Harry breathed a sigh of relief as he closed the door behind him. After a moment, he opened his eyes, and looked around the chamber. Where once it had held a giant, three-headed dog, now it was empty, aside from several stacks of chairs and desks.

He moved into the empty space and examined the floor. "Where is it?" he muttered, scuffing his shoes on the apparently solid floor. Taking a moment, he tucked his Firebolt, the racing broom his godfather had given him, under his arm while he checked the Marauder's map. Convinced that he was alone, he pulled out his wand and directed it at the floor where he remembered the trapdoor having been.

"Finite Incantatem," he intoned. To his delight, the floor wavered, and the trapdoor appeared. "Must not have bothered with anything strong since no-one should know it is even there."

Reaching down, he grabbed the metal ring and pulled the trapdoor up. Casting a simple lumos spell, he directed the wand's light into the hole and grinned. Though it did look like a considerable drop, there was no sign of the Devil's Snare that had met them the first time they had dared the trapdoor, beneath the slavering jaws of Fluffy.

Incanting a quick spell to slow his fall, he dropped into the hole. Flexing his knees, he absorbed the limited impact, and then closed the trapdoor behind him with a spell. Unfortunately, he was not skilled enough yet to restore the illusion that had concealed the trapdoor, but then, he wasn't really worried about anyone looking for him.

He simply wanted to ensure that no-one accidentally came across him, considering the illegality of what he was about to do, not to mention the reaction of Progressor McGonagall if she found out that he was trying to accomplish the Animagus transformation after she had explicitly forbidden it.

So what if his visualization of his form had only caught the bat-like wings, and not, at least in her opinion, enough detail to fully identify his species? He did not exactly think a bat was a great thing to be, but this was not just some whim. He did not want to face Voldemort again with no way to get away, and there was no way he was going to give up the chance to fly under his own power. Nothing in his life was as fulfilling as flying on his broom, and he could only imagine how wonderful it would be to fly with his own wings. And finally, he would be able to stay with Lupin, to be with him in his extremity as his father had once done. It was the least he could do, having caused Sirius, the last of Lupin's loyal animagus companions, to vanish into the Veil in the Department of Mysteries. Besides, if Peter Pettigrew, spineless worm that he was, could manage it, surely he could. He had more than reason enough, in his opinion.

Darkness fell as he extinguished his wand, a pitch blackness that enveloped him. He closed his eyes, and opened them again, and could not see any difference. Leaning over, he set his broom on the ground.

Welcoming the dark, he focused on the wings he had so briefly glimpsed. He concentrated on their long, black sweep, on the flexible, leathery skin that would bear him aloft, as he mentally chanted the spells that would guide his change.

He was not supposed to know them, but the Professor had allowed them to read an Animagus text while preparing to find their inner animal, and he had quietly skipped ahead, and memorized the actual transformative spells. He had not, of course, even contemplated at that point the possibility that he might fail to do what his father had done, or that Professor McGonagall might refuse to allow him to continue, but he had not been averse to the idea of doing a little extra practice on his own.

He felt a pain on his back, and quickly shed his cloak and shirt. The pain multipled four-fold, then four-fold again, approaching the pain of his scar when Voldemort was near, as he frantically skimmed out of his other clothes, holding his wand in his teeth. Curses directed at himself for forgetting to disrobe before starting marred his inward chant, and he gasped as the pain jumped to Cruciatus levels. He could feel his back warping, the skin stretching as if someone had driven barbed hooks into his back and was pulling his skin away from his flesh.

Able to hold it in no longer, he screamed in agony as the pain swept over him completely, exploding in an instant to cover his entire body as his surroundings seemed to be pressing in on him, crushing him from every side.

A fierce, piercing pain erupted at the base of his back, and he screeched in surprise. The pain of his back, and the crushing sensation he had been vaguely prepared for, as he knew that he would shrink dramatically in becoming a bat, and growing his wings, but did bats have tails? Why did his spine hurt so terribly?

The pain grew still stronger, and darkness took him as the pain finally overcame him. He dropped to the ground unconscious, still convulsing as his body warped and changed. A single fleeting thought wafted through his mind before it shut down completely. "McGonagall was right."

---

"Idiot," Harry muttered to himself, as he groggily pulled himself up from the floor, looking around at darkness so complete that he momentarily feared blindness, before he remembered. He had neglected to do anything about providing the room with lighting or a mirror for after his transformation. Of course, he had not expected such a complete transformation the first time. Wasn't it supposed to take a long time to get it to work?

Wait a minute. Why did he understand what he just said? Was this like Parseltongue? Was he going to hear himself speak even when he was really emitting inaudibly high-pitched whistles? His voice had sounded normal to him, if maybe a bit high.

He flexed his hand, paw, or whatever it now was, and ran it down his face. His skin tingled where his fingers had passed, and he swayed as he fought to keep his balance. He felt top-heavy, though it was not as biased towards the back as he had expected, and he could feel something moving behind him.

He dropped his hand and squeaked in startlement as it brushed something on the way down that sent a jolt of heat through him. What was that?

"Too much," he whimpered, as his mind tried to deal with the shifting weight on his back, the movement behind him, the fire racing through him, and the almost frightening intensity of the movement of the air on his skin.

Scrambling for sanity, he focused desperately on the chant and focus exercises to reverse his transformation, picturing himself as he knew he was in his mind.

He could feel something changing, his wings seeming to almost slide into his body, as a wave of pleasure swept through him, bringing tears to his eyes. But something was not right. He did not feel like he was expanding, or changing size at all. A stuttering, bumpy sensation swept over his rear and he wondered if the unexpected tail was gone now.

Finally all the changes stopped, but Harry was worried. He still had not felt himself get any bigger. He flexed his hand. It felt like a hand, but then, it had when he was transformed, too. His wand had still not reappeared and Harry felt a sudden blaze of fear. "Accio wand!" he cried out, holding his hand out desperately, but nothing happened.

"Come on," he cajoled, trying to psyche himself up, to convince himself that he could do this. "Wandless magic can't be that hard. You did it before. You blew up Aunt Marge. You lit your wand when the Dementors attacked on Privet Drive and you weren't holding it then. Come on . . . Lumos!"

A light burst from his fingers and he gasped in relief. He looked at his clothes and grinned when he realized they did not look huge, nor were they at the same level as his eyes. He must just have not felt the pain of changing size the second time, that was all.

He grinned as he looked at his hand, where the light was shining from, then he frowned, turning it this way and that. Last time it was still his wand that had lit, not his hand, and besides his hand wasn't always this slender and well . . . delicate-looking, was it?

His eyes drifted further down, and he shrieked in surprise, then clapped his hand over his mouth in shock at the high pitch of the cry. There were two mounds of flesh on his chest . . . breasts. He had breasts! Honest-to-goodness female breasts! The Animagus transformation was not supposed to do anything like this, he was sure.

He leaned over a bit, peering past his new chest at his pelvis, and sucked in a pained breath. He saw nothing but a triangle of black curls. With a fearful whimper, he brought his hand down, and brushed it through the curls. It had to be there, right? The touch to his lower hair sent a shuddering burst of pleasure through him, and his legs suddenly felt weak. They folded beneath him, and he found himself sitting on his discarded cloak.

A mirror, he needed a mirror, he had to see for himself what had happened. Before he could jump up and start searching, a hazy reflection appeared in front of him, firming quickly until it seemed to snap into solidity, a full-length dressing mirror appearing out of nowhere, framed in gold and standing on four gold-plated lion's paws.

What it reflected completely pulled his mind away from where the mirror had come from. Looking back at him was a puzzled but beautiful naked girl with wavy black hair and green eyes that seemed unusually bright.

His hand was still tangled in his nether curls, and after the jolt that went through him when he shifted it, he was afraid to move it, much less just pull away, but he could not help wondering what he had looked like in his Animagus form. What could it have been to leave him looking like this?

Focusing on his wings again, he felt changes start before he even began the chant. His hair gleamed in the light as his skin took on a dusky red hue, as if he was blushing strongly over his entire body. Midnight-black wings peeked out over his shoulders, sliding out of his back, painlessly this time. The bumpy sensation on his rear came again, and a red tail, tipped by a black wedge-shaped point, passed briefly through his view.

His mouth gaped in surprise, and he noticed his eye-teeth and canines were longer and sharply pointed, and his incisors now came to a sharp point as well. He did not notice that his glasses were missing, and had been in his other form as well.

Bracing himself for the pleasure, he pulled his still glowing hand away from his curls even as his hand felt a sudden dampness. He sobbed at the intense pleasure and pain as the claws he had not noticed before slid across his inner thigh, and the curly hairs caught against each other around his fingers and pulled against his sensitive flesh.

He brought his hand up to touch his smooth face, and a new, powerful scent caught his nose. Before he knew what he was doing, his fingers were in his mouth, his tongue laving them as he sucked off the faint traces of moisture. He moaned involuntarily, his eyes closing, and felt a new surge of wetness down there.

A shiver passed through him and he felt a sudden tightness on his chest. He forced his eyes open, staring at the mirror, not noticing his hand drifting downward as he stared at his breasts. Where they had looked smooth, now they looked shiny, and his nipples were crinkled and hard, standing out from breasts that themselves felt harder then they had been. He groaned as his involuntarily questing hand slid through his curls to the source of the dampness and swirled about, setting off sparks in his mind.

As his other hand rose up and slid gentle fingernails around his sensitive left breast, he wondered if Professor McGonagall could possibly have had anything like this in mind when she had warned about instinctive behavior following the transformations, and the need to learn to control it.

His nail slid across his left nipple, sending a shock through him as it seemed to harden still further. His fingers slipped around it and tugged, and Harry sobbed, falling back to lie on his cloak. His right hand came up for a moment as he avidly sucked off his juices, then it went right back down, sliding along the curious folds of flesh he had down there now. It glided between them, parting them smoothly, and Harry felt a surge of new heat as his fingers found his inner lips, stroking them and then sliding between them to swirl around the hole he found there.

He lifted his hips when a pain made itself felt on his spine, and felt his tail flip around to lie down between his legs. As his hips dropped back to the cloak, his tail came up to rub sensuously across his inner thigh. His eyes fixed on it in the mirror.

"So beautiful," he murmured, pinching his nipple tightly and tugging on it. He was not sure whether he was referring to his appearance in the mirror, or the feelings that were overcoming him.

His left hand swapped places with his right, as he rubbed his juices on his neglected right nipple before sucking them off of his fingers. His right hand took up the proper treatment of his right breast, even as his left ring finger slid inside him. A sobbing cry escaped again as his now moistened finger found his clitoris, and rubbed the soft hood, exciting his center still further, as it hardened and lengthened, peeking out of his folds.

His hand moved instinctively, finger sliding back in to fill his emptiness while the heel of his hand pressed rythmically against his mound, stimulating his clitoris. His moans and cries grew and filled the room, joined by the wet squelching of his hand in his cunt. He sobbed and gasped, twisting his nipple as he rode his hand hard and ever faster.

Finally he shuddered and screamed as he came, eructing a surprising volume of ejaculate several inches out, soaking his hand and thighs. With languid pleasure interspersed with gasps as occasional aftershocks hit, Harry consumed the fluid that covered his hands, then scraped his thighs and consumed that as well.

Sitting up with some effort, Harry laughed when he saw himself in the mirror, his breasts reddened from his fingernails, his nether hair moist and matted, his lips shiny, his eyes dilated as wide as he had ever seen them, tears running down his dusky cheeks.

"I guess there's no question as to what I am," he said, his voice quivering. "A succubus. A freak, just like the Dursleys said." His tears flowed faster, and he sniffled. "They nearly abandoned me just because I could speak Parseltongue," he stated quietly, thinking of his friends now. "They'll drop me like a hot rock if they find out I turned into a Dark creature. A demoness. Especially after I got them all hurt in the Ministry." He lifted his bangs and stared at the now red-on-red scar that still marred his forehead. "Not like I could pass myself off as someone else, either. Damn scar."

With a heavy sigh, he once more focused on his normal appearance. His view of the mirror was occasionally obscured by a teardrop spreading over his eye before he blinked it away, but he could see enough to know that though his wings and tail were gone, and his skin once more had a human tone, he was also still undeniably female. "And smaller than I was," he groaned as he listened to his voice. At least his voice was husky, roughened, only a little higher than it had been, like a sexy whisper in the dark rather than high and clear like most of the other girls he knew. Granted, it had reached much higher when he had cried out upon seeing his new breasts.

With faltering hope, he mentally chanted the phrases that should lead him back to himself, but nothing changed. He tried again, saying them aloud this time, with no result. "What am I going to do?"

"Hermione would know what to do," he told himself, blushing as he pointed his hand at the damp spot on his cloak and murmured, "Scourgify." His mind's eye saw her, sitting over her books, her bushy hair shaking as she turned her head back and forth, paging through in search of answers to one of the many problems they had faced over the years. She would know, or be able to find out something about what had happened to him, but could he tell her?

Shaking his head, he looked up, and gave a high-pitched yelp. "'Mione! How?!?" After the initial startlement, he realized that he had not in fact seen his friend, but rather his own reflection in the mirror. "Oh my god, I look just like Hermione," he said, staring at his now bushy brown hair. "Eep, I sound just like her, too!" He touched his cheek, then turned his head, blushing furiously, but not before he noticed the scar visible on his forehead. It felt wrong to be looking at a naked copy of his best friend, and doubly so when her image bore the scar of Voldemort's curse. He never wanted to think of her hurt by anyone. He focused on his own image again. Finally he glanced back at the mirror, and sighed in relief when he saw himself . . . or rather, herself, again.

"What just happened?"

Shaking off the disturbing images that ran through his head, he quickly got dressed. If he changed again, involuntarily, at least he would not be looking at one of his friends naked.

Looking himself over in the mirror, he was somewhat surprised to realize that he did not look all that different. His robes hung a bit looser, as he was now both smaller and shorter than his already small frame had been. The swell of his hips were fairly well-hidden by the loose robes, but the front was visibly lifted by his new breasts, which tingled as they were rubbed by the rough fabric. They were especially visible when he shifted to look at his side profile.

Realizing that his new female-Harry form must be an ability of the succubus, and nothing to do with changing back from his animagus shape, given that he had also turned into Hermione, he focused on the mirror. He grinned as his breasts visibly shrank, then winced as a dull ache spread through his chest.

"What's wrong?" he muttered. "It didn't hurt when I turned into Hermione."

As soon as he stopped concentrating, his breasts swelled back out, the sensation of the fabric rubbing across his nipples causing his knees to buckle. He caught the floor with his hands as his legs gave out.

Glaring at the mirror, he focused on the youngest Weasley in one of her own tempers. Immediately his hair lightened to a gleaming red, his face shifting, and it was a scarred Ginny scowling at the mirror. He felt no pain. He deliberately turned his mind away from Ginny, and thought about the OWL's.

There was no change when he looked back into the mirror. He was still facing Ginny Weasley's likeness. Heaving a sigh, and ignoring the protest of his nipples at his chest's resulting movement, he returned to his Harry form.

"This sucks," he whined, once more trying to shrink his breasts down enough that his robes would hide them. It was easily done, but again it came with a painful ache that left him struggling against nausea. He gave up, his eyes crossing as his nipples were yet again abraded by the hard cloth. "I have got to get a bra," he complained, and then a moment later, "I can't believe I just said that."

Trying something that he hoped would be easier, he focused on getting his hair back to its usual short length. Thankfully, that went much more smoothly, his locks seeming to flow back into his head, leaving him with a short thatch of typically unruly hair.

He tried to square his face out a bit more, to get more of a male look. He succeeded, but his face ached, and he could tell that once more he would have to hold his concentration to maintain the illusion.

"Oh, man, how am I gonna get through even one day of classes? What have we got tomorrow? Let's see. Potions first thing! Malfoy is going to have a field day with . . . wait . . . Potions . . . yeah, that's it! I just haveta keep up the pretense tonight and tomorrow at breakfast, then I'll partner with Neville . . . No, Snape might separate us. I'd better just sit next to him. His potion will blow up, and I'll let it hit me." He felt a frisson of fear shiver down his spine at the thought of letting Neville's potion touch him, but then, they really had never caused anything worse than boils before. Well, and melted cauldrons. "And then I'll stop concentrating on the way to the infirmary. They'll think I'm a girl because of something with the potion. They won't dare test it on anybody else. They'll turn me back into a guy, and I'll stop trying to become an animagus. Nobody will ever know."

"I'll have to make sure nobody notices my wand is missing until I get to the hospital wing. Then it won't matter anymore. They'll just think it got eaten by the potion, or something. I'll get a new one, one that works against Voldemort."

The thought of losing his wand hurt more than he thought it would, but it couldn't be helped. He attempted to summon his wand once more, with no success.

He lifted his glowing right hand and looked around the room. There was no sign of his wand, nor anything else that he had left behind, other than the mirror, and his broom. He pointed his hand at the mirror, intending to banish it, but it wavered and faded from view before he got the chance. "Okay, that was weird," he muttered, "guess it fits the theme. I wonder if this is really a Room of Requirement type thing?"

Moving to stand beneath the door, he accioed his broom, and was about to mount it to fly up to the trapdoor, when his new powers decided to kick in. His feet left the ground and he drifted upwards, even though his wings were not present, much less beating.

He lifted his hand as he approached the door, hoping that he would be able to avoid cracking his head on it. He knew it was a heavy door, and he did not exactly have a lot of leverage at the moment. His heart skipped a beat when instead of pressing against the trapdoor and slowing his ascent, his hand passed right through the wood. The rest of him followed, including his clothes and the broom he was holding, drifting upward through the wooden trapdoor into Fluffy's old chamber, now lit by his hand.

It was thankfully still empty, and Harry quickly put the light out with a whispered "Nox." To his surprise, the faint light of the stars, cloud-shrouded as they were, seemed to bring out all the details in the room. There was no part of it that was in heavy enough shadow to obscure it from his sight. He thumped down lightly on the wooden door, this time not passing through it.

"Hmmm . . . must have been black down there only because there was literally no light. I wonder if this is as good as Sirius' or Remus' canine sight? Oh well, at least I'm not permanently stuck as a ghost."

His heart shuddered at the thought of Sirius, and he felt the faintest of tugs, but he was too preoccupied to pay it any attention. He focused on his chest, then his face, and finally, he pushed for a few more inches of height. Then, with almost his whole body aching and his stomach churning, he slipped out into the hallway after a quick check of the map.

---

Concealing his nervousness with difficulty given the pain he was dealing with, Harry waited in the common room for his friends to get up. He had been forced to awaken early, in spite of his late night, so as to get dressed before any of the guys in his dorm woke up and saw that he was no longer one of them. He was wearing a pair of transfigured glasses. They had taken him three tries to get right, and the lenses were plain glass and did nothing for his sight, but they should look mostly right. He also had a transfigured replica of his wand, at least in the outward appearance. Hopefully it would serve to avert suspicion. He was still trying to figure out why performing wandless magic now seemed so easy.

Hermione came dragging down the stairs. Her hair seemed a bit limp, and Harry realized that she too was suffering from the disappointment of knowing that the shortcut to becoming an Animagus had not worked. It was not the course the Marauders had taken, but none of the three friends had wanted to leave Lupin alone for his transformations for that long.

Convincing Professor McGonagall that they had legitimate reasons for wanting to do this and strong enough intentions to go all the way had not been easy, and to have the shortened path she offered be so quickly closed to them had been a blow to both.

Ron could have gone on, according to their Head of House, but neither Harry nor Hermione were confident in his will to make it through without them, or his willingness to be near a werewolf in wolf form by himself.

"I wonder if Hermione's form is something off-the-wall like mine," Harry mused quietly as Hermione stepped off the last stair. She looked up and saw him, and smiled.

"Hey, Harry," she said softly. "I'm sorry about last night."

"Yeah, me too," Harry agreed sourly. "You don't know how much," he wanted to say, but didn't.

"Is Ron up?"

"He was just waking up when I came down."

Hermione gave Harry a sharp look, as if sensing his mood. "We can still do it the normal way, you know."

"Yeah, I know, Hermione," he answered, sitting in a chair by the fire. She sat opposite him and waited for him to continue. "What would happen . . . if we were to do it the short way anyway? Is it as bad as splinching?" Harry congratulated himself for comparing it to the unfortunate consequence of a bad disapparition, where the wizard would leave pieces of himself behind, or become intermeshed with an object on the other end. That would ease her otherwise certain fear that he had already, or was about to try it.

"Oh, Harry, it's ever so much worse. Splinching is easily taken care of by the Ministry, but an unprepared Animagus transformation . . ." Hermione stopped for a moment as if contemplating the horror of it, and Harry gulped. "When a wizard changes but doesn't know what he's changing to through and through, he can get sucked into the new form and trapped. One of the books I read talked about it, and Harry, if they do, they have to live as whatever they turn into until they know it inside and out, and can do everything it can. In most of the known cases, they simply never turned back, because by the time they really knew their forms, they had forgotten what it was like to be human."

"But . . . can't they just do that spell that . . . that Remus and . . . that Remus used to turn Wormtail back?"

Hermione shook her head, her eyes darkening as she too was reminded of Sirius. She lowered her voice as footsteps sounded on the stairs. "It won't work on them. There is no known spell that can bring back a trapped Animagus . . . well, I mean, they aren't really an Animagus yet, even though they're in another form, are they? Because they don't control the transformation."

Dean waved as he passed through the common room. "Morning. Ron's right behind me."

"Thanks, Dean," answered Harry, turning to look at the stairs. Ron came into view a moment later, looking tired. He brightened upon seeing his friends, and came over to them.

"Morning Harry, Hermione."

"Come on, Ron. Let's get some breakfast."

---

Harry was not sure afterwards exactly how he made it through breakfast. His whole-body ache was bad enough, but it was the nausea that truly made eating a chore. He forced it down anyway, hoping that Hermione would not notice anything unusual. Everytime he had to answer a question, he could feel his concentration straining and had to resist the urge to snap at them in response.

His mind whirled, repeating Hermione's words again and again. He had hoped that his plan would result in his problem being fixed, but from the sound of it, there would be nothing they could do. It was still the best way forward that he could see, but he questioned whether he should risk showing them his succubus form in the hope that at the least, they might understand his plight without believing that he had this Dark form in him. If they thought it came from elsewhere, they might be more sympathetic, but he still had hope that he could keep it from them if he was careful.

He did not notice that a number of students seemed to give him a second, lingering glance before going back to their breakfasts, but Hermione did, and found herself looking him over as well, wondering what seemed different about him this morning. Ron, as usual, was oblivious, but she noticed that Ginny was paying Harry an unusual amount of attention, even though he was speaking as little as he could get away with.

Finally the meal was over, and they trooped down to Potions. Luckily, today Snape was there before him, in all his black glowering glory, so Malfoy held his tongue.

Harry stuck close to Neville, but not right next to him, looking to sit near him. He grinned as Hermione sighed and set up to partner Neville, and he quickly sat beside her.

He did not notice the black gaze of his professor boring into him, evaluating his grin. "Potter! Switch seats with Miss Granger. Now, Potter!"

Harry smothered his grin as he swapped with Hermione. To think, he had been worried that if he actually sat next to Neville, Snape would separate them. He managed a weak smile when Hermione gave him an apologetic smile and shrug.

They were halfway through the potion when Harry heard a faint plop and looked up to realize that someone, one of the Slytherins most likely, had managed to toss something into his potion. "Get down, Neville," Harry cried out, spinning to grab Neville and shield him, and casting a shielding spell as he spun, his hand hidden in his cloak to mask the way the light came from his fingers instead of the tip of his fake wand, to ensure that the potion, already lifting from the cauldron, did not splash anyone else. He transfigured the fake wand back to a simple quill just as the potion exploded outward.

He felt the searing drops hit his cloak and burn his skin, and he cried out in pain. A heavy splash followed, soaking his cloak and burning his entire back and he screamed. The potion finally settled and Snape swooped in, grabbing Harry by the arm and hauling him up, ignoring his cry of pain and Hermione's protest.

"You will finish your potions," he snapped, turning about to eye every student, ignoring Harry's pained whimper as his arm was dragged around, "while I take Mr. Potter to Madam Pomfrey. If I so much as hear a single word being spoken in this room, and I will, you will all have detention! Longbottom, stop crying and help support Potter."

---

Snape growled as Longbottom's stride faltered. "Keep up, Longbottom," he ordered. He could see the worship in the boy's eyes for Potter, and it sickened him. It was only made worse by the attraction he himself felt for the boy. Obviously the potion had given Potter a temporary magical allure, like that of a Veela. No matter, a bit of isolation was just what the brat needed to temper his arrogance.

He snarled when he saw that Potter's blasted lustrous hair was getting longer. If Longbottom had managed to make a transformative potion, he would never hear the end of it from the Headmaster. They passed a few students and he noted that they seemed to have an almost hungry interest in Potter, but his glare sent them scurrying. He smirked when Longbottom practically wilted with relief as they finally swept through the doors of the Hospital Wing.

"Madam Pomfrey! I am afraid Potter has done it again, jumping in where angels fear to tread and playing at being a savior. You'll need to look at his back, and keep him isolated."

Pomfrey bustled forward, guiding Harry to a bed and chiding him all the while, with Longbottom looking on and sniffling pitifully. She pulled Harry's outer robe off, then stopped and stared. Snape's eyes popped open and he hissed, while Longbottom's jaw dropped, and he fainted, hitting the floor with a thud.

With his cloak off, there could be no question, between the long, silky hair, the smooth, high-cheeked face, stained with tears, the swelling of the hips and the front of the baggy shirt. Sitting on the bed and breathing through fitful sobs, was a teenage girl.

"Severus," breathed Pomfrey, "what was that potion?"

"N.Nothing," he stammered, his composure truly broken for the first time in Harry's memory. "Nothing that should have been able to cause this. Wait . . . the potion!" Snape blanched, then turned and raced out of the room. He cursed when he felt the triggering of the spell he had left to detect when someone broke the no-speech rule he had given.

Pomfrey said nothing, but gave the door through which Snape had exited an angry glare, when she saw the hand-shaped bruises on Harry's slender arm. She placed Neville on one of the beds with the help of a Mobilicorpus spell, and drew the curtains around Harry's bed.

She gently helped him remove his shirt. She let out an involuntary hiss at the dark red streaks on Harry's back, already beginning to form bubbles of pus.

Harry let her move him, acting like a limp doll, allowing her to position his limbs as if he was in shock. Inside he was counting the seconds until the Headmaster showed up. He knew it would not be long, and though part of him wanted to tell Dumbledore everything, the hurt of the lies, the silence that had cost him his godfather was too near, too strong. He just did not have the same trust he had once had in the older wizard.

Shivers of desire flowed over him as Pomfrey spent long minutes carefully spreading ointment on his back. He shifted uncomfortably when her hand finally stilled on his lower back and looked up to see her eyes dark with desire. Swearing inwardly, Harry scrambled to find the mental control he had been employing since the morning. No-one else had been looking at him like this, he was sure, so it must be a result of his releasing his control. He could hardly believe it when he realized that more than a quarter of an hour had passed and there was still no sign of Dumbledore.

He sighed in relief when he heard the doors open again. To his surprise, he heard two pairs of feet. He crossed his fingers, hoping that the second set did not belong to Snape. His wish was answered with a crash as the curtains around his bed were pulled down, wrapped around the clumsiest witch he knew. "Tonks!" he cried out, then his eyes grew wide, as he realized that Dumbledore was standing behind the crash site, eyes twinkling at him, and he was shirtless. He shrieked and grabbed the sheet to wrap around himself.

"Wotcher, Harry," Tonks moaned, trying to extricate herself from the curtains, while Pomfrey huffed at her and fired a glare at the Headmaster.

Harry looked at Dumbledore, focusing past his embarrassment. "It wasn't Neville's fault," he said forcefully. "Someone threw something in the potion from the left of the room. I didn't see who it was, though," he admitted.

"Don't worry about Neville, Harry," Dumbledore assured him, "though it does you credit that you do. He won't be punished for this, in fact, he won't even remember it. He will be obliviated."

"What?! Why would you do that?"

"Harry," interjected Tonks softly, her eyes suspiciously shiny even as she stared at Harry with wide eyes, "no-one can know about this . . . You-Know-Who . . ." She stalled, unsure how to continue.

"There are spells, Harry, terribly dark spells that can bind a witch's magic to the service of her husband. If Voldemort learned of what has happened, I am very much afraid he would no longer be seeking to kill you."

"Marry him?! I would never!"

"As I said, Harry, the spells are Dark, near as Dark as they come. They don't require consent, under the appropriate conditions, and I am very much afraid that the mark you bear may already be sufficient of a connection between you to allow this binding to be performed. I myself will assist Professor Snape in forgetting about this after, well . . . after a certain task is completed."

"What?! But he has to fix me!"

"I'm sorry, Harry. The potion that did this to you was lost. Without that, the chances of his successfully creating a counter-potion are practically non-existent."

"But what about . . ."

Tonks reached out, grabbing Harry's hand, a tear dripping from her eye. "Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry. But gender-changing spells and potions are heavily restricted by the Ministry to prevent abuse by families desperate for male heirs. And the Ministry is full of leaks, we can't let them know what happened, or You-Know-Who will find out right away."

"You mean, I'm stuck like this? Forever?"

"We will set up rooms for you, attached to Tonks' rooms. She will watch over you. She, myself, and Madam Pomfrey will be the only staff to know of your problem."

"What about Ron and Hermione?"

"I'm sorry, Harry. They will be told that you've been taken elsewhere to receive focused personal instruction."

Harry just gaped at the Headmaster, feeling a gnawing pain in his chest. He was going to be alone, just as much as if he had shown his friends the truth and they had rejected him. Already he could feel it weighing him down. He could not help the tears that started to trickle down his cheeks.

Tonks shook her head, sitting on the bed and pulling him to her, wrapping her arms around him. Her hand slid up his back to tangle in his hair, then she began to stroke his head. She looked up at Dumbledore. "I can feel it," she said. "Snape was right. She does have an allure."

"And it is affecting you?" He sounded surprised, and Harry guessed that it was surprise that the allure seemed to affect men and women equally. It surprised him that she could feel it at all. He knew that it was definitely weakened by his concentration, as evidenced by Madam Pomfrey's retreat after he focused on suppressing it, but he had thought that he was able to suppress it completely. Maybe it still leaked through if they touched him? Er, her? "Your training is holding?" Dumbledore questioned her, watching her closely.

"Yes. I'll be fine, but it is strong. We'll need to shield her rooms."

"I'll take care of it."

Madam Pomfrey stepped in, glancing jealously at Tonks who was still holding Harry close. "I'll just set up an inner room until you've got the rooms set up, then, shall I?"

"That won't be necessary," responded Dumbledore. "The house-elves are taking care of it as we speak. Her rooms will be ready by the time we get her there."

"And how are you going to do that?" she asked peevishly, irritated that she would be losing the little beauty to that . . . that slut so soon. Dumbledore noticed her behavior, and shielded her from Harry's allurement with a wave of his hand. Pomfrey looked startled, and blushed deeply. Tonks just smiled indulgently at her.

Reaching into his robes, Dumbledore pulled out a sock. "We'll be taking an intra-building portkey," he answered her finally, tapping the sock with his wand and muttering a charm under his breath, then stepping over the curtains where they lay still on the floor, and holding the sock out to Harry and Tonks. Tonks lifted Harry's hand, rubbing her thumb across the back of his hand as she placed their joined hands on the sock. Dumbledore tapped the sock again, and Harry felt the hook in his navel, as he was dragged to his new rooms.

Roomies

Tonks stood at the door to Harry's bedroom, watching the sleeping girl with a soft smile on her face. She had to resist the urge to sit on the bed and stroke Harry's face, to feel the softness of her cheek, feelings that she recognized as Harry's Veela-like allurement, still operating even in her sleep.

"It's a good thing we got her out of the dorms right away. One night of this and she would have been raped by her whole dorm room. Then we'd really have a mess," Tonks murmured, gently drawing Harry's door closer to the jamb. She left a good three inches, and settled herself down on a couch that the house-elves had drawn out of storage to put in Harry's living room.

She wanted to stay close enough that she would hear if Harry had a nightmare. Her heart ached for him, and would, she knew, even without the allurement. So much pain he had to endure. She almost laughed at her own thoughts when she realized that as long as she wasn't looking at him, she referred to him as a male. In his presence, she could not think of him that way, and it always came out 'her.'

She curled up, pulling her feet onto the couch and shedding her shoes, pillowing her head on the arm of the sofa. Tears slowly dripped from her eyes as she imagined the pain Harry must have felt when they had to tell her that she would not be able to see her friends again, that they had to isolate her completely. At the same time, she cried for herself.

As one of the very few friends she had ever had that had looked right past the Metamorphmagus and just seen Tonks, that had never asked her to look like his crush, or an old flame, not to mention one of the bravest, handsomest, and kindest boys she had ever met, Tonks had been entirely unable to refuse to look after him.

After following his relationships from afar, then closely watching his interactions with Hermione and Ginny, and crying with him when his first crush ended in tears, she had held out the hope that he would last long enough to become legal for her to chase. She would have happily become anyone for him, if only because she knew he would never expect it of her. She had even entertained impossible fantasies of being the older woman to his naive boy, of teaching him the arts of pleasure, one of the reasons she teased him so avidly, in a way she did not tease Ron, nor the other men around Harry. And now, because of the love she held for him she had been unable to refuse, and he would soon come to see her as his jailer, and instead of loving her, he would hate her.

She finally fell asleep, tears still trickling down her face, her heart filled with pain, her soul with sadness.

---

Harry turned over, and awoke instantly at an unfamiliar pressure on his chest. His mind quickly caught up to him, and he realized that he had just turned over on his chest, squashing his breasts.

His head jerked up as he felt a wave of sadness wash over him. He scrambled out of the bed, then feeling suddenly fearful, he focused on being intangible, as he had been when he passed through the door. Surely nothing could hurt him if it couldn't touch him, right? He passed his arm readily through the bedpost, confirming his intangibility, then strode towards the door, only then realizing that he did not recognize the room he was in. It definitely was not in the Hospital Wing. None of the smells were right for that.

To his surprise, there was a floor-length mirror on the door itself, and to his utter delight, it was reflecting an empty room! Distracted momentarily from the sadness that still emanated from beyond the door, he played with his visibility, discovering that if he was actually thinking about it, he could become intangible without being invisible, and vice-versa. He could even go halfway, becoming intangible and only partially invisible. Even better, his clothes stayed with him, turning invisible and intangible as he did.

Another wave of sadness restored his attention, and becoming once again fully intangible and invisible, and able to recognize now the feeling in himself that told him that he was so, he passed through the mirror and into the next room.

There, to his shock and dismay, he found Tonks, who he had always found to be irrepressibly upbeat and endlessly amusing, crying in her sleep. He moved towards her, reaching out with an intangible hand, and to his shock, when his hand reached her head and slid partway in, he found himself sucked into what he instantly realized must be her dreams.

Harry watched in shock as Tonks, curled into a ball, shivered and sobbed under the hateful gaze of a female Harry trapped in a steel cage, cursing at his 'jailer.'

With a cry of dismay, Harry leapt forward and wrapped the crying Auror in his arms. He glared viciously at the jailed image of himself and it vanished, fading into smoke, leaving them alone in white emptiness. Tonks clutched at him, and he groaned involuntarily when she accidentally brushed against his breast.

Summoning his will, he pulled her and himself up off of the floor, still holding her close. It was surprisingly easy to impose his will on her dreams, recreating the bedroom he had so recently awoken in, which he now vaguely remember seeing before Dumbledore had pressed him into slumber with a spell. He was interested to note, as he carefully lay her on the bed, crawling in beside her as she clutched at him, that he seemed solid in her dream, though he had been intangible when awake.

He wondered for a moment if he was really completely here, or if he was really still standing outside, leaning over Tonks with his hand just dipped beneath her brow, but discarded the thought as irrelevant.

Recognizing his situation as being something like a mix of legilimency and entering a pensieve, he continued to cradle Tonks' consciousness, while summoning up the memories and feelings that would explain her situation, careful to focus his queries. He did not want to invade her privacy too deeply, but he cared too much for the ever-friendly Auror to leave her in such a state.

He was surprised to see many of his own insecurities mirrored in one whom he had always viewed as a confident, self-assured, and capable, if somewhat clumsy witch. She did not have the same weight of the world's expectations that he suffered from, but she did face a similar weight on an individual basis. Almost everyone she had met in her life so far had expected her to use her Metamorphmagus talent to keep them amused and happy, even going so far in some cases as to only kiss or even touch her if she was wearing the 'correct' appearance.

She had many of the same misgivings about her natural appearance as he had about his. Well, alright, she did not have knobbly knees, but she was, in her opinion, too lanky, as if she had never managed to grow past the uncomfortable gangly period of adolescence when the body has only partially matured.

Even after having achieved her goal of becoming an Auror, something that she had felt would give her the recognition for herself that she had always desired, she still felt that her coworkers saw her as a walking disaster, and largely tolerated her because of her usefulness in subterfuge.

He was moved to tears when he found her feelings and memories of him, the hopes and desires and hidden fantasies she had entertained about him. Was he really the first person she had met that appealed to her and yet did not see her as a Metamorphmagus first, a woman second, and a person last, if at all?

Realizing that he was no longer hearing sobs, Harry looked down to find Tonks staring up at him with fear-filled eyes. But not fear of him. He could taste it, taste her fear of his rejection, his hate, as she reached a trembling hand up to touch his face. Her eyes filled with wonder when he did not react, did not strike her hand away.

He could feel her desire rising, and behind it, he could hear her mental plea for one, just one last good dream before she awoke to harsh reality and had to face his anger at his imprisonment, had to face watching him slowly lose whatever liking he may have held for her.

She lifted her face to him, and he leaned forward, just a little. His lips met hers, a touch as soft as a lily petal and her eyes sparkled. She pressed forward, leaning into the kiss, her tongue brushing his lips. Her emotions washed over him, her soul-filling gratitude at being given this one last illusion of love, the hidden resignation of knowing that it would never be hers, and the utter determination, both to enjoy this last fantasy to the utmost, and to protect him with her life, even in the face of her own death.

She kissed him hungrily, her hands moving over him, brushing his cheeks, running through his hair, pushing and pulling on his shoulders. He gasped into the kiss, his mouth opening to the advance of her tongue, when her hand found his left breast and kneaded it gently. A glowing warmth suffused him with her regard and love for him, and his own growing desire for her.

As had happened the last time his need was aroused, his instincts came to the fore. Their clothing vanished before his will. He pushed her down, dropping to lay kisses on her neck even as he pressed her to assume her own natural form.

Tears dripped from her eyes as he lifted up to look at her, soft black hair framing a face that was perhaps a bit too thin for classic beauty, but beautiful nonetheless, with deep black eyes that seemed filled with an endless warmth. "How?" Tonks began, but Harry pressed his delicate finger to her lips, then grinned when she wrapped her lips around it, sucking lightly.

He bent over again, and kissed her neck, then sucked hard, enjoying the salty taste of her skin, and the moans she could not suppress. He drifted down, his finger still in her mouth as he kissed and nibbled on her collarbone, pulling lightly at the flesh with his teeth, then kissing away the fleeting pain.

Her hands curled in his long hair as he kissed and licked his way down her breastbone between two pert breasts. Her natural endowments were not large, but well-shaped, her nipples already taut and pointing straight up. He followed the swell of her left breast, laving the line where her breast met her chest.

His left hand drifted down to caress the smooth skin of her taut belly. She certainly had nothing to be ashamed of in terms of her natural conditioning. Auror training had left her with firm muscles that rippled pleasantly beneath his questing hand as his light movements tickled her, and she arched beneath him, pushing her breasts up.

His fingers found her bellybutton even as his mouth, working its way around her breast, found her nipple. He circled her nipple with his tongue, avoiding the nubbin in favor of tickling the little bumps of her areola. His fingers circled the outer rim of her bellybutton at the same time, and she shuddered, tossing her head back and forth. One hand flew from his head, thumping against the sheets and twisting them as she grasped futilely at nothing.

After dipping his little finger into her innie at the same moment that he took her nipple gently in his teeth and tugged, his hand slid further down, finding a neatly trimmed nest of soft black hair. He sucked strongly for a moment, as she pushed up towards him, her other hand falling from his hair to join the first in twisting and kneading the sheets as she tried to thrust her pelvis up to meet his hand.

Having mercy on her, he slid across to take her right nipple in his mouth, drawing his right hand out of her mouth and down to roll her spit-moistened left peak between two fingers, while his left hand dropped further, cupping her mons and insinuating one finger between her fleshy lips.

A mild pain twinged in Harry's forehead, and he stilled, lifting his head and eliciting a cry of protest from the panting witch beneath him. Recognizing the touch of Voldemort, Harry felt a sudden surge of absolute fury at the timing of the bastard's interruption and without fully realizing what he was doing, Harry dumped that fury, along with all the confusion and fear he had felt in the past days, down his connection to the snake-faced freak, before quite effectively slamming it closed and returning his attention to his witch.

He captured her lips in another searing kiss as he parted her folds, running his fingers along the moist lines of her inner labia. He captured one slick lip between two of his outstretched fingers, and pressed lightly, massaging the entire length of the lip at once. Tonks arched her back and cried out his name in a high keen.

He grinned as he pierced her lips with his tongue, tasting the depths of her mouth, and simultaneously slid the finger that was between her folds into her hole to a depth of one knuckle, testing her readiness. She opened easily before him above and below, and he greedily took advantage of both. He pumped his finger in and out, driving it steadily deeper, responding unconsciously to her readiness.

He did not realize, instinctual as his actions were, that he was reading her reactions and expertly avoiding anything that would dampen her pleasure.

She screamed when he drew out his moistened finger and ran it smoothly around her clitoral hood, applying light, indirect pressure to her center. He merely grinned, leaning down to capture the scream with his mouth, shifting to press his nipples against hers as he dipped again into her petals, drawing forth her juices to spread over her clit, making it shine as it peeked forth from within her folds.

He caught her pouting bottom lip between his own, and leaned back, tugging on it, before releasing it as he twisted around, sliding his left leg in under her right, catching his weight with his arms, propping himself up as he bent and lifted his right leg, finally laying it over her left leg and then he scooted up to her. She moaned loudly when he pressed his folds against hers, his hips beginning to rotate.

He was as wet as she was, from the sensations of stimulating her, and their juices flowed together as her hips began to move, pressing against him rythmically as he picked up the pace.

Mentally giving thanks for the advantages of a dream realm, Harry grabbed her legs and pulled her tight against him, eliciting a sobbing cry of release. A cushioned support had appeared behind him, giving him the brace he needed to free his hands and pull her to him.

He did not wait for her to come down from her orgasm, as he picked up the pace yet again. Far from feeling tired, her release seemed to have fueled him, sending a flood of new energy into him. She did not seem to have received the same, but he could feel that she could take several more highs before she was exhausted. He wanted to leave her totally sated, he mused as his hips seemed to blur. His own orgasm was fast approaching, but she reached her second before him still, as close as he had kept her, and she screamed and sobbed his name throughout it, her chest and face flushing red as she came.

His hands twitched and lost their grip on her legs as he followed a minute later, keening as all of his muscles seemed to tense at once before releasing with a deep, bone-shaking shudder. She took advantage of his distraction, recovering faster than he expected and pulling out from beneath him, twirling her legs around behind her as she leaned forward and attacked his pussy with her tongue and lips.

Her hands grasped his thighs as she drove her tongue into his hole, sucking hard, then licking from top to bottom, swallowing continuously as she drank in his fluids. He screamed in pleasure never before experienced, his head whipping from side to side against the cushion behind him, his hands clenched into tight fists, when she latched onto his clit, taking it lightly between her teeth, and sucked hard, lashing it with her tongue as she held the pressure.

She spasmed and gushed when he came, as his control was temporarily broken, flooding her with the sensations of his orgasm, triggering her own in response. "Oh, Tonks," he groaned as she released his clit, resting her face against his moist mound, panting hard.

He reached down and pulled her up, remaking the bed in his mind so that he lay normally upon it, his head propped up on a pillow against the headboard. Her mouth found his right nipple and sucked it in, and she curled up against him, humming softly and sucking on his nipple.

He pulled the shattered remnants of his control back into place, shielding her from his emotions and she quieted, resting against him, with only the occasional suckle, more for comfort than lust, as he could tell by the feel of her emotions.

He held her gently, stroking her hair and enjoying the soft comfort of her suckling as she slowly drifted off to a deeper internal sleep, free of dreams and fears.

When she finally dropped off completely, he found himself suddenly back in the room, his hand just pulling out of her head. Willing himself tangible again, he leaned over and kissed her cheek as she lay quietly sucking her thumb.

Then he retreated back to his room to think about what had just happened. He knew it had to be related to what he was. After all, he had never had sex before, there would be no way that he could please a woman so expertly if it was not coming from his form, which only confirmed his estimation of what he was. But he had more to mull over than just his unexpected prowess.

He had somehow entered Tonks' dreams. He had been able to view her memories and feelings as if he were a true Legilimens, even though he had never been trained as such. He could not be sure that it was not merely part of the dream, but he remembered successfully attacking Voldemort, though he remembered being furious, which Dumbledore and Snape had said would make him more rather than less vulnerable. What is more, he had then almost casually constructed a wall against his return. Was that real? Was a succubus somehow a natural Occlumens?

And then, perhaps most critically, what of the energy he had felt enter him when Tonks had come? Each time she orgasmed, it seemed to him that she gave him a jolt of energy. Had he stolen that from her? Had he inadvertently weakened her?

He also could not stop thinking about her feelings towards him, though he tried. He should not even know them, nor did there seem to be much he could do about them. It was not really appropriate to act on them. After all, he was trapped as a girl now, and though Tonks did not know it, he was a Dark creature. He could do his best to avoid targeting any of his anger or frustration about his situation at her, but as much as she might have wanted him as a guy she would not want to get involved with a demonic girl, even if she had done so in a dream out of sheer desperation. It was not fair to her, at any rate.

---

Tonks woke slowly, feeling tired but sated. Her thumb slipped from her mouth as she sat up, and a fiery blush heated her cheeks as her dream from last night returned to her. Her hand flew to her lips, remembering the press of Harry's soft lips against her. "I think his allurement must have hit me harder than I thought," she mused, wiping her thumb off on her pants, trying not to think about what she had apparently been doing.

She pulled herself up off the couch and walking a bit unsteadily, made her way across the room to Harry's door and eased it open. Her heart leapt into her throat as she stared at the girl, sprawled across the covers in the pajamas Tonks had dressed her in. Magically, of course; she had not dared strip the girl by hand lest she lose control. With an unsteady stride, Tonks made her way to the chair by the bed, and eased herself into it. Harry's hair was spread out beneath her, her lips moving now and then in soundless murmurs, and the smooth curves of her breasts pushing at the buttons of her shirt seemed to invite a hand's caress. The pajamas, loose though they were, aside from where Harry's twists and turns in the night had gathered the loose fabric of his top beneath him, were properly fitted to his size, and did little to conceal the inviting swell of his hips, nor the flat line of his panties where his movements had pushed the pajama bottoms down a bit on one side.

Tonks sighed, running her hand through her hair, as she realized with a sinking heart that her love for this boy who had been through so much was not going to fade over time, even if Harry's anger towards her did. Just looking at her now brought back all the fantasies she had held towards him, and last night's dream had given her all new ones towards her. "It doesn't matter what you look like," Tonks murmured in realization. "I can't stop loving you."

Harry moved in her sleep and a lock of hair slid into her face, shifting slightly at her breath. Tonks could not resist reaching out and gently brushing it out of Harry's face. Harry's eyes fluttered and opened, her brilliant green eyes seeming somehow more luminous than ever now that they were framed by long black lashes and no longer concealed by thick-framed glasses.

To Tonks' surprise, Harry focused on her face right away, though she was sure she remembered someone saying that he could see little more than shapes without his glasses, probably in a discussion of what would happen if Voldemort or one of his cronies would wake up and Accio his glasses. A look of wonder spread across Harry's face, and her eyes gleamed as they roved over Tonks face. For just a moment, Tonks dared to hope that wonder was for her, though she knew, as was confirmed by Harry's whisper of, "I can see!" as her delicate hand flew to touch her face, that she was merely staring in wonder at not being nearly blind without her glasses.

"Well, that's something good to come out of all this, then," Tonks said brightly. "Though it's a bit unnerving to think that changes are still happening."

"Yeah," agreed Harry, sitting up, blithely not mentioning the minor point that in fact this change had happened before even the potions accident had. He had simply decided, upon seeing Tonks that morning, that he could not look on such beauty and pretend he could not see.

Tonks hid her disappointment as Harry's motion freed the trapped folds of her pajama top, loosing it so that it no longer hugged the line of her shapely breasts.

"You were in shock, I think, yesterday, Harry. Are you feeling better now?"

Harry nodded, running his hand through his hair before flattening his bangs against his scar. "I remember most of it, I think," Harry said. "Someone sabotaged our potion and it blew up. I tried to shield it, but I think I cast one that was too big and I ended up inside it. Is Neville okay?"

"Neville's fine," Tonks assured her, smiling at this evidence once more of the inherent kindness of the Boy . . . err, Girl-Who-Lived, and the wrongness of Snape.

"So . . . what happens to me now? I mean, I know I have to stay here . . . but what about school? I've still got to take the NEWTs, haven't I?"

"I'm going to teach you, one-on-one, mostly."

Harry frowned, her forehead wrinkling cutely, and Tonk had to suppress a grin. She did not think that Harry would appreciate being referred to as cute. He had certainly done enough in his life to be taken seriously.

"But what about your DADA classes?"

"Dumbledore will figure out something, I'm sure. I don't know what he is going to do, but that's not my problem anymore. I'm going to make sure that you pass the NEWTs, and I'm going to teach you everything and anything I can think of that will help you against You-Know-Who."

Harry shook her head, sliding forward. "You need to get past that," she said, looking into Tonks' eyes. "If you can't say Voldemort, call him Tom. I'll know who you mean."

"Tom? Alright, sure, but it'll probably take me a little while. Habit, you know," Tonks said, nodding, then she started, and glared playfully at Harry. "Hey, who's the teacher here, anyway?"

"You are," Harry answered, tapping Tonks on the nose with a single finger.

Tonks sighed then, dropping her gaze. "There is one thing, though. Dumbledore absolutely insisted. I protested, I really did, but he's right." She raised her head resolutely, her expression one of abject misery, "You've got one class with Snape, still. Occlumency." She reached out to grab one of Harry's hands, looking into his eyes and trying to convey her understanding of his disgust. "Dumbledore is afraid that Voldemort will be able to tell that something about the connection has changed if he enters your mind. I don't think he is going to budge on this."

Harry growled but nodded, thinking of the wall he had set up against Voldemort. He would try the same thing against Snape. If it worked, he would be rid of the annoying overbearing bat, if not, then he probably needed the training. He shuddered at the thought of the alternative, picturing himself in chains by Voldemort's side, powerless as Voldemort used his stolen power to destroy his friends. This must be the task Dumbledore had mentioned. If he could manage a proper shield, then Snape might be Obliviated in just a day or two, which would also help minimize his exposure to Voldemort.

Remembering what Dumbledore had said about the need to build up his shields, he went ahead and focused on setting up the wall. He would renew it regularly, and hopefully by the time Snape came to tutor him, it would be strong.

He focused on Tonks again to find her staring at him worriedly. "I'm okay, Tonks," he assured her. "I was just doing my Occlumency exercises. It'll be too late to do them when Snape gets here."

Tonks grinned. "That's the spirit, Harry. Now, in addition to everything else, Dumbledore wants me to work with on trying to get any Metamorphmagus talent you might have to come out. He says that Hermione told him that you've never had a haircut?"

Harry nodded. "That's right," he agreed, wondering how his form's malleability would interact with Metamorphmagic. Should he just fake it, or should he focus on doing it the way she did? Maybe if he managed to be a real Metamorphmagus, he could change back to a guy that way. With that thought, he decided to start out by trying her lessons while doing his best to suppress his form's shape-changing abilities. He hoped it would work, or that he could even begin to figure out how to start. All of his control so far had merely been instinctual. He was not even sure how he had suppressed the attractive allure, or why he could not seem to suppress it completely.

"So, what's first?"

Tonks grinned, and pointedly looked her up and down. "Well, first, we get you dressed. Which means a little education is in order." Tonks got up and pulled open a drawer on the dresser, and pulled out a bra and panties and tossed them to Harry, who stared at them in vague horror.

"You're going to . . ." He stared at her, and Tonks laughed hysterically.

"Oh, your face!" she chortled. "No, Harry, I'm sure you can figure it out. I'll just give you a bit of advice, hook the bra first, then get it in place. I'll leave you to it, come out when you're dressed." With that, she left the room, closing the door behind her, still laughing.

Harry snorted, looking at the bra and panties he was holding, before shrugging. He got dressed quickly, finding that the closet and dresser had been filled with clothes that fit him. He was not sure who had obtained them, but he knew why. There was absolutely no chance that he would be allowed to go to Diagon Alley, much less London, to get new clothes, so someone had to do it on his behalf. He was amazed at how quickly they had gotten everything, especially since he had not stood for a fitting. As delightful as it was to have new, fitting clothes to wear, he could not help but be aware that he had not purchased these, nor had anyone borrowed his Gringott's key to use his money to pay for them. Until someone stated that they were a gift, he would have to take good care of them, operating on the assumption that they were a loan, or worse, they might be magic, something like the Room of Requirement, and not evidence of anyone's concern for him at all.

He had no difficulties with dressing, however. His body seemed to know just what to do with the bra, and when he walked into the outer rooms, Tonks was visibly startled. When he asked her why, she said that she had not expected him to have put together a matching outfit so quickly. She had expected to have to train his fashion sense.

She sent him back to his room to find his trunk and get his schedule and the books for his first scheduled class that day, then she led him through another door into what looked to be a training room. There were mats on the floor in the center of the room, and a pair of desks off to one side. There was a large bullseye target on the far wall. To his left was a long mirror covering most of one wall. Three doors led out of the room, including the one they entered through.

"Alright, let me see your schedule."

Harry handed it over and waited while Tonks looked over it.

"Okay, we'll go with this for now. We'll slot your Occlumency in one of your free periods, along with the rest of your training. That way we'll stay on track for your NEWTs." She looked over and grinned at Harry. "I wouldn't worry too much about them, by the way. Spending the same time as your classmates, but in one-on-one personal instruction, you should finish the necessary work much faster, as long as you focus on it."

"I will," promised Harry.

"Let's get started then," said Tonks, clapping her hands.

"Oh, wait! My wand?" Harry scrambled through his robes, putting on a good show as Tonks' face fell.

Tonks pulled out her own wand and brandished it. "Accio Harry's wand!" Tonks cried out. Harry felt a tug on his hand, but concealed both it and his shock. He had not felt that last night, but then maybe that was because he was trying to summon it to his hand, where it already was? But he had been holding it in his teeth, shouldn't he feel the pull there, if it was somehow still part of his animagus form?

Tonks shrugged. "You'll just have to do theory today, I guess. I'll talk to Dumbledore, see if anyone has reported finding it. If not, I guess we'll have to get you a new one." She sighed, looking at her hands before spreading them apologetically. "I don't know what else we can do. Maybe Dumbledore will be able to summon it."

---

"Potter!"

Harry cringed, looking over and seeing what he expected, Professor Snape standing glowering in the doorway. Snape looked at Tonks and waved his hands dismissively. "If you would excuse us, Tonks, I have the dubious honor of trying to make this arrogant brat learn to close off his . . . oh, excuse me, her mind."

Harry bristled at Snape's tone, irritated more on Tonks' behalf then his own, but before he could say anything, Snape had whipped out his wand and shouted "Legilimens!"

Harry quickly threw everything he had into his wall, staring angrily at Snape. He felt Snape probing at his wall and cheered inwardly. It had not shattered at first touch, at least. He was surprised at how clear his perceptions of Snape's invasion were, and gaining confidence from Snape's discomposure, as the man pondered the unexpected wall, he dropped the wall completely, and crafted instead the mental equivalent of a funnel, dropping Snape's invasion directly into the memory of Snape lying against the wall, blood trickling from beneath his hair. It was what he had seen after he, Ron, and Hermione had cast Expelliarmus simultaneously at the gloating Professor when he had been carrying on about having Sirius Black fed to the Dementors.

Harry grinned as he easily fended off Snape's attempts to move to another memory, but he allowed the probe to withdraw when Snape tried to pull out of his attack. Tonks, who had never left the room in spite of Snape's comments, preferring to remain and protect Harry from unfair treatment, fairly goggled at Snape as he gasped, trying to catch his breath, sweat pouring down his face. Snape was staring at Harry in utter disbelief.

Finally he found his voice. "How!? You knew nothing the last time . . ."

"No thanks to you," Harry snarled. "Losing my godfather was plenty of incentive, and once I started looking to something other than you, I picked it up plenty quickly." Harry was deliberately equivocating. He had in fact sought other sources of information on Occlumency after Sirius fell through the veil, but he had gotten nowhere until his strange transformation. "I'd say you aren't quite the teacher you think you are."

"Watch your tongue, Potter," Snape snapped. "Twenty points from Gryffindor!"

Harry looked at Tonks and grinned. "I'm not really attending Hogwarts right now, Professor. I don't see how you can take points from a house I'm no longer in. Besides, Occlumency isn't a Hogwarts course."

"The points stand, Potter," the professor spat, turning and striding out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

Tonks just grinned. "I'd say that remarkable performance of solid Occlumency against an acknowledged master Occlumens and Legilimens must be worth a good forty points to Gryffindor, wouldn't you say Harry?"

Harry nodded, smiling gratefully as he collapsed into one of the chairs. "That was amazing! When he started teaching me, he told me nothing but to clear my mind, then attacked me. His lessons used to leave me weakened. They were supposed to help me guard against Voldemort, but every night that I had Occlumency with him, it seemed like my visions or nightmares would be ten times worse. This time, my shields not only held, I was able to drop them and force him to view a memory of my choosing, not his!"

"Excellent work, Harry. Do you feel tired? The stupid bat was supposed to schedule his lessons with me, not just barge in here."

"No, actually, I feel fine, Tonks. And I wouldn't bet on seeing him again. He's probably going to Dumbledore right now with a sob story about how I attacked him."

"What did you show him?"

"Hah! Ron would have loved that. In our third year, he tried to have Sirius given to the Dementors, and he wouldn't listen to what they or we had to say. I cast an Expelliarmus at him, and Ron and Hermione did the same thing at the same time. Pure coincidence, but it left him unconscious against the wall. I held him in my memory of him lying against the wall."

"Bravo, Harry," Tonks congratulated her, clapping enthusiastically. Surreptitiously, she examined Harry's face for her reaction to bringing up Sirius. She's doing a lot better than I expected, though I guess having just gotten a measure of payback against that greasy bastard might have something to do with it. It does sound like a prank Sirius would have loved.

She sat in the other chair. "Let's try a little Metamorphmagic now, Harry, since your regular lesson this period has already been ruined." She held up her hand and her nails grew quickly, stretching out until she was wielding two inch long talons. "The key is not to visualize. I can see how you might think that, but really, having any kind of mental picture is just going to make it harder, which is why I think doing this after your Occlumency practice may be a good idea. This is all about your magic and your body. Your mind only comes into it for desire."

Harry shook her head and Tonks grinned gently, waiting for his protest. "That doesn't make sense, Tonks. How can you change your hands like that without having some idea what it's gonna look like?"

"Let's start with your hair, Harry. Hermione said you've never had a haircut. I don't quite buy that. Surely your aunt or uncle tried at least once?"

Harry nodded, grimacing. "She cut it all off. It looked terrible. I went to sleep thinking about how horrible it was going to be in school the next day, but when I woke up, it was back to normal."

Tonks stared at him with her mouth open. "You what?! Why didn't you tell me that to begin with? That's Metamorphmagic, no question about it. I thought I was going to have to lead you to the right conclusions, but that was it stated in a nutshell."

"I don't understand, Tonks," Harry protested. Tonks suppressed her grin at the way Harry's nose wrinkled as she stared up in confusion.

"You did not picture your hair being normal, Harry! You just wanted it to be. You just needed it to be!"

Harry looked at his hand. "So . . . you don't picture it someway, you just need it that way?"

"That's right, Harry. If you think of Hagrid, for example, you immediately have a sense of the man, a sort of knowing, composed of everything that means Hagrid to you, but if I told you to picture him, you would start to think about pieces, like his nose, or his hair, and you would lose the big picture. You can't picture it, you need to just know, deep inside, that that's the way it should be. It can take a bit of effort to learn to feel that way about something other than the way you normally look, which is why most Metamorphmagi first show up by returning to the way they expect themselves to look."

She pulled out her wand and gave a wave, turning Harry's fingernails a nice shiny fire-engine red. Harry flushed, staring at his hand. He grimaced, and the color faded away.

"Excellent! Now try and change them. They are supposed to be long! You need to have long fingernails, think up a reason."

Harry turned his hand this way and that, then grinned. "To rake Malfoy's face when he reacts to seeing me look like this," he said, picturing, not her nails, but Malfoy's sneering face. He slashed at the image, then stilled his hand, where each finger ended in a talon.

Tonks took Harry's hand in hers, bemused. She had not merely extended her fingernails. They had actually become bird's talons, as best as she could tell.

"Hippogriff," Harry muttered, and Tonks looked up.

"What was that?"

"I think I accidentally turned them into Hippogriff talons, like Buckbeak. Hagrid brought him in with several others for our first class. Malfoy insulted Buckbeak and got slashed for it. Went on and on about it, and got Buckbeak's death ordered. I guess that was what came to mind when I focused on needing to slash Malfoy." Harry still wasn't quite sure if he had managed Metamorphmagic or merely invoked his new form's flexibility in spite of his intention not to.

"Try something else," urged Tonks, as Harry returned his hand to normal. She did not bother commenting on that, since returning to normal was the easiest transformation for a Metamorphmagus.

Harry stood up, walking over to stand by the mirrored wall, staring at her reflection with an angry gaze. Tonks came to stand behind her, a bit worried about the anger on her face until she spoke, at which point she understood completely.

"I need to not have this bloody scar! I need to not have people stare at me everywhere I go. I need to not have searing pains in my head whenever Voldemort gets a bug up his arse." Harry glared at the mirror, but nothing happened.

She slumped and Tonks put a hand on her shoulder comfortingly. "One more try, Harry. It is a curse scar, you may not be able to get rid of it. But you might be able to move it."

Harry's eyes flashed and before their eyes, her scar vanished, while a lock of Harry's black hair turned white in front. "Cool," Tonks commented. "I take it you moved it up a bit."

Harry nodded. "Exactly," he affirmed, turning his head this way and that. He reached up and ran his head through his hair, fingering the white lock. "I don't even look like me, now."

Tonks reached up, running her hands through Harry's hair, sweeping it back and holding it all in her hand in a high ponytail. "Now you really don't. The Harry we all know would never expose his forehead. If you changed your eye color . . ."

Harry grinned and Tonks started and gasped, dropping his hair as his eyes glowed red in the mirror. "Just kidding," he told her, as they faded to a light blue.

"A bit darker," Tonks advised, and Harry complied. "Accio hairband," Tonks called out, grabbing the tiny piece of elastic that appeared, and pulled her hair back again, easily binding it with the hairband. She stepped back as Harry turned in front of the mirror. "Wow. In girl's clothes that fit, your hair in a ponytail, your forehead exposed, blue eyes and white lock, I don't think anyone that doesn't already know you are a girl is going to be able to recognize you."

Explorations

Harry was sitting in what Tonks had termed his 'study,' but which Harry felt more resembled a miniature library. The walls were covered with books, and it had a magical connection to the actual library, though you had to know the name of the book you wanted to be able to use it. Luckily, one of the books permanently in the room was a sort of index, though it went beyond what was strictly available in the library, and not all of the books it listed were actually available to him.

His school day was over and he had declined Tonks' offer to hang out together. He did not want to monopolize Tonks' time to the point that Tonks had no time to go out and look for a guy. He knew firsthand how much Tonks longed for a guy who could see her, and not just her abilities.

Instead he had collected two stacks of books, one on Occlumency and Legilimency, and the other on Succubi. The latter he secreted in the drawers of the table he was sitting at, under a concealing spell, except for the one he was currently reading, hidden within an open Occlumency book. Finally finishing it, the last of the books on succubi, he set it aside.

It was fascinating reading, if a bit off-base. Apparently succubi were as much myth to the Wizarding world as they were in the Muggle world. Most of the texts agreed that succubi were basically evil. Some of them classed them as Dark creatures, others claimed they were demons, and others said they were ghosts.

They were variously listed as subsisting on blood, souls, lifeforce, and sexual energy. Harry already knew that he had taken something from Tonks the night before, which he assumed was sexual energy, since Tonks seemed none the worse for wear this morning. When he considered drinking blood, he could feel his eye-teeth drop, and running his tongue over them confirmed that his teeth resembled those of his full succubus form. He was able to convince them to retract, and just crossed his fingers, hoping that he would not be forced to feed in that way.

However, none of the books implied that a succubus could eat normal human food, but Harry had shared his meals with Tonks, and they had gone down with no problem, though he had noticed that his teeth seemed to get sharper or duller depending on what he was eating.

Twice he found mention of succubi living with a vampire coven that were apparently able to turn into bats. He wanted to try that, when he could be sure he was not being observed. He might be able to use it as his Animagus form, to deflect any suspicion about his gender change.

He also found mention of a male counterpart to the succubus, called an incubus, and he did not understand why he had become the one rather than the other, unless the books were simply mistaken in their existence. That seemed probable, given that none of the books admitted that either actually existed.

All of the books agreed on the sexual focus of the succubi, that they seduced men. They did not agree on whether actual physical sex occurred, nor on whether the succubus seduced them with its own appearance or by taking on the appearance of others. One of the authors claimed that they took the form of the man's loved one, that the man never had any idea that he was not merely loving his wife or girlfriend, while several claimed that they had intercourse with the man while he slept. They also differed on the effect of a visit from a succubus, whether the man would be entirely unaware of the visit, or if he would be drained by it. One book stated that the visit of a succubus three times would cause death, which sounded suspiciously like some of the legends about vampires that Harry had read in the past.

Harry was pretty confident on that aspect. If he were actually Dark, he felt certain he would be easily able to maintain someone in a state of ecstasy until they collapsed, and he suspected that combining that with drinking their blood or deliberately drawing on their energy could easily cause death.

He had not felt any urge, last night, to cause Tonks any harm. Indeed, he had been concerned for her wellbeing from the first. He was not worried about hurting anyone, therefore, so long as he did not experience a thirst for blood.

He also knew that he could accomplish that intercourse within the mind of the recipient, as he had done with Tonks, particularly given the degree of control he had experienced in that environment. He was fairly sure that he would be able to ensnare someone physically as well, given Madam Pomfrey's reaction to him.

Given his shape-changing ability, as well as the legilimenistic aspect of last night's experience, he was reasonably confident that he could take on the appearance of someone's beloved, or their ideal person, to seduce them.

The most significant difference he could find between the written descriptions and himself was the simple fact that though he was obviously a succubus and not an incubus, he had visited Tonks last night. And anyone who professed to doubt that Tonks was a woman would be facing his wand. Er, well, his hand, right now.

Giving thanks for small favors, Harry realized that the mythical nature of succubi in the Wizarding world at least meant that unlike vampires and werewolves, there were no laws restricting him aside from the Animagus laws. Of course, that law was enough to have him thrown in Azkaban, but only if they found out that this was the result of an Animagus transformation, and as far as he knew, given what Hermione had told him, none of the transformative spells to reverse an Animagus transformation would work on him.

Returning his attention to his hand, he thought about Tonks' summoning spell, and the tug he had felt in his hand. He had done more wandless magic in the last day and a half then in the rest of his time here at Hogwarts, though all his classes had been theory due to the loss of his wand. Was it possible that his wand was now somehow inside of him? Wanting to test this, Harry decided to cast the most difficult spell he knew. Holding his hand out, he conjured up the memory of Tonks in ecstasy from the night before, and said firmly, "Expecto Patronum!"

To his delight, a silver light shone forth from his hand and formed into Prongs, his Patronus, a handsome stag in memory of his father's Animagus form. Prongs looked around, then trotted to Harry. He felt a moment's fear, wondering what Prongs' reaction would be to his now Dark master, but the stag merely nuzzled his still-outstretched hand. Awed at being able to touch his patronus, Harry gently stroked Prongs' muzzle.

To his amazement, Harry could actually feel the positive emotions flowing off of Prongs, the awe and love he had felt as he watched Tonks' rapture now surrounding him again, mixed with an overwhelming urge to protect.

He jerked in surprise when he heard thundering footsteps, and he quickly banished the books on succubi back to the shelves. Tonks burst into the room first, looking around wildly, closely followed by Dumbledore.

"What? Where?!" Tonks was brandishing her wand about wildly, until she caught sight of Prongs, then she stopped, transfixed in awe. Dumbledore quickly took in the scene, and recognizing what was happening, put away his wand, his gaze intent on Harry.

Prongs, as if recognizing the focus of his creation, walked across the room to Tonks, who was frozen, motionless in awe and wonder until Prongs dipped his mighty rack and licked her hand. Hesitantly, she reached out and rubbed his flank. "Oh, Harry, he's beautiful."

Harry looked at her, tears in his eyes, "This . . . this was my father's Animagus form. Sirius and Remus both recognized him," he apologized. It was clear from the way they entered the room that they had detected his casting and believed him to be in danger.

Dumbledore smiled gently at Harry, his eyes twinkling. "I take it you've found your wand then, Harry?"

He turned to the Headmaster. "I'm sorry, sir, but no. When Professor Tonks cast a summoning for my wand, nothing came, but I felt a tugging in my hand. I wondered if that meant that somehow my hand fit part of her summons, if maybe it sort of was my wand now. I've always been able to do minor things wandlessly, so I decided to try the hardest spell I knew to find out for sure."

"That is remarkable, Harry. Very few wizards are powerful without a wand. To be able to cast a wandless Patronus takes great power." Harry nodded at Dumbledore's words, but inwardly he doubted. It was not really wandless casting if his wand was somehow inside him, was it?

"I see you've also been able to dispense with your glasses. And Professor Snape, for all his complaints, was forced to admit that you have managed, somehow, to become an accomplished Occlumens. You are now well situated to face anyone of lesser power than Voldemort himself. And your appearance is quite remarkable."

With a guesture, the Headmaster drew up chairs for himself and Tonks, and sat down. Tonks followed suit, but remained quiet as the Headmaster continued. "Tonks has reported to me the impressive success you've had with Metamorphmagic now that she has explained the theory of it for you. Can you change your skin tone? You've always been rather pale, can you manage a solid tan? And your eyes would need to be a deep brown."

Harry concentrated, and his skin quickly took on a bronzed look like that of the Indian twins, Parvati and Patil, while his eyes darkened and shifted in shade, becoming a brown so dark it was nearly black.

"Excellent! Well done, my child, well done indeed. I never anticipated such swift progress. I know how much it hurts you to be isolated from your friends. We cannot introduce anyone new so soon after Harry's disappearance, but I think after the holidays, this school just might entertain a transfer student. What do you think of that, Harry?"

"Brilliant, sir," Harry answered, beaming at the Headmaster.

"We will probably need you to revert the changes, and suffer a minor glamour spell to hide your more feminine attributes, for at least a few public appearances, to assure everyone that you aren't dead, but merely in seclusion."

"Of course, sir. Oh, and I forgot to ask. May I owl Ron and Hermione?"

"I'm sorry, Harry, but that would expose your location. It is very important that no-one believe you are still here at the school."

"I understand," Harry said, sighing as he slumped back into his chair.

Standing, Dumbledore rested his hand on Harry's shoulder for a moment. "You will tell me if your scar hurts, won't you Harry?"

"Of course, Headmaster," Harry assured him, and Dumbledore nodded and walked out.

Tonks sighed when the outer door closed behind him. "I'm sorry about all this, Harry. I asked for permission to pass notes from you, but he said it would just arouse suspicion about your whereabouts and make people watch me."

"It's alright, Tonks. I just have to live with it, I guess."

Tonks nodded, looking at him mournfully.

"So, I uh, I guess I shouldn't be casting any more Patroni in my quarters, huh?"

"Not unless you want a posse breathing down your neck," Tonks laughed.

---

As Harry lay in his bed that night, he wondered how close he had to be to enter someone's mind, to peer at their dreams. He thought of Tonks, remembering how she smelled, how she smiled, how their lips had met, and he reached out.

Harry felt a stretching sensation in his head, then a sudden tug and his surroundings changed. He was standing by a bed in which Tonks and himself . . . er, herself, lay entangled. Tonks was sucking on his nipples and rubbing his thigh. He turned away. He could feel energy flowing into him at a slow rate, but he did not want to interrupt her. This was no nightmare from which she needed saving.

Pulling out, he found himself back in his bed. Smiling happily, Harry focused on the scent of Hermione's hair, on the way she smiled gently at him across her homework when he studied with her, on the way she laughed and beamed when she saw him after finally being unpetrified, on the speech she had given him in their first year, before leaving to get help while he went on to face Quirrel and Voldemort.

---

Hermione sobbed in abject misery, crumpled in a heap by the side of a headstone with Harry's name on it. "It should have been me," she cried, and Harry, standing silently behind her, saw off to the side the memory of Snape ordering them to change places. He also felt a pulse of Hermione's hate for Snape. He realized that he was in a nightmare, with Hermione being tormented by the spectre of his death. He was reminded of what the boggart became when Mrs. Weasley got too near.

"I know they say you're still alive. That only makes it worse. I mean, of course they can't admit it," she sobbed, "everyone would go mad with fear, now that they've admitted V-Voldemort is back. But even if they don't know, they're still going to suffer, and, and my parents will die, and I hate it so much that . . . that I can even think about that. There shouldn't be anything other than Harry, Harry is dead and it's my fault. Oh, if only I had stood up to that slimy Potions Bastard. I hate that they pinned everything on you, and oh, how I hate divination, and prophecies, and that stupid, stupid cow, Trelawney."

Harry was startled into movement by the shock of hearing Hermione curse. A moment's concentration had his male form returned to him, here in this malleable dreamscape. He grinned when that attempt not only worked, but worked without pain. If only it was so easy in real life. He stepped up behind her and rested his hand on her shoulder. He definitely had no intention of letting this nightmare continue. He had experienced too many dreams of his own where his friends were dead because of him to allow this one to contine to haunt his best friend.

"It wasn't your fault, 'Mione."

"How can you say that," she raged, "It was my fault. I as good as killed him!"

"And if I'm not dead?"

"I?" Hermione spun around and shrieked. "Harry!?" She surged upward into a tremendous hug, crying tears of joy. "Oh, Harry, I thought I'd lost you forever!"

To his startled amazement, she released the hug and grabbed his head in both hands and pulled him forward, into a deep, searing kiss. When she finally released him and drew him back into a strong hug, he was further shocked to hear her whisper. "Oh, how I wish it were true!"

She pulled back and stared up at him, finding her courage easily in this dream. "I love you, Harry Potter. I know I've never said it, nor dared to show it properly, but I do love you. I have for the longest time now. I know I'm not much worth looking at. I may have enough to knock Ron's socks off, but you're a different level entirely. I can't compete with veela and Aurors." Harry jolted. She knew about Tonks? "But this is a dream, and in a dream you can do anything. I want you, Harry. Love me? Just this once? I'll never get to have you for real, and I probably won't even get to stand by your grave and apologize, like I wish I could, so let me take just one last happy memory with me?"

"Oh, 'Mione," Harry groaned, stricken by the pain his best friend was feeling, and by the plea, so similar to Tonks' begging. He wrapped his arms around her and bent his head to meet her lips with his. Their surroundings melted away and he plucked her bedroom from her mind, forming it around them. As he expected, there were many books, but to his surprise, there were no bookshelves. He was startled to recognize many pencil drawings of himself pasted on her walls. "I never knew you drew?"

"Shut up and kiss me," Hermione demanded, pushing him towards the bed as she pressed her lips against his again.

He turned her around, and her breath hitched when she landed on the bed. "Be gentle," she pleaded. "It's my first time. I know I don't deserve it," she continued, looking down, "I'm yours, however you want me, but if you love me, be gentle."

Harry pulled off his school tie, noticing only in discarding it that he had ended up in his usual school uniform. He quickly changed the clothes beneath the robes to fit him before he removed them, and changed the pants to black leather. "You do deserve gentleness, and tenderness, and love," he insisted, handing her a red rose created on the spot. He did not actually know a spell to create a red rose, but then, in the dreamscape, he did not need to.

He performed an impromptu strip-tease for her, soft mood music playing suddenly in the background as he bumped and ground around an imaginary pole, slowly pulling off his robes, then flashing her with his shirt, doing his absolute best to turn her mind away from the self-defeating malaise that reminded him so powerfully of his own nightmares. Topless he ran his hands over the tight leather trousers, turning and sliding his hands down his butt. Finally naked, he looked at her, as she lay there breathing heavily, rubbing her breasts with one hand while the other dipped into her skirt. The rose was in her hair. He waved his hands and her clothes disappeared.

He knelt on the foot of the bed, and putting his hands on either side of her legs, he slinked up her, moving like a great cat, his shoulder blades jutting up. He passed her mons by, but dipped his head to lick gently at her belly button, elicting moans and a giggle.

When he reached her face, he kissed her cheek gently, and she sighed. "Oh, Harry, I . . ." He cut her off, sealing her mouth with his and running his tongue along her lips until she opened her mouth. He touched her tongue, and swirled around it, making her giggle into his mouth.

His hand ran lines lightly up her side, just missing her breast, and up her neck, then he moved his hand between them, running down between her breasts. Hermione moaned as he slid across to kiss and nibble below her ear. He pulled her earlobe into his mouth and sucked it gently while his hand drew a slowly decreasing spiral around the swell of her right breast. His fingers found her areola stiffened and her nipple standing straight up. Hermione began moaning almost continuously, interspersed with little gasps for breath and breathy renditions of "Please," "Harry," and "Love."

He nibbled his way down her neck while tweaking her nipple, then pulling lightly and rolling it gently. She added a groan to her litany of moans and gasps when he dropped his hand away from her nipple but squeaked when his mouth captured the tip he had just released, while his right hand plucked lightly at her left nipple.

With his left hand, he stroked her inner thighs, caressing and enjoying the softness of her skin. When he felt the line of her slit, he was startled to realize that she was already wet and ready. He slipped his finger between her lips and she shuddered in a tiny orgasm, crying out her love for him. "Please, please, Harry, I need it! Please!"

Harry grinned. "Straight from the appetizer to the main course, 'Mione? You don't want any salad?"

Hermione's eyes opened and she glared at him through glazed eyes. "Who . . . Who do you think--Ooooh!--I am, Ron? Nnnnnn! Please, Harry, give it to me?"

Sliding forward to position his hips, Harry grabbed her bottom lip between his lips and nibbled. He grasped himself with his left hand and lining himself up, he ran his cockhead between her lips, up and down her slit.

Hermione's eyes snapped wide open. "Oh, please, oh, please, don't end, don't wake up now! This is my last chance, oh, please!"

Worried that she might actually be waking up, Harry instinctively held her mind in the proper state of somnolence. Lining up, he slid the first inch in and Hermione groaned deeply, clutching at him. He pulled out and entered her again and she raked his back, trying to pull him in further. She thrust her hips up at him and he slid in a bit further, but came up against a barrier. "Oh!" she cried out, feeling him press against the fragile evidence of her virginity.

"Do you really want to give this to me?" Harry whispered into her ear.

"More than anything, Harry," Hermione moaned and thrust her hips up again, sobbing as she tore herself open on him. Harry felt a jolt of energy enter him. He kissed her and instinctively stole the pain, leaving her with nothing but pleasure as he slid slowly deeper, pulling back and driving forward just a bit further with each thrust as he licked up her tears.

She cried out when he filled her completely, and he backed off a bit, realising that he had pressed against her cervix. She needed a bit more time for her vagina to stretch; he somehow knew that pressing against that opening would give her pain, and he had promised to be gentle.

He waved his hand, increasing the lubrication between them, then began to ride her in earnest, grinning at the feel of blood running down his back. "You're a real wildcat, 'Mione," he whispered to her, then he took the top of her ear in his teeth, nibbling gently as he thrust into her.

He slid his left hand around their joining, picking up some lubrication, then lined his slickened fingers up on either side of her swollen clit and pressed inward, holding her clit tight in the grip of her hood, and moved his hand back and forth in time with his thrusts, lifting her higher.

He felt a surge of energy flow into him as she called out his name, her muscles tensing and twitching as she came, her sheath pulsing around him, gripping him tightly. Well, he mused, I definitely don't have to worry about anyone faking it on me. If they feed me, then they came.

He withdrew from her slowly, glad that he had been able to hold back. He was not really up for finding out that he could impregnate someone in a dream. He softened his erection, pleased with the amount of control he had over even himself in this dreamscape. He did not want her to think he had been unsatisfied.

He lay down and she cuddled up to him, tears leaking slowly from her eyes. Harry just stroked her hair as she fell into a deeper sleep. As she slowly fell asleep, Harry drew up her memories and feelings. He wanted to know what the impetus for this had been. He had felt plenty guilty about the friends he had lost, but that had not made him want to have sex with them.

To his dismay, he found that she had loved him, as she had said, for years, well before the ball she had attended with Krum, before even her crush on Lockhart. She had taken Skeeter's words to heart, it seemed, before Skeeter had even written them! She truly believed that she was nothing special, and certainly not good enough for her hero.

She was amazingly strong-willed, he realized, to have stood up to him and held to her principles when he had stopped speaking to her after the Firebolt incident in their third year, not to mention all the other times she had faced him and not backed down.

Each time, he saw, she had suffered fears of losing him forever, but she could see that he would never be happy with simpering yes-men like Malfoy's Crabbe and Goyle, so she ached in silence each time and just prayed he would open up to her again.

When she finally dropped off, he found himself back in his bed, female again. He turned slightly and stopped, utterly still. The sheets were stuck to his back. He turned and just a bit further, and felt a line of pain across his back as the sheet pulled away. He sat up slowly, the sheet reluctantly releasing him, then he turned and looked at the sheet. Lines of red marred the surface and Harry realized with a shock that his back still held the scratches that Hermione had given him. Harry cast a quick scouring charm on the sheets, then felt his back. He only encountered dried blood, no open wounds, so he lay down again, thinking about what this new development meant for him.

---

Tonks shivered as she woke up. She blushed heavily when she remembered what she had dreamed, and felt the stickiness of her panties beneath her pajamas. She had slept in her own room that night, hoping that the extra distance would lessen Harry's influence on her dreams. She almost did not want to know if it had worked, because if it had, then it would mean that she had had that dream on her own.

"Oh, Harry," she whispered longingly, images of both of Harry's forms, male and female, running through her mind. "How did I get myself into this?"

She grinned when she remembered the events of the day before. Snape had had his memories of what happened to Harry extracted into a pensieve before Dumbledore had carefully Obliviated him of what remained, all due to Harry's wonderful performance at Occlumency. He would not recognize Harry at all the next time he saw her, of course, after her marvelously quick acquisition of skill with metamorphmagic. She looked like a different person now.

Tonks had discovered yet another talent of her beautiful ward when the little darling had conjured the most gorgeous stag Patronus. She had heard that Harry could cast a corporeal Patronus, but she had never seen it, and she had definitely never expected to get the chance to touch it. And she cast it wandlessly!

Tonks stretched, groaning as her back popped twice, then slid out from under the covers. She winced as her feet brushed lightly against the carpet, and quickly stood up, to stop the soft carpet from tickling her feet.

She grabbed her dressing gown and belted it around her before marching out of her room and through the den to Harry's door. She slid it open slowly, as carefully and silently as she could manage. Her heart leapt to her throat again as she stared at the object of her nighttime fantasy, sprawled once more carelessly across the bed, the covers twisted and thrown aside.

She padded silently into the room, walking on the balls of her feet to make the least noise possible. Stopping beside Harry's bed, she stared at the girl, feeling both a surge of love and adoration, and the ache of betrayal, as she knew that by keeping silent about the strength of her attraction for her ward, and the fantasies she was having about her, even away from her direct influence, she was endangering Harry and betraying her and Dumbledore's trust in her.

"I'm sorry, Harry," she whispered, but she knew that she would say nothing when the raven-haired girl awoke. Her hand involuntarily reached out and smoothed Harry's new skunk-streak, the blaze of white hair that hid the new location of her curse scar.

Though she knew she should be checking over her syllabus and revising it to account for Harry's unexpectedly rapid progress, she could not leave her side. She sat gingerly in the chair by Harry's bed, watching her sleep.

Harry turned fitfully, startling her, and in her turn, she caught her night-shirt beneath her, pressing it tightly against the smooth curve of her right breast as she rolled on to her left arm, facing Tonks. Tonks' breath hitched in her throat as she stared, mesmerized by the swell of that perfect breast straining the buttons of Harry's top. Tears pricked her eyes as she had to hold herself back from reaching out to caress it, the feelings of the night's dream returning to her as if she were once more in it. She felt her nipples tightening beneath her own top and dressing gown, and she whimpered.

Harry shifted again, making a soft, inarticulate noise, and Tonks sighed in relief as her movement released her shirt from where it had been caught up under her, and her breast was once more swaddled in smooth folds of cloth. She was still devilishly enticing in her somnolent innocence, but she was at least no longer testing the strength of Tonks' will quite so emphatically.

---

Ron watched, confused, as Hermione returned all the books she had taken out the day before. She had seemed so convinced, when they had been turned away from the Infirmary, and the Headmaster had informed them that Harry was going to be taken away for personal training, that Harry was in fact dead, even to the point of pulling out all of these books that she thought might hold a spell to tell if someone was alive or not, and now she was putting them all back?

He was sure she had not finished them, but he watched in silence as she returned the books and then began to collect a new set. He did move so that he could read the titles, but now he was even more confused. "It's normal to have nightmares after something like that, Hermione," Ron said, flipping through the books she had grabbed.

Hermione glared at him for a minute, then shook her head. "And is it normal for your dreams of dead people to include them being startled at learning something new about you? When you did not call attention to it? I dreamed about Harry last night, and the dream was set in my bedroom at the house. I have pencil drawings on my walls, and he was surprised."

"I didn't know you drew, Hermione?"

"Yeah, and neither did he, but if he was just a dream, he would be a figment of my subconscious. I wasn't thinking about my drawings, so why would he react to them?"

"That seems rather flimsy," Ron said, then picked up one of the books. "And why one on night-time myths? These aren't real." He flipped through a few pages. "Succubi don't exist, nor these closet monsters, the monster under the bed. They're about as real as Loony Luna's Snorkacks."

Hermione huffed at him. "You know, unicorns and leprechauns are myths to Muggles, Ron. Who's to say that some of these Wizarding myths aren't just as real?"

"But we would know!"

"How? Think about this, Ronald. They may not be true in their entirety, but they may hold clues to the truth. Couldn't some of these night-visitation myths come from spells that let someone invade another's mind, or even just turn invisible?"

"Turning invisible wouldn't affect your dreams, Hermione."

Hermione blushed and snapped, "I know that, Ron." There was no way she was going to tell him the real reason she wanted to find this, how she had woken up to an ache in her pelvis and blood on her sheets, how a surreptitious check had confirmed that she had lost her hymen in the night.

"Alright, alright," Ron help up his hands in surrender. "We'll look into myths for you. But what about Harry?"

"I . . . I don't think he's dead, Ron. Well . . . either he's not dead, and somehow, he can talk to us in our dreams, or he is dead, and something is preying on his memory. Either way, I want to . . . no, I have to know!"

"Preying? Hermione, are you okay?"

She shook her head furiously, glaring up at him through tear-filled eyes. "Of course I'm not okay, Ronald Weasley," she hissed, desperately trying to keep her voice down, "one of my best friends is gone, maybe dead, it's my fault, and now something or someone is invading my dreams! Do I look okay?!"

"Sorry, I'm sorry," Ron soothed, sitting down beside her. "I don't know what happened, so I'll just look for spells about talking to somebody in their dreams, or protecting your dreams, alright?"

"Fine."

---

Harry rubbed his cheekbones thoughtfully as he chewed a bite of the pancakes the house-elves had provided. They were somehow magically prevented from seeing him, which was probably a good thing. He had no idea if Tonks could cook at all. He certainly could, but he had little desire to, and no idea if Tonks would allow it even if he did. So he was grateful that they were still able to get the house-elves' cooking, and even more so that he could still eat it in spite of what had happened to him, especially when it was this good.

He was not feeling his face because of the food, however. Tonks had taken him into the bathroom and walked him through a series of changes to his skin that made it look as though he was wearing makeup. She had also guided him through lifting his cheekbones, altering the shape of his face slightly. He was amazed at the difference in his appearance that the simple changes produced.

He was also embarrassed at the warm look Tonks had been sending his way all morning, but especially since their productive Metamorphmagi lesson. He knew that she was just admiring her handiwork, but he could not help but think that she might have looked at him in a similar manner if he was still a guy, remembering how she had apparently felt about him when he had explored some of her memories.

Tonks grinned as Harry flushed and looked down. "Finish up, Harry. We've got training to do."

Shaking off his embarrassment, Harry ate quickly. Tonks stood when Harry silently mopped the last bit of pancake through the syrup and ate it. "Alright, then, Harry. Time to buckle down."

---

Tonks watched, bemused, as Harry transformed the cushion yet again, this time into a little wooden soldier, carrying a tiny Muggle rifle. It was properly colored all over, and from the varying intensity of the specular reflections, Tonks assumed that Harry had actually managed to transfigure it as a painted soldier, rather than changing the color of the wood. She sat up straighter when the soldier began marching up and down the desk as Harry's brow furrowed. I haven't even gotten to animating transfigurations yet, Tonks thought, staring with wide eyes as Harry jumped to sixth year work without guidance.

"What made you think of doing that?" Tonks asked, rising to get a better look, as the little soldier marched from one end of Harry's desk to the other, turning smartly at each end, its tiny feet clacking against the surface with perfect consistency.

"Dunno. Just made sense. I mean, it is a toy soldier." Harry wiggled his fingers, drawing Tonks' eyes momentarily to those slender digits that were steadily accomplishing feats that Harry should not yet be capable of. The little soldier stole her focus back when it lifted its gun to its shoulder and fired off a salutory shot.

Tonks felt her jaw gaping open, but she couldn't help it. That had been so real, from the puff of smoke at the end of the gun, to the high-pitched whine of a tiny bullet as it literally shot out of the gun and ricocheted off the ceiling, vanishing on the floor somewhere. She knew vaguely how Muggle firearms worked, most Aurors did, since they sometimes had to deal with Muggle police officers alongside the Obliviators, but she did not know of any spell that would so precisely mimic the effect.

The little figurine turned to face her, and bowed low, sweeping off its hat in a broad gesture. She tore her eyes away and stared at Harry, who was watching the toy with a curious light in her eyes. Looking to the side, Tonks brandished her wand and summoned another cushion, tossing it onto the desktop within Harry's field of view.

As she half expected, it almost instantly became another soldier. For a moment the two marched in lockstep, snapping their rifles about in perfectly synchronized moves, then the second soldier became a wooden horse.

Tonks shifted slowly around until she could see both the transfigured toys and Harry at the same time. She knew that Dumbledore would want to see this memory, once she told him about it. Though she had not been privileged to see it, Mad-eye Moody had told her about some of the Headmaster's fights, and she knew that he used animated transfigurations to great effect in his dueling.

That Harry had managed this, and was manipulating two figures independently now, as the soldier chased the fleeing horse, gesticulating wildly at the equine that held his wooden hat in its wooden teeth, without any training in animated transfiguration was beyond amazing, given that he had never received above-average marks in transfiguration from Professor McGonagall.

Had Harry always had this skill? If so, had he hid it deliberately? Or was it a result of the accident? Maybe it was something to do with wandless magic, she mused, watching Harry's fingers wiggle. A flash out of the corner of her eye distracted her, and she looked to see that Dumbledore had just entered the room.

Harry did not seem to notice, and Tonks wondered why there was a sad light in Dumbledore's eyes as he watched Harry play. She moved slowly to stand by him. They were both startled when the figures divided into smaller figures. Soon Harry was watching a five-by-five square of soldiers marching in lockstep, while the original, now smaller horse and soldier, the soldier now on the horse's back, marched back and forth, gesturing at them, directing them this way and that.

A hand touched her shoulder, and Tonks glanced at her leader and friend, startled to find tears in his eyes. "I hate to admit this," he whispered, "but some of the things I've learned while checking into shifting the protections from the Dursleys' home make me believe that this may well be the first time she has ever played with toys. Oh, she's played games before, card games and chess, once she got here. But . . . I thought I was protecting her by leaving her with her family. I never imagined they could have treated her so badly. She has never had toys of her own."

"Did you know she could transfigure like this?" asked Tonks softly, trying not to think of what Harry's childhood must be like to have never had toys.

"No. She has never shown such skill before. I believe that something about the transformation she has undergone has broken a block on her powers, a block that might have been due to the curse that scarred her. I've always felt more power in Harry than had he ever shown. Now, I am seeing more of it than ever before. Wandless patroni, wandless magic in general, animated transfiguration . . . such quick progress in Metamorphmagic and Occlumency. I have to wonder now if I did the right thing in trying to have her taught Occlumency while she was still blocked."

A surge of magic from somewhere within the apartment caught their senses, but before they could turn to look, they saw the result. Harry had somehow reached out and apparated a stone bookstop to her hand. It instantly became a dragon, as her little soldiers became half as many knights on horseback. She moved the knights to the floor with a quick levitation.

Tonks heard Dumbledore hold his breath, and she wondered why. She watched as Harry released the dragon and it leapt into the air and flapped hard, rising above the knights and breathing flames down towards them. She gulped at that, staring at the black mark on the floor where the targeted knight had avoided the blast of flame. Dumbledore sighed in awe next to her, his hand tightening on her shoulder.

"You should know, my dear Tonks," Dumbledore said in a near whisper, "that what our prodigy has just done is well and widely known to be impossible. Animated transfigurations can not be used as the source or exit point for a spell. They are useful solely for physical combat and blocking. From this point on, never, and I do mean never, tell Harry that something can't be done. He failed interminably at learning the full Patronus until a certain event convinced him, before he had ever cast a corporeal one, that he could do so. And he did, on his first try after he realized he could. I'm not certain, but watching this, I can't help but think . . ."

They were interrupted by a shrill scream from one of the knights as the dragon, a low growl now emanating from it, caught him up in its claws.

"That is also not considered possible. They have no lungs, they cannot scream, not without a whole mess of charms, and I have felt none cast. She may not have been blocked at all, not magically at least. I think she may have been subconsciously holding herself back, convinced that she was no more powerful than anyone else. This change has broken that, I think. Now, more than ever, I agree with Ollivander. We will see great things from Miss Potter."

"Miss, Professor? You don't believe that we will find a way to change her back?"

"Not before she faces Voldemort again, I'm afraid."

"And Potter? Surely we can't call her that when we re-introduce her?"

"No, you are right, we will have to give her a new name."

A strangled squeak drew their focus back to Harry's little game, where tiny strands of rope had appeared from somewhere, and were being used to good effect by the knights, who had numerous ropes around the dragon's neck, and were trying to hold it down. They kept getting pulled off their feet as the dragon reared, but they were clearly wearing it down.

Dumbledore's hissed in disbelief as a tiny stone wizard lifted a tiny wand and cast a Conjunctivitis curse at the stone dragon's eyes. The wizard cried out in pain as a wooden troll smashed him backward with a heavy club.

More toys were appearing rapidly. A tin of lemon-drops summoned right out of Dumbledore's pocket--though there was no evidence that she had yet noticed his presence--became a swarm of acromantula, while a box of toothpicks--where did she get that from, Tonks wondered, startled--became robed broom riders, swooping over and driving back the spiders.

Once more Tonks pulled her eyes away from the steadily expanding little scene, and looked at Harry's face. Harry looked absolutely entranced, her eyes and face were aglow with joy as she watched the play unfolding before her.

A flood of tears poured unexpectedly from Harry's eyes as her expression changed to one of deep sorrow in an instant. Tonks glanced at the field and saw that everything but one tiny wizard figure had suddenly stilled. The little wizard was fleeing from the spiders instead of fighting them, and as Harry reached and physically picked it up, Tonks realized it had red hair. "Ron Weasley has a deathly fear of spiders," Dumbledore murmured beside her as they watched Harry try to comfort and soothe the little figure, tears still pouring down her face, "but he faced a den of acromantula, or so Hagrid tells me, to help Harry save Hermione and Ginny from the basilisk in their second year here."

Tonks ran quickly over to Harry's side and pulled the now sobbing girl out of her chair. Dumbledore summoned a large, comfy couch behind them, and Tonks settled into it, casting the elderly wizard a grateful smile as she drew the crying witch into her arms. Harry clung to her, shaking with wrenching sobs, her hand still clenched around a single wooden wizard with bright red hair.

A New Name

Dumbledore created a chair facing the couch he had made and settled in to wait. Apparently knowing that she would eventually see her friends again, when she was allowed to re-enter the school as an exchange student after the holidays, was not sufficient to resolve the loss she was feeling about being cut off from her friends.

A second possibility occurred to Dumbledore. If Harry had not yet truly made his peace with what had happened to Ron in the Ministry, and given what he felt was an appropriate apology, she might be mourning the loss of the opportunity.

With no way to determine what the actual cause was given Harry's amazing development of her Occlumency, Dumbledore chose to do nothing, merely waiting quietly for Harry's grief to run its course. He felt a smile creeping onto his lips as he considered the picture the two made, Tonks with her current green hair, cradling a black and white haired girl barely half her size against her. Seeing the comfort Harry took in Tonks, especially considering how unwilling Harry usually was to open up to anyone, Dumbledore felt that for once he had made a choice in Harry's life that he would not have to second-guess and for which he would not in the end regret the necessity.

His eye caught once more on the little red-headed figurine of a wizard that Harry was holding. Slipping his wand out, Dumbledore summoned another wizard from the floor where Harry's toys had fallen, and turned it over in his hands, examining it. The one he had grabbed was stone, though several of them were obviously wood. It had no joints, no movable parts, which confirmed that Harry had been using animated transfiguration and not locomotion charms on a jointed transfiguration.

"Dumbledore," Tonks said softly, and the Headmaster looked up. "I don't think missing one day is going to hurt her. I'm going to put her to bed. I'll stay with her until she falls asleep. When she wakes up, she can decide if she feels up to resuming."

Dumbledore nodded, and standing, he walked the two steps to reach the couch and tapped Harry with his wand. Tonks felt the girl in her lap become instantly much lighter. Dumbledore assisted her in getting up without losing her balance or dropping the still crying girl. Harry had quieted down considerably, and was no longer shaking, but tears were still trickling down her face, and she was still clinging tightly to Tonks, sobbing occasionally.

Dumbledore opened the doors ahead of her with his wand as he walked along behind her, following Tonks through the apartment to Harry's bed. When Tonks lay the emotionally wrung out teen on the bed, she held onto Tonks even more tightly. With a sigh, Tonks lifted her again, and settled herself down on Harry's bed, with the smaller girl nestled on top of her. She glared at Dumbledore, who merely twinkled back at her before waving and walking out, closing the door behind him.

With Dumbledore's eyes no longer on them, Tonks pulled Harry to her more tightly, drawing her up so that her head could lie on the pillow beside her own. She did her best to ignore the feel of the smaller girl's breasts brushing along her body as she pulled her upwards. Harry snuggled into her arms, sending shivers through her, and tears pricked Tonks' eyes.

It seemed so little, to hold Harry until she cried herself to sleep, and she wanted so much to be able to do more, to be able to do something real to ease her pain, but at the same time, she felt an immense pain and sadness as she acknowledged that this, little though it might be, was likely more than Harry had ever had before, if they had never even given her toys. That seemed just so very wrong, that someone as precious as Harry, someone so pure should be treated so very badly.

---

"There is something more happening here, Fawkes, than a potions accident. Severus cannot come up with any explanation, any way for the potion they were doing to have that effect. And what an effect! A change of gender, the unleashing of magical potential, the apparently unlimited capacity to cast wandless magic more powerfully and more intricately than he could cast with a wand before, this veela-like allurement that seems to attract both sexes equally, apparent mastery of Metamorphmagic and Occlumency overnight, an ability in Transfiguration that would earn her a Mastery, nay, that surpasses any Master I have yet met, myself included, also apparently gained in an instant, given Minerva's comments about his performance in classes to date, so many inexplicable things. Ah! Not to forget her suddenly perfect vision, the disappearance of his wand, and a sudden openness with her emotions, a willingness to be visibly weak. I would believe her an imposter had I not tested for that very possibility!"

Dumbledore fiddled around his desk until he found a backup tin of lemon drops, pried it open, and plopped one in his mouth, sucking it thoughtfully, while Fawkes merely chirped. "I had to obliviate Severus. I can't risk Voldemort learning what really happened to Harry. I can't conceal that we took him out of classes for 'personal training' directly following a potion's accident, unfortunately, though I've concealed the details of that accident as thoroughly as possible."

"I wish I knew for certain how much Harry actually knew about what happened, and what is happening to him. I would almost think I was seeing the results of a blood awakening, if I did not know that James' background is clean. Lily is a muggle-born, so it couldn't be from her . . ." Dumbledore sighed, leaning back and rolling his lemon drop around in his mouth as he pondered the mystery that now surrounded his favorite student. "I suppose it could be Voldemort's doing in some way, but I can't imagine why he would . . . then again, if he knew that it would make Harry female," Dumbledore sat up, his eyes clouded with concern, "he would not care that he was increasing Harry's power. In fact, he would prefer it, for it would give him more to take, more to command."

A shiver ran down Dumbledore's spine as he considered the terrible possibility that Voldemort already knew what had happened to Harry, and was probably preparing to cast the binding spells even now. "Oh, poor Harry," he whispered, picturing Harry, as small as she had become, looking tiny and pitiful beside a vengeful Voldemort as the dark wizard slew his family and friends. The fact that his own death seemed assured in such a case paled before the pain he knew Harry would feel, being forced to live on in pain and misery when all those he loved were dead.

A single tear slid slowly down his cheek and caught in his beard, glistening in the light.

---

Harry stirred, then froze as he realized that he was lying on something both warm and soft, smelling very familiar.

"It's alright," Tonks whispered, smoothing her fingers gently through his hair. She was not surprised that Harry had woken up so quickly. After all, he had fallen asleep from emotional exhaustion, not from an actual need for rest.

Harry rolled off of Tonks, suppressing the feeling of disappointment as he did so, and sat up on the bed. "I'm sorry, Tonks. I didn't mean to lose it like that."

"It's okay, Harry," Tonks reassured him, sitting up and placing her hand over his. "I don't mind."

Harry nodded, hiding his disbelief. He knew he had screwed up, allowing her to see how weak he really was. It was all he could do not to burst into tears again at the thought. "It's a good thing I'm not being graded, huh?" Harry rubbed his eyes with his free hand.

"On the contrary, Harry," Tonks said in confusion. "You would have received top marks for what you accomplished. Even Dumbledore was impressed."

"Dumbledore saw that?" Harry stared at Tonks with pleading disbelief, and Tonks nodded. Her eyes filled with confusion when Harry's face fell at her confirmation.

"What's wrong, Harry? Are you upset that he saw you cry? He won't think any the less of you for it," she promised him, rubbing the back of Harry's small hand. "He knows that this is terribly hard for you, being isolated from all your friends like this."

Harry hiccoughed, his heart dropping to his feet as his fears found confirmation. "Not . . . not all my friends?" Harry asked her, his eyes pleading with her, unable to hide his desperation.

Tonks understood his meaning instantly, and she pulled him into a warm embrace. "Oh, of course not. Of course I'm your friend, Harry," she swore, tears pricking at her own eyes. "Now, enough moping, Harry," she continued, lifting his chin and looking into his liquid green eyes. She scooted back, pulling Harry with her, until her back was resting on the pillows against the headboard.

"Time to practice your metamorphing, and we can do it right here. Just practice changing your hand."

She pulled Harry around so that his back was resting against her. "Alright, a simple start, make your skin pale again." She barely finished the words when the color drained from his hand, leaving it a stark white that faded back to golden-brown on his arm.

"That's white, Harry," Tonks chided, and Harry giggled involuntarily.

"Pale white," she said, then her hand suddenly took a very slight green tint. "Pale green."

"Fine," Tonks agreed as Harry's hand turned light blue, then light purple. "How about some fur?" Harry's hand instantly sprouted a very fine silvery fur everywhere except the palm. Tonks reached out and stroked her fur, making Harry shiver.

The fur vanished beneath her fingers, and Tonks stared in surprise, as her fingers stroked soft snake-skin.

"Now try structure. Again, start simple, just try and get rid of your pinky."

Harry's shortest finger swiftly diminished, and her other fingers shifted to have more space between them. Webbing appeared between her fingers as her skin turned a darker green, with fish-scales. Her nails became claws.

Tonks leaned forward, resting her chin on Harry's shoulder. "You are doing this intentionally, right Harry?" She did her best to hide her nervousness. Harry was riding close to the edge of what a Metamorph should be capable of. She was reminded of the talons Harry had manifested the day before. She could accomplish similar effects, but that was after years of practice, not on her first and second day of even attempting it!

Harry nodded. "Yeah, it's fun."

His other fingers shrank and thickened. The scales vanished and brown fur sprouted, getting quickly long enough to be considered shaggy. His claws thickened and curved. He turned his hand over and she could see his palm thickening and hardening. The color of his visible skin deepened to a near black. Tonks suppressed a shiver. That was unquestionably an animal's paw. No Metamorph would be capable of that drastic a change.

She watched in silent amazement as Harry's hand shifted slowly, becoming a bird's talon, a cat's paw, and a monkey's hand. She could not suppress her gasp when it reshaped entirely, lengthening from his wrist even as all of his digits merged. A new split appeared as scales covered his hand. In moments the goal of his shifting became apparent when the appendage curled back and looked at her, blinking, its mouth opening to reveal fangs and a forked tongue. He had altered his hand into a perfect snake's head, its body morphing smoothly back to his arm. The only visible malformation was the absence of a throat.

"Wow," Harry gasped, "That's weird!"

"What is, Harry?" Tonks asked worriedly, hoping against hope that Harry would not bring harm to himself by doing this.

"I can actually see through my snake eyes and my normal eyes at the same time!" Harry did not mention that he could also taste Tonks' scent much more clearly. That seemed a bit too weird to mention, even if he did love the taste.

Before Tonks could urge caution, Harry drew back from the direction he was going, and returned his hand to normal. Tonks breathed a sigh of relief, albeit prematurely, for Harry was not done. His skin darkened to a charcoal gray, as he very slowly flexed his fist. Tonks was very confused, having no idea why a mere color change was so interesting, until he turned it from stone gray to a metallic silver, and tapped his fingers together. The contact between his fingers generated an unquestionably metallic clank, and Tonks realized, even as she was reminded of Dumbledore's words about Harry's potential, that he had actually changed the substance of his hand, without losing the ability to move it.

His fingers and thumb elongated and thinned from the second to the last knuckle on. He raised his other hand and summoned a piece of spare parchment. Lifting the parchment, he pierced it with fingers turned knives, and slid his fingers slowly down it, slicing it into strips connected by a thin span at the top.

"You're doing great," encouraged Tonks, even as she forced herself to say nothing about the total impossibility of what she was seeing. "Why don't you try making your hand more masculine, more like it once was."

Harry instantly perked up, and her hand shifted, becoming larger, with slightly shorter fingers. She gasped and Tonks was startled to see tears in her eyes. She was thinking that they were tears of joy at seeing her hand as it once was, until she heard Harry sob, "It hurts." A moment later his hand was once more her hand. Harry turned, flinging her arms around Tonks as he buried his face in her shoulder, sobbing pitifully, his intention to be stoic shattered in an instant. "Why does it hurt like that?" she pleaded.

"I don't know," Tonks answered, shocked to her core. Taking on a male mien was easy enough for her, though she of course could not quite go all the way. But it certainly never hurt . . . she just wasn't willing to risk her more delicate parts on that sort of change.

Desperate to stop Harry's pain, to turn her attention elsewhere, and curious about Dumbledore's statements, especially in light of Harry's Metamorphing performance just now, Tonks helped Harry sit up. "Let's try some conjuration now, Harry. For this one, I don't want you to try any incantations or wand movements. You've seen the old man do it . . . just a flick of the fingers, and knowing what you want to conjure, picturing it perfectly . . . conjure me an apple, Harry."

Harry looked at her for a minute through watery sea-green eyes, then looked at her hand, and then flicked her fingers with an expression of doubt mixed with concentration. A perfect green apple appeared in her hand. Tonks pulled it away from Harry, and summoned a knife to slice it. She held up the first slice, sniffed it delicately, then bit a small chunk out. "Mmmm, perfect, Harry," she purred, quickly popping the rest of the slice in her mouth, cutting another, and holding it out teasingly for Harry. When Harry reached for it with one delicate hand, she pulled it back and tsked at him. Harry dropped her hand, arching an eyebrow, and this time when Tonks held out the slice of apple, she leaned forward and took it in her teeth, just brushing Tonks' fingers with her soft lips.

"It is good," she said, surprised, as she chewed the slice of green apple.

Bemused, she conjured a seedless cherry and reciprocated, pushing it gently into Tonks' mouth, blushing furiously as Tonks' lips slid over her finger.

"How about some coffee . . . on a tray please, and I like mine with plenty of cream and sugar when I'm not just off a patrol or about to start one." Tonks very deliberately did not mention that learning to conjure a singular object was not difficult, for seventh-years at least, conjuring multiple related items, particularly mixed fluids, was challenging to the point that not all wizards and witches mastered it, having to conjure the bits separately and then mix them.

Harry's fingers wiggled, and a tray appeared on the bed, with a steaming cup of coffee doctored to a nice shade of milk chocolate, and beside it, a cup of hot cocoa with little marshmallows.

Tonks took her coffee and smelled it, smiling at the fresh brewed aroma. She sipped hesitantly, but contrary to her half-formed expectations, the coffee did not taste as though it had been mixed with the cocoa. Instead, it tasted perfect, with plenty of cream and sugar, and a strong but smooth taste like fresh roasted, freshly ground beans. "Oh, Harry," she laughed, "You are going to spoil me for Hogwarts coffee." She grinned at the petite girl who was sipping at her own hot cocoa and moaning appreciatively.

"If conjuration is this easy," queried Harry, eyeing Tonks over her cup of cocoa, "why doesn't everyone do it?"

Tonks sighed. "I only suggested it because you are casting wandlessly. It has to be wandless, you see, to be able to dispense with the wand movements and words, and it needs concentration worthy of an Occlumens to get the details right."

"Oh." Harry felt tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, and felt like screaming. Ever since he had changed, he had been crying more than he ever had in his life. No matter how strongly he still wanted to conceal his emotions, to hide behind a facade of happiness, he could not seem to manage it.

Tonks saw the depression that swept over Harry at her words, and she set her coffee back on the tray. She gently took the hot cocoa from Harry's hands and set it on the tray as well, then drew her wand and levitated the tray off the bed before slipping it away again. Then she shifted over to pull Harry against her, and ran her hand soothingly through his soft black hair. "Why does that bother you so, Harry?" She asked, softly questioning, inviting him to open up to her.

"All I ever wanted was to be normal," Harry whispered, feeling the tears starting to flow, and hating that he could not hold his tongue. The words forced themselves out in spite of him. "The Dursleys always said I was a freak, and then Hagrid came and proved them right. But I thought at least I could be a normal wizard, but no, I have to be the Boy-Who-Lived. It just never ends. It seems like every time things start to settle down, something else comes up to make me different, to make people stare at me, talk about me behind my back, to give them reason to hate me."

Tonks leaned forward and pressed a kiss on Harry's forehead, and hugged him close. "I'm sorry for you, Harry. I wish I could make it better, I really do. I promise, I'll never turn my back on you, Harry, no matter what."

Harry pulled away after hugging Tonks tightly, and whispered her gratitude, though he knew it was too little, too late. Eventually . . . no, Tonks was smart, it would be soon, very soon, she would realize what his weakness implied for the inevitable face-off with Voldemort. Even if Dumbledore had not told her the prophecy, the whole wizarding world seemed to somehow sense it, expecting him to defeat Voldemort, and she must as well, there was no other explanation for all the effort she was wasting on him. And when she did realize it, she would understand what it meant for her parents, obvious targets for Voldemort, and she would realize how worthless he really was.

---

Unwilling to be observed, Harry waited until Tonks fell asleep, having returned to her own room, after first helping Harry prepare for bed after they had eaten dinner. He would have preferred to leave the castle, or at least go to the roof before doing this, to minimize the chance that someone was observing him, but he could not risk the chance that their shared quarters were enspelled to notify Dumbledore if he left, not to mention the disturbing possibility that his clothes might be magical constructs, which would explain the quantity of well-fitting clothes better than pretending someone actually wasted their time shopping for him, in which case they might vanish outside this apartment.

Harry was quite certain, given his vastly increased vulnerability to Voldemort, that Dumbledore would not be taking any chances that could be avoided. Knowing that Harry would be devastated at once more being isolated from his friends, Dumbledore would surely be on guard for any sign of Harry trying to slip out and meet them.

So he could do nothing more than cast several protective, anti-scrying spells, along with an imperturbability charm, on the room. He slid out from under his bed's soft covers, and padded on silent feet to the center of the open space between his bed and the door to his room.

He carefully removed the silk nightclothes Tonks had laid out for him, and set them aside, then watching his naked reflection in the mirror, Harry relaxed into his new native form, wings springing from his back, his tail peaking out from behind him with a sigh of pleasant relief, as if he had finally set down a heavy load.

He looked at himself in the mirror for a long moment, taking in the warm red glow of his skin. His scar was still shifted upwards, and he still had a white lock in his red hair. It was because of that white lock that, for the first time, he noticed that he had two short black horns, barely poking up through his hair.

He reached up and felt their smooth surface, and grimaced when it sent a tingling of pleasure through him, eliciting certain other following reactions. "Damn it," he cursed to himself, "I thought horns were dead tissue? Why the hell are they so sensitive?"

Lowering his hands, he waited for several minutes, staunchly ignoring the enticing scent drifting up from the slight moisture that had seeped out between his thighs from his inadvertent self-stimulation, until his arousal finally faded completely.

He focused on the passages he had read earlier in the day, during his allotted library time, that described the structure, function, and appearance of the anatomy of bats. He had selected the Barbastella barbastellus as his focal species. Unique in appearance, it was immediately recognizable, with very dark fur, nose, and ears. It had huge ears that practically cradled its eyes, as if its eyes were the stage and the ears a half-ampitheatre, and a very flat nose. He chose it as the closest in appearance to the literal vampire bat which, according to the book he read, was not native to Europe.

He spent a few minutes floundering, trying to transform without metamorphing or invoking the animagus transformation. When it finally clicked for him, it came as a shock. His body simply dissolved, taking his consciousness with it.

High-pitched cries and the flapping of many wings filled the room as Harry struggled to pull his fractured mind back together, and understand what had happened. With a great effort, he changed back, flowing back into himself from all over the room. He lay back on the floor, panting, feeling his breasts heaving in time with his gasps.

"That had to be just about the weirdest experience of my life," he wheezed, rolling over and pushing himself back up into a sitting position, as he pondered what had happened. He had not become a single bat, as he had expected to. Instead, he had become an entire swarm of bats, splitting his mind and body into what felt like hundreds of pieces.

The confusing ordeal had not been without its benefits. He seemed to have a complete mental map of the room, every nook and cranny, where every bit of it was in relation to every other bit. He rather imagined he could navigate through the room in complete darkness without the slightest difficulty. Of course, it also meant that he had not gotten any sort of look at all at what he had become, so he did not know if he had actually become his form of choice, or merely activated some innate ability of his form to dissolve into some particular type of bats.

Bringing down his spells, Harry crawled back into his bed, feeling shivers running up and down his spine as he tried to come to grips with this new revelation. Perhaps the worst of it was the uncompromising realization that he would not be able to use this transformation to pretend it was his animagus form. There was no way anyone watching him change could possibly believe that it was an animagus transformation.

He flipped his pillow over, pressing his head into it, trying to get comfortable, but sleep would not come. The wonder that should have been present at discovering a new ability was entirely overshadowed by his disappointment, and his frustration at having yet another secret to hide. He was sure that if anyone saw him become a cloud of bats, his pretense would fall apart completely, and he would be alone.

Still he knew he needed this, needed to explore all of the abilities and limitations of his new form. Only when he fully understood it could he hope to become himself again.

Just when he was finally becoming drowsy, what seemed like hours later, he felt a powerful drawing, tugging sensation, as if he was being sucked outside of himself. He recognized the fading of his surroundings, and quickly brought his will to bear on the dream he was being drawn into, regaining his original form, here in the one place where he could do so without pain. As he did so, he could scarcely bear to wait to see whose dream was sucking him in, and how they were managing it.

---

"You're sure about this?" Hermione asked, looking deep into Ginny's eyes. The young redhead nodded firmly.

"Absolutely, Hermione. If it is Harry, I want to see him too. If it's not, well, who's to say it won't come after me next? Better to face it two together than one alone."

Hermione nodded, though she cringed inwardly, feeling incredibly guilty and yet very thankful that her best female friend was a Witch and not a Muggle, and so had never seen nor heard of "A Nightmare on Elm Street." She had no real idea how dangerous it could be to face someone in your dreams, but Hermione did. She remembered the blood on her sheets the night before. She was going into this knowing that she could be injured, possibly even killed, and she had not told Ginny.

Hermione pulled her curtains closed and cast a silencing spell, followed by a shielding ward. She hoped that the spells she had found would not only allow Ginny to join her, but ensure that they could use their magic in the dream, however, she realized now that she could not allow Ginny to risk her life unknowingly.

"I haven't . . . ," Hermione began, then faltered. Ginny scooted closer.

"What's wrong, Hermione? It's about last night, isn't it? I had a feeling you weren't saying something, holding something back."

Hermione looked up and Ginny was startled to see tears in her eyes, though after a moment, she realized she should probably not have been surprised. She knew how much Harry meant to Hermione and Ron, and to see him after believing him dead must have been incredibly emotional for her.

Hermione nodded, and Ginny settled back to listen, offering her friend a comforting smile. Hermione smiled back, wanly, her face paling. She knew what she was about to say would hurt Ginny. She knew all too well that she was not the only Gryffindor girl that loved Harry Potter. "I lost my virginity last night, Ginny. I gave it to Harry . . . or at least, I hope I did."

"But it was just a dream, Hermione," Ginny said urgently, leaning forward and grabbing Hermione's hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

Hermione shook her head, sadly. "No, it wasn't. That's why I was so freaked out when I woke up. I was sore . . . and I found blood on my sheets."

"You . . . you just started your period, right?" Ginny whispered hoarsely, though she knew it was not so. Girls living in close quarters often had their periods come into sync, and it was not hard to learn their cycles. It was not Hermione's time, though Ginny still hoped, crossing her fingers, knowing that it was not impossible for something, an illness she had not paid attention to perhaps, to have thrown off her cycle.

"No, Ginny. My hymen is gone, and I haven't had any significant flow today."

Tears sparked in Ginny's eyes. "Oh, Hermione," she whispered, hugging her friend fiercely. "It was Harry. It has to be," she sobbed, squeezing Hermione tightly, feeling an ache in her heart.

"But . . . if it wasn't . . . it could be dangerous, Ginny. If that physical effect came through, so could an attack. We could die tonight, Ginny," Hermione whispered back, her own voice choked with tears. How could she ask her friend to do this? Yet how could she face it alone?

"Better two together, than one alone," Ginny said again, sniffling and wiping her face. "We can do magic, in the dream, right?"

Hermione nodded vigorously, wiping her own eyes. "That's what the spell is for, to bring us together, draw it in, and grant us power over the dream. But it may have the same power. I'm not certain, but it might have been the one that changed my dream to be in my room."

"But . . . how would it know?"

"I don't know. I hope it is just that it came from my subconscious, but it might be a mind-reader as well."

"Oh, no," whispered Ginny, fearfully, biting her bottom lip. "You might want to find someone else, Hermione. If it pulls up my nightmares . . . well, you don't want to face a Basilisk or T-t-tom."

"There's no-one I'd rather have by my side," insisted Hermione, staring at the other girl with a fierce gaze. "And if it is Harry, you deserve to see him more than anyone."

"Except Ron," answered Ginny.

Hermione giggled, shaking her head. "You think I'm letting him into my dreams? You've got to be joking."

"So . . . how do we do this?"

Taking a deep breath, Hermione drew her wand. Ginny followed her lead, drawing her own wand to the ready. Hermione cast several spells in slow succession, the last dropping them both off to a deep slumber.

---

Hermione found herself in a dim grayness, and spun frantically. Her heart soared when a red head of long hair hove into view. "Ginny, you made it," she cried.

Ginny nodded, clutching her wand nervously. They felt a pulse in the distance. "It's drawing him . . . er, it . . . in. Get ready."

A light appeared in the distance, green threaded with black. Their hands tightened on their wands, skin whitening from the pressure, as a dark figure became visible in the light, haloed by it, back-lit so that they saw nothing but a dark silhouette.

Light rushed around them, startling a shriek out of Ginny, and a poorly aimed Leg-Locker Curse out of Hermione. They found themselves in the Gryffindor Common Room, with no sign of the approaching figure. Hermione turned slowly, feeling her heart thudding painfully in her chest. Her breath came in short gasps, and she could hear Ginny nearly hyperventilating behind her.

A sound drew their attention and their wands to the staircase that led up to the boy's dorm. "Hermione? Ginny?" Ginny gave a sob of relief at Harry's voice, then squeaked as Hermione grabbed her arm, preventing her from rushing forward. Together, they watched as Harry nervously came down the stairs, eyeing their wands, which tracked him closely.

"What are you?" rasped Hermione, stepping back as Harry drew close, pulling Ginny with her.

Harry seemed to crumple at her words and the hard look in her eyes, collapsing to his knees. He looked up at them with pleading green eyes, trickling lines of tears shining on his cheeks. "I'm a freak," he said softly, "I'm not worthy of your love, 'Mione, I know that. I'm sorry, but I just couldn't refuse you, not when you were in that much pain. I know it was wrong, but I couldn't help it." He looked down. "I'll understand if you hate me now. It's no more than I deserve."

Hermione stood as if struck, her fear that this was not Harry warring with her desire to comfort him. Ginny winced as Hermione's grip on her arm began to hurt, but she bit her tongue and said nothing. She too was fighting between not wanting to be taken in by a seductive fantasy, as she had by Riddle's diary, and wanting to comfort the boy she loved.

"Who are you?" demanded Hermione, her voice choked by tears.

Harry looked up startled, his mouth gaping. "'Mione?" He jumped to his feet and rushed forward, covering the distance between them faster than either of the girls could react. "Oh, please no, please don't let me have hurt your mind. You have to remember me, you have to!" He stared around wildly, even as his hands gripped her shoulders.

Ginny stared in wonder as the walls of the common room fell away. She heard Hermione's voice several feet from where Hermione was standing, and spun to face the new threat. Her wand hand dropped as she stared open-mouthed, as a very young Hermione gave a disturbingly small Harry a hug and told him that he was a great wizard.

Harry turned back to the girl he was holding. "You . . . you haven't forgotten me . . . then why don't you know who I am?" Harry turned and stared at Ginny, his eyes burning with emerald flames. "You recognize me, don't you Ginny?"

Ginny nodded, stepping back and raising her wand. Her voice trembled. "Step away from Hermione, Harry," she ordered, gulping. Harry loosened his grip and stepped back, clearly puzzled.

"What's wrong, Ginny? And . . . ," he paused, staring, then looked back at Hermione. "How are you both here? Whose dream is this?"

"You know you're in a dream?" demanded Hermione, her own wand lifting.

Harry nodded convulsively. The Gryffindor Common Room returned. "I don't understand, 'Mione, Ginny, what's wrong? I . . . I'm really sorry if I hurt you, 'Mione. I never wanted to hurt you."

"Just tell me who you are," ground out Hermione, her wand shaking slightly.

"I'm Harry!" Harry protested, clearly bewildered. "I don't . . ." He stopped short, gulping. "Oh." He tugged nervously at his collar. "Uhmm . . ." He looked up bewildered. "I don't know how to prove it, 'Mione? Anything I told you could have come from your memories . . . I . . . I can do something sort of like Legilimency when I'm in a dream. I haven't invaded your privacy, at least I've done my best not to, but how can I prove it when anything I say could have come from you?"

Ginny stepped forward, and gestured at a couch. "Have a seat, Harry." Harry complied and she continued, "The main reason she is afraid is because she is convinced that you are dead. It seems the . . ."

"Dead?!" interrupted Harry with a yelp. "I thought that scene last night was just a nightmare, 'Mione. I didn't realize you really thought I was dead! I thought Dumbledore told everyone I had been taken for training?!"

"Just explain, Harry. Where are you, and why is Dumbledore so reticent about it? Hermione thinks they are trying to cover up your death to keep the public from panicking."

Harry shook his head. "It is a cover-up, but not of that 'Mione." He looked down at his hands. "I . . . I can't tell you what really happened to me, but I'm not dead, not even injured. There was an accident, and Dumbledore is afraid that I am really vulnerable to a particular class of spells right now, and he is frightened that Voldemort will find out. The extra training bit isn't pure cover-up, though. I am receiving extra training, and the accident was not all bad. Somehow, it helped me finally figure out Occlumency and Legilimency. No more classes with Snape!" Harry crowed the last sentence, and grinned when a small smile crossed Hermione's face.

"I'm sorry if you were hurt by all this, 'Mione, Ginny, but they won't let me send letters. I did not know I could do this, travel into someone's dreams without leaving my room, until I was thinking about you last night, and I got sucked in to your dream, Hermione. I think it might be another effect of the accident."

"But what accident?" probed Hermione, wringing her hands, her wand-tip swinging about aimlessly now.

Harry sighed. "Dumbledore must have memory-charmed you. There was an accident in Potions. I guess he did not want anyone even remembering that there was one, in case Voldemort found out and worked out what happened, particularly since there are Death Eater's kids in that class."

Hermione shook her head fitfully. "No, I remember an accident, you got hit by Neville's potion. You were treated for boils! Nothing dangerous, nothing that would . . . when did you leave?" She turned to Ginny, visibly confused. "It wasn't right after the accident, was it?"

Ginny shrugged helplessly. "I . . . I can't remember!"

Harry nodded. "Dumbledore obliviated you, I expect. He is really scared that Voldemort will get wind of this. For that matter, after he explained what could be done, so am I."

"Will we see you again? In real life?"

"When the danger has passed, I expect."

Hermione burst into tears, and Ginny looked little better. They both rushed him as one, pressing him back into the couch, and snuggling up to him on either side. "I'm sorry I doubted you, Harry," whispered Hermione. "I don't regret it."

Harry smiled tenderly at her, putting his arms around them both. "It was just a dream, 'Mione, but I was glad to do it for you. You know I would give anything, do anything for you, both of you."

Hermione shivered, and Harry looked at her, wondering. "It wasn't," Ginny stated from the other side when Hermione failed to speak.

"Wasn't what? It was a dream," insisted Harry.

"But not just one. Hermione woke up with blood on her sheets."

Harry paled. "Oh, no, I'm so sorry Hermione. I had hoped that it was just me, because of how I got into the dream."

"What do you mean, just you?" asked Ginny suspiciously, staring up at him.

Harry flushed a deep red. "Uhm . . . er . . . well, er, Hermione . . . when I woke up, I was stuck to my bed, from the blood on my back. 'Mione's a bit of a wildcat," he finished, using the name he had used then in the dream, and smiling gently at the bushy brown hair pressed against his right side. Ginny's mouth gaped as she stared at them in disbelief.

Harry looked back to Hermione. "Please say you can forgive me, Hermione." He looked down. "I should have found another way to comfort you. I wish I could say or do something to make it better, but I can't. I'm not actually even allowed to see you. I expect Dumbledore would be angry if he knew, though I did not know I could do it the first time, and I would swear something else drew me here this time. But please, please say I have a chance of earning your forgiveness? It is hard enough knowing that I can't see you again, can't talk to you while we're awake, that I have to be alone, I don't think I could bear it if I lost either of you forever."

Ginny glanced at Hermione and saw that the bushy-haired girl was too choked up to speak, speechless in the face of the pain in Harry's voice. Ginny turned back to reassure Harry but he spoke again before she got the chance.

"You know, it doesn't make sense to me. Dumbledore said several times that the power I have that Voldemort doesn't is love, but if that is so, then why am I always losing it?" Harry's hands were twisted in his lap as he stared at them, too afraid of what he might see in Hermione's eyes to look up. Ginny's hand entered his view, insinuating its smaller form into his grasp.

"Th-there's nothing to forgive, Harry," Hermione finally managed to choke out past her tears.

Ginny smiled and, lifting Harry's face with her free hand, pressed a kiss on his cheek, and whispered, loud enough for both to hear, "There's no-one she would rather have given her virginity to but you, Harry."

"But . . . but I can't be there for her!" Harry protested. "What kind of boyfriend could I be when I can't even see her?"

"It's not forever, Harry," Hermione said, lifting her head, joy and sorrow mingled in her brown eyes. "You will defeat him, and then we can be . . ."

Harry stopped her, putting a finger over her mouth, his face a mask of anguish. "No," he whispered. "I can't tell you why now, not yet, but after it is all over, I don't think you will want me."

"Why? Because you have to kill him?" Hermione laughed at the shock in Harry's eyes. "I won't reject you, Harry, no matter what you have to do to win, to end this. And . . . and if you don't come back, then I'll still be glad. I'll be forever grateful I got this much of you."

"I . . . I don't know how you knew that, though it is true, but that's not why I'm saying this." Harry shuddered, picturing Hermione's inevitable reaction when she learned that he was a demon, a Dark Creature, ever so much worse than merely having a single dark ability that might have come from Voldemort anyway. No, this was supposed to be a reflection of his soul or personality, wasn't it? Wasn't that why people could not choose their animagus form?

Ginny and Hermione watched, perplexed, as Harry broke down again. Ginny shifted about to bring her mouth near Hermione's ear, and whispered. "I don't think we should ask anymore about the future, Hermione." Hermione nodded fervently. They wrapped their arms around their sobbing friend and hugged him tightly. They knew there was no way for them to guess what reassurance would actually reach him when they did not even know what he feared. Well, they knew he was afraid that they would not want him, or at least that Hermione would not, but they did not know why, and so had no idea how to convince him that it was not true.

Finally Harry regained his composure, and apologized once more for losing control, and for being unable to tell them why he believed they would not want him when they saw him again.

After they had reassured him that he was forgiven, Ginny asked a question that had been on her mind. "Harry, why . . . how were you able to recognize Hermione's affection for you, and act on it? You've been all but oblivious up to now."

Harry sniffled, rubbed his hand across his nose. "I think it's because of my legilimency-like abilities in dreams. I saw and felt how she felt, from her perspective. I . . . " He looked down, and heaved a deep sigh. "I don't have a lot of experience with love, or affection. I don't really know how to recognize it, or how to respond. The only reason I was able to help you at all, 'Mione," he continued, squeezing her gently, then looking back at Ginny, "is because I gained a new set of instincts. I can't really talk about them, but without them, I would have been even more helpless then I was facing Voldemort."

Ginny shuddered at the name, but giggled. "That's exactly what I was wondering. You've always seemed helpless when facing a crying girl."

Harry frowned. "I hate to ask this, of either of you. I know you won't like it, but please, please don't go digging into what happened to me. My disappearance is going to lead to people watching my friends to try and find me, and you might lead them to a dangerous conclusion without knowing it. Professor Dumbledore is afraid that if Voldemort learns the details of what happened, that this whole war will be over very quickly, with the wrong side winning." He shuddered at the thought, knowing that if it happened, he would be by Voldemort's side, like a caged bird, watching as Voldemort used his power to torture his friends.

"At any rate, I need to let the two of you sleep. I'm not sure exactly how I know, but being in this sort of waking dream does not leave you well-rested." He paused for a moment, as the two girls tightened their hold on him. "I love you both, I hope you know that. Good night."

He gently guided them into a true deep sleep, at which point he once again woke up on his own bed. Of course, there was no blood this time, and by now he really was tired, so he quickly dropped off himself.

---

Harry awoke to a damp pillow and aching eyes. Though he tried to ignore it and get back to sleep, turning and flipping his pillow over, sleep would not come back to him and tears continued to fall from his eyes. The thought of what he had stolen from Hermione, what he could never give back or repay her for, tore at his heart.

That Ginny, who had loved him for so long, now knew exactly how despicable he was did not help in the least, either. He remembered his breakdown the night before, the first time he had truly released his grief in front of anyone, and a deep shame stole over him. He had burdened poor Tonks with his tears and grief when she was probably hurting as badly as he was. After all, Sirius had been her cousin, and there he was, crying on her, making her comfort him, when he was the bloody reason her cousin was dead! She should hate me, he thought.

He remembered the rather contrary feelings that he had discovered in her during his first night in her chambers, and shivered, feeling doubly ashamed. She thought that he was an innocent victim of a potion's mistake. She did not know that it was entirely his fault, that it was wholly his doing that he could no longer face Voldemort, nor even be seen by him without risking the safety of the world. He had stolen her hope before she even knew to have it, as he did not think she had heard the prophecy yet. But he had, and he knew. He had been their one chance, and he had thrown it all away.

Now, because of his colossal arrogance, as Snape would say, he had trapped her here taking care of him, unable to find the man she needed. The words of the Dursleys came back to him then.

Yes, he truly was now a freak, and a waste of space. He couldn't even deal with their Voldemort problem for them, he couldn't be Ron's friend, or Hermione's boyfriend, except in dreams. He couldn't be Dumbledore's hope, or Remus' link to his friends, or even Malfoy's nemesis.

A different fear took him then, as he crawled out of bed, brushing his sweat-matted hair from his face. Even Tonks he only had until the holidays! Then Dumbledore would reintroduce . . . her . . . to the school, so she could see her friends again . . . but they would not know her, and they would be suspicious of Harry's extended absence, and . . . and she was a Dark Creature! She would surely be sorted into Slytherin, and then they would not even want to know her, but she could hardly imagine finding friends amongst the Slytherins.

There would be no excuse or reason for Tonks to continue associating with her, she would have lost Hermione and the Weasleys, and all the Gryffindors, she would be surrounded by darkness . . . and what would Dumbledore think of her when she ended up in Slytherin? The hat had already wanted to put her in there, doubtless because it could see what was really in her soul, there could be no doubt about where it would put her now that her inner being was exposed. What if it told Dumbledore the truth?

Heck, she couldn't even count on going back to the Dursleys! They would never believe she was Harry. She wouldn't be allowed to tell Remus or any of the other Order members the truth, lest it reach Voldemort's ears somehow.

"Alone," she whispered, tears coursing down her cheeks again.

As she saw it, she now had really only one chance. She knew that against all logic, Tonks did not hate her for Sirius' death, and that Tonks' love for the old Harry had carried over enough for her to find dreaming of being with the new Harry acceptable, though she would most likely never act on those dreams in real life. She was reasonably certain that Tonks lived alone, based on the few memories she had seen of her life as an Auror. And Tonks was undeniably lonely.

"I'll have to prove I'm not useless," Harry whispered, as she stripped and got in the shower. "I don't think she has a house-elf, so I've got a chance. If I can just convince her that I'm useful to have around, she might let me stay after Dumbledore lets me come back to Hogwarts."

She felt a frisson of fear as she wondered what Tonks' reaction to learning that her ward was now a Slytherin might be, but even if the fumbling Auror felt it necessary to punish her for her freakishness, it would be better than being alone. At least with Tonks she could imagine it was for the love the Auror had held for the old Harry, and not out of hate as it was at the Dursley's.

Finishing her shower, she dressed quickly, and discovering that Tonks still slept, she set about making breakfast, hoping to prove that she could be as useful as a house-elf. As she cooked, mixing conjuring with old fashioned cooking, she remembered the good part of the previous day's evening. Feeding Tonks and seeing the pleasure the beautiful woman took in her food was a far cry from the indifference and insults she received from the Dursleys, and she comforted herself with the image of bringing her teacher breakfast in bed.

---

Once more Tonks woke up with the memory of intensely erotic dreams about Harry, in spite of sleeping in her own room. This time, though, she knew they were her own, for she had cast a shield against Harry's allurement before going to sleep. "I love you, Harry," she whispered sadly as she got up and went to shower.

As she enjoyed the warm water, she considered the puzzle of Harry's new name. If she knew Dumbledore, she would not have to worry about picking one. Not only would he do that, he would probably also provide a complete life-story for the newly-named girl.

She wondered how Harry would react to having a new identity. At least she would have most of two months still to get used to answering to her new name, and learning her new history, before she would have to play it for real when she rejoined the school after the holidays.

Tonks felt a stab of pain in her heart as she realized that she was going to lose Harry then, just as surely as Harry was going to gain new friends. They would be back to a simple, normal, hands-off student-teacher relationship. She would not get to hold that slender, warm body as Harry cried against her, or watch her innocent face as she slept, or see the new-found joy as she discovered the delight most children knew early in life, of playing with her own toys.

She sighed deeply. Painful though it was, it also held out the hope that she might make it through this enforced isolation without Harry coming to hate her. She might even come out of it better off than she started, given Harry's exceedingly unusual emotional vulnerability. She had been expecting him to just shut himself off completely, as he had done the year before; instead, the recent changes seemed to have opened up his emotions as much as they had his magic. She wondered if they were connected.

Shaking herself out of her maudlin mood, Tonks finished her shower. In her bedroom, as she dressed, she could smell the savory scents of rashers and bangers and other morning foods. For a moment she thought that Harry must be up early, and had asked for breakfast from the house-elves, but then she remembered that the house-elves could neither see nor hear Harry, so how could he have contacted them? Thus far it had been Tonks who had had to ask for two meals at each meal-time.

Finishing dressing in a bit of a rush, Tonks hurried into the front room. To her surprise, there was no food there. She sniffed, and realized the smells were coming from the small kitchenette attached to the apartment, which she had never used. Sidling over to the door, she pressed it lightly inward and peeked inside.

She saw exactly what she had anticipated seeing. Unable to contact the house-elves, and having learned to conjure just the day before, Harry was busily making breakfast. Tonks watched in bemusement as Harry scrunched up her nose in concentration, summoning several eggs into her hands, before cracking them over a bowl.

Tonks made a mental note to ask Harry why she was conjuring the raw materials and cooking them, instead of conjuring the finished product, of which she had clearly demonstrated the day before she was more than capable.

A twinkle of light caught Tonks' eye and she watched as a tear slid down Harry's cheek, dripping from reddened eyes. No need to ask, Tonks realized. She was clearly trying to keep herself busy enough to not dwell on her grief. "I was right in telling Dumbledore we need to get her out of this castle," Tonks decided, pushing the door open further, and stepping into the small kitchenette.

Harry squeaked and turned in surprise. No food was spilled or lost, however, as Tonks had deliberately waited until Harry's hands were empty. Harry's face fell when she saw Tonks, and Tonks felt a pang of sorrow. She had so hoped that Harry would never have cause to look at her like that.

"Oh, I meant to be done when you woke up," Harry said, flustered, "I'll clean up everything when I'm done, I promise!" She cringed when Tonks stepped closer, and Tonks immediately reassured her, while hiding how much Harry's reaction made her want to go curse a particular trio of muggles.

"It's alright, Harry. I'm not mad. You are free to use this kitchen anytime you like. Okay?"

Harry nodded, grinning relievedly at her. She bustled around, and in moments, had laid out a morning feast in front of the bemused Auror. She settled into a chair across from Tonks, an expectant look of mixed worry and hope on her tear-streaked face.

Tonks obediently tried the food and made appropriate noises of appreciation and delight, none of which needed to be feigned, particularly when her darling protege had remembered exactly how she like her coffee. At her urging, Harry finally sat and joined her in eating.

Tonks watched Harry carefully, sensing that something was different about her this morning, and it went beyond the grief she had been overcome by the previous evening. She was reminded somehow of a puppy, pathetically eager to please, but at the same time, she saw fear in Harry's movements, some worry or concern was eating at the girl's mind.

Even as she thought to herself that she needed Dumbledore's wisdom and experience to read this riddle, the wards informed her of his arrival. To her surprise, Harry's fear seemed even more obvious for just a moment, as Dumbledore entered the kitchenette, before the young girl clamped down on her emotions, becoming visibly calm and collected.

Dumbledore carried a small packet of papers with him, and Tonks guessed at once what they were. He set them in silence in front of Harry, who reached out to touch the cord that bound them nervously, then glanced at Dumbledore. She made no further move to open the packet or look at the papers. Instead, she seemed to be searching for something in the older wizard's gaze.

Tonks rocked back and forth impatiently, then becoming exasperated with Harry's apparent reticence and Dumbledore's infuriating complacency, she snatched up the packet and unwound the cord, flipping the cover off and looking at the first page.

"Neerja Karuna?" she said, sampling the name. "Does it mean anything?"

Dumbledore nodded, his eyes twinkling. "Neerja means Lily," he said, smiling softly at Harry, whose eyes widened appreciatively. "And Karuna is a form of love."

Harry smiled softly, wistfully. "And my family?"

Tonks looked further down the page. "Wizarding parents . . . but then how . . . ah, I see." She looked up. "Your parents lived in Muggle society in India to avoid notice. They had been training you themselves, in secret, but have sent you to Hogwarts to finish your education here. Since India was under British rule for so long, it makes sense for them to send you here to complete your schooling, instead of Beauxbatons or Durmstrang, but why . . ."

She flipped the page, running her finger down the next page in search of something, then paused to glare at Dumbledore, before snickering. "Your parents wanted you out of the country because . . . oh, this is rich, because another wizarding family there was pressing them to agree to an arranged marriage." She lost it then, laughing in spite of Harry's glare.

Dumbledore raised his hands in placation when Harry's emerald glare turned on him. "Now, now, Harry, or rather, Neerja. You were sent here to avoid the marriage, remember? Because your parents are enlightened, and married for love, and want the same for you."

"But they're still alive?" questioned Harry, who had been waiting to learn how his family had been lost.

Dumbledore nodded. "Not only are they still alive, but they are real. They are a childless couple, however, having lost their only daughter to an illness. This was many years ago, and they retreated from the wizarding community there before her birth, to avoid exactly this sort of entanglement, which is common there. So while the pregnancy there is a matter of public record, your birth and death, and of course, your name, are not."

"And what do they think of this?" Harry asked, her voice trembling.

"They are old friends of mine, and children of older friends still. They will maintain the charade, sending you letters and gifts, to which you will reply appropriately. At some point, you may choose to visit them, but it will not be required. Tonks will still be your guardian here, though the story will be that I assigned her to watch over you as you are still underage, and here alone."

Harry frowned, relieved that it did not sound as though they would not be seeking to replace his parents, but concerned nonetheless. "How will they send letters? I can't make an owl fly all the way to India!"

"Indeed not," Dumbledore agreed, "but that is not of immediate concern. Rest assured, I will find a means for you to correspond with them. I am also working on a way to resolve this bonding issue. There is also, now, a more pertinent issue." He turned to Tonks. "Are you certain about this move?"

Tonks nodded emphatically. "I really don't see any other option right now. We're risking too much otherwise."

"Very well. I'll begin the wards immediately." He turned back to Harry, and offered her a gentle smile. "Take heart, Neerja. Things will get better soon, and at the least, consider this your chance to taste normality, for a change. You will, after the holidays, be nothing more than a normal exchange student. No more stares and long silences when a new rumour breaks in the Daily Prophet. And you will make new friends, and probably recover your old ones anew, as well. At any rate, I must be off to see about warding your new residence," he finished, looking to Tonks again, then saying goodbye and walking out.

Harry stared at Tonks, a feeling of painful dread trickling down his neck. "New residence," Dumbledore had said. She was leaving. Leaving him. She had finally had enough. Who would he be dumped with now?

Shifting Backdrop

Harry shook himself. There was no help for it. He had known as soon as he woke up that he had blown it with his show of weakness the evening before. He had hoped to have more time to make up the bad impression, but it was not to be, and asking to be taken with her after she had already made her decision, or for more time to show that he was worth keeping around, would merely be to display further his weakness in needing companionship.

He was a weapon, albeit a broken one at the moment, a freak of nature with no purpose beyond the destruction of Voldemort. Certainly, even if he achieved it, he could not expect to receive sympathy from the side of Light once they learned that he was in fact a creature of Darkness, a demoness.

He wiped all expression from his face, projecting only attentiveness. Tonks would be forced to remain in his presence until Dumbledore completed warding her new home, so he should do his best to minimize the discomfort he might cause her. He would certainly not break down and cry in front of her again, no matter how much his traitorous body desired it.

---

Tonks shuddered as she watched Harry . . . or rather, Neerja now, leave the room. She did not know what had done it, the news that he was to be taken from Hogwarts, or the swiftness of Dumbledore in giving her a new name, and a new family.

Whatever it was, it seemed to have caused her to close off once more. She had been opening up again this year, in spite of her loss. She had finally begun to shed the hostile, defensive coldness that had been his hallmark the year before, but now all that progress seemed lost. She was once again stone-faced.

She executed every curse, charm, and potion asked of her with suprising skill, but no soul. There had been none of the amusing or emotional touches from the days before, no toy soldiers, no laughter, no smiles.

As a coldness settled on the room in the small girl's absence, Tonks felt her hope fade. That dream, her first night watching over the new Harry, had given her a faint hope that she would come out of this without losing Harry's friendship, but that dream was now seen to be that and nothing more. It was no omen or portent of the future, but a simple dream, a useless fantasy.

Somehow, Tonks knew that her dreams this night would be cold, and lonelier than they had been since she came back to Hogwarts.

---

Stoic though he had managed to remain throughout the day, Harry could not hold in his tears once in the privacy of his room. Scarcely had the door closed behind him than a silencing spell left his hands to contain the sounds of his sobs.

Controlling his emotions in this new form was far more difficult than it had ever been before, as if all his work over the years in learning to hide his anger and pain from the Dursely's had been wiped out in an instant. It was only the power of his will and the knowledge that to release his emotions would merely be rubbing Tonks' face in her eventual death, and the torture and death of her family, an event that would be the inevitable result of his weakness, that gave him the strength to conceal his pain.

He collapsed in tears on his bed, wishing that he was dead, hating having to face the pain that his weakness was causing someone who deserved none of it. Worse still was the recognition that he was forced to accept: that his transformation and resultant inability to face Voldemort, according to Dumbledore, meant death and torture not just for Tonks, but for all of the people he truly loved, all of the people that had treated him as something better than a useless freak.

He thought again of Hermione, and her priceless gift to him, a gift that he had not even had the grace to be truly conscious of when he was receiving it, believing it to be nothing more than a dream. What right had he, a useless freak whose very stupidity and inability predicated her death, to take such a gift from her?

If only he had been worthy of Tonks' admiration, if only he had been strong enough to rid the world of Voldemort to ensure her safety . . . But he was not, and the worst thought of all was that no-one else could do it, because of that accursed prophecy. No other, regardless of strength, skill, or power of magic, could end Voldemort's twisted un-life. What was the use of such a prophecy, laying a burden on one incapable of fulfilling it? What power the Dark Lord knows not could he possibly have? Love, Dumbledore had said? What kind of screwball sense did that make?

A revelation burst upon Harry with a startling, even frightening intensity. Voldemort could not be allowed to know that he was now a girl, but he had been male in his dream with Hermione! Even more importantly, every single one of his new abilities, by virtue of its connection to his succubus nature, was a power of love . . . or at least an aspect of it. He paused for a moment, pondering the difference between love and lust, before discarding it as irrelevant. If lust was the sole basis of his powers, then all he would have would be a body to die for. The only reason for his mental abilities, and his ability to reshape his form to match someone's lover, was to invoke and evoke the power of love.

Furthermore, he had been the next thing to all-powerful in his shared dreams, aside from being summoned by Hermione. He had created her bedroom with a thought, had done similar acts of effortless creation for Tonks, and had recreated the Gryffindor common room practically subconsciously when summoned by Hermione and Ginny.

Last, but far from least, were his bloody sheets, and the startling news that Hermione had given him in their next dream. His actions in the dream could affect the waking world. Of course, it went the other way as well, but if he had near-complete control of the dream, surely moving out of the way of Voldemort's spells would be child's play. Indeed, he should be able to torment the red-eyed freak without ever revealing who he was.

Of course, the plan entailed considerable risk, and he understood now, as he had not before Dumbledore told him the full prophecy, that he would be risking the whole of the wizarding and muggle worlds, especially those he most loved, as well as himself. So testing and verification were in order, but much as he would like to experiment on Snape or Draco Malfoy, he could not risk revealing his nature to them, lest they inform Voldemort.

Nor could he test on Dumbledore, for the old man would be far too quick to tie the clues together and discover Harry's true nature. Tonks, Hermione, and Ginny seemed poor choices both because he did not want to torment them, and because they, having experienced the shared dreams with him already, might recognize them for what they were.

For a moment, his eyes gleamed in the darkness as he contemplated tormenting the Fudge, before sighing. No, Fudge was too pre-disposed to blame Harry for whatever was going wrong in his life.

Finally it hit him. Crabbe and Goyle were mostly brainless henchman, so far as he could tell, and tormenting them would be like shooting fish in a barrel, but they would be pretty unlikely to figure out what was going on. Of course, that was assuming that he did not get sick just from being in their minds.

He did not expect to be able to work out his abilities well enough to face Voldemort before Tonks left, but the sooner he could get the evil bastard out of the way, the better the chance that she would believe him when he claimed to have done it for her. Maybe then she would be willing to allow him to stay with her.

Harry wasted no time after picking a target. Laying back, Harry descended effortlessly, instinctually, into a searching sleep, his mind reaching out for his first target.

It was a very different experience than searching out Hermione's dreams had been. He did not know Crabbe's mind, the feel of his soul, the way he knew his best friends. His travel was much slower, and for the first time, Harry really felt his invisible passage through the castle. There was no drawing sensation, no guiding pull this time.

He drifted through the halls, an invisible spirit, sinking slowly through the walls and doors and floors of Hogwarts, not bothering to follow the halls or stairs. He knew where the Slytherin common room was, having been there in his second year.

Not having to worry about moving stairs, doors pretending to be walls, walls pretending to be doors, or portraits that refused to open, Harry reached the Slytherin common room in just a few minutes. From there it was a simple matter to pass down the halls, looking briefly into one room after another, before he spied a shock of white-blond hair. Draco.

He stood over his long-time nemesis for a long minute, struggling with the desire to torment the little ferret, before turning aside and glancing around the other beds.

Crabbe was easy enough to find. There were, after all, only five boys in the Slytherin sixth year dorm room, and Crabbe's distinctive physique and short hair were obvious.

Mimicking his earlier actions with Tonks, Harry focused once more on being invisible and intangible, then reached out, sliding his hand into Crabbe's skull. As had happened before, when he was physically present, the nebulous contact was enough to catapult him into Crabbe's dream.

Harry was mildly surprised to find that Crabbe was not dreaming of food, as Harry had half-expected, remembering how he and his friends had taken advantage of Malfoy's brutes' weakness for sweets in their second year.

He was even more bemused by the actual context of the dream. Apparently Crabbe hung around Malfoy at least partially out of jealousy, or at least felt it strongly enough for it to become the focus of his dreams. Crabbe was strutting around what Harry recognized as the Slytherin common room, with a rather silly grin on his face, as the other Slytherins in the room gazed at him with adoring, awe-filled eyes.

Harry started small, vanishing Crabbe's fan club one at a time. Fulfilling his expectations of the large boy's dimness, Crabbe did not notice until he, Goyle, and Malfoy were the only three left in the room.

"Hey, where'd everybody go?"

Harry let the air grow slowly colder, and the room darker, enjoying the scene, as Crabbe, who was no leader, no matter what his dreams might pretend, stumbled about trying to come up with a coherent plan of action, while Malfoy and Goyle whined uselessly about the cold, the dark, the absence of the other Slytherins, the lack of food, and in general, everything and anything they could find to complain about.

Harry felt a nearly physical lurch when Crabbe's delusion, to which Harry had added no support, cracked completely. He was not entirely sure what had happened, until he heard Malfoy speaking in his usual supercilious manner. When the pressure was on, Crabbe obviously needed the support of his arrogant leader to guide his reactions.

At Harry's instigation, a dark-robed figure slipped out of the shadows, wand gripped firmly in a lifted hand, wrapped in long, slender, bony fingers of pale white. A murmured curse sped across the gap before the startled boys could react. It was a simple hair-bleaching spell, though cast in a threatening manner more appropriate to a dark curse. The spell was one that Malfoy might be expected to recognize, given his general vanity, but Harry was unconcerned. The likelihood that Crabbe would know it when hissed in such a manner was slim, and the Malfoy staring now in shock was not the real Malfoy, but only Crabbe's mental impression of him.

The spell might as well have been a stupefy, for as soon as it struck, Crabbe fainted dead away. Harry was thrown from the dream as Crabbe dropped into a different state of consciousness, the Slytherin boy's dorm forming about him once more.

Much to Harry's irritation, Crabbe's hair was as dark as ever, the figure's spell having had no effect. Disgusted, Harry moved to the next bed, where Goyle lay snoring, and slipped smoothly into his dreams.

This time, when the figure stepped out of the darkness, it was no dream construct, but Harry himself, having altered his appearance to fit his dream character, and he cast the spell at Goyle, not by merely imagining the visual and auditory effects, but by going through every step, every motion and vocalization he would use to cast it in the waking world.

Though Goyle did not faint, nor even notice, as Harry had cast the spell from behind the other boy, not desiring to be thrown out of yet another mind, Harry quickly left the dream. His mood immediately lifted, and he had to stifle a chuckle of amusement at the pale blond locks Goyle was now sporting. He wondered what Malfoy's reaction to such apparent mockery would be . . . or would he take it as flattery?

So, spells and physical actions coming directly from him would take effect in the real and dream worlds, while the actions of his constructs would affect only the dream world. That was unfortunate, as it meant that he risked Voldemort recognizing the feel of his magic. Harry wondered, as he left the dungeon and headed back to his room, what the effect of a Priori Incantatem might be like in a dream world, and whether his seemingly wandless casting would still trigger the effect of the brother wands.

Neither boy had noticed when he took over their dreams, nor been able to identify him, but he had hoped that he would be able to torment and hopefully defeat Voldemort without actually having to face him and risk his retaliation. After all, with him physically or magically attacking Voldemort directly within the dream, he would be exposed to a return attack, and Voldemort was not one likely to hold back. Not to mention that allowing Voldemort to even be aware that it was Harry in his dreams risked him attacking through Harry's scar with all his force. Harry had rather easily shut him out the last time he had sought entry, but he had not been in the man's dreams himself at the time. Such an act might, for all he knew, open his defenses completely. That would lead to precisely what Dumbledore feared most, the abuse of the bond to steal Harry's power.

Harry's return to his body was followed by a night of bittersweet dreams, as his mind tormented him with visions of a defeated Voldemort and a grateful Tonks, beaming at him with a delight he doubted he would ever see in her waking eyes again. He made no attempt to control his own dreams, to shield himself from this painful sample of what might have been. He would be losing her, sometime in the next few days if he had understood their morning conversation correctly, then it would begin.

Just as the Dursleys had always threatened him, without their 'generosity' in allowing him a home, he would be passed from guardian to guardian like so much unwanted luggage, and he suspected he would probably end up locked away, alone, with only food provided by house-elves in his sleep for a pretense at company, if perchance Dumbledore still believed in the prophecy, still saw some chance for Harry to at least remove Voldemort, even if it cost his life. If not, then he would probably end up in a Muggle orphanage, like as not to experience the same sort of torment a young Tom Riddle experienced, eventually to leave and live a lonely adult life until Voldemort located him and put him . . . or rather, her, out of her misery.

Even that was the best he could expect. He was deeply afraid that Dumbledore would come up with an idea far worse. He could not forget the Headmaster's words about the bond. Harry had a horrible premonition that the one way around the bond was to be already bonded, and he had little doubt regarding whom the Headmaster would choose. Had he not sought many times to force them together?

This reality was painfully harsh when he roused from his dreams to face it. Would he get even the one more day in her presence? To be sure, he knew he did not deserve it, and from that perspective, would prefer that she be relieved of the pain of his nearness, and allowed to return to her home. Yet, he could not help but hope that he would get to be with her for at least today. He was not ready to give up the comfort of her presence, though he knew he had only himself to blame for losing it. How could he have been so stupid? So weak? Especially once he had learned how much everything depended on him.

It was not as if he did not know that her parents were exactly the sort of match Voldemort despised, especially coming from a family that had otherwise largely supported him. He should have known how much she needed to see his strength. It was just his sort of ill-luck to realize that only after he had already committed his solecism.

He felt even worse when, after showering and dressing, he stepped out of his room and saw Dumbledore and Tonks sitting at the breakfast table, breakfast already cooked, and it looked like they had already cleaned their plates. How much of what might be his last day had he foolishly slept away, sleeping off the exhaustion of his futile night-time activities?

He had missed the opportunity to cook for her again, and even as Tonks looked up and saw him, a sad expression crossing her face for just an instant before it cleared of all emotion, he realized that her bags were packed and sitting by the door. He felt his heart sink to his feet. Why would they be there already, unless she was going to leave before the morning was done?

"Are you packed, Neerja?" asked Dumbledore, that infernal twinkle still dancing in his eyes.

"Me?" Harry asked in confusion. "Where are you . . ." He stopped himself with a sigh. He had only himself to blame for losing Tonks, so who was he to complain if Dumbledore found it necessary to move him to accomodate whoever he had found to replace Tonks as his guardian. "Never mind," he muttered. "I never unpacked my trunk," he informed the headmaster, suppressing his emotions as best he could. He did not want to make Tonks feel guilty. His insensitivity was no fault of hers. "I'll go get changed," he mumbled, looking down at the dress he was wearing, then turning and walking off.

Dumbledore watched her leave, then turned his puzzled gaze on Tonks. "How long has she been like this?"

"Since you left yesterday," Tonks sighed. "She just closed down. She did everything I asked, but without emotion, without life. I don't know what did it, if it was the new name, or the idea of leaving."

Dumbledore pondered this for several minutes, going over what he knew of Harry's psyche. His thoughts were interrupted by disbelief, as he stared at the pitiful figure of Harry, smaller and thinner than he had ever seen her, swamped in a massive shirt and huge, billowing jeans, bound up at the ankles by what looked like frayed shoestrings, dragging her trunk behind. She looked like she was carrying the weight of the world.

He watched in concern as Harry shot a short emotion-filled glance at Tonks, then turned to him and said, "I'm ready, sir."

Tonks stepped forward, but before she could speak, Dumbledore held out a long grey sock. "I know you don't care for portkeys, but it is the safest way for us to travel."

Harry stared at the sock Dumbledore was holding out with unmistakeable dread in her dark eyes. Dumbledore glanced meaningfully at Tonks, and she nodded and reached out, taking a light grip on the sock. Harry's eyes widened, and he glanced between them, before taking a deep breath and reaching out.

---

His trunk rested at the foot of his new bed. His new room, as large as the one he had been given in the apartment at Hogwarts, had not existed mere hours before. He could hardly believe he was here.

When they had arrived at Tonk's flat, and she had shown Harry around, the presence of only a single bedroom at first confirmed Harry's fear that this was but the first stop, and that in a short while Dumbledore would hand her another portkey.

He had been trying to prepare himself for a flight into the unknown. He was deeply afraid that Dumbledore would decide that the only way to avoid Voldemort binding her would be to bind her to another man, and she knew exactly who he would choose. Dumbledore was always trying to get her and Snape to get along, and he trusted the man, for no apparent reason that Harry could see. Harry could not deny that Snape might possibly be loyal to Dumbledore; that definitely did not change the fact that Snape hated Harry with a passion only rivaled by Voldemort himself.

There was absolutely no way Harry would ever allow himself to be bound to Snape, trustworthy or otherwise. So he was trying to be ready to do whatever it took to get away, to protect himself from the old man's good intentions.

When Dumbledore instead showed him the room that he had magically added to Tonk's flat, he was dumbfounded. He had been certain that Tonks had asked to return to her flat because she was fed up with him, because she had realized that it was his fault that her parents were fated to die.

A whisper-soft sound caught his attention, and he looked up to find Tonks standing in his newly created doorway, looking at him questioningly. When he made no move to ward her off, she walked softly into the room and sat on the bed beside him. "Well," she asked, "how do you like your room?"

---

She could hardly believe the change. Neerja's attitude had reversed completely, again. Tonks was reminded strongly of the muggle lights of her father's home, and the way they came on and off in an instant, with little or no middle ground. In just that way Harry had flipped, from an emotional, enthusiastic, and motivated girl, to a repressed, un-emotional automaton, and now back again.

Surely some of the blame could be laid at the feet of her new form, and the unfamiliar feelings and hormones she was experiencing, but Tonks doubted that they could explain it completely.

When the change had initially occurred, Tonks had wondered whether it was the move or the name change that had caused it. She had not spoken to Harry of the move previous to that meeting, as she had not wanted to raise her hopes, in case Dumbledore had in the end decided it would not be safe.

Something in that conversation had seemingly shut Harry down, and Tonks ran through it again and again in her mind, trying to catch the point that triggered the change. More than once, she wished she had a pensieve, so that she could see this scene from an outsider's perspective.

Little did she know, as a result of her expressing her concerns to Dumbledore, and his own observations, the Headmaster was doing exactly that, watching the scenes in his pensieve, following Harry's every reaction. After the revelations he uncovered when looking into transferring Harry's protections, he had discreetly questioned Petunia Dursley, and then Obliviated her of the entire meeting. What he had learned had greatly disturbed him. That Harry was not welcomed into their home, he had known. That he would have been treated with less affection and restraint than their own son, he had anticipated. Yet he had neither expected nor anticipated the extent of the mental abuse Harry had suffered in that house.

With the knowledge of the Dursley's lectures to Harry about his 'freakishness,' the horrors of orphanages, and how lucky he was that he had even the little they were willing to give him in mind, Dumbledore was able to spot the critical moments in his interactions with Harry. He did not look over only the recent events, but watched and examined every interaction he could remember with Harry, and finally he felt he understood.

---

Tonks guided Neerja to a doorway he had not seen before. "The elves just finished linking this doorway for us. According to the Headmaster, this is something that is only possible with Hogwarts. I admit, I don't understand how it works, but, well . . . you'll see . . ."

With that, she opened the door, and Harry gasped. Within the room was the study from their apartment, wall of books and all, though they were entering the room from the opposite side.

"I've no clue how they did it, but somehow, house-elf magic, combined with being bound to a structure as old and powerful as Hogwarts, made this possible. So, we've got a safe escape to Hogwarts at any time. I told him we'd need to get books and such for your training, but he did not want me going out and buying anything that might be linked to your training, so he set this up."

"Wow," Neerja said, stepping through. "I knew house-elves had powerful magic, but this is amazing. I think this, aside from brooms, is the first form of magical transportation I actually like! No hooks, no squeezing, no motion-sickness, heck, I'm not even off-balance." She stepped back across the doorway, and then re-entered the room. "I don't even feel it!"

"It is pretty cool, huh? Well, listen, I've got to go check in with the Professor, so you can spend some time studying your Herbology. I know it's not as fun as the classes where you can actually cast magic, but you don't want to fall behind before you can take the actual classes again, and I'm afraid we'll be hard-pressed to give you any practical Herbology work, as we've no greenhouses we can access like this, so you'll have to study the theory extra-hard, okay?" Tonks watched her charge's face closely, and felt a wave of relief when she saw no hint of rebelliousness. She knew well enough that Harry had a powerful will, and if she dug in her heels there would be little Tonks could do to move her.

"Alright," Neerja said, "I'll study hard. Will you be long?"

"I don't think so," Tonks assured her, "I think he just wants to give me an update."

Harry watched in silence as Tonks left, then sat down and called the sixth-year Herbology text to her, summoning it from the bookshelf, and settled in to read. She had mixed feelings about the door. She was definitely impressed at the work the house-elves had done, and she was absolutely happy that she would not have to use a portkey to go back and forth, but she was nervous about being back in Hogwarts.

She could not help but be reminded of her earlier determination to flee if Dumbledore had indicated that she was to bond with Snape. While her fears at the time had proved to be baseless, as he merely assisted with her move to Tonk's flat, he still had not revealed what his potential solution to the issue of the bonding might be.

Meanwhile, Tonks was making her way to Dumbledore's office. Not wanting to be accosted by Harry's friends, as she knew that at the very least, she, as an Auror and a member of the Order of the Phoenix, would be a likely choice to be part of Harry's training team, were Dumbledore's explanations true, she had morphed into the guise of one of her dorm-mates back in her seventh year. If anyone saw her, she would look familiar, as if they had seen her before, but it was unlikely that anyone still at the school would have been a close friend, or even more than passingly familiar with her.

As it was, she made it through the halls unaccosted, and managed to get past the gargoyle at the entrance after guessing only eight candies. Dumbledore's voice rang out, inviting her in before she had even reached his door.

"Welcome, Nymphadora," Dumbledore said gravely. "I was going to drop by, if you did not show up soon."

"What's going on with . . ." Tonks paused suddenly, as a movement caught her eye, and she was reminded that the room was full of portraits, all listening, no doubt, whatever they pretended. She looked at Dumbledore, then back at the portraits.

Dumbledore sighed, and nodded, waving his hand in a casual gesture. Instantly, the portraits were frozen, immobile. "Fear not, they will hear nothing, and remember nothing."

"Good," she stated firmly, suppressing her uneasiness, "now, what is happening with H . . . with Neerja's problem? Have you found a solution?"

She really wanted to question Dumbledore about Harry's reaction, and what their previous interactions had been like, and what might have prompted such a dramatic shift. She could not, however. As important as Harry was becoming to her, she was not ready to demand answers of Dumbledore.

There was no twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes as he sat, and sighed sadly. "I think I have," he responded slowly, "but it won't be easy, and I'm afraid it does not have a terribly high chance of success. There are alternatives we can fallback to, but each poses its own problems. But before we discuss that, I need to know how Neerja is handling herself in your flat?" He leaned forward, a slight twinkle appearing in his eyes as he focused on Tonks' face. "Has it helped, at all, getting away from Hogwarts?"

Tonks shook her head in frustration at Dumbledore's evasive answer, causing a worried frown to briefly flit across his mouth, before she answered positively, "She is better now, but when we first got there . . . it was scary, how she just shut down. I don't understand what happened."

Slowly, Tonks described the experiences of the past week, and the dramatic shifts in Harry's behavior and interest in the classes. Dumbledore remained silent for several minutes after she finished, considering her words.

Finally, he spoke again. "I don't think we need to be too greatly concerned at these mood shifts, Nymphadora. She is going through a difficult time, and dealing with her sudden change in living conditions; well, I am not suprised that she showed a reaction to it." He focused on her more intently, catching her gaze, an expression of slight reproof on his face, "She seemed quite surprised when we brought her to your apartment. One would almost have thought she had not been told she would be moving with you," Dumbledore said, very gently.

Tonks reeled with shock, finally realizing what she had been missing, the last piece of the puzzle falling into place for her, and in her chagrin, as she realized that Harry must have thought, until he arrived there, that he was being abandoned, that she had given up on him, or been assigned away. In her dismay, she failed to realize that Dumbledore had once again deftly turned aside her thoughts from prying into his own failings in dealing with Harry. She had intended to question him about the Dursley's, and why Harry had reacted with fear that morning in the kitchen, but now she was overcome with remorse that she might have been the one to cause Harry such needless pain.

She left Dumbledore's office a few minutes later, with really no more idea what he intended to do with Neerja than she had when she entered. Luckily for her, she had remembered to retake the form of her former dorm-mate, for she passed by Hermione and Ginny in the halls.

She did her best to push that incident out of her mind, knowing that if she were to accidentally refer to it, in the slightest way, in front of Harry, it would hurt her greatly.

When she reached the outside door to their Hogwarts flat, Tonks was startled to find the door resisting her pressure. She pushed again, disbelieving, then leaned up against the door and shoved. The resistance was strong for a moment, then gave way, and she stumbled in. Her eyes flew wide as she stared around in shock at green walls and colorful flowers, vines and branches that hung down, heavy with different fruits.

She quickly closed and sealed the door behind her, and slowly walked into the apartment, looking all around. A branch dropped into her view, a golden peach hanging off it. She stared at it for a moment, then jumped when it moved again, the branch coming towards her, the peach nudging against her cheek.

She backed up, nervously, then sidled around it, trying to ignore the way the branch drooped. The peach was just too heavy, that was all, it wasn't disappointed, definitely not . . . she shrieked in surprise, when from behind her, she felt what seemed to be a hand on her shoulder.

When she turned to look, she realized it was merely a bunch of grapes, fat and glistening.

"Tonks?" A nervous whisper drew her attention to the doorway, where she spied Neerja, peering out at her. "I'm sorry, it was an accident. I didn't mean to, honest!" she pleaded, her eyes darting around. Tonks was disturbed to see that her hands were shaking, and she was actually trembling.

Nonetheless, Tonks could not help gasping out, "What happened in here?" Harry's face lost all color in an instant, and Tonks felt her heart drop. "I'm sorry, Harry," she said, holding her arms open wide, "I'm not mad at you, I'm just surprised."

Neerja started, then ran forward and hugged Tonks tightly, babbling the whole while as she tried to explain how one simple spell had gone so wrong.

It took some time to get her calmed down to the point that she could tell a coherent story, but eventually Tonks got the idea. Neerja had grown bored reading all of her herbology work, with nothing to actually do. When she found a spell that would trigger magical growth in a plant, she had looked around until she found a small decorative fern that she could try it on.

Unfortunately, it had apparently worked too well, or she had experienced a power surge, and it had affected all of the fruit in the kitchen, which produced roaming blackberry brambles, orange, peach, and apple trees cracking the flagstones in the floor. It affected the minor bits of mold and mildew in the cracks of the wall, carpeting the floor in a thick mossy growth that climbed some of the walls. It also affected the various decorative plants, from flowers to ferns.

Neerja had been desperately trying to counter the growth, to trim back the plants, or banish them, or kill them, to clean it up before Tonks returned, but as evidenced by Tonks' experience, the growth was ongoing, still feeding on that magical surge, and her efforts went nowhere, driving her near to tears.

"Come on," Tonks urged, "let's go back to the flat, and you can get away from this mess and unwind. I'm sure the house-elves can either handle it or get Dumbledore in to handle it." She coaxed Neerja back into the library, which had luckily been spared due to the absence of plants and excess moisture, and through the new door back into her flat.

She had just managed to get Neerja to sit on the small couch when the girl looked up, her eyes puffy and red, her cheeks tear-stained, and asked, "Tonks, what's wrong with me? Why can't I stop crying? I haven't cried in years, and now I can't stop crying."

"I wouldn't worry too much about it," Tonks replied thoughtfully. "Girls don't think the same way boys do." She grinned, and continued teasingly, "I'm sure you've noticed that in your friends by now, right?" She smiled down at Neerja, who was nodding with a rueful grin. "You're under immense pressure right now, even more so than you have been, and at the same time, the tools you have to deal with it," she continued, tapping Neerja on the forehead, "are no longer the ones you are familiar with."

Tonks wanted to ask Harry whether Dumbledore was right about the reason for her withdrawal, but she held off. She was obviously having enough difficulty dealing with her situation, and Tonks did not want to trigger another withdrawal.

"That was a very impressive Herbology demonstration, you know," she continued, in a gently teasing tone, "I could do with more plants around my flat, but I'm gone all the time and it is hard to keep them alive. Maybe I can get some now that we'll be here for a while."

Neerja's sobbing slowed, and a giggle escaped, though her tears continued to flow. She nodded, leaning into Tonks' side. "I'd be happy to take care of them," she said, sniffling. "Can I . . . can I still use the Hogwarts rooms?"

"What?!" Tonks blurted, startled. "Of course you can, Harry," she assured her, forgetting the right name to use in her confusion, "why would you think otherwise? I'm sure Dumbledore and the elves will have those plants taken care of in no time."

"Indeed," a rich, cultured voice interjected, and both ladies jerked and spun to face the doorway. Dumbledore stood there, a gentle smile on his face. "I'm sure you'd no way of knowing it, Neerja," he said, his eyes twinkling madly, "but the last time that suite was used was as the quarters for the Herbology professor three professors ago. Apparently, he had left certain instructions for the house-elves, insuring they never touched his research materials . . . including dried, dead cuttings of lost plants he was trying to cultivate. Professor Sprout is cleaning the rooms as we speak, and she was beside herself when I saw her last, babbling about replanting and recovering."

Tonks was surprised to realize that Harry was literally shaking, and the tremors were getting worse as Dumbledore continued. "Did . . . does she know?" Harry asked nervously.

"That it was you? No, certainly not," Dumbledore reassured her, "she knows only that an unexpected magical burst occurred, triggering growth of forgotten plants there."

Harry collapsed against Tonks in relief. "I came through to inform you, because obviously, for this story to hold up, it would not do for you to enter the chambers while Professor Sprout is still there. I will come back when the chambers have been completely cleared, and let you know that it is safe to return."

"Thanks," Tonks said, "We appreciate you taking the time." Harry nodded in agreement, offering a tremulous smile. Dumbledore beamed and them, nodded, and vanished with a soft pop.

"He apparated," Harry said in surprise. "Why did he do that?"

"He probably didn't apparate all the way to Hogwarts," Tonks answered, thinking it over. "At a guess, I'd say he had somewhere else to go before returning there. Coming here must be a nice shortcut compared to having to get all the way off the grounds."

"Yeah," Harry agreed, sighing. Tonks looked down at her, and realized that her tears had stopped. She also realized that she had lost hold of her effort to think of Harry as Neerja, and reminded herself how important that was to her future.

"Are you ready for a bit more training, Neerja," she asked softly, "or would you rather rest a while?"

Neerja shook her head vigorously, reaching up and wiping her eyes, and meeting Tonks' eyes. "I'm fed up with falling asleep crying," she claimed, unconsciously conjuring a tissue and blowing her nose it, and vanishing it, both without looking away from Tonks' eyes.

"Alright," Tonks said, "let's get started, then."

---

Harry collapsed into his new bed, and considered his day. He had found a clear downside to the new ease with which things were coming to him. Not only were his emotions out of control, to the point that instead of only losing his temper under severe stress, he was falling apart when practically anything at all went wrong, but his magic was apparently also prone to going out of control.

He did not really want to think about what Dumbledore had said about the plants, but he could not keep himself from it. Lost plants, he had said, and the way he said made Harry think they were more than lost. The plants he had caused to grow had apparently included bringing to life things that had been dead for years on years.

He was not sure how old, because Dumbledore, as usual, had given him practically nothing in the way of real information, but he had never heard anyone refer to an Herbology professor other than Professor Sprout, implying that she had been there at least seven years before he himself showed up, and probably quite a few before that.

He had no idea how long her predecessors had lasted, either, but there were no stories about a curse on Herbology, the way there was with defense, so it seemed reasonable to assume that the previous professors had lasted a normal run of time in their positions, and everything he had learned about the wizarding world told him that a normal run of time had every chance of being decades longer than he would assume of a normal schoolteacher.

A hundred years, at least, seemed if anything a lower bound on the age of the dead plants. And he had brought them to life. Could he do the same with animals . . . with people? Did that mean he was a Necromancer? Or was that not the same thing?

Disturbed at the turn of his thought, Harry tried hard to think of something, anything else. It was a fruitless endeavour, until he happened to think of how close he might have come to losing his recently regained access to Hogwarts. He had not really been in a state to consider his distance from his friends when the move occurred, expectant as he was that he was being given up on by Tonks, and that he would shortly be handed over to his most hated professor's dubious care.

He had not really had enough time there before Tonks revealed the new doorway to contemplate overmuch the distance that now lay between him and his friends, but it hit him now. If his own foolish action, his new inability to control his magic, directly attributable to his foolishness in attempting the animagus transformation against all advice to the contrary, had damaged the Hogwart's rooms beyond repair, how long would it have been before he could reach Hermione, or Ginny, or any of his friends again?

Worried that he might yet make some fateful error and lose his access to the castle he saw as home, and to his friends, Harry lay back and closed his eyes, intent on seeing if he could reach Hermione from where he now lay.

He reached out in his mind for his friend, lacking this time any sense of what direction to reach in, as he had little to no idea where Tonks' flat was in relation to the school.

He thought it might be in London, so that Scotland would be to the north, but that was only an assumption, based on the proximity to Diagon Alley, and considering that Tonks was an adult, fully capable of apparating, it would certainly be no hardship on her to live in Edinburgh.

Unable to focus on direction, he resorted to simply focusing on her, remembering with desperate hope the feel of her skin as he had pleasured her in her dreams, the sound of her voice, in quiet chiding, and raised in passion, the scent of her hair, the salt of her tears. He brought into his mind everything he loved about her, everything he admired about her, everything about her that irritated him, and holding it all, he let go of himself, and his body collapsed bonelessly to the bed, just as the door swung open.

Renewed Focus

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