Scene fades onto a comfortable sitting room, where we find our hero and his boy toy sitting together on the couch.
Draco: Potter, what's going on?
Harry: I think she's being lazy, but I'm not holding it against her.
Draco: What the hell is she doing then?
Harry: Sleeping, I imagine. She is on holiday, you know.
Draco: Do I look like I care? I want us shagging in the next chapter or so help me...
Lady B: What's with all the damn shouting?
Draco (angry): Why haven't you been writing?
Lady B: If you'd bothered to ask, I would have told you I have been writing. It's just slow going at the moment.
Draco: Well what the hell is the problem?
Lady B: Two words; The Crabbes.
Lady B: They won't shut up. I mean I have poor, sick, broken-ribbed Harry climbing a fucking ledge because they keep getting closer to his hiding spot and they keep switching topics every two seconds. Those two have the brain capacity of a flea, and I'm being generous with that description.
Harry (laughing): Gives a whole new meaning to "flea-brained".
Draco (snorting): Indeed.
Lady B: Did you just snort?
Draco: Don't be ridiculous, woman. Malfoys do not snort.
Harry: You snorted.
Draco: I bloody well did not!
Lady B: Keep telling yourself that, Malfoy.
Author walks away as Draco and Harry argue over the characteristics of snorting vs "delicate laughter through one's nose".
[also shared on my personal journal]