He grimaced at himself in the mirror.  Snape was right. He looked far too much like his bullying menace of a father.  His hair--the permanent mess that it was--was especially reminiscent of the ghastly teenager he had seen in Professor Snape’s pensieve.  

There was nothing for it.  If he wanted to prove himself a different person, a different man, then he would have to find ways to physically distance himself from the bully that was James Potter.

Later, perhaps, he could allow his actions to speak for themselves, but for now . . . for now this change was necessary.

He leveled his wand at his head and muttered the shaving charm.

. . .

It wasn’t as bad a change as he had feared.  He had become fairly adept at the charm that past year, and as such, he was able to control power of the spell to a rather finite level. He cut the sides of his hair down to less than a centimeter, but kept the top slightly longer.  

He supposed that he could have tried to pull an Aunt Petunia, and left his bangs long, but the thought had repulsed him and he avoided that route.

Idly, he wondered if any of the muggleborns would accuse him of planning to join the muggle military.  His haircut seemed very smart to him, and he shuddered to imagine the approval it would like receive from someone like Uncle Vernon.  

Now, all he had to do was get rid of his glasses, and he would be a hair freer.  

A hair.

The laugh that bubbled out of his chest was sour and unfamiliar, and stopped mere seconds after it had started.  

Placing his hands at the sides of the sink, he leaned forward until he could no longer see his reflection and fought against the urge to cry.