A/N: I am absolutely stupid. I started plotting out this story back in June, with the intention of it being fairly short. I was wrong; inevitably, a simple idea like a bodyswitch between Harry and an OC will end up with a new 'verse. I should have known.
On a lighter note, I have two or three new chapters in the can, which I'll post soon.
Jo Rowling and WB own their characters; I own mine.
Dawn brokeover the dewy field. Jake had a pounding headache and a growling stomach. He couldn't help but dwell on last night. Why did he have to drive so fast after the party? It's not like Connie DiMicco is going to sic the cops on him after they drove away. He wasn't even drinking or high, unlike Elaine. Marcus should learn to keep his mouth shut about her. Oh, Mom and Dad are gonna be pissed when they find out why he was at Connie's house so late. That's it, he decided, no more getting into trouble.
Blinking his eyes a little wider open, Jake sleepily took in his surroundings. The faint odor of cat lingered on the air. Light streamed from what appeared to be the opening of a tent. The rough blanket and thin mattress felt both familiar and foreign against his skin. He shook his arms and legs slightly in an effort to wake up properly, when a strange vision cloaked the unknown location.
Jake flies across the countryside, anger simmering behind his eyes. He lands at an opulent house, old and dark against weak shadows from the trees. The pure white peacocks stare dumbly at him, then scatter as Jake approaches the gate. He peers down at a massive snake and whispers, "Soon you will have dinner." Oddly, he hears himself hissing the sentence. The door opens, and Jake's rage boils over at the cowering man in the vestibule. "Malfoy," he calls coldly and clearly, "it seems that Potter has slipped through your fingers again. If your Lord has requested an action, his servant must follow without hesitation. You do not have many more chances, Lucius, and if I am summoned here without Potter prostrate, there will be dire consequences for the entire house…"
Jake snapped out of the vision, pale and shaking with the worst headache of his 17 years. What the hell just happened? Shocked fully awake, and with much panting, he looked upon two unfamiliar, blurry faces. One of them handed over a pair of glasses.
"Harry, please don't tell me you had another vision! I thought you were trying to block You-Know-Who out of your head? At least you're awake now. Ron and I couldn't wake you up for ages, and we thought we lost you for a while there," a girl's voice said.
"Yeah, you should've seen the curses they were throwing after you collapsed! I got a really good Stunning Spell on one of 'em and then Hermione grabbed us to Apparate away. Dunno where we are, though. You'll have to ask Hermione after she's done playing Healer," a cheerful male voice responded.
Jake's mind raced. The voices sounded British, maybe. The pair, a gangly redheaded boy and an intense girl with a swishing ponytail, looked to be about his age. They obviously care about him, and with those cautious half-smiles between them, they care about each other a great deal. He just might tell them about the giant snake and the haggard man in the mansion.
"Harry, I think you need to take a look at the cut on your lip – here, I'll get a mirror." The girl (Hermyohnee? Or Hermione?) pulled out a small beaded bag. "Accio mirror!" she intoned. Jake hazily saw the small mirror pop into the girl's hand, then she held it up to his face. Jake took the mirror from her.
He audibly gasped. Gone were his translucent eyebrows and shortly cropped strawberry blond hair; thick, unruly black hair and a heavy 5 o'clock shadow framed a completely different face from the one he had at the party. Jake, of course, did not recognize the face; although Harry Potter is one of the most famous wizards alive, he could have passed as an average student at any high school. Yet, there was something a bit familiar around those vibrant green eyes, glittering a bit more than his usual glaucous irises. It reminded Jake of one of his friends at school, or maybe a teammate from one of his clubs. He brushed the hair away from his forehead, tracing the lightning bolt-shaped scar gingerly as it stung to touch it. Suddenly he noticed the cut on his hand: "I must not tell lies."
"Blimey, Harry, you've been staring at yourself for about ten minutes. Didn't think this would be the time you'd get vain. Fred and George said that if you start to turn into Percy, we'll get you to test more Skiving Snackboxes." The boy Ron snickered behind his hand. "But seriously, mate, you don't look the same. I mean, you look like you, and you look like someone else at the same time. Did You-Know-Who do something funny during the vision, or is it something else? Don't get all sulky like with the locket." Ron tried to rile up Jake, but it didn't work.
Hermione had finished the tea by this time, and frowned when Ron mentioned that cursed locket. She offered Jake tea and looked at him with concern. "Harry, why aren't you talking? Please, just say anything." Quiet desperation filled the tent as Hermione's tears threatened to crest.
Jake looked at Harry's scarred hand, took a calming breath, and followed orders. "I am not who you think I am. I do not know where I am. I have no idea what's going on, at all. I-" Jake was cut off by the pair pointing sticks at him, their eyes reluctantly murderous.
"What was your birthday cake shaped like?" Ron barked, all traces of laughter gone from his face.
"When we escaped Bagshot's house, what did I take?" Hermione demanded shakily.
Jake, not knowing about Bagshot or a certain cake, answered truthfully. "How would I know? You're the ones who've captured me!" Lingering frustration forced its way into Jake's voice. "You've switched me and this Harry dude, and now you're gonna finish me off 'cause I can't tell y'all what a stupid cake looked like."
Hermione exchanged an alarmed look with Ron, maintaining the defense.
Ron spoke, his voice a little higher than before. "I'm not afraid to use an Unforgivable Curse on you, Death Eater! Tell us how you've kept looking like Harry without Polyjuice Potion."
Hermione still had her wand trained on Jake, but she was rummanging around in her beaded bag. Unable to find whatever she was searching for, she faced Jake once more. "Tell me what you know about Harry Potter, all of it. I will know if you lie, or leave out information, so tell the truth," she said with less conviction than the other interregator.
"Is Harry the kid I switched with? If so, all I know is that I look like him right now, and that he has freaky visions with big snakes in it. Um, he's also British and uses magic like y'all. That's pretty much it."
Ron stared at him curiously, trying to tease out the truth from what he said. Hermione, on the other hand, looked as if she had just remembered something.
"Ron, I think he's telling the truth. Since when do Death Eaters not spit at the sight of a known Mudblood," she pointed to herself, "or not overpower us fugitives to take to You-Know-Who? Did you read any of Mr. Lovegood's old papers yesterday? I think one of the articles talked about the Ministry using a new spell to 'cure' Muggleborns of magic." Ron looked at her as if she had grown two other heads. "Ron, I know the whole paper is ridiculous, but if there's a shred of truth, we'll need it. Now, if I could find that silly tabloid…" she trailed off and searched the bag again.
"I told you that he'd reported what the Prophet didn't," Ron muttered. He had a flash of inspiration. He shouted "Petrificus Totalus!", and Jake was suddenly immobile.
"Thank you, Ron," Hermione said softly.
Jake tried to give Ron the stinkeye, but he had already turned around to take a stack of newspapers from Hermione.
"Well, let's start, then." The pair spent more than an hour poring through the tabloids, most with lurid headlines such as, "Unspeakables brew new uberwizard in Dept. of Mysteries!", "Inferi really coming back to life!", "Gnome overthrow of Death Eater Ministry!", and "Harry Potter seen in Godric's Hollow!" The most unusual thing about the papers was that all the illustrations moved. Sure, Jake had seen plenty of gifs on the internet, and his mom had one of those slideshow picture frames on the mantle. However, the shadowy figures and zombies didn't seem to loop – he stared at one cover for three minutes and the figure left the picture. I bet Elaine would flip if she could figure out how to do that, Jake thought calmly.
Now that the shock of being frozen had thawed, he resigned himself to the control of the boy and the girl. The phrase "Stockholm Syndrome" flitted through his brain. After all, these two weren't so bad. Considering how much power they had over him, he's lucky to be alive. Hermione seemed to be the brains of the operation, and Ron the muscle. Yet before he was "outed", the friends had been more casual, relaxed, even lovey-dovey. There had been many heavy hints that they (including Jake too, he supposes) were fighting a guerilla war, teens against a machine. How did Harry fit into this, with all the press about him as some sort of "Public Enemy No. 1"? Next time that he's able to move, he should find out as much as he can about Harry Potter. Oh, and maybe try to escape too.