Chapter 139: Harry? No—Harriet!
"Hehe, Cho apologized to me," Cedric said with a foolish grin, scratching the back of his head. "She said she shouldn't have spoken like that—and that she'd been overly sensitive."
"And Cedric said he shouldn't have been so stern. He promised he'd watch his tone," Cho added, squeezing Cedric's hand with a smile.
"Good, good," Russell nodded approvingly. Then his eyes drifted to Cedric's scarf. "Cho… did you use a knitting aid for that?"
The stitches were remarkably even—far too precise for a beginner. Morticia sometimes used a magical knitting frame when she was busy, and Russell knew exactly what that looked like.
(With one of those, he could knit two scarves in a single evening.)
"Yes," Cho admitted shyly. "I'm not very good at knitting by hand."
"It's the thought that counts," Cedric said quickly. "That's what matters."
"Alright, you two," Russell waved them off with exaggerated exhaustion. "Go celebrate the end of your cold war somewhere else. I've got something important to do."
He had decided to undertake something monumental.
---
"No. Absolutely not."
Harry stared at Russell in horror, as if he were facing a dark wizard.
He folded his arms protectively over his chest and took several steps backward.
"Why so resistant, Harry?" Russell frowned at his reaction.
"There's an old saying," Russell said solemnly. "The greatest, most enduring, and most universal art… is men dressing as women."
He sighed theatrically.
"Harry, you're sacrificing yourself for art."
"No, you're tricking me!" Harry said suspiciously, pulling out his wand and pointing it directly at Russell.
"Harry." Russell's tone turned serious.
"You do realize I just did you an enormous favor. And you can't even help me with this tiny little thing? You're even pointing a wand at me?"
"I—I'm not…" Harry stammered.
Russell wasn't wrong.
He had helped him. Helped him find family. Helped clear Sirius's name.
Harry hesitated.
The wand wavered slightly.
Harry lowered his wand.
"But… why do you need me to do this?" he asked, still confused.
"You've probably noticed that Professor Snape and Sirius don't exactly get along," Russell said patiently. "Because I helped Sirius get out of prison, Snape's furious. He's already started isolating me."
"I'd rather he isolate me," Harry muttered.
"But I don't," Russell replied smoothly. "That's why I need to repair my relationship with him."
Harry frowned. "You've said all that, but you still haven't explained why me doing this would make Snape forgive you."
"You don't need to understand everything," Russell said lightly. "I guarantee that if you follow my plan, Snape's attitude toward you will make a complete one-hundred-and-eighty-degree turn. I swear on my character."
"Really?" Harry hesitated. He did trust Russell's word.
"Really. And you can blame it all on me. Say I pranked you and you accidentally drank a potion—that's why you look like that."
"But…" Harry still wavered. "If I do this, Slytherin will laugh at me. Especially Malfoy."
"He won't dare," Russell said confidently. "Snape will handle it."
"You can guarantee Snape won't target me anymore?" Harry pressed.
"I guarantee that as long as you keep that appearance, Snape won't target you."
(What Russell did not mention was that once Harry changed back, the targeting might become even worse. But there was a solution—Harry could simply attend every Potions class as 'Harriet.' As compensation, Russell would brew the potion for free.)
"Fine," Harry said at last. He was loyal by nature, and Russell sounded so certain.
"Excellent." Russell handed him a small bottle of green potion—the color perfectly matched Harry's eyes. "Drink it before class. I adjusted the formula—it'll only change your face."
The potion's original name had been the Witch's Draught. It temporarily changed the drinker's gender; some witches and wizards used it to evade capture, others for profit. After Russell modified the formula, it no longer altered the body—only the face, much like a Metamorphmagus transformation.
Russell could hardly wait to see Snape's expression when Harry became Harriet.
He checked the timetable. Harry's next class was Potions—while Russell was supposed to attend Defense Against the Dark Arts.
There was no question. He'd skip it. Surely Quirrell wouldn't mind.
Unfortunately, Quirrell did mind.
"Fythorne? Russell Fythorne?" Quirrell called several times, growing increasingly anxious when no one answered.
He had just learned from Hagrid how to get past Fluffy and was eager to send Russell down to investigate. And now, at this critical moment, Russell was absent.
"Russell isn't feeling well, Professor. He's resting in the dormitory," James said, raising his hand nervously. Russell hadn't mentioned any of this.
Surprisingly, Quirrell didn't press the issue.
"Very well. Let him rest. I'll help him catch up later," Quirrell said, and resumed his droning lecture.
Meanwhile, Russell had already positioned himself in a dark corner of the Potions classroom. Between the Disillusionment Charm and a Concealment Charm, he was perfectly hidden.
---
"Harry! Class is about to start—why aren't you going in? And why didn't you wait for me today?" Ron panted as he ran up. "If you're late, Snape'll dock points again!"
Though Harry had agreed, he hesitated at the last second.
All the other students had already entered the classroom. He stood alone outside.
The bell rang.
Snape's cold gaze swept the classroom—searching for one particular student.
"Splendid," Snape drawled sarcastically. "It appears our Savior has learned the art of tardiness. Perhaps he believes his mastery of Potions is already sufficient for graduation—"
"Sorry, Professor Snape. I'm late."
A soft voice floated in from the doorway.
Snape's lips curved into a mocking smile. He was fully prepared to deduct five points from Gryffindor.
But when he turned—
His eyes widened like a startled flounder. He stared, speechless.
The students had never seen Snape look like that. They followed his gaze.
"Whoa… who's that?"
"I've never seen her before."
"A transfer student?"
"No way—that can't be Harry Potter."
Whispers filled the room.
Ordinarily, Snape would have exploded. Today, he heard none of it. His eyes were fixed solely on the figure at the door.
Long black hair.
Almond-shaped dark green eyes.
A delicate oval face…
(Yes, we all know Lily had red hair.)
"Lily…" he murmured unconsciously, his face filled with longing.
"Professor?" Harry blinked. "I'm Harriet."
Snape snapped back to reality. His eyes dropped to the lightning scar on the forehead.
"Potter. You're late," Snape said softly, clearing his throat. His voice had inexplicably gentled.
"Sorry, Professor. I overslept. And I accidentally drank Russell's potion… that's why I look like this."
Harriet had not yet realized the shift in tone. She was inwardly cursing Russell. So much for a 'complete attitude reversal.' Now Snape would surely punish her twice as hard.
Russell's credibility was plummeting in her mind.
"Very well. Honesty. Because of your honesty, five points to Gryffindor."
"What? Five points? Why?" Malfoy burst out, unable to accept it. Though he had to admit Harriet looked far more pleasant than Harry had ever been, and his hatred had mysteriously evaporated, five points were five points.
"Silence, Malfoy," Snape snapped coldly. "Since when do you question my decisions?"
Malfoy sat down miserably, eyes reddening.
He was no longer Snape's favorite.
"Take your seat, Potter," Snape said, managing an awkward attempt at a smile.
Faced with a face so reminiscent of Lily's, he simply could not summon anger.
"Thank you, Professor," Harriet said timidly.
Russell does not deceive me, she thought excitedly.
Unbeknownst to her, Russell was in the back corner, enjoying the spectacle immensely.
"Harry?" Ron whispered cautiously once Harriet sat down. "What happened to you?"
Brother… you smell nice, he almost added—but wisely kept that to himself.
"I'll explain later," Harriet whispered.
Snape saw.
"Weasley. Stand up. You will remain standing for this lesson."
Ron rose in utter confusion.
Wasn't Snape supposed to be targeting Harry more fiercely?
He didn't know.
Harry was now Harriet.
And in Snape's eyes, everything had changed.