A/N: PLEASE READ, THIS NOTE IS ACTUALLY IMPORTANT!
If you're a NEW READER, and have just come from chapter six: skip this note.
IF YOU READ CHAPTER SIX WHEN I FIRST POSTED IT, YOU SHOULD READ THE FOLLOWING:
I don't know how it happened, but somehow two separate versions of this story are floating around on my computer - two VERY different versions. I've managed to combine the two in such a way that I don't have to change anything I've posted prior to chapter six, but that entire chapter had to be DELETED and REPOSTED - believe me, it was unavoidable, or I wouldn't have done it. Honestly, the shitty excuse for a chapter that I posted before didn't allow me to post the next few chapters that wrap up the story - I would have had to rewrite the entire ending! THIS IS ALL NEW CONTENT. If you've already read chapter six, PLEASE go read it again - legitimately, it's not just a few edits here and there, it's entirely different. The only similarity is the fact that the plot is the same.
I apologize for the inconvenience, but my guess is that you'll like this chapter much better anyway ;) Harry actually realizes who it was that fucked the hero right out of him, to borrow an expression from a favorite author of mine :D So, if you don't go back and reread, you'll be very confused from here on out!
Please review~
.:Chapter Seven:.
"Blaise, I don't want to go!" Draco flopped down on his bed… Well, he tried to anyway. Every article of clothing he owned was currently either on his bed, or strewn about on the floor, so it made it a bit difficult for him to execute a perfect dramatic flop.
"I don't care. You're going anyway. Here, try this on." Blaise threw a silver shirt across the room. Reluctantly, Draco pulled off the last shirt Blaise had thrown at him, rolling his eyes.
"Why is it any concern of yours if I go to this party or not? If I want to mope around in my dorms by myself, that's my business."
"That is precisely where you're wrong. All you've been doing for the last month is mope! And frankly, your entire house is tired of it. Hell, I think that even Potter's noticed something's wrong with you." He had to turn back to the closet so the blonde wouldn't see his smirk as all the color drained from Draco's face. He couldn't resist playing with his best friend a little, especially when he knew a secret as big as their current situation.
"So how is forcing me to do something I don't want to do going to change that? Who's to say that I won't just mope at the party and ruin everybody's good time?"
"Because I am going to get you so drunk that you won't even know your own name, let alone that you're supposed to be moping."
"I object."
"Again, I don't care. Aha!" Blaise finally found the pair of muggle jeans he had been looking for and threw them at Draco too. The blonde had managed to button up his shirt while they had bickered, and now he stood up with a dramatic sigh and started to tug the jeans on over his boxers.
Blaise started circling him like a vulture, eying him up from all sides.
"Very nice, Draco. I think we've found a winning combination."
"Why do you care what I wear all of the sudden? I've managed to dress myself – immaculately, I might add – for my entire life." For the thousandth time in the last hour, Draco glanced suspiciously at his friend. And for the thousandth time, Blaise didn't reply. "Damnit, Blaise! What's going on?"
"Easy, Draco. Can't a guy just be concerned for his best friend? I want you to go have fun tonight. And to stop moping – you'r egoing to get wrinkles on your forehead from frowning all the time."
"I am not!" Draco half-screeched, but he rushed over to his vanity mirror anyway, just to be sure. Blaise laughed and cast a Tempus charm.
"Come on, it's time to go. I've got to go finish setting up the bar, and you're going to help me."
He dragged Draco along behind him and shut the door.
"Well, aren't you going to clean up my room, you monster? You've trashed it, and most likely wrinkled every shirt I own!"
Blaise flicked his wand lazily behind them, and Draco heard a loud crash as his room began to right itself.
The boys stopped for a moment and looked at each other, Blaise sheepishly, and Draco murderously.
"Blaise, I swear-"
But Blaise was done listening to Draco bitch; it was starting to give him a headache. Besides, the ominous thud couldn't have been anything valuable hitting the ground; Draco had so many anti-gravity charms on his valuables that nothing could possibly get broken. He hoped.
"Hermione, I need help." Harry's hair was sticking up as if he'd run his fingers through it in frustration way too many times, his eyes were wide, and he wasn't wearing any pants. The witch stared in surprise at her friends' appearance, at a loss for words for a minute.
"Harry, what's wrong? Aren't you supposed to be getting ready to go to the party?" Hermione gestured at the hair supplies and cosmetics that littered her room, proof of her own preparations.
"… I tried."
"Oh." Hermione tried not to laugh, she really did. "Well, here, let's see what we have to work with." The witch cast a cooling charm on her curling iron and went over to the boys' dorms. When she walked in, it looked like a tornado had come through Gryffindor tower. Harry's clothes were everywhere!
"I couldn't figure out what to wear…"
"…Which is why you came to my dorm in your boxers." Hermione laughed as Harry threw a shirt at her. "Actually, this one isn't too bad, Harry. Why did you need me, again?" She looked at the shirt in her hands, a black dress shirt with silver designs faintly running across it. The brunette wizard stalked over to her and roughly grabbed the shirt. He tugged it over his head, straightened a few buttons, and Hermione spelled out the wrinkles.
"Okay, pants." Hermione looked around her curiously as she realized that not a single pair of pants could be found in the mess of shirts Harry had torn out of his closet. "Um, Harry? Where did all of your pants go?"
"I may or may not have set them on fire in the bathroom… Ceremonial style."
"What on earth…? That's a story you're going to have to tell me when we have more time. Come with me."
They went back to the girls' dorm, Harry still pants-less. Hermione flipped through her wardrobe for a few seconds, shuffling clothes around in drawers until she found what she was looking for. She pulled out a black pair of skinny jeans with silver designs on the back pockets. Harry glared at the pants in her hand.
"Hermione, those are your pants."
"Yes, and? Put them on."
"… Hermione, those are your pants."
"Yes, Harry, I understand that. Put. Them. On."
"No!"
"Harry James Potter, don't make me petrificus-totalus your sorry ass and put them on you myself. Don't tempt me, you know I will!"
Harry gulped at Hermione's threat and cautiously reached for the pants. He tried to slide one leg on, but had to stop.
"Hermione, they're, um, a bit too small."
Hermione sighed, frustrated.
"Of course they are, Harry. They're mine."
"Then why do you want me to put them on?"
"So I can see how much I need to transfigure them, genius!" She swished her wand and the fabric of the pants stretched until it was a loose-fitting pair of jeans that were even a bit too big for Harry. He sighed and stepped into them, put them on, and zipped and buttoned them. He barely had time to move his hand away from the button before Hermione flicked her wand again and the pants tightened almost painfully. He let out a tiny whimper as they continued to shrink.
"Hermione…"
"Yes Harry?"
"… These are really tight. Maybe you could let them out a bit? They were fine before, actually, when they were baggy and, y'know, there was still room to slide a paperclip between the jeans and my skin?"
"Precisely. They're supposed to be tight, Harry. They're skinny jeans."
"But Hermione, I'm a guy. There's a reason why these pants are generally reserved for girls. It's very, um, uncomfortable…"
Hermione smirked and surreptitiously worked her magic one final time. Harry yelped as his boxers disappeared.
"Hermione!"
"Well, it's more comfortable now, isn't it?"
"But… but… but… I'm… you… I'M IN YOUR PANTS." His dumbfounded outburst was followed by a profound silence in which Hermione had to recite all of the runes she had learned in Ancient Runes, backwards, so that she wouldn't laugh while Harry realized what he had just said. "I mean-"
"Harry, stop it. Go back to your room, adjust yourself, and wear the damn pants. They make your ass look amazing."
"Really?" He turned to her full-length mirror and turned to the side to try to see if she was telling the truth or not, all traces of his previous hysteria gone. Hermione finally lost the battle with the list of runes and literally fell to the floor laughing.
"You're welcome, Harry. Now go away so I can do my makeup. Again." She wiped a tear from her eye and spelled the mascara that had run away. Reaching into her makeup box, she didn't hear any movement towards the door from behind her. She turned around and noticed Harry eying up the black eyeliner she'd left on the sink. "Merlin, Harry. If I didn't already know you were bent, tonight would pretty much prove it to me. Bring it here." She laughed.
Harry snatched the eyeliner pencil and pranced over to his best friend. He sat down and she quickly applied a thin black line to both his upper and lower lids. She cast a complicated spell that would make the eyeliner stay in place and maintain its intensity until the spell was cancelled, a spell that she had unfortunately not had time to apply to her own makeup before Harry's antics had made her ruin it.
"There. All finished now, you royal ponce. Now get out of here, or I'll never finish getting ready!" As he stood up, she slapped his butt, and with an affronted yelp, he left her alone, giggling to herself.
"I love having a gay best friend!" She informed the mirror version of herself as she reapplied her makeup.
A/N: So, originally, this chapter was supposed to include the party itself. But writing Draco's whiny getting-ready scene led to my mind coming up with the brilliantly hilarious scene that is Harry's problem with pants xD I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it...