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.