Libertine challenged me, and this monster was created. Oh, it's horrible. You shouldn't read it. Really. It's deplorable.

This is what happens when an image gets stuck in my head. Anyways. Onward ho, if you feel you can handle it. Good luck.

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Title: Utterly Scandalous

Author: Kicks (kick_flaw@hotmail.com)

Archive: fanfiction.net under Kick Flaw, anywhere else just drop me a line

Pairing(s): Lucius/Narcissa.kinda.

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: kinda squicky, slashy hints

Feedback: Watch me fall at your feet and worship you.

Disclaimer: Is there any cross-dressing in Harry Potter? No? Then I still don't own it.

Notes: Yes. I'm in pain. Beware. It starts out as a dia-ficlet, but gets descriptive towards the end.

Summary: It's the annual Malfoy masquerade, and everybody's dressed up. Or in some cases.dressed down.

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Utterly Scandalous

"Narcissa, this is a bit much."

"Oh yes, dear."

"Really. Don't you think you're carrying this a bit far?"

"Undoubtedly."

"Everyone's allowed to have their little.er.kinks, love, but * honestly *. Show a little restraint?"

"I was never known for my restraint, Lucius."

"Ok, ok. I'm begging. Please. Please."

"No."

"Please? * Please *?! All of high society is coming. Our * son * is coming!"

"It's our son that got you into this mess, if I remember correctly. Hold still."

"Ow. Ow, not so hard! Yes, I remember too. Dratted boy."

"You should never bet against a mother's intuition."

"You tricked me, you sadistic wench. You knew, and you still made the bet. It's not as if he discusses his sex-life with me, how was I supposed to know he was still a virgin? And how did you know, for that matter?"

"Mother's intui-"

"Oh, be still. It's a disgrace. Sixteen and still a virgin. Shameful."

"Oh Lucius, don't be so chauvinistic. Haven't you ever heard of saving oneself?"

"..."

***laughter***

"Remarkable. A Malfoy, saving himself. Ridiculous. Why I-"

"Quiet now. I need to concentrate."

"Oh, Narcissa, please. Please, let me conjure up a nice devil costume, or some such. Anything but this."

"Anything?"

"...nevermind. I don't dare take that risk."

"Smart boy. Now be still."

***shuffling***

***rustlerustle***

***giggling***

"There! All done. Go take a look at yourself, dearest."

"Oh...oh, what have you done to me, woman? Oh, god. It hurts. I...I...look like...agh..."

"Now, now. No self-mutilation until after midnight."

"This is humiliating!"

"I agree. Utterly scandalous."

"Mortifying!"

"Degrading?"

"Worse!"

"Good. Oh look, the guests are arriving. Be a good boy or I'll conjure you a nice, fluffy stuffed animal to go with it."

"Good God, * no *!"

"If you keep twitching like that you'll muss up your hair. Reeves? My mask please, and do open to door if you would, I fear Mr. Malfoy will be incapable."

***muttering*** "Yeah, I'll be too busy trying to * balance *..."

"Shush, love."

"I'm going to ground Draco until he's fifty for this."

"Here you be, mistress."

"Thank you. Now, to the party!"

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The Malfoy's main ballroom was awash with vibrant colors, costumes and decorations blending into a blinding mass of Technicolor revelry. Outfits of every sort, thrown together indiscriminately and clashing madly in their individual perfection. And bringing movement to the heedless mass the richest, most influential families from around the wizarding world chatted, tittered and generally tripped over themselves trying to impress each other. Everyone was there - Or, more correctly, everyone that mattered. No self-respecting aristocrat would dare decline an invitation the Malfoy's annual New Year's Eve Masquerade. It was one of the most wondrous galas given all year, equaled only by the Solstice Celebration held by the Higher Magic Guild and the Parkinson's All Hallows Eve Gala. Receiving an invitation to any of the three was to be dubbed a true blue blood. Receiving an invitation to all was likened to being royalty. Only the upper echelon, the elite, the families with aristocratic blood pouring through their veins as far back as the founding of Hogwarts, ever reached that pinnacle.

By default, a Weasley had never attended. The Potter's had ceased coming back in 1914.

Lucius Malfoy, one noble arm linked through that of his delicate wife, was about to step out into this crowd of backstabbing snobs wearing a tutu.

Yes, a tutu. A baby pink tutu. A baby pink tutu that shrugged stiffly out from his waist, all ruffled lace and taffeta, and stopped at mid-thigh. His otherwise exposed legs had been shoved into a pair of light pink nylons with white laces twining up the sides, ending in quaint little bows just below the tutu. Bottoming out, he was adorned with those frilly socks muggles made their five-year old daughter's wear to family dinners and white tap-shoes.

A leotard clung to his upper torso, disappearing into the waist of the tutu where it proceeded to make him extremely uncomfortable every time he moved. That was pink too, trimmed with dainty white bows, a lace edged collar, and puffy short sleeves. The final touch --and in Lucius' mind, the final straw- was a large pink and white perched droopily on top of his head.

It was all very, very pink.

Narcissa was quite the opposite of her husband, smiling serenely in counterpoint to his mortified glower. Her black cat suit had been poured on. Literally. She prodded him slightly with her enchanted claws as he flinched back from the entrance.

"Darling, be a man. With our power, I'm sure you'll be a smash. They'll have no choice by the adore it."

"I suppose you're right. It could be worse. You didn't make me go as a dog on my knees at least."

Narcissa frowned and snapped her fingers. "Why didn't I think of that?"

Lucius was about to reply, but Draco came around the corner to join in their planned, grand entrance. Only he didn't make it. He kind of...stopped...when he saw the costume his father had been forced into. And gaped.

"F-Father...?"

"Indeed. Oh, and you're grounded until you're fifty."

Draco seemed to recover, tossing his original shock out in favor of indignant disregard. "No way. I have plans tomorrow. Ground me next weekend."

Narcissa stifled a smile. She hadn't exactly been truthful in winning the bet that brought Lucius to his current state. Draco wasn't a virgin.really. In the traditional sense, yes, he was, but when it came to playing for the other team he was rather the experienced little slut. But Lucius didn't need to know that.

Considering her train of thought, the youngest Malfoy's costume gave her pause to laugh. Draco was cloaked completely in a style modeled after that of ancient Arabian princes, including the face-sheath and sheer silk. All deep, blood red. He'd enchanted his eyes and hair the same color. Fire elemental.

Otherwise known as Flamer.

She chuckled lightly and placed her soft hands on their shoulders, drawing them away from the brief squabble. Linking her arms through theirs, she gestured to Reeves to announce their entrance.

"Come gentlemen, the party awaits us."

Crossdressing was all the rage that year.

El'Endo

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It was her, not me. Her. sob