Finding Heather

Year 7 Chapter 11

 Behind the curtain that once more blocked off the girls' dormitory the next morning, Heather stripped down and sat on her bunk while Hermione went to work. With a severing charm Hermione cut her hair back to something close to how she had kept it before becoming a girl, and transfigured it back to jet black. Heather's head felt lighter without it hanging past her shoulders, and she shivered as a chill ran up her spine. Something told her that it wasn't because of the unfamiliar breeze that blew across her exposed neck. As Hermione considered the rest of her body, she abandoned the idea of shrinking Heather's chest with a spell and instead drew out a long piece of bandage from her beaded bag. Going slightly pink, she asked Heather to remove her bra. Very tightly Hermione wrapped the cloth around her chest, compressing the two small breasts. It was somewhat hard to breathe but Heather had to admit it worked.

 Over her knickers, she flatly refused to wear boy's undershorts, she pulled more of Ron's old clothes off a spare bunk and began to get dressed. "It's not like I'm planning on giving him a striptease after all" she had exclaimed during the conversation the night before when Ron had handed over the clothes she was pulling on now. When she emerged, she made for the small bathroom and looked at herself in the mirror, comparing her reflection to the old Daily Prophet blazoned with her picture and the words Undesirable #1. Turning her head this way and that, she could certainly see a difference, but thought it was only because she knew her face so well. To anyone who didn't have a picture in front of them, she should appear just as Harry Potter was supposed to look. Harry, she told herself, gazing resolutely at her reflection. Just for today, you have to be Harry again. It was amazing to her just how hard it was to think of herself that way after being Heather full time for so long.

 Shaking herself out of her reverie, she returned to the sitting area and began to eat the breakfast Hermione had prepared. After two small mouthfuls Heather pushed the plate away. Her stomach was not willing to accept food in it's current state, even though it tasted delicious. Hermione shot her a look of concern, but Heather just shook her head and closed her eyes. She was already ready for this to be over.

 They apparated to a hill overlooking the village of Ottery St. Catchpole before the sun had fully risen. Together, with Heather hidden under the cloak, they looked towards the high trees that blocked the Burrow from view, each wishing they could go for a visit. As uneasy as her stomach felt, the thought of Mrs. Weasley's home cooking was still a wonderful prospect to Heather.

It took several hours to locate the Lovegood's house. It sat at the crest of a hill roughly ten miles north of the village, the kind of place you could see from miles around. Heather thought this fit with what little she knew about Xenophilius and his daughter. While some might try to hide their eccentricities, the Lovegood's certainly believed the opposite. Their house looked like a chess castle, as Ron put it. It was a black cylinder that rose into the sky several stories. Outside it was the strangest collection of plants that Heather had seen, with the possible exception of some of the Hogwarts Greenhouses.

Emerging from under the cloak, Heather braced herself and knocked. When there was no answer after a several moments, she knocked again louder. On her last knock, the door was yanked open and a wild eyed Xenophilius stood there, gazing warily at all of them.

"What is it? What do you-" his eyes fell on Heather and did the familiar, if not particularly missed, flick upwards to her scar. His eyes, which were already wide open, bulged and his jaw dropped.

"Hello, Mr. Lovegood. I'm He-Harry Potter." The name felt strange in her mouth.

"Mr. Potter." Said Xenophilius slowly, as though he could not believe she was real. "What do you want?"

"Err, may we come in, Mr. Lovegood?" asked Heather, gazing around. It wasn't very safe these days to linger on doorsteps.

 Xenophilius looked as though he wanted to deny them entry, but after Heather reassured him that they wouldn't be there long, he moved aside. Heather hadn't given much thought to any expectations she might have for the home of Luna and her father, but somehow what she saw managed to exceed them. They were standing in a kitchen with a iron spiral staircase in the middle. Everything in the kitchen was curved to fit the outer walls, and were painted with bright colors. "Luna," said Xenophilius as he led them upstairs nervously, "is down at the stream picking plimpies for dinner."