CHAPTER SIX – HERMIONE'S ROOMATE AND HERMIONE MADE OVER

Disclaimer: Feh I don't know Harry Potter. He owns me.

Hermione held up what she had just knitted and put it against her body to see how it looked. It was a knitted black thong. "Nice Alans," remarked Lavender.

"What do you think, Crookskanks?" The cat fled the room.

Hermione continued to talk, either not noticing or not caring that her feline companion had made itself scarce. "I think I need a new look," she began to strip off her pants to try it on. "I mean, I'm getting kind of bored with the same-old-same-old Hermione…I SHALL TRANSFORM INTO…HOAR-MIONE!"

Professor McGonagall, who was posting a message that wasn't really important to plot except for the fact that she was posting it, said, "Granger! Please! Not in the Common Room."

"Oh, poo." She retreated to her room. When she got there, Bridget was there. So were Seamus and Dean, grunting and moving furniture around at the former-Slytherin's command.

Flitch dropped a bag on the floor with a muffled thud. Neville came after, puffing as he carried an obviously heavy trunk, and put it at the foot of an empty five-poster bed. (The real reason boys weren't allowed in the girl's dorm was so they wouldn't see that their beds were one more poster than theirs.) Bridget jumped onto the bed. "Thanks Neville baby. I never could've lifted that heavy thing all the way up here."

Neville blushed with a smile and ran from the room. Bridget lifted the trunk onto her bed with one hand. Hermione gaped at her. "Oh, hey roomie!"

Hermione wondered were to begin. "Er. I don't think I could live with all this,"—she motioned toward the array of mismatched furniture, including a psychiatrist's couch, a tire swing, a double bicycle, a grapefruit beanbag chair, assorted lava lamps, and a bushel of green apples—"and maintain my sanity."

"That old thing? I though you got rid of it long ago. It only gets in the way." Bridget pointed to were she wanted Filch to put the fish tank.

"Do you even have fish?"

"I like the tank."

"What is this…?" Dean was holding her battery operated boyfriend.

"That's my bazzin'—"

Hermione elbowed Bridget in the ribs. "It's for mixing smoothies."

"Suuuuuuuure."

"Belt up, Dean! You don't know a damn thing about Bob."

"Bob?"

Hermione dragged Bridget away, saying, "NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO…"

"YES! YES, YES, YES, YES!" Bridget laughed manically.

Hermione ran from the room, screaming. Bridget yelled after her, "It's better than a slap in the face with a wet kipper!"

That night…

Bridget and Ron shared both an armchair and a generous amount of spit. Hermione was nearby composing poetry…

To feel death's embrace would be too kind

black lace over my face makes me blind

the blood drips so slowly I want to choke

the darkness told me: go for broke

I make my cut, and it runs deep

dead leaves blow in a lonely alley

where dirty bums sleep

…wait. That didn't seem right…

(A/N: eh…I had a little fun there…cringe)

"DO YOU MIND, GRANGER?" Hermione jumped a mile at the sound of Bridget's voice.

"Oh, sure. No problem," Hermione began to read her poem out loud.

"Do you mind leaving?" Bridget said, interrupting her.

As she left, Hermione heard Bridget whisper, "Your room or mine?"

MADAM MALKINE'S ROBES FOR ALL OCCASIONS

And we mean ALL occasions!

Let's hope all occasions include seduction, thought a somewhat distraught Hermione.

As it turned out, it did.

Hermione left the shop feeling much better. Armed with her new, sluttier attire, she set off to buy some makeup. Not sure what she was looking for, she simply purchased the "prettiest" colors of shadow, blush and lipstick. She also bought a gallon of Sleek-Easies, some ill-fitting lingerie, and a cosmetic spell book.

She was ready to rock.

Or was she? She had supplies, but she needed expertise…

"LAVENDER! BITCH, I NEED A FAVOR! GET YOUR FAT ASS OVER HERE!"

Lavender was dicking about with Ginny in the Common Room. "Whaaaaaaaaaaat!"

"I WANNA BE 'MADEOVER'. MAKE IT HAPPEN, ARSEHAT."

"Hermione. I'm right here. No need to yell."

Hermione blushed. "Sorry. Got a little carried away."

Lavender was flicking through the spellbook Hermione had gotten, Spells for Beautification and Seduction. "Is there anything in there to help get rid of my humongous arse?"

"You have a very nice ass, Hermione." Lavender lied through her teeth.

"I do not."

"Like Beyonce. Seriously."

"Who the hell is 'Beyonce'?"

"Eh…"

They set to work, flat ironing Hermione's bushy locks and drenching it in Sleek-Easy. The Gryffindor managed to stuff herself into a mini skirt, horrid bright stiletto heels, fishnet stockings, and a tube top that kept drooping towards her abused toes. Then came the tanning spells, makeup, (she didn't have an eyeliner pencil, so instead she used Magic Marker) and jewelry: over-large hoops and some old Mardi gras beads.

(A/N: Do the British celebrate Mardi gras? Does anyone care?)

"I know I'm beautiful, but am I SEXY?" Hermione inquired of Lavender when the transformation was complete.

She looked like an over-done transsexual.

"Overwhelmingly." Lavender replied. "Do I get my ten galleons now…?"

"YOU GET NOTHING!" Hermione ran from the room, cackling. Well, actually, she slipped on her 6-inch pencil-thin heels and fell flat on her face. Her nose began to bleed. "Oh my god, my new clothes!" She bled on Lavender instead.

"You know what? Keep your money. I'll just go change and report to counseling."

"Huh? Whatever, never mind." Hermione set off to find Ron in order to seduce him.

She never got it that far. She was found by a stoned Dumbledore, mistaken for Snape in a drag, and carted to the dungeons to "rethink things".

(A/N: …Dumbledore is a stoner…)

THE NEXT MORNING…

"WAKEY-WAKEY! UP AND SHAKEY!"

Hermione screamed and rolled off her bed in alarm, hitting the hard floor…well…rather hard.

Bridget giggled. "Good morning, roomie! I made pancakes."

"Really?"

"Yes, but Ron-ton" (A/N: Like won ton) "and I ate them all. So I made you toast."

"Thank you."

"But the toast was kind of burnt, so I fed it to Crookskanks."

"Oh."

"So get you ugly ass down to the Great Hall before breakfast is over."

Hermione lunged at Bridget, but she dodged her and left their room. Hermione went to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. She nearly died of a heart attack. Her hair was frightful. Rebelling to being straightened, it had become enormously frizzy and huge overnight. She had the worst case of bed head. Ever. Her hair was sticking up from the pillow. She smothered a scream, as tears welled up in her eyes. Shuddering, she took the brush from the counter by the sink and attempted to comb the ends. The brush broke.

"LAVENDER!"

Her head felt light was she headed to her next class. Lavender had tired all the untangling charms she knew, but to no avail. She had been forced to cut it. The haircut was an unusual sort, sort of monk-from-the-Middle-Ages meets pudding-bowl style. Students pointed and laughed. She didn't care. She knew she looked good.

She flounced over to Colin. "Colin baby, I want you to take my picture."

"…Why…"

"BECAUSE I SAID SO, ARSERAG, SO DO IT AND NO BACK TALK!" Hermione bitch-slapped the poor boy, who did as he was told, whimpering.

"I want it developed by tonight, or there'll be some hell to pay," she commanded.

Hermione painstakingly pasted her face over a Playboy model's. It was an eye-twisting image. Hermione was shown with a strange sexy body that was disproportionate to her head, sprawled out on a grand piano, wearing nothing but a lacy white thong and heels. Her eyes were squinted, and he head was too big for reality, but she thought it looked feasible. She stuffed the photo and a short letter into an envelope, gave it to the owl, and threw the bird out the window.

Victor Krum was lifting weights in the Durmstrang gym (Hogwarts wasn't cool enough to have a gym) when a tired-looking owl flew in with an envelope addressed to him.

Vicky,

I've missed you so much since you left. How is the Quidditch shit?

I just wanted to say, yes. I will be your girlfriend.

Mione

Krum fainted.