Before I start this story, I just wanted to say that I have permission to use the idea of the sperm bank and glamour. I got the idea from Njchrispatrick and his wonderful story, 'A Happy Accident: 70 Years.' I highly recommend that you go and check it out before you read this. The quality of writing is phenomenal and the story is really, really sweet. So, if there are certain similarities, I do have permission to use them.

Harry Potter woke to his fluffy brown tortoiseshell cat Shemia padding all over his chest. She was meowing incessantly, like she always did when she wanted something. It was most likely food. She did this so often that he sometimes wondered if she was a black hole in disguise as a cat. The thought made him smile slightly. Adopting her from that shelter was one of the best things he'd ever done, even if she was a bloody nuisance groaned and gently swatted Shemia aside, beginning to haul himself to his feet.

Then he remembered what had happened and collapsed to the ground again, hitting a nerve in his elbow. Pait rocketed up his arm, sharp and short. Harry hissed in pain and tears began to form. Not from the pain, which was gone as soon as it came. No, from that one glance in the mirror, the one second where he took in everything that had changed about him.

He was...changed. Everything about his appearance had changed, from his hair to his eyes. Oh Merlin, his eyes. They were gone. No more green to be seen. And that wasn't even mentioning the face structure. Harry glanced down at his trembling hands and thinned his lips to stem the tears when he saw even those were changed. Instead of his old hands, with small palms and rather short fingers, the palms were now large, with long, slender fingers replacing his old ones. His wrists were extremely thin. It extended to his arms as well.

Desperately, Harry felt his face. He could be dreaming. That was always a possibility. Or maybe it was one of Ron's pranks. That was the most likely explanation. Okay, Harry thought, get a grip. He'd survived a war. He could survive this. Ron really had some explaining to do. The scale of this prank

With Shemia meowing around his ankles, Harry stood and gazed into his bathroom mirror. The face that stared back was a total stranger. His gleaming green eyes were now a light shade of blue, not unlike Ron's. They had a thick black outline, sitting under low, straight eyebrows, which gave him a strangely serious look. His chin was pointed, cheekbones higher and nose definitely larger. And atop his head sat a mop of blond hair, just grazing the tops of his eyebrows and horribly uneven, due to the cut he'd given it. The rest of his body didn't fare any better. Where he used to be quite robust in stature, he now stood an inch shorter and far thinner. He lifted up his shirt and could individually count all of his ribs.

"Haha, very funny, Ron," he muttered, scooping up Shemia. He walked out into the kitchen, promptly tripping over his own feet. He careened into the floor, landing hard. Shemia yowled at him and slashed a claw across his cheek, skittering off to hide under the couch. Her green eyes glowered out at him. Harry glowered right back, even going so far as to stick his tongue out. Honestly, that cat was a hellion at times. He couldn't count the scratches.

Apparently, with this new body he wasn't very coordinated at the moment. His thoughts were confirmed the second he took a step and crashed sideways into the kitchen cabinets. So, using the wall as support, he slowly made his way to the lounge, where the makeshift fireplace was located. He didn't have an owl, so a floo call was the next best option. He could only hope against hope that Ron was at the burrow. If he wasn't then one of his numerous family members would be able to get into contact with him fairly urgently. The level of magic on this one was incredible. Hermione had probably helped him with it. Or George.

Dust flew everywhere as he dug his hand into the floo pot. Coughing, Harry knelt down and chucked the floo powder onto the grate, while very clearly saying, "The Burrow." The flames blazed green. With a high (he really did dislike the floo) Harry stuck his head into the grate. He was terribly dizzy for a second, before his head emerged out of the fireplace at the Burrow in a puff of green soot.

Quickly, Harry glanced around. The lounge was still haphazard as ever, with mismatched chairs, threadbare carpet and blankets in dire need of replacing. The wooden floor were old and worn, from years of being walked over. A delectable smell wafted over from the kitchen. Good, that meant Mrs. Weasley was home at least.

Time to get her attention.

"Mrs. Weasley," he yelled. "Over here, in the fireplace!" There was a great clattering of pots and lots of strange wizarding swear words. Harry saw Mrs. Weasley (he was trying to break out of the habit of calling her that, though it wasn't going well) stomp over, clearly very grumpy. Oh, dear. He'd caught her in a strop.

"You'd think you'd learn how to knock, Harry," she chastised. Then she looked down at Harry's head, surrounded by wild green flames. "Merlin's beard! Who are you? Get out of my fireplace!" She picked up the tire tongs and brandished them like a sword. Harry cringed. He would have to move fast. There was nothing more scary than an incensed Mrs. Weasley (Molly, he reminded himself) waving fire tongs in your face.

"Mrs. Weasley, it's me!" Harry gabbled. "I think Ron's played a prank on me to change my appearance." He backed out of the call as she took a mighty swipe at his head, before returning in a ploom of ash. "Hear me out!"

"Why would I need to hear you out? You're clearly not Harry." She threateningly wiggled the fire tongs at him again. Harry didn't move this time. He was going to stand his ground. "Shoo! Get out of my fireplace before I take one of your eyes out." Harry sighed. He was going to have to go through and explain the situation in person. If there was anyone who was stubborn as an ox, it was Molly Weasley.

"Okay, give me a minute." As he left, Harry heard a loud, "And stay out!" He chuckled slightly. That was definitely Molly.

As he closed off the call and gathered another round of floo powder, doubts began to spread at the back of his mind. The theory that it was a prank was slowly beginning to fall apart. He didn't know of any type of magic that could do this. There was always the idea of a slow acting version of polyjuice. The only problem was that the last time Harry had actually seen Ron was two weeks ago. Harry still clung onto it, used it as a lifeline, though the looming possibility that something darker was going on slowly began to crawl through his body.

Harry shook this off and stepped up to the fireplace. Once again, he threw down the floo powder and very clearly stated, "The Burrow!" Roaring emerald flamed leapt up from the grate and consumed Harry, spinning him through multiple grates. Soon, he was spat out onto the hearth rug of the burrow, a jumble of awkward limbs and soon to be bruising.

Molly appeared out of the kitchen, wand now clutched in her hand. Her face was dangerous and stormy, like brooding clouds and an oncoming volcanic eruption all balled into one terrifying expression. Harry grabbed his own holly wand and pointed it at her. Well, if she wanted to play it like that…

"Just who are you, thinking you can come in here and say you're Harry?" she hissed. "You're cruel and manipulative, that's what you are. I can't even begin to think about what thoughts run through your head." Harry frowned. This was a little extreme, wasn't it? Surely, he couldn't be that different. At least, she would recognise his wand.

"I swear, it's me, Molly," Harry said. He still didn't lower his wand. "I just want to talk to Ron. Let me see him, please."

"My son isn't here, imposter! You even have his wand and his voice. What have you done to him, you bastard?" Molly was now approaching Harry with all the prowling grace of a tiger. He gulped. This wasn't going as well as he expected.

"What if I tell you something only I would know?"

"Alright, try me."

"My patronus is a stag, which was my father's animagus form. Ron, me and Hermione robbed Gringotts to get one of Voldemort's horcruxes," Harry shivered at the memory, "my godfather Sirius Black was innocent and framed by Peter Pettigrew!" Molly was looking at him with an indecipherable expression. She was beginning to lower her was, so Harry lowered his in turn.

Without even looking at him, she turned around and hollered for Ron up the stairs. Heavy footsteps sounded throughout the Burrow and soon a very flustered looking Ron Weasley, flaming hair sticking up at all angles and stubble coating his chin, burst into the lounge. Technically, it was more like an arena at the moment, with the way Molly was previously confronting him.

"Yeah?" he asked, catching sight of Harry. "Who's this?"

And in that moment, Harry knew. It wasn't Ron who had changed his appearance. It was another matter altogether. His stomach sank to the very bottom of his toes. It felt like someone was had placed a vice around his heart and was squeezing extremely hard. Suddenly, it was very hard to breathe.

"He claims to be Harry, and knows information that only Harry knows. I'm not sure about him. He says that he wants to talk to you."

"Ey?" said Ron, walking towards Harry. He now towered over Harry, who had shrunk considerably. He suddenly noticed that his clothes were hanging on his limbs like he was a washing line, extremely loose and baggy. His cheeks flushed red. "How can you be Harry? Are you on something?"

"Ron, you have to listen to me," Harry gasped out. "My appearance just changed this morning. I don't know how. I thought at first that you'd pranked me, but that isn't it. You have to believe me."

"Prove it. Use your patronus."

"I'm not exactly in a state to use one right now, Ron!"

"I can wait."

"Fine." Harry raised his wand again and focused on his happiest memory. It just so happened to be when he was reunited with his friends after the Battle of Hogwarts, without the threat of Voldemort looming over their shoulders. Slowly, he let the warmth of the memory flood his body, concentrating only on the elation he felt. Softly, he said, "Expecto Patronum." It was barely more than a whisper.

A brilliant silver stag burst out of the end of his wand, proudly trotting around the room. Shimmering silver wisps of light trailed after it, hanging in the air. The stag returned to Harry's side. He smiled and slowly ran a comforting hand over the patronus, even though it wasn't corporeal. The feeling of the stag was so relaxing. He really should do this more often. "Is that proof enough?" he whispered.

"We need to get Hermione over," said Ron, his face drained of all colour. "Stat."

Harry snorted. Maybe things weren't so bad. They would find a way for him to return to his true appearance soon. "Agreed."

Hello, I hope that you enjoyed this chapter. This story is going quite well, if I may say so myself. Also, did you know that 'blonde' is used when describing a female and 'blond' is used when describing a male? I certainly didn't. It's actually really interesting.

If any of you have discord, I have created a server about everything fanfiction. There aren't many people on it at the moment, and I would like to create a small community. So if you want to join, the link is below. You will have to type it in (you can't copy text on here) but you will be able to join. The link is permanent and won't ever expire. I would love it if you would join.

/Kb9zJgV

Sincerely,
Mariadoria