Harry Potter has had problems with his bowel movements-but with a little help from Draco -and his old pal magic-things might happen.

Harry Potter looked at his pocket calendar with dismay. He counted the squares back -ten days until he found the poo shaped mark. "Ron," he sobbed. "It's happening again."

Ron looked at the calendar and then back to Harry. "Ah. You mean it's not happening." Truly was there was no greater friend than one that could console you in times of pooplessness, Harry mused. However, Ron was of little consolation, being a constant man. Harry had never spoken to Hermione about the matter, but based on Freud, he figured there might be some retention.

"Everyone poops," Ron assured him. "You've just got to give it time."

"I'm not going back to Pomphrey again. She always makes me go in front of her as proof. It's humiliating."

"Harry, you've pooped before. We've been through tougher times-and tougher poops-than this. Have you been taking the magical laxatives?"

"You know those only congest me more." Harry lifted up his shirt and revealed his bulging stomach.

Ron gasped. "Oh my God, Harry. So you're not pregnant?"

Tears poured down Harry's face. "No! I lied! All along, it's just been poop!" Ron closed his eyes, doubled over, and erupted with laughter.

He looked back at Harry. "You're full of shit."

Harry shook his head and departed. He was not in a silly mood that day. Just as sarcastic thoughts began to wallow in his head, someone grabbed at his shoulders. He saw a horrible face, assuming it to be a jinx of some sort. The shape moved back and he realized it was Draco Malfoy.

"Scared you, Potter?" Malfoy asked, grinning. He glanced at Harry's trousers. Crabbe and Goyle were standing in the background, fingering their wallets over the bet they had made but Draco knew at once he had lost. He tried again, railing at Harry, who flinched.

"What are you doing, Malfoy?" Harry demanded. He could see Crabbe and Goyle chuckling in the distance. "Another one of your stupid bets? I'm not in the mood today." Harry jammed his hands into the pockets of his trousers and stormed away, humming out of tune.

Malfoy glanced back at his friends, then chased after Harry. "Hey, wait up." Harry looked at Malfoy with disdain. "Look," Malfoy continued, "I know that we don't normally talk and I definitely do not consider us to be friends, but obviously something is bothering you and well, maybe I can help."

Harry glared. "Trust me, you don't want to know."

"Try me." Malfoy said with earnest. Harry lifted his shirt. "Oh my god-you're pregnant!"

"Worse!"

"Poop?" Malfoy suggested, uncertainly.

"Poop." Harry confirmed. "So much poop. Are you happy now? You have the truth? Even the famous Harry Potter poops, when he can!" he sobbed.

"Honestly, I don't know what to say to that," said Malfoy. "I guess I'm sorry?" Harry began stomping, humming louder than before. "Hey, wait!," Malfoy called again. "I want to help."

"Why should I ask for your help, Malfoy? I hate you. Just like I hate poop!"

"You have no other choice." Harry knew that Malfoy was right.

"Alright. What do we do?" Malfoy guided Harry to the dungeons.

"There's a secret toilet around here that Slytherins use for diarrhea-I have a plan." Malfoy would not explain the plan, so Harry went along with grumpery. "Pull down your pants," Malfoy urged, gesturing toward the open toilet.

"No way!" Harry belowed.

There was patience in Draco's kind eyes. "Do you want to poop your pants?" he asked gently. Harry shook his head. Again, Malfoy pointed out the toilet. This time Harry sat.

"Well, are you going to say anything?" Harry asked Malfoy after a minute of awkward silence. Draco waved his hand at Harry in impatience, eyes furrowed with concentration as he looked out into space.

In between Malfoy's mumbles, Harry picked up a few words, "There must be a spell for it...I've got it!" Malfoy exclaimed at last. He whispered it into Harry's ear. Harry's face lit up. "On the count of three! We'll do it together! One!"

"Two," Harry followed.

Malfoy threw in an exuberant "Three!"

Then Harry's voice rang out, like a chorus of Angels, "Accio feces!"

Two weeks later, in the Great Hall.

"Ah yes," Dumbledore said, setting his wine glass back on the table. "We've finally finished our repairs in the dungeon, and classes will resume tomorrow. The smell, however, may linger for a bit."

Harry looked at Malfoy, patted his flat stomach, and smiled.