A/N: This piece is very heavy on profanity. You have been forwarned. I took it upon myself to do something from Draco's POV, and I hope I did him some justice. If you like this, go check out my D/Hr fic, Hermione Granger is a Whore. If you don't, check it out anyway, and if you hate it, leave me some awful reviews.

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I hate the way her hair shapes her face so perfectly. Those gorgeous January embers.

I hate the way she's unwittingly beautiful. Looks like that Weasel mother finally got it right. You would think good genes just couldn't come from that family. Like it was against some fucking law of heredity.

She's got that so-sure, do-gooder, self-righteous attitude, alright–one that makes me want to hurl. Just fucking hurl. And not because that sort of thing is particularly nauseating–even if I do prefer the slyer, classier approach–but because she just hasn't got a clue. Hold up your protest posters all you want, Ginny Weasley, but until you've had a taste of the real world, I don't want to hear your goddamn sermon. But I suppose it's a great deal easier to rebel when the mummy and daddy footing the bill don't hold you to any expectations. Bet they even told her she could make a difference in the world if she really, really tried, and–shoot me now–believed in herself. And that gave her some barmy idea that she could just say whatever the fuck she wanted, because "Ginevra, if you can't speak your mind, then you may as well be a house elf." Hell, that might've come from that feminist bitch friend of hers.

But at least that one's ugly as hell. It's like a fucking prerequisite for ugly cows to be obnoxious as well. Hell, if you're not too easy on the eyes, then you may as well go all the way and make everyone wish they were dead when you open your mouth, too. The difference is that men don't sit in fancy restaurants buying Hermione Granger drinks, listening to her naive rhetoric for hours, because they don't have any intention of taking her home for a good fuck, even if she would, under the influence of some strong sedative, agree to it.

It'll be a cold day in hell before I take Hermione Granger anywhere in a ten-foot radius from my flat.

But I'd take Ginny in a heart-beat. I'd take her and I'd fucking ravish her. Up against a wall or something kinky like that. Hell, I might not even make it past the front door to find a wall. And that's fucking bothersome. Take it from me; I can handle almost any bimbo with shit for brains, as long as her head is situated atop a great pair of tits. Something about that one, though. It's one thing when you foot the bill for a dumb tart who knows she's dumb, or is at least oblivious. It's entirely another to have to put up with one who thinks she's hot shit. There's no reason I should fancy her.

Because no woman should be allowed to exert her sanctimonious, holier-than-thou, I'll-fuck-you-but-you-need-to-show-me-the-'R'-word complex on Draco Malfoy. Ginny Weasley may think she's hot shit because one time Harry Potter saved her from a big bad snake when she was two, but you've got to be dense as brick to think that took any measure of ingenuity. She never had a choice like mine to make.

Hey Ginny, you're not special. Why don't you go have your hero boyfriend Avada-Kedavra you into oblivion?

I need a fucking drink.