~*T*~
Harry woke up, tucked into a warm bed, neck cricked from a too-tall pillow, another pillow pulled into his arms, cuddled tight where Luna or Hermione should be. A wandless summoning charm grabbed for his wand even as he rolled out of bed, already feeling foolish as he crouched, nightgown dangling around his thighs, looking around the unfamiliar room, the single twin bed, small desk, little bookcase. The feeling of being a fool washed away as panic surged, his summoning spell fizzling in that particular way that marked trying to summon something that didn't exist.
The peculiar feeling of being himself, and, the number came impossibly easily, 3981 others at the same time, did not help at all.
His breath quickened, a frantic buzzing coming from all around as the rest of him freaked out, too, even as he got bigger, encompassed the closest 42 houses.
"Taylor? Are you OK?" a male voice called up the stairs.
Harry held his breath a moment, forcing calm, before he replied, "I'm fine."
He straightened with a sigh, and headed for the bathroom. A sniff of an armpit, and he sheds the pale-blue overlong t-shirt, glancing at himself in the mirror after he noted the breasts, a good bit smaller than Luna's. Soft, young face, slender, but enough fat to hide the ribs, wild black hair, but more 17-year-old Hermione than 11-year-old. His glasses are rounded trapezoid shapes, with thin frames. He couldn't remember if he put them on or if he woke up wearing them.
He shed his grey panties and climbed into the shower to wash off the fear sweat.
Once the water was adjusted, he concentrated on the joyous memory of Hermione and Luna in his lap, kissing,"Expecto Patronum!"
His long-legged weasel patronus, (Hermione said it was a wolverine, but Luna said it was a honey badger, Harry was just happy it didn't remind him of Snape) formed in front of him, prowled about the bathtub a moment before phantom claws tore phantom holes into his flesh as it climbed up onto his shoulder. It gave him a weaselly grin, waiting.
"I'm fine, I'm a girl, I attend Winslow, I don't have a wand," He paused, "I love you," he said, chest clenching.
His patronus jumped from his shoulder and vanished through the wall. His heart unclenched, and he let the tears of relief flow, hidden by the shower, and soaped up.
His dad, Danny, had breakfast waiting when he got downstairs, dressed in black jeans, a little tighter than he liked with useless girl pockets, and a black t-shirt that showed off the definition of his arms and de-emphasized the roundness of his belly.
His heart clenched, and he blinked the sudden rush of sad-happy-grateful back, and gathered the taller, skinny man into a hug, "Thank you."
"You're welcome?" he said, hugging him back.
"My girls are always telling me to practice gratitude," Harry answered, resting his head on the man's chest, feeling strangely safe in a way that he hadn't since Sirius hugged him, Christmas of fifth year.
"Your girls? Emma and?"
"No, you haven't met them," he sighs, "Hopefully soon. Emma turned into a complete asshole when she hooked up with Sophia Hess. They put me in the locker."
"Your girls?" he asked, tensing in her arms.
Harry hugged him tighter, "Of course not, Emma, Sophia, and Madison."
He tried to pull away, "I'm going to-"
Harry shook his head, not letting go, "Do nothing. One or more of them has the school in their pocket. They're going to be famous, soon, but not yet."
"What do you mean?"
"I have a feeling they'll be overreaching, soon."
"Will you be OK?"
"I'll be fine," Harry pulled back with a smile, "They failed to kill me, so now it's time for me to win."
"That's not how it works, Taylor."
"That's how it always works, dad," Harry said, "'And, my friends, in this story you have a history of this entire movement. First they ignore you. Then they ridicule you. And then they attack you and want to burn you. And then they build monuments to you. And that, is what is going to happen to the Amalgamated Clothing Workers of America.' Nicholas Klein."
"Sometimes they build you monuments because you are dead."
"Often," Harry nods, "But I'm pretty hard to kill."
"A lot of my guys are pretty good fighters," Danny starts.
Harry nods, "Let me talk to my girls, but I think that sounds like a good idea."
~*T*~
Notes: Harry isn't from a story I've written yet. Luna was a little braver, showed a little more vulnerability, and both Harry and Hermione responded.