𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆

Fourth Day

On his fourth day of Auror training, Harry Potter walked into the training arena looking like Draco Malfoy. Literally.

It was a day of practicing the art of disguise and imitation, which were apparently much more difficult and much more entertaining than any of the trainees might have anticipated. Most of Harry’s fellow students were pointedly avoiding his eyes, or Malfoy’s eyes, as it were; he chalked this up to his intense speech the prior day and tried to ignore it as best he could. Which was tricky, considering that Ron seemed to keep forgetting the assignment and occasionally looked over at him with the thinly veiled contempt he always reserved for Glaring at Malfoy purposes. However, the whole situation seemed more humorous than anything else when Harry considered that Ron’s look of hatred was actually coming out of Justin Finch-Flechley’s normally friendly countenance.

He had looked himself over in the mirror in the locker room with a mixture of desire and envy, an unnerving combination. The narrow face that looked back at him was an exact replica of the Malfoy he had kissed only hours earlier. His green eyes had been replaced by pale grey, which, upon closer inspection, did actually have a ring of dark blue pigment right around the pupils. Harry turned sideways and admired Malfoy’s trim physique. Not that he considered himself such a pain to look at, but Malfoy had an elegant beauty that was difficult to fake if you hadn’t grown up wealthy and pampered. He attempted Malfoy’s smirk and sneer, but merely managed to look like he had swallowed something distasteful.

His clothes seemed enormous, his sleeves overlarge and his pants practically fell off Malfoy’s non-existent waist. The one plus was that Malfoy’s hair was immeasurably easier to tame; sleek and smooth, he needed only to run his fingers through it in order to detangle.

Harry hadn’t been…displeased that he and Malfoy had been paired together; it had seemed full of promise, perhaps they would get through a day without argument.

Then he saw himself walk through the doors of the gym.

Harry supposed it might always come as a shock to see yourself walking towards you, but Malfoy seemed to be taking particular joy in Harry’s appearance. He had clearly gelled Harry’s hair out at a ridiculous angle, worn a tee-shirt that was practically painted on, and jeans that rode dangerously low on Harry’s narrow hips. And Harry had certainly never narrowed his eyes in such an appallingly seductive fashion.

He’d made Harry look borderline prostitutional.

Harry, of course, didn’t have the opportunity to voice his outrage until they’d been paired off. The assignment was easy: sit down and try to imitate each other. The atmosphere was much lighter than the previous day; Harry reflected that this was most likely an intentional choice on the instructor’s part.

He and Malfoy were directed towards the far wall from the gym, mercifully far from Ron, who was now scowling at the way Justin was towering over him in Ron’s lanky frame.

Harry turned and looked himself over again, giving himself a quick reminder that this was, in fact, Malfoy, and not to take it easy on him just because it felt like looking in a mirror.

“What,” he said, and then stopped. He’d forgotten that his voice would be Malfoy’s as well, and he noted how much lighter Malfoy’s voice sounded when it wasn’t laboring under spite or lust, “what do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m playing along.” Was Harry’s voice actually that low? He hadn’t remembered his voice being that low.. “Which is clearly more than I can say for you. Honestly, Potter, would I ever wear flannel?” And it was so strange to hear himself drawling.

“Wha…you..” Harry hurried to respond, “when would I ever wear…whatever you call that?! That isn’t a shirt, that’s practically underwear and your jeans are much too low..”