A Change'll Do You Good

Part 10:
As the Quaffle is Tossed

After surviving a day as Draco Malfoy, Hermione was certain she could survive anything...except another day stuck in the same situation. When she awoke in the still-unfamiliar surroundings of the Head Tower and beneath a canopy of green velvet, she began to fervently hope and pray to every deity she could name that she wouldn't look in the mirror to see Draco's face looking back. She took a deep, cleansing breath. You can do this, Hermione, she told herself. Just look in the mirror. -- But what if I see that ugly, pasty face staring back at me? -- Well, okay, it's not that ugly. It could be worse; you could be Crabbe or Goyle. She shuddered, but found a margin of humor in the idea of explaining the Sixth Principle of Merlin's Law wearing the skin of Crabbe. The humor was quickly lost at the icky feeling that accompanied the idea of being in Crabbe's skin. She slid out of bed and walked to the mirror.

---

Draco stared up at the red velvet canopy with distaste. Red, he could stand, but gold...blech. Gold just clashed with everything Malfoy and that was saying something. With pale skin and pale hair, almost any color worked; Draco had to admit that black, green, silver, and blue looked especially striking on him. But that had been before. Nothing could possibly look good on Granger, he reflected before remembering the glimpse he'd had of Hermione's body the day before. Well, maybe some things would look good on her. He coaxed himself out of bed and walked to the mirror. "Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who's the fairest of them all?"

"Not you," the reflection stated with distaste. "We'll talk if you do something about that hair." Draco scowled darkly at the mirror, fingering the golden-brown curls that framed Hermione Granger's heart-shaped face. The reflection looked somewhat scared at the murderous look on the innocent, befreckled face. "Well, you asked..."

He turned around to get the full view and scowled at the sight of Hermione's hair. "That's what it looks like from the back!?" he asked. "No wonder she's so bitter."

Draco headed through the bathroom and into the interconnected Head Boy's room. A little smirk played at Hermione's lips. You have to love double-standards, he mused as he entered the Head Boy's room.

Hermione stared at Draco's reflection in the mirror with annoyance. "Why!?" she demanded as the pale face stared back.

"Being bad never looked so good..." the reflection drawled.

"Because you're lucky?" a very familiar voice came up from behind her and she turned to face...herself. "I should sell my hair for Polyjuice Potion, I could make millions."

"Why are you in my room?" she demanded.

"Actually, it's my room, Granger," he answered. "And I wanted to get some things. If I'm stuck in this body I'm going to at least make it look good."

Hermione was trapped between disgust and disdain. "I happen to be very attractive," she sniffed.

"Well, you are now," Draco stated and began to ransack the trunk at the foot of the green velvet-bedecked four-poster bed that dominated the Head Boy's room. Hermione watched him as he murmured something about curls. His hands full of hair care products, he retreated into the bathroom.

"W--what do you think you're doing!?" Hermione demanded, following him.

"Well, there's this thing called 'bathing' that I'm quite fond of. I don't know if you Mudbloods are familiar with it..." he stated.

"Well, aren't you the cauldron calling the kettle black?" she stated. "As I said yesterday, that Hermione-suit you're in has my blood in it, too."

Draco pouted. "Take it back!" he growled.

"I will not! You've been making my life miserable since the day we met because my parents aren't inbred!" she cried.

"Inbred!?" Draco cried. "I'll have you know that...oh, right. Yeah."

"And because my relatives aren't psychopathic sociopaths!" she shot out.

"Hey! Er...wait...that's true," he replied.

"And you are not bathing me without me...being there," she said lamely.

"Are you suggesting that we bathe together?"

"Yes!" Then she thought about it. Sure, she'd seen her body on numerous occasions and the idea of bathing with Draco had the teeniest bit of appeal (she quickly squashed the appeal of bathing with an ill-mannered contemptuous jerk). "Er...no..." Once again, Draco headed toward the bathroom.

"A--and you'd better not do anything...unnatural or wrong to my body, I mean it! Because I will know and I'll do it to yours!" she cried. The bathroom door was slammed in her face and she heard chuckling from the other side, soon mingling with the sounds of faucets being turned and water running.

One hour. One-and-a-half hours. Two hours. Two-and-a-half hours later, the bathroom door finally opened into the Head Girl's room. Hermione entered the steam-filled bathroom. She was thankful that the Wizarding World didn't use hot-water tanks or she'd be taking a particularly shivery bath. She took a fluffy towel and wiped the mirror clean. "Don't say a word!" she warned the reflection and it shrugged.

"Okay, I can do this. It's just a guy. A--a naked guy. I've seen naked guys before. No, I haven't -- well, I have on the telly, but never a naked guy who looks like Draco Malfoy." She took a few calming breaths to keep from hyperventilating. "I'll just, uh, close my eyes. Y--yes, eyes closed." She stripped off the pajamas she'd worn to bed and swallowed very hard as she finally removed the boxers.

She touched something and she couldn't keep her eyes closed even though that modest voice in the back of her head screamed that she shouldn't look. "Well, he--he probably looked and took full advantage of me...my body..." Instead of the nauseous feeling that she had been anticipating, she felt a little light-headed at the knowledge. She looked down and blushed; a bright, flaming red that gave Ron's hair a run for its money -- as she saw Draco's...er...uh...his...yeah...um...manhood. "Well...that's...interesting." Her voice was a squeak.

After the time she took trying to debate on whether she should sneak a peek at Draco's male parts, she was running late and was bathed and dressed in under a half-hour. She headed downstairs to find Draco shoving his books into her backpack. "You are not wearing that!" Hermione screamed.

It wasn't really what Draco had on, but how little he did. The dress shirt was mostly unbuttoned showing off a lacy white bra that Hermione couldn't even remember owning, the ends tied under her breasts, and the skirt was folded up so many times that it just came below her butt. Hermione Granger's body looked like a tarted-up trollop.

Draco stared at Hermione with annoyance. "I had to do something," he said.

"I look li--like a...scarlet woman!" Hermione cried.

"'A scarlet woman'?" Draco asked with amusement. Hermione growled and began to attack the clothes, jerking the skirt back to where it belonged and she was in the process of re-buttoning the top when someone entered the room.

"Oi! Hermione! It was great, Harry sweet-talked Slytherin in Parselmouth, and he let us..." Ron cried. He trailed off as he saw Draco's hands on Hermione's body. "Rowena Ravenclaw's satin, lace-edged knickers!"

"You've got to be kidding me," Hermione groaned, jerking away from Draco, whose shirt she had finished buttoning properly. "It isn't what it looks like!"

Draco was really quite amused by Hermione's flustered response, but noting the look of apoplectic shock on Ron's usually-blank face, he decided that it would be better for the intruding Gryffindors to just forget. He couldn't stand the idea of his perfect face being bruised. With great reluctance, he murmured under his breath, "Obliviate."

"Oi! Hermione! It was great, Harry sweet-talked Slytherin in Parselmouth, and he let us in. Can you believe it?" Ron continued. Hermione made a mental note to yell at Slytherin afterward.

"No, I can't," Hermione mumbled.

"Who asked you, Malfoy?" Harry demanded, and Hermione rolled her eyes. She quickly exited the head common room and made her way to breakfast, wondering how much longer she could take being trapped in Draco's body without cracking.

A few minutes later, she was surrounded by Crabbe and Goyle on one side and Pansy on the other. Pansy was yammering on about some stupid stuff about dress robes and Crabbe and Goyle were staring at a length of parchment on which an intricate map of the solar system was drawn. "No, no, Vincent," Goyle said. "You've made Neptune a fourth-millimeter too big. It'll never work! And look at Io! You need to use different ink; it's the wrong color."

Hermione stared at Crabbe and Goyle in shock. They were smart? Since when!?

Professor Dumbledore stood up and looked over the crowded Great Hall. "Students! I have a very exciting announcement to make! As you may have noticed, there are now cottages near the Forbidden Forest." Hermione had not noticed and she felt a sinking feeling. "Any of you who have Muggle or Squib relatives are welcome to invite your families to stay at Hogwarts where they will be kept safe by the school's ancient magic!" She knew it had to have been along those lines...really, she did. "Our Head Boy and Girl will assist your relatives in finding a cottage suited to their comfort."

Hermione frowned at her scrambled eggs. "I'm not a bellhop," she muttered. Why did things only seem to be getting worse lately?

Crabbe examined Hermione curiously. "Draco, when are we going to have our tryouts?"

"Tryouts?" Hermione asked, confused.

"Quidditch tryouts," Goyle stated.

"Quidditch..." she said, "that's right. I'm the captain. Of the Quidditch team."

"Yes. You are," Crabbe said. "Of course, Gregory and I will be retaining our roles as Beaters, won't we?"

"Uh, yeah, whatever," she said, swallowing hard. I can't do this! I can barely fly on a broomstick! she thought.

You've got to be kidding me! Draco groused. If Slytherin loses, I will personally hold it against you!

Excuse me! I'd rather work on studies than some stupid sport! she proclaimed.

Some stupid sport! Draco yelled. Quidditch is not stupid! I will not have you embarrassing the Malfoy name! We're going to practice your Quidditch skills. Tonight. Meet me on the pitch at midnight and don't you dare try to worm out of it!

But--but I have to study! Hermione squeaked. Draco didn't reply and Hermione knew she had lost the argument.

---

Across the Great Hall, Draco sat between Potter and Weasley and wondered if he could get in trouble for using the Entrails-Expelling Spell on Weasley if he kept touching. "So, Pot--Harry, when are you holding Quidditch tryouts?" he asked.

Harry stared at the boy who looked like Hermione with shock. "Quidditch, since when do you care about Quidditch?" Weasley asked.

"Well, darling Vicktor taught me to care about Quidditch," Draco said. Weasley turned a brilliant shade of chartreuse; it clashed horribly with that clown hair of his and Draco felt a little better.

"Er...well...um, I guess I'll have them next week," the Boy Who Lived to Annoy Draco said.

"Excellent," Draco murmured. "I'm thinking of trying out."

The Weaselette choked on her pumpkin juice and sputtered it all over the table. Harry blushed and began to dab at the mess with his napkin. Draco stared at him. "Evanesco," he said, making the juice disappear. "Why? You don't think I'm good enough?"

"Um...in all fairness, Hermione..." Potter started.

"Are you kidding? You're terrible, you're the absolute worst!" Ron cried.

Brown eyes widened in challenge. "Oh, you're one to talk, King Weasley! I'll show you." Draco left the table for the Head House, humming the Slytherin version of "Weasley is Our King."

---

At midnight, Draco dragged Hermione, his old Nimbus 2001, and his Firebolt to the Quidditch pitch. The girl in boy's clothing was actually disappointed that they hadn't been caught by Peeves, Filch, or Mrs. Norris. "A--are you absolutely sure about this, really? You've never seen me on a broom. I'm terrible at Quidditch. There's no help. At all."

Brown eyes narrowed. "I will make you good at Quidditch if it kills me," Draco growled. Hermione pondered the idea of a dead Draco for a while until she realized that if he died, he might take her body with him and she'd be stuck in his for the rest of her life.

Draco straddled the Nimbus 2001 with the elegance of someone who had done it have a million times before -- and, well, he probably had -- and began to fly. It was strange for Hermione to see herself flying so gracefully through the air. He landed nearby and gazed at Hermione with a smirk on the lips he bore. "The Firebolt's a lot easier to handle, so you'll be using it," he stated. Hermione was surprised by the almost-nice tone of his voice until he tacked on, "You'll need all the help you can get."

Hermione sighed, blowing the blond hair out of her face -- well, Draco's face -- and straddled the Firebolt. She clutched the broom for dear life as it slowly began to rise, Draco's pale knuckles growing even paler due to the strangle-hold she had on the Firebolt. "Oh, God...oh, God...oh, God..." she chanted.

"What?" Draco demanded, flying up next to her.

"I'm acrophobic, you great moron!" she screamed.

"You're...afraid of spiders? What do spiders have to do with anything?"

"Not arachno, acro! I don't like heights!"

Draco sighed and rested his forehead against the Nimbus 2001 and debated whether suicide was the honorable way to go. The very idea that Slytherin would lose because of a stupid mix-up...