Harry woke on a drizzly Saturday morning, rain-beating fiercely down onto number 12 Grimuald place. He slumped up in bed weakly and slithered over to the wardrobe and stripped. It was a well-known fact that Harry loved clothes and so deciding what to wear every morning delighted him in every way. This particular morning he selected a new pair of matching panties and singlet that fitted snugly to his little bottom. He dreamed of the day when he might be able to show off how excellent his figure looked in black lace. Harry plucked a crisp shirt and navy pants from the closet, feeling the texture of the material against his skin. He then slid his arms into the sleaves of a black robe that fitted tightly around his waist and then flared at the bottom. Harry was the height of wizard fashion. He brushed his teeth and hair neatly, placing his round black glasses on his nose. Looking at his reflection in the mirror he could see no imperfections in his appearance and so opened the door of his room quietly. He was ready to face a new day.