Something unexpected

The weak morning sunlight filtered through the gaps in the drapes into the room and Hermione yawned sleepily, her bare leg brushing against Draco's. She stretched luxuriously and tried to think when she had slept in a bed this comfortable before. Never was the simple answer, she decided and smiled in the knowledge of what had happened the previous night. She looked down at Draco's sleeping face; his expression was that of utmost serenity and the tendrils of hair framed his face. His lips slightly parted, he breathed softly, and Hermione could only now appreciate how beautiful -

"HERMIONE WOULD YOU STOP BLOODY STARING AT ME! I'M TRYING TO SLEEP!"

Hermione sighed and turned over onto her side, facing away from Draco. "This is better than being ignored," she comforted herself, remembering last time. A warm hand snaked over her hip and rested there. It pulled her closer and she sighed again and wriggled back to where she was. She turned her head and looked straight into Draco's face, not expecting it to be there and gave an involuntary squeal of surprise. "Good morning," Hermione whispered, not wanting to break the comfortable silence. "Did you sleep well?"

Draco grunted a reply and raised his face for a kiss. Hermione playfully swatted him away. "Hey... Don't I even get a good morning kiss after my exceptional performance last night?"

Hermione snorted. "Exceptional? You barely lasted five minutes! Neville Longbottom was better than you!"

"Five minutes?! That is so over-exaggerated, Hermione!" Draco, who was suddenly awake, looked over at her, and arranged his features in what he hoped was a suitably angry expression.

Hermione laughed. "Only joking." She noted that Draco's shoulders sagged with relief. "It was six. Six minutes. And you might want to think about brushing your teeth before I even come near you."

Draco pouted, an expression, which only succeeded in making him look ridiculous. "Wait a minute..." he said slowly, "Neville?! Neville Longbottom?!"

******

Ron woke up that morning with a sense of dread in the pit of his stomach. Wizards' Duel. Today. He was crap at magic. He sighed and turned over, gasping in slight alarm when he saw Harry sleeping soundly next to him. Harry, almost naked and in the same bed. He cast the thought aside, uncomfortably and pulled on his trousers. He scratched irritably at an insect bite on his arm, presumably from the lumpy, straw-filled mattress that he had had to make do with in the Servants' Quarters. Today was the day when his sense of self-loathing reached new heights. He reached for his wand. He turned it over in his hands thoughtfully, thinking of spells he could perform against his rival that afternoon. There was the classic "Expelliarmus!" but Ron knew he would need something much more sophisticated if he wanted to make his mark. He thought of all the other spells he knew and sighed miserably. None of them would be a great deal of use. He thought back to the Dueling Club he had attended in his second year at Hogwarts. "Rictusempra" and "Tarantallegra" came to mind, be he couldn't remember for the life of him what they were for. Spells weren't his field, anyway.

"Thought you'd get in some early practice for your duel?" Harry's voice sounded unexpectedly behind him. It was evident that Harry was still exceedingly annoyed with him for being so indescribably dumb and picking up that glove.

Ron grunted. The door creaked open and a pair of eyes peeked in. This caused two things to happen almost instantaneously: Harry realised he was half-naked and attempted to clothe himself in the space of two seconds and Ron's hand which was holding the wand flinched violently, causing it to emit sparks which made an attractive burn mark on the door. Calantha stepped through the doorway, completely unheeding of this. "Good morning, I trust it finds you well," she greeted them.

"Yeah, right," Ron scoffed.

Calantha fixed him with a confused gaze. "Yeah, er, very well, thanks, Calantha," Harry hastily replied, trying to disguise the silence.

"I assume I will see you both at the duel?" she inquired, looking to Harry.

"Of course," Harry answered, somewhat uneasily.

"Very well," said Calantha, "I must retire to my chambers now." She turned to leave, but then paused and turned to face Ron. "You may want to get some smarter robes. Yours will simply not do," she added, contemptuously. "I bid you good-day, gentlemen." She swept from the room and all that could be heard were her feet, echoing down the passage.

"My robes will simply not do, my arse," Ron muttered angrily to himself.

"I'm sure she didn't mean it unkindly," Harry placated, causing him to sound as camp as a row of tents and Ron to wonder if Harry was actually gay or not. Harry pulled on a sock. "I mean, she is a Malfoy, after all."

******

Ginny hadn't wanted to wake up. It was in her cocoon of sleep that she felt safest. The places she went in her dreams were not haunted by Lucius Malfoy. This morning was no different from the others. She awoke, aching and cold, to find a small platter of the usual indescribable slop. She raised a quivering hand holding a spoon to her mouth and surveyed what was on it. No matter how long she stared at it, she could not bring herself to eat it. Her stomach turned over at the thought. Finally, she set the spoon down and took up her habitual position, miserably, on the floor. She wished she could get out of here. She had paid so dearly for her pains to contact Harry and Ron. The door opened slowly and Blake entered the cell. He walked stiffly, and there was a cut over one of his eyes. She regarded him mournfully. "What happened to you?" she inquired.

He sat beside her on the floor. "Lucius." he managed.

"What did he do?" Ginny asked, for she could not help feeling it was her fault.

"Punched me, kicked me, no more than what I'm used to," he said and gave a futile attempt at a laugh.

"I'm sorry he did that to you because of what you did for me," she whispered to him, tears pooling in her eyes.

He looked up and smiled weakly. "Don't get upset. It's okay," he responded, trying to reassure her.

"My, my, what a cozy little meeting I seem to have happened on here." The clipped tones of Lucius sounded from the doorway. "Blake, get back to your duties, we have much to do. I will see to Miss Weasley."

Blake inclined his head slightly in what could only be described as a resigned nod and left the room, murmuring "Yes, Lucius," as he left.

"Now that we are all alone, Miss Weasley, is there anything you would like to say to me about the events of yesterday?"

Ginny shook her head mutely.

"Are you sure? If I didn't know any better, I would say you were trying to contact your brother and Potter through my Orb." Lucius continued, advancing on Ginny with moves calculating and weaving. "But then, I am sure poor, sweet Ginny Weasley, surely would not want to antagonise me in such a way." He gripped her wrist and caressed it momentarily. His eyes never wavered from her face. Lucius moved closer towards her, backing her into a corner. "Did I mean poor, sweet Virginia? Perhaps brazen harlot would be more adequate." Ginny was uncomfortably aware of a hand sliding up her thigh. "Slutty Ginny Weasley." The hand began to push up her skirt. "I must say, that little mouth of yours is quite talented." His voice had become quieter now and his breathing slightly ragged. His face was inches from hers and Ginny could feel his hot breath on her throat. She flinched as his hand pushed her skirt down to the floor, but still did not move; she was beyond terror. "Lovely pair of legs you have there," Lucius crooned softly, and swooped suddenly, pressing a harsh kiss to her neck. His unshaven chin rubbed against her neck, leaving a slight red rash where his lips had been. Still she did not make a sound, did not move; she was determined not to let him get to her this way. "Why does our little Ginny remain so silent?" he lamented, using one hand to loosen his breeches. They fell to the floor with a soft sound, closely followed by the clang of a belt buckle. "There's nothing you can do, Ginny, you may as well play my game." He could see her lower lip trembling and her eyes filling with tears. Yet, still she remained silent. "Why don't we strike a deal?" he asked whilst an arm snaked around her waist and pulled her tiny, heaving frame to his. "You will tell me what you saw and I won't hurt you now. How about it, hmm?" Ginny stared straight ahead, past Lucius and to the far wall. "Very well, Ginny, as you wish." In one smooth movement, he had her on the floor, pinning her petite frame to the floor with both of his arms, making him look positively giant-sized compared to Ginny. He pulled out his wand. "Stupefy!" he said calmly and immediately, Ginny's eyes glazed over. "Once I'm done with you, Weasley, you won't be that innocent girl you make out to be." He lowered himself down onto her body. "Shame really, such a waste of a potentially beautiful girl," he mused, more to himself than the inert Ginny. Nevertheless, desire and sordidness spurred him on. He pushed himself into her, feeling like she was one of his whores and any moment now she would glance at a clock and demand an extortionate fee for an hour's light enjoyment. It was wrong, it was sinful, it was degrading, it was...it was sheer, white-hot pleasure slicing through his body. He pushed in and out, harder and faster, getting caught up in the moment. His hair came loose from its normally immaculate ponytail. Sweat poured down his face and a steady thrumming began in the pit of his stomach. This intensified and he was brought to a crashing climax, clenching her arms with white knuckles. He lay atop of her body, his energy consumed by his exertions. With effort, he pulled himself out of her and a few drops of blood trickled onto the stone floor. "Well, well, Ginny, it seems I have broken you at last," he noted with satisfaction. He failed to notice a tear slip down her cheek.

******

Ron marched onto the Quidditch Pitch, grasping his wand firmly. A few people jeered as he walked on, his expression grim. A small crowd was gathering around a small magical ring, designed to keep the crowd out and the competitors in. He pushed his way through the crowds, Harry ambling after him. He crossed over the line and stood in the ring, waiting impatiently. He glanced back at Harry who mouthed something at him. It looked like "Good luck-," but Ron couldn't be sure. It didn't matter. He was going to lose anyway. He adjusted his robes and fixed his gaze on his opponent. Ron looked to Harry again, who shouted something, but it was lost in the jeers and catcalls of the rabble.

"Good afternoon," the man nodded curtly to Ron.

Ron smiled disarmingly at the man, that is; he bared his teeth. They bowed, never taking their eyes off each other. Ron's stomach churned violently. The two men straightened and at once the duel began.

"Impedimenta!" Ron yelled and brandished his wand at his opponent. His opponent immediately began to slow down, it looked as if his movements were through tar.

"Incendio!" the other wizard shouted, his face red with anger, raising his arm slowly.

The end of Ron's robes caught fire. "SHIIIIT!" he yelled. Thinking quickly, he ripped them off and stamped out the flames. The crowd roared with approval, it seemed he had little or no support. "Densaugio!"

Howls of laughter could be heard from the seething mass outside the ring. Ron looked up and noted with satisfaction that the old git's face was rapidly becoming very disfigured by the enlargement of his teeth. He felt his shoulders start to shake with laughter. He could not hold back the mirth, and it burst out of his mouth in snorts and whimpers. That was, until he heard the words:

"Serpensortia!"

Ron looked up to see a snake slithering towards him. A tiny voice in his head said Now, where have we seen this before? Ron shrugged it away. Now all we need is a fool like Lockhart to pop up and yell...

"Expelliarmus!"

Ron looked around confused. He was sure he hadn't been thinking out loud. If he had, well, he would have to bear the merciless teasing from Harry. His thoughts collected, he realised he hadn't spoken at all. It had been that git he was supposed to be dueling. He looked around and down to his wand hand. No wand. No prizes for guessing who had his wand now. The tiny voice in his head interrupted his thoughts once more. Who's up shit creek and forgot their paddle this time? His teeth still repulsively and comically large, the opponent advanced on Ron. "Locomotor Mortis!" he shouted and Ron felt his legs lock together. Great, he thought, not only do I get to lose a duel in front of everyone, I get to lose it to an incompetent, illiterate bastard! The man now had both Ron's and his own wand wedged firmly under Ron's chin. So this was it. Ron felt quite humiliated. He looked despairingly around, but could not see Harry anywhere. Some friend, a bitchy little voice at the back of his mind quipped. The obese man's red, ugly face was right in Ron's face now and Ron could feel his warm breath on his cheek. It smelled fetid, and Ron felt his stomach prepare to purge whatever he had eaten that morning. Ron closed his eyes and waited for death's sweet kiss to embrace him...

"Finite Incantatem!"

Ron opened his eyes in surprise. The pressure on his legs was freed and his opponent no longer had grotesquely outlandish teeth. The snake had disappeared. The man was still standing over him, but the look of malice was no longer in his eyes, just a look of immense amusement and pity. He held his hand out for Ron to grasp, so he could help him up. Ron spat bitterly. If he was going to lose, he would do it in style, whomever had talked about being a gracious loser had been talking a lot of crap, certainly. There was a collective gasp from the audience. Ron began to wish he hadn't been so hasty. It was then that he realised that the gasp was not aimed at him. The Dark Mark had been conjured and cast a shadow over the Quidditch Pitch. Then, a weird thing happened: people started to laugh and chatter once more. With the Dark Mark still apparent as an incongruous image in the midday sky, it seemed odd behaviour to him. It was then that he realised that it was the Malfoy family he was dealing with. Trust my luck to get beaten by a bloody Death Eater, he thought gloomily. Seizing his chance, he kicked the pompous, corpulent man in the shins and made for the hills. Or the gates, at least. The shouts of indignation behind him signified that the crowd was giving chase. He risked a look behind him and his eyes nearly boggled. Almost all of the spectators from the duel were chasing him! Eyes still on what was behind him, rather than what was in front of him, he crashed headlong into an iron pillar. The so-called iron pillar picked him up and held him at arm's length. It turned out to be a guard. Damn, he cursed mentally. A clout to the head halted his thoughts and he went limp in the guard's arms.

******

Whilst Harry had been engrossed in watching his friend be beaten in a duel by a fat, pompous and not to mention sweaty Lord Frederic Parkinson, Calantha had been plotting. Unbeknownst to Ron, Harry had actually been watching all the way through the duel, but had not stayed for the chase, as Calantha had dragged him away. Harry, ever none the wiser, had followed and was completely unaware of the fact that his best friend had been thrown into a jail cell, in the dungeons of the Manor. It was now, Harry speculated, that he had no idea as to where he was, or where he was going. Calantha tugged at his arm impatiently as he stopped to admire the paintings and various tapestries.

"Where are we-" Harry began, but Calantha silenced him with a finger to her lips.

"We are going to see the dragons," she whispered and began to quicken her pace.

Harry frowned. "I really should get back to Ron," he stated clearly, and Calantha berated him with a fierce glare.

"We must be quiet!" she admonished.

Another thing, which didn't quite make sense: if they were going to see dragons, then why were they inside the house? Harry couldn't help feeling that he was falling hook, line and sinker into some kind of trap. Calantha's footsteps halted outside an indistinct looking door. She opened it, eyes twinkling merrily. She's hiding something, was Harry's immediate thought. She carefully shut the door after him and led him up a spiral staircase. At the top was an ornately furnished room, with rich red and gold drapes. Most prominently, in the middle was a large four-poster bed. Calantha looked at him with a gleeful expression, obviously very pleased with herself, for reasons unfathomable.

"Err...Calantha? Where are the dragons?" Harry asked, starting to feel a little worried.

She merely smiled and said "Tonight I can promise you, you will fly, but without use of dragons or wings"

Harry began to edge back towards the doorway. "Right..." he said, walking backwards, feeling his way back towards the stairs.

"Come now, Harry, don't you want to know what making love with the past feels like?" Her eyes narrowed seductively.

Harry blinked. "Excuse me?"

Calantha moved closer to him, and Harry, anxious to keep the distance from her, ventured still closer to the stairs. "I've had my eye on you, master Potter, I know you want me," she trailed a hand up his chest.

Harry tensed. Great, first I get put in Azkaban for a crime I didn't commit, then Ginny goes missing and I get dumped in the past and now I'm being jumped by a randy girl from the past, he thought, annoyed. He edged backwards, heels precariously balancing over the top of the first step. It would be a long fall to the door if he misjudged the distance to descend onto the next stair now. "Err...," he said vaguely, stalling for time. He stepped onto thin air, as he had suspected, misjudging the distance. Damn these uneven steps! he cursed mentally. His left foot landed safely on the next step, or so he thought, until his right foot failed to follow. Calantha grabbed his hand and Harry involuntarily yelled out. She yanked him firmly upright, pressing a finger to his lips, her eyes seeming to grow wider. She half-dragged him to the centre of the room. She licked her lips in a salacious manner and let her robes slide to the ground, revealing a dress underneath. Harry made a strangled sound. She brought her hangs to his throat and loosened his robes. Finding the belt on his trousers, she paused for a minute to direct a lust-filled glance at the perplexed Harry. It was in the process of unzipping his jeans, that Harry discovered they were not quite as alone as he had first thought.

"What is this, pray tell?" said the voice, sounding quite angry.

Calantha dropped his belt guiltily, which she had been untangling from Harry's jeans. Without warning, Harry's jeans made a slow descent to the floor. He tried to catch them , but it was to no avail and he fell over at the unknown speaker's feet. "It's not what it looks like..." Calantha began tremulously.

The man held a hand up. "Silence, Calantha! Who are you?" he asked, on closer inspection of Harry lying recumbent at his feet.

Harry looked up indignantly. "What do you mean, who am I? Who are you more like!" he retorted.

The man glowered at him. "I am Gregory, of the noble Parkinsons and this is my fiancée, Calantha, whom I have just caught in a romp with you. Would you care to explain this sordid debauchery?" In one fluid movement, he had a jewel-encrusted dagger to Harry's throat.

A familiar voice sounded from behind them. "Unhand my servant, Gregory!" Harry didn't know if he had ever been so pleased to hear a voice. ldquo;What is the meaning of this, Calantha?" he turned to his daughter. Harry looked at her hopefully. "Oh, father," she sobbed, "how glad I am that you came. Gregory and I were just talking, father, about your imminent birthday, when this lecherous scum stumbled in. He tried to force intercourse on me father, it was awful,"

Harry could not believe it. The little lying son - daughter of a bitch!

"Is this true, Gregory?" Lord Malfoy demanded.

Gregory nodded vigorously. "Aye, it is true, my lord. I was trying to defend Miss Calantha from harm."

Harry just lay there, dumbstruck. She's tried to cheat on you and you defend her! The voice in his head screeched to Gregory. He found himself being hauled upright.

"I never knew that servants of mine would be so disrespectful," Lord Malfoy spat, "To the dungeons!"

Oh, shit! Thought Harry morosely.

******

Lucius watched the proceedings with interest, and increasing worry. They were drawing too close, too soon. Something would have to be done. He twirled his wand in his fingers thoughtfully. The Fidelius Charm. Perfect, he thought to himself. He could see Blake was no longer willing to be his servant, but a Wizard's Debt was a Wizard's Debt. Ginny was certainly becoming more...amenable to his little power-trips. Especially since he was able to use the Imperius curse on her. He chuckled darkly to himself. He motioned Blake forwards. "Blake?"

"Yes, Lucius?" his voice sounded weary.

"I'm casting a Fidelius Charm, I trust you will tell Ginny," Lucius said, malice in his voice.

"Yes, Lucius." The response was resigned.

He turned and watched Blake leave the room, his shoulders hunched from his latest beating. He turned to his All-Seeing Orb, and adjusted the picture with a tap of his wand. He regarded the new image of Ginny, who was lying asleep on the floor, the food still untouched. She looked so delectable. He unconsciously licked his lips. He saw her start and wake up. Blake entered the cell. He noticed how, almost immediately, Blake had slung a protective arm around her, and the way she melted into his body. Blake was talking to her in hushed tones.

"And he's putting a Fidelius charm on the house, so you can't be found, at least not yet," Blake finished. Ginny gave a small whimper. He handed her a piece of bread. "Eat this," he commanded, but gently.

So THAT'S how she has not lapsed into unconsciousness, Lucius thought, the little swine has been sneaking her food! He stood up abruptly. Something had to be done.

******

Hermione was in Draco's private bathroom. Alone. It seemed Draco was too "busy" trying to devise a way of getting back to the past to even have a little fun. And if busy meant striding up and down the room, pretentiously smoking a pipe, then she must have gone wrong somewhere at Hogwarts: she had been the epitome of busy. She padded damp-haired and bare-footed around the spacious bathroom, taking in how...expensive everything looked. But it wasn't expensive in a nice way. Everything had its place and everything was utilitarian and meticulously tidy. Hermione didn't like it.

"Hermione? What are you doing in there?"

"I was taking a bath," Hermione groused, annoyed at the sudden intrusion.

"I need to use the bathroom," Draco whined from the other side of the door.

"Can't you go and use one of the other five you have in this manor?" Hermione yelled back.

"I can't be bothered," Draco whined again.

Sighing, Hermione crossed to the door and pulled it open. Draco toppled in and Hermione only just managed to catch him. He looked up at her and she could see he only wanted one thing and she was quite happy to comply. Draco picked her up, unraveling her towel from her body as he went.

"You're very sure of yourself," Hermione breathed as he got to work on her neck with tiny nips

"Yeah," he grunted into her neck, making her stomach vibrate, "but girls always want me anyway."

He picked her up and she wrapped her legs around his waist. She caught his lips in a passionate kiss as he backed her up against the wall, knocking bottles of potions and lotions off a nearby shelf. Hermione, temporarily distracted, looked to what had fallen. Draco began to loosen his trousers, still holding Hermione upright.

"Wait a second," Hermione spluttered with laughter. "It takes PEROXIDE to get your hair this blonde?!"