Draco had been glaring at them in a way that would have suggested their imminent death had he not been rendered an invalid. As it was, he could hardly move, but he really, really wanted to wring their necks in that moment. 

His plan to somewhat humiliate them had backfired. 

Damn them. They really should have been in Slytherin.

"Are you going to be brewing a cure anytime now?" he asked, grinding his teeth. He was still smarting over those comments regarding his puberty, although the compliments on his good looks had had him preening for a few seconds before he realised who had been dishing them out. "Oi, Fred - George - whoever you are - Weasel twin, hand me that green vial over that, would you?" He put on his most threatening face. "And you'd better not spike it or anything, otherwise as soon as I get out of this bed, you'll be the filling of a Weasel sandwich." 

George rolled his eyes as Malfoy addressed him. "Really," he said, moving closer to Malfoy's bed and reaching for the small green vial Malfoy had requested. Rather than handing it to the blonde git, he tossed it absently in the air, catching it and repeating the motion as he continued to speak. "I don't know how no one can tell us apart. There's a perfectly easy way to tell the difference. Isn't there, Freddy?"

Fred nodded, moving closer to Malfoy's bed as well. He leaned against the bed across from Malfoy's own as he said, "Of course. George has got 27 freckles on his face. I've only got 23. It's blaringly obvious." At Malfoy's impatient question, Fred frowned a little. "Don't you even want to know what's actually wrong, Malfoy?" He watched George tossing the vial from the corner of his eye, and snorted when his twin very nearly let it drop to the floor to smash into bits.

"What's in this vial, anyway?" George asked, pulling the vial's cork out and sniffing curiously. He immediately jerked his head back and grimaced. "Smells disgusting."

Draco snorted. "It is." And then he realised that he had just agreed with a Weasley twin, which put a sneer back on his face. "Hand it over. And it's none of your business. You'll find out soon enough, anyway." Instead of waiting for George to give it to him, he would have snatched it away, but as he kept reminding himself, he was crippled and couldn't move. And then he realised that, being as crippled as he was, he wouldn't be able to take the potion unless they fed it to him.

Great Salazar.

He didn't want to ask them - because Malfoys never ask for help - so he waited for one of them to realise his dilemma and offer to help. 

George grinned slyly, first at Fred and then at Malfoy. "Why, Malfoy," he said, feigning concerned shock. "Do you need help?"

Fred gasped, and shook his head. "No way, George. He couldn't possibly! He's Draco Malfoy, after all. Malfoys don't need help, ever."

"Unless of course you count their inability to do anything without the help of a house elf," George said, shaking his own head sadly. "Pity, really. Imagine what those delicate hands of his could do, if they ever actually did anything." Then he snorted and grabbed the vial from Malfoy's hand. "Can't even allow himself to drink a potion without the help of an 'inferior being.'" Despite George's teasing, the grin he directed at Malfoy was an apologetic one --for all he didn't like Malfoy, he hadn't meant to permanently damage him. He held the vial out and said, "Open," before proceeding to pour the no doubt vile liquid down his throat.

Fredcaught George's look and smiled softly, before sighing heavily. "Look, Malfoy. Before we tell you what's happened, I'd like you to know that we really are sorry. It was meant to be a joke, and definitely not anything permanent. Which it isn't, of course, but--"

"It won't be fixed until we can manage to figure out what exactly's gone wrong to make these side effects irreversible using potions that already exist," George finished.  "Which means you --and likely Parkinson, as well-- will have to spend quite a lot of time with us in the near future." He put the cork back in the vial once the liquid was gone, and Fred held a glass of water he'd apparently conjured out of nowhere out for Malfoy to rinse away the taste.

Before he said anything, Draco's hand darted out to grab the glass of water. He downed it, trying to get rid of the god awful taste. When he was satisfied, he looked at the boys calmly. There was a silence for a few minutes...before his hand shot out once again, this time to grab Fred's arm painfully. With his other, he grabbed one of George's forearms.

"What do you mean when you say the side effects are irreversible?" he asked, his voice deadly quiet. He shook as he tried to control his anger. 

Fred winced and George let out a hiss of pain, but neither moved away. "They aren't irreversible, git," George said calmly. "Didn't I just say that? I swear I did. I did, didn't I?" he asked, looking at Fred's face for confirmation.

"I think you may have done just that, George," Fred agreed, closing his eyes and sighing softly. The nest few weeks were going to be extremely stressful; he could tell already. "When we brought you in, Madam Pomfrey administered several potions and spells to turn you back into a human."

"Unfortunately," George said carefully, "because this was a brand new potion, the old counter spells and potions didn't fully work."

"So you're a human again," Fred added hastily, because he could feel the hand tightening on his arm, "but you've--"

"Retained some animal...characteristics." The room was silent for a long moment, and Fred coughed awkwardly.

"Look, I dunno if you've noticed, yet," he said bluntly, "but you've got wings." And then he waited for the hand on his arm to snap the bone in a fit of rage.

At these words, Draco immediately jumped up onto his bed and craned his neck so taht he could see his back. When that failed, he awkwardly ebnt his arms behind his back to try and feel them, and stopped when he felt feathers. Oh Merlin. It was true.

Oddly enough, the first through that came to his mind was, How the hell do I have arms and wings? 

And then he realised that he had let go of both the twins' arms, which was unfortunate because he really wanted to break something right now. Why not start with their bones?

"I'M GOING TO KILL YOU WEASELS!" 

"Malfoy, wait--" Fred said quickly, trying to keep Malfoy from attacking. The last thing he needed was more gashes --but then again, Malfoy didn't have that beak anymore. Still, he could feel the anger rolling of of the younger boy in heated waves, and the wings had flared behind him intimidatingly.

"If you kill us now," George added, "you'll be stuck with them forever!" The odd thought that Malfoy looked strikingly like some sort of vengeful angel rolled through his mind, but he shook it off as Parkinson stirred in her bed. "Calm down, Malfoy! You're waking Parkinson up, and she'll start crying! Do you want to deal with a bawling girl when we could explain this some much more easily with her asleep?"His voice had taken on a pleading tone, but he didn't care. He didn't particularly fancy dying today.

Fred didn't seem to be on the same page as George, bcause instead of backing away, he stepped forward and, reaching his arm out carefully, he placed his hand on the feathers at the base of Malfoy's wing, right near his shoulders. It occured to him that he was standing ridiculously close, and Malfoy probably didn't want anyone, especially Fred or George, touching his wings, but Fred couldn't properly pat Malfoy's shoulder in a comforting manner with the wing in the way, so petting the wing would have to do. The feathers were surprisingly soft. "We can fix it," he said carefully, as though trying to soothe a child who had scraped their knee falling from a broom.

Draco considered them for a moment. It was true. He really didn't want to deal with a bawling girl, and anyway, Pansy was a lot nicer asleep than she was aware. Although it would be fun to wake her up and let her have a go at the Weasel twins.

"Go on," he said grudgingly, settling back down on his bed. He gave them a dismissive wave of his hand. 

Draco dearly wanted to explode again, but it seemed he had exhausted himself in his anger before. He really, really wanted to hex them. Instead, he only sighed. "What is it you mean by 'weirdo swan instincts', exactly?"

He hoped he wouldn't be running around chasing his tail feathers or something. Even worse, laying eggs. He froze at that image, disgust seeping into every pore of him, before shaking his head. He was a male. He was a male. 

George stood up quickly in irritation, making his twin fall over with a jolt. Fred sat up quickly, looking around with a dazed ex
pression. "Hmngh?" he said intelligently.

George ignored him in favor of waving his hands at Malfoy in exasperation. "That's the point, Malfoy! We don't know! You could lay an egg or end up doing some sort of swan mating dance at every girl you see! We don't know!" he very nearly shouted the last part, but kept himself at a decent level because he really didn't want Madam Pomfrey to come back. He didn't like being angry, ever, but Malfoy irked him. Honestly, why couldn't the blonde git just listen? 

Fred, who had been asleep for mere minutes, was trying very hard not to fall asleep. To keep himself from doing so, he stared at Malfoy's wings. They were big, he thought, and very white. And soft. They were....pretty, really. Nice. He frowned at the thought, because they were attached to Malfoy, and Malfoy was anything but nice. He scowled at Malfoy to express his disapproval of the thought, then frowned, hoping Malfoy wouldn't notice him staring. He realised he hadn't said anything for a long time, so he decided to speak up. "I doubt he'll lay an egg, George. He's a boy." He looked at Malfoy closely, curling his lip and squinting his eyes thoughtfully. "You are a boy, right?"

((I should figure out how to change text color on my phone. O.o))

Draco didn't say an entire word the whole time George and Fred 'conversed with him'. Truthfully, he hadn't even managed to get a word in before he was cut off by another twin. So he sat there, looking handsomely bored, waiting for one of them to run out of gas.

And then one of them left, and he was left with the other. He heard the twin ask him if he was hungry. "Yes, I am, George," he said, bristling, "Thanks for noticing." He looked around, and spotted Pansy, and his eyes softened slightly. "I think we should wake up Pansy; she's probably hungry as well." Slipping out of bed, he gingerly made his way to the girl's bedside, ignoring the twin. 

"Hey Pansy?" he murmured, gently shaking the girl, "Wake up. Do you want to eat?" 

The girl stirred, and then opened an eye almost lazily. "Am I in heaven?" she gasped, scrambling in bed against the bedhead, now wide awake. "You...you must be an angel," she breathed, staring at Draco.

Draco looked at her strangely. Had the Weasleys' experiment given her delusions? Or worse, had she lost her memory? What if she didn't remember how to snog? Oh, Merlin.

"No," he said slowly. "I'm Draco. Your boyfriend, remember?"

Pansy looked confused for a moment, before she slumped in relief, looking as if all the world's questions had been solved. "Oh yes. Draco. I remember." She giggled. "You're so handsome, Drake. I thought you were an angel."

Draco grinned. "I heard."

Pansy then gasped. "Draco- er, what's that coming out of your back?"

Draco's smile dropped, to be replaced with a deep scowl. "This," he hissed, suddenly angry again, "is the result of the Weasleys' experimentation." He eyed her. "You don't seem to be any different?"

Pansy shrugged. "Maybe they're trying to torture you on purpose." She got up, making Draco wonder why she wasn't immobile. Then he realised that Pomfrey must have given her her potions already, and then he wondered why she hadn't given him any. Maybe everyone wanted to torture him. 

It was Draco's turn to gasp. "Er, Pansy?"

Pansy turned around and gave him a sweet smile, pouring a glass of water. "Yes. honey?"

"You've got a beaver's tail."

The shriek that accompanied Pansy's realisation of this statement as fact would have been heard in Hogsmeade. 

"No!" Pansy shrieked, her voice high-pitched and the very antithesis of angelic. "No! I've got a stupid, freaking tail coming out of my otherwise perfect arse!" 

Draco rushed forward to help support the girl, who was now pathetically in tears and was sinking to the floor. "A tail," she kept muttering, again and again, "a bloody tail." 

"Shh, it's ok," Draco said louder than he had intended, looking panicked. He wasn't used to crying girls, unless they were crying because he had broken their heart, and then he was laughing at that. Something told him that laughing in this situation would mean instant death, so he settled for comforting Pansy. "It's ok, the Weasels will know what to do, they're smart, remember?"

Pansy nodded, hiccoughing. "Yeah, they'll fix it...won't they?" She turned big hopeful eyes on Fred, an ex
pression quite unlike the usual sneer on her face. "You will, won't you?" she sniffed. 

Madam Pomfrey threw up her hands in exasperation, leaving the room huffing and muttering about rude, disrepectful, irresponsible students.

Fred ignored her, staring at Malfoy in pleased shock. He felt a surge of pride at Malfoy's compliment, though he didn't think the blonde knew that Fred could hear him. The compliment curled in his stomach, tightening and twisting and leaping for joy. The joy stopped dead when Parkinson turned her red ringed, watery eyes towards him. He suddenly wished George would abandon the bloody cloak and just come back, already; he shouldn't have to deal with consoling a crying girl alone. Well, he wasn't really alone. There was Malfoy, but...well, Malfoy unsettled him, and he was fairly sure that trying to reassure someone wasn't easy when you were nervous as well.

He was flushed bright red, though he wasn't sure why, as he answered, "O-of course we will. Wouldn't be here with you lot, otherwise, would we?" He grinned lightly at her, trying to calm her down. "If we can't --we can, but if we couldn't, George and I would just invent something to glamour it or something. But we'll fix it. I promise. If we don't, you can have my head." He snorted then, and added with a wry grin, "Of course, you'll probably want it even when we do fix it. I wouldn't blame you."

George chose that moment to re-enter the infirmary, carrying various dishes and a shimery piece of cloth. "I'll be keeping my head, if you don't mind," he said, placing the plates down on a bedside table. They crowded there, barely fittng, but he didn't care. He muttered something quietly, and the plates filled with a pop. "Lunch, anyone?" He grabbed himself a sandwich, turned, and burst into laughter at the sight of Parkinson's tail. He turned to Fred, choking on his laughter, but it died away when he saw his twin's scowl. "What's wrong, Fred?" he asked, concerned.

"Don't be a prat, George," Fred said angrily. Honestly, the girl was crying. George had no reason to be so mean and-- George's face fell, and Fred's anger dissipitated. He sighed. "C'mere, idiot." George walked over and Fred slung his arm around his twin's shoulder. "Don't laugh at her. She's upset enough," he murmured. "You got the cloak, then?" George nodded, holding up the cloak. "Wicked," Fred breathed, grinning as he took the cloak.