Chapter- 16 : Scars Part - 5

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Fortunately someone else was kind enough to give Harry directions.

As soon as he set foot in the deep room with racks of glasses on both sides the proprietor lunged at him, reaching for his face with both hands. Harry cringed away, but not in time to prevent his glasses being stolen.

"No, no, no," the man cried as if in real pain, "I have seen badly fitted glasses before, but these are simply hideous."

Harry stared at what was now a man-shaped blob. "More importantly, they're also the wrong perscription," he said irritatedly.

"Well, if you can't see how disastrous you look then I suppose that makes up for something," the man muttered disdainfully while fetching something from behind the counter. Harry decided protesting probably wasn't worth the hassle and let him rub some kind of device over various parts of his face and tried not to freak out at the whirring and popping sounds or at the faint smell of burning hair.

It was only after a pair of glasses was placed on his nose again that he could verify the wisdom of his choice. The thing looked decidedly frightening, like a copper polaroid camera with teeth and long spindly claws at the side. It would not be a complete surprise should it develop a hunger for human flesh and try to eat his face.

As if he was channelling Ollivander, the man then started handing him pair after pair of glasses. All of which were taken away again before he could even fit them on his nose.

"Shouldn't I, you know, try them on, or something?" he asked hesitantly.

He was shushed with a dismissive hand wave. "Do not interrupt a master at work."

Suppressing a snort, Harry did just that, until ten minutes later he was actually allowed to try wearing a pair. Small hands on his back guided him to a large standing mirror trimmed in gold.

Upon seeing his reflection his hands jerked violently up to his face. The face looking back at him wasn't his own. In the back of his mind he realised that he hadn't looked in the mirror since removing the bandages and that doing so for the first time in a public setting was mightily unwise, but the damage was done.

Harry stared.

His black hair, perpetually messy and very reminiscent of his father was now an uneven gray with streaks of both dark and light unevenly applied. It appeared to have been tamed slightly by whatever had precipitated this change in colour as it looked thinner and was apparently behaving. He hadn't combed it so it wasn't behaving very well, but it now looked like a comb could make an actual difference.

Several angry red scars featured very prominently over his face. One ran from his hairline down to his chin across the eyelid. He was lucky the eye itself was still intact. Both cheeks, his right more so than his left, were similarly defaced. Interestingly, it appeared a small strip of skin had been unevenly regrown on his forehead. The top third of his familiar lightning-bolt scar was still there, but the rest was missing.

As if that wasn't jarring enough, it looked like his facial features had been altered as well. Not greatly, but he remembered less prominent cheekbones and his jaw appeared to be slightly more pointed.

Merlin, Madam Pomfrey had said that many of his bones had been regrown, but apparently without a 'before' image to work with she had just winged it and gotten it slightly off, like using a badly cast mould.

"Speechless, eh. I know, my work is truly amazing," the shopkeeper said, looking satisfied from over his shoulder.

"Yeah," he mumbled weakly, barely listening. He did, however, switch his attention to the glasses, if only to avoid thinking of how truly the Order's fucking ritual had messed him up.

Rectangular lenses with rounded corners were surrounded by a thin metallic grey rim. It was all very different from what he was used to, and somehow the different colour and style muted the bright colour of his eyes as well.

He swallowed heavily. Last night he had wondered how people had not recognised him. Right now he wasn't sure if he would even recognise himself.

In a daze, he paid and left, not really aware of anything until he reached the Apparition point and he had to force himself to focus lest he splinch himself on top of everything else.

Hogwarts' gates were closed and wouldn't open for him. Not in a mood to speak to anyone Harry simply Apparated to the Shrieking Shack and followed the tunnel onto the grounds. He needed solitude and a safe place to come to terms with this and right now that meant his rooms in the Divination Tower.

Two hours were spent laying despondently on his bed or staring at the mirror. It had to be repaired three times after he had blasted it apart in his anger at what had been done to him. He felt violated, like they had stolen his identity on top of taking him from his world. Adapting a false name had been his choice. Adapting a false face had not.

In the end, that's how he – at least temporarily – resolved the situation. It would help him retain his anonymity if he didn't look like James Potter quite as much. His scars would draw attention, but then again, he had always had a scar on his face. At least that one wasn't quite as prominent this time.

He made an effort to channel all his anger and fear into his determination, because now more than ever he wanted to go home. Which meant it was time to research. But in due time he would make sure the Order paid for this. He would make sure.

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If you're eager to delve deeper into the story, consider joining my Patreon for exclusive content and early access to new chapters

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