Author's Note: Since Kawaiitie said she couldn't picture him; this is what Draco looks like now. Just remove the spaces from the URL:
www . sonymusic . ca / Media / pressshot02 . jpg
And this is Hermione:
www . worth1000 . com / web / media / 74626 / tara . jpg
Once I know who I'm not
Then I'll know who I am
But I know I won't keep on
Playing the victim
- Alanis Morrisette, Precious Illusions
"Is that true?" Ron asked, as he, Hermione, and Harry entered the Great Hall of Hogwarts. The ceiling overhead showed clouds clearing to reveal stars and a brilliant half-moon. "What Malfoy said on the train – that's not really true, is it?"
"It is, sort of," Hermione admitted, "but not for the reasons he thinks."
"What?" asked Harry, who of course had not been in the prefects' compartment. "What did Malfoy say?"
"That Muggleborns never amount to anything, because nobody will give them opportunities," said Hermione. "It's mostly a matter of money, really – a lot of old wizarding families, like the Blacks and the Malfoys, are rich, so they can buy themselves important positions if they want them. That's how Lucius Malfoy became a school governor. And then a lot of families are known for a particular talent. The Longbottoms, for example, are good at potions, which is why Neville's lack of talent there is such a handicap to him. But mostly, it's about corruption rather than prejudice. The pureblood purists have less support than they think they do."
"That's a relief," said Ron.
Hermione sat down in her usual place at the Gryffindor table, between her two friends and across from Seamus Finnegan and Dean Thomas. Neville was late as usual – he'd probably lost his toad again, poor boy. She smoothed her uniform skirt and looked up at the head table to see who was going to be Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher this year, but to her surprise, she didn't see any new faces. Furthermore, a couple of the familiar ones were missing.
Ron had noticed it, too. "Hey," he spoke up, "where's Dumbledore?"
"Snape's missing, too," said Hermione.
"Yeah, but that's almost a good thing," said Harry. "Why wouldn't Dumbledore be here?"
"I'm sure he'll turn up," said Hermione. Professor Dumbledore was known for being unpredictable, but he'd never missed a start-of-year feast. Whatever was keeping him, he would doubtless show in time to make his usual speech – a mix of announcements, warnings, and nonsense.
But he didn't. Snape returned after a couple of minutes and took his seat, but Dumbledore's place was still empty when the doors opened and McGonagall entered, leading two rows of wide-eyed first years. They followed her up to the Sorting stool, where she turned around and waited for everybody's attention.
"Students," she announced, "Professor Dumbledore apologizes for his absence, but he has some pressing business to attend to, and has asked that we proceed without him for now."
"'Pressing business'?" asked Harry.
The term sounded suspicious to Hermione, too. She opened her mouth to say that it was doubtless something to do with You-Know-Who, but was cut short but what felt like a kick in the stomach. She gasped and doubled up, tears of sudden pain in her eyes.
"Hermione?" asked Ron.
"Hermione?" said Harry at the same time. "Are you okay?"
"I... I think I'm going to be sick," said Hermione. She got up and, despite the worried protests of her friends, ran out of the Great Hall heading for the nearest bathroom. What was wrong with her? Her vision was all fuzzy as she stumbled through the bathroom door, and she could hardly breathe. The only thing she could think of was that maybe it was her period starting, but she hardly ever got cramps anymore... and when she did, they weren't like this!
Then, all of a sudden, the feeling evaporated. She leaned on the bathroom wall a moment, trying to catch her breath – well, whatever that had been, it couldn't be anything good. Perhaps she ought to go to the hospital wing. Yes, that sounded like a good idea; she shook her head and turned around, meaning to wash her hands before she went...
... and froze.
Above the sinks, there was, of course, a row of mirrors – one already had a set of lip-prints on it where some student had decided to test her makeup – and reflected in them was a girl standing in the middle of the bathroom looking terribly startled... but the girl wasn't Hermione. Her hair was blonde and straight instead of brown and bushy, and her eyes were pale blue with thick blonde lashes. She had a long nose and exotically tilted eyebrows, small pink lips and a long, graceful neck, and she was wearing Gryffindor robes.
At first, Hermione thought perhaps something was wrong with the mirror, and looked down at herself to check. The hair falling in front of her shoulders was definitely blonde, though, and her hands were narrower and paler than they should have been, with oval nails instead of square. Her heart began to pound. Was somebody playing a joke on her?
"Who are you?" asked a voice. Hermione turned around suddenly to find Moaning Myrtle floating in the air behind her.
"I-I-I'm Hermione," Hermione stammered.
Myrtle looked her over and made a face. "I'm not stupid, you know," she said. "Just because I'm dead doesn't mean I'm stupid." She frowned and studied Hermione's new face closely. "You," she said, "are a Malfoy."
"I am not!" Hermione protested.
"I've seen three generations of Malfoys coming in here to make my death miserable," replied Myrtle. "I know one when I see one and you are definitely a Malfoy."
"No, I am not," said Hermione. "I'm Hermione Jane Granger. Somebody's playing a joke on me." She glanced back at the mirror again, but the stranger's face was still there... and did indeed rather resemble a female Draco Malfoy. "I'm definitely going to the hospital wing," she decided.
"Good idea," said Myrtle. "I know I can't think of anything worse than suddenly turning into a Malfoy. Except for maybe being dead and haunting a toilet for fifty years while the living all hate you and the only ghost who ever cared enough to make friends with you decides he'd rather go haunt his Daddy's castle instead and leaves you all by your lonesome..." Hermione tuned the whining ghost out as she pushed the bathroom door open again and stepped out into the hall, only to almost run into Professor McGonagall.
"Oh, I'm sorry, Professor!" she exclaimed, then quickly added, "I'm Hermione."
Professor McGonagall nodded. "I guessed that you were," she said. "I think you had best go and see the headmaster."
"I was going to the hospital wing," said Hermione. Why should she go see the headmaster? This was probably just some kind of disguise spell that Madam Pomphrey would be able to remove easily. But... oh, then again, such spells were probably reserved for aurors and such. Using them without a license was likely to be illegal – she recalled reading something about it once, but couldn't quite remember the details. If that were the case, it was no wonder the headmaster wanted to see her. "I didn't do this myself."
"I'm sure you didn't," said Professor McGonagall, "but nevertheless, I believe you should see the headmaster. The pass word is 'Hershey's Kisses'."
Hermione nodded. "Thank you, Professor," she said, and set off.
She thought Harry and Ron would have been surprised by how calm she was as she made her way down the hall towards the gargoyle that guarded Dumbledore's office. Either of them would have thrown a flaming fit if they suddenly turned into a Malfoy clone... but Hermione had never been the type to panic. Instead, she quietly began to narrow down the possible culprits – she suspected one of the prefects, who had probably overheard her argument with Malfoy and thought it would be funny. It obviously hadn't been Ron and certainly wasn't Malfoy or Parkinson... she rather suspected Hannah Abbot, who was very good at transfiguration when she kept her head, and had a sometimes nasty sense of humour.
The gargoyle rolled aside for her without saying anything – it looked like it wanted to, but a fierce glare from Hermione kept it from opening its mouth. As she climbed the steps, ignoring the portraits who were staring at her and whispering to one another, she could hear voices speaking... and not particularly to her surprise, they were talking about her.
"Granger?" one voice said. "The Gryffindor Mudblood? Potter's friend?" There was a brief pause, then the order, "Get Miss Granger up here, now."
"Something tells me," the voice of Professor Dumbledore replied calmly, "that she is already on her way."
Hermione poked her head around the corner. "Here I..." she began, but the "am, Professor," that would have followed it never got out. Besides Dumbledore, there were three other people in the room – Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, and a boy she didn't recognize, wearing Slytherin robes. He had curly brown hair and brown eyes... and, she realized, could have been her brother, if she'd had a brother and if she'd looked the way she normally did. She swallowed. "Um."
"That's better," said Lucius Malfoy darkly.
Narcissa just covered her face and sobbed.
"Ah, Miss Granger," said Dumbledore. "Please come in. Don't panic, all will be explained, although I don't think you'll like the..."
"Do not ever call her that again," snapped Lucius. "I don't care if you're the god-damned Minister of Magic, Albus Dumbledore, you will call my daughter by her proper name from this moment forward." He turned to Hermione. "That goes for you, as well, young lady. You are Aurelia Capella Malfoy, and I don't ever want you to forget it."
Hermione stared at him. "Um. What?" she asked. What kind of sense did that make.
"Hey!" protested the boy. "If she's Aurelia Malfoy, then who am I?"
"You keep quiet," Lucius told him.
"What's going on?" Hermione asked.
"Please, remain calm, everyone," said Dumbledore. He reached into his sleeve and pulled out a large red handkerchief with white spots, which he gave to Mrs. Malfoy. She accepted it gratefully and blew her nose. "Narcissa," Dumbledore said gently, "since you seem to know best the answer to that question, would you be so kind?"
Narcissa nodded weakly, blew her nose again, and sat up – and then told an absolutely ridiculous story about how, seventeen years ago, she'd been captured by Death Eaters who'd tried to force her to join them by trading the baby daughter she was carrying with the son of a pair of Muggles. "I disguised you both with a glamour charm," she said. "To protect you. But Lucius broke that, and... I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't know what else to do. Please, forgive me..." She looked at the brown-haired boy, who had a couple of times during the telling looked like he wanted to interrupt, but never had. "Draco, please... I didn't want you to get hurt. I love you."
The boy – that was Draco? – obviously didn't have any better idea of what to say than Hermione did.
"Well," Dumbledore said, "I have no doubt this is a very trying situation for all concerned, and I think you all ought to have some time to get used to the idea. Perhaps we can meet again, hopefully with Doctors Granger present, in a day or two, once we've all calmed down?"
Narcissa nodded. "That sounds like the best idea. Thank you, Albus."
"Indeed," said Lucius dryly. "But allow me to make several things clear. You," he pointed to the brown-haired boy, "are not to call yourself Malfoy anymore. I don't care what name you do use, but you will not further disgrace my family by using mine. And you," he looked at Hermione, "will remember who you are."
"Lucius," began Dumbledore.
Lucius ignored him and turned to Narcissa. She looked up at him with an expression Hermione could only have described as resigned despair; she couldn't imagine how it could fail to melt anyone's heart, but Lucius appeared untouched by it. "I will be seeking an annulment from the Ministry first thing tomorrow morning," he said.
"Of course," said Narcissa quietly. "I'll stop by tomorrow to pick up my things?" this was a question.
"Fine," said Lucius. He bowed to Dumbledore. "Good evening," he said, and stalked out of the room.
Hermione didn't know what to do or say... and neither, from the looks of it, did anybody else. Narcissa just sat there, quietly weeping. Draco slumped back into a chair and stared into oblivion for a moment, then blinked twice and looked at Hermione. He looked so confused and helpless that she actually found herself feeling sorry for him.
"If you're Aurelia Capella Malfoy," he said, "then who am I?" The question was obviously of desperate importance to him.
Hermione shrugged. "My Mum once told me," she offered, "that if I'd been a boy they've called me Alan Bradley."
"Nobody is changing their name just yet," said Dumbledore calmly. "I think the best thing we can do is try to handle this rationally. Are you all listening?"
Hermione, Draco, and Narcissa nodded.
"Good," said the headmaster.