Being half-Veela, Draco Malfoy had learned one of life's lessons well: the burden of beauty was well worth the price.
"I don't want anybody else, when I think about you I touch myself." The sound of the pitch-perfect singing voice coming from the full lips startled Draco for a second. Then he smiled. The handsome boy in the mirror smiled back, kissable lips pulling into the slightest of smirks before settling back into an inviting pout.
People were liars. There was nothing complicated about being judged beautiful. The eye of the beholder should judge honestly. Unless, of course, the person is jealous. Real beauty was easy to identify. Lust after. Want and not have. Draco should know. He fought off admirers every day. The closer he got to that slow-in-coming age of majority, the more he mildly resented the Veela blood that made the girls in the castle fall at his feet and the boys question their own desires. Still, he knew such perfection was worth it, even if it came at a price.
He turned in the mirror and admired his profile. Amazing. And to think he would only grow more attractive as the years passed. If Draco didn't think the boys at the school would attack him in a jealous rage-or an equally strong fit of lust-he wouldn't have to resort to using the Prefect's bathroom in the dead of night. Not that he could blame them.
Even Potter had begun to follow him around the castle, darting through corridors and hiding behind suits of armor. He'd even asked a house-elf to follow Draco around; all in an effort to get the irresistible Slytherin alone, he was sure. The stalking might be flattering, if it wasn't coming from Potter. Not that he should be surprised. His own father had received the same longing looks from James Potter when they were both students; his son shared his weakness.
A weakness to which the Dark Lord had nearly fallen prey.
Draco looked down at the Mark on his arm. As Voldemort had traced the Dark Mark with his wand, the look he'd given Draco had inspired a rare moment of fright in the boy. Though barely human, it was possible to read desire in even the red, slanted eyes of the scariest wizard to have ever lived. For a moment, as Voldemort gripped his arm, Draco tried to remember his father's suggestions of how to turn down possible suitors before they became too excited to fight off. Before he could put any of them to use, Voldemort went back to enchanting the Mark and released him, leaving a bruise in the shape of a hand grip on his arm that would last nearly two weeks. It was just as well. Draco didn't think telling Voldemort he was saving himself would have worked anyway.
Smiling, Draco slid his hand over the chiseled muscles of his chest and stomach, then lower until he could cup his hand around the best part of being him. He began humming that silly Muggle song he'd heard as he touched himself, his smile turning into a smirk as the bathroom mirror started to steam up from his reflection. The mirror tinted red slightly and Draco's smirk turned into an all-out grin. His father had never made any of the castle mirrors blush before. He would have to tell the old man about this.
The door opened behind Draco and he jumped at the noise, turning with his hand still in place. Weasley stepped inside, towel in hand, frowning when he spotted Draco in front of the mirror, his hand still in motion. Without a word, he cut his eyes away from Draco and walked into one of the stalls at the far end of the bathroom. Before long, strange sounds began coming from the stall. They were quickly covered up by a loud buzzing sound.
Draco smirked again, turning back to the mirror. It was unfortunate he hadn't yet learned to control who fell under his spell. For now, he would have to suffer through knowing that no one could resist the unrestrained magnetism of a Malfoy.