Harry stared numbly out of his open window. It was a stiflingly warm summer
night, The neighbour's lawn sprinkler sounded quieter than usual. It hadn't
rained for almost five weeks, so there would probably be a hosepipe ban
soon; unless, of course, that distant rumble was the sound of an
approaching thunderstorm.
As it got closer to midnight the rumbles of thunder drifted closer, and Harry became more and more twitchy. His nerves, the coffee and the alcohol had all mixed unpleasantly, and even the sound of someone tooting a car horn outside made him almost fling himself sideways off his chair.
Harry took the Dursleys' shaving mirror out of the bathroom, sat on the edge of his bed and stared at it. So, the face he had looked at in the mirror was not his, then. The illusion of James Potter, who had loved him as if he were his own son. That was because he had thought he was his son, of course.
Harry felt his face gingerly with one hand. He could feel no difference. But he had noticed his eyes had somehow lost their brilliant shade of green. Wasn't he meant to have his mother's eyes then? If so, he wasn't sure if he wanted his 'real' face. And James Potter had loved him. His real father didn't. He didn't even know Harry was his.
Maybe he was already dead? Did he really want some bloke's face that didn't love him? Or even to resemble another man, and still have no father, when he turned out to be dead too. Then it would be, 'Oh! He looks just like so- and-so did!' all over again. Harry blinked back tears and hoped Dumbledore would come early. He would demand that he renew his mother's charm - whether it was needed or not.
But to have a father - alive. Possible aunts and uncles. Cousins. Grandparents. Half brothers and sisters! All he had stared hungrily at in the mirror of Erised in his first year. Maybe it did see the future. Ron might even make Quidditch Captain yet, damn him. He smiled lop-sidedly. The whiskey was making the room a bit fuzzy around the edges.
A bolt of lightning illuminated his room. Harry checked his watch. Five to midnight. The Dursleys had reached their full snoring volume. The thunder boomed overhead. Hedwig was out hunting, and she didn't like thunderstorms.
Suddenly his eyes blurred over completely. Harry blinked wildly and gasped. Whiskey had not done this to him before. What was going on?
He then remembered what his mother had written about the eyes. Was his real father even more hopelessly short sighted? Blind? He took off his glasses to rub his eyes.
Blinked. Then blinked again.
The room was in perfect focus. Without glasses.
Well that had to be one positive thing about it. No more annoying little indents in his nose either. He folded his glasses carefully and put them in his pocket. And went back to staring at the mirror.
His eyes had gone a sort of muddy camouflage green now. If he looked up to the light, that was. When he shadowed them with his hand and the pupils enlarged, they looked very dark indeed.
Well, that ruled out Sirius with his pale blue irises. And Fenwick and the Prewetts with darker blue. He breathed a sigh of relief. His father was alive then, at least.
He also guessed that it wasn't Remus, either. His eyes were very light brown verging on yellowish, and his eyebrows were on the hairy side. Nor Zabini - his eyes were hazel. Harry peered closely at Magelus, who stuck his tongue out at him. This wizard looked like he could have been put in Slytherin. And he had very dark green eyes.
His watch bleeped. Midnight. He was sixteen today!
The lightning flickered again, tearing through the hot air with a boom. At about ten seconds into his birthday Harry felt a tingling all over like pins and needles. Then as the watch showed one minute past midnight it stopped.
Well, he didn't feel any different, at least. And his hands and arms didn't look any different. Perhaps only his face was charmed? He went to pick up the mirror, which was lying on his bed. But as his hand touched it he froze. Lightning flashed.
Did he really want to know? Should he wait for Dumbledore to renew the charm? He was used to being a Potter, could he cope with not being one?
Harry remembered back to what it felt like when he saw himself as Goyle in the mirror after drinking the Polyjuice potion in year two, and shuddered.
He just hoped that Dumbledore would hurry up. Harry waited for half an hour, trying to resist the urge to get another double whiskey. But finally he discovered he couldn't put off going to the toilet any longer.
As he crossed the dark landing he trod on a creaky floorboard. The noise made the snoring from his aunt and uncle's bedroom stop. Harry froze. He had just had a sudden alarming thought. What if he looked so different the Dursleys would assume he was a burglar and call the police, or chuck him out on the street?
The snoring started again. Harry exhaled slowly and tiptoed into the bathroom. He didn't turn on the light, as that would make a noise. There was a huge mirror in the bathroom, so he kept his eyes down. He didn't fancy looking at even his new outline. Then, just as he was tiptoeing back across the landing, there was another flicker of lightning, and-
SHHH-CRACK!
Harry's heart skipped a beat. That sounded a bit like someone apparating just outside!
He peered over the banisters into the darkness. There was the faint orange glow of the streetlamp glowing on the hallway carpet. His heart sunk. It was just the sound of a lightning strike.
But maybe it wasn't. He couldn't quite see the front door from this angle. If he leaned over a bit more he might just-
'Somebody at the door, Potter?' hissed a sarcastic voice very close to his ear.
Harry jumped and almost fell down the stairs with fright. He clutched a hand to his thudding chest, but didn't turn around. Damn the coffee for making him so twitchy! He knew too well who the speaker was. And it wasn't Dumbledore.
The professor of his nightmares had finally merged with the house of his nightmares. And what a night for it! His birthday had started off with a horribly, horribly, twisted and wrong surprise. Why, oh why, did it have to be the only professor who enjoyed sneaking up on people?
Dursley Worst Nightmare, please allow me to introduce you to my Hogwarts' Worst Nightmare - the charming and authentically greasy, Severus Snape.go on sir, make yourself at home - though it's not my home-
'Are you deaf as well as paralysed, Potter? A monosyllable of acknowledgement would be polite,' Snape whispered icily. 'But manners were never your forte, were they?'
Harry squeezed his eyes shut and breathed in. 'Bugger off nightmare. Bugger off nightmare,' he thought desperately.
He had actually had a really awful nightmare recently about Snape coming to the Dursleys to get revenge for Harry calling him Professor Snivellus and turning him upside down in potions class.
Maybe he was dreaming it again. But he couldn't normally smell anything in dreams, and this Snape reeked of singed herbs. (Aromatic aromas, he would probably say.)
Snape hissed impatiently. Harry was thankful that the hallway was so dark. Snape wouldn't notice that Harry Potter probably didn't look like a Potter any more. Harry frowned. If he was no longer related to the Potters - then that would make Snape's personal five year vendetta against him a complete and utter waste of time and effort.
Which was, well, rather funny, really. He felt a smile creeping across his face, and desperately managed to stifle a giggle. But only just. It came out as a small squeak.
And, of course, Snape heard it.
'What is it that you find so comical, Potter?' The voice was getting more dangerous. Harry bit his lip.
Potter. Potter. Potter. Just like your father, Potter-
He had to pinch his nose hard to stop himself from snorting out loud.
And then he wondered why Snape was at the Dursleys. Had Dumbledore sent him for a reason? Now that thought wiped the smile off his face.
And chilled him to the bone.
'Sorry, sir,' he whispered. 'Follow me.'
As it got closer to midnight the rumbles of thunder drifted closer, and Harry became more and more twitchy. His nerves, the coffee and the alcohol had all mixed unpleasantly, and even the sound of someone tooting a car horn outside made him almost fling himself sideways off his chair.
Harry took the Dursleys' shaving mirror out of the bathroom, sat on the edge of his bed and stared at it. So, the face he had looked at in the mirror was not his, then. The illusion of James Potter, who had loved him as if he were his own son. That was because he had thought he was his son, of course.
Harry felt his face gingerly with one hand. He could feel no difference. But he had noticed his eyes had somehow lost their brilliant shade of green. Wasn't he meant to have his mother's eyes then? If so, he wasn't sure if he wanted his 'real' face. And James Potter had loved him. His real father didn't. He didn't even know Harry was his.
Maybe he was already dead? Did he really want some bloke's face that didn't love him? Or even to resemble another man, and still have no father, when he turned out to be dead too. Then it would be, 'Oh! He looks just like so- and-so did!' all over again. Harry blinked back tears and hoped Dumbledore would come early. He would demand that he renew his mother's charm - whether it was needed or not.
But to have a father - alive. Possible aunts and uncles. Cousins. Grandparents. Half brothers and sisters! All he had stared hungrily at in the mirror of Erised in his first year. Maybe it did see the future. Ron might even make Quidditch Captain yet, damn him. He smiled lop-sidedly. The whiskey was making the room a bit fuzzy around the edges.
A bolt of lightning illuminated his room. Harry checked his watch. Five to midnight. The Dursleys had reached their full snoring volume. The thunder boomed overhead. Hedwig was out hunting, and she didn't like thunderstorms.
Suddenly his eyes blurred over completely. Harry blinked wildly and gasped. Whiskey had not done this to him before. What was going on?
He then remembered what his mother had written about the eyes. Was his real father even more hopelessly short sighted? Blind? He took off his glasses to rub his eyes.
Blinked. Then blinked again.
The room was in perfect focus. Without glasses.
Well that had to be one positive thing about it. No more annoying little indents in his nose either. He folded his glasses carefully and put them in his pocket. And went back to staring at the mirror.
His eyes had gone a sort of muddy camouflage green now. If he looked up to the light, that was. When he shadowed them with his hand and the pupils enlarged, they looked very dark indeed.
Well, that ruled out Sirius with his pale blue irises. And Fenwick and the Prewetts with darker blue. He breathed a sigh of relief. His father was alive then, at least.
He also guessed that it wasn't Remus, either. His eyes were very light brown verging on yellowish, and his eyebrows were on the hairy side. Nor Zabini - his eyes were hazel. Harry peered closely at Magelus, who stuck his tongue out at him. This wizard looked like he could have been put in Slytherin. And he had very dark green eyes.
His watch bleeped. Midnight. He was sixteen today!
The lightning flickered again, tearing through the hot air with a boom. At about ten seconds into his birthday Harry felt a tingling all over like pins and needles. Then as the watch showed one minute past midnight it stopped.
Well, he didn't feel any different, at least. And his hands and arms didn't look any different. Perhaps only his face was charmed? He went to pick up the mirror, which was lying on his bed. But as his hand touched it he froze. Lightning flashed.
Did he really want to know? Should he wait for Dumbledore to renew the charm? He was used to being a Potter, could he cope with not being one?
Harry remembered back to what it felt like when he saw himself as Goyle in the mirror after drinking the Polyjuice potion in year two, and shuddered.
He just hoped that Dumbledore would hurry up. Harry waited for half an hour, trying to resist the urge to get another double whiskey. But finally he discovered he couldn't put off going to the toilet any longer.
As he crossed the dark landing he trod on a creaky floorboard. The noise made the snoring from his aunt and uncle's bedroom stop. Harry froze. He had just had a sudden alarming thought. What if he looked so different the Dursleys would assume he was a burglar and call the police, or chuck him out on the street?
The snoring started again. Harry exhaled slowly and tiptoed into the bathroom. He didn't turn on the light, as that would make a noise. There was a huge mirror in the bathroom, so he kept his eyes down. He didn't fancy looking at even his new outline. Then, just as he was tiptoeing back across the landing, there was another flicker of lightning, and-
SHHH-CRACK!
Harry's heart skipped a beat. That sounded a bit like someone apparating just outside!
He peered over the banisters into the darkness. There was the faint orange glow of the streetlamp glowing on the hallway carpet. His heart sunk. It was just the sound of a lightning strike.
But maybe it wasn't. He couldn't quite see the front door from this angle. If he leaned over a bit more he might just-
'Somebody at the door, Potter?' hissed a sarcastic voice very close to his ear.
Harry jumped and almost fell down the stairs with fright. He clutched a hand to his thudding chest, but didn't turn around. Damn the coffee for making him so twitchy! He knew too well who the speaker was. And it wasn't Dumbledore.
The professor of his nightmares had finally merged with the house of his nightmares. And what a night for it! His birthday had started off with a horribly, horribly, twisted and wrong surprise. Why, oh why, did it have to be the only professor who enjoyed sneaking up on people?
Dursley Worst Nightmare, please allow me to introduce you to my Hogwarts' Worst Nightmare - the charming and authentically greasy, Severus Snape.go on sir, make yourself at home - though it's not my home-
'Are you deaf as well as paralysed, Potter? A monosyllable of acknowledgement would be polite,' Snape whispered icily. 'But manners were never your forte, were they?'
Harry squeezed his eyes shut and breathed in. 'Bugger off nightmare. Bugger off nightmare,' he thought desperately.
He had actually had a really awful nightmare recently about Snape coming to the Dursleys to get revenge for Harry calling him Professor Snivellus and turning him upside down in potions class.
Maybe he was dreaming it again. But he couldn't normally smell anything in dreams, and this Snape reeked of singed herbs. (Aromatic aromas, he would probably say.)
Snape hissed impatiently. Harry was thankful that the hallway was so dark. Snape wouldn't notice that Harry Potter probably didn't look like a Potter any more. Harry frowned. If he was no longer related to the Potters - then that would make Snape's personal five year vendetta against him a complete and utter waste of time and effort.
Which was, well, rather funny, really. He felt a smile creeping across his face, and desperately managed to stifle a giggle. But only just. It came out as a small squeak.
And, of course, Snape heard it.
'What is it that you find so comical, Potter?' The voice was getting more dangerous. Harry bit his lip.
Potter. Potter. Potter. Just like your father, Potter-
He had to pinch his nose hard to stop himself from snorting out loud.
And then he wondered why Snape was at the Dursleys. Had Dumbledore sent him for a reason? Now that thought wiped the smile off his face.
And chilled him to the bone.
'Sorry, sir,' he whispered. 'Follow me.'