Chapter Twelve: A Plethora of Penises

Draco was determined to follow Professor Snape's advice. He had had enough of always being humiliated by Potter. He was sick of being overshadowed by a ginger and the bushy-haired Hobgoblin they were always hanging with. Draco was done with all that – it was time, as Lord Voldemort had told him, to man the fuck up. Now he was going to put all the ridiculousness, all the childishness, and all the nightly bedwettings behind him and do just that.

Man up – he could still hear the Dark Lord's voice in his ears. "Stop being such a fucking pussy and Crucio that kitten, like a real man!"

And he would do it, goddammit!

Now the only problem was to figure out how.

Draco spent the entire afternoon thinking and brainstorming. He finally gave up after failing to come up with a single idea on how he could become a man. Resigned, he put away his crayons and then peeled off his lemongrass-and-rosehip scented exfoliating face mask. This was going to be impossible.

But I shan't give up! He told himself defiantly. Then he thought to himself – what would Harry Potter do?

He would go talk to Dumbledore, that's what!

Happy to have finally come up with an idea, Draco left the Slytherin common room and made his way to Dumbledore's office. But once he was there, he hesitated. He had never been to see Dumbledore before. This was Potter's thing. Draco's thing was running away in tears until his Daddy threatened to spank him in front of all the house-elves.

Man up! His inner voice told him, and he took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

"Come in!" he heard the professor's voice call from inside, and he opened the door.

Dumbledore turned his head to see his visitor and was startled. "Draco! Why, I wasn't expecting you! Come in, come in my dear boy!"

Draco felt relieved that Dumbledore wasn't weird-out by his visit, and now he confidently walked over and took a seat.

Dumbledore looked genuinely pleased to see him. "Now this is a surprise," he said. "I don't believe you've ever visited me before!"

"No I haven't, sir," Draco replied.

A wave of regret passed over the professor. "Alas, I must inform you, my dear boy, that I may not be able to provide you with what you're looking for at the moment."

Draco was crushed. If Dumbledore couldn't give him advice, then his case was hopeless! "What do you mean?"

Dumbledore sighed sadly. "Due to the Ministry's exceedingly needless meddling, I must inform you that I cannot under any circumstances masturbate within a hundred yards of a student."

Draco blinked at this unexpected answer. "Er…"

Dumbledore stood up abruptly. "Which is why," he announced a tad dramatically, "I will be standing over there for the duration of your visit." He pointed to the far right corner of his office, and regally walked over to that corner.

"Erm, okay," said Draco, unsure of what to make of this. He heard some fumbling coming from Dumbledore's robes, but he tried to ignore it.

"Now, what is it that you came here for?"

"I – uh, I need some advice, Professor," said Draco.

"Yes, yes, that's good. You have a problem, I take it?"

"Indeed."

"Good, good. Is it a big problem? A big, hard problem?"

"Um…"

"Is it hard? Tell me how big it is!"

"Um, yeah, it's – it's really big," Draco said uncomfortably. He couldn't understand why Potter always came to Dumbledore for this.

"Good, good. Now, do you need a hand for this – er, problem of yours?"

"Yes, sir, that's why I came to talk to you. You see, I have a difficult time fitting in at school – you might have noticed. Well anyway – it was suggested to me that I, um, change my behaviour, so to speak. Man up, that's what I was told. So I wanted to ask you – are you alright, Professor Dumbledore?"

Dumbledore had begun moaning softly. "Yes, yes, keep going," he said. "This is good."

Draco tried to remember where he'd stopped. "I just can't take it anymore!" he cried out, surprising himself. "I can't live like this anymore! My life sucks! Potter doesn't care about me, my only friends Crabbe and Goyle are so stupid and, frankly, terrible dancers – and – and I have all these horrible cramps, I feel so bloated and fat, and my vagina was just bleeding for four days straight and I am just so freaking tired!"

And with that he burst into loud tears.

Dumbledore stopped what he was doing as soon as he had heard that last sentence. He quickly readjusted his robes and walked back to his seat quietly, looking incredibly disturbed. "That – that – oh dear Merlin…" he shivered uncontrollably. "I did not know you have a – a – vag- ughhhhh…although I think Harry did mention it…bleughhhh!"

"Let us never speak of that ever again," Dumbledore said finally, after a long pause.

Draco nodded in agreement. "So you see, that's why I came to you. I need to figure out how I can become a man."

Dumbledore closed his eyes and nodded. "Have you considered taking up smoking? Or perhaps investing in a motorcycle?"

Draco was surprised. "No, sir. I thought you would tell me how I can become more mature, more courageous. Maybe you'd know how I can become secure and independent instead of completely depending on Potter's approval – how I can develop my potential talents and make the most of –"

"No," Dumbledore quickly cut him off. "You need some Malboro."

He poured a glass of scotch on the rocks. "Drink this," he said. "Keep drinking it, and it'll get rid of that – va-vagi-vagiarghhhhhughhhhhhh huhhhhhh." Dumbledore shuddered. "It'll take care of your problem, that's what I mean to say."

"Oh, okay. Thanks, sir," Draco said as he sipped the drink. He spit it out immediately. "This isn't apple juice!"

"Like hell it isn't," said Dumbledore, lighting a cigarette. "But take my advice, kid. Oh, and get a leather jacket. Have mine." He got up and retrieved his prized leather jacket, but then suddenly seemed to remember Draco's lady-parts situation and shuddered again. "No, no, definitely not. I'm sure you can find one in the Room of Requirements."

Draco closed his eyes and forced himself to finish the liquor Dumbledore had given him. It burned his throat as it went down, but already he could feel himself getting better, and he was proud of himself. "Thanks, professor!" he said, and left the office.

Dumbledore was still disturbed, however, and decided to turn in for the night. He would need an extra-strength sleeping potion to ward off nightmares tonight.

Draco didn't even make it to the Slytherin dungeons before violently chundering. "Oh, that is rough!" he groaned. He staggered the rest of the way to the dormitories, clutching his stomach.

But he was not about to give up. Draco was determined to follow Dumbledore's advice, and the Dark Lord's command to man up. He decided he would go straight to the Room of Requirements the next morning and find himself a leather jacket and a motorcycle. "It's what Harry Potter would do," he told himself.

And he proudly drank his glass of warm milk and climbed in his comfy bed, where he was enthusiastically greeted with warm snuggles from his teddy bear.

The next morning, there was a great commotion in the Entrance Hall. Irritated, Minerva McGonagall pushed through the large crowed of laughing pupils to see what all the shouting was about. She took in the sight and her annoyance instantly turned to anger. "Oh for Heaven's sake!" she exclaimed. "Peeves!"

The poltergeist had evidently busied himself the previous night by vandalising every single portrait hanging on the Hall – and the Hall boasted nearly a thousand of them! None of the people in the portraits looked the least impressed. Most were furious, hence all the shouting, and many others were crying and were completely inconsolable.

"- an unthinkable outrage, after all I did for this school –"

"- simply cannot believe such an audacious display of disrespect! Why, in my day – "

"I am the Great Salazar Slytherin, and I demand that you erase this sombrero from my head AT ONCE!"

"I just came out here to have a good time, and I'm honestly feeling so attacked right now," said one sad old wizard, whose wholesome painting of himself standing wisely by a well had been desecrated with a swastika and the word "poop".

The other portraits had been vandalised in a similar fashion, with "Peezes wuz here" scribbled over a vast number of them. Others said immature things like "Voldemort", "spleen", "goblin semen", and "Trelawney is a whore and she'll toss your salad on the first date". Peeves had also drawn mustaches and beards on several of the ladies, who were all visibly humiliated and in tears.

Professor McGonagall's eyes feel to the portrait of a short, plump man strolling in the woods. Peeves had drawn an enormous penis on the man, and the wizard was the only one who didn't seem the least upset at the situation. He caught McGonagall's gaze and he nonchalantly told her, "I don't think there has been anything added to my portrait."

McGonagall was caught off-guard by this reaction, but she ignored it as she went on to survey the rest of the damage. "In case you didn't understand, I meant that my phallus is exactly of this very respectable – some may say awe-inspiring – length," the wizard in the portrait added quickly, seeing that he was losing attention.

McGonagall pursed her lips in disapproval. "Do you not believe me? Shall I show it to you? I can definitely prove it, madam," the pudgy man said desperately, reaching into his robes.

"Good God, no!" McGonagall snapped.

She turned around and faced the students, who were still giggling. "Off to your classes! There is nothing to see here!" she shouted, and the children stopped laughing and grudgingly began to leave.

McGonagall stormed to Dumbledore's office. "Hagrid's hairy testicles," she said to the gargoyle, who sprung aside in response to the password.

"Albus! You must do something about Peeves! He has caused this school a lot of irrevocable damage this time!"

"What has he done?" Dumbledore asked.

"He has destroyed all the paintings in the Entrance Hall with crude drawings and words! It's awful! You have to see it!"

McGonagall's eyes fell on something above Dumbledore's head. "Oh no, he's gotten in your office too!" She exclaimed, referring to a vulgar drawing of a penis poised near Phineas Nigellus Black's snoring mouth.

"Er, yes… that was also Peeves," Dumbledore said, hastily shoving his felt-tip marker into his pockets.

"Oh, it's disgusting! I've never seen anything so revolting!" she cried, unable to tear her eyes away from the picture.

"Come on now, Minerva, I think you'll find that the cross-hatching is most impressive around this part," Dumbledore said, pointing. "In fact, the entire thing looks like it's been drawn by a devastatingly talented artist…"

"What do we do now?" McGonagall asked. "We'll have to remove the obscenities one by one. Also we'll have to dispatch several portrait psychologists right away to look after those who have been traumatized."

"All right, I'll go visit the portrait doctors and see how many psychologists are available on a short notice."

"Thank you, Albus," said McGonagall, beginning to calm down. "After we've solved the crisis at hand, maybe you will reconsider my suggestion of letting Peeves go…"