DISCLAIMER: I don't own Harry Potter or any of the characters. So there! raspberry

AUTHORS NOTE: I was just wondering: is it still a slash when you turn one of the male characters into a girl? Well, FYI, this'll be a HP/DM fic…just with a twist. :evil smirk:

SUMMARY: There's been a tragic accident…actually, it's pretty darn funny. Draco Malfoy experiences a life-altering transformation, but who knows if it'll be for better or for worse. AU, SLASH (technically)

The Big Bang

Chapter One

"Mmmmm," came an appreciative female voice from the rumpled bed. "You are sexy." Draco Malfoy turned from examining his reflection to flash a gorgeous smile.

"I know." Simple as that, no humble rebuttals. He was a yummy hunk'o'man-meat, and damn well knew it. Turning back to the mirror, he continued to fix his hair and smooth his clothing. He headed for the door once his appearance was up to par, but stopped for a final word with his most recent plaything. "You may remain for however long you wish, but I suggest not allowing others to see you leave. I won't be held responsible for the possible dismemberment of your fiancé if he gets it into his head to make off with mine."

"Please," she burst out with laughter. "He'd probably die of shock if he found out! The old windbag has one foot on a banana peel and the other in the grave, just the way I like them," she finished with an evil smirk. Draco had an inkling that this young woman had given some of her more stubborn gentlemen a good shove. "But don't worry, handsome; I'll be up and out soon as I've dressed." She slid out of the silk lined bed and slinked towards her clothing. Nothing covered her rosy skin but waist-length hair. He stood there to admire the view for a moment before heading down to breakfast.

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Meals at Malfoy Manor were always formal affairs, but his mother truly outdid herself when guests were staying. Flawless diamond tableware with 24kt gold cutlery graced the carved mahogany table and spiderlace cloth. The exotic food was of exquisite quality, Narcissa having put the fear of God into the army of sniveling house elves. The inevitable family ghosts were commissioned to play soothing background music and to float around offering refreshments. Everything was perfect, top notch, because nothing was too good for friends of the Malfoys.

This time around, those privileged enough to eat in such luxury were high-ranking Ministry officials and their wives…or delectable little fiancés, as the case may be. His father had invited them in the hopes of solidifying his place among Fudges' administration. It had been weakened considerably by that messy business earlier in the year involving Harry Potter and the Dark Lord. Having finally been released from prison, as if those ineffectual morons could hope to hold a Malfoy, he was now hard at work reestablishing himself as a legitimate citizen. If, occasionally, he snuck away to perform evil deeds in the name of a homicidal maniac, none were the wiser.

"Draco," his father's cold voice rang through the Great Hall in greeting. An equally cold smile graced the boy's face as he nodded acknowledgement to his sire. Never much for paternal love, that one. He moved to the senior Malfoy's side and they stood together by the foot of the stairs, waiting for their guests to come down. The first to arrive was Draco's little fling, Matilda Hemmingsworth, and they both shared wicked smirks that were noticed by his father. Lucius raised a questioning eyebrow to his son, but received only an innocent stare in return. He was prevented from pushing further when the other guests began coming down in pairs. Lucius politely questioned everyone on their quality of sleep, received the expected compliments on his amenities, and then led the way to the Dining hall were his wife would take over wooing the pompous politicians.

Through sheer luck, Draco was seated across from Miss Hemmingsworth, and he learned that a talented pair of feet could make even the dullest occasions pleasurable.

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After trolling all morning, Harry had found the cute little redhead in a bookstore. In the New Age section looking over instructionals on divination, no less. Using his superior knowledge of the subject-superior to a muggle, that is-he talked her around to eating lunch with him at the little Italian café down the street. They finished their meals and dawdled over espresso and canolli, talking for hours of magic and tealeaves. Dinner had come up so he invited her to the restaurant of her choice, on him. She chose to remain at Roberto's, and afterwards they played footsy under the table as their second desert of the day was served. It had been refreshing to have someone going gaga over him because he was handsome and charming, not The Harry Potter.

She invited him back to her apartment and that vivacious energy she'd exuded during the day was put to work bouncing around on the Boy Who Lived. She seemed to like topping, having only let him do it once. Curled around the sleeping girl, Harry decided that he should try bookworms more often.

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Dear Professor Dumbledore,

I am sorry to write you over this, but Ronald and I have been worried about Harry for some time now. He has been running around all hours of the day and night, bar hopping with a fake I.D., fighting for the silliest reasons, and picking up strange women. Just the other day he wrote us to tell about a muggle named Amanda that he'd met in a bookstore and slept with that same day. Unfortunately, this is not unusual behavior for him, of late.

We are both very worried that he will become seriously injured, not to mention diseased, if he does not curb his activities. We have tried discussing our concerns with him, but he simply becomes defensive and cold until the subject is dropped. I feel strongly that he is acting out his grief and guilt over Sirius's death, but he must be made to understand that this is not the way.

Please, sir, he respects you and your opinion of him. If you could discuss this with him, intercede in some fashion, the both of us would be eternally grateful.

Sincerely,

Hermione Granger

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Tension made the cabin seem small and cramped. Hermione sat pinch-lipped with her hands clasped so tightly the knuckles were white. Harry glared out the window, as if the leaves changing color were a personal insult. Ron's face wore a worried expression as he glanced between his two best friends.

"Harry-"

"Don't you dare, Hermione," Harry hissed. "Don't you dare try to defend what you did!"

"It was because I care and you wouldn't listen to us, Harry!" She had to make him see that, before their friendship slipped through her fingers.

Harry had arrived at the Burrow on schedule, and proceeded to try bedding Ginny for lack of better sport. To prevent the Weasley boys from beating his brains in, Hermione contacted Dumbledore once again, this time asking him to come immediately. He complied and spoke to Harry about everyone's concerns. Who knew that someone normally so docile could have such a temper! After the Headmaster left, Harry had cornered Hermione and yelled about what an interfering busybody she was until he grew hoarse, throwing about and breaking everything in sight. Mrs. Weasley had had quite a time repairing everything after Harry packed his things and ran away.

There had been a full-scale search for him by Order members; unfortunately, it was quite easy to disappear in the wizarding world. Hermione was despairing of ever seeing him again to set things to rights when he showed up at Platform 9 ¾ in Kings Cross Station. He'd tried to keep a cabin to himself, but Hermione shouldered Ron and herself in. That brought them to where they were now: Harry trying to pretend they didn't exist and Hermione trying to show him that she'd done nothing wrong.

"Did it ever occur to you that I won't always agree with your opinion? I was doing nothing but having a bit of fun. Then you just had to run behind my back to tattle and sicked Dumbledore on me!" He was absolutely livid at the perceived betrayal.

"Please, just listen-"

"No! You listen. It isn't your job to monitor my morals, and the fact that you're continuously doing so is infuriating. I know what I'm doing, and just because you can't get laid doesn't mean you should take those frustrations out on me!" She looked highly insulted, not to mention a little embarrassed, by his scathing comment.

"Trouble in paradise, Potter," the snide voice of Draco Malfoy interjected. Malfoy had entered during that little rant, intent on his traditional torment of the Golden Trio. Sometimes, they made his job too easy.

"Sod off, Malfoy!" Ooo, this just got better and better; the glorious Boy Who Lived was too furious to think of snappy comebacks. Whatever was going on between Granger and him must be serious.

"Such language, Mr. Potter; you're just lucky we haven't arrived at school yet, or you'd have just gotten detentions for the rest of the semester. So," he drawled, "who'd you shag? That ratty little female weasel?"

"He bloody well tried," Ron grumbled, suddenly reminded that he should be angry with his friend.

"Gah! I don't need this." Harry stood to leave, but Malfoy was blocking his way. "Move," he gritted out, shoving him aside.

Malfoy followed him out into the corridor, temper coloring his cheeks. "See here, Potter; just because you and your little pet mudblood are having a tiff is no reason to shove about decent people."

Harry became enraged at Malfoy's use of that vile word and slammed the other boy into the wall. "Don't call her that, you bastard," he growled. He looked dangerous right then, barely in control, and it scared Malfoy to the core. Holding his hands up in acquiesce, he nodded. Harry thudded him against the wall one more time and then stalked off.

Three pairs of eyes watched him go, one afraid, one worried, and one hopeful. Hermione wanted to believe that his defense of her showed their friendship still had a chance and not that he simply hated Malfoy.

2ND AUTHORS NOTE: I promise there's a plot-type reason for establishing the both of them as man-whores. Bare with me, please.