Chapter Text
Chapter 1:
Draco had never felt more unsafe in his life.
What was wrong with Weasley? What was happening? Why was this happening to him?
Draco Malfoy had always considered himself a genius. A prodigy, even. The brightest wizard of his age, second only to perhaps himself from ten minutes into the future.
But as he stared at his reflection in the abandoned classroom's cracked mirror—his *very much female* reflection—he had to reconsider that assessment.
It had started with a simple *experiment*. A potion he had been *so sure* would enhance his magical prowess, something he had brewed in secret, away from prying eyes. But instead of making him more powerful, it had done *this*.
Long, silky platinum-blonde hair cascaded down his shoulders. His usually sharp, aristocratic features were softer, more delicate. His cold grey eyes were still the same, but now framed with annoyingly long lashes that would make Pansy Parkinson jealous. And his *figure*—Merlin's bloody beard!—he didn't even want to *think* about it.
He blinked. Then he blinked again.
And then, as the full weight of the potion's catastrophic failure sank in—
He screamed.
"Severus! You have to fix this!"
Draco—stood in Professor Snape's office, arms flailing in sheer panic.
Snape pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling slowly as if contemplating whether he could *legally* vanish Draco into another dimension.
"You're telling me," Snape said in his usual silky drawl, "that you were experimenting with an unidentified potion, unsupervised, in an abandoned classroom?"
Draco gulped. "I-It wasn't unidentified—I identified it perfectly wrong!"
Snape's eyes twitched. "How fortunate for you."
At that moment, the fireplace flared, and the twinkling blue eyes of Albus Dumbledore appeared in the flames. "Ah, Severus! I sensed great distress in your quarters—wait, why is Mr. Malfoy looking so—oh dear."
Snape sighed. "It appears Mr. Malfoy has… miscalculated."
Dumbledore, looking far too amused for Draco's liking, stroked his beard. "Well, my dear bo-girl—oh—there's nothing to be done but wait it out. A week, you said?"
"A week?!" Draco's voice shot up an octave. "A WHOLE WEEK?!"
Snape gave him a look. "Lower your voice, Draco. If you want to avoid scandal and embarrassment, no one must know."
Draco paled. "Wait—you don't mean—?"
Dumbledore clapped his hands together. "Yes! For the next seven days, you shall be Lyra Snape, my dear Severus's visiting niece. It will be quite the adventure."
Draco stared at him in absolute horror.
The next morning at breakfast, Ron Weasley was in agony.
It wasn't physical pain—no, that he could handle. But emotional suffering? That was another matter entirely.
Hermione had kissed Krum. Harry had kissed Cho. And him? *Ron Weasley, the last-standing loser in the Golden Trio?
Kissed no one.
No one!
Even Neville had better luck! NEVILLE!
He scowled, stabbing his sausage with a bit too much force. Bloody unfair.
Maybe there was something wrong with him. Maybe he'd never find *the one*.
And then—
"Attention, students!"
Dumbledore's voice rang through the Great Hall, cutting through the chatter. Ron barely looked up—probably another announcement about the dangers of the Forbidden Forest or why hexing Slytherins wasn't 'appropriate behavior' (which, honestly, was up for debate).
Still, he half-listened, poking at his breakfast. Something about Snape's niece staying at Hogwarts for a while—blah, blah, blah—honestly, the details weren't important. Snape having family at all was shocking enough. Who on earth would willingly admit to being related to *him*?
But then—
He saw her.
Long, flowing blonde hair. An elegant, sharp-featured face. Those eyes—icy grey and piercing.
And just like that, whatever Dumbledore was saying ceased to exist. The entire Great Hall, the food, his friends—everything faded into irrelevance.
Ron felt like he'd been struck by a Bludger.
His jaw fell open. His heart? Dead. His brain? Nonexistent.
Bloody hell. He had never cared for blondes before, but now? Now he felt *enlightened*.
Harry nudged him. "Ron? You okay, mate?"
Ron's mouth moved, but words failed him. Instead, he let out a strangled, "*Wha—who—wha—who's—who's that?*"
"Snape's niece," Hermione said matter-of-factly. "Weren't you listening?"
Ron wasn't listening now, either.
Because Merlin help him, he was in love.
Draco—or rather, Lyra—had never felt more uncomfortable in his life.
Being a girl was bad enough. Having to pretend to be *Snape's* niece? Even worse.
But the *absolute worst* part?
Ron bloody Weasley.
The moment Dumbledore had introduced 'Lyra', Weasley had been looking at him like he'd been hit with a Confundus Charm.
It was unsettling. It was disturbing.
And it only got worse.
At lunch, Weasley miraculously sat next to him, which shouldn't have been possible because Lyra was sitting at the Slytherin table and Weasley belonged far, far away* from anything remotely elegant.
"Hey," Ron said, grinning like a complete idiot. "You, uh, you need help with anything?"
Draco raised an eyebrow. "Why would I need help?"
"Uh, y'know, just… anything," Ron said, shrugging. "Hogwarts can be *dangerous* for newcomers. There's moving staircases, weird poltergeists, *giant* spiders in the Forbidden Forest—"
"I grew up in a manor full of actual curses, Weasley," Draco deadpanned.
Ron laughed. "Wicked!"
Draco frowned. Why did Weasley sound impressed?
"Lyra," Ron said, his voice turning oddly *soft*. "You've got really, uh, nice hair."
Draco stiffened.
What.
"What?" he asked blankly.
Ron rubbed the back of his neck, blushing. "Nothing! Just, y'know, in case no one's told you before—"
"They haven't, because it's *completely unnecessary information," Draco snapped.
Ron only grinned wider, his ears turning red. "You're funny."
Draco had never felt more unsafe in his life.
What was wrong with Weasley? What was happening? Why was this happening to him?
And most importantly—
Why, in the name of Salazar Slytherin, did Weasley keep looking at him like that?