Author: Jinni (firstname.lastname@example.org)
Pairing: Dawn/Tracey (femslash)
Disclaimer: All things BtVS belong to Joss Whedon, et al. All things HP belong to JK Rowling, et al.
Distribution: The normal places.
Warning: I reserve the right to write slash, maim and/or injure and/or kill characters, perform gratuitous acts of violence with said characters, engage in decidedly kinky acts as well as acts that are purely vanilla but still sexual. I also reserve the right to place them in situations that might make the normal person go ‘squick’ if my muses so determine that it would be a good time. If any of this and/or my cavalier attitude regarding it offends you, kindly stop reading now.
Author’s Notes: Joe wanted some Dawn/Tracey fic. My muses were willing to give it a shot. This fic takes place during Tracey’s seventh year. Both her and Dawn are seventeen for the purpose of this fic.
Summary: Whispers can be louder than screams in the dungeons…
The hiss rang out like an echo through the Slytherin common room, followed by a muffled giggle that, though stifled by the palm of a hand, managed to bounce from one corner of the cold stone walls to the other. Tracey bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling at the brunette tramp that was currently laying across her feet like a sacrifice, bare bottom showing for all the world to see.
“Summers, is there a reason you’re not wearing any knickers?”
“The better to see you with, my dear,” the other girl slurred with no apparent indication that knew that she hadn’t made even the slightest bit of sense with her comment, righting herself with no less than three tries. She giggled again, slapping a hand over her mouth to try to stop the torrent of noise.
Stupid American not-quite-a-Muggle, Tracey cursed silently as she watched the other girl struggle to pull her robes about her more firmly. For that matter, the only thing the crazy twit was wearing appeared to be said robe. It would have been almost intriguing had the other girl not been so completed sloshed.
“Davis.” The other witch returned in what Tracey could only assume was supposed to be a purr. It came out sounding more like a gargle. Flipping a piece of blonde hair over her shoulder, Tracey tossed aside the book that she had been trying in vain to take notes from and stood up. “Come along, then. Let’s put you to bed.”
“You coming with me? Heard Wills tell Buff once that there’s nothing better than waking up in her girl’s arms. I wanna give it a go…”
Tracey blinked once in surprise before managing to cover it up with a suitable Slytherin sneer. While her own sexual preferences were widely known, at least amongst her fellow Slytherin, Tracey hadn’t been aware that the little tart standing in front of her liked girls. All she’d ever seen her with were boys. Malfoy. Zabini. It was as though Summers had been trying to make her sister, that bloody awful American teaching DADA, rue the day that she’d ever brought her to Hogwarts.
And she’d been doing a bloody good job, from the stories that Tracey’d heard from her housemates. Just last week the Slayer had taken Summers down a peg right there, outside the doors to the Great Hall, when she found her locking lips with Zabini.
And Zabini and Malfoy were most definitely boys, if not all-out men at this stage of their lives. Thus the confusion Tracey was feeling over the flirtatious comment from Summers, drunk off her arse or not.
“Hardly. I like my women to enjoy what I’m doing for them,” she growled a little harsher than intending to.
“Sobriety charms work wonders.”
Tracey arched an eyebrow. “Not drinking until you can’t hold yourself upright also does wonders, Summers. I would suggest you try it sometime. Moderation is a virtue, after all.”
“Ah,” Summers grinned. “But I’m a Slyth…. Slyth… Slytheringie…thingie. I’m not supposed to be virtuous. I’m supposed to be evil.”
Her loony laughter, which the other witch suspected might be the American’s idea of a cackle, echoed around the common room before Tracey could make a move to slap a hand over her mouth.
And before Tracey could even think to tell the other girl to hush, Dawn Summers fell to the floor unconscious.
“Just bloody wonderful,” Tracey muttered, looking down at the other witch. Her robes had bunched up as she fell, exposing quite a bit of leg. Without thinking, Tracey nudged aside a bit more of the plain black school robe with her toe, slowly baring more and more of that sun-kissed flesh she’d found herself coveting on more than one occaision.
Another move of her foot and Tracey had managed to move the robe enough to see just the barest hint of honey-colored curls. She licked her lips unconsciously, tilting her head. Nicely trimmed and shaved, the curls were just the barest patch of covering over the soft mound of flesh between Summers’ legs.
With a low growl, Tracey pulled back. She was not some desperate little wench that needed to catch a free show just because it was available to her, though it was a decidedly Slytherin thing to do. Then again, leaving Summers out here, half-nude and sleeping for the entire house to see was also something of a Slytherin-ish plan.
Unfortunately, not one that she was going to put into action. Despite ruining her quiet evening, Summers hadn’t done anything to warrant such an action.
She levitated the other girl up to their dormitory with a quick charm, careful not to wake up Bulstrode as she got Summers under her blankets, sans robes.
Tracey nearly jumped in surprise at the hand that grabbed onto her arm as she tried to leave the bed. She turned back to Summers, giving the other witch a curious look when she saw the brunette now wide-eyed and awake.
“It’s late, Summers,” she answered evenly, her lip curling in a sneer. “And since you’ve ruined my study time, I was thinking I should go on and get some sleep. Unless you had plans to bare yourself to me again?”
“Will it get you to stay? I don’t want to be alone.”
Tracey sighed. “Slytherins do not admit weakness.”
“Who said anything about being weak?”
The drunken state of the other witch’s voice had dissipated as their conversation wound on, until Tracey began to wonder whether or not the other girl had ever been drunk to begin with. All traces of inebriety were gone, leaving only a husky whisper. It had to be some of that new alcohol that Malfoy had been bragging about pilfering from the manor over the last holiday. Something that worked quickly and then left the body just as quickly. She wouldn’t put it past the brunette to have snuck into the boys’ dorms to take a swallow or three.
“Summers –“ The words caught in Tracey’s throat as she watched Summers sit up, the bedcovers falling away to reveal small, though nicely shaped, breasts. In the moonlight filtering through the window she could just barely make out the dusky rose of her nipples, pert and hard.
“I’ve never been with a girl before, you know.” She moved again, rising to her knees in front of Tracey. “Is it so very different?”
“You’re just doing this to yank your sister’s chain,” Tracey bit off through clenched teeth, careful to keep her voice low. Her willpower was great; but she was no saint. And this pretty piece of flesh was tempting her with all the wiles she had in her rather ample book. Even as she watched, Summers trailed a hand down over her chest, fingers brushing lightly over the outside curve of each breast before continuing down. Over the flat plane of her stomach they glided, ever lower, until finally they slid through those honey-colored curls.
“So?” Summers shrugged, her fingers still twined in the soft patch of hair between her thighs, traversing dangerously close to the folds that lay between the apex of her thighs. “Does it matter to you why I’m doing it? Maybe I’m doing it to rile Buffy up. Maybe I’m doing it because I’m curious. And maybe I’m doing it because I just need to feel something tonight other than the pain of being so fucking homesick!”
Tracey clapped a hand over the other witch’s mouth, meeting her sparkling eyes. “Shhh!”
She felt the brunette’s lips curl up beneath her hand and slowly released her hold.
“That the best you can do to shut me up?”
“You’re asking for it, Summers.”
“Want me to beg?”
“You really are incorrigible. You want to shag with Bulstrode sleeping one bed over?”
The brunette shrugged, leaning forward on her hands and knees to look at Tracey through a curtain of hair. “Guess you’ll just have to make sure I’m quiet, then.”