A Vocabulary Lesson

Note: Read the summary. If you think this fic might disturb you, think twice before reading. It disturbs me, and I wrote it... but I'll get back to cute, unperverted MWPP someday, I promise...
Oh, and in case you aren't familiar with British slang, wanking is masturbation and nads are testicles.








A VOCABULARY LESSON





"Draco? Um, Draco? Can I ask you something?"

"Oh, what is it, Goyle?" Draco gave in, looking up from his well-worn copy of How To Make Enemies And Influence People.

"Draco, what's a 'wanker'?"

"Has someone called you a wanker? Fine, we'll curse them later," Draco announced generously, eyes on his book once more.

"But, Draa-aco, what does it mean?" Goyle moaned anxiously. "Is it like a Squib?"

"Well, it CAN mean 'a useless and unpleasant person'," Draco explained, looking at Goyle significantly. "Or, it can mean someone who masturbates a lot. Now go away," he ordered, turning back to his favourite chapter, Treat Your Inferiors With Disdain (and they're all your inferiors).

"Draco?"

"Oh, what is it NOW?" Draco slammed his book down on the table.

"What does 'masburtates' mean?"

"Aaargh!" Draco groaned. "'Masturbates' means 'jerks off'. You know," he continued, noting Goyle's ongoing confusion, "as in 'chokes his chicken', 'spanks his monkey', 'polishes his wand', 'makes friends with Mr.Happy.'"

"Huh?" Goyle asked. "Friends? I thought we were supposed to be making enemies? And who has a chicken and a monkey? All I have is a toad. Could I choke my toad?"

"AAARGH!" Draco groaned, loudly. "Forget that. Let's try it this way: when you sit there in your bed, curtains drawn, grunting with effort like a pig in heat, what are you doing?"

"Doing my homework," Goyle answered, puzzled. "Or trying to read your homework so I can copy. You said it was OK, remember?"

"Fine, fine," Draco dismissed him, drumming his fingers on the table. "How about this: when you're alone, do you ever do anything that gives you a... a special good feeling?"

"Oh, yes," Goyle nodded, "but I don't do it alone, I do it with Crabbe."

"With Crabbe?" Draco croaked, shutting his eyes as if to block out a sudden image. "Wait a moment -- what exactly do you do with Crabbe? Please don't go into detail," he added quickly.

"We beat people up."

"I see," Draco sighed in relief.

"Is that 'basturmating'?" Goyle frowned. "Sorry, Draco," he cringed, noting his leader's infuriated expression. "I'll go away and ask the people in the Common Room," he stated, getting up.

"No!" Draco exclaimed. "You stay right here, and we'll try something else. Hmm, let's see: do you ever wake up in the morning, feeling happy yet drained, and rather messy?"

"Oh, you mean like when the Magic Dream Fairy visits?" Goyle's eyes lit up.

Draco just stared and blinked. "The Magic Dream Fairy?" he whispered.

"Oh, yes," Goyle replied, tiny eyes crinkling with joy. "I love it when the Magic Dream Fairy visits: I wish he'd visit tonight, but I don't know how to invite him. I've left out milk and cookies for him, but Crabbe just eats them. So," he asked eagerly, "will the Magic Dream Fairy come if I choke my toad? Where IS my toad?"

"You leave your toad alone," Draco said quickly. "I just can't believe that you have no idea how... I suppose," he muttered to himself, "that this explains why you enjoy beating people so much -- you're just sublimating your..."

"'Sulbimating'? What does that mean? Is it like 'ma..'"

"Shut up, Goyle," Draco interrupted. "I suppose I'll have to explain... honestly, the things I have to explain to you two... It shouldn't be too hard, though... too difficult, I mean," he amended quickly. "Now, Goyle, tell me this: does the Magic Dream Fairy seem to, er, visit any part of your body in particular?"

"Uh-huh," Goyle nodded. "My nads. Wanna see?"

"NO!" Draco yelled. "No," he added more quietly but firmly. "Fine. Your nads. Close enough. Now, think about your nads. No, don't look! You can look later. Your nads should resemble, er, Bludgers, and near them there should be this, er, thing that looks like a club."

"Yes," Goyle agreed. "Little Greg."

"What a lovely name," Draco said sarcastically. "Now, I want you to go somewhere private, take a good look at Little Greg, and think about, er, Veelas for a while. Then, grasp Little Greg as if he were a broom handle. Finally, I want you to... um... polish Greg. The way you polish my broom on Sundays. Got that?"

"M-maybe," Goyle said. But he plodded off obediently enough.

Draco got back to his book, but he couldn't concentrate, being filled with an enormous sense of dread and foreboding.

Sure enough, Goyle was back very shortly. Not that his speed itself was disturbing -- he was, after all, a teenage boy -- but the alarmed expression on his face certainly was.

"Draco," he moaned. "Draco, I did what you said, and started thinking about you riding your broom on Sundays... And then I looked at Little Greg... And... and... he wasn't so little anymore. Draco, I'm frightened," he whimpered.

Draco banged his head against his desk. "Calm down, Goyle," he ordered. "I should have mentioned this... It is perfectly normal."

"Is it?" Goyle asked. "Is this normal?" he quavered, throwing his robes open.

Draco stared, his mouth falling wide open. "Er, n-no, I wouldn't say so," he said at last.

"What do I do?" Goyle wailed. "I want it to go away!"

"Put your hand on that... thing," Draco explained weakly. "Like you were grasping a... large... broom."

"I'm not as good with brooms as you are, Draco," Goyle complained, fumbling with Not-So-Little Greg. "How do you hold them again? Can you please show me?" he begged, walking towards the other boy.

Draco twitched in his chair as Goyle's shadow fell over him, his eyes running all over the room as if seeking avenues of escape. Then, at last, he gave in: eyes still firmly averted from Enormous Greg, he placed one pale aristocratic hand on the shaft and grasped in firmly.

"Ook," Goyle said. "W-what happens now?"

"You do this," Draco muttered, shutting his eyes and making a brief polishing movement with his slender hand.

"What, this?" Goyle gasped, closing his hand over Draco's and, to his horror, repeating the motion. Once. Twice. Three times...

"Wheee!" yelled Goyle.

"Argh!" yelled Draco. "AARGH! Get away from me, you... Look what you've done to my book! It's ruined!" Eyes flashing angrily, he fumbled for his wand with his clean left hand.

"Ooh, are you bringing out Little Draco?" Goyle asked enthusiastically. "Can I help?"

"NOOO! GET OUT!" Draco screamed, brandishing his wand.

There were some things even Goyle could grasp quickly. So, the proud owner of Deflated Greg ran out of the room as fast as his thick legs would carry him.

* * * * *


Time passed, and over time Draco managed to calm down (and order a new copy of his book.) The topic of wanking was never, however, mentioned again, until...

* * * * *


"Shut up, you two!" Draco yelled from his bed. "Stop all that grunting and put away my homework. It's midnight, for Voldemort's sake! If you keep studying past midnight, you'll turn into that Mudblood Granger!"

"But, but, we're not studying," Crabbe countered.

"No, Draco," Goyle explained. "I was just showing Crabbe that broom-polishing trick of yours... Do you want to help?"

"No! Shut up!" Draco yelled, pulling a pillow over his head. "Crabbe and Goyle, ugh, what an idea," he mumbled to himself. "Well, at least this way they can't reproduce..."

He fell asleep at last, pushing the matter from his mind. Still, as he drifted off, he couldn't help but wonder how Little Vince compared to Little Greg... and the Magic Dream Fairy did visit him, that night.




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