Make Yourself at Home
Shit, shit, shit, SHIT! Not again! Draco wanted to die. First, he was standing naked in front of Granger of all people. Not that he was self-conscious. He was far from it, but he had not been expecting to give her a peep show. Plus, the utterly innocent shock on her face made him want to blush, and Malfoys absolutely do not blush.
He wanted to punch something, but as he didn't have a fist, all he could do was slither around the floor, trying anything to get back to his normal self. It was almost worst knowing that he could change back; he didn't know how to do it voluntarily. Or was that even the case? Maybe this was part of the curse. Fucking Hell. Now he had a headache on top of his reptilian problem.
"Merlin," Granger muttered, dropping his clothes on the floor at her feet.
Yeah, tell me about it. He couldn't take this, and furthermore, he was starting to get dizzy from spinning in circles on Granger's precious carpet. He stopped and shook his head to try and clear his thoughts.
What happened to make him change back? He'd been irritated, but that was nothing new when it came to being in Hermione Granger's presence. It seemed so random. Maybe this was all part of some plan by whoever did this to him - to make him utterly insane. It was fucking working. For a few seconds, he was even glad he was a snake because he worried that, were he in his human form, he might do something absurd...like cry.
He wasn't a greedy man. A few willing witches now and then, fine wine, and good food. It was all he asked for. It wasn't much. So, why was he stuck in this limbless, penis-less, wordless hell? And with Granger of all people. He'd admit that he was grateful to her when he was able to walk on his own two legs again. Until then, he was being petulant and he didn't care.
Oh no! Hermione thought to herself. So close to getting Malfoy and his snaky self out of her life, and he was back. She tried hard not to blame him. This wasn't his fault after all. In fact, all in all, this was much easier for her than him. He had to be scared and confused. It was his body that was changing, after all. Damned if she'd tell him she felt sorry for him, though. He'd probably bite her on the face, and they hadn't established if he was one of those poisonous snakes or not.
"Malfoy, just calm down," she said, seeing him freaking out. His head snapped in her direction, and he hissed at her, his eyes flashing dangerously. "Okay, so maybe 'calm down' was a bad choice of words," she sighed.
"Look, I'm just saying that wearing a hole in my carpet isn't going to fix this," Hermione explained. He didn't seem to be listening, but he did stop his constant slithering. "Malfoy, I've never failed at anything in my life," she said, leaving off that she'd made a right mess of her few relationships, but that was another story. "I will figure this out, but you needn't stress yourself out any further. You are what you are, and until we research this, we aren't going to have any answers."
He seemed resigned as he looked up at her, raising himself to her eye level. "Now, did this change feel the same as last time?"
He moved his head to her right, employing their previously established communication method. "Okay," she thought to herself. "Okay, so...God Damnit! I wish you could fucking talk!"
You and me both, Draco thought to himself. He waited while she had a slight breakdown, throwing down the pillows from the couch.
"I need to know if there were any similarities between what you were thinking or doing when the two changes occurred."
She was speaking to herself again, and it took all his patience not to slap her back to attention.
"This is getting us nowhere," she finally decided. "I'm going to look through the books I have here and see if there is anything of use. You can make yourself at home, if you wish."
Not bloody likely, he wanted to say. Looking around, her apartment couldn't have been any more different than the Manor. It was small, cramped with all the books, not that he expected anything less. She could have a mansion and still cram it full of books. Bloody, infuriating know-it-all.
He admitted that her flat was actually cute, if he'd ever found himself comfortable using that word. It was clean, which was a plus considering he was a bit of a neat freak himself. I can't believe that I'm appraising Hermione Granger's flat! Never, in all his years did he think he'd ever even be alone in a room with her, let alone in her home. It felt strange and intimate. She lived here. She dressed and slept here. It was her "space." This was where she went to get away from the world. That was very personal.
He knew how a home could be personal and how that could be perverted. His childhood home had been turned into a den of Death Eaters - his memories scattered across the drawing room floor just like Granger's blood. Come on, Draco, get it together! he scolded himself. The last thing he needed to do was bring himself back to those times. He'd practically ripped down the Manor, redecorating it to remove every square inch of Voldemort's influence, and he was very happy with it, thank you very much!
Anyway, back to the task at hand - getting to know Granger's digs. He looked over at her, and found she was already face deep in a pile of books. He was as good a researcher as she, he was sure, but without the ability to turn pages, he'd be of little use. He hated giving her control, but there was little else he could do at the moment until he figured out a better way to communicate with her.
He moved into the kitchen, noting it was larger than he'd expected, but still not much to talk about. Clean and functional, at best. Bored, he moved on, the bathroom was down the hall and he realized, sadly, that he'd have little use for it. He didn't know how snakes 'did their business' but he could be assured that a toilet wasn't going to be part of the equation. As far as the shower, it would be highly entertaining to scare the living fuck out of Granger while she was in there - not to mention, he wouldn't mind seeing what she had under those robes - he was a man after all - but his white skin would probably blend into the white tub and he'd get accidentally trampled.
There was one door off to the side in the hallway, and he assumed it had to be her bedroom. While he believed he wouldn't be spending much time in there, curiosity got the better of him. She did say to 'make himself at home' after all. Slithering down the hall, he poked his head into the cracked door and let himself in. She was in 'study' mode. She wouldn't have the slightest fucking clue if he was in her bedroom anyway.
It was, by far, the most personal room of the house. It was soft and feminine without being over the top. At least there's no fucking pink, he thought to himself. She'd chosen teal and ivory as a color pattern and it was pleasing, if not his personal taste. The bed looked comfortable enough.
It took him more moments than he'd like to admit to figure out how to slither up her bed post to get on the bed. Finally, he got the hang of the way his new body worked and made his way under her sheets. Mmmm, there was that smell again. She might be a stuck up bitch, but she smelled like heaven. It was an odd mixture of tea leaves and some kind of flower. He didn't know anything about that shit, but he knew it smelled good.
It was warm in there too. He hadn't noticed before how cold he was until he was under her duvet. As much as he'd have loved to stay in there for the rest of the day, he was sure that Granger would have him made into Snake Stew if she caught him not only on her bed, but in it. Basking in a few more moments of peace and comfort, he finally moved out of the bed and back down to the floor.
He noticed that her bedroom was the only room even slightly askew. Her closet door was open, with her shoes in disarray on the floor. She might be a bookworm, but she was still a girl, he noticed. She had no fewer than 30 pairs of shoes in there. The top drawer of her dresser was also open. He knew what most women kept in that drawer, and the Slytherin in him couldn't, in good conscience, leave the room without checking out what kind of knickers Granger had. One Hundred Galleons says a drawer full of white and pink old-lady knickers.
He moved up the side of her dresser, careful to avoid her jewelry box and deodorant stick on top. Poising his head over the edge to look into the drawer, he would have laughed if he were able. Damn, Granger, you little minx. Inside she had lace and silk in all colors and cuts. Sure, there were some standard knickers in there, but overall, she definitely appreciated fine lingerie. He wondered, idly, just who was seeing her in those tiny little knickers. Don't go there Draco. You're starting to sound nuts.
He didn't get any closer, for fear his wandering thoughts would get out of control. It was natural that he was a little turned on. It was sort of like the librarian fantasy. Everyone has them, but he didn't want to encourage it. Granger was off limits, as it should be. They were from completely different worlds and wanted completely different things out of life...and probably sex. Ugh, this fucking snake thing is really fucking with my head.
Deciding to get out of there while he was still holding on to a shred of his sanity, he slithered back down the dresser and out of the room. No way of hiding that he was in there, as he couldn't shut the door, but he didn't care at this point. When he got back into the living room, he noticed that Hermione hadn't moved, so much as an inch from her desk in the living room. Damn, she hasn't changed a bit, he thought to himself as he realized that, five years later, studying was still a whole body experience for her.
He could probably do a Snake tap dance in the middle of the room and she wouldn't even notice. He mentally smirked. Oh, to see Granger jump out of her skin. It would be almost worth the mess of being stuck as a fucking snake. Almost...he was still missing his penis, after all.
He slowly and quietly moved over to her at her desk. She didn't move. As he reached the leg of the desk, he used his new found skills to inch his way up the leg. Not so much as a twitch from the witch in the chair next to him. Higher and higher he moved until his head was moving along the flat top of the desk and up the book in Granger's hands. Oh, if he could only smirk. He was going to scare the ever-loving shit out of her.
The fact that this was both mean and immature didn't even pass through his brain for a moment. It was fun, and if he was stuck like this, damnit, he was going to get some kicks out of it. Lashing his tongue out with a slight hiss, he peered at Granger from the top of her book and waited. Her eyes snapped up to him for a split second before going back to her book, then back up to him.
"Ahh!" she screamed, dropping the book and falling on her ass as her chair tipped backward. "Fucking shit! Goddamnit!" If he could have, he would have laughed, but only amused hissing escaped him. He slithered forward, peering over the desk at where Granger had fallen on the floor, and was shocked to find her crying. Oh. Shit. Oops.
Hermione had been scouring her resources for anything on alternate animal personalities, spontaneous transfiguration, even Patronuses, but wasn't having much luck yet. She couldn't remember ever reading about something like this. He hadn't been changed by a wand, perhaps someone outside range got him. Though, she wasn't sure how they could have. Magic wasn't limitless.
A hissing noise broke her concentration and suddenly she was staring in the face of a white snake. "Ahh!" she cried, jumping back before she realized it was just Malfoy. "Fucking shit! God damnit!" she shouted, feeling her bum bruising from where she hit it, falling out of her chair.
Her heart was racing in her chest as the scare hit her system. Before she could stop it, she was crying, relief at not being eaten alive by the snake, and anger at Malfoy for scaring the fuck out of her. "Malfoy!" she cried, wiping angrily at her tears as she saw him staring down at her from the desk. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"
She sniffled. Merlin be damned. I'm fucking crying like a baby. I hate him! She didn't want to appear weak, so she made quick work of getting to her feet and getting her heart and emotions back under control. "Are you really that hateful?" She was steaming. She hated snakes, and it was cruel of him to scare her like that when she was helping him.
"I'm doing my best to fix your stupid problem, and you scare the shit out of me? Why don't you fix it yourself? See how far you get without me to help you!" To his credit, even in snake form, Draco looked thoroughly chastised. Sighing, she shook her head. It was no use arguing with a snake, even if he was Draco inside. Before she could even think of starting in on another tirade, there was a tapping at her kitchen window.
Throwing Malfoy her worst glare, she twirled around and marched into the kitchen, not bothering to notice that he'd followed her. She didn't give two shits what he did at this point anyway. Opening the window, she was shocked to see it was already dark out. How much time had she been researching?
She smiled when she saw Athena, Harry's owl that replaced Hedwig, and offered her an owl treat and taking the letter she offered. "Thank you, Athena," she murmured, letting the owl back out of the window. She smiled as she opened the letter, glad to have some amount of normalcy in this utterly fucked up day. At least Harry can be called upon to be normal, she told herself as she began reading.
Hermione,
I know it's been a few weeks since we've seen each other. You wouldn't believe how crazy it's been in the Auror office of late. Anyway, Ginny and I would like to invite you over for dinner this Saturday evening. We have some news and we are having a small gathering of friends. Before you ask, Ron will not be there. We promise.
Also, I'm not sure if you had a chance to get the Evening Post, but there's some news from Azkaban. Lucius Malfoy is dead. I know the war was a long time ago, but after all that happened, I just thought you might want to know.
Anyway, enough of that rot. Let me know if you can come to dinner, and please remember that we haven't seen your pretty face in nearly a month. So, if you can't make it, you better have a healer's note.
Harry
Hermione chuckled at her friend, but her mind couldn't get over the news of Lucius' death. What were the odds that Malfoy would be thrown into her life the same day the Harry informs her that his father died? Something was strange. Further, how could she not tell Malfoy about it? But would he really want to find out from her? The question became moot the minute she realized that he had perched himself on the kitchen table and was reading over her shoulder.
'...Ron will not be there...' Well, that was interesting enough. Draco guessed that explained some of the risque lingerie in Granger's drawer, but the thought that it was wasted on the Weasel made him feel ill.
'...Lucius Malfoy is dead...' Those four words knocked the air right out of his snaky lungs.
"Draco," Hermione started.
Draco shook his head, willing her to shut up for a moment. He didn't even notice that she'd used his given name. He needed to wrap his mind around this. Dead. His father was dead.
It wasn't as if he cared about his father. He'd made his choice five years ago when he joined with Snape and spied for the Order. His father got them into all that mess with Voldemort, and he'd never forgive him for it. But...dead? He hadn't even known he was sick. Or was he? Was he murdered in there? Azkaban was supposed to be now than in the days of the Dementors, but Lucius was not a well-liked man these days.
Enough! He was not going to waste his time thinking about that arrogant ass when he needed to be working on how to get out of this mess. He skimmed the rest of the note before noting that it was from Potter and tried to slither out of the room before Granger demanded they 'talk'.
"Malfoy, I'm sorry you had to find out that way. I didn't..."
He was tuning her out now. He didn't want or need her pity or sadness. She hated the bastard as much as he did, if not more, and there was no use lying about it or pretending otherwise. It did sort of grate on his nerves that Harry-fucking-Potter knew about his own father's death before he did.
Potter. It didn't matter how many years passed or that he'd ended up siding with Potter in the end, he didn't like the guy. Ever since the first year when Potter so smugly denied his friendship - not that he really wanted to be the kid's friend, mind you - he'd hated him. Then, in second year when he walked around like he was the 'heir of Slytherin'...Ha! As if Potter would know how to be a Slytherin...wait a second. The only reason people thought that was because of the deal with the snake at the dueling club.
A Parselmouth. They needed a Parselmouth, and it just so happened Granger's best fucking buddy was one. Now, how to get the big brain to realize this very obvious fact...Brightest witch of our age, my perfect ass.