Albus Dumbledore woke suddenly from strange dreams about Voldemort and Death Eaters and fear to a sharp, searing pain.

He brought a hand to its focal point on his forehead and frowned as he traced a scar that had not been there when he had fallen asleep.

He quickly pulled back his hand and gasped.

It was covered in blood.

Hundreds of miles away, Harry Potter startled awake from strange dreams of Grindelwald and failures and history repeating itself.

He quickly stood to make his way to the bathroom to splash water onto his face, but froze in alarm as he realized he was not where he had been upon falling asleep.

Nothing was familiar.

With dread, he realized that this room was not his room…these robes were not his robes...

He looked at his hands.

Unwilling to finish the thought even in his own mind, he hurried forward toward the open door of a bathroom and looked into the mirror.

The face of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore stared back at him.

In hindsight, Harry liked to think that Godric Gryffindor himself would have screamed just as shrilly as he did then.

Heart pounding in his chest, Harry stumbled out of Dumbledore's quarters into the Headmaster's office. One shaking hand held the wand he'd found on the bedside table- a wand which was definitely not his of beloved holly and phoenix feather – the other ran a hand nervously through his hair.

Long, gray hair.

It was such a strange sensation that he stopped immediately. He took a deep breath and held out Dumbledore's wand. "Lumos."

"Albus?" a few of the portraits asked, eyes squinting from the bright light which had awoken them.

Harry almost replied that no, he was most certainly not Albus, but he bit his tongue at the last moment. This was a rather…not good…situation. He did not even want to think of the consequences should the wrong people learn of it.

Voldemort would probably see it as a way to destroy Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter in one fell swoop.

That could not happen.

Harry's mouth ran dry. He had never even heard of people switching bodies or waking up in bodies that were not their own.

He had to tell someone though, didn't he?

His gut told him he had to tell Dumbledore –

He almost laughed, but the thought stayed. If he was here, what had happened to Dumbledore? What happened to the body of Harry Potter in Little Whinging?

He had to check.

But he had no way to get there. Maybe he could take thestrals, like he had to the Ministry, but it would take too long, and it would be too suspicious for Albus Dumbledore to travel by thestral or broomstick.

He didn't know how to make a portkey or apparate.

Which left him with precious few options.

Harry sped down the spiral staircase with an agility and grace he had not imagined possible given Albus Dumbledore's age, cursing as he ran across the school in his star-studded night robes. He stopped only to pound his fists against Minerva McGonagall's office door. His knuckles were bloody in the short time she took to open it.

McGonagall took one look at Harry before the irritated look on her face changed to one of worry. "Albus," she gently took his hands in one of hers, the other casting a healing spell. "What's happened? It's three in the morning."

He floundered helplessly before the words spilled from his mouth. "We have to check on Harry."

McGonagall took this in stride, tapping her wand over herself to transfigure more appropriate clothing. She looked at him expectantly. "Well?"

"I can't apparate," Harry admitted. "There's no time to explain. You'll have to take me."

She stepped back, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. After all, that'd be one way for a Death Eater to get at Harry Potter. Shit. "And what of Fawkes?"

The thought hadn't occurred to him. Oh, fuck, he was so stupid. "Fawkes?"

Just as Harry said so, the phoenix appeared to him in a brilliant flash of scarlet and gold. The phoenix's knowing stare made him feel even more idiotic. "Right," was Harry's strangled answer. He laughed weakly. "That's right. Fawkes. Most excellent. Um, thank you Minerva. That'll be all then."

"Albus," she hissed, the amount of subtext and menace in that one word making Harry fear on behalf of the real Albus Dumbledore.

"There's no time," he said in lieu of a proper answer, while privately thinking that there was just enough time and he would be using it to escape. Harry turned to Fawkes pleadingly. "To Harry Potter. Number 4, Privet Drive."

The phoenix clutched Harry's hand between its talons, and a moment later, they disappeared noiselessly, leaving a furious Minerva McGonagall in their wake.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," Harry chanted to Fawkes after they landed in Surrey. He hurried in the direction of the Dursley's, wand out and phoenix on his shoulder.

Harry didn't dare cast a disillusionment charm – he had no idea if he would set off the trace while outside of Hogwarts wards.

But the good thing about being in the body of Albus Dumbledore, Harry decided as they crossed through the dark neighborhood, was that he doubted that any Death Eater doing surveillance duty would dare to outright attack him.

Well, unless Voldemort was lurking about.

Then it would be a decidedly bad thing for a magically inferior Harry Potter to bluff as being Albus Dumbledore.

Harry shuddered at the thought and walked faster.

The house was finally in sight, but as he came closer, Harry was surprised to feel vast, powerful presence in his mind. He was hyper-aware as it seemed to search his very soul, weighing his worth and intentions. It was protective, he realized.

Whatever magic it was, it did not find him lacking. It relaxed its hold on him, but Harry still grimaced at the sensation - he had the inescapable feeling he had just avoided extreme punishment and pain.

The magic seemed to linger on him like a second-skin, as if to keep an eye on him should he behave in a way to make it change its mind.

Harry tried not to think about it as he crossed the threshold.

How to do this? Knocking on the door would wake the Dursleys, who would make a ruckus, which wake the whole neighborhood. Which would then alert anyone looking for trouble in connection to Harry Potter.

Harry didn't even dare open the front door with a simple alohamora.

Well, he thought wryly, he'd made many stupid decisions since he'd awoken, so what was one more?

He leaned down to pick up a rock, then moved to the side of the house, aimed for the window of his bedroom and –

Fawkes chirped in his ear.

"Um. Yes?"

Harry's heart skipped a beat as he was encompassed in flames, heat surrounding him. He almost screamed, but stopped short when he realized Fawkes had just taken them inside.

He blinked and placed a hand over his fluttering heart. "Did you want to give the body of Albus Dumbledore a heart attack?" he accused Fawkes in a harsh whisper.

The phoenix nipped his ear, as if telling him not to be so dramatic.

Harry swatted at him before he stealthily made his way up the stairs, careful to avoid the creaking steps. He felt a sudden surge of empathy for Tonks, with her ever-changing limbs and body mass. It was difficult to navigate when moving in a body much taller than his own.

He paused as he reached the top - the only sound he could hear was Vernon's snoring.

Harry wasn't quite sure what to expect, as he slowly pushed open the door to his bedroom, but he knew that he had Fawkes with him, and well…even if it was as bad as a basilisk, they could handle it together.

Unless it was worse than a basilisk.

Maybe his body was just gone… or an empty husk. He shuddered at the thought, because if his body was empty then where was Dumbledore?

He swallowed thickly. What if the real Dumbledore was dead?

But what if his body was awake, and aware, and there was someone else pretending to be him. Oh Merlin, what if it was Voldemort possessing him and something had gone really wrong?

What if, what if, what if –

He walked inside and froze.

For as far as he could tell - if he was not mistaken, if he was not mad – the pretender Harry Potter was very much alive and pointing a very familiar holly and phoenix feather wand at him.

Harry stood still as the pretender's green eyes caught sight of Fawkes. The wand lowered.

Then the pretender smiled at him. "Good evening, Harry," he said casually, as though there were nothing strange happening at all.

Harry looked over him appraisingly. "Professor?" he asked, voice uncertain. It certainly seemed like it was Dumbledore. Only Dumbledore would be so annoyingly nonchalant.

But as much as Harry wanted to believe it, he couldn't help but think that Tom Riddle had been a very, very good actor, once upon a time. So he took a leaf out of Moody's book. "Um, in second year, in the Chamber…Tom Riddle told me we were very much alike," he cleared his throat, uncomfortable at the memory. "When I told you, what did you say?"

"I said, 'it is our choices, Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities.'" Dumbledore beamed, and it was so very strange to see that radiant joy on Harry Potter's face. "A sentiment which I suspect we will ponder often as we consider our current situation."

Harry sagged with relief against the wall. It wasn't Voldemort. That thought reinvigorated him. "Er, about our situation…," Harry started, feeling awkward and incredibly aware of how British he was, "Professor… how did this happen?"

Dumbledore shrugged, reaching out a hand to stroke Fawkes's feathers. "I haven't the faintest."

They stood in silence for a moment, Harry at a complete loss while Dumbledore looked serene, a little wisp of humor in his lips.

"Are we dreaming?" Harry wondered for the hundredth time, voice hopeful.

Dumbledore glanced at him from behind round glasses, green-eyes glinting with amusement. "That, I think, we can eliminate. But I have faith a solution will present itself."

For the first time, he doubted the Headmaster's words. It was strange, knowing that just a few months ago, before the prophecy, Dumbledore's calm confidence would have inspired complete, unquestioning assurance. In a brief flash of spite, Harry was tempted to offer a sarcastic answer. But as he watched Dumbledore standing there in the guise of Harry Potter, simply waiting patiently for Harry's response, for his judgement, Harry felt that viciousness fade. Though it was with no small amount of hesitance and reluctance, even after hearing Dumbledore confess his own failures… Harry could not help but trust him, maybe more than anyone. He wasn't quite sure what that said about himself or the rest of the world.

"Right, right…" Harry shifted uneasily and squinted at Dumbledore. It was one thing to know he hadn't been eating or sleeping enough, but now as Harry looked at himself from another perspective, he could really see the toll his grief had taken.

But for the first time since Sirius's death, the thought of his godfather made his lips twitch in humor. "Sirius would've thought this whole thing was hilarious," he said suddenly, surprising himself with the outburst. "He would've seen this as the greatest pranking opportunity in the world. Probably would've come up with a million ways to exploit this, all within the first ten seconds of hearing about it. I mean, half of them would include tormenting Snape, but still…" Harry stopped, voice thick, unable to continue.

"Then perhaps we should make the most of it," Dumbledore said, smiling cheerfully. "To honor his memory."

The idea startled a weak laugh out of Harry. "Yeah, we'll just have to try not to get caught. Except, well…there's Professor McGonagall." He rubbed the back of his neck and met Dumbledore's curious expression. "I didn't tell anyone that we… switched bodies… but I panicked and didn't know how to get here, so I woke her up, and told her she needed to side-along apparate me here, and well, then she asked why I couldn't use Fawkes, which was exactly when Fawkes decided to show up, so we kind of, um… left without her."

"Oh dear. That is most troubling," he said sympathetically, though there was no true note of concern in the words. In fact, Harry could swear Dumbledore's lip twitched.

"Yes," Harry huffed, peering down at Dumbledore from behind his half-moon spectacles. "She knew something was off, so we should probably reassure her that I'm not an imposter trying to murder Harry Potter."

Dumbledore just chuckled and closed the lid to Harry's trunk, which he barely unpacked since the end of the school year.

Harry glared half-heartedly as he pulled up his constantly falling glasses over his crooked nose. "Hang on." He poked at the ridge in it experimentally. "Did you break your nose?" he asked curiously. At Dumbledore's wide-eyed look, he explained hastily, almost abashed for having asked, "It's just, this doesn't feel entirely natural."

The headmaster stopped laughing and cleared his throat loudly. "Fawkes, my friend, if you would?"

As Harry sat in the Headmaster's chair, a thought struck him. "Sir," said Harry, mind whirring much like the many gadgets around them in Dumbledore's office. He leaned forward. "If we've switched bodies, doesn't that mean you have to fulfill the prophecy? Y'know what with, 'at the hand of the other,' well…" he looked meaningfully at Dumbledore. "You've definitely got Harry Potter's hands."

Dumbledore paused, green eyes widening a bit in surprise, before he chuckled. "I'm afraid not, my boy. You are the one whom Voldemort marked. Our souls are still very much the same. They've merely…relocated in a manner which still eludes me."

Harry didn't buy it for a second. It made sense, but Harry was never much one for logic. Gryffindor that he was, he would not be daunted in the face of common sense. He was onto something, he knew it in his bones.

"Eludes you," Harry said slowly, unable to believe his good fortune. All those nights where he had woken up in a cold sweat, full of terror at the thought of having to slay the most powerful dark wizard in recent memory, and now he wouldn't have to do it…

He cast Dumbledore a calculating glance. It was strange to look at him and see the face of Harry Potter, radiating wisdom and calm.

Perhaps somehow mistaking the disbelief and increasing joy in Harry's voice for concern, Dumbledore's eyes softened and he spoke soothingly. "Not to worry, Harry. I'm entirely confident that we shall find a solution." He steepled his fingers. "Truthfully, Harry, I must confess to you that this is not the strangest situation I have ever found myself in. Why, I once dabbled in the art of chronomancy and animal self-transformation in the same summer, and made some accidental headway in the realm of quantum superposition! I somehow found myself in the intriguing state of being a cat, and not a cat simultaneously. Very Schrödinger…for a moment, I could have sworn that the universe tried to correct a paradox that had yet to take place, that I was both alive, yet-"

"Professor," interrupted Harry loudly, who at the moment really couldn't care less about Dumbledore's reminiscing in the face of his surely more important moment of self-discovery. "I think we should put this to the test."

Dumbledore frowned, but humored him. "What did you have in mind?"

"Point me Harry Potter," he said, as the wand in his hand spun toward Dumbledore.

"Harry," Dumbledore said, chidingly. "As I said, it is our souls, which are the same. The point me spell does not perform search on a metaphysical level, rather-"

"Expecto patronum," Harry incanted. A familiar melody filled the room as a corporeal phoenix flew forth before landing on his shoulder. Harry cooed at it in smug satisfaction.

Let it never be said that Albus Dumbledore was slow on the uptake; after just a moment of genuine surprise, he followed the spell with his own. A majestic stag emerged and trotted about the room before butting Dumbledore's hand affectionately.

Dumbledore recovered quickly. "While interesting, I do not believe this is conclusive."

Dumbledore looked at him in a surely-you-must-admit-it kind of way.

Harry didn't have to admit shit. He gave the impression of indulging Dumbledore. "What would you consider conclusive?" he asked, rather curious to see what lengths Dumbledore would go to in his denial.

Dumbledore turned to Fawkes, who gave an intrigued trill.

A flash of Phoenix fire later, and they both arrived at Grimmauld Place, much to the surprise of the Order members present.

"Albus!" shouted Mad-Eye, who had already drawn his wand in his direction. "What was the last thing I said to you in our conversation on Tuesday?"

At any other moment, Harry might have been impressed by the ex-Auror's dedication. As it was, he wished Moody was still holed up in the bottom of a trunk somewhere. At the bottom of the ocean. With no air.

From his place at the dining table, Kingsley gave Moody a glance that conveyed serious doubts about Mad-Eye's sanity.

Remus just rolled his eyes and set down his cup of tea. "Mad-Eye, they arrived via Fawkes. Into Order headquarters. Which is protected under Albus's Fidelius charm. I think it's safe to say, he's Albus Dumbledore. Besides," he waved a hand, as if to say explain this, "who'd be mad enough to impersonate Dumbledore?" Remus's face brightened as he looked toward Dumbledore-trapped-in-Harry's-body. "Harry," he said warmly. "It's good to see you."

"Never underestimate the enemy," growled Moody, never taking his eyes or wand off of the two of them. "Besides, what's the lad doing here? Albus wouldn't have moved him from Surrey."

"Oh," said Harry pressingly, glancing at Dumbledore.

Dumbledore smiled at him in a promising way.

Encouraged, he took a deep breath. In the spirit of staying in character, Harry put on his best long-suffering look and sighed in a very dramatic fashion. "Now, Remus," he began, "Alastor's paranoia is not entirely unwarranted." He gave what he hoped was an indulgent smile. "I'm afraid that in my old age I've gotten quite forgetful. That, in combination with my tendency to keep important information to myself, is why I did not notify you as to Harry's arrival."

Harry nearly ruined it with a smirk as he caught sight of Dumbledore's deeply amused expression. "As to your question, Alastor, I believe when last we spoke you said, 'I'm getting too old for this shit.'"

"Aye," said Mad-Eye sagely, lowering his wand. "I really am getting too old for this shit…"

Kingsley muttered something under his breath about not being paid enough to give a shit about Mad-Eye's shit, which had Remus playing diplomat to a snarling Moody while very pointedly trying not to laugh.

"How did you know?" asked Albus, looking flabbergasted and genuinely impressed, while Harry maneuvered them away from the impending squabble.

Harry just smiled at him, sweating and inwardly relieved at his stroke of luck.

He hoped his eyes were twinkling.

They walked outside Grimmauld onto the street packed with muggles.

"Are you sure this is the best way to do this?" asked Harry as they crossed the street and approached a group of teenagers smoking on steps. "I mean, can't you just try to tell someone the secret, and if you can't we'll know you're not the secret keeper? Because if I try, and I do pass on the secret, won't that create a whole mess?"

"Nonsense, Harry. It's an excellent plan." Dumbledore's green eyes glittered outrageously with mischief. "Now, hand me the lemon drops."

Harry couldn't exactly deny it. It was an excellent plan. He passed the lemon drops over. "Excuse me," Harry asked a group of teenagers smoking on steps. He tucked his beard into his belt and smiled widely.

Dumbledore stood behind him, bouncing on his toes.

Most of them took one look at the two of them, laughed, then ignored them; but one seemed a bit curious – the girl closest to them.

She had blue eyes, blue hair, and pierced eyebrows that jumped to her hairline as she looked Harry up and down, lingering over the bows in his beard and the stars on his robes. She sent Harry an unimpressed look. He wanted to tell her he entirely agreed with her assessment, but instead he gave a bright smile.

"My grandson and I are having a bit of a disagreement, we were hoping you could help us?"

"Sure," she said, standing and putting out her cigarette. She walked over to them. "Why the fuck not?"

"Excellent!" cried Harry. He put an arm around her and gestured across the street. "My grandson, young lad that he is, insists that there is a building missing between number 11 and 13!"

She looked at him as though he were a bit touched. "He's right."

Harry hummed. "Well," he leaned closer to her, voice just a playful whisper. "What if I were to tell you that the Headquarters to the Order of the Phoenix is at Number 12 Grimmauld Place?"

For a moment, nothing happened. The girl still looked confused, but then –

"Bloody fuck!" she swore. "Where the hell did that come from?"

Dumbledore tapped her on her shoulder. "Lemon drop?" he offered the girl.

She gave him a look of utter disbelief.

"You're going to need it," he advised cheerfully.

She took the lemon drop.

To Harry and Dumbledore's alarm, Professor McGonagall was waiting for them at Headquarters.

"Albus," the Scottish witch said furiously when she caught sight of Harry. "Where have you been? I had to find out from Kingsley that you've been prancing about the country, Mister Potter in tow."

Harry and Dumbledore both shot the Auror a stark look of betrayal.

Shacklebolt remained unfazed, fixing a deeply disappointed look at Harry. He opened his mouth to give what was surely an inspiring lecture on the importance of security and proper precautions, when Dumbledore came to Harry's rescue.

Albus cleared his throat. "One of you has to memory charm the blue-haired muggle outside."

By their looks, this was not what they expected to hear. "And why is that, Mr Potter?" asked McGonagall, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

"Because she knows the secret," Dumbledore said helpfully.

"Headmaster…why would you tell a muggle where our Headquarters is?" asked Remus, seeming to speak for the entirely baffled room.

Thinking quickly, Harry said mysteriously, "I often find that my musings are so vast…so numerous…that at times, there is no place for logic in my mind."

Dumbledore beamed at Harry, radiating approval.

"Unbelievable," said McGonagall, the coldness in her voice somehow far more intimidating than the sharp accusations she'd given so far. "How could you be so very irresponsible? And what exactly did you think would happen when all the charms monitoring Privet Drive went off? You could have, at the least, informed the Order members on guard. Nymphadora and Dedalus Diggle have both been in a panic – rightly so, I might add," her lips thinned and her brow furrowed, as if she were making note of her duty to exact further punishment. "I will be having words with them. It astounds me that they missed your arrival and unique method of transportation."

"Monitoring charms?" asked Harry, fixated on this point. He glanced at Dumbledore beside him, who suddenly looked very innocent and interested in the ceiling.

"Don't you dare," McGonagall said, nostrils flaring. "You have no right to criticize my entering your office after you woke me at three in the bloody morning, only to dash off afterwards with no explanation whatsoever!"

"Minerva," interrupted Remus, standing from his place at the table. "I understand your frustration. Really, I do. But shouldn't we take care of the blue-haired muggle first?"

Seizing the opportunity, Harry grabbed Dumbledore's shoulder and pointed at the window behind the rest of the Order members. "Look, she's getting away!" he shouted.

Perhaps against all instinct, McGonagall, Remus, Kingsley, and Mad-Eye could not help but turn and look across the street.

It was a fatal mistake, for immediately Dumbledore cried out, "To Hogwarts!"

Harry and Dumbledore vanished in a flash of brilliant scarlet and gold, leaving behind both their responsibilities and the Order's vexed uproar.

Harry settled on the Headmaster's chair, kicking his legs up on the ancient desk. "You are a glorious creature," said Harry to Fawkes, utter admiration in his voice. He searched the pockets of Dumbledore's robes, and found a small bag of treats, which Fawkes immediately accepted.

Dumbledore took the seat opposite Harry, and nodded in agreement. "Indeed. Did you know, Harry, that I almost named Fawkes 'Deus Ex Machina?'"

Harry stared at Dumbledore. "No, sir," he finally managed, impressed at his own ability to fight the speechlessness threatening to take over.

"Yes, it was a near thing." Dumbledore leant in, as if imparting a great secret. "'Houdini,' was another contender. However, Fawkes must have decided that both choices seemed a bit heavy-handed. He liked the story of Guy Fawkes best; I inferred as much by the way he kept spontaneously flaming us both to London Parliament – and with such… horribly impeccable timing too." He cast Fawkes a fond look. "In the end, I believe he found the other choices I offered him to be a bit too pretentious."

"Humility is, um…a great quality in a bird," Harry said, unsure of what the appropriate response to that was. "Phoenix," he corrected quickly, at the way Fawkes flapped his wings.

They sat in companionable silence for a moment, Dumbledore smiling at him widely, before Harry remembered his triumph. "I suppose that settles it then. You're not the secret keeper," he said, giving Dumbledore a haughty smirk. "You're the Chosen One!"

But the Headmaster would not yet yield; he had the solemn face of a man who would outlast any storm, a face that promised to be unmovable no matter the will of fate. "I would have preferred not to show you this quite yet," Dumbledore said quietly, "but alas, needs must."

He tapped a wand against one of the black shelves in the office, muttering incantations in a language Harry did not recognize, then suddenly Harry could see the pensieve from last year.

Dumbledore poured several vials of memories into the basin, and beckoned him over.

They descended into the silver pool of whirling mist together.