These are coming quickly, let's hope it's not a fluke XD

Thanks for all the love in the comments lately! I appreciate every one of them! And I wish they were easier to reply to like on AO3 :/

Harry wakes up excited for the trip to Digon Alley – he really wants more of those Whizzing candies that make him float – before remembering that Dad won't take him to the interviews about him anymore. He's not that upset, not when he thinks of how mean the lady from the last interview was. Thinking about the day before does remind him to look in the mirror to check if his hair's any curlier like Mr Wright said, but it kind of looks the same to him even when he wishes it didn't, and his eyes are still the same dark green as always.

It's not fair, he thinks.

Hermione has her mom's hair and Draco's eyes are just like his dad's, but Harry doesn't have anything to tell anyone who looks at him that he has a family now. He'd been glad to have nothing that made him look like the Dursleys, but now that it's about Mr Wright, he doesn't think a different eye colour is too much to ask from magic. He thinks he'd look just fine with light blue eyes, a bit like-

Oh!

A bit like what he sees in the mirror right then, eyes widening in surprise before blinking to check if they didn't go back to being green, but they don't. Instead, they stay the same greyish light blue he remembers Mr Wright having, and he can only grin at the mirror before running out of the room to show his dad.

That doesn't really go as planned, and he tries not to be upset or fidget much while Ms Dahlia kneels in front of where he's sitting on the living room couch and stares like he's some sort of experiment from his science class.

"It should be just another bout of accidental magic," She tells them, "though self-transfiguration is quite uncommon… Well, a finite should do it, wouldn't want the muggles questioning it."

Harry doesn't even get to say anything before she pulls out her wand and waves it at him, frowning a little after. He knows he's frowning right back too, he wants to keep the blue eyes, but she's not wrong that people at school would ask about it since they pay a lot more attention than his old teachers and he actually talks to his classmates now that his cousin isn't there to bully everyone away from him.

"Is something wrong?" Mr Wright asks, stepping closer and standing right behind Ms Dahlia.

"I'm not entirely sure," Ms Dahlia waves her wand a few more times and a few coloured lights – spells – hit him, looking like the ones from that first examination she did. "No variations of the finite seem to be working, but I can't diagnose any third-party charms either. Are you wearing anything different from yesterday, Harry?"

"I'm not," he shakes his head, he's even still in pyjamas since he'd been so excited to show Dad their matching eyes he'd forgotten to change beforehand.

"When did this happen, exactly?" She asks, and then they're both looking at him.

"Few minutes ago," Harry replies, "was lookin' in the mirror and then they were blue."

"Hm," She sends a few more spells at him before putting the wand away again, "I need you to try something for me. Can you close your eyes, Harry?" He closes them with a nod, "Good, I want you to think about looking in the mirror and how your eyes usually look. Don't open them, but can you imagine the colour they used to be?"

"Mhm," he nods again, remembering how his eyes match the colour of one of his favourite jackets. He figures it's not a bad colour, and he doesn't want to make trouble for his dad, so he should probably figure out how to make them green again.

"Now, I know matching with your father would be nice, but your eyes are just as pretty the way they were," there's a little pause before she adds in a softer tone, "They look just like your mother's."

"They do?" Harry's eyes open without him meaning to, he'd never had anyone tell him what his parents looked like. Sure, he'd seen their statue on Samhain and their fire figures during the ritual but they didn't have colour, not the right ones anyway.

"There we go," Ms Dahlia smiles and reaches into her purse, pulling out a small hand mirror and holding it up to his face. His eyes, he notices, are back to their normal colour. "And yes, she had very beautiful green eyes, your father James surely waxed poetically about them at school, enough for everyone to hear about it."

"You went to school with them?" Harry asks, tilting his head to look at her past the mirror. He pauses and looks at Mr Wright right after, not sure what he thinks about Harry asking about his parents now that he's his dad too, but he just gives him a small smile.

"I didn't, but my sister was only a year above them and liked to gossip," Ms Dahlia smiled at him, putting the mirror down. "Do you want to try another experiment? I'd like to make sure I'm not guessing wrong."

He looks at his dad but only gets a shrug, "Sure," he says since Mr Wright doesn't seem to mind.

"Okay, then close your eyes again and let's try to imagine something else," Ms Dahlia tells him and he obeys, "How about your hair? Can you imagine a way you'd want it to look that's not the way it is right now?"

He nods again, it's kind of easy when he'd spent the morning wishing it looked another way, a little lighter and more curly, the way his dad's hair looks without gel. He kind of wants it a little bit longer too, so it will cover the scar on his forehead all the way and he can stop wearing hats to magic places. Maybe a bit below his ear? But not too long-

"Yes, that's it," Ms Dahlia says and he blinks his eyes open to find a mirror in front of him again. His eyes are back to blue – he didn't mean to do that – but his hair now definitely looks like Mr Wright's, if a bit longer, just enough that he can't even spot the scar in the mirror. "Well, almost, but you know how to fix that now."

"Right," He closes his eyes again and thinks about how his eyes looked like before, paying more attention to how it feels. It's kind of like when he does magic by accident, but still not the same, more like a feeling of pulling instead of the strong pushes that his magic does.

When he opens his eyes again, the mirror tells him they're green. It also shows him that his hair is back to short, messy and not curly at all. He leans into the back of the couch and crosses his arms in front of him when his dad and Ms Dahlia chuckle.

"It's okay, I don't expect a lot of control from an eight-year-old metamorphmagus," Ms Dahlia says as she puts the mirror away, making them look at her with curiosity. "But it's a good thing you didn't just wait for it to go away on its own, we might never have noticed the talent and it would continue dormant without any training." She tells Mr Wright, "Though, for future reference, I don't appreciate emergency calls. That is what a magical guardian is for."

"Sorry," Mr Wright says, "Haven't figured that out yet, and a letter would have taken too long."

"Meta-mop-what?" Harry mumbles with a frown, wondering if he's done something else wizards aren't usually supposed to do. Isn't Parseltongue enough?

"Metamorphmagus," Ms Dahlia says a bit slower while focusing back on him, "I wouldn't have tested for it on normal circumstances, but you did already inherit a Slytherin bloodline trait and your grandmother was a Black, whose ancestors liked to brag about the gift being in their family, so I figured it might be possible."

"What does this mean, exactly, for Harry?" Mr Wright asks and he sits up straight again, paying more attention.

They'd talked about the parseltongue before, and how most people in Britain say it's bad because Voldemort could talk to snakes too, but that it isn't the same all over the world – he has the books to prove it! – and it doesn't mean Harry isn't allowed to use it or tell people. Still, Mr Wright had warned him that he should probably keep it to friends and family – and healers – just like he will about understanding snakes too even if he can't speak it. Harry agreed because he's not about to do something that makes his life more difficult, and it's not like he has a pet snake or anything to keep talking to so there's no way for people to find out on their own.

"It doesn't have to mean anything," Ms Dahlia replies as she stands up. "But it's a rare talent, and especially useful to someone who doesn't want to be recognized in public," she adds with a wink in his direction. "If you want to keep training it, try to do something like we just did before going to sleep every night and you'll slowly get used to it enough for it to become as easy as breathing – or speaking to snakes."

"What if I can't turn it back?" Harry has to ask because as much as he wants to learn how to keep his hair the way it was – he doesn't mind his eye colour so much anymore – he doesn't want to end up looking weird forever, imagining if he turned his hair purple and had to go to school that way.

"You can always take a photograph of how you look right now and use it to remember how to change back," She suggests, "and any skilled transfiguration master should be able to put you to rights until you can do it yourself. Besides, it's still your magic, it won't do anything you really don't want it to."

"Oh, okay," he figures that makes sense, his accidental magic is also always things he wants to do at the time like get away from Dudley or make the teacher stop yelling at him. "Thank you, Ms Dahlia."

"Yes, Thank you," Mr Wright repeats, "and I'm sorry for the unexpected fire call."

"You're welcome, and It's forgiven," she narrows her eyes at Mr Wright, "this time. Maybe arrange for a letterbox? I always check my first thing in the morning-"

The two start walking off and Harry's not interested enough in the conversation to follow. Instead, he runs back to his room and finds the mirror again, closing his eyes and imagining the right hair-

Not again, he thinks and sighs at the sight of his now blue eyes that came with the longer and curlier hair.

This might take a while.

"I wish this wasn't the best we can do," Michael complains with a sigh from his spot on one of the chairs in their rented meeting room at the Leaky Cauldron.

"Well, until any of them slips, it will have to do," Chang repeats in an appeasing tone.

It's incredibly frustrating, but unfortunately the truth. Of all of the articles they'd tracked down about Harry so far, dating from the moment he was declared the Boy-Who-Lived by the masses, only a few had made use of a baby picture – something probably taken after the first few months of his birth – and none of it could be legally classified as libel. Of course, they were reporting on a literal child and exposing him to hundreds of strangers, but the few who tried to intrude on his privacy – speculate current guardians or even track him down – had been swiftly dealt with and the ones that didn't – yearly reminders of Voldemort's defeat and recurrent birthday articles of well-wishes – technically fit into the public interest rule. It leaves him little to work with and, until a journalist changes their tune and decides to defame their media-proclaimed child saviour, there is nothing he can do to stop them.

It doesn't take long for their guest to arrive, a middle-aged blonde witch with shoulder-length curls and large jewelled spectacles that oddly make him think of a knitting grandma, a visual not helped in the least by her green and pink robes that, while not exactly clashing – or so he figures with his limited fashion insight – is definitely eye-catching. The smile she offers them is one he's seen a hundred times before, something that looks almost genuine but has been polished for public consumption, and her eyes are sharp even though her greetings sound smooth.

He already doesn't like her, and they've barely exchanged half a dozen words.

"To business, then?" Ms Chang suggests after the proper greetings and niceties have been observed, sliding their proposal over the table toward Ms Skeeter, who adjusts her glasses and begins examining it.

She takes her time reading through it, but Michael – and surely Chang as well – is used to hours-long meetings discussing contract wording and clause adjustments. Still, it's not a very long or wordy contract, simply a proposal on the type of news she would be allowed to report – and most importantly the ones she wouldn't – on his son, as well as an agreement to run every article mentioning it by them or an appointed third-party before publication. In short, an exclusivity contract with just as many advantages as restrictions, and their best attempt to stay on top of what information is spread.

Skeeter finally leans back and places the contract down, "entirely unacceptable."

Michael lets out a quiet sigh, realizing he was not about to be pleasantly surprised. "What part, exactly, are you objecting to Ms Skeeter?"

"All of it," she informs in an outraged tone, "why, you might as well declare the Boy-Who-Lived off-limits until majority! I ought to be able to report the truth of what happens in Hogwarts, the public deserves to know who their saviour is as a person!"

"Children shouldn't be looking over their shoulder and worrying about their public image while at school," Chang cuts off her rant, "any articles that infringe on his privacy or impact his studies would be a breach of contract, but we were generous enough to leave out public appearances and events."

"Generous," Skeeter scoffs, "this is censorship and I will not stand for it," she ironically proceeds to stand.

"Your columns don't seem to have an issue with censorship when it's in favour of the highest bidder," Michael points out lightly, having read a few of the many kiss-ass articles regarding the Ministry when anyone with a modicum of critical thought is able to do their research and come to a very different conclusion from what was presented.

An example is the case of Sirius Black, something they are still working on in the background but has taken a backseat now that Michael has the ability to sort out Harry's interests. Skeeter is one of the few journalists who made a spectacle of the man's betrayal, praised the Ministry's swift action, and yet wrote no words about the trial whose transcription they have yet to find in the public records and have already sent a request for access to the private ones.

Skeeter rolls her eyes, "I write what the public wants to read, Mr… Wright," the slight wrinkling on her nose tells him she's one of those types, "And speaking of, how did you come to be representing Mr Potter's interest?"

Michael trades a look with Chang, who nods with a sigh, "I believe our business is concluded then," he says, ignoring her question, as Chang summons the contract back to her hands. "It's clear to me that we won't reach an accord on what constitutes appropriate reporting."

"You can't silence the press, Mr Wright," She taunts with a smirk, "now, why would you have any trouble sharing your relationship with our dear boy saviour? Maybe it's something I should look into?"

Tired of the pointless questions, he stands from his chair followed by Chang, "Good day, Ms Skeeter," he says with an equally practised smile as they make their way out the door.

Only once they're safely back in Chang's office does he dare to drop down on a chair with an annoyed groan, massaging the sides of his temple with the tip of his fingers as if anticipating the headaches this little meeting will most likely cause in the future.

"It was worth a shot," Chang informs him needlessly. He knows Skeeter could have proved useful, she already has the ear – well, the eyes – of at least half of the British wixes if not more, given that no one is quite immune to gossip rags, which is the essence of her work.

"Who's the next one?" He asks, hoping for someone more reasonable, which isn't a tall bar to reach. "Preferably someone who has kids."

"Well," he hears the sound of papers shuffling before she answers, "How about one Edvard Limus? He's also a published author and has two kids Hogwarts-age."

"Can't go any worse," he replies with a shrug.

With that settled, they send a letter with the request for a meeting and move on to other matters, discussing when Michael would go to Gringotts and attempt to retrieve the Potter wills now that he is Harry's proper guardian – he schedules it for the following Monday – and how his search for a tutor is going – he has interviews scheduled throughout the whole week except for the weekend as they made plans to visit Diagon Alley with the Grangers. All in all, the day ends up being productive regardless of the failure of a meeting with Skeeter and he even manages to get Harry to floo back home on his own instead of half-asleep on him like most days.

Not that he minds carrying the kid, but Harry needs more practice to get used to it.

It's only when Harry's already ready for bed and he's sitting at the foot of it with the book of the night in his lap – the Japanese parselmouth story that Harry had already read on his own but wanted him to do the voices for it – that he thinks to bring up a subject that's been rattling around in his mind for a while.

"Harry," Michael starts and the kid stops his shuffling under the covers to look at him, "What do you think about having Ms Chang as your magical guardian?"

"But you said-" Harry's eyes widen and Michael interrupts when he realizes what his son is probably thinking.

"Nothing would change, but the wixes don't let squibs be magical guardians for lack of- well, magic," he shrugs, "she would get to make some important decisions for you, but I trust her to work with me on it, and if something like today happens again she would be the one we'd call instead."

Harry just frowns, looking like he's thinking about it before asking, "Isn't she married?"

"I- what's that got to do with anything?" He splutters, entirely confused about where his child's thoughts have wandered to.

"If you're my guardian and she's my guardian won't she be…" He can't help but let out an incredulous laugh when he realizes the assumption that's been made, did Harry think he would what, Marry Tonks too if they'd decided on her being his magical guardian?

"No, no, nothing like that," he assures once he manages to stop laughing, "it's just for the government and emergency purposes, we're not getting married!

"Oh," Harry breathes out, his face turning an adorable cherry red, and they dissolve into helpless giggles at the misunderstanding. "Uh- I'd like that, I like Ms Chang," is his reply once they've calmed down. "Does that mean I get to visit Cho more?"

Michael snorts at the boy's priorities, "Well, I'll have to ask her first, it is a lot of responsibility," he explains, "but maybe." he would surely feel better about leaving his son with Chang if she had the legal power to make decisions for him as well if anything unexpected were to happen. "I'll invite them over for lunch tomorrow and we'll talk about it."

"'Kay," Harry nodded before hiding a yawn behind his hand.

"Alright, story time," He gets them back on track and opens the book on the last chapter they'd read.

It doesn't take long for Harry to fall asleep to the story, and he marks the chapter before putting it aside, tucking in his son properly and heading to his own room for a much-awaited rest. He could worry about things again in the morning.

"Stay still, let her smell you."

"What is that? I've never seen one like it."

"A most powerful beast, little brother mine."

"...It's the size of my thumb."

"Well, she has yet to reach her full potential, but will certainly be formidable once she does."

"What's her name?"

"I've named her Sinnhite, in honor of her scales as dark as the night."

"Lovely, she'll grow as vain as you."

Some credit for this chapter goes to my friends Rowan, who answered a yes or no question that decided if Harry would be a metamorph lol (she also helped figure out how it would work), and Milie, whom I asked if we liked Skeeter and she said nope and ended the woman's whole career. RIP beetle lady.

Also, if anyone wanted to know, Sinnihte is Old English for "continual darkness" or "perpetual night".

[This chapter on AO3 contains an illustration of the Leaky Cauldron meeting room]