Harry Potter's revenge

"I am."

"Eep," she squeaked.

Hermione slammed the final book closed. She had finished. She put the book away, and looked around the trunk that had been her second home for the last ten months. So much knowledge. Harry's goal had been for her to cram a lifetimes worth of pureblood education into a year, and she'd risen to the challenge.

The more she'd read, the more she'd realised what she was letting herself in for.

The magical world was scary.

But it was also… well… magical. And she wasn't overly worried. She had Harry.

Harry was amazing. When she'd first seen him doing wandless magic, or seen him transfigure that lamp into a vase, she'd been impressed at magic. The more she read though, the more she realised how insane Harry was for being able to do those things. He truly was a prodigy… and Lord Slytherin. And she was his student, under his protection.

She hoped she'd eventually prove herself worthy of his house. She had ambition in spades, but cunning? Something she'd have to work on.

"You finished?" A voice came from the trap door above her.

"Yes, Harry."

"Great! Two months early, as well."

She beamed.

"I think someone's earned themselves a reward."

"Ooh!"

She was learning, and Harry was happy with her. All was well in the world.

Hermione was worried. "A party?"

It was two months after she'd finished the reading project.

"This is your test," said Harry. "You're going to one of my political gatherings while taking on the identity of another. Your goal is to convincingly play the part of a pureblood from New Zealand."

"But-but, what if I'm found out? What if they realise? What if I embarrass you?"

This all sounded far too much like the plots from one of those romance novels she'd read during the 'ten-months-of-reading'.

"You'll be disguised," Harry said. "No one will know who you are, even if you do slip up. I'll be there in disguise as well — to rescue you if it gets too bad. This is important for your education. I need to know you can handle yourself in these situations."

She bit her lower lip.

"But what about dress robes? And jewellery, and stuff? They'll expect me to have all that, and I don't, and what about being too young? These political parties are for grown-ups."

Harry smiled and held up a vial of green liquid.

Ten-year-old Hermione Granger stood in front of the full-length mirror, and stared. Twenty-two-year-old Hermione Granger stared back.

Plain, boring, bookish. These words haunted her school playground days. Her bushy hair was untameable, and her teeth were massive. They'd called her beaver face.

She reached out to the mirror and stroked the reflection. The reflection's hair was calmer, still curling at the ends, but otherwise straight. Her teeth fit her face perfectly. Her face had lost the baby fat — it was elegant, symmetrical, and dignified. She looked like something out of those magazines her classmates were always giggling over. She was beautiful. This is what she'd be like in twelve years?

A pop beside her made her jump.

"Is Missy Grangy ready to be dressed?" asked the female house elf, another thing she'd have to get used to.

"Oh, yes, please, thank you, Tropsy."

Half an hour later, she looked in the mirror again. Her floor-length, emerald-green dress hugged her hourglass figure, perfectly matching the snake-decorated chocker and earrings Harry had leant her for the party.

"I told you, you were amazing."

She turned to her best friend and teacher's voice. Her breath caught.

Harry looked incredible. His shoulders were broad, his over-six-foot-frame, hidden under layers of dress robe, was still obviously well muscled. His face, also, had lost the baby fat, leaving a strong, firm visage of man.

Deep inside, she felt something she'd never felt before. It tingled.

"You look pretty good yourself," she said, before blushing. Had she just said that?

Harry chuckled and waved his wand over his face, transfiguring it into his private persona of Lord Slytherin, before putting on an emerald green mask, his public face. He held out his arm for her. She took it, still feeling that unidentified feeling.

Together they walked to the main doors.

Charlotte Timberland, secretly Hermione Granger, stood in a small circle of adult wizards and witches, trying her best to remain cool. She'd just quoted one of the classic stories from her 'ten-months-of-reading'.

"I must say," said one of the wizards, "it's nice to see a young lady who knows her literature."

"Indeed," said another, "so many of the youth today think they can get by with loud explosions, and puffs of smoke."

"Where in New Zealand did you say you came from?" asked one witch.

"Auckland."

They all nodded the nod of those who have no clue where a place is, but aren't about to admit it.

"Well, it must be amazing to be a friend of Lord Slytherin," the witch continued.

"It is certainly educational," Hermione said, hedging her reply.

The witch looked around and leaned in, whispering so only their group could hear. "Tell me, have you ever seen his face? Is he handsome?"

Hermione blushed. What was wrong with her tonight?

"Ho hah!" the witch said, triumphant. "So you have!"

"I…I can't possibly betray my lord's secrets."

They nodded again, understanding, while filing away the 'my lord' honorific for further inspection later.

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