"RON! GET IN HERE NOW!"

Harry stared at his reflection in the mirror, horror reducing his vocabulary to monosyllabic utterances. A thump from the other room told him that his roommate had been fast asleep, and that he was up and moving before his brain was in gear.

"What is it? What happened?" Ron stumbled into the hall and nearly fell into Harry's bedroom. "Oh fuck. Oh Merlin. Oh fucking Merlin."

"Look what happened!" Harry waved his hands helplessly at his head, where a full set of branching antlers grew majestically from his skull.

"Nice rack?" Ron winced apologetically.

"I'm a ten-point fucking stag!" Harry screeched. "This is all your fault!"

"How is this my fault?" Ron demanded, eyes fixated on the anomalous growths on his best mate's head.

"They were only as long as my hand yesterday," Harry shouted as though it were obvious. "They grew back overnight, and then some." He paced back and forth, the strange weight of the unfamiliar horns dragging his head to the side every time he turned. "Plus, if you hadn't been so quick with the Unforgivable maybe that wizard would still be here to give us the counter-curse!"

"Oh right, and if I hadn't perhaps he would have made off with those muggle children," Ron shot back. "But at least you'd still be able to comb your hair."

They snarled at each other, one accusing and the other defensive. Ron turned on his heel and stalked to the kitchen, where he clattered around in the cupboard for a teacup. Harry followed, clipping an antler on the door frame and ricocheting back a step before he angled his head and made it through on the second try.

He slumped onto the sofa and rubbed his neck. He had woken up with his head tilted at an awkward angle, since lying on his side was now impossible and the size of the full rack made lying on his back uncomfortable.

"Have you checked your hands and feet?" Ron asked, his tone clipped and irritable.

"Yes."

"No changes?"

"No."

"No hair?"

"No."

"No tail?"

"Of course not, don't be daft."

"I'm only trying to-"

"Well stop trying to-"

"Firecall for Associate Auror Ronald Weasley," a soft female voice came from the Floo. "Minister of Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt calling."

"I'm here," Ron tugged at his undershirt and pajama trousers. Harry knew that he was checking for morning wood, a chronic and no longer amusing problem that Ron had been living with since fourth year. Which meant Harry had been living with it, too, much to his dismay.

"Weasley," Kingsley's face appeared in the embers of the fireplace. His eyes flicked to Harry on the sofa and widened in surprise. "I suppose that answers my question quite neatly. Weasley, since Potter's condition has not improved you're being reassigned to a new partner today. Potter, you're on paid administrative leave until you are cleared by the Department of Magical Maladies."

"But sir-"

"No buts," Kingsley's tone was uncompromising. "I can't have you on duty in your condition."

"Yes sir," Harry flopped his head back and bonked his antlers on the wall.

Kingsley ended the call, Ron got ready for work, and soon enough Harry was left on his own with nothing to do but ponder his predicament. He could just see the headlines now.

Boy Hero Gone Stag!
Harry's Horns: Full Spread Inside
Potter Pickle: Who Has Antler Answers?

Terrible.

There was only one thing to do. He had to go see Hermione again and beg her for help. Even if it meant wrestling Ginny off of his back again, even if she was waiting with a harness and a bridle and- oh Merlin he hoped Ginny wasn't home.

He snatched his invisibility cloak off of the back of the door, tossed a handful of Floo powder into the fireplace, and stepped through, hoping against hope that Hermione wasn't hosting company.

Fortunately she was sitting on the sofa drinking tea and reading a book, and double-fortunately Ginny didn't seem to be around. Unfortunately his appearance was so startling that she jumped at the sight of him and spilled her tea down the front of her jumper.

"Holy hell, Harry!" she yelped.

That sounded like a Daily Prophet headline in the making.

"I know," he said apologetically.

"We need to get you to a specialist, now," she ran to her room, changed clothes without closing the door, because what did Harry care, and returned to the living room for her coat. "Put that on," she nodded to the invisibility cloak. "We're going to have to go outside."

Harry was glad for the cloak's generous sizing. He needed significantly more coverage now that he had extensive antlers sprouting from his head. He grasped her arm and side-alonged with her to Hogsmeade, where snow dusted the ground and the streets already looked like the Christmas season was in full swing.

They walked down a narrow cobblestone road away from the town square, and when Hermione stopped before the fifth nondescript building on the right Harry was certain she was mistaken. There was nothing down here.

"Come on," Hermione took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. Harry wondered what she was so nervous about. Was this a necromancer's residence?

She rapped the brass knocker three times and stepped back down off of the stoop to wait for an answer. Harry kept a light grip on her arm and checked up and down the quiet street for signs of other people going about their business.

"I don't know if he's in," she murmured. "Harry, you're going to have to forgive me for this."

"For what?" He was instantly alarmed. "Where are you taking me?"

"He's a specialist Healer," she said, her voice doubtful now. "He's excellent at what he does. But he doesn't see just anyone. We'll have to hope he can-"

"Hermione, who are you talking about?" Harry squeezed her arm hard.

Just then the door handle jiggled, then several locks disengaged, then the door swung open, revealing something that made Harry wish he was back at Hermione's flat fighting three Ginnys off of his back. It would be less agonizing than-

"Malfoy," Hermione said with tense politeness.

"Granger," Draco stood tall and lean in the doorway, his expression austere, dressed in a white jacket that was similar to a muggle doctor's coat. "How may I help you today? More centaur troubles?"

"No, they're fine," she took another nervous breath and tried to force a smile. "May I come in?"

"You may."

"May I bring a friend?"

"That depends. Where is said friend?"

"Right here," she poked Harry hard in the side and startled a grunt out of him. The poke brought him back to his senses. No. No way. No fucking way.

"Hermione, I can't," he whispered urgently for her ears only.

"Who are you smuggling around the streets of Hogsmeade, Granger?" Draco cocked his head and his stance became all the more languid. "I won't let anyone in my home unannounced."

"It's Harry," she said, then jumped as Harry jabbed her with an invisible poke in the ribs. "Stop it!"

"Don't make me do this, Hermione," he whispered furiously. "Please."

"Do you want it fixed or not?" she hissed back.

Draco's expression was no longer casual, his posture no longer languid. He was alarmed, openly so. Harry was certain he didn't want any part of this, either.

"Let us in, please," Hermione begged. "I'll explain when we're inside."

"Is Potter in danger?" Draco asked.

"No. Maybe," she gestured helplessly.

"Fine, come in," Draco stepped aside. "But only because I'm morbidly curious."

Harry whined but allowed himself to be towed up the steps. The interior of the house was immaculately appointed, with sumptuous fabrics and ornate details. A perfectly decorated white and gold Christmas tree sat in the corner, not a needle out of place. It was the kind of place that Harry thought he would mess up if he spent more than a few seconds there. According to his memory of their school days, it seemed very Malfoyish.

Draco didn't ask them to sit, he led the way through the first floor to an examination room at the back, replete with its own en suite potions lab. As they entered a house elf appeared with tea service. Hermione pressed her lips together in disapproval but didn't go on a tirade about equal rights for magical creatures, which Harry thought was very mature of her. Even if he was still mad at her for bringing him to Draco Malfoy for help.

"Reveal yourself, Potter," Draco folded his arms and waited.

This was it. Harry was about to reveal his bloody horns to Draco Malfoy, the last person on earth he ever wanted to reveal anything to. But he was out of options.

He slowly raised the invisibility cloak, all the while watching as Draco's expectant eyes tracked the rising hemline from his toes to his face. When he tried to toss the edge of the cloak over the top of his horns it tangled up in the forked points, leaving him half invisible.

"What are you hiding under there?" Draco squinted. "Are you growing a second head to contain your ego?"

Harry swallowed a retort. Why should it surprise him that Malfoy and Rita Skeeter would come up with the same barb?

Hermione yanked hard on the cloak, wrenching Harry's head down and knocking him off balance, sending him tumbling head over heels and landing in a heap half-buried under the cloak.

"So far all I've been able to determine is that his legs are normal," Draco said with a frosty edge to his voice.

Hermione pulled the cloak free and helped Harry to his feet. He stood in all of his antlered glory, hands on hips and jaw set, daring Draco to make a joke.

Draco blinked. He coughed. He rubbed his nose. He coughed again. Then he turned to his desk and shuffled through a stack of parchments, all the while coughing and covering his mouth.

"Are you laughing, you arsehole?" Harry growled.

"Of course not," Draco turned around, his expression composed but his cheeks flushed. "Laughing at a patient is against the Healer Code." He pointed at the examination table in the middle of the room and asked Hermione to wait in the parlor.

"She can stay," Harry protested. For the love of Merlin, don't leave me alone with this prat.

"Healer-patient confidentiality," Draco shook his head. "Unless she's your sister or your spouse she has to wait outside. Healer Code."

Hermione assured Harry that he would be fine and exited, closing the door quietly behind her.

"Don't get any ideas," Harry said. "Just because I have horns, that doesn't mean you can get away with hexing me. I'm as fast as I ever was."

"Antlers," Draco turned to the tea service and poured two cups.

"Whatever."

"Not whatever, they're antlers," Draco pressed a teacup into Harry's hands. "Drink this, it will calm your nerves."

Harry took a sip and immediately felt his anxiety wick away. His shoulders unknotted, his stomach unclenched, and the weight of the antlers dragged on his head as his neck muscles softened.

"Don't think you can take advantage of me by slipping me a potion," he said, taking another sip.

"I'll have you know that I do quite well without drugging my dates," Draco set his cup down and lifted a small magnifying lens. "Please remove your clothes. You may keep your underpants."

"What is with you Healers and undressing people?" Harry set his cup on the exam table and pointed at the space above his head. "Can you not see that the problem is up here?"

"I need to check you for other symptoms," Draco said evenly, his clinical expression not wavering for a moment.

"Fine," Harry kicked off his shoes, unbuttoned his shirt, then tossed it onto the floor. He yanked off his socks, grasped the hem of his undershirt, and hauled it up over his head, where it immediately became tangled in the forked spires of his antlers.

He struggled to free his arms and shoved at the soft cotton fabric, trying to stretch the neck hole wide enough to slide off, but the rack was just too wide. He grunted and pulled but it simply became more tangled in the ten pointed branches.

Draco watched Harry in bemusement until he finally stopped flailing and looked up for help.

"This presents a very interesting question," Draco said. "How did you get that shirt on in the first place?"

"I slept in it and woke up with the horns," Harry said. "Ron sawed them off yesterday so I was able to change clothes. But they grew back like this overnight."

"You didn't change clothes this morning?" Draco curled his lip.

"Everything but the undershirt."

"You let Weasley saw them off yesterday?"

"Yes but they grew back bigger overnight."

Draco sighed and shook his head in utter exasperation. He flicked his wand and the cotton t-shirt tore in a clean line down the middle and fell away. "Trousers. Off."

"Er," Harry shifted his weight uncomfortably and glanced down at his muggle blue jeans. "I can't."

"Don't tell me you've got antlers down there, too, Potter."

"No! It's just. I don't. When I wear blue jeans," Harry waved his hand to try to mime the words he was too reluctant to say. Draco waited and refused to fill in the blank. "I'm not wearing any underpants today. I don't wear underpants with jeans."

Draco turned back to his desk and coughed. He sipped his tea and apologized, and turned around with flushed cheeks again.

"Don't laugh."

"I'm not laughing."

"It's a perfectly common thing to do."

"Indeed. Lie down and let me have a look." Draco blushed again. "I don't mean down there. Everywhere else."

Harry laid back on the cold wooden exam table with his antlers hanging off of the edge, not one bit comforted by the thin sheet that protected the surface. Draco moved his teacup to the desk and circled once, looking him over silently.

Harry tried not to squirm under his scrutiny. He wasn't embarrassed by his body, in fact he was quite confident in his physique, now that he was on the mandatory physical training regimen that all Aurors were tasked with. His muscles were toned but not bulky, and he had been told by more than one bloke that his shoulders and biceps were "to die for."

He looked up at Draco's thoughtful face and pondered how vulnerable he was. He remembered that terrible moment in sixth year when he had gutted his rival with a rash Sectumsempra and was keenly aware of how exposed his belly was at that moment. It had been nearly ten years, but revenge was an ember that could smolder for decades.

Draco stopped his pacing and stood above Harry's head, and he could feel the other man's eyes boring into his skull. Then a gentle hand parted the short hairs where the protrusions emerged from his scalp. Harry couldn't help it, his eyes fluttered closed at the touch.

Draco's fingers ruffled over the new growth as he examined both sides, then trailed down his ears, his brow, his cheekbones, the saddle of his nose, his jaw. Then they moved on, checking his neck and shoulders, down each arm to his hands, spending extra time kneading the muscles of his palms and checking the flex of his fingers. Then he was back to Harry's well-toned chest, fingertips trailing the hard outline of muscles down to his abdomen, which quivered beneath the feathery light touch. Then Draco moved to his feet and hefted each one to inspect his shins, ankles and toes. Finally he was done and stepped back to regard Harry silently for a moment.

Harry opened his eyes and gazed down the length of his body at the blond man in the white coat. Between the tea and the examination he felt as relaxed as he would after a full body massage.

"Roll over," Draco said softly.

Harry blushed furiously. His taste for bottoming had made that phrase instantly erotic and he was glad for the excuse to conceal the bulge in his trousers. He folded his arms beneath his head, angled himself so his antlers dangled off of the edge of the table, and waited.

Draco started at his head again, tracing his scalp through his shorn hair and then running lightly down his neck to his back. He spent some time feeling around Harry's vertebrae, then paused as he arrived at the waistband of Harry's jeans.

Draco cleared his throat awkwardly. "Um," he hesitated. "I need to examine," he paused again. "Please unbutton your trousers and lower them just a bit. I don't need much."

"Um," Harry was equally uncomfortable. He was extremely turned on from the touching and he was worried about what would happen if Draco touched him there, beneath his trousers.

"I'm just looking to see if there is any sign of tail development," Draco's voice firmed, losing the soft self-consciousness of a moment ago.

Harry reached underneath himself and quickly unbuttoned. He grazed his thumb across the bulge of his cock and wished he could do something about it. Instead he would have to settle for pinning it between his body and the cold, hard table and hope it was unsatisfying enough to deflate the problem.

Draco hooked his fingers beneath the waistband of his jeans and slid them down just to the crest of his buttocks. He leaned in close with the magnifying lens and ran his fingers across Harry's tailbone. Harry could feel his breath on his skin, soft and warm and close. This only served to make his problem worse. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth and reminded himself that this was Draco Malfoy. Draco sodding Malfoy. Not a mate, nor a date. Malfoy.

Finally Draco crossed to the desk and set his magnifying glass down. He leafed through a stack of parchments, then excused himself to the potions lab. Harry seized the opportunity to sit up, button his trousers, and slip his shirt on. The shirt tail would at least conceal enough of his erection to avoid further embarrassment.

"Well," Draco came back into the room with a set of tomes in his hands. "Im not quite sure what you've been cursed with. It's not a transfiguration, even a slow one would show manifestations elsewhere on your body by now. It's not an accidental Animagus, that's for certain. You've not turned into a weredeer, which is a relief given how daft that would be," he looked up. "Not that I would put anything that daft past you, Potter."

"Thanks," The rest of Harry's erection evaporated in response to Draco's insult.

"Polyjuice?" Draco looked up as though struck by a thought. "If you've polyjuiced recently and a stray stag hair got in there-"

"I haven't polyjuiced in ages," Harry said. "Aurors have other ways of concealing our identities."

"Oh that's right, Golden Boy is an Auror now," Draco went back to his books. "Let me have a look at your eyes."

Harry raised his glasses to the top of his head, where the bows rested neatly against the base of his horns. The room was blurry but as Draco moved in closely his face pulled into focus. His pale gray eyes flicked across Harry's face before staring at him directly. He raised a tiny magnifier and peered into Harry's left eye, then his right. He frowned and pulled back slightly, looking back and forth at each side.

"What in bloody blazes happened to all of your hair?" he demanded. "You've got new growth everywhere. Even your eyelashes."

"Ron threw a Depilatorus at me," Harry said. Draco was still close, watching him with those disconcertingly pale eyes.

"And why would the Weasel want you bald?"

"He thought it would remove the horns."

"Antlers."

"Whatever."

"So far you've let him fry off your hair and put a saw to your skull," Draco raised an eyebrow. "What's next, a Decapitoria? Feel like letting him lop off your head?" He reached out and grasped Harry's chin to hold him steady under scrutiny.

"Oh piss off," Harry reflexively seized his wrist and wrenched his hand away.

"Harry I- Oh," Hermione poked her head through the door and drew up short.

Harry knew what it looked like. He was sitting on the edge of the exam table, shirt buttoned only halfway up, Draco standing between his knees with their faces close together, his wrist clasped in Harry's grip.

Or rather, he knew what it would look like if he wasn't in a Healer's office and that healer wasn't Draco bloody Malfoy. Hermione had a lot of nerve acting like there was anything to say "oh" about.

"I have to go," she stammered on. "Ron's stakeout was cancelled so he wants to meet for lunch. Will you be okay?"

"I'll be fine," Harry released Draco's wrist and dropped his glasses over his eyes. "I've got my cloak."

"Good day, Granger," Draco went back to the books on his desk.

Hermione mouthed an apology and departed, closing the door behind her again.

"She's still dating the Weasel," Draco said as he flipped through his books.

"Yes."

"How about you? Still dating the Weaselette?"

"No."

"I'll need to ask you some personal questions," Draco turned with a clipboard and an absurdly ornate feather quill.

"Why not, you've already inspected my arse," Harry grumbled.

"Harry James Potter. Age, twenty-five," Draco said mostly to himself as he filled out the form. "Birthday, July thirty-first-"

"You know my birthday?" Harry narrowed his eyes. There were spells that relied on numerology, but if Draco was planning on using one-

"The Daily Prophet has published birthday wishes to you every year since your birth," Draco sneered. "As is typical, everyone is obligated to care about your life, but you're under no obligation to care in return."

"That's not fair, I care about-"

"Blood status, half-blood. Known non-human bloodlines?" Draco looked up with his quill poised.

"None that I know of," Harry said, annoyed that Draco hadn't let him defend himself. "Although I am a Parselmouth so maybe there something I don't know."

"That was old Voldie's doing," Draco muttered as he marked the parchment. "That's not blood."

"Old Voldie?" Harry's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"Pardon me, did I not speak respectfully of the dead?" Draco's eyebrows mirrored Harry's. "Any known diseases, maladies, curses, hexes, prophecies?"

"I've got this of course," Harry pointed at his lightning bolt shaped scar. "Nothing else since the Voldemort prophecy. As far as I know I'm a free man."

"Speaking of which," Draco moved down the page. "Marital status. Married, single, dating, or divorced?"

"Single," Harry braced himself for an insult. Of course you're single, Potter. Everyone knows you stink. Very funny, Malfoy.

But Draco moved on without comment. "Sexual preference?" Draco didn't look up from the page. "Hetero, homo, bi, a, pan?"

"What?" Harry shook his head. "What's a?"

"Assexual. Non-sexual."

"Definitely not," Harry laughed. "What's pan?"

"Everything-sexual."

"Just write down, um," Harry hesitated. "You're sure the Healer Code says you can't laugh or share this information with anyone?"

"I'm sure."

"Not even Rita Skeeter."

"Let it go, Potter. Answer the question."

"Homo," Harry's face flushed. He waited for Draco to turn to his desk, to shuffle through his parchments and cough. But instead he moved on.

"Do you use protection?"

"For what?"

"Merlin," Draco passed his palm across his eyes. "For sex, Harry Potter. For sex."

"Oh. Yes."

"When was the last time-"

"Why are you asking me all of these sex questions?" Harry demanded. "Maybe you're a poofter too, and this is how you go about getting dates."

Draco slowly lowered his clipboard and leveled a gaze at Harry. When he spoke his voice was low and even, but his pale gray eyes darkened like the sky before a storm.

"There is a possibility that a sexually transmitted curse is the cause of your problem," he said. "Identifying the type of partner you prefer and the timing of your most recent encounters could help me narrow down a cure. Unless you don't want me to do so. Perhaps you like the prospect of changing your name to Rudolph and pulling Santa's sleigh this Christmas Eve."

"It's been a while," Harry said. "Let's just leave it at that. There's no way it was sexually transmitted."

"How long? These things can lie dormant for weeks."

"More than a few weeks."

"Potter, I'm trying to help-"

"Eight months, okay?" Harry dropped his face into his hand, and Draco had to leap back to avoid losing an eye.

"Eight months," Draco scratched the number down with his quill. He was quiet for a moment. "Fucking hell, Potter, maybe those aren't antlers. Maybe they're from the pressure of all of the backed-up cum forcing its way out of your skull."

"Malfoy," Harry glared at him. "How is that not against the Healer's Code?"

"You're right, my apologies," Draco pulled himself up straight and raised his chin. "But as a Healer I recommend you get laid soon before you burst."

"Oh yeah," Harry reached up and tugged on his rack. "You think this is going to get me some action?"

"Well," Draco cocked his head. "It is mating season."

"Okay," Harry hopped down and buttoned his shirt the rest of the way. "This has been great but it's time to go."

"I've got a potion I'd like to try," Draco followed him to the door. "Come back tomorrow around one."

"Fine," Harry tossed his cloak around himself and clutched it tightly under his chin. "I'll be back tomorrow."

"Oh, and Potter," Draco called as Harry stepped out onto the stoop. "Be a dear and close the door behind you." He grinned toothily, clearly pleased with his pun.

"Goddamnit, Malfoy," Harry slammed the door.