I have a story idea that's been nagging me for a while. I'm not sure how frequently I'll update, and I don't know how long this is going to be, but I want to write it.

The idea for this story is that Harry is genderqueer/genderfluid (I haven't decided which yet) and he's been hiding it his whole life. The pairing I'm going for is Blaise/Harry. With that in mind, there will probably be slash later on in the story. Okay, let me repeat that: THERE WILL BE SLASH LATER IN THE STORY. If you don't like gay relationships, or you don't want to read about genders outside the binary system, then please don't read this story. I have no patience and no tolerance for people who read something they don't like and leave hateful comments about it.

I would appreciate it if you didn't flame me, thanks.

Andrew Zachariah

At five years old, Harry didn't normally clean Aunt Petunia's room. She said she didn't want him getting his freakishness all over her nice things. Harry quite agreed with his aunt's assessment; there was simply no need to have her trinkets and clothes ruined by a freak like him. Despite her best attempts, however, sometimes Aunt Petunia just didn't have the time to clean up after herself.

Harry gingerly stepped into his aunt and uncle's room. The little boy's eyes were wide as he stared at the unfamiliar surroundings. For a moment the child stood still, but then he shook himself. He had a job to do, after all. Harry marched up to the large bed and quickly stripped it of its covers, piling the duvets, comforters, and sheets off to the side. Harry efficiently began replacing the sheets, plumping the pillows and straightening the bedding just so. Aunt Petunia had told him he needed to wash her vanity too, but that he had to be gentle. If anything broke, he wouldn't be eating for a week!

Harry took small, tentative steps towards the vanity. The table was white, with delicately curving legs and a small stool. There were three mirrors attached to the table, and three pictures of the family rested in front of the mirrors. Harry gently picked up each photo, polishing it with the utmost care before setting it back down. Make up was carefully organized across the table top, and Harry picked each container up to stare at it in wonder.

There were several ornate tubes of lipstick and palettes of eye shadow. There were small square containers filled with pink blushes, and bronze powders, and there was a container labeled "foundation." Harry slowly ran his fingers over the soft brushes, reveling in the silky feel of the smooth tops and tips.

Harry glanced at the bedroom door wearily, waiting for Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon to jump out and scream "Gotcha Freak!" The Dursleys were in London shopping today, but one could never be too sure. When nothing happened, Harry slowly lowered himself onto the white stool, silently praying that he wasn't spreading his freakishness all over the vanity.

Harry opened the drawer on the right, his eyes widening as he stared at the various necklaces and bracelets. There were strands of pearls, gold necklaces, diamond bracelets, and gold watches. Harry ran his fingers over the smooth pearls reverently. They were so shiny, so beautiful. With trembling fingers, Harry slowly pulled out a strand of pearls, looping it over his head twice so the long necklace fit. Stretching up as tall as he could on the chair, Harry examined himself in the mirror.

His hair was a mess as usual, and his skin was rather pale. He had a fading bruise on his right shoulder, but Harry quickly pulled his shirt up, hoping it wouldn't slide down again to reveal his mottled skin. Harry's eyes were bright, but the little boy didn't know what it meant. All that really mattered was the way the pearls shined against his throat. Harry ran his fingers over the small beads, his plump lips parting into a smile.

Harry's eyes fell on the tubes of lipstick and he bit his lips thoughtfully. Aunt Petunia wouldn't mind if he tried some on right? She wouldn't notice if he used just a little bit surely. Having made up his mind, the small boy reached for a silver tube, pulling off the cap with a low pop. The lipstick was a deep red, much like the color of his uncle's wine. Harry's eyes darted up to the mirror and he focused on his lips. Harry was very good at coloring in Dudley's old coloring books. He stayed in the lines and didn't make mistakes because he was a very careful boy. Firming his determination, Harry slowly raised the lipstick to his bottom lip, watching in awe as his lips began to color like his uncle's wine.

With slow, sure strokes Harry applied the lipstick, smiling at his reflection when he was finished. There wasn't even any on his teeth! Harry recapped the lipstick and put it back where he had found it. Then he simply stared.

Harry liked wearing the pearl necklace, and he liked how pretty his lips looked with Aunt Petunia's lipstick on them. Harry felt a blush rise to his cheeks as he continued to look at his reflection. Harry liked looking so pretty. He liked it a lot.

The sound of a car driving past the house made young Harry jump. He quickly but gently pulled the pearls off and placed them back in their drawer. He dashed to the master bathroom and wiped the lipstick off with some toilet paper, grimacing when it smeared. Harry flushed the toilet paper down the toilet and ran downstairs to get the vacuum. He had chores to do after all, and besides, freaks like him weren't supposed to feel pretty.