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Displaced REDUX	By : YamiBakura Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 3714 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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Chapter List
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Draco followed the headmistress up into Gryffindor tower, eyeing the almost tasteful decorations of the common room. It was a pluff of red as he’d expected, but it wasn’t overwhelming and the chairs and room as a whole gave a feeling of comfort and welcome. That, of course, put Draco immediately on guard, and made him feel cautious about spending too much time in the room.

“It’s not at all like what you’re used to down in the dungeons,” McGonagall was saying. “It’s a lot more crowded, for one, because we don’t have the space up here. Also, you will not be allowed into the girl’s dormitory for any reason.”

Draco made a face at the thought of wanting to sneak into the Gryffindor-girls rooms and didn’t even go near the thought of actually doing it. She pulled him to a stop in front of the door to the bedroom and pushed it open. Five beds greeted him, spaced apart nicely but still two more than what he was used to. “There are drawers beneath the beds for clothes and anything not left in your trunk,” McGonagall explained. “The bathrooms are through there, and this is your bed.” She patted the nearest bedpost and Draco nodded in understanding.   “I’ll leave you to your settling. Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger should be along shortly to help you … adjust.” She sailed out of the room, leaving Draco alone amidst a sea of red. It felt crowded – five beds were two too many – and he was used to the more soothing colours of green and silver.

He poked around a little bit and then unpacked the few things he’d brought with him, tucking them into the trunk and locking it. He changed into some of the clothes Potter had in the drawers – horrible, too-large things with awful colours – and put his own away where they wouldn’t be easily visible. He found a delightful collection of novels buried in one of the drawers and took one of them to the common room to read out of habit. He had no idea Potter read the same books he did, and he wondered if they’d ever be able to have a civil conversation about them. Neither of his roommates read them, and he was dying to have someone to discuss it with. He just wasn’t entirely sure he wanted that person to be Potter.

Hermione and Ron came in shortly before classes were due to end. They took one look at him, and then hauled him up into the boys dormitory.

“Okay, Malfoy, we know what happened. Do try not to make a complete ass out of yourself, please? If you need help, Ron or I will be around at all times, alright?” Hermione was at her best when she was lecturing, and now was no different. The only change in the routine was that now Draco was on the receiving end of the lecture, instead of watching as she shamed Potter and Weasley into something from a distance. He nodded, and bit back his first reaction which was to make a sharp response.

“Call me Pott- er… Harry,” he said instead. “I need to get used to it anyway.” He made a face, and Hermione softened a little bit. Weasley glowered at him, as angry as ever.   “And you are… Hermione,” he added, pronouncing her given name with some effort. “And…” He looked at Weasley, whose face was steadily turning puce. “Weasley,” he said.   “I don’t know your first name.”

“Ron,” Hermione said quickly, before Ron could have an embolism. “And,” she added with a tinge of what could easily become rage in her voice. “If anything happens to him down in those dungeons, I will hold you personally responsible and won’t hesitate to hex you so hard the children you’ll never have will feel it three generations from now.   Do you understand?”

Feeling vaguely cowed, and hating himself for it, Draco nodded. He remembered what a little mouse she’d been in first year, before Wonder Weasley and the Golden Boy made friends with her by apparently nearly getting her killed. Then he recalled that she’d slapped him silly in third year and wasn’t so surprised by the steel she showed now.

“Perfectly,” he said out loud. “I don’t want any trouble. This was the last thing that I expected to happen when I followed him up to the tower last night, alright? I don’t want to make any more trouble for myself.” Ron made an angry noise of disgust and stalked out of the room. Draco’s lips twisted. “Besides, my father is already in Azkaban. God only knows what would happen if this were to get out.”

Hermione’s eyes had softened before the last statement, but for some reason she couldn’t be angry at him for it. It was just so typically Malfoy – Draco could practically see the thoughts hanging in her head. “He’ll come around. It’ll be easier if you’re not making a nuisance of yourself, and keep references to your father to a minimum. You’re Harry Potter now, remember. For a month. And more than just Lucius Malfoy’s peace of mind is at stake here.” Something else occurred to her, and her face lit up. Draco took an involuntary step backwards, wondering if she was going to hex him now and just get it over with. “Anyway, I’ve been dying to talk to you for ages now, and this seems like a perfect opportunity.”

Draco, expecting another severe lecture about his father, what side of the war he was going to choose, what had really happened to Dumbledore, et cetera, was taken completely off his guard when she started questioning him about his potions essay.

-o0o-

Harry was woken up by the sound of quiet voices and a muted shuffling. Years of living at the Dursleys had trained him to keep alert for odd sounds that signified they were unhappy with him, or they needed something.   He opened his eyes, sat up, and was greeted by the sight of Blaise Zabini nearly hovering over him.

“Are you alright?” Zabini asked, an unfamiliar expression curving his features. “You’ve been gone since last night, and didn’t come back. I was –” worried, Harry finished silently when it looked like Zabini wasn’t going to say it.

“I’m fine,” Harry said, remembering that he was Malfoy and in the dungeons with the Slytherins. Ew. I slept in Malfoy’s bed. Double ew. I’ve got to spend the next month down here. “I got into a bit of trouble with Potter, but nothing I can’t handle,” he added by way of explanation. He’d never had a chance to see Malfoy down here with just his friends and Housemates. In classes, the Great Hall, everywhere but here, he was confident in his ability to fool people. From the other bed, however, Nott perked up at the news that he was alright, and Harry was starting to rethink Malfoy’s assertion that he had no friends in Slytherin. You didn’t spend seven years with these people without killing them if you weren’t at least on speaking terms. They seemed sincere in their expressions of worry, however, and Harry was already feeling bad about lying to them.

“I heard he was in the hospital wing all morning,” Nott piped up. Zabini nodded sagely and turned back to Harry.

“Was that your doing, Drake?”

Harry shook his head, thinking Drake? “Unfortunately not,” he snorted, and was pleased by the easy laugh he got from the other two.

“So, here’s what you missed in Ancient Runes – and this, by the way, is what you get for skiving off early and skipping classes,” Zabini said, and launched into a description of the class Malfoy had apparently missed. To follow me, he thought. Shame on you Malfoy, if you’d just stayed in class and left me alone we wouldn’t be in this position right now. Then as he listened, he had a brief moment of panic. He didn’t take Ancient Runes! How was he supposed to know what was going on? And then the panic died as he realised that some part of his brain was translating Zabini’s words into something that made sense. He was understanding. He still had all of his own memories – he fondly recalled the time Hermione put her book down and joined them in a game of Exploding Snap – but if he tried very hard, he could recall things he had no way of knowing about Malfoy, too – Malfoy’s memories. What a peculiar effect, he thought, and then realised he could also tell the difference between them. It was that portion of the switch that intrigued him the most, and he wondered if Malfoy had figured it out yet. He felt some of what Zabini was telling him actually sinking in, instead of simply going in one ear and out the other, and he became involved in a heated discussion of the runes with him. It gave him a rush to think that he could argue like this – drawing on Malfoy’s knowledge of the subject, and his own opinions – and wondered if Hermione felt like this all the time.

Nott hovered a little nervously, never too far away, but didn’t join the debate.   Almost too soon, however, it was time to go to the Great Hall for dinner, and Harry and Zabini argued good-naturedly the whole way down, shadowed by Nott in the background. Zabini made some good points, Harry admitted to himself, but he also seemed fascinated by ‘Draco’s’ new way of thinking about some of the old runes. They argued right into the Great Hall and over to the Slytherin table, at which point Zabini ceded the point to Harry.

“Alright, alright, I get it. You win,” he said, throwing himself into the chair. Harry grinned at him and sat down on the other side, beside Pansy Parkinson.

“It’s about time you admitted it,” he teased, still unsure whether to refer to Zabini as ‘Zabini’ or ‘Blaise’, and then the smile dropped off his face as he glanced up at the Gryffindor table. Malfoy was glowering at him from across the hall, his face frozen in an un-Harry-like scowl. Hermione’s hand was on his shoulder, and she was talking rapidly to him, her face animated, but it didn’t erase the dirty look. Harry would’ve given just about anything to get over there and talk to them. Finally, he finished eating and rose. “I’ve got something to do, I just remembered,” he excused himself, and hurried from the hall. He felt eyes burning a hole through the back of his head the whole time and didn’t have to turn around to know it would be an all too familiar green gaze.

He dodged the stray students wandering the halls, and made it back to the dungeons quite a bit quicker than he’d expected it; the trip to Gryffindor tower took a considerably longer time. He retrieved his invisibility cloak and checked the map, startled to realise that they still registered as themselves. Harry Potter was in the dungeons and Draco Malfoy was in the Great Hall right beside Hermione. Ron was pacing in the Gryffindor common room. Shoving the map back into his trunk and locking it, he slipped the cloak on and hurried back to the Great Hall. Following some stragglers into the Hall to avoid the suspicion of the doors opening and closing by themselves, he made his unseen way over to Gryffindor table. He stopped close to Hermione and Malfoy, near enough to hear what they were saying but far enough away that he wouldn’t be bumped or stepped on in the general bustle.

“I still don’t see why it’s so upsetting to you, Harry,” Hermione said pointedly. “Who Malfoy talks to is none of your business.”

“He shouldn’t be having that much fun over there,” was the snarled reply, and then the voice dropped a few octaves. “What if he’s told them, and they’re laughing at me?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Hermione chided. “Would you tell anyone? Well, besides us, I mean.”

“No,” came the pouty reply, and Harry did a double take. Pouting? Why was Malfoy…? Was he jealous?

Harry leaned in, still invisible. “Look,” he whispered, low enough that his voice was audible only to Hermione and Malfoy. Malfoy was so startled he nearly threw himself backwards off the bench, but Hermione was accustomed to disembodied voices. “Don’t scowl so much, it’s not like me.”

Malfoy recovered his scattered wits, and smiled, grinding his teeth. “Why don’t you try smiling a little more, you twit? That’s not suspicious at all.”

“Oh shut up,” Harry said, feeling somewhat … fond. It was bizarre to see himself sitting there beside Hermione and know that under the cloak he’d see Malfoy in a mirror, but Hermione hadn’t hexed them yet, and Ron wasn’t bellowing and giving away the secret, and it felt like a game. “One day, I think I’ll let Zabini know,” he added, his mouth racing off ahead of his brain. “I like him.”

As he turned away, he wondered to himself why he’d admitted that. He did like Zabini so far, but he wasn’t entirely sure he felt safe admitting he’d been a Gryffindor in a snakeskin this whole time. It wouldn’t be the best way to start a new friendship. He was amused to see Malfoy choking on his pumpkin juice, however, and it was distracting enough that he didn’t consider the full implications of what he’d said.

-o0o-

Draco glowered into his empty cup, and debated pouring himself some more. It was very, very weird having to sit on the wrong side of the room, and he was even on the wrong side of the table. Granger had been some help – Hermione, he reminded himself forcibly – but … Ron… was still up in the tower, apparently trying to wrap his tiny brain around the idea of Potter and Malfoy being interchangeable. It was something Draco was still trying to come to terms with, however, so he couldn’t rag on Weasley too much. It was Potions in the morning, another thing to look forward to even if he’d be deprived of Snape’s usual harangue of Potter. And he couldn’t believe how well Potter and Blaise seemed to be getting on. Fair-weather friends, he announced to himself. When they’d entered nearly shouting at one another it had taken every ounce of control not to rush over and immediately explain to Blaise that that wasn’t him, it was an imposter, don’t listen to him! And then he realised that they were smiling at one another, and he had to be forcibly restrained by Hermione to keep from rushing over for an entirely different reason. His bitterest rival and his best friend were not supposed to be smiling and laughing with one another like – like – like they’d defeated a troll together!

The analogy surprised him, and as he was considering where it came from he realised the anomaly in his memories. That was distracting enough that he almost didn’t see Potter rushing from the room like the hounds of Hell were after him, but he did notice Blaise staring after him like a love-struck girl – since when does he look at me like that? Draco wondered – and then his own bodiless voice was floating out of the air between himself and Hermione and he’d nearly had a panic attack.

Then Potter said… He was telling…

Draco scowled, refusing to be cowed by the Gryffindor’s tactics. Hermione leaned in and nudged him.

“It’s about time we were getting back anyway,” she said. “And, he’s got an invisibility cloak.”

That explained pretty much everything. Including the supposedly eyewitness account that had freed Draco from Azkaban. He’d spent approximately twenty four hours there after the Dumbledore fiasco, and it had been twenty three hours and fifty nine minutes too long. And just when he’d been settling himself in for an extended stay, an Auror had retrieved him and Snape, telling them that they’d been fully pardoned. When he got ahold of the transcripts of his own trial, he’d been amazed. An anonymous person had given an eyewitness testimony of what had transpired on the tower, down to the names and details of the Death Eaters who’d followed behind him. Draco was innocent. McGonagall had been another surprise; she’d been appointed deputy headmistress after Dumbledore’s demise, and gradually slipped into the role of Headmistress while the trials were going on. Using her position and influence, and whatever else she’d had at her disposal, she explained that Snape had been acting on Dumbledore’s own orders, as well as cementing his place as a spy, and saving Draco’s life. He was pardoned on the stipulation that he return to Hogwarts as Potions teacher and head of Slytherin house, as he’d been before. It was deemed better to have him there where they could keep an eye on him than out running the streets, Draco thought to himself.

So there had really been three people on that tower. Dumbledore, Draco, and the mysterious owner of the second broom who had just turned out to be Harry Potter himself. He felt a moment of not-quite-guilt that Potter had been there to witness not just one but two of his most humiliating moments. Remorse, maybe.

He chose not to think about how he’d been freed from Azkaban or that night, and instead focused on Granger. She was explaining something from Herbology – or trying to, at least.

“You see, Neville’s the really brilliant one, but Harr- er, you’re not that far behind him,” she said, making a quick check of their surroundings to make sure no one had overheard them. “I know it’ll be hard for you, but if you need help in Herbology, Neville’s your man.”

They were nearly to Gryffindor tower when a scorched-looking Slytherin first year intercepted them. “Please find the Headmistress!” she gasped. “There’s a fire in the dungeons!” Message delivered, she hurried past to find someone else to pass it on to. Hermione and Draco shared a look and then turned as one to head back towards the Slytherin common room. The nearer they got to the dungeons, the thicker the smoke. Closer to the Potions classroom the Slytherin students had gathered, prefects and seventh years keeping everyone together and under control.

“Don’t worry!” Blaise called. “The wardrobes and trunks are spelled against fire damage.” The door was open however, and thick clouds of roiling black smoke puffed out of it, filling the upper regions of the hallways. Flames licked at the doorway and a brief glance in showed that the entire common room was ablaze.

“Move the students to the Great Hall,” Snape called, shouting to be heard over the inferno and the nervous crowd of milling teenagers. Another student, a fifth year Draco didn’t like named Travis Gillespie spoke almost at the same time.   “Everyone’s out!” Draco’s lip curled in spite of himself. Gillespie’s parents were Death Eaters; they’d attended Dark Revels at the Manor. Draco ignored him and looked around.

“Where’s Draco?” Blaise Zabini’s voice rose above the clamor, sounding frantic. The students had begun moving in response to Snape’s orders and in the bustle of the entirety of Slytherin house moving out at once Draco and Hermione were lost in the crowd and separated. He didn’t see the white-blond hair so familiar from seventeen years of looking in a mirror and at his father, and hoped Harry had taken himself out of the dungeons before the fire broke out. McGonagall was just arriving, along with more teachers and they’d begun casting charms to douse the flames.

Blaise looked around once more, locked eyes with Draco, and Draco gasped as his gaze slid past without a reaction, almost as if Blaise hadn’t even seen him. That’s right ,he reminded himself. I look like Potter right now. Speaking of, where the bloody hell is he?

Blaise suddenly whirled and threw himself back into the burning common room, much to the horror of the watching teachers and remaining students. Snape followed him, casting charms, and the flames retreated. When all that was left of the common room was a large plume of smoke, Blaise reappeared, Snape trailing at his heels. He was carrying the limp body of Draco Malfoy.

The real Draco found Hermione now that the crowd had thinned, and they swore in unison when Blaise carried the blond out of the smoke. He was pale and dirty, and looked very small in Blaise’s arms. He coughed once, clutched weakly at Blaise’s robes, and then went still, his breath rattling alarmingly. Snape made his way over to the two out of place Gryffindors.

“Zabini will take him to the infirmary,” he said quietly to Draco, ignoring Hermione altogether. “He acted in typical brash Gryffindor manner and tried to play hero when the fire broke out, getting the students out of the dorms.” A longsuffering sigh. “Had he not, lives would have been lost.” It visibly disturbed Snape that his entire House had bee rescued by the Boy Who Lived - even if he was in the body of Draco Malfoy. “As it is,” he continued in a different tone, “I am tempted to kill him myself.” He turned, robes swirling as he followed the majority of his Slytherins to make sure no one had been hurt seriously. Draco longed to go after Blaise and find out how his body was, but as Potter, he’d just get a sneer and a set down for his trouble.

They followed him to the hospital wing anyway, and hid out while Blaise was explaining to things to Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall.

“He must have saved all of Slytherin house,” he was saying. “But he didn’t get out. I went in and found him crawling under the smoke and coughing really bad; I think maybe something was burned, but nothing seems to be wrong with him; just a scorched shirt.”

“Thank you, Mr. Zabini,” Madam Pomfrey said quietly and turned to check on her patients. McGonagall nodded.

“Thirty points to Slytherin for a daring rescue,” she added. “Would you do me the favour of finding Severus please?”

Blaise nodded and left, hurrying past the two lurking eavesdroppers without seeing them. Draco and Hermione rushed in after he was gone. “Is he alright?” Hermione asked. Draco scowled at his body.

“He didn’t kill me, did he?”

Madam Pomfrey frowned gently at him. “He crawled under the smoke,” she said. “Quite a brilliant move. I imagine he’s suffering from some smoke inhalation and possibly some mild burns.   I won’t know until I have a chance to examine him.” She smiled at Hermione. “He’ll likely be hoarse for a few days, but I don’t doubt he’ll make a full recovery. Fourty points to Gryffindor for the rescue of Slytherin house.”

The points didn’t register with either of them. Hermione was contemplating the boy on the bed, and Draco was confused. “Smoke inhal-what?”

Pomfrey got a familiar gleam in her eye, one Draco was accustomed to seeing more from the usual teachers. It bespoke of a secret thrill of having a curious student, someone to pass knowledge on to. In the back of his mind, Draco wondered why Pomfrey didn’t teach a class in her spare time. “The smoke is as hot, or hotter than the flames,” she explained. “Breathing too much of it in can burn the inside of the lungs, or cause poisoning from the gases.”

Draco shuddered. Why would anyone risk that much pain and even death for a House they supposedly hate?

Because it was who he was, Draco realised a moment later. It was what he did. He may have been dragged into everything kicking and screaming, but he really was hero-material. His train of thought had become almost fond, and Draco gave himself a mental slap.

“He’ll be alright, though?” Hermione asked again. Pomfrey nodded.

“You two best run along before someone misses you,” she said. Hermione nodded back and grabbed Draco by the wrist, forcibly hauling him out of the infirmary.

-

Later, minus Hermione, Draco came back to listen some more. He wanted to know what had happened to his House.

“I want to know how the dungeons could have caught fire like that,” Potter was asking. Draco realised his voice sounded different when he wasn’t listening to himself, and he found it pleasant in spite of the rough, scraped-over-gravel sound of it from the smoke.

“Well, Mr. Potter,” one of the teachers automatically began.

“Malfoy,” Potter corrected, his tone icy in spite of the harshness. Draco silently cheered him.

“Mr. Malfoy,” the teacher amended. “We think the fires were set deliberately. It started near the seventh-year dorms, and spread from there. Severus is combing the ashes now and will return shortly, hopefully with an answer for us.”

She’d barely finished the statement when Snape hurried past Draco and into the room, leaving the door deliberately cracked. Draco crept closer.

“Ashwinder eggs,” was the dispassionate verdict.

“Oh,” said Potter. “They’re extraordinarily flammable, aren’t they? If Hogwarts wasn’t what it is, the whole thing might have gone up, wouldn’t it? I thought Ashwinders only came out of magical fires. Who could have set a magical fire somewhere without anyone realising it?”

Draco could see Snape’s face through the crack and was amused by the fact that he seemed genuinely surprised.

“Twenty points to Slytherin for remembering what an Ashwinder is,” he said when he’d recovered himself. Draco could hear the growl emanating from Potter’s throat even by the door and outside the room. By all rights, those points should have gone to Gryffindor, and everyone in the room knew it. Snape tacked on something under his breath that might have been, “Five points to Gryffindor,” which didn’t mollify Potter in the least.

“Don’t tax your voice, dear,” Madam Pomfrey said, laying out a series of potions for Potter to take. He made a face but obediently swallowed them all. “It was a very brave thing you did, even if it was terribly stupid.”

“I couldn’t,” Potter started, and coughed. Draco fought the urge to go to him. “I couldn’t let the first years… they had no idea, they might have…” His voice trailed off as whatever Pomfrey had fed him started to kick in. “What?”

“It’s a calming draught for your lungs and throat, something to keep you from starving while you sleep, and a dreamless sleep potion,” Pomfrey explained. Draco watched his eyes close as he relaxed back on the thin mattress. The teachers filed out, leaving Snape in the room. Draco waited until they were all gone and inched into the room, watching Snape watch his sleeping body.

“I was not there,” Snape said softly.

“Sir?” Draco seated himself beside his favourite professor and godfather.

“I was in the Great Hall while my House was on fire. The students owe him – owe you – their lives.” He sounded almost pained.

“Could you have done anything else if you’d been there?” Draco asked after a moments silence, turning to look at him. “You said the fire started in the seventh year dorm, right?”

“That’s what the students tell me.”

A few more minutes of quiet. “Look, I’m glad it was him,” Draco said finally. Snape looked at him, a faint sneer curling his lips as he looked at his favourite student in the form of his least favoured. “I wouldn’t have been able to do anything,” Draco admitted. “At least he knew to get the other students out of the dorms and the common room before the fire got out of hand.” Snape eyed him warily, and Draco shrugged. “I’m mature enough now to admit that I’m not perfect in every way,” he pointed out, earning a small smile from his head of House.

They sat in an almost companionable silence for a few minutes before Snape climbed to his feet. “Get back to your new common room, Potter,” he said mildly, and left. Draco stayed where he was, staring at his own body for a while longer. Potter had – without thinking about it – acted like a true hero. Draco wasn’t even sure he was capable of it even when he was thinking about it. He felt small in comparison.

Draco followed the headmistress up into Gryffindor tower, eyeing the almost tasteful decorations of the common room. It was a pluff of red as he’d expected, but it wasn’t overwhelming and the chairs and room as a whole gave a feeling of comfort and welcome. That, of course, put Draco immediately on guard, and made him feel cautious about spending too much time in the room.

“It’s not at all like what you’re used to down in the dungeons,” McGonagall was saying. “It’s a lot more crowded, for one, because we don’t have the space up here. Also, you will not be allowed into the girl’s dormitory for any reason.”

Draco made a face at the thought of wanting to sneak into the Gryffindor-girls rooms and didn’t even go near the thought of actually doing it. She pulled him to a stop in front of the door to the bedroom and pushed it open. Five beds greeted him, spaced apart nicely but still two more than what he was used to. “There are drawers beneath the beds for clothes and anything not left in your trunk,” McGonagall explained. “The bathrooms are through there, and this is your bed.” She patted the nearest bedpost and Draco nodded in understanding.   “I’ll leave you to your settling. Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger should be along shortly to help you … adjust.” She sailed out of the room, leaving Draco alone amidst a sea of red. It felt crowded – five beds were two too many – and he was used to the more soothing colours of green and silver.

He poked around a little bit and then unpacked the few things he’d brought with him, tucking them into the trunk and locking it. He changed into some of the clothes Potter had in the drawers – horrible, too-large things with awful colours – and put his own away where they wouldn’t be easily visible. He found a delightful collection of novels buried in one of the drawers and took one of them to the common room to read out of habit. He had no idea Potter read the same books he did, and he wondered if they’d ever be able to have a civil conversation about them. Neither of his roommates read them, and he was dying to have someone to discuss it with. He just wasn’t entirely sure he wanted that person to be Potter.

Hermione and Ron came in shortly before classes were due to end. They took one look at him, and then hauled him up into the boys dormitory.

“Okay, Malfoy, we know what happened. Do try not to make a complete ass out of yourself, please? If you need help, Ron or I will be around at all times, alright?” Hermione was at her best when she was lecturing, and now was no different. The only change in the routine was that now Draco was on the receiving end of the lecture, instead of watching as she shamed Potter and Weasley into something from a distance. He nodded, and bit back his first reaction which was to make a sharp response.

“Call me Pott- er… Harry,” he said instead. “I need to get used to it anyway.” He made a face, and Hermione softened a little bit. Weasley glowered at him, as angry as ever.   “And you are… Hermione,” he added, pronouncing her given name with some effort. “And…” He looked at Weasley, whose face was steadily turning puce. “Weasley,” he said.   “I don’t know your first name.”

“Ron,” Hermione said quickly, before Ron could have an embolism. “And,” she added with a tinge of what could easily become rage in her voice. “If anything happens to him down in those dungeons, I will hold you personally responsible and won’t hesitate to hex you so hard the children you’ll never have will feel it three generations from now.   Do you understand?”

Feeling vaguely cowed, and hating himself for it, Draco nodded. He remembered what a little mouse she’d been in first year, before Wonder Weasley and the Golden Boy made friends with her by apparently nearly getting her killed. Then he recalled that she’d slapped him silly in third year and wasn’t so surprised by the steel she showed now.

“Perfectly,” he said out loud. “I don’t want any trouble. This was the last thing that I expected to happen when I followed him up to the tower last night, alright? I don’t want to make any more trouble for myself.” Ron made an angry noise of disgust and stalked out of the room. Draco’s lips twisted. “Besides, my father is already in Azkaban. God only knows what would happen if this were to get out.”

Hermione’s eyes had softened before the last statement, but for some reason she couldn’t be angry at him for it. It was just so typically Malfoy – Draco could practically see the thoughts hanging in her head. “He’ll come around. It’ll be easier if you’re not making a nuisance of yourself, and keep references to your father to a minimum. You’re Harry Potter now, remember. For a month. And more than just Lucius Malfoy’s peace of mind is at stake here.” Something else occurred to her, and her face lit up. Draco took an involuntary step backwards, wondering if she was going to hex him now and just get it over with. “Anyway, I’ve been dying to talk to you for ages now, and this seems like a perfect opportunity.”

Draco, expecting another severe lecture about his father, what side of the war he was going to choose, what had really happened to Dumbledore, et cetera, was taken completely off his guard when she started questioning him about his potions essay.

-o0o-

Harry was woken up by the sound of quiet voices and a muted shuffling. Years of living at the Dursleys had trained him to keep alert for odd sounds that signified they were unhappy with him, or they needed something.   He opened his eyes, sat up, and was greeted by the sight of Blaise Zabini nearly hovering over him.

“Are you alright?” Zabini asked, an unfamiliar expression curving his features. “You’ve been gone since last night, and didn’t come back. I was –” worried, Harry finished silently when it looked like Zabini wasn’t going to say it.

“I’m fine,” Harry said, remembering that he was Malfoy and in the dungeons with the Slytherins. Ew. I slept in Malfoy’s bed. Double ew. I’ve got to spend the next month down here. “I got into a bit of trouble with Potter, but nothing I can’t handle,” he added by way of explanation. He’d never had a chance to see Malfoy down here with just his friends and Housemates. In classes, the Great Hall, everywhere but here, he was confident in his ability to fool people. From the other bed, however, Nott perked up at the news that he was alright, and Harry was starting to rethink Malfoy’s assertion that he had no friends in Slytherin. You didn’t spend seven years with these people without killing them if you weren’t at least on speaking terms. They seemed sincere in their expressions of worry, however, and Harry was already feeling bad about lying to them.

“I heard he was in the hospital wing all morning,” Nott piped up. Zabini nodded sagely and turned back to Harry.

“Was that your doing, Drake?”

Harry shook his head, thinking Drake? “Unfortunately not,” he snorted, and was pleased by the easy laugh he got from the other two.

“So, here’s what you missed in Ancient Runes – and this, by the way, is what you get for skiving off early and skipping classes,” Zabini said, and launched into a description of the class Malfoy had apparently missed. To follow me, he thought. Shame on you Malfoy, if you’d just stayed in class and left me alone we wouldn’t be in this position right now. Then as he listened, he had a brief moment of panic. He didn’t take Ancient Runes! How was he supposed to know what was going on? And then the panic died as he realised that some part of his brain was translating Zabini’s words into something that made sense. He was understanding. He still had all of his own memories – he fondly recalled the time Hermione put her book down and joined them in a game of Exploding Snap – but if he tried very hard, he could recall things he had no way of knowing about Malfoy, too – Malfoy’s memories. What a peculiar effect, he thought, and then realised he could also tell the difference between them. It was that portion of the switch that intrigued him the most, and he wondered if Malfoy had figured it out yet. He felt some of what Zabini was telling him actually sinking in, instead of simply going in one ear and out the other, and he became involved in a heated discussion of the runes with him. It gave him a rush to think that he could argue like this – drawing on Malfoy’s knowledge of the subject, and his own opinions – and wondered if Hermione felt like this all the time.

Nott hovered a little nervously, never too far away, but didn’t join the debate.   Almost too soon, however, it was time to go to the Great Hall for dinner, and Harry and Zabini argued good-naturedly the whole way down, shadowed by Nott in the background. Zabini made some good points, Harry admitted to himself, but he also seemed fascinated by ‘Draco’s’ new way of thinking about some of the old runes. They argued right into the Great Hall and over to the Slytherin table, at which point Zabini ceded the point to Harry.

“Alright, alright, I get it. You win,” he said, throwing himself into the chair. Harry grinned at him and sat down on the other side, beside Pansy Parkinson.

“It’s about time you admitted it,” he teased, still unsure whether to refer to Zabini as ‘Zabini’ or ‘Blaise’, and then the smile dropped off his face as he glanced up at the Gryffindor table. Malfoy was glowering at him from across the hall, his face frozen in an un-Harry-like scowl. Hermione’s hand was on his shoulder, and she was talking rapidly to him, her face animated, but it didn’t erase the dirty look. Harry would’ve given just about anything to get over there and talk to them. Finally, he finished eating and rose. “I’ve got something to do, I just remembered,” he excused himself, and hurried from the hall. He felt eyes burning a hole through the back of his head the whole time and didn’t have to turn around to know it would be an all too familiar green gaze.

He dodged the stray students wandering the halls, and made it back to the dungeons quite a bit quicker than he’d expected it; the trip to Gryffindor tower took a considerably longer time. He retrieved his invisibility cloak and checked the map, startled to realise that they still registered as themselves. Harry Potter was in the dungeons and Draco Malfoy was in the Great Hall right beside Hermione. Ron was pacing in the Gryffindor common room. Shoving the map back into his trunk and locking it, he slipped the cloak on and hurried back to the Great Hall. Following some stragglers into the Hall to avoid the suspicion of the doors opening and closing by themselves, he made his unseen way over to Gryffindor table. He stopped close to Hermione and Malfoy, near enough to hear what they were saying but far enough away that he wouldn’t be bumped or stepped on in the general bustle.

“I still don’t see why it’s so upsetting to you, Harry,” Hermione said pointedly. “Who Malfoy talks to is none of your business.”

“He shouldn’t be having that much fun over there,” was the snarled reply, and then the voice dropped a few octaves. “What if he’s told them, and they’re laughing at me?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Hermione chided. “Would you tell anyone? Well, besides us, I mean.”

“No,” came the pouty reply, and Harry did a double take. Pouting? Why was Malfoy…? Was he jealous?

Harry leaned in, still invisible. “Look,” he whispered, low enough that his voice was audible only to Hermione and Malfoy. Malfoy was so startled he nearly threw himself backwards off the bench, but Hermione was accustomed to disembodied voices. “Don’t scowl so much, it’s not like me.”

Malfoy recovered his scattered wits, and smiled, grinding his teeth. “Why don’t you try smiling a little more, you twit? That’s not suspicious at all.”

“Oh shut up,” Harry said, feeling somewhat … fond. It was bizarre to see himself sitting there beside Hermione and know that under the cloak he’d see Malfoy in a mirror, but Hermione hadn’t hexed them yet, and Ron wasn’t bellowing and giving away the secret, and it felt like a game. “One day, I think I’ll let Zabini know,” he added, his mouth racing off ahead of his brain. “I like him.”

As he turned away, he wondered to himself why he’d admitted that. He did like Zabini so far, but he wasn’t entirely sure he felt safe admitting he’d been a Gryffindor in a snakeskin this whole time. It wouldn’t be the best way to start a new friendship. He was amused to see Malfoy choking on his pumpkin juice, however, and it was distracting enough that he didn’t consider the full implications of what he’d said.

-o0o-

Draco glowered into his empty cup, and debated pouring himself some more. It was very, very weird having to sit on the wrong side of the room, and he was even on the wrong side of the table. Granger had been some help – Hermione, he reminded himself forcibly – but … Ron… was still up in the tower, apparently trying to wrap his tiny brain around the idea of Potter and Malfoy being interchangeable. It was something Draco was still trying to come to terms with, however, so he couldn’t rag on Weasley too much. It was Potions in the morning, another thing to look forward to even if he’d be deprived of Snape’s usual harangue of Potter. And he couldn’t believe how well Potter and Blaise seemed to be getting on. Fair-weather friends, he announced to himself. When they’d entered nearly shouting at one another it had taken every ounce of control not to rush over and immediately explain to Blaise that that wasn’t him, it was an imposter, don’t listen to him! And then he realised that they were smiling at one another, and he had to be forcibly restrained by Hermione to keep from rushing over for an entirely different reason. His bitterest rival and his best friend were not supposed to be smiling and laughing with one another like – like – like they’d defeated a troll together!

The analogy surprised him, and as he was considering where it came from he realised the anomaly in his memories. That was distracting enough that he almost didn’t see Potter rushing from the room like the hounds of Hell were after him, but he did notice Blaise staring after him like a love-struck girl – since when does he look at me like that? Draco wondered – and then his own bodiless voice was floating out of the air between himself and Hermione and he’d nearly had a panic attack.

Then Potter said… He was telling…

Draco scowled, refusing to be cowed by the Gryffindor’s tactics. Hermione leaned in and nudged him.

“It’s about time we were getting back anyway,” she said. “And, he’s got an invisibility cloak.”

That explained pretty much everything. Including the supposedly eyewitness account that had freed Draco from Azkaban. He’d spent approximately twenty four hours there after the Dumbledore fiasco, and it had been twenty three hours and fifty nine minutes too long. And just when he’d been settling himself in for an extended stay, an Auror had retrieved him and Snape, telling them that they’d been fully pardoned. When he got ahold of the transcripts of his own trial, he’d been amazed. An anonymous person had given an eyewitness testimony of what had transpired on the tower, down to the names and details of the Death Eaters who’d followed behind him. Draco was innocent. McGonagall had been another surprise; she’d been appointed deputy headmistress after Dumbledore’s demise, and gradually slipped into the role of Headmistress while the trials were going on. Using her position and influence, and whatever else she’d had at her disposal, she explained that Snape had been acting on Dumbledore’s own orders, as well as cementing his place as a spy, and saving Draco’s life. He was pardoned on the stipulation that he return to Hogwarts as Potions teacher and head of Slytherin house, as he’d been before. It was deemed better to have him there where they could keep an eye on him than out running the streets, Draco thought to himself.

So there had really been three people on that tower. Dumbledore, Draco, and the mysterious owner of the second broom who had just turned out to be Harry Potter himself. He felt a moment of not-quite-guilt that Potter had been there to witness not just one but two of his most humiliating moments. Remorse, maybe.

He chose not to think about how he’d been freed from Azkaban or that night, and instead focused on Granger. She was explaining something from Herbology – or trying to, at least.

“You see, Neville’s the really brilliant one, but Harr- er, you’re not that far behind him,” she said, making a quick check of their surroundings to make sure no one had overheard them. “I know it’ll be hard for you, but if you need help in Herbology, Neville’s your man.”

They were nearly to Gryffindor tower when a scorched-looking Slytherin first year intercepted them. “Please find the Headmistress!” she gasped. “There’s a fire in the dungeons!” Message delivered, she hurried past to find someone else to pass it on to. Hermione and Draco shared a look and then turned as one to head back towards the Slytherin common room. The nearer they got to the dungeons, the thicker the smoke. Closer to the Potions classroom the Slytherin students had gathered, prefects and seventh years keeping everyone together and under control.

“Don’t worry!” Blaise called. “The wardrobes and trunks are spelled against fire damage.” The door was open however, and thick clouds of roiling black smoke puffed out of it, filling the upper regions of the hallways. Flames licked at the doorway and a brief glance in showed that the entire common room was ablaze.

“Move the students to the Great Hall,” Snape called, shouting to be heard over the inferno and the nervous crowd of milling teenagers. Another student, a fifth year Draco didn’t like named Travis Gillespie spoke almost at the same time.   “Everyone’s out!” Draco’s lip curled in spite of himself. Gillespie’s parents were Death Eaters; they’d attended Dark Revels at the Manor. Draco ignored him and looked around.

“Where’s Draco?” Blaise Zabini’s voice rose above the clamor, sounding frantic. The students had begun moving in response to Snape’s orders and in the bustle of the entirety of Slytherin house moving out at once Draco and Hermione were lost in the crowd and separated. He didn’t see the white-blond hair so familiar from seventeen years of looking in a mirror and at his father, and hoped Harry had taken himself out of the dungeons before the fire broke out. McGonagall was just arriving, along with more teachers and they’d begun casting charms to douse the flames.

Blaise looked around once more, locked eyes with Draco, and Draco gasped as his gaze slid past without a reaction, almost as if Blaise hadn’t even seen him. That’s right ,he reminded himself. I look like Potter right now. Speaking of, where the bloody hell is he?

Blaise suddenly whirled and threw himself back into the burning common room, much to the horror of the watching teachers and remaining students. Snape followed him, casting charms, and the flames retreated. When all that was left of the common room was a large plume of smoke, Blaise reappeared, Snape trailing at his heels. He was carrying the limp body of Draco Malfoy.

The real Draco found Hermione now that the crowd had thinned, and they swore in unison when Blaise carried the blond out of the smoke. He was pale and dirty, and looked very small in Blaise’s arms. He coughed once, clutched weakly at Blaise’s robes, and then went still, his breath rattling alarmingly. Snape made his way over to the two out of place Gryffindors.

“Zabini will take him to the infirmary,” he said quietly to Draco, ignoring Hermione altogether. “He acted in typical brash Gryffindor manner and tried to play hero when the fire broke out, getting the students out of the dorms.” A longsuffering sigh. “Had he not, lives would have been lost.” It visibly disturbed Snape that his entire House had bee rescued by the Boy Who Lived - even if he was in the body of Draco Malfoy. “As it is,” he continued in a different tone, “I am tempted to kill him myself.” He turned, robes swirling as he followed the majority of his Slytherins to make sure no one had been hurt seriously. Draco longed to go after Blaise and find out how his body was, but as Potter, he’d just get a sneer and a set down for his trouble.

They followed him to the hospital wing anyway, and hid out while Blaise was explaining to things to Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall.

“He must have saved all of Slytherin house,” he was saying. “But he didn’t get out. I went in and found him crawling under the smoke and coughing really bad; I think maybe something was burned, but nothing seems to be wrong with him; just a scorched shirt.”

“Thank you, Mr. Zabini,” Madam Pomfrey said quietly and turned to check on her patients. McGonagall nodded.

“Thirty points to Slytherin for a daring rescue,” she added. “Would you do me the favour of finding Severus please?”

Blaise nodded and left, hurrying past the two lurking eavesdroppers without seeing them. Draco and Hermione rushed in after he was gone. “Is he alright?” Hermione asked. Draco scowled at his body.

“He didn’t kill me, did he?”

Madam Pomfrey frowned gently at him. “He crawled under the smoke,” she said. “Quite a brilliant move. I imagine he’s suffering from some smoke inhalation and possibly some mild burns.   I won’t know until I have a chance to examine him.” She smiled at Hermione. “He’ll likely be hoarse for a few days, but I don’t doubt he’ll make a full recovery. Fourty points to Gryffindor for the rescue of Slytherin house.”

The points didn’t register with either of them. Hermione was contemplating the boy on the bed, and Draco was confused. “Smoke inhal-what?”

Pomfrey got a familiar gleam in her eye, one Draco was accustomed to seeing more from the usual teachers. It bespoke of a secret thrill of having a curious student, someone to pass knowledge on to. In the back of his mind, Draco wondered why Pomfrey didn’t teach a class in her spare time. “The smoke is as hot, or hotter than the flames,” she explained. “Breathing too much of it in can burn the inside of the lungs, or cause poisoning from the gases.”

Draco shuddered. Why would anyone risk that much pain and even death for a House they supposedly hate?

Because it was who he was, Draco realised a moment later. It was what he did. He may have been dragged into everything kicking and screaming, but he really was hero-material. His train of thought had become almost fond, and Draco gave himself a mental slap.

“He’ll be alright, though?” Hermione asked again. Pomfrey nodded.

“You two best run along before someone misses you,” she said. Hermione nodded back and grabbed Draco by the wrist, forcibly hauling him out of the infirmary.

-

Later, minus Hermione, Draco came back to listen some more. He wanted to know what had happened to his House.

“I want to know how the dungeons could have caught fire like that,” Potter was asking. Draco realised his voice sounded different when he wasn’t listening to himself, and he found it pleasant in spite of the rough, scraped-over-gravel sound of it from the smoke.

“Well, Mr. Potter,” one of the teachers automatically began.

“Malfoy,” Potter corrected, his tone icy in spite of the harshness. Draco silently cheered him.

“Mr. Malfoy,” the teacher amended. “We think the fires were set deliberately. It started near the seventh-year dorms, and spread from there. Severus is combing the ashes now and will return shortly, hopefully with an answer for us.”

She’d barely finished the statement when Snape hurried past Draco and into the room, leaving the door deliberately cracked. Draco crept closer.

“Ashwinder eggs,” was the dispassionate verdict.

“Oh,” said Potter. “They’re extraordinarily flammable, aren’t they? If Hogwarts wasn’t what it is, the whole thing might have gone up, wouldn’t it? I thought Ashwinders only came out of magical fires. Who could have set a magical fire somewhere without anyone realising it?”

Draco could see Snape’s face through the crack and was amused by the fact that he seemed genuinely surprised.

“Twenty points to Slytherin for remembering what an Ashwinder is,” he said when he’d recovered himself. Draco could hear the growl emanating from Potter’s throat even by the door and outside the room. By all rights, those points should have gone to Gryffindor, and everyone in the room knew it. Snape tacked on something under his breath that might have been, “Five points to Gryffindor,” which didn’t mollify Potter in the least.

“Don’t tax your voice, dear,” Madam Pomfrey said, laying out a series of potions for Potter to take. He made a face but obediently swallowed them all. “It was a very brave thing you did, even if it was terribly stupid.”

“I couldn’t,” Potter started, and coughed. Draco fought the urge to go to him. “I couldn’t let the first years… they had no idea, they might have…” His voice trailed off as whatever Pomfrey had fed him started to kick in. “What?”

“It’s a calming draught for your lungs and throat, something to keep you from starving while you sleep, and a dreamless sleep potion,” Pomfrey explained. Draco watched his eyes close as he relaxed back on the thin mattress. The teachers filed out, leaving Snape in the room. Draco waited until they were all gone and inched into the room, watching Snape watch his sleeping body.

“I was not there,” Snape said softly.

“Sir?” Draco seated himself beside his favourite professor and godfather.

“I was in the Great Hall while my House was on fire. The students owe him – owe you – their lives.” He sounded almost pained.

“Could you have done anything else if you’d been there?” Draco asked after a moments silence, turning to look at him. “You said the fire started in the seventh year dorm, right?”

“That’s what the students tell me.”

A few more minutes of quiet. “Look, I’m glad it was him,” Draco said finally. Snape looked at him, a faint sneer curling his lips as he looked at his favourite student in the form of his least favoured. “I wouldn’t have been able to do anything,” Draco admitted. “At least he knew to get the other students out of the dorms and the common room before the fire got out of hand.” Snape eyed him warily, and Draco shrugged. “I’m mature enough now to admit that I’m not perfect in every way,” he pointed out, earning a small smile from his head of House.

They sat in an almost companionable silence for a few minutes before Snape climbed to his feet. “Get back to your new common room, Potter,” he said mildly, and left. Draco stayed where he was, staring at his own body for a while longer. Potter had – without thinking about it – acted like a true hero. Draco wasn’t even sure he was capable of it even when he was thinking about it. He felt small in comparison.
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