Archive of Our Own

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PART 1

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry, Scotland

The Library

Tuesday, 9 June, 1998 (4:52 p.m.)

.

The note was worded in such a way as to playfully poke, but not sharply prick tempers.

Pretending to be an informal House challenge had been clever on the Slytherin team's behalf, Hermione thought. After all, over the last thousand years of Hogwarts' history, taunting had become a language of love between the Silver Snakes and the Golden Lions.

Usually, any antagonism between the two diametrically opposed factions was settled on the Quidditch pitch or as a result of the awarding of the annual House Cup. This time, however, Hermione knew, without a doubt, that there was nothing 'sportsmanlike' in the proposed venture before her. 

Malfoy wanted revenge, and he was bringing in the 'heavy guns' to get it.

Eros & Psyche.

There wasn't much known about the legendary magical card game that had its origins in the masked gentlemen's clubs of the nineteenth century in England, except that it was infamous for its scandalous nature.

From what little her research had turned up on the subject, Eros & Psyche was, in effect, a game of 'Truth or Dare' played with four different types of decks. The small rule book attached to the note Harry had received from Malfoy had been frustratingly complex, but essentially, the cards were magical and anything written on them would require the players to respond to them either verbally or by acting out the instructions on the card. 

"Anything goes," she murmured to herself while flipping through the rule book again.

Within some legal limitations, of course...and a few taboos.

That list, however, was disturbingly short.

Normally, that lack of responsible restraint the game encouraged would have been enough of a deterrent for Hermione to dismiss the challenge. However, the card game's creators seem to have considered the notion that too much risk would limit interest and so had adapted the game to allow players to opt-out of any required action by quitting the game. 

Doing so, however, also meant your team lost a player. As the goal of the game was one of "last man or woman standing," that meant you jeopardized your side losing the challenge if you dropped out.

Flinching meant failure, much like in Poker or Chess. 

Which meant Eros & Psyche was as much a game of psychological strategy, a Slytherin's well-honed craft, as it was one of courage, a Gryffindor's innate specialty.

They would be evenly matched.  

She didn't like those odds, especially against Malfoy.

"It's just a game, Granger. What's there to be afraid of?"

Malfoy had cornered her earlier as she had finished her lunch before the others and gathered up her things to head off towards the library to read over the game's rules in private. He'd ambushed her on the fourth floor, just feet away from her destination, grabbing her arm and dragging her off to a small side room nearby. The room had once housed the infamous Mirror of Erised, she knew from Harry's retelling of that tale, but the mirror had long-since been moved and now it was simply an empty room with a lovely set of stained glass windows reflecting colourful streaks of sunlight all over its floor.

Once inside, with the door shut behind them, Malfoy had pressed her back into the nearest wall and loomed over her.

Hermione had taken out her wand and nearly hexed off his precious family jewels for daring to touch her so, but before she could even mutter the incantation, her rival had bent his mouth to her.

"It's just a game, Granger," he murmured as his soft lips brushed against her sensitive ear, giving the lobe an erotic nip with his teeth. "What's there to be afraid of?"

"I am not afraid!" she hissed at him and pushed him away, aware that this type of seductive intimacy was the same tactic as he had used on her in the past and refusing to fall for it again. "Especially not of you."

The skin of her earlobe lightly tingled, but she restrained herself from caressing the feeling away, not wanting him to know how much he affected her.

"Running off to the library to do research is your way of dealing with your fears of the unknown," he pointed out. Gently, he reached out and pushed a stray bit of her hair behind the same ear, using the touch of his hand to entice her instead. "The card game has you spooked. It's made you suspicious." He gave her a slow, challenging smirk. "Don't you trust me?"

Hermione grit her back teeth as the familiar flush of her past humiliations washed over her once more. She stepped back, out of his reach.

"No, as a matter of fact, I don't. Not anymore," she said with emphasis, reminding him of the last time she had put her faith in one of his illicit schemes at school. It had nearly ended in her expulsion from Hogwarts and a permanent black mark on her record in the Ministry's files. "Now get out of my way or I will move you myself."

Malfoy's gaze softened.

"That time…it was a mistake," he told her, dropping his arm and shoving both hands in his trouser pockets instead, appearing the picture of regret. "Back then, I shouldn't have involved you."

"No, you shouldn't have," she agreed, feeling the hurt all over again, "but you did."

"You can't hold it against me forever."

She looked up at him, righteousness burning in her chest that he would dare to assume she'd just forgive him, despite the fact he hadn't ever apologised, much less attempted to make amends. In fact, he'd been entirely unrepentant of what he'd done to her and this conversation had merely reinforced that she was wise to keep him at arm's length, no matter her attraction to him.

"Watch me," she told him, and shoved past him, exiting the empty room and escaping across the hallway and deep into the library stacks where she felt the most safe.

Reliving that confrontation only brought it all back for her: the lies, the heartbreak, the total lack of remorse on his part for all of it…

Malfoy had weaponized her blossoming attraction to him in fifth year to play her for the fool, convincing her to participate in his scheme to imprison Umbridge in an empty  cupboard nestled away in the Room of Hidden Things, and to not breathe a word of it to anyone. As a result, Umbridge had nearly died from dehydration and Hermione had born the consequences for that criminal act, foolishly deciding to take the entire blame upon her own shoulders for the plan and refusing to name Malfoy or his friends as accomplices. She had been a hair's breath away from not only being permanently dismissed from Hogwarts by Minister Fudge, himself, but in facing charges before the Wizengamot, even though she had been an underage witch at the time. Only Professor Dumbledore's sly maneuvering of the situation had kept her from expulsion.

That slimy Slytherin had used her and gotten away with it. He had stomped all over her feelings for him, and nearly ruined her entire future all to get his revenge on Umbridge for humiliating his father when the witch had replaced Lucius as head of the Board of Governors. 

Never again, she vowed.

She glanced back down at the note he'd slipped Harry that morning in class.

This invitation to play Eros & Psyche wasn't just about her, though. It was about Gryffindor and its pride, and that impacted her entire House.

The rivalry between the Quidditch captains from Slytherin and Gryffindor, was infamous even outside the walls of the school. The stands last week had been packed with not just students and professors cheering on their favourite team for the Quidditch Cup, but with people from the Ministry and even some professional recruiters. They had all been there to settle the question of which Seeker was the better, Potter or Malfoy.

In the end, the Snitch had never been caught by either of them. It had been Ginny's throw of the Quaffle through Slytherin's hoop, allowing Gryffindor to achieve the final 10 points of the 150 points needed to win, that had ended the match and allowed the Golden Lions to take home the trophy. Malfoy's thunder had been stolen, his future as a Quidditch professional playing for the English National team—a career she thought he might have been attempting to pursue—shattered by the Snitch just escaping his fingers seconds before Ginny's winning goal.

Apparently, that loss had sent him 'round the bend.

This challenge to play the Eros & Psyche card game was his way to heal his bruised pride. That meant the rotten ferret would do anything to win.

"Have you read it?" Harry asked her with a nod to the card game's rule book in her other hand, breaking her from her internal musing. "I did. It's…" 

He brushed a hand through his unruly, dark hair.

"Intense," she offered, having skimmed it once already and later intending to go back through with a sharper eye for the details, "and perhaps even a bit enticing?"

"You could say that," he admitted with an amused curl to his lips.

"Yes, I read it," she told him as she caught a glimpse from her peripheral vision of Cormac McLaggen hovering nearby again, and cast a quick, silent Muffling spell up around her and Harry for good measure. When would that boy get the hint that she wasn't interested? "I also made some notes."

Harry snorted, as if that had been expected, but said nothing more.

Hermione stared at him across the narrow aisle between bookstacks, where the two of them alone were discussing the challenge. A spike of stubbornness in his green gaze and a clenching of his back jaw made it clear where he stood on the matter, but she wanted to hear her best friend commit to his decision before she made her own resolution known.

"You want to play, don't you?" she bluntly asked him.

Rather than answering right away, Harry stepped away from the shelves and into the aisle to begin pacing back and forth, his movements jerky and agitated. At the same time, out of old habit, he reached to fiddle with his glasses only to give a frustrated sigh when he found them no longer on the bridge of his nose. Since he'd had his stigmatism magically corrected earlier that year, his wire-framed spectacles had been permanently retired to the bottom of his school trunk. The habit of reaching for them, however, was proving a difficult test for Harry, who had used the small, but important barrier of glass and metal as a kind of emotional and mental safe space, behind which he could, for the most part, keep his deeper feelings in check. With them gone, this year he had become incrementally less reserved, more willing to take risks, she'd noticed.

"I shouldn't," he finally admitted with a stubborn frown. "I really shouldn't be considering this, Hermione. I mean, Malfoy's plans have a bad habit of blowing up in our faces."

"I recall," she dryly stated, thinking again about Umbridge locked away in that broken Vanishing Cabinet for three days, "but that's not going to prevent you from agreeing to meet this challenge, is it?"

She knew Harry and she knew this was where his heart lay: in continually needing to prove himself worthy of love and respect. 

The Dursleys had truly done a number on his self-esteem.

As if he, too, recognised this personality quirk in himself, though, her best friend stopped tearing a hole in the library carpeting and instead stared up at the ancient stone and glass ceiling far above their heads in contemplation. She knew the moment he'd made the decision to accept his fate when he took a deep breath and quickly let it out, resigned to his own need to determine who was the better captain, him or Malfoy.

"I'm going for it," he agreed and shrugged. A mischievous grin suddenly appeared on his face, hinting of Sirius' rascal-like influence upon him. "Will you?"

Hermione considered her answer.

"It's just a game, Granger."

As if magically summoned by her thoughts, Malfoy suddenly appeared at the end of the aisle, behind Harry. His shock of white-blond hair immediately drew her attention, but it was the look on his face that captured her and had her unconsciously holding her breath. He was leaning against one of the shelves, arms crossed, eyes half-lidded, with a dark, knowing smile spreading wide his luscious mouth. A lock of fringe fell across one eye, giving him a rakish appeal. 

"What's there to be afraid of?"

"Yes," she told Harry, the matter decided. "I absolutely want to play this game."

 .

PART 2

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry, Scotland

Gryffindor Common Room

Tuesday, 9 June, 1998 (7:29 p.m.)

.

After their talk in the Library, Harry and Hermione had gone recruiting amongst their friends, determining the best picks to confront Malfoy's challenge.

Harry had immediately decided upon Ron as his wing-man, as to be expected, but his secondary choice of Seamus over Dean or Neville had been purely one of tactics, Hermione guessed. Seamus was affable, well-liked by everyone, and when it came to matters of sex, Seamus had well-earned his reputation over the past few years. The wizard wasn't shy when it came to matters of pleasure, which would be a distinct advantage for them when playing a game like Eros & Psyche.

For her own part, Hermione had picked Ginny and Lavender, both because of strategy as well as friendship. Ginny, she knew, was a hellion who was not sex-shy and who had practically vibrated the walls down around them in her eagerness to join in the card game once she had learned of it and their competition. Lavender had taken a bit more convincing, but in the end, Hermione knew her roommate's sexual maturity was confident enough to weather any storm a Slytherin could throw at her. It was an additional advantage that both witches were extremely attractive and sought-after by most of the wizards in their age group. They would have their game-assigned partners wrapped around their fingers in short order. 

As for herself, Hermione considered her looks passable enough. Lavender, Padma, Fleur, and Ginny had all participated in her journey of self-exploration and maturity with their good advice over the last several years, helping her to understand a bit more about fashion and make-up, and providing tips for personal grooming to tame her wilder attributes. She was sure to, at least, be able to leverage some of that to tame the wizard she would be assigned to for this game.

The possibility of sexual adventures, though…

"No cherries."

No virgins, in other words.

Technically, she met that crude definition regarding her sexual experiences, even if those exploits had been somewhat underwhelming. Her confidence was high, however, that she could take whatever sex-deranged requirement Malfoy threw at her and triumphantly see it to its conclusion without flinching.

Braving difficult situations had been, after all, a way to pass the time since befriending Harry in her first year at Hogwarts.

.

.

That evening, in their common room and under a Muffling Charm, Hermione explained the rules of the Eros & Psyche card game to their proposed team.

"The objective is rather simple," she told them. "You play from the time the first card is turned until the final question card is read, and all turns come to a close. Specifically, the game is played with an even number of participants on two teams. It is comprised of four blank decks—so named Partners, Interrogations, Forfeits, and Deeds—the content of which is determined in advance by us, the players."

"Four decks?" Ron asked, his mind already trying to wrap itself around the reasoning for that. "How many cards in each deck?"

It was a good question, especially as she knew Ron's chess acumen was allowing his brain to already figure out the odds.

"Eighty-four in total, but only seventy-two are actually in play during the game. The first deck, called the Partners deck, is not used during the game, but only for the specific purpose of pairing up people. It's made up of the names of all participants playing, so twelve of those, since we're playing six to a team with two teams. The Partners cards are charmed to create a magically binding contract with anyone who signs their name to them."

"What sort of contract?" Ginny asked, suspicious already.

"To play the current game set to its completion," Hermione replied. "The signatory release also binds you to an Oath of Secrecy regarding our game session."

"So, we'll be gagged from talking about the specifics of what happened during the game with any outsiders after it's done?" Lavender asked for clarification.

Hermione nodded. "Exactly."

"Then how does anyone know about Eros & Psyche in the first place?"

Her roommate had zeroed-in on one of the most important and fundamental questions about the game. It was one Hermione had asked herself soon after learning of the deck's secrecy, in fact. Lavender's sharp skills at snooping out the cracks in a story were proving why she would make an excellent journalist someday, as the witch planned.

"The game itself isn't taboo to mention," she explained to the group. "The players can talk about their play-through amongst themselves as well. We just won't be able to discuss the specifics of our experiences to others once the game is done. I also assume the person who owns the deck probably passes it around and tells people about it, without giving any specifics of her play-throughs."

Lavender frowned at that. "What if something happens during the game that is criminal? How are we to tell the Headmaster or McGonagall, or the Ministry even, if something terrible occurs?"

Another fine question and one Hermione had considered, too…and had checked the rule book for the answer. Fortunately, this exact issue had been addressed in black and white print, clear enough not to allow absurd interpretation.

"Although the game is extremely lenient regarding sexual acts, including coercion and...well, hard limits and edges," she told the team, "according to the rules there are certain acts that are absolutely not allowed. Murder, extreme torture that could lead to death or permanent disfigurement, and incest are not allowed, so there is no worry of anyone using the cards to demand you physically end the life of another or yourself, that you'll lose a body part or one of the five senses, nor of Ron and Ginny being paired up, for instance. These issues simply will not come up in-game because the cards will not allow them."

"But if they do?" Lavender pressed, her gaze quickly moving to Seamus and then away as a blush stained her cheeks. She folded her arms across her middle and leaned back into the ugly, thread-bare sofa that made up the most comfortable of the furniture in the corner of the room. "How are we to be protected from harm?"

"It's a game of consent," Harry explained, seeing Lavender on the verge of backing out and wanting to convince her to stay in, as he also seemed to understand she was a good choice for their team. "You're not going to be forced to do anything you don't want to."

"Harry's right," Hermione told her friend. "Every action on a card requires you to either agree to do it or you can refuse and retire from the game. In fact, you can retire at any time during the game, even when we're on a break between question rounds. When you don't want to play anymore, you simply announce it out loud."

That seemed to put not just Lavender at ease, but Ron and Ginny as well. 

Seamus' gaze moved to Lavender's, though, watching her as he sucked on a Honeyduke's Signature Sugar Quill, 'The sweetest sweet in Candyland!" according to its ad. He said nothing, but in opposition to the others, his shoulders were still tense, as if he'd taken personal offense from her unspoken accusation against him.

Did he still fancy Hermione's roommate, she wondered, as she observed him watching Lavender. She'd thought the two of them had been over since fifth year, but the look in Sea's light green eyes spoke volumes about how that might not actually be the case…

"Alright, you have my interest. What's next?" Ginny asked, prompting Hermione to continue with the explanation of the rules. "When do we get to the part where the game lets us leash the Slytherins and make 'em beg for mercy?"

Her anticipatory grin could have put a hungry shark to shame.

Ron chuckled, and Harry just shook his head. 

"Once all players have signed their Partners cards, the witches—called 'Psyche'—put theirs into a pile, which is then shuffled," Hermine continued, answering Ginny's question in a round-about manner. "The men—the 'Eros' component of the game, representing the Greek god of passion and physical desire—then take turns drawing a Psyche card. The witch whose name he draws becomes his partner for the game."

"Random, then," Ron said, frowning. He threw himself back into the sofa, too, and stared up at the colourful ceiling in the common room, with its swathes of long, red and gold fabric draped elegantly between the roof's timbers. "I hate that shite. Like choosing who goes first in chess, black or white. I always get black."

"You win anyways," Harry dryly pointed out to him. "Always. You pull a miracle out of your arse every time."

Ron grinned. "True."

"Random is okay by me," Ginny said. "That same luck runs in the family."

"Cheann dearg. Redheads," Seamus murmured with a flirty grin towards Ginny, his ex-fling? Whatever you termed someone whom you'd had a one-off with, Hermione supposed. That's what she had called hers, after all. "Luck o' th' Irish, yer lot," he told her with a silly wink.

Next to her on the sofa, Lavender suddenly and unexpectedly barked a cynical laugh. "And you're a Dubh dearg," she bitterly told Seamus, her gaze moving between him and Ginny with…was that jealousy? "I guess that means you're just unlucky, in general," she said with a sneer.

Hermione didn't recognise the foreign expression, which had sounded like Lavender had called him a, 'dove' or a 'doove'.

"A what?" Ron asked, sitting back up. "What's a dove?"

"Dubh," Seamus corrected him with the right inflection on the vowels. "Means 'black-haired' in Irish Gaelic," he explained around the candy in his mouth. "Me hair is dark, not light, ya see. It's said that dark hair on a lad is th' influence o' th' Unseelie Court…Dark Fae matin' with humans."

"Fae?" Ginny asked with an incredulous. "You mean fairies? The little, itsy-bitsy things fluttering around with wings that Flitwick captures every Christmas to put on the school's tree to light it up?" She laughed with genuine incredulity. "You're saying those get human witches pregnant? How? Their cocks are as tiny as they are!"

Harry looked mortified by Ginny's bawdiness. 

Seamus glanced at her through narrowed eyes. "There are other types o' fairies, darlin'," he told her. "It's a big family tree."

Ginny snickered. "Like?"

"Veela."

Finnigan said that like he knew something, Hermione thought. 

"Nymphs, Sirens," he continued, "Selkies. Gancanagh. Samodiva. Leprechaun. Goblins." He stopped listing species, having made his point. Hermione knew from her own readings that all of those species—and many more—were all distant cousins of one another through the fairy lineage. "Point is, cheann dearg, it's an insult wha' Lavender called me." His cool, unhappy gaze returned to his ex-girlfriend across the narrow gap between them. He popped the last of the Sugar Quill into his mouth and munched it. "Mean, even."

Harry sighed and once more reached for his non-existent glasses before slamming his fist down on his upper thigh in frustration to find them, once more, no longer there. Clearly, he was becoming impatient with how their conversation was dragging on and taking detours. "Can we please get back to the game?" he asked. "I don't fancy having to be up past midnight to finish Snape's last assignment of the year. He's threatening to change anyone's grade who doesn't turn it in by Friday morning."

"Mate, it's Wednesday," Ron reminded him.

"And he wants twenty-inches of parchment on a Chameleon Ghoul and the multitude of items it can turn into," Harry told him.

Ron's face drained of blood and he looked like he desperately needed a fainting couch. 

"Twenty-inches?" he croaked. "I thought it was only ten."

"You thought wrong."

Ron threw himself back further into the sofa. "Godric, I hate that man! Who even assigns a final paper after exams are done and dusted?"

Everyone in the group, sans Hermione, groaned in agreement—even Ginny, who wasn't in their 7th year Defence Against the Dark Arts class, but was in the 6th year version of the same. Snape was a known task-master, a harsh critic and judge, but in her opinion, he had always assigned them the most fascinating subjects to research and she had never failed to learn some new and interesting tidbit about the magical world as a result. If she was being completely honest, she quite loved the work he mandated, and had already completed her own essay on the final subject of the year. Her friends had not, however, and were in for a long night once their meeting finished up.

Which meant she needed to herd them along.

"Well," she said, clearing her throat and returning to her instruction of the rules. "Since we are on a deadline… After everyone is partnered up for the game, each player is then given six more cards: two blank Interrogations cards that are to be filled-in with two questions of your choice and which must begin with the phrase, "If you had to…" as a qualifier, then two blank Forfeit cards, which you will use assign a punishment to, and finally, two blank Deeds cards, from which you will dispense a reward to balance out the punishment. This is all done twenty-four hours in advance of the game's beginning, to give time for players to think up suitable content for their cards."

"So, we have to tell the Slytherins we're accepting their challenge no later than Wednesday night?" Lavender asked. She checked the clock on the wall. "Meaning, we need to decide by tomorrow afternoon if we're 'in' or not, so you can find alternates, right?

Harry confirmed the time schedule. 

"We're going to need to start thinking up our questions, punishments, and rewards, however," Hermione pointed out. "I'd rather not be rushed in that effort, so if you could let us know your interest tonight, after this meeting, then we can be prepared in case you opt-out. Harry and I already pre-penned a response to Malfoy's challenge, and we'll send it as soon as the team roster is set."

"I'm in, but I have some questions," Ginny said. "We each assign 'rewards' and 'punishments' on our cards, right? I assume those are whether or not someone answered our question card first?"

"Yes, exactly," Hermione replied. "If a player chooses to answer your question, the magic makes them answer truthfully, and then they get a reward. It can be anything you want—food, a gold star, or a present."

"Or sex," Ron said, and then immediately turned fire engine-red and slumped back into the sofa as if expecting Hermione to chastise him. "I mean, you said anything, right?" he asked in a small voice.

Hermione considered that against what she knew of the rules. "Technically, yes, you can reward someone with a sexual act they can perform on their partner or on themselves, but the person can also choose not to act out their reward at all. Or they can give it to you to act out in their stead, if they offer it and you want it. A reward is meant to give them something good for being honest."

"And the punishment is likewise anything you want," Harry added. "Because the person chose not to answer the question, they can't pass the punishment onto anyone else, though. They can only either accept it and perform it or drop out. But if you retire the game for any reason, you're out permanently. And the whole point of the game is to keep as many Gryffindors in play and to force the Slytherins to give up first."

"How's the reward and punishment thing work?" Seamus asked. "Wha' if one o' me rewards is ta blindfold th' other person and tickle 'em, fer instance? Where am I gettin' the feather and blindfold?"

"That's the brilliant part," Hermione said, excited to jump back into the explanation. "The deck itself is designed with an ancient magical charm to provide whatever is needed, according to the rule book. And since we'll be requiring the Slytherins to agree to play in the Room of Requirement to avoid any interruptions from staff or other students, we can simply ask the room to alter things to our needs, too."

Ginny pumped a fist in the air. "Yes! You can, literally, order up anything in the Come-and-Go room! We could hang chains from the ceiling and make up a few cages, maybe turn the lights down low and make the place all spooky… Oh! Can I ask for a stockade, 'Mione? Pretty please? I'd love to throw Zabini in one of those someday and then sit in front of him eating tiramisu from the best Italian restaurant in the world and not offer him a single bite."

Ron glanced at his sister as if she was a Blast-Ended Skrewt, his eyes wide and wary. "You're frightening sometimes, you know," he told her.

She shrugged.

"I get it from Mum. Blame her."

"Have Fred and George tried to recruit you yet?" he asked Ginny, eyeing her through narrowed lids. "You'd better say, 'no'. I'm gonna be the one working at their joke shop after leaving here."

She stuck her tongue out at him. "Now I'm gonna ask them to take me on, just to spite you," she told him.

The two siblings went at each other then, tossing insults back and forth.

Hermione tuned them out, considering the rule book in her hand. "I wonder how much the deck and the Room of Requirement have in common, magic-wise," she absently said, her thoughts still focussed on the miraculous cards they were going to use for this game. "I don't think it's possible that the magic on the deck, like the Come-and-Go room, can break the five Principle Exceptions of Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration. That seems to be a universal principle, no matter where you are in the world. I wonder, however, if the same person made them, given their other similarities? Do you think there would be a way to reverse-engineer it to find out?"

She looked up to find everyone was staring at her, faces carefully blank.

"What?" she asked them, and reached up to touch her face. "Do I have ink on my nose again?"

"No," Ron carefully replied. His cheeks were flaming red. "It's just, you're never leaving this castle, are you, 'Mione? We're all graduating out next week, and you're already planning on coming right back here to work."

She blinked, taken aback. "What? No!" she quickly replied, feeling a stab of hurt at her ex's rather unexpected insight. There had been no conscious plans to teach at the school, but now that Ron had brought it up and she was considering it... Studying the hidden magic within these walls would be a worthy life's endeavour, too. If it were meant to be, perhaps she would even be the one to write the next iteration of Hogwarts, A History! That sort of academic success would do wonders for a Ministry career too, where she could champion the curriculum at the school… There were several avenues to explore, and time enough to do much of it, honestly. "Well, would it be so bad to work here?" she asked. "I think Neville mentioned he's going to apprentice to Madam Sprout."

Ginny reached across the aisle and kicked her brother in the shin with her shoe. He yelped. "It's not a bad idea at all, Hermione," her friend encouraged her. "If anyone could expose the darkest secrets of these hallowed halls, it would be you." She got a sly look in her eye a moment before she coyly examined her fingernails, as nonchalant as the day was long, adding, "Perhaps you can even get Malfoy to share his Eros & Psyche cards with you so you could make the connections between the deck and the room. You could study…it…together."

Hermione gaped at her friend, recognising the knowing look silently conveyed in Ginny's eyes.

Since Ron had officially called their relationship quits last summer, it had become something of an obsession for Ginny to pick out some attractive wizard and point out his fitness or his stellar looks for Hermione's consideration. Her friend seemed determine to shove down Ron's throat that he had been a fool to let Hermione go, apparently robbing Ginny of the chance for them to be sisters-in-law to each other. As a result, the line of potential candidates for the position of being 'Mr. Granger' had gotten ridiculously long by June. Even Neville had been on the list, as he'd finally hit his growth spurt and showed the promise of his adult male form. 

To date, Hermione had dismissed her friend's good intentions, claiming disinterest in any such relationships so she could focus on her schooling. That excuse had worked to keep suspicion for her real motivations at bay...at least as far as the others were concerned.

It seemed Ginny had cottoned on to Hermione's real reasons, though…

"It's just a game, Granger."

The others were clearly unaware of her lingering, begrudging interest in Slytherin's wicked price, though, and so Hermione kept up the facade of disinterest to throw them off the scent. "No, thank you," she primly said, pretending offense at the mere suggestion. "That snake and I are more likely to murder each other than work together towards a professional publication. We hate one another."

"If you say so," her friend replied with a suggestive smirk that was all-too-familiar and screamed of meddling in things best left alone. "But, I mean, being stuck together for a long time, in an enclosed and private space, and with a sexy wizard, even if he is a git… Go on and scratch that itch, witch! No one will judge you. That's all I'm saying." 

"T-t-that's the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard!" Hermione sputtered, trying to maintain the ruse. "I am not attracted to Draco Malfoy!"

"Just his cards?" Ginny continued to bat the idea around, like a cat playing with a mouse. "Is that the new way of asking to see his etchings?"

"Ginny," Ron warned his sibling with a growl. "Leave it."

Apparently, he didn't care for the idea of Hermione and Malfoy doing as his sister suggested, even if he had absolutely no say in what his ex-girlfriend did any longer. The 'Best Friend' contract was still in place, however, and it seemed Ron felt it was his right to defend her against someone he assumed they all passionately disliked. 

Harry, likewise, threw a pillow at his ex-girlfriend to shut her up. "Stop matchmaking," he warned Ginny. "You're bad at it."

The witch caught the cushion, snatching it right out of the air with a speed that rivaled Harry's Seeker abilities, and then collapsed back into the sofa in a riot of giggles. "S'not matchmaking," she said around her red-cheeked laughter. "It's refereeing! Fighting is foreplay for those two-"

"I think we need a ten-minute break!" Hermione suddenly announced. "I'll be back then."

Standing up, she quickly escaped the common area for their dormitory's lavatory. Along the way, she passed by other members of her House who watched her tear past them in surprise, her cheeks burning with mortification and her feet on fire. The curiosity in their lingering gazes only made her heart pound harder under her chest. 

Did they know of her persistent, annoying fancy for that awful snake?

Did everyone?

No, she was simply overreacting to having been caught flat-footed. She hadn't expected Ginny to 'out' her as she had. The damage had been mitigated the best she could, and it had seemed none of her other friends suspected any truth to Ginny's implications.

Yet, Hermione was well-aware that her face had always been a canvas for her feelings and she worried she would give too much away if she wasn't more controlled and careful. None of her friends needed to know that her secret fantasies often involved platinum-blond hair slipping through her fingers, a naughty smile that teased the butterflies to life in her belly, and grey eyes that sparkled like silver diamonds. She'd never live it down if they found out she brought herself pleasure imagining him above her, between her thighs, and in her mouth. 

Well, after next week, it wouldn't matter any longer, in any case. They were leaving Hogwarts forever. Malfoy was going his way in life and Hermione in the polar opposite direction.

It was just a fancy and some inconvenient lust for a 'bad boy', as Ginny had intimated.

By the time she reached the loo, Hermione was feeling much more in control of herself. She sprinkled cool water upon her face from the sink and then patted it away with a soft towel that the house-elves had freshly laundered. Then, she made the mistake of glancing in the mirror. Her hair was once more defiant, the product she'd put it in it earlier that morning exhausted by the battle with her frizz. She needed a good cut and condition to tame it again. Her face looked wan and the dark circles under her eyes attested to her exhaustion from still juggling so many priorities, despite the fact it was the end of term and the end of her schooling experience.

She looked worn down, as if she had lost her smile.

Maybe that was why Ginny was trying so hard to pep her up with the promise of a new, rose-coloured romance? Perhaps her friend wanted her to find joy again, and thought a boy would do that for her. More specifically, a certain Slytherin boy with silky white-blond hair and captivating grey eyes. Hermione snorted at the thought. Draco Malfoy was capable only of raising her ire. He wasn't interested in stoking the kind of fire Ginny envisioned for her. And really, any such flames he might stoke would not warm her; they would scald.

If she gave Draco Malfoy the chance, she would become little more than a used up pile of cold ashes in his hands...which he would then brush off onto the ground, stepping on at least once before moving on.

Pining for him, as she'd been doing hopelessly and helplessly for years, had always been a mistake.

"That way lies madness," she told her reflection for the millionth time, then ruefully smirked at the sad truth.

In that case, check her into the nearest asylum. It was already too late for her.

.

.

After explaining the rest of the rules to her housemates—including the time limit offered for each round, split between answering the question drawn from the Interrogations deck (or not) and the time to perform each Deeds or Forfeit card behind closed doors, for a total of fifty minutes per round, with the remaining ten minutes in the hour relegated as a 'rest' period (read: making yourself presentable again for public view, or getting your emotions under control)—Hermione explained how the game was ended:

"Either when the last Interrogations card is turned over, or when one of the two finalist partners bows out, the team with the most players still standing at the end, wins."

Hermione realized with a start that this game set could quite possibly string out into a full twenty-four hour ordeal given that there would be twenty-four questions to answer, and each round lasted approximately an hour. No wonder Malfoy picked Friday night to start; that way they could have all of Sunday to recover from whatever happened.

There was silence between the six of them then, as her explanations came to an end and each person considered their interests and concerns.

It was Ron who broke first.

"Since no one else is saying it, I've got to," he pronounced suddenly and glanced at each of them in turn as he spoke. "They're gonna demand sex from us. Everyone here knows it. Probably some perverted shite, too, like whips and chains…that sort of thing. Are we good with that?"

Hermione leveled a cool gaze upon him to let him know she was well-aware of what the game might entail and was unbothered by it. She had something of a small vendetta to play out against Malfoy for his part in nearly getting her arrested by the Ministry, after all, and the thought of her leading him around by the nose for a few hours would rather nicely pay off that debt, she thought.

Besides, maybe some of her own fantasies could be lived out in the meantime. The idea of Malfoy's foul mouth being put to better use worshipping her instead...

"You're forgetting a few very important points," she told him and began ticking them off on her fingers as she explained. "One, Malfoy and his choice of teammates might end up with each other, instead of any of us. The Partners cards are randomly drawn. The only people guaranteed not to be partnered to each other are you and Ginny. Two, the Deeds and Forfeits cards determine activities between partners. It's possible we may draw completely benign cards to act out, depending on what everyone contributes to those decks. Sex isn't a guaranteed thing in this game, even then. Three, as explained several times now, a person can quit the game at any time to avoid any such unpleasantness, if they wish to do so. Finally, I can't speak for any of you, but as far as I am concerned, I am perfectly capable of bringing any Slytherin to heel, should there be a need. I am not afraid of any of them."

Lavender chuckled in agreement.

"Me, either," she said, raising a hand and bringing it down swiftly, mimicking striking something. "I will be the one holding the whip in the end."

Ginny laughed.

"We can always Bat-Bogey hex them back to the Stone Age if they really annoy us," she pointed out.

Ron stared Lavender, whom he was currently in a 'friends with benefits' style relationship. "What are you on about?" he asked her. "What whip? "

Hermione's roommate patted her beau's broad shoulder. "It's nothing you need concern yourself with, lover boy," she told Ron with a flip of her long, honey-blonde hair.

His jaw tightened at the gentle condescension, and in that moment, Hermione thought he actually resembled Crookshanks when he was at his most offended: red hair ruffled and standing on end, spitting mad and growling low in his throat. The visual comparison made her hide a smile behind her hand as she pretended to cough.

"I think Hermione is onto something, though," Lavender continued. "Forcing Malfoy and his friends to do the bidding of one of us, turning them into panting Crups, would be priceless! I know more than a few tricks to humiliate the blue-blooded caps right off of their precious heads!"

Ginny endorsed the idea with zeal. "I'd make one of them kiss my feet and beg my forgiveness for every horrible thing they've ever said to me," she vowed, eyes feverish and fists clenched at the idea. "Especially that tosser, Zabini!"

Brown laughed.

"You are thinking too small, witchling," she told Ginny. "I'd tie them up and use a stinging hex on their privates. On and off for a good hour, at least. Let them try to reproduce after I'm through!"

Hermione thought that extreme, but carried on the enthusiasm nonetheless, if only to sell it to the boys that the girls were up to the task. "This card game could be our brilliant revenge for the years of horribleness the Slytherins have forced us all to endure," she said.

The eager, almost fanatical energy swept the room, catching them all up in its fiery passing, even Ron.

Harry nodded at the witches in the group.

"That's four of us that are in, including me," he said. "Ron? Sea? What say you?"

"Do ya have any idea who th' Slytherins will be invitin'?" Seamus asked before committing.

Harry reached for the challenge letter and re-read it. "Doesn't say, except Malfoy's the Slytherin team captain. Like Gin said, I’m guessing Zabini will be there, since he's Malfoy's best mate, and probably Nott, too. They're thick as thieves, the three of them." He turned the note over and back again. "It doesn’t name the witches, but I'd wager Malfoy will choose Pansy Parkinson and Daphne Greengrass, since they're the most popular Slytherin girls. The third…maybe Millicent Bulstrode, as she's Parkinson's shadow?"

“Or Tracey Davis,” Lavender said. “She’s always sitting with Parkinson at lunch and I think shares a dorm with Greengrass.”

Harry frowned, seemingly unfamiliar with the name.

“Who?” he asked.

Hermione sniffed with disdain hearing the potential line-up.

"Parkinson. Pah! To be honest, I would enjoy watching her squirm. How galling would it be to her pride for any one of you three boys to touch her 'precious’ pure-blood body, much less bring her back down to Earth?"

Harry looked at her with dawning amusement.

"Some days, you truly scare me, 'Mione."

"She bloody terrifies me on a regular basis," Ron confessed, looking at her as if she was a devil in the making. "But I'll play, just to keep you and Harry both in line." He pointed at both her and their dark-haired best friend with an arched brow. "Someone has to mind you two and keep you out of trouble, or so Mum says."

"That's true," Ginny agreed with a wicked smirk. "She does say that. It's because you're always in the thick of things, you two."

Hermione traded a grin with Harry.

"Potter and Granger, Rabble-Rousers Extraordinaire," Hermione joked.

The moniker wasn't far off from fact, either. If she and Harry weren't planning some cunning scheme to sic the Ravenclaws or Hufflepuffs on the Slytherins in revenge for some trick they'd pulled on the Gryffindors, Harry and her were finding new and inventive ways of thwarting the Ministry and a former Dark Lord's reincarnation ambitions. This card game was yet one more example.

Seamus snickered in agreement. "It makes a fella wonder if ya two were sorted into th' right House?" he asked them with a pointed look. "Count me in, no matter. Yer plans are always a fun time."

That was consensus. All six of them were committed to this course of action, it seemed.

Hermione turned to Harry.

"Send the letter tonight," she told him. "Tell that seedy, little ferret that we're all in to win."

 .

PART 3

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry, Scotland

Slytherin Boys Dorms - Draco Malfoy's room

Tuesday, 9 June, 1998 (10:42 p.m.)

.

That night, just before curfew was called, Draco received a reply from the Gryffindors.

Their note was passed to him by some jumped-up, pimply third-year Slytherin whose name he didn't know, and who had been paid in Chocolate Frog cards to deliver the message to him, unopened...and warned with the nastiest threat of hexing by the Weasley girl if he did take a peek at the note's contents. 

When the boy had gone, Draco shut the door and cast locking and silencing charms on it, to keep away the eavesdroppers. Then, with a tiny bit of trepidation, he held the parchment in his hands and threw a silent prayer to Slytherin that first, Potter and company had accepted his challenge, and second, that the predictable ponce had picked Granger for the team, the one girl with whom he was simply dying to lock horns—and other parts—with before school ended.

"Open it already!" Nott growled from his seat on the bed opposite Draco's. He was bouncing with excitement for the results, having been in on the Eros & Psyche plan from the get-go and promised a slot on Slytherin's team. "Go on!"

At the foot of Draco’s cot sat a silent, unruffled Blaise Zabini, his attention wholly on the note. Draco knew the façade his friend wore to be a carefully crafted lie, however. Deep in the depths of the man’s usually enigmatic, dark stare, the same burning desire for answers simmered.

With careful deliberation, Draco opened the letter.

Reading its contents, his heart let out a loud and lusty shout of triumph.

Beaming ear to ear, he read the response aloud:

Dear Ferret,

A ssuming you haven't panicked by now and reconsidered slithering back into your hole and hiding out the rest of term, we're game. Friday night, we'll be waiting at the appointed place and time. 

- HP, HG, RW, GW, SL, LB

P.S. When we're done skinning you of your pride, little snake, you'll make a lovely pair of boots.

Theo hooted with laughter.

"Gods, I can't wait to mess with Granger!” he said, pumping a fist into the air. “That girl gets under my skin with her prissy attitude!"

Keeping his face as neutral as possible, Draco tamped down on the jealous surge that shot through him at Theo’s interest in the Head Girl. "If you're lucky enough to draw her name, she's all yours,” he said, when really, the urge to rip his best friend’s bollocks off was something he struggled to restrain. Not literally, of course. Draco would never harm Theo. They'd been brothers of the heart since childhood.

Still, no one was going to touch Hermione Granger but him.

She was his.

He turned to Blaise. "Bet you can't wait to give it to the She-Weasel," he taunted his other best friend, "especially after the last match."

As a Chaser, Ginny Weasley had been assigned to check Blaise any time they'd faced off across the Quidditch pitch. The two had formed an antagonistic relationship over the last two years since she'd joined the Golden Lions, one that was nearly as rancorous as Draco's own had been with Granger at the start of their school years.

Zabini's dark eyes glittered, and a small smile graced his full lips.

“As you say, if I’m lucky enough to draw her name.”

In that moment, Draco knew the gig was up; his best friend suspected that he intended on cheating to arrange things in his favour with Granger. In the manner of Slytherins, though, Blaise was wordlessly conveying an offer to keep his mouth shut about the subterfuge in return for fixing the arrangement with Weasley for him as well.

Draco nodded in silent understanding and acceptance.

"I have a good feeling about this," he casually announced. Dropping the parchment into his lap, he stretched his arms together over his head, cracking his knuckles by interlacing his long, pale fingers. "This will be a game to remember."

Nott stood to grab a piece of parchment, his quill, and an ink bottle from his school bag, turning them over to Draco. "Let them know we're in agreement. I don't want any crying foul later that there wasn't an official accord."

Taking the items, Draco conjured a wooden lap board for writing and got down to penning a reply.

Before he could put quill to paper, however, someone knocked on the door. Zabini was closest, so he opened it. His athletic bulk made it impossible to fully see who was on the other side, but by the pitch of the voice, it was obviously someone who hadn't yet gone through puberty.

Probably some first year sent on an errand, Draco absently thought.

"Got a message for Nott," the boy said.

From his peripheral vision, he watched Zabini step aside and head across the room for his trunk to put together his kit to head off for the showers before bed. This was none of his business, and he was making it clear he didn't want to know more than he had to about anyone's personal business, especially that of their roommate. Ironically, the fucker still seemed to know more than anyone else in their house, though. How Blaise accomplished that was anyone's guess, but Draco assumed it most likely derived from the revolving door he had installed straight into his bedroom and the copious amounts of pillow talk he indulged in to keep all those randoms from spreading rumours about him.

Nott went to deal with their 'visitor' instead, taking up Zabini's spot in the doorway. His profile was in Draco's peripheral vision and he noted how wary Theo seemed to receive the unexpected news. Draco didn't blame him; the last time Theo had received a message, it had been to tell him that his odious father was waiting for him up in the Great Hall. His friend had come back from that 'meeting' hours later with a blackened eye and a split lip.

"Who's the message from and what do they want?" Theo asked the kid. 

"Didn't get a name. Some blonde chippie on the front door," the boy reported. "Said she needs to see you right now. It's urgent. She was crying."

If she was waiting outside the common room entrance, that meant she wasn't a Slytherin. That got Draco's attention. He turned in his chair to note Theo's face had gone several shades of ghostly white at the news that some girl was blubbering on his front doorstep.

"What House colours was she wearing?" his friend managed to ask the kid around the obvious terror-sized lump in his throat.

"Not sure," the younger student said. "She was wearing a dark cloak over her uniform. Couldn't see a tie or pins. She looked to be a Fifth or Sixth Year, though."

If it was possible to go grey-skinned without dying first, Theo accomplished it. He looked as worried and ill as if he'd just been told instead that his old man had come to the school to withdraw him. "T-thanks," he murmured, his earlier excitement drained entirely out of him by the mystery girl's sudden appearance.

The boy continued to stand there, as if waiting for a reward for having delivered the message...and a bribe for keeping his mouth shut about it. The thin smile he gave Nott made it clear why he'd been sorted into their House.

Draco stood up from his chair, ensuring his entire body was in line of sight of the doorway.

The boy's attention was drawn to the movement and he tilted his head around Nott's lean frame to get a better look. As his eyes alighted fully upon Draco, it was gratifying to watch the pipsqueak's expression morph into abject terror. Everyone knew who the ruling king of Slytherin House was, and as it dawned on the kid that he had grossly underestimated the situation and overstepped his bounds, he took a step back from their door, then another. He looked as if he might simultaneous burst into tears and piss himself on the spot.

A smouldering, dark pleasure curled around Draco's heart, knowing he still ruled these halls by reputation alone…at least for the time being.

Without another word, the messenger boy darted back down the dormitory corridor at top speed, his footfalls loud as he ascended the stairs leading up towards the common room.

Rather than take amusement from chasing off the cocky, little shite who had tried to blackmail him, however, Theo was strangely quiet. He stood rigidly in place in the doorway, his eyes staring out at nothing in particular as he became lost in his own head. It occurred to Draco then that there were only a few scenarios in which a witch might show up at a lad's door, sobbing and afraid, and which might worry him enough to make his hands shake. Had his friend's playboy ways finally caught up to him and he'd gotten one of his younger conquests up the duff?

"Theo-" he began, stepping slowly towards his friend, not wanting to startle him.

As if awakening from a bad dream, Theo blinked and shook his head. "I should go see if she…" he muttered, but stalled out again. He couldn't seem to finish the sentence. 

Because Merlin help him if he had done the unthinkable, Draco thought. Nott Sr. would mercilessly beat his son if They had impregnated an unmarried, underage witch—especially if she wasn't a pure-blood. The man was as old school traditional as Lucius, believing a child made out of wedlock would be detrimental to a family's reputation. Some pure-blood lineages, such as Draco's mother's side of the family, for instance, forbade it under threat of permanent disownment. 

More likely, old Thaddeus Nott would just kill the girl to teach his son a lesson. He'd make it seem an accident as well, just as he had Theo's mother.

As if the thought was shared, Theo's face suddenly took on a greenish tinge. "If she's… Father can't know anything," he whispered to Draco, turning towards him. "Don't tell him," he begged.

Draco put his hand on Theo's shoulder. "Never," he told his oldest friend in the world, the one wizard he'd do anything to protect. He'd failed to do so years back, when Theo and Blaise had endured a falling out, but now that the wound had been healed between the three of them, he'd told himself that never again would he fail those he loved. "Now go. Find out why she's here," he instructed Nott, who often required a firm, guiding hand to keep him on the straight and narrow. "Might be nothing. Just some bird desperate for your brand of cock."

The double entendre made Theo's mouth tremble with a smile. His friend wiped the back of his hand over his tearing eyes to clear them and took a deep, calming breath. "Yeah, right," he said with a shaky laugh. "Me and my irresistible prick."

Draco got serious again.

"Theo, we'll deal with it."

His roommate nodded, taking a bit of strength from knowing he always had someone on his side. Draco would, literally, burn the world down for him. "Good, yeah, okay," his friend distractedly said with a grateful nod. "Thanks, D." 

As he left without another word to go up to the common room entrance and greet his 'guest', Zabini was right behind him, heading in the opposite direction, for the showers. He had a towel slung over one shoulder and was carrying a bag filled with his soap products. And his wand.

Since third year, he never went into a bathroom without it in his hand.

"Send that note to Potter," his friend instructed him with a pointed look. "Tonight."

When both his roommates were gone, Draco sat back down at the shared writing desk to write his response to the Gryffindors.

After he had received the card game via owl post on Monday from his contact in Knockturn Alley, he had been making plans for this showdown with the Gryffindors. The first thing he'd done was pick his team, knowing he needed them secured before he sent the challenge out. When he'd accomplished that, only then had he thrown down the gauntlet at Potter's feet.

Now that it had been picked up and accepted, it was just a matter of the perfect response.

A coup de grâce to seal the deal, as it were.

He conjured up an image of Granger's face, knowing she'd been the one 

Dear Potty and the DandyLIONs,

Get ready to beg for mercy…and pack your handkerchiefs for when the crying starts.

- DM, BZ, TN, PP, DG, TD

He then wrote a separate letter to Granger, knowing the postscript in Team Gryffindor's acceptance letter had been all hers.

Kitten,

If it's expensive footwear you require, allow me to cover your pretty, little toes in magical glass slippers with cushioned diamonds on the soles.

But that's all you'll wear for me.

He sent out both letters that evening without delay, as promised.

 .

PART 4

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry, Scotland

Seventh Year's Defence Against The Dark Arts Classroom

Wednesday, 10 June, 1998 (9:18 a.m.)

.

Harry glared across the aisle at Malfoy.

As all exams had been taken the previous week, and this week was simply a wrap-up and individual review of results, classes had officially ended for seventh year students. With next week, their final week, assigned to personal counselling—when professors met individually with students to discuss their future options based upon their aptitude and N.E.W.T. scores—there wasn’t much for them left to do, honestly.

That left plenty of time for gossiping and note passing in classes.

Ever the trouble-maker, Malfoy had just thrown a small, waded up piece of paper at the back of Hermione's head. From her seat two rows up, Harry’s best friend looked up at Professor Moody, noted the man was distracted by Terry Boot's discussion of his test results, and bent over to pick up the wad of paper. She opened it and read.

Whatever it said made her stiffen and he could practically feel her ire from across the row.

She picked up her quill and scribbled something on the same piece of paper, then hiding the paper in the sleeve of her robe, she raised her hand.

Harry glanced over at Malfoy, who tsk'd and sat back in his chair, knowing he was in trouble this time.

"What is it, Miss Granger?" Moody irritably asked, looking up from the paper in front of him.

Hermione cleared her throat. "Sir, I'm feeling a little dizzy. May I go to the Hospital Wing for the remainder of class?"

Moody stared hard at her for a second, and then nodded. "Potter, escort your housemate to Madam Pomfrey." He returned to talking to Terry, ignoring everyone else, who sat around in groups and whispered, making plans for the weekend and after graduation.

"Yes, sir,” Harry replied and stood without needing to be told twice.

Truth be told, he was bored off his gourd, too.

Ron threw him a 'you lucky bastard!' expression and waved him off, then moved his chair back to Seamus, Neville, and Dean's little gathering one row back to join in their discussion about next Friday night's farewell Formal Ball.

Making his way to Hermione's side, Harry took her bag and slung it over her shoulder, and then the two headed out. On the way past Malfoy's desk, Hermione locked eyes with their rival, smirked, and pressed the wadded up paper into the snake's free hand. Without skipping a beat, she kept walking, so Harry didn't stop either.

When they were far enough down the corridor for no one to hear, however, Harry finally had to ask the question. "Right, so what did Slytherin's Prince have to say to you, and what did you say back that's got you grinning like the Cheshire Cat?"

Hermione chortled. "He asked me if I liked kneeling, because he planned to have me in that position for him this Saturday night if he pulled my name as his partner."

Harry clenched his jaw at that kind of juvenile boorishness that was common of Malfoy.

"How did you reply?" he asked.

A blush came to life under Hermione’s cheeks.

"I told him he should get his cushioned Quidditch leggings out of storage because it wouldn't be me on my knees," she said. "I further intimated that I might just write up a Forfeit card that required all of the men on his team to perform fellatio on each other if he kept harassing me."

Harry burst into laughter.

"Have I told you today how brilliant you are?" he playfully asked.

"No, but don't let me stop you," she joked with a good-natured grin.

They both erupted into fresh gales of mirth and then changed topics, discussing their test scores. As Hermione critiqued her own essay for Potions (which had—gasp—earned her an "E" instead of an "O"), Harry considered his best female friend from the corner of his eye, catching every third word or so. The truth was he'd fancied Hermione in third year, and for a little bit of fifth year, too, but hadn't wanted to step into Ron's territory either time, knowing his best friend had also secretly fancied her. Now, though, she was free and clear, as that relationship hadn't worked out and he knew she wasn't currently dating anyone.

For just those few minutes, as they walked together side-by-side up to Madam Pomfrey’s territory, Harry let himself once again consider the possibility. Covertly, he let his gaze stray down her body, appraising… Hermione had definitely grown-up. Her bushy hair and teeth had been tamed by fourth year, and her overall figure had matured into ample curves by fifth. She was really quite pretty, too, with a light sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose and intelligent eyes that sparkled with flecks of gold in the sunlight. Best of all, her smile was genuine. 

Ssssso lovely, a secondary thought strayed through his consciousness. 

She was, and any wizard would be lucky to get her attention.

Right, so, he was still physically attracted to Hermione. Perhaps, then, it wouldn't be a total disaster if he drew her name from the deck tomorrow? Their personalities sometimes clashed, yes, but she was someone he could be honest with and he felt comfortable talking about private things with her. 

On the other hand, Hermione was the upwardly mobile, independent type, always looking for that next plateau to conquer. She didn't need someone to emotionally lean on, and her intellect and personal ambition far outstripped anyone he had ever known. He had heard from Ron that she was also a bit aggressive between the sheets, liking to switch between being in charge and having her partner take charge of her, with a firm hand in both cases. Harry was exactly the opposite; he was more laid back about his future, content to enjoy his work more than view it as a stepping stone to something better.

Perhaps it was old fashioned of him, but he wanted a woman who would need him and let him be the strong one in the relationship, who would allow him to romance her in soft and gentle ways.

That was not Hermione.

Like Ginny before her, she was not the witch for him.

Speaking of, he didn't relish the idea of having anything sexual with his ex-girlfriend, either. Ron's sister had been his first official lover, just as he had been hers, which had been awkward enough. Two virgins, neither sure what they liked and didn't like, where hands and legs went, picking a position, whether to go at it fast or slow, and then practising together how to cast the Contraceptive charm and praying every month that they got it right—that had been sweat-inducing pressure! Add to that having to sneak around to keep their relationship out of Ron's face, as he had expressed discomfort in them dating…

It had been all the right elements for a break-up, not a recipe for love.

The beginning of April, Ginny had finally called it quits, stating her need for a wilder, more skilled partner.

"We just aren't compatible, Harry. You feel it, too, right?"

That had been an emasculating conversation, and had led him to feeling a bit resentful, honestly. He'd given it his best, but apparently, it hadn't been enough.

It had taken until relatively recently for he and his ex to be comfortable around each other again. Quidditch practice had helped, as had being forced to sit near each other during meals, due to their shared friendships. It had been having a frank talk with Hermione, however, that had finally healed the breach that had occurred as a result of his first failed relationship, though. Then, after the Quidditch game last weekend, he and Ginny had finally aired any lingering bad blood and after some tears and hugs, they'd both agreed it had been a nice first try, but that they simply weren't meant to be.

They were good again. Maybe not like before, but like Hermione and Ron had done, he and Ginny had salvaged their friendship. He did not want to mess that up by being partnered with her during the game. In fact, it just might be one of the few things that made him forfeit.

Moving on from that depressing thought…

Lavender was another hard, 'no' but for a completely different set of reasons. Yeah, she was attractive in a fairy-like manner, much as Luna was, but Harry felt absolutely no physical interest in Brown. Also, she was currently involved with Ron. Even if his best mate said that he and Brown had "an arrangement" where feelings weren't involved, being partnered with her and perhaps engaging in sex acts with her would still felt like he was betraying his friend. And then there was whatever was still going on between her and Seamus, although neither of them wanted to admit it. Harry had no desire to step into that potential land mine. 

Perhaps one of the Slytherins then?

Definitely not Parkinson. That one would eat his dick off before she allowed him any liberties. The witch scared him, honestly. 

Daphne Greengrass was considered the beauty of her house, but it was said she was as cold as ice. Controlled, aloof, with edges. There was nothing soft about her, aside from her long, swaying hair.

Perhaps the other Slytherin witch then.

What was her name?

Teresa Davies? Tessa Dakins? Trisha Danes?

Whatever. She'd been mentioned yesterday, but Harry didn't know anything about her. He'd thought he at least knew the names of everyone in their class, but none of those names sound familiar at all to him. He wondered what she looked like and if she was like the rest of the girls in Slytherin. She'd have to be some shade of dark magically-inclined, at least, to have been sorted one of the Silver Snakes, right?

Try as he might, he couldn't conjure up an image of her from any of his classes over the years. 

Why didn't he know her? 

The creaking of the ancient door leading into the Hospital Wing startled him. Hermione had pried it open and turned to take her satchel from him with a kind, "Thanks, Harry," before disappearing behind the door, which magically shut behind her.

He hadn't realised they'd already reached their destination. Had he been silent for almost the entire walk across the castle? Why hadn't Hermione tried to engage him in further conversation? She'd been talking about her test scores and then… Nothing. She'd gone silent as well.

It seemed they'd both been wrapped up in their heads. 

This game had become something of an obsession for them both, he thought.

Turning in his heel, he headed back across the castle, towards the Gryffindor common room to await Ron and Lavender. The hour bell was about to ring, bringing classes to an end, and he wanted to head the two of them off, before they decided to head somewhere more private for an afternoon rendezvous. Harry had some questions about the mystery Slytherin witch whose name and face he couldn't recall. As there was a chance he'd be partnered with her, he wanted to know more about her.

It never hurt to be ready for anything, right?

Professor Moody, he thought with a skip in his step, would be proud of him for having paid attention in his classes.

 .

PART 5

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry, Scotland

Dining Hall - Slytherin House Table

Wednesday, 10 June, 1998 (12:31 p.m.)

.

Blaise stared across the Great Hall at Ginevra Weasley and felt that familiar, strange hitch in his chest once more.

Crimson fire glimmered in the sunlight streaming through the front windows as she brushed a long gathering of her hair over her shoulder, laughing in delight over something Seamus Finnigan, her Quidditch teammate, had just said.

Instantly, he was taken back to the day of their final Quidditch match this season…

“It was fun, Zabini.”

She flashed a beauteous smile that lit up the room and Finnigan laughed with her around his sucking on the end of a Sugar Quill. The two shared a flirty smile.

Blaise snarled and nearly bent his fork in half a poisonous rage raced through his veins and found root in his heart.

Had she'd fucked the Irish, too?

It was enough of a hit to have learned that Potter, of all possibilities, had taken her virginity. Finnigan, though… The man was an unapologetic slag with a roster that outstripped even Blaise's list of conquests. And he was rumoured to know how to use the outrageously-sized slab of beef between his legs, too. Witches never left the bloke's embrace without a mile-wide smile on their face and a walking-on-sunshine level of satisfied.

Blaise dropped his gaze to his plate, struggling to get his feelings under control. It was irrational and hypocritical of him to act this way. Ginevra was a free agent; she was not in a monogamous relationship with anyone at the moment, most especially not with him. And even if she had chosen that route with another, one did not own a girlfriend or boyfriend. Such partners came together because they chose to engage with each other, and they could just as easily choose not to continue such a relationship if they wanted.

Just like in Eros & Psyche.

Therefore, it shouldn't tie him in knots to see Weasley exploring her sexuality. As a male who appreciated women and encouraged them to overthrow traditional stereotypes, he should be happy for her, in fact, that she was learning her boundaries and all about the miracle that was her gorgeous body…

MINE.

Fuck, there it was again! 

That irrational, rather obnoxiously persistent instinct talking inside his head would not, these past two years, shut the hell up regarding some self-interested fantasy claim over Ginevra. And it caused him to behave in ways that were both exhausting and embarrassing to counter.

Every time she came around, for instance it caused him to sit up and hyper-focus on her every shift, step, and sound. It would also occasionally command his feet without his awareness; he would find himself standing or sitting somewhere physically close to her without having any conscious memory of having moved. And during Quidditch, it would force him to move in ways that protected her from harm.

In order to throw off any suspicion of this obsessively-compelled behaviour, Blaise had been required to adapt clever counter-strategies and grossly-exaggerated excuses. If she caught sight of him in her general vicinity and commented on it, for instance, he would claim he was simply passing by on his way to elsewhere to meet someone of no importance and remind her that she didn't own the castle. If she caught him lounging nearby, he would turn it around on her and state that he couldn't help it if she chose to stand near his favourite spots and accuse her of harassing him. And when he was caught Blatching, Blagging, Cobbing, or Blurting her on the field, he claimed he was simply body-checking her to throw her off her game, because everyone knew Slytherins cheated at everything as a general principle. 

The wearying struggle to find balance and keep her from noticing any of his movements as a pattern of stalking, however, took its toll upon him and his moods. One moment, he would be fine, then he would watch her flirting or touching another bloke, and he would fall into an inexplicable rage followed by the deepest, blackest despair. These last several months, in particular, had been increasingly manic, ever since he'd learned about her and Potter consummating their years-long dance on Valentine's night. 

And now, the closer he got to leaving Hogwarts and losing his daily 'fix' of her, the voice was getting louder and more insistent. It was like he was possessed by some mischievous spirit determined to drive him mad.

It was nudging him to cross the room now, to take her in his arms, to cover her naughty, smiling mouth with his…

MINE.

Visions of her riding his cock right here in the Great Hall, in front of every teacher and student to stake a public claim upon her, had him hard and rearing to go right then.

It was wrong to think such things, much less want them. 

And yet, to know she was finally over Potter at long last…

But that he had missed his chance to step into that void, hadn't he? Instead, Finnigan had been there to catch her fall.

Clearly, she had enjoyed being snatched up, too.

Despair now threatened to send him over the edge once more. It took everything within him to back away from that edge, his fear of being discovered the only weight that kept him in his seat.

Why wouldn’t she even give him a chance? Yes, he was Slytherin, but why was that a barrier? He’d fucked plenty of others outside his house, uncaring as to their sortings, friendships, even their blood status, despite the pure-blood brainwashing that tended to go on in his elite circle. Yet, Weasley, for all her talk of ‘fairness’ and ‘doing the right thing’, still refused to give him a second look.

Her House prejudice was firmly ensconced by a generational Gryffindor brainwashing.

It was disheartening, to say the least.

"You alright?" Theo leaned over and asked him with quiet concern.

Blaise forced himself to release his death grip on his utensils and took a deep, calming breath. It wouldn't do to tip his hand now, not after he'd done so much to distract and dismiss the notice of others to his bizarre behaviour over the last couple of years.

"Fine," he told his friend. "Just thinking about tonight's game."

Then, to quickly change subjects, he glanced to his other side and caught Draco's wintery-grey gaze sharply focussed on Gryffindor's table once again. His best friend was outright scowling as Potter tugged on Granger's hair to get her attention, and a beat later looked positively murderous as the bloke proceeded to make her laugh at something he’d said.

"Patience," he cautioned Malfoy under his breath, low enough for only the two of them to hear. His advice was as much for himself as his friend. "You're giving too much away."

Draco sneered at the rebuke, but did not look away from the object of his intense fascination.

The poor sod was so enamoured of Gryffindor's Golden Girl that he couldn't see straight some days. Where Blaise’s temperament was like a storm’s—quick to move in and blow over—Malfoy's disposition was always volatile, fireworks-in-the-sky where Granger was concerned.

Blaise understood, though. 

Yet, the last thing they needed was to be called 'foul' by the other team and be disqualified for provoking pre-game fighting, thus losing before the contest could commence. He wanted to play Eros & Psyche, and wouldn't let even Draco jeopardize that, especially for the sake of his pride.

"More care, if you don't mind," he continued chastising his friend. "We've both read the rules of the game. Your little stunt this morning in class could have cost us."

Draco's head turned towards him and his lids lowered in an unspoken warning. He didn't take well to being chastised either, Blaise knew. "I'm well aware of how much skirting the edge I can do, Zabini," his roommate growled. "Besides, I knew she wouldn’t cry foul."

Blaise nodded, turning his attention to slicing up his pot roast, smearing a daub of gravy on it with his knife. "Just don't anger her enough into crossing a line," he said. "I want to play this one out to the end."

Turning back to the object of his interest, Malfoy speared a potato wedge and popped it into his mouth while continuing to watch the Head Girl. She was engaged now in a serious discussion with Ginevra.

"As eager to get at our little red bird as Finnigan is?" Draco taunted, also noting the way the two across the room shared an easy rapport. He was always hissing when he felt stung. "They look cosy, the two of them, don't you think?"

"She's my little red bird," Blaise snarled under his breath, clenching his jaw at the man's audacity. His grip on his silverware tightened again. "Don't forget that, Draco. Mine."

Glancing sideways at him, Draco grinned, knowing he’d made his point, too.

"Wouldn't dare," he replied, popping another chip in his mouth. 

They shared a moment more in silent understanding: Blaise would not interfere with Draco's pursuit of Granger, and in return, his friend would show him the same courtesy in regards to the Weasley girl, his lioness.

That agreement made, Blaise consumed the rest of his meal in quiet introspection and with restraint, refusing to look back up at his little firebrand's goings-on, not wanting to appear soppish or imprudent.

He'd leave that sort of thing to Draco, who was clearly besotted with Gryffindor's Princess.

 .

PART 6

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry, Scotland

Seventh Year's Charms Classroom

Wednesday, 10 June, 1998 (2:26 p.m.)

.

Pulling a Pixie Pop from his mouth, relishing its honey flavour across his tongue, Seamus drifted in and out of the conversation he was sharing with his mate, Michael Corner. His attention was currently fixated on the front of the classroom, where Flitwick was going over Lavender's final exam results with her in a semi-private interview.

Even as he half-listened to his friend brag on and on about applying for a position within Magical Law Enforcement over the summer, Seamus' eyes meandered of their own accord over the curve and dip of his ex’s long, graceful neck. Absently, he wondered what it would feel like to touch that soft-looking skin of hers again…

Lavender Renelle Brown.

For some unfathomable reason, this one witch had driven him fair mad since the first time they’d met on the train heading to Hogwarts. Something about her kept drawing him back into her circle, no matter how many others he'd taken to bed since their one-off in fifth year. He'd been the lucky bloke to win her virginity back then, and although the event hadn't been all roses and romance, it had definitely haunted him since…and not in a good way.

Admittedly, he'd bollixed it all up.

Back then, his technique had been in the jacks. He could understand why she would pretend as if shagging him had never happened. He knew he'd hurt the lass with his lack of skill, his over-eagerness, and his size, but in his defence, it had only been his second time having sex and his first partner hadn't been a virgin. He'd tried to make it right afterwards, though, by cuddling with Lavender, but she'd been stiff in his arms and hadn't returned any of his kisses neither.

In fact, she'd cringed.

When she’d made it clear that she’d wanted him gone and the entire experience forgotten, he'd taken the hint, dragged his bruised ego up and off the floor, and scuttled back to his bunk with his tail tucked between his legs. He'd been embarrassed at having failed to make her come, and in acting little more than a 'two-pump chump.' Lavender's first time should have been all hearts and flowers, not filled with the regret he'd left her.

Thanks to the personalized, paid instruction he'd received from a 'professional' in the art of sex, he'd learned since how to minimize the pain for the girl if it was her first time, how to last longer during sex, and he'd also come to appreciate the finer points of bedroom etiquette, such as assuring his partner's care-taking in the afters. He'd perfected the act of sex, to make sure it never happened again to anyone else. It was knowledge that he wished he'd had back during fifth with the girl o' his dreams, however, as it continued to be a major regret of his that he hadn't had such proficiency.

He still lamented the fallout from the event, too—specifically, that she'd written off both him and their long-time friendship. He'd really been head-over-boots for Brown since their first year, but she had made it very clear that she wasn't having anything to do with him after their one night together.

At the time, he'd been brassed off at her for deliberately avoiding his sincere attempts to apologize the day after The Incident, as he thought of it. He'd meant to make up his inept treatment of her the night before by going down on her and giving her some pleasure, but she had flatly refused to meet him again. After a week of repeated rejections, he'd finally given up, assumed she'd had her piece of him and was moving on—which had, at the time stung and made him feel used.

He hadn't bothered to approach her again for any reason thereafter, and for the next year and a half, things had remained severely strained between them. They were never alone, she'd hardly glanced in his direction, and she'd made sure to keep at least one person between them at all times.

It had only been since she'd hooked-up as Ron's casual this year that she'd marginally relaxed in Seamus' presence.

It had taken Ron to bring her back around his way, something Seamus resented just a little, though he’d never tell his friend that. Bloke was happy and relaxed, a bit more confident with women since Lav had become his friends-with-benefits, so the relationship had been a mutual win for them both…

…even as it left Seamus feeling hollow and sick to think of it.

And more than a little jealous.

Feeling a bit petulant over the memories, he shoved the Pixie Pop back in his mouth and took another good suck at it. The sweet, addicting taste helped to un-sour his mood.

As he considered the upcoming challenge this weekend, an exciting idea occurred to him: perhaps he'd get a second chance this Saturday night to make up for their first time. If he drew Lavender for a partner, he'd have the opportunity to not only apologize for the rough treatment she'd experienced under him back when they'd both been fifth years, but also to give her that orgasm he'd been dying to give her ever since.

Hell, with what he knew now, he could give her multiple orgasms and leave her begging for more.

Ah, the luck o' the Irish would tell what came this Saturday, as his Mam was so fond of saying. He'd cross his fingers and toes, and hope for the match.

"Mate, you all right?" Michael asked, looking at him askance.

Seamus turned his head and focused on his friend, pulling his mind back into the here and now for the moment. "Sorry, was thinkin' o' next week's dance. Who're ya takin'?"

"Oh, I managed weeks ago to convince Tori to go with me."

As he raved on about his newest love interest, Seamus let his eyes and mind wander back to Lavender at the head of the room. Michael was so engrossed in talking about himself that he hardly noticed that his audience's attention was not wholly recaptured, which was just fine, as far as Sea was concerned. He was bored with his mate's constant need to brag.

His gaze traveled back to Brown's profile as she animatedly spoke with Flitwick, entranced by the way her mouth moved and her indigo-coloured eyes sparkled. Letting his gaze drift downward, he grew hard in his trousers at noting the curve of her ample breasts sweetly outlined from the side, as her summer uniform blouse was pulled tight across the lovely mounds of flesh. When she laughed at something the professor said Seamus’ attention was drawn back upwards to her lips again.

He'd kissed that mouth once…

She'd been so sweet. Honey on his tongue.

Licking his own lips, he took her all in once more, from head to toe. Gods alive, she was still so lovely! She reminded him of a fairy, with her pretty features and her golden hair, and he secretly chuckled over the idea.

Now wouldn't that just beat all if she were one o' the folk, too?

When she stood up and shook their instructor's hand in thanks, there was a happy bounce to her movements that captivated him as assuredly as her brilliant smile did. She moved with confidence and a flirty, enthusiastic grace, and once more he was helpless but to note just how comfortable she had become in that body of hers now that she was all grown up and knew how to use it.

If only he could convince her to use such charms on him again!

All he'd need is one more chance…

 .

PART 7

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry, Scotland

Seventh Year's Charms Classroom

Wednesday, 10 June, 1998 (2:35 p.m.)

.

As Lavender turned away from her interview with Professor Flitwick, who had encouraged her plans to apply for a position at The Daily Prophet, her eyes roamed the room…

They froze on Seamus, who was staring at her again with some serious heat while sucking on a Pixie Pop.

The ‘I want to fuck you again’ look he was tossing her made her heart thump hard enough to taste its beat in her mouth.

Godric, how was it the man she’d lost her heart and virginity to could still make her feel like a foolish eleven-year-old year with her first childish fancy?

It was his eyes, she told herself as she was arrested by them once more. The colour was spring green, a rare and even shade similar to polished adventurine, stunning in its exceptional uncommonness. Falling into them again, she was transported into her childhood memories—of lying back into a soft sea of whispering Irish grasses, listening to the baying of grazing sheep nearby, and lulled into sleep by a gentle breeze.

She blinked and shook off the memories.

That had been the only time she and her parents had gone on a holiday together. After that trip, her mother had refused to return to Ireland, for reasons Lavender still did not understand. Something about poor relatives.

Sea took that sodding sweet-sucker out of his mouth again, drawing her attention back to him with a smile that promised her all manner of wickedness, if she'd give him the chance. Which she wouldn't. Absolutely not. He was a master of seduction whose long catalogue of conquests could rival any Snape-assigned length of parchment. To her humiliation, even she appeared on that list. Thank the Founders, however, that she'd had sense to only make it a one-time mistake. 

Lavender threw him a scornful look and as she headed back towards her assigned seat, she decided to pointedly ignore him for the rest of the term, since there were only a few more days anyway and this weekend she would be busy so…

That thought brought her up short, literally.

A scary thought re-occurred to her: she couldn't ignore Finnigan, because he was playing the game tomorrow night, and there was a one in six chance that he would draw her Partners card. If that happened, going by the eye-fucking he was giving her now, a whole lot more than gawking was going to happen between them.

And Godric help her, but she knew she would be too weak to deny him for long, especially once he put those talented fingers or his tongue or his cock to use on her.

No, no, no!

Seamus had broken her heart once upon a time, but where before she had been inexperienced and insecure, now she was the exact opposite. She had taken lovers after him, learned from them, discovered her body, its boundaries, and her deepest desires. It hadn't been an exaggeration when she'd stated the other night that she could wield a whip with a steady hand—well, a small one, at any rate. If, by some bizarre twist of fate, she ended up with the Irish as her partner for Eros & Psyche, she confidently believed she could fend him off, or at least keep what they did away from her heart, just as she did with Ron and as she had done with Zabini. 

Besides, she had promised Hermione that she would stay the course in the game, if only so Gryffindor would be able to smash another triumph in Slytherin's face. And she owed her roommate a rather large penance, even though she could never tell Granger such a thing. 

Also, no true Gryffindor ever flinched.

Finally, there were five other candidates who could choose her Partners card tomorrow night. She wasn't necessarily doomed to become Seamus' partner. 

As she bent to retrieve her satchel from the floor to put her test scores away, she kept telling herself these things. 

The distraction was a mistake.

A single finger skipped down her spine in passing, causing mini-electric shocks to dance up and down her spine. She knew instantly who had touched her and jerked upright in time to catch Seamus throwing her a naughty wink over his shoulder as he made his way to the front of the room for his interview with the Professor. He held his hand low at his side, but waggled the one finger he'd just touched her with in a playful backwards wave.

Blushing to the roots of her hair, Lavender hurriedly stuffed her papers into her bag and sat down in her chair.

"Did Sea just pinch you?" Parvati whispered to her, scandalized. "You jumped as if he had."

Struggling to regain composure, Lavender tried for nonchalance, laughing the incident off. "He's just trying to get a rise," she told her best friend.

"Looked to me like he succeeded. His pants were tenting rather inappropriately just now." The witch whistled in appreciation. "I'd forgotten how big he is!"

Oh, right.

Parvati had once sampled Seamus, too.

"He's not that big," Lavender sniffed, trying not to think about Seamus like that again.

Her friend's eyebrows achieved a world record jump for height. "Don't tell me you've had bigger, because I'd say that wasn't possible," she whispered in a scandalous hush. "That boy is ten inches long and thicker than my wrist!"

Lavender blinked, feeling the rush of her blood travel like a locomotive steam engine all the way to her toes.

Had Sea really been that big?

She honestly couldn't summon up a memory of such a detail, because she hadn't actually looked at his prick or touched it with her hand the night they'd had sex. What she did recall from their time together wasn't so pleasant a memory, though…

He laid her down on a flat, cold, foreign bed in an empty dorm room. The light was so dim, Lavender could hardly see Seamus' expression, but she could most certainly feel everything happening to her. It seemed like a dream come true. She'd wanted this with him for the last year, and now it was really happening!

Her unbuttoned shirt was parted and her bra tugged down. Sea's hot, wet mouth wrapped around a nipple and began sucking.

Founders, that felt good!

He switched between her breasts, giving each equal attention.

Distracting her with sensations she'd never known before, he slyly scooted her knickers down her legs and off, pushing her skirt up over her waist. His hand delved between her legs, touching her in a place she'd only recently discovered herself.

But she wasn't wet enough for it to feel good.

Talk about embarrassing!

Was something wrong with her?

Sea didn't seem put-off, despite her lack of lubrication. He simply licked his fingers several times and brought the wetness of his saliva to her slit until her body began to relax and her natural arousal overcame her fear.

Now she was wet. 

Embarrassingly so!

Suddenly, what they were doing wasn't so scary, either…and it was beginning to feel really good, too.

His mouth lifted to hers and he kissed her once more, pumping his tongue sloppily into her mouth. It was clear Sea was only a little more experienced than she was at this, but they learned together how to properly kiss in those minutes, even as one of his fingers entered her and began slowly pumping back and forth.

"Ready, lass?" he asked.

"Y-yes," she replied, nervous again.

Butterflies erupted in her belly.

This was it. She was going to lose her virginity to Seamus, the boy of her dreams!

His hand disappeared from between her thighs and then the sound of his trouser zip coming down was loud in the silent room.

Her thighs quaked in anticipation. 

Or was that fear?

Was she really ready for this step, she suddenly wondered as she felt him probing between her legs with something fleshy and hard.

A voice in the back of her head reminded her that she loved him, and that this was what people in love did with each other. That's what all the romance novels said, anyway.

But maybe they were too young…

There was absolutely no time to tell Sea any of this, though, as he lined his member up with her opening and began to push into her. A series of hard shoves followed, as he tunneled into her tight virginal channel, forcing her hips to stretch wider, beyond their comfort. Lavender bit her lip to keep from screaming at the searing pain that followed the loss of her innocence, whimpering instead as he inelegantly moved in and out of her at a fast pace.

Godric, this was nothing like she'd expected! She'd known it would hurt the first time, but this was just…terrible. She felt absolutely no pleasure from the act whatsoever.

The novels got it wrong. The sex was painful and awkward.

To her relief, it was soon over. Sea groaned around a kiss and then stiffened with a cry, his back arching, his hips rolling forward one more time. He came inside her, but she couldn't feel it. Wasn't it supposed to feel warm? That's what the romance fiction said, too.

It had all been one big lie, hadn't it?

When he was spent, her boyfriend collapsed on top of her, breathing hard.

"Lass...y' right?" he whispered in her ear, sounding exhausted and half-asleep already.

Lavender could only whimper in response.

As he finally recovered a bit of his strength and sanity a few moments later, there were some kisses, and his arms came around her, but Lavender felt oddly disconnected to what she'd just experienced, as if it had happened to someone else. Her arms refused to obey her mind's command to hug him back and her lips felt too cold to move. She was numbed by shock.

Her first time had been absolutely horrid—not at all the romantic moment she'd imagined.

Abruptly, Seamus pulled out of her body, and it was then that she finally felt the rush of warm fluids as they followed in the wake of his quick withdrawal. Her body was too tender and her pelvis too sore for her to sit up just then, so all she could do was watch as Sea stumbled around, getting re-dressed. His cheeks were red hot, and he wouldn't look her in the eye as he hurriedly threw on his clothes.

When he was presentable, he murmured a series of repeat apologies to her, and then he turned and left.

He just…left.

How could it have gone so wrong?

Lavender flinched from the memory of what had come after.

Once the dazed astonishment had worn off, the tears had come. They had been scalding and bitter, and her accompanying sobs had been loud. Yet, even in the middle of her regretful snuffling, she'd found a moment of unexpected pleasure: a series of rolling, electric shocks—tiny fingers of stroking, erotic pleasure had come upon her without warning, caressing up and down her spinal column with a pressure that had forced her whole body to go rigid. Her eyes had rolled back in her head as the sudden, overwhelming sensation had ridden her every sense, and a moment later, she'd orgasmed.

The warm, lovely feeling of peaking, flying, and finally melting had hovered around her senses for a few minutes after that, until eventually the cold of the room had seeped back into her tired bones.

With it had returned hateful reality.

Instead of giving her a sense of peaceful satisfaction and closure, that bizarre, after-the-fact climax she'd experienced that night had only served to remind her of how deficient her first sexual experience had truly been. Her body had been so shocked by what Sea had done to her that it had actually delayed her ability to come.

She still felt that to be an utterly fucked-up reaction.

She'd gotten up after that and cast the Contraceptive and Disease Charm on her belly, as taught by Madam Pomfrey in her Health and Healing Class. The stinging pain between her legs and the heavy throbbing in her hips had been sheer torture to endure all the way back to her dorm, but it had been a toss-up to say whether it was physical or emotional pain that hurt worse then. It had been especially difficult not to feel so wounded by the feel of Sea's sperm, deposited so casually and indifferently into her just minutes before, finally dripping down her thighs as she'd walked all the way back to her bed.

As she'd lain down to sleep in her room later that night, she'd berated herself for having had sex for the first time on the spur of the moment—and all because she'd been hot for Finnigan, and he'd been able to talk her into taking such a big step with a few messy kisses and calling her, 'me girl' in front of everyone in their House.

An even bigger blow was when she'd had to admit the fact that in walking out on her as he had, Seamus had let her know that she'd meant nothing more to him than a hole to fill. She’d thought him her friend, a good and close friend, after all the years they’d spent together—perhaps even her best friend, in all truth, even more so than Parvati. It had been as she'd feared, though: she'd been only a bet for him to win with Dean Thomas.

The crush she'd had for the Irish literally did as the name suggested then, and she'd cried herself to sleep that night.

Her sorrow over the one-off didn't abate for quite a long time, either. The painful weight of regret and the blow to her pride at being so thoroughly used by someone she’d believed to have genuinely cared for her as a person had continued to press down on her ribcage and linger over her shoulders for months after the event.

Finally, time had been merciful and done its usual favour in abating the worst of it, but it had taken almost two years for that to happen. During that time, Lavender had vowed never to be used by another man, and she’d decided that if there was to be sexual servicing going on, it would be on her terms.

She’d become a take-charge girl when it came to her sexuality ever since, no longer afraid of it or of the men she took to her bed.

As she watched her first lover with Professor Flitwick now she made a silent vow to them both: I’m not that weak-kneed little girl anymore, my Irish, so if we’re partnered up this weekend, you’re in for a B-I-G surprise!

 .

PART 8

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry, Scotland

Dining Hall - Slytherin House Table

Wednesday, 10 June, 1998 (6:30 p.m.)

.

Daphne was squeezed between her best friend, Pansy Parkinson, on one side of the dining table, and her younger sister, Astoria, on the other, pretending to be engrossed in consuming her cheese, onion, and leek quiche while drowning out the gossip and prattle amongst her female Housemates.

She was, instead, fine-tuning her ability to eavesdrop on the conversation happening a little further down the table, where Theo sat next to Mister Zabini and Mister Malfoy.

Shutting out extraneous noise and focusing on a specific voice or series of voices while surrounded by others was a trick she'd learned over the years to survive living in Slytherin House. After all, the more secrets one knew, the more a person was left alone by others who feared that knowledge used against them. And although Daphne had never had cause to wield such a weapon, one never knew what the future might bring, either, so she kept those confidences locked in her brain for a rainy day.

As she ate, she picked up wisps of conversation floating on the air.

Penelope Padgette was arguing with younger classman, Grim Fawley, about dark offensive versus dark defensive spells, and which were the stronger. Sitting across from them at Ravenclaw's House table, Daphne's estranged cousin, Cereus Greengrass, informed them both that all such magic was evil and should be avoided at all costs.

She should know, Daphne thought with sadness, as Cereus had been diagnosed over the Christmas break as having been cursed with the family's generational blood malediction. The Healers at St. Mungo's had given her a decade, maybe two at most, with no hope of a cure. All things considered, Daphne thought Cereus was handling the news better than she, herself, might have had she learned anyone in her family was thus afflicted. 

Closer down the table near where Daphne sat, Millicent Bulstrode was again bemoaning to her friends, Tracey Davis and the Patil twins, about the transfer of Gregory Goyle to Durmstrang this year, and how he might not return to England over the summer, as he was being required to make up some classes he was failing. She added a wish that no matter what happened, he eventually leave Vincent Crabbe behind. It was a well-known fact that Millie hated Vince because of how he monopolized Greg's time, and that she thought herself Greg's actual best friend since their shared childhood. 

The truth, Daphne knew, was that Millie fancied Greg, Greg fancied Vince, and Vince fancied both Greg and Millie, but none of them would admit to any of it. Perhaps when they were older, the three might sort it out properly, behind closed doors and under the covers where they could work out all that angst and misunderstanding. 

Closer to where she sat with her friends, she perked up as Theo addressed Mister Zabini and Mister Malfoy, where they sat across the table from him. 

"We should dress for the occasion tonight. All of us. Especially the girls."

Malfoy scoffed.

"You think they won't have already decided to do exactly that?"

"No, no. Hear me out: we dress up, the ladies dress...down. You know, leather and lace. Heels. Maybe collars and some well-placed nipple covers."

Zabini's chuckle was filled with dark amusement.

"Good luck with that, mate."

"Come on! The shock value alone would be worth it!"

Daphne could almost envision Malfoy's eye-roll.

"Fine. Why don't you ask them, then, Nott? Go on, I dare you."

"You know I hate it when you say that, Draco. I'll do it. Watch me!"

"Ten galleons says you don't have the brass." 

"You're on, wank-stain!"

"You can't-... That's cheating, Nott."

"Technically, you never said I couldn't send them a note with my question, so s'not."

"Slippery bastard, you know I meant in person!"

"Too late, Malfoy. A bet's a bet, isn't that what you always say?"

Daphne scoffed. 

The audacity of her chosen! Dressing her and her friends up in ridiculous harem-like outfits to live out some submissive slave-girl fantasy he had!

Such things were meant to be shared only in private, and then only when it was the two of them together.

True, she hadn't yet experienced such specific sexual appetites with him, but she did know from the rumours and speculation about him that Theo was a bit of a sexual sadist who enjoyed some flavour of BDSM. According to whispered giggles overheard between bathroom stalls from silly, gossiping witches, he enjoyed exerting a rougher form of dominance over his intimate partners, tying them down and demanding no 'safe words' in his theatre. Breath play, magical whipping, even blood play was hinted at.

How much of that was true, Daphne did not know, but she doubted it was as extreme as the painted pictures.

She knew Theodore Nott better than he even knew himself, and fiendish violence towards women wasn't in his nature. He was not his father, despite the blood relation to such a madman. In fact, behind the façade of the Jester, her Theo was simply a little boy trapped by a broken heart. His father's murder of his beloved mother when he had been a young child had irrevocably chained him to a life of tragedy and trauma—a life where he was made to feel blame and shame by his sire, who had been meant to protect him, and instead abused him. It was from this place that his self-deprecation and darkness had grown, and was, most likely, where the rumours about his treatment of his female partners began, really. Despite that, the child within him still ached to please others. Theo longed to prove his worth and to win the love of those towards whom he'd grown some affection over time.

His circle of vulnerability, however, had shown itself to be extremely small, consisting thus far only of Misters Malfoy and Zabini, as far as Daphne could discern. For his two best friends, her Theo made himself accessible, lowering his ramparts and allowing them into the walled fortress of his soul. 

Daphne was determined to be the one to bring those barriers down forever and to purge the poison that was Nott Senior from Theo's veins. 

Such determination she had long-ago decided was not a case of needing to find meaning in the healing of others. The Muggles called such a thing, 'Florence Nightingale syndrome', while the wizarding world referred to it as, 'Healer's Devotion'. Neither were the place from which Daphne's motivation derived.

She was simply caring for her mate.

As one of the Samodiva, she was cousin-adjacent to the Veela on her mother's side, the most famous of whom were the Delacour family. Blondes with blue eyes, all of them. And like her second cousin, Fleur, Daphne had been blessed with a mate. 

Not that Theo or anyone in her family had any idea. 

In fact, the status of her mating was Daphne's greatest secret, one she kept locked up tight in her heart where it was safe for the now.

Second to it were the extreme lengths she had gone to ensure she could keep her mate satisfied in their bedroom in the future, when they finally would be together. Learning all manner of how to pleasure Theo's unique needs had taken every Knut and Sickle of her dowry and an entire summer, but it had been worth the cost. And while her parents believed she had gone to Italy last June to learn political etiquette under Signora Carmine Zabini, deemed the most powerful 'Black Widow' in European pure-blood circles over the last century, in fact Daphne had been in London, at Madame Aset's pleasure house, apprenticed to the famed mistress, herself. 

Once the last of her debt to the Madame was discharged  by the end of this summer, it had been her plan to approach Theo and explain their mating situation, hoping for a positive outcome. Now, though, the Eros & Psyche card game gave Daphne an unique opportunity to try out her new-found sexual techniques, and possibly even on the one wizard in the world she desired above all others.

Assuming she drew his name from the Partners deck tomorrow night.

If she did not, and another witch claimed him…

With a barely-restrained growl, Daphne closed her eyes against the surge of jealousy that once more rose up within her breast when she thought of her mate with other women. For the last year, she'd had to endure the gossip about him and his proclivities in darkened niches around the castle and behind his bed's curtains, and every whisper had been a knife to her chest. That he was most likely now also envisioning Miss Parkinson and Miss Davis, as well as the Gryffindor team's witches in sexy outfits that he could peel away using only his teeth…

She couldn't allow it.

This game dropping into her lap so unexpectedly had been a sign that the Fates were with her and her mate, so she would cheat if necessary to ensure Theo was hers for the entire night. She wanted him for her lover before the term ended, she had decided, and it was through the game that she might be able to win his heart, finally, as well. How she might explain her apprenticeship and the still-remaining debt owed upon it, she was not entirely decided, but surely there would be time to do so at any point during the moments of privacy, when the assigned partners went off together to play their Forfeits and Deeds cards. 

Right now, however, she needed to disrupt his scandalous scheme to play 'dress up dolls' with the game's six witches. Her fashion choices needed to be hers alone to make, to ensure certain sensual scenes she envisioned for them to play out could be maximized for both their pleasure. It would not do for him to interfere in that plan.

Fortunately, she had an Ace up her sleeve, as the saying went.

"Our male teammates have determined that we ladies are to embellish our clothing options this weekend," she leaned over and whispered in Pansy's ear, "all for their amusement, of course."

The reaction from her friend to this news played out precisely as she had anticipated. Pansy's jaw flexed and her fingers tightened around the utensils in her hands until her knuckles turned white. "What?!?" she venomously hissed and shot a death glare down the table at Theo and his two friends. "We'll just see about that! Those fools do not get to dictate my fashion, and I do not like things sprung at me at the last minute, especially costuming!"

Daphne did not look up as she continued to cut into her meal with genteel precision, secretly pleased to have riled up her friend's zealous temper. If anyone could successfully bring a wizard to heel and have him begging forgiveness for a trespass, it was Pansy. "No, definitely not," she deferred, allowing Pansy to now take the lead in regards to retaliatory action. That was, after all, the witch's forte.

"We'll convene after dinner, just us girls," Pansy stated, returning to cutting up her food, too. "Invite the Gryffindor witches, too."

"Excellent idea. A unified front will snip the threads-"

"-before the cloth goes to the tailor," Pansy agreed with the old addage.

Having heard that last bit, Astoria leaned in. "Tailor? You're ordering new clothes?" she asked, seemingly excited at the idea. "Is this for next week's end-of-term ball? If so, can I come with? I need a new dress. None of mine…they don't fit anymore. Too many sweets."

"You need not be concerned with our discussion," Daphne coolly replied.

She loved Tori, truly, but the girl's meddling curiosity would someday land her in trouble. She should never have been sorted into Slytherin House, in truth. Hufflepuff would have been a far better match for her sister's temperament. Daphne suspected that the only reason her younger sister had been selected to join her in the ‘Silver and Green’ was because the girl had wished not to be parted from her older sibling, and everyone knew the Sorting Hat took a person's private wishes into account when making its final decision.

If only she would learn to restrain her passions!

Tori pouted.

"You always say that," she sullenly said. "I'm not a baby anymore, Daph."

Taking a deep, calming breath, Daphne turned to address her younger sister and tried not to sound like a horrid harpy in the doing. "I recognize that you are fast maturing at the proper physical rate," she calmly and rationally told her. "However, your mental development must occur at a synonymous rate if you are to survive in this House. That includes making smart decisions and rummaging for social cues before interjecting yourself into a conversation or situation. To speak ahead of considering your questions or imparting information could mete out your downfall. I do not want to see you hurt, my sister."

Conveying such wisdom was the only way Daphne saw of helping her little sister survive dwelling alongside the other Slytherins once she matriculated from Hogwarts in a week. Tori still had two more years until she was of leaving these hallowed halls, and unless she appreciated and assimilated these important lessons soon, her final four terms would be utterly miserable for the girl.

Daphne would spare her affable, somewhat gullible sister such pain, if she could.

Putting her fork and knife down, Daphne dabbed her mouth with her napkin, and then put a hand over Tori's as it rested on the bench between them. A sisterly peace offering, as it were. "The subject Pansy and I are discussing is truly nothing of significance," she admitted, "just a bit of tittle-tattle."

Tori's brilliant smile lit up her face. "Sorry for eavesdropping. You're right, I need to know when to butt in and when to stay out of trouble. I am terrible at gauging that sort of thing." She gave Daphne a shy, apologetic smile. "Sorry for being so nosy, Sis."

Daphne smiled back and wrapped an arm around Tori's shoulders, giving her a gentle squeeze, showing her the affection she had never received from their elder sibling, Amelia. "Not true. You are simply curious, sister-mine," she told her and touched a finger to her own nose, tapping it. "Snape is the only nosy one around here."

It was an old and oft-told joke around their House that their Head of House's hooked beak was large enough to rival a hippogriff's. Her sister erupted into peals of laughter at the pun. The sound was merry and artless—a sound not often, if ever, heard at a Slytherin gathering.

Out of the corner of her eye, Daphne caught sight of Theo as he turned his attention in their direction to investigate the commotion.

Her heart beat just a little faster under his scrutiny.

 .

PART 9

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry, Scotland

Hallway to Transfiguration Classrooms

Thursday, 11 June, 1998 (9:35 a.m.)

.

Ron was walking the hallways, his satchel the lightest it had been all term now that exams were over and there would be no more homework assignments.

Just before his first class of the day, and thanks to help from Harry, he had finally finished Snape's essay. Free of such cares at long last, he slung his bag about in the nearly empty corridor and began whistling a merry song taught him by Charlie over the Easter break.

So this high was what academic accomplishment felt like?

No wonder Hermione was so addicted.

Thinking of her suddenly made him worry about tonight's pair-ups and all the air left his lungs, bringing his whistling to an abrupt end.

Gad, what if he drew her Partners card?

Shite, he'd probably just retire the game, if that happened.  

Sure, he still liked Hermione as a friend, but as a couple they didn't mesh. Like milk and oranges the two of them, good separately but repulsive when put together. It's because she was always checking his ability to keep, acting like a McGonagall to his Krum…or the Whomping Willow to his Devil's Snare. 

That last one had been Neville's brilliant observation.

Ron secretly thought it fit, too.

But really, was it too much to ask the universe that it not pair him up with his ex for this card game? He wanted one last night of fun before leaving this place behind, and being with Hermione would not be fun. She would resent him, as she usually did, and he'd feel unmanned, as he always did. 

Was there a spell to ensure he didn't pick her card? 

Maybe he'd catch some of Seamus' 'Irish luck' and get Lavender instead, and they could just coast through the challenge together. It wasn't like he and his current "friends-with-benefits," as she called it, hadn't enjoyed sex together over the last few months…even if he was more laid back than he'd wanted to be in their interactions.

He wasn't complaining, though! In fact, he felt sodding lucky that someone as gorgeous and funny as Lav had taken any interest in him. He knew he wasn't as good looking as Bill or as wild as Fred and George, and not even half as smart as Percy or as charming as Charlie. She was truly out of his Quidditch league, and yet she seemed to enjoy taking his broom for a ride. And the sex with Lav was always a-mazzzz-ing. He'd learned so much from her about bondage and the whole Dom/sub thing and control, and he'd found he really liked edging and cock warming and mutual wanking…

His hardening erection was suddenly pressing uncomfortably down his leg at an angle that was far from the ideal. He glanced around, and finding he was alone, reached into his trousers and quickly adjusted his meat.

Continuing on down the hall at a leisurely stroll, he passed through the door and crossed the Suspension Bridge connecting the classrooms located in the Astronomy Tower and Bell Tower wings with the South wing of the castle. When he was half-way across, he stopped and looked out at the view.

As of the end of next week, he wouldn't see this view again, would he?

No, probably not, he figured. He didn't have any plans to work at the castle, post-grad, and most likely wouldn't come around the place again until his kids were here. Even then, he doubted he'd be allowed to walk freely around the castle like this again. The best he could hope for would be a seat in the stands on the Quidditch pitch when his daughter or son earned a spot on a House team.

It was the end of an era. 

His time with Lav would be over then, too, most likely. He could feel it. They were going in separate directions. A part of him felt sad about that, but another part was…well, honestly, a bit relieved. They wanted different things in life, and there was no way that was working out. She was interested in a job at The Daily Prophet or some other news rag; she'd told him as much just last week, as they'd lain next to each other in his bed, behind magically silenced curtains. She wanted to chase investigative leads outside of England, to get away from her family and what she felt was a stifling relationship with her mother. Ron, on the other hand, preferred to stay right here at home and limit his travel. He'd interviewed with the Department of Magical Games and Sports to work on coordinating the National Quidditch events, in fact, thanks to his dad's connections in the Ministry, and it looked like he'd be getting that offer soon. Plus, he wanted to settle down before he was twenty-five and start a family right after, and he knew Lav was a career witch, just like Hermione. Neither of them would have kids, or if they did, it would only be one or two. Ron wanted a tribe of his own, and he wanted to dote on them the same as his father had on him and his siblings.

As far as relationships went, he'd learned all he could from her, too. She'd helped him get over his first heartbreak by fucking Hermione out of his system and teaching him that he could be a good lover, and he liked to think that his submissiveness in the bedroom had helped her take a firm hold of her sexual confidence.

They'd been a good team, skin-to-skin, and he hoped they remained friends no matter what came next.

"Yeah, I'm ready to move on," he murmured to himself, and then did just that by continuing over the bridge and into the Quad Courtyard in the South wing. 

He walked to the railing and looked around there, as well. The Quad had been a great spot to play Exploding Snap. There was a hidden spot, just down there, to his left, between the staircases where he, and his housemates would bet on various hands whenever they had a free period. 

Usually, they'd get caught by one of the professors or interrupted by some cabal of witches looking to flirt with Seamus. 

Thinking of witches, what if he pulled the name of one of the Slytherins tonight?

Greengrass and Davis were a pair of tens, and every male past puberty with eyes wanted them. But he'd heard Greengrass was an Ice Queen who liked to eviscerate men with her vocabulary, and Davis, well, no one seemed to know much about her. Which meant she was probably certifiable, since she'd been sorted into Slytherin House.

Parkinson, on the other hand…

The Queen Bee of Slytherin had hated him from the first time they'd ever met, and for no reason whatsoever! Something about his red hair, and his blue eyes, and his family's lack of wealth, and the fact that he wouldn't let her push him around, she'd always claimed. By fifth year, she was adding complaints about his big hands, and his towering height, and him intentionally wearing his Quidditch uniform around the castle just to show off his muscles, and…

Hell, everything about him had always bothered the witch. She'd made no bones about that.

Which was fine with him, because he couldn't stand her, either. She had a snobby tilt to her nose when she wrinkled it, and ridiculously dainty ankles and wrists, and bigger boobs than was normal, and her skirts were wayyyyy too short to be decent, and her eyes were liquid black like a Succubus', and she refused to back down from a fight, especially with him.

The witch had been a total menace to his peace since first year, with a sharp tongue she liked to use on him often enough through the years to make his blood boil just thinking about those clashes now.

If he pulled her card tonight, he could control that mouth of hers and finally put her on her knees for him, though. He could make those dark, melting eyes of hers glimmer with lusty tears…as she stared up at him at his feet…his cock pumping between her wet lips…

All the blood in his head drained into his prick in an instant and he was hard as a rock once more. 

"Fuckin' a," he swore under his breath and reached down to readjust again.

Bloody hell, he was horny. It had been a few days since he and Lav had last rubbed the edge off, and the thing between his legs had a mind of its own when it had been neglected for too long.

As he took a few minutes to will it to deflate, he closed his eyes and took a deep, calming breath. The wind suddenly shifted and his ears picked up the sounds of someone nearby, crying. 

"Who-?"

Someone was attempting to silence their own loud sobs, muffling them with their hands or a jumper to cover up what sounded like a serious case of the wails. Maybe they fell down the stairs and needed help? He glanced around, trying to locate the source of the person in trouble…

Down below, in the courtyard itself. That's where the crying was coming from.

He quickly headed down the nearby stairs, then the next set, stopping at the bottom only to pinpoint the exact location of the trouble.

The crying abruptly stopped and something out of the corner of his eye, to the left, scraped against concrete, drawing his attention. His head jerked around, and he caught a glimpse of shiny, midnight-coloured hair, a familiar set of reddened, bee-stung lips, and a green and silver tie..

"Parkinson?"

"Weasley?"

"Uhhhh," he began, but that was as far as he got before Pansy Parkinson popped out of her hidden location in an unlit alcove tucked away under the stairs. Her pink cheeks were streaked with tears and her dark eyes were spitting mad.

"Weasley!" she spat his name as if it were a blasphemous thing.

Ron was totally thrown for a loop. He hadn't seen Parkinson cry since the time they'd gotten locked into the potion's cupboard together. She wasn't a pretty crier, that much was for certain.

"Sorry, I-" he began.

"Spying on me, were you?" she cut him off with righteous anger, then barked a cynical laugh. "I shouldn't be surprised. I'd expect no less from the boy," she emphasized the word, "who'd been caught sneaking peeks in the Prefect's bathroom. What despicable manners you have!"

Taken aback at the unfounded attack, Ron could only stare at the witch with open-mouthed astonishment.

Spying? Was she serious?

"I wasn't! I didn't!" he refuted, feeling indignation pitting a corrosive hole in his stomach. He'd put up with Parkinson's snapping her teeth at him for the last seven years, and over that time, they'd drawn an unspoken line around topics which were and weren't allowable to poke at, but to have her unjustly accuse him of stalking girls in the Prefect's bathroom like some sick pervert was pushing the bounds of their agreed warfare. He may have been caught in a few compromising positions with Lavender over the past several months, but he'd never done as she suggested, and he certainly wasn't spying on her the now! "You're in the middle of a busy courtyard, Parkinson! This isn't exactly the most private place for a sob fest, you know? And anyway, how can a bloke not notice that your mascara's running all over your face when you jump out from hidden nooks, crying your blasted eyes out? You look like a weeping raccoon, woman!" He threw his hands up in the air in anger. "Bloody drama queen, I swear!"

Parkinson's eyebrows shot into her hairline and her clawed hands clenched at her side. She stomped forward, reminding him of some sort of infuriated Fwooper preparing to attack.

"How dare you, you hideous, intellectually-challenged ginger!" she screeched in ear-splitting volume, closing the distance between them. "I'll have you know, Weasley, that I'm considered quite beautiful by some people!" In one of her hands, she held a piece of wadded up paper that she shook at him now. "Some wizards find me so attractive, in fact, that they've sued my father to court me already!"

He scoffed and shook his head. "Calm down, woman. You scream like a lunatic Veela." He stuck a finger in one ear and wiggled it around, as if to clear it of the ringing her high-pitched voice had caused. "Have you even met your Prince Charming? Or did Mum and Dad pick him out for you?" Pulling that same finger out of his ear, he pointed it directly in her face in a moment of brilliant clarity. "Whoever you marry, poor sod's going to lose his hearing by the time he's fifty. Maybe tell your friends to get him an ear trumpet as a wedding present!"

As if he'd thrown a bucket of frozen water over her, Parkinson's cheeks went as white as a sheet and hot tears flooded her eyes again…those same eyes he'd just recently been fantasizing about looking up at him as he…

Nope, not going there again, he reminded himself.

They were fighting at the moment, anyway. Nothing sexy about that.

Parkinson's lower chin suddenly gave up the battle to remain stiff and unaffected. It quivered, and then her lips pursed into a thin, straight line to hold back the tide, and her jaw clenched as she struggled not to fall apart in front of him.

For a second, staring into the raw, naked hurt etched into her face, Ron felt a spike of shame deep in his gut. Sure, he and this infuriating witch had traded some nasty barbs over the years, but he'd always assumed those were just empty words meant to rile and blow off steam, or occasionally to jab or prod to test each other's strength. They'd never been meant to seriously wound, however.

Now he realized something important: sometimes words weren't just meaningless, and sometimes, they could hurt.

It was a lesson he'd never taken seriously when Hermione had explained her feelings every time Malfoy had called her a 'Mudblood,' but now he was learning the moral in record-fast time as he stared directly into Parkinson's anguished face.

Looking down in mortification, he shuffled his feet, feeling like the worst sort of bloke.

"Look, Parkinson, what I just said-"

He never saw the blow coming.

The slap turned his head to the side with a force he hadn't expected. Stunned, he took a step back and his eyes flew back to Parkinson's face… Fat tears were streaming down her cheeks and a deep misery was etched into every line of her face.

Somehow, she'd seemed to have aged a few years in a matter of seconds.

"I HATE you, Ronald Weasley!" she shrieked around a sob, then ran past him and didn't look back once.

"Parkinson, wait!" he called after her with regret, but she ignored him, running up the stairs, back the way he had come in a blind rage. He watched her stumble half-way up and he reached out as if he could catch her, even though there was a flight of stairs and a world of hurt between them. She grabbed the railing herself and forced her legs onward, her shoulders shaking the entire time as she cried and lurched up the mountain of steps. Then she was at the door at the top, the one that led back to the Suspension Bridge, and she burst through it and into the West wing of the castle. The door closed behind her with a dull thud.

An awkward silence followed.

Ron let out the breath he'd been holding.

What the hell had just happened? What had he said specifically to set her off like that? Had it been the comment about her voice, or about her new suitor?

Both?

He shook his head, rubbed his stinging cheek, and numbly continued on his original way back to his common room, disoriented by the events of the last several minutes.

It wasn't until he'd made it through Gryffindor's portrait into his common room, and was walking up the stairs to his dormitory that the shock wore off and he felt right enough in the head to fully consider the confrontation he'd just had.

"Some wizards find me so attractive, in fact, that they've sued my father to court me already!"

She was going to be dating someone over the summer. Maybe longer than that, if things went the way of typical pure-blood marriages among the elite families. 

In the back of his caveman brain, he'd heard that and reacted, badly.

"Have you even met your Prince Charming? Or did Mum and Dad pick him out for you?"

That had been a low-blow.

But he'd said it because…because…well, because he'd been jeal-

Neville walked into their room a step behind him, jarring Ron out of his contemplation. 

"Hey, mate," his friend greeted him, heading across the room to his school trunk. "You going to Hogsmeade tomorrow? Might be the last time."

It took Ron another moment to remember that tomorrow he might very well be booked up in the Room of Requirement playing Eros & Psyche.

"Ah, no, Lav and I are…"

He scratched the back of his head, knowing he couldn't say anything about the game, although technically he hadn't yet signed the Partners card and bound himself to the Vow of Secrecy. Still, he didn't want Neville finding out he hadn't been invited to that party because his friend didn't…uh…meet Malfoy's challenge requirements, specifically when it came to the sex thing.

"It's our last weekend together," he lamely finished. 

Technically, not a lie.

Neville's expression was priceless as he worked through Ron's implication. His eyes widened and he turned a shade of beet red only found in the Hogwart's greenhouses. "Yeah, well…okay," he said to Ron before hurriedly putting his satchel into his trunk and then heading out to go back down to the common room. "See you later for dinner!"

His roommate was gone that fast, leaving Ron alone with his thoughts once more.

And that was why Neville wouldn't have been a good selection to play Eros & Psyche, he thought. The guy was an innocent in so many ways.

With a sigh, Ron tossed his satchel onto the small side table next to his bed, slipped off his shoes, and then hopped up into the middle of his coverlet. He settled back and pulled the curtains, shoved one arm behind his head, and just stared up at the red velvet canopy above him.

Considering all his options for tonight's game once more, replacing at each person as a piece on an imaginary chessboard, he ran through the possible moves in his head…and only ended up reaffirming the strategy that Lavender would be the best option as his Queen to allow his team to win against the Slytherins.

And yet…

Jet black eyes stared up at him through long, thick lashes. Raven's wing hair shone in the morning sunlight streaming into the Quad courtyard. Ruby red lips, bitten and swollen, parted. A hissing, husky voice…

"Weasley!"

"Everything's going to change," he said it aloud, suddenly quite sure of that fact and palmed his harden cock through his trousers.

 .

PART 10

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry, Scotland

Seventh Year's Transfiguration Classroom

Thursday, 11 June, 1998 (11:46 a.m.)

.

Tracey had received her Transfiguration final review with Professor McGonagall earlier in class and now sat, staring across the room at the boy she'd secretly fancied since first year.

Harry Potter.

His friend, Neville Longbottom, leaned over and said something in Harry's ear and it made Harry throw his head back and laugh out loud.

Merlin, she loved the way his smile lit up his face!

Now that he’d had his eyesight magically corrected and the glasses had been left behind, she could actually see the jade green of his eyes sparkle when he was happy. It made things inside her glow as well. Like, literally. A weird, white light would suffuse through every pore of her skin and give her an angelic aura that made her a shining, bright beacon in the dark.

Reasons: unknown. 

At the age of five, when she was old enough to understand that such a 'gift' was actually feared by even those in the wizarding community, Tracey had learned that she had to work to keep that part of herself under control. Walking around as The Human Candle tended to draw attention of the Ministry kind, and her parents had constantly worried that she would be taken from them if she was ever found out. They worked incessantly with her to learn control of her magic at that age, but it had taken Professor Dumbledore coming to their home and assigning Professor Snape to teach her Occlumency at the age of six for her to finally be able to turn that power on and off at will.

That had been an emotionally and mentally brutal time for her, one she'd mostly blocked out due to the trauma of Snape's lessons. Almost all of her early childhood memories from the age of five to six were now locked behind a wall somewhere in her mind, with only the fleeting memory here and there of her worried parents' faces as they watched her struggle through lessons, or Snape staring down his hooked nose at her with those dark, nearly black eyes and demanding she concentrate. 

By seven years old, she'd seemed to get the hang of Snape's lessons and had finally been able to repress her magic. The ballet lessons she had insisted upon in a Muggle dance school were her reward for all her hard work with her 'witchy side'. That turned out to be work of a different sort, but one that had been equally as rewarding to her. The rigor of having to concentrate on keeping her posture straight during a demi and a grande plié, of perfecting the arm and leg positions for five different types of Arabesques, and of ensuring she had the best spring points and petit jetes in the class had earned her several trophies at competitions. It turned out she was a prodigy at dance, too, and not just ballet, but in various styles.

Now, at nearly eighteen, thanks to all the discipline and perfection of movement and in concentration that she had honed over the years, it had also become second nature to suppress her 'inner glow.' It was effortless to do so, in fact, little more than a trick of will.

The exception was when it came to Harry Potter.

From the first moment they'd met, he'd had this uncanny ability to summon the light within her just by smiling or laughing. It was as if his happiness was hers. However, it was precisely because of this tendency to 'glow-up' whenever he was near that she'd had to occlude especially hard when in his presence, to will herself in his mind's eye as smaller and dimmer. To be just less all around.

It worked…a little too well.

Harry didn't seem to know she even existed.

Much like wearing a Disillusionment spell, his gaze seemed to pass right over her, as if she wasn't there. She doubted he even remembered their few meetings over the years, either, for each time she did work up the nerve to talk with him, he seemed surprised to 'meet' her all over again. She doubted he even remembered her name.

The alternative, though, would be to give away to the world her freakish magical secret, and that was something she couldn't afford to do. Not now. Not yet.

Maybe, hopefully, not ever.

So, she was cursed with a conundrum: to keep the Ministry from taking her away to experiment on her in some weird Unspeakables lab, it meant Harry Potter, her one true love, could never really know her.

If only there was a way to get rid of her hateful 'body halo' and just be a normal girl…

"Keep staring at Potter like that and he's going to know you want to play spot the sausage in his trousers," Hestia Carrow murmured with a wicked chuckle.

Tracey blushed and elbowed her friend.

"Shhh, not so loud," she admonished.

He might not be able to see her, but he could hear other people talk about him to her.

She’d die if Harry ever found out how much she longed to for him, and how pathetic she was, really.

"Who's listening?" Hestia said, looking around pointedly at everyone ignoring their conversation. “Besides, he’d have to actually be aware there was someone back here, which he clearly isn’t.”

Tracey sighed and glanced back over at Harry again.

He was now in a discussion with his best mate, Ron Weasley, who had sneaked in late today, looking a little mystified.

"You're right. It doesn't matter,” she whispered, feeling her heart ache as she realised how futile her feelings really were for someone as perfect as Gryffindor’s ‘golden boy’. Even if he did, somehow, miraculously see her and she didn't melt into a radioactive puddle of goo at his feet, she still wasn’t his type. He liked girls who were bold and were covered in courage, like Ginny Weasley and Hermione Granger. Those were traits she distinctly lacked where he was concerned. “It’s just a silly schoolgirl fancy."

But it wasn’t, and Tracey was painfully aware of that fact.

Hestia's arch tone was a tad scathing. "Why, because he said he'd never be caught dead dating a Slytherin?" She sniffed, scornful of that kind of prejudice. "For such a 'nice guy,' he sounds like a total toffee-nosed prat to me."

"It’s not…” Tracey shook her head, and struggled to put into words the biggest problem she’d noticed at Hogwarts, starting from day one—an issue that had persisted for almost a thousand years, beginning with the Founders. “House enmity is too ingrained into all of us," she lamely explained. "We are all of us guilty of it."

She nodded her head in the direction of Malfoy and his friends. They were, similarly, enamoured of the Gryffindors, none of whom would give any of the Silver Snakes a second glance.

Hestia snorted in disbelief.

"Why bother following him into the Ministry as a career," Hestia asked her for the hundredth time this term. "It’s obvious that you'll never be an Auror, like he wants to be, so what does that leave you? A desk job? Pft. You'd shrivel up and die. You’re a dancer, Tracey, like Flora and I. You're not a paper-pusher. You’d be giving it all up for…that." Hestia pulled a face and pointed towards the front of the class, where Harry was laughing so hard he was turning puce and choking like a fool as Weasley reiterated a tale that had something to do with being slapped across the face. "Why not instead come with us to Austria after the term ends?" her friend continued. "We could all try for The Royal Ballet together."

It was a dream Hestia and Flora had shared for years, and their attempts to recruit Tracey for the same life was a constant nag upon her. 

Tracey bit her lip, watching Harry's genuine, infectious smile provoke her own into life.

He had always had that effect on her—the ability to gift her with some positive emotion, even if he hadn’t ever realised it.

"I could become an Unspeakable instead," she whispered the tentative idea aloud for the first time, trying it on for size. Headmaster Dumbledore had suggested it to her earlier in the term, convincing her that working for the very organization that might want to study her would give her the advantage of not becoming a science experiment for them, but for herself. She could use the Ministry's vast knowledge from the inside to find a solution to her problem, perhaps even opening up a new branch of magical knowledge in the doing, too. At the same time, she'd work every day in the same halls as Harry. Win-win. "Outside of Hogwarts, if we work closely together, maybe he’ll finally notice me,” she murmured, hope filling her heart at the thought. “Then he could see the real me—not a witch sorted into Slytherin House, but a woman in her own right."

Her friend gave up with a frustrated sigh.

"Whatever," Hestia said with a dismissive sniff in Potter's direction. "Flor and I are going to Austria without you then. You're going to miss out on a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity over an obsession that's going nowhere."

“No,” Tracey said, wincing, not wanting to hurt Hestia's feelings, but knowing the right path for her would take her away from one of the only good friends she'd made at Hogwarts, aside from Daphne Greengrass. “I think I'm going exactly where I'm meant to go." She glanced again at Harry across the room, feeling that familiar, sweet warmth that his presence gave to her, all the way to her bones. "I'm following the path of true love.”

Hestia snorted in disgust at the idea.

 .

PART 11

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry, Scotland

Dining Hall & Second Floor Women's Bathroom

Thursday, 11 June, 1998 (12:18 p.m.)

.

Pansy entered the dining hall with head held high, refusing to look over towards the Gryffindor table. She was sure that the filthy, raffish Weasley had told everyone by now about her little crying spell in the Quad, and that he and his friends were even now snickering behind their hands at her.

Well, she wasn't about to cower under their mockery!

Hiding her pain behind her face, she marched with determination towards her regular spot next to Daphne, keeping her back to the rest of the room. To her surprise, however, Daphne stood to meet her and escorted her and Tracey Davis both out of the room by faking a need to go to the loo together. They headed towards the second floor girl's bathroom.

Fortunately, Moaning Myrtle was occupied somewhere else at the moment, for the room was absent of her annoying humming and floating about.

"Fashion talk for the game," she explained to Davis as they reclined against the sink area, only to be interrupted by the sound of stall doors creaking as Daphne checked every pen to assure there were no other visitors about.

When she was reasonably assured of their privacy, Daphne returned to their side. "We wished to discuss in private the outlandish scheme Mister Nott, Mister Zabini, and Mister Malfoy were conferring over at lunch," Daphne elaborated. "The men will, in fact, arrive in approximately another minute or two for precisely that confrontation."

"What scheme has Malfoy come up with this time?" Tracey resignedly asked.

Pansy girded herself up for another altercation today, secretly dreading it. Why did it always seem as if there was drama in her life? In fact, some days, it seemed as if her entire childhood and all of her Hogwarts years had been little more than one big anger-riling, angst-ridden, despair-inducing plot. Could she not have a single day without something blowing up, going sideways, or turning on its head? 

Ridiculous.

And now this fuckery from Draco and Nott, and their freakish need to play 'dress-up doll' with her and her fellow witches…

It was enough to force her 'round the bend, honestly.

"Draco has this ridiculous idea that we're going to play 'street salt' for him," she told her Housemate with a little growl. "He wants us to get tarted up in our finery to tempt the Gryffindors."

"Little more than modeling in our lingerie for their voyeuristic pleasure," Daphne added with her own frown of disapproval.

"Which sounds like a fine plan to us," Draco announced as he, Blaise, and Theo entered the woman's loo without respect for the conversation or reverence for the location.

Tracey's face went pale. "Absolutely not!" she firmly stated, stamping her foot for emphasis. Her hands were curled into fists at her side, and she looked the angriest Pansy had ever seen her. "I am not a wanton woman! I will not dress or act as one, either!"

Blaise tossed Davis a wicked smirk, one that would have most other women down on their knees in a flat second. "But isn't that the point of the game, pet?" he asked with dark humour. "We're all to pretend to be something we're not just for one night of fun."

Tracey stared daggers at Zabini, but remained silent on the matter.

He had a point, after all, the slick git.

Still, this was one fight in which Pansy would not back down. No man would dictate to her what she was going to wear. "I'm with Tracey," she said in solidarity. "I've got my own sense of style and standards, and you do not dictate them to me. None of you."

She stared down her nose at all three of the wizards in the room, making it clear she would fight them, if necessary.

Tracey took up the space to Pansy's right and nodded. 

Daphne cleared her throat and also stood in the line of female authority, to Pansy's left. "I concur. This game may be one of sexual mischievousness and dalliance, but it was concurrently designed for sophisticated diversion, not common tawdriness. You may wish to indulge in such uncouth sport, but I would like to enjoy it as a game of sultry delight—a conclusive initiation, as it were, into realizing adulthood."

Theo stood taller suddenly and his eyes darkened with desire, as if he'd had a shock of lust go straight through his core. "Rowrrrr! I love it when you talk smart, Greengrass," he purred and gave Daphne a cunt-licking smile. "Gets me hard."

Daphne sniffed with disdain. "That is no stupendous accomplishment for a girl, Mister Nott, as you have so abundantly made clear over the last year. Indeed, one need merely mention the word, 'Playwitch' and that seems enough to instigate the same affect upon you."

Nott's naughty grin widened, giving him a very shark-like expression. "Guilty as charged," he admitted without shame. "Care to forward me your subscription as an early Christmas gift, love? I know you subscribe…for the articles, I'm sure."

Daphne's lids lowered, but she did not rise to Nott's bait.

Her cheeks turned an interesting shade of rose-pink, however.

Theo chuckled, knowing he'd won that round.

Pansy rolled her eyes. Her friend and Nott were going to fuck at some point. It was obvious to everyone that they wanted each other. Daphne had been watching the wanker since they were eleven as if he was a melty bit of chocolate and she a woman with a craving for the stuff, and Theo…he'd only recently started noticing what had been under his nose for years, but the attraction was undeniable to anyone sitting in a room with them for more than a minute.

"All fun aside," she deflected from the heat between her friend and the lanky rascal across the room, "I believe you have our answer. We ladies decide our own fashions, and you lads keep your blue blood noses out of our boudoir." She glanced at her two female companions, and held up a finger to block Draco's protest just as he'd started to launch his campaign to change their minds. She knew that he could be so persuasive when he put his mind to having things his way, so it was best to cut him off before he got rolling. "However," she compromised, "I, personally, would be willing to wear a fancy dress that is stylish for the game—something French…and melodramatically gothic."

Malfoy raised one dark eyebrow in speculation.

"And where would you have picked up something like that, Pans, dearest?"

Pansy shrugged. "I couldn't decide between it and two others for the Halloween dance last October," she admitted. "I've been dying to wear it, honestly. This will give me the excuse."

"Is it at least marginally naughty?" Theo teased, leaning against a nearby stall and folding his arms across his tall, sleek frame.

Chuckling, Pansy shook her head. "For someone of your tastes? No," she admitted. "It will probably suit Blaise's just fine, however."

Everyone knew Blaise was into dark lace and velvet, not leather and chains, like his roommate.

Nott seemed to consider that before reluctantly nodding in acceptance.

"That'll do, babe."

"I don't have a costume," Tracey admitted. "I do have a rather striking dress that I'd wanted to wear to the Spring formal in April. I bought it then, but traded it out for something else at the last minute. It's elegant."

Daphne nodded her head. "I have a similar dress that I had intended to display at next week's End-Of-Term Ball, but have since exchanged the garment for a different inspiration. I believe it would be appropriate to display it for this occasion instead."

Draco eagerly rubbed his hands together. "Excellent!" he declared. "We'll just tell the Gryffindors that their women have to similarly dress. To keep things balanced, of course."

Believing the matter settled, he turned to leave.

"Nuh-uh-uh," Pansy stopped him. "We're not as even as you make it seem, Malfoy. Can we expect to see you three play dress-up as well? Fair is fair, after all."

Next to her, Tracey enthusiastically cackled, and the sound was so wicked, she seemed to perfectly fit in as a Slytherin for just that moment. "Yes," her housemate added, "if we're expected to look sexy, you're expected to look dandy, too."

Theo traded a wry amused glance with his friends. "Dandy? Does anyone even use that word anymore?" he asked them.

Zabini threw him a sardonic grin of his own. "I do when talking about you," he joked.

Nott gave him the two-fingered salute, which had them all snickering, even the normally placid and reserved Daphne.

"My ensemble will be appropriately dashing, I promise," Draco told Pansy. "With enough skin showing to entice. Sound good to you, love?"

She nodded. It did. 

Draco had a lovely form, sleekly muscled with no blemishes or scars to mar all that pale, marble-like skin he'd been gifted at birth. He was, in a word, flawless from head to toe, as she well-knew from having been under him more than a few times. If only he wasn't so enamoured with his father's conservative pure-blood traditions, he might have made an excellent match. 

Pansy, however, wanted more out of life than to be some man's accomplishment; she was more than just a wizard's box to check off as he skated through his advancing years on the path of male privilege. She had dreams and desires of her own, and none of them included her being paraded around like some well-procured, shiny arm ornament for some abusive pig who pilfered away her dowry on his mistresses after begetting his heir and a spare upon a wife he would describe behind his hand as, 'a useless lump'. A life of passion and excitement was what she was after—to be truly loved and desired by her future husband, and to become someone famous on her own merits. She wanted to walk into a ballroom or a boardroom and command respect. And when the time was right, she wanted a passel of children…all of whom would be conceived in love and whom she would adore with all her heart.

She absolutely refused to live a monotonous, predictable existence as a charity ball hostess, dulled out by too much expensive liquor, bullying and hurting her babies as she tried to relive her wasted life through them, and sleeping in separate rooms from a hateful spouse, like her mother had done. 

To be fair, it wasn't Violet Parkinson's fault that her life had turned out to be one of regret. The witch had been raised to be nothing more than a cow to be milked until dry, then eventually put out to pasture. Pansy's grandmother had refused to teach her daughter how to be independent, to speak up and speak out for her own wants and wishes, generationally instilling in her to be meek, demure, submissive. In that way, Violet had been trained from nappies to be the perfect traditional pure-blood wife, to cater to men's needs and neglect her own voice, shamed into silence and hollow conformity. 

Pansy was nothing like her mother. Perhaps it had been having an older brother who was a vicious brute that had taught her to fight back, but Pansy had never been one to sit down and take it from others. From a young age, she had learned to be aggressive to be seen and heard.

She liked to fight, in fact. It made her feel powerful.

If only there was a way to resist the newest scheme her parents had concocted for her!

"Dear Daughter, As you know, your mother and I have been concerned regarding your utter lack of interest in securing prospects for your marriage now that your secondary education is nearly completed. Your rejection of the heirs of the various acceptable Sacred Twenty-Eight families has created a dilemma for attaining a long-term prospect here in Britain. As you are now eighteen and a year past the legal age, it has therefore fallen to us to ensure your future is arranged…" 

"Have you even met your Prince Charming? Or did Mum and Dad pick him out for you?"

Weasley had been right. Her parents were determined to destroy her future. Ergo, it would be up to her to take matters into her own hands to prevent them from doing so. Fortunately for her, Eros & Psyche might just provide for her the one thing she needed to get out from under their legal strategizing.

At quite another cost, though.

Was it one she wanted to pay? 

It all depended upon who drew her name from the Partners deck.

"…we're about the same size," Theo was saying as Pansy tuned back into the conversation happening around her. "I'll just borrow something from Draco's wardrobe." He threw his friend a pleading look. "Alright with you?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes in response.

"Thanks, wanker," Theo shot back with a grin.

Blaise cleared his throat behind a polite fist. "I have a more than adequate dress shirt and trousers for the occasion," he informed them with a flourishing bow at the three witches. "I won't disappoint, your Majesties."

Pansy puffed up at his performance, putting on her own set of false airs. "Wonderful. See that you don't." She turned her nose into the air and made a shooing motion with one hand. "Run along now, boys. We'll see you three at dinner."

With light-hearted humour, the trio of wizards bowed and scraped their way backwards towards the door, offering the proper obeisance to their three Slytherin Norns. When the door shut behind Theo's bum, the witches looked at each other and erupted into giggles.

Now that was definitely the type of therapy that Pansy had needed to get over Ronald Weasley's cruel taunting from earlier that morning! Being fawned over by three delicious, wicked men was the shot of confidence she'd needed, and at just the right moment.

She thought of her plans for the game and the future beyond it…

Yes, she would do whatever it took to win her freedom, she decided.

 .

PART 12

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry, Scotland

Seventh Year's Herbology Classroom

Thursday, 11 June, 1998 (3:38 p.m.)

.

Theo met with Professor Sprout for his final Herbology exam review. They spent ten minutes discussing her recommendations, and then they shook hands and he turned the chair over to Stephen Cornfoot as he resumed his seat next to Draco and Blaise.

Lounging back on his elbows against the empty desk behind him, he considered this afternoon's impromptu meeting with the girls in the loo again. "Hey," he hedged, getting the attention of his two friends. "What do you think of Daphne?"

Draco’s smirk was positively shark-like.

"She'll eat you alive," he predicted.

Theo thought about that.

Yeah, his friend was probably right. Not that he’d mind Greengrass tearing into him, though…

“What say you, Zabini?” he asked, nudging his friend’s chair with his foot.

Blaise's answer was to shrug in a noncommittal gesture that told Theo nothing.

Something in Theo’s guts sank into his shoes. "You've shagged her?" he dared to ask his friend, feeling an odd and unexpected pang at the thought.

"No."

At that very frank answer, the lump in his chest loosened a bit.

Usually, Zabini was tight-lipped about what he did behind closed doors, finding it impolite to brag, so when he actually committed to saying that he didn't do something, you could trust he was telling the truth.

"You want to shag her, though?" he pressed the issue, wanting to be crystal clear where the guy stood concerning Daphne Greengrass.

He and Blaise had been awkward around each other since third year, and he didn't want to upset their recovered friendship by pursuing the same witch as his roommate, even if the idea of giving her up was actually a shite deal. In truth, he’d dug on Greengrass off and on throughout the years, and was just recently back ‘on’ to the idea of trying for something with her finally, despite what had gone down this past Easter hols…

Nope, not going there again, he thought.

That way lay madness, as his arsehole father was so fond of saying.

Blaise shook his head again, making it clear that he had no feelings whatsoever for the witch in question. “That’s…good,” Theo murmured, eyes unwittingly drawn again to the front of the classroom where Daphne was currently sitting with Parkinson and Davis.

Well, at least that much was settled with his friends.

Theo could pursue Greengrass without any regrets.

"Who’s she taking to the Summer Formal?" he wondered under his breath.

Unfortunately, Draco had the hearing of a magical beast. "She’s going with Entwhistle," the guy replied, always in-the-know regarding the newest gossip around the castle.

Theo pulled a face.

"Ugh, talk about bad taste! Why would she want to go with a tosser like him?"

"Perhaps because that 'tosser' is intelligent enough to have a decent conversation without it devolving into sexual innuendo," his friend suggested.

Theo pondered that for a bit.

"Hell, I could give her stimulating dialogue after, if she wants,” he offered. “I mean, I could spew out an entire discourse on hexes and dark curses, if she'd just let me fondle her jubblies once!"

“Classy, Nott,” Bulstrode grunted at him from across the aisle.

Clearly, she’d overheard his conversation, too.

Well, if she was going to be rudely eavesdropping… He threw his Housemate an obnoxious grin, knowing it would brass her off.

“I know, right? I’m just that fuckin’ toff!”

Message received loud-and-clear about her needing to mind her own bloody business, the witch rolled her eyes at him and then returned to her conversation with Muriel Rothley.

Neither of his friends said anything more on the subject of his interests and Summer Formals, leaving him to grumble and turn-over what he knew and thought of Daphne Greengrass over the years and how he might convince her to give him a shot, even if they were T-minus one week to end of term.

The truth was Greengrass was a hard nut to crack. Prior to the Easter hols, before he’d lost his virginity, he'd always believed her to be a bit cold and untouchable–like some sort of ice sculpture cut into the likeness of a water nymph, and wholly unlike her two hot-blooded sisters. However, one night not long after returning to Hogwarts from the break, he and she were alone in the Slytherin common room. Not a planned meeting by any means, as he’d been trying to catch up on the studying he’d put off during the break due to circumstances and she’d been sitting across from him, reading silently for pleasure. Movement over the top of his book had caught his eye at some point, and he’d glanced over the edge to find her engrossed in her story…and slowly twirling a long, golden-blonde lock of her hair around and around one of her dainty fingers as she read. Her legs had been tucked up underneath her and she’d been leaning against a couch arm, and she’d wound and unwound that bit of hair over and over again for the next two hours, oblivious to his eyes upon her.

To his amazement, he’d become enthralled with just sitting there and watching her read, noting the way her eyes would soften over some chapters, and then harden during others.

Prior to that night, his horny, teenage brain had never given much thought to females beyond their sexuality, but in those moments, he’d found himself enchanted. Of course, right as he'd had that revelation, she’d shifted and looked up, catching him staring at her. To deflect, he’d made a comment about her thrupney bits. It had worked to scare her off.

Before she'd left, however, she'd looked down her nose at him.

“Perhaps someday, Mister Nott, if you are a good boy for me, you might be awarded the opportunity to consensually salivate all over my cleavage,” she said in that uppity way that was distinctly Daphne.

He’d gotten harder than a Beater’s bat at the sexually confident look in her eyes and then he’d watched her walk away, too knocked for a six to call her back to take her up on the offer.

Immediately after that, he’d tried to put some distance between them. After all, it wouldn’t do to go pursuing her, especially after what had happened during Easter, when he’d gone home… She’d never understand, and she certainly wouldn’t want to touch him if she knew the truth of where his dick had been.

Just thinking about it now made him shudder and mentally turn the memories aside.

Right then, she leaned forward and that glorious mane of hair fell to stroke over the swells of her breasts under her school uniform, and he was gripped once more with a need he couldn’t put a name to. Lust felt too simple a feeling. Whatever it was, all he could imagine was wrapping his fist around that hair and curling it as she had that night in their common room, only he’d use it to draw her close to him, until those pretty lips of hers were tilted at just the right angle…

“Becoming a drooling idiot over a witch too far above you is a bad idea,” Draco said, chuckling.

“You’d know,” Theo shot back with a grin, kicking Draco’s chair. 

His friend’s long-standing addiction to the Head Girl hadn’t been made clear to him until the last couple of days, and then it had been a case of him wanting to get his eyes checked by Pomfrey for having missed something so obvious for so long. Blaise couldn't stop snickering at him, calling him ‘obtuse’ for not having noticed the obsession. In truth, if Theo had only known earlier, he could have avoided Granger altogether that one year and saved himself some serious sexual frustration.

“I wonder, though, how much the cards take our choices into consideration?" he mused, his attention returning to Daphne.

Her mouth was a perfect bow, wasn't it? And so pink… He wondered if that colour was shared on other parts of her lovely, lithe form.

Perhaps tomorrow night he'd get the opportunity to find out.

Merlin, he hoped so!

 .

PART 13

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry, Scotland

Dining Hall, then Corridor, then Gryffindor's Girls Dorms - Hermione Granger's Room

Thursday, 11 June, 1998 (6:24 p.m.)

.

Ginny picked at her chicken, spinach and mushroom pie while trying to quell the excitement in her belly. Harry had informed them all that at seven o'clock tonight, Malfoy would approach them to pass out their blank cards for Friday night's big game.

Eros & Psyche.

She'd sent her brother, Bill a carefully-worded owl yesterday nonchalantly asking him about the game and what he'd heard about it during his years at school, but hadn't yet received a reply. The silence and the wait was starting to make her sweat.

What if he told their parents she was snooping around, wondering what he knew about a card game rumoured to be so scandalous that their mother would likely die if she knew Ginny was even curious about it? 

No, Bill would be discreet. Ginny had always been able to ask him anything, including advice about boys, and none of it had ever gotten back to her mum and dad. His lack of a response was probably just a case of him needing to research the cards, as he'd most likely never believed the game was real. After all, she only knew about it through whispers from the castle's ghosts, many of whom had claimed to have played it, despite the fact the game wasn't invented until the nineteenth century, long after most of them had already been dead.

Well, all except Moaning Myrtle, who had died earlier in the century because of Tom Riddle's pet basilisk…

That thought brought her up short.

Funny that she still thought of that evil bastard as 'Tom' and not 'Lord Voldemort,' as the rest of the wizarding world did. 

But then, she knew Riddle in a decidedly more intimate manner, didn't she?

"You are special, aren't you, Ginny? I feel it."

"I understand you in ways your friends never will."

Having totally lost her appetite now, Ginny pushed aside her plate.

Just remembering that night had her feeling queasy, honestly. The memory of those cold hands upon her, of Tom's death-scented breath suddenly warming her throat as he gained a corporeal form by stealing her life energy, of her heart beat slowing…

No, not going there again, she told herself and forced the thoughts out of her head, imagining herself slamming the door on them, just as the Mind Healer at St. Mungo's had encouraged her to do. She had worked hard over the years, meeting with Healer Tesa during every school break to move past those feelings of helplessness and the trauma of being so hurt and nearly killed by the ghost of the cursed diary. 

What Riddle had done to her, an eleven-year old child…

Being with Harry earlier this year had been a good first step towards healing, however. Their short-lived sexual exploration had been life affirming, even if it had been a tad awkward and lackluster. That she could allow herself to lie under him, to willingly open herself to him and not be afraid had been empowering. It had helped that Harry had been gentle and generous, even as inept as he'd been.

Then, there had been that weird one-off, friends-with-benefits thing she had tried out with Seamus. What a completely wild ride that had been, as opposite of what she and Harry had done as the day was to night.

Both experiments had ended, but not badly, and they had been invaluable lessons for Ginny's self-esteem. They had proven that she had survived the violence Tom had done to her.

"You silly, little witches will give everything you are to a man with power—your hopes, your dreams, your bodies, even your lives. And all you want in return is to be told you are important, that you matter, that you are loved. You pathetic, weak creatures."

"You're wrong," she murmured to that memory, banishing it back into darkness as well.

Tom Riddle's ghost could get fucked, as far as she was concerned.

"Hey, you okay?" Neville murmured, leaning into her. "One minute you looked sick, and the next, you were staring at that chicken on your plate as if you wanted to hex it into oblivion."

Plastering a smile on her face, Ginny waved him off. 

"I'm fine, just thinking about that last Quidditch game," she lied. "Going back over it all, recapping the memories, you know? We almost lost. Malfoy was seconds from catching the Snitch." She faux flexed her muscles, putting on a show to sell the tale. "Good thing Gryffindor's star Chaser was there to save the day, though, huh?"

He gave her a relieved smile, clearly believing the story she'd cooked up.

"Yeah, you were amazing, even faster than Harry!" he admitted aloud with a shy grin.

She chuckled as Harry and Ron, who were sitting across from them, abruptly ended their conversation and tossed identical frowns at Neville.

"Oi, I think he's saying you were off your game, mate," Ron said to Harry.

"I assure you, I wasn't," Harry replied, automatically reaching to adjust his glasses only to realise once more than he wasn't wearing them any longer. "Malfoy was cheating."

"Cheating?" Neville seemed astonished by this news. "How? I didn't see anything out of the ordinary."

The three roomies then got into an animated conversation about the game and Harry's suspicions about his rival's deception.

"I'm telling you, he cursed my broom!" Harry insisted in a harsh, but low tone. "I can't prove it, though. I just know it!"

Having successfully thrown off the scent of Neville's curiosity and her darker thoughts, and not wanting to participate in the conspiracy theories about Malfoy's shenanigans, Ginny instead took the opportunity to glance around the room.

Predictably, her gaze was drawn to the Slytherin table.

Specifically, to Blaise Zabini.

He sat facing her today and was picking away at his meal while talking to Malfoy. A ghost of a smile turned up one side of his mouth as they shared a laugh at something Nott said on the other side of Malfoy. The curve of his lips and the way his dark eyes shone with real amusement gave his usually serious mien a decidedly boyish charm.

Instantly, she felt bolstered.

Now there sat a wizard with whom she could fight. 

Quickly tracing the familiar contours of his strong jaw and lush, kissable lips, something inside of her glowed with a tingly warmth. She really shouldn't find him this ridiculously attractive, especially given the fact he hated her and everything she represented. He was a dark wizard in the making, too, and had a well-established reputation with the witches. Everything about him was bad news.

And yet…

His head turned, as if he could feel her gaze upon him.

That smile of his turned predatory in an instant as his dark, gleaming eyes snagged and held her attention as assuredly as if he'd hit her with a Petrify spell.

This, right here, was why she shouldn't want him, she thought as her heart began a race under her ribs. Because he reminded her too much of Tom Riddle when he looked at her like that. They were both of them snakes lying in wait, eager to swallow her whole, if she made one wrong move.

Blaise Zabini frightened her, even as he excited her.

The same as the cursed diary had.

Maybe she wasn't as healed from her past as she'd believed…

Ginny tore her attention from him, choosing instead to stare down at her lap. Godric's beard, was she really going to magically bind herself to playing a game of truth and dare with the likes of her greatest school rival? Even if Zabini didn't pull her Partners card, he would still be in the room with her, on the opposite team. He would be sitting across from her and watching her with dark glee as he attempted to stomp her heart into the ground, and all for simply scoring the winning goal against him during his final game at Hogwarts.

Actually, it went deeper than that one moment. She'd thwarted him on the pitch and in the hallways one too many times over the years for him to let her go without some form of retribution, and she knew the card game was going to be his final chance to have-at her.

What if he did pull her name from the deck?  

She fidgeted at the thought that was both terrifying and, at the same time, thrilling to her.

He might have access to her, if they ended up partnered for tomorrow night's game, but that went both ways. She wasn't at a sole disadvantage, was she? Her witch's intuition told her he was praying to pull her card, if only to finally catch her and add her to his list of conquests. He wanted her, maybe as much as she wanted him, but his desire was for all the wrong reasons, where hers was simply a case of curiosity and lust.

Specifically, she wanted to know if the rumours about him in bed were true.

Meanwhile, he planned to ruin her for any other man.

When she reached out to grab her water glass to wet her suddenly dry mouth, she accidentally spilled her drink on the plate to her immediate right. "Sorry, Neville!" she fast apologized, watching the flaky crust of her friend's meal soak up the liquid. "I've gone and ruined it!"

Always so gentle and kind, Neville shrugged off the loss of his food. "No, it's fine," he told her. "I thought the gravy was too thick anyway."

She gave her friend an understanding smile and a spontaneous, small kiss on the cheek.

"You really are too good a fellow, you know?"

Nev's cheeks exploded with colour and he looked down at his plate, clearly embarrassed, stammering a muttered, unintelligible reply.

Ginny couldn't help but be amused. Neville Longbottom was just so cute and innocent!

Reaching her glass into the middle of the table to request a refill, she accidentally looked up and across the room again…and locked eyes once more with Zabini. His narrowed, suspicious gaze now travelled between her and Neville and back again.

She felt all the blood drain from her cheeks.

"Gin, you okay?" Harry suddenly asked her, drawing her attention back to her friends and her own side of the room. "Are you ill?"

That was the third time in the last two days he'd asked about her health. Secretly, Ginny was suspicious that her ex was seeking any excuse to call her unfit for the game tomorrow night. Harry, she knew, was a little too possessive and overly-protective of the people he'd 'claimed' for his own, and the thought of possibly sharing her or allowing her under the thumb of some unscrupulous Slytherin didn't sit well with him, she knew. She understood, however, where those tendencies originated - in his lonely childhood – and simply couldn't hold his possessiveness against him as a result.

Forcing a placating smile, she attempted to appear calm and in control of her nerves. "I'm perfectly fine, Harry," she reassured him. "Just a bit of gas."

Next to her, Neville began choking on his food, and had to cover his mouth with his napkin to prevent food particles from spraying the table. Ginny tried hard to cover her smile, but failed miserably when Seamus banged the table with an open palm and belted a hearty guffaw. He raised his glass and saluted her.

"Honestly, Gin," Hermione giggled to her left. "Sometimes you say the most shocking things!"

"Got you to laugh, though, didn't it?" Ron asked around a mouthful of food from across the table from them, sitting at Harry's right. He swallowed. "Haven't heard you do that in over a month."

Hermione cleared her throat.

"Yes, well, unlike some, I take final exams seriously."

Ron snorted, picking up his glass of pumpkin juice for a sip.

"A little too serious, if you ask me."

Lavender scooted down to Ron's right, now that Parvati had excused herself to sit with her sister at Ravenclaw's table. "That's because studying has always been Hermione's sport of choice, Ron. You've got Quidditch, and she's got her revise charts. You've just never understood that."

"What's there to understand?" Ron asked, shoveling another pile onto his fork and preparing it for open-mouth entry. "She's a little too obsessed with her hobbies, I tell you."

"Says the man who owns every Chudley Cannons branded item on the market," Harry countered with a mocking grin.

They all enjoyed a good one at that as Ron's cheeks turned an interesting shade of magenta.

It was in that moment that Hermione nudged Ginny in the ribs, and indicated with a nod of her chin that she was to look over at the Slytherin table for the third time. Gathering her courage, Ginny dared another glance in the direction of her rival. This time, he indicated with his eyes and a tilt of his head for her to meet him outside in the hallway. She traded a silent message with Hermione, who nodded.

Was this it, then? Was this when Malfoy and the others would meet them with their cards?

It was a quarter to seven now.

Her stomach fluttering with pixies, Ginny patted her mouth with her napkin and made her excuses about wanting to enjoy a long, relaxing soak in the Prefects' bath before turning in for the night. Hermione and Lavender offered to join her, as did Seamus, who was flatly turned down.

The three ladies tucked their utensils in proper, and headed out together. When they reached the hallway, an unmistakable, "Psssst," from a small, curtained alcove to one side of the Grand Staircase called their attention. It was Pansy Parkinson. "Draco said to wait for him and the others here," she whispered, replacing the Silencing Charm over the fabric entrance after checking to make sure no one had seen them duck behind the purple cloth. She, Tracey, and Daphne stood against one wall, so Ginny leaned against the opposite side, checking out the competition. Hermione and Lavender huddled at her side doing the same.

For a full minute, there was a strained silence that simply begged to be filled.

"So," Ginny began, wanting to suss out the competition. "I'm going to ask the really important question." Five pairs of eyes focussed on her as she dramatically paused for effect. "What's everyone wearing tomorrow night?"

Tracey tittered, and then tried to hide her amusement behind her hand in embarrassment.

"Well, it is sort of important, don't you think?" Ginny asked, feigning interest in her nails just then.

The three Slytherins shared their own silent communication with their eyes, and in that instant, she realized how similar she and her friends were to this group of girls who had stood on the opposite side of the fence for so very long.

Pansy shrugged. "We figured we'd get prettied up."

"Actually," Tracey corrected with a wry smile, "the boys asked us to, but we're not doing it for them. We're doing it for us! I'm wearing one of my Yule Ball alternate dresses, but may bring the original along, too, just in case."

Ginny straightened, unfamiliar with the term the other witch had used. "Alternate dress?" she asked, disconcerted that this was an actual fashion norm that her family's lack of wealth had left her unaware existed. "You bought a second dress for if you decided you didn't want to wear your first choice?"

The idea seemed utterly bizarre. 

"You do that, too?" Lavender cheered with a relieved smile, much to Ginny's surprise. "Thank Merlin! It's always a dilemma settling on just one dress for any occasion!" She leaned in to confide, "Sometimes, I have multiple wardrobe changes in the middle of one of my mother's holiday parties just to confuse people."

"Why?" Davis asked, seemingly sincerely curious.

Lavender shrugged. "If the attendees are busy judging you a prude when you're introduced because you're wearing a conservative outfit and have your hair pinned up, they won't pay much attention to your face. Later, when you show up again in a dress showing substantially more cleavage and with your hair down in waves, they won't connect you as the same person. You can pry more out of them then, especially as they hope by being agreeable to your questions, you'll show them more skin."

"So, that's how you do it!" Ginny crowed at finally solving a mystery that had been plaguing her about the levels of Lavender's gossip gathering over the last few years and how she had managed such a thing. "You tricky minx!"

Lavender winked at her. "Works like a charm every time!" she admitted.

Ginny had to admit, she was impressed with that level of cunning.

"Are you sure you were sorted right?" she asked her housemate with an elbow nudge. "Sounds distinctly snake-like."

Her teammate made a kittenish roar at her and flexed her nails like lion's paws.

The two erupted into laughs.

Daphne bent down just then to adjust her knee-high socks. "Ingenious, Ms. Brown. I also will be draped in a dress whose initial purpose was for the Formal next week. I will not be bringing a change of outfit, however. The one dress will suffice."

"Same," Parkinson chimed in.

"That makes four of us!" Davis smiled, rocking back and forth on her heels in happiness.

"Wait one second, back the broom up," Ginny called, holding her hands out. "Why did no one ever mention 'secondary outfits' for the same event? This is the first I'm hearing about this." She glanced at Hermione. "Did you know about this?"

Hermione appeared as perplexed by the idea as Ginny felt. 

"No."

"So you don't have a second dress, either?"

"No, just the one. It was, like Greengrass, to be my Formal dress next week."

Ginny frowned as she mentally inventoried the clothing in her own trunk. As she went down the contents in her head, her stomach suddenly felt like she'd swallowed a lump of lead.

She had nothing appropriate to wear for a summer dance.

In her defence, Quidditch training this term had been all-consuming, as it was Harry's final year as Captain. Ginny had dropped all other concerns to ensure she could aid him in winning the House Cup this year, as Slytherin had taken it home the previous year. She'd wanted to give him one big win before he left her behind.

Well, she'd accomplished that goal…but doomed herself to fashion oblivion.

"I only have the outfit I wore to the Samhain ball last October." Her cheeks burned red hot in embarrassment as she considered her impoverished situation; she would not be able to afford another dress, even if she would be given the time and freedom to take off to Diagon Alley for an off-the-rack option this upcoming weekend. "I guess I'm wearing it again, as-is."

To her surprise, a Slytherin came to her rescue.

"I can help you alter it, if you want," Tracey Davis said with a genuine, gentle smile that lit her up and made her seem more alive, instead of greying out into the background as she usually did. "We could alter it just enough that no one would ever know it's the same dress." She reached out across the space and took Ginny's hand in her own when Ginny faltered on a response. "I'm not wealthy like most of my housemates. I make all my own clothes. Hardly anyone knows the difference, though."

Parkinson reluctantly agreed.

"She is rather talented with a needle, Weasley."

Then, Greengrass chimed in.

"It would not be an exaggeration to state that Ms. Davis' seamstress work is as professional as Madam Malkin's own," the beautiful witch offered. "I will admit that she has repaired my own clothing on two occasions in the past, when there was an urgent need. The hand stitching was tight and well-done, and the repaired items served me well without any unraveling or weakening of threads."

Ginny gently gave Davis' hand a squeeze. "Thanks, I could use the help. I'm shite with a needle." She leaned in and whispered, "Don't tell my Mum that, though. She'd have kittens."

Tracey looked at each of them with a warm smile that seemed to brighten the whole bathroom. "It's settled then," she told them with a firm nod. "We'll dress for tomorrow night's game to dazzle!"

"How sinful of you all!" Malfoy mock-chastised, stepping through the entrance right then, as if having timed right his grand entrance. "Conspiring behind our backs like this, ladies. Tsk, tsk."

Following him was the rest of the gaming group. Everyone hurried in and took up spots against the two walls, just as the girls had earlier.

With a sigh of disgust at Slytherin's Prince, Pansy waved her wand over the entrance again, assuring its privacy. Hermione followed it up with a spell of her own that Ginny didn't recognize. She turned to the group, noted the variety of questioning gazes and shrugged. "Doesn't hurt to be thorough," her housemate explained. "And, I even added an extra spell that blends the entrance into the wall. Unless you knew this place was here all ready, you wouldn't know it existed at all."

Malfoy's smirk meandered up his cheek. "Like the Room of Requirement. Clever," he complimented. "But then, I'd expect no less from the Head Girl."

The earlier comfortable camaraderie that had begun with the women was erased in an instant with that one comment. The Gryffindors crowded closer together in the already-overcrowded space and faced off against the Slytherins, trading glares. Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and stared her blond arch-nemesis down.

"You just can't help being a foul-mouthed git, can you?" she asked Slytherin's king snake, shaking her head in resigned cynicism. "I think it must be a consequence of all that Malfoy in-breeding."

Opening his mouth to retort, it was a surprisingly quick Daphne Greengrass who slapped a hand over Draco's face and stopped him cold. "I do not doubt that the scathingly adroit rejoinder you planned to launch at Miss Granger would generate hours of endless self-gratification, Mr. Malfoy, but need I remind you that we have a distinct purpose here tonight, and that belaying said task may, in fact, result in our imminent discovery by a member of the staff sooner, rather than later?"

There was a pause as everyone digested what she'd just said.

"Wow, that was so totally hot," her brother muttered from somewhere off to her right. "She made a scolding sound sexy!"

Ginny felt like sinking into the floor. Only Ron could make the seriousness of the moment inappropriately charged with sexual intimation.

"You said it!" Theodore Nott chimed in from the other side of the aisle. "Smart girls get you hard!"

Ginny actually groaned and slapped her face into her hand, realizing in a second that there was truth to the myth that everyone had a like-minded doppelganger out in the world somewhere. In this case, her older brother was standing not three feet away from his own.

When she turned back to focus on the team across from her, Malfoy was already charming open a Bag of Holding and pulling out a wooden box that looked like it might have come from the Victorian Era. He plunked it down into Pansy's hands and opened it, extracting a deck of oversized cards. They were about the size of two Muggle playing cards placed top to bottom, and about as wide sitting side by side.

Leaning forward, Ginny was able to fully appreciate the beauty of the artistry on the backs: a full-colour image, deeply burnished with bronze and gold foil paints depicting the mythological paradigm of true love, Eros and Psyche.

At the top of an arching canvas stood the moon and the sun on opposite sides, the stars twinkling in between. In the far-off background of the cloud milieu was a fantasy castle with glimmering spires that reminded her distinctly of Hogwarts. In the centre, hypnotically pulling one's attention, the lovers embraced – Psyche draped in a shimmering gold swath of satiny fabric, her hair pulled into a half up-do by layers of metal combs and twisted and looped by glistening foil leaves, the long, aureate strands winding down her naked back. Held in her tight, desperate embrace was her Cupid, whose profile was hidden behind Psyche's, his cheek pressed into her temple. Short, phoenix wings made of golden feathers erupted from his back, sensuously curling at the ends. He was completely naked, although his body was mostly hidden as it pressed intimately into his paramour's curves, shielded by her flowing, molten dress.

It was an erotic post, yet innocent at the same time.

It was Psyche's face that drew one's attention however, as a miniscule tilting to the image's pouting ruby lips denoted a hidden sorrow that tugged at the heart. Usually, Ginny he wasn't one for ominous signs or scrying for portents, but in that moment, a chill crept up her spine and she had her first taste of doubt about this whole design. Glancing at the faces of everyone else, though, she noted that only Greengrass and Hermione seemed to share her reservations. The others appeared engrossed in watching the proceedings or each other, barely taking an interest in the artwork on the back of the deck.

Malfoy divided the cards up and counted them out. He then looked from one face to the next as he made his presentation. "First, I'm required to go over the rules of the game," he stated. "As the Lead Challenger, that makes me head of Slytherin's team. As the Contender, Potter serves as the head of Gryffindor's. As such, either of us may, at any time before the actual game begins, forfeit the match for our team." He smirked. "But I think we can pretty much state here and now that's not going to happen, right?"

There was a chorus of nods and ascent from both sides of the narrow aisle.

"Good, now that's out of the way," Malfoy continued, "it is part of the convention that I lay down the game play. Even if you know this already, I'm obligated by the rules to reiterate. So, pay attention because I'm not wasting time tomorrow night repeating myself."

He then launched into a full explanation of the purpose of the game, and how it was played, including the purpose of each of the four different colour-coded decks. "Again, the red cards represent the Deeds cards. The blue are the Forfeits. Green is for Interrogations. And the gold card is the Partners deck." He showed an example of each, holding it up and moving it from side to side slowly. "Don't mess it up when you're writing your questions, punishments, and rewards, because nothing can be taken back once it's down on the card."

"What happens if two of us write the same question, or the same punishment or reward?" Ron asked from the back, his greater height affording him a good view even at such a distance.

Draco began passing out the cards – one Partner, two Interrogations, two Deeds, and two Forfeits – to each player as he answered. "The cards are charmed, Weasley. Once you sign your name to the Partner card tonight, the game officially begins for you, and the spell on the deck aligns to all of the players who have signed their card before midnight tonight. If one of us writes something down that's too similar to the others, the cards will simply erase and prompt you to try again. That's why it's important to start right away on filling in the cards, because you don't want someone to trump your ideas." He glanced at Hermione as he passed her cards to her. "Remember that."

When everyone had their cards in hand, he took his wand out. "You mark up the cards by touching the tip of your wand to the blank side and thinking what you want to appear." He placed the end of his wand on the Partner card in his hand and before their eyes, his name appeared. "To seal the cards and keep the content you've written on them frozen you simply keep your wand tip on the surface and say, 'Meus mos est vox.'"

A bright, white light surrounded Draco and the card together for a moment as the magical contract was made, fading out in seconds.

"'My will is word,'" Hermione translated the Latin spell, a thoughtful expression on her face as she turned the cards over in her hands. "Interesting. Just like a Wizard's Oath."

Malfoy nodded. "Exactly like a Wizard's Oath, which means, you're promising to obey the rules and stay until the game is concluded, and not to speak of anything that happens in-game with anyone not involved in this set ever."

Removing a honey-coloured lollipop from his mouth, Seamus gave a grunt. "So, Granger was tellin' the truth: there's an Oath o' Silence about the game?" 

Her Housemate's brogue was thicker than usual, which always indicated an elevated level of nervousness in him. Ginny shivered in response, loving the way the syllables rolled off the man's tongue. Even though he was an incredible man-slag, and she'd sampled him once, he was still a very sexy wizard. Sea could easily make a girl wet just by talking.

Another shiver danced down her spine, as a whiplash of anger slid across her magical aura. It felt as if she'd just been burned by fire. She glanced up, unsure of where it was coming from…and was skewered on Zabini's knowing, dark gaze across the way.

From the daggers he was staring into the very heart of her, it was clear that he was incensed with her again.

What the hell had she done this time? Annoyed with his cryptic emotional displays, Ginny simply raised an eyebrow at him and flattened her expression, letting him know in a simple look that she wouldn't let him intimidate her.

His lips twitched in rising fury and she pointedly turned away, determined to ignore him from then on. Whatever his problem with her was, she refused to allow it to affect her.

"Questions?" Draco addressed them again. "Last chance."

"You collectin' these before or at the game?" Ron asked for clarification.

Malfoy tsk'd, clearly believing the answer should be obvious. "At the game. Hold onto them until then, and for Slytherin's sake, don't let anyone else see them, especially teachers. This is a forbidden game on campus, don't forget, and I don't relish expulsion a week away from graduation."

"Who's setting up the Room of Requirement?" Harry asked, once more reaching for his phantom glasses, noting the behaviour and changing it at the last second to run his fingers through his short hair instead.

Draco shrugged. "I'll do it." He grinned like a shark, all white teeth in that pale, pointed face.

Harry stared hard at him. "No, I think we'll do it together, if you don't mind."

Always so polite, Harry was. It's too bad their chemistry didn't mesh, Ginny thought, because he'd have been the perfect wizard for her. He was the romantic, wanting to take his time making love for hours, never rough, always soft and patient. Ginny liked things a little harder, more desperate, though. It was this incompatibility in the bedroom that had driven them apart. Tragic, really.

Malfoy snickered. "Fine, Potter. Shall we meet at half past six tomorrow night in front of the room? We'll arrange it as necessary when we get there."

Harry nodded. "Deal." He raised his card, magically signed his name with his wand, and then spoke the charm to commit to this course of action.

Following their teammate's lead, the rest of the Gryffindors and Slytherins did likewise. Once everyone had bound themselves to the game, Malfoy turned towards the fabric door, peeking out, making sure the coast was clear. He turned back once, grinning with glee. "See you tomorrow night, pips. Don't forget your hankies." With that, he was gone, Zabini and Nott following close behind.

Eventually, they all made their exits together, girls going next in groups of three. When they retired to their House common room, the six Gryffindor teammates looked askance at each other, nodded, and left for their dorms without another word. Ginny followed Hermione and Lavender back to their room. Pavarti was out, probably hanging with her sister for the evening, as the two liked to bunk over in each other's rooms every other weekend. Apparently, it was a Ravenclaw weekend for her friend. That worked out just splendidly as far as Ginny was concerned.

Locking and spelling the door for privacy, Hermione indicated them to all flop down on her bed. "We should work together on our cards, so we don't duplicate any efforts and waste precious time. You heard the ferret about getting down an idea first. I've got some ideas that I'm praying a Slytherin doesn't take."

Ginny considered it. "I don't mind sharing the fun," she admitted. "In fact, if we do it together, we'll get it done quicker."

Lavender nodded. "Sounds good to me." She put her cards down on the red and gold coverlet, and separated them by colour. Picking up a blue Forfeit first, she held it up. "I think we should do punishments first, though, since I'm sure the Slytherins will immediately jump on that."

Hermione chuckled.

"If I know Malfoy, that will be the first cards he'll reach for, followed by the Deeds."

Ginny held up her blue card as well. "All right then, what kind of penalties shall we invent to torture our fellow players?"

 TO BE CONTINUED...