Changing Faces

Written for a writing challenge at The Fireplace.

“Minutio” is a spell I made up myself. The spells in Harry Potter were based on Latin words, so I think I'll get away with it. Special thanks to Epilachna for her beta-work.

AU. Harry is fed up of all the fuss about his scar, and asks Hermione to help...

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One day, Harry decided to make a change. It was as simple as that. Colin Creevey was forever popping up randomly with that blasted camera taking picture after picture and asking Harry to sign them when they had been developed, and enough was enough. Really and truly, was it necessary to have a thousand... signed... photos...

Of course! He planned to sell them to the other students! Well, enough was enough! Something was going to be done. But what? Looking in the mirror in the boys' toilets, Harry rubbed his aching lightning-bolt scar and... aha! That was it! He would ask Hermione to cast a spell to remove the blasted thing.

“But I can't!” Hermione protested. “That scar was made by dark magic, and can't be removed!”

“What about surgery – cutting it off?” asked Harry, his exasperation warring with the hope that the scar could in fact be removed.

“What, with the Severing Charm?” asked Hermione, her eyes wide with horror.

“That'll do it!” cried Harry, gleefully imagining the consternation on the Creevey boy's face the next time he went to take a photo of him. “You can use 'Episkey' to heal it.”

“Oh, Harry!” said Hermione, annoyance in her tone. “What is this really about?”

“I am fed up of having Colin Creevey popping up every five minutes to photograph my mush!” declared Harry, his every syllable chock-full of woe. “Then he begs me for my autograph. I'm convinced he's selling them!”

Hermione sighed. “It's like that, is it? Very well, I'll think of something. I rather like the thought of the look on his face when he sees your scar is missing!”

Harry was so happy he hugged Hermione, and gleefully followed her to the Gryffindor common room. She pulled out her spell books and searched them for the most appropriate (and least harmful) spell.

An hour or so later, she announced, “Got it! Minutio ought to do it. It's a shrinking spell.”

“Go on!” shouted Harry, ecstatic at the prospect that at last he would be rid of that stupid scar!

It was the scar that had always identified him to others, the scar that made him stand out. If the scar was gone, he would be normal. Well, as normal as a Wizard brought up among Muggles could be. The point was, he wouldn't have to cope with people coming up close to have a look at the scar. To see the scar with their very own eyes. To touch the scar, to comment on... yes indeed, the scar. The scar was always the star of the show! Most of the people who came up to talk to him were not as interested in his performance at Quidditch or in his spats with Snape. Oh no, it was all about the scar! Well, that was going to end.

Hermione stood up and pointed her wand at Harry. Well, at Harry's scar. “Minutio!” she said.

Harry rushed out of the room and went straight to the boys' toilets, inadvertently starting some ridiculous rumours about parts of his anatomy south of his face. “Wahey!” he shouted. “It's gone... smaller. Hermione!”

Harry rushed back into the common room in a rage, inadvertently confirming the rumours that had started with his earlier departure. “It's still there!” he roared.

Every eye locked onto Harry and Hermione. An expectant silence pervaded the room. Someone dropped a quill.

“I said it was a shrinking spell!” wailed Hermione. “I can't get rid of it, just make it smaller.”

The people staring at Harry and Hermione moved closer, eager to absorb every jot an tittle of this conversation. This would keep them going for weeks!

“Fine!” said Harry, storming off.

“It'll wear off soon,” said Hermione, but Harry could not hear her.

It was just as well the spell wore off – Harry had to contend with people coming up to him to find out what was still there and whether the shrinking spell had worn off yet for about a week. During that time, few, if any of them looked at his forehead at all.

The End.