Harry Potter: A Tale of Revenge

Back in her ten-year-old body, Hermione stood in front of her desk mirror, and thought about that night.

The feelings that had rampaged through her all-night had been scary. She'd felt she wasn't in control of her own mind or body. Every other thought would stray towards Harry. Not for any good reason that she could identify. Just because.

The blonde's comments hadn't helped.

As soon as she'd arrived home, wearing her standard jeans and t-shirt, she'd grabbed, and re-read, the book on puberty her parents had gifted her a year ago. The first time through, she'd understood what was being said at an intellectual level, but the difference between that and living it was as large as the difference between the river and the ocean.

The feelings were slowly fading back into nothingness. But she understood she'd been given a taste. And that was the taste of a twenty-two-year-old, when the throes of puberty were supposed to be over. What was it going to be like in the next few years?

She shivered.

A week ago, the idea of living in a castle, full of other witches and wizards, with Harry, seemed like a dream. Now it seemed like a plot to drive her insane. But, even if her body was no longer pumping hormones, her mind still remembered the feeling. It remembered that at some deep level, she'd enjoyed it, and wanted it.

She shook her head, and, like a good student, switched focus to the next few weeks.

Soon, Harry would start teaching her magic. Real magic. There was almost a whole year left before Hogwarts started, and she'd be getting her letter in just a few weeks. Her parents would then find out about magic. That scared her, but Harry would be there for her. Her parents liked Harry. And Harry… she was pretty sure Harry liked them too…

...

[August, 1989 (One month before Hermione started the ten-months-of-reading project)]

Eight-year-old Ginny Weasley slipped out the back door of the Burrow, broomstick in hand, righteous indignation just outweighing fear of getting caught. She picked her way across the lawn, the moon highlighting gnome hole shadows, and entered the orchard.

It wasn't fair.

Ginny fiddled with the bent bristles of the borrowed broom.

Why couldn't she play? Because she was a witch? Humph.

Ginny swung her leg over the broom's shaft and kicked up off the damp floor.

If she was going to be treated like a pureblood princess, she should at least get the good things that went with it. Money, fancy balls, dresses, jewellery, and stuff.

She pitched the broom, making a gentle curve before diving and snatching a pinecone from the ground.

And if she wasn't getting any of that stuff, then she was damn well going to do what she wanted.

Ginny tossed the pinecone and watched it sail through the two branches that stood in for a quidditch hoop.

Of course, she knew that one day, she'd be married to The-Boy-Who-Lived, John Potter. She'd be Lady Potter. It was destiny. But that wasn't now, that was forever away.

Ginny swerved, looping around in a figure of eight, pretending the moths flitting in the moonlight were bludgers.

John Potter had warmed up to her recently. He still didn't care to defend her quidditch playing to her brothers, but he'd accepted the idea she wasn't just his best-mate's little sister. That was good.

Ginny slowed, hovering just below the tree line.

Something felt off.

She floated to the nearest tree. The feeling got stronger. She backed away. The feeling faded.

Weird.

She approached again and circled the trunk. She looked around. Nothing. Wait, what was that?

Far away, on the tip of a tree branch, something was hanging on the far side of the ward line.

She edged forward, slowly, cautious, and stopped just before the ward line — the hedge below marking the limits of her safe haven.

Ginny could see the object of her curiosity better up here. It was a necklace. What would a necklace be doing hanging on this tree? Still, she shouldn't go any further. It would be too dangerous.

She inspected it from a foot away. She could see every detail. It was a silver chain, holding a silver pendant. A pendant in the shape of lightning bolt.

It was beautiful.

It would look even better on your neck.

The pendant felt light in her hand, the chain hung over her palm.

It would look even better on her neck.

Legs gripping the broomstick, Ginny unfastened the chain's clasp, bringing it around her neck. She flicked her long, red hair out of the way.

Wait. Was this really a good idea?

*Click*

"…"

"…"

"…"

What was she doing all the way out here? The orchard was way away. If Dad caught her out here she'd be in trouble. She wasn't sure how the wards worked. She hoped he hadn't felt her leaving them. Then again, he always looked surprised whenever she and Mum got back from shopping, so he probably couldn't.

Gripping the broom with one hand, Ginny zipped back to the orchard, grabbed an apple from a tree, and pitched it straight through the makeshift hoop.

Hah! She'd show them all.

.....

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