The Bat and A Brat
A/N:
Oh, it wouldn't take a genius to find out what's happened: some idiot had let his potion explode. But something has changed, a very significant something... What is the change?
Why AU? - There's probably gonna be some OOCness, and many trivial changes (will be explained as I go...). Also, it's a slash - not too sure how much graphic I'll get, though - and thus be warned: "Don't like it, don't read it."
The main plot is pretty much planned, though I'm open to any suggestions for sub-plots (yea, your wish is my command... to a certain degree :D )
genres: slash, h/c, AU, drama, possible smut...
warnings1: slash, self-harm, child abuse, death, language
side-notes: no Horcruxes; Raven!Hermione; greyish!Harry; evil!Dumbledore... (probably some more, but that you'll just have to find out...)
Disclaimer:
All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of J. K. Rowling and though I do not own any of it, I'm having an awesome time 'playing around' with them.
~aq
Chapter 1
The potion classes with Snape were as excruciating as ever... well, more than ever, Harry sighed inwardly. He's never really excelled at this particular subject, not that he was at fault... From the very beginning - first Potions in his first year - this subject was destined to be his utter failure, after all, how could he grow interested in the 'subtle science of potion-making' when his professor has hated him even since before he was born and didn't have any qualms at showing his 'affection'. Quite the opposite, actually, Harry was expected to fail, and his classmates have never forgotten to help him to this unwelcome achievement by throwing some potion ingredients into his cauldron at random.
He really hated it, yet he was never able to stop being fascinated by his professor. Dungeon bat, a very accurate description indeed. Never leaving his 'dungeony kingdom' unless absolutely necessary, always wearing black; with black hair and eyes that were the very epitome of that colour. Scary... and fascinating nonetheless...
Even now - nearly five years later since his first encounter with the man - he never got bored looking at him. Until yesterday. Yes, a memorable day: the day he realized he was doomed, the day he has found the true reason behind this 'fascination'... and suddenly just looking at the man didn't seem enough...
Harry leaned heavily against his desk as he yet again remembered the man's eyes. He didn't need to look at him, better, he didn't dare to look at him anymore. He wasn't sure he could mask his feelings for the man, now that he finally realized what they were.
Blackness of a moonless night concentrated in those two bottomless abysses of his eyes. One could get lost in those, and Harry certainly has. Too late did he realize that, and there was no longer an escape for him... Those feelings; yes, feelings for a man, his elder and professor no less, already passed the point of no return. And there was another problem; the man in question hated and despised him... Yet another 'keepsake' of his father.
His chest constricted and his heart clenched so tightly it threatened to stop altogether. Yet stop beating it did not, just the opposite: it sped up and rushed blood to his cheeks. His throat seemed too tight for the necessary oxygen to pass through. 'Why me?' Suddenly breathing seemed so hard of a chore he would gladly stop it, just so the unpleasant choking feeling disappeared.
And then the man, the one he loved and the same who wanted nothing more than to drown him in his yet another failure of a potion, stopped right behind his back. Harry knew; he didn't have to look back to know his desire's 'most wanted' stood there, he could feel him... he could smell him: the scent of herbs and plants always seemed to surround the Potion Master.
Unbearable.
For the first time in his schooling years was Harry glad - truly and honestly glad - the school was almost over. Just one more week to go. Just one more Potions with Snape. Then finally his fifth year would be over and he would...
Suddenly the easing feeling disappeared to be replaced by another stronger one.
Just one more week of school and then he would be spending two months at...
Dursleys'...
His throat constricted again... and for a different reason this time. This feeling was unmistakable, the feeling he knew all too well. Terror. Nothing more and nothing less, just pure terror. Two months in the hellhole of Privet Drive 4, his personal Hell.
Harry's hand started trembling and pupils of his eyes retracted in a dreadful anticipation.
His mind was suddenly flooded by a thick patchy darkness with images and whole memories, mercilessly replaying themselves in front-forth of his mind.
After a bit he felt the darkness retreating, taking the memories with it.
Why?
"POTTER!" the voice cut through the remaining negativeness and he blinked, confused. He was back in the classroom.
"Sir?" he acknowledged as he guessed instantaneously who the voice belonged to.
"Potter," Snape growled his name as though he was ripping it apart. "Detention, today 5PM."
"Yes, Sir," Harry nodded, not really feeling anything at the moment, which evoked another raved growl.
Potter wasn't paying attention, he noted. Again. He could feel a malicious sneer already forming on his face as he proceeded the aisle to the third row, where his permanent subject of malcontent currently resided.
He stopped dead on his feet. Something wasn't right. Yes, the brat certainly didn't pay attention to the class, but as it seemed he wasn't aware even of the world around him right now.
He frowned as he stared into Potter's face. He could already spot drops of sweat forming on the brat's face, to be followed by another unexpected reaction of the youngster's body.
The crease marring his forehead deepened in his musings. Potter's body trembled uncontrollably and it seemed something was really wrong with him. When the brat's eyes widened in some sort of horror he decided he had had enough. And so he called to the boy, and was ignored. He tried to get across to him, but his attempts ended unsuccessfully, just drawing unnecessary attention from his other pupils.
"POTTER!" he bellowed, and the boy finally reacted, even though so slightly.
"Sir?" Potter asked, obviously confused, his voice sounding... defeated?
"Potter," he growled with passion. "Detention, today 5PM," he said and waited for an ever so amusing reaction... in vain.
Potter's anger wasn't present... nor any other emotion for that matter, which he found... disturbing, to say the least. And then there were the brat's eyes that seemed so dull as though belonging to a dead man.
"Yes, Sir," Potter said. And that was it.
'Just what happened to him?' he mused, forgetting that he was supposed to hate him. He sighed inwardly and shook his head. True enough. He hated the brat, and really needed someone to clean his inventory, so this detention would for a change prove useful... in other way than only humiliating said brat, of course.
A smirk crossed his face as another idea formed in his head. Yes, he found another amusing way how to mess with Potter.
And then there was a darkness...
He noticed some sounds that seemed to be played in the background of this blackness. And only a few seconds later he was fully taken by the unconsciousness.
His senses - ever so slowly - begun working accordingly to his wishes. He lay on quite uncomfortable bed... but 'a bed' nonetheless. A sliver of relief crossed him at the thought he wasn't left lying on a cold dungeon floor after that accident... oh, it wouldn't take a genius to figure out what has happened: some idiot had let his potion explode...
Potter.
Even the mere thought of the boy made his blood boil, bringing forth an image of his face: a deadly combination of nothing but pain to Severus, mercilessly reminding him of it whenever he looked at the brat. An almost perfect copy of his existence's bane in his school years: James Potter... well... almost, as his eyes shone bright avada kedavra green, so similar to the brat's mother's... The first and only love of his life... Lily Evans; who was meant to be his only to be taken by none else but the almighty Potter.
A low growl escaped his lips when three faces started dancing in his mind.
"Professor?" a gentle whisper caressed the darkness, making the images of pain disappear. He sighed in relief.
Having more important matters to deal with at the moment, he shifted his mind from past to present. Yes, there were many questions he wanted answered. What exactly happened to him after the accident; where is he now; are there any after-effects of the explosion? He moved his limbs abruptly, contently noting none is missing. And another question: what the bloody hell was that whisper?
"Professor?"
'There it comes again,' Severus thought.
He opened his eyes only to find the room was almost equally dark as when his eyes were closed. Night, he deduced.
"Where am I?" he rasped, not recognizing his own voice.
"Hospital Wing," came the answer.
"I feel like hell," he groaned, wanting to return to the blissful oblivion as he found out that being awake meant suffering a blinding headache - not that he would notice being blind in this Merlin-forsaken dark night. His hand slowly travelled to his head, pressing against it as if it could push the headache away.
"Here," his companion whispered, pressing a cool glass into his other hand - a vial, he recognized the familiar shape.
"What is it?"
"Pain reliever."
Without further ado, he downed the potion in one go, feeling its effects almost immediately. He sighed, looking at the unfamiliar shadowy figure of his companion standing beside his bed.'A new medi-wizard?' he thought. 'I don't recall Dumbledore mentioning any thing about such matter.'
"Where's Pomfrey?" he asked instead.
"Asleep, it's roughly 3AM," the man answered quietly.
"Great, so there is a way to escape from here," he sneered and tried to sit up, but it proved to be hard as a stinging pain assaulted the entirety of his body. He bit back a pained moan.
"What's wrong with my body?" he asked.
"The pain will stop in about ten minutes, it's just a bad reaction to a nutrition potion," the stranger said and helped him sit up.
"I don't have bad reactions to any potion Pomfrey might use... as long as it's correctly brewed..."
"You do, Sir... Well... Your body does."
"What's that supposed to mean?" he growled, and froze minutely; his voice sounded weird. "Who are you?" he asked, dismissing the problem of his voice for later.
"Are you sure you're ready for this, Sir?" the man asked hesitantly.
"What are you talking about? You're not making any sense."
"I guess..." the man trailed off.
Severus could hear a soft rattle from where he supposed his nightstand was as the stranger picked something up from there. Then his shadow came closer and put something... Glasses?
"What are you-" he frowned when he noticed the world around him did indeed come to focus. "What the hell is going on? I don't use glasses!"
"Your body does, Sir," the man said in a strange voice, and took few steps back to stand in a place where the moon shone through a window, giving Severus a clear picture of what the man looked like.
And then Severus' famous self-control crumbled and his mind turned into an emotional turmoil, his face freezing in a state of a severe shock.
Not before several minutes have passed his brain started precessing what he saw: himself... his lookalike... his exact copy... Why was there somebody looking like him? He started coming up with scenarios as to 'why'and 'how', all either terrible or impossible, or both.
"Polyjuice Potion?"
"No such luck..."
"Long lost twin?" he went for the 'impossible' option.
"Still better than reality."
"Potter," he whispered.
"Afraid so, Sir."
"Fuck," Severus breathed out, falling back to lie.
"Yeah, fuck," Harry sighed sitting down on his bed.
He looked out of the window, what he'd been doing for the past three hours, leaving his professor to swallow another shock in silence.
"Why me?" Harry heard Snape whisper in despair.
"Any idea how to switch back?" Harry asked, though he didn't get his hopes high.
"Hah... How about letting a dementor Kiss you so I have a nice place to return to?"
"Don't like this one," Harry sighed. "Sir?"
"What, Potter?"
"Couldn't we alter the potion to force the switching?"
"Potter, had you paid any attention to-"
"I know, Sir. It binds the soul to the body. But when accident happened we weren't so far to the completion of it. In its previous stages it's rendered to be able to recognize the subjects that should belong together as separate entities, which basically means splitting the two, in a way... It should be possible to alter it so that this particular stage would be its final phase. Our souls originally don't belong to the bodies they currently reside in, if split, they should be able to return to their original places."
"Clever, Potter, clever," Snape growled looking at his original body sitting two metres from him thoughtfully. "But not possible. Not by the means of this potion, and not now anyway. Even in its earlier phase the potion shouldn't split a soul from a body, not literally. But thanks to you messing yet another potion up, it somehow has. The result of your failure is more appalling than ever, though. I'm very inclined to give you a detention for your whole final year."
"What did you mean by the 'not now' part, Sir?" Harry asked ignoring his remarks.
"This switch has been straining for the souls, Potter. A soul isn't indestructible; that's why a body exists - to protect it. If you forced one switch after another, you can seriously harm it, which isn't an option."
"How long will it take?"
"No idea. A day? A week? A month?"
"I'll go through a library," Harry sighed and attempted to stand up just to be immediately stopped by Snape.
"Where do you think you're going, Potter?"
"Library, Sir."
"Damn it, Potter, rest! I don't want to see my own body collapsing just because you're tired and can't sit still."
"Yes, Sir."
Yet another sequence of an unnerving silence that had fallen between them was broken by Harry just a few minutes in.
"Sir?"
"What now?" Snape snarled.
"What do you think the Headmaster's gonna say?"
"He'll say nothing; we're not telling anyone. I find a way to reverse it and then I'm going to promptly Obliviate you and myself."
"But it's end of a year, we don't know how long we'll stay with out bodies switched."
"So what?"
"If he doesn't know you're in my body, he's... he's gonna send you... there," he nearly whispered the last part.
"Where?"
"My guardians."
"Your point?"
"You can't go there," Harry stated firmly.
"Now listen, Potter, and listen well. I don't care about your feelings or you in general."
"I know."
"Don't interrupt me, brat."
"Sorry, Sir."
"I will not stand still while Dumbledore looks at me in your body, planning how to make the best of the situation. I'm going to return to my body asap, and this thing is going to be forgotten. So, you will not dareto say anything to anybody, is that clear?"
Harry lay quietly, drowning in his secret despair.
"Answer me, Potter!"
"Yes, Sir," Harry uttered in almost inaudible whisper.
"I'm going to sleep, and you're doing the same, Potter."
"Yes, Sir."
Harry's head was spinning from the thoughts and worries randomly popping up, never seeming to cease.
Up to now his only worry was how to switch back. Honestly, he didn't mind that much; his soul was belonging to the body of the man he loved. But he knew Snape's furious and disgusted with the exchange. Not that it was that surprising.
He will go through the library to find anything about the subject, truthfully, he had no idea about 'souls' whatsoever.
But then all these worries were pushed back when Snape announced this matter's to go unnoticed by anyone. And he would obey, of course, he really didn't want the man angered, not more than he already was. He sighed and run his hand through his hair; everything seemed to go from bad to worse, though he had no idea how his situation could go even worse. Except Voldemort marching into the Hospital Wing killing Snape in his body, perhaps...
Snape's gonna stay at Dursleys'. Without any valid reason he would not be allowed to stay here, safe. Was this the infamous bottom-line? Or was there really something that could make him despair even more?
Stumbling oven various things that could go wrong, his mind slowly fell into a restless sleep.
He woke up and opened his eyes, closing them immediately again, hoping this would go unnoticed.
"Harry," Dumbledore said cheerfully, shattering his hopes.
Having no way out, he opened his eyes and his vision was filled with nothing but Dumbledore for a while. When the old headmaster backed away slightly he noticed another person. His original body stood beside Dumbledore, looking at him with an unreadable expression on his face. Potter. He bit back all the insults he just yearned to yell at him. He saw Potter's eyes flicker sad, just to become emotionless again. Even while cursing the brat inwardly, he was forced to admit Potter could play this out.
"Headmaster," he said, remembering it wouldn't do calling the man 'Albus'. He looked into elder's face realizing there was no deceit; Potter really hasn't spoken up, he noticed quite surprised.
"A lemon drop, my dear boy?" Dumbledore asked, offering him one he was holding in his hand.
"No, Sir, thank you," he said politely, inwardly already chanting all the curses that came to his mind.
"How are you feeling, my boy?" Dumbledore inquired, sitting beside Severus.
"Alright," he mumbled, fighting a growl. 'You dickhead! A potion exploded in my face and forced my soul into a body of a filthy, brainless Gryffindor teenager! How the fuck do you think I feel?'
"That great, Harry! Do you think you'll be joining your classmates for the last three days, or you'd rather rest some more?"
"Last three days? How long was I out?"
"Three days altogether," Pomfrey said. "You'd been unconscious for about ten hours, and you'd slept for the rest."
"Great," he muttered sardonically.
"Did you have something planned for the days you've missed?" Dumbledore asked, his eyes twinkling mischievously. Severus suddenly felt sick at his insinuations.
"Not really," he sighed, hoping Dumbledore would drop the subject.
"All's well that ends well, my boy," Headmaster smiled, and waving his goodbyes he left the infirmary.
"Do you have a girlfriend, Potter?"
"W-what?" Potter stuttered, looking at him incredulously.
"Girlfriend, Potter, I hope you at least know what that means?"
"Why are you asking this?"
"Potter. Think. Now. Do you have one or not? If you do, who is it? I have every intention to avoid her at all costs. I really don't want to get intimately involved with members of your fan-club."
"I don't have one."
"Hm," he drawled inwardly, portraying a vicious grin on his face. Interesting. Pity he can't break them up, though...
"Anything I should know?"
"The password to the Gryffindor Tower is 'Carpe Diem'."
"Potter, tell me everything you can think of. I don't want your lion friends thinking me weird and thus suspicious."
"Don't worry, Sir," Potter waved his hand dismissively. "Just act like you normally do."
"I'm seriously thinking of cursing you now."
How could he be that thick? Even a Gryffindor, stupid as they are, should get something as simple as that; if he speaks wrong way to somebody or tells something weird, they would become aware that something is wrong with him. Really, Potter should develop some brain.
"Sir, believe me this once: just act normally..."
Potter obviously wanted to say more but frowned instead, waved his wand and...
"Potter!"
"Sir?"
"You use my wand. Why?" Why the hell was the brat processing around with his wand?
"I'm listening to you, Sir, and am avoiding any suspicion. If nothing more, it would be strange if I were using my own wand. Moreover, the switching occured to our souls, and our souls only. Our magic remained in their respective bodies; your magic is mine now and vice versa. Don't you feel your magic differently?"
"My magic?"
He closed his eyes and focused on tides and swirls of his magic. True. It really did feel different. He could feel every ounce of this strong unfamiliar energy as his own. An abrupt shudder run through his body. Pain and despair. He felt like falling down a bottomless abyss, and he was overcome with a sudden dizziness when he was forced to open his eyes to assure himself it was just his mind playing tricks.
"What was that?"
"What do you mean, Sir?" Potter asked, honestly surprised.
"This magic does feel different, but..."
"But? What are you talking about, Sir?"
"It's dark, Potter. There's no other word for that. All I could feel was pain, hopelessness, frustration, despair, and all-encompassing darkness. I feel like throwing up. So I ask once more: What the hell was that?"
"Magic, Sir. It's unfamiliar to you, so maybe that's why you feel it that way," Potter said, but it wouldn't take a spy to see through Potter's lying. The question was; why was he lying, and about what?
'Pain, despair, frustration, darkness,' Harry chuckled bitterly. 'Quite so.'
He contemplated about his very first Charms with Flitwick, and the very first chapter of a text book, a prologue really.
Magic is in some amount present in every animate being and in every inanimate object. [...] Amongst all, only wizard-kin and magical beings are entitled to control magic, to some degree. [...] Magic is unique to each and every witch and wizard, surging from their magical core, and absorbing all traits and/or emotions, making all magical signatures their own originals, and thus rendering them impossible to mistake one for another.
'No wonder Snape felt sick feeling my magic,' Harry mused, heading to the Great Hall, his cloak billowing menacingly in his trail.
He sat at the teachers' table, first seat to the left, where he'd always seen the man sitting. Even after two days it felt weird sitting here, like on a dais, being able to see everyone in the hall. As soon as he sat down, a traditional English breakfast appeared in front of him. He poured himself a glass of water, and drinking slowly, he observed his fellow students.
Before long he could feel somebody staring at him, drilling a hole into his head, so he looked up only to face a sullen face of his professor currently residing in a body of a sixteen year old.
Snape quickly turned away and sat at the end of the Gryffindor table, just a little bit from an exit.