This is for the Body Swap Challenge at HPFC and it is a little different for me. I'm aware this has been done many times before, but I hope I can add something else to these types of fics. It will focus on characterisation and a reasonable judgement about what would actual occur. It is meant to be believable and to capture what the characters would actually do.
Also, please note this is not meant to imply any slash ship between Harry/Voldemort. Reading through it some phrases or word choice could be construed that way, but that is not my intention and this will become clearer as it progressed. Assuming I write any ships into it they will all be canon (Likely Harry/Ginny and Voldemort/Bellatrix). Basically I very strongly see Voldemort and Harry as heterosexual men based on my interpretation of their characters.
Finally, as a timeline, this begins just at the start of the Silver and Opals Chapter in Half Blood Prince. Other than some small changes in what Voldemort has done and is focusing on, it is canon up to that point.
Enjoy
It had been a disaster. For a year, he had carefully constructed every aspect of the plan, yet it had fallen to pieces: Prophecy destroyed, eleven Death Eaters imprisoned and his presence had even been revealed to the public. Bellatrix had suggested at least Sirius Black had been killed.
He had Crucioed her for that remark.
Like so many other things, he attempted to turn the situation into an advantage: Strikes were sent out, thorns in his side were removed and terror finally settled in.
Perhaps if that was all he had to deal with, it may have been enough, but there was more.
When he had tried to possess Potter, something had gone wrong. He had used that form of magic hundreds of times in the past, though nothing like that had ever. When he had struggled to control the boy's body, pain had erupted through him.
It had bothered him. There was a prophecy about the boy's power he could never hear, his wand somehow did not work against Potter and now he could not possess him without experiencing severe pain. Ollivander had been captured a few months ago, but there was more to this than their wands.
He would have to find out.
The connection was the first start. Since the events at the Ministry, he had been carefully using Occluemency to block any possibility that the boy could see his thoughts. However, if he wanted to know the truth, he would need to open the connection again. It was magic that appeared to have no precedence in history, but, with his power and skill, he could uncover the truth.
After the fall of the Ministry, he had moved into Malfoy Manor as it provided him with greater security than the Riddle House and he could monitor the Malfoys. Of course, he had taken the Master Bedroom for himself and that was where he was now.
It was well past midnight and the room was almost in complete darkness. The thick midnight blue curtains were sealed shut, the candles were extinguished and the only light was from the flickering hearth. In the midst of it all, he sat atop the elaborate spiral design of the bed covers with his legs crossed neatly beneath him, black robe flowing around him as his yew wand twirling between his spindly fingers.
His scarlet eyes were closed, just as they had been all night as he waited. The easiest way to exploit the connection was when Potter was asleep, so, all he had to do was to wait.
After working at the connection for several weeks, it was strong and vibrant. He suspected Potter might have noticed something was amiss, though it hardly mattered. Now he was past the point of no return he could finally crack into Potter's mind. He felt the opening around the connection widen slightly in a reflex from the relaxed state produced from Potter sleeping.
With a flick of his wand and a quiet whisper, Voldemort focused on his spirit. It was the same as when he possessed people and animals. It was a strange sensation of something being unstuck from his body, but it was what he desired. Slowly and carefully, he focused on that connection and moved straight for the metaphoric hole that linked two enemies.
It was easy to slip in.
It was harder to escape as darkness swallowed him whole.
The first few weeks of Harry's sixth year had been long and arduous. Now a NEWT student, it felt like every class was harder and, if he did not have the Half Blood Prince's potion book to rely on, he was sure he would be failing potions. Non verbal charms were a must and his mastery of such magic was extremely limited. Added on top of that his captaincy of the Quidditch Team, his curiosity about where Malfoy and Dumbledore were going and the war battling on outside Hogwarts, Harry needed a good night's sleep.
The warmth of the covers of his four poster bed hugged him tightly that night as he drifted off and dreams claimed him.
They were not normal.
Visions of a darkened room, scarlet eyes and a pale wand engulfed him. It was like dreams when he was in Voldemort's mind, but he had thought he had stopped having them and this time there was no evidence Voldemort was even here. The only thing noticeable was the stifling darkness.
His heart was racing and he struggled and squirmed. Despite the fact he could not see anything, he had the lingering feeling that there was something there.
"Help!" he shouted loudly. "Who is there?"
There was no answer except for his voice echoing around the darkness.
Still in his stripped pyjamas, he longed for his wand, but there was nothing in his hand and all he could do was wait.
He was never one to do that.
Making up his mind, he ran. The darkness was everywhere, yet, as his legs rocketed underneath him, he at least felt like he was doing something rather than staying still like a sitting duck.
He only made it a few metres before he crashed into something. Crying in pain, he clutched his nose that should have been broken with the impact, but, when his hands crept up to his face, it seemed fine.
Stepping back, hesitantly he raised his hand to the spot where he had collided with something. It was like a wall of ice. It was cold and chilly and numbed his fingers. Still he did not draw away. It was at least something in a place that seemingly had nothing. Frantically he moved his hands up and down the invisible wall. While he walked he continuously swept his hands over the surface, the same sensation continued and nothing appeared.
After what felt like an hour of Harry waiting for something, as he brushed his finger over a certain area the faintest flicker of white appeared. A gasp escaped him and, automatically, he moved his hand up to the light. As soon as he did, more light emitted. Frantic and feverish, Harry rubbed at the colour.
The more he did, the more materialised.
What he had assumed to be a white colour seemed to be very pale skin. It did not stop him. A hand became visible. It was larger than his, but the fingers were slimmer. If he was not so desperate, he might have recognised them, but he did not.
He moved from the hand to the right where an arm should be and, just as he did, nothing but darkness appeared. He almost screamed in frustration. He might have, if his hand that rubbed well above the revealed hand exposed another piece of skin.
Focusing on that, he wiped furiously to the extent that he did not notice that more and more patches were being revealed where he was not staring, but from where he was pressed against the wall.
With a hard swipe of his hand, the last of the blackness blocking the face disappeared.
He screamed.
Blood red slitted eyes, a nose like a snake and deathly pale skin, Harry could not help but flinch away to the extent that he almost toppled over. He had faced Voldemort before but somehow the surprise had taken him back more than anything else.
Staring horror struck at the face, the desire to have his wand had never been stronger than when Voldemort smirked and pointed his wand directly at Harry.
Voldemort had known the process was unpredictable. It was unknown what opening the connection would do. However, he was confident he could deal with whatever was put before him.
The darkness meant nothing. The fear of the unknown had settled slightly, but he fought it off. The wall was what truly stopped him.
While he had walked he had fired curses in all directions. One angled in front of him connected with something. He fired more and more, but they all stopped as if they faced an impenetrable shield. Cautiously, Voldemort approached and touched the tip of his yew wand to the wall.
Nothing happened.
Though he loathed the idea, slowly he placed the tip of one spidery finger to the wall.
It almost burned. It was like there was a fire place behind it. He flinched and fired curses at the wall. For well over half an hour, he tried the might of all he knew, though nothing worked, so he resorted to the only thing that had worked.
Placing his hand flat against the wall, now that he had become accustomed the feeling, it was not as much of a burning sensation, though it was certainly not comfortable. Unsure, he moved his hand around trying to find something; all the while his yew wand was clutched in his left hand waiting for anything that would emerge.
Something did. It was a small flash of flesh. He rubbed it and slowly a hand appeared.
He knew what it was straight away.
Calmly and confidently, he worked away until the window was complete and he could see the boy.
He almost laughed as Potter leapt back in shock.
Smirking with a raised wand, he aimed at the revealed face of Potter. This had to be how he could get past the wall and into Potter's mind.
In a flash of indigo, a blasting spell escaped his wand. With a loud crash it connected and the wall crumpled.
Darkness settled over him again.