Harry shifted uncomfortably under the Potion Masters gaze, wishing he would go away so he could get out of his dreaded hospital pyjamas. Turning his back on him, Harry tried to stop the surge of anger that rushed through him, that was directed towards the tall wizard. If only he hadn’t told him anything … but then, if he hadn’t he wouldn’t have the slightest idea what was happening to him. Using a different excuse almost immediately, Harry instead focused on the fact that Snape knew who his father was, but refused to tell him that information. And what was worse was that Remus knew as well! Why would they keep something like that from him?

Simple, a small voice in the back of his head snapped, rather coldly. They think you can’t deal with the fact that the man, who fathered you, is a Deatheater. Harry snorted at the idea audibly, unknowing of the raised eyebrow Snape had shot at him silently at the sound. Who do they think they are? Who else knows?

Harry shook his head, hating the confusion he felt at the situation. Everything was so muddled and blurred now; he didn’t know what to think or who to take his frustration out on.

“Are you quite finished standing around, Mr Potter?” Snape’s cool voice spoke up from behind him. “Even you can’t wallow in self-pity all morning…”

Harry swivelled abruptly, now standing eye to eye with the Slytherin, though noticeably broader in the shoulder. His nose was barely three inches from the crooked one Snape possessed, and Harry was almost satisfied at the startled glint in the black (white to Harry) eyes, mixed with what he’d now discovered was alarm in the bright aura surrounding him.

“I am not wallowing, Sir,” Harry spat, seeing the green glow on Snape’s face brighten a little, as his eyes grew brighter with his anger. “I was merely going over the lovely memories of the pleasant sleep I had last night. Tell me, Professor, how was your night?”

If it were possible, Snape’s black skin got blacker, telling Harry that the Potion’s master was an even more unhealthy shade of white. He grinned maliciously, knowing that Snape knew what he was talking about.

“Who else knows who my father is, Professor?” he asked suddenly, all traces of his grin vanishing as his voice dropped to a deadly whisper. “Who else refuses to tell me something of such little consequence? I already know that both you, and Remus hold this knowledge … so who else denies me the pleasure of a simple name that I can hate? I mean … my dear old Dad is a Deatheater! How could I possibly hate him even more than I would already?”

Harry held Snape’s stunned, and surprisingly distressed, gaze, for only a second, before snarling (rather effectively now, considering his fangs and throaty growl) and snatching up the spare robes, stalking into the bathroom, slamming the door shut loudly.

Harry paced back and forth, fuming more on the inside than he was currently showing on the out. He tossed the robes onto the small bench, before stopping in front of the mirror, determined to look at himself as he truly was meant to look … even though he didn’t really care about that at this point. He hated how Snape could be so infuriating, so effortlessly. It seemed to be a natural talent he possessed!

Running a frustrated hand through his dead straight hair (not noticing how the hair shifted back into perfect placement afterwards), Harry finally stopped his pacing and changed, feeling much more comfortable and calmer in a normal set of clothing. He scowled as he spotted small tears near the collar of his shirt, knowing that his horns had caught on the material as he pulled it on. Tossing the dirty garments in the laundry, Harry paused for a moment before slowly opening the door, sighing in relief at the Snape-less Infirmary.

Quietly shutting the door, Harry made his way through the Infirmary, scowling at the fact that he could no longer wear any shoes, and reached out for the latch … pausing as Madame Pomfrey’s voice called out to him from her open door.

“Mr Potter?” Harry turned to face her. “I noticed Professor Snape’s mood after your little spate, and I thought I might tell you something you might not remember about yesterday.”

“What?”

Harry stayed where he was, as Poppy quickly walked up to him, having to turn her gaze skyward in order to look him in the eye.

“Do you recall what happened after your initial transformation, while you were here, with Severus?”

Harry’s forehead creased, searching his memories of that afternoon, when he looked back at the Matron in mild alarm, and a touch of shame.

“I threw him across the room … but I didn’t mean to – ”

“I know you didn’t, Mr Potter,” Poppy assured gently, waving the hurried apology aside. “That isn’t the main issue though. What I am referring to is that, despite what you unintentionally did to him, Severus still took it upon himself to look for you, and carry you here, personally, after it was discovered that you couldn’t be levitated. He also refused to leave your side while you recovered from your shock.”

Harry hung his head, now feeling the beginnings of regret for his harsh words with the man earlier on. That man was absolutely infuriating in the way he caused such conflicting emotions in him. One minute, Harry was fuming at him, and the next he was hating his shortness with him.

“I know I lost my temper, Ma’am,” Harry muttered, still looking at the floor. “And I’m sorry … but I couldn’t help it – ”

“I’m not blaming you, Harry,” Poppy interrupted, smiling reassuringly. “All I’m saying, is there is more to Severus Snape, than you might realize. Don’t hold him in aversion for things he has no control over…”

Harry could only nod sheepishly, before turning to leave.

“One moment, Mr Potter,” Poppy drew her wand and waved it, mending the holes in Harry’s shirt. He blushed profusely and nodded his thanks, before turning to leave again.

“Enjoy your morning, Harry. I don’t want to see you in here again for quite some time.”

Harry looked over his shoulder to see the Matron grinning at him, making a smile spread across his own face.

“I’ll try my best Ma’am,” he replied, shutting the door with a small wave, before strolling through the halls on his way down to the grounds.

*****

For the next two days, Harry spent his time walking the halls, examining the colouring that drifted through the air, and surrounding all the people he saw. He finally figured out that it was the ambient magical energy that thrived within Hogwarts grounds and walls. Everything he saw, while he still remained in his Avatarial form, gave off its magical essence, and Harry was slowly deciphering what he saw. He could determine and gauge other peoples emotions, and knew how powerful, in the magical sense, they are, and also, had the potential to achieve.

He knew that there was even more information hidden in the glowing auras, but he also knew it would take him much more time to see through all the layers. Harry also spoke to Remus during that time, but he also refused to say anything regarding who his father was … something that made Harry avoid Remus for some time, placing him in the same category as Snape.

Professor McGonagall got around to seeing Harry the afternoon he had left the Infirmary, and needless to say that, even with Dumbledore’s warning, she was quite alarmed at his new appearance. After recovering from her initial shock, McGonagall had swiftly returned to Professor mode, and instructed him in the general theories regarding shape-shifting.

By the end of the day, Harry had managed to rid himself of his horns and hocked feet, returning him to a normal stance. He had even gathered McGonagall in his arms and swung her around in his exuberance, though he apologized profusely after settling down and returning the smaller woman to the floor.

McGonagall had merely waved the apology aside, and flashed Harry a proud smile, telling him she didn’t mind and to continue practising in his spare time. Reverting back to his natural form should feel natural, so he didn’t need to know what he was originally meant to look like in order to achieve it.

Currently, Harry was enjoying a walk around the lake, feeling lighter than he had in days, as he’d finally rid himself of all the signs of his inhumanness. He was back to his normal skin tone, and was loving the way he saw the world, back to its normal colour and tones. Harry was surprised when he looked in the mirror that morning, knowing he’d finally reverted to what he should have looked like all his life, to find a face he found strangely familiar. His nose wasn’t as boyish as it used to be, now appearing straight and elegant, and all his features were more angular, possessing a sharpness that wasn’t there before. His cheekbones were higher and overall his face was a little stockier. His eyes, thankfully, retained their bright green colouring, and stood out more under his arched eyebrows.

Long, black and silky hair rested against Harry’s noticeably broad and powerful shoulders, and he found himself swatting the strands that refused to stay behind his ears from his eyes. The tall and strong frame that Harry had gained from his transformation shrank surprisingly little, so he still stood only around an inch shorter than Snape.

Using the knowledge that McGonagall had taught him, Harry tried successfully to change some of his natural look, back into what was more familiar to him. His powerful frame shrank to a more comfortable size, though he was still bigger than he was beforehand, and Harry changed some of his features to more resemble those of his previous face. His scar still stood out sharply on his forehead, but Harry was grateful that the hair that fell into his eyes could hide it.

Due to the still warm weather, Harry was wearing jeans and a normal tee shirt as he strode around the grounds, scuffing his trainers in the grass every few steps. Harry had noticed some time ago, that, as he stomped rather noisily through the outskirts of the forest, no animals or birds fled or took flight. None feared his presence, and treated him as they would any other forest dweller. It was unsettling, in a strange way.

“I see you’ve discovered how to change your general appearance, Harry,” Dumbledore remarked idly at dinner, as Harry took a seat next to McGonagall. “But you don’t seem to look as I imagined you would?”

Harry shook his head as he dished himself some Shepard’s pie. “It’s not my natural form, Sir. I wanted to sort of sit halfway for a while, so I didn’t freak anyone out by looking completely different.”

“Quite understandable, Harry,” the headmaster replied, munching on a piece of steak. “I’m in no position to tell you what you should look like, but may I request you show us for a few minutes, right now? You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Dumbledore added as he saw Harry hesitate.

“No, it’s all right Sir,” Harry hurriedly exclaimed, looking between both McGonagall and Dumbledore. “I can show you. Err … should I stand…?”

Dumbledore waved a hand. “Whatever you feel comfortable with, my boy.”

Harry nodded and stood, stepping back from the table so the two could have a better view. After his morning and evening practises, Harry found it tremendously easier to change his looks, which is why it only took a few moments for him to feel his body shift and change on its way to the frame that felt most comfortable. He shut his eyes and bowed his head, not wanting to see their faces until the change was complete.

In a noticeably shorter span of time (Seemingly only about fifteen seconds) Harry felt the sensations cease. His clothing was notably snugger than normal, but he also knew from experience that the clothing he wore changed to accommodate for the subtler changes in his size.

Slowly, Harry raised his head and opened his eyes, seeing McGonagall staring openly at him, while Dumbledore seemed to have a wistful smile attached to his face.

“May I present what you should have been looking at for the past five years,” said Harry, liking his smooth and silky voice. It was deeper than his older voice, but thankfully, it wasn’t as deep and rumbling as the one he possessed in his Avatarial form.

McGonagall let her eyes travel the full length of Harry, before she settled once again on his face.

“Well, Mr Potter, I’m sure we can all agree that the term Short and Scrawny no longer applies to you…”

Harry grinned at her and chuckled lightly, nodding his head. “Quite true, Professor, though I could go back to that if I wanted to. I don’t completely, but at least it’s familiar.”

“How will you appear before Mr Weasley and Miss Granger, when they arrive here tomorrow?” said Dumbledore, resuming his seat. “As you were not two minutes ago, or your former image?”

Harry’s face broke out in a huge grin. “Ron and Hermione are arriving tomorrow? When?” Without even knowing so, Harry had stepped forward and excitedly turned Dumbledore back around, sliding the huge chair without effort. Dumbledore had a smile on his face, but nodded just the same.

“They should be arriving here at around lunch time, Harry. How about we take a trip down to Hogsmeade and meet them?”

Harry felt over the moon and grasped Dumbledore by his shoulders in an abbreviated hug. At that moment, the back door behind the Head Table opened, and a startled cry made Harry turn his head …… only to come nose to nose with the end of a wand.

“Step back from him this second, or lose your head,” Snape’s cold voice spat out viciously, his wand ever steady.

“Severus no – ” McGonagall started, but she was cut off almost immediately by Snape, who wasn’t listening and was focussed only on Harry.

“Move over there, and tell me who you are,” the brooding man demanded, as Harry obeyed and stepped away, throwing Snape a very disgusted look.

“Severus,” Dumbledore began bracingly. “You only seem to have arrived at a confusing moment – ”

“Who are you?” Snape spat, jerking his wand for emphasis and ignoring Dumbledore.

Harry took his eyes off Snape’s wand and looked him straight in the eye. He really didn’t recognise him… Then, something Snape had told him about his powers floated into his mind, and Harry grinned almost evilly. He squared his shoulders and remained silent, shaking his head only minutely at Dumbledore and McGonagall, telling them to not interfere. He took one step forward…

“Stop right there!” snapped Snape, hefting his wand again. “I’ll take your head off without a second thought … now tell me who you are, and what you are doing here?”

Harry straightened up and smiled widely; enjoying the wariness he was creating in the potions master. “Do your worst, Snape, and find out for yourself…”

With that, Harry winked at the worried looking couple standing behind Snape, before snarling and leaping at the man, arms outstretched as if to tackle him. Snape reacted instantly, stepping sideways out of Harry’s path, then swivelling around to face him, wand raised, and bellowing “Stupefy!”

Harry felt the spell hit him, but nothing occurred other than a small flash where it connected, before it vanished into nothingness. Harry grinned and turned to face Snape, who for his part was staring at him, absolutely gob smacked.

With the utmost sarcasm, Harry came to attention, and bowed lavishly. As he straightened up, he said, “Surprise!”

Snape looked him up and down, mouth agape, and slowly lowered his wand, stuttering out, “Potter?” as he did so.

Harry cocked an eyebrow. “Ghee, I wonder what gave you that idea, Professor?”

“And this is what you looked like behind your mask of James?”

Harry nodded.

“Quite remarkable, isn’t it, Severus,” said Dumbledore softly, shooting Snape a most significant glance. Snape could only manage a nod, eliciting a small chuckle from the Headmaster. “Join us for Dinner, Severus.”

Snape nodded mutely, and took his usual seat, ignoring Harry as he took back his own and finished his meal. The rest of Dinner past in silence, and Harry left rather early, wanting to get in some more practise before meeting his friends the next day. He bid his teachers goodnight, letting his eyes linger on Snape for longer than necessary, before returning to his room, eager for tomorrow.