Memory Lane

Chapter 4

That Friday, Blaise and I have a double-date after work.

Daphne's bringing along a friend, a co-worker she promises I'll like. I don't mind; Daphne knows me well enough to usually hazard a decent guess about who I'll enjoy taking out and then taking home a few times before moving on.

And she knows that much, so she also knows I'm not looking for anything serious.

Eloise is as good as implied. Her straight blonde hair is a little short for my tastes and she's a little slender. I like my women with good hips and an arse I can grab, tits that make up more than a solid handful to play with.

But she's fun, vivacious and outgoing. She and Daphne get on like a house on fire and we're having a raucous time over drinks after dinner.

The best part of the war ending is the ability to have some fun, to not worry about my face or my thoughts betraying me. Sometimes it feels like I've laughed more in the last year than I did the five years prior.

I'm talking to Blaise about an upcoming work project when I overhear Eloise chatting to Daphne about the fics.

I expect it to be about the new location expansions, the same ones Blaise had heard about earlier in the week, but no - she's heard rumours of the new Polyjuice option.

Lifting my firewhisky to my mouth, I listen for a few minutes.

Blaise has also gone quiet and we're letting the girls run away with things, occasionally meeting each others' eyes over our drinks as they talk.

The girls are remarkably excited about the possibility of taking the Polyjuice themselves. Eloise is giggling about going into a fic with Potter as his girlfriend.

I can openly admit this had... not occurred to me.

The fact that women also use the fics for sex.

I have no idea how to feel about it. If I was disgusted by the idea of either becoming or fucking a Weasley, shouldn't I also be disgusted by the idea of the girl I'm about to take home eager to masquerade as Ginny Weasley so she can get fucked by Potter?

But he wouldn't really have fucked her, after all. It's in her mind.

But if she fucks me tonight and eventually fucks him, then she can compare the two of us and my brain rebels from this instinctively.

I never want to be compared to Potter, in any way. I don't want to be mentioned in the same breath as Potter. The implication that we could be at all similar is degrading.

Although unless Potter and Weasley had sex at school, there's a good chance he's constantly reliving his own virginity getting lost, probably lasting three minutes a fic.

There can't be any good sex happening when he never learns anything.

I'm trying to sort through this when Daphne expresses what I consider to be a lewd level of interest in Neville Longbottom.

Blaise chokes a little on his firewhisky.

"You don't need Polyjuice for that, Daph," I tease. "Just go in there and take your clothes off. You're saying he wouldn't do it?"

In a dignified sweep, Daphne tosses her black hair over her shoulder. "I'm not saying that. Oliver Wood has never minded."

Eloise cracks up laughing, nearly spilling her glass of wine, and Daphne continues, "but I've heard good things about Neville." She overtly winks at Eloise, who can barely breathe.

Blaise looks tremendously offended and I can't blame him.

I move the at-risk glass of wine away from Eloise and lean into her chair. In my best low voice, I say, "Yes, please tell us both more about all the other men you want."

I hold her eyes with mine, letting her gaze heat up until I flick my eyes down her body. I see a flush move up her neck and she leans into me where I give her the barest whisper of a kiss before moving back away.

"No, no, if Daphne wants to give Neville a go, we can drop you two off at the park. I'm sure I can get Dolohov to open it up for me."

The usual sort of protesting ensues and Blaise and I get things back on track.

I'm preoccupied, though.

Not that I give a shit about the male companions, but it's oddly reassuring to imagine that not every fic is torturous for the Resistance captives.

Worse things could be happening than having pretty pureblood girls like these show up to fuck them.

What if something similar were possible for the girls?

Maybe some of them wouldn't even mind - but that's stupid. I shake myself.

Their memories get reset. I can't think of a girl in that park who would go from zero to fucking in the time of a single fic without being forced into it.

As Dolohov said, that'll drive up the appeal of the Polyjuice, letting Ginny think you're Potter. It skips all the groundwork.

Although most people probably get off as much from the lie, from the trick, as from the sex itself. The coercion is an added form of abuse to them.

When it comes to the park, I don't know anybody else - except maybe Blaise - who wants the girls we fuck to want to fuck us.

Maybe there are more, but it's dangerous to go around asking about. It implies that we disapprove of how things usually go.

Reflecting on groundwork, my mind wanders back to what Dolohov said about Weasley and Granger, how she makes him work for it.

I wonder how long she holds out. In the scenario I just mapped out, I don't think many men would be all that patient. They'd probably go right for the rape anyway, enjoying the extra dig of the knife that she believes it's Weasley who's doing it to her.

I scoff into my firewhiskey, thinking of Dolohov's suggestion that I go in as Weasley.

As if I would. As much as Granger hates my guts, I'm confident I'd still do a better job convincing her to let me, Draco Malfoy, fuck her.

Weasley was always a joke, no idea how to treat a woman. No idea how to touch one. His clumsy overtures towards her in school were laughable.

But aside from the very legitimate reason I gave Dolohov, that I would never debase my own name that way, I could never allow Granger to think that what I was able to do for her was Weasley doing it.

I could never let Weasley have the credit for what I can do, even if Granger's memory would be wiped of it afterwards.

Eloise is laughing again, a little too loudly, and Blaise noticed me scoffing into my drink a moment ago. He thinks I think it's time to go, and it probably is.

He waves for the tab and we split it.

I put my hand in the small of Eloise's back as we step out of the pub, guiding her gently off the curb so she won't stumble, but she doesn't.

She puts an arm around my waist as I drape mine over her shoulder, leading her to the Apparition point.

She turns her chin up for a kiss - she's definitely drunk, still laughing about something asinine Daphne said earlier - but I'm happy to oblige.

When my hand comes up to the back of her neck, her hair is a little thin, almost a wispy blonde.

She's a little tall and when I slide my other hand down to her arse, I wish there was a little more curve there.

But we'll be just fine.