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.