Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction, written purely for fun.

I've never let any of Draco's other fucks bother me. Those stupid girls (and boys) think that Draco shoves his dick up them because he finds them attractive. A few of the truly delusional think it's about love. Like Terry Boot. What a shock to that demented lamb when Draco cut him dead. Like his virginity was something of value to Draco. It wasn't. As he found out. To make matters crystal clear, I went up to him after the snub and murmured in his ear, "If you prized it so much, then perhaps you shouldn't have handed it over so readily. Oops. Barn door's closed, isn't it?" My reputation as a first-class bitch was signed, sealed, and delivered that day.

FYI to all and sundry. Sex is power. Slytherins get it, but then we understand power. We don't gussy it up and cloak it in drippy sentiment. It's about who is top dog. And about staying top dog. If Draco fucks some stupid Ravenclaw bint and then fucks me, what does it signify? He always comes back, and even though I can sometimes smell their perfume on him, or even taste their salty juices on his dick, he then makes love to me. Me. And there is no doubt in my mind that the summer we graduate, Pansy Malfoy will be decorating her own quarters in Malfoy Manor.

Power. It's like breathing to Malfoys. I'd spent enough afternoons at Malfoy Manor over the years to get more than a whiff of it. Narcissa always three steps ahead of the fashion curve, humiliating my poor mother whose choice of dress always makes her look like she's Transformed drapes into robes. Lucius holding court as the Dark Lord's second-in-command. I've never been quite sure whether he was particularly happy when the He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named returned, because a man of his ilk hates being second, but Malfoys are power mad not stupid, and Lucius always rolls with the punches.

How many nights had we laughed our heads off about his conquests, propped up against Draco's headboard while killing a bottle of Lucius' finest cognac.

"That Susan Bones stuffs her bras. Christ, she forgot to take out the tissue. I reach for a tit and come away from wads of it. To make a point, I then pretended to blow my nose."

"Oh god, Draco, you didn't?" I laughed so hard I got the hiccups.

The ultimate was when he fucked Potter. The Golden Boy bent over for Draco. What a giggle I got out of that. Was surprised that he was that way, frankly. But then I thought about it. He was such an attention whore. I supposed it only a matter of time before he dropped that, "I hate you, Malfoy," shit and showed his true colors. That he was as captivated by Draco as the rest of us were.

That night he fucked Potter, afterward, Draco spent hours touching me. Making me come again and again and again. As if to erase all traces of Potter. It was the most exhilarating night of my life. I kept waiting for him to say it, say he loved me. When the words never came, I didn't sweat it. Slytherins didn't do that. They didn't confess, lay open their souls like that. And if I was alone in the morning, so be it. I understood.

There was one curious conversation we had shortly after that when Draco confessed that Potter had been a virgin. I expected him to absolutely crow about that. Just shout it to all in the Slytherin common room that he'd broken Potter's cherry. But I was the only one he said anything to, and he wasn't mocking Potter's virginity so much as confused and, fuck, if I didn't know any better, horrified.

"So what? He was a virgin. Think it would be even more of a coup," I insisted.

"It was," he smirked. "Fucking Potter. Losing his virginity to me."

We had a grand chuckle over that.

I waited for Draco to announce in the Great Hall that he'd deflowered the Golden Boy; boast to those idiots following Dumbledore that Potter had raised his arse in desperation to Draco Malfoy. But no word. No announcement.

And then Draco started avoiding me. Avoiding everyone. He'd light out after dinner. He seemed constantly impatient with all of us, as if we were taking up his precious time. The little amount of time he spent in the Common Room, he snapped at everyone. Greg was too stupid, Vince too fat, me too bitchy. Like any of this was new? While in the library, he'd tap his fingers in an insistent tattoo and then disappear into the stacks, but never returned with the book he said he needed.

But worst of all. The fucking worst. He wouldn't kiss me, and he humped me with a methodical rhythm that did nothing more than get him off. His orgasm was silent. As if it were a burden. A necessity. He denied that he was fucking anyone else. He never tasted of anyone else, not even himself, as if he'd cast a particularly harsh Scourgify.

I didn't confront him. I followed him. I cast a Silencing charm on my footfalls and kept close to his back as he wound his way through the castle. I stood there silent when they made love. I never said a word as my Draco caressed every inch of that skinny, scarred-faced git's body. I was completely silent at the needy sounds he made as Potter sucked him off. And when he said the words to that freak that he had never said to me, I listened and heard every word.

I left them and went straight to Snape. Because sex for Slytherins is not about love nor desire. It is about power.

"Professor Snape. Take me to the Dark Lord. I know Potter's fatal weakness."