While Ginny assured Luna that no, her desk fern was not, in fact, poisonous, and the rest of the D.A. members dribbled into the Room of Requirement, Harry spent as much time as possibly glancing at the mirror out of the corner of his hazel eye, and trying desperately to fathom what had brought about this sudden change.

"Or not so sudden," he realized, with a start. Ginny had commented on his eye color as early as the Halloween Ball...Party...whichever.

"I'm fairly sure they were green before I left for Hogwarts," Harry thought, racking his brain, although he was far less certain than he would have liked.

"Err..."

Neville's voice was curious, uncomfortable. Harry turned and realized with a jolt that most of the D.A. were assembled, and were now patiently waiting for him to snap out of his reverie and begin. He took a quick headcount to ensure that everyone had arrived – everyone with the exception of Hermione, of course. And...

"Where's Ron?" Harry blurted out, surprised.

The Gryffindors shifted nervously – word always traveled fast in the school, but something as juicy as his fight with Ron and Hermione would rip through Gryffindor like wildfire.

"Nevermind," Harry said, as breezily as possible, "I guess we'll just get started."

But he felt a slight pang of loss – he'd never had a D.A. meeting without Ron or Hermione before.

"Right. Split up into two even groups."

Everyone eyed each other for a moment, and hesitantly started milling about.

"Oh, for heaven's sake," Electra Bellanova said, dividing them with a gesture of her hand, "Here, just draw a line down the middle of the room...yes, there you go."

The upperclassmen chuckled slightly...Electra was a bossy little fussbudget, but they could all remember Hermione's first year, as well, and if there was anything they could say for the both of them: They got the job done.

"Thanks, Electra," Harry said, though he too, was smiling to himself, "Alright, here's the plan – everyone on this side –" He swept his arm over to the left, "Is Death Eaters. And everyone on this side –" He swept his arm in the opposite direction, "Is...well, is us. I think we ought to just have it out today. Sort of a drill."

"Err," Neville said, raising his hand nervously.

Harry checked an impatient sigh. "You don't have to raise your hand, Neville."

"Right, sorry," Neville said, hesitantly lowering it, "Aren't there any – what are the rules?"

"Right," Harry said, "Death Eaters, please don't do anything worse than a Stunner, obviously? We'll just assume if you get hit with it that it's something much nastier."

The assembly tittered nervously, and the two "teams" eyed each other with wary grins. Harry noticed that some of the first and second years looked genuinely alarmed – clearly, they'd never imagined actually using these spells in a combat situation...most of them had probably joined to get better Defense grades, and to defend themselves from the occasional bullying Slytherin, or possibly because they'd heard the D.A. was the "cool" club on campus.

"Better they learn to be afraid of it now, when it's safe," Harry thought resolutely.

"As for everyone else," he continued, "Use all the defensive spells we've been working on here. Again, nothing too nasty – no permanent damage, alright?"

"What are we supposed to do for cover?" asked Hannah Abbott, resourcefully.

"Good thought!" Harry said, and cheered inwardly, "Remember, it's not all about magic – putting an obstacle between you and a Death Eater is just as useful, if not moreso. Why don't we..."

He turned around, and was surprised to see that Ginny's desk had disappeared, but was replaced with several classroom desks and chairs.

"We can use those!" Dean said, pointing, "We'll scatter them around the room..."

"Someone move the bookcases with me," Seamus said, nudging one closer to the middle of the room.

In a short while, the bookcases, desks, and chairs were scattered around the blue mats, and everyone was gathered at opposite ends of the room, nervously fingering their wands, and licking their lips, or working cricks out of their necks.

"Alright," Harry said, and he could feel his own adrenaline surging, "Everyone ready?"

He made eye contact with Ginny, across the room, who was a "Death Eater." They shared a brief moment of eye contact, and he knew they were thinking the same thing:

"This is so surreal."

"Go!" Harry shouted, and immediately threw himself behind a bookcase. Immediately spells rang out in forty-odd different voices:

"Stupefy!"

"Stupefy!"

"Silencio!"

"Protego!"

"Bombarda!"

"That was Aaronson," Harry thought idly, as one of the chairs went flying pointlessly across the room, "Got nervous and said the first spell that came to mind." He reflected, a bit anxiously, that this might get dangerous – that chair might've hit someone in the head...

"Meducapelli!" called Luna dreamily, and Parvati shrieked in annoyance, before returning with a loud, "Stupefy!"

"Gah!" cried Neville ineloquently, apparently unable to think of a spell, and Harry poked his head out from behind the bookcase, just in time to see Neville leap in front of Luna, taking the jet of red light in the shoulder, and falling with a thud to the mats.

"Stupefy!" Harry cried, pointing his wand at Parvati, who crumpled gracefully to the floor, her silky hair having been tugged out of its braid.

"Expelliarmus!" cried a voice to his right, and his wand went spinning out of his hand.

"Arthur," Harry groaned. Aaronson was decidedly sloppy under pressure – he must have heard him cast the stunning spell, and just assumed he was a Death Eater...They should have been drilling like this sooner...

"S-s-s-orry!"

Harry peered out from behind the bookcase again, and narrowly missed a stunner from Broderick Johnson. He braced himself, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet, and in one fluid motion, dove for the other bookshelf, tucking and rolling so that he came to an abrupt stop behind it, snatching his wand up from the ground.

"Show off," Zacharias said dryly, quickly reaching his wand arm out from behind the bookshelf, and tripping Broderick with an Impediment jinx.

"Jealous, are we?" Harry shot back, with a cheeky grin, his back to the bookshelf. He leaned to his left, craning his head backwards over his shoulder, and finished Broderick off with a hasty "Stupefy!"

Zacharias simply grinned and snorted in reply, and ducked out from the bookshelf again to cast another spell, but never got the chance – a well-timed stunner from Ginny sent him flailing backwards to the mat.

Harry glanced up and down the ranks – already, their side was down by half.

"Time!" he hollered, "Stop!"

Instantly, the shouting stopped, and Harry stood up, taking stock of who was left.

Two thirds of the entire D.A. lay prone on the mats, and all the remaining students, both "Death Eater" and "D.A." alike, staggered out from their hiding places, looking decidedly shaken.

Dean Thomas lay in a heap at the other side of the room, along with Parvati and Hannah. Surprisingly, Arthur Aaronson had made it through, but he looked absolutely ashen as he gaped at Electra Bellanova lying face-down in front of him.

Luna was kneeling next to Neville's motionless form, staring at him contemplatively, as though he were a puzzle she couldn't quite solve. Harry felt slightly nauseous, and had a disturbing sense of déjà vu.

"Of course," he realized, "When Nott snuck into the school with the Polyjuice Snackbox." He vividly recalled Nott-disguised-as-Neville lying on his back, a dreamy expression on his face, the veins of his face blue with the cold of the Dementor's Kiss...

"Oh, Neville," Luna said, and Harry was surprised to detect an actual emotion in Luna's voice. He shuddered.

"Well," he said, after a brief pause, "Let's get Ennervating."

They revived everyone quickly, and if Harry thought the "survivors" were shaken, the "victims" were doubly so.

"You mean, I didn't make it?!" Dean stammered, incredulously, after they'd woken him up, "I...wow."

He sat with his arms resting on his knees for a moment, staring off into space, contemplatively.

They spent the rest of the time drilling, trading sides every so often. By the end of the hour, Harry noticed everyone had gotten much faster, and much better at staying out of harm's way – the battles were lasting longer, and less spells being thrown about, with a lot more blocking and dodging in their place.

"I think that's enough for one night," Harry said, wiping a sheen of sweat off his brow. Most of the Quidditch players were breathing lightly, but Arthur Aaronson was sweating profusely, and Hannah Abbott needed to cast two Bronchius charms for her asthma.

"So, err...let's clear out, then," Harry said, as nobody had moved. Looking slightly put out, Parvati and Lavender began collecting their things, and the room drifted first to their piled bookbags, and slowly to the door. Normally the end of D.A. meetings were occasion for cheerful gossip, especially amongst the girls, while everyone took it in turns to sneak back to their dorms. But Harry had his own reasons for wanting everyone to clear out. He noticed Ginny lingering towards the back of the crowd, too.

"Ginny," Harry muttered, "See if you can find Ron for me, would you?"

Ginny narrowed her eyes suspiciously, as though to say, "Trying to get rid of me?"

In the end, her concern for for Harry and his disintegrating friendships outweighed her need to talk to him about his changing eye color, and she nodded.

"I'm around," she said, meaningfully, "If you want to talk about it."

Harry simply nodded gratefully, as she left the room along with Neville and Luna.

"...being silly," he heard Luna say, in a soft, dreamy voice.

"I can't help it," Neville muttered bashfully, as he held the door for her. He was about to leave, when he stuck his head back in.

"Alright, Harry?"

"Sure," Harry lied cheerfully, "Never better. See you in a few."

Harry could see in Neville's face that he didn't believe him for a minute, but like Ron, Neville knew how to give Harry his space. Harry reflected that he and Neville had something in common – they hated being the center of attention, and preferred to duck out of sight to think things through. As the door clicked shut, Harry realized he had many more friends than he'd ever thought possible.

He jolted himself out of his reverie, and returned immediately to the mirror, opening his eyes wide. By way of experiment, he held one lid open and gingerly poked himself in the eye.

"Owch," he muttered. Well, that was brilliant.

He examined it again in the mirror – no change. His left eye was simply now a bit pinker than his right.

He tried squeezing his eyes shut tightly, and then opening them again, and then blinking rapidly. On a wild, exuberant hunch, he pointed his wand at the mirror, and shouted, "Finite Incantatem!" but his eye color didn't change – it wasn't the mirror.

"No," he muttered aloud, "Ginny saw it too. It can't be the mirror..."

He pointed the wand at his own face, flinching slightly, and willing himself to keep his eyes open.

"Finite Incantatem," he said again, firmly, and immediately checked the mirror again.

"Hmph." Still hazel.

He knew it had something to do with his father – it had to be. His eyes were the exact same shade as his father's, down the golden flecks in the warm, brownish amber. If this was just some kind of fluke, what were the odds that his eyes would turn that precise color?

He pondered vaguely whether this had something to do with his mother, rather than his father. He'd always been told he had his mother's eyes – had something changed? But Harry could find no logical link any more than he could to his father.

"Think," he said to himself, pushing his fist into his forehead, and kneading it with his knuckles. Did he know any other wizards who could change their eye color?

"Well, Tonks," Harry said. His mind wandered back to their conversation early last fall, where she had told him that most wizards needed some kind of spell or potion to change their physical features. Maybe it was a potion?

"But who could have slipped me..."

But Harry trailed off, his mouth suddenly going dry.

"Did you ever make anything happen?" Hagrid's voice echoed in his head, "Something you couldn't explain?"

The disappearing glass...he'd never thought about it before, but that had been really advanced magic – it wasn't easy to make things appear or disappear. And that time he'd ended up on the roof – he must have Apparated...only of-age wizards were supposed to be able to do it.

He'd found out in his second year that he was a Parseltongue...another unusual gift that he'd always had, lying dormant – never having an opportunity to use it, not even knowing what it was, he'd never known it was there...yet he'd used it as a child, without even realizing he could...

That time his aunt had cut his hair...

...and it had grown back overnight.

"I need to read about Metamorphmagi now!" Harry said aloud, and there was a thud from across the room, as a heavy book fell to the table.

Harry raced over, and read the front cover: "So You Think You're A Metamorphmagi."

"This is crazy," Harry whispered, as he leafed through the pages. He stopped at a particular chapter heading: "Testing for the Metamorphmagus Ability."

"This is crazy," Harry repeated, feeling as though he might fall apart at the hinges – he couldn't be an Metamorphmagus...

One passage lept out at him: "...genetic, and thus, shape-shifting often runs in families."

His father had been an Animagus...

"Animagus?" Harry questioned out loud, the word sparking a memory.

McGonagall's class – he'd stood at the front of the room, trying desperately to become an animal, repeating in his mind...Animagus...Animagus! But all he could think about was –

"Prongs," Harry said quietly, to the empty room, "Dad..."

From across the room, Harry looked into the mirror again, and saw his father's hazel eyes gleaming back at him.

Harry slowly closed the book, and walked back over to the mirror, staring himself directly in the face.

"Here goes nothing," he told himself. He closed his eyes, and concentrated with all his might on his mother's green eyes.

He opened his eyes, and was disappointed to see they remained the same golden-hazel hue.

"Maybe I'm wrong," Harry thought, and he was torn between relief and disappointment.

"What," he told himself viciously, "Did you think you'd be good at everything? Are you that arrogant?"

He took a deep breath. One more go. Just...just to see.

He closed his eyes, and thought back to the Mirror of Erised, the first time he'd ever really gotten a good look at his mother. He thought of her warm, sympathetic smile...her flaming red hair...and mostly he concentrated on the soft shine of her green eyes...drowing in them, his heart begging for her...

"Metamorphmagus...Metamorphmagus...Metamorphmagus..."

Harry opened his eyes, and sputtered in shock.

Not only were his eyes back to their "fresh-pickled" green, his hair had gone completely red.

He staggered away from the mirror, nearly stumbling over a chair, still overturned from their earlier D.A. practice.

"This isn't real," Harry said, pinching his arm severely, "Wake up. Wake up, now."

But it was no dream. Some bizarre male hybrid of his mother and father was staring frantically at him from the mirror, dressed in his clothing – it was like seeing a distant cousin. The only thing recognizable in his face was the jagged scar on his forehead. Slowly, Harry's fear subsided, and he began to wonder what else he could do.

"Who do I know best?" Harry asked himself, and the image of a groggy Ron stretching and yawning in the morning came to mind.

Harry closed his eyes, and flooded his mind with memories – Ron grimacing after a poor Quidditch practice – Ron surreptitiously sneaking a glance at Hermione – Ron's ears reddening as Malfoy insulted his family – Ron leaping onto his bed on Christmas Morning, his blue eyes sparkling – his white skin, dotted with freckles – the firm set of his jaw.

Harry slowly opened his eyes, and gasped.

Ron Weasley goggled, open-mouthed from the mirror across from him – even Harry's lightening-bolt scar was practically invisible, obscured by Ron's freckles.

Harry examined himself a bit more critically. No, there were still some things wrong – Ron wasn't nearly as slender as this. And his nose wasn't quite so aquiline – it was longer.

Harry decided to focus just on Ron's nose, and this time, he kept his eyes open for the transformation.

"Metamorphmagus...metamorphmagus..."

He realized he was frowing in concentration, and he realized why Tonks always squinted before she transformed.

Then, as easily and suddenly as if he'd moved a finger, his nose stretched a bit further, and widened slightly.

"I've got to find Ginny," Harry said aloud, turning towards the door and racing heedlessly out into the hallway. He knew he ought to be mindful of Filch, and probably ought to check the map, but he was too excited and too scared and too amazed to think straight or even to sit still. Besides, by now it was quite late, and Harry told himself, half-hoping and half-doubting, that Filch might even have called it a night.

He couldn't stop staring at his trembling hands, as he walked, turning them over and over. He'd gotten the long fingers right – but his nails were far too clean, and neatly trimmed, and there weren't nearly enough golden-brown freckles spattering the backs of his hands. He had his calluses from his Firebolt, but his hands were not nearly as rough as Ron's, from all the passing and goal-tending. He stifled an incredulous laugh at the strange newness of it all. When he got to the portrait hole, he paused for a moment, brought up short by the baleful eye of the Fat Lady. Could she tell?

"Took you long enough," she groused, "She's been sitting in there waiting for you, you know...Poor thing's in a right state. The others got back a half-hour ago, although seeing as you're all out far past curfew, it hardly seems to matter, not that it's any of my business –"

"Nebulus!" Harry stammered, finding his voice, "Nebulus!"

"Yes, yes, alright," the Fat Lady said, irritably, and Harry stumbled through the portrait hole, scanning for Ginny.

It was not Ginny who he found waiting for him...