[Fic] Blink (2/10)
Title: Blink
Recipient/Trope: Bodyswap for
gatewaygirl
Username:lordes
Betas:
lordhellebore, amorette
Pairings: Harry/Draco. Mentions of: Harry/Ginny, Ron/Hermione, Draco/Astoria, Draco/Blaise, Ginny/Oliver.
Characters: Harry, Draco, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, George, Arthur, Molly, Kingsley, Hawkes Hawlish, Auror Williamson, Lucius Malfoy, Narcissa Malfoy, Voldemort, Bellatrix, Nott, Avery, Gawain Robarts, original characters. Mentions of: Luna, Umbridge, Blaise, Oliver, Astoria.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Rating: R
Warnings: Suggestive M/M relationship, original characters, unexplainable magic, hurt.
Word Count: 46 000
This Chapter: 6017
Summary: When Harry is approached for a favour by Draco Malfoy at the Ministry of Magic, only in his wildest dreams can he imagine what will await him in the morning to come; and when a mysterious man in a top hat appears, Harry fears he might be losing his mind. With his friends by his side and a very troubled Minister, Harry is desperate to find a solution for his blond problem as fast as he can - only that might prove more difficult than he initially expects. As he slowly gets immersed in a life so unlike his own, Harry comes to realise not everything is as black and white as he thought it was, and that the bad guy might not be the bad guy after all.
Author’S Notes: Originally written for the HD TROPES Fic Exchange, 2014
BLINK ON AO3
*
’Now, Harry you must know all about Muggles, tell me, what exactly is the function of a rubber duck?’ - Arthur Weasley (CoS - Movie)
‘Don't blink. Don't even blink. Blink and you're dead. They are fast. Faster than you can believe. Don't turn your back, don't look away, and don’t blink.’ - The Doctor
- CHAPTER 2 -
An Unwelcome Awakening
Something was off.
A soft breeze flowed through his hair, and as he moved, a pillow far softer than the one he had got used to over the past year at Grimmauld Place moved under his cheek. Harry opened his eyes and blinked heavily against the bright morning sun. A morning sun coming from a window on a side of the room where no window should be. A window which was in a room far bigger than the one he should have woken up in. As he reached out for his glasses, he found nothing but more soft pillows and heavy covers. He rubbed his eyes hard and blinked again a few times. Everything was so clear. So perfectly clear and crisp and bright and visible. He let out a soft gasp and raised a hand in front of his face. Waving it back and forth, he smiled at the clear image . However, his smile soon turned into a scowl when he realised that he was seeing not his own, but a far slimmer, far paler hand move in front of his eyes. Sitting up in the king-sized bed, he took a good look around himself. The room was large and round. The bed he had woken up in was facing a ceiling-high, wooden double-door. On the left of this door stood a low table on which a very heavy-looking vase was resting, containing a bouquet of the most beautiful and exotic flowers he’d ever seen. On both sides of the bed were a set of bedside tables and - just like the double door - ceiling-high windows. In front of these windows hung thick, golden-brown curtains that flowed in an arch back halfway to the floor where they were gathered by a black strap to the wall. Harry had no memory of ever being in a room like this, nor coming to one the night before. Harry got out of the bed, carefully, even though he wasn’t sure what he was being careful of, and walked around the room in search for his wand. The bedside tables were empty save for a few books he didn’t recognise, and since his clothes were nowhere to be seen save for the unfamiliar pyjama bottoms he was wearing, he had no idea where his wand could be. He swallowed hard, trying to get past the lump now forming in his throat. Where was he? He moved towards the bedroom doors, still eyeing the room around him cautiously as if somebody were about to jump out and attack him.
When he was about to open one of the heavy looking doors, his heart almost stopped ,and for a moment, he didn’t dare turn his head properly. The low table he’d spotted from the bed contained not only the vase and flowers, but also a small pedestal on which a single wand was lying. However, as familiar as this wand was to him, it was not his. Not anymore.
Slowly he reached out for it, his fingers resting momentarily just an inch above the dark wood before his hand closed around the handle. The familiar tingle of wand finding owner soared through his body, leaving his toes and fingers tingling in the afterglow. A shaky breath escaped him as he pointed the wand at the small table. He gave it a quick swish and flick and even though he had expected it, his heart still skipped a beat in surprise when it actually floated upward somewhat. Lowering the table back towards the ground - the vase and flowers shaking a bit with the movement - his eyes rested once more upon the pale and slender hand holding the wand that wasn’t supposed to be his, but felt and obeyed him as if it were. As if he’d never returned it to its rightful owner. As if he’d never sent it back to Draco Malfoy.
Heart beating fast, he took another good look around the room, the wand still clutched tightly in his hand. He raised his free one towards his face and gently touched it, before letting it move through the too-soft strands of hair. Extracting a single one, he held it up close to his face, examining it: blond. With his heartbeat now very present in the back of his throat, he looked around for a mirror, already knowing he wouldn’t be finding one inside the room. He turned and pushed open the door, exiting and looking around. He was in a hallway now, facing a wall going up into an arched ceiling. Taking what he hoped would be a lucky guess, he turned left and started walking, trying one random door after another, finding nothing but what looked like guestrooms, empty chambers or locked ways.
'Finally,' he mumbled as he turned another corner, the somewhat familiar voice unsettling him. He spotted what looked like the side of a large frame containing an equally large mirror against the right wall of the passage he was now walking through, and moved towards it.
Reaching his destination in three quick strides he stopped right before he entered the mirror’s direct reflection, doubting, not sure he would be willing to accept what he would see.
He turned and looked back the way he came. Cursing under his breath and deciding he hadn’t saved the world by waiting or running, he scrunched his eyes closed and stepped in front of the polished metal.
Harry balled his free hand tightly into a fist, his fingernails digging into soft skin, and forced himself to open at least one of his eyes.
He didn’t move as the realisation of the situation slowly sank in, nor was he sure he was still breathing. He tried to swallow, but failed, his mouth too dry to produce any more saliva. He knew he had expected something of the sort, but the confirmation of what had actually happened to him was, for a moment or so, too much to process. Approaching the mirror further, he touched the cold glass with his fingertips, watching Draco Malfoy’s reflection do the same.
'No,' he heard and saw himself whisper as his eyes, Malfoy’s eyes, found the Malfoy in the mirror. 'No…'
He pinched himself once, hard. Wincing, he rubbed the now sore spot and once more cursed under his breath. A soft blush crept up into his cheeks when he heard himself in the unaccustomed accent. He sighed deeply before taking another quick glance in the mirror and deciding it was time for a shower. If he could find one…
*
Harry didn’t know if it took him fifteen minutes, half an hour, or an hour, but when he finally entered the bathroom he couldn’t believe his eyes. As if the Manor - where he figured by now he must be - was trying to outdo itself, this room appeared even bigger than any of the other rooms he had encountered so far on his trip through the mansion. The floor, walls and ceiling appeared to be made out of one piece of brilliant cream-coloured marble, a tub as big as a small swimming pool gleamed golden in the middle of it all, with at least a dozen or so taps around its edges. Exotic plants like the flowers he’d seen in Malfoy’s room adorned every corner of the bathroom, and if that wasn’t enough, a beam of bright sunlight shone in through a single ceiling window, giving the whole room an even more magical glow than it already had.
He approached the tub, discarding his pyjama bottoms while doing so, and noticed there wasn’t anything to turn the many tabs on with.
'Er,' he said to the empty room and, not sure what to do, pointed his… Malfoy’s wand at one of them. He looked over his shoulder as if to make sure nobody could hear him. 'Water,' he tried, and when that didn’t immediately yield a result, he added, ‘please.’
One of the golden taps immediately started spouting water, however, no steam seemed to come off it. Curious Harry moved closer and upon holding his hand underneath the stream he found the water to be cold as ice.
‘So, no warm water then,’ he said, slightly annoyed. To his surprise, the first tap stopped, while another one opened, this time releasing a steaming hot stream.
Harry frowned and looked from the now flowing tap to the wand in his hand and back. He hadn’t raised it and was now wondering… Leaving the wand on the edge of the tub, he stepped into the water. Warmth engulfed him and he closed his eyes, relishing the moment. As the tub filled itself all the way to the rim, Harry let himself go down under the surface. When he came back up he wondered, just fleetingly, about bath soap. He hadn’t even finished the thought when another couple of taps turned on, this time erupting in nothing but bubbles, foam and musky scents. The whole bathroom reminded him somewhat of the Prefects’ bathroom at Hogwarts, except this was a lot nicer as there was no Moaning Myrtle around to come peeking at him, nor the pressure of an egg he needed to figure out.
After being thoroughly soaked and wrinkled, he stepped out of the tub, looking around for something to dry himself with. However, as he did so, a nice and warm wind started blowing and before he knew it he was completely dry. Wondering about the mysterious magic at work, he spotted a bathrobe hanging on a peg against one of the walls. The fabric was as soft as anything he’d ever felt, and for a moment a tinge of jealousy took over as he realised that this was where Malfoy had grown up. Putting the thought away quickly, he tightened the robe around himself and prayed that he’d be able to find the room he’d woken up in earlier that morning, because he was in desperate need of something to wear.
*
Once fully dressed, Harry attempted to make his way downstairs, which proved to be a lot easier than finding a proper mirror or bathroom in the maze the Malfoys called a home. At least, that’s what he thought. Now that he didn’t seem to need one anymore, mirrors appeared everywhere around the many corridors and rooms. Relatively fed up with the place, he descended another one of the stone staircases found throughout the house, hoping he was somewhat closer to the entrance than when he’d started. He was planning on paying himself, or at least his body, a visit as fast as he could. Rummaging through Malfoy’s many possible outfits and hair products, he’d realised that if he had been put in Malfoy’s body, then Malfoy would’ve surely been put into his... something he would rather not think about.
As he turned another corner, he imagined it would probably be smart to get a hold of Ron, Hermione, Kingsley and the Order as fast as he could, and made a mental note to stop by either one of them on his way back from Grimmauld Place. He paused briefly as a soft and pleasant sounding chiming rang through the house, followed by a very heavy door opening and muffled voices. He must really be close to the entrance then, he thought, and was about to quicken his step when he heard the clearing of a throat.
‘Mr Malfoy is requested in the drawing room.’
A man, which Harry could only assume to be some sort of a wizarding butler, was standing in front of him, clad in deep grey robes with a white shirt, the collar popped up high and held together with a single, slim, black tie that disappeared back behind a silver clasp and into his robes.
Harry hesitated a moment before answering, uncertain what to say or what to do, the sudden realisation hitting him that Malfoy probably had some kind of etiquette with which he would treat his… servants? The word sounded odd to Harry’s own thoughts.
‘I…,’ he started before hesitating again. ‘I’ll be there shortly, thanks.’ The last word had escaped him before he had been able to stop himself.
The man raised and dropped his eyebrows so quickly, Harry was sure he’d imagined it.
‘Very well, then,’ the man said before giving a curt bow and moving back down the stairs he’d come up.
Having no idea where he could find the drawing room, Harry followed the man down until - at last - he found himself in what looked like the entrance hall. As he’d only been in the Manor once before, the odd feeling of déjà-vu that hit him once he had descended the last stone step was almost overwhelming. Shivering, he tried to shake off the wary feeling as he followed a set of voices into the nearest room.
The sight that welcomed him was something that made him want to turn around and walk back out as fast as he’d entered. There were two people waiting for him, both situated on one of the many pieces of furniture in the room. They were both very familiar to Harry, clad in full Auror robes, and completely expected to be present, as they were there upon Ministry procedure.
‘Ah, Mr Malfoy,’ the first one, an Auror named Zanna - a slim woman with a long neck and auburn hair cut in a short bob - said, ‘a true pleasure you could join us.’
The second one, a Hit-Wizard and Zanna’s assistant, smiled almost maniacally. Harry knew that both of them shared, like many of the Aurors and Hit-Wizards within the Ministry of Magic, a great dislike for the Malfoys. Especially because Narcissa Malfoy and Draco Malfoy still walked free, mostly because of him.
‘Why don’t you take a seat?’ Zanna offered. Realising he hadn’t moved since his eyes had fallen upon his colleagues, Harry moved to the sofa opposite the pair and, rather uncomfortably, sat down.
‘Very well,’ she continued and took a slim paper scroll out from the inside pocket of her robes. ‘As you might have guessed, we are here today concerning your father’s upcoming trial.’ She let the words linger in the air for a moment, her stare so piercing it felt as if she were waiting for a reaction.
‘Right,’ Harry said nervously and cleared his throat. ‘Would you err… like something to drink?’
Not entirely certain where exactly he’d be able to get said drinks, he rose, but Zanna interrupted him.
‘That won’t be necessary. We don’t intend to take long.’
Good, Harry thought, feeling slightly better. The less chance of suspicious behavior from Malfoy’s side, the better his chances at reaching Grimmauld Place.
Zanna slowly unrolled the scroll and cleared her throat. ‘A mutual decision has been reached between the Minister for Magic, in this case Minister Shacklebolt, and the Wizengamot, to move the trial of Lucius Abraxas Malfoy forward with… Mr Malfoy, are you sure you are all right?’
Zanna and Maurice, the Hit-Wizard, were both eying him curiously now. Harry however, didn’t seem to notice. A sudden realisation had hit him, and he was staring wide-eyed at the wall behind the two Ministry’s officials.
‘I’m not allowed to leave the house.’ His voice was almost inaudible, even to himself.
‘What was that?’ Zanna asked him.
Harry swallowed past the lump in his throat and forced his gaze away from the spot on the wall he’d been focusing upon.
‘I...’ he started, but stopped. What was he going to say? Malfoy knew he wasn’t allowed out, and he’d already broken the rules the day before. To only come to terms with his punishment now would not only be strange, but also very suspicious.
‘No, er...’ he said and quickly shook his head. ‘Sorry, I was… yeah. Please continue.’
Zanna gave him a single look over before slowly redirecting her concentration back to the scroll.
‘As I was saying,’ she continued, ‘the trial of Lucius Abraxas Malfoy will be moved forward roughly -’
Since he’d heard all of this before, having discussed it with Kingsley just yesterday, Harry let his thoughts roam for a moment. If he wasn’t allowed to leave the house, how was he supposed to reach Ron and Hermione, and more importantly even, how was he supposed to reach himself? He didn’t like to admit it, but the power Malfoy would have at the Ministry being Harry Potter… Harry refused to think about the possible consequences a vengeful Draco Malfoy set loose on the Ministry could bring.
When he heard the scroll being rolled back up, his attention snapped back to the conversation.
‘Now,’ Zanna spoke once more, ‘we would like another word with your mother.’
‘My mother?’ Harry croaked. The words sounded strange coming from him, and not only because they were being uttered in a voice not his own.
‘The one and only.’ Zanna now sounded almost sarcastic.
‘She is otherwise engaged at the moment.’ It had been the only thing Harry had been able to think of to say. Where exactly was Malfoy’s mother? He’d hardly been able to find his own bedroom, never mind hers, or any other unknown or unexplored room at that.
Maurice grunted as Zanna raised her eyebrows so disbelievingly it would’ve made Malfoy himself jealous.
‘Otherwise engaged?’ she repeated cynically.
‘Yes,’ and thinking quickly, he added, ‘but thank you for stopping by, it was most enlightening.’ Showing what he hoped would be one of Malfoy’s more charming smiles, he got up, a not so subtle hint that the conversation was now over.
Not being used to this kind of treatment, Zanna’s nostrils flared dangerously, and for a moment Harry thought he saw her wand hand twitch in anticipation. Harry had heard before that even during her Auror training, Zanna had had problems controlling her temper, and he wondered if this was the moment he’d actually witness it first hand.
As no wand was drawn, though, Harry released a shaky breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding, feeling the tension hang in the air.
‘Very well,’ she said as she got up, Maurice following her movement.
She made her way across the room towards the door but stopped before exiting, looking back over her shoulder.
‘I’d like you to know, however, Mr Malfoy,’ she said, nearly spitting out the name this time, ‘that you disobeyed restriction 11B of the disciplinary conditions the Wizengamot have set you.’ She paused. ‘Next time we’re getting notified of your disobedience, don’t expect us to be so… tolerable.’ And with that she turned away a final time and stalked out of the room.
*
After having paced the room for roughly an hour after his two colleagues had departed, Harry decided he would leave the Manor and pay a visit to his own body one way or another. He just had to figure out how to do it. If only there were a way he could reach Kingsley and explain the situation…
Of course! he thought after another moment. Something had just dawned on him. The way the wards worked was through constant detection of the magic of the two of them; his and Mrs Malfoy’s. If he could just make sure his magic was still present at the Manor while he was gone…
He stopped mid-pace. But if he had, as Zanna had put it, disobeyed restriction 11B then why hadn’t they come running after Malfoy the moment they’d noticed him Apparate away from the Manor in search for Harry?
‘They didn’t notice.’
‘What didn’t they notice, dear?’ the big portrait above the mantelpiece asked him. Harry looked up and saw he was staring straight into the grey eyes of what must be a female member of Lucius’ side of the family. Her skin was pale and her eyes and hair so light they looked almost like a mixture between liquid silver and liquid gold. Her posture was straight and rigid as she was sitting in the portrait’s chair, her hands folded neatly in her lap, resting upon a very heavy, old and expensive-looking olive-coloured dress. He gave her an awkward smile as she pursed her lips at him, apparently not appreciating being ignored.
Harry had no time to think about that now, though. Zanna had been bluffing, or so he hoped, and as long as the Ministry wouldn’t get an alert of anybody walking through the wards or Disapparating within the house… and surely, with so many house-elves around...
He looked quickly around the room. There, on the table, were two round glasses and a bottle of amber coloured liquid. Those won’t do, he thought almost absentmindedly as he started rummaging through an almost antique-looking cabinet. He extracted a book at random, pointed his wand at it and prayed to anybody who might be willing to listen that he wouldn’t mess up the spell.
*
He’d been afraid for a moment he wouldn’t be able to see Grimmauld Place, being stuck in the body of Draco Malfoy, but once the weird sensation of using a Portkey had subsided and he’d raised his eyes to see the old and battered-down front door of the place, he let out a long and shaky breath. Picking up the book from the wet grass of the park across the street, he started walking, hoping that Malfoy and his body were still safely at home.
He needn’t have worried. The moment he approached the door, it opened, and a very familiar arm shot out and roughly dragged him inside.
As he was slammed against the wall, he noted the deep black circles under his own eyes and decided that - once this whole ordeal was figured out and over- he would definitely be needing to get more sleep from that moment on.
‘I don’t know what it is you did,’ Draco spat at him in an angry hiss, ‘but you better undo it right this instant!’ He was breathing heavily, some spit escaping his mouth with each ragged exhalation.
Harry threw a nervous glance at the luckily still-covered portrait of Mrs Black on the wall. ‘What I did?!’ he whispered. ‘I didn’t do anything, you dimwitted prat.’ But before he continued, he wrenched himself loose from Malfoy’s grip and stalked passed the portrait and into the kitchen, closing the door behind them when Malfoy had followed him inside.
Both men stood there for a while, angrily staring at each other and at themselves. In the end it was Harry who broke the silence. ‘So that’s what you’re trying to do, then, blame it on me so you’ll look all innocent? Well I’m not buying any of it, Malfoy.’
‘Very funny,’ Malfoy retorted and sneered, something that just didn’t seem as effective as it would’ve been on his own face.
‘Funny? Hardly,’ Harry said. ‘You do realise you were seen yesterday, right? Zanna… Two officials from the Ministry came by your house earlier today to tell me that if they noticed me out of the house again, I’d be in serious trouble.’
He had to admit that it hadn’t been exactly what Zanna had said, but being “less tolerable” couldn’t be anything good either. And wouldn’t it just be perfect for Malfoy to have him locked away…
‘It seems you have as much respect for the rules as you had in school, then,’ said Malfoy. ‘One would think the Saviour of the wizarding world,’ the words were spoken with as much disdain as he had ever heard anybody else say them, and that included Snape, ‘would be a little more… careful. What would the public think if they found out about this, for example?’
Harry nearly growled. How could he have ever felt even remotely sorry for the blond git? ‘Is that a threat, Malfoy?’
‘It might just well be,’ Malfoy said, eyes twinkling dangerously.
Harry whipped out his wand so fast that Malfoy took a few steps back in surprise. ‘As it happens,’ Harry said, anger rising in his chest, ‘I don’t take lightly to threats.’ He paused, considering the many spells he could possibly use on Malfoy to make him talk.
‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you,’ Malfoy said. His voice croaked a little but the determination in his eyes was visible. When Harry saw Malfoy’s wand hand twitch, he raised his own just a little higher, pointing it straight at the spot between Malfoy’s… or well, his own eyes.
‘And why not?’ Harry wanted to know, trying to sound threatening but, still unused to the voice and the accent, not sure if he’d completely managed to pull it off.
Malfoy exhaled sharply. ‘I might just make a little trip to the Ministry, then,’ he said. ‘See what power lies in the hands of the famous Harry Potter. What would Kingsley think if I issued the release of my father, for example?’
‘You wouldn’t...’ The wand Harry was still pointing firmly at Malfoy’s eyes faltered slightly.
‘Oh, I would,’ Malfoy assured him. An almost mad grin appeared on his face, something that did not suit him at all, Harry thought.
‘You know that would be suspicious. I’d never do anything like it,’ Harry said, ‘and if I tell Kingsley what’s happened...’
‘That’s what I thought, too, initially, when I woke up and saw your face instead of mine in one of the mirrors of this godforsaken place, but now that I think about it… would they really dare question the almighty opinion of the Saviour?’ Malfoy took a step forward, until the wand pointed at him nearly touched his forehead. ‘After all, my mother and I are still walking free, even though I’m sure most of the Ministry would like to see us locked up as fast and as far away as possible.’
‘Well, then, I think it is time for me to have a little chat with your mum, don’t you think?’
Instantly the grin that had previously contorted Malfoy’s face so unpleasantly disappeared. ‘Don’t you dare,’ he whispered.
‘Why’s that?’ Harry asked, knowing he’d hit a sore spot and intending on abusing it as much as he could. He wanted a reaction from Malfoy, he wanted him to talk, to spill what he’d done to them. And if this was the way to do it... ‘Not so keen on having me talk to your dear mother?’ It was his time to grin now, but unlike Malfoy’s almost mad one, his was more of a smirk.
‘Don’t you dare involve her in this, Potter!’ Malfoy spat at him, nostrils flared. He summoned his wand from beneath the robes he was wearing and pointed it back at Harry.
‘Try me,’ Harry said, smirk still firmly in place.
‘Get out.’ Once more, Malfoy’s voice returned to a mere whisper, but instead of angry he looked oddly emotionless, like the calm before the storm.
‘You can’t throw me out of my own house, you -’
‘I said, GET OUT!’
The blast was so strong Harry was thrown backwards through the kitchen, hallway and front door where he rolled off the stone steps and into the street. Groaning, he looked up to see a very white-faced Harry Potter stare back at him from the doorframe, wide-eyed and wand at his side, before he turned back around and slammed the door shut with a hard blow, muting the sounds of an absolutely enraged Mrs Black.
Still on all fours, Harry let his head hang for a second before trying to get up. Another groan escaped him as a nasty stinging in his side almost made him fall over again. He had expected a lot of things, but not this. Where had Malfoy learned to blast people away like that, anyway?
Carefully getting up, he looked around himself. He blinked, and almost straight away, something strange happened. As his head turned, it felt as if he had once more stepped into a thick-feeling substance. His mind seemed to buzz at the same speed it always had, but his body refused to move with him. When his eyes fell on a tree at the entrance of the park facing number twelve Grimmauld Place, he noticed the man standing there. Purple trousers and coat, white shirt tucked into it and the most polished, pointy shoes he’d ever seen. Slowly, the man raised the rim of his high top hat, just like he’d done last time, and, pursing his lips at Harry, waggled a single finger at him. Harry could almost hear the tutting sounds the man must be making.
He tried to open his mouth to say something, tried to move forward, even tried to raise his wand, but his body simply wouldn’t obey him. Feeling his eyelids slowly close again, he screamed in his mind, frustrated to boiling point.
Still in the middle of trying to move forward, he stumbled and nearly fell flat on his face when time seemed to speed back up again. Barely catching himself from hitting the ground, he stood up straight and looked around, straining to keep his eyes open. The man was gone.
*
So Malfoy was afraid he’d hurt his mother then, Harry thought as he slowly made his way back up one of the Manor’s bigger stairways. His first instinct after he’d encountered the man with the top hat a second time - Harry had no other name for him at the moment - was to go straight to Ron and Hermione, but he had decided against it. He could imagine very well what it would be like for him, having a Draco Malfoy on his doorstep who was trying to convince him he was Ron. He’d probably think it a sick joke and send him home with a nasty Stinging Hex or two. No, he would have to convince them - and Kingsley - of what had happened first before actually going to face them, and for that, he needed answers.
Encountering nobody on his way there, he was finally able to find the library of the Manor, having guessed correctly - and happily so - that a house like this, if you could call a house this size still a house, simply couldn’t not have a library.
By the looks of it, he was roughly on the second floor of the place, and probably nearer the East Wing than anywhere else. As he slowly walked through the small corridors, all surrounded by the many bookcases the library held, he took in the small fortune of books present. He wondered where to start. Hermione would’ve probably been able to give him at least one suggestion, but as he wasn’t able to reach her at the moment, he would have to do without her advice for now.
He figured, though, that of all the libraries in England, the Malfoy library was probably the one to find out more about this kind of rare - and possible even dark - magic. Yet something bothered him: Malfoy had honestly been aggravated by what had happened, almost as much as Harry was.
Turning around another bookcase, he encountered a large, dark wooden desk in the middle of something he couldn’t describe as anything else but a clearing. Books of every colour and size were stacked around it in a wide circle, making the desk and the chair behind it resemble some kind of librarian throne. On the right corner of the desk stood a lit oil lamp, emitting a soft but warm glow. As Harry approached it he noticed the many pieces of parchment lying over one another. He sat down and picked up a random one. Noticing it was mostly figures and numbers, he quickly put it back down again, deciding that it wasn’t going to make him any wiser, and picked up another one - finding only more figures. Another one - numbers. Yet another - again only rows and rows of what seemed like endless and senseless calculations. Was that what Malfoy did in his free time, then?
Harry tiredly rubbed his face. His side was still stinging from the hard blow he’d received earlier, his head still somewhat heavy from his encounter with the man in the top hat. Sighing, he began going through more of the papers, disregarding most of them and throwing them aside. Finally, he found an unwritten scratch of parchment. Opening up the main drawer of the desk, he extracted what looked like a very expensive Eagle feather and a bottle of ink. He opened it, dipped the feather inside and started writing.
The Man in the Top Hat
He thought for a moment before continuing, deciding his best course of action was to make a list of everything he knew for sure, but he came up with very little. Had time slowed down because of the strange man, or had Harry merely been tired? The first time, like both Ron and Hermione had insisted, he had felt sick, and the second time he’d been hit with a very strong hex, almost knocking him out cold. Surely… He shook his head and, figuring it wouldn’t do much harm, noted it down anyway.
Time slows down
The next thing to think about was what had happened between him and Malfoy. He wouldn’t like to think the two - or three - things were related, but in the wizarding world, Harry had learned, you should never assume otherwise. And so the body swap also made it to the list.
Observing his own handwriting, he sighed again. The man could wait, at least for now. The most important thing was the problem of the body swap, so that was what he was going to research. If he did - surprisingly so - encounter any texts or book about the mysterious man, he would be very happy, but until that time, he’d probably just try to forget about it. If he was really honest with himself, the man kind of gave him the chills. He got up, took another good look around to memorise where in the library he was, put the piece of parchment in the pocket of his trousers just in case, and set off in search of any books about cases in which the victims had exchanged their bodies.
With Curious Cases of Magic through the Ages, A History of Extraordinary Hexes and Spells and The Encyclopedia of Magic: From Accio to Wingardium Leviosa under his arm, he returned to the desk, cleared the last pieces of parchment off it, opened up the first book and started reading.
*
Harry awoke with a start. Not sure what had caused it, he raised his wand, lighting it with a quick flick. The oil lamp on the desk had long gone out, and since the sun had set what seemed like many hours ago, the library was completely dark. Reckoning it was probably around 2 or 3 am, he lifted his wand higher to light as much of the path in front of him as possible and set out to find Malfoy’s bedroom.
Again he walked through corridors, hallways and empty rooms, finding himself - more than once - in a spot he’d already been. When he finally managed to find the double doors leading into the unfamiliar chamber, the sun was once again up and shining.
Chapter 3: The Secrets of Draco Malfoy
Recipient/Trope: Bodyswap for
gatewaygirlUsername:
lordesBetas:
amorettePairings: Harry/Draco. Mentions of: Harry/Ginny, Ron/Hermione, Draco/Astoria, Draco/Blaise, Ginny/Oliver.
Characters: Harry, Draco, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, George, Arthur, Molly, Kingsley, Hawkes Hawlish, Auror Williamson, Lucius Malfoy, Narcissa Malfoy, Voldemort, Bellatrix, Nott, Avery, Gawain Robarts, original characters. Mentions of: Luna, Umbridge, Blaise, Oliver, Astoria.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Rating: R
Warnings: Suggestive M/M relationship, original characters, unexplainable magic, hurt.
Word Count: 46 000
This Chapter: 6017
Summary: When Harry is approached for a favour by Draco Malfoy at the Ministry of Magic, only in his wildest dreams can he imagine what will await him in the morning to come; and when a mysterious man in a top hat appears, Harry fears he might be losing his mind. With his friends by his side and a very troubled Minister, Harry is desperate to find a solution for his blond problem as fast as he can - only that might prove more difficult than he initially expects. As he slowly gets immersed in a life so unlike his own, Harry comes to realise not everything is as black and white as he thought it was, and that the bad guy might not be the bad guy after all.
Author’S Notes: Originally written for the HD TROPES Fic Exchange, 2014
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An Unwelcome Awakening
Something was off.
A soft breeze flowed through his hair, and as he moved, a pillow far softer than the one he had got used to over the past year at Grimmauld Place moved under his cheek. Harry opened his eyes and blinked heavily against the bright morning sun. A morning sun coming from a window on a side of the room where no window should be. A window which was in a room far bigger than the one he should have woken up in. As he reached out for his glasses, he found nothing but more soft pillows and heavy covers. He rubbed his eyes hard and blinked again a few times. Everything was so clear. So perfectly clear and crisp and bright and visible. He let out a soft gasp and raised a hand in front of his face. Waving it back and forth, he smiled at the clear image . However, his smile soon turned into a scowl when he realised that he was seeing not his own, but a far slimmer, far paler hand move in front of his eyes. Sitting up in the king-sized bed, he took a good look around himself. The room was large and round. The bed he had woken up in was facing a ceiling-high, wooden double-door. On the left of this door stood a low table on which a very heavy-looking vase was resting, containing a bouquet of the most beautiful and exotic flowers he’d ever seen. On both sides of the bed were a set of bedside tables and - just like the double door - ceiling-high windows. In front of these windows hung thick, golden-brown curtains that flowed in an arch back halfway to the floor where they were gathered by a black strap to the wall. Harry had no memory of ever being in a room like this, nor coming to one the night before. Harry got out of the bed, carefully, even though he wasn’t sure what he was being careful of, and walked around the room in search for his wand. The bedside tables were empty save for a few books he didn’t recognise, and since his clothes were nowhere to be seen save for the unfamiliar pyjama bottoms he was wearing, he had no idea where his wand could be. He swallowed hard, trying to get past the lump now forming in his throat. Where was he? He moved towards the bedroom doors, still eyeing the room around him cautiously as if somebody were about to jump out and attack him.
When he was about to open one of the heavy looking doors, his heart almost stopped ,and for a moment, he didn’t dare turn his head properly. The low table he’d spotted from the bed contained not only the vase and flowers, but also a small pedestal on which a single wand was lying. However, as familiar as this wand was to him, it was not his. Not anymore.
Slowly he reached out for it, his fingers resting momentarily just an inch above the dark wood before his hand closed around the handle. The familiar tingle of wand finding owner soared through his body, leaving his toes and fingers tingling in the afterglow. A shaky breath escaped him as he pointed the wand at the small table. He gave it a quick swish and flick and even though he had expected it, his heart still skipped a beat in surprise when it actually floated upward somewhat. Lowering the table back towards the ground - the vase and flowers shaking a bit with the movement - his eyes rested once more upon the pale and slender hand holding the wand that wasn’t supposed to be his, but felt and obeyed him as if it were. As if he’d never returned it to its rightful owner. As if he’d never sent it back to Draco Malfoy.
Heart beating fast, he took another good look around the room, the wand still clutched tightly in his hand. He raised his free one towards his face and gently touched it, before letting it move through the too-soft strands of hair. Extracting a single one, he held it up close to his face, examining it: blond. With his heartbeat now very present in the back of his throat, he looked around for a mirror, already knowing he wouldn’t be finding one inside the room. He turned and pushed open the door, exiting and looking around. He was in a hallway now, facing a wall going up into an arched ceiling. Taking what he hoped would be a lucky guess, he turned left and started walking, trying one random door after another, finding nothing but what looked like guestrooms, empty chambers or locked ways.
'Finally,' he mumbled as he turned another corner, the somewhat familiar voice unsettling him. He spotted what looked like the side of a large frame containing an equally large mirror against the right wall of the passage he was now walking through, and moved towards it.
Reaching his destination in three quick strides he stopped right before he entered the mirror’s direct reflection, doubting, not sure he would be willing to accept what he would see.
He turned and looked back the way he came. Cursing under his breath and deciding he hadn’t saved the world by waiting or running, he scrunched his eyes closed and stepped in front of the polished metal.
Harry balled his free hand tightly into a fist, his fingernails digging into soft skin, and forced himself to open at least one of his eyes.
He didn’t move as the realisation of the situation slowly sank in, nor was he sure he was still breathing. He tried to swallow, but failed, his mouth too dry to produce any more saliva. He knew he had expected something of the sort, but the confirmation of what had actually happened to him was, for a moment or so, too much to process. Approaching the mirror further, he touched the cold glass with his fingertips, watching Draco Malfoy’s reflection do the same.
'No,' he heard and saw himself whisper as his eyes, Malfoy’s eyes, found the Malfoy in the mirror. 'No…'
He pinched himself once, hard. Wincing, he rubbed the now sore spot and once more cursed under his breath. A soft blush crept up into his cheeks when he heard himself in the unaccustomed accent. He sighed deeply before taking another quick glance in the mirror and deciding it was time for a shower. If he could find one…
Harry didn’t know if it took him fifteen minutes, half an hour, or an hour, but when he finally entered the bathroom he couldn’t believe his eyes. As if the Manor - where he figured by now he must be - was trying to outdo itself, this room appeared even bigger than any of the other rooms he had encountered so far on his trip through the mansion. The floor, walls and ceiling appeared to be made out of one piece of brilliant cream-coloured marble, a tub as big as a small swimming pool gleamed golden in the middle of it all, with at least a dozen or so taps around its edges. Exotic plants like the flowers he’d seen in Malfoy’s room adorned every corner of the bathroom, and if that wasn’t enough, a beam of bright sunlight shone in through a single ceiling window, giving the whole room an even more magical glow than it already had.
He approached the tub, discarding his pyjama bottoms while doing so, and noticed there wasn’t anything to turn the many tabs on with.
'Er,' he said to the empty room and, not sure what to do, pointed his… Malfoy’s wand at one of them. He looked over his shoulder as if to make sure nobody could hear him. 'Water,' he tried, and when that didn’t immediately yield a result, he added, ‘please.’
One of the golden taps immediately started spouting water, however, no steam seemed to come off it. Curious Harry moved closer and upon holding his hand underneath the stream he found the water to be cold as ice.
‘So, no warm water then,’ he said, slightly annoyed. To his surprise, the first tap stopped, while another one opened, this time releasing a steaming hot stream.
Harry frowned and looked from the now flowing tap to the wand in his hand and back. He hadn’t raised it and was now wondering… Leaving the wand on the edge of the tub, he stepped into the water. Warmth engulfed him and he closed his eyes, relishing the moment. As the tub filled itself all the way to the rim, Harry let himself go down under the surface. When he came back up he wondered, just fleetingly, about bath soap. He hadn’t even finished the thought when another couple of taps turned on, this time erupting in nothing but bubbles, foam and musky scents. The whole bathroom reminded him somewhat of the Prefects’ bathroom at Hogwarts, except this was a lot nicer as there was no Moaning Myrtle around to come peeking at him, nor the pressure of an egg he needed to figure out.
After being thoroughly soaked and wrinkled, he stepped out of the tub, looking around for something to dry himself with. However, as he did so, a nice and warm wind started blowing and before he knew it he was completely dry. Wondering about the mysterious magic at work, he spotted a bathrobe hanging on a peg against one of the walls. The fabric was as soft as anything he’d ever felt, and for a moment a tinge of jealousy took over as he realised that this was where Malfoy had grown up. Putting the thought away quickly, he tightened the robe around himself and prayed that he’d be able to find the room he’d woken up in earlier that morning, because he was in desperate need of something to wear.
Once fully dressed, Harry attempted to make his way downstairs, which proved to be a lot easier than finding a proper mirror or bathroom in the maze the Malfoys called a home. At least, that’s what he thought. Now that he didn’t seem to need one anymore, mirrors appeared everywhere around the many corridors and rooms. Relatively fed up with the place, he descended another one of the stone staircases found throughout the house, hoping he was somewhat closer to the entrance than when he’d started. He was planning on paying himself, or at least his body, a visit as fast as he could. Rummaging through Malfoy’s many possible outfits and hair products, he’d realised that if he had been put in Malfoy’s body, then Malfoy would’ve surely been put into his... something he would rather not think about.
As he turned another corner, he imagined it would probably be smart to get a hold of Ron, Hermione, Kingsley and the Order as fast as he could, and made a mental note to stop by either one of them on his way back from Grimmauld Place. He paused briefly as a soft and pleasant sounding chiming rang through the house, followed by a very heavy door opening and muffled voices. He must really be close to the entrance then, he thought, and was about to quicken his step when he heard the clearing of a throat.
‘Mr Malfoy is requested in the drawing room.’
A man, which Harry could only assume to be some sort of a wizarding butler, was standing in front of him, clad in deep grey robes with a white shirt, the collar popped up high and held together with a single, slim, black tie that disappeared back behind a silver clasp and into his robes.
Harry hesitated a moment before answering, uncertain what to say or what to do, the sudden realisation hitting him that Malfoy probably had some kind of etiquette with which he would treat his… servants? The word sounded odd to Harry’s own thoughts.
‘I…,’ he started before hesitating again. ‘I’ll be there shortly, thanks.’ The last word had escaped him before he had been able to stop himself.
The man raised and dropped his eyebrows so quickly, Harry was sure he’d imagined it.
‘Very well, then,’ the man said before giving a curt bow and moving back down the stairs he’d come up.
Having no idea where he could find the drawing room, Harry followed the man down until - at last - he found himself in what looked like the entrance hall. As he’d only been in the Manor once before, the odd feeling of déjà-vu that hit him once he had descended the last stone step was almost overwhelming. Shivering, he tried to shake off the wary feeling as he followed a set of voices into the nearest room.
The sight that welcomed him was something that made him want to turn around and walk back out as fast as he’d entered. There were two people waiting for him, both situated on one of the many pieces of furniture in the room. They were both very familiar to Harry, clad in full Auror robes, and completely expected to be present, as they were there upon Ministry procedure.
‘Ah, Mr Malfoy,’ the first one, an Auror named Zanna - a slim woman with a long neck and auburn hair cut in a short bob - said, ‘a true pleasure you could join us.’
The second one, a Hit-Wizard and Zanna’s assistant, smiled almost maniacally. Harry knew that both of them shared, like many of the Aurors and Hit-Wizards within the Ministry of Magic, a great dislike for the Malfoys. Especially because Narcissa Malfoy and Draco Malfoy still walked free, mostly because of him.
‘Why don’t you take a seat?’ Zanna offered. Realising he hadn’t moved since his eyes had fallen upon his colleagues, Harry moved to the sofa opposite the pair and, rather uncomfortably, sat down.
‘Very well,’ she continued and took a slim paper scroll out from the inside pocket of her robes. ‘As you might have guessed, we are here today concerning your father’s upcoming trial.’ She let the words linger in the air for a moment, her stare so piercing it felt as if she were waiting for a reaction.
‘Right,’ Harry said nervously and cleared his throat. ‘Would you err… like something to drink?’
Not entirely certain where exactly he’d be able to get said drinks, he rose, but Zanna interrupted him.
‘That won’t be necessary. We don’t intend to take long.’
Good, Harry thought, feeling slightly better. The less chance of suspicious behavior from Malfoy’s side, the better his chances at reaching Grimmauld Place.
Zanna slowly unrolled the scroll and cleared her throat. ‘A mutual decision has been reached between the Minister for Magic, in this case Minister Shacklebolt, and the Wizengamot, to move the trial of Lucius Abraxas Malfoy forward with… Mr Malfoy, are you sure you are all right?’
Zanna and Maurice, the Hit-Wizard, were both eying him curiously now. Harry however, didn’t seem to notice. A sudden realisation had hit him, and he was staring wide-eyed at the wall behind the two Ministry’s officials.
‘I’m not allowed to leave the house.’ His voice was almost inaudible, even to himself.
‘What was that?’ Zanna asked him.
Harry swallowed past the lump in his throat and forced his gaze away from the spot on the wall he’d been focusing upon.
‘I...’ he started, but stopped. What was he going to say? Malfoy knew he wasn’t allowed out, and he’d already broken the rules the day before. To only come to terms with his punishment now would not only be strange, but also very suspicious.
‘No, er...’ he said and quickly shook his head. ‘Sorry, I was… yeah. Please continue.’
Zanna gave him a single look over before slowly redirecting her concentration back to the scroll.
‘As I was saying,’ she continued, ‘the trial of Lucius Abraxas Malfoy will be moved forward roughly -’
Since he’d heard all of this before, having discussed it with Kingsley just yesterday, Harry let his thoughts roam for a moment. If he wasn’t allowed to leave the house, how was he supposed to reach Ron and Hermione, and more importantly even, how was he supposed to reach himself? He didn’t like to admit it, but the power Malfoy would have at the Ministry being Harry Potter… Harry refused to think about the possible consequences a vengeful Draco Malfoy set loose on the Ministry could bring.
When he heard the scroll being rolled back up, his attention snapped back to the conversation.
‘Now,’ Zanna spoke once more, ‘we would like another word with your mother.’
‘My mother?’ Harry croaked. The words sounded strange coming from him, and not only because they were being uttered in a voice not his own.
‘The one and only.’ Zanna now sounded almost sarcastic.
‘She is otherwise engaged at the moment.’ It had been the only thing Harry had been able to think of to say. Where exactly was Malfoy’s mother? He’d hardly been able to find his own bedroom, never mind hers, or any other unknown or unexplored room at that.
Maurice grunted as Zanna raised her eyebrows so disbelievingly it would’ve made Malfoy himself jealous.
‘Otherwise engaged?’ she repeated cynically.
‘Yes,’ and thinking quickly, he added, ‘but thank you for stopping by, it was most enlightening.’ Showing what he hoped would be one of Malfoy’s more charming smiles, he got up, a not so subtle hint that the conversation was now over.
Not being used to this kind of treatment, Zanna’s nostrils flared dangerously, and for a moment Harry thought he saw her wand hand twitch in anticipation. Harry had heard before that even during her Auror training, Zanna had had problems controlling her temper, and he wondered if this was the moment he’d actually witness it first hand.
As no wand was drawn, though, Harry released a shaky breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding, feeling the tension hang in the air.
‘Very well,’ she said as she got up, Maurice following her movement.
She made her way across the room towards the door but stopped before exiting, looking back over her shoulder.
‘I’d like you to know, however, Mr Malfoy,’ she said, nearly spitting out the name this time, ‘that you disobeyed restriction 11B of the disciplinary conditions the Wizengamot have set you.’ She paused. ‘Next time we’re getting notified of your disobedience, don’t expect us to be so… tolerable.’ And with that she turned away a final time and stalked out of the room.
After having paced the room for roughly an hour after his two colleagues had departed, Harry decided he would leave the Manor and pay a visit to his own body one way or another. He just had to figure out how to do it. If only there were a way he could reach Kingsley and explain the situation…
Of course! he thought after another moment. Something had just dawned on him. The way the wards worked was through constant detection of the magic of the two of them; his and Mrs Malfoy’s. If he could just make sure his magic was still present at the Manor while he was gone…
He stopped mid-pace. But if he had, as Zanna had put it, disobeyed restriction 11B then why hadn’t they come running after Malfoy the moment they’d noticed him Apparate away from the Manor in search for Harry?
‘They didn’t notice.’
‘What didn’t they notice, dear?’ the big portrait above the mantelpiece asked him. Harry looked up and saw he was staring straight into the grey eyes of what must be a female member of Lucius’ side of the family. Her skin was pale and her eyes and hair so light they looked almost like a mixture between liquid silver and liquid gold. Her posture was straight and rigid as she was sitting in the portrait’s chair, her hands folded neatly in her lap, resting upon a very heavy, old and expensive-looking olive-coloured dress. He gave her an awkward smile as she pursed her lips at him, apparently not appreciating being ignored.
Harry had no time to think about that now, though. Zanna had been bluffing, or so he hoped, and as long as the Ministry wouldn’t get an alert of anybody walking through the wards or Disapparating within the house… and surely, with so many house-elves around...
He looked quickly around the room. There, on the table, were two round glasses and a bottle of amber coloured liquid. Those won’t do, he thought almost absentmindedly as he started rummaging through an almost antique-looking cabinet. He extracted a book at random, pointed his wand at it and prayed to anybody who might be willing to listen that he wouldn’t mess up the spell.
He’d been afraid for a moment he wouldn’t be able to see Grimmauld Place, being stuck in the body of Draco Malfoy, but once the weird sensation of using a Portkey had subsided and he’d raised his eyes to see the old and battered-down front door of the place, he let out a long and shaky breath. Picking up the book from the wet grass of the park across the street, he started walking, hoping that Malfoy and his body were still safely at home.
He needn’t have worried. The moment he approached the door, it opened, and a very familiar arm shot out and roughly dragged him inside.
As he was slammed against the wall, he noted the deep black circles under his own eyes and decided that - once this whole ordeal was figured out and over- he would definitely be needing to get more sleep from that moment on.
‘I don’t know what it is you did,’ Draco spat at him in an angry hiss, ‘but you better undo it right this instant!’ He was breathing heavily, some spit escaping his mouth with each ragged exhalation.
Harry threw a nervous glance at the luckily still-covered portrait of Mrs Black on the wall. ‘What I did?!’ he whispered. ‘I didn’t do anything, you dimwitted prat.’ But before he continued, he wrenched himself loose from Malfoy’s grip and stalked passed the portrait and into the kitchen, closing the door behind them when Malfoy had followed him inside.
Both men stood there for a while, angrily staring at each other and at themselves. In the end it was Harry who broke the silence. ‘So that’s what you’re trying to do, then, blame it on me so you’ll look all innocent? Well I’m not buying any of it, Malfoy.’
‘Very funny,’ Malfoy retorted and sneered, something that just didn’t seem as effective as it would’ve been on his own face.
‘Funny? Hardly,’ Harry said. ‘You do realise you were seen yesterday, right? Zanna… Two officials from the Ministry came by your house earlier today to tell me that if they noticed me out of the house again, I’d be in serious trouble.’
He had to admit that it hadn’t been exactly what Zanna had said, but being “less tolerable” couldn’t be anything good either. And wouldn’t it just be perfect for Malfoy to have him locked away…
‘It seems you have as much respect for the rules as you had in school, then,’ said Malfoy. ‘One would think the Saviour of the wizarding world,’ the words were spoken with as much disdain as he had ever heard anybody else say them, and that included Snape, ‘would be a little more… careful. What would the public think if they found out about this, for example?’
Harry nearly growled. How could he have ever felt even remotely sorry for the blond git? ‘Is that a threat, Malfoy?’
‘It might just well be,’ Malfoy said, eyes twinkling dangerously.
Harry whipped out his wand so fast that Malfoy took a few steps back in surprise. ‘As it happens,’ Harry said, anger rising in his chest, ‘I don’t take lightly to threats.’ He paused, considering the many spells he could possibly use on Malfoy to make him talk.
‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you,’ Malfoy said. His voice croaked a little but the determination in his eyes was visible. When Harry saw Malfoy’s wand hand twitch, he raised his own just a little higher, pointing it straight at the spot between Malfoy’s… or well, his own eyes.
‘And why not?’ Harry wanted to know, trying to sound threatening but, still unused to the voice and the accent, not sure if he’d completely managed to pull it off.
Malfoy exhaled sharply. ‘I might just make a little trip to the Ministry, then,’ he said. ‘See what power lies in the hands of the famous Harry Potter. What would Kingsley think if I issued the release of my father, for example?’
‘You wouldn’t...’ The wand Harry was still pointing firmly at Malfoy’s eyes faltered slightly.
‘Oh, I would,’ Malfoy assured him. An almost mad grin appeared on his face, something that did not suit him at all, Harry thought.
‘You know that would be suspicious. I’d never do anything like it,’ Harry said, ‘and if I tell Kingsley what’s happened...’
‘That’s what I thought, too, initially, when I woke up and saw your face instead of mine in one of the mirrors of this godforsaken place, but now that I think about it… would they really dare question the almighty opinion of the Saviour?’ Malfoy took a step forward, until the wand pointed at him nearly touched his forehead. ‘After all, my mother and I are still walking free, even though I’m sure most of the Ministry would like to see us locked up as fast and as far away as possible.’
‘Well, then, I think it is time for me to have a little chat with your mum, don’t you think?’
Instantly the grin that had previously contorted Malfoy’s face so unpleasantly disappeared. ‘Don’t you dare,’ he whispered.
‘Why’s that?’ Harry asked, knowing he’d hit a sore spot and intending on abusing it as much as he could. He wanted a reaction from Malfoy, he wanted him to talk, to spill what he’d done to them. And if this was the way to do it... ‘Not so keen on having me talk to your dear mother?’ It was his time to grin now, but unlike Malfoy’s almost mad one, his was more of a smirk.
‘Don’t you dare involve her in this, Potter!’ Malfoy spat at him, nostrils flared. He summoned his wand from beneath the robes he was wearing and pointed it back at Harry.
‘Try me,’ Harry said, smirk still firmly in place.
‘Get out.’ Once more, Malfoy’s voice returned to a mere whisper, but instead of angry he looked oddly emotionless, like the calm before the storm.
‘You can’t throw me out of my own house, you -’
‘I said, GET OUT!’
The blast was so strong Harry was thrown backwards through the kitchen, hallway and front door where he rolled off the stone steps and into the street. Groaning, he looked up to see a very white-faced Harry Potter stare back at him from the doorframe, wide-eyed and wand at his side, before he turned back around and slammed the door shut with a hard blow, muting the sounds of an absolutely enraged Mrs Black.
Still on all fours, Harry let his head hang for a second before trying to get up. Another groan escaped him as a nasty stinging in his side almost made him fall over again. He had expected a lot of things, but not this. Where had Malfoy learned to blast people away like that, anyway?
Carefully getting up, he looked around himself. He blinked, and almost straight away, something strange happened. As his head turned, it felt as if he had once more stepped into a thick-feeling substance. His mind seemed to buzz at the same speed it always had, but his body refused to move with him. When his eyes fell on a tree at the entrance of the park facing number twelve Grimmauld Place, he noticed the man standing there. Purple trousers and coat, white shirt tucked into it and the most polished, pointy shoes he’d ever seen. Slowly, the man raised the rim of his high top hat, just like he’d done last time, and, pursing his lips at Harry, waggled a single finger at him. Harry could almost hear the tutting sounds the man must be making.
He tried to open his mouth to say something, tried to move forward, even tried to raise his wand, but his body simply wouldn’t obey him. Feeling his eyelids slowly close again, he screamed in his mind, frustrated to boiling point.
Still in the middle of trying to move forward, he stumbled and nearly fell flat on his face when time seemed to speed back up again. Barely catching himself from hitting the ground, he stood up straight and looked around, straining to keep his eyes open. The man was gone.
So Malfoy was afraid he’d hurt his mother then, Harry thought as he slowly made his way back up one of the Manor’s bigger stairways. His first instinct after he’d encountered the man with the top hat a second time - Harry had no other name for him at the moment - was to go straight to Ron and Hermione, but he had decided against it. He could imagine very well what it would be like for him, having a Draco Malfoy on his doorstep who was trying to convince him he was Ron. He’d probably think it a sick joke and send him home with a nasty Stinging Hex or two. No, he would have to convince them - and Kingsley - of what had happened first before actually going to face them, and for that, he needed answers.
Encountering nobody on his way there, he was finally able to find the library of the Manor, having guessed correctly - and happily so - that a house like this, if you could call a house this size still a house, simply couldn’t not have a library.
By the looks of it, he was roughly on the second floor of the place, and probably nearer the East Wing than anywhere else. As he slowly walked through the small corridors, all surrounded by the many bookcases the library held, he took in the small fortune of books present. He wondered where to start. Hermione would’ve probably been able to give him at least one suggestion, but as he wasn’t able to reach her at the moment, he would have to do without her advice for now.
He figured, though, that of all the libraries in England, the Malfoy library was probably the one to find out more about this kind of rare - and possible even dark - magic. Yet something bothered him: Malfoy had honestly been aggravated by what had happened, almost as much as Harry was.
Turning around another bookcase, he encountered a large, dark wooden desk in the middle of something he couldn’t describe as anything else but a clearing. Books of every colour and size were stacked around it in a wide circle, making the desk and the chair behind it resemble some kind of librarian throne. On the right corner of the desk stood a lit oil lamp, emitting a soft but warm glow. As Harry approached it he noticed the many pieces of parchment lying over one another. He sat down and picked up a random one. Noticing it was mostly figures and numbers, he quickly put it back down again, deciding that it wasn’t going to make him any wiser, and picked up another one - finding only more figures. Another one - numbers. Yet another - again only rows and rows of what seemed like endless and senseless calculations. Was that what Malfoy did in his free time, then?
Harry tiredly rubbed his face. His side was still stinging from the hard blow he’d received earlier, his head still somewhat heavy from his encounter with the man in the top hat. Sighing, he began going through more of the papers, disregarding most of them and throwing them aside. Finally, he found an unwritten scratch of parchment. Opening up the main drawer of the desk, he extracted what looked like a very expensive Eagle feather and a bottle of ink. He opened it, dipped the feather inside and started writing.
The Man in the Top Hat
He thought for a moment before continuing, deciding his best course of action was to make a list of everything he knew for sure, but he came up with very little. Had time slowed down because of the strange man, or had Harry merely been tired? The first time, like both Ron and Hermione had insisted, he had felt sick, and the second time he’d been hit with a very strong hex, almost knocking him out cold. Surely… He shook his head and, figuring it wouldn’t do much harm, noted it down anyway.
Time slows down
The next thing to think about was what had happened between him and Malfoy. He wouldn’t like to think the two - or three - things were related, but in the wizarding world, Harry had learned, you should never assume otherwise. And so the body swap also made it to the list.
Observing his own handwriting, he sighed again. The man could wait, at least for now. The most important thing was the problem of the body swap, so that was what he was going to research. If he did - surprisingly so - encounter any texts or book about the mysterious man, he would be very happy, but until that time, he’d probably just try to forget about it. If he was really honest with himself, the man kind of gave him the chills. He got up, took another good look around to memorise where in the library he was, put the piece of parchment in the pocket of his trousers just in case, and set off in search of any books about cases in which the victims had exchanged their bodies.
With Curious Cases of Magic through the Ages, A History of Extraordinary Hexes and Spells and The Encyclopedia of Magic: From Accio to Wingardium Leviosa under his arm, he returned to the desk, cleared the last pieces of parchment off it, opened up the first book and started reading.
Harry awoke with a start. Not sure what had caused it, he raised his wand, lighting it with a quick flick. The oil lamp on the desk had long gone out, and since the sun had set what seemed like many hours ago, the library was completely dark. Reckoning it was probably around 2 or 3 am, he lifted his wand higher to light as much of the path in front of him as possible and set out to find Malfoy’s bedroom.
Again he walked through corridors, hallways and empty rooms, finding himself - more than once - in a spot he’d already been. When he finally managed to find the double doors leading into the unfamiliar chamber, the sun was once again up and shining.