It had been a b*tch of a day. Not only was The Prophet haranguing Harry for a quote, because suddenly his lack of a love life was far more important than sending Rabastan Lestrange to Azkaban, but Ginny had sent back the last of his clothes from her flat. They had landed just now in a box on his desk – more pertinently right on top of his glasses, now smashed beyond a simple Reparo.
This time he wasn’t sure they could work it out. Things had been tense for a while, with his workload and then her sudden catapult into the limelight after she made the Harpies first team. Whereas in the past, they’d always made an effort to patch things up, now it seemed the whole relationship was a patch, and no amount of darning was going to make them strong again
Sighing, he picked up the box, placed his smashed glasses on top, and left for home.
“Watch where you’re going, idiot!”
Malfoy, that’s all I need.
“Someone walks towards you carrying a box, and you can’t get out of their way,” Harry snapped. Just then the box broke, littering his pants, odd socks and an old t-shirt on the corridor floor. “Thank you so bloody much, Malfoy!”
“You’re the one who needs glasses and yet isn’t wearing them,” Malfoy snapped back, sidestepping the pile of clothes as Harry bent to pick them up.
“Watch where you’re walking!” yelled Harry.
Looking down, Malfoy started to snigger. He picked up the pair of pants he’d trodden on and hooted with derision. “Niffler pants? What treasure do you have down there, Potter?”
“Give them back!”
Malfoy dangled the pants in front of Harry, who reached out to snatch them back, falling forward when he missed.
“Merlin, you really are blind without your goggles, aren’t you?” Malfoy said, laughing. “Either that or your reflexes have gone to pot.”
Feeling an intense fury build up inside, Harry lunged. Caught off guard, Malfoy fell to the floor. Both let rip a stream of swear words then crashed though a seemingly solid Ministry wall.
“Get off me, Potter!”
“Make me, Malfoy.”
“No, seriously. Where the hell are we?”
Although Harry couldn’t see his expression clearly, he heard the alarm in Malfoy’s voice and slackened his hold. Blinking, he took in his surroundings as best he could; they were in a room, a bare room, with no windows and no furniture. He sniffed.
“What’s that smell?”
Malfoy stood up and stepped towards something in the corner. “There’s a brewing cauldron here. What department is this, Potter?”
“You work opposite. How bloody unobservant are you, Mr Big-Shot Auror?”
“We crashed through a wall, Malfoy. I don’t go round the Ministry checking every wall in case there’s a room hidden somewhere.”
“I would,” muttered Malfoy. “Never know when you might need somewhere to escape to.”
The smell of the potion was becoming more obnoxious now. Harry got to his feet, intending to suss out the room and discover a way out, but just then, he heard a thump as Malfoy fell to the floor.
Except it wasn’t Malfoy anymore. Or rather, it was Malfoy, but not his body.
Draco Malfoy was an egg.
“What the bloody hell’s just happened to me?” Malfoy yelped. “I can’t feel my legs. Salazar, I have no legs, or arms. Potter, do something!”
“Shut up, and let me see what’s happened. No, we’re okay, it’s still skin and not shell,” Harry said as his fingertips assessed Malfoy’s face. Very smooth skin, he thought. And bloody hell, he has soft hair.
Shaking his head, Harry tried to come to his senses, but the smell of the potion, mingling with the unexpected surge of lust coursing through his veins sent his mind reeling. Hurriedly stopping his examination of Malfoy, he rocked back on his heels, knocking the cauldron slightly and causing a small droplet to land on his skin.
All at once, he fell to the floor. His skin was stretching, his limbs shortening, and through the blur, all he could see was a look of horror on Malfoy’s face.
“We’re eggs,” he exclaimed. “Bloody hell, it must be an Ovulatium Potion. I thought it was just a myth!”
“Great! So what do we do?” Harry complained, then wobbled as Draco rolled into him. “What are you doing?”
Close up, he could see the smirk on Malfoy’s face. “We need to wait for it to wear off, Potter. So ...” He stopped talking and licked his upper lip with deliberate precision.
“Are you making a pass at me?” Harry asked, very nervous now (but also oddly excited).
“Are you complaining?”
Harry gulped, and then groaned as Draco’s lips touched his. “Not eggsactly.”