When Ron Weasley walked into his sister's room—knocking, but not waiting for an invitation—he hadn't really expected her to be busy. Least of all busy naked, covers half over herself, with a strange buzzing noise emitting from below the sheets.

“RON! GETOUTGETOUTGETOUT!”

The panic-stricken Ron immediately left, closing the door behind him, then turned to stare at the door as if this was all the door's fault. Then he sat, leaning against the wall behind him, deeply embarrassed and wondering when his little sister had gone and gotten so...adult.

Several minutes later, a fully dressed and downright livid Ginevra Weasley opened her bedroom door and stepped into the hallway.

“Ron,” she said, obviously struggling not to hit him, “If I don't answer, don't enter.”

“Right,” he said automatically. “Uhm... what--?”

She scowled at him, and he realized she was just as embarrassed as he was. “Believe it or not, Ron, girls have sex drives, too.”

“Well, yeah, but the buzzing...”

Ginny said a nasty word, one that made Ron almost as uncomfortable as walking in on her earlier—When did Ginny grow up? She's not supposed to say or do those things!--and said in a dangerously calm voice, “It's a muggle thing. It... helps.”

He asked, “How's buzzing help?”, and if he hadn't looked so genuinely confused Ginny might've pummeled him.

“It vibrates.”

“Oh.” There was a pause, then Ron turned a lovely shade of crimson. “Oh.” Oh God, he thought. I always figured walking on Gin with a boyfriend would be bad... Somehow, this is worse.

In a desperate attempt to lighten the mood, he smirked at her. “You'd better keep Dad away from the buzzing thing. He'll lump it right in with all sorts of muggle artifacts and magic it like he did the Ford Anglia.”

Ginny laughed and shuddered and made a noise of amused disgust, then she asked, “You aren't going to tell anyone about this, right?”

Ron looked apalled. “You think I want to explain to anyone that I walked in on my sister getting herself off?”

Ginny blushed at her brother's phrasing, but continued, “I'll take that as a 'Don't worry, Ginny, I won't,' then. Thanks, Ron.”

With that, Ginny turned to go downstairs.

She was feeling a desperate need to wash her hands.

*

It wasn't that Ginny was at a lack of men to date; on her way into her seventh year at Hogwarts, she had several practically jumping at the chance to date her, and when Harry had made a rare visit to the Burrow, she'd taken a delighted pleasure in noticing him 'notice' her. There was no Special Someone in her life, though; Voldemort was still posing a threat, and so even if Harry was sincerely interested there was no way he'd risk a relationship just now, and none of the other boys in her grade were bold enough to even ask her out.

Not that she could blame them, she supposed; she had six older brothers, three of which her classmates remembered, one who had only just graduated and was therefore still fresh in their minds. Anytime and everytime Ron caught someone looking at Ginny the wrong way (Was there even a right way? She thought), he gave them a very stern talking to.

When it came down to it, she really only had her overprotective family to blame for her celibacy.

Not for the first time, Ginny wished she'd had understanding sisters. Even just one would've been helpful; if she weren't constantly under her brothers' well intended but annoying protection, she might've gotten laid by now.

She wasn't the only virgin in Hogwarts. Most of her classmates were, in fact; it wasn't a matter of feeling pressured by her peers. It was a matter of having more sexual energy than she knew what to do with that was the problem. Ginny desperately wanted to be with someone, and it was getting to the point where she would've taken Draco Malfoy, if he offered.

And that night, as she put the Impenetrable Charm on the door during the afterhours while her family slept, it was thoughts of Draco she'd decided to comfort herself with.

Ginny closer her eyes, and in her mind it wasn't her hands but Draco's that traced fingertips down her neck, along the collar of her white buttoned-down shirt. The fingertips caught at the first button, and with finesse flicked it open, then the next, and the next, until reaching the bottom. Then those fingertips traced back up her stomach and over her bra, pushing the shirt open and peeling it back from her shoulder.

If she concentrated hard enough, the sensation of lips brushed at her now exposed collarbone, and the tip of a tongue ran along the inside of the hollow between her neck and shoulder. Draco's hand, not her own, kneaded at her left breast before sliding the other half of the shirt off of her, letting it drop to the floor in a heap.

Ginny stood in the middle of her bedroom, her bra strap falling down and her hands running down her sides, her abdomen, towards her skirt. In her thoughts, however, she was somewhere far away, in a more romantic setting... A stone cottage, maybe, with a large fireplace bright with burning logs, standing on a woven rug, and the bed was just a few feet away and neatly made with a big, puffy down comforter—and standing inches away from her, with his hands tracing their way to her skirt, was Draco Malfoy. He already had his shirt off, and the buckle on his belt was undone, and his lips were crushing against hers because he wanted her, not just for her body but because he sincerely liked her. Otherwise they would never be here...

It didn't matter in Ginny's mind that the situation wasn't realistic. It was a fantasy, after all, one that didn't have to make sense. Hormones didn't make sense; they drove people to do silly things, she rationalized. Then she brought her attention back to where it belonged.

Draco's hands ran down the sides of her pleated skirt. Rather than go straight for the zipper holding the skirt up, he got to the bottom of the skirt and went under it. He wrapped his hands around her and gave her rump a good firm squeeze before moving up enough to find the top of her stockings. When Draco found the top, he pulled them down, fingernails dragging a little against her skin, leaving faint pink trails in their wake.

In her mind, he grabbed her by the back of her upper thighs and heaved her onto the bed, and in her mind she giggled. In her room, it was more of a collapse, smiling as she entertained her own thoughts. The real Draco would probably be mortified to think Ginny Weasley was fantasizing about him in such a typically girly way. He probably thought only Pansy Parkinson did this...

But, really, Ginny thought. I'm so much of an improvement on her.

Ginny's hands slid down her legs, still smooth from shaving earlier that day. But to her, it was Draco admiring how silky her legs felt, kissing the inside of her knees and making her twitch at the feeling. The stockings were cast to the floor, probably not too far from her shirt. Then hands were sliding over her ankles, her calves, delicately up her warm inner thighs, flipping the hem of her skirt up. Those hands set her skirt straight again long enough to find the zipper, then yank the intrusive item off of her.

With her eyes closed, Ginny could see Draco leaning over her, his hips between her thighs and his hands tangling in her hair. He kissed her mouth, then her jaw, then down her neck. She arched her back upwards, his kisses trailing towards her breasts while one hand reached behind her and—with a deftness unexpected from a man—unhooked the clasp on her bra.

The bra was pulled away from her chest and tossed aside, doubtless much further away and more carelessly thrown from her other clothes, and when Ginny opened her eyes briefly she was almost certain she could see it hanging by a strap from the door handle. She screwed her eyes tightly shut again; she wasn't interested in her clothes or her bedroom. She was interested in that puffy bed with that lithe young blond pinching at her nipples, tongueing them from time to time. She could feel his tongue running its way gently down her stomach, flipping at her navel, then teasing just along the top of her panties. Her legs quivered involuntarily.

Ginny always felt so sexy in that pair of underwear. They were black, made of something see-through, and the leg openings were trimmed with lace. The panties weren't quite a thong, but they weren't quite bikini-cut, either. They made her butt look so nice, and they didn't leave a panty-line when she wore them.

And they were see-through! If her siblings knew she had these...

Draco could respect the sexiness of her black underwear. He nuzzled through her panties against the patch of fluff that started about four and a half inches below her navel, and he took his hands away from her breasts so he could trace the line her panties made over her butt and between her thighs. Ginny felt a finger trace over the damp spot on the crotch of her panties, and she gasped inspite of herself, and her hips shivered. Draco smirked.

Ginny had to give herself some credit for staying true to his character, even in this fantasy she was creating.

Draco was careful about tugging the panties off, and he pushed them under the pillows, so that later—when crawling out of bed was the last thing on their minds—Ginny had something nearby that she could slip into. Then he had his face between her thighs again, and if she thought hard enough Ginny could feel his breath, light and hot.

Having had no first hand experience with anything beyond groping (only the once, with a Hufflepuff she'd tried to see on the sly; George had given him the 'big brother speech' and she didn't see much of him again), Ginny had to go on what she had pried out of her friends. That was enough for her, at least; she could imagine Draco's fingers pushing back the folds of her flower, massaging at her clitoris gently and then the warm, wet heat of tongue pressing and moving against her. That muscle probing, flicking, then his lips pressing around her clit and sucking. His tongue sliding out of his mouth again and along her slit, slipping into her and making her moan softly in response.

One of Ginny's hands was at her breast, fondling herself and teasing at the nipple, pinching and rolling it into a bud. Her other hand was between her thighs, her middle finger sliding in and out of herself and her thumb rubbing awkwardly against her clit. She sat up on her bed, mentally pausing the fantasy long enough to open the drawer on her bedside table and pull out a long, plastic device. The end of it was crooked at almost a forty-five degree angle from the rest of it, and it was thicker, like a tulip before blooming. At the base was a twisting knob, and Ginny turned it a little. The rod began to purr gently.

Ginny closed her eyes.

The rod was no longer a pale purple vibrating device, but Draco's own manhood; his pants lay on the floor not far from her own clothes, leaving him naked and bent over her body, probing gently at her with the end of his cock. He rubbed against her clit, and she moaned audibly, then arranged himself against her slit, and began to apply gentle pressure.

The nerves around her opening hummed with sensation, then Ginny stifled a gasp as the head of Draco's prick drove into her, and she heard him let out a groan of pleasure. She imagined his hands gripping her shoulders, his fingers digging in sharply as he pulled back and thrust again... then again...and again...

The pace increased slowly, and at first Draco withdrew until he was almost out before thrusting back in again. But before long, he had reached an almost frantic speed, the head of his cock bumping the sensitive spot a couple inches inside of her and making Ginny gasp audibly, and as he continued she began to cry out softly.

Ginny brought her consciousness back to reality just long enough to turn the dial on the vibrator as high as it would go. The sensation of it threw her back into Draco's arms, one of his hands tight on her shoulder, the other squeezing her breast, and Ginny moaned—short, breathy moans, rending the air as she felt every muscle in her body tighten, her whole being shake, in the force of an orgasm.

Draco groaned, his face intense and his brow furrowed, eyes closed as he came, but the sound faded, as did his expression, in the aftermath of Ginny's own release. She switched the vibrator off and pulled it slowly out, wiping it clean with a tissue she snatched from the box on top of her nightstand before putting it back in the drawer. She tossed the wadded up tissue at the wastebin; it hit the side and bounced off, but she was too tired to care just then. Instead, she pulled back her bed covers, fumbling to get from on top to underneath them, retrieved her panties from under her pillow, and rolled onto her side to fall asleep.

The next time I see Draco Malfoy, she thought, I'm going to bust up laughing. I hope no one asks me to explain why.