It was most certainly a dream, but it was so very strange. The house was full of screaming girls and a few yelling boys. But what had happened to terrify everyone so much?
There was a thundering noise from above and an agonized, blood-curdling shriek from below that almost drowned out the other screams throughout the house. Something strange was definitely afoot.
He threw himself out of bed and leaned out the window and watched as someone in a long black cloak strode away. It was a man; his head was thrown back in laughter as though someone had just told a very funny joke. However, there was something not right about the way he laughed, not pleasant.
He tore his gaze away from the man walking away from the house and looked at his hands, only to discover that whatever had happened to the rest of the household had happened to him as well. He opened his mouth in a silent shout.
Harry opened his eyes to see the blurry outline of the same old Chudley Cannons poster tacked on the ceiling above his bed. He sighed softly. What a weird dream. What was it? He couldn't quite remember. He watched light poking through the crack between the curtains that covered his window. He knew Mrs. Weasley would soon be calling the residents of the house, permanent and temporary alike, down to breakfast.
A soft groan from across the room told Harry that Ron was almost ready to become conscious again. That didn't mean that he couldn't snuggle a little deeper into his covers for a few more precious moments of comfort.
He stared up at the ceiling for a few moments, watching the blurry images of the Chudley Cannons team zipping about the poster. He itched to play Quidditch himself. Even though Number 12 Grimmauld Place was well protected, it did not have a very large yard and should Harry take his broom and fly off the property, he would risk being seen by muggles and most likely arrested. He couldn't risk that, considering the number of offences he'd already committed.
Pulling his comforter up to his chin, he snuggled deeper into his bed and looked down the length of his bed to his toes. It was at this that he noticed something rather odd. Very odd, as a matter of fact.
It seemed that as Harry slept, someone, presumably a certain Fred and a certain George Weasley, had snuck into his room and attached two round, though not particularly large or heavy, objects to his chest. Harry frowned, he may not have had his glasses on, but he could definitely see two lumps protruding from his upper torso.
He shook his head exasperatedly; this was a very weak joke, in Harry's opinion. He sat up, intending to let the two round things roll off his chest and out from under the tee-shirt he wore to bed. The bulges moved slightly as he sat up, but they did not roll off his body. With a frown, he poked one of them and found it soft and fleshy. How bizarre.
He fumbled nervously for the collar of his tee-shirt, pulled it away from his neck and stared down his shirt, mouth agape. He had- but why did- he was a man for Merlin's sake and men certainly did not grow… THESE!
His fingers trembled as he reached for his glasses. As he shoved them onto his nose, the first things he noticed were his fingers. They were long and slender and… pretty! Terror rose up in his chest- No! He didn't even want to think about his chest. Shaking now from head to toe, he scrambled out of bed and stumbled towards the mirror situated above the dresser he shared with Ron. Terror did not even begin to describe the emotion that he felt looking at his reflection.
In all honesty, his features had not changed all that drastically. He still had the same bright green eyes, his hair was still jet black, he was still skinny and pinched looking. He had the same nose, the same mouth, the same cheeks, even his scar was unchanged and yet, all his features seemed… softer. More gentle. His hair, though still as jet black as it had always been, now fell past his shoulders. He had bangs that fell gently to the sides of his face. He closed his eyes and screwed up his face. He was dreaming. It was a bad dream. Wake up now Harry. He pinched himself hard only to discover that it did indeed hurt. His heart hammered away at his ribcage as he opened his eyes and stared at the girl in the mirror.
"R-R-Ron?" the voice that escaped his lips was not his own, but one in a higher register that sounded only vaguely familiar.
Harry touched his cheek. Now that he looked closer, his features had been altered, if only slightly. He now noticed that his eyebrows weren't as thick as they had been the night before, his lips slightly more prominent and the curve in his nose from its last break was less noticeable. Really, had the circumstances been entirely different, Harry would consider someone that looked like he did now quite pretty.
Unfortunately for him, the circumstances were not different. He was not dreaming, he was indeed standing in front of a mirror looking at himself, or herself, completely changed and not exactly happy about it.
"Ron!" he said again, tearing himself away from the mirror. He stormed frantically over to where Ron was soundly asleep and tore the comforter off the bed. What Harry saw shocked him as much as his own discovery. Lying on Ron's bed, where Ron should have been, was a tall and gangly girl. She had brilliantly red hair that was cut to chin length with bangs that fell to her eye lids. Her pointed face was smattered with freckles. Harry would have been startled by the fact that there was a girl sleeping in the same room as him, but given the situation in which he found himself, he shouldn't have been shocked at all.
"Ron! Wake up!" Harry grabbed the girls shoulder and gave her a firm shake. He suddenly realized how glad he was that Ron did not sleep nude.
The female Ron groaned and opened her eyes blearily, gazing up at Harry.
It took a moment for Ron to realize that this was not Harry shaking him awake, at least not the Harry he knew, but a girl! He scrambled into a sitting position and yanked his sheets up over his body, not wanting to be seen in his pyjamas by a girl. "Wha-wha-wha…" Ron stammered, not noticing the change in his own voice.
"Ron, it's me," a blank stare was the reply. "It's Harry."
Ron squinted at the girl, only now noticing that this girl did indeed have Harry's eyes, glasses, pyjamas and scar. "Harry? Wha- what happened to you?" He still had noticed the changes to himself.
"Same thing that's happened to you, I reckon," Harry replied.
Anxiously, Ron pulled his sheets away from his body and looked down at himself, taking in his own arms, legs and especially his chest.
Ron's yell was somewhat strangled, due to the fact that he was trying to shout like a man in a girl's voice. He leapt out of his bed and stumbled towards the mirror much as Harry had.
Harry allowed Ron the luxury of gazing at his own appearance in terror and in wonder for a few moments before roughly turning the red-head to face him. Ron's eyes were wide with fear and something else. Were those tears? In all the time that Harry had known Ron, Ron had never shed any tears, no matter what. Perhaps their transformation had pumped them full of those… female hormones as well as changing their appearance.
"Listen Ron," Harry said, trying to keep his new voice level. Now that he saw his friend's glassy eyes, he felt a small lump growing in his throat. "We have to stay calm. I'd bet my Firebolt this is Fred n' George's work."
Ron sucked in a deep breath and exhaled slowly as he fought to get a hold of his fear. "Yeah, probably. But-… how?"
That was an extremely good question and Harry didn't have an answer. He had no idea how the Weasley twins could have gotten himself and Ron to ingest something without anyone noticing. "They've gotta have an antidote or a cure or something."
It was at this particular moment that Harry realized that his boxers were much too large. "Er- let's get dressed first."
It was much easier said than done. Neither Harry nor Ron felt at all comfortable being in the same room as a girl who needed to change clothes. After a good five minutes of struggling to keep their backs facing each other, they eventually decided to take turns. Harry let himself out of the room, letting Ron go first. Uncomfortably, Harry crossed one arm across his chest and used the other hand to hold up his boxers, which he felt were in constant danger of falling down. Nervously, he leaned against the wall, hoping desperately that no one would walk by. Distantly, he heard a loud bellow from the floor above him, but to be honest he didn't much care. No chance that whoever was yelling upstairs had the same problems that he and Ron did.
Ron emerged from the room, wearing a tee-shirt that didn't quite conceal his new chest and a pair of jeans that were too long, and looked much too wide. He looked fairly embarrassed. "I haven't had to wear a belt for a long time," he admitted.
Harry nodded mutely, taking Ron's statement as a piece of advice. He walked into the room and pulled open his designated drawer of the dresser. For one of the very few times in his life, Harry did not know what to wear. He had never exactly thought about it before now. He found that he suddenly had an insight as to why girls cared about how they looked.
Reluctantly, he pulled out a green tee-shirt and a pair of jeans that had once belonged to Dudley. Once he was clothed, belt and all, he realized that he looked even more ridiculous than he did when he was a- er… than he did normally. He sighed, but contented himself with the thought that he and Ron would have this resolved soon.
He opened the door and peeked out into the corridor, making sure that no one else was out there. No one was, not even Ron. Tip-toeing, as though he were a cat burglar, he went into the hallways, closing the door behind him. "Ron?" he whispered.
His ears were met with feet thundering down the stairs. With a strangled squeak, Harry made to throw himself back into his room. Fumbling with the door-knob took only a second too long.
"Harry?"
The voice was male. Harry hoped very much that it was one of the Weasley twins so that he could give them a piece of his female mind. There was no way to hide now. Harry turned slowly to face whomever was addressing him.