She's Plotting Our Downfall by Mourning Broken Angel
Summary: *Parody* Ever wonder what would happen if the Harry Potter characters stumbled across a copy of 'Downfall'? How would they react to the extraordinarily unlikely and cliched situations I've thrust them into? PG13 for language and implied sexual situations
Categories: Works in Progress Characters: Blaise Zabini (boy), Draco Malfoy, Ginny Weasley, Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Luna Lovegood, Other Characters, Pansy Parkinson, Ron Weasley, Severus Snape
Compliant with: OotP and below
Era: Hogwarts-era
Genres: Humor
Warnings: None
Series: None
Chapters: 3 Completed: No Word count: 11698 Read: 7011 Published: Dec 11, 2004 Updated: Dec 15, 2004

1. Chapter One by Mourning Broken Angel

2. Chapter Two by Mourning Broken Angel

3. Chapter Three by Mourning Broken Angel

Chapter One by Mourning Broken Angel
A/N: I have, in a fit of hyper-caffinated idiocy, given parchment and quill to everyone appearing in 'Downfall' and promised to transcribe their meetings and notes.

I figure, hey, if anyone is going to parody my fanfiction, it should be me. Right? Also, I am making fun of my own fanfiction here, so please don't feel that it's directed at anyone else's work. I know people put a lot of time and thought into their writing, and I am not trying to belittle that.

Note: Quotes from 'Downfall' are in bold-faced type.

Disclaimer: For the sake of not being sued for money I don't have, the Harry Potter-verse belongs to J.K. Rowling and her various publishers.

Chapter One


Ginny looked around. "What the hell am I doing in the Room of Requirement? How did I get here?"

She wandered over to the door, only to find that it was locked. Curious, she scanned the room and saw only a long table surrounded by many chairs, and a stack of papers lying neatly in the centre of the table.

She walked over to the table and picked up the top page. "What the hell...?" she mumbled, as she perused the first few sentences. "Someone wrote a story about me?"

Ginny tapped her foot impatiently, wondering how much longer this was going to take.

Merlin, I wish I was never made Prefect. I could be doing my Charms essay, or having a nice bath, or best of all, sleeping...

"I'm a Prefect? Wicked! That means Mum and Dad will buy me something! I like this story!" She pulled out a chair and sat down, continuing to read.

... She tucked her hair behind her ear for what seemed the thousandth time, wishing she had brought a hair tie down with her. She glanced suspiciously over at her ex-boyfriend...


"What is going on?!" she screeched. "Michael? How did you get in here?"

He scratched his head, looking very, very confused. "Dunno," he replied. "What're you reading?"

"A story someone left here. One minute I was in the Great Hall, eating breakfast, the next I'm locked in here."

"Oh. So we're locked in here. Alone?"

"Yes. And don't go getting any ideas, either."

"Wouldn't dream of it. So what's it about?" he asked, gesturing at the paper in her hand.

"Not sure. I've only read the first few lines. Want to read it too?"

"Sure. Nothing better to do, is there?" He pulled out a chair next to her and sat down, reading over her shoulder.

... the other Prefect overseeing this joyous little party with her. Ever since Cho Chang had finished her 7th year, Michael Corner had been staring at Ginny and volunteering to partner her on nightly rounds...

"Hey!" he cried. "I don't like you like that anymore! And what's this business about Cho? I never thought about her like that!"

Ginny snorted. "Sure, Michael. That's why you were such a prat about that Quidditch match, right?"

"I wasn't... I mean, I didn't..." he huffed defensively. "Oh, forget it. There's still no telling you anything, is there?"

Ginny shot him a nasty look. "Let's just read this until someone comes along and lets us out, alright?"

"Fine," he crossed his arms and nodded.


... Apparently, the 4th year Potions class of Slytherins and Gryffindors had sniped at each other a little too much before sitting an exam, and Snape had assigned the lot of them to detention that night, even the Slytherins...

"It's 'bout time," Ginny grumbled. "Lets his House get away with bloody murder, he does."

... Low murmurs, the bubbling of cauldrons and the scratching of Snape's quill were the only sounds in the oppressive room for several minutes, lulling Ginny into a daze...

"Lulling me into a daze, indeed. Blah blah. Pointless drabble."

... A noise to her left startled her. The door swung inward with a groan as...


Draco Malfoy landed in a very ungraceful heap next to the door.

"Aargh!" he yelled, scrambling to his feet and drawing his wand. Pointing it at the two students at the table, he demanded, "What the hell is going on, Weasley?! What sort of sick curse is this?!"

She made a face at him. "Dunno, Malfoy, but I didn't do it. I swear. Same thing happened to the two of us. Door's locked, by the way. There's a story someone wrote about us here, so we're just killing time reading until someone gets us out of here."

He walked closer and glanced at the story Ginny held. "What's it about?" he asked, curious.

"Us, genius."

"Oh. Lemme see it." Ginny handed him the page, pointing to where they had left off. "We're right here."

... Draco Malfoy strode in, Head Boy badge gleaming on his robes...

"Head Boy! Ha!" he yelled happily. He began to dance around, sing-songing in a falsetto voice. "I'm the Head Boy, I'm the Head Boy, I'm the-"

"SHUT IT!" Ginny and Michael yelled together.

"No need to be snippy about it," he whined. He perked up and tapped the paper. "Great story so far. Let's see the next page."

... He paused as he surveyed the room, and seeing her glare, raised an eyebrow. With a jaunty little salute that only furthered her ire, he wove his way to the front of the room, pausing to converse with a Slytherin here and there...

"Jaunty little salute?" Ginny chortled. "You? Ha! Whoever wrote this is insane!"

"Hey!" a voice boomed.

The three looked around. Simultaneously, they cried, "Who said that?!"

"I did," the author chuckled, amused.

"And you are..." Michael asked, bending over to look under his chair.

"I am the author, you half-wit."

"Well, where are you?" Draco chimed in, turning in a circle and trying to look behind him.

"I'm sitting at a computer, writing this."

The three teenagers looked at one another. "A what?" they chorused, obviously confused.

"A comp- oh, nevermind. You can't see me anyway, so don't worry your pretty little heads about it."

"Erm, yeah. Okay." They looked at one another. Strange things happened at Hogwarts all of the time, but this took things to a whole new level.

"Do you have any questions for me?"

"Who brought us here?" Michael asked, stealing a look under the table.

"I did. And I told you, I'm not in the blasted room. You can't see me."

He flushed. "Oh. Well, why are we here?"

"I've decided, rather charitably, to let you lot have a go at the story I wrote."

"YOU wrote this?" Draco drawled increduously.

"Yep. Do you have a problem with that, Draco? The story's not finished yet, you know. I could always write in a chapter about you dressing up in Pansy's frilly robes from that Yule Ball."

"Er, no. I love it actually. Yes, fantastic story, especially the Head Boy bit."

"Stop being such a little sycophant," the author said nastily.

"A what? That didn't sound like a compliment."

"It wasn't. Arse-kisser is a good approximation."

"What?! Why, you-" he sputtered.

"Uh uh," the author chided. "Be nice. Remember, I have frilliness waiting for you." Draco fumed, but kept his mouth shut. For once.

"Eh, author?" Ginny asked timidly. "You mentioned a story?"

"Oh, yes. Thank you, Ginny. I wrote a fanfic involving you and pretty much everyone at this school. That's what you're reading, and why you are here. As you read, when a person enters in my story, they will appear in this room. When their character exits a scene, they will disappear here, as well."

"I see," Ginny mused. "That makes sense, sort of. But what's a fanfic? And what's this one about?"

"A fanfic is like this. I am a fan of your world and everyone in it. Therefore, I have decided to write a fictional story about it. This story is about you and Draco the Genius here, and how you fell in love."

"How we WHAT?" both Draco and Ginny choked.

"But, but... that's just sick!" Ginny wailed.

"I think I'm going to be ill," Draco moaned, clutching his stomach. "What on earth gave you the idea that we should fall in love?"

"Oh, I think you two are perfect for one another," the author gushed. "Besides, there are thousands of other stories dedicated to your relationship."

They looked at one another, horrified.

"There are?" Ginny gulped.

"Oh, yes. There are entire groups who send notes to one another about you two. Don't worry, there's lots and lots of other people you're paired with," the author consoled. "Ginny, the most popular choices for you are Neville, Harry, Draco and Lucius. Or sometimes mmph mmph mmph..."

"What was that last part?" Draco asked, smirking, ignoring the retching noises Ginny made as she dry-heaved.

"Er... I said: 'Or sometimes a combination thereof."

Delightedly he crowed, "Does that mean what I think it does?"

Disgusted, the author made a note to treat Draco terribly for another few chapters of her story. "In some stories, yes. Pervert."

"Hey!" he protested.

"Well, you are. Ginny, love, stop crying. Do you want me to tell you the most popular choices for our darling Draco here? Would that make you feel better?" the author wheedled.

Ginny sniffled and wiped her eyes. "I want my mum. That's just sick."

"Stop being such an infant, Weasley," Draco taunted.

"Play nice, Draco, you may be sharing a therapist's couch with her someday, you know. Your true love is usually one of three people. Ginny here, Hermione Granger-"

"That Mudblood! Who the hell is spreading these vicious lies? I'll kill them! I'll-"

"Ahem. I wasn't done, frilly pink Draco."

He swallowed meekly.

"Better. The last 'true love' of yours is usually Harry himself."


Ginny and Michael look bemusedly at Draco's prone form.

"Wow, I feel kind of bad for him," Michael muttered out of the corner of his mouth to Ginny.

"Michael?" the author said.


"I know I've neglected you, but you are really only a peripheral character."

He smiled happily. "Oh, don't worry. If being a main character is like that, I'm glad I'm not one."

"Good. Didn't want to hurt your feelings or anything. D'ya mind waking up the Spineless Wonder there, please?"

"Sure, no problem."

With a quick charm, Draco was woozily perched on a chair next to Ginny, mumbling to himself. "Potter? What sick, twisted person would do that to me? Why? I'm not... it's... I mean, DAMMIT! Potter?!"

"And sometimes Ron. I forgot that one. Want me to tell you the REALLY bad ones?"

Draco drew his knees up to his chest and began to rock back and forth.

"No? Okay, enough torture for now. Read the story. I'll be watching, but I'll try not to say anything unless someone asks for me. Deal?"


They leant forward and began to read again.

... "Mr Malfoy, I hope you have a reason to be disrupting this detention?" Snape demanded...


"You have GOT to be kidding me," Ginny groaned.

Snape glared at the students. "What the-"

Draco, still slightly green, cut him off. Dully, he said, "Apparently there's someone who wrote a story about us and everyone in the story gets sent here as they appear in it, but leave when their scene is over, and we can't leave until we read the story, and..." he stopped abruptly and looked up at the ceiling. "Did I miss anything?"

"No, you're doing brilliantly. Go on."

"I see. This is one of those fanfic thingies, isn't it?" Snape sighed wearily, plopping into a chair across from them.

Astonished, Michael asked, "You mean you know about them?"

"Oh, yes. This is the third or fourth time this has happened to me. Author, can you hear me?"

"Of course. What's on your mind?"

"I'm not a pedophile in this one, trying to shag any of the students, am I?"

The author snorted. "Of course not. No one below the age of consent, anyway. I'm kidding. Put that wand away, it won't do you any good."

Warily, he continued. "And it's not slash?"

"What's slash?" Ginny asked.

"Like Draco and Harry together romantically, dear," the author said kindly. "No, not slash," the author paused thoughfully. "Well, there's one tiny moment, but it doesn't involve you."

Snape sighed gratefully. "Thank you."

Draco hid his head in his hands and whimpered. "Please tell me it's not me. Please?"

"No, Draco, it's not you, either. Now, back to reading."

... "Yes, sir. There is a House matter that requires your guidance. May I have a moment?"

A movement at the corner of her eye caught Ginny's attention. Dennis Creevey was turned toward her with his hand raised. The little dark-haired girl at the table behind him, who, if Ginny was not mistaken, was Ivy, Pansy Parkinson's little sister, said something to cause his face to darken with anger....

(Pop! Pop!)

Dennis Creevey and Ivy Parkinson looked at the table of people.

"Don't ask. Just come here and read this, alright?" Snape sighed.

"Er, sure, Professor. Whatever you say."

.... "WHO IS RESPONSIBLE FOR THIS?!" Snape bellowed.

As the mist lessened, she could see Snape standing next to his desk, which unfortunately now only had three legs and a large hole where the fourth corner should have been. His face suffused with unnatural colour, he howled, "MY CLASSROOM IS UTTERLY DESTROYED! WHO? I WANT TO KNOW WHO DID THIS, RIGHT NOW DAMMIT! I WILL HAVE YOU EXPELLED FOR THIS, I SWEAR IT!"...

"Why is it always the Potions classroom? And why am I always a raving lunatic?" Snape complained aloud to the room.

"Wow! Ivy blew up the classroom! That is so wicked!" Dennis enthused. He turned and slapped her on the back. "What's with the insults, though?"

Ivy shrugged. "Don't look at me. You're a Gryffindor. I'm supposed to hate you, right?"

Ginny speared them with a dark look. "Stuff it. Keep reading. The faster we finish it, the faster we're out of this mess."

... Ginny continued around the room as Michael muttered the incantation to dissipate the remaining mist. Miraculously, no one looked to be seriously injured. A few scrapes and bruises seemed to be the extent of it, and most of those were owned by Ivy Parkinson, who was bawling her eyes out. Ginny thought she had found the culprit. She was making her way to the front of the room to try to calm the apoplectic-looking Snape down when she tripped over a foot.

"Oh, Merlin! Professor, it's Malfoy, sir!"

He lay on his side, surrounded by an half-dozen shattered jars, with a pool of blood oozing steadily around his shoulder. A large shard of glass was sticking obscenely out of his upper chest. Ginny was shrugging out of her robes as Snape reached them...

"Why me?" Draco wailed. "I don't want to get hurt! It'll leave a scar like that awful..." he stopped and blanched. "Gah! I can't even say his name!" He began to bang his forehead against the table. "Sick, sick, sick!"

Snape looked at Michael and Ginny quizzically. Snickering, Ginny told him, "The author told him that he and Harry are one of the favourite pairings in fanfic."

"Ah. Don't worry, Draco. I've been paired with much worse, believe me. Just keep reminding yourself that it's not real."

Michael picked up the pile of papers and began to read aloud.

... "WHOEVER CAUSED THIS IS DEAD!" he roared. "Corner! Go fetch Madam Pomfrey. Tell her it's an emergency, and to hurry. The rest of you, go directly to the Headmaster's Office and wait for a staff member to admit you. Do not leave until I arrive. I will have the wand of the person or persons responsible. Now get out!"...


He disappeared, the papers fluttering back to the table.

"Oh well. Weasley, pick up where he left off."

... Ginny sank to her knees next to Malfoy's head, her discarded robes in a pile next to her. She knew he was still alive, as his chest was rising and falling, but she feared the situation could change any minute; there was so much blood, and it was spreading rapidly...

"Eew! That's rather graphic." Ivy shuddered.

... A loud groan, and then, "I'm bleeding, Weasley, not deaf."

"Are you alright, Mr Malfoy?" queried Snape.

She noted that Snape actually appeared concerned. Well, there's a first time for everything, I suppose. It wouldn't do to have the first Slytherin Head Boy in, what, fifty-three years, die from wounds received in his Head of House's classroom. Looks bad on the references...

"Ah, how Gryffindor of you. Mock your Potions professor. Not very original, mind you."

Ginny shot Snape a dark look before continuing.

... Malfoy, in his customary dry drawl replied, "Oh yes, think I'll have myself a stroll round the lake now. No, it bloody hurts!"

Ginny carefully grasped his upper body with one hand, and whilst cradling his head with the other, rolled him onto his back. She held him up and wriggled herself, cross-legged, beneath his neck, supporting his head in her lap.

"Does that help a bit? Are you more comfortable?" Ginny handed her robes to Snape. "Here, Professor. We can use these to stem the bleeding."...

She stopped short. "What? I wouldn't help him! He tried to help that nasty Umbridge destroy Hogwarts!"

"But you don't hate me. And I am dying in there, after all. It's the proper thing to do. Hell, I think I'd help if you were the one hurt. Maybe."

Ginny laughed. "Yeah, sure."

... Madam Pomfrey bustled in, skirts swirling around her. "Professor, what on earth happened? Mr Corner was gibbering about an explosion and Mr Malfoy... Oh my!"...


Snape waved her over. "Fanfiction again, Poppy. Have a seat."

Ginny cleared her throat and picked the story back up.

... Ginny leant back, and began to smooth the hair off Malfoy's forehead absently. She made soft, soothing noises in the back of her throat like her mum used to when Ginny was small, stroking his hair and temple as Madam Pomfrey prodded at the glass with her wand...

"Hey! Mum actually did do that! No way, that's eerie." She looked up suspiciously. "How did you know that, author?"

"All mothers do it."

Ivy raised her hand. "Mine doesn't do that."

"Shut up. You are a bit part. Be a good little role player and be quiet."

Ivy looked around, her lower lip quivering. "That was mean!"

The author sighed something that sounded like 'teenagers'. "Sorry. Ginny?"

... Malfoy grunted in pain as Madam Pomfrey sat back and began rolling her sleeves up and over her elbows...

"Wait, wait. Sorry to interrupt, but we have a glitch in the system here. Ivy? Dennis?"

"Yes?" they sang out. After all, this was kind of fun for them.

"You were supposed to leave when Snape kicked the class out. Say goodbye."

"Do we have to?" Dennis whined.


(Pop! Pop!)

"Sorry. Please continue."

... "That has to come out now. I can't put him on a stretcher with it imbedded like that; if he's jostled it may pierce his lung. Professor Snape, Miss Weasley, I'm going to need your help to hold him still for this. Professor, please keep his abdomen as steady as possible. Miss Weasley, take his shoulders."

Malfoy, who was very pale now and trembling lightly, laughed, "Careful down there, Professor. The ladies will never forgive you if there's any collateral damage."...

"True, true," Draco laughed. "Good one."

"You know, I'm beginning to think you're a virgin, Draco," the author laughed maliciously. "No social skills to speak of, and, well, you're rather short and skinny for a seventeen year old. By the way, I've always wanted to ask you this. Are you anaemic?"

"No, I have a beautiful complexion unmarred by the sun... Hey, I'm no virgin!" he looked around nervously. "I'm not, you know. Really. I've-"

"Who cares anyway? Being a virgin is good. You can save yourself for your true love," Dennis squeaked.

Draco blanched at the words 'true love' and quickly covered his mouth, running for a dark corner.

Oblivious, Dennis continued. "And why do Colin and I always have to scurry and squeak, I'd like to know?"

"Because J.K. Rowling said so. And as far as you lot are concerned, she's Merlin, the Founders and God all rolled into one."

A brief silence fell as they processed this information. "Oh."

The author thought hard. Something was off. I've got it! "Dammit! How did you get back here, Dennis?"

He looked around. "I dunno. I-"


"How did that happen, I wonder? Oh well. Go sit down, Draco. Fun, non-homosexual things are about to happen to you."

He looked up hopefully and shuffled back to his chair. "You mean it? Really? Weasley, get a move on!"

Ginny huffed, highly irritated. "I quit. I keep getting interrupted. If you want to hear it," she thrust the sheaf of papers at him, "here. You read it."

... Ginny looked at Madam Pomfrey and rolled her eyes as she sweetly countered, "Oh dear, he's growing delusional. Must be from losing so much blood. Hurry, Madam Pomfrey, hurry!"...

"Hey, that's not fun! You promised-"

"Keep reading, pillock."

... Malfoy, indignant, rolled his head back to give her the dressing-down she so richly deserved. And, quite inelegantly, began to splutter.

"Bloody hell, Weasley! Who knew you were hiding those under your robes! No wonder your freak of a brother acts like a rampaging manticore when anyone with a Y-chromosome looks in your general direction." Pausing thoughtfully for a moment, he continued. "They HAVE to be real; your family is too poor to feed themselves, let alone pay for-"

"One more word, Malfoy, and I will personally see that piece of glass into your lung."

Dryly, Snape commented, "I think it would serve the Head Boy well to recall the decorum expected of his position."

Malfoy, with a wicked look of pleasure, replied, "Funny you should mention position, sir. Personally, I find my current one-"

"Mr Malfoy!" Madam Pomfrey screeched, horrified. "I never! Cease your prattle this instant!"...

He looked Ginny up and down doubtfully. "I'm admiring Weasley's tits? Seriously? Well, I guess they're nice." He snorted. "But she's kind of... well, fat."

"Fat!" Ginny screeched. "Why you skinny little-"

The author cut her off before she reached full rant-mode. "Er, Draco? It's February, and about four degrees outside. She has on at least two jumpers. Care to reassess now?"

"Oh." He shrugged sheepishly at Ginny, ignoring the growling noises she was making. "Sorry."

"Fat," she pouted. "Hmph. Git!"

"Play nice, Ginny, or I'll start using given names. D'ya want that?"

"No," she replied reluctantly.

"Besides, you two will be snogging in a few chapters. May as well try to get along."

"We'll be what?!"

Shaking her head, the author asked condescendingly, "Romance, remember?"

Snape and Pomfrey laughed at the identical looks of horror on their faces.

Draco scanned the page in front of him, eager to move on. The author was mean. She kind of reminded him of his mum. "Blah blah blah. Who cares? Get to the good stuff. Ha, here we go. Listen to this!"

... Ginny, thoroughly embarrassed and brilliantly red from neck to hairline, leant down, placed her elbows directly on the front of Malfoy's shoulders and grasped each arm firmly at the elbow. She looked to Madam Pomfrey to see if this was sufficient, when-

"Mmph mmphh bwaff!!"

She released him and sat up quickly. "What?"

Malfoy, grinning widely and looking completed unhinged, shouted, "I say! Capital idea, Madam Pomfrey. Brilliant way to go, really, suffocated between two luscious breasts. Professor Snape, see that my tombstone is inscribed with that." He began to snicker, interspersed with gasps of pain from laughing...

Snape snickered, shooting a look at Madam Pomfrey. "Not bad, Poppy. Kind of amusing, actually. At least the grammar and punctuation seem to be in order."

She trilled a happy little laugh. "Oh, you only like it because we're only in supporting roles. And..." she trailed off as Ginny had a mini-breakdown.

Ginny, thoroughly embarrassed and brilliantly red from neck to hairline, clambered on the table and began to shout and shake her fists at the ceiling. "How could you! How, damn you! That's... that's... well, that's wrong!"

Draco smirked up at her. "Ha ha! I thought it was very well done. But what's with the 'capital idea' business? What is this, the 19th century?"

"Shut it, Draco, or you've a nice, cosy little scene with Harry coming."

He twitched. "Sorry."

"Thought so. Get her off the table and get back to the story. You're almost done with Chapter One. Since I'm very happy with how this is going, I'll even give you a little break before the next chapter."



"Okay, it's a deal. Weasley." He waited, but she continued to shout threats. "Weasley? Dammit, woman, c'mere." He snagged an ankle and pulled her down into her seat next to him and began to read again.

... "- hallway to your left, three intersections down, left again. You'll see a statue of Salazar Slytherin. The passcode is... Draco?"...

"Wait, I get my own room? Yes! That is- Sorry. Sorry! I'm reading."

... "Cheers for ditching the robes, Weasley. It was definitely my pleasure," he called back.

Madam Pomfrey sqeaked indignantly and began to loudly and vigorously berate him for his "incorrigible behaviour and utterly unacceptable comments... proper, good young witches... foul-mouthed boys... never married... better breeding than that... mother appalled..."

Snape sniggered as he moved towards the door himself. "Woman is a veritable harpy when her 'sensibilities' have been offended. Off with you then." Ginny stared at him. He was being almost civil.

Must have gotten coshed by a jar in the explosion.

He stopped and looked round at his shambles of a classroom. "Bloody little menaces, the lot of them," he muttered. "I ought to quit before one of the incompetent little bastards manages to kill me. Weasley! Move it! Out!" He sighed, his shoulders slumped wearily. "I'll deal with this mess later."...

Madam Pomfrey gasped and wheezed. "Ha! Of course, I would yell if you said something like that in front of me. But a harpy? With sensibilities? Nonsense, Severus, all nonsense. And what were you thinking, being civil in front of one of your Gryffindor students?"

"Well," he began, "it's not like I had a choice. Miss Author here, -I presume it is Miss?"

"Yes. Guilty as charged."

"Miss Author here apparently gave me a heart. Thank you. I'm usually either Evil personified or a simpering little ponce. Normality is a nice change of pace. And you have a point about the students. I should quit. Maybe I can write fanfiction for money."

"Erm, there's no profit. The story doesn't belong to us. Sorry."

He sighed. "Well, are Poppy and I in the next scene?"

"Very good deduction. You're right on top of things," the author laughed. "You're a bright one, Sevvie."

He cringed. "Gods, I hate that. If you find out who created that petname, let me know so I can hex them, alright?"

"Sure thing. Say goodbye, you three."

Snape and Madam Pomfrey looked at one another. Giggling, the nurse waved at a still simmering Ginny.

Draco patted Ginny's leg comfortingly. "Look at the bright side, Weasley. You have some time to yourself with the author to straighten things out. And we get a break!"

When she swatted at him, he pulled back. "Fine, be nasty. See you around."

(Pop! Pop! Pop!)
Chapter Two by Mourning Broken Angel
A/N: All things Harry Potter belong to J.K. Rowling. I merely insult my own fanfiction here. Also, I can't bear to send this to my beta, for fear she'll run screaming and never return. So any errors are my own fault. Enjoy.

Chapter Two


"Welcome back, Ginny. Did you enjoy your break?"

Ginny plopped onto the edge of the table and irritatedly began tapping her wand against it. "Oh, yes," she replied sarcastically. "Those ten minutes to use the toilet and grab some food were fantastic. Thanks sooo much!"

The author shook her head. Stupid girl. "It's the Room of Requirement for a reason, dolt. A real intellectual, you are."

Ginny glared up. "Bugger off."

"Language, Ginny. Impressionable minds may read this and get ideas."

Ginny squeezed her eyes closed.


A large bowl of Fizzing Whizbee flavoured ice-cream and a pile of Cadbury Flake appeared next to her. Digging right in, Ginny moaned rapturously.

The author eyed the ice-cream enviously. "You know, I defended you when Draco called you fat, but I'm not so sure that it's the clothes, Ginny."

She swallowed the hideously large mouthful of ice-cream she was currently devouring. "Hey! I've hardly eaten anything today. And this reading thing almost qualifies as torture. You said your story is a romance between Malfoy and I." She tried for a very pathetic face and toyed with the half-full bowl in front of her. "It's all very stressful."

The author choked on the cake she was shoving into her mouth. "Don't be snotty. I can make it tough on you, too. You're lucky I like you."

Ginny's face brightened. "You like me? Really?"

"Yes. But I'm tired, and I want to go to bed, so if you don't mind..."

Putting down her spoon, Ginny scooted over to the pile of papers. "Oh, right. Got it." She began to scan through the pages quickly, reading random lines.

"No! You're doing it all wrong! You have to read it! Besides, this chapter is short and pretty much focussed on you."

"Fine," Ginny sighed. With one last longing glance at her ice-cream, she began to read.

... I'm arguing with a statue. Oh Merlin, please just end my misery now...

"What sort of rubbish is this? You made me a nutter?" Ginny looked up quizzically.

"Grrr. Keep going, you'll understand."

... "Well I don't care if you have the passcode, you silly little girl. You are not the Head Boy, you are not on the list of witches and wizards the Head Boy said I am to grant entry to, and your colouring is far too garish for you to be a house elf here to clean."...

Ginny dropped the story and began to fluff her hair and preen. "Garish?! Me? But my hair is the colour of fire, with blonde, honey and chestnut highlights that ripple down my back in a glorious cascade! I'm beautiful!"

"Are you sure you've never read fanfiction before?" the author accused. "That sounds very familiar."

"No, that's what Mum has always told me!"

Mothers, the author thought sourly. They always lie to you about the wrong things. "Yes, well. I think your hair looks more orange than fiery red."

"Hey!" Picking up a lock of hair, Ginny studiously examined it, even holding it up to the light.

"What? I'm being honest. My hair is bushy, if it makes you feel any better."

"I guess," Ginny said distractedly, pulling more hair over her shoulder to look at.

The author cleared her throat loudly.


"Sometime today, Princess."

Throwing her hair back with a dramatic toss of her head, Ginny found the spot where she had left off.

Perplexed, she said, "And what's with the Princess bit?"

The author sighed heavily. This was turning out to be more work than she had thought. "Let's think. How many female Weasleys by birth over the last century or so?"

"Just me, I think... Oh!"

"Thank you, Jessica Simpson," the author smirked.


"Forget it. Shall we move on?"

... Ginny eyed the statue of Salazar Slytherin menacingly...


Ginny looked around. "Hey, I know I heard a 'pop'. Who is it?"

The author pointed at the door, forgetting that she can't be seen. Shit. Let me try that again. "What, not who. Look over by the door."

A bust of what looked to be a monkey (a very ugly monkey with mange and scaly skin) with hair and a pointy goatee stood on a pedestal.

Ginny jumped. "Yikes! That is one ugly statue. What did you bring it here for?"

"Impertinence? From a fat child?! I won't tolerate it. Remove yourself from my presence, you flobberworm," the statue remarked sourly.

"I. Am. Not. FAT!" Ginny shrieked, throwing her spoon at the statue.

"I told you to lay off the sweets," the author said smugly. "Read."

"I hate you," Ginny fumed.

"No you don't." The author considered her previous statement. "Well, you will when you read the eighth and ninth chapters. You'll have plenty of reason then."

Ginny clapped her hands over her ears. "Please don't tell me that." She lowered them cautiously and pointed at Monkey Man. "I'll read if you keep that thing quiet."

"I'll try, but it's hard to tell a statue what to do."

... "If you don't let me in this instant, I will hex you into oblivion."

"Bah. What do you take me for, a fool? I am school property; if you harm me, you'll be punished most grievously. Now go away."

"Why won't you let me in?" Ginny wailed, frustrated almost to the point of tears...

"Hideous, ugly, mouldy old thing. I should have guessed Slytherin himself was infinitely worse than the students in his House. Yuck."

"Blood-traitor," Slytherin accused presciently, without having any way of knowing that the Weasleys liked Muggles. Well, no way of knowing, other than the author deciding that it was the appropriate insult for him to have here.

"Scum!" Ginny spat back.

"Children," the author warned.

Ginny dropped her head into her hands. "Oh, the hell with you both."

... "Enlighten me. Please." Ginny thought, I really have to owl Fred and George. I'm sure they'll know a way to destroy a statue without getting caught. She smiled darkly, imagining the ugly old face in thirteen different pieces, each of which she would feed happily to the Giant Squid...


She sat up straight. "Oh, thank Merlin! Nasty, worthless piece of rubbish!" Ginny scratched her nose a moment and considered. "It doesn't really exist, does it? Because if it does, I really, really want you to let me smash it to smithereens."

"I'll think about it. Okay, you win." Author makes note to have Fred and George send her a very creative invention that destroys talking statues of Salazar Slytherin.

... Shaking her head, Ginny took a deep breath and rolled her shoulders a few times for good measure. It helped her to calm down a bit. She pictured fuzzy bunnies, the time Neville was turned into a giant canary, and the bizarre hat Luna had taken to wearing at any Quidditch match Gryffindor was playing, except against Ravenclaw, of course. Finally back in a frame of mind that didn't include the demise of anything to do with Salazar Slytherin or Draco Malfoy, she began to laugh. After all, the situation was rather ridiculous...

"Wait. I actually go into Malfoy's room?"


Ginny looked back at the paper. "I like the fuzzy bunnies thing. And it was great when Neville turned into a canary, very cute. But Luna's hat? That was just odd."

The author scans her copies of the Harry Potter books. "Hey, all of that is true. Deal with it."

"This story would be funny, if it wasn't me," Ginny observed.

"Oh, I think that it's funny because it's you."

"You would. Sadist."

... Oh yes, Ron, I just rummaged through all his drawers, looking at his pants. That is, right after I had a nice long chat with a statue of Salazar Slytherin. Why? He asked if I was pure-blooded, and... Oh. Why I was in Malfoy's room, rifling through his things. Right. In between bleeding all over everyone trying to help him and admiring my breasts- well, I did accidentally stick his face in them... That would most certainly not go over well...

"Malfoy's pants? You're kidding, right?"

"Nope. Keep going, it gets worse."

"My brother is going to kill you when he hears about this."

"I know. I can't wait."

... 'Classical Heroes and the Tragedies That Befell Them'...

Ginny giggled. "Ha! That sounds like a book tailor-made for Harry!"

"It's called tongue-in-cheek, Ginny."

... Surprisingly, his bedclothes weren't made of silk. Or even satin. They were the softest cotton she had ever felt. Cool and smooth, they slipped underneath her fingers with the barest of whispers...

"Okay, stop. I'm touching Malfoy's dirty bed-linen?"

"Mmm hmm. Want to know what you were thinking?"

Miserably, Ginny shook her head. "No, I really think I don't."


Ginny looked at a replica of herself from across the table.

"Er..." she rubbed her eyes. "Am I missing something here?"

... The voice in her head gasped in delight. Ooh, I would die to sleep in a bed like this! Wait - this is Malfoy's bed. Yuk. Scratch that...

"Ginny, meet Ginny. You know how you talk to yourself sometimes?"

"Oh, I get it."

... But it would be so soft! The other voice, her "bad" side, countered. There's one sure way to sleep in this bed, you know. And that part would be over in 20 minutes or so, if Dean was anything to go by...


"Another one? This one is..." Ginny looked at her mirror image lounging at the end of the table. The doppelganger smirked wickedly. "Er... she looks like a trouble-maker."

"You got it in one. Ginny, meet your inner wild child."

"And what's this nonsense about me and Dean Thomas?" she snorted. "I'm not going to sleep with any of the boys here."

"That's what you think," the author and Wild Child Ginny said simultaneously.

... All twenty-four times? Come on now; don't lie to yourself, it's bad for one's credibility. It takes me longer to file my nails than it does Dean to, ahem, finish. 'Special', indeed. How many orgasms, hmm? One? Oh yes, that boy's certainly a stud. Now don't go shrieking about this, but I bet Malfoy would make it a whole lot more interesting...

"That's just wrong on every level," the original Ginny groaned.

"And not very nice," her conscience added.

"And likely true," Wild Child Ginny sneered.

The author clapped her hands delightedly. "I think I like you the best, Wild Child Ginny. You should come out more often."

"Can we not talk to the fake Ginnys?" She looked from one to the other. "They're scary."

"Well, if you read, you don't have to look at them."

... She shook her head. Arguing with myself. Speaks highly of my mental stability, I'm sure. With a last longing glance at the bed, Ginny made her way to the wardrobe in the corner...

"Now I'm going through his clothes?" she sighed tiredly.

"Read on, young heroine. You'll love the next part."

... Well I'll be gored by a graphorn! He hasn't any! Draco Malfoy, it appears, does not wear pants!

Oh, this was priceless...

"Eeeww!" Ginny exclaimed.

"Eeeww!" her conscience moaned.

"Yes! This is brilliant!" Wild Child Ginny whooped.

"Can I go see that therapist now?" the original Ginny mewled.

Refusing to take pity, the author replied, "Nope. But you can say goodbye to your other selves now."

"Wait! I want to play with the pantless Draco!" Wild Child Ginny pleaded.

"Sorry, that comes later. Toodles."

(Pop! Pop!)


"You are so mean! My appetite is completely ruined."

"Can I have the rest of your ice cream, then?"


Author mumbles, "Spiteful little ingrate." She yawned. "C'mon, c'mon, stop pouting. We're at the end."

Ginny muttered and kicked the leg of the table. "Pants. Hmph. Not funny, author."

... His toiletry bag sat on a little pedestal by the mirror, next to an extremely large bottle of Sleekeasy's Hair Potion. Mustn't look untidy. Every last hair shellacked in place before he goes up to breakfast. Ginny snickered as she tried to stuff the bottle into his toiletry bag. The stupid thing was too big, so she took it back out...

"True. That actually makes sense. I always wondered why his hair never moved during Quidditch matches."

"You took this very well, Ginny. I'm surprised. Be a doll and fetch Draco for me, alright?"

"Erm, sure. But you have to let me out first."

"Alright, alright. It's the last line."

... With a last envious glance round the room, Ginny piled everything in her arms and walked out...



A/N: Who would have ever thought I'd get so much pleasure out of insulting my own fanfiction? Oh well. I guess I'm just a tiny bit warped. Though I credited it in the original story, 'Downfall', "sometimes a cigar is just a cigar" is attributed to Dr Sigmund Freud, even though it never appeared in any of his writings. Also, the French Guard from 'Monty Python and the Holy Grail' inspired the personality of Slytherin's statue. I'm still not sure how that happened.

Enjoy it? Review!
Chapter Three by Mourning Broken Angel
A/N: Sorry, for some reason, once it uploaded, all the quotation marks turned to question marks.

Once again, I have descended on my fanfiction, wielding a fork and a knife. Some parts I dissected very neatly and delicately. Other parts? Well, I just hacked at the paragraphs, hoping they'd fall in some minutely understandable pattern. But I digress.

As per usual, actual quotes from 'Downfall' are in bold.

On with the mayhem.

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling lays claim to all Harry Potter characters and their world. I'm only borrowing them.

Chapter Three


Madam Pomfrey eyed the two mutinous-looking teens. “Cease your theatrics, the both of you. It’s very unbecoming.” She looked round the room before closing her eyes. With a crack, one of the wooden chairs turned into a comfy armchair.

Ginny opened her mouth to protest, but was cut off by a stern glance from the medi-witch. “I am quite a few years older than you, Miss Weasley. My bones appreciate a little comfort.”

The author intervened when both Ginny and Draco began to snicker and point at the nice lady that fixed all of their injuries (AHEM! This is your cue...). “That’s enough out of you two. The poor woman deals with bratty, self-absorbed teenagers on a daily basis. I sympathise with her. Besides, you half-wits, you’re perfectly free to conjure your own.”

Ginny had the good grace to blush before she turned her own wooden chair into a chaise. “What?” she asked as she threw herself down on it. “I always wanted one.”

Draco, meanwhile, had drawn himself up to his full height and cast an irate look at the ceiling. “For your information, you uneducated cow, I am neither bratty nor self-absorbed. And I am certainly not a half-wit, though I am beginning to think that you are,” he said indignantly. “I am a Malfoy. Rule #672, paragraph 4, sub-paragraph k, line 3 of the ‘Malfoy Family Code of Conduct’ clearly states-”

“Spare me,” the author sneered. “Perhaps I misspoke. Instead of a bratty, self-absorbed half-wit, I meant to say a snide, pompous moron of the highest order. Better?” the author asked in a syrupy voice.

“I despise you with a burning passion,” Draco declared as he stuck an impressive pose.

“Good to know,” the author responded cheerfully. “Did you know that you have a cowlick?”

Draco’s face was a mask of horror. “No! It can’t be! Weasley,” he wailed, dashing to the chaise and dropping to his knees, “Fix it!”

Ginny, immediately on to the author, gave him a sweet smile. If he was less preoccupied with the state of his coiffure, Draco would have noticed the evil glint in her eyes. With great relish, Ginny spit into her hand and slicked it across his head. From back to front, of course, maximising her opportunity.

Draco, now with very unkempt, spit-dampened hair, slumped to the floor and clutched his head. “You are so mean. Both of you. Weasley! Where’s your loyalty?” he whined.

“Not with you, Malfoy. Really, after centuries of barely contained hatred between our families, you thought I’d help you?”

He twisted round on the floor so he could look at the redhead reclining regally on the chaise.

“Really, Author, is all the alliteration absolutely necessary?” Madam Pomfrey asked with a disapproving twist of her lips. Realising her error, she sniffed self-consciously. “My alliteration was unintended. What’s your excuse?”

(The author wishes to insert her sincere apologies; it seems that she honestly can’t help herself. Damn! I did it again! Sorry. Really. I’ll try to quell the urge.). “I have just inserted my apologies. I feel terribly. I do. Please, let’s move on to chapter three. I seem to be a bit off-track tonight,” the author chirped brightly.

With a reproving glance upwards, Madam Pomfrey picked up the stack of papers. “I’ll just read aloud, shall I?”

“Wait!” Draco shouted. “Weasley, fix my hair.” At her smirk, he heaved an aggravated sigh. “Please.”

Ginny swung her legs over the side and sat up, pulling at him. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Malfoy! Move back so I can reach your head! Honestly, all this drama about your bloody hair. Who cares if it’s messy?”

He readjusted himself so the back of his head rested against her thigh after shooting her a glare and muttering, “My hair is my trademark! It has to be perfect.”

Ginny conjured a hairbrush and began to fix his hair. Without looking up, she said, “Go ahead, Madam Pomfrey. We’re listening.”

Clearing her throat, she began.

"Stop being so petulant, Mr Malfoy! The first years whine less than you do. Now drink that potion!"

Ginny entered the hospital wing to see Madam Pomfrey standing at the foot of a curtained-off bed, her arms akimbo.

"But it smells vile. Can't I have a glass of pumpkin juice to wash it down with?" came Malfoy's beseeching voice from the other side of the curtains.

"Oh, very well." Madam Pomfrey glared sternly at the bed. "You'll take your medicine then and be done with it?"


"Fine." She pushed the beaker of medicine at him and stalked away, presumably for the pumpkin juice...

“You know,” Draco mused, “All the potions and remedies I remember ever getting from you really were vile. Funny, that.”

“Yes, well, every time I recall you coming to the hospital wing, you really were being a drama queen. You’re a very talented whiner, you know,” Madam Pomfrey shot right back.

Draco opened his eyes and lifted his head from Ginny’s leg. “I’m gifted in every endeavour I undertake. Besides, I have a very low threshold for pain.”

“Why am I not surprised to hear that, you delicate little flower, you?” Ginny asked as she pulled him back. “If you want me to fix your hair, you need to sit still,” she admonished, giving his hair a deliberate yank.

“Ow! Madam Pomfrey!” Draco whined.

Quirking an eyebrow, she raised the paper again.

... Ginny walked over to the area Malfoy's whining was emitting from, edged around the curtains, and dumped his things into the chair next to the bed. "Well, here you are. Hope that's everything, because if it's not, you're flat out of luck." She turned toward the bed to say goodbye. "I..."

Malfoy was propped up in the bed, braced against a mound of pillows, hair wildly mussed, bare from the waist up except for a swath of bandaging around the upper right portion of his chest. She stared, absently noting the crinkly blond hair arrowing down his belly and disappearing beneath the bed-sheets...

“I am NOT reading this tripe,” Madam Pomfrey ground out. “It’s like a particularly bad romance novel.”

“Hey!” the author said, obviously wounded. “That’s not nice! Besides, everyone likes a poorly-written romance novel. They’re familiar and comfortable. Even when pizza’s bad, it’s still good.”

Draco smirked. “I never tire of hearing how devastatingly gorgeous I am. On a side note, I’ve heard a different version of that saying.”

“Yes, well, I’m sure you have,” the author sniffed. “Read on, darlings, read on.”

... Funny, I always pictured him as the hairless sort. Well, not actually pictured. More a passing thought, really. But the view is rather nice, no?

Aargh! Stop it! No more thoughts about Malfoy as a human being, let alone a male. Got it?...


Draco’s eyes widened when a set of hands began to caress his chest. He sat bolt upright. “What the hell is...” He trailed off as he turned.

There, sitting on the chaise, was not one, but three Ginny Weasleys. One was staring at him as if he was on the menu for the evening, the one in the middle was covering her face and clutching the hairbrush, and the last was sitting very primly, with her mouth set in a disapproving grimace.

“Ooh, it’s Draco Malfoy,” the first one cooed as she leered at him. “And look at what a perfect position he’s in to go dow-“

“SHUT UP!” both the other Ginnys screeched. The last one leant around the centre Ginny and shook her finger. “If you finish that thought, I will kill you where you sit!”

Regaining his ability to speak, a very dry-mouthed Draco intoned, “Three Ginny Weasleys. And two of them are about to fight... Is this what heaven is like?” He looked back and forth between them. “If clothes come off, I’ll give you the key to my Gringott’s vault.”

The author laughed herself sick, realising that this is every teenaged boy’s favourite dream. She waved her hands at the computer in surrender. “You lot are on your own. I’m going to feed the cat and have a cup of tea. Here are the rules. Madam Pomfrey?”


“No sex. You’re allowed to use your wand if things get... iffy.”

“Got it.”


Three voices, ranging from lascivious to severely depressed to furious, answered. “Yes?”

“Okay. Let me rephrase. Original Ginny?”

“If you have any compassion at all, you’ll kill me right now,” she moaned from between her fingers.

The author waited a moment. “Okay, I thought about it, but you’re the heroine. I can’t kill you. Remember, they’re not actually real. They represent the different aspects of your personality. And on the bright side, they’ll be gone soon. If things get too bad, maybe I’ll let you give him a Memory Charm. Deal?”

She brightened, but only a tiny bit. Instead of suicidal, now she merely looked homicidal. “Fine, I guess.”

“Wild Child Ginny?”

Her lips quirked as she reached forward and stroked Draco’s mouth. “Can I play with him now?” she purred.

“Er... I don’t see why not. But please keep it to a PG-13 level, so I don’t have to change the rating.”

She smiled wickedly as she slithered off the chaise and straddled his lap. “I can do that.”

Draco, wide-eyed, nodded vigorously. “Oh yes,” he gulped. “Toddle off now, Author. We’ll do just fine here.” He paused thoughtfully. “Don’t suppose I could persuade you other two Ginnys to join in, can I?”

The original Ginny snorted and smacked him on the side of the head with the hairbrush.

Conscience Ginny flounced off the chaise in an outraged huff. “This is appalling! I can’t believe you’re letting yourself act like some... some... slag!”

“Conscience Ginny?” the author interrupted before she could get into full sulk-mode. “Darling, consider yourself the censor. But remember, you’re also supposed to be the nice, sweet, easily embarrassed Ginny. Not the nasty, insulting, angry Ginny. Comprenez-vous?” The author moved to get up. “Madam Pomfrey, if you please?”

“Oh, right. Sorry. Seeing triple is a bit distracting.”

The author finally takes pity on her meowing cat. “Okay, I’m off. Have fun.”

Madam Pomfrey shuffled the pages and began.

... ENOUGH! My brain! Get out, or shut up, or something!

I said almost handsome, didn't I? Not really, but there's something there. And stop with the yelling, it's irritating. By the by, seeing as how I am you, that makes this our brain. Not yours. I'm the id, the 'inner Ginny', for lack of a better name.

Oh, really? Well then, inner Ginny, who am I?

You're 'conscience Ginny'. The superego.

The what?

The superego. The stick-in-the-mud who tries to ruin all of my fun.

And who, precisely, is the one breathing?

That's Ginny, you gormless cow. She's the whole package. We are part of her unconscious.

A slight pause. Oh.

Ginny stood there, staring at a mostly naked boy she had always thought of as her enemy, and realised that all he was wearing under the sheet was a pair of trousers. Her stomach began to do very strange things...

... Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz...

The author reseats herself and cracks her knuckles. “Okay, I’m back. Let’s just see where we are... No! BAD GINNY!! GET OFF HIM RIGHT THIS INSTANT!!!”

Madam Pomfrey woke up with a snort. “Wha? Who’s there? What’s going- OH MY WORD! MISS WEASLEY! I DEMAND YOU GO FIND YOUR TOP!”

Shaking her head, the author decides to remove Wild Child Ginny from the story. Right now.


“Draco Malfoy! What would your mother think?” the author, unfortunately, said the first thing that popped into her head.

Smirking and re-fastening his trousers, he panted, “She’d think I was giving her grandchildren. Or at least practising for it. After- OW!!”

“Thank you, Madam Pomfrey. Please slap him again, once more, for me,” the author said, feeling slightly better.

“OW! Damn it!” Draco yelped, attempting to dodge the older witch.

“And one more time, just to remind him that this is PG-13, and I specifically told him to mind his manners!” the author shouted, pounding the desk in frustration.

“OW! Hey! Alright, I’m sorry! I’m sorry! It’s not my fault, really! She was-“

The author took a deep breath. “Not. Another. Word.”

Draco, showing a previously unknown shred of intelligence, did as he was told.

“Now, where are the other two Ginnys?” the author asked.

Looking round the room, she finally found them in the far corner, facing the wall, with their fingers stuffed in their ears, humming quite loudly. Not giving Conscience Ginny a chance to express her moral outrage (since the author and Madam Pomfrey have already claimed a corner on that market), the author sent her away.


“Alright. Madam Pomfrey, how in HELL did this happen?” the author yelled, losing her temper again.

Defensive, Madam Pomfrey threw the pages on the floor. “Don’t you dare blame me. YOU wandered off to do whatever it was you left for, and I was reading your hideous, nauseatingly bad romance like you wanted. You really can’t blame me. It was so awful, I fell asleep. And it’s your fault. Write better fanfiction,” she finished, her face pinched with disdain.

“Fine,” the author sniffed. “If that’s how you feel...”


“Good riddance, I say,” the author said. “Nasty old woman. And to think I felt bad for her in the beginning. Ginny? Ginny. Ginny!”

Ginny continued to hum, oblivious, in the corner.

With a very large sigh of disgust, the author glared at Draco. “Go get Ginny.”

“With pleasure,” he said.

“Hormonal little git.”

“Yes I am. But I’m a teenager, so it’s to be expected. You’re just jealous, you old bag.”

“Old? Old! You scrawny little shit; I am going to kick your...” the author paused. She had hit on a rather brilliant punishment. “Nevermind. You’re right, Draco,” she conceded.


Draco looked down. His trousers and oxford shirt were now a set of very pink, very frilly dress robes. Dress robes he had seen before. In his fourth year. At a Yule Ball. He looked up. “You are a (word omitted for rating; however, it rhymes with ‘witch’) of cataclysmic proportions. I hope you rot in hell.”

The author smirked and overall felt very satisfied with herself. “I warned you in the first chapter. Don’t say I didn’t. You’re lucky, Draco. Next time, it’s Harry for you.”

Showing surprising fortitude, Draco sneered. He seemed a bit green around the edges, but he conducted himself rather well. For a green-faced platinum haired boy in pink dress robes, that is.

After a brief sneering contest (brief because he couldn’t actually see the author sneering back at him), Draco poked Ginny in the shoulder.

With a start, she turned around, eyes very wide. And then she began to laugh. She pointed at him and laughed, eventually falling on her side and rolling round on the floor.

The author let this continue for a good five minutes, simply because she thought it would be good for Draco’s ego. Little shit. Calling me old... Sorry. Right. Back to the story.

Ginny finally picked herself up off the floor and moved back to her chaise, straight-faced except for the occasional snort.

Feeling that she had made her point, the author returned Draco’s clothes to their previous, more masculine, state. “Alright, back on track. My, we’re all just a little silly tonight, aren’t we?” she mused.

“Indeed,” Draco grumbled, picking up the papers from the floor where Madam Pomfrey had dropped them. “Ready?” he asked, waving them at Ginny.

She nodded and patted the spot next to her on the chaise. “As long as you don’t mention what you did with my doppelganger, you can sit here, and we’ll read together.”

“Okay,” he said neutrally, sitting down. “Can I ask you one thing, though?”

Ginny gave him a suspicious look. “What?”

He grinned. “Where did you learn how to do that thing with your-“

“Draco,” the author warned.

“Sorry,” he said immediately, “but the curiosity is killing me.”

“Read,” the author commanded.

... STOP. Oh shit. There was an interesting piece of imagery. "No! I was just thinking about why you don't ... erm, I mean when I was gathering your things, I couldn't find any, er ... never mind." Oh. Bloody. Hell. Come on Ginny, think before you open your mouth.

Malfoy looked at her appraisingly for a long moment, a predatory smile gliding over his features. Softly, he asked, "Would you like to know why you couldn't find any?"...

“No pants, huh?” Draco drawled. “Always ready...”

Ginny gave him a good hard shove to the shoulder and rolled her eyes. “Like I’d ever be interested in your pants,” she said derisively.

Draco lifted his eyes. “Please, please don’t hurt me for this. She walked right into it,” he begged.

The author acknowledged his point. “So she did. Have at it. But you only get one sentence,” she warned.

He grinned. “I take it back. You’re not old.”

“Don’t suck up. I’m still annoyed with you. Say it or don’t, but hurry up,” the author said.

He turned to Ginny with a suggestive look. “Oh, I’d say you were VERY interested in my pants a few minutes ago; actually-“

“I said ONE sentence!” the author yelled.

Draco smirked. “I’m not done with my one sentence yet. If you were paying attention, you would have noticed the semi-colon.”

With a look of grudging admiration, the author said, “Well-done. Sneaky, but well-done.”

He turned back to Ginny, who was looking very apprehensive. “As I was saying- You were very interested in my pants a few minutes ago; actually, you were much more interested in the things my pants contained.”

Ginny blushed a bright red. “That wasn’t me,” she defended.

“The hell it wasn’t,” he laughed. “That was the fun side of you, without all those nasty Gryffindor do-right moral thingies.” He patted her shoulder soothingly and began to read again.

... "Why did you help me?" he asked seriously, brow furrowed and lower lip caught between his teeth. "What do you want?"

Ginny sighed, suddenly sad in the face of his suspicions. I guess that's what happens when you grow up a Malfoy. "I don't want anything, Malfoy. You may be a rude, nasty git, but you were injured. You needed help."...

“Aww,” he cooed, batting his eyelashes at Ginny. “Aren’t you sweet?”

She grimaced. “Just keep reading. The sooner this chapter ends, the sooner I can go lick my wounds in private.”

His lips twisted. “Ginny, darling, I wouldn’t use words like ‘lick’ around me right now.”

Her eyes widened in understanding. “Oh,” she breathed. “Right. Yes. Got it.” She cleared her throat and squirmed, decidedly uncomfortable. “Where were we?”

... He shifted, trying to lie down, and she saw him wince in pain. Without thinking about her actions, she moved back to the bed and rearranged the pillows behind him so he could lie back comfortably...

“That’s more like me,” she said with satisfaction. “I like to help people. I’m very good at it,” Ginny claimed proudly.

“Really?” Draco asked, looking very innocent. “Because I have a problem you could help with...”

“Draco,” the author growled.

He did an excellent impression of a little boy. “What? It is a problem, and she can fix it for me,” he said.

“You don’t even like her,” the author stated. “In chapter one you called her fat, remember?”

“Yes, I seem to recall something along those lines,” he acknowledged. “But recent experience has altered my perceptions. Just trying to get into the spirit of your little romance.”

“Well...” The author was at a loss for words. How do you argue with logic like that?

... He continued to hold her gaze. She felt a light touch against the delicate inside of her wrist. Startled, she looked down at where he had brushed his fingers against her.

"We're not done with this conversation. Not by a long-shot. See you around, Weasley."

Unsettled by his strange behaviour, she whirled round to flee...

“See?” Draco pointed out. “In your story, I seem a little intrigued by her. Of course, she had to run away, which wasn’t much fun at all.”

Ginny closed her eyes, looking completely overwhelmed. “Tell me I don’t just hop into bed with him,” she said dully.

“You don’t just hop into bed with him. You get to fight and humiliate him and be angry and just a little evil,” the author reassured. “In fact, I haven’t decided yet if you’ll sleep with him at all in this story.”

“Really?” Ginny asked. “I get to be all fiery, feisty, bad girl?”

“Yep, sure do.”

“Sweet!” Ginny said. “When do we see the next chapter?”

“Soon, dear. But it’s time to say goodbye to Draco now.”

“Ta, Malfoy!”

... Malfoy leant back against his pillows, watching her lithe figure move quickly towards the door. Her coltish walk drew his gaze to her slim legs. He noted how long they seemed for someone as small as she was. He closed his eyes as the door banged shut, a wolfish smile playing about his lips...


Draco lay back on the now-empty chaise, crossing his legs at the ankles. “Can’t decide if I like you or hate you,” he mused.

“Don’t feel bad, I feel the same way about you,” the author agreed.

... He chuckled, thinking of a line from one of his favourite works of literature. 'Whirlwinds of tempestuous fire'. Milton sure knew his redheads...

“Who’s Milton?”

“A Muggle; I shouldn’t be surprised you haven’t heard of him,” the author grumbled. “Ignorant prat; I love Milton.”

“Well, I’ll check it out. Nice quote. Might be worth my time.”

“Why, Draco!” the author exclaimed. “There may be hope for you yet.”

He smiled and put a finger to his lips. “Shh, don’t tell anyone. You’ll ruin my reputation.”

... Reaching over to the bedside table, Malfoy drew his wand. Pointing it at the lamp, Malfoy said a quick Extinguishing Spell and tossed the wand back in the general direction of the table. He readjusted the sheet around him and settled down to sleep. Well, never was one for listening to Mum about dangerous things. Always did try to play with the fire in the drawing room as a child. Thought it would make a pretty pet, if only I could catch it. Those damn burns hurt every time.

"Fire that's closest kept burns most of all."...

“Hey, I know that one!” Draco said, looking up in surprise. “That’s Shakespeare!”

“Very good, grasshopper.”

“I’m thinking I probably shouldn’t ask why you just called me an insect,” Draco said around a yawn.

“No; pop culture cinema references are way beyond you, Draco,” the author agreed.

... When Draco was young and his father was out on business, his mum used to take him into the library and let him pick a book for her to read to him. He would wander the room for many minutes, always very careful to choose one they hadn't already read. This was their special time together, when he could sit on her lap and get lost in a story without worrying if his father thought he was being silly and childish. They would sit and read together for hours, and when he was older, they would take turns reading aloud. One of his mother's favourites was a chap named Shakespeare...

“Now, isn’t that just precious?” Draco said, miming sticking his finger down his throat. “The books in our library fall into two categories: Dark Arts and decorative. And I’m not sure my mother would be able to read either one, anyway. That would strain her eyes and give her wrinkles.”

“Last line, Draco, my sweet little git.”

“Can’t wait to see what’s next,” he laughed.

“You’re liking it so far?” the author asked, surprised.

“Think, lady. I got my brains turned to mush by a nympho redhead because of this. Bring it on,” he laughed.

He picked up the story and quickly read the last lines.

... He may have been a Muggle, but the bloke sure knew his women. Blaise is wrong, there's no way that man could have been a poofter.



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A/N: To be on the safe side, the Milton quote is from 'Paradise Lost' and the Shakespeare quote is from 'iThe Two Gentlemen of Verona'.
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