Title: Something Ever After
Author: AbstractConcept
Team: Cauldron
Genre(s): Crossdressing and Crossover/Fusion
Prompt(s): Some Enchanted Evening
Rating: R
Warning/Kinks: *Crossdressing, oral sex, actual sex. EWE.*
Word Count: A little more than 17k.
Summary: Harry just wanted his happy ending. Instead, he’s stuck with a sparkly tiara and glass shoes, and the entire world seems to have gone mad.
Betas: angela_snape, with additional help from Unbroken_halo and ivylady, and coding by the most excellent Littleroo27.
A/N: See how many Disney parodies you can spot! I’ll have a list up in my journal with each Disney reference I included.

Something Ever After

Harry weighed the gold object in his hand. It had a spout and had a handle, but it didn’t look like any teapot he’d ever seen. “What’s this?”

Hermione glanced over. “An Arabian lamp,” she said. “And very old. I’ve never known anyone to use one.”

“In the rubbish it goes, then,” Harry said, tossing the thing over his shoulder. The pile of rubbish was a lot higher than the stack of things to keep. There was still a load of stuff to sort through; the attic of Grimmauld Place was chock-full of junk.

“Oh, nasty. There was an apple core under this little bed,” Ron said, holding it up by the stem. He tossed it in the rubbish pile. “Wonder why the bed’s so small?”

“Maybe it’s for a house elf,” Hermione suggested. “There are several other beds along the wall.”

Harry didn’t think it likely that the Black family had ever been kind enough to furnish their house elves with little beds, but he didn’t want another lecture on house elf rights, so he kept his mouth shut. “What’s this wooden thing against the wall?” he asked. “I know I’ve seen one. It’s a loom or something, yeah?”

“It’s a spinning wheel,” Hermione told him. “Careful not to prick your finger.”

Harry manoeuvred it onto the rubbish pile and used his sleeve to wipe the sweat from his face. “It’s stifling up here,” he complained.

“Probably no one’s been up here for a hundred years,” Ron pointed out. “They never bothered to keep it ventilated.”

Harry went and sat down, taking a rest. He wasn’t sure he really wanted anything out of Grimmauld Place, or if they should just burn the lot and be done with it. Still, it was better to know for sure, he supposed. He surveyed the attic morosely; it would probably take days to sort through it all. As he looked around, he noticed a book sitting beside him.

He picked it up and a great cloud of dust rose up. He gingerly wiped his sleeve on the book, but it didn’t help much. He could tell that the cover had once been white leather and there were little metal embellishments at the corners, but if there had ever been words on the front, they’d long faded away. Squinting, he could just make out a picture etched into the leather; it looked like a little castle with an arc over it. It was held tightly shut by a metal clasp.

It was a small enough book, but it seemed heavy—laden with something Harry couldn’t name. Power practically sizzled over its pages.

“Wow, this is wicked!” Harry heard Ron exclaim, and turned to see a large mirror against the wall. Instead of a reflection, it seemed to be filled with bubbling smoke or clouds. “This might be worth keeping, don’t you reckon?” Ron said hopefully.

“I don’t know,” Harry said. Honestly, the thing kind of creeped him out. If he stared too long, he could almost convince himself that a face was looking out at him from the depths of the smoke—a frightening face that, if Harry didn’t know better, seemed to be wearing a Greek mask.

“Leave it alone,” Hermione ordered. “I can practically smell the dark magic from across the room.”

“Bet I could get a good price for it though,” Ron said, sounding just a little wistful.

“Leave it alone, Ron!”

“It does look sort of evil,” Harry had to admit.

“It’s better not to let it fall into the wrong hands,” Hermione said. “Whether it’s innately evil or not, it’s inherently dangerous. You can’t let just anyone get a hold of something that powerful.”

“You’re probably right,” Ron sighed.

Harry glanced down at the book in his lap, then, on sudden impulse, stuffed it into his robes when no one was looking. “Yeah, you’re probably right,” he echoed numbly.

“Unreal,” Harry remarked, looking out the castle window. “Will you look at this sunset?”

Ron glanced up, sniffed and looked back down at his magazine. “Too much pink,” he opined.

“It’s nice,” Neville said. “I like how the tops of the clouds are sort of silvery-white, and underneath they’re all streaked with blue and pink and orange. Lot of depth.”

Harry didn’t answer right away. “It looks like a real happy ending sort of sunset to me,” he muttered.

Harry sighed heavily. It was supposed to be easy now. He’d done the hard part. Voldemort was dead and Harry was owed something. It was supposed to be his Happily Ever After.

“Something wrong?” Neville asked.

Harry turned away from the window. “Do you ever have—you know—regrets?” he asked the room in general.

There was a none-too-genteel snore from Ron’s bed; Harry smiled wryly. Ron could go from ogling magazines to completely unconscious in about five seconds.

Neville, on the other hand, was watching Harry seriously. “Sure, Harry. We all have regrets sometimes.”

“Yeah? You ever feel like—like things just didn’t work out the way they were supposed to?”

“Is this about coming back to the school? We didn’t actually get much out of classes last year, and I don’t regret having one last term to say goodbye to the Alma Mater.”

Harry smiled. “It isn’t that. I’m glad to be back at Hogwarts. It’s just . . . other stuff.”

“Oh,” Neville said, a little too knowingly for Harry’s tastes. Did everyone know he and Ginny had been fighting?

It had started out fine. They’d kissed all over the place, and that part had been really great. But then when it came right down to it, if they weren’t kissing, they didn’t seem to know what to do with themselves. They couldn’t find much to talk about outside of Quidditch. Harry didn’t like to talk about Voldemort; Ginny wanted to air things out, and it had led to arguments. And even when they weren’t arguing, it was just . . . awkward. Even when Ginny was in his arms, sometimes Harry felt a strange, overwhelming wrongness, like something didn’t fit right. Like he didn’t fit right.

But Harry’d found a way to fix everything. He thought of the book hidden under his pillow and patted Neville on the shoulder. “Never mind,” he said with false brightness. “I’m sure everything will work out in the end. I’m getting to bed too, I think.”

“Night,” Neville replied.

Harry waited up, counting the minutes. He couldn’t risk anyone waking up and interrupting. Finally, just before midnight, he rooted around under his pillow until he found the book.

Licking his dry lips, Harry touched the tip of his wand to the clasp of the book. “Alohomora!” he whispered. It flipped open. The bookplate was in Latin or something, and Harry didn’t know what it said. The symbol below it was one large sphere with two smaller spheres atop. He didn’t know what that was supposed to be either, though it did look kind of familiar.

Harry paged through the book until he found the right spell. He read it two or three times, excitement churning his stomach. The book itself looked better now that he’d cleaned it up and polished the brass; it looked like a pretty fairy story book, and it didn’t look like it was full of dark magic or anything.

And anyway, Harry rationalized, how could a spell made to give you a ‘happily ever after’ be evil?

Harry got out his cloak, crept slowly out of bed and silently out of the room.

He made his way upstairs to the Astronomy Tower. There was no one at all in the corridors; it was usually up to Snape to skulk about catching students out past curfew, but Snape was dead.

It was cold at the top of the tower—cold year round from the winds that whistled past. Harry shuddered as the chill air beat the edges of his cloak round his ankles, the invisible material flapping madly.

“Oh, no,” he murmured, staring at the sky. Of all the nights to be overcast! All the fluffy pink clouds had faded to grey and had spread out like ink in a bowl of water; the darkness of the night was almost suffocating. “Lumos!” Harry muttered, holding the wand just above the pages of the book.

Harry craned his neck desperately, ready to spit out the spell.

Finally! There—to the south! A small gap in the clouds allowed a little patch of sparkling sky to show. Knowing he might have less than a minute, Harry blurted the spell so fast his tongue stumbled on the last word.

There was an explosion of sound, smoke and sparkles.

Inside a cloud of pink, Harry began to cough.

“I meant regis filius! I meant regis filius!”

“Harry? Harry?”

Harry could hear the worry in Hermione’s voice, but this only made him draw further into the shadows.

“Harry, if you can hear me, please come out. Ron and I are both very worried. If you don’t turn up soon, we’ll gather searchers and—”

With a groan, Harry cracked the door open and grabbed Hermione’s arm as she passed.

“What—?”

“Shhhhh!” Harry admonished. “I don’t want anyone else to know I’m in here.”

“I knew you’d be in the Room of Requirement,” Hermione said. “Here, let me in.”

“No!”

“Harry, what is wrong? Ron’s been panicked since he woke up and found your bed empty.”

“I—I don’t want to talk about it,” Harry choked.

“Harry,” Hermione began, trying to force the door.

“Stay out! Trust me, you don’t want to see me like this!”

Hermione peered down at his gloved hand. “Harry, what happened to you?”

“It was an accident! I messed up a spell, all right? And now I’m—I’m a monster! I’m a hideous beast!”

“Oh, Harry, it can’t be that bad.” Hermione shoved the door open, and Harry relented, letting it swing wide, knowing he’d have to face it sooner or later. “Goodness, Harry, it’s so dark in here. I wish I could see you.”

Responding to Hermione’s need and Harry’s apathy, a plethora of candles blazed to life in sconces that hadn’t been there only moments ago. Harry found himself reflected in dozens of mirrors lining the walls.

“God, the sparkles,” he said horror. “The sparkles.”

Hermione gasped. “Harry, you look just like a princess!”

Harry merely groaned.

Harry paced furiously as Ron and Hermione stared. It had taken Hermione almost an hour to convince Harry they should even tell Ron what had happened, and when Ron walked in and had a laughing fit, Harry was pretty sure it was the wrong choice. After a while though, Ron laughed himself out and joined Hermione in gawping at Harry in astonished silence.

“I can’t believe this is happening to me! Every time I think my life is finally going to settle down and stop being a train wreck!”

“It’s not that bad,” Hermione ventured.

“Not that bad!? Hermione, I have a great pink bow on my bum!”

“It suits you,” Ron said promptly. “Not everyone could pull off a bow like that. It’s very fetching.” Harry glowered at him, but Ron only grinned.

“How did this happen again?” Hermione intervened, quick to head off an argument.

“I used the wrong word in a spell,” Harry said sulkily.

“Which word? Which spell?”

“Don’t remember.” Wild horses couldn’t have pulled that out of him at the moment.

Hermione frowned. “With the tiara, you could pass as a beauty queen. You’re just missing the sash. Or perhaps you turned yourself into a southern belle. You’ve got the long, flowing dress, the silk gloves, the tiara—”

“And the shoes. Have you seen these shoes? Have you ever seen crazy shoes like this? They’re made of glass. Who in their right mind would wear glass shoes?”

“They were supposed to be fur, but it was mistranslated,” Hermione said automatically.

“What?” the boys responded in unison.

Hermione blinked. “Cinderella,” she said slowly. “She had glass slippers.”

“Oh. Yeah,” Harry said.

“But in the original text, they were made of fur.”

“Fur would be an improvement, let me tell you,” Harry said. “A day in these and I’ll have the worst calluses ever. I don’t even know how I’m managing to stay upright,” he added. “Heels, Hermione!” He lifted his dress a little for emphasis.

“Nice ankles, though,” Ron commented.

“I swear, one more word out of you,” Harry threatened.

“Sorry, sorry.”

“I want it off! All of it! Now!” Harry shouted.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa—don’t stomp your foot like that,” Ron warned. “Look, your shoe’s made of glass. You keep that up and you’ll lose a toe! Or you’ll end up in the hospital wing with Madam Pomfrey digging shards out of your foot.”

Harry took a deep breath. He wanted to scream and throw himself down and beat his fists against the floor and curse people and break things. “I’ve tried kicking them off, but they won’t come. The shoes, I mean,” he said through gritted teeth.

Ron and Hermione stared at him. “Seriously?”

Harry shook his head. “None of it will come off,” he croaked. “It’s like I’ve been glued into it. And people are going to see me like this. Do you understand? Ginny will—and we haven’t—exactly been getting along lately!”

“Are you sure it won’t come off?”

“I tried,” Harry said. “You think I didn’t try? I mean, I can’t live like his. How am I supposed to go to the bathroom, for one thing?”

“Let me try,” Ron offered. “Bend over and let me get a good grip on the tiara.”

Feeling misgivings, Harry did so and even allowed Ron to put one boot up on Harry’s leg to brace himself.

“All right, now be careful not to—ow, ow, ow!” Harry yelped as Ron heaved and hauled. “Stop it! Stop it! What are you trying to do, screw my head off?”

Ron finally sat back on his heels, breathing heavily. “Sorry, mate. You were right. That tiara is good and stuck.”

“We could try a cloak over the dress,” Hermione suggested. “Erm. A really big cloak?”

It was no use.

“I look like a stuffed garbage bag,” Harry said, depressed, as he looked in the mirror.

Hermione patted his shoulder. “It is a rather . . . poofy dress. Maybe we shouldn’t have used a black cloak,” she said without any real optimism.

Harry shook his head. “Face it, I’m stuck like this. I can’t disguise it and it’s not coming off without magic.”

Hermione brightened a little. “Oh. Magic. At least we’re familiar with that, right?”

“We’ll have to tell someone,” Hermione said.

“No!”

“Harry! Nothing we’ve tried has worked! Look, McGonagall may have heard of something like this. Or Pomfrey! She’s worked miracles before. Remember when I half turned myself into a cat? And she’s very discreet.”

“This is different,” Harry insisted. “That was medical.”

“And sealing yourself into a ball gown isn’t medical?” Hermione asked archly. “For starters, just think of your poor skin. Please, Harry. Let’s go see her.”

“Absolutely not!”

“Ron and I can sort of shield you. Or we can use the cloak and Ron and I can surely hide the bits still showing.”

Harry fumed. “Won’t,” he grumbled.

Ron made a quick lunge and snatched Harry’s wand. Harry gaped at him. “Right,” Ron said. “That’s that. Hermione, you get his feet, I’ll take the upper half.”

“You traitor!” Harry shouted as Ron levitated him.

“Try to stop him from kicking,” Ron instructed as he and Hermione manoeuvred him out the door. “Really, Harry, you’d better shut up. You’re only drawing more attention to yourself! I’d hate to have to put a full body bind on you.”

They were just passing the doors to the castle when they blew open, a great gust of air and leaves swirling about a looming figure.

“Bloody hell,” Ron said, awed.

Harry, hanging upside down, stared at the figure. “I’ve seen him somewhere before,” he murmured.

There was a tinkle of music. “Once upon a dream?” Hermione sighed.

“No, bleeding to death on the floor of the Shrieking Shack. Put me down!”

Ron and Hermione removed the spell and Harry fell to the ground with an oomph. Luckily, several dozen petticoats helped break his fall. He looked up in shock. “S—Snape?” he gasped. “But you’re dead!”

The formerly deceased spy, potions master and ethically ambiguous hero crossed his arms over his chest. “Shocking, isn’t it? And yet somehow less shocking than finding Harry Potter, Princess Who Lived, prancing about in a sparkly little tiara.”

Harry felt himself go hot from about his ankles to his hairline, and struggled to his feet with Ron and Hermione’s help. “I didn’t—I’m not—it wasn’t my choice! Anyway,” he added, changing the subject, “what are you doing still alive?” He prodded Snape in the chest hard. “Did you make a Horcrux? You’d better not have made a Horcrux!”

“Certainly not! This is in no way my doing. Greater forces are clearly at work.”

Harry looked at the man warily. “Yeah? What forces?”

Snape looked grave. “There is yet another magic even stronger than death,” he admitted. “They call it . . . the magic of Disney.”

Harry scratched his tiara. “Is that some kind of American magic? I didn’t think it was real.”

“It’s real, and it’s everything you’d expect from an American. Gaudy, simple and silly. I assume your dress fits into this somehow; I’ve known you to display theatrics before, but never so much éclat in your choice of clothing.”

Harry looked at his ruffled bodice. “What éclat? I don’t see any. You’re wrong, anyway. Hermione brought me a Danish for breakfast.”

Snape rolled his eyes, his lip lifted in disgust. “Éclat, Potter. Think showy display, not cream-filled pastry.”

“Oh.”

“Oh, Harry, he’s right,” Hermione said. “It’s just like a Disney movie. Haven’t you seen them?”

“Can’t say that I have.” He rarely watched television with the Dursleys, and any program Harry got interested in was sure to get changed to another channel anyway.

“But you know Cinderella and Snow White and all the rest?”

“Sure.” The Dursleys couldn’t stop him reading, not at school, anyway.

“Then you know how they typically go! Some poor girl is ill-used, meets a prince, then an evil queen tries to kill the girl but ultimately gets defeated by the prince, and it turns out the girl is a princess, and they all live happily ever after.”

Harry felt a surge of misery. That fit the spell pretty well. “Oh. Great,” was all he could think to say. “Is the tiara mandatory though?”

Hermione couldn’t answer that. “The details vary, and I can’t remember quite how it’s all supposed to work. Each movie generally follows the same rules, though. I really need to review them before I know what to do next.”

“Can’t,” Ron said. “Muggle things don’t work at Hogwarts.”

“It may be possible to set something up in the groundskeeper’s cottage,” Snape said slowly. “There would be less magical interference.”

Harry looked at him, surprised. “You mean you’re going to help me? Like, on purpose?”

Snape stared at Harry for a long moment, running a finger over his lips. “Yes,” he said. “Today is full of interesting developments, isn’t it?”

Harry opened his mouth to answer, but before he could get a word out, Snape spun and strode away.

Ron shuddered. “Dead or alive, he still gives me the willies.”

If someone had told Harry Potter he’d one day be sitting in Hagrid’s cabin, sandwiched between Severus Snape and Hermione Granger, watching old Disney videos, he would have called them mad.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Harry murmured.

“I can’t believe a voice that shrill was ever considered attractive,” Snape replied, scowling at Snow White. “And she doesn’t even have a nose to speak of. And her hair! She’s supposed to be the most beautiful girl in the world? Even Potter’s better . . . looking . . . than . . . that.” Snape trailed off as Harry gawked at him.

Hermione paused the movie. “Here, did you notice? The princess has animal helpers to assist her in everyday chores. In Cinderella, too.”

“Yeah, I did notice that,” Harry said.

“It just takes a little suggestion in the form of a chorus or two and they can be quite helpful.”

Snape groaned. “Fine. You people concentrate on convincing bunny rabbits to do your job for you. Personally, I will return to the castle and attempt to brew a potion to resolve the situation.”

“That’s Snape,” Ron remarked dryly as the man left. “When in doubt, twiddle your spoon round in your cauldron a bit. Tell me there’s not some kind of sexual repression issue behind that.”

Harry shrugged. He’d take even Snape’s help if it meant getting out of his lacy underpants. “What are you going to do, Hermione?”

Hermione looked up from her parchment, surprised. “Continue to make a list until I feel all the information had been compiled,” she replied.

“And you?” Harry asked Ron.

Ron was eagerly stretching out on the couch. “Watch cartoons until my brain leaks out my nose,” he answered.

Harry sighed. “I’m going to go outside and get some air.”

Once Harry judged he was far enough away from the cabin that a casual observer wouldn’t look out and notice him, he cleared his throat. “Um, helpful forest animals?” he called. “Any helpful, peace-loving little creatures of nature about?”

Unfortunately, the only animal who showed up was Fang, and Harry suspected he’d followed Harry.

Harry cupped his hands around his mouth. “A little help here?” he shouted.

Fang galumphed in great doggy circles around Harry’s skirts, but that was it.

Harry sighed heavily. “All right, fine.” He tried a scale or two, and didn’t think he sounded too bad, though a little higher pitched than he’d like.

Animals began poking their heads out of the foliage, eyeing him. Harry sang scales until he ran out of breath, watching the creatures approach shyly.

There were chickadees and sparrows, squirrels and mice, a couple of deer and even a hedgehog. Among the less common animals, Harry spotted some nifflers in with the mice, a few bowtruckles clinging to the branches of nearby trees, a cockatrice, which Harry stayed well away from, and even a unicorn on the fringe of the group. All the animals seemed to settle in an expectant half-circle around Harry.

“All right. So you’re my animal helpers, then. I, er, command you to help me get this getup off.”

The animals blinked.

Harry groaned. “Hermione? Hermione! I don’t have to sing, do I?” he shouted at the cabin.

Hermione’s headed popped out of one of the windows. “We don’t know for certain yet. However, suggestions made in a musical voice do seem to produce agreeable behaviour in woodland fauna. In Cinderella, Snow White and Sleeping Beauty, they—”

“No, I get it,” Harry called back. “Never mind. It’s all just peachy.” He waited until Hermione had closed the window shutter before turning to his patient menagerie. “Okay. Okay. Singing. I can sing a little song, yeah. What rhymes with dear god, get me out of this sparkly sin against all that is good and holy?”

He coughed a little, then folded his hands behind him. “La la la mi mi mi,” he experimented. Not half bad, though there were definite flat notes here and there. “Do re me so, er . . .fa . . . . don’t remember the rest . . .Ahem. Doe. A deer, a female deer. Got one of those; what to tell it?”

The deer shyly moved forward, her little brown legs delicate.

“Doe, a deer, a female deer. I’d like you, the doe, to come and bite my bow. I know that you will do this, ‘cause you’re my dearest chum! Now dear, or doe, whatever the hell you are, come bite this off my buuuuuuuuuum!!!”

The doe looked hesitant, but gave a loyal nod.

“Good,” Harry said. He bent over one of the fence posts and got a good grip.

But after a few moments, Harry could tell this wasn’t going to help. It would have to be all or nothing. He looked around at the other little woodland creatures, still gazing at him with gentle trust.

“Come on blokes; time for the strip show.” Harry tried another scale; the animals looked rather pained—whether this was due to Harry’s terrible singing voice or the idea of getting Harry naked, Harry couldn’t tell. Either way, he didn’t blame them. “Look, I suppose I should at least get in the right song for this sort of thing,” Harry said. “Let’s try this. Who can keep a beat?”

The unicorn could; she could keep a beat beautifully with her hooves. The hedgehog assisted by humming a passable base, and there was even a goose, which, against all expectation, could make sounds passably like a smoky saxophone.

“All right,” Harry said. “That’s it. I’m feeling it. We’re almost there.”

He experimented with moving his hips a little, settling them into a sort of roll-jerk-roll to the background beat of the hedgehog. “That’s it,” he said, and began to sing once again.

“Let’s get it o—ooooooff, oh baby, let’s get it oooooff,” he crooned.

His fellow band mates and would-be undressers approved. They moved closer, the circle tightening. Harry felt Fang’s teeth sink into his sleeve. There were mice among the more intricate laces, and Harry only hoped their little paws would work where his hands had slid straight off the straps.

He sang another chorus of Let’s Get it Off when the birds took flight, attempting to take the tiara with them. Sadly, the tiara stuck fast, and the only result was that Harry got a bit of a bird’s nest in his hair. A chickadee tangled up by his ear made some particularly put-out remarks on the subject.

“I don’t know guys, I don’t think this is going to work.”

The various squeaks, grunts and growls rose stubbornly.

“No, really,” Harry said. “Fang, lay off the backside, would you?” Something howled. “Yes, perhaps a full frontal assault would—wait—don’t—” Harry spun, trying to get his back to something solid. He felt a bit of relief when all the animals spread out in front of him. He held his arms out, trying to keep them away. “Just listen to me, blokes, we don’t want another . . .” Harry trailed off as he heard hoof beats growing louder behind him.

Harry turned, saw the golden horn lowered right at him, screamed and tried to throw himself out of the way.

Ten minutes later, Harry was screaming, “That’s enough! That’s enough, you bastards! If a damned great unicorn horn wasn’t enough to split the thing down the middle then there’s NO hope, and thank you so much for that little experiment! I certainly learned I can still go to the bathroom wearing the dress, anyway, thanks.”

Most of the woodland creatures gave up and cleared out, but Fang still stood loyally at Harry’s side, snarling encouragement as he tried to de-lace Harry.

Ron, on his way out of Hagrid’s hut, froze in the doorway, a strange expression on his face. Harry was still half bent over, gripping the fencepost like certain death, and Fang’s head was buried deep in his skirts.

Harry tried to shoo the dog away. “Stop it, Fang. Stop it!”

Fang growled and worried the big pink bow once more before obediently releasing it.

“Do I even want to know?” Ron asked.

Harry craned his neck. “The damn thing isn’t even torn,” he complained. “It’s just all covered with slobber now.”

“I really don’t want to know,” Ron concluded.

“Would you please help me get this niffler off my head? It doesn’t seem to want to let go of the tiara. And it’s pulling my hair.”

Ron eventually lured it away with a Galleon.

“Watch this bit,” Ron said, rewinding. “Here, watch where the crazy octopus-woman turns into a giant crazy octopus-woman. Isn’t that great? She stole the princess’ voice earlier. Wish someone had done you that favour. I heard you out there, you know.”

“Thanks,” Harry said gloomily. “Look, I think I’ll go back to the castle for a bit, okay? I’m hungry.”

“Yeah,” Ron replied, not taking his eyes off the screen. “Bring me back some popcorn, would you?”

Harry rolled his eyes and headed out. The slope was steep, and he had to hold the hem of dress up an inch or two keep from treading on it. He was about halfway back to the castle when one of his damned glass slippers slipped out from under him.

“Argh!” Harry rolled down the hill, his momentum eventually stopped by a tree. He sat, doubled over, gasping and trying to get his wind back.

“What are you doing here, Potter?” a peevish voice demanded. “You’re not dressed for a hike, you realize.”

“Now you tell me,” Harry panted, picking twigs out of his hair. He tried to get up, yelped in pain and grabbed the tree to keep from falling.

Snape was at his side so quick that for a moment Harry thought he’d Apparated. “What happened?”

“I turned my ankle.”

“Just like a princess,” Snape said dryly. To Harry’s surprise, he leaned down and swept Harry up in his arms. Harry gazed at the man, stunned. He didn’t know why Snape didn’t use a levitation spell or something, but the squirming heat in Harry’s stomach told him to keep his mouth shut anyway.

“I just wanted something to eat,” Harry explained as Snape began carrying him up to the castle.

“Hasn’t Hagrid got any food?”

“Would you eat Hagrid’s cooking?”

“Touché. Well, I was looking for you anyway. I didn’t know I’d be functioning as your means of transport, but I think I’ve developed a useful potion.”

“Yeah?” Harry said.

“It will allow me to undress you.”

Harry arched a brow. “Does it make you better looking? ‘Cause that’d be the first requirement,” he joked.

“I don’t know what you’re on about.”

“I thought maybe you were coming onto me,” Harry told the man.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You know—making a pass at me?”

Snape still didn’t look angry enough to have understood what Harry was talking about.

“Making sexual overtures, I mean,” Harry explained.

Now Snape looked properly horrified. “Don’t be revolting!”

“I’m not so bad looking without the dress,” Harry informed him.

“The dress is the only attractive thing about you,” Snape said.

“Hey!”

The man sniffed. “The dress helps,” he said.

“Seriously?”

“The . . . colour . . . is not unbecoming on you,” the man said with great reluctance.

“Wow, be still my heart. If I hadn’t already sprained an ankle, I’d risk a swoon.”

“The cut is also . . . tolerable, I suppose.”

“Wild compliments,” Harry said, enjoying Snape’s discomfort. It was nice not to be the only one uncomfortable. “Keep it up and I’m going to lose control and plant a big fat kiss on you.”

“You also have extremely nice legs.”

“I—what?”

“Sheathed in delicate shimmering lace, they really are very attractive. I’d be curious as to the knickers. Are they lacy as well? You’d be quite fuckable in lacy knickers,” Snape said in his monotone voice, though his eyes danced suspiciously.

Harry harrumphed, his face hot. “You win this round,” he grumbled.

The corner of Snape’s mouth curled, full of satisfaction. “I win every round,” he declared.

“So what’s this about a potion?”

“It should dissolve your clothes.”

“You mean like some sort of acid?” Harry gasped. “You’re going to, what, burn the dress off me?”

“I’m sure I can formulate something which limits the destruction to clothing—and metal,” Snape said, nodding to the tiara. “Don’t worry, I won’t burn another hole in your head. Not that it would make much difference.”

Harry sighed. “Well, it’s nice to know that even when my life is at its weirdest I can still count on you to insult the hell out of me.”

“I can say, in turn, that it’s good to know I’m good for something,” Snape replied.

Harry studied the man as Snape carried him down into the dungeons. “Well, you did sort of help me kill Voldemort,” he murmured.

“What was that?”

Harry sighed. “You heard me. And thank you. And . . . I’m sorry.”

Snape gave him a look of unflattering disbelief. “Was that genuine or are you exhibiting new symptoms of Disneyfication?”

“What?”

“Disney princesses are invariably kind and cheerful and twelve varieties of boring.”

Harry grinned. “Do I look boring?”

“No,” Snape admitted. “But it’s something to keep an eye on. The longer you’re under the spell, the more the world will try to bend itself to fit the story.”

“Really?”

“I can almost guarantee it.”

Harry knew the potion wasn’t working by the way the lines of Snape’s face deepened. Well, at least his ankle had been healed, even if the dress was still well and firmly stuck. “No luck, huh?” he said.

“No. My apologies,” Snape said, lips thin. He plunked the vial back down on his workbench and spun on his heel, storming back to his storage cabinet. Harry watched with admiration. In three inch heels, Harry couldn’t do anything more impressive than totter, but even without the shoes, he’d never be able to storm about the way Snape did when he was in a particularly foul mood.

Snape came back carrying several jars. “Potter, I’m in a particularly foul mood,” he said. “I suggest you remove yourself my presence for the moment, and I will contact you should I make any progress.”

Harry thought about making the trek back to Hagrid’s cabin. A handful of people had seen Snape carry him in; he wasn’t walking that particular gauntlet again, and certainly not alone. “I think I’ll stay here for a while,” he said. He didn’t really like Snape’s company, and he certainly didn’t like his rooms, which were beginning to get hot as the cauldron bubbled and boiled, but he was absolutely not going upstairs to be pointed and snickered at.

“You were not invited to stay.” Still, Snape made no move to physically throw Harry out, and Harry felt that was probably as much invitation as he was likely to get. And Snape didn’t really seem to mind Harry being there; he hardly seemed to notice Harry, really. He was already completely absorbed in making his next potion.

Harry watched as Snape uncorked a vial and upended it into a cauldron; the result was a foul stench. “Ew, what was that?”

“Potter repellent,” Snape replied mildly. “Apparently it is too diluted.”

Harry grinned. “Reckon so,” he said.

Snape continued to work in silence, measuring and stirring. After several minutes, he unbuttoned his frock coat, Banished it, and rolled up his sleeves.

Snape’s hand movements reminded Harry of an artist brushing paint on a canvas—a flick here, a stroke there. Harry found himself staring at the man’s wrists; they were pale and somehow mesmerizing. Harry wondered whether he’d be able to feel the man’s pulse if he touched one of those wrists. Would his skin be warm, or chilled to the touch? Snape had always seemed cold-blooded, but the room was stifling hot. What would that skin feel like against Harry’s fingertip?

What would it feel like against Harry’s tongue?

The thought was so sharp and so strange that Harry must have made a noise of surprise.

Snape turned and fixed him with a scowl. “Are you still here? I thought I told you to leave.”

“You didn’t exactly tell me to leave,” Harry pointed out. He was going to offer to go anyway—even being seen in his dress didn’t seem so bad compared to sexual fantasies about Snape—but the man gestured to the workbench.

“Here, if you’re going to be a nuisance, you might as well assist in your own de-princessing. Take the wolfsbane and chop.”

“All right,” Harry said. He cleared his throat. “So, um, if I were having, say, odd sexual fantasies, would that be a symptom of the, ah, Disneyfication?”

“I’m doubtful there would be a sudden onset of kinky daydreams,” Snape said, arching his brow. “A Disney princess would probably clutch her pearls and faint at the mere idea of tongue.”

“Oh,” Harry said, disappointed.

Suddenly Snape looked at him sharply, his dark eyes calculating. “Why?”

“Never mind.” Harry looked away before Legilimency could give him away.

They worked diligently for more than an hour, Harry chatting and Snape mostly only adding an occasional ‘I said mince, dunderhead. Mince.’

At this, Harry did a little skip, holding his skirt out.

Snape gave him a baffled look. “What the devil was that?”

“Well, you wanted me to mince,” Harry answered.

Snape turned away quickly, but the snort of laughter couldn’t be covered up.

“Admit it, it was funny,” Harry said.

“You’re an imbecile,” Snape replied, but the smile was still thick in his voice.

Harry smiled back and returned to his cutting board.

“Out, Potter.”

“I’m not going up to dinner,” Harry said quickly.

Snape glared, buttoning his frock coat all the way up. “I don’t care where you go, but you aren’t staying here. I don’t trust you with my ingredients, and I’m going up to dinner.”

Harry, who’d been sitting on the workbench and swinging his legs, quickly changed his mind. “Fine. I’ll come, but you have to sit next to me.”

Snape looked suspicious. “Why?”

“Because I might be wearing a stupid dress, but you’re freshly risen from the dead. Maybe you can take some of the attention off of me.”

Rolling his eyes, Snape offered Harry his hand. Harry stared at it. “Well?” the man said. “I don’t want you jumping off the bench in those heels. At best you’ll turn another ankle.”

“Oh,” Harry said, glad the room was hot enough that it wouldn’t seem odd that his face was red. He took Snape’s hand and allowed the man to help him down. “Thanks.”

Harry stuck so close to Snape that on the way up the stairs, he accidentally tripped the man. “Sorry!” Harry said, but Snape still hexed him upside the head.

“Stop dogging my steps,” Snape growled.

“You’re sitting with me,” Harry insisted as they entered the Great Hall.

“Fine,” Snape grumbled. He led the way to the Gryffindor table, Harry trailing behind, amazed.

The man threw himself into a chair across from Hermione, looking disgruntled. He glanced up at Harry, who was still standing beside him, rather stunned. After a moment, Snape heaved a great sigh and got up, yanking the chair beside him out. He glared at Harry and gestured to the seat.

“What? Oh—oh,” Harry said, sitting down quickly, his face flaming. Snape even pushed the chair in. “Why did you do that?” he demanded.

“I thought you were expecting it,” Snape replied, looking offended. “And everyone was staring, so I felt the more quickly you were dealt with the better.”

“But why did you agree to sit with me?” Harry persisted.

“Because I might be freshly risen from the dead, but you’re wearing a stupid dress,” Snape said promptly. “Perhaps you can take some of the attention off of me.”

Harry smiled.

Ron leaned across the table. “What’s going on, Harry?” he hissed. “You don’t want to eat with Snape, do you? What if he has zombie germs?”

“It’s fine, Ron,” Harry said. “Don’t worry about it. And anyway, Snape . . . Snape’s been a lot of help.”

“Fat lot of help,” Snape grumbled. “I can’t even manage to melt what is clearly a synthetic and probably highly flammable material.”

“Flammable?” Harry repeated. “God, that’s all I need.” A plate of roast popped up in front of him and he cut himself a piece. He suddenly remembered that he’d left Hagrid’s because he was hungry, and he never did get anything to eat. Harry was suddenly famished and he felt saliva prickle on his tongue as he popped the roast in his mouth. It was delicious.

Then he felt a strange humming against his tongue. “Hmm?” Harry’s fork seemed to be quivering, so he popped it out and stared at it.

“Use me to eat, I’ll spear your food, don’t use your fingers, ‘cause that’s just rude!” the fork sang. “Feeling peckish? I’ll do my job! Just stick me in your meat, and then your gob!”

Harry yelped and dropped it on the floor. “Shit! Did you see that?” he asked Ron. “My silverware is singing to me!”

“It just wants to be helpful,” Hermione said.

“It can help by shutting the hell up! How can I eat with it crooning kicky little tunes in my mouth? It’s sick!”

“It isn’t sick, it isn’t wrong, just scoop your food and lick my prongs!” the utensil warbled.

“The spell is gaining power,” Snape said quietly.

“Great,” Harry mumbled. “Just great.” He eventually resorted to eating with his fingers, a process which dirtied his silk gloves.

It wouldn’t have been so bad if he hadn’t noticed Snape from the corner of his eye. The man looked worried. And Harry wasn’t sure he even wanted to know what could worry a man who’d already died.

“Harry, I have good news!” Hermione was glowing with pride.

“Please tell me you know how to fix this,” Harry begged her.

“I think I do,” she told him. “All we have to do is find your one true love.”

Harry thought fleetingly of Ginny, but got a strange pain in his stomach. “Oh. That easy, huh?” He looked around, but Ron hadn’t accompanied Hermione; apparently he was back at Hagrid’s, watching more movies. “Um, what if I don’t actually know for sure who that is?”

Hermione hugged him. “We’ll figure it out. Here’s what I’m thinking; we’ll have a ball.”

“A ball?”

“Yes. With dancing and candles and that sort of thing—everything a Disney movie usually has anyway. And you can dance with everybody and see how you feel. It’s all right if it isn’t Ginny, Harry,” she added gently.

“I think Ron will be angry,” Harry replied, feeling glum.

“I think Ron will be relieved,” Hermione assured him. “He loves you like a brother, but the thought of you with his sister . . .” She wrinkled her nose. “You know.”

“Yeah, I guess I can see that,” Harry said. “But what about Ginny?”

“I’m afraid we’ll just have to cross that bridge when we come to it. And Harry, at least it’s fairly straightforward. Well, for the most part.”

The look on Hermione’s face suggested there was something she wasn’t telling Harry.

“What’s the other shoe?” he asked. “I can tell you’ve got one to drop.”

“Well, in most of the movies, it’s true love’s kiss that saves the princess.”

“What?” Harry shouted. “I don’t even know who that is! What if I have to kiss a thousand people? Ten thousand? I’ll be lucky if I don’t come down with herpes!”

“Don’t fuss; Madam Pomfrey has a cure for that.”

“That’s something, anyway.” Harry looked away for a long moment. “Hermione . . . what if the person who’s—supposed to be my true love or whatever—what if they don’t even want to kiss me?”

Hermione looked at him very seriously. “I take it you don’t think Ginny’s the one?”

Harry flushed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, it’s just—we’ve kissed hundreds of times, and it was nice. It really was, but . . .”

“But?” Hermione prompted.

“But I don’t think it was anything that would magic this dress away,” Harry admitted with a sheepish look.

“That’s okay, Harry. I mean, how many girls have you dated? It’s all right if you haven’t met the right one by the time you’re seventeen.”

“I know, but what if it takes years?”

“Then we’ll throw other balls,” Hermione said firmly. “We’ll keep looking, and we’ll find her.”

“Thanks,” Harry said. Hermione squeezed his arm, but Harry turned away. He couldn’t ask the question that had started to plague him in the last couple of days.

What if the person they were looking for wasn’t even a her?

There was a poster tacked to one of the walls outside the Great Hall. Draco read it and recoiled. “I’m going to have nightmares!”

Blaise Zabini, who he’d been walking with, stopped and raised his eyebrows. “What?”

“A ball. For Potter. A ball for one and all to come and dance with Potter to see if they’re his ‘true love.’ Isn’t that revolting?”

Potter swept past, his dress sparkling, a beam of sunlight hitting his tiara just right. “Are you really that desperate?” Malfoy called after him. “Can’t get a date any other way?”

“Shut up,” Potter grunted.

Blaise laughed. “I heard Granger going on about it. Everyone’s talking. Princess Potter and his magical glittery balls.”

“What the devil is the point?”

“Something about ending a spell. It’s an American thing. Fairy tales come to life. No one knows what’ll happen. But the princess has to find her true love!”

“Yeah? But the ‘true love’ only gets Scarhead.”

“True. But in one story—Aladdin—he ended up getting made a prince and inheriting the kingdom or something when the princess fell in love with him.”

Draco sat up straight. “Seriously? A prince, hmm?”

“I don’t think that would actually work, since Potter’s not got a kingdom,” Blaise pointed out, but Draco was too busy studying Potter through narrowed eyes.

“Were there riches involved?”

“Probably. You know how those sorts of stories go.”

“And rare magical objects?”

“As a matter of fact, I think there was a lamp for making wishes come true. An Arabian lamp.”

Draco nodded and cupped his hands around his mouth. “Oi! Potter! Seen any Arabian lamps in the vicinity lately?”

Potter looked up, annoyed. Then his face sort of changed, like he was remembering something. “As a matter of fact, I did see one recently.” He scowled. “I don’t know why you’d want it, but you’re not getting your hands on it.”

“Potter, has anyone told you that you look gorgeous in pink?”

Potter began to prove this by slowly matching his dress. “Sod off.”

Draco leaned in to whisper to Blaise. “It’s usually at least half the kingdom, right?”

“Well, yeah . . .” Blaise said doubtfully. “But what kingdom? There isn’t any.”

“Britain used to be a kingdom.”

Blaise gave him a look. “Is Potter worth a kingdom?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. But even Potter’s worth a lamp that grants wishes.”

“I think only three wishes.”

“Fair enough. I could use the first wish to get rid of Potter.”

Blaise shrugged. “Or off him yourself afterwards—why waste a wish, after all?”

“Point taken. Spoken like a true Zabini. So all I have to do is convince Potter I’m his true love, and then I get the lamp, whatever fortune Potter’s got, and I have a good chance of becoming royalty. It’s worth a try.”

“I’m having a surprisingly difficult time coming up with any solid arguments against it, other than Potter hates you.”

“I can be charming when I want to be,” Draco pointed out.

Blaise raised an eyebrow.

“Watch,” Draco said. “I’ll woo him with song. Get the others to join you and sing back up.”

“Song?” Blaise repeated in disbelief.

“I’ll simply point out all my virtues—you know, the hair, the money, the bloodline, the fact that I’m so masculine . . . all traits he’d find irresistible.”

“You’ll—wait—you’ll what?” Blaise followed Draco, trying surreptitiously to stop him. “What are you doing?” he whispered. “Are you out of your mind?”

Potter looked up from his breakfast. “What the hell do you want?” he demanded.

Draco smiled sweetly. “Just you, my lovely princess.”

Potter turned roaring red and tried to curse Draco, who ducked. “Hard to get is very sexy!” he teased.

“That’s good,” Harry spat, “because it’s rather more like ‘impossible to get.’ And fuck you and go away.”

“Potter,” Draco said, still crouching on the other side of the table. “I don’t think you’ve considered what good lovers we could make. All that fighting—it was obviously just sexual tension! And I’m the perfect man for you. Well, the perfect man, full stop.” He peeked over the edge of the table to see Harry roll his eyes.

“God, whatever. I can’t believe the spell is even affecting you.”

Draco, sensing he wasn’t about to be hit with additional curses or any components of Harry’s breakfast, cautiously stood up.

“Potter, we got off on the wrong foot. I’ll take partial credit for that, even though it was entirely your fault. But you really need to take a second look and think about how well we go together. You can’t possibly say no. No one rejects Draco!” Clearing his throat, Draco sang,

“I’m a model of virtue and glory—

Handsomest creature in town.

Everyone here’d love to have me, you know

Even the bloke in the gown!”

“You’ve gone utterly daft,” Harry sat flatly, but Blaise, Pansy, and the other Slytherins drowned him out in chorus.

“No one schemes like Draco,
Uses hair creams like Draco,
When faced with a fright no one screams like Draco!”

With eyes rolling, the background singers sang, “Oh, what a bloke, that Draco! ”

He’s a wimp, but at least he’s attractive …”

“Note that I’m elegant, slender and fair,” Draco didn’t seem to be paying any attention to what the background singers were actually singing.

His evil schemes, they keep him quite active!”

“So true! And I’m perfect right down to my body hair!”

“What body hair?” Harry demanded. “You don’t have any body hair at all! Look at you, you’re like a pre-pubescent girl, you loon!”

“It’s true, yes, my hair’s always perfectly coiffed!”

Draco unbuttoned his shirt to reveal three hairs on his chest. Harry couldn’t be certain, but he thought he spied the gleam of hair gel keeping them in place. Blaise and Pansy and the others raised their voices louder, presumably to get this over with.

“He’s a pure-blooded twit
But he wants to commit
So we’ll sing this damn song
And for now play along
Who’s the bloke we sing of,
The one looking for love?
There’s only one bloke in the castle
Who can put Slytherin through this much of a hassle . . .”

“And his name’s Malfoy,” Blaise ended flatly.

Draco turned to glare at him.

“What? Nothing rhymes with Malfoy!” Blaise protested, leaping to dodge a curse.

“You’re an idiot!” Draco complained. “You ruined the whole damn song! You could have ended it with something else!”

“Nothing rhymes with Draco, either, except maybe Waco, and I thought about it and decided you wouldn’t like the connotations.”

Unnoticed, Harry took his bowl of oatmeal and went down to eat in the dungeons with Snape. Snape might gripe, but at least he didn’t sing at Harry.

He was going to be very glad when this spell was finally over.

Harry could hear raised voices and after several moments, realised that Snape and Hermione were yelling at each other. He stood outside the Potions class for several moments, stunned and confused. Why was Hermione yelling? Hermione almost never yelled.

Before he could decide what to do about it, Snape’s door slammed open and Hermione stormed out.

Harry cautiously poked his head in. “What was that about?”

Snape made a dismissive gesture that nevertheless indicated his pure fury. “Nothing.” For a moment he looked hunted, even guilty. It took him several moments to say anything more. “It’s just that Ms. Granger persists in this stupid idea that Cinderella’s slippers were the result of a mistranslation even though the translation was consistent and—”

“Whoa—wait—seriously?” Harry gaped at the man. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Are you really this over-invested in my footwear?”

Snape scowled, but Harry thought he was beginning to read the man—there was little actual anger. “I’m merely committed to the cause of accuracy.”

“Oh, accuracy. Yeah, that gets me off too.”

Snape gave him a suspicious glance, but Harry smiled as brightly and innocently as he knew how.

“Anyway, I was trying to decided what to wear to my big ball, except—you know,” Harry said, gesturing to his frilly nightmare.

“Hah,” Snape replied. Harry noticed the man looked tired—maybe even a little depressed. Harry knew Snape had been desperately trying to come up with some kind of potion before the ball, but nothing had worked. Which was nice of Snape, knowing that Harry didn’t want to go to the ball and kiss lots of random strangers. Snape had been strangely nice these days—maybe he was falling under Harry’s spell, too?

Harry gave him his most charming grin—the one that seemed to work a lot more often lately. “So, what are you wearing to the ball?”

“I’m not going,” Snape replied shortly. He retreated deeper into his chambers, and Harry followed.

So Harry’s Disney charms didn’t work on Snape—why didn’t that surprise Harry? “You have to be there. The king of the land ordered all eligible princes and princesses and men and women of age to marry to be there, by royal decree.”

“And what king is this?”

“I don’t know. Some bugger with a crown,” Harry said. He sat on an ottoman. “You’re really not coming?” he added.

“I fail to see what my presence could add to the festivities,” Snape said dryly.

“Um. What if I said I wanted you to come?” Harry asked.

Snape stood abruptly and went over to a small stove with a cauldron. “I’m of better use elsewhere,” he said. “I do my best work behind the scenes, as it were.”

There was a blooming rose of pain in Harry’s chest that couldn’t withstand inspection at the moment. “Sure. I get it.” He stood to leave.

Just as he reached the door, Snape spoke again. “If I might offer some advice . . .”

Harry turned, careful to keep his face impassive. “Go on.”

“Everyone will try to prove that they are your ‘true love.’ They will dance with you, romance you, and may even genuinely wish to break the spell. But bear in mind that this may not be all they want. They may not want romance, and their goals may be very dissimilar from your own.”

“Got it,” Harry said wryly. “I’ll stay away from nasty boys who only want to take advantage of me.”

Snape’s expression did not change at all, but Harry sensed he was surprised. Maybe it was the way his body went so still? “What boys?” he asked slowly. “You’ll be . . . considering boys?”

Harry shrugged. “The invitation says come one and all. And I can hardly turn them away if they might be my only chance at breaking the spell,” he pointed out reasonably.

Snape turned away with a strange little frown. “Perhaps they are the ones I should be warning.”

“Huh?”

“Perhaps they should be warned that you may not want romance and that your goals may be very dissimilar from their own. I should hate to have any broken hearts on my conscience,” Snape said sarcastically.

Harry tried to laugh that off, but it came out sounding weird and awkward. “Oh, sure, they’ll just be falling all over themselves to spend time in my company. I’m sure all the blokes are pining,” he scoffed.

Snape finally turned to meet his eyes, and his expression was grimmer than Harry expected. “You may be surprised,” was all he would say. He turned away and refused to look at Harry again.

That night, Harry did the best he could with his hair and, on a crazy whim, borrowed a little rouge from Hermione.

She looked surprised, but didn’t say anything negative. “It’s probably a good idea,” she said instead. “You were looking rather pale.”

Harry nodded gratefully. “That’s what I thought. Thanks for letting me get ready here. Ron’s all right about it, and Neville’s being nice, but I can tell they all feel weird having me about.”

Hermione smiled. “They’ll get over it. I’m sure it’s just because they suddenly can’t slip you into a simple category. It makes people uneasy.”

“It’d help if I didn’t look anything like a girl,” Harry complained. “If I were, you know, more manly.”

“You do look very pretty in the dress,” Hermione admitted. “I heard some of the girls won’t dance with you because they’re envious—they think standing next to you they’ll look frumpy.”

“Fantastic! I hold a ball and the girls won’t even dance with me?”

“Only the shallow girls, Harry,” Hermione pointed out. “Like Lavender. Did you ever really think Lavender Brown was your one true love?”

Harry laughed. “I guess not,” he said with a shrug.

“Anyway, maybe it’s the spell making you look pretty,” Hermione added. “Maybe as soon as it’s off you’ll look as manly as anything.”

Harry suspected this wasn’t true and it was just Hermione’s way of bucking him up, but it was still a kind thought. “Thanks.”

“Want to borrow a necklace or something?” Hermione asked hopefully. “I always wanted a friend to share things like that with, but . . . you know.”

“Sure,” Harry said, repaying the kindness. “But what about Ginny?”

“Ginny’s never really been into necklaces,” Hermione said sadly. “Sometimes she’d try one on, but she felt awkward wearing it anywhere. She’s a bit more on the sporty side, isn’t she?” She rummaged in a small jewellery box and pulled out a slender choker. It was dazzling—rubies and sapphires and emeralds studded its silver frame.

Harry gulped. “That’s—wow. I’ve never seen you wear that before!”

Smiling shyly, Hermione fastened it at the nape of Harry’s neck. “I didn’t have a set of dress robes it didn’t put to shame,” she confessed. “It used to be my grandmother’s. Isn’t it lovely?”

Harry turned to look in Hermione’s mirror, touching the necklace with a fingertip, hoping like hell he wouldn’t lose it in the course of the evening. “It’s gorgeous,” he agreed. “Between the necklace and the dress, I suddenly look—well, really nice.”

Hermione hugged him. “Harry, you’re beautiful. There’s nothing wrong with being beautiful,” she hastened to add. “And anyway, it’s just for tonight, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, still fingering the choker and feeling sort of funny—like he was nostalgic or wistful or regretful or something. “Just for tonight,” he repeated. Anyway, he’d be glad when this was all over and he was normal again. He’d just have to keep telling himself that.

“And this way you’ll go out with a bang,” Hermione added.

Grinning, Harry gave her a quick hug back. That was a far better way of looking at it.

Hermione grinned back, her eyes twinkling mischievously. “And who knows? Before the night is over you might be feeling the heady glow of true love as it bursts into blossom.”

Harry groaned.

Hermione laughed and slipped her arm through his. “Come on, Prince Reluctant. Escort me on down to the ball so Ron and I can have a few dances while you enjoy all your suitors.”

Harry only groaned again.

Harry’s first dance was with Ginny, but even though they marched and twirled round the Great Hall, they both danced as well as Seekers without their brooms. In the air they flew, weightless; on the ground they clunked. It was depressing and Harry didn’t feel anything like ‘the heady glow of true love bursting into blossom.’

As the music ended, Harry gave her a perfunctory kiss, and they both looked at each other sadly. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

Ginny hugged him. “I’m sorry too.” She ran off, and it took a lot of Harry’s imagination to convince himself she was only going to use the loo or find some other bloke to have fifteen kids with, rather than going off to cry somewhere. He didn’t blame her. He sort of felt like crying too.

Next he danced with the Patil twins—one at a time—and then Neville Longbottom, who felt that he probably wasn’t Harry’s true love but that it didn’t hurt to try.

“And anyway,” he told Harry, “there are a lot of blokes trying to work up the courage to ask you, so I thought I might get things moving.”

Harry smiled. “Thanks, Neville. You’re a real friend.”

“Just watch out for George Weasley.”

“What? Why?”

Before Neville could answer, George was spinning Harry round the floor—and with rather more enthusiasm than any of Harry’s previous partners. “Hiya, Harry,” he said with a big smile. “How about puckering up for me?”

Harry flushed. “George,” he admonished.

“One little kiss won’t hurt. Besides, Mum’ll just die if one of us Weasleys isn’t your true love.”

“Well—” Harry began, but before he could finish, George dipped him low and kissed him theatrically.

As they straightened, George began to go green, then turned into a frog. “Now look what you’ve done!” he croaked, hopping circles around Harry.

Everyone laughed, including Harry, as Ron hurried over to capture his brother. “I’m putting you in a jar and pickling you,” he warned George. “Sorry, Harry. He put a potion on his lips.”

“It’s the lipstick that puts some ribbit in your life!” George said happily.

“No problem,” Harry replied. At least it had lightened the atmosphere a little.

After that, Harry started kissing everyone as well, just to make sure they weren’t his true love, and also hoping he might turn another into a frog. He didn’t, but he did discover that Blaise Zabini was a very good kisser, which was sort of a shock.

By eleven thirty, Harry had danced with almost everyone. He was beginning to feel sick. Would he be stuck like this forever?

Hermione hurried over, sensing his dismay. “Take me for a spin ‘round the floor,” said.

Harry put his arms around her reluctantly. “It’s going to mean trouble if you’re the one,” he said. “What about Ron?”

Hermione shrugged airily. “We already talked it over. We’re Gryffindor’s golden trio; we’ll make it work somehow.”

Stunned, Harry laughed. “That’s very open-minded of the two of you.”

“We’re extremely progressive and open-minded people. Harry, we’re your friends. And you’re handsome. That doesn’t hurt. If you were ugly, it’d be a different matter,” she joked.

Harry smiled.

“Where’s Professor Snape, anyway? The two of you have been nearly inseparable recently.”

“He couldn’t make it,” Harry said shortly.

“Really?”

Harry couldn’t hide his discouragement. “He didn’t want to come.”

“You really wanted him to?”

Harry shrugged as cavalierly as he knew how, but there was no hiding it; Snape wasn’t here, and Harry wasn’t happy. “I thought we were sort of getting to be friends, but then he goes and pushes me away.”

Clapping her hands together, Hermione eagerly said, “He made a generous sacrifice so you can be free to love whomever you want without being burdened by his unpleasant demeanour?”

“That’s being a bit dramatic about it, but I guess it might be a bit like that.”

Hermione’s eyes gleamed. “Beauty and the beast!”

“What?”

“Draco and Snape! Er, and you. But Draco! He’s Gaston, and Snape is the Beast—”

“That much I’ll believe.”

“You have the handsome but vain and shallow man . . . er, boy chasing you, and the less attractive, grumpy but sweet and—um, scratch that. Less attractive, but smart, yes, and . . . gentle—no, wait.”

“Less attractive but equally evil?” Harry suggested.

“Don’t be silly.”

“Less attractive but vastly more competent in the realm of murder and mayhem?”

“The man who truly cares about you, the one who would give his life for you. How’s that?”

Harry’s face heated up. “All right, don’t rub it in.”

“Well, anyway, he’s the good man. And as in all Disney movies, it just takes longer to figure that out.”

“Loads longer,” Harry agreed. “Anyway, what difference does it make? I don’t love Snape!”

“Maybe you do and you just haven’t realized it yet,” Hermione suggested.

“Yeah, right.” Harry was hot with embarrassment right down to his toes.

“Move over,” Ron said suddenly. “I’m cutting in.” To Harry’s horror and amusement, he shooed Hermione away and grabbed Harry. “Come on, one turn round the floor. That’s all you’re getting, unless I’m your true love, in which case I might buy you dinner.”

“You’re not, Ron. Seriously,” Harry promised.

“Oh, so with Neville Longbottom it’s a maybe, but for me definitely not? Some friend you are.”

They stumbled awkwardly round the floor, and Harry began to giggle like a lunatic. “I can’t believe we’re doing this,” he gasped, hiding his face against Ron’s shoulder.

There was a flash of light from a corner of the room. “Oh, good,” Ron said dryly. “That’s Dennis Creevey and his brother’s camera, so whether you believe it or not, you sure won’t forget. He’s next in line for a dance, too, so you’d better hope I’m the one.”

“Oh, God,” Harry moaned.

Ron grinned wickedly. “And it’s McGonagall and Flitwick after that!”

“Oh, God,” Harry said more loudly.

The music stopped and Ron gave a quick bow. Both boys grimaced and gave each other a quick kiss. In the background, someone squealed.

“What was that?” Harry asked.

Ron rolled his eyes. “Hermione, I think. Trust me, you don’t even want to know.”

Harry danced with Dennis, then the headmistress, then Flitwick, each dance more desperately awkward than the last. “I just wanted to dance with you to tell you to keep a stiff upper lip,” Flitwick assured him. “Cheer up! I’m sure he’ll turn up soon!”

“Who?” Harry said, thinking instantly of Snape, his heart beating rapidly.

“Oh, whoever he is. Some handsome young devil who’ll sweep you off your feet. I’ve been around awhile! I know how these things go, Disney or no Disney!”

“Thanks,” Harry said weakly. As the music ended, someone grabbed his arm and spun him around.

“Hello, love. Have you been waiting all night just for me?” Draco looked smug in his dark robes with silver trim. He was handsomer than anyone else Harry’d danced with, and he knew it. “That’s a lovely necklace,” he added, eyes glittering. “Expensive, is it?”

“Leave me alone. I don’t want to dance with you,” Harry said.

“But I’m the last one left in the room who wants to dance with you,” Draco said reasonably.

“I don’t care,” Harry said. “There will be other balls.”

“Do you really want to wait for another ball? Imagine how long it will take for poor Granger to figure out invitations and get all the arrangements made. And after all she’s been through already! You make your friends work too hard. And I could solve everything with just a kiss. And after that, if you want, I’ll keep you up to your nose in balls.”

He leaned forward, but Harry leaned away. “Not going to happen. Besides, more people could show up. Maybe they just like being fashionably late.”

Draco smirked. “Absolutely. My parents like being fashionably late. But it’s almost midnight, Potter. And I’ve been doing my research. In Disney magic, midnight’s important, isn’t it?”

His heart sinking, Harry didn’t answer.

“I postulate that if you aren’t kissed by midnight, that dress isn’t coming off. And we both want that dress off, don’t we, Potter?”

Harry, dazed and sick, found that he was letting Draco lead him around the dance floor. “It isn’t coming off for you,” he mumbled, but he wasn’t as certain as he’d been moments ago. Draco was right—midnight was important. And here Harry was in his glass slippers. If he didn’t meet his one true love now, he suspected it would never happen. But did it have to be Draco? “You don’t even like me,” he protested softly. Wouldn’t that be awful, stuck forever with someone who hated you?

“I like you just fine,” Draco soothed. “I’m dancing with you, aren’t I?”

“Well—ah—I suppose—” Harry looked around for Ron or Hermione, but they’d apparently taken a break. “Draco, I don’t love you.”

“You haven’t tried.”

“I shouldn’t have to!”

“Sometimes love takes work,” Draco insisted.

Now Draco had danced Harry straight into a corner. And Harry hadn’t brought his wand—Hermione had said, Who needs a wand to dance? Now Harry felt trapped and unarmed and he was starting to feel scared, which was stupid. It wasn’t like a kiss would hurt, would it? And he could always punch Draco, with or without a wand. But what if Draco really was the one?

“Stop it,” Harry said, turning his head.

Draco grabbed his chin and forced Harry to face him. “Potter, either give me a kiss, or I swear I will take it.” He shoved Harry against the wall.

Harry shoved him back. “Stop it! It’s supposed to be true love’s kiss, not true love’s slobber, you pig!”

“Excuse me,” another voice interrupted. “May I cut in?”

Harry gasped. He’d never seen Snape look so impressive. His robes were so black they practically sucked the light out of the air around him, and the slightest breath of air made them flicker like flames around the tops of his high, glossy boots.

Snape looked at Harry expectantly, still waiting for an answer. “If you would rather dance with Mr. Malfoy . . .”

“No!” Harry yelped, and threw himself at Snape. They went straight over and fell to the floor in a tangle of arms and legs and fluttery black cloak and tulle.

“Potter, I asked you to dance. If this is your idea of how to do it, I feel sorry your previous partners were subjected to it. Get off of me; one does not dance with one’s elbow in their partner’s kidney.”

“Sure they do,” Harry said, giddy with relief. “It’s called a rumba.”

“Liar.”

Harry struggled to his feet, trying to keep one hand on Snape the whole time. “I knew you’d come,” he said.

Snape gave him an inscrutable look. “Did you?”

Before Harry could answer, Snape had swept him away from Draco. They were gliding across the floor, and the room seemed to wheel around them.

“You see?” said Snape with the arch of a brow. “This is what it is supposed to be like.”

Harry smiled dreamily. “Yes,” he said. “I see that now.” They went round and round the floor, and even though it was late and Harry was wearing the most uncomfortable shoes in existence, he felt he could dance all night. “I’m glad you showed up,” Harry told the man. “The spell had gone straight to Draco’s head. He thought we were meant to be or something.”

“I suspect that was more Draco’s mercenary nature than the spell, but I did notice it seemed to be inconveniencing you. But I’m sure the spell has been working its subtle magic on him. He was making a convincing villain, wasn’t he?”

Harry grinned. “You’re a pretty good hero, too.”

“You’ve had rather astounding musical numbers cropping up at improbable times as well,” Snape added, changing the subject.

“And I’ve had my share of plucky sidekicks.”

Draco’s parents swept into the Great Hall. “Let me see if I can guess this one,” Snape offered. “The evil Queen still desperately trying to cling to youth and beauty . . . and Narcissa.”

Harry stifled a guffaw and elbowed the man. “Not funny,” he muttered.

“Really? Then why did you laugh?” Snape spun Harry. “Are you going to grant either of them a dance?”

“No,” Harry said.

Snape’s eyebrows rose. “No?”

Harry smiled slowly. “I think you’re my final dancing partner for the night.”

“Ah. Are your poor little glass-encased feet getting tired?”

“Surprisingly, no. Not really.”

“Are you sure? We could always take a rest out on one of the balconies.”

Harry turned. There were three balconies, all candlelit, warded and warm, the night sky overhead crammed full of stars. He was suddenly conscious of Snape’s warm hand against the middle of his back and began to feel dizzy in a strange and rather nice way. “Yes,” he said. “Let’s go out on one of the balconies for a rest.”

Snape escorted him outside, the candles giving everything a soft glow. They looked up at the stars, Harry slipping his gloved hand into Snape’s. They looked up at the night sky. “Wish upon a star, Potter?” Snape said.

Harry swallowed hard. “No,” he said lightly. “Too many to choose from.”

Smirking, Snape told him, “That would only mean you’d get more wishes.”

“I don’t think I need any more wishes.” Harry leaned against Snape as they stood by the railing. “It’s lovely out,” Harry said.

Snape nodded. “The spell,” he explained. “And you’ll notice the stars compliment your dress.” He snorted. “It’s as though someone with no skill or taste sewed ten thousand sequins across the black velvet of the night sky.”

Harry sighed. So this was only the spell and, as usual, Snape was unaffected, uninterested in Harry. “Oh,” he said, the disappointment thick in his voice.

“Yes,” Snape said. There were a few awkward moments before he slipped his hand under Harry’s chin. “They also compliment your eyes,” he said diffidently.

Harry could help but smile. “Was that a line?”

“What?”

Harry nudged the man. “I was asking if you were coming on to me,” he explained.

“That again?” Snape said. One of his arms encircled Harry’s waist. “If you meant, was I making romantic overtures, then the answer is yes.”

Harry knew he was turning red, but he was pleased despite the embarrassment. “It was sexual overtures last time,” he teased.

“It was nothing of the sort last time,” Snape replied, nettled. “Last time was just you being an idiot. Anyway,” he said, his voice becoming more gentle, “I did feel the sexual overtures should wait until after the kiss, at least.”

Harry stared up at him, awash in some emotion he couldn’t identify, but certainly felt quite nice. “And are you going to kiss me?” he asked.

Snape ran a thumb over Harry’s lip as if in answer.

It was almost as though Snape’s touch was some sort of key, because Harry found his mouth parting slightly in response.

Snape leaned down, and Harry could see a shooting star over the man’s shoulder. Just as Snape’s eyes drifted shut and Harry’s began to do the same, a thought occurred to Harry, and he pushed the man back. “Wait.”

“Wait? What do you want now? Roses?”

“No—it’s just—” Harry swallowed, trying to keep the distress from his voice. “What happens when I kiss you?”

“We have to do it to find out,” Snape explained. “That’s how chemistry works.”

“No, I meant—what about the spell? What if it breaks the spell?”

“That’s the point of this whole endeavour! It breaks the spell and the dress can come off, end of story, happily ever after, and so on.”

“Does it end the magic that made the dress? Will it stop . . . everything?”

“Something like that, I suppose.”

Harry backed away. “But the spell brought you back,” he said. “What if I kiss you and—and you die?”

“I’ve died once. I wasn’t impressed the first time, I doubt the second time will be worse.” He leaned in again, but Harry turned his face away. “Dying won’t kill me,” Snape insisted.

“Don’t be stupid. I won’t,” Harry said stubbornly. “I like having you back. I like chopping your herbs and listening to you rant and sitting next to you in a big damn pink dress while you act like everything is normal. I even like dancing with you. I don’t want to lose that.”

Snape’s face softened. He reached out and brushed Harry’s fringe out of his face. “Harry . . .”

“Bastards!” a voice said from the doorway. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to, Snape! You want that lamp!”

Snape turned to Draco, annoyed. “I have no apprehension of what you’re talking about or, for that matter, what screw is currently loose in your mind. Go away.”

“You’re not even really alive! We all know that spells that bring people back from the dead are dark magic! Kill him again!”

“That’s stupid,” Harry said. “Nobody’s going to listen to you. You’re as evil as anyone! At least Snape redeemed himself!” Then Harry noticed that Snape had his back to the railing and was looking tense. “What?”

“Potter, if the spell is indeed gathering strength, you might remember the villagers with their pitchforks in Beauty and the Beast.”

“But that’s not reasonable!”

“It’s Disney. Logic has nothing to do with it.”

“Kill the beast!” Draco shouted.

Blaise Zabini and Gregory Goyle looked out uncertainly. “With what?” Goyle said.

“I don’t care! Grab a chair or something! Get some pitchforks! Use a spell! Use your hands!”

Blaise Zabini shuddered. “I’m not using my hands,” he said. “Getting blood all over them like some kind of common Muggle? Disgusting.”

Goyle shifted from one foot to another. “I don’t have a pitchfork,” he said. “You want I should go and find one?”

“Forget it,” Draco snapped. “Some mob you lot are! I’ll do it myself!” He whipped out his wand and brandished it at Snape. “Or maybe I should make you do it yourself,” he said. “All you have to do is take a couple of steps backwards. Right over the balcony,” he added with a grim smile.

Snape looked unimpressed. He gently pushed Harry out of the way. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. This is the stupidest fight in Disney history. Come on then, if you really must.”

Draco shouted something, but Harry cried, “Expelliarmus!” and Draco’s wand was suddenly gone.

Harry turned to Snape in excitement. “I did it!” he said. “Wandless magic!”

“Your signature spell, too,” Snape said, a smile playing about his lips. “Well done. You really—” Before he could finish his sentence, Draco rushed at him. Snape ducked, hitting Draco with his shoulder. There was a long moment where Harry didn’t know what was happening; everyone was yelling and flailing and losing their balance, and Draco was trying desperately to push Snape over the railing. Then Snape disentangled himself and stepped aside, letting Draco’s own momentum defeat him.

Draco went over the balcony with a hair-raising shriek.

Harry covered his mouth with his hand.

Draco’s muffled cries could be still be heard; they sounded like, “My knee! Dammit! I’ve bunged my knee! Owwww.”

Shaking a little, Harry squeezed Snape’s hand. “Wow, it’s a good thing for Draco that the Great Hall is on the ground floor.”

“He’s an idiot,” Snape opined. “He wasn’t really even a very good villain.”

“You’re both bastards,” said a voice in the grass on the other side of the balcony. “I’ll get you for this.”

“Go away, Draco,” Snape said.

Draco scurried off into the night, muttering about how he couldn’t be seen with grass stains.

Harry sighed. Snape put an arm around him. “Where were we?”

“I was refusing to let you kiss me,” Harry said curtly.

Somewhere, a bell began to chime. “It’s midnight,” Snape remarked.

“Oh,” Harry replied, disappointed.

Snape spun Harry around and kissed him hard. “There.” He looked at Harry a moment and kissed him again, this time more slowly. They broke apart, both breathing heavily.

After a moment, something struck Harry. “I told you not to do that!” he said, outraged. “I’ll have you know that was sexual assault.”

“I apologise. It was all in the name of getting your clothes off.”

Harry looked more closely at the man. “You’re not dead!” he said, overjoyed. He kissed Snape again. Something fell to the ground with a metallic clink.

“Your tiara’s come off,” Snape said, equally elated.

“Harry, you did it!” Both men were suddenly crushed together as Hermione hugged them tightly. “Oh, I’m so happy for you!”

Ron stood in the doorway. “You’ve gotten enough cuddles out of me for one night already,” he said when he caught Harry looking at him. “You’re not getting a group hug.”

“Ron, it was Beauty and the Beast all along!” Hermione said.

Ron looked from Harry to Snape and back. “That’s great!” he said. “And if you say you love him, great shimmering streaks of light will fall from the sky and melt his monstrous beastly form away and turn him into a handsome prince!” Ron suggested.

Snape glared and opened his mouth to retort, but Harry cut him off.

“He already is. Sort of,” Harry said. “And I like him this way.”

Ron looked perplexed. “If you say so, but I think it’s really worth a try. I mean, what if he was cursed to look like that? Wouldn’t that make a whole lot of sense?”

“Ron!” Hermione chided.

“What?”

“Come on. Let’s go upstairs.”

“What? Why?” Hermione whispered something in his ear. “Ew! Hermione, don’t say things like that!”

“Well, the dress will come off now. Let’s go. Let them have their happily ever after.”

As they walked off, Ron called over his shoulder, “Don’t give me any details in the morning!”

Snape grabbed Harry up and carried him back through the Great Hall. “What the hell are you doing?” Harry demanded.

“My legs are longer, so we’ll get to my chambers faster this way. And I really would like to see whether you’re wearing lacy knickers.”

Harry grinned. “Are you making a pass at me?”

“I’m making sexual overtures and will continue making them,” Snape assured him.

They reached Snape’s rooms in record time and Harry was summarily dumped on the bed, his tiara tossed on the bedside table.

“Wait a second,” Harry said, holding up a hand to forestall the man. “This is rather sudden. And it’s not, er, very Disney.”

“The time for Disney has ended,” Snape told him. As Harry huddled by the headboard, Snape crawled across the bed with the lean hunger of a panther. “Do you think I intend to hurt you?” the man asked.

“I don’t know what you intend to do,” Harry said. “I’ve never done this before.”

Snape sat back on his haunches, astounded. “You’re a virgin?”

Harry flushed. “I’ve not had a lot of time for romance outside of Voldemort, and what time I did have was spent as a Disney princess. And Disney princesses don’t get much action. What do you think?”

“I suppose that’s true. It’s always a chaste kiss that saves the princess, never a Fairy Cocksucker.” Snape looked thoughtful. “But I must admit you surprise me. You were always very popular. It never occurred to me you were not taking advantage of your popularity.”

“You have a tendency to see me in a negative light,” Harry replied wryly.

“I apologise.” Snape kissed him.

Harry melted, feeling like he was in the right place and this was definitely the right time. He looked up at Snape adoringly. “How come it took you so long to decide to come to my ball, anyway?”

“I honestly didn’t think you wanted me there.”

“I told you I did, didn’t I?”

Snape half smiled. “I didn’t believe you. I thought—with so many others there—well. I thought, ‘Why bother?’”

Harry blinked. “You really thought that?”

“You had so many, er, other options to choose from.”

“I don’t think love works like that,” Harry said gently. “It’s not like ordering a roast beef sandwich and telling the waiter to hold the pickles. It’s sort of all or nothing and anyway, I’m pretty sure you don’t get a pick at all. You just—want someone. It’s not a choice, really. Love just happens.”

Snape gave him that unreadable look he had. “I see. What would you choose, were such options available?”

Harry grinned. “Well, personally I like pickles,” he said. “I’m happy with my order,” he assured the man. “And I’m not going to send it back, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Snape leaned down and kissed Harry’s temple, his jaw, and finally his lips. “What spell did you perform to bring such a debacle down on your head, anyway?” he murmured.

Harry blushed. He hadn’t told Ron or Hermione, but Snape was different. “It was called Cum Stella Tu Optas,” he admitted. “Only when I wished to have the happy ending of a prince, I accidentally said princess.”

Snape gave a genteel snort. “When you wish upon a star? I guessed as much. In the future, I hope you remember not to take the advice of singing Gryllidae.”

Harry smiled. “They’re supposed to be lucky. I learned that watching Mulan.”

“They’re filthy little insects,” Snape replied.

“It brought me luck,” Harry countered.

“Got you lucky, you mean,” Snape replied with a smile.

“You’re getting better with idioms,” Harry said as Snape kissed his way down Harry’s neck.

Harry shivered, and Snape rolled over onto his side and supported himself with an elbow. “All right, why don’t we take this slowly? It’s not a race, after all.”

Harry nodded, letting out a long breath. “Slow sounds good.”

Snape stroked Harry’s skirt with the back of his hand—no skin touching skin. “Tell me, what does the lace feel like?”

“Itchy,” Harry said promptly.

“I see. It looks lovely on you. Very . . . inviting. And the silk?”

“The silk is, erm, okay. Very smooth. Sometimes it feels a little too insubstantial, though, like I’m not wearing much of anything.”

Snape’s gaze travelled up and down Harry’s body. “Silk is like that. It is not an overbearing fabric; you are reminded of it only in its soft kiss to your thigh, its caress against your shoulder blade, its whisper grazing the small of your back.”

Harry stared. He’d heard a little bit about sex talk or dirty talk, and this wasn’t how he’d imagined it—yet he couldn’t deny it was effective. He was suddenly very aware of his own body and how the dress felt against it.

“When you put it that way, I kind of like it,” Harry admitted.

Snape smiled.

“Do . . . do you like the dress?” Harry ventured.

Looking rueful as he ran a finger down Harry’s leg, Snape said, “I do. I did from the first moment I saw you in it. I couldn’t reconcile the brat I knew with the pretty little creature in front of me. And after a short time I accepted that you were still a brat, but I couldn’t shake the thought that you were a very fetching brat.”

Harry wrinkled his nose. “Gee, thanks.”

Snape arched a brow. “Do you really want to know what I thought?”

“Yes. Really. And no bollocks, or I’ll know.”

“I thought it couldn’t possibly be you. Then I thought it an amusing bit of justice; an aggressive, aggravating snot turned into a cute little fairy. And then I thought it was surprising how well it suited you . . .” Snape leaned forward. “And then I thought about your legs. Your coltish legs, every inch of them swathed in the softest, most delicate fabrics devised by man or god. I thought how I’d like to touch them, to press the pad of my finger to the indent just behind your knee, to slide my palm along the secret flesh of your inner thigh. Your dress is indescribably pretty. But I was obsessed with knowing what was beneath it.”

Harry swallowed hard. He sat up a little, curling his legs beneath him so just his feet peeked out. “Do you want to touch my legs now?” he whispered.

“Of course.”

Harry nodded to his toe. “Go on.”

Snape carefully removed Harry’s glass shoe and set it aside. “Usually it’s the other way around in Disney,” Snape remarked. “Perhaps we’ll set a new precedent.” He set the other shoe on the floor as well, then took Harry’s feet into his lap. The toes were reinforced with a strip of silk, which he fondled for a moment.

Harry snickered and hid his face in the pillow. “That tickles.”

“My apologies. I’m merely fascinated that the simple addition of a dress brought into question everything I thought I knew about you. Look at your feet. You have perfect feet.”

“They’re too small,” Harry complained.

“They’re the right size for the rest of you.” He brushed a thumb over Harry’s ankle, stroked his heel, and then his calf.

Harry whimpered softly. With one hand, he surreptitiously lifted his skirt another inch or two. Snape smiled and caressed one of Harry’s calves with both hands. His hands were surprisingly warm.

After a moment, his long, tantalizing fingers worked their way up, dancing over Harry’s belly, skimming his throat, stroking his shoulder. Finally, Snape twined his fingers through the fingers of Harry’s silk gloves and everything went funny and breathless for a moment.

Gently, he worked one glove off, then the other, folding them with care and setting them on the bedside table. He raised Harry’s hand to his lips, lightly kissing the knuckles as he held Harry’s gaze. Harry reached out and pressed their hands together, palm-to-palm. He didn’t realize a palm could tingle that way, that anything, anything could feel so intimate.

Snape smiled wryly. “It took layer upon layer of the most expensive fabrics to make me realize that the exquisite surface my hands so longed for was no silk or satin, but your unclothed perfection.”

Harry drew a shaky breath. “Please, touch me more.”

Snape bent, kissing him, atop Harry as he embraced him, stroked him, began to undo buttons. “You know,” he whispered in Harry’s ear, “I almost don’t want to undress you.”

The sensation of Snape’s purring baritone that close was completely distracting, and it took Harry a few seconds to actually process the man’s words. “Yeah?” he said. His prick disagreed strongly with Snape on this point; it wanted out of his panties rather badly and was tenting the front of his dress.

Snape kissed the shell of his ear. “You’re very sensual like this,” he said. “Would it bother you unduly to leave the stockings on, at least?”

One of his hands had gone up Harry’s skirt.

Nearly cross-eyed with pleasure, Harry nodded. “Sure, yeah. Whatever you want,” he said.

“The rest can go, though,” Snape said. “Depulso!” Harry’s dress disappeared.

“Is it gone for good?” Harry asked anxiously.

“It’s in my hope chest,” Snape told him with great dignity, “awaiting further use.”

“Oh, Merlin, no,” Harry groaned. “It’s never getting used again.”

“I don’t promise that,” Snape replied. He sat back on his heels and stared.

Harry looked down and saw that he was only wearing the panties and stockings, and tried to cover himself. “Don’t look,” he begged. “I’ve been trying to get rid of these for days.”

“How did you manage the loo?”

“I could get the knickers down around my knees,” Harry explained, “but that was it. And it was a relief to get them down but it made me walk like an overdressed penguin, and believe me, I tried it.”

Snape laughed. “I don’t know why you’d want to take them down anyway. They’re indisputably erotic.”

Harry risked a peek through his fingers. Pink prick, pink panties, lots of lace—nothing hot at all. “You’re mad,” he opined.

Snape swatted his hands away. “Let me touch you,” he ordered. Harry was still uncomfortable, but he did want Snape to touch him. Snape’s fingers slipped beneath the top of the panties; Harry could clearly see them through the sheer lace.

“Ohgod,” he gulped.

“You like that?”

“Ohgod,” he repeated with heartfelt fervour.

Snape began to stroke him, faster and faster. Just as Harry was about to set thrusters on go and shoot straight into orbit, the man abruptly stopped. “Let’s pull them down just a little,” he suggested.

“Whatever, just hurry,” Harry begged.

But he had to admit this was better, because Snape’s hand wasn’t so constricted, and Harry could see everything clearly. The man circled Harry’s cock with a finger, his wrist movements mimicking all the times he ever stirred a cauldron. Harry found it so hot that he couldn’t help himself; he grabbed Snape’s hand.

“Potter, what on earth are you doing?” the man asked in surprise as Harry raised the hand to his mouth.

“Sorry. Have to,” Harry explained urgently. He undid as many of the buttons on Snape’s cuffs as he could, as quickly as he could manage it. He began to kittenishly lick Snape’s pale wrist.

Snape looked on, amused. “Potter—Harry,” he amended, watching Harry slaver over his white wrists. “Has anyone ever told you that you are decidedly odd?”

“Says the man who likes me in lace knickers,” Harry shot back. He sucked Snape’s index finger into his mouth, feeling a weird, overwhelming sense of satisfaction.

This seemed to curtail Snape’s amusement. His face stilled and his eyes kindled, full of black heat. “Perhaps I should return the favour,” he hissed.

Harry watched in puzzlement as the man bent his head and—

Oh, holy mother of Merlin.

Harry just about levitated, and Snape pushed him back down. He held Harry’s hips in place as he sucked—sucked and sucked and sucked—and flicked his tongue against Harry’s glans—and—

And swallowed.

Harry bucked, whimpering, and Snape drew off. “You like that?”

“Fuck, don’t stop now!”

Snape rolled his eyes. “Well, at least I didn’t overestimate your greed and selfishness.”

“I’m not selfish!”

Snape gave him a look.

“I’m not. Really.” A strange thought occurred to Harry, causing heat to pool in his abdomen. “Could . . . I . . . could I do that to you?” Harry asked hesitantly.

Snape smirked. “Blow me to Bermuda,” he invited.

Snape didn’t really fit in Harry’s mouth, but it didn’t much matter. The fact that Snape was too big was more exciting than if Harry’d been able to take him whole. The feel of the man’s cock stretching his lips was a new and scary and completely fantastic experience, especially when Snape groaned. Snape had a way of groaning that would have brought Harry from disinterested to hard as a rock, and Harry was already hard as a rock. Harry silently vowed that he’d make Snape groan like that at least twice a day from now on.

And wow, who knew sliding your tongue over someone’s cock could be like this? Harry took as much of the man as he could, doing his best to imitate Snape’s movements. The man threaded his fingers through Harry’s hair while Harry made little helpless noises of pleasure.

“Don’t do that,” Snape begged.

“What?” Harry asked, sitting up a little, but still salivating.

“Make those noises. Those—humming noises. I can’t handle it.”

It took Harry a minute to fully understand. “Really?”

“I—fuck!” Snape cursed as Harry dove. The man began to fuck Harry’s mouth in earnest, only to pull him away with a snarl. “That’s enough, you spoiled brat. You’re going to kill me.”

“Death by blowjob? You should be so lucky,” Harry informed him.

“I want to fuck you,” Snape explained, obviously being as patient as he could. “It’s time for the lubrication. Perhaps we ought to use a Disney-friendly spell.”

Harry’s brow wrinkled. “A Disney-friendly lubrication spell? Like what?”

“A nonsense song, a higglty-pigglty, humpity-thumpity song, of course. Let me think . . . I’ve got it: Salagadoola mechicka boola balls and arse and prick, put them together and what have you got? Bibbity-bobbity slick.”

Harry squirmed. “What the hell was that?”

“All right, so the lyrics were a touch frightful, but you have to admit the voice was good.”

“The voice was perfect,” Harry agreed. He wouldn’t soon forget that voice saying prick. “I just feel weird now.”

“You’re empty and in need of filling,” Snape suggested with wicked glee.

“I’m dripping and oily,” Harry replied. “But yeah, that too.”

“Spread your legs.”

Harry cleared his throat and put his knees together. “I would, but the panties—”

Snape reached out and began to inch them down, ever so slowly. He was careful not to make a run in Harry’s stockings with his fingernail, which was a nice gesture, if rather bizarre. “I’ll keep these,” he eventually said, setting the panties on his nightstand.

“What for?”

“They’re pink and lacy and wet with pre-come,” Snape said. “Better than tears of a virgin in some potions.”

“Thanks,” Harry said sarcastically.

“Your legs,” Snape replied.

Harry felt suddenly hunted. It was not as dark as he’d like it to be. His cock was much more obviously hard than he’d like it to be. And Snape wanted in his arse. There was no way he could face this.

But as always, Snape had the perfect solution. “Onto your belly, then,” he instructed.

That was better; Harry could hide his face in the pillow. He continued to do so as Snape slid his fingers up inside Harry, long and warm and crooked. Harry jolted when they crooked, in fact. “What was that?” he panted.

“My fingertips against your prostate. A match made in heaven?”

Harry cried out softly. “Do it again, please!”

Instead, there was something blunt and rather bigger against his entrance. “Is this all right?” Snape whispered.

“I don’t know,” Harry replied with perfect honesty. Snape was going to put—that—into—him? It was unfathomable.

“What can I do to make this better for you?” Snape inquired.

“I don’t know. You could say the word prick,” Harry suggested hopefully. “That helped loads earlier. I like it when you say things like that.”

“You enjoy dirty talk?” Snape said, sounding surprised. He nuzzled Harry’s neck, lips barely moving as he said, “I want to fuck you so much. I want to feel your perfect legs and their gossamer tights wrapped around me.”

Harry wondered if this was some kind of magic; all Snape had to do was say something, and suddenly Harry wanted it too. Wanted it badly; he ached for it.

“Yes, please, let’s do that,” he mumbled.

Snape flashed a smile. He teased Harry’s ear with his tongue, his growly voice promising all sorts of filthy things, wonderful things. Harry couldn’t help wonder; would the man go through with any of them?

Harry gasped as little as he felt the man driving forward, filling him.

“Do you have any idea how delicious your pout was?” Snape hissed.

Harry dragged his attention away from his behind. “Huh?”

“Your pout. It was both the reason I knew you were really Harry Potter—and the reason I came to understand that I knew nothing of Harry Potter.”

Harry Potter, stretched and filled to capacity, could only blink in befuddlement.

“Your lips were so enticing. I had never thought of them that way. But I knew that they were, without a doubt, your lips. Do you know how perfect your lips are? How kissable, how fuckable?”

Harry moaned as Snape began to move.

“And yet even they weren’t enough,” Snape said in a low voice. “Not in the end.”

Harry agreed. “Nothing’s enough,” he rasped. “I don’t know what—the—hell it is. I just want more. I keep wanting more. Please!” he begged.

Snape’s thrusts sped up, and that was enough, for a little while.

Then Harry managed to turn on his side and look up at Snape, unable to voice what he wanted, his eyes pleading.

“On your back, then.” Harry had never heard Snape sound so gentle. And yet he fucked Harry hard, Harry’s legs high in the air, still shimmering in their silken stockings.

It was utterly perfect, everything Harry hadn’t known he was missing. The feeling of Snape inside him didn’t sate him; he merely wanted more, he wanted more and faster and hard—oh harder—Snape—

Harry didn’t know if he said it, but Snape seemed to hear it anyway.

In the end, one of Harry’s glossy ankles rested on Snape’s shoulder, pink and sparkly, as Snape thrust, and thrust, his face twisted, no pretty silken delicacy there.

Harry couldn’t catch his breath. Snape was in him—right in him—up inside him—Harry had never imagined anything like it.

“What do you want?” Snape whispered, his lank hair falling into Harry’s face.

He didn’t want anything. All he wanted was—to speak—all he wanted—he had to—oh.

Snape stilled. It was warm and thundery and sort of nice.

Harry buried his face against Snape’s shoulder and bucked up against him once, then again. He was sore, but he needed this. “This—this is—better than happily ever after,” Harry noted, his voice raw and full of need, the world moving beneath them.

“It’s certainly—better than Disney,” Snape agreed, panting.

Afterwards, he lay atop Snape, pinning the man, willing him to stay down. He couldn’t let Snape leave after this, never mind that these were his chambers. “I love you,” Harry stuttered, muddled.

Snape kissed his forehead. “I love you too, you incorrigible, irresistible little git. Onto the right side of the bed rather than my ribcage, if you don’t mind.”

Harry sank into the covers. “Is this my side, then?”

“As long as you want it.”

“Always,” Harry shot back instantly.

The corner of Snape’s lip curled and he stroked Harry’s face, brushing his hair back. “Always,” he agreed.

Smiling, Harry dozed off.

By the time he awoke, a ray of golden light had spilled over the floor. Outside, an enchanted evening had melted into the perfect morning after.

Snape was already awake, looking down at Harry with something like fondness. “I’m still in a bit of shock,” he admitted. “Of all the people in the world, I ended up being your true love. Do you know how bizarre that is?”

Harry twined his fingers through Snape’s. “Is it really that much of a surprise?” he asked. “The signs were there all along.”

“What do you mean?”

Harry grinned. “If anyone had stopped to think about it, they would have seen where you fit in the story. After all, you may be a half-blood, but you’re still my Prince.”

Snape groaned. “Ten points from Gryffindor for an abysmally poor pun.”

Harry didn’t mind. He was fairly certain he knew novel ways of earning those points back. “Happily ever after, right?” he said cheekily.

“Something ever after,” Snape agreed.

THE END

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