A/N: Here's chapter three of the rewrite. I swear I mean to write more on this fic, but I've got to finish 3 oneshots by the 13th. Two AkuRoku, one ZoSan. I think. It may end up being three AkuRokus. Oh well. We all love AkuRoku anyway.

And if you don't... doom.


That Heinous Scarf

Chapter Three.


Draco Malfoy, the Pacing Prince of Slytherin, was wearing a groove into the floor in front of his bed. He didn't know what came over him when he was around Potter. Well, not so much around Potter as in fairly close quarters with Potter.

Snogging is generally considered to be at fairly close quarters.

Blaise bounded up to the door, eager to know why Draco hadn't come to breakfast, but quickly scurried away when Draco narrowed his eyes at the over-exuberant teen. Draco growled. Some people had no respect for other people's hissy fits. Not that Draco was having a hissy fit or anything. Slytherins did not have hissy fits. They didn't even sulk. They just got revenge.

Which was exactly what Draco needed to do. Get revenge on Potter for messing around with his emotions.


Harry finally extracted himself from Dean and Seamus' clutches without revealing that he had kissed his arch-rival, and continued his search for Hermione. He thought she would probably still be in the great hall, but he didn't know where Draco had gone after the… incident… and didn't exactly want to run into him again right now. Wandering in the vague direction of the library, Harry mused over the events of the past few days. He didn't even notice that his feet were taking him back to the dungeons, back to the moment that set this whole thing off. He was so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he didn't even notice Hermione coming up behind him until a pair of arms draped over his shoulders and hands reached up to cover his eyes.

"Hermione." Harry said automatically, seeing as she was the only one who ever did that.

Hermione let go and stepped in front of him. "He did it again?" she queried.

"How do you—oh. Seamus and Dean." Harry said glumly.

Hermione chuckled. "Right now their bets are hedged on Lavender or Zabini."

Harry gagged instinctively. "Zabini? You've got to be kidding me."

"They've actually got a fairly good set of reasons behind it. One, you would probably tell them if it was any of the girls we know. Two, most of the girls we know are a little bit too in awe of you to do any serious kissing. And by the way your lips are still swollen, I'd say that was some pretty serious kissing."

"…What is it with Seamus and numbering everything?" Harry asked plaintively.

Hermione made a disapproving noise in the back of her throat. "Stop trying to change the subject. He kissed you again." She wasn't asking this time, more just stating a fact.

"Yeah. I don't even know why. He apologized for it, even. I don't want this to happen again."

"…Have you lost all communicative skills whatsoever? Last time I checked, 'no' was not one of the more difficult words in the English language." Hermione said dryly.

Harry winced. "Obviously you've never tried to say it when you're being kissed by Draco."

"And hopefully I won't ever get a chance to test that." Hermione said, making a disgusted face. "So. What do you want to do?"

Harry sighed. "I… I don't know what I want to do. I want to know what he really wants from me, whether this is just some game to him or what."

"Really, Harry, there's a very simple answer to this." Hermione said.

"Says you."

"Harry James Potter, stop whining and plot revenge."


Blaise Zabini was very confused. Fortunately, this was a fairly common occurrence, so no one really thought anything of it.

"Wait, so… what are we doing again?"

Draco gritted his teeth. "For the nineteenth time, Blaise, we're going to turn Potter into a girl."

Blaise wrinkled his nose in thought. "You know, that's really going to suck for Potter. I mean, can you imagine? Going to sleep a guy and waking up a girl?"

"Bloody hell, Blaise, that's the sodding concept of revenge! You don't like it! It sucks!"

"Oh. Right. But why are we getting revenge on Potter? He hasn't done anything to you."

"I'm not even going to dignify that with a response, Blaise." Draco retorted. As if Potter hadn't done anything to him. He'd… well, he'd… there'd been… okay… well… he'd kissed him back. That had to count for something.


Harry blinked rather owlishly. "Hermione, have you ever considered of becoming the next James Bond?"

"No, not particularly. I never really thought that 'Granger. Hermione Granger.' had a very good ring to it." Hermione said. "Why do you ask?"

"Because this is the most brilliant plan I've ever heard."


Draco grinned impishly. No one was really used to this expression, and so most of the spots around him were empty as his fellow Slytherins sidled away. Only Blaise stuck by him, trying to keep Draco from breaking out into evil laughter. Every so often a syllable or two would escape, and people would look at Draco funnily as a muffled "BWAHAHAHA" fled his mouth.

Tensing as Harry walked through the entrance to the great hall, Draco growled softly. Blaise casually draped an arm around his friend's shoulders, putting Draco in a loose headlock. "Now, Draco," Blaise said softly. "It wouldn't do to be excessively expectant right now, now would it? Look relaxed. Laugh a bit, and turn to me like I just said something remarkably funny."

Draco plastered a smile on his face, turned to Blaise, and laughed like a maniac as his eyes seemed to turn even more bloodshot and his hands began to twitch. "Um… Draco? Nervous breakdowns are not generally considered to be a good sign." Blaise said haltingly.

"I'm getting revenge on Potter today, I'm getting revenge on Potter today, I'm getting revenge on Potter today…" Draco sang, remarkably off-key. People began to murmur in the tables around the two, those who had sidled away before now scooting away as fast as their bottoms would take them along the splintery benches.


Harry grimaced as he looked in the mirror. He looked bloody awful. "Hermione," he called. "I look like I got dressed in a broom closet or something."

"That's the point, Harry. We need to make you look like you just had the most amazing shag of your life with anyone other than Malfoy."

"Hermione…"

"No, trust me, this will work. Now, come here. You need to bite your lower lip a bit until it's swollen, then I've got some stain we can use to make your lips and cheeks look ruddier." Hermione said craftily, pulling out a small makeup kit from her bookbag.

Harry blanched. "Look, Hermione, I really appreciate this, but… I can't do this."

"Harry, you came to me having a complete and utter breakdown, wanting revenge on Malfoy. Now you just change your mind?" Hermione said, sounding more hurt than anything else. He doesn't have a backbone when it comes to Malfoy, she realized. He can't bear the thought of hurting him.

"Look, I really appreciate everything you did for me, but I'm not going to do this. I can't stoop to his level." Harry said resignedly.

"I thought you had more integrity than that," Hermione hissed. "I can't believe you, Harry." She slammed shut her makeup kit, shattering the plastic cover.

Harry fell onto the end of his bed, resting his head in his hands. He didn't know which part he felt stupider about… the fact that he had even agreed to this in the first part, or that he couldn't go through with a little bit of deception. Damn the Gryffindor in him.


Blaise tugged Draco out of the great hall, trying desperately to find some reasonable, rational explanation for why his friend was acting like an idiot. Well, one didn't usually need an explanation for that, but usually he was a more subtle idiot. For God's sake, anyone who could spend that much time lecturing others about tact really had no right to go off and proclaim to the world that he was getting revenge on his boyfriend. Sighing, he pulled Draco up the stairs to the infirmary. Madame Pomfrey was going to have a field day with this. Draco Malfoy, the Prince of Slytherin, reduced to a blithering idiot for all the world to see.


Hermione slid into the seat opposite Ron, her every motion evoking complete and utter exasperation. Ron glanced up from his constant shoveling of calories into his face and ceased immediately, swallowing the great mass of food he had in his mouth without even chewing. "What's wrong now, 'Mione?" Ron said fearfully, getting ready to duck in case Hermione decided throwing things around would alleviate her stress.

"He's being a complete git, Ron! Even you, at your very thickest, have never just flip-flopped like this. He comes to me; practically begging for my help, then changes his mind at the last minute. He's not acting like himself at all." Hermione punctuated each word with a bang of her fist on the table, shaking every dish within a three-metre radius.

Ron flailed around, trying to stop the pitcher of pumpkin juice from falling into his lap, but eventually gave up on prolonging the inevitable. He still jumped up as the pitcher fell on the front of his robes, soaking most everything from the waist down. "Don't talk to me about Harry." Ron said, stalking off with as much dignity as he could. The large amount of pumpkin juice on his robes rather ruined the dignity part, but he was stalking off all the same.

Hermione banged her fist on the table one last time, not even caring that the entire table was giving her death glares. She hated how spineless Harry was being about this whole thing, not even caring what Draco had done to him. She'd done everything to help him, helped him come up with a stupid plan for revenge. And he repaid her by wimping out at the last second?


Madame Pomfrey tutted as Draco slithered into a chair across from her, Blaise heaving a sigh of relief as his friend's weight fell off his shoulders. He really didn't like all of the stairs in this god-awful school, especially with the infirmary on one of the higher floors. He'd gotten lost three times, and so many of the portraits refused to help anyone who associated with Malfoys. Finally he had found a portrait of one of Malfoy's ancestors, who was more than willing to utter a few snide comments and veiled insults before sending him on his way to the infirmary.

"What on earth have you done to the poor boy, Mister Zabini?" Madame Pomfrey questioned, trying to pry open Draco's eyelids to see how dilated his pupils were. He was twitching so badly that this was exceedingly difficult. "He's acting like he's having a seizure. What sort of tomfoolery have you two been up to?"

"No tomfoolery today, Madame Pomfrey." Blaise said, hesitant to reveal the full extent of everything they'd been up to recently. He didn't think the use and brewing of sex-change potions for the sole purpose of revenge was very highly looked upon by the Ministry, much less by the rules which governed Hogwarts.

Levitating Draco over to a bed in the infirmary, the short witch turned to Blaise and looked him in the eye. "Mister Zabini, if there is anything I should know, now is the time to tell me."

Berating himself for not thinking of levitating Draco's body on the climb up all those stairs, he gathered his composure and tried to bring a soothing smile to his face. "As far as I know, there aren't any extenuating circumstances in this case, Madame Pomfrey." Blaise claimed, his voice dripping sweetness. "I'm sure everything will be fine, especially with you watching over him. Call me if anything changes, will you?"

The witch smoothed her hair down, looking remarkably like a hen who was terribly proud of herself. No one was entirely immune to Blaise's charm, not even the teachers. Strutting out of the infirmary, Blaise slumped against a wall as soon as he was out of sight. What the hell had Draco gotten himself into now?


Harry wandered down to the great hall, wondering when today he was going to be pulled into an alcove and snogged mercilessly. He didn't know what he was to expect, considering the past few days. Some small part of him longed for anything connected to Draco, wanted to feel Draco's lips on his again, but the rest of him realized how pointless this all was. He didn't want things to be mindless between him and Draco. He wanted to have Draco as his, wanted to have someone to hug. Not that he didn't want someone to kiss; just that he wanted someone who would hug him as long as he needed to be hugged. Which, considering that no one had really hugged him since he was two, might be a terribly long time.

Striding into the great hall, all he needed to see was Hermione's upturned nose and the huge splash of pumpkin juice on the floor to know what had happened. Hermione was probably still mad at him for not going through with her plan. He was almost mad at himself for not going through with it, but he knew that in the long run it would be better. Better for whom, he didn't know, but he was sure it would be better. His thoughts turned back to Draco, and he scanned the Slytherin table for the distinctive blonde hair. Blondes were few and far between at Hogwarts as it was, and other than Luna he couldn't see any other blondes whose hair was that light. He felt rather than heard a thump next to him as someone plunked themselves onto the seat, and turned to see Seamus.

"You'll never guess what happened to the git!" Seamus claimed exuberantly.

Harry blinked. "Who?"

"Don't be thick, Harry." Seamus said calmly before returning to his effusive state. "Malfoy had some sort of mental breakdown and got dragged off to the hospital wing by Zabini!"

Harry's heart jumped into his throat at the thought of anything having happened to Draco. "What? When? How long ago? Has Zabini come back yet?"

"Speaking of Zabini, is it him?" Seamus asked bluntly, the change in topic a near-complete nonsequitor.

"Is who him?" Harry said, too distracted to pay attention to grammar.

Seamus rolled his eyes. "Zabini. Is he who you kissed?"

"What? No. Where did you say Malfoy went?" Harry said, not focusing on anything beyond the general idea of MALFOY-hurt-MALFOY-breakdown-MALFOY-hug. He wasn't quite sure where the "hug" bit came from, but the repeating idea seemed to center on Malfoy.

"Hospital wing. Now, who WAS it?" Seamus asked, completely oblivious to Harry's inattention to the conversation.

"I have to go. Bye, Seamus."

"Deannnnnnn…" called the Irish boy. "You owe me ten sickles! It wasn't Zabini!"

"Sod off." Dean shot back irritably. "We never shook on it."


Harry Potter was a nervous wreck. He hadn't been able to focus on his classes at all that morning, and finally just gave up on doing anything productive. He didn't know what had happened to Draco, and all the gossipmongers were saying was that Madame Pomfrey wasn't leaving his bedside from worry. Which, had Harry stopped to think about it, was really quite a lot—considering that he had never seen Mme. Pomfrey anything less than cool and collected. However, Harry did not stop to think about anything other than Draco. He hadn't for most of the day, really. He hated how much this was tearing up any semblance of self-composure—or, for that matter, dignity—that he had thought he had left.

Oh, look at that, the tattered remnants of his sanity flying out the window. Huh. He'd thought he had some of that left, too. Apparently not.


Draco thrashed about in his confused daze, knowing neither what he was doing nor where he was. Gibberish poured out of his mouth as he tossed and turned, the sheets tangling around his legs as the fever rushed through his body. Nothing Madame Pomfrey did to lower his temperature had any effect whatsoever. She had resorted to Muggle treatments of wet cloths and ice around his temples, but these had barely more effect than any of the spells she knew. All of the students who had a spare moment kept coming in to gawk at the ill boy, not caring about the possibility of Draco's affliction being contagious. All they wanted was to gape at the poor dear. She kept shooing them out, but two more popped in for every one student that left. Finally, she realized that she couldn't keep up with the shooing and the care indefinitely, and grabbed another boy from Draco's year out of the crowd. Harry Potter, of course. She trusted him, even with all of the times he had ended up in her care for something utterly and completely idiotic. The look on his face was one of genuine worry as he pushed his way to the front of the crowd, and somehow she knew that he would care for Draco. She handed him a bucket of ice, conjuring up water to fill the vessel and a few cloths to keep Draco at a reasonable temperature.


Harry shoved his way up to the front of the bunch of students, anxiety furrowing his brow. He didn't care whose toes he was stepping on, just wanted to see for himself what had happened to Draco. Once he got to the front, Madame Pomfrey attacked him with a bucket and cloths, telling him to dab them on Draco's forehead to keep him cool. Harry was so flustered that he just stood there for a moment until the older witch shoved him towards the other boy at the end of the hospital wing, flapping her arms irritably. He shook himself back to the real world, his legs taking him towards Draco of their own accord. When he reached the end of the wing, his senses were assaulted with the raw smell of sweat and panic, the sheets tangled around Draco's slim form more than enough testimony to the horrors of whatever he was going through. Numbly pulling the sodden cloth from the bucket, he let a few solitary drops fall on Draco's temples. What had Draco done to himself?
Blaise Zabini wandered back to the great hall, not caring that he'd managed to miss all of his classes. He still had the flask Draco had been drinking from at breakfast, having grabbed it before turning the boy over to Madame Pomfrey. Knowing Draco, it had some ridiculous vintage of firewhisky in it. Uncorking the flask, he raised it to his lips and took a gulp. Man, did he ever need—ANYTHING BUT THIS. Whatever foul concoction this was, it was most certainly not firewhisky. It smelled even worse than the potion he and Draco had cooked up the previous day.

…it was the potion he and Draco had cooked up the previous day. Oh, crap. He'd forgotten to put it in Potter's breakfast. And somehow Draco's tastebuds had been so completely obliterated by his copious consumption of firewhisky that he hadn't noticed what he was drinking. Which meant…

Draco was in the hospital wing turning into a girl at this very instant.

Shit.


Harry was trying to ignore Draco's feverish moans. And failing miserably. He was getting remarkably turned on by them, as a matter of fact. Although the set of high-pitched yelps being made off-scene were a bit odd. In a dim corner of his consciousness, Harry noticed that Madame Pomfrey was arguing with another student. A very, very, very dim corner. One that had not been lit for, say, a few thousand years.

Harry jumped as a spastic Blaise Zabini skidded past Draco's hospital bed, limbs flailing as he slipped on the excess of water that had pooled at the foot of the bed. His momentum carried him forward into the (very substantial, as most of these walls did tend to be lately…) castle wall. Blaise peeled himself off the wall, feeling his nose tenderly.

"I think I broke it…" he moaned piteously. Harry ignored him, dabbing at Draco's forehead once again. "No, seriously. Where's Pomfrey?"

Harry sighed in a highly aggravated manner, pulling out his wand.

"Hey, Potter, no need to go all Dark Lord on me, I just came to warn you about—"

"Episkey. Now, Zabini, what are you warning me about?"

Blaise jumped as his nose slid back into it's original space, sighing with relief as he realized that the perfect aquiline angle of his nose would be preserved forever, and not have any effect on his ability to score with hot babes. "Erm… Draco. He's sort of… well, let's just say that you don't really need to worry about him having some strange unknown disease." Blaise looked at his feet, praying that Potter would remain as obtuse as he always had and not badger him about why Draco was actually sick.

"And why on earth would I not be worrying right now, Zabini?" Harry said, his irritation clearly showing in his voice.

"Uhhh… Uhhh…" Blaise tried to think fast, and failed miserably. He was never really good at the whole 'making-up-lies-on-the-spot' thing. He came up with a really brilliant idea to tell Potter that Draco had just slipped in Herbology the day before and swallowed part of a fever-inducing plant when he heard someone say "HE'STURNINGINTOAGIRLPLEASEDON'THURTME!" Looking around for the idiot who had said that, he caught sight of himself in a nearby mirror. Very conveniently placed, really. His nose looked really good, now that it wasn't broken. Of course, it didn't look any different, but that was kind of the point. It looked good.

"I beg your pardon, Zabini?" Harry gritted his teeth, trying very hard indeed not to kill the Slytherin boy.

Blaise squirmed uncomfortably. "Um… he's sort of turning into a girl right now. Through absolutely no fault of my own. None whatsoever."

"Through no fault of yours, he managed to somehow get himself into the undeniably messy process of turning himself into a girl."

Blaise squinted, trying to find anyway to spin that into a favorable light. It wasn't working very well. "Uh… yeah." Maybe Draco was right about this whole tact thing. Moreover, about Blaise's complete and total lack of it. Darn. He hated it when Draco was right. It happened far too often.

"What the hell did you do, Blaise?" Harry asked resignedly.

"Well, I forgot to put it into your drink and then he managed to drink it—I MEAN I DID NOTHING OF THE SORT. None of this is my fault. None of it. All Draco's fault. Completely and utterly not my fault in any way, shape, or form."

Harry rested his head in his hands. "Blaise, do you dye your hair?"

"NO, thank you very much, these highlights are completely natural. Why? Did someone tell you about the highlight kit in my room? That's not mine, by the way. I was planning on highlighting Pansy's hair with it. Yeah. Pansy's hair. Not mine, of course. I would never dye my hair. I'm rambling now, aren't I? That tends to happen when I'm nervous. Not that I'm, you know, nervous or anything. I'm completely and one hundred percent… I'm going to shut up now."

Harry chuckled in spite of himself. "You idiot. You're the blondest brunette I have ever met."

"...I'm not blonde, though."

"Moving on. You managed to turn Draco into a girl."

Blaise shook his head vehemently. "No, no, weren't you listening? This is in no way my fault. I had nothing to do with it."

Harry continued, oblivious to Blaise. "Although really, I suppose I should be thanking you. If it wasn't for your sheer idiocy, I'd be the one trembling on that bed right now."

Blaise nodded in the same vehement manner. "Yeah, so, really, Potter, you're happy that I messed up."

"...Not really. Why the heck was Draco trying to turn me into a girl?"

"Um... revenge?"

Harry's eyes flew out of his head. Not literally, of course. That would be silly. Eyes do not fly. Not on their own, at least. Harry's eyes widened, to say the least. "For what? If anyone here should be seeking revenge, it's me."

Blaise tried in vain to sidle away, coming up against yet another of those damn solid walls. "Uh... whenever he's around you, he kind of can't control himself."

"I noticed." Harry said dryly.

"Um, so. Yeah. Sort of?" Blaise was only semi-coherent at this point.

"I need to go tell Madame Pomfrey what this idiot did to himself. I'll talk to you later, fool."


Draco twitched as he woke. He was alone in a bed in the infirmary. Well, one generally is alone in a bed when they're sick. But there wasn't anyone around him. Part of him was glad not to have any idiots hovering, but part of him felt neglected and unnoticed. Poor Draco.

He sat up, noticing an uncomfortable weight on his chest. He looked down to see... he couldn't see his waist. There happened to be a rather large and opaque mound of flesh in the way.

Two. There were two of them.

Screams echoed off the castle walls as the entire school was roused from their slumber on a Saturday morning by Draco Malfoy, female extraordinaire.

Harry ran into the infirmary, shaking sleep from his eyes. Blaise had gone back to the great hall, citing his stomach as his excuse, and Harry had been left to explain the situation to Draco. Clearly this was going to be more difficult than he had ever anticipated. But then, how exactly does one explain your best friend's idiocy turning you into a girl? At least Harry was going to be the one to break it to him, and not Blaise. Anything involving Blaise most likely would have resulted in a dead Slytherin boy and a still angry Slytherin… uh… Slytherin. Harry wasn't quite sure what to classify Draco as in his—her—its current form. Shemale? No, that didn't work… Draco was technically a transvestite, though hardly by choice. He didn't think it would go over very well to refer to Draco as "the blonde tranny" and so decided that he would just refer to Draco as Draco, thus avoiding all gender complications.

Skidding on the few solitary drops of water left on the stone floor, arms flailing in a vain attempt to stop himself from looking like Blaise's shorter, green-eyed counterpart in front of Draco, Harry reached the end of a hideous run-on sentence and promptly fell flat on his bottom as his legs flew out from underneath him. Luckily enough, the only injury he received was a bad bruise to his ego. Clearly, he hadn't as much in common with Blaise as it had seemed for a moment. What a relief.

Draco's eyes were the widest Harry had ever seen, and he kept just staring at his chest and mumbling incoherently. Clearly he was in shock, and Harry could see why—even as a gay boy, he had to admit that Draco had a nice chest. For a girl, that is. Draco looked up as he realized that someone had crashed into the room, and Harry could tell that he was about to cry.

"Meef?" Draco said piteously.

Harry groaned. It was always up to him to explain exceedingly awkward situations. "You're a girl."

"Thank you, Captain Obvious." Draco snarled as he gestured at his impressive chest. "You would think that anyone other than a complete and total MORON would have figured that out already, wouldn't you?"

"I wasn't finished. Why were you planning on turning me into a girl, anyway? And why on earth would you trust a blundering idiot like Blaise to help you?" Harry asked indignantly.

"Potter… can we not focus on that? There seems to be another problem here, in case you haven't noticed." Draco hissed condescendingly.

Harry nodded. "You drank the potion that was meant for me because Blaise is just too foolish to ever carry anything out that requires more than about three brain cells at any one time. You were subsequently turned into a girl. I, on the other hand, am still in possession of all my manly traits."

"I hate you." Draco sniffled. "Do you have any chocolate?"

Harry groaned. "All this and you're PMSing, too? God must hate me."

Draco wandered out of the infirmary later that morning, a Toblerone clutched in his slender fingers. He didn't know how on earth girls dealt with these massive… things on their chests all the time. They were downright annoying! He'd been getting dressed, and he couldn't see his feet over the bloody things. He didn't think anything more of them until he snuck into the Slytherin common room, praying everyone would be at breakfast. Unfortunately, Draco seemed to be suffering from a common affliction usually known as "very bad luck", sometimes abbreviated as VBL. The common room was full.

Blaise's face nearly split in two as he saw Draco come through the doorway. "DRACO!" he cried as he launched himself at his best friend. "OhmygodDraco, we were all so worried! I heard from one of the Ravenclaws who heard from one of the Hufflepuffs who heard from a Gryffindor that you would be released from the hospital wing sometime this morning and so I haven't let anyone go to breakfast because I wanted everyone to know that you were okay and—" here he paused to take a breath "—and oh my god, Draco, you have BOOBS!"

Draco wanted nothing more than to sink into the ground and die a quiet death. Alas, much like the walls in this school, the ground was also quite substantial. "Blaise… get off me." He whimpered pathetically, hating himself for every syllable that escaped his lips in that awful tone.

When Blaise finally did let go, his eyes seemed to be amazingly transfixed on the more frontal region of Draco's shirt. "Mate… you've got boobs…" he whispered in an awestruck manner.

Draco groaned. He couldn't think of anything other than the Captain Obvious quip, and he'd already used that today. Clearly all of his witty retorts had vanished along with any semblance of manliness he'd retained. "Yeah… well, really, it's all your fault." He said, pointing an accusing finger at the taller boy. Wait. Taller. Taller? Draco had been at least Blaise's height. Which meant…

"Hey, you've shrunk, too! But you grew some nice boobs…" Blaise pointed out.

"BLAISE, YOU IDIOT!" Draco squealed. "You are the most pigheaded, idiotic, perverted, self-centered… IDIOT that I have ever had the misfortune to come across!" He paused and moaned again. "My voice wasn't this high-pitched, either, was it?"

Blaise shook his head vehemently. "And you didn't have—"

"BOOBS, YES, THANK YOU, BLAISE." Draco finished aggravatedly.

Blaise smirked. "You shouldn't be wearing a white shirt that is quite that tight across them when you're in the dungeons."

"What? Why not?" Draco asked, his poor befuddled brain not having quite caught on yet.

"Errr… bit chilly down here, isn't it?" Blaise hinted.

Draco grimaced. "Blaise Zabini, of all the times for you to learn how to properly utilize tact, this is NOT the right one."

Blaise smacked himself on the forehead. "For Chrissakes, Draco, you've got tits."

"Well, of course, they seem to have come with the—oh."

"Erm, yes, well, I'm just going to kind of go this way now…" Blaise whispered as he tried to sidle away.

Draco's hand shot out and grabbed Blaise by his tie. "Blaise, you are an idiot. Now, you are my best friend, so this is somewhat forgivable, but you remain nonetheless an idiot. I swear to you that I will somehow pay you back for having Slytherin house in it's entirety see me without something covering the goddamn tits that you—in said idiocy—bestowed upon me."

"In my defense, Draco…" Blaise began, his words somewhat constricted by the tie digging in around his neck.

"No. You have no defense, you moron. You turned me into a girl. And do you even have the slightest idea how we are supposed to turn me back?" Draco hissed.

Blaise pondered this for a moment, then shook his head sadly.

"No? You don't? How sad. Because do you know what, Blaise?"

Blaise once again shook his head, looking rather scared now.

"NEITHER DOES POMFREY, YOU MORON." Draco shrieked, then stomped off into his room.


A/N: Wow, this chapter has a lot of the little line-divider thingies.

Wow.

I hope you like the rewrites! Enjoy, please. Let me know what you think if you get a chance. Constructive criticism is always welcome.

I love you alll.