Revenge 2: Hell Hath No Fury Like A Hermione.

A/N: Owning Nothing.

*

‘I can’t see why there would be a problem,’ Hooch squints into the depths of her JD and coke.

‘I knew you weren’t listening,’ I grumble under my breath.

‘I was actually,’ she eyes me beadily. ‘For your information, Hermione, I was listening to every word.’

‘Sure you were.’ My bad mood has not improved in the last week. Apparently locking one’s self away for a week to mope has not helped in the least. And the vast quantities of chocolate consumed has done nothing at all – except banish my sweet tooth into the middle of next week.

I sigh and flip over the magical beer mat in front of me. A red nosed wizard immediately starts extolling the virtues of ‘Hippogriff Ale’. Turning it back over, effectively silencing his tiny little voice, I try to follow the conversation.

It’s not easy. Friday nights in the Three Broomsticks are never what you can ceasyeasy. Unless of course you’re referring to the loose morals of most of the women in here. Glancing around, all I can see are women and men participating in that rather dodgy dance of courtship, which as far as I can tell means be able to hold a conversation without vomiting over each other. This is what I have been reduced to. Will my new found, completely forced upon me, single status now mean that I will be forced to allow myself to be groped by every Tom, Dick, and Merlin until I find one to settle down with in that hazy cohabitation called love?

The thought is rather a depressing one. Mind you, most of my thoughts at the moment are rather depressing.

So far contact between Severus and I had been limited to our brief conversation via the honeysuckle, and had ended rather abruptly when Severus’s head had made contact with the bucket. This had caused the once love of my life to fall backwards and land heavily on the ground. On his highly pompous (do not think attractive, Hermione, do not think attractive) arse. With as much dignity, and cloak swishing as he could manage, Severus had decided to call it a night, and swept himself away out of the garden. Even the sight of his lank black hair dripping over his nose hadn’t managed to cheer me up.

His parting shot had been, ‘When you’ve grown up a bit, Hermione, we’ll discuss this matter then.’

Reserve the right to remain as immature as possible. After all the Giant Bat, as we have now codenamed him will not see his fortieth birthday again. I, on the other hand, am only 23. And therefore can act as immature as I want. If being all mature means walking round with a broomstick stuck up one’s arse, Severus Snape is going to have a hell of a long wait before our little discussion can take place.

Anyway, since then our conversation has been mainly limited to ‘Good morning,’ It seems to be the only two words I can say to him without wanting to choke him with his own overly buttoned shirt collar. Ginny asked why didn’t I just dispense with the chit chat and buy a Dictaphone?

Perhaps I can record certain phrases into it. Such as ‘Severus Snape is an arsehole.’ Or perhaps rather more eloquent than that. ‘Piss off you cheating fuckwit.’ Save actually having to put the effort into verbalising my emotions, can just play them whenever he walks within ten metre radius of me.

Hearing a small squeal of fear, suddenly realise I have now torn beer mat in half. Man in advertisement in now currently cowering in one corner, and staring at me reproachfully. Great. Am now being criticised by pictures.

I should have hexed the bastard. I should have just drawn my wand, and blasted the fucker to Hades and back via Milton Keynes. Or perhaps treated the bat to a dose of the Farmer Giles (see author’s note at end) to go with his stick up his arse. Anything.

Shouldn’t have just walked out. But then, had never thought what I would do in the situation. Perhaps next time shall be more prepared. But then, the next guy to cheat on Hermione Granger will find himself in St. Mungo’s being treated by Ginny for all sorts of interesting ailments. Most involving his bollocks.


You just don’t know what you’ll do until you find yourself in that situation. Bah. Git.

Am well aware that it is a Friday night. Conjures up images of what I should be doing on a Friday night. Perhaps a long bubble bath with my delicious Professor Snape, accompanied by some fine wine, and then sod the civilised bit, straight to the hard against the wall shagging. With some bent over the back of the sofa pounding thrown in for good measure. Oh yes. That’s the way to spend a Friday night, not down the Three Broomsticks with the most meddlesome witches since The Weird Sisters decided that Macbeth really was a nice chap to chat to on a stormy night.

‘I suppose I could do with a break,’ Hooch is now musing, one leg still in plaster. Apparently, Poppy refused to treat Hooch after Hooch called her “the most pain inflicting bitch since the Marques de Sade decided that a bit of bottom spanking was perfectly acceptable in the bedroom”. Hooch’s leg has now been left to heal in the muggle manner, hence the large plaster cast, with the very rude scribbles all over it. ‘After all, the last time I went on holiday, mini robes had just come into fashion.’

‘You know, I hear the Bahamas are lovely at this time of year,’ Ginny chips in, flicking her wand. A magical brochure suddenly appears on the table in front of us. On the cover, a cheerful looking witch waves a pina colada in our general direction, the sun drenched beach a perfect white behind her. Bitch. My hand creeps towards the beautiful, thick, glossy, sharp edged pages.

‘Perhaps, I could go on holiday, you know, take some time away from Hogwarts, few weeks lying on a beach is sure to do me some good…’ I venture tentatively.

‘Drop!’ Ginny thunders. Wonder when exactly I turned into a King Charles Spaniel?

I drop the magazine. ‘What? I was only saying.’

‘Yes, but we’ve agreed. Your role is clear. We just need your cooperation now Hooch, please, can we count on you to keep our secret?’

Chloe, Ginny and I peer anxiously at the older witch. She ums and ahs.

‘Buy me a pina colada like she’s got,’ Hooch smirks, pointing at the brochure, and we’ll see.’

*

Haven’t I mentioned this yet? Revenge Version II is well under way. Perhaps you’re sensing some reluctance on my behalf. Well, that could be because I think it’s a bloody stupid idea. Not to mention overly complicated. And if I got caught… I shudder to think of the consequences. What if I end up in Azkaban? Must read up on legal technicalities of plot before even thinking about going through with this…

Ah, the pina coladas are here. All we need to do is get Hooch out of the country. Not for long. Say a term or so. Long enough to put our plan in action.

Back at home, in the downstairs loo, there is a potion bubbling. I wasn’t a potion’s apprentice for nothing, you know. And I wasn’t shagging a potion’s master without picking up a few tips. Not that I needed them. I was making this potion when I was still at school. Hardly overly complicated for a mind like mine. All it takes is a bit of time, and right now, in between moping and cursing the bastard that was my lover, (metaphorically, not literally, though being a witch there can be a fine and dangerous line between the two), I have a lot of spare time.

Was ainnyinny’s idea. I want that on record now. It was all Ginny’s idea. Not mine. Oh no. Who knew that underneath all that flaming hair, lurked a twisted and devious mind…

As I said. None of this is my idea. I’m just a pawn in the wizard chess board that is revenge.

I have a funny feeling that this is all going to end up just as horribly as wizard chess. Perhaps should ask Ron to help out, but Ron is currently fighting to get out of the reserves and into the first team of the Chudley Cannons. Is far too busy to help mere friends like me…

Damn, general upsetness at Severus has moved from the particular to the general -from Severus to all mankind. Dear Merlin, is no man safe from my fury?

Well. Maybe Harry. But then, Harry could always be viewed as a rival for any futureardsards. If he wasn’t so loved up with Draco at the moment, then yes, definitely a rival.

Oh help. Am now scornful of any happy relationship. Am going to end up one of those woman who name cats after their ex boyfriends. Although, Severus is a nice name for a cat. Bah.

Really must stop drifting off on own trains of thought. Should be listening to events around me. Not own personal mental issues, and potential cat names. Really, have bigger potion’s masters to fry.

‘Ok!’ Hooch bangs one of her crutches on the grubby floor, waking us all up. She’s evidently been stuck into the pina colada’s while I’ve been musing. ‘I’ll do it. Few months with sun, sea, and lots and lots of shagging – where is the down point exactly? I get away from the little fuckers that pass for Hogwart students nowadays, and live the high life. I’ll have a chat with Dumbledore tomorrow, and set the ball rolling so to speak.’

‘Excellent,’ Ginny rubs her hands together. ‘Now all you have to do is mention a certain name for your replacement, and we’re away. Oooh, I love it when everything comes together!’

‘Does Remus know what a scheming bitch you are?’ I mutter.

Ginny raises eyebrow at me. ‘I’ll let that one pass as you’re distraught right now. But next time…’

‘Sorry.’ Mumble apologetically. Perhaps have been taking bad mood out on people far too much. Chloe places reassuring hand on arm.

Hooch looks right at me. ‘Hermione, I have one thing to say to you.’

‘What?’

‘Give the fucker hell. Bastard deserves it. Imagine, a student of all people! I would have thought he’d have had more taste.’

Glance glumly into milky white depths of drink. ‘You know what – so did I.’

‘Speak of the devil,’ Ginny hisses.

Can’t help it. Head snaps round so fast it’s a bloody miracle I don’t give myself whiplash.

There he is. Just sneaked in through the door. Tall, dark, black cloak falling in an effortlessly elegant manner to his ankles. Dark hair that isn’t greasy at all, but soft and silky to the touch, eyes that are almost black, and glaring round at all and sundry. In a typical ‘I am Snape, the Potion’s Master’ manner.

Except for one teeny thing.

He looks bloody miserable.

Our eyes meet, and am ashamed to feel heart leap at this brief moment of eye contact. His dark eyes are expressionless for a moment, and then, they soften and can see every little bit of pain he’s in right now. And I know that he’s hurting as much as I am right now.

Would only take a few steps. Would only take a moment to cross room, and hold him, kiss him, love him, forgive him…

Except…

Hurts too much. Can still see his mouth on hers, can still see the way one of his hands was slowly burying itself into her thick red hair, pale fingers curling through the strands…

Bastard.

Takes all of self control to turn away. Will act maturely now, and ignore him, pretend not to hear his voice asking for firewhiskey, pretend not to see the enquiring glances of Chloe, Ginny and Hooch, all silently mouthing questions at me…

Am I alright?

No. Not really.

Bastard, bastard, bastard, bastard.

Have to get out of here.

Now…

*

“When shall we three meet again?” cackles Ginny, as she does a passable impression of a story book witch over the steaming cauldron.

Although the fact we’re in our rather small downstairs loo does rather spoil the effect.

“Double, bubble, toil and trouble,
Fire burn, and cauldron bubble!” Chloe leaps in with her contribution.

Oh dear. A little knowledge of muggle literature can be a dangerous thing. Never should have lent the girls ‘Macbeth’.

Pair of them will be dancing naked in the moonlight next…

That really shouldn’t sound quite so fun as it does. Can imagine it being quite liberating.

‘I really hope this goes better than last time…’ mutter dubiously as am passed beaker of evil looking… gunk, for want of a better word.

‘It will be fine!’ Chloe chirps. Her face drops. ‘I hope…’

‘Thanks, honey. Really reassuring.’

‘What house are you a member of, Hermione Granger?’ Ginny heads ightight back into controlling mode. ‘What house were you a prefect of? What house were you in when you were Head Girl… well?’

‘Griffyndor.’

‘And what are Griffyndor’s famous for?’

‘Foolhardiness? Rushing in where even fools fear to tread? Nearly getting killed by Voldemort every year?’

‘Don’t be so sodding flippant. Bravery! Griffyndor bravery, something you have never lacked, ‘Mione. Now drink it!’

‘Yes, mum.’

And so begins my revenge. ‘Cheers,’ I murmur, knowing, that like Macbeth, once I drink, there is no going back. Or perhaps like Juliet…

I drink…

Urgh. Tastes bloody awful.

Hmm. I think it might be working.