:::The Reasons Why:::
The Slytherin Dungeon was alive with animation, the dark space bright with noise. Draco had to practically force his way through the crowded common room, squeezing past the groups of laughing students.
He had almost forgotten about the Slytherin nightlife—a surprising thing, considering that not too long ago, he had been its driving force. He smiled, remembering the endless nights he'd spent as the prince of the party: friends huddling together, passing alcohol of every kind around the circle, toasting to long life and good sex; easy girls swarming the group, hanging on to the nearest hot body; dancing and fistfights; laughter, some boisterous, some breathy and hushed; the taste of alcohol and the smell of expensive perfume.
Things didn't seem to have changed much in his absence.
A sixth year girl whose name he couldn't remember smiled at him as he passed, moistening her bottom lip with her tongue, her eyes holding silent invitation. Draco nodded to her but continued on his way—and she nodded back, disappointed with his choice.
House legend spoke of Draco as some master seducer, but the truth was much, much simpler than that. There had never been much need to pursue women. They pursued him. They flocked to him like sheep to a shepherd, followed him like puppies with their master, literally tripping over each other, eager for the chance to see if the rumors were true.
So, carpe dium—or rather, carpe femme! He had readily accepted every Hogwarts slut into his bed, engaging in the raunchiest sort of intercourse until the early hours of the morning. He would rise at dawn to sneak back from whatever dormitory he was in, not caring one bit about the woman he was leaving behind.
And they usually didn't care, either. Because the reality was that they had used him as much as he had used them... as a trophy, or a good story, or just for the certainty of a night's pleasure.
So the legend had been born of the Draco Malfoy who could seduce any woman and leave her without a thought, who could drink by the barrel and never act drunk, who had mastered the Dark Arts, and who would not think twice about using his craft against whoever dared to stand in his way. And the reality was something more and something less than that. His life had consisted of sex, booze, and magic. In that, at least, things had been simple.
Or had seemed simple, anyway.
Arms wrapped around his abdomen, halting him in place. "Where do you think you're going?" a breathy voice asked, tickling his ear.
"Bed," he said tightly, unraveling the arms from around him.
Pansy pushed her way in front of him. "I could go with you," she offered, her heated gaze moving down his body. "It's been ages since we've been alone." She let a hand come to rest above his heart, rubbing against the muscle there. "You didn't seem to have any complaints the last time..."
The last—and only—time hadn't been as memorable as she obviously wanted to believe. All Draco knew was that he had in fact slept with her—a fact he would have forgotten if not for the constant allusions she made to the event. The details of that night, however, were blurred in his mind, his memory of Pansy blended together with all the other girls…
"I'll pass, thanks," he said. He tried to get away, but her hand pushed him in place.
"I'm not too drunk, if that's what's stopping you," she told him with a sly smile, fitting her body to his. "I'm sober enough to know what I want. You don't have to be noble."
He could smell the smooth scent of cocktails on her breath, the stench only adding to his disgust. Had he really been attracted to women like this? "I'll forget to be noble if you don't get your hands off of me," he threatened. "And I promise you, Pansy, you won't like it."
