Events referenced here can be reread in Chapter 40, "Bullying".

Hermione would never forget the day she was attacked.

It had been a Thursday. She'd still been riding her happiness at beating the obstacle course when Pansy had told her Professor Snape had invited her to a private lesson of some sort. Hermione, ever the naïve and eager-to-learn student, had followed Pansy straight into an ambush.

There had been seven attackers.

And they were attackers, in Hermione's mind. If she hadn't known the magic she had, she could have died. Would have died, if Filch's rounds took too long, and she'd remained unfound and bled out.

Seven attackers. All pureblooded Slytherins, who took issue with her blood status and her being at the top of her class, all with powerful enough family names that Snape had warned Hermione of the futility of going after them officially.

But in the same breath, Snape had murmured that if she were to go after them unofficially…

And Hermione had understood.

Pansy had been the first. Hermione's spell to make her blood look inhuman had worked beautifully, and rumors of the Parkinsons being part troll still circulated the school. Pansy had been knocked down in the social status structure of Slytherin, and even better, her fellow pureblood supremacists now looked down on her, for being of possibly impure blood.

Hermione had been highly satisfied by this outcome. It was appropriate, it was fitting, and it made Pansy wary of her.

Still, though – there were six more.

Six more students who had attacked her.

Six people who watched her start to bleed out in the dungeons.

Six more who had escaped from any punishment whatsoever…

Hermione had vowed to herself that night that somehow, she would make them all regret it. That she would strike back at them each at some point, to show them she was stronger than them, better than them, and to strike fear into each of their hearts, the same way it had been struck into hers.

And while Hermione wasn't about to attempt murder on those who had attacked her like they had…

If they came out a little worse for wear on the other side of her vengeance…

Well.

She had certainly come out battered, bruised, and bloodied, hadn't she?

Turnabout was only fair play.

And Pansy's gift of Damon Rowle, handed up on a platter, was too perfect to neglect.

Hermione tracked down Harry the next day after classes were over, asking for a word. Harry went with her amicably, while the rest of his house went up to their common room. She led him outside to a bench in the garden, turning so her legs were angled towards his.

"Over the summer," Hermione began, "we spoke briefly of some of the Slytherins bullying me."

Harry's eyes flashed.

"Are they bullying you again, Hermione?" he demanded immediately. "What happened? Who is it? We can-"

"No," Hermione said, cutting him off. "No one is bullying me right now. Not yet, anyway."

Harry settled down, giving her a suspicious look. Hermione offered him a wan smile.

"The issue isn't me being bullied by people right now," she told him. "It's… handling the people who bullied me before."

Harry frowned. "'Handling'?"

Hermione bit her lip, considering, before opting to be honest.

"I want to pay them back," she said simply.

Harry's eyes widened. "You're going for revenge?"

Hermione nodded. "It's the Slytherin way."

It was interesting, to watch Harry struggle with himself – his emotions played across his face as clear as a movie on a screen. She could see his loyalty towards her warring with his innate desire to not hurt people or do anything wrong, all mixed up with his anger at the injustice that she had been bullied at all. Harry wrenched up his face, his eyes scrunched closed.

"These bullies," Harry said. "They were never punished?"

"Not one of them," Hermione said quietly. "They were never even brought in. They all got off scot-free."

When Harry's eyes had opened, his resolve had hardened.

"Tell me we're doing the right thing," he begged her. "They deserve it, right? They're all blood supremacists in Slytherin?"

Hermione laughed. It wasn't a nice sound.

"We are not doing anything. I am coming to you for indirect help with revenge on one person," she told him. "Damon Rowle cast half a dozen cutting curses at me, helped break my ribs, and left me to bleed out on a classroom floor."

Harry's eyes widened in horror. He opened his mouth to speak, but Hermione cut him off.

"I promise, I am not asking you for direct help with anything," she told him. "I can handle my own affairs. What I need from you now is Quidditch advice."

That stopped Harry short. He looked confused.

"Quidditch advice?" he echoed.

"Yes," Hermione said. She withdrew a piece of parchment. "I need you to tell me the most common maneuvers seekers use when flying, what they look like, how difficult each one is, and what moves are the most dangerous if you lose control of your broom."

Harry's eyes widened imperceptibly. He paused a long moment, torn, before he nodded once, decisive.

"I am helping my good friend Hermione with Quidditch advice," he said firmly. "Because you don't know much about the game, and you are curious to learn more about how to play."

"Yes," Hermione said, agreeable. If Harry needed plausible deniability, she would give it to him. "I want to know more about seekers before my housemate Draco Malfoy tries out for seeker tonight, so I can understand when I watch him play."

Harry made a disgusted face. "…Malfoy is going out for seeker?"

"He is," Hermione said pleasantly. "Now: seeker maneuvers?"

Reluctantly, Harry began to talk, Hermione taking notes and making rough sketches as he did for the next half hour, a plan beginning to percolate in her mind.