Turning Draco's Coat

By

Aeriel Ravenna

Rating: R (for language and later chapters – perhaps a bit of violence as well, but not that much.)

Summary: Hermione Granger, with the help of Dumbledore, sends Draco into a parallel universe where he is Draco Granger, Mudblood and Gryffindor (as well as Harry and Ron's best friend…) and Hermione is Hermione Malfoy, Slytherin Slut and soon-to-be Death Eater. She goes with him and toys with him, just as he did to her. Will being a Mudblood be enough to bring Draco to the light side? And what will happen when, in the midst of being cruel to Draco, Hermione starts to have feelings for Draco?

A / N : Hello, faithful (or not) readers! Sorry about the long wait, but my internet has been down for ages—pure hell for an internet junkie such as myself. But now its back—finally! And even though its 12, I still wanted to post it. Once again, excuse the roughness—I didn't edit it closely. Enjoy!

"Draco!" Ginny shrieked happily. Draco laughed—not meaning to of course—and swung Ginny around.

"Haven't seen you in ages, Gin," he said, grinning widely. Ginny smiled back, flicking her red ponytail back. Draco was about to ask her how her summer had been when he felt a large hand clapping him on the back.

It was Ron Weasley, freckly, gangly and tall as ever. Behind him was Harry Potter, with his incessantly messy hair, short and slim frame, and snapped glasses. Draco smiled wider than ever as the three boys exchanged hellos.

His cheeks were beginning to hurt, and he didn't like Pothead or Weasel or even Weaselette using his name. It felt awkward to him, though doubtless to them it was perfectly normal. He fervently wished to go back to the normal hate relationship with them.

"C'mon, guys, let's get a compartment!" Ginny urged. Compliantly, the three young men followed her as she scurried ahead. She led them to a compartment unoccupied except for Traver—who was Neville's old frog, Trevor's, descendant. Draco resisted the urge to sneer at the slimy little thing.

As the four settled down, talking of summer and Quidditch, the train began to move. This is so utterly boring, Draco thought. Just as he was about to get up and excuse himself to find something more… worthwhile to do, Harry suddenly raised his wand. He locked the compartment, and then spelled it to be silent to all, eavesdroppers and otherwise.

"Guys," Harry said, lowly. Draco fought not to wrinkle his nose at the annoying and pettily general word. "My scars been hurting, more than usual. I know Dumbledore said it would, but this—well, I've blacked out for a few minutes a few times,"

Ginny gasped and put her hand on Harry's. "Why didn't you tell us before?" she asked gently.

"I didn't know it was serious," Harry replied. Ron looked at him, apprehensive.

"What do you reckon this means? Is … You-Know-Who … planning something?" Ron asked, hesitating over the title.

"Oh Ron, grow up," Ginny snapped, eyes still on Harry. "Say his name, we're going to be fighting him…sometime soon,"

Ron muttered something under his breath.

"Harry, don't you think you should tell Dumbledore?" Draco said, the words tumbling from his lips before he could even register the fact. Jesus, I sound like a bloody pansy. Boys aren't supposed to be tattle-tales. Stupid Granger characteristics.

"No!" Harry replied quickly. "It isn't that important yet. Plus, we've dealt with this before,"

"Yes, and just look where it's gotten us," Draco said sagely. Where HAS it gotten 'us'?! Draco wondered. Idly, he began to look back at 'his' memories…

"Draco? Draco? You alright, mate?" Ron asked.

"Oh—uh, yeah, just spaced off for a minute there," Draco replied quickly once he realized someone was talking to him.

"Well, anyways, I have some great new Quidditch tactics," Harry said, quickly changing the subject.

"Great," Draco said, a bit nauseous at the thought of abetting Gryffindor win the Quidditch Cup. "Great."

ooooooooooooooooo

"Hermione," a voice called behind her. Hermione turned to see Blaise Zabini leaning causally against the train. Hermione walked over to him, head held high, unsmiling.

"Blaise," She replied crisply. The name felt odd on her tongue. He eyed her, but his eyes showed no emotion and she could not tell why.

"Let's get on the train, shall we?" Blaise said. Hermione did not bother to reply, and instead stepped onto the train. Blaise smiled to himself.

They did not speak until they reached a compartment that was to Hermione's liking. Once Blaise had stowed her trunk away (How chivalrous, she thought) and the two had sat themselves comfortably down, he regarded her cautiously.

"Hermione, is something going on?" he asked. Hermione felt her heart spasm in fear. Had he found her out?

"No," she replied, careful to respond slowly and cautiously. "Why?"

He watched her for a moment. "You seem—different,"

"I'm not, you prat," Hermione said, feigning irritation.

"Ooh, is someone cranky?" Blaise asked, changing tact. Hermione silently breathed a sigh of relief.

"Malfoys are never 'cranky,' Zabini," she replied tartly.

"I beg to differ, Miss Malfoy," he said, a glint in his eye.

"Really?" she drew herself up. "Well, Mr. Zabini, the views of mere peasants such as yourself means nothing to the elite such as I,"

Blaise smiled at his best friend. "Anyway, speaking of the elite, we have a problem,"

"What?" asked Hermione, constantly on alert.

"Competition, my sweet," said Blaise, standing up to rummage in his trunk for a bit of parchment.

"Competition? For what, exactly?" Hermione asked, eyes narrowed. She had a sinking feeling that this was something she should have known, as Blaise looked up at her over the parchment, startled.

"You're joking, aren't you? Competition for what we have worked at for the past six years, doll face," he said, suspicious. "What the hell is going on, Hermione?"

She gave him a smile, thought it felt weak. "Nothing, Blaise, nothing, of course I was joking," she said. He watched her again for a few moments, then shrugged and went back to his parchment. Hermione saw her chance and frantically dug through 'her' mind to find what the blazes he was talking about. She relaxed as she understood.

"So, who's this pitiful competition of which you speak?" She asked, confidence giving her voice an arrogant lilt.

Blaise rolled his eyes. "Pansy Parkinson, if you would believe it. She's not serious competition, but she has Bulstrode working for her. Normally, that would mean nothing, but Bulstrode does has a bit of a grudge against you," he said, the corners of his lips lifting in an amused fashion.

"Merlin, that was two bloody years ago," Hermione said, and if she weren't so ladylike, she would have snorted.

"Yes, dear, but sometimes, girls tend to have a bit of organ called heart in them—have you heard of them?—and it tends to break when they catch their oh-so-faithful boyfriends shagging their faux-best friend," he said mockingly. Hermione laughed, a derisive, cold sound.

"She's no worry, none the less. I will be the dominant Slytherin ruler—the Queen, if you will," Hermione said. Blaise wrinkled his nose at her in a most un-Slytherin fashion.

"Don't get too sure of yourself. Over-confidence is the number one cause of usurpation," Blaise chided. Hermione rolled her eyes at him. He gazed sternly back at her.

"Blaise, relax. I'm an expert at this. I'm not going to let some pug-faced bitch steal what I've had ensured for me since I was a third-year," she said.

"Hermione, we both know that you wouldn't even be in this spot of power without me. Don't take all the credit," he warned, eyes steely.

"Darling, I would never," Hermione said in mock outrage. Then she smiled at him. "Of course I wouldn't, Blaisey-waisey. I owe most of it to you,"

Blaise growled at her at the nickname. She laughed.

"Now, back to business," Blaise said briskly. "There's the protection list to complete, as well as the first-year initiation to think of—plus, suitors, dear," he said, eyes glinting.

"For protection," said Hermione, raising her left index finger, "We should have the same list as before—only, cut Pansy out, not to mention that git Nott—as for first years, let's leave them to fend for themselves, shall we? For the initiation, I had assumed we were doing the usual. If that's the case, we have nothing to plan—it's not my place. As for suitors—oh, please, don't expect a list of my conquests, Blaise," she said. Is this how Slytherins always work? she wondered to herself.

"Oh, don't worry darling, I have no wish to see that," Blaise replied with a mischievous grin, leaning forward slightly, red tongue peeking out from between very white teeth. "However, the fact remains that as 'Slytherin Queen,' as you so aptly put it, you cannot become 'Slytherin Whore.'"

"Just what are you suggesting, Zabini?" Hermione asked icily, eyes narrowed.

"Relax, sweetheart. I'm just saying you can't go crawling into just anyone's bed," Blaise replied. Hermione remained tense and scowled.

"Oh, can't I? Blaise, that is my personal business," Hermione told him, clenching her hands in her lap.

Blaise sighed. "Hermione, it's my business if it's going to interfere with your popularity vote, not to mention your power. Which it inevitably will," he added as she opened her mouth to protest. "Look, it's not so bad. It isn't as if you'd want to sleep with any scruffy old plebeian anyway,"

"Like you, you mean," Hermione teased, ruffling his dark hair. She thought she felt him stiffen slightly for a fraction of a second at the comment until his automatic relaxed body stance came back.

Interesting, Hermione thought. Does Blaise fancy her—me? I'll have to keep my eye on that—perhaps this could be used to my advantage…

"Yes, yes, whatever you sad Madame," Blaise replied. "Now, lets focus. After this...list...we still have to…"

ooooooooooooooooooooooo

"Look who it is," sneered Hermione. Draco sniffed. She really is the female embodiment of me…only not physically, of course. She looks different, though…she would have to, though, being a Malfoy, he thought.

"Yes, look," Draco snapped at her. She rolled her eyes.

"You need a password, dears," The portrait interrupted politely.

"How about 'Pure Mud,' eh, Granger?" Hermione said maliciously.

Just what I suggested…this is eerie.

"Our password with be 'Night Flash,' miss," He replied politely to the woman in the portrait, who smiled and clicked open.

Just like her. This is more than eerie—its disgusting. A Malfoy with manners, not to mention morals? Father would roll over in—well, in Malfoy Manor.

He was about to enter the common room when Hermione neatly cut in front of him without touching him.

"Ladies before Mudbloods," she sneered. Draco scowled at her. He did not like this reversal of roles, and her nastiness was—well, it was nasty.

When he—finally—entered the common room, Draco Granger gasped. That is to say, Draco Malfoy wasn't impressed. He had grown up with this type of finery his life, and thus it was no more than he was accustomed to. Draco Granger, on the other hand, was more familiar to comfortable, quaint simplicity. A plain white cotton, fluffy comforter, for example, over a sleek, cold satin thin bit of bedspread. Pretty in a warmer sort of way.

Granger—no, Malfoy—no! Ah, hell—Hermione—doesn't look too impressed, he noted with satisfaction. At least she's being a proper Malfoy—Oh! Hah! The bookworm has to deal with Blaise and the Slytherins now! He thought triumphantly, though he realized that technically, this Hermione wasn't a bookworm. Not any more than he was, anyway.

He had just entered his room—red and silver—when he realized that the Head's meeting was going to begin soon enough.

Wait—that's when the switch happened, at the meeting. Perhaps I'll get back then, too! When did the switch happen?—With the tea. I'll just have to drink some tea, then it'll be back to normal, wont it? He sighed and rose.

I'll just have to see.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"Would you like some tea, Mr. Granger?" Dumbledore politely asked. This was his chance.

"Yes, please," He said eagerly. Dumbledore smiled and poured him a cup. He handed it to Draco, who had to control the urge to hastily pour the whole cup down his throat. He lifted it to his lips, closed his eyes, and drank deeply.

Half-expecting to see swirling, neon colors, he opened to see Dumbledore's office. Instead of the dazed state he had felt before, he now had the scalding burn of the tea to wake him from his dreams.

He hadn't come back. He inwardly groaned, and outwardly resumed exchanging pleasantries with Dumbledore as Hermione sat, sucking sullenly (Not suggestively, Draco had to remind himself. He was still a male, after all) on a lemon drop.

"Well, that should be all. Owl if you have any more questions, please. Good night, you two," Dumbledore said, smiling.

Draco nodded and smiled back. I hate being such a wuss. Hermione smirked and ran a hand through her straight hair. It was odd seeing her surrounded by such sleekness when he was used to the wild mass of curls framing her face.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled as the two left the room, he observed. Hermione pushed lightly past him and uncomfortably he walked behind her. She was walking at a moderate pace, slow enough for his long legs to ach to make larger strides, but fast enough that if he tried, he would be walking beside her.

Finally they reached their portrait. The peasant woman smiled pleasantly at them.

"Night Flash," Hermione said coldly to the portrait, whose smile faded slightly before she swung open.

Draco frowned in thought. She was quite annoying, even as him.

He had settled before the fire when Hermione had opened the door to her room. She was about to enter it when he called out, his Draco Granger side automatically taking control.

"Wait! Malfoy! Come here," he said.

"What?" she asked impatiently, from her door.

"Come here," he repeated. What fool thing was he about to say?

Sighing deeply and rolling her rich brown eyes, she took a few steps closer. "This is close as I get. I don't want to infect myself," she said bitingly.

Draco sighed. "That's exactly what I'm talking about. We're going to have to work together a lot, you know?" Inwardly, he cringed. He sounded all…goody-goody. And he did not think Miss Malfoy would take kindly to what he seemed to be suggesting. He knew he wouldn't.

"What? The fact that I don't want to touch you? It isn't going to change, scum," she said, arms crossed.

"Look, we can't go on arguing like two children here. I suggest a truce, though I dislike the idea as much as you," Draco said. He prepared himself for a repertoire of insults to be slung at him.

Instead, Hermione took a step closer. "Tell me more about this truce of which you speak," she commanded.

"Well, like I said, it would be to work together. I'm not asking you to be my friend—as if I would—but, well, we just wouldn't be so hostile. If we hex each other every time we work together, we won't be very productive," He explained, Hermione considered, stepped even closer, until she was best before him. She leaned down before his chair, very close. He could feel her breath on his cheeks.

"Never," she whispered breathily, "would I lower myself to make a truce with a Mudblood such as yourself."

She was gone before he could even blush, but she didn't run. She glided.

Draco stared after her, stunned and humiliated. Irksome, a wormlike thought wriggled through his head uncomfortable.

Looks like Miss Priss has become the epitome of pureblooded, aristocratic women.

He could almost admire her.

Almost.

Thanks for reading! I hope you liked this chapter. I'm not so sure about it. Anyways, I want to clarify this—This is a Hermione x Draco fanfiction. However, I will not say that I refuse to pair either with any one else. So while the dominate pair will definitely be Draco and Hermione, there's a while to go before they realize that—so they may 'hook up' with others. Yeah, no certainty yet, but there's your warning! Anyways, review please. See you next chapter!