Title: Narrations of the Most Idiotic Sort
Author: Savoir Faire
Summary: "And so Draco Malfoy, feeling down and unloved, left the Slytherin common room in search for solace, and, if my instincts are correct, in the form of a two-hour shag with none other than the Boy Who Lived…"
Warning: Randomness, PWP, rated T for language and slash content (HPxDM, what else?)
Disclaimers: If I owned Harry Potter, people would kiss my feet, not JK Rowling's.
Draco Malfoy, son of former Death Eater Lucius Malfoy (former since, he is beyond the world of the living), was pissed. He was intelligent, had a handsome face and a healthy body, and was a pureblood, above all else. He also had a more than ample amount of offers from equally influential families for their daughters' hands in marriage, and to top off his ever growing list of achievements, he went to one of the most prestigious wizarding schools in the world. He went to Hogwarts' School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. And unfortunately for him, this would bring his reign at the top of the world (Ron Weasley: You mean HIS world!) to an end. For Harry James Potter also went to Hogwarts', and was, undoubtedly, the better (grammatically incorrect Ron Weasley: Best!) among the two of them.
'Why?' you might ask.
It's really quite obvious, actually. Harry Potter is the Hogwarts' Golden Boy, the Wizarding World's only hope, and, much to the chagrin of those under Draco's pointy nose, err, rule, was a favourite among the girls—for he is the sex god that invades their every dream and daytime fantasy. That and his father was also from one of the oldest English pureblood families (yes, the Malfoy Family's roots have already been traced back to France), and was, therefore one of the wealthiest young adults in Wizarding England since his coming of age before the beginning of seventh year. And to add insult to injury, he had his mother's gorgeous eyes and love for everything—anything—that was good.
"And that anomaly's mother was a mudblood! A filthy—"
So yes, Draco Malfoy, son of former Death Eater Lucius Malfoy, was pissed.
"Shut up, Zabini!"
"Draco darling, we're Slytherins. As much as we all love and adore each other, we can't help but make fun of a fellow Slytherin's predicament. Even if said Slytherin is you. So stop bemoaning your loss and go sulk somewhere if you don't want to listen to Blaise's narration!"
"Go to hell, the lot of you!"
"Thank you, love, but maybe later. Now Blaise, if you'd be so kind to continue?"
"And so Draco Malfoy, feeling down and unloved, left the Slytherin common room in search for solace, and, if my instincts are correct, in the form of a two-hour shag with none other than the Boy Who Lived To Best Everyone Else—"
BAM!
The portrait to the common room shut close, and then reopened…
"It's not a two-hour shag, by the way. It's an entire evening of love-making. Oh, and Zabini…? Shut up."
And shut close once more.
Fin.
Author's note: Truth be told, I was not in my right mind when I wrote this. I was at a friend's drinking my fifth glass of margarita when I had the sudden urge to write. I borrowed my said friend's computer and eight minutes later (and another glass of margarita), I'm sending this to myself… and I'm back at home now and rereading this. I think it's pointless… But I'm posting it anyway. I learned an Irish word last night, by the way.
Omadhaun. It means idiot. That's what I am, for the time being.
