"An Adventure With Polyjuice" (Hermione/Pansy, PG-13/R)
Title: An Adventure With Polyjuice

Author:myspark

Pairing: Hermione/Pansy

Rating: PG-13/R


A/N: I tried to go for NC-17, but then it didn't go so well. At all. So here's a cute peice of fluff instead :). Including nutty!Ginny. Kind of. X-posted to hpfemslashfic :).






They’re working on a Potions project because Snape has decided to renew his subscription of cruel humor and assign partners across houses.

“This is shit,” Pansy Parkinson announced, folding her arms around her chest, huffing. When her back heaved her breasts didn’t move; Hermione noticed suddenly that they’re a lot bigger than usual. She suspected a charm but only tightened her mouth and looked down her nose at the Slytherin girl.

“Snape’s trying to fail me,” Pansy complained. Hermione suppressed a smile, and Pansy’s canines dragged through her sticky pink lips, uncomfortable with the silence.

“Well, ginger-lover, I expect you’ll know what we’re supposed to do,” Pansy said, irritated. It’s as if she can’t leave the silence be—she’s twitchy and impatient, gnawing on her lips and shredding the polish on her nails, kicking the legs of her chair, smacking her gum and twisting fingers through her brassy, perfectly curled ringlets. Hermione had no idea that someone could multitask so much and accomplish so little in the meantime. She sighed.

“It’s Polyjuice,” Hermione snapped, not even bothering to look at her. “I suppose you know what that is, I hope? Contrary your current behavior you can’t be that much of a blibbering idiot, Parkinson.” With a low growl of impatience and resentment at Snape and his ever-greasy hair and Pansy’s… girliness, she slid further down her chair, squinting at the board to copy down the cumbersome details of the project.

“I’m not the one who took it wrong and ended up being a cat in second year,” Pansy bit back, her fingers yanking out of her ringlets. Hermione’s mouth opened and she glared at Pansy in outraged disbelief.

“Anyway,” Hermione practically snarled, turning away to watch Seamus Finnigan’s cauldron melt as the thin shrewish Nott boy hid behind a bundle of knotgrass, “We have to brew it, then use it to turn into each other—”

The ordinary chaos of the Potions classroom became awed silence as Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, looked in horror at one of his best friends, the Girl Who Knew Everything, and then at his partner, the Boy Who Really Hated the Boy Who Lived.

“Is that what ‘Using the previously brewed concoction, providing your intellect of norm has transmorifigated though distasteful means into something that can remotely grasp the purpose for knotgrass in a potion, you and your partner are required to both ingest your own potions in a thankfully private location, to, in essence, become another person—truly, in effect, transforming from your own bodies into the entity of each other—and during this hour-long ordeal you will be required to examine the body fully to investigate and hopefully not come across any flaws of the potion, which will then mean that your potions were correct in front of each other, and then write thirty-six inches of parchment on the sensitivities of the potion and what gallstone and knotgrass has to do with all of this’ means?” Harry asked, rather red in the face.

Hermione nodded. Parvati Patil looked at her partner, Millicent Bulstrode, and burst into tears.

“Is ‘transmorifigated’ even a word?” Ron asked dubiously.

“Of course it does, Weasely. Doesn’t anyone know that?” Gregory Goyle said, casting an amusedly intelligent eye around the classroom and taking a piece of gum out of his mouth and sticking it behind his ear. Ron gaped at him.

“I hate you, Malfoy,” Harry said at last, after struggling with his words.

“I bet you’ve got a small dick, Potter,” Malfoy replied, and everything fell apart from there.


__


Harry, Ron and Hermione emerged from the potions classroom considerably scarred.

“I just got hit by the worst Jelly-Legs hex ever, Hermione,” Ron said hollowly. “I really need this lunch.”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous,” Hermione said irritably, “I’m partners with Pansy Parkinson and I think her tits are fake.”

Harry looked at her incredulously for the second time of the day. “You can charm them?” Ron gave him a worldly look.

“Of course you can,” Ron said airily, taking a seat at Gryffindor table and moving excitedly over to the pile of sandwiches. “Ginny did when she was eleven on Valentine’s Day to impress you, but they were so heavy they made her unbalanced and she had to go the Hospital Wing.”


__


Morning. Breakfast. Owlpost.

We’re meeting in Greenhouse Three to collect the plants we need. We don’t have Potions and I don’t have Herbology until next Monday and I want to get a head start.

P. Parkinson

“Oh, that’s nice,” Hermione grumbled. Ginny nodded sympathetically while aimlessly swirling her fork around in her bowl of oatmeal.

“Are you going to eat that?” Ron asked. “Or are you on one of those diets where you can’t eat any bread or starch but you can eat meat and carrots until you explode, and lose weight?”

“Is that Atkins? My mum’s on it,” Hermione said with a mild interest.

“It’s certified by a board of experienced dermatologists and guaranteed to extend your death day by ten years, or your money back, plus you lose loads of fat and become svelte and buxom all at once!” Ginny replied defensively, throwing her fork down.

“I don’t want you buxom,” Ron said darkly.


__


“How bad was it?” Ginny asked as soon as Hermione stalked through the portrait and entered the Gryffindor common room. It was empty, except for Ginny and a few other fifth and seventh years sweating out of their ears while studying for OWLS and NEWTS. Ginny’s eyes peeped over a magazine entitled Horny Hogwarts Graduates VI in curiousity. Hermione squinted at the cover.

“Is that Penelope Clearwater?”

Ginny frowned and looked at it. “Stop avoiding the question. But yeah, I think it is.”

Hermione flung her book-stuffed bag to the floor and plopped sulkily next to Ginny. “Terrible. And Parkinson’s tits are fake. I tripped and fell on her and they felt like rocks.”

“I bet she loved that,” Ginny said with a snicker. “Look, there’s Alicia.” Hermione peered over Ginny’s shoulders.

“Funny, I always thought Angelina was the prettiest Chaser,” Hermione remarked, watching Alicia’s picture seductively licking an ice cream cone.

“Shit, it’s Marcus Flint!” Ginny squealed. Hermione winced.

“How did you get this, anyway?”

“It was Ron’s,” Ginny replied as Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Oh, but Katie was right… he is well hung…”

“You’re vile,” Hermione shuddered, and stood up. “Does Ron know you have his girly magazine?”

“It’s not girly,” Ginny said sulkily. “Marcus Flint isn’t girly. He’s got nine inches of thick hot pulsing sexy love.”

“I don’t want to hear this anymore,” Hermione said, grabbing her bag to leave. Ginny looked hurt.

“Nine inches, Hermione,” she whined.

“Oh, alright,” Hermione replied, resigned, and looked. “Nine inches, you said?”


__


“The damn potion takes a month,” Ron said disgustedly, spearing a sausage with venom.

“Malfoy for a month,” Harry said gloomily. “Stupid pasty-faced big-dicked ferret.”

Ron stared at him. “You said what?”

“Nothing.”

“Let’s pretend that, Harry,” Hermione sighed, clutching a piece of ripped parchment in a hand while she bit into her toast. “Parkinson apparently likes sending me notes.”

Try to not feel up my tits tonight, will you? Don’t think I didn’t catch on your “Oh no I’m falling into the honking petunias” act. You’re a horrid actor.

Greenhouse three again, dyke.

Love, P. Parkinson

“Love?” Ron said incredulously. Hermione shrugged and picked at her teeth, annoyed.

“I hope this month goes by fast,” she remarked at last, watching Cho Chang dissolve into tears because Mandy Brocklehurst dropped her goblet of pumpkin juice. “And by the by, Ron, how did Ginny come across your Horny Hogwarts Graduates VI?”

“I gave it to her,” Ron said, starting to redden. “She blackmailed me! I had her give that or Brainy Beautiful Bitches in Heat and that one had… stains in it.”

Harry spat into his eggs.


__


Contrary to Hermione’s hope, the month went by mind-crushingly cuticle-bitingly hair-yankingly slow. Parkinson wouldn’t stop her sending annoying little notes in the morning post and Hermione had no tests to study for; Ginny now carried around Horny Hogwarts Graduates around in her bag and showed anybody who asked (or didn’t) Marcus Flint’s nine inches of thick hot pulsing sexy love. Hermione was beginning to think that that sort of behavior was unhealthy.

At last, though, everything was brewed and Hermione only had to be with Pansy Parkinson one last time. Hermione wondered briefly how Snape would know that they were actually brewing the potion and using it to become each other, but Harry just glared at her and said sulkily, “He’d know.”

Hermione guessed that the Occlumency lessons were still going on.


__


They met in the Room of Requirement and it resembled an empty classroom, except it had no windows,an open liquor cabinet, and a large squashy green sofa. Hermione sat on it stiffly as Pansy rummaged through the cabinet.

“Vodka?”

“No,” Hermione snapped. “Can we just get it over with? Besides, mixing polyjuice with alcohol is against protocol for ingesting—”

“Do you ever lighten up? Jesus,” Pansy muttered, opening a bottle and sniffing. “Oh, that’s strong firewhiskey,” she said with satisfaction, watching tiny flames erupt from the opening. Then she downed it, grimacing only slightly.

“Now, where’s the potion?” Pansy asked, swaying a little bit. Hermione produced the corked bottle and a pair of scissors, slicing a tiny bit of hair. She handed them to Pansy.

“Your turn.” Pansy replicated the action, and they poured the potion into two champagne flutes from the liquor cabinet. Hermione dropped a strand of curly brown into one and watched it turn into a thick creamy milk color.

“How sweet, you’re innocent,” Pansy poked the flute and grabbed it, tossing a brassy strand into the other. The potion started bubbling and turned to a deep magenta. “What’s the supposed to mean?”

Hermione shrugged, taking the glass. “Cheers, Parkinson.”

The only other time she took polyjuice it was horribly painful and frightening, probably because she had used a cat hair. But it wasn’t that bad, just unnerving as she watched her hands meld into thin ones with long talons of nails and felt her feet shrinking and her nose curling up and—

“Parkinson, they’re real? ” Hermione breathed.


__


They both crowded around the small liquor cabinet mirror, pushing and shoving for a better look.

“Oh, gross!” Pansy shrieked, snatching the bottle of firewhiskey again. “I need more to cope,” she explained haughtily and tilted her head back.

Hermione was about to snap something, but then saw Pansy’s squashed nose in her reflection and decided that the ingesting-alcohol-to-cope idea wasn’t bad at all. She reached for and took the previously offered bottle of vodka.

“Why are you feeling my tits, Granger?”

Hermione found that the vodka was very helpful in liberating her tongue. “I was trying to see if they were real or not.”

“And you decided?”

“They’re real, Parkinson.”

“Thash nice to know,” Pansy murmured, reaching for the firewhiskey again. “You know, Granger, you shou’ really think about doing shomethin to your hair. It woulshn’t be thah bad if you shried to make it work.”

“Shut up,” Hermione said, taking Pansy’s bottle away. “I have to explore your body and write a paper about it.”

Pansy chuckled. “If I didn’t shnow better I would shink that you were shtrying to come on to me.”

I must be more drunked that I thought, Hermione thought dazedly as she stripped off her robes and unbuttoned her crisp shirt.

Is drunked even a word?

“Aren’t my breashts pretty?” Pansy said with a wide-eyed slur. “Are yours?”

Wow, Hermione thought, and then decided to stop thinking for once in her life.


__


When Hermione sat down at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall and everyone immediately stopped talking to stare at her, she couldn’t help but feel a small blush coming on.

“What?” She asked defensively, biting into a crumpet.

Silence. Hermione decided that the whole story about Gryffindors being brave was bullshit, pure and simple.

“Did you really have hot lesbian sex in the Room of Requirement with Pansy Parkinson?” Ginny asked in a hushed tone. Hermione spat out her bite of breakfast.

“No,” she said with venom, “we had hot gay sex.”

“How does that work?” Lavender asked, squinting at Hermione’ top blouse button as if it contained oodles of eyelash-lengthening charms.

“That was a joke,” Hermione snapped, very irritated and feeling a headache developing. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“She never said no,” Ron observed, surprisingly shrewd for once. Hermione glared at him.

“No, then,” she replied and looked away at him, to lock eyes with Pansy, who was determinedly eating away at a large lemon pie, and flashed her a small grin. Or grimace—it was sort of hard to tell. Ginny folded her arms around her chest and peered at Hermione nosily until the older girl turned around and glared.

“What?”

Ginny held up a volume entitled Brainy Beautiful Bitches in Heat, complete with a large white stain on the cover. Hermione gagged and looked away. “This is how I figured out,” Ginny whispered conspiratorially.

“I’m sorry, I don’t appear in wizard porno,” Hermione said scathingly. Ginny turned over the large book gingerly.

“Ron paid thirty galleons for this,” she said quietly. “Because it’s not regular porno. The book’s charms tag who they consider beautiful—the book doesn’t do brainy, that’s just for alliteration—and catch them in… heat,” she finished awkwardly. “And, well, last night when Ron was looking through it, he saw—”

“I suppose I should be flattered,” Hermione replied tartly. Ginny pointed to the stain. Hermione looked away again, her left eyelid twitching.

“That’s your fault,” Ginny told her cheerfully.


__


Hermione avoided Ron until he apologized, very red in the face, mumbling words like “tolerance” and “understanding” and grabbed her in a very manly hug (complete with back pat) and told her that he would give her a subscription to No Dicks Just Dykes in a Ditch in a very kindly tone afterwards.

Hermione rolled her eyes. Harry shrugged and looked very mysterious when Hermione asked him how his Malfoy experience was. Parvati Patil was still in hysterics from her experience as Millicent Bulstrode and had to be taken to the Hospital Wing. Ron was surprisingly divulging.

“Goyle’s hung like a hamster,” he said smugly to Hermione in a man-to-man tone.


__


They’re working on a Potions project because Snape has decided to renew his subscription of cruel humor and assign partners across houses.

“This is shit,” Pansy Parkinson announced, sprawling across her spindly chair, pink lips moving up and down while chewing gum. “Everyone keeps on staring at me.”

“Maybe it’s your tits,” Hermione said ponderingly. “After all, they bounce now.”