Draco Malfoy had never wanted to die, not really, but at that moment, he prayed for spontaneous combustion.

His desire for an untimely demise had nothing to do with the fact that his father had joined the Death Eaters and was talking about having Draco initiated. It also did not have to do with Draco's failing grades, his sorry excuse for a girlfriend, or his annoyance with the rest of the world. It didn't even matter that he was going home this summer to a house he was terrified to be in.

No, it had nothing to do with any of those things.

The fact was that Draco Malfoy wanted very, very badly to have a cardiac arrest at that moment because Harry Potter, of all the godforsaken people on this spiteful, backwards planet, was making out with him in the middle of the Great Hall.

He wondered if he had ever been so simultaneously embarrassed, enraged, and astonished at the same time. The unhappy and unfortunate flashback of being turned into a ferret came to mind, but, somehow, it paled in comparison from what was happening right now.

He knew this day should not have turned out this way. It had been a pleasantly normal morning, and he'd even gotten a box of chocolates from his mother. He'd even frightened a gaggle of first year Hufflepuffs by pretending to talk in Parseltongue halfway to the Hall. He'd sat down with his friends, chatted up with Blaise Zambini, had some bacon, drank some pumpkin juice from his goblet, and had had a rather nice autumn morning up until the point he'd caught Harry bloody Potter staring at him.

It'd all gone rather downhill from there.

Draco was used to being stared at, for he was rich, pretty and perfect, and half expected everyone to look up to him anyway. And it was not so unexpected to find Potter staring at him, for it had happened on several occasions before, especially after they'd had a particularly nasty encounter. It was not that Potter was staring at him, per se. It was the way he was looking at him.

Now, there were several ways Harry Potter tended to stare at Draco Malfoy with. There was the common, I-hate-you-go-die glare that accompanied passing through the halls on their way to class. If they stopped to snarl at each other for a moment, Potter's face would contort into the I-want-to-wring-your-perfect-neck-and-I-really-would-except-Dumbledore-would-expel-me-and-I-really-hate-my-relatives-so-I'm-letting-you-off-the-hook-this-time. Or, if things were really becoming vicious, Potter would eventually get the Fuck-this-you're-a-bloody-fucking-git-and-I'm-going-to-pound-your-face-into-the-wall-so-you-better-start-running-nancy-boy look, which was soon followed by a hasty (but dignified) retreat on Draco's part, and much snickering about it later.

Draco was used to all that. In fact, he sometimes looked forward to a round or two with his old nemesis, especially if he was in a good mood.

The look he was receiving today, however, was nothing like he'd ever seen on Potter's face before.

Often when he caught the Gryffindor looking at him from across the hall, the look was full of despise and malicious intent, though he quickly lowered his head and pretended he'd never been looking in the first place.

This, unfortunately, was not that look.

It was…a lustful look.

Now, Draco Malfoy, being as rich, as pretty and as perfect as he was, was not unfamiliar with these sorts of expressions. Sometimes passing in the halls, he caught girls of various houses, younger and older, giving him that same, lusty, unrequited glance. In class he occasionally looked up to see a girl blush and glance away from where she'd previously been giving him "the eye." In fact, Draco had even seen a few guys give him that look, though he spared them (well, most of them) the embarrassment of later vicious rumors originating from their source of love interest.

He did not, however, expect in a million, trillion, googolplex years, for Harry bloody Potter, Lord of Gryffindor, Son of the Lucky Gods, the Golden Boy and Master of Death, to be giving Draco Malfoy, himself, that particular expression.

Draco had a fork halfway to his mouth, and gaped at the Gryffindor across the Hall, his eyes more intense and focused than even in their worst fights. They seemed to sparkle like bloody emeralds, flashing in the sunlight peaking through the clouds above. He licked his lips slowly and seductively as he stared at Draco, and Malfoy felt a hard coldness in his stomach. He looked to his left, and then to his right, but could find no one else Potter would give that expression to. No Weasleys or Grangers or Changs in sight, and somehow Draco did not think Potter was looking at Crabbe or Goyle that way. Slowly, Draco looked back at Potter, a thick, ugly sense of unease filling his stomach and oozing down his intestines.

Presently Potter was on his feet, and abruptly leapt over the Gryffindor table, catching the surprised glances of much of his house. He strode several feet and then leapt smoothly over the Hufflepuff table, to the irked cries of several people with trod on fingers. He was making a straight beeline for Draco with that damned expression plastered all over his face, his cloak flying all around him like the great beating of black wings. Draco thought he rather looked like Death coming towards him, and briefly hoped he would be smote on the spot, and not have to deal with whatever Potter thought he wanted.

By the time Potter had vaulted over the Ravenclaw table, he had the attention of nearly everyone in the Hall. Everyone watched in curiosity, amusement or amazement as he leapt onto the Slytherin table and crouched down, staring Malfoy straight in the face, still giving him that look.

"Potter, you're in my breakfast," snapped Draco, voice much calmer than he actually was. He had not spent time around dozens of psychopathic maniacs such as his father's friend and lived to tell about it by showing what he really felt. His cold glare dissolved into one of half terror, however. Potter was eyeing him in a way that seemed to suggest that Draco was his breakfast.

"Wha-" Draco caught himself, and cleared his throat, putting on his normal sneer again. "What do you want, Potter."

Potter's mouth widened into a wicked, wicked grin that made Draco's heart sink and his eyes widen. He leaned as far back in his chair as he could, willing his legs to pick up and run, but he seemed to be frozen in place.

"I just wanted you to know, Malfoy," uttered Potter in a tone that Draco had never heard come out of his mouth before. The Gryffindor leaned in so close his nose almost touched the blonde's. He glasses fogged up with his hot, ragged breathing, and for some reason Draco thought he looked just like a starved vampire. Potter took a breath and whispered ever so slowly, "I. Hate. You."

Whatever that was supposed to accomplish, Draco wasn't sure, but any calm thought was presently lost as Potter launched himself at Draco, and they both landed on the floor with a noisy thud, the chair dashed away with a great clatter. The air was knocked out of Draco, and for a moment he lay there, dazed with Potter on top him, not quite sure what had just happened. Once again, however, any time for sane thought was lost as the Gryffindor promptly dug his fists into Draco's shirt and pulled him up for a hot, wet kiss.

Now, of all the things that had just happened, including the lustful expression on Potter's face, somehow Draco had not thought that this was what was going to happen. Perhaps he thought that Potter was just going to make some foul joke or crack at his family, and walk away laughing. Or perhaps he thought Potter was only going to pretend to like him just to get nasty rumors spread about Draco, and thus triumph in whatever sick goal he had in the first place.

Somehow, Draco did not think, despite all the signs of the past two minutes that Harry bloody Potter was actually going to kiss him. And yet, here he was with a Gryffindor's tongue in his mouth and the whole of the Great Hall watching.

Some primal instinct kicked in at the thought of everyone seeing this, and Draco brought up a knee – hard – into Potter's groin. The boy gave a sharp cry and released Draco from a tight grasp, and the Slytherin scrambled up, panting in great heaves and staring at Potter with a look of utter loathing and surprise.

"Wha…wha…" gasped Draco, eyes round as a goldfish as he stared at the other curled up on the floor. "P-potter, you, you…" But whatever Malfoy was about to call Harry, no one ever found out, because the next moment Potter was up and smiling maliciously at Draco.

"You little shite," he grinned evilly, staring at his prey upon the floor. Draco gaped, frozen again. "Come here, Malfoy." He stepped towards the Slytherin, but something in Draco's mind clicked, and then he was up and bolting down the hall. He heard Potter give chase, his ragged pants loud and determined. Malfoy dashed along the Slytherin table and nearly gave a shriek when Potter's fingers scraped his back. He screeched around the corner of the table, but Potter, unfortunately, vaulted over the end of the table and slammed hard into Draco, once again knocking them to the ground.

"Now hold still, you little shite," he hissed seductively as he caught Malfoy's struggling arms in his hands and pinned him down so he could barely move. The Gryffindor's face was wild with lust and he looked like something dragged from the center of the Forbidden Forest. Something in heat, that is. He leaned close, hot breaths laden over Draco's mouth. "Hold still. You don't know how terribly bad I want to f.." Whatever he'd been about to say, however, came to an abrupt end as Potter froze as stiff as a board on top Malfoy and toppled over sideways. Draco scrambled back and scratched his way up the pair of closest legs he could find, much like a terrified cat. He looked up, wide-eyed, at the face of Ron Weasley, whose wand was pointed at Potter and who was looking at Malfoy with the exact same expression as on Draco's face. He stared at the Slytherin open-mouthed for a moment, until he seemed to come back to reality, and kicked Draco away before striding over to Potter.

Draco watched, still half-dazed, half-petrified with fear, as Weasley crouched beside Potter and stared intently at his face, as though searching for the meaning of the past three minutes. Several students, who looked just as shell-shocked, gathered around Potter, muttering worriedly.

The twin Weasleys had come up behind the crowd and were looking slightly dazed.

"You know, George," said one of them, staring at Potter. "I think next time we'll have to go a wee lighter on the Aphrodite petals."

"I rather think you're right, Fred," said the other, obviously George.

Then, to everyone's surprise, they started to laugh long and hard, until they were gasping for breath, receiving a number of not amused glances from the crowd. Ron Weasley was giving them a very hard look, and snarled, pointing at Potter, "What did you do to him?"

The twins continued to guffaw, however, and suddenly Draco understood. Had those…those maniacs done something to Potter to make him crazy? They made him attack Draco? No one, not in the history of all things Draco, had anyone ever made him have a worse morning.

Suddenly, Draco was no longer shell-shocked or dizzy. Nor was he any longer on the ground. He stood, shaking with unsuppressed rage and bellowed, "I AM GOING TO KILL YOU, YOU BLOODY ARSEHOLES!"

Even this did not deter the twins' gaieties. It seemed to have the opposite effect, and they let loose another round of hoots. Snarling somewhat animal-like, Draco was about to charge over and rip their necks out when a hard hand caught his shoulder and held him in place.

"That's enough," intoned the low, cold voice of Professor Snape. The twins stopped laughing and suddenly didn't look quite so amused. Ron Weasley had started to drag up Potter from the ground where he lay frozen, but now stared worriedly at Snape, as though the professor would somehow find a way to blame him and Potter for this mess.

"You two, my office, now," barked a livid looking Professor McGonagal, coming up behind the twins.

"Well, George," muttered the other twin (Draco had already forgotten his name) as they slunk off behind McGonagal. "It was worth it."

"Couldn't agree more," said George, and they both snickered. Professor McGonagal didn't seem to find this quite as funny as they did, and grabbed them both by an ear and lead them angrily from the Hall.

"Weasley, Granger, take Potter to the Hospital Wing," snapped Professor Snape, his hand still on Draco's shaking shoulder.

Granger, who had appeared from out of nowhere, quickly squeaked, "Yes, Professor," and she and Weasley dragged Potter off.

Draco's seething quickly dwindled into embarrassment, and he shrugged off Snape's hand, glaring at the ground. He strode quickly from the Hall to the dungeons, and didn't even keep his head up like his father would have told him to.

The moment he stepped down the first stair the Hall broke into gales of suppressed laughter, and Draco's face burned hot red, and he found it very hard to blink back the angry, embarrassed tears that flooded his eyes. The world looked skewed and watery, and he cursed the Weasley twins for ever being born. Whatever they had done to Potter, be it love potion or something of their own foul creation, Draco Malfoy was going to get back at them, if it was the last thing he ever did.