Disclaimer : The Dresden Files and Harry Potter do not belong to me.

Christmas present for Abby Ebon :) because I osrebail you!

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Dressed to Kill

When the circle closed, harryarchiveArchy was ready

Its holder was male for the first time. It wasn't a good or a bad change but a change nonetheless.

The Archive, to qualify as a magical construct, had had to protect itself and its host across the times. But it had always been according to the way of the female body (for all that women were protected in society, it always came with limitations)

So it adapted and changed and learned (as was its purpose) : the power of a hint of teeth between rouge smeared lips, of the lines and secrets hidden behind a painted mouth (holding back smiles and snarls and knowledge) and the art of clothing (and much more that the Archive will not allow Harry to see yet).

This knowledge, having been used and made part of the previous holders was…closer than the rest (This, Harry knows, is the only fondness it will allow itself).

But it is something that both the Archive and Harry know cannot be used as it is, with this body of his. But his age allows him some…eccentricities, which he will not hesitate to take advantage of, even though Kincaid will probably disapprove.

The glide of lace across his skin is a deeply sensual experience that he cannot help but enjoy, for all that he only has access to the barest of knowledge about it.

You are no fun. Harry says, relishing in the smoothness of it against his hand.

In time is the Archive's only answer.

So it is in beautifully embroidered lace stockings, only the very top of them hidden by the tunic he wore, the faintest of patterns glinting like so much fish scales from the large sleeves, that Archy stands.

His choice of clothing attracts eyes, make them linger, make them judge and for some, makes them want and amongst this gathering of wizards and magical beings, this bears power. This is what they want, what they need. Magic is belief, perception and what they gained from them is more than enough.

Indeed, when the circle closed, Archy was ready.

The Archive's purpose was to learn and never forget. To think that they would be caught once more by the same tactic was madness indeed.

With Kincaid eliminating all immediate threats (truly, they were blessed to have such friends), Archy runs, each step revealing the milky white flesh of his thighs, toward the center of the barrier.

The black stocking-clad feet shine black against the marble floor and the runes that were previously nestled invisibly amongst the embroidered butterflies (symbol of transition, wisdom, everlasting knowledge) flare to life, an inviting gold (untarnished by disuse).

He braces his left leg against the floor and spins, a circle following in the wake of his right foot.

A circle within a circle, powered by stolen glances, acknowledgement, want calls to the greater circle keeping them captive. Unable to resist, it snaps back and collides with the golden circle and simply shatter.

With a flick of his mostly covered fingers , hidden in the lengthened shadow cast by flickering patterns (the hands and feet were the direct conduit of magic, something that is mostly forgotten), all of the energy is turned back against the caster (sit back and enjoy the fireworks).

You…you are impossible. says Harry Dresden when all is over, scrubbing an hand against his face (reminiscent of Kincaid's reaction, only his was more…more.)

Harry Potter, legs demurely crossed at the ankle and a purring Mister in his lap, looks up and only smiles.

His skin gleams from the holes left by the burned away symbols.