Breath-Taking

Summary: When Harry finds something major missing from his life, who will help him?

Disclaimer: If I owned Potter, don't you think I'd make him give me a back rub?

Let's pretend for now that I do, and prepare to be delighted as you immerse yourselves in the PRE-SHOW ENTERTAINMENT!

Me (u can call me Sciurus, which is Latin 4 squirrel): Happy Thanksgiving!

Harry: Boy do I love turkey! about to sink fangs into innocent dead turkey

Sciurus: dives for drumstick in slo mo Nooooooo!

Harry: What's up your ass?

Sciurus: I think Eleanor is offended by that comment

angry donkey glares in Potter's general direction

Sciurus: Bad boy! First you eat Rothbart, then you make fun of my ass!

Harry: But Becky, look at your ass! It's so big!

giant donkey stamps hoof on ground angrily

Harry: Wait… Rothbart?

Sciurus: stands on table and makes tear-jerking speech to a background of uplifting music Remember, every turkey has a name, a mother, a father, and a cute lil red wattle. Don't eat a turkey; it just might be Rothbart! Indeed, look at it that every turkey is a Rothbart, capable of love and affection! holds hand over heart Imagine the peace, the joy that would result if we could live together in an interspecies brotherhood of tolerance!

Harry uses this distraction to seize turkey and sink his jaws into it

Sciurus: eyes narrow and turn red Bad Hawwy, bad! whacks him on the head with a Tofurkey Let this be a lesson for us all! Harry falls unconscious And to all a good night!

Sciurus: By the way, her name's Eleanor, not Becky pats donkey on the neck

Breathtaking: Ch.1: Neville's Nightmare

Neville stood in front of the mirror, brushing his teeth as quickly as possible. Although it was a Saturday, Neville had intended to be up earlier than this. It was already eleven o'clock! As he massaged his gums with the toothbrush, he stared at the mirror, receiving a reflection of the world behind him. Seamus was snoring peacefully, and Ron was absent; he was at Quiddich practice. Cormac McLaggen lay straight as a board in his bed, occasionally flinching and whimpering. The enormous boy had troubles, just like everyone else, only his troubles involved belt buckles.

Neville only hoped that Luna wouldn't be too mad at his tardiness; Luna was supposed to help him with charms. Although the girl might be a little bit odd, Neville grinned as he thought the biggest understatement in Hogwarts history; she was capable of charming anything! She was going to help him with the incredibly complicated Sentience Spell. When he heard about the Charms project, in which he would use a Sentience Spell in tandem with an Animation Incantation, where he would have to create a moving, thinking, object, he had flipped out, and was thankful when Luna offered him her help in exchange for helping her to cultivate a Warsaw Dream-Catcher, a Venus Fly-Trap which would catch nightmares that had been sent to you.

The boy's pensive wanderings of thought were disturbed by a rustling he heard in sheets. He turned around, and saw out of the corner of his eye that the movement had come from Harry's bed. Harry was captain of the Quiddich team! Neville ran to wake Harry up, knowing Harry would berate himself for being tardy to the practice that he himself was supposed to be captaining! A foot stuck out from under the sheet.

Neville noticed things a lot, and he gathered his observations into an accordion folder in his mind whenever it appeared he was merely being silent. Harry's feet were five and a half sizes larger than this one, and his feet were darker than the appendage that jutted out from Harry's bed. The foot was small, almost dainty; Harry had never had big feet anyhow, but now they were very small! The foot was a creamy white in colour. Neville stared for a minute or two, archiving that foot in his mind. Had he seen a foot like that elsewhere? Did it look in the least bit familiar in any way shape or form?

Harry's love life had not been inactive; Neville knew all about Harry's exploits with Cho and Ginny. Neville assumed that perhaps it was one of Potter's female consorts. No, Neville concluded after a minute's careful scrutiny. He had never seen a foot like that belonging to anybody he had ever met before. Gulping, Neville flexed his fingers, hearing the telltale brittle sound of his knuckles crack. A knot of fear formed itself in the pit of his stomach as he knew that something wasn't right. Shakily, he extended his fingers, his hand, and then his arm slowly toward the comforter, his arm moving slowly like a ponderous large vessel of a ship sailing through molasses. He owed it to Harry to wake him up for Quiddich, right? He touched the edge of Harry's quilt, and withdrew his hand as if he was on fire. Gritting his teeth and closing his eyes, Neville withdrew the quilt quickly, and his hand leaped back to his side, where it belonged.

Eyes still closed, Neville said as his voice faltered, "H-H-Harry, time to get up! You don't want to miss Quiddich practice!" Neville opened his eyes a crack, staring at the bathroom mirror, anywhere but at Harry, and out of the corner of his eyes he saw something bounce as Harry jumped up, suddenly wide awake.

"Oh no!" Harry exclaimed, staring at a magical clock shaped like a fish that swam around in a bowl of something that looked like golden honey. That was a present for Harry from Luna. The fish-clock appeared to be a silver magical Ramora, the fish of sailors. Its eyes were blue-green, and the fish occasionally jumped up in pure joy, and the light glinting off the fishes' scaled sides seemed to be its equivalent of laughing. The fish had nostrils, which struck Neville as odd, but he guessed that it was another Luna oddity that needed no explanation.

Neville listened to Harry's voice, and winced. It was jarring, not right. It was off pitch from the voice that Harry normally spoke with. Of course, this happened often, whenever Harry was angry, sad, or very happy. But, at most, there was only about half a tonal of discrepancy from his average pitch, even when voice inflection was thrown into the picture. Whereas now, Harry's voice was off by an octave or two. Higher. Neville's eyes shifted downward to the floor, and at last, getting up his courage, he sharply jerked his eyes over to Harry's strange feet.

His other foot was the same as his new one, small and slender. Up. His legs were fleshier than his old ones, but overall they were still smaller. Up. Potter was still relatively thin in the stomach, not much more flesh there, although his rippling muscles were gone. Up. His pectoral muscles had either swelled in size or…

Wait! Neville jerked his eyes away, and then, out of the corner of his eyes, looked back. No wonder he thought something had bounced when Harry leaped to his feet! He was no expert on cup size, but Harry was a moderate sized B, if not a C! Neville couldn't help but stare at Harry's chest, until finally even Harry noticed Neville's gaze.

"You know, Neville," Harry remarked conversationally, "I never would have known that you swing that way. Just don't look lower…" As if controlled by proverbial puppet strings, Neville's gaze swung sharply downward. The normally conspicuous bulge in that area was gone. He craned his neck downward to get a better view, although it gave him a painful crick; he had to look further down than normal. By a lot. His eyes snapped to the top of Harry's head; he didn't want to see Harry's face, he wanted to assume that it wasn't Harry, he wanted to cling to the last threads of reality there were. He stared at the top of Harry's head. He estimated the height; Harry was about 5'3" now, as opposed to his usual 6'2". Neville himself was of a moderate height; he was around 5'9" and still growing. Seamus was about 5'11" and Dean cashed in at a petite 5'7." Ron was the bumbling red-haired giant, all six feet and three inches of him. Even the petite Dean, if he were standing next to Harry, would tower over him now.

"Look at my face, Neville, why won't you look at my face? You're scaring me! Is something wrong?" Neville's throat went dry; he couldn't tell Harry how much was wrong! He felt a somewhat calloused hand reach up to grab his face and tilt his chin downward, so that he was staring straight into Harry's eyes. Harry's new hands still bore the badges that were his bruises from Quiddich, but they were softer. He stared at Harry's face.

The eyes were unchanged. They were still the brilliant green that they were before. The scar was still there, but much fainter; Neville had to squint to see it. Harry's eyelashes were somewhat longer, and his lips were marginally thicker. His hair was the same. His scream was higher pitched…

Harry shrieked bloody murder at a pitch which made Neville flinch. Harry started trembling. With shaking hands, he touched a hand to his face. He gaped, open-mouthed, at something which Neville saw directly. Harry shook his head disbelievingly; no, this couldn't be, he must have assured himself mentally, Neville figured. Harry ripped off his black boxers, which now extended far beyond his knees, looking like some sort of ridiculous dress. With hands that quivered a bit, he stroked his upper legs in surprise and horror, touching his crotch area before his hand alighted quickly from it. Neville tried to stop Harry as Harry pulled his old inherited Grateful Dead T-shirt over his head. Harry slapped Neville's hand away, and in one quick fluid motion, pulled it off.

Neville was not an entirely asexual creature, although he was nowhere near as horny as his average male teenage counterparts. And so, Neville reassured himself that the reason that he still stared at the nude Harry was just because that even though he wanted to look away, he couldn't. It was like watching an explosion on the television (that his Muggle cousin Jeffrey, who was his age, had told him about); you didn't want to see it, but you had a stronger want not to miss it. Harry narrowed his eyes and, too shocked to panic, was dead calm. As if he was a connoisseur methodically inspecting a gourmet cheese, he poked his chest. When he felt something, he frowned and narrowed his eyes. Now that he was naked, the slow but chill breeze from the frigid north which made its leisurely way through the dormitory caused his nipples to firm up and become erect. Harry's eyes widened and Neville could only imagine the sensitivity he was feeling, and the former boy slowly touched his right nipple. His hand moved down a bit, dragging on the skin of his hardened nipples, and Neville assumed that Harry must have felt a rush of incredibly unfamiliar feelings. Harry fell down unconscious in shock, and Neville stared in horror at the naked cataleptic body. Neville propped Harry's head up on a pillow, and ran over to Harry's bed, got his quilt, was about to drag Harry's blanket on top of him, when Harry let out a low moan, or at least a moan low for his new vocal cords. Neville dropped the blanked ran over to Harry's side, and leaned over the neo-girl, investigating to see if in fact he was all right.

Neville heard a sound at the door, and turned around, and saw Ron staring at him. Neville realized how the situation had looked; he was leaning over a naked, curvaceous, black-haired girl in the middle of their dormitory floor!

Ron sputtered, unsure of what to say. "Uhh… Umm… Aah…," he mumbled. "Sorry!" He exclaimed suddenly, preparing to run out.

"Stop!"

… just 2 clarify things, the reason that Harry started taking off his clothes was because that he needed to see if he really wuz a girl and he wuz a bit nuts anyway! Whut did u think, that Harry was giving Neville a strip tease? I mean, come on! He realized he might b a girl becuz… actually, I'll review a story of anyone who could guess how he figured it out!