whom she'd practiced on before him. Potter? Not likely. Vanquisher of wizarding villains he may have been, but the boy was probably afraid of the shadow his erect cock would cast. Krum? Perhaps. Weasley, more likely. Like knew like, and Draco had often pondered that there was more to the freckled, perpetually grinning moron that met the eye.
"You're repellent," Granger chose then to inform him and had to applaud her effort at variation. 'Disgusting' was becoming somewhat overused.
"Keep saying that and I'll show you exactly how repellent I can be," he promised, as he withdrew his fingers from her and made a show of wiping them on her bathrobe.
"There's no recourse for superiority in this instance. Yes, you got royally screwed by my Pureblooded person. Yes, you enjoyed it, but no, I don't intend to ever repeat what happened last night." And this morning, his brain cheerfully reminded him. "So you can stop clutching that bathrobe to you as if it were a chastity charm."
It was probably killing her to be at a loss, both for words and for logic. Those were her defences, Draco realised. In that respect, perhaps they weren't so different after all. He used words too, only to greater effect.
A quick glance at the wall clock revealed that it was close to noon. They had wasted enough time. If they were going to find a discreet, effective and most likely expensive solution to the tattoo charms, they were going to need help.
It was time to call in the Big Wands, so to speak.
He released her. "Get dressed. We've leaving."
Her expression was a perfect blend of suspicious and hopefulness. "Why? Where are we going?"
The look that Draco gave her was dread squared to the power of infinity. "To see my father."
Chapter Four
It was a slightly subdued scene on the Saturday morning after the seventh years' graduation party. As was tradition, much to Madam's Pomfrey's grumbling, there had been a slow, meandering queue outside the Infirmary for headache potions.
More than a few sixth and seventh years had forgone breakfast in favour of a few extra hours sleep. The ones who had managed to get themselves showered, dressed and somewhat organised were nursing sore heads and churning stomachs as they gathered for breakfast in the Great Hall.
Ron Weasley had not gone to bed as yet, having consumed twice the lethal adult dosage of black coffee. As such, he was bug-eyed and chatty, chewing quickly on a piece of toast as he spoke.
"Erection problems, performance anxiety, bashful willy- lots of different terms for it, Harry. Really, you shouldn't feel too badly. Happens to every bloke every now and then."
Harry Potter was slumped over on the table, head pillowed on his folded arms. His hair appeared to be making a token effort at being tousled. It too appeared tired and withdrawn. At first glance, he looked to be asleep, but for the occasional groan. He was in no mood to rise to Ron's less than subtle teasing.
"Drinking doesn't help, of course," continued Ron he spread a healthy dollop of blueberry jam on his bread. "What with having to run to the loo every half hour, falling asleep at inopportune times, having to goad the old matador into taking the arena, even if he's looking slightly, er, droopy..."
"Ron, if you have to be obscene this early in the day, could you at least pass notes?" Ginny grumbled, looking up from her porridge. Ginny's usually peaches and cream complexion was presently as grey as her breakfast. Even her freckles looked faded. Every so often, she would cover her mouth with a hand, her eyes taking on a glassy, unfocussed look.
"Sorry." Ron grinned at his sister's queasiness. He reached for a quill from his book bag, picked up a napkin and spent the next two minutes scribbling gleefully onto it. "Pass to Harry please."
Ginny snatched the napkin from her brother and slapped it down in front of Harry.
"Cheer up, Harry," Ron said, folding his bread in half. "I'm sure Alice Crowley is an understanding sort of girl."
"I'm never drinking again," Harry said. He fingered the napkin with a desolate expression. "Ever."
Everyone within earshot nodded solemnly. Ginny even managed to pat Harry consolingly on the shoulder, but no one took this declaration very seriously. Ginny, having discovered the evils of champagne cocktails for the first time during the graduation party, had made the same declaration minutes before.
As far as post-celebratory recovery went, the dialogue was standard.
"I doubt Alice would have noticed anyway, Ron assured.