by Mexx

The obsession with the staircases began sometime during his third year. Draco couldn't place when, exactly, but he remembered slowly beginning to spend inordinate amounts of time lingering at the foot of the stairways in Hogwarts. It wasn't the staircases themselves that he was so fascinated by--of course not, that would be ridiculous--but what enamoured him so was what he could see from the bottom of them if he stood beneath the stairways, tilting his head at just the right angle.

The flash up a girl's skirt; legs, thighs, knickers... anything he could get. At a time when girls were only interested in the latest song by the handsome Jimmy Jinx, and cared not for the attentions of boys their own age, some boys were reduced to other means of getting what they wanted.

Draco--although quite handsome--was having trouble getting any attention from girls and would promptly resort to daydreaming about some of the spectacular things he had seen from the staircases when he was alone on a Friday night (the girls of Slytherin locked in their dormitories, bewitching various posters of Jimmy Jinx to sing to them) with no one to entertain him.

He had favourite girls to think about; those with the more enticing choice in undergarments (or in some cases the lack thereof), but Draco had standards as well. Just because he wasn't getting any didn't mean he'd not be picky. Not that he was his usual prejudice self when it came to ogling girls, either. Draco decided that if he was only looking at a girl then it was more than ok to find a Mudblood attractive; he discovered, for instance, when looking up her skirt that Hermione Granger wasn't half bad--smooth creamy thighs, and red knickers every second Tuesday. He was definitely of the opinion that should any girl ever pay any attention to him Granger would be a far better snog then Millicent Bulstrode, who's tree-trunk thighs were so fat and close together that Draco couldn't even see her underwear.

But watching girls on the stairs could only entertain him for so many hours a week, the rest of which that Draco didn't spend in lessons, bullying or playing Quidditch he would rate girls in the three tens; face, tits and arse. Pansy would have been excelling in all three, should she not have the unfortunate looks of a squashed bull-dog terrier. Unfortunately, no girl in Hogwarts could completely match up to Draco's expectations of the perfect face, boobs and bum for a girl, and so no girl would get over twenty-five out of thirty. Blaise Zambini, although quite pretty, had an arse like a soggy nappy, and Draco had long ago stopped watching her on the stairs. Likewise, Susan Bones--some no-name in Ravenclaw--was quite the looker, but as flat-chested as the day she was born. The only girl decent in all three departments, much to Draco's chagrin, was Granger, and that was only if she'd keep her beaver mouth shut.

Draco sighed, and flopped back on his bed. The girls may not be paying any attention to him yet, but he was sure in a year or two when they got horny they'd be looking for him. Until then he had his hand, and the memory of the girls on the stairs to keep him company, and was safe in the knowledge that at least he was generally better looking than that ginger haired git Weasley.


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