Chapter Text
Harry raised the lantern as he tried not to trip over the roots that littered the forest. He struggled to see in the night, and his fogged glasses weren't helping.
“This is all your fault, Potter."
“My fault? You were the one who doused me with water in the Great Hall, you tosser!"
“It's still your fault for looking like such an idiot."
“You—" Harry thwacked the Slytherin upside the head.
“What in Salazar's name..." Draco glared at Harry, looking offended. He hit the gryffindor back with a scowl.
Harry yelped when Draco retaliated. He gave the Slytherin a look before speeding up and walking ahead, muttering under his breath. Circe, he did not deserve this. Hell, he could be doing something else instead of being outside at the forbidden forest! But no, Malfoy just had to go and bloody pour a cup of water over his head during dinner because why the hell not.
And they both received detention after a few… intense insults.
Now they apparently needed to find some sort of rare plant for Professor Sprout. Harry was convinced it didn't exist, and that they were just being led to a wild goose chase for punishment.
“Get back here, Potter! I'm not done with you yet—"
A shout pierced the air.
Harry stopped in his tracks. He turned around, then took a double take when he didn't see the blonde in sight. “Malfoy?" He began to retrace his steps, looking for the Slytherin. “Uh, Malfoy? Where'd you go?"
He felt a sense of unease creeping slowly up in his chest.
“Malfoy, this isn't funny." He spun in place, trying to see where the idiot was. He was beginning to get worried. Not for the tosser, of course. More because he didn't want to get blamed by whatever happened to him. Yes, that's right. That was reasonable of him. “Malfoy? You didn't get hurt, did you?" He took a few step backs, raising the lantern to try and lighten his surroundings. “Where—"
Strong arms closed around his waist.
Harry screamed.
The lantern slipped from his hand as he was pulled, his body hitting something particularly hard, yet soft at the same time. A low chuckle reached his ears, causing him to pause. He looked over his shoulder and locked eyes with him.
"Did I worry your pretty little head, Potter?”
Harry gaped at Draco before beginning to struggle in his arms. “Merlin— you're such an arse! I actually thought something happened!"
“Oh? So you were worried?" A smirk formed on Malfoy's face that looked far too smug.
The Gryffindor huffed as he tried to get out of Draco's hold. “No I wasn't. I'm just— I'm not an arsehole like you. So let go of me!"
“Nuh-uh, not gonna happen."
Harry continued to struggle in the blonde's hold, the two failing to notice how the ground they were standing on wasn't stable enough. As the Gryffindor continued to wriggle in Draco's arms while the blonde kept his grip strong on Harry, the soil became looser and looser until with one specific backward step, the Slytherin lost balance.
He let out a surprised shout as he began to fall back, dragging Harry along with him. They hit the ground hard, and began to tumble down the small valley, both screaming and yelling.
A few more seconds passed until finally, they stopped rolling. Harry groaned, his body aching from the many rocks and branches he hit. He could feel a few cuts and wounds on his skin and it stung, damn it. Oh, and everything was blurry. His glasses had fallen somewhere along the way.
Great, just great.
He tried to move, but then he realised that something strong was circling around his body, clinging to him. Harry tried to move again until he heard a hiss from behind that made him pause.
“Stop moving, you dolt." Draco muttered. "Salazar, my head hurts…"
“Look what you've done! Because of your stupid little prank we fell down into some sort of valley and you could have possibly hit your head and are you okay and— Malfoy?" Harry stopped talking when he realized that the blonde wasn't making any stupid comments in response.
He twisted in the arms wrapped around his torso and turned to face the Slytherin. He looked up, only to find Malfoy staring down at him with an unreadable expression.
Harry let out a sigh of relief. “I thought you passed out. Why weren't you speaking?"
Draco blinked, then a coy expression began to replace the blank look he had. “That's sweet. You're really worried for me, hm?"
The Gryffindor’s jaw dropped in disbelief before hitting Malfoy on the chest. "You really are a tosser!”
Malfoy laughed before letting go of Harry. He moved to stand up, patting a few dirts away from his uniform. The Gryffindor watched as the blonde gradually became blurred. Uh oh.
He pushed himself up as well, ignoring how he felt a few parts of his body stung. The forest had become noticeably darker, the lantern dropped above when they fell. He sighed and turned to look at where he knew Malfoy was. “What now?"
“We find a way to get out, duh." Draco began to walk, prompting Harry to follow his blurry figure. They delved deeper into the woods, until they found a small pond. Harry kneeled before it as he reached out, cupping his hands together to drink water from it.
Draco gave him a weird look. “Why are you just drinking from a random pond, Potter? It could be poisonous. And what of possible tadpoles swirling in?"
"Doesn't look poisonous to me. Doesn't look dirty either."
"You absolute half-witted…" The Slytherin sighed before kneeling beside Harry and scooping a few of the water to drink.
Harry raised an eyebrow. “Well, you drank as well."
“If I get ill, I'll be sure to blame you, Potter."
“Of course you will."
They sat in silence for a while, save for the occasional crickets in the distance. Malfoy eventually spoke up, breaking it. “So. You can see without those vile glasses of yours?"
Harry chose to pointedly ignore the insult about his glasses. “Being totally blind and having an impaired vision is completely different, you arse.” He huffed.
“Impaired? So what do you see then? How many fingers am I holding up?" Malfoy held one finger.
Harry fought hard not to hex the blonde into oblivion as Malfoy raised his middle finger. “Ha-ha, you think you're very funny?" He deadpanned.
The Slytherin gave him a cheeky grin before standing up. "Seriously, where are your glasses?”
Harry sighed and stood up after one more sip of the pond water. “I lost them when we fell. Dunno where it is.”
Draco placed a hand under his chin. “Then how can you still see me if your vision is blurred?”
"Do wizards not get taught human anatomy—” Harry gritted his teeth before speaking again. "Look, I can see the outline of your figure as long as you stay close."
“Hmm, and what if I move far?" Draco asked, beginning to take a few steps back away from the Gryffindor.
He grew blurry in Harry's sight. “Malfoy, don't."
“I'll leave you alone in this forest for the creatures to come and get you." The blond quipped.
Harry sighed before shaking his head and turning around. He began to walk, hoping this was the actual direction back to the castle. Damn it, this could have been easier if he had his wand, but no. The professors had to confiscate their wands!
“Wait, where are you going?" Draco asked from the distance.
“Away."
"What do you mean ‘away’? That's not the way back, you dimwit!”
Harry grimaced before just continuing to walk. Welp, he wasn't going to swallow his pride. Especially not because of Malfoy. “I don't care! I don't want to be with an arse."
He continued to walk blindly, stumbling over the roots and large logs. Fortunately not once did he trip. The thunder sounded in the distance, promising him that a storm would come. He just hoped that he'll be able to get back before the rain drops.
“Potter! Get back here!" Draco yelled in the distance, his voice growing muffled as Harry moved away.
He ignored the Slytherin in favour of having a peace of mind, but a wave of dizziness suddenly hit him. He swayed and hit a tree, his hands instinctively reaching out to support himself. He pressed a hand against his mouth, feeling nauseous.
Draco's voice could be faintly heard in the background, but the Gryffindor couldn't make the words out anymore. Black spots were forming in his vision, his head starting to spin.
Thunder rolled again.
A drop.
And then…
The rain came down, pouring hard and immediately soaking Harry.
He could faintly hear his voice being called again, but his consciousness was slipping.
He fell to the forest floor with a soft thud.
. 𓇬 .
The forest whispered their names in brittle tones, leaves crackling underfoot as the two boys, hands clasped in desperation, fled through the dark. Shadows twisted between the trees, chasing them like specters of a nightmare, unseen but ever-present. Their breaths came ragged, hearts pounding in tandem, a chorus of fear and longing.
Ahead, a silver pond shimmered faintly in the moonlight, a fragile promise of safety in a world unraveling. But safety was a cruel illusion.
The shot cracked through the silence like a thunderclap, splitting their world apart. The one with eyes like the forest stumbled forward, a crimson bloom spreading across his chest. His hand slipping from the other's grasp as he fell, his body crashing into the pond. The water swallowed him whole, rippling softly, as if the forest itself mourned his fall.
The other boy, trembling, turned to face the darkness that hunted them. Grief hardened into fury. He fought—wild and reckless—but hands stronger than his dragged him away, pulled him from the place where his love now lay beneath the still waters.
Time seemed to tick by in muted grey.
The boy who survived now lived a life that wasn’t his, trapped in a world where joy was a distant memory. Each day stretched endlessly, a dull ache gnawing at his soul.
He visited the pond often, standing at its edge, staring into the depths where his love had died, as if the water might give him back what it had taken.
One night, beneath a sky heavy with stars, he found it; a way to bring him back. An ancient ritual, whispered in forgotten tongues, a spell that would bind his soul to his lover's. It demanded a price—his life for the other’s.
He stood at the edge of the pond, the wind a soft lament through the trees. The air buzzed with the weight of his decision, each breath heavy with both terror and resolve. He thought of his lover’s laughter, the way his eyes caught the light, the warmth of his touch.
“For you,” he whispered, voice trembling but steady. “Always for you.”
He began the ritual, tracing symbols in the earth, chanting words that trembled with power. The pond stirred, its surface rippling, as if it, too, remembered. His body grew cold, strength slipping away with each word spoken, each heartbeat fading into the night.
As the final syllable left his lips, the water surged. From its depths, a figure emerged—the boy with eyes like the forest, gasping for air, alive once more. He stumbled to the shore, breathless and bewildered, his gaze locking onto the one who had brought him back.
But the boy who remained—his body now lifeless—lay crumpled at the edge of the pond. A faint smile lingered on his face, serene in death, as if he had finally found peace in the sacrifice.
And before the boy with stormy eyes knew it, his appearance began to change—taking on the form of his lover. And soon the same happened to the lifeless one, their bodies flickering between the souls, an intertwining. Gifting one's life.
A new life for the one who had drowned. An ending for the one who had survived.
The forest, silent once more, held its breath as the two boys—one alive, one gone—were bound together in a love that defied even death.
. 𓇬 .
Harry woke up with a start, the remnants of a dream fading like smoke in the back of his mind. His breath was shallow, skin clammy with a cold sweat. Something felt off—his limbs were heavy in a way they’d never been before, his body foreign and unfamiliar. He tried to shake it off, chalking it up to the nightmare he couldn't remember.
But when he sat up and caught sight of the green drapes partially closed around his bed, the way the light filtering through the window rippled like the lake—his heart dropped like a stone.
The bed he was currently lying on felt much softer than his own. Even softer compared than the ones at the Hospital Wing.
Huh.
He slowly sat up, pressing a hand against his forehead as he felt the dull throbbing of a headache.
“Draco!"
His head snapped up. Malfoy?
He frantically looked around and was shocked at what he was faced with.
Standing around the bed he was lying on were a few students that he recognized from a few of his classes. They were from the house of Slytherin.
He could see Goyle and Crabbe. But the rest of them, he was unsure of. If his memory served him correctly, the girl with that bob haircut was Parkinson. To her side was Zabini, his complexion a contrast to hers. And off to the right, next to Goyle... was that Nott?
What?
He looked around again, looking for Malfoy. Wait, where even was he? He took in the green drapes again before pushing it aside to see the rest of the room. This looked just like the Gryffindor common room except… everything was in green and silver. Less of a circle and more rectangular. Additionally, the lighting felt way too dim.
“Where the hell am I?" His tone was harsh as he faced the slytherins again.
“In the dorm, where else?" Parkinson answered as she reached over to cup Harry's face, making him back away and hit the headboard of the bed.
“Don't you dare touch me." he hissed.
The occupants of the room looked at each other, seeming to talk with their eyes. Harry didn't like it. He reached out to push his glasses back from sliding when his fingers met... nothing.
He blinked. Wasn't he wearing his glasses?
A wave of dizziness washed over him again causing him to almost fall, but a pair of arms quickly caught him. He looked up, only to find Parkinson holding him in place.
Huh, she was quite pretty when she wasn't scowling.
He blinked at his thoughts, muttering a quiet ‘thanks’ before running a hand through his hair. He didn't see the weird glances they gave him.
Harry rubbed his eyes before leaning back against the pillows. Oh, his vision was blurred again. What..? He scratched the back of his neck. “Um, why am I here?”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Did you kidnap me or something?" Harry then gasped as he narrowed his eyes at them as if he'd just a moment of eureka. He immediately got off the bed, grabbing a random book from the bedside table and training it at them. That's right, he remembered being at the forbidden forest with Malfoy to serve their detention. He had passed out for some reason.
Did Malfoy plot this all along?
If so, why wasn't the tosser here?
“Woah, calm down. What's gotten into you?"
Harry glared at Zabini, the one who spoke. “Answer my damn question."
They glanced at each other before snorting. “He probably hit his head." Goyle muttered to another slytherin who laughed. Harry faintly remembered him being Nott. Again. It was hard to keep track of their names...
Zabini rolled his eyes. “Yeah, we kidnapped you."
Parkinson smirked and leaned close to Harry, who immediately aimed the book at her. “That's right, darling."
Harry's cheeks warmed at the nickname. “This isn't funny! Now, is this the Slytherin common room?"
“No, this is the Gryffindor’s."
“Yeah? And my eyes are bloody grey."
“But they are…" Crabbe whispered 'quietly' to Goyle, who snickered in response.
“They're green.” Harry retorted after hearing the comment.
“Quite,” Zabini whistled, glancing over to the rest of the occupants of the room. “Malfoy here definitely hit his head hard.” He placed his arms behind his head, looking far too entertained for his own good.
“Should we call Professor Snape?"
“No! Don't you dare.” Harry shouted, pressing one hand over his eye. What on earth… a sudden dizziness again? Did they drug him..?
“Okay, just what the fuck is up with you, Draco?" Parkinson snapped as she walked towards him, easily flicking the book away.
"Draco? Did you just call me Draco?!” Harry could feel that his voice did sound incredibly different.
Parkinson rolled her eyes before gesturing at Crabbe and Goyle. They left the room at her silent order. “Oh, and what should I call you pray tell? Draconius?”
Harry couldn't help but laugh in disbelief. “No— what the fuck? No, why are you even calling me Draco? Is this a joke?"
“No, are you joking? You've been acting unusual since earlier!” She threw her arms in exasperation. Zabini placed a hand on her shoulder.
Nott seemed to be thinking when he suddenly spoke up. "Draco, what do you remember? Do you even remember anything?”
Harry had no fucking idea why they kept calling him Draco. It was some sort of sick joke, he was sure of it.
"What was the last thing that you saw?” Nott continued.
The Gryffindor thought about it for a moment. It was a bit blurry— literally, because he had lost his glasses.
“Did Potter do anything to you?" Zabini inquired.
Okay, this was getting seriously fucking weird. Why are they referring to him as Malfoy and referring to him as a different person? As if he wasn't there himself?
“I'll… I need time for myself.” He muttered quietly as he began to move before grabbing Nott with him and whispering, "Can you take me to the loo? My vision's blurry for some reason.” It wasn't a lie, not exactly.
He hoped that Nott would understand. And hoped he wouldn't be cursed and hexed.
To his relief, the slytherin just shrugged. “Alright,” and began to lead Harry towards the loo.
And if the Gryffindor felt Zabini and Parkinson staring at him intensely, he ignored it. He let himself be led by Nott, who he'd never really heard talking before. He seemed to be always quiet in class, unlike the other Slytherins he knew.
But then again, he didn't know anybody from this House. Not like Malfoy.
“Call me if you need anything.” Nott says as they finally reach the bathroom. Harry merely nodded, not knowing what to say to him.
He closed the door behind him, and it was just now that he finally noticed how rapid his heart was beating. He pressed a hand over his chest, biting his lower lip as he tried to compose himself.
He inhaled deeply, trying to calm down. His hands shook. What on earth was going on? What kind of messed up prank was this? Where was Malfoy? Why were they referring to him as Malfoy? Why was he here?
He walked over to one of the sinks, turning on the faucet. He splashed his face with water, hoping he'd wake up. He braced himself on the porcelain edges. His eyes narrowing when he noticed that he was a shade... paler. And… he wasn't as thin as before. What?
He forced his gaze away from his skin, slowly looking up at the mirror.
What greeted him wasn't the reflection he was used to.
A pale face stared back, framed by platinum-blond hair that shimmered in the moonlight filtering through the window. His eyes—no, not his eyes—were a cold, stormy grey, wide with disbelief and framed by sharp, aristocratic features that had haunted him for years.
Harry scrambled away from the sink, nearly tripping over his own feet—too long, too graceful— and stumbled out of the bathroom.
The dorm, filled with the slytherins earlier, was now blissfully empty. It was silent, save for his heavy breathing.
He tapped each of his cheeks, even tried pinching himself hard, and hitting his forehead. But nothing.
He didn't wake.
He began to pace, anxiety curling its wicked hands around his heart. And it was just his luck, that he caught sight of his reflection on another mirror. However, this time it was smaller compared to the one in the bathroom, its edges decorated with intricate designs. It was propped against something Harry couldn't quite see, standing there on the bedside table.
His hands, slender and unfamiliar, gripped the edges of the frame of it as he leaned in, heart pounding in his chest.
This wasn’t possible. It had to be a trick, some elaborate prank, maybe a Polyjuice mishap. But the reflection mimicked his every move, every panicked breath. He blinked, and Malfoy blinked back. He clenched his jaw, and Malfoy’s lips pressed into a thin line.
“No,” Harry whispered, the voice escaping his lips foreign and chilling. It wasn’t his voice. It was Malfoy’s—smooth, precise, and painfully wrong.
He yanked his hands away from the mirror as if it burned, backing up until he hit the wall. His mind raced, heart thundering like a caged animal. This can’t be real. This can’t be real.
A sudden, desperate thought pierced through the panic. Magic. There had to be a spell, a curse—something that could explain this. He reached for his wand instinctively, only to find it wasn’t where it should have been. Of course it wasn’t.
Because this isn’t my body.
His gaze flickered back to the mirror, drawn against his will to the reflection. Every line, every curve of Malfoy’s face was etched in sharp detail, and no matter how many times Harry blinked, it didn’t change. He touched his cheek tentatively, fingers brushing over smooth, pale skin that felt both real and unreal.
“This isn’t happening,” he muttered, pacing now, the silky fabric of Malfoy’s pajamas brushing against his skin. “This isn’t—”
Harry screamed.
. 𓇬 .
And as for Draco?
Well, this is what happened to him the moment he woke up, no longer in the creepy forest.
. 𓇬 .
Draco's eyes fluttered open, met immediately by the blindingly bright ceiling of the hospital wing. The sterile scent of healing potions stung his nose, and for a moment, he winced, expecting Madam Pomfrey’s scolding voice any second. But it wasn’t her voice that made him freeze; it was Granger’s, shrill and urgent.
“Harry, are you alright? You were out for ages!”
Draco blinked once, twice. Harry? He turned his head and saw her wide, concerned eyes staring down at him. Weasley loomed over her shoulder, his eyebrows knitted in concern that bordered on irritation.
“Harry, mate, that was quite a fall you took,” Weasley said.
Draco felt his heart jolt in his chest. The annoyance in him bubbled up instantly. Potter’s friends? He pushed himself up on the bed with sudden energy, eyes narrowing. “What kind of twisted joke is this?” His voice came out sharper than intended, though… somehow not quite in his own tone. His heart thumped uncomfortably. “You think this is funny?”
Granger stepped back, sharing a glance with Weasley, confusion painting her features. “Harry, what are you—”
But Draco was already moving, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and stumbling to his feet. The room spun for a moment, but he ignored it, fueled by the adrenaline and the need to escape. Ignoring the voices trailing behind him, he barreled out of the hospital wing, ignoring Madam Pomfrey’s exasperated calls.
He didn’t stop until he found a cold, empty sanctuary. Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom. Leaning over the sink, he tried to catch his breath. The running water’s hiss filled the silence as he turned on the faucet, splashing cold droplets on his face.
When he looked up, however, he froze.
The reflection staring back wasn’t his own pointed, pale face, nor the familiar slicked-back blond hair. No, it was the infuriatingly untidy dark hair, green eyes behind cracked glasses, and a lightning bolt scar running through an eye that sent a shiver down his spine.
He was staring at Harry Potter.
Draco’s hands flew up to his face, touching the features he knew were not his own. A shaky laugh escaped him, bitter and filled with disbelief. “This… this is impossible,” he whispered, his voice trembling in the tone that should have been Potter’s. The anger drained, replaced by a dawning sense of dread.
The water dripped, echoed, and Myrtle's faint sob came from one of the stalls. But Draco barely noticed.
It wasn’t a prank. It wasn’t a dream. It was real.
Draco didn’t have long to grapple with the surge of panic coursing through him. Footsteps echoed down the corridor, hurried and growing louder. He turned toward the entrance just as Granger and Weasley burst in, their expressions a mix of concern and exhaustion.
“Harry! There you are,” Granger said, catching her breath. She sounded both relieved and exasperated, her bushy hair frizzing at the edges. “Why did you run off like that?”
Draco’s mouth set into a thin line. The rush of irritation surged again, but this time, it was laced with anxiety. He needed answers. He needed to know what kind of sorcery had pulled him into this nightmare.
“I want to know what’s going on right now,” he demanded, fists clenching at his sides. The unfamiliar sensation of Potter’s voice made him wince internally, but he held his glare. “And don’t you dare say you don’t know, because I woke up here without any idea of what sort of sick joke this is.”
Weasley exchanged a baffled look with Granger. “Mate, we’ve already told you. You took a hit from that spell in the maze. You don’t remember?”
Draco’s mind raced. The maze? That triggered something, a fleeting image of Potter sprinting through the tall hedges of the Triwizard Tournament maze, dodging curses and creatures.
But the third task wouldn't be in another month or two.
Huh?
“Right,” he said slowly, trying to mask the panic threatening to rise. He needed more time, more information. “I… I don’t remember much.”
Granger's stern expression softened. “That’s normal after what happened. Maybe we should go back to the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey will be able to help.”
Draco’s instinct was to refuse, to bolt and find a way out of this absurd situation on his own. But reason tugged at him. The mediwitch might actually know something about this. And if she didn’t, at least he’d have the excuse to gather more information without the constant scrutiny of Potter’s idiotic friends.
“Fine,” he muttered, feigning reluctance. He pushed himself off the sink, feeling strangely wobbly on his feet. Granger's eyes narrowed as if trying to read him, but she said nothing, leading the way with Weasley right behind her.
As they made their way back through the dim, drafty halls of Hogwarts, Draco’s mind churned. The faces of passing students, the familiar stone walls, and the flickering torchlight felt surreal from this vantage point. Every so often, he caught glimpses of himself—no, of Potter—reflected in windows or the polished suits of armor. The fury that came with each reminder made his jaw clench.
Back at the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey bustled over, her keen eyes narrowing. “Mr. Potter, back already? Are you feeling worse?”
Draco paused, swallowing his pride and the nausea that threatened to betray him. “Yes, Madam Pomfrey,” he said through gritted teeth, forcing himself to look convincing. “I think we need to talk.”
. 𓇬 .
Harry’s breath came in short, sharp gasps as he pressed himself into the far corner of the Slytherin common room, hidden behind a green velvet curtain that barely concealed his trembling form. The cold, damp air of the dungeons pressed around him, but it was nothing compared to the icy dread that knotted in his stomach.
Moments ago, he’d bolted away from the ornate mirror that hung over the porcelain sink, unable to process the reflection that had stared back. Pale skin, sharp cheekbones, and piercing grey eyes—Draco Malfoy’s face. The scream that had torn from his throat had not been his own, but that of the person whose body he now inhabited.
Outside the curtain, he could hear the muffled voices of Malfoy's friends; Crabbe, Goyle, and Parkinson, whispering in confusion.
“What’s gotten into him?” Parkinson's voice was shrill, underpinned with an almost annoyed concern. “Draco doesn’t just scream like that.”
“I dunno,” Goyle muttered, the sound of his heavy footsteps pacing back and forth. “But he looked like he saw a ghost or something.”
Harry’s fingers dug into the fabric of his robes—Malfoy’s robes, as he tried to steady himself. His vision was wavering between sharp, unsettling clarity and a familiar blur that made him squint. Great, he thought, a surge of helplessness twisting inside him. Malfoy has perfect eyesight, and I’m stuck dealing with mine in his body. The irony would have made him laugh if it didn’t make him feel so sick.
He needed a plan. He needed to think, but panic gnawed at the edges of his thoughts, scattering them like dry leaves in the wind. How had this even happened? One moment he was outside in the forbidden forest serving his detention, and now… now he was Draco Malfoy, surrounded by Slytherins who’d turn on him in a heartbeat if they realized who he really was.
“Draco?” Parkinson’s voice was closer now, just beyond the curtain. “Are you in there? If this is some joke, it isn’t funny.”
Harry’s heart thudded painfully in his chest. He swallowed, forcing down the panic as best he could. He needed to get out of here. But the second he moved, a spike of dizziness hit him, and he wobbled on his feet. The world blurred again, and for an instant, he felt completely disoriented.
The curtain rustled, and Harry held his breath. Pansy’s fingers curled around the edge, but before she could pull it back, a sudden voice called from across the dorm.
“Parkinson! Leave Malfoy alone. He’s probably sulking, like always.”
The laughter that followed was enough to make Parkinson pause, and she sighed in exasperation. “Fine,” she muttered, letting the curtain drop. “But if you don’t come out soon, Draco, I’m coming back.”
The room fell back into the hum of conversation, but Harry didn’t dare move. Every sound grated on his nerves, every laugh felt like a threat. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing his racing heart to calm, even as the question echoed over and over in his mind.
What in Merlin’s name is going on?
Harry’s breath rattled in his chest as he clenched his fists, trying to summon any shred of composure he could muster. He couldn’t hide behind the curtain forever, and the longer he stayed there, the more suspicious he would seem. But the moment he even thought of stepping out, his heart thumped wildly in protest, refusing to be calmed.
A gnawing sense of dread crept in as another realisation formed, twisting his stomach even tighter. If I’m here, then where’s Malfoy? He swallowed hard, the horrible answer surfacing without permission.
He must be in my body.
The thought sent a chill down his spine. Malfoy walking around as Harry Potter, surrounded by his friends, his life—what could he be doing right now? Harry’s mind raced, conjuring all manner of disastrous scenarios. Would Malfoy try to sabotage him, or worse, hurt someone? Panic buzzed under his skin, making it hard to breathe.
Suddenly, the heavy velvet curtain was pulled aside, and Harry gasped, stumbling backward into the light. A small, wide-eyed boy with dark hair stood before him, staring with unabashed curiosity. He couldn’t have been more than a first year, and his gaze flickered between confusion and amusement.
“Mr. Malfoy? What are you doing back here?” The boy tilted his head, peering at Harry as if trying to solve a puzzle.
Harry’s mind blanked. He was used to quick thinking, but the sheer wrongness of being in Malfoy’s body made it almost impossible to think straight. He forced himself to breathe, trying to sound as dismissive as possible.
“I was… I was looking for something,” he muttered, hoping the lie sounded plausible. His voice, crisp and disdainful in the way Malfoy’s always was, felt foreign in his mouth.
The first-year boy didn’t seem convinced. He glanced over his shoulder to where the other slytherins were lounging, then back at Harry with a curious smirk. “Behind the curtains?”
Harry could only muster a weak glare, the kind he’d seen Malfoy use a hundred times. “Mind your own business,” he snapped, the words coming out sharper than intended. The boy blinked and took a step back, cowed but still watching with that unsettling curiosity.
Harry took a shaky step out from behind the curtain, the weight of dozens of slytherin eyes grazing him as he walked further into the common room. He could feel the sweat on his palms, the racing of his heart refusing to settle. He needed to get out, find out what was happening, and locate Malfoy before things spiraled beyond control.
But for now, all he could do was pretend to be Draco Malfoy, surrounded by Slytherins who could turn from allies to threats in an instant.
Harry took a steadying breath, reminding himself that he was a Gryffindor, and Gryffindors didn’t break down under pressure—at least, not where anyone could see.
Channeling every ounce of Malfoy’s haughty confidence he could muster, he strode across the common room, ignoring the curious glances shot his way. His eyes landed on an empty armchair near the fire, and he sank into it, grabbing the first book he saw on the table. It was an old tome titled Advanced Potions for the Ambitious, and he propped it up as a shield between himself and the rest of the room.
The flickering fire cast dancing shadows across the dark stone walls, and Harry felt a momentary lull in the thundering of his heart. He forced himself to exhale, pretending to be engrossed in the book. Every so often, he risked a glance around, trying to make sense of this bizarre nightmare and wondering if Malfoy was doing the same in his body.
But his brief reprieve didn’t last. The same first-year boy from earlier sidled up to him, looking both hesitant and determined. He had a mop of dark hair that flopped over one eye and a toothy grin that didn’t quite fit in with the usual slytherin smirks Harry was used to.
“Mr. Malfoy?” the boy piped up, clutching a worn-out deck of exploding snap cards to his chest. “I know you’re busy and all, but, um… everyone else is studying or hexing each other, and I don’t have anyone to play with.”
Harry stared at the boy, momentarily caught off guard. The kid couldn’t be serious. Was Draco Malfoy the kind of person little slytherins wanted to play with? The idea was so absurd that Harry almost laughed. He coughed instead, trying to cover the sound and regain Malfoy’s usual air of indifference.
“Play?” Harry said, raising one pale eyebrow. He tried to channel Malfoy’s trademark sneer, but it came out more like a confused pout. “Why on earth would I—”
The boy’s smile faltered, and he shuffled his feet awkwardly. “Never mind. Sorry to bother you.” He turned to walk away, his shoulders drooping. Harry’s insides twisted with unexpected guilt. The kid was just a first-year, for Merlin’s sake. He looked like he hadn’t even learned how to scowl properly yet.
With a sigh, Harry put down the book and called after him. “Wait.”
The boy spun around, eyes brightening hopefully. Harry shifted in his seat, feeling the weight of a dozen eyes on him again, but he ignored it. “I… have a few minutes. Show me what you’ve got,” he said, gesturing to the deck of cards.
The boy’s grin returned, wider than before, and he scrambled over, plopping down cross-legged on the rug beside Harry’s chair. “You’re going to love this, Draco! I promise I won’t let the cards explode near you this time.”
Harry’s eyes widened. This time? He glanced down at the deck in the boy’s hands and braced himself. The gryffindor in him couldn’t help but smile faintly, even in the middle of this crisis. He may have been in Malfoy’s body, but at least he was still Harry Potter—the one who wouldn’t let a lonely first-year sit by himself.
And so, as the boy dealt out the cards and began chattering about the rules, Harry let himself relax, just for a moment. The situation was still completely bonkers, but at least it came with a little bit of fluff and an unexpected ally.
Harry was just in the middle of pretending he knew how to win at Exploding Snap—losing on purpose seemed suspiciously un-Malfoy—when he saw Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini approaching out of the corner of his eye. They walked with that practised confidence, their eyes narrowed as they took in the unlikely scene before them: Draco Malfoy playing cards with a first-year on the common room rug.
“Draco,” Parkinson said, a tone of disbelief tinged with concern. “Have you gone completely mad? What on earth are you doing?”
Zabini smirked, one eyebrow raised. “Didn’t realise you’d taken up babysitting as a hobby,” he drawled.
Harry’s mind raced. He opened his mouth to respond, trying to find something biting and witty that Malfoy would say, but before he could think of a suitable reply, the entrance to the common room burst open. The murmurs and quiet laughter of the Slytherins instantly stopped, replaced by a chorus of confused exclamations. Heads turned, and Harry felt his stomach lurch as he saw his own face.
His face, messy black hair and round glasses—striding into the room.
Draco Malfoy, in Harry Potter’s body, scanned the room with narrowed green eyes until they locked onto Harry’s grey ones. His expression seemed to shift from bewilderment to something fiercely determined as he made his way through the throng of staring slytherins.
Without a word, he grabbed Harry by the arm and yanked him to his feet, sending the deck of cards scattering across the floor. The first-year squeaked in surprise, and Parkinson and Zabini stepped back, their mouths half-open in confusion.
“Get up,” Malfoy snapped, his tone low and edged with anger. It was jarring hearing his voice command with such coldness. He didn’t give Harry time to respond, tugging him toward the exit as a wave of shocked whispers rose behind them.
“Potter, what the—” Pansy started, but Malfoy silenced her with a sharp glare before dragging Harry out into the dimly lit corridor of the dungeons.
The heavy door shut behind them, muffling the noise from inside. For a second, there was nothing but the sound of their breathing and the faint drip of water from the stone walls. Malfoy released Harry’s arm and spun around, eyes blazing.
“What did you do?” he hissed, his expression somewhere between fury and panic.
Harry rubbed his arm where Malfoy had grabbed him, feeling a strange sense of dislocation seeing his own face scowling at him. “What did I do? You think this was my idea?” He gestured at Malfoy's body with a wild sweep of his arm. “I woke up like this!”
Malfoy's jaw clenched, the muscles in his—Harry’s—face tightening. He took a deep breath, and for a moment, the fire in his eyes wavered with uncertainty. “We need to fix this. Right now.”
Harry nodded, his earlier panic replaced by a shared, silent understanding. “Agreed. But first, we need to figure out what caused this.”
. 𓇬 .
Draco glared up at Potter—no, at himself—feeling an unsettling mix of irritation and disbelief. Being face-to-face with his own features, but looking up to meet them, made him realise just how small Potter was compared to him. He inwardly grimaced and nearly let out a dry laugh at the absurdity of it all. Trust Potter to be shorter, he thought, the irritation mingling with a bizarre sense of amusement.
Without another word, Draco grabbed Potter's—his—arm again and began to drag him further away from the entrance to the Slytherin common room. They needed somewhere more private, somewhere they could talk without prying eyes or ears.
But before they could get far, Draco’s sharp ears picked up the sound of footsteps approaching fast, accompanied by familiar voices calling out.
“Harry! Harry, where are you?” Granger's voice was clear, laced with concern, and Weasley’s more impatient tone followed right after.
Draco felt a surge of annoyance prickling at his skin. He couldn’t deal with the nosy gryffindor duo right now. Thinking quickly, he yanked Potter behind a heavy, moth-eaten tapestry that barely concealed a narrow alcove in the stone wall. The space was cramped, far too small for two people, and Draco’s back was pressed against the cold, rough surface while Potter was pinned against him.
Before Potter could protest or make a noise, Draco clamped a hand over Potter's mouth, shooting him a glare that said don’t even think about it. His other arm braced against the wall, holding himself steady as Granger’s and Weasley's footsteps drew closer.
“Do you think he went back to the Great Hall?” Granger's voice was anxious and echoed slightly in the hallway.
“No idea. But why would he just take off like that?” Weasley's frustration was clear, and Draco could imagine the worried crease between his eyebrows.
Draco held his breath, his senses on high alert. The faint scent of whatever Potter used for shampoo mixed with the musty tapestry and made the air feel tighter. The irony of being this close to Harry Potter while pretending to be him nearly made Draco roll his eyes, but he forced himself to stay still.
The voices faded as Granger and Weasley moved further down the corridor, their footsteps eventually disappearing into the distance. Draco let out a slow, controlled breath and dropped his hand from Harry’s mouth, feeling the heat of embarrassment and annoyance creep up the back of his neck. The cramped space felt even smaller now, and Draco stepped back, or tried to, but there was nowhere to go.
“Well,” he muttered, voice tight. “That was fun.”
Potter's eyes that used to be green, now grey, wide and bright in the dim light, glared back at him. “I’m so glad you’re enjoying this,” Harry snapped, trying to shift but only managing to jostle them closer. “Now can you please explain what’s going on before your snakes drag me back inside and interrogate me?”
Draco’s eyes narrowed, some of the amusement draining away as he met Potter's serious expression. “I would if I knew, Potter,” he said, his voice low. “But first, we need to get out of here before your own annoying lions find us again.”