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Feel	By : bourbonrain Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Ginny Views: 25972 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Feel
- 2-2
- 3-3
- 4-4
- 1
- 2
- 3
Chapter 2

*****

That night, Ginny discovered it was impossible to sleep with
alcohol in her system. After he pulled out of her for the last time, he turned
on his side, faced the other way, and became oblivious to her presence. She lay
beside him, skin still moist from it all, suddenly sober and incredibly
thirsty. It was time to leave.

He felt her rise, listened as she quietly gathered the
scraps of sequins and silk that had covered her body. He pictured her dressing herself,
her wince as she pulled her underwear over the dried juices of their sex, as
the cloth of her top rubbed uncomfortably against her nipples. He pictured her
standing before the mirror on his dresser, tugging her rumpled auburn waves
into a quick ponytail.

Then, he heard a sniffle, then another one - quiet, ashamed,
guilty. He listened to the clicking of his belt buckle as she went though his
pants pockets, recovering the portkey.

"The money is on the table."

But she was already gone. He shifted, turning onto his back.
The bed reeked of sex, of fucking, of hate. He drifted to sleep unwillingly,
thinking of those sad, brown eyes, flecked with green and brimming with anger.
The whole night had been on a whim. Edmund convinced him to join him at
Madame�s, saying Draco needed to get out of his slump. And there she had been,
the Weasle's little sister, Harry Potter's ex-girlfriend, Ginny Weasley,
Gryffindor beater, dressed in fishnets and black silk that barely covered
anything. He watched as she laughed and flirted, her grin toothy, but her eyes
empty. He watched as she downed glass after glass after glass, as she threw her
head back, letting Edmund lick that red, sticky juice off her chest. He caught
her eye then. He had sent Soraya away; the bint bored him.

But Ginny fucking Weasley... she fascinated him.
Then, he realized. The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. Proud,
stubborn Gryffindor - too much pride to ask Potter for money. So here she was, whoring
herself. Vulnerable. Pitiful. Enchanting. When she approached him, he went in
for the kill.

It wasn't about the Gryfindor-Slytherin rivalry anymore. It
wasn't about the Death Eaters versus the Order. It wasn't about her dead
family, or his. As his head buzzed from too much rum, he knew he had to have
her. He just had to.

And now, several hours later, the deed was done. If anyone
asked him, he would probably write the night off as a good fuck. After all, she
was seventeen and desperate, with full lips, long lashes, and hourglass curves.
Who wouldn�t offer to do her? Never mind that she was the little sister of the
golden trio, or that she was born of a family his scorned, or that she had
turned him into a ferret so many years ago. Never mind that he couldn�t put his
finger on exactly why he had to have her writhing beneath him, eyes filled with
shame and hands reaching to pull him down for more.

But boy oh boy, would he make her keep her word. He knew
twenty thousand galleons would be sufficient to pay her tuition, plus any debts
the late Arthur Weasley had left in her hands. And in return, she would come to
him, secretly yearning for more And she would keep coming (no pun intended),
until he figured out exactly what it was in her that he wanted to have, to
hurt, to destroy, or otherwise. It was past the point of revenge, not that he,
himself, knew what that meant.

Just to keep things in suspense, Draco waited several weeks,
until Hogwarts let out for Christmas break, before owling for her presence. In
the mean time, he had gone to Madame Oulette, ordered that Virginia Weasley be
discharged from club duties, and heard several days later that the good woman
had allowed the girl to return to her former post as pub waitress. He then owled
the Madame again, requesting for her hours be cut down to two a week.

Let her squirm.

This was all simply insurance to make sure she would show up
to the gates of Malfoy Manor, exactly three days upon receiving his owl. It
worked.

It was ten o�clock in the evening. He waited in the parlor
as a house elf answered the door.

�Follow me,� the creature squeaked. The clicking of her
heels followed the house elf�s barefoot steps in the cold halls.

�Tea,� Draco told the house elf when they finally arrived.
As it scampered off, she was left standing alone in the doorway, dressed in a
knee-length paisley-print skirt and a white cardigan. Her curls were pinned
neatly behind her ears and her fingers clutched a small handbag.

�Please sit.� He motioned to the chair opposite to him. His
calm tone betrayed nothing of his reaction to her arrival. In truth, her prim appearance
unsettled him a bit - a simple reminder that they were both sober now. Skirt
and Slacks. Cardigan and Collared Shirt. Standing proper and Sitting straight.
Tea. And Biscuits. She wasn�t sauntering up to him, half-naked, and falling
drunkenly into his lap with a glass of rum. Her make-up-less face differed from
that of the girl arching her back to his touch, eyeliner smeared, lip-stick
crimson. It wasn�t Madame�s exclusive club anymore � it was Malfoy Manor �
cold, pristine, antique, dark. Here, he always had the upper hand.

He collected himself inwardly as she sat, and met her gaze
coolly.

�Before we begin, I would like to make our agreement
official.� He presented her with a six-inch piece of parchment, detailing the
rules. His rules. �Magically binding of course. You have only need to sign at
the dotted line.�

The quill was already laid before her. His eyebrows raises
as she picked it up and signed without even reading the terms.

Upon setting the feather down, she looked at him
expectantly. �Where�s my money?� she asked. Her face showed nothing, a blank
slate.

He laughed. �Patience. Truly, it astonishes me how quickly a
proud Gryffindor succumbs to prostitution. Then again, you are a Weasley. Poor.
Sniveling. Beggar.� Let her know how he sees her.

Nothing. No reaction. Just a sip from her cup of freshly
poured tea. She set it down gently, a tiny clink of china in the grand room.

�I�m not here to play that game Malfoy. We�re both a little
too old to be calling names, don�t you think? The facts are on the table. I
need money. You can�t get laid. Problem solved.�

�Now look who�s being childish,� he said, unable to help
adding, �We both know I have no problem getting any woman.� Petty. But he had
to say it. � In this case, the money conveniently puts you in my servitude, but
don�t lie to yourself.� His voice fell low, almost to a whisper. �When you�re
lying beneath me, screaming my name, I know you want it just as much as I do.�

When she opened her mouth to retort, he lifted a finger to
his lips to silence her.

�Listy!� he called for the house elf. �Come clear the
table.�

They sat in silence as the elf scurried into the room and
with a snap made the platter of tea and biscuits disappear.

�Now, leave the room and close the door. We are not to be
disturbed.�

He watched her carefully through all this. She fidgeted
under his gaze, picking at her nails, tucking imaginary strands behind her
ears. Make her uncomfortable. Let her squirm.

When the door slammed shut, he swore he saw her flinch. To
ease the silence, he cast a spell to make music play. Something slow and sultry
filled the room, and there they sat, still opponents in a chess game.

�Come make me hard, Weasley.�

Her eyes darkened. With visible resolve, she rose. With her
wand, she pushed the table away so nothing stood between them. He could see her
mind shift � she was back in Madame�s underground club, wearing her glittering
mask, eyes lined with charcoal black. She seemed to look right through him as
she unpinned her hair, letting it fall in soft waves down her back. Slowly, she
unbuttoned her sweater and threw it aside. Then the skirt came unzipped.
Stepped out of. Kicked away.

He wasn�t one to use Weasley and beautiful in the same
sentences, so he didn�t. But he would. Tall. Lithe. Soft. That long red hair.
Those perfect, perfect lips.

She was approaching him now, in nothing but lacey
undergarments and a camisole. By the time she reached him, it was just lacey
undergarments. She settled herself between his legs, swaying her hips with
every movement, lips parted, perfume wafting. His pants tightened as she leaned
in, her pink tongue darting out to flick his earlobe.

And there, she stilled.

�How,� she whispered softly.

She kissed him lightly on the lips.

�Does.� She wordlessly magicked his buttons undone.

�It.� Her small hands undid his belt and unzipped his pants.

�Feel?�

His dick was out now, in her hands. Her gaze met his boldly
as she stroked him and didn�t look away as she breathed hot air onto him, but
didn�t take him in her mouth. Instead, she rose so that her lips were level with
his.

�How does it feel,� she asked again softly. �To know that
you�re getting Harry Potter�s leftovers?�

She didn�t have time to scream, before her mouth was shoved
over his cock and she was gagging from his thrusts. Both his hands were
gripping her hair, and hers were clawing at his to let her go.

�Bite and you�ll regret it dearly. Understand?�

She nodded the best she could.

�Now listen here, Weasley.� He thrust into her again.

�Does it hurt that Potter is marrying the Granger instead of
you?�

Bastard. Tears were forming in her eyes and the back of her
throat hurt from his force. She had done this before, but never like this.

�I bet you�re invited to the wedding, maid-of-honor and
everything. I hear the date is coming up. A fairy-tale affair � the
boy-who-lived and his mudblood bride. And standing next to them, faking a
smile, in some dress she picked out � � He thrust especially hard.
" - is you. Well, that smile is bound to disappear altogether if a little
bird comes to the wedding banquet and whispers in Potter�s ear. Granger will
overhear and come over. There will be photographs of you and perhaps a nice,
rich man like Edmund, or me even. Visual proof is always a nice touch, don�t
you think? You�ll see the happy couple approach angrily and you � �

He stopped in surprise as she suddenly gave up on the
struggle on his grip in her hair and began running her hands along his inner
thigh. It was all too much. Little Ginny Weasley was sucking his cock.
Massaging his balls. He couldn�t hold it any longer. His cum was spilling out
of her mouth when he let her go.

She pulled away, disgusted, coughing up the salty mess. She
refused to meet his eyes as she panted, spitting his cum onto his mother�s
expensive carpet. There she was, on her knees, tears running again, one bra
strap no longer on her shoulder, with that soft red hair spilling over her
shoulders. He was almost hard again.

�And you,� he continued, �You will try and explain how you
would rather fuck me than � �

�Stop.� Her voice was tight. �I get the point.�

He smirked. �I see that you do. So it would be wise to cease
making any remarks that might make me unhappy. Understood?�

�You should have written the point into your contract.�

He sighed inwardly. Her biting remarks would never disappear
completely, but really, he wasn�t paying her to be polite.

He spoke as he tucked himself back into his pants. �I would
prefer for you to stay here each evening for the duration of your winter
vacation. Much better than that shabby cottage of yours. Afraid Potter and
Granger won�t be visiting much this holiday.� He stood. �They�ll be too busy
screwing on their honeymoon.�

�I suppose they will.� And so will we.

�Listy will take you to a guest room.�

As if on cue, the house elf appeared and stood at the door,
waiting for her to rise.

�You don�t own me, Malfoy. You can�t hold me here against my
will.�

�I�m not. You will stay here, on your own volition. By
signing the contract, you have agreed to follow my ��

�I have to go to the wedding,� she interrupted, straight to
the point.

�I won�t stop you. I don�t care what you do during the day,
as long as you�re here between the hours of ten and sunrise.�

�What if it�s an evening wedding?�

�Is it? �

�I don�t know.� She hadn�t opened the invitation yet,
instead shoving the envelope somewhere in her bureau.

�Then we�ll talk about it when you know.�

�Fine.� She rose and quickly pulled her clothes back on. A
few pert steps and she and Listy disappeared into the hall.

He slept well that night, knowing that she was just across
the hall, sexually unsatisfied and uncomfortable in the dark, grand guest room.

He wasn�t wrong. She lay tossing and turning under a goose
down comforter and thousand thread count sheets. She was out of the manor as
soon as the sun was up. Upon reaching the Burrow, she ran up to her room and
dug around her dresser for the envelope.

It turned out to be an afternoon wedding, but with
festivities that would last till midnight. Christ, it was in four days. How
fitting � Christmas eve. Now every year when Christmas rolled around, she could
think of Harry marrying Hermione. It didn�t matter, she told herself. Not that
he was her first crush. Her first real love. Her dark-haired hero.

Then again, he was everyone�s dark-haired hero, wasn�t he?

And Hermione, Hogwart�s premiere head girl - always
brilliant, now stunningly beautiful too. How could Harry resist when she came
to him, sobbing her heart over Ron? He took her in his arms and in their grief
over their best friend, they found each other.

Touching.

Who was little Ginny Weasley to stop them? To remind him she
still loved him? She wouldn�t stoop so low. Besides, with death all around her,
she had little will to do anything. So she watched silently and swallowed her
feelings each time they walked into a room together. She told herself she would
hold her head high and move on.

She had spent much of her adolescence showing the world that
she wasn�t some weak creature who lost everything to Tom Riddle. No, she had
always been determined to come on out top. Star beater. Gryffindor Prefect.
Oustandings on all her O.W.L.�s. Bright. Charming. Sweet. A dozen boys wrapped
around her little finger.

And she really thought she had it all when he finally kissed
her in fifth year. He, the boy whom she kept in the back of her heart, secret
from everyone including herself, had finally decided to love her back. When
they parted ways, it was because he loved her too much. It was because he didn�t
want Voldemort to target her. All for her own good. She didn�t care, she had
told him. But he insisted, tears in his emerald eyes as he pleaded with her.
After the war was over, he said. If they survived�

Bullshit.

And now she was fucking his arch-nemesis. Did it feel good?
Was it satisfying? Had she wanted Malfoy to get her off when she was gagging on
his cum?

Most definitely.

Was she ashamed?

Even more definitely.

But he made her feel alive. That one night, filled with
mutual hate and self-loathing, reminded her of her own existence. She
remembered that Ginny Weasley always came out on top. The next day, she had
told the quidditch captain that she was ready to play again. They pummeled
Slytherin in her first match back on the team. It felt good to play again.

She was almost relieved when Madame Oullete had told her she
could no longer be one of �her girls.� It meant that Malfoy was serious, that
he meant business about the twenty thousand galleons. It would just be a job,
she told herself. Really, how much less demeaning was the one she already had?

Nothing below the waist. Anything more was either a patron�s
violation or a girl�s own business.

And it�s not as if she hadn�t made other� exceptions to
Madame�s rule.

Then seeing him when sober, listening to taunts that hit a
little close to home � it hurt and not in a good way. She was a wreck when she
tore through her bureau, fumbling the envelope open.

�The wedding will take up the whole evening,� she said when
she saw him the next night.

�Then, because you are taking that one day off, our contract
of one year will be extended by one day.�

She rolled her eyes. Whatever.

He was in a bath, resting comfortably against mosaic tiles.
It was the first time she ever saw him without his pale hair gelled back
flawlessly. The water darkened his hair. He looked younger, more innocent, more
approachable. The room was slightly steamy and was lit by a chandelier hung
above the tub. Luxury.

�When will I get the money?�

�I�ll make sure your tuition is covered. And you�ll get the
rest when our contract is up.�

�Good.�

She began to undress and he didn�t object when she entered
his bath. He simply watched her matter-of-fact motions as she undid her hair,
as she noticed the wine bottle and the glasses, as she poured the red liquid
and handed him one. She was next to him now, gulping the wine as if there was
gold at the bottom of the glass.

�Eager, Weasley?� He sipped.

She set the glass down and poured herself another one.

�Just thought I�d save you the trouble of asking.�

He almost smiled at her response. �You seem pretty at ease
with this whole situation.�

�It seems so.�

�That is, I�m sure I�m not getting just Potter�s leftovers.
Who else has had you?�

�It�s none of your business.�

�You�re no blushing virgin and I�m rather curious as to who
exactly you�ve fucked. At least give me a number.�

She gaped at him. Here she was, naked beside him, and he
hadn�t even made a move to touch her. Instead, he was interrogating her about
her sexual history.

�I�ve lost count.� And to keep him from asking any more
questions, she kissed him.

When her lips hit his, he made a mental note to pursue the
matter at a later time and pulled her closer so there was no space between
their bodies. She pulled away slightly when he stuck a finger inside her. He
smirked as she gasped, and grinned when she asked for more fingers.

He stuck to two, because she winced at three.

�At least you�re still tight,� he sneered.

�Am I supposed to take offense at that?� She gripped his
shoulders tightly to steady her breath.

�So who Weasley? Who was your first? Dean Thomas? Michael
Corner? Potter?� He was curling his fingers against her walls, first hard and
slow, then he sped up until she gave in and let out a soft cry.

She exhaled in shuddering gasps. �None,� she bit out. �Of.
Your. Business.�

She was going to come soon. He could tell by the way she was
tightening quicker around him. And just to be cruel, he pulled his fingers out,
leaving her disappointed and unsatisfied.

�Bastard,� she breathed, visibly shaken from his sudden
withdrawal.

�I think it is my business.� He backed away from her and
calmly took his wine glass and sipped. He was hard, but he could wait.

She glared at him, suddenly feeling cold in the warm water.
Trust Malfoy to make her felt awkward and vulnerable, breath still ragged,
unclothed in the large bath. Following his lead, she gulped down her second
glass of wine and poured her third.

�You�re paying me to have sex with you,� she said, �Not to tell
you details of my personal life.�

The wine was starting to hit. Good.

�It was Potter, wasn�t it? Was it beautiful? Did he promise
to love you forever?� he went on. �Or perhaps your virginity was lost to � Tom
Riddle.�

She froze. He was testing her, provoking her. And it looked
like it worked.

�Fuck you, asshole,� she seethed. �Unlike you, I didn�t
screw everything with breasts and two legs in Hogwarts, but I didn�t exactly
have Lucius Malfoy for a father either.�

�Careful, Weasley,� he warned, hands tightening around his
glass when she mentioned his father�s name.

�That�s right, Malfoy. I�m talking about your daddy.
Voldemort�s right hand man. The great Lucius Malfoy who bribed his way to the
top, who paid for your grades, who beat his wife ��

�That�s enough, slut.� He was losing control of the
situation. �Or are you looking forward to choking on my cum again?�

Ignoring him, she kept going. �Is that why you like it rough
Malfoy? Daddy�s aggression rubbing off on you?�

When he didn�t reply right away, she continued.

�We all knew the Death Eaters liked to rape their victims.
Tell me, Draco, did you partake in these festivities? Did you come hard
as you stuck your dick in some muggle girl?�

She knew she was pushing it. He was suddenly quite pale,
with those familiar blotches of anger on this cheeks. She could see the muscles
in his jaw clench in anger.

�What�s the matter, Malfoy? Words hitting too close to home?
Don�t worry. I won�t tell a soul. Because guess what? The whole world already
knows. You�re a monster. Born from one. Bred as one. Always one.�

They were across from each other in the bubbling tub,
holding glares through the steam. And in one swift move, he was on her side of
the water, one arm on each side of her, boxing her in against the bath�s wall.
With a tinge of regret, she wished she hadn�t said quite so much. He was almost
trembling with anger and she braced herself for any imminent blows to her face.
But instead, he leaned in and said, very evenly, �I know you wanted to come,
but you don�t have to be such a bitch because you didn�t.�

Then, as if they had just shared a civil conversation, he
calmly stepped away from her, rose from the water, donned a robe, and left the
room.

Not knowing quite what to think, and feeling rather woozy
already, she decided that she deserved to get piss drunk and to stay that way
until after the wedding. Forget Malfoy. What was she supposed to do? Go after
him? Apologize? Sorry, you poor misunderstood rich bastard. Yeah fucking right.
With determination, she gave up on glasses altogether and took a swig out of
the bottle. Fucked up couldn�t even begin to describe her life at the moment.

On her way to the guest room Malfoy had designated to her,
she actually felt pretty good, swaying down the hall, wrapped in a soft towel
and bottle still in hand.

When she opened the door, the bottle crashed to the floor.
He was sitting on her bed, dressed in a black robe, a decanter of brandy in
hand. Nearly empty, she noted.

�You startled me,� she said stupidly.

�Come have a drink with me, Weasley.�

�I�m quite alright, actually,� she replied, still standing
in the middle of spilt wine and green glass.

�It wasn�t a question.� He held out a glass insistently.

She stood dumbly at the door and stared, rather unfocusedly,
unwilling to move closer anytime soon.

�Fuck, Weasley,� he slurred, half to himself. He strode to
her, crushing bottle bits beneath his feet. �Drink.�

The glass was stuck under her nose and without much
thinking, she took it and downed it. Then, it too dropped to the floor and
smashed. The decanter followed.

His hands were on her waist, lifting her. She wrapped her
legs around his waist and her arms around his neck. They crashed onto the bed,
tongues pushing, teeth biting, lips bruising, her damp towel between them. His
robe came untied and her towel was tossed aside. And then he was inside her. Her
head spun with nothingness. Just him pushing in. His hands running over her
skin. Him pulling out.

He held her head in his hands and forced her to look at him
as he pushed into her. �Why do you like it rough, Weasley?�

�Because it makes me hurt,� she
answered, too drunk and distracted to lie.

�Is that why you provoke me?� In the dim lighting, his gray
eyes were bright with liquor and even in her haziness, his gaze made her
squirm.

�I don�t know.�

�You like it when I go too hard.�

And so he slowed, taking his time in pushing into her.
Making sure she felt every second of ever movement, of him filling her.

Agony. Pleasure.

�I�m not my father.�

Her brow furrowed. She didn�t say anything. Couldn�t.

�I�m not my father,� he said again, more insistently.

He was so hard, but he had to take it slow. Had to make her
beg. Make her understand. The little slut. The cheap whore. His whore.

His voice was tight, determined. She had to see how wrong
she was.

�You don�t know anything, bitch. You don�t know anything, so
shut the fuck up.�

She lifted her head to silence him. The kiss was soft, like
the way he was kneading her breasts gently. Almost lovingly.

Almost, she thinks, because it should never be loving with
Malfoy. She had never made love before, and she wasn�t ready to start with him.
Except maybe he�s started with her. What was he trying to prove? Her head was
spinning. She liked feeling this way � too gone to hurt, herself or anyone
else. And somehow, this painstakingly slow pace filled her more than anyone
ever had before.

�Please.� She didn�t know what she was asking for.

�Is this how you did it with Potter?� he said, suddenly.

�No,� she whispered before she could stop herself. No,
because she never did it with Potter.

And she only stopped saving herself after she knew she could
never have him.

�Don�t,� she said. �Don�t ever mention him when you�re
inside me.�

He stilled. Want. Lust. Control. �Don�t ever tell me what to
do.�

One sharp thrust. It was back to their first night. Carnal
and Unrestrained, but he stilled again.

�Don�t ever tell me who I am.�

Her eyes widened. He had taken her words seriously. She
didn�t mean it. Just words to defend herself. But why bother explaining? Let
him hurt. Let them hurt together. Each other. Themselves.

�Beg, Weasley. I want to hear you beg.�

�Please,� she said again. �Malfoy, please.�

She came hard when he complied. He followed, his release
long overdue.

His breath stayed hot on her neck, his chin resting over her
shoulder. They remained like that for a long while, too long, her hands resting
lightly on his back. His in her hair. Him still inside her. Still twitching occasionally.
Peace. Satisfaction. In the enemy, a secret moment found, unadmitted later,
especially not to themselves.

*****

End of Chapter 2

I like reviews.

DaisyMae � Yours was helpful, and a little mean. (sorry I know,
bad comma use). I blame the melodrama on drunkenness (theirs, not mine). And I also
feel the need to say, I have had sex. I just write it like I know it.

If you�re interested in beta-ing, please e-mail me.
xbourbonrainx@yahoo.com
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