Chapter Text
Late December, 1997.
The Golden Trio slumped in their seats around the tent's rickety kitchen table, holding onto jars of bluebell flames to warm their hands against lingering chills from the destruction of the Locket Horcrux. The Sword of Gryffindor, for its part, gleamed wickedly on the kitchen counter behind them.
"I think," Hermione began; faltered; took a fortifying sip of hot cocoa that Ron had brought back from Mrs. Weasley's kitchen. "I think we've got to go to Malfoy Manor." She frowned down at the parchment they were using for their plans. "Somehow."
"Bit of a big 'somehow'," Ron observed, not as snarkily as he had before - just considering.
"Well, since it's come to it," Harry spoke up at last, rising from the table, "I've got a pretty much surefire way in."
His friends turned to him. "Since when?" Ron blurted out.
"You aren't going to suggest we get ourselves captured or something, right?" Hermione narrowed her eyes.
Harry waved them off, pulling out his mokeskin pouch. "Nah, simpler. You guys will stay under the Cloak," he tossed it onto the table.
They stared at him, continuing to be confused. "..And what about you?" Hermione asked.
“I’ll be a distraction, yeah, but I won’t be in any danger, don’t worry,” their friend was saying, pulling out a large bundle from the pouch - a dark green drawstring bag that looked like it was made of velvet. "Lucky coincidence, I guess, but I've got a cover identity that we can use. It'll get us in and out without any problems."
"..A 'cover identity'?" Ron echoed, lost. "Seriously, mate, since when?"
"Oh, bit over a year ago," Harry shrugged, laying out the contents of the bag on his bed. It looked like - a uniform? "I just need to fix my hair."
"Is it even still safe?" Hermione asked, squinting at the clothes. "What do you plan to do while we're there?"
Harry didn't answer; he was staring down at the uniform laid on the bed, appearing to think about something. Then: "You know what, let me take a shower first, I can't show up smelling like dirt and Horcrux gunk." He pulled out a second bag that looked to be - toiletries? What, Hermione thought blankly. Has he been carrying those around this whole time?
The other two-thirds of the Golden Trio stayed in the tent's kitchen while the shower ran. They were just. So confused.
They were even more confused when Harry came out of the shower. "What the hell-" Ron started, before he recognized him. Then: "Harry?!"
Wrapping up his long, wavy brown hair in a towel, Harry glanced his way. "Told you I had to change my hair," he said.
“Is that what took you so long?”
“I also had to bathe, and shave, and apply skin cream.” Which explained why he looked so shiny and pinkish. "It's a process, guys, sheesh."
The rest of the process was just as extensive, and with each layer Harry became less recognizable to them: first, a pressed white shirt that he tucked properly into high-waisted black trousers, fitting plain silver cufflinks into the sleeves. A waistcoat, satiny black on the back and dark green pinstripe on the front. Hermione was pretty sure her mouth was hanging open as the messiest-dressing person she had ever known flipped up the collar of his shirt to tie a white bowtie around his neck, with an ease that spoke of extensive practice, and sat down at the kitchen table to pull on green socks that matched the waistcoat, and a pair of polished black dress shoes right after.
Then it was back to the bathroom to use the mirror - they followed him, of course, because the 'what the hell' levels were rising by the minute and they needed to see what he did next. Harry combed back his hair into a neat ponytail that he tied with, yes, green ribbon, and shocked them both by using Muggle makeup to cover up his scar, so well it looked like it had never been there in the first place. That done, he reached into the mokeskin pouch yet again, and switched out his heavy black glasses with a second pair, the lenses oval-shaped, thin-rimmed and silver.
"Blimey," Ron said, "you don't look like yourself at all."
Harry jumped, turning around with a dangerous look in his eyes before he seemed to realize it was just his friends. "Oh, right," he muttered to himself. "Forgot for a sec. Yeah," he agreed, more loudly. "I told you, it's a disguise."
Disguised as who, they both thought, but didn't ask.
"Come on, then," Harry said, tugging down the sleeves of his last layer, a black tailcoat that seemed particularly fitted about the waist. (The whole outfit did, really.) "Don't we have to take down the tent before we go?"
Hermione blinked several times. She'd forgotten they were actually leaving. "Right."
Dismantling the tent didn’t take very long, nor did taking down the protective wards. Soon enough, they were standing around in last night’s snow.
Harry passed his friends the Invisibility Cloak, which they threw over themselves, with a Disillusionment over top just in case their ankles showed, and some stealth magic to keep them from being heard - or, as Harry had suggested, smelled by Nagini. He’d advised them not to put on a lot of layers, since they’d be indoors and unable to change, which meant the two were shivering where they stood.
“S-so how are w-we get-ting there th-then?” Hermione’s teeth chattered.
“Oh, that’s easy,” Harry laughed, pointing to the sleek black pin on his bowtie. “I have a Portkey.”
And before either of them could choke out a what?! , he’d linked elbows with Hermione, who’d done the same with Ron, and flicked the end of said Portkey with a white-gloved fingertip.