Hermione stepped forward to push past him into his bedroom, but Draco stood in the way, blocking her. She blinked up at him, scowling. After lying egregiously to her, the least he could do was let her in his damn room.

She stepped to the side and he moved with her, obscuring her vision. She stared up at him, a pale horror cracking over her skin.

He had a guest.

Her mind conjured a rapid-fire sequence of images of a Carrow Girl sprawled across his sheets — the activities she'd just interrupted.

"Is there someone here?" she gasped.

He stared down at her, jerked his head once, and said, "No. Just in the middle of something."

"Oh, come on, Draco," a familiar voice called from inside the room. "Give it up. She's caught you."

Hermione's mind whirred, struggling to place the voice that sounded like — that sounded like…

She watched Draco close his eyes in resignation.

A girlish chuckle from inside the bedroom. And though the tone was all wrong, Hermione recognized the sound of that voice.

She pushed through him, sliding under his arm and found Hermione Granger sitting in his armchair, legs crossed and sipping a glass of scotch with a smile. Her lips were redder than Charlotte's had been, lashes darkened and lids smoky, her black slip sliding up her thigh.

Hermione's heart skipped and stuttered as her stunned mind tried to place the smirk on her face. The smirk on her own face, worn by someone else.

And when she watched her own brow lift into a perfect arch, the realization dawned on her.

"Pansy?"

The girl in Hermione's body smiled brightly, and toasted her. "Brightest Witch of Her Age."

The puzzle fell into place in her mind as her eyes turned to Draco's carpets. He'd gone to Edinburgh after all. And instead of taking her, he'd taken Pansy Parkinson in her body.

"Hmm. That look of furious disgust there?" Pansy said, pointing at Hermione's face. "I think I pulled that off quite nicely tonight."

Hermione couldn't find her voice. She could do nothing but watch as Pansy stood from the chair, patting down her dress and brushing Hermione's curls over her shoulder. Not only did she have on makeup, she'd styled the unruly locks into something soft and lustrous. Even as she walked, Hermione could see the telltale signs of Pansy— the confident strut and sway to her hips that she recognized from Hogwarts — but it looked wrong in Hermione's body. The artless grace and sensuality.

Hermione's cheeks burned, suddenly aware of her baggy pajama bottoms and shapeless jumper.

Pansy approached Draco, reached for the gold collar around her neck, and extended it to him. She'd painted her nails scarlet.

"I'm going to get out of your hair." She turned to Hermione sharply. "Or, your hair, truly." She laughed at her joke, running her hand over Hermione's curls. "I must apologize to you for ever making fun of your hair in school. It really is quite a hassle." She smiled. "I won't miss it. But your arse, Granger." Pansy ran her hands over her hips, rounding to Hermione's backside. "I much prefer this. I know Draco's preference is—"