyes as he released
each button from its hole.

And then, damn him to hell, he just stood there, his expression blank and unreadable, his eyes still fixed on hers.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” she forced out, hating how trapped she felt and here she was supposed to be in charge.

“Aren't you supposed to tell me?” he asked, lifting a silky eyebrow, breath puffing softly against her cheek.

“Just do it,” she hissed. “Don't ask me for permission.”

“Sorry,” he said lightly. “You are the Mistress, after all.”

Her cuffs were already unbuttoned, and it was easy for him to brush the shirt off her shoulders in a whisper of cloth.
Her breasts were hiding behind the modest cups of her matching pink bra, but he could see the tops heaving with almost
gasping breaths.

Circling her as she had done to him, he sized her up and then stood directly behind her, his body inches from her own.
The skin on her back tingled as she felt him release each of the three catches on her bra. The tired straps and soft
cups went sliding over her shoulders and to the ground, and forgetting about what he was really doing, he guided his
hands underneath her arms and closed his warm palms around the weight of her breasts, groaning.

The heat made her stumble in surprise, and she collided with his solid chest and the contact made both of them sigh. He
held her there, fast against him, and it was difficult not to melt into those hands and that chest and share the simple
pleasure of two lovers. Before she could make herself wrench free, his fingers had molded stiff peaks of her nipples.

“I didn't say you could do that,” she said slowly, moving away from him and coming up to face him with strangely bright
but downcast eyes.

“You make the rules,” he stated, but it was without rancor.

“Just…just take my clothes off, okay, Malfoy? Anything beyond that, you ask.”

She hadn't even crossed her arms while defending herself.

***

Standing her ground, she allowed him to remove her shirt. Pebble-tipped breasts skimmed over him with every breath she
took, and he reached behind her to pull the zipper down. With nothing underneath it, it rustled to the floor.

“I've exhausted my permission,” Draco said. “So I'm asking for it again.”

“And what exactly are you going to do with it?” Ginny asked, her grouchy voice music to his ears.

“Whatever the Mistress wants, of course.”

Suffused by a dull flush, Ginny felt her cheeks and upper chest heat in embarrassment.

“I can refresh your memory, if you've run out of ideas,” he casually suggested.

She had turned her back to him. Two pale, rounded cheeks greeted him, and crazily he wondered if he just ducked his head
to her waist level if he could see the pouting lips of her sex.

“Suggest away, ferret,” she said, trying desperately to sound bored. She'd only turned to save face, after all, because
her breasts were clearly heaving now and she was immediately embarrassed about the wiry strawberry thatch of hair
visible to him between the tops of her thighs.

“Oh, I could lick your quim until you scream,” he stated, unemotional words belying the excitement he felt. “Of course,
I'd have to keep myself from gagging, and of course feel the utter disgust that must surely come from eating a Weasley.”
The calm lashes of his whip-like tongue infuriated her.

Turn around, turn around, little one, let me see you.

“You insufferable prick!” Ginny half-shouted, the noise constricted by the sad lump forming in her throat. Pivoting on
one delicate ankle, she crossed the few steps to him and while he ogled her full-frontal glory, she caught him unawares
and shoved him down to the floor by his shoulders with prizefighter strength.

Momentarily bested, he lit hard on the floor, knees cracking on the wood and yelping. Taking advantage of his confusion
and pain, she tilted her hips viciously, thrusting her mound into his sharp chin hard enough to make her wince through
the tears that were threatening to fall.

“Do it, Malfoy! Degrade that pretty mouth of yours. After all, you wanted this, right? Fucking do it, you right bastard!
Make me scream, can't you?”

His mouth, full of her damp skin and his nose with the scent of her, prevented him from answering in the split second
she demanded.

“Can't you?” she screamed, voice thin and shrill.

***

The hard clamp of his hands over her hips broke the haze of anger clouding her eyes. His tongue split her like a
silk-edged knife, and the sheer pleasure from the single touch nearly brought her to her knees as well.

No time to speak, or squeak, as the case was. Bracing herself, willing her legs to hold her, she attempted to survive
his onslaught. His hands only held her up, held her apart, held her together.

The liquid velvet of his touch was everywhere, lightning fast, and not in the places she quickly discovered she wanted
him to be. He swirled around the pearl hidden in folds of flesh, and when he sought it, she cried out and clutched his
head closer.

He let her peak build and fall, ebb and flow, driving her to distraction. Her small hands tugged at his hair, his ears,
anywhere she could find purchase, but it was not enough.

The heavy, fluid feelings of her orgasm taunted her; she was unable to grasp it, only view it from a maddeningly short
distance. She moaned her displeasure and he jumped up, erection jutting again, heavy and proud.

“Not enough for you, Weaselette?” he purred. Before she could draw her eyes away from the glistening smears of her juice
on his lips and chin, he set his large hands firmly into the spot where her buttocks met her thighs and lifted.

Now six feet into the air, Ginny gasped and pitched gracelessly into him, trying with all her might not to fall. Her
efforts to balance herself were thwarted by Draco's masterful tongue invading her again, thrusting in short, staccato
bursts across a small place inside her that made her buck with pleasure. Aloft by the grace of only his hands on her
backside, she didn't know how much she could trust those instruments of pleasure.

He wouldn't stay still. He moved them around the room, making her scream with fear when he dipped and moan when his
movements made him hit that spot just right. She couldn't tell where they were in proximity to anything; her closed eyes
only hoped they didn't see stars. Knowing he couldn't see anything either did not comfort her, for his face was buried
between her thighs, which were tightly clenched on his shoulders to keep her from tumbling to the ground.

And then she was falling, falling, and she screamed her lungs out from stark terror, the very wind knocked out of her
when she alighted on the cool sheets of what was presumably Malfoy's bed.

“Accio, accio!” he demanded sharply, voice hoarse. Trying to draw breath back into her lungs and pry her eyes open were
two tasks she could just not do simultaneously. Once her eyes were open, she saw Malfoy's long-fingered hand reaching
out to catch his wand and the damned stub of her quill.

“I'll make you scream,” he promised feverishly as he whipped his wand and produced a short robe to bind her wrists
together. “I'll make you scream my name when you come.”

“Chatouillio!” Draco hissed, and before she could struggle against her soft rope bonds, the teeny, tiny scrap of a
feather that was left began to vibrate so quickly in mid-air that it became a gray blur. And then the blur touched her
turgid nipple.

When her shocked gasp came, she rocketed off the bed. Her body arched toward him, and he sank two of his crossed fingers
into her constrictive sex. The canal wasn't prepared for the intrusion, and the tightness nearly made his eyes cross as
she released a keening wail when her body stretched to accommodate him.

“That's almost screaming, Mistress,” he bit out, a reckless tilt to his lips.

And because she couldn't help it, she arched her body up as far as she could stand it and pushed his head down to her
again.

Unable to control the grin that welled up, he busied himself once more to the task she had so plainly bid him to do. It
was trickier now, now that he was tasting her and pumping her with his fingers, to determine exactly when she was close
to release and backing off. He only had to hear his name dripping from her honeyed lips and he'd shove her into the
abyss.

His erection was weeping, he was sure, as he eyed as best he could the feast of her flesh. As her whole body moved with
his fingers, her breasts swayed and the teasing feather moved back and forth between the diamond-hard nipples, never
giving her a moment's reprieve.

“What does Mistress want now?” he asked, the mirth in his voice foreign to even his own ears.

An incomprehensible moan issued from her lips.

“Sorry, I couldn't quite get that,” he teased. Again, the moan.

“Pardon?” he queried.

“I want you to make me come, Malfoy,” she grit out between clenched teeth, the breath she had been holding exhaled like
a whistle.

“Finally, something I can understand!” he said brightly. He dove back into her, lips pursing around her clit and holding
it steady, flicking with snake-like speed. Mindlessly, he let his fingers plunge into her again and again, this time
curling them to catch the spot that made her gasp on each stroke.

Her orgasm built like a volcanic eruption. As the molten core of her poured over his lips and fingers, she shuddered out
one single word on far too many syllables.

“Draco.”

He removed himself from her body, letting her sweat out the aftershocks of her release. When she pushed aside her damp
fringe so she could see him clearly, she watched him lick her essence from her lips.

His perfect white teeth glittering, he spoke two words. “Your move.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------

4. Reckoning

She found it difficult to reply when her sex was still constricting around an absent length. Her eyes drifted shut, and
Ginny was madly trying to sift through the haze of release, to stop the vague clenches her sex was still executing.

When she chanced to glance at him again, he was still hovering, chin still covered with her. Deliberately, he swiped
fingers through the liquid and brought them to his mouth, watching her reaction.

“Don't,” she muttered weakly, shading her eyes from the suddenly too-bright room.

“Don't what, Mistress?” he asked innocently.

“Just stop,” she said, raising a languid hand to massage her temples. The vision they surely presented right here had
manifested itself in her head, and it was all she could do to suppress the moan.

“I could stop,” he said agreeably, moving so that his swollen cock brushed lightly against her bent knee. “But you know,
I'm still feeling Malfoyish and not broken at all.”

Her lips curled savagely and he squelched a laugh.

“You know, Mistress, by your own admission many women have been in here,” he began conversationally. “And while their
appetites are as lusty as mine, there's one thing I never let happen. I never let them get the best of me. I never let
them mount me. You know why? Because I'm better than them. Because I dominate them. Because they're not worthy enough to
have the upper hand.”

“Or maybe you're scared they can fuck you on their own terms, hmm?” she spat, moving to escape from the invisible cage
he'd made with his body. Uncoiling his body, he pinned her instantly with the weight of his eyes and not at all with the
corded arms that he'd planted alongside her head.

“What about your terms?” he said, pointing to the sad scrap of feather he'd long since banished to the throw rug on the
hardwood floor nearby. “I don't think mine have been met yet. I'm not very inclined to return your quill.”

Her eyes squeezed shut again, wondering if she was ever going to get out of this not-quite nightmare.

“I have an idea, Weasley,” he said brightly, allowing his turgid flesh to slide just inside her slick nether lips. She
jerked underneath him, and her eyes opened wide.

“Pray tell?” she asked tiredly, trying not to concentrate on the flutters he was causing in her stomach.

“Oh, it's wonderfully sinister,” he said, and she stared at him, trying to determine if he was joking or not. “We've
established that you're the mistress here. Maybe you ought to climb atop me and get what you want.”

His steely eyes bored into hers and she could hardly believe what he was saying.

“Perhaps it's the only way to put me in my place,” he taunted, trying to spur her to action. “And certainly the only
time a Weasley would ever best a Malfoy.”

His head snapped to the side as she slapped him sharply.

“No matter whatever your filthy family does to us, we're always better than you,” she hissed. “Fucking, fighting,
bloodlines, loyalty.”

“Prove it, then,” he snapped, gathering her roughly to him and executing a roll on his bed. Once she was draped over
him, she moved quickly to sit up and get away, but he again employed his wiry strength to pin her arms in place.

“Not so fast,” he snarled. “This isn't over.”

“The hell it's not…” she yelled, and then her voice switched abruptly to a keening wail as he lifted her up and dropped
her on his waiting shaft.

He bucked his hips sharply into her, growling as he held her down over him.

“Well, Mistress, here we are,” he managed tightly. “I'm looking to be punished and you just said you're better than me
at it, so let's get to it.”

She felt boneless and light-headed as he made small thrusts into her to keep her attention. His words were penetrating
and infuriating, but his cock inside her was taking away her ability to put together a coherent thought.

“No, I, this…” she said weakly.

Like a shot he sat up halfway, his face inches from hers.

“I said fuck me, you weasel bitch,” he rasped, and had to recoil almost immediately as she recovered and snapped her
teeth viciously at the end of his nose.

“With pleasure,” she growled, raking her fingernails down his face, outlining livid streaks.

Leaning down, she angled herself so she could move back and forth on his shaft as quickly as possible. His fingers
tangled painfully in her hair, holding her head in place. Ginny bit his near shoulder out of pure spite, taking small
pleasure in seeing the deep indentations her sharp teeth left.

He grunted and shoved her upper body to a steeper angle, granting him access to her breasts. Her hands came up
automatically to brace herself when she screamed as his teeth set into her right nipple.

He worried and pulled and nipped, sending streamers of fire down her body and straight to her quim. Now that she had
unthinkingly propped herself up on him, he was able to take his hands away from her waist and hold her in place,
levering his hips up and into her as quickly and roughly as he possibly could.

“I'm barely breaking a sweat, Mistress,” he bit out, taunting her as her own sweat dripped down her flushed face and
splashed on his abdomen.

But he was lying, she could tell. His platinum hair had dampened at the roots, and a line of perspiration broke across
his smooth forehead.

She let herself fall heavily on his chest, forcing the air out of his lungs. His next breath was full of her as she
captured his lips and bit at them, drawing blood and showering his face with her own sex sheen and dripping tendrils at
her temples.

She pulled away, hoping she had silenced him for a moment, but he grinned madly back at her, teeth gleaming and bared.

“Oh, Weasley, what a gaping great cunt you have,” he sneered, grinding his pubic bone into her clit just to see her
wince and whimper in dark bliss. “How many other boys have you let plow you like this?”

His words had the desired effect and he delighted in watching her face screw up in near-tears. To punctuate his point,
he drove himself as deeply as he could into her rather snug confines, knowing his jibe was one of the worst a woman
could ever hear.

A sob escaped her and she brought her fist down in the middle of his chest, wetness seeping from her warm brown eyes.
Each heaving gasp tightened her body around him, and she was still moving out of recently acquired habit.

“I hate you,” she cried bitterly. “What have you done to me?”

Despairingly, she reached her free hand between her legs and grabbed him, intending to pull him from her passage. Her
slickness made it hard to grasp his member, but she tilted her pelvis in order to remove him. He groaned loudly and
instead thrust through her clenched fist and into her. The angle of her body was different, and he went so deep that he
triggered her orgasm.

When she collapsed upon him and screamed in his ear, he thought he might lose his hearing. Paroxysms gripped her body
and him in turn, and he took advantage of her near-incapacitation to thrust several more times into her clenching body,
letting her climax bring his own.

Her body, weakened by sex, pain and exhaustion, promptly fell unconscious.

***

He was still inside her, hard as rock again when he could have rightly made a case against it.

Her breathing was even now and steady in his ear, and Draco found he didn't mind one bit that her hands had clasped
loosely atop his head.

He'd long since summoned his wand, only moments after she'd passed out. Taking great care not to wake her, he'd
whispered the strongest contraception spell he'd been taught, one that protected the woman for nearly two days. And
after that, he'd lain there beneath her, reveling in the amazing sensation of becoming hard again within her body and
how nicely that body fit over his own.

His own body was heavy with stupor, but his groin always got the last word. Whispering a wingardium leviosa, he put his
arms around her and rotated their bodies, staying joined. Settling her into the deep, warm spot where he'd just been
lying, he saw her snuggle slightly into the mattress and fingers grasp at sheets that weren't there.

Finding a gentle rhythm that continued without him consciously directing it, he slid in and out of her slowly, watching
her face contort slightly and listening to her sighed exhalations. Examining her in the now-guttering candlelight, he
could see her lips were swollen and chafed, red with overuse.

When he touched the very tip of his wand to her mouth she stirred and her eyes cracked sleepily. It was almost as if she
didn't recognize him, he thought. Yawning, she lifted her eyes to his own.

“What are you doing?” she asked softly, squirming a bit below him. Deciding stating the obvious wasn't the best, he did
tell the truth.

“Healing your lips.”

“Oh,” she said, her eyes closing again. He murmured the reducing spell and watched the obscene swell vanish from her
mouth.

Her nipples were dark pink and tender, he discovered, when he inadvertently brushed against one. An anti-pain spell and
the reducing spell took care of that, and when he found bruises on her wrists and arms from holding her, he massaged
them gently while scanning his mind for the spell to stop subcutaneous bleeding.

Her deep and slow breathing told him that she'd fallen asleep again. No matter, he thought, it only afforded him more
time to heal the marks she'd accumulated. He hadn't realized she would fight that hard, excite him so much. He didn't
regret one hurtful thing he'd said to her, as it had all served to further their explosive orgasms. No one had ever
reacted to him as she had, and he knew after one session that her easily raised ire would provide excellent fodder to
lure her into it again.

Because in all honestly, he wanted her to win their little game. Wanted her to dominate him so thoroughly he'd gladly
service her on all fours and call her Mistress and mean it. He was skilled in true domination, having found no one to
best him, and always had great pleasure from it. But this…this fiery Weasley, she would make him pay.

Setting aside his wand, he concentrated now on wringing this very last bit of pleasure from her. He'd reduced the
swelling between her legs and soothed it with the tiniest hint of charm-generated lubricant. His way eased even more, he
braced his hands on the bed and she must have felt the sudden change in weight, because her eyes opened and she looked
at him with more comprehension.

“Draco,” she muttered, unable to muster the strength to push him off. “Haven't you hurt me enough?”

He leaned down to kiss her gently, though her words speared through him and he felt a twinge of remorse.

He was about to tell her he was sorry when the depths of her body rippled with orgasm, tearing his own from him and
rendering her insensate.

***

Five short hours later, Ginny woke and wished she hadn't. Her body was painfully numb and stiff, and as she determined
how best to extricate herself from Draco's arms, she realized he must have performed some sort of glamour on her. There
was no way she'd be leaving without marks unless he charmed them away.

He was pressed against her back, head tucked just behind her neck. He'd linked both hands over her midriff at some
point, and gingerly she pried them off and disconnected his long fingers to allow escape. As quietly as a silencing
spell, she moved gingerly off the bed and located her wand and clothing.

The sunlight peeking in around his drapes showed her that he still bore the marks of her sharp fingernails on his pale
cheeks, slightly bloody teeth marks on his shoulders and three distinct bruises where she had hit him. If she'd had the
time for a closer inspection, she'd have seen the half-moons her fingernails dug into his thighs and a myriad of other
small battle wounds.

Had it been anyone else she might have been upset over marring that pale perfection. She bared her teeth in a feral
smile and dressed immediately, leaving his dungeon quarters and the hate they begat.

***

One full day later and she'd been studiously avoiding him, though she heard the whispers that someone had attacked
Malfoy and he had the nasty scratches to prove it.

She was back in the library, studying for an exam, tucked into a far corner away from the infernally chattering
students.

Though she faced the wall, she felt a presence approach her. A shiver ran down her spine and with that small
affirmation, she knew who the intruder was.

“What do you want, Malfoy?” she asked, her tone measured but strained. She refused to turn around, to look at him, to
see the evidence of their sex clearly outlined on his face. Her back became rigid as he seated himself in the chair next
to her and turned sideways, so close she could feel his hot breath.

"Here," he said, brushing her cheek softly with an expensive-looking quill.

She shivered at the memories the caress brought to mind, but tried to pull herself together and stay icily calm. "What's
this for, Malfoy?"

"So you have something to write with." He smiled devilishly and she felt the bottom drop out of her stomach as she
realized that nothing had ended when she snuck out of his room before he woke. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to keep
your old one handy for the next time you come to play."

~finis~

Author's Note: Thanks to all of you who stuck with this fic through the many months it took to finish it. Special
mention goes to Mynuet who wrote the last few paragraphs for the ending on the first day I proposed this fic. I've
altered it slightly to fit the events.
