Harry Potter was not just an ordinary boy. He was the boy who lived.

But you already know this. In fact, if you're reading this story, you're probably one of those Harry Potter fanatics.

It's okay. I am, too.

Anyways, back to the story. Over the past few years during Harry's coming of age, he had become more and more aloof towards his friends and surroundings in general. In fact, you could color him to be a downright ass hat. Blowing off Hermione and Ron to "contemplate" became a daily ordeal by now. Perhaps that was when all of this U.S.T. came to play.

U.S.T., you say? It stands for Unresolved Sexual Tension. Something that existed between Ron and Hermione. Once they discovered their brazen feelings for one another, they couldn't keep it to themselves… no, not at all. They were found snogging in a broom closet or empty classroom at most random hours of the day (or more likely, the night) to a few most displeased discoverers. However, countless detentions and lectures seemed to have no effect on the couple. They're puppy love was untouched. No, I wouldn't say puppy love. I'd say puppy lust.

And this story isn't just that twisted. No, it gets much crazier.

Take Neville Longbottom.

The poor boy… he's had his share of problems. First of all, he's always being embarrassed over something. And then there are those teeth. They're dastardly. And then his ears. They stick out like that of an elephant's. But you'd think that one of those Christina-Aguilera-I-Am-Beautiful girls would find something in this bloke, wouldn't you? I certainly did. Maybe if he set up an orthodontist appointment. But no. Neville never got the girls.

And the truth is, he didn't want the girls. He honestly wanted one person. One boy. Harry Potter. Neville wanted him so badly he could hardly stand it. No one knew this deep and dark secret, of course. Not even his closest friends, Seamus Finnegan or Dean Thomas. Everyone was clueless.

Draco Malfoy. Now there's a fellow whose path you do not want to cross. Sure, he might be extremely good looking. However, all of that can be forgotten quite easily if you simply carry on a short conversation with the chap. Again, this doesn't work well for attracting those of the opposite sex. Not at all.

Unlike Longbottom, Malfoy does prefer that of the opposite sex. Oh, does he have his eye on one in particular. There is one problem, though. One small, tiny, itsy bitsy problem.

She's not alive. In fact, she hasn't been in decades.

And he met her in a girl's bathroom.

I mean, who wants to explain that.

"Daddy, where did you meet Mommy?"

"Why, one day, I stumbled upon her in an abandoned girl's lavaratory. Why do you ask?"

Yes, Moaning Myrtle. Draco Malfoy has "a thing" for Moaning Myrtle. And who is she to complain?

While most Slytherins will spend their time socializing with their heartless peers, Malfoy has began spending all of his excess time in the second floor girl's bathroom, which has been out of order for many a year. He has discovered his "softer side" and no longer considers himself 100 percent Slytherin. I know. It's a crazy, crazy world. In fact, he vents to Myrtle on the many downsides to being the son of Lucius Malfoy, the man with the nasty hair.

So this is where we enter… I mean, the story, that is. The rest of the crazyness… well, you'll just have to find out about it in a bit. I had to tell you some of the mess that was going on. But now I suppose I'll have to tell you the full story so you'll believe me.

Draco Malfoy entered the second floor girl's bathroom, mumbling under his breath angrily. The door swung closed with a loud creeeeeeak, startling Myrtle.

"Is that you, Drakey?" she cooed in her ever so obnoxious voice. A splash from one of the stalls sent toilet water flying through the air. A pleasant welcome if you asked me.

"Yes, it is, my lovely Myrtle," he replied, his light grey eyes flickering around for his transparent crush.

"And how was your day?" she said, with a bit of a pout.

"Shitty. But nothing else is new, dear Myrtle. I feel like I don't belong in Slytherin anymore."

"What's wrong with Slytherin, Drakey? I mean, they're so dark and mean to everyone! I find it quite attractive in boys."

Malfoy slammed down his over-the-shoulder satchel and glared at the young ghost. "You never care about me!" he yelled, tears welling up in his eyes. "What about me? What about my feelings? Did anyone ever ask? No, I don't think so. I don't think you once asked about my feelings."

Myrtle squished up her face and choked back a laugh she knew was coming. "And how am I supposed to care about your feelings, you bloody idiot. You're forgetting one minor detail… I'm DEAD!"

Thus, the bickering continued, as it had every day before then. Malfoy came in each afternoon; perhaps he was more feminine than he had been the day before. He always found a reason to cry, and Myrtle always berated him about the crying. It was a never ending cycle.

Meanwhile, back in the Gryffindor Common Room, Ron and Hermione attempted to finish an assignment from Potions Class. Snape had assigned a thirty-six inch essay due tomorrow, and Hermione was doing her best to focus. However, she was being unsuccessful.

Her eyes kept darting over to Ron across the table. Oh, his shoulders are so broad. How sexy is a strong boy? And that sweater… Oh how I want to just RIP IT OFF!

Meanwhile, Ron was doing the same. Polyjuice Potion is the number one most…. oh, who gives a load of dung about Polyjuice Potion when Hermione Granger is sitting across from me at this very table, fully clothed!

"Ron—" began Hermione, dropping her quill on top of her parchment and looking at him deviously.

"Hermione?" said Ron, smiling and raising one eyebrow at her.

In a split second, Hermione had pounced on top of Ron, and they began their usual routine of snogging and groping.

Harry entered the Common Room from the boys' dormitory. His hair was disheveled and his glasses lopsided. Not even glancing at Ron and Hermione (nor noticing what they were "up to"), he said, "You two… I'm going to go to the library. I need some time to… think." He wandered past them as though he was in a trance.

"Mmmm?" questioned Hermione to Harry, although she had hardly absorbed what he had just said.

"Mmmm," moaned Ron, allowing Hermione to remove his burgundy sweater…

Knock Knock.

Harry removed his Invisibility Cloak as he reached Hagrid's front stoop. From the inside, he heard muffled voices.

"Quick, Minerva. Move yerself! Under theh bed!"

Harry suddenly became extremely queasy…