Here we go. Chapter two when the swap begins!

Enjoy


Harry slept appalling that night. His rest was fitful and somehow the nightmare kept replaying over and over again, so when his body clock told him it was time to wake he had no desire to do so. Cursing the idea of Hogsmeade trip, he settled further into the cover concluding sleep was more appealing.

Twisting in his sleep, he wondered where his blanket had gone as, apart from what he wore, there was nothing covering him. Sighing in frustration, he moved his hand to his side but all he felt was something silky. In his mind that was still filled with sleep, he recognised that his bed did not have any silk blankets or quilts; it was all cotton and warm wool.

It was a little unsure, but sleep still seemed more appealing than this mystery. Turning on his side, he twitched his foot. It should have contacted with some sheets or the base of his bed, instead it was contained by a shoe. Why would he wear shoes to bed? He was sure he had changed before he had fallen asleep.

Finally the curiosity was too much. He opened his eyes.

The room was almost in complete darkness. Everything in shadows and, from what he could see, it was not Gryffindor Tower. There was no trace of scarlet and the bed he slept on was larger and more luxurious than anything he had ever seen before.

Pushing himself up, he turned from right to left frantically. The embers of a hearth that was losing light flowed before him, allowing him to vaguely make out thick dark curtains and heavy ornate furniture in a spacious room.

He had never been here before.

Panic set in.

If he had not gone through so many events in his life, he might have thought it was a dream, but, living under a threatening cloud, he could never think that way. His eyes moved from the black robes that covered him, something that he was sure he did not own, until they spotted the wand that was only a few inches from his hand. It was paler than his own, longer and strangely thin. While it was weirdly familiar, he knew was not his own, but, in this situation, he was grateful to have any weapon.

Clutching it tightly, he flicked the wand, opening the curtains to his left. Slowly they slid open revealing the room.

He was right that it was luxurious and somewhere he had never been. It was all in dark blues, creams with dark wooden antique pieces. Sliding his legs from the bed to the floor, he tried to stand and almost toppled over. His limbs felt all wrong. They were all too long and thin. It was like someone had cursed or drugged him with a potion.

His view that he had been kidnapped increased as Harry shakily found his feet by holding onto the ornate but empty set of drawers beside the bed. Cautiously, he moved one foot in front of another and, now with a better understanding, he was able to walk fine though, admittedly without much grace. As he moved, he surveyed the room, targeting the two doors in front of him; one on the right and one a little to the left closer to a massive wardrobe and the window.

He chose that one. Entering, he expected to find something truly, shocking

He only found a bathroom.

It was all white and black marble. It covered the walls and floors and snaked to the back of the shower covered by a glass shower screen to the bath on the other side. It was circular and large enough to fit five people if someone tried. It caught his attention. If it did not, he might have left rather than step a little further in an idly glance at the mirror.

When he did, he screamed.

Lord Voldemort was looking back at him.

He spun around with the wand he had found, but all he saw was an empty bathroom. Warily, he turned back around.

Voldemort remained.

Harry pointed the wand at the image of Voldemort in the mirror.

Voldemort did the same.

Harry stepped away.

Voldemort did the same.

A truly horrific idea slithered into his mind. No, he thought, that was impossible. Still, when he raised his left hand, so did the mirror image. His hand was almost shaky as he touched the face.

So did the reflection.

His face had never felt like this before; it was smooth like marble. No glasses met his finger and the nose he brushed over was flat. Moving upwards, he swept up over his forehead and, instead of black messy hair, his hand moved upwards over a bald scalp.

Stepping back, Harry sunk slowly into the toilet seat, his breath heavy and red eyes wide.

What had happened? He could not believe it, but he had to.

He was Voldemort.


The blanket was itching and scratching against his skin as he turned a little in his sleep. Unlike Harry, he was not the type to laze into a lull of sleep. He knew something was wrong from the outset. He could feel pyjamas where there should have been robes and, when he twisted in his sleep, the bed was too small.

Darting up, he sat bolt upright eyes wide. Thick scarlet curtains covered his bed which was one he was sure he had never been before. Wrenching them back violently, his eyes tried to stare around the room. It seemed to be circular with a mass of red, but it was all blurry and hard to distinguish. Frustrated, his hands felt around frantically before they touched a bedside table. He was relieved when one hand circled around the handle of a wand and the other what felt like glasses.

It was enough to know where he was.

Assuming it was required, he stuffed the glasses on his face and looked around. The room was stone and circular, but covered in masses of scarlet and gold tapestries and complete with four other beds, each with the hangings closed or revealing a body under covers.

Quickly, he pulled the curtains around him, before he flicked the wand. A mirror appeared and straight away he looked into it to confirm his suspicions: Potter. Hidden behind spectacles, emerald green eyes glowed in frustration at they stared at the glass. Lips stitched in anger, he was very tempted to hurl the transfigured mirror across the room.

It took all his temptations to restrain himself.

Something had gone wrong. He was meant to search Potter's memories not to possess him, though if he possessed him, shouldn't Potter be in this head too.

Calmly his breathing, Voldemort closed his eyes and concentrated on searching the mind. All he found was his own thoughts and memories. Potter had to be there. If he was not there was no other place he could be. He was likely lying dormant. He would just have to wait.

Throwing the covers off himself, he wrinkled his nose at the simple striped pyjamas that coated Potter's body. What could he do? He could reveal his presence, possibly causing a needless challenge to contend with or he could ride it out and pretend to be Potter. Besides, he could learn something.

Resigning himself to the inevitable, he opened the hangings again and stepped out of the bed.

Standing, he was a little struck by how much smaller the room looked. Potter was only sixteen and Voldemort was sure he had not been that short at that age. He supposed he always had been tall, but thought of such an average height was added to the list of notes that would infuriate him.

His eyes swept the dormitory, but, at least while it was different, some key design elements were the same from his days in the Slytherin Dormitories: There was some kind of heater in the middle and each bed had a bedside table and a trunk at the bottom.

It was where he moved, eager to get out of these pyjamas. Thankful it was not locked so he did not have to perform a complex curse to unlock it which would have caused some peculiar questions to materialise. Sliding it open, it was a mess: Books were thrown inside as well as underwear, creased robes and used and unused parchment. How could one boy be so filthy? With disgust, he slid out a school robe that seemed to be clean between two fingers and stood up. His eyes brushed against the underwear and immediately he decided against it. This situation would be unpleasant enough. It would be substantially better to just throw the robe over his head and only have to stare at was Potter's scrawny chest.

Set on that goal, he walked towards the bathroom.

The similarities to Slytherin accommodations continued. It was substantially more modern, but its design was the same. Slipping into a toilet cubicle, he ignored the toilet and flicked his wand. So as to avoid touching Potter, he vanishing the pyjamas and, with another charm, he was dressed. He paid no attention to the toilet. It was one another thing he wanted to evade.

The sink was the next stop. There were five baskets some with their contents neatly stacked while others were spread over the counter. One was Potter's but which? He looked at each in turn, but soon gave up. It would be an impossible job to tell. Hopefully Potter had at least brushed his teeth last night. He only ran his hands through Potter's hair, but that was one thing that proved to be simple for he was sure Potter's hair was always messy.

Staring at the mirror, he tilted his head to the side, looking carefully. Harry Potter stared back at him, his lips tense and eyes glaring. He tried to relax his face like how he had done when he was younger. It partially worked, but still something seemed off. Oh well, Potter was a teenager. Odd moods were natural.

Ready to face the day, he stepped out of the bathroom.

His preparation fell to piece in one sentence.

"Why are you up so early, Harry?" One of the boys asked, half asleep from where his freckled head pocked out from the side of the hangings. With his red hair Voldemort was at least confident he could identify him as Potter's Weasley friend.

"I just woke up," Voldemort replied in Potter's voice, keeping his tone level and polite.

From the perplexed look on the other boy's face, something was not right. "Did you forget it was Hogsmeade today? Why are you wearing your uniform?"

Instinctively Voldemort cursed his lack of knowledge. A look of irritation crossed his face before he managed to mask it. "Oh, of course." He tried to smile as he approached the messy trunk again and withdrew a plain set of robes. "I forgot."

Before he could get questioned, he set off to the bathroom again and cursed this situation. He would need to be careful to hide away his lack of knowledge something that had never been a problem before.