Work Text:
His skin is sweet. The flesh, delicate and soft. Attentive prickles turn goosebumps.
Draco rubs himself against the covers, expecting to find the friction of his cock against the pillow, but there’s nothing.
He must still be dreaming.
It was a strange dream — something about peach-scented hair, freckled arms, and golden skin. It escapes Draco, like sand sifting through his fingers. Like the coverlet slipping off him.
The cold air hits his skin. Strange. He’s typically warm at night, electing to set his home’s weather charm to a pleasant coolness. Plus, it’s a sure way to chase away the witches who wish to spend the night. He prefers to stretch out on the bed.
He shifts, pulling his arms over his head only to cross them over his chest, desperate to isolate any warmth. Only, he finds unfamiliar tissue underneath his hands.
He furrows his brow. That’s wrong.
Slowly, he peels his eyes open and finds the familiarity of his bedroom. Soft morning light seeping through the grey curtains. The clean and polished oak wood of his dresser in his direct line of sight. His tie from the night before thrown across the top.
He blinks, mind extending focus beyond the tie and his furniture and the light coming through the window. His hands are still grasping at his chest, except he can feel mounds of flesh beneath his sleep shirt.
His consciousness snaps into focus. He has breasts. What the bloody fuck.
“Wha—“ he makes to repeat, but he stops mid-sentence, realising that his voice is not his own.
It’s melodious and familiar, though there’s a creakiness to its first morning use.
Just then, he hears the Floo burst to life from the entrance hall. He jerks up, and the edge of massive curls skate against the thin material at the back of his shirt. He looks down. His arms are warm chestnut instead of the pale silver he’s used to.
“Hello? Draco?” An alluring voice calls from the foyer, only it’s fraught with unease.
It takes a moment but he recognizes it. But that can’t be —
Draco swings out of bed, standing quickly only to realise that his legs are weak and inconvenient versions of limbs. He rushes out of the bedroom, toward the sound of his voice, and as he rounds the bend of the corridor, he catches sight of himself in the mirror.
Thick, brown hair dishevelled from sleep. Tired eyes. Full lips. A button nose. The unmistakable features of Hermione Granger.
“Oh, Gods,” his own, masculine voice sounds behind him, uncomfortably whiny and mousy.
“Granger,” he growls. “What the fuck did you do?”
He turns around, and wishes to all hell that he never see himself give that same sheepish look again.
“Don’t panic,” Granger in his body says, and Draco can hardly keep track of what he wants to look at next. She’s hunched over, a baggy, muggle sweater pulled over what he supposes was a shrift pajama top to match the bottoms that now ride along his ankle. Her eyes — his eyes are soft and coaxing. But it’s not working on his teeming nerves.
“Don’t panic?” He clenches her jaw, but he still sounds so squeaky.
“I can work on the antidote straight —“
“I told you not to fuck with runes and potions without me,” Draco shouts, and she winces.
The sight of it is alien and awkward. Like an actor on the stage who’s been given lines to read for the wrong part. She cards his hand through his hair, closing his eyes in frustration. The bright light in his spacious entrance hall gleams across the platinum strands. He’s taken in. Mesmerised.
He knew from the first day of working at the Department of Mysteries with Granger as his partner that it would be the end of him. She was always intent on making catastrophic decisions based on a “well-researched” whim. What fucking bollocks. And look where it’s landed him.
“I will fix this,” she implores, and takes a step forward. His figure is uncomfortably looming, and he isn’t sure whether to salivate or cower. He takes an instinctual step back instead.
Had that been his instinct, or hers — is this body swap only conducive to the body, or is it her brain with its female and Granger-centric stressors that he now inhabits?
And as if she’s read his mind to prove his forming hypothesis, she says, “and just look at what a fantastic research opportunity this is!”
Fuck.
He bites his lip in thought. His eyes dart to find the reflection of her face worrying its lip. Draco drops the lip, sighs, and gives an unconvincing assent to being a lab rat.
She leaves via Floo network only to send an official memorandum of rules for their experiment within twenty minutes.
1. Stay Indoors at All Times / No Visiting Work, Friends, or Family
As if that would be so difficult.
The nature of their work requires privacy and confidentiality. None of their friends and relatives even know who the other works with. So, if Ronald Weasley comes up to him as Granger, Draco would be forced (through whatever nausea and discomfort) to be nice to him. No, thank you.
2. Write down all experiences based on the following set of research questions
She’s prepared a full list of physical, mental, and emotional stimuli she wishes him to record. He thinks about throwing it away before he adds a few of his own questions to the list as well.
3. No inappropriate genital touching
Draco suspects this is more for her sake than his. He makes a mental note to ask for her thoughts on his substantial penis size.
A delicate laugh blooms from his chest at seeing she’s clarified an exception to the rule in showering, bathing, grooming, or dressing (in sensible clothing). She’s sent him a bag of her clothing — ratty browns and drab mustards. He’s happy to send her a bag of his own clothes with a warning to never dress him in anything muggle again.
And so they lived as each other for a week.
It wasn’t all that bad.
Draco took the time to lounge in his palatial suite: reading books, conducting research, and touching his tits.
Only in the bath, of course. For research purposes, of course.
They were heavy in his palm. He knew Granger had tremendous tits, but by Salazar, he never knew how voluptuous they were when they were hidden under layers of cheap cotton she called clothing.
He had to admit that the moment he lifted them, the strain on his back lessened considerably. Perhaps he would be nicer to her when she complained about carrying the heavy evidence boxes. But then, perhaps not.
Each morning, he would hold her arm to the light, studying the way the sun fell across her freckled skin. He shoved his products into the coils of her hair, only to find them become greasy and limp with his poor efforts. On the third day, Granger sent him her own hair products with instructions on how she kept it.
Draco expected these little discoveries of flesh. What he wasn’t expecting was the overwhelming surge of emotion at the drop of a pin.
On the fifth day, he finds himself smirking at the incorrect rune translations he’s found in her notes, and then the next, he feels the oddest sensation. A swell deep in her chest.
The sensation transforms into airy prickles across her neck and cheek. Her throat tightens, and her mouth forms into a frown. With eyes still on the last line of text he’s read, something about ancient ritual animal sacrifices in use of jera and ansuz.
Those poor, helpless, little creatures. The thought of their last moments in life invades Draco’s mind.
A splash lands on his cheekbone. His top lip curls, though in the unfamiliar direction, over his bottom lip, as the body he’s in heaves out a small sob.
He’s…crying?
Draco blinks away the tears as he works to deduce what just happened. He wipes at the wet cheeks and shoves the research aside. He would just need to continue his work later.
Desperate to push the thought out of his mind, he picks up a fiction novel he had started earlier that week. It was an action-adventure story — the type that could make any wizard or witch wish to pursue an Auror career. Poor sods who don’t realise how much bloody paperwork they have to do in the end.
But it happens again. He’s reading the protagonist’s love confession to the mate they’ve soul-bonded to at the start of the story. The emotion begins at the pit of the stomach, surging forward, and crescendoing into a heavy sniffle that does nothing but produce more tears.
What is going on?
Frustration courses through him, extending into her arm, and with measured violence, he throws the book across the room. Her hand is still shaking when he pulls it back, brow furrowed as he tries to pull back the rage that overtook him.
Before he can take control of his emotions, he feels a dull stab in her lower abdomen. He lets out a deep-seated groan as he doubles over, hand pressed against her stomach. The pain blooms again, spreading into her back. He presses the other hand to her lower back, trying to insulate the source, to stop it from spreading further.
Again, what the fuck is going on?
He’s dying. He’s sure of it as the waves come in like an aching tide of doom.
He knew it. He knew Granger would literally kill him in this position. Knowing her, she would probably want him to write down his symptoms instead of seeking help.
He manages to pick himself off of the couch, and slowly make his way to the fireplace, taking moments to lean against the wall for support. Nearly there, he doubles over again, hands gripping at the soft flesh at her stomach. He’s being ripped apart from the inside!
Draco becomes aware of a growing sensation below her hand. It feels almost as if he has to urinate. Great he’s going to piss her body as he’s dying.
As he moves again, he feels a slickness between her knickers and his body. With trembling fingers, he peels the trousers away from her body, peering in. The light from the entrance hall illuminates a splash of red. He gasps. Fuck. This is it. This is how he’s going to die.
“Granger…” he whimpers, ignoring the pain and the uncomfortable feeling of wetness in between her legs, running to the Floo. A moment later he’s spiralling through the network and landing on the stoop of Granger’s fireplace.
The bloody witch looks positively radiant in his body, reading a book in her living area. Hair tossed in a way he doesn’t normally wear it, but he decides immediately to try it out if he manages to survive. She’s dressed him in comfortable clothing he provided, black trousers, and a simple, grey button down. But his body is an icon of peace and elegance. Not at all the bleeding mess of hers.
She looks up, and his composed features trespass into worry and confusion.
“Draco? What’s wrong?” Her gaze is roaming over her crooked body, presented to her like a broken lizard her ugly cat has caught for dinner.
“I’m dying! That’s what’s bloody wrong.” Her voice sounds shrill and unkempt. He knows he looks a mess though he’s worked hard to keep her hair and outfit to a standard he can get behind.
Another spasm breaks him in two. He clutches at her knees for a moment before moving his hand back to her abdomen. The tight knot curdles underneath his fingertips. The press of her hand fades the pain just slightly, though he can feel it beneath the surface, passing along that peak that declines until he can breathe again.
A large hand presses against his spine. He would shake it off but the gentle pressure feels wonderful against the muscle. “Tell me what you’re feeling.”
“I feel like my insides are being ripped apart, and I’m bleeding from…from…down there!” he whines out, spittle flying on the floor.
“Oh.” He hears behind him, followed by a chuckled, “oh.”
“Are you laughing at me?” He manages to stand straight, turning to her and (annoyingly) looking up at her. He witnesses the crinkling of his eyes, the tight fist pushed against his mouth, and the signs of a — is it — yes, a smile on his face!
“No,” she says, shaking his head, dropping his fist and trying to manage a serious expression. But another chuckle overcomes her as she says, “It’s just…well, Draco, you do realise what this is, right?”
“Yes, I do. It’s one of probably many stupid side effects of your ridiculous experiment,” he yells emphatically. His exclamation transforms into another groan as yet another spasm hits him. He feels his strong, powerful hands grip his shoulder, but this time, he does shake it off.
Granger waits for the spasm to pass before trying to speak again. “Now, just keep calm. You’re not dying. I assure you. You’ve…well…you’ve started your menstrual cycle… my menstrual cycle, I suppose.”
He wrinkles her brow. “What? No, that’s incorrect. Did you hear me right, Granger? I said it fucking feels like my insides are coming out of my stomach.”
She rolls his eyes and the expression is the closest she’s come to truly looking like him. “Of course you wouldn’t believe that a woman’s menstrual cramps could be as painful as that.”
“There’s no bloody way,” he growls.
“Actually, it’s very much the bloody truth,” she says through tight lips, and laughs at her own joke. The sight of himself laughing so openly is…well, it’s quite attractive.
“Well then, what the bloody hell do I do?”
She clears his throat. “First thing’s first is we have to get you cleaned up and we’ll try a hot compress on your stomach. I may have…oh, bollocks.” She frowns.
“What? What!?” he yells, not at all appreciative of the sudden turn of her tone and her back as she did that very Granger thing of going off into deep thought without clueing in others.
“Nothing, I just don’t have any pain potions available. I usually do, but I had completely forgotten to have them stocked since well…we’re in each other’s bodies.”
She bites his finger, and he smacks it away before she ruins his cuticles. “Well, what the fuck. I’m in excruciating pain here.” He’s not at all bothered to let her hear the whine in her voice.
She narrows his eyes as she disappears into thought again. “There is something we could try.”
“What? Anything, please,” he pleads, feeling another debilitating ache cross again. This time, the sensation runs to her back. He tries desperately to hold himself together.
“It’s a little unorthodox, but it’s proven to work.”
“What!” He yells, frustrated at having to see that same sheepish look again.
She mutters something underneath his breath. Draco leans in to try and capture the escaped words and finds something even more terrifying than the timid look she’d shown before.
A blush. Creeping along the sharp, marble of his cheekbone, infusing gorgeous spirit into his flesh.
“What was that?”
Granger looks back at him, dreamy, grey eyes wide with nervous energy. “We could try sex.”
He stands mouth agape, blinking at her as the words slowly create meaning in his mind. “Are you off your rocker? What in Salazar’s Good Name are you even suggesting?”
She huffs, the exasperation bringing a feminine quality to the movements in his body. “There are a variety of benefits to having sex while menstruating. An orgasm can help alleviate the cramping.”
He laughs out right. “I’m sorry. You think you’ll be able to give me an orgasm. You wouldn’t know the first thing to do with my cock.” He nods below her belt, and the blush spreads across his cheeks again.
“I’m sure I could pick up such easy equipment.” She raises his eyebrows in challenge.
Draco grips his abdomen, the pain blooming over the muscles again. A thousand thoughts speed through his mind, the body now begging for any distraction.
The thought is strangely enticing. And not just in the promise of relief for the dull ache that’s overtaking his senses. Of course, he’s been curious about all faculties of the body swap. The way his mind is still his , though the brain is physically hers . The way in which his tongue has suddenly become averse to the taste of rich and fatty foods. A preference for earthy and salty instead. He’s become sensitive to certain scents. His cologne is too strong. He finds her nostrils flare just as they always do around it. Surely, there are more curiosities to discover.
Draco’s gaze runs over his body. The grey contrasts beautifully with his skin, the blue veins in his neck popping over the collar. She’s chosen slim-cut trousers so that they strain with any movement. He can practically see the outline of his member beneath the linen. As it should be.
The inkling of it stirs something deep within him, though it’s drowned out by the rest of his senses going into overdrive.
“Fine.” He swallows.
Granger takes a small step back, surprise dawning on her expression. “I — you’re sure?”
Draco snorts. “What? Now you’re scared to put your cock where your mouth is, Granger?”
She makes to speak, formulas running through his words, clearly weighing whether she should emphasise that she does not mean that a blowjob could help with the cramping. He smirks at the sight, and she catches sight of it. She rolls her eyes at him.
“Of course not. Let’s go.”
She turns, and Draco follows her into a cosy bedroom. Everything in her home is airy and bright. The pure, white bedspread bounces off the sunshine that flows into the room. “Wait,” she says, and grabs a dark towel from her dresser. She lays it on the bed, and waves his hand with a flourish.
He hooks his thumbs into the waistband of her trousers but hesitates.
“What is it?” she asks.
“It’s quite a mess already.”
Understanding flutters across his facial features, and she reaches for her wand, waving it at her groin until the distinct feeling of wetness disappears. Draco slips the trousers and knickers off and jumps onto the bed. She carefully approaches, eyes tense on his expression until her gaze moves southward. A wrinkle appears in his brow as she sees her own naked cunt. “What the bloody hell did you do to me?” she seethes.
Draco looks down. “Oh, I took a bit of liberty with your grooming.”
“You shaved me?”
“Honestly, Granger. Just because your brand is wild hair doesn’t mean —“
“Alright, that’s enough,” she cuts him off with a curt tone. She stands there, still fully dressed staring down at him. He can practically feel her nervous energy jumping off of her.
Another cramp seizes his muscles, and he brings her knees to her stomach in an effort to stave off the pain. “Are you just going to stand there?”
She takes a deep breath. “No, right, I should…” she trails off, steeling herself for a moment before she begins to unbutton herself.
As she shrugs off the grey shirt, Draco’s gaze runs over the expanse of his chiselled abs and toned chest. The Sectumsempra scars glint in the bright arena, adding an air of danger to his gorgeous body.
She throws the shirt to the side, the whiff of his scent — not the cologne that wrinkles her nostrils — but the undeniably musty, sensuous fragrance that is all Draco Lucius Malfoy wafts across his area. He feels that same stirring below the painful, aching abdomen.
Next, she shucks off the trousers, and to Draco’s surprise, his cock springs free of the pants, already hard and red with want. The expression dawning over his face is positively embarrassing. Granger shifts uncomfortably on his feet, looking anywhere but at his cock. The flush is back but its spread beyond his cheekbones, making his entire face red as a ruby.
“Would you stop being so nervous about it?” he says, though his eyes are still taking in the sight of himself. He opens her thighs a little wider, and although he would have never guessed in a million years he should find himself here — he wants nothing more than to be fucked by his own cock.
“I’m sorry. I just wasn’t expecting to be —“ she says, looking down at the impressive length and girth of him — a masterpiece of dick proportions!
“Hard? Well, of course you would be, Granger. I mean just look at me.” He licks her lips.
She rolls her eyes, though the blush is still there, and she carefully waddles (could she not) closer to the bed. Slowly, she climbs on top of him.
“Ow,” he whines, hissing as Draco throws his head back, those riotous curls splayed like a halo around him, he’s sure.
“I’m sorry. Did I step on you?”
“No, I got another cramp,” he says, and she nods, exhaling nervously.
“Okay, I’m going to uh…enter you…uh me, now.” Carefully, she placed a hand at the base of his cock, and the grip must have felt electrifying across his skin. He remembered just how that felt. His nostrils flair and he knows it’s not because of his cologne.
Draco feels the tip of himself at her entrance. He wonders if he should ask for some sort of lubrication. After all, he’s never done this. Will it feel as if it’s new for him? I mean, it’s not as if Granger is a virgin after all. But before he could vocalise his concerns, she’s already pressing into him, and he finds that his worries are unfounded.
Because she slips inside him like butter. Above Draco, Granger closes her eyes, mouth falling open. He’s sure her cunt feels warm and inviting, but he’s utterly surprised to find that same warmth blooming in her core.
He exhales, feeling every inch of him stretching him in a way he’s never felt before. Ah, so this is it. It’s magnificent. Draco thought this would be unpleasant. Like that one time a girl convinced him to let her peg him only for the stretch to be too foreign for his senses. Instead, he feels sweet comfort. Like a hug.
His mind races to the vision before him. Granger, in complete ecstasy, pushing into him even further. “Are you good, Granger?”
She opens her eyes, wide and shocked at finding him beneath her. As if she had forgotten where she was and what she was doing. “Yes, I’m just — this feels so —“
“You like the feel of your tight, little cunt?” he asks, and her jaw drops again.
“Shut up,” she says, though it's breathy and hard. The sight of his aroused expression makes her cunt flutter. Even as another wave of pain moves across his abdomen. But this time the sensation is dull and fading. “Does it hurt?” she asks, and as his enormous cock hits her frail back wall, he feels a sharp pain shoot through him. He tenses and she slowly rocks herself until the pain is no longer there and there’s an itch building. “It can be sensitive sometimes,” she says by way of explanation, but she’s already getting caught up in fucking him.
He feasts on the sight of himself fucking into her cunt. She tenses his jaw and tightens her grip on the bedspread and towel beside him. His veins pull taut. His biceps bulge in all of their glory.
“Fuck, yes,” he moans, and she actually whimpers above him. The sound is wrong but he doesn’t care. He’s already shutting his eyes, focusing on his cock moving in and out of himself.
“Merlin, my cock feels so fucking good.”
She stays quiet above him but he can hear her breath hitch. She moves more quickly. The pain is long gone and instead, he feels the build-up of something inevitable. Just as his back wall was more sensitive as Granger had said, he feels like every nerve ending in his — her cunt is on fire.
Draco opens his eyes the moment Granger begins snapping his hips, shifting him up the bed just slightly.
“Fuck yes, I’m so fucking hot,” Draco moans, watching the perspiration form along his gorgeous hairline.
Granger wrinkles his brow but it doesn’t stop her movements. “I think I’m going to…” she trails off and he finishes for her, her cunt spasming around his generous organ. She collapses on top of him, and he feels the pump of his seed deep within her core, stroking his orgasm into a stretch of deep-seated pleasure.
She groans as she rolls off of him and Draco looks down to find a new mess between her legs. “Talk about a bloody first time,” he jokes. Granger looks over at him, completely unimpressed.