Archive of Our Own

5th year, 1995

Harry had always known that he was able to annoy Malfoy, something that went both ways. There was no one who got under his skin and irritated the fuck out of him quite like Malfoy. It was a talent; one he wished that Malfoy didn't possess. The only silver lining was that he knew that Malfoy was just as frustrated, just as annoyed and maybe... just as entertained.

Fighting with Malfoy could temporarily ruin his day, but at the same time it was exhilarating going toe-to-toe with someone that could take it, could handle it and give it right back with the same amount of energy.

Malfoy was nonchalant, could act unbothered, delude himself into thinking that he was composed and pretend that Harry didn't get to him, but the proof was obvious.

Because Malfoy was a Metamorphmagus.

One that rarely ever used their abilities. Harry could count on one hand the number of times that Malfoy publicly changed his appearance on purpose, and it was only ever for academic reasons that always earned him extra points. Accidentally, however, was another story. He had lost count of the many times he had managed to bother Malfoy enough that his appearance changed accidentally, and he lived for it. Seeing the blonde hair change, even if only temporarily, or a nose to elongate or ears to change shape, was exactly what he hoped for. To know that he bothered Malfoy that much was his own personal revenge. It was him and him alone that could get Malfoy in that state, and he liked it.

Maybe too much.

Ron thought he had a problem, and so did Hermione, but what did they know?

They didn’t understand, they never interacted with Malfoy in the same capacity, so they didn’t know what it was like. Not really. Malfoy didn’t care for any of them, but his disdain was almost always directed at Harry.

He knew that it wasn't exactly normal, but that didn't mean it was a problem. That didn't mean it was something to avoid. Besides, it wasn't as if Malfoy was innocent, rarely did Harry antagonize first. He was giving as good as he got, that was just the way of things.

Some things in life were sure bets.

The sun would rise and set. Wizards used magic. Hogwarts would never meet the modern age. And Harry and Malfoy would always fight.

It's just how it was.

Who was he to go against the status quo?

When the Daily Prophet broke the news that Lucius was imprisoned, Malfoy’s appearance never changed, it didn't affect him. Harry had spent the majority of his time at Hogwarts watching Malfoy and he knew his tells, had seen anger change the tips of his hair, saw wrath elongate a feature and saw rage change face shape.

But there was nothing.

No reaction outside of a slight slump of shoulders, and that's when it hit him.

Relief.

It was relief.

An uneasy feeling took root in the pit of his stomach, and he didn't like it. What did it say about Lucius that his son was relieved? What did it say about Harry that not even Malfoy's father could elicit a reaction out of him, but Harry could?

No, he didn't like it. Didn't like it at all.

6th year, 1996

Speaking about his thoughts let alone his emotions was a new concept. The Dursleys didn’t give a shit about his feelings or care if they hurt them. His friends cared, but Harry didn’t like to share them, not when he feared being judged. The whole world judged him, and he had a hard time coming to grips with the idea of people caring about him and he didn’t want to ruin it.

But Sirius? Well that was a different story.

Despite the fact that they hadn’t had too much time to get to know each other, he knew that Sirius cared about him. After his fourth year, Sirius stood his ground and removed Harry from the Dursleys. He had a home. A strange home that was falling apart, but it was a home nonetheless. Sirius was one of the few adults that didn’t just listen to him, they heard what he was saying. That was exactly what he needed.

Harry took a deep breath, choosing a moment where Remus was around too, just in case he needed a second opinion. Not that it was hard, Remus was always around.

“Can I ask you something?” Harry said, fidgeting a little. Not that it was noticed, Sirius and Remus were in an intense chess match.

“Always.”

“Do emotions play into being a Metamorphmagus?”

Remus’ brow arched but he said nothing as he took another one of Sirius’ pawns.

“Of course they do,” Sirius said, looking up at him briefly. “Magic works the same way.”

“What do you mean?”

“Have you ever had something happen near you when you’re angry? Or sad?”

Harry grimaced when he thought of Aunt Marge. “Once or twice.”

“Same concept,” Remus said, moving his knight to a strategic position. “A skilled Metamorphmagus can control their emotions so that it doesn’t interfere with their abilities.”

He wanted to ask how they knew that. There weren’t any books in the library that spoke about Metamorphmagi unless it was a small blurb in passing. Nothing concrete. It was like there was no information out there at all.

It was strange.

“Where do they learn to do that?”

Sirius was looking at him, but it was in a way that he couldn’t quite figure out, it was like he was being examined. 

“That, I’m not really sure,” Remus frowned. “A lot of the times genetics play into that. Usually if you have one in the family then you have more. I imagine the knowledge of how to control it gets passed down.”

“Sometimes,” Sirius agreed, head tilting as he still stared at Harry. “Tonks was my second cousin, and she was a Metamorphmagus.”

Harry didn’t really know Tonks that well, only met her a handful of times before she fought with Bellatrix in the Department of Mysteries. He didn’t have a chance to go to her funeral. The few times he had met her; she hadn’t really demonstrated her abilities much outside of changing her hair color and her nose unless asked to by Hermione and Ginny.

“Was she skilled?”

Sirius and Remus traded a look before they both shook their heads.

“Tonks was young,” Remus said with a shrug. “She was still learning.”

“What about those in her family?”

Sirius snorted. “What family? Why do you think Bellatrix went after her so harshly? Tonks was a half-blood, and Bellatrix was her aunt. The moment Andy married a Muggle-born was the moment Narcissa and Bellatrix cut her out of their lives.”

His mind was spinning; too many pieces being connected together.

“It’s passed down from the Black family,” Harry whispered to himself. If Tonks got it from her mother who was a Black, and Malfoy also had the ability, and his mother was a Black then the answer was pretty blatant.

No wonder Tonks couldn’t go to anyone about it.

“Why do you ask?”

There was suspicion in Sirius’ tone, and his eyes were narrowed. Harry tried to shrug it off, pretend that he had only been curious, but even Remus wasn’t buying it.

“No reason.”

“Harry.”

He slumped a bit, realizing that they weren’t going to let it go.

“Malfoy is one.”

“Is he now?” Sirius said, leaning back in his chair, lips quirking in a way that Harry did not like.

“Are you sure?”

Harry frowned at Remus. “Didn’t you know? You taught us third year.”

“Never came up.”

Well, gossip hardly ever reached the professors, and the school had known that Malfoy had been a Metamorphmagus since their first year. Maybe there was no reason for it to be brought up.

“Does he show off with it? It’s what I would have done if I had been lucky enough to get the genes.”

“Nah,” Harry shook his head. “Rarely uses it.”

“Then how do you know he is one?” Sirius pressed, leaning forward, lips still quirked in a damn smirk.

“He and I argue sometimes,” Harry admitted, looking down at the table. “His features change.”

Two dual snorts. He glared at them, not appreciating their amusement. He should have remained quiet and never said anything.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything.”

That, he also didn’t like.

“But it does mean something,” Harry said, glancing up briefly, only to scowl as their amusement seemed to grow. “It’s only happens with me. I’m not the only one he argues or fights with, but nothing happens with them! When he’s scolded by the professors, there’s no change. There has to be a reason for it.”

Silence. There was a long silence where Sirius and Remus traded looks, facial features changing enough that he could tell they were having some kind of silent conversation and he kind of envied that. He wanted to be able to know someone enough to have a silent conversation with.

“Do you want there to be a reason for it?” Remus asked, tone far too gentle and it had him tensing.

“It’s not a want, it’s just a fact,” Harry argued, refusing to see it as being stubborn. It was a fact, and for some reason he seemed to be the only one to realize it. “I’m the only one who can make Malfoy lose control of his abilities.”

“Is that a prize?” Sirius drawled, lips quirking. “Do you like that you’re the only one?”

Despite the tone, Harry paused as he considered it. “I guess so.”

“Why?”

That was the question, wasn’t it? Ron and Hermione wanted to know the same thing, always bugging him about Malfoy, but he didn’t know. At least, that’s what he always told himself, never allowing the chance for a deeper reflection.

“I don’t know,” Harry whispered, glaring at the table. “I just do.”

“Have you ever wondered why you are the only one to affect him like that? What is it about you that causes it?”

Remus’ tone was still far too gentle for his liking, but it got him thinking. He had wondered, kept himself up late at night wondering, and that alone maybe suggested that Ron had a point. A small one. A tiny one.

Maybe, just maybe Harry had a Malfoy problem.

“It doesn’t matter what we say,” Sirius said, patting the back of Harry’s hand gently before he positioned his queen in a move that had Remus gasping as checkmate was called. “The truth will have to come from Malfoy.”

Malfoy.

Yeah… Harry wasn’t so sure that was a good idea. Talking about Malfoy was alright, fighting with him was even better. But talking? An actual conversation?

What a terrible idea.

Harry had more self-preservation than that.

Harry didn’t have self-preservation.

He could admit when he was wrong—sometimes—perhaps he was stubborn, perhaps he couldn’t let it go. Maybe Sirius was right, that the truth would only come from Malfoy. No one ever listened to him when it came to the truth, always forming their own conclusions and running with it.

It wasn’t fair.

Harry didn’t want to do that, even if indirectly.

Finding Malfoy was never the problem, not when he had the map. Choosing the right time was a little harder. In the previous years, Malfoy tended to be surrounded by a lot of people—friends most likely. Not this year. This year he was often alone, rarely with anyone else and on the off chance that he did have friends with him it was only ever Crabbe and Goyle. Maybe if he—

“What are you doing?”

“Probably about to go find Malfoy, again.”

Huffing, Harry closed the map and put it in his cloak before turning around to give his friends an unimpressed look.

“Don’t give me that,” Hermione said, pointing an accusing finger at him. “You have been spending way too much time obsessing over Malfoy and what he’s doing or where he’s been.”

“I don’t know about that,” Ron argued, and for a brief moment Harry thought that he’d at least have one friend on his side. “I’d say the obsession is the same as it always has been, hasn’t gotten any worse.”

With a deep sigh, he pushed passed them, deciding that it wasn’t worth it. Nothing he said would change their mind anyway.

“Where are you going?”

“Like you even have to ask. You know he’s going to find Malfoy.”

“Think we should stage an intervention? My mums says—”

The sound of their voices cut off as the portrait swung shut and the silence was welcoming. He loved his friends, he did, and if the roles were reversed he’d probably have been just as insufferable, but there was only so much that he could take.

The itch to pull out the map was strong, but he didn’t want to do that where anyone would be able to see him. People already paid too much attention to him as it was. As he made his way down the corridor, he ignored the stares. The Daily Prophet had labeled him the Chosen One and people liked to pretend that they hadn’t been sneering at him just last year.

He wasn’t desperate enough for attention to be able to look passed that, to be able to pretend to be cordial to those that thought him a liar, thought him an attention seeker or whatever else the papers liked to spew.

Harry spared the library entrance a grimace as he entered and headed toward the nearest shelves in an attempt to make it seem like he had willingly come there for a reason. The library was only for last-minute panic sessions where he tried to cram in as much information as he possibly could in the hopes that he’d pass his exams.

The map had shown that Malfoy had been in an alcove by himself, and with how long the dot hadn’t moved, he thought it was likely that Malfoy was still there. Grabbing at a book blindly, he pretended to need the lantern at the end of the row to read better as he used the opportunity to peer around the corner, and he had been right.

Malfoy was still there.

The alcove was covered with books, bits of parchment and scattered notes. That alone was proof that he had been there for some time.

Taking a deep breath, Harry took a measured step forward, putting too much weight into it to ensure that the step could be heard. When Malfoy glanced up, there was no obvious change of appearance, at least until he looked more closely at his eyes and realized that they were now golden.

A small change. But a change nonetheless.

It steeled his resolve, made him want to know why, and he wasn’t able to hold it in either.

“Why?”

Malfoy blinked a few times, eyes narrowing on him as he was looked up and down twice over.

“Pardon?”

Forcing the embarrassment away, Harry said, “Why do I affect you?”

Grey eyes narrowed further. “I assure you, you don’t.”

“We both know that’s not true.”

Malfoy closed the book he was reading and began to clean up the alcove. “Whatever conclusions you’ve come to are the product of delusion and you should get that looked at.”

“Then my delusions are you.”

An outstretched hand froze as Malfoy looked at him, eyes a bit wide.

“I make you lose control.”

Anger marred Malfoy’s features before it was washed away with minute changes. Freckles, dimples and moles grew, morphed and disappeared.

“See,” Harry whispered, watching as Malfoy’s hands rushed to his face, as if trying to feel the differences. “I want to know why.”

“Commenting on the appearance of others—”

“No, deflection won’t work. For years I have been the only one able to affect you. The only one who can make your appearance change accidentally.”

Malfoy’s fingers clenched, but his nose shortened, and his lips grew slightly. “Your ego astounds me. Just because the whole world sees you in a positive light, does not mean that I will. What I go through does not concern you.”

“Except it does.”

He knew that it wasn’t really his business, that some of what Malfoy said was right, but that didn’t stop him. Not now, he was too far gone.

“You’re entitlement is alarming.”

“Is it entitlement if I’m the cause? If I am part of it?”

Malfoy rolled his eyes as he began to put more of his stuff away, shoving parchment in his bag and sending the unused books back to their shelves with a flick of his wand.

“If your lack of control—”

“Lack of control?” Malfoy spun around, mouth parted in a snarl as things in the alcove began to shake. “You speak on things you know nothing about but expect a positive outcome. The day that you wake up and realize that you don’t know what you look like—not really—that every feature you see could have been stolen from someone else is the day that you can talk to me be about a lack of control.”

Being a Metamorphmagus clearly came with a lot of issues, ones that Harry didn’t know anything about, but that wasn’t what he was talking about, and Malfoy knew that.

“You fool a lot of people,” Harry whispered, taking a step forward when Malfoy pointed his wand at him. “And I don’t mean with your abilities. You say a whole lot to cover up what you aren’t saying.”

Part of him wondered if Malfoy got that from his father. The speech of a politician. Admit nothing, speak in circles and only endorse what will earn you favor. Hm. Maybe it was a Slytherin thing.

“You don’t know the first thing about being a Metamorphmagus and yet you mock me.”

“I’m not mocking you,” Harry said, lifting his hands in surrender—lifting the book up with them—when the tip of Malfoy’s wand lit up, but no spell came out. “You’re right. I don’t know anything about it, but it’s not for a lack of trying. I’m not making fun of your lack of control; I’m trying to get to the bottom of it. To understand it.”

“Why?” Malfoy whispered, voice the same but his face became entirely unrecognizable as his ears shrunk, nose widened, hair became shoulder length and curly and even his eyes changed to a color so dark it reminded him of Snape.

“Why do you care?” Malfoy asked when Harry was too distracted with all of the changes. The more he stared the more that some of them retreated, as if Malfoy was willing them back and it fascinated him.

Malfoy fascinated him.

“Because I’m causing it. You can call it my ego or whatever else you come up with, but it doesn’t change the fact that I’m right. I’m the cause of your lack of control and I want to know why.”

Malfoy shook his head, shoulders slumped, lips turned downward as he mouthed, ‘lack of control’.

“What you see as a failure is nothing more than nature in its beauty.”

Cryptic and confusing. He’d almost have expected Luna to have said that, not Malfoy. Before he could ask, Malfoy grabbed his bag and shoved passed him, but not before looking at Harry over his shoulder to say,

“Maybe you should broaden your horizon when it comes to your research. Knockturn Alley is a good start.”

With that, he was gone and all that was left was the absence of him.

The absence of Malfoy was almost as bad as having him there in person. A strange dichotomy that he didn’t know what to do with and it left him confused.

Very confused.

Harry walked back and forth in front of the kitchen door several times, trying to get the courage to go inside. Going home for the holidays had seemed like a good idea, but now he wasn’t so sure. Realistically he knew that there was no reason why he couldn’t just go in and ask—

“You’re going to wear a hole in that ugly arse rug.”

Jumping, Harry spun to see Sirius staring at him from the doorway, leaning against the frame with an arched brow. A glance down showed that the rug had to have been fraying on its own due to age and it was kind of ugly.

A strangled gasp could be heard from somewhere in the house and it had Sirius rolling his eyes.

“It was my mother’s favorite rug, and Kreacher refuses to let me throw it out.”

Sirius and Kreacher’s relationship had improved leaps and bounds when Kreacher admitted to Sirius that he had been leaving the house and that he was being asked to spy. Most of the improvement was due to Remus forcing Sirius to undergo some much-needed therapy.

Harry really didn’t know what to say. He didn’t want to upset Kreacher, who made really good treacle tarts when in a good mood, but he also wanted Sirius’ help in convincing Remus to—

“So,” Sirius said pointedly nodding toward him. “What’s got you in a ball of teenage angst?”

Huffing, he walked into the kitchen, ignoring Sirius’ laughter as he sat at the table across from Remus who smiled at him. Part of him wanted to ask why Remus was still there. Surely the man had his own home. But he needed Remus’ help, and it wasn’t like his presence was unwelcome. Remus was the only one that could control Sirius.  

“Do you have plans today Remus?”

Remus and Sirius shared a look, something he wished they wouldn’t do. It was far too obvious.

“Out with it,” Sirius said, wincing when Remus elbowed him.

“What Sirius means,” Remus said pointedly, elbowing Sirius again for good measure. “Is what did you have in mind?”

“I was wondering if you’d accompany me to Knockturn Alley.”

Remus’ brows arched, but Sirius leaned forward. “Why?”

“I don’t think it’d be smart if I went alone and—”

“Don’t get cute,” Sirius drawled, poking him until he looked up. “Why there?”

He wanted to look away, and he knew that his face was growing red as he said, “I’m looking for more information on Metamorphmagi.”

Laughter was expected, maybe even a snort, but there was only silence and that might have been worse. They exchanged another look before Remus shook his head.

“I’m sorry, but it’s too dangerous.”

That had been expected. He knew that would be the biggest detractor but had prepared at least six reasons on why he should still be allowed to go. Before he could get to voice any of them, Sirius said,

“Have you looked through my library?”

The Black family library was a concerning place. The books were graphic in nature and held dark things that he’d wish he could un-read and pretend that he never came across. Not all knowledge was good knowledge.

“No.”

“Anything you can find in Knockturn Alley can be found here, I’m sure of it.”

It was worth a shot. Part of him, the part that was filled with the injustice of being told no wanted to argue, to try and get his way, but the rest of him, the logical side knew that it was a good alternative. He’d try it their way first.

“If I don’t find what I’m looking for?”

“Then I’ll take you there myself.”

He was filled with warmth at the seriousness in Sirius’ voice, and he knew that it was the truth. Despite everything, he knew that Sirius would do it. Would risk the Ministry finding him, would risk getting caught by Aurors and would risk Dumbledore’s wrath for him.

Family wasn’t something he ever looked at positively, had a hard time with the idea of it. But Sirius and Remus were his family, his chosen family and he realized that maybe that was even better.

Family was what you made it.

Metamorphmagi were born with the rare ability to change their appearance at will. Gender, age, shape and appearance are not restrictions to them and are used as a tool for their abilities. One cannot be taught to be a Metamorphmagus unlike Animagi who can change their shape into an animal with enough practice. Wands and potions are not necessary when it comes to the transformation capabilities of Metamorphmagi and can be done at any point.

The emotional state of a Metamorphmagi is rumored to dictate the effectiveness of their abilities, and that is in part untrue. Despite what is wildly reported, emotions tend to have no affect on the control of Metamorphmagi as it is part of them and not tied to their emotions.

However, in some rare cases, Metamorphmagi can grow attached to certain individuals who they then become imprinted upon and that can affect their abilities. It is not a lack of skill or control at hand, and rather an outlet for the Metamorphmagus to convey the state that their chosen puts them in. In animals it can be seen as a mating call or ritual.

It is seen as an honor to be a Metamorphmagi ’s chosen.

The ceiling wasn’t very interesting, but it had captured his interest for the past hour, and he knew that he wouldn’t be looking away any time soon.

Harry had a problem.

A Malfoy problem.

He had always had a Malfoy problem, only now everything was so skewed that he wasn’t sure of anything anymore. Had Malfoy imprinted on him when they were children? Were their interactions a strange shift of childish antics to get his attention? Or was it recent?

The longer he considered it, the more he was beginning to think that he had been imprinted on during their first year. Malfoy had always changed his appearance near him. The wording in the book led him to believe that there was some room for varying circumstances. There were always outliers.

Who was to say that there weren’t Metamorphmagi that were affected by their emotions? He was pretty sure Tonks was like that.

He tried to think of Tonks, tried to remember what she was like, but she used her abilities so often that it was hard to say. There were a few times that he could remember her being a bit down, and her normal pink hair had been a brown color, but did that mean she was upset or just using her abilities to try something new?

Metamorphmagi weren’t very common and the research on them was few and far between. He wondered why that was. Did they not want information about them out there? Or was it because there weren’t that many Metamorphmagi to begin with?

Ugh.

He was right back to where he was before. Needing more information and nowhere to get it from. The answer was obvious.

Malfoy held all of the answers.

The night sky always looked beautiful, but it looked the best when he was sneaking out and the risk of detention was looming over him.

“Why did you ask me to come with you if we were only going to look at the stars?”

Maybe he should have gone alone.

“Because,” Harry said pointedly, glaring at the side of Ron’s head. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“And we couldn’t have done this in the morning?”

“Where’s the adventure? Huh? All these years sneaking out and you never complained before.”

“There was a reason for it then!”

“And hanging out with me isn’t a good enough reason now?”

“No!” Ron said, laughing when Harry shot a stinging hex at him. “Whatever is bothering you might be better spent with Hermione.”

Harry grimaced. Maybe Ron was right, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to dig deeper into emotions and that was exactly what Hermione would want him to do.

“Is it Ginny?”

That had Harry blinking rapidly at Ron. “Huh?”

Ron shrugged, looking uncomfortable. “I know she’s with Dean right now, but she’s always had a thing for you, and I thought maybe—”

Another grimace as Ron’s words permeated his mind and distracted him from the reason they were there.

“Ginny is nice, but I think she’s better off with Dean,” Harry said diplomatically, not wanting to insult Ron. Ginny was a good friend, someone he could talk to about a variety of things, but he didn’t like her like that.

“Dean doesn’t treat her very well.”

“I’m sure someone will.”

“But not you?”

Harry wrinkled his nose, wondering how in the world his night had been thrown sideways into whatever the hell this conversation was.

“No, not me.”

There was some tension that bled out of Ron at that, and it confused him. Did Ron want him to like his sister or not?

“What did you want to talk about?” Ron asked, and it seemed like with the Ginny bit out of the way that Ron was genuinely interested, only now Harry wasn’t so sure he wanted to voice it. He was still confused about the entire conversation.

“It’s nothing.”

“No, I’m sorry. You can tell me anything.”

He wasn’t entirely sure that was true. Ron could get angry at the drop of a hat, and prone to making the wrong conclusions. Maybe he should have talked to Hermione first.

“Really, Harry.”

Ron’s eyes were so earnest and open that Harry took a deep breath and said,

“I think you were right. I think I have a Malfoy problem.”

Ron blinked twice before he snorted. “I thought you were going to tell me something I didn’t know.”

“I’m being serious, Ron!”

“So am I!” Ron threw his hands in the air. “You’ve been obsessed with him for years. The slimy git is a right pain in the arse; he never shuts up and he’s always complaining. He waits around for you to show up, gets in these tiffs with you and it’s like you become focused. You tend to—”

A pause.

A very uncomfortable pause as Ron tilted his head, eyeing Harry closely as he considered his own words.

“No.”

Unsure what conclusions Ron had made; he parted his mouth to say something—

“No,” Ron repeated, a strange laugh leaving him. “It can’t be.”

The longer Ron stared at him, the more uncomfortable Harry became, and he wanted to say something, only he didn’t know what to say.

“I’m going to be sick,” Ron groaned, covering his face in his hands. “Years of his bullshit, years of his pretentious attitude. Years of insults and jibes. The snickers, the fights, the hexes. And for what? Huh, Harry?”

“I’m not following.”

“That’s the problem!”

“What exactly are you accusing me of?”

Ron groaned again, keeling over dramatically until he was lying face down on the ground. “You know, I think I would have preferred you with my sister.”

“Ron.”

“No, really,” Ron said, not lifting his head up. “The outcome would have been you becoming a real part of the family. Sure, I’d have to deal with the kisses and the emotions as I get over the fact that it’s my little sister you’d be making out with, but at least it would be better than this.”

“And what is this?”

“I thought I was the emotionally repressed amongst the three of us.”

“You are.”

“And yet, you are entirely unaware.”

“Of what?”

Ron sighed deeply and dramatically as he lifted his head. “Harry, why did you have me come with you tonight?”

“I wanted to talk about Malfoy.”

“Mhm, what about him?”

Harry fidgeted slightly. “I talked to Sirius and Remus, and they think I should talk to Malfoy about it. Only I tried to, and it didn’t go very well.”

“It never does when you two interact.”

That was an understatement.

“I found out some things about him and Metamorphmagi in general and I don’t know what to do about it.”

Ron stared at him. It was just as searching as the way that Sirius stared at him, but this was different. Ron knew him in ways that no one else did. They had shared many things over the years, stuff he’d never admit to anyone else, things he’d take to the grave.

“What do you want to do about it?”

Harry frowned. “I just said—”

“No,” Ron said, sitting up and turning toward him. “Forget everything, even logic. What do you want to happen? What is the outcome you want?”

“It’s not that easy.”

“I didn’t say it was.”

Harry bit his lip, letting himself think of his wants, choosing to play along. Even if only for a moment. Malfoy had imprinted on him. Had chosen him, for whatever reason, but had done nothing about it.

Why?

Was imprinting on someone out of their control? Had Malfoy done so as a kid but knew that nothing would come of it? But…

Who was to say nothing was to come of it?

“His father is a Death Eater.”

“Still never said it was easy.”

Eyes closing, Harry could see it. Could understand why Malfoy never did anything about it. Death Eater family aside, Harry wasn’t exactly a normal person. His namesake preceded him. And then there was the behavior. It hadn’t exactly been warm and fuzzy names they were calling each other. It hadn’t been hugs and high fives that they traded.

“What is it you want Harry?”

It was hard to pretend that nothing mattered but what he wanted. It was hard to ignore everything else when it was so loud and screaming at him.

What did he want?

“Malfoy. I want Malfoy.”

When he opened his eyes it was to see Ron’s nose scrunched up, mouth twisted on something sour but there was acceptance in his eyes, and it meant everything to him.

Everything.

“Then let’s make it happen.”

Harry laughed, the sound a bit wet as he pulled Ron into a hug. “I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“If anyone deserves happiness, it’s you,” Ron whispered, squeezing him tightly. “You were dealt a shitty hand in life and it’s okay to want this.”

His eyes watered a bit as he buried his head in Ron’s shoulder. “My uncle used to say—”

“Fuck your uncle,” Ron snarled, pulling away to glare at him. “If you’re about to repeat his words, save it. He was wrong.”

“What am I going to do?” Harry asked, sniffling slightly as he looked away from Ron’s face that had crumpled. “I’m already so judged. No one is going to understand.”

“They don’t have to; it’s not their place.”

“What if he doesn’t want me?”

What if he didn’t want to take the risk? There was a reason that Malfoy pretended that nothing was happening.

“Then fuck him too!”

Harry laughed, lips twitching as he let Ron’s defense of him wash over him. He wasn’t sure what the future had in store for him, or where his emotions would lead him, but he knew that Ron would always be there.

He was family too. 

When Harry entered Potions he knew that he’d have a terrible time. Ron had paired with Hermione and everyone else was in pairs too, even Neville.

“What gives?”

Ron grimaced. “Sorry, Harry. It was Hermione’s idea!”

“Hey!” Hermione smacked Ron’s arm. “You said it was a good idea.”

Harry looked between them with narrowed eyes. He could tell that something wasn’t right, and he was suspicious. Ron had talked to Hermione about his Malfoy problem, and part of him wished that he had been there for it, but he was mostly relieved.

“You said you would need to talk to him, so we made it happen.”

Looking around the room, he noticed that everyone else was in pairs too, except for Malfoy who was glaring at Crabbe and Goyle.

“It might have been better if it wasn’t during Potions.”

“Well you can’t get everything you want in life.”

“Sounds ungrateful to me. After all our hard work this is how Harry—”

Harry rolled his eyes, moving toward Malfoy, wishing that that his courage wasn’t rapidly dimming. When they locked eyes, Malfoy’s hair flickered, edges going into a bright red before they settled into the usual blond.

“I guess you’re my partner for the day.”

“I’d rather die.”

Huffing, Harry pulled out his potion’s book. “If you let me do all of the work you just might get your wish.”

“As if I’d let you tank my scores.”

A lose-lose situation. He was never going to win when talking to Malfoy.

It was tense as Slughorn began to talk about the potion they were supposed to make; voice filled with inflections that never really made sense to him.

“It’s like he’s in love with them,” Harry mumbled. Not every potion was cool, and the majority of them stunk and gave him a headache.

The lesson continued, and he hadn’t expected a response since Malfoy had been steadily ignoring him, so when there was a small snort, he paused to peer at Malfoy who wasn’t looking at him, but his lips were quirked slightly.

“You don’t get it.”

“Enlighten me then,” Harry said, fingers folded underneath his chin as he turned to face Malfoy, putting the lesson out of his mind.

“Potions are rigid with their instructions, but it’s all a front. You can swap out similar ingredients and get the same results. You can tweak the recipe to strengthen the original results. You can make something potent or nullify it entirely. Potions have base rules but the rest of them are what you make it. If someone is bad at potion brewing it’s because they want to be bad.”

“Or,” Harry argued, leaning forward slightly, eyes on the way freckles kept appearing and disappearing rapidly. “Some of us just don’t know enough on the subject.”

A scoff. “And who is to blame for that? You have the same materials as I do. The same books, the same lesson plans, the same teacher.”

“Except the teacher was biased and hates me,” Harry said, lips pursed. “Don’t act as if you’d have the same love of potions if every single lesson you were treated as an outcast and someone to be made fun of.”

A slight grimace as Malfoy’s nose changed shape and his bottom lip plumped up and the hue changed to a soft pink.

“You might have a point.

“Wow, you spoke to me, and it wasn’t an insult.”

He was flipped off before Malfoy began to cut the next set of ingredients.

“A lapse in judgment, I assure you.”

The sound of Slughorn’s voice was easy to ignore as he watched Malfoy and followed his instructions. It was further proof that the problem with potions wasn’t the subject itself but the teacher. He might have done better over the years if Malfoy had been his teacher instead.

When their potion had been started and the fire was stoked to the right temperature, Harry said,

“I did some more research.”

Malfoy tensed, hand frozen over the chopping board that he had been about to clean.

“And?”

He wasn’t sure what Malfoy was thinking, had never been able to read him well, but he looked ready to bolt at any given moment.

“I wanted to apologize.”

When Malfoy turned to him, eyes wide and a soft honey color as his lashes extended and his brows thickened, there was a surprised, “What?”

“I was speaking on things I didn’t know anything about. I am sorry I called it a lack of control.”

A pause before Malfoy’s eyes closed briefly as his shoulders tensed before he turned back to the chopping board, wand moving to clean it.

“How long ago did you—”

“Don’t.”

“It concerns me.”

“Not everything is about you.”

Anger filled him and it had him clenching his hands as he fought the urge to attack. A tiny part of him knew that Malfoy was just letting his emotions talk for him, but the rest of him just didn’t give a fuck.

“It is when you imprinted on me.”

A sucked in sharp breath, but Malfoy still wouldn’t turn around, still wouldn’t face him.

“You don’t know what you’re asking of me.”

“No,” Harry agreed. “I don’t. Why don’t you tell me?”

“Just let it go,” Malfoy begged, voice pleading for something that Harry wasn’t sure he could.

“I don’t want to.”

Malfoy turned to him, eyes wide and it didn’t matter that his face was now unrecognizable, it didn’t matter that to anyone else he would be a complete stranger. Harry knew it was Malfoy, could always tell.

By the way that Malfoy looked at him.

“Potter…”

Harry wanted to move closer, wanted to pick up Malfoy’s hands but he didn’t think it would go over well, not with how Malfoy was already edging away from him—keeping the door in his line of sight.

“If the answer is no because of me then you’re lying to yourself,” Harry whispered, forcing himself to stay where he was even as Malfoy moved further and further from him. “If it’s a mating call, then let me answer it.”

Malfoy bit his lip, skin changing to a tan as his hair grew dark and became a buzz cut.

“You can’t mean it.”

“Why? Why not?”

“Because this isn’t me!” Malfoy hissed, gesturing around him as his features began to change shape rapidly, not settling for anything longer than a few seconds. “I don’t know who to look like!”

“Then just be you.”

Pain flashed across Malfoy’s face before his features began to become recognizable. “That isn’t me either.”

And with that, Malfoy was gone.

Harry tried to make excuses for him, told Slughorn that Malfoy hadn’t been feeling well, but he wasn’t too sure it was believed. Perhaps it was the distressed way he spoke or the fact that his heart was beating too fast for him to fully hear anything else. Or the way that his eyes remained on the door, and his feet kicked as if to follow.

Malfoy had fled and took Harry’s courage with him.

Hogwarts’ grounds were pretty, no denying it, but he was too upset to appreciate the beauty of it. Harry was throwing rocks at the Black Lake, seeing which ones would make the biggest splash when he could hear someone approaching. The odds were on Ron considering he left the map in his trunk.

He was about to tell him that while the company was appreciated, he didn’t need it because he was fine, a familiar drawling tone had him freezing, the rock in his hand fell to the floor with a dull thud.

“Still sulking, I see.”

Malfoy sat next to him on a log, pulling out a rather large book from his cloak and setting it in on his lap.

“I’m not sulking.”

A snort. “Whatever this between us is, it’s not one sided. I have learned enough about you over the years to know that you are indeed sulking.”

Did that mean that Malfoy watched him? Before he could ask, the book was tossed into his lap and it was far heavier than he had expected. A pained, oof escaped him.

“What’s this?”

“If you opened it, you might come to your own conclusions.”

Malfoy was a right pain in his arse.

The book was old; the pages were worn and some of the words were faded but he could tell that it was a book on—

“The Malfoy line?”

“My parents refuse to talk about the day I was born,” Malfoy began, kicking at a stray twig. “In some families Metamorphmagi are celebrated, treasured even.”

“But not yours?”

Malfoy’s face grew pinched as he clenched his fists.

“Dobby used to call me a changeling.”

Harry’s head jerked at the casual use of Dobby’s name. He had known that the Malfoy’s used to be his owner, but there was a sense of fondness in Malfoy’s voice, and it had him curious. Did Dobby and Malfoy still talk? Did Dobby visit Malfoy too?

“I was born with little tufts of hair, but no one will tell me what color it was, only that I began to change it immediately and constantly,” Malfoy whispered, picking up the stick only to break it into several pieces. “My father hated it.”

“Why?” Harry interrupted, unable to help himself. “It’s so cool.”

Malfoy’s lips quirked slightly, and his hair was now spiky and purple. The urge to touch it was too powerful to be ignored, but what surprised him was that Malfoy let him.

“Malfoys are distinguished; Malfoy’s have decorum. Malfoys are regal.”

It was said with no feeling, just recited over and over as if Malfoy had ingrained it in him, and it had Harry’s heart breaking.

“Armand Malfoy.”

The pages were turned for him as Malfoy jabbed at one face in particular. “He is my 5th great grandfather. Do you see anything familiar?”

Harry might have glasses but that didn’t mean they were any good. He squinted at the page, lifting it closer until he could see whatever it was that Malfoy wanted him to. The family resemblance was there, and he could tell that they were related but—

“His nose,” Malfoy whispered, nail digging into the page. “My father said that I was to memorize the shape of it.”

Harry sucked in a breath as the implications hit him full force. More pages were turned but it was hard to notice as his mind replayed Malfoy’s previous words and it had his heart breaking further.

“Brutus Malfoy.”

All of the Malfoy line looked so similar to each other that he wasn’t sure what to even look for—

“His cheek bones. I was to emulate them.”

Before he could say anything, another page was turned.

“Septimus Malfoy. I was to make my ears look like his.” More pages turned. “Dorea Black. I have her lips.” Another page. “Araminta Black. I have her eyebrows. I have my father’s hair and my mother’s smile.”

“But they aren’t you.”

The book was snatched out of Harry’s hands as Malfoy shook his head.

“I don’t know who I am,” Malfoy whispered, clutching the book to his chest. “I was given photos of the Malfoy line and forced to sit in front of a mirror until I got it right.”

“If your father wasn’t in Azkaban already I’d kill him.”

Malfoy gave him a watery smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Sometimes, I see a nose or a dimple or a smile and my I get this desire to try it out, to steal it, and then I remember that I can’t.”

“Says who?” Harry snarled, hands gesturing wildly. “Fuck your father. If it’s something you want to do, then do it.”

Malfoy’s breathing was shaky, but when he turned to Harry and his eyes turned a familiar green they both let out a laugh.

“My eyes look good on you.”

There was a pinkness to Malfoy’s cheeks, and it looked warm, so warm. He gave in to his own desires and let the back of his hand touch it.

“I know you said that you don’t know who you are, but that doesn’t mean you can’t find out.”

Malfoy looked away, but his shoulders weren’t tense, and that was an improvement.

“Start small if it helps any,” Harry suggested, shrugging when Malfoy looked at him. He didn’t really know much about Metamorphmagi. Not when the books held so little information. “Maybe just change little things until you feel comfortable.”

“I don’t know that I’ll ever feel comfortable.”

“I really hate your father.”

A small laugh and an even smaller smile, but it had his breath catching. That was new. They were new.

“About this imprinting stuff—”

A groan before Malfoy covered his face with his hands.

“Can we just pretend that you don’t know—”

“Absolutely not.”

There was a sigh, a groan and some strange sound. Malfoy was a dramatic git.

“I didn’t mean to,” Malfoy whispered, not looking at him. “I didn’t realize what was happening until it was too late. There’s a chance it will go away in time and with separation.”

A pang filled Harry, and his head was shaking before he realized it.

“No.”

When Malfoy still wouldn’t look at him, Harry removed his hand and looked at the floor. Maybe that was the explanation he had been looking for all along.

“Unless, you don’t want me. Unless you want it to go away.”

A shaky breath preceded a strop grip to his wrist, and it had him looking up to see a torn expression and wide brown eyes.

“I know what I’m supposed to do. I’m supposed to pretend that I didn’t imprint on a boy I met in a robe shop who didn’t know who I was. I’m supposed to pretend to be the Malfoy heir that is expected of me. I’m to be thrown into a marriage contract when I graduate and never look back.”

“Forget expectations, forget the logistics of it. What do you want?”

It was Deja Vu, only instead of Ron telling him what to do, it was him trying to get Malfoy to listen to his desires.

“You say it like it’s simple and easy.”

“It’s not,” Harry agreed, holding onto Malfoy’s fingers, wanting to entwine them and never let go.

“I want a lot of things.”

“And?”

Malfoy licked his lips that had thinned some and grew dark. “My instincts chose you and I want to listen to them. I want more than this, than the life I am to live. I want you, Potter. Fuck my life, but I do.”

That’s all that mattered in the end.

The book fell to the floor as hands pulled at each other and when their lips met, Harry could feel that Malfoy’s features were changing rapidly and he thought it was beautiful, thought that Malfoy was beautiful, no matter how he looked, and he’d make sure he’d let him know, even if it took forever.

Especially if it took forever.

September, 1997

“I think we should do it.”

A gasp as Hermione rounded on Ron. “What? There is no more of a dangerous place for us to be then the Ministry of Magic.”

“It’s where she bloody works, there’s not another opportunity!”

He listened to them argue back and forth and they both made good points. He wished that Remus and Sirius were around to help him decide, but they were deep undercover trying to recruit any and all Magical Creatures.

As Ron and Hermione continued to bicker, he knew what they would have to do. They needed the locket, and if that meant taking it from Umbridge while at work then that was just what they were going to have to do.

“And how do you expect us to do this, Ron? We can’t just waltz in there!”

“What about Polyjuice? You’re an expert at making that.”

When the both of them went red in the face, Harry rolled his eyes. One of these days they were going to have to admit that they were in love. Because he couldn’t take much more of their shit.

“It’s not fool proof! Some places have security measures against that. It’s not like we have the ability to be whoever we want to, whenever we want to.”

Harry’s head tilted as he paused, mind moving to the only logical conclusion that there was.

“We would have to stake the place out, try and find suitable employees that might grant us near her and hope that we can get their hair. It’s a tall order!”

“Or,” Harry said slowly, lips turning up into a smirk that he hoped emulated his boyfriend. “We let Draco do it.”

When the two of them exploded at once, he pretended to listen. It didn’t really matter what they thought. Because in the end, his mind had been made up. Draco was the perfect solution. No point in having to make a large supply of Polyjuice, no need of having an hour deadline. No need of any stalking.

It was the perfect plan.

“Are you out of your mind? Has the years of being a reckless, stupid, idiotic Gryffindor finally caught up with you? Do you realize how bloody moronic the three of you are?”

“Not exactly the warm welcome I was hoping for,” Harry said, rolling his eyes when Draco wrapped his arms around his neck.

Despite the continued insults that were still coming out of Draco’s mouth, it was nice to see him. His eyes were silver, but his lashes were long, and he had a cleft chin that he couldn’t resist touching.

“—ucking Ministry. Of all the times, of all the people—oh, do you like it?”

The whiplash of Draco’s mood changes were familiar to him now, and he grinned at the way Ron’s head jerked from side to side at the switch in conversation.

“Yes,” Harry said, pressing a kiss to the new chin. “Not as cute as that nose you had the last time I saw you.”

Draco’s nose changed instantly, and he marveled at how easy it was. Draco still sometimes changed appearance accidentally by being near Harry, but it was nowhere near what it was when they were at each other’s throats fighting all the time.

“What’s your favorite smile you’ve seen this month?” Harry asked, and he smiled softly at the way Draco’s eyes lit up, face cycling through several different ones until he settled for something soft and small.

When he pressed a kiss to those lips, he felt a grin before he was kissed back.

“I’m going to be sick.”

They both ignored Ron, too caught up in kissing each other. Harry really didn’t want to stop, wanted to keep going but knew that they didn’t have the time. Draco’s mother would be looking for him soon, the first of September was days away, there wasn’t much time to plan.

“What about eyes?” Harry asked, knowing that Draco needed to be prompted. They had come a long way when it came to Draco allowing himself the opportunity to explore who he was, and who he wanted to look like, but one doesn’t just get over years of verbal abuse overnight.

When they flashed green, they both grinned at each other, and he couldn’t resist kissing Draco again. Would never tire of it, wanted to spend the rest of his life kissing him.

“As disgusting as this is,” Ron began dryly, arms folded. “Can we get back to the plan?”

“You don’t have a plan,” Draco sneered, nose elongating and eyes darkening until he looked like Snape and Ron took a step back.

“Stop it.”

Ron took a step back whenever Draco took a step forward. They were—

“Children,” Hermione huffed, tapping her foot on the floor. “If this is going to work, Draco should have someone with him.”

“Oh, I didn’t know you cared, Granger.”

“I don’t, but Harry will never let me hear the end of it should something happen to you.”

When Draco preened and turned to Harry, ready to give him another kiss, Ron gagged.

“Gross. You’re going to let him snog you looking like Snape?”

They didn’t get it. It didn’t matter what his outward appearance looked like; he could always tell that it was Draco. Harry chose to answer by giving him a loud smacking kiss that had Draco laughing.

“Enough,” Hermione said in that voice that always preceded a horrible study session. “Let’s start planning.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Draco saluted, changing his appearance to resemble some kind of Muggle military personnel.

And to think that Ron had complained about being bored.

“Four is a good number, right?”

“Huh?”

“I’m just saying,” Harry said, squinting at the ceiling that Kreacher had bewitched to look like the outside. Not that the view was any good, stormy clouds and nothing else. “It’s a better number than three, right?”

Draco had chosen Hermione to go with him, and despite the betrayal he had felt at not being able to be there, he knew it was the best choice. Draco still randomly changed his appearance around him, and that was not something that could happen while at the Ministry.

“Did you eat some of that expired treacle tart?” Ron asked, foot shaking with nerves as he checked and rechecked his watch every other minute. “I think it’s gone to your head.”

“It wasn’t expired.” At least he didn’t think it was. “It’s always been the three of us.”

“I know damn well you aren’t about to include Malfoy into this. Our triangle is fine the way it is. We don’t need to be a square.”

“Why not?”

A groan. “He makes you happy, but is that like the only qualification here? Can being nice be included somewhere too?”

“You aren’t nice.”

A huff. “Well, I’ve earned that right. He’s never been nice, so I think—”

“He’s nice to me.”

“Is he?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “It’s different now. Before the words were biting and hateful and now they’re playful and teasing.”

“It’s the same bloody words though!”

“You don’t get it.”

“I really don’t,” Ron said with a snort. “You two have one of the strangest relationships I’ve ever seen.”

“You only dated Lavender for—”

“I said seen not been in. Besides, don’t twist this on me. We’re talking about your weird relationship, not my lack of one.”

“Can we talk about you instead? When are you going to ask Hermione out?”

Ron groaned again, covering his face with a pillow from the couch.

“Ask her opinion on the Malfoy square and see what she says.”

“Why? Is your opinion only good if it matches hers?”

Words weren’t given, but he was given the finger. Charming. He was going to tell him that too, but the front door burst open and in came Hermione, followed by Draco who looked like Umbridge.

“What the bloody hell?”

Hermione flung the locket in the air, suspended by her wand and her eyes were bright. “You aren’t going to believe the day we’ve had.”

He wouldn’t exactly have called it a day, only several hours but—

“Draco was brilliant.”

“Don’t have to act so surprised, Granger,” Draco said, changing his appearance into a strange combination of features. His hair was brown, passed his knees and wavy with little clips in it, but his face was split down the middle, one side looking like his normal features and the other half held feminine ones. He must have come across someone at the Ministry that he wanted to emulate.

“He turned into Kingsley halfway through and convinced Umbridge that the locket was stolen! She ratted out Mundungus and tried to pretend as if she only had it today and was going to turn it in.”

“Why was he looking like her?” Ron asked as Harry pulled Draco toward him, trailing a finger across the half of Draco’s face that was new.

“Wanted to see how many employees I could make cry on our way out,” Draco said, pressing a kiss to Harry’s finger.

“And? What was the count?”

“Five,” Hermione said, tone amused but her lips were curled in disappointment.

“Would have been six but Granger got nervous.”

“Was pretty sure I saw the Minister!”

“Silly to worry about Thicknesse if you ask me.”

“Isn’t he a Death Eater?”

Draco snorted. “Under the Imperius Curse, not that it counts.”

“Didn’t your father use that excuse too?”

“Obviously my father was lying.”

Draco and Ron stared each other down, and he was pretty sure he’d have to step in, but a buzzing between them had Draco pulling out his wand.

“I have to go.”

“I don’t want you to,” Harry whispered, refusing to believe that he was pouting. If Draco left then it would be real again, it would mean back to hiding out, back to discussing Horcruxes while his boyfriend got to go to Hogwarts.

It wasn’t fair.

When larger than normal hands cupped his face, he wanted to laugh, but he was too distracted by the sweet smile pressed to his lips.

“I won’t miss you.”

Harry snorted, biting Draco’s lip. “Liar.”

“See, I just don’t understand, Hermione. Malfoy says rude shit, and yet Harry is bloody smitten. Are you sure he’s not under a Confundus Charm?”

“Not even a little bit,” Draco promised, biting Harry right back, but his lips were curled, and his eyes were crinkling. He was beautiful, mismatched face and all.

“Quick, what’s the counter curse for a Confundus Charm? I know you know it!”

“I’ll miss you just as much.”

The smile grew and it took his breath away. Ron was partially right, Harry was smitten. There was just something about Draco that pulled him in, and he never wanted it to stop.

He was still smitten and smiling, even as Draco used the fireplace.

“You know, pretty sure my Malfoy problem has only increased.”

“You’re so fucked in that department, Harry, you might as well give up.”

April, 1998

Face swollen, glasses removed and held at wand point, Harry could only see blurry images of people as Bellatrix, Lucius and Narcissa debated over who they were.

“I can’t be certain,” Lucius said, far too close for Harry’s liking. He much preferred when the man was in Azkaban. “I see a resemblance.”

“What did you say happened to him?”

“Stung by a bee, miss.”

“Mm, likely,” Bellatrix said, tone dry as she ushered the snatchers out of the room, screaming when they raised their voices to her.

“Get Draco.”

The seconds moved slowly, the sound of a fancy grandfather clock ticked nearby, and it grated on his nerves—his rapid heartbeat was too loud in his ears.

When Draco saw them, he wished he could see what his appearance was outside of a general shape of him. Despite the obstructed vision, he could tell it was Draco that was approaching.

“Yes, father?”

The tone was off. Distant, held little inflection and sounded professionally polite. Harry hated it.

“The snatchers believe this to be Potter and his goons.”

Goons?

He could feel more than see Hermione step on Ron’s foot, hoping that he wouldn’t rise to the bait.

“Well?” Bellatrix demanded when Draco said nothing, only stood rigidly.

“Hard to tell.”

Someone scoffed, slamming Harry’s glasses on his face.

“What about now?”

Harry blinked rapidly as his vision came into focus. He could see that Draco wasn’t really looking at him, rather near him. There weren’t any glaringly obvious physical changes to his appearance, but Harry could see little specks of green in the grey eyes he liked so much.

“Well, Draco?” Lucius said with no patience as his foot began to tap. “Is it Potter or not? We could use the good fortune, get us back in the graces of our Lord.”

Merlin, it was like a damn cult. He wouldn’t have been surprised if there was a Death Eater version of the Bible, dedicated to Voldemort and his teachings.

“I can’t—I can’t be sure.”

“Look closer!” There was an excited edge to Lucius’ voice as he grabbed hold of Draco’s arm and shoved him forward. “Think of the glory we will get. Everything will be forgiven.”

Lucius ended up being the closest to him, and he wanted to jerk away from him, but Bellatrix and Narcissa still had their wands pointed at them, while their own wands were secured in Narcissa’s grip.

“There’s something there,” Lucius murmured. “Could be a scar, or something else. What do you think, Draco?”

“I’m not sure.”

“You’re not being helpful at all,” Bellatrix snarled, jabbing her elbow into Draco’s side as she came to stand next to Lucius, but as she did she caught sight of the sword of Gryffindor, and all hell broke loose.

Harry and Ron were thrown into a cellar while Hermione was kept with Bellatrix and Lucius. They could hear screaming and knew that it was Hermione. They were doing something to her.

“We have to think of a way out of here,” Harry said, trying to get Ron to stop yelling for Hermione as her screams increased. “Cut that out, it’s not helping!”

It was too dark to see but he knew that Ron was glaring at him.

“Dark…” Ron whispered to himself before he began to rummage through his trousers and pulled out something, and then the next moment there was light filling the cellar. He could now see Ron and—

“Luna? Dean?”

A strange group they made as he realized that Ollivander was there too, and so was a familiar looking Goblin.

“What else did you take? Answer me!”

The sound of Bellatrix interrogating Hermione grew louder and so did her screams. Ron hit at the door, yelling for Hermione and while he understood the desperation, it did nothing for their current situation. They needed to keep a level head, and that was just not possible while Ron was consumed with—

“Step aside, Wormtail.”

Voices outside of the cellar had everyone frozen where they stood, eyes wide.

“But Sir—”

“Crucio!”

Wormtail barely made a sound before there was a bang and a thump preceding the cellar door opening and in walked Lucius, wand pointing at the ground. Only…

Harry held up his arm when it looked like Ron was going to lunge at him.

“Attack my boyfriend and you lose a limb,” Harry said, throwing his arms around Draco as his features shifted away from Lucius.

“Malfoy?” Dean choked, looking at them in a combination of horror and fascination.

“You just used an unforgivable,” Ron said, looking past Draco to see Wormtail on the ground knocked out.

Draco blinked twice. “Was it supposed to be hard or something? Quite rudimentary spell. Learned it when I was six.”

“That’s not—”

“What’s your plan?” Harry asked, knowing that Draco had one. He was similar to Hermione in that aspect, always quick on their feet.

“I can’t lower the Wards, the Floo has been blocked off and there are security measures on all of the exits.”

“That’s great, real lovely plan you got there Malfoy.”

Draco’s eyes never left Harry’s face, but he did move his wand enough to send a stinging jinx at Ron.

“The only people who have no such restrictions on themselves are—”

The House Elves.

Thinking alike, they both said at the same time,

“Dobby.”

“Kreacher.”

He hadn’t thought of Dobby, but he was glad to see him, barely had enough time to brace himself before tiny legs were wrapping around his knees.

“Master Harry?”

Harry gently pushed Dobby aside so he could crouch down at their level. “We are in Malfoy Manor, and I need you to help me get all of these people out here. Can you do that for me?”

“Where to, sir?”

He looked right at Kreacher and whispered, “Home.” Allowing them entry wouldn’t break the Fidelius charm, but the moment they left they wouldn’t be able to tell which house had been housing them while they recovered.

Hopefully, Sirius had restocked his emergency potions.

Kreacher took hold of Ollivander and the Goblin while Dobby took Luna and Dean.

“He has to go when they come back,” Draco whispered to Harry as Ron inspected the cellar closely. “He’s far too emotional.”

As much as he didn’t want to admit it, Draco was right. Sending Ron with either Dobby or Kreacher would mean less risk for them when it was their turn.

“Nothing of use in here,” Ron said to himself more than them as he kicked aside the little that was in there—a rusted nail, an empty water bottle. “We’re going to have to get our wands back.”

When Kreacher next appeared, the sound was more muted than usual. Harry jerked his head toward Ron and imitated a House Elf by snapping his fingers. Kreacher didn’t question him or show that he was confused—just reached forward and grabbed hold of Ron.

“Hey wai—”

Then nothing.

A brief pause before Bellatrix’ shrill voice cut through the silence, causing Harry to jump.

“Bring me the Goblin! Now! We shall see if what you speak is the truth. If it’s no fake and you took it from my vault then it’s your life.”

They quickly stepped over Wormtail, who still wasn’t moving and quickly made their way out of the cellar and up the stairs. They could hear someone rushing toward them, only a closed door separating them from being caught.

Narcissa and Lucius had barely made it through the now open door when Harry wrestled their wands from Narcissa, and she let out a strangled sound before Draco had shot stunning spells at them—the sound of their bodies hitting the floor was loud and unavoidable. By the time they made it into the room where Bellatrix was keeping Hermione, they were met with a wand pointed directly at them.

“Come to save your girlfriend?” Bellatrix sneered. “I could hear your screams from here, quite impressive for a blood traitor.”

Confused, Harry turned enough to peer behind him, and he blinked rapidly as he realized that Draco’s appearance was identical to Ron, even down to the clothes he had been wearing. How Draco had managed to replicate them with so little time was beyond him. 

Hermione was on the floor, body shaking, but her eyes were on them, moving rapidly as she took everything in. When Dobby appeared behind her, Harry nodded, watching as they apparated away to the sound of Bellatrix screaming in rage.

“You think you’re clever, finding a way in and out of here, but don’t worry, that will be fixed after the Dark Lord gets through with you,” Bellatrix sneered at them, raising her finger to her Dark Mark and Harry bit his lip to stop himself from screaming as he could see a glimpse into Voldemort’s mind to see him interrogating someone.

They didn’t have much time.

“We’ll be long gone before your master returns,” Draco spat, raising his wand. “And so will you.”

A scoff. “You might be passable at defensive spells,” Bellatrix taunted, raising her wand higher. “But you aren’t built for anything more than that.”

“Oh?” Draco arched a brow in an elegant way that he knew Ron couldn’t do before he said, “Watch me.”

Bellatrix’s mouth angrily parted but it was too late, Draco let out whisper of words, barely more than an exhale of,

“Avada Kedavra.”

Her eyes went wide and that in and of itself was satisfying. The irony of her dying by the hands of someone she assumed was no threat—a Weasley at that, and a blood traitor to boot—made it all the better.

“I’m not going to apologize.”

Harry turned to Draco to see that he had let go of Ron’s features and he could see more of the usual ones, but there were still some changes. His nose was small, and his eyes were a bright blue.

“I wasn’t going to ask you to.”

“I killed her.”

“She deserved it.”

What little remained of the Order wouldn’t have approved, would have looked at Draco and judged him harshly, but it was them vs Voldemort. Bellatrix would have killed them both and not shed a single tear, so why should they?

Maybe he wasn’t cut out for Dumbledore’s light mentality. Perhaps he was somewhere in the middle. Either way, he didn’t give a damn about Bellatrix when she was alive, and he certainly wasn’t going to give a fuck now.

When Draco tentatively held out his hand, Harry grabbed hold and held on tightly, maintaining eye contact to press a kiss to the back of his boyfriend’s hand. When the blue eyes became green, he knew that Draco understood the sentiment that hadn’t been said.

Love had an unspoken language, one they were well versed in.

“That’s a stupid plan.”

Harry glared at Sirius and Remus who nodded in agreement with Draco. Hermione and Ron had gone to Fleur and Bill’s with Luna and Dean as Grimmauld grew cramped with the rest of the guests, and he could tell that the two of them needed a break after Malfoy Manor.

“Do you have a better one?”

“A better plan than you breaking into Gringotts under Polyjuice potion? I can think of ten.”

“Let’s hear it then, since you think you’re so fucking clever.”

“I don’t think, Potter, I know. Between the two of us, I am the intelligent one.”

“The only thing you know is—”

“Are you sure that you two are together?” Sirius asked, chin on his palm as he looked between them with a lazy smirk.

“Yes,” they said in unison, eyes still narrowed on each other.

“Happily?” Remus asked, tone doubtful.

“Yes,” they said together again, this time glaring at Sirius and Remus.

“Maybe it’s some kind of foreplay,” Sirius faux whispered to Remus who was busy making tea, tea that Harry would not be drinking as Remus made it far too bitter.

“Not that you would know anything about foreplay, unless the Dementors are far freakier than I thought,” Draco said, sticking his tongue out at Sirius whose mouth parted as he blinked rapidly at him.

“Harry control your boyfriend before I do something about it.”

“I’d like to see you try—”

“Draco.”

Draco let out a harrumph before crossing his arms and glaring at all of them.

Remus cleared his throat, passing out cups of tea. “Draco was right—”

“Remus!”

“—about Harry’s plan,” Remus deadpanned, smacking the back of Sirius’ head. “It’s not smart.”

“But—”

“Did you have something better?” Sirius asked Draco. “Or are you all complaints and no solutions?”

“Oh, I have a solution for you,” Draco began with a growl, but mellowed when Harry entwined their fingers. When they made eye contact, Draco’s brows changed shape and so did his lips.

“I’m all ears,” Harry said, rubbing his thumb across the back of Draco’s hands and he smiled softly when Draco’s hair retreated into a short windswept mess of light brown hair.

“They are together. I can see it Moony. We’re going to be grandparents one day.”

“It’s simple really,” Draco said, ignoring Sirius entirely. “Gringotts has security measures to stop those that try to use potions and enchantments to change their appearance. I am the perfect countermeasure. I go in looking like Bellatrix and walk right through their enchantments.”

Draco held up her wand, adding, “Not only do I look the part and have her wand, I can act the part. They won’t suspect a thing.”

It was simple, and easy. Almost too easy.

“Great plan, except what if her disappearance is already widespread?”

“In a day?” Draco scoffed. “The Dark Lord will still be attempting to find her, see if she’s somehow betrayed him.”

“And if she shows up?”

Harry and Draco shared a look.

“Dead people don’t talk.”

Silence.

A silence that had Harry scooting closer to Draco just in case.

Sirius narrowed his eyes. “Explain.”

“What if we don’t want to?”

“Harry James Potter, do not test me.”

With a grimace, Harry said, “Just throwing this out there, an idea, really. Perhaps, just maybe, Bellatrix is dead.”

The following silence was far more uncomfortable than the first and he scooted even closer to Draco until their thighs were overlapping.

“How?”

They shared another look. He knew Draco enough to know that he was gearing up to defend himself. Could tell by the clenched jaw and tense muscles.

“I killed her,” Draco said, shrugging when their heads jerked backwards. “She didn’t think we could do it, and I proved her wrong.”

When it was Sirius’ and Remus’ turn to share a look, Harry said,

“Don’t act like you haven’t killed Death Eaters before.”

Sirius lifted his hands in surrender. “I’m not hypocritical enough to suggest otherwise, but you do realize that when others find out that he will be judged for it.”

“No one is going to find out,” Harry said, tone serious as he leaned forward. “We had her body moved somewhere that no one will ever find it unless they like swimming with the Inferi.”

He didn’t mention that it was actually Kreacher who moved her body, didn’t want them to get nosy and start asking questions. It was the only hint that he’d give them as to where her body was. Sirius and Remus might know of Voldemort’s cave, but that didn’t mean that they knew where it was. No one but Harry, Kreacher and Voldemort did, and he was going to keep it that way.

“You know where Inferi are?” Draco asked and it was the curious tone and intrigued eyes that had him snorting. Ron and Hermione often assumed that because Harry was with Draco that it meant that his boyfriend must be at the very least morally grey, but his boyfriend was a Dark Wizard through and through. 

“She won’t be mourned” Sirius said quietly, snorting softly at the thought. “I imagine Andromeda will be pleased. She’s been teetering on the edge of revenge for a while.”

“Eventually she will be presumed dead,” Remus warned.

“Which is why my plan is the best one. I go in as her, come out as her and no one is the wiser.”

What Draco wasn’t saying was that he’d have to do it alone, and that worried him. He knew that Draco could handle himself, that he’d get out of there, but the idea of leaving his boyfriend alone without any kind of backup scared him.

“I don’t like it.”

Draco cupped his cheeks and rested their foreheads together. “I know you don’t, but I’ll be fine.”

“You better be,” Harry threatened, frowning when Draco smiled at him. It was the same smile no matter what Draco’s appearance looked like. It was one filled with affection and love.

Something that went both ways.

He wasn’t a fan of the plan, but he knew that it would work out. Because it had to. Because it was Draco that was going in there.

They would succeed.

When Draco walked into Grimmauld, looking like Bellatrix with a familiar looking golden cup, Harry knew that he was going to marry him one day. Said as much too.

Flushing, Draco’s appearance changed rapidly, morphing through several different faces before he settled on a brown eyed, brunette and dimpled face. Words weren’t needed as Draco tossed the cup at Sirius and launched himself at Harry.

“I told you I could do it,” Draco whispered, lips pressed to the side of Harry’s face. “It was easy, so easy. They didn’t suspect a thing. The things I could do.”

Harry shivered a bit at the thought. Sometimes, Draco was a little too thirsty for power, and he mostly overlooked, but at times it was hot.

“We,” he corrected, holding onto his boyfriend tightly. “The things that we could do.”

If prompted, Harry might admit to having some darker tendencies inside of him. Whether that was a byproduct of being a human Horcrux, or the fact that he was supposed to have been in Slytherin was neither here nor there. Letting his future husband take the reins for him was still viable.

Maybe one day they’d rule the world.

One day.

May, 1998

“I know you aren’t daft enough to walk in there alone.”

“Draco.”

“No! Don’t you Draco me,” Draco croaked, eyes shining as he blocked Harry from going further. “I know your plans are all shit, but this is the worst of them all!”

“I have to do this.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I do. I saw in Snape’s memories—”

“The same Snape that despised you? Oh sure, that’s an unbiased retelling.”

Harry cupped Draco’s cheeks, pressing their foreheads together. “I think that Dumbledore wants the soul piece inside of me to die at the hands of Voldemort.”

“How?” Draco said, voice hoarse as tears began to spill and his face began to change into far too many different versions to keep track of. “How can you be sure?”

“I’m not,” Harry admitted, wiping at Draco’s eyes the best that he could. The only reason that he wasn’t crying was because he was too numb to it all. Nothing felt real anymore. “But I don’t think that all of this was for me to die.”

Dumbledore put in a lot of effort, and none of it made sense if he was just supposed to die. A small part of him whispered that it was when he died that mattered the most. But that too, didn’t make much sense. Dumbledore was dead. There was no guarantee that any of his plans would come to fruition with the man buried six feet under.

Harry had spent enough time with Dumbledore to suspect that something else was going on.

“I survived it once, didn’t I?”

“Don’t get cute.”

Harry pressed a kiss to Draco’s forehead. “I have to do this.”

“Then let me come with you.”

“No.”

When Draco narrowed his eyes, Harry knew that he was fighting a losing battle. There were some things that he excelled at, but getting Draco to do anything that he didn’t want to was not one of them.

“There’s still Nagini,” Draco pointed out, tone dry. “Even if the Dark Lord gets rid of the one inside you, there’s still her.”

“He’s keeping her close,” Harry frowned. Draco already knew that, they had gone over it before. “Only his followers can get by.”

Draco arched a brow as he gestured toward the pile of dead bodies outside that were quickly growing. “You name them, and I can be them. While you distract the Dark Lord, I’ll get rid of Nagini. I want to be there too. I won’t leave you alone.”

The last word was choked out and more tears fell, and he knew that Draco was preparing for the worst. Was preparing for his death, and if he wasn’t so numb he’d have cried right along with him.

“Together then?”

“Together.”

December, 1998

Voldemort was dead. Had been dead for months, and yet Harry got no peace. The Ministry hounded him constantly, wanting answers and for him to join them.

As if.

Reporters hounded him wanting a tell all or the next big scoop. They tried to find anything and everything that they could to make a scandal when he wouldn’t play nice. It was legal blackmail, one that he wasn’t going to abide by.

Publishers reached out to him wanting an autobiography, said that they’d back him and sign all kinds of contracts with him. As if anyone had ever wanted his opinion before.

People he barely knew, and many strangers sent him letters trying to get a piece of his fame, all pretending to give a damn about him. It was bloody annoying. There wasn’t much more he could take.

Everyone wanted a piece of him, and he was at his wits end, unsure there was anything left to give. He didn’t die for this shit, didn’t die just to be fucking miserable.

“We could always leave,” Draco said, tossing the latest scandal on the table with a scoff. Reporters had followed them on their last date and assumed that Harry was cheating on Draco just because his features were different.

Sirius made a strange sound, one a wounded animal would make, but his face gave nothing away.

“And go where?” Harry asked curiously. He wasn’t against the idea of leaving the country, it wasn’t as if he had a ton of fond memories, but it was where he found his family, found his fiancé, and found his friends.

“Anywhere we like,” Draco shrugged, still glaring at the article that called him a floozy. “You pick a country, and we’ll go there. Hell if you want we can travel the world.”

“That’ll be expensive,” Sirius said, tone off as he pressed his pointer fingers together over and over. “The Black fortune though, that could help.”

Draco rolled his eyes, flicking his fingers and sending a stinging hex at him. Harry was too impressed with the wandless magic to say much.

“If you want to tag along, then just say that.”

“Remus and I want to tag along.”

“Do we?” Remus said, face hidden behind a Muggle magazine that looked to be about celebrity gossip. 

“Come on Moony. I deserve an extended vacation from this hellhole, not to mention this blasted country. Think about it. We could change up my features a bit and no one will ever know it’s me. I could walk freely, go places, take you out on dates.”

“I’d have to agree to date you for that to ever happen.”

“Come off it. Your dick was in my arse last night, tell your story to someone who will believe it.”

Oh.

Oh.

That explained so much. Harry wanted to smack himself. He had been so wrapped up in his own drama that he never noticed that the two of them were together. He had just assumed they had weird codependency issues and couldn’t stand to be apart.

Draco snickered, but Harry was having a hard time keeping his breakfast down. He didn’t need to know what those two did in their spare time.

Remus lowered the magazine to glower at Sirius. “You irritate to me to no end.”

“It’s called attraction.”

“It’s called; I’m going to fucking kill you Sirius.”

“Are you sure you two are together?” Harry said, leaning forward as he smirked, high-fiving Draco in the process.

When he was met with two glares and a wink, he knew that Draco was right. They could leave, but that didn’t mean that his family couldn’t come along with.

June, 1999

Draco changed his appearance constantly. Always finding the beauty in something new. A new mole, a new nose, a new smile, a million new freckles, new cheek bones and more.

Harry was partial to them all.

But he was particularly partial to—

“Fuck, Harry.”

Draco’s hands were on Harry’s chest as he rode him, hair elongating as highlights filtered through.

Harry’s hands gripped Draco’s arse, helping him move as he occasionally thrusted upward, loving the way he was gripped in return. Draco was warm, tight and wet. Lube and come mixed as this was their second round and he already knew he wouldn’t last much longer.

Half lidded eyes, filled with desire met his before they turned a deep hazel. “You always fuck me so good.”

Harry groaned, hips moving faster as his dick twitched and he knew he was leaking precome. Always did when Draco praised him. Not that he’d ever admit it.

“So thick,” Draco moaned, eyes closed as he moved quicker, a hand wrapping around his cock. “Yes, just like that. Yes.”

Dirty talk wasn’t Harry’s forte, couldn’t ever get the words out and when he tried it was always soft words, but that was okay, because Draco liked it.

When Draco’s movements became short but deep, Harry gasped, “I love you.”

Draco shuddered, face flushing as his cheek bones changed and grew more defined and so did his nose.

“I love you too.”

They didn’t come together, rarely did, but he followed shortly after Draco’s body shook through an orgasm, mouth parted and legs twitching. He came deep inside Draco, adding more of a mess to him and he looked forward to cleaning it up.

The sun was setting, casting a warm glow to their new hotel room as it washed over Draco and Harry’s breath caught. So beautiful. When Draco collapsed on top of him, he wrapped his arms around him, not wanting to ever let go.

Barcelona was beautiful, they had landed only a few hours ago, but Draco was prettier and far more tempting. There would be time for sight seeing and exploring everything that the city had to offer, but for now, he was lost in his fiancé and was exactly where he wanted to be.

November, 2000

“—y mum has been telling me that I should consider kids soon. Hermione and I aren’t even married yet!”

“She wants a large family.”

“She has a large family!” Ron cried, hands flinging out as they sat at a Muggle Cafe while they waited for Draco and Hermione to arrive. Hermione was running late due to work, and Draco just liked to annoy Ron.

“Luckily Remus and Sirius’ wedding is soon and that’s distracted her a bit.”

“They’ll be glad that to hear that they’ve been of help,” Harry said dryly, smiling at the thought of their upcoming wedding. It wouldn’t be as pretty as his own, but it would be a close second.

“I saw the papers,” Ron said, grimacing when Harry’s fists clenched. “You alright?”

“It’s not me you should be asking that too.”

Ron rolled his eyes. “Is the git alright?”

“He’s used to it,” Harry said neutrally. Draco didn’t like to talk about how the papers just assumed that when they went out together that he was cheating on Draco. It was like they refused to see that he was a Metamorphmagus, despite it being well documented. “But he’ll be happy when we leave again.”

“I wish you could stay.”

He missed his friends, but not enough to stay long term.

“We’re happy travelling.”

And they were. There were some places that they wanted to revisit and explore more. Draco didn’t say it, but Harry could tell that he was looking for a place to settle down in. It didn’t matter where it was, he knew that home was the people you were with and not the location.

Sirius and Remus were temporarily in town too, but he knew that they were itching to leave as well. It was nice travelling with them, and far too easy to give them the slip when they wanted to be alone.

“The last one was Draco?” Ron asked, wincing when Harry narrowed his eyes. “I’m not doubting you mate, it just well, it didn’t look like him.”

“Yes, it did,” Harry argued. “Just because you can’t tell that it’s Draco doesn’t mean that it doesn’t look like him.”

He received a slightly exasperated look in response. “I know you’re smitten and all, but that looked more like a woman that it did Draco.”

“You’re so caught up in his appearance that you fail to actually see him.”

Everyone did. Draco saw the beauty in people, saw that they came in so many different types and shapes. He loved to emulate all kinds of faces and expressions. Loved to copy a brow, steal a smile and take on a new hair color or style. It was his way of being free and letting his abilities run wild. It was him getting to express himself in any way that he could.

Draco liked to change his appearance. Whether that was try a million different faces until he found the one he wanted, Harry didn’t know. In the end it didn’t matter. Draco could have a new face every other minute and he wouldn’t care. He’d love him regardless of what he looked like.

A knock on the window had them jumping slightly.

“There he is.”

“How can you even tell that it’s him?” Ron asked, brows merged as Draco’s now dark black hair made his pale skin stand out just as much as his blue eyes. There were a few beauty marks on his face, and his lips were rather plump.

Harry smiled softly, waving at Draco before blowing him a kiss. He got rolled eyes and a middle finger for his effort, but there was a softness to Draco’s eyes, and a redness to his cheeks that showed that he was pleased.

“I can spot Draco a mile away by the way he looks at me.”

It didn’t matter what Draco looked like or what his outward appearance was, he would always be able to spot him, always know who his husband was.

“How does he look at you?”

“Like I’m his whole world.”

Draco liked to say that Harry was barmy, or that he was imagining things, and maybe he was, but his track record suggested otherwise. Draco did look at Harry like he was his whole world, but that was okay because it went both ways.

Harry still had a Malfoy problem, but Draco had a Potter problem too.

It was only fair.

-Fin