Chapter Two- Misbehavior.

It was hot backstage, unbearably hot, or perhaps it was just a side effect of slamming down butterbeer as fast as I could get hold of it. Justin Finch-Fletchly was looking at me out of the corner of his eye every once in a while as though I was going to hit him; I stared straight ahead and tried not to acknowledge his existence. This was partly his fault, after all. Seamus signed me up for this because he think I'm a fag, because I got caught with Justin in Greenhouse Two, because Malfoy...

A boy in a frothy wedding dress who had been singing about virgins came off stage, grinning; for a moment I glimpsed blonde hair glowing in the footlights. Malfoy. It was his fault most of all: his fault for doing that damn little dance, for making me think that way, for making me wonder...and then, for ignoring it, going on as if nothing had happened. Maybe I could've dealt with it rationally if he'd said something, even something insulting, or even started acting differently; but he didn't do anything at all. That was probably the most maddening thing of all. Hence, Justin, and hence, Seamus, and hence, I was sitting behind a curtain in the cellar of the Three Broomsticks, waiting for my turn in a drag show.

I do not know how these things happen to me sometimes.

Pritchard and Baddock, a pair of Slytherins, quit picking at each other's natty wigs and went on stage next. I surreptitiously tried to adjust the Iron Maiden I wore under my dress, which Hermione insisted was actually some kind of brassiere. She and Ginny had conspired on my "costume," and Lavender Brown had put together my "act," such as it was. My roommates had compelled me to go along with them. Dean had said, "Come on, Weasley, one of us had to enter."

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

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

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

Either way I was still here, and it was much, much too hot. I itched all over, mostly due to my hair, which the girls had lengthened by magic until it fell nearly to my waist. This had to qualify as the most fundamentally disturbing thing I'd ever done, Polyjuice Potion included. I'd gotten a good look at myself in the mirror earlier, but there'd been nothing there I recognized; just a tall, attractive woman in an indecently short dress and the least geometrically sound shoes imaginable. When I had realized that I would go for me, or at least, for the woman in the mirror, I had resolved that the rest of the night was a lost cause. Nothing could be weirder than this. Oh, Seamus was going to pay…

Loud laughter could be heard from the house as Pritchard and Baddock performed. The loudest in my ears was Malfoy's. He was sitting right in front of the stage, just a few feet aware from where I would be standing; he would be looking right at me the whole damn time. Surely I would embarrass myself beyond all hope of recovery. I still had dreams about what happened last summer—most were rather too sticky to qualify as nightmares—and it would just be too much, to know he was out there and watching me, knowing what we both had done.

Pritchard and Baddock came off, looking flustered. I was up next. My heart leapt into my throat as I stood up and wobbled towards the curtain in my geometrically unsound shoes. This was going to be awful, this was going to be a nightmare... I shouldn't be so hung up about this. He was wearing more make-up and less clothes than I am now...not by much, granted...but still! I saw him vulnerable, embarrassed, it should make me feel better... Only he hadn't been vulnerable or embarrassed in the slightest. Somehow, the little shit had been completely confident and in control from the word go, and I was the only one embarrassed about anything. But he didn't know you were watching him when he went up there, did he?

Had he?

I paused halfway on stage. Had Malfoy known I was in the audience that night? I had spotted him before—had he seen me? And had he danced anyway, knowing that I was out there, knowing what he was doing to me?

From the opposite side of the stage, Madame Rosmerta beckoned me out impatiently. I went out, but all of a sudden my shoes were no longer wobbly and I no longer itched. I felt incredibly calm. My purpose was now clear: I was not here to embarrass myself in front of half of Hogwarts, I was here to make Malfoy suffer. Preferably in much the same way he had made me, only a whole lot worse, and with an audience.

When the lights came up, I smiled out at the house while a few people whistled or gasped, but my eyes locked onto Malfoy's pale, pointed face. He seemed not to recognize me for a moment, but just as the music began, a look of complete shock began to creep across his features.

Lavender had arranged all of this; I had just done what she told me to, when she told me, and tried not to think about it too hard. A recording of her voice suddenly filled the room, I merely had to lip-synch along with it.

This was easy; more than easy, this was fun. Malfoy was staring at me as though he'd just been struck with an oar, and the rest of the audience seemed to be enjoying it. I could just barely see Hermione, Ginny and my dorm mates gathered at a back table, laughing at me. I'll give them something to laugh about...

I started to improvise my own choreography, much as I knew it would bug Lavender. I paused on the edge of the stage, winking at a couple of fifth-year Ravenclaws, and watched them turn three shades of magenta. This was weird, definitely weird...but not bad. They weren't really seeing me, anyway, they were seeing that woman from the mirror. She wasn't nervous or awkward or anything less that confident, why should I be?

Malfoy was still staring at me, apparently unable to process what he was seeing. Crabbe and Goyle, ever present, appeared about as concerned as they ever did. Pansy Parkinson was with them, too, and she was watching him critically. I gave him an exaggerated wink; he flushed, then scowled; Pansy narrowed her eyes. Draco turned to whisper something to Crabbe, apparently dead set on ignoring me. Oh, no you don't.

I made my way down off the stage—it was only a few feet up anyway—and into the audience. An enchanted spotlight followed me out.

I made my way, in a roundabout fashion, to Malfoy's table. He twisted around in his seat to watch me, and a look of horror slowly dawned on his face. That's right, you little bastard, it's your turn...how do you like being the prey this time?

I stopped right in front of him and pulled him to his feet by the front of his robes. Pansy, Crabbe, Goyle and a few other Slytherins watched, dumbfounded, as he actually stood for me. My geometrically unsound shoes had at least four-inch heels, and he didn't have those come-fuck-me boots this time; the top of his head wouldn't quite touch my chin. I let one finger trail down his chest, slowly, pressing hard, and managed to actually make his breathing hitch.

I leaned in, and took his face in my other hand, tilting it up towards mine. He looked uncertain, off-center, and even—yes—just a little afraid. Not at all calm or in control. I'd gotten to him, finally, after six years of trying, and in a way that nobody could miss. I leaned even closer.

For the briefest moment, I pressed my lips over his. Before he could react, before the people the back probably even realized what I was doing, I shoved him away with the hand still pressed flat against his chest. To my extreme disappointment, he managed to land in his chair and stay there; but the damage was done, in the form of my dark red lipstick all over his mouth. Pansy looked absolutely furious. I strutted triumphantly back onto the stage in time for the last line.

I didn't much care about the applause, or the whistling, or the catcalls or the jeering as the lights went down. All I cared about was Malfoy glaring at me like it was going out of style, and covering his mouth with a napkin. Not wiping; just covering. I smirked at him; he scowled. I had a feeling that this meant war.

Justin was the next one out on stage; I went into the changing rooms Madame Rosmerta had provided and starting removing my costume. Hermione had promised to undo all the charms and put me right before I went to bed, but I wanted out of the Iron Maiden as quickly as possible. My brain was humming with adrenaline while I changed. I had gotten Malfoy back, gotten him back in spades, even if I had been dressed as a woman while I was doing it. I hadn't been flustered, or nervous, or anything. I hoped, irrationally, that he had a hard-on in front of everybody.

I was getting the last few buttons on my shirt when Ginny, Hermione and Harry stormed in. "What was that?" Ginny demanded, looking outraged. "What did you do that for?"

"Do what?" I asked breezily.

"Snog Malfoy in front of half the school," Harry said irately.

I rolled my eyes. "Oh, come off it, I wasn't snogging him. Just...having him on a bit." I smirked again. "Call it payback."

Hermione grabbed my hair from behind and started trimming it back to its original length with her wand. "Whatever. And here you were the one complaining about people talking, after what happened with Justin..."

"If they're going to call me a fag anyway, I might as well get to enjoy myself," I said.

Harry wrinkled his nose. "You enjoyed that?"

"You didn't see the look on his face afterwards."

Ginny made a face, but pulled a washrag and a bottle of potion from her pocket. "Here. So you can wash your make-up off. Oh—" She tapped my hands with her wand, and my fingernails returned to their original length as the enamel vanished. "There. Wash up and everything will be back to normal."

"Except my legs are shaved and I'm going to have marks under my arms for weeks from the Iron Maiden."

"It's a bra..."

I sneaked upstairs once Hermione was finished and ducked into the men's room. I had just managed to get my face clean when Justin came in, stuffing his wig into his robes pocket. He jumped when he saw me at the sink. "Er...hello, Ron."

"Hello, Justin," I said. I hadn't been on speaking terms with his for the past week, but I was still high off my little triumph and feeling unusually charitable.

He looked immensely relieved not to be shouted at, and started talking very fast. "Look, Ron, I just wanted to say, I'm sorry about what happen, it was my fault for suggesting the greenhouse. I should've known that Professor Sprout would come in, and I never meant for the whole school to find out, and I understand why you haven't been talking to me but I just wanted to apologize, because I don't want any hard feelings, though I understand if you don't want to forgive me because it's your reputation that's been hit the hardest. Will you accept my apology?"

I wiped my face one last time and considered him. He still had on some make-up, nothing nearly as heavy as what I'd been wearing, and I could see a pair of Mary Janes poking out from the hem of his robes. His curly hair stuck out in all directions, and he was looking at me so earnestly that I was reminded of some sort of small dopey spaniel, albeit one wearing mascara.

If they were going to call me a fag anyway...

I smiled and put my hand on his shoulder. "'Course I will. Water under the bridge." He looked intensely, almost pathetically relieved. "You want to grab a drink before we go back to school?"

Justin raised his eyebrows; I think he caught my meaning. "Sure, I could go for a butterbeer..."

"Good," I said, thinking of that tortured look on Malfoy's face, "because I feel like orange juice."

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