Metamorphosis: A Story of Maturing
Chapter 6: The Stupidest Idea He Had Ever Come Up With Ever,
Even Including Ron Weasley's Stupid Ideas,
Which Number in the Thousands

Draco was, at the moment, unusually bored. He was so bored, in fact, that he was seriously considering breaking out of this stupid safe house and running away to Africa where no one would turn his hair blue. But, he reconsidered, there were large feline predators in Africa, and they might eat him. Maybe somewhere else then.

Anywhere was better than here, though, locked up in a house and ignored by everyone except Mrs. Weasley, counting the cracks webbed across the ceiling for days at a time. Maybe he'd go to the beach instead.

Sighing dejectedly, he looked over his last bit of summer homework. He couldn't remember a summer before this one when he had even been close to finishing his summer work before July, but then again, he couldn't remember a summer when he was in hiding from his father's insane homicidal rage either.

Finding that he really couldn't add another word to his already twice-as-long-as-necessary essay on The History of the Dragon-Pox, Beginning with the First Case of Chauncey Oldridge in 1379, and the Eventual Discovery of the Vaccine by Edward Pomfrey in the 15th Century, he angrily stuffed his essay into his trunk and slammed it shut. As if Professor Binns ever actually read all of this crap.

Rolling over on his bed, he continued counting cracks. There was a very interesting new one over by the left corner of the room, and he was very eager to investigate.

As bored as Draco was, Remus Lupin was just as excited. The Order had met and finally designed a plan for Harry's transference which Dumbledore considered safe enough, and it was planned to be executed in three days.

Professor Snape would be providing three servings of Polyjuice Potion, left over from his earlier escapade, which he still refused to speak about. Professor Dumbledore had made a portkey for the real Harry to take, escorted by Remus himself, but to avert suspicion and interference, three other volunteers would make the journey in three different ways, escorted by different members of the order. The plan was foolproof.

Mundungus Fletcher had volunteered to take a potion as a way of redeem himself for his grievous error the summer before. Tonks had agreed to accompany him. Severus Snape had adamantly refused to have anything to do with taking Potter's Polyjuice, and had decided to remain at HQ. Alastor Moody was going to escort Bill Weasley-alias-Harry, and Kingsley Shacklebolt would escort Fleur Delacour in disguise, surprisingly. Bill had put up a fuss, expectedly, when she had volunteered, but she had swiftly put him in his place, commenting that if he could do it, so could she. Coupled with a glare and a touch of what could have been her Veela charm, Bill had relented.

Remus was very, very worried about Harry. The last time he had seen him was at the platform, disappearing off to the Dursley's and out of his reach. Remus had missed seeing Harry, and was very worried about his grieving by himself. If anyone deserved a loving family, it was Harry, and he was, regrettably, isolated from the rest of the world. The letters he had received so far from him had been less than informative, and Remus was very concerned for the boy.

But in a few more days all this would be remedied. Harry would be in his care, and Remus wouldn't worry so.

If only Sirius were here…

Hermione had also finished all of her summer homework, and was also quite bored, but for a completely different reason. There was only so much of Ron Weasley one could take, you know, until your brain dissolved and streamed out one's ears. A distraction, though Hermione, is just what he needs. And not a distraction associated with the Canons.

"Really, Hermione, are you paying attention? Fred says The Cup is being held in Latvia this summer, and that sounds close enough to reach by floo, if you're up to it." Something fragile in Hermione snapped.

"Ron! Have you finished your summer homework?" Ron looked at her as if she were insane. Which she almost was. "I'm serious. Have you finished it? Because there's no way even in your delusional fantasies that you'll end up at this stupid Quidditch-match-in-the-north-pole-or-whatever if you haven't written that essay."

Ron gaped at her. "St—st—stupid Quidditch? Hermione?" And he passed out with a Shocked and Betrayed look on his face, not unexpectedly. Hermione thanked whoever was paying attention up there for preserving her sanity, and went downstairs for some grapes.

There was a not so brief moment on the stairs when Hermione was trying to go down, and Malfoy was trying to go up, and they were both in very awful moods, respectively. No one else was trying to get around them, so just because they could they glared angrily at each other for a full seven and a half minutes. Finally, when Hermione remembered the grapes downstairs, she brushed past him in a huff to go get them.

Draco Malfoy then spent the next twenty and one fourth minutes sitting at the top of the stairs telling himself that Granger most certainly does not look sexy when she brushes past you in a huff, accidentally brushing her…girly parts against him. Most Certainly.

Two days later, the final stages of preparation for Saint Potter's arrival were happening. The almost orgasmic state Mrs. Weasley was perpetually in made Draco slightly jealous, and slightly ill. Hermione, the -most-certainly-not-sexy-one, as he kept reminding himself, was also getting quite giddy, and there was no other word for it. Neville and Ron were on pins and needles, wondering if Harry might want to talk to them about something serious, but he wasn't sure exactly what that meant.

Still, he reasoned, Such Excitement over one stupid scar-headed boy couldn't be healthy.

Arthur Weasley had shown up, much to Draco's displeasure, and slobbered ostentatiously over his wife in a manner which Draco deemed Highly Inappropriate. Families did not do things like That in public, it was demeaning. To add insult to injury, Mr. Weasley had also started to talk about plugs and light bulbs, and perhaps Harry, dear lad, would have a few he could look at when he came.

However, the final blow for Draco was the arrival of Fleur Delacour, the dazzling beauty he remembered as the Beauxbaton's Champion from fourth year. She arrived in a whirl of sexy hair and even sexier robes, happily proclaiming that she couldn't wait to see Dear Harry so much, and oh, how she had missed him.

Draco quickly left the room to retch. No, he thought, definitely not healthy.

The next day, the strange excitement and buzzing in the house reached a fever pitch. In order to escape the insane worship of The-Wizard-Draco-Hates-Fourth-Most, after only his Father, Lord Voldemort, and Professor Moody, Draco resorted to desperate measures.

He locked himself in a closet and hid.

Hid, that was, until he saw a very frightening pair of yellow-green tennis ball eyes squinting at him in the darkness. Then, he ran. Like a little girl.

After several more attempts to hide, which entailed several Fearsome Things Which Shall Not Be Mentioned Here and a Hippogriff which looked remarkably similar to the one which had attacked him in third year, chomping threateningly on a piece of dead meat, Draco finally found a room where no one was present and/or twittering about The-Prat-Who-Would-Not-Just-Die-Already-And-Leave-Me-Be. It was, in the least, a great relief.

Draco leaned against the wall and stuck his hands in his pockets, only to immediately draw them out again upon touching something flesh-textured and strange. Oh, dear.

Hesitantly, he reached into his pocked and pulled out a slightly familiar piece of fleshy string. Squinting, he tried to remember where he'd seen it before. It came back to him in wisps: Fred and George. Something almost like Pride in Remus Lupin's eyes. Extendable Ears.

So these things help you eavesdrop? Let's see…

Draco peered down at the floor in front of him. Trying to envision a plan of the house in his mind, he concluded, albeit with uncertainty, that he was presently above Remus Lupin's study. This must be where the Terrible Twins were planning on eavesdropping from.

Casting his eyes bout the floor, he found a well worn crack in the left corner which was the perfect size for one end of the Extendable Ear, and dropped it down. He put the other end to his ear and was astounded. He could hear everything just as if he were down there.

Shifting his weight to his heels, he sat back and just listened.

Remus was in a right state. He was So Nervous that one was nervous just looking at him. Something was sure to go wrong. What is it, Melvin's Law? Murphy's Law? Got it. Something WILL GO WRONG.

He called out to Fleur, who is sitting comfortably in an armchair on the other side of the room. "Fleur dear, where is Bill?"

"I am sorrrrry," She rolls the R in that sultry, Veela like voice she has. "I 'ave not seen Bill een almost an 'our." Remus frets a bit, strikingly similar to an old lady who has misplaced her favorite reading glasses and suddenly the door opens, and in walks Bill.

"Remus, good man, are you sure that this Polyjuice will work? I've been talking to Hermione about it and she just stuttered and said 'You should NEVER ever use Polyjuice Potion,' and ran away with her metaphoric tail between her legs. I've never seen her so upset."

"Er, well, Hermione may have had some…bad experiences with this, but not to worry, we've got samples that I'm sure will be satisfactory. Harry sent them to me this morning, and Severus and I already mixed it in. Everything will be fine." Remus didn't sound too sure of himself, but Bill seemed reassured.

"So, it's just Fletcher, Fleur, and I taking the potion right? Harry will be taking a portkey, and Tonks, Arthur and Shacklebolt will be escorting?"

"Yes" Said Remus. "Except Arthur won't be escorting, Moody will be. And I'll take the real Harry and everything will turn out FINE." Remus seemed to think that if he just kept saying this, then it would be true. It wouldn't.

Remus was so caught up in his nervousness that he, for once, did not notice the Extendable Ear, which was slowly being retracted from the hole in the ceiling which really needed to be fixed.

Draco had become very, very good at hiding in closets. It had even become an instinct while he had been in Grimmauld Place, due to the whole self-preservation tactic with the Weasley Twins around. So when he hadfoundhimself inthe kitchen, surprised at the cauldron of what could justifiably be called Glop on the counter instead of a lovely fruit bowl, and an angry set of footsteps heading his way, he had used his new talent and dashed into the pantry just in time to escape the piercing eyes and most frightening snout of his head of house.

Snape emptied the contents of a small envelope into the sludge, changing its color from something-brown-and-unappetizing-mud-sludge to emerald-green-unappetizing-mud sludge. Judging from the time of day it was, the conversation he was not supposed to have heard the night before, and the mere presence of His Greasiness, Draco judged what had just happened, correctly, to be Severus Snape glaring at some snippings of Harry Potter Hair and mixing them into a Polyjuice potion.

Hissing malevolently, Snape billowed out of the kitchen, and Draco stood looking at the caldron with an expression which any mother will tell you spells disaster. The beginnings of a desperate plan began to form into his mind, and Draco, driven mad by the near-claustrophobia that this damn place had inflicted upon him, acted before he had time to realize this was, quite possibly, the stupidest idea he had ever had. Bar none.

Draco snuck out of the pantry and hid himself slyly in the space behind the Black family Tapestry, and before too log was rewarded with the voice of the Potion's Master accompanied by three very different sets of footsteps coming from the kitchen.

"I will give you each one cup of the potion, along with a set of robes, shoes, and glasses which will fit your lesser form. I will also give you a canteen of the potion, should you feel that your return trip will outlast the effects of the potion, which are limited to exactly one hour." Snape's upper lip curled audibly. "Please be out of my sight when you change into the Potter boy." Snape handed out everything, and Draco could hear several murmurs of thanks and then the bold voice of Bill Weasley, saying,

"Alright then, everyone separate and we'll meet back here in a moment. Don't take too long." His heavy footsteps faded away, as did the lighter ones of the French Veela. Draco peered through a hole which was burnt around the edges, and saw the back of what looked like a large pile of rags walking away towards a hallway Draco had yet to explore in all thoroughness. Draco hesitantly followed, praying, just praying that this half brained scheme would work.

He saw the smelly one turn and enter what must have been another bedroom, and quickly followed him in. Dung took out his pipe, not noticing the blond haired boy beside him, and began to blow large clouds of black smoke into the air. Not paying attention, he was shocked beyond belief to suddenly find himself shoved head first into a closet. Hearing a chair slid under the handle of the door, he just sighed and returned to smoking his pipe.

There was nothing else he could do but wait and enjoy his pipe.

Draco found himself upon the cusp of destiny. He held in his right hand the wand of Mundungus Fletcher, which would allow him to actually use magic without being expelled, and in his left, a goblet of Polyjuice Potion which would enable his escape from this hell of a house, even if only for an hour or so.

Pinching his nose, he eagerly downed the potion, and as he shuddered at the effects dearly wished he hadn't. But in a few moments it was all over, and Draco suddenly felt a wave of sympathy for anyone who needed glasses. He couldn't see anything.

Groping blindly for the set of glasses and robes the rag-man had left on the back of a chair, Draco tripped over his shoes, which were suddenly too large and fell on his face. Pulling himself up, he finally found the glasses and slipped them onto his nose. Everything came into focus, and he realized that his robes were just a little short for him, and a little loose around the shoulders. Quickly changing into the extra robes and shoes, he turned to the mirror and confronted his reflection. An annoyingly familiar pair of bright green eyes peered back at him. They drifted up to the signature scar on his forehead and he smirked, and expression which looked very out of place on the face of Harry Potter.

It was go-time, as the Americans would say.

Lucius Malfoy was not sulking. Men of such stature as a Malfoy did not sulk. They did not throw priceless heirloom china at their wives, and they did not glare for hours on end at a frosty pane of glass that, no matter what, refused to change.

Of course not.

Lucius Malfoy was simply checking, again, to see if there was anything he could do to find his wretched son who would soon be dead, if he had anything to say about it. Dead as a doornail. He had checked often enough in the past few weeks, and nothing had changed at all. Which explained the absolute shock and jubilation which shone from his pale, pale face when he looked down at the glass for what he promised himself would be the last time that day.

The map was moving. Slowly, as if it were very, very confused, it was sliding south through London and then past London…

Lucius was practically drooling with evil anticipation. Where was he, the stupid boy? The map panned through the south east, and came to rest in Surry. As the map came into focus, Lucius could almost read the name of the street where the red blood was concentrating.

"Brimal….no….Brival…that's definitely a V…a P….maybe…Privel…no…Privet. Privet Drive. Number….

Number Four. Number Four Privet Drive." His eyes slanted in a very wicked way, and Lucius Malfoy twirled his wand in his spindly fingers. "Now, my dear boy, we will have a bit of fun."

Draco Malfoy had never felt so exhilarated in his life. No one was glaring at him, avoiding him, and he was out of doors, riding a broomstick above London, Disillusioned, of course, for protection. He was in the company of a witch whom he remembered as maybe being a relative of his, along with two other Harry look-alikes, two other Aurors and Remus Lupin, who, while being intimidating, showed no suspicion that he wasn't who they thought he was. This was perfect.

They quickly found themselves on the doorstep of a very normal and boring looking suburban house. Tonks, his escort, tripped and almost fell into the mailbox dismounting her broom, but Draco made less of a fool of himself and dismounted smoothly with the others. Remus went forward and pushed a button by the door, sending resoundingly cheerful bell tones through the house. The door was tentatively opened by a woman who strongly reminded Draco of a horse backed up by a man who looked remarkably like a bulldog. Before the strangely proportioned woman could slam the door, Remus leapt forward and pushed it open with an unusual show of strength.

Draco took a swig from his canteen, as did the others, and as a party they shoved their collective way past her. Moody rolled his magical eye around, making the woman very pale, and Remus greeted her cordially.

"Hello, Petunia, dear. Vernon, good man. We're here to collect Harry; he's in his room I suppose?" The shocked woman nodded silently, staring flabbergasted at the three copies of he nephew. All of them trooped upstairs and followed Remus and Mad-Eye, who was checking through each door to see which one was Harry's.

Remus was much more sure of himself. When the group arrived at a door accessorized with around ten locks and deadbolts and a doggy-door, Remus opened it without hesitation. What Draco saw from behind the werewolf's bony shoulders shocked him.

He had always thought Harry lived a very nice life at home. In reality, Harry was living in conditions suitable, perhaps, for a rat. There was very little furniture in the room, and a mattress which had no doubt seen better days long ago was crammed into the corner. Harry Potter lived in a dump.

Remus scowled and stomped over to a wryly smiling and very ill looking Harry Potter, propped up on the bed.

"You promised me that you would write if they did anything to you." Harry only looked up at him, his expression clearly saying, "Ya think?"

"They haven't done anything to me."

"Damn right they didn't Harry. This is neglect! I'm so sorry we—"

"REMUS! I said they hadn't done anything to me. I'm not kidding. And even if they had, I'd deserve it." Draco Malfoy was stunned into shock. Where was the annoying, cocky, self-righteous Potter from school?

"Harry." Remus' tone was filled with remorse. "It's not your fault. I promise."

"YEAH WELL IT DOESN'T CHANGE THE FACT THAT HE'S DEAD, DOES IT?"

Remus looked very uncomfortable as did the rest of the party. Draco had no idea what was going on.Remus tactfully changed the subject. "It's time to go, Harry. Ron and Hermione and Neville have been very worried about you. Not to mention the rest of the Weasleys." Harry just frowned.

"They shouldn't have." Remus pulled Harry's decidedly bonier than before body up to stand, and marched him back downstairs.

"Tonks, would you shrink all of Harry's things so we can go? I want to get him out of here as soon as possible." Remus shouted up the stairs.

Tonks shouted back down, "Oh, Remus, don't worry about it, Dung and I'll take care of it. You take him to HQ for some Molly Weasley soup or what." Remus shouted his thanks, and Draco heard the familiar sound of a Portkey. Harry Potter was safe.

Kingsley and Moody were anxious to get moving themselves, and they left with their respective Harry's quickly. Tonks started throwing all of the text books around Harry's bed into his trunk and was about to shut it when Draco stopped her. "Maybe we should include his photos, too?" Tonks smiled and nodded.

"Ahh, Dung, you always think of the sweet things." As Draco let Harry's snowy owl out of her cage to fly herself, Tonks grabbed the photographs lined up around Harry's bed and dropped them into the trunk as well.

Snapping it shut and shrinking it, Tonks put it in her pocket and then, standing still for a moment, changed her hair to electric green. Waltzing downstairs, she walked straight through the foyer and past the horse woman, pug-man and something Draco realized belatedly was a person. A very, very large person.

Tonks paused in front of the cowering mass and glared, changing her hair color from putrid green to a violent purple. The seal-of-a-boy whimpered and Draco thought he might have wet himself.

She tuned on her heel with a smug expression, and Draco took another swig of potion and followed the now pink-haired witch out the front door.

"We're taking brooms back, Dung, so climb aboard." Draco did so, and he and Tonks disillusioned themselves and kicked off smoothly. Draco was about 60 meters in the air when he felt a great tug behind his shoulders, accompanied by a flash of red light and a loud crack.

And then Draco was falling from his broom like a very heavy rock in a vacuum.

Oh, Merlin, don't let me die…

A/N: Ok, dears, I have bad news. Unfortunately for you, I am taking a two week and a bit trip to Europe with my family, which means that while I am gone, there will be no writing, no updating, and no internet access what so ever. I appologise. I can, however, promise that an update (a good one) will be posted within three weeks of today, but most likely not sooner.

And, since the 6th book comes out in a few days, I can't say you'll all be bored. At all. I'm just worried about finding a bookstore that sells Harry Potter in English in Paris. With my younger brother in tow. Oh the agony.

This brings me to my next point. Upon the publication of HBP, this fic will become strictly AU, and most likely seem very pointless to read as you will already KNOW what happens to our characters during this summer, and Ron and Hermione will probably get busy and someone important is going to die. I have read fics before that started out wonderful, but then bent their plots over backwards to accommodate whatever plot the next book has. This annoyed me greatly, because the people lost sight of what they wanted in the first place, and just started plagiarizing J.K. Rowling. So, in closing, I would like to state that NO MATTER WHAT BOOK 6 SAYS, I WLL NOT CHANGE MY PLOT, MY CHARACTERS, OR STOP POSTING JUST BECAUSE J.K. ROWLING SAYS THAT REALLY, IT'S TIME FOR RON AND HERMIONE TO GET DOWN OR WHATEVER. This is my story, and I will not forfeit just because I have the idiocy to post this so close to a publishing date.

Ahem.

I have never been so overjoyed to see email alerts in my in-box. Really, the reviews you guys send me warm the heart. Please, please send me more!

And on a more somber note: I would like to express my deepest condolences and sympathies to anyone and everyone affected by the Tragedies in London last Thursday. There is nothing wise or profound that I can say(thoughI wish there was)other than I am truly sorry that the world has fallen to such a state where it isn't even safe to take the tube to work in the morning. Hopefully, in the years to come we will overcome such despicable acts of violence and hate and nothing of this kind will ever happen again.