“Glamour charms. A type of illusion placed on yourself or another to alter your appearance…”

Harry scowls as he listens to his teacher’s smooth drawl. It’s not fair. They already dealt with Snape in Potions this morning, why does he have to be covering their Charms class too? Yet here he is, sweeping up and down the rows of mirrors, lecturing them about the mechanics of glamour charms. And of course, every time he turns in his direction Snape seems to glare at him, his sneer ratcheting up a notch – a feat impressive even for him.

He had thought this would be a fun lesson. After all, consider the possibilities of being able to change your appearance to someone else. An image fills his mind of Malfoy trying to explain that it wasn’t him who earned that detention. For that matter, he doesn’t even have to look like someone in particular; just… not Harry Potter. He could walk into a room without everyone turning to stare. He could walk down a corridor without being followed by a trail of whispers. He could be normal.

“... Well? Get to it.”

Drawing his mind back to the task at hand, Harry looks speculatively at his reflection. So, how to change it? Well, people always say he looks just like his father with his mother’s eyes, so what if… Recalling the pictures of his parents in his album he considers the most obvious change first. Hair. What if it is longer than usual but laying flat for once; and red, bright and fiery, less orange than the Weasleys’? Nodding at the mental image he turns his attention to his eyes. He can’t do anything about the glasses, but they will work just as well for what he has in mind anyway. Instead, he focuses on the colour of his eyes. He imagines brown bleeding into the iris, mixing with the green until they form just the right shade of hazel. Deciding that he has made enough changes for a first try he raises his wand – quickly correcting himself when he automatically points it at his reflection’s face rather than his own – and focuses on his new appearance.

“Obscuro.” He feels the magic spray out of his wand and settle over him. The spell works perfectly; and his mind echoes with the distorted memory of familiar voices. You look just like your mother – mother – except for the eyes, of course, you have your father’s eyes – father’s eyes. He feels a sudden pang. If he’d had a brother – or a sister – would they look like that?

A loud snort makes him look over at Ron, the sight driving all melancholy thoughts from his mind. Somehow, instead of hiding his freckles, his best friend has managed to turn them bright green. They clash rather nicely with his hair. Their eyes meet and they burst into laughter, clutching their sides as Hermione watches in mingled amusement and exasperation. Regaining control Ron releases his spell, checking out Harry’s own attempt.

“Got it already? Not bad! You could almost be another Weasley looking like that.”

Harry grins, then turns away, only his reflection seeing his expression fade to a wistful smile. Almost a Weasley.
Almost, but never quite. Pushing the feeling away, he concentrates and slowly starts dismantling the glamour again. As he releases the last of it he jumps, surprised by the feeling of his magic snapping back into place. It is as though a muscle has relaxed, one that has been clenched for so long he doesn’t notice until the pressure is gone.

Harry freezes. Is it supposed to do that? Normally if he actually feels his magic when releasing a spell something is about to go dramatically wrong. A minute later he releases his held breath in relief. Nothing seems to have happened, so what was it? Following well-practiced procedure he turns to ask the girl next to him.

“Hermione…”

She looks over from her own practice and gasps.

“Harry, your eye!”

Panicking, he turns back to the mirror and examines his reflection critically. His eyes are back to the familiar bright green; slightly bloodshot from lack of sleep, but not really noticeably. The swelling around his left eye has mostly gone down, the bruising at that lovely stage where the purple is starting to fade to green and yellow. All in all, pretty much what he expected to see.

“What?” he looks at Hermione, confused by her reaction.

“Mate, you have a black eye.” It is Ron who replies, Hermione temporarily struck speechless.

“Yeah, so? Looks like it’s healing fine.”

“Um, you didn’t have it, like, ten minutes ago.”

Harry raises an eyebrow, then quickly lowers it again as the muscles pull. What is with his friends? Is this seriously the first time they’ve looked at him in the last four days?

“What is happening here?” Harry jumps as Snape appears behind them, glowering darkly. “Am I incorrect in supposing that this is Charms class, during which you are supposed to be practicing your glamour charms? As the three of you are still currently sporting your usual… distinctive… appearances, I can only assume that you have not yet mastered the charm. In which case I can see no reason for you to be standing around chatting, unless you are attempting to make up for the social time you will miss joining me in the dungeons tonight. If you wish to keep your evening, you would be advised to save any further discussion until after class. Am I understood? Five points each from Gryffindor.” His gaze rakes across them, narrowing when it lands on Harry. “Mr Potter, stay behind after class, I need to speak to you.”

Biting his tongue Harry turns away, pausing only slightly as he catches Hermione’s we-need-to-talk-later Look. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Snape twitch his wand, a cool wave of magic rushing over him and clinging to his skin. The feeling is familiar, just like… a glamour?

He peers into the mirror, noting that his appearance has changed again. The most obvious difference is that the bruises are gone, replaced by smooth, slightly tanned skin. But that is not it, there is something more. He looks closer. His eyes are the same as always – the same shape and brilliant green – as is his unmanageable black hair. But his face is different; his jaw is the wrong shape, and his nose. He realises that what everyone has said for years is wrong; now he looks just like his father. He curses quietly to himself. For whatever reason, Snape is clearly trying to hide his bruises – although why he would bother to do it now – but is this really what he sees when he looks at him? Not Harry, not even the Boy-Who-Lived, but a copy of James? And coming from Snape, he knows that it is not a complement.