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Displaced REDUX	By : YamiBakura Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 3737 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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Chapter List
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Harry awoke to the nominally suspicious knot of Slytherins gathered around his bedside and started suddenly before he remembered who he was at the moment, and what had happened. He tried to smile, but felt his lips curve into an automatic smirk without his permission.

“Can someone find me Blaise Zabini?” he asked, as softly as he could. The cluster of first and second years shuddered as one, and then began clamouring for his attention, each one trying to quietly-but-firmly get his attention to be the one picked to find Zabini. “Why are you all acting like this?” He’d only been in the dungeons for two days before the fire, but he knew that the Slytherins – while presenting a solid front to outsiders – were perfectly willing and able to do one another dirty to get what they wanted if the mood struck them. “Where’s your honour as Slytherins?” A third year girl, one of the eldest in the group around him, sighed.

“You saved us, Malfoy,” she breathed. “We would have died. You’re our hero.” The faces of the younger kids all around her nodded seriously, and it suddenly occurred to Harry that none of them were as used to life-threatening situations as he was. This had been nothing in comparison to just a few of the things he’d gotten into as a first year, much less much later, and he’d won himself – or rather, he’d just won Malfoy – the everlasting devotion of the entire Slytherin House. While he was Malfoy, that devotion was his. For the first time in his life, he realised what a blessing that could be; as himself, with the crowds and reporters and screaming fans – he just wanted to be by himself, to get away from them. But some part of Malfoy’s brain, trained in Slytherin arts from a young age, prompted him to use the situation as best and as often as he could.

And when, in a week or two, he decided to try converting as many Slytherins to his side as he could, this incident would be fresh in their minds. Would they want to grow up and be terrified all the time, to join with a psychotic man who will kill everyone, or will I be able to convince them to join the other side?

Blaise interrupted his chain of thoughts by choosing that moment to come in, flanked by two girls who’d taken it upon themselves to get him, and Harry shooed the other children away. “Go on now, you’ve got classes. Let me talk to Blaise alone.”

“Classes were canceled,” Blaise announced, seating himself in one of the chairs beside the bed. “Slytherin dungeons are useless at the moment, so they canceled classes for the next two days while they’re repairing them so all the teachers and some of the seventh years can get to repairing them without interruption. Now, what’s so important that you had to drag me away from the reconstruction?”

Harry shooed the kids away again, and with an air of fierce disappointment hanging over all of them, they left. Not trusting to their Slytherin ways, Harry glanced around and then cast muffliato. “Promise you won’t freak out,” he said by way of introduction, lowering his voice despite the spell. Blaise leaned closer, emphasizing the hushed quality of their meeting.

“On my honour as a Slytherin, Draco, you know that,” he said, eyes twinkling. Harry could read the thoughts that Malfoy was just being coy, or playful, written across his face as though they’d been written there.

“Good,” Harry said, and tried to think of the best way to bring it up. Finally he just settled for the Gryffindor way. “I’m not Malfoy.”

Blaise’s reaction was instantaneous. He threw his head back and laughed uproariously, but then cut it off suddenly and became serious as though he’d seen some truth to the words. Harry wondered where he’d screwed up before he found the other boy’s wand against his throat and witnessed the most cold, threatening look anyone – other than Voldemort – had ever given him in Blaise’s eyes. “Who are you?” Blaise asked, voice glacial. “Where’s Draco?”

Harry decided to get the hardest part out first. “I’m Harry Potter,” he said, and saw Blaise’s lips twitch as though he were about to laugh again. “I am,” he insisted. “I called you Blaine the first time I saw you away from Malfoy.” It was something Blaise would know that Malfoy wouldn’t – it was in Hogsmeade and Malfoy had just stepped into Zonko’s.

Blaise looked a little more convinced but didn’t lower his wand. “What have you done with Draco?”

Harry sighed. “I haven’t done anything with him. He’s still here, but… I’ll have to start at the beginning.”

Blaise indicated that the beginning was a good place to start, and settled back, his wand still trained on Harry’s face.

“Malfoy interrupted me when I was casting a spell to… further my effort to defeat Voldemort,” Harry said. It was the broadest explanation he could think of; the less people who knew about the Horcruxes the better.   Blaise looked intrigued, however, and slowly lowered his wand.

“Say I believe you,” he said. “You’ll still have to explain how it happened.”

“I just told you. I was trying to cast a spell that will help me defeat Voldemort.”   Blaise flinched, reminding Harry eerily of Ron. “Oh for the love of… Not you too. Voldemort, Voldemort, Voldemort.” The dark-skinned boy scowled darkly, and Harry pressed his advantage. “Look, I can’t tell you the details. Snape knows what I was doing. That should be good enough for you Slytherins, right?”

Blaise was silent for a long moment. “Fine,” he agreed finally, and put his wand away entirely. “But why didn’t you tell me sooner?” There was a note of plaintive despair in his voice, as though he’d just been proven irrevocably right in his belief that Gryffindors couldn’t be trusted.

“Malfoy lied to me,” Harry said. At Blaise’s questioning look, he elabourated. “He told me he didn’t have any close friends in Slytherin. This is a massive secret; you can’t tell anyone.”

Blaise nodded again. “I won’t tell,” he promised. “I owe you that, at least, after you saved Slytherin. Anyway, about Malfoy… Ever since Crabbe and Goyle’s parents took them out of Hogwarts, he’s been insanely protective of us. I think he’s afraid everyone else is going to leave him, too.   He doesn’t … deal well with people going away.” Blaise’s voice hardened, though his expression remained pleasant. “I think it stems from fifth year, when you got his father thrown in prison.” A moment later, a light grin changed the entire countenance of his face. “Anyway, he’s a jealous bastard and that doesn’t really help.”

Harry stared. “Did he think that you were going to leap to my side the moment he stepped away from you?”

Blaise ignored him and carried on with another train of thought. “I can’t believe you’re really Potter,” he said. “If you’re him, that means… he’s you?” He waited for Harry’s nod of agreement and then continued. “But no one knows! How can no one know? Potter – you – he’s been acting just like you, hanging around with Weasley and Granger this whole time, and you, you’ve been… Well, I should have known something was up. Draco – the real Draco – he’s never been much into Ancient Runes. He prefers Arithmancy and Potions. And then you suddenly started talking about them, and that argument we had… I should have known.”   He sounded more amused than upset. “Why did you choose to tell me? Obviously, Granger and Weasley know. And we aren’t supposed to. Can I tell Pansy?”

The most interaction Harry’d ever had with Pansy was watching her hanging off Malfoy like a limpet clinging to a stone. Even as brief as his prior association with Blaise had been, there was something about him that felt trustworthy. Harry was just going with his instincts and hoping he didn’t screw up. “I don’t know her, or anything about her,” he said, and then when it looked like Blaise was about to protest, Harry held up a hand to stop him. “I know, I don’t know you that well either, but well, we did get along talking about Ancient Runes, and you dragged me out of the fire, and I figured I could… trust you.”

This was apparently the last thing Blaise was expecting. He gave Harry a long hard look. “Trust is extremely important in Slytherin,” he said. “I’ll keep your secret, and help you get along. How long are you stuck like this? Not –” his face went grey. “Not permanently, right?”

“God no! Not permanently! Only a month.”

Relief flooded Blaise’s expression. “Okay,” he said. “Okay. Yeah. I’ll help you get along in Slytherin. It’s probably a lot different than Gryffindor,” he added, tossing out a casual grin. Harry grinned back at him.

“Just remember, I’m Malfoy. Just Malfoy. Don’t slip up and call me Potter by accident.”

Madam Pomfrey bustled in, interrupting the conversation, and Harry hurriedly canceled the spell he’d cast. She smiled at Blaise, and began casting several diagnostic spells over Harry. “Looks like you’re doing okay now,” she said. “Mind you don’t get caught in any more fires, though. The fire-damage potion loses efficiency the more it’s used.” Harry caught a gleam of amusement in her eyes, and realised she was mostly teasing.

“Don’t worry, ma’am. I don’t intend to,” he said, tossing his hair back with the smirk of arrogance he’d so often seen on Malfoy’s face. Blaise sucked in a breath, and Harry resolved to ask him what was wrong when they had another moment.

“Good enough,” Pomfrey said. “I believe you’re well enough to rejoin the Slytherins,” she said. “There’s a temporary dorm set up in the west tower; the upper levels aren’t habitable but Headmistress McGonagall assures me there’s enough room on the bottom levels to accommodate Slytherin House, as long as you don’t mind a bit more of a squeeze.”

Harry thanked her and climbed awkwardly out of the bed. His lungs still felt a little raw, which was bizarre, and his voice was still rough and scratchy, but at least he wasn’t in pain any more.   Blaise lead him to the temporary Slytherin stronghold, gave him the password – Ashwinder – and Harry took advantage of the lull to rummage through the trunk and find a change of clothes.   He couldn’t find a good way to bring up the noise Blaise had made in the infirmary, though, and before he could bring it up, Blaise was talking.

“So, who do you think set the fires?”

Harry tugged his shirt off, and pulled a fresh one on. “I don’t know,” he said. “But I intend to find out.”

From the shadowed corner behind them, neither boy noticed a gleaming pair of eyes watching them both intently.

-o0o-

In the Great Hall, Draco and Hermione watched the two Slytherin girls race up to Blaise, visibly trying not to giggle, and whisper something to him. He rose swiftly and followed them out, the three of them practically running.

Scowling, Draco turned to Hermione. Before the mix-up, if anyone had asked him if he felt like he could not only have an actual conversation with a muggle-born without any curses flying, but actually enjoy the company he gained with said muggle-born, he would have hexed them into next week. Now, he was pleased to have her by his side – not that he’d ever have admitted it, not even under the Cruciatus. “What do you call that,” he asked irritably. “They were obviously running errands for P – Malfoy.”

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake, Harry,” Hermione said, exasperation colouring her tone. “You’re as bad as he is. Always, ‘What d’you think Malfoy’s up to, then, eh?’ You two should have it out once and for all and reconcile to telling each other everything.” She turned back to her pumpkin juice, careful not to spill any of it on the book she’d brought with her. Draco scowled at the mental image her words brought forth, irritated that she had less trouble calling him Harry than he had calling himself Malfoy.

“It’s not right,” he insisted. “He’s in the hospital wing. What could Blaise possibly be needed down there for?” He paused, scowling, then added, “It’s not like they’re friends.”

“Maybe they are,” Hermione said, putting her book down carefully and abandoning any pretext of studying. “Did you ever think of that?”

Draco rose to his feet. “No,” he said firmly. “I refuse to believe that.” His voice was studiously calm, and he was making a visible effort to control himself. His first and overwhelming reaction was to jump up and down like a little kid. “I’m going to go down there right now and demand to know what’s going on.” The words had barely left his mouth when the doors to the Great Hall swung open. The real Harry – Malfoy, Draco reminded himself again – was standing there beside Blaise. He’d changed clothes, and only the knowledge that it was his own body wearing his clothes kept Draco from shuddering and thinking about having to burn them later. He knew every article contained in his trunk and wardrobe intimately, but still, for a moment he barely recognised what … Malfoy… was wearing. A dark blue jumper that set off his eyes and turned them blue too, and grey slacks beneath it. His hair had been brushed and pulled back off his face again, and suddenly Draco realised that he was attractive. He’d always known of course, but there was a damn huge difference between looking in the mirror and telling yourself that you were sex on legs, and watching someone else walking around in your body and seeing that you were hot.

“Harry, you’re staring again,” Hermione murmured. It was automatic enough on her part that Draco realised it wasn’t the first time she’d said something like that. He preened inwardly – Hermione didn’t even think about telling Harry to stop staring at him. That meant that Potter did a lot of staring at him. And wondering where he was, and what he was up to… He felt vindicated for a moment, and settled himself back down beside her.

“See something you like, Potter?” A familiar voice drawled out the words from behind him, and Draco turned and looked into his own eyes. Harry was smirking, his eyes narrowed in a fair approximation of Draco’s own habitual scowl.

Dear gods, do I actually look like that? He wondered, seeing for the first time the way it crinkled his eyes and formed lines around his mouth. He watched the scowl widen as he went without replying, and felt a brief moment of panic. Shite. What would Potter say?

He lifted his chin, angrily staring at nothing. “I’m sorry, Hermione, did you say something? I think there’s a fly buzzing around in here.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the smirk falter for a moment with real irritation. He felt no sympathy of course; he’d be just as irritated if Potter had actually said something similar to him. It conveyed a sense that he wasn’t even worth noticing, and if there was something Draco had been certain of from the day he’d been born, it was that he was always worth noticing.

“Hmm?” Hermione glanced up, looking at him. She followed his gaze, then scowled. “Oh, no, Harry, I didn’t say anything at all. Maybe you’re right. An annoying little bug seems to be flitting around Gryffindor today.”

Draco chuckled to himself, not daring to let it actually leave his mouth, and silently congratulated her on holding her own against her best friend. Of course, that brought to mind Potter’s admittedly-brilliant performance as Draco the morning after the incident when he’d sneered so hard at them as he insulted them to get out of the room that Draco had almost felt it. He immediately shoved that out of his mind; he wanted nothing to do with admiring Potter, in any sense of the word. Blaise appeared at his shoulder a moment later and tugged him away.

“Come on, Draco,” he said with odd emphasis. “No starting fights with the Gryffindors today.” He cast a smirk over his shoulder at the two of them as he lead Potter away and Draco felt shocked right down to his core. He knows! As soon as they’d retreated beyond earshot, Draco turned to the girl next to him.

“Blaise knows,” he hissed.

“Zabini knows what, Harry?”

Draco drew himself up. “He knows about the switch,” he said, pitching his voice low enough that Hermione had to strain herself to hear him clearly. He wanted no one else to discover this despicable secret. “Po – ah, Malfoy… He must have told Zabini about it!” He paused thoughtfully, and then said with real curiousity, “Why would he do that?” He’d specifically told the Gryffindor that he had no friends in Slytherin to keep him away from the people Draco normally associated with. How did they cozy up so fast?

“Harry, Zabini and Malfoy have been friends since first year,” Hermione said placatingly.

“Second,” Draco corrected her automatically. ‘

“Stalker,” said a third voice from behind them. Draco turned as Weasley threw himself into the seat beside them. “Harry, mate, I knew you had a thing for Malfoy, but that’s going a bit too far.” He looked simultaneously teasing and disgusted; Draco took a moment to catalogue the expression – teasing, because that was apparently the nature of the friendship the two of them shared, and disgust because he was ever-aware that however alike they looked, on the inside it wasn’t really his best friend beside him these days.

“Second year,” Hermione acknowledged, ignoring Ron’s comment. “That’s still five years of being friends. You can’t expect Zabini to just give up on him because he’s acting a little strange.”

“How do you know he’s acting strange?” Draco asked before he could stop himself. “Who’s a stalker now?”

She chuckled behind her pumpkin juice and he grinned. It reminded him of some of the conversations he’d had with Pansy and Blaise, he thought kindly, and then started. He was getting along with a mudblood and a Weasley, and comparing them to his friends. Withdrawing, he settled down to watch the way Blaise reacted to Potter, wearing his face, across the room. To his utter dismay, he saw them laughing together just like old friends, and to make things worse, Pansy was too. Traitors, he thought mutinously, and couldn’t take any more. He rose to his feet and left the room. He could feel eyes on his back, but he refused to turn around to figure out which one of them it was.

-o0o-

Harry dug out pajamas from the trunk, and then stood in the bathroom, wishing he didn’t have to shower. Showering would include taking his clothes off, and having to touch Malfoy’s body. It was also the time he normally had it off with his hand, but the only thing he felt was revulsion at the thought.

Finally, he did the only thing he could think of. He stripped as quickly as he could without looking down, and took the fastest shower of his life, touching the least amount of skin possible to wash. When he was done, he laid down in the bed he’d claimed earlier, beside Blaise’s, and tried to reconcile the fact that he had an entire month of this to get through.

It didn’t help that all night long he was plagued by dreams of Veela and Malfoy in the shower.

-

Waking up the next morning wasn’t any more fun. He’d been avoiding thinking about anything while using the bathroom before, but the shower had opened up an entire world of possibility. With at least two or three more days off from classes and nothing in particular to do – a lot of students had gotten special permission to make Hogsmeade trips, and the first and second years were mostly clustering together, giving new life to the idea of inter-House mingling. Without their badges, scarves, or ties to announce their House, the kids were just getting together and hanging out. Harry was pleased beyond words, and encouraged the Slytherins to participate. They were grumbly about it, but acquiesced – as he’d thought – because he was the one who asked them to do it. He was pretty sure at this point that if he asked them to tear Hogwarts to the ground and burn its remains, they’d do it without question. Some bitching, of course, but no questions. A little bit in the back of his mind, something he was sure was the seat of Malfoy’s horrible personality, cackled with glee at the thought of having such power at his disposal. He wondered vaguely if all Slytherins had it, or if Malfoy was a unique little snowflake.

Harry locked himself in the bathroom while the first and second years were hanging out in the Great Hall and most of the upper classes were making their way down to Hogsmeade to enjoy the rare break from school. He looked in the full length mirror and swallowed, closing his eyes. Then slowly, he drew off his pyjamas, and gathered all of his much-touted Gryffindor courage.

Think of it this way, he told himself, it’s entirely likely that Malfoy’s already done this with your body and is going to tease you about it at every possible opportunity. You can’t leave yourself without some ammunition. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes.

He wasn’t immediately struck blind, and the mirror didn’t crack and fall from the wall, so he figured it wasn’t going too badly yet. Malfoy’s body was skinny; not as bony as his own, and there was definitely more muscle tone. He was an even shade of pale white down the whole length of him, except for a few scars. Most of them, Harry didn’t recognise, though if he thought about it hard enough, he could recall where they’d been gotten. Mostly quidditch matches, or practicing for quidditch.   A long silvery line traced its way down from the hollow of his throat, across his chest. Harry dragged a hand along it, shuddering as feeling rippled through his body. He remembered giving that to Malfoy, but now he also could ‘remember’ what it was like to have gotten it.

Panic. Fury. Desolation. Hopelessness. He’d gone to the girl’s lavatory to tell Myrtle, to just… get the words out of his head before they overwhelmed him, and the thought of losing his mother so soon after his father had been imprisoned… It was too much for him. He broke down. Then, Harry Potter, the Golden Boy, the Exalted One, the one person he hated most in the world except for perhaps Voldemort had stumbled across him in his moment of weakness. The Unforgiveable was on his lips with no conscious direction from his brain. The only thought in his head was he can’t know about this. Not him. And beneath it, less conscious, make him forget. Distraction, a memory charm, do something, anything, but make him suffer for this. And then the spell and the ripping sound as his skin flayed and the pain –

Harry jerked himself out of the memory, and saw that his face had gone pink in the mirror. He’s so pale, he doesn’t even turn red when he blushes. And to Harry, who’d already begun to think that he was probably batting for the other team, had his first real look at another person’s body and realised that Malfoy was attractive.

Blaise pounding on the door spoiled the moment forever, and Harry hurried into the clothes he’d brought to change into, pulled Malfoy’s horrible hair back off his face – he’d found out the hard way that it had a tendency to fall into his eyes otherwise, and unlike his own, seemed to never stay where he tried to put it. He figured that was the reason for all the gel and mousse and other mysterious hair products, but he got the same result by tying it back without all the effort. He opened the door and stepped aside to let Blaise in, hoping his face wasn’t as pink as it felt.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

“Totally used to it,” Blaise shrugged. “You know, he spends almost an hour in here if we let him.” A grin flashed across his face, and Harry felt it like a visceral tug in his stomach. His reaction puzzled him, but there were things to be done and he filed it away for later.
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