Title: GlamGirl Getup
Disclaimer: This story is based entirely on the story J.K. Rowling has written. She owns all of the characters, ideas, credit and copyright. This story is made simply for enjoyment and no money is being made from this. No offence intended. No copyright infringement intended.
Warnings: Slash, cross-dressing
Pairings: Harry/Draco
Summary: Things go awry when a certain lab ferret is used to test out Weasley's Wizard Wheezes' latest line of feminine products, including one smitten Harry Potter.
Author's Note: Just don't kill me for writing something so spectacularly lame. Enjoy!
"Is this really going to work?" Ron asked dubiously, eyeing the vial of potion being waved animatedly in front of his face. "I can't risk mucking this up and ending up looking like a prat in front of her."
"Of course it'll work, little brother," Fred said airily, twirling the tonic about.
"Do you doubt your older, wiser brothers?" George said, impersonating the stereotypical version of wise, old men – by stroking a pretend beard and looking at Ron over the tops of non-existent spectacles.
Ron shuffled his feet and studiously avoided the twins' gazes in response.
"Fine, fine, if you're going to do this –" Fred began.
"–We'll find us a lab ferret to test this on," George finished.
"Wait, when you say 'ferret', you mean –" said Ron.
The simultaneous smirks that appeared on the twins' faces confirmed his hunch. He definitely wouldn't want to be in Malfoy's shoes just then.
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"AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!"
A very girly scream pierced the air, and every head in the Great Hall swiveled towards the Slytherin table and the source of the shriek, Harry included.
Malfoy had apparently leapt up in horror, which offered him an un-obscured view of the blonde's current state of dress. The Slytherin was clad in a black tube top and mini skirt, and there was make-up done expertly on his pale face.
Harry, along with the entire student body (the staff wisely remained impartial), burst out laughing as one. Malfoy, his cheeks flushed pink, sat down and attempted to Transfigure his clothes back into something masculine.
"He won't be able to do anything to those clothes," said a voice in his ear, and Harry moved over to give Fred and George room on the bench.
"And why is that?" Harry asked, instantly suspicious of their involvement in Malfoy's sudden predilection for cross-dressing.
"It's charmed so no spell can alter them, and they won't come off in the next 24 hours, either," George explained.
"There's only one way for him to get those clothes to come off before the day is over, and I don't think it'll happen," Fred smirked, looking particularly smug.
"Oi!" The three turned to find Ron coming over, looking incredulous. "I thought you said the GlamGuy potion would make him glamorous! He's dressed like a girl! I don't wanna end up in a skirt for the Halloween Ball."
"Don't worry, little brother, we might've slipped GlamGirl into his pumpkin juice by mistake, so what?" Fred asked nonchalantly, waving a dismissive hand and looking supremely unconcerned.
"Yeah, he'll turn back into the annoying git we all know and love by tomorrow," George added dryly. "Why don't we bask in his embarrassment for now?"
"What's going on?" Harry cut in, feeling like he was being kept in the dark. "Why did you turn Malfoy into a girl?"
"It was purely accidental, I assure you," said Fred, producing an empty phial and examining it at length. "Our little brother wanted to use one of our Glamour products, to impress some girl at the Ball."
"You see, Ronnie here decided our word wasn't trustworthy," George continued, feigning a wounded expression. "So we found us someone to test our new invention on, to prove the potion would work."
"Unfortunately, as you can see, we mixed up the GlamGuy potion with GlamGirl, and now Malfoy's prancing about in a skirt," Fred concluded, handing the small glass bottle to Harry.
'GlamGirl Potion, only for 15 or above.' the label read in minute wording.
'At least he looks hot,' Harry mused, eyeing the blonde across the Hall, who had apparently given up altering his feminine clothing, and was pouting adorably with his arms crossed, a sulky expression on his visage.
"What was that?" Ron demanded, spinning around to face him so fast he sent a platter of bacon flying.
Harry flushed. Had he said that out loud? "I said he deserved it, the stupid sot," he mumbled, righting the plate and fighting to conceal his blush.
Ron gave him a suspicious look, before turning his attention back to breakfast. Harry heaved a sigh of relief. It wouldn't do for Ron to find out about the crush he had on Malfoy. Harry was sure the redhead would spontaneously combust, and he preferred his best friend in one piece.
"Whichever one of you did this, I will kill you," snarled a voice from behind Harry, Ron and the twins. He turned to find Malfoy standing there, scowling heavily, a murderous look on his face.
It was probably not the best time for him to notice how good Malfoy looked in a tube top and mini skirt, but it was hard not to. The black fabric clung to his chest and stomach, outlining his abdominal muscles, and the skirt showed off his very shapely legs (for a bloke). Silver eye shadow brought out the mercury of his eyes, and glossy lipstick had been applied to his pink lips. In short, Malfoy looked really hot (in an entirely femininely masculine kind of way).
"Why do you assume we did it?" Ron snapped irritably, glaring at the Slytherin, though the effect was somewhat diminished by the fact that he was munching on a croissant with enthusiasm.
"Who else would pull such an obviously amateur prank?" Malfoy sighed. "Honestly, giving me feminine clothes does not make me a girl."
"No, but the way you act does," said George, unable to hold back a grin. "You scream like a girl, Malfoy."
"I do not!" the blonde began, outraged, but Fred beat him to it.
"AH! Mummy! I've been turned into a girl!" mimicked Fred, barely suppressing sniggers as he flailed about dramatically. Ron and George snickered, while Harry wondered idly what running his hands through Malfoy's pale blond hair felt like.
"Burn in hell, the lot of you," Malfoy growled, before spinning round and stomping off (an impressive feat, given that he was wearing black stilettos).
Harry watched, impressed that anyone could manage to stomp while wearing heels. He had seen girls trip while walking, and so was duly amazed by Malfoy's poise regarding the navigation of high heels.
"Harry, mate, are you alright?" Ron's concerned voice broke into his musings on whether or not Malfoy would be able to stomp in one of Lady Gaga's more drastic kinds of footwear.
"Hm? I feel kind of randy," he said dazedly. "Erm, I mean, just fine and dandy," he hastily amended, hoping Ron hadn't noticed the slip.
The continuation of the demolishment of every dish within arm's reach let him know Ron was back to his usual, unsuspecting self.
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"You will be working in pairs for the making of today's potion."
Snape's silky voice was soft, yet every student heard the words, as the Potions master emerged with a flourish and swish of black robes out of the gloom, and swept like an overgrown bat to the front of the classroom, robes billowing about dramatically.
"I shall assign you your partners," Snape went on, "Granger and Parkinson. Weasley and Zabini. Potter and Malfoy –"
"But sir –!" Malfoy began desperately, casting a despairing look at Harry (who actually felt an odd thrill of excitement that they would be partners), "We can't –"
"You can and you will, Mr. Malfoy," the Potions master snapped, bestowing a glare upon his favorite student, which quickly morphed into a mask of undisguised horror. "May I ask what it is you're wearing, Draco?" Snape asked, his lips thin, barely concealed shock in his voice
"What?" Malfoy said impatiently, sparing a glance down at his current attire. "They're obviously a tube top and miniskirt, Professor." The blonde's face was a cool mask of indifference, the only hint that he was feeling humiliated betrayed by the death grip he had on his quill, and the shaking of the hand holding said quill.
"I can see that for myself," Snape snapped, irritation written plainly on his hook-nosed features, as he scowled heavily down at the Slytherin. "Let me rephrase my question: why are you wearing those clothes?"
For a split second, a flash of anger and embarrassment clouded Malfoy's face, before he quickly schooled it into the calm façade he had worn moments ago. The rest of the class, comprised of Gryffindors and Slytherins, were sniggering heartily at the blonde's discomfort, though Harry felt no inclination to join in.
"I was hexed," said Malfoy, drawing himself up in a manner that suggested the entire universe had wronged him, "by one of those Gryffindor goons." Here the blonde gestured expansively towards Harry, Ron, and the other Gryffindors in their dormitory.
"Ah, that would explain it," drawled Snape, seeming to have recovered his lapse of composure. "And how long do you plan on going around in that skirt?"
"I don't know, Professor," Malfoy bit out sarcastically, "When it wears off, I suppose. I don't have any other choice, do I?"
"Yes, I don't suppose you do," muttered Snape, in a voice so low Harry was sure no one else heard him. Raising his voice, he said condescendingly, "Put your Potions robe on over that outfit, it's atrocious."
Malfoy's response was to dig in his bag for his robe and shove his arms in the appropriate holes without preamble. A second passed before a loud ripping sound was heard, and the blonde's Potions robe tore itself off Malfoy, leaving him in his GlamGirl outfit, only messier.
The class all turned laughter into badly disguised coughing fits, as the Slytherin directed a ferocious scowl at his peers, and collected his un-wear-able robe from the floor and sat down in a huff. Snape appeared to be having a battle of wills between his desire to remain pokerfaced and his desire to laugh at his pupil. The Potions master's thin lips were twitching with the effort not to smile.
"I suggest you let Potter handle the practical today, Draco," Snape said, when he had finally mastered the urge to laugh, and was back to being a snarky bastard. "I hardly think you suited for the Potions practical without the protection of your robes. Do try to avoid being cursed by Gryffindors and rendered incapable of donning your protective robes next time, Mr. Malfoy."
"Serves him right," Ron leant across the table to whisper to Harry. Unfortunately, Snape's bat-like appearance apparently extended to his sense of hearing as well, for he had swooped down on the pair of them in a heartbeat.
"Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr. Weasley," he said menacingly, "for talking in class and your aggravating state of uniform."
Ron glowered but wisely kept his mouth shut, though his hands were not idle; they made very rude gestures at the retreating professor as soon as Snape's back was turned.
"Get into your assigned groups. Now." Snape snapped, once he had swept back to the front of the room in typical bat-like robe-billowing fashion.
Chairs scraped as students pushed them back to stand up and cross the dungeon to their designated partner. Malfoy looked rather like someone walking to a guillotine situated in the midst of a dump, from the way he eyed Harry warily and screwed up his nose as though confronted with a very bad stench.
"Is working with me really this bad?" the Gryffindor asked tentatively, as soon as the Slytherin had sat down beside him, looking for all the world like he was about to sit on a timed bomb.
Malfoy stared at him with an expression of such incredulity Harry regretted ever asking the question. "You have no idea," was the blonde's only form of response.
The pair got to work in silence. That silence lasted for about five minutes, which was the time it took for them to set up their cauldrons and apparatus. Harry had barely started the practical side of their task, preparing the ingredients, before Malfoy started being…well, Malfoy.
"Honestly, Potter, the newt tail has to be diced, not chopped up irregularly by a mad axe man," he griped, obviously frustrated with Harry's abysmal Potions skills. "How I wish I could get out of this stupid outfit and do it myself."
It happened again some three minutes later.
"If only I weren't stuck in this thing one of you Gryffindors saw fit to put me in, our potion wouldn't be suffering this terrible fate, Potter!" Malfoy moaned, cringing as Harry stirred in the diced newt tail, "You're supposed to sprinkle the diced newt tail in increments while stirring counter-clockwise, not pour it all in at once!"
Perhaps five minutes passed before the next interruption.
"Potter!" Malfoy sounded so horrified Harry actually looked up at the blonde for the first time since the commencement of the task. "You forgot the salamander tongue! You were supposed to add it in before the griffin claw!"
"So what?" Harry said dismissively, "I'll just add it in right after, it won't make a difference or affect the po –"
KA-BLAM!
Harry was for a split second stunned by the terrifying beauty of the bright purple potion exploding out of their cauldron, arcing through the air with ethereal grace, and time slowed for him.
He just had time to turn and see Malfoy launching himself at him, pushing both of them down onto the floor, before the combusting potion rained down on their working area, narrowly missing them.
"So the potion is affected," were his brilliant first words, as he lay sprawled on the cold dungeon floor, Malfoy on top of him.
"Oh, astute observation, Potter," snarled his savior, standing up and stalking back towards their ruined workplace huffily.
"I believe this warrants fifty points from Gryffindor," came the softly malicious voice of Snape, who had swooped down on the wreckage unnoticed by the boys.
"And twenty points to Slytherin, Mr. Malfoy, for saving Potter's sorry arse from combustion," the Potions master added, giving Harry a rather nasty sneer down his hooked nose, before flicking his wand over the carnage and restoring order to the chaos, and billowing away theatrically.
Harry picked himself off the floor, not sure whether he should swear at Snape for taking so many points or thank Malfoy for apparently saving his arse from exploding. He chose the latter, since there was less chance of getting suspended from Hogwarts that way. (The profanities in his head would have made Uncle Vernon proud.)
"Thanks," he told the blonde, and received a glare in response.
Malfoy opened his mouth, no doubt ready with a witty repartee, but it turned into a wince. The blonde's hand went to his side, which, with a glance, Harry saw was covered in the potion he had effectively shielded from hitting the raven-haired youth.
"Damn it, Malfoy, I'm sorry," he muttered frantically, even as the potion started corroding the Slytherin's top, making it smoke and steam.
"Shut up and help me get this thing off!" Malfoy snapped, indicating the tight-fitting top he was dressed in, "Or else the acid in the potion will do lasting damage to my skin!"
"Right, cause we can't have your perfect skin blemished," Harry said without thinking, and immediately regretted it.
"It's not the scarring I'm worried about, it's the spontaneous combustion that will occur when the acidic properties eats into my flesh that I don't want to happen!" the Slytherin yelled, trying in vain to tear off his top, and attracting the attention of most everyone in the dungeon.
"What is the meaning of this?" Snape demanded, materializing beside them, looking beside himself with rage.
"There's potion on my shirt, sir," Malfoy said through gritted teeth, still attempting to tug his shirt away from himself.
"Then get out of your shirt at once," said Snape matter-of-factly, maddeningly calm all of a sudden, "You don't want to be incinerated, do you?"
"The problem here, Professor, is I can't get this fucking thing off," Malfoy snarled, apparently not caring about trivial things as swearing at professors when there were more pressing matters he needed to worry about.
Harry, upon deciding that saving Malfoy from incineration was more important than getting Fred and George in trouble, spoke up. "Sir, Fred and George Weasley should know how to get him out of the shirt, they're the ones that hexed him."
Snape looked positively livid, though whether at Harry for not telling on the twins, or at the pranksters themselves, he didn't know.
"Weasley," Snape barked, "Where are your brothers right now?"
"Um, in Transfiguration, I think," Ron mumbled, looking confused.
"Go get them and bring them here," the Potions master ordered, "Now."
Ron sprinted out of the classroom as fast as his long legs would carry him.
Harry spent the few minutes it took Ron to fetch his brothers fidgeting in his seat, under the glare of Snape and the stares of his classmates. He tried not to look at Malfoy, who was alternating between death glares at him and yanking in frustration at the unyielding fabric on him.
The dungeon door banged open, and Ron ran in, followed closely by Fred and George, who somehow managed to look amused, even though it was clear just how deep in shit they were.
"You two," Snape said, evidently furious, "how do you get those clothes off?"
The Weasley twins looked at each other, then cracked identical, evil grins.
"There's only one way to do that, sir," said Fred.
"One must make out with another –" George explained.
"– and whilst in the throes of sexual ecstasy the chance to get the clothes off will present itself," concluded Fred.
The whole class had long since stopped working, and focused instead on the drama unfolding before them. Snape looked like he was going to be sick, while Ron looked like he was on the verge of apoplexy. Fred and George looked equally amused.
Malfoy looked…well, completely unreadable, except for a glint in his stormy grey eyes when he turned to Harry that let him know the blonde was quite pissed off.
"Well, one of you do something!" Snape snarled, glowering at the now-horrified Weasley twins. "You two got him into this! Get him out of it!"
Before either of the twins could object, Malfoy beat them to it, "NO! I will NOT have anything Weasley touching me!" The look of unadulterated terror in the Slytherin's eyes might have been funny, had the situation not been so dire.
"Then who do you suggest, Mr. Malfoy?" Snape asked through gritted teeth, more concerned about his student's safety than the threat of the Weasley contagion.
"Anyone, I don't care, so long as he's not a bloody Weasley," Malfoy muttered, looking frantically about, and holding his potion-splattered top as far away from his body as the relatively tight fabric would allow.
The world seemed to freeze comically when Malfoy's silver eyes met his own. Harry barely had time to see desperation morph into lust in those mercury orbs before he was flat on his back (again), Malfoy on top of him.
"What –?" he said, and then the blonde's mouth was on his, effectively shutting him up. Desire took over every core of his being, and he unconsciously reversed their positions, pinning Malfoy to the floor, devouring his mouth all the while.
Every swipe of their tongues sent sparks shooting down his body. And when the blonde thrust his hips upwards Harry very nearly lost control and took him right then and there. As it were, he contented himself with mouthing his way down Malfoy's neck, licking his collarbone and trailing kisses down his chest.
The Slytherin's only response was to give a throaty moan and tangle his hands in Harry's (admittedly) wild hair. Sliding his hands under the tight-fitting top, wholly focused on nothing but getting it off so he could further lavish the blonde, Harry pulled.
It came off.
Harry barely registered that the dungeon was ringing with the sounds of applause, catcalls and wolf-whistling, before Malfoy's insistent yank on his head turned is attention back to the now-shirtless blonde he was pinning.
He was about explore the concave stomach with his tongue when a hand on his shoulder prevented him. He looked up at a very green-faced Professor Snape.
"Five points to Gryffindor for successfully saving Mr. Malfoy from exploding, Potter," Snape said weakly, before turning and retching into their messed-up cauldron.
Harry didn't have time to dwell on the upcoming Apocalypse foretold by Snape awarding him points. Wiping his mouth and turning back around, Snape spat, "And five points from Gryffindor, Potter, for further molesting Mr. Malfoy when it was clear no further molesting was required."
"He wasn't molesting me," Malfoy protested, pushing himself into a sitting position and frowning at the professor. "It was quite enjoyable, actually."
When Snape turned a further shade of green at that, Malfoy hastily amended, "Of course, it must have been side effects of having potion splashed on me." Though he leaned in close to whisper in Harry's ear, "I'm pretty damn sure what I felt was no effect of the potion, Harry."
He shivered, reining in what was left of his self-control in order not to jump the blonde and cost him a few hundred points for 'molesting' Malfoy.
"Mr. Malfoy, put on your Potions robe and go to the infirmary," Snape ordered, "I want to make sure the potion didn't do lasting damage to your skin." Then added in an undertone, "Or else Lucius will have mine."
Putting his Potions robe on (which allowed itself to be worn now) over the miniskirt, Malfoy collected his bag and made for the door, though not before grabbing Harry and pulling him aside.
"Charms classroom, fourth floor, midnight, Potter," hissed Malfoy, "Be there."
"And if I'm not?" Harry returned flippantly, to hide his nerves.
"You will, Potter. You know why?"
"Why?" he breathed.
"Because you have to finish what you started," Malfoy stated, casually bumping Harry's thigh to indicate his point.
Harry's breath caught.
Malfoy smirked.
"See you tonight, Potter."
And he swept away.
Harry grinned despite himself.
It looked like he had plans for tonight then.
THE END