The Corset
by Teka Lynn

Notes: This was written for the Corset Challenge at Harry/Sirius Fanfiction and Art Livejournal Community. Many thanks to Morgan D. and Ptyx for betaing and lovely commentary. I don't wear corsets myself, so details may be off, for which I apologize. Hope you like it.

"Young Master gives that BACK!"

Sirius Black held the corset up out of Kreacher's reach, smiling nastily as the house elf leaped in a desperate attempt to recapture the garment. "What would you do if you had it, Kreacher? Wear it? Oh, but house elves can't wear clothes—would you like it as a gift, dear Kreacher?"

Kreacher hissed, his fists doubled up at his sides. "Young Master needn't be sarcastic to poor Kreacher, no he needn't be—perverse, transvestite jailbird though Young Master is, tormenting poor Kreacher with clothes," he continued to himself in a sour mumble.

Sirius laughed, shaking an unwashed strand of hair out of his eyes. "I shan't 'torment you with clothes' any longer, dear Kreacher," he said. "I'll put it away for safe-keeping. Preferably by burning the damn thing."

Kreacher's howls of rage and terror rang out behind him as Sirius strode down the musty corridor, laughing to himself. What an odd elf Kreacher was, getting so worked up over a steel and cloth contraption that had no doubt been the bane of some fashionable Black witch in the nineteenth century. Given that it was an item worn by the most unsainted Blacks, it was probably charmed to asphyxiate any hapless girl who had less than 98.5% of pure blood flowing through her veins.

He hefted it in one hand. The black, linen corset was an unromantic piece of underwear, self-evidently worn to shape the body for outer viewing rather than as an erotic or beautiful garment in its own right. The lady (or gentleman?) who had worn this had had no intention of lounging languidly on her wedding bed clad only in silk stockings and velvet corset. This corset did its job. It compressed the waist. It was a singularly unequivocal garment.

Madness, to trap yourself in a piece of clothing that existed to imprison you, never letting you breathe freely or bend down to pick up a dropped item. Clothing that cut into your skin, your flesh, leaving imprints like rough fingers to mar your body.

Sirius's face twisted in disgust. He almost dropped the corset to kick it into a corner, then remembered Kreacher would come howling after it, wailing about "Young Master's mistreatment". Mistreatment, to be sure, but it wasn't as though anyone cared about what had happened to Sirius. Scuff up a useless piece of clothing and the heavens would open on you. Locked away without seeing the sun, oh who would object to that?

His fingers tugged blindly at the laces. Maybe he should give the damn thing to Kreacher, let him find out firsthand the joys of being wrapped up in Black family honour and purity. Whoever had given the corset to its original wearer had more than likely charmed it to never allow the corset to release the girl, until her mother, maid, or lawfully-wed pureblood husband lifted a hand to unlace it from her air-starved body. Likely enough, it had functioned as a chastity belt for her, so she wouldn't throw herself away on some unworthy male (or female). Hah. It was a miracle they hadn't thought to imprison Andromeda in it! A pity they hadn't done so to Bellatrix.

He couldn't imagine Tonks ever allowing anyone to strap her into the cursed contraption. But then, Tonks could probably conjure up some sort of shape to wriggle out of it.

He paused at the door of his bedroom and scratched the wood to alert Buckbeak. On entering, he absently threw the corset into his wardrobe and locked it, then forgot about it while grooming the hippogriff.

"Looks like something Aunt Petunia would wear," Harry said, as he turned the corset in his hands.

"Her grandmother probably did, or something similar," Sirius replied. "Not this one, it would have killed her."

Harry sat on the bed. "You think?"

Sirius joined him, old springs creaking under the combined weight of their bodies. "Really, can you imagine any item owned by my high and mighty family allowing itself to be touched by impure hands?"

"It's letting me do it right now," Harry pointed out, reasonably.

"Your hands aren't impure," Sirius said, then nearly bit his tongue. Idiotic thing to say. "Besides, the spell probably wouldn't activate unless the item were actually worn. More deceptive that way."

"So some girl picks it up, thinks it looks good, puts it on, and WHAM!" Harry's hands mimed laces tugging to strangulation. He had the this is disgusting but somehow totally cool expression often worn by teenaged males. Sirius recognised it from seeing it on James all too often. Harry grinned up at Sirius. "Think you'd like to model it for me sometime?"

Sirius felt himself turn beet red from his scalp to his feet. Harry looked away, scuffing his heel against the dirty floorboards, evidently chagrined.

"I'd wear it on a cold day in hell," said Sirius. He couldn't see Harry's face. His own was still burning, though he tried to force his voice back to joviality. It didn't work. The bitterness kept seeping through.

"It was a stupid idea, Sirius. Sorry."

"Not so stupid," Sirius said, trying to be reassuring and speak through the sudden thickness of tongue and throat. "James did that once. Wore girl's knickers under his robe all day for a dare." He chuckled at the memory. "Flashed Snivellus a few times. Said it was worth dressing up in all that itchy lace just to see Snape turn green."

Harry's heel hit the floor with a louder thump than usual as the boy shifted suddenly. It was probably unsettling for the boy to hear about his father crossdressing, even as a joke, Sirius thought. He should be more careful with his anecdotes. It was just that they took him away from Grimmauld Place, even for a moment. "Don't worry," he said. "Your father was all man."

Harry's face worked, then resolved itself into a tight smile. "I know."

"They used to make corsets for men, too, the dandies. Never caught on particularly."

"Maybe Kreacher has one hidden away somewhere. Models it in secret or something."

Sirius's snort of laughter escaped before he knew it. "Big, pointy nose in the air, poncing around in my great-great-great-grand-uncle's ever so masculine underthings."

Harry's eyes gleamed mischievously. "You should, Sirius. Try it sometime."

"Hell. You try it." He poked Harry.

"No." Harry poked back. "You try it." He leaned over so he was nearly straddling Sirius, his face close enough to make Sirius's eyes cross.

Sirius pushed him away. "Why are you so obsessed..." He broke off as he saw Harry's expression switch from mischievous pleasure to a grim, set, I-don't-careness. Sirius pulled his tangled hair away from his face and stood up. "Fine," he said, feeling the devil surge in him again. "Watch and see how a real man wears a Black corset."

Harry's jaw dropped. "You're really gonna do it? Sirius, I was just joking!" His scar turned pale against the new flush of his skin.

"You wanted it, you're getting it." Damn, he had missed this feeling, the adrenaline of a dare surging through his body. Sirius shucked off his robe and threw it on the bed, leaving him in his braies. Harry sat there, gaping slightly, then tossed him the corset. It was heavier than it looked. Sirius weighed it in his hands.

The black laces seemed to reach for him. He turned the corset over, frowning. "How do you even get it on?" he asked aloud.

Harry got up to look. "It's got the hooks, here, see. It probably..."

"...Wraps around, of course." This was embarrassing. He hoped Harry couldn't see his face.

His godson took the corset and shook it out, its stiff folds unbending reluctantly. It seemed oddly short, Sirius thought. It would probably barely reach the hips when worn.

"Here," Harry said. He unfastened the hooks and eyes. "Which way does it go on, anyway?"

Both stared at the corset.

"You'd have your house elf or lady's maid pull the laces at the back, right?" Sirius finally said, feeling like an idiot but hoping he sounded half-way authoritative. "Unless you don't have one, in which case you'd probably have to do it yourself. Which would be from the front, unless you're double-jointed...right, I haven't the faintest idea then. You tell me."

"I'm not calling Kreacher in to ask," Harry said.

"God, no!"

"So, let's..." Harry frowned, considering. "Do it from the back."

Sirius bit back a snort of laughter at the inadvertent double entendre. He didn't want to embarrass his godson further.

Harry started to loosen the laces, then drew back his hands. "Think it'll object to me doing this?"

"I don't know," Sirius said, "but I'd rather not find out the hard way. There." He tugged gently on the laces and they loosened obediently, perhaps sensing the hands of a Black on them. "I should probably get my wand to be on the safe side. You have yours, right?"

Harry grinned. "In my back pocket."

"And you were sitting...don't tell Moody, we'll never hear the end of it." They shared a conspiratorial chuckle.

While Sirius held his wand at the ready, Harry wrapped the corset around his godfather's torso. Sirius's nipples felt oddly exposed over the snug fabric compressing his waist. He felt Harry's fringe brush against his skin as the boy bent down to finish clasping the hooks. It was disturbingly pleasant.

He cleared his throat and Harry straightened up. "All right there, Sirius?"

"Fine." His breathing did feel more constricted than usual, but not by much.

"Get your wand ready, then." Harry circled behind Sirius. "I'm gonna start lacing you up."

Sirius's mind briefly reeled at the thought of his godson acting as lady's maid, but the boy's tone held no humour in it, simply an almost grim matter-of-factness. He felt the laces tug sharply at his waist without his volition, and gasped involuntarily.

"Sorry! Did I do it too hard?"

"It's all right. Just pull on them slowly. And, er, don't try to close up the gap all the way, I'm not a nineteenth-century fashion plate." Talking felt odd, not uncomfortable exactly, but more as though he had to time every word carefully as he spoke. You couldn't be spontaneous or abrupt dressed like this.

The Blacks must have loved that sense of control.

He bit back a momentary flare of panic. Harry's hands were on him, clinical, steadying, smoothing the creases out of the dark fabric. Clothed like this, Sirius felt more naked in front of his godson than if he'd actually been naked. He breathed slowly, focusing on keeping his respiration even.

"Doing okay?" He felt Harry's breath warm on his back.

"Yeah. Keep going."

The corset clung to his body, the steady constriction increasing around his waist. It felt...not threatening, exactly, as he'd thought it might, but firm. Like hands on him. Not a lover's hands, not a parent's; this was more impersonal. He felt his breath catch.

Quick, short inhale. "That's enough. Stop." Quick breath again. Now that he was becoming marginally more used to breathing in the corset, he found that, if his breath seemed to come from his abdomen rather than his chest, his respiration was fairly comfortable. He just had to be careful.

He felt Harry's hands deftly tie the laces in a loose bow, then heard him step away.

Sirius took a step, testing his balance in the corset. His posture was much better than usual; he couldn't slouch comfortably. Mother would be proud, he thought sourly to himself. Always after him to stand straight, no slumping. Fancy, all this time all she'd needed to do was sew him into a corset.

Fortunately for him, although his mother had been devious and all too quick to think up suitable punishments, she'd never used that one.

Sirius looked around carefully. Harry was back on the bed, leaning forward with his chin on his hands, eyes gleaming with interest. "You look like you're walking with a book on your head," he offered.

Sirius grunted. "That's all I need," he said. "Good job I'm not wearing high heels." Quick breath. "I'd be flat on my face before you could laugh at me."

"I didn't say you looked stupid."

Sirius turned in a circle, displaying himself to Harry. "Really?" Quick breath. "I feel..." Not stupid. Self-conscious, certainly.

He walked over to Harry, who reached out a hand to stroke the linen material with a fingertip as though he were caressing a tiny bird. "What's it feel like, then?" Harry asked.

Like a witch on the third page of the Prophet, he thought. Like someone being held in a too-tight embrace by a mad cross between a veela and a lethifold. Like...he shivered, as he felt the walls, ceiling, floor of his room imperceptibly move closer.

Sirius summoned up a smile. "Cut my lace, Charmian," he said, trying to make a joke of it and not sure he'd succeeded.

The literary reference seemed lost on Harry, who looked puzzled, but obediently hopped off the bed and went to unlace Sirius. He swore and his hand jerked back.

Sirius felt his heart sink, his pulse racing uncomfortably against the strictures of the corset. "What's wrong, Harry?"

A pause before he heard Harry's voice, strained and low, against his back. "Sirius. I'm sorry. I don't think the damn thing wants me to take it off you."

Sirius growled. He still had his wand in his hand, and now tapped it against the corset—carefully—murmuring a loosening spell and mentally reinforcing it with the command that a Black ordered it so. He hated using the familial prestige, but if it was the only way to get things to work properly at 12 Grimmauld Place, that's the way it was.

The corset seemed to mould itself more tightly against his ribs in protest, then perceptibly loosened. He waved Harry away when the boy tried to reach for the laces again, instead reaching behind and undoing the bow himself. The corset seemed to spring loose and Sirius unhooked himself with no further trouble.

He threw the corset back into his wardrobe and slammed the door, locking it with a quick spell.

Harry stared at him, his face pale. "Sirius," he stammered. "I...I had no idea that would happen." He looked away. "I'm sorry," he muttered.

Sirius took a deep breath, glorying in his ribs' expansion. "Don't worry about it, Harry," he said, giddy with relief. He absently rubbed the sore spots on his ribs and hips, then paused as he saw Harry's stricken expression.

"You have red marks," Harry said, evidently distressed. "Damn it!" He started to massage Sirius's side, then pulled his hand away as though he'd received a shock.

Sirius caught Harry's hand in his and turned the palm up. They both looked down at their joined hands, unable or unwilling to look one another in the face.

"I should go..." Harry muttered. But he didn't try to take his hand away.

Don't go, Sirius wanted to say. For God's sake, don't leave me alone in this house! With that house elf, with that portrait, with that damned corset....

Of course he couldn't say that. He cursed himself silently when he involuntarily tightened his hand on Harry's.

After a heart-stopping moment, he heard Harry say, "It's not like they're expecting me at the Burrow," and sigh.

A responsible godfather would tell his godson to run along and play with his friends.

A responsible godfather would not lace himself into a cursed corset at his godson's behest.

Barely aware of what he was doing, he closed his arms around Harry. And felt Harry reach out to hold him in return. Less assured, more hesitant, than the corset's cloth and steel embrace.

But unlike the corset, unlike the house, this embrace was one he would want to hold onto for the rest of his life.

Written by Teka Lynn
September 29, 2004

All rights to the characters and setting are held by J K Rowling and whoever else holds them, including, but not limited to, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, and Warner Bros. This fanwork was created solely for fun and has no legal or financial connection to the Harry Potter novels.