CHAPTER EIGHT: A NEW STAR IN OUR SKIES

Over the course of Lunch, Draco was extremely possessive of Harry's attention. He frequently fussed with the smaller boy's plating, cutting his meat and serving him more helpings, directing his choices, and not allowing anyone a word edgewise. He was happy, excited and far too busy showing off. He monopolised all conversation, as was his habit until Narcissa gave him a pointed look. Draco stilled fussed with Harry's eating but allowed others to have some semblance of a conversation, even if it was only for a short while.

Narcissa grabbed the brief respite and then immediately addressed a thus-far silent Harry, and asked how he found the new home. He looked for a minute like a deer caught in a Lumos flash. Fear, chased by wariness and surprise, and then deep thought flitted through his face before he formed his thoughts into words. It was such a novel experience; being asked for opinions... Harry practically stumbled over his words, embarrassed and overwhelmed to find himself the centre of attention. But his words remained simple, honest and profound, without a trace of any artifice.

Severus merely watched; he found that he could not reconcile the image of an arrogant James Potter or his entourage with this painfully shy, frightened child who looked to Draco for guidance, every two minutes. Absently he wondered if Harry Potter would vanish under the weight of Draco's demanding presence.

Draco, meanwhile, was explaining why and how he and his best friend had chosen a new name to go by. They would need to make sure he was safe after all. He pointed out he was smart enough to remember that his best friend had enemies and conspirators. And besides, now they were both creatures of Air and Fire and immense magical prowess. And names come with power, didn't Father always say so? Draco was positively smug about remembering it all and especially proud of lining up all his arguments to defend his need. Well, Harry's need, really, but wasn't it the same thing?

Harry too had a few questions, he hesitantly voiced; he wanted to know how the magic of a name worked. If names were powerful, why was his name simply Harry? Did changing names cause magic to change how he looked, hopefully into someone not like the boy in those books. Did changing his name from Harry Potter to Phoenix change his appearance too? Was there magic in the name? Where does magic come from? How does magic work? Is it possible to change one's appearance?

Narcissa, a partial metamorphic, offered to do a light demonstration and concentrated and let the magic of metamorphism awe the enthralled audience of two. She began when she matched her hair to completely imitate the Malfoy Platinum blond, and then switched to the midnight black of Harry and Severus.

Enjoying the astounded look on Harry's face, she then allowed the hair to lengthen and shorten, forming feathery, sweeping, bangs and then letting the hair grow and flow out, gaining a life of their own. She had fun turning it from deep black to a mahogany brown mass of curls like she remembered her oldest sister Andromeda's hair being, and her own original Black family hair of a brown so dark it was nearly black, and then to a strawberry blond before settling on her normal style of black hair with platinum blond highlights and side sweeps.

And Harry, watching intently, saw the faint ripples he thought were magic, flow around her skin, centre around her midriff and dance in the air as she turned shades and forms. And then he closed his own eyes, concentrated hard and thought of how he wanted to look like. When he opened his eyes, Draco looked immensely pleased, and Severus and Lucius looked stunned. Narcissa conjured a mirror out of thin air, much to Harry's delight and turned it towards him so he could examine his little attempt at magic. And he looked nearly like a miniature version of Narcissa with more than a passing hint of himself.

His green eyes remained but seemed a deeper darker hue that was nearly black or dark grey, but it was hard to tell. And his jet black porcupine hair now fell in soft waves of alternating dark and blonde hair in what should have looked like a zebra's stripes but instead merged and meshed and weaved and looked like something else altogether. And the tips were a black so deep it shone blue. The effect was like feathers, and as if he really was a shadow phoenix.

And somehow it was a distinct look that seemed to work for him. It looked good. If Aunt 'Tunia or Uncle Vernon ever came here looking for him, they wouldn't know him this way. It looked safe. And he thought he now looked like he could be a Phoenix. And he could sit here in this table and not look like an ugly outsider. Maybe he would keep this form.

Harry Potter was the beaten, sad sod with the sticky hair and a scar, from the dank and smelly cupboard. Phoenix was a mesh of midnight blue and platinum blond hairs softly falling in waves and dark green eyes that dared to look up and about. Phoenix had opinions and people were interested in hearing them. Phoenix was the sort to lounge in silk and keep company with Draco. And Phoenix had no ugly scars. He liked being Phoenix already!

Draco looked at him and softly but clearly chanted, "Phoenix Cache en Vue, Phoenix le renaitre" and Lucius and Narcissa laughed in delight. Even Severus cracked a full smile at that, quipping, "Well, now you do look like a cousin Phoenix Cache 'en Vue or actually a Phoenix du l'affine down for a visit, from somewhere in France. All you need is a language potion and you could easily pass Dumbledore on the streets and he would never know."

As they talked through the remainder of their lunch, Harry, now Phoenix, easily maintained his glamour, or so the elders assumed. None of them considered his own Black Family Legacy or his oath-sworn godfather by ritual, or his paternal grandmother's own lineage. It would not occur to them to explore this particular avenue for several more years. For now, it was enough that the Phoenix had risen from the ashes of deceit, manipulations, schemes and grand games of giants amongst wizarding men who were living legends amongst them, battling for supremacy. For now, it was enough that he was healthy, sharp of intellect, loyal, compassionate, perceptive and a magical powerhouse.

And where Draco was concerned, it was enough that the yin to his yang, the Phoenix to his Dragon was a warmth in his home and hearth. Life could wait. Hogwarts could wait. Destiny could join the cue. The next few years, it would be just Draco and Harry.

And once again, he was a happy little Prince.

He had once again gotten his heart's desire.