A/N: Since I have a lot of free time and am in love with writing, I decided to take on the challenge of finishing someone else's FanFiction. After reading the first two chapters I found out it was last updated in 2005, so there was no chance of them updating it at all, so obviously I was kind of disappointed. After some thought I decided to carry on writing it myself, since I loved the idea. I posted the first two chapters so you won't get confused as to what's going on.

Please read and enjoy ~ !

Chapter 1 - A Few Broken Bones

He caught a glimpse of a flash of gold out of the corner of his eye. The snitch! The first sighting of it all game. He could see Malfoy sitting up sharply on his broom, and Harry surged forward, his Firebolt diving forward in pursuit of the evasive golden ball.

He could hear Seamus Finnegan yelling, 'And the Snitch has been spotted!' as a roar in his ears as he turned his broom upwards to shoot into the blue after the whizzing gold blur ahead. Malfoy pursued from the opposite direction. He was so near that Harry could see his face set into a tight mask, his lips pressed so thinly together that they looked bloodless. Harry's knuckles had gone white with the grip on his broom. He could feel the wood solidly under his palms as real as the wind rushing past his face.

He drew up sharply, using the precious extra minutes bought by superior broom-speed to scan the skies for the Snitch. Had it gone, again? His heart sank, and then – There it was. Darting upwards. He urged his broom on, seeing Malfoy shoot out from his own hover, and they were inches away… Harry stretched out a hand, trying to shift his balance on the broom; he could see Malfoy's own gloved hand reaching as determinedly as he. They were inches away, millimetres, his fingers were just about to brush it as tantalisingly the ball hung in mid-air, seemingly still as its wings fluttered and whirred.

"It's mine!" Malfoy shouted, reaching forward. Harry's hand closed around his half just as Malfoy gripped his. Harry could feel the cold, grooved metal of the ball against his palm, could feel the trapped wings beat against his enclosing fingers and then – Wham!

With a sickening 'thump', the Bludger smashes into them, knocking both boys from their brooms and they were falling, falling, both still clutching the Snitch between them possessively. The ground rose up to meet them; Harry could hear the frightened shouts of people running onto the pitch, and then he fell, hard against the grass of the pitch, his back slamming into it painfully. A moment later, Malfoy had fallen, sprawled across him with a heavy weight, so flush to him had he been that they were pressed hip to hip, chest to chest, face to face, and Malfoy's face came so close to his own that their noses crashed together, and their mouths touched.

Then Malfoy's weight was off him, and Harry could breathe. He sighed, and closed his eyes, surrendering to the pain threatening to overwhelm him and fell into blackness.

He could smell the disinfectant, starched smell of the Hospital Wing before he opened his eyes. It was a smell of clean sheets that were scratchy with stiffness, of beeswax from the highly polished bedside tables and the faint smell of burnt gas from the lamps that served as night-lights in the Hospital Wing. Harry knew the smell mixture immediately; it was labelled as 'injured' in his memory, and as he breathed in the concoction of scents that was uniquely this place, he knew where he was.

He blinked, wincing in the bright sunlight flooding the room from the large windows and shook his head to clear it of the muzziness of passing out. He could make out a figure at the bottom of his bed, and screwed up his eyes to see better.

"Welcome back." Said a somewhat familiar voice. Harry frowned, unable to quite realise what he was hearing. Surely…Surely not? He looked more closely. The speaker was…him. Him, Harry Potter. He could see the same thick black hair he brushed every morning with varying degrees of success in making it lie flat. The smudge of dried jam in the corner of his mouth from the little breakfast he'd actually eaten. His scar. His own green eyes watching him intently from behind his own glasses, the ones Dudley had sat on and bent out of shape. The ones Hermione had repaired a dozen of times.

"W-What?" He managed to choke out, still staring at the boy who looked just like him. "Who…are you? And why do you look like…me?" The mirror image smiled with a smirk totally unfamiliar on his face, and drawled in Harry's own voice with a laziness of tone that was nothing like him.

"Guess who. Potter."

Harry blinked. Even though the voice speaking was his own, it had a familiar ring to it that sounded a lot like…

"Malfoy!?" He looked again, and everything was still there. It wasn't a bizarre dream, he though wildly. Perhaps it was a side effect of being knocked out one too many times, any minute now, Hermione and Ron would be standing next to him and he would be –

He couldn't tear his eyes away from his own face, and watched it slide into grim lines.

"I want to know." He heard himself say, "How you've done this."

"What?" Harry said it again, more desperately this time. How was this even possible? What had Malfoy done to mirror him so perfectly? He slid down from the bed quickly, stepping closer to the other-him.

"Malfoy, what sort of prank are you pulling? Is this Polyjuice Potion? Why do you want to go around looking like me for?" Harry suddenly felt a flash of fear. "What are you trying to do to Gryffindor?" He demanded, accusatorily. "You can't get in, you don't know the password."

"Why would I want to go around looking like you?" Malfoy sneered back in a tone Harry had never used. "If you've not done this…I don't understand-"He broken off, and seemed to be thinking.

"You'd better reverse it." Harry advised, folding his arms. "I can't have two ME's running around Hogwarts." He watched his own face change, and then Malfoy smiled dryly.

"Obviously you haven't worked it out yet." He drawled. "Mind you, I've been awake longer. There aren't two you's. You're me."

Harry frowned again and then the door to the hospital wing opened. Both boys turned to face the entrance.

"Harry!" Hermione sounded almost tearful as she and Ron managed to get past Madam Pomfrey's gimlet eye, and hurried into the ward. At the same time as they were let in, Pansy Parkinson and the dark haired boy strode in hurriedly, still wrapped in their green scarves.

As Harry smiled warmly at his friends to reassure them he was all right, Hermione and Ron walked past him without a glance – to Malfoy.

"Are you all right?" He could hear Hermione ask as she hugged Malfoy fiercely. Harry saw a disgusted expression appear on his own features over Hermione's shoulder, and Malfoy wiggled gingerly in Hermione's embrace.

Before he could protest – hang on, Hermione, that's not me. I'm me! – The two Slytherins were in front of him, blocking his view of Hermione, Ron and 'Harry'.

"Are you all right?" Pansy Parkinson asked him, looking at him closely. "Oh Draco! Potter fell on you; we were so worried." She gave 'Harry' a scathing look.

Madam Pomfrey bustled in before Harry was forced to answer, dazed as he was. She was as starched and proper as ever, her lips pressed together tightly.

"If you'd release Mr Potter and Mr Malfoy, please." She said curtly, and her wand was out as soon as Hermione, Pansy, Ron and the dark haired boy whose name Harry did not know stepped dutifully away from the two boys. There was simply no such thing as arguing with Madam Pomfrey. She didn't like it, or accept it.

Busily, Madam Pomfrey made a short gesture with her wand. A golden ribbon wove out of the end of it, circling Malfoy-as-Harry, and a moment later, she did the same again, a silver ribbon curling around Harry. The ribbons shot back to her, and she seemed to read them, nodding her head brightly as they waited in silence.

"Mr Potter received a nasty crack on the head." She informed them. "So I shall be keeping him overnight for observation. There doesn't seem to be anything the matter." Her tone was ominous, the 'yet' was implicit, "But Mr Malfoy, you may go. You have no further adverse effects. Miss Parkinson, Mr Zabini, I trust you can escort Mr Malfoy back to his common room?"

Pansy Parkinson nodded her head, a tight movement of acquiescence. The dark haired boy have a vague gesture that looked like assent.

"Very good." Madam Pomfrey agreed. She looked at Harry. "If you'll go on Mr Malfoy." She turned to look at Malfoy-as-Harry closer, tilting his head to one side to examine the size of his pupils. Harry was effectively dismissed.

"B… but-" Harry stammered, and then two hands were slipped into his and tugged, firmly.

"We'll look after him." Pansy said, and pinched the web of skin between finger and thumb. Harry gave a strangled yelp, and when Madam Pomfrey turned around, inquiringly, Harry followed docilely as he was led.

Outside the corridor, Pansy stopped him.

"Draco, what did that woman do to you? She sighed, facing Harry and frowning her anxiety. Harry swallowed.

"Um… what do you mean?" He asked awkwardly. Pansy reached out, and with her fingers, smoothed the collar of his Quidditch shirt, picked off a bit of dried mud from his jersey with a disgusted look and a dainty flick of her fingertips, and straightened the shoulder seams of his robe so that they lay tidily along the line of his shoulders.

"You were a mess." The Zabini boy put it, helpfully. "You haven't looked a mess since you fell off your broom in second year, or that time you bounc-"

"Blaise, I really don't think Draco needs to discuss that now." Pansy put in. Harry's lip twitched involuntarily. A glorious visual of Draco, the amazing bouncing ferret had slid into his mind.

"He's right though." Pansy added thoughtfully. "You never look untidy. You must have been hurt really badly. Honestly, that Pomfrey woman hasn't a clue what she's on about. Mother always said-"

"Oh, do shut up about your mother." Blaise muttered under his breath, so that only Harry would catch it. "She has a view on everything. 'A lady always', he mimicked, in an undertone that was cleverly close to Pansy's own.

"A lady always knows never to take chances, particularly with health." Pansy sniffed, apparently blithely unaware of Blaise's mockery, until her hand flashed out, and she hit him, hard on the shoulder.

"Ouch." Blaise nursed his arm injuredly, glaring at Pansy. Pansy smiled serenely.

"Let's get Draco back to the common-room, before the Gryffindor's decide to get annoyed that Draco got knocked off his broom by Potter's clumsiness." She slipped an arm around Harry's shoulders more forcefulness that gentleness, and they began walking, Blaise's arm around his waist. When the hand settled on his arse, Harry looked at Pansy, eyes wide, but she was totally unaware. Suspiciously Harry glanced at Blaise. The dark-haired boy's face was perfectly composed, and innocent.

No one seemed to have realised that he was Harry Potter, not Draco Malfoy. He couldn't seem to find the words to tell them, to stop both Parkinson and Zabini and say, 'Here, look, I'm not Malfoy, I'm Harry Potter and we appear to have somehow switched bodies'. Perhaps it was the fear of being resoundly laughed at, and their refusal to believe him. More than likely, though, was the fact that although Harry was very definitely apprehensive about walking into Slytherin, he was more than a little curious.

And after all – Draco Malfoy, had been left alone with a Hermione and Ron who thought that Malfoy was Harry.