A Prank Gone Wrong

A Prank Gone Wrong

Regulus was laying on what would be his bed for the night, in the sixth year Gryffindor boys' dorm, watching his brother while pretending not to. Sirius was sitting on another of the beds with Lupin and they were bent over some piece of parchment. Laughter regularly erupted from their little caucus. Whatever they were doing seemed fun, and if he was honest with himself Regulus longed to join them, but he was sulking.

Today marked the longest time he'd spent with his brother since Sirius ran away from home, over the last Christmas hols.

Regulus was brooding. In a way, he was grateful for the chance to spend time with his brother, but he couldn't let it show. Sirius wasn't his brother anymore. Sirius had chosen them over his own family, over him. That was not something Regulus could forgive him for.

And now he was stuck here, in this mess, because of Sirius and his friends' stupid prank. Forced to spend a day in the body of James Potter, sixth year Gryffindor and his brother's best friend, while said James Potter was masquerading as himself in the Slytherin dungeon. Regulus was hoping against all hope that the Gryffindor wouldn't totally muck up his life. That he would still be welcome in his common room once he was back in his own body. That his friends wouldn't hate him. But could he really expect Potter to refrain from hexing Severus and from tormenting his Housemates for a full day?

The whole jam had originated from an unexpected - or so the Gryffindors claimed - side effect of a prank they'd played on the Slytherins that morning. Regulus was heading to the Great Hall for breakfast with Rabastan, Severus walking alone a few feet ahead of them, when they'd been hit. For a split second, the chaos of the corridor had disappeared, all sounds muted and all colours shadowed. Regulus had blinked, and everything had come back at once. But reversed. He wasn't standing by Rabastan anymore. He wasn't behind Severus anymore. He was facing Rabastan, facing Severus, facing... himself?!

He was pressed against the wall, other bodies squeezed against his and some sort of fabric covering them. He had looked to his left: Lupin. He had looked to his right: Sirius. He had looked down: he was taller. His hands were broader. His hands were calloused. No Black ever had calloused hands.

Regulus remembered how he had been paralysed by the shock. He had watched his friends yell their anger at having been the victims of one more prank. He had heard the Gryffindors' laughter against his ears. He had watched Rabastan and Severus swear revenge. He had watched himself, his own body, there in front of him, with a stunned expression on his face similar to the one he was sure he was wearing on... this body. Rabastan had called on him when leaving, and Regulus had heard his own voice answer, in a somewhat shaky tone, encouraging his friend to go ahead without him, that he'd join him later.

Once Rabastan and Severus had been gone, the Regulus that wasn't him had looked straight in their direction and headed towards them. He'd heard two sharp intakes of breath against his ears and felt the tension in the two bodies huddled against his.

If Regulus had any doubt about who was the leader of his brother's little gang, none remained afterwards. James Potter indisputably was. He'd established efficiently that something had gone wrong with the spells for the prank that had caused Regulus and himself to switch bodies. Once he'd convinced his friends, with Regulus' reluctant help, he'd outlined a game plan on how to take full advantage of the situation.

That was when Regulus had seen red.

And his day had only gone from bad to worse from this point on.

Potter and his friends - they'd collected Pettigrew, who'd been keeping guard at the end of the corridor - had decided to keep the switch secret from the Professors as well as from the other students. Potter would pretend to be Regulus, and vice-versa. Regulus knew this couldn't end well. He'd manage to extract a promise from the Gryffindor that he wouldn't hex or torment or prank the Slytherins while he was in his body. It had been his only victory, and a very hard-fought one.

Now that he was in bed, at the end of the day, thinking back on it, Regulus could only acknowledge that he'd gone along with it because it was the chance to be with Sirius, to see him in his chosen setting and to try to understand why he'd ran away. Why he'd chosen this life over his family. Over him.

He started to list everything he learnt throughout the day.

He'd learnt that James Potter owned an invisibility cloak and they used it for their mischief making.

He'd learnt that they had two-way mirrors. They used them, today, to communicate information about their respective lives. Regulus had never realised how much everyday knowledge he took for granted in his life until he had to trade with Potter's. He knew most of the Gryffindors, but nothing of their likes and dislikes and their nicknames and their family and their lives. He knew nothing of the way Potter preferred his food until someone made a comment about how he must be stressed out if he put sugar in his tea. He knew nothing of the Gryffindors quarters, of how to get there, of where were the dorms, of which was his bed. He knew nothing of whom Potter was friendly with and whom he couldn't tolerate. He knew nothing of his quirks and of his favourite expressions and of his mannerisms. He knew nothing, really. And Potter knew nothing of him.

He'd learnt that sixth year classes were way over his head. No fourth year could be expected to master those spells, to solve those arithmancy problems, to prepare those complex potions.

He'd learnt that Professors didn't appreciate seeing their brightest student suddenly unable to answer their questions.

He'd learnt that Potter's friends were willing to go to great length to cover for him. Neither Sirius nor Lupin nor Pettigrew had showed the tiniest hesitation before stepping in to distract the Professors' attention, risking a detention in the process.

He'd learnt that Potter would have made a terrible Slytherin. Regulus had been worried over his alter ego's mishaps all day. Even if he managed to refrain from hexing his Housemates, Potter might make Regulus' life hell once he'd be back in Slytherin simply by his blunders. He'd have stepped on enough toes during his day as a Slytherin that Regulus would spend at least a month repairing the damages.

He'd learnt that Lily Evans wasn't as opposed to Potter's attention as she wanted him to know.

He'd learnt that Potter was the leader of their little group.

He'd learnt that Sirius was just as obnoxious as he'd always been.

He'd learnt - and that had hurt - that his brother didn't regret running away from home.

He'd learnt that Pettigrew was an annoying sycophant.

He'd learnt that Sirius and Lupin were better friends than he thought. They were close; he'd noticed it all day. While Pettigrew was trying to find out how Potter was doing in Slytherin, and retelling Regulus exaggerated tales of Potter's exploits, and generally making a nuisance of himself, his brother and Lupin had stood together, worked together, sat together, plotted together, laughed together, worried together. Regulus was wondering if the absence of the real James Potter drove them closer, or if they'd always been, without his knowledge.

He looked in their direction once again. They'd seem to have forgotten the parchment between them. They were talking in low voices and Regulus strained his ears to catch their words. Lupin had his back towards Regulus, Sirius facing him. He was surprised to see his brother's hand cover Lupin's hand, and then move upwards along his arm. What was going on?

He caught a few words from Lupin. "We can't... your brother..." Sirius raised his head and looked towards Potter's bed. The Slytherin pretended to sleep. With one eye half open, he saw Sirius smile, then reach for the crimson bed hangings. Just before they closed on the two boys, Regulus heard "Forget about him and kiss me."

Not one sound came from that bed afterwards. It was too quiet. Regulus knew that they'd used a silencing spell.

He couldn't sleep for hours. He lay in this foreign bed and pondered, lulled by Pettigrew's snores.

According to the research they'd done in the library during their lunch break, the spell lasted only twenty-four hours. They'd switch back in the morning, before breakfast. He'd be back to his own life. He'd will himself to forget what he'd found out tonight. To forget that his brother had not chosen his friends over his family and over him: he'd chosen his lover.

(12 May 2004)