A/N: I may, or may not, have stayed up until 4 am writing this, but I regret nothing. I will go through it once more for grammar mistakes and such in the morning, so I apologise for any mistake you may find at the moment. Working on a sleep-deprived mind at this point. ^^
Fear & Delight
Delightful, plush lips and smooth skin had always been an attractive feature on women. Unfortunately for Harry, he had not been born with breasts nor reproductive organs, but all the feminine traits had, somehow, conquered the male ones in his mother's womb.
You're what you want to be. Had been his father's curt reply when Harry had asked into his gender at the tender age of four. Lily, his quiet mother, had smiled secretly at his side and nodded supportively. Harry supposed he could blame them for his fluid concept of gender, if he had to blame someone at all.
Thick, dark lashes framing his forest, green eyes. Hair, untameable and wild, always caressing his pale cheeks in gentles brushes. Long, lean limbs, neither female nor male. Irresistible, bewildering and breathtaking.
At one point, not because he felt like a woman, but purely to satisfy his curiosity, he had pulled his mother's wedding dress out of the closet and draped himself in it. It hanged loosely from his wide shoulders, warming his cold skin. Standing breathlessly still in front of the mirror, the caressing touch of the silk had pushed and moulded him, until he felt transformed.
A deafening calm giving room to a seductive confidence.
He'd put it back in the closet with trembling hands. Closing it slowly, promising never to retrieve it. Better to let it be forgotten in the darkness. Along with the empowering feeling it had given him.
After that, he'd only dabbled slightly into his mother's makeup collection. Alone by the mirror, a single candle by his side, as he brushed red lipstick onto his lips, darkened eyeliner and soft blush on his cheeks. The guilt he had expected to surface never came. Only a calm, collected sense of superiority and confidence.
Harry swallowed harshly as he stared into he mirror. The flames flickered in the darkness, shrouding half his face, but it was enough for him to see the transformation take hold.
If his mother noticed the missing lipstick, she never mentioned it.
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"We'll leave the house in your hands tonight, have fun." She had kissed his soft cheeks, a cheeky smile on her lips. "It better be here when we return."
"It always is," Harry had grumbled quietly to himself. Their common laugh loosened his stiff pose and his mind flew to the darkened closet and the collection of dresses. Anticipation blossomed in his chest and he pushed a hand into their back. "Get going."
He had heard their laughter as they walked into the darkness.
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Lily and James Potter had not returned that night, nor the next and neither the week after. In fact, that night would be the last time Harry ever saw them.
Some said that they'd abandoned him, while other's meant that they were preoccupied with other matters and would some day return. Harry knew better than to believe anyone. The truth would always be the simplest. James and Lily had been lost in the darkness. Just like the pearly wedding dress. Decomposing in a shallow grave.
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After their disappearance the desire had slithered silently into the back of his mind. He'd think of the red dress in his mother's closet at the oddest moments. At lunch while pushing bacon onto his plate. In class while taking notes. The image of the shockingly red dress, fluttering in the wind.
After graduating from Hogwarts he'd allow himself small moments of delight every now and then. At the beginning Harry would stand hours in front of the mirror. Then, as time passed, he brought more and more into his everyday life until Harry Potter began to disappear. It was shockingly easy to lean back and let everything fall into place.
Two years after Hogwarts few to none knew what had become of Harry. He was but a rumour, eaten by the darkness, just like his parents. And it was alright. Harry had no need for attention. The Woman, on the other hand, had.
She was a source of empowerment and beauty. How he treasured the memory of his beloved mother in all her womanly charm. Fiery red and overflowing with warmth.
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Tom had been an accident, horrible and foolish.
The Woman had walked home after midnight and in a sudden gust of genius decided to take a shortcut through the graveyard. It was comfortable and welcoming in its tranquility. She would often end up there, sitting quietly at a bench, feeling the earth breath beneath her.
As she walked up the path, stone and sand entering her loose shoes, she'd noticed the church door standing wide open. The wind rustled by, blowing her long, curly hair into her view. Leaves brushing past and the chilly autumn air biting into her bare ankles.
Chewing her reddened lips, The Woman glanced around, indecisive. Alone in the darkness, she broke no laws. Stepping up to the door, she bent down to push her heels off, not wanting to break the silence and walked carefully inside.
Inside, by the feet of the benches, the cooling body of a young man. Cushioned by thousands of white lilies, painted red by the drying blood.
Halting at the sight, she heard more than saw the door close carefully behind her. Fear and curiosity blossomed in her flat chest at the footsteps behind her.
A wand pushed into her back and The Woman saw clearly where it all would end. She was an undesirable spectator, viewing an unfinished masterpiece.
Exhaling, she turned slowly. A glimpse was all she needed: she had to see the artist behind the beauty in front of her.
Shrouded in darkness, a pale face hidden from clear view. A sharp jaw, masculine in a way her's never had been. Tall and still, unbothered by her wide eyes.
The wand pressing into her throat.
The Woman had been fascinated and amazed as she brushed her hands over his chest. "You're beautiful,"
Sharp eyebrows had lifted in question and his lips had quirked in humour. "Is that so?" A storm brewing, thunder rumbling underneath his voice.
"Yes."
Unexplainably breathtaking.
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Neither The Woman nor Harry had died that night.
Tom had not realised that Harry was a man, not really. Either way, Harry didn't care. He was trotting after Tom, too delighted by it all to turn around.
He knew on legal terms that Tom was breaking the law, but he didn't care.
The Woman had never promised anyone to uphold any laws.
And such, began his downfall.
"Aren't they beautiful?" She was leaning over him, where he was sitting, brushing soft kisses onto his still lips. In her left hand a large bouquet of bloody roses. Straightening, The Woman smiled gently at him and brushed a lock of hair behind his ear. "They're for you."
A ritual, adoring the beautiful man in front of her. Showering him in kisses and caresses, never minding the lack of touches from him. His gentle acceptance was enough. Good even, since he never would realise that Harry's breasts weren't naturally flat, but rather a missing feature. He'd never needed magic to look like a woman and he liked his body, just the way it was. Flat chest, a masculine nether region and soft dresses.
Tom accepted the bouquet, inhaling the fragrance. "You're too thoughtful, my dear." Their eyes met and Harry laughed softly at the twisted emotions swirling in Tom's eyes.
"You're welcome," Once again The Woman leaned forward to steal another kiss. Soft and warm: a kiss of bitter almond.
Beautiful Tom.
He thought he had found a mad woman.
He was quite close to the truth.
Harry knew, that at this point, he was little more than a interesting pet for Tom's amusement. But it was alright, he knew he should run. He knew he should not have given his heart to the cruel man.
But he regretted nothing.
Like a moth to a flame, Harry was sure to seek that man out.
The End!