The Consequences of Polyjuice

THE CONSEQUENCES OF POLYJUICE

CHAPTER 1: THE FERRET

"Dratted weasel," muttered Draco scornfully, pretending to brush some imaginary dust from his immaculately ironed robes. "Can't walk two steps without proving your clumsiness? Pity--even centipedes don't fall over their own feet."

"And what business it is of yours?" demanded Ron hotly as Hermione helped him up, to the exaggerated sniggers of several on looking Slytherins. "I'd rather trip over my own feet than...than...oh, shut up!" He ended his comeback line with an embarrassing loss of words.

"Shut up?" echoed Draco, raising an eyebrow. "Weasley, I know that weasels aren't masters of wit, but even you've got to admit that that was the most pathetic-"

"You two shut up!" exploded a commanding voice that belonged to someone who was only glaring at Ron. "Have you been hit by the Arachnidus Legulus jinx, Mr Weasley?" asked Snape silkily, sarcasm dripping off his voice.

Ron only shook his head in muted silence.

"Nah, he was born with it, sir," chirped in a triumphant Draco Malfoy. To the blond Slytherin's shock, Snape gave him a frosty glare normally reserved for Gryffindors.

"You think that this is a joke?" asked Snape with a soft snarl. "I saw you Triple Fall hex....and I congratulate you, Draco. But if you must turn Weasley here into tripping behemoth, then kindly do so outside my classroom, far away from the vials of potions that line my shelf." He turned on his heels and strutted off--a round-faced boy who had somehow managed to turn his ears into toads had caught Snape's eye.

Draco stared after Snape with his mouth open. It was the first time he was reprimanded by his favourite teacher. Ron did nothing to ease his discomfort by throwing him a snide smirk.

"What is it with him?" whispered Ron fiercely to Harry, although his face was practically shining with joy. "Blimey--wasn't that brilliant of Snape?"

Harry only half-listened to his red-headed friend--he was eyeing Draco warily. The Slytherin did not seem entirely pleased at Snape's unusual behaviour. He stirred his potion sulkily and kept glancing over at Harry, Ron and Hermione. Beside Draco, Blaise Zabini was slicing a Moon moth's wings with furor.

"I used to wonder why we're continuing Potions after OWLs," continued Ron good-naturedly. "I mean, aren't Aurors supposed to be doing the fighting and stuff instead of brewing Potions? Who cares if our Veritaserum is neon pink instead of colourless if some random criminal happens to be shoving his wand into our faces, right? Well, now I know why I'm here--to watch the ferret squirm."

"Stow it," Harry frowned. "Snape seems to be very protective about his potions...either that, or he's having a split-personality disorder."

"I can't believe it either," remarked Hermione, careful to keep her voice low. "But he didn't deduct any points off Slytherin, so don't get your hopes up yet."

Their quiet chatter continued throughout Potions, and at the end of the class, Snape rapped his desk, bringing an end to idle conversations.

"Malfoy, would you kindly step up?" he drawled with a secretive gleam in his eye. "Mr Longbottom here has been gracious enough to share his Polyjuice Potion with you."

Neville looked like a deer caught in the headlights. Draco immediately shot Snape a pleading glare, which was pointedly ignored. Ron, knowing his fellow Gryffindor's 'knack' of brewing successful potions, treated himself to a calm smile. He knew that Neville's potions would never work, unless Hermione was reciting instructions at his elbow.

"A hair please, Draco," said Snape with a wink. "Or, if you'd rather, a toenail will do nicely."

Neville almost gagged.

"I'm not drinking the essence of Longbottom," insisted Draco, his already pale face turning bloodless. "It will taint my blood for eternity."

"I hate saying this, but I'm a Pureblood too," snapped Neville, feeling extremely vilified. "And you're not too delicious yourself, Malfoy." It was a phenomenally rare display of bravado on Neville's part.

Draco scowled at him, but not before throwing a murderous look at Neville.

"Cheers," he spat, before taking a gulp.

To nobody's surprise, nothing happened. Snape casually relieved Gryffindor of twenty points, thus restoring Draco's faith in him.

"You know," grinned Ron as he made his way to Transfiguration, "for a while there, I was kinda worried."

"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Neville, causing Harry and Hermione to whirl around and fix their friend with a stare. It wasn't what he said that made them stop dead in their tracks. Rather, it was the tone which he adopted that made all the difference. His voice wasn't whiny or defiant (in a whiny sort of way) but it was cold, harsh and thoroughly astonished. It was as though Neville was appalled that they ever had the nerve to doubt his potion-brewing abilities.

"Uh, easy, mate," assured Ron, holding up his free hand hurriedly. They were in the middle of the Twisting Staircase, an odd bunch standing with equally strange looks on their faces.

"Don't call me mate!" snapped Neville irascibly. "I wasn't born 'mate'! Pray note that I have a proper name and I intend to be called by it."

Hermione's mouth dropped open, and so did Ron's. "Looks like Snape isn't the only one with a split personality disorder," she commented to Harry. "What's with everyone today?"

Neville shot her a frighteningly familiar sneer. "Why don't you figure that out, Ms Know-It-All?" he asked snidely. "You're good at snooping, aren't you, Granger? You know what everything is and how everything should be. So why are you even asking questions?"

Granger?

"Looks like the potion worked after all," breathed Ron in disbelief. "This is Malfoy!"

"Once a gormless idiot, always a gormless idiot," said Neville with a disparaging laugh that made everyone jump. "If I were Malfoy, do you honestly think that I'd be seen with a bunch of goody-goody Gryffindors?"

"He has a point," said Hermione, ever the analytic one. "But this sudden display of uncharacteristic behaviour-"

"We switched personalities, not bodies," explained Neville patronizingly. Ron had a sudden urge to strangle him. "Really, Granger, for once, I beat you to an answer."

"So, Longbottom, that doesn't make you the smartest wizard on the planet."

"It's Neville. Say it with me. Ne-ville. I hate it when you call me by my degrading surname."

"And I hate it when you call me Granger too."

Neville raised an eyebrow. The corner of his lip curled into what could be called a twisted smile that hinted of insanity. "If it pleases you, Hermione," he said smoothly. "And since none of us are able to Apparate on school grounds, I suggest that we pick up the pace or McGonagall'll start showing Snape behaviour."

Harry nodded in agreement. Something was bothering him, but he couldn't figure out just what. "Yeah, let's go," he said grudgingly.

Draco treated himself to a little smirk as he ran along the corridors with Hermione beside him. So far, he'd managed to convince those Gryffindor dunderheads that he was Neville with Draco's personality. Of course, he'd known all along about Snape's plan.

Of late, strange happenings were occurring at Hogwarts. Snape's office was ransacked on several occasions, leading him to believe that the Golden Trio was the culprit. He'd requested Draco's aid in keeping an eye on Harry, Ron and Hermione--and what better way to be an insider than....really be an insider? The Polyjuice Potion had worked; Snape had put an elementary time-delaying spell in Draco's goblet so that the painful effects wouldn't take place until he was safe in his chambers. That way, everyone'd think that the potion didn't work, and that they had only switched personalities and nothing more.

Of course, there was a minor hurdle--Neville Longbottom himself. The real Neville, that is.

Draco was two steps ahead on that one. Although slightly too unnecessary, he'd given Longbottom a generous dose of the most potent Sleeping Potion- otherwise known as the Draught of the Living Dead. The poor boy would be dozing his head off in an hour or so.

"You look happy, Neville," murmured Ron, distracted by the ascending form of Professor McGonagall. "Any chance that you're back to normal?"

"If you're asking if I've morphed into my poor old untalented self, then no," drawled Draco, gratified by the disappointed look on Ron's face. Harry looked on suspiciously.

The suspicion turned out to be justified. 'Neville's' peculiar behaviour continued to shine through his actions and words. For one thing, he wasn't busy scribbling down notes in neat handwriting. For another, he rolled his eyes when Professor McGonagall transfigured her robes into a suit of armour. The old Neville would have gasped and fallen off his chair in awe.

"I can't believe that she's teaching us to change clothes during our Sixth Year," he whispered to Hermione. "What lousy Education system we have here!"

Unfortunately, his last sentence reached Professor McGonagall's ears, and she did a double take when she saw who had uttered the offending statement.

"Mr Longbottom," she said, more in surprise than anger, "did I hear you criticising my teaching?"

Draco further agitated her by saying in mellifluous tones, "No, Professor. It's just that I find your class to be less simulating than Potions."

The entire class fell into a hush. "Excuse me?" asked Professor McGonagall with dangerous politeness.

"You see, Professor," said Draco with the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips, "That was nothing that'll warrant gasps of awe, even on Neville Longbottom's - which is I - part."

"Then what will?" asked Professor McGonagall tersely, a muscle throbbing in her cheek.

Draco smirked, causing Lavender Brown to flinch at the bizarre sight. "This will," announced, and flicked his wand.

"Accio Fabricioserum!"

A miniscule vial that held a swirling, multicoloured substance flew into his hand--the vial was diminutive, but the impact almost caused Draco to stagger backwards. He winked at the class, before dripping a few drops of the serum onto his robes.

As one, the class and Professor McGonagall watched with mounting astonishment as the threads on his robes rearranged themselves at lightning speed, glowing an iridescent blue as they worked. When the spectacle was over, Draco was clothed in silver robes and boots of the blackest demonhide Ron had ever seen. Dean Thomas gave an admiring whistle.

"What?" sputtered Professor McGonagall, her eyebrows shooting far into her fringe.

"This is just like your suit of armour that you wore earlier, Professor," explained Draco with an inane smile, "only much more convenient. For one thing, I don't need my wand to get into this. That's very useful because ten to wand, a dragonslayer tends to lose his wand to the dragon's insatiable appetite. For another, it's much more effective a dragonslayer's attire than a suit of armour. It's fireproof, and doesn't get hot inside. Oh, and it doesn't rust too."

This long speech preceded an even longer spell of dead silence. Professor McGonagall's expressions alternated between disbelief, suspicion and relief (that Neville wasn't such a dunce after all). Finally, she nodded and smiled at Draco.

"I don't know what's going on today," she pronounced, "But it'd be criminal not to award 15 points to Gryffindor for this welcomed display of...wisdom from you, Neville."

Draco basked in adulate glory.

"Sadly," she continued in a sterner voice, "I must deduct 10 points off Gryffindor for your cheek."

Draco continued to smile angelically. He caught Hermione's eye and winked.

"He's gone batty," declared Ron to Harry. "Batty as Trelawney."

Before Ron could say, "Hey, that rhymes!", Draco broke into a wide grin--the grin of a pure maniacal evil.

"How delightful," he drawled with a devious gleam in his eye, "we have Trelawney next."