Disclaimer: Sadly, the world of Harry Potter is not mine.
Ten and a half months later
Harry Lewis sat idly outside a small Starbucks on the corner of Lexington and 78th. He loved New York. It was possible to be totally anonymous here, as nobody cared much about anyone besides themselves. No one looked twice at him, and that suited him just fine. In addition, there was only a very small magical population here, as the wizards tended to not like to live in such close quarters with Muggles, and it was impossible not to live in close quarters in this city. And even if he did run into a witch or wizard, it's not like they would be expecting him to be here. He had also done his best to look nothing like himself. This had been greatly helped by the fact that he now owned a wardrobe that both fit and was stylish, in an understated manner. His hair had been died light brown and he'd also found a hat he was quite fond of wearing, and no one seemed to pay any attention to another young man walking around in a Yankee's cap. He hadn't had a single close call since he got here.
He had never felt freer.
He had been rather shocked to find out that Sirius had left him some rather significant holdings in the Muggle world, in addition to a large vault in Gringotts and Number 12 Grimmauld Place. One of them, a rather large vacation home in southern California, had been rather easy to sell so that he could buy his condo on Fifth Avenue. It was just a few blocks from here, overlooking Central Park. He had gone completely Muggle, after having new identification documents made up, so that he would be harder to track, but that wasn't going to last much longer. In three days, he turned seventeen and would finally be able to return to the Wizarding world, if he wished, without worrying about the many meddlers who wished to control his life. He found it hilarious that he had been able to hide himself better than they ever had, and he didn't use a stitch of magic beyond the creation of his new documents.
Of course, he hadn't been idle this whole time. He had found an excellent Martial Arts studio relatively close by and spent countless hours each week there. He was currently a yodan, a fourth degree black belt. His achievement of this so quickly had set records across the country, and he had participated in numerous competitions these last few months. He had also spent the last month or two learning Capoeira, and had grown to quite enjoy the South American style of fighting and dance. It was while he was learning this that he had run into a rather intimidating little man who was one of the go-to men for the Five Families. His expertise with knives was rather... daunting. But the man had taken a liking to Harry for some reason, and taken him under his wing for several weeks. The result was the rather large collection of blades currently strapped to Harry's body, and the skill with which he could use them.
Mindful of the need to hide himself, Harry had only taken two short trips into the New York state version of Diagon Alley—which oddly enough was located in a town called Breakabeen. While there he had bought a copy of every book that looked even remotely useful, and these had occupied his off hours. The meditation encouraged by his sensei had been a great start to Occlumency, and, while he hadn't been able to test his skills very much, Harry was fairly confident in his abilities now. At least, Voldemort had not been able to send him as much as a twinge of pain in months, despite what he was sure was considerable effort, he knew everyone was still looking for him. So Harry had a vast store of knowledge that he was merely waiting to try out, as soon as he could safely use magic again. He had even practiced the wand movements with a stick, and worked drills to increase his speed and accuracy. Muggle laser tag had been invaluable in both efforts.
There was only one problem that had come up in his time here that he hadn't found an answer for. And though he had read every book he could find on the subject, he was no closer to being able to control it than he was when he first found out. Every single book said that the subject was only ever learned from a mentor, and that it was impossible to describe the way to control it to a non-practitioner. It even went so far as to caution emerging practitioners from attempting to learn on their own as the dangers involved were extremely high.
It had been very frustrating for Harry. He didn't want to have to trust anyone with this information, and he didn't like relying on someone else for help. It had been longer than he could remember since someone he trusted actually came through for him. And the last time he had put his trust in someone, the last time someone had let him down, had nearly destroyed him...
Flashback: September 10, 1996
Harry Lewis was staring into the bar, debating about whether he should go in. It was a rather clever spell that his contact had used on his new id card; the card showed Harry to be whatever age he wished at the particular moment. So Harry knew he would be served without trouble, but he was still wary of allowing himself to lose such control. Aside from the dangers in doing so, he simply didn't like to not be in complete control of his own person, a result of have no control for much of his childhood. He suspected it was this stubbornness that helped him resist the Imperius Curse, and the lesson had been driven home with Sirius' death because he had been unable to control his own mind. And yet, right now he didn't want to be inside his own head.
The letter that was currently burning a hole in his pocket drove him further into the dark room. Some things could only be dealt with at the bottom of a bottle. He made his way to the bar and glared at the bartender.
"Give me a glass of the strongest thing you have. Actually, give me the whole bottle."
He woke up, groggy and confused, in a dank bathroom that smelled awful. Pulling himself up, with a great amount of effort, he took a look in the mirror to assess how bad he looked and shouted in shock at what he saw.
His hair was a vivid green.
Unfortunately, the movement caused by his shock didn't sit well with his stomach, and he had to dive quickly for the toilet. He spent several minutes being violently ill once more and cursing the alcohol he had drunk and the letter that had driven him to drink it in the first place. He also vowed to never allow someone to hurt him enough where he reached this point again. It wasn't worth the pain, or the hangover.
When he pulled himself up once more he was in for another surprise. This time, his hair was a shade of brown strongly resembling his favourite dish of curry at the Indian restaurant around the corner.
He sank to the floor, deciding he would have to figure this out later. After his head stopped pounding, that is. After all, maybe it was all in his head. He had drunk a rather large amount of alcohol the night before.
Once Harry had gotten over the hangover and his appearance had returned to normal, it didn't take him long to figure out what was most likely happening. He only wondered why it had never happened before. After all, Tonks had been changing as a small child, she had once told him. (Then again, he knew that Tonks had been raised with the knowledge that she was a metamorph, whereas Harry hadn't even known about magic. He wondered if that had anything to do with it.) He had come to the conclusion that maybe he simply wasn't as powerful a metamorph as she was. Of course, he had no way of verifying this.
The metamorph gene appeared to be extremely rare; he had only been able to find mention of it in a handful of books. There were no reference books entirely devoted to the craft. And nothing he had been able to find had helped him at all. The only time he had noticed a change was that night he had gotten completely smashed. Although, he was aware of the fact that his hair seemed to have a mind of its own. It never grew, and he couldn't seem to get it to change its style. Even the strongest Muggle hair gels wouldn't hold for more than five minutes. It had completely baffled the hair stylist he had gone to upon first arriving in New York, and nearly given the rather... eccentric man a coronary. The man still called every couple of months, asking Harry to come down to try a new method of hair control. None of them had ever worked.
No, it seemed that the only way to learn how to morph, if it didn't come naturally, was to be taught. And, as Harry only knew one metamorph, and he had no desire to announce himself to Dumbledore and his Order, he needed to find someone else to help him.
There weren't a lot of magic users in New York City, he knew. The dense population of Muggles didn't lend itself well to magic users; there were just too many people that could see something. But there were magic users in the States. He wondered if he could get them to help him, if being the Boy-Who-Lived would open doors here as it might have in Britain. While he was extremely reluctant to do it, he realised that he really needed to learn this new skill. He had it for a reason, and he knew how useful it could be. Of course, he also recognised some of the downsides. He had spent quite a bit of time thinking about what this would mean for him, and how he would deal with it, assuming he ever mastered the skill.
It had been a rather interesting young girl who he had met while training that had taught him the most important truth. She was a Muggle, but she showed up with a different hair colour every couple of weeks, and seemed to have dedicated her life to finding new places to pierce her body, or new images to get marked on her skin. Harry had been shocked when he first met her, but she just smirked at him and asked if he had a problem. When Harry furiously shook his head, she had given a nod. "Good," she replied. "Because this is me, whether you like it or not. If you can't deal with that, then you don't deserve to be my friend." Harry had thought about those words quite a bit, and he had grown to agree with her. If he was a metamorph, then he was a metamorph. Nothing could change that, and so anyone he associated with would simply have to accept it.
As he watched the hurried walkers that rushed past and the insane traffic on the street in front of him, Harry decided that he would go to the United States Department of Magical Affairs and ask about getting help. But first, he needed to see if he could actually perform any of the spells he had spent the last year meticulously learning the theory behind.
He would never again walk into a situation unprepared if he could help it.
Flashback: July 7, 1996
Harry smiled as he stepped out onto the street, nodding at the doorman. It had taken him days to get used to the fact that no one seemed to pay any attention to him here. He was just another kid, and an uninteresting one at that. The relief this brought was wonderful. But it had also made him wonder.
From what he knew, only Hagrid and Sirius had been to Godric's Hollow the night his parents died, and no one knew for sure what had happened there. So how was it that the entire Wizarding world knew that he had somehow defeated Voldemort? How was it that everyone knew about his scar? And how was it that as he grew up, everyone seemed to know what he looked like? The only conclusion he could come to was that someone wanted everyone to recognise him. This seemed remarkably stupid. If Dumbledore really wanted to protect him, he should have let everyone think it was someone else, or that Harry was blond, or anything other than the truth. At least until he had grown up enough to protect himself. Then there would have been no need for the Order to follow him around, there would have been no curious stares wherever he went, and Harry could have gone through school without any extra attention. Only Voldemort would have known any differently, and any Death Eaters he told wouldn't have been able to leak that information without revealing their hand.
Harry shook his head. He really needed to stop thinking about the conspiracy to make him miserable, if there even was one; it was possible everything was just a horrible coincidence. It didn't do any good to think about, and he was free of them all now. He snickered as he imagined the various reactions when they found out that he had disappeared. He wished he could be there to see it. If he had been thinking more clearly, he would have set up some way to do so, but he had long ago realised that the days following Sirius' death were mostly spent in a fog of anger, depression, and fatalistic despair.
He wandered down the street, following the directions he had scribbled on a piece of paper, until he came to a dreary looking building with a black and white sign. Martial Arts was all it said, but he had been told it was the best in the city. It was one of the reasons he had chosen his home, as he wanted to be close. Taking a deep breath, he entered the small front room and smiled at the wizened old woman behind the counter.
"Hello," he greeted quietly.
"How I help you?" She asked in a heavily accented voice.
"I want to learn, as much as I can."
A smile came across her face. "We see how right you are." And she waved him into the back.
"You claim to be a metamorph, Mr Potter? I have a hard time believing that you would have been able to keep this quiet. You have led a rather... ah, heavily spotlighted life until the last year."
Harry met the man's look head on. "Yes, sir. I was unaware of the ability myself for many years. Though I have had hints, if I had been paying attention. No, it wasn't until this last year and a rather... interesting evening that I was displaying obvious signs." Harry shrugged. "But, I have a theory for this. Either I am not a very strong metamorph, or my magic masked it due to my rather strong desire to not display any talents setting me apart from the crowd. For most of my life I was punished for anything that made me different, and so I learned to simply not stand out from the crowd. In addition, I simply didn't know it was possible until two years ago, so I never really tried until recently."
The Ministry official chuckled. "If you had come to me a year ago, I would never have believed that you didn't like the attention. But you seem to have done a rather good job of hiding under our very noses, so I find myself inclined to believe you. I wouldn't have thought it was possible for the Boy-Who-Lived to live here for over a year without us even suspecting, but the evidence speaks for itself. Now, you are asking for our help in finding a trainer, is that correct?"
"Yes, sir."
"Are you aware that the only known full metamorph at the moment is Nymphadora Tonks? I believe you even know her."
Harry had trouble masking his disappointment. "Yes, I know her. Well enough to know she would happily murder you for uttering her first name. I was hoping to find someone less, shall we say, connected to certain individuals."
The official burst into laughter. "Ah, it isn't every day that I get to hear of Harry Potter's dislike of Albus Dumbledore. It's rather like Robin growing a sudden distaste for Batman, you understand."
Harry grinned. "Yes. But only if Batman had stolen Robin from his home, had him beaten and abused for ten years, put his life in danger simply to see what he would do, and lied to him his entire life." By the expression on the official's face, Harry rather thought the man was startled that he even recognised the reference. Of course, Harry also recognised that he was being rather harsh on the Headmaster. He doubted that the man really had it out for him, but it was hard to be objective when it is your life that is being messed with. In addition, there was little harm in playing on the sympathy of the man you were asking help from.
"Well, that certainly puts a different spin on things." The man eyed him carefully, assessing him. "There is a way around this issue."
Harry sat forward, eager. "Yes?"
"In similar such situations, it is common for individuals with rather special talents to receive training under their Ministry's Department of Mysteries. It is then customary for them to offer their own services if another ever appears. We could put in a request, through the regular channels, for Miss Tonks to come train a new metamorph. As we are rather distrusting of your Ministry at the moment, we would be well within our rights to require an Unbreakable Vow from her to protect your identity, skills, and person."
"Do you think she would do it? She is rather needed in England right now."
"Ah, but Miss Tonks owes us. You see, she herself was trained under an American metamorph when she was seven years old."
Harry's eyes lit up. "Oh." He considered this. It was tempting. "Can you place the request and get the Vow without telling her anything about me beforehand?"
"We will only inform her that you are male, your age, and that your talent is only recently discovered."
"Brilliant!"
"And Mr Potter?"
"Yes?"
"Do be careful. We are rather fond of you on this side of the pond as well, you know."
Flashback: March 2, 1997
Harry stood in front of the large mirror in his bedroom, taking in the man looking back at him. He looked nothing like he did a year ago. He was still a bit short for his age, and he definitely didn't have the body of a weight lifter, but it was evident in every move he made that he was powerful, and deadly. His Sensei had actually mentioned how surprising it was that Harry had so completely adapted to this new form of life. That was high praise from the small man. But the highest praise Harry had received was currently wrapped around his waist. Sensei had actually smiled proudly when presenting him with the black strip of cloth.
With a satisfied sigh, Harry slowly changed his clothes, hanging them reverently in his closet and laying the belt carefully across his dresser. He had worked hard for it. Most days he spent a good four or five hours in the studio, working until the exhaustion forced him to stop. Then he would come home and read until he could no longer keep his eyes open. Only rarely did he allow himself a break. Usually he spent his days off exploring more of the city, or simply sitting in the park, watching the children play.
They reminded him of exactly why he was doing this, and of the future he still hoped to find for himself someday. It was a powerful motivator.
Deciding today would be spent on healing spells, he grabbed a book from the shelf and headed out to his balcony. He would read in the sun for a while.
"Absolutely not." He refused to lose such a valuable resource. Nymphadora's skills made her irreplaceable.
"Sir, I really don't have a choice."
He smiled indulgently. "Of course you do, Nymphadora, there is always a choice to do what is right over what is easy." His eyes twinkled merrily as he issued one of his favourite sayings. It really sounded so well; he was glad he had stolen it from that silly Muggle all those years ago. It's not like the man was important anyways... some silly man named Winston. Albus wondered what his mother had been thinking to give him such a name. He probably amounted to nothing, like most Muggles.
Her face remained stoic. "No, sir. I've already given my Vow."
"What?" The old man's expression was incredulous now. "Why would you do such a thing?"
"It was the only way they would let me leave the building without Obliviating me. And, really, it is my duty. As I was trained by someone, I will pass it along. I realise the timing is inconvenient, but think how useful another metamorph could be."
"But he is American. He would have no desire to come here to fight." He was getting desperate now. She honestly seemed to think she could leave him in the middle of a war?
"He might. If he becomes at all fond of his teacher."
Albus Dumbledore sighed. "I wish you had thought this through a bit more, my dear."
She met his twinkling blue eyes. "I did. And I'm leaving tomorrow."
Damn her! "Very well. Are you sure you won't be able to tell me anything about him?" He sent a tendril of Legilimency forward and was met by surprisingly strong walls and Nymphadora's frown.
"No, sir. As England is a bit... riled up at the moment, they demanded an Unbreakable Vow from me. I cannot betray my student in any way."
"Then good luck, my dear. Please let me know as soon as you think you might be able to come back. And do be careful."
"Yes, sir."
He watched her go with a heavy sadness falling onto his shoulders. The war was not going at all well, and it was only going to get worse now that Tonks was leaving. He wondered if Remus would hang around, now that both Tonks and Harry were gone. It hadn't escaped the Headmaster's notice that the Marauder was often watching the young Auror. Of course, nothing had come of this. She seemed to not even notice, as if her attention was always on something else. And, really, the man was sixteen years older than her. Any such relationship would be difficult, but the fact that Tonks was so young at heart and Remus so world weary would only make the disparity worse.
Albus wondered what else was going to go wrong. Harry had left and hadn't been heard from for nearly a year, the most talented member of the Order was leaving for an undisclosed amount of time, his Potion's Master had been increasingly left out of Voldemort's plans, and, if his sources were correct, those plans were centred on killing him before Voldemort made his bid for the country. And, even though he knew they were fighting an unbeatable foe, without Harry there to end the war, Albus had still been trying to win, but he had only found vague hints in his search for Tom's Horcruxes.
Albus wondered if maybe it wasn't time to devote all his efforts to this search and give up on finding Harry. Prophecies had been wrong before, after all.
Nymphadora Tonks had mixed feelings as she made her way to the Portkey Office at the Ministry. She was incredibly excited about the discovery of another metamorph, as she had often wished to have someone who truly understood her. And yet, the timing was inconvenient. If it had been a child found, she would have asked for a delay before training started, but it wasn't. Another adult metamorph could be a huge asset, and she was hopeful that the training wouldn't take as long as it would with a child.
She was also curious. All she knew was that he was male, seventeen, and only recently discovered his abilities. She took this to mean he probably had very little potential, as she had been morphing uncontrollably since three days after she was born. And it was so strongly tied to her emotions originally, she couldn't imagine someone being a metamorph and not knowing it.
It was actually a relief to think he wouldn't be able to do much. Full body changes would have been... awkward to teach. Usually, metamorphs are taught young, before nudity becomes an issue. But she would be working with a seventeen-year-old male. She had little hope for his ability to control himself. And worse, he was close enough to her age that she was worried about her own reactions. It really would be so much better if they never had to deal with it; she could teach him the basic changes without any awkwardness, and hopefully that would be the end of it.
Due to the fact that she had been morphing her entire life, she really didn't remember a time when she didn't know what she was. Her mother had raised her to understand her morphing, and accept herself as she was. She was incredibly grateful for this. She could only imagine if she had learned what she was as a teenager. She didn't know if her self-confidence could have taken the hit. As it was, her teenage years had been incredibly hard. Honestly, her adult years hadn't been much easier, she had just gotten better at hiding its effect on her.
Her training had been complete before she ever went to Hogwarts, and her natural excitement meant that she never tried to hide what she was. The first few years at school this just meant that she got odd looks and people calling her a freak. She didn't have many friends at school. She had gotten along okay with Charlie Weasley originally, but even he had a hard time once puberty set in. Because then it suddenly dawned on every boy in the castle that she could make herself look like anything they wanted.
At first, she had enjoyed the attention. During her fourth year, she had dated anyone that asked, and made a bit of a fool of herself. It had taken a year for her to realise that every single one of them didn't want to date her. They wanted to date a Veela, or a supermodel, or the Ravenclaw prefect that wouldn't even look at them.
She had come home after her fourth year completely destroyed. She had even asked her mom to find a way to bind her ability. But Andromeda Tonks was no pushover, and she had slowly and calmly restored Tonks' faith in herself. Tonks realised that she simply needed to find the right man, instead of dating them all.
So fifth year started and she refused every offer.
Of course, that was when the girls started in on her. They didn't like that she was getting so much attention, even if she never went with the guys who offered. They didn't like that she could always be prettier than them, even if she didn't often take those forms. And teenage girls are some of the cruellest creatures on the planet. She had been forced to learn how to ward her bed, as what started out as pranks quickly turned into malicious harassment. She lost any interest in trying to find friends, and spent all of her time working hard on her school work. She would show them all, and be the best there was.
And, indeed, she was one of only a handful of people admitted into Auror training in the last ten years. But even then the harassment didn't stop. She had thought that once she got out of school she could try dating again. She figured older and more mature men were the way to go. And for a while she let them have their way with her. Until they started insisting she enlarge her breasts, change her face, shrink her waist. She was starting to think that all men were pigs.
For a while she had thought that if she found a mature enough man it would be enough. She had even considered going after Remus Lupin. He was a good man, and not bad to look at. And he certainly knew what it was like to be harassed and hated. For a few months the summer of 1995, she watched him carefully, trying to decide whether or not she wanted to proceed. It took nearly three weeks to notice the pattern. His attention to her changed depending on her look. When she went with some of the crazy looks she preferred, he would shake his head and look away. When she looked older and more staid, his eyes would follow every move she made. He only wanted her when she conformed to his way of thinking. He was just like all the rest, only he wanted something different out of her than the others. But it discouraged her that he, too, wanted her to change for him.
Tonks had sworn off men after that. She had only ever encountered one male whose attention wasn't directly tied to her look. His interest in her morphing has always been awe and curiosity, not lust, and he had treated her the exact same no matter how she looked. It had been amazingly refreshing.
It was such a pity he was unavailable to her.
She sighed with resignation as she took the Portkey. One day, she would find someone who could accept her for who she was, instead of what she looked like.
August 5, 1997
"You are Nymphadora Tonks, the metamorph?"
The pink haired young woman scowled. Why was it so hard for anyone to understand that she hated that name? "Yes. Though I really prefer to be called Tonks. It's such a horrible name, you see."
The man didn't respond to this statement. "You have made your Vow."
She growled at the hooded figure. "Yes. I really wish it weren't necessary. I hate Vows; you can never know all it includes."
The figure chuckled. "You have no idea, Tonks."
Her brows furrowed. At least he had dropped the infernal name, but now he seemed to be taking the mickey. What did he know that she didn't? "So, are you going to take that hood off? I am supposed to train you, am I not? And where are we going to do this? Here?" She looked around the small room. "It's rather drab, though I suppose I can spice things up a bit."
Another chuckle. She had to repress the urge to growl angrily at him. "To ease your mind, I will give you my own Vow." He pulled his hand out of his large cloak and extended it. The rather forgettable Ministry official in the corner stepped forward, wand drawn, to be their binder. "I swear to never knowingly cause physical harm to Nymphadora Tonks, outside of training related injuries. I swear to protect her interests and secrets, in so far as they do not directly contradict my own. I swear that my interests run towards the same goal as hers, and that I will use her training to further these causes."
She watched as the bands of magic sealed the Vow, slightly surprised that he would not only swear such things, but know what would be important to her. After all, they had never met before and he knew nothing about her. She withdrew her hand and clapped excitedly. "Well, let's get this show on the road!"
He laughed softly. "Always so eager. Take my hand."
"Where're we going?" She quipped. Her eyes were trying to pierce the shadows surrounding his face. The way he talked, she would almost swear that he knew her. Come to think of it, wasn't she supposed to be training an American? His accent was definitely English.
"Home. It is safe." Was his simple answer.
She didn't know if it was only because of the Vow he had given, or if she would have trusted him without it, but she allowed him to apparate her away. The room they landed in appeared to be the sitting room of a rather impressive looking flat. There were huge windows on one wall overlooking a lovely park, and all kinds of Muggle entertainment equipment along another wall.
"Where are we?"
"New York City." He pointed out the window to a rather remarkable view. "That is Central Park."
"Oooh! This must have cost a fortune." The bounced towards the window to get a better view.
"Hm, possibly. I traded in a home that I inherited for it. I needed a place to, ah, get away from things."
"Too many girls chasing after you? I had a similar problem."
"Not exactly. I did not discover my metamorph abilities until this last year. No, I came here a year ago for very different reasons."
"Well, seeing as how we're stuck together for a fair bit, you might as well tell me."
His hands came up to the hood of his cloak. "I'm sure you can figure it out for yourself," he whispered, just before lowering the hood. And promptly had to duck the spell she sent at him.
"Who are you really?" She growled.
"Really, Tonks. Do you think it is possible to trick an Unbreakable Vow?"
Her wand still levelled between his eyes, she examined him carefully. "No, but Harry Potter ran away from home a year ago and no one has seen him since."
"True. I had my uncle drop me off at the travel agent's place on the way home from the Hogwarts Express. They were happy to be rid of me. Shortly after, I was here, and I've been here ever since. I didn't use a bit of magic until my birthday a week ago, but I've been keeping myself relatively busy nonetheless." He grinned. "Now, are you going to get around to asking the secret questions so you can drop your wand?"
She growled at his cheek. "Fine. When was the first time we met? What was the most requested morph while staying at Headquarters? What form does your Patronus take? How were your godfather and I related? And what the hell have you been doing for a year?"
"You were part of the advanced guard to bring me to Headquarters, located between Number 11 and Number 13 Grimmauld Place, the summer before my fifth year; you broke a dish in the kitchen, alerting me to your presence. I believe it was a pig snout. Last I checked it was still a stag, after my father's Animagus form. Sirius and your mother Andromeda were first cousins; they were both stricken from the family tree for behaviour unbefitting a Black. And if you'd put your wand away, I'll sit down and tell you."
Her wand had been dropping slowly with each answer. Finally she huffed and stalked over to the large couch. "Fine. Get on with it." Her eye twitched when a very familiar owl swooped into the room and landed on Harry's shoulder. It was the final proof she needed that he was who he said he was.
"Well, quite a bit of time was spent on physical training."
She grinned slightly. "I can tell."
"Yes, well I've reached yodan level in Bujutsu, I'm quite good at Capoeira, and a mob hit man has been teaching me to work with knives. He keeps trying to get me to work jobs with him."
She held up a hand. "Mind explaining a couple of those words?"
He chuckled. "It means I'm a fourth level black belt in a style of Muggle martial arts. And rather proficient in a South American mix between fighting and dance."
"And the mob, Harry? Are you insane?"
"I certainly hope not. But that's a long story for another time."
"Fine. What else?"
"I have enough books to make Hermione green with envy, and I've pretty much memorised most of them. I knew I couldn't practice magic, so I studied the theory for hours at a time. Then I practiced the movements with a stick and accuracy with a paintball gun. I think my Occlumency is pretty good now, and all the spells I've tried over the past week have worked perfectly."
She sighed. "Okay. It seems you actually have been smart about this. But why, Harry? Why did you leave? And why didn't you tell anyone?" Harry was rather shocked at the expression on her face; it seemed she genuinely cared about the answer. Maybe she wasn't as under Dumbledore's thumb as he had thought.
"Because everyone should have the chance to decide their own path in life. The only way I would be able to choose mine is by leaving."
"There's more."
"Of course there is. But that's all I'm going to say for now."
"I swore a Vow, Harry. I can't betray your confidence."
"It's not that. I'm just not comfortable talking about much of it."
"But you will be eventually?"
"Probably." He gave a half grin. "You have to realise, Tonks, that the only people I've even talked to in the last year are my teachers. I'm not exactly good at this people interaction thing."
"Fine. Now, what's this about you being a metamorph? I think Dumbledore would have mentioned something like that."
"True, if he knew about it." She threw him a dirty look. "Well, I've always had this thing with my hair."
"You mean how it looks like a right mess?"
"Yeah. There isn't anything that can tame it, and believe me, I've tried. But more than that, it hasn't grown an inch longer than this in my life. And if you cut it, it's right back to the same look the next morning."
"Hm, that sounds promising."
"And then, shortly after I got here, I may have gotten a tad drunk." She rolled her eyes. "It was only the once, as it's not an experience I relished, but that was a bad day. Anyway, I woke up with green hair, puked some more, and found it had turned curry brown. It went back to normal when my hangover left."
"And you haven't had anything else change?"
"No. I've read every reference I can find, and tried everything I can think of, but nothing."
"Hm, this could be difficult. But we'll get it." She paused and tilted her head to eye him. "What made that day so bad?"
He tensed, but she simply waited for him to answer. He didn't really want to, but figured she wouldn't have asked if it wasn't important to discover the reason behind his largest morph to date so they could replicate it. Finally he started, with a sigh. "I got a letter from Ginny that day." He dragged his hand roughly through his hair. "I had been writing her all summer, along with Ron and Hermione. I guess... I guess we had been flirting a bit, and there had been talk of seeing each other, but she changed her mind. It was right after school started, and everyone found out I had run away. She said that I must be a coward for running away from my problems. She said that even if I did come back, she didn't see how we could be together. She wanted someone who faced their problems head on, instead of hiding when things got difficult. She said that I must not be the person she thought I was if I could simply walk away and leave the war behind me."
"Oh, Harry! You know she probably didn't mean it."
"Believe me, she meant it."
Tonks doubted this. She knew the redhead had a fierce temper, and she also remembered what it was like to be a fifteen-year-old girl. She had often found herself saying things in the heat of the moment she didn't really mean once her head had cooled down. But she didn't think she could get Harry to understand that. He had never really been a kid, and so didn't understand what it was like to be one. "But she could change her mind. She doesn't understand the pressure you were under, and you know she has that temper. She just needed time to cool off."
His face went hard. "No, Tonks. She made her choice. If she couldn't allow me to do what I have to, then there is no future for us. I learned this year that the person you are with has to accept you for who you are completely, no matter what. I had thought... but it doesn't matter anymore. I've come to the conclusion that she wouldn't have been good for me. My brain is too old for my own body, and Ginny, despite being a wonderful girl, is still a girl. I don't think romance is for me until the end of all this. It would be hard for me to be with someone when I'm worried about surviving and saving the world and she is worried about gossip and essays."
Tonks sighed. She didn't think he was being entirely fair to Ginny, but she understood how the young girl, in a fit of Weasley temper, could have said enough to cause this reaction. "Okay, Harry, I understand." She bit nervously on her lip before continuing. "You know, it is just going to get worse with girls, right?"
He gave her a confused look. "What do you mean?"
"Well, you already get all this attention for being the Boy-Who-Lived, but it will be so much worse once you defeat Voldemort."
"You mean if."
She smacked the back of his head. "Don't say that!"
"Sorry, Tonks."
"You'd better be." She gave him a stern glare and fingered her wand, as if to remind him not to say such things again or he would get worse than a slap on the head. "Now, what I was saying is that as a boy, you only had to deal with fan girl attention from girls around your own age. But the Man-Who-Defeated-Voldemort is going to be pulling it in from every woman under the age of fifty. And it will be even worse if they find out you're a metamorph." Her eyes flashed with pain for a moment.
"Is that what happened to you?" He asked softly.
"Yeah. I didn't think to hide what I was when I first went to Hogwarts, as I was so excited about showing it off. By the time I was a fourth year, the boys started coming around. Eventually, every single one of them asked me to change. Some wanted me to turn into a specific girl they were pining after. Some wanted me to become their idea of the perfect woman. Some just wanted me to enhance certain features. But every single one of them asked."
Harry placed a hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry you had to go through that, Tonks."
She gave him a small smile. "Not much use being sorry, is it? It's already happened."
"I know. But you didn't deserve that. Those guys were idiots."
"Aw, thanks, Harry."
"Did you ever think about what would happen if you did fall in love?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, I mean, I've thought about it some. If I was in love, I think I'd like to look better for her. Get a bit taller, bulk up some, and... other things."
She grinned. "Hm, that would be convenient." He glared briefly. "I don't know, I guess I hadn't considered that I might want to change for him. How would I know he loved me for me?"
"Well, I imagine if he really did love you he would love you in whatever form you took. Some just might be more pleasurable during certain times."
"That's an interesting way of thinking about it. I'll have to get back to you." She jumped up off the couch, pulling Harry along with her. He gave her an amused smile. "Now, let's get to the interesting stuff! I want to see if I can push you into unconscious morphing."
"Okay. What do you want to do?"
"Well, might as well make it useful. As seen in your previous experiences, the only time you morph is when you are under extreme duress, so I need to replicate that. How do you feel about a duel?"
"Sure. Magic or Muggle?"
"Ooh! Both!"
Harry laughed. "You're one of a kind, Tonks. Don't ever change." He missed the look on her face as he had already turned and was walking away. "Come on, I'll show you my training room."
Shaking her head in awe at the young man before her, she followed after him. It was obvious that his room was used more for working out than spellcraft, but she flicked her wand and found that he had added most of the standard wards to protect it. "Good job on the spells. Is it alright if I add a few more?"
"Sure. Which ones?"
Her wand started moving in intricate patterns, but she narrated as she worked. "You have the basic protections for the room itself, and built in cushioning charms, but this one will help prevent injury in its walls. You can still get hurt, but it minimizes it quite a bit." She paused as her wand began a new sequence. "This one will help absorb some of the residual magic. I know they track things differently over here, but we still don't want them to know how much magic we are using." She took a long pause before taking her wand and touching it against his chest, then against her own. "And that one, that one will alert me if you get seriously injured in here when I'm not here."
He cocked his head to the side, considering her, and trying to figure out why she would do such a thing. But he didn't ask her. Instead, he took a step back and drew his wand. "Shall we?"
A/N: Many of you were confused by the parts with Ginny in the last chapter. I hope this answers some of your questions. I included it for two reasons, one that he needed that large emotional trauma to start his morphing and splitting with Ron or Hermione could not cause it (as he had already split from each of them separately at one point or another) so it had to be someone he had a different relationship with. The second reason is that many of my reviewers from other stories dislike that I have stopped using Ginny as the main pairing. Thus I used this to show that he could have been with her, it just was bad timing and teenage anger.
