Author's Note: You know the meme where it's like "the risk I took was calculated, but man, am I bad at math" over a bird? That's what this fic is. I don't think it's anything M-worthy but I put the rating up a tiny bit because I can't remember if there are swear words or whatever in here. Also, I wanted to warn for mild body dysphoria, because this does feature a temporary change in 'genders' which basically means Salazar takes a potion that makes him into a 'woman.' I don't subscribe to that biological definition of genders, but that was the prompt, so I've gone with it like this, and still tried to be sensitive. But be careful anyway!

Disclaimer: I do not own the world of Harry Potter, nor its characters.

There was a risk with this particular potion. Not the potion itself, which Salazar had perfected to the point of pride, but the root he handpicked that morning. It had soaked for three hours in a solution of Modrog Essence, and by all rights it should have been fine enough to stir into the cauldron, provided he was careful enough with his timing.

Salazar was always careful with his timing. He wasn't anything like Rowena, whose expertise came from books and books alone, or like Godric, who faffed about with potions as if they weren't liable to explode in his face. Helga was actually the most capable of the others when it came to potions, but it was still Salazar that everyone came to when they needed a wound healed or a mistake unmade.

And yet he was still wary as he held the root above the cauldron. It had to be placed in the liquid whole and undamaged, and left to simmer on a low heat for fourteen minutes. If the root had not dissolved after fourteen minutes, then he had done something wrong. If it exploded at the three-minute mark, then he had definitely done something wrong.

It was a risk, but he had to try it.

Salazar lowered the root into the cauldron with a soft plop and held his breath. Nothing shuddered, and nothing shook. The liquid didn't turn a dark, sludgy black instead of green. With a cautious sigh, he stepped away from the worktop and turned around, intent on cleaning his desk for fourteen minutes. He barely made it more than one step before the cauldron imploded behind him.

Hot liquid hit him squarely in the back of his neck. Salazar let out an undignified yelp, slapping his hand instinctively over the burn. Shards of piping hot cauldron shot across the room, tinkling to the floor and skittering under surfaces. The potion oozed down every available wall.

"Ah," Salazar said, somewhat distantly, as he perused the chaos. "Well, this isn't satisfactory."

He pulled his hand away and examined the liquid seeping into his palm. A quick spell vanished most of it, but potions were tricky, and this particular one was supposed to be ingested, not smeared on bare skin.

"I suppose I'll have to wait and see if it has any effects," Salazar muttered to himself, flexing his fingers. "It's a good opportunity to test the… test the… drat…"

The words flickered out of his mind, taunting him. He blinked hazily. The Head of House rooms underneath Hogwarts Castle were always dark and cool, even with the light from the lake pouring in through the windows, but right now they felt stiflingly warm. He stumbled forward, and barely made it into the adjoining room before the heat hit him, and he crumpled near the bedpost, unconscious within seconds.

When he woke, there were two large lumps on his chest. Salazar sat up on the floor, leaning back against the bedpost, and prodded at his chest in mild horror. He felt a little distant. He tilted his head back, dropping his hands in his lap, and stared at the dark ceiling.

"Absolutely ridiculous," he murmured. "Godric's going to be insufferable."

Godric was always insufferable, of course, but after five years of marriage, Salazar was somewhat used to it. In small doses, of course. Anything out of the ordinary was enough to trigger the precise insufferable gland in Godric's neck that tugged flooded his system with disgusting, smug chemicals, and made him roar with laughter at Salazar's expense.

Salazar got to his feet, refusing to acknowledge the width of his hips, or the length of his hair that skimmed the small of his back. He had wandered around for years with long hair, and only recently cut it off, so it didn't bother him too much. His hips were another problem altogether, and he walked a little bow-legged as he stumbled back into the main room, heading for his desk, but he walked nonetheless.

At his desk, he got to work. He sat and scribbled with a quill for the better part of an hour, until the nib was bent and the feather had been ruffled beyond repair. He rose, ink-spattered and exhausted, and just barely had time to reach for his wand when the door slammed open.

Salazar froze, wand held aloft, as Godric stormed straight through the main room and into the bedroom. He didn't see him, or he would have stopped, but over the pounding of his heart, Salazar came to a sudden conclusion.

He desperately didn't want Godric to see him like this.

With a sharp burst of magic, the bedroom door closed behind Godric. The hinges gave a squeak as they tightened, and the door-knob went rigid.

"Salazar?" Godric's voice was faintly muffled behind the door, and very confused. "Is that you?"

"It's me," Salazar said, only to groan when his voice came out light and airy. "This is ridiculous. Rowena speaks with a voice deeper than me, but somehow this potion thinks that all women should sound like a flower come to life."

There was no evidence that a woman should sound like anything at all, or that a body had any effect on a gender, of course, but potions could be very ignorant concoctions.

"What?" The door-knob rattled impatiently. "Salazar, open the door. I can't hear what you're rambling on about from in here."

"You'll do just fine in there, thank you."

Godric made a mutinous noise and banged on the door. Salazar left him to it, siphoning away the remainder of the potion from the walls, and repairing the broken cauldron in one fell swoop. He carried his notes over to the worktop and tucked the quill behind his ear, ignoring the hammering on the door as it grew louder and louder.

He should have prepared for this, really. Sent an owl, or something. They had shared rooms near both of their Houses, the better to keep an eye on things, but it was hard to convince Godric that privacy was still a thing of importance, and he often barged in while Salazar was changing or working. Not that it mattered much, seeing as they were married, and they were together more often than not, but sometimes Salazar liked to be left alone. Especially after he had embarrassed himself.

"Open the door!" Godric yelled.

"Open it yourself," Salazar snapped. "You usually can't be dragged out of the bedroom!"

A moment later, and the bedroom fell silent. There was a muttered curse, and then a murmur of magic, and the door flew open. Godric appeared in the doorway, incensed, still wearing his leather armour, and gripping his wand tightly.

"Remembered that you're a Wizard, did you?" Salazar said drolly.

"What," Godric said, "was that? Did I offend you at breakfast? There are less irritating ways to let me know that you're annoyed. I do best with verbal commands, as I thought you'd know by … now."

The last word was said with faint incredulity as Godric took him in from head to toe.

"Here's a verbal command for you," Salazar said, and then he snapped something quite rude that would have made Godric's eyes darken with intense need on any other day. Today, though, he simply stared.

"You've changed," Godric said. "Your body is… different."

Salazar shot him a scathing glare. "Oh, really?"

"Salazar," Godric said, with reproach.

"No, I mean it, I hadn't even noticed." He turned up the glare a notch. "Thank you so very much for beating down the door to tell me that little factoid, I don't know how I would have made it through the day without knowing."

"I see your sarcasm wasn't affected. If it weren't for your vile mouth, I'd suspect you of being an intruder." Godric drifted nearer, tucking his wand back into its holster. "That is you, isn't it?"

"That quite defeats the purpose of not suspecting me."

"Well, forgive me if I find this whole thing a little suspicious. You are currently a woman, and the last I checked, you very much weren't."

Salazar turned around again and kept his back to him, stirring the potion with stiff movements.

"It was unintentional," Salazar explained. "A potion exploded, and some of it got on my skin. I thought I'd try a new root to increase the potency, but I hardly expected this."

"That makes two of us."

Salazar rolled his eyes. "It should wear off eventually, but either way, I need to focus on an antidote. I don't know how long I was unconscious for, but I've wasted enough time as it is."

Hands clamped on his shoulders before he could finish, spinning him around. He met Godric's wide, dark eyes and went quite still.

"You collapsed?" Godric said quietly.

"From the effects of the potion," Salazar said, enunciating carefully. "I imagine my mind and magic had to switch off to cope with the changes to my body. There is no need to panic."

That sort of language wasn't in Godric's vocabulary. He jerked back slightly and took Salazar with him, heading for the door.

"Stop it," Salazar hissed, slapping at his hands. "Don't touch me."

"You collapsed," Godric insisted, with that fiery loyalty that Salazar loved and hated in equal measure. "You need to visit a Healer, or rest for a while. I can call Helga here, and she can-"

"No." Salazar slapped his hands away for one final time and crossed his arms over his chest, stopping in the middle of the room. "I don't need a Healer, and I don't need a guard dog. I need someone calm and contained, so unless you've changed your personality in the last five minutes, you need to leave the room."

"You're incredible," Godric murmured, but it didn't sound like a compliment. "What exactly do you want from me then? To just stand here until you keel over because you're being stubborn about checking over an injury?"

"I don't have an injury! I have an invasive bodily adjustment to adjust to!"

A knock at the door interrupted them. Godric closed his mouth and marched over, swinging the door open, though he used his body to block the room from view.

"Rowena?" Godric said. "Is something wrong?"

"Ah, I need to speak with Salazar. He was supposed to have an ointment ready for me to test on several plants that I've been observing, but it's been hours since we agreed to meet, and I can't find him anywhere."

"It's Rowena," Godric called over his shoulder.

"I can hear her just fine!"

Godric angled himself carefully so that Rowena couldn't peek inside, and raised both eyebrows at him. "Well? What would you like me to tell her?"

Salazar stared at him, baffled. He wheeled around and went back to his potion, slicing a collection of batwings into fine pieces with vigour.

"I really do need that ointment," Rowena pressed, from behind the door.

"And I really do need an agreeable husband, but I suppose life is full of disappointments," Salazar said. He plunged a hand into the pocket of his robes, fished out some loose change, and flung a shiny bronze knut across the room; it bounced off Godric's shoulder and rolled across the floor, out of sight.

"There. We've been given the news, so give her a knut, and send her on her way."

"Incredible," Godric muttered again, and this time it definitely wasn't a compliment. He turned back to the door and said brightly. "He can't come to the door, I'm afraid. He's busy."

"Busy with what?"

"He's acting like a big baby." Godric pulled away from the door to shoot him a smug look. "It keeps him very occupied. We'll see you at dinner, Rowena."

The door shut, and Rowena's footsteps vanished down the corridor. Salazar whipped out his wand and shot an Itching Jinx at Godric. It missed, burying itself in the wood of the doorframe, but Godric still pressed a hand to his chest as though wounded.

"I'd say that you're terribly cranky in this form, but we both know these are your usual mannerisms." Godric crossed the room and caught Salazar's hands, holding them firmly. "Stop, love. You're being ridiculous."

"You know I hate that insipid pet name of yours."

"What, love? It's not a pet name. It's simply how I feel, whether you look like your usual self or like this. Is that what's bothering you? You're still you, aren't you?"

"Don't be obnoxious," Salazar murmured, though his cheeks felt hot. "I don't think it's permanent, especially not once I fix a potion up, but it feels… odd."

He was a grown man, but the mere thought of describing how he really felt made him squirm. He looked at Godric instead, hating the helplessness that coursed through him, and trusted him to know what he meant. And Godric did. He pulled Salazar close until they were pressed together, and then he pinned him very firmly against the worktop, with the cauldron bubbling behind them, and kissed him until he was breathless.

"You may pride yourself on being a conniving, deceitful bastard, and I love that about you," Godric murmured, right up against his lips, "but I know you too well for you to fool me. You're worried that I might not like this form?"

Salazar swallowed, still catching his breath. "A little less worried now."

"Good. You're you, and that's what matters. The outside doesn't bother me at all. So long as you're comfortable with how you look, and how it reflects you, then it's fine."

"But I'm not comfortable like this!"

"Yes, which is why you're going to use that incredibly sharp mind of yours, and fix the problem," Godric said, patting his hip. "I'll sit over here and hand you things, if you like. I'm good at that."

"Only because I trained you so well," Salazar said. "It's that easy, is it?"

Godric smiled, kissing him again, the rough scrape of his beard a comforting, familiar touch.

"It is when it's you."