All of this contributed to landing Draco where he was now, lying naked in a stranger’s bed; alone.

Draco sat up, warily rubbing sleep from his eyes, and took a look around the room. Whoever had decorated had very bad taste and the room screamed ‘tack.’ Leopard print was everywhere and the bed sheets were velvet. Wrinkling his nose in obvious distaste, Draco slide out of the bed and pulled on his pants – he wasn’t able to find his underwear – and after some searching managed to find his white button up shirt hanging off of a zebra striped lampshade.

Draco’s ears perked slightly as he heard singing coming from the bathroom, loud, obnoxious and extremely off-tune singing. Wincing, Draco slide on his shoes and crept silently to the door, opening it and exiting without more then a creak of the old wooden floorboards.

He tip-toed down the hallway and down the shag carpeted stairs, pausing only when he dropped his family ring and had to bend down and root around for it. Straightening, Draco continued stealthily down the stairs and into the main hall, darting past a cluttered kitchen and sliding into the living room which had also been done up in tacky jungle print.

Only a hop, skip and a jump from the front door, Draco froze and stared. Above the mantel there were family portraits, and pictures of the house’s owner. One person was present in all of the pictures and he was a man with silky blond hair tied back in extravagant looking pastel bows. The man was wearing a variety of ruffled shirts, each with fussy looking cufflinks at the base of the expensive looking suit jackets that were most likely hand embroidered.

Feeling faint, Draco’s eyes traveled towards a bookshelf filled with books. One entire row, Draco noted queasily, was made up of overdone leather bound books with gold script down the spine in elegant lettering. The spines read ‘Magical Me’.

Draco had never felt sicker in his entire life and he felt about ready to pass out.

He unlocked the door and raced outside, taking in the fresh air as quickly as possible. He shielded his eyes from the glaring sun and looked back at the house with sheer terror in his eyes and a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

He, Draco Amadeus Lucius Malfoy, had just slept with Gilderoy Lockheart.

Merlin, he had really screwed himself this time. It was with these thoughts that Draco Malfoy stumbled down the street, paused at the corner of something and Main, and vomited.

Draco Malfoy was the man. Draco Malfoy could hold his liquor extremely well. It was apparent, however, that the one thing, aside from his stomach contents, that Draco couldn’t hold well was a meaningful relationship.