The Art Of

All of the other male Slytherins in Draco's year have had sex. They have been discussing this lately during their study groups, finding the topic much more interesting than how to successfully raise a Blast-Ended Skrewt. Especially when Blaise details how Eloise Midgen used her tongue on his, well, er, his... whatsit.

Draco is faintly annoyed by this talk, because he has nothing to add to the discussion, as he is a virgin. So he makes up his mind to get on with it and have sex. The only person even feasible to have sex with is Pansy Parkinson, which is lucky for Draco, because he knows she has been mooning over him for the past ten years. He knows he will not have a problem getting her to sleep with him.

He wants to have sex. Really, he does. But sex education for pureblood wizards is nonexistent. The only information he has came from old issues of Playwitch and the experiences of his dorm mates. And one ill-fated conversation with his father during which Lucius brandished a cucumber and a donut at Draco and sputtered, red-faced, for several minutes.

So, it is with more than a touch of trepidation that he approaches Pansy in the common room one night.

"Pansy," he drawls, and poses against the edge of her chair. Pansy looks up at him from her Arithmancy text and bats her eyelashes.

Contrary to what Draco might believe, Pansy is not moved by Draco's kingly airs. She has known him since she was born. She and the rest of the house know that Draco is a slightly stuck-up milksop who is still terrified of his daddy. But she knows, like the rest of them, that his family is one of the most powerful in the wizarding world. Also, she rather fancies his strange sense of malicious glee and his spiffy hair.

"Draco," she coos. Draco eyes her face and takes note of all of the cosmetics caked onto it. He imagines them smeared across his pillowcase and tries not to shudder.

"I was thinking that we could retire to my room and have some mind-blowing sex," he says, and grins when Pansy's eyes widen slightly before she laughs. "Well, I guess we could do that," she says, and shrugs one shoulder casually.

"Very well then. Let's go," he commands, and holds his hand out to her. They stand and saunter across the room. Halfway across, Blaise leaps in front of them and says, "Well?"

Draco raises his delicate eyebrows at him and sneers. "Keep out of the room tonight, Zabini," he supplies, and his sneer turns into a lecherous smirk. Blaise hoots and shouts and runs over to Crabbe and Goyle to share the news.

They exit to Draco's dorm room and sit together on the edge of his bed. "Well. Go ahead, have your evil way with me," she says, and splays backward onto the bed.

After some time passes, a shout is heard, followed by a plaintive cry. "What is wrong with you, Draco?"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry! You could have told me, I've never done this before." One can hear the pout in his voice. "Oh, fine. Lie down and let me do it," Pansy replies, and silence reigns again.

Well, for a time at least.

"Pansy for the love of all that is holy do not use your TEETH on that!"

The common room turns as one and stares in the direction of the room. "Well things seem to be going well for them, yeah?" Theodore's too-hearty cry is met with snickering faces.

Eventually the pair emerges from the room. A disheveled Pansy flounces back to the chair she had occupied before and drops into it. Okay, so once she thought Draco had a malicious sense of glee, but she does not think that it should extend to the bedroom.

Draco lounges against the fireplace mantle and sneers around the room. Blaise approaches Draco and raises his eyebrows. Draco smirks in return. "Did she uh, you know, with her..." Blaise stops here and smothers a giggle with his hand. Draco shoots him a traumatized look. "Shut. Up, Zabini."