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Harry stood in the kitchen of Number Four Privet Drive as Professor Moody explained the plan.
“Ah,” said Moody, “I forgot to mention the key point. Fourteen of us won't be flying to Tonks' parents’. There will be seven Harry Potter’s moving through the sky tonight, each of them with a companion, each pair heading for a different safe house.”
From inside his cloak, Moody now withdrew a flask of what looked like mud.
“No!” Harry protests, his voice ringing loudly through the kitchen. “No way!”
“I told them you’d take it like this.” Hermione remarked with a hint of complacency.
“If you think I'm going to let six people risk their lives-“ Harry scoffed, gaping
"-because it's the first time for all of us," said Ron.
"This is different, pretending to be me-" His voice cracks, he swallows down the squeak, clearing his throat as a flush spreads.
"Well, none of us really fancy it, Harry," said Fred earnestly, elbowing his twin.
"Imagine if something went wrong and we were stuck as specky, scrawny gits forever."
Harry did not smile.
"You can't do it if I don't cooperate, you need me to give you some hair."
"Well, that's that plan scuppered," said George. "Obviously there's no chance at all of us getting a bit of your hair unless you cooperate."
"Yeah, thirteen of us against one bloke who's not allowed to use magic; we've got no chance," said Fred.
"Funny," said Harry, "really amusing."
"If it has to come to force, then it will," growled Moody, his magical eye now quivering a little in its socket as he glared at Harry.
"Everyone here's overage, Potter, and they're all prepared to take the risk." Mundungus shrugged and grimaced; the magical eye swerved sideways to glare at him out of the side of Moody's head.
"Let's have no more arguments. Time's wearing on. I want a few of your hairs, boy, now."
"But this is mad, there's no need -" His voice cracks again, he cuts himself off.
"No need!" snarled Moody. "With You-Know-Who out there and half the Ministry on his side? Potter, if we're lucky he'll have swallowed the fake bait and he'll be planning to ambush you on the thirtieth, but he'd be mad not to have a Death Eater or two keeping an eye out, it's what I'd do. They might not be able to get at you or this house while your mother's charm holds, but it's about to break and they know the rough position of the place. This is our only chance.”
Harry caught Hermione's eye and averted his gaze.
"So, Potter — some of your hair, if you please."
Harry glanced at Ron, who grimaced at him in a just-do-it sort of way.
"Now!" barked Moody.
With all of their eyes upon him, Harry reached up to the top of his head, grabbed a hank of hair, and pulled out a lock. Constant extreme stress had made shedding come easy.
“Just.. Please don’t think of me differently.” He mumbles, averting his eyes.
"Good," said Moody- ignoring the boy, limping forward as he pulled the stopper out of the flask of potion. "Straight in here, if you please. It should be strong enough to last not only the travel, but two hours spare.”
Harry dropped the hair into the mud like liquid. The moment it made contact with its surface, the potion began to froth and smoke, then, all at once, it turned a clear, bright gold.
"Right then, fake Potters line up over here, please," Moody grunted, limping over to the sink.
Ron, Hermione, Fred, and George lined up in front of Aunt Petunia's gleaming sink.
Harry’s stomach, filled with dread- is overflowing. It’s more than the normal nerves someone in his position would experience.
Harry had limits on the privilege that is privacy in his life. Since he was an infant his face was blasted on the news. The only thing he had ever managed to keep even semi-private was his intersexuality.
When he was five it was crudely explained to him by Aunt Petunia, shamed into him to never talk about it and he was given a pamphlet to consult with any questions. His questions were never answered.
Harry was almost seventeen now. He knew more about himself, intersex people were as common as redheads- really, he shouldn’t be any more ashamed then Ron should be.
He was assigned male at birth due to his external anatomy, which was not functional, but he had an internal female reproductive system that could make hormones. It wasn’t really anyone’s business what his genitalia was, in his opinion.
Harry had been neglecting any real hormonal corrections, he went through female puberty alone, uncomfortable with an occasional incognito google search snuck on Dudley’s computer.
He had learned to bind his chest with Ace bandage, how much pressure to apply to not risk a bruised rib but not to let the curve show- how to hide it under draping robes at night and to wake up early to sneak off into the bathroom and awkwardly bind himself in a stall without a mirror. He had learned to never pull the adhesive off directly, a painful lesson.
He had been taking testosterone potion once a week for a month or two now, something he had gotten his hands on through sheer dumb luck.
His voice had started to squeak and crack, his skin got worse- something he could pass off as late puberty.
He can only watch with almost abject horror as Ron, Hermione, Fred, and George in that order, take swigs of the potion.
Ron’s hair darkens and sticks up wildly as he grows shorter by a foot and a half. His chest swells in an identical way to the way Harry’s does behind closed doors. He groans as his insides rearrange to Harry’s anatomy. He’s never taken polyjuice potion well.
Hermione shrinks slightly to Harry’s utter mortification, her skin worsens and her hair shortens. She doesn’t seem to notice not losing her chest, not yet.
Harry chews his nails, shrinking into the back wall.
The twins have transformed, and they’re looking over each other with confusion. The one on the left- George (Harry can always tell, it drives Molly mad) speaks first.
“Oi? Did you fudge the potion or what?” Fred tries to laugh, shifting in Harry’s body as the twins look at each other.
“Harry, your eyesight is really just terrible.” Hermione squints with Harry’s face, she feels over her- Harry’s body. It’s like a horror movie. There are five rapidly developing Harry’s in the room, and one who is getting pinker by the second.
Harry is chewing his fingernails until they bleed as Shacklebolt, Tonks, Lupin, Mr. Weasley, Bill, Moody, and Hagrid look around the room.
“No, the potion’s right.” Moody grunts, looking at Harry. The magical eye catches his own, it’s apologetic. “You- Harry, I thought you had told.. Not even your friends?”
“Harry- why did you hide if you were trans? Hell, not even Malfoy is low enough to care about something like that.” Hermione rubs her- Harry’s- Lily’s eyes. God it’s bloody weird to watch someone on your polyjuice potion.
“I’m.. not.” Harry shuffles on his feet. “I have this birth defect- I don’t really want to get into it.” Harry’s face is red beyond red, he’s backed himself into the wall. “Can’t you just.. Transfigure it away?”
Lupin clears his throat. “You can’t transfigure polyjuice potion Harry, It’s not a big deal that you’re intersex. It’s much more common in the wizarding world then you thin-”
“I don’t wanna talk about it. Okay?” Harry’s voice squeaks mid sentence, he’s painfully aware of it. He can feel the sweat starting to form on his flushed complexion.
Bill tries to pry next. “Well, Harry- you don’t have to say anything, what do you use to bind? Do you have a spare that we could use a simple doubling charm on? It’s our best bet.”
People are shifting, the awkward silence breaks as Moody hands out glasses and clothes to change into.
“Yeah. Er- it’s in my bags.” Harry unzips his deeply unoriginal trunk and digs through his socks, he pulls out a roll of ace tape and sets it on the counter.
“Merlin- Really? Do you know how unsafe that is? At your age??” Mr. Weasley looks.. so concerned. “Promise me that after this, you’ll let Molly get you something safer. Alright?”
Harry is at a loss for words. He nods, closing his mouth from when his jaw started to gape open.
Bill sighs, he tucks his arms inside his jumper and after a minute or two of fumbling inside his shirt- he pulls off his own binder. He places it on the counter and starts to double the fabric.
Harry seems to be literally the only person surprised by this. He has questions, many questions. But it feels like his throat is full of cotton soaked in candle wax. Nothing comes out, no words seem to form inside his head and trail out of his mouth. He just stares. He’s aware he’s being rude, he’s aware he’s redder than Uncle Vernon, and yet- all he can do is stare.
Moody hands out binders as he speaks gruffly, “Alright, time is running out, get dressed.”
Harry is pressed into the wall, he’s brought back to reality and out of his thoughts by the taste of blood. He really needs to stop chewing his cuticles so raw. It’s probably gross to watch an almost adult guy slobber and gnaw on his fingers like a toddler.
He wipes his hand on his trousers. He’s back in his head.
“Harry.” Bill is handing him something, he’s touching Harry’s shoulder. There’s concern in his eyes. His tone indicates he’s already called his name once before.
“Harry,” He drops his tone. “Nobody thinks of you differently, none of us will ever bring this up if you don’t want us to.” He smiles, whispering as he hands Harry a binder “A little under half of wizard folk are trans. Transphobia is a muggle thing.” He presses the cloth into Harry’s arms, His voice comes back to a normal tone. “Go put that on, you’re not flying with your ribs compressed on a night like tonight.”
Harry can only nod. His world has not only been flipped upside down by this, but seemingly pulled inside out. He swallows, nodding and slinking off into the bathroom to get changed.
He can hear Moody calling out the time, they have half an hour till takeoff.
It doesn’t matter where he gets changed really. Four carbon copies of him are doing the same thing in the kitchen without much care. But still, he’d rather not take it off in front of them.
Harry closes the door, locking it. He sighs, sinking to the floor. He’ll get dressed eventually. He’s just.. Processing. He has no concrete reason to feel so mortified, so ashamed, so.. Awkward.
Harry pulls himself up by the towel rack, he avoids his own eyes in the mirror as he tugs his jumper off. He opens the cabinet above the toilet, fumbling open a plaster as he patches the bleeding hangnail up.
He exhales all the way- undoes the fasteners and checks over his ribs in the mirror. He breathes in deeply, relishing in the familiar ache. He would normally use a rag from upstairs, but seeing as how the house was going to be abandoned, he saw no reason to not use the hand towel to wipe off the grime of the day.
He takes the cloth, wets it in the sink and washes off the sweat that the unbreathable fabric trapped. As his skin dries he washes his face with his hands- letting cool water dissipate the flush.
He wipes his face on the clean end of the cloth, he hangs it back up.
The binder Bill gave him is not made of muggle cloth, It’s soft, lightweight. The size seems to change as Harry puts it on. As he loops his arms through it and pulls it over his head the fabric becomes loose. It doesn’t bunch in the back, it simply slips over. The moment he’s situated- it tightens gently. It matches Harry’s skin tone perfectly.
Harry turns to the side, looking at himself in the mirror. It looks.. For lack of a better word, correct.
His chest isn’t flat as a board, it has a natural curve. It looks right. It feels right. He pulls on his jumper and walks back into the kitchen.
Professor Moody gives him a deeply apologetic look, It doesn’t take an Auror to tell he feels quite contrite about the whole ordeal. Harry forces a small smile.