A Very Naughty Love Story

Harry Potter has got it good.

Of course, Draco Malfoy would never tell anyone that, least of all Potter himself. That would risk making him look like insecure for a git who wears spectacles that are totally wrong for his face shape. Ah, that bit he told Harry once in the Four Broomsticks, the second shop of the owner of the Three Broomsticks.

"Potter, you do know your spectacles are totally wrong for your face shape, don't you?" he had said--with good intentions, of course--when he stopped by Potter's table.

Harry stared at him oddly for a minute, then smirked. "Malfoy, you do know that it's weird and queer you came all the way over at my table to give me fashion advice, don't you?"

"And you do know that Harry's just about defeated the Dark Lord for good so it doesn't matter what glasses he wears?" Ron piped in, cracking his knuckles in what he seemed to have thought was a menacing fashion.

"He defeated the Dark Lord? I didn't get that newsletter!" Draco exclaimed with a mock gasp, slapping his forehead with his palm. "What about you Weasley? Anything about you in any newsletter? Oh dear, I've touched some inferiority complex issues, have I not?"

He walked away that night feeling a wee bit of triumph over the expression on Weasley's face, kind of like the expressions he used to have when he wasn't sure if Snape insulted him, may he rest in peace. Still, he had a vaguely uneasy feeling that Potter was feeling sorry for him deep inside, and his old hate of Draco was just too much to let the pity surface. Damn his mother for begging Potter about his well-being that one time when Harry pretended he was dead (he read that bit in the newsletter)! She made it seem like Draco was human, is vulnerable, and had feelings.

Draco took a swig of firewhiskey and glanced reluctantly at Potter's direction. The Golden Boy was receiving yet another award for doing away with Voldemort. As if he could have done that without Draco's help. But was that in the newspapers? The magazine exclusives? No. But if he didn't kill Dumbledore and became the master of the Elder Wand, Harry wouldn't have become the master of said wand by disarming Draco (a lucky shot), etc. etc. etc. Boy, if he knew he was the master of the Elder Wand he'd have... He blinked, coming up blank. He didn't know what he'd do. Not anymore. He didn't have some bigshot mission like Potter which would require the use of the Elder Wand other than aesthetic purposes. He was only a minion to the Dark Lord, and not even an important enough minion to merit those snazzy Death Eater hoodies with the owner's last name done in sparkles above a sparkly dark mark. He once again launched in the train of thought that Harry Potter got it good.

"Thank you very much. Even though this is quite an honor, this award would mean so much more if the people who had given their lives for this war were here with us. What I wouldn't trade to have them alive..." Harry was saying, his sonorous-ed voice trembling at the last few words. This elicited quite a few sniffling from the audience, including Draco's own mother, who was now in a state of Eternal Gratefulness to Harry. Harry Potter... savior of the wizarding world, brave and noble and self-sacrificing. Harry Potter, who bravely faced the most powerful dark wizard of all time, not afraid to show how deeply in pain he still is about all the deaths that the war has caused... It was inspiring, it was touching...

It was complete bollocks.

Everyone else seemed to have fallen for Potter's martyr acts, but not him. He'd been to each and every one of these victory parties and award ceremonies, and he got Potter's act down pat. One time, on his way to the loo, he caught Potter smirking triumphantly when he got off the stage after one of his 'touching' speeches. What a bunch of suckers these people are. Draco glanced around the room, sneering at the gullible, misty-eyed public. An old wizard who happened to be a hard-assed ex-ministry assassin was dabbing his eyes with the gold brocade curtains, which annoyed and disgusted Draco simultaneously.

Draco's surveillance of the crowd led his gaze to the tables nearest the stage. Much to his surprise, the littlest Weasley-- at least the littlest one he's seen. Who can be sure with these overly prolific types?-- was not dabbing her eyes with the nearest available fabric. She was, in fact, staring at the ex-assassin with an appalled expression. Her tiny oval face was rested on her left hand, and her left hand was paused in mid-air near her neck making it seem like she was about to strangle herself but got distracted midway by the brocade-destroying ex-assassin.

Draco was not just a little bit shocked. Wasn't she supposed to be sniffling the loudest of them, looking up at Potter adoringly, by virtue of being Potter's girlfriend? And didn't one of her brothers die in that battle? Pity it wasn't Ron though. Draco watched as the female Weasley shook her head as if to clear away the image of the ex-assassin wiping his snot on the curtain. She finally looked at the still-talking Harry--ah, here's the sniffling and adoration, Draco thought-- and gave a huge, jaw-cracking yawn.

Draco's surprised snort almost made the firewhiskey come back up through his nose. What a terrible girlfriend that Weasley is! Draco's only had eleven girlfriends, so he can't count himself as an expert, but shouldn't girlfriends be supportive and adoring? All his girlfriends have been supportive and adoring. Fawning, too. But then, so was their new house elf.

---

Ginny wondered why these people still fall for Harry's speech every time. Sure, he saved the wizarding world, and he does look brave, noble, and attractive up there with tears glistening at the corner of his forest green eyes, but you'd think that after the 4th time he gave that speech, these people would be immune to it. Ginny's brother Fred was one of those people that Harry was talking about but even she was fed up with Harry's victory parties, Harry's speeches, Harry's awards, Harry's articles, Harry, Harry, Harry.

Harry was everywhere. Which is why Ginny has not spent some quality alone time with him. She thought that the rightful order of things was off Voldemort, finish the war, and get back together with her, snog, and live happily ever after. Well, she sort of was Harry's girl again, if that means being his date to all the parties and getting special mention in his speeches... but that's about it. What irks Ginny the most was that there had been no snogging.

She pouted at her soup, not even bothering to look up when Harry got to the part of his speech where he mentions her. Bored, she looked around her for people at her year in Hogwarts.She was about to play with the ornate necklace Harry had given her to wear tonight, but her hand stopped halfway to her neck when she spotted an old wizard using the curtain to blow his nose.

Disgusting... she thought, unable to look anyway. Shaking her head, she dropped her hands on her lap, wishing she could do it with her head too. To her right, Hermione's eyes were shiny with unshed tears. Really! Hermione has been to all the events, you'd think she'd catch on that Harry's just recycling material that gives the most touch-value.

She wiggled her foot impatiently, watching the lilac sparkles of her shoe dance under the table. A yawn threatened to crack her delicate face into two, but she couldn't even be bothered with covering it. No one was paying attention to her anyway, least of all her so-called boyfriend. What a great way to spend the first flush of sexual awareness, going out with who was currently one of the wizarding world's sex symbols, ironically not getting any sex herself. That might be fine for some girls, but she has needs!

She glanced longingly at the bar. She had to admit, she wasn't much of a drinker, but the bitter taste and burning sensation of a firewhiskey might distract her from her woes. A tall, blonde guy was currently nursing a generous glass of it and she wanted... Wait a minute, she thought, her vision focusing. The guy was Draco Malfoy and he was smiling rather oddly at her. If you can call lifting a corner of your mouth smiling. For lack of an appropriate response, she stuck her tongue out at him.

Harry ended his speech to a standing ovation, and since Ginny was raised not to be rude, and half the time adhered to how she was raised, she stood up too, clapping. Harry had on his 'embarrassed but pleased' smile, and was looking at the audience from under his too-long, sooty hair, which made Ginny want to tear of his clothes and tackle him right then and there.

"Hey you," she said to him as soon as he sat down on the seat right next to her. "You're amazing, you know that?" She took his hand and squeezed it as he smiled brilliantly at her. "You really touch me... here." She lowered her voice into what she hoped was a seductive whisper then brushed Harry's hand over her breast, smiling meaningfully at him.

Harry's smile wavered. "Ginny," he said. "What are you doing?" He withdrew his hand, clucking her on the chin instead. Way to make her feel sexy. This wasn't promising to turn out into a good night.