A/N: This is the official unofficial sequel to pretty much every other Harry Potter fanfiction from this account. Enjoy, won't you please?

Key Party: A Struggle For The Muggle

ACT I: INSPIRATION

Draco Malfoy was a frank man. He wanted all the same things the average wizard man wanted. A job. A warm hearth to rest his feet on. And, obviously, unbridled copulation with a certain mousy know-it-all who enraged him so that the very sight of her caused a horrendous apoplexy of boners. Not to say that there were multiple penises as the plurality of that word would imply. It just seemed to be a series of successive boners, one followed by the other for nigh onto the whole day. Each boner was boneryer than its predecessor. A chain reaction set off whenever she said something like, "I read," or, "The environment needs our help," or, "You probably haven't heard of them, but this band I like is totally ahead of the times, man."

He had to have her.

All of her.

A lot.

How best to seize that which my heart aches for? He thought, as he gave himself an over the pants rub-down. Could my vast wealth be used to procure her? I hear her parents are dentists which means they only care about their paychecks. But she, like a decorative fish, far too coy for such an obvious approach. Also she thinks that her "feminist" rights amount to more than a hill of beans. They do not! It occurred to the Dracster that a large estate was often the perfect aphrodisiac to the female gender. He, as luck would have it, had a house of the grandest scale. Women would often find themselves panting apoplectically at the very sight of his manor. Also, the manor is Draco's nickname for his peepee. Yes, I'll lure her to my manor! Once inside my various trinkets will astound her! Maybe I'll show her my money fountain? Well, the big one, anyway.

But a new problem reared itself into the mental fray. How do I bring her hither without my intention being discovered like some whodonit mystery?! He puzzled, scratching his head. Then, after a quick whack-off, his mind now clear, inspiration struck hard and fast, not unlike an impromptu whack-off. Of course! He mentally screeched. I will throw a Gatsby-esque party! Even better! I will throw a party in which every woman deposits their keys upon arrival into an enchanted jar. Later, after the alcohol has taken affect, every man will take a key from the jar. The men will adjourn to one of my many stately rooms, and then the owner of that key will, via magic, be told to arrive in that same room, where he and she will indiscriminately have their way with one another. I will have enchanted the jar so that I get Hermione's keys! A more perfect plan could not be conceived, except by me on a better day! In his excitement, he popped yet another boner, one of those ones that kind of hurts and its not really erect and you'd rather kick around a house elf instead. "This sucks," Draco said.

A rather dumpy house elf poked its head from behind the door. "You call me, guv'na? You need me to clean up after you?"

"No, Sucks," Draco said. "I wasn't calling you. I just exclaimed the word 'Sucks'."

Sucks shrugged. "I don't know why you keep calling me if you don't need me for anything..." He exeunted.

Draco, uncomfortable with his erection, yet unwilling to let an erection go idly, gave himself a quick handy and wrote up the invitations. They read:

Party Time!….!

Location: Chateau d'Dracster

Invited: everyone

Keys are mandatory! No apparating!

Time: Friday, 8 pm

Bring your freak on, and a pillow!

(Write in advance if you have allergies)

ACT II: THE PARTY

Everything was ready. The chairs were set...the music was loud...everything was ready. Before the party, Draco had showered twice and made sure to perfume his loins with a substance made from the last hippogriff ever. The perfume was called Fuckbeak.

The guests began to arrive. The first was, of course, Neville Longbottom, who arrived a half hour early to make sure he had a good parking spot and also, quote, "To help set up." Draco did his best not to talk to him, and tried at least twice to get Neville lost within his labyrinthine mansion. But Sucks the house elf kept leading him back! And Neville would then say something like, "Wow! Your house is much bigger than mine!"

Luckily this sad party did not last long. Other guests began to arrive, Draco making certain that each woman who arrived deposited her keys in his enchanted key jar that ensured randomness (except for himself). There was dancing, there was gossip, there were drinks served by surly house elves, who themselves were getting pretty krunk. Draco watched the door with eager eyeballs, waiting for his Muggle temptress to arrive. The viagra he had taken was beginning to kick in. The long protrusion from his trousers was obvious to all, and the Dracster did little to try and hide it. In fact, his gestures became even grander in order to draw more attention to himself and thus his cockscicle. One difficulty Draco had not accounted for, though he should have cause he ain't that dumb, was the unwanted attentions of Pansy Parkinson. Although she was a pure blood, or maybe because of it, she suffered from a severe case of underbite caused by generation upon generation of sexy inbreeding. In other words she had the Hapsburg jaw, so solid foods proved to be tricky for her. Her digestive tract and bowel movements were therefor complicated and messy, and she had to stick to a strict avian diet of small grains and slurpees. Yes, this kept her thin and possessive of a model's figure, but your eyes always found their way to her grotesquely proportioned jaw. It really spoiled the broth.

Then again, Draco himself suffered from chronic gout in the foot. So who was he to throw stones?

THE MOTHERFUCKING DRACSTER, THAT'S WHO!

So when Pansy came up to him and said slurredly, "I can open my mouth much wider now, Draco," with suggestive undertones, Draco responded, "Hey Pansy, how's it feel to be your own cousin?" his swaggering erection knocking over all manner of clutter from the ping pong table around which they stood.

"At least my family is heir to both the Spanish throne and the Holy Roman Empire!" Pansy responded angrily.

"Well maybe your brother is looking for a bride!?" Draco shot, then he drank a shot and shot off in some other direction.

He then sensed a disturbance in what could only be described as some sort of all-purveying something, I don't know, a force of some kind. Which meant either his mother was dropping by with newest boyfriend Todd, or the Archfiend himself—Harry Potter!-had arrived!

Sure enough, Harry Potter arrived with none other than Hermione Jean Granger, her normally bushy hair combed back into a very no-nonsense, yet bushy, ponytail. Harry was in a shirt that had clearly never been ironed and had salsa stains on the cuff.

"Heart of my loins!" Draco exclaimed, walking over to them and taking Hermione's hand and kissing it. As he stood closer his erection bumped her hip.

"Ow," she said. "Is that an erection in your pocket, or perhaps something else?" Banter was not Hermione's strong suit.

Draco laughed. "Oh Granger, you were always the best of them-"

"Hello!" Harry said, thrusting his hand rudely into Draco's face for a shake.

Draco batted it away. "Potter," he said. Turning to Hermione, he asked, "Did you see the jar by the door? All the ladies must drop their keys inside."

"Sure, whatever," Hermione said. "We did it already. Six steps ahead of you, Draco. And the answer to your next question is no, I will get a drink myself." She then sauntered into the party and mixed a stiff gin and tonic. She drinks like an unhappy lumberjack father of four.

Draco then felt an innocent tugging on the bottom of his shirt. He thought for a moment that a small child had entered the party, and that he would have to defend it from the horrors of the real world. But it turned out to be just Harry Potter. "Can you make me a vodka cranberry?" Harry whined.

"It's just two things!" Draco said.

"I know, but I don't want the vodka in mine."

Draco groaned, but was struck with an idea. "Harry, do you want to see my vast library?"

"Do I! Oh boy, I love the smell of learning!"

Draco led Harry from the party down a long corridor. At the end, he unlocked a gilded door and showed Harry into a massive room of books, sort of like in Beauty and the Beast only dustier. "I can't believe it!" Harry said. "There must be every book in the whole wide world in here!"

"Hey, how 'bout that," Draco said, moving out of the room and shutting the door. He locked it from the outside and ate the only key.

Harry knocked on his side. "Draco, can I read all of your books?"

"Sure. Most of them are painted on," Draco sad as he began to leave.

"Thanks a million, buddy!" Harry said. "I'm gonna start with Atlas Shrugged!"

After another half hour of shmoozing, and accidentally bumping into people with his prodigious member, Draco called to attention all the many party people in his house. "Alrighty, boys," Draco called out to everyone, a little more flamboyantly than he had hoped, "It's that time we've all been waiting for! The jar of keys shall now be passed around and each man here shall pick some lucky lady's key. The two are then bound by blood contract to spend the night with one another!"

A voice interrupted, "Excuse me!" it was Seamus Finnigan, "I was under the impression that we were all here just to have a good time in each others company! I had no idea that there were lascivious intention afoot!" He held his chin up high and stormed out.

"We don't need you, Finnigan!" Draco shouted after him, "Why don't you go back to your wake!" then to Sucks he said, "Quickly, go let the air out of his tires before he leaves!" With a humble bow Sucks did as he was bade do.

So, with Seamus gone, every man picked a key from the jar. When the couples found out who they were going to be with they each in turn let out slightly nervous, slightly titillated giggles. Draco went last, savoring his already known victory. "Has everyone picked?" he asked the crowd. All the men nodded there heads yes, except Crabbe and Goyle who were super gay for one another, and Draco respected their commitment. They each gave a hearty thumbs-up while still holding hands.

Neville held up his dubious prize. "I got my own keys!" he complained.

"You knew the rules, Neville!" Draco said. "Only women put their keys in the jar."

All in all, the party seemed to have gone off pretty well—except for Luna, who would appear out of the shadows suddenly, and knock people's skulls together in order to steal their keys. "My collection grows," she would say and then disappear again into the darkness. She clearly had misunderstood the point of the game.

As the couples adjourned to their rooms, Draco waited eagerly for his prize to enter.

Act Three: The Prize

Draco paced his rooms, waiting for Hermione. He wasn't sure if he should remain in the clothes he was wearing, or if he should change into a robe of the finest silk. He chose the robe, his erection poking through like a fireman peeking through a curtain. He fluffed the pillows and spritzed the whole room with the entire jar of Fuckbeak. He could always buy more (and yet he could not because, I repeat, hippogriffs were dead).

Suddenly, the latch on the door clicked.

Draco turned away from the door, so that he might turn around again dramatically as if he were not expecting anyone. When he heard the door shut again, he spun around, his erection waving in the breeze. "Good evening, Granger," he began, "I's time I give you a tour of the real Malfoy Manor, by which I mean my pe—POTTERRRRRRRRRR!"

"Hi Draco," said Harry, waving exuberantly. "Nice room. It smells good. Also nice erection. I'm sure it also smells good, too."

Draco hastily pulled a pillow over his groin. "What are you doing here? I thought I locked you in the library!" he screamed as though struck by an apoplexy.

"Yeah, you accidentally did."

"Then how did you get out?!"

Harry removed his wand from his pocket and said vacantly, " Alohamora. It's first year stuff, Draco. Even I knew that and I grew up in a closet, and I ain't talking about no R. Kelly song."

Draco was fuming and confused. He took the key from his bureau and shouted, "But I have Hermione's key! Where is she?! I enchanted the jar to make sure I got her key!"

He pondered for a moment, and then snapped his fingers at the realization. "Oh! I drove Hermione's car here, and I must have put the keys in the jar. She wanted to get snockered tonight, and my doctor says I can't drink because it angers up the blood."

Draco dejectedly spread himself out across the bed. His boner remained upright. "This whole night was planned specifically for her!" Draco cried out to the heavens and Harry who was actually listening, "I wasted almost three hours coming up with this zany idea!"

Harry put a comforting hand on Draco's naked knee. He sat beside him and said, "Pour me a glass of your thoughts, kiddo."

Draco didn't like Harry, but was sad enough to talk to anyone, even Harry. "Do you ever feel like a plastic bag caught in the wind? Beautiful yet you don't want to be there?"

Harry nodded his head. "Absolutely not. I'm a winner," he said as he flicked a booger out across the room.

"It just feels like that sometimes, no matter how hard you plan something, or how many Viagra you take, things just don't go the way you want."

"I know how you feel," Harry said, "My parents are dead."

"We're talking about me right now, Potter."

"Very well," Harry acquiesced.

"I never told anyone, but my dad actually was hoping for a girl when I was born."

Harry sat down on the undersized loveseat, crossed his legs like a professional, and asked, "So your father wanted a daughter?"

"Yes, weren't you listening, you dimwit? He wanted a daughter. He was going to name her Charletta."

"Charletta?" Harry questioned.

"Yeah! It's such a stupid name. Not like Draco. Draco is manly and it makes you think of dragons or Dracula. Both of which are exceedingly cool."

"I'm sure if my mother was alive she would lie to me about that sort of thing, too," Harry said.

"Yeah," Draco said, feeling something inside his chest he hadn't felt in a long time—his heartbeat.

And so it happened, that Draco and Harry talked all through the night, stopping only to play a game in which Harry tried to toss a hat onto Draco's seemingly interminable erection. When he succeeded, Draco would say, "Fifteen points for Gryffindor!" and the two would high-five. Before they knew it, the sun had brought the morning on a golden chariot of fire.

They went for breakfast, but not before singing an off-key rendition of "Good morning!" from the hit Broadway musical Singin' in the Rain!

"Sucks!" Draco called to his servant as they entered the breakfast nook (it's always better in the nook). "Breakfast! And let the syrup flow like Elven tears!"

"Yes, my liege," Sucks said.

"We're going to play doubles tennis match against Crabbe and Goyle," Harry said as he and his new friend passed a beleaguered Ron who had spent a tiring eve with one of the Patil twins, though he wasn't sure which. And there was always that slim chance that they had switched places in the middle of the night, which would account for her demanding stamina.

As Harry and Draco munched on toast and sipped fresh-squeezed OJ, Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson walked in, both much in need of a shower. What transpired between those two is better left unwritten. Suffice it to say, they boned, and Blaise is to this day both a) King of Prussia thanks to the graceful whims of Pansy, and b) searching for another woman who can unhinge her jaw in such a way.

After breakfast, on their way to the tennis courts, Harry and Draco entered the living room. On the couch, sprawled in a pile of fluid and sweaty clothing, were Neville, Ginny*, AND Hermione! Draco stopped in his tracks.

Harry, ever the realist, said to him, "Is that couch leather? You will probably want to get it reupholstered."

Hermione stirred and sat up, nude as the day she decided to be nude because her body is her body but she chooses to pretend it is a temple. "'Sup, fags," she said, stretching.

"Harsh," Harry said.

Draco turned away, unable to bear the sight.

Groggily, Neville gave a thumbs up. "Great party," he said, though his voice was muffled from being smothered by Ginny's breasts.

Seeing that his friend was distraught, Harry led Draco out to the courts. He said, "Buck up, chum. You can do better than Hermione."

Draco, his erection finally subsiding, shouted, "She's everything I ever wanted to have sex with!"

"Listen," Harry said, grabbing rackets and a few loose balls, "Don't get me wrong, 'Myawn! is one of my best friends—but I would pity any man dating her."

"Really?!" Draco asked.

"Oh yeah, totally," Harry said, batting the ball and getting a feel for it. "When she was dating Ron, he was the lowliest sort of scum. Do you know she made him ask permission to brush his own teeth?"

"Why?"

"Nobody knows! She said, 'To make up for Lilith!' We don't know what that means."

They began to lazily hit the ball over the net. "So you're saying I should set my sights elsewhere?" Draco asked.

"But of course."

"Hey, what about you and Ginny? Aren't you, like, involved with her?"

"...Yeahhhhhhh," Harry said, "But ever since I 'got her pregnant,' we've been in an 'open relationship'." Harry clearly did not know what "air quotes" were used for.

Forever forward, Harry and Draco were the bestest of buds, seeing each other on a bi-weekly basis, playing tennis or "Hang the Hat." It was a friendship born of ire and distrust, but tempered in the fires of genuine manly affection. They had a courtly love between them.

Hermione went on to become Magical Prime Minister, but was later impeached for being just too darn good at her job.

Neville moved to a log cabin in the woods, where he feared he would be attacked by monsters only he could see.

Harry and Ginny remained together, exchanging partners to and fro, left and right, up and down, here and there, hither and thither, this way and that, and sometimes they didn't talk during the whole exchange. Their kids were okay.

Ron eventually came to own and operate his own ice cream truck. The truck flies, and his motto is, "It's always summer somewhere."

Blaise died in Vietnam (not the war, he was vacationing there and his car slipped off the road).

Pansy and her brother-cousin-father-king rule the new Holy Roman Empire with an iron yet sweaty fist.

Draco would continue to live in his manor, having adventures with Sucks. He never needed to work.

Rumor has it that Luna is still somewhere in Malfoy Manor. Watching. Waiting.

Biding her time.

FIN

*If Ginny had been the one with the Hapsburg Jaw, they would have called her "Chinny Weasley."