Yes, Professor?

Part 3 : Harry's a Toddler

Eloise and Jean Rosier stared at their almost 2-year-old in shock, blinking to make sure they weren't hallucinating.

They had put their Harry to sleep in his crib the night before and had woken up with the intent to cook breakfast before they woke him up, but here he was, in the kitchen, eating cut up apple slices and grinning at them without a care in the world.

Maybe it was the fact that Harry was using magic to cut up the other half of his apple, or it was the fact that Harry's blond hair changed to a pure black color and his silvery blue eyes changed to an emerald green over night, but Eloise and Jean creeped toward their baby, wondering in awe if he had Metamorphmagy. None of their families had the gene, but a few Blacks had married into the Rosier family once upon a time

Meanwhile, Harry watched his parents in amusement as they evaluated him with wide eyes. He learnt that if he had a "magical breakthrough" right around the time that his features changed, he would be deemed a genius that changed his hair and eye color permanently through accidental magic instead of an anomaly.

"We have to tell the family," Eloise and Jean chimed in unison, not taking their eyes off of Harry.

"My family first or yours?" Jean asked, glancing at his wife.

"Mine won't take as long. My family is much less excitable than yours," Eloise thought out loud, her hand brushing through Harry's hair, which had stayed the same wavy texture.

"I'm not sure if that's a compliment or insult, my love," Jean teased, picking Harry up and taking him back to his room to change him out of his pajamas.

Eloise shrugged, smiling at her husband. "However you take it, dear."

With a booming laugh, Jean swung Harry around in a circle once before plopping him down to change him into a stiff shirt, suspenders, and trousers. Harry much preferred the comfortable clothes of the 2000's, but he couldn't exactly ask his parents to dress him in such clothes. After all, it was 1923.

"We going to see Granma Arielle?" Harry asked Jean, giving his father a smile. It had taken him a while to be able to switch between different levels of language (baby speak, toddler speak, teenager speak, etc.), but he mastered the art after his fifth life, as he was luckily born into a family of impressionists in 2010.

"Yes Harry," Jean replied, tying Harry's shoe laces. "Me and Mommy are going to show the family your abilities."

Harry tilted his head in mock confusion. "Abilities?"

"Your magic," Jean cheered, his eyes lighting up. "Accidental magic before age two and possible Metamorphmagy abilities. . . what a handful you'll be when you're older!"

Harry furrowed his eyebrows. "Ma-mete-metamork- ?"

"Metamorphmagy," Jean stated, slowing his pronunciation. "It means that you can change your features at will. Have you seen yourself in the mirror lately, Harry?"

Harry shook his head, his eyes widened into a look of innocence.

Jean laughed again and took Harry to the nearest mirror, snorting when Harry gasped dramatically and slapped his hands over his cheeks.

"I'm different!" Harry exclaimed, running his hands through his hair.

"Special," Jean corrected, his grin almost splitting his face in two, even when knowing fully well what Harry meant. "You'll do great things someday, Harry."

Harry gave a typical toddler response, trying to cover up how touched he was. "When?"

Jean kissed Harry's forehead, "When you're forty."