A/N: Hey guys. Just a quick note here before you go on to read this chapter. Contrary to what some of you may believe, this is NOT a rip-off from another person's story, this is my own work and idea, and to say otherwise is kind of insulting.. Other than that, thanks for the reviews guys! :)
"Malf- er, Draco," Hermione called out in the middle of the hallway. "I'm off to Diagon Alley. I expect I'll be back home a little late."
That being said, she picked up the hem of her elegant witch robes and walked over to the fireplace. She glanced up at the mantelpiece to grab a handful of Floo Powder from the small pouch and was about to step into the fireplace when a rather low, squeaky voice stopped her.
"How are you feeling today, Madam Pansy?"
Hermione looked around to see where the voice was coming from, still holding the Floo Powder in her hand. Frowning as she saw no one around her, she took a step into the fireplace.
"Well, really!" the voice scoffed, seeming to be offended. Hermione looked up in surprise. Who was speaking to her?
"Who's there?" she asked wearily, drawing her wand.
"Up here," said the voice, sounding slightly exasperated. She looked up above the mantelpiece and saw a large painting of an old, wrinkly man. He pushed his spectacles up his nose as he adjusted himself in the plush, red chair that he was posing on for the painting. Hermione sighed, placing the handful of Floo Power back inside the pouch. This was obviously going to take a while.
"Er, hello," said Hermione, taking a few steps back so that she could see the painting properly. The man in the painting stroked his long, wispy white beard, a similar tuft of hair rested on the sides of his head above his ears, running thin as they travelled to the top of his head. The rest was covered by a rather large, pointy wizard hat, decorated with golden stars that seemed to shoot across through the blue fabric. He was wearing a matching set of wizard robes, and held an old, withered looking staff. The wood from the staff seemed to twirl around a glowing blue sphere that rested on the tip. Magic, in its purest, natural form. Hermione gasped, realizing who the man in the painting was.
"Y-you're Merlin!" she exclaimed, unable to hide her astonishment and excitement. The glowing ball seemed to grow brighter as the old man smiled, amused by her reaction.
"Why, yes. That would be me," said Merlin, sounding slightly proud as he turned his nose up in the air. Hermione stared at him in awe, not being able to believe that she was looking at an original painting of Merlin himself.
"I-I'd love to chat," Hermione stammered, trying to collect herself. "But I really do have to get going."
Merlin's haughty expression softened. "Yes, dear. But do hurry back, for I get terribly lonesome. All the other Malfoy paintings are rather rude, and not at all pleasant to visit."
Hermione nodded, then took her handful of Floo Powder and stepped into the fireplace once more.
"The Burrow," her clear, unfamiliar voice rang through the hall, throwing the powder down forcefully as emerald green flames enveloped her, disappearing from Malfoy Manor.
In a blink of an eye, Hermione whirled on the spot and appeared inside of the messy kitchen of the Burrow. She was so glad to be in such a familiar place, yet the usual cheerful atmosphere was dampened. There was no cheerful chatter flowing down from above, nor Molly's voice scolding the brushes that were cleaning the pots or dishes in the sink suddenly being heard through all the noise.
In fact, the Burrow was quiet.
Hermione straightened up from the fireplace and dusted her robes. She walked slowly through the kitchen, silently stepping through the clutter of pots and pans that littered the floor. She had to find Ron and Harry. Surely they should be in their room?
She made her way up the stairs and kept walking through the hallways until she found the door that was plastered with posters of Chudley Canons. Almost smiling at the orange Quidditch poster, she turned the knob and opened the door. What she saw inside was something she thought that she would never see in a million years.
A form was huddled in the corner of the room, hidden under blankets and sheets, emitting rapid, ragged gasping sounds in between shaky sobs. Taking a step closer into the room, her foot caught on a loose floorboard, making a high squeaky noise. A flash of red was seen as the covers were thrown off the form and suddenly sat up.
Ron's face was clearly streaked with tears, his freckles standing out against his unnatural shade of pale skin. His bloodshot eyes leaked a few more tears out as he brought up his hands to wipe them away. When his vision cleared, his forlorn expression hardened, and he stood up quickly, drawing his wand out.
"What the hell are you doing here, Parkinson?" he said coldly, pointing his wand at her chest, straight at her heart. Hermione wanted to cry as well. He saw Pansy, not the person who she was inside.
"Ron," she said, wincing at how high her voice sounded. "It's me, Hermione."
Ron looked flabbergasted for a second, and then yelled out the first spell that jumped into his mind.
"Reducto!"
Hermione's eyes shot open with surprise as she flew backwards, slamming into the wall behind her. Stars burst in front of her and danced in front of her eyes as she hit her head against the thick wood.
"How dare you?" he snarled, advancing on her. "How dare you break into my own home and mock me? How dare you-" He cut off, unable to continue.
"Ron, it's me," she repeated. "I swear."
Ron's eyes narrowed at her. "Prove it," he spat at her. Hermione took a deep breath before beginning.
"Your name is Ronald Bilius Weasly. Your birthday is on the first of March. Your roommates in Hogwarts were Harry, Seamus and Dean. We met in our first year on the train in Hogwarts Express, when I was looking for Neville's toad. You and Harry saved me from the troll in Halloween, and we managed to get past Fluffy, Hagrid's three-headed dog, and Harry fought Voldemort for the Sorcerer's Stone. Second year I was Petrified by the basilisk, and you and Harry managed to wipe out Gilderoy Lockhart's memory, sending him to St. Mungo's. You kissed me in our seventh year right before the big battle against Voldemort," she spouted, running out of breath. "Do you really want me to keep going, Ron?"
"How did Hermione Granger die?" he asked, still unsatisfied. His wands spat out sparks as he tried to hold in his anger, trying to hold himself back before he lashed out at the woman standing before him who brought back too many memories that were too painful to recall.
"Dennis Creevy," she whispered, closing her eyes. "I left the banquet early to feed Crookshanks, and was followed by him. You and Harry felt my call for help using the D.A. coins, and found me. Harry hexed Dennis, and you ran towards me. You had me in your arms right before he shot me again, using a muggle gun."
Ron looked at the ground, then looked at her once more, except this time he did not look malicious or angry. He took a few steps towards her until he was a couple of centimeters away from her face, then bent down and helped her up.
"Hermione?" he said, putting his hands on either side of her face, rubbing his thumb in circles around her cheek. She closed her eyes and leaned into his touch, nodding yes.
"Hermione," he repeated softly, as if confirming who she was before circling his arms around her, squeezing her body against his tightly, feeling her lean into him as she wrapped her arms around him too.
Suddenly, she pulled away. Holding him at an arm's length away, she pulled a hand from out of his grasp and struck him as hard as she could.
"Ronald Weasly, I'll have you know that if you ever attack me again I will hex your sorry behind into the next century," she said threatened, looking at him sternly before hugging him again. Ron, too happy to care about anything else right now, pulled her back again and kissed her.
"I thought you were dead," he said afterwards, sitting her down next to him on his bed. He held her hand tightly in his, their fingers entwined. He thought he had lost her forever; it was going to be hard to let go of her now.
"I am, partially at least," she said. "I don't know what's going on exactly, or for how long am I going to be stuck inside Pansy's body…" she trailed off sadly.
"But… what happens if you do ever get out of her body?" asked Ron. "Where will you go then?"
"I wish I knew."
They looked at each other sadly for a moment before Ron leaned in to kiss her again. Her eyes fluttered shut as he gently pressed his lips against hers, his hand travelling to her face to caress her cheek. She responded almost instantly, reaching her arms around his neck, trying to pull herself closer. He could feel his heart thunder beneath his chest as he slid his hands around her waist, pulling her onto his lap. He slightly frowned. She felt rather unfamiliar; smaller. She wasn't as soft as she used to be.
He tried to push those thoughts out of his mind as she brought her hands up from his neck and clutched at his hair. He was about to move his hand up her body when his hand hit her hair. He was used to her frazzled, curly mane. This was the complete opposite. Silky, straight hair that fell to a much, much longer length than the one he was used to. He pulled his face away from hers for a moment and almost felt… repulsed. The face that he was kissing belonged to a girl who he knew to encourage Malfoy to taunt him in his school days; the face of a girl whom he despised to his very core. He was about to pull away from her completely when she pulled him back to her, kissing fiercely once more in a way that was unmistakably Hermione-like. He almost melted, feeling her every curve pressed against his body.
Ron let go of himself, allowing his hands to roam downwards. Fumbling with her shirt, he was about to dip his hand under when she put her hand over his, stopping him. He pulled away from her once more, looking at her questioningly.
"Not now," said Hermione quietly. "Not like this. We agreed we'd wait till we were married."
Nodding, Ron slowly untangled himself from her and stood up, still holding her hand.
"Where are you going?" she asked him, not wanting to get up.
"We," he corrected. "We are going to go tell Harry about you," he said with a smile. With a rather loud pop, he and Hermione turned on the spot and disappeared into thin air.