A/N I don't own Harry Potter or the idea of a metamorphagus but all the characters are mine
Written for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry (Challenges & Assignments) Transfiguration: Assignment 5
*extra credit-OC used*
If you wear a disguise for long enough, eventually you begin to forget what you really look like. When your appearance is as fluid as mine it is easy to lose sight of who you are.
My hair can grow in the blink of an eye. My eyes can be any colour. I can be any height, weight or shape I want. Every version of me has a different personality, all of them paraded in front of our house guests by my mother.
I'm lonely. Everyone says they're jealous of me, and I understand their jealousy because I'm beautiful. I can be anyone's perception of beauty, but no one really likes me. Some of them hate me because they're envious, but most of them just don't talk to me because it's too weird.
I understand that too. Once the initial excitement wears off they all find it too creepy. None of them can see inside see the real me hiding behind all my masks. Every time they look at me they see a different person.
They don't understand. They don't know that it's just me, always me, and the only reason I change my face constantly is because I'm so damn frustrated! They can't know me because I don't know myself. I'm lost in a whirlwind of faces and none of them feel right. Sometimes I sit alone and just watch as I morph-eyes shifting, hair flashing colours, age changing. Faster and faster. I'm a little boy, then an old woman, a chubby teenage girl, a young man. I am Black, White, old, young, everything all the once and I can't stop.
It's worse at school. At least at home I can escape to my room, only showing my face when my mother has guests. School is awful. You'd think that by now everyone would have got used to it but no. Every morning is the same. My dorm, my House, everyone who's in my classes, they're always watching, trying to figure out what face I'm wearing.
My mother means well but it's torture, being shown off to all her friends like a prized possession. The only person who understands me is Dad. He always knows me, can see through all of my disguises. When I'm with him I feel like I'm not alone. He can change too but he doesn't often. His face is his own, unlike my own.
There are no photographs anywhere in my room. They only remind me of my own impermanence. My mother has hundreds of family photos but you wouldn't know they were all of one family. In almost every photo mother and Dad are with a different person. You wouldn't know that it was me, that they were all me.
My life is fragmented, and at times it feels as though I am living multiple lives, each face having a different story to go with it. Sometimes I can't remember what I looked like yesterday, and I never know what I'll look like tomorrow.