A/N: Many thanks to emansil_12 for the beta. Written for the 2013 hp_porninthesun on LJ to prompt number 33: Now that Goyle is doing so well in Defense Against the Dark Arts class, he feels emboldened to act on his crush on Padma.

Warnings: Masturbation, vaginal penetration.

Greg hated school. It was cold and uncomfortable and the beds had been slept in by teenage boys for centuries and smelled like it. He hated lessons, and all the kids who were so much smarter than him that they made him feel useless, and all the teachers spewing out all their facts that made no sense. He hated the library so much that he never went there. He hated homework so much that he never did it.

Greg hated home. His dad was always trying to push him to be more, better, smarter. He quizzed him on his knowledge of the Old Blood ways, and smacked him when he didn't know. His mum kept trying to fit him into smaller robes, and rubbing cremes against acne and puffiness and sallow skin into his face. She wanted him shorter, slimmer, more handsome. She nagged him to make the right connections at school. His parents had made it clear to him before he went to Hogwarts that he was to stick close to Draco Malfoy in the hopes that family's influence might rub off onto them. Even though Gregory Goyle senior hated Lucius Malfoy.

Greg hated his name. He wanted his own name, not just a property stamp. He was more than a continuation of his father. He hated that he could not think what more he was.

Greg hated Draco. Draco was so handsome that he made Greg look uglier; he was so clever that he made Greg look stupider; his lineage was so pure and his connections so useful that he put the whole Goyle family into doubt. He was also superior, rude and belittling. Greg hated taking orders from him.

Greg hated Vincent Crabbe. They were rivals. There was only so much Malfoy influence to go round.

Greg hated Potter and his stupid gang of suck-ups. Everything they did made Goyle look more wrong and more stupid than before.

Greg hated pushy, competitive Slytherins, as well as gormless, arrogant Gryffindors, pushover Hufflepuffs and know-it-all Ravenclaws.

Well, most of them.

That Yule Ball in fourth year had been a pointless, boring waste of time. Draco had dropped him and Crabbe to fawn over those Durmstrang thugs, who all smelled of seal blubber. The Beauxbaton lot talked funny and their food tasted weird. Potter's buck-toothed swot bird had nabbed the Quidditch player and nobody could stop going on about it. Millicent Bulstrode wouldn't shut up about how manly and gorgeous he was, and what she was going to do to the Mudblood bitch. Greg hated Bulstrode.

Potter and his Blood Traitor bum chum sat with the two most beautiful girls in the school and how much Greg hated them then!

Unlike his housemates, Greg had learned to distinguish the Patil sisters, and to pronounce their names. Parvarti was frivolous and she hung around with that stupid cow with the over-developed chest. Padma was clever. Padma was different to everyone and everything else that existed.

Gregory Goyle did not hate Padma Patil.

She was quiet and kept herself to herself, like he wanted to be allowed to do. She was beautiful: but everyone knew that. She was clever. She knew everything. But unlike all the other clever clogs she never rubbed it in anyone's face. She could explain stuff so it made sense. When Flitwick asked a question and it was Padma who answered, then Greg could relax. He would learn something as she laid it out in her soft voice with her pretty way of saying 't' like it had got caught in her perfectly-shaped nose.

That lanky ginger shit ignored Padma all night at the Ball. She looked so unhappy. Just quietly. Padma never bitched about anything. Not like every other bloody woman ever. Greg nearly asked her to dance. He was sure that she would have turned him down, though. Then Greg would have had to face Crabbe's jibes about him not being good enough for a paki; the Crabbes were notorious racists. If he had thought that she would have agreed then it would have been worth it

The problem was that Greg had nothing to offer a girl like Padma. He had nothing to offer anyone. He was stupid and ugly and cruel. He was so full of hate he thought anything joyful was a waste of time. There was nothing that he was good at. She was an example of golden perfection. His unworthiness made him hate the world more every day.

Then Dumbledore died, the good guys took over the Ministry, Snape and the Carrows ruled the school; the world's axis shifted. All the hate Greg had been brewing for all of these years was the fuel that was needed for the new Defence Against the Dark Arts curriculum. He was top of the class in Crucio ; at last there was a subject he excelled at. Greg became a favourite of the teachers, getting his first taste of praise. There were teachers who didn't sneer at him, so he didn't hate them. He stopped dreading term time. He became proud of himself. He stopped hating himself. And when that happened, he found that all the rest of the hate he'd always felt melted away.

For the first time there were lots of kids having a worse time at school than he was. Which made him happy. The only blot on the landscape of his happiness was that Padma was one of those unhappy kids.

He fantasised about Padma seeing her error, leaving the group of disobedient kids and dobbing them in. She would come to him, sobbing, begging for protection. He would present her to the Carrows, and the information Padma had would make her their other favourite pupil alongside Greg. The two of them would rule the school together. He could teach her to Crucio and she could teach him… Everything else. She knew everything else and when she said things they made sense to Greg.

It was a stupid fantasy, though. Not surprising as it took place in Greg's head and he knew how stupid he was. The problem was Parvarti. Greg didn't have a sister, but he understood enough about them to know that Padma wasn't going to betray Parvarti. Parvarti was a bloody Gryffindor with daft Gryffindor friends. She wasn't going to betray Longbottom or the Weaslette or the squeaky Irish one. Greg was no nearer to Padma than he'd ever been.

Greg was a Prefect now. Malfoy wasn't anymore. His parents, at last, were proud of him. It meant he got to patrol the corridors at night with his special badge on. He dished out detentions and hexes to anybody sneaking around. Longbottom got it a lot but he never cried. Not like Malfoy did when he got Crucio . The Irish one was even braver. He taunted Greg, courted the punishment. Greg had seen him step in to distract the Carrows so they wouldn't hex the youngsters. Goyle wished he had Longbottom and the Irish on his side, instead of spoiled little wimps like Malfoy and Zabini.

Mostly, he wished he had Padma on his side. When it was her or her sister he saw sneaking about, then he would look the other way.

Only one night it wasn't him who caught them. It was Alecto Carrow. Greg walked onto the Charms corridor and saw her holding a wand to Padma's throat. Carrow was hissing into Padma's beautiful face, which was greyish with fear. They both turned their heads towards him.

Carrow grinned. "What do we do with lying little witches, Mr Goyle?" she asked.

His stomach dropped and he found he couldn't speak. Padma turned her big, damp eyes on him. There was a pleading in them.

Finally, he managed to ask, "What's she done?"

Carrow barked a vicious laugh. "She's broken curfew, stupid boy. "

Greg nodded slowly. Of course she had. It was the middle of the night. She had been a Prefect once, and then it would have been ok, but Ravenclaw didn't provide Prefects anymore.

"I know you've already perfected Crucio , Mr Goyle, but a little practice is always useful."

Greg's throat closed over again. His heart was thumping blood through his body. Not Padma. Anyone else and he could have done it with pleasure. But not his Padma. "For breaking curfew?" he asked. He hoped his reputation for stupidity would carry him through this; he hoped Carrow wouldn't hear the crack in his voice.

She was eyeing him suspiciously. "She won't say where she's been. I've got no choice but to assume that she's been up to no good, have I?"

"Oh."

Padma closed her eyes. She set her features, looking like she was trying to pull some courage from somewhere but it wouldn't come.

"She was with me," Greg heard himself say.

"What?" Carrow lowered her wand in surprise and turned to face Greg full on.

Padma's eyes flew open and she stared at him. Greg was hoping that she'd take advantage of the moment to make a run for it. She could hide out wherever it was that the rebels kept disappearing to.

"She was with me," he repeated. "We lost track of time. She's just going back to her tower. To her room. She didn't say that because she doesn't want me to get in trouble."

"With you?" Carrow looked Greg up and down. Then she looked at Padma. She was right, of course, there was no way that a beautiful witch like that would ever have really been doing anything with a lump like him. "Doing what? Exactly."

Greg swallowed. Did she really want him to provide lurid details? There was a new glint to her eye now. Maybe she did; maybe she'd get off on it. His mind went blank.

Padma saved him: "Just snogging, mostly," she said.

"Him?" Carrow asked sceptically.

Padma slipped carefully round the teacher to stand beside Greg. She looked into his face, and then her hand rose to rest on his forearm. "He makes me feel protected." She dipped her head modestly, but her hand kept stroking his arm.

Greg's slow brain told him that a protective boyfriend would put an arm round his girl at this point. "We're a bit shy," he said as he did so. She didn't flinch. "We're not sure that any of our friends would approve. It's all very new."

Carrow watched them through narrowed eyes. "I don't expect my foot soldiers to keep secrets from me, Goyle."

"I'm sorry." He dredged up a plausible reason. "I've never had a girlfriend before. I'm a bit embarrassed."

"Well." Carrow drew out the word. "I suppose there's only so much fun in Unforgiveables. Young men have needs I've heard."

"I won't be out after curfew again," Padma said quietly. "We lost track of time." She used his words. She was so clever and he was so stupid and she was going along with his idea.

And what's more: it worked.

"You'd best escort her back to her Common Room, then, Mr Goyle. Next time be more aware." Carrow did her best attempt at a sweep as she marched away. She didn't really have Snape's physique or poise, but she swished her cloak almost the way he did.

Greg began to relax, but found Padma on tiptoes with her mouth to his ear. "She'll look back," she whispered, with warm breath on his skin.

He put his other arm round Padma and held her close and they looked into each other's faces. Sure enough, after a few more steps, Carrow turned back to look at them. At that moment, Padma put her mouth on his.

It wasn't a real kiss: no push, no movement. But their faces pressed together. He could feel the sweat on her upper lip and the shape of her shoulder bones, he could smell her. Her breasts were squashed between them.

For many years his fantasies took off from that moment.

His hand sliding down her back, fingers running over her spine. Her gasps. His strong hands clutched her flesh and pulled them closer. Their mouths opened, tongues running over each other and thrusting deep. Padma moaned. Somehow, Greg knew of an empty room which was secure, and he swept her up into his arms and carried her to it.

As soon as the door was closed, she lifted her robes over her head, revealing her naked body beneath. Greg loved her curves. He loved the dark shapes of her nipples. He loved the flat expanse of her belly and the down he imagined onto it. He loved her buttocks as he pictured her turning a slow circle for his enjoyment. He loved the movement of the long, dark hair on her head as she moved. He loved the triangle of hair in the same colour which he imagined between her legs.

His mind would lie them down on the floor together as his hand worked his erection. She would be under him. He would run his fingers all over her, and inside her. She would moan and cry out with ecstasy. He would enter her. He had no idea how that would have felt, but pornography had given him enough images that he could picture it: his cock sliding in and out of her. And then she would come, red-faced and bright eyed. Then he would come. And, picturing that, so he'd ejaculate into his hand.

In truth, they stayed standing close to each other for a minute or so. When they broke apart, Carrow had gone. Greg let go of Padma and they stepped apart. In silence, they walked without touching to the eagle door knocker of the Ravenclaw Common Room. There, Padma whispered, "Thank you," and Greg walked away.