Chapter Text
Lace had always been tricky for it was never quite sufficiently warm in winter nor quite flimsy enough in summer, yet here Draco Abraxas Malfoy was, dressed in a white lace dress, not, before you may jump to unjust conclusions, out of a voluntary urge to dress up in lace, but rather out of sheer necessity. You see, Draco had tried everything – and when I say everything…- to go through society as a man unrecognizable by society for his cruel past, every attempt, however, had been met by cold failure. Henceforth Draco had resorted to what one could call a most desperate disguise, namely that of a witch – yes you read that right, a witch…now stop your whistling, you perverts - .
He had bought bras and synthetic breasts, did something to his manhood which by many a wizard, he himself included, felt like sheer treason, had learned to walk on heels – which of course had not been exactly necessary, but if he were to be a witch, he might as well be a stylish one -, had thrown up a few glamours to soften the pointiness of his nose, slightly alter the shape of his eyes, make his lips slightly plumper, etc.
And so far, it had worked! All summer he had spent right in the public, attending public parties, shopping at public places, … all as Lady Diane Froid – shit name, he knows, but very effective when portraying a foreign lady-. He had even adopted a French accent, which was very popular in the upper circles of British wizarding society.
Attending Hogwarts however, would probably be even more difficult. He was standing on platform 9¾, dressed in a pretty white lace dress – which kept on crawling up his thighs, much to the delight of a few male 2nd years, the little prats – paired off with a nice pair of light pink pumps. His hair, reaching to his shoulders, was pushed backwards by a pink headband and all his schoolbooks and other necessities were stacked into his light pink bag, dangling from his shoulder – his mother loved pink alright! And maybe he did too…a little bit…. -.
He looked at all the other students who said goodbye to their parents and felt a slight feeling of guilt rising in his chest as the memory of his own mother rose in his mind. He had wished her goodbye at home for her presence could compromise him, his parents were supposed to be French after all, not fallen British nobility.
As he looked around he soon found the Golden Trio, standing in the midst of the masses, all laughing and joking, Draco could only barely restrain himself to not roll his eyes. In a rash act of what can only be described as foolishness he grabbed his bag by its side, knuckles tightening around the leather, and walked up to them only to hit Weasley against his shoulder with his own in a seemingly accidental way – accidental my arse -, the impact of which he had – unsurprisingly – miscalculated massively as it nearly threw him off his feet whilst Weasley – who apparently wasn’t the small boy of Draco’s memories anymore – did not move an inch, well except for the hand he reached out with to steady Draco – Diane.
“Oh quelle catastrophe, monsieur Weasley! Excusez-moi, monsieur, I’m afraid it is the heat, it seems to have clouded my vision,” Draco said, his eyes large, resembling those of a puppy – more like those of a cat – and his lips pulled up into an apologetic little smile. Weasley – being like every other man really, except for Draco himself of course *cough* *cough*, a complete and utter idiot – fell for it immediately.
“No problem, are you alright though, miss …” Weasley smiled at him, though Granger who stood right next to him did not look quite so pleased.
“Mademoiselle Froid, but please monsieur, appelle-moi Diane, pleased to make your acquaintance.” Draco held his hand out to Weasley, who immediately took it in his and pressed a soft kiss on it – great, he’d have to wash that later on…- .
“Mademoiselle Froid-“ Granger started, but Draco did not allow her to finish her sentence, he could not afford it to make anyone of the Golden Trio despise him – loathe as he was to admit to it - .
“Mademoiselle Granger! Quel admirateur I am of yours! I am a grand supporteur of your campaigne pour les elves. Most pleased to make your acquaintance.” Draco smiled broadly and kissed her on both cheeks – oh wonderful now he’d have to wash them with soap too…. – startling her out of her wits. When he pulled back he could see a bright red flush colouring Granger’s cheeks. And then there was only one person left to charm… Harry Potter stood next to Draco, a frown etched on his handsome face, his eyes transfixed on Draco though the latter tried to postpone their eyes meeting as long as possible. He knew that Potter would be the most troublesome one to convince of his persona for he knew him best, but he could not escape the acquaintance either and so he turned to Potter, smile at the ready.
“Bonjour, monsieur Potter, most obliged to make your acquaintance.” He even made a small reverence, but Potter did not fall for it… on the contrary.
“Mademoiselle Froid,” Potter said, his voice completely emotionless whilst his eyes raked over his disguise, nearly burning through the thin fabric of his dress – in a I-know-who-you-are-and-I-am-going-to-fucking-kill-you sort of way rather than a I-really-want-to-shag-you way – it made Draco uncomfortable, nearly made him turn back on his heel and go back home. But then he remembered the words of his father – one of his better quotes – ‘A Malfoy does not give up’, and though his father had done a whole lot of bad, it were those words that Draco hoped to live by till the rest of his days.
Henceforth he picked his easy smile back up and regarded Potter with the innocence of a young teenage witch – a sort of innocence he had practiced in the mirror several times -.
“Well it was lovely to meet you all,” he said with a slight giggle to his voice as he glanced in Weasley and Granger’s direction, “I’ll take my leave now, au revoir mes chers!” Granger, who was probably the most adept French speaker of the three chuckled softly at that. He gave them a last wave and then left for the carriage waiting behind them where Pansy was probably hogging an entire compartment for just the two of them – she could be such a darling… if she tried that is -.
He felt the gazes of the trio on his back as he left, but there was only one pair of eyes he felt on his head, burning through his hair, as if they meant to enter his skull…