In One's Shoes

Harry was having a debate with himself on whether to shower or not. A good reason not to was that it’d mean watching and touching Malfoy’s naked body. So far he’d done quite a good job of not looking at it, getting dressed more or less with his eyes closed. He’d even taken to pee sitting down so that he wouldn’t have to hold Malfoy’s penis.

On the other hand, the hard on he’d woken up with made a good argument for a very cold rinse and his scalp was itching from all the dried up hair products Malfoy had put in it before they changed appearances. He raked his fingers through it. It didn’t even feel like hair, more like some kind of plastic helmet. That’s it, he thought, he would have a shower.

He soon found a towel in Malfoy’s locker but picking out shampoo and shower gel proved to be a challenge. There were at least twenty different bottles and vials, most of which didn’t have labels and the ones that had didn’t make any sense. Sniffing them didn’t help much either as they all had different flowery scents which seemed all wrong. There was nothing like the odorless bigpack of shampoo and gel in one that Harry usually bought from Tesco. He finally chose a violet smelling one for shower gel because it reminded him of Malfoy - really when had he picked up on what Malfoy smelled like? - and then took a shot at a pink fluid that might or might not be shampoo.  

The shower room was bigger than in Gryffindor but similar in the sense that it had individual shower boots and a communal changing area. He wasn’t used to the huge mirror with an ornamented, golden frame on the wall though and took care to keep his eyes away from it, quickly pulling off his pajamas before he got in the shower.

He managed to get through the whole thing more or less with his eyes closed and quickly wrapped the towel around his waist as he was done. Only then did he realize he hadn’t brought any clothes with him. While he was comfortable enough to dress in front of Ron and Neville, maybe that wasn’t how it was done in Slytherin.

While he pondered whether to get back into his pajamas, the door flew open and Zabini strode in, wearing boxers and nothing else, clearly not embarrassed about displaying his skin, or – Harry swallowed hard- the erection pushing against the thin, white fabric.

“Morning” he said, eyeing Harry up and down with the hint of a sneer.

“Er, hi” Harry managed, taking a step to get past him but found his way blocked.

“Theo is still sleeping” Zabini said and to Harry’s horror put a hand on the towel at his hips.

“OK?” Harry said stupidly.

Zabini grinned. “Not up for it today? Well, if you change your mind, I’ll be in here for a while.” His knuckles brushed against the bare skin of his stomach.

“OK?” Harry said again, then Zabini fortunately got out of his way and he more or less ran for the door. What the hell was he playing at? Did Malfoy find that kind of joking funny?

He dressed as quickly as he could, not wanting to be there when Zabini had finished doing whatever he was doing in the bathroom and decided against gluing his hair back on his scalp. Making out which bottle should go in his hair would be a lost cause anyway and he might end up giving himself a perm. He snorted at the thought and caught a flash of his grin in the mirror in Malfoy’s locker. It was smaller than the one in the bathroom and since he didn’t see anything beneath his shoulders, he felt safe to let his eyes linger, he had seen Malfoy’s face before after all.

The reflection caught him by surprise. With the hair falling into his eyes like this, Malfoy looked really good. He lifted a hand to his face, running a finger over the cheekbone where the skin had remained soft although he hadn’t shaved in three days. Malfoy’s chin had always been kind of pointy but he’d grown into it over the past year and now it made his features seem distinct, bordering on handsome.

The absurdity of standing there, admiring Malfoy’s face stuck on his own hit him and he couldn’t hold back a smile. It softened his features and warmed the steel grey irises, transforming his face almost beyond recognition and he wondered exactly how much there was to Malfoy that he hadn’t noticed before.

The sound of the shower being turned off made him tear his eyes away, close the locker and hurry out of the room.

“What the fuck!”

Harry whirled around and found Parkinson staring at him.

“What?” he said, brazing himself for whatever hell was awaiting.

“Your hair, Draco!”

Oh, that. “Is it that bad?” he asked hesitantly. Perhaps Parkinson could help him glue it back the way Malfoy liked it.

“Are you kidding? You look hot!”

Harry smirked in what he thought was a Malfoy way. “Are you saying I don’t usually do?” Where did that come from, he wondered. Fuck, he was flirting with Parkinson.

She hit him over the arm playfully. “You’re terrible.”

“Terribly hot you mean?”

She giggled and to his horror stepped into his personal space and drew her fingers through his hair the way Malfoy had done the other day. It didn’t feel as good. “I could pet you all day.”

He carefully put an arm around her waist, it’s what Malfoy would have done, wasn’t it? Though Malfoy didn’t mess about, he’d probably have pushed Parkinson against the wall and put his hand up her skirt by now but in no way was Harry doing that.

“Well, you can’t, I’m going down for breakfast. Are you coming?” He hoped she wouldn’t.

“No, I’m waiting for Daphne.”

“OK” he said relieved, then panicked as he didn’t know what to do next. Surely Malfoy would kiss his girlfriend? Ginny liked to kiss him goodbye when they parted, though he’d managed to steer clear of that for a while now. He closed his eyes and pulled Parkinson towards him, putting his lips against hers and hoping for the best. He broke away as quickly as he thought appropriate, trying not to let on how wrong it had felt.

All in all, he thought he’d done a good job since she looked positively giddy when he left the room.

*****

Draco stood in front of the mirror, a blank faced Potter stared back at him, which was a problem. 

Like most pureblood children, Draco had been raised not to let his feelings shine through and he was proud to think that he excelled at it. It wasn’t for nothing that he’d survived sharing a house with the dark lord, where concealing his fear and disgust had been a necessary means to stay alive. 

Potter on the other hand was ridiculously easy to read and in no way were these neutrally arranged features a familiar look on him. 

Draco knew he’d fucked up by going around doing non-Potterish things like having a good time and flirting with guys and it was only thanks to the Prophet’s lacking credibility when it came to depicting the chosen one that he’d gotten away with it, but he couldn’t risk any more mistakes. As much as it pained him, he was going to have to live through the rest of the week in a very boring, Potter-like fashion.

He may have been the one to overstep so far but out of the two of them he was the better actor. Potter was lousy at pretending to be Draco, falling out of character all the time. The way his neck twisted whenever someone called out Harry Potter and then didn’t respond at all to the name Malfoy was downright ridiculous. He didn’t even try to look like Draco, messing up his hair, and then there were the clothes…Draco wasn’t even going to get started on how Potter failed at buttoning his robes or how he wore his tie hanging loose around his neck, looking like a slob.

Draco usually maintained a composed, neutral look, slightly bordering on arrogant - he did have an aristocratic position to uphold after all - but the last few days he had been forced to watch every possible emotion display on that face and it wasn’t pretty. His skin tone, usually a perfect marble, had changed like the rainbow as Potter worked through his emotional register. Mostly he seemed to settle for various tones of red. Merlin, he knew his skin colored easily, that’s why he didn’t allow himself to feel embarrassed.

So, lousy as Potter was at playing this game, it was up to Draco to succeed. If someone noticed Draco Malfoy acting out of character, they’d just pin it down to him having some sort of mental breakdown – there was a slight flare to his nostrils at the thought- but if he and Potter behaved oddly at the same time, people were going to start putting two and two together. And by people he meant Granger and Pansy.

Given that, Draco practiced in front of the mirror, letting his feelings shine through, which proved to be harder than expected. It was as if he’d been in control of his arms for years and then suddenly he was supposed to let them hang loose, flipping along his sides, though it helped somewhat that he knew most of Potter’s expressions.

He pulled a few faces, starting with irritated, working his way through scowling and angry, those he was most familiar with as they were the ones Potter usually directed at him, then screwed up his face, going for furious - Draco’s favorite - nailing the look Potter had just the moment before he snapped. At his delight it quickly turned into an amused, open expression, the one Potter reserved for his friends.

In the paper, there had been a dreamlike look on his face so Draco assumed he had allowed himself to relax for a moment. It was the same look he’d seen on Potter while he’d been staring at Cho Chang throughout his fourth and fifth year and then the Weaselette in sixth. He didn’t look at her that way now though, it was more like…he let his irises dart around the room as if he was looking for an out and settled on a face of mild discomfort. That was the one.

“Er, what’s going on?” Weasley asked behind him.

Draco watched Potter’s face go from irritated to busted. If his hairstyle was anything to go by, he wasn’t likely to be found staring at his face in the mirror. “My jaw felt stiff” he said stupidly. Though Potter did tend to say stupid things, so that was alright. “Probably cramped up when I was sleeping, I think it’s getting better now though.” He flexed his jaw and pulled a few other faces, as if that was what it had been about all the time.

Weasley’s face changed into a look of concern. “Were you having nightmares again?”

It was a good thing Draco was in front of the mirror, it made him stop himself from raising his eyebrow the way he usually did while telling people they were idiots. “I don’t remember much” he said and shrugged in a Potter-like manner.

*****

“Malfoy.”

The name was called three times followed by “Potter” and Harry whirled around, realizing his mistake as he did so. He stared into his own face.

“Damn you’re bad at this” Malfoy sighed. Then his face twisted in horror “What the fuck have you done?”

“What?” Harry asked exasperated as he was being pulled by the arm into an empty classroom.

“What have you done to my hair, Potter” he hissed, and Harry didn’t think it was the same what the fuck he’d gotten from Parkinson. He couldn’t help but laugh at having rendered the usually-in-full-control-of-himself Malfoy out of balance.

“I washed it” Harry said innocently, dodging as Malfoy made a move for his fringe. “Besides, Parkinson thought I looked hot.”

“It looks ridiculous, I don’t wear it like that. You look like a slob.” Harry’s skin tone didn’t color as easily as Malfoy’s but there were still blotches of scarlet fury on his cheeks.

“It’s not ridiculous” Harry objected, still smiling, wondering how it was that Malfoy could stand a full trial in front of the Wizengamot with an impassive face and then completely loose his wits over a change of hairstyle. “The way you normally wear it is though. Besides I like the way you look now, or how I look I mean, or…how it looks” he settled for. Damn this was confusing.

“You do?” Malfoy paused, studying Harry’s face for a long time, tilting his head to look at it from different angles until he sighed. “I guess it’s not completely terrible. You shouldn’t go around making changes though.”

Then without warning his hands were in Harry’s hair. “I would never leave it this messy. At least let me fix it a bit or no one will believe you to be me.”

“If you must” Harry mumbled, closing his eyes out of reflex. Again, the fingers combing through his hair were gentle. “I don’t get it” he said, because he needed to speak instead of just standing there being touched. “When you get drunk and talk about my ass to the press, it’s fine, but when I wear your hair a bit differently, it’s a giveaway?”

His eyes were still closed but he knew there was a smirk to Malfoy’s face. “I’m a person of habit, if I make changes everyone will think I’ve gone around the bend, you on the other hand do stupid and reckless things all the time.”

“You have changed.” He hadn’t intended to say it, somehow the fingers threading his scalp had dragged the words out of him. He meant it though. Malfoy may still be the arrogant, posh git he’d always been but Harry held on to the belief that had made him stand up and speak in front of the Wizengamot this summer; Malfoy had changed where it mattered.

When there was no response, he opened his eyes and he found Malfoy watching him with an odd expression. He was also pointing a wand straight at his face. “What the fuck” he cried out.

“Relax, I’m just trimming the split ends” Malfoy said, pulling at Harry’s fringe with his other hand.

“You’re going to curse my eyes off and they are really your eyes so you may want to think twice before you blind me.” He took a step backwards, brushing up against the wall behind him.

Malfoy’s eyes darted between Harry and the wand he was holding. “I suppose it is a bit delicate work” he said, then took a step forward and reached into Harry’s robe pocket, fishing out the hawthorn wand before Harry had a chance to protest or make a case for the importance of respecting personal space.

“Yours doesn’t work properly for me” he said and directed his own wand at a few of the hairs. The ends split into fine dust, tickling down Harry’s cheek.

“You’re cutting my hair” he said astonished.

“No Potter, I’m cutting my hair. If you must make changes at least they should be believable. I would never have a fringe this long, it kind of defeats the purpose of having eyes.”

Harry snorted. “Why are you suddenly so worried about being detected? I thought you enjoyed being me.”

Malfoy sighed. “It’s certainly a nice break, everyone rolling out the red carpet in front of me instead of pulling it away from my feet and laughing as I fall on my ass. I don’t fancy the change being permanent though.”

“Really?”

There was a pull to his hair that he was sure was deliberate. “You’re thick Potter. If we'd get stuck looking like one another, we would tell people. We wouldn’t go around pretending to be one another for all eternity, obviously. And when that’s all out in the open, it’s not going to play out well for me, the word is going to be that I tried to impersonate you to steal your precious glory and everyone is going to hate me a tad bit more. So, the bottom line is that I’d be stuck in my miserable life and I wouldn’t even have my good looks for comfort.”

Harry opened his eyes, feeling it was safe to do so as Malfoy had moved on to trimming the hair at the sides of his head. He hadn’t thought about it that way, in fact he’d avoided thinking about what would happen if the curse didn’t break, clinging to the hope that McGonagall would be able to set it right.

Before he had time to ponder it further Malfoy took a step back. “There, done.” He nudged Harry to turn around and face his reflection in one of the windows. “I suppose it doesn’t look too bad” he went on, smiling almost fondly and Harry couldn’t help smiling back at the image of Harry Potter watching Draco Malfoy with a look of delight on his face. For a second he didn’t know who was who as he watched them standing there shoulder to shoulder and had to avert his eyes.

 “Anyway, it’s your fault for having too many bottles, I had no idea what to use when showering” he said and felt himself go red. A quick glance back at the window and it was confirmed, Malfoy’s skin blushed easily. “I didn’t look everywhere, I mean, I basically kept my eyes closed all the time…”

And this would be a good time for the ground to open up and swallow him whole, he figured. It didn’t happen though and he had to endure Malfoy sneering at him. “It’s fine, Potter. You can look. Merlin, you’re such a prude.”

Harry wondered if that meant Malfoy had been looking at his body. Then he stopped thinking much at all as Malfoy took a step forward and literally sniffed his neck.

“Is that…it smells like violets” he said frowning.

Harry made a face, about to tell Malfoy that if he didn’t like violets he shouldn’t have that bloody bottle but for some reason he didn’t trust himself to speak at the moment.

“It’s for manicures, Potter. Do you have any idea how expensive that product is? And you were just pouring it out in the shower!”

“You do manicures?” Harry managed to get out.

“Yes, of course” Malfoy said, not sounding as embarrassed about it as a normal bloke should.

“Er, I don’t.”

“Clearly not” Malfoy studied his hands, Harry’s hands. “These are like crocodile paws.”

He grabbed Harry’s wrist and touched his palm. “You clearly haven’t been taking care of these for me.”

It was surreal, standing there, being touched by Malfoy. Though Malfoy probably didn’t think of it like touching Harry but more like touching himself. Perhaps if he thought of it that way too, that it wasn’t his but Malfoy’s palm being gently stroked, he might not find it so hard to breath.

“It’s just been three days, Malfoy” he said, rolling his eyes, trying to shift focus.

Malfoy dropped his hand and went back to touching his hair again, his hands less gentle this time. “Oh Merlin Potter, what did you put in here? Please, tell me it wasn’t the blue one!”

“Er, why, is it ridiculously expensive too?” Harry asked, thinking Malfoy could probably afford pouring out a few bottles a day without hitting the brink of poverty. “Does it make your hair fall off or something?” When Malfoy seemed like he was about to have a panic attack he added “no, it wasn’t blue, it was pink and sort of had bubbles in it.”

“That’s for taking a bath” Malfoy sighed, however he looked relieved. “You should use the yellow one for your hair, I mean my hair.”

Harry smirked. “What’s the blue one for then?”

“You don’t want to know” Malfoy smirked back, leaving Harry to imagine all kinds of horrible things.

They stood in silence for a while and it was almost nice, then Harry spoke and broke the fragile peace they’d achieved.

“It’s kind of a nightmare being you. And not just because of your weird hair thing. I had to kiss Parkinson today.”

“What?” Malfoy said sharply, taking a step back, folding his arms across his chest and not until then did it occur to Harry that it might not be appreciated going around kissing other people’s girlfriends.

“No, no, no” came Malfoy’s muffled mumbling, his head buried in his hands.

“I didn’t want to” Harry hurried to say. “It was pretty creepy, but it’d been weird if I hadn’t, she’s your girlfriend after all.”

“She’s not my girlfriend” Malfoy said exasperatedly, removing his hands and looking daggers at Harry. “We haven’t been together for years.”

“Oh” Harry said, beginning to realize he’d fucked up pretty good.

Malfoy groaned. “It took me forever to get her to understand that we were done and now you’ve got her all confused again.”

 “Fuck, I’m really sorry” Harry said, meaning it, mostly because he’d kissed Parkinson in vain. “What can I do?”

He braced himself for a well-deserved tell off but all that happened was that Malfoy sighed and called him an idiot. “Just talk to her. Tell her you hit your head or something.”

Harry nodded, he could do that. Embarrassed as he was to have messed up, he was mostly relieved he wouldn’t have to repeat the kissing. “Sorry, I really thought you were still together.”

“I suppose you expect me to kiss the Weaselette then?” Malfoy muttered, looking like he’d been offered to cuddle a slug.

“No” Harry said quickly. “Please don’t.”

Malfoy raised his eyebrows. “Don’t want a deatheater to stick his tongue in your girlfriend’s mouth?”

“No, that’s not it...just, don’t.” Harry didn’t want to elaborate but Malfoy watched him impatiently.

“What then? If you expect me to keep this charade up and not fuck up the way you just did, I will need some more information.”

Harry frowned. He didn’t feel like talking to anyone about his relationship with Ginny, least Malfoy. On the other hand, he’d been the one to suggest they needed to communicate more to get through the week undetected and this morning proved that not knowing each other well enough had them do rash and uncharacteristic things.

“Ginny and I aren’t in a good place right now. She probably wants you to kiss her, but I’m….” He stared at his shoes.

“Waiting for her to get bored and break up with you so you don’t have to do it yourself?” Malfoy sneered. Harry didn’t respond but his silence was pretty much a giveaway that Malfoy’s words had been spot on.

“How positively chivalrous of you” he smirked. “How do you suggest I handle that mess of yours then?”

Harry shrugged, it wasn’t like he had a clue of how to go about relationship issues. Cho and he had just fallen apart without him needing to do much in the break up department and he’d been perfectly fine with that. Things didn’t seem to be heading that way this time though. “Just stay out of her way as much as possible, but be nice when you run into her, especially if Ron is around, but use minimal physical contact and no kissing.”

“How healthy” Malfoy muttered and Harry silently had to agree, it didn’t sound good when put into words. To his credit, Malfoy didn’t go on about it. “Anything else I should know?”

Harry thought about it. There was him apologizing to Hermione the day before but there was no way he was mentioning that now, not when he’d already fucked up once, and when Malfoy was hanging on to both of their wands.

 “Blaise was being a bit weird this morning” he said instead, retelling the incident in the bathroom.

To his surprise Malfoy smiled almost dreamily. “Yes, he does that sometimes. We have a thing. Him you can kiss if you want.”

Harry stared at him. “You’re gay?” It came out a lot louder than intended.

“Speak up a bit, won’t you. I don’t think they heard you over in greenhouse five.”

“Sorry” Harry whispered.

Malfoy shrugged. “I don’t mind people knowing, it’s not really a secret. But you do realize if anyone would be listening in, they’d hear it as you being gay, I’m guessing you don’t want that?”

Harry chose not to respond. “I suppose the manicure should have been a giveaway” he said instead, immediately regretting his words when he heard how prejudiced they sounded.

Malfoy rolled his eyes but didn’t seem offended. “There’s nothing gay about taking care of oneself. It’s simply a matter of being civilized. Theo has the most perfect hands and he’s as straight as one gets. And I’m sure plenty of gay people have paws like these.” He stared at his palms as if they were covered in dragon dung.

“Are you saying Blaise is your boyfriend then?” Harry asked to turn Malfoy’s attention away from determining how gay his hands were.

“No” he said at once. “We’re just messing around sometimes. Don’t mention anything about boyfriends in front of him and don’t go all sappy on him.”

“Yeah, that shouldn’t be a problem” Harry said drily. None of the things that had come out of Zabini’s mouth this week had inspired much sappiness on his part.

“We don’t act on it if there are others around, so if you’re bothered by it just avoid him when he’s on his own.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, looking very Malfoy-like in the reflection in the window. “Thought you said you didn’t mind people knowing you were gay” he teased, but Malfoy looked away, somehow bothered by his question. It left him curious but since it wasn’t really any of his business and he couldn’t see how it would matter in his attempt of impersonating Malfoy he decided not to push it.

“What about Goyle?” he asked to change the subject.

Malfoy gave him an incredulous look. “You think I’m shagging Goyle?”

“What?” Harry let out a laugh at the absurdity. “No, I don’t. It’s just, you used to be friends and now you don’t talk.”

“Well spotted” Malfoy said sarcastically, appearing even more uncomfortable.

This time Harry didn’t back down. “How come then?”

“Since when is this any of your business, Potter?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Since about the time I had to go around wearing your face and stay in your common room.” They glared at each other for a while.

“Fine, you don’t have to tell me, but at least let me know how I’m supposed to behave around him, he keeps giving me these looks like he wants to talk or something” Harry said.

 “He’s probably working up the courage to yell at me” Malfoy sighed. “Don’t let him” he added sharply. “Just get out of his way if he’s approaching you.”

Harry made a face, he really didn’t think that was the case. Goyle hadn’t looked angry, just sort of confused and sad. “Why would he yell at you?”

Malfoy rolled his eyes, he did that a lot. “You really are thick, Potter. Apart from the general aversion my housemates have against me for giving Slytherin a bad reputation, then maybe, I don’t know, because it’s my fault his best friend is dead.”

Harry stared at him for a few moments, the silence hanging heavy between them, riddled with unspoken apologies and confused guilt. He’d never thought he’d talk to Malfoy about the war, or that he’d talk to him at all for that matter. There was a ton of things to be said and questions to be asked. He wasn’t ready for either.

“It wasn’t your fault Crabbe died” he stated firmly because it was one of the few things about what had happened in the room of requirement he was sure of.

Malfoy stared at the wall behind them, swallowing a few times. For a moment it looked like he was about to say something but then he pushed the blackthorn wand upon Harry together with a scroll of parchment.

“This is to be handed in at ancient runes. It’s what I wanted to talk to you about before you distracted me with your messy hair.” Malfoy’s tone was light yet reserved and he avoided looking at Harry.

“I have ancient runes?” Harry asked confused, staring at the parchment.

 “Yes, in five minutes.”

Harry groaned.

*****

Being mad at Potter was hardly a new thing for Draco, ever since their meeting on the train in first year that anger had been as familiar to him as the damp chill of the Scotland air. He wasn’t bothered by it, it was safe, soothing even that in a world becoming more and more unfamiliar around him, he could cling to his constant desire to punch Potter in the face.  

He tried to linger in his anger at Potter for kissing Pansy but the truth was that he knew she would let it pass as one of his many whims. Their platonic relationship was stable enough these days that he doubted it’d matter much even if Potter was to get down on his knees and declare his undying love for her. What had him cursing inwardly was rather Potter bringing to the surface what he’d tried so hard to suppress.  Even Pansy who was among the nosiest of the nosy had the decency to understand that anything concerning Vince should be left unspoken. But then came Potter, blundering about with the delicacy of a niffler in a jewel shop, telling him it wasn’t his fault, leaving Draco with a dull ache of guilt. He grinded his teeth. As if Potter knew a single thing about what was and wasn’t Draco’s fault. As if Potter would ever have left anyone behind.

“Your move.”

Draco adverted his eyes to the board, happy for the distraction of the game, and knocked out Weasley’s knight with a smirk.

Perhaps he was playing too well. He assumed Potter sucked at this too, although it was one thing to deliberately mess up in potions, losing to Weasley on purpose simply wouldn’t be done. Awaiting his turn, he leaned back in his chair and let his eyes dart around the library, Weasley took forever to ponder his strategy. Draco had already calculated that he’d win in five moves, three if Weasley chose to capture his bishop next.

Potter was searching the shelves a few aisles away and Draco had been ignoring the occasional looks he’d thrown his way. Now his back was turned and Draco felt safe to study his hair from behind. It wasn’t bad, he assumed, he quite liked the way it softened his sharp angles.  He wondered just how smug Potter would be if he chose to keep it like that after this week. Maybe he could tell him it was part to keep up the plot.  

His train of thought was interrupted by the squeaking sound of the library door when Granger entered, balancing a large stack of books. Hermione he corrected himself, Potter liked to call his friends by given name.

As she walked past Potter he looked up and smiled at her. Draco made a face, Potter was really fucking bad at this. He supposed he should be happy the idiot hadn’t forgotten himself and burst into the Gryffindor common room for an evening chat.

To his surprise, Granger nodded and smiled back, although a little hesitantly. Perhaps Potter remembered himself at that moment, because he caught sight of Draco and blushed. Merlin, Malfoys did not blush while looking at Potters. He groaned into his hands in frustration.

“Sorry mate” Weasley said. “But you did leave your bishop unprotected.”

Draco turned his attention back to the board and urged his queen forward with a snarl.

“What the fuck!”

“What?” Granger asked affronted, putting the load of books down on the table with a bang, making the pieces on the board jump in fright.

“Not you” Weasley said, rolling his eyes. “Harry’s winning.”

“Really?”

“It’s bound to happen sometime” Draco said, half regretting his move when she scrutinized his face as if closing in on the truth but then she appeared to drop it and started sorting through the pile of books and parchments.

Draco moved his chair a little closer to hers in the hope of sneaking a peak at her notes from ancient runes. Potter’s scribbles had been close to unreadable so far and once he’d managed to decipher the appalling hand writing the words didn’t make sense anyway. It was only thanks to Granger forgetting her satchel in the common room yesterday that he’d been able to make out the subject of their arithmancy essay.  Luck was apparently with him today too, a parchment with runes landed right in front of him as she spread her books over the table.

When he looked up, after having read it through twice, the others were eyeing him. Then Weasley jumped as if he’d received a kick under the table and gave Granger a reproachful look which she replied to by a pointed stare in Draco’s direction.

“What?” he asked and Weasley cleared his throat.

“Well, you sort of woke me up last night” he said apologetically.

“Oh, sorry” Draco said. If he’d been snoring, it was only because he was inhabiting Potter’s body. Malfoys did not snore.

Weasley shrugged. “No worries, it was just that you were talking in your sleep…”

Draco raised his eyebrows, an ill-boding feeling settling in his stomach.

“You kept saying your own name, a lot. And you were sort of moaning.”

His heart sank. He didn’t remember what had played out before his eyes after he’d fallen asleep the previous evening but he’d had enough wet dreams about Potter over the years to have a fair idea of what it’d been about and considering how he’d spent the evening in the changing room…

His eyes automatically drew to the spot where Potter was still standing with a confused look on his face as he read the back of a thick leather-bound book. He realized his mistake and quickly looked away, but it was too late, Granger had followed his gaze.

He could literally see the pieces falling into place in her mind. From Draco’s near perfect brew in potions the other day to him beating Weasley in chess. Add to that the article in the Prophet, Potter’s slip just now and the change of hairstyle that Draco had kept since first year.

The humiliation of Granger and Weasley finding out that he was having wet dreams about Potter was nothing compared to them figuring out the swap. Did it count as telling if someone else worked it out? Maybe if Draco just kept denying it, he wouldn’t be stuck with Potter’s hair for a lifetime.

“Don’t think we don’t know what’s going on with you” Granger said sternly.

He didn’t respond but kept staring at the runes. Would anyone believe the story of the hag or would they simply think Draco had orchestrated the whole thing? Maybe he’d end up in Azkaban for this.

“You were dreaming about him again, weren’t you” she said, her voice gentler now. “You promised to tell us if it happened.”

“Who?” Draco asked, trying to make sense of it. Did Potter have wet dreams about some guy? And why would he be expected to tell his friends about it? Not that the three of them didn’t have a very unhealthy relationship, but still…

“Well, Voldemort.”

Draco literally felt his jaw drop.

Granger obviously noticed his astonishment and her face changed from impatient to hesitant. “From what Ron said, it sounded like you were living through the visions you used to have during the war. I figured you were dreaming that you were him, envisioning killing you.”

Oh sweet Merlin. Draco would never fathom how the minds of innocent Gryffindors worked. How could Potter having wet dreams be more farfetched than this?

“And you said you felt weird this morning” Weasley added. “Maybe you should tell Madam Pomfrey about what you dreamt.”

Draco stared at the two of them and then he couldn’t keep it together anymore but fell down over the table in a heap of laughter.

“It wasn’t that a weird assumption and you said yourself you didn’t remember what you dreamed” Granger said for about the tenth time that afternoon. Weasley had given up long ago and left them to their books, heading off with Longbottom, a look of surprise on his face when Draco had decided to remain in the library.

Draco sneered. “It was pretty weird.”

She closed the book she’d been reading and studied him carefully. “I know you’re feeling bad after the war though.”

Oh this was ridiculous, Draco thought. “Doesn’t everyone?”

Unfortunately she seemed to take this as encouragement. “Yes, of course. Ron is having a hard time dealing with loosing Fred and I still get nightmares about that night in the manor.”

“Yeah, me too” he said and then bit his tongue. It was true though, seeing the golden trio dragged into his home had felt like being hit with a petrificus totalus, realizing it was all over, that Voldemort would be summoned by his own father, the last hope of resistance would be gone and the world would turn to black. It hadn’t happened. He had no idea how the hell Potter had managed to wriggle himself out of that one.

She watched him, searching. “Are you feeling guilty about it?”

“Yes” he said, voice heavy. He felt guilty about a lot of things.

She squeezed his hand, “don’t” and he was brought out of it, remembering he was supposed to be Potter.

“It could as well have been me, I’m surprised we managed so long without saying his name.”

So that was how they’d gotten caught. Trust Potter to make a stupid mistake like that, carelessly throwing a few Voldemorts around like he was talking about the weather.

“Anyway, it needed to happen the way it did, I’ve been thinking about it a lot, how much happened by chance” Granger said, keen to keep eye contact with him. “If some things had just gone a little differently, we might not have defeated him. Imagine if we hadn’t ended up in the manor at that moment, if Draco hadn’t tried to save us and his father had called for Voldemort before Bellatrix spotted the sword. We might have died. And we certainly wouldn’t have found out about the cup. What if you hadn’t overpowered Draco and changed the allegiance of the elder wand?”

He stared at her, having a hard time fathoming how she could mention his name so casually after years of insults on his part. Then again, he’d never thought he and Potter would be able to be in the same room without having a go at each other.

His eyes settled on the blond head a few tables away and again she followed his gaze. “The war changed us all but that doesn’t have to be a bad thing.”

Draco didn’t respond and they sat in silence. It took a while before he realized he was still clinging to her hand.

*****

Harry finally caught sight of Parkinson while heading for the common room. He’d been dreading this moment as much as he wanted it over with.

“Hi” he said and his heart sank at her obvious delight at seeing him. “You wanna go for a walk?” Getting her on his own was probably a bad idea but he didn’t particularly want to have this discussion among the other Slytherins.

“Sure.” The smile broadened though it was more of a smirk, Parkinson wasn’t one of those girls who beamed and he kind of appreciated that.

“I’m sorry about this morning” he said as soon as they were out the heavy wooden doors and the welcome chill struck his heated face. “I don’t know what got into me really.”

She snorted. “I wondered about that.

“Any chance we could just forget about it?”

“Absolutely not” she laughed. “We are going to go over your little crisis in detail.”

Harry frowned, of course they were. “I didn’t mean anything by it, I was just confused.”

Her elbow buffed his arm. “You must have been, first the hair and then you start kissing girls again.”

“Not girls in plural” Harry objected. “And I thought you liked my hair.”

“I love it, though it is quite a significant change.”

Harry frowned as brown eyes embedded in a thick layer of eyeliner swooped over him, making him wish he was invisible again. He’d thought that if anyone would figure things out it would be Hermione but then again, Parkinson was the archetype of a scheming Slytherin, she could probably smell a plot from miles.

“I was out of hair gel” he tried.

“Oh please, you can conjure that stuff in your sleep.” She kept up her piercing stare. “That article really got to you, didn’t it?”

Harry mulled it over. Malfoy had always been jealous of the attention he received. Not that Harry saying a bunch of crazy things in national media should be much to be jealous of, but still, Skeeter had gone on a bit about him being the savior and he assumed that could be expected to get to Malfoy’s head. And any explanation that didn’t involve a hag at Hog’s Head was a good one. “Yeah, maybe” he said.

Her face softened somewhat. “I already told you, I’m sure there’s nothing going on with Potter and that guy.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?” Harry mumbled.

Her red lips drew upward, this time it was definitely a smirk. She punched him playfully on the arm. “Potter’s got a boyfriend and it’s gotten you all confused.”

“I thought you said there wasn’t anything between the two of them” Harry protested, his voice rising an octave. He did not want Parkinson to give fuel to the rumour about him and that stupid git Malfoy had been flirting with. Knowing Malfoy was gay, he’d had to succumb to the fact that there had most certainly been some flirting, meaning there was now a front-page picture of him ogling a guy who was probably Rita Skeeter in disguise.

“I’m sorry” she said to his surprise and squeezed his arm. “Just try not to think about it.”

“Why would it bother me if Potter’s got a boyfriend?” he asked slowly. She kept talking about it as if it’d be the end of the world to Malfoy. Did their old rivalry run so deep that he’d be jealous of Harry having a boyfriend while he didn’t? And what did Malfoy have to worry about anyway, he was busy sleeping around with Zabini. Though maybe Parkinson didn’t know that so Harry had better keep quiet about that.

“Oh Draco” she said and shook her head, the name sounded strange in his ears. “When will you ever admit it to yourself?”

Before he had time to ask what she meant, she had pushed him up against the castle wall, her face merely an inch from his, her ample breasts poking his chest. “You sure you’re still gay?”

He nodded fervently, careful to keep his lips pressed together.

“I’m going to have to hear you say it.” She drew a ruby red nail along his jaw which he was sure would leave a scratch. Didn’t any of the Slytherins have an ounce of respect for personal space?

“I’m gay” he said quickly, the words falling off his lips easily. “Definitely gay.”

She released him and laughed. Her arm hooked around his as they walked back. It should all have felt wrong but it didn’t.  

*****

Spending a Friday evening as the chosen turned out to be surprisingly boring. Some seventh years had asked him to come along to Hogsmede but since that group had included Ginny Weasley looking like she was about to hex him, he’d politely declined and retracted to his room. Draco had had the misfortune of bumping into her earlier in the corridor. He’d only just managed to shake her off by pretending he needed the loo, which wasn’t a very elegant escape and judging by the loathing look she’d given him, she’d seen right through it.  Still, from what Potter had told him this morning, at least it sounded like he’d nailed impersonating him by that cowardice.

Later that afternoon he’d been faced with some unusually bothersome admirers of Potter’s. What was it like to kill you-know-who? Who the fuck would spring such a question upon anyone on their way to dinner? (A freckled, red haired twelve-year-old Hufflepuff apparently.) The only reasonable reply had been a direct order to sod off, which was immediately obeyed by the kid and followed by a pat on his back from Weasley and an anxious but approving look from Granger, making him wonder how Potter normally handled these situation. Did he sit down and have a nice chat about AKs and crucios before he took his meal of Shepherd’s pie?

All in all, he was pretty fed up with people and happy to crawl into bed with a book, which was pretty much an ordinary Friday night for him these days. Being Potter, he wondered if he ought to be in the common room instead, heroically passing around a basket of crisps to general applause or something. Though judging by what he’d come to learn about Potter the past few days he suspected that reading behind closed curtains wasn’t too much of a far cry from Potter’s usual weekends.

Potter’s life was pretty fucked up, he mused. Apart from just about every student being a pain in the ass by staring him down, there were his friends who kept wanting to talk about his feelings, threating him as if he was made out of porcelain instead of someone who’d finished off the most powerful wizard in the world. Add to that Ginny Weasley who clearly wanted more than talking which seemed to scare the shit out of Potter. It kind of reminded him of his and Pansy’s relationship a couple of years ago before he broke it off in a non to dignified way.

Somehow Potter had plucked up the courage to shove his tongue down Pansy’s throat, as if that wasn’t terrifying. Draco snorted out loud when he imagined Pansy’s reaction, should she ever find out the truth. How the hell could Potter have believed Pansy was still his girlfriend anyway? He’d thought that it was common knowledge that he was gay, but apparently not.

Fuck, he had come out to Harry Potter today, he realized, trying to decide whether that was bloody awkward or a turn on. Given the way his cock responded it seemed to be the latter. Just as he had unbuttoned his trousers and reached into his pants, the door flew open. He froze.

“Ssshh, Harry might be asleep” he heard Granger whisper. Oh for fuck’s sake, it wasn’t even nine yet.

“Or maybe he’s still out” came Weasley’s voice.

Draco would happily pretend to be either if it meant he wouldn’t have to talk to them, this afternoon had been quite enough for a lifetime.

“Harry?” Granger called but he chose not to answer, checking that his bed curtains were drawn shut.

“If he’s in, he’s probably put up a sound blocking charm” Weasley said.

That was an excellent idea, Draco thought, although his wand was out of reach and besides, he didn’t know the incantation. Instead he tried to stay very still, hoping they’d leave.

“…talked to him, he opened up a bit, he’s actually been more open this week I think” he heard Granger say and Draco rolled his eyes. More feelings, great. He was forced to listen to her recapture their conversation in the library.

“Oh and speaking of…I forgot to tell you, Draco talked to me in class the other day” Granger said, making him twist his head towards Weasley’s side of the room so fast he was surprised they hadn’t heard his neck crack.

“Yeah? Want me to hex him tomorrow?”

“No, it wasn’t like that, he was nice actually. He apologized for calling me a mudblood and then he complimented me for being clever.”

“What?” Weasley said and Draco had to bite his tongue not to swear. He was going to fucking murder Potter in the morning. He was so furious he almost missed his name kept popping up.

“…changed his hair” Granger said.

“Yeah, I saw, I’m surprised Harry didn’t say anything about it” Weasley muttered and Draco was all ears again.

“Maybe he didn’t notice?”

“Yeah right” Weasley snorted and then they were both laughing their heads off.

Why was that funny? Why would Potter bother about his hair? Well, he had said it looked good this morning, but why would he care when he didn’t have to wear it? He was considering pulling apart the curtains and demanding some answers when there was a sound suspiciously like kissing.

Yuck he thought, instinctively pulling his hand out of his pants. He stared up the ceiling, waiting for it to stop, but it just went on, getting more and more sloppy. Then Granger mumbled something about protection spells. Nonononono Draco thought, reaching for his wand to throw a muffliato, though of course the only effect it had was blocking out the sounds he was making, not the ones coming from the other side of the curtains. It sounded like Weasley was having a far too good time. He pressed the pillow over his ears and sang to himself which helped a little but not enough. Granger was loud.