Draco Malfoy
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Draco wasn't gay. He was sure of that much. Bisexual? It was certainly possible. Despite the Slytherin's 'if it happened when you were drunk, then it didn't happen at all' policy, he was sure Blaise remembered the party where they'd snogged in a corner for the better part of three hours. He did. Vividly.
He'd had girlfriends too, many actually; it was no secret that if you were looking to get laid, Draco was your guy. While his best friend Blaise at least attempted to charm girls, Draco didn't need to make the effort; everyone thought he was extremely funny and sarcastic the way he was. He was neither, only immensely unkind.
That's not to say that he didn't feel affections for anyone. He had a bit of a soft spot for Pansy Parkinson. Most people thought he only kept her around since she put out, but they were wrong. Then again, most people didn't really know Draco Malfoy at all. No one really did. Pansy was one of the few who even came close.
The truth was, Draco was tired. He was tired of being a death eater, tired of the war, tired of being a ice cold Slytherin. He wanted someone to hold him, to tell him that it was all right, that it was all over now. Someone he didn't have to pretend for, that would love him for all of his cowardice and fear.
But that would never happen. The world wasn't full of do-good-Gryffindors like Potter and that beautiful Granger girl. Not that they would bother with broken Slytherins like him. So he did what he did best: smirked, and moved on.
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