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A Sleeping Dragon Must Not Be Tickled by Dutchess LC
Wanna bet? by Dutchess LC
Virginia History Larissa Weasley sat cross legged on her scarlet and gold bedspread, trying to figure out her potions essay, whilst absentmindedly sucking on the end of a green apple sugar quill. A box of Bertie Botts Every Flavour Beans was lying open next to her, forgotten save for the blue coconut ones, her favourite.
Outside, the sun was setting, making the sky an orange so deep, it rivaled that of the young Weasley’s hair, which was currently being chewed and twirled around her finger. Had she looked out the window, which was adourned with photos and letters from her beloved and family, she would have seen Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, Pansy Parkinson and Marcus Flint laying down galleons in front of them.
Half an hour later, and Ginny still had just the one word on her four feet roll of parchment. She looked at it, and read it aloud to herself.
Damn this was taking long. She tapped the end of her quill repeatedly on her leg and chewed her lower lip.
“The..the...the..” her mind really was somewhere over the rainbow today. She looked down at her book, trying to remember what the essay was on in the first place.
“Wolfsbane and Why It Gives Pregnant Dung Beetles Diarrhea.” Ginny snorted.
She heard what sounded like the clunk-clunk of expensive boots on stone, followed by something that sounded like scraping stone, thudding and then finally, a very loud
Draco Lucius Malfoy did not like slipping down a flight of stairs and landing on his spoilt little arse when doing the simple task of climbing up to the girls dormitories, nor was he accustomed to stairs suddenly changing into ramps. Fuck knows the Slytherin girls’ dormitories weren’t like this, and he was one to know.
Fecking Gryffinidiots and their fecking morals.
He raised a pissed of grey to where the other three were standing. Marcus was smirking, Pansy was giggling behind her hand, and Blaise simply raised an eyebrow in his direction. Finally she stepped forward.
“Oh for Gods sake, innocentia integrum.” She flicked her wand at the stone, that had once again formed into stairs.
“Go on then.” Said Blaise, irritably. Draco didn’t particularly like getting on the bad side of Blaise (which meant no libido for at least 3 days) so he got up and tentatively put one foot on the step. When hell didn’t freeze over, and the world didn’t come to an end, he put another foot on.
Only to lose his footing and fall.
Marcus burst out into laughter, followed by Pansy. Blaise just looked irritated and stormed up the stairs. Stormed in the quiet sense, that is. She waited outside one of the door, and beckoned for the other three to follow.
“Prepare to lose.” Said Marcus, as they reached the top of the stairs.
Draco rolled his eyes, cleared his throat, straightened his robes, and gave a few sharp knocks on the door in front of him.
Ginny was about to go back to her essay, forgetting about the unusually high-pitched screams, when she heard several knocks on the door. Thankful for the interruption, she got up from the bed, sighing loudly, shifting her books, dragging her feet and in general making a big pretense that she was being disturbed in the middle of something important.
She got up, and straightened out her crinkled faded-black robes and made her way over to the door. She breathed in deeply, and waited for a further few seconds, for the sole purpose of annoying said knocker. She opened the door, her brown eyes meeting those of cold silver, and she unintentionally shivered.
“Cold, are you?” asked Draco, slightly amused. This was a first. He usually made people flushing hot, not freezing cold. Except for the Dream Team, that is, and he had seen even the Mudblood flush when he got too close to her.
Ginny opened and closed her mouth, resembling someone who resembled a fish. All common sense had abandoned her brain for no other reason than the fact that he looked like one of the pure Slytherin Gods. Conveniently enough, Ginny had forgotten that she did not believe in God, singular or plural.
Draco raised his eyebrow, and brushed past her into her bedroom. The four other occupants, all friends of Ginny’s were absent. Ginny finally managed to get her ability to speak back, and thought about how nasty Draco was.
“So do I get to know why you’re gracing my room with your presence?” she said, sarcastically.
“For the sole purpose of doing this,” said Draco, reaching out, grabbed Ginny by the waist, and pressing his lips onto hers. At first she was cold, and as stiff as a piece of dried bread.
I bet professor Snape kissing Umbridge’s toad form would look more lustful than this. Thought Draco.
But that was before Ginny replied. She lost herself in his kiss. After all, she was living with females almost 24/7. It was time she had some testosterone. She wrapped her arms around his neck and, if it was possible, drew him closer to herself. His hips grinded against her and she moaned, not from pleasure but because she had hurt herself there a few days ago. She tried to ignore the pain and kissed him deeper. Then, all of a sudden, she imagined the angry response of her brother if he knew what she was doing, and his face flashed into his head. She broke of the kiss not because she cared what Ron thought, but because it was partly annoying and disturbing to have your tongue down someone’s throat with a mental image of your brother flashing in your head.
Draco’s cheeks were flushed, a first for him. His blond hair was slightly messy, from where Ginny’s hands had grasped it. Ginny was panting slightly and her lips were slightly swollen. She too was flushed, except a little more than Draco. All in all they looked like they were supposed to after have a major snog session.
Ginny felt her knees weaken temporarily and she sank down onto her bed. Draco regained his posture and made his way to walk out the room. He decided to make this encounter a little more remember-able, so as he passed her, he bent down and nibbled her ear, whispering something in her ear about Wolfsbane and dung beetles so explicit, that it made her flush even more.
Blaise was leaning over the banister of the stairs when Draco walked out, grinning like the cat that got the cream.
“Hand it over, Flint.”
Flint opened his mouth to protest but Draco cut him short.
“I won the bet, fare and square. She responded. And don’t tell me you didn’t see it with that stupid spell of yours.”
“Of course I did,” said Flint. “but she cut it off, not you.”
“Whatever. She still stuck her tongue down my throat. Hand it over.” Flint reluctantly handed him the fifty galleons and the slip of paper that proclaimed he would be Draco’s slave for the week.
As they walked away, Pansy tut-tutted (partly in jealousy) over Draco’s messed up hair, and Draco tried very hard to steer his mind away from the fact that while he was kissing Ginny, he had momentarily forgotten about the deal with Flint, because he had enjoyed the kiss so much. Oh yes, very much indeed.
Fiery little sprite.
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