Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot, and a few grace notes on the stuff I'm borrowing, but anyway I make no profit from this. Have fun finding all of the quotes/cameos and guessing what belongs to whom!
A/N: Ok, I'm going with my own idea on how muggleborns prospective students are contacted by the Hogwarts staff in this chapter and the next, because I haven't managed to find anything conclusive in canon. So in this story, the Deputy Headmistress makes the rounds at the beginning of July, one month before the deadline for inscription. The 'contacted on their eleventh birthday' thing never rang true to me: for one, the only actual canon episodes of a first Hogwarts letter are Harry's in PS and Ginny's in CoS, and neither arrive on their birthdays. Add to that, the Ministry is paranoid about keeping magic a secret, they wouldn't want to have children living in a muggle neighbourhood in-the-know but not under Hogwarts' control for an entire year (I'm thinking Hermione here, whose birthday is in September…), especially since on the first ride to the school Hermione states she has 'tried a few simple spells', which argues toward the no-underage-magic rule only applying after the first year of magical education. They wouldn't want more than a month or two of excitable eleven year olds armed with wands, loose in the muggle world, I don't think.
A… Switched Chance
4. A bit of calm before…
A week had gone by and Harry had discovered a number of interesting things.
Like the fact that Star Wars was the Best Movie Ever.
It was great. Spectacular. Amazing. And it was startling how much he and Luke had in common!
Both had lived with an aunt and uncle who had tried to keep them from their heritage, then been 'rescued' by a 'wizard' and taken to a whole new world – and the 'wizard' in question had the annoying tendency of keeping secrets. 'A certain point of view' my arse, Obi-Wan! Oh yes, Harry knew all too well how that felt, courtesy of one Albus Dumbledore.
And in the end, both have to face their very personal Dark Lord and save the world. Well – Harry hadn't gotten to that part yet, of course, but he would. Someday. So it counted, right?
Though the idea of being related to Voldemort made him ill. Literally; he'd been physically sick when the thought had occurred to him after watching The Empire Strikes Back, Hermione's parents had thought he was having a relapse of the flu and made him stay home another day.
Plus he didn't think his (former) best friend was suited to the part of Han Solo. Han Solo had had never abandoned those who counted on him like Ron had.
Hermione, on the other hand, could definitely be Leia. She fit the role perfectly. And Harry would love to have her as a sister for real.
Now who could be Yoda, I wonder?
He'd lain in bed one whole night trying to work out who could be who and listing all of the things his universe had in common with Luke's. Well, that and daydreaming about light sabers. They were sooooo cooool! Why hadn't wizards figured out a way to create them, surely magic could manage it? Oh, right, technology was beneath the backward reactionaries known as magic users. But damn! Light sabers were awesome!
He'd lost himself in fantasies of Old Voldie's face if Harry arrived at one of their show-downs with one in hand. He could picture the crazy duel – the distinctive hum of his blade filling the atmosphere – rising in pitch and volume as he swings the blade rapidly through the air – his blue lightsaber deflecting red and purple and green curses as if they were blaster bolts – Voldemort's shock – he'd probably try one of his speeches to undermine Harry's confidence – Vader did that a lot too, maybe it was a Dark Lord thing – finally bringing the blade into contact with Snake Face, the loud crackle drowned in that bastard's cries…
He'd fallen asleep with a smile on his face.
He had found out other things too – like the fact that, as much as he had hated hiding under the bedcovers to read late at night in his previous life, it was instead wonderful and thrilling when the book in question wasn't History of Magic, but rather the tale of a weird, lovable guy who left his home (which Harry was totally going to build an exact replica of for himself after the war, it was just too perfect) to go help some dwarves getting back their gold, that was stolen by a dragon in the days of old.
Especially when one could relate heartily to some of the adventures – like meeting the dragon up close, or running from a bunch of huge spiders. He wondered if he would get a chance to sing Old fat spider to Aragog and his ilk… that would be brilliant. Suicidal, but brilliant.
He had also, somewhat to his surprise, discovered that being a girl was… different, but not altogether unpleasant. It had taken him a while to adjust to the lack of the 'equipment' he was used to, but it didn't bother him too much, all in all. He even found himself wondering what it would be like to have tits, as Hermione's body was still that of a child. He wasn't sure if it was healthy to be more curious about it all than grossed out, as he would have expected to be had he ever thought of this before.
The hair, however, was a bother. He wondered more and more often if Hermione would be upset were he to cut it short. It was a bloody nuisance. His own had been always messy, true, but he only remembered to be bothered by it on special occasions (like the audience at the Ministry). Most of the time, he didn't even notice it was there. Hermione's bushy curls, on the other hand, not only were completely unmanageable, but they made sure to remind him of the fact on a regular basis. Locks kept falling over his/her eyes or getting tangled in just about everything – his/her fingers, the pen, the hem of the clothes, the edge of the wardrobe door! He was seriously considering shaving it all away!
He had furthermore discovered, once he'd been deemed healthy again and gone back to school, that bullies were the same everywhere, and if the mocking cries of 'freak' and 'scum' he was used to had become the more… tame… 'teacher's pet' and 'know-it-all', the cruel tone made them just as hurtful.
The only difference was that his usual method of dealing, namely running away, was made impractical by Hermione's body being out of shape – something he vowed to remedy before giving it back. A slight surprise was finding that the teachers would regularly intervene and help him/her out, though: in Harry's life they never had. Apparently being a favourite of the figures in authority truly was useful.
Whether he/she would remain a favourite for long was debatable, however, because he had also found out that he had absolutely no clue about what Hermione had been studying at this point in her life. Already he'd had to play up his/her illness to explain away his utter confusion at things he/she was apparently supposed to know, even excel at. Though honestly! Was 'meiosis' even in the standard primary school programs? He certainly didn't remember ever covering it in muggle school! He just hoped Hermione would forgive him for ruining her perfect grades, in light of her going to Hogwarts soon…
School-related mishaps apart, though, he had so far managed to fool everybody into thinking he actually was Hermione; something that left him both amazed and vaguely proud. He'd expected to screw up a lot sooner.
Instead, he'd sort of adjusted to his best friend's life and even discovered little things about Hermione's parents (like her mother's fondness for Jane Austen and her odd reluctance to wear a skirt, and David Granger's not-really-secret-but-not-acknowledged-either passion for the Creedence) and about Hermione herself (like the fact that she wasn't allowed in the kitchen as she could, apparently, burn even coffee – which explained a lot about their meagre meals while on the run – and the small 'secret' drawer in her desk – though he'd refrained from reading the pink diary he'd found there, out of respect for his friend, and fear for his own health were she to know he had pried).
He'd also gamely given a try at Hermione's choir class, and discovered she had a very nice voice, though the fact that he/she had seemingly forgotten all the lyrics overnight had him/her stuttering and the instructor both puzzled and concerned.
He'd wondered if he could get away with throwing a tantrum about his clothes being 'babyish' and thus avoid wearing so much pink, then decided it wasn't worth risking his cover and gone back to the tried and true 'pretending-not-to-know-what-you're-wearing' method that he had perfected because of Dudley's cast offs.
Oh, and he had discovered an interest in making jewellery using troll beads – of all things. Hermione had a complete set. Maybe if he took Runes he could pass it off as creating amulets once he was back to his own body, that should make it less 'girly'…
...
What he hadn't done, was contacting Hermione.
Or even attempting to.
Actually he hadn't even come up with a viable plan for it.
And he wasn't exactly concentrating on the problem either…
He kept finding excuses – Hermione was likely still in punishment for the zoo incident… he might even make things worse for her; the Dursleys never liked 'Harry' to have friends, or any contacts really… there was no guarantee the Dursleys would allow 'Harry' anywhere near the phone… talking on the phone wouldn't be enough anyway, they would have to meet, he'd better wait until he had a workable plan for a face to face… he had no idea how to explain to the Grangers why their unsociable daughter (who never made a friend before, much less a male one) suddenly wanted to invite over a kid from another region of England entirely, whom she'd had no way of meeting before now, claiming he was her 'best friend'… what if the worst had come to pass and the 'Harry' at the Dursleys' was actually his past self rather than his Hermione, he wouldn't know how to deal with that scenario, the boy didn't even know of magic yet…
…
…
And he liked Hermione's life immensely and it felt so good not to be Harry Bloody Potter for once and not to hear disparaging comments about 'freakiness' and mutterings down the streets or gossip in the hallways and he loved spending time with David and Julia even if it was like cheating them and he didn't want to loose this wonderful dream-like existence and he didn't want to give Hermione a chance to tell him she'd already figured out how to switch them back ('cos she totally could have, she was brilliant like that) and he was ashamed at himself but nonetheless sort of kind of sometimes possibly hoped she wouldn't find a way at least not too soon…
But this, this he didn't voice in his inner musing, didn't admit even to himself.
A week had gone by and Harry was letting it go; but today, July 1st, 1991, he was in for a shock.
For the doorbell rang during breakfast, and when he/she went to open the door, expecting the postman, he/she found him/herself face to face with none other than Minerva McGonagall.
Hermione was bored. Bored, bored, bored. And she was worried. More and more worried with each passing day; nay, with each passing hour.
Bored and worried – awful combination, that.
She was bored because, well, there wasn't much to do in Harry's life, not at this stage at least.
Those three continued to be unbearable (Petunia Dursley in particular was really getting on Hermione's nerves), she/he was still expected to do a completely unreasonable amount of chores and was forced to skip dinner more often than she cared to admit because she couldn't manage all of it, Ball of Lard had knocked down old Mrs. Figg as she crossed Privet Drive on her crutches the very first time out on his racing bike and seemed now intent on breaking his new video camera and possibly crashing his remote control airplane before the summer holidays started.
Same old, same old.
It was hard to think, she idly mused, that the boy who could make a school year as exciting as an Indiana Jones Adventure without even really trying had grown up in such a boring way.
She was worried, on the other hand, because a week had gone by and she hadn't heard from 'her' Harry.
She had been constantly on the look-out for a chance to contact him herself, but so far she'd had no luck.
The only time she/he wasn't under the spiteful but ever watchful eyes of Petunia was at night, and while she had no trouble bypassing the locks that whale took so pride in (Fred and George would be so proud) it wasn't worth it. The Dursleys would go spare – probably punish him/her, and maybe wise up to her skills, which was to be avoided at all costs. And anyway she doubted her parents would appreciate the late night call, especially since she had no way to explain its necessity.
So she was left in the cupboard under the stairs to fret and worry and think up horrible possibilities.
Night after night she'd made up scenarios in which she'd accidentally killed her best friend, erasing him from the space-time continuum, and she now had to face the terrifying burden of the world's destiny resting on her shoulders with no hope of ever seeing him again.
Or maybe he had made it, but upon finding himself in her body he'd freaked out, and then her parents had thought she/he was going mad, schizophrenic or something, and they'd hauled her/him to the nearest hospital to get her/him intensive therapy.
Or he'd lost his memories of their previous life and now was getting therapy for memory loss with no one having a clue she/he wasn't the real Hermione Granger.
Or… or maybe, maybe their arrival in the past had been marked by a huge magic blast, only her own had been absorbed by the Blood Wards (whose functioning was anything but clear in her mind) and thus gone unnoticed but Harry-in-her-body had not been so lucky and Ministry agents had shown up to investigate and now, now the Unspeakables were experimenting on him/her and they'd keep him/her locked in the Department of Mysteries forever and she'd never see him again!
During the day it was easier to keep things in perspective and not let her fantasy run away with haunting prospects bordering absurdity. In the morning light, she admitted to herself that Harry was probably just overwhelmed by the situation and coping the best he could – much like she herself was doing – and trying to figure out what had happened and waiting to have a better grasp on the goings on before risking attracting unwanted attention.
Or maybe he simply hadn't found an occasion to contact her without arousing suspicion.
Or he might even be trying to protect her from some retaliation on the Dursleys' part – knowing Harry, it was a distinct possibility.
But while this reasoning helped keep the worry at bay, it did nothing for the boredom, nor for the rising frustration at being unable to do anything remotely useful.
School offered no relief – and wasn't that a strange feeling? Never before had school been something to fear and hate for her. Sure she'd had her share of bullies, especially in muggle school, but at least she'd had trustworthy teachers. Teachers had always been dependable helpers for her, admired guides, her defenders and protectors.
Few days in Harry's life had cured her of such reliance, quickly disabusing her of any notion of adult usefulness. She now understood her best friend's distrust of authority figure and disrespect much better. And found herself agreeing wholeheartedly.
If she/he answered a question correctly, she was accused of cheating and declared a no-good lying little horror. If she/he got it wrong (aside from the fact that it turned her stomach) she/he was proclaimed a lazy, worthless layabout, too stupid to do anything with her/his life. She couldn't believe it.
Everybody seemed to buy into the Dursleys' lies and consider Harry some sort of deranged criminal – at ten! It was ridiculous to the point that when Ball of Lard and his Piggy Flunkies beat him/her up she/he was the one who got reprimanded and sometimes punished for 'bothering' them and/or 'provoking' them.
She realized now how Harry had put up with Snape's abuse and the periodical shunning due to idiotic rumours with barely a complaint – he was used to it.
She wished she didn't know. It was hurtful in a way she had not anticipated, because granted, she'd been attacked before, even viciously at times, but it had always been enemies who did it. People on opposing sides of a conflict or rivals or actual criminals. Never before had she been harassed by the people who were supposed to be on her side, to protect her and care for her.
It made her sad and feeling exposed and moreover, it made her angry.
She really didn't know what she would do if another contemptible 'adult' palmed her off with the 'you-ungrateful-brat-you-should-be-thankful-your-good-upstanding-relatives-took-you-in' speech. Serious maiming was a distinct possibility.
Especially since her/his magic seemed to be more… temperamental, than what she was used to. And more powerful. Definitely more powerful! Heavens, if Harry had all this at his disposal at all times…!
This half-joking consideration, however, was the source of various concerns. Of which the fact that she'd had to consciously refrain from blasting Ball of Lard and Flunkies to hell every time they hurt him/her, was only a minor one.
More pressing was figuring out just how much the 'Switch' had involved. Clearly, their bodies had been switched. Just as clearly, so had their magic. Which as an aside meant Parseltongue was not passed down through magic, and she was feeling both stumped and frustrated in her line of investigation – although she realized the environment she was in at the moment was not conductive to research. At. All.
Anyway.
A secondary concern, not yet blossomed in an actual worry but on its way to, regarded the date, in relation to the wizarding world. She remembered very clearly how Professor McGonagall had turned her life upside down by showing up one morning and telling her she was a witch. She remembered just as clearly that it had happened on July 1st, 1991. Which was yesterday.
She'd spent the last two days frantically trying to come up with a way to cope with the 'revelation' she was expecting.
How was she going to face McGonagall? Would she be able to fake her way through it? What if Dumbledore showed up? This was, after all, Harry Potter. She didn't want to tell them what they had done, not without talking it over with Harry first. Could she lie convincingly? But how would she withstand Legilimency? Would she even have to? They had no reason to try it so soon… and Harry had mentioned something about Hagrid… was Hagrid coming to deliver the letter? That made no sense. As friendly and lovable as he was, he was just the Gamekeeper. But she knew it had been Hagrid who told Harry about magic… No, now she remembered, the Dursleys had stopped Harry from receiving the letters, so Hogwarts had sent Hagrid. Presumably because he could easily intimidate that whale, she thought. So maybe she was in the clear for the moment…
As vexing as these worries had been, though, she preferred them to the situation she was in now, driving herself crazy with trying to figure out why it hadn't happened. No one had showed up. No letter, no representative, no sign of the wizarding world, no nothing.
What was going on?
A whole new list of worst-case scenarios was scrolling down in her head – they were in the wrong universe and the wizarding world didn't exist here; Harry for some unfathomable reason was now registered as a squib and he/she wasn't going to be contacted; Voldemort had come back years sooner in this timeline and had already taken over everything and only the Blood Wards (of which, as already pointed out, she didn't know much) were keeping him away…
She tried hard not to panic – there might be a reasonable explanation after all – in fact she bet there were dozens of good explanations, she just couldn't see them right now – there was no need to fret – but the mantra in her head would not be silenced.
What in the name of Merlin's pink underpants was going on?