About Last Night

Aftermath

About Last Night

He was a piece of shit and he knew it. There. No bullshit. All truth. Draco Malfoy would break anything he touched if he so wanted to without the slightest chance of remorse after.

If this was a worldwide conception, then why were people constantly surprised at how far he would go or how detached he could become? It was in the name itself. Malfoy: famous for being careless, for breathtaking arrogance, and extreme self-preservation.

So, really, the crying witch that was currently hurling random objects at him should have known what she was getting herself into when she decided it was a brilliant move to leave the club with Draco. He never gave her promises of something more than incredible sex when he was tearing off her clothes last night. She could not blame him, then, for asking her to leave his flat when the first rays of sun poured in through his crystal-clear windows.

"You complete areshole!" she screeched after throwing a very ugly and tacky vase Pansy Parkinson had given him during another one of their dating stints (that last only two weeks and went down as one of the stupidest things he had ever done). "I've never been so degraded in my entire life! You will regret this!"

Even if he was the worst of the worst, Draco would not tolerate false accusations. He never degraded what's-her-face in the length of their one night rendezvous. He gave her a safe word, asked permission before bringing out the big guns, and not to mention she taught him one or two filthy moves. As well, he had graciously ordered his house-elf Delta to make her breakfast before her departure. He was being more than a good host, but now he had enough. Legally speaking, it was his private property and she was intruding. So when he Floo Called the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to remove the girl, he walked back to his bedroom without sparing the hysterical witch another look as she vowed revenge.

He went to his lavish room to open his closet and browse through his fine wardrobe. After pulling out a sleek black suit and a grey button-up, all very well-fitted to his toned body, Draco had his morning shave before making certain his blond hair was perfectly disheveled. Even if he was not more than perfectly aware that he was incredibly handsome regardless of how he dressed, he still had a reputation to uphold. The media and public constantly dubbed him one of Britain's five most eligible bachelors ('only if someone could tame his wild heart,' the magazines would say). Not that Draco particularly cared about his rank (he had been in second place for three years now), but with Saint Potter in the lead and the Weasel in third, it was a matter of principle for Draco to continue to uphold his status.

When he left his bedroom to have a spot of breakfast Delta kindly prepared, Draco found that he still had company despite the forceful departure of his last conquest.

"The Auror Department does not exist to escort your one night stands from your home, Malfoy," said Blaise Zabini in an authoritative tone despite being sat at the kitchen table eating a large waffle topped with all his favorites. Delta finished pouring him tea and Blaise smiled politely at her before returning his annoyance at Draco. "This is the fourth time this year. You're going to get me sacked."

"Not like you need the employment, Blaise," scoffed Draco as he took a seat. Delta was quick to serve her master. "Being an Auror is technically your hobby. Five years later and I am still confused as to why you can't spend your time being the playboy we all very much miss."

"First off, you and Nott are more than capable of fucking up your own lives without needing me to join you," said Blaise. "Secondly, being an Auror is not a hobby, you wanker. It's my career—just as being a notorious areshole is yours."

Draco grinned. "Sweet talking me still won't make me accept the fact that you're a Ministry tosser. As your best mate I am obligated to take the piss as often as possible. And assure that you rid my flat of clingy women."