Chapter One – The Old Switcheroo

Severus Snape put the finishing touches on his Potions essay and sat back in his chair. It was late, but there were still a few students in the common room, frantically flipping through textbooks and scribbling away. It was fifth year, the OWL's were fast approaching, and the teachers were merciless. He swept his books off the table and headed for the dormitory.

"Snape!" said a greedy voice, "You've finished it?"

Severus turned around to see Avery eyeing him.

"Why don't you help me, then? I've got McGonagall's essay yet," he moaned.

Severus raised an eyebrow.

"Sorry," he said with a smirk, "I don't make the same offer twice. Apparently, you felt that drooling over Narcissa Black was more important than passing Transfiguration." He turned and walked off.

"Goodnight."

Severus estimated that it would be about a half hour more before Avery fell asleep in his chair and an hour more before the house elves woke him up and sent him to bed.

Severus lay in his bed thinking about Lily, and inevitably Potter, yet again. Potter was no longer making an effort to disguise the fact that he fancied her. It was only a matter of time before he won. Potter always won in the end. Severus' worst fear was seeing Lily in the arms of James Potter. Every time she looked at him with less than loathing in her eyes, he worried. Every laugh she stifled at his antics and every idle glance she sent Potter's way sent pangs of white hot jealousy through him.

She wasn't the same this year. They didn't have as much to talk about, and she always found an excuse to cut their meetings short. Even in Potions she was different. She didn't ask him the best way to mince dragon liver, or whether adding another clockwise turn would be best. Most days, she worked silently.

He didn't know what to do about it. She was angry with him because he still hung around his housemates. She was angry because he liked to read dark arts books from the restricted section in his free time. She was angry because he didn't jump up and tell all of the spoiled, bullying, vicious death-eater wannabes that they could stuff it.

Right, he thought angrily, I could tell them that I think they're stupid, lazy, worthless wastes of space, and that most of them would be useless even if the Dark Lord would have them – if I wanted to walk around every corner with a shield charm in front of me.

He wasn't going to sleep much at this rate. He rolled over and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to clear his mind, but seeing Lily's face there anyway.


James Potter threw his the map and his cloak hastily into his trunk and slid it under the bed. He knocked his broom over with his knee, but managed to catch it before it hit the floor. He slid into bed and took a deep breath to make his heart stop racing. It had been a close one tonight – he didn't know how Filch had crept up on him like that. Mrs. Norris must have become better at hiding.

He stretched and settled in. It was Quidditch Saturday! This game was going to be good, he could feel it. He was not nervous about filling in for their injured seeker – on the contrary, he was rather looking forward to showing Lily (and everyone else) that he was up to it. He couldn't wait for practice tomorrow evening, and he only felt a little guilty for being so excited when a teammate was injured.

James pulled the covers up to his ears and let his eyes fall shut. He imagined asking Lily out after the game, and maybe sweeping her up onto his broom and flying a victory lap around the pitch if she said yes. He fell asleep with a smile on his face.


Severus woke up feeling it was much earlier than it should be. With his eyes still shut he tried to pull up the last image from his dream again. Lily – laughing, touching his arm, wearing a pretty Muggle dress . . .

He sighed and opened his eyes. Then he blinked and rubbed them furiously.

Above his head there was crimson fabric and gold tassels.

He looked down his nose and saw more crimson, but he didn't see his nose. In horror, he slowly reached up with both hands and touched his face. His nose was at least two times smaller than it should be. He realized his vision was blurry. His hands moved upward to find short, tousled hair. Severus stopped moving and listened, his heart pounding and swooshing in his ears. The room was silent but for someone's snoring whistle. He had a terrible feeling he knew who that someone might be.

He lay there, his mind swimming. It must be a dream, he thought wildly. It's not possible, there's no way.

But when he allowed his eyes to wander, he could see quite clearly that he was in the Gryffindor dormitory. The crimson-shrouded four poster beds could belong nowhere else.

Every swear word Severus knew was running through his mind. What had Potter done?

He sat up and looked around. Sure enough, Peter Pettigrew was curled up on the bed next to him, snoring. Across the room, the lanky form of Remus Lupin was stretched out. Severus' lip curled. To his right, lay Sirius Black with one arm dangling off his bed. Severus fought the very strong urge to hex them all at once. He got up and realized he was also shorter than usual. He was not wearing his own underwear. He stumbled around, looking for a mirror. There it was, between Black's bed and his. He looked in it and confirmed his worst fears. A slightly blurry James Potter stared back at him, wide-eyed. He reached down with a trembling hand and put on the glasses that were on the bed stand, and saw Potter's reflection slide into focus.

He was in shock. He could not comprehend why Potter and his friends would do it. He knew he should attack while they were still asleep, but he was horribly suspicious that they knew nothing about it. Was Potter hiding in the room, waiting for him to act? Was it Polyjuice Potion? Or was it experimental magic, and Severus was the guinea pig?

I'll kill him, he thought, but first, I want to know how he did it.


James yawned loudly and stretched. With a satisfied grunt, he flopped over onto his stomach and hugged his pillow. It felt too early to wake up. Besides, he didn't hear Remus skulking around the room yet. He had at least twenty minutes more to doze off.

Peter was snoring much louder than usual. James started to drift off again, when a particularly loud snore startled him. He opened his eyes and gasped.

James rolled backward and fell off the opposite side of the bed. Why had he just seen Crabbe'sugly face snoring in the other bed? What had he done to deserve dreaming of Crabbe? He shook his head and ran his hand through his long, black hair.

James froze, his hand on his head. He could not breathe. He pulled his hair out in front of him. His long, greasy hair.

No.

He began to panic. This was definitely not a dream. He slapped his face just to be sure and felt his large, hooked nose sting. Jumping up off the floor, he ran to the mirror.

"AAAAAH!"

He couldn't help it; he let out a yelp of terror. He was Snape. Snape! He was Severus Snape!

How could this be possible? Had Snape drugged him and fed him Polyjuice? But WHY would he do it? He was strange and he was pathetic, but surely not demented. And where WAS he?

James' panic was turning into revulsion, and anger. He stumbled back across the room and tried to find some robes.

Someone stirred and said,

"What are you doing Snape?!"

It was Rastaban Lestrange.

"I think I'm going to be sick," mumbled James as his greasy hair slapped his face. He pulled on Snape's shoes, grabbed the wand off the bed stand, and ran for the door. Snape wasn't in the common room.

Where is he? James wondered, and what is he doing? Whatever it was, it couldn't be good, and he was betting it had something to do with Lily. The slimy git had it bad for her and with James out of the way . . .

He burst out into the dungeon corridor and broke into a full run toward the Gryffindor tower, not knowing where else to go.