Chapter Twelve – Bottled Retribution

It was in the air.  Hermione could smell it.  The smell of victory; the smell of complete and total triumph. It was crisp and sweet and so very, very close.  She watched those around her, completely detached from the idle chatter of music or celebrity or whatever nonsense they were discussing as dishes were cleared. The conversation continued, as five people adjourned to the living room. 

Ron was uncharacteristically quiet.  He occasionally interjected a word here or there, but mostly he was having a difficult time repressing the smile that was fighting to be released. His lips fighting to remain impassive, fighting the growing excitement, quivering in anticipation …and probably just a little fear. 'Such lovely lips,' Hermione thought, 'so full, and delicious, and such a lovely shade of pink.'  She could taste them: crisp and sweet, and so very, very close.  

Harry was talking about going for a walk, which struck Hermione as odd, considering he had just retuned from being out all day with Ginny.  She gave him a small smile as she realized he was just trying—desperately trying—to get away.  Apparently, he could smell it too, but to him it smelt of dread and pain and oddly enough, singed blonde hair.

'Worry not, dear Harry,' she thought with a tiny bit of wickedness. 'You won't be around for this part of the melee. No one will.'  Witnesses would just make things messy, and Hermione so liked things neat and tidy.

"Excuse me for a moment, won't you?"  she asked shyly, innocently, sweetly.  She nearly curtsied as she got up and left the room with a smile for Harry, a nod for Ginny, and a wink for Ron.  She had a few minor details to take care of, a few preparations she had to make.

She quietly made her way to her bedroom.  A quick locking spell insured privacy as she made her way to her closet.  In the back corner, behind her sandals and a few dozen books brought for some light reading, sat a small, unassuming brown valise. Excited fingers caressed the latch that held her little treasure.  With a flick of her forefinger, the latch came undone and the valise opened, revealing numerous, small vials containing various colored concentrates.  A slow, malicious smile crept across her lips.  Mary Elena had met Hermione the woman - provocative and provoking, sensual and seductive.  Now it was time to introduce her to Hermione the witch - ingenious and inventive, cunning and calculating. 

A little background might be needed here.  Hermione Granger was girl, and as such, had certain concerns about her appearance.  She came to realize a long time ago that she had little patience for the things most girls did to make themselves appealing to others.  That did not mean that she did not care about her looks – quite the contrary actually.  But, she had little time and patience for the procedures most used to achieve these goals.  Hermione was nothing if not a creature of efficiency, and so rather than depend on the more traditional methods of beauty, she found a way around them.

This is where a relationship with a certain Potion's master began.  Well, it actually began two weeks after leaving school, when she woke up from a drunken haze wearing nothing but a Slytherin tie and a sock.  Said Potion's master was sympathetic, as he awoke just minutes before wearing a lacy red thong with matching garters and sporting wolf tattoo on his thigh.  Neither remembered much, and they preferred it that way. 

So, when she approached him some weeks later asking for personal grooming potions, he acquiesced.  He had to.  Drunk as she was, she at least had the presence of mind to take pictures and he, apparently, enjoyed being a model.

So Hermione Granger, learned to make several different potions: one to keep her skin clear; one to remove the hair on her legs without the fear of razor burn or stubble; one to keep her hair from looking like a haystack. Most witches preferred the more … conventional techniques - those learned when they were very young.  If witches waited until they were qualified to make potions for their beauty needs, Hogwarts would be full of some very hairy, unsightly witches and some very unhappy, frustrated wizards with exceedingly sore wrists.

Beauty potions were difficult for most to master and were not available for sale, as there were restrictions for their use.  But Hermione Granger, Fellow in Advanced Arithmancy,  was more than capable of making them. And as for restrictions…well, killing a Dark Lord made her realize that sometimes you had to go around rules for the greater good. Waking up from a drunken haze wearing nothing but a Slytherin tie and a sock made her realize that there were things others just didn't need to know about.

As a result, Hermione had quite a stockpile of potions ingredients at her disposal. And a lucky thing too:  one should always be prepared.  Absentmindedly, a hand  ran appreciatively down the side of the LBD.  'You have served me well, my friend, but even your powers are not enough here.' She only had a minute to prepare this potion and hopefully,  it would be enough.  Her hands flew over the bottles, picking up vials and replacing them just as quickly. A drop of anise hyssop, a pinch of sorrel, stir, two drops of yarrow, some bindweed, a bit of milfoil,  shake, a little almond extract, a little ginger, a drop of purple trillium, mix, and . . .done.

Perfect.

She grabbed her wand, conjured a pocket in the front of her dress, and slipped the vial inside.  Inconspicuous.  She then picked up a second vial containing a navy blue fluid, already prepared and waiting.  She smirked as she held it in her hand and swirled the  heavy, viscous fluid around. "It's good to be a witch," she said to no one in particular, but  for all the world to hear.

Quickly clearing the room of any trace of the evidence, she took a moment to re-apply her lipstick before heading downstairs.  Harry nearly jumped when she entered the room. 'So nervous, Harry?' she almost asked aloud.  'Poor dear has no idea, does he?'

She turned to Ron, who gave her a sweet smile; his eyes full of something that gave Hermione butterflies. He looked…happy and excited. She sighed, 'Poor dear has no idea,  does he?' 

Mary Elena, true to form, was ignoring her, and was continuing with her story, something about the socio-economic repercussions of Muggle inter-continental relations to the wizarding community.…that,  or shoes.  Really, when she began talking, all Hermione could hear was buzz, buzz, buzz.

Hermione turned to Ginny —Admiral?  Czarina? Goddess?  What was her current position? Queen Ginny would have to do.  Hermione turned to Queen Ginny and gave her the signal. A wink and nod which meant the eagle has landed and the chickens must flee the coop. (Author's Note – That's classified code talk for "Run away! Run far away!")

Ginny Weasley pick up her cue and went to work.

"Oh my!" she stated with alarm.  "I completely forgot about the trunk." 

Harry almost choked on his drink when she spoke. "The what?" he asked nervously. It had been a while since he was this jumpy.  Oh, where were the good old days when he was simply battling Voldemort for his life time and time again? Evil used to be so much easier to deal with when it wasn't wearing tight black dresses.

"The trunk," Ginny answered with a frustrated sigh. "There is a trunk in the attic full of stuff for Dad that Uncle Edmund wanted him to have.  I was supposed to get and have it ready to floo out tonight, but I completely forgot.  I have to find it and then bring it down.  I can't carry it down myself. Will you two help me?"  She sounded wonderfully vulnerable, decidedly weak, and perfectly frail. 

"Carry it down? Why don't you just use your…" Harry was stopped by the patented Ginny Weasley "Zip-It-Or-I-Will-Damage-Some-Of-Your-More-Favorite-Organs" Glare.  Harry had seen Ron receive that glare on several occasions and though he towered over his younger sister, he never argued.  The little witch could pack quite a punch.  Harry sighed. 'She's been hanging around Hermione too, too much.'

This exchange did not go unnoticed by Ron. He had had Auror training and could smell a plot a mile away.  Ginny wanted them out of the way; she did not throw that glare around lightly.  No, she had the look of a soldier following orders, and Ron had a sneaking suspicion of who was dictating those orders.  Ginny might have been the facilitator, but Hermione was the brains.  She was planning something and knowing Hermione as he did,  he knew it would be creatively cruel and probably quite painful. He looked at Marie Elena's vacuous blue eyes and extremely bored expression, oblivious to it all and felt a bit of remorse, perhaps even a little sympathy. 'Poor dear has no idea, does she?' 

He couldn't. 

He just couldn't. 

He just couldn't stick around for it.  Whatever it was Hermione was planning, he just couldn't watch.  He wanted to be as far away as humanly possible.  "Don't worry, Gin," he spoke slowly, eyes traveling back and forth between Hermione and Marie Elena. "We'll help you get the trunk.  Whatever you need.  Right, Harry?"

Harry was beginning to see what was really going on. e just counh

 If Ron was going along with it, who was he to fight it.  Hermione obviously wanted to be alone with Marie Elena, and he knew better than to get in her way.  Voldemort was a Teletubby compared to Hermione set on a seek-and-destroy mission.  "Yeah, let's go," he swallowed apprehensively as he eyed Hermione.  She was eerily calm and smooth like liquid —no, like lava—and Harry feared Marie Elena was going to burn.  Oh, the humanity!  He gave a little shiver and got up.  "We'll be right back," he offered tentatively.

"Take your time," Hermione stated, never taking her eyes off her nemesis. 

Marie Elena made no offer to assist, just as Hermione suspected. Instead she sat back, examining her nails.

When the room had cleared out, Hermione spoke, "Why don't I get us something to drink?"

"Fine…whatever." She gave Hermione a dismissive flutter with her hand. "Nothing to heavy, dear. Goes right to the hips, but I suppose you know all about that."

Hermione simply smiled as she poured apple cider into two glasses.  A hand slipped down in to a hidden pocket and, very casually, emptied the contents of a vial into one of the glasses.  She licked her lips as she watched the fluid turn a sickly green before turning back to its original hue.  'Oh the wonders of alchemy and wizardry.'

She picked up the glasses and turned to her guest.  "Let's toast to…to Ron and his happiness."

"Of course."  Marie Elena paused to sniff the juice before taking a sip.  Finding it surprising sweet and refreshing, she finished the entire glass as if almost compelled to drink it all. Hermione smiled. It's show time! "Did you enjoy the juice?" she asked.

"Wonderful actually, and I am not usually a fan of cider," she replied, still not bothering to look at Hermione.

"How are you feeling?"  Hermione asked innocently.

"Fine, just…."  She stopped as she felt a peculiar tingling sensation in her hand.  She looked down to see bristling black hair starting to sprout from her knuckles.  "What the hell…?" the banshee gasped.

"Oh my, that's starting quickly.  I thought we'd have more time,"  Hermione pouted.

"More time for what?" she shrieked.  "What did you do to me, you little bitch?"

"Temper, temper, Marie Elena," she tutted.  She leaned in until she and Marie Elena were nose to nose and she smiled from the corner of her mouth. "You must keep calm.  Adrenaline only speeds up the process."

"P-p-process?" she sputtered.

Now there was fear in those vacuous blue eyes, and Hermione drank it in.  "It's slow at first," she began, her voice thick with control and strength.  "Some hair on your knuckles, spots and blemishes on your skin …and then, it escalates ..."

"E-e-escalates?" More Sputtering.

"Oh yes," she drawled. "Soon, your hair will start to kink and frizz.  Your fingernails will turn yellow – to match your teeth, of course.   And then it gets worse." 

"W-w-worse?"  Sputtering accompanied by spittle – now, that's attractive.

"Oh so, so much worse," Hermione answered with just a tinge of sympathy. "The hair under your arms will grow at an alarming rate but not as quickly as the hair on your legs.  Of course, that is only slightly better then your moustache…"

"Moustache?!?" Marie Elena looked faint

"Well, it actually goes nicely with the sideburns."  Hermione watched as the harpy paled and cringed with each symptom.  "By the time the potion's work is complete," she continued, "your face will be colored as if your make-up was done by a clown with a death wish and you will have a rather large red mole protruding from you chin with a long black hair sticking out that will only grow longer the more you cut it." ('It should be a crime to have this much fun at the expense of others,' Hermione thought innocently.  'alas, time to come in for the kill.')  "And then there's the piece de résistance - when all is said and done, you will be left with a hunchback, lopsided breasts, rancid breath, an enormous cellulose riddled posterior and, of course, the nose you were born with."

"NO!!!" Marie Elena screamed, quickly placing her now furry hands over her perky proboscis. "Are you mad?" she screeched, her face turning red from the indignation, fear, and  terror that was coursing through her veins along with the potion. "You poisoned me, you twisted, evil…"

Hermione remained immobile, a sweet smile plastered on her otherwise emotionless face.  Her quiet calm terrified Marie Elena more than her description of what was to become of her. "How long does it last?" she finally asked.

The smile grew as she said, "How long will it last? Why, it's permanent, dear."

"What??!?" Now, Marie Elena was shaking.

"Per-ma-nent.  Oh I'm sorry.  Too long a word.  It means it will last forever." She gave her hairy opponent a very toothy grin. "Unless of course, you take this in the next twenty minutes."  Hermione held up the small vial with navy blue fluid."

"Give me that." Marie Elena lunged, rather ungracefully, towards Hermione who simply side-stepped and watched as "Old Hairy Hands" went face first into the wall.  Hermione came up behind her and whispered into her ear, "Really darling, attacking me is no way to coax this antidote from me."

Marie Elena turned with fire and pure hatred in her eyes, "I'll call the authorities," she screeched.

Hermione let out a laugh.  "And tell them what?  That potion is made from all natural ingredients that have already been absorbed into your system. There won't be a single trace of  anything to be found.  It will be your word against mine."  She paused and stared at Marie Elena through her thick lashes.  "In case you forgot, I received the Order of Merlin First Class for aiding in the defeat in the greatest Dark Lord in over a century.  My name has been in newspapers all over the world and text books read by every student taking a N.E.W.T…..What have you done lately?"

Marie Elena was beginning to see the gravity of her situation.  "What do you want?"

"It's very simple.".  Hermione spoke with clear conviction, all pretense gone. "I want you gone.  I want you to take your things and leave.  And, I don't mean just here. I want you out of Ron's life.  I don't want either of us to see your face ever again."

"That's it!?! " Marie Elena was incensed.  "That's what this is all about!?  Ron!? You poisoned me for Ron!?  You really think he is worth all this?"  Her voice was filled with disgust, and it only incited Hermione further.

"This is about more than just Ron," she said softly.  "This is about your need to belittle others for the sake of your own ego.  This about your learning to treat people with the dignity and respect they deserve. This is about humility.  And yes, it's also about Ron.  He is worth it.  And if you even have to ask that question, you don't know him at all…and you certainly don't deserve him."

"I don't believe this.  Just because you are not woman enough  to get a man on your own…"

Hermione stopped her with a wand to her throat.  "Let's get something straight.  Getting Ron was not the issue here.  The issue here is teaching you a lesson.  I am more of a woman than you will ever be, besides being more of a witch than you could ever hope to be.  You never even had the common courtesy of pronouncing my name properly." She leaned in. "I bet you'll never forget it now," she hissed, her nose barely an inch from Marie Elena's protruding, spotted one.

'This witch is out of her mind.' Marie Elena thought, though she carefully hid any hint of her opinion. She was angry but she was not a fool.  Time was quickly slipping away, and she could feel the potion working through her body.  She could feel the spots beginning to form on her face and hair covering her body.  "Fine.  Whatever you want," she conceded.  "Just give me the damn antidote, and let me get the hell out of here."

Hermione gave her a smile with the vial and watched as she downed every last drop.  "A few more symptoms will present themselves while the cure makes its way through your system.  I suggest going someplace where you will not be seen."

Marie Elena muttered something about insane…perverse and …possibly Satan's spawn as she gathered her things and walked out.  Hermione watched her leave and announced quite happily, "Ding dong - the tart is gone." (Author pays homage to Shellyk, Queen of Smutty Goodness, and bows in reverence.  I am not worthy.)

Hermione began to straighten herself out when she realized someone was behind her.

"I thought she'd never leave."

Hermione swung around to find Ron leaning in the doorframe. Oops. "How much did you see?" she asked nervously. 

"More than I ever wanted to," he smiled, and she relaxed. "That was quite a performance."

"Performance?  I don't know what you are talking about," she claimed innocently.

She was about to walk past him, but he grabbed her from behind and, wrapping his arms around her waist, held her close. "You are a crafty one, aren't you, Ms. Granger," he breathed into her ear.

She couldn't help but giggle. "You'd be surprised how creative I can be, Mr. Weasley."

He took this moment to pull her hair away from her face and leaning down, placed a bite on her beautifully exposed neck.  "I have a feeling I'm going to like finding out just how creative you can be," he whispered.

She could not giggle again.  Once was bad enough. "Why don't we find a more private spot and I'll show you," she purred.

He practically growled at her suggestion and quickly turned her around to place a covetous kiss on her eager mouth.  Years of pent up desire and need clashed with an overwhelming sense of relief and joy.  They were torn between loving each other and eating each other alive.  Hands explored the places where their minds had traveled a thousand times in the course of their lives; hands needing to touch and grab and feel.

Reluctantly, they broke apart.  He looked into her eyes, glazed over with desire, and at her lips, swollen and smeared with lipstick,  and her hair, flying free from the clasp.  She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.  "Let's go," he said in a voice thick with longing.

His arm was still wrapped around her waist as they made their way upstairs.  He looked at her in wonderment and asked, " I know this isn't the best place to ask but I am dying to know -what did you give her?"

Hermione smiled proudly and spoke slowly, "A friend of mine works with your brothers developing potions for their joke shop..."

"Snarky Enterprises?  You know who's behind Snarky Enterprises?"  Ron was shocked.  No one knew who this was.  The twins were sworn to secrecy, and as Snarky Enterprises was making them a fortune, they were more than happy to oblige.  Whoever it was was the genius behind some of Fred and George's more vicious gags. It was  almost as if he really enjoyed torturing people and while making a ton of Galleons in the process. 

"He developed the Impotus Elixir," she continued. "The one that renders men impotent for  three days."

Ron's lip started to twitch.  Oh, he remembered that one.  Fred and George used him for a guinea pig, and that gag worked particularly well.

"They found it had a particularly nasty effect on women who took it.  Where it made men unable to fuck, it made women completely…unfuckable.  Granted, the effects are temporary, but they are….dramatic, to say the least."

"So all those things will actually happen to her?"

"Oh, yes, but she'll be fine in a hour.  Just enough time to really make an impression," she smirked.

"Hermione Granger, you are positively evil, " he said as he pulled her closer.  "Remind me to stay on your good side."

"You'd better, Ron Weasley.  I am not one to be trifled with."

As they got to the door of his room , he paused and turned to her.  Very gently he lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her.  No fevered pitch, no frantic hands.  It was slow and deep and long and wet and soft.  He pulled away and ran a thumb over her moist pink lips.

"That's a good start," she said with a shiver.

"It's only a start, " he said.  "I have a lot of lost time to make up for."  Here, she giggled.  She really couldn't hold it back this time.  And, for his part, he giggled too.

They entered the room and as he began to close the door he asked,  "There's just one thing I don't understand. If she'll be fine in an hour, what was that second potion you gave her?"

"That? Oh nothing," she confessed.  "Just a simple, but highly effective, laxative." And the door clicked shut.

Author's note: "the nose you were born with" line inspired by Spaceballs: the movie.