[Fic] Blink (5/10)
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: 3768
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 5 -
Dreams Unravelled
Kingsley had left soon after, and Harry had been unceremoniously escorted back to his cell. The second Guard had laughed cruelly when he’d shoved Harry inside, making him topple over, and Harry, still bound firmly by the shackles around his wrist and waist, had been unable to stop himself from falling flat on his face.
Once again alone, he’d resorted to counting days based on meals and the change in the colour of the light high above. He didn’t know how long he was going to have to stay, or if Kingsley had decided to believe his story, as he had not been able to stay long enough for Harry to explain - or so he had said. Neither had he seen Ron, Hermione, nor any of the others since he’d been so brutally escorted to the prison.
He shivered violently as an unnaturally cold wind swept fiercely through the corridor. Azkaban held neither beds nor blankets, and the only thing keeping him warm were the clothes he had been wearing upon arrest - which wasn’t much.
So far it had been four days, Harry knew. Four days in which the only company he’d had were Azkaban staff bringing food, Guards patrolling the hallways twice every twelve hours - often lingering at his cell door to jeer or taunt - and the strange recurring dreams. They’d started out once per night, but had quickly progressed to more. His brain, now so stuck in the body of Draco Malfoy, was slowly being filled up with - what he now knew to be for sure - fitting memories. The oddly false hope of him imagining things, maybe because he didn’t want to feel sympathy for Malfoy, or maybe because he was - however much he didn’t like to admit it - scared of what having these dreams meant, had diminished after he’d dreamt a very clear memory of Malfoy and himself in Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions which he knew had all been very real. He’d witnessed Malfoy choosing his own wand soon after, together with his parents, and had experienced the wonder he’d felt. Malfoy’s dream of becoming as strong a wizard as his father still lingered in his mind, even now that he was awake.
He had got curious about the dreams, too. At one point during his empty days he’d contemplated the purposeless feeling he’d had right after his bond with Voldemort had been broken. True, he had loathed the connection as much as he’d cherished it, but somehow the lack of a prophecy to fulfill, the lack of somebody telling him what to do, the freedom that came with that - it left him feeling oddly empty, often resulting in him pursuing adventure and dangerous adrenaline-filled situations through the Auror office. This new connection - for what it was - and exploring Draco Malfoy’s psyche, gave him a renewed feeling of sense and purpose, and he now gladly accepted the dreams into his nightly rhythm.
It was a damp morning when the same two Guards that had taken him to see Draco and Kingsley roughly a week earlier came to him again. The first, unsurprisingly so, was once again swinging the big black bat back and forth as some kind of silent threat. Harry needed none. His nose had never been healed properly, which had resulted in an ever-present dull ache in the bridge of his nose. He wondered what he looked like now, and why Malfoy hadn’t seemed to care. Or maybe his anger had been greater than his fear of damaging his own body, permanently or not. Harry couldn’t guess. He did know that it didn’t matter much, because he was going to get back inside his own body one way or another. There had to be a solution!
Harry got up as the two men approached his cell, walked back to the far end wall and turned around to face it. A familiar screeching of rusted lock and iron door told him that one of them was now inside. He didn’t move as chains and shackles were put on him, and didn’t turn until he felt the tug at his back. He followed them silently, head bent low, hoping for news, for people.
However, neither came. He was escorted out into a back room where another lock sounded and his bonds were removed. There were two Hit-Wizards waiting for him there, as it turned out, to escort him to the Ministry of Magic. Harry had obliged, glad to be free of the depressing place with its cold walls and desperate wails of distant inmates, probably still tortured by the memories of long gone Dementors and other horrors that had filled the still gloomy prison.
He wasn’t surprised when the Hit-Wizards had moved him towards Kingsley’s office. What he hadn’t been expecting was the sense of trepidation when he stepped inside of it, the familiarity of the oval room not in any way helpful or comforting.
Kingsley didn’t address him as he walked through the big double doors and merely gestured at the seat in front of his desk. Harry looked back over his shoulder, seeing that the two Hit-Wizards had been replaced by two people of Kingsley’s personal Guard; a man and a woman, both dressed in long midnight blue robes, the mark for the Ministry of Magic emblazoned in yellow on their chests and backs.
Sitting down, he looked back at his old friend, who folded his hands in front of him and fixed him with the same piercing stare he had had when they’d last talked.
It took Kingsley a relatively long time to speak, but when he did so, the words were not what Harry had imagined they would be.
‘He’s been placed under constant supervision.’
Kingsley had used a pronoun instead of one of their names.
‘Still not sure, then?’ Harry asked.
The Minister shook his head solemnly. ‘No,’ he said, ‘and we can’t be until we investigate the matter in further detail.’
‘Is he denying it?’ Harry asked. He clenched his jaw. If Malfoy was contradicting what he and the others were saying…
Kingsley took some time to answer, his gaze never leaving Harry’s. ‘He’s not,’ he finally said.
‘Then why -’
‘-am I not convinced?’ Kingsley raised his eyebrows. ‘Can you think of any spell or spells that could put us in this exact same situation without there being an actual case of the two of you swapping bodies?’
Several spells immediately came to mind and Harry hung his head slightly.
‘Is there anything I could say that could convince you at all?’ he tried finally, tired, cold and worn out, and really, really wanting to go home. Maybe have a nice cup of tea with his mother. With a shock he looked back up at Kingsley, who didn’t seem to notice. Had he really just called Narcissa Malfoy his mother? He wanted to groan. They were just dreams, he told himself. Just dreams and old memories. And Azkaban has been messing with your head. Let it go.
‘I’m afraid not,’ Kingsley answered, and for a moment Harry wasn’t sure what he was talking about.
‘So,’ Harry started. ‘Then why am I here?’ He looked back over his shoulder at the two Guard members waiting there, suddenly nervous.
‘You’re here...’ Kingsley said and, unfolding his arms, looked at Harry. It was a warm sort of look, and for the first time he got the feeling that Kingsley did want to believe him, but that he just really couldn’t. ‘Because we’re going to release you.’
Harry let out a deep sigh, closed his eyes and relaxed back into the chair. ‘Thank you,’ he whispered.
‘I must advise you, however,’ and this time Kingsley’s voice was stern, ‘to stay inside the Manor. Do not leave and do not contact anybody without Ministry approval and written,’ he waited for Harry to open his eyes to look at him before continuing, as if making sure he’d really understood, and Harry nodded once, ‘permission. This is vital for you to understand.’ Harry nodded again. ‘If you break the rules again, I’m afraid I will not be in a position to be of any help, not even as the Minister for Magic.’
‘Yes sir,’ Harry said, feeling his back muscles relax. He wasn’t going back to Azkaban. There wasn’t going to be a hearing, he wouldn’t get punished. He heard the door open and saw Kingsley give a curt nod to somebody standing behind him. He turned in his chair. The two Hit-Wizards who had dropped him off earlier had come back into the office. Harry stood up, understanding that the conversation was over.
He jumped slightly as a big hand landed on his shoulder and looked back over it to find Kingsley standing next to him. Staring intently into Harry’s now grey eyes, he squeezed once.
‘You’ll be contacted soon,’ he said before giving the Hit-Wizards orders to drop him off at the Manor. As Harry was escorted out he dared a last glance back at Kingsley, who was leaning - almost slumping - against his desk, one hand planted firmly next to him on to the surface, the other covering his face.
*
Where the Manor - prior to the happenings of the past four days - had felt cold and distant, it now felt the exact opposite: warm and inviting, almost like home.
He didn’t have to say goodbye to the men who’d escorted him there. They’d disappeared as soon as they’d entered the wards, which was fine by Harry.
Not exactly knowing what he’d be doing until Kingsley would contact him again, he turned towards the drawing room, hoping for the fire in the big fireplace to be lit and for a steaming cup of tea. He’d then shower later and get some rest in that overly soft, overly large bed of Malfoy’s. Maybe he’d even be able to ask the curious little house-elf he’d met - what had his name been again? Waldy… Wolly? Woldy, he thought - to show him the way this time, so he wouldn’t get lost again.
As lost in thought as he was, he didn’t see the woman sitting in the room when he entered until she let out a high gasp.
‘Draco!’ she exclaimed and almost jumped out of her chair, her book falling forgotten to the floor. She walked towards him and engulfed him in a tight and warm hug, one of her hands almost absentmindedly playing with his hair. He hugged her back tentatively, mixed feelings rising in his stomach.
It was her who ended the hug, but not because she had had enough of him, apparently. Putting her hands on either side of his face she just stared at him, her eyes filled with tears. ‘Oh Draco,’ she finally said, her voice nothing more than a whisper. ‘I was so very afraid. After your father...’ her voice faltered. ‘I couldn’t stand to lose you as well.’
Harry swallowed and had to tell himself that she really wasn’t his mother before he was able to speak. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, uncertain, and put his own hands over hers. She just shook her head; whether this was in disbelief or denial of his excuse, Harry didn’t know.
He let go of her hands as she dropped them. Dabbing her eyes with her fingers, she turned and picked up the book still lying open on the floor. Still with her back to him, she closed it. Harry couldn’t read the title of what she’d been reading, but he recognised the cover all too well: it was the exact same cover of the book his father had read to him every single night before going to bed until he had been old enough to go to Hogwarts.
She straightened her back. ‘Well,’ she said and turned back towards him. Her hands were white with the force with which she was clutching the bound leather. There was a smile on her lips now, but it wasn’t a warm smile, and it certainly didn’t reach her eyes the way he had got used to. ‘You sit down,’ she continued. ‘I’ll go ask Clifton if he can bring us some tea.’
As she left the room Harry shook his head. Memories were swimming in front of his eyes. When Narcissa had hugged him he’d recognised her scent so well, even though that wasn’t even remotely possible. Yet that soft aroma of flowers tinged with something else, something mysterious, had filled his nostrils and had engulfed him in a feeling of well-being, of being home, of being safe.
He let himself fall on to the bigger sofa and closed his eyes.
*
He was chasing something big and white in the backyard. The sun was high up in the sky, and a cool breeze was softly caressing his face. He laughed. One day he’d catch it, maybe when he was bigger and faster. He managed to move closer and could see it was one of the Manor’s peacocks. It turned and let out a high shriek as it waddled quickly around one of the garden’s trees.
His mother was sitting in one of the terrace’s chairs a little bit away, drinking tea and reading what looked like a newspaper. She looked up in search for him and caught his eye.
‘Leave the poor animal alone, Draco,’ she said sternly, but she couldn’t hide the smile playing on her lips.
‘What’s he doing?’ Draco heard a heavier voice say. It was his father. He looked over his shoulder and saw him approach them from the house. As Lucius passed him, he stroked over Draco’s head with one of his gloved hands before continuing towards his mother and giving her a fleeting kiss.
‘Oh, he was chasing one of the peacocks again,’ she said as she smiled up at him. ‘How was the Minister?’
He ran over to his parents and tried to climb onto his father’s knee, who picked him up beneath his arms and lifted him up easily. He settled down against the big chest, like he always did.
Lucius was slowly taking off his gloves. ‘Same old, same old,’ he said. ‘So you caught it, then?’ He ruffled Draco’s hair, who shook his head.
‘One day I will!’
‘Of course you will, dear,’ Narcissa answered him as she picked the Prophet back up and continued reading.
Harry jumped upright, a soft blanket slipping off his shoulders as he did so. With his heart beating loudly inside of his chest he looked around the room; had somebody been in there with him? Shadows were dancing on the walls in the flickering light of the lit candles. The fireplace was almost burned out, save for a few still smouldering bits of wood here and there. The portrait of the woman above it was soundly asleep. Narcissa was gone.
He slipped off the blanket completely, letting it fall back on to the couch as he got up. A cup of tea - probably stone cold by now - was still waiting for him on the coffee table.
Sighing, he decided to try and find the bedroom by himself. It was late enough for anybody to be sleeping, and no matter how much he dreaded the maze waiting for him above, it didn’t feel right to wake a house-elf for this.
However, as he ascended the last step of the big stone staircase in the entrance hall he realised that the Manor didn’t seem to look so unfamiliar to him at all, and that if he wanted to go to his bedroom, he needed to take a left turn here.
Walking steadily through the halls, he found that he already knew the way - how exactly, he did not know. It was not even a mere ten minutes later that he entered his bedroom.
With a small sigh of relief - and not willing to doubt his sudden knowledge of the place - he quickly took off his shoes, shirt and trousers and crawled into the bed.
The gravel beneath his shoes crunched as he walked steadily towards the big double doors of the Manor. There was a bite in the air and his breath was coming out in small clouds. Onwards he stalked until he reached the entrance. There he whipped out his wand and nearly blasted the doors open.
Clifton was waiting for him inside of the hall. Draco thrust his big leather travelling bag into the man’s hands and moved directly towards the dining room, where he knew he’d find his parents.
Lucius was sipping out of a goblet Draco knew contained one of the best wines, while his mother was softly conversing with him. Both of them looked up as he walked inside and slammed both of his hands on the mahogany table.
‘You look… disturbed,’ his father said as he gently put down the cup.
‘Disturbed?’ Draco fumed. ‘Disturbed?!’
‘Sit down, Draco.’
The voice took him by surprise. Looking up, he saw his mother stare directly at him. He exhaled loudly through his nose before walking to the spot opposite of her, and sat down.
She dabbed the corners of her mouth delicately with one of the napkins lying on the table. ‘Now,’ she said, ‘tell me what’s bothering you.’
Face scrunched up in a heavy scowl, he looked away from her. He couldn’t handle her gentle tones when he was angry. It made him feel calmer, and he didn’t want to feel calmer. He wanted to fume, to shout, to break things. To break…
‘It’s bloody Potter,’ he nearly spat. His mother didn’t answer. ‘He’s everywhere! It’s like I can’t get a break. Stupid Potty with his stupid scar. If the Dark Lord were here he-’
‘Draco!’
He looked back up at his mother. Her face was as white as the finest marble and her eyes - normally so kind and warm - looked like ice.
‘Do you have any idea what you’re saying?’ Her hands were quivering slightly, and she quickly hid them beneath the tablecloth. ‘Don’t you dare speak that name in this house.’
He looked from her to his father, who was staring at him without a single emotion on his face.
He grinned carefully. ‘Is this some kind of joke?’ he asked. ‘Weren’t we, one of the purest of families, as good as his right hand? Wasn’t father-’
‘That’s enough, Draco.’ This time it had been his father who’d interrupted him, his voice nothing more than a whisper. ‘Go to your room,’ he said.
‘But -’
‘I don’t think I told you that point was up for discussion’ Lucius said.
Draco stood up, angrily shoving his chair back under the table, and nearly ran out of the room. He moved through corridor after corridor, turned corners and passed doors, and then he wasn’t anymore, he was walking back towards the big stone staircase. He felt older, and the travelling clothes he’d been wearing some minutes ago were gone, replaced by the casual wear of somebody who had been home for a while.
‘You can’t do this, Lucius,’ he heard a female voice say, and realised that it was his mother who was speaking. Her long shadow showed her moving through the drawing room, as it disappeared when she left the doorway.
Slowly and carefully, he moved closer. He heard his father answer her, but couldn’t make out the words.
‘Have you thought about us? About your family? Think about what this’ll mean for Draco,’ his mother argued.
‘What?’ Now he could hear his father’s voice clearly. ‘You think I haven’t thought about him? About you?’ He paused, and Draco knew the look he was giving his mother. ‘What do you think will happen if I don’t show up?’
‘It doesn’t have to! We can go to the island, we have a house there... family.’
Lucius laughed cold and hard. ‘And you think He doesn’t know that? We wouldn’t be safe, Narcissa.’
‘Lucius -’
‘Nowhere is safe anymore.’
A shadow high above him on the ceiling moved, stopping him dead in his tracks. He looked up, scared what he would see, scared that He was already here, that He’d heard everything. Draco swallowed hard before moving his gaze upwards - and blinked.
An odd sense of déjà-vu hit him. It wasn’t like anything he’d ever experienced before, yet he felt like he’d been through it many a time already. His eyes searched for the only thing and reason he could think of: the person who had hexed him. His body felt like stone, yet he could see and feel himself slowly move, as if he was walking in extreme slow motion. However, his eyes and mind were buzzing with life. It must be a curse.
And then he saw it, in the topmost corner over his shoulder, a shadow creeping along the wall like a spider. The moment his eyes fell on it, it straightened and let itself fall and landed gracefully on the marble floor. It moved closer, but its steps didn’t make a sound, and not until it had walked fully out of the shadows did he see that it wasn’t an it, it was a he. And he’d seen the man before. He, Harry, had. He was Harry Potter, and he was Draco Malfoy, in Draco Malfoy’s memory. Then how had the man with the top hat got here?
A wide grin showed underneath the hat as the man slowly moved closer, his eyes only showing when he was a mere step away from Harry. The man smelled like burn, and ashes and something else that was heavy in the air. Harry had to look up at him, who - he now noticed - was unnaturally long, making him appear even thinner than he’d seemed before. Slowly, the man moved a single finger towards Harry’s face, but before Harry could be touched, before he could feel the too long, too spidery finger on his flesh, his eyelids closed again.
Chapter 6: The Ally
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: 3768
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
Dreams Unravelled
Kingsley had left soon after, and Harry had been unceremoniously escorted back to his cell. The second Guard had laughed cruelly when he’d shoved Harry inside, making him topple over, and Harry, still bound firmly by the shackles around his wrist and waist, had been unable to stop himself from falling flat on his face.
Once again alone, he’d resorted to counting days based on meals and the change in the colour of the light high above. He didn’t know how long he was going to have to stay, or if Kingsley had decided to believe his story, as he had not been able to stay long enough for Harry to explain - or so he had said. Neither had he seen Ron, Hermione, nor any of the others since he’d been so brutally escorted to the prison.
He shivered violently as an unnaturally cold wind swept fiercely through the corridor. Azkaban held neither beds nor blankets, and the only thing keeping him warm were the clothes he had been wearing upon arrest - which wasn’t much.
So far it had been four days, Harry knew. Four days in which the only company he’d had were Azkaban staff bringing food, Guards patrolling the hallways twice every twelve hours - often lingering at his cell door to jeer or taunt - and the strange recurring dreams. They’d started out once per night, but had quickly progressed to more. His brain, now so stuck in the body of Draco Malfoy, was slowly being filled up with - what he now knew to be for sure - fitting memories. The oddly false hope of him imagining things, maybe because he didn’t want to feel sympathy for Malfoy, or maybe because he was - however much he didn’t like to admit it - scared of what having these dreams meant, had diminished after he’d dreamt a very clear memory of Malfoy and himself in Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions which he knew had all been very real. He’d witnessed Malfoy choosing his own wand soon after, together with his parents, and had experienced the wonder he’d felt. Malfoy’s dream of becoming as strong a wizard as his father still lingered in his mind, even now that he was awake.
He had got curious about the dreams, too. At one point during his empty days he’d contemplated the purposeless feeling he’d had right after his bond with Voldemort had been broken. True, he had loathed the connection as much as he’d cherished it, but somehow the lack of a prophecy to fulfill, the lack of somebody telling him what to do, the freedom that came with that - it left him feeling oddly empty, often resulting in him pursuing adventure and dangerous adrenaline-filled situations through the Auror office. This new connection - for what it was - and exploring Draco Malfoy’s psyche, gave him a renewed feeling of sense and purpose, and he now gladly accepted the dreams into his nightly rhythm.
It was a damp morning when the same two Guards that had taken him to see Draco and Kingsley roughly a week earlier came to him again. The first, unsurprisingly so, was once again swinging the big black bat back and forth as some kind of silent threat. Harry needed none. His nose had never been healed properly, which had resulted in an ever-present dull ache in the bridge of his nose. He wondered what he looked like now, and why Malfoy hadn’t seemed to care. Or maybe his anger had been greater than his fear of damaging his own body, permanently or not. Harry couldn’t guess. He did know that it didn’t matter much, because he was going to get back inside his own body one way or another. There had to be a solution!
Harry got up as the two men approached his cell, walked back to the far end wall and turned around to face it. A familiar screeching of rusted lock and iron door told him that one of them was now inside. He didn’t move as chains and shackles were put on him, and didn’t turn until he felt the tug at his back. He followed them silently, head bent low, hoping for news, for people.
However, neither came. He was escorted out into a back room where another lock sounded and his bonds were removed. There were two Hit-Wizards waiting for him there, as it turned out, to escort him to the Ministry of Magic. Harry had obliged, glad to be free of the depressing place with its cold walls and desperate wails of distant inmates, probably still tortured by the memories of long gone Dementors and other horrors that had filled the still gloomy prison.
He wasn’t surprised when the Hit-Wizards had moved him towards Kingsley’s office. What he hadn’t been expecting was the sense of trepidation when he stepped inside of it, the familiarity of the oval room not in any way helpful or comforting.
Kingsley didn’t address him as he walked through the big double doors and merely gestured at the seat in front of his desk. Harry looked back over his shoulder, seeing that the two Hit-Wizards had been replaced by two people of Kingsley’s personal Guard; a man and a woman, both dressed in long midnight blue robes, the mark for the Ministry of Magic emblazoned in yellow on their chests and backs.
Sitting down, he looked back at his old friend, who folded his hands in front of him and fixed him with the same piercing stare he had had when they’d last talked.
It took Kingsley a relatively long time to speak, but when he did so, the words were not what Harry had imagined they would be.
‘He’s been placed under constant supervision.’
Kingsley had used a pronoun instead of one of their names.
‘Still not sure, then?’ Harry asked.
The Minister shook his head solemnly. ‘No,’ he said, ‘and we can’t be until we investigate the matter in further detail.’
‘Is he denying it?’ Harry asked. He clenched his jaw. If Malfoy was contradicting what he and the others were saying…
Kingsley took some time to answer, his gaze never leaving Harry’s. ‘He’s not,’ he finally said.
‘Then why -’
‘-am I not convinced?’ Kingsley raised his eyebrows. ‘Can you think of any spell or spells that could put us in this exact same situation without there being an actual case of the two of you swapping bodies?’
Several spells immediately came to mind and Harry hung his head slightly.
‘Is there anything I could say that could convince you at all?’ he tried finally, tired, cold and worn out, and really, really wanting to go home. Maybe have a nice cup of tea with his mother. With a shock he looked back up at Kingsley, who didn’t seem to notice. Had he really just called Narcissa Malfoy his mother? He wanted to groan. They were just dreams, he told himself. Just dreams and old memories. And Azkaban has been messing with your head. Let it go.
‘I’m afraid not,’ Kingsley answered, and for a moment Harry wasn’t sure what he was talking about.
‘So,’ Harry started. ‘Then why am I here?’ He looked back over his shoulder at the two Guard members waiting there, suddenly nervous.
‘You’re here...’ Kingsley said and, unfolding his arms, looked at Harry. It was a warm sort of look, and for the first time he got the feeling that Kingsley did want to believe him, but that he just really couldn’t. ‘Because we’re going to release you.’
Harry let out a deep sigh, closed his eyes and relaxed back into the chair. ‘Thank you,’ he whispered.
‘I must advise you, however,’ and this time Kingsley’s voice was stern, ‘to stay inside the Manor. Do not leave and do not contact anybody without Ministry approval and written,’ he waited for Harry to open his eyes to look at him before continuing, as if making sure he’d really understood, and Harry nodded once, ‘permission. This is vital for you to understand.’ Harry nodded again. ‘If you break the rules again, I’m afraid I will not be in a position to be of any help, not even as the Minister for Magic.’
‘Yes sir,’ Harry said, feeling his back muscles relax. He wasn’t going back to Azkaban. There wasn’t going to be a hearing, he wouldn’t get punished. He heard the door open and saw Kingsley give a curt nod to somebody standing behind him. He turned in his chair. The two Hit-Wizards who had dropped him off earlier had come back into the office. Harry stood up, understanding that the conversation was over.
He jumped slightly as a big hand landed on his shoulder and looked back over it to find Kingsley standing next to him. Staring intently into Harry’s now grey eyes, he squeezed once.
‘You’ll be contacted soon,’ he said before giving the Hit-Wizards orders to drop him off at the Manor. As Harry was escorted out he dared a last glance back at Kingsley, who was leaning - almost slumping - against his desk, one hand planted firmly next to him on to the surface, the other covering his face.
Where the Manor - prior to the happenings of the past four days - had felt cold and distant, it now felt the exact opposite: warm and inviting, almost like home.
He didn’t have to say goodbye to the men who’d escorted him there. They’d disappeared as soon as they’d entered the wards, which was fine by Harry.
Not exactly knowing what he’d be doing until Kingsley would contact him again, he turned towards the drawing room, hoping for the fire in the big fireplace to be lit and for a steaming cup of tea. He’d then shower later and get some rest in that overly soft, overly large bed of Malfoy’s. Maybe he’d even be able to ask the curious little house-elf he’d met - what had his name been again? Waldy… Wolly? Woldy, he thought - to show him the way this time, so he wouldn’t get lost again.
As lost in thought as he was, he didn’t see the woman sitting in the room when he entered until she let out a high gasp.
‘Draco!’ she exclaimed and almost jumped out of her chair, her book falling forgotten to the floor. She walked towards him and engulfed him in a tight and warm hug, one of her hands almost absentmindedly playing with his hair. He hugged her back tentatively, mixed feelings rising in his stomach.
It was her who ended the hug, but not because she had had enough of him, apparently. Putting her hands on either side of his face she just stared at him, her eyes filled with tears. ‘Oh Draco,’ she finally said, her voice nothing more than a whisper. ‘I was so very afraid. After your father...’ her voice faltered. ‘I couldn’t stand to lose you as well.’
Harry swallowed and had to tell himself that she really wasn’t his mother before he was able to speak. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, uncertain, and put his own hands over hers. She just shook her head; whether this was in disbelief or denial of his excuse, Harry didn’t know.
He let go of her hands as she dropped them. Dabbing her eyes with her fingers, she turned and picked up the book still lying open on the floor. Still with her back to him, she closed it. Harry couldn’t read the title of what she’d been reading, but he recognised the cover all too well: it was the exact same cover of the book his father had read to him every single night before going to bed until he had been old enough to go to Hogwarts.
She straightened her back. ‘Well,’ she said and turned back towards him. Her hands were white with the force with which she was clutching the bound leather. There was a smile on her lips now, but it wasn’t a warm smile, and it certainly didn’t reach her eyes the way he had got used to. ‘You sit down,’ she continued. ‘I’ll go ask Clifton if he can bring us some tea.’
As she left the room Harry shook his head. Memories were swimming in front of his eyes. When Narcissa had hugged him he’d recognised her scent so well, even though that wasn’t even remotely possible. Yet that soft aroma of flowers tinged with something else, something mysterious, had filled his nostrils and had engulfed him in a feeling of well-being, of being home, of being safe.
He let himself fall on to the bigger sofa and closed his eyes.
He was chasing something big and white in the backyard. The sun was high up in the sky, and a cool breeze was softly caressing his face. He laughed. One day he’d catch it, maybe when he was bigger and faster. He managed to move closer and could see it was one of the Manor’s peacocks. It turned and let out a high shriek as it waddled quickly around one of the garden’s trees.
His mother was sitting in one of the terrace’s chairs a little bit away, drinking tea and reading what looked like a newspaper. She looked up in search for him and caught his eye.
‘Leave the poor animal alone, Draco,’ she said sternly, but she couldn’t hide the smile playing on her lips.
‘What’s he doing?’ Draco heard a heavier voice say. It was his father. He looked over his shoulder and saw him approach them from the house. As Lucius passed him, he stroked over Draco’s head with one of his gloved hands before continuing towards his mother and giving her a fleeting kiss.
‘Oh, he was chasing one of the peacocks again,’ she said as she smiled up at him. ‘How was the Minister?’
He ran over to his parents and tried to climb onto his father’s knee, who picked him up beneath his arms and lifted him up easily. He settled down against the big chest, like he always did.
Lucius was slowly taking off his gloves. ‘Same old, same old,’ he said. ‘So you caught it, then?’ He ruffled Draco’s hair, who shook his head.
‘One day I will!’
‘Of course you will, dear,’ Narcissa answered him as she picked the Prophet back up and continued reading.
Harry jumped upright, a soft blanket slipping off his shoulders as he did so. With his heart beating loudly inside of his chest he looked around the room; had somebody been in there with him? Shadows were dancing on the walls in the flickering light of the lit candles. The fireplace was almost burned out, save for a few still smouldering bits of wood here and there. The portrait of the woman above it was soundly asleep. Narcissa was gone.
He slipped off the blanket completely, letting it fall back on to the couch as he got up. A cup of tea - probably stone cold by now - was still waiting for him on the coffee table.
Sighing, he decided to try and find the bedroom by himself. It was late enough for anybody to be sleeping, and no matter how much he dreaded the maze waiting for him above, it didn’t feel right to wake a house-elf for this.
However, as he ascended the last step of the big stone staircase in the entrance hall he realised that the Manor didn’t seem to look so unfamiliar to him at all, and that if he wanted to go to his bedroom, he needed to take a left turn here.
Walking steadily through the halls, he found that he already knew the way - how exactly, he did not know. It was not even a mere ten minutes later that he entered his bedroom.
With a small sigh of relief - and not willing to doubt his sudden knowledge of the place - he quickly took off his shoes, shirt and trousers and crawled into the bed.
The gravel beneath his shoes crunched as he walked steadily towards the big double doors of the Manor. There was a bite in the air and his breath was coming out in small clouds. Onwards he stalked until he reached the entrance. There he whipped out his wand and nearly blasted the doors open.
Clifton was waiting for him inside of the hall. Draco thrust his big leather travelling bag into the man’s hands and moved directly towards the dining room, where he knew he’d find his parents.
Lucius was sipping out of a goblet Draco knew contained one of the best wines, while his mother was softly conversing with him. Both of them looked up as he walked inside and slammed both of his hands on the mahogany table.
‘You look… disturbed,’ his father said as he gently put down the cup.
‘Disturbed?’ Draco fumed. ‘Disturbed?!’
‘Sit down, Draco.’
The voice took him by surprise. Looking up, he saw his mother stare directly at him. He exhaled loudly through his nose before walking to the spot opposite of her, and sat down.
She dabbed the corners of her mouth delicately with one of the napkins lying on the table. ‘Now,’ she said, ‘tell me what’s bothering you.’
Face scrunched up in a heavy scowl, he looked away from her. He couldn’t handle her gentle tones when he was angry. It made him feel calmer, and he didn’t want to feel calmer. He wanted to fume, to shout, to break things. To break…
‘It’s bloody Potter,’ he nearly spat. His mother didn’t answer. ‘He’s everywhere! It’s like I can’t get a break. Stupid Potty with his stupid scar. If the Dark Lord were here he-’
‘Draco!’
He looked back up at his mother. Her face was as white as the finest marble and her eyes - normally so kind and warm - looked like ice.
‘Do you have any idea what you’re saying?’ Her hands were quivering slightly, and she quickly hid them beneath the tablecloth. ‘Don’t you dare speak that name in this house.’
He looked from her to his father, who was staring at him without a single emotion on his face.
He grinned carefully. ‘Is this some kind of joke?’ he asked. ‘Weren’t we, one of the purest of families, as good as his right hand? Wasn’t father-’
‘That’s enough, Draco.’ This time it had been his father who’d interrupted him, his voice nothing more than a whisper. ‘Go to your room,’ he said.
‘But -’
‘I don’t think I told you that point was up for discussion’ Lucius said.
Draco stood up, angrily shoving his chair back under the table, and nearly ran out of the room. He moved through corridor after corridor, turned corners and passed doors, and then he wasn’t anymore, he was walking back towards the big stone staircase. He felt older, and the travelling clothes he’d been wearing some minutes ago were gone, replaced by the casual wear of somebody who had been home for a while.
‘You can’t do this, Lucius,’ he heard a female voice say, and realised that it was his mother who was speaking. Her long shadow showed her moving through the drawing room, as it disappeared when she left the doorway.
Slowly and carefully, he moved closer. He heard his father answer her, but couldn’t make out the words.
‘Have you thought about us? About your family? Think about what this’ll mean for Draco,’ his mother argued.
‘What?’ Now he could hear his father’s voice clearly. ‘You think I haven’t thought about him? About you?’ He paused, and Draco knew the look he was giving his mother. ‘What do you think will happen if I don’t show up?’
‘It doesn’t have to! We can go to the island, we have a house there... family.’
Lucius laughed cold and hard. ‘And you think He doesn’t know that? We wouldn’t be safe, Narcissa.’
‘Lucius -’
‘Nowhere is safe anymore.’
A shadow high above him on the ceiling moved, stopping him dead in his tracks. He looked up, scared what he would see, scared that He was already here, that He’d heard everything. Draco swallowed hard before moving his gaze upwards - and blinked.
An odd sense of déjà-vu hit him. It wasn’t like anything he’d ever experienced before, yet he felt like he’d been through it many a time already. His eyes searched for the only thing and reason he could think of: the person who had hexed him. His body felt like stone, yet he could see and feel himself slowly move, as if he was walking in extreme slow motion. However, his eyes and mind were buzzing with life. It must be a curse.
And then he saw it, in the topmost corner over his shoulder, a shadow creeping along the wall like a spider. The moment his eyes fell on it, it straightened and let itself fall and landed gracefully on the marble floor. It moved closer, but its steps didn’t make a sound, and not until it had walked fully out of the shadows did he see that it wasn’t an it, it was a he. And he’d seen the man before. He, Harry, had. He was Harry Potter, and he was Draco Malfoy, in Draco Malfoy’s memory. Then how had the man with the top hat got here?
A wide grin showed underneath the hat as the man slowly moved closer, his eyes only showing when he was a mere step away from Harry. The man smelled like burn, and ashes and something else that was heavy in the air. Harry had to look up at him, who - he now noticed - was unnaturally long, making him appear even thinner than he’d seemed before. Slowly, the man moved a single finger towards Harry’s face, but before Harry could be touched, before he could feel the too long, too spidery finger on his flesh, his eyelids closed again.