The Red Queen

The Red Queen

"I don't believe it!" Harry said, at the same time Hermione's reproachful "Oh, Ron, you didn't!" reached Ron, currently digging in the little-used bottom of Hermione's wardrobe trunk. He emerged with a double fistful of blue satin.

"Think this'll do?" he asked glumly, shrugging out of his own robes and loosening his school tie. He shucked the tie and his shirt and unbuckled his pants. Best to get this over with as soon as possible. Embrace the humiliation, he thought.

Lavender Brown's protesting squeal stopped him. "Weasley! Keep your clothes on, already! You're in mixed company!"

"Gah!" He froze in mid-debriefing. He'd completely forgotten about Lavender! Of course, Hermione was a different story--there wasn't much of him Hermione hadn't already seen at one time or another. Well, maybe that one spot between his--

"Those robes will never fit you. They're from my fourth year," Hermione said. "They don't even fit Ginny anymore. What on earth possessed you to accept a bet from Malfoy of all people?"

"It was a matter of my manly honor," he said hotly. "Besides, I couldn't lose."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Then why are you the one digging in my trunk?"

"I don't know," he snapped. He was still confused.

The bet was simple. One shot, on the Quidditch pitch. If he caught the quaffle, he won the bet. If Malfoy scored, he lost. He remembered Malfoy laughing, the sun glinting off the clasp of his cloak. He remembered the Quaffle flying straight towards him. He remembered reaching out, the feel of the enchanted leather ball sliding into his grip. Yet the goal bell had sounded, echoing in his ears with a deafening gong, and the next second, his hands were empty and Pansy Parkinson was leading her gang of Slytherins in the stands in a chorus of "Weasley is Our King"--the original version.

He landed next to a tight-lipped Ginny, baffled. "Did you see what happened?" he asked.

She shook her head slightly, a faraway, pensive look in her narrowed eyes. "I don't know what I saw."

Malfoy landed lightly, hopping off his broom with the grace of a cat. In spite of being something of a cat man for his entire childhood, Ron now thought longingly of punting this particular anthropomorphic analogy. Malfoy put his hands to his throat, tucking something beneath his cloak. "Looks like you lost, Weasley. I'll expect your performance at dinner tonight to be better than on the pitch." On cue, Pansy and her choir launched into the chorus of the song, only now they sung, "Weasley is our Queen, with sequins and glitter that gleams, he'll dance and wear a dress and sing, 'cause Weasley is our queen!"

Now Ron was going to be humiliated in front of the whole school. At dinner tonight, he'd have to do as the song said--wear a dress, dance, and sing a song. Harry and Hermione were not helping.

"Have you picked your song?" Harry asked innocently.

He scowled at his best mate. "I was thinking something along the lines of 'Sod off, Potter,' but I just can't hit the high notes. Besides, if I don't find something to wear, the song's going to be the least of my problems. Malfoy's enchanted my robes to fly off me if I dare enter the great hall tonight wearing pants. It's a dress or nothing."

Hermione turned to her study partner. "Lavender, you're generous in the chest area. Do you have something we could borrow?"

Lavender smiled broadly. "Leave him to me. I've just the thing."

"Oh, lovely," Ron muttered as Lavender waved her wand.

"Accio Chanel," Lavender said. The door flew open and Ron scrambled to cover himself from view of the group of delicate first and second years passing in the hallway. A gold lame dress flew into Hermione's room, sleeves flapping and hem fluttering.

"Oh, no," Ron said. "Please, anything but that." He thought longingly of the hideous, lace-trimmed maroon dress robes of his fourth year. Even those would be preferable to this!

Ginny hopped off Hermione's bed. "It's gorgeous," she breathed. "And it's perfect."

"The gold will really flatter your coloring, Ron," Lavender said.

"Are you both mad? I was thinking something understated and black."

Ginny shook her head. "The last thing you want to do is go understated. Malfoy'll be expecting you to try and get out of this, or downplay it, or mumble the words to some short, uninspiring song. That way, he can make all the fun he wants of you. He'll drag you into the spotlight and you'll be forced to suffer for it. Unless," she leaned forward, her eyes gleaming, "you beat him there by going willingly."

"Ginny's right," Lavender said.

Hermione nodded her agreement. "You can turn the tables on Malfoy by embarrassing him. He went to a lot of trouble to get you to wear a dress and sing, and he's hoping he can humiliate you when you're up there. But he can't humiliate you if you don't let him."

"So I'm supposed to act happy that I'm in a dress?"

"No," Ginny said. "You're supposed to act like you belong in a dress."

"Like you were born to wear one," Lavender said.

"And when you sing, you don't just sing a song," Hermione said. "You perform. And I know just the number."

"Lavender," Ginny said. "Do you still have that blue thing you wore last year on your second Hogsmeade trip with Seamus?"

"The blue..." Lavender's eyes clouded. "Oh!" She suddenly smiled. "I remember. Yes, in fact, I do."

Ron looked helplessly towards Harry. "Aren't you going to do something?"

"Yes I am," Harry said, his smile fading. "I'm going to give you a standing ovation when you're done."

The girls laughed, but oddly enough, Ron felt relieved at hearing that. His best friend was there for him no matter what. "Thanks, mate," he said quietly. Harry nodded solemnly.

"Now let's get to work on you," Lavender said, rubbing her hands together. "Accio Coven Girl kit!" Several shouts, one loud thud, a "he's been knocked out," and Lavender's not-inconsequentially-sized makeup bag flew into the room.

She began digging through the bag, while Hermione stepped out to supervise the transfer of the bag's hit-and-run victim to Madam Pomfrey's. While Lavender poked and painted his face, Hermione taught him the lyrics to the songs he would sing.

"Songs, as in plural?"

"You're not just singing a song, you're giving a performance," Ginny said. "Malfoy'll be knocked flat on his rump."

Disturbingly enough, Ron found that the singing wasn't entirely unpleasant. Lavender and Ginny even showed him how to do a few dance steps.

"You know," Lavender said, "you should sing more often. You have a nice voice."

Hermione held up a tube of lip paint. "I've always thought so, too," she said warmly. "I love to listen to you and Harry when you're muttering to each other in History of Magic. Your voice makes me think of butterbeer."

A funny thing happened in Ron's stomach when she said that. "R-really," he asked, his voice cracking.

Harry, Ginny, and Lavender burst out laughing. After a moment, he did, too. The situation no longer filled him with impotent rage. But the absence of the rage left him with an abundance of nerves. "I think I'm getting a little stage fright."

"You'll be fine, mate," Harry said. He and Lavender pulled the dress over Ron's head.

"Harry'll have to do up your zipper," Lavender said. "I'm too short to go all the way up."

Ron gave Harry his back, and as his friend's fingers skimmed up his spine, sealing him in his gold lame costume, he felt secure, and realized it was because Harry had his back in so many ways.

Hermione stepped in front of him, using her wand to apply sticking charms to a pair of earbobs. Her fingers brushed softly against the spot behind his ear that seemed to lead straight to his groin. He swallowed, grateful for the dress's flared skirt. Come to think of it, he could understand why girls liked dresses. They hid a lot.

Hermione stepped back and Lavender stepped forward, an odd look on her face as her eyes flicked from Hermione to him to Harry, who finished his zipper with a pat, but failed to remove his hand from the back of Ron's neck. "Shall we practice one more time?"

He nodded. Ginny stepped up to his other side. They went through the routine once, then Lavender and Ginny sat down. "Try it on your own," his sister said.

"And don't be afraid to ad lib," Lavender said.

The stage fright dulled to a tense knot in the bottom of his stomach, but it beat the humiliation hands down. The worst of the butterflies seemed to be tamed to occasional flare-ups. When he finished the performance, his heart was hammering in his chest, but it was drowned out by the enthusiastic clapping of the four in the room, and several claps and whistles from outside of Hermione's closed door.

"That was fantastic," Harry said, slapping him on the shoulder.

Harry kept his arm around his shoulder and Ron put his own around Harry's waist. "I think I'm going to be sick, I'm so nervous."

"You'll be a smash," Hermione said, slipping her arm around his waist and reaching out for Harry's free hand. "And Malfoy will have to eat dirt because his prank backfired."

"If you get nervous," Lavender said, sparing them all another odd look, "come to the Gryffindor table. You know we'll support you."

Ginny pushed away from the wall. "I've just had an idea. I'll see you all at dinner."

Lavender followed her out. "I'll meet you in the hallway just before you go in. We'll put the finishing touches on your costume and freshen up your makeup."

"Uh, right," Ron said, fully aware of the absurdity of the conversation.

Twenty minutes later, he, Harry, and Hermione stood in a broom closet just outside the doors to the great hall. He clung tightly to both their hands as Harry peered through the crack in the door and looked for Lavender. Hermione leaned back against him, twining her fingers through his. For once, her hair didn't tickle his nose, as she had it wrapped in some sort of turban that reminded him disturbingly of Professor Quirrell's headgear, except he was reasonably sure that if Lord Voldemort had been hiding in the back of Hermione's head, he'd have choked to death on her hair potions by now. He didn't know why she'd chosen such an odd hat, but he figured it had to do with the way she and Harry had chased him out of the room five minutes before they left the portrait hole for dinner. Their robes bulged at odd angles, but they were his best friends. He'd die for them, and he trusted that whatever they were hiding was in his best interests.

Harry pushed the door open and pulled Lavender inside. "Lumos," he whispered.

Lavender pulled out her makeup bag and touched a pencil to Ron's lips. "There you go. Don't be nervous. I brought you the last touch to your costume." She swung a royal blue cloak over his gown and held up the matching feathered boa.

Ron's stomach lurched. "Oh no. Please no." Yet at the same time, the part of his mind that continued to dwell on his upcoming performance jumped up and down and said, "yes, yes, yes!" and catalogued all the ways he could use it. He found his hand darting out like a Seeker after a snitch and before he could stop himself, he stuffed the boa under the voluminous cloak. "When this is over, I'm going to need extensive therapy," he said crossly.

Hermione smiled as they opened the closet door after the last straggler entered the great hall. "So will Malfoy, if you do this right."

The thought brightened his day considerably. "Don't you have something to add?" he asked Harry.

Harry smiled and patted his cheek. "Go get 'em, Gorgeous."

They left, and he was all alone with his fear. The few minutes' wait he had to endure stretched endlessly before him. He seemed to be moving in slow motion as he reached for the thick handles on the heavy doors. As they opened before him, he was stunned to see that the great hall had been plunged into darkness, save for a few candles at the corners and stretched between the tables.

Ginny's voice, magically amplified, rang through the hall. "And now, ladies and gentlemen, students and faculty, for your entertainment, Hogwarts is proud to present...The Red Queen!"

The Red Queen?

As soon as she spoke the name, it made perfect sense.

Glad you finally noticed me.

Sparkling showers of golden fairy lights exploded from the ceiling, and a single spotlight suddenly shone in his eyes. Ron felt his toes go numb in Lavender's enchanted high heels. The first strains of music echoed through the silent room, and his consciousness floated up towards the ceiling, yet stayed right in his body. He stepped forward and the performance began.

"The minute you walked into the joint." He walked down the aisle between Gryffindor table and Hufflepuff, wobbling in his high heels, only the heels seemed to make his shadow look as if it were shimmying instead of staggering. Bloody hell, but girls really did know what they were doing with clothes and shoes! His stomach knot began to unclench and the feeling returned to his toes.

"I could tell you were a man of distinction," he stopped in front of Lavender and Seamus. "A real Big Spender." Seamus grinned broadly and gave him a thumbs-up. "Good looking, and so refined." He leaned over to the Hufflepuff table and put his face right in Hannah Abbott's. "Say wouldn't you like to know what's going on in my mind?" Hannah fanned herself and laughed delightedly. He felt his own lips turn up in a smile, and tried for something a little more daring. "So let me get right to the point--I don't pop my cork for every guy I meeeeeeet"--here he put his leg up on Justin Finch-Fletchley's lap--Justin wouldn't mind, he was pretty sure. "Hey Big Spender! Spend a little time with me!"

Justin clapped enthusiastically. "Go, Weasley!" he shouted. The Hufflepuff table broke out in applause. He turned to where Harry and Hermione sat. They held up their linked hands, grinning broadly. He risked a glance at the head table. Professor Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled approvingly, and the Headmaster nodded and made a "by all means, please continue" motion with his hand. Professor McGonagall, however, looked stunned, as if she'd looked into her soup tureen and discovered the giant squid swimming in it. The thought of chatting up the head of Gryffindor house made Ron scream in horror internally, but he, apparently, was no longer in the driver's seat of his body. The Red Queen simply adored the idea. And she was perfect for the next song.

"He met Marmalade down in old New Orleans,

Struttin' her stuff on the street"

McGonagall's stony countenance stood no chance by the second "Gitchy-gitchy ya ya" and her lined face split into a broad smile. He strutted down the head table, and the Red Queen knew it was time to shed her blue robe for the gown beneath it. Madams Pomfrey and Sprout received the robe and Professor Sprout stuck two fingers in her mouth and gave a piercing whistle.

Ron looked on, in helpless horror as the Red Queen picked up steam, swanking down the head table towards--dear Merlin, no!--

Professor Snape fell victim to the blue feathered boa.

He sneered down his nose, and Ron quailed. But the Red Queen had control of his limbs, and the evil, saucy bitch reached out and tweaked that hooked beak. He--she--they--looked back towards Harry and Hermione.

Hermione had clapped both hands over her mouth, and Harry wore a look of awed wonder. When he caught Ron's eye, he mouthed a very clear phrase that Ron had no trouble lip-reading. "Solid brass balls, mate."

As he turned back to Professor Snape, he caught sight of Ginny slinking along the wall behind the Slytherin table. She slowed down right around where Malfoy was holding court. What was she--

Then he remembered the point of this entire exercise. Malfoy sat snickering with Crabbe and Goyle. Pansy Parkinson sat next to him, an odd look on her face as if she couldn't decide whether or not to sneer or allow her features to fall into an O of amazement. He finished belting out the last of "Lady Marmalade."

He could end the performance right here--he'd fulfilled the conditions of the bet--dress, song, and dance had all been engaged. But the Red Queen had other ideas. A guitar riff hooked him by the throat.

"Color me your color baby..." He slinked his way over to Pansy, pausing to sing to a few Ravenclaws as he passed.

"Cover me with kisses baby, cover me with love," he crooned, shoving his face so that his nose nearly touched Pansy's. He could feel the wind of her sharply indrawn breath as she blinked rapidly. "Roll me in designer sheets I'll never get enough..." That's quite enough, the Red Queen admonished him. Always leave them wanting more. They spun away from the blushing and lip-trembling Pansy and Ron slipped back up into the rafters to let the Red Queen work the room. He held up a hand in Ginny's general direction. Ginny proved to be an excellent stage manager, and took his cue for what it was. The music slowed to a background melody.

"Hellooo Hogwarts," he--or rather the Red Queen--drawled salaciously. "It's a real pleasure to be entertaining you this evening." A smattering of applause, most of it from the Gryffindor table and Justin Finch-Fletchley, answered his greeting. "Thank you, thank you. Really. But it's not me you should thank for the evening. Ladies and Gentlemen, the credit goes to none other than our own Blondie himself. Please give a round of applause to our own Draco Malfoy, whose divine dare invited the Red Queen to enter these hallowed halls. You see, I'm more than just Ron Weasley forced to wear a dress."

He glanced at Ginny and the piano started a melody. "At first I was afraid. I was petrified." He flashed a smile towards Colin Creevey, who ducked his head and snapped a photo. "I want a copy of that one, young man," he spoke, before the next lyric.

Cheers erupted from the head table. "I've always loved this song!" Madam Sprout exclaimed. Harry and Hermione rose and flung off their robes. Ron gaped, but the Red Queen made a beeline towards the Gryffindor table. "But then I spent so many nights, thinkin' how you did me wrong." Harry stood tall in a white suit with a wide collar and flared pant legs. Hermione wore a glittery little dress and removed her turban to reveal a globular hairdo that touched the stars on the enchanted ceiling. They beamed at him. Merlin, but he loved them.

About time you realized it, the Red Queen said silently. All around him, students and teachers were rising from their chairs and dancing, until he was surrounded by discoing bodies. Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall were dancing a bastardized hybrid of a traditional Scottish jig and the Hustle, but it seemed to work for them.

The Red Queen dragged him back towards the Slytherin table. "And I grew strong. I learned how to get along..." He crawled up on the table in front of Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, singing to each of them in turn. Vincent and Gregory wore identical stunned-stupid expressions. "Go on now go! Walk out the door," he sang, and wouldn't you know it, the numbskulls automatically rose to their feet, ready to obey. Malfoy reached panicked hands back to them, a disturbed look wiping the smirk off his face.

He felt twin presences slide up beside him. "Think I'd crumble? Think I'd lay down and die, oh no not I! I will survive!" He squeezed their hands. "As long as I know how to love I know I'll be alive." He turned to Harry. "I've got all my life to live." He spun around to Hermione. "I've got all my love to give."

His best friends drew in close to him as he finished the chorus. "I will survive. Hey hey!" As the music swelled, Harry put his hands on his face and pulled him close. His best friend pressed his lips to Ron's and it was all right. No, it was more than all right--it was right. And when Hermione did the same thing--that was right, too.

He had absolutely no problem letting the Red Queen take Draco's chin in his hands and croon to him. "I'm not that chained-up little person still afraid of you." Malfoy struggled and tried to pull away, but the Red Queen--and Ron--had strong fingers. When the time came for the last chorus, he was surprised to discover he'd earned back-up singers.

"Oh!

Oh!

Oh!

Go on now...Go!

Walk out the door

Just turn around now!

'Cause you're not welcome anymore!"

Malfoy's eyes rolled as he looked to his left and right. Crabbe and Goyle had gone, Pansy sat stiffly in her chair, her eyes fixed to the floor, but her shoulders were moving slightly and her toes were tapping with the beat. Bereft of thugs and supporters, he jumped from his chair. It tipped over as he fled the hall.

The music changed, and he didn't even need to think what to do next. "See that girl, watch that scene, diggin' the Dancing Queen."

He danced with Harry and Hermione while he sang, and when he spun towards the head table he nearly lost his place at the sight of Professor Snape lifting Madam Hooch in a flying spin.

Ron wanted to stop singing and just yell with triumph, but while Malfoy had left the hall, Elvis hadn't yet left the building. The Red Queen still wanted to play. Never leave 'em without a finale, boy, she said, snapping their fingers. The beat turned funky and he gathered his best friends in his arms.

"We are family

I've got all my sisters and me

We are family

Get up everybody and sing!"

****

Epilogue

Draco Malfoy raced along the halls of Hogwarts, strange rages boiling through him. What had started out as a lark to humiliate Ron Weasley had turned on him, and even his staunchest supporters--those goons--had left him high and dry. This must be what his father had felt like when the Ministry carted him off to Azkaban. Where were his friends, his cronies? Even Pansy, who'd fancied him forever, had abandoned him for Weasley. Weasley! How could he like wearing a dress? Didn't he realize they were supposed to be laughing at him? No, the idiots were dancing with him instead!

He had to change all that. He could change all that. He reached into the collar of his robes, searching for the object that rested there by virtue of fantastic luck while going through his father's things. One twist could do it. Just enough to spoil that entrance, or sabotage that music. Yes. A well-placed bucket of cold lake water ought to put out the fire of that cross-dressing redhead.

His stomach grew cold and he stopped in his tracks as he realized it was gone. His neck was bare. He patted his robes frantically.

"Looking for this?" A female voice cut through his panic like a knife made of ice. Ginny Weasley leaned against one wall, her arms crossed, and a black ribbon dangling from two fingers. The object at the end of the ribbon glinted tantalizingly, mocking him.

"Give me that!" he cried hoarsely. "It's mine."

She tsked and shook her head, a lock of her curly red hair falling in her face. "Not very Slytherin, an admission of guilt like that." She twitched her fingers and the ribbon bobbed. "These things are illegal, you know? Are you in that much of a hurry to join Daddy in Azkaban, then?" She wove the ribbon through her fingers. "You used this to win that bet with my brother, didn't you?" She didn't wait for a confirmation--she wouldn't get one. He learned his lessons well. "You twisted time to take the Quaffle out of his hands and put it through the hoop."

He maintained his silence, damning as it might be.

She tilted her head, swinging the ribbon back and forth. The time-turner caught the torchlight, throwing rainbows on the stone walls. "It really should have been you up there tonight."

"I've done your brother a favor, Weasley," he said nastily, knowing it was digging him deeper, yet not really caring. "His unrequited love for Potter's finally out."

Ginny laughed, tossing her hair back. That damn Weasley hair would haunt him for months to come. "You're a git, Draco. My brother's love for Harry isn't at all unrequited."

Draco closed his eyes. He didn't want that visual haunting him. The kiss the two men shared in front of him had to be purely for shock value. "I guess now we'll see which one beats the other for the favors of that buck-toothed mudblood sl--"

Ginny's hand shot out. Her fingers were warm against his lips, and pressed them painfully against his teeth. "Speak ill of Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, and I'll rip your lips off, see if I don't." Her fingers dug in harder and he tasted blood.

He jerked away, licking his bloody lip. "Whatever, Weasley. But don't forget--I owned your brother. It was my doing that got him up there." It was a shallow claim, but it was all he had to hang on to.

She twirled the time-turner. "And now I own you." She slipped the ribbon over her head. "Harry and Ron don't need to fight over Hermione. I would have thought you of all people would have figured it out by now. You're about as slow as they are." She shook her head and smiled a half-smile. "Now toddle back to your dungeon, Malfoy. And think on this--the only reason that hat put me in Gryffindor is because I told it my mum would be upset if her only daughter ended up being the only Slytherin as well."

He had to work not to gape at her. His future hung around Ginny Weasley's neck, and she seemed fully aware of all the myriad implications of it. "What are you going to do?"

The half-smile returned to her lips. "I don't know yet. But I'll have plenty of time to figure it out, won't I?"

FIN ?