Career Counseling

"Save the lecture," Draco said as he sashayed through the door leading into Snape's office. He plopped down in the chair across from Snape, kicked his boots off, and swung his feet onto the desk in front of him. "I already know what I want to be."

"Oh?" Snape's eyebrow twitched.

"Yes."

"And what might that be?" Snape asked, glaring at the feet on his desk.

"We really don't need to discuss it," Draco said and began picking at his nails. "I've made up my mind and that's that."

Snape's jaw twitched. He had a bad feeling about this.

"It's a really good job," Draco snuggled deeper into his seat. "I mean, not every one can do it. And I'll make loads of money."

"You already have loads of money," Snape told him, his eyes still glued on the boy's feet.

"I know," Draco cocked his head and peered at his professor. "But honestly Sev, I can't loaf off my parents forever."

"Oh?"

"What do you take me for?" Draco argued. "Do I look like a huge pile of shit to you? I'm not going to sit around day after day wasting away my family's money on fancy dinners and hair-care products. I'm going to do something with my life. Do I look like Potter to you?"

"Draco," Snape bent over his desk and threw Draco's feet off, an annoyed look on his face. "What is it you want to be?"

"Now don't judge Sev," Draco said, recovering from having his feet thrown so hard his knees slammed into his stomach. "You have to hear me out."

"Fine."

"Picture this," Draco waved his hands out in front of him. "Everything's black, no one can see a thing. Then, a gray fog suddenly starts wafting up from the floor. Suddenly, the lights come on and a spotlight catches a solitary figure standing in the middle of a stage. The figure slowly turns, his face masked by the black pimp-hat he's sporting. He runs one hand across the brim of the hat while the other traces the length of his tailored to fit pin-stripe suit. Music starts. A loud, techno beat. And on cue, the man's head whips up and he throws off his hat. What do you see Sev?"

Snape stared at him; his annoyed expression still planted firmly on his face.

"You see a head of platinum blond hair, Witch Weekly's Most Deliciously Delectable Wizard's platinum blond hair, strutting down the runway in a suit tailored by himself and modeled by the most beautiful man alive." By this time, Draco was so into his little schpeal that he was out of his chair with his arms stretched dramatically in front of his face. His eyes were blazing and he was smiling maniacally.

"So you want me to dye my hair blond and become Witch Weekly's Most Deliciously Delectable Wizard?" Snape deadpanned.

"Ew," Draco yelped and fell back into his chair, a horrified look on his face. He pointed to himself. "Me. I'm Witch Weekly's Most Deliciously Delectable Wizard."

"Sounds like you want to be Wizard Weekly's Most Deliciously Delectable Wizard," Snape mumbled.

"What was that?" Draco snapped.

"Nothing," Snape said with a sigh. "Draco, I honestly don't think your parents would go for the whole super-model thing."

"And why not?" Draco glared at him. "I'll have you know that everyone in my family is very into their looks. It would make them proud."

"No Draco, joining the Dark Lord and getting a skull burned into your arm would make them proud," Snape told him. "Traipsing around in pimp-hats and pin-stripes would send them into cardiac arrest. Now I think we should begin looking at your real options."

"Look Snape," Draco jumped out of his seat and slammed his palms down on the desk. He glared the Malfoy Death Glare and felt intense pleasure when Snape actually flinched. Through clenched teeth he snarled, "I wanna be a super-model. And my hair will shine, like the sea. And everyone will wanna be just - like - me! Do you understand what I'm saying to you?"

"But the pamphlets..."

"Shine like the sea!" Draco roared and slammed his hands down once again.

"Fine," Snape yelled, his hands held up in defeat. "Fine, your hair can shine like the freaking sea. You're going to be a super-model."

"With Weekly's Most Deliciously Delectable Wizard!"

"Yeah," Snape nodded his head fervently. "That too."

"And I can only write essays on why I love my jeans," Draco said, his eye twitching.
"Whatever you want," Snape yelped. "Hand in a piece of blank parchment for all I care."

"Great," Draco flashed a brilliant smile, turned around, and headed to the door. "Thanks for the advice Sev. It really helped."

And with that, much to Snape's relief, he walked out of the room, leaving the door open for the next student. Luckily, Snape had heard through the grapevine that Zabini only wanted to be a rockstar. Rockstars weren't as diva-ish as models were, were they?