Some Other Metal Than Earth

Part 2: Tuesday

Tuesday

Draco woke slowly, drifting out of a pleasant dream of floating somewhere warm, snuggling into sheets that were suddenly far too scratchy beneath his skin. He opened his eyes, scowling, and panicked for a second. Something was wrong with his eyes. He blinked, blearily trying to focus, and scowled as he registered that the (astonishingly blurry) fingers waving in front of his eyes were tanned golden-brown. Potter. It couldn't be—

He threw back the curtains, fumbling on the table beside his bed for — yes, there they were. He grabbed the unfamiliar glasses and jammed them onto his nose, scowling harder as the room came into focus. He snorted as he took in the overwhelming red in the room. Gryffindors.

They all had their own tiny rooms this year, in the newly repurposed "Eighth-year" tower, so at least he didn't have to worry about being interrogated by Potter's gaggle of friends. Still. He glanced around the room again. Everything was draped in red and gold, with discarded Weasley sweaters and school robes tossed haphazardly over the dresser and wadded up on the floor.

Without really thinking about it, Draco started picking them up and gathering them into a neat pile for the house-elves to take and wash. He scowled when he realized what he was doing, but then shrugged. He didn't know how long he'd be stuck in Potter's body, but he was going to make damn sure he had clean robes to wear.

Potter.

Draco's eyes widened. He needed to catch Potter before he gave them away! He quickly shucked off his pajamas, sneering at the violent orange Chudley Cannons t-shirt (though it was admittedly quite comfortable) and stuffed his arms into the sleeves of the first shirt he grabbed out of Potter's closet. Pants were next, then robes and Draco hurriedly brushed his hair and left the room, knotting his tie about his neck as he went.

He paused in the door to the common room, looking frantically for Potter, and sighed in relief when he saw him. He was standing awkwardly by the fire, looking unsure of where to sit. This wasn't really that much different than Draco's normal morning routine, so no one seemed to have noticed.

He squared his shoulders and stalked up to — himself, which was decidedly odd — and said "Po-er-Malfoy!" He winced as it came off more confused than angry, and Granger looked over at them sharply. He rolled his eyes as he met his own gray eyes, clouded with confusion, and reached out to snag Potter's sleeve, dragging him back toward their rooms. He changed his mind and ducked into the bathroom, checking quickly to make sure it was empty, then spelling the door shut with a hasty Colloportus.

"Malfoy!" Potter whisper-shouted. "Er, Potter. No. Ugh! Whatever."

Draco sniggered.

Potter sighed, though his lips twitched a bit. "Seriously, Malfoy. What the hell?"

Draco reminded himself that he was supposed to be angry about this... whatever this was. "What the fuck did you put in that potion, Potter? It shouldn't have done... this!" He waved his hand between their bodies.

"I dunno, Malfoy. Couldn't make out the label. I think the question we ought to be asking is, what the fuck did you put in my potion, Malfoy?"

"Lacewing. Obviously." He rolled his eyes. "It was supposed to just make your potion explode."

Potter looked unimpressed. "Which it did."

"Well. Yes. But it wasn't supposed to do this. How was I supposed to know you'd screwed it up yourself?"

Potter arched one of his own pale eyebrows. Draco was surprised at just how much scorn his face could convey. "Really? How many years have we had Potions together, now?"