Harry looked at the photograph in his hands, and then glanced up at his reflection in the mirror. "Do you really think this is going to work, Hermione?"
Hermione set down her mascara and turned to look into Harry's eyes. "Of course this will work, Harry," she said quite seriously. "Don't you ever think that we would knowingly send you into a dangerous position all alone. We would never do that." Professor McGonagall, Ron, Ginny, and Dumbledore (in his portrait, of course) all nodded solemnly behind her as she picked her makeup bag back up and set back about her work.
"There," she said, five short (although excruciatingly long for Harry) minutes later, "finished. Now if you'll just put these on," she said, handing him a pair of modest heels, "and these," producing the set of Death Eater robes that had been procured in the most recent raid, "you can be on your way as soon as you're called."
Harry begrudgingly pulled on the shoes and robes, wondering how this plan could ever possibly work. As he slipped the skeletal looking mask onto his face, shrouding all but his brilliant green eyes, his mother's eyes, from view, Severus Snape burst into the room.
"It's time; He's calling all of his Death Eaters to him. Is he ready?" Snape inquired of Dumbledore's portrait, with a quick nod toward Harry.
"But of course. Did you bring that potion I asked for?"
"Yes. It should prove… most effective, Headmaster."
"Right then. Drink this, Harry, and quickly; you must be on your way. You wouldn't want to be late to the last ever Death Eater meeting."
"What is this?" Harry asked, looking with some trepidation at the mud-colored sludge in the vial that was thrust into his hands.
"There is no time. Just drink it, and be off with you. You needn't worry; there will be Order members watching in case anything goes awry."
Harry uncorked the vial and poured its contents down his throat as he was ushered quickly from the room, without even the chance to say goodbye to everybody he cared about.
Harry strode into the graveyard with much more confidence than he felt, taking his place in the circle of Death Eaters. Although it had grown significantly since Voldemort's initial rebirth, there were still some gaps left for the fallen, and it was into one of those that Harry settled, mind reeling at the absurdity of the plan that was unfolding.
An icy chill swept the circle as the Dark Lord entered in a most dramatic fashion, causing all of the Death Eaters to fall to their knees. Harry, however, remained standing, determined to get this over with as quickly as possible. As Voldemort swept around the circle, making the necessary inspection of his Death Eaters, he caught sight of somebody still standing. Worse, they were standing in one of the ceremonial gaps, left clear on the Dark Lord's orders. Angered, he strode toward the figure in robes, trying to determine who was so incredibly stupid.
"Who dares disrespect the Dark Lord's orders? Who dares remain standing before the Dark Lord? Who shows such impudence?"
Clearly female, judging by the shoes… thought Voldemort, but who could it be
As he approached the figure, he caught sight of the eyes behind the mask. No, it cannot be! I killed her years ago!
Nevertheless, those eyes were unmistakably hers. "Lily Potter? But how? I killed you, sixteen long years ago!"
Harry laughed (which is not an easy thing to do in the face of the Dark Lord, but somehow comes much more easily when dressed in drag), and was vaguely surprised at the high-pitched giggle that emerged from his mouth. So that's what that potion was for, he thought, before continuing in the high voice, "Oh, Tom, you thought you killed me? How funny! No, Tom Riddle, I am Lily Potter, and you could never kill me."
As Voldemort cowered before the figure of the woman he thought he had killed sixteen years ago, Harry drew his wand and chuckled to himself, as he stunned the terrified figure in front of him.
Harry laughed softly to himself later that night as he sat in front of Gryffindor fire, soaking his aching feet (darn those heels!) and recounting the story of his night to the captivated ears of his friends, his voice, thankfully, restored to its usual masculine pitch. "... and then the aurors swept in and took Voldemort back to the ministry, under enough locking and binding spells to subdue a Hungarian Horntail. They'll figure out what to do with him later, but he's secure for now. The rumor is that they're going to strip him of his magic, break his wand, wipe his memory, and force him to live as a muggle. If they're feeling particularly generous, they'll get him a job at a McDonalds scrubbing toilets. It's not likely, though."
When he reached the end of his tale, Ginny, Hermione, and Ron were rolling on the floor. "To think-" Ginny said, gasping for air, "all it took to finally defeat Voldemort was a cross-dressing teenager."