Work Text:
"Professor Granger!" It's Professor Smith. "A moment?"
I inwardly groan, but I smile blandly as I turn to face him. "Certainly, Professor Smith."
"Aren't you worried?" he asks, his voice dropping to a conspiratory whisper.
"Worried about what?" Hot, anxious prickles rise up my spine.
"I mean, you're getting Snape's room." He grimaces.
"I don't mind," I say.
"Aren't you worried about your safety?" Smith seems worried for my safety, but I wave him away.
"Not in the least," I reply. "Remember, I took Potions with Neville Longbottom."
"Well," he says, "if you're sure. But let me know if you need assistance."
"Thank you." I want nothing more than to slam the door in his face.
After a long pause, he finally leaves, and I scurry to my quarters, closing and warding the door.
I must confess, I do have an ulterior motive.
Nobody can know the truth.
There is a hunger burning in me that cannot be sated, and I must find something to temper it. Something I can find only in this room.
It started when I returned to Hogwarts to complete my seventh year. At first, I used Polyjuice Potion to avoid being harassed by reporters, but eventually I found myself doing it just because I could. I'd ask for bits of my schoolmates and brewed batches of Polyjuice Potion. It worked well, but I could only ask so many times before I started getting weird looks. Eventually, I began fishing hair out of the shower drains and pilfering nail clippings from rubbish bins.
I knew it was wrong, but I couldn't stop.
You see, the blend of Polyjuice I use is…unusual. One might even say…inspired…by a particular Half-Blood-Prince.
It is fairly similar, though there are a few additional incantations and counter-clockwise turns. I cannot say how Snape figured it out, but this improved Polyjuice gives the user a sense of the person they are becoming as well. It's not quite like accessing their memories, more like a feeling of how they'd act in a situation. I imagine this would be perfect for spying, but I am looking to use it for an entirely different purpose.
The scent of Snape's old quarters is musty. I waste no time opening the closet and rifle through the severe, black teaching robes, looking for my quarry.
I find only one greasy hair attached to the shoulder of a rumpled set that looks like it had been hastily abandoned. I allow myself a triumphant grin.
Making my way to the bathroom, I rummage through his drawers. Here, I strike gold. There's a hank of hair caught in his brush and comb, bits of stubble dried around the ring of the drain, and nail clippings in the rubbish bin. I try to imagine him clipping his nails just before the final battle and suppress a giggle.
All told, I have enough for a moderately sized batch of Polyjuice.
Enough, I hope, to do what needs to be done.
I take a swig of Polyjuice from my hip flask and look at myself in the mirror. There are the black, tunnel-like eyes and the pale hooked nose. I scowl for good measure. It's a bit morbid to wear the face of a dead man, but he won't be needing it, and there is much to do.
I begin brewing several simultaneous potions. My body moves on its own. Quickly, I note down deviations from the norm as my body attends to each potion that requires attention.
A knot of anxiety twists in my chest, along with smug satisfaction. These are things that I have never written down, as my muscle memory is second nature, and these are for my own use.
I blink, reminding myself that I am Hermione, not Severus Snape. My heart quickens as a stab of sadness runs through me like a bolt as I remember the look on his face as he died. Even at the end, he used the time he had left for someone he thought was more important.
I swig the Polyjuice and bury myself in brewing. In a few short hours, I have the instructions written down for at least a dozen potion improvements. His muscle memory settles against my skin like a comfortable cloak. Time flies so quickly that by the time I look up, it's so late that it's early. I must sleep.
I place the old gray night shirt over my head and slip into the long, narrow bed. Staring up at the ceiling, I notice that there's something up there.
"Lumos," I murmur, pointing my wand above me.
Light flares from my wand and I see that someone has placed glow-in-the-dark star stickers on the ceiling. I let the light charge them and then cancel the spell, lying motionless in the dark. A feeling of miserable nostalgia washes over me. I want nothing more than to go back and do everything again, only better. My fingers grasp for a golden chain that isn't there, and my hunger shifts in my belly.
After all, while Polyjuice Potion lets me be someone else as often as I want to be, there is only one way I can think of to be somewhen else. Harry told me the Time-Turners were destroyed, but it's not the first time he's been wrong. I run my fingers over my stolen face and let the words fall out of my lips.
"Impossibilities are the work of small minds. And our minds are anything but small."
His voice soothes me, and I drift off to sleep, knowing that in a way, this is the start of a beautiful partnership.