Harry awoke the next morning looking forward to only one thing: Defence Against the Dark Arts. It was one of the only things that Harry felt he was good at with the added bonus - Dudley Dursley could not take it away from him.

Generally Harry hated school. If his grades were good back in the muggle world he would get a hiding for cheating; or if they were poor he would get a hiding for laziness. Which meant, no matter how well or poorly he did, Harry was guaranteed an appointment with Aunt Petunia’s hairbrush at report card time. That was something else Harry enjoyed about Hogwarts, the Dursley’s did not read his reports. No one cared two hoots how well he did. He was accountable to no one. Unlike Ron, Harry’s only problem was Hermione who constantly bugged him to complete his homework assignments early.

He rolled out of bed, threw on his Gryffindor uniform and decided he would give brushing his hair a go this morning. “I’m a proud son of Gryffindor, I’m proud; I’m noble and I’m not a bore,” he told the mirror seriously. “Good for you dear,” the mirror yawned. “Now if you could please let me sleep.”

Harry felt that nothing could ruin his happy feeling – he went to breakfast humming an annoying and happy tune the obnoxious Weasley twins had taught him. He ate his fill, he drank three coffees; much to Hermione’s chagrin and he memorised his timetable especially the details of defence.

Harry’s cheerfulness however was immediately dashed as it hit him exactly who the Defence against the Dark Arts teacher was. There beaming down at the four tables with perfectly pearly white teeth was the new Professor Gilderoy Lockhart.

“Have you drawn love hearts all over your timetable?” Ron loudly exclaimed looking over Hermione’s shoulder and trying to steal her timetable. Hermione wrenched her piece of precious school paper back and glared at Ron. Harry banged his head on the table.

Harry was not surprised that he was right. Lockhart was an idiot. No, correct that statement: Lockhart was a pompous idiot. And pathetically all the girls, including pug-faced Parkinson, were besotted with the imbecile. Turning around in his seat Harry could tell that the Slytherin boys thought so too.

Malfoy was rolling his eyes heavenward and Harry was almost certain he saw Blaise Zabini mouthing, ‘Merlin preserve us all.’ Harry returned his attention to the front were Lockhart was flashing his perfect white teeth. Prat! If he was a banshee he would run at the sight of Lockhart too!

The lesson only got worse as Lockhart announced a pop quiz. Harry eagerly retrieved his quill and ink. Defence was the one and only thing he felt he was good at, except Quidditch, but then again Quidditch didn’t really count for anything. Harry furiously looked down the test paper as Lockhart ceremoniously dumped it on his desk. He had his quill poised to answer when he read the first question.

Baffled Harry lifted up his head and glanced around the class before putting up his hand. Lockhart looked like he was going to skip around the room when he realised that he could answer famous Harry Potter’s question.

“I seem to have the wrong paper, sir?” Harry said gingerly. Lockhart looked down at Harry’s test paper imperiously. “There is nothing wrong with your test paper, me boy."

“Yes there is!” Harry exclaimed. “Where are the questions on curses, hexes, dangerous animals and defences and what not?”

Lockhart laughed jovially and ruffled Harry’s hair as if the raven haired boy was his favourite nephew. Harry glowered at the man. That was intolerable! And the whole class was looking on and giggling. “Ah eager to learn, Harry me boy! Destined for greatness...”

Harry stopped listening there in Lockhart’s speech but heard Malfoy’s whispered remark. “Destined for dark wizard fodder, you mean!”

Draco Malfoy’s remark was enough to set in steel Harry’s decision to use sarcasm as his only course of action to tell Lockhart that a pop quiz was no place to ask students stupid mundane things that they had no desire to know about their teachers. Picking up his quill he feverishly he wrote down answers that derided and mocked the professor. He knew that if Gilderoy Lockhart had the intelligence to actually read into the questions that the man would realise he was having a go at him – and then he would be in real trouble. Somehow Harry doubted his professor was an intelligent man.

He eventually reached question 54. When is Gilderoy Lockhart’s birthday, and what would his ideal gift be?

Harry racked his brain before writing down, ‘Gilderoy Lockfart’s birthday is on Black Friday. His ideal gift would be my autograph.’ And with a flourish Harry signed his name on the test paper in a loopy scrawl.

Harry watched nervously as Professor Lockhart flicked through the papers. He watched as the bungling professor reached his and read through his answers. “Dear me, Harry me boy, you’ll need to put my seven books to better use... my name is Lock-hart. It’s an ‘h’ not an ‘f’.” A few boys sniggered as they processed what Harry had actually written on his test paper. Lockhart continued with a quietened voice. “And Harry thank you for the autograph... but fame is a fickle friend and it is a tad early in your career to start giving out autographs willy nilly – looks pigheaded. There may come a time when, like me, you’ll need to keep a stack hand wherever you go, but I don’t think you are quite there yet.”

Harry for the life of him couldn’t believe the stupidity of the man. He had just made the professor a laughing stock and here he was giving him advice on how to handle his fame.

Harry blushed beet red as he heard Zabini and Malfoy sniggering in the background. He sank low into his seat at the glares from the second year girls in the class. No one was growling at him quite as intensely as Hermione.

“I can’t believe you did that!” Hermione fumed as soon as the trio stepped out of the classroom. “You mocked a teacher!”

“So?” Ron queried clueless, “It was funny.”

“It was a disgrace,” Hermione screamed.

Harry was rather worried his female friend was going to self combust. “Look at all the professor’s incredible adventures and all the things he has done and you make him out to be a complete moron.”

“He is,” Ron replied blandly shrugging his shoulders.

“Good one, Potter,” Zabini said slapping Harry on the back as he passed.

Harry stared after the Slytherin boy. “Did that just happen?”

“ARGH!” Stamping her foot in frustration Hermione stomped her way to lunch.

“You better go with her mate,” Harry pointed out to Ron. “I don’t think she’ll talk to me.”

Ron shrugged his shoulders, hefted up his school bag and marched after their furious friend. Harry watched him leave and leaned against the cool brick wall.

“Potter, Harry Potter!” Harry heard his name being called and realising it was Lockhart he dashed away down the corridor. He didn’t fancy another encounter with the man he loathed. Harry had no idea in which direction he was going. But finally he found himself in front of a girls’ bathroom.

“POT – TER.”

Muttering all sorts of interesting muggle swear words, which he had learned at an early age from his uncle, Harry futilely, looked for somewhere to hide. Harry had absolutely no idea of how the man kept up with him. Making a quick choice he slipped quickly into the forbidden area. Luckily no girls occupied the bathroom so he sat by the door.

‘I wish I had another face... I wish I knew what I really looked like...” Harry closed his eyes and clenched his fists at his side. He had enough to Harry – ruddy – Potter. He wanted his real identity back. Surely his other identity would be better than Harry Potter.

Suddenly Harry felt a tingling through his hands and feet, which abruptly turned to pins and needles up his arms and legs. He felt his spine shiver and the skin on his face felt incredibly hot. Harry’s eyes snapped open and he stood on shaky legs.

Creeping towards the mirror slowly Harry gave a strangled yell. Looking back at him was a face he had never seen before. His hair was like fine black silk, his skin was a little paler and he now had large brown almond shaped eyes. He lifted a hand to mirror and was shock to realise that his fingers were now longer and elegant.

Harry quickly closed his eyes, deciding he would use this happy chance to rid himself of the pesky Lockhart! He closed his eyes and imagined that he was now wearing a Ravenclaw uniform. He visualised the raven on blue and bronze.

Very slowly and very cautiously he opened his eyes and to his surprise his Gryffindor robes had changed to Ravenclaw colours. “I wonder if that is me looking back?” Harry muttered to himself.

“Of course it is!” a haughty voice said behind him. “You’re a boy. GET OUT!”

Harry spun on the spot expecting to see a girl. But the speaker was the ghost of the girl. “Who are you?” Harry asked stupidly.

“Moaning Myrtle and this is my bathroom... get out!” The ghost girl started to bawl loudly. There was one thing Harry was sure he would never be able to handle and that was a crying girl – dead or alive. He practically threw himself out of the door and straight into something solid.

“Watch it there, little buddy!”

Harry glanced up to see a seventh year Slytherin boy peering down at him. Harry nearly panicked when he realised he was not in his Gryffindor uniform. “What are you doing in there?” the Slytherin boy inquired sternly.

“I – erm – I... was experimenting?”

“Experimenting?” another seventh year Slytherin repeated dubiously. “With what?”

Harry’s brain scrambled desperately to find an appropriate answer. “The mathematical equation of bathroom tiles?” he hazarded, hoping that the Slytherins would not inquire further.

The Slytherins raised their eyebrows, but they didn’t ask any more questions. “I’m Nero Parkinson, would have been Head Boy if it wasn’t for that Percy Prat,” the first Slytherin said, reaching down and finally setting Harry on his feet.

“Yeah, Percy is a prat,” Harry quickly agreed, wanting to seem amiable.

“I’m Tertius Nott,” the other Slytherin put in not looking at all pleased to be speaking to a second year Ravenclaw.

“I’m... I’m...” Both Slytherins looked at Harry expectantly. “I’m late for Professor Snape’s class!” Harry gabbled as he made a run for the dungeons.

“That’s odd,” Nero muttered watching the small Ravenclaw go.

“What?”

“Snape has double potions with second year Slytherins and Gryffindors.”

“The poor wee mite is confused,” Tertius put in carelessly. “Snape will sort him out poor sod.”