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: Here's the latest chapter. I made an effort to get it out earlier, I really did! I like this chapter, odd as it is. It kind of feels a bit inconsistent with the story, though. Oh well. 92 reviews! Thanks! I love all of you guys, it makes my day to read your awesome comments!
Hermione woke with dry red eyes, completely exhausted. After performing several concealing glamour charms, she pulled on her robes halfheartedly. Sighing, she sank back down onto the bed. I really don't want to go to classes, she thought miserably, with both personas.
But, well, Malfoys had standards, she had learned. And skipping classes because she had gotten all emotional the day before just wasn't acceptable. Actually, getting emotional wasn't acceptable, but committing both crimes would be far, far worse.
She rose tiredly, running a hand through her hair. She was still surprised whenever she found sleek straightness, rather than her usual bushy mass of curls. She rather missed them.
At breakfast, Blaise was absent, and he came hurrying into Transfiguration so late that Hermione didn't have the time to question her. In fact, her whole schedule was filled today with Blaise-free classes, oddly enough. Was he—avoiding her? This made her all the more persistent in her need to know why.
She passed through the next two classes in something of a daze, although she wasn't quite slacking off, either. Unconsciously, she swish-and-flicked, drawled lazy answers, and correctly identified the parts of a Muggle refrigerator. In lunch, she was approached by a near-tearful confused first year Slytherin, and by the time she had sorted out the problems with her, lunch was half over and Blaise was no where in sight.
"Crabbe, Goyle," she demanded while selecting a small slice of Shepard's pie and several chocolate biscuits. "Where is Blaise?"
"Ran off somewhere," grunted Crabbe.
"Said something about preparing something," elaborated the slightly more articulate Goyle.
Hermione sighed. Honestly, could they perhaps try to be a smidge brighter? Immediately, she felt a bit bad. They couldn't help their lack of brain.
"Did he say what?" she asked patiently. After thinking for a moment, Crabbe shook his head resolutely. Goyle opened his mouth to speak. Hermione was pleasantly surprised. Had he finally learned to acknowledge the world around him?
"No." he confirmed. Hermione let out a frustrated groan. Forget the conscience, they were so—bloody—dim.
After lunch, she headed down to Care of Magical creatures, a double class with the Gryffindors. Oh, yes, that was just what she needed—a class full of enemies. On the plus side, Blaise was there…
oooooooo
"Draco," Harry urgently whispered into his ear. They were at Care of Magical creatures, the last class of the day.
"What?" Draco asked quietly. What was so important that Harry had neglected to tell him earlier?
"I just remembered," Harry said. In hushed tones, he recounted his dream to Draco, who listened attentively. "I don't know what it means, though," he concluded.
"Harry, don't you know Occulmency enough to block vision dreams?" Draco asked intently.
"Yes…but, that was to block out Voldemort from attacking my mind. I don't know if this is real or not," Harry explained. Draco thought and nodded.
"But why would I call someone else Granger?" Draco asked, but inside he had a theory.
Had the real Granger had some part in this devious switching? He remembered her watching him intently. Perhaps she had poisoned him?
But, no, these things usually happened on their own. People didn't cause them, did they? And plus, Potter was clearly barmy and he had no reason to believe his silly dreams. It was probably just pure coincidence.
Probably.
"Hey, you lot, are you going to leave me to this—monster—alone?" came Ron's grumpy voice. Draco laughed at the sight of him. A strange beast that Draco had never heard of was climbing onto Ron's lap, spiky paws attaching to his robe and pulling out long strands. Draco suspected that it was a strange hybrid breed of a Niffler and something spiky.
Whatever it was, it was kind of cute. Cute in an illegal, tear-out-your-limbs sort of way. Draco smiled at it, and bent to pat it, but noticed something far more interesting in front of him, on the Slytherin side.
Pansy Parkinson was speaking to Millicent Bulstrode in a quiet, contained calm way with a glint in her cruel, shallow blue eyes.
That could mean only one thing: Trouble. She was planning on something, something to overthrow the current Slytherin Princess.
And Draco's quick, manipulative mind thought of what that could mean. Information was power, and power could get him that death eater book. Now, the only question was, how could he sell the information to Hermione—without looking like a sneaky, malicious Slytherin git?
Or, actually, then again…
oooooo
Hermione sat in her room, carefully writing the ending to a long and particularly boring essay due in Muggle Studies. She sighed as she dotted the last 'i' and rolled the parchment into a neat scroll. She tossed it at her schoolbag and reclined on her large, comfortable bed.
Despite the languid, serene actions she made, inwardly, she was most displeased. Not once had she managed to corner Blaise. She had come to the conclusion that he was avoiding her. Ah, well, she would deal with him a dinner, which was in a half-hours time.
Getting up, she idly tugged at the gauze cascading down from her bedposts. She felt as if she was forgetting something…
Just then, though, there was a knock at her door. Gracefully she swept to the door and opened it. Draco stood there, impatient and annoyed.
"Your lackey is lingering outside," he said brusquely. Hermione raised an eyebrow and crossed the room to the portrait. She pushed it open to find a pacing Blaise. She beckoned him inside, then turned to Draco.
"Right, Granger, you're services are no longer needed," she said, with an idly flick of her had, as if dismissing a slave. Blaise sneered at Draco behind her. Draco strode off, muttering, "Really, now, when will people learn?" and slamming the door to his room behind him.
Hermione laughed. "Why are you here, Blaise? And why have you been avoiding me all day? Don't deny it," she added at his face.
"Let's go into your room, shall we?" Blaise sidestepped the question neatly, pulling Hermione into her bedroom by her thing wrist.
"So? I'm waiting, Blaise," Hermione said patiently once he pulled the ajar door closed.
"Look, Hermione, you know me. I just don't do comforting," he sighed, running a hand through his dark locks.
Hermione nodded, unsure what this had to do with anything. Then it hit her, and she doubled over in laughter. "You—you were embarrassed?" she gasped out. Blaise glared at her, then nodded. Hermione laid a hand on his shoulder for support, shill laughing relentlessly.
Once she had calmed down, Blaise was staring determinately at the floor with a slight flush on his olive-skinned cheeks. "Oh, Zabini, you priceless, priceless boy," she said, a bit breathless from laughter.
She wasn't quite sure how it happened. But somehow, he had looked up as she put her older hand on his other shoulder, a mindless gesture. His eyes had a gleam to them, sweetly mischievous as a cherub. Unthinking, she leaned forward, solidly connecting her lips to his.
He had not expected it, to be sure. It was a mainly one-sided affair until he gathered his wits, and kissed back.
Hermione Malfoy had never even dreamt of Blaise in a strictly non-platonic way. But now, now that they were latched by the lip, she found that these thoughts had fled her.
Actually, she found all thoughts had fled her, perhaps into the yielding, sweet lipped mouth attached to hers.
Hermione Malfoy had kissed many a man, most of them more desirable, more experienced and most definitely more sophisticated than Blaise. Now, however, she found a delicious shiver of anticipation travel down her spine. For none had been—as pure, as well meaning, as, well, friendly as Blaise. He wasn't a virgin by any means, having slept with several Slytherin girls just to rid himself of the 'Virgin' title, but he was refreshingly moldable.
Hermione's tongue had, unbidden, found shelter in Blaise's mouth, and her hands traveled expertly from his shoulders to rest at his hips. He tentatively raised his own, larger hands to cup her cheeks gently, still paying avid attention to her lips.
She drew away first, gasping from the sheer force of the kiss. "Wow," she murmured. Blaise smiled, a true, genuine thing that made Hermione's breath hitch slightly. Blaise leant down, softly brushing his lips against hers.
"Yeah," he said, mouth brushing hers with every word. "But, I'm not a boy," he added, pressing his lips more firmly onto hers.
It took Hermione a few moments to process what he was talking about with his rather distracting lips on hers. She giggled into his mouth when she realized he was referring to her earlier comment.
The Malfoy side of Hermione wasn't a bug one for lip-to-lip kisses. They were just…too intimate. People took them the wrong way, got attached. 'She' had always told 'herself' that so many lingering kisses were only for her one, true, love.
Which wasn't Blaise. Oh, sure, he was a great boy. But he wasn't her soul mate, she didn't think. Consequently, she pulled her lips away from his.
But just because he wasn't her soul mate, and she couldn't kiss him, not like that, it didn't mean they couldn't have …fun.
Which is just what they did for the next hour and a half. Three times in a row.
Hermione, lying sated in Blaise's arms, idly recalled that dinner had ended. Still, she didn't rise and soon her thoughts evaporated when Blaise reached over and placed a possessive arm around her waist in sleep. Smiling, she snuggled closer to his chest.
Wait. Hold on a minute.
Possessive?
Oh, no. This is not happening. Not with Blaise.
oooooooo
Draco, sitting tensely by his wall, swore under his breath. He had been listening to the conversation between the Mudblood-who-wasn't and his best friend. He had tuned out a bit, however, when the only worlds passed were the disgustingly explicit kind. That was really just not right.
What the fuck? He didn't like the idea of—her—and Blaise sleeping together. He didn't care that Hermione was him, right now; it was just wrong, plain and simple.
The problem was, he couldn't figure out just what part was so incredibly wrong. He knew it was true, but, well, which section? The fact that it was Blaise, his best, deceitful, Slytherin friend? Or the fact that it was Hermione, whose life he was inhabiting and who he hated—or did he?
It didn't make any sense. He should have rushed in there and broken off whatever—well, he knew, but, ew-they were doing, for Blaise's sake. He shouldn't have let his best friend get tainted like that.
Yet also, being in Granger's life, it made him feel a bit—responsible for her in this life. He wasn't sure if it was his damsel-in-distress complex (although now that he thought about it, she wasn't exactly in distress) or if he was actually—oh, god, this is weird—growing on her. Worst of all, he wasn't sure he disliked this new feeling.
But, when I go back to the real world, everything will be normal, he half-heartedly assured himself. This means nothing here. I can't let these—ugh—feelings get in the way of thing. Whatever they are. I'm sure there not serious.
But really, he wasn't sure. Because in this crazy, messed-up world where pure-blood crazed people looked up to a half-blood, half-dead guy and Muggle-lovers looked up to a teenage, scar-faced boy, anything was possible. It scared him a little the depth of how plain strange the world was—not just this one, the real one.
Well, it didn't really matter, he supposed.
It wasn't like this was love he was dealing with, or something.
Right?
Ooooooooo
Hermione woke bright and early the next day. It was six thirty, the morning light practically non-existent. Gently wriggling out of Blaise's arms, so as not to wake him, she rose and strode over to the bathroom in the ease of one who has spent a refreshingly passionate night.
However, that didn't mean that she wanted to get attached.
So, as she had done numerous times before, she left the room after washing away the traces of sex from her body and dressing, leaving Blaise to wake with a cold spot beside him, perhaps hurt—but not confused. She really was fond of Blaise, it was true, but she didn't want him to think the wrong thing.
He would get over it. In time.
Hermione didn't like thinking about it. She had never been rejected in such a way, certainly, so she didn't really know what if felt like. Paying attention to her surroundings, she realized where her padding footsteps had led her: The Heads' room.
Almost in a daze, she went inside. Somehow she was not surprised to se Draco there, poring over a small-printed tome that was near crumbling with age.
"Did you just—leave him there?" Draco blurted out in astonishment once he looked up and found her watching him. Hermione scowled as he flushed.
"Yes, Mudblood. I did. Get over it, it's not like its you I'm rejecting," she told him coolly. Immediately, she realized her mistake. That almost sounded as if she liked him. Luckily, however, he didn't notice and just grumbled and went back to her work.
She felt a small pang in her stomach. Was she really like that? All study and prissy habits and no fun? No, come off it, she had fun—but come to think of it, she was always the nagging one.
In this body, she felt an odd kind of freedom. Not bound by the ropes of her identity, she could say some words that had always been bottled up—but, wait.
Her words were Malfoy's words. Or Malfoy's words were her words. Either way, it didn't make sense. Did she like what he was saying? No, that didn't make sense either—she had been fighting against his cruel words all seven years at Hogwarts.
What did this mean? Did she suddenly see him as a person?
Did he feel the same way?
This called for drastic action. She knew she shouldn't, but, well, she had to. If only to ensure that she wasn't mad.
Abruptly she turned on her heel and left, slamming the portrait behind her. She willed herself to remember the steps—yes, a left at this hallway, up those stairs, through that set of doors. On, and on, and on, until she found the small chamber with three open arches as walls, the last a solid, marble plated wall.
A portrait of a shrewd looking man hung on the wall, beady eyes calculating as Hermione drew near.
"I've been expecting you," he said is a slightly wheezy soft voice.
"I know you have," Hermione replied neutrally, eyes flashing to the engraving below the portrait. In fancy script, it read: "Wilmer the Willful: the Sly Will Not Repent; for They Alone Are Not Remorseful."
Hermione smiled in satisfaction. It was the right place.
"Good luck," Wilmer wheezed, still managing to sound cunning. Hermione nodded, then spoke.
"Cryptic," she said, in an ironically clear voice.
The portrait swung open.
Dun dun dun…heh. There you are, seven pages of coolness where each realizes that the other isn't so bad. I'm sorry about the Blaise thing for those staunch Hermione-Draco-shippers, but really, for someone as, ah, sexually open as Malfoy (either one, take your pick) they need someone to blow off some steam with. I didn't make it at all descriptive, of course, but that's just because it's inconsequential to the plot. Perhaps there's a real one ahead, but by that I mean far, far ahead. Hope you don't mind! Anyways this is disastrously long, so thanks for reading and review if the mood takes you!
