Author: Luka
Rated: R. Just in case the characters make a grab for their independence and run. You never know, with horny teenagers...
Pairing(s): HP/DM , HM/HP, NL/SS, HM/SS, and more...if I feel like it , or if - as mentioned before.
Disclaimer: these all belong to fantastic JK Rowling - I just added the « realistic » carnal twist to her characters. Yay.
It has not been a good day for Draco Malfoy, and apparently things weren't going to improve.
Not only had he started the day with a masterly headache, but his foul temper has risen to precedently untouched heights when Potter had the cheek to stand on the Gryffindor table and publicly announce his love for Mudblood Granger at lunch - the way he'd jumped down on one knee and kissed her in front of the whole school made Draco accidentally knock the pumpkin juice flask all over squealing Pansy Parkinson.
And it had nothing to do with the wet dreams he just had the previous night, either.
Plus, as he'd walked - stormed - out of the Hall, he'd found Potter and Granger groping at each other's interiors again, and not only had he seen them, but they saw him - and Potter extracted his tongue from - from God knows where , to smirk at his rival:
« Celibate again, Malfoy? The Slut of Slytherin Dungeons at loss of female company? why, why.. »
And that bloody Mudblood had giggled, giggled, and added, clinging to the Boy that Lived ( but not for much longer, thought Draco):
« But maybe Mr. Malfoy isn't interested in girls, Harry...poor Pansy would be sooo disappointed "
The golden-haired teen clenched his fists, bounced a bit on his toes, and strode away, cursing under his breath. And put his want back in his back pocket.
That'd teach them to keep their hands to themselves...well, let's just say quite a lot of erm, relations would be kind of unpleasant to Hermione for a while.
oooo
And now, as he was lounging dignifully - Malfoys never slouch - in his favorite, close-to-the-fire armchair, dreamily tearing Hermione's eyes out with the fireplace poker, a squeal, coming from the other side of the main dungeon common room, rasped through Draco's ears and threatened to tear his brain out as it went, which the boy didn't fully appreciate.
To say the very least.
He rose, spun around, wand raised, roaring:
" Be them cursed, thee who disturb the Dark Lord's meditations",and Avada Kedavra-ed the closest being.
Well, that's what he was going to do, anyway.
In facts, as he rose, he was immediately knocked back into his armchair by a screeching, hairy monstrosity of a ghoul, the creature clinging to Draco's limbs and trying to rip his mouth out with its teeth. The boy struggled for his life.
"Yes, hello Pansy. No, I won't hear you if you scream like that, Pansy. Please get off me, Pansy. Now.
-Oh My God, Draco-puff, did you read that announcement? Oh My God, I'm so excited, Drickietins"
Malfoy groaned, swore to shortly make her pay, and knocked the girl off before painfully ambling to the back wall, where all announcements were pinned - well, proof-clung, actually , this was Slytherin after all - and swore.
Loudly. Repeatedly. Extremely impolitely, too, as his eyes darted across the page.
o
It read.:
To all Hogwarts Students
Following the ancient wizardly traditions of trust and volition, Pr.Dumbledore and the members of the Hogwarts teaching team have decided, to symbolize each and everyone of us's purity and trust in each other, an underwear modeling contest, at the end of which a jury will vote to elect the school's Trust Modeling Winner.
The lucky models will be chosen, one per house, at dinnertime next Friday. They will then have the weekend to prepared their modeling, choose the music which will accompany them onstage, and the presentation they will give the school body, students, teachers and staff alike.
The staff would like to make it clear to all participants that any size-changing potions and other magical treatments of any nature are strictly forbidden. Thank you..
Pr.Mc Gonnagal, Pr Dumbledore, Pr Snape, Fudge, Mme Rita Skeeter.
o
Malfoy stopped cursing, and frowned.
Why Rita Skeeter?...well, we'll see...there was no question for him to even attend that ridiculous meeting, despite all Pansy's squeals and eyelash-batting.
Without turning his head, he hissed - Malfoys never shout - over his shoulder:
"Time"
He smirked as half the dungeon anxiously pulled their pocket watches out of cloth and bag, and half-heartedly yawned.
"Don't bother, actually - it's 8.07PM, on Thursday, December the 10th."
Tomorrow would reveal what all this nonsense was about...did his father know about it?
Humming under his breath, Draco strolled out of the common room, velvet cape trailing, slammed the door to his room, stretched like a cat before supper, and fell right asleep.
oo
Morning came for Draco as it had for the past week - a sudden rush of cold, the blasting headache, and then the blasted memories of his dreams.
He'd dreamt about Potter again - Potter with Hermione, sneering at him, Potter leaning forward and hissing and kissing him, his hands on Potters' skin...
Malfoy shook the thoughts away as he stumbled into his private bathroom - being a Prefect did have some advantages, after all - and slid under the boiling shower.
He stood there for a couple of minutes, letting the hot water soothe his brow and make him feel alive - after all, dreams didn't count, did they?
A Malfoy couldn't be gay just because he constantly awoke with memories of an enemy's body pressed hard against his - oh god, don't think about hard...
Draco stared disbelievingly, but with no surprise, at his now fully awake member - Lord, why was little Potter that much of a turn-on for him?
The bottom part of Draco immediately presented him with a bucketload of answers, most of which poked at the fact that, actually, the word 'little' could not likely be associated with Harry, but he locked his mind , and decided to excommunicate his groin were it ever to behave in that manner.
Too bad he'd sworn this for the past three days, really...
oo
So, of course, once again his temper fell to the lowest depths of hell ( H like Harry !, squealed an unspoken of part of Draco's brain ) as he delicately ate his breakfast - Malfoys don't slouch nor slurp, 'though he strangely felt like it today - and stormed out of the Grand Hall, glaring at the old Sorting Hat as he passed it.
If that foul object dared choose him, him, to make a fool out of himself in front of the whole school...wait.
No rush, no rush...it wasn't like he had any , well, problems in that department, was it? And Malfoys through the ages had been renown for their fitness and...capability...so what was there to worry about?
Suddenly, the prospect of showing off his...musculature to the whole school didn't seem that humiliating after all - an honor of sorts, actually...Who knew if there wouldn't even be a price in Gallions? What would Rudolf Weasley think about that eh?...Come to this, how would Harry react to Modeling Malfoy?... ... ...
uh-oh.
Bad thoughts, Draco, bad thoughts...potion lesson, potion lesson, now.
Think about potions. Think about cauldrons. Think about wands. ...
Actually, don't think about wands too much.
Draco was a gifted Occlumens, and he knew it - he had been taught by Lucius Malfoy himself, after all - but, furiously brewing his passion-red potion while Neville's cauldron exploded and Snape rushed towards the incompetent Gryffindor, he just didn't seem capable of totally enclosing the disturbing part of his brain, and invading thoughts tended to seriously distract him from stewing and sniffing and all in all looking perfectly calm and distinguished.
He didn't have a crush on Harry Potter, did he?
He couldn't!
Yes, of course Draco had read all of these teenage novels were hate turns into love et caetera, but these were fictions, for God's sake!
Between a boy and a girl!
Plus, he didn't hate little Potty Potter. He just despised him.
Yeah.
That's it.
Despise his ambling around like he owned the place, despise his deep, oh-so-naïve green eyes, despise that luxurious mass of hair and that tight chest and those gently parted lips that trembled, oh-so-lightly, when something had just touched the boy...
o
"Malfoy!"
Snape's voice snapped though his - yes, his reveries like a whip though the fog ( those same parts of Draco's brain presented him with quite interesting associations of Harry and whips, and why not a little whip cream here and there ) as the teacher loomed over the blond student's cauldron.
"I didn't think I'd ever say that, but you have been paying no attentions to my instructions! Detention, tonight! I'll see you in my office after class."