Chapter 2: Plans for the Night
When he flew, he felt free, free of anything holding him down. Draco raced over a copse of trees which melted together in a blur of dark green. The night was freezing but he inhaled deeply, the cold air burning his lungs and clearing his head. He shot straight up toward the stars, dove in spirals, made graceful arcs and loops, leading his broom in an elegant dance across the night sky.
He flew so closely over a nearby lake that the tips of his shoes splashed across its glassy surface. Then he was content to just soar around the countryside; the bright moon cast a silvery glow onto the grassy hills, and the peacefulness of it made him smile. An actual, genuine smile, the kind that rarely animated his tightly-controlled disposition.
After a while, though, he began to feel the loneliness that always enveloped him when his guard was down. Too much quiet amounted to too many unwelcome thoughts. Who did he have to call his own, really? Friends? He scoffed. No; his Slytherin posse was simply a group of associates he could exploit, his girlfriends were only useful for his ego and his sex drive, and his family? Well, they weren't exactly a picnic-on-the-beach trio.
His mother loved him, of course, and he loved her back with everything he had. But as he grew, she was becoming more and more… exasperating, he hated to admit. She constantly fixed his hair, lectured him on the importance of a good night's sleep, made sure he finished his soup. He mused over the fact that only a single letter separated the word "mother" and "smother."
He had no desire to go back home until it was absolutely necessary, so he sped over to The Cauldron. The Cauldron was an upscale club where an eclectic mix of university-aged wizards and witches met to dance to the live music, kick back with friends at the bar, or find secluded spots to fool around.
Draco was a year too young to be admitted, but the manager and the bouncers knew better than to refuse Lucius Malfoy's son. Not that Lucius would have ever allowed Draco to go there in the first place, but Draco figured that what his father didn't know wouldn't hurt him.
Draco ignored the bouncers and sauntered into the club, effortlessly switching on his characteristic arrogance. The club had already kicked into high gear; the band was rocking loudly and the drinks were flowing. The dance floor was crowded with partiers, their bodies glistening with sweat as they raved under the pulsating black lights. Draco made his way through them and headed over to the bar.
The bartender, Cadmus, greeted him with an enthusiastic smile.
"Good evening, Master Malfoy. I trust things are well with you?"
"As always," Draco replied smoothly.
"Will it be your usual tonight?" Draco nodded; Cadmus poured him a double shot of Ogden's Finest and slid a small brass key across the bar. Draco pocketed the key and picked up his drink. He gave a courteous nod of his head, laid down ten Galleons (eight of which were a generous tip for Cadmus) and turned toward the lounge.
He heard a familiar voice call "Oi! Malfoy!" and looked toward the back corner of the lounge. His "associates" had already arrived; their connection to Draco conveniently afforded them the same underage admittance. Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle were relaxing on the plush green-and-silver chairs, empty glasses strewn about their table. This was the official Slytherin grad table, and any non-Slytherin (current or otherwise) who made the mistake of sitting there ended up with a nasty case of itching blisters on their backsides.
"How's the rest of your holiday going?" Blaise asked Draco. "Perfect," he lied, knowing Blaise knew exactly how his holiday was going- Zabini had been through enough of them at Draco's home. He masked his anger at Blaise's jibe and quickly changed the direction of the conversation to a more pleasant topic.
"Got some new Quidditch gear for Christmas: dragon-hide leather gloves from Romania and- he paused for effect- the new Firebolt 370."
Goyle gasped. "That's not even on the market yet!"
"It is for my father," Draco replied coolly. "And I'm heading to France for a day or two. There's a certain Beauxbaton who wants to have some 'quality time' together."
"In your dreams, Malfoy," Blaise replied with a snort.
Draco simply reached inside his suit jacket and placed a small parchment note on the table. Blaise leaned over skeptically and opened it. Inside was a picture of breathtaking blonde (most certainly part-Veela) who was blowing kisses. She was clad in an exquisite ensemble of black-and-emerald lingerie, the colors chosen specifically because she knew they were his favourite.
At the bottom of the note were a few elegantly-penned sentences in French. Unlike Draco, Blaise couldn't speak French, but he was pretty sure he got the gist of her message anyway. Draco sat back in his chair nonchalantly, a cocky grin spreading across his face. Blaise shook his head and smiled with grudging admiration. "I don't know how you do it, mate," he chuckled.
"I don't have to do anything, mate. It's just a natural ability. I'm sorry you missed that particular strand of DNA," Draco replied, simultaneously joking and putting Blaise back in his place. Draco would always be the Alpha male in their pack. Goyle, Crabbe and Nott missed the exchange entirely; they were still gaping at the French girl's picture.
There were always plenty of single girls milling about The Cauldron. Theo noticed a group of first-year university girls giggling and staring at them. "Look sharp, lads. We've got prospects!" The five Slytherins turned around and gave the girls a quick once-over. "Quite the lovely assortment," leered Blaise. "The evening's looking up."
Draco was already on his feet, striding over to Cadmus. "Bring those girls a refill of whatever they're drinking, complements of Slytherin House," he told the old man. Cadmus began filling his artfully-sculptured glasses with liquids of strikingly vibrant hues, and walked the refreshments over to the girls. They giggled some more and looked over at the boys, smiling excitedly and mouthing thank-you's.
Draco offered his most charming smile and beckoned them over to the table. At the sight of their eagerness to oblige, Draco turned to his cohorts and remarked, "They seem so enthusiastic, even Crabbe might get laid tonight." The boys erupted into laughter. All except Crabbe.
These girls were not from Hogwarts; they were first-years at The Mystic University about forty miles away. That made them ideal dates, as the boys could hopefully get some action for the evening and then never have to see them again. Draco stood up and began introductions. He zeroed in on the beautiful raven-haired girl, kissed her hand and gave her the smile he'd perfected for such occasions.
"Draco Malfoy," he stated his name with seductive articulation, "And who might you be?"
"Sara Greenleaf," she responded, blushing from the feel of his lips on the back of her hand.
"Please sit down, Sara Greenleaf," he smiled while pulling out his chair. She responded exactly the way he knew she would.
"But then where will you sit?" she asked, doe-eyed.
"Well," he drawled, fixing his magnetic grey eyes on hers, "You could always sit on my lap; I guarantee you'll have the best seat in the house."
She blushed again and, with a nervous giggle, sat down on his lap. He wrapped an arm around her waist and picked up his drink, smirking inwardly at the strategy that never failed him. The group drank and danced for about an hour; then Draco put his lips to Sara's ear and whispered, "Let's go for a walk outside."
She agreed, and they stepped into the frigid night air. Sara shivered half- innocently; her breath made warm puffs of mist in the air as she complained how very cold she was. That was Draco's cue.
He took off his cloak and chivalrously wrapped it around her. He gently backed her up against the side of the building and, pressing his body close to hers, whispered, "I can keep you very warm, if you like." He placed his fingers under her chin and tilted her face up to his; slowly he let his lips touch hers. She gave a slight gasp when their lips met but quickly abandoned herself to his kiss.
He teased her lips with his tongue, smiling when he heard her breathing quicken. He kissed her more intensely, letting his tongue explore her mouth as she responded with her own. Pressing himself against her harder, he trailed warm kisses down her neck. "Just allow me to turn up the heat, darling," he purred and felt her arms wrap tightly around him.
Keeping to his usual routine, he led her to the back door of the club. He held her hand and guided her up the stairs to a quiet hallway lined with several doors. He stopped at the last one, pulled the brass key from his pocket, and unlocked the door. Inside was a stylish mini-suite with chic furnishings. Draco was about to invite her to sit with him on the sofa, but she paused at the bedroom door. She put her hand on the doorframe and gave him a sweet, tempting smile.
He raised an eyebrow in mild surprise. It was almost too easy- he liked having to work a little to get them to give in. She was apparently ready, though. He moved toward her and, for a moment, he wondered if she just might be playing him as much as he was playing her. A second later, he stopped caring about his theory as she began unbuttoning his shirt.
She leaned into him and kissed the base of his neck; her lips felt almost uncomfortably hot against his cool skin. He quivered at the kiss and felt the lower region of his body respond in anticipation. He pulled her close and felt for the zipper of her dress, drawing it down to the small of her back. He glided it over her shoulders and let it fall at her feet. She was beautifully clad in a pale pink brassiere and thong panties. Draco couldn't help but run his hands over her nearly-naked skin, and he sighed as he cupped her breasts and his thumbs glided over her alert nipples. He slowly kissed and bit gently on the space between her neck and shoulder, earning a satisfied moan from Sara. She moaned louder when his right hand strayed between her thighs and his middle finger skimmed the dampness of her panties. She embraced him tighter and he backed her into the room, kissing her fiercely. He drew her to the bed, never breaking the kiss.
Sitting down, he pulled her onto his lap while she dragged his shirt down over his shoulders and threw it on the floor. He lay back and pulled her on top of him, moaning with pleasure as she ran her hand over the front of his trousers and unbuttoned them. She quickly removed his pants and shorts, rendering him completely naked. Draco wasn't used to such a…dominantwoman , and he wasn't sure if he liked it or not. He felt more comfortable in control of the situation. To even the playing field, he grabbed her under her arms and pulled her to his chest. He slid his hands around her to reach the clasp of her bra, freeing her beautifully rounded breasts. Taking one in his mouth, he suckled and playfully bit her nipple, causing her to whimper with desire. He slipped his arm around her waist and, in one swift movement, flipped her over onto her back. Her eyes widened in surprise and he chuckled. In another singular move, he hooked his fingers in the sides of her panties and pulled them off, throwing them to the ground. Now he was on top of her, just the way he liked it. He spread her thighs with his knees and heard her gasp. He used his fingers to play with her, causing her back to arch and her breathing to quicken. He slipped one finger inside her, then two, and her hips bucked in time to his movements. When he had gotten her properly wet, he took away his hand and plunged into her. She cried out and he bit his lip, feeling her muscles tighten around him. He drove into her hard, because that was how to dominate an aggressive woman. She didn't seem to have a problem with it. At last, he shuddered and collapsed on top of her, sweat-sheened and trembling. A quick flick of his wand cleaned everything up, and Draco pulled Sara to his chest, squeezing her gently as she snuggled up to him. As he rested, he stared at the ceiling. At least she'll keep me warm tonight. He'd lost count of how many girls had unknowingly offered the same comfort. His thoughts were interrupted by a jolt of electricity to his crotch, as Sara began stroking him with the perfect amount of pressure. Then he stopped thinking altogether.
