Author's Note: There are these ugly double-enters that I can't get rid of. Every time I try, they appear again after reloading the file. They only show on mobile, though. Any ideas?

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Claiming ownership of another person is only acceptable through marriage and only in a deeply spiritual, reciprocal way.

Harry is a She!

Chapter 3

Counterfeit Clothing

Going through the portal to Platform 9 and 3/4, he felt like a first-year again - everyone was staring at him. Only this time it was worse. People were pointing fingers and whispering, laughing and turning their backs on him. He walked as fast as he could without running away, boarded the train and went to the last compartment, the same as the first time. It was his compartment, his hideout. He did not appreciate people disturbing him, even if they tried to replicate their first meeting.

"Can we sit here? Everywhere else is taken." the red-haired boy said.

"Come sit." Harry responded blankly.

They did.

"Ginny said she'd join us later." Hermione said.

"Don't bother." he said.

Ron tried to pick up the conversation. "How did your summer go?"

"Don't wanna talk."

"Harry," Hermione said. "You spent a whole month in hospital. We're worried."

"I said I don't wanna talk."

"Come on, Harry! Don't leave me!" Ron pleaded. "Hermione can't talk Quidditch even if it kills her!"

"I can too!"

And so they started bickering again. He left them to it, closed his eyes and tried to drift off.

For the record: It wasn't working.

Their constant quarrels made it impossible for him to nap for more than ten seconds. And then Malfoy came.

"So, Potter, I heard you finally came out. It's good now people know what a little girl you've always been!"

Harry chose to ignore him. He didn't even open his eyes.

"What, you don't want to talk to me, Harriet? You're not fooling anyone, you know. Noone would be able to sleep around these two."

"Buzz off, Malfoy!" Ron said.

"Oh, how impolite. Maybe I should give you a lesson or two?"

"Yeah, Malfoy, because you're so bloody n

polite all the time."

"Ron, watch your mouth. The fact that Malfoy here doesn't know how to behave doesn't mean you have to foul your language." Hermione pointed out at the same time as Malfoy snapped: "Hey! It's not what I meant!"

"Yeah, we know you tried to be threatening but you're not doing it very well."

"Can you all just fucking shut up?" Harry said without opening his eyes. "It was barely bearable with just the two of you, but three?"

"Ha!" Malfoy exclaimed. "I knew you weren't sleeping!"

"Noone could sleep with all your bloody whining, Malfoy. Go away." Harry told him.

"You can't even...!"

"GO. AWAY."

"You could at least open your eyes, you know? It's disrespectful."

"I don't want to see your face."

"I won't go until you do."

"Oh, for fucks' sake." Without opening his eyes, Harry drew his wand and snapped it in the vague direction of the voice, causing a yelp, a tumble, a crash and a bang. "Did I get him?"

"Yeah, mate, you got him alright." Ron said, gaping at the door through which Malfoy just fell out.

The Welcoming Feast was not much better for Harry. The students behaved pretty much the same as the people at the Platform, only now he had nowhere to hide. Add to that the fact that the pink tart, the same who caused Harry to be legally recognised as a girl, became the Defence Professor, the fact that people struggled with calling him the correct gender form (which should've been a non-issue as it should not have changed in the first place !) and the fact that everyone was just so Bloody LOUD! and you can imagine how bad he felt. Honestly, he'd never admit that but he missed the hospital.

The next surprise waited for him in his dorm room. Or rather, not waited. His bed. It wasn't there.

"What the fuck?" he said to the empty room.

"Harry, my boy, is there a problem?" Dumbledore asked, walking through the door. He really had the most annoying sense of timing. What was he doing here anyway?

"Yes, Headmaster, there is a problem." he pointed to the empty floor where his bed should be. "How am I supposed to sleep with no bed?"

"Ah, that's exactly why I'm here, to ensure the procedure is abided by." Dumbledore looked apological. "You see, your bed has been moved."

"Moved! What do you mean, moved?"

"As you can probably imagine, the Ministry deciding on your gender also affects your status here, at Hogwarts."

Harry closed his eyes, took off the glasses and pinched his nose.

"Don't tell me. Please."

"As much as I'd like to let you stay here, I can't imagine the Board of Governors would take kindly to a girl living in a room full of boys."

"There's also the toilet." Harry guessed without changing position. Of course there was the fucking toilet.

"Quite." Dumbledore said with a smile.

"How am I supposed to use girls' bathrooms!?" he shrieked, dropping his glasses.

"Exactly like you did during the summer, I imagine."

"But how am I... How am I...?" he couldn't say it. Didn't they understand he was still a hormonal, heterosexual, God-damned teenage boy? How could they drop him in a toilet or bedroom full of girls and expect him to be alright?

"I'm sure you'll manage." Dumbledore said. "From my own experience, I can tell you that curtains on the bed and stall doors in the toilet help a lot."

Wait, what? Did Dumbledore just admit to...?

He didn't have a chance to ask. The Headmaster winked and left, revealing four flustered boys standing in the doorway, with Ron at the front.

"For what it's worth, I want you to stay." he raised his arms defensively.

"Thanks, Ron."

He walked past them, careful not to push through, and went to the girls' staircase in resignation. Climbing those steps felt wrong. He was expecting them to slip from under his feet, causing him to tumble down, but they held.

'You too, Hogwarts?' he sighed.

He climbed the fifth floor where Hermione waited for him with a compassionate face and let him in. It felt eerily fitting somehow, that there were four Gryffindor girls in their year and four boys, except for him. One bed went, one came. It even stood in the same spot, except symmetrically flipped.

He was pretty sure he wouldn't be able to sleep this night. What was worse, Hedwig was out hunting so he didn't even have an animal to talk to. Peachy.

The next morning he was woken up by his wand-alarm after barely two hours of sleep and dragged himself to the shower, from which he immediately run with a shriek.

"Oh. My. Fucking. God!"

"What happened?" Hermione asked, pinning up her hair.

"There's... A girl... In the shower..." he panted.

"Yeah, that's Lavender, so?" she said sleepily.

"She has... These... Ugh!" he made a grasping motion in front of his chest.

Hermione sighed. "Yeah, I know, I'm jealous too..."

Harry squeezed his head. Unfortunately, his brains didn't spill out.

Hermione's consolations didn't work very well, since she couldn't understand the problem. Neither did Dumbledore's advice since there were no stalls in the shower.

He decided then and there not to use any of the girls' facilities.

To make matters worse, Lavender seemed to catch on to the fact that he saw her and took it upon herself to tease the ever-loving hell out of him. He might've even thought she was flirting with him, except that she stubbornly called him 'Harri' with the damned 'i' ringing in his ears even hours later.

Honestly, it was with a sigh of relief that he went to Defence with Professor Pink Tart.

Most of the Professors took the diplomatic way out (and a page from Snape's book) and started calling him 'Potter'. Not Mr Potter, not Miss Potter, just Potter. Most students (with the notable exception of Lavender) still called him Harry, seemingly in agreement that it was a perfectly acceptable shortening of 'Harriet', which he was very grateful for.

Not the pink tart, though. She took it upon herself to remind him of his misery as often as possible, putting no effort into hiding her delight at calling him:

"Harriet Jamesina Potter!" she squealed, checking attendance.

"Present." he seethed through his teeth. He would've protested or not reacted to the name at all, except he was certain she would just mark him as absent.

"I see you're adapting pretty well to your true gender." she said so sweetly he felt his blood sugar rise. Then, after calling the rest of the roll, she asked: "What are you wearing, Miss Potter?"

He looked up from drawing her as a hangman in his notes.

"Er, robes?" he said eloquently.

"I meant under the robes, Miss."

He looked down, completely dumbfounded.

"My uniform."

"My uniform, Professor." she corrected in that annoyingly high voice.

"Professor?" he couldn't help the amusement in his voice. She pretended not to glare at him.

"What I meant, Miss Potter, is why are you wearing a boy's uniform."

"That's all I own." he muttered.

"It is a duty of every student to own the appropriate uniform for their gender."

"Technically," Hermione interrupted. "trousers are not restricted to use by male students."

"Students will raise their hands if they want to speak in my class!" the Tart said ostensibly.

"Trousers are not restricted to use by male students." Hermione stood up, raising both her hands. In exasperation. "It's in the latest Students' Guide and Rule Book from 1990."

"Rules can change." the toad took on a smile that might have looked adorable. On a five-year-old. "In my classroom, Miss Potter will be wearing a skirt, like a proper witch should."

"But Professor, it is a right of a student to choose their attire."

"And it's a right if a Professor to choose whom they teach. I don't see you wearing trousers, do I?"

"No, but it's because..."

"And I will not see you, nor any other girl wearing trousers in my class. You should be grateful that you're allowed to learn magic at all, despite your doubtful lineage!"

Hermione sat back, shocked at Umbridge's outburst. The entire class fell silent.

"Harri in a skirt." Lavender swooned.

He found relative peace for the rest of the day, which was fortunate because if anyone offered to lend him a skirt, he would surely pop a vein.

He tried using boys' toilets but everyone was staring at him from the moment he crossed the doors, so he backed away. He could hold it.

When Ron and Hermione went to spend the evening attending their Prefect duties, Ron told him in confidence the password to the Prefect bathroom. As much as Harry was mad that he didn't get chosen as Prefect, he was doubly as happy he could count on Ron.

Honestly, he was pretty damn sure the only reason he hadn't been made Prefect was because of the whole trial debacle and McGonagall already wasn't sure if he could be the boys' Prefect.

He came in and realised with relief that he was alone. Good. He would've run for it if he wasn't. He didn't need a repeat of this morning, in any way, shape or form.

Now that he thought about it, it was Hermione who became Prefect instead of him. He didn't mind losing to Hermione. Anyway, if not for the trial, he would be Prefect right now and he might even enjoy spending time with people instead of hating the world as he did now.

He sealed the door with magic and let his clothes fall. Getting used to nudity, as he resolved before. Letting the water flow into the bath, he finally went to relieve his bladder. Oh, sweet fucking mercy! He had avoided toilets all day.

He slipped into the water, letting warmth spread up his legs and body as he submerged up to the neck. Prefect baths were the best! The thousands of colourful bubbles reminded him of the time before the trial, before Voldemort, before the Second Task...

Yeah, on second thought, that wasn't the best memory. This time was better since he had no Golden Egg to worry about. Neither was there a lecherous ghost trying to take a peek... Was there?

He glanced around nervously, waving his wand to make the bubbles gather denser around him. He bit his lip. It really wouldn't do to waste this opportunity by worrying about something that might never come, but he swore, if he caught Myrtle peeping at him, he'd bloody exorcise her!

He lay back and closed his eyes, letting out a deep breath. Yes, that's what he needed now. Just him and the bath, in the safety of Hogwarts' walls and of the wand in his hand.

He'd have to visit Hedwig soon. She was probably waiting for treats.

He let his mind drift away further. He remembered Hermione in that periwinkle-blue dress... He shook his head. Where did that image come from? Well, she was important to him. Yes, that was probably it. She was like family, wasn't she? Come to think of it, he wondered what happened to the Dursleys. Nothing, probably. They were still their normal, slightly-less-awful-than-before, disgusting selves.

That reminded him of the magazine he stole from Dudley. Did he even notice? He hoped not.

Come to think of it, he really should get rid of the magazine. He hadn't 'read' it since the stupid trial because it was still sitting in his trunk after it had been packed. There was a risk that someone might find it, for example, God forbid, Hermione trying to find his Invisibility Cloak or something.

The thought of the magazine, though, brought forth the memories of what he found inside. There was this strange feeling again and he was sure that the warmth spreading up his body was not just from the hot bath.

He sank deeper into the water, hiding his red cheeks from no one in particular.

Maybe it wouldn't hurt to keep it just a little bit longer.

After coming back to the dorm (mistaking staircases at first and turning back at the sad sight of the empty space where his bed should be) and making sure that the other girls were asleep (which took two hours of pretending to be asleep himself) Harry opened his trunk and rummaged until he finally found the precious magazine.

He let out a sigh. Now he knew nobody found it during his stay at the hospital. How would he ever live that down, he didn't know.

Taking it behind the curtains, he opened the 'book' and his jaw dropped.

Where before the, uh, Ladies were stuck in, er, positions, now they were moving around the pages and, umm, doing things.

He closed the magazine and opened it again. The images were still moving. Why were they moving? The last time he was it, Tonks...

Oh dear God. Tonks.

Tonks animated his stolen lewd magazine. Tonks saw his stolen lewd magazine!

Goddammit!

He dropped it in panic and hid his face in his hands. How would he ever live that down he actually didn't know! And to make matters worse, when he looked up he saw it opened on the first page. There, right under the cover, showed a messy scrawl reading:

'For my loving cousin Harry ;*'

Oh Lord, have mercy.

He survived the next week. Yes, that's probably the most accurate verb I can use. He survived it.

For some devilish reason Lavender decided the best way for him to get used to his new circumstances was to wear as little as possible while in their dorm room. Well, she wasn't totally off the mark since he had decided to get used to nudity but not her nudity!

It was so embarrassing that any time he heard her coming out of the shower or changing clothes or just breathing he set his eyes for the ceiling. It didn't help that her sight oftentimes produced the same reaction he got from the Tonks-animated magazine (which he now perused almost every night) nor the fact that none of the girls seemed to mind.

It got ridiculous to the point where he couldn't look at her even outside of the dorm. And she continued to merrily call him "Harri" every time she saw him.

Honestly, every other problem seemed minor compared to this. Even Malfoy's constant taunts couldn't hold a candle to it. Even Pink Tart couldn't compare.

Well, maybe.

"Harriet Jamesina Potter!" the toad screeched.

"Here." he said through clenched teeth.

"What're you wearing?"

Without looking down, he said in a seemingly bored voice:

"Robes, Professor."

"You know I meant under the robes, Miss."

"I'm not sure that it matters..."

"Show it!"

He stood up and turned around in a pirouette, presenting his clothes for all to see.

The front of his robes split from the neck to waist, where he transfigured it to merge again, showing onto the top of his uniform. It felt a bit like a bathrobe but seemed fairly normal by wizarding standards.

"I told you to show your skirt, Miss." Pinky seethed.

"I did." he said with a sly smile. He was not going down without a fight.

"Show your underskirt, then."

"Are you telling me to disrobe, Professor?" he asked innocently.

"Yes, take off your robe!" she demanded, not noticing the trap.

"I'm afraid I can't do that." he heard students snicker behind him.

"What do you mean, can't? Take off your robe or I'll take it off you!"

"I can't allow that, Professor, because that would constitute sexual assault. I cannot let you make such a grave mistake."

Now the students laughed in earnest, especially at the Tart's shocked, slightly offended, idiot face.

"I demand that you take off your robe!" she screeched.

"Then I demand to see my Head of House." he replied calmly.

"You do not tell me what to do, Miss."

"I think we're about to find out, sir."

Now Umbridge got so read her face meshed with her ugly pink clothing and she scribbled something on a slip of parchment before throwing it at him.

"OUT. NOW!"

He picked the slip up gently and walked out the door, taking his time to turn around and offer the class a deep bow.

The slip was for the Headmaster so he went to see him. Unfortunately, Dumbledore said he can't do anything until the Pink Tart actually violates one of the school rules and maybe not even then.

"It would be far easier for all of us if you deigned to wear a skirt."

"No."

Not for him, it wouldn't. He wasn't going to bend over and take it simply because they wanted to make their lives easier. He would sooner join Voldemort than be forced into a skirt.

The disgusting toad tried to bother him a few times more but he came up with the perfect counter: he wore the traditional, buttoned-up black robe.

It had the side-effect of making him look a bit like Snape but nobody could argue with him, since that's what the most stuck-up Pureblood bastards wore at school. He found it was also pretty comfortable and there was no issue with leaving it unbuttoned (both waist-up and down) if he felt like it.

Of course, she also tried to provoke him on multiple fronts, mainly referring to the Tournament, the 'supposed' return of Voldemort, his Wizengamot-announced insanity and Cedric's death. He did everything in his power to control himself and usually just wrote down what happened for later use. All he needed was a good lawyer and he could sue her to hell and back.

He stabbed a fork straight down into the egg, causing the yolk to spill on Ron's face.

"Harry, stop playing with your food." Hermione admonished.

"Yes, Harri, come play with me." Lavender winked from across the table, which he promptly ignored.

"Sorry, Ron." he said to his friend, who didn't seem to mind.

"I thought you were getting better." Hermione whispered, pointedly ignoring that Ron didn't bother wiping his face. "What's bothering you?"

"It's nothing."

"What's nothing?" she tried to smile encouragingly.

"It's, you know, Voldemort." he lied.

How was he supposed to explain to her that he spent half the night ogling porn and it didn't feel as satisfying anymore? That he was pretty sure he'd pissed himself and he had the strangest urge to touch himself (despite still being deathly afraid of the things he wanted to touch) but didn't dare do that in a room full of girls? That he was already feeling bad for 'reading' this kind of stuff with her sleeping in the next bed?

"Is your scar hurting again?" she worried.

"Like hell." he made himself groan, though he knew the pain was of a different kind.

He felt her watching him intently.

"What?" he asked.

"Do you feel feverish?"

He bulged his eyes at her. The only fever he felt was from Lavender eating her ice cream very, uh, very, while looking at him.

"Nooo?"

"Crampy?"

He frowned.

"What does that even mean?"

"You know, like someone punched you in the stomach."

"I'm not dying if that's what you mean." he said, equally confused by Hermione's questions and Ron trying to eavesdrop on their whispering.

"No, I mean, I think I know why your head is hurting and it's not the scar." she leaned in conspiratorially. "It's this time of the month, right?"

He gave her an amused look.

"Not a chance. I remember going through it exactly four weeks ago."

She stared at him in silence.

He stared back.

"Your point?" she prompted.

"It's too early."

"Why do you think it's too early?"

"Because it was four weeks ago?" he asked. Didn't she see it was obvious?

"How often do you think that happens?"

"Once a month, obviously. That's why it's called the monthlies, right?"

"Well, yes, but it's the Moon's month. It lasts four weeks."

His eyes went wide. He counted it out on his fingers.

"Fuck!"

"What's up?" Dean asked from a few seats away.

"Oh, nothing," Ron said. "Harry's just on his..."

He didn't finish since the aforementioned Potter threw the spilt egg at him.

"What was that for?!" Ron shrieked.

"Have you ever heard of the Lady's Secrets?" Harry hissed.

Ron went pale.

"I see that you do. Now imagine what would the Lady say if she heard you spilling them, never mind that you shouldn't know yourself, you eavesdropping prick!"

Now Ron's eyes bulged but before he could respond, a cold, hateful voice sounded behind Harry.

"While I appreciate your newfound sense of fashion, Potter," it drawled in the best trademark Snape-ish way. "I would rather you acted like a proper witch and refrained front making a mess. After all, the Lady's Secrets only apply if one behaves like a lady." this prompted a wave of laughter from the Slytherin table. "Twenty points, Potter."

With these words, Snape Vanished the food from Ron's face (to Hermione's great relief) and left.

"The Lady?" she whispered. "What's that, some kind of deity?"

"I have no damn clue." he admitted.

As Hermione dragged him up to the Hospital Wing (despite his insistence that he didn't need it) Harry fell silent. He was honestly confused about her behaviour because she had promised him not to help after he'd refused to listen and now she seemed to be doing exactly that - helping. He didn't question it nor did he ask about any of the dozen things that stumped him, simply not wanting to push his luck.

She set Madame Pomphrey on him and the nurse began examining him (again, despite his insistence that he didn't need it). Then she gave him so many painkillers that Hermione gaped at her.

"I was contacted by Healer Johnson. She said that you're a particularly bad case."

"Err, thank you?" he tried.

"She also told me to do that. Kickus Asinus!" she whipped her wand at him and he grabbed at his behind with a yelp. "And remind you to write her back. It's been weeks already!"

"Okay." he said in a weak voice. "Okay. Okay." he repeated and backed out with his front turned to her before she had the time to hex him again.

Harry was looking at himself in a mirror, Hedwig perching in the open window of the dorm's bathroom.

Currently, he was fingering his ever-so-messy fringe that threatened to cover his nose. He hadn't had his hair cut since the beginning of the Triwizard Tournament which was, quite frankly, way too long ago.

"It's funny how my brain works." he told Hedwig. "They ask me if I prefer to give up the last traces of my masculinity or have my bloody gut ripped out, which is no a choice at all if I ever had one, and here I am worrying about my hairstyle."

"Hooooot." Hedwig surmised.

"Yeah, it's probably the painkillers messing with my head."

He pulled his fringe up to the brow line and glanced at his owl in the mirror.

"Hoot."

"Yeah, I didn't think so either." he sighed, letting it fall. "But what about this?"

He split his hair down the middle and shoved to the sides of his face.

Hedwig bulged her eyes at him (which was a fairly normal look on an owl).

"Hoot."

"Uh, you're right, I look like discount Snape."

He pushed it all to one side.

"Hoot."

To the other.

"Hoot?"

He pulled it all up in a ponytail.

"Hoot!"

He slumped his shoulders and sighed.

"Ugh, maybe I should just go bald."

"HOOT!"

"You think? Hmmm..." he pushed the majority of his hair back to tie in a ponytail, leaving the fringe free and then splitting it into bangs which he put behind his ear.

Of course, there was still a lot of loose, rigid hairs sticking out in random directions but that was a given. He was a Potter, after all.

"What do you think?"

Hedwig, thoroughly exasperated, hopped from the windowsill onto his shoulder and nabbed his ear.

"Ouch!" he jerked away. "Heh, I guess you like it."

The owl turned its head upside down, staring at him all like:

"Dude, I was literally repeating 'I don't care' for the last fifteen minutes. Get a hold of yourself, you delusional hatchling!"

Harry smiled.

"I love you too, Hedwig."

The bird, having abandoned all hope, jumped out the window and flew away.

That's when the bathroom door opened.

"Hi, Harri, looking good!"

He turned and stared at Lavender, shell-shocked. For once, she was fully clothed! In a bathroom!

"Uhhh..." he said eloquently. "Thanks."

"You're welcome!" she gave a blindingly bright smile and kicked off her shoes, then threw her outer robe at him.

That was more like her.

He looked away as she undid her tie. It landed on his shoulder as well.

"I like your ponytail, Harri. Did you do it yourself?"

"Uhhh, yeah." he said, trying to figure out a route of escape. Unfortunately, she was standing between him and the door. Topless, if the increasing mound of cloth at his shoulders was any indication.

"Want me to braid it for you?"

"No! Please don't."

"Why not?" he heard her step closer. He stepped away.

"Don't trouble yourself, I'm sure you just want to take the shower already."

"Nonsense, it's no trouble at all." the seductress argued, pulling at his hair. In three different directions.

"But it's just gonna get messy anyway." he panicked, staring at the window. It was looking increasingly more like a viable option.

"You just need a bit of Sleekeasy, that's all."

He closed his eyes as she moved around him to get the potion. Taking the chance, he turned and went for the door, only to have it slammed in his face by the approaching Hermione.

"Arrgghhh!"

"What's going on?" she demanded, looking from him to Lavender and back.

"Yo' s'amm'd m'nose." he croaked at the same time as Lavender exclaimed: "We're doing Harri's hair!"

"And I wasn't invited?" she hissed.

"I's not lik'ahad a choic'" he mumbled at the same time as Lavender said: "You can join us!"

"Why are you doing it with an open window?" she waved her wand, cutting off his quickest escape route. "And why didn't you fix your nose?" she admonished. "You're bleeding all over the place."

He sighed in resignation and yelped as she set his nose straight and stopped the bleeding.

"We better take it to the dorm. Parvati and Fay are going to be mad if they miss Harry's first hairdo." she pointed out.

Harry was about to argue that he didn't want a hairdo but he met Hermione's eyes (now that his back was turned on Lavender again) and found he couldn't do it. He wouldn't be able to bear her disappointment.

His shoulders slumped.

"Can Lavender at least put on something?"

Hermione blushed furiously, as though only now realising the situation.

"Err, yes, that would be preferable."

The girl in question, however, had no such inclination.

"Whatever do you mean?" she asked innocently.

"Well, it might be better if you put a shirt on."

"But why?" she asked in a perfect imitation of Ron being asked to stop eating.

"Because, uh, there's going to be hair all over you." Hermione fabricated. "Because we need to cut some of Harry's hair."

"It's no problem." the girl waved her concern away. "I'm going to go shower right after."

"But, errr, we, umm, we need that hair?" Hermione tried. "Because the Healer Harry's under, whatsherface..."

"Johnson." Harry supplied.

"Yeah! Healer Johnson said they need sample's of Harry's hair for, uh, for research. And a lot of hair, so we need to collect all that we can!" Hermione finishes triumphantly.

"Okay." Lavender conceded. "But if it's Harry's hair, I need to wear Harry's shirt!"

Harry saw Hermione gape at the girl.

"Because we might have our hair in our clothes already, so we all need to wear his shirts!" the evil genius explained.

"That's... actually... correct." Hermione grinned uncharacteristically.

Harry his face in his hands. Well, at least nobody would be walking around naked, he thought.

He was wrong. The girls decided that his shirts were so large that they didn't need trousers (or panties, in Lavender's case, but fortunately he didn't notice that). Harry wondered how they'd react if they knew they wore some disgusting fat bully's castoffs. He decided not to risk finding out.

All in all, it was a long, long night.