Of Two Minds

Harry walked along the corridors of the Ministry of Magic, a folder under his arm and a considerable amount of dragging weariness in his step. His sleep had been brief and troubled and not even the double shot of espresso had managed to erase that fuzzy blur from his vision or the faint pounding in his head. At least freshening charms had done away with the dark bags under his eyes. Hermione was likely to throw a fit if she thought he wasn't sleeping again, even after she gave that potion.

'Morpheus Muddle's Sleep Ease-Z Draught. New and improved so that it doesn't taste like cherry-flavoured mothballs...yeah right.'

He hated sleeping potions. They always managed to make him feel sluggish and drained when he finally woke, like he had been fighting something he couldn't remember. Nightmares, as far as he could tell. He didn't like not knowing. At least when he remembered his nightmares he could commit them to a Pensieve and work them out. The ones he forgot only turned up as formless shadows which he could never quite get rid of. And Dreamless Sleep hadn't worked since Voldemort had fucked with his mind in fourth year.

He finally arrived at Hermione's office door, which was slightly ajar. Inside he could hear two familiar voices talking quietly with each other. Harry smirked.

'So Ron dropped by today after all. I wonder if he's managed to convince Hermione that kilts would not be a good idea for the groomsmen yet.'

Grinning broadly, Harry swung open the door and stepped inside.

"Hey you two, I hope I'm not interrupting anything. Still got all your clothes on, right? I've caught you in this office before..."

Ron and Hermione turned to face Harry, the blood draining from their faces.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Ron demanded, a sneer curling his lip.

Confused, Harry let the grin drop. His friends were staring at him suspiciously, like he had breached an area which he was definitely not allowed into. Harry wondered if he had missed a do-not-disturb sign on the door or something. He hoped they weren't fighting. He couldn't afford to keep buying beers for Ron to mope into, or shirts for Hermione to cry on whenever they decided to be gits to each other. He took a step forward, palm up in a conciliatory gesture.

"Wow, it looks like I have interrupted something. I'm really sorry guys, I just wa--"

"You're supposed to be dead," Hermione interrupted.

"Wha?" Harry's jaw dropped open.

"Ron, he's supposed to be dead. Do something!"

Ron drew his wand from the holster strapped to his thigh, pointing it straight at Harry, who took a startled step backwards.

"I don't know how the hell you got out, but I'm going to finish what should have been done years ago. Constringo!"

Harry stumbled as ropes suddenly sprang out of Ron's wand, wrapping him in an almost suffocating embrace. Auror training kicked in and Harry cut the ropes with a muttered spell and reflexively sent a stunner in Ron's direction. Ron lurched out of the way and the spell glanced off his shoulder, spinning him around and back into Hermione's desk. Harry winced at the painful sound of Ron's hip impacting with the hard wood.

"Shit, I'm sorry Ron. I didn't mean to--I just--I don't understand."

Immediately, Hermione was at Ron's side, one hand on his shoulder and the other holding a wand that she pointed directly at Harry's chest.

"Stop calling him Ron," she shouted. "He's never been anything but another poor Weasley to you! Someone to mock and hurt because you think you're better then he is!"

"That's not true," Harry murmured, suddenly feeling dizzy. What was happening to him, to everyone? Had they gone crazy? Had he gone crazy? Harry was so shocked he failed to react in time, as Hermione raised her wand and opened her mouth.

"Stupefy! Immobilus!"

He was on the ground, the carpet rough against his cheek. He was on the ground. Why were they doing this to him? What had he done to make them hate him so much? He should be able to shake the spells off. He had done so many times in training. Why couldn't he break free?

"I can't move," Harry whispered. "Ron you've got to help me. Ron..."

"Oh I'll help you Malfoy," Ron sneered, leaning down to confiscate Harry's wand. "Help you back to Azkaban where you belong, that is."

'Malfoy...'

Harry squirmed, trying to find the energy to get up.

"It's me, Ron. It's Harry. I'm Harry."

"Is that the best you can come up with? You think I don't know my best friend from a slimy murdering Death Eater, Malfoy? Don't make me laugh."

"I'm Harry! I swear, I'm Harry! Why don't you believe me? Hermione..."

She looked down at him coolly, her eyes showing no hint of the softness she'd always shown whenever she looked at her two best friends. Her lips were pressed into a thin white line.

"If you're Harry Potter," she said, "then why do you have this?"

She yanked up the right sleeve of his robes to display the Dark Mark, ugly and livid against his too pale skin. Pale skin...

"Enjoy your time in Azkaban, Malfoy."

As Aurors swept into the room and bound Harry securely in charmed handcuffs, he caught a glimpse of white blonde hair and a pointed chin in the reflection of the metal.

"Let's hope they make sure he stays dead this time," Ron said as the Aurors carted him away.

"I'm just glad Harry wasn't here to see this," Hermione confessed, using a spell to twitch her desk back into place after Ron's collision with it had moved it. "He'd probably get all upset."

'But I'm Harry! I'm Harry, I'm Harry, I'm Harry, I'm Harry, I'm--'

"Harry...Harry! Wake up would you, I need a favour. HARRY."

"Wha..." His eyes opened sluggishly to reveal a hazy orange blob in front of him. A quick fumble for his glasses on the bedside table and the orange blob turned into his fireplace, where the fire that Dobby must have recently started contained a frowning face dancing in its flames.

Quickly, Harry rolled back the right sleeve of his sweat soaked pyjamas. A few scars crisscrossed his wrist, but the skin was tanned and otherwise unblemished. He sighed in relief, feeling a bit silly for needing to check.

"Harry? I know you're in there, dammit. C'mon, wake up!"

Harry crawled out of bed and plunked down in front of the fireplace. For a moment, he couldn't place the face in the flames, but a sudden sarcastic roll of the eyes made it clear.

"Lynn?"

"Hey Har, sorry to call so early. Gee you look terrible; you should try to get more sleep."

Harry glared at the young Auror. "Thanks for the tip. How early is it anyway?"

"Six thirty," Lynn replied, glibly. "Look, I need a favour. You know those files on the Berkley case that I was supposed to have into the Chief today..."

"What about them."

"Well, I just remembered that I also promised to investigate that new strain of curses with Hopkins in Coltshire today, so I was wondering if you'd kindaliketodotheformsforme," she finished with a mumble.

Harry crossed his arms. "You want me to do your paper work for you."

"Uh huh."

"While you're out doing exciting investigative work."

"Yep."

"With the cutest guy on the team."

It was true. Jeremy Hopkins was the cutest guy in the Sixth Division, with his slightly curly brown hair and bright blue eyes framed with ridiculously long black lashes. He wasn't a bad Auror either, which didn't help his popularity at all. Harry had been openly bisexual since his last year at Hogwarts, and had considered asking Jeremy Hopkins out once or twice. He didn't relish the idea of having a relationship with someone he had to work with though. The awkwardness around the office, combined with the fact that being an Auror was dangerous enough without being attached to the ever targeted Boy-Who-Lived, kept Harry from really seriously considering Hopkins boyfriend material. It irked him, however, that Lynn seemed to have no such qualms.

"Please Har, I promise I'll make it up to you. I'll bring scones on Tuesday," Lynn wheedled.

"Cinnamon, no raisons. And I'll need coffee too. The good stuff."

"Thanks Harry! You're the best."

"I know."

"Better start getting ready for work, Har. It's almost seven already."

And then Lynn's head was gone from the fireplace and Harry was left alone. Sighing, he called Dobby to start the coffee brewing and locked himself into the bathroom so he could make himself look at least semi-presentable for work.

Dobby had followed him after he'd finished Hogwarts, and no matter how much Harry claimed he didn't need a house elf, he had to admit that it was a lot easier to have Dobby then it would be to look after Grimmauld Place by himself with the erratic hours he kept. It was Dobby that had swept the house clean of any remaining pesky dark creatures, fixed up the particularly dilapidated areas, and gotten rid of (thank Merlin) the portrait of Siruis' Mother. And all for the low price of two galleons a month and all the socks Harry could transfigure. The only annoyance was Dobby's sometimes overwhelming concern with Harry's eating and sleeping habits. Something that Hermione unfortunately encouraged. Harry, who regarded coffee as the only main food group, was rather tired of waking up to six course breakfasts and lunches that would feed the entire Order of the Phoenix, including Mundungus Fletcher. He was also tired of finding bottles of sleeping potions on his bedside table every so often.

'Maybe I should have taken Hermione's potion last night. That dream...'

Flashes of the dark mark burned into the pale flesh of his arm and Ron's sneering face danced behind Harry eyes. He remembered the feel of cold iron fastening around his wrists and shuddered, his throat closing for a moment with fear and confusion.

* Now you know what it feels like, Potter.*

Harry shook his head, clearing the slight dizziness away. He looked in the bathroom mirror to see the same dark unruly hair, green eyes, and jagged scar he'd always had. And while he was a good deal paler then health would warrant there was definitely no hint of blonde in his hair, or tint of grey in his eyes. He was still Harry Potter.

'Harry Potter. So why does my conscience suddenly sound like the voice of Draco Malfoy?'

"Harry Potter sir, your breakfast is looking ready. It is not good if Harry Potter's breakfast is getting cold."

"I'll be out in a minute Dobby," Harry called, quickly shucking his clothing and turning on the shower. Perhaps hot water would erase the sudden feeling that his skin was trying to crawl off his bones and away.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Draco Malfoy restlessly paced the confines of his prison. It was not supposed to happen this way. The spell had been performed correctly, he was sure of it, but something must have gone wrong because he was not supposed to be trapped inside Harry Potter's body. He was supposed to have control over Harry Potter's body. And Potter was supposed to be gone, away, wherever spirits went when they were pushed out of their bodies, wherever Draco's spirit would have gone if he'd actually allowed that stupid Dementor to suck out his soul.

Instead, Harry Potter was still happily moving about in control of his own body, only with an added passenger.

And passenger was all he was it seemed. Draco had tried to make Potter pinch himself for the last fifteen minutes and the annoying git had not so much as twitched under Draco's direction. Apparently, someone had been teaching Potter Occlumency.

*It probably was that old fart Dumbledore. Or perhaps Snape taught him, traitorous bastard. Well there's got to be some way around it. I'm not going to play parasite to Potter for the rest of my life.*

A fresh wave of fury and frustration broke over him and he pushed against the mental bars of his cage, wailing. Outside himself, he felt emotions he knew were not his own. He saw scraps of Potter's nightmare. Felt the cold metal. Felt the body around him shiver.

*Now you know what it feels like Potter. Get used to it. There's more where that came from.*

Suddenly exhausted from the effort of that last push, Draco drew into himself, trying to ignore the dizziness and nausea of Potter's body. He would conserve his energy until the chance to push Potter out of this body came, and then...then he would have a little fun.