Author's note: I am now tired and irritated. You would understand why I'm tired if you had been able to read my previous author's note but the computer managed to randomly shut down, and I managed to forget to save anything. Bugger and bollocks and botheration (I am not one for swearing much). Anyway, I will put all that behind me and attempt to replicate my lost chapter with a clear and singing heart (lalalalala DIE COMPUTER DIE!).
Disclaimer: I own what the Great-Pigeon-in-the-Sky (worship him, he's better than God at random and unusual weather patterns…. including weird rain) deems me fit to have and he has not granted me ownership of Harry Potter and all who sail in his ship, they have been offered to a more potent being, aka. J.K.Rowling.
Morph.
Chapter 2 – Under the Table Carpet Trouble.
There is a downside to being made out of bubblegum, Harry discovered later. Namely, carpet fluff. After puddling out the hospital wing door he found himself in the hall (obviously). What he hadn't noticed was that the student body council had finally got they're wish of having carpets laid throughout the school and, being a wizarding school, the carpets arrived instantly. While Harry had been in the hospital wing, the hallways had been covered in a thick, fluffy, beige layer of fuzziness.
"Aaaaaahhhhhh!" screamed some random Gryffindor girl who wasn't particularly critical to the plot. She pointed her irrelevant finger at a gloopy slice of beige carpet that had just slithered into the Common room, "Wh-what IS it!" (Squeal and exit at run.)
Harry ignored her insignificant presence and noise making, he was more preoccupied by the fact that his previously beautiful, glistening pink skin was now an unsightly light brown, no - fawn, no - orange, peach? (Why is it that only girls can tell what beige is?)
"I'm furry! Like a cat or Sirius - in dog form – or, or Lupin! I wanna be sticky!" he cried and blubbered and whined and whimpered and scowled and howled but all that did was make him wet, which made him stickier, which made him fluffier.
Gryffindor-ians entered and exited the Common room in rapid succession but none could stay long in the presence of such a pitiful looking carpet-blob.
Harry tried picking the fluff off but all it did was break into lots of little tiny strands, which were even harder to get off. He tried slithering out of the furry encasement but to no avail – they just came with him.
At last he gave up entirely and slithered off in search of help. He realised his mistake soon after leaving the Common room. Carpets were everywhere and Harry now resembled a giant pompom.
He was so miserable he sat in the corner like a forlorn dust bunny and watched students pass by until the fluff got so bad it stuck to his eyes and all he could see was carpet. He sat there and thought of all the wonderful pranks he could be pulling if only there was no carpet. He was so wound up in carpet and thoughts of carpet that he didn't notice a magical wind had picked up inside the castle, (note: magical) and was blowing him down the hall.
Round and round, up and down, topsy-turvy, Harry careered down the passageway, faster and faster as the wind picked up speed. The layer of fluff protected him from the brunt of the impact but by the time the wind died down he felt as if he'd been chewed up and spat out……and stuck under a desk in the Potions dungeon. Which he had. (been stuck under a desk that is)
Hanging from this position he looked like the desk's second beard. What? First, and only, beard. Apon inspection, not too close, he saw the revolting remains of many illicit classtime snacks which had been stashed in there. Bubblegum, and various bubble gum-flavoured products were predominant but he also spotted three quills, a crayon, a rubber and a half, twelve pairs of socks and seven earrings. (So that's where they went.)
He also noticed that he wasn't the only fluffy piece of pink stickiness there. Plenty of other half-chewed blobs were covered in fur but the revelation of his fellow blob-comrades' similar dilemma didn't help much.
He started chatting since there wasn't anything else to do (the classroom be empty – do you think people wouldn't notice a bearded desk?).
"Hey, I'm Harry," he said to a chunk of green bubblegum, "I am beginning to feel I may be in trouble with this being-transfigured-into-a-pink-blob-of-bubblegum-resembing-a-certain-piece-of-homework thing," he remarked to a red sock with a hole in the toe that was stuck to the desk with a slab of choco-gum bar.
Although his audience was somewhat unresponsive, Harry carried on obliviously.
"I thought Professor Trelawny did me a favour turning me into bubblegum boy, but the carpets? Thanks but no thanks pal, I'd rather have a stone floor any day."
-chirrup chirrup-
"And if there were no carpets I could have done soooooo many cool things like-"
"……." the bits of lost quill interrupted.
"Uh huh. Like stick to walls and stretch for miles and sneak up on people and pull funny faces and-"
"……….." the crumbling rubbers suggested.
"Yeah, and stuff like that too," agreed Harry, grinning behind the fur.
There was a knock on the door, "Helloooooooo? Professor Snape, are you there?" said an extremely slimy voice (even slimier than Harry's new skin). Harry squidged himself flat against the bottom of the desk and tried very hard to be somewhere else.
A pair of pristine shoes walked in, above which Harry could just about glimpse a pair of snake-embroidered socks. He recognised them; there was a pair just like them stuck to the bottom of the desk to his left. He carefully circled round to look at them. Yup, an exact match and, what was more, on the inside of the label were the initials D.M.
"Draco Malfoy," he whispered in his head (isn't it kind of pointless to whisper in your head?).
"Professor Snape?" Draco called again. He waited in silence for a second before repeating, "Professor Snape? I just need to finish my potion."
He sat down at a desk. The desk. The one with the Harry-beard. He was the kind of person who didn't notice such things. And began chopping things up and mixing and stirring and pouring and all the things you do in potion making. And above him Harry could feel the potion bubbling and swirling and fizz-pop-whizz-banging.
"Uh oh," said Draco a few minutes later, "Maybe I mixed when I should have stirred."
Underneath the desk Harry listened to the sounds of a concoction gone wrong. Rumbles and creaks punctuated the air like question marks. Will it explode? Will it overflow? Will Draco be obliterated in a (not so) tragic surge of magical liquid?
Unfortunately Malfoy boy was fine. For the most part. The potion managed to explode and overflow but the last one didn't happen (to the relief of all Draco shippers – I don't mind him but for the purposes of this story just go with the next bit).
"M-my-my hair!" screamed Draco clutching at his head which had a lovely, shiny, pink bald quality about it. He ran from the dungeons, still loudly lamenting the loss of his precious blond locks.
Harry on the other hand was overjoyed at the potions result, for he emerged from beneath the desk in faultless pinkness with not a puff of fluff in sight.
Author's note: I have decided to forgive the computer because I will die without it, good reason, yes? I hope the second slice of this pizza of silliness was to your liking, if it was I definitely want to hear why (or, as the case may be, why not?)
This is Squibakou signing out.:-)