Before I start this chapter, go and check out the fantastic story, 'A Happy Accident: 70 Years,' by the wonderful Njchrispatrick. It is where the inspiration for this story came from. If you notice any similarities between the stories, I do have permission to use them

Harry took a deep breath and stared at his reflection. With careful, attentive eyes, he studied his reflection, every little imperfection, from the barely there freckle on his left cheek to the extremely choppy nature of his jet black hair. Hands quivering, he removed the fake circular frames from his face and gently placed them on the bathroom cabinet. It took a while more of staring at his reflection before he picked up his new maple and phoenix feather wand with loose fingers.

"Alright, Potter, you've got this. You can do this." Closing his eyes, Harry pointed the wand at his head and half-heartedly uttered the words, "Tunc Spectat Imperium." The familiar prickling sensation spread over his skin, changing him back to his true appearance, the one he used to hate. Now, two months after returning from America, he was merely indifferent. He didn't avoid seeing it with a passion, but didn't actively change his appearance back to it either. It was Dr. Hannigan that had him thinking like this.

Now, he was ready to willingly take the glamour off for the first time in nearly seven months, to stare his true self in the face, no matter how frail he was, no matter how blue his eyes were, no matter how blond his hair was. For the first time, he was going to really take in his new appearance and start the road to accepting the fact that no matter what he looked like, no matter what other people saw him as, inside he was still the same Harry, no matter who his father was.

Ron was the one who finally managed to get him to come around to the fact that things weren't so bad. Sure, it had taken him getting a right good yelling at to finally come around, even if it was just to stop the verbal hailstorm that was being sent his way. His reluctant admission that he was going to start coming round to the fact made his eyes light up. The memory made Harry smile, slightly.

He took a deep breath. There was no point delaying this any further, staying comfortably wrapped up in his thoughts, avoiding the truth that was right in front of him. So, taking all of his courage, Harry opened his eyes, knowing what he was going to see.

Surprisingly, the change in appearance didn't startle him as much as he thought it would. In the mirror stood a man who he once thought a stranger. An urgent desire to look away threatened to overpower him, but Harry forced himself to stay staring at his appearance, refusing to let his eyes stray. Instead, he took in every little detail, imprinting it in his brain, securing it with lock and key.

Now that he was looking slightly closer, he saw that his facial structure wasn't a carbon copy of Steve Rogers. While he did have the low, serious eyebrows, the pointed chin, straight nose and intense blue eyes of Steve Rogers, his high cheekbones, thin lips and slightly gingery blonde hair no came from his mother. There was also a light smattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks, like someone had taken a paint brush and flicked it at random across his face.

It...wasn't too bad. In fact, staring at himself, Harry realised that maybe this wasn't the end of the world. There were certainly some good looking aspects to his face, even if he did look like a sickly victorian boy, what with his thin, twig-like frame.

And, when he left the bathroom, Harry didn't return to using the glamour. He walked out with his real appearance, slightly uncomfortable, but getting used to it. He didn't avoid looking in reflective surfaces, like the television and toaster. Instead, he curled up on the couch, his scratchy little bin cat curled up on his bony legs, enjoying the silence that filled the apartment and his mind. For once, there was no revulsion, no hatred, no anxious thoughts.

Just...peace.

"Mr. Potter, what are your comments on the latest article from Genevieve Armand?"

"Harry, are the things she's writing true?"

Said man groaned, biting his tongue to stifle the angry outburst threatening to bubble out. Couldn't he just run his business without people barging in and hounding him for answers? He thoughts those days were long over. It seemed that the press never forgot anything, and Harry cursed himself for forgetting that.

"Harry, what are you going to say to Hermione?"

His left eye twitched. He wasn't going to answer.

"Mr. Potter, how do you feel about her betrayal?"

His right foot began a short tempered tapping. Ignore them.

"Are you going to crash the wedding, Harry?"

His grip on the ice cream scoop tightened. Don't give them the answers they want.

"What are you going to do about this problem?"

Just as the scoop in his hand began fracturing under his grip, a very familiar woman barged her way to the front of the crowd, with mousy brown hair and a ruddy, pockmarked face. It was a face that Harry had learned to hate, even more than he had hated Rita Skeeter. If Rita Skeeter was a bad smell, then Genevieve Armand was the whole sewer. He had to stop himself from storming out right then and there. Unfortunately, he couldn't do this because there were still customers waiting to be served. Deserting them wasn't the best thing he could do right now.

"Harry," Armand crooned, perching herself on the bench. "Darling, how are you?" He didn't reply, not wanting to give her the satisfaction. Undeterred, she continued. "What are your thoughts on the recent proposal?" Still, he didn't reply, just scooped the previous order up and handed it to the very flustered looking man, who booked it out of the store the second the cone touched his hand.

Armand whipped out a notebook, accompanied by an elaborate eagle feather quill. Every time he saw her, she was becoming more and more like Skeeter, only amplified a whole lot more. "Come on, surely you have some juicy details you would like to share with us. My readers are just dying from anticipation. You wouldn't want to leave them hanging, would you?"

"I couldn't care less." The sentence was muttered so quietly Harry didn't think anyone could hear it. Apparently, Armand also had elephant ears and picked up on the sentence. When her eyes brightened and lips quirked, he wanted the floor to open and swallow him whole. "Dammit."

"That isn't very nice, is it?" Armand had the audacity to hop over the counter and grab his arm. Not in a fond way, though. Her grip was tight, twisting his skin, making him wince. He could see the malice in her eyes. "Why don't you tell me your opinion on the proposal, and then I'll leave?"

Harry yanked his arm out of her grip. "Don't touch me ever again." The words were hissed, his voice dangerous and low. "I've put up with you for a long time, but today you've crossed a line."

"I'm a reporter, crossing lines is what I do. Trust me, if I had any qualms about it, I would have quit a long time ago." She crossed her arms. "Now, that opinion." Harry could see the expectant faces looking at him through the glass, all yearning for juicy details, for something they could print in their wannabe gossip rags.

A sudden idea struck him. How about he gave them the information they wanted, but in a way that would frustrate them?

"Okay, I'll answer, but then you have to leave." Harry itched the top of his head, getting rid of a small prickle. "Promise?"

"I always keep my promises, darling." Harry felt like screaming into a rag. The way she said that word, darling, like he owed her something. It drove him up the wall.

"Okay, here's my opinion." Here came the punchline. "I'm happy for them." They blinked at him with wide, puzzled eyes, looking like a bunch of children lost in the forest. "Leave now, please."

"Huh?" For once, Armand was lost for words. The utter befuddlement on her face was something he would treasure forever. "That can't be it."

"Well it is."

"Harry, how did you react when you found out?" A man, leaning up against the counter, gazed at him with expectant eyes. Compared to some of the other...characters in this shop, he was dressed rather well, with a suit and tie, obviously from the muggle world.

Didn't mean Harry was going to answer him, though.

"I said, leave."

"Just a minute." Another woman called from the back of the crowd. Harry scratched his head again, the itching becoming worse.

"I am trying to run a business here!" Frustration ran through his veins, but it was soon replaced by fear as the familiar prickling sensation of his glamour fading away. He dropped the scoop, not even hearing as it clattered to the ground, too busy fishing his wand out of his holster. But even as he turned on his heel and disapparated, he knew it was too late, from the shocked faces surrounding him and the blond strand of hair falling in front of his eyes.

When he collapsed in a heap in his apartment, there was only one word going through his head, only one thought, the only thing that he could be thinking.

Fuck.

Harry didn't look at the newspapers for the next week. He didn't answer the door, or let anyone, bar Ron and Hermione, come through the floo network. There were a multitude of Howlers going off within a contained and silenced area. Because he wasn't listening to them, they were yelling at each other, which was a fairly amusing situation to watch.

That was nothing compared to the thoughts running through his mind. He couldn't believe how stupid he'd been. How could he have let the glamour drop in public? How did it even drop? It wasn't like he'd uttered the spell under his breath. Hermione had no theories, but she also had her recent engagement to see to. At his insistence, she'd gone off to spend time with Ron, while he frantically perused the books to see if there was any answer. Just to be safe, he hadn't reused the spell since, staying with his true appearance.

There was nothing. In a bout of frustration, Harry hurled the book across the room, where it collided with a wall and flopped to the floor. Muttering under his breath, Harry stood up and walked into the kitchen. Halfway there, he stopped, adjusting his pants. For some reason, it felt like they were too tight. He continued to the fridge, where he got out some leftover dinner. After shoving it in the microwave, he stopped what he was doing and adjusted the pants once again. He couldn't understand why they were so tight. He glanced down and nearly fell over at what he saw.

The hem was now sitting several inches above his ankle, and they were significantly tighter. Now that he thought about his, his shirt was getting tighter as well. Not even wanting an explanation right now, far too tired to even think of possibilities, Harry flopped down onto the couch and groaned.

Why him? Why did strange things always happen to him? Was he a magnet of sorts? A super strong variety, tuned especially for trouble and out of the ordinary, inexpicable events?

No matter. He would look into it tomorrow. Right now, he needed a right good sulk.

And sulk he did.

Ooh, excitement. Can you guess what's happening at the end? Hehe, I hope you like it.

From now on, I'm updating on Sundays. Major assignment is complete, so woop.

If you want to, you can join my discord server. You can talk further about my stories with me, if you like, and I give out previews to the next chapter around three hours before I update. Link is below and the server is about everything fanfiction. It's set to never expire, you just have to type it in.

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Sincerely,
Mariadoria