Hermione pushes for Animagus training — says it’ll help them reconnect to themselves, forge new magical grounding, give them a skill no Death Eater ever managed.

They agree, though Ron’s skeptical.

They don’t choose their forms. Their forms choose them.

Hermione transforms into a downy woodpecker — nimble, tireless, resilient. A survivor that drills through barriers.

Harry becomes a coyote — lean, sharp-eyed, always watching. Wild, scrappy, loyal. The clever thing that lives in ruins.

Ron becomes a wild boar — low-slung, solid, tusked. Protective, fierce, and underestimated.

It’s funny. Until it’s not.

—————————

At first, it’s just a craving for more food. Then it’s the way his weight settles — not uncomfortably, just differently. His belly softens into something round and warm. His thighs stay thick. His chest fills out with strength and mass.

People joke that he’s built like his mum.

Ron laughs — until he catches sight of himself in a mirror and doesn’t quite recognize the shape of his body.

Harry notices, of course. But doesn’t say anything. Not yet.

Instead, he watches.

Like a coyote does.

——————-

He’s not fat. He’s never been.

But the war left him covered in scars — slash marks across his ribs, a burn near his hip, the faint echo of a dark curse on his jaw.

He’s wiry now. Long-limbed and hard-edged and rangy the way a coyote is — built for endurance, not beauty.

And Ron? Ron keeps looking at him like he’s more beautiful now than ever before. Like Harry is something he’d charge into fire for.

Harry doesn’t know what to do with that.

———————

Hermione journals it all. Of course she does.

• Ron starts circling Harry protectively in crowds. He walks behind him on stairs. He snorts when frustrated.

• Harry starts scenting things. He’s more physically affectionate. Bumps into Ron’s shoulder when he’s happy.

• Hermione flits — taps everything with her fingertips, observes obsessively, forgets to blink.

“It’s animagus bleed,” she says. “Totally normal.”

But nothing about how Harry wants to curl into Ron’s side is normal.

And nothing about how Ron gets angry when someone touches Harry without permission is casual.

———————

There are nights when Harry transforms and trails Ron into the forest.

Watches the way the boar moves — careful, massive, protective. He’s not elegant. But he knows who he is.

Back in human form, Harry sometimes stares at Ron’s broad back and thinks, I want to belong somewhere like that.

Ron smells it. Feels it in his gut.

He just doesn’t know what to say.

————————

It happens after a training duel.

Harry’s shirt tears, revealing a jagged scar across his side. He tries to laugh it off.

Ron doesn’t laugh.

He steps forward, hand hovering over the scar.

Says, voice thick:

“You look like you lived. That’s all I’ve ever wanted to look like.”

Harry blurts: “I like the way you look now.”

Ron flinches. “Even like this? Like—” he gestures at his belly, his thighs, “—like I’m halfway to becoming my mum?”

Harry grins crooked. “She’s the toughest person I’ve ever met.”