Standard Disclaimer: All the nifty characters belong to JK Rowling, not to me. I haven't got anything to sue for, anyway.

Summary: 6th year at Hogwarts. Draco Malfoy is dating Pansy Parkinson. Ginny Weasley is dating Harry Potter. They can't be with the ones they love, and they can't love the ones they're with. Or... can they? In which Draco is not completely cruel, Pansy is not completely whiny, Ginny is not completely pathetic, and Harry is not completely straight.

Pairings: Draco\Pansy, Harry\Ginny, Draco\Ginny, what may be the fandom's first Ginny\Pansy, and of course, Draco\Harry. Obviously, this story includes HET, SLASH and FEMMESLASH, virtually guaranteeing that there is not only something for everyone, but also something for everyone to be offended by. I really wanted to write this NC-17, but it's rated R to prevent fanfiction.net from sending the mob after me. A very high R.

For all the dedicated H\D 'shippers out there who simply want to vomit at the idea of H\G and D\P, rest assured that those pairings are repulsive to me as well and it'll all turn out good in the end. I promise.

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*CRACK*

I could feel hot blood running out of my nose for a long moment that seemed to pass in slow-motion, watching distractedly as bright crimson droplets spattered across the stone floor of the corridor outside the Transfiguration classroom. Then the pain began to register and I closed my eyes, blocking off the increasingly blurry vision of my fellow students crowding in a circle around myself and my opponent. He stood opposite me just a short metre away, panting, his fist still curled by his side. His knuckles were covered with fresh blood nearly the same shade as his flaming hair. My blood. I felt my weight pitching backwards at the force of his blow, but I would not give him the pleasure of seeing me knocked onto my arse in front of all my classmates, down and confused. Instead, I recovered myself and stepped forward, balancing lightly on the balls of my feet, which were clad in expensive black dragonhide leather. Weasley's own boots were a brown felt-like material patched in several obvious places and beginning to curl back from the soles.

Weasley. I remembered who I was talking to, and I hated calling him that. I hated thinking of him like that even more. For the first five years of our tenure at Hogwarts' School of Witchcraft and Wizardry I had referred to him simply as the weasel, in small letters. He didn't deserve more. The flaming-haired weasel. The poor, shoddily-clad, extraneous, tagalong weasel. I hadn't realized weasels were by nature violent creatures. I wouldn't underestimate him again.

Now, though, he was Weasley. By special request of his younger sister, Virginia. Ginny. My speaking to her in the abandoned corridor before Transfiguration was what had provoked Weasley's assault upon my delicate person in the first place. To be fair, we hadn't exactly been doing what most people would term 'speaking', per se. An exchange of words, a conversation. No, we were pressed up against the wall and her hands were tangled in my soft blonde hair and my arms were around her waist and our hips were sinfully close together. So I could see how the situation appeared when Weasley strode 'round the corner and caught us in that somewhat compromising position.

He hadn't wasted words inquiring about what was going on. Clearly he has no respect for his sister at all, let alone her choice of snogging partners. If, in fact, that's what we had been doing. It wasn't. Ginny was currently going steady with Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, and far be it from me to secretly snog another boy's girlfriend in an empty corridor. Malfoys have more honour than that. Malfoys also do not accept second place.

Weasley, if only you knew...

"What in the name of Merlin is going on here?" The annoyed voice of Professor McGonagall cut through the crowd like a sharp knife as the rubbernecking students instantly dispersed to allow her through. The aforementioned Virginia Weasley stalked after her, arms folded across her chest, waist-length crimson braid swinging angrily like a pendulum as she glared daggers at her older brother. She must have run into the classroom to fetch the professor immediately after Weasley took his first swing, which had connected with my lower abdomen. She knew her brother better than I did. Trying to stammer out an explanation of what he thought he had seen would be a waste of breath. Ginny has more sense than anyone gives her credit for.

I held a hand up to my broken nose, producing a monogrammed silken handkerchief from my robe pocket and dabbing at the blood. I had done nothing wrong. This time. Because it was McGonagall I knew that House Slytherin would be losing points this afternoon regardless of whether I had actually broken any rules, but for the same reason, I also knew that the Gryffindors would be having choice words with Weasley after they saw the new point totals.

I took a deep breath and composed myself, ignoring the throbbing pains in my stomach and face. I had been trained from a young age to maintain my poise and I did it well.

"I repeat, what is going on here?" the professor snapped. It became increasingly obvious that Weasley was not going to explain the situation. He stood fuming silently, clutching his bloodied hand to his chest. I hoped he had at least sprained a knuckle. It served him right for daring to lay hands on a Malfoy. Aside from that, I acknowledged a faint irritation that he obviously felt he could deign to select his sister's romantic liasions without consulting her. Perhaps his reaction was simply righteous indignation; Ginny was the steady girlfriend of his very best mate, and in his eyes he had caught her in the act of snogging another boy. Privately however, I doubted that his testosterone-fogged brain had even brought up the recollection that Ginny belonged to Harry Potter until after it had finished processing and reacting to the sight of her pressing herself wantonly against Draco Malfoy.

"Weasley's broken my nose, Professor," I offered, shooting a feral smile in the offender's direction. The type of smile that acknowledged without words how much trouble I was about to get him into. He flinched slightly.

"I can see that," McGonagall muttered. "Mr. Malfoy, you may go down to the infirmary, as I don't wish to hear an explanation of this while you are dripping blood all over the floor. Miss Weasley, please accompany him. I won't ask what you are doing in the corridor outside a 6th year Transfiguration class when you are supposed to be in Charms with your own year in five minutes. I trust that you were, in fact, planning a mad dash halfway across the castle in order to arrive on time. I will see all three of you in my office after lunch to discuss what happened here."

Weasley opened his mouth at once, presumably to object to the idea of his sister accompanying me, her apparent evil despoiler, anywhere that we would not be closely chaperoned. McGonagall shot him a look of such withering exasperation that he snapped it shut again and resumed his gaze at the floor.

"Yes, professor." I nodded my head slightly and turned on my heel, setting off down the corridor with Ginny close behind. I could feel Weasley's furious glare burning into our retreating backs.

If only you knew.