A/N:

corset inclusion courtesy of Dutch, who requested harry wear one! also thank you to Deer for giving a wonderful info session on corsets and how to wear them. hopefully i balanced my ignorance and harry's ignorance on the subject in a meaningful way.

Chapter 1: Family

Harry woke in a room that was not his own. Sunlight warmed his face as he sat up, bewildered and immediately alert. He had expected, somehow, to be greeted by the uncomfortable sight of the Hogwarts Hospital Wing. This was not the case.

The bed beneath him was a four-poster bed and the wall opposite was composed of cream-coloured stone, but this was not the Gryffindor Common Room, either.

Harry made a valiant attempt at escaping the bed only to almost fall flat on his face as his legs tangled with the bedsheet. Grabbing the nearest bedpost for balance, Harry straightened and looked down to see that it was not the bedsheet that had hindered him after all. He was wearing a cotton nightgown trimmed in white lace and embroidered with purple magnolias.

Unfortunately, he hardly had time to process this bizarre fact before someone called his name from just outside the door.

"Harry! HARRY! Are you awake yet?"

The voice, obnoxiously loud, could have woken the dead from their eternal slumber.

Harry's bedroom door flung open, revealing a bespectacled girl with a wide smile full of slightly-crooked teeth. She looked vaguely familiar, Harry thought as he fought the ridiculous urge to cover himself up with a sheet.

"Harry," repeated the girl, striding forward with an eagerness that unnerved him. She snatched his hands up, cradling them in her own, and Harry was struck with the sudden fear that this was a dream, they were somehow married, and she was about to kiss him.

"Er—" Harry began, confused. Her features were difficult to place. Should he ask who she was?

"You've slept the entire morning away!" she continued, heedless of his tentative interjection. "Aren't you excited for the start of the masquerade?"

"No," Harry said, startled into honesty.

Much to Harry's horror, the girl's eyes began to brim with tears. "But you promised you'd take me! You promised!"

Harry tried to pull his hands away, but her grip was impossible to shake off.

"You're so mean," she wailed, her smile collapsing into an expression of misery as fat tears ran down her ruddy cheeks. "You must hate me, to treat me this way!"

As she continued to cry, Harry's mind at last connected her whiny, watery voice to a name.

"Moaning Myrtle?" he asked in disbelief.

"That's right! No one wants to take Myrtle to the ball," Myrtle said between sobs. "Miserable, moaning, moping Myrtle!" She threw herself forward, enveloping Harry in an embrace that was closer to attempted strangulation as she gripped his neck and shoulders, crying into his nightgown.

Harry had no idea what to do, not in the least because he had no clue where he was, why he was wearing a nightgown, and why Moaning Myrtle was no longer a ghost.

Then Myrtle's fist came to beat down upon his chest as she suddenly shoved him away and shouted, "You're the worst brother ever!"

"I'm sorry?" Harry said. Maybe this was a dream. Maybe he could escape her by knocking himself out against the wooden bedpost.

"I'm telling mother," Myrtle said with a sneer, her parting words before she flounced out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

Harry could not imagine who their mother was, but he didn't fancy finding out.

Quickly, Harry made his way around the bed, stepping over to the bulky wooden dresser that sat against the wall. Opening the drawers revealed more clothing that was certainly not his, but thankfully there were items he was familiar with—men's shirts and trousers. Unfortunately, all of the pants were in the same vein of style as the nightgown: floral and feminine.

Harry deliberated for a long moment before deciding that no one was going to know. He fished out the plainest possible pair and tossed it onto the bed.

Then there was a knock at the door. The sound was soft, quieter than Myrtle's dramatic entrance by far.

"Come in," Harry called, caution taking hold as he circled to stand in front of the door. He had no wand on him, no weapon to defend himself…

The door creaked open.

The woman in the doorway was tall, regal, and beautiful. Her hair was a gorgeous shade of red, pulled up into an intricate pattern of braids that circled her head like a crown. Harry's first thought was that Moaning Myrtle could not possibly be this woman's daughter, but then he caught sight of the woman's eyes and his breath froze in his throat.

These were eyes he knew very well because he glimpsed them in the mirror every morning. These eyes were his eyes, which meant this woman was—

"Mum?" Harry asked quietly. His voice had gone tiny, like a child's, and his hand stretched out before he could think better of it.

"Good morning," said his mother, said Lily, her kind green eyes crinkling on the sides as she pulled him into a hug.

Lily's embrace was nothing like Myrtle's. Harry felt so safe as he inhaled what he once imagined home to smell like, a home filled with home-baked goods—maybe something laced with cinnamon, like an apple pie—and piles of fresh laundry.

As they pulled away from each other, Harry examined Lily's face, drinking in the sight of her. She was older than he remembered her to be—the ghost of Lily Potter he had met in the graveyard of Little Hangleton was perpetually in her twenties, youthful even in death. This Lily was older. She carried herself with a grace that belied her wisdom as well as her age.

Lily's hand rubbed a gentle circle over Harry's back, a touch that warmed him to his core. "You haven't even dressed yet," she scolded him, but there was teasing in her voice that let him know that he was not in trouble.

"Sorry," Harry mumbled, chagrined. He ducked his head only to feel his mother's fingertips press against the underside of his chin, lifting his head back up.

"Do you want some help getting ready for the ball?" she asked with a smile, and Harry could not say no, could never refuse anything if she was the one asking.

"Yes, please."

Lily clucked her tongue at the plainclothes Harry had laid out upon the bed, sweeping the items into her arms and refolding them with precision before replacing them into the dresser.

"Your sister is very upset with you," Lily said with a sigh. She stepped away from the dresser and over to a tall, oaken wardrobe. "Do try your best to be kind, Harry. I know it isn't easy at times, but I worry for her. You must promise to keep an eye on her at the ball."

"I'll try," Harry said, watching as she rifled through various garments, most of them dress robes.

"I know you will." Lily turned around and laid her clothing choices on the bed: a fine set of emerald-green dress robes that would have reminded Harry of his Yule Ball robes if not for the tapered waist, wide sleeves, and multi-layered skirts; a handsome travelling cloak in charcoal grey with a large, pointed hood; and, most peculiarly, a bone-white corset patterned with lace.

"Get your pants on," Lily said chidingly, misreading Harry's wide-eyed look as something else entirely, it seemed, "and I will help you with this."

Harry hurried to comply, tugging on the pair he had chosen for himself. Then Lily handed him a sheer top, which he pulled on, before she handed him the corset. Harry fumbled with the unfamiliar material, uncertain how to put it on. Lily seemed to read his ignorance as nervousness and quickly took over the task herself, orienting the corset into the correct place. There were panels that sat over his hips, presumably to further accentuate the tiny waist he was about to have.

Overwhelmed, Harry closed his eyes and let his mother fiddle with the laces. A funny pressure took hold over his body, his shirt shifting and pulling as Lily adjusted everything to perfection. She instructed him to inhale, and so he did. Slowly, the corset was pulled tighter and tighter as Lily tugged at the two loops of laces.

"Harry?"

Harry's eyes fluttered open. His feet were tingling and his heart raced as he waited for permission to move.

"Just a little more," Lily murmured, and Harry could only obey; the soft tenor of her voice, full of tender care, was enough to sap him of any and all anxiety he might have possessed.

When it was done, there was no pinching or discomfort, only the inward curve of his waist held in place by stiff fabric and wire. Harry ran his hands over his body, thinking to himself, quite oddly, that it looked rather nice. The corset was vaguely reminiscent of a waistcoat.

"Very handsome," Lily said fondly. "Now, let's get you some trousers."

Harry carefully put on his shirt, trousers, and dress robes. Some of his movements felt different now that his lower torso was held captive by the corset, but Lily extended her loving aid, minding the placement of each piece of clothing as she fussed over him. Harry relished in her attention with quiet embarrassment, eager to please and unwilling to refuse anything she asked.

When they were finished, Harry smiled tentatively at his mother and was rewarded with a smile in return.

Lily looked him over one final time then nodded her approval. "The carriage will be here soon. Make sure you bring your wand! The rest of your things have been packed already."

Upon hearing her words, the knowledge of his wand returned to him. Harry navigated to the vanity and opened the topmost drawer. Inside lay his wand, a coin purse, and a beautiful silver dagger. Harry shoved everything into the pocket of his travelling cloak, which he pulled on quickly, and turned to his mother.

"Let us hope your sister is finished. We have a long journey ahead of us."

"Where are we going?" Harry asked.

Lily wrinkled her brow at him. "To the castle, of course."

Harry decided it was best not to ask further questions lest he give himself away. It was difficult enough to believe that he was not dreaming; here he was, with his mother by his side, and Myrtle was his sister, and he was to attend a masquerade while wearing a corset. But everything was so vibrant and real… Harry wanted this to be real. He wanted his mother to be here with him.

Lily led him out to the corridor, where Myrtle was waiting for them. Myrtle's dress was a vibrant shade of blue with sheer grey panels, and her hair had been curled to frame her round face in a flattering way. Draped around her shoulders was a shorter version of a cape that might have been some kind of shawl.

"Harry!" Myrtle trilled, previous ire evidently forgotten as she threw her arms around him and squealed with delight.

Harry grunted in acknowledgement. He could have sworn that his mother was laughing quietly in the background.

After a second, Myrtle pulled away and said to Lily, "Olive tore one of my stockings. May I dismiss her?"

"No," Lily said, with the air of someone who had repeated such statements before, "you may not. Olive is a perfectly good maid. I am sure it was simply a mistake."

Myrtle scoffed and turned her nose up in a haughty way. "If you say so."

"I know so," Lily retorted. "Has the carriage arrived? I do believe I hear the horses outside."

"All our things have been taken care of," Myrtle said primly. "I made sure of that."

The three of them exited the house—the manor, Harry corrected as he glanced over his shoulder at the stately structure they had just departed from—and entered the awaiting carriage. The carriage was the same as a Hogwarts carriage, right down to the Thestrals tethered at the front. The interior, upholstery included, was also an exact replica from top to bottom.

Harry was more certain than ever that this was a fantastical dream that he would soon wake from. He would have to enjoy his time with Lily while it lasted.

"I can't wait to meet the prince," Myrtle said with a dreamy sigh. "I hear he's very handsome."

"We have some hours to go," Lily said, patting Myrtle's knee.

As it turned out, some hours could compress into what felt like mere minutes. Harry gazed out the window of the carriage as they passed by plots of farmland, rows of houses, and shiny shop fronts. The skies darkened with a rapidity that ought to have alarmed him, but because Harry knew this was a dream, he knew there was no reason to be afraid.

"We're nearly there," Lily reported, perhaps fifteen minutes or so after her previous statement.

Myrtle clapped her hands together. "How wonderful! My legs have been cramping for ages."

Harry attempted to stretch his own legs only to find that they were indeed stiff from a period of disuse that he had not actually experienced.

The carriage slowed to a stop; they were now parked in front of an inn. This must be where they would stay once the night was over. It would be too late to return home when the ball was done.

Harry exited the carriage first and offered his arm to his mother and Myrtle. The three of them took some time to stretch their cramped muscles until a servant came out of the inn to greet them. Lily cited their reservation and gestured for her children to follow her inside. Their luggage, piled atop the carriage, was retrieved by servants and carried in behind them.

Much to Harry's relief, Lily had booked two rooms: one for Lily and Myrtle to share, and one for Harry. This led Harry to wonder what had happened to his father—was James Potter a part of this dream world? He resolved to ask if the opportunity presented itself, but truthfully, he was unsure if he wanted the answer. To hear that his father was dead and gone would dampen the momentary happiness he had here with his mother.

Myrtle sat herself before the vanity in the first room and examined her hair for flaws. "When will we leave for the castle?"

"Soon," Lily promised.

"Are you—are you coming with us?" Harry asked Lily, somewhat desperately.

Lily turned to him, and she was so beautiful that his heart hurt. "You don't need an old woman like me ruining your fun," she said jokingly. "But here, before I forget!"

From the depths of one of their trunks, Lily retrieved an emerald green mask that matched Harry's dress robes. At first glance, the mask was plain; green satin stretched over papier-mâché that was meant to cover the top half of the wearer's face. However, upon closer inspection, Harry noticed the satin fabric had a faint swirly pattern to it and the area around the eye holes was lightly dusted with tiny silver sparkles and stars.

"Remember to keep it on all night," Lily instructed him. "Or else you won't be able to return."

"Don't worry! I'll make sure he keeps it on," Myrtle said sharply. To Harry, she added, "We will be going every night whether you like it or not."

Every night?

"This one is yours," Lily continued as if Myrtle hadn't spoken, lifting a fancy, bedazzled silver mask up.

"Oooh," Myrtle crooned, clapping her hands together. "It's so pretty! Thank you!"

Lily helped Myrtle with the silver mask, tying a large bow at the back and working the excess ribbon into her hair. "I look like a princess," Myrtle breathed as she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror.

Harry raised his own mask to his face to see how it looked. The shape fit perfectly, as if it had been crafted especially for him. It would be comfortable enough to wear all evening, certainly.

"Let me," Lily said, hands outstretched.

Gently, Lily placed the mask back against his face and tied it on. The lining was silken to the touch, smooth and soft against his face. Harry tried not to fidget while she worked on adjusting his messy hair to fit around the ribbon. He had always thought that his mother, should she have lived to raise him, would be the only one able to tame his disastrous hair. To feel her doing so now, it raised a lump in his throat.

"How does that feel? Comfortable?"

"Feels great," Harry said. "Thanks."

Lily smoothed a hand over his head. "Remember to have fun tonight. And save your sister a dance."

The idea of dancing with Moaning Myrtle sounded absolutely terrible, but Harry nodded anyway.

"Time to go," Myrtle said, leaping to her feet. "Time to go!"

Harry sucked in a nervous breath. He had never liked dancing. Perhaps it would be better this time, though, when he was no longer the center of attention.

Lily ushered them back into the carriage outside and kissed their cheeks in farewell. The faint scent of her perfume lingered as she pulled back. Harry wanted to hold onto this moment; what if he woke before he got to see her again?

"Have fun and be safe," Lily said as she squeezed his hand. "I expect you back an hour past midnight at the latest."

Harry nodded. He would arrive home before midnight if possible, just to see her again.