Some Like It Hot

Draco Malfoy was hotter than the late August backside of a Blast-Ended Skrewt.

Not that he hadn't always been a sexy beast. After all, this was the boy who, even in the comfort of his very own home, faced troubles daily for his unequaled sex appeal. But recently it seemed his unmatched good looks had risen above and beyond all previous levels.

Draco was used to his mirror's suggestive comments, and it had gotten to the point where he barely heard the catcalls from portraits lining the cathedral-like halls of Malfoy Manor. He'd often dealt with the inappropriate caresses of enchanted shrubbery, and even accepted the nightly kerfluffles between house elves over who would run Young Master Malfoy's bath water.

After all, these attentions were nothing less than his due.

But when Pansy Parkinson exploded, Draco began to suspect that something was amiss.

Up until today, Draco thought he'd seen it all: swoons, nervous giggles, blushes, fluttery eyelashes, showers of expensive gifts, and occasionally, some drool. The affects of his divine beauty varied far and wide, but never before had he provoked such an... explosive reaction.

It all started when Pansy waltzed into Draco's room, snapping up the first chance she had to see him after the start of term banquet went rather awry. Let's just say, no thanks to a more deranged than usual Weasley, she'd escaped without visible burns on her newly purchased Madame Malkin's knitted poncho. Draco had been smart to stay away.

Little did she know, Draco had not missed the banquet because of some divine foreknowledge, but more out of self-preservation.

A catastrophe had rocked poor Draco's world that summer, something more dire even than the exposure of his father's Voldemort allegiance. Just days before the start of term, Draco had used up the very last drop of his Vapiddy-Do Hair Gel, specially formulated for "White-Hot Blonde" (69 sickles an ounce, market value). Woe the incompetence of hired help, the Parisian house elves responsible for manufacturing this styling necessity had been unavailable. When urgently contacted, the customer hotline offered up nothing more than standard managerial pretext.

Something about a freak tornado.

There was obviously no way he could go to school without his usual immaculately slicked coif.

Unfortunately, his mother did not sympathize.

"Why don't you wear a hat?" she'd suggested.

But the brim would obscure his imperial forehead!

"Why are you such a cold, unfeeling monster?"

At long last Draco beguiled his mother into letting him take the flying carriage, insisting that, at long last he'd realized public transportation was much too far beneath him. So plebian.

Also, the other kids might make fun of his hair.

Anyway, when Pansy opened the door to Draco's dormitory, she found him changing into a custom tailored pair of pajamas (black silk). Sadly, his stunningly lithe figure was modestly hidden behind a rice-paper screen.

Yes, a screen.

You'd want a screen too if you shared a dorm with Crabbe and Goyle. Their eyes have a way of wandering...

"Oh Draco!" exclaimed Pansy. "How are you doing, darling?"

"Pansy love," said Draco, "isn't a bit early in the year to start the breaking and entering phase of stalking me?"

Pansy, overcome by Draco's seductively mellifluous voice, a quality she'd formerly overlooked in her reasons for adoring him (#53-he's rich), conjured a frilly pink fan to her aid, and began waving it. Unfortunately for her, this accessory would be unable to save her from a spectacularly fiery end.

"Don't be cruel, I just wanted to know how you're dealing with those nasty rumors. It must be so hard for you."

Draco puzzled behind the screen, his silhouette adopting a particularly fetching stance.

"What rumors?" asked Draco. "I go to St. Lucia all summer and someone starts a rumor about me? I'm the only one allowed to do that!"

Draco fumed (attractively).

"I mean about your father," explained Pansy in hushed tones, deciding the cute way Draco fumed was a close second to reason # 125 (he's really very rich). She had the sudden urge to give Draco a reassuring pat on the back, and then maybe lick his ear a few times for good measure.

"That's not a rumor," said Draco dismissively. "My father is a Death Eater."

The way Draco articulated "Death Eater" sent shivers down Pansy's spine. Why, it might even beat reason #1,067 (he's richer than my grandmother's quadruple chocolate fudge cake). If he pronounced syllables like that, just imagine what else that boy could do with his tongue!

Feeling flushed, Pansy fanned more vigorously.

"So it's true! An evil minion father under the influence of the Dark Lord! I had no idea you came from such a dark and troubled home. You poor thing."

Never in his life had Draco been more insulted. Without even finishing buttoning up his shirt, he stormed out from behind the screen, intending to inform that insolent strumpet that he was anything but, shudder, poor. But Draco and his arrestingly lethal good looks lost the chance the moment they stepped into view.

Because that's when Pansy exploded.

Nothing really gory you understand. She simply combusted, leaving behind a small pile of smoldering ashes. And of course, the fan.

Perhaps she was overwhelmed by the full on image of Draco Malfoy in black silk, the way the light hit his features perfectly, illuminating already breathtakingly fair skin. Or maybe it was the way his eyes blazed with indignation as they met hers, as if he was trying to hide a deeper, more profound pain behind his outrage. She was particularly taken with the variation in texture of his lightly tousled hair, so different from the usual and slicked back sheet of platinum blond. And those cheekbones, miles higher than a cough syrup junkie on cocaine! Either way, beholding such a really really really ridiculously good-looking sight was bound to overwhelm any mere mortal.

"Oh bugger," said Draco. "That better not leave a stain."

As much as he enjoyed the look of his room without Pansy and her irksome devotion fouling things up. (bad feng shui that), Draco was rather curious as to why Parkinson had just exploded. He decided to ask around for theories. But before walking out of his room, Draco, unable to resist the stunning temptation, paused for one last glance in the mirror. That always cheered him up.

"You gorgeous creature you."

Ten minutes later, he pulled himself away and headed for the common room.

~~

"Draco!" hailed Malcolm Baddock the moment he walked in, "Can't believe you missed it. There was a HUGE fire at dinner, almost burned the school down!"

Draco was rather inclined to interrupt this fascinating story, deciding he couldn't have been less interested if Miles Bletchley had been talking about his macaroni statue collection. Once you've seen one five-inch tall pasta creation in the likeness of a beloved celebrity, you've seen them all.

"Listen everyone," began Draco, "Pansy just exploded, and I demand to know why."

"I always thought it would be cooler to implode," philosophized Theodore Knott.

Draco puzzled for a moment, "The difference being...?"

"Imoplode im-"pld vb: to burst or collapse inward. Exoplode ik-"spld vb to burst or cause to burst violently and noisily."

"Thank you Goyle, but this really isn't helping me to figure out why, Pansy's turned into a pile of potentially floor-damaging ash."

Most of the other Slytherins were too absorbed in their own pasta projects to be shocked by this news. Contrary to popular belief, Slytherins do not spend all their spare time concocting devious plans. When not styling their hair, many enjoy arts and crafts projects.

"Maybe she was overcome by your intensely good-looks combined with the new, brooding and forsaken persona," suggested Malcolm.

"Brooding and forsaken? I thought I was irritating and despicable," pouted Draco. Then as an afterthought, "Also pretty."

"Actually, ever since Potter told everyone about your dad's Death Eater allegiance, you've achieved a solid brooding and forsaken. You are just so tragically misunderstood. It's all over the latest issue of Teen Witch Weekly."

Draco was too overcome by shock and outrage to ask exactly why Malcolm had been reading TWW.

"Are you saying my painstakingly crafted reputation has been ruined by that rat fink Wonder Boy Potter?" shouted Draco, his temper mounting to dangerously sexy levels. "When I said I was going to make him pay before, I was just planning on a vengeful wedgie, but this, this calls for almost certain DEATH!"

Draco pounded his fist on the table, sending macaroni flying.

"Your reputation isn't entirely ruined," reassured Malcolm. "You're still pretty."

Momentarily forgetting his fit of malevolent rage, Draco ran a hand through his hair.

"You think?"

"Oh most definitely," agreed Morag MacDougal, absorbed in a game of exploding Snap. "The look in those sultry silver eyes has always made me feel a bit steamy."

"I didn't know you were in Slytherin," said Draco.

Morag looked up, straight into the curiously sensual smoky orbs that graced Draco's fair face, but before she could say, "What other house would I be in with a name like Morag?" she exploded. Oh wait, imploded.

"Cool," breathed Crabbe.

Draco turned to Malcolm, who'd dove under a couch cushion the moment Morag went up in flames.

"So you're saying I have the power to incinerate others with a single glance?"

Malcolm, cowering in fear, made a muffled squeak that sounded suspiciously like "Don't hurt me, you sexy beast."

Death, destruction, and cowering minions. Draco could get used to this.

But with such grand skills comes grave duty, he must only use these powers for evil. Maybe he'd even be able to incinerate something of Potter's. Then he'd be sorry for ever defiling the name of Malfoy.

The irony was just delicious

"I'm going to find Potter," declared Draco, licking his lips. "He will pay for ruining my reputation. Pay, and pay dearly."

Draco smirked, seductively.

"Check the library," advised Goyle.

"Wait! You can't go," said Miles Bletchley. "Blaise is supposed to get here soon, and we need you to pose for a statue, made entirely out of macaroni!"

As much as he appreciated the gesture, Draco thought it best he refuse. He saw no reason for decimating the already dwindling numbers of his loyal followers. So far his deadly good looks had only worked on girls, but who really knew with that Blaise Zabini character?

"Some other time," said Draco, stepping out of the common room and heading for the library.

He would find Potter eventually, but that didn't mean he couldn't have a bit of fun on the way.

~~

Although it was news to him, Draco's new darkly troubled image had been developing long since the end of last term, and was already firmly rooted in the minds of almost the entire wizarding world. Over the summer, word had spread, until everyone knew that Draco's father was nothing less than an honest to goodness Death Eater.

And didn't that just about explain it all? Draco came from a troubled background. He was haunted by a dark and tainted past! His own father consorted with pure evil! Such a difficult home life, while bearing the weight of darkness on his shoulders, was bound to make him act out!

No longer was he just some spoiled, cheeky bastard. Draco Malfoy was misunderstood.

The affects of this news even managed to penetrate the core of Malfoy Hatred Central, otherwise known as Gryffindor common room.

Harry and Ron had been talking about a Daily Prophet article, reporting the unquestioned evil allegiance of Lucius Malfoy, when Parvati Patil chanced upon their conversation.

"Ooh, I heard about that," she said enthusiastically. "Doesn't it just make you want to smother him in kisses and lick chocolate syrup off those irresistible biceps?"

"Unghkcuh," responded Ron, choking on disbelief and then falling out of his chair, while Harry's eyes widened with a horrified horror fathoms deeper than anything he had ever felt upon observing the grotesque face of the Dark Lord.

Parvati looked stricken

"Oops. Did I say that out loud?"

At the time, Harry was too busy fainting to reply.

~~

Having left Miles Bletchley without inspiration, Draco was walking along the corridor to the Entrance Hall. He was half way to the dungeon's exit, when he heard footsteps padding along behind him.

"S'cuse me mister?" squeaked a very tiny girl, holding a canvas bag of sweets in her itty-bitty first year hand and popping some of the little green morsels it held into her mouth. She chewed noisily, her pink-bow-tied pigtails bobbing as she bounced around.

"D'you know where the bathroom is?"

Draco spun about (in a very sexy way) to throw a scathing glance at whatever was delaying him.

He had a very brief impression of blue eyes and bunny slippers, before the entire image went up in flames.

His powers even worked on innocent bystanders!

A pile of ash marked the spot where bunny-slippers had once stood, the bag of sweets she'd been eating lying abandoned, spilling its green, sugarcoated contents across the floor.

"Like stealing candy from a baby," said Draco, stooping to pick up the brown canvas sack. He'd sworn he'd use these powers only for evil, and so far that vow was working out splendidly.

Peered into the bag, Draco scooped out a handful. Examining the pieces, he noticed a small white 'm' emblazoned on the side of each.

"Way to be cryptic," he muttered to the candies.

Were they filled with magnesium, marmoset, macramé, maggot...? Probably not something poisonous if that little girl was eating them.

Of course, she had just imploded.

But in an entirely unrelated incident.

Hoping for marmalade, Draco popped the entire handful in his mouth and continued on his way. They tasted of chocolate, with a satisfying crunch. Smirking with self-satisfaction, Draco scooped some more out of the bag and chomped down noisily.

These things were addictive

~~

By the time Draco had reached the foot of the staircase he really needed something to wash down all that chocolate. He decided to stop by the Great Hall and maybe to scrounge up a glass of water.

"Oh sweet hair-gel!" exclaimed Draco, for the moment he walked into the Hall, a horrendous sight met his eyes.

Almost half of the room was charcoal black, scorched from floor to ceiling, the curtains in burned tatters, and the enchanted ceiling hidden under a cloud of black smoke. The house tables were burned to a crisp. The entire place should have been deserted, but one figure remained, sitting cross-legged in the middle of the room and sobbing violently.

"Why-sniff - does the world-sob -hate me?" the unidentified girl moaned.

In situations such as this, Draco would normally be inclined to back awaaay from the tear-streaked maniac. But as this particular tear-streaked maniac had a full, tantalizing glass of fresh water sitting beside her, Draco's parched tongue convinced him to stay. Hopefully he could just blast her to ashes, take the water, and scaddadle.

"Excuse me," said Draco, clearing his throat.

The girl jumped five feet in the air, a difficult feat as she remained sitting.

"Don't scare me like that!" she whimpered, looking past Draco with tear blinded eyes. "Why is-sob-everyone making my life so- sniff- miserable? Haven't I been through enough?!" She burst into tears with renewed energy, burying her head in her hands.

Now Draco recognized her, good old tears-on-her-eyelashes Cho blubbering Chang.

"Michael thinks he can just leave me here-sniff -, with a glass of water...as if that could make me feel better... but, but, NOTHING can comfort me. This is just too horrible!"

"Why's that?"

"As if you care! Nobody cares! I'm more misunderstood than that poor Draco Malfoy..." Cho's voice was lost in sobs again as she tried to explain. "First day of school...banquet...fizzing whizzby...."

"There, there," said Draco. "That's doesn't sound so bad."

But Cho would not be consoled.

"But the worst part is, oh it's so very tragic, the entire goblet fell and spilled my MILK all over everything!"

Spilled milk? Draco got misty-eyed just thinking about it.

"You poor thing. Here, have my handkerchief."

Cho took the crisp linen square gratefully, and blew her nose. Wiping the tears from her puffy red eyes, she turned to thank her benefactor.

"Thanks for listening. I just want to..."

But before she could say, "...slather you in hot fudge and eat you with a spoon," Cho met the same fate as all the other unearthly beauty-struck souls before her.

Who says spontaneous combustion is overrated?

"Finally!" said Draco, stooping to pick up the delicious glass of thirst quenching water remaining beside a pile of tear-soaked cinders.

"I thought she'd never stop crying."

Draco chugged the water down, and with quenched thirst, continued on his way to the library.

~~

On his way to the library, Draco passed that redheaded git that Potter was always hanging around with, carrying three flaming torches and muttering to himself as he hurried down the hall. His babbling sounded suspiciously like, "Flames, destruction, burn, burn them all..."

But that couldn't be right.

Draco resisted the urge to comment, as his mouth was full of chocolate.

When he finally walked into the library, there was no sign of Potter to be found. No admiring entourage, no hopelessly misspelled Potions homework, not even a misplaced diamond tiara (made him feel pretty, or at least that's what the tabloids had been saying). However, there was a small group, scattered with Gryffindors, clustered around a nearby table. Maybe they would reveal Potter's whereabouts? Ever so stealthily, Draco crept behind a bookshelf and conjured up a megaphone. The better to eavesdrop with, my dear.

"I can't believe Ron would light the table cloths on fire!" exclaimed Padma Patil. "Are you sure it was him?"

Draco thought maybe he could answer that one.

"Quite sure," replied Hermione curtly. She was trying to study, but there was an epidemic of fluff headed twins, contaminating the library with their inane conversations. Didn't they have studying to do?

"But why?"

Hermione's eye started to twitch. Damned nervous habit.

"Because," said Hermione, slamming her book shut, "he craves attention, and has decided that lighting various objects on fire will make people to notice him. He has a complex."

"Really? I've always thought Ron had nice skin, " said Parvati, who was sitting next to her sister.

Twitch.

"Yes, well, I've been meaning to talk to him about that. Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I'll head up to the common room."

"Toodles!" chorused the Patil twins, waving to Hermione's back as she stalked out of the library.

I always knew that girl was smart

, thought Draco, who couldn't have been less interested in the pyromaniac tendencies of that redheaded weasel.

He was about to turn around and wander aimlessly about the halls again. Maybe explode a few more people (how about the Hufflepuffs? It's not like they had anything better to do), but halted when one of the shrill, identical ones mentioned his name.

"You know who has really nice skin?" said Padma, turning to her sister. "Draco Malfoy!"

Behind the bookcase, Draco preened.

"It's so delicately white. Like he's never seen the light of day!"

"I bet his evil father kept him locked in a dungeon or something."

Only once

, thought Draco. But I picked the padlock with my bobby pin.

"But its so worth it for skin like that!!" said Parvati, continuing her use of exclamation points to annoying excess.

"He must have had such a hard childhood!!!! And we always thought he was he was just a snotty little git!!!!!"

"How could he have been so misunderstood?!!!!!"

There was a moment of enraptured silence as the two contemplated that beauteous snow-white vision beneath which hid a frustrated soul.

Sigh.

"He has nice hair too," breathed Padma. "It's so gleaming and blond!!!!!!!"

Isn't it though

, thought Draco, forgiving her entirely for the 'snotty git' comment.

"I hear he dyes it," whispered Parvati, divulging the choicest piece of gossip she'd had since the whole Snape, pink boxers, leather mini-skirt incident.

Lies, lies, of all the filthy dirty lies!

Draco barely contained himself from jumping out from behind the books and strangling her fraudulent throat.

"Even if it's true, who cares?" said Padma, "I'd still want to feed him strawberries while wearing scanty clothing and licking whipped cream of the tip his pointy little nose!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

"Me too!!!!!!!!!!!! Oooh, if only he was here right now!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Draco stepped out from behind the bookcase.

"Why, hello ladies, that does sound like a plan," he crooned, giving them a look that screamed 'shag me senseless.'

But before Draco had the chance to summon a single strawberry, the Patil twins went up in flames.

That's right, synchronized spontaneous combustion.

Draco let out a blood-curdling shriek, for in that moment he realized the perilous consequences of his dangerously high level of dark attractiveness.

His sex-life was in danger!

How could he have been so blind? He'd already incinerated Pansy Parkinson. Now who could he go to for sexual favors? Sure more than half the school wanted to get in his pants, but that wasn't much help if they exploded at the very sight of him.

"Curse my good looks!" wailed Draco.

All thoughts of tracking down Potter flew out of Draco's head. What was the point of sweet revenge without some good old tender loving on the side? Draco was going to find someone immune to the fiery powers of his attractiveness if it was the last thing he did.

After all there's no 'bust' in combustion.

~~

On his way out of the door, Draco realized that while he had been listening to the Patil twin's conversation, half the library had gone up in flames.

Well that explained the smoky smell.

Stepping around a fallen, blazing support beam, Draco hurried down the hall. Enveloped in smoke, he ran blindly, turned a corner, and ran smack dab into Professor McGonagall.

Although he doubted the head of a house like Gryffindor would be able to help him with his love life, Draco had reached a point of total desperation.

"Professor! You have to help me," appealed Draco (and he was oh so appealing).

"Not now Mr. Malfoy," replied McGonagall sharply, barely glancing at the distressed boy as she continued her sharp clip down the hall. "I've just been informed of a fire in the library! There's simply no time for me to assist you at the moment."

"What fire?" asked Draco persuasively, breathing in a lung full of smoke and bursting into a fit of coughs. "There's no fire."

Even with clouds of smoke obscuring his vision, Draco could tell Professor McGonagall was not convinced. She continued to walk trailed blindly by Draco.

"But even if there was a fire, though I highly doubt there is, it's not nearly as urgent as what I'm going through. Who cares about Weasley's stupid cry for attention? My problem is much more important!"

Professor McGonagall halted, spinning around to regard Draco's smoke obscured form with a sharp eye.

"It seems I've fallen victim to some sort of... Sex Hex!"

...a sharp eye that turned suddenly tender.

"Now, now, Draco darling, there's no need to fret. I know you've been though quite a bit these last few months." McGonagall swept toward Draco, mesmerized by the luminous blur of his fair ivory skin. "What a shame that so dark a past would taint the childhood of one who posses such captivating grey eyes..." her throaty voice trailed off as she realized what she was saying.

Seeing no other way to regain her composure, Professor McGonagall attempted to deflect the effects of that sultry gaze by reverting to tabby form.

Me-ow

But the temptation of bestiality was too great

Draco stepped back in horror as the now tabby professor began clawing at his pant leg.

"Horror! Sacrilege! That's Mandarin silk you're tearing!" he screamed.

Luckily, before too much damage could be done, the tabby shot off, barely escaping a fate of fiery combustion.

~~

With his skin crawling, Draco hurried away from the smoke and attempted to repress yet another memory.

"Professor...old... so old... wrinkled and old..." he wheezed, wandering aimlessly and wringing his hands together.

But soon, a thoroughly traumatized Draco chanced upon a group of Hufflepuff girls, clustered earnestly around a bay window.

"I swear I saw him out there just a few seconds ago!" Hannah Abbott assured her friends.

"Saw whom?" asked Draco, walking up behind them.

"Draco Malfoy," she said, nose still pressed against the glass. "You can look if you like."

Intrigued, Draco peered into the darkness outside, at a lovely view of the lake. Why, it almost made him forget that look Professor McGonagall had given him. You know, the one that screams, "Well, spank me raw and call me Shirley!"

So traumatizing...

"I hope he comes back soon," said Megan Jones. "When he wasn't in the Great Hall at dinner, I almost cried. I spend all summer fantasizing about him, but still haven't seen him in the flesh."

Flesh. Wrinkled, antiquated, unmoisturized, flesh...

"I just want to know if the rumors are true," said Susan Bones. "You know, I hear he has a really enormous..."

"Fortune?" finished Megan. 'Everyone knows that!"

I'll just pay for a therapist

, Draco resolved.

Hannah and Susan exchanged a Look.

"Er, yeees... fortune."

"He is an Adonis among men," Draco agreed, wholeheartedly.

The girls probably would've turned to look at him then (get to know the competition and all that) but were distracted by a small explosion in the middle of the lake.

In the distance, the first year's boats were burning merrily, flames reflecting all over the place, making the entire lake look like it was on fire.

Maybe Weasley can burn it out of my memory, thought Draco.

"What was that?!" exclaimed Susan.

"Oh my goodness! Oh my goodness! Let's hope Draco wasn't hurt!"

"What would we do without that gorgeous specimen, not to mention his painfully brooding sex-appeal?"

"I think I'd die."

The other two girls nodded solemnly.

"And to think I never saw it before. Probably I was just distracted by all his annoying behavior, like he thinks he's better than us or something," said Susan bitterly.

But I am better than you, thought Draco.

"He's not really like that," reassured Hannah, wiping the glass that had fogged from her breath. "He is really just so very...." She stopped, lost for words.

"Misunderstood?" Draco supplied.

"Yes," sighed all three girls huskily, raising a hand to still their swift pattering hearts.

They turned to see who had supplied this astute observation...

"Jumpin' Jehosaphat! It's Draco Malfoy!"

...and all immediately exploded.

That is, all of them except Hannah Abbot.

"You're not a pile of smoldering soot!" exclaimed Draco.

"True..." replied Hannah.

She blinked at him a few times, and shook her head. "And neither are you," she murmured.

Then Hannah Abbott walked up to him, and began unbuttoning his pajamas with her teeth. "What can I do for you this time, big boy?"

Draco was a bit too distracted to ask what exactly she meant by 'this time'.

"Well, I was actually just looking for someone to be my loyal sex slave."

"I'm a Hufflepuff. We're all over loyalty."

Draco's inner horny teenage boy did a victory dance.

"So," continued Hannah between buttons, "which thong do you have on tonight? Red leather or black lace?"

"Neither," replied Draco warily; suddenly reminded of a deeply scarring nightmare he once had about Millicent Bulstrode.

"But you always wear a thong..." Hannah stepped back from Draco, perplexed. "Wait a minute. Does this mean you're not just a figment of another naughty daydream?"

"Your what?"

Realizing she was gazing upon the real Draco Malfoy, the delusional Hufflepuff, completely overcome by his sex-god presence, imploded into a useless pile of ash, leaving Draco dazed and alone.

"I think I just lost the will to live."

~~

Slumping against a wall, Draco sat down to think. There must be someone out there able to tolerate his drop-dead gorgeous self. Who could be so cold-hearted toward him that they would be able to resist his fiery charms? After a bit of pondering, Draco had the perfect idea. Who better to try than the frizzy-haired ice queen herself? Granger.

While on his quest, Draco knew he would be endangering all those around him with his deadly good looks. Surely there was some way to find that special callous someone without leaving a trail of unnecessary messes along the way.

This could only be remedied through a fiendishly cunning, and much involved plan.

After pouring the last few chocolates it contained into his pocket, Draco plopped the empty canvas bag over his head in determination.

Now the only question was, how to find the Gryffindor common room?

~~

After several minutes of leisurely walking into walls (what else do you expect from someone with a bag over his head?), the answer to Draco's prayers came in the form of a giggly someone, skipping down the hall.

"Hey! Aren't you Draco Malfoy?"

"Depends," replied Draco cryptically. "Are you a Gryffindor?"

"Yes! I'm Lavender Brown," she exclaimed, concluding with laughter like tiny tinkling bells.

"Then, yes, it is I. But, how did you know?"

"The black silk pajamas are a tip off, although I suppose you could have been Snape..."

Draco made a mental note to burn his clothes as soon as humanly possible. That is, before Weasley had the chance to do it for him.

"But you just don't have enough greasy chest hair."

So that's how Lavender earned an Outstanding in Potions.

"Leave me alone, you filthy high marks prostitute."

Draco started to walk briskly away, but ran headlong into a marble column. A hard marble column.

"You don't really mean that, do you?" said Lavender, laughing it off, "You're just lashing out from all that extreme inner turmoil."

As much as Draco disliked being told what he was doing, (aside for being an alluringly sensual presence, a million and twenty three times more attractive than any other being on the face of the earth) he knew Lavender could lead him to the Gryffindor common room, Hermione Granger, and his last remaining hope to exploit his deeply misunderstood reputation.

"Maybe I am," assented Draco, rubbing his painfully throbbing forehead. "So...I hear that whole Spawn of Evil thing makes me pretty attractive, eh?"

"Well, ever since I found out about your father," began Lavender hesitantly, "I've had this inexplicable urge to tie you up to some bedposts with thick leather straps, and run my fingers through the golden strands on your wrongfully abused little head."

Draco would have been taken aback by this confession, but was all too used to these kinds of comments from the Slytherins. The important thing was, he could use this.

"I'll bring the belt straps."

Lavender clapped her hands together happily.

"Really?" she squealed.

"Sure, but first you need to do something for me."

"And then you'll be my love slave?"

"Yes, yes, all in good time. Just take me up to the Gryffindor common room, and I'm yours."

And so Lavender took Draco's arm (resisting the urge to go for something else entirely) and led the bag-blinded beauty up the stairs. All the while, with visions of something far kinkier than sugarplums dancing in her head.

But on the way, her uncontrollable giggling started to get on Draco's nerves.

"You do giggle quite a bit," he observed.

Lavender erupted into a fit of giggles.

Draco showed remarkable restraint by not throttling her to death with a coat hanger. He felt simple smoldering death would be far from adequate.

He needed a way to shut her up.

"Why don't you have some chocolate?" Draco offered, digging a handful of the little green morsels out of his pocket.

"Really? Thanks! I loooove M&M's."

"Eminems?"

"No, I said M&M's," explained Lavender, catching Draco's misspelling through some virtually useless sixth sense. "That's what those little sugarcoated chocolates are called. Eminem is a rich, angst-ridden, white, broodingly attractive, blond bigot bad-boy Muggle rapper."

"Well, I've never heard of him. I hate Muggles," said Draco, in a rich, angst-ridden, white, broodlingly attractive, blond bigot bad-boy kind of way.

"He actually reminds me of someone, but I can never think just who..."

They spent the rest of the walk munching on M&M's and pondering who could possibly fit that description, but without success.

"Here we are," said Lavender finally, giggling with overflowing mirth, "This is the Fat Lady's portrait!"

Lavender turned to Draco, an M&M's bag still hiding his positively dashing facial features. She'd been itching to pull that bag off his head for the entire trip, but resisted for fear of upsetting the already pained sex-god. So it was, that visually impaired Draco walked straight into the Fat Lady's portrait.

"Oh! My nose!" he yelped.

This sexy introspective brooding was just too much.

"Why don't you take that bag off your head now so we can snog?" suggested Lavender sweetly.

"Can't, then you'll implode."

Lavender thought for a moment.

"Would that be before or after you kiss me?"

"I am not taking the bag off until you get me in the common room."

"Oh, I think you should," Lavender wheedled. "How do you know I'm not Millicent Bulstrode, just pretending to be Lavender, so as to lead you to my bull-whip accessorize chambers of LOVE?"

Draco whipped the bag off his head in horror.

And Lavender went up in flames.

~~

This was no matter to Draco, however. So close to Hermione's icy exterior he could feel it; Draco walked up to the portrait Lavender had mentioned before her untimely demise.

"Darling," he said, making eyes at the painting of a pleasantly plump woman in pink, "Has anyone ever told you, you look positively voluptuous in that fetching blushing-rose gown?"

The Fat Lady never had a chance.

"Great Caesar's ghost!" she exclaimed in ecstasy, before the flames enveloped her completely and she drifted away as a smoldering pile of ash. In her place, a large hole in the castle wall was exposed.

Draco stepped through the gap, slipping silently into the Gryffindor common room at last.

~~

Draco entered just as Hermione finished explaining yet another of her brilliant, and library-referenced solutions to a fellow, problem-solving impaired, Gryffindor.

"...and so all we need to save Hagrid from this hazardous monster, whose very lethal presence is entirely his own fault, is some fresh grass clippings, five paper clips, dryer lint, and the pinkie toe of an Armenian wildebeest!"

"Zounds!" said Seamus Finnigan, who, as a minor character should not have been privy to this conversation in the first place, "You're like the Martha Stewart of potion creation! Before she went evil, of course."

Before Draco could step out from the shadows and make his gorgeousness known, Ron came flying into the room, a canister of gasoline bumping against one leg and matches falling out of his pockets.

"Did you hear what that bastard Draco Malfoy is doing?" yelled Ron, brandishing his flaming torch and waving it pointedly for emphasis.

"You mean all the implosions?" said Hermione, knowing everything as usual. "It's just horrible, all those deaths to innocent bystanders."

"Who cares about them?" cried Ron. "They have nothing to do with this!"

Hermione looked shocked, while Seamus eyed Ron (and his torch, matches, gasoline, ...and who knows what else) warily, slowly backing up the stairs to the boys dormitory.

"Setting things on fire is my thing!" raged Ron. "Something that makes me special! And that little prat goes and shows me up. Don't you see?" cried Ron in consternation. "He's stealing my thunder!"

And Draco thought he was self-absorbed.

"Who's going to pay attention to a flaming library, when he's going and burning up real live people!"

Seamus took the last few stairs in leaps and bounds, slamming the door hurriedly behind him.

Draco chose that moment to step out from the shadows.

"You," intoned Ron murderously, stepping between Draco and Hermione

"Leave me alone Weasley. I'm here to see your formally buck-toothed, bookworm, friend."

"Me?!" gasped Hermione.

"Well, who do you think I mean? Fleur Delacour?" snapped Draco impatiently. "I need your opinion on something."

In that moment, Hermione entirely forgot why she loathed that dear little Malfoy boy. Nobody ever asked for her opinion.

"Get out of the way, Ron."

Ron stepped aside. Draco braced himself.

"So... how do I look?"

"Well," said Hermione, considering. "You have ashes in your hair."

"Ashes in my hair?" puzzled Draco, then, "Ashes in my hair! Oh vile soot, how dare you befoul these platinum blond locks!" Draco began to shake his head frantically.

"But you know, without all that hair gel your forehead no longer looks so grotesquely enormous, and you can't see the knobbliness of your skull anymore.

"Must you analyze everything?" said Ron incredulously, absently flicking at a lighter in his left hand.

"My skull is not knobbly!" cried Draco. "It is an utterly smooth example of human perfection."

This was not quite working out the way he had planned. For once in her life Hermione was proving rather slow on the uptake.

But not for long.

"Well, either way. You do look kind of cute... and so deeply misunderstood."

"I am NOT!" whined Draco. "I'm a nasty, twisted, sadistic bastard, pure and simple!"

Hermione's eyes widened in epiphany, and, as Ron watched in amazement, she flared up just as the last 'ood' slipped from her mouth, so articulately, and with correct enunciation.

At least she died happy.

She always wanted her last words to be well spoken.

"I'm going to die a virgin!" wailed Draco, "A seductive, wealthy, handsome, high commodity, bloody untouchable VIRGIN!"

But Ron was deaf to Draco's lamenting.

"You miserable bastard! You know I can't do anything as cool as blowing-up my own best friend!"

Ron lunged.

But before he could lay a damaging hand on the incomparable beauty of Draco Malfoy's grief contorted face, a spell hit him squarely from behind.

Ginny Weasley, twirling a wand in one hand, stepped delicately over the unconscious form of her brother.

"Couldn't let him touch you before I had a turn," she purred.

Rather amused by this uppity little Weasley, Draco mustered his most sensuous of come-hither looks.

"Chocolate?" he offered, pulling the final handful of M&M's from his pocket.

Ginny, however, barely faltered. Drawing still closer to a rather stunned Malfoy, she took the candy from his temporarily frozen hand and slipped it enticingly onto the tip of her tongue. Sparks ran up Draco's arm from where her skin brushed his palm.

"Melts in your mouth, not in your hand."

Draco felt flushed.

"You didn't implode," he managed, lifting his fingers to touch her fiery orange hair in disbelief. She grabbed the collar of his shirt and drew him close.

Now they were practically nose to nose.

"No, of course not," she responded, deliberately forming the words to accentuating the lusciousness of her own scarlet lips. "Of all people you should know..." she continued, trailing a finger lazily along a certain fair jaw line.

"The only way to fight fire, is with fire."

But any response on the part of Draco was completely prevented, as her mouth pressed hot against his own, licking his lips, raking her hands through his scorching blond hair.

And that's when Draco melted.

Sizzle