AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story is a work in progress, so stay tuned! It might start off slow, but I promise the action will heat up soon enough! I'm doing my best to keep this pairing canon, because we should all treat J.K. Rowling's characters with the respect they deserve, neh? ^_^~~; After all, they're her characters... I'm just borrowing them! ^o^
Harry steadied his nerves and took in a sharp breath. To think after so long, his dreams would finally be realized... well, it was quite exhilarating. And yet, at the same time, there was a sickening fear in his stomach. Transfiguration magic is no easy feat, especially when applied to one's own body. The slightest misstep, the briefest moment of distraction and the complex spell required to complete the transformation would be disrupted, leaving the caster stuck as a hellish abomination trapped between forms. A skilled Animagus might not have any problem with the task, but Harry was a mere sixth-year, a novice in the arts of magic... and besides, he mused... he was pretty sure that no one had attempted a spell quite like this in the history of wizardkind.
Sensing his will faltering, Harry thought and drew upon the very memories that prompted him to even attempt the perilous task. His soulful green eyes shut and his breathing became shallow as he concentrated on the cherished experience. The Boy Who Lived became the Boy Who Dreamed and the deserted classroom dissolved into the sweet release of childhood recollections. The scene was 15 years prior, in the frigid air of northern England. The dark wizard known as Voldemort had murdered James and Lily a scarce couple of hours earlier, but the infant Harry was not afraid. He rested contentedly in Hagrid's arms, who was straddling the flying motorbike belonging to Harry's godfather, Sirius Black. Despite having witnessed the spectacle of his parents' death, Harry was at ease: the comforting vibrations of the bike lulled him into a state of ecstasy. His tiny, unformed mind couldn't fully comprehend it, but the bike beneath him felt so... powerful... and... strong. How could he be afraid?
Harry's eyes snapped open as he returned to the present. He knew what he had to do. Focusing all of his desire into a single, brilliant spark, the Potter boy raised his wand and muttered an incantation. He shuddered violently with anticipation, and then turned to face the mirror. Reflected within its glassy plane was... an ordinary teenage wizard. Once again, he had failed. There was still some component to the spell that was missing. Harry swore angrily and kicked his mirror image, turning the bottom half of the doppleganger into a spiderweb of fractures. He sat on the cold wooden floor and rubbed his eyes.
"Think, Harry, think" the young man muttered to himself. "What did Professor McGonagall say about self-transfiguration?"
Harry strained and searched his memory, going over every lecture, every boring, early morning lesson for some scrap of useful information he had overlooked. Suddenly, a creak of the floorboards interrupted his reverie. Someone was in the hallway.
There was no excuse for being out of the common room this late, especially in a deserted classroom with a vandalized mirror. He would have a lot of explaining to do if one of the Prefects caught him sitting amongst the broken slivers of what looked to be a rather expensive goblin-made antique. Harry couldn't afford discovery, not this early. Not when there was still so much work to do. He scrambled across the room and slipped on his trusty Invisibility Cloak. The cool fabric slid over his bare arms and he quickly faded from view. Whoever the mysterious interloper was, the sound of Harry's flight had given them pause, and they had not chosen to enter the room.
"Perhaps they didn't see me," thought Harry. "Then there should still be time to get back in my dorm before they choose to investigate further." It was too risky to continue practicing tonight, so Harry ducked out the back door of the dusty room and set off toward the Griffindor dorms.