The Plan came in three stages.

Stage One had been the easiest–just filling out a new university application with some creative verbiage. It had been relatively straightforward to send in enrollment information without ever referring to himself with a single pronoun. The forms did have an option to self-report being a non-binary witch, but Daniel just left that section blank: The assumption was ‘Girl’ by default.

Under his name, he’d written it as ‘Dani Aster’, a nickname so close to his real salutation that it wasn’t really a lie, and in the personal information section, he’d described himself as a legacy applicant following in his mother’s footsteps.

Just to be safe, he wrote down a phone number for her, but put down his own number, and cleared his voicemail greeting. If anyone called, he’d be able to ‘Get her on the line’ and then speak in a high register.

A week later, he got his response–he’d been selected for the final group of applicants for the upcoming semester. His application had been a little late, but given that he was a legacy applicant with good grades, they were willing to give him a shot.

Now came the harder part: Stage Two.

He’d need to look like a girl, because they wanted him to come in and take an in-person test.

Some parts were easier than others. His hair had grown pretty shaggy over the summer, and even a Mundane stylist could get him extensions. He felt a bit sheepish when he pointed to a girl on a magazine cover and explained, “I want my hair to look like that,” but the stylist had only smiled pleasantly and started on it without question, chatting him up about movies and the weather while she worked.

He half suspected they’d gossip about it as soon as he left, but who cared? They were Mundanes, after all, he didn’t need their approval.

Shopping came next. He picked out a knee-length skirt, and got an employee’s help selecting a blouse to match. With a pair of kitten pumps and a padded bra, he was all good to go on the physical front–there was no chance in hell he'd get any alternative underwear to replace his boxers. If he got checked for panties he'd already be in too much trouble to recover.

He had a moment in the changing room. With his hair already long and lush, and the skirt and blouse donned, he had to do a double take in the mirror. Even without makeup, he looked like most of a new person–if he didn’t know better, he’d swear he was looking at his secret long-lost sister.

Without giving that any further reflection, he bagged up the clothing, checked out, and went to go potion shopping.

Alchemy was something he was an old hand at–it didn’t require precise, quick action, just a slow, steady supply of magic and a good head for magical reagents. Though potions were brewed by all sorts, it did get a bit of a reputation as witch’s magic–a whole coven could work on a potion together and keep it brewing for days or weeks. A warlock or even just a low-powered hedge mage on his own could only do simpler potions, since they needed to be brewed in a single sitting.

Fortunately, all Daniel needed was something to make his voice go up a half-octave and handle a little modulation for him. A few crushed pearls and the tears of a siren were the only expensive ingredients, the rest he picked up at the local grocery, and in an evening of stirring over a hot plate, he had his potion.

He had dressed the part, and he sounded the part. Two steps down. All that remained was dealing with his face.

Looking himself in the mirror, he studied the magazine tutorials he’d acquired. Lipstick, blush, eyeliner. He’d gone to a pharmacy and bought everything the tutorial suggested, and with it all laid out on his dresser, he followed the steps.

Foundation, and then concealer. (No, wait.) A makeup wipe took that all off, so he could go concealer, then foundation. (Why the heck isn’t ‘foundation’ what comes first? It’s in the name.) To ensure he really sold it, contouring came next, which…

He looked at himself in the mirror. He didn’t look like a girl version of himself, he looked like he was in the midst of anaphylactic shock. Another wipe took it off, again, and he sighed, grateful he hadn't even gotten to eyeliner–that looked like a nightmare.

Some skills he couldn’t learn from a book–he needed a teacher.

So, sucking up his dignity, he left his brownstone apartment and took a walk to a boutique makeup store a few blocks away.

If he’d felt uncomfortable with the hair and sheepish about the clothes, the store had him downright frozen, a deer in the headlights. He couldn’t really think of a proper excuse, it’s not like he could claim he was buying makeup for his twin sister who looked exactly like him–or, well, he could, but it wouldn’t be believed.

It took him ten minutes of pacing the aisles before he built up the courage to approach the counter. Feeling like he was about to be laughed out of the store, he rubbed the back of his neck, eyes drawn down to the employee’s name tag.

(Kimberly. Okay. She’s just a person. This is her job.)

“Hi,” she said, beaming at him. “Can I help you with something?”

He nodded. “I need…eh…” (Just ask for it.) “I need a consult.”

She nodded. “Alright–let’s get you started, then. Are you looking for a new daily routine, or something more elaborate?”

“Eh…” (A normal girl on a normal day would just use a daily routine, right? Or–since this is a test, it’s a big deal. Should I go for the fancy stuff?) “Something more elaborate.” And, adding a touch of honesty, he continued, “I’m enrolling in a new…position and I want to look my best for the application.”

Kimberly just nodded. “Alright–well, we can start with the basics and work our way up from there. First things first–getting a color match that’s right for you.”

Daniel got no impression that she cared that he was clearly a guy, albeit a guy with long, flowing locks of recently-permed hair, she just set him down and took out a color matching set, comparing different shades with his skin tone.

“Can you explain what all this does?” he asked, as she pulled out a product to sample, applying it with a soft brush to his face.

“Of course! This concealer is going to match your skin tone and hide your beard shadow, so we’ve got a surface to work on. We want to use a complementing color here, so it’s tinted orange to cover up the blue.”

He blinked. “My hair is brown, not blue.”

That did get a smile out of her, but not one of condescension–more just, ‘I’ve answered this objection before’. “Not when it’s under your skin.”

“Right. You’ve done this before? With–guys, I mean?”

She nodded. “Makeup is for everyone, sweetie. Now, let’s get you set up with a good foundation and show you how to blend it…”

She walked him through the whole process, and at risk of missing something that would tip off the school, he said, ‘Yes’ to everything. Concealer, foundation, eyeliner, eye shadow, (That’s different from eye liner?), primer, setting powder, lipstick and lip liner, (again, why are there two products for lips?), bronzer, a contouring palette, false eyelashes, and enough brushes that he was having trouble keeping them apart. As an afterthought, he tossed in a bottle of nail polish. The total bill came out to a hefty triple digit sum, but it'd be worth it once he achieved High Warlock.

But when she was done…

He had to rush home, paying quickly, hurrying to get out of there. Back in his apartment, all he wanted to do was stare in a mirror.

He looked…good.

Great.

He looked adorable.

Full lips, and a face that didn’t have any pockmarks or old acne scars. All the little blemishes that he didn’t like about his appearance were gone.

In a moment of uncertainty, he took out the dress he’d bought and put it on, comparing how he looked with that on in the mirror versus his shirt. That…didn’t do anything for him, which wasn’t exactly a surprise, but it affirmed what he’d already thought.

He didn’t want to be a girl–even if that would have made the ‘applying to a witch’s school’ part of his life a little more understandable. He was certainly still Daniel Aster, would-be Warlock, confident in his manliness.

But all the same…he liked how he looked in the makeup. He didn’t need the falsies or the bright red lipstick, but the rest of the routine? He could get used to that. Plus, he’d learned a lot, and had some ideas. A little contouring could make his jawline stronger instead of softer, and generally have him looking a bit more...Daniel at his best.

It’s like Kimberly had said–makeup was for everyone.

And, more important to his scheme, he’d completed his look. Hair in golden locks, with a face that looked pert and feminine and a skirt that twirled so easily he seemed to be flouncing with every shift of his weight, Daniel knew at a glance that he’d never be questioned on his girlhood.

With a ritual circle and some concentration, he apparated into Alphabeta’s grand landing hall. A towering chamber built out of white stone, there was enough space overhead to comfortably fit his entire brownstone apartment building, and the light cast across the entire chamber seemed to be sourceless, coming from everywhere and nowhere, so that everything was well lit and nothing would ever be blindingly difficult to look at.

The air had a warm undercurrent–a surprise, given that they were somewhere in the North Pole. The whole school was built so far away from Mundanes that it didn’t even need to hide. Getting in and out required magic–simply making it into the school was proof that you had some talent.

And sure, a warlock would have been able to apparate to the landing hall in a snap of his fingers. The hall was built to be a beacon for sending magic, after all, but Daniel was happy to have made it, period. Speed could come later.

Speed could come later, that’s why he was here.

Turning to look around, he saw girls popping into the space around him–a few in groups, most solo. Hoping one of them might know which way to go, he watched for a moment, but they seemed as directionless as him. Before he could approach anyone to ask, though, he heard a voice call out.

“If you’re here for testing, raise your hand!” A tall blonde girl with angular features and equally angular glasses stood near one of the large corridors leading out of the landing hall, and her voice carried so well that Daniel suspected she’d amplified it with a bit of magic. She didn’t look old enough to be a teacher, so Daniel suspected maybe a TA or just a student who’d volunteered to help.

Most of the girls in the room raised their hands, and Daniel followed suit.

“Alright–Sparks, follow me.” Making a ‘this way’ gesture, she turned to walk down the corridor behind her, walking sideways so she could keep an eye on the group. “And don’t dally–you might want to familiarize yourself with the place, but this isn’t home yet. Most of you are going to leave and never come back, so don’t waste everyone’s time on tourism.”

Daniel snorted, following along in the middle of the group.

Mistake.

Her eyes shot to him. “What’s your name, Spark?”

“Spark?” he asked. His voice came out in a high alto, and he almost gave himself away by looking shocked–he wasn’t used to how he sounded with the pitch potion in his system.

“Newbie. Rookie. You’ve got a bit of power, but you don’t know how to use it,” she said, walking backwards so she could face the group and lead them at the same time. “What’s your name?”

“I know how to use my power." He looked her petulantly in the eye, annoyed at her attitude when she didn't even know him. She stood almost a foot taller than him, so to meet her eye line, he had to look notably up. “And I appreciate the directions, but I don’t need your opinion about my skill–I know how good I am. This test is going to be easy.”

“Yeah? Check this again,” she said, pointing at her chest. He looked back down, only now noticing the name tag with ‘Prefect’ printed beneath her name, ‘Rachel Haligtree’ over a pair of breasts that warranted staring. “If you do make it in, Spark, I’m going to be watching over you to make sure you know your ABC’s. That means my opinion about your skill is all you need. Name.”

He almost puffed himself up for an argument, but a second’s hesitation told Daniel to stand down. Once he aced the exams, he could start throwing his clout around. Until then, he’d keep his head down. “Dani-el Aster,” he said, pronouncing his name like ‘Danielle’.

Rachel tapped her horn-rimmed glasses, considering. “Right, the momma’s girl. You got in because of a family connection. Don’t think that’ll help you on testing.”

Adjusting the bra, annoyed by the straps over his shoulders, Daniel cast his gaze downward and continued marching towards his exam room, following Rachel. (Just get through the exams, then you can take this stupid outfit off and shove your results in this girl’s face.)

He did smile, though–his disguise had survived a trial by fire. All eyes had been on him, and he’d made it through without anyone noticing that it was a disguise.

Daniel grinned, the expression accented by his cherry-red lipstick. The tests would be the easy part.

He was practically in.