Note: The characters here represented are the property of JK Rowling. Absolutely no profits have been derived from this work, and no copyright infringement is intended.
21st September, 1996
It was 8:23 in the evening, silver trinkets were whirring and buzzing all around, and Hermione was trying very hard not to be sick. The mystery surrounding the gruesome death of Nymphadora Tonks had just been revealed - it was Severus Snape who had left her in a pool of her own blood.
The words had just left Professor Dumbledore's mouth, and now hung heavily in the air. Hermione closed her eyes and dropped her head. The memories of Professor Lupin's anguish overwhelming her.
"His reason?" she asked through clenched teeth, her chin still pressed to her chest.
"Professor Snape was present when Tonks' squad of aurors was ambushed last summer. He acted only after he had determined that it was impossible to save her. The aurors were outnumbered and surrounded, he never could have delivered her to safety without revealing his true allegiances. I don't need to tell you that, had he done so, both of them would have been lost."
Hermione was trying to process the information. "But, he cut her throat..." She uttered haltingly, still feeling ill.
"She was a metamorphmagus."
Hermione lifted her head and stared, her chest still heaving, wondering how this could possibly be meant as an explanation. When the headmaster failed to elaborate, Hermione began to think. After only a few moments the puzzle had come together.
"Her power to shape shift…" she began.
"…can be harnessed." Dumbledore provided.
"Professor Snape collected the last of her blood?" Hermione had to swallow hard after asking.
"Yes."
Fascination dawned on her face. "He used it to brew the Draught of Stolen Essence," she said breathlessly. She hated the small part of her that was excited by the notion. Did her insatiable intellect know no decency?
Dumbledore nodded gravely.
"How did he…know?" It wasn't precisely the question that Hermione wanted to ask, but the headmaster seemed to understand her meaning.
"Professor Snape was prepared for this contingency, as he always is and must be for countless others. And, by his timely action, he saw that her death was not meaningless."
Hermione wondered how someone could become so cold and disconnected; how any man could resort to logic and find opportunity in such a situation. How he managed to commit an act of aggravated violence against a known ally was not a question she was yet prepared to even ponder.
"The potion, Miss Granger - what do you know of it?"
Hermione swallowed and gathered her thoughts. "The Draught of Stolen Essence, when brewed with the last blood of a dying metamorphmagus gives the drinker some portion of his or her powers to shape shift," Hermione felt herself rapidly finding calm in the familiar act of recitation. "The potency of these stolen powers is determined by the skill of the brewer and the degree of training and natural ability of the drinker. Very few incidents of the transfer have been recorded, but ability has ranged in these cases from superficial power, changing hair or eye color for example, to almost complete shape-shifting ability."
Hermione, despite her endless efforts to be kind to her fellow classmates, was not afflicted with false modesty. And, though she never went so far as to praise him, neither was she ignorant of Professor Snape's tremendous power and skill. Therefore it was a quick and simple calculation to determine that should she drink such a potion, brewed by such a wizard, she would inherit powers of shape-shifting very near the genuine article.
Professor Dumbledore marveled at Hermione for a moment, not only for her seemingly faultless memory, but for all the careful preparations and ingenious magic she must have employed to gain access to the texts in which the potion could be found. 'Unauthorized access of the Restricted Section' didn't even begin to describe the infractions involved. In another universe he would be reprimanding her for putting herself at such risk, and wondering why a schoolgirl should bother with any magic darker than a love potion. But in this place and moment in history, he didn't even have the time, let alone the reasonable justification, for such a reproach.
"That is very good, Miss Granger" he said instead, "…very good."