A/N: I don't often write more for the fics I enter in QLFC, but for this one in particular I had actually already written about half of this chapter before the first one, so once all of the judging was done for the comp I set down to finish it. It turned out just a little bit longer than expected, but I doubt any of you will be complaining about that!

"And that's why I was watching him on the Map, Hermione! I'm sure he's doing… something!" Harry gesticulated wildly, hoping this would somehow help Hermione understand that he was totally justified in stalking Malfoy on the Map, but her gaze was still flatly unimpressed.

"Harry," she sighed, pausing her writing in the middle of a sentence, and he knew that meant she was taking this seriously, "do you think that maybe there's another reason you're so… infatuated with Malfoy?"

"Huh?" Harry asked, completely bewildered by this line of questioning. He'd been expecting Hermione to insist that he needed more solid proof before accusing Malfoy of being Up To Something, not this confusing nonsense.

"What other reason would there be, Hermione?" he asked, wracking his brain. "Wait! You're in Runes with him, yeah? Did he do something? Say something?"

Hermione merely groaned and dropped her head down on the pile of books in front of her on their table in the library. Harry was uncertain if that was a yes or a no, but before he could press further, Ron appeared from between the stacks and glanced between the two of them with a quirked brow.

"Malfoy?" he guessed.

"Yes!" Harry cried, as loudly as he could get away with without Madam Pince descending on them. Hermione lifted her head and glared at Ron.

"I tried," she said. "It's your turn now."

"Er," Ron fumbled, suddenly looking extremely uncomfortable, "right now?"

"That would be preferable," Hermione said firmly.

Ron gulped, turning to Harry with wide eyes, and Harry couldn't help but be slightly fearful of what his best mate was about to say.

"So, uh," Ron started promisingly, "you know how Dean and Seamus were? And we could always kinda tell, y'know?"

"That they're totally gay for each other?" Harry agreed, still not seeing where this was going. "Yeah, and they're together and happy now. What's your point, Ron?"

"Just that, er, it's not always best buds that are gay for each other, right? Like, maybe they're, uh, former enemies, and um, are sort of having a hard time coming up with more excuses to be obsessed with each other?"

Harry stared at his two best friends, who were both looking at him with a sort of hopeful expectation, except he had no idea what they expected him to say.

"Okay," Harry said slowly, "I think I've had enough studying for today. I'm just gonna go get a snack, maybe fly around the pitch or something. See you later!"

He grabbed his bag and scrambled out of the library, away from his friends who were making absolutely zero sense.

Harry successfully put this conversation out of his mind for almost exactly three weeks, all the while continuing with his inability to stop watching Draco Malfoy and trying to avoid Hermione's eyerolls and Ron's facepalms every time they caught him at it. Indeed, it wasn't until a very memorable incident occurred that he was forced to rethink his answer.

"Did you hear?" Seamus asked, joining the rest of the eighth years in their section of the Gryffindor table.

"Hear what?" Harry asked, speaking on behalf of everyone else within earshot. Seamus looked left and right, ensuring he had everyone's attention before leaning forward to spill the tea.

"Draco Malfoy got hit by a curse that turned him into a girl."

Harry nearly choked on his mouthful of pumpkin juice, and the rest of the table exploded into chatter. He craned his neck around, looking at the Slytherin table to see if the proof was sitting there eating his (her?) dinner, but it appeared that Malfoy had chosen to skip.

"That's not what happened." Harry looked up to see Ginny rolling her eyes as she joined them. "He got hit by a curse that turns every item of clothing he puts on all pretty and girly."

"Same difference!" Seamus said sullenly, and Dean patted him on the back in consolation.

"How did it happen?" Hermione asked, looking like she might take notes.

Ginny shrugged. "Apparently some fourth-year girls were experimenting with wardrobe spells and he walked by when one of them misfired. Madam Pomfrey said the spell would just have to wear off on its own."

"How do you even know all that?" Seamus demanded, looking rather jealous.

"Blaise," Ginny said, tipping her head towards the Slytherin table with a smile. Harry glanced over in time to see Zabini winking back at her.

That did explain it, because Ginny and Zabini had been casually seeing each other almost since the first week of classes. That was all Harry knew, because he had no desire to inquire further, but between the two of them, Harry was sure that nothing happened at Hogwarts without their knowledge.

He watched the entrance to the Great Hall for the rest of dinner, not wanting to miss it if Malfoy decided to show, but it became clear that he wasn't when Parkinson rushed in about ten minutes later and whispered something to Zabini before making off with an armful of food. Harry slouched in disappointment, catching Ron and Hermione exchanging a glance as he did so, but he steadfastly ignored them.

Obviously, Malfoy couldn't put off showing his face forever, but Harry had expected him to hide away until forced to come out for class, and therefore he was completely caught off guard when Malfoy confidently swanned into breakfast the next morning, and nearly spit out his tea in shock.

Ginny had been correct, of course. The spell had not turned him into a girl; instead, it appeared that every item of clothing Malfoy wore had been transfigured into something much more feminine.

Malfoy's usual white shirt was now decorated with subtle white floral embroidery, and the collar's edge was cut into delicate little scallops. To Harry's eyes, his robes looked pretty much the same, but his trousers… well, they had been turned into a skirt. It was pleated and made of some shimmery material that fell to his knees and caught Harry's eye as he walked across the Hall. Harry couldn't recall ever having seen Malfoy's calves before – not that he'd ever had reason or opportunity to – but he couldn't help thinking that they were very nice, good-looking calves, and wasn't it a shame that the skirt didn't go just the littlest bit higher, because he was sure that Malfoy's thighs were –

Harry shook himself. What in Merlin's name was he thinking?

"You alright, mate?" Ron asked, just arriving with Hermione for breakfast.

"Er, um," Harry said, suddenly unable to locate his tongue. "Malfoy," he finally managed. Ron and Hermione automatically looked over at the Slytherin table.

"Huh," said Ron, eyebrows nearly up to his hairline. "That's… a look."

"A good look," Hermione insisted. "And is he wearing makeup?"

Harry, who had just told himself he wasn't going to look at Malfoy again, couldn't help himself. It looked like he was wearing makeup, something that shimmered silver, but when he turned his head at something Parkinson said, it caught the light and reflected the faintest sheen of green. Harry couldn't deny that it looked good with his pale grey eyes and his aristocratic nose and cheekbones and fine eyelashes and delicate lips –

"Don't you agree, Harry?"

Harry found that Hermione was looking at him with an odd glint in her eyes which made him very, very nervous.

"I dunno," he said noncommittally, unwilling to admit he hadn't heard the question because he'd been mooning over Malfoy.

"I just wanted to know if you agreed that Malfoy looks good," Hermione smirked. "You were staring at him long enough; I thought you would have an opinion by now."

Ron appeared to be either coughing or trying not to laugh, and between the two of them, Harry felt like walls were closing in all around him.

"I have an opinion, sure," he hedged. "Oh, hey, do we have Charms first thing? I think I forgot my essay on my desk – see you in class!"

Harry maintained enough presence of mind to grab his bag (which did have his essay in it) before he fled the Great Hall, and then he promptly turned in the opposite direction of the Gryffindor tower, randomly picking a hallway and sliding into an alcove behind a stone knight to have his crisis.

Why could he not get Malfoy out of his head? It was literally only a change of clothes, he berated himself, and some sparkly makeup, how had it suddenly made Malfoy so interesting?

Harry sucked in a sharp breath, the realization hitting him like a Stunner.

Malfoy wasn't suddenly interesting. He'd always been interesting; it was just that now he was interesting in a slightly different way, and it had forced Harry to pay attention to why that was so.

Bloody hell, Harry thought, he was gay. For Malfoy. He found that the idea of him being gay (or possibly bi, but he was undecided on girls) was much less intimidating than who he was crushing on. Merlin, if Malfoy ever found out that Harry fancied him, he'd never hear the end of it.

No, Harry decided, it was bad enough that Ron and Hermione had apparently been on to him for ages. Nobody could ever know of this. Besides, the spell would wear off eventually, and then maybe it would be easier to ignore how infuriatingly attractive Malfoy was.

With a firm resolve to get himself under control, Harry headed off to class.

By lunch, Harry realized that it was absolutely impossible for him to ignore Malfoy. He had been cultivating the habit of watching Malfoy for so long that it was extremely difficult to stop, and it didn't help that he was now acknowledging to himself that Malfoy was attractive. It also didn't help that Malfoy appeared to be hiding from him, which only made him curious as to why.

"I just don't get it," Harry said to Ron and Hermione, after several days of this nonsense. "He'll happily parade around like a peacock in front of everyone else, but I literally saw him run the opposite direction to avoid me specifically. He does know I've already seen his outfit, right?"

Hermione gave him a flat stare and then returned to her Ancient Runes notes, waving a hand imperiously at Ron, who gave a large sigh.

"Yeah, pretty sure he knows."

"Well?" Harry said, exasperated. "Don't you have any idea what he's up to?"

"Other than being an oblivious ferret?"

"Er, yes?"

"Nah, I got nothing," Ron shrugged. "Hey, want to go to Hogsmeade with Hermione and me tomorrow night?"

"Hermione and I," Hermione corrected, without looking up from her parchment.

"Hogsmeade?" Harry asked, bewildered by the sudden change in subject. "Sure, I guess. Where are we going? Three Broomsticks?"

Ron shook his head. "It's somewhere new," he said, "but it came highly recommended."

Harry followed Ron and Hermione to Hogsmeade, trying to tamp down his curiosity as to where they were going. He'd thought that there wasn't anywhere in the little village that he hadn't known about, but it seemed he was wrong about that.

He'd tried to figure it out, but Ron had been extremely tight-lipped about what they were up to. Hermione had insisted on approving what he was wearing before they left and had vetoed three outfits before she was happy with his current clothes, which now consisted of Harry's best denims and nicest button-down.

It seemed as if they were merely going to the Three Broomsticks, but instead Ron and Hermione walked past it, and then made a turn into the alley behind the pub, where a small staircase in the back of the building led downwards to a door.

"Sarsaparilla," Hermione told the door confidently, and then grasped the handle, which turned quite easily to admit them.

Harry had never had the opportunity to go to a Muggle club, but from the brief depictions he had seen on Dudley's telly, it was probably very much like the scene before him, only without the magical atmosphere. The place was packed, and Harry stood in no small amount of shock at the mass of writhing bodies in front of him.

"C'mon, mate, bar's this way," Ron grabbed his arm and pulled him in the direction of the long wooden bar that took up one side of the room. It, too, was packed with people, and Hermione and Harry hung back as Ron gradually worked his way up to the bartender and ordered. Harry was never more grateful for a drink than he was when Ron at last returned – he was beginning to feel overwhelmed by everything. He took a large gulp of the drink Ron had given him, and immediately felt tipsy.

"Ron, what is this?"

Ron grinned back at him, lifting his own glass. "Instant Buzz," he shouted over the din. "Gets you drunk, but not smashed! Brilliant, yeah?"

Harry could only nod in response; he hadn't much experience with being drunk and was unused to the sensation. He let Hermione and Ron drag him out into the crush of people dancing, doing his best to move in time with the beat, and thought himself marginally successful. He lost track of Ron and Hermione fairly quickly in the crowd, but he thought it a bit pointless to try and look for them, and besides, he had started to get the hang of it and enjoy himself.

Harry was only vaguely familiar with the music, but soon a song began playing that it seemed the crowd was enthusiastically fond of, and they became much more energetic. Harry briefly lost his footing in the fray and ended up bumping against the back of someone. He meant to turn around and apologize, but it was too crowded to do so, and it quickly became apparent that whoever it was had no hard feelings about it at all, because they began to move intentionally against Harry's backside. Harry was surprised, but the sensation wasn't unpleasant, and he found himself responding in kind.

When the music shifted into another song, Harry did his best to turn around, curious as to whom he'd been rubbing up against.

It was Draco Malfoy.

His eyes were closed, he was swaying gracefully to the beat, and he was wearing the tightest jeans Harry had ever seen on a person. Not to mention the white floral crop top, which was showing quite a bit of his skin as he moved his arms.

Harry would have quite happily stood there and watched Malfoy dance all night, but then Malfoy opened his eyes, saw him, and came to a stop.

"Potter?"

Harry frantically tried to think of something clever to say, but instead what came out was, "You look so hot."

He was about ready to smack himself in the head for that, when Malfoy came a little closer and asked, "What?"

He looked confused, and Harry realized with some relief that it was so loud that Malfoy probably hadn't heard what he'd said.

"Er, what I mean is," Harry said, trying not to sound like an idiot and also not feel overwhelmed by how distractingly close Malfoy was, "I think floral's a good look on you."

Malfoy leaned forward, and for a moment Harry was terrified – of what he didn't know – but then Malfoy smirked and drawled, practically in his ear, "Oh, really?"

Harry nodded, turning his head to look at him, and then Malfoy's lips were just right there, and quite suddenly Harry was being thoroughly snogged. The rest of the night passed in a haze of kisses, and Harry didn't even mind Ron and Hermione's entirely too smug looks when they finally found him again.

And if Draco saved some of his floral outfits even after the spell wore off – well, that wasn't anyone else's business, now was it?