A/N: Okay, so I found a little bit of time to write the "revenge chapter" since you all wanted me to by popular demand =P It's not much (I can say I tried, at least!), but oh boy, I had fun writing this.

Hermione Granger loved books. This was known by pretty much everyone in the castle. Some might even say she had an unhealthy obsession, hence the terms "bookworm" and "know-it-all" being popular amongst students who didn't particularly like her all that much. Hermione herself thought this was utter rubbish—just because she loved reading didn't mean she had an unhealthy obsession, thank you very much.

She simply loved learning new things, she thought fiercely as she claimed her usual seat in the school's library. Didn't mean she was obsessed, which she wasn't. Just because she was worried about her academic achievements—rightly so, she may add here—didn't have to mean she was a stuck-up bookworm all the time.

Sighing, Hermione pulled her beloved books out of her bag and placed them neatly in front of her. Deciding to start with Transfiguration, she went to flip the book open.

Only for the book to slide away from her as though pulled from an invisible string.

Hermione blinked, certain she was imagining things. She went to try one more time, but the book danced out of her grip once again.

What in Merlin's name? This was the predominant thought currently residing in Hermione's mind as she tried to understand what was going on. She went to try a third time (third time's the charm, as the muggles say) but, lo and behold, the book jerked away from her hand as though she had burned it.

More than a little annoyed, she lunged at her Transfiguration copy to catch it off-guard, but the blasted thing would evade each and every one her attempts at grabbing it. By the time she sat back down, fuming, she was breathing hard from exertion.

Glaring at the offending book and dead sure she was being pranked, she decided to switch tactics and start with Charms.

Same thing happened again.

She could feel her temper mounting and reaching epic proportions as she attempted to grab at least one of possessions only to end up being surrounded by a flock of school supplies and thick textbooks flying around her head and dodging her attempts at capturing them.

Properly worked up now, she snatched her wand out of her pocket and barked out a harsh invocation to dispel whatever jinx had been put on her belongings.

No dice.

Her Potions copy bonked her upside down in the head. Hard.

Hermione shrieked in pure frustration (and by Merlin, if Madam Pince didn't ban her for life after screeching like a banshee it would be a miracle).

Her Ancient Runes textbook descended in front of her and blew a raspberry right in her face.

Beyond the sounds of Hermione Granger cursing them and calling them every name under the sun (her French insults were quite the shock), Harry Potter and Daphne Greengrass laughed like a pair of psychopaths.

Ron Weasley was deathly afraid of spiders. His parents knew. His siblings knew it. Hell, he wouldn't be surprised if the whole school knew it after the fake Moody's lesson on the Unforgivable Curses. His encounter with Aragog had only made that fear worse than it already was. If he even got hint of a spider being nearby (it didn't matter if it was the size of an acromantula or the size of a grain of rice, to hell with that) then, nope, sorry, he was out of there, and fast. Come to think of it, he still hadn't paid Harry back for nearly handing them off to Aragog to be eaten on a silver platter.

Second year was hell.

So when he slipped under his covers for a nap that evening—he was a growing boy, he needed the energy—and felt something skitter across his right leg, he knew something wasn't right.

Ron remained stock still under his covers, hoping against hope that the three helpings he'd eaten earlier at lunch were responsible for his overacting imagination. After about a minute of nothing, he assured himself that he simply imagined it and settled back against his pillow.

Just as he felt himself falling asleep, that something crawled higher on his leg.

His eyes snapped open and his mouth twisted into a terrified frown. This felt eerily like the time Fred accidently transformed his teddy bear into a large, hairy spider when they were kids. Only this time this hairy something was littler. And quicker. And definitely something that should not have been there.

Then there were more of the tiny somethings skittering across his body under the covers and he shot straight up, yanking the blankets off of him and looking down.

Spiders.

Dozens of them, crawling along his legs and chest and the mattress.

Ron stared.

A spider perched upon his shirt inched closer.

Ron Weasley's scream of terror was heard throughout Gryffindor Tower (perhaps the castle as well), but Harry and Daphne high-fiving whilst hidden inside the loo in the boys' dorm went unnoticed by everyone in the pandemonium that followed.

Blaise Zabini was what you would call a womanizer. He flirted with everything and everyone that had slim curves and female features with no shame whatsoever, enjoyed the attention he got from the ladies as much as he enjoyed dedicating an hour every day in the morning to perfect his appearance. He had a reputation amongst the ladies to keep up, after all—he had to be presentable at all times. Call him vain and you would be absolutely right.

He was well aware that he had a mystery about him that made him handsome to the female population. Aside from his dark skin and his dark features, which were lady killers on their own, his aura was what truly drew the girls in. Although he was a shameless flirt, he didn't disclose much about himself of his family. Mostly because the your-seven-times-widow-mother topic tended to be a conversation killer.

Currently he had his sights on the beautiful Susan Bones, the girl with the flaming red hair and large blue eyes. He have had a crush on her since his third year, but what with the war going on and Slytherin basically renouncing anyone who affiliated themselves with the other house, he couldn't simply approach the petite Hufflepuff and ask her out on a date. Now, however, that he had worked up enough courage to ask her out, he was not going to miss out on the opportunity.

Deeming himself as dashing as ever, he gave a decisive nod at his reflection in the mirror and waltzed out of his room with confidence in his steps.

When he went down to the Great Hall and his eyes landed on Susan sitting at the Hufflepuff table conversing with her best friend, Hannah Abbott, and drew in a large breath and purposefully made his way towards her.

So focused he was on his task he didn't notice a certain blonde Slytherin cracking a vicious grin, nor a famously known raven-haired Gryffindor sniggering under his breath.

"Oh hello, Blaise!" Susan greeted as soon as he approached. They had started talking in Ancient Runes after Babbling paired them together and Blaise's crush reignited. "What brings you to the 'puffs' table?"

Steeling his nerves, Blaise cleared his throat before he opened his mouth—

Only for a small, pathetic, mouse-like squeak to come out instead.

The Hufflepuff table quieted at once. Blaise's face started turning red.

Susan's mouth had formed a perfect "o" shape. Hannah Abbott was blinking rapidly.

Blaise opened his mouth again. The squeaks reached higher decibels this time.

Someone snorted in the back. Blaise couldn't tell who it was, mostly because of the striking shade of pink his face was rapidly turning as realization dawned on him; his gaze near-instantly darted to the overly smug grin of Daphne Greengrass, then to an openly cackling Harry Potter sitting beside her.

You bloody prats, was what he wanted to say. What came out was a string of high-pitched squeaks that made absolutely no sense to anyone whatsoever and broke the eardrums of those unfortunate enough to be sitting near him.

The dam broke. A blond boy who Blaise was fairly sure was named Ernie Macmillan doubled over in laughter and took the whole table with him.

Blaise gaped in disbelief as the entirety of the Hufflepuff table howled in laughter, except for Susan who—bless her kind heart—looked stuck between wanting to laugh and hug him at the same time. Soon enough, the rest of the Great Hall looked on in confusion as the Hufflepuffs lost their sanity.

A red-faced Blaise stormed away without another word, smoldering dark eyes boring holes into the smug faces of Harry and Daphne, promising retribution. Although deep down, he knew whatever he did would be returned a hundredfold. With interest.

Well played. Very well played, indeed.

After Harry and Daphne's prank on Blaise earlier in the week, Tracey Davis was left dreading what the formidable duo had in store for her. After hearing the ingenuous pranks they had pulled on Hermione, Ron, and Blaise (and, naturally, finding them hilarious) she was nervous because she knew damn well she was next and had no idea what to expect. Going by the pattern of their pranks, they aimed where it truly hurt in their target and hit them with everything they had. And with the combined minds of her best friend, who was known for her cunning approach to everything in life, and Harry bloody Potter who could be quite vicious in his own right, she felt she was justified in feeling a little scared.

So for the following week, she kept a close eye on the duo. Particularly Daphne. The girl appeared to be acting normal, though—maybe a little too normal in Tracey's opinion, but she could be looking way too much into this out of paranoia. By the end of the week when nothing ended up happening and Harry and Daphne appeared to be as happy as ever (seriously, they couldn't keep their hands off each other when they were together, it was sickeningly adorable to watch) Tracey allowed herself to believe that she had been spared from the pair's revenge scheme.

She was wrong.

So, so horribly wrong.

Eight days after Blaise's "punishment," they struck.

Later on, she would claim it was a mercy they didn't go publicly like they had with her fellow Slytherin.

Tracey was just stripping out of her clothes, ready to hop into the bathtub for a quick shower after a friendly Quidditch match between Slytherin and Gryffindor—with Voldemort and his minions gone, the two house got on quite well, much to everyone else's shock—when it happened. As soon as she turned on the faucet, expecting to be blessed by the heavenly sensation of water on her sweaty skin, she was solely mistaken.

Because instead of the aforementioned heavenly water hitting her back, it was a liquefied version of superglue.

Tracey's shrieks and choice in expletives (which were creative enough to make a sailor blush) shocked and scared crapless everyone within hearing range. But that was the least of her problems as she staggered out of the shower, wound a towel around her body, and threw open the door to her dorm. What she didn't know was that Harry was currently levitating a bucket filled to the top with glitter directly above the doorway.

With a shit-eating grin, Harry flicked his wand.

Glitter rained.

Tracey was covered.

"POTTER, GREENGRASS, YOU BLOODY WANKERS ARE DEAD WHEN I GET MY HANDS ON YOU. YOU HEAR ME? DEAD!"

Three hours after Tracey managed to remove the glitter with some help from Hermione (she refused to go to Madam Pomfrey and be forced to recount the embarrassing tale), she, Hermione, Blaise, and Ron accosted the vengeful duo known as Daphne Greengrass and Harry Potter in the school's courtyard where the two were entangled in a cozy embrace, twin grins of victory etched across their faces.

"Don't say we didn't warn you," Harry said, grin widening at the sight of Hermione's fuming face.

"It's only fair," Daphne added with the most innocent, angelic smile known to mankind. "What's the muggle phrase again? Oh yes: payback's a bitch."

With that, they disentangled from their position and walked away hand in hand, laughing amongst each other.

The quartet watched them go with trepidation, unsure if that was a threat or not.