The Classroom Door

twiddlekinks

Rating: NC17
Genres: Angst, Romance
Relationships: Draco & Ginny
Book: Draco & Ginny, Books 1 - 5
Published: 17/12/2006
Last Updated: 17/12/2006
Status: completed

Some doors open, and some doors close. Featuring Draco as bored/straight-laced DADA teacher, and Ginny as daring/goth-punk student. Hmm… ;)

Chapters

1. ...The Door?

1. ...The Door?

Author's Notes:

In this story:
1. The "Dark Wars" occurred directly after Draco's seventh year -- so he's graduated, whereas Ginny has one year left.

2. Draco's able to get a job, and he ends up teaching at Hogwarts.

3. Many of the interrupted sixth years, however, have to return to school and graduate before they can start working. ;)

4. This was one of the first stories I wrote, so it's got a few... ah... unpolished things. Personally, I recommend reading the others, but I can't throw anything away.

The Classroom Door

Author: twiddlekinks
Email: twiddlekinks at gmail dot com
Title: The Classroom Door
Summary: Some doors open, and some doors close. Featuring Draco as bored/straight-laced DADA teacher, and Ginny as daring/gothpunk student. Hmm…
Categories: PWP, Romance?, Smut Fudge.
Pairings: Draco/Ginny
Rating: NC-17
Created and Finished: 10/2/2004 (one shot)
First spawned for sunshinefanfics contest, as promoted on www.dracoandginny.com

The Classroom Door

It’s months after the Dark Wars, and Draco Malfoy has nowhere to go. After a bit of dark-arts-dabbling and a bit of spying and hints dropped here and there, he’s not welcome around the light or the dark. He doesn’t even know why he did any of it. He’s become more of a recluse, less inclined to revel, more inclined to get bored. He doesn’t party, he doesn’t chitchat, and he doesn’t have any friends. Of course Dumbledore offers him a teaching position; the old sop seems to have a soft spot for misplaced and somewhat searching beings. Hogwarts: home for the hopeless.

It’s the first day of classes, and the oh-so-lucky Draco Malfoy has been saddled with the seventh years, first period. This class has innocent children and stragglers that have returned to finish out their education. He spots a few familiar faces, but nothing too exciting. None of it seems real. He eyes the open door, daring more students to wander in. He shuts it with a wave of his wand, turns towards his desk to leaf through the books, and then promptly swishes his robes around to face the class. His air is haughty and disdainful, with a touch of an intellectual sneer.

“So it begins.” He states this in a low, unhurried tone, looking each of them in the eyes. He prepares to launch into his opening speech, but there is one empty space, and that bothers him oddly.

Suddenly, the door bangs open and a blur of fishnets, chains, and red-gold streaks enters. Her eyes are outlined with daring designs. Her lips are a dark, deep red. Her robes billow in a slight response to her decisive movements, showing a skirt that is microscopic. Strands of nylon weave their way up slim, pale legs. Platform heels accentuate the delicacy of her ankles. Chains adorn her neck and wrists, and she clinks a bit as she takes the last seat.

Malfoy notices all of this, but hones in on the patch on her cloak. “Ten points from Gryffindor for being late.”

She arches her eyebrow at him. It’s a challenge.

“And five for making quite the entrance. There shall be no more banging of doors in this classroom.” With an abrupt smirk and a sudden change of pace, Malfoy begins to speak.

”Welcome to the Defense Against the Dark Arts. My name is Draco Malfoy.” He pauses, noting the appropriate gasps and wide-eyed stares. The goth redhead looks at him with a mild surprise. Then apathy settles on her fine features again. He does notice her slim, lithe body. He turns his libido off.

He lectures them about no hullabaloo or bawdy antics. He seems to emanate an air of darkened authority. He catches the goth redhead sighing, and blinks. He then introduces the syllabus — “We shall start with the letter A, run from acromantulas to how to disable a grindylow and protect yourself from a glumbumble’s treacle, how to maintain a shielding charm, and probably end with Z, turning a zombie back into its grave. Any questions?”

The class looks slightly stunned, with a few anticipatory looks. But Malfoy is tired. “Good. We’ll begin next time. Class dismissed.”

He wanders over to his window and looks out on the dreary rain-spattered pitch. The students file out silently. Though this session was shorter than most of the introductory lectures they would receive today, the Malfoy persona tends toward striking and memorable and scary.

Suddenly, the door bangs again. Malfoy looks up. This time, it’s shut.

The goth redhead is staring at him, leaning against the oak. He is startled, but takes it all in stride. “Yes? Do you need anything, Miss…”

“What’s your problem, Malfoy?” She eyes him coolly. “You look like you haven’t slept in ages. Where’s the haughty façade, the veneer of nobility? Seen too much?” She doesn’t move.

“Who are you?” He’s growing a bit irritated. He stalks towards her, mentally cursing the dregs of teenager impudence.

“Is it that important?” She shakes her head. “Someone’s growing tense. What’s the matter? No social life to keep you preoccupied with the high classes of the rich and famous? Stooping down to classes of students and interrupted lives?”

He’s almost furious now. “What do you know about any of this?”

“Enough.”

“You, my dear, are a student.”

Her eyes look almost wet. “Don’t call me ‘dear.’”

He raises his eyebrows. “Someone’s growing tense.” He’s quite close to her now, and she can feel his breath slightly lift her hair. He tries not to notice her short skirt, or her many many chains. “Shall I take off more points? You did bang the door again.”

Without hesitation, she grins. “No more banging of doors, Malfoy? How about banging against them?” Then she’s pressed against him, arms twisting around his neck, bringing his head down for a molten hot kiss. At the first taste, he knows. It doesn’t matter.

One fishnetted leg urges him closer, lifts up her skirt. It’s a reflex for him to run his hands around her waist and bring her body flush against his. He can feel the smooth skin of her thigh beginning above the stockings. She isn’t wearing any underwear. He palms her breast, lowers his head to taste the tops, nudges her tight tube top down with determined touches, rakes his other hand through her hair. He fastens his mouth to one aching nipple, then shoves his fingers into her dripping cunt. Her nimble fingertips delve into his robes and unzip his fly. They bring his cock out and play with him softly. Then he grasps himself and maneuvers it into her. She gasps.

“You’re so big,” she moans. It feels so familiar, yet quite different. He’s never fucked against a door before. He’s never been seduced by a student. Then again, it’s his first day as a teacher. And he hasn’t fucked in a long, long time.

He pounds into her mercilessly. Her screams tell him that she’s coming. With a groan, they both collapse. He’s barely supporting her, about to fall himself. He buries his head between her breasts, and just inhales her scent. Patchouli.

“Weasel. Nice to see you again.”

“To fuck again, you mean?”

He’s a bit startled at her coarse language. But it’s turning him on. Again.

“You’ve changed, Weaselette.”

She laughs. “You, too, ferret. Never thought little old me would be more dangerous and daring than your now-straight-edged self. You really aren’t getting any action, are you?”

He allows himself an uncharacteristic grin. “Well, it is a school. I usually don’t exhibit pedophilic tendencies. I do like the chains, though. And the skirt — or the lack thereof, as it may be.”

“Well, I am a student, Professor.” Then she smoothes out her skirt, bundles her robes around her, and tosses him a wink. “Thanks for letting class out early.”

She saunters out of the room. The door bangs shut. Again.

~*~