I'm kind of taking this from another Supernatural/HP story I'm working on but that's Dean and Hermione and I haven't even gotten to this part yet.
Cosplaying
"I can't – breathe," Hermione gasped, gripping into the chair, nails scratching along the wood as the pressure increased.
"That's just the corset talking, sweetie," the woman, not much older than her, explained, giving yet another sharp tug that sent Hermione panting, glaring a little at the gawking boys. They'd been called in by an elderly woman who had some disgruntled spirits in her house, all of them having some tie or relation to a woman who looked exceptionally like Hermione, her name being Catherine Bishop. They'd caught a glimpse of Catherine's husband, Eli, when Hermione had touched the piano, but then that was gone. The Ghost Facers – who had seen Dean and Sam and eagerly tagged along – said that it was because she wasn't dressed correctly. So, Dean had called in a favor from Katelyn, a 'cosplayer' who sold her creations, and happily settled Hermione in a steampunk outfit, taking out a few gears and cogs. So far, Hermione had been stuffed in a white cotton flimsy dress with off-shoulder sleeves and had the corset tightened around her waist and chest, leaving her panting and grimacing as Katelyn paid no mind and laced her up.
"What if – I have to – run?" Hermione gasped.
"Don't worry, Sammy will save you," Dean teased as Hermione opened her eyes and glared at the older Winchester, well aware that the Ghost Facers were filming her in a rather undressed state.
"My eyes are not on my chest, Winchester, look up," she demanded, Sam clearing his throat and fidgeting, looking anywhere but her. "So, what's the plan? I just stand there and you shoot him with salt?"
"Try to see if you can get any information out of him – he doesn't seem to be angry around you, but we need to find out where he's buried, as well as the rest of the family," Sam answered, staring at a chandelier above her head.
"Does he even realize he's dead?" Hermione questioned, gasping when Katelyn gave another tug. "Don't corsets displace organs? I read somewhere that it – ahh – pushed reproductive organs – ohh – lower."
"Shush, your reproductive organs will stay right where they are," Katelyn admonished, "I'm not lacing that tight."
"Then my heart goes out to the ladies of history – Mary of the Scots had the right idea," Hermione panted before huffing airily, "Why can't I wear my bra?"
"Because, it'll show through."
Hermione's lips pursed and her eyes widened as Dean gave a cheeky grin and Sam turned a little bit redder. "And why will it show through?"
"Because your dress is hella tight," Katelyn grinned with Dean, finishing lacing her corset and moving around to tug on the front lacing, trying to give her a little bit of room to breathe. "You'll have an outer corset too, but it's just for decoration. I didn't want the fabric to poof out of it when I made it."
"Catherine's sister and niece died before her and her husband, they should all be buried in the same cemetery," Sam answered her earlier question.
"I feel really light headed," Hermione said, shutting her eyes and wobbling a little.
"Well, they had fainting rooms for a reason, dear," Katelyn said, carefully extracting her from the chair, having her hold her arms out in front of her.
"Thriller, thriller night," Hermione hummed, making Katelyn, Sam, and Dean chuckle. Katelyn had her step into the light blue material, bringing it around her arms and tugging it up, off-shouldered but long sleeved, zipping her up before hiding the small amount of metal and pinning the outer corset on her, smoothing down the long flowing skirt as Hermione took deep, slow breaths. She wrapped a frilly choker around her neck, guiding her to a chair to work on her hair and makeup.
"So, okay, who's going to get this stuff off of her?" Katelyn asked as she brushed Hermione's hair, "I've got to get to a convention in ten hours; it'll take me that long to drive there and set up. I'll be there for seven days, and by that time if she isn't unlaced, she will probably commit suicide. And if you cut this off of her, I will charge you. Big time."
"Not Dean," Hermione insisted right as he began to open his mouth.
"Uhh, we'll volunteer," the Ghost Facers said rather exuberantly.
"You know what, never mind, I'll get out of it myself," Hermione said as she threw them a sharp glare, "I'd rather not have anyone else see more of me than I'd like anyway."
"Even if it's Sammy?" Dean asked innocently, laughing when his brother reached up and smacked him, Hermione glaring at them as Katelyn began to pin her hair up.
"Alright, sweetheart, this is where I leave you," Katelyn stated as she packed up her things and Hermione examined her appearance in a mirror, Sam and Dean standing behind her and watching in amusement as she pursed her lips at her reflection. "If you have any questions, concerns, favors, or just want to chat, give me a call," she smiled, offering a card to Hermione, who took it and held her hand, as she couldn't really hug her. "Bye boys! Stay out of trouble!"
"Yeah, yeah," Dean scoffed, waving her away before he turned to Hermione and frowned down at her, "Are you sure you can handle this? We don't know what this ghost is going to do."
"I am laced up, in a corset, wearing a very upwardly revealing dress that I'm very sure isn't historically accurate, and I have nowhere to hide anything," she stated, "I couldn't go back even if I wanted to."
"Hey, Hermione? We got the ghosts finished, with minimal injuries, are you okay?" Sam asked, knocking on her door in the house the woman had graciously allowed them to stay in, despite it being ghost infested.
"I need help," she called out weakly, making him open the door and finding her pouting, staring at the full length mirror, still wearing all of the clothes Katelyn had put her in. "I can't get out." He chuckled and shut the door behind him.
Sam looked her over in amusement before sighing and standing behind her, taking off the choker before taking off the outer corset. "Don't tell Dean, I'll never hear the end of it."
She scoffed airily, "Neither would I." He unzipped the dress and she stepped out of it, sighing when he began to unlace the corset, carefully and slowly. "You're earning serious brownie points for getting me out of this medieval torture device."
He smirked a little, "How many?"
She sighed and leaned into his chest, his fingers still moving, slowly giving her back the ability to breathe right. "Enough."
He pecked the side of her jaw, smiling a little, "Do you think we'll ever tell Dean?"
She snorted, rolling her eyes, "When he stops being an arse, yes, we'll tell him we're dating. Now – please get me out of this blasted corset."
"With pleasure," he smiled, kissing her once more before going back to his task.
I've heard mixed things about corsets, but I have heard that it can displace your organs over time, and I read about the lady bits being pushed
lower from a play, called The Waiting Room. It's really good, I've read it a couple of times.
