Chapter 2: Role Reversal
By: Jondy Macmillan (Moony)
A/N: When we last left Harry, he was falling into a book. Again. He likes doing that. Let's see what happens now. *rubs hands together evilly* Fun fun. But remember, don't own Hogwarts or any of the characters in it.
"Harry. Harry, wake up," a gentle voice, accompanied by a soft hand stroking his forehead stirred him from his sleep. Not enough to open his eyes, but he recognized the feel of warm skin against his face and registered the sweet voice that called to him, "Harry, come on. You're going to be late."
In response, Harry made a contented noise and rolled over. It didn't bother him at all that he didn't know who was speaking. He knew a good thing when he heard it. Whoever was talking to him was not Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon, Ron, Hermione, or Oliver Wood, all of whom loved to torture him into the waking world. This person seemed a goodly, kind soul who might let him rest a little longer.
Wrong. With a heavy breath, the person yelled at the top of their lungs, "Harry Potter! Get your butt out of bed this instant!"
Starting, Harry rolled over once more, right off the bed he'd been so comfortable in, "Wha- eh- argh!"
Now the voice was laughing at him, "Smooth move, kiddo."
Harry looked up. It couldn't be. He knew that face. He'd even heard that voice before, although never in normal conversation. Only her screams. Blinking, Harry muttered, "Mom?"
Sternly, the pale, redheaded woman before him chided, "Don't 'mom' me. You're late. At this rate, you'll miss the train and your father and I will be stuck with you for the rest of the year. Well, the week, at least. You know how Professor Dumbledore is about those things."
"M-mom," Harry stumbled over the word, trying to figure out if the apparition before him was some kind of elaborate hoax or the real thing.
"Yes, yes, you've said that dear," smiling brightly, Lily handed him a uniform, "Put this on, and we'll walk to the station."
"W-what about Aunt Petunia? And Uncle Vernon?" Harry demanded, wondering how his relatives felt about the ghost of Lily Potter walking around their house. Except this wasn't the Dursleys' house. He was in a large room, painted blue and orange, the colors of some Quidditch team he couldn't quite recall the name of. Posters, both magical and non-magical decorated the walls. Framed pictures hung alongside posters of the Weird Sisters and the Chudley Canons. One of the photos depicted a very oddly dressed group of boys wearing black eyeliner moving and laughing with an inaudible beat, "Wait- is that dad? And Sirius? Pettigrew? And Rem-"
Lily cut him off, "Harry! You know better than to speak Remus Lupin's name in this house."
"But you just did," he protested.
"That's different," Lily gave him a strange look, "Are you feeling alright? First inquiring about your Aunt and Uncle when you did just see them last week. I thought you weren't over that vicious row you had with your cousin. And then asking about Lupin? Oh, my little boy! Are you feverish."
"Mom, I'm sixteen. Don't call me a little boy," he told her before he could help it. It was amazing how naturally the words came, "I'm not sick."
"If you say so," Lily glanced at a clock on the wall, "Bugger. Harry, get dressed quickly. You'll have to eat breakfast on the run."
"Lily? Have you got him up then?" A new face peeked through the doorway, "About time, sunshine." James Potter grinned mischievously.
"Guys, I can't get dressed with you watching," Harry interjected, even though he was taking in every inch of both Lily and James's faces.
"He's right," Lily said thoughtfully, shooing her husband out the door, "Hurry now Harry."
When she had shut the door behind her, Harry fell back onto his bed. His mom had been standing in this very room, his room, presumably. His dad had smiled at him. Was this some trick of Voldemort's? What in the world was going on?
Harry dressed as fast as he could, pausing only when he noticed the logo embroidered into his robes, "No way. Slytherin?"
Tentatively, he threw on the robe, resolving to ask his parents about it later. His parents were alive! It must have something to do with that weird photo album, he thought. He didn't have time to pursue the thought further, because Lily had already returned, "Come on, silly. Your trunk's already downstairs."
In a dreamlike state, Harry managed to follow his should-be-deceased mother's instructions, wolfing down a hearty breakfast a la Mrs. Wealsey, laughing at his also-should-be-dead father's ministry jokes, especially those that involved Sirius (Sirius was alive? And apparently a desk jockey in the magical entertainment department. He dealt with testy fashion designers, according to James), and following them out the door, into the car, and out again when the reached King's Cross. Harry was so disoriented by then that he forgot to ask altogether about the Slytherin tie.
"Goodbye honey," Lily gushed, hugging him tightly and letting his father do so in turn.
"Uh- bye. Mom. Dad. Um," before he could give it a second thought, he hugged them both tightly again.
"Behave yourself son," James said, a twinkle in his eye.
"You never did," Harry retorted, examining his father one more time.
"See," Lily scolded, "I told you we shouldn't have let Sirius tell him all those stories about your day in Hogwarts."
"As I recall," James responded, wrapping an arm around his wife's waist, "You were in on a few of those stories."
"Prat," she replied affectionately, waving Harry off.
Clambering onto the train, determined to find Hermione and Ron so that they could cook up some explanation for the day's events, Harry ran smack dab into his least favorite person in the world.
"Malfoy," he hissed.
"Potter," Draco sneered, "What's the matter? Missing mommy and daddy already?"
"N-" Before Harry could think up a suitable and witty rejoinder, Draco put an arm around his shoulders, laughing. Harry froze.
Breaking into a smile, Draco exclaimed, "Good to see you, mate! How are the old Potters, anyhow? Your dad looked well, but then, mum's told me he's doing all right. I'm surprised, after that jinx he accidentally put on himself back in June."
"He-what?"
"Yeah, and let me tell you, your mom gets hotter every time I see her," Draco continued, guiding him down the train hall to an empty compartment.
"She- don't say that about my mom," Harry commanded, absolutely flabbergasted at this startling development. Since when had Draco Malfoy been nice to Harry Potter? It was like, a karmic law that things like this weren't allowed. If he hadn't suspected Voldemort in this whole ordeal previously, he sure did now. Suspiciously, Harry said, "Why are you being nice? Doesn't this seem weird to you?"
"Chill, Potter, chill. It's all good between us. Don't tell me you're still sore about Pansy? That old cow is so old news. I mean, I know you fancied her, and that it was wrong of me to steal her from you, but we did break up over the summer. It was just a fling," Draco said nonchalantly.
"N-no. I'm not mad about," he gulped, "Pansy. She er- wasn't really my type." Inside, his mind was screaming 'I went out with Pansy Parkinson?' How twisted.
"Oh good," Draco leaned back, "What's the problem then?"
Harry groaned. He was about to explain the many levels of how his befriending Draco Malfoy was a karmic no-no when a new voice intervened, "There you guys are."
Breathing in, Harry felt relief flood his body as Hermione Granger entered the chamber and demanded in an excited tone, "Did you get yours yet?"
Draco looked curious, "What?"
"Your letter, Draco," she said exasperatedly. Harry noticed her robes weren't from Gryffindor either. Instead, she wore Ravenclaw colors. She looked different, too. Her hair was shorter, ear length, and she had an awful lot of makeup on.
"Oh," Draco raised an eyebrow, "That? I got it. I tore it up."
"You what?" Hermione screeched, "How could you? This is the best opportunity we've had in a while. Since four years ago, in fact."
"What happened four years ago?" Harry wondered.
Hermione and Draco both gave him appraising looks. Finally, Hermione snapped, "Are you bent Potter? Remember? That giant arse, Longbottom vanquished the Dark Lord."
"He what?" Harry felt his forehead to make sure his scar was still there and Hermione really had developed a sense of humor. Even though she sounded rather mean, "Do you have a mirror?"
"Hunh? Worrying about your fashion sense, Potter? Finally?" Draco chuckled, throwing him a compact that he had fished out of Hermione's bag.
"Hey. Guys aren't supposed to go into girls' purses," Hermione protested.
"You're not a girl," Draco retorted.
Ignoring his two (apparently) friends, Harry clicked open the compact. Trelawney's prophecy echoed in his ears. It was true. His scar was gone, and he was sure that if he found Neville, it would be on the other boy's forehead. Poor Neville. Harry would never have given the other boy his curse. But Hermione had said Neville vanquished Voldemort. Had he killed him? Had Neville achieved what Harry could not? A new thought arose. Had Neville's sacrifice brought his parents back?
"Find out if you're pretty enough, Potter?" Hermione asked sweetly.
"Gorgeous," Draco whisked away her mirror, pausing to check his own reflection then dropping it back into her purse.
"So, did you recover from your temporary memory lapse? Can you tell me now if you got your letter?" Hermione demanded waspishly.
"Letter?"
"Oh, for Pete's sake," lowering her voice, Hermione explained, "the letter from Blaise Zabini's father. Requesting that we join his ranks as the new death eaters."
He was tempted to shake her and find out where his Hermione was hiding. His Hermione would never have made such cruel remarks about Neville or consorted with death eaters. Instead he said calmly, "I thought Neville killed Voldemort."
Both jumped, "Don't say the Dark Lord's name."
Harry was now incredibly confused, "Okay. But…"
"Well, he did," Draco was rolling his eyes, "But not without help from Remus Lupin. Surely you remember."
"Er-yeah. I was just kidding. But- Remus is organizing death eaters with Blaise Zabini's dad?" So sue him, he didn't get it.
"Blaise's dad is organizing them for Remus," Hermione exclaimed frustradedly, "He's going to do what the Dark Lord couldn't and purify the wizarding world. Half-breeds and Mudbloods beware."
"But Remus is a werewolf! Doesn't that make him a half-breed? And you're muggle born," Harry accused.
"Harry, when did you get so dense? He's going to purify us. Make us whole. Those who rebel against him, well," Hermione drew a finger against her throat, "By all this, I take it you didn't get a letter. I figured as much. After all, your parents being the goody two shoes they are."
Defensively, Harry retorted, "Draco tore his up."
"Only because he's loyal to his father," she cast him a dirty look, "Lucius has been in Azkaban for the past five years. He wasn't careful enough. Neville caught him trying to sneak a diary belonging to the Dark Lord into one of the Weasley terror's cauldron."
Draco chose not to say anything in his father's defense. Harry was starting to get the feeling that he would rather be stuck in a room with Draco Malfoy than with Hermione at this point. Shrugging, Draco put in, "It's a matter of principle, is all."
"I guess," Harry nodded, letting words flow to his lips with the same ease as they had that morning, "I think mum and dad would ground me for a zillion years if I decided to join your neo-nazi death eater group."
"Up to you," Hermione snarled, standing, "Even though you obviously can't recognize the importance of our cause. One day, you'll be begging me to initiate you."
"Hold up, Granger. You're initiated already?" Draco was grabbing at her arm, presumably to check for the dark mark.
"Day after tomorrow," she replied smugly. Without another word, she turned on her heel and stalked out of the compartment.
Shaking his head, Draco said, "She used to be such a nice girl."
"Yeah, helping house elves and everything," Harry said absently, watching her retreating back.
"Hunh?"
"Never mind, Malfoy. Never mind."