Disclaimer: Blah blah blah we don't own it bye
Author's Notes: You may have noticed the lack of Sirius-related angst. This is simply because, although we do mourn Sirius, this fic is meant to be purely comedic and it really isn't appropriate to have Harry depressed throughout the whole bloody fic.
Wanna know something kooky? One of us is English and one of us is American! YAY! Post reviews and guess which one!
Chapter 4: Gucci and Bra Vultures
Ok, I've got to have a nice long talk with the "Dark Lord," Snape thought. I can't think why he wouldn't let me in on his plan! Doesn't he trust me! It's not that I like the bastard, but…it's nice to have a little recognition now and again. Even if I am working against him!
With that said (or thought, as it were) he Apparated instantly into Voldemort's study. He had to avoid gagging when he saw that the infamous purple bean bag chair had now become orange. With flowers. Ohh, the humanity! He thought despairingly as he rounded on the Dark Lord.
"Why didn't you TELL me you would use the potion on Potter?" Snape exclaimed, stomping his foot in a petulant manner.
Oh damn, I hadn't thought about this, Voldemort worried, and did some quick thinking. He decided the truth was probably the easiest explanation.
"Well, I thought that if you knew, you would be all worried about 'losing your job' or some such lunacy," he said, quoting with his fingers.
"Well, I am. How can I prove I'm innocent? I'm the one who's closest to him AND I'm the Potions Master," Snape replied. "Everything points to me!"
"Ummmmmm…" Voldemort thought, looking a bit embarrassed. "Say you're innocent."
"You haven't thought this through, have you, My Lord?"
"Why of COURSE I have, Severus!" Voldemort exclaimed indignantly, looking shifty-eyed. "How dare you question the man with the bean bag chair and piña colada!"
"Of course not My Lord," Snape said quietly, looking nauseous. "You have…excellent taste in bothbeverages and…" he took a deep breath—"décor."
I cannot BELIEVE I just let those words come out of my mouth. I am eternally ashamed.
At this moment, Lucius and McNair entered the study and sat down. They had arrived early for the weekly Deatheater meeting. Lucius was staring distractedly at his hands, as he had just got a manicure and was marveling at how smooth and shiny his nails were.
Severus turned to sweep out the room, then happened to glance at Lucius' feet.
"My God, Lucius, are those Gucci?"
"Why yes, they are." He looked a little pleased Severus had noticed his shoes.
"Those are bloody beautiful! Where did you get them?"
"Oh, Gucci London. They had the most fabulous sale on last weekend."
Snape looked delighted. "Ooh, how much off? 25?"
"40!"
Snape gasped with wonder. "40! Gracious me, darling, I've got to go!" And with an air kiss and a girlish wave, he was gone. Lucius waved back and sighed.
McNair put on a horribly obnoxious gossip-girl voice and whispered, "Ooh, somebody likes you!"
"Oh, shut up, McNair," Lucius snapped—but squirmed in his seat. Just a little.
Hermione was tugging Harry, by the sleeve of his ridiculously large sweatshirt, towards "Elphaba's Secret," the leading wizarding brand in women's lingerie.
"Hermione! For the last time! I am NOT getting women's clothing! I don't want to look sexy! I don't want anyone to notice my…well…my…the frontal region of me."
"Harry, I hate to say it, but even those trousers make you look sexy, and as for the not noticing the boobs…well, they're kind of hard to miss."
"How can these trousers make me look sexy? They're baggy!"
"They hang very low on your hips Harry. Look down and you'll see."
Harry obliged and his eyes started to mist over.
"Harry! What's wrong?" Hermione said with concern.
"I-I can't see past them!" Harry choked out, inwardly wondering why he was being so moody.
"Oh there, there Harry," Hermione said consolingly, "We'll get you a nice bra that will get them under control."
Harry sniffed and walked into "Elphaba's Secret."
Now, Harry had been into clothing shops before. Quite a lot of them, in fact. But nothing, not even dueling with Voldemort (Five times!), could have prepared him for the horror of bra saleswomen. They descended upon him in hordes, like vultures with measuring tapes.
"Welcome to Elphaba's Secret!" One witch said sweetly. "What can I do for you?"
Hermione immediately took charge and said, "My friend um…Harriet here, wants to purchase a bra but doesn't know his size…umm, hers I mean."
"Well we'll sort that out in no time dear! Just come here and I'll measure you!" Harry whimpered a bit as the witch put the measuring tape around his chest.
"Hmmm, let's see…36…triple D."
"TRIPLE D!" Hermione exclaimed loudly. The heads of every other woman in the store turned, looking at Harry with deepest envy. Harry noticed, too late, that Parvati and Lavender (having been looking in the double A section) were also watching him with awe. Suddenly they both giggled, and ran out of the store.
"Hermione," Harry said, in a voice filled with quiet rage.
"Yes Harry?" She said brightly.
"Get me into the dressing room. NOW."
Hermione led him into the dressing room and handed him sports bras to try on. "You'll need these for Quidditch, Harry." She said.
"Why?"
"They bounce," she said simply. It took Harry a while, but he got the point.
After his 5th sports bra, Harry said, "I kind-of like these. They sort of…flatten them out a bit."
"That's great, Harry, we'll get you a bunch of those."
As Hermione ran off to get more bras, Harry found himself looking in a mirror. Thinking from his still-guy(ish) mind, he realised that he wasn't that bad-looking. Kinda hot, even. I mean, he had nice legs and a flat stomach and REALLY big—
Oh…my…god. Did I just…check myself out? AAAAAAHHHHH!
When Hermione returned a few minutes later, Harry was sitting in the corner of the dressing room, rocking back and forth and muttering, "I am not checking myself out I am not checking myself out I am not checking myself out—"
"Harry, I think you should get one of these," Hermione said, holding up a pink balconette bra.
"Yeahsurewhatever just get me out of here!" Harry replied, extremely disturbed by the whole experience. Hermione obliged, quickly paying and dragging Harry towards Pacific Clothing. Harry was exhausted and let Hermione choose everything.
A while later, the pair met up with Ron at the Three Broomsticks. Harry, at Hermione's insistence, had grudgingly agreed to wear a pair of tight hipsters, and was trying in vain to cover it up with a white T-Shirt. Unfortunately for Harry, Hermione had purchased this, and it was not as baggy as he would have liked.
Ron wasn't taking the transformation quite the way Harry had hoped. He seemed a bit dazed, and kept treating Harry like a girl. Which, given the circumstances, made sense to Ron, but, as Harry was in denial, he was getting exasperated at his friend's behaviour.
Harry sat down and Ron's eyes went wide. "Harry…you look…wow…I mean…wow…"
"Yes, Ron, I know," Harry muttered.
"But seriously…w—"
"Yes Ron!" Hermione snapped. "Wow. I know."
"No need to get snappy," Ron said sulkily. "Harry's a girl now. I have a right to be a bit freaked out."
"Ron!" Harry whined. "For the last time, I am NOT a girl! I'm telling you this is only temporary! Why are you being so insensitive?" For the second time that day, Harry felt like crying.
Ron grinned in a superior sort of way. "I rest my case," he said simply.
Harry whimpered and buried his head in his arms.
Author's Notes: We would just like to assure everyone that this is most definitely NOT a Harry/Ron fic. That is NOT the way we ship. It's just weird. Oh, and we know Hermione is a bit too girly, but it suits this fic that Harry has someone to introduce him to feminine things.
LadyVerse: Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! That was fun! I like making Harry suffer! And so do the pixies in my head. (Which, by the way, I am building a card house for…I know I know…but it's an inside joke! Those are allowed to be weird! Stop teasing me!)
Crouching Tigerlily: Heh, heh, heh. Anyone who has ever been ambushed by shop assistants in Victoria's Secret will be able to appreciate the horror of the 'bra-vultures' whimpers WHY? Why are they so desperate to measure your boobs and sell you over-priced bras? WHY? PS: The little people in my head say hi and are a little pissed off at LadyVerse's pixies because they offered to share their living space (Crouching Tigerlily's head) but the pixies (like snobs) turned them down.