Rating: PG-13, for some, er, sexual content
Ship(s): Draco/Ginny, implied Blaise/Tracey
Timeline/Spoilers: Who knows? Some alternate 6th year for Ginny; 7th for Draco.
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.
Summary: Draco Malfoy doesn't know how to have any fun. Incidentally, neither does Ginny Weasley, so it's all rather doomed from the start.
They met every other Thursday, or whenever Theodore Nott felt appropriate.
He'd weave through the noisy halls with a shit-eating grin and yellow eyes so bright it was almost disconcerting.
"Thursday, 11 o'clock," he'd whisper.
"It's at 10 on the dot, tonight."
Sometimes he'd wink at Tracey Davis and pinch her bottom as he hissed the words. She'd slap him soundly on the cheek, and he'd laugh and strut on with a red hand print marring his long face, as if she'd kissed him instead.
"It's Friday this week. At one aye-em, Malfoy. Don't be late."
Draco wasn't all that sure why Theodore continued to invite him. He was Head Boy and had the responsibility to march down- er, up there- and call the whole thing off, punish the brats, and go to sleep knowing he'd maimed his quota for the day.
That aside, it's not like he'd ever attended either, and he certainly was sure he'd never plan to, and never would. It was a silly game with silly stakes, and watching a troupe of Slytherins con each other of valuables and clothing sounded like a hoot and a half, but Draco had a feeling he'd get bored easily, and quickly, at that. Plus, he liked keeping his things his things, and his parts to himself, in case that gist was unclear.
"Draco," Pansy would whine, leaning forward at dinner and slobbering all over his hen, "are you coming tonight?" She'd always top the high-pitched question off with fluttering eyelids.
"No," he'd reply, pushing his plate away, suddenly not finding saliva-coated mash that appetizing.
"Oh, you're such a spoil-sport," she'd hiss, turning towards Daphne and coveting him little pouts he'd always ignore.
It wasn't until Theo started inviting Ravenclaws that his interest had piqued. Or at least, piqued enough to start asking some questions.
"So, what do you people get into up there, anyhow?" He'd asked Blaise casually over breakfast one morning.
His fellow House mate had laughed, a sound that was low and apparently endearing, if the girls of Hogwarts had anything to say about the matter. Draco thought it sounded like a wheeze. "Little of this, little of that," he'd answered, but not really answered at all, chewing thoughtfully on a muffin. "If you're so interested, why don't you just cave and check it out?"
"Not that interested," he'd conceded, and then they started talking about the length of Daphne Greengrass's skirt.
When he'd heard a Hufflepuff or two had attended, he'd just cocked an eyebrow.
No better group to nick a spot of spare change off of, right? Plus he didn't really need any spare change anyway, so there was no difference in his level of interest.
But then people started really talking about it, and not even passingly. They'd talk about it over dinner and during study sessions in whispers and during class in passed notes, wishing and hoping this week, they'd be invited.
Draco had confiscated some parchment from a frightened Ravenclaw one morning when he was feeling particularly vicious and needed a pick-me-up. She was mousy with dark locks and wide eyes. The parchment read:
Twelve o'clock. Pink panties!
"What the hell does that mean?"
"Well, spit it out," he had snarled. "I don't have all day."
"It's for- I mean- the- Theo's... you know," she'd blushed, gnawing at her lower lip and letting out an annoying giggle.
Truth be told, however, he hadn't been opposed to the sodding events until he'd heard dear Nott was inviting Gryffindors.
"Are you mad?" He had yelled, stalking up to the gangly bright-eyed boy."The Ravenclaws, I sort of understood; they can be all right. The Hufflepuffs are easy to take advantage of, at least. But the Gryffs, Nott? The Gryffs? Are you insane?"
"Aw, come off it, Malfoy. It's one Gryffindork." He'd rolled his eyes, slapping Draco's shoulder. "It's a fun time for all. You should come. Eleven tonight. Don't be late!"
So here he was, scowling, gazing up at some ordinary blasted hatch door above him, the sound of raucous laughter and most likely debauchery mocking him from inside.
With a resigned sigh, he tapped the door twice with his wand, muttering the password ("Playwitch") with a passing thought about how entirely wasteful this entire situation was. Besides the part where he'd get a thrill out of ending it once and for all.
It wasn't that Draco Malfoy didn't enjoy a spot of fun here and there. He made sure every day to at least trip one Hufflepuff, go the lengths to say something awful about somebody, anybody at all. Laughter was the best medicine for spoiled rich brats too bored with their time than to do nothing else but make as many people as miserable as possible, right?
Smoothing down his robes, he ventured into the noise, taking each creaking step with sneering disdain.
The first thing he noticed were the bottles. Butterbeer, fire whiskey, and an assortment of other alcoholic beverages he'd only seen under lock and key in his father's study, all open and laying about.
The second thing he noticed was the table and the talking cards ("Don't put me down; you'll need me later!" and "Oh hello, Jack! How are you?").
The third thing he noticed were the clothes.
Or rather, the absence of clothes covering usually-covered body parts, and the pile of said absent clothing in a heaping pile on the aforementioned table.
And last, but certainly not least, he noticed a redheaded Gryffindor, starkers in nothing but a crimson lacy bra that seemed too small, and a short flouncey skirt that barely covered her thighs.
His first thought was quite linked with his downstairs brain- something about red tresses on his green sheets- and his second thought was about gauging his eyes out.
But then suddenly Theodore Nott had spotted him hanging out by the door and hollered, stumbled over, and pressed a bottle of fire whiskey to his chest. A loud greeting for him seemed to overtake the entire room, and there were hands patting his back and cards thrown at him and all of a sudden he was sitting next to Tracey Davis, not quite sure what had just transpired, or how he'd gotten from point A to point B.
"About time you showed up, mate," Theo thumped his shoulder and fell into the seat between him and Ginny.
"I'm not your mate," he said hotly, but somehow the comment was missed.
To his right, Blaise winked, one hand holding cards, and the other entwined with Tracey Davis's fingers.
"Yes, there's been an awful lot of talk about seeing you naked," said a dreamy voice.
Draco snapped his head over to his left, careful to avoid sweeping his eyes over Ginny Weasley's spilling chest. Looney Lovegood was looking at him very seriously.
"Especially from Pansy Parkinson," she added.
Ginny stifled a giggle.
Pansy, who was sitting next to Luna, blushed unbecomingly- not that she was ever becoming to begin with- and glared. "Shut up, Looney," she hissed, "it's your turn to deal so do it."
Luna went on as if Pansy had not even spoken. In fact, her wide eyes had never left him. "I'm Luna; I don't think we've met," she said, holding out her hand with a pleasant smile.
Draco looked at it as if it were diseased. She didn't seriously expect him to touch her. Did she?
"Pleasure," he drawled, curling his lip.
"This is Ginny Weasley," she added brightly, hand still extended, flicking her gaze to the one person he was trying not to look at.
"Yes, I know," he said, chancing a glance over.
She was biting her lip, arms crossed uncomfortably over her nearly-bare chest. He wondered if she realized it only made her cleavage dip just so- again, he was torn between vomiting until he died and... other... primal urges.
"Hello, Malfoy," she greeted, but her voice was not small or meek or anything like he expected. Instead of mimicking her awkward stance, it was loud and laced with hateful sarcasm.
"Ginny's on a losing streak, isn't she?" Theodore wiggled his eyebrows, leaning on the back legs of his chair.
That patented blush stole purchase on her cheeks, spreading across her chest as well. "Only because this game is ridiculous! It's as if you're all conspiring against my clothes!"
"You can't blame them though, can you, Weasley?" Draco smirked, reaching forward to distastefully poke through the heap of clothes before them. "I would think with the dirty rags you wear, you should be thankful to get them off of you."
Her hands were gripping the sides of her chair and she huffed like an angry bull, glaring daggers at him. He merely rose an eyebrow and one side of his mouth into a small smirk.
Pansy's shrill laugh answered his drawled words, and Ginny fluttered her hot gaze to the guffawing girl. "Oh, shut up, Pansy," she growled. "I may wear hand-me-down robes, but at least when I look in the mirror, a pig doesn't stare back at me."
He almost laughed- the sound was nearly passing his lips before he stifled it.
Pansy blanched, letting out a throat-grating screech. "How dare you?! Draco! Draco, you're not going to let her get away with that?"
"I'd let her get away with it," Theodore interceded, grinning mischievously at Ginny. Draco was almost thankful to be saved from answering the bint, because while he didn't want to agree with a Weasley, he was also a fan of the truth. "I've heard she could curse a bloke into oblivion by wiggling her cute little nose."
Ginny had the grace to flush under Theo's intense stare, arms crossing under her ample breasts once again. "Yes," she agreed, "although my cute little nose doesn't wiggle."
"No, but the abundance of cellulose on your thighs do," Pansy interjected.
"Now, now," Blaise said quietly, "let's not get vicious like last time."
"I enjoyed last time," Theo disagreed. "Scantily clad witches wrestling sort of makes my night."
"You're disgusting," Pansy bit out.
"I'm only human," he shrugged.
"Are we going to play or not?" Tracey said, her voice just as low as Blaise's.
"Yes, of course, Davis," Theodore said, leaning forward, turning his attention towards Draco. "Here's how we play." He paused to take a swig of butterbeer. "Five-card draw at the moment. For money until you've got none, and then for clothes until you're as naked as you'd dare."
"Explains why you're the only shirtless one here, Weasley." Draco looked over to her with a wide grin.
"Someone please explain to me why you were invited," she hissed right back, flushing to the roots of her hair.
"Well, it's no mystery why you were," he retorted harshly.
"And why's that?"
He made a show of leering at her barely-covered form, sneering in acted distaste as he reached her fierce eyes yet again. "Nott's never had the best taste in women, and it's showing."
"You ruddy little toad." Her chair screeched as she half-rose, stopped only by Theodore's quick and willing hands. For a moment, he was sure she was going to reach out and claw his flesh off.
Luna was humming and handing out the cards, looking completely oblivious to the tense moment. "Ginny, while you're up, can you get me another butterbeer?"
Cinnamon burned into him for a few heated seconds and then she seemed to come to herself slightly, shaking her head. She threw Theodore's hands off her arms and stalked over to a full cart of alcohol, her skirt swaying with her rocking hips.
Draco smirked and leaned back, enjoying the show.
Theodore gave him an agitated look, and Pansy sulked.
This was going to be fun.