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The voice was heard just a moment too late, as his fingers came into contact with the cold glass of the mirror. The chill replaced a moment later by the heat of the slim mirror fingers.
The mirror woman copying his tilting head, the curious look on his face. The surface rippled, and Harry felt the fingers entwine in his own. In seconds the grip tightened and heaved him through the glass. His cry cut off as he plunged forward. A harry-shaped outline rushing to the frame of the mirror. Tripping over the lower edge of the mirror, Harry face-planted. His view obscured by his mop of unruly hair.... Hair that felt slightly too long, too straight. He dismissed that as his imagination.
Still stunned and confused, he looked around for the mystery woman. But the room was empty, planting his hands on the wooden floor he levered himself more upright. Barely rising a few inches, before an awkwardness became apparent. His chest felt heavier, looking down, he spotted that he was now she. Abundantly so, the chest he'd admired mere instants ago, now felt too big, too heavy. Snapping his gaze from the canyon of cleavage, he spotted that the arms supporting him, were now girly themselves. His hands slim, the fingers slender, the nails coated with a clear gloss.
Easing himself to his knees, Harry confirms the last detail, head to toe, and everywhere inbetween Harry Potter... Harriet Potter is now the 'Girl Who Lived'. She hugged the cloak about her, a sense of vulnerabilty that he'd never thought about was now more pressing to her.
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