A/N: Please, take this with a grain of salt. Don't be offended; I'm just as big of a Potter fan as the next extremely insane fanatic. I'm currently writing a more serious HG/DM fic, which will be up soon. This is rated M for a reason. Proceed at your own risk.

She was so distraught traversing the darkened hallways of a midnight Hogwarts that the curly-haired spitfire barely noticed the tall, greasy man grabbing her ass as she climbed the dungeon stairs.

A manly burp escaped her as she burst into her Head Girl's room. After cleverly casting a locking charm on her room, she began to scratch at her arms nervously, and soon she towered above fifteen feet of facial hair, and nine inches of pink, throbbing... hairless kittens. Then it came.

"I... AM... HERMAN!" Growls and farts escaped the previously dainty seventh-year as she–er, he–grew through his robes, ripping them to shreds as he had the night before. He pounded on his chest and swigged an entire litre of Vodka before resigning to his bed with his wand–"Vibrato Orgasmo!"

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The next morning around the breakfast table, Ron was the first to speak. "I wonder what's tied Hermione's wand in a knot!"

"Oi! Why's she in such a pickle?" Harry added boisterously.

"Girl troubles, I bet," Ron snickered.

"Blimey!" Harry exclaimed. "You filthy twit, you're right! It's been nearly a month now since the last–er, incident." The word "filthy" was accentuated for a reason Ron knew but failed to discern.

"What incident?" The two friends turned around instantly to find Hermione brushing her hair out of her face with two dainty fingers, staring quizzically at them.

"I haven't a clue what Harry was talking about," Ron replied happily, nudging his best friend in his "magic wand" under the table.

"You never cease to amaze me, Ronald Weasley," Hermione sighed. "Positively incredulous!" she muttered under her breath.

Luna was always quick to fill her in on the gossip. "Harry and Ron say that you're menstruating. Was it as heavy this time as it was last time? Because I know a doctor you can see ab–"

"Luna!" Hermione gasped. "That is... that is positively untrue, disgusting, and–oh, Luna! Keep those things to yourself!" There was a long pause at the table before Hermione realized everyone was staring at the nicks on her cheeks. "Oh, I... I had a bit of an accident. Nothing to worry about."

"Don't worry, we weren't in the least," Harry retorted absentmindedly. "We were just hatching our newest plan."

"Newest plan? Oh dear," Hermione sighed.

"Oh, it's positively fantastic!" Ron exclaimed. "Hermione, do you ever wonder, you know, what it would be like?"

"What what would be like? Ron!"

"To bring somebody back," Ron's eyes widened before he bellowed, "from the dead!"

Hermione let out a condescending exhalation. "Oh, Ron, you know it can't be done with any spell we know. Or, at least," she added as an afterthought, "any spell you know. And besides, think about how horrid that would look."

"Oh, no, Hermione. We wouldn't actually bring him back. Simply... dig 'im up! See what he does!"

"Ron, I will not, if you bring me to a dead, rotting corpse, use a spell to bring him back for you out of mere disgust. You can't use me that way. I won't play your rotten games."

"We'll just see about that," Ron asserted, clearly mollified.

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Meanwhile, in Professor McGonagall's bed, Draco Malfoy awoke in a drunken haze to the tender touch of a woman.

"Oh Draco," his most favored female teacher sighed, tracing his bare chest with kisses, and, of course, her long finger.

"Mmm," he grunted, "Yes, that's it. That's–" Draco's mind went from groggy to alert in an instant as he began tearing bed sheets off of his body. "What in the bloody hell? Get off me, you wretched hag! When my father hears of this–"

"Malfoy! That's hardly what I'd have expected from such an agile, worthy... student. Ten points from Slytherin."

"What? You! This is molestation! Child molestation! Oh, you filthy–"

"Not any longer. You turned eighteen last week, do you not remember? And you certainly consented to this... this passionate–"

"Passionate? Oh, don't tell me, you whore. Consent my ass!"

"Oh, you do have a nice ass," McGonagall added as a side thought. "Yes, you most certainly consented to this. You had to pull my leg–and my drawers–to get me to sleep with you. Draco, I must say, you are quite the romancer."

"Bloody fuck! How pissed was I last night?"

"When you came to me crying, it was the least I could do."

"Crying? What in Merlin's name–But of course. It was Pansy's eighteenth birthday party last night. Fool, I should have known. McGonagall–"

"Oh, call me Minerva, Draco."

"It's Malfoy to you! I'll have your job for this!"

"No, you won't," the professor said, finally in a deathly serious tone. "If you tell a soul, I'll let the order know about your little... ehm, mishaps, with the first year Ravenclaw girls, as well as your tendency to drink, cut class, the secrets of the Dark Lord you spilled to me last night, that time with Buckbeak–"

"You knew about Buckbeak?" Draco's pale face turned a blank white.

"Oh, the things a boy will tell you when he's smashed."

"You... you... rotten bitch! Once I'm out of Hogwarts, I'll have you killed for this."

McGonagall barely got in a final word before Draco flew out of her dorm door, stark naked.