Disclaimer: Don't own the Harry Potter universe. Unfortunately. But do own story.
Warnings: Lame attempts at humour, fluff. Reads like shounen-ai manga.
Summary: "Would it be so bad for you to be going out with me?"
They were arguing. Again. Potter was right up in his face, fists clenched tight at his sides to prevent him from doing anything stupid. Like rip Draco's head off, which was sure to ruin his robes. They were very nice robes after all.
"Oh gods," Draco heard Pansy say breathily, even as he was screaming his lungs out at Potter, their faces so close he knew Potter had popped a mint right after lunch, "that is so. Fucking. Hot."
And then both him and Potter were screaming at each other at the same time and no one - not even them - knew what they were saying anymore. Draco, for one, was just screaming without any words. He felt a bubble of anger at Pansy's words, an inexplicable, unreasonable extra surge of fury. He didn't know if Potter had heard, but he guessed as much because they were standing very close together and he had heard Pansy well enough.
"They are so doing each other," Draco heard a boy say, and a few girls squealed in delight. "Oh gods, that is so. Fucking. Hot," they cried, echoing Pansy's words.
"Do you think they're going out?" someone asked, and when a girl gushed, "Oh gods, that is so, so sweet," Draco couldn't take anymore of the sideline chatter anymore and whirled around, shouting, "Potter and I are not fucking each other and we most certainly are not 'going out!'"
All the chatter stopped instantly and the crowd that had gathered fell silent. Some of the people on the outer fringe began to edge away, uneasy now that Draco's temper faced them instead. There was virtually complete stillness in the few moments after Draco's declaration, and he became intensely aware of his panting breaths and the very warm body of one Harry Potter who was still standing too close for comfort.
"Would it be so bad for you to go out with me?"
And Draco whirled around again so that he faced Potter once more. His mouth fell open. "What?" All the eyes of the crowd swung from him to Potter.
"I said," Potter said slowly, as if he was explaining something to a very young child. A very young, very stupid child. "Would it be so bad for you to go out with me?" And the girls in the crowd almost squealed with glee - squee, Draco thought irrelevantly, squee - when Potter moved even closer, if it was at all physically possible by that point.
"What?" Draco said again, and his brain just could not seem to form any other words, so he settled for gaping blankly at Potter, whose disgustingly green eyes shone with the same disgusting fierce determination as a minute ago when they had still been arguing. Disgusting.
"Eeeeeee." And there it was. The collective squee from the crowd. Because what happened a split second before the squee was Potter's right hand taking hold of Draco's left.
"Whaaa...?" Draco said oh-so-intelligently, and stared down at their hands.
"Eeeeeee," squeed the crowd, when Potter reached out to cup Draco's cheek with his other hand.
"Whaaa...?" Draco said again, this time with a bit more alarm. Unfortunately, he was mostly paralysed from the shock of the entire situation, unable to react, much less think.
"After all," Potter said, "there's nothing bad about going out with you." He let go of Draco's hand then, and pulled him forward in one quick movement so that Draco wrapped his arm around Potter's waist for balance. "You're intelligent. You're talented." Draco could only stare as Potters lips came closer and closer towards him. "And you're beautiful."
"EEEEEEE!" squeed the crowd.
Just before Potter's lips met his, Draco realised that Potter meant to kiss him, and he pushed him away, flushing. For some reason, he was out of breath, and the eyes of the crowd were on him once more, pathetically whimpering at the loss of Hogwarts' two most coveted boys almost kissing. It really was too hot for words.
Draco couldn't look at Potter. He just couldn't. So he did what he did best. He turned, and ran.
The heads of the people in the crowd turned to watch him run, before swivelling back to see how Potter was taking it.
"Aaaaaaargh," Pansy screeched, pulling at her curls. "So close! So close!"
Potter glared at her.
"I almost got to see Draco's first kiss!" Pansy pulled harder at her curls, tears threatening to stream down her face. "Almost, almost! Oh, why did he have to run off?"
"Why did he have to run off?" the crowd echoed, lamenting.
Potter had a strange look on his face. "First kiss?"
"Oh, it was so hot," Pansy was wailing, now flinging her arms out to address the crowd. "So hot, with Potter leaning down and their lips almost touching and ye GODS did all of you see how totally hot our ickle-Drakkie was? And now, ruined! RUINED!"
"Ruined!" the crowd wailed, completely abiding by various psychological theories about group behaviour turning into mobs and rioting.
"Shut up, Parkinson!" Potter growled, and Pansy squealed when he grabbed her by her shoulders and shook her. "First kiss? First kiss?"
Pansy snarled then, baring her teeth. "Duh, Casanova. Have you seen Draco with girlfriends except for me?"
Potter let go of her and stumbled backwards a few steps. "Oh," he said, eyes wide. "Oh."
The crowd waited and watched expectantly, waiting for a cue. Which came in the form of Professor McGonagall sweeping down the corridor. "What are all of you crowded around here for?" she asked.
The crowd stared at her.
"Well, go on," she said, making a shooing motion with her hands. "No rioting allowed in the corridors. You have forty minutes of lunch break left, go and do something productive."
And so the crowd dispersed, leaving behind a sighing Pansy and a frozen-with-shock Potter.
When Pansy caught up with Draco again after lunch, in Advanced Transfiguration, she sighed dramatically as she flung herself into the seat next to him.
"What is it now?" he asked.
She swooned pressing the back of her hand to her forehead. "Oh, Draco. It was so hot. So hot. And you just had to run away and deprive us all of the moment where Potter plunders your virgin mouth. Him, all manly and you, all 'no, fuck you,' and him, all lips almost touching yours and. Oh. Oh, so, so HOT."
Draco's mouth pressed into one thin line. "Will you shut up about that already? As if Potter hadn't humiliated me enough already!"
"Hey, Malfoy!" Weasley shouted from the back of the room, "Didn't know you were such a prude!" He made a kissy face. "No wonder you go around like you've got a stick up your arse. You haven't even been kissed before, much less gotten laid!"
Draco, who had turned slightly when Weasley had called to him, now swung his glare back towards Pansy. "How," he said slowly, "do they know about that?"
Pansy stopped her swooning immediately, teetering dangerously on the edge of her seat. "Uh," she said.
"Eeeeeee," Draco heard, and he groaned inwardly. Apparently, some of the crowd was part of the seventh-year Gryffindor-Slytherin Advanced Transfiguration class. They were squeeing because - oh, look - there was Potter, coming into the classroom. And wouldn't you know it, he spotted Draco immediately (perhaps sitting in the front seat had something to do with it...no, it was the hair. Always, always the hair) and headed towards Draco and Pansy's table.
"Draco," he said seriously, pushing up his smudged glasses. "I, uh, I'm sorry for earlier."
"Eeeeeee," whispered the crowd, trying not to disturb their moment too much.
"I wouldn't have, you know, if I had known that, you know."
Draco gave him the finger, and Pansy cooed. "Hey, guess what!" she cried, turning to the reassembled crowd. "Draco's left handed to match Potter's right! They're meant to be!"
"Eeeeeee!" the crowd squeed, no longer bothering to hide their gleeful delight.
Draco spun back around to glare at Pansy again. "That's just ridiculous!" he shouted, but to no avail. "Everyone in this fucking year group is right handed except for me!"
"Oh!" Pansy cried, and clasped her hands to her chest. "That proves it then!"
"Yeah!" the crowd hollered. "Proves it!"
"It proves nothing!" screamed Draco, but it was no use. The crowd was convinced that Draco and Potter were meant to be together because Draco was left handed and Potter was right handed and this meant they could write/eat/wank while holding hands.
"Um, Draco?" Potter said, somewhat timidly, and Draco screamed "WHAT?" at the top of his voice. Potter scratched the side of his nose. "Um. I was wondering if you wanted to go to the lake with me."
"What, now?" Draco glowered.
"No, tonight. After dinner. Maybe eight-thirty? I'll pick you up in front of - I mean, I'll meet you in front of the Great Hall." Potter bit down on the bottom of his lip nervously.
"Uh, what?" Potter asked, eyebrows lifting in confusion.
"Why do you want to meet me?" Draco asked. "And by the lake, of all places?" He wrinkled his nose distastefully.
"Well, uh." Potter darted a quick look to Pansy, who gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. "Thought you - thought you'd like it."
Draco sighed dramatically. "Fine, then, Potter. Eight-thirty."
There was a sudden scrambling for quill and schedule as the crowd penned in the time and place of Draco and Potter's meeting.
"THE SQUEEING CROWD IS NOT INVITED!" Draco screamed, hands curling into fists, eyes slitting shut with the force of his voice.
"Yeah, Draco," Pansy said. "Awww."
"Pansy, will you desist with the selling of tickets? I know you are, you're not even bothering to hide the seating plan under your notes. I do not want the squeeing crowd there when -"
"When what? When you and Potter finally get to finish what you two started earlier?"
Draco gave her his Malfoy Stareª.
Pansy quailed. "Split the profit with you. Fifty-fifty."
"One-nine." Slytherins were, after all, nothing if not ambitious.
And that was that.
It was around dinnertime that Draco began to feel rather unwell. He prodded the food on his plate, slumped over in his seat. His sighs of discomfort were accompanied by occasional squees from the crowd, now scattered about the Great Hall, completely misinterpreting his illness for mooning over Potter.
Pansy was having her second-helpings already by the time she realised something was wrong. "Why aren't you eating?" she asked.
"Not hungry," Draco said dully.
"Are you nervous about meeting Potter?" Pansy punctuated the end of her sentence with a huge forkful of shepherd's pie.
"No." Draco patted his pocket with a satisfied smirk. Tickets had sold amazingly well, and he and Pansy had made quite a profit.
"What's wrong, then?"
"I feel. Kind of sick. Like throwing up. Dizzy. Can't think straight."
"Have you gone to see Madam Pomfrey?"
"I went after classes," Draco said, frowning at his food. He swirled his fork into the mashed potatoes of his pie, and then mashed his fork against it when he realised he had drawn a lightning bolt.
Unfortunately, Pansy's sharp eyes had already picked up on the design, and she set her fork and knife down, folding her arms and leaning towards Draco, who was seated on her left.
"How long have you been feeling this way?" Pansy had this morbid interest in medical magic, and sometimes Draco didn't mind playing the patient.
"It wasn't so bad until today." Draco muttered grumpily.
"So you were feeling this way before?" Pansy raised her eyebrows at him.
"Yes, I was. So what?" Draco didn't really like the gleam in Pansy's eyes just then.
"And do the symptoms increase in severity in particular moments?"
"And by particular moments, does this include around certain people?"
"Maybe. Why? What's wrong?"
"Well." Pansy leaned back again, resuming perfect posture.
"What? What's wrong?" Draco frowned. Pansy had never given him this sort of reaction before.
"You're in love."
"I'm WHAT?" Draco's fork clattered to the tabletop.
Draco clutched at his chest, fists bunching up his robes. "Is it - is it permanent?" His voice dropped to a hoarse whisper at the last word.
Pansy shrugged, and started eating again. "Who knows?"
"Could you - is there - is there anything I can do to get rid of it?"
"Probably not," Pansy said, and grinned evilly. "Especially not if they love you back."
"What?" Draco screeched. "Back? What? WHAT? No. No! Nooo."
Pansy smirked at Draco's exclamations. "He does, you know."
"He does," Pansy repeated. "He does love you."
Draco sniffed and shifted his gaze back to his plate. "Don't know what you're talking about. Or who you're talking about, for that matter."
"I'm sure," Pansy said, and rolled her eyes. "Just don't go running away this time on your date with Potter."
Draco sputtered. "Date? You better start watching your mouth, Parkinson. You forget your place."
"Oh, go and doodle in your mashed potatoes, Mrs. Draco Malfoy-Potter."
Eight-thirty that evening came all too soon, and Draco found himself walking towards the Great Hall, feeling dizzy and nauseous. Potter was there already, pacing, tearing at his hair with his hands.
"Regretting it already, Pot-head?" Draco asked snidely, and Potter turned to face him, eyes wide and mouth falling open.
"Draco! You're - you're on time?"
Draco glared. "What did you expect?"
"I - I didn't think you'd show." Potter rubbed the back of his head bashfully.
Draco sniffed. "Let's get going, then, shall we? I don't intend to spend all night here with you."
"Um. Yeah. Lake. Let's go, then." Potter held out a hand to him, and Draco stared at him curiously.
"Eeeeeee," came voices from the shadows, "They're going to hold hands!" someone shouted, and Draco rolled his eyes while Potter bit his bottom lip nervously.
"Right," Potter said, and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his trousers.
Draco glared at the assembled squeeing crowd that was already waiting by the lake. Pansy had confiscated all cameras, except for her own of course, and profits from the photos were to be split between her and Draco again. Of course, this meant that Draco would have to allow himself to be manoeuvred into compromising positions with Potter as photo ops. Small sacrifices any businessman must make.
"Um," Potter said. "I didn't think there'd be so many people. Come on." He waved his hand for Draco to follow him behind a tree, and then Potter unfolded the bundle he'd been holding.
"Where did they go?" the crowd asked Pansy, who looked around frantically.
Meanwhile: "An Invisible Cloak, Potter? Spoiled bitch."
Potter frowned. "Yeah. Like you're one to talk."
Draco took a deep breath, took a step closer, and was about to start spitting insults again, but Potter just muttered, "Come on," again and flung the cloak around the two of them. Just in time, it seemed, for two girls had run over to where they were (behind the tree) and shouted back towards the crowd, "Not here either!"
Potter had an arm wrapped around Draco's waist and was leading him towards the edge of the lake. Somewhere in the darkness could be heard wailing and shouts of distress as the squeeing crowd searched desperately for their homoerotic fantasy come to life.
"Draco!" he heard Pansy shout. "Draco Malfoy, you ungrateful bastard, you! Get back out here so I could watch you two make hot-boi love! Draco!"
Draco couldn't help snickering, gazing up at Potter with a smile before realising exactly who he was smiling at and turned away again, frowning, an unwelcome heat rising high on his cheeks.
"Draco," Potter said quietly, and reached for Draco's hand, linking their fingers loosely together. "I'm really glad you came."
Draco just could not look Potter in the eyes and he had absolutely no idea why. His heart gave an extra hard squeeze when Potter smiled down gently at him. "Why shouldn't I?" he challenged. "Not as if I'm afraid of you."
"Aren't you?" Potter pulled him closer, holding him tighter, and Draco instinctively pulled his arms close to his body, trying to regain some semblance of distance between them.
"What are you, Potter?" Draco snarled. "Who do you fancy yourself to be? Pretending to be innocent, all blushing virgin like, and then the second you try to take advantage of me you turn into a vixen, all touches and sly smiles and smooth talk."
At this, Potter actually hesitated before replying. "I thought - at first it was because I thought you were more experienced. And now, it's because - someone told me you'd prefer the whole Casanova act. With the moonlit lake and all."
"Casanova? What in the name of all that is pureblooded is that? Look, it doesn't matter anyway, Potter. My point is - what is your point?"
"My point is this."
And Potter pressed his lips onto Draco's. For a moment that stretched into eternity, Draco was frozen, and Potter's lips were so gentle against his that even if Draco didn't respond, his lips parted of their own accord, wanting more, which was given willingly.
It finally hit him, however, and Draco, being who he was, panicked.
"What are you doing?" Draco gasped and pushed Potter away, the Invisibility Cloak slithering off the both of them.
Potter stumbled back, confusion written in big bold letters all over his face. "I was kissing you."
"You're not supposed to just go around kissing people!" Draco screamed, and felt his face flush.
"Eeeeeee (Yay we found them!)(They were kissing?!)(I can't believe we missed that!)(Yay hot-boi love!)!"
"SHUT UP, SQUEEING CROWD!" And there was an explosion somewhere on the lake, splashing everyone with ice-cold water.
Draco stared, eyes wide, water sliding down his fringe. "Wow, Potter. Temper."
Potter blushed. "Yes, well." He moved closer to Draco and lowered his voice. "Draco, I..."
Draco sneezed, and Potter jumped back instinctively. "Cold, Potter. You and your stupid temper."
Potter immediately made to bundle Draco up in the Invisibility Cloak but Draco gave him a strange look and cast several drying charms on himself. "Look, Draco. I - I...you. You know?"
Draco raised an eyebrow. "You just told me absolutely nothing, Potter, save that you are a bumbling, ineloquent idiot. But then we all knew that already."
"I...like you. A lot."
And it was just as simple as that.
"Like you. A lot." Couldn't forget the 'a lot', of course.
"There must be some mistake," Draco gasped.
"Um. No." Potter gave him a rather strange look. "I'm pretty sure you're the one I like."
"This is - this is unthinkable!" Draco gasped again, hand going to his throat. "How can - Merlin's pantaloons!"
Potter quirked an eyebrow. "Um. Yes. Anyway. I was wondering if, you know, you wanted to go to Hogsmeade with me sometime. Just the two of us. Together."
Draco just stared. "You're asking me out on a date?"
"Eeeeeee," the crowd whispered, trying not to piss off the Boy Who Lived again.
"Well. I guess, yes." Potter shot the crowd a dirty look, and they refrained from squeeing again. "So...would you?"
"What are you, afraid?" came Pansy's voice from somewhere in the mob, and Draco, being who he was, answered reflexively.
"Who said I was afraid? How's this Saturday sound?"
Draco only took the time to smack himself on the forehead 'duh' when Potter smiled happily and said, "Great! I'll come get you after breakfast."
"AND IF I SEE ANY OF THE SQUEEING CROWD THERE, I SWEAR TO THE GODS YOU WILL ALL REGRET IT!"
Draco sneezed, blinking cold lake water out of his eyes. "Temper, Potter. Temper."
They didn't end up doing anything spectacular. Draco had decided to be civil because he wouldn't have any of his cronies following him around - Potter's temper was not something to be messed with, after all.
Potter bought him chocolate at Honeydukes, and also flowers from a peddler. They bought sandwiches for lunch and ate it in an open field, surrounded by daisies. They walked around, Potter smiling at him sweetly the whole day, and Draco looking away, blushing.
It was so saccharine it gave bystanders a stomach ache. Pansy, of course, was no exception, and when Draco and Potter passed by her on the street for the seventh time that afternoon, neither of them realising she was there, she leaned heavily on the wall and dry heaved. "Urgh," she groaned. "Disgusting."
When it was time for them to go back to school they walked at the back, behind all their peers. Potter's index finger hooked onto Draco's pinkie, and Draco, ever the bashful virgin (also because he was destined to be uke to Potter's seme), blushed prettily.
They stood in the middle of the corridor, at the junction on the stairs that, going up, would head towards Gryffindor Tower, and going down would lead to the Slytherin dungeon. Potter was holding Draco's hand.
"So...I'll see you at dinner, then?"
"I suppose," Draco answered. "You should get going."
"Yeah. I guess I should."
They stood there for a few minutes.
"Yeah, I should get going."
"Yes," Draco agreed. "Dinner soon."
They stood there for a few more minutes.
It was only when the dinner bell rang that Draco somewhat reluctantly pulled his hand away from Potter's. "Dinner," he said. "I need to freshen up and..." His other hand still held the flowers that Potter bought for him.
"Yeah," Potter said, but just before Draco's hand slipped away completely, he held on tight. "Wait."
Draco, who had half-turned already, looked back. "What?"
"I - oh, fuck it." And Potter pressed his lips against Draco's, and they were kissing again and Merlin's balls is that Potter's tongue? Wow, Draco thought, going all tingly. Wow.
"Mmmm," Draco moaned, without even realising it, and heard an answering groan from Potter as he was pulled even closer and held even tighter.
The moment was shattered, and Draco leapt away from Potter, who held on desperately. "Get away from me, Potter!" he screamed, and pushed away roughly. With one last wild look at the assembled squeeing crowd and a bewildered Boy Who Lived, Draco turned and ran.
Again. As always.
Dinner was an interesting affair, to say the least. Potter kept shooting him kicked puppy looks from across the Hall, and Pansy kept smirking in a very disturbing manner.
All this resulted in Draco stabbing at his dinner viciously, even though it was chicken mushroom pie and he liked chicken mushroom pie.
"Something wrong?" Pansy asked lightly.
"Oh, nothing much," Draco began in an easy tone, "just the COMPLETE UPHEAVAL OF MY ENTIRE WORLD!"
"Hmm? How so?" Pansy flicked a curl away from her eye.
Draco glared. "You were there for it, Parkinson!" he barked, "You should know full well what I'm talking about!"
"Hmm?" Pansy said again. "You mean the little incident in the corridor just now, where you were snogging Potter madly and loved every single slurp of it?"
Draco glared harder. "Don't use such disgusting words to describe that - that attack on me just now."
Pansy sighed. "For fuck's sake, Draco. You weren't attacked. You were kissed. By Potter. And you bloody well liked it, too, if the porny sounds were any indication."
"Did not," Draco replied in a small voice, slouching down in his seat.
"Oh, just admit it already. It was hot, watching you two. Really hot, I admit it. But it also made me sick. Do you see what I'm eating now?" Pansy gestured to her plate with her fork. "Look. Salad. I'm eating a bloody salad. And why? Why, you ask? BECAUSE WATCHING THE TWO OF YOU ALL DAY MADE US ALL BLOODY WELL SICK TO THE BOTTOM OF OUR SODDING STOMACHS WITH THE FLAMING SWEETNESS OF IT ALL!" Pansy was shrieking by the end, stabbing at the air with her fork, bits of lettuce waving off the ends as she almost toppled over in her seat.
"Pansy!" Draco gasped. "Manners."
Pansy growled, but sat back properly, smoothing down her robes and clearing her throat. "Get over yourself, Draco. You love him, he loves you, too. The two of you snogged. You liked it. He liked it. What's the problem?"
Draco frowned. What was the problem again?
Draco looked around him. "Potter? Is that you?"
"Yeah." Potter lifted the edge of his Invisibility Cloak and peeked out at him from behind a statue.
"You're out past curfew."
"I needed to talk to you."
Draco looked away again. "I have Prefect duty. Five points from Gryffindor."
"No one's in your area. They're all scared shitless of what you'd do if you found them snogging after hours. Come on. Just for a few minutes. I just want to talk to you without the squeeing crowd."
"Fine." Draco opened a classroom door. "In here." And he closed the door with a soft click behind them. "What do you want to talk about?"
Potter set his Invisibility Cloak on a desk and smiled at Draco, tilting his head to the side. "Draco," he said, and stopped.
Draco raised an eyebrow. "Well? Is that it?"
Potter shook his head. "I was just looking at you."
"I admit I'm gorgeous, Potter, but really. My beauty is on display for the world - you could stare whenever. Private showings will cost you, you know."
"Draco, will you stop for a minute? Be serious."
"When am I ever not serious?"
Potter pressed his lips together tightly, inhaling deeply and exhaling before speaking again. "Draco. I need to know. I need to know how you feel about me. Do you feel the way I do about you?"
"How do you feel about me then? You have to clarify that first." Draco's palms were starting to get sweaty, a sure sign of his nervousness. What was he so nervous about? Nothing to be nervous of here, just Potter with his stupid smudged glasses and stupid messy hair that practically scream 'POST-SEX HEAD!' and stupid scar and stupid lips that - wow, had been so warm and soft pressed up against his -
Draco's hands curled into fists, his nails biting into his palms to stop his stream of consciousness from degrading into something that was rapidly starting to look like would be rated MA for Mature Audiences only.
Potter met his gaze straight on, confident and bold, like the stupid true Gryffindor he was. "I feel - I feel like nothing exists when you're there. Like no one else matters, and only you do. I feel like when you look at me I exist, and when you don't, I don't. I feel like - like my heart wants to burst when you smile at me and like I'm imploding when we kiss. I feel - God - I feel like I'm in love with you." Potter looked desperately at him, waving hands stilling to drop listlessly at his sides. "Do you feel that way about me?"
Draco could feel the heat on his cheeks, which was a Very Bad Sign of how fiercely he was blushing, but Potter seemed to like it well enough, what with the way his eyes seemed to widen and the look in them turn predatory. "Yes," Draco replied. "I...do."
"Oh, Draco," Potter murmured, and drew him into an embrace, lips ghosting over Draco's, teasing with light touches until Draco's lips parted and even then Potter only gave the lightest of kisses, gradually deepening each one until Draco was gasping and moaning and grabbing handfuls of Potter's 'look-at-me-I-just-shagged' hair and twining a leg around Potter's hips and Potter was trying to lift him off the floor so Draco could get both legs around him and they were backing up until Draco's lower back bumped against a desk and Potter's hips thrust against his and Draco made a sound right out of a gay porno and then he was sitting on the desk with one leg still wrapped around Potter and both of them were pressing their hips so tightly against each other half afraid to start thrusting in earnest even in their need for more friction dammit.
But then their haze of lust dissipated as they were rudely interrupted.
For a very long moment, there was no sound in the room. No sound, no movement. As if time had frozen the classroom into a picture; Draco, dishevelled and looking utterly debauched, on his back, legs spread, propped up by his elbows, Harry, leaning over him, hand on Draco's thigh, the other on the table to support his weight from crushing Draco's slighter form.
And the squeeing crowd, salivating with pleasure and delight.
"SQUEEING CROWD I'M GOING TO KILL EVERY SINGLE LAST ONE OF YOU!!!"
The consequent battle cry sounded throughout the entirety of Hogwarts.