Harry was annoyed.

Early in the morning, just having woken up a few minutes ago, he stumbled down the stairs, heading all the way for the basement kitchen. When he finally made it there, he was completely unsurprised to find both Sirius and Remus, talking about something over newspapers and mugs of what was probably tea. As soon as he hit the bottom, they both looked up at him, giving him similar smiles, saying their good mornings almost in unison.

Harry just grumbled. He walked over to the table, pulled out a chair. The instant he sat down, his chair a bit further from the table than usual, he collapsed against the surface, his head hitting the wood a little harder than he'd intended.

Ow.

'I quite agree, Harry,' Sirius said, a grin clear on his voice. 'It is a beautiful morning. There's just something about the rising sun, the morning dew, that makes you feel so much more alive. It just makes you want to—'

With the slightest of sighs, Remus said, 'Is the teasing really necessary, Sirius?'

'How long have you known me?'

'Granted.'

'But fine, I can do the responsible thing. So, anything other than the usual that has you appearing to contemplate murder?'

Harry was never contemplating murder. Well, okay not never, but even when he was he was joking, didn't really mean it. Er, most of the time. But he just grunted back, lifted his head a couple inches only to drop it back against the table.

And managed to hit the same spot on his head again. Dammit, that hurt.

There was silence for a couple seconds — Sirius and Remus were probably giving each other looks, but he couldn't see with his face against the table. 'Well,' Remus said eventually, 'I can make up some breakfast for you if you want.' Harry considered that for a moment before finally grunting again. A grunt he tried to make sound like assent, but since this wasn't his voice anymore, he wasn't entirely certain he'd actually gotten that across. By the light clanging he started hearing a few seconds later, he probably had.

But Sirius wasn't even quiet for a minute. 'Really, though. Not worrying too much about our visitors coming, are you?'

Oh, great, he'd managed to nearly forget about that. This house was a rather large place, true, but bringing in Hermione and the Weasleys on top of the Order members and allies they had rotating in and out was pushing capacity quite a bit. Which meant people would have to share bedrooms. Normally, Harry probably would have been put in a room with Ron, plus maybe the twins if they had too many guests, but they'd decided that might not be the best idea. Especially since Harry was leaning toward not telling anyone — should he decide to do that whole ritual thing, everything would be a lot simpler if, well, no one knew what had happened. There was no reason to freak Ron out over all this if he didn't have to. As far as anyone else would know, having "Melantha Black" sharing a room with Ronald Weasley would just be peculiar. So, the tentative plan involved Harry staying in the room he was currently in, plus two guests — Hermione and Ginny.

Yeah, that was most definitely going to be awkward.

But no, that wasn't what he'd been thinking about. He hesitated for a few moments — he wasn't really sure he wanted to say anything about this — but he was just so uncomfortable he decided to do it anyway. Maybe if he made Sirius uncomfortable enough, he would just stop asking potentially uncomfortable questions. 'You know. Andi said I'm really badly malnourished.'

For a moment, Sirius cursed under his breath — directed at the Dursleys, Harry knew, as he did every time Harry even obliquely mentioned them. 'Yeah?'

'And she's having me take these nutritional potions still.'

'Yeah?'

'She warned me ahead of time of some things that might start happening.'

'Err...'

Harry ground his teeth for a moment, pounded his head lightly against the table a few times, before he finally managed to force himself to say it. 'My boobs hurt.' Immediately, he heard a rapidly repressed snort of laughter from the direction he knew Sirius to be. 'No, Sirius, it's not funny. You don't get it. I have boobs, and they hurt.'

When Sirius spoke, it was very obvious he was trying not to laugh — there was a waviness to it, a slight tightness. Harry guessed he could at least appreciate Sirius was trying. 'Well, I have it on good authority there's something you can do about that.'

Okay. That was a peculiar thing for Sirius to say. The hell was he talking about? Harry lifted his head a bit, leaned in support against a hand. One look at the crooked, twitching grin on his face, though, and Harry was sure he didn't want to know. But Sirius would eventually say it whether he prompted him or not, so he just asked. 'And what's that?'

'It was Andi, actually, who mentioned it once, a long time ago. Can't remember why, honestly. She said that, when she was having problems with that, she would sneak off somewhere she could, you know, be alone, and—'

Harry already had his wand out and pointed, the gesture cutting Sirius off in mid-sentence. 'I will hex you if you finish that sentence.'

'Oh, come on, if I were in your position, I'm sure by now I would have at least—'

But that was as far as Sirius managed to get, because just then he suddenly burst into an uncontrollable fit of sneezing. Harry just set his head back down on the table, ignoring his godfather's choking protests.

'Harry, I really think you need to stop, well, thinking so much. Stop automatically shifting to considering what you think you should feel, getting all worked up about that, and just let yourself feel whatever comes, as it comes.'

That's what Ellie had said, just yesterday. She'd been getting a little exasperated with him, and over something he hadn't even really realised he was doing. But then, it hadn't taken Ellie very long to start doing things like that. Which was more than a little creepy.

Apparently, being abused as a child did all sorts of weird things to people. He'd never really thought about it, personally, but Ellie kept turning around practically everything he ever said to that, and while it was confusing a lot of the time, in a how is this relevant? sort of way, it was also starting to make an odd kind of sense. People were programmed as they were growing up, after all, little adjustments to how they felt and thought, what they were trained to see as normal, how the world worked, how people interacted. How people were raised had a very direct effect on who they ended up being later in life — perhaps greater than anything else, Ellie said.

In Harry's case, he apparently had a very certain problem. Ellie said regularly being punished for doing or saying anything considered the slightest bit unusual — and wow, had it ever been fun even mentioning that — hadn't left him completely unaffected. Ellie had all kinds of weird terminology for what she was talking about, but she was pretty sure Harry was having an instant negative reaction to certain things because, at some level, he thought they were unusual, and thus he should — if he understood correctly, as a sort of self-defence, so he wouldn't end up getting punished for it later. But Ellie kept insisting that being concerned with what he should be thinking and feeling was entirely unhelpful. That he wouldn't figure any of this out if he didn't just sit back and let be.

Hence, today's little experiment.

It was Ellie's idea, actually. She knew he hadn't been bathing properly, just using a couple charms so he didn't really have to — though his hair was getting gradually more snarly no matter what he did. So she suggested he have a bath. She'd specifically said a bath, not a shower. She wanted him to take off his clothes, get in the water, and relax for two seconds. Which was something of a daunting prospect, honestly. Being naked was something he'd been very carefully avoiding. It was just...uncomfortable. Made it much harder to ignore what had happened to him, raised thoughts he didn't want to have. He'd almost started panicking right there in front of her.

And she'd done of those very confusing things she did — randomly changed the subject. She'd asked him why he hadn't cut his hair. He couldn't be used to having hair that long, and it would be a simple matter, make things a little easier on him, to get rid of it. So why hadn't he?

He hadn't been entirely sure how to answer that question. Shortly after it'd happened, he hadn't known if cutting it off wouldn't, he didn't know, screw up any magic to turn him back or anything — now he knew a little more, knew that wouldn't matter. He'd also thought, maybe, that if he cut it it would just grow back — his magic had done that more than once growing up, so it was definitely possible. So, there was that.

But Ellie had pointed out that accidental magic was instinctual, and intrinsically defensive — it would only grow his hair if he wanted it to. When he'd been a child, he'd been anxious about being taunted and bullied for his ridiculous Petunia-designed haircut — and he himself had thought it looked awful, hated it himself — so it'd grown back to prevent all that. But, if he had known his hair growing back would have made him more uncomfortable, his magic wouldn't have done it. In fact, Harry had been told all that several times recently, so he must know that now. So, stop automatically thinking about how he should feel about it, what he should want, and just think about what he did feel, what he did want.

She'd waited for him to answer, but he hadn't been able to. At first, because, well, he hadn't been entirely sure she had a point at the time. It had seemed like such a silly thing to ask. But now, that he'd had a little time to think about it, he thought he actually did have an answer. He doubted he'd actually be able to tell Ellie, doubted he'd be able to get the words out. Because even when he admitted it in his own head, he sounded defensive to himself, and it was so messed up that it made his head hurt, and he was confused, and he wasn't entirely sure what was going on anymore.

He thought it was pretty, okay? That's why he hadn't cut it. He didn't want to. Because he thought his hair was pretty. He liked it.

Jesus, this was so fucking insane.

He'd gotten Sirius to get the bath ready for him — he didn't actually know how to use the fixtures anyway. The second he could start smelling it, though, he'd turned on Sirius, quite ready to start yelling at him. He must have put something scented in the water — Harry hadn't been watching, standing silent in a corner, doing his best to force off a panic attack — because the air suddenly smelled all sweet and flowery. But Sirius had said he hadn't done it just to mess with him, this was what he always did. He'd actually bought the stuff he'd put in for himself. Harry had given him a look at that, not entirely sure whether he could believe him, but by the completely, ah, serious expression on his face, he decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. Fine.

And then Harry was alone in the room. He triple-checked that the door was locked, then put a locking charm and then a sealing charm on it just in case. Just as he was about to put his wand down a thought occurred to him, and he turned to the mirror dominating almost an entire wall, forcing the whole length to black with a third charm. There.

Yes, he realised he was being a bit silly. He couldn't really help it.

And he just kept being silly. It was getting steadily harder to breathe, and by the time he got his weird wizarding shirt and trousers off he was already getting dizzy, his vision turning grey around the edges. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He sat himself down in that all-too-familiar pose — back against the wall, elbows against his knees, head in his hands — and forced himself to breathe, breathe, breathe, breathe.

He was being so stupid. There was nothing to freak out about so bad. Really, what did he think was going to happen? This was so ridiculous. He was in here by himself, nothing was going to happen, it was all perfectly fine, so just calm the fuck down.

Before too long, the dizziness faded, colour returned to the world. He took in and out one last, long breath, then pushed himself back up to his feet. He instinctively reached to take off his glasses before remembering he didn't wear glasses anymore. For some reason, his vision had improved even as his scar faded. Andi had suggested that wasn't at all a coincidence, though she couldn't say exactly what would cause that. Trying to keep the shaking out of his fingers by mental force of will — because this was ridiculous, what was wrong with him — he shucked his vest off over his head, forced his mind blank as he slipped out of his underpants. Peculiarly aware of how he was very much not wearing anything right now, he made straight for the bath, and — what was this thing made out of, anyway? The deep, greenish-black material seemed by touch to be something other than porcelain, but he had no idea what. It was weird.

A moment later and he was sitting, partially immersed in the water — which Sirius had drawn almost too hot, really — that weird, sweet floweriness penetrating far further into his head than before, hands firmly on his knees, trying not to shake too much, trying to keep his breathing even. Because he was being ridiculous, there was no reason to be acting like this, he was fine. So silly, honestly.

He suddenly realised he had no idea what he was doing. He couldn't remember ever having a bath before.

Well, once. Thankfully, he was rather sure the chances of Myrtle dropping in on him were significantly lower this time.

But, well, sitting keeping himself ramrod-straight like this was already starting to make his back ache, so...maybe he could just lie down a little? The tub was certainly long enough for that, why not. He started shifting, turning around, almost had himself in the right spot to start settling in when his foot slipped on the smooth surface of the tub. The water splashed around him as he flailed for a second, his face almost dipping below the surface before he managed to get a hand on the edge to hold himself up. Drawn from deep in his chest, bouncing its way up, he was suddenly laughing uncontrollably. The frantic, girlish giggles echoing off the walls sounded entirely unfamiliar, but he knew that had to be him, and he couldn't stop, after what had to be minutes he was dizzy from not getting enough air, his throat annoyingly sore.

Wow, what was wrong with him?

After minutes he had finally calmed down, partially suspended lying on his back in the sweet, nearly too-warm water, arms unconsciously hugging his stomach — he had laughed so much he hurt a little, it was weird — his hair fanning around him through the water, his toes curling into fists as he tried to get the last little bit of control over his breathing back. And he let out a long sigh, relaxing out of his weird little episode, just letting himself float there for a while.

It was some moments later when he consciously realised that he was perfectly comfortable for the first time in...well, he wasn't sure how long. A long time, anyway.

Huh.

The day came. Thursday, July twenty-seventh. The day he'd been looking toward to for weeks with a combination of anticipation and dread.

Today, Hermione and the Weasleys were being moved to Grimmauld Place. And, yes, they were some of his favourite people in the world, and in any other situation he'd probably be so excited to see them and spend the rest of the summer with them that he'd hardly be able to sit still. But there were, well, complications. Most particularly, that they wouldn't know he was here. They'd be introduced to "Melantha Black", of course, but Harry wasn't entirely sure he was comfortable telling them the whole story yet. He wasn't sure how they would react. To be completely honest, he was absolutely petrified they would react negatively, with the disgust and mockery he was still surprised he hadn't seemed to have gotten from anyone else yet.

Sirius had told him more than once that he had nothing at all to worry about, but Harry just couldn't trust that. How calm and supportive Sirius and Remus and the Tonkses had been about this whole situation was just completely baffling to him, he couldn't imagine anyone reacting so well. It was weird.

He was actually starting to suspect it was one of those cultural things that he'd just never thought about.

They were going to be arriving any minute now, all of them together. Apparently, Hermione had gone to the Weasleys' the night before, her parents moved to an entirely different Order safehouse — because of their connection to himself, the Order thought the Grangers could be a potential target for Riddle and his cronies, but the wards here were powerful enough Hermione's parents likely wouldn't be able to step through the door. And, yes, he did feel a bit guilty about his friendship with Hermione completely uprooting their lives, thanks for asking. And, yes, that he wouldn't even be telling Hermione he was here was only making him feel even worse.

Yeah, this was gonna be fun.

'Hey, kitten,' Sirius said, wrapping his arm around his shoulders. The three of them (Remus included) were standing just past the front door, waiting for the new guests to arrive — because they were due pretty much now. 'You doing okay?'

Wow, had he really been nervous enough Sirius could tell? He hadn't thought it was that bad. He took a long breath, trying to force the anxiety away, stop being so ridiculous all the time. 'Yeah, I'll be fine.'

'You know, if you're this uncomfortable about it—' Sirius hesitated, just for a quick second. '—we could send you off to Andi's. Call Dumbledore, for the thing.'

Harry knew immediately what Sirius was asking. He hadn't said anything about it, after all, how he'd been doing lately. The occasional complaining, but nothing really more than that. He'd just been...not entirely sure what to say. Partially because he just wasn't sure anymore he wanted the ritual — everything had gotten more confusing than it had been already, and he didn't know anymore. Which he guessed was kind of enormous all by itself, but that wasn't the point. Maybe he should just say that? 'No. I'm, er, not sure yet.'

From this angle, he couldn't see Sirius's face, but Remus from where he was standing a couple feet away was much more visible. So Harry could see perfectly well the absolute shock that suddenly sprouted on his face. From the way his eyes flicked up to where Sirius's must be above and to his side, and the quick silent exchange he guessed they were having, Sirius was just as surprised. After a second of confusion, Harry figured it out.

They'd both been positive he was going to reverse it.

Harry couldn't help wondering if he'd maybe missed something.

But the moment quickly passed, Sirius giving his shoulders another squeeze. 'Just remember they're all still your friends, kitten. They're not going to ditch you, no matter what happens.' Harry caught the unspoken. His voice as he'd said it, all soft and peculiarly tender, made explicitly including himself in the statement completely unnecessary.

Despite the tightness in his chest, the roiling in his stomach, Harry felt his lips twitch a little in approximation of a smile.

It all started only a few seconds later. In a disorganised rush, nine people stepped through the front door at Sirius's urging — Mister and Misses Weasley, of course, who almost got ran over by the twins as they barrelled in, then Ron, and Hermione (who looked upon the rabble in a vaguely disapproving manner), then Ginny, and finally, bringing in the rear with Dora (probably their escort), to Harry's complete surprise, was Bill. Harry hadn't expected him to be coming at all. Wasn't he still working in Egypt?

For a while the air was filled with chattering from all corners, the Weasley parents thanking Lord Black — Sirius playfully balked at the title — for providing them secure room and board, Hermione asking after Remus's health and then launching into a ramble about all the fascinating books she'd read with any relation to his area of expertise since they'd last spoken, the twins off on one of their sarcastic dialogues about, by what he heard of it, what the feel of this room said about the owner of the house (nothing flattering), Dora and Ginny and Bill laughing after a rather, erm, indecent joke, Ron standing in the middle of the chaos as though he weren't entirely sure which of the conversations he wanted to be in.

And then it got weird, when Sirius "introduced" him to them. There was a lot of people he'd known for years telling him their names, a lot of uncomfortable questions he wasn't entirely sure how to answer, a narrow-eyed look from Hermione that made him feel like she were performing some sort of deep examination charm with the force of her gaze alone. This was all just so uncomfortable, and he had absolutely no idea what he was doing.

The exaggerated flirtatiousness from the twins wasn't at all helping, but at least he was pretty sure it had nothing to do with him — each syllable seemed to be making their mother progressively more mortified, which he was sure by their cocky grins was the whole point.

Oh fuck, what was he going to do if some bloke started honestly flirting with him?

Nope. Don't think about that.

But at least then they were distracted by dinner. Down in the kitchen, Harry sat between Sirius and Ginny. Eating in silence, most of the time, really just listening to everyone chatter around him. Honestly, even if he weren't all anxious he probably wouldn't have talked much. Even in normal situations with the Weasleys there was usually a bit too much going on for him to keep up with.

At some point, Ginny had asked, sounding distinctly uncomfortable, if he played quidditch. Which had temporarily confused him. Of course he played quidditch, Ginny already knew that. But then he had to remind himself that, er, no, Ginny didn't know that, she didn't know who she was talking to. But at least the subsequent quidditch conversation he could mostly follow, so that was something.

It seemed like it was way too soon — he'd come to suspect before that putting so much Weasley-energy in one room at once somehow accelerated the passage of time — that it was getting late, and everyone started dividing up to get to bed. Oh, god, this was going to be so very awkward. Pointedly ignoring a playful wink from Dora, he led the younger portion of the crowd up the stairs, stopping at a landing to point Ron and the twins to their room. And then they were on the right floor, and going down the right hall, and just getting to the right door, and his vision was starting to go grey around the edges—

He paused, holding the door handle, and took a long breath. He was being so ridiculous again. Seriously, he'd slept in the same room with Hermione before! And Sirius had brought in a couple extra beds, obviously, so it wasn't like there was anything that weird going on. Calm the fuck down already. And he opened the door.

Hermione and Ginny made for their things at their respective little cots, started sorting through. As long as they were at it, Harry pointed out the closets and dressers he wasn't using anyway, in case they wanted to unpack a little — honestly, he had no idea how anyone would need this much space for their things, it was weird. But then, he was aware he'd definitely been on the light side as far as possessions went, so maybe his reckoning of such things was completely off.

With a start, he realised Hermione and Ginny were starting to change for bed. Looking away immediately, trying to ignore the blush on his own face, he grabbed his own pyjamas and set off for the bathroom, resolutely closing the door of his room behind him.

Fuck.

A couple minutes later, having changed in solitude, he hesitantly pulled the door open, noticed Hermione and Ginny were done changing, wearing the nightdress and flannel respectively he recognised from the World Cup trip last year, sitting on one of the cots muttering to each other. Perfect. He walked back in, putting his clothes away, avoiding their eyes. 'Sorry,' Hermione said a bit louder, sounding slightly sheepish. 'Didn't mean to make you uncomfortable.'

'It's okay, I'm just not—' He broke off, not entirely sure how to finish that sentence. 'Er, I used to live alone.' Not entirely accurate, but close enough to the problem it should work. And, if he remembered the cover story Sirius had made up on the spot a couple days ago, it would actually be a correct statement for "Melantha" or whatever.

God, this was confusing.

Ginny let out a short groan of envy. 'Lucky. I'd take living here in a second. I grew up with six older brothers, impossible to get a moment to myself. Especially back when they were all home during the summer. And then there's Luna, who has no concept of personal space.' Harry did his best to hold back an uncomfortable grimace. He'd only met the strange little Ravenclaw on a handful of brief occasions, but even he knew that was accurate.

He didn't generally like strangers running up and grabbing him.

'I'm an only child,' Hermione said, shrugging, 'but after a couple months at Hogwarts I stopped being shy about some things.'

Harry froze. Hogwarts. The Gryffindor dorms. He'd totally forgotten that, if he didn't do the ritual thing and went to school like this, he'd be sharing a room with the girls in his year — Hermione, Lavender, Parvati, Fay, and, er...he thought there might be another one, he wasn't sure. Honestly, he'd hardly ever talked to Lavender and Parvati, and he only knew Fay because she'd tried out for the quidditch team in third year — if the beaters were anyone but the Weasley twins, she probably would have gotten in — and had been in a couple of the pick-up games he'd joined. That...shite, that was going to be unbelievably awkward.

But anyway, Ginny was saying something again. 'Ah, give it a couple weeks and Tonks will wear you down, I bet. She's around here a lot, right? That woman doesn't have privacy in her vocabulary.'

'That's for sure,' Harry said, plopping down to sitting on his bed. 'I only even met her a few weeks ago, but she's been all over her cute baby cousin from day one. At this point, if I woke up one morning to find her in my bed I wouldn't even be able to pretend to be surprised.'

For some reason, Ginny giggled at that.

Just a couple minutes later — Harry got the impression Hermione and Ginny had been up really late the previous night — they were all settled in, the lights dismissed with a wave of Harry's wand, silence taking over the room. But not even for very long. Harry had hardly been lying there for maybe three minutes, trying to ignore the fact that he wasn't alone in here, when he heard the sheets rustling from Hermione's side of the room. By the sound of it, she was slipping out of bed. Then Harry felt the mattress depress a little, as though a knee had come down on the side of it. Before he could say or do anything, a silencing charm suddenly sprung into existence over his bed, the texture of the thing, and the fact that it'd been cast silently, intimately familiar — he must have felt Hermione do that a thousand times. And then Harry felt the sheets lift a bit, the bed shifting further as Hermione slipped in.

Harry whispered, 'Erm, what are you—'

'Relax, Harry,' Hermione said at full volume, since they were behind a silencing charm anyway, 'I just wanted to talk.' And then he heard an incantation, followed by the sensation of another paling slipping into place — this one, he knew, blocking any magically-created light from leaving the area of effect.

But Harry wasn't really paying attention to that. He stared in the direction he knew Hermione to be, struggling for a few seconds to remember how to speak. 'How did you know it was me?'

'Please, Harry.' He blinked as Hermione's wand suddenly burst into soft, reddish brilliance, the light temporarily dazzling his dark-adjusted eyes. After a second, Harry saw she was giving him a look, one of those deeply exasperated expressions Hermione wore whenever he or Ron did or said something stupid. 'You've been my best friend for almost four years now. Did you really think I wouldn't notice it was you?'

'It was the cursing, wasn't it?' That was the theory he was operating on at the moment, the thing that implied to certain people who he was.

'Erm, no. Body language, mostly. I figured it out almost right away.'

He let out a long sigh. Great. He had hoped inexplicably being the opposite sex would at least throw people off for a few seconds. 'Well, then, shite.'

'I don't think most people would be able to tell. Most people don't spend as much time around you as I do. Though, Ron didn't notice, but he's Ron.' Harry wasn't entirely sure what she meant by that. 'But anyway,' Hermione said with that voice of tense curiosity she used whenever she was trying to figure something out, 'what's going on? This seems like a rather extreme length to go to just for a disguise or something, especially since it's just us here. And how'd you do it in the first place? If you're going to bed like this, I can only guess it's at least somewhat permanent.'

Harry hesitated. This was just going to be uncomfortable. But Hermione was staring at him with that open, anticipating look, one she was well aware he was entirely incapable of resisting, and he hardly held out for a few seconds before he groaned. 'It's completely permanent, actually. I mean, Dumbledore said he can put me back to normal pretty easily—'

'Blood alchemy,' Hermione said easily enough, nodding, but with something of an odd look on her face.

'Right. But, er. Apparently I did this myself. Dumbledore says it was accidental magic.'

'Acci— But—' When Hermione broke off the second time she didn't bother trying to speak again. She just lay there, staring at Harry in the wandlight, an intense, concentrated sort of frown on her face.

And that was all it took. Harry felt the familiar creeping sensation start crawling up his chest and into his throat, a tingling starting in his head and intensifying so quickly that before long it came as a buzzing in his ears. His mouth started moving without him really realising he was doing it. 'At least that's what Dumbledore says, I mean, it came out of nowhere for me, it wasn't like I tried to do it, and he's making me stay like this at least for a little while for weird Dumbledore reasons, and it's all been really fucking weird, and I know it's weird, so if you—'

Hermione cut him off about there. Not that she'd said or done anything directly to stop his terrified little rant. But his words were quite suddenly surprised out of him when he found his face buried in a mass of tickling hair, Hermione's arms wrapped almost painfully tight around him, one of his arms caught and squeezed against his side — he wasn't sure how she'd managed hugging him like that, since they were lying in bed right now. For some seconds she said nothing, just slowly constricted all the air out of his lungs. Not that he minded all that much, honestly. As far as he was concerned, she could keep doing that as long as she wanted. Especially since the creeping and buzzing had abruptly vanished.

Hermione was quite literally the first person he could remember hugging him. Ever. The first time had honestly almost thrown him into an episode, but he'd long ago stopped being bothered by it. And even for a while after that, she had been the only person he was even a little comfortable letting touch him — with the occasional exception of Ron, depending on what happened to be going on at the time. Actually, it'd been a few years now and both those lists were still only populated with a few names.

He did kinda regret admitting those two little tidbits to her. The heartbroken expression that had crossed her face before she had managed to lock it away somewhere as she always did when she didn't want to bother other people with what was going on in her head had just made him feel horribly guilty.

So, if she really felt like hugging him right now, she could just go right ahead. He certainly wouldn't stop her.

'I'm sorry,' she muttered into his hair, the warmth of her breath crossing the side of his head and wrapping all the way over to the back of his neck.

'Er.' He blinked to himself for a few seconds in silence before finally finding words again. 'What for?'

'I...' Hermione's grip on him loosened, and she gradually let go, sliding a few inches away. Harry noticed the slightest glittering around her eyes in the reddish wandlight. 'It's just, for accidental magic to do something like this...' She broke off again, shaking her head to herself for a moment. The contorted expression on her face, the wavering harshness on her voice, seemed almost...guilty? 'You must have been feeling really, really awful, and I simply had no idea at all.'

Harry had to sigh at that. He wasn't even really sure why — it wasn't a conscious decision, the urge came over so powerfully he just couldn't stop it. 'That's really not your fault, Hermione. You can't be expected to know what's going on in my head if I don't tell you.'

The weird expression shifting to a sad sort of smile, Hermione said, 'Harry, you never tell me anything.'

Letting out a little groan, Harry let himself flop over to his back, his arms crossing over his chest without any real direction from him. Yes, fine, that was true. He never told Hermione anything. Or at least nothing personal, anyway. Hermione used to ask, all kinds of annoying questions about what he thought or felt about this or that. If Ron was around, Harry would just let him go off on one of his rants — he could really be seriously and noisily opinionated about almost anything. But if Ron wasn't around he'd just...kind of ignore it. Change the subject maybe. Say something neutral at best, pretend not to hear her at worst.

And that really was worst. He was well aware other people had had and sometimes still did have a nasty habit of pretending she didn't exist, so doing that always made him feel like complete shite, but he never knew what to say when she was asking questions like that. It wasn't out of malice, but that sounded like a pathetic excuse, really. Oh, I didn't mean it when I was an insufferable arsehole to one of my best friends, so it's fine! Yeah, no.

It was obvious to him Hermione had just given up on ever getting answers for anything like that some time ago now. It was also obvious she hadn't given up on figuring him out — she just didn't ask directly. Sometimes she would say something, or just give him peculiar looks, that implied to him she knew more than he'd told her, and was just tactful enough not to make a big thing about it. At the very least, she'd figured out enough that by now she would at least avoid certain topics entirely, something he really wished Ron would take notes on. Sometimes it seemed like Ron lived his entire existence gagging on his own foot.

But, anyway, he was supposed to be having a conversation here. 'Yeah, I know. That's on me. So don't go beating yourself up about it.'

There was silence for a long moment, Hermione staring at him in the red-tinged darkness. At least, he assumed she was staring at him — he was facing the ceiling toward the opposite side of the room, so he actually wasn't entirely sure. After a little while, she said, 'Can I ask you something?'

Again, he felt himself sighing without really meaning to. 'You can ask, but I can't guarantee I'll answer.'

'What's the plan?'

He turned his head over toward her again, feeling his eyebrows track up his face. She was still lying there on her side, staring back at him with one of those politely curious expressions that seemed to come to her so easily. 'The plan?'

'Yes. The plan. You said Dumbledore is making you stay like this for a little while — for reasons I can infer well enough on my own, so you don't have to explain.' Well, that was one small mercy, at least. 'I'm just wondering what the plan is. I mean, for when you reach his deadline, and afterward.'

Okay. No, that wasn't something Harry really felt like talking about. Ellie had to drag that kind of thing out of him, like he'd tell anything willingly to anyone, least of all Hermione. He just, no. He sighed yet again — really seemed to be doing that a lot — uncrossed his arms to bury his fingers in his hair. There had to be a polite way to tell Hermione to bugger off, but he really wasn't coming up with anything right—

'I'm not trying to make this harder on you, Harry.' Her voice had turned a bit softer, which surprised him a little, to be honest — withholding information of any sort almost universally led to one very aggravated Hermione. And an aggravated Hermione was a scary Hermione. 'In fact, that's the exact opposite of what I'm trying to do. I don't want to make all this more difficult than it has to be on my account. If I don't know what the plan is, if I don't know what's going on, I might say or do the wrong things, and I really don't want to do that. You're my best friend, Harry, and I don't want to hurt you, even by accident.'

Fuck. Just...fuck. There was a hidden talent of Hermione's people who weren't close to her probably never found out about: she was really good at making people feel terrible about themselves in a way they couldn't reasonably get angry at her for. Or maybe that was just him, he wasn't sure. He had a feeling Ron wouldn't be quite as susceptible to that sort of subtle guilt trip as he was himself. When she put it like that, he really couldn't refuse. Not without hating himself a little, anyway.

But it took a little bit to collect himself. His lungs didn't seem to be cooperating. He lay there for long seconds, rubbing his face in silence, trying to force himself to keep breathing and not collapse like a total lunatic. He was sure he'd already crossed the line into partial lunatic territory, fine, but dammit if he wasn't going to keep himself from going full-on Lovegood for as long as he could.

And by Lovegood he meant Xeno. He'd only met Luna's father three times, all while staying at the Burrow one summer or another — he'd probably spoken to Luna more over those few weeks with the Weasleys than three years at the same school, honestly. But, while Luna's unapologetic eccentricities had always struck him as vaguely adorable, her father just made him uncomfortable.

'Alright.' He lifted his hands from his face, crossed his arms over his chest again, but kept staring up at the ceiling rather than actually meet Hermione's eyes for this conversation. Would make it easier, he hoped. 'The answer for what the plan is is I don't know what the plan is.'

A few seconds passed in silence. Harry imagined Hermione was blinking at him, but he couldn't see her surely confused expression from this angle. 'What do you mean?'

'I mean I don't know!' He realised after the fact that had been a little more harsh than he'd meant it to be. Clearing his throat, he shifted against the bed slightly, even though he was perfectly aware the stupid thing had nothing to do with his sudden discomfort. 'I mean, I thought I knew. I was really annoyed with Dumbledore at first for making me wait, would have done it in a second if he'd just let me.'

He was entirely aware that sentence was a little bit tangled, but apparently it made enough sense to Hermione. 'And now?'

'Now everything has just gotten so confusing! I have no idea anymore, I just don't. I mean...' And there he went sighing some more. He buried his fingers in his hair again, resisting the urge to start yanking at it, because, really, that was utterly pointless and would only hurt, he was such a nutcase. 'I'm not going to say I've been doing well, because, honestly, I'm not really sure what doing well feels like.' It occurred to him even as the sentence was passing his lips that he probably shouldn't be saying something that depressing to Hermione, but it was too late now, so, whoops. 'But it's been, I don't know. It's like, when you had a really fucking long day, and you finally get to go to bed, and there's that instant of relief there, like that. If that makes any sense at all.

'But the problem is, so many things are different I don't know which thing did it! I actually live here now, you know,' he said, turning over to look at her. He wasn't entirely sure what to make of the look on her face — she was entirely blank of expression, simply staring at him with wide eyes. So he just looked away to the ceiling again. 'Permanently, I mean. This is my room, will be for as long as I want it. Sirius is my legal guardian now, paperwork signed and everything. I never have to go back. And that's just... I don't...

'And the other thing! I mean, I've only left the house a couple times. But when I'm not completely freaking out over whether people will figure out it's me and completely freak out, it's actually rather nice. No one knows who I am! I can walk right down the middle of Diagon Alley, and nobody gives me a second glance! Even my scar is gone! You have no idea how many times I've prayed just for that much!

'And I'm not gonna lie, the being a girl now part was really, really awful at first. But now, I just— I just don't know. It doesn't bother me so much anymore. At least not since Ellie made me—' Actually, no, he wasn't going to finish that sentence. Hermione didn't need to know the details about that bath Ellie had suggested he have, which still topped the list of the most disorienting experiences of his entire life. 'I honestly hardly notice most of the time.

'So, that's really the only answer I have. This is all so extremely confusing, and I simply just don't know. And even just the fact that I don't know confuses the fuck out of me. So, sorry, I got nothing.'

For a long moment, there was nothing. Harry lay in silence, doing his best to keep his breathing regular, to ignore the impulse of his twitching limbs to jump to his feet and run out of the room. Which really wasn't so easy, to be honest. He had no idea why he wanted to flee so badly. It was stupid. So he crossed his arms over his chest, his legs at the ankles, forcing himself to stay still, to not act like quite so much of a complete crazy person. And try not to think about what Hermione was thinking. Which was easier to do if he wasn't looking at her, so he was also trying not to do that. He thought he'd probably memorised that upper corner of his room pretty well by now.

He jumped when Hermione spoke again. 'Well.' For a second longer she hesitated, then shrugged, exaggerated enough Harry could feel the mattress dip. 'I think I should probably start calling you Melantha, then.'

He jerked back around to stare at her, feeling the sharp frown on his own face. 'What?'

That smile. That same, soft, self-confident smile Hermione always wore when she was sure she was right about something and he was wrong, but was trying to be nice about it. Sometimes he really hated that smile. 'If you do decide not to do the ritual then you'll have to get used to hearing it. Unless you have another name you'd prefer, anyway.'

'But...'

'Besides, until you tell everyone else, you wouldn't want someone to overhear us and figure out that way, right?'

'I guess not...'

'Anyway.' Hermione's smile turned a bit brighter, but there was something slightly off. He wasn't sure exactly what it was about it. But he knew Hermione was about to tease him. 'This should be fun.'

Oh, yes, this whole situation was definitely his idea of fun. Hermione had hit that one right on the mark. Giving her a heavy frown — or at least what he hoped was one — Harry growled, 'Fun?'

'Yes. I've never had a girl best friend before, you know.'

Some hidden, traitorous part of him really, really wanted to laugh at that. But instead he forced out a groan. 'Oh, piss off.'

A wide grin on her face, Hermione removed both privacy charms with a quick wave of her wand. A few seconds later, the wandlight was gone, and Hermione had returned to her own bed. And Harry was finally left more or less alone.

He must have lain in bed for over an hour before finally falling asleep.