Draco Malfoy Has a Change of Heart

Draco Malfoy Has a Change of Heart

Summary: Once in a while, you get an offer that's just too tempting to refuse.

It was a late Wednesday night when me and a few of the boys were sitting in the kitchens, drinking warm pumpkin juice from mugs. It was the Day of Deliberation tomorrow, some holiday celebrating something or other a 300-year old elf had accomplished in 1231. It was celebrated by the Wizards and Witches all over the world, although I don't think anyone really knows what we're celebrating.

In any case, in Slytherin terms it meant one (or perhaps both if a bloke was lucky) things: A late night eating and drinking to your heart's content, and a next day full of Hogwart's girls walking around in their pajamas. Not many females ever wore school uniforms, or any usual clothing on the Day of Deliberation. No one really knows why, but I'm sure as hell not going to be the insufferable git to question that tradition.

Many of the guys will spend the day sleeping in and lounging in their common rooms all day. I, however, tend to wake up at a reasonable hour, go enjoy a hearty breakfast, and spend the day leisurely strolling the grounds and taking in the views (hint hint), as any guy with Millicent and Pansy occupying the common room in their pajamas, would do.

So anyway, we're drinking up pretty much all the pumpkin juice the kitchen has in stock (we haven't gotten the chance to venture into Hogsmead for butterbeer), when the conversation turns to Harry Potter. Obviously I'd been tuning out the previous chatter, but my attention was drawn immediately. Of course I'm not jealous per say of the famous Scarface, but I just don't find it fair that he gets anything he could ever want just by surviving a curse as a baby.

“I heard he's got millions in the bank, left by his parents,” says Blaise knowledgably.

“So?” I snap, taking a swig of juice. “Malfoy and Co. have trillions, and I get my fair share without killing my parents off.”

Blaise fixes me with a look. “I thought your father told you that you had to start paying for your own things because you were turning into a spoiled brat.”

I glare at Blaise, and at anyone else at the table that looks remotely interested. “So what if he did? I can make my own money. And I'm not a spoiled brat,” I add.

“Oh yeah? So how's the bread winning coming along then, Draco?” Asks Jeremy Flint, Marcus' younger brother.

I turn my nose up and look down at them. “Bloody brilliant, thank you very much. I'm working Wednesday nights at Bargok's.”

For the first time, the guys look impressed. “Wow. Isn't that in like... um- Knockturn Alley?” asks Gregory Goyle.

“Of course it is. You think I'd work for any company of less calibre? And they pay me double, just because of my family name.”

“Hm,” says Blaise thoughtfully, and I know he's concurring some brilliant plan in that head of his.

“What is it? Does Potter work at Bargok's too?” I snap, almost fearing for a dumb moment that he very well was.

“No,” says Blaise with a sly grin, “but he has galleons and galleons of money that he doesn't even have to work for.” Blaise knows this is hitting a nerve with me. We're best friends. He's always been able to bring up the slightest thing that will turn me green with envy. Of course, I'd never admit it. “And never will have to work for either,” he adds.

I clench my fists and try to keep my calm. “That may be so, but at least I don't have an ugly scar on my forehead!” I know this is a recycled comeback, but I'm too concerned about saving face than I am about sounding clever. This is the bad thing about having Blaise as a friend. He's your best buddy one day, then five minutes later you're about ready to hire someone to castrate him.

“Ugly scar or not,” says Jeremy, standing up and leaning casually against the wall, “he's got practically the entire female population after him.”

“And,” pipes up Blaise for good measure, “none of them include a pug-face and a balloon-shaped admirer.”

At this point I stand up angrily, knocking my chair over. “So you're all in it that Potter's all that, huh?”

“Malfoy,” Jeremy says, standing up to put a hand on my shoulder, “known of us actually like the renowned bloke, but you've gotta agree that he's well... anyone would want to fill his shoes. Even for a short while. Just to live the life, you know what I mean?”

“No,” I snap.

“Of course he knows!” Blaise. That castration is tempting me at this point. “Look Draco, you have nothing to hide. In fact, what would you do, to fill Harry Potter's shoes for, say, a week?”

I slump into my chair and say nothing.

“Alright boys, I've got a plan.” Blaise puts his mug of pumpkin juice on the table along with the others, and starts to run out of the kitchen and into the dungeons. Everyone follows him. Damn.

Once we arrive into the common room and march up the stairs into mine and Blaise's room, we pull up chairs. Blaise pulls out his Transfiguration notebook.

“Zabini,” I say seriously, “as tempting as studying Transfig at two in the morning is...”

“Shut it,” he says, and leafs through the notebook until he finds the latest notes from class. “Aha!” he exclaims. “The Trading Turny charm.”

“Huh?” we all say.

Zabini gives us an irritated look. “Don't any of you pay attention in class?” He looks around at us for support. “No? Okay. The Trading Turny charm is one of the only cross-curricular charms used in Transfiguration. It is one of the only actual authentic Charms used in Transfiguration today. The Trading Turny charm allows two persons to `switch' bodies for a short period of time. Unlike the Polyjuice Potion, it does not require a sample of the other person's body, and it has a longer-lasting effect.”

“I'm still not getting this,” I say firmly, and make a move to stand up. Blaise shushes me.

“Hold on, I'm not done. The charm-caster must gather a pair of the Witch or Wizard's clothing, wear the clothing item, and whisper the incantation Fra-day-la fa-shoo. The r must be rolled, and emphasis is placed on the syllable `day' and `shoo'. The clothing item must be the right fit for the person who wishes to trade places. Use with caution.”

“And how the hell are we supposed to get a piece of Potter's clothing, genius?” I ask, more irritated just by the fact that everyone assumed I wanted to become Potter.

“Patience, young boy, and I will find the answer for you,” Blaise says with a superior tone of voice.

“Fine.”

--------------------

“Gin,” Harry said, lifting up the covers of his bed. “Have you seen-”

“Hey!” Ginny squealed, and grabbed the covers to cover herself. “I'm nearly naked under here, you know.”

Harry grinned. “Nothing I haven't seen before, love.”

Ginny glared at the older wizard. “What've you lost this time?”

“My shoes,” Harry said. “I could've sworn I'd left them here somewhere.”

Ginny felt along the floor under the bed until she found a long t-shirt and tugged it over her head. “How the hell do you lose your bloody shoes, Potter?”

“Well, I was slightly distracted last night...” he trailed off and gave her a meaningful look. She rolled her eyes.

“Didn't you take them off when we were in the library last night because they were giving you blisters?”

“Yes,” Harry said, “but wouldn't I have put them back on?”

“Well,” Ginny said, hopping out of the bed and moving to the bathroom to get dressed, “were your shoes something you would've thought about... last night right before you left the library?”

Harry groaned. “I don't suppose so. I'll go look.”

------------

“Bloody hell,” I say, fingering the dress shoes, “how in Merlin's name did you snatch his shoes?”

“He can fight off the Dark Lord, but apparently famous Potter gets a little distracted when he's making out with his girlfriend in the library.”

I pull a face. “I'd forgotten about that. He's dating Weasley's younger sister isn't he?”

“Yep,” says Blaise. “Problem?”

“Uh...”

“Get over yourself, Draco. She may be a Weasley, but she's certainly more of a looker than Pansy or Millicent.”

“I suppose so,” I say, scratching my head. I'm trying to get a clear picture of Ginny Weasley in my head, but all that comes up is an image of her disgusting brother, Ron.

“In any case,” Blaise is saying, pulling out his wand, “put on the shoes. They're your size, I checked. Turns out you have something in common with-”

I growl before he can finish the sentence.

“But wait,” he says, putting down his wand. “You do realize Potter's going to be in your shoes for a week? Are you sure this offer still sounds tempting?”

I hesitate for a moment, but then nod firmly. “I'll just get mother to send me some new robes after I get back and Potter has sullied mine.”

“Okay,” my best friend says, raising his wand again, “Fra-day-la fa-shoo.”

------------

“Ginny, I can't find my shoes!” Harry exclaimed once he got back in his room.

“I'm sure they're there somewhere, when I'm done I'll come help you-” Ginny stepped out of the bathroom and let out an earth-shattering scream.

“What is it? Gin? Are you alright?”

“Malfoy! What the hell are you doing here? Out! Out!” Ginny yelled, pushing a bewildered Harry-turned-blonde into the corridor. “Ew! How'd you get in here? Out, I say!”

“Ginny, I-”

Ginny took out her wand. “Don't make me hex you again, Malfoy!”

He ran.

----------------------------

Meanwhile, on another side of the castle, a seventh year was trying in vain to sneak out of the Slytherin common room unnoticed.

A/N: Please review and tell me what you think.

-->