Harryrella

A/N: Disclaimer is unchanged from chapter 1.

I want to say a big, big thank you, to everyone who has reviewed this fic. I feel on top of the world, as I never thought I'd have so many reviews and kind words. It's just the sense of humour I have and the fact that people find this funny makes me feel better in myself too. So thanks again.

Also a big thanks and hugs to shadow_samurai, my wonderful beta. I couldn't have done this without you hun. Kisses!

The moment is here, Harry meets his fairy godfather. So without further ado... on with the show.



Chapter 3

The week had passed by in a flurry of activity for the Dursleys. On Friday, Tom and Dudley were taken to London to purchase their suits and personal items for the big party the following evening. Dudley couldn’t hide his glee at being allowed time off from his posh school to go shopping. He was the envy of all his friends, most of whom hadn’t been invited because they were under seventeen, and the rest had obviously been up to no good as they had to decline their invites.

Harry had no shopping trip to look forward to, and no party to attend. The whale had made it perfectly clear that Harry was staying behind.

“There is a list of duties on the kitchen work top. Make sure you adhere to them, boy, and we would like a lovely roast when we return home. Understood?” Vernon chuckled as he watched the colour drain from his nephew’s face.

Harry stood with his mouth agape. ‘I wish I could wipe that stupid grin off that oversized, triple chinned, whale’s face,’ he thought. “Yes, Uncle Vernon. Have a nice time. I was hoping to maybe go with you. I mean, Duddy poo does need to have his suit specially made for his large frame, and I would love to see him squirm… sir!” Keeping his face as neutral as he could, Harry bit his tongue, waiting for the whale to strike. He was shocked when his uncle only muttered his reply.

“I wouldn’t want your scrawny little arse soiling my car seat, boy. You’re lucky I’m even letting you have the house to yourself today. Now, less of your impudence and get to work. I want this house spotless.” Vernon turned and left a grinning Harry alone. Maybe that wasn’t such a good idea, but the whale had no other choice. His only hope was that the little pest would have done what he was instructed by the time they returned.

It took less than ten seconds for Harry’s brain to register the fact that he was alone, for a whole day. He ran through the house squealing with delight, and then busied himself with his chores. Before Harry even attempted to tackle cleaning the bedrooms of his arsehole cousins, he decided to have a bit of fun at their expense. He climbed the stairs which led to the bedrooms and entered Dudley’s first.

“Holy fuckin’ shite, look at the state of this place.” Harry bit his lip as he took in the sight before him. Computer games scattered all over the floor, half eaten sandwiches, crisps and something that looked like a pizza were lying on the rumpled sheets of the bed.

“I didn’t think the slob would leave any food to rot. Eww… is that? Oh my God, that’s just vile!” Harry screwed up his nose at the dirty Y-fronts that were draped over Dudley’s bed post. There was no way in hell he was touching them.

Moving further into the room, carefully dodging the mess, Harry found an old porn mag and skimmed the pages. His green eyes grew to the size of saucers when he got to the middle of the mag. “Holy fuckin’ hell! Those can’t be real. There’s no way they’re real. Jesus, I’m glad I’m gay, that would certainly scare me,” he said out loud as he looked at the picture of a female model wearing red high heeled shoes and nothing else. “That’s as scary as hell, imagine being hugged by her. Fuck, I’d be suffocated to death and I can’t say I’d die happy, having my head lodged between two inflatable beach balls. How the fuck does she stay upright? She must have good grips on those bloody spiky shoes to stop her toppling tits up to the floor.” Harry shuddered as he tried to shake the images of the 48FF bimbo from his head.

His inner voice decided to kick in just as he was closing the magazine. ‘Are you really that clueless, Harry? She doesn’t stay upright, you fool. Women like that spend most of their time on their backs, or on all fours.’ Harry chortled at the sight of the female on her back, exposed to the world of horny men. “It would be like climbing a bloody mountain trying to get on top of her.”

Harry set about cleaning Dudley’s room as best he could without touching any of the slob’s dirty underwear. Hunger had set in, and looking at the clock, Harry realised he’d been in the room for over three hours. Sitting on the floor to rest his weary body for a bit, he picked up the magazine again and found a thick marker pen on Dudley’s bedside table. Harry opened it up to the first page and doodled happily for a while. His tongue poked out between his lips and his brow was furrowed. Something was missing from this piece of art and he couldn’t put his finger on it. ‘You know, Harry, for someone who doesn’t like looking at tits and female genitalia, you’re certainly spending a lot of time with the magazine. I think someone doesn’t know which team to bat for, hmm?’

Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath before yelling… “WHY DON’T YOU PISS OFF AND ANNOY SOMEONE ELSE WHO GIVES A FUCK, YOU INSUFFERABLE PRICK?”

“Aha! It’s a prick. That’s what is missing from this picture.”

Taking the black marker pen, Harry drew a penis on the picture in front of him with a caption saying ‘Dudley likes it rough and hard.’ He snickered at his childish behaviour, and then put the magazine back under the bed before continuing with his cleaning. “Bugger me gently, I bet Cinder-fuckin’-rella didn’t have this much work to do. And she got to go to the ball. Lucky cow!

If only Orlando Bloom dressed as that hot, sexy Legolas would come and rescue me from my life of slavery.” He sighed as he picked up the last of the scattered clothes and put them in the wash pile.

‘Keep dreaming, Harry. Legolas indeed. You’re not exactly Frodo now, are you?’ he muttered as he descended the stairs and headed for the kitchen to start dinner for the horses and the whales.

***********

Malfoy Manor was buzzing with excitement. Prince Draco sat in the beautiful ballroom watching his two assistants decorating the tables and dance floor. His eyes sparkled at the chandeliers that cast a prism of colours across the floor and lit the ceiling spectacularly. He couldn’t wait for tomorrow. His stomach was in knots at the prospect of maybe getting his first ever shag and hopefully meeting the future Mr Malfoy.

Nearly all the invitations had been answered and out of two hundred invites, only ten males had declined the offer. Draco smirked at this, knowing full well that most of the attendees wouldn’t be virgins anyway. He had no sure way of knowing, but he was certain his instincts would tell him. He was drawn out of his musings by his father, as the elder Malfoy took a seat across from his son.

“So, Draco.” He raised a bushy eyebrow at his son’s glazed expression. “Have you found a ‘band’ suitable enough for your party, hmm?”

Draco smirked. He took a deep breath and let his father in on his plans for the entertainment. “Yes, Father, as a matter of fact I have. I’ve chosen to hire Finnigan’s Follies for the celebrations. They are touring the U.K. just now and are really popular with the teenagers at the moment. I’m sure it will be a great night.”

Lucius sprayed the wine he had just taken a sip of across the table in a rather undignified manner and began to choke. Draco smirked at the bright red face and watering eyes before asking his father if he was okay. Lucius calmed himself down and spluttered… “F… Finnigan’s Foggies? What kind of absurd name is that? And more to the point, Draco, what kind of bloody band are they? They sound to me as though they are from the planet Neptune and wear bloody moon boots and space suits.”

By this time, Draco had lost control of his calm façade and was doubled over the table, almost pissing himself laughing. “Oh fuckin’ leather thongs! Ha ha ha ha ha, f… fa… ha ha ha ha, father, its Finnigan’s Follies, not Foggies, you twat, ha ha, ooooh fuck me.” He wiped the tears of mirth from his face before he continued. “They are a group of lads from Ireland and the lead singer is called Seamus Finnigan, hence the name of the band. They play their own instruments and sing just about anything. I’m sure they could do a few Dolly Parton or Frank Sinatra numbers for you and mother if you asked.”

“IRELAND? AS IN ‘TOP ‘O THE MORNIN’ TO YA’ IRELAND? Draco, you imbecile, we cannot have bloody leprechauns traipsing all over the mansion in their little green hats and tights. They might steal my gold! Oh hell, I’ll need to change the combination code on the bloody safe,” Lucius yelled.

Draco sat in stunned silence wondering if this was a wind up. ‘Leprechauns? Surely Father isn’t that thick to think that people from Ireland are no taller than four foot two and keep their gold at the end of a fuckin’ rainbow. Does he think we’re in some sort of fairy tale?’ He took a deep breath before continuing.

“Father, do calm down! You look like you’ve just sucked on a lemon and are about to burst a blood vessel. They are not little elves out to steal our money, you fool. They’re human beings, and they have gorgeous, sexy Irish accents. Your attempt at it, however, was terrible Father; don’t give up your day job, please!” he sneered, before rising to his feet.

Taking his leave, Draco strolled eloquently to the sanctuary of his private rooms to take a nap, and he wanted to try on his tux that he had bought from mail order before dinner. He smirked when he remembered his father catching him browsing through the famous ‘Fit for a King’ catalogue.

Flashback

“What are you doing, Draco?”

“Um, window shopping, Father.” Lucius moved closer to look over his son’s shoulder.

“I see no windows displaying clothes here, Draco. So I’ll ask again, what are you doing?”

Draco sighed and threw the catalogue at his irritating father. “Ordering my tuxedo, you fruitcake! Have you forgotten to take your happy pills today or something?”

Lucius blanched. “No need for cheek, Draco. I do not need pills of any kind, nor do I need you telling me I’m a fruitcake. You may be eighteen in six days time, but you certainly aren’t too old to have your sorry arse caned.”

“Oooh kinky! Can you transform yourself to look like Elijah Wood when you’re spanking me, Father?” Draco retorted whilst raising his eyebrow seductively.

The older Malfoy didn’t respond to Draco’s playful banter. Instead he left his son to do what he needed to, and Lucius spent the rest of his time pounding his lovely wife into the mattress.

End of Flashback

Draco settled down to sleep, but he couldn’t stop thinking of his beautiful tuxedo hanging in his dark, walk-in wardrobe. He got up from his bed and all but ran to the closet, and carefully took out the suit which was covered by a large protective carrier. He let his fingers glide over the cellophane before pulling it off, his breath catching in his throat.

A beautiful two piece, black linen suit shimmered before his eyes. Running his palm down the smooth material, Draco could almost sense what it would feel like against his skin. There was a hint of silver in the material which sparkled when it moved. Draco could imagine how handsome he would look once he was dressed in his attire. With his pale, alabaster skin and white-blond hair, the contrast would be incredible.

Underneath the jacket was a soft, almost see through, nylon white shirt with small buttons and a black velvet bow tie to finish it off. The trousers were figure-hugging, and although tuxedos weren’t designed to be that way, Draco had asked specifically to have the trousers made to his tastes. They couldn’t be too tight or he wouldn’t be able to dance without the worry of the trousers splitting, but they were just snug enough to show off his perfectly rounded bum and muscular thighs. Carefully releasing the suit from its hanger, Draco undressed quickly and slipped into the soft material.

“Oh my God, this feels absolutely amazing. So soft and… fuck… so sensual. I better take it off before I cum in my fucking boxers and stain the bloody thing.” Putting the dress suit back in his closet, Draco eventually settled down for a well earned nap.

*********

Harry Potter stood against the wall in the family dining room and watched them devour the delicious meal he had taken four hours to prepare. ‘I’m sure they just do this to piss me off. I hope they choke to death on a bit of pork, the lazy, good for nothing slobs,’ he mused. Head whale was watching Harry suspiciously whilst chewing on a piece of meat. Harry knew that the blubber mouth was dying to say something. He was proved right when Vernon signalled for him to come to the table.

“Lovely meal, boy, and the rooms are clean and tidy. You may have a small reward this evening.” Harry’s eyes widened at the possibility of food. He was stunned when the whale said, “Here you are. You may lick the gravy from my plate, and then get back to your cellar. We don’t want to see your ugly mug for the rest of the weekend.”

Harry sneered. “I don’t think so. But thanks for the kind offer. I’d rather starve than lick your spittle from your empty plate. I hope you fuckin’ choke on your dessert, you tight-arsed fuckwit.”

He didn’t wait for a response. Instead he turned on his heel, bolted for the stairs and ran down to his cellar. Sinking onto his mattress, Harry curled himself into a little ball and for the first time in a long time, he cried himself to sleep.

**********

The house was quiet when Harry awoke at nine o’clock on Saturday morning. Tom and Dudley were to be taken to Wiltshire in the Malfoys' own Rolls Royce. The whale and his horse were also travelling with them, but they would be taking a detour to Aunt Marge’s, where they would stay overnight. Harry groaned and stretched as he slowly slipped out of bed. His hair looked like a bird's nest and his puffy red eyes told of the crying and loneliness from the night before.

He took a quick shower and made his way upstairs to start his daily routine of cleaning, scrubbing and polishing. Harry was tired and irritable, and the last thing he needed was a whole day on his hands and knees. ‘Bet you wouldn’t mind being on your hands and knees in front of Mr Bloom, eh, Harry?’ his inner voice mocked.

“Don’t you frigging start with me this morning; I’m in no mood for a war with my head. And for your information, I won’t go on my hands and knees for anyone!” Harry argued. He could tell it was going to be a very long day indeed.

*********

After a good five hours of cleaning, Harry was so exhausted and hungry he thought he was going to faint. He knew there was food, and lots of it, in the kitchen cupboards, but taking it would be a fate worse than death. Giving in to the constant rumbling of his stomach, he searched for something quick to eat. ‘Biscuits, cereal, soup, - Christ this is outrageous. I can’t have soup or biscuits; they’ll have bloody well counted the tins and packets. Looks like I’ll need to settle for cereal, without milk,’ Harry thought to himself. The light snack helped, and feeling a little better, the servant boy sprawled out on the sofa - whilst he had the opportunity to do so - and closed his eyes. Harry fell into a peaceful slumber, dreaming of dancing with a prince.

*********

A gentle hand rested on the sleeping boy’s head. A soft whisper of ‘wake up, Harry’ and he shot up from the sofa in fear. “Who’s there?” he said, trembling. While he was asleep, Harry had felt a presence in the sitting room. He wasn’t sure if he was dreaming, but the hand that stroked his head had felt solid enough. He began to panic and scanned the room franticly before his eyes rested on the source of the noise. His mouth dropped to the floor and he was suddenly lost for words.

There before him was a man who looked to be around ninety years old, with half-moon spectacles, long silver hair and a long beard to match. Harry wasn’t sure where the hair ended and the beard began. The old codger was wearing what Harry could only describe as a fairy outfit, deep purple with streaks of gold, and matching tights. ‘Okay, I’m pissed. I must have been at Aunt Petunia’s whisky before I fell asleep. There is a strange… being… in my sitting room, looking at me with twinkling eyes. Maybe he’s lost his way home from the pub, or judging by the state of his clothes, he’s late for a fancy dress party.’ Harry continued to stare until he was sure the old man meant him no harm. Then all his questions left his lips at once.

“Wh… who are you? I… erm… what are you? Why are you here? Are you lost? I can call a cab for you, or… or I -” Harry was silenced when old coot raised his hand to quieten him.

“Let’s answer one question at a time, shall we, Harry?” The blue eyes twinkled behind his glasses.

‘Fuck, bugger, shite and Jesus, he knows my name. Hellllllpppppp somebody, I’m being… what am I being? Get a grip, Harry, you stupid twat. He isn’t even doing anything.’ Taking a few deep breaths, Harry briefly nodded, allowing the man to continue. The aged man motioned for Harry to take a seat, and then he began.

“Lemon drop?” he offered. Harry shook his head, so the old man continued. “Ah! Harry, my boy. You don’t know me, but I’m your fairy godfather.” Harry’s chin hit the floor as he came to the conclusion that the old bugger was definitely senile.

“My what? I must be dreaming. There are no such things as bloody fairy godfathers, except in children’s fairytales. So spit it out, old man. What are you doing here?” Harry was becoming more agitated by the second.

“My name is Albus Dumbledore, and you are quite correct, Harry, there are no such things as fairy godfathers, unless, of course, you happen to believe in them.” His eyes were sparkling with mischief. “However, I am not something from your imagination, my boy. I was sent here, on a mission, to help you.”

Harry sat listening to what was being said and shook his head to try to clear away the fuzziness that had formed. “I’m sorry, Mr Bubblewhore, but you were sent on a what?”

“D.U.M.B.L.E.D.O.R.E,” he enunciated, correcting a very embarrassed Harry.

“Um… sorry, I misheard you the first time.” Harry looked at his feet, feeling the colour rise to his cheeks.

Albus Dumbledore continued to tell Harry the story of how the boy’s parents had adopted Albus as an unofficial grandparent. He had promised to look out for Harry and only make himself known to him when the time was right. That time was now, and he was here to assist Harry with his plans to go to the party. Harry listened intently, trying to block out his inner voice that was laughing its head off at the unusual turn of events.

‘Just like the fairytales, Harry, ha ha ha, Cinderella strikes again! Oops so sorry, you’re a guy, maybe that should be ‘Harryrella’. Harryrella lives in a cellar, is in love with a fella, is…’ The voice was abruptly cut off. “Shut the fuck up, you bloody fruitcake! I’ve told you before to stay out of my head.” Harry had shot off the sofa in a fit of rage.

Albus Dumbledore stared at the young boy in front of him. ‘Such foul language for a Potter. I’m most displeased. However, I have a job to do, and I intend to do it,’ he thought.

Harry found himself apologising again to the weird man-fairy in front of him. Albus continued with his story, telling Harry that he was destined for big things. Harry snorted when he thought about the ‘big thing’ he was interested in, and even better if it was at least seven inches and thick. Blushing at these thoughts, he never heard Albus’ next words.

“… By midnight.”

“Sorry?” Harry asked, feeling a little sheepish.

“I said, you will be going to Prince Draco’s party, but you must be back here by midnight.” Harry bit his tongue, and then he remembered what his inner voice had said moments earlier.

“Sir…, I… um… well, this sounds really stupid, but erm, I’m beginning to think I’m in some sort of fairytale, and I’m Cinderella going off to the ball to meet my handsome prince.”

Albus stroked his long beard as he went over Harry’s words. “Harry, my boy. You are, once again, quite correct in your assumptions. However, there are similarities with both yourself and the fictional character known as Cinderella.” At Harry’s puzzled look, he tried to reassure the raven-haired boy in front of him. “You are merely a servant here, Harry, same as Cinders. You reside in a dank, dark cellar, similar to her quarters. You both have terrible relatives, and no self-esteem, only loneliness and neglect. This is your night, Harry. It’s been foretold that the prince will fall in love with a servant, unworthy of anything. I’m merely here to make sure that happens.”

‘So, Harry-fuckin’-rella it is then. I know I’m queer, but do I have to be part of a bloody girl’s fairytale?’ he mused.

His eyes widened when he saw Dumbledore smooth down his stupid looking dress. ‘All that’s missing are the bloody fairy wings and the magic wa… oh bugger me gently. I don’t fuckin’ believe it. I must have hit my head; there is no way on earth that this is happening.’ Albus had pulled out something that looked like a magic wand, complete with pink sparks and glitter, and he waved it once over Harry whilst muttering something quietly.

“Give me power; give me strength, to work some magic, with just a breath,
Make him handsome, make him strong, work the magic, but not for long,
Return at midnight, but keep him safe, make him a person, not a slave.
Lemon drops, candy bars, coco pops and spicy taco,
Make sure his heart is captured by Prince Draco.”

A blinding light caused Harry to stumble backwards, and once he’d managed to straighten himself up, he looked around to see what had transpired. Noticing Albus staring at him expectantly, Harry followed the old man’s gaze. What he saw took his breath away and he muttered a breathless “wow” before checking out his new image.

His thin frame was covered in a beautiful white suit, made of the softest material Harry had ever felt. He wasn’t sure what kind of fabric it was, but it felt like satin. It was cut perfectly to fit his lean body and when he did a small twirl, it hugged his body effortlessly. He moved his hand to the shirt and trailed it down the front. It was a baby blue colour, silk with a white trim around the cuffs and tiny, almost unnoticeable white buttons. Finishing off the look was a white silk tie, knotted expertly at his neck. Harry felt the tears welling up behind his glasses. A lump had formed in his throat and even the voice in his head couldn’t make him feel bad. ‘You look like a freak, Potter. Prince Draco will be laughing his arse off when he sees you. It doesn’t exactly go with the unruly hair and hideous glasses.’

It was as though Albus Dumbledore could read his thoughts. With another swish of his wand, Harry’s glasses disappeared and his hair was sexily mussed with a few blond highlights shining through.

“I’ve given you contact lenses, Harry, and I must say you look very handsome. You may keep the contacts; those glasses were hideous,” Albus offered, his eyes twinkling behind his half-moon spectacles.

‘And yours aren’t, you nut job?’ Harry thought. But then he shouldn’t be thinking like that, especially with the kindness his fairy godfather had shown. A slight tingle on the ring finger of his right hand stopped him mid-thought. He looked down and found a white-gold coloured ring gracing his slender finger.

“Wh…?” Albus placed a wrinkly finger to Harry’s lips and explained the purpose of the ring. He couldn’t tell Harry the real secret of it, which was to be discovered by the boy himself. But he told him a little bit about it.

“The ring is made of glass, Harry. It must stay on your finger at all times. It has a spell on it, and only you can wear it. No one else. Understand?” At Harry’s nod, he continued. “Now, it’s just after five in the evening. There is a horse and carriage outside waiting to escort you to Malfoy Manor. You will arrive there around nine o’clock, but I must emphasize, Harry, you cannot stay any later than midnight.”

‘Just like the fairytale then. I’m well fucked. Well, not literally. Though it would be nice to be well and truly fucked.’ Harry snorted at his wicked thoughts.

Albus continued with his speech. “All this is just for tonight. If you are late returning to your coach, you are in for a long walk home. They have been spelled to allow you time to return here before they disappear. Do you wish to ask me anything, Harry?” Harry shook his head. “Nothing at all?” He shook it again. “Alright, shall we?” Albus motioned to the door and the two of them stepped outside.

The horses were the same colour as Harry’s suit, and he couldn’t help but chuckle. He wondered if he’d ever see his godfather again or if this was all just a dream. He imagined he’d wake up at any moment, with his hair sticking up in every direction, and dried up slobber stuck to the cushions.

“Sir… um… will I see you again? I… erm… well, I still can’t believe this is real,” Harry mumbled.

A few of the neighbours walking down the street were looking curiously at the scene playing out before them. A strange man in a fairy dress and a well-dressed young man in a white suit were standing in the driveway of the Dursleys' house. That didn’t stop Harry grinning at them, giving them the finger at the same time.

Albus tutted and turned to scold the boy in front of him. “Harry, that is no way for a gentleman to behave. You must show some etiquette, alright?” Harry nodded, feeling a little bit ashamed of his behaviour in front of Albus.

“Sorry, sir. I’ll be on my best behaviour, I promise. You didn’t answer my question.”

“Ah yes, how silly of me.”

‘You’ve only just noticed how stupid you look?’

“Once tonight is over, you won’t see me again. I will always be around, keeping you safe. But I’m a very old man, Harry, and it wouldn’t be wise to go traipsing around in a dress every day at my age. I’ll be there as a memory, though. Just look and you will find me. Now hurry along, and don’t forget… be out of the Manor before the clock strikes midnight.”

Harry thanked Albus for everything, and climbed into the waiting carriage before being whisked away to join his prince. He couldn’t stop thinking of one of the things Albus had said.

‘I’ll be there as a memory, though. Just look and you will find me.’ “That man is a bloody nutter. What was that supposed to mean?” Harry pondered.

He gazed at his ring and watched it sparkle as the lights from the now darkening streets came to life and cast a warm glow over the inside of the carriage. Harry rested his head against the velvet headrest on the seat and closed his eyes and fell asleep. He was unaware of the carriage stopping outside a huge white mansion in Wiltshire some time later, as he continued to snore blissfully.

TBC