Of Two Minds

It was in the shower that Harry first noticed it: a strange reddened mark in a flower-shaped blotch about half-way up his chest. His fingers rubbed at it, curiously.

'It doesn't hurt at all. I wonder if I rolled over on something in the night. Or maybe those new robes are giving me a rash...'

Harry's fingers circled the mark a few more times and for just a moment something shifted. His senses seemed to sharpen but at the same time, he felt distanced from them, as if he were only watching himself from far away. The rush of water pelting down from the showerhead thundered in his ears and rained down on his skin, feeling just a touch cooler than he liked, although the temperature setting had not been adjusted in any way. Harry shivered, his skin prickling with goosebumps in a sudden sensitivity that made him gasp in surprise.

He watched, fascinated, as the droplets of water trickled their way down his chest, parting from each other and then streaming together into rivulets that led down to the slightly concave valley of his stomach. Not usually one to look closely at his own body, Harry noticed, with a strange sense of curiosity, the way his abdominal muscles shifted and flexed as he moved, and the way water clung to the curve of his ribs which were just visible underneath his skin. Harry was still horribly skinny; although years of Quidditch had toned his arms and stomach so that muscle had filled him out a bit.

Harry's attention turned back to where his hand was wandering across his chest. He noted, with interest, the darker tan of the back of his hands against the pale peachy colour of his torso. He noted how long his fingers were, long enough to reach and grasp for a Snitch in mid-flight. He noted the faint stain of ink on one finger, which spoke of clumsiness with a quill. He noted the shortness of his fingernails and the ragged edges which suggested that he had a habit of biting them (which he did not, certain aspects of his work just involved the rough treatment of fingernails). He noted that the mark on his chest seemed to get redder the more he looked at it.

The fingers circling the mark twitched once, twice, and then darted up unexpectedly to caress a dusky, cinnamon-tipped nipple, as if of their own volition. The flat disc pebbled and hardened immediately and Harry felt an echoing stir in his groin. A sudden heat of arousal pulsed through his body and Harry moaned and threw his head back with the intensity of it.

*Very nice,* something whispered in the back of his mind.

Harry flushed in embarrassment at the thought and quickly got control of himself. The heightened sensations were abruptly cut off as his hand reached for the soap instead of where it was previously edging towards. The water felt once again just like shower water instead of driving rain, not too hot, not too cold. Harry lathered and sluiced his body quickly, with a familiar detachment this time, instead of the enthralled detachment of the previous moment. Outside the bathroom he could hear silverware clanking as Dobby set his breakfast table and the thought of the house elf perhaps being able to hear his un-stifled exclamation of pleasure quickly eradicated any temptation to indulge in a spot of pleasure in the shower.

'You don't have time for that,' he scolded himself as he washed his hair. 'If you're lucky you'll have time for a cup of coffee and one of Dobby's breakfast plates. So get the hormones under control...you are not fifteen anymore.'

By the time Harry had stepped out of the shower and dressed in his work robes, the feelings of arousal his 'explorations' had triggered were gone. However, as he pulled a shirt down over his stomach, Harry caught a glimpse of the mark in stark relief against his skin in the mirror and remembered the strange sensation that his fingers weren't his and wanted things he didn't authorize...

He swallowed hard and then pulled the heavy outer robe on overtop, buttoning it securely in place. Scowling in the mirror with his best Snape impression, Harry managed to rid the remaining blush from his cheeks and straightened his shoulders.

Stern. Proper. Perfect.

'I really need a shag.'

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Draco Malfoy stroked his fingers against his pointed chin, tapping his lips with a single pale digit in thought. He smiled wolfishly in delight and sat back against the confines of his prison with an ease he had not felt since he had thrust himself into the unsuspecting Harry Potter's mind and body.

His energy was drained from the exertion it took just to move a few fingers for the space of a minute, however the experiment had been worth it. Not only did he know that he could control Potter's body, it seemed that Potter's body might not be so very loath to being controlled--if he went about it carefully.

*In-ter-esting,* he drawled, the glee unmasked in his voice. *Very interesting. I wonder...*

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

By the time Harry arrived at his desk he was only thirty-three seconds late. Unfortunately, there was already a message on top of the stack of paperwork Lynn had piled in no particular order next to his quill set, with Percy Weasley's perfect cursive handwriting on it, reminding Harry that "tardiness was not appreciated" and could he please "set a good example" for the others in the department.

Ever since Fudge had made Percy his personal secretary, there had been a general crackdown on the previously lax way in which business seemed to operate before "The Dread Red" made his way into the upper regions of power within the Ministry. And while Harry appreciated some of the changes, such as Percy's insistence on safety measures being observed at all times in all divisions, and the restrictions on sharing information with The Daily Prophet for security reasons, other changes, like the new "tardiness tally" were not greeted with enthusiasm.

The system operated almost like House Points, with every second of lateness leading to a stronger reprimand until finally a visit down to Fudge's office for a "talk" would be in order.

Crumpling the memo, Harry tossed it into the wastebasket at the side of his desk and watched as it vanished before hitting the shiny metal bottom. All paper waste immediately went to storage where it would be kept for a couple days, just in case an important document had been shuffled in with scrap parchment. It was generally decided that if no one came rushing down to the Sorting Room within three days of throwing out whatever it is they really didn't want to throw out after all, then it really didn't matter much anyway and the papers were destroyed.

The Paper Storage Room was another one of Percy's ideas, and a rather good one at that, considering how absent minded and/or incompetent most of the bureaucrats at the Ministry seemed to be. However it meant that if you really wanted any paper you threw out to remain private, you'd have to Incendio it yourself. A lesson well learned after a love note from one of the workers in the Office of Misinformation was thrown out by the Welcome Witch to whom it was given. The note was passed around the Ministry for months by snickering co-workers until finally the young wizard who wrote it claimed that it was only an exercise in creating believable misinformation and not an actual love letter. Whether or not his colleagues actually believed this is a moot point, as the wizard relocated himself to the Ministry branch in Norway a scant two days after his declaration.

Harry sat down at his desk and looked around the cubicle walls which displayed in no particular order the various pictures and maps that outlined the current cases his team was working on. One picture in particular caught his eye.

In the photo was a ragged, pale-faced Draco Malfoy with his arm around holding up a fainting Pansy Parkinson as streaks of light from various curses and hexes shot past them, turning the photo odd shades of green, red, and purple intermittently. In the background, the foot of one Gregory Goyle could be seen pointed skyward, lifelessly limp. The picture had been taken during the last big stand-off between the remaining Death Eater's children and the Ministry's Aurors. The deaths of Parkinson, Goyle, Crabbe, Nott, and Zabini. The capture of Draco Malfoy.

Curiously, Harry noticed that instead of snarling in rage at anyone who approached the photo as per usual, Malfoy's face was as expressionless as it had been after receiving The Kiss. His body remained utterly motionless, instead of tugging at or cradling Pansy Parkinson's still form as it had done before. If the spells being cast at the group weren't still moving back and forth around the pair, Harry might have been tempted to think it a Muggle photograph.

Frowning, Harry unstuck the photo from the wall of his cubicle with a muttered spell and sent it into the trash where it vanished in the same manner as Percy's memo. He didn't need any more reminders of Draco Malfoy.

"Knock knock!"

Harry whirled around to find a familiar face in the doorway.

"Tonks!"

"Wotcher Harry. Have you got those papers for the Berkley case, by any chance? I wouldn't ask so early, only, Lynn told me you'd have them and Kingsley's driving all of us up the wall to get them processed this morning."

Tonks' eyes twinkled at him mischievously and she twined a lock of bright pink hair around her finger as she talked.

Harry quirked an eyebrow at her. "And just when did Lynn tell you this?"

"Oh, last night around ten o'clock."

"Well she told me this morning around six thirty," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "And since I just got in, I haven't even cracked the cover of the first file. Can you stall Kingsley for me?"

"Sure," Tonks chirped happily. "I'll just knock over his coffee on some papers and listen to him give the "let's all be careful and considerate" lecture while he administers cleaning spells again. That should give you at least half an hour."

"Thanks."

"No problem. I probably would have knocked his coffee over anyway. At least now I can say there was a goal in mind instead of just plain clumsiness."

Harry gave her a smile and a wave as she left his cubicle, managing to upset only a few of the photos and maps on the walls as she went. He turned his attention to the Berkley file.

Joseph Berkley had been under investigation for months following the disappearance of his wife, Emma Berkley. It was suspected that in the last few days before the fall of Voldemort, Berkley had killed his wife using an Unforgivable in order to prove his allegiance to the Dark Lord. Berkley had escaped capture by the Hit Wizards, but his wand had been retrieved for examination and they were almost certain that it had been tampered with. For some reason Priori Incantatem refused to work on Berkley's twelve-inch-elm-with-hippogriff-hair-core wand, and several Auror's, including the Magical Research Committee, of which Hermione was the Head, were working on finding out why.

In the meantime, Berkley's whereabouts had been narrowed down to a specific area of Muggle Scotland, where, hopefully, a team of Auror's would be ambushing him today around noon. The forms had to be filled out in triplicate and sent to the Administration Services Council of Magical Law before Berkley could be charged with anything more lasting than illegal portkey usage.

Harry dutifully began to work his way through the stack of forms, filling out information such as dates, times, names and general descriptions and explanations. Half-way through the pile his hand started to cramp and he glared at the blunted end of his quill.

'Lynn, they better be the best goddamn scones I've ever tasted or else I'm making sure Kingsley gives you desk duty for the rest of the year.'

By the time Harry signed his name on the last sheet and then cast a duplication spell (or would that be a triplication spell?) on the whole stack, Kingsley Shacklebolt was already pushing his way into Harry's cubicle, demanding the Berkley files and dabbing at a spreading coffee stain on the cuff of his robes.

"All in order Potter?" he asked sharply.

"Yes sir."

"Good, good. Look, I don't suppose you'd mind..." he held up his sleeve.

Harry hid a grin and drew his wand. "Of course sir. Just hold a moment--there."

Harry administered the required cleaning spell and the coffee stain disappeared. Shacklebolt's expression softened a bit.

"Thanks Potter. My cleaning charms are great for paper but for some reason fabric never agrees with them. Anyway, young Weasley is having his aptitude test today. I thought you might like to be there."

Harry brightened at the thought of seeing Ron take his test.

'I hope he passes. He's worked so hard for it.'

"I'd love to be there sir."

"Good," grunted Shacklebolt. "Take Tonks with you. Keep her away from the desks with important papers on them for a least a few hours."

This time Harry did grin.

"Yessir!"

All thought of the Berkley case slipped from his mind as he hurried to find Tonks so they could get out to the Training Room to watch the practical examination take place.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Draco Malfoy shifted and fidgeted as he waited for his full strength to return. He had thought, briefly, about trying to take control and wipe the stupid smile off Nymphadora Tonks' face, but decided it wasn't worth the effort.

*My Muggle-loving cousin seems to have made a place for herself in the Ministry. Her Metamorphmagus ability may come in handy if I ever get the chance to make the jump into her body. And since the incantation has to be triggered with close contact, it wouldn't do to scare her off now.*

He sneered and watched disinterestedly through Potter's eyes as the Nuisance-Who-Lived navigated the halls of the second level of the Ministry of Magic, and tried to dismiss the slightly nauseous feeling of being in motion while not actually moving.

*It will be much more gratifying to experiment with my amount of control on the Weasel anyway.*

He recalled the night when Pansy and Goyle had been stupid enough to try to lure Potter by kidnapping Weasley. He remembered how repeated stupefaction hexes by a suddenly not unconscious Weasley had proved too much for Pansy, and her heart had given out as she dangled lifelessly in his arms.

He recalled how Goyle had succumbed a moment later to a Petrificus Totalus that had blasted him off his feet and his head onto a nearby rock, which succeeded in giving him a concussion-induced coma he would never awaken from.

He recalled sending a nearly successful severing curse at the Weasel that would have almost--almost--separated his legs from the rest of his body, if it had not been for that blasted Potter getting in his way with a well placed Protego.

*And you shall pay for that Potter,* he swore, gritting his teeth in irritation at his current level of impotence.

*You shall pay! But first,* he smiled, *first the Weasel and the Mudblood.*

Draco laughed and flexed his fingers, curling them into a fist.

*I'm in your mind Potter. Where you can't ever escape me. I'm in your mind...*

He rapped his fist against the walls of his prison and smiled when they bent outwards slightly under his touch.

*Might as well fuck with it.*