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Chapter 1 : To be a Malfoy
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Today would be a glorious day. It always was, if you were a Malfoy.
I slipped out of my four-poster bed in my emerald green satin boxers. The black sheets (also satin) were cool against my silky skin and my blonde hair hung in my eyes. I had taken to wearing it long, to emulate my father; all little boys want to be like their daddy when they grow up and I planned on being Lord of the Manor. I would be tall, like he, and I practiced my sneer daily. These things were important – like when you were looking down your nose at muggles and squibs and anyone else beneath you, like those Blood Traitor Weasleys.
Glancing at myself in the mirror, I stretched, watching as my abs, pecs and all those other muscles flexed. My incredible physique was due to years of Quidditch; that was really why all those girls came to matches, to see me, Draco Malfoy, flying around the pitch, snatching the snitch from Potter. Who wants to see him achieve anything anyway? Certainly not me.
I dressed, leaving my robes open at the front in that oh-so-cool-and-casual way that helped cement my reputation as the Slytherin sex god. Odd, really, considering I had never slept with a girl, or a boy for that matter. Draco Malfoy does not do boys, especially not Blaise Zabini, who is as heterosexual (and black) as the night is long.
For good measure I decided to leave my tie (do we really wear those things?) loose and the top two buttons of my shirt open, exposing my pale, creamy skin. It’s like silk, my skin. Girls are always telling me so. They touch me often, Pansy especially. I can’t stand her, but every man needs a woman on his arm, even one like Pansy. I mean, she’ll do, until I can move on to something better.
Speaking of girls, I was walking down the corridor outside the Potions classroom (I mean, where else would I be? It’s dark and kind of sexy, perfect for me). Crabbe and Goyle were flanking me as usual (like a girl on my arm, someone like I need hired muscle. Not that I don’t have enough muscle of my own, mind you; it’s just easier to not have to get my hands dirty. I can’t stand muck beneath my fingernails) when that ridiculous talking hair-piece Granger came into view. From out of nowhere arose the thought, as hideous as she is, maybe I should make her fall in love with me. It wouldn’t be much of a challenge, really; I’m totally adorable, completely irresistible and a bad boy to boot. Oh, and I smoke, on the Astronomy tower when I’m supposed to be doing my Prefects rounds. What girl wouldn’t want me?
I clicked my fingers and Crabbe and Goyle, the well-trained hounds they were, slunk away into the shadows. Arranging myself against the wall, I sneered my best sneer, making certain my hair was hanging in my eyes. Girls love that. I think it’s that emo thing I’ve heard about somewhere, not that I pay any attention to the goings on of the muggle world. Father always says, know thy enemy, but seriously, do I have to know about their hair?
Granger was approaching, cautiously I might add, with that hesitant walk that means deep down, despite her bravado and scathing little tongue, she was frightened of me. I felt like lighting a cigarette then and there, to see what Little Miss Perfect Prefect would do about it. Insulting her would be a better idea, I decided.
“Granger. Loose a fight with a hedge.”
Her cheeks mottled with outrage, or lust, I couldn’t tell which. “Insulting my hair; how very original of you, Malfoy.”
I thought it was. I raised my eyebrow at her (just one – I am rather skilled at that) and said nothing. Speaking to her was, after all, beneath me. I watched as she clutched her books closer to her chest (when will she grow breasts? Sometimes I wondered if she was a girl at all. I thought all girls, between sixth and seventh year, acquired curves in all the right places and were suddenly appealing. Not Granger it seemed).
She tossed back that thorny thing growing on her head. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” she asked, as if she was my equal. “Go strut somewhere else.”
“I do not strut,” I said angrily. I didn’t; I walked the way someone of my dignified status should. It was not my fault if Granger was jealous – at least I didn’t waddle, like her, always weighed down by the library she carried on her back like some new species of hideous tortoise.
She smirked. “I have better things to do than converse with you, Malfoy, as entertaining as it is.”
“I doubt that,” I said swiftly in that well-rehearsed drawl. I was sounding more like my father every day. “Granger, what say we get together?”
Her bushy eyebrows shot into her equally bushy hair. “And do what exactly?”
As if she needed to be told. I pushed myself off the wall, gracefully of course (Malfoy’s never stumble) and forced myself to move closer to her. “This URST is becoming unbearable, don’t you think?”
I rolled my eyes. “Unresolved sexual tension. Granger, I thought you were supposed to be smart.”
She was going red around the edges. Her cheeks were flaming, the skin on her neck ablaze. It all but confirmed my earlier suspicions – she wanted me. “You are so…”
“Yes, my Gryffindor lioness?” I purred.
“Slimy,” she finished.
Okay, now I was offended. Malfoy’s are not slimy. We are cunning, sly, strong and witty but we are not slimy. How dare she? I was not to be thwarted – I am Draco Malfoy, after all, and what Malfoy’s want, Malfoy’s get. “Granger, I am offering you a unique opportunity here.”
She laughed. “Please explain how it is unique, and an opportunity at that.”
“First,” I began, looking into her eyes; like pools of chocolate, they sucked me down, drowning me and suddenly, I was smitten. Just like that. Her skin, I noticed for the first time, was creamy, golden almost and her hair…I had to touch it, to see if it really was as gnarly as I imagined. She stood very still as I reached a hand to the side of her head, stroking her. “I would usually only offer such a thing to a Slytherin girl; they are all tarts, willing to whatever you want them too. Not for entering anything serious with, just for a bit of fun.”
“That’s disgusting, Malfoy,” Granger managed to mutter, but I could tell my well-practiced hair stroking was getting to her because her breathing was shallow, her chest rising and falling quickly. I was happy to discover she did actually possess breasts. They weren’t big, but perhaps she was just a late bloomer.
“Second,” I continued, leaning closer to her. She smelt like vanilla and honey and I drank her in. “I like the idea of being a girl’s first.”
Her eyes fell closed and then jumped open when she caught onto my insinuation (honestly, I thought she was intelligent but I guess my allure was so intoxicating she momentarily lost herself). As I imagined, mention of sex had scared her, but being a Gryffindor, she would not walk away. “And if I agree to your little…opportunity?”
“Who knows?” I shrugged. “I might end up falling in love with you, defying my father and everything I ever stood for and then having to dump you at the last moment when I realise I am a true Slytherin at heart and will never change, not even for love.”
She considered this, chewing that delicious looking lip between her teeth in that oh-so-innocent-way that had my blood boiling. “I guess I have been too good for too long. No one will ever expect it of me; my friends will be shocked and appalled, and we will have to end the relationship and then continue to meet in secret. It will be so romantic!”
My pulse jumped. I wasn’t sure of the romance part, but I would be a natural at it, I knew. There is nothing I cannot do and wooing Granger (really how hard should it be? She looks desperate for a snog) would turn out to be one of my more successful endeavours. I smiled.
“Then I shall meet you in the Room of Requirement, tonight, after curfew.”
“Can’t we just skip all that and be together now?” she whined, tears flooding her chocolate eyes. “I love you, Draco! I have always loved you – all that animosity was just a front for the turmoil of emotion I have inside!”
“Later, Granger,” I ordered and she meekly bowed her head. I walked away then, not giving her the chance to declare her love for me again. Keep them keen, that was what Blaise always said, and he had had more girlfriends than I knew girls. If I didn’t listen to his advice, whose would I heed? Crabbe’s? Goyle’s? I realised suddenly I really had no friends. Oh well, who needed them anyway. I was a Malfoy and Malfoy’s didn’t need friends – they needed servants, and people to fear them.
The day was hideously long and drawn out. All through class (Potions of course; we have that class ten times a week) Granger kept looking at me; it was unsettling, especially when Scarhead and Weaslebee kept whispering in her ear. I did not like them being that close to her – she was mine. I had declared it and they should know it, but I had also decided that a union like mine and Granger’s needed to be kept a tightly guarded secret. I did have a reputation to maintain, after all.
I ate nothing at dinner, too nervous, which annoyed me, because if anyone should be nervous, it should be Granger. I was the Slytherin Sex God, and she was nothing but an annoying, bushy haired Gryffindork, and a virgin to boot, I was certain of that.
I went to my room after dinner, and stared out the window into the blackness, like I had seen Blaise do when he was cut-up over a girl. The moon was high and full in the sky and the stars winked at me. I wished it was raining – for some reason that would have completed my mood. I was not the staring-out-windows-into-the-rain sort of guy, but at that moment, I wanted to be. It would only add to my allure, after all, once word got out that Draco Malfoy had turned emo.
Maybe Pansy had some eyeliner I could borrow...
I was sneaking through the Slytherin common room an hour later when, surprise surprise, Pansy jumped up from the black leather chair by the fire. She had been crying.
“Is it true?” she whimpered.
“Is what true, Pansy?” Merlin she was insufferable sometimes.
She sniffed; there was nothing pretty about Pansy when she cried (there was nothing pretty about Pansy in general, but I didn’t tell her that. She may not have a brain but she was rather talented at...other things). “You and Granger.”
How on earth could she know about that? It must be written across my face for everyone to see. I sighed. “Yes, it’s true.” Honesty was the best policy and anyway, after Granger and I busted up, Pansy would take me back. She always did.
“I knew it would happen,” she whined. “First that Weasley girl and now her.”
I had forgotten about that. It had only been a fling, after all. I could never fall in love with a Weasley. I left Pansy weeping in the common room and made my way to the Room of Requirement. Granger was waiting inside, sitting on the bed (four poster, King sized, draped in black – she continued to amaze me). She had a hood over her head, and her back was to me.
“Granger,” I purred. “I knew you would come.”
She only nodded; she was shy. It was oddly endearing. Not one to waste time, I stripped off my shirt, letting the night air caress my abs. My body was so pale it glowed in the dimness of the room. I pushed my hair out of my eyes and then changed my mind, dragging it back over my face.
“Your turn, Granger,” I whispered seductively, knowing once she saw me, there was no way she would be able to resist. She would fling herself into my arms and cry, “take me, Draco!” and I would gladly acquiesce, because, even though I was a virgin myself, I knew exactly what to do and my lovemaking would be spectacular.
So imagine my shock when she stood up and turned around. Had she been already naked beneath her robes, I could have handled that. Had she been wearing a chastity belt, I could have handled that. Had she hexed me, I could have handled it. What I could not handle, or even understand, was that Granger, my lovely Gryffindor lioness, had become my Gryffindor lion.
He smiled and reached up and removed the hood; I nearly fell over in fright.
We looked at each other, me and him, the foretold saviour of the Wizarding world. I took a deep breath; I was trembling. How odd. Malfoy’s do not tremble, especially not in the presence of a Potter and I gave him my best sneer, looking down at him, but the more I looked, the more I liked. Like me, Potter had fabulous abs, and like me, he seemed to be going for the emo look these days – his hair was long, still sticking up at the back, but it fell fashionably into his eyes. I wondered did he stare out windows as well.
Well, I thought, beginning to smile, I had always wanted to piss my father off.
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