**Author's Note: I regret to inform you *cringe* This is the last chapter of Fantasy Fudge. Writing this was tremendous fun, and the response I've gotten has been nothing short of phenomenal. Big thanks and schnoogles to each and every one of you who reviewed. I hope you liked it and had fun with it!! Now… happy fudging ;-)**
CHAPTER NINE- The Way to a Man's Heart
Hands roam up her body in the dawn dark, strong knees pressing into the soft concavities at the bends of her knees. His fingers dip fleetingly into her navel as his tongue traces from the nape of her neck down her spine-
Ginny awoke with a moan on her lips, disappointment already arrowing through her. Only a dream, another bloody fantasy. Then she registered the feeling of those hands, those fingers caressing the creases where her hips met her thighs.
Not a fantasy after all.
She looked around her as best she could without moving, noting with a wince the clothes strewn over the floor, the wands lying criss-crossed on the floor. Not surprisingly, she'd been shoved to the edge of the bed, held there only by the arms and hands which now brought her breathing to a peak.
She was in Draco Malfoy's bed.
And unless she was very mistaken, he was holding her… well, doing a bit more than that.
Another wave of disappointment washed over her as she realized what was happening.
She might not be fantasizing, but he most surely was.
"Malfoy," she whispered, her voice guttering as he unerringly guided a fingertip to the sensitive bundle of nerves at her center.
No response. Of… bloody… course.
"Draco!" she whispered more loudly.
His tongue stopped just between her shoulder blades, cool air hitting the path he'd made and making her shiver. He rested his chin on her shoulder, sucked her earlobe between his lips, and said around it, "Shh… I'm busy."
Teasing his fingers gently around her sensitive folds, he felt her heat, ready and welcoming, and he smiled against the cup of her ear.
"Are you awa-ake?" Ginny asked, her voice full-out breaking as he angled one finger into her.
"I'm doing something here, could you let me concentrate?" he asked crossly, assuring her it was, indeed, Draco, and he was, indeed, awake.
He never sounded like such a prissy arse when she was imagining him.
A second finger joined the first, and he raised his free hand to sweep a few tresses of hair from her cheek.
Ginny had suddenly lost any urge she'd had to actually discuss the topic.
He was awake, she was definitely awake, and things were…
Stopping.
He stopped the movement of his hand, stilling the motion of her hips with his free hand. "I have a favor to ask you," he said in her ear, his breath hot and his voice unwavering.
She swallowed hard, shook her head as though trying to clear it. He'd taken her from sleep to peak in less than a few minutes, and it was taking its toll on her train of thought. Especially, she thought with a whimper, since he'd stopped.
"Anything," she said, startling herself. She'd meant to say What is it?
Damn him.
She could hear his grin, the smugness audible in his voice as he withdrew his fingers part of the way and thrust them into her with a firm, careful stroke, the conceit covering even her long, loud moan.
"Find out how long the fudge lasts," he said, keeping his fingers as deep inside her as he could as she came around him, the morning surreally still around them. He curved his fingers once more, milking out the last of her orgasm.
Draco bit his lip as she tightened around him one last time, feeling one smooth curve of buttock seat firmly right into his erection. He wanted her, though he hadn't the slightest clue how-last night he'd been ready to weep at the thought of another go-round, and now-
Well, now was going to have to take some self-control. He could beat this thing, if he really wanted to, and until he could fully be under his own will, he wanted to.
He moved away from her, though he was reluctant, and stood at the side of the bed, stretching as he did every morning, unable to do differently simply because someone was watching him.
Well, now was going to have to take some self-control. He could beat this thing, if he really wanted to, and until he could fully be under his own will, he wanted to.
He rolled away from her, forcing himself to repeat as a mantra She's a Weasley, she's a Weasley, she's a Weasley even as he mourned the loss of warmth and the lack of soft, smooth skin pressed against his chest.
Plus she made truly fetching noises as she slept, though he'd carve a scar on his head and call himself Harry Potter before he actually told her that.
He laid on his back, his hands behind his head, and listened to her rapid, hard breathing ease, then he spoke, trying as hard as he could to keep his voice flat.
"You should go back to your room before the rest of the castle gets up and about." And before I grab you and give you the hardest-
He cleared his throat, trying to block out that randy, annoying, insatiable inner voice.
Libidinous bastard.
He just couldn't trust himself until he knew how long he'd be sniffing after her like a mangy cur. And if there was anything his father had taught him, it was to have self-control. Well, he'd had her fill of her the day before (hardly, piped Libidinous Bastard), and now he was exerting some self-control.
Ginny rolled onto her back, flinching as the long muscles in her back and thighs tried to tell the story of the previous evening's actions. She knew damned good and well what she'd done, she didn't need some sort of musculatory reminder, blast it all. What she didn't know is why he'd jerked her out of sleep just to use those devilish hands on her, and then dismiss her like chattel.
He's right, though. You really can't stay here until actual morning.
Right or no, she felt more than a bit like a fool. What was she, some sort of crazed succubae he thought he had to appease with sex before sending home to her own bed? All he'd really needed to do was wake her and tell her it was time to go.
Besides, he wanted her just as badly as he had the night before. Ginny Weasley may have felt humiliated, but she certainly didn't feel daft enough to think his wand had been pressing into her back just moments ago.
Bastard.
She thought on it for a few moments, on the night before, on his actions and request of just moments ago, of his nonchalant attitude now.
She wanted to know when the fudge wore off, as well, and the way things were going, she hoped the sooner the better. Things had already been twisted for over thirty hours-far outlasting any of the twins' other Halloween gags.
Surely they couldn't last much longer.
Smirking in the dark, Ginny slid to her stomach and slinked her way across the sheets, planting her hands on his chest as leverage to pull herself up his body, sliding her sweat-dampened body up his before parting her knees and sitting astride him.
Her conviction wavered, quaked, and nearly toppled at the feel of his hardness pressing into her.
Be strong, she told herself sternly.
"Draco," she said, intentionally keeping her voice at a hoarse, seductive half-moan as she leaned down and flicked her tongue over his lips. "I just wanted to say…" She arched her spine, pressing her breasts against him and listened to his breath catch.
Perfect.
With no small amount of regret but a big head of steam building, Ginny moved one hand to his face, squeezed his cheeks together roughly, and leaned back, looking at him critically, lust erased from her face and replaced by a hard, matter-of-fact look that made Draco…
More turned on.
"You're an arse," she finally completed her sentence, swinging one leg over and standing up, clearly seeing in the grayish light how aroused he was. "You'd better take care of that before my brothers' cooking wears off," she said snidely, holding back a sigh. "Who knows how long it will be before you'll have that sort of ability again."
She pulled on her clothes in a few economical motions, the haste of a girl who has had to share a washroom for many, many years, and was out of his room before he could think of a suitable retort.
And curse the Libidinous Bastard, for Draco thought of her as he stroked himself, thinking-and only narrowly avoiding moaning- her name as the sun began to rise.
~~~
My darling, trouble-making, thoughtless brothers,
It seems I have yet to find either of your hapless, helpless victims here at Hogwarts.
Ginny worried at her lip as she wrote the lie, but really, what was she to tell them? That they'd coerced her into shagging Malfoy? Hardly true. Ginny suspected you fantasized about whomever your mind really wanted to fantasize about.
In hindsight, she figured that was probably okay. Fantasy sex with Harry had been dead boring.
My curiosity is how long I have to keep covering for you great twits. How long does this candy of yours last, anyway? I can hardly be expected to check every nook and cranny of the castle for unlikely snoggers, can I?
I wonder if I could get anything out of this… you know, in exchange for not telling Mum.
She smirked and glanced around the empty common room, knowing blackmail was just the sort of thing the twins would have tried themselves.
Regardless, loves, owl me back as soon as you can. I've been afraid of what-or whom!-- I might find on my rounds. Put my mind at ease and at least give me some sort of indication of when I can stop!
Love,
Gin
As she sent the school owl off with the craftily cheerful message, Ginny wondered what she really wanted the response to be.
Soon… or never?
~~~
He stood in the shower with his head against the tile, one hand reaching out every so often to nudge the water hotter. He wanted to soak out his muscles' memories of her, wanted to wash them down the drain. He needed to sanitize, for Merlin's sake, he'd been with a Weasley. He'd been with a Weasley who had either lied to him, or who really had become appealing only because he'd eaten one stupid piece of candy.
One way really didn't play better than the other, he'd decided. Either she was a liar or he was an idiot, and he wasn't suited to either.
Perhaps he was showering in a steaming shower, much hotter than usual, because he was cold, missing her warmth the minute she'd left his room in more than a bit of a mysterious snit.
But surely that wasn't it.
Draco turned off the water and forced himself to stand still, hands braced on the tile on either side of his head.
He just needed to think…
And found he could think of nothing but her.
Bloody stupid fudge. He'd never eat another bite of any of it, as long as he lived.
Which, he contemplated, might not be much longer if he kept needing-wanting-her like this.
~~~
taptaptaptaptaptaptap
taptaptapTAPTAPTAPTAP!
"Whaathebloodyfuck?" George threw an arm up over his face, trying to block the noise that was jarring him from a really pleasant sleep. "Cut it out, Fred!" he yelled, though he hadn't the slightest what Fred would be doing to make that noise, especially so bloody early on a Sunday morning.
"Fuggoff!" Fred mumbled in retort from his room in the flat. "'S not me, you big wanker."
Both of them got out of their beds, stumbling toward the common room of their apartment, running smack into each other.
"Sorry," was the simultaneous reaction just before they helped one another open the window to admit the annoying owl that had been rapping its useless beak against the glass.
Many curse words, a few ruffled feathers, a nip in the hand, and a nearly broken window later, George opened the message. "Don't know who needs to send a message this time in the morning, anyway," he said, an uncharacteristic glower stamped on his face.
"It's Ginny," Fred said. "Hush and read it." He listened as George read it out loud, at least a bit of the sleep clearing from his brain. "It sounds off," he judged when his brother finished reading. "Doesn't it sound off to you?"
"It sounds off," George said slowly, "Because we're bleedin' tired. And because she threatened blackmail." But even he couldn't keep from smiling at her audacity. "Let's jot her a quick response so she can leave us be for the day. I've plans to sleep and be generally lazy."
He ignored Fred's comment about how those actions didn't differ from weekdays in the least, and once the owl was gone, the brothers promptly forgot all about it.
~~~
He was an obvious git.
It was a conclusion she'd come to after sending the owl to her brothers, taking a quick shower, and catching nearly twenty minutes of sleep before dragging herself down to the Great Hall for breakfast.
She'd felt at least a little bad about being rude to him as she'd scrubbed off in the shower, her head craned to see his artwork of the night before go swirling down the drain in a mixture of ink and soapy water.
But now, while she was trying to converse with her housemates and have a spot of breakfast, he was staring at her like some sort of lunatic and being absolutely obvious.
Prat, prat, prat.
It would have helped, she thought, if he didn't look like his customary million Galleons, polished and perfect and gorgeous like he hadn't been up all night the night before. And he had been up all night, she thought crossly, stabbing a bit of egg with her fork. He'd been up and she'd been with him.
The fudge was making her crazy.
She was searching the table for something to throw at the nancing prat-not that she'd actually do it, but the search itself was rather cathartic-when an owl dropped a small letter right in the middle of her eggs.
And everyone at the table turned to look at her.
"That's rather odd," Hermione said, tilting her head and assuming her dratted "I know everything" pose. "No one usually sends owls out on Sundays. You know, even owls deserve a bit of a rest. Of course, house elves do, as well, but you've seen how well everyone listens to me on that-"
"Bloody hell, Hermione, not the bloody elf thing again-" Ron started, only to be overridden by Harry.
"Don't, Ron, it'll never stop-"
"This is exactly what I mean," Hermione railed, pitching her voice above theirs. "It's as though you've taken it for granted. You've absolutely no regard for anything other than your-"
"Weasley." The voice was cool and brooked no argument, and the Gryffindors turned from voluble to volatile once they detected aSlytherin in their midst, and a Malfoy, no less.
"What, Malfoy?" Ginny asked, well and truly exasperated. Clearly she had her hands full, was now really a good time?
He merely raised an eyebrow, tugging all the way to the bottom of her stomach with the simple movement, that facial expression which indicated he was up to no good, up to all sorts of mischief, and was that mischief for her?
She thought it might be.
I need to go to St. Mungo's, she decided as she stood and stared him in the eye.
He'd been watching her, wondering if she'd sent her brothers a message, wondering if she'd remembered the favor he asked of her. Now, as she stood before him with a message clasped in her hand, he hoped against hope she'd gotten an answer.
All he wanted, he insisted, was a little peace.
Or was that a little piece?
"Come with me, Weasley. It's highly irregular to be receiving post on a Sunday. I'll have to confiscate that and ensure its safety." At the slight murmurs from the Gryffindor table, he looked past her at them. "Points may be taken away if I hear any dissent. That includes from you, Mud-Granger," he amended, considering his authority as Head Boy. "Even Head Girl can't supercede another Head's authority."
"No, but someone can knock Head Boy's head clean off," Ron muttered into his plate.
Draco didn't even need to attack the idiot, for Granger did it for him, turning on Ron with such vehemence Draco was able to stride away with Ginny without any other protest. He ducked into the first room he found, locking the classroom door behind him with his wand.
"Did you have to do that?" she asked, yanking her arm away from him and smacking his hand away. "I mean, getting kicked out of your bed this morning wasn't enough to display your continuing hatred of me, you have to take me away from breakfast with my friends?" She put her hands on her hips, reminding a slightly frightened Draco of her mother, a frightful woman he'd only barely glimpsed a few times. "Friends, in case you don't know the word, aren't familiar with it, are people with hearts. Of course you're not familiar with it." It felt good to be angry at him. A bit a cross-purposes, perhaps, considering how her mind kept tracking back to the tattoo he had under the jumper and robes, but still good.
Not as good as other things, but still good.
"Is that from your brothers, you ninny?" he asked, gesturing toward the parchment. "Great Merlin, Weasley, I could care less if you got a bloody dung bomb dropped in the middle of your breakfast-"
She snorted in agreement at his statement, knowing full well it was true.
"-but if you asked those wankers how long this blasted fucking fudge lasts, I want to know." He didn't realize until the words were out of his mouth that he really and truly believed what she'd said about the fudge.
"It had better not be one more minute," Ginny said through clenched teeth. "Because right now, fantasy or no, I'm having a hard time standing the sight of you."
"You're a deplorably poor liar," he said mildly, enjoying the flush that colored her cheeks, rocking back on his heels and grinning as she took her only remaining course of action and opened the letter. Before she could read past the opening lines, he had taken it out of her hands and laid it on the desk in front of them. "Together," he said, turning his head to look at her, a lock of fair hair falling into his eyes. "We read it together."
And just because the image was in her mind-the fudge putting it there, of course-just because she couldn't help herself, Ginny sighed and darted forward for one quick kiss. "Okay," she said, rolling her eyes to try and save face.
Gin,
You shouldn't be finding snoggers all over Hogwarts, you know. It was only two pieces, and no matter how powerful the stuff is, we doubt anyone ever really fantasizes about someone they're able to get.
Draco and Ginny exchanged an uneasy look.
Anyway, it depends on when they ate the candy, but unless Hogwarts is a completely different place from our tenure there, you have nothing else to worry about. After all, almost everyone eats every piece of candy they have right on the spot, and the fudge-
Ginny uttered a cry as her knees turned to water and dumped her gracelessly onto the floor.
Draco took his eyes away from the letter with an exasperated sigh. "What now, Weasley?" She was milk-pale and wide-eyed, and the only answer she gave him was a thin, freakish laugh. "Lunatics, all of you," he muttered, turning back to the parchment and eagerly reading the rest of the sentence.
… the fudge never lasts more than8 hours.
EPILOGUE
The way to a man's heart is through his stomach.
Her family has never been able to judge why Ginny has stitched samplers bearing this adage decked by little embroidered candies all over her house, but then again, they've never quite been able to figure out how they ended up with Draco Malfoy as an in-law, either.
It's all a bit too weird for them to figure out, but they'd decided long ago that if their princess was happy-and her father-in-law stayed imprisoned or dead or wherever he'd gone-then they'd not say another word about it.
Only Fred and George seemed to ponder overly long on those samplers, identical eyes narrowed, identical gears turning in their red heads.
And once every year or so, upon looking at these specimens of handiwork, the lovely, flowing script, the detail put into the tiny wrapped fudge pieces bordering the piece, one twin would look at another and say in hushed, guilty tones, "Surely you don't think…"