When Draco regained his senses, his first thought was Oh. Shit. What have I done? He looked down at Harry, who was grinning at him shyly, having just Snogged Him Senseless against the wall of the dressing room. He buried his nose in Draco's neck and whispered, "Bloody hell, Draco, if I'd known you were such a good kisser I'd have done this earlier."
Draco stiffened, and his hands came up to push Harry away, but he never got a chance because Harry suddenly stepped back, away from him.
"What is wrong with you?" he demanded. "First you tell me I'm hot, then you all but beg me to shag you, and now you're pushing me away?" When Draco didn't answer, he turned away. "Get out, I have to change."
He ended up buying the clothes anyway, because they were still part of his Cunning Plan, or at least that's what he told himself. Draco had left while he was changing, so he walked back to Hogwarts by himself, lost in thought.
Meanwhile, Draco was in the Slytherin dungeons, yelling at the Very Small Fangirl, who had reappeared on his shoulder.
"WILL YOU SHUT THE BLOODY HELL UP?" he roared. "FOR THE LAST BLOODY TIME, I AM NOT BLOODY IN LOVE WITH HARRY BLOODY POTTER!"
She looked at him, and there was pity in her fangirly gaze. I know you're in denial, Draco, but honestly, do you have to say 'bloody' so many times in one sentence?
"YES, I BLOODY WELL DO!"
She sniffed. Fine. I'm leaving. Let me know when you're not in denial anymore, okay?
He just growled at her, and she disappeared. He was left alone in his room to sulk. That's it, he thought. Harry Potter must DIE. He ignored the twinge in his heart as he thought that, and vehemently resumed putting together the rest of his Cunning Plan.
-------------------------
Lucius was being dragged along by his bleeding left hand. As he was still drunk and severely brain-damaged, he was not entirely sure where he was. He had barely registered that one of the eight Dark Lords had grabbed him, pulled him out of the room and down the hallway and out of the Very Secret Hiding Place. The rest of them had disappeared mysteriously, only to be replaced by shelves full of items that he did not recognize. He peered at them, and managed to make out the words "More Pleasure For Less!"
"Lubricant?" he managed to gasp out of as he was pulled past it. Voldemort did not slow his harrowing pace.
When they reached the end of the aisle, however, the Very Evil Dark Lord stopped. "Damn it," he cursed. "Don't they come in bigger sizes?"
When the words made it into the hazy fog of his brain, Lucius collapsed into giggles again. "V-Voldie… do you realize how wrong that sounds?"
Voldemort shot him his patented Evil Dark Lord Death Glare. "Shut up, Lucius. Now help me find a big container of a Very Slippery Substance, or I won't just fling you, I'll fucking Avada Kedavra you right here in front of all the Muggles."
"Muggles?" Lucius inquired, now even more confused than before. "Voldie, where in the bloody hell are we?"
"In a Muggle drugstore, Lucius," he hissed. "Because you came up with a Plan that involves huge amounts of a Very Slippery Substance which apparently cannot be made by any spell."
"So why didn't you just brew some?"
"Because there hasn't been an even vaguely competent Potions expert among the Death Eaters since Snape turned traitor, that's why. Now find me something that will work!"
Giggling, Lucius decided that the best way to find the slipperiest substance in the store was to upend every container he could get his hands on. When one of them caused Voldemort to fall onto his back, legs flailing, he declared the mission accomplished, and held the container of olive oil aloft in his victory.