Simple Temptation

Draco Malfoy was a slut. Everyone knew that.

There was just something about him. Those deep, penetrating grey eyes, the perfectly chiselled features. The perfect white blonde hair and that icy-pale complexion. Maybe it was the smirk he gave, that twist of the lips which left every girl he met weak at the knees. Maybe it was his drawl, the way he almost purred as he spoke. Perhaps it was the way he charmed every girl he met senseless, with just a few well-placed compliments and a few striking words.

His past was dark, dangerous – but perhaps that added to his attractiveness. Mixed up in Death Eater activities since the age of 15, risen straight to the inner-circle of He Who Must Not Be Named. There was something dangerous in those steely eyes, and you are reminded that the man opposite you has killed countless men, without a second thought. But then he leans in, and all those thoughts suddenly seem so very unimportant.

He had money at his fingertips of course, being a Malfoy. He closeted himself in his huge Wiltshire mansion, surrounded by luxuries and the girls he picked up from cheap bars. If Malfoy Manor was a castle, he was undoubtedly the king, but he was actually rather lonely on his golden throne. Not that he would ever admit it to anyone, of course. If anyone asked, he would sneer slightly, before replying in a careful drawl that he couldn't possibly be happier, because what more did he need?

He had been lucky after the war, but then again, he was a naturally lucky person. Voldemort had given him a second chance after he had failed to kill Dumbledore (but if you mentioned that episode in front of him, his smirk would lose any feeling it had once had, and his grip on your hand would harden). He had learnt how to kill with a flick of his wand, with minimum blood of course. He hated the idea of getting any bloodstains on his shirts, they had cost more individually than the Weasley's house alone. After the war, he had struck up a plea of innocence and blackmail – he had never meant anything, he had been threatened, he had been cursed. Eventually, to the horror of the Gryffindor-Fan-Club, he had got off. Some felt that this was due to his indescribable charm, but witnesses had heard the new Under-secretary, Melanie Hanley, discussing with her friends the night she had spent at Malfoy Manor.

And now? Malfoy was upholding a successful business, but he didn't worry himself with the dealings of his company. His questionable past was behind him, or so he hoped, and he was quite at leisure squandering his money on useless luxuries, prostitutes and gambling with shady men in bar corners. The world was a game to him, a game where he was in complete control. And he was enjoying himself at last. At least, that was what he told himself as he drove up the sweeping driveway, window open, fingers tracing the air.

However, things had taken a turn for the unusual recently. It had been two days ago, when he had woken up from a particularly restless night. It had been the crack of dawn when his eyes had finally half opened, and early morning light was starting to spill into his bedroom. Beside him lay Michelle – no, Jennie, her long brown hair spread out over the pillows, her arm resting on his. He nudged away her arm, and sat up, stretching as he did so. That was when he noticed what was wrong. On the wall opposite, there were words etched into the paint. Words which should have not had been there, words which he had no idea as to the origin.

It was a simple message, 3 words – Watch out, Malfoy. A threat, but as to what kind of threat – it was harder to say. He had slowly slipped out from the bed covers, throwing on a silk dressing gown as he did so. As he approached the wall, a feeling prickled down his back, making his hairs stand on his end. He was scared, which was impossible. He hadn't been scared for years, he had learned to block out any fear. He was Draco Malfoy, for God's sake. But, a definite sense of foreboding crept through him as he traced the scratched letters with long pale fingers. So intent was he on the message, he forgot about Stephanie – no, Jennie., and he was only reminded of her when a whiny voice carried across the room.

"Drakey, what are you doing? Come back to bed"

Draco suppressed a shudder. Seriously, it was revolting the way some women spoke to him, treating him like he was their possession or something. They needed to realise that he had complete control over them, and not the other way round. A Malfoy didn't bow down to anyone. He span around, glaring.

"Okay, Danielle – sorry, Jennie. Out".

The girl in the bed with the huge eyes and messed up hair looked at him in perplexion.

"Wh – what, Drakey?"

"Number one, I am not your, or anyone else's "Drakey". Number two; please get out of my house right away before I throw you out. By your hair".

The girl sat up, clutching the bed sheets to her in horror.

"But, Draco – I thought -"

Draco laughed harshly, without any humour at all.

"You thought what? That I meant anything I said last night? You're a fool then Jennie", Draco grabbed the bed sheets from her and tossed her the pile of clothes she had left in an untidy heap on the floor. "Now, put something on, and get out."

"You're a bastard, Draco Malfoy", hissed the girl, fury blazing in her brown eyes. "I should have known not to trust you. You're a fucking bastard".

"And you've only just realised that?" sneered Draco, before the girl ran out of the room. Two minutes later, and he heard the slam of the front door, symbolising his freedom. It was a shame really, he liked Jennie. But he wasn't a relationship sort of person.

Now that any distractions had been removed, he could focus on the inscription in his wallpaper. It was dark magic, he could see that. It was a warning, which was pretty obvious. A warning from what though? He had done nothing wrong, unless you counted breaking a lot of girls hearts and winning a huge pot of Galleons in let's say, suspicious circumstances. No, it was dark magic. And dark magic could only mean –

Death eaters.

The prickle of fear retuned to him. He was definitely not their favourite person, having lied and name-dropping his way out of Azkaban. The ones who had suffered the cells and the Dementors were on the move again, he knew that as well. Building up their own network, strengthening – and disposing of the unsatisfactory people. Like him.

He would have to be on the watch from now on, he could see that.

So what did you think? I'm thinking of expanding this story into a full-blown, multi-chapter DMHP Drarry, but I need opinions before I do so! So please, review. It makes me happy. :)

Thank you for reading!