Chapter One- Tension.

I blinked at the dark, smoky interior of the club. Strange lights flashed from odd corners; a band was playing something so loudly that the walls throbbed. "Um, guys, when you said we were going to have a 'good time'..."

Fred laughed and clapped me on the shoulder. "Oh, loosen up, Ron. You're sounding like Percy."

George snickered. "Yeah, the only time we brought him here he nearly wet his pants. We had to do slave labor for a month to stop him telling Mum."

I goggled at the thought of perfect Percy setting in foot in this...place. It wasn't filthy, not objectively speaking, but there was something in the atmosphere that seemed to work its way under my skin, into my blood. Most everyone there was much older than me, I realized, or even the twins; how had they found their way here in the first place? "Are you sure they're not going to kick us out?"

George sniffed. "Ronald, please. The bouncers know us. We're safe."

Ah, yes, the bouncers: three trollish men in leather jackets and a witch who looked like she could bench-press any one of them. They'd given me a scathing inspection that would have put McGonagall to shame, but waved us through when George had whispered something in the witch's ear. I subconsciously stepped a little closer to the twins as we threaded our way towards a table; I had definitely not intended to spend the summer holidays club-hopping in Diagon Alley. I don't know how these things happen to me sometimes.

A house elf with a broken tooth, dressed in a sort of poncho made from dishtowels, appeared as soon as we'd sat down. It did not look nearly so cheerful or obliging as the house elves in the Hogwarts kitchens; I got the impression that, if Hermione were to offer it a S.P.E.W. badge, it would shove it up her nose. "What is sirs having today?" it asked.

Fred consulted a menu theatrically. "Ah...yes. I'll have the Confundus Cocktail, and George will have a Sex on the Beach, and for ickle Ronniekins...?" He looked up inquiringly.

I blinked at him, then looked imploringly at the elf. "Just water, thank you," I said quickly. I was not going to get drunk with the twins, Mum would throw me off the roof.

George laughed. "Get this boy a screwdriver, my good elf! With an umbrella in it!" The house-elf nodded sharply and vanished.

I looked between my brothers, wondering whether I'd be able to tell if they were planning a filicide. "What's a screwdriver?" I asked timidly.

Fred waved his hand. "It's just orange juice and...something. Muggle drink. Not so bad." He looked around, frowning. "The house band's not in. Shame. They're pretty good."

"What are they called?" I asked.

"The Travelling Perverts."

"...oh."

This was not how I'd intended to spend my holiday.

The twins began talking about the business, but the conversation quickly degenerated into gossiping about their former Hogwarts classmates, most of whom I had never met. I cast about for something to look at. The patrons of the club were...well, interesting. There was one wizard with a glowing purple mohawk at the bar, and another with a long chain running from his earring to the pocket of his robes. I caught several couples snogging enthusiastically, or perhaps doing more than snogging; and I felt a funny jolt in my stomach when I realized that not all of them contained a member of both sexes. I watched two men disappear into a corner together, and I could've sworn that one of them had had his hands in the other's robes...

A burst of raucous laughter, louder than even the throbbing background music, provided a merciful distraction. I peered through the shadows and spotted a group of boys closer to our age, some vaguely familiar, crammed tightly into a large booth on the other side of the club. They were gesturing loudly and generally making a nuisance of themselves. I had barely begun trying to wonder where I knew them from when a small, pale figure with platinum-blonde hair became visible among the weaving shoulders. I automatically felt my hands ball into fists. "Malfoy."

George looked up, quizzically. "Huh? He's not a Ravenclaw, you prat, and he certainly hasn't ever been Head Boy..."

"Over there. Look." I pointed, and both twins craned their necks. "In that booth. What the hell's he doing here?"

Fred frowned. "I know some of those blokes...they used to be on Slytherin's Quidditch team. Guess they're having a night out."

"Yeah...pity they had to come here, though. Ah, look, drinks!"

The house-elf handed me a large glass that seemed to contain nothing more innocuous than orange juice. It had a blue umbrella in it. I took a sip, and choked; orange juice and something, all right. Not necessarily bad, though... The twins snickered at me and toasted. "To the future of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes! Long may she wave!"

"Here, here!"

I clicked my glass with theirs and took another swallow. It didn't burn as much this time, though it made me feel unpleasantly warm in the stuffy club. Which was funny, because the drink was cold, I could see the little beads of moisture forming on the sides. I drank again, but the feeling just increased. George caught him out of the corner of his eye. "Whoa, Ron, slow down—don't want to make yourself sick."

"You can't make yourself sick on orange juice, stupid," I said.

Fred snickered. "Right, Ron, keep telling yourself that."

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing, Ron, nothing..."

I scowled at them. Dumb prats.

I had drained my drink down to the dregs when I noticed two black-haired girls in short robes and fishnet stockings. One had her hand on the other's backside, which I was pretty certain wasn't normal, and they were weaving their way through the tables, talking with some of the patrons. I saw them stop at the table with all the Slytherin Quidditch players, and heard more uproarious laughter; a moment later, Malfoy stumbled out of the booth, flushed and grinning like a fool. The girls ruffled his hair and steered him through a door in the side wall, occasionally catching him before he could trip himself up. I scowled.

Fred poked me in the arm. "What's the matter, Ronniekins, jealous?"

"Of Malfoy? Pfft." I downed the last few drops of my drink. "Drunken bastard can go make a fool of himself if he wants."

Fred snickered again, but as the house-elf refilled my glass, George leaned and whispered something in its ear. When the elf had gone, George said, "Hey, little brother, ease up a bit. Don't want to have to ask Mum for a hangover cure."

I snorted at him. "I'm not getting drunk..."

I kept glancing off at that side door, though. Wondering what the two black-haired girls were doing with Malfoy. Or maybe doing to him. Oh, stop that, Ron, it's none of your business whether he gets laid. Besides, he's Malfoy, do you really want to think of him as a sexual being? I thought not...

I didn't think about it again until the band which was not the Travelling Perverts stopped playing, and a spotlight suddenly came up on a low stage at one end of the club. Fred perked up, but George glanced nervously in my direction. "Er, Fred, are we sure about...?"

Fred sniffed dismissively. "He'll be fine, George. I'm mean, he's seen Hermione naked, hasn't he?" He looked at me. "Haven't you?"

I shook my head. Although I wouldn't mind the chance...

The twins looked uneasily at each other.

However, just then the band struck up a song with a throbbing, pulsating beat, and the curtains opened. On the other side was a slight figure in a gaudy, sparkling cape and high-heeled shoes. My jaw dropped when the figure turned around; it was Malfoy. Or someone who looked very much like Malfoy at least, with wild, tousled hair and elaborate make-up that softened his pointed features into androgyny. Eye shadow, glitter, and lurid red lipstick that stood out starkly on his white face. But why the hell was I looking at Malfoy's lips...?

The bandleader began to sing in a throaty tenor, and Malfoy lip-synched the words as he prowled across the stage, almost floating in that ridiculous cape.

Suddenly Malfoy flung the cape off in one smooth motion, and I forgot how to breathe. There were several appreciative yelps and whistles from the house, and Fred began to laugh uncontrollably. Malfoy was wearing a black leather corset, a goddamn corset, and a tight pair of leather briefs that displayed his...anatomy, to great advantage. He also had on fingerless elbow-length opera gloves—black—and the high heels were attached to thigh-high leather boots. By rights, he should've looked silly, or at least unbelievably fey. But somehow it all seemed to make just that much most masculine, more male, exposing the musculature that hard Quidditch training had given him underneath all that flawless white skin. Oh, yes, there was a lot of that skin...

I watched, transfixed, as Malfoy stalked forward, swinging his hips in time with the beat and still mouthing the words.

He slid his hands down the corset, hooked his thumbs over the edge of his briefs and thrust his hips, rolling his head back. Several women in the audience yelped or whistled. I swallowed very hard.

Malfoy prowled around the stage, posing, hamming it up and eliciting ever more encouragement. He began to pick at the laces of the corset, loosening then by inches, even as he continued to lip-synch.

"Who the hell is Steve Reeves?" George muttered.

Fred frowned. "What's a movie?"

Malfoy finally succeeded in removing the corset, and slung it off into the front row of tables. Now he was bare to the waist, showing off his narrows chest and a sparse thatch of pale hair. He produced a high-backed stool from the wings, slid his hand through the gap between the seat and the backrest, and suddenly straddled it. I realized my mouth had gone dry and took a deep drink of my screwdriver, keeping my eyes glued to the stage even as I broke out coughing again.

Malfoy's hands began to trail slowly down his body, lingering over his nipples and on the waistband of the briefs. My mouth went dry again, but the drink was completely forgotten.

He raked his fingernails up his inner thighs, leaving raised pink scratches on the fair skin, and at the same time ran the tip of his tongue across his teeth, leering. I swallowed very hard.

Malfoy kicked the stool away and turned, swaggering back upstage and signaling something to the band. They repeated the final refrain, and he picked up the sequined cloak and swirled it over his head dramatically for a moment. Then he did something that left a burning afterimage on the back of my eyelids, that I would remember with a surge of confused feelings later on, that would come back to haunt me:

He did the splits.

The band hit the last chord, the lights dimmed, and the curtain closed. There was enthusiastic applause and whistling, and a few people pitched Galleons towards the stage. I suddenly remembered where I was, and I was startled to actually find myself aroused by the whole performance. Licking my lips, I finished off most of the remains of my screwdriver in one gulp.

George blinked at me. "Whoa, Ron, easy! It wasn't that horrifying, wasn't it?"

"I dunno, I think I'm going to have nightmares about that..." Fred chuckled. "Trying to forget already, eh, Ron?"

"Yeah," I choked. The room was spinning, but whenever I closed my eyes I saw Malfoy thrusting his hips, touching himself, spreading his legs impossibly wide. I tried to breathe deeply, but the air in the club was thick and smoky, and stuck in my throat. I needed somewhere to clear my head, away from the pounding beat of the resumed background music. I tried to stand up, but the floor lurched sideways, and Fred had to catch me. "Ooohhhh my..."

George sighed. "I told you you'd make yourself sick, Ron. Come on, I know where the men's room is..."

I straightened up. "I...I'm fine, really, I just..." I suddenly realized that there was a definite tent in my jeans. If either one of the twins noticed, I was worse than dead. "I just need some air," I blurted, and ran towards one of the darkened corners.

There were no less than three snogging couples back in the shadows, but, thank God, there was also a glittering sign that said EXIT. A half-dressed woman in one of the posters leered at me as I wended my way towards it. It came out at the bottom of a sunken stairwell, full of trash and standing water, but above me I could see the street lamps and the sign declaring this to be the corner of Seckshoe and Diagon Alleys. I could breath out here, at least, and some sort of charm kept the music from leaking past the doorframe. I sat down on the bottom step and cradled my head in my hands, trying to will myself back to normal.

I repeated this mantra several times over, taking great gulps of the cool night air. I almost had myself convinced when a dark shadow fell over me, from something standing between me and the flickering yellow street lamp. I started to look up, but my brain jammed the moment I saw the bottoms of two high-heeled come-fuck-me boots before me. Oh, god...

From above, Malfoy's amused voice said, "Enjoy the show, Weasley?"

I leapt to my feet. Malfoy was at least dressed again, in trousers, a blue cloak and an overlarge shirt, but he had left on the gloves and make-up as well as the boots. There was a thin sheen of sweat on his face and neck, and his hair was still wild. He smirked and pointed one foot forward. "You like these? Gift from the management."

I backed against the wall and began to move to the side, trying to get back to the door. "You did a wonderful job embarrassing yourself, Malfoy. I'll be sure to write the Daily Prophet about it."

Malfoy gave a throaty chuckle. "I'm not the one who should be embarrassed, Weasley."

I didn't catch his meaning until Malfoy closed the gap between us, pinning me against the wall, and I felt my erection press into his leg. I tried to push Malfoy away, but he pinned my wrists and pressed himself even closer. With those boots on, we were nearly the same height, and I could look straight into luminous gray eyes narrowed with amusement and line with glittering purple powder. "So I suppose the answer is yes, you did enjoy it."

That goddamn drawl should not be allowed to sound seductive. "Let go of me, Malfoy," I gasped, but it sounded more panicked than threatening.

He grinned, teeth shocking white when framed by his vivid red lips. "That's not what you want, is it?" he whispered, and suddenly pressed those same painted lips to mine.

Shock, sensation, and probably the two screwdrivers in my bloodstream kept me rooted to the spot. I was excruciatingly aware of the shape of the body pressed against mine, the commanding and almost rough motions of his lips, and the soft slide of satin as Malfoy released my hands in order to cup my face. Even if I'd had the room to move, I couldn't have willed myself away from him at just that moment; my brain locked down everything more complex than pure instinct, which is probably why grabbed at his cloak and leaned into the kiss.

My reward (or possibly punishment) was to feel Malfoy's lips part, and a soft tongue suddenly probe my mouth. I let it in, and felt a strange slow thrill as Malfoy explored further. He tasted sour, like alcohol, and something citrus. Maybe limes. I leaned in closer still—

—and was suddenly shoved back against the wall, hard, so that my head hit stone and I saw stars. Malfoy peeled himself away, smiling enigmatically, like the cat the moment before it got the canary. Without words, without anything more, he spun and went back inside, swinging his hips at if he were still on stage. I watched him until the door cut off my vision, and then I slowly sank to the ground. I was randy as hell and completely confused and rapidly growing nauseated. All rational sense said that that couldn't have been real, and yet...

"Oi, Ron? You out here?"

The twins appeared, and I groaned. I really did not need them to see me like this. George looked down, and clucked his tongue. "I told you to slow down...ah, well, better luck next time." He offered me a hand to help me up; I ignored it, and tried to figure out how I could stand by myself while keeping my legs crossed. I was halfway upright when Fred suddenly start snickering and elbowing George in the ribs.

"Looks like we interrupted something, didn't we? Hope we didn't scare off your lady friend, Ronniekins..."

I blinked at them, then touched my tingling lips. My fingertips came away stained almost blood red; Malfoy's lipstick had come off all over me. I could feel my face rapidly turning the same color.

George snickered, too. "Did you at least get her name, Ron? 'Cause that's very important, later, in case you get any rashes, to have her name...did you?"

"Yeah," I said, staring at my fingers. "Yeah, you could say that."

They chuckled some more, and tried to heave me up by my armpits, but my stomach clamped down and said no. I groaned. "Fred, I'm going to...I'm going to..." They barely had time to leap out of the way before I threw up right there on the ground.

George cleaned up after me while Fred walked me back to the Leaky Caldron; when it became I clear I wasn't going to tell him about my "lady friend," he launched into a monologue about sex, nothing of which I hadn't already heard before from Seamus Finnigan. He bought me some soda water to settle my stomach, and also a paper bag, for when we Flooed home, "just in case." I sat at the bar with my head in my hands, trying not to think about "just in case," or lipstick, or kissing or screwdrivers or sex, and most of all, about Malfoy doing the splits...

Damn.

........................................................................................................................................................................................................................................

Chapter 1.5- Preparation.

"Oi, Ron! It's time!"

I groaned and shut my Muggle Studies book. Of course it was time. I opened the bed curtains and scowled at a thoroughly over-excited Seamus Finnigan, and beyond him, Harry, Dean, Hermione and Ginny. Neville seemed to be trying discretely to leave. "Can I at least finish my homework, first?"

Hermione glared. "This is going to take time, Ron, we should get started as quickly as possible. We don't want to be late..."

"Fine," I sighed, and stood up. "But one of you has to finish my bloody Muggle Studies essay for me."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "I don't see what you're always moaning about, Ron, I've never had trouble with that class...now, come on, we can do this in the bathroom..." She picked up a large, bulging shoebox held together primarily by Spellotape and old hair elastics, and gestured in an almost threatening manner to the door.

I watched that box uneasily. "I don't see why I have to do this," I muttered.

Harry shrugged. "You picked the short straw."

"That was rigged and you know it."

Dean said, "Come on, Weasley, one of us had to enter."

Seamus beamed. "It's about upholding the honor of Gryffindor!"

"It's about my brothers offering you twenty Galleons a piece to get pictures."

Harry flushed. "So, you, ah, saw that letter, did you?"

I shook my head. "You're all mental. And I still want to know why you elected me."

Seamus smirked. "You've got the figure for it. And, besides, who better to represent Gryffindor in a drag show than the tower's resident fag?"

I felt my face go red, and clenched my fists to forestall any attempts at strangling the little Irish son of a bitch. Luckily, everyone else in the room teamed up to give him such a murderous glare that he looked almost as uncomfortable as Nevlle. "Er, I'll just start on that Muggle Studies paper for you, shall I?" Seamus said quickly.

"And when you're done with that, you can finish my Charms homework," I muttered, and bolted into the bathroom.

Hermione and Ginny followed me in, carrying what looked like supplies for an entire dance company between them. "Seamus Finnigan is such a...a...ooo!" Ginny fumed, dumping that threatening-looking shoebox into a sink. "I can't believe he actually said that."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I'm sure he just wasn't thinking. Nothing unusual."

I shook my head and leaned against the wall. "I brought it on myself. I should've known better."

"Justin should have known better, too, Ron," Hermione said, as she fussed with a large plastic bang suspended from a clothes hanger. "Besides, you know it doesn't matter to any of us..."

"It matters to Neville," I said, staring at the tiled floor. "He looks like he expects me to rape him at any second."

"That's Neville's problem, not yours...Gin, there's a lint brush in one of those boxes there..."

"It was just snogging!" I blurted, pounding my fist on the edge of the other sink. "Just kissing and stuff! Why the hell is everyone acting like it's the end of the goddamn world?"

"Because people are stupid," Ginny announced. "What did you do with all that Sleekeazy's, anyway?"

"Nobody's freaking out about Justin," I muttered, massaging the side of my hand.

Hermione sucked in air through her teeth. "It's in the same box as the hairbrushes. Ron, I think most of our year had Justin figured out from the beginning. There's nothing interesting about him getting caught with another boy..."

"So I'm interesting, am I?" I picked on the sleeve of my robes, where Pig had torn a small hole. "Well, that's good to know..."

I blamed Malfoy for the whole thing. Malfoy, and his goddamn little dance. If it hadn't been for him, I never would've even thought about boys like that...and if I he hadn't been going on this whole year so far like nothing had ever happened, I wouldn't have been looking around for proof that it had...and, ultimately, would not have ended up in Greenhouse Two with Justin Finch-Fucking-Fletchly. On the bright side, I haven't gotten any Howlers yet, so Mum and Dad must not know...

"We're ready to begin."

I looked up, and felt a knot of fear form in my stomach. Ginny, my beloved little sister, was standing before a line of jars, bottles and brushes arrayed like surgical tools. They had covered the mirrors with sheets. Hermione, my long-time friend, former girlfriend, and all-around trustworthy person, was holding a contraption festooned with the sort of straps, laces and buckles one usually associates with instruments of torture. "Am I going to have to put that thing on?" I asked, pointing.

"Yes," Hermione said, "but first you've got to put on these." She tossed me a wad of black fabric, which I dropped the moment I figured out what it was.

"Hermione, I may be wearing a dress, but I will not wear women's underpants."

She sucked air through her teeth again. "Those aren't just any underpants, Ron. I've charmed them. To help de-emphasize your...ah...anatomy."

"To hide your prick," Ginny translated.

Hermione flushed pink. "Ginny!"

"What? He's sixteen years old, Hermione, he knows he has one..."

"Ginny!" I felt myself going red again.

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, come on, Ron, we all know you're a boy in here, there's no reason to be coy about it."

I glared at her. She batted her eyelashes.

"The whole point of the drag show," Hermione said, as if she hadn't stopped, "is to fool the judges. You're not going to fool anybody if they can see your...your manhood through the dress. Oh, be quiet," she hissed, as Ginny had broken out in giggles.

I snatched up the panties and glowered at them. "Fine. But you two are going to pay for this later."

"That's fine," Ginny gasped, "we'll have plenty of money once Bill pays us for the pictures—"

After a moment's consideration, I jumped into the shower and drew the curtain. "And after this I put on the Iron Maiden thingy, yes?"

"It's a bra, Ron, a strapless and backless bra."

"Of course. How silly of me. You realize I haven't got anything to put in the bra, right?"

"Leave that to us."

I folded my jeans over the side of the tub and took a deep breath. Gryffindors are brave, Gryffindors are courageous, Gryffindors are not afraid of women's underwear. Secure in this thought, I shucked my boxers and put on the panites. They were extremely...ah...snug.

"Okay," I said, "I've got them on. Hand me the Iron Maiden."

"It's a bra..."

"Not so fast," Ginny said. "Let us have a look at you."

"Are you insane?"

"Ron," she said slowly, "I am your sister. We used to take baths together, remember? There's nothing there that I haven't seen before."

"I know that..."

Hermione giggled. She should not be allowed to, ever again. "If you're that scared, Ron, I'll shut my eyes."

"I'm not scared, I'm just... mostly naked," I said, failing to sound even the least bit convincing.

Ginny giggled again. She shouldn't be allowed either. "This is getting ridiculous, Ron, you'll have to come out eventually." I suddenly found the curtain ripped open, and in a moment of blind panic, totally forgot where I would rather place my hands.

Ginny doubled over laughing; Hermione, thankfully, just frowned at me. "I thought I told you to shave."

"I did shave!" I pointed at my jaw. "See? I even got my sideburns even this time!"

She sighed. "That's not where I meant, Ron..." It must've been obvious that I had no idea where she had meant, because she drew her wand. "Don't worry, I'll just cast a simple Hair-Removing Charm...depilaro!"

Before I had time to explain that I didn't want any more hair removed, thank you, I felt a moment of something like static shock all over my body. I looked down. There was quite a lot of ginger hair in bottom of the tub, and not much left on my skin. I checked my scalp to make sure I hadn't gone bald, then glared at Hermione. "You could try warning a bloke before you do that!"

She rolled her eyes. "Come here, Ron. We have to get you dressed..." She picked Ginny up off the floor and handed her half of the Iron Maiden. "This is charmed, too, so don't be, ah, alarmed at anything..."

"What am I going to have to be alarmed at?" I asked.

They tellingly ignored the question.

It was as awful as it looked to get on. I held my arms over my head, shut my eyes, and prayed for death. Eventually they stopped yanking on things; finally, I heard a zipper snick shut, and opened my eyes. "Is it over?"

Hermione was already on the other side of the room, fiddling with something tan and horrible-looking. "Yes, you big baby."

I crossed my arms indignantly. "I am not a big...baby...the hell?" The cups of the Iron Maiden were full of...somethings. They certainly felt like breasts. They looked like breasts. I bounce slightly on the balls of my feet and they moved like breasts. I peered under the edge, but there was nothing between my chest and the fabric, except quite a bit of empty space. "This has officially passed from embarrassing to deeply disturbing."

"Well, perhaps if you'd actually participated in planning this..." Hermione handed me two horrible tan thingies, and a fistful of little straps. "Those are stockings and garters. I presume you can figure them out by yourself?"

I glared at her and put them on. It was bizarre not to feel any hair on my legs as I did so. I even managed to put on the garters properly, despite several false starts and a few sacrastic offers of help from Ginny. I was just about to point this out to Hermione when I noticed she had removed the plastic bag from the clothes hanger. I noticed what was left on the clothes hanger. "I...Herm...you don't expect me to wear that, do you?"

She gestured rather threatening with her lint brush. "What's wrong with it?"

"It...it's indecent!"

Ginny smirked. "That's the point."

I tried to glare at her, but I was too incredulous. "Virginia Weasley, get those thoughts out of your head right this minute, because even if you do get the dress once I'm done you'll never leave the house in it."

She pouted.

Hermione appeared to be counting to ten, backwards, in Greek. "Ron, there are three options before us. One, you put on this dress that we have so painstakingly picked out for you. Two, you go to Hogsmede wearing little more than what you have on now. Three, we Stun you and dress you ourselves."

I shut my eyes and took a steadying breath. Gryffindors are not afraid of women's clothing! "Give it here, then. And put your wands away."

The dress was red. The dress was short. The dress was almost as snug as the underpants. I slipped it over my head and wriggled a bit to get it over the Iron Maiden; it barely covered my garters. Hell, it barely covered anything. "I'm not just dressed like a woman, I'm dressed like a loose woman..."

"Oh, quit moaning and sit down. We have to do your make-up."

I sat down on a toilet, as there was no place else. Hermione drew her wand again. "Just close your eyes and it'll be over in a minute," she said. "And cross your legs." Over by the sinks, Ginny was selecting arcane make-up thingies with a mien that reminded me inexplicably of Professor Snape. I shut my eyes.

My scalp began to itch. I immediately touched it to make sure I wasn't bald, but I definately felt hair there...more than there ought to be...and it suddenly it was tickling my shoulders, and then my back... "I thought you were getting me a wig!"

"The charm is so much more effective, Ron. And besides, we can always cut it tomorrow morning."

I heard Ginny drop something over by the sinks. "Or you could just leave it like that, and make Bill jealous."

When my scalp stopped itching, I reached around my back. My hair now came to a halt just below my waist. "Hermione, all of these charms are reversable, right?"

"Don't you trust me?"

"That doesn't answer my question."

"Yes, Ron, I can fix them all. In fact, if you're so worried, I can use a time-delayed version of finite incantatem, so you'll turn back into a pumpkin at midnight."

"I'll what?" I jumped to my feet.

Hermione winced. "It's just an expression."

"You're turning me into a pumpkin?"

"I just said..."

"I never agreed to any pumpkins!"

Even Ginny looked worried. "Hermione, you never mentioned pumpkins before..."

She through her hands in the air. "It's an expression, it's a Muggle thing! I just meant that all the charms would disappear, you'd go back to being a normal, hairy boy in tight underwear with no boobs!"

"And what's any of that got to do with pumpkins?"

She sighed. "Never mind. Just...never mind. Sit down, please, you're looming."

I sat down. Bloody Muggles and their bloody nonsense sayings... "So I will go back to normal, then, yes?"

"Yes! Now hold still."

I sat on the toilet for what felt like hours. The girls did things to me. I felt the touch of brushes and sponges on my face, wet and dry, firm and feather-light. They combed my hair. They put on lipstick. Just things.

"All right, how about this color?"

"Too dark. He'll look anemic."

"Maybe if we mixed it with this?"

"Could work...oops."

"Oops?!"

"Calm down, already, Ron..."

"This is my face you're oopsing at!"

"Ron, what you don't know can't hurt you. Hold still."

"...oops."

"What now?"

"I can fix that..."

Hermione tapped me on the shoulder. "Open your eyes. I don't want you squirming for this part."

"Then quit doing things that make me squirm..."

She held up a fat black pencil with a greasy-looking lead. "This is eyeliner. I'm going to put it on you. That means I have to draw on your eyelids."

"No."

"You already threatened to Stun me and to turn me into a pumpkin, and you think I'm going to let you stick something pointy in my eye?"

She looked helplessly at Ginny. "Will you let her do it? She's your sister, after all..."

"She's also the one who kept saying 'oops.'"

Hermione hissed through her teeth. "Oh, this is ridiculous...petrificus totalus!"

There was no helping it; my wand was with my real clothes on the edge of the tub, and she was standing at point-blank range. I flopped onto the floor in a Full-Body Bind, and could only glare while she leaned over and started drawing on my face. "I suppose I might as well do you nails while you're down there," Ginny said helpfully, and hunkered down with her wand and a bottle of enamel. I glared at her, too.

When they finally lifted the curse, I sat up and massaged the back of my head, noting that my fingernails were now long and lacquered bright red. "That was hardly necessary."

"We had to get it on you somehow..." Hermione brushed herself off, passed Ginny the lint brush and opened the bathroom door. "We're done," she called out.

As I stood up (and tried to pull the skirt down to a modest height), I head my roomates' voices. "About time," Seamus muttered.

Harry said, "It sounded like you were murdering him in there."

"That's because Ron's a big baby."

"I am not!"

"What was all that yelling about pumpkins earlier?"

Ginny handed me a pair of shoes; at least, I assumed they were shoes, because they were foot-shaped, although I had been under the impression that shoes ought to be geometrically sound, as opposed to, say, having one end propped up on stilts. They also hurt like hell when I put them on. "Where'd you get these from?"

"Parvati Patil. Hermione used an Engorgement Charm so they'd fit."

"Lovely." I wobbled towards the bathroom door, but stopped just out of the sight of the beds. "I'm coming out now."

Seamus started to say something, but I heard a loud crash that sounded suspiciously like a Charms book flung at high speeds. I took a deep breath and wobbled out into the room, ignoring Hermione's self-satisfied smirking. Harry, Seamus and Dean were all seated on Dean's bed, surrounded by textbooks and scrolls. They looked up at me, and three jaws dropped. Seamus' eyes got as big around as saucers.

I asked, "What?"

Seamus looked at the ceiling. Dean stuffed his face in a book. Harry began to furiously polish his glasses on the edge of his sleeve.

"What, do I look that bad?"

Seamus coughed loudly. Harry said, "Er...no...well..." Without putting his glasses back on, he reached over and pulled open Seamus' wardrobe so I could look in the mirror mounted inside the door.

Staring back at me was a drop-dead gorgeous woman with legs that went on forever and a killer figure. I wobbled forward; so did she. I touched my face, and it still felt like my face, mostly, except for a film of powder and paint. I was still clearly me, and yet...not. Definately not. At least with the Polyjuice Potion there had been no lurking resemblance like this, and anyway, I'd been lumpy trollish Crabbe, not this...whoever this was. I realized, suddenly, that if I were to meet myself on the street right now, I would go for me. "That's it, I give up, this is the most fundamentally disturbing thing I've ever done."

"It's not that bad," Hermione said peevishly. "It's just a little make-up."

"We've done loads worse that dress in drag, Ron," Harry added.

I shook my head. "No. No, this is worse. I don't think it would be more upsetting to me if you broke my leg, tossed me in the Chamber of Secrets, and made me play chess with a giant spider while Fleur Delacour watched. This is fucking weird."

Ginny made a face. "Quit being melodramatic. Now, do you want to be late and have this all be for nothing?"

"Oh, god, no."

"They get your cloak on, it's time."

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Disclaimer: The song used in this story is "Sweet Transvestite" from The Rocky Horror Picture Show. That, as far as I know, belongs to Richard O'Brian. The point being, I'm not he. So no suing there either.