Draco Malfoy's Journal

Draco Malfoy.

Some of the office girls swore he wore Black Magic, that limited edition cologne only sold to royalty and billionaires. It was said to intoxicate any woman. Others said he wore L'Homme, this rugged aftershave that was favoured by rough-and-tumble sort of men. One girl had been fired two years ago for planting her face into his neck as Draco had opened the door for her. While she was escorted out of the building, she confirmed to the other girls with a tearful shout that it was definitely L'Homme. But a few of the sceptics spent weeks smelling different fragrances at the local department store, and concluded with the utmost confidence that he wore Serpente—the one that came in a small bottle made out of green, thick glass--so dark it was almost black.

And then… And then, some of the girls thought it was just all him.

Striding through the glittering crowds of the Ministry of Magic's annual cross functional mixer, Draco Malfoy was breaking hearts with every footstep. With cold, calculating eyes, he immediately checked off and noted the girls that were worth his time-- and faded the rest into blurry black and white.

"Hi, I wanted to introduce myself," he'd say in that low, dark voice. A boyish smile would grace his lips unexpectedly-- but his eyes remained intense and focused. His victims would be caught off guard by both his intensity, but also by the unexpected gesture.

Draco Malfoy is introducing himself to ME?

It was foolproof. All the witches would get shaky hands, their skin would flush pink, and they'd sputter, "Draco, of course I know who you are." They'd giggle and touch his arm.

Feeling good about himself, Draco picked up a drink before choosing his next target. Ah. Parvati Patil. He decided to approach the wizard standing just a mere foot away from her and make small talk with him first.

Current Mood: amused