Draco blinked his eyes open partially and squinted, looking through his lashes at the dark green covers surrounding him. Closing his eyes again, Draco buried his face into the pillow and tried to will himself back to sleep. But he couldn't. Perhaps it was the slits of sunlight coming through the window behind him or maybe the illness from the night before still lingering. Sighing, Draco rolled onto his back and sat up, the sheet falling from his bare chest. God, his chest felt heavy; maybe the illness had settled into his lungs. Scratching his stomach, Draco was surprised that it felt smooth and soft. What happened to the muscles he had worked on during the summer? Draco looked down.
And stared.
Stared some more.
"Holy shit," Draco choked out, staring at the set of small breasts sitting on his chest. Shaking his head, his heart started to beat faster. "No. No. No." Draco lifted the sheet and fumbled a shaking hand between his legs.
Draco started screaming.
And when he started screaming, he jumped out of the bed and ran for the bathroom that he saw through an open doorway. He threw himself in front of a mirror and stared at himself, breathing sharply, the corners of his eyes darkening. His hair had grown overnight and it was like a cascade of hot silver that fell past his hips. His WOMAN hips. He had curves now; hips like handles for a man's hands to grip onto, with small, bare breasts sitting lazily on his chest that were perfect handfuls for his palms. His lashes were darker, fuller, and thicker; his lips seemed larger and Draco traced the perfect contours with shaking fingers. He didn't look himself at all. The only thingsthat even resembled his old selfwere the high cheekbones, cold blue-gray eyes, and the color of his hair. Everything else had changed. Everything else! He wasn't even a...wasn't a...
"Draco? Are you all right?"
Draco whirled toward the voice, seeing Snape who stood in the doorway and staring wide-eyed at the petite girl standing nearly naked in his bathroom. After a moment's hesitation, Draco grabbed the towel closest to him and wrapped it around his upper body, feeling weird, uncomfortable, and completely overwhelmed.
"No," Draco sniffed, sure he was going to cry, sure he was going to faint. "I'm not!"
One of those things happened. Draco fainted.
With a pack of ice on his head and a large robe on his body, Draco squinted at the dumbfounded expressions of ProfessorsSnape and Dumbledore. After reviving Draco and calming the hysterical boy down, Snape had put him in an old robe and dragged him to Headmaster Dumbledore to tell them at the same time what had happened. At first Draco was indignant; how the hell was he supposed to know why he was a sodding girl? But when he began to think about it, he remembered that blasted potion he was brewing the day before and his cheeks began to flame up. He then had to explain to them what kind of potion he was trying to make, which was all the more embarrassing. It had been a worry-free concoction that Draco had brewed from his notes and various similar potions. Draco suspected that the tree mints he had used was part of this disastrous effect. Mints were commonly known as the 'beginning' or 'starting over', while Gent roots was flippantly mentioned at the end of the text as 'switching'. Whatever that bloody meant. These two last ingredients must have acted harshly with the rest of the potion and each other; tree mints were pretty touchy, especially if you got them ripe.He realized it was, after all, his fault; no one had put a curse on him and no one was laughing gleefully at his humiliation. Knowing that he had put this upon himself seemed to make it only worse, mostly because he had no idea if there was a cure or not.
"Well, you make a very pretty young woman, Draco," Dumbledore said after a few moments, his eyes twinkling. Draco's thick lips tightened; of course, Dumbledore the Great Gryffindor Lover would find this amusing. Especially because he was a Slytherin. It was no secret who the old man favored. If a Gryffindor had managed to do this to himself or herself, Dumbledore would be barking orders for people to find a cure immediately. Draco knew he would receive no help from the Headmaster.
"I'm glad I could cheer up your day," Draco spat, standing up. "I guess I'll just go, then."
"Mr. Malfoy, please sit down," Dumbledore requested, the twinkle gone.
"Why?" Draco grounded out. "You won't help me."
"I will try," the Headmaster said softly.
"Draco, sit down," Snape snapped impatiently and Draco sank back into his seat.
"First things first," Dumbledore said, standing up in a businesslike manner. "There is a chance that this will just fade away within a day. Or it could be permanent."
Draco paled, sinking further into his seat.
"Either way," Dumbledore continued, "we have no information on Mr. Malfoy's condition. I suggest we wait a day to see what happens before we go any further with this."
"I'm not going to class like this," Draco said immediately, straightening.
"No, I don't believe you should either," Dumbledore replied, his eyes lingering pointedly on Draco's attire, before turning away to address Snape. "Severus, please tell the students of your house that Mr. Malfoy is sick and had to be moved into a private chamber for their own safety."
"My own room?" Draco cried, eyes wide. "Fantastic!" At least one good thing had come from this. Even if the free room came with a package of feminine products. That thought drowned Draco's good mood instantly.
"Very well," Snape said, with a curt nod. Draco sighed, slouching back in his chair with his legs spread out before him. He could only hope that this was temporary.
It's not the sale that you love, it's the sell
It's not the price that's going to cost you
It's just the weight that's going to bring you
Down
Draco sighed, looking up from his parchment as he disgustedly pushed it away. All of his lyrics sucked today, all of them. He hated them; he hated them so much, why did he bother anymore? He threw his quill at the paper as he got up, going toward the window to watch the sunset. He was feeling a little tired and he thought about his bed behind him. His own bed, his private chambers. Dumbledore had kept his word and Snape led him to the base of some stairs that would lead them into the dungeon. Instead of continuing to go down, he had stopped at a large tapestry and pulled it aside. There had been a small corridor and a locked door behind it and Draco nearly whooped with glee. Okay, he really did. But it was more like a squeak of joy because his voice was so high and it stole the blissful moment away. No more Crabbe and Goyle whose snores shook his bed frame. It was too bad that this hadn't happened sooner (the single bedroom thing, not changingintoafreakthankyou), because Draco might have saved himself from those late night visits that Blaise was so fond of. Not that it hadn't been a bad thing, it was actually -
Ahem.
Anyway, Draco decided he needed some privacy. He didn't want to share breathing space anymore and he didn't want to be quiet when he wanted to scream. It was lucky that he had his own bedroom to retire to, away from the Slytherin dungeons, especially with this new predicament. And here, he could write when he wanted, play when he wished...
Draco found himself a little short of breath, and a slight pain was growing in his lower stomach. Hunching a bit, Draco gasped and reached out for the curtain before his knees gave away. Faintly, he heard knocking on his door.
"Draco, are you all right?"
Shit, Draco cursed as the pain started to subside. Shit, he should have locked the door...
"You look a little pale," someone clutched his upper arm and started straightening him up. "I heard you were sick. Come on, I'll help you back to bed."
"Blaise?"
"Who else?" the boy said, helping Draco stumble toward his bed. Draco's legs weren't cooperating with him; he was too shocked. How did Blaise know it was him?
"I brought your guitar with me," Blaise said, ripping back the covers. Draco let Blaise push him into bed.
"Don't I look...different to you?" Draco asked hesitantly, his voice weak.
Blaise looked him over, seeming confused. "Did you cut your hair?"
"Cut my-" Draco squeaked. "Get me a mirror. Quick."
Blaise, looking annoyed, did as Draco asked and tossed it carelessly on the bed. Draco scrambled for it and looked at himself.
He was a boy again.
Draco whooped when he saw himself - his nose, his thinner lips, his normal looking eyelashes. Hair down past his chin - it was him again! The potion faded away!
"YES!" Draco yelled, punching a fist in the air.
"Yes, you do look delicious," Blaise said blandly, before reaching down and tossing Draco's guitar on the bed with him. "Please say you're going to move out this year so I don't have to hide that at my house anymore."
"Whatever you say," Draco replied, fixing his beautiful hair that was the right length and everything.
"-naked with whip cream," Blaise said, Draco catching only the end of it. He blinked up from his mirror and looked at his friend.
"What?"
"Well, you said you'd do whatever I said."
"But...I'm sick?"
"I was kidding," Blaise said, rolling his eyes. "I'm going back to my dorm and to bed. You going to be in classes tomorrow?"
"Yep!" Draco replied happily, checking himself out again.
Blaise stared at him for a moment longer before shaking his head.
"If I knew that mirrors turned you on, Draco Malfoy, I would have introduced them a lot earlier," Blaise said, walking to the door, and opening it. "Night."
"Night!" Draco chirped back, only half-listening, and barely hearing the click of the door closing before he kissed his reflection.
"Woo!" The mirror crowed. "I'm happy to see you too, sweetheart!"
"Lovely," Draco muttered, tossing the mirror facedown on the covers and hiding himself underneath the sheets.
