Draco was absolutely discusted. He wished to just leave. Leave the school, leave the country, leave the earth...anything to get away from the pathetic excuse of a life - Potter. Potter, how could he have the nerve, the mind to even touch him. To have his lips smashed agenst his was the last thing he would want the scarhead to do.
The blonde boy was completely unaware of where he was. Sprinting was all he could do to get away from the scene. He smashed throught the hallway looking as though he was a ghost, with his clammy skin. The tips of his cheeks were a sickly color, almost a green.
The halls were quiet for all the students were at lunch, enjoying their chicken, salads, soups, and toasty sandwiches. Draco wished he was one of those students. They were carefree, oblivious to the state he was in.
Finally Malfoy found a broom closet to which he could hide and think about what just happened.