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 :Hey guys! It's chapter eight! Thanks for the reviews, etc, etc. Uhh….not much more to write here. Hope you enjoy!

Hermione yawned widely. It was far too early to be awake, but the insistent tapping at her window made it impossible to get any rest. Stretching, catlike, she rose from her bed and went to her window, where a charcoal-grey owl was hovering.

She opened the window, and the majestic bird flew into her room. Without resting, he promptly stuck out his sharply taloned leg, where a letter was neatly tied. Hermione unfastened the parchment, and as soon as it was detached, the owl hooted softly and flew out of the still-open window.

Hermione unfolded the letter. On it was one simple line of writing.

Hermione, it read.

Come outside your common room.

-B.

Irked, Hermione pulled a silk robe over her rather scanty night slip. She hurried out of her room to portrait entrance, which she pulled open, with a squawk from its peasant occupant. Sure enough, Blaise stood there, arms crossed. Hermione quickly grabbed Blaise and pulled him into the common room.

"What the hell are you doing here at bloody—"she checked the clock in the corner, "four in the morning?! I need my sleep!"

"Nice nightgown," was all he replied, eyebrows raised, impressed. Hermione let out a sigh.

"Please don't tell me this is just a pleasure visit," she said. Blaise's lips quirked at her wording. She rolled her eyes at him.

"Why? Don't you want to see your dear friend Blaise?" he asked innocently. Hermione smirked. "Don't answer that. But no, I haven't come for simple—pleasure. I've come to warn you,"

"Oh, how ominous," Hermione deadpanned. Blaise laughed shortly.

"Well, it's about Pansy, so not really. But also, Goyle was snoring and I couldn't sleep," he admitted.

"Blaise…" she said, very much exasperated. "You can't live in my dorm, you know."

"Can't I?"

"We are not having this conversation right now. Just tell me what you need to," Hermione snapped.

"Feisty," Blaise observed. Then, seeing her eyes grow colder, he went on. "I was just, you know, doing my rounds, when I overheard Pansy talking to that cow of a woman, Bullstrode. They were, of course, discussing you,"

"And what exactly did they say?"

"Well, my dear, the war of humiliation has been unofficially declared. Whichever girl wins the war, wins the house title. Of course, she wouldn't tell you this. We need some retaliation,"

"Well, what was her first move? Did you hear?"

"The old ink-over-designer-robes trick. Very easy to counter with a reflecting charm," he said, with a sigh.

"What pitiful competition. Honestly, the ink trick? How sad," Hermione drawled.

"Well, yes, but we've always known that Pansy isn't the brightest torch out there. Have you got any dirt on her?"

Hermione thought for a moment. "Well, actually…"

"Don't tell me. I want a surprise," Blaise said. Hermione laughed.

"Come on, my silly boy. It's way too early to be awake. You can sleep on the floor beside my bed,"

"What, no room for me in your bed?" Blaise asked, giving her a mock pout. Hermione shook her head reprovingly, suppressing a laugh easily.

"That is quite inappropriate, Mr. Zabini," she chastised.

"What's my punishment? Perhaps a good whipping?" he rejoined.

"Only if you're a good little boy. Now, come on." She said firmly, and led him up the stairs. The staircase suddenly turned into a large slide as Blaise descended the stairs. He took out his wand and muttered a quick word, and after several seconds the stairs returned to their normal state. Ginning, he pounced after Hermione.

ooooooooooooooooooooo

Draco pounded on the bathroom door. "Malfoy!" He bellowed. He continued banging on the door and nearly fell over when it was abruptly opened by Blaise, who was wearing naught but a towel around his waist.

"Would you shut up?" he asked lightly. Draco's mouth fell open.

"Why-why are you here?" he asked, slack-jawed. It was odd seeing his closest friend in this world, especially since Blaise now disliked him strongly.

"Company of Miss Malfoy, old chap," said Blaise disinterestedly. "Anyhow, if you wouldn't mind moving…" Not waiting for an answer, he pushed Draco aside.

Draco moved into the bathroom and turned on the shower. He quickly undressed and moved into the warm stream of water, deep in thought.

Are—are Blaise and Hermione—sleeping together? Would he be in her room otherwise? Wait—does this make Blaise gay, since he's sleeping with Hermione, who's supposed to be me? No, come off it, can't be. But—why is he sleeping with Granger—I mean, Hermione—to begin with? Surely he doesn't find her attractive or anything? Ah, it's too early.

Ten minutes later, Draco, now dressed, was still absorbed in his thoughts. He absentmindedly went down to the Great Hall, where Ginny and Harry greeted him cheerily.

"Where's Ron?" Draco asked, snapping out of his reverie.

"Dunno," said Harry. Ginny simply shrugged.

"Draco…" Ginny said, a little bit pink.

"What?" he asked, almost too quickly.

"You've—well, you got a bit of soap-sud on your collar. She leaned over and gently brushed it off, fingers coming close to, but not touching, his neck. Harry was luckily talking to Dean Thomas at this point and didn't notice how flushed the two were.

"Thanks," he said quietly. Ginny nodded and went back to her toast.

"What do we have first?" Harry asked Draco a few minutes later. Draco thought for a moment.

"Care of Magical Creatures, with the Slytherins, I think. And then I have to see some of them again next period, in Double Advanced Arithmancy," he groaned.

"Tough luck for you there, mate. Should have stuck with Trelawney, like me and Ron did,"

"Ron and I," Draco corrected absently. He would have class with Hermione most of the day. Perhaps this would give him a chance to observe her, and, indirectly, himself.

oooooooooooooooooo

"A'righ, ge' out some quills an' ink, you lot," Hagrid rumbled twenty minutes later in Care of Magical Creatures. "We'll be drawin' this lot o' Crups. Get yerselves into groups, would'ya,"

Harry, Draco, and Ron, who had joined them after a while in the Great Hall, saying he was sending a letter, crowded around a Crup. Draco took out a quill, ink, and some parchment and was about to start drawing when Ron nudged him.

"Look," he said in an undertone. Pansy and Hermione were facing each other, anger on Pansy's face and the usual cool mask on Hermione's.

"Look what you did!" Shrieked Pansy, who had spatters of ink all over her robes.

"Well, it's your fault, isn't it," Hermione drawled calmly. "You spilled ink on me, and I have reflective charms on my robes. It naturally bounced back on you,"

"Oh, yes, so sorry about spilling it on you, your highness," Pansy spat. "How clumsy of me,"

"Yes, well, we already knew that klutziness is one of your faults, Pans," Hermione said, mockingly sincere. "Isn't that why that Russian bloke—what was his name, Molotov?—broke off your engagement? The day after he met you, too, poor dear. Perhaps your face wasn't to his liking?"

"You—why you!—" Pansy screeched. She lunged forward, hands, teeth, and nails flailing, to attack Hermione.

"Impedimenta," Hermione said, bored. "Shouldn't you," She sneered at Hagrid, who was watching them in surprise, "do something about this girl?"

"Oh! Er, righ', yeah," he said, picking up the still frozen Pansy. "I, ah, be'er take 'er somewhere to get fixed. You lot behave yerselves, now."

He walked up to the castle, Pansy under an enormous arm, leaving the class to mill about, talking.

"Wow," said Ron, looking startled. "I thought the bloody Slytherins didn't feed off their own kind,"

Draco gave a short laugh. "Shows what you know," he said, not unpleasantly.

Wait, he thought, confused. I meant to say that. Me, not Draco Granger. Does this mean that the reactions are wearing off—or that I actually think like Granger?

ooooooooooooooo

"A job well done," Blaise acknowledged, "even I've seen better,"

Hermione scowled at him. "I didn't see you moving to help me," she said haughtily. Blaise ran a hand though his dark hair. He tended to do that, she had noticed. It was all rather endearing.

You did not just think of Blaise Zabini as endearing, she thought, panicked. Oh, god.

But there was a voice in the back of her head that disagreed. He wasn't a Death Eater, even if he was a Slytherin and consorted with the likes of Malfoy. He wasn't even that horrible.

Hermione shook her head to clear it. This really was not the time to think about this.

Suddenly, she felt a tugging at her robes.

"Duhhh, Hermione, that was really clever," said Gregory Goyle, a thick smile on his boulder-like head. She sighed. This was just one more fly to swat at.

oooooooooooooooooooo

Draco fidgeted his way all through Double Advanced Arithmancy. He had the odd feeling that someone was looking at him, and, sure enough, when he turned around, he saw Hermione staring at him. He scowled at her, but it didn't seem to stop her pointed staring.

He turned around, and resumed his note taking, but she wouldn't stop staring. Draco turned around again. She leered at him.

"Mr. Granger! Miss Malfoy! If the two if you would stop flirting and pay attention, you would know that the assignment has just been given! Copy it down, please, and be more attentive!" Professor Vector's shrill voice snapped Draco back to reality.

Blushing furiously, he mumbled "But I wasn't flirting, professor!"

He distinctly thought he heard, from behind him, "You're such a goddamn prude, Granger," but he ignored the comment.

It was the god-awful truth, after all, something Draco wasn't well equipped to face.

ooooooooooooooooooooo

Draco was reclining on a pouf of a chair in the Head's common room, reading, when he felt something fall lightly, oddly, onto his head, as if from the ceiling. The said object was now in his hair, though not heavy or uncomfortable. It was, he guessed, a piece of parchment. Reaching up to feel it, he found himself to be right.

Bloody brilliant, I am, he thought, pleased. The parchment was ripped off a larger scroll, as evidenced by one edge being raggedly torn. He unfolded the parchment, curious to see what it was.

His expression fell for an instant—an instant that Hermione just happened to catch, as she stepped into the room.

"What's your problem, Granger?" she sneered.

"I don't have one," he said, a little too quickly. Hermione's sharp eyes focused upon the slip of paper between his fingers.

"Hmm, what's this? A love-letter, perhaps?" smirked Hermione, though inwardly her heart sunk. She was sure she knew what it was.

"Nothing! It's nothing, just a scrap of spare parchment, Malfoy!" He said, very fast. Hermione arched an eyebrow.

"Then you wont mind me seeing it, of course, I just happen to need to jot something down—accio parchment—why, Granger," she said, smiling coldly as she read the paper.

It read, in the same writing as always,

YOU ARE A WORTHLESS PIECE OF FILTH, MUDBLOOD. DIE NOW AND DO US ALL A FAVOR.

"Someone has been sending you love notes," she said gleefully. "My, my, what a tidbit,"

"Shut up," said Draco quietly. Draco Granger's anger was mounting.

"What's wrong, Granger, ashamed of your filthy heritage? Well, then, you'd best—" But she never got the chance to say what he'd best do, for his wand was up and pointing straight at her.

"I said, shut up, you hear?" He said, voice a soft timbre that made Hermione shiver inwardly.

"Ooh, I'm so sca—" Hermione started again, but Draco advanced on her, and his eyes, ablaze, cut off her previous thoughts.

"No, now you listen to me, Malfoy. I have put up with all—your—bullocks for six years now. But now, and I have shown a lot of bloody patience, I am getting bloody sick of your immature, biased insults and your bloody need to make everything about you, you conceited, prejudiced, cow! So either back off, and get a life, or be ready, I warn you, because I am not going to—bloody—hold—back!"

Draco panted, face slightly flushed, after this tirade. Hermione said nothing, but her eyebrows rose slightly. Her lips started to quirk into that well known smirk, but then thought better of it.

Merlin, but he's not so bad when he's angry, the Malfoy inside her mused. She felt as if an ice-cube had slipped into her stomach. Did Malfoy think that about her? She felt—like retching, in a way—but another part of her, far more detached, felt a little flattered, for all that it was Malfoy.

She snapped back to reality. Apparently, Draco was expecting a response of some kind.

"Well, well, Granger, see you've been thinking about this pretty often. Tell me, does it always get you this hot and bothered?"

He let out a little moan of frustration. She smirked.

"Moaning already, Granger, and I haven't even touched you. My, but someone's apparently got a bit of sexual frustration built up,"

Draco shook his head incredulously, apparently too enraged and surprised to answer. He stormed out of the room to Hermione's laughter.

ooooooooooooooooooo

Smart witch, thought Draco, while his Mudblood-half inwardly raged. Then again, that is me making those comments, in some twisted, fucked up way. That's kind of kinky…

Wait! Ew! That's Granger!

But it's also me. Which is still wrong, but less so.

He heaved a sigh. The whole thing was so bloody confusing.

Goodbye, annoying denial. Hello, sexual tension. What'd you think? How do you think I do with keeping them in-character? Okay? I mean, I know not exactly, but they do at least slightly resemble the characters, right? I've got some interesting ideas for the next chapter… who knows if they'll work out, though. Well, that's it, folks!