George recalled something about being able to turn into anyone just by putting on their clothes. At seven, he was now more open to the wild and magical ideas, especially when his foggy memories showed him glimpses his life as an American grown-up, then changing into a boy who grew up in the fifties- when his grandpa was growing up! He couldn’t let this chance pass him by; it was the perfect moment. He’d always been curious about what it was like to be Oliver. He’d known him for ages, but actually *being* him would be something else entirely.
"George," Oliver called out, "aren't you coming with?"
Harry added, "Yeah, you was just bangin on about playing footy with us. Why's you just standing there?"
George's eyes scanned for a reason to stay back, getting just enough time to dash to Oliver's locker, grab his spare uniform, and try it on somewhere nice and quiet. "Uh, I just remembered I have some homework for Mr. Alberts. I'll be there, I promise!"
The boy's friends exchanged looks and shrugged. "Guess we'll wait," Oliver said. "Make sure to show up early!" With that, the two walked away, leaving George to his plans. All the seven-year-old had to do was walk to the lockers and find Oliver's. He entered the numbers, and there it was: the prized uniform waiting for him. George grinned and murmured, "There you are," as he took it out.
George looked left and right to make sure no one was looking, stealthily making his way to the unused janitorial supply room, the only sound being the quiet click of the door closing behind him. Inside, his only companions were his reflection in a worn mirror and a few boxes of cleaning supplies. He let out a deep sigh and started undressing. With Oliver's smaller frame in mind, George struggled to squeeze into his friend's trousers. It was uncomfortable but just bearable enough.
Grunting and a wincing, the boy then squeezed into the tight shirt that barely reached his belly and the blazer that strained against his broader frame. Suddenly, he felt a quick, painless jolt that made his body tingle as his features shifted. "Whoa," George gasped, watching his pale hands shrink as his wrists and calluses molded into a fitting size. He turned his hands in the newly fitting seams of Oliver's shirt, noticing freckles appearing in a pattern similar to Oliver's. As his muscles and joints reformed and his bones compressed down, George felt only a light tickle as he shrank to Oliver's height. He giggled, realizing he really could transform, as his reflection confirmed: his face was changing, his thin, upturned nose shifted to a button shape and freckles painting his nose bridge, splattering across rounder cheeks.
The blazer that once felt tight on George’s larger frame now fit him comfortably. Some weight had melted away, shaping him more like Oliver's slimmer, yet still healthy, build. Just as he was about to place his friend's school cap on his head, he noticed his hair shifting. George ran a hand over his dark, silky hair; he heard the faint brush of fingers going through light brown hairs that turned into a close-cropped strawberry blond, eventually settling into buzzed, coppery red. It was the perfect moment to put on the cap as the final touch.
"This is so awesome!" George exclaimed in Oliver's higher timbre, "I even sound just like him."
He felt that familiar tingling in his mouth, running his tongue over his teeth and realizing he no longer had braces—just a complete set of baby teeth that hadn't fallen out yet. Lastly, his blue eyes recolored into Oliver’s deep green. That's when George-turned-Oliver, got the idea of playing an acting game to his reflection, "Oi, George!" he spoke. "It’s me, Oliver. Fancy a kickabout?"
The boy chuckled to himself, amused by just how much he sounded like Oliver, but then again, he *is* Oliver now. It only came naturally because that's who he is now.