[part 01|part 02|part 03|part 04|part 05]
[part 06|part 07|part 08|part 09|part 10]
[part 11]

Part 1:
Your Dearest Heart's Desire

Hermione Granger knew this world very well; it was the world she spent ten out of twelve months a year in. It reminded her of Hogwarts. Funny how five years made a place a home more than the house that she'd spent the first eleven years of her life in. It was strange how much her life had changed since Harry Potter and Ron Weasley had come into her life. She'd been threatened by trolls, had to solve puzzles, been petrified, used time travel, been attacked by dementors, been held as a hostage by merpeople for an internationally famous athlete to save, and she'd been nearly killed on numerous occasions...and she'd always managed to make straight-O's in everything. The wizarding world was her home. Harry, Ron, Dumbledore's Army and Gryffindor House were her family. Life-and-death situations, for some reason, always seemed to bring people together.

Her parents had stopped to chat with a falconer and Hermione continued on. Her eyes wandered down the shops lining the cobblestone main road, smiling softly. She loved this little village, it reminded her of Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade except it didn't have any of the interesting shops that the two places held.

Her parents had been taking her to the renaissance village, Belle Haven, since she was five. There were several little shops that sold medieval wares and all the workers wore the outfits of people of the time period...not dissimilar to what modern day wizards wore. She felt a sharp pang in her chest as she thought of Hogwarts, she missed it. "Miss, you want your fortune read?" a softly accented voice called.

Hermione frowned and gazed at a purple tent with golden stars and crescent moons decorating it. The tent was opened and Hermione saw a pretty woman dressed in a flowing dress of red and purple silk, a necklace with a leather pouch adorned her neck. A matching scarf was wrapped around her head but loose tendrils of her blond hair fell around her face and large silver hoop earrings dangled from her earlobes. Before the woman was a crystal ball and a pack of tarot cards. Hermione rolled her eyes; she had had enough with Divination and Professor Trelawney during her third year. "No, thank you," Hermione declined politely.

"Oh, a non-believer, have we?" the woman chided. "I can make a believer out of you."

Hermione sighed. "How much money are you after there?" she asked with a quirk of her brow. There was something...strangely familiar about this woman but Hermione couldn't place it.

The fortune teller smiled softly. "Nothing at all, miss," the woman murmured. "I said I'll make a believer of you and I shall. Come, sit." She gestured to the pouf across from her on the other side of the small table. Hermione rolled her eyes and slumped onto the pouf, this was way too much like Divination class for her liking but the woman was adamant.

"Fine," Hermione sighed.

"Give me your hand," the woman requested. Her fingers trailed over Hermione's hand and Hermione shivered as a jolt went through her. Who is this woman? Hermione wondered. "Your life line is very long, you've been through a lot of rough times and there will be many more." Well, duh, Hermione thought. Of course, Voldemort's risen...it's a given... Hermione thought. "Your love line is...very odd."

"Very odd?" Hermione asked, examining her palm and the woman nodded.

"You are in love--" the woman stated.

"I most certainly am not," Hermione stated vehemently and the woman's blonde brow shot up.

"You have not admitted it to yourself," the woman murmured. Her eyes met Hermione's and Hermione felt herself being drawn into their pale depths.

She had slapped Malfoy across the face with all the strength she could muster. Malfoy staggered. Harry, Ron, Crabbe and Goyle stood flabbergasted as Hermione raised her hand again.

"Don't you dare call Hagrid pathetic, you foul -- you evil--"

"Hermione!" said Ron weakly and he tried to grab her hand as she swung it back.

"Get off, Ron!"

Hermione pulled out her wand. Malfoy stepped backward. Crabbe and Goyle looked at him for instructions, thoroughly bewildered.

"C'mon," Malfoy muttered, and in a moment, all three of them had disappeared into the passageway to the dungeons.

After classes ended for the day, Hermione retreated to the library to finish her homework, a lot easier than studying in the noisy common room. "That wasn't nice what you did earlier," a voice snarked.

Hermione looked up from her book and noticed that Malfoy had entered the library. "It wasn't nice what you did either," she replied, her brown eyes cold. She gathered her books and started to leave.

"You're not going anywhere, Granger," Draco growled.

"Oh?" She cocked her head. "And how are you planning on stopping me, Malfoy?" He shoved her and she stumbled back against the table, her books falling from her arms. She glared at Draco and made a move to pick up the fallen books. Draco Malfoy grabbed her chin, keeping her still and his lips descended on hers. She gasped in surprise and his tongue swept into her mouth. He's kissing me? she thought in amazement. My first kiss is from Draco Malfoy? Warmth spread over her body and Draco finally pulled away, leaving both parties momentarily breathless. Hermione jerked back, bumping her hip hard against the table and muttering a soft curse.

Hermione's lips were swollen from his ardent kiss and she stared at him in shock. His stormy gray eyes met her confused brown ones. "Knew that was a good way to get you to shut up," Malfoy stated, licking his lips. "Just remember these three...little...words...Hermione,” he closed the distance between them.

Hermione's heart thudded loudly against her ribcage, trying to back further away and falling into the chair. He smirked and she was afraid that he'd try to kiss her again or--or profess his love? "'I was first,'" he continued. "No matter what, I will always be your first." He turned and left the library, Hermione staring after him. What just happened? she wondered, confused.

Hermione gasped as she came back. "What did you just do?" she demanded.

The woman nodded. "I see," she murmured. "You want a wish."

"A...wish? Are you batty?" Hermione asked. "Wishes aren't real."

"Wishes are real if you believe in them enough, Hermione," the woman stated.

"How did you--?" she stammered and the woman smiled.

"Your dearest heart's desire will come to play...but remember there's always a price to pay," the woman stated, opening a leather pouch on her necklace. She poured some silvery substance into her hand and blew it to Hermione.

Part 2:
A Change of Scenery

Hermione Granger awakened in unfamiliar surroundings. Her eyes blinked several times and adjusting to the bright light streaming in between the royal blue velvet curtains. She stared at the huge bed that looked to be about as big as her own bedroom. This bedroom, if one could call it a bedroom, had enough space to comfortably fit a family of four in it. The floor was made of highly-polished white marble with threads of blue going through it, the marble sea was broken by occasional islands of exquisite carpets each looking more expensive than Hermione's house, two doors were across from the bed flanking either side of an alabaster fireplace, above the fireplace was a large wizard portrait of the Malfoys. What is a portrait of the Malfoys doing here? Am I in Malfoy Manor? Oh, God I hope not...this is just what I needed! To end up Avada Kedavra'd by Lucius Malfoy! Hermione stepped out of the bed, shivering as her bare feet ended up on the cold floor.

"Are you up, honey?" a woman's voice came and Hermione ran as fast as she could into the nearest door, slamming it and locking it behind her. Hermione, calm down, think. You're in Malfoy Manor...it's not like you're in Voldemort's stronghold, she thought. She looked around the bathroom she'd entered. This room had green marble with silver threading through it for a floor. Typical Slytherin. There was a small pool with green water and various silver faucets running around it, a green toilet with a silver flush, on the opposite side of the bathroom was a row of cabinets covered with the same marble as the floor, various wizarding hair care supplies, and a green sink shaped like a seashell with green faucets over it. Above the sink was a mirror and Hermione stared in shock at the image in the mirror's silver depths. Draco Malfoy stared at her. Hermione screamed at the top of her lungs, a high-pitched scream that was not her scream. This is definitely not my dearest heart's desire!

Draco Malfoy frowned as he woke up. He scowled and rolled over in an attempt to fall back asleep, only succeeding in falling off of the bed. His gray eyes snapped open as he assessed his surroundings. He hadn't landed on marble but soft carpet and his bed had become tiny. Draco glanced around the room, spying strange large photographs that did not move. Draco poked one of the photographs with a long finger and frowned as none of the people on it moved.

Draco continued his perusal of the strange room and frowned as he noticed a desk with something on it. He walked to the desk and stared at the thing...it was gray with a black glass-like area on it, before it was a strange contraption with buttons that had letters and numbers on it, a little oval-shaped object was beside the letter-covered thing. His eyes left the thing to turn to a vanity with a mirror above it. Stuffed in the mirror's frame were several wizarding photographs. Mostly of Harry Potter, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. I guess I've found Creevey's secret shrine, he mused, walking toward the mirror. His eyes widened as he spied the reflection in the mirror. Puffy brown hair framed a heart-shaped face with wide brown eyes. "NO!" he screamed.

The door was thrown open and a woman entered the room. "Hermione, are you okay?" the woman asked, her voice worried.

Draco wanted to shout, "You stupid bint, do I look okay to you? I'm a Mudblood!" but he settled for a meek, "Yes."

The woman didn't look entirely convinced but changed the subject. "You'd better get ready, you wouldn't want to miss the train, Head Girl," she said.

Draco almost laughed at the absurdity of it. He was going to be Head Girl...and his body was going to be Head Boy. His eyes narrowed. I'm going to find out who stole my body or I'm not Draco Lucian Malfoy, he thought. He stared at his reflection. That was a very stupid thought. "Oh, good, I just love school so much," he said, mimicking the Mudblood whose body he now inhabited. His voice came out as Hermione's and sent a shiver down his spine. I'm going to kill whoever did this to me.

Hermione was thinking the same thing as she glared at Draco's reflection. The fortune-teller was as good as dead, Hermione wasn't a violent girl by nature but Draco Malfoy brought out the worst in her. Ever since they'd first met and especially after that kiss, Hermione had spent many a sleepless night over that kiss. A slow smirk curved her lips (not unlike the one Draco often wore) as she realized that she could finally get back at the ferret that had made her life miserable for the past six years. Hermione had the feeling that Year Seven at Hogwarts would be very...interesting.

Part 3:
Being Draco Malfoy

"Draco, darling, you'll be late for the Hogwarts Express," the woman's voice came from the bedroom. There was a rapping on the bathroom door. She stared at the face in the mirror. Okay, you can do this, Hermione, she thought. Just be mean. It can't be that hard...just be pompous and arrogant and callous... She took a deep breath and exited the bathroom.

Standing in the huge room was a beautiful woman wearing periwinkle-blue (which perfectly matched the woman's eye color) silk robes; she had golden-blond hair and a golden-tan skin. Hermione recognized the woman from the Quidditch World Cup: Narcissa Malfoy, Draco's mother, Sirius Black's cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange's sister and Nymphadora Tonks's aunt. "Draco, you're not even dressed yet. Go, hurry, Dodie's laid out your clothes for you. Hurry, you don't want to be late on your first day as Head Boy," the woman sighed. "Get ready."

The woman wasn't condescending; in fact, she seemed to be in a teasing mood. Her rosy pink lips were curved with a playful smile and she placed a perfectly-manicured hand on Hermione's cheek. "My little boy's all grown up and is Head Boy...just like his father. I'm so proud of you, honey," Narcissa said, kissing Hermione's forehead. The woman left the room in a whisper of silk.

Hermione stared at the door Narcissa had exited from in shock. She had definitely not expected that from Draco's mother, the cold woman that she had glimpsed at the Quidditch World Cup was in fact a warm and loving mother. Well, Hermione could surmise as much.

Maybe Narcissa wasn't a good mother...this was just a strange day. It wasn't every day that one's only child had the best grades of any boy at Hogwarts and had been awarded the prestigious title of Head Boy. A feat that only one other Slytherin in the past fifty years had accomplished -- the last Slytherin Head Boy before Lucius Malfoy being one Tom Marvolo Riddle (who had made a name for himself later as Lord Voldemort). The honor usually befell a Ravenclaw or a Gryffindor. On occasion, a Hufflepuff got the title but that was even rarer than a Slytherin.

In fact, Hermione's parents had been so proud of her becoming Head Girl that the Doctors Granger had taken her to McDonald's. That may not seem like much to most teenagers in the world but to Hermione it was a rare treat, the health-conscious dentists hadn't taken Hermione to McDonald's since...well, ever.

Hermione came out of her thoughts as she noticed the Hogwarts uniform laid out on the huge bed. Her circumstances came back to her in a flash. She would have to get dressed. And she was in a boy's body. Not just any boy's body but Draco Malfoy's body! She'd have to see Draco Malfoy naked!

Through the past six years at Hogwarts, there had been many a butterbeer-induced girls' night in where Hermione and the other Gryffindor girls conversed about boys. Believe it or not, Hermione Granger actually talked about boys when there was no homework to be had. No matter how many of these conversations happened, they always ended up talking about the Prince of Slytherin, Draco Malfoy.

Now Hermione was going to find out the quintessential question that had been puzzling the Gryffindor girls for nearly seven years: boxers or briefs. Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown would have given anything to do so. They'd gone into detail -- very, very vivid detail -- of how they would manage to find out what he wore under his uniform.

Hermione swallowed hard, closing her eyes. I can do this, close your eyes and just take the clothes off, it's not hard, Hermione thought, her hands trembled as she fumble with the buttons of the navy satin pajama top. She squinted her eyes open a bit; it couldn't hurt to look just a little. She took a deep breath and let the shirt fall off. Wow.

As the satin had dropped, a pale well-defined chest came into view. A very nice chest with a smattering of barely-noticeable golden hair that trailed down from the navel to dip under the matching satin pajama pants. Hermione stared at the stomach, feeling a blush coloring her --er, his -- face. Hey, it's my only chance, might as well just look, right? Hermione thought.

Her eyes trailed over the alabaster skin stretched taut over a leanly-muscled chest and a stomach complete with washboard abs. Quidditch does a body good, she mused with a soft giggle -- a very strange sound coming from a boy's lungs -- and she admitted, rather creepy. She flexed the aristocratic hands with their long fingers and manicured nails, rubbing her fingers together. His hands were calloused, probably from hours of flying on his broomstick for Quidditch.

She stared at the hands for a moment before she pulled on the white button-up shirt of the Hogwarts uniform and neatly tied the green and silver tie. She bit her bottom lip as she stared at the pajama pants. She, unlike Lavender and Parvati, had no desire to know what was under Draco's clothes. She'd already seen more of Draco than she'd ever thought she'd see.

Then a third, previously unthought-of option came to mind. Boxers, briefs...or buck-naked. A strangled sound pulled itself from Draco's throat as a sudden vision of Draco nude flashed across her mind. "I did not need to think of that," she cried in Draco's voice. She frowned; it felt strange to talk in Draco's voice...not unpleasant but kind of a tingling in her throat due to his deeper timbre.

She took a deep breath and removed the pajama bottoms. Thankfully, Draco was not naked underneath but he wore a pair of black silk boxers. Well, what about that, Lavender owes Parvati five Sickles, she mused, very relieved. She finished dressing in the uniform and grabbed Draco's trunk. I hope this is just a phase or something, I don't want to spend the next year as Draco Malfoy. She shuddered. Or longer.

Her stomach did a flip at the prospect; having to spend time with Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle and Pansy Parkinson. She dragged the heavy trunk out of the room and her eyes widened in abject terror as she noticed the hundreds of flights of stairs that would take her downstairs. "The Malfoys are sadists," she whimpered.

"What is Master Draco doing?" a voice came and Hermione spun around to face the source, a little brownish-gray house-elf with a face that resembled a shriveled fruit dressed in a dirty pillowcase.

"Oh, you poor house-elf," Hermione whimpered. "Stuck here serving the...er...us. You should be free to seek wages and equal treatment."

The house-elf's eyes very nearly popped out of its head and Hermione was afraid that the house-elf was going to have a heart attack. "No! Master Draco, sorry Dodie is! Dodie promises never to ask questions. Master Draco must not free Dodie!" the tiny creature bawled, clenching Hermione's leg, its tears seeping into the gray material of the trousers. "Dodie is a good house-elf! Not likes Dobby!"

Hermione scoffed. "Dobby is an example for all house-elves," she said. Hermione winced as the house-elf blew its tiny nose on her trousers, its tiny body shaking as it cried.

"What's this?" a voice came. Hermione jerked around to see Lucius Malfoy walking toward her and the house-elf. Dodie immediately pulled away from Hermione, wiping its runny nose on the back of its arm.

"Nothing, sir," Hermione squeaked. "Just getting ready to g--go." She tried desperately to keep the tremble from Draco's voice. Lucius's storm-colored eyes narrowed in speculation.

"You're late," Lucius said and Hermione swallowed hard. There was a long silence punctuated only by Dodie's occasional sobs. "I'm proud of you, Draco. You've honored the Malfoy name."

Hermione bit back her retort, instead nodding dumbly. "Th--thank you," she stated. Lucius smiled warmly at her and Hermione stared at him in shock. The man snapped his fingers and a veritable army of house-eles appeared with the sound of a whip cracking. They lugged the trunk down the stairs, chattering happily, Dodie joining them.

Lucius squeezed Hermione's shoulder affectionately, following the house-elves. Hermione stared at the man's retreating form, her mouth wide open in shock. Draco has good parents? Now I know he's just a git, she mused. I can't even blame it on bad parenting...they seem really nice except for the fire-and-brimstone speeches about Mudbloods and pureblood superiority he must have been fed through the years. With a shrug, she followed Draco's father and the house-elves downstairs.

Part 4:
The Life and Times of Miss Hermione Granger

Draco was in hell. That was the only possible answer to this. He was stuck as a girl, not even a pretty girl...but Hermione Granger. He shuddered. This was just...wrong on so many levels. He stared at the girl's reflection in the mirror as dread set in. He would have to look at Granger's pitiful, naked Mudblood self. This was definitely too much for a Malfoy to bear.

"Hermione, hurry up or you'll be late!" the woman's voice came from downstairs where she'd retreated.

"I'm hurrying!" Draco said. With a deep sigh, Draco clenched his eyes shut and took of Hermione's nightgown. He swallowed hard and fumbled for the dresser, he let out a muttered oath as he pawed at empty space. He prepared for the worst as he opened his eyes. The reflection greeting him wasn't bad...actually, it was quite...delectable. Who knew that Granger had a decent body under her uniform? Hell, he'd even date her if she weren't a Gryffindor...or a Mudblood for that matter.

That wasn't saying much considering his last girlfriend, Pansy Parkinson...he shuddered as he remembered the alcohol-induced one-night stand he'd had with Pansy in fourth year after the Yule Ball. He let out a low wolf-whistle as he admired Hermione's body in the mirror. "You know, if she actually wore something more revealing, she might actually get shagged," Draco said, scowling darkly at Hermione's voice. It was rather creepy to hear Hermione's voice narrating his thoughts.

"Hermione!" a male voice called. Draco scowled and dressed in Hermione's uniform. He shivered, he was wearing a skirt...he'd be the laughingstock of the entire Slytherin House...well, if they knew that it was actually him.

A wicked gleam entered Hermione Granger's eyes. No, they'd never think it was the Prince of Slytherin. The blonde was in Hermione's body, wasn't he? Draco Malfoy was now McGonagall's pet and Gryffindor's resident know-it-all. The sadistic glee filled Draco's new body and he chuckled darkly. He could do whatever he wanted and not get in trouble; he could ruin the girl's life.

Draco grabbed the trunk and struggled to move it an inch. What in the name of Salazar Slytherin did she have in that trunk!? He got a few feet before pulling too hard and falling flat on his bum...well, Hermione's bum anyway. Not that whose bum he'd fallen onto mattered much to Draco, it still bloody well hurt. He stood up, rubbing Hermione's rear. "Stupid Mudblood," he scowled.

His body protested as he attempted to lug the heavy trunk out of the girl's room. In anger, he threw open the trunk to examine its contents. His eyes widened as he examined the school supplies, school books, clothes and strange objects in the trunk. Draco frowned as he picked up one of the odd objects in the trunk.

The device was a circular device with wires coming out of it; the thing had a slight gleam to it and felt smooth to the touch. At the ends of the wires were soft things that somewhat resembled earmuffs. There were strange buttons on the device and Draco pushed one, the earmuffs began to sing.

Draco's eyes widened and he carefully put the earmuffs on. His ears were immediately assailed by loud noises. The noises weren't unpleasant but not unlike the Weird Sisters. This was some kind of Muggle device that played music; he took out Hermione's satchel and carefully placed the device in it, making sure not to let anything happen to it to stop the song.

He then put all of the books unnecessary to school on the girl's bed and was relieved to find how much lighter the trunk was. He somehow managed to drag the trunk to the Muggle transportation thing. "I don't know if that trunk is going to fit into the car," the man said.

Draco examined the "car" curiously. So that's how Muggles got around without Apparating or broomsticks. The man winced as he lifted the trunk into the back of the "car" and the woman opened a door and sat down. Draco opened another door and sat in the back of the "car."

Draco's head bobbed to the music. The man got into the front seat and turned an object and the "car" roared. Draco yelped as the "car" began to move, he clenched his hands, his eyes wide with terror.

"Hermione, are you okay?" Hermione's mother asked and Draco nodded blankly. The "car" made its way through London and Draco had never been so glad to see King's Cross Station in his life. He stumbled out of the "car" and Mr. Granger placed the trunk on a cart. Draco directed the trunk to Platform 9 and escaped into Platform 9 ¾.

Part 5:
Behind the Mask

Hermione followed Draco's trunk downstairs where Lucius and Narcissa were waiting for her. "Now, Draco, be careful," Narcissa gushed. "No splinching yourself. Oh, I'm so happy for you, darling! My little boy!"

Hermione felt her -- well, Draco's -- face heat up at Narcissa's praise. Lucius rolled his eyes. "Pull yourself together, dearest," Lucius ordered, not unkindly. "He's a man now."

"My baby's all grown up," Narcissa murmured tearfully, kissing Hermione's forehead again.

"Mum..." Hermione whined. This was getting outlandish. Not only were Draco's parents nice but they seemed to be very much in love. It was like entering an episode of that show her parents used to watch, The Twilight Zone. She would have expected Narcissa to be under the Imperious to stay with Lucius Malfoy. "I'll be fine, promise." She Disapparated with a small pop.

"Really, Narcissa, don't you think you overdid it just a little?" Lucius sighed, kissing his wife's forehead.

"I had to make her realize that we weren't as bad as everyone thinks. It's all your fault, anyway, Lucius. Had to preach to Draco about being a Mudblood-hater," she shuddered at the word "Mudblood." "Honestly, Lucius, that wasn't very kind of you." She smacked her husband playfully.

"I had to make the Dark Lord believe I was still one of his followers," Lucius stated and Narcissa scoffed.

"No...you just utterly enjoy being a despicable bastard," she sighed.

"Narcissa, my love, you wound me," he pouted. He stared at where Hermione had been standing. "Do you really think we had to go to such extremes to get Draco to appreciate Granger?"

"Lucius, darling, of course," she said. "Our son is madly in love with her...he'll never admit it...because of your stupidity."

"But did you really have to switch their bodies?" Lucius inquired.

"Of course," Narcissa said flippantly. "Truthfully, I'm rather tired of his incessant groaning about Granger. He talks about her more than anyone else."

"You're so devious at times, darling, I love that about you," Lucius smirked, kissing his wife passionately.

"You're not so bad yourself," Narcissa smirked as the kiss ended. She gave him a look and then raced up the stairs with a giggle. Lucius grinned and chased his wife to their bedchamber.

Part 6:
Finding Things Out

"DRAKEY-POOH!" an annoyingly familiar nasally voice filled the air and Draco's eyes widened in terror. No! Of all the people to recognize me! he thought. Pansy squealed with joy and raced at him and Draco prepared himself for the hug that he knew was coming.

But it never came.

Pansy raced passed him straight into the arms of...Draco Malfoy? Draco's eyes widened as he watched Pansy hugging him, then narrowed in anger.

Hermione was completely unprepared for the blonde to attack her. "Pansy...let...me...go!" she cried, holding the girl off before the blonde could kiss her.

"What's the matter, my darling?" Pansy asked.

"Everything!" Hermione squeaked.

"Pansy," a very familiar voice cut in. "I need to talk to...Draco."

"Well, Draco doesn't want to talk to you, Mudblood," Pansy sniffed.

"Oh, believe me, Draco does want to talk to you," Hermione scowled as she examined herself. Pansy sent Hermione's body an Avada Kadavra glare and flounced off. Hermione grabbed Draco's -- her arm -- and dragged him in her body to the Head Car.

The two faced off silently for a while then spoke. "Who are you and what are you doing in my body?" Hermione and Draco cried at the same time. They sent death glares to each other. "Granger," Hermione's voice said.

"Malfoy," Draco's voice responded. "Give me my body back."

A smirk crossed the face that was Hermione's. "Actually, Granger, I find this body quite...comfortable," Draco stated.

"You--you ferret!" Hermione scowled.

"Is that the best you can come up with, Mudblood?" Draco asked.

Draco Malfoy's eyes narrowed as Hermione glared at her body. "We'll see...you do know that as long as you're in my body, I'm in yours," Hermione stated.

"Yeah, well, I know how much you must have wanted to see it, Granger," Draco stated.

Hermione shuddered in disgust at his comment. "And that means that everyone will think I'm you," Hermione answered. "No matter what I do." Hermione's shoulders shrugged. "Even if I kissed, oh say, Harry Potter?"

Draco smirked. "Always knew you had a thing for the Boy Who Just Wouldn't Die," he stated and then his eyes widened as he realized what Hermione had just said. "You'd touch my perfect lips to Potty's?"

Hermione smirked as she noted the high pitch that her voice had taken under the direction of Draco. "I would, Malfoy," she said. "So you'd better give me my body before I feel the need for slash-y goodness."

"'Slash-y goodness?'" Draco asked.

"Er...well...it's a Muggle term for homosexual urges," Hermione stated and Draco shuddered.

"I always knew you Muggles were twisted..." Draco stated and he frowned as he witnessed his body blush. "No, no blushing! Malfoys do not blush."

"Okay, fine, I won't blush," Hermione stated. "B--but you've got to be like me too."

"Oh, that's easy!" Draco scoffed. "'I like books because you can learn things and I love to learn things so I can be an annoying little know-it-all when I'm not part of a kinky little ménage a trois with the Weasel and Potty.'"

Hermione glared at him. "That's not even remotely true!" she proclaimed, blushing.

"You blush too easily," Draco scowled.

"I wouldn't blush so much if you didn't say so many blush-worthy things!" Hermione shot back.

"If you're going to survive in Slytherin, you'd better not blush as much," Draco stated crossing his arms over his chest.

Hermione scowled. "Just in time for the ritual sacrifice of fluffy bunnies?" she scoffed.

Draco smirked; Hermione was having trouble dealing with Draco in her body, when he kept smirking in such a Draco-like way. "Ritual sacrifices are so passé. Blood never comes out of silk, you know," he stated.

Hermione sent him a death glare.

Part 7:
To the Rescue...

Harry, refreshed from a summer at the Burrow, grinned at the Hogwarts Express for the second to last time he ever would. He felt his stomach sink to his knees. After this year, he'd never get to spend a night in Gryffindor Tower, trading tales with Ron, Seamus, Dean, and Neville. He'd never don the scarlet and gold of his Quidditch uniform. He'd never get to spend an entertaining weekend in Hogsmeade with Ron and Hermione. "I can't believe this is our last year," he said to Ron.

"We'll never have to see Malfoy's pasty rat face, we'll never have to have another Potions class, and we'll never have to sit through another History of Magic lesson," Ron rattled off. "You have to take the good with the bad, Harry."

Harry let a smile cross his lips as he thought of a life without Malfoy, Snape, and Binns. "No more Malfoy," he sighed with pleasure. Harry decided that after seven years, it was definitely time to let go...

"Feel sorry for Hermione then," Ginny piped up.

"What about Hermione?" Harry asked, slightly annoyed that the red-haired girl had interrupted his joyful thoughts of a world without Draco Malfoy.

"She's Head Girl," Ginny stated. "And Malfoy's Head Boy."

Ron shuddered. "Poor Mione," he said as he, Harry, and Ginny climbed aboard the Hogwarts Express. They joined Neville and Luna in a compartment and waited for Hermione. After roughly fifteen minutes of waiting, Ron piped up. "That's strange...Hermione should be done by now."

Luna's wide eyes turned to Ron. "She's talking with Draco," she stated in her strange, dreamy voice. Ron's face became a mottled red color and a vein stood out in sharp relief on his forehead.

"Hermione is alone with Malfoy?!" Ron demanded and Luna nodded.

Harry's green eyes shone with panic. "How come you didn't tell us this before?" he asked.

The blonde shrugged. "They're Head Boy and Girl, they have to talk about the school year," she stated.

"He better not have hurt her...or I'll..." Ron trailed off, his eyes blazing. The two boys raced out of the compartment.

Hermione and Draco stared at one another. "You'd best not act like a Mudblood," Draco stated, glaring at Hermione.

Hermione arched a brow. "And just how does a Mudblood act, Malfoy?" she demanded. "Hmm?" She put her hands on her hips and Draco looked horrified.

"Don't do that!" he cried. Hermione smirked at him and Draco shivered. Bloody hell, I am so very attractive when I smirk, he mused. Hmmm...that actually explains why Blaise has been giving me that look... Blaise was an alright bloke, yeah. But Malfoys didn't swing that way. Okay, so there was some debate about Great Uncle Magnus.

"Blaise Zabini?" Hermione asked. She'd always wondered about Blaise...

Draco came back to himself -- er, Hermione's self -- when the girl spoke up in his voice. "Did I say that out loud?" he asked.

"Apparently," Hermione said. He glared at her as he realized that she still held his hands on his hips in an entirely effeminate gesture. Like Great Uncle Magnus. Draco shoved his arms down to his sides. "I'm a man, Granger--"

"If you can say that..." Hermione stated, crossing Draco's arms over his chest.

A smirk came over Hermione's face, a look that somehow suited the Gryffindor. "You've had all this time with my body...I'm sure you've done some...things to me," he purred.

Hermione's eyes widened as her voice purred. How did he manage to manipulate her voice in such a way that she -- in all her sixteen years -- hadn't managed? It just wasn't fair. Then she realized what he had said. "I most certainly did not!" she scoffed. "You didn't, did you!? You better not have looked at me!" There was a note of panic in Draco's voice and Hermione's face sneered.

"Why would I ever look at a pitiful Mudblood..." he trailed off as Hermione sent him a death glare.

"There we go with the 'Mudblood' bit again! What makes me any different from you?" Hermione demanded.

Draco opened his mouth to explain to the girl about the differences between Mudbloods and purebloods when Harry Potter and Ron Weasley stormed into the compartment. "Get away from her, Malfoy!" Harry cried in his Hero Saving the Day voice. A voice that he had secretly been working on for quite some time. It had originally started as "Unhand her, you villain," but had evolved.

"I wasn't going to do anything..." Draco stated.

"Mione, are you okay?" Ron asked, moving toward Draco.

"Oh, bloody hell," Draco muttered under Hermione's breath.

"Um...I'll be going then," Hermione said. "I've got loads to do, being the Prince of Slytherin and all..."

That's the best she can come up with? 'I'm the Prince of Slytherin!' Draco demanded.

Hermione's eyes widened with horror. The last thing she needed while she was in Draco's body was for her friends to find out she was in Draco's body. And he goes shouting out so everyone can hear him, that he's the Prince of Slytherin.

Then she realized something, her lips hadn't moved...and he had spoken in his voice? How was that possible? One word came to mind: telepathy. Maybe since he was in her body, she could hear his thoughts. Does that mean he can hear my thoughts, she wondered.

Hermione's eyes widened as Draco heard the girl's voice. Your thoughts? Draco wondered.

Oh, fuck! Hermione thought and Draco grinned. He hadn't even known that the Muggle-born even knew a dirty word. Things had just gotten a whole lot more interesting.

"Yeah, you'd better run," Ron said, moving to protect Draco from Hermione.

Maybe I should run? Draco mused as Ron started invading his Personal Bubble. Hermione snorted at Draco's uncomfortable thought. Ron glared at Hermione, his fists clenching.

"I'll be leaving then," Hermione said, exiting the compartment.

Ron smiled in triumph. "Did you see him run?" he asked Harry.

"Er...Ron, it didn't look like he ran," Harry said. "Of course not, Malfoys don't run," Draco growled. Why me? What did I deserve this? he thought.

In the Muggle world, there's this thing called 'karma'... Hermione's taunting voice came.

Oh, shut up! he thought back. He wondered why he hadn't heard her thoughts beforehand. Maybe it was because she hadn't thought. Or maybe they hadn't met face-to-face in their bodies. He didn't know, he really didn't give a Blast-Ended Skrewt's blast end why he heard her thoughts. He just knew that he didn't want the Mudblood mucking around in his mind. Or in his body. Whoever did this to me was going to know the Wrath of Malfoy.

I'm sure... Hermione said drolly.

Blast you, get out of my mind! he growled.

Give my body back and I will! Hermione shot back.

You think I want to be in your body!? he demanded.

"Hermione, are you okay?" Harry asked, looking at his friend's body with concern.

Draco glanced at Potty and Weasel, his stomach dropping. "Never...bloody...better," he bit out. My life is Hell... He was surprised that Hermione didn't have a smart comment to add to his misery.

Part 8:
What I Did on My Summer Vacation

Hermione heartily agreed with Draco's statement. Since she'd awakened, her life had been hell. She was a Slytherin, a male Slytherin no less, and at the worst, she was Draco Malfoy. Hermione still hadn't wrapped her brain around the situation. She walked through the train in a daze. "Draco," a voice called. "Draco!"

She continued on and jumped as someone tapped her shoulder. She jumped around to find herself face-to-face with Blaise Zabini, a handsome somewhat androgynous boy who seemed to be Italian in origin with curly black hair, high cheekbones, olive-toned skin, and slanting deep brown nearly black eyes. He was about Draco's height, maybe a bit taller, but more muscular as well, and he also had amazing cheekbones. He was another much-discussed subject in the butterbeer-induced girls' nights in. Although the conversations about Blaise usually involved discussion of his sexual orientation, but he was still cute...Blaise smirked, he'd caught her looking. She felt a blush fill her cheeks.

"Why, Draco, I don't believe I've ever seen you blush before," he said.

"Don't get used to it, Zabini," Hermione huffed.

"I wouldn't dare," Blaise said with the ghost of a smile. For the first time, Hermione noticed that Blaise had dimples. Again, Hermione was staring. I so need to stop doing that, she thought. "So, let's get to our compartment."

Hermione followed Blaise and instantly regretted it. The compartment was full of Slytherins: Crabbe, Goyle, and -- worst of all -- Pansy. Kill me now.

Part 9:
A Room with a View

Draco frowned as he looked at the sea of scarlet-and-gold that surrounded him, Potter and Weasel on either side of him and, across the way, sat the Weaselette and Largebottom. He was completed by the people he hated most. How cruel and fickle a maiden was fate...bloody Gryffindors, he thought with annoyance. Well, at least as Head Boy -- er, Head Girl -- he'd have a room of his own, far, far, far away from the Gryffindors...well, most of the Gryffindors. He looked across the room to his body which was currently being checked out by Pansy and Blaise (and almost every other female in the room and quite a few males as well).

Hermione, who currently occupied said tall, blonde, and gorgeous body (if Draco did say so himself), looked like she was trying to hide. It would have been amusing if that terrified look been on Hermione's own brown-haired, brown-eyed, freckled visage and not on his handsome, blonde, pale, silver-eyed one...

He ate his food in silence, glaring at Potter, Weaselette, Largebottom, and Weasel who kept trying to draw him into conversation. Finally, the four gave up and talked amongst themselves. When he was full, his plate cleared and he looked around him. Too many Gryffindors, so few hexes. Eventually the sounds of eating were replaced with groans of the full and Professor Dumbledore rose to talk. Blah-blah -- world in danger -- blah-blah -- Voldemort is back. Draco tuned out the bespectacled elderly man and, instead, thought of interesting ways to torture, dismember, and kill whoever put him in Hermione's body.

Then there was a hand on his -- Hermione's thigh -- his eyes widened and he looked at the hand's owner. Weasel had slid his hand to Draco's -- Hermione's -- thigh. Brown eyes narrowed with anger. "You will remove your hand or I will remove your fingers," he growled with Hermione's voice. The freckled hand was soon removed and Draco scooted closer to Potter and hoped for the end of the Feast.

Hermione wasn't being molested by a long-nosed, freckled redhead but it wasn't as if she was in any better company. Thankfully, Blaise was being quite nice even if she felt a bit uncomfortable from the way he kept looking at her. She was at a standstill at what to say although the manners that had been forced into her by her parents (and once upon a time by Great-Grandmother Granger until the elderly woman had found out her great-granddaughter was a witch and the octogenarian had screamed that Hermione should be burned at the stake) dictated that she should at least make an attempt to converse.

"So, er...how about those Cannons?" she asked.

Blaise looked at her as if she had lost her mind. "You're kidding, right? They make Pansy look good at Quidditch," the black-haired youth said.

"Oh...right," Hermione said, trying to think of things that she could say.

"But even I have to admit that their newest Chaser is quite delectable," he stated.

Hermione frowned, nodded, and wondered if the Chaser was a girl or a boy. If it was a girl, then Parvati owed Lavender seven Sickles, if not then Lavender owed Parvati twelve Sickles (five for Draco's silk boxers and seven for Blaise's sexual orientation). She looked across the Great Hall where her body sat between Harry and Ron and then her gaze darted to where Lavender and Parvati were whispering and turning their gazes toward Hermione-in-Draco's-body with the lovesick look of lust that most females and a few males were giving her.

What do they see in Draco!? Hermione wondered, utterly confused. He's a complete and utter prat, a despicable bastard and...no man should ever look that good in silk boxers. Hermione's eyes widened as Draco's gaze met hers, brown eyes shining with amusement and a hint of a smirk on the lips. Oh, God, I did not just think that!

I knew you had to be checking out my body, Granger, you naughty, naughty girl, he purred in response.

I vehemently despise you, she replied.

I feel the same, Mudblood, he stated.

Well, Draco, you're in my body...which means you have my blood. You're the Mudblood now, she said.

Across the room at the Gryffindor table, Hermione Granger's eyes opened in abject horror and, at the Slytherin table, a smile slid across Draco Malfoy's lips.

After the Feast, Draco and Hermione waited for Professor Dumbledore to take them to the Head Chambers while glaring at each other with open hostility. After twenty minutes of waiting for Professor Dumbledore to stop talking to Professor McGonagall, the Headmaster finally made his way to the Head Girl and Boy. "Very well, I'll take you to your Chambers," he said.

The glaring continued as the Professor led them to a tower which was guarded by a painting of Hogwarts with four figures in front of it: one was a tall, pale wizard with lank, greasy black hair, black eyes, and a monkey-like face with a silver scepter and wearing robes of silver-and-green with a large snake draped on his shoulders; beside the cold man stood a kindly-looking brown-haired, round-faced, motherly woman with twinkling yellow eyes dressed in robes of black-and-yellow, a trowel in her hand and a badger at her feet; on the woman's other side stood a tall, thin, aristocratic-looking woman with bronze-red hair, high cheekbones, and heavy-lidded blue eyes wearing robes of blue-and-bronze, holding a bronze telescope with an eagle perched on her shoulder; on the opposite side of the canvas stood a tall, muscular man with a lion's mane of blond hair, golden eyes, golden skin, clad in robes of scarlet-and-gold, holding a sword with a lion at his feet. "Ah, yes, Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, I'd like for you to meet Godric Gryffindor--" Dumbledore started.

"How delightful! Another Gryffindor! I am most pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Granger!" the man in scarlet-and-gold proclaimed, the lion roaring in agreement.

"Rowena Ravenclaw." Dumbledore nodded toward the tall woman who gave a disappointed smile.

"What, Albus, have no Ravenclaws earned grades good enough to be Head Boy or Girl?" she questioned.

"Well, the Sorting Hat thought about putting me in Ravenclaw," Hermione said.

"Really, Mr. Malfoy?" Dumbledore asked. "I was under the impression that the Sorting Hat had barely touched your head when it put you in Slytherin."

"Er...yeah," Hermione stammered. "You know how fast that old hat thinks..."

"Of course I do!" Godric proclaimed.

"A Slytherin!" the greasy man on the far side of the canvas purred, stroking the snake that slithered over his shoulders. "It's about time, Albus!" He glared at Draco with distaste. "Unfortunately, yet another Mudblood..."

Draco glared at the man. "Excuse me! I'll have you know that..." he trailed off as Hermione gave him a look "...that I am the best student in Hogwarts."

The round-faced woman at his side glared at the dark-haired man. "You will not use that word around decent people, Salazar!" she growled, brandishing her trowel at him. When the man moved to speak again, Rowena silenced him with Silencio and he gave her a glare of great loathing. "I'm sorry about Salazar, children, he's extremely rude."

"And, of course," Professor Dumbledore said, "Salazar Slytherin" -- he nodded toward the dark-haired man who gave a very rude gesture -- "And Helga Hufflepuff." Helga gave a small curtsy and a sweet smile that showed dimples.

"It's an honor to make your acquaintance, young Mr. Malfoy and Miss Granger. I'll have you know that the senior Malfoy was quite the troublemaker," Helga said, accenting her words with gestures of her trowel. "You are Head Boy and Girl; you are an example for all students."

"Er...yeah, I promise to behave, Professor Hufflepuff," Hermione said sheepishly.

"I will have none of that!" Helga stated, blushing prettily. "I must insist that you call me 'Helga.'"

Hermione smiled brightly at Helga who gave a girlish giggle. "And just as handsome as his father, don't think you can sway me, young Mr. Malfoy," she said, waggling her finger at him.

Rowena rolled her eyes heavenward. "Oh, really, Helga," she murmured. "Password?"

Dumbledore stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Friendship," the man stated.

"Very well then, Albus," Godric said and the portrait opened and Hermione, Draco, and Dumbledore made their way up a staircase and into a luxurious common room dominated by a roaring fire that had the Hogwarts Crest hanging above it. All around the tower were large windows that looked over the grounds of Hogwarts, the lake, and the Forbidden Forest.

"Nice view," Hermione murmured as she looked down at the darkened grounds, wondering how beautiful the grounds would look at sunset or sunrise. She, then, looked over the room which held all the House colors, dominated by Slytherin green and Gryffindor gold.

"Draco Dormiens Numquam Tittilandos," Draco said with a smirk as he read the Hogwarts Crest.

"To the right is Miss Granger's room and, to the left, is Mr. Malfoy's room," Dumbledore said. "I trust you will make yourselves cozy." He headed back the way he had come, whistling under his breath.

"Well, I'd like to say that I enjoy the pleasure of your company, but that would be a lie," Hermione said, heading toward the spiral stairs that led to the Head Girl's room.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you..." Draco drawled.

"Well, you aren't me so..." she trailed off at the absurdity of her rebuttal and managed to get halfway up the spiral staircase before it turned into a slide and she fell ass-over-teakettle down the slide.

Draco smirked down at her. "Told you so..." he stated. "Boys are less trustworthy than girls." Hermione blinked up at him, Draco frowned. "Er...right..."

"I don't really get the point here," Hermione said, picking herself up and dusting off her trousers. "I mean, there are other places to have sex here than in the bedrooms..."

Draco chuckled. "Well, the founders were probably old-fashioned and thought the only place to do so was in the bedrooms."

There was a long, awkward pause. "Are we talking about sex?" Hermione said and Draco nodded, looking thoroughly shell-shocked. "We're going to pretend this never happened."

"Definitely," he replied, swallowing hard and moving up the newly-reformed spiral staircase toward the Head Girl's room.

Part 10:
As the Quaffle is Tossed

After surviving a day as Draco Malfoy, Hermione was certain she could survive anything...except another day stuck in the same situation. When she awoke in the still-unfamiliar surroundings of the Head Tower and beneath a canopy of green velvet, she began to fervently hope and pray to every deity she could name that she wouldn't look in the mirror to see Draco's face looking back. She took a deep, cleansing breath. You can do this, Hermione, she told herself. Just look in the mirror. -- But what if I see that ugly, pasty face staring back at me? -- Well, okay, it's not that ugly. It could be worse; you could be Crabbe or Goyle. She shuddered, but found a margin of humor in the idea of explaining the Sixth Principle of Merlin's Law wearing the skin of Crabbe. The humor was quickly lost at the icky feeling that accompanied the idea of being in Crabbe's skin. She slid out of bed and walked to the mirror.

Draco stared up at the red velvet canopy with distaste. Red, he could stand, but gold...blech. Gold just clashed with everything Malfoy and that was saying something. With pale skin and pale hair, almost any color worked; Draco had to admit that black, green, silver, and blue looked especially striking on him. But that had been before. Nothing could possibly look good on Granger, he reflected before remembering the glimpse he'd had of Hermione's body the day before. Well, maybe some things would look good on her. He coaxed himself out of bed and walked to the mirror. "Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who's the fairest of them all?"

"Not you," the reflection stated with distaste. "We'll talk if you do something about that hair." Draco scowled darkly at the mirror, fingering the golden-brown curls that framed Hermione Granger's heart-shaped face. The reflection looked somewhat scared at the murderous look on the innocent, befreckled face. "Well, you asked..."

He turned around to get the full view and scowled at the sight of Hermione's hair. "That's what it looks like from the back!?" he asked. "No wonder she's so bitter."

Draco headed through the bathroom and into the interconnected Head Boy's room. A little smirk played at Hermione's lips. You have to love double-standards, he mused as he entered the Head Boy's room.

Hermione stared at Draco's reflection in the mirror with annoyance. "Why!?" she demanded as the pale face stared back.

"Being bad never looked so good..." the reflection drawled.

"Because you're lucky?" a very familiar voice came up from behind her and she turned to face...herself. "I should sell my hair for Polyjuice Potion, I could make millions."

"Why are you in my room?" she demanded.

"Actually, it's my room, Granger," he answered. "And I wanted to get some things. If I'm stuck in this body I'm going to at least make it look good."

Hermione was trapped between disgust and disdain. "I happen to be very attractive," she sniffed.

"Well, you are now," Draco stated and began to ransack the trunk at the foot of the green velvet-bedecked four-poster bed that dominated the Head Boy's room. Hermione watched him as he murmured something about curls. His hands full of hair care products, he retreated into the bathroom.

"W--what do you think you're doing!?" Hermione demanded, following him.

"Well, there's this thing called 'bathing' that I'm quite fond of. I don't know if you Mudbloods are familiar with it..." he stated.

"Well, aren't you the cauldron calling the kettle black?" she stated. "As I said yesterday, that Hermione-suit you're in has my blood in it, too."

Draco pouted. "Take it back!" he growled.

"I will not! You've been making my life miserable since the day we met because my parents aren't inbred!" she cried.

"Inbred!?" Draco cried. "I'll have you know that...oh, right. Yeah."

"And because my relatives aren't psychopathic sociopaths!" she shot out.

"Hey! Er...wait...that's true," he replied.

"And you are not bathing me without me...being there," she said lamely.

"Are you suggesting that we bathe together?"

"Yes!" Then she thought about it. Sure, she'd seen her body on numerous occasions and the idea of bathing with Draco had the teeniest bit of appeal (she quickly squashed the appeal of bathing with an ill-mannered contemptuous jerk). "Er...no..." Once again, Draco headed toward the bathroom.

"A--and you'd better not do anything...unnatural or wrong to my body, I mean it! Because I will know and I'll do it to yours!" she cried. The bathroom door was slammed in her face and she heard chuckling from the other side, soon mingling with the sounds of faucets being turned and water running.

One hour. One-and-a-half hours. Two hours. Two-and-a-half hours later, the bathroom door finally opened into the Head Girl's room. Hermione entered the steam-filled bathroom. She was thankful that the Wizarding World didn't use hot-water tanks or she'd be taking a particularly shivery bath. She took a fluffy towel and wiped the mirror clean. "Don't say a word!" she warned the reflection and it shrugged.

"Okay, I can do this. It's just a guy. A--a naked guy. I've seen naked guys before. No, I haven't -- well, I have on the telly, but never a naked guy who looks like Draco Malfoy." She took a few calming breaths to keep from hyperventilating. "I'll just, uh, close my eyes. Y--yes, eyes closed." She stripped off the pajamas she'd worn to bed and swallowed very hard as she finally removed the boxers.

She touched something and she couldn't keep her eyes closed even though that modest voice in the back of her head screamed that she shouldn't look. "Well, he--he probably looked and took full advantage of me...my body..." Instead of the nauseous feeling that she had been anticipating, she felt a little light-headed at the knowledge. She looked down and blushed; a bright, flaming red that gave Ron's hair a run for its money -- as she saw Draco's...er...uh...his...yeah...um...manhood. "Well...that's...interesting." Her voice was a squeak.

After the time she took trying to debate on whether she should sneak a peek at Draco's male parts, she was running late and was bathed and dressed in under a half-hour. She headed downstairs to find Draco shoving his books into her backpack. "You are not wearing that!" Hermione screamed.

It wasn't really what Draco had on, but how little he did. The dress shirt was mostly unbuttoned showing off a lacy white bra that Hermione couldn't even remember owning, the ends tied under her breasts, and the skirt was folded up so many times that it just came below her butt. Hermione Granger's body looked like a tarted-up trollop.

Draco stared at Hermione with annoyance. "I had to do something," he said.

"I look li--like a...scarlet woman!" Hermione cried.

"'A scarlet woman'?" Draco asked with amusement. Hermione growled and began to attack the clothes, jerking the skirt back to where it belonged and she was in the process of re-buttoning the top when someone entered the room.

"Oi! Hermione! It was great, Harry sweet-talked Slytherin in Parselmouth, and he let us..." Ron cried. He trailed off as he saw Draco's hands on Hermione's body. "Rowena Ravenclaw's satin, lace-edged knickers!"

"You've got to be kidding me," Hermione groaned, jerking away from Draco, whose shirt she had finished buttoning properly. "It isn't what it looks like!"

Draco was really quite amused by Hermione's flustered response, but noting the look of apoplectic shock on Ron's usually-blank face, he decided that it would be better for the intruding Gryffindors to just forget. He couldn't stand the idea of his perfect face being bruised. With great reluctance, he murmured under his breath, "Obliviate."

"Oi! Hermione! It was great, Harry sweet-talked Slytherin in Parselmouth, and he let us in. Can you believe it?" Ron continued. Hermione made a mental note to yell at Slytherin afterward.

"No, I can't," Hermione mumbled.

"Who asked you, Malfoy?" Harry demanded, and Hermione rolled her eyes. She quickly exited the head common room and made her way to breakfast, wondering how much longer she could take being trapped in Draco's body without cracking.

A few minutes later, she was surrounded by Crabbe and Goyle on one side and Pansy on the other. Pansy was yammering on about some stupid stuff about dress robes and Crabbe and Goyle were staring at a length of parchment on which an intricate map of the solar system was drawn. "No, no, Vincent," Goyle said. "You've made Neptune a fourth-millimeter too big. It'll never work! And look at Io! You need to use different ink; it's the wrong color."

Hermione stared at Crabbe and Goyle in shock. They were smart? Since when!?

Professor Dumbledore stood up and looked over the crowded Great Hall. "Students! I have a very exciting announcement to make! As you may have noticed, there are now cottages near the Forbidden Forest." Hermione had not noticed and she felt a sinking feeling. "Any of you who have Muggle or Squib relatives are welcome to invite your families to stay at Hogwarts where they will be kept safe by the school's ancient magic!" She knew it had to have been along those lines...really, she did. "Our Head Boy and Girl will assist your relatives in finding a cottage suited to their comfort."

Hermione frowned at her scrambled eggs. "I'm not a bellhop," she muttered. Why did things only seem to be getting worse lately?

Crabbe examined Hermione curiously. "Draco, when are we going to have our tryouts?"

"Tryouts?" Hermione asked, confused.

"Quidditch tryouts," Goyle stated.

"Quidditch..." she said, "that's right. I'm the captain. Of the Quidditch team."

"Yes. You are," Crabbe said. "Of course, Gregory and I will be retaining our roles as Beaters, won't we?"

"Uh, yeah, whatever," she said, swallowing hard. I can't do this! I can barely fly on a broomstick! she thought.

You've got to be kidding me! Draco groused. If Slytherin loses, I will personally hold it against you!

Excuse me! I'd rather work on studies than some stupid sport! she proclaimed.

Some stupid sport! Draco yelled. Quidditch is not stupid! I will not have you embarrassing the Malfoy name! We're going to practice your Quidditch skills. Tonight. Meet me on the pitch at midnight and don't you dare try to worm out of it!

But--but I have to study! Hermione squeaked. Draco didn't reply and Hermione knew she had lost the argument.

Across the Great Hall, Draco sat between Potter and Weasley and wondered if he could get in trouble for using the Entrails-Expelling Spell on Weasley if he kept touching. "So, Pot--Harry, when are you holding Quidditch tryouts?" he asked.

Harry stared at the boy who looked like Hermione with shock. "Quidditch, since when do you care about Quidditch?" Weasley asked.

"Well, darling Vicktor taught me to care about Quidditch," Draco said. Weasley turned a brilliant shade of chartreuse; it clashed horribly with that clown hair of his and Draco felt a little better.

"Er...well...um, I guess I'll have them next week," the Boy Who Lived to Annoy Draco said.

"Excellent," Draco murmured. "I'm thinking of trying out."

The Weaselette choked on her pumpkin juice and sputtered it all over the table. Harry blushed and began to dab at the mess with his napkin. Draco stared at him. "Evanesco," he said, making the juice disappear. "Why? You don't think I'm good enough?"

"Um...in all fairness, Hermione..." Potter started.

"Are you kidding? You're terrible, you're the absolute worst!" Ron cried.

Brown eyes widened in challenge. "Oh, you're one to talk, King Weasley! I'll show you." Draco left the table for the Head House, humming the Slytherin version of "Weasley is Our King."

At midnight, Draco dragged Hermione, his old Nimbus 2001, and his Firebolt to the Quidditch pitch. The girl in boy's clothing was actually disappointed that they hadn't been caught by Peeves, Filch, or Mrs. Norris. "A--are you absolutely sure about this, really? You've never seen me on a broom. I'm terrible at Quidditch. There's no help. At all."

Brown eyes narrowed. "I will make you good at Quidditch if it kills me," Draco growled. Hermione pondered the idea of a dead Draco for a while until she realized that if he died, he might take her body with him and she'd be stuck in his for the rest of her life.

Draco straddled the Nimbus 2001 with the elegance of someone who had done it have a million times before -- and, well, he probably had -- and began to fly. It was strange for Hermione to see herself flying so gracefully through the air. He landed nearby and gazed at Hermione with a smirk on the lips he bore. "The Firebolt's a lot easier to handle, so you'll be using it," he stated. Hermione was surprised by the almost-nice tone of his voice until he tacked on, "You'll need all the help you can get."

Hermione sighed, blowing the blond hair out of her face -- well, Draco's face -- and straddled the Firebolt. She clutched the broom for dear life as it slowly began to rise, Draco's pale knuckles growing even paler due to the strangle-hold she had on the Firebolt. "Oh, God...oh, God...oh, God..." she chanted.

"What?" Draco demanded, flying up next to her.

"I'm acrophobic, you great moron!" she screamed.

"You're...afraid of spiders? What do spiders have to do with anything?"

"Not arachno, acro! I don't like heights!"

Draco sighed and rested his forehead against the Nimbus 2001 and debated whether suicide was the honorable way to go. The very idea that Slytherin would lose because of a stupid mix-up...

Part 11:
The Lady in Red

It was one of those painfully bright days that made Draco wish Mother Nature would take it down a few notches. Instead of spending the day in his blissfully-not-so-bright indoor classes, he was stuck doing this. Playing goodwill ambassador to the Headmaster's latest insane endeavor. He followed an even-surlier-than-ever Snape across the castle grounds flanked on either side by Potter and Weasley. A little ahead of Draco was his body automated by one Hermione Granger.

Draco was actually quite thankful for the view. He very rarely got to see himself from this angle and he could see why many a girl fainted at the very sight of his tall, blonde, and gorgeous form. His body had been artfully carved from the finest alabaster, his eyes molten silver, his hair the purest strands of silken platinum, his body was a work of art: the purest, perfected form of masculinity, a dream sculpted in such a way as to bring tears of joy to the very eyes of Michelangelo. He was a god among mortals, a lord among peasants, the kind of bloke who could make every woman between the ages of eight and eighty fall madly in love at first glance, and he was the source of hot flashes and slick knickers in every female he met. In other, simpler, cruder words: he was dead sexy. Plus, he was modest.

Ron fell back a bit and grabbed Harry's arm. "Er...Harry is Hermione, uh, checking Draco out?" he asked.

There, walking down the path toward the motley crew of Weasel, Scarface, the Prince of Slytherin, and the owner of the body of the Prince of Slytherin, was the reason that Draco was stuck in the blindingly-bright sunlight instead of the cool, dank, dungeon darkness working on his favorite subject: Potions. Life was just unfair.

A man, who was as wide as he was tall, with an impressive and neatly-trimmed mustache, looked around warily, his double-chins wobbling. A boy with shellacked blond hair and frightened (who bore a striking resemblance to a pig in a wig) clutched his enormous rear end in a death grip. Wringing her hands beside them was a tall, thin, long-necked woman with a horse face. Harry swallowed hard and closed the distance between Snape and himself to stare at his aunt Petunia, uncle Vernon, and cousin Dudley.

Snape had a strange look on his sallow face that Harry had seen before...on Hagrid's face...when he looked at Norbert...besottedly. Draco moved to Snape's other side to get a look at the first Muggles he had ever seen. "Who is that enchanting woman?" came Snape's breathless murmur.

Harry and Draco stared at Snape, then at the only woman they could see. "Excuse me?" Harry inquired.

"That beautiful, vibrant woman! The lady in red," Snape said, his voice still breathless.

Harry turned his gaze once again to the only woman they could see. The only woman dressed in red. "Aunt P--Petunia?" the Boy Who Lived stammered hoarsely.

"Petunia," Snape moaned. "A beautiful name! I should have expected no less!"

Draco looked from Petunia to Snape and back again. Oh, no! Please! Think of the children! he thought. He did.

He had a momentary vision of a sallow-skinned, black-eyed blonde with a horse's face, long neck, and a hooked nose. He, then, had a vision of the act of said child's conception. He vomited in his mouth. Draco had a sudden, desperately overwhelming desire to scrub his mind's eye with bleach and a scouring pad. GODDAMN YOU, MALFOY!!! Hermione's enraged voice filled his head. I can wash and wash and scrub and wash some more and I will never be clean again! Draco felt the same way.

The groups paused a few feet from one another and Draco could make out the same besotted expression on Harry's aunt's face and felt a margin of joy at the desperate and horrified look on Harry's face. Oh, it would be too wonderfully evil if the professor ended up with Harry's auntie! The woman's green eyes -- the same as Harry's, Hermione noted -- looked at the Potions professor that made Hermione feel even more unclean. It was Harry's turn to vomit in his mouth.

"Are you wearing a dress?!" the large man demanded, his mustache bristling.

Snape looked appalled, smoothing his traditional black robes. "Of course not!" he cried.

"Of course not, dear," Petunia murmured in a giggly, girlish voice that turned Harry's stomach and made panic rise on the scarred boy's face. "I--I'm...oh, dear, I seem to have forgotten my name...it's a flower, yes. Daisy, no, that's not it..." Petunia twisted her blond hair around her fingers with their menacingly-long nails as she tried frantically to remember her name.

"Petunia!" her husband proclaimed, his face bright red and his chins jiggling threateningly.

"Oh, right! Of course! My name is Petunia Evans--"

"Dursley!" Vernon cried. "Petunia Dursley! And I'm her husband" -- he said the word "husband" in a tone of voice that clearly said "so keep your filthy, dress-wearing, freaky, wizard hands away from my woman" or something similar -- "Vernon Dursley and our son, Dudley."

Harry looked at his cousin, finally noticing him after being so thrown off by his aunt's frightening apparent infatuation with his most-hated teacher. Dudley had lost weight; instead of being roughly the size of a baby elephant, he was now only the size of Crabbe and Goyle put together. He looked back to his aunt and Snape, hoping that he had mistaken the signs. No -- he hadn't. This was so...so very wrong.

In Dumbledore's opening of Hogwarts to the Squib and Muggle relatives of Hogwarts students, the Dursleys had been forced (almost at wandpoint) to come to Hogwarts to keep them safe from Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Harry really wished they hadn't. Not that he wanted them dead. Not really. Most of the time. Well, sometimes...

The next day in N.E.W.T. Potions, Snape was running late. Really late. "I heard there's a rule that if a teacher's fifteen minutes late, class is canceled," Ron said hopefully.

Seven minutes passed. Eight. Ten. Thirteen. Fourteen. With thirty seconds to go until the fifteen minute rule was in place and most of the students on the edge of their seat for a harried exit, Snape strolled into the room, whistling. Hermione was almost certain that he was whistling "Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah." His hair wasn't nearly as greasy as usual and had been pulled back in a ponytail, gone were his trademark black robes in favor of green robes that added color to his pallid skin and made him seem less sallow. A Ravenclaw girl fell off her stool at the sight.

He's almost...attractive, Hermione mused. Don't you DARE say anything, Malfoy!

Wouldn't dream of it, came Draco's snide reply.

"Today, we're going to make the Potion of Happiness. Begin." The instructions appeared on the board and the class went to work. Instead of his usual vulture-like hovering, Snape sat in his chair and plucked petals from a petunia in what seemed to be "loves me, loves me not."

Hermione stared at him in shock, nearly spilling her cauldron's contents in the process. At the end of the lesson, Snape examined the potions. "Excellent, Potter, ten points to Gryffindor!" Snape proclaimed.

Even from her vantage point in the back of the classroom, she could tell that the thick, gloppy orange potion was nothing at all like the purple, translucent potion it was supposed to be. Harry stared at the Potions professor in shock. "Ten points to each House for just being here!" Snape exclaimed.

A Hufflepuff fell off his chair and seemed to be having a massive coronary. "I think he's having a heart attack," a student cried.

"Wonderful! Wonderful! Five points to Hufflepuff!" was Snape's distracted reply.

"That was...that was...just...just wrong," Ron finally managed after five minutes of attempting to string together a coherent sentence.

Harry couldn't speak but one of his eyes seemed to be twitching an awful lot. He murmured something garbled and Draco could make out the word "therapy." After some time, Draco finally decided that Harry had said something along the lines of "There isn't enough money in the world to pay for the therapy." Draco was inclined to agree.

By the time lunch had come around, the news of Snape's apparent break with reality along with the first Muggle arrivals was the talk of Hogwarts. A table had been set up on a dais just below the dais that held the head table. Vernon, Petunia, and Hermione's parents were the only ones there. Hermione winced and fervently hoped that they wouldn't look for her, hoped that Draco wouldn't ruin her already-strained relationship with her parents.

She sighed softly and allowed her disappointment to fill her. After Potions, she had become rather depressed. The only bright spot in the foreseeable future as Draco Malfoy was the idea that she'd finally get the recognition in Potions that she deserved. But her first day of Potions while wearing Draco's skin was the first day (possibly since ever) that Snape was in a good mood. It simply wasn't fair.

Blaise sauntered up and Hermione eyed him warily. "So, what do you think of the charming new developments?" he asked. She didn't answer. "Personally, I feel positively sorry for the Muggles. No magic! How horrible. How positively...primitive." Blaise continued with a little smirk of his full lips. "The boy, the very fat one? Millicent Bulstrode's fallen for him." He nodded toward a spot further down the Slytherin table where Millicent was sitting with Harry's enormous cousin, putting her best flirt on. It was frightening since Millicent looked like the closest living relative of a Neanderthal.

Hermione turned her gaze to the Head and Muggle Tables. Petunia and Snape were exchanging surreptitious glances at one another; Snape would blush, Petunia would giggle behind her hand, and then they'd repeat the process. Vernon was turning a rather violent shade of violet at his wife's antics. At the Gryffindor table, Harry's face had turned a sick shade of puce.

Petunia Evans-Dursley and Severus Snape? Dudley Dursley and Millicent Bulstrode? Hermione Granger in Draco Malfoy's body? Draco Malfoy in Hermione Granger's body? Had the entire world gone insane and Hermione just hadn't gotten the memo?