Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. J.K. Rowling does.
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of? - Hamlet by William Shakespeare, Act III, Scene 1
Chapter 1: Lily
I never had an easy time falling asleep. My sister Petunia figured it was because of my energetic nature. I think it is because of sounds. My hearing is the worst. Every since I was a little girl I could hear voices from rooms in hotels. Not vague mumbles. The actual words they said. Every night as I lay in my bed I hear things like the vague swishing of tree branches, or the slight rocking of shifting bodies. During my early years Petunia would buy me earmuffs. Most nights I wear the brown one with a soft red design of a swing she obtained at an outdoors market when she visited France. When Petunia became jealous of my magical ability, she blamed my excessive hearing as a freak affliction. The presents stopped.
I wake up to the sound of snoring. Not Marlene McKinnon's peaceful hushing harmony of bahbahbah or Alice Taylor's funny gibberish. No, the honking noise that bangs and irritates. That is enough for me to know that something changed. Plus, the sound is less intrusive than normal. Fainter.
I push my head roughly against my pillow. I am still dreary from sleep. The movement fails. The honking beats against my eardrums. "Stop snoring," I groggily cry.
"Shut it Potter," someone answers.
"Stop snoring," I repeat. Why should I relent?
I hear a drumming noise as someone moves against his bed. Followed by stomps. Soon a person yells over me, "Not everything is about you Potter. Shish, stop complaining."
I open my eyes and am faced with the sight a drooling boy with an irritated expression. The sandy boy glares as he itches his untidy pajamas. "He's your friend after all. You stop him."
The boy points to a snoring orange-headed boy. As a redhead I recognize the many different shades of red. Some people bear hair more orange than red, hence orange-headed.
Okay. Last thing I remember is being excited for the first Quidditch game of the year. I am not a fan of the sport itself. But I do love the happy atmosphere that emerges from the game. Both the cheering for Gryffindor's scoring and huddling with my friends drinking hot chocolate. Yes. Marlene and I were discussing if she would borrow my pants and green turtleneck instead of wearing the typical robes.
Yet, somehow I ended up in a boy's dorm. I ignore the annoying boy and walk pass on the clumps of clothes on the floor. I am about to leave when another boy stops me. "Listen, Harry," the boy shares. He shuffles his feet. "Don't let Seamus get to you. He'll come around."
"Harry," I echo the name he mentioned. I look at closer at the boy. He has Alice's face - round and expressive – and blond hair with a slight bucktooth. For years Marlene and I chided Alice for her cute prodding tooth.
"Are you all right?" The blond boy sounds worried.
I shake my head. I am thoroughly overwhelmed. "Why are you calling me Harry?"
The boy frowns and shuffles his feet. "Sorry."
Whoa, he even follows Alice's nervous patterns.
A voice interrupts our exchange. "Morning mates. Why are you both standing around?"
It is the snoring boy from earlier.
The blond boy explains, "Seamus acting up again."
The orange-head boy nods and sighs, "Well, what do you say to some food, Harry?"
There it is again. Harry. I scoot to the bathroom. The mirror over the sink reveals the truth with the face staring at me. My eyes are riddled under a furious bed-head, a weird scar and all things Potter. Potter that foolish boy who loves to bother people. What the heck?
Harry must be a nickname, but where are Potter's friends?
The door creaks open behind me. The orange-headed boy moved to stand besides me. He asks, "Harry? Are you all right mate?"
"No," I answer. Who are you? "What's the date?"
The boy mumbles, "Someday, Hermione might know."
It was September the last time I was aware. "Sometime in September right?"
The boy gasps, "Its September 16th, Hermione's birthday. Were you thinking about getting something?"
Ah, there is a way to find what class year they are in. "What year was she born?"
"Dunno," the boy responds. "1980?"
"1980, not like 1960?"
The boy laughs, "She's not that old."
Whoa, maybe I am in the future and that is why they are different people. Kay, back to birthdays, "What do you think we should get him?"
The boy shrugs then gasps, "I swear I just heard you refer to Hermione as a he."
I did not expect that. From my experience most boys prefer spending time with other boys. I quickly explain, "I meant she. Slip of the tongue."
The boy nods. "Well, better get dress. Hermione's probably waiting."
The boy leaves and I begin to do my morning ritual. Thank goodness I am not a stranger to the male body. My ex-boyfriend Davey Gudgeon may not be the best in the broom closet, but my experiences with him leave me unfazed by a cock. The whole situation is still weird nonetheless. I would rather sit than stand.
After my shower, I pull on some of Harry's robes. I think over some ideas. I could research body switches and time travel. Hid in a secret passageway until I miraculously return to my body. In the end, I decide to ask for help from some professor - Dumbledore, McGonagall, maybe even Slughorn - after class. During class I can regain my bearings and observe people.
Once I reach the common room I locate the orange-headed boy sitting on a sofa with a girl that must be Hermione. Before we leave, Hermione's face wrinkles with mirth when I say Happy Birthday. "It's not till the 19th. As I already told Ron."
We then head to the Great Hall. Ron and Hermione argue the whole way and soon I join in. Harry probably is as argumentative as these two.
Ron and Hermione act a bit strange when I join in on their arguments. Ron grins widely and cheers that I am not sad. I guess Harry was upset last week. Hermione smiles and thanked me for following her advice. What advice? How to argue better? Hopefully, I just have to act the best I can until I am soon back where I belong. Yes, act like someone I know nil about.
Maybe I should tell them. I may not know them well, but they do deserve the truth. I would hate for someone to possess me and lie to my friends. Yet, it would become awkward to apologize for something I did not cause. Plus, they would become worried too. But I hate lying and deceiving. How many times have I reprimanded people for bullying others for no reason? Pretending is even worst than bullying.
The morning runs slowly. History of Magic is bland. Potions class is a bit interesting with the teacher deploring my perfect potion process. His matted black hair looks familiar. Like Severus's, but he would never teach.
Well, there I have it. A snappy blond calls the Professor, Snape. Look at that. Severus is a teacher. From the growls he sends my way, I can tell he linked his disdain for Potter to his son.
When Severus's breath prickles against me as I add poor some salamander in Harry's cauldron, I start hyperventilating. I almost collide a leg of the stool on his foot. Severus sneers, "Get control of yourself Potter."
Just ignore him. I tell myself. We are no longer friends. His actions no longer matter.
Severus would cuff himself if he saw this. Acting just like the rival he hates.
The worst part of the morning though is the strangers. Strangers cloak every place much like my first day at Hogwarts. When I wandered with Marlene, Alice and Mary not knowing whom I was speaking to. When I faced people bugging me and not knowing the name to shout. When I wished for Severus's comforting reminder that I am not a speck of dust.
Today people stare at me. Some smile, but most glares. I hear many people mock Harry as crazy. Worst is that I am unsure if Harry would call them out. Potter certainly would but I know people are rarely like their parents. Alice's parents are strict and prefer to read than talk while Alice is a babbling machine. Marlene's parents are shy while Marlene faces no anxiety among crowds. In fact Marlene is a chief participant.
At lunch a boy with Ravenclaw robes comes over to Ron, Hermione and I. He looks intense, brown eyes wide. He taps his fingers friskily on the table. Finally, he reports in a nervous stammer, "I haven't talk to you three much. My name is Michael"
"Corner, I know," Hermione confides. "We have classes together."
Michael bobs his head. "Well I was talking to your sister this morning, Weasley, Something is wrong with Ginny. She's sprouting all this pureblood nonsense. I think she's possessed."
"How would you know that? You barely know Ginny." Ron blurts.
"Well even if I didn't date her for months." Michael retorts. "I do know her family doesn't believe that nonsense."
"Wait a moment," Ron says, smashing his fork against his plate. "Your dating Ginny? You can't be. I won't allow it."
Two boys come over and whisper in Michael's ear. Michael says, "I'll be back. And what Ginny and I do is our business. Not her nasty brother's."
The three walk to the edge of the Ravenclaw table, whispering frantically. The blond Ravenclaw waves his hand in the air as the two dark haired ones point to us.
"Nasty," Ron scorns. "He called me nasty. He's the nasty one."
"Ron," Hermione huffs. "That's Ginny and Michael's business. Please don't interfere."
"You knew," Ron cries. He turns to me. "Harry, did you know?"
Hermione answers for me, "Harry didn't. And Ron please…"
"She's my sister," Ron argues. "I should have a say."
Michael returns to the conversation. His two friends stand beside him. "Ron, lets just leave with I leave alone and you leave me alone. All right?"
Ron grits his teeth. "No. Stay away from my sister."
Poor Ron. I like how he cares so much about his sister. If only Petunia could be the same.
While the conversation continues with similar lines, I think back to the end of Michael's first statement. Possessed. Maybe "Ginny" is in the same position at me. If the person is, load off my back.
"How is she acting different?" I interrupt their banter.
Hermione's shoulders loosen from a tense posture.
"Well," Michael's blond friend explains. "She started boasting all this blood supremacist rubbish like muggle-borns destroying magic."
"Like Malfoy," Ron mumbles. "I bet its him."
"No," Michael's other friend explains. "Like Theodore Nott. All quiet and sly with the horrendous statements she said. She demeaned my suggestion of reading this good muggle book."
"You need to do something," Michael complains. "She refuses to talk to me. Something about my gross smell and my boring way of speaking."
"He called us bland half-bloods that should mind their betters. Mind. She used mind," Michael's blond friend exclaims.
"Michael, Terry, Anthony," Hermione insists. "Calm down. We'll talk to her."
"Good," Michael sighs. Faint stress lines emerge on his forehead. "I just really worried. I'd hate for Ginny to be hurt."
The three Ravenclaws leave. Ron and Hermione and I are quiet for a few moments.
Ron munches some food, but I can tell he is scared.
"I'll talk to Ginny," I tell them. "I'm sure she is fine. How likely is it that she is possessed? She probably was only annoyed with those boys. Needed to say something for them to shoo."
I am the expert at doing that so it seems like a good faux explanation.
"True," Ron perks up. "Sounds like something Ginny would do."
Lunch dwindles down so Ron and I head to Divination. Apparently, Hermione is taking Ancient Runes. I love that class. There is nothing like finding meanings from intricate pictures. Still, I am intrigued about taking Divination. I decided not to take it because it seemed frivolous. My roommate Mary often giggles ferociously when she detailed the Divination teacher's stories. Once Professor Bawalir's did a quest where she discovered a ruin that thrust her into a memory of a battle during the Troll Rebellion of 1214.
Dross. Divination turns out as a bunch of dross. Professor Trelawney is a far cry from the rumors of Professor Bawalir. She spends more time warning us about future events she discerned from thin air. Plus she speaks too softly. With my ears I would not mind, but with Harry's I struggle to listen.
Worst there is this woman ridiculing Professor Trelawney's actions. That woman horrifies me. Normally, I would not hate someone the moment we meet, but this woman screeches at everything. No wonder Professor Trelawney is so squeamish.
Just my luck; the next class is with the same bothersome woman. She forces us to read the worst book in history that should be called- How To Not Teach Anything Useful.
I break off with Ron and Hermione after that class, saying I need some alone time. Really, I want to find Ginny.
I first try the girl's staircase and I trip. Damn it. The staircase bases gender on body. A girl behind me laughs. When she starts to walk upstairs I ask her to see if Ginny is at her dorm. Ginny is not. I wander around the school, asking many people. No one knows. And then it happens, I discover an orange-headed girl that must be Ginny. Or at least the person in Ginny's body is by the broom shed.
"Hi, Ginny," I greet.
The person politely answers, "Yes."
I continue with what I want to know. No need for small talk. "You're not Ginny Weasley, right?"
The person moves to leave. I block. "I'm in the same position. I'm Lily Evans, not Harry Potter."
"Great," the person mutters. "Just what I need. The only person in my position, a mudblood."
How I hate that word. I struggle to not break. The word drags me back to last June when Severus tore my loyalty to him into a shadow of the past. If I did not need this person, I would cut him or her loose too.
"I guess you're a Slytherin," I sigh. "I know you don't like people like me, but I would think you would understand that it be more useful for us to help each other. If you want to get home, that is."
"Why would I work with you? Regulus Black, with a mudblood, people like you ruin everything?"
"Sirius's brother," I shout.
He scoffs with the same obnoxious air of his brother.
"Anyways," I explain. "If we get home, this wouldn't matter to them. What can they do? Its not like they'll treat you like their son in the body your in."
"This is the worst," Regulus groans.
Typically pureblood; instead of thinking logic, they mumble complaints.
"Listen to me," I command. "Let's work together and get home. We can ignore each other afterwards."
Regulus steps close to me. "Like never. I will never working with you thieves and liars and crazy interlopers like you."
"Ginny," a person yells behind us. "Take that back. You know Harry is not a liar."
The person is Ron. Hermione lingers next to him.
"I had enough," Regulus asserts and he stomps off. He throws off Ron's attempt to keep him here with a flick of Ginny's wand. Ron hits the grass on his stomach.
Ron bends on his knees, fear written in his face. "She's possessed again."
"I know," Hermione answers. "We need to talk to Dumbledore."
"No," I break in. They need to know the truth. "I am…" Guck falls out of Harry's mouth as I try to say that I am not Harry. I try again and more white bile falls on Harry's fingers, then his left shoulder when I wipe my mouth there.
Ron and Hermione are frantic. They rush to me and pull me against their arms. Hermione spells some of the guck off my hands, mouth and shoulder. More drool disperses as I try to tell them again.
"Stop talking," Hermione orders.
I stop. Telling them is futile. They drag me to the Hospital Wing.
One thing is for sure. I need to find a way to tell them the truth. Writing, maybe. No way am I going to find a solution with only an ignorant and prejudice Pureblood.