Switched Shoes

Switched Shoes

Chapter One: Well, This Is Unfortunate

Hermione stared up at the ceiling of her dormitory, after being awoken by the bright rays of sunshine. She had spent last night finishing up a Charms essay, which had been assigned a week ago. Honestly, what was going on with her? Since when did she procrastinate?

When I became friends with Harry and Ron, she answered herself unhappily. She yawned and managed to actually get out of bed. Her eyes could barely stay open and she yawned again. She pulled on her muggle clothes and put on a robe. She checked in the mirror her appearance and noticed dark circles under her eyes. Well, there was nothing she could do about it. She would have to get through the day with those.

Might as well wake Lavender and Parvati. It's almost time anyway. She was so tired, she had to drag herself to Lavender's bed. She pushed Lavendar feebly and Lavendar didn't even stir. Hermione put more strength in her push and still nothing happened.

Ugh. Too-tired. Can't-do-anything.

Well then, why not go back to sleep? her mind suggested slyly.

No thanks. I can't afford to be late for class.

Oh, come on. You know you're tired. It won't do any harm. After all, you have a perfect record. They'll just assume something came up. Come on...

That did it. Hell, who cared? She would just rest a few minutes . . . just a few . . .

* * *

"Where could she be?" Ron asked Harry worriedly. If Hermione was ever late, something must be wrong. He checked the clock in the Great Hall.

"It's not like her to be late. Isn't she usually around half an hour early?" Harry asked, as he gulped down some pumpkin juice.

"Yeah, she is, but not today. And Parvati and Lavendar aren't here too!"

Harry looked at him. "Then she's with Parvati and Lavendar . . . and who knows what Parvati and Lavendar do in the mornings?"

"You make it sound as if they turn into strippers in the morning." Ron scoffed at the idea. "Not that they don't have anything to show, but seriously. Hermione was probably needed somewhere or she's talking to a teacher. Don't worry, she's never late. She'll be here in time for class."

"That's not what you were thinking before," Harry grumbled.

That definitely wasn't what they were thinking when they were in Charms. Fifteen minutes had passed, and no Hermione. But Ron, ever the optimist, wasn't worried.

"I guess she's seeing McGonagall about something. Maybe that Time Turner thing or she's trying to talk McGonagall into letting her do something advanced. You know the way she is."

Harry was doubtful, but maybe Ron really was right. Fine, he would wait a few extra minutes. Hermione is, after all, a human. Well, sort of. She just doesn't make mistakes like the rest of the population.

Finally, in three minutes, Hermione entered the Charms classroom. She was breathing heavily and she was sloppily dressed. Her red-and-white tie was barely hanging on, her robe was wrinkled and her hair messy and worse than usual. She said a quick apology to Professor Flitwick who seemed surprised (but didn't do anything) and she hurried to sit next to Harry and Ron. She stopped mid-way when she realized Neville and Dean already occupied the two seats.

* * *

She froze. Now where was she going to sit? She couldn't sit anywhere else! Well . . . she could, but the only empty seat left was next to Pansy Parkinson, the bimbo Slytherin. No way would she sit next to Parkinson. She was as bad as Millicent Bulstrode.

Why do we have to have Charms with the Slytherins this year? WHY?! Even if she hated the simpering airhead, there was no choice. Either she sits, or she doesn't sit at all. Besides, it was her own fault she was late. She shouldn't have fallen asleep.

She quickly changed direction and walked quickly to the empty seat. She sat in it, but moved her seat as far away as possible from Parkinson, who was looking at her in revolt. She took out parchment and paper and paid careful attention to the professor.

She should've known better than to sit next to Parkinson.

*"Stinking Mudblood," Parkinson hissed to Hermione. "Get away from me; I don't need to be tainted by you."

"Of course you don't. You're already tainted by evil," Hermione whispered back venomously.

*"At least I'm a Pureblood, you're just an ugly Mudblood. Besides, evil always prevails."

Hermione admitted it. She was impressed. She didn't know Parkinson even had such a word in her seemingly limited vocabulary. From what she witnessed, her vocabulary consisted Draco, Malfoy, Dray, Drakey, Mudblood, Pureblood, money, and clothes.

Then again, that's why they said Never underestimate an enemy.

"No it doesn't," Hermione whispered, forgetting about taking notes.

"Miss. Granger, please stop talking and take notes."

Hermione glared at Parkinson. Thanks a lot, you arse. I got in trouble. Just why did I sit here again? Oh, right.

Parkinson smirked at her and tossed her silky hair back. Unfortunately, Parkinson's hair smacked Hermione in the face, and Hermione went into a fit of coughing.

Does Parkinson spray perfume on every inch of her body? Hermione wondered as she continued coughing and choking. Ugh, I don't want to know.

Parkinson and the other Slytherins that saw what happened began to snigger. Hermione thought she heard someone say mudblood. Well, screw them. Even if she was a "mudblood", she still did a lot better in school than them.

Ignoring them, she bent lower over her work and scribbled furiously. Luckily for her, she didn't have to endure anymore of the torment when the bell rang. She stood up and stuffed her things into her bag and walked out of the room without even waiting for Harry and Ron. Behind a group of Slytherins, she glared at nothing in particular. She thought of the thousands of ways she could get back at Pansy . . .

Someone shrieked and Hermione tripped. Crashing to the ground, she stayed there for several seconds. Some day she was having. First tardiness, then Parkinson, and now this.

"You stupid Mudblood!" The same someone screamed. Hermione recognized the voice as Parkinson's.

"Look at it! Look at my robe!" Parkinson was absolutely furious. She held the ripped hem up and Hermione realized she had tripped on Parkinson's robe. If it had been anyone else, Hermione would apologize and feel awful. But this was Parkinson, so there was nothing wrong with secretly feeling happy. Not to mention the robe was brand-new. Hermione congratulated herself heartily for accomplishing such a wonderful thing.

SLAP.

The onlookers stared in shock at the red handprint on Hermione's face. "That was new! I had it especially made for me! Did you know how much it cost, you filthy thing!"

Okay, so it wasn't such a wonderful thing anymore. And Hermione stopped congratulating herself for it. But still, she had ruined Parkinson's new, custom-made, expensive robe.

Kudos for me! Hermione thought as she rubbed her cheek. It's not everyday something like this happens. It's almost worth the slap.

Parkinson continued ranting. "I'm telling my father! You'll be punished for this! How dare--"

Parkinson broke off. There was a strange look on her face, the one of someone dreaming. No one noticed that the same look was on Hermione's face.

Within five seconds, it was over. Parkinson's face returned to normal, and so did Hermione's. But no one knew how much happened in those five seconds. Not even the Slytherin and Gryffindor knew what happened. All they knew was . . .

"How dare you!" Hermione screamed. "You'll never know how expensive this is, you poor--"

She stared at--she was staring at her own face. She was screaming at her own face.

The same happened to the other person.

Both held up their hands before their eyes and stared.

What the hell happened?

*"Well, this is unfortunate," said Parkinson (Hermione).

"Unfortunate?! You call this unfortunate?!" Hermione (Parkinson) screamed at her.

"You're right . . . this isn't unfortunate! This is horrible!" Parkinson (Hermione) screamed back.

They finally realized what had happened. Oh Merlin.