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Description
Sparkle Sparkle Princesses

Harry yawned and spread a large glop of raspberry jam over his toast listlessly.  Hermione had forced him and Ron to stay up half the night studying and now he was paying the penalty.

“Have some orange juice, Harry.  You’ll feel better,” she said.  He obediently reached for the juice and shivered when a bizarre tingling sensation swept over him.  What the hell?  He stared at his own hand in surprise—it was now covered by a thin white glove.  Next to him, Ron spewed a shower of pumpkin juice from his mouth, nearly covering Colin Creevey across from him.

“Harry!  What the—?”

Harry followed his gaze and then stood up so suddenly he completely overbalanced and fell backward off the bench, landing with an ungraceful sprawl.  His skirts flew up and bunched around his lap in a mass of green flounces.

Wait a fucking moment—skirts?  He gaped down at his clothing in pure astonishment.  He was clad in a green silk dress, pale green hose, garters, and shiny green high heels.  Dainty gloves covered his hands and arms.  As soon as his wardrobe fully registered, he became cognizant of giggles, chuckles, and actual uproarious laughter.  The latter came, of course, from the Slytherin table.

“What the fuck?” Harry bellowed and threw himself to his feet.  Not the wisest move, as it turned out, because high heels were not exactly easy to stand in.  He tottered for a moment and went down again.  The room exploded with laughter.

“Nice suspenders, Harry,” Fred said with a smirk.

“Do the panties match?” George asked.

Harry climbed to his feet and tottered on the wicked shoes.  The Slytherin table was in near-hysterics.  “Malfoy!” Harry snarled as his eyes sought the blond demon at the Slytherin table.  Malfoy fairly shook with merriment.  Harry glared venomously and raised his wand before muttering an angry spell.

The blond’s smirk disappeared instantly and Harry smiled in satisfaction as Malfoy shot to his feet.  Harry had thought Malfoy would look less than flattering in Gryffindor red, but it actually looked rather nice with the mortified blush tinting his cheeks.  “Potter!” the Slytherin roared.

“What’s the matter, Malfoy?” he yelled.  “Is it not slutty enough for you?”

“You bastard!”  Malfoy’s dark wand lifted and aimed at Harry, who dove aside.  The spell missed and instead hit a fifth-year Ravenclaw boy who shrieked when his blue robes turned into a Slytherin green corset and a ruffled skirt.  He shot to his feet with a bellow of rage and turned to Malfoy with fire in his eyes.  A shout of laughter from the Hufflepuff table distracted the Ravenclaw, who snarled, “Think this is funny, Smith?”

Zacharias Smith screamed like a girl when he looked down to find himself wearing a cobalt blue tutu and ballerina slippers.  His cohorts at the Hufflepuff table came under attack for falling on the floor laughing and soon half the table wore an assortment of gowns and skirts.  Harry stared with amazement when Ron hollered and launched himself across the table.  Fred and George scattered as Ron tried to reach them with bare fists flailing.  The hem of the sequined yellow evening gown he wore tore from the abuse.

“Calm down, little brother!” George yelled.

“Everyone else is wearing them,” Fred added.  “We figured you were feeling left out!”

Ron finally remembered his wand and started pinging spells at his fleeing brothers.  Unfortunately, he hit everyone but the twins, leaving dress-clad chaos in his wake.  The room erupted into bedlam.  Harry ignored it all, focused on the blond bastard that had started it.  He wanted nothing more than to wrap his hands around Malfoy’s neck and squeeze.  He stalked around the Gryffindor table, heading for the Slytherin.  He dodged a spell and watched a younger Gryffindor girl yelp when her robes became a tent-sized plaid dress.

Apparently Malfoy was also looking for him, because he encountered the blond near the end of the tables with wand in hand and an angry glare on his face.  “Potter!” Malfoy hissed.  Harry halted in surprise and his brows rose, because Malfoy actually looked… fetching in girl clothes.  He had a straggly red ribbon in his platinum hair that matched the high colour in his cheeks.  His pale shoulders were bare, exposed by the gold-edged sleeves.

Harry found himself grinning.  Malfoy’s lips quirked into an O of surprise and then he raised his wand—probably to put Harry in something even more heinous than Slytherin green sparkles.  “Oh no you don’t!” Harry cried and launched himself at the blond.  His shoulder hit Malfoy’s midsection and they both went down in a tangle of skirts.

Harry immediately grabbed Malfoy’s wand hand to prevent hexing.  He hissed like an angry cat and thrashed wildly, forcing Harry to sprawl over him and crush him into the stone floor.

“Potter, look out!” Malfoy cried, silver eyes wild through a tousled cloud of platinum hair.  Fearing a trick, Harry nevertheless looked up to see an enraged Millicent Bulstrode pounding toward them wearing a terrifying mass of ruffled pink tulle and an expression of venomous rage.  Harry yelped and rolled beneath the Gryffindor table, pulling Malfoy with him.  Bulstrode’s pink jackboots narrowly missed them as she stampeded past, thankfully intent on reaching someone else.

Under the table, Harry found himself still atop Malfoy.  His eyes met Malfoy’s in startled surprise.  “Fuck, that was close.”

Malfoy nodded.  “She would have crushed us both.  I think she could take on a rhinoceros and win.”

“I wouldn’t doubt it.”  Harry grinned.  “I wonder who put her in that horrible outfit?”
“Someone soon to find themselves in the hospital wing.”

Harry nodded and then stopped when he realized he was having a semi-normal conversation with Draco Malfoy.  They almost seemed to have discovered an oasis of calm—the shrieking of hexes and bellows from unwitting victims was muted by the chairs and dark tablecloth.

“Of course, that is where you are going to be, Potter, for putting me in bloody Gryffindor red!”

Harry smirked.  “Let me get this straight—you’re not upset that I put you in a dress, you’re upset about the colour?”

Malfoy sniffed and looked away.  “Well, honestly, if you insist on putting me in a ludicrous outfit the least you could have done is make it tasteful.  At least yours is a flattering colour.”

Harry was flabbergasted for a moment.  “Flattering?  That was almost a compliment, Malfoy.”

A crafty look crossed the Slytherin’s features.  “I did not expect you to look decent in a dress, Potter, but you’re surprisingly attractive.  If you were a girl I might even consider shagging you.”

Harry gaped for a moment until he realized Malfoy was having him on.  A competitive surge overcame him and he returned the wicked expression.  “I think you were born to wear a dress, Malfoy.  You’re so pretty I’d consider shagging you without you turning into a girl.”

Harry had been joking, but Malfoy’s gasp and subsequent jerk of surprise made him take another look at the blond.  With his eyes wide and startled and his lips partially open and wet, he really was attractive.  Harry reached up and brushed a stray lock of hair away from Malfoy’s eyes.  He seemed to have shocked the Slytherin into speechlessness, a condition he liked a lot.  He could see Malfoy recovering, preparing to speak. Harry wanted to prevent that annoyance and it suddenly occurred to him how he might stop the scathing tones from forthcoming.  He quickly planted his lips on Malfoy’s.

An odd squeak emanated from the blond and the body beneath Harry’s went stiff as a board.  Suddenly terrified of his temerity, he squeezed the wrist attached to Malfoy’s wand hand more tightly and sucked gently on his soft lips.  He wished he had more experience in the kissing department.  One ill-fated kiss with Cho Chang and a couple of random snogs with Ginny Weasley hardly qualified him to… do whatever he was doing to Draco Malfoy.

What the hell am I doing? he wondered in sudden panic.  Malfoy was going to kill him and sic Crabbe and Goyle on his remains.

And then he felt a hand slip into his hair and Malfoy’s lips moved under his, parting just slightly.  Disbelief nearly made him immobile, but instinct thankfully took over and his own lips parted to allow his tongue access to Malfoy’s.  The first tentative brush of wet on wet nearly undid Harry as an incredible new world of possibility opened with the suddenness of Pandora’s Box.

I’m kissing a boy, he thought in astonishment.  And then that boy twisted the hand that was wrapped in Harry’s hair and pulled him even closer, apparently to launch and assault with his tongue that turned Harry’s senses inside out.  Harry was inexperienced, but Malfoy, it seemed, was not.  His tongue skated over Harry’s and then explored his gums, teeth, and the roof of his mouth in delightful, almost electric flicks.  Harry rapidly forgot how to breathe and then decided breathing was overrated, because he would be perfectly happy to die with his mouth fastened to Malfoy’s, as long as the blond kept doing that and, oh, Merlin, that!

Harry’s hand had loosened on Malfoy’s wrist, but his other clenched in the frills of the red dress, itching to touch something other than silk.  Malfoy shifted beneath him and Harry settled more firmly between the Slytherin’s legs, which opened up a whole new arena of sensations.  Malfoy’s ribs were hard beneath his and his abdomen soft.  Malfoy’s skirt was bunched between them, which led Harry to believe the legs currently resting on either side of his hips were, quite possibly, exposed.

Malfoy wrenched his lips away suddenly, which was a tragedy.  Harry made a petulant huff and tried to kiss the blond again, but the soft mouth evaded his, forcing Harry to kiss the edge of his jaw, which was not a bad substitute.  Harry opened his mouth and nibbled, grazing his teeth along the hard ridge.

“Potter.  What are you doing?”

“Mmmm.  I don’t know, but you taste awfully good.”  He licked a small stripe beneath Malfoy’s jaw and breathed in the delicate scent of whatever soap Malfoy had used that morning.

The hand that was buried in his hair wrenched hard at it and Harry raised his head with a muted yelp.  “Ow!  What was that for?”

“You’re licking me, you dolt!”

“Well, you kissed me!”

“You kissed me first!  Why did you do that?”

“It seemed like a good way to shut you up.  I think I’ll do it again.”

He lowered his head to suck on Malfoy’s amazing lips once more, but another yank nearly tore his hair out by the roots.  He scowled.

“No you don’t, Potter!  No more kissing.”

“But you’re so good at it.”

The silver eyes slid away from his and Harry wished it was a bit lighter beneath the table, because he felt sure another spectacular blush lit Malfoy’s fair features.  “I know I’m good at it, Potter.  That’s not the point.”

“Am I good at it?” Harry asked, suddenly worried that he was a substandard kisser.  The fact that he cared whether or not Malfoy thought he was a bad kisser was not a subject he cared to delve into at the moment.  Not when there was possibly more kissing to be done.

A thud hit the table above them and sent a trickle of dust wafting over them.  Harry fought a sneeze by burying his face in Malfoy’s neck.  He was growing fonder of the soft blond by the moment.

“Get off of me, Potter.  We need to get out of here.”  The hand in his hair yanked again.

“No,” said Harry.

“No?  No?”  Malfoy blinked at him and Harry thought he had never seen anything quite so cute.  It must be the hair ribbon.

“Not until you tell me why you kissed me back.”

Malfoy scowled.  “You are insufferable, Potter.”

“Apparently not completely insufferable or you wouldn’t have kissed me.”

“It was simple curiosity.  Nothing more.”

Harry frowned.  “All right, then.”  He suddenly realized how ridiculous it was, kissing his nemesis and feeling deflated because the boy refused to kiss him again.  What the fuck was he thinking?  Malfoy was going to have a field day telling his Slytherin cohorts about this.  He pushed himself away from the blond so sharply he cracked the back of his head on the table and winced when Malfoy’s tangled fingers tore out some hair with their departure.

He crawled out from under the table, wanting to escape Malfoy and the irritating knowledge that he would think about kissing every time he saw the bastard from now on.  He got to his feet just in time to see a random hex catch Professor Snape, whose normally angry face turned even more livid when his robes changed into a frilly black dress.

“Fifty points from Gryffindor!” Snape bellowed.

Hermione drew herself up indignantly, looking almost regal despite the fact that she wore a bizarre outfit reminiscent of a Japanese school girl.  Harry noted absently that she had really nice legs, a fact that Ron seemed to have noticed as well, judging by the glazed look on his face as he gaped at her.  “That hex came from Ravenclaw!” she protested to Snape.

“Ten points from Gryffindor for being argumentative.  Stop this at once!”

The hexing ground to an immediate halt at Snape’s command.  Harry looked around curiously and noticed Malfoy standing beside him, looking decidedly rumpled in his red and gold flounces.  He glared at Harry, who grinned despite his annoyance.  The Slytherin simply looked too adorable.  To his surprise, the blond’s glare faded and a smirk curved his lips.

“Nice tiara, Potter.”

Harry reached up and felt a metal object in his hair, unnoticed until now.  He yanked it out and tossed it aside.

“All of you back to your dorms!” Snape shouted.  “We will decide who started this later.”  His baleful gaze fastened immediately on Harry.

“I’m surprised he hasn’t blamed it on me already,” Harry muttered and turned to make his way from the hall.  He kicked off the green pumps after nearly tripping again and was bypassed by Malfoy, who sashayed gracefully in his strappy red heels.

“It’s called grace, Potter.  Pity you have none.”

Harry snatched up his green shoes and ran after the blond, who had joined the queue of students in varied states of feminine dress.  Harry’s garters itched and he wondered how girls could stand wearing such bizarre contraptions.  He caught Malfoy before the blond reached the steps to the Slytherin dungeon and dragged him behind a convenient suit of armor.

“Look, Malfoy, do you plan to—”

“Kiss you again?”

Harry blinked at him.  He had meant to ask if Malfoy planned to rat him out to the Slytherins—and thereby to the whole school, but the mention of kissing drew his gaze back to the slightly reddened lips.  “Kiss me again?” he repeated stupidly.

“Certainly not here, Potter,” Malfoy hissed.  “But if you’re going to stalk me until I give in to your idiotic urges, then I suggest you meet me in the abandoned Transfiguration classroom on the third floor.  Tonight.  At midnight.  Feel free to wear the dress.”

With that, Malfoy detached his wrist from Harry’s grip and disappeared down the dungeon steps, leaving Harry in a bewildered daze.  Had Malfoy just suggested meeting him later?  For more kissing?

Harry’s lopsided grin stayed on his face long after he reached the Gryffindor dorm, where he threw himself on his bed and replayed the scene beneath the table.  Ron found him there forty minutes later.

“Harry?”  His friend’s voice sounded concerned.

“Yeah, Ron?”

“Why are you still wearing that dress?”

Description
Sparkle Sparkle Princesses

Harry yawned and spread a large glop of raspberry jam over his toast listlessly.  Hermione had forced him and Ron to stay up half the night studying and now he was paying the penalty.

“Have some orange juice, Harry.  You’ll feel better,” she said.  He obediently reached for the juice and shivered when a bizarre tingling sensation swept over him.  What the hell?  He stared at his own hand in surprise—it was now covered by a thin white glove.  Next to him, Ron spewed a shower of pumpkin juice from his mouth, nearly covering Colin Creevey across from him.

“Harry!  What the—?”

Harry followed his gaze and then stood up so suddenly he completely overbalanced and fell backward off the bench, landing with an ungraceful sprawl.  His skirts flew up and bunched around his lap in a mass of green flounces.

Wait a fucking moment—skirts?  He gaped down at his clothing in pure astonishment.  He was clad in a green silk dress, pale green hose, garters, and shiny green high heels.  Dainty gloves covered his hands and arms.  As soon as his wardrobe fully registered, he became cognizant of giggles, chuckles, and actual uproarious laughter.  The latter came, of course, from the Slytherin table.

“What the fuck?” Harry bellowed and threw himself to his feet.  Not the wisest move, as it turned out, because high heels were not exactly easy to stand in.  He tottered for a moment and went down again.  The room exploded with laughter.

“Nice suspenders, Harry,” Fred said with a smirk.

“Do the panties match?” George asked.

Harry climbed to his feet and tottered on the wicked shoes.  The Slytherin table was in near-hysterics.  “Malfoy!” Harry snarled as his eyes sought the blond demon at the Slytherin table.  Malfoy fairly shook with merriment.  Harry glared venomously and raised his wand before muttering an angry spell.

The blond’s smirk disappeared instantly and Harry smiled in satisfaction as Malfoy shot to his feet.  Harry had thought Malfoy would look less than flattering in Gryffindor red, but it actually looked rather nice with the mortified blush tinting his cheeks.  “Potter!” the Slytherin roared.

“What’s the matter, Malfoy?” he yelled.  “Is it not slutty enough for you?”

“You bastard!”  Malfoy’s dark wand lifted and aimed at Harry, who dove aside.  The spell missed and instead hit a fifth-year Ravenclaw boy who shrieked when his blue robes turned into a Slytherin green corset and a ruffled skirt.  He shot to his feet with a bellow of rage and turned to Malfoy with fire in his eyes.  A shout of laughter from the Hufflepuff table distracted the Ravenclaw, who snarled, “Think this is funny, Smith?”

Zacharias Smith screamed like a girl when he looked down to find himself wearing a cobalt blue tutu and ballerina slippers.  His cohorts at the Hufflepuff table came under attack for falling on the floor laughing and soon half the table wore an assortment of gowns and skirts.  Harry stared with amazement when Ron hollered and launched himself across the table.  Fred and George scattered as Ron tried to reach them with bare fists flailing.  The hem of the sequined yellow evening gown he wore tore from the abuse.

“Calm down, little brother!” George yelled.

“Everyone else is wearing them,” Fred added.  “We figured you were feeling left out!”

Ron finally remembered his wand and started pinging spells at his fleeing brothers.  Unfortunately, he hit everyone but the twins, leaving dress-clad chaos in his wake.  The room erupted into bedlam.  Harry ignored it all, focused on the blond bastard that had started it.  He wanted nothing more than to wrap his hands around Malfoy’s neck and squeeze.  He stalked around the Gryffindor table, heading for the Slytherin.  He dodged a spell and watched a younger Gryffindor girl yelp when her robes became a tent-sized plaid dress.

Apparently Malfoy was also looking for him, because he encountered the blond near the end of the tables with wand in hand and an angry glare on his face.  “Potter!” Malfoy hissed.  Harry halted in surprise and his brows rose, because Malfoy actually looked… fetching in girl clothes.  He had a straggly red ribbon in his platinum hair that matched the high colour in his cheeks.  His pale shoulders were bare, exposed by the gold-edged sleeves.

Harry found himself grinning.  Malfoy’s lips quirked into an O of surprise and then he raised his wand—probably to put Harry in something even more heinous than Slytherin green sparkles.  “Oh no you don’t!” Harry cried and launched himself at the blond.  His shoulder hit Malfoy’s midsection and they both went down in a tangle of skirts.

Harry immediately grabbed Malfoy’s wand hand to prevent hexing.  He hissed like an angry cat and thrashed wildly, forcing Harry to sprawl over him and crush him into the stone floor.

“Potter, look out!” Malfoy cried, silver eyes wild through a tousled cloud of platinum hair.  Fearing a trick, Harry nevertheless looked up to see an enraged Millicent Bulstrode pounding toward them wearing a terrifying mass of ruffled pink tulle and an expression of venomous rage.  Harry yelped and rolled beneath the Gryffindor table, pulling Malfoy with him.  Bulstrode’s pink jackboots narrowly missed them as she stampeded past, thankfully intent on reaching someone else.

Under the table, Harry found himself still atop Malfoy.  His eyes met Malfoy’s in startled surprise.  “Fuck, that was close.”

Malfoy nodded.  “She would have crushed us both.  I think she could take on a rhinoceros and win.”

“I wouldn’t doubt it.”  Harry grinned.  “I wonder who put her in that horrible outfit?”
“Someone soon to find themselves in the hospital wing.”

Harry nodded and then stopped when he realized he was having a semi-normal conversation with Draco Malfoy.  They almost seemed to have discovered an oasis of calm—the shrieking of hexes and bellows from unwitting victims was muted by the chairs and dark tablecloth.

“Of course, that is where you are going to be, Potter, for putting me in bloody Gryffindor red!”

Harry smirked.  “Let me get this straight—you’re not upset that I put you in a dress, you’re upset about the colour?”

Malfoy sniffed and looked away.  “Well, honestly, if you insist on putting me in a ludicrous outfit the least you could have done is make it tasteful.  At least yours is a flattering colour.”

Harry was flabbergasted for a moment.  “Flattering?  That was almost a compliment, Malfoy.”

A crafty look crossed the Slytherin’s features.  “I did not expect you to look decent in a dress, Potter, but you’re surprisingly attractive.  If you were a girl I might even consider shagging you.”

Harry gaped for a moment until he realized Malfoy was having him on.  A competitive surge overcame him and he returned the wicked expression.  “I think you were born to wear a dress, Malfoy.  You’re so pretty I’d consider shagging you without you turning into a girl.”

Harry had been joking, but Malfoy’s gasp and subsequent jerk of surprise made him take another look at the blond.  With his eyes wide and startled and his lips partially open and wet, he really was attractive.  Harry reached up and brushed a stray lock of hair away from Malfoy’s eyes.  He seemed to have shocked the Slytherin into speechlessness, a condition he liked a lot.  He could see Malfoy recovering, preparing to speak. Harry wanted to prevent that annoyance and it suddenly occurred to him how he might stop the scathing tones from forthcoming.  He quickly planted his lips on Malfoy’s.

An odd squeak emanated from the blond and the body beneath Harry’s went stiff as a board.  Suddenly terrified of his temerity, he squeezed the wrist attached to Malfoy’s wand hand more tightly and sucked gently on his soft lips.  He wished he had more experience in the kissing department.  One ill-fated kiss with Cho Chang and a couple of random snogs with Ginny Weasley hardly qualified him to… do whatever he was doing to Draco Malfoy.

What the hell am I doing? he wondered in sudden panic.  Malfoy was going to kill him and sic Crabbe and Goyle on his remains.

And then he felt a hand slip into his hair and Malfoy’s lips moved under his, parting just slightly.  Disbelief nearly made him immobile, but instinct thankfully took over and his own lips parted to allow his tongue access to Malfoy’s.  The first tentative brush of wet on wet nearly undid Harry as an incredible new world of possibility opened with the suddenness of Pandora’s Box.

I’m kissing a boy, he thought in astonishment.  And then that boy twisted the hand that was wrapped in Harry’s hair and pulled him even closer, apparently to launch and assault with his tongue that turned Harry’s senses inside out.  Harry was inexperienced, but Malfoy, it seemed, was not.  His tongue skated over Harry’s and then explored his gums, teeth, and the roof of his mouth in delightful, almost electric flicks.  Harry rapidly forgot how to breathe and then decided breathing was overrated, because he would be perfectly happy to die with his mouth fastened to Malfoy’s, as long as the blond kept doing that and, oh, Merlin, that!

Harry’s hand had loosened on Malfoy’s wrist, but his other clenched in the frills of the red dress, itching to touch something other than silk.  Malfoy shifted beneath him and Harry settled more firmly between the Slytherin’s legs, which opened up a whole new arena of sensations.  Malfoy’s ribs were hard beneath his and his abdomen soft.  Malfoy’s skirt was bunched between them, which led Harry to believe the legs currently resting on either side of his hips were, quite possibly, exposed.

Malfoy wrenched his lips away suddenly, which was a tragedy.  Harry made a petulant huff and tried to kiss the blond again, but the soft mouth evaded his, forcing Harry to kiss the edge of his jaw, which was not a bad substitute.  Harry opened his mouth and nibbled, grazing his teeth along the hard ridge.

“Potter.  What are you doing?”

“Mmmm.  I don’t know, but you taste awfully good.”  He licked a small stripe beneath Malfoy’s jaw and breathed in the delicate scent of whatever soap Malfoy had used that morning.

The hand that was buried in his hair wrenched hard at it and Harry raised his head with a muted yelp.  “Ow!  What was that for?”

“You’re licking me, you dolt!”

“Well, you kissed me!”

“You kissed me first!  Why did you do that?”

“It seemed like a good way to shut you up.  I think I’ll do it again.”

He lowered his head to suck on Malfoy’s amazing lips once more, but another yank nearly tore his hair out by the roots.  He scowled.

“No you don’t, Potter!  No more kissing.”

“But you’re so good at it.”

The silver eyes slid away from his and Harry wished it was a bit lighter beneath the table, because he felt sure another spectacular blush lit Malfoy’s fair features.  “I know I’m good at it, Potter.  That’s not the point.”

“Am I good at it?” Harry asked, suddenly worried that he was a substandard kisser.  The fact that he cared whether or not Malfoy thought he was a bad kisser was not a subject he cared to delve into at the moment.  Not when there was possibly more kissing to be done.

A thud hit the table above them and sent a trickle of dust wafting over them.  Harry fought a sneeze by burying his face in Malfoy’s neck.  He was growing fonder of the soft blond by the moment.

“Get off of me, Potter.  We need to get out of here.”  The hand in his hair yanked again.

“No,” said Harry.

“No?  No?”  Malfoy blinked at him and Harry thought he had never seen anything quite so cute.  It must be the hair ribbon.

“Not until you tell me why you kissed me back.”

Malfoy scowled.  “You are insufferable, Potter.”

“Apparently not completely insufferable or you wouldn’t have kissed me.”

“It was simple curiosity.  Nothing more.”

Harry frowned.  “All right, then.”  He suddenly realized how ridiculous it was, kissing his nemesis and feeling deflated because the boy refused to kiss him again.  What the fuck was he thinking?  Malfoy was going to have a field day telling his Slytherin cohorts about this.  He pushed himself away from the blond so sharply he cracked the back of his head on the table and winced when Malfoy’s tangled fingers tore out some hair with their departure.

He crawled out from under the table, wanting to escape Malfoy and the irritating knowledge that he would think about kissing every time he saw the bastard from now on.  He got to his feet just in time to see a random hex catch Professor Snape, whose normally angry face turned even more livid when his robes changed into a frilly black dress.

“Fifty points from Gryffindor!” Snape bellowed.

Hermione drew herself up indignantly, looking almost regal despite the fact that she wore a bizarre outfit reminiscent of a Japanese school girl.  Harry noted absently that she had really nice legs, a fact that Ron seemed to have noticed as well, judging by the glazed look on his face as he gaped at her.  “That hex came from Ravenclaw!” she protested to Snape.

“Ten points from Gryffindor for being argumentative.  Stop this at once!”

The hexing ground to an immediate halt at Snape’s command.  Harry looked around curiously and noticed Malfoy standing beside him, looking decidedly rumpled in his red and gold flounces.  He glared at Harry, who grinned despite his annoyance.  The Slytherin simply looked too adorable.  To his surprise, the blond’s glare faded and a smirk curved his lips.

“Nice tiara, Potter.”

Harry reached up and felt a metal object in his hair, unnoticed until now.  He yanked it out and tossed it aside.

“All of you back to your dorms!” Snape shouted.  “We will decide who started this later.”  His baleful gaze fastened immediately on Harry.

“I’m surprised he hasn’t blamed it on me already,” Harry muttered and turned to make his way from the hall.  He kicked off the green pumps after nearly tripping again and was bypassed by Malfoy, who sashayed gracefully in his strappy red heels.

“It’s called grace, Potter.  Pity you have none.”

Harry snatched up his green shoes and ran after the blond, who had joined the queue of students in varied states of feminine dress.  Harry’s garters itched and he wondered how girls could stand wearing such bizarre contraptions.  He caught Malfoy before the blond reached the steps to the Slytherin dungeon and dragged him behind a convenient suit of armor.

“Look, Malfoy, do you plan to—”

“Kiss you again?”

Harry blinked at him.  He had meant to ask if Malfoy planned to rat him out to the Slytherins—and thereby to the whole school, but the mention of kissing drew his gaze back to the slightly reddened lips.  “Kiss me again?” he repeated stupidly.

“Certainly not here, Potter,” Malfoy hissed.  “But if you’re going to stalk me until I give in to your idiotic urges, then I suggest you meet me in the abandoned Transfiguration classroom on the third floor.  Tonight.  At midnight.  Feel free to wear the dress.”

With that, Malfoy detached his wrist from Harry’s grip and disappeared down the dungeon steps, leaving Harry in a bewildered daze.  Had Malfoy just suggested meeting him later?  For more kissing?

Harry’s lopsided grin stayed on his face long after he reached the Gryffindor dorm, where he threw himself on his bed and replayed the scene beneath the table.  Ron found him there forty minutes later.

“Harry?”  His friend’s voice sounded concerned.

“Yeah, Ron?”

“Why are you still wearing that dress?”