Serve the Meal, Serve the Maid!

Serve the Meal, Serve the Maid!
(And One More for the Bedpost)

By Taricorim

The Hogwarts castle was deserted. Not a single student wandered its halls save for Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle. Even the ghosts were gone, and, as unlikely as the thought was, Argus Filch seemed to have found better occupation than terrorising students this Saturday.

Yes, that was the effect that the first warm, sunny, dry spring afternoon of the year tended to have. And it was a Hogsmeade weekend, too; most of the students weren’t even on grounds, much less in the castle.

Which, while it provided much needed solitude—Crabbe and Goyle were non-entities—did not bode well for Draco. The number of notches of his bedpost, which tracked Draco’s (formidable, if he did say so himself) sexual prowess, had not increased since his Valentine’s Day tryst with that fourth year Hufflepuff. What was her name? Cho Chang? No, that was the one at the Yule Ball.

A sound other than Crabbe and Goyle’s knuckle cracks came from behind Draco. He whirled. Blaise was standing there in a slitted green gown that was cut so low that Draco was very thankful, indeed, for the professors’ absence. She—was it a she? Despite having slept with it three times, Draco did not know—preened and stretched, sauntering up to Draco with a slight swagger. ‘Sodomise me, Draco,’ it whispered throatily into his year.

Draco backed into a window. ‘N-no,’ he said, ‘I’m, ah, busy today.’

It looked disappointed. ‘With who?’

‘Ah, er....’ A peal of laughter rang from below. It was a group of fifth year girls. At the edge of the group, with her flaming locks shining in the sun, was Ginny Weasley, coincidentally one of the few girls at Hogwarts whom Draco had not yet seduced. ‘Her!’ Draco announced triumphantly, pointing.

‘Oh,’ said Blaise dejectedly. Then it smiled, showing feral teeth. ‘Can I watch?’

‘No!’ Draco recoiled.

Blaise shrugged and left.

Now, Draco Malfoy was a man of his word. He did not lie, and always followed through on his promises—especially when he could get something out of it.

But Ginny Weasley was verifiably one of the most notoriously pristine girls at Hogwarts—and Draco should know. She was among the 10% of the fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh year girls who had not slept with Draco.

He turned to Crabbe and Goyle for advice.

‘Uh... invite her into your room?’ suggested Goyle.

‘Too obvious,’ said Draco. ‘She’d never agree.’

‘Can’t we just throw her down and rape her?’ said Crabbe.

Goyle nodded in agreement.

‘But that’s no fun!’ said Draco. As always, prolonged conversation with Crabbe and Goyle was giving him a headache.

‘Save her life,’ said Goyle. ‘That always works in action films.’

Disgusted, Draco started shaking his head, then checked himself. ‘That’s perfect! You two will hunt her—but don’t actually hurt her, of course—and then, when she’s scared enough, I’ll “rescue” her. Perhaps you’re not a troll after all.’ Draco looked at Goyle appreciatively. ‘No, just a really stupid human.’

Goyle was pleased.

~*~

‘Tell me again, what’s our plan?’ asked Draco.

‘Uh...’ Goyle screwed up his face in thought. ‘We wear masks and attack her and you take her away.’

Draco smiled wolfishly in anticipation of fresh blood. Er... sex.

A crash came from the corridor on the right, followed by an ‘oh, dear!’ It was Ginny Weasley. ‘Quick!’ Draco hissed, shoving the two toward the general direction of the noise. ‘Don’t forget to lead her this way.’ He then hid himself behind a suit of armour. Crabbe and Goyle pulled on their masks and headed off.

‘Well well well,’ said Crabbe. ‘If it isn’t little Ginny Weasley.’

Ginny gave a squeak.

‘Yeah,’ said Goyle. ‘We’re gonna have fun with her, aren’t we?’

‘Yeah,’ said Crabbe. ‘You know what we’re gonna do? We’re gonna r... ra... ray....’

‘Rape?’

‘Yeah, we’re gonna rape you, aren’t we, Mr Goyle?’ said Crabbe.

They guffawed. Draco mentally banged his head against the wall.

Meanwhile, Ginny was edging away slowly, toward the general direction of Gryffindor tower (which, thankfully, happened to be the general direction of Draco’s hiding place).

‘Hey wait!’ said Goyle suddenly. ‘She’s getting away!’

They started toward her. Ginny gave a shriek and broke into a run. Unfortunately, a frail thing such as she could not possibly hope to outrun two giant troll men.

‘Got her!’ Crabbe shouted triumphantly.

‘Hur hur, she can’t run away now!’ said Goyle.

Draco was now gouging out his mind’s eye with a dull fork.

A rip. A hoot of glee. A muffled sob.

‘Bless me, Mr Goyle, look! They’re round and soft and white.’

‘Yeah, white, like the rest of her. What can they be?’

At this point Draco decided that the charade had gone on long enough. Stepping out from behind the coat of arms, Draco shouted, ‘Impedimenta!’ Crabbe and Goyle froze.

Draco grabbed Ginny’s hand and pulled her away. ‘Come on!’ he said. ‘We don’t have much time until those goons start chasing after us.’

He looked at her; she was crying silently, her face wet with tears. Against Draco’s will, he felt sympathy well up for her. ‘Look,’ he said. ‘There’s no need to be doing that, now....’

He was cut off abruptly as Ginny threw herself at him, clutching his neck and sobbing into Draco’s collar. Awkwardly he forced his hand up to pat Ginny on the back, at the same time relishing the feel of her breasts (round and soft, indeed!) against his chest.

From there it was only natural that Draco bend down and kiss her; such full and pink lips were not meant to be left alone. Draco could lose himself in that warm touch; he could enter into it and rest and emerge an eternity later and hunger for more. It helped that Ginny had not, by this point, yet reacquired her clothes.

‘There she is!’ a voice shouted. Draco jumped. Down the hall, two looming, masked figures emerged, hurtling toward them in mixed excitement and wrath.

‘Idiots!’ said Draco. ‘They’re not supposed to chase!’

‘Pardon?’ said Ginny, smiling serenely.

‘Nothing.’ He pulled her ahead.

‘We should find somewhere to hide,’ said Ginny.

Draco nodded, yet another plan forming in his head. ‘Of course—my room!’

So onward they ran, past the entrance to Gryffindor tower, down six flights of stairs to the dank grey dungeons of Hogwarts. At last they stopped before a blank wall, and Draco said the password (‘Hannibal!’), wheezing for breath. They stepped through.

It was a veritable Slytherin paradise of green furniture and hangings. Though it was, at the moment, empty, the scattered onyx and marble chess pieces (now bleeds real blood!), torn pages, and strewn cushions that the house-elves had not yet cleaned up showed, clearly, the vivacity that usually filled the room on Saturday evenings.

Draco led Ginny up to the sixth year boys’ dormitory and closed the door. ‘We’ll be safe here,’ whispered Draco.

Ginny was looking around in open awe. Originally, the boys’ dorms had been nothing spectacular—quite drab, actually, and dank and chilly in the winter. But Lucius Malfoy would never have allowed his precious son to suffer such conditions, so the room was fully furnished with carved alabaster couches and ebony bookshelves. And, of course, nothing but the best Japanese green silk divider, charmed as an Imperturbable sound shield, disabled from the inside only, would do to provide his son the privacy and modesty that every respectable pureblood boy must possess.

Unknown to Lucius, this screen had also served another, far more hedonistic purpose since Draco’s fourth year.

Ginny shivered in delight and fell back into Draco’s bed, where her bright red hair clashed rather shockingly with the green satin sheets—not that Draco cared. Excellent, he thought. I didn’t even have to try to get her there.

He sat beside her on the bed.

‘This is beautiful!’ breathed Ginny.

‘Yes,’ said Draco, staring down at her rosepetal lips. And he kissed her again, and this time encountered little resistance as he trailed a hand down her body, around to stroke her firm, rounded buttocks. He trained her to help him remove his robes.

‘Stop,’ said Ginny. ‘We shouldn’t be doing this.’

Draco gritted his teeth in frustration.

Suddenly, the screen was pushed aside, and a huge pair of eyes blinked up at them, and Draco cursed his father for ordering the screen to be bypassable by house-elves for cleaning.

‘Dobby!’

And Dobby it was, who was working for the Malfoys only four years before. The short, ugly creature squeaked in fear and covered his eyes. ‘Yes, sir, master!’ he said. ‘No—er, Dobby is very sorry, young master! Dobby will leave now, sir, Dobby begs forgiveness....’

‘You!’ Draco shouted.

‘Yes?’ Dobby peered up at him from between two fingers.

Draco sighed. ‘Bring me two mai tais,’ he said. ‘And leave the tray.’

‘Yes, sir, of course, sir.’ Dobby retreated, twisting his ears and yelping in pain.

Draco scowled and sat back, covering himself strategically with his hands. A minute later, Dobby returned, bearing a tray with two mai tais on it, then (wisely) disappeared again. Draco passed a glass to Ginny and downed the other in one gulp, sputtering and coughing.

‘You alright?’ asked Ginny, who had drunk hers with a bit more grace.

Draco nodded. ‘Oi!’ he shouted. ‘Gimme some more mai tais down here!’

Two more glasses appeared, then two after that, and by the time these were done it was obvious that Ginny Weasley had a very low tolerance for alcohol. So low, in fact, that she didn’t even bother with the traditional ‘ravish me’ before pulling him on top of her, giggling slightly at the clumsiness of her own actions.

Draco flipped Ginny so that she was lying spread-eagle and prone on the bed. ‘Why, Ginny dear,’ he said. ‘I knew you’d come around to it.’

‘Ow!’ said Ginny, though by this time Draco was quite unlikely to stop. ‘It hurtsh.’ She giggled some more. ‘Hurtsh.’ She winced.

Virgins were so damned wonderful to sodomise and ruin. Nothing stood between Draco and his long-awaited, hard-earned climax now. Except...

Voices were nearing. The dorm door crashed open and raucous laughter floated through. Three sixth year Slytherins came into the room.

Ginny Weasley bolted up and stumbled to the flimsy screen. Too late, Draco shouted, ‘No!’ But the screen was already lying to one side, the charms broken. Three pairs of eyes widened, first in shock, then in lust, and Ginny froze as a deer caught in the headlights of a pickup truck.

Just then, another clamour arose from the common room, and Ginny Weasley was momentarily saved from Crabbe, Goyle, and Blaise’s attentions—evidentially, Blaise was male now. Harry Potter crashed into his room, wreaking havoc on the expensive green hanging on his way.

‘How dare you, Malfoy!’ he screamed, upon surveying the mess that was Draco’s dorm room.

Unfortunately for him, Draco was at the end of his patience. ‘Get out,’ he said. ‘Both of you.’

And for once, Harry seemed to lose his Gryffindor idiocy and complied, dragging a very disoriented Ginny along with him.

For a moment there was silence and stillness in the sixth year Slytherin dorm room. Then, Blaise spoke.

‘Well. Now that that’s out of the way. You know, Draco, I’m always here for you.’ He—he? She?—batted its eyelashes at Draco, eyeing his (barely) lingering hard-on with interest.

‘Why not?’ said Draco, sighing.

At least he’d get one more notch for his bedpost.

~Finis~

Comments of all sorts are appreciated.