Disclaimer: this story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

"whatever" – normal speech;

'whatever' – speech through telepathic connection;

"whatever" - Parseltongue;

Play My Game

Chapter Two – Discussions and (Un-)Agreements

Harry was starring uncomprehendingly at the mirror in front of him. His face was pale and drawn, shadowed by a curtain shoulder-length black hair, but that wasn't what captured his attention. As the image in front of him began to register in his mind he let out a mental yelp of astonishment that resonated strangely through his mind. A feeling of deja-vu followed the line of thought, but as he blinked it was lost, replaced by the image in the mirror.

His eyes were red, red and catlike, exactly as he remembered his eyes to be. Not his own, but Voldemort's. And it wasn't his body either! His skin wasn't almost translucent; his body wasn't so tall and thin!

Sure, he was thin himself; no use denying it, but combined with the tall frame of this body and the skin that was whiter than muggle paper it looked almost like a corpse. He vividly remembered the time when this body was completely hairless and had neither lip, nor nose; like a zombie. But still … it may be a difference like heaven and earth between the two appearances, but still…

What could have happened to determine this … switch for lack of better word? It must have somehow been connected to the failed ritual (obviously!)… He distinctly remembered Voldemort's panicked expression before he lost consciousness. What had gone wrong? Voldemort might have been a lot of things, but he wasn't reckless. So, what did he know? He was in some unknown chamber that belonged to a rich Slytherin who had left in a rush, forgetting his wand. The aforementioned wand responded to him as if it was his own and the mirror in front of him showed the Dark Lords reflection. It only had one explanation: somehow he switched bodies with Voldemort's. But what happened to Voldemort's spirit?

'What the Hell?' Could it be? A chill went through him as realization struck him … they must really have, using his own previous words, switched. The thought echoed again strangely and he found himself asking 'Is someone there?' He half-scolded himself for such a stupid thought while wondering if the ritual hadn't affected his brain. Or was it his brain?

'Dumb thought'

Wait a moment! He had clearly heard idiotic! And that in a high-pitched tone that was not his own! 'Who the fucking hell is there? Where? What is happening!' The voice exclaimed something else, much more calmly. Well, he mused, talking to your own head is the first sign of madness, Potter. And the second being addressing yourself in third person – and by your last name, no less. He cleared his head of that thought since at the moment he had more important things to do thanbrood about than his sanity (or lack of it). He contemplated his next question somewhat and had a wonderful – brilliant even- idea of what to ask:

'Who are you?' Well, apparently the voice was thinking in along the same lines itself, so – you guessed correctly- it echoedthrough in his head. He was about to bang his head against the mirror, not caring about whether or not he would experience seven years of misfortune by breaking the damn thing, when the voice spoke, this time, blessedly, without Harry.

'One at a time'

Well, at least the voice had abit of intelligence. He would have gone mad if he would have been stuck with Crabbe or Goyle in his head. Or even Malfoy (okay, he wasn't stupid, but still far too childish for his tastes). Waiting a few moments, then going increasingly annoyed as the voice stayed silent (patience was far from being his forte) he said: 'You first'.

He faintly heard a glass shatter in the background as the voice echoed him. Time to revive some of my lost patience, he thought, while he crossed the room and flopped himself onto the bed. The cool sheets helped calm his nerves somewhat while he waited for the voice to speak.

Fifteen minutes later…

He finished inspecting his fingernails (wich were more like fingerclaws), while waiting for the voice to speak. Dimly wondering if the voice had accidentally died, he bended over to inspect his toenails instead.

Half an hour later…

'SAY SOMETHING YOU FUCKING VOICE OR I'LL RIP THIS DAMNED BED APART!'

Three guesses from whom the comment came and the first two don't count; Harry was at his patience's end. There was only so much one could find fascinating in toenails and considering his past experience with anger management he was surprised he lasted this long in the first place. At least the scream hadn't echoed, otherwise it might have caused some migraine – enough to demolish the room.

'Temper, temper; and I'd rather you wouldn't scream so. My ears are very sensitive' the cool voice seemed totally unabashed at the strange situation.

'I'LL SCREAM ALL I WANT! I DON'T CARE FOR YOUR BLOODY EARS! AND DON'T MAKE THIS SEEM AS IF YOU DIDN'T DAMNED WELL DESERVE ANY AND EVERY SCREAM YOU GET FOR HAVING ME WAIT HALF A BLOODY HOUR TAKING YOUR TIME SAYING NOTHING

'And what, risk the comment echoing? Why, pray tell then, haven't you said anything'

Harry visibly – or, for the voice, that could come from Peru for all he knew, invisibly - deflated. It did have a point.

'Sorry' he mentally muttered.

'Apologising, are we?'

'Whoever you are, you're stating the obvious.'

'Not if I'm right about your identity. Now tell me, is your name incidentally Harry Potter?'

'Who theheck are you?'

He heard a high rumbling that apparently was the mental equivalent of a laugh. And the laugh did not soothe his fears in the least.

'So I am right.' It said sounding vaguely derisive. 'You are the illustrious Boy-Who-Lived, such a coincidence; but isn't life just that, a sequence of coincidences?' And again it laughed, but louder this time. 'Do you not recognise my voice? After all, we talked quite a few times, haven't we, kitten

Harry felt his blood run cold. It couldn't be! Of all the characters that hated him – hell, actively tried to kill him – that could have ended up in his head it had to be Voldemort! Whoop-de-fucking-woo - he could smell the sarcastic direction of his thoughts - he was positively thrilled of the prospect to have Voldemort in his … wait a moment! 'I know that I am using Occlumency at the moment, so how come you are in my head?'

'In your head?' he repeated 'Daydreaming again, are we? As far as I am aware, you are in my head, kitten

'I am not! – and don't call me that, Voldie-poo If Voldemort would be in front of him he was sure a Cruciatus would be least he got cursed with, but because Voldemort wasn't there Harry –what else? – snickered.

'How about we cease with these annoying nicknames? After all, we are in a rather … precarioussituation at the moment. So tell me, where are you?' he asked, his tone turning abruptly to serious reminding Harry of the reality of his situation. Still, he would not give Voldemort any advantage over him.

'How about you tell me first where you are?'

A few moments of silence, then… 'In Hogwarts Hospital Wing; where are you?'

'Shit! Shit! Shit! And don't you dare berate me for my language! Are you in my body?'

'Now it's not your turn. So I ask, are you in my body?'

'That wasn't your first question.'

'So I've changed my mind. Tell me now, are you in my body?'

'Yes.'

'Then I know where you are. You are in my private chambers.'

'How can you know?'

'None of your concern, kitten.'

Harry scowled. Why couldn't he just answer? Voldemort had to be in his body otherwise the Headmaster sure as hell wouldn't have kept him in the Hospital Wing of all places. Then he had another question…

'How do I know it is your chamber?'

'My turn. Is Dumbledore always waiting by your bedside when you awake?'

'Dumbledore! Shit! How did you act?' For all he knew Voldemort could have acted any way, though, if he threw a fit it would have been far more appropriate than any other reaction. Dumbledore knew Harry was prone to fits if he or Snape were near, the recent Hogsmeade Battle only adding to the distrust, since he had made Remus throw the portkey at him that brought him to safety. In hindsight he knew that Voldemort was magically (and of late physically) much stronger than him. Well, he may have a chance if the tables would – 'Wait a moment! I can kill you now! I am stronger than you!'

'And live the rest of your natural life as Lord Voldemort? How amusing.' He sounded anything but amused.

'I don't care! The Wizarding World would be free of you! I could stage my own death or something and then-'

Voldemort cut him off 'As fascinating as this is, have you never heard of the story of the Founders of Durmstrang?'

'Who cares about children's stories! I could-'

'There were two brothers. One was a goody two-shoes, Strang and the other his more or less evil friend Durmer. They decided on creating a school for their combined arts, blah, blah blah, but one day they switched bodies. Now comes the interesting part: Strang found this a perfect opportunity to kill Durmer and he killed him.' Voldemort's narrative was smooth, as if he had told the story many times. Maybe he practiced it in front of that mirror of his?

'Oh, how perfectly enthralling, but the point is?'

'Patience. So, because of a side effect of the curse, Durmer was now in Strang's head.'

'Don't see a bloody difference'.

'So poor Strang killed himself. But Durmer remained in the body, so he was back in his own body and living. A beautiful tale, isn't it?'

'If that is so, why would you encourage me not to make the same mistake!'

'Because it's a legend, stupid boy! No one knows how much truth lurks behind those words, and I don't want to chance fate.'

'Afraid of dying, are we?'

'Look, you moron, there's a fifty-fifty chance of the same thing happening, and if it happens, the Wizarding World will be doomed without their little saviour.'

'But if it doesn't happen, you will be dead and everything will go back to being peaceful.' Harry could practically see in his mind's eye the red-eyed human-snake hybrid that was Voldemort rubbing the bridge of a non-existent nose. It had a strange kind of satisfaction to know that he could infuriate the Dark Lord like that.

'Listen-'

'I get the gist of it already, ok? I'm not totally dense, you know. But that means we have live each other's life's until we can turn things back to normal.' Harry harboured no illusions that anyone on the Light Side would kill Voldemort, and thus fullfill his dire prediction, and the same would happen if the Death Eaters found out he wasn't Voldemort. It may happen that if he would be killed, he would actually survive through the curse, but just as well and could die and end of story.

'As much as I hate to say it, you're right,' replied Voldemort, somewhat coolly.

'So, in other words, we'll need to share the basics of each others lives.'

Both groaned mentally, so it echoed. Harry found it vaguely amusing now, as opposed to when he wanted to strangle the – whatever. Could one strangle an echo? Well, strangle it mentally ... useless train of thought.

'We can't do this,' said Harry.

'And what do you propose?'

'We have to tell someone.'

A/N: Sorry for the delay, but I tried a different style of writing this, more angsty, but the only thing it improved was the writer's block. In any case I am working on a few parallel things, my German story being one of them, and the other a side story to this.

EDITED 25-07-2005 along with the Prolog and the 1st Chapter.