Duck Duck Goose

Duck . . . Duck . . . Goose!



By MysticSlave







Disclaimer: We own nothing but the story concepts. All HP characters and similarities to the books are JK’s.









Chapter Three: Body of Evidence











Severus closed the door behind Hermione and shook his head. Extra studies? How thick could those two boys really be? Well, he supposed it was reasonable enough, what, with all the classes Hermione tended to take. He wondered if Minerva had only given her the time-turner for extra classes . . . he hoped so. Hermione would have only been 13 then. He shuddered. He was suddenly curious as to how old the girl really was. Perhaps she used a glamour charm to conceal it if she was noticeably older than her classmates. He half-shrugged, deciding that ‘finite incantatum’ probably wasn’t a good choice at the moment. He wasn’t familiar enough with this body to be able to reconstruct the spell if she was in fact using one. As long as it didn’t fade he should be fine, but he made himself a mental note to check that out at a later date. Perhaps Hermione was well past her majority by the time she got involved with Minerva. He shuddered again. Majority or not, the whole idea still repulsed him. Minerva was a friend and unexpected confidante from his student years; he was not relishing the thought of experiencing something more intimate with her. He could have sworn the Head of Gryffindor had had a long-standing relationship with Albus.











He decided that before he even attempted to sleep, he should investigate the room that was now his. It wouldn’t do if he was unable to find the correct clothes, or her homework or wand or her schedule although he was quite sure that Hermione was no doubt well organized and if he simply looked in the correct places, he would have no troubles; on the surface at least.











First there was the desk. It was arranged in an orderly fashion, much as he would have done, he was surprised to notice. A neatly penned schedule was fastened to the wall. He quickly duplicated it onto an extra parchment he found and reduced it. Wouldn’t do for Hermione to suddenly forget her schedule! Next he located her book-bag and rifled through it, making sure he knew which folders contained which assignments, and that he had the appropriate books ready for tomorrow’s classes. He sighed. How he was going to get through that he would never know.











He put his hands on his hips and surveyed the room. Thankfully the colour scheme was relatively neutral with only splashes of the tacky Gryffindor colours. He would be able to live with this while they sorted out this body-switching. Longbottom couldn’t make a simple potion work, but he could create something new altogether. Snape wandered over to the closet to investigate further. Inside he found Hermione’s robes hung neatly along with several skirts; a number of which Snape found too short to be decent for public wear, and a small wardrobe in which he located shirts, pants, socks, bras, knickers, and . . . a surprising amount of racy lingerie. ‘Who was the girl trying to impress?’ he wondered, holding one up against his new body, blushing as he realized just how little skin it would actually cover. He hastily shoved it back in the drawer. If he didn’t know better, he would have sworn Crookshanks was smirking at him.







“Enough of this foolishness!” he exclaimed, trying to get used to hearing the bossy girl’s voice. “Now remember,” he told himself sternly, “answer to Hermione, and call them Ron and Harry, not Weasley and Potter . . . but Malfoy is still Malfoy.” Snape stripped down, tossed his clothes in a hamper and climbed gracefully into bed.







“Nox,” he whispered, laying his head down and forcing himself to fall asleep. He admitted to himself that he was curious about his new body, but further discovery of it could wait.







Morning would be here too soon for his taste.















Down in the dungeons, Hermione was milling around. She thanked Merlin that she was in Advanced Potions and had been tutoring her less than fortunate classmates for years in the subject. She felt sure she would be able to teach without any problems. However she had to be one-hundred percent Snape while teaching; now that was the issue she was worried about. Absently she began to chew on her bottom lip. ‘Shit!’ thought Hermione, a bit uncharacteristically. ‘I absolutely cannot fall into my nervous habits. Snape would never do something like that. Bloody git probably doesn’t have nervous habits. Calm down, Hermione! He’s not a git. This isn’t his fault, you just need to relax and sort things out.’ She took a deep breath, and wandered into the Potions classroom to ascertain whether or not he had a lesson plan so that she would know what to cover in her classes tomorrow. She found lesson outlines and was suddenly glad she had made herself out to be a brainy know-it-all in every class; barring Divination that is. She could certainly improvise. This told her all she needed to know: what potions they’d done and what potions they were doing next. At least she didn’t have Snape in class tomorrow. Hopefully she’d be able to meet with him to discuss the advanced classes. Maybe she’d give him detention. She grinned at the thought, even though it would ultimately look like the Head Girl was in trouble.







‘Alright, think, Hermione,’ she thought savagely, with the same determination and worry she expressed during her first year immediately prior to her Sorting, ‘what do I need to do to ensure that no one can tell I’m not really Snape?’ An idea came to her, a flash as bright as a wand lit with Lumos. She’d make a list and keep it handy. As long as no one caught her referencing it, she’d be just fine.







She fetched a quill and parchment and penned: Best ways to impersonate Professor Snape. She eyed her handwriting. That had to go. It looked nothing like his spidery, if careful, penmanship. She located some poor student’s essay, liberally spattered with red comments, and charmed a handful of quills to write in said script.







She started the list over on fresh parchment. ‘Much better,’ she thought, this will fool anyone as long as I use one of these quills. She studied them objectively and charmed each of the twelve quills into lovely green feathers to set them apart, and then set herself down to compose the list.











1) Be a bloody git. Hermione herself may not consider the man a git, but near as she could tell just about everyone else did, so she’d have to go with it.







2) Snarky. That would need a bit of practice as it wasn’t in her nature. She made a side note. Act like you do when you’re really annoyed with Ron.







3) Figure out the billowing robes. Number three would be a dead give-away if the robes didn’t billow out behind her like great bat wings.







4) Practice deducting points . . . from Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw. Leave Slytherin alone.







5) Get a feel for the voice. Four and five would work well together. She smirked at an imaginary student. “That will be fifty points from Gryffindor for your cheek, Potter!” Hearing Snape’s voice, not just aloud, but insider her own head as well made her shiver. He may not be Min, but the professor had a voice like steel-wrapped velvet that she could listen to all day.







5) Call your friends Potter and Weasley. Hermione sighed.







6) Be nice to Draco. She sighed again.







7) Glare. She had a feeling she’d be so annoyed that this wouldn’t cause any issues at all.







8) Swoop. If she got number 3 down, this should work alongside of it nicely. She hoped. Image and all that.







9) Roam the halls at night. This she was used to, being Head Girl and all. Perhaps she’d be able to discuss certain issues with Snape at this time; if he didn’t neglect in her duties of patrolling.







10) Deduct more points.







11) Hover threateningly over students. Too bad she couldn’t do this to Draco.











Hermione reviewed her list and found it adequate. She tucked it neatly into one of her many pockets; the robe seemed to be nothing but pockets, and swept off to explore the rest of the man’s chambers. In the long hallway that connected his private rooms to his personal laboratory and the classroom, she conjured wizard mirrors, one on each end, and practiced swooping back and forth down the hallway until one of them complimented her on her sweeping stride and billowing robes. For now, it would suffice. She got rid of the mirrors and progressed into the man’s bedroom. And stood still, mouth agape.











Snape’s bedroom was gorgeous. There was no other word for it. It was spacious and tastefully decorated; not in House colours but in deep shades of blue. Snape owned the largest canopy bed Hermione had ever set eyes on. Well-known tapestries of Unicorns were draped here and there, sconces emitted a rich, buttery light, and a marble fireplace was nestled in one corner and kept the room at a much more palatable temperature than the rest of the dungeons were at. An enchanted window showed scenes of the night sky and Hermione recalled that the dungeons were under the lake. A rich carpet spread across the floor, crossing underneath the bed and out the other side, ending at the door to what must be his bathroom.











Tearing her eyes away from the unexpected lushness of the room, she made her way over to the wardrobe. Then she tried the dresser. “Bloody hell!” she exclaimed. “Doesn’t the man have pyjamas anywhere?” A second rifling through drawers brought the only possible conclusion; he slept starkers. “Urggh!” was the only response Hermione could muster. She’d sleep in boxers and his body would like it or lump it.







She began unbuttoning his outer robes, and then his inner robes, and then his frock coat and . . . ‘Merlin! How many buttons did he fasten up every morning? Was it really necessary for the man to wear so many layers?’ She finally made it down to the boxes, and quickly slipped under the covers. She did not want to think about it, much less risk seeing it.











Hermione fell into an uneasy slumber. Her nerves were fraught with tension.













She awoke the next morning just as tense. Unfortunately her tension had moved to a central location. Her boxers. She stared at the tent in horror and disbelief. What was she to do with this . . . new development?







She also had to pee.











Hermione walked awkwardly to the bathroom and dropped her boxers on the ground. She just couldn’t touch it, and sat down on toilet as she would have in her own body. Nothing happened. She really had to pee and she couldn’t. Being a guy sucked. Hermione sighed. Now she understood why guys took cold showers. She stepped into the shower and turned it on, holding back a yelp at the frigid water, standing there until the pressure went down and she could change the temperature to something more pleasing. She looked about for the shampoo. There wasn’t any, just a small bottle of what appeared to be body wash. If that’s what he used for shampoo – or if, evidently, he used none at all, it would explain why he got called greasy git. Hermione sighed again. She hated to call on a house elf, but found no other option. Making sure the shower curtain was firmly closed, she snuck a hand out and rang the bell she had seen sitting on the counter.











Mere seconds later, an elf appeared. “Yes, Master Snape, Sir?” squeaked the elf. “What can Muffy do for you?”







‘Muffy?’ thought Hermione. She wondered who the fool was that named these elves. Their names just got worse and worse.







“It would appear that I am out of my regular shampoo,” she told the elf.







“Muffy will get you some, sir, just hold on one second, Master Snape, sir!”







Two quick pops later, and a small arm was handing her a heavy bottle around the curtain. “Is Master Snape needing anything else, sir?” Hermione looked around the shower. She supposed what she had would do for now.







“No,” she said stiffly to the waiting elf, “I have what I need.”







The elf disappeared with another pop and Hermione was left alone. She stepped back under the shower and soaked her new hair through and through. When she felt it was wet enough, she squeezed a good-sized dollop of shampoo in her hand and began to wash. When the rich black hair was finally clean enough for Hermione, she rinsed herself off and stepped out of the shower, quickly wrapping herself in the robe she found, lest she catch an unwanted glimpse of her professor’s body in the mirror.







Hermione realized she still had to pee. She sat back down and relieved the pressure that was nearly painful by this point. Then she pondered this newest problem. ‘Do I wipe it off?’ Before she could help herself, an old Muggle advertisement ran through her head, ‘A little dab will do ya!’ Oh boy. She took a few squares of toilet paper and tried to blot herself off without actually looking at what she was doing. She thought she was going to die right then and there.











Several floors up, Severus was having an equally frustrating morning. The sunlight, which he was quite unused to, had woken him as it crept across his face. He stretched, and strode into the bathroom to prepare for the day. Much to his chagrin, he nearly made quite a mess before it occurred to him that sitting would be the best course of action for the bathroom in this body. That chore done with, he nimbly climbed into the shower and drenched himself under the soothing warm water. Thoroughly wet, he turned to examine the various products that lined Hermione’s shower wall. ‘Thank Merlin they’re labeled,’ thought Snape. He noticed that these were not Muggle products and that they seemed to be home-made. ‘I wonder what else Hermione’s been brewing off to the side?’ wondered Snape. He fetched the shampoo and carefully washed his hair. Snape knew that his students thought him to have no personal hygiene of his own, but the fact of the matter was that most Potions Masters could be labeled greasy due to the number of cauldrons they worked over, day in, day out. He did at least make sure to wash his skin carefully, and if the dunderheads that Albus called students ever thought about it, they’d have realized ages ago that if he didn’t wash at all, they would have been able to smell him when he swooped around their stations to check their work.







That done, he moved on to the conditioner and then the body wash. He groaned. He felt a bit of a pervert as he soaped Hermione’s rather large breasts and ample curves, her narrow waist, soft thighs and mmm… ‘Quick man! Think of potions ingredients. Think of Hooch in a bikini! Miss Granger is your student, for Merlin’s sake!’ Needless to say, he washed the rest of the young woman’s body rather quickly. He sighed. Now he smelled like . . . flowers and vanilla with a hint of honey and brown sugar. It was a pleasant smell, he grudgingly admitted to himself. It smelled nice on Hermione’s skin. Snape mentally slapped himself – ‘Wolfsbane! Asphodel! Stewed Ashwinder Eggs -- shoot, those were all ingredients for lust potions! Hooch, Hooch in a bikini, Albus in a bikini – now there was a truly frightening thought’; it would do him no good to be thinking of the Head Girl in that manner, even if he was living in her body for the time being. ‘At least in this body there would be no obvious signs of his arousal.’











Back in the dungeons, Hermione was inspecting her appearance. ‘Gawds, how could the man stand to have such yellow teeth?’ Hermione wondered. No wonder he didn’t notice the difference in her teeth that year. Given, she was a bit biased, having dentists for parents, but the man was a wizard! Why didn’t he just charm them clean? She scrubbed at them for about ten minutes before giving up and using an ever so small of a charm to take the worst of it off so she could stand it. At least his . . . her breath was much better. Next there was the hair. She had combed it dry and took a look. It fell in soft waves around her face, glossy and shiny. This would never do. She couldn’t unwash it, so she did the next best thing. She slipped into his private laboratory and stood over the most noxious brew she could find for a few minutes. When she stepped back into the bathroom, the soft wavy, glossy look was gone. It was still shiny, but more towards that greasy-shiny than clean-shiny look, though it still felt nice enough. It would have to suffice. She was starving. It had taken forever to put all of Snape’s clothes on. ‘Far, far too many buttons,’ she thought again. She wondered what the man had for breakfast. No doubt the elves knew and would place something appropriate at her seat in the Great Hall.











Snape was staring at himself morosely in the mirror. It was an odd thing, he realized, to be looking at yourself ostensibly, but seeing someone else’s reflection. He gingerly picked up the blush and attempted to spread it across his cheeks as Hermione had instructed. He did the same with the lipstick. He looked too pink for his taste. He had no idea if he was even wearing enough, but Hermione never seemed as if she were wearing makeup, not that he’d really studied her that closely, so he took a tissue and blotted his cheeks and lips until he was satisfied.







He moved back into the bedroom to dress. He decided that it was a good thing that Hermione’s clothes were button-ups, not pull-overs or the clothes would be wearing the makeup and he’d have had to reapply it. ‘It will be the little things,’ Snape thought, ‘the little things that will blow this illusion.’ Suitably dressed, he gathered up his book bag and stepped out of his room for the Great Hall. Breakfast would be the first test.