Harry Potter: A Tale of Revenge

Dumbledore sat in his throne at the head table. Lunch was in full swing and the shouts and laughs of hundreds of young throats warmed his heart, even as his never-off political mind ruthlessly dissected the many school cliques forming and reforming in front of him.

The Slytherin table was the most interesting and disturbing at the moment. Yesterday, there had been two main camps formed around Lucius' son and Jacob's daughter, with the Quidditch team forming a third, smaller circle around young Mister Flint, and the duelling club forming a fourth around Romulus Volf.

Now, however, all the circles were mashed up. Everyone chatted with everyone and there didn't seem to be much to distinguish the groups. Every so often, a student would stand, move to another position and sit down, moments before another student, sitting just a few places away, would repeat the action. It was a slow dance, forming new lines around some new political issue. He frowned. He was pretty sure he knew what that issue was.

Severus had been unable to hold his tongue.

Not two months ago, he'd seen how protective Lord Slytherin could be when he'd made an unwise comment that the young lord had interpreted as a threat to Miss Greengrass. The resultant magic hadn't been as powerful as his, but it had made him pause. The ability to radiate magic from your body was a trick that required a combination of occlumency practise and strong emotions, and managing it for anything more than a few seconds indicated high core to body flamelage. Lord Slytherin had a high core to body flamelage.

Now Severus would have Lord Slytherin focused on him, and Slytherin had already made it clear through Miss Greengrass what he would do if Severus didn't toe the line. He couldn't afford for Severus to lose that position, especially not now.

Just how far would Lord Slytherin go to protect the muggleborn girl? For surely it would take more than points deductions and detentions to do so. Did Slytherin's protective streak extend that far or was it just an 'in the family' thing?

He cast his eyes over the Slytherin table and noticed that a core group seemed to have solidified around the Slytherin duelling captain. Young Romulus Volf didn't look pleased. In fact he looked apoplectic.

Miss Granger and Miss Greengrass were nowhere to be seen, which was probably just as well.

The hard-core pure-blood-supremacist duelling captain chose that moment to stand and storm off to the Slytherin dungeons, followed closely by several other students.

He watched the boys departure sadly and picked up his goblet. He swirled the orange liquid inside. At least this situation would probably weaken the Gray faction somewhat. The attitudes of some of the parents would mirror that of their children. The Gray had been a roadblock to so much of James and Lily's good work for a long time now.

He stilled. Letting the pumpkin juice in his goblet settle down in his hand.

Would it be good though?

What would happen if the Gray fell?

He looked out over Slytherin table, over Gray and Dark mingling and debating, throwing accusations and counter accusations. How many of those in the Gray would come to the Light if the Gray fell?

He did the math in his head.

He flinched. His stomach turned over.

Oh, Merlin. He slammed his goblet down on the table. He needed them, didn't he? He needed a stable Gray, and, by extension, he needed Lord Slytherin.

Fuck.

...

Hermione walked into the defence against the dark arts classroom, muttering under her breath. It wasn't her fault they'd had to rush lunch. She was just doing what she was sure Harry wanted.

She froze. The smell of garlic hit her like a hammer. Beside her, Daphne blanched. She added tracking down a smell removing charm for clothes to her rapidly growing to do list, shifted mental gears, and scanned the room for her next objective.

She spotted the dark-skinned Dean Thomas sitting at a long bench with Seamus Finnigan and… she groaned… John Potter.

She nodded to Daphne and set off for her target. The long bench allowed her to easily insert herself at the end and scooch up to where Dean sat.

"Hi, Dean."

Dean turned. "Oh, hi, Hermione! How's it going? You're not in trouble are you?"

John Potter leaned around to see what was going on.

"Oh, from potions?" She smiled. "No, not yet."

John frowned. "What about the Slytherins? They're not doing anything bad are they?"

"No, I'm doing quite well, thank you." She replied, tone shifting from joyful to prim.

John didn't seem convinced. "But what about you being-"

"Hi, Brother!"

Harry landed in the bench in front of her.

John recoiled. "What are you doing here?" Venom dripped through shock.

"We have defence together."

"I mean why are you sitting near me."

"What's wrong? Can't I sit near my favourite brother?"

She had to stop herself from laughing.

"We hate each other!"

"Why?"

John seemed dumbfounded. "What?"

"When?"

"Huh?"

"Which? Who? Where?"

"What the hell are you on about?"

"I mean why do we hate each other?"

John struggled for an answer for a moment.

Dean looked between them, obviously confused.

She just focused on keeping her laughter in check.

Eventually John Potter burst out with, "You stole Ginny from me!"

Harry tilted his head. "I assume this Ginny is a witch, yes? How could I even meet her? No one told me I was even a wizard until I received my letter."

Dean furrowed his eyebrows. "How did that happen? You're twins. He's a famous wizard from what I've heard. How could you not know you're a wizard?"

Harry raised a finger. "Why don't you ask-"

At that moment a stronger than normal smell of garlic swept by them and the true purpose of Harry's sitting position quickly became clear.

Professor Quirinus Quirrell took his place at the room's podium and shot her a look of such malice and hatred that she drew back in her chair and unconsciously flicked her wand into her hand under the table.

Sat where he was, Harry was directly in the path between her and the purple turbaned professor, currently hosting the death damned soul of Dark Lord Voldemort.

She turned. Daphne had chosen to sit directly behind her.

She felt a gentle nudging on her occlumency shields and stopped herself from yanking on it just in time. She swatted it away instead. A bead of sweat rolled down her face.

"Welcome to defence against the dark arts."

....

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