Prologue
At first, it had seemed like such a brilliant idea. Breakthrough, they called it, when she submitted the preliminary hypothesis to the scholarly journals. She's certainly living up to the hype, they said while they smiled indulgently at her after she presented her trial studies. Smartest witch of the age, they agreed, clapping her on the back or shaking her hand when she received a prestigious grant from the Ministry to pursue her experimentation more fully at Hogwarts after her NEWTs were complete. All told, she ought to have been celebrated in the history books—not held up as an example to future generations of students, the epitome of what not to do.
Hermione's NEWT study had been a rare mix of Potions and Transfiguration; an extension of her unfortunate incident with the cat-hair Polyjuice in second year. Shouldn't there be a way, she reasoned, to take the basic premise of Animagus transformation and put it into a potion? So the witch or wizard merely had to drop a bit of whatever animal they wanted to become into the elixir, drink it, and transform, without the potentially dangerous side effects of a purely animal-based Polyjuice? Both McGonagall and Snape had agreed to take her on, one of them far more enthusiastically than the other, but agreed they had, and Hermione had set out to make it happen.
And she had been successful, in theory. In study. On paper. Hypothetically.
Her study won a multitude of awards, to the point that she only had room to display the ones that came with an actual trophy on her mantelpiece. She was granted full access to her own lab at Hogwarts and her experiments were fully funded by the Ministry. Minerva was so very proud. Professor Snape had stared coolly at her and said, "Congratulations," which was his personal equivalent of an energetic high-five from anyone else. She was at the top of her game, the peak of her performance, and her future was extremely promising.
But having a thesis that experts agreed was technically correct was a far different matter than knowing you were right. And she wanted to know. So badly.
The first time she'd plunged into the Black Lake and cut powerfully through the water, her dolphin form navigating easily, she was ecstatic. The first time she'd stood on strong, thick hind legs and growled loud enough to shake the forest in her grizzly form was euphoric. And there was no higher high than flying through the air, wings extended and hawk eyes picking out the forms of miniscule mice on the ground with ease. She began building a library of animals, great and small, magical and muggle. Her favorites to date were the fox—so clever; the dragon—so mighty; and the ant—so tiny, but so sure of its place and so dedicated to its cause. She didn't care for the Blast-Ended Skrewt or most sea creatures, but the experiences had been eye-opening all the same.
So, her Transfiguration potions worked. Now Hermione began to test their limits. What happened if you drank two in quick succession? (The more dominant animal won out, and you were left with the worst headache imaginable.) Could you perform magic while in animal form? (Only if you had your wand strung around your neck and were good with nonverbal spells.) Was there a way to remain clothed throughout? (Nope—she was naked as the day she was born every time she transformed back.) But at least she'd learned to keep her wand on a necklace and a change of clothes nearby.
However, there was a reason that using yourself as a test subject was frowned upon. A reason that scientists and wizards alike generally refused to perform human trials except under the most watchful eye. And that reason was that when—not if—something went wrong, the consequences were usually dire. And that's how Hermione Granger became a cautionary tale in magical history.