He looked in the mirror. He had the silk panties on. They came down low on his hips and they were so soft. His penis didn't fit very well in the panties, but that wasn't the point. He loved the way they felt.

<He reached for the eye shadow first. He popped the container open and looked at the pretty colors inside. He picked up a tiny brush that was next to the shimmering powders. He pressed the brush against the dark pink color and looked back in the mirror. He wiped the color against his eyelid. He was adept at this by now.>

He had been stealing panties and makeup from his sister. He wasn't turned on by the fact that the items were his sister's; he just loved wearing them. It was easier stealing than going out and buying them. It was difficult though, hiding them.

He hadn't been caught yet, but there had been close calls. Once a stray pair of panties with a nametag saying ‘G. Weasley’ had been found in his robes. He had pretended to be offended and accused the laundry elves of not being able to figure out which Weasley was who.

<He continued to look in the mirror and pressed the other brush into a lighter shade of pink. He swept it upward, keeping just below his brow.>

The makeup, too, had caused problems. Harry, more than once, had asked him what the pink mark was on his cheek. He would feign ignorance and go wash the blush off. Even the first time he'd met Hermione, he had nearly been caught. The dirt on his face hadn't been dirt.

He remembered he was at the Burrow that day being a nervous wreck. The family was getting ready to leave for his first time on the Hogwarts Express, while he was in the loo wasting time.

He grabbed his mum's mascara from the cabinet. He pulled it out of the tube and looked at the funny prickly brush. He started to raise it up to his eyelashes to put some on for just a minute, when his mother screamed at him from outside the door. He jumped and poked the prickly brush on his nose. He frantically rubbed at the black smudge, trying to get rid of the evidence. He quickly stuck the brush back in the tube, before throwing the mascara in the cabinet, just in time, before she opened the door and screamed at him some more.

<He patted the fine ivory powder over his face. It didn't quite cover his freckles, but it toned them down.>

Then, summers at the Burrow, he would panic at being found out. Ginny would constantly complain to their mother how she needed new underwear, because like socks, they kept disappearing. He would stay away from her room for a while, but he could never stay away for long.

<He glanced up at himself in the mirror, before pulling the brush out of the mascara tube. He liked the sound the brush made when it popped out. He would compulsively push the brush in and out, many times, hearing the pop. Finally he raised the brush to his eyelashes, first one set, then the other. He brushed upwards, continuing until he was satisfied that his eyelashes were dark, covering the normally reddish color.>

He really liked Ginny's taste in makeup colors. Luckily, she bought a ton, and he would steal the older looking containers, hoping she had forgotten she had them. He was tempted to steal her dresses, too, but the fear of getting caught outweighed the thrill of wearing them.

<He continued to look in the mirror and brushed pink blush over his cheeks. He moved the brush upward and swirled it in circles on his already pink cheek.>

When Ginny started wearing bras, he wanted to steal one of those, too, but she had so few. He laughed to himself about how she didn't really need them anyway.

<He stared at himself in the mirror. He twisted the lipstick holder until the plum color moved up. He'd tried red before, and pink was his favorite color, but he like himself best in plum. He put it on his bottom lip and began moving it across.>

Once he had stolen Ginny's nail polish. He remembered a day when he was sitting on the floor of the dormitory loo, pulling the brush out of the bottle and looking at the pretty pink liquid dripping over the edges. He almost put it on his toenails, but thought in horror, 'How could I explain painted pink toenails in the shower after Quidditch practice?' So he just sat there dripping the pretty pink liquid over the edges, then brushing it up to the lip and swirling it inside the bottle.

<He looked at himself in the mirror before he washed his face and hid the makeup.>

He occasionally wondered if there was something wrong with him, but he would put it out of his mind. He didn't want to think about it. The panties and the makeup were comforting. He didn't understand why, he just knew they were. He had been tempted more than once to tell Harry, thinking maybe he'd understand, but he was scared of what he would think of him.

//God, he's beautiful//

The voyeur always thought *he* was beautiful. He had been doing this for years, but he had never let *him* know he was there, always watching. He loved watching. He had been tempted more than once to come out of the shadows and say how beautiful he thought *he* was, but he was scared of that temper. So he would just stand there...forever...staring at *him*...thinking...

//He’s beautiful//