A Slytherin in Gryffindor Clothing

Prologue -

The air crackled with energy, sparks swirling around, lighting up corners of the darkened room, and illuminating the faces of the participants. The ground rumbled, as if in anticipation, and a loud crack of thunder shook the room.

"Did it work?" a voice asked hesitantly.

"We must pray that it did," a second voice answered, "for it is our only hope.

* * *

Chapter 1 -

It wasn't fair, was the first thought that crossed Draco's brain as he regained consciousness in a hospital bed. It had been the last Quidditch game for Slytherin in his last year, and although he'd been cheating, Potter had still beaten him to the snitch while he was knocked off his broom. He remembered falling, the ground rushing up at him at a frightening rate, then nothing.

"Draco? Are you awake?" a soft voice queried.

Glancing over, Draco was surprised to see Granger seated next to him, her face filled with concern. When she reached out to stroke his hair, he flinched back.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded.

Hermione gave a little laugh, which only served to make Draco lean further away.

"Where else would I be when my boyfriend's hurt?" she asked.

The Weasel had been hurt as well? Maybe the game hadn't been a total loss.

"Well, scram, then. Hopefully he'll expire from his injuries. Go. You wouldn't want to miss his last inane rambling."

Wrinkling her brow, Hermione studied him. "What are you going on about, Draco? You're not going to die. Though I am beginning to agree with you concerning the rambling."

She would've said more, but was interrupted by the arrival of a tall redhead. Draco's eyes nearly bugged out when Ron Weasley gave him a wide grin and a soft punch to the arm.

"How's my best mate?"

Rubbing his shoulder where the Weasel had hit him, Draco looked at him haughtily. "If you were my best mate, I would walk to the lake and beg the giant squid to drown me immediately."

Puzzled, Ron stepped back. Hermione rose to stand at his side.

"Draco's acting strangely, Ron. I think he must've hit his head harder than we first supposed."

"It's all Potter's fault," Ron said angrily. "You would've beaten that cheating Slytherin if he hadn't knocked into you."

"What?" Draco sat up straight, eyes wide. "Potter's a Slytherin?"

Ron's eyes twinkled and he gave Draco a knowing grin. "Now I know you're having me on. Next thing you'll be saying is that you're not a Gryffindor."

"I'm a bloody Gryffindor?" Draco shouted.

* * *

It had been less than three hours since he'd awakened in the infirmary and found out that his life had been completely changed around.

Despite his loud protests that red and gold did absolutely nothing for his complexion, Draco was forced into wearing the combination by Granger and Weasley. It was a struggle of epic proportions, Draco decided, if one discounted all the hair pulling and biting that he and the Weasel engaged in while Hermione watched on the sidelines. She'd finally ended it by pulling out her wand and stunning Draco.

As the three walked to dinner, Hermione was listing possible injuries to Draco's brain that might have resulted in this change of behaviour while the Weasel (he still couldn't make his mouth actually utter the name 'Ron') thought it was all quite a joke.

In the Great Hall, Weasley proclaimed proudly that Draco had hit his head and was now completely loony. Everyone thought it was part of some amusing game when Draco went directly to his usual spot at the Slytherin table between Crabbe and Goyle only to find Potter in his place.

"Can't you see this table is for Slytherins, Malfoy?" Potter smirked, turning and rising to his feet to better confront him. "Or do you need to wear my glasses? Perhaps if you did, you might be able to see the snitch well enough to catch it."

Potter was facing him, brash and bold. His hair was tousled as usual, but for some reason instead of looking messy, it made Draco think of passionate nights. His smirk drew Draco's attention to his full lips. He looked bad, and wild, and a bit dangerous.

Damn, Draco thought, Potter looked sexy. This world was crazy.

"What do you want, Malfoy," Potter asked. When he didn't receive an answer, he added, "What's the matter? Lost your tongue as well as your marbles?"

Draco could hear the Slytherins laughing at that remark, Pansy Parkinson's nasal giggle standing out among the other chuckles and guffaws, and determination welled deep within him.

Straightening his spine, Draco stared at his nemesis. That smirk Potter was wearing belonged to him. That nastiness was supposed to be his and his alone. He might be currently wearing the Gryffindor crest on his robes, but he was Slytherin through and through. And he was going to prove it.

"What do I want?" Draco repeated, and then shrugged with a feigned air of nonchalance. "There's wealth, beauty, people who love me...but wait, I already have all that, don't I?"

He could feel an audience watching him now, and he smiled brightly.

"I suppose there's always sex."

Slowly, exceedingly slowly, Draco let his eyes roam down Potter's torso, down those long, lean legs until he reached the messily tied trainers. Then, just as leisurely, he let his eyes travel back up, halting for a moment at Potter's crotch, then again at his chest, before meeting the hard green eyes that blazed at him.

"No, there's nothing here that I want."

There were a few gasps, some titters here and there, but most of the students watched in silence as Draco turned his back on a furious Potter and made his way to the Gryffindor table. As he sat next to Granger, conversations gradually began to pick up until the noise was at its normal level.

Passing the rolls to Draco, Hermione said, "I'd suspected it for a while, but this certainly confirms it."

Ron and Draco gave her questioning looks, so she continued.

"Draco's gay."

The juice Ron had been drinking shot out of his mouth. Wiping his chin with his sleeve, eyes bugging out, he said, "Draco woke up gay?"

Hermione shook her head. "It doesn't happen that way. Although there was one instance in 1687 when the great wizard, Theodore Herbert Stonepot, woke up believing that he was Cleopatra. It was two years before he recovered, which quite devastated his many lovers. But that was an unusual case. Draco's always been gay."

Hermione gave Draco a small understanding smile.

"We're seventeen years old," she said sweetly. "Little kisses goodnight shouldn't be enough for you."

Ron swivelled to face Draco. "Does this mean you want me for your boyfriend?"

"No!" Draco choked out vehemently, horrified.

"Just asking," Ron said. Then his eyes lit up. "Oh, look," he said happily pointing to the dessert that had appeared on the table. "Pie!"

* * *

Draco awoke the next morning and for a full minute didn't know where he was. At the sight of a freckled face grinning and leaning over him, he groaned, then pulled a pillow over his head and tried valiantly to go back to sleep. This had to be a bad dream.

When Weasley yanked the pillow away, Draco naturally grabbed his wand, intent upon hexing the boy into extinction. Unfortunately, it was wrestled away from him by the combined efforts of Seamus and Dean before any lasting damage could be done while Neville lay on him, holding him down.

There was a Longbottom on top of him, Draco thought mournfully. He hadn't known that he could ever sink so low.

The humiliation caused him to only scream and sulk for ten minutes about having to wear Gryffindor colours. Then he was rushed through his hair care, despite his protests that one hundred was the minimum number of strokes necessary for proper maintenance, and dragged to breakfast.

This time when Draco entered the Great Hall, he remembered to stay with Granger and Weasley, though he eyed Potter and his former cronies across the tables. When Potter caught him at it and glared, Draco felt much happier than he had all morning.

In the middle of picking raisins out of his muffin and placing them in a pile that Weasley kept eating, owls flew into the room. Awash in a flood of letters, most of which were from people whose names he didn't recognise, Weasley nudged him.

"Look. Potter's got himself another howler."

Draco glanced over and indeed; Potter was holding a red envelope. But instead of looking apprehensive, the prat seemed pleased. He watched as Potter left the room, bearing the howler away to be read in private.

No doubt about it, Potter was weird.

After breakfast was Potions and upon entering the classroom, Draco immediately spied Professor Snape looking the same as he always did, greasy-haired, tall, and lean, berating a trembling student. Breathing a sigh of relief in gratitude that the world could twist on its axis, but Snape would still be the same old miserable git, Draco smiled widely at him.

The cold, hate-filled look that was returned caused Draco to stumble.

"Mr. Malfoy," Snape drawled as Draco caught himself before he could tumble to the floor, "I do hope that it's not too much to expect for you to show a higher level of co-ordination in my classroom than you did yesterday on the Quidditch pitch.

Flushing under the Potion Master's gaze, Draco heard snickers coming from his right. Darting his eyes to the side, he saw Potter, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle quickly straining to cover their laughter with fake coughs.

Throughout class, he could feel the Professor studying him and he found himself unaccountably nervous, although the potion assigned was simple enough to create. It didn't help that Granger kept whispering unneeded directions to him, while Ron kept trying to lighten the mood with unfunny jokes.

As the lesson neared its end, Draco let out a sigh of relief as he gazed at his potion. Despite the strange situation he'd found himself in, his potion was the precise blue it was supposed to be and smelled exactly right. With a smug smile of satisfaction, he waited as Snape examined the results.

"Barely adequate, Mr. Malfoy. Though I suspect the credit should go to Miss Granger for her excellent coaching."

Draco saw red. "Adequate?" he shouted. "It's bloody perfect and you know it!"

"Ten points from Gryffindor," Snape snarled.

"Ten points! Just for telling you that you wouldn't know perfection if it came up and bit you on your--"

Ron clamped a hand over Draco's mouth before he could finish the sentence and kept it there despite Draco's efforts to throw him off.

"Twenty points!" shouted Snape.

"Please, sir, you'll have to excuse Draco," Hermione interjected. "Since his accident, he hasn't been himself."

"If he's not himself, then I can only expect improvement in the future," Snape sniffed, slightly mollified.

The bell rang. As the students began to bottle their potions and leave, Draco wrenched away from Ron, still glaring at Snape. With careful deliberateness, he straightened his robes, and patted his hair back to its normal, perfect state.

Weasley and Granger looked at him worriedly, but he gave them a dismissive nod, and they left the classroom, glancing once more at him before exiting. As Crabbe and Goyle moved past Draco on their way out the door, Goyle angled his elbow in effort to knock it into him.

Malfoy knew that trick. He'd taught it to Goyle himself. Not only did Draco dodge the elbow, but he also took the opportunity of the raised limb to jab a finger into Goyle's sensitive ribs underneath. When he heard a yelp in response, Malfoy let a smile spread over his face.

He was staying late because he wanted to have it out with Snape, here and now. Clear the air, so to speak. Draco opened his mouth to begin when he realised that Potter was still there, sidled up next to Snape, the two of them seemingly unaware that they weren't alone.

"I received another letter from my father," Draco heard Potter say. "He and Black are currently carousing through Argentina."

Snape arched an eyebrow. "And how are your father and his...companion?"

Draco watched as Potter lowered his head, then glanced up at Snape through his lashes.

"He seems quite agitated. He thinks that I may be embarking on an alliance that is ill advised. He states that I should back off immediately or he will be quite irritated."

"And is that what you're planning to do?" Snape asked, his voice low and husky. "Are you going to back off?"

Potter took a step forward, then another, until his robes brushed against Snape's. Tilting his head back, his eyes met those of his Professor. "You know how I live to irritate my father."

"Oh, that is just sick!"

Two heads swung towards him in shock and Draco was a bit surprised to realise that the words had come from him.

Draco wasn't quite sure where all his anger was coming from. Sure, being stuck in Gryffindor with the Weasel and Granger thinking they were best friends was pretty awful. Yes, it was even more horrible that his actual friends hated him and his favourite teacher was now treating him like slime. But Potter...Potter and Snape being...no, he couldn't even think it.

Grabbing his books, Draco hurried from the classroom. He was down the hall when he heard footsteps race up behind him. When a hand grabbed his shoulder and spun him around, he wasn't surprised to see Potter standing there, slightly out of breath, a look of panic on his face.

"It's not what you think," Potter gasped.

"Oh, it's exactly what I think," Draco snapped back.

"No, I mean, we haven't even done anything."

Draco glared at the boy in front of him. "Yet. You haven't done anything yet."

Potter shoved him, hard enough that Draco's back slammed into the stone wall behind him, then closed the distance.

"What's it to you? Why do you care?"

Doing his best to calm down, Draco took a breath before he replied with a sneer. "Maybe I'm wondering what everyone would think if they knew the Hero of the Wizarding World's little secret."

Potter looked confused. "What does your father have to do with this?" he asked.

Now it was Draco's turn to be puzzled. "My father?"

"Yes, your precious father," Potter spat. "The one who betrayed the Death Eaters. The one who killed Voldemort. The one who died in a blaze of sacrifice and glory. You know, the Hero of the Wizarding World."

His father was dead? Frantically, he searched Potter's face for signs that he was lying. Not only did he fail to find any hints of deceit, but he also failed to find something else. With trembling fingers, he brushed back Potter's fringe.

"You have no scar," he whispered.

Potter stepped back. "What are you talking about?"

"You have no scar," Draco said again, louder this time. Shakily, he turned away from Potter and slowly made his way through the corridors and up staircases until he came to the Gryffindor dorms. When Weasley saw him enter the common room, pale and weak, he rushed toward him and Draco let him put an arm around him and help him to a chair.

"Tell me," he said, voice quivering with pain, "tell me about my father."

* * *

His father was dead.

Draco still couldn't quite get his mind to grasp that fact. Although his father had been incarcerated at Azkaban for almost two years, he still held out hope that the sentence would be overturned. Ministry officials, judges, juries, they could all be bribed - after all, courtroom justice was really only for the poor. But death was final.

Weasley talked about how Lucius Malfoy had apparently become appalled at the ruthlessness and increasing madness of Lord Voldemort. He, Crabbe, and Goyle, had secretly switched sides to align themselves with Dumbledore. In a surprise attack, Malfoy had sprung his betrayal on the Death Eaters and a mighty battle had been fought. Many died. It was Lucius who struck the final blow, killing Voldemort, who died with a curse on his lips, before dying himself.

If he'd lived, Lucius would probably have ended up in Azkaban. With death, however, came absolution, and he was proclaimed a hero - The Hero of the Wizarding World.

Between Weasley and Granger, there was an abundance of information. Weasley told him that, as the Malfoy heir, he'd been dragged to every anniversary of the battle and put on display, made to sit on stage behind an almost endless number of public officials as they extolled the virtues of his father.

It was when he was ten that Molly Weasley, attending a memorial with her husband for those who died, had spied Draco looking small and wan. After weeks of harassment, she coerced Narcissa into allowing Draco to spend some time with children his own age, and brought him home for a visit. His friendship with Ron had evidently grown from there.

* * *

Over the next few days, Draco began to notice more differences.

He'd never bothered to learn the names of most of the students younger than he was. However, he gradually realised that many of the faces that populated his world weren't in this one. In fact, there was no younger Weasley, though both of her parents had survived the war.

Quirrell still taught Defence Against the Dark Arts. Charms was taught by a Professor Josephine Waxington. The Flying Instructor was Professor Maxwell Hopper. With only a bit of trouble, Draco found out that Flitwick had died bravely in the battle with Voldemort and Hooch had been terribly injured.

The classes were still demanding, but the urgency to excel seemed to have left the students. All except for Granger, that is. Mastering a subject no longer served to increase survival rates. Consequently, Draco was doing extraordinarily well in all of his classes. The only class he wasn't doing well in was Care of Magical Creatures taught by Hagrid.

Hagrid, who now bore a deep scar that slashed across his cheek and walked with a limp, scared Draco more than ever. The only thing that made it better was that Granger and Weasley didn't seem too sure of him, either.

"They say he's really quite gentle," Hermione whispered to him as they stood, waiting for class to begin. "I even heard that when the house-elves choose chickens to harvest from his flock, he absents himself, too tender-hearted to witness it."

Although Draco personally doubted that information, he did have a memory of Hagrid upset over the pending death of a vicious hippogriff. Hagrid's teaching methods were still horrible, but there was no doubt that he knew his subject matter. As Draco stood next to Weasley and Granger, he wondered what new monstrosity they would soon be introduced to.

"These wee creatures" Hagrid said loudly, holding up a ball of black fur, "don't tend to live long, only come out of their burrows to eat, and talk in squeaks and squeals. Can anyone tell me the name?"

"A first-year Hufflepuff," answered Draco.

Almost all of the combined class of Slytherins and Gryffindors laughed. Two of the exceptions were Potter, who was staring at Draco in shock, and Granger, who gave him a dismayed shake of her head, then raised her hand.

"It's a shandle-pop," she said in a loud, clear voice when Hagrid called on her.

"Right you are. And do you know why a shandle-pop is useful?"

Hermione beamed. "When the moon is full, a shandle-pop excretes a liquid that in large doses is a depressant and can be used as anaesthesia. In smaller doses, it lowers inhibitions."

Hagrid awarded ten points to Gryffindor for Hermione's answers then told the students to get into pairs to examine the creatures. Draco pushed Weasley at Hermione.

"Go on," he urged. "Pair up with your girlfriend."

"She's not my girlfriend," Ron said confused. "She's your girlfriend, except you're gay now and so you don't want a girlfriend." His freckled face screwed up as if in thought. Draco wondered how, if all Weasleys were like this, did there ever get to be so many of them.

"She could be your girlfriend," Draco hissed in Weasley's ear before giving him another push.

Fumbling and blushing a colour that came close to matching his hair, Ron approached Hermione. "Do you want to be partners?" he managed to mutter while staring at the grass at his feet.

Hermione glanced at Ron, looked at Draco, did a quick mental calculation, and then smiled. "Yes, that would nice."

When Ron's back was turned, Draco winked at her and was pleased when she winked back.

Turning around, Draco was not pleased, however, to find that everyone else, with the exceptions of Potter and Neville, was paired up. Draco could see Neville making his clumsy way towards him and swiftly moved next to Potter.

"Partner?" he asked.

Potter eyed Neville apprehensively and nodded.

They went over to the cages to retrieve a shandle-pop, then, with Harry holding it, walked away from the rest of the group.

After five minutes of staring at the animal as it sat unmoving in his hands, Harry breathed a sigh of boredom.

"It's just sitting there," he complained.

"Maybe I could poke it," Draco replied.

"It might bite me, then."

"Like I said, maybe I could poke it."

"Git."

"Prat."

Draco and Potter looked at one another briefly, before turning their eyes back to the creature.

"Draco...did you tell anybody?" Harry asked in a voice barely above a whisper.

"Tell anybody what?"

"You know," Harry said, clearly embarrassed. At Draco's continued silence, he added. "About me and...Snape."

"Oh, you mean about you shagging the Potions teacher?"

Giving furtive, desperate looks around, Harry grabbed Draco's robes with one hand while still clutching the shandle-pop with the other, and dragged him several yards further from the group.

"I'm not shagging Snape," he hissed.

"You want to, though. Not that I blame you. I mean, take away that greasy hair, the hooked nose, the grumpy attitude, he's quite...No, never mind, he's still appalling."

"So? Did you tell anyone?" Harry repeated.

"Hmm." Draco said as if in thought. "First I told Weasley, who became ill, and Granger, who seemed worried that you might end up with a better grade than hers. Then I discussed the matter with Finnegan, Thomas, Brown, and Patil. I tried telling Longbottom, but the moment I mentioned Snape's name, he ran from the room in terror.

At Harry's pale face, Draco rolled his eyes.

"Of course I didn't tell anyone, you idiot. I do have other, more important things, to talk about besides your sordid sex life."

"Oh. Thanks," Harry said quietly.

Draco stared for a moment at the boy in front of him who looked so much like his hated rival. He'd learned that Potter's mother was dead, and from what Draco had gleaned from gossip, his father might as well have been. He was no longer the Gryffindor hero, no longer the hero at all. He'd been stripped of his friends, Granger and Weasley, and although he had Crabbe and Goyle, it hadn't taken Draco long to see which was the better pair of companions.

Somehow, though, there was still something in this boy that was special. Draco knew it, even if no one else saw it.

"Potter, about this thing you have with Snape," Draco ventured and Harry raised his eyes so that green met grey. "Don't do it. You're better than that. You deserve more than a tawdry affair limited to sneaking around dark corridors and quick tumbles in empty classrooms."

As Potter looked at him, eyes wide, Draco found himself thinking that sneaking around dark corridors and quick tumbles in classrooms might actually be appealing. The silence between them lengthened to the point where Draco couldn't stand it anymore. He leaned forward and did something he knew he would probably regret.

He poked the shandle-pop.

It promptly bit Harry.

Harry let out a shriek.

Yes, Draco thought, life is good.