"A problem?! Yes there’s a fucking problem!" He shouted, "The fucking problem, is that this slimy snake keeps sitting at our fucking table!" more than one person had glanced over at them, the seventh year’s raised voice carrying down the table, "I don’t care if he’s your boyfriend or something," he sneered, disdain dripping from his words, and Harry felt a jolt of surprised alarm somewhere behind his navel; he glanced out of the corner of his eye at Draco, and found a snarl twisting the blondes features, "he should be sitting with his own kind, over there," he jabbed his finger angrily in the direction of the Slytherin table, "rather than eating our fucking puddings!"