Gillyweed and Pet Potions

>*< Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any recognizable characters or places. If I owned them I wouldn’t be working in a sexist upscale Italian pizza place. I’d of bought it already and burnt it down.

Note: Comments and “constructive criticism” are welcome. Also, I need a beta. Also, also…I’m putting a spin on things. I’m tired of the “book-worm, know-it-all” deal and the “cold dark sexy façade”. It’s nice, but over-played. Hermione is not an unfeeling little thing who hasn’t realized she has a vagina. Just my take, I’ll disclaim that as well. Hehe. I hope you enjoy this. I’m tired of sitting back and willing other authors to update, while not contributing anything of my own to these wonderful places.


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The late summer sunshine is filtering through the thick canopy of the forbidden forest and the effect is amazing. The afternoon light seems to put a glow to everything in touches in this magical place. Everything about Hogwarts amazed me when I first arrived. Being a muggle, no one prepared me for this glittering haven of knowledge. No one bounced me on their knees and spoke in soft words about the shimmering windows or the magical books, about a castle that held troublesome secrets and powerful wizards. In a way I believe not having known something so amazing existed made it all the better when I stumbled off the rickety boat and gazed up, letting the sight fill me with awe and wonder.

I hear the distinct bark of Fang in the distance and it breaks my revere. I sigh. The sun hangs directly above me and I know that the boys are probably prowling around the castle looking for me high and low. They never want to give me peace. The stress of this last year is weighing heavily on my shoulders, with my N.E.W.T.S approaching and all. Oh and there’s a crazed, half man half snake, serial-killing sadist trying to put an end to all of our lives. I just need a few minutes (or hours) to clear my head but breaking away from Harry and Ron keeps getting more difficult.

Pushing the thoughts of mass genocide out of my hazy mind’s eye, I rise and stumble my way out the forbidden forest. My hair snags on a few branches but the pain barely registers when you have a mop of hair like mine. I throw it into a hasty bun and glance casually at my watch and…stop. 5 o’clock. Damn and blast! My feet beat a hasty retreat back to the castle. I see Hagrid wave to my retreating back and I try to wave back but it comes out looking like I’m beating off an angry swarm of bees. Good, great…Snape’s going to murder me.

As soon as I fly through the main doors I whip out my wand and ‘Accio’ my book bag. Why I didn’t bring it is beyond me, well not really. I hadn’t thought I was going to loose track of time watching Centaurs in the forest. Though, there was a particular incident today where a beefy, rugged looking centaur tripped over a log and fell down a small embankment. It was quite possibly one of the funniest things I have ever seen in my life. I had to bite my hand to keep from laughing out loud. Who wants to be killed by a pissed off centaur? Who on top of it just lost his enormous pride knowing you watched him roll down that hill. Thankfully I silently laughed myself to tears behind a bush and he was none the wiser. The memory brings a crooked smile to my face as I run headlong down the corridor towards the dungeons, not even waiting for my book bag to catch up or caring what passer-bys think about me running like an idiot.

I reach the door to Professor Snape’s classroom just in time to watch him lean over his desk to take row. Ron and Harry glance at each other, then at my empty chair with uneasy expressions. I know they’re wondering their pants off, wondering where the heck I could possibly be. Missing such an important meeting, no, never fuzz-head Hermione!

Suddenly there’s a strange whipping sound and something heavy collides with my right shoulder blade. The wind gets blasted out of my chest and I collide with the very solid door. It swings open by the force of my body and I sprawl on the floor as gracelessly as…well as the centaur that rolled down that hill. Everyone in the room jumps at the loud bang and then laugher rings through my ears. I now know how the centaur felt. Even Harry and Ron are turning red and holding back gales of mirthless laughter. Draco Malfoy is doubled over in giggles. Yes, the boy giggles. What would his father think? Maybe his father giggles…I drag myself off the floor and come face to long nosed face with my Potions Master. The vision of a giggling, deranged looking Lucius Malfoy shaking the piss out of a small Draco is rushed out of my head.

“Ah, Miss Granger! So nice of you to drop in at your leisure.” He growls the last part nastily, not inches from my face. My cheeks flame in embarrassment and the flush travels all the way down to my chest. I can feel the sweat start to bead on my forehead under his sneer.

“Sorry Sir, I lost track of time, sir.” I mumble lowly.

He turns on the spot and mumbles something about 15 points from Gryffindor. The boys pull out my chair just in time to catch my bum. I drop my offending bag on the floor by my feet and kick it against the table twice for good measure.

“AS I WAS SAYING!” Professor Snape begins loudly to quiet any stray giggles. “You are to walk up to my desk when your name is called and tell the class and me exactly what your 7th year potions project will consist of. And if I believe that the project you have picked is suitable for your grade level you may return to your seat and await further instruction. No talking, no laughing, no interruptions or you and your house will have substantially less house points by the end of this hour. Am I clear?” His black hair gets tossed out of his face by a subtle turn of the neck and he’s glaring down the whole room with his dark eyes.


“Yes sir.” My classmates and I mumble lowly. Harry spits out the word “sir” like its something filthy and I elbow him in the ribs. He glares but I smile at him sweetly. May the gods help him if a ‘group’ detention is issued! I will rip out his tongue and slap him in the face with it. I have not a problem with making him The-boy-who-could-only-drool-out-poorly-formed-words.

I pick my neatly written project outlines out of my book bag and kick it back against the table. I smooth them out on the desk top. After a few horrible potions projects are whimpered to my dear professor he is completely exasperated and stabbing at his parchment with a crooked quill. Within minutes he calls me, spitting out my last name much like Harry’s aforementioned ‘sir’. I walk to his desk like a prisoner waiting to be pushed into the guillotine.

“Sir.” I stumble over my words and shuffle through my parchment, looking for a good place to start. “Uh, well, Sir…Instead of improving a potion I’ve decided I’d like to create one of my own.” He sighs a loud ‘obviously’ to the mirth of my classmates but motions for me to continue.

I shuffle my papers around a little more before he slams them down on his desk and breaths, “Get on with it Granger!”

“Um, I have decided…I want to create a potion that enables the imbiber to turn into any animal they wish for however long a period they would like. Much like the Polyjuice potion but with…the brewer’s choice of animal form.”

“I take it you got this idea when, in your third year, you failed to turn yourself into a human replica but successfully turned yourself into a cat. Is this correct?” I see cruel humor dancing in his dark eyes and half the class starts to snicker behind my back. A drop of anxious sweat rolls down my spine and my face colors immediately.

I can hear little ‘meows’ issuing from the Slytherin tables. “Meow, Indeed.” I say bitterly, forgetting my place for a second in my anger.

“Excuse me, Miss Granger?” He growls, challenging me.

“Meow, Sir.” I can hear Harry and Ron stifling laughter, quickly followed by the rest of the class. Professor Snape rolls his eyes, apparently giving up on life right in front of me.

I can see him fighting off a migraine, getting more and more pissed off by every passing second. “Miss Granger, do you have any idea how hard it’s going to be for you to create an Animal Polyjuice? Don’t you think others have tried? Do you see any ready recipes? You think you can actually accomplish this feat in the allotted time?” He’s casting horrible glances, quieting the students with silent fear.

“Yes.” I say matter-of-factly, rising my chin.

“Of course you do.” He purrs venomously. “You understand that if you don’t complete said project within the allotted time you will receive a zero. And let me remind you that this determines half your grade for this whole year. If I agree to let you do this and realize that you will fail you cannot change to another project, Am I clear?” The whole class is still and silent behind me whilst he searches my face and I search his. When he sees no sign of me backing down a strange gleam lights his bottomless, black orbs and he sits back.

I can’t break eye contact and there’s a strange feeling welling in my gut. The once leaded down dread turns to a soft fluttering of wings and two words come out of my throat, riding my soft sigh…”Yes, sir.”

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Here I am, in my giant four poster, trying figure out just what happened in my advanced 7th year potions meeting. When I saw the barely-there admiration in his eyes a whole group of lacewing flies seemed to take up residence in my belly. When he sat back with his hands over his chest I hardly registered my eyes roaming over his black encased body with curiosity. But he did. One of those dark eyebrows rose up his forehead and he dismissed me, suspicion coloring his tone.

The fifty-thousandth sigh of the night escapes me as I hear a loud knock at my door. The head girl’s room does have its perks…as well as its downfalls. Like Perk A.), no one can hear me singing muggle music loudly, such as Abba or the Backstreet Boys. Down fall A.), the boys can badger me at any time of the day about nonsense without anybody knowing.

I fling the door open with a flourish and collapse on my bed face first, not even greeting them. Why would I? They’d just push their way in and make themselves comfortable regardless of niceties. They’re talking about drivel, said drivel being Quidditch. Ron makes himself at home on my bed, his heavy leg falling over mine, effectively cutting off blood flow to my foot. Harry tosses himself on my neatly arranged pillows.

“So, Krum swings around and suddenly…” Harry starts excitedly, swinging his arms and hands. My bed bounces with sheer enthusiasm.

“…he gets whipped off his broom and falls to a spectacular death in front of millions.” I say loudly into my comforter. It comes out muffled.

There is a heavenly silence before there’s laughing and one of Ron’s meaty paws shakes my shoulder as if he trying to dislodge a large rock. I almost fall off my own bed! “Hermione, sometimes I wonder what’s gotten into you over the summer.”

I would tell him but he’d probably die of shock. And jealously that he’s never gotten into anything as substantial as his fellow male classmates. Oh, I await the day Ron finds out what his best friend has gotten into his baby sister, repeatedly. I believe Ronald thinks he holds the key to my figurative chastity belt. Ron has asked this same question a few times and only once I’ve answered him.

“What has gotten into you?” He had asked after a particularly biting comment. We were standing on the Quidditch pitch a few days in.

“Tyler.” I mumbled.

“What did you say?” He asked.

“Skies clear.” I said gesturing to the cloudless sky.

He kicked off seconds later, starting practice and forgetting all about the conversation.


I roll my eyes into the soft material and I regret it because now I have to pick orange cat hair out of my eye sockets.

“I grew up Ronald; we all had to at some point in time. The growing up process seems to take the fast lane when there’s a snake eyed megalomaniac trying to kill us at every turn.” Harry laughs so hard he falls off the bed and there’s a resounding thud of skull meeting wood, then silence, then more laughing. Ron joins in and wrestles Harry’s back down to the floor in a play fight. I roll my eyes yet again and have the same regret. I plunk myself down in front of my full length mirror and begin removing cat hair; at least I’m smiling now. Maybe I’ll keep them around a little longer.

Boys, I will never understand them. Though, I rather not try to figure out some. The namely some being the likes of Severus Snape and Albus Dumbledore. But those boys are not boys any longer and have turned into tricky man sized puzzles. When I think of Severus Snape as a person I see an intricately woven spider web of power and strength. It’s a strange power that he exercises over every living thing. If he cannot make it wilt, he blasts through it like the lovely pink roses scattered around Hogwarts. Severus Snape is a dangerous man and I would do myself good to avoid him and stay under his radar. But I have refused to let good or bad notions color my insistent curiosity anymore. When there’s an enigma, a puzzle that needs to be cracked, I will do anything to achieve my goal.

When the boys finally left, and the bed spread was returned to its usual resting place, I resumed my earlier thoughts. What of Professor Snape and my sudden unsettling curiosity with a man who rivals a bear slapped in the ass when angry. I put myself in check. I have recognized the good in this man before but those thoughts never resulted in my eyes taking in every plane of his tightly clad thigh…Where. The. Hell. Did. That. Come. FROM!?

I travel back to the first days of what I thought was just going to be another predictably boring summer with my parents. When my body still held some resemblance to a small stick bug and way before Paul Simon taught me the 50 ways to leave a lover. How long could a summer actually be? I didn’t know until this year.

The first month all I did was sit in the old oak tree in my back yard and read, hiding from my menopausal mother. The second month my hips and thighs rapidly thickened and my breasts which were once stationary and hardly ever wiggled or jiggled started to do just that. I met a twenty-two year old bloke who had a thing for long hair and poetry. Mother did not approve in the least, probably because she had became a fiery hellcat. Anyway, he always tied his long hair back and had an invested interest in my neck. Mother’s menopause did not get any better, not in the least.

By the third month, Tyler had his fair share of my creamy skin and we parted ways on good terms. Mother was in bad shape. One night I had come down the stairs in the wee hours of morning for a post-study snack. I sat rather ungracefully on the couch and to my fright my father’s sleep thickened voice floated up from behind me. He was speaking sleepy gibberish really.

“Daddy, what are you doing behind the sofa?” His fuzzy salt and pepper head popped up and he fixed his crooked glasses.

“I’m hiding from your mother, darling.” He yawned.

“Oh.”

“Now, be a good girl and give Daddy a bite of your mother’s double chocolate surprise ice cream. She goes to break my fingers every time I try and nick some.” I had a new respect for my father in that very moment.

After a crazed argument with my mother about coleslaw, I left for The Burrow with only some of my wits 5 days early. The confrontation started with “Have some coleslaw dear” and ended with “No one will…eat…oh my god! No one loves…No one KNOWS!”

It was like escaping from a third world country. My father was holding my mother back; continually getting drenched with mayonnaise and bits of cabbage and carrot. His glasses becoming more and more crooked with my mother’s thrashing. “Run darling! Grab your stuff, I can’t…Dianne! Dianne, stop struggling!”

“I am just so goddamn hot FRANK…!” I disapparated to The Burrow, my mother's crazed shrieks lingering in my ears. I laughed myself to tears outside the Weasley’s quaint crooked cottage.

I shake my head to clear the thoughts, silent laughter wracking my body. Lying back in a sweaty heap I wipe my eyes and smile one big, parents-are-obviously-dentists smile. I fleeting wonder what Severus Snape’s parents were like and come to the conclusion that they probably wouldn’t the greatest.

A loud tap-tap at the window makes me bolt upright. A crow is perched impatiently on my sill, hopping and tapping like a lunatic. I can only guess who this familiar belongs to…Those strange butterflies resume their crazed zip-zinging inside my tummy. The stupid animal pecks my finger when I go to remove the piece of parchment attached to its leg. I untie the note and recognize the neat, albeit spiked writing. I move backward a few paces in shock and miss my bed altogether, landing in a bouncing ungraceful heap on the floor. Something tells me this is going to be the most exciting year of my life…