I own none of the IPs represented in this collection of ramblings. If I did, they would be much more interesting and I wouldn't be attending school.

I wrote this one in response to all the fics about how Tonks falls in love with Harry for thinking that her "base form" is beautiful. Frankly, I don't think Tonks is that fucked up psychologically to not want to have fun with her powers, or only think she can love someone if they don't like her "base form", whatever the fuck that is.

The Advantages of Dating a Metamorph

Harry was wandering around Grimmauld Place after his birthday party had finally wound down, trying to lose some energy, and work off his buzz, before going to spend some quality time with his girlfriend. And by quality time he meant sex.

It was a curious thing, his relationship with Nymphadora (she was hot as hell when she got mad), after things with Remus fell through for her, and Ginny for him, they just naturally slid together. Like two pieces of a puzzle that had just been waiting for the perfect moment to connect. They were both a little starved for affection in their lives. Him because of where he grew up and her because of who her family was. The fact that she was descended from the Black family was no secret when she was going to school, and made it difficult to make friends in the sort of circles that she wanted them in. On the flip side it made the other circles really interested in her.

It didn't hurt that she was complete filth in the sack and he was a hormonal seventeen years old.

It also didn't hurt that they wouldn't have to sneak around to have sex anymore. Not that they would stop, bending her over the Tom Marvolo Riddle trophy, under the invisibility cloak, with a weak silencing charm mid-day had been fun. They'd done that three more times afterwards.

And was it his fault that his girlfriend could make herself look like the Head Girl in order to sneak him around after curfew? And was it his fault that, technically, he'd slept with Hermione before Ron had even gotten to first base? He didn't think so. Metamorphmagus's had to have very active imaginations, and dear Nymphadora was no slouch in that regard.

Sirius had been ecstatic to find out his favorite cousin and favorite godson had gotten together. His words. After Harry had gone and dragged his ass out of the portal to the underworld (his only explanation for that phenomenon had been "I'm the Master of Death, bitch" which left many Unspeakables envious), he had found out that his Godfather had only been stunned. He had proceeded to slap him awake and clear his name with a captured and drugged up Peter Pettigrew, before making fun of him for a week straight.

So here he was, the summer before his Seventh year at Hogwarts, on the morning of August the 1st, slowly making his way to his room, and his girlfriend, to find out what the surprise she hinted at when he and Neville were opening gifts was. The impish little grin she had been sporting when she told him he would get his gift later promised untold pleasures, and he was just giving her time to get ready.

Finally coming to the top landing, and opening door to the second largest bedroom in the house (Sirius had taken the Master bedroom over), he gently shouldered the door open and closed it behind him. Groping for a moment for the light switch, he flipped it on and stopped dead.

There, in his bed were the Patil sisters. But he must have been a little drunk from the party the night before, because he could have sworn his brain was telling him there was one more than there should have been. Harry took his glasses off and cleaned them, before rubbing his eyes and perching them back on his nose. Squinting at the bed he turned the light off and back on before finally saying "holy shit".

Three identical giggles greeted him.

They were wearing white thigh high lace stockings with matching garters and French knickers. Their brassieres were also white and see-through, and boy could he see through them, all three were pointing at him, and their hands were wrapped around each other. They all stood and sauntered over to him, their dancer's physiques, still with all the right curves, were moving almost like liquid sex across the floor. Six identical hands proceeded to rub his shoulders and chest while unbuttoning his shirt. Three identical voices, all at the same time, said "Happy Birthday, Harry" in a combined voice that almost made him pass out. He held on though, if only to try and find out which one was his girlfriend, and for the pride of men everywhere.