Ron stared through the terminal window in absolute horror. He had been firm in his stance against airplanes as a mode of transportation, ever since his father had told him about all the things that could possibly go wrong with one. (Three quarters of which were not to do with airplanes at all, but with hot air balloons and zeppelins, might I add.) Still, I had never expected for him to really be so scared.

"Don't worry, there's nothing to be afraid of. These things fly all the time, and nothing bad happens." Harry tried to comfort him.

"I. Cannot. Get. On. That. Thing." Ron was huffing at this point. Things were not looking good for us. At that point, the chances of us getting on that plane easily were almost nonexistent.

"Well, fine." I was not up for this, not with such an important assignment at hand. "I'm not going to care, Ron. You can stay here if you want, but you cannot use a broomstick to cross the Atlantic. It isn't a good idea."

"Yeah," piped up Harry. "What if a seagull hits you and you fall off? That would be a horrid way to die, I must admit."

There was a lady behind us in line who seemed very... confused by all our talking.

"He's a little off, miss. He needs a little help knowing what's real and what isn't," I whispered to her.

"Oh, oh right. Okay then." She didn't want to get involved with an "off" teenager.

"Hey, I am not off! I've got a right mind to not want to get on that pile of metal. How could that hunk of junk fly!" Ron was nearly livid. He was not going to get on that plane easily. Thankfully, we'd already said the goodbyes to his family before taking the bus to the airport. I wouldn't want any other people on his side about this. His mum and dad had been pretty against the idea of Ron on a plane too.

"Ron, I could make you get on that plane right now. I know my spells," I whispered menacingly. There's no joking when it comes to school assignments. Not with me.

"You wouldn't dare." Ron was ready to fight back, or so it seemed.

"Try me. One more word, one step in the wrong direction, and I will. Maybe I will try my hand at furnunculus, and none of the girls will find you as pretty, even with your sunglasses." I was serious, though I really am not sure if I could bring myself to cause his face to erupt with boils. Besides, people might ask questions if they see a normal boy's face disfigured in a matter of seconds.

"Fine. I'll get on the bloody plane." He added a string of curses to that, under his breath, which I chose to ignore. I'm glad he didn't figure out that I would never "boil" him, per se.

Once we had boarded the plane, and settled in our seats, the overhead compartment began to ring. It was someone's cell phone, though I didn't know who's. None of us had needed a cell phone. Perhaps it had been forgotten by someone on an earlier flight.

I tried to get up to answer it, but I remembered Ron was gripping my hand with his very white knuckles.

"Ron, let go of my hand, now." I said sternly.

He did nothing but stare at the seat in front of him intently. I figured there wasn't much of a chance of getting a response out of him with speech, so I dug my fingernail into the base of his thumb. A little self-defense tactic I learned. He screeched.

"YOW!"

He lifted his hand in alarm, and I snatched mine back. I stood to get to the phone as he asked, "Why'd you do that!"

Clearly he couldn't figure out what I was doing, which was a little sad. I wasn't about to explain it. Maybe it would teach him not to zone out like that anymore. Harry did understand my logic, however, and explained it to Ron as I opened the compartment's door.

The ringing was coming from Neville's bag. I could have asked him why he had a phone, but I decided I might as well check for myself. I took his bag out of the compartment, to have a better look.

"Hermione, why are you taking my bag out?" Neville was royally confused.

"It's ringing, and has been for five minutes!" Neville still looked confused, much more than before.

"But I don't have a phone, I don't think." He said this as I pulled a tiny, state-of-the-art cell phone from the front pocket of his bag.

"Sure you don't Neville." I turned the phone on, as Ron and Harry snickered to themselves.

"Hello?"

"This is a message for Neville. There is a vial of transfiguration potion in your bag. Go to the washrooms in 6 minutes and take it. This is a message for Neville. There is a vial of..." It kept repeating, it was Tonks' voice on a loop.

"Here Neville, listen up." I passed the phone to him, and he listened intently.

Six minutes later, Neville rose from his seat, and went to the washrooms with a tiny vial of a thick, greenish brown liquid. The moment he entered the washroom, a phone rang in Harry's bag, and so forth. Eventually, my turn came round (I was last) and I went to the washroom with a small vial of a nearly clear, magenta tinted potion. I closed the door behind me and swallowed.

It was a very strange experience, to say the least. It tingled on the way down, and the tingling sensation lingered, flowing to engulf my whole body. My hair lost volume and became lighter. It was manageable! I brushed my fingers, which were changing as well, through it, though nothing was as utterly cool as being able to run my fingers through my hair. It was hard to get over, really, though the drastic change in appearance caused some interest as well. At least I didn't look strange this time, as I had in the past. Though it was odd - I could see perfectly fine. The instructions had said I would have glasses, but I wasn't wearing any. I stared in the mirror and saw that I was wearing contacts. As much as I can be a bookworm, I prefer not looking the part. Contacts can help with that. And so with this swift change, I became Sam Morris, leaving Hermione Granger behind for the return at the end of the summer.

Actually, I almost had left Hermione behind. There was a tiny vial, with a blue green liquid sitting on the sink's rim, with Hermione Granger printed on the label. That was one thing I could not leave behind. The last thing I needed was some random plane passenger becoming me.

I left the stall and went to sit in my seat, beside the new Andrew Prewett, who hadn't left his old Ron self fully behind, as he was still gripping the armrest. I guess some things don't change. Oh well. Harry, er, Eric, looked very strange, but I could tell it was Harry, still. Neville, well, sitting in Harry's open palm, he looked much different. The two were conversing. It's a good thing Neville the toad can still talk. A very good thing. What good is a "spy" that can't even talk? Ha. Spy.

I pulled an old Muggle studies textbook out of my bag and began to read Chapter 12: Outdoor Activities which encompasses camp life. There's no better way to spend a long plane ride than doing research. Ahh. What fun.