Harry Potter and the Obvious Solution

Disclaimer: Okay, seriously now…we are RUNNING OUT of witty disclaimers. We don't own them, they are the property of J.K Rowling, and she is the property of Buddha/God/Allah/ Brahmin/insert deity here. CURSE YOU J K ROWLING!

Author's Notes: We are very sorry for the extremely long wait between chapters. Crouching Tigerlily went to England for the summer, and we only write as a team. Yes, folks, it's true! LadyVerse is the Yank! And now, for our new chapter (finally!)


Chapter 7: Ahh…Look at the Pretty Hormones!

"Hermione, does this make me look fat?"

"That's it. You've completed your transformation."

"What are you talking about? I just want to know if this skirt makes my thighs look big."

"Harry. You think like a girl now."

"Hermione, that's ridic—STOP AVOIDING MY QUESTION!"

"NO, it doesn't make your thighs look fat! You look gorgeous in everything you wear!'

"Thank you."

Harry turned to inspect himself in the full-length mirror. He was wearing a cute little red tartan skirt, a red tank top (which accentuated his cleavage), and was just pulling on some adorable little black Alice shoes. It had been three weeks since his transformation, and he had warmed up a lot more towards more feminine things. Hermione looked him up and down, rummaged in her trunk, and produced a pair of long black socks.

"Wear these, Harry. They'll look cute with those shoes."

Harry pulled them on and once again, surveyed himself in the mirror.

"Do you think they make my legs look stubby?"

"No, they make your legs look cute."

"But I'm so short!"

"Do you actually know how short you are?"

"Yes, I measured myself."

"And…"

There was a long silence.

"Four-eleven," Harry said in a very small voice.

"You're less than five feet!"

"AND THREE-QUARTERS!"


"Harry, mate, come over here!"

Harry turned towards the Ravenclaw table during breakfast, where Roger Davies was calling him over.

"Hermione! He's calling me over! What should I do?" Harry whispered urgently.

"Just go and talk to him, Harry. You'll be fine," she answered.

Harry jumped up and walked eagerly over to the Ravenclaw table. "Hi Roger!" he said with a little bit too much enthusiasm. But just a little bit. Draco, who was watching moodily from the Slytherin table, thought to himself, Dear God, that boy…girl…person has no subtlety. Then he overheard some of what Harry was saying and choked on his Columbian Roast coffee…black, no sugar.

"Oh my god, have you been working hard at Quidditch too? I swear every time I get off that broom I am so sore! I think the practices just get longer and longer. You need so much stamina to ride well you know what I mean?"

Davies looked more than a little bit dazed. "Um, yeah. Sure. Stamina."

Draco became more and more shocked as he continued to watch. Harry was doing every cheap trick in every cheap book—the leaning over, the giggling, the cute coy smile (at least, that's what Draco imagined he was doing), and the—Dear GOD, was that a hair flip?

Back at the Gryffindor table, Ron had noticed the same thing. The change on his face was really quite hilarious. His face went pale, and his mouth dropped open, and his eyebrows disappeared into his hair. He slowly turned to Hermione, and said, "He flipped his hair."

"Oh, did he?" said Hermione casually. "That little minx, he's flirting."

"Harry flipped his hair at Roger Davies."

"He's a girl, Ron."

"Dear God."

"Calm down Ron."

"By best friend is a girl! He's wearing mini skirts and flicking both his arse and his hair at Roger Davies."

"Don't forget the boobs Ron."

"Dear God."

Ron surveyed the Ravenclaw table as Harry leaned over and exposed rather a lot of cleavage to the Ravenclaw Quidditch team. Ron could tell because they all turned a rather familiar shade of red, and started tugging at their collars.

"Well, I've got to got to go see my friends. Bye Roger!"

Harry ran back to Ron and Hermione, boobs a-bouncing, which caused a vast majority of the great hall to turn and admire the beautiful sight. Harry (of course) was oblivious, and simply sat down next to Hermione with a rather large grin on his face.

"Guess who just asked me out?"

Hermione's eyes widened in shock, "But-but, I mean, that's great Harry, but I thought you liked Boot better?"

"Well, he's a perv—" Harry lowered his voice, "You don't mind if I go out with Roger do you?"

"What? No. When I said I liked him, I meant purely in a physical way, I'm not actively pursuing him."

"Oh good! 'Cause, I'm so excited and I can't wait and I think he might really like me oh Hermione what shall I wear?"


Draco sat in a comfortable chair in the Slytherin common room, utterly miserable. What could it be? He wondered, I know! I need a drink!

Draco jumped up, "Right!" He said, clapping his hands, "I need a drink!"

Blaise turned towards Draco with a bemused expression. "Are you sure you're not just going to spy on Potter and Davies?"

"What! That's ridiculous! I just feel like some Columbian Roast coffee—black, no sugar."

"Draco, you can get that here—"

"BYE!"

Blaise turned to Crabbe and Goyle, looking like the proverbial cat who swallowed the canary. "It's official," he declared. "Draco Alexander Malfoy likes Harry James Potter."

"So is Draco gay?"

"Why Crabbe," replied Blaise, "That's actually quite insightful."

"What's insightful?"

"Never mind."


Oh, screw it. I want a firewhisky.

Draco sat at the bar of the Three Broomsticks, contemplating how to get past Rosmerta. He was wondering about the Imperius Curse—no, it's way too much effort…Just then, Harry and Roger walked in, and Draco froze. Oh dear God look at his outfit! He's naked from navel to hips! NAVEL TO HIPS, I SAY!

Harry was wearing a sexy pink tank top and very tight dark hipsters, along with some adorable little pink flats that showed off his cute little height. Draco watched, transfixed, as they sat down and Roger ordered. A moment later he was shocked as he realised the drinks were Firewhiskies.

"Um, Roger," said Harry timidly. "I'm not of age yet."

"Don't worry, it'll be fine," said Roger soothingly.

Draco was paralyzed with rage. He's trying to get Potter DRUNK! He screamed inside his head. I should have thought of that! As the date went on, Harry got more and more exasperated.

"I really like your top," Roger said, while staring intently at Harry's bosoms.

"Um, thanks," Harry said uneasily. "Hermione made me wear it." Did Roger think he was oblivious? He was a boy once too!

"Well, I'm glad she did, it's got a really nice neckline." At this he reached out to touch the top of Harry's shirt. Harry jumped up quite violently, knocking his chair over.

"Oh, would you look at that, I've finished my drink, gottagobye!"

"Don't you want another—"

"NO!"

"Well okay, I'll walk you out."

Good boy—girl…person, thought Draco, as he walked out behind them.

"Wanna go over to the Shrieking Shack?" said Roger, as they walked through the village.

"Um, well, actually I—" stammered Harry.

"Come on then," said Roger, gently steering Harry with his hands (which were quite a bit lower than they should have been).

Draco followed angrily (and stealthily) after them.


Harry and Roger stood in front of the Shrieking Shack. Draco looked on angrily from behind a nearby tree as Roger made increasingly more obvious come-ons. Harry was looking more uncomfortable by the minute.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" said Roger, wrapping his arm possessively around Harry's waist/butt. Harry wriggled away from him, saying, "It's a creaky old house. I have to go."

Roger grabbed Harry by the arms, spun him around, and came at him with his tongue out. Harry squealed and propelled down the hill, heading for the village. Draco, incensed by all the excitement, followed him.

Harry stopped to catch his breath behind the Three Broomsticks. Draco snuck up behind him and whispered in his ear, "Date not going so well?"

Harry shrieked and said "Hide me!"

"It's okay, Davies isn't—"

"Harry?"

"There he is!" Harry squeaked, terrified.

"Oh. Okay." Draco picked Harry up by his small and delicate waist and placed him against the nearest wall. Then he pushed his body against Harry's and tilted his face, thereby faking a passionate makeout session.

Davies' footsteps could be heard around the corner. "Quick, run your hands though my hair." Harry obliged and they waited for Roger to pass. It was only then when the full realisation of situation sunk in to Harry. This was Malfoy. Draco Malfoy's tall, lean, and muscular body was pressed up against his (encountering a lot of resistance, I might add, from Harry's upper body). This is strange, he thought. I don't feel any hot, boiling hatred. No urge to perform the Furnunculus Curse. Well, actually, something is hot and boiling…

Draco, meanwhile, fought to keep himself under control. He closed his eyes to make this easier. It was then when they heard Roger turn the corner and say, "Hey have you seen—whoa, sorry." He walked away and Harry breathed an audible sigh of relief.

"Um…thanks," Harry said awkwardly.

Draco looked at Harry. The pure and innocent look on his face looked so pretty, especially with the light flush that was creeping onto his cheeks. His little pink mouth was curled in an embarrassed smile and before Draco could stop or even think about what he was doing, he leaned over and kissed Harry softly, tenderly, on the mouth.

The silence spanned seventeen eternities.

"I…must…go," said Draco, and, abandoning all pretense, fled for Hogwarts.


Author's Notes: Yay, we're back! Just to let you know, this was written pre-Half-Blood Prince, and we don't plan on changing it….the truth is just too horrible. On Draco's middle name…We did NOT want to do the cliché thing and have it be "Lucius." Instead we decided to give him a classical name, as Draco is Greek and so is Alexander. And don't worry, the gay Death Eaters will be back soon.