A Discerning Palate

Oysters?

Not by Merlin’s grey beard would that slimy confection ever pass the lips of one Draco Malfoy.

Ever.

“It’s an acquired taste.” His mother had told him, lo those many years ago when he’d scrunched up his young aristocratic features upon first inspection of the vile delicacy.

Acquired taste, indeed!

He was still pondering his plate in abject disgust when Blaise Zabini whispered, though none too quietly, into the space between them.

“Supposed to be an aphrodisiac ya’know. Hear they taste like quim.”

If he’d had anything in his mouth, Draco would have choked. As it was, Draco was finding it hard not to sputter. But of course, Malfoys never sputter.

Never had he thrust his oh-so talented tongue into anything that remotely resembled an oyster. In taste, texture or scent for that matter.

Draco directed his famous smirk at the other Slytherin. “If it tastes like that,” Draco paused before pseudo-whispering, “you shouldn’t be eating it.”

“Acquired taste.” Blaise returned, loud enough to catch the attention of a shapely blonde sitting not too far down the table from them. He winked at her, and she blushed, looking away.

Draco laughed. “That one should not be on the menu either. Great shag, but only because my cock doesn’t have a tongue.”

“You hit that?” Blaise was incredulous, though he should have known.

“Hell yes.” Draco looked at Blaise as if he’d said the most asinine thing conceivable. “And after the plowing I gave her, I wouldn’t eat it, not unless you want my sloppy seconds.”

“Is there a woman that you would gratify with your skills as a ‘cunning-linguist’?” Blaise paused for effect. “Besides your mother, I mean.”

Draco took the jab in stride. “No, I think that was your mother. That was a great party though. The one at the new beach house…” he trailed off.

Blaise refused to show his friend how close to the mark that he’d hit. Especially with the rumors of his mother’s infidelities being bandied about. And Draco was enough of a prat to have actually done it.

“I hear she’s quite the dish. At least there’s finally a woman whose legs I’ve been between before you.” He laughed hollowly.

“Bloody hell, that’s bitter. But true.”

“That still doesn’t answer my question, Mate.” Blaise prodded.

“What, you need a list?”

“I bet you haven’t tasted Ginny Weasley.”

“The Weaselette? Fuck no.”

“Have you looked at the girl?”

“Must I?” Draco quipped.

“Well, here she comes. Have a look.” Blaise chuckled good-naturedly.


Ginny strode purposefully over to the Slytherin table upon hearing Malfoy bellow her name. Or, her nickname rather.

The Slytherin Prince’s artic gaze raked over her form as she approached. By the time Ginny had reached the table, she felt positively naked.

“What?” She demanded, arching her brow and planting her fists on her hips in blatant rebellion. “I refuse to let you make me crazy this year.” She stopped her foot to punctuate her point.

Ginny eyed each of them with controlled fury, her eyes flashing and her hair behind her like a pennant of war. “Well, out with it. I heard my name. I want to know what you little bastards are plotting.”

Blaise opened his mouth to respond, but Draco stayed him with the casual wave of his hand, the gesture every bit the action of one accustomed to power.

“If you are going to insult me, please do me the courtesy of getting your facts straight before you open your little pink mouth.” He drawled. “I am not, and can not, be a bastard. I must inform you that my parents, were, in fact, married when I was born. As were Blaise’s.” He pursed his lips in mock indignation.

“I don’t give a bloody damn,” The famed Weasley temper was beginning to brew to a hearty simmer.

“Don’t get your knickers in a damp little bind Weasel,”

Ginny’s hand itched to connect with his smug face, to slap the pretentious sneer right off of his handsome face. She couldn’t believe that he was speaking to her this way, and that she was letting him.

Knickers?

Did he think about her knickers? Damp little… Holy Lucifer’s Hell! Ginny’s face flushed. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Which was just as well, or she would have missed the next installment of audacity.

Draco cocked his head to the side, devil-may-care and spoke. But the words that came out were foreign to Ginny and she somehow could not comprehend them.

“We were discussing the merits of oysters,” Draco looked over at Blaise, and Blaise appeared to be choking and shaking his head in the negative at whatever Draco was about to continue with.

“Blaise here, he says that oysters taste like quim. I, for one, disagree. And he was wondering what yours tasted like. So, since you are intent on making yourself apart of this discussion, maybe you’d like to regale us. Or maybe you can give Blaise a sample.” He finished, matter-of-factly.

The clamor of lunch in the Great Hall had quieted. Fell over dead actually, at the first scent of confrontation in the air.

Blaise managed to get his laughter under control and had the testicular fortitude to look Ginevra in the eye when she turned her attention on him.

“It’s a compliment, really.” Blaise interjected.

“I’m sure it is.” Her eyes narrowed again as she swallowed her indignation.

Ginny’s first instinct was to fly across the table and strangle Malfoy until she couldn’t or until he was dead, but then that would get her nowhere. Well, perhaps she would feel better. But that’s neither here nor there. She settled upon another course of action. One that would stick in his pompous arse…

“Well, a Slytherin Tongue is as good as another in the dark, Malfoy. Though some are better than others, or so I hear.” She looked at Draco purposefully, as if to indicate that he was one of the others.

At her remark, the silence itself in the Great Hall became an entity. It was deafening.

“What would you know, Gryffindor?” It was more of a query than an accusation.

“I bet you’d like to find out, wouldn’t you?” Ginny couldn’t believe that she’d just said that, but she was on a roll, and there was no stopping her now. “After servicing that slag Parkinson, I bet you’d like to feel a good girl wrapped around you- tight and hot only for you…”

Definitely too many muggle romance novels!

Ginny didn’t know what she expected, but the darkening of his eyes, the way they roved her body as if he owned her, and the answering tightness in her belly, the coiling heat…

“I stand corrected.” He bowed his head in mock-chivalry.

Blaise couldn’t resist the tension between them. Finally, a girl that Draco Malfoy couldn’t have.

“So Miss Weasley, will you answer my question? Or will you let me find out for myself?”

Ginny realized that she was in way over her head. In all actuality, she didn’t know shite from a shingle when it came to sex. But there was no way that she would let those two gits know it, nor would she back down.

“Strawberries, Loverboy. It tastes like Strawberries.” Her smile impertinent, Ginny turned to walk away but paused. She knew it could ruin her exit, but she had to add, “Another thing, if it tastes like any sort of bottom-dwelling seafood, I wouldn’t eat it. I mean, really.” She wrinkled her nose and strode away just as Ron entered the Great Hall with Hermione and Harry.