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Harry Potter leaned against the wall next to the fireplace in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place, and scowled at his fiancée.
Fiancée.
The word echoed pleasantly around his brain. He still wasn’t used to it; she’d only had the ring—his mother’s ring—on her finger for a couple of weeks now, and Harry was still more than a little giddy that she’d actually agreed to marry him. The memory of it made his breath catch, his stomach fizz and his expression soften as he watched her make the final adjustments to her costume for George and Ron’s Halloween party.
Then he remembered why he was so pissed off with her, and schooled his features back into frown, engagement ring be damned.
“If the wind changes, you’ll stay like that,” teased Ginny, as she shrugged into her cloak─or more accurately, as she shrugged into his cloak.
Harry just glared at her. “I don’t remember telling you that you could borrow that.
Ginny was entirely unrepentant. “That’s the beauty of getting engaged. It’s basically just practising for being married, so what’s yours is mine now." She carefully pinned a badge that read 'Captain' to the cloak. "How do I look? Reckon I make a convincing Harry Potter?”
She twirled theatrically on the spot, showing off her outfit: one of his old Gryffindor quidditch kits, probably one of the earlier ones, given it was small enough to pretty much fit her. Her bright copper hair was transfigured into an unruly black thatch, and she was also sporting an old pair of his glasses that she’d vanished the lenses from. The finishing touch was a scar drawn on her forehead in what she told him was lip liner.
The truth of the matter was that she looked amazing. This was partly because Ginny always looked amazing no matter what she was wearing, and partly because there was something about seeing her dressed in his clothes, with his name written across the back, that threatened to send him absolutely feral.
Not that he was going to admit that of course; it was a point of principle.
“You look utterly ridiculous,” he told her. “I can’t believe you’re going out dressed as me.”
Far from being offended, Ginny just giggled. “I bet half the country is dressed up as Harry Potter tonight. I don’t see why I should miss out.” She let her eyes wander pointedly over him from head to toe, taking in his entirely standard outfit of jeans and t-shirt. “And at least I’ve made an effort.”
“Hey!” he protested. “I’ve made an effort too! You just haven’t noticed it yet.”
She rolled her eyes. “Clearly I don’t have the finely honed observational skills of a highly-trained elite Auror.”
“Clearly.” He bared his teeth at her, showing off the canines that he’d transfigured into fangs. “See? I’m a vampire.”
Ginny just rolled her eyes. “That’s not a costume. That’s a massive cop out.”
Harry shrugged and inspected his fingernails. “Yeah, well. Nothing good ever happened on Halloween, did it?” His gaze flicked up to meet hers. “I’m only going because it’s Ron and George, and I know how much it means to you, but vampire teeth are as good as it’s going to get, so you’ll all just have to deal with it.”
Ginny’s bright brown eyes were warm and understanding as she reached out and placed her hand on his forearm. “I know it’s not exactly your favourite day. Hopefully this one will be memorable for the right reasons.” She reached for the broom that was propped up against the kitchen table that would complete her outfit. “Come on, let’s go.”
One handful of floo powder and a flash of green later, Harry stepped out of the fireplace into the living room of the flat shared by Ron and George—and immediately stopped dead in his tracks.
“What the…?”
The expletive died on his lips. He stared in disbelief at the scene in front of him while his brain attempted to work out exactly what it was that his eyes were seeing, because it did not make any sense.
The entire room was full of… him, dozens of Harry Potters all milling about the living room, laughing and chatting and enjoying the party.
For a moment, he had a horrible flashback of the other time he’d been in a room full of people who looked just like him, one of seven Harry Potters about to flee from Privet Drive pursued by Riddle and his Death Eaters. It set his pulse racing, and instinctively his fingers wrapped around his wand in its holster, before a second glance reassured him that this was very different. These weren’t perfect polyjuiced copies of him; they were all different shapes and sizes, tall and short, broad and narrow. Most but not all wore Gryffindor robes, and every single one had unruly black hair, a pair of glasses and a scar drawn on their forehead. He looked to his left to see if Ginny could explain what on earth was going on, but she’d conveniently disappeared the moment they arrived.
“Harry!” yelped a voice, and one of the shorter Harrys hurried towards him. It was, he realised, remarkably difficult to tell who was who under the costumes when they all looked so similar. He only identified this one as Hermione by the sound of her voice.
She was one of the handful of guests not wearing school robes. Instead, her outfit consisted of otherwise normal clothes that were massively too big for her. The jeans were rolled up several times at the ankle, and a belt cinched them close at her waist, while the sleeves of the jumper covered her hands and the collar threatened to slip off her shoulders.
Harry folded his arms across his chest. “Hermione. What the hell is this?”
The scar on her forehead wrinkled with worry. “I’m so sorry. Ron said we should dress as you, and I thought it would be amusing. If I’d known that everyone was doing it, I would have said something.”
Four years as an Auror had given Harry’s already well developed instinct for dishonesty a significant boost, and he immediately knew she was telling the truth. “So you’re meant to be me too, then?” he asked. “I’m not sure I quite get it.”
Hermione pulled anxiously at the cuff of her jumper. “Yes! This is how you were dressed the first day I met you – everything far too big for you. It’s how I always picture you when I think about how I met my best friend.”
It was such a touching thing to say that Harry found he couldn’t hold on to his annoyance with her, and he let his face relax into a half smile.
“And all she had to do was raid my wardrobe,” added Ron, throwing his arm around her. shoulders. Ron actually was wearing school robes, but unlike all the others, his were trimmed in green and silver, and although his hair was no longer red, it wasn’t black either; instead, it was short and bristly.
“Didn’t you get the memo?” Harry asked him, nodding at the Slytherin badge on his chest.
Ron looked extremely pleased with himself. “Oh, I’m still you. It’s just that I’m you on Polyjuice, disguised as Gregory Goyle.” Ron’s gaze softened and her smiled wistfully. “One of my all-time favourite scrapes that we got into together.”
Harry grinned, despite himself. “Yeah, that one was a laugh.”
Hermione folded her arms across her chest. “Speak for yourselves!”
Ron dropped a kiss onto her forehead. “Sorry, love!
She looked up at him, clearly annoyed. “This isn’t a coincidence, is it? All these people dressed as Harry?”
“Exactly what I’ve been thinking,” added Harry, accusingly.
Ron held up his palms in a placatory gesture. “Hey! It wasn’t my idea. You need to talk to your fiancée, Harry. I think I saw her going into the kitchen. Let’s go and find her, and we can grab ourselves a drink while we're there.”
He led Harry and Hermione towards the kitchen, but they made very slow progress, as everyone wanted to say hello to Harry and show off their costumes, especially the people who’d thought a little outside the box and not dug out their school robes.
Typically, Luna was one of them. She was wearing normal clothes (or at least, normal for Luna), topped by an enormous white headpiece in the shape of a stag’s head, complete with full size antlers, that was somehow illuminated from within.
“It’s for your patronus,” she explained. “It reminds me of when I first got to know you, when you were teaching us in the DA. I’d never felt like I belonged anywhere before. It’s what I think of when I cast my patronus.”
She was standing next to Neville, who was wearing a pair of very familiar pyjamas. He blushed and apologised profusely, before explaining that his outfit looked familiar for a reason. “They’re yours. You left them at school at the end of sixth year. I meant to return them, just never got round to it. I hope you don’t mind me wearing them, it’s just that sharing a dormitory with you changed my life. There’s no way I’d be where and who I am today, if we hadn’t.”
Harry didn’t quite know what to say to that. He mumbled something that hopefully sounded appreciative, and moved on, past Seamus, who had accessorised his school robes with a massive bandage around his head (“because you always seemed to be injured.”) and Dean, who was wearing Auror robes.
Just outside the kitchen, Harry spotted George, deep in conversation with Angelina Johnson. He had transfigured his head and shoulders to be entirely black and white, and charmed a white, cardboard rectangle to hover just in front of his face. It puzzled Harry until he drew closer, when he could see the words “Undesirable No.1” printed on the frame.
Harry couldn’t help laughing. “Have you come dressed as my Wanted poster?”
George nodded and raised his beer bottle in salute. “I stared at the bloody thing on the wall for long enough.”
As soon as Harry stepped inside the kitchen, a tall wizard in a Weasley jumper accosted him. He was pretty sure it was either Bill or Percy, and it surprised him that he wasn’t sure which; Harry had never realised how similar they looked before without their contrasting hairstyles to differentiate them. He only realised it was indeed Bill when Fleur appeared at his side.
Bill gestured at his chest, which was emblazoned with an H rather than a W. “Because you’re the extra kid brother I got for Christmas,” he explained, passing Harry a bottle of beer.
Fleur, meanwhile, was wearing a Hogwarts Triwizard Champion jersey. “I transfigured eet from my own. But of course, zis is ‘ow I think of you!” She placed her hands on Harry’s shoulders, before kissing both of his cheeks. “My champion, ‘oo saved my baby sister.”
As Bill and Fleur meandered back into the living room, Harry leaned back against the kitchen counter and sipped his beer. He’d been irritated with Ginny’s costume choice, and even more annoyed when he’d arrived at the party, but listening to everyone’s memories and hearing the affection in their voices had warmed him from the inside out, like a mug of the most delicious hot chocolate. Not only was it extremely touching, but he was starting to see the funny side of the whole, absurdist thing.
“Is it safe to get within hexing distance again?” asked Ginny, as she reappeared at his side with her own beer bottle.
“It is,” he conceded, nudging her with his hip. “So, Quidditch Captain Harry, eh?”
She let her head dip against his shoulder. “Yeah. I always think that Quidditch brought us together. I’m sure we’d have worked things out eventually even without it, but that year we were on the team together was pretty special.”
“It was.” Harry smiled as he tilted his head to look down at her. “Ron says this was all your doing?”
She took a pull of her beer. “Ron’s a dirty rotten snitch,” she replied, though without any rancour. “But yeah. He’s not wrong.”
He regarded her curiously. “Why?”
“Firstly, because it’s hilarious,” she pointed out, her eyes dancing. “Don’t deny it, you know it’s true! But mostly, it’s because I know that Halloween can be rough for you, and I wanted to remind you how many people love you. Not just me.”
Harry wondered for what felt like the millionth time how he got so lucky, as he wrapped his arms around her.
“Thanks, Gin. I love you too.”