Chapter 3
Draco Malfoy had never been more uncomfortable in his twenty-four years of existence. Not long after his boss, Pansy, left, and Potter was appointed his babysitter for the remaining hours, the blonde was stripped utterly bare with nothing but his dark green briefs.
Potter chuckled, “A true Slytherin, huh?”
His skin was so pale that he knew the warmth and embarrassment he felt was visible, but he crossed his arms and attempted to sound more confident than he felt under the gaze of his childhood rival. “It’s a good color on me, Potter.”
“I never said it wasn’t.”
Draco flipped aghast, “Don’t talk to me so casually. You and I have jobs to do.” The man had shrugged and turned distractedly to the rack of clothes. The blonde sighed; why was he subjected to this horror?
“Arms down.” The redhead scolded and forced him to drop his only coverage of decency. She cringed, which did not make Draco feel self-conscious at all. “Oh, I didn’t realize you had such visible scars.” The brunette perked up and looked back at Draco, who recoiled slightly. “It’s not a problem. We just have to cover it with a little makeup to make the editing easier in the final touch-up.” She signaled Cordelia, who rushed over to tap a liquid over his chest. “How did you get such a bad scar anyway?”
Draco tried not to notice the visible regret and guilt on his rival's face and cleared his throat. “It…it was just a, uh, school fight. Yeah.”
Cordelia traced over the raised skin with her French tip nails, enamored. “Ouch. It looks like it hurt.” He only shrugged in response as she continued to cover the lighter skin with foundation and powder.
“You should probably cover up my tattoo while you’re at it.” He flipped his left forearm over, and Cordelia groaned.
“Of course, you have a large, black tattoo.”
He winced, “I’m sorry if that makes your job more difficult.”
Cordelia shrugged, “It is A-OK, honey.” Honey? “Nothing a little color corrector can’t fix.” She continued to put a pink and peach color on his arm. “It’s a cool tat.” Draco chose not to respond; clearly, Cordelia was a muggle.
Once the worst of his scars were covered, Amy returned with the bedazzled shirt. The poor girl had to use a step stool to get the shirt over his head and arms. It took a bit of adjusting, but eventually, they managed to squeeze the garment on. It was much tighter than Draco expected mesh to be. He self-consciously pulled the mesh down to try to cover the tiny sliver of his exposed stomach.
Amy slapped his hand, “Don’t yank on it. It’s supposed to look like that.”
Of course, it was; he groaned and snatched the pants that were shoved in his direction. Draco snuck a glance at the Gryffindor in the corner of the dressing room, and to the blonde’s dismay, he was staring. He blushed; he knew he wasn’t an upstanding citizen, but did he really deserve this torment?
Draco gently guided his feet into the holes of the pants and started yanking them up, over his thighs, and to his waist. Or, he tried, but he realized with mortification that he couldn’t get the damned things over his thighs.
Unfortunately, that meant everybody else in the room noticed, including the Savior of the Wizarding World.
Amy only made it worse by trying to yank it up for him. “Nope.” She commented shamelessly, “You need a size up.” He felt a smack at his thigh and yelped, actually yelped. “I didn’t account for this cake on ya, huh?”
Oh, sweet Merlin, just kill him now.
Draco’s whole body was flushed red in humiliation as they went two sizes up in pants sizes. He was blushing from his chest to his ears and noticed, anxiously, that Potter was just as uncomfortable as he was. At least he wasn’t getting some sick enjoyment out of this, Draco thought as the pants finally clipped in the front.
“The size down could’ve worked, but your bulge would’ve been too noticeable, so this is safer!” Amy gave him an innocent thumbs up and acted like she didn’t just set Draco and Potter on fire.
“I beg of you, stop talking!” She shrugged naively while Cordelia tried desperately to contain her critical laughter.
Now, the moment Draco was dreading the most: the bloody corset. He and Amy were behind a curtain (he wanted a little privacy from Potter, but technically, he could still see him, so the Auror let it slide). It looked three sizes too small, which was the point, considering they were trying to create a waistline on a man.
Amy gave a hard yank, and Draco cried, “Ouch! Be careful, would you?!”
“Sorry, love. The corset’s the hardest part!” She tugged on the strings again, and Draco felt like he was being punched in the gut. He couldn’t breathe, his vision was blurring, and there was a stinging pain around his waist from the unfamiliar garment. “Come on, Draco, just a little tighter!”
“Tighter?!” He wheezed, “You can’t be serious!” Draco’s voice didn’t even sound like his anymore. The snark was gone, and it was breathy, pitchy; his voice had gone up a whole octave.
“Pansy is aiming for an hourglass, but it’s,” YANK, “much,” PULL, “harder,” WRENCH, “than I thought it would be!”
Draco gripped the makeup counter like his life depended on it; he felt lightheaded. “Perhaps that’s because I am a man,” JERK, “ Oh, sweet Merlin!” TUG, “You are attempting to give me a figure I don’t have!”
Amy huffed and let go of the strings, which caused Draco to fall forward on the makeup counter. “I don’t think I have the arm strength to get your waist that small.”
“Well, then maybe we should stop?” It was a hopeful rhetorical question.
“No. Miss Pansy wants it perfect.” He groaned; he knew it was a lost cause. Draco put a hand to his corsetted stomach. “Hey! Mr. Bodyguard, do you think you could help with this?”
The blonde’s head jerked up. Fuck no! He thought.
Potter peered around the curtain, seeming very nervous. “What do you need?” He asked dumbly.
Draco was losing so much oxygen that he barely had the strength to glare, but damn, he sure tried. “Not a chance! Get,” he breathed, “get him out of here…!”
“No way, pretty boy. Your waist needs to be smaller than a sewing needle!” She pushed the Auror toward him, whose hips bumped into Draco’s backside.
He reared his head, blush flaming, “Watch it, Potter!”
“Sorry, Malfoy!” He held his hands up in surrender. The bespectacled man turned to refute Amy’s request, but she was already gone. She claimed she was going to get the heels.
Draco sighed, defeated. Things could not be more awkward between them as they pointedly avoided eye contact.
“Look,” he began, dreading his own words, “let’s just get this over with.” Draco jammed his thumb behind him and tried not to look at Potter’s shocked expression in the vanity mirror.
“I mean, only if you want me to–”
“Good God, Potter, don’t be a saint! Grab the strings and contort my body!”
He swallowed, “That’s going to look a little–”
“I don’t care how it looks! Now, I’m going to hold onto this table, and you’re going to pull, got it?”
He nodded and took hold of the strings, “Got it. Do you, uh, want prep?”
Draco stared at him with a confused and shocked look at the Aurors reflection in the mirror, “What?”
Potter’s tan skin turned crimson, “I-I meant, like, a countdown!”
He scoffed and shook his head. “No, just do it.”
“If you say so, Malfoy.” The man said, unconvinced, before tugging the strings back toward himself weakly.
He groaned; Potter was being gentle because, of course, he was. “Come on, Potter. Don’t tell me that’s all you got?”
“I just don’t want to hurt you more than it already looks like it is.” He gave another feeble tug, and Draco gave his best smirk to the reflection in the mirror.
“You’d think an Auror would be stronger than that, but I guess that’s a misconception.”
The reflection glared back at him. “That has nothing to do with this scenario–”
“Doesn’t it?” The blonde purposefully interrupted and suddenly saw Potter huff and yank the strings back. Draco’s forehead hit the tabletop at the force; the breath left him instantly.
“Is that the force you were looking for, prat?” He rhetorically questioned, glare still intact.
Draco swallowed down his pride, “Close enough, I suppose.” Then the brunette pulled even harder, and they both watched Draco’s waist constrict by at least two sizes. He could feel the sweat beading at his neckline and his forehead. Cordelia will indeed have his head if that starts trickling down his face.
“That’s better, Potter. Keep going.”
Potter looked concerned, “Are you sure?”
“Positive!” He yelled to the best of his restrained ability. “Pansy said hourglass, and she won’t shoot unless I look like that.” He sighed, making an hourglass shape with one finger.
Potter swallowed, and Draco noticed his face was very red. There was no way he was more embarrassed about this than he was! “Alright. A few more tugs, then?”
He took the deepest breath he could and mumbled, “Go for it.”
Draco honestly blacked out for the rest of it. He could feel it, but he was not getting as much oxygen as he was used to because he was huffing like a dog. Some of him wished he could hold back his moans and groans, but at some point, he had stopped caring. When your internal organs are being pushed around, and your entire structure is reconstructed, you give up.
“Christ, Malfoy,” Potter had mumbled under his breath during the third tug, “Could you keep it down a little?”
He glared in the mirror, “You think I haven’t tried?!”
The brunette groaned, aggravated by the other’s bratty behavior. “Try harder! You sound like you’re getting railed!” He whispered harshly through his teeth into the blonde’s ear.
Draco gasped and threw his head back to glower at the Auror. “I’d like to see you try and wear this horrid contraption!”
Potter gave a final wrench to his abused body and diligently tied the strings, while Draco could only manage to collapse on the table with an ineloquent grunt.
Draco felt a hand rubbing his back, which would typically be relaxing, but he knew who was doing it.
“You did great. Are you feeling ok?”
Draco gave the man an incredulous look, who stared back blankly.
He blinked, hand very much still on Draco’s lower back. “What?”
“What are you doing?”
Potter stared dumbstruck for an uncomfortably long time before noticing where his hand was and who it was on. He jerked back, “Uh, sorry, Malfoy! I was just–”
“Do not touch me so casually, Potter!” He seethed, regrettably pink in the face. “I don’t believe that is in your job description.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry!”
“Don’t agree with me!”
His nostrils flared angrily, “I don’t know what you want from me, Malfoy!”
Draco groaned, “You’re being kind to me, and that’s rubbing me the wrong way!”
Potter scoffed and crossed his arms, deliberately looking Draco up and down. “You realize you’re bent over a table in skimpy pants?”
Offended and self-conscious, Draco slammed his hands on the table, forcing himself up and around to face the man head-on. Unfortunately for Draco, Potter was ruggedly handsome. No longer was he a scrawny, prepubescent geek with a hero complex, but a mature, powerful wizard. He still probably had a hero complex, Draco thought absentmindedly. And he was still short compared to Draco, who smirked at this fact but shook his head and scowled again.
“What is that suppose to imply, Potter?”
The man grinned up at him, “Only that you’re in no position to boss someone around.”
“Oh, you are seriously testing me, Potter.” He sneered down at the petite man now standing in front of him.
“What else is new, Malfoy.” Draco opened his mouth to refute, but Amy decided this was the perfect moment to draw the curtain back.
She gasped, “Oh my goodness! You look incredible!”
He huffed, “I don’t feel all that incredible. How do you women wear these?”
“Lots of practice, and mostly societal expectations.” She commented. “Now, heels.”
Draco cringed as he looked at the hunter green heels. They were at least four-inch heels, and they were closed-toe, which meant he was going to have to suffocate his foot and reconfigure his bone’s structure.
“There’s no way that those shoes are my size.” He crossed his arms across his chest as Amy forced him into the chair at the vanity, and Potter stepped to the side. The man seemed curious as to whether or not the heel would actually fit his foot.
Amy rolled her eyes, “Of course, these are going to fit! Miss Pansy picked them out and said, " You have delicate, bony, aristocratic feet.”
The heat returned to his cheeks, “What does that mean?” Amy gently lifted his right foot up and easily slipped the heel on. She gave him a cocky look while Potter snickered beside him.
He blushed and grumbled, “I despise when that woman is right.”
Once she slipped the other one on, Amy told him to try standing up and walking around. Draco was confident that he could do this. After all, Pansy made it look so simple! But as soon as the blonde was upright, his knees bowed inward, and he gripped the closest thing to keep balance: Potter.
The man held onto his hands to support him, “Woah there, Malfoy! Careful!”
“Let go of me! I can handle this!” He snatched his hands back and tried again. He wobbled like a baby deer but could otherwise stay up alone. “Piece of cake!” He declared again, less confident than before. The blonde quivered on his cursed bowed legs, and as soon as he felt semi-stable, he attempted one step. Unfortunately, it went against his favor, and he was toppling over like a Jenga tower. He braced for impact but only felt a muscular, warm chest against his and stout arms wrapped tightly around his slender frame.
He carefully glanced up; curious gunmetal grey met cautious, bright, emerald green.
“Are you alright?” Potter’s voice was so genuine, and he was so worried about Draco’s well-being that he suddenly felt the urge to listen to that voice forever. He always wanted Potter to talk to him that way. The blonde felt lost in his beautiful eyes and never wanted to leave the comfort that was Harry Potter’s arms.
He blanked; what the hell was he thinking?
“Nope!” The blonde yelled and pushed himself away from his safety net and his confusing thoughts, falling gracelessly onto the ground with an undignified “FUCK!”
“MALFOY!” The brunette hollered. He paused for only a minute, perplexed by his antics, and then hurried to help him up.
Draco held out a stubborn hand, “I can get up myself. Thank you, Potter.” The Auror gratefully stepped back and gave Draco space to eat his words. Eventually, he fumbled up onto his feet but didn’t dare try to move again.
“The trick is to walk on the balls of your feet, not heel first.” Amy coached him through his first official steps. All the while, Potter had his hands out, ready to catch him if he fell.
“Alright, I think I’m getting used to it.” Following the redhead's advice, the blonde took more steps and performed much better.
He stood up straight, his shoulders rolled back and was shocked at the height he was given. Amy was a short woman, so that didn’t shock him, but Potter was average height for a man. Naturally, Draco was a whole head and a half taller than him, but now he towered over him like a single oak tree in a flower garden.
“Gosh, I must look like a monster in these.” He mainly chuckled to himself because Draco knew he was freakishly tall, but this was another level.
“Yeah. You’re bloody huge.” The brunette commented absentmindedly.
Draco smirked as he peered down at his emerald eyes, “Most of my partners seem to agree with you there, Potter.” The man’s glasses fogged up as he stuttered and fumbled over his following words, dark-skin crimson as the blood rushed to his face again. The blonde couldn’t help but laugh at him.
“Barf.” Amy gagged and looked at her watch, “We have to get going. Miss Pansy will be pissed if we aren’t on time.”
“That she will be.” Then, to Draco’s surprise, Potter held his hand to him.
“Care to be escorted? We don’t want you falling on your face. Again.”
A smirk crept up the side of his face, and he shrugged. “If you can reach, Potter.” But he accepted the hand anyway and let himself be led to the room they were shooting in.