Hello and good day to all... Im gonna start to write a story that im reading on this other site here. Ok this is chapter 1:

TS Eliot - Little Gidding
"Hermione," Neville hissed, "what do I do now?" Hermione slid a glance across to her lab partner, resisting the temptation to roll her eyes. The year had barely started and already it seemed - although it would have been stupid to think otherwise - that Neville was not going to do any better in Potions this year than he had in the previous six. It was going to be a long year.
"Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr Longbottom." Snape's voice cut through her thoughts with its usual incision. "Miss Granger, try to let Mr Longbottom at least attempt one unaided action this year. It would be too much to expect him to actually achieve anything," the acid was as sharp as ever, "but we should perhaps give him the opportunity to try."
Hermione vaguely turned her attention back to the potion in front of them, her mind elsewhere - they were finally officially making Polyjuice Potion, and she didn't need to follow too closely; her experience in the second year had seared the details into her mind.
She gazed around the classroom, idly watching the other students with their varying degrees of concentration as she waited for her potion to come back to a rolling boil. The summer holiday, and her 18th birthday, already seemed a long time ago - she occasionally wondered whether there was any point to holidays; the moment they were over it seemed as if they had never happened. The same routine, the same people, and nothing much changed.
Hermione felt Neville concentrating furiously next to her, and heard him muttering under his breath. She caught only the odd word but, suddenly, realised that he was about to make another mistake - he shouldn't be adding boomslang skin now, she thought. His potion was nothing like the colour it should be at the stage where he'd need to add that, and she could see his hand hesitantly moving towards the cauldron with a pinch of the shredded skin.
She looked round surreptitiously and couldn't see Snape. "Neville," now it was her turn to whisper furiously, "don't -"
"Don't what, Miss Granger?" Her heart sank. He was standing behind her; no wonder she hadn't been able to see him.
"Well, Miss Granger - please, share it with the rest of us. I'm sure it was vital?"
Hermione looked down at the cauldron in front of her, thinking frantically through a list of excuses and reasons but she waited just a little too long.
"P-Professor, it was my -"
"Silence, Longbottom. If I want your contribution I will ask for it."
The next moments stretched past in slow motion; Hermione would have sworn that they filled at least an hour, when she thought about it later. Snape had bellowed at Neville - much as he did in every lesson - and Neville had jumped. He dropped the boomslang skin in panic, scattering it over the flames below the cauldron. The resulting firecracking pops had everyone in the room diving for cover. Neville backed away in horror, bumping against a nearby set of shelves.
The cascade of ingredients to the floor, to the desks and into Neville's cauldron seemed to take forever; Hermione fell backwards against Snape, trying to avoid the gas that bubbled up from the now-adulterated potion. He swept his robes around her, trying to protect them both from the fumes.
Hermione was never entirely clear what happened next; all she knew was that suddenly she was drenched in a ice-cold mixture that burned through her robes and Snape's. The cold seemed to freeze her thoughts and actions for a moment, and her vision blurred.
When she could see again, the classroom seemed oddly distorted, as though she was standing on the desk. All around her was a sea of chaos; whilst the potion hadn't splattered far, the wreckage caused by students taking cover was impressive. She looked down. Then she blinked. When she opened her eyes, she looked down again.
The view hadn't changed. She was looking at herself, huddled against ... against herself? That didn't make any sense. For a moment, Hermione wondered whether she had died and was having an out-of-body experience. She'd always dismissed the reports of such experiences as nonsense but, perhaps, there was something to them. The return of feeling put paid to that thought, though. She was definitely corporeal; the chill on her skin where the potion had made contact was proof of that.
Hermione looked down again, trying to make sense of the fact that she could see her own body - a body that was now looking up at her with horror in its eyes. Slowly, very slowly, she began to realise what had happened as she took in the fact that the hands holding her body up were clearly under her control. They were, though, very definitely not the hands she had woken up with this morning. Long tapered fingers, large-knuckled and strong. These were not her hands.
They were Snape's hands. She'd watched them preparing a demonstration in class often enough to be familiar with them. She had Snape's hands ... no, she corrected herself. She had Snape's body.
"Uhh ..." The voice was all wrong; it reverberated through her, an octave lower than she would expect. Oh god, it was Snape's body. Her mind froze, trying to process the conflicting thoughts and responses surging through her. All around her, the students were slowly getting up from under desks and from behind chairs, looking curiously towards her - towards them - no, her, him ... too much. An urgent whisper, in an unfamiliarly familiar voice reached her.
"Dismiss them!" Hermione blinked, wondering whether she usually sounded that sharp and shrill before realising what she - no, he - oh, hell, whatever.
"Class dismissed! If any of you are hurt, go to the Infirmary!" Hermione tried to snap, hoping for at least some of Snape's authority and willing the class to be too pleased to leave early for anyone to question why their Potions Master had suddenly developed a tremor in his voice.
"P-Professor Snape, do you want me to stay and -"
"Get out, Longbottom!" she snapped. That was easier to manage, and there was something rather satisfying about being able to get rid of him without having to worry about dealing with his hurt feelings later.
The room emptied rapidly, a stream of black robes and bookbags making their way eagerly through the doors. Moments later, Hermione and Snape were alone in the classroom. Hermione watched Snape disentangle himself - herself - from their robes and take a step back, looking up at her as he folded his arms across his chest. He looked disconcerted as he realised that wasn't quite as easy to do any longer.
Hermione bit back a grin as he let his arms drop to the sides; she was suddenly absurdly cheered by the realisation that he was not finding this any easier than she was.
"What the hell did that fool Longbottom do?" Hermione wondered whether her voice always sounded like that - she was sure it was lower-pitched. Dragging her thoughts from the circumstances she concentrated instead on the more immediate problem: what had been in the potion when it exploded over them, and how were they going to undo the effects?
"I don't know, Professor," she answered, watching him blink at the sound of his own voice calling him by his title. "Do you have anything that will reverse this?"
Even before she had finished the question she could see him shaking his - her - damnit, his head. "Since I don't know what 'this' is, Miss Granger, I don't have any solution for the problem right now. There were over 100 ingredients on the shelf which Mr Longbottom managed to demolish so easily - it would take more than our joint lifetimes to test all the potential combinations he could have created. This particular effect is not one I have encountered before; there is something rather ironic about the fact that Mr Longbottom appears to have created an entirely new potion when he is incapable of creating even the simplest established ones."
"You seem to be handling this well, Professor," said Hermione. Her comment was punctuated by a snort of laughter from Snape.
"Falling apart would serve no useful purpose, Miss Granger. However, you can be reassured that I am not finding this any more comfortable than you, I suspect. It is ... disorienting, to put it mildly. No doubt we will begin to get used to it."
'Disorienting'. It was a good enough word for it, Hermione supposed. 'Weird as hell' was more like it, though, she thought.
"So ... " Hermione stretched the word out as she worked her way through the implications, "you mean, we're stuck like this. I'm you, you're me and ... oh god, I have to take my NEWTs in June!"
"Trust me, Miss Granger, I have no desire whatsoever to remain in your body until next June - and still less desire to sit the NEWTs again. Although I suppose it would ensure that you achieved an exemplary Potions grade."
At that point Hermione realised that Snape was finding this as difficult as she was - the distraction in his voice as he seized the tangential thought was evidence enough. Anything to avoid having to think about the problem directly. They needed to take the problem to someone else - someone unaffected.
"Dumbledore." Hermione wondered if she'd been thinking aloud until she realised that although she'd heard her own voice, it was Snape who had spoken; he'd obviously come to the same conclusion.
They left the classroom in a hurry, both awkwardly adjusting to unfamiliar strides; Snape almost stumbled as Hermione's shorter legs failed to keep up with his habitual speed. Behind them, the silver-grey potion that was Neville Longbottom's sole contribution to the art and science of potion making dripped gently from the cracked cauldron onto the desk below.

I think that im gonna add chapter two aswell... Each day ill try to add another chapter, but theres 40 chapters...Thats alot. WEll heres chapter 2:

Part 2 - The Meeting with Dumbledore
Hermione slumped dejectedly in one of Dumbledore's big squashy armchairs, watching herself pace the room.
Their trip up from the dungeons had been an awkward affair. Fortunately that part of the school was rarely thronged with students, but the few they had seen had given them quizzical looks. Eventually, Snape had come to an abrupt halt, nearly causing Hermione to cannon into him. She hadn't quite got the rhythm of the longer stride, and was feeling a little as if she was suddenly being expected to walk on stilts.
"For heaven's sake, girl," had come the vicious whisper, the voice still sounding odd to her ears. "Don't droop along behind like that. Hurry up. And walk as if you mean it. You're supposed to be a master of this school."
She hadn't felt like pointing out that he had shoved his way in front, as usual. Swallowing the resentment, telling herself that Dumbledore would sort it out, she had tried to straighten herself up, and walk more like Snape.
They had started off again. Snape was obviously trying to persuade her, shorter, legs to match his accustomed pace. The effect had been to give her a rather unflattering waddle, she thought. She had concentrated for a couple more paces and then given up.
She had waited for a couple of curious Slytherins to pass, and then hissed "Professor!"
He had paused, and turned to glare at her. Somehow, coming from her own eyes, it had not been as bad.
"Maybe I should go in front?" she had suggested diffidently. "As I'm supposed to be a master of this school."
The answering look had been pure poison, but he had gestured for her to precede him. They had continued at a slightly more sedate pace which, ironically, had been easier for both of them to cope with.
They had arrived at the headmaster's office in brittle, hostile silence.
She dragged her mind back to the awful present. She noted that at least Snape's calm finally appeared to be giving way as his pacing increased. She wasn't certain if she was reassured by that or not, but on balance she felt that it was only fair that he should be suffering as well. After all, if he hadn't been terrorising Neville none of this would have happened. She decided that placing the blame at Snape's door did make her feel better.
The slightly surreal effect of observing her own movements was beginning to wear off and was being replaced with a series of thoughts which highlighted the hideous practical consequences of the accident. She wriggled herself into a more upright position, awkwardly adjusting the longer legs and torso which still didn't quite feel reliably under her control.
Snape had ceased pacing, and was now standing directly in front of the headmaster, leaning on the desk and glaring. Dumbledore's face was grave, but his eyes twinkled with obvious amusement at the sight of the Gryffindor head girl glaring with pure Snape-ish ferocity.
"Well, well," he mused. "You two do seem to have got yourselves into a bit of a predicament haven't you?"
"With respect, headmaster," bit off Snape, managing to infuse Hermione's voice with a near-normal degree of venom, "I did absolutely nothing to contribute to this situation."
Hermione stifled a snort at this. A deep, baritone noise issued from the depths of the armchair. It occurred to her that Snape's voice was very well suited to snorting.
Both... men, she supposed, for want of a better description of Snape right now... turned to look at her.
"Did you have something to add, Miss Granger?" enquired Snape silkily. Except that he hadn't quite got the knack of doing that with her voice yet. Hermione's lighter, mid-soprano simply didn't do silky. It sounded closer to sulky, she thought. Snape clearly also thought the same, as he grimaced.
Dumbledore's amusement transferred itself from his eyes to his mouth.
"This promises to be most... ah... interesting," he commented, reaching for a small silver dish on the desk in front of him. "Sherbert lemon, anyone?"
"Again, with respect headmaster, I hardly think that this is the moment for sherbert lemons." Snape's voice had begun to carry an edge of real distress. For once Hermione wholeheartedly agreed with him. There was a large part of this that was not at all funny.
"Well, perhaps you're right," conceded the headmaster, putting down the sweet dish. "On a more serious note, how long do you think that it will take you to find an antidote to this? Or do you think that it will wear off in time?"
Hermione felt a sudden burst of hope. Polyjuice Potion was only supposed to last about an hour. Perhaps they would be back in their own bodies by the end of the evening. Off to her side, Snape sighed, and began to run his hand through his hair. He snatched it away as he realised that the hair in question extended well below his shoulders.
"Given that it is presently impossible to identify which ingredient, or combination of ingredients, is responsible for this... condition..." he gestured disdainfully at Hermione's body, "the prospects of identifying a specific counter-agent are remote in the extreme. And as for it wearing off - theoretically, one would think it a realistic possibility. However, factoring in the, as yet, unquantified 'Longbottom effect', I think we may safely conclude that the most convenient outcome will also be the least likely one."
Hermione shifted resentfully at his airy dismissal of her body. It wasn't as if she'd asked to be trapped in a thin, ugly, greasy male body herself. Before she could protest, Dumbledore intervened.
"I hardly think that Miss Granger is celebrating her current position either, Severus."
Snape looked directly at her for just about the first time since any of this had happened. He had the grace to look a little sheepish.
"No, I suppose not," he conceded grudgingly.
Hermione wondered if she had just got an apology out of Snape. Miracles would never cease.
She managed to find her voice.
"Professor Dumbledore, what are we going to do?"
She could have wished that she sounded a little more confident. Snape's voice did 'plaintive' about as convincingly as hers did 'silky'. She was fixed with a look of exasperation.
"We are clearly going to have to find some way of staying apart from the school until this situation has resolved itself."
Dumbledore, however, was shaking his head.
"I'm afraid that's not going to be possible, Severus."
Snape looked as horrified as Hermione felt. For one moment the dislocated minds and bodies were back functioning in perfect harmony. Snape was the first to achieve articulation.
"You cannot be serious, headmaster. You aren't suggesting...."
"I'm perfectly serious, Severus. You cannot tell me how long this effect is going to last. I cannot have my Potions Master and my Head Girl both disappearing for an indefinite length of time. There would be no way of keeping that information quiet, and the resulting speculation would be highly damaging. No, you are simply going to have to find a way to fulfil each other's roles until a solution is found."
Hermione was now rapidly moving beyond horror into the realms of pure panic. Dumbledore expected her to... what was it? 'Fulfil his role'? How on Earth was she supposed to do that? What about Harry? What about Ron? What about Neville for Gods' sake? Her parents? Surely he didn't expect her to actually teach?
She began to seriously contemplate exactly how bad it would really be for everyone to think that she had run off with Snape. It had to be better than actually being him.
From a distance she heard her own voice saying "Rumours eventually die down headmaster."
With a faintly sick feeling it dawned on her that Snape had just followed the same mental path, and ended up in the same leafy glade of a conclusion.
"I'm sorry Severus, Hermione. I truly am. But that simply isn't an option." Dumbledore's voice was deadly serious now. "If it were just a question of dealing with your personal embarrassment then I would be happy for you act as you saw fit. I am more than confident that you could both weather any storm. But there is more at stake than that. You know it, Severus. And," he directed this at Hermione, "I believe, if you stop to think, that you will also realise that, Hermione."
Across from her, the body that was currently under the control of the Potions Master dropped into Dumbledore's other armchair with an air of abject defeat. Despite her own feelings, Hermione found it within herself to feel a little sorry for him. After all, at least she got be a teacher. He was going to have to get used to being a student again. Which brought her back to Harry and Ron....
"Um... it might not be too bad," she began, with the vague idea of offering some sort of comfort. "I'm sure Harry and Ron will help if I ask them to." And once they stop laughing themselves sick, she conceded silently to herself.
The latter thought had evidently also occurred to Snape.
"Oh yes, Miss Granger. Becoming the object of Potter and Weasley's merriment will make the situation so much more bearable for me."
She was about to defend her friends, when Dumbledore intervened yet again.
"Mr Potter and Mr Weasley cannot know about this. Neither can any of the other staff."
Hermione was speechless. How did he expect her to manage if she couldn't even talk to her friends about it?
She looked over at Snape, who had tipped his head back and was studying the ceiling with apparently rapt attention.
"Why not?" she finally asked the headmaster, when nothing seemed to be forthcoming from the other chair.
"I realise that your academic marks are impressive, Miss Granger, and that you are, of course, a Gryffindor. But do you really feel that that qualifies you to face Voldemort alone?"
She couldn't see Snape's face and the voice was expressionless.
Voldemort
She had forgotten Snape's ambiguous position within the ranks of the Dark Lord's followers.
"Oh." She couldn't think of anything else to say. Dumbledore carried on, after a swift glance at his Potions Master/Head Girl.
"Precisely, Hermione. If Voldemort learns that there is anything amiss with Professor Snape, then he will seek to investigate. The professor will be summoned to account for himself, which, at this moment, effectively means you."
She had the point. If Voldemort found out that she wasn't Snape, he would kill her - and then come after Snape in her body. She nodded slowly.
"Joking apart, Miss Granger, this accident places both of you at grave risk. Neither of you can afford to allow the slightest doubt to creep into anyone's mind that you are not who you appear to be. There are already too many potential routes of information back to Voldemort within this school. The more people who know about this, the greater the danger."
Hermione felt her mouth go dry and she looked over to Snape again. He still wasn't meeting her eyes. She held him in no very great affection, but that didn't mean that she would deliberately put his life at risk. Particularly as he was currently looking after her body. Only temporarily, she told herself firmly.
"OK," she said carefully, still watching him, "but you'll have to help me." This last was directed to Snape. After all, he had as much of a vested interest in keeping her alive as she did him.
Was it her imagination, or did he appear to relax very slightly at that? Dumbledore was certainly beaming again, as if she had just completed an unusually difficult piece of homework.
"I suggest that you both take some time to... ah... get to know yourselves a little better. I shall expect you at dinner, Miss Granger. And please don't forget the staff meeting immediately afterwards."
Dumbly, she nodded, getting the distinct impression that they had been dismissed. Snape seemed to feel that as well, since he got up out of the chair, and gestured at the door.
This time she remembered to leave slightly before Snape. She didn't think that she had quite managed to carry off his trademark sweep, but she noted, with a tinge of satisfaction, his look of annoyance as she came within a whisker of physically pushing him out of the way.
They continued in silence along the corridors until they reached the entrance hall. That, at least, was in character for both of them. Instinctively they both looked up at the giant hourglasses to check the running totals of house points. Gryffindor was down by ten points, Slytherin was up by five. Snape made a noise of satisfaction, whilst she tutted under her breath.
"You should be pleased... Professor," came the acid whisper from beside her. "Slytherin is doing well."
She shut her eyes briefly, as the truth sank in.
She was now Head of Slytherin.