Author's Note: Adult situations ahead. Don't read if you don't like or if you're an itty bitty kiddie.
In Draco's mind, the dream was always the same. He wandered through the enchanted halls of Hogwarts on Hallow's Eve, at times calmly introspective, at other times frantically searching. The lanterns on the walls would be dimly lit, flickering with invisible gusts of wind that he never felt. There would be cobwebs slanting down from corners, and the portraits on the stone walls would all be unsettlingly empty. His shoes would make startling echoes on the sometimes tiled, sometimes stoned floor. And no matter what passage he took and what direction he walked, he would always end up in the same place.
The Great Hall, decorated as it had been for the Ball of Hallow's Eve the year before. All satiny greens and deep, velvety blacks and purples; curtains hung across the walls, sloping downwards sensuously. Magical, glistening cobwebs sparkled from higher up in the vaulted ceiling, and the sky shimmered with pregnant rain clouds and the occasional lightening strike and clap of thunder. The Hogwarts ghosts, transparent and shapeless in Draco's dream, floated idly, aimlessly, across the landscape and in one corner invisible musicians moved the bows and strings on low, deep-souding cellos and high, wailing violins. The music captivated him as he stepped into the Hall. But it only held his attention for so long.
There was only one person in his dream, other than himself. He would notice her only after his surroundings, because once he set eyes on her everything else melded into a uniform greyness. She swayed sinfully to the sound of the dark music, the curve of her body plainly evident beneath the sleek, fitted red dress she wore. It hugged her body and caused his stomach to tighten as his eyes, as they always did, ran up and down her slender form. He started at her high-heeled toes, smiling appreciation at her red-polished nails before admiring the turn of her pale ankle, her shaped calves and those long, strong legs, hidden midway up her thighs by her dress. Her hips, so round and lovely; and as she made a slow turn he scanned her heart-shaped bum, his pants becoming slightly uncomfortable as he did. Her waist, narrow enough that he could imagine spanning them with his fingers, and her generous bosom, hidden from his view by her strapless dress.
Her shoulders, milky pale and smooth, her Quidditch toned arms and those delicate hands--he took them all in. By the time he reached her face, her beautiful, mesmerizing face, he was already rock hard, panting even. Her gently slanted brows, a reddish brown, those twinkling, crystal blue eyes framed with long, mascaraed lashes. Her perfect, upturned nose, smattered with freckles and--last but definitely least, her kiss-stung, cherry pink lips. At this very moment they would curve into a wicked smile and her pink little tongue would snake out and glide along them--and Draco would groan his approval, suddenly desperate to have her.
He would stride forward, determined to reach her this time, intent on getting what he so wanted, what he so needed! But she would step back once, her small hand buried in her russet red hair, flipping it over her shoulder in satisfaction as she turned away. He would never reach her, no matter how fast he ran, no matter what distance he ran, and with every step his body's yearning for hers would grow worse. It was the very worse kind of frustration, of torture. He would continue to run and run until he ran himself awake, sweat-soaked and aroused in his bed, on the back of his eyes burned the image of her firm, beautiful arse covered by that irreligious dress.
The Ball of Hallow's Eve fell on a Friday that year. As Head Boy, he found himself thrust unpleasantly into all of the preparations for it. Granger, as Head Girl, only made matters worse what with her overbearing, controlling attitude. She enjoyed ordering him around as though he were one of the fifth year Prefects, and of course he would not stand for it. They fought a ridiculous amount, and Draco found that by the end of the school week, on the morning of the Ball itself, his hair looked a good resemblance of Granger's, what with his having running his fingers through it all night. He had spent the entire night in the Great Hall with her and a select group of Prefects, revising the plan and dealing with any last minute issues.
There had been a disconcerting amount of last minute issues, but Draco was determined not to worry about it. The set up could be left to the House Elves and the Prefects, and Granger, too, if she was mental enough to want to help. He had done his part, and now he was set on getting through his classes without getting caught asleep, and, of course, getting through the Ball itself in one piece.
He dreaded the Ball, but as Head Boy he had no choice but to endorse and attend it. Most of the school would be out for it, anyway, and he hoped he could quietly sneak out about halfway through the night and get some much needed rest. Of course, exhaustion was not the whole reason he wanted to avoid the Ball. No, there were much worse things awaiting Draco Malfoy at the Ball of Hallow's Eve than simple boredness and fatigue. Much, much worse.
He woke from his nap during last period Transfiguration, his eyes wide and his mouth gasping for breath--the dream, that horrible nightmare of a dream fading rapidly from his mind. McGonagal shot him a stern look and he swiftly adjusted his robes in such a way as to hide the problem he had woken with all too often these past few weeks. Yes, the least of his trouble lay in exhaustion and disinterest. The only thing that could frighten Draco Malfoy out of his wits would also be at the Ball of Hallow's Eve. And Draco, reminded by his raging erection, knew that, without a doubt, it had to be avoided.
Stars exploded before Draco's eyes, his body pulsing with extraordinary bliss. Slowly, the convulsions slowed and his hand stilled, coming to rest upon his sticky abdomen. He staired up at the canopy of his bed, his head still swimming with pleasure. This was just a precaution, of course, in case he happened to come across that thing that drove him to pieces tonight. At least he would not embarass himself with something foolish, like getting a hard on through his clothing, or, Merlin forbid it, coming in his pants. He had been very, very close last year, to coming in his pants. It had nearly been the most humiliating occurence of his proud life. He would not have himself repeat what had happened at last year's Ball.
It was her fault, of course, for dancing so closely to him, for moving her body in such a provocative way. He should have snarled at her and shoved her away, but when they'd been pushed so close together, when he could practically smell her shampoo and the sweet, surprisingly alluring scent of her sweat--he could not have even remembered his own name. Her breasts had collided with his chest, supple and firm all at once, and his hands had curled around her lower back, dangerously close to her bum. She had ground herself into him, somehow managing to stay on the rhythm of the violins while also working him up into a mad, thoughtless frenzy.
Maybe she had been drunk, because Draco was sure someone had slipped Firewhiskey into the pumpkin juice. Maybe he had been the drunk one. All he could clearly remember was rubbing his hardness against her stomach, wanting so badly to be closer to her. Far closer to her than he currently was, perhaps even inside of her. It had been mindless and, against all his better reasoning, he had entwined his fingers in her smooth, silky hair and pulled her face up for a kiss, so eager to touch those soft, sweet lips.
She had pulled away, her beautiful eyes startled and confused. For some reason this had caused his chest to give a painful, piercing throb. He remembered her hands slipped off of his shoulders, and he remembered walking quickly away from her through the writhing mass of bodies, hoping no one had seen the exchange. Not only had he almost kissed Ginny Weasley, but she had rejected him.
Although he boasted quite loudly to the other Slytherins of not caring whether or not he looked good at the Ball, Draco still went looking his best. He wore Muggle clothing; black trousers that fit him very well, a silky crimson shirt unbuttoned at the top and a black suit jacket. His hair was loose around his forehead, though that made his fingers itch to run through it. That was a horrible habit he had developed under stress, and so he kept both his hands securely in his trouser pockets. He put his most unpleasant sneer on his face and settled himself near the drink table with a few other Slytherins, idly noting their banter while surveying three weeks' worth of planning.
The Hall looked like something dark and right out of the Victorian era. The dominant colors were black and deep red, giving it a distinctly Gothic feel. Once again curtains had been hung from the stone walls, softening them, and cobwebs adorned the edges of the room. Floating lantern bowls hung in the air, moving conveniently out of your way and casting a dim, reddish glow on everything. There were a cluster of tables to one end, some with a black tablecloth and others with a red. The centerpieces were disembodied hands, the jagged nails each a lit candle. That, Draco smirked, had been his idea. The gruesome display of foods nearby, however, had been all the House Elves. Those critters could be surprisingly...imaginative. A variety of different colored eyeballs, each a different kind of h'orderve; red cheeses speared with toothpicks, looking disturbingly like chunks of flesh; and of course dyed pumpkin juice that resembled blood.
This year's ball was a little more grisly than the one before. If you asked Draco, it was exactly how Hallow's Eve should have been.
Crowds of students were still trickling in at this point, but the invisible band from last year had already begun to weave a low, driving tune. The theme for the Ball had obviously gotten out since almost every one wore something in black or red. It was amusing to watch them gape at the variety of morbid decorations around the Hall. It was amusing to watch them in general.
The Slytherins he had entered with drifted to the dance floor eventually, leaving Draco to his own musings. He would have gone with them himself, if he had been sure that she wasn't somewhere in the gyrating mass of bodies. The music was simply seductive to his ear, however, and the surroundings suited his mood perfectly. If he remained perfectly still, perhaps he would not be seen by her. Perhaps he could spend the rest of the night just standing here, watching first years squeel when the table centerpieces shifted into new positions.
"Drink?" a musical voice next to him inquired.
"Sure," he replied, not glancing at the person as he took the eerily shaped glass from her hands. He sipped the bloody concoction absentmindedly, still looking out into the Hall.
"Having fun in this corner, I assume?" the person asked again, and Draco frowned in slight irritation. He turned, ready to give whoever it was a suitable snarl, but instead he froze, almost dropping his glass.
"You.." he said quietly, trying to hide his horror at her presence. She looked...magnificent, to say the least, in her short, slinky black halter dress and those sinful black heels. Her hair was back in a simple bun, with twirling red strands falling about her beautiful face. She was smiling at him wickedly--the same smile he saw so often in his dreams--and he felt himself harden immediately at her proximity. This was not happening to him.
"Me," she affirmed softly, her voice sounding more enticing to him than the music, "Won't you dance with me again?" Her blue eyes twinkled with utter mischief. Draco knew she was doing this to him on purpose.
"No," he answered firmly, "Go dance with someone else. I don't dance with Weasleys." Anymore, his traitorous mind supplied, flashing him an image of the two of them the year before. He wanted to groan. She should just take herself and her gorgeous arse back out onto the dance floor and away from him. Anywhere as long as it was away from him and his growing problem.
"I want you," she said seductively and Draco felt his eyes cross. Oh, that did it. He was in lots of trouble now. He felt her take the glass out of his hands and vanish it effortlessly, and then her soft, warm hand was wrapped around his and she was pulling him out of the Great Hall and down several corridors. It took him longer than he would have liked to admit to regain his senses enough to stop and ask her what the hell she was doing. She turned around and looked at him, those eyes dilated with passion. "I want you," she said again, and once more Draco found himself a befuddled bundle of limbs, following her with startling obedience.
He had no idea where she was taking them. He didn't know if he cared--all he knew was that this was a very, very bad idea. What on earth was she going to do with him? What was he going to do to her once they were alone? He didn't know if he'd be able to control himself. He'd wanted her for the past year, ached for her...
This was, without a doubt, going to lead to his expulsion from the school, Head Boy or not.
He stopped once again and she jerked backwards, surprised. "I don't know what you're playing at, Weasley, but whatever it is: no."
She gave him a look of the purest frustration. "Don't pretend that you don't want this as much as I do, Malfoy," she said confidently, "I saw that look in your eyes last year. I felt..." Her eyes traveled suggestively towards his crotch before returning to his face. "I know what you want." There was an unsettling silence between them. They were in a dark, deserted corridor and Draco had no idea where they were in relation to the rest of the school. Would it hurt to just take what he wanted from her? Perhaps then the dreams would stop.
She sighed, seeming even more frustrated if that was possible. To his utter surprise, she stepped foward and pulled him downwards, pressing her lips chastely to his. He was frozen in shock for only seconds before he yanked her close, pressing the length of her against himself and kissing her hard and longingly. This was exactly what he had wanted to do to her last year, to taste these very lips and to feel this very body. What was he, a fool? He would have had to be in order to even contemplate saying no to this.
He pulled away, breathing hard, his arousal reignited if ever it had even gone. "Where were you taking me?" he asked breathlessly.
She took the hint, grabbing his arm once again and all but sprinting towards their destination. Draco could not have even remembered where the hell they were going. Half the time he wasn't even conscious of anything but her lush arse in front of him and the quick click of her heels. "In here," she said, stopping abruptly, her breath coming hoarse with excitement. She whispered something against a seemingly normal piece of wall and it suddenly swung open, revealing a relatively large room. She tugged him in and the wall swung closed behind them.
There wasn't much in the room; a small but comfortable looking bed squished against one wall, a rickety looking table and two chairs. There was a fireplace, as well, and an old sofa. Despite the fact that everything looked about a century old, the place was surprisingly clean and well-lived in. He had the sudden thought that she perhaps brought other boys to this place to do with them what she was about to do with him. For some reason it caused a cold pang of jealousy in his stomach, which made him drive her roughly towards the table, his lips bruising her own.
Finally! He ran his hands desperately over her exposed flesh, more reverent than he would have liked to be. The skin of her back and shoulders was smooth and enticing, her legs soft and working to bring her body so wantonly against him. He wanted to kiss every part of her, to make her forget any boys she may have brought here before him, to make up for the past year of his life he had spent dreaming of not being able to have her. She was his at last, to do with as he pleased.
She pulled her lips away from his, struggling for breath as he slid his mouth down towards her neck and collarbone, worshipping the soft skin there and making her writhe with want. "The-the bed," she said, hardly able to force the words out. He smirked inwardly at the effect he was having on her. It felt like sweet revenge for all those restless nights. It felt like sweet victory and sweet...everything.
He hoisted her up, surprised at how light and vulnerable she felt in his arms. He couldn't remove his lips from hers on the short journey from table to bed. Her mouth tasted like honey and he couldn't get enough of it. He dropped her onto the bed, draping himself over her, clasping both of her hands in his own and over her head, baring her to him. His lips fell to the swell of her breasts beneath the fabric of her dress, to the ticklish place where her arm and body met. She giggled as he kissed it and he couldn't help but smile a little. She looked like everything he had ever wanted at this moment.
He released her hands long enough to push her dress over her head. The two of them fumbled with it for a few moments until finally it was tossed aside and her hair, which had been caught in the struggle, fell out of its bun and around her face and shoulders. Without even looking at what had been exposed to him, he buried his head in her hair, inhaling her sweet, intoxicating scent. Her hands, already having pushed his jacket off of him, were working with his buttons, and he let her, too caught up in the smell of her. He peppered kisses along her shoulder, making her giggle and squirm with the sensations. He had slept with a lot of girls, but this was far more fun that he remembered.
At last his shirt was unbuttoned, and he sat up, straddling her hips and shrugging it off. He finally glanced down at her body, aware that she had placed both of her hands to either side of her head, revealing herself to him. Her breasts were creamy and pale, perfect swells tipped with hard, pink nipples. He did nothing but look at her for a few seconds before moving his hand to cover one, raising an eyebrow in interest when she arched towards him, gasping her approval.
In the next moment his mouth had sucked in one of her nipples and his tongue toyed with it almost tenderly. He couldn't believe he was finally getting what he wanted--it seemed almost too good to be true. Her body was all sweet, white curves and tender soft parts. He loved it.
He paused, caught by the thought. He wondered if she had perhaps spiked the juice she had given him earlier. The thought didn't last long because, before he had a chance to really contemplate it, her small hand had slipped in between their bodies to carress him over his pants. He groaned, thrusting into her palm before he could control the reaction. She smiled winningly, her eyes sparkling with something he couldn't identify. She began to rub him, alternating between hard and soft strokes. He closed his eyes, unable to control himself if he was looking at her innocent face.
He became aware of the fact that her free hand was fumbling with his belt, with his button and zipper. A thrill of delight ran through him as he realized he was about to sleep with Ginny Weasley. The thought should have appalled him, but instead it only served to burn him with lust. He had wanted this for just too long. He had wanted her for too long.
Her hand slipped into his trousers, touching his erection skin to skin for the first time, brushing over the head with the pads of her fingers. His back stiffened with the intensity of that first touch, and he cried out when she wrapped her warm hand around him. "No more," he murmured against her cheek, his hand slipping downwards to tug at her panties, "no more." She gave him a mischievous smile before tightening her grip and--Merlin help him--dragged her hand all the way to his base and back up. He didn't think he was going to last if she kept that up.
His hand was tangled in her panties, which were in turn tangled somewhere around her legs. It wasn't fair that this should take so long. Her hand was wonderful around him, but he ached to know what she would feel like around him. Her warmth, her wetness. He would be damned if he came before he got to have all of her.
More roughly than he'd meant to, he yanked himself away from her sinful hand, dragging himself down her smooth body until he could effectively remove her panties, his gaze following their delicious path down her legs. He would pry them apart and sink himself into her, he decided. He would get it over with, hard and fast just the way he'd wanted to in his dreams and she would clench and come around him and then he would be satisfied. He looked back towards her, and those thoughts were quickly dashed. She was propped up on her elbows, her breasts shifting with each ragged breath she took and her legs parted just enough so that he could glimpse her pink, glistening center.
He didn't even know how he'd managed to get his tongue into her in the very next moment, but she threw herself back onto the bed with a loud moan that cause him moan into her flesh, as well. She tasted heavenly, better than he could ever have imagined. He hated doing this, but those noises she made and the way she tasted...
He pulled away, rushing back towards her lips and repositioning himself above her body. He couldn't take it anymore. Everything about her was driving him crazy and he was sure it would all be alright if he could just be inside her. Their kiss ended and he pulled away long enough to watch her face. He wanted to see her expression when he became a part of her. Her hands rested quite tensely on his shoulders, her short polished nails digging into his skin. Her legs were on either side of his hips, fluttering with anticipation. His hardness rested against her thigh.
"Do it," she gritted out, looking tortured. He wasn't about to prolong her pain. He used a hand to rub himself against her folds, finding her entrance and quickly positioned himself. She tilted her mouth upwards to be kissed, but he refused her, staring her in the eyes as he pushed in slowly, inevitably. Her body was tight and hot. He held perfectly still for a few moments, afraid he would lose his tenuous control. Suddenly, going fast and hard seemed like a stupid idea.
He pulled out slowly, and thrust back in forcefully. Her body arched like a strung bow, pushing down onto his. Her small noises of pleasure filled his head. "Faster," she urged, impatient with his slow pace, "Please."
He ignored her, his eyes shut. He wanted to savor this; savor the feel of her insides pulling him in, clenching and throbbing around him. The feel of her hard nipples against his chest, of her nails scraping along his back. He hadn't realize it would all be so good. He went insufferably slow and she ground against him, trying to incite him into hurrying his pace to get her to the place she wanted.
"Patience," he told her, smiling slightly. She paused, her eyes wide with shock, and then disbelief. He was surprised his voice managed to be so sturdy, what with the thrills of pleasure rolling over him.
"I've waited a year. You can wait a few more minutes," he told her, never once stopping his infallible rhythm.
Draco Malfoy himself had never been a patient person, and that year had of course been utter agony for him. But he didn't have to admit that to her, and he didn't know why she shouldn't suffer a little, too. Either way, she looked absolutely divine beneath him and he wanted to prolong it for as long as possible.
He woke the next morning, aware of the fact that he was tangled up with another person in such a way that he could not tell where he stopped and she began. He was also aware of the fact that he had no idea where he was. And that he was expected to attend a Prefect's meeting at noon. He shifted slightly until he could discern that he had been quashed into the wall by this other person, that in order to get off of the bed, he would have to somehow go over her.
He glanced down, blinking away shock as he saw her face. Ginny Weasley, sleeping as angelically as if she had not ridden him three times the night before and woken him once with her mouth around his dick. He felt himself begin to panic. What on earth had he gotten himself into? Now there would, without a doubt, be an angry hoarde of Weasleys outside of the room and he was beyond sure that, once the Weasley in his arms recovered from whatever enchantment she had been under the night before, she would kill him. Perhaps she wouldn't do that. He grinned ruefully at the memory of her begging, pleading with him to quicken his thrusts, to bring her to that place that he made sure she did not reach until he wanted her to. Perhaps she would just cut off his genitals.
She shifted beneath him and her eyes fluttered open, bright blue in the perpetual light of the room. "Happy Hallow's Day," she offered groggily. He only swallowed. This had been a bad idea, even though that had plainly been the best night of his life. He was at a loss as to what he could possibly say that wouldn't seem to be a gross disappointment in the wake of such a night. "You're really a worrywart deep down, aren't you, Malfoy?" she mused laughingly, "The look on your face right now!" She rolled unceremoniously off of the bed and stood in all her naked glory. "Don't take it so seriously."
He frowned at her. He was not new to casual sex, but he was new to not having anything to say. For some reason, not taking it seriously seemed like the wrong thing to do. She walked about, nonchalant, gathering her discarded clothes.
"We made a mess last night!" she chuckled, pulling on her panties and turning to face him, "We should do this again."
He still felt unbelievably confused for some reason. Her chest, rising and falling with each of her breaths, was distracting him. He wanted to kiss her again.
"Come on, get dressed," she urged him, "I'm sure you have no idea where you are. I'll take you half of the way to the Great Hall."
He shook his head inwardly. He was being a fool for thinking so much about this. He got up from the bed and began to pull together his garments, putting them on in whatever order he found them. There was still one thing from last night that was plaguing him, though.
"Do you often bring boys here?" he asked, hoping she would not read much into the question. He made sure she could not see his face as he asked her.
Her hands slipped around his waist from behind and he stiffened, surprised by the fact that he enjoyed this closeness. "What if I said yes?" she questioned against his bare back, her breath pleasantly warm on his skin.
He did not know what caused him to say this. "Then I would leave here and never think of it again." Her arms tightened almost possessively around him.
"And if I said no?" Her voice was quiet, barely a whisper. "If I said that you were the first one...ever?"
His breath seemed to be caught in his throat for some reason. His heart was pounding and he didn't know why. This was very unMalfoy-like of him, but he couldn't help it. He turned around and took her in his arms, pressing her body almost desperately against himself. "I don't know what I'd do," he replied quietly. "What have we done here?"
She sprung out of his arms, a wild smile on her face. She spun around a few times before stopping and plopping herself onto the table, swinging her feet beneath her. "Well, Mr. Malfoy, I think we've fallen in love." He felt amazingly theatrical when his jaw dropped open. Fallen in love? "Well," she began again, noticing the look of mixed horror and shock on his face, "maybe not love, yet. But we've fallen into something."
Great! He'd known this was a bad idea--now he was falling in love with a Weasley.
"It's definitely time for me to go," he said, trying not to sound panicked. She laughed her bell laugh, and the sound was sweet to his ears. He, childishly enough, placed his hands over them. "I'm leaving!"
"I'll chase you!" she said, quite surely, "I shall chase you, Mr. Malfoy."
Oh, sweet Merlin. What had he gotten himself into?
Ginny Weasley grinned her wicked little grin. Draco Malfoy had no idea what he was in for!
Author's Note: Late, late Halloween fic. It's almost Christmas, for god's sake! But I couldn't help that I'm about two holidays behind everyone else. And yesterday I was abruptly inspired to write this thing. Boredom, is all! Anyhow, you all know that I'm alive now. Maybe I'll write a Christmas fic. I dohno!
Yeah, this wasn't that well developed; Draco was OoC and Ginny had a strange personality. The ending was also utter crap. I'll be honest and say it was largely an excuse to write something sexy. So yes.