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Harry only said it because Ginny always said it: “I’m tired of being me.”
She’d been saying this forever, facetiously, sometimes under her breath, sometimes in a hyperbolic huff as she collapsed on the couch after a game, her long, red hair flowing over the cushions.
Harry would sit down next to her and pet her hair and maybe they’d watch something on their Muggle television set. They were busy people, Harry with the Aurors and Ginny the Quidditch captain. They were always tired of something.
The words came out of Harry’s mouth at exactly the wrong time (or exactly right, perhaps, with the privilege of hindsight.)
They were in bed, getting ready to sleep, but Ginny made a move and Harry tried to push down the day’s paperwork and the rumors of dark wizards amassing forces in Rome of all places, and the young man he’d arrested earlier, and the photo of the arrest in the papers. In it his hair was flat and tidy against his head in a way that looked stupid, and wasn’t him, not as he’d meant to be. The horned-rimmed glasses he’d adopted after school felt like they were sending the wrong message, and the boy next to him was flipping off the camera and leering as if it was cool to sell black market artefacts from the Second Wizarding War.
So Harry turned her down as gently as he could, and when she pulled away, eyes darkening with the disappointment of his light rejections over the past month (and he’d been meaning to, he’d been trying to, really, he kept promising he would take care of her the way she wanted), all Harry could offer was, “I’m just tired of being me.”
Ginny kissed his cheek and the sympathy stung. Harry slumped miserably against the pillows, a man condemned. Ginny was beautiful - objectively, undeniably - and yet he denied her. It seemed his life had become one long string of denials over the last 4 years since graduating from Hogwarts. The vision he had for his life after school was so clear, and yet so distant. If he could just hold on to the pieces he had, maybe the rest would fall into place.
“Maybe,” Ginny said softly, as if she was about to offer a cup of tea, “you could be me, and I could be you.”
“What do you mean?” Harry asked, as if goosebumps weren’t spreading over his skin. As if Ginny weren’t a witch who could magic her words into reality.
She shrugged, cuddled up to Harry’s side with her head on his shoulder and caught his gaze into a sliver of mirror beside the wardrobe.
“I don’t know. People do funny things like that all the time.”
“All the time?” Harry scoffed.
“Sure. I mean, with magic we can do a lot better than tying each other up and wearing lingerie.”
Harry stared at the blankets and not at the mirror. “But we don’t do that.”
“We could, though.” Ginny kissed his arm. “We could do - whatever. There’s lots of things we could try. Like, different potions, or charms -”
“How do you know this?” Harry asked. Though the question was more: how, after a decade, was he still the last to know about what the Wizarding World had to offer?
“What,” she said. Harry could feel her grinning. “You’ve really never thought about it? Or heard anyone talking about it? I’m pretty sure even Luna’s published some self-help articles -”
“That doesn’t mean people actually do that stuff -”
“Wow, maybe I should take you to a Wizarding brothel and give you some perspective -”
“Merlin, Gin -”
“I’m just kidding,” she said lightly. “About the brothel. But not about - playing around. You know. If you wanted.”
She planted another kiss on his shoulder.
A week later, they brewed the polyjuice. They hadn’t talked about it much more, beyond Harry stating that he’d be open to experimenting, and he liked exploring different uses of magic, and maybe it was what they both needed to relax. To escape, to get out of their own skin, so to speak.
Ginny laughed, shook her hair out of her ponytail, and told him he was so uptight these days. This was supposed to be fun, and silly. Sex was supposed to be fun and silly sometimes.
Harry sort of agreed, except for the part where sex meant expectations. Performance expectations, quality expectations, behavioral expectations. Who he was in bed was supposed to mean something, wasn’t it? Wasn’t it part of a big puzzle of life and self, and what would it say about him if he wasn’t able to just do normal things in bed with his normal fiance?
That he’d completely failed to become normal, probably. That there was some part of him still halfway between life and death, sweating and bleeding on a battlefield.
He and Ginny both stripped naked in their bedroom. Each plucked a hair from the other’s head and dropped it into cups of bubbling grotesquerie. The hairs sizzled and vanished, and Ginny clinked their cups together.
“I always hate this part,” Harry mumbled, though this was hardly the same as going undercover for work.
“Pussy,” Ginny said, and downed hers with a grimace.
Harry followed suit.
The potion roiled unpleasantly into his guts, and then screamed out through his veins and over his skin. He screwed his eyes shut, heart racing as it happened. It wasn’t the first time he’d transformed like this, but the intimacy of the moment made the agony sharper, leaving him in a state of vertigo as his skin bubbled and his hair grew steadily, tickling the middle of his back.
When it was all over, he heard his own voice laughing from across the room as Ginny said, “you forgot to give me your glasses.”
Harry opened his eyes, and the world was a blur. The glasses were sliding down his nose - Ginny’s nose - and everything came clear when he removed them and placed them on her (his) face.
This wasn’t the first time he’d seen a doppelganger like this, or the first time he’d seen himself naked. But it was the first time that other self had given him a sly grin, taken his chin and kissed him.
Harry inhaled as their lips met, feeling how his head tipped back and up against Ginny’s mouth (his mouth). It was an ordinary kiss - except for the angle of his head, the way his throat was exposed, and the scratch of stubble against his chin. Ginny wrapped a hand around his waist and dragged him closer until their skin touched, and Harry shivered at the feeling of his chest pressing against Ginny’s - her breasts were sensitive, and he could feel the soft hair on his chest brushing against her nipples. Or should he think of them as his nipples for now? His breasts?
The distortion of boundary between them was dizzying, and Harry felt his pulse quicken as he tried to delineate between her and him. He gasped as he felt Ginny growing hard against his thigh - which, of course, was his cock. A thing he knew very well, but had never felt from the outside.
Ginny pulled away and Harry staggered back, collapsing on the edge of the bed as he tried to gain his bearings. He watched Ginny turn to the full length mirror on the wall by the wardrobe, admiring herself in Harry’s body.
“Merlin,” she mumbled in a strained voice that sounded like Harry, and yet not.
She stroked herself, indulging in a peripheral fantasy that had haunted her for years. It felt better than she could have imagined, the marriage of movement between her hand and her hips, the depth of feeling as she drew her hand up and over the tip, squeezing just a little. Variations in speed and pressure sent waves of pleasure sweeping down her stomach and up her spine, and the cock was leaking steadily, just like it did when it was Harry’s, making the whole process messier and better. She watched Harry’s chest flex in the mirror, and she bit his lower lip - a face he would never make. With a whimper she stumbled and caught herself against the glass with her free hand, gasping as she lost her rhythm.
This wasn’t exactly what she’d planned; she should probably stop. But she caught a glance at her own face in the glass - Harry, in her body, sitting on the bed, blushing. She’d never looked so innocent. With a shuddering exhalation she looked back at her own hand, watching her cock fuck into it, the way Harry fucked her. The way she could be fucking him right now. And what sort of sounds would he make? Would he let out all the moans and whines she kept strangled in her throat?
Keening as Harry’s voice rumbled through her chest, Ginny felt her hips stutter, her hand shake, and her whole body ignite as she came across the mirror, painting her reflection.
She sagged against the mirror, pressing her forehead to the cool glass. From behind her Harry mumbled some exclamation that couldn’t quite pierce the blood pounding in her ears.
“Sorry,” she said.
“Should I be embarrassed you made me come that fast?” Harry said with an awkward laugh. It was almost the way she teased, but a little too shy.
“Shut up.”
Ginny stumbled to the bed and collapsed on her back, feeling as though she might cry or fall asleep.
“How was it?” Harry asked quietly, as if he was still getting used to her vocal chords.
“You have to ask?” She reached to smack his thigh and deftly missed.
She heard Harry laugh softly, and turned to look at him. His face (her face) was still beat red, and he carried her expression and posture differently than she did. It was a softer look: gentler, more hesitant. Both his hands rested on the sheets, as if he wasn’t quite sure what to do with them.
Perhaps he needed some direction.
“Why don’t you try it then?” She said, gesturing at the dirty mirror.
“What?” Harry said, cringing at how tight his voice sounded.
He certainly lacked the confidence to stride up to a full length mirror and oggle Ginny’s body from the inside. It seemed voyeuristic. Inappropriate. Disrespectful, perhaps. Yes, Ginny had just done that with his body, and it was very hot, but she handled it so naturally, so confidently.. Harry couldn’t imagine putting on a show like that.
“Go on,” she said with a nod, propped up on her elbows and watching Harry expectantly out of his own bespectacled eyes.
Harry stood, feeling jittery. His fingers were cold. “How should I…?”
He trailed off, approaching the mirror as if it held a caged hippogriff. The reflection was familiar, but wrong, and he stared at the floor, trying to ground himself. For a while there had been a warmth spreading across his groin that felt very strange, but compelling. His fingers twitched, but he wasn’t quite sure where to put them. He knew what Ginny liked - at least, what she liked him doing to her. That wasn’t the same as touching yourself.
Usually, Harry jerked off in the shower as part of his morning routine. It was quick and to the point. The need came urgently, his cock would fill, and he’d take care of it. From inside Ginny’s body, everything felt different. It was like a question slowly coming to mind that needed to be answered patiently.
“You’ve gotten me off plenty of times,” Ginny laughed. He caught her eyes in the mirror, and felt his body (her body) blushing deeper. “Why are you blushing so hard?”
“Shut up.”
“It’s cute,” she said. “I’d be embarrassed if I was that red. But it’s pretty on you.”
Pretty. Harry looked up, staring into the eyes of his reflection. He’d never known Ginny to look so uncertain, her brows pinched in the middle, her lips almost petulant, a pink blush spreading behind her freckles. Even her breasts seemed rosier. Harry swallowed hard and watched her throat work. His jaw shivered, and her lips trembled pitifully in response. It seemed unfair to her, looking so needy and soft despite the lines of toned muscle running over her body.
“I am you, so you should still be embarrassed," Harry said, just to say something, half hoping she’d distract him with some snark and then he wouldn’t have to think about how he looked. He wouldn’t have to think about the reflection of her breasts, that were now his. The way they curved and the way their nipples pointed delicately upward.
“Do you like your breasts?” She said, which was the opposite of helpful. Such a strange thing to hear himself say.
“They’re yours,” Harry countered, gritting his teeth. Thinking about it made him squirm, and squirming made him aware of a slick, cool feeling between his thighs.
“You’re borrowing them,” Ginny replied, finally rising from the bed. “So they’re yours for the next two hours, and you can do with them whatever you like.”
Harry rolled his eyes - a more Ginny-like expression. He didn’t want to be a coward about this, especially not with Ginny right there egging him on. With his heart pounding, he cupped his - no, Ginny’s - left breast, feeling the slight weight of it in his palm. The sensation was familiar against his hand, but the angle was alarming. Harry’s eyes drifted closed so he couldn’t see Ginny stepping towards him, and he brushed his fingers over his nipple, biting back an odd, high-pitched sound that welled up in his throat.
With his eyes closed, he lost himself in the feeling for a moment. He squeezed and gently pinched at himself, wondering at the arousal it sparked within him. To touch and to feel was intoxicating.
“Just like that,” Ginny mumbled, her breath grazing his shoulder. She ran a hand down his side, tickling him slightly. “Good girl.”
“Gin -” Harry squawked, his whole body heating in a blush as Ginny cupped his other breast and squeezed the two together.
Ginny knew she was teasing him too much. He always got flustered when she teased him, but usually he could pin her to the bed and kiss her or fuck her and efficiently shut her up. Now, she was just toying with herself - with Harry’s mind and her own body. She knew all the tricks for both of them.
“Do you like being me?” She asked. “Does it feel good?”
Harry just closed his eyes and mumbled something indignant, but his hand didn’t stop playing with his breast. Ginny leaned in close and nuzzled at his ear, wondering if she should think of him differently like this. If she should think of herself differently.
“Such a pretty girl,” she breathed against his ear, heart pounding as she crossed what had to be a line.
“Gin, you can’t -” Harry gasped, sagging against her, letting her hold his weight - “say things like that -”
True, but Ginny was always doing things she shouldn’t. She licked up the edge of Harry’s ear and was thoroughly satisfied by the way he gave in and moaned, all high and needy.
“If you can make all those sounds with my voice, I think I can say whatever I want,” she replied. “How wet are you right now?”
Harry responded with a strangled noise Ginny could never be accused of making. Laughing and loving the way the sound hummed deep in her throat, she ran a hand down Harry’s back towards the curve of his ass.
Well, really it was her ass. And her ass looked great. She’d put plenty of work in and never really got to appreciate it from this angle. All that pre-season training was paying off.
“Merlin, I look good,” she said. “Or I guess I should say you look good.”
She gave it a squeeze, enjoying how much of a handful she could get with Harry’s larger hands. Damn, this had been a good idea. Such a brilliant idea. She hoped Harry’s dick could get hard again before the potion was spent.
“Oh,” Harry breathed.
He felt so foolish like this. Whenever Ginny started getting him flustered he could just grab hold of her wrists and keep her still until he collected himself. She’d laugh at him and fight back, but it was enough to let him reclaim some dignity. Now, with a larger body pressed against his back, Harry knew he couldn’t stop her from doing whatever she wanted with him.
Her hands kneaded his ass, then she spread him apart and whispered low in his ear, “I want to feel how wet you are.”
“I’m not -” he protested, ridiculously. Of course he was. It was mad to pretend she didn’t have him uncontrollably aroused and leaking. Leaking? Was that even the right way to think of it?
Before he could land on another word, her finger trailed down the cleft of his ass and inward, up over the slit between his legs.
“Oh -” he gasped in her soft, high voice, knees shaking. “Ginny -”
Ginny gave him no quarter. She swirled her finger over his clit and down his labia until he was shaking even harder. Then she bent him forward toward the mirror, arching his back as she slipped a finger inside him. She could hear her voice whining in ways she didn’t know she could whine, and in retaliation she said, “Good girl, just like that.”
She’d have smacked Harry for teasing her like this, but Harry just leaned into her touch and whimpered helplessly.
The sounds of their voices were driving Harry mad. He’d never made Ginny sound like this. Hell, he’d never talked to her like this. He was so hard - except he wasn’t. Just wet and sort of puffy-feeling, and bearing down against her finger as it slipped in and out of that strange, wet place in a way that felt disturbingly good.
“You want more?” Ginny asked, making his voice sound so gruff and teasing.
“I - I don’t know -” Harry said, which was almost worse than saying yes. Ginny would never be so indecisive.
“If you do, you have to say ‘please,’” Ginny informed him.
“What?”
“You heard me,” she said. “Don’t you want to be good for me? Don’t you like being my sweet girl?”
“Ginny -”
Her finger pressed deeper inside him as her other hand fondled his breast. Harry watched the mirror with a sick sense of horror and arousal as his legs drifted open. In the mirror, Ginny’s face was unreal - her lips shiny and plump and open like she was waiting for something to be slipped into them. That was his face now, and his lips. He licked them, and bit them, and they moved with his motions.
The Harry in the mirror was fingering Ginny from behind, playing with her tits while she whimpered.
“Good girl,” he said, and slipped more fingers into her cunt, fucking her steadily as her lips slipped open.
“Oh, fuck,” Ginny whined, her face all screwed up and overwhelmed as she reached a hand down to touch herself.
“Say please,” Harry instructed.
“Ginny -” Ginny gasped - though why was she whimpering her own name?
Outside the mirror, Ginny felt her cock growing hard again. Her head tipped back in awe at the sensation, and she groaned deep with Harry’s voice and watched him start to play with himself. Herself - whatever. In the mirror they were both stroking themselves in tandem.
“Please -”
Ginny grinned, taking her cock and rubbing the tip against his ass as it thickened. It looked so good in her hand, and it felt even better. She wondered what it would be like if they were both Harry - which is how this whole fantasy had started, of course. The night everyone else got to be Harry. She’d shamefully pictured it so many times that it ceased to be shame and transcended into a private garden of curiosity. It would be incredible to fuck him and jerk him off at the same time. To be him and inside him.
Fucking herself like this was a different fascination, new and unexpected. In the mirror she could see her face transformed by desperation, and it was beautiful.
“Ginny, please -” Harry said again, shaming her voice with that deliciously pleading tone.
“What would you do if I was whining like that?” She countered, rubbing the head of her cock over his wet hole, but never entering. “Would you give it to me?”
“You said -”
“And I will. But I want you to be patient,” she said, her jaw trembling as she tried to stay focused. “You have to be good for me.”
“I am,” Harry whined. It was humiliating. He was saying things he never thought he’d say, and tempted to say even worse, just to hear how it would sound in Ginny’s voice. Just to enjoy the release of having said it.
He could feel his own dick pressing against his hole. His fingers felt so good pressed against Ginny’s clit - his clit. Everything was so wet, and his fingers slipped awkwardly against the folds in a way that made it hard to stand. It was all too much - he thought something terrible might happen - and then Ginny pulled away and pressed even more fingers inside him, curling them.
Harry stuttered and keened as she spread him open, tugging at him and fucking him, slipping her pinky finger inside and then her thumb.
“So good for me,” Ginny said, resting her head on his shoulder. “So open. You want it so bad -”
“I can’t -”
“You can take it. You’re doing so good, Ginny -”
“Don’t be stupid -” Harry gasped, his thighs shaking, his whole body teetering on the edge of something he couldn’t see.
“So good, Gin,” she repeated. “Look at yourself. You look so good. You’re going to look so good when I’m fucking you and sucking on your pretty tits.”
Harry might have made a retort, if he had any command of his vocal chords. All he could manage was a few half-gasped words finished by a humiliating moan.
“Say my name,” she said.
“Gin -”
“No, darling, that’s your name.”
“Nnnf -”
“See?” With her free hand she grabbed his face and made him look in the mirror, then slipped a finger into his mouth for him to suck. “That’s Harry and Ginny. And you’re Ginny, and I’m Harry. See?”
Her fingers tugged at his mouth. It was positively whorish. She was fucking him so hard with her whole hand and his fingers were gripping his thigh and he felt something burst -
A flood of wetness sprayed out of him, across the mirror and down his thighs.
“Fuck yes,” said the Harry in the mirror.
Harry tried to hold onto reality somehow, but his legs were buckling and Ginny was still fucking him with her fingers, tugging so hard that he kept bearing down and squirting when she pulled out.
“So wet, such a good girl. Say my name, Ginny. Go on, darling, say it -”
“Harry,” Harry breathed, and in the mirror, so did Ginny. “Fuck me -”
“Fuck, yes -” She slid her dick into herself in one quick motion, mouth falling open soundless at the sensation.
This couldn’t last long - not with “Ginny” moaning like that. She watched his dick slide in and out of her. She wanted to come inside herself and fuck the mess. She wanted to do all of this again. Maybe they could both be Harry. Maybe they could both be Ginny.