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Vernon Dursley was trapped between two shirtless men with questionable choice in hair styling, and had absolutely no intention of being there at all. He'd been with his uni mates on a street in Earl's Court when he'd stooped to retie his shoes that his father had gifted him on his 18th birthday with an uncharacteristical head pat. They were a bit worn, having been through two years of university life right along with Vernon, but still shiny due to his polishing them every night. When he'd looked up from his carefully tied identical pairs of ribbons, his mates had been nowhere to be seen. He could have sworn he'd told Johnny or Tim he was stopping for his unlaced shoes, but perhaps they'd been too drunk to hear him.
They'd been going to some club, something-or-other; Vernon hadn't cared when they'd been making plans. But right there, alone in the streets, he'd wished he'd paid more attention to Johnny adamantly asserting that this or that club was the best for the prettiest well-bred girls.
And so he'd stumbled through the streets of Earl's Court, trying his hardest to remember what the name of the club was. Something to do with birds! He'd triumphantly looked around, and seen The Canary.
Which turned out to be a rather serious mistake on his part. The man at the door had been rather strange, flicking his eyes up and down Vernon's narrow, scrawny frame and smirking while taking his money and letting him in. Vernon had stumbled in, looking for Johnny's signature ginger hair floating above the crowd on top of his 6'5 body. Instead, he'd been immediately sucked into the shifting mass of male bodies that made up the club.
So, now he was suffocating on some man's rainbow mohawk (seriously, what in the world) while trying not to bump into the gyrating naked torsos around him. Where were all the women, anyway?
He looked around wildly, trying to find the exit. Clearly this place was not something he was meant to take part in. When he saw the British flag surrounded by rainbow streamers and studded with large rhinestones, he recoiled and crashed into the man next to him.
The man had a glittering beard and smiled at him widely, despite Vernon having jostled him. "Aren't you a pretty little thing," he leered.
Vernon stared at him in shock. Had he heard right? He felt panic crawl up his throat, and an urge to flee overtook his body. He obliged, and shoved his way through the crowd to lean on the wall next to the hideous flag, hoping the ghastly streamers hid him.
He only began to realize that perhaps this was not a place Johnny, Tim, or Stephen would come to, when the music stopped and the club hushed a little.
A deep, rumbling voice blared: "I present you... Christie Divine!"
Vernon looked at what was presumably a stage, with a spotlight upon it but no person. Then, the curtains behind the stage parted, and out came... a dazzling creature.
Quite literally. She was dressed in sequins from head to toe. Her blonde hair was gravity-defying, having been fluffed up so high it made the woman another head taller. And the woman was very tall, taller than most of the girls Vernon had ever seen. The woman's face was done up in dramatic makeup that even Vernon, who had taken no notice of the subtle aesthetics of females, blinked at. She really was very beautiful, captivating him in a way that Vernon's first year of uni girlfriend Sophia had never quite done. Nor any other woman, really.
Then Christie Divine opened her mouth, and Vernon almost fell over from shock. Her "Hello, gentleman!" was no voice of a woman. The cadence was vaguely female, the words said in a singsong manner, but the tone was unmistakably low and rumbled. Surely it was not a woman that stood there, lond blonde hair and sequins and all.
And worst of all, Vernon was still captivated.
Christie Divine began singing. She (he?) moved fluidly, her sequined clothing floating around her and catching the light. Vernon stared for a minute or two, then had a violent realization. Involuntarily he yelped, then clasped his hands over his mouth and drew into himself.
He knew, now, why the club had no women. He'd heard of the crossdressing entertainers, who were mocked viciously in some distant conversation he'd had with his mates. He looked at the rainbow streamers he had buried himself in, and shuddered. He'd wait for the song to be over, then elbow himself to the exit.
Unfortunately, Christie Divine began floating her way through the crowd, taking bills and blown kisses. She was slowly but surely moving towards Vernon, and he was petrified, stuck in his place.
"Well, hello there!" She smiled, suddenly right in front of Vernon. Then she quirked an eyebrow up. "Honey, are you straight?"
Her flowery scent overwhelmed his senses. The sequins glittered and blinded him. And, for some reason, he stuttered out "I... I don't know."
Christie blew him a kiss. "Darling, no time like the present to figure it out!" She winked and moved on.
Vernon felt like his feet were glued to the floor. Why on earth had he said that? He couldn't be a, a, he couldn't even think it, for fuck's sake!
He tried to think himself back to his old self, Vernon Dursley, son of Norman and Beryl Dursley, who majored in Business and liked things like mechanics and watching rugby. But somehow, Christie and this club had irrevocably changed him. He felt like the world was lit up, himself lightheaded and floaty. He turned his eyes to the audience, the men in various states of undress, and focused, for the first time in his life. Just to try it, he mumbled to himself.
And as he looked over the naked chests and sweaty necks, he recalled his football player posters, and his discomfort in locker rooms, and oh, he was not supposed to think about this. He'd always known, to some extent, but he also liked a good pair of tits, so really, nothing was wrong with him, was it?
His father would kill him if he knew, or even suspected. His mates, if they even had an inkling of what just happened, would torture him socially and physically. But in here, his father and his mates seemed like another wisp from a dream, far away and unremarkable.
Christie disappeared through the curtains. Vernon pushed through the crowds, as if in a trance, but his destination was not the exit. He'd seen a door on the far side, marked Staff Only. In the flashing lights and booming music, he easily slipped in without anyone noticing.
Immediately his forearm was grabbed. "What are you doing here?" a moustached man snarled in his face.
"I, I want to see, Christie?" Vernon squeaked.
"I don't care, you aren't staff, get out." He was roughly shoved toward the door.
Behind the moustache man came a welcome voice. "Hey, isn't that the lad who doesn't know if he's straight?" Christie laughed. Even her laugh was fluid and musical. Vernon hadn't known a gravelly laugh could be so feminine. "Let me take the poor dear. I'm sure he's confused."
"I am not," Vernon protested. "I simply wanted to see you." His Smeltings education kicked in, and he propped his back up proudly. "I'd like to be acquainted."
Christie said, "Oh, I like this one." The moustached man reluctantly let go of Vernon's arm. The part he'd grabbed was red and a little sore. Christie gently took Vernon by the other arm and led him through another door, which opened to a deserted alley. The evening breeze ruffled his dark hair.
"So how'd a bloke like you come to be here?" Christie leaned against the brick wall and pulled out a cigarette.
"I lost my mates," Vernon admitted. "How'd a... are you a bloke?"
Christie laughed. "Depends. Right now I'm Christie, but out of those sequins, I'm Andrew. Yeah, I'm a bloke then, I s'pose."
"Then how'd you... come to do this?"
"It's called doing drag, darling. I'm a drag queen. I perform in women's clothing, to be concise."
"Huh." Vernon crossed his arms. "Are you, a, well, a h- homosexual?"
"Sure," Christie grinned. "I thought you'd have gathered that much, from the rainbows and the naked men. You mind if I take some of this off? I'm sweating in this garb."
"S'alright, yeah." Vernon watched incredulously as Christie took off her blonde wig and stuffed it into a paper bag. Then she pulled off a stretchy, flesh colored cap off her hair, and shook out rusty blond curls. She took off her red sequined boots and stepped into sneakers. "Ah, much better. Though I'd have to go back inside to take off my clothes. Also free my things."
"What?"
"There's really no delicate way to phrase this, darling, so I'll just say, I shove my dick and balls inside to not have them be noticeable when I'm performing."
"Inside where- never mind, I'd rather not know," Vernon hurriedly said.
"That's wise of you, frankly." Christie pulled out a rag and bottle and began wiping at her face with the rag. Vernon watched the face of Christie wiped away to reveal a young man not too older than him with striking cheekbones. Andrew, he supposed.
Andrew looked at him, some of his bravado as Christie having disappeared with the makeup. He had rather striking blue eyes. Vernon hadn't noticed, with the flashy makeup taking all his attention. "So, verdict?" Andrew smiled crookedly.
"What?"
"Have you decided if you're straight, or are you willing to have more fun?"
Vernon looked out to the alley. It was still deserted. He still felt lightheaded, impulsive. If he didn't do anything, didn't admit to himself something today, what other opportunity would he have? Vernon knew that in the next morning, as surely as the sun will rise, his father and his mates and his other concerns would dominate his mind, and this ephemeral feeling of freedom would slip away.
"Might have some fun," Vernon said, casually.
Andrew looked delighted. "Well, I'll just be a minute." He slipped back inside.
Vernon looked at the other brick wall, detached yet something blooming inside him. He was strangely resigned. For tonight, he wasn't Vernon Dursley, he told himself. He was Vernon, who could be anything, anyone.
Andrew came back out, dressed in a plaid shirt and brown slacks, and Vernon found him just as striking as Christie had been.
So, well, there it was.
"My flat is within walking distance," Andrew said.
===
The flat was very small and very cluttered. Andrew seemed a little panicked as he led Vernon through the living room. Vernon could see strange symbols on books, and thought he saw a feathered quill. Strange, but no stranger than dressing up as a woman in a sequined dress.
They were inside the bedroom, and Vernon stumbled on something. "Ow!"
"Oh, sorry, that would be the pumpkin," Andrew said.
"The what?"
"For Halloween?"
"Oh. I forgot."
"Do you prefer the lights on or off?"
"Off, probably."
Andrew led him by the elbow to the bed.
"Wanna try snogging first?" Andrew said so easily, like every word wasn't making Vernon feel like he was scattering into a million pieces.
Vernon nodded, and leaned forward, closing his eyes. To calm himself he imagined Sophia, her hair long and straight and enveloping him as she kissed him, cheeks rosy.
Then his lips met Andrew's, and Sophia's face faded away. There was definitely stubble, there, even though Andrew's face was generally soft and clean-shaven. The lips were less fuller than a girl's, but they were just as warm.
Carefully, he put his hand upon Andrew's curls. They engulfed his hand and tickled his fingers. He slid his hand down and felt the short wispy curls on the nape of Andrew's neck.
Andrew shifted, put his hands on Vernon's head and kissed him harder. Vernon felt as though his soul was slowly slipping away from him, into Andrew's hot mouth, and wasn't that a funny metaphor.
It was very warm. Vernon drew back and saw remnants of glitter upon Andrew's face, glinting as the streetlights from the window hit his cheek. He was falling in a spiral, tonight, along with the glitter and the stars upon the sky that he could see in his peripheral vision. As he put his palm on a surprisingly muscled arm, Vernon closed his eyes and let himself be engulfed in the warmth.
===
He awoke to a strange sound of fluttering wings and a "hoot!" He blinked his sleep away, and saw a naked Andrew trying to shove a cage inside a wardrobe.
"Oh, hah, you're awake! Er, hello."
"Is that an owl?"
"Erm, well, yes." The morning light hit Andrew's body in a rather appealing way, Vernon thought.
They stared at each other for a moment. Then Andrew sighed and bent over to pick up a letter, an owl feather falling off of it.
"Sorry, have to read this, might be important— fucking hell!" Andrew dropped the open letter and tripped over a pair of heels lying on the floor. His face was contorted in shock.
Vernon rather thought he should be the one to be in shock, having been the one to, well, be with a man for the first time, for they did go as far as any two people would go, but he was shrouded in a sort of impenetrable calmness while Andrew read over the letter that had given him such a surprise.
"Merlin's— good god— he's dead!" Andrew exclaimed with such profound joy, Vernon began to suspect he had lain with a madman.
"Who is?"
"Him!" Andrew began to dance in a rather uncoordinated way, in stark contrast to the fluid way Christie had moved. "The war is over, do you understand?"
"What war?" Vernon was becoming surer that he was stuck in the flat with a naked madman, and began plotting his way out.
"The Wizarding War!" Andrew dug out a wooden stick from a pile of clothes and waved it.
Vernon blinked as the clothes floated up and dressed Andrew, seemingly of their own volition.
"What the... what trick is this?"
Andrew was now furiously writing on a sheet of paper. Vernon sat there on his spot on the bed, still trying to convince himself he'd imagined it.
Andrew finished his scribbling and pulled out the cage from his wardrobe, opened it, carelessly folded the paper, and shoved it into the owl's claws. The owl flied out the window, and Vernon silently contemplated doing the same. He stood, dressed himself with his own hands, and asked for the bathroom.
"Oh, it's right there, that door," Andrew replied carelessly as he was writing another letter.
After using the toilet, Vernon scrubbed his face and looked in the mirror. He didn't seem any different, considering he was a... well, he couldn't say it now, in broad daylight.
He stepped out to the living room and was met with Andrew smashing their lips together enthusiastically. Vernon shoved him away and then against the wall.
"Look, tell me what's going on, right now."
Andrew looked with wide eyes, presumably surprised at Vernon's strength. He didn't look it, but he lifted quite frequently.
Andrew muttered, "of all the days this could have happened, it had to happen on the day I shag a muggle twink."
"A mug– what? Twink? What is that?"
"Never mind that. Oh, I've probably breached the Statute, though it matters so little today. We must celebrate!" Andrew seemed to calm a little, stuck between Vernon and the wall. He flicked his eyes up and down appreciatively. "Say, would you mind going out for drinks later? Just the two of us?"
Vernon spluttered. "I'm not, er, that is to say, you've got me all wrong, I'm definitely not–"
"Darling, after yesterday, I think you are," Andrew said kindly.
"My father, he wouldn't— my mates— I can't!"
Andrew sighed. "Oh, you wouldn't be the only one."
"You're abnormal."
"I rather am. In a multitude of ways, I suppose."
"You're a queer," Vernon accused, the word leaving his mouth like vile.
"Yes, that is part of it, though hardly the most exciting." Andrew sighed again.
Vernon felt what he thought was his common senses return to him rapidly. "How did you even do that trick with the clothes?"
"As pretty as you are, I'm afraid I can't tell you."
Vernon was overcome with the need to shut this man the hell up. And also rattle him until he began making sense.
"If you're so hell-bent on knowing, there is one way I can tell you."
"What?"
"We go out for drinks, shag regularly, fall in wild homosexual love. Should be enough to fulfill the relationship status requirements of the Statute." Andrew shrugged. "The war is over. I deserve a nice bloke."
Vernon stared.
"I don't think I've got anything in the flat to eat. There's a nice breakfast place down the street." Andrew nimbly slipped out from Vernon's slackening grip. He patted his shirt down, then looked at Vernon.
"Oh yeah, what's your name again?"