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A… Switched Chance
2. Surviving day one/1
Harry went through the day in a haze, feeling as if his brain had stumbled on an unforeseen obstacle and stopped and now would never start working again.
At least, he had so far managed to avoid a crisis of major proportions by the perhaps simplistic solution of telling his… her?... father… that he – 'she' – wasn't feeling well. He had had the vague hope that it would excuse any 'strange' behaviour.
He certainly didn't expect it, though, to be the source of what was, to him, a rather surprising commotion.
Dr. Granger had frowned and immediately checked her (her? him!) for a fever, which had panicked Harry for a moment, but to his surprise he had felt a… tingle… a somewhat familiar one, shooting through his – her – body, rising his/her temperature. Dr. Granger had gasped and proclaimed that she (he!) was running a fever.
He/she had collapsed back onto the bed, unspeakably thankful to his (her?) magic for coming to his/her rescue.
At that point Dr. Granger had started fussing over her (him!), making her (him) comfortable, adding even more pillows (Harry hadn't ever had that many, not even at Hogwarts!) and trying to decide which medicine to give her (him).
Harry had felt terribly guilty, because, honestly, he wasn't Hermione! and probably shouldn't try and take her place, circumstances notwithstanding, but had thoroughly enjoyed the attention, couldn't help it really. It was something he had always craved – and never gotten, for even when he had ended up in the hospital wing at Hogwarts, well… he was usually unconscious, and in no shape to appreciate Madam Pomphrey's care!
Then his… Hermione's… mother had come up to see what was wrong and frantically checked her (his!) forehead again, and confirmed her husband's conclusions, and discussed medicine and dosage, and fussed some more and finally told her (him) quite sternly that he/she was not going to school that day.
For a moment Harry had been confused – well of course, he wasn't going, he was ill wasn't he? – and couldn't imagine why Hermione's mother seemed ready for a fight, but then it hit him. This was Hermione, after all. Right.
So he promptly made an effort to protest, thinking fondly that his best friend would have done just that, horrified at the idea of missing classes. But between the fact that he didn't really want to go to school, and the fact that he was still more than half in shock at the entire situation, the attempt had been half-hearted and it had worried Hermione's parents rather badly.
Now they were both convinced that he/she was much worse off than they first thought and were discussing rearranging their appointments so one of them could stay with her (him!) all day.
This wouldn't do!
He desperately needed to sort out his thoughts, figure out what happened, or at least make an educated guess, and decide what to do now – even if he had absolutely no idea of how to do any of the above.
Surprisingly enough, he found that he wasn't too freaked out at finding himself in his best friend's body.
Weird things were all the norm in the wizarding world, after all, especially around him. Plus he sort of remembered Fred and George mentioning a Body Switching Potion, though he couldn't remember if it existed or if they thought it should and were trying to invent it, but the point was, it wasn't unthinkable. And finding himself confused and out of sorts wasn't exactly a new situation for him, so he refused to be too perturbed by it all.
They would find a way out, he was sure.
'They' meaning, naturally, Hermione… who was the absolute genius who could figure out the mess they currently found themselves in, as usual, then think up a plan to get them out of it, as usual, a plan Harry would probably end up modifying with spur-of-the-moments adjustments, yes, but that came later on, when the plan was actually being implemented.
Right now, he needed Hermione.
Except that he was Hermione now…
…and wasn't that a daunting thought?
How did Hermione cope with being the one they always relied on? He winced at the sudden stab of pain he felt when he remembered there wasn't this 'they' anymore – because Ron had left. Better not go there…
Still. The point remained. He needed Hermione, his Hermione. No two options there.
Which meant he needed to contact her… that is, to contact himself, assuming that they had simply switched 'landing', so to say – which they most certainly had, because the alternative, that he somehow had come back alone, and was now on his own, on top of being Hermione, that was an option he couldn't even bear to contemplate.
No, Hermione was – had to be – in his own body. Which meant at the Dursleys'. Ouch. Suddenly his guilt for enjoying Hermione's parents' concern doubled. He hoped his best friend could forgive him, once they were back to right…
In the meanwhile, her being at the Dursleys meant everything was up to him, for they surely would never let 'the freak' (sorry Hermione… I'll make it up to you somehow…) use a phone or go out on his own.
Therefore he would have to be the one to phone, and think up an excuse to speak with – well, with himself – or time it just right so 'Harry' would be the one to answer… Or better yet, actually go to Little Whinging and find a way to meet her – that is meet himself – wow, that was starting to give him a headache!
But he couldn't do any of this with a parent hovering around, much as he appreciated their care…
So. First things first – how to send the Grangers to work…
Hermione never knew how she got through that breakfast.
Her body – which was Harry's – moved jerkily, for her mind definitely wasn't there – because it didn't belong in Harry's body, which was, you know, Harry's – and even if it had been, she wasn't sure she could have dealt with, well, with what she could only define as abuse – and oh God, had Harry really grown up like this? With spiteful insults thrown at him in fury, and those three gleefully making him feel inadequate at every turn – Hermione herself was rattled, and she was rather self-confident, especially after years at Hogwarts!
And that, that woman, had screeched and insulted and threatened because Hermione, unused to domestic chores – especially cooking – and uncomfortable in Harry's body – because it was Harry's! – had been less than graceful while stumbling around the kitchen in the attempt of serving those three as she so clearly was expected to do – as Harry was expected to do.
She'd even gone so far as to throw the bread basket – luckily the harpy didn't have a pan at hands, that would have hurt – at her – Harry's – head when she – Harry's body – had stumbled on the oversized rags – God, she was going to buy Harry a wardrobe first chance she got – and nearly overturned the table, which was almost hidden beneath all Dudley's birthday presents – greedy bugger if she ever saw one, pitching a fit over having less presents than the year before, and not even enough brain to add two to thirty-seven, and what kind of disgusting parents spoiled their son so indecently anyway, she doubted even Malfoy was treated like this,'wanting his money's worth' indeed!
As she stood in a corner watching those three eat – for God forbid they gave her – gave Harry – some breakfast, after the 'worthless freak' had been so clumsy and 'almost ruined poor Dudders' special birthday breakfast!' – she didn't know if the numbness in her – no, Harry's! – body and the reeling in her mind were due to the… unexpected… result of the ritual, or the not-entirely-unexpected-but-still-quite-shocking behaviour of Harry's… no, she couldn't bring herself to call them his 'family'.
She didn't know – she didn't know what had gone wrong, she didn't know where Harry was, she didn't know how to fix this mess, she didn't know how to cope with them, she didn't know how Harry had, she didn't know how to contact him, she didn't know what to do…
She just didn't know, period.
And Hermione Jean Granger had never dealt well with not knowing, and being stuck in her best friend's body – which belonged to Harry and she was starting to really freak out about this! – couldn't change this fact.
So she just stood there in a corner of a kitchen that was as normal as any similar ones in horror movies and tried to think, and make sense of things, and come up with a plan, as she watched Dudley unwrap a new computer – probably only going to play silly videogames, the dumb idiot, oh if she could have gotten a computer at Hogwarts…! – a television – didn't they already have one? – and a racing bike – wait. A racing bike? What was Ball of Lard wanting a racing bike for? – and a cine-camera, a remote-control aeroplane, sixteen new computer games – knew it – and a video recorder – were the presents stopping any time today?
She tried to list in her mind everything she needed to do to, first of all, find Harry – was he in her body? That seemed plausible, and much better than the alternative of her being all alone in this – and make contact with him, and she steadfastly ignored everyone else in the house.
She only snapped back to attention when that woman came back from the telephone, just as her fat spoilt son was ripping the paper off a gold wristwatch – a gold wristwatch to an eleven years old! – looking both angry and worried.
Hermione silently fumed as they spoke about her – about Harry – as though he wasn't there – or rather, as though he was something very nasty that couldn't understand them, like a slug. She didn't dare interrupt, however, for it seemed there was no-one available to 'baby-sit' him – her – which suited her quite well, if they would just leave her – leave Harry – at home alone she would have the time to put her tentative plans into motion – telephoning to her home, for a start, in the hope Harry would indeed be there like she was here.
Alas… no such luck. They seemed utterly convinced that she – Harry – would blow up the house – seriously! – if he were left there. And the untimely arrival of a scrawny boy with a face like a rat, who apparently was Dudley's best friend – suits the both of them, nasty bullies… – put a sudden stop to Dinky Duddydums' – she nearly choked on her silent laughter at that one – Worst Fake Tantrum Ever and forced them into a decision that had that woman looking as though she'd just swallowed a lemon and her whale of a husband looking furiously at her – at Harry – as though he'd – she'd – planned this.
'This' being, a visit to the zoo – all together like a nice happy family, a turn of words that made her want to gag even as she spat it with vicious sarcasm in her mind.
So… off to the zoo. Joy.
Maybe she would manage to escape and find a public phone and make something useful of this day anyway.
Preferably before the careful walls she was erecting in her mind to avoid thinking the situation through came crashing down and she crumbled for good!
