An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
“Prongs?” Peter asked as Lily threw the blankets off of her and rushed past him to the mirror.
The face of James Potter looked back at her.
Holy shit.
She lifted her arms — lanky yet muscular, she could discern — and prodded at Potter’s face, his high cheekbones, his stubbled jaw, his eyes squinting… oh, that blurriness.
“Where are his glasses?” she demanded, whirling around to face the three boys. They were still wide-eyed, but Sirius had started to relax into his obscene, smirky normality. Lily’s heart rate was skyrocketing and she felt a bit woozy, so she grabbed the first thing she could focus on and stuck with it. “Where does he put his glasses?”
“What do you mean his?” asked Remus, and Sirius strode forward.
“Listen, I know it’s crazy,” Lily began. “But… I’m not Potter. I’m Lily. I don’t know what’s going on but I can’t see for shit. Where are Potter’s glasses?”