Revenge of a Hermione Scorned.

Here we go, yet another chapter I didn’t plan, this was originally supposed to be lead up to ball, but got longer and longer, so I decided to post a cliff hanger instead.



Apologies for not updating in SO long, but unfortunately have been ill with terrible illness that led to me taking to my bed for a week, in most pitiful state, convinced death was only mere minutes away. Or to use its more common name, ‘flu. Am armed with copious amounts of tissues and pretty coloured tablets that knock me out five minutes after taking them, and have managed to remain upright while writing this. But only just. Shall crack on with next bit ASAP, and you hopefully won’t have to wait long for an update.



My thanks to all my reviewers, and may the person who gave me this illness be damned to the shallow end of the murky pool that people pee in constantly in the lower regions of Brimstone Heights, which is a small suburb in the lowest and deepest regions of Hell.



Daya.



*



Doom! Doom!



Half expect to find figure in black robe and waving bell standing at end of bed proclaiming my doom. Raising head find hair firmly glued to cheek with copious amounts of dried drool and have a suspicion a badger may have died in my mouth. Probably a Hufflepuff one.



Bell is not omen of doom, as this is far too theatrical title for sodding alarm clock that is currently dancing around beside table. Why is alarm ringing on a Saturday morning? I have no reason to get up, I have no lectures, nor am I required to drag myself into place of torture, and the infamous missing circle of Dante’s Inferno, otherwise known as Hogwarts Potion Classroom. Can think of no logical reason foarm.arm. Unless meddling sod Albus Dumbledore has a hand in it. I would not put it past him.



Am interrupted from considering Albus’s potential guilt by wild haired harpy storming into bedroom and screaming ‘Turn the sodding alarm off!’



Is pissed off and equally rumpled Chloe.



Mumble ‘Accio wand,’ and blast alarm clock into millions of pieces with satisfying mini explosion. Chloe sighs loud (for my delicate ears) sigh of relief and no no respect for wellbeing of my ankles, falls across the end of the bed.



‘Why do I let you put me through these things?’ I mutter into pillow.



‘Me?’ Chloe asks incredulously, well, as incredulously as she can in her current state. ‘It was you who decided to hit the fire whiskey.’



Ah yes. Have abandoned evil vodka, was far too dangerous and leads to silly things. Have moved onto far safer option of firewhiskey. Vaguely remember challenging Ron and Remus to a drinking contest during feminist debate over whether women can hold their drink as well as men. (For life of me, cannot remember result, therefore shall claim it as victory for the female of the species.)



‘Where…?’ spit feather out of mouth and continue. ‘Where Ron and Remus?’



Fragile strength draining fast…



‘Ron passed out in bathtub around 5am. Remus is currently prancing around kitchen in pink frilly apron I believe was a Christmas present from your mother. Is a very disturbing sight. Apparently fire whiskey has little or no effect on werewolves.’



Cheating bastard. Suddenly remember odd occurrence.



‘Why was he singing ABBA at 4am this morning then?’



‘I guess he just likes it…’



Try to push mental image of Remus dancing round our living room literally howling ‘Waterloo’. If he had been under the influence could have put it down to that. Is definitely disturbing. Memory will stay with me for some time…



Groan as manage to manoeuvre self to sitting position. ‘Need a shower…’



‘Ron’s still asleep in the bathtub…’



‘Damn him.’



Silence. Punctuated only by cheerful whistling from kitchen.



‘Do you think I could be coming down with flu?’ I ask tentatively.



‘No,’



‘Why not?’ Sit up far too fast in indignant manner and room tilts at a strange angle. Blood rushes to head and contents of stomachemptempts to do same. ‘I feel sick, look am shaking, I have a headache, and I think I’ve got a fever…’



Hold out hand to prove it is indeed shaking. Theatrically attempt to test own temperature by pressing other hand to forehead which actually feels clammy.



‘’Mione, until flu becomes slang for hangover, you do not have the flu…’



‘Cow. You’re supposed to be on my side you know.’



‘Probably. But I am never getting on the wrong side of Dumbledore again. I’ll never forget the look on his face when he caught me in the Room of Requirement with the Hufflepuff prefect.’



I would be interested if I wasn’t so sick. Chloe was in the year above me, a Hufflepuff student. Needless to say, before uni our paths never crossed.



Urge to vomit rises and I stagger to bathroom. Ron is indeed lying in tub with head hanging over edge, mouth wide open, snoring. Watch fascinated as single drops of water fall periodically into his mouth. Is so fascinating watching, I forget what came in here for.



Suddenly remember. Desperately need shower. But gingerheaded friend is lying in bathtub below shower. Make note to request landlord conjures up shower cubicle.



‘Ron? Need a shower.’



Nothing.



‘Ron? Need a shower.’



Still nothing. With exception of huge snore.



Desperate times call for desperate measures. Reach out and turn handle of shower. Shower decides not to have cystitis for once, and a miniature Niagara falls gushes out. Turn handle back, and it stops immediately. Is testament to how bad Ron is feeling that he barely protests, just opens his eyes, and glares at me wetly.



‘Morning ‘Mione,’ he grumbles.



‘Need a shower.’



He grins at me in disturbing manner. ‘Hop in then.’



Roll my eyes.



‘What?’ he asks. ‘its not like you haven’t seen me naked before…’



Ron apparently is the horny sort in the morning. Either that or he’s attempting humour. Now need to bleach brain at thought of naked Ron.



‘Just bugger off Ron,’



He does so, much to my relief, trailing water behind him.



Oh, sweet, heavenly, refreshing water. Absolute bliss. Can almost forget about evil ball tonight.



I did say nearly.



*



Taking refuge on the sofa, and claiming the remote control as my own, I think about the ball tonight. Ron joins me, as does Remus, both are fascinated by the muggle invention of televisiond and are soon happily engrossed in a film. They sit reasonably quietly, having learnt, through painful experience not to mess with the back of the TV. I caught them once, they had used magic to open the back of it, convinced they would find the people on screen actually walking around inside the box. Sometimes wizards amaze me. They can do almost anything with magic, yet they cannot comprehend the idea that satellites can beam pictures into a box and replay them with the touch of a button. Both of them received mild electric shocks. They were nothing compared to the punishment I threatened them with if I couldn’t get the TV to work again…



It involved a rabbit or seven and a very smallficefice…



I can be extremely sadistic when I want to be. Almost as sadistic as Dumbledore. I needed that TV as an escape route back to the muggle world when things with Snape get too much. No point visiting parents, they are far too fascinated with the magical world to give me any peace.



Have come to intelligent and rational decision that I will not be attending the ball. Will feign own death if needs be, although am hoping dose of flu shall be acceptable excuse. I am in control of my own weekends, am sure that Dumbledore will not be able to sack me for not attending, if he does shall be introducing him to a quaint muggle concept of suing for unfair dismissal. Shall be interested in seeing how Albus reacts to lawyers…



Am interrupted from fantasy involving a courtroom, and Albus Dumbledore in the dock facing prosecutor after prosecutor in silly wigs while I look vulnerable and hurt, but also delightful in a well cut suit by the ping of the microwave…



Turn head in direction of kitchen wondering who would be using the microwave at this time of day. Usual afternoon appliance is the toaster for almost instant hot buttered snack. However kitchen is empty and I am about to turn away when attention is caught by strange apparition within the large, in dire need of a clean, silver box.



Am most surprised to see Albus’s head in microwave. Surprise is immediately replaced by hysterical giggles as his head rotates at some speed, being subjected to 650w of dodgy radiation.



Is some time before I take pity on it and walk over to open door. Albus looks decidedly sick, and there are trails of steam wafting from his eyebrows. Manage to stop giggling long enough to speak.



‘Afternoon, Headmaster, this is a pleasant surprise.’



Head of Albus glares at me. ‘Why can’t you get a sodding fireplace like normal wizards?’



‘Fire hazard.’



Albus humphs. He’s still steaming I note. ‘I was just making sure you’re still attending the ball tonight.’



Immediately launch into coughing fit and hope that face is suitably puffy. ‘Actually…*croak*… I’m not too sure…*hawwwwwk* … I can actually make it tonight…. *splutter*… think I might be coming down with something…*achoo* nasty bugs going around at the moment.’



Add a few sniffs in there for good measure.



Albus does not look impressed. As much as one cannot look impressed while communicating through a microwave (after this incident, I would like to point out, it never quite worked in the same way again). ‘Indeed there are. However they are of the rare lesser spotted killer ladybird variety rather than viruses and I assure you that Hagrid has them completely under control. And may I just say that that is the worse acting I have seen since Professor Snape attempted to fake a nervous breakdown to wriggle out of chaperoning a school trip to Wales. Although I was never quite sure if it was the thought of being stuck with the students for an entire week, or setting foot in Wales that upset him more. At least he managed to get the nervous twitch down to a fine art.’



Fuck. Wonder if faking own death is an option now.



‘But….’



‘Well, I shall expect you at the ball at 7.30pm, Miss Granger. No excuses, no flesh eating diseases, no faking your own death between now and then, I expect you to be there. May I remind you that this is your punishment, and that the consequences shall be dire if you do not attend.’



He’ll probably feed me to the lesser spotted killer ladybirds. I believe they can grow up to eight feet in diameter. Cross arms, and sulk. Albus merely twinkles, microwave gives a loud, hugely annoying ping and he is gone.



Bugger. I’m going to have to go now.



*

Ginny finally wakes up, and joins us in living room, where she and Remus immediately start snuggling. Glare at them, and try not to let petty jealousy take over. I want someone to snuggle with. Some one tall, and dark, can’t stand these blond men, they always look so, so…. Damn… can’t think, mind immediately is drawn back to a man who is dark, and pale, with darkest chocolate eyes, and the vicious temper of a warthog rudely interrupted whilst mating.



A man who I hate, detest, despise, loathe, dislike, can barely tolerate, but would oh so like to gnto nto his tightly buttoned trousers. Wipe trail of drool away that I am sure is trickling down my chin. However if anyone thinks I am even going to attempt to be civil to him tonight, they can kiss a Threstal’s invisible arse. Am not going to forget hair pulling or Chinese burn incident, the maof wof which can still be seen on my wrist.



Ginny keeps making pointed glances towards every single clock in room. Am well aware that it is only an hour until I am expected to arrive in The Evilest Place on Earth (trademark).



‘Are you not going to get ready?’ she finally asks, nibbling on Remus’s shoulder.



Bite back sarcastic comment that includes asking her when she was last vaccinated against rabies, and opt for ignoring her instead.



‘Come on ‘Mione, it won’t be that bad. We’ll be there. For moral support.’



You can shove your moral support where the sun doesn’t shine, Ginny Weasley.



‘You at least have to get changed from you pyjamas.’



‘I will go in my pyjamas if I so wish to go in my pyjamas.’



‘Fine. But you may want to choose another pair. Those ones have a hole in the arse.’



Humph.



Get up, and get changed. Hipster jeans and a red t shirt. There, am even attempting to be festive and get into spirit of things by wearing red.



‘Not very alluring, is it?’ Ginny mutters.



Traitorous Chloe agrees, and flicks her wand at me. Am now wearing dark red satin top. Refuse to agree how nice it looks on my pale skin, or how it is revealing enough to entice, but not to appear tarty.



‘And why exactly do I need this?’ I ask.



‘Well, some of those seventh years are quite nice.’



‘I’ll get sacked for seducing them.’



‘I thought you wanted to get sacked. You said that last night.’ Remus comments.



I could have claimed to be the Queen of Sheba last night for all I can remember of it.



‘Well, I’m not going to be seducing anyone.’ I point out, ‘I’m in this mess precisely for those reasons.’



They can hardly disagree with that. All of them sensibly keep quiet. They are well aware of my temper and handiness with wand.



‘Oh for fucks sake,’ I curse. ‘I might as well just get this over anne wne with,’



‘One moment,’ Ginny insists, and waves her wand. Hair becomes sleeker and make up a little bit more glam. Also am now wearing tottering heels. Again. Do not know why Ginny insists I wear high heels when I go out. Perhaps Remus has unmentioned shoe fetish…



‘Can I go now?’ I grumble.



‘See you later,’ Ginny grins.



‘And no flirting with strange potion masters!’ Remus cackles.



I really hate my friends sometimes. As if I would after everything the fucker has put me through.



*



I apparate in a foul mood and decide to take shortcut up through school grounds rather than traipse up drive. However way is impeded by two rather solid objects writhing on ground. Hmm. Fabulous way to start evening, tripping over two copulating teenagers. For the gods sake can they not keep their hormones in check for more than five minutes? I bloody well had to when I was here! Decide to take vast amounts of housepoints from them for being so bloody randy, do do so just as soon as I find out what houses they belong to…



And when I manage to get up off floor. Struggle to do this in scarily high heels.



Mutter easiest spell in world ever and tip of my wand begins to glow.



Aargh.



Oh aargh.



Is yet another contender for the worst moment of my life award.



My wand light illuminates the entwined figures of Sybil Trelawney and Severus Snape… In a highly compromising position.



I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again.



Bastard…