Title: My Only Hate
Disclaimer: All rights belong to J.K. Rowling. I do not claim any ownership of the characters or settings contained within. This story is for entertainment only and is not part of the official story line.
Pairings: Harry/Draco, Ron/Hermione
Warnings: Contains mature language and sexual content
Rating: M
Summary: Harry has been cursed and now inhabits the wrong body. Draco Malfoy may be the only one who can help.
Author's Note: Here I go cursing Harry again. A basic familiarity with the works of Shakespeare may help you with this one, but it's not necessary.
oOo
Shadows cast an unearthly gloom across Knockturn Alley, rendering even the smallest shapes into foreboding silhouettes. Harry crept forward a step, wand extended and free hand balled into a fist. Ron shuffled behind him, at his side as he ever was, but letting Harry forge the path into darkness. This should be easy.
Except it wasn't. Knockturn Alley was a dangerous place, even in the best of times, even on a warm, sunny day. At midnight, in the mid-winter cold of January, it was as bad as it could possibly be.
"Why are the curses only visible at midnight?" Ron muttered, shattering the silence with his complaint.
"Could be worse," Harry muttered back. "Could be the witching hour."
"If I'm not at home and in bed by then I'll fall over from exhaustion," Ron redoubled his grip on his wand and shuffled forward another step. "Or Hermione will kill me. One of the two."
It had been eight months since the war ended, six since the Death Eater trials, three since reconstruction efforts turned up the first curse boobytrap, one since the Ministry's mass clean-up effort cleared most of the wizarding world of traps, and now Harry and Ron were about to tackle the last remaining nest of curses leftover from the reign of the Dark Lord.
"It figures the last place we look is the worst yet," Ron complained again. "Why does it have to be us?"
"It was our night on the schedule," Harry crept forward and spotted the gleam of a curse at the edge of a doorway. It was round and translucent, like a phantom of a wax seal, with the words "Tiger-Footed Rage" scrawled across it. With a flick and a slash of his wand it shattered into a shower of red sparks.
"There are too many of them down here," Ron lashed out and shattered another curse midway up a lamppost. "There should be more than two people on it. And actual Aurors."
"If we get through this they'll let us into the Ministry for sure," Harry reminded him. "Acts of valor and all that."
"Like defeating You-Know-Who wasn't enough?" Ron asked, bugging his eyes out and dropping his guard. He stepped to the side and nearly touched a curse in the gutter with the edge of his boot.
"Look out!" Harry whirled around and blasted it before it could go off.
"What was it?" Ron jumped back and squinted at the fading sparkles.
"It said, 'Wrath Makes Him Deaf,'" Harry grimaced. "That's a bad one."
"You-Know-Who liked that one, didn't he?"
They crept forward another step, each shattering another pair of curses that glimmered in the moonlight. At this rate they'd only make it a quarter of the way through the alley before one o'clock, when the curses would fade from sight once again.
"We have to go faster," Harry said. "The businesses down here haven't opened since the war. People's livelihoods are depending on us."
"Oh yeah? Eager to see Borgin and Burkes open its doors again?" Ron slashed and shattered two curses with one blow.
"If the Ministry says these businesses are legal to operate, it's not ours to question," Harry ducked as a curse made itself visible just above his head. "That one was called 'Words Words Words.' I think it makes the victim unable to speak anything but gibberish."
"That would be a funny practical joke," Ron side-stepped a pile of three curses and destroyed them in sequence.
"Only if it was temporary," Harry shuddered. Sometimes the Weasley sense of humour missed him entirely.
"Isn't it odd that the Dark Lord cursed Knockturn Alley?" Ron asked. "Wasn't it mostly his people down here?"
"He hated his people almost as much as he hated everyone else," Harry shattered a big one that laid across the cobblestones ahead of them. "That one was an ice spell."
"I don't think I could get any colder," Ron shuddered and pulled his coat tighter around his collar. "We're never going to finish tonight. Do you want to break it up and come back tomorrow?"
"We should keep going until one," Harry said. "It doesn't make sense to waste the hour we've got."
They crept further, shuffling slowly and destroying every curse that caught their eye in the moonlight. Some were severe, lethal or terribly disfiguring. Others were more trivial, like weak bones or dragon's breath. Every now and then they spotted one that they'd never run across before and took note of the name etched in the seal so they could put it on record when they got back to the Ministry. Those unknown spells were the ones that made Harry the most nervous, because they had to guess what they did from the name, and had no idea whether a counter-curse existed yet.
"Watch yourself," Harry snared Ron's elbow and pulled him out of the way just before his hair brushed a curse that caused endless itching.
"Bollocks," Ron glanced up and saw what he'd almost run into. Harry shattered it so they could keep moving.
"Honestly, Ron, you've got to pay closer attention," Harry said, taking another short step and peering around for spells.
"I am paying attention."
"No, I mean really pay attention," Harry glanced over his shoulder at his friend. "Not paying attention is how people have accidents."
The instant the flash went off Harry knew what had happened. He'd walked into a curse. The split second between triggering it and feeling its effect gave his brain the opportunity to form several thoughts at lightning speed. They occurred in sequential order:
Oh.
Oh no.
Oh shit.
Oh Merlin.
I'm going to die.
I hope I don't die.
I'm definitely going to die.
Voldemort killed me after all.
And then the pain struck him like a Cruciatus. He doubled over and hit the ground hard, too wracked with pain to cushion his fall with his arms. He heard Ron shout but couldn't focus on anything but the agony as his body quivered and shifted and squeezed here and stretched there and, oh Merlin, he was changing. What was he becoming? Was this a werewolf curse? Was he being transfigured? Was he becoming a monster? This couldn't be happening!
"Harry!" Ron grabbed his shoulders and tried to pry him out of his huddled ball.
"Ron," Harry whimpered. The pain was subsiding now, receding to the furthest reaches of his brain and leaving him shuddering in the wake of its passing. He was too terrified to open his eyes. He had been cursed. Something had happened, but the idea of opening his eyes and finding out what was more than he could bear.
"Harry, get up!" Ron pulled at him harder and managed to roll him onto his side, but Harry stubbornly remained curled up in the foetal position.
"No," he breathed. "I can't look."
"What the—" Ron leapt back and scrambled to ready his wand. "What are you doing here? What have you done to Harry?"
Oh gods, it sounded bad. It was bad. Bad bad bad. Harry moaned and tightened his ball.
"Get up now! Tell me what you've done to him!"
"It's me, Ron," Harry said, although his voice was muffled by his arms.
"Get up now, you traitor," Ron lashed out with his foot and kicked Harry hard across the shoulder. He rolled onto his back and clutched his arm in pain.
"Ow, don't do that!" He glared up at Ron. "I don't care what happened, you can't kick me like that."
"I'll do worse than that, Malfoy. Get up and tell me what you did to Harry," Ron readied his stance and glowered at him with seething hate.
"Who? What are you talking about?" Harry sat up and patted himself down. He was in one piece, although everything felt a bit weird. A bit out of place. And actually his hands-
"Get up, you Slytherin bastard."
His hands were very pale. And his fingers were long and slim. Graceful, almost.
"Did you hear me? I'll curse you into the stone age if you hurt him."
And in fact, everything felt a bit slimmer than usual. His shirt was a bit blousier, and his belt felt a bit roomy. Not much, but enough to notice.
"On your feet, Malfoy!" Ron shouted. "I'll count to three. One, two—"
"Don't shoot!" Harry scrambled to his feet and raised his hands in surrender. Everything was blurry. He squinted and removed his glasses, and found to his utter surprise that he could see quite clearly.
"What did you do to Harry?" Ron stepped closer and pressed his wand against Harry's chest.
"Ron." A cold fear flooded Harry's stomach. "It's me. I'm Harry."
"Don't try to lie."
"I'm not lying," Harry tried to sound as honest as he could. "Ask me something only I would know."
"What colour pants do I wear to sleep in?"
Harry dropped his hands in disbelief. "That's the best question you could come up with?"
"Only a Gryffindor, and only one from my year would know," Ron pressed his wand harder into Harry's flesh.
"It's a trick question," Harry sighed. "You don't wear pants to bed."
Ron's eyes widened and his wand dropped to his side. He staggered back a step, his mouth moving silently as he struggled to form words.
"It's me, I swear," Harry said. He knew with a sick dread what had happened but he couldn't make himself say it out loud, or even form the thought.
"Harry, you—"
"Don't say it."
"You look like—"
"Ron, please. It can't be happening."
"Oh it's happening, Harry," Ron stepped closer again and peered at him like he was an alien creature. "Look at yourself."
Harry reflexively followed Ron's pointing finger and stared at the reflection that shone in the storefront glass beside him. Blond hair, silver eyes, slim build, the wrong person stared back. His heart pounded and his head filled with static as the undeniable truth hit him with a sick finality.
"Harry," Ron's reflection breathed. "You've turned into Draco Malfoy."
