Title: Don't Judge a Book By its Cover (1/?)
Author: Mad Maudlin
Email: [email protected]
Category: Angst, romance
Keywords: Ron Weasley, Draco Malfoy, slash
Rating: R
Spoilers: None yet
Summary: In Which Ron drinks orange juice and sees something disturbing.

Disclaimer #1: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Disclaimer #2: The song used in this story is "Sweet Transvestite" from The Rocky Horror Picture Show. That, as far as I know, belongs to Richard O'Brian. The point being, I'm not he. So no suing there either.

Disclaimer #3: This story contains SLASH, people! Boys and other boys and kissing and touching and…yeah. That. So if you don't like that sort of thing, please turn back now, or forever hold your peace. I am not responsible for your actions.

A/N: Dedicated to all the lovely folks aboard the S.S. Prince and Pauper, without whom this would not have been spawned, especially Dee, Jaime and Tasnim. (The ultimate root of this perversion lay in a conversation about Shakespeare…God only knows how we got here.) Read on, dears…the lack of leathers trousers it fully explained!

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Don't Judge a Book By its Cover

by Mad Maudlin

1 / Tension

I blinked at the dark, smoky interior of the club. Strange lights flashed from odd corners; a band was playing something so loudly that the walls throbbed. "Um, guys, when you said we were going to have a 'good time'..."

Fred laughed and clapped me on the shoulder. "Oh, loosen up, Ron. You're sounding like Percy."

George snickered. "Yeah, the only time we brought him here he nearly wet his pants. We had to do slave labor for a month to stop him telling Mum."

I goggled at the thought of perfect Percy setting in foot in this...place. It wasn't filthy, not objectively speaking, but there was something in the atmosphere that seemed to work its way under my skin, into my blood. Most everyone there was much older than me, I realized, or even the twins; how had they found their way here in the first place? "Are you sure they're not going to kick us out?"

George sniffed. "Ronald, please. The bouncers know us. We're safe."

Ah, yes, the bouncers: three trollish men in leather jackets and a witch who looked like she could bench-press any one of them. They'd given me a scathing inspection that would have put McGonagall to shame, but waved us through when George had whispered something in the witch's ear. I subconsciously stepped a little closer to the twins as we threaded our way towards a table; I had definitely not intended to spend the summer holidays club-hopping in Diagon Alley. I don't know how these things happen to me sometimes.

A house elf with a broken tooth, dressed in a sort of poncho made from dishtowels, appeared as soon as we'd sat down. It did not look nearly so cheerful or obliging as the house elves in the Hogwarts kitchens; I got the impression that, if Hermione were to offer it a S.P.E.W. badge, it would shove it up her nose. "What is sirs having today?" it asked.

Fred consulted a menu theatrically. "Ah...yes. I'll have the Confundus Cocktail, and George will have a Sex on the Beach, and for ickle Ronniekins...?" He looked up inquiringly.

I blinked at him, then looked imploringly at the elf. "Just water, thank you," I said quickly. I was not going to get drunk with the twins, Mum would throw me off the roof.

George laughed. "Get this boy a screwdriver, my good elf! With an umbrella in it!" The house-elf nodded sharply and vanished.

I looked between my brothers, wondering whether I'd be able to tell if they were planning a filicide. "What's a screwdriver?" I asked timidly.

Fred waved his hand. "It's just orange juice and...something. Muggle drink. Not so bad." He looked around, frowning. "The house band's not in. Shame. They're pretty good."

"What are they called?" I asked.

"The Travelling Perverts."

"...oh."

This was not how I'd intended to spend my holiday.

The twins began talking about the business, but the conversation quickly degenerated into gossiping about their former Hogwarts classmates, most of whom I had never met. I cast about for something to look at. The patrons of the club were...well, interesting. There was one wizard with a glowing purple mohawk at the bar, and another with a long chain running from his earring to the pocket of his robes. I caught several couples snogging enthusiastically, or perhaps doing more than snogging; and I felt a funny jolt in my stomach when I realized that not all of them contained a member of both sexes. I watched two men disappear into a corner together, and I could've sworn that one of them had had his hands in the other's robes...

A burst of raucous laughter, louder than even the throbbing background music, provided a merciful distraction. I peered through the shadows and spotted a group of boys closer to our age, some vaguely familiar, crammed tightly into a large booth on the other side of the club. They were gesturing loudly and generally making a nuisance of themselves. I had barely begun trying to wonder where I knew them from when a small, pale figure with platinum-blonde hair became visible among the weaving shoulders. I automatically felt my hands ball into fists. "Malfoy."

George looked up, quizzically. "Huh? He's not a Ravenclaw, you prat, and he certainly hasn't ever been Head Boy..."

"Over there. Look." I pointed, and both twins craned their necks. "In that booth. What the hell's he doing here?"

Fred frowned. "I know some of those blokes...they used to be on Slytherin's Quidditch team. Guess they're having a night out."

"Yeah...pity they had to come here, though. Ah, look, drinks!"

The house-elf handed me a large glass that seemed to contain nothing more innocuous than orange juice. It had a blue umbrella in it. I took a sip, and choked; orange juice and something, all right. Not necessarily bad, though... The twins snickered at me and toasted. "To the future of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes! Long may she wave!"

"Here, here!"

I clicked my glass with theirs and took another swallow. It didn't burn as much this time, though it made me feel unpleasantly warm in the stuffy club. Which was funny, because the drink was cold, I could see the little beads of moisture forming on the sides. I drank again, but the feeling just increased. George caught him out of the corner of his eye. "Whoa, Ron, slow down—don't want to make yourself sick."

"You can't make yourself sick on orange juice, stupid," I said.

Fred snickered. "Right, Ron, keep telling yourself that."

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing, Ron, nothing..."

I scowled at them. Dumb prats.

I had drained my drink down to the dregs when I noticed two black-haired girls in short robes and fishnet stockings. One had her hand on the other's backside, which I was pretty certain wasn't normal, and they were weaving their way through the tables, talking with some of the patrons. I saw them stop at the table with all the Slytherin Quidditch players, and heard more uproarious laughter; a moment later, Malfoy stumbled out of the booth, flushed and grinning like a fool. The girls ruffled his hair and steered him through a door in the side wall, occasionally catching him before he could trip himself up. I scowled.

Fred poked me in the arm. "What's the matter, Ronniekins, jealous?"

"Of Malfoy? Pfft." I downed the last few drops of my drink. "Drunken bastard can go make a fool of himself if he wants."

Fred snickered again, but as the house-elf refilled my glass, George leaned and whispered something in its ear. When the elf had gone, George said, "Hey, little brother, ease up a bit. Don't want to have to ask Mum for a hangover cure."

I snorted at him. "I'm not getting drunk..."

I kept glancing off at that side door, though. Wondering what the two black-haired girls were doing with Malfoy. Or maybe doing to him. Oh, stop that, Ron, it's none of your business whether he gets laid. Besides, he's Malfoy, do you really want to think of him as a sexual being? I thought not...

I didn't think about it again until the band which was not the Travelling Perverts stopped playing, and a spotlight suddenly came up on a low stage at one end of the club. Fred perked up, but George glanced nervously in my direction. "Er, Fred, are we sure about...?"

Fred sniffed dismissively. "He'll be fine, George. I'm mean, he's seen Hermione naked, hasn't he?" He looked at me. "Haven't you?"

I shook my head. Although I wouldn't mind the chance...

The twins looked uneasily at each other.

However, just then the band struck up a song with a throbbing, pulsating beat, and the curtains opened. On the other side was a slight figure in a gaudy, sparkling cape and high-heeled shoes. My jaw dropped when the figure turned around; it was Malfoy. Or someone who looked very much like Malfoy at least, with wild, tousled hair and elaborate make-up that softened his pointed features into androgyny. Eye shadow, glitter, and lurid red lipstick that stood out starkly on his white face. But why the hell was I looking at Malfoy's lips...?

The bandleader began to sing in a throaty tenor, and Malfoy lip-synched the words as he prowled across the stage, almost floating in that ridiculous cape.

How do you do, I
see you've met my
faithful handyman.
He's just a little brought down, because
when you knocked
he thought you were the...candyman.

Suddenly Malfoy flung the cape off in one smooth motion, and I forgot how to breathe. There were several appreciative yelps and whistles from the house, and Fred began to laugh uncontrollably. Malfoy was wearing a black leather corset, a goddamn corset, and a tight pair of leather briefs that displayed his...anatomy, to great advantage. He also had on fingerless elbow-length opera gloves—black—and the high heels were attached to thigh-high leather boots. By rights, he should've looked silly, or at least unbelievably fey. But somehow it all seemed to make just that much most masculine, more male, exposing the musculature that hard Quidditch training had given him underneath all that flawless white skin. Oh, yes, there was a lot of that skin...

I watched, transfixed, as Malfoy stalked forward, swinging his hips in time with the beat and still mouthing the words.

Don't get strung out
by the way I look
Don't judge a book by its cover.
I'm not much of a man by the light of day
But by night I'm one hell of a lover.

He slid his hands down the corset, hooked his thumbs over the edge of his briefs and thrust his hips, rolling his head back. Several women in the audience yelped or whistled. I swallowed very hard.

I'm just a sweet transvestite
from transsexual
Transylvania

Malfoy prowled around the stage, posing, hamming it up and eliciting ever more encouragement. He began to pick at the laces of the corset, loosening then by inches, even as he continued to lip-synch.

Let me show you around
Maybe play you a sound
You look like you're both pretty groovy
Or if you want something visual
that's not too abysmal
We could take in an old Steve Reeves movie

"Who the hell is Steve Reeves?" George muttered.

Fred frowned. "What's a movie?"

I'm just a sweet transvestite
from transsexual
Transylvania

Malfoy finally succeeded in removing the corset, and slung it off into the front row of tables. Now he was bare to the waist, showing off his narrows chest and a sparse thatch of pale hair. He produced a high-backed stool from the wings, slid his hand through the gap between the seat and the backrest, and suddenly straddled it. I realized my mouth had gone dry and took a deep drink of my screwdriver, keeping my eyes glued to the stage even as I broke out coughing again.

Why don't you stay for the night?
Or maybe a bite?
I could show you my latest obsession.

Malfoy's hands began to trail slowly down his body, lingering over his nipples and on the waistband of the briefs. My mouth went dry again, but the drink was completely forgotten.

I've been making a man
With blonde hair and a tan,
And he's good for relieving my...tension.

He raked his fingernails up his inner thighs, leaving raised pink scratches on the fair skin, and at the same time ran the tip of his tongue across his teeth, leering. I swallowed very hard.

I'm just a sweet transvestite
from transsexual
Transylvania

Malfoy kicked the stool away and turned, swaggering back upstage and signaling something to the band. They repeated the final refrain, and he picked up the sequined cloak and swirled it over his head dramatically for a moment. Then he did something that left a burning afterimage on the back of my eyelids, that I would remember with a surge of confused feelings later on, that would come back to haunt me:

He did the splits.

The band hit the last chord, the lights dimmed, and the curtain closed. There was enthusiastic applause and whistling, and a few people pitched Galleons towards the stage. I suddenly remembered where I was, and I was startled to actually find myself aroused by the whole performance. Licking my lips, I finished off most of the remains of my screwdriver in one gulp.

George blinked at me. "Whoa, Ron, easy! It wasn't that horrifying, wasn't it?"

"I dunno, I think I'm going to have nightmares about that..." Fred chuckled. "Trying to forget already, eh, Ron?"

"Yeah," I choked. The room was spinning, but whenever I closed my eyes I saw Malfoy thrusting his hips, touching himself, spreading his legs impossibly wide. I tried to breathe deeply, but the air in the club was thick and smoky, and stuck in my throat. I needed somewhere to clear my head, away from the pounding beat of the resumed background music. I tried to stand up, but the floor lurched sideways, and Fred had to catch me. "Ooohhhh my..."

George sighed. "I told you you'd make yourself sick, Ron. Come on, I know where the men's room is..."

I straightened up. "I...I'm fine, really, I just..." I suddenly realized that there was a definite tent in my jeans. If either one of the twins noticed, I was worse than dead. "I just need some air," I blurted, and ran towards one of the darkened corners.

There were no less than three snogging couples back in the shadows, but, thank God, there was also a glittering sign that said EXIT. A half-dressed woman in one of the posters leered at me as I wended my way towards it. It came out at the bottom of a sunken stairwell, full of trash and standing water, but above me I could see the street lamps and the sign declaring this to be the corner of Seckshoe and Diagon Alleys. I could breath out here, at least, and some sort of charm kept the music from leaking past the doorframe. I sat down on the bottom step and cradled my head in my hands, trying to will myself back to normal.

I am not attracted to Malfoy. I am not aroused by Malfoy. Not even if he's strutting around in come-fuck-me boots and a leather thong. I drank too much orange juice. This will all go away...

I repeated this mantra several times over, taking great gulps of the cool night air. I almost had myself convinced when a dark shadow fell over me, from something standing between me and the flickering yellow street lamp. I started to look up, but my brain jammed the moment I saw the bottoms of two high-heeled come-fuck-me boots before me. Oh, god...

From above, Malfoy's amused voice said, "Enjoy the show, Weasley?"

I leapt to my feet. Malfoy was at least dressed again, in trousers, a blue cloak and an overlarge shirt, but he had left on the gloves and make-up as well as the boots. There was a thin sheen of sweat on his face and neck, and his hair was still wild. He smirked and pointed one foot forward. "You like these? Gift from the management."

I backed against the wall and began to move to the side, trying to get back to the door. "You did a wonderful job embarrassing yourself, Malfoy. I'll be sure to write the Daily Prophet about it."

Malfoy gave a throaty chuckle. "I'm not the one who should be embarrassed, Weasley."

I didn't catch his meaning until Malfoy closed the gap between us, pinning me against the wall, and I felt my erection press into his leg. I tried to push Malfoy away, but he pinned my wrists and pressed himself even closer. With those boots on, we were nearly the same height, and I could look straight into luminous gray eyes narrowed with amusement and line with glittering purple powder. "So I suppose the answer is yes, you did enjoy it."

That goddamn drawl should not be allowed to sound seductive. "Let go of me, Malfoy," I gasped, but it sounded more panicked than threatening.

He grinned, teeth shocking white when framed by his vivid red lips. "That's not what you want, is it?" he whispered, and suddenly pressed those same painted lips to mine.

Shock, sensation, and probably the two screwdrivers in my bloodstream kept me rooted to the spot. I was excruciatingly aware of the shape of the body pressed against mine, the commanding and almost rough motions of his lips, and the soft slide of satin as Malfoy released my hands in order to cup my face. Even if I'd had the room to move, I couldn't have willed myself away from him at just that moment; my brain locked down everything more complex than pure instinct, which is probably why grabbed at his cloak and leaned into the kiss.

My reward (or possibly punishment) was to feel Malfoy's lips part, and a soft tongue suddenly probe my mouth. I let it in, and felt a strange slow thrill as Malfoy explored further. He tasted sour, like alcohol, and something citrus. Maybe limes. I leaned in closer still—

—and was suddenly shoved back against the wall, hard, so that my head hit stone and I saw stars. Malfoy peeled himself away, smiling enigmatically, like the cat the moment before it got the canary. Without words, without anything more, he spun and went back inside, swinging his hips at if he were still on stage. I watched him until the door cut off my vision, and then I slowly sank to the ground. I was randy as hell and completely confused and rapidly growing nauseated. All rational sense said that that couldn't have been real, and yet...

"Oi, Ron? You out here?"

The twins appeared, and I groaned. I really did not need them to see me like this. George looked down, and clucked his tongue. "I told you to slow down...ah, well, better luck next time." He offered me a hand to help me up; I ignored it, and tried to figure out how I could stand by myself while keeping my legs crossed. I was halfway upright when Fred suddenly start snickering and elbowing George in the ribs.

"Looks like we interrupted something, didn't we? Hope we didn't scare off your lady friend, Ronniekins..."

I blinked at them, then touched my tingling lips. My fingertips came away stained almost blood red; Malfoy's lipstick had come off all over me. I could feel my face rapidly turning the same color.

George snickered, too. "Did you at least get her name, Ron? 'Cause that's very important, later, in case you get any rashes, to have her name...did you?"

"Yeah," I said, staring at my fingers. "Yeah, you could say that."

They chuckled some more, and tried to heave me up by my armpits, but my stomach clamped down and said no. I groaned. "Fred, I'm going to...I'm going to..." They barely had time to leap out of the way before I threw up right there on the ground.

George cleaned up after me while Fred walked me back to the Leaky Caldron; when it became I clear I wasn't going to tell him about my "lady friend," he launched into a monologue about sex, nothing of which I hadn't already heard before from Seamus Finnigan. He bought me some soda water to settle my stomach, and also a paper bag, for when we Flooed home, "just in case." I sat at the bar with my head in my hands, trying not to think about "just in case," or lipstick, or kissing or screwdrivers or sex, and most of all, about Malfoy doing the splits...

Damn.