hackthis_archive | HP/WNTW – Everybody's Crazy About a Sharp-Dressed Man

I asked for something random I should know, and

callmesandy said: Wouldn't you like to see Neville on BBC's WNTW? My brain promptly caught on fire, because Neville + menswear + crack-fic =

hackthis OT3. So.

Harry Potter/ What Not to Wear (BBC edition)*
Rated F for fabulous clothes
Neville/Harry; Ron/Hermione; HT/D&G Spring 06

AN: It is my hope that if my job has been done properly, you don't need to be familiar with either version of WNTW to enjoy this story. Like Trade, it helps, but it's not required.

Our victim this week is Neville Longbottom, 23, from Devon. Neville moved to London two years ago with his mates from Hogwarts—a private school in Scotland. Since then, Neville's opened his own nursery, and while his business is thriving, according to his mates, he still dresses like he's in school. Our cameras have followed Neville over the last few weeks, and to not put too fine a point on it, we're a bit appalled.

Neville's a strapping lad, well over six feet, but he tends to hunch when he walks, like all tall men, and his hair is like cotton wool. He might be good looking, but you would never know it.

So, today, with the help of Neville's mates and £2000, we're going to make Neville over into the sort of gardener any housewife in Britain would love to have pruning her roses.

Neville wasn't suspicious by nature, but continually being marked for death and dismemberment had made him a bit twitchy. War did that to people -- and so did Harry Potter hovering around the greenhouses when Neville hadn't even been certain Harry knew where they were.

"So, why are you here again?" Neville asked bluntly, slipping on his dragon hide gloves to examine the Obnoxious Orchid in front of him. He had plants to attend to and orders to fill. He had to transfigure bougainvillea into lilies for a wedding tomorrow, and Luna was behind on the planting because she said the Mandrakes were having puberty issues.

If Harry was a bit taken aback by Neville's forthright manner, he didn't show it -- living together did that to people. It was also possible that Neville just wasn't paying enough attention, but Neville liked to think that he paid attention to Harry in his own way.

"I just happened to be in the neighborhood," Harry said. "I thought I might stop in and see if you fancied a pint."

Neville glanced at Harry briefly. "You came all the way from the Strand to ask me down to the pub?" he asked distractedly, trying to examine the temperamental flower.

"What? A man can't ask his mate to have a drink?"

"No, not when his mate is right down the road from their flat, and he could've just as easily Floo'd, or rung, or sent one of those electronica messages that Hermione's always on about." Neville pulled back hastily when the Orchid tried to bite off his thumb. "What's going on, Harry?"

Harry removed his specs and wiped them with the hem of his shirt. "Nothing's going on, I don’t know—"

Neville narrowed his eyes and picked up his shears. "You're a terrible liar, you know."

"I'm not lying," Harry protested, looking somewhere over Neville's right shoulder.

Neville just snorted.

"HELLO! We're here! We decided to pop around for a visit, is this a bad time?" Neville almost dropped his shears on his foot when Hermione's head popped around the corner of the greenhouse. Since he hadn't heard the bell on the front door, he could only assume she'd arrived via Floo, and sure enough, hard on her heels was a slightly ashy Ron.

"Merlin's goolies, Ron," Harry mocked, putting his glasses back on. "You are alive, I thought you'd been eaten by kneazles."

Neville brushed the dirt from tee shirt he'd appropriated from someone's closet as Hermione and Ron deftly weaved their way through tables loaded with flora and fauna. At some point, Neville recalled his tee shirt having been grey, but judging by the present shade of pink it sported it had clearly turned in the wash. He turned his head slightly as Hermione kissed his cheek and nodded his head in greeting to his other flatmate. "All right, Ron?"

"Neville, Harry. Enough with the whinging like a fishwife," Ron complained, rubbing the back of his neck. "I only stayed over twice this week."

"Yes, and it's only Wednesday," Hermione said dryly.

"When are you going to make an honest man out of Ron, Hermione?" Harry asked blithely. "He's getting a bit long in the tooth -- at this rate, you'll have to put him in an OAP home."

Neville snorted at Ron's injured look, but whatever Ron's retort would've been was drowned out by Luna crashing through the back door in a flurry of scarves and beaded jewellery. "I haven't missed it, have I?" she called out, flinging her coat in the general vicinity of the coat rack. "I knew when I woke up that Mercury was out of alignment and my travelling was going to be a mess, but that was just ridiculous. Rampaging hippogriffs on the Muggle underground disguised as football players. The Ministry has a lot to answer for."

Luna's deliberately stepped over the protruding tails of several Tiger-Tyger Lilies, and made her way to the foursome, who had ceased all attempts to follow Luna's spiel. Eventually Hermione cleared her throat. "That's lovely, Luna, I was just telling Neville that we'd stopped around for a visit—"

"Which never happens," Neville pointed out wryly, "so would you care to tell me what, exactly, has all of you—"

The clattering of the doorbell cut Neville off mid-inquiry, and he shook his head as he brushed past his mates. "Saved by the bell," he said good-naturedly, "But don't think I've forgotten that--"

"Neville Longbottom?" There were two thin, pinched women standing in the entranceway. Each woman had longish blonde-brown hair and wore the sort of Muggle clothing that reaked of too much money and not enough practical sense.

Neville eyed them curiously. "Can I help you?" he inquired, removing his gloves and tossing them casually on a workstation.

"Oh, god, yes," the taller of the two women said, stepping inside the greenhouse with the shorter woman on her heels. "I can see it already. Look at that shirt! It's perfectly hideous."

"I think he might be colour-blind," the shorter woman said thoughtfully.

"That still wouldn't explain the trousers," the taller woman pointed out. "Or either shirt."

Neville's amiable smile died off as the women were followed inside by two large men carrying what looked like a fuzzy broom and a box of Quidditch supplies with a light on one end. Neville took several steps back as the women continued to advance. "I'm sorry, do I know you?" Neville asked, furrowing his brow. There was a squealing noise behind him, and Neville cast a distressed look over his shoulder for help. "A little help here," he hissed.

Neville turned back at the cackle that came from entirely too close. "You were looking for us, and just didn't know it. Thankfully, we're here now. No worries," the shorter woman said. "My name is Susannah and this is Trinny, we're from the BBC programme What Not to Wear."

Neville just stared.

The shorter woman continued onward. "You've been nominated by your mates for a makeover."

Neville made a choking noise and turned back to give his friends an incredulous look. Hermione and Luna both looked chuffed, Ron looked a bit sheepish, and Harry, well, Harry just shrugged.

"I don't want a makeover," Neville protested.

"Of course you do," the tall woman, Trinny, said. "Everyone wants a makeover, they just don't know it yet."

*

How would you define Neville's style?

Hermione Granger, friend from school: Neville's style? Well, it's a bit, uh, basic really. He wears tee shirts and trousers, the same as Ron and Harry. I actually think they all share the same clothes –- which is a bit unhygienic when you get down to it. I think Ron and I need to have a talk.

*

A week later, Neville comes down to our offices, his entire wardrobe in tow. We understand that men don't tend to shop as much as women, but we're a bit concerned that he only has one rubbish bag full of clothing. We know that all men aren't fashionistas, but this is just a bit sad. Thankfully, we are here to save Neville from a fate worse than polyester. We're going to look through what Neville does have, toss out what's crap, and then stick him in the room with the 360 degree mirrors and really terrify him. It should be fantastic.

Neville tended to have rather pacifist tendencies where Muggles were concerned, but a mere thirty minutes with Trinny and Susannah made him rethink certain long-held principles. "I've told you before," he said, pacing the tiny studio where his clothing had been hung on hangers for the entire Muggle public to see. "This is all that I have, I don’t tend to wear a lot."

Trinny pursed her lips and shook her head. "You don't tend to get laid a lot either, do you?" she said moving to the other side of the rack. "I mean, at least not wearing this."

Neville shot her a murderous look, but she seemed immune. "I didn't agree to this sort of harassment when I signed on for this programme," he said pointedly. "I thought you were supposed to help people."

"To get help, you have to hit the bottom," Trinny trilled. "And you, Neville, I think --

Trinny's declaration was cut off by Susannah. "What's all this black business? Black dressing gown. Black dressing gown. These don't even have belts with them -- no shape whatsoever. Black is for big people who want to look small. Are you big, Neville? I don't think you are, I think you're hiding your true self under shapeless robes. Is this a university thing? Let's just have a looksee."

Neville never even saw Susannah coming. One moment she was lamenting his school robes, and the next she was tugging on his trousers. "What are you doing?" he asked, trying to move away.

"Taking off your clothes so I can see what we're working with."

"No, wait! Stop!"

Susannah stopped entirely too late for Neville's liking, but soon enough that his trousers hadn't come down completely. "Oh, my. Neville, I had no idea. Paul, pan the camera away for a moment would you? Neville, you're making some undeserving woman very happy with that."

Neville could feel his muscles trembling with the urge to do something very nasty to this Muggle woman. He turned away to refastened his trousers, making certain to pull his shirt down as far over the waistband as possible. "This isn't going to be on telly is it?" he asked quietly.

"No, I don't think the Beeb -- Trin, Trin, you've got to see this!"

Trinny's head popped up from behind the clothes rack like a piece of toast. "Suse, I told you to stop feeling up the guests, and you wouldn't believe the state of his shoes. Neville, you can have more than one pair of dress shoes, really, it's all right. Even your trainers are in -- good Lord, Neville, is that yours?"

Trinny had come back around Neville's clothing rack, and was staring at him in amazement.

Susannah made a noise of vindication. "That's what I said."

"Suse, whatever are you on about?" Trinny said, reaching past Neville and plucking two items from the rack. "What is all this white business? Why does a gardener own a surgical outfit? First, too much black, and now, too much white. Are you on a UN peacekeeping mission?"

"I quite like that," Neville protested. Trinny was badmouthing the first Muggle outfit he'd ever bought for himself. At the very least it matched. Hermione was forever telling him he needed to work on matching his clothing properly.

"Sweetie, you should only wear that much white on your wedding day," Susannah said. "And whatever are you doing with this hideous double breasted jacket? You are a twenty-something gardener not a 50 year-old banker. Good lord, get rid of it."

"But that was a present!"

"From someone who clearly didn't like you," Trinny shot back. "Double-breasted is for old men trying to hide their stomachs. Let me see your stomach."

Rather than being assaulted for a second time, Neville reluctantly lifted up his shirt. Trinny made a choking noise. "My gardener doesn't look like that –- what are you lifting? Rapunzel? Tell me, what are your rates again?"

"I'm not a gardener," Neville clarified. "I'm a herbologist and a florist."

"And yet, still so dirty," Susannah sighed.

Neville was beginning to lose his patience. "I am going to kill Harry for this," he muttered to himself. Apparently, however, Susannah had Extendable Ears.

"Harry –- Harry –- isn't he the one who nominated you? No, wait, it wasn't a boy, it was a girl. Hermione wasn't it? Is she your girlfriend?"

"My girl -– my girlfriend? Hermione? Merlin, no, don't get me wrong, she's lovely, but Ron would-–"

"Ron, the one with the shaggy ginger hair? Looks like a setter in need of a trim?"

"He doesn't-–"

Susannah rolled her eyes. Neville furrowed his brow. "Well, maybe just a bit, but isn't that all the business these days?"

"Looking like you're homeless is never in Neville, stop reading FHM and Loaded."

"Loaded with what?"

Susannah made a dismissive wave of her hand. "Never you mind, Neville. After we're done with you, she'll be saying, 'What boyfriend?'"

"No, really, that's okay, I don't-–"

Trinny narrowed her eyes and considered Neville thoughtfully. "Suse, I think what Neville's trying to say is that he doesn't support that side, is that it Neville?"

"What? No -– no –- that's just crazy talk. I don't fancy Harry Potter."

Susannah gave Neville a shrewd look. "Harry Potter, which one was he on the video, Trin? The one with the appalling hair and specs?"

"They're not appalling!" Neville protested. "It's just –- he works hard. His job is really stressful, and he's not into fashion."

Trinny's laugh was deranged; it reminded Neville of Mad-Eye Moody. It also made Neville's stomach churn. "And you are, Neville? Don't worry yourself, darling, by the time this is over Harry will be the happiest, most undeserving young man in all of -- where do you live again?"

"Kilburn."

"Oh, well, no one's perfect."

"I like Kilburn," Neville protested hotly.

Susannah and Trinny eyed him with amusement. "You must really fancy him then," Trinny said.

Neville covered his eyes.

"Neville, did you know you go all red when -- yes, very red." Neville could tell it was Susannah speaking because he was this close to strangling her. He could feel the magic thrumming in his forearms. And to think he'd laughed when Luna had told him it was in his best interests to leave his wand where he couldn't do any damage with it.

"Voldemort kill me now."

"Voldewort? Is that a plant of some sort?"

Neville brought his hands away from his face. "Yes, it's a plant," he said guilelessly. "It's the kind of plant that kills. You should try it."

At this remark Susannah brayed loudly. "Oh thank god, I wasn't sure you had a spine there for a while."

*

How would you define Neville's style?

Luna Lovegood, school mate and co-owner of Plant-atarium: Neville's clothing doesn't tend to reflect his personality. He should wear more earth tones in keeping with the dirt and plants theme and perhaps a nice olive green in remembrance of Trevor, who died in the war. Did you know Trevor? He was a good toad.

*

Today is Neville's second shopping day, and he's only spent £73 pounds. I don't think we've ever had someone spend so little money on the first day. It's as though Neville's from some other planet, and he's never seen a clothing store before -- although, judging by the clothing he had when he arrived -- that's entirely possible.

Regardless, we've decided to take the bull by the horns and get him kitted out before he's arrested for indecency and assault by bad fashion.

Neville's first day of shopping was the most traumatic experience of his entire life. Worse than the flying brains at the Ministry and almost getting killed by Bellatrix Black. More horrifying than his Uncle Algie throwing him out the window and all his classes with Snape combined –- well, perhaps not as traumatic as Snape –- but very fucking close.

Neville had no idea there were so many clothing shops in London, and he had absolutely no idea that they could contain so many clothes. For years Neville's only concerns had been keeping the number of rips in his robes to a manageable number, and then he'd been more worried about staying alive than whether his jumper matched the shirt under it.

And now, to focus on such meaningless details like wearing trousers free of pleats and patterns -– one of his rules -- seemed ridiculous. Plus, Neville had never quite got the hang of the Muggle money; the paper money was entirely too flimsy, and the plastic card was even more confusing.

He'd hidden in the dressing room of one store for an hour before the cameraman, Paul, had taken pity on him and steered him towards a few solid coloured shirts that were so unremarkable no one could object. Today, however, Neville was going to have to make some headway, and Aquascutum seemed just the place for it. At least the name seemed safe enough. Neville had steered well clear of shops like Next and Top Man and anything else that seemed to imply that he was some sort of ladies man.

The clothing inside Aquascutum was a bit more posh than Neville had thought it might be given the aquatical name. There were Muggle three-piece suits and all sorts of matching bits that would've given Ron's dad sweaty palms. Paul, the cameraman, and Steve, who handled the fuzzy broom, kept trying to move Neville away from the bright patterned jumpers and towards things that looked suspiciously like dragon hide.

Picking up a jacket made of brown dragon hide, Neville looked at Paul inquisitively. "Is this the part where I talk about how much I hate doing this?"

Steve laughed. "Better you than me mate."

Paul sighed. It reminded Neville of how he sighed when Harry was being particularly trying. "C'mon, Nev, all you've got to do is just say, 'Yeah, this is all right' or 'No, it's all rubbish' and then grab a few bits here and there. The girls'll be here any minute, and we haven't even got any footage. I don't fancy Susannah's wobbler when she finds out -–"

"NEVILLE!"

Neville winced, and Paul shook his head. "Too late, mate."

Neville didn't even realise he was clutching the dragon-hide jacket so tightly until the Evil Ones appeared at his elbow, wearing matching moss green jumpers. They reminded Neville of every Slytherin he'd ever met: over-confident, loud, and rude.

Trinny gave him a disapproving look; he'd seen enough of those in his lifetime to know one when he saw it. "Neville, you shopped all day and haven't bought -– oh, that's quite nice. Yes, leather is always a good selection and this brown really brings out your eyes. I don't quite think it's your size though, what size are you again? "

Neville stared as Trinny tugged on the jacket repeatedly. "Size, Neville," she repeated again. "What size do you wear?"

"I would say he's a large. Extra large." Susannah narrowed her eyes thoughtfully, and Neville immediately let go of the jacket to protect his trousers.

Susannah snickered. "Relax, I've had all the thrills I can take for one week. Today, we are going to get you kitted out for that man in your life. When we're done with you, and that mess of hair on your head, Harry won't know what hit him."

"He's not 'the man in my life,'" Neville protested, stumbling as Steve banged him with the fuzzy broom and motioned for him to follow Susannah around the store.

"Not yet," Susannah trilled. "But that will soon change."

"Why are you doing this to me?" Neville had the wind knocked out of him when Susannah thrust a striped jacket against his chest.

Apparently, she changed her mind because she swapped the jacket for another. "Because it's our job."

"Your job is to make me miserable?"

"No, our job is to make you presentable. And to get that dirt from underneath your fingernails. My God, Neville, you're practically filthy."

"I washed before I came," he retorted loudly.

"Yes, but sometimes that's not enough. Sometimes you need something more."

"Think of us as your fairy godmothers." Neville hadn't even realised Trinny had disappeared until she reappeared at his elbow, bogged down with all sorts of trousers and shirts and jumpers. There were solids and stripes and button-downs and something suspiciously bright that Neville didn't want to study too closely.

"I would reckon you're a large shirt with a 36 inch inseam," Trinny said propelling Neville towards the fitting rooms. "Perhaps a 38. Go and try these things on, and we'll see."

Once safely inside, Neville dropped all the clothes on the floor and sat on the tiny chair provided. He couldn't imagine what had possessed his mates to put him through this. Hadn't he always been loyal and honest and up for anything? Here he was being punished for being himself. His mates might has well have just told him that they didn't want him as he was, and that, that just hurt.

"Oh, Neville that's not it at all." Neville started when he looked up and found the Paul holding his big black box in front of Neville's face. Not only had Paul followed him into the fitting room, but Trinny and Susannah had squeezed in right behind him.

Neville hadn't even realised he'd spoken out loud, but Paul clapped him on the shoulder in support. "It's all right, mate, my old lady did this to me and I didn't talk to her for a week -– best week of my life."

Susannah shook her head. "Neville, your mates didn't do this as a punishment; they did it because they want everyone else to see how brilliant you are. It's a cruel truth, but most people only see the outside. All we do is try to match up the two."

Neville sat up straight and took a deep breath; all the bodies were starting to make him claustrophobic. "You're sure you're not here on some mission for the Dark Lord?"

Trinny sniggered. "Only if by the Dark Lord you mean Giorgio Armani. He's the only lord I follow."

Susannah nodded. "Now stop being so dramatic and put on that swimming costume. I want to see some skin --– err, what we're dealing with here."

"I don't need a swimming costume," Neville said, recoiling from the hideously patterned piece of clothing that Susannah was now holding out.

"Who said it was for you?" Trinny retorted. "This is what you wear when everything else is in the wash and you need to wander around the flat making Harry uncomfortable."

Neville could feel the heat in his cheeks. "You're terrible," he said, snatching the offensive garment out of Susannah's hands.

"That's why we get paid so well," Trinny said cheekily. "There's big money in being mean. You should try it."

*

How would you define Neville's style?

Ron Weasley, flatmate: Style? Neville? Are you taking the piss? Oh, wait, you're not going to tell him I said that are you?

*

It's been a long hard slog -– I think we'd've had an easier time with the Queen -- but we managed to spend all of Neville's £2000, and everyone seems quite happy with the results. At the very least, Neville now has clothes that match.

We've brought Neville back to our studios for the last part of his makeover, which is hair. Normally, we do hair and make-up, but we thought that might be a bit much for a herbologist, and we're not sure how much time our hair specialist is going to need. We know a fit man is hiding under Neville's Ode to the Highlands unruly hair, now, we just have to find him.

Neville was well acquainted with anxiety. War, Snape, his grandmother, anything having to do with any Slytherin, ever –- those things gave him anxiety. Or they had at one time. With the war over, most of Neville's fears had bled into the background, and Neville had created a new life for himself. He had his nursery, and his mates, and was quite content with his life. Or he had been until Trinny and Susannah had come along and made him over.

He felt the same on the inside, but it was the outside that had him a bit nervous. He hadn't seen his hair, but he had fingers to feel the spikiness and his scalp certainly felt cooler than normal. The hairdresser had also shaved off his beard, and she'd kept cooing over his freckles, which just made Neville self-conscious. Now he was supposed to go out in front of Trinny, Susannah, Paul and Steve and show himself off like some sort of Preening Petunia.

Getting dressed without a mirror of any sort hadn't helped, and Neville look a deep breath before opening the door and walking back into the studio. The room was brighter than he remembered, and bigger, probably because they'd thrown out all his old clothes, which he wasn't going to forget easily.

He walked tentatively towards the bright lights of Paul's black box as he'd learned to do over the last week, only stopping when he could clearly make out Trinny and Susannah before him.

The Evil Ones -- as he'd once thought of them -- stood on either side of a covered mirror. Neville offered them a watery smile, which died away when Susannah covered her mouth with both hands. Trinny just stared. Neville's knees began to tremble.

"Is it really that bad?" he asked uncertainly. "Because if it is, you're going to have to change me back. I don't care how you do it –- I know you've got wizarding blood in you somewhere. I can sense Slytherins-–"

Trinny cut him off. "Neville, be quiet."

Neville blinked, but stopped talking.

Susannah's voice was mumbled through her fingers. "My god, it's like Cinderfella."

Neville shifted his weight back from one foot to another. "Can I see now? Please?"

Trinny pulled the cover off the mirror, and Neville blinked again. "Is that me?"

Trinny was the first one to break the heavy silence. "The stripes and the jeans and the print shouldn’t work. And yet, they do. Neville, why ever haven't you been showing this off before? My god, do you know how many men would kill to look that good?"

Susannah emitted a cackling noise, and it took Neville a moment to realise she actually had tears in her eyes. "I thought you might be the one who broke the unicorn's back, Neville, but I persevered, oh yes."

Neville's grinned faltered slightly. "Unicorns –- so, you're not Muggles."

Trinny rolled her eyes. "Please, do you think, Muggles could work this sort of magic?"

*

How would you define Neville's style?

Harry Potter, flatmate: Neville's style? I don't suppose I've thought about it really, I mean, he tends to just wear shirts and trousers. His hair's a bit long, and he's got a of beard, but he carries it well. His trousers hang a little low, and he tends to stretch my shirts out a when he borrows them, but, he's quite fit, so –- Uh, can we start over?

*

Neville had thought the worst of the nervousness had passed after he'd had his moment with Trinny and Susannah. After filming the same segments four times over, they'd calmed him down with several cups of tea, spiked liberally with Ogden's, and enough chocolate biscuits to satisfy a small Quidditch team. They'd then regaled him with tales of their Ravenclaw years, and assured him that he was more than an acceptable match for Harry Potter. Trinny, apparently, had had a "thing" with Harry's father during their school years, which was a little too much information form Neville.

Eventually, they had sent him back to Kilburn with explicit instructions on how to get in Harry's trousers, which Neville had written down on the flat of his hand and then rubbed off on the legs of his trousers.

The taxi ride back had been relatively painless except the driver had been entirely too curious about why Neville had all the bags and whether he was one of "them poncy models that come through for that fashion business."

Neville had been so gobsmacked at being referred to as any sort of poncy model that he'd pretended not to hear the driver at all, and apparently the driver had changed his mind once he'd dropped Neville off at his less-than-posh flatshare.

According to Trinny and Susannah, Neville still had to make his big reveal on camera to his mates, but that wasn't required until later on in the day. What Neville really wanted was to spend an hour in the bath talking to Finbar, his Vampire Fern, before dealing with anymore fuss. So, it was with some irritation that he opened the door to the flat and found the telly playing loudly and the kettle whistling loud enough to raise the dead.

Rolling his eyes, Neville closed the door behind him and dropped his purchases on the floor. Crossing the room, he grabbed the handle of the kettle and moved it off the lit hob. "You can take the kettle off at any time!" he hollered by way of greeting. "I mean unless you want it to explode and rain a hail of burning shrapnel upon the entire room."

"I was in the bath," Harry voice projected over the television. "Sorry about -–" Harry's words trailed off when Neville turned around. "Sirius' ghost -- Neville?"

"No, I'm the lady with the tea cart on the Hogwarts Express," Neville held out the kettle. "Fancy a cup?"

"No, I just, I mean fucking hell, Neville, you're wearing a suit. That matches." Harry's black hair was a damp mass on top of his head that quivered as he spoke, and tiny rivulets of water ran down his neck, disappearing into the collar of the ragged cotton tee shirt he wore.

Neville rolled his eyes, turning away to put the kettle back on the stove. "Are you saying that I never matched before? I think I'm offended."

"If you were a girl, you'd be offended," Harry corrected, crossing the room as Neville removed his jacket and hung it on the back of one of their mismatched assortment of kitchen chairs.

Neville thought about this as he kicked off his new loafers. "True enough," he said glancing down as his bare toes wriggled happily against the cool floorboards. "I am many things, but I am not a girl."

"I've noticed," Harry remarked blithely.

Neville's head snapped up sharply enough that he felt the pain in the back of his skull. "Very droll, Harry," he said, noticing the smears on the lenses of Harry's glasses. "You can't borrow my clothes. Susannah made me promise."

Harry shook his head. "I don't want your clothes, Neville, they're nice and all, but I have plenty of clothes of my own."

"Yes, and Trinny wants me to burn all of them."

Harry's laugh was strangely comforting to Neville. Everything seemed so new, but his friendship with Harry was older than any haircuts or stylish clothes. "If you burn them, then you really will have to loan me yours."

"You could just go around naked," slipped out before Neville could stop himself. And if that was a shock, Harry's fingers hooking his belt and tugging him forward was like being hit with an errant Bat-Bogey Hex.

Neville stumbled slightly, catching himself right before he pitched forward onto Harry.

Harry's smile was all white teeth. "I could go around naked," he said thoughtfully. "But you would have to convince me that it was a good idea."

"I think it would be a good idea," Neville said solemly.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Just a good idea?"

"No, a fucking brilliant idea, actually. And I thought of it. I should get a medal."

Harry snickered. "You already have medals from the Ministry for everything short of tying your shoes."

"Yes, but I want another. Speaking of which, I have notes on how to seduce you, but I've wiped them all off on my trousers."

"You don't have to take notes to seduce me; being yourself has worked fine so far."

Neville grinned. "And here I was thinking you were just after me for my clothes."

*

We've sent Neville back to his every day life with his new wardrobe, and we're pleased to report that he's traded in his hideous striped shirts and checked trousers for real shirts and dark jeans. The real question, now, is what do his friends think:

Hermione Granger: I think he looks absolutely fabulous. I had no idea, well, suffice to say that he looks gorgeous -- if men can look gorgeous. I don't suppose you'd be willing to make over Ron, would you?

Luna Lovegood: I'm so pleased that Neville's style is finally in alignment with the rest of his chart. It makes all the difference in the world when you're reading his tea leaves.

Ron Weasley: He won't let me borrow his clothes anymore, thanks for mucking things up for the rest of us.

Harry Potter: He looks good, but then again, I always thought he looked good. It's just a bit disconcerting to take your boyfriend out for a drink and have to fight off the men and women. I suppose it's a good thing I'm up to the task.

-end-

+ Meet Trinny and Susannah, the original What Not to Wear ladies.

+ Regular casting

+ Betas by

serialkarma and

oxoniensis, who both tried to save me from myself, but I wasn't trying to hear any of that. Remaining fuck ups are all mine.

Current Mood: amused
Current Music: Outkast 'Bombs over Baghdad'

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From:

ursamajor

*cracks up* oh. dear. poor neville.

Luna Lovegood, school mate and co-owner of Plant-atarium: Neville's clothing doesn't tend to reflect his personality. He should wear more earth tones in keeping with the dirt and plants theme and perhaps a nice olive green in remembrance of Trevor, who died in the war. Did you know Trevor? He was a good toad.

poor trevor.

(here via friendsfriends and highly amused. thumbs up!)

From:

Educated Black Person, Esq., A.A., B.A., MBA, Ph.D., RN, NAACP, AAA

HP/WNTW – Everybody's Crazy About a Sharp-Dressed Man

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