[Fic] Blink (3/10)
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: 3259
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 3 -
The secrets of Draco Malfoy
The first thing Harry noticed the following day was that it was not easy being Draco Malfoy. He had woken up late that morning, entirely confused about his whereabouts until he had remembered the previous day. His stomach had grumbled loudly. Once again - and not entirely unexpectedly - he had lost his way down to wherever he would be able to find food, had given up, grabbed his cloak and - figuring the Aurors would have been knocking on the Manor’s front doors by now if they’d noticed him going out the day before - activated his self-made Portkey.
The familiar pull behind his navel had been almost comforting, the fall on his knees, however, hadn’t. Harry had never quite understood how apparently more experienced wizards and witches were able to stay on their feet.
He gave number twelve a once over before setting out towards central London. He had been there on the day Draco and Narcissa Malfoy had been sentenced, but couldn’t remember the exact details of it. Deciding that that would be something he would need to read up on when he’d get back home, he set out for some food.
The pub he entered not long afterwards looked a lot like the Leaky Cauldron, with its dimly lit corners and the soft murmur of its customers, although without the magical aspect of it. The lights were not oil lamps, dusty with the stain of years and many a cobweb hanging off them. There were no people in cloaks, no Butterbeer, nor a Tom behind the bar greeting him happily. No, it wasn’t the Leaky Cauldron, but since it felt close enough to it and hidden enough for him to stay undetected, he decided to stay.
‘Wha’ can I get fur ya then, lad?’ a filthy-looking man asked him as he sat down, a small notepad and what looked like a chewed up pencil in his hands.
Harry looked around, not sure what to order. In the end, deciding to not risk possible food poisoning, he ordered what he thought was mostly safe: a standard English breakfast. The man grunted as he walked away, a limp clearly visible in his step. Harry heard him shout something rather unintelligible at a man who was sticking his head out of what must be the kitchen door before he picked up one of the many filthy glasses and set to cleaning it.
Some minutes passed in which Harry hadn’t much to do but observe his surroundings and think. Across the pub, two older - and not very clean-looking, either - men were huddled together, whispering urgently. One of them was playing with a small knife, letting it turn and twist in between his fingers. Harry quickly looked away when he saw one of them look up, but it was already too late. Cursing under his breath, he carefully slipped his wand out from beneath his cloak. Hiding it under the table, he watched the man with the knife walk over and sit down across him, his smile more of a grimace with several teeth missing. He stared intently at Harry, his big muddy-green eyes wide, the white of them heavily bloodshot.
‘’N wha’s a pretty boy like yourself doin’ in here, I wonder?’ The man smiled even wider at him, his knife still flicking through his fingers. ‘All’lone, are you?’
Harry glanced at the man’s companion, who was downing his beer with a couple of big gulps before slamming the now empty mug down on the table and making his way over to the two of them. He stopped behind the grimacing man, his back to the bar, blocking the barman from Harry’s view.
‘I think he’s’lone, Boris,’ the man continued when Harry didn’t answer. The one named Boris chuckled darkly.
‘I think you’re mistaken, actually,’ Harry said, gripping his wand a little tighter.
‘’R we now, eh?’ The still unnamed man answered him, his eyes twinkling dangerously in the dim light of the pub. ‘R we?’
Harry gave his wand the tiniest of flicks and concentrated hard on performing a solid Confundus charm. Both the nameless man and Boris blinked as if confused, staring - somewhat dazed - back up at Harry.
‘Yes, I really think you are,’ Harry repeated.
The man nodded quickly, his eyes focused on a point behind Harry.
‘Yea’,’ he croaked. ‘Yea, Boris. The boy isn’lone after all.’
Boris, obviously not there to add anything of importance to the conversation, but, as Harry guessed, probably there just for the threat or sheer force, nodded once before following his crony back to the table they’d come from, signing the dirty barman for what looked like another round of drinks.
Harry let out a heavy sigh of relief before leaning back in his chair.
Put off the idea of breakfast in the gloomy-looking pub, he felt his pockets for some money, but only found a couple of heavy gold coins. He groaned. He hadn’t thought about bringing along any Muggle money when he’d set out, no longer being accustomed to spending time in the Muggle parts of London. Hoping that the barman would recognise the coin for what it was - real gold - he laid one of them in the middle of the table and started getting up from the chair.
He should’ve probably been expecting it by now, but the heavy feeling that settled over him the moment he blinked still took him by surprise. Suspended in the middle of sitting and standing up, Harry’s eyes moved frantically around the room in search for the mysterious man in the top hat.
His eyes found Boris and the man with the knife. Boris had his mug halfway up to his mouth, which was already open in anticipation of the drink. The other man was leaning over the table, his mouth in the middle of forming a word, knife once more between two of his fingers, hanging in mid-air.
And then Harry saw him. He was slowly coming up from behind the barman, almost like a shadow, his hat once again hiding his face apart from that creepy smile. His almost abnormally long fingers, much like two white spiders, were curled around the barman’s upper arms.
For a second everything seemed even more frozen than it already felt, before Harry blinked and everything turned back to normal.
Finishing standing up, he turned around without so much as giving the barman a second glance, and made his way out of the pub as fast as he could. Once outside, he turned a corner and walked steadily towards the dark end of the alleyway. Not caring about a verdict, Restriction 11B or any Aurors, he turned on the spot and Apparated back to the Manor. No, it was definitely not easy being Draco Malfoy.
*
Harry let the heavy book fall onto the desk. After a thorough search of the documents in the library desk, he’d finally found a written copy of the Malfoys’ verdict. However, 11B was what it had been to him before: a complete mystery. And so he had set out in a search for a book, any book, that could tell him what Restriction 11B was all about. He absentmindedly flipped through the many pages of the book, seeing wizarding law after law appear and disappear in front of his eyes, one as meaningless to him as the next. Rubbing two tired hands over his face, he groaned. He needed help.
For a while he contemplated Flooing Ron and Hermione, but for that he needed a plan. He’d thought about going into Diagon Alley, as he’d been unable to locate any owls in the Manor with which to send a letter, but he didn’t dare venture out again just yet. Something told him that part of Restriction 11B included something about Diagon Alley. If only he could find out what!
Leaning over the desk, he let his head rest on the law book and closed his eyes. He was hungry because he hadn’t had breakfast, tired because he hadn’t got nearly enough sleep, cranky that he couldn’t figure out what the hell was going on with him, scared that nobody would believe him and angry at Malfoy for kicking him out of Grimmauld Place.
He was walking along a dark corridor, one of his hands outstretched. He was scared. Clutching the stuffed dragon more tightly against himself, he sniffed. Another flash illuminated his path for a second, followed by a loud, rumbling thunder. He yelped and crouched down, head bent low, and cried into the purple fur of his dragon.
‘Draco?’ a gentle voice sounded from a distance away.
Looking up, he blinked away his tears. A door had opened somewhat down the corridor, a streak of light flowing out from the opening, creating elongated shadows on the opposite wall.
‘M-’ he hiccuped. ‘Mum?’
A long and thin figure appeared in the doorway, making its way over to him. When it came closer, he saw it was his mother. She carefully picked him up off the floor. He immediately wrapped his limbs around her and hid his face in her neck, feeling safe for the first time that night. She would protect him, she always did.
Harry woke with a start. He pushed himself off the desk and reached automatically for the place his scar should’ve been, only to find nothing but soft and unblemished skin under the tips of his fingers. Breathing loudly, he sat up straight. He reached out with a trembling hand and closed the book he’d fallen asleep on, looking nervously around the room. It was just a dream, he told himself. Just a dream. There was no Voldemort lurking around the corner, waiting to strike. The Horcrux in him was gone, as was the connection. Voldemort was dead.
He released a shaky breath as he stood up and made his way out of the library, thinking about what he’d just seen. There had been thunder, a corridor and… a woman? He couldn’t remember. He quickly shook his head. He just needed to get some food, that’s all. If there was one thing he had learned from growing up at the Dursley’s, it was that one should never sleep one an empty stomach: it usually made sure you had a nightmare or two.
His foot lingered above the topmost step of the stairs leading down from the library floor to what he now knew was the floor on which he could find his - Malfoy’s - bedroom. He’d just seen something very small and skinny disappear around a corner, followed by two big, brown bat-like ears. Something that was wearing two mismatched socks.
‘Dobby?!’ he gasped as the tips of the ears disappeared around the corner. He knew it couldn’t be; Dobby was dead. ‘Wait!’
He turned and sprinted around the corner just in time to see the elf snap its long fingers and Disapparate.
‘No!’ he choked out. ‘No, wait! Er -’ he looked around himself. ‘Come back!’
There was another tiny pop and the creature appeared again.
He had been right. It wasn’t Dobby. This elf’s ears were smaller, but his eyes bigger and more blue than Dobby’s had been. He was wearing a grey toga with a black M emblazoned across it and, like Harry had seen when the elf had turned the corner, two mismatched socks: one purple and one yellow.
‘Master requires something from Woldy?’
‘Hi,’ stammered Harry. But the elf just blinked his big eyes at him.
Grief washed over Harry. Even though he knew Dobby was dead, for a moment, just a moment, he’d still hoped that somehow, miraculously - maybe even through some unexplored elf magic… but no. Dobby really was dead, and no elf - however mismatched his socks might be - could ever replace him.
He tried to swallow past the lump in his throat. ‘I...’ he started. ‘It’s nothing,’ he said, then added, ‘thanks.’
Still the elf did nothing but stare up at him as if he were something very curious. A little uncomfortable now, Harry turned around and walked away slowly, looking back over his shoulder every few steps to see the elf still standing exactly where Harry had left him.
Feeling slightly miserable now, Harry continued his way downstairs. At one point he scared himself when, lost in thought, he walked past a mirror. Temporarily having forgotten what he looked like now, he raised his wand at his own reflection. When he realised what was happening, he let out a breathy, almost humourless laugh. He wasn't sure of a great many things, but one thing was certain: he didn’t like Draco Malfoy, and he liked being him even less.
As he looked in the mirror over his own shoulder he saw a flash of yellow disappear behind another corner, and the toddle of small footsteps. Scowling slightly, he continued his way down.
It wasn’t much later that he walked into a light and airy room. He let out a surprised gasp. The room was lit with a huge chandelier, even bigger than the one in the drawing room. Candles were perched on it, softly burning in the light of the now setting sun. On the far end wall was a set of windows, adorning it from floor to ceiling, with - just like in Malfoy’s bedroom - thick, golden brown curtains hanging in front of them. In front of the windows was a rectangular table set with food of every kind and colour, wine in what looked like crystal containers, shimmering goblets and deep gold cutlery. He walked past the table and picked up one of the grapes off a platter displaying all kinds of fruit: there were huge chunks of juicy-looking watermelon, apple pieces, soft pink pears and more.
A voice from behind made him jump just as he bit down on the grape, making its juice dribble down his chin.
‘Is Mr Malfoy ready to have his dinner?’
It was the same man Harry had seen the day before. Immaculate as ever he stood, not facing Harry, but looking directly at a spot on the wall in front of him. Harry wondered why, but didn’t question it and quickly wiped away the sticky juice from his chin with his sleeve.
He nodded. ‘Yes, thank you.’
‘Mrs Malfoy wishes me to inform you that she is otherwise… engaged at the moment,’ the man said and Harry wondered, for a second, if he knew that he’d given Zanna the exact same answer. Deciding this probably wasn’t the case and it was just a happy accident he sat down and started scooping up what looked like freshly roasted potatoes, a chicken leg and a mix of vegetables from whic steam was still rising.
When he’d filled his glass generously with some red wine he gulped it down, not realising how thirsty he really had been. His eye caught some slight movement in the corner of the room, but he disregarded it, too busy filling himself up until bursting point.
After a long and happy meal he leaned back in the leather chair and grinned. If only Malfoy could see what he was doing with his body now! He laughed again, but this time the humourless tone had gone, and there was no bitterness and no resentment. It was a genuine laugh, and for the first time in two days, Harry felt that things might not be so bad after all at the Manor.
Figuring dishes were not something Draco Malfoy usually did in the Manor, he left the room, making a mental note of where to find it, and headed back to the now gloomy-feeling library once again. However, when he laid eyes on the book that had taken up most of his day without harvesting any results, he felt a rather Gryffindor-like urge well up inside of him.
A rustle made him spin around, wand at the ready, but when he didn’t see anybody or anything move, he tucked it away again before boldly striding over to the single fireplace in the room.
It was bigger than any other fireplace he’d ever seen, and he wondered if it had been especially designed to Floo from. He took another step closer to it and noticed it was high enough to fit him in completely without so much as having to bend over to get in. A small fire was already burning on the bottom of it. Harry reached out for some Floo powder and threw it in, turning the flames a venomous shade of green.
Sticking his head inside the burning flames, he said loudly, ‘The Burrow!’ and felt his head spinning away from his body.
He coughed as he breathed in a mouthful of ashes. Somebody gave a surprised yelp and approached the fire.
Eyes watering, Harry looked up and stared directly into the cold-looking eyes of Mr Weasley.
‘Arthur,’ he said quickly and saw the man in question frown at him. ‘Mr Weasley, Harry corrected himself, ‘are Ron and Hermione present?’
Mr Weasley took his time to answer, still staring at Harry with utmost curiosity.
‘Why?’ he asked.
‘It’s urgent.’ Harry hoped his the look on this face and the tone of his voice would be able to convince Arthur somewhat, but he couldn’t be sure. This was a Malfoy he was dealing with, after all.
‘Very well,’ Arthur said, giving what looked to him like Draco Malfoy’s head another once over before leaving the room.
It felt like a lifetime ago that Harry had last been in the Burrow, yet it hadn’t even been a week. Somehow the body swap seemed to have thrown him completely off balance time-wise. Without the Auror office to return to and his friends to visit, his days felt a lot longer and more stretched out, as if somebody had enchanted time to go slower.
‘He’s not here.’
At first Harry thought it was Arthur who had come back to tell him Ron and Hermione weren’t there, but when he looked up he saw the same cold eyes look down at him, only now from the face of Ron.
Harry, knowing that he would only get one good shot at this, wasted no time.
‘My name is Harry James Potter,’ he said. ‘I currently reside at number twelve Grimmauld Place in London. The house-elf residing there is named Kreacher, who wears the duplicated locket of Regulus Arcturus Black, who died in the cave trying to destroy a Horcrux. You are Ronald Billius Weasley and Hermione Jean Granger, now together and living at the Burrow until Hermione has located her parents in Australia. Hermione, you’re the smartest witch of our year, yet you never seem to accept that compliment no matter how many times Ron and I tell you, and Ron, no matter how many times you tell her, your mother still can’t remember you really don’t like corned beef on your sandwich.’
Ron’s eyes grew wide with shock as Hermione let out a high squeak, covering her mouth quickly with her hands.
‘My name is Harry Potter,’ Harry continued, ‘and I’m stuck in the body of Draco Malfoy.’
Chapter 4: Restriction 11B
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: 3259
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 3 -
The secrets of Draco Malfoy
The first thing Harry noticed the following day was that it was not easy being Draco Malfoy. He had woken up late that morning, entirely confused about his whereabouts until he had remembered the previous day. His stomach had grumbled loudly. Once again - and not entirely unexpectedly - he had lost his way down to wherever he would be able to find food, had given up, grabbed his cloak and - figuring the Aurors would have been knocking on the Manor’s front doors by now if they’d noticed him going out the day before - activated his self-made Portkey.
The familiar pull behind his navel had been almost comforting, the fall on his knees, however, hadn’t. Harry had never quite understood how apparently more experienced wizards and witches were able to stay on their feet.
He gave number twelve a once over before setting out towards central London. He had been there on the day Draco and Narcissa Malfoy had been sentenced, but couldn’t remember the exact details of it. Deciding that that would be something he would need to read up on when he’d get back home, he set out for some food.
The pub he entered not long afterwards looked a lot like the Leaky Cauldron, with its dimly lit corners and the soft murmur of its customers, although without the magical aspect of it. The lights were not oil lamps, dusty with the stain of years and many a cobweb hanging off them. There were no people in cloaks, no Butterbeer, nor a Tom behind the bar greeting him happily. No, it wasn’t the Leaky Cauldron, but since it felt close enough to it and hidden enough for him to stay undetected, he decided to stay.
‘Wha’ can I get fur ya then, lad?’ a filthy-looking man asked him as he sat down, a small notepad and what looked like a chewed up pencil in his hands.
Harry looked around, not sure what to order. In the end, deciding to not risk possible food poisoning, he ordered what he thought was mostly safe: a standard English breakfast. The man grunted as he walked away, a limp clearly visible in his step. Harry heard him shout something rather unintelligible at a man who was sticking his head out of what must be the kitchen door before he picked up one of the many filthy glasses and set to cleaning it.
Some minutes passed in which Harry hadn’t much to do but observe his surroundings and think. Across the pub, two older - and not very clean-looking, either - men were huddled together, whispering urgently. One of them was playing with a small knife, letting it turn and twist in between his fingers. Harry quickly looked away when he saw one of them look up, but it was already too late. Cursing under his breath, he carefully slipped his wand out from beneath his cloak. Hiding it under the table, he watched the man with the knife walk over and sit down across him, his smile more of a grimace with several teeth missing. He stared intently at Harry, his big muddy-green eyes wide, the white of them heavily bloodshot.
‘’N wha’s a pretty boy like yourself doin’ in here, I wonder?’ The man smiled even wider at him, his knife still flicking through his fingers. ‘All’lone, are you?’
Harry glanced at the man’s companion, who was downing his beer with a couple of big gulps before slamming the now empty mug down on the table and making his way over to the two of them. He stopped behind the grimacing man, his back to the bar, blocking the barman from Harry’s view.
‘I think he’s’lone, Boris,’ the man continued when Harry didn’t answer. The one named Boris chuckled darkly.
‘I think you’re mistaken, actually,’ Harry said, gripping his wand a little tighter.
‘’R we now, eh?’ The still unnamed man answered him, his eyes twinkling dangerously in the dim light of the pub. ‘R we?’
Harry gave his wand the tiniest of flicks and concentrated hard on performing a solid Confundus charm. Both the nameless man and Boris blinked as if confused, staring - somewhat dazed - back up at Harry.
‘Yes, I really think you are,’ Harry repeated.
The man nodded quickly, his eyes focused on a point behind Harry.
‘Yea’,’ he croaked. ‘Yea, Boris. The boy isn’lone after all.’
Boris, obviously not there to add anything of importance to the conversation, but, as Harry guessed, probably there just for the threat or sheer force, nodded once before following his crony back to the table they’d come from, signing the dirty barman for what looked like another round of drinks.
Harry let out a heavy sigh of relief before leaning back in his chair.
Put off the idea of breakfast in the gloomy-looking pub, he felt his pockets for some money, but only found a couple of heavy gold coins. He groaned. He hadn’t thought about bringing along any Muggle money when he’d set out, no longer being accustomed to spending time in the Muggle parts of London. Hoping that the barman would recognise the coin for what it was - real gold - he laid one of them in the middle of the table and started getting up from the chair.
He should’ve probably been expecting it by now, but the heavy feeling that settled over him the moment he blinked still took him by surprise. Suspended in the middle of sitting and standing up, Harry’s eyes moved frantically around the room in search for the mysterious man in the top hat.
His eyes found Boris and the man with the knife. Boris had his mug halfway up to his mouth, which was already open in anticipation of the drink. The other man was leaning over the table, his mouth in the middle of forming a word, knife once more between two of his fingers, hanging in mid-air.
And then Harry saw him. He was slowly coming up from behind the barman, almost like a shadow, his hat once again hiding his face apart from that creepy smile. His almost abnormally long fingers, much like two white spiders, were curled around the barman’s upper arms.
For a second everything seemed even more frozen than it already felt, before Harry blinked and everything turned back to normal.
Finishing standing up, he turned around without so much as giving the barman a second glance, and made his way out of the pub as fast as he could. Once outside, he turned a corner and walked steadily towards the dark end of the alleyway. Not caring about a verdict, Restriction 11B or any Aurors, he turned on the spot and Apparated back to the Manor. No, it was definitely not easy being Draco Malfoy.
*
Harry let the heavy book fall onto the desk. After a thorough search of the documents in the library desk, he’d finally found a written copy of the Malfoys’ verdict. However, 11B was what it had been to him before: a complete mystery. And so he had set out in a search for a book, any book, that could tell him what Restriction 11B was all about. He absentmindedly flipped through the many pages of the book, seeing wizarding law after law appear and disappear in front of his eyes, one as meaningless to him as the next. Rubbing two tired hands over his face, he groaned. He needed help.
For a while he contemplated Flooing Ron and Hermione, but for that he needed a plan. He’d thought about going into Diagon Alley, as he’d been unable to locate any owls in the Manor with which to send a letter, but he didn’t dare venture out again just yet. Something told him that part of Restriction 11B included something about Diagon Alley. If only he could find out what!
Leaning over the desk, he let his head rest on the law book and closed his eyes. He was hungry because he hadn’t had breakfast, tired because he hadn’t got nearly enough sleep, cranky that he couldn’t figure out what the hell was going on with him, scared that nobody would believe him and angry at Malfoy for kicking him out of Grimmauld Place.
He was walking along a dark corridor, one of his hands outstretched. He was scared. Clutching the stuffed dragon more tightly against himself, he sniffed. Another flash illuminated his path for a second, followed by a loud, rumbling thunder. He yelped and crouched down, head bent low, and cried into the purple fur of his dragon.
‘Draco?’ a gentle voice sounded from a distance away.
Looking up, he blinked away his tears. A door had opened somewhat down the corridor, a streak of light flowing out from the opening, creating elongated shadows on the opposite wall.
‘M-’ he hiccuped. ‘Mum?’
A long and thin figure appeared in the doorway, making its way over to him. When it came closer, he saw it was his mother. She carefully picked him up off the floor. He immediately wrapped his limbs around her and hid his face in her neck, feeling safe for the first time that night. She would protect him, she always did.
Harry woke with a start. He pushed himself off the desk and reached automatically for the place his scar should’ve been, only to find nothing but soft and unblemished skin under the tips of his fingers. Breathing loudly, he sat up straight. He reached out with a trembling hand and closed the book he’d fallen asleep on, looking nervously around the room. It was just a dream, he told himself. Just a dream. There was no Voldemort lurking around the corner, waiting to strike. The Horcrux in him was gone, as was the connection. Voldemort was dead.
He released a shaky breath as he stood up and made his way out of the library, thinking about what he’d just seen. There had been thunder, a corridor and… a woman? He couldn’t remember. He quickly shook his head. He just needed to get some food, that’s all. If there was one thing he had learned from growing up at the Dursley’s, it was that one should never sleep one an empty stomach: it usually made sure you had a nightmare or two.
His foot lingered above the topmost step of the stairs leading down from the library floor to what he now knew was the floor on which he could find his - Malfoy’s - bedroom. He’d just seen something very small and skinny disappear around a corner, followed by two big, brown bat-like ears. Something that was wearing two mismatched socks.
‘Dobby?!’ he gasped as the tips of the ears disappeared around the corner. He knew it couldn’t be; Dobby was dead. ‘Wait!’
He turned and sprinted around the corner just in time to see the elf snap its long fingers and Disapparate.
‘No!’ he choked out. ‘No, wait! Er -’ he looked around himself. ‘Come back!’
There was another tiny pop and the creature appeared again.
He had been right. It wasn’t Dobby. This elf’s ears were smaller, but his eyes bigger and more blue than Dobby’s had been. He was wearing a grey toga with a black M emblazoned across it and, like Harry had seen when the elf had turned the corner, two mismatched socks: one purple and one yellow.
‘Master requires something from Woldy?’
‘Hi,’ stammered Harry. But the elf just blinked his big eyes at him.
Grief washed over Harry. Even though he knew Dobby was dead, for a moment, just a moment, he’d still hoped that somehow, miraculously - maybe even through some unexplored elf magic… but no. Dobby really was dead, and no elf - however mismatched his socks might be - could ever replace him.
He tried to swallow past the lump in his throat. ‘I...’ he started. ‘It’s nothing,’ he said, then added, ‘thanks.’
Still the elf did nothing but stare up at him as if he were something very curious. A little uncomfortable now, Harry turned around and walked away slowly, looking back over his shoulder every few steps to see the elf still standing exactly where Harry had left him.
Feeling slightly miserable now, Harry continued his way downstairs. At one point he scared himself when, lost in thought, he walked past a mirror. Temporarily having forgotten what he looked like now, he raised his wand at his own reflection. When he realised what was happening, he let out a breathy, almost humourless laugh. He wasn't sure of a great many things, but one thing was certain: he didn’t like Draco Malfoy, and he liked being him even less.
As he looked in the mirror over his own shoulder he saw a flash of yellow disappear behind another corner, and the toddle of small footsteps. Scowling slightly, he continued his way down.
It wasn’t much later that he walked into a light and airy room. He let out a surprised gasp. The room was lit with a huge chandelier, even bigger than the one in the drawing room. Candles were perched on it, softly burning in the light of the now setting sun. On the far end wall was a set of windows, adorning it from floor to ceiling, with - just like in Malfoy’s bedroom - thick, golden brown curtains hanging in front of them. In front of the windows was a rectangular table set with food of every kind and colour, wine in what looked like crystal containers, shimmering goblets and deep gold cutlery. He walked past the table and picked up one of the grapes off a platter displaying all kinds of fruit: there were huge chunks of juicy-looking watermelon, apple pieces, soft pink pears and more.
A voice from behind made him jump just as he bit down on the grape, making its juice dribble down his chin.
‘Is Mr Malfoy ready to have his dinner?’
It was the same man Harry had seen the day before. Immaculate as ever he stood, not facing Harry, but looking directly at a spot on the wall in front of him. Harry wondered why, but didn’t question it and quickly wiped away the sticky juice from his chin with his sleeve.
He nodded. ‘Yes, thank you.’
‘Mrs Malfoy wishes me to inform you that she is otherwise… engaged at the moment,’ the man said and Harry wondered, for a second, if he knew that he’d given Zanna the exact same answer. Deciding this probably wasn’t the case and it was just a happy accident he sat down and started scooping up what looked like freshly roasted potatoes, a chicken leg and a mix of vegetables from whic steam was still rising.
When he’d filled his glass generously with some red wine he gulped it down, not realising how thirsty he really had been. His eye caught some slight movement in the corner of the room, but he disregarded it, too busy filling himself up until bursting point.
After a long and happy meal he leaned back in the leather chair and grinned. If only Malfoy could see what he was doing with his body now! He laughed again, but this time the humourless tone had gone, and there was no bitterness and no resentment. It was a genuine laugh, and for the first time in two days, Harry felt that things might not be so bad after all at the Manor.
Figuring dishes were not something Draco Malfoy usually did in the Manor, he left the room, making a mental note of where to find it, and headed back to the now gloomy-feeling library once again. However, when he laid eyes on the book that had taken up most of his day without harvesting any results, he felt a rather Gryffindor-like urge well up inside of him.
A rustle made him spin around, wand at the ready, but when he didn’t see anybody or anything move, he tucked it away again before boldly striding over to the single fireplace in the room.
It was bigger than any other fireplace he’d ever seen, and he wondered if it had been especially designed to Floo from. He took another step closer to it and noticed it was high enough to fit him in completely without so much as having to bend over to get in. A small fire was already burning on the bottom of it. Harry reached out for some Floo powder and threw it in, turning the flames a venomous shade of green.
Sticking his head inside the burning flames, he said loudly, ‘The Burrow!’ and felt his head spinning away from his body.
He coughed as he breathed in a mouthful of ashes. Somebody gave a surprised yelp and approached the fire.
Eyes watering, Harry looked up and stared directly into the cold-looking eyes of Mr Weasley.
‘Arthur,’ he said quickly and saw the man in question frown at him. ‘Mr Weasley, Harry corrected himself, ‘are Ron and Hermione present?’
Mr Weasley took his time to answer, still staring at Harry with utmost curiosity.
‘Why?’ he asked.
‘It’s urgent.’ Harry hoped his the look on this face and the tone of his voice would be able to convince Arthur somewhat, but he couldn’t be sure. This was a Malfoy he was dealing with, after all.
‘Very well,’ Arthur said, giving what looked to him like Draco Malfoy’s head another once over before leaving the room.
It felt like a lifetime ago that Harry had last been in the Burrow, yet it hadn’t even been a week. Somehow the body swap seemed to have thrown him completely off balance time-wise. Without the Auror office to return to and his friends to visit, his days felt a lot longer and more stretched out, as if somebody had enchanted time to go slower.
‘He’s not here.’
At first Harry thought it was Arthur who had come back to tell him Ron and Hermione weren’t there, but when he looked up he saw the same cold eyes look down at him, only now from the face of Ron.
Harry, knowing that he would only get one good shot at this, wasted no time.
‘My name is Harry James Potter,’ he said. ‘I currently reside at number twelve Grimmauld Place in London. The house-elf residing there is named Kreacher, who wears the duplicated locket of Regulus Arcturus Black, who died in the cave trying to destroy a Horcrux. You are Ronald Billius Weasley and Hermione Jean Granger, now together and living at the Burrow until Hermione has located her parents in Australia. Hermione, you’re the smartest witch of our year, yet you never seem to accept that compliment no matter how many times Ron and I tell you, and Ron, no matter how many times you tell her, your mother still can’t remember you really don’t like corned beef on your sandwich.’
Ron’s eyes grew wide with shock as Hermione let out a high squeak, covering her mouth quickly with her hands.
‘My name is Harry Potter,’ Harry continued, ‘and I’m stuck in the body of Draco Malfoy.’
Chapter 4: Restriction 11B