Draya Malfoy

11 - Bewitched

"Cheer up, mate. It could be worse."

"How?" Ron snarled, glaring at his best friend.

Harry inwardly rolled his eyes. Ever since they had seen Hermione hanging off the arm of Viktor Krum, Ron had been in a miserable mood despite having a pretty hot date himself.

As a result, Padma was looking just as glum, and Harry found himself feeling sorry for her as Ron yet again turned down her request to dance.

"Look," Harry muttered, pushing his hair out of his eyes, conscious of the way it fell back down messily over his head, "if you won't dance with her then I will. I'm sure Pav won't mind, we're just here as mates, after all."

As he said this, he found his eyes sliding across the Great Hall to the couples already in full swing on the dance floor, sweeping past Hermione being twirled around by Krum, and Ginny doing the hand jive with Neville.

His gaze, instead, rested on a particular white-blond haired Slytherin who was in the arms of Blaise Zabini, laughing and dancing together. He felt a stab of something in his chest, the effect unpleasant.

He couldn't deny it: Draya Malfoy was hypnotising. Her shimmering silver dress sparkled beneath the dancing lights, her golden hair fell soft and shiny against the delicate pale skin of her back.

Her outer beauty, however, certainly did not match the ugliness that was inside her. Mudblood: her favourite word. Bullying: her favourite sport.

And yet, Harry couldn't help but find himself seeking her out every time he walked into a room. He was drawn to her in a way he had never found himself been drawn to anyone before.

He shivered, recalling the first time he'd met her. Even though they'd just been eleven at the time, he had been struck dumb by the intensity of her piercing grey eyes. As he'd stood there on that stool getting his robes fitted, he literally couldn't think of a single thing to say that wouldn't make him look stupid.

And then it quickly became apparent, to Harry's dismay, that although Draya Malfoy had the looks of a goddess, she sadly had the personality of his dreadful cousin, Dudley.

So, he tried to set his sights elsewhere. That Cho chick wasn't so bad. A bit giggly and annoying, but a decent pair of tits. And then fucking Diggory had to swoop in and steal that one.

And there was Ginny, he supposed. But she was like, twelve, and not to mention his best friend's baby sister.

Parvati was cool, but she already told him she was saving herself for marriage so that quickly put a dampener on their date.

Not that Harry was ready to lose his virginity, he was only fourteen, after all. But he could potentially die by the end of the school year thanks to Dumbledore entering their school into a deadly tournament and it would be nice not to go a virgin.

Still, luckily he had quite the vivid imagination and a whole lot of shower gel which he'd stolen from Uncle Vernon's vast collection.

"Look, Ronald," Padma screeched, sounding very annoyed indeed, "I've just been asked to dance by a very good looking Beauxbatons boy, and if you don't get off your miserable backside right now then I might just go over there and accept!"

"No need, no need," Harry said at once, reluctantly dragging his eyes away from the Slytherin beauty. "I'll dance with you, Padma - that is, if your sister doesn't mind?"

He glanced at Parvati who smiled and nodded. "Please do," she said kindly, still sounding out of breath from their last dance. "I need a drink to replenish my fluids anyway. You're quite the dancer."