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 : There you go! I hope you like it. I wrote most of it in one sitting, I just was really eager to update. Did you know that this story is 73 pages long already? That makes it my longest story ever. Of course, it does include this annoying authors note and summary and stuff. So, without further ado, I give you…Chapter Nine! Enjoy!
Draco had been lying in bed, thinking, when he heard a tapping from his window. He went to it, and, upon seeing the tawny owl that was standing there, unlatched it. The bird flew in hurriedly and quickly stuck out its leg. Apparently, it was in something of a rush. He took the letter off and as soon as he had done so, the bird flew off.
He unfurled the parchment to find an official looking note.
Dear Mr. Granger, the letter read.
Tomorrow (September the Twelfth) you will be excused from your classes, to work on Heads' business. This is not, of course, to be taken as a mere free-day; you will be fully responsible for catching up on your schoolwork. Please report promptly at 9:00 at the Heads' conference room, which you should have been shown several weeks ago. Thank you.
Signed,
Minerva McGonagall,
Deputy Headmistress.
Draco stared at the letter. Heads' business? What would it be?
Still pondering this, he walked into the common room. Hermione stood there, a similar looking letter in her hand. She had a look of utter scorn upon her face. She looked up as he was about to exit the room.
"Granger, what's this about? You're Professor McGonnaDieASpinster's favorite student. What Heads' business?" she asked him. He bristled at the dig against one of his favorite teachers.
"Why don't you go ask your daddy?" he asked tartly. Hermione scowled at him. "I mean, that's how you always got your information before—that, and your position, friends, life. Gee, a real Daddy's Girl, huh?"
"You shut your face," hissed Hermione, who had gone very slightly pink in the cheeks. Draco was torn between being pleased and being angry—he knew he didn't flush easily, so he was proud of the comeback—but then again, he was insulting himself. And the insult hit home, too.
Draco quickly exited through the portrait. He knew himself rather well, and he didn't want to stick around face his own temper.
He reached the Great Hall quickly. Harry and Ron were waiting for him anxiously. They had saved the seat between them, which Draco quickly slid into.
"What?" he asked in response to their worried expressions.
"Tell him, Harry," Ron said grimly as he piled his plate with cold ham and corn. Harry looked suspiciously to either side of them. Once he was satisfied that no one was paying attention to them, he spoke.
"Look, Draco, you know how my scar's been hurting, right?" Draco nodded in reply, and Harry went on. "Well, about twenty minutes ago, it burned like mad and I—I don't know—blacked out, or something. Point is, I had this little—dream, or vision, or something, but it wasn't like the old ones that I can block," he said.
"What was it like?" asked Draco curiously.
"It's usually a scene, but this time it was like—a message. I saw loads of white light and then this voice, and it said something like 'beware the snake's servant, for he will recruit his spawn, that could be your ally' or something. Then there was this little flash and I saw this little girl's face," Harry finished grimly.
"Harry, maybe you should go ask—" Draco began, but Ron cut him off.
"Draco, don't even bother. We are not going to any bloody teacher," he said firmly, though his resolute attitude was somewhat diminished by the fact that he had a corn kernel stuck right below his lip. Draco stifled a laugh.
"Uh, okay, Ron," he said. "So, what do you suppose it means?"
"The snake's servant? Well, the snake could be Snape, he's definitely a snake—"Ron began.
"Honestly, Ron," said Draco loudly. "When are you going to give it up? Snape is on our side,"
"Alright, alright," Ron said irritably, shoving a forkful of corn into his mouth. "Wha' du' 'oo 'ink, Arry?"
"Ron, that's disgusting," Draco said, wrinkling his nose. "But what do you think, Harry?"
"Well, I reckon the Snake is definitely Voldemort. And his servant—well, that's could be a thousand people, any old death eater,"
"True," Draco acknowledged. "But remember, we aren't even sure if this is real," he added. Harry nodded. Ron, however, who had swallowed his corn, only looked thoughtful.
"Isn't Lucius Malfoy thought of his right-hand man? I mean, after Wormtail died, didn't he take over?" Peter Pettigrew had been caught in the trio's sixth year, to their extreme delight.
Then, Ron's words sunk in and it all made sense. Draco felt his heart sinking. Recruit his spawn. That means me.
This line of thought was continued by Harry, who let out a soft exclamation and said "Malfoy!"
"I wouldn't mind having her for an ally," Ron said lecherously. Draco shivered. What did this mean in the real world?
"Ugh, Ron, have some self respect," Draco said. Ron rolled his eyes and made an expression as if to say 'let's not get into this again.'
"So, what do we do?" askied Harry, looking over to the Slytherin table. "Do we try to be her friend, or what?"
"I'm not going to forget all she's done to me—to us—just because she might help," said Draco heatedly. This was really quite interesting—did she really think of him like this? Well, yes, he supposed.
Ron opened his mouth to reply, but just then Ginny slid into the seat next to Harry, and said "Hello, Draco. Harry, Ronniekins,"
'Hey Gin," said Draco, and smiled. She looked into his eyes, and even though the Granger inside him didn't notice, his real mind was screaming 'SHE LIKES YOU!'
This was getting bizarre. The Weaselette liked Granger, Ron liked or at least lusted for him—or Malfoy anyway—oh. Duh, he thought triumphantly. The Weasleys have switched roles, the Weaselette wants me, Draco Malfoy, and Ron—er, Weasley—wants the real Granger. It made perfect sense to him. Hah, she doesn't want him back! I—she—feels nothing but platonic friendship. This will crush him.
Just then he noticed out of the corner of his eye that a large owl had flown into the middle of the lunch room, and had dropped a black envelope in front of Hermione, who quickly snatched it up and shoved it in her pocket with a great deal more force than needed.
He knew the envelope, even across the room.
It was his father.
And this wasn't good. What news was this that it couldn't wait until the next day? He didn't like the looks of this, not at all.
ooooooooo
"Blaise," said Hermione out of the corner of her mouth. Get your ass up to my room as soon as you can get away."
She was edging away from the rest of Slytherin. She really wanted to open the letter, even if she had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.
Her feet led her automatically to the portrait outside the common room. "Night Flash," she muttered. The portrait said nothing but swung open. She had the feeling that it didn't like her very much.
Hermione slid into her room as quickly as she dared. She wasn't sure if Draco was there, and she didn't want to be heard—it would only waste time and perhaps arouse suspicion.
Once she was safely inside, the door locked, she ripped open the letter. Her heart sank as she read it.
She sunk onto the bed without her usual grace, she was in such shock. This was not expected.
She was in the same position when, ten minutes later, a knock came from the door. She listlessly sat up and slunk to the door, where Blaise was standing nonchalantly. He smirked but when he saw her expression—not sad, or happy, or neutral, but strained, with a bit of anger—he stopped and genuinely asked "What's wrong?"
"See for yourself," she said bitterly.
After a moment of silently scanning the letter, Blaise looked up, his face unreadable. "So, you're going to be a death eater. I thought girls weren't allowed?"
"It's a privilege," said Hermione, looking away. "Only the best witches are accepted—like aunt Bellatrix. Blaise, I don't want to throw away my life to some crackpot who's probably going to lose anyway,"
"How do you know he'll lose?"
"Look at Potter. Look at Dumbledore, Moody, McGonagall, everyone. Look at Granger and Weasley, for god's sake. You think they'll lose? Or, even if they do, they'll completely destroy the death eaters first," Hermione said with a sigh. She looked up. "I don't want to waste my life in some stupid cause I could give a damn about. Yeah, sure, Mudbloods suck, but I like my life better,"
"I thought you'd see it that way," Blaise nodded. "Well, cant you refuse or something?"
Hermione laughed humorlessly. "What do you think?" His expression answered the question.
"At least you have until summer," Blaise offered.
"Only because they don't want stupid half trained kids in their ranks. They're incompetent as it is. Otherwise, I'd be wearing that disgusting mark quicker than you can say 'Avada Kedavra.'" Hermione replied shortly.
Blaise winced. "I'm sorry," he said meekly. She was in one of her dangerous moods, he could tell.
"Sorry isn't going to keep my forearm flawless, is it?" she snapped. He looked taken aback. Hermione sighed. "Look, I didn't mean that. I just—I need to be alone, okay? I'll talk to you some other time," she said, pushing him gently out of the room. She couldn't help but notice that he had a very muscled chest.
You should not be thinking of this at such a serious moment, she scolded herself.
As Blaise left, she realized that the door had been left open the whole time. And, there, sitting behind a bookshelf in a way that he obviously thought she could see him, was Draco.
This complicated things, she noted.
Or, she realized. This could help a whole lot.
She gave out one long, not entirely fake sigh and made a show of closing the door loudly. She pressed her ear to the door and heard him get up, apparently breathing hard, and exit.
It was going to be one goddamn long year.
oooooooo
Draco paced his room, thinking wildly on what he had heard.
Does this mean its coming up so soon for me, too? If I stay here, will I not have to deal with it? Wait, what am I thinking—I don't want to stay here! But is this all made up, a possible future?
I can't believe it's already happening.
Draco had always known that he would have to join Voldemort's ranks. It was an unwritten Malfoy law—marry a pureblood, beautiful witch, have lots of fame, good looks, fortune, and magic, join the current Dark Lord. All in a life's work.
He knew it would come—eventually. He had always expected it to occur sometime when he was maybe in his twenties or so—why did Voldemort want silly teenagers fighting his wars? It was ridiculous, really. They couldn't do much, obviously. Draco had always kind of hoped that Voldemort would be defeated by Potter before he was required to join. Now, though, it seemed that wasn't an option.
Draco knew there were preparation manuals that Hermione would be sent in the six months preceding her initiation. He had to get his hands on those manuals. He couldn't handle not knowing.
There was only one thing to do, then. He would have to convince his Granger side to go along with Harry and Ron's little plan to get on Hermione's good side, get close to her and—snatch the booklets. It was the only way. He wasn't slick enough in this body to steal them, and they probably could sense his rather unclean blood and, with his luck, hex him into oblivion. No, there was nothing to do but follow the plan.
How to go about it, though? He doubted—no, he knew—that she wasn't likely to fall into his trap easily. He knew himself, and he would only go along if there was something to gain. What could he give her, though? It wasn't as if she would befriend him over a few less Head chores.
Seduction would work, maybe. But the problem was, he couldn't do that as Granger, could he? Perhaps he could somehow beguile her into seducing him? But how did one implant a thought into someone else's head? Well, he could try it soon—tomorrow, he realized, was the day he and Hermione would have Heads' work together. He smiled to himself.
He sat down and rubbed his own head. He was getting a headache, and wasn't getting any further in his thoughts. He picked up a book and idly flipped through the pages, then set it down again. He raised his favorite quill, which was lying nearby, to a scrap of parchment, but lowered it before he actually wrote anything. He was restless.
He figured it wouldn't hurt to have company. He lifted himself off his bed, looked quickly into a mirror, and headed out of the room, through the common room, down the hall.
It was only when he reached the first trick stair that he realized he was heading to the Gryffindor common room.
It was only when he had climbed inside the portrait-hole that he realized he had gone of his own free will.
Damn.
Okay, so I know this chapter was mostly talk and not a whole lot of interesting stuff. But now Draco has motivation, see? It was really necessary. The next chapter should be fun, though—all work and no play makes Draco and Hermione dull children! Thanks for everyone who replied, as usual. I love getting all your reviews! Thanks!
