Even hidden beneath the filth of the pipes, it was clear that he'd suffered magically. Draco was a few inches shorter, coming to Crabbe and Goyle's shoulders, rather than being able to face them eye to eye.
However, as a Malfoy he was used to respect, and demanded obedience.
"Get me...." he stopped, spitting the foul mix slipping into his mouth into the sink.
Stabbing a finger towards Goyle, "New Uniform." His voice lacking the arrogance, a quaver of fear undermining his command. Goyle exchanged a look with Crabbe, uncertain about this.... petulant demand.
But with a shrug, he lurched away, no trace of urgency in his leaving. Draco fumed to himself, eager to berate both of them for their reluctance. Equally, aware that he wasn't in that position... at the moment. He held his anger tight, cradling it for later, once he was back in charge, back in control and then they'd pay, for their lack of respect.
He smeared the mess away from his mouth and chin, "You can guard the door. While I change... while I shower."
Crabbe's mouth twitched, an unfortunate memory of guarding his presence while in the Room of Requirement. His teeth grinding at the memory, at the vulnerability of his polyjuiced form, a young witch. The memory still made him feel uneasy. There was perhaps a silver lining, as Draco had smeared the filth from his mouth, he'd revealed a gorgeous mouth, with full ruby lips, and an enticing resting pout.
The effects of the mix of incomplete potions, and foul, failed brews had clearly mixed. Judging from Draco's darting hands it was just as clear that they were still affecting him. With a dismissive backwards glance, Draco trudged, squelching and squishing towards the showers, his cloak lurching unbuckled from his shoulders, gliding unevenly down his back to land with a glutinous -slop-, behind him. All colour vanished, it's shapelessness leaving it like a pile of troll droppings behind him.
The door opened and closed, as Crabbe took his station by the door. Arms folded, he stood in the doorway ready to guard Draco's privacy, but more than ready to see who... or what would emerge from the bathroom, once he'd been cleaned up.
Turning all the taps on, Draco felt repulsed at his own state, and the slime he was leaving even on the taps. He knew there was magic in the .... in whatever was in the drains. He could feel his skin crawling, itching. He knew he was smaller, he felt weaker and more vulnerable. Even moving reminded him how loose his clothes were. His trousers were looser at the waist, and he felt the legs were too long, his feet threatening to come out of his shoes. Each step felt like walking through a marsh. Hell, even his shoulders felt narrower, and his chest heavier, the slick mess pressing relentlessly making even breathing harder.
The stench didn't bear thinking about. There was a reason he didn't wipe the dirt from more of his face. He was afraid, clearing his mouth had shown him to have a girl's mouth.... A sexy girl's mouth, he'd realised with a shudder. Hopefully, neither Crabbe nor Goyle had spotted this, but he was worried. Hell! He was terrified, what he'd see once he was clean enough to see how he'd been transformed.
Tight-lipped, jaw firm, he sincerely hoped Professor Snape would be able to help. The thought of spending time in the infirmary, under Poppy Pomfrey's care just made him unwell. The whole school would hear about .... about this.
A whimper escaped, as he knew this would be no simple reversal, no easy restoration. This was a magical mishap, a random blend, of ingredients, rather than a ending a jinx. Casting a backwards glance to the empty room, towards the door. He checked he was alone, before slipping off the last of his uniform.
A fetid pile, he promised would never again touch his skin formed as he eased himself into the deepening water. The multicoloured, multi-scented water gushed from the taps, easing the worst of the pungent aroma from the air. An oily slick spread out from Draco as he slipped in. It wasn't quite deep enough, and with it's size, that would probably take a few minutes.
Draco's body was cut off, by the bubbles. Thick and deep they showed only vaguely the depth of the water. The warm embrace of clean water rising up his thighs, the tension lulling his muscles from their taut anger. Above the water, above the bubbles, his body was still too well hidden by the grime, mire, and sleaze masking his body.
He didn't feel ready for what he was afraid he'd reveal with a wash.
Slapping a hand over his mouth, Draco quashed the rising cry, as Myrtle rose out of the bubbles. A gritty, rock of being swallowed, as he choked his surprise away. He didn't want to scream, and have Crabbe charge to his rescue.
Myrtle was an odd confidante, for Draco. One he wasn't happy about sharing with a wider Slytherin crowd.
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