Slytherin Robes
Harry and Ron stare at Hermione with their mouths open.
“What did you just say?” Ron asks, a bit of toast falling out of his mouth and onto his breakfast plate.
“I said your new cologne smells like Buckbeak took a dump in Crookshanks’ litter box, Weas-Ron.”
“But you said you liked it last week?”
“Must’ve had a stuffy nose, my bad.” Hermione smirks at his dumbfounded face, taking a sip of her iced pumpkin juice.
Suddenly, a loud smashing sound echoes through the Great Hall. All three of them whip their heads around to the Slytherin table, where Draco Malfoy is profusely apologising to Theo Nott, apparently having knocked Theo’s cup of coffee onto the stone floor. Draco, blushing a deep red from all the stares, grabs his pile of books and meekly makes his way out of the hall, platinum blonde head transfixed onto the floor so as not to trip over his feet and draw any more attention to himself.
“What in the—,” Harry shakes his head, trying to get rid of the remains of sleep still fogging his brain, attempting to make sense of what is playing out to be a very unusual morning. He turns to say something to Hermione, but she is already out of her seat and halfway out of the Great Hall.
In the Entrance Hall, Hermione runs up to Malfoy and grabs his sleeve. He spins around, surprised. Hermione looks around, making sure that they are alone before dragging him into the nearest broom closet.
“Have you lost your mind?” Hermione whines indignantly. “Why are you carrying books around with you? You’re as inconspicuous as a Devil’s Snare trying to pass itself off as a houseplant. I don’t READ.”
Draco huffs, his back straightening. “Me? I’m the one who’s conspicuous? I’ve never seen Ron look so offended—what in the world did you say to him?”
Before Hermione can answer Draco’s face begins to shift. His features melt and bubble as if made out of molten wax, grotesquely rearranging themselves under the low light of the broom closet: his long, straight nose shortens; his sharp cheekbones soften; his eyebrows and eyelashes thicken, and turn to a dark shade of brown. In less than a minute, Hermione Granger stands where Draco Malfoy once stood, green Slytherin robes now loose on her small frame.
“Good thing you dragged me in here,” she smiles, “I guess my potion wore off faster than yours.”