First, I would like to thank EVERYONE who has red, commented on, and acknowledged my stories! You guys are awesome, and every single one of you put a smile on my face :)
Second, I do intend to go through some of my old stories and clean up shop. Some people have mentioned adding a chapter or two to a couple of my other stories, so I want to have a look and see what I can do. I just don't know how long that will take, as I have lots and lots of school work, as well as lots and lots of new ideas running around my head! So please bear with me.
Now for the following story: This isn't exactly a story. It's a series of One-Shots that I have decided to group together based on the fact that they're all (sort of) centered around the same idea. I had a thought one day on taking the basic plot from a fairytale and applying it my precious Dramione coupling. Each 'shot is titled accordingly and is based around the main IDEA for the fairytale plot, so don't be surprised (or upset) if it isn't exactly like the tale. It isn't supposed to be.
That being said, I've finished and decided to post the three that I have written. I'm hoping to post more, so we'll have to see. Also, I've rated this as "T" for mature subject matter in later chapters.
Please enjoy, and sorry for rambling!
Draco Malfoy wakes up to the sound of his heart beating in his ears and the feeling of his brain pulsing in his skull. He keeps his eyes close, determined to keep them that way for as long as possible. Rolling onto his back, he groans loudly and rubs his hands over his face tiredly. He squints, looking through the slits between his eyelids.
The darkness is a blessing to his burning eye sockets.
The quiet is a blessing to his aching head.
He groans loudly, crawling out of his bed to pad across the cold, hard floor, and into the bathroom. He splashes water over his face, mostly just to wake himself up, before knocking back a shot of his own brewed hangover potion.
In mere seconds, his head feels lighter and his eyes stop burning and the pounding in his brain dissipates.
He walks back into his bedroom and that's when he notices his clothes-all but his boxers-strewn about the room, leaving a trail from the door to his bed. Jacket, shirt, green and silver tie, dragon-hide shoes, trousers. He smirks, satisfied with the fact that he, quite obviously, had a good night last night. Even if he can't remember.
And then his smirk deepens upon seeing a flash of something silver sticking out from underneath his shirt. Collecting his clothing along the way, he picks his shirt up off the floor to reveal a lone, silver flat-those stylish muggle shoes which girls, even witches, seem to adore.
He spends the next five minutes inspecting his room for its other half, which is nowhere to be found. Unlike his clothes, which he tosses into a pile next to his trunk at the foot of his bed, he places the single flat neatly on top if the trunk.
Moments later, as he's in the midst of tucking a new, clean shirt into the top of his trousers, his door opens and his best friend walks in.
"You're awake," Blaise Zabini comments, smirking knowingly as he walks casually around the room.
"Hardly," Draco replies.
"So you had a good night then?"
"I would say so, not that I remember much."
"Well, from what I heard, I'd agree," the dark skinned wizard snickers.
Draco pauses in doing up his tie. "From what you heard? What did you hear?"
"Everything. Is that a shoe?" Blaise asks, smirking as he walks towards the trunk at the foot of his mate's bed.
"What, exactly, is everything?"
"Oh, you know...moans, groans, a few screams. And by few, I mean plenty-very vocal," the other wizard chuckles, holding the shoe out to tease his friend.
Draco smirks, snatching the shoe from him and placing it, instead, on his bedside table. "How'd she sound?"
"Like a fucking goddess. Does that shoe belong to her? Who was she?"
The blond glances at the show, pondering it, before looking back at his friend. "I have no idea. But I'm gonna find out."
"Don't plan onit darling."
"Oh... Oh fuck, oh God..."
He smirks, gazing up at the poster he's just posted on the door to the Great Hall. He looks smug as he crosses his arms across his chest, thoroughly satisfied with his wand work.
"Missing A Single Silver Shoe?"
Underneath that are written instructions.
He's holding a...contest of sorts, to find the owner of the silver flat he found in his room this morning. Because, well, whoever the shoe belongs to is obviously the person he spent the night with. And whoever he spent the night with...well.
"Really?" Blaise asks, sliding up next to him. "This is how you plan on finding this mystery girl?"
"Got any better ideas?"
The dark skinned wizard opens his mouth to reply before closing it, tilting his head to the side thoughtfully, and then shaking his head.
"It was either this, or walking around the castle asking every girl if they've lost a silver shoe. This seems significantly less creepy and time consuming," Draco tells him.
"You think it'll work?"
The blonde smirks. "Have you metme? Of course it'll work."
Soft, luscious lips pressed to his rather chapped ones.
Silky, smooth hair wrapped around his fingers.
A shapely, curvy body grinding against his.
Long, slender legs wrapped tightly around his hips.
Calloused fingers exploring her body, pulling at her clothes.
Throaty moans and pleas.
Bump, grind, groan.
Soaring over the edge, falling and flying.
He'd expected a large outcome of girls fawning over him, wanting him, presenting him with a single silver shoe, trying to convince him that they're the "special" girl he's looking for.
None of them are. For none of the shoes match. If they aren't the wrong foot, they're the wrong shade of silver or the wrong color all together. The wrong pattern.
He turns them away politely, despite the growing frustration inside him. Do these girls have nothing better to do than to waste his valuable time?
By the end of it, once he's reached and questioned the last girl with the wrong silver flat (he's honestly beginning to think they're just conjuring up random shoes now), he's exhausted. And there's a few girls, he notices, that hadn't approached him at all: Ginny Weasley, Lavender Brown, Luna Lovegood, and Hermione Granger.
"Are you sure it wasn't any of them?" Blaise asks him.
"Well, I mean, does it really matter?"
"Of course it does! I won't have some random, Blaise," Draco snaps, frustrated, tired and all together disappointed.
"If it isn't any of them, then, who is it?"
"There's just four possibilities, Blaise. And I plan on figuring out which one it was, even if it kills me."
First, he tries Ginny Weasley. It's a slim chance, he must admit, because she's going with Potter now. But it isn't impossible.
In fact, it's never stopped him before. Nor has it stopped the girl before.
Besides, it wouldn't be that bad. Sure, she's a Weasley. And sure, she's siblings with a certain Weasel he can't even stand the sight of. But she's bloody sexy.
Long, fiery red hair. Bright blue eyes. Fair skin. Ample bosom.
He finds her in the courtyard, lying on her stomach in the grass as she flips through Teen Witch Weekly. Smirking to himself, he makes his way over. "Ginny," he greets her, standing next her. His shadow covers the open pages of her magazine.
"You're blocking my light, Malfoy."
"My apologies," he replies kindly, stepping to the side. "Can I have a word?"
She peers up at him, squinting in the sunlight. "Just one?"
"Are you missing a silver flat?"
She raises her eyebrows knowingly. "No. And even if I did, I'm not your girl."
"Right. Well, good."
He tries Lavender next, who informs him that she's been seeing the Weasel-which is just too much information. In fact, to add to her decline, she's wearing her pair of silver flats.
He then tries Luna, who, in short, is not his girl. She owns a pair of silver converse shoes, but not flats.
She also thinks Nargles are floating around in his head.
Which means there's only one possibility left: Hermione Granger. And oddly enough, the thought isn't as terrifying as it probably should be.
He corners her in the library. Isn't she always in the library?
She's sitting at her usual table near the back of the room, close to the Restricted Section. And like usual, she's got her bushy head (although, her curls have softened over the last six years) buried between the pages of some book or another-quite frankly he doesn't care enough to look at the title. She's wearing her uniform; her cloak hanging over the back of her chair, the sleeves of her shirt rolled up to her elbows, the first three buttons undone and her tie loosened, giving him a rather pleasant peak at her cleavage. Her legs are crossed underneath the table, causing her skirt to ride up, barely covering her arse.
He finds himself wondering what she feels like. If she feels the way he, very vaguely, remembers...
He saunters towards the table, her lone silver shoe in his left hand and his right buried in his pocket. He places the show in the desk in front of her, smirking as he waits for her to look up.
She looks at the shoe for a brief second before casting her gaze towards his. "What's this?"
"I believe it belongs to you. I found it my bedroom the other day," he replies, smirking smugly down at her.
She blinks, and then looks back down at her book. She avoids liking at the shoe all together. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"I believe you do."
"No I don't."
"Yes you do."
She sighs softly, folding her arms across the table as she looks up at him. She avoid the shoe. "And why would I? More importantly, if it were mine, why would it be in your bedroom?"
He considers her for a moment, folding his arms over his chest. He takes in her expression, the look on her face, her posture. She has a pretty good poker face, he must admit. But her eyes betray her-and not just because he remembers them, clear as day. He smirks, placing his hands flat on the table as he leans down so that his face is level with hers, and only a few inches away. "Because you, Granger, were in my room."
"In your dreams."
"Well, perhaps-but that's an entirely different matter."
She rolls her eyes, turning her attention back to her book.
His smirk deepens as he grabs the chair next to her, pulls it out so that it's facing her, and sits down. He leans forward with his elbows on his knees. "Here's what I think happened. Ready?"
"I think that we both got a little too drunk the other night. I think we probably started flirting before I managed to talk you into coming back to the dungeons with me. I think we shagged like rabbits, because let's face it, you can cut the sexual tension between us with a knife. And I think that you were so, incredibly embarrassed by the fact that you found me so utterly desirable that you left before you had to face me-and in your haste to leave, you forgot your shoe."
"Are you done?"
"No. You're one of the only girls who didn't show up with some sort of silver shoe, hoping that you'd be the one-and I've managed to eliminate the other three. So unless you have some legitimate reason as to why it doesn't belong to you, you'remy girl."
She looks up, staring straight ahead at the book case in front of her before turning her head to look at him. "And if I am?"
"Do you admit it?"
"Do you want me to?"
He stares at her for a moment before leaning in even closer. His nose nearly grazes hers. "What if I do?"
She blinks, clearly taken aback, before she turns away and begins to pack her books into her bag. "Look, it was nothing, okay? Just a one-night shag. I'll just..." she trails off, pushing herself to her feet and grabbing the straps of her back. "Thanks for my shoe-"
"Wait, Granger," he calls after her as she turns to leave, grabbing her wrist rather quickly. She looks at him, clearly puzzled. "Why did you leave? Why didn't you come forward?" he asks softly, hesitantly. He's nervous. He hadn't thought this far ahead.
"I just...I didn't think you would care," she admits. "I knew you would regret it, once you saw me, so I thought if I left then we wouldn't ever have to speak of it again. I just didn't realize I'd left my shoe behind until I was already in my room."
"Do youregret it?" he wonders curiously, with baited breath. He isn't sure why he cares to know, he just...does.
"I don't know," she whispers truthfully. "I don't really remember much."
He smirks softly at the blush gracing her cheeks as she looks down at the floor. She really does look rather beautiful. Stunning, really.
"I should go," she whispers, turning to leave.
Before she turns around completely, he grabs her by the shoulders, pushes her up against the nearest book case and kisses her. His lips cover hers firmly, passionately, lustfully. His hands are in her hair, twirling and tugging softly. Her hands are on his waist, pulling him closer ad clutching his shirt at his hips.
He doesn't particularly know what he's doing.
But then, he doesn't particularly care.
He's found his girl.