| 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. Harry: Huh? 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] |