Revenge is Sweet

Chapter Two

Revenge

The next day, my plan of action was clear. Many girls, finding themselves in my shoes, would hex their boyfriend and then break up with him. That would have been a rather unwise choice in my situation.

Crabbe was too close to Malfoy, and Malfoy held far too much influence in Slytherin house. At Hogwarts in general, in fact. If I gave Vincent what he deserved, I’d never get anywhere in life.

Nor did I dare let anyone know that I had overheard the conversation. I knew that Crabbe hadn’t yet taken the Dark Mark–I’d seen him naked enough to be positive of that–but I knew that the Dark Lord recruited liberally amongst the children of his followers; it was the best way to get spies at Hogwarts. If I came out strongly against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, I would be endangering my life.

I wasn’t even sure that I could break up with Crabbe without attracting ire. I (and half of Slytherin house) knew that fear was part of the reason Pansy was still seeing Draco. She loved the presents he gave her, of course, but I knew only too well that she would have gladly done without them if it meant being free of the ferret.

Logically speaking, it seemed that the only way to break free of Crabbe without cutting myself off from the rest of the wizarding world was to work against Voldemort and Malfoy.

I didn’t mind working against the Dark Lord. For one thing, as Crabbe had said, the thought of killing nauseated me. I didn’t mind doing all sorts of stuff to achieve my aims–I really did belong in Slytherin–but I also believed that you could take things too far, and the Death Eaters did. I wasn’t anti-Muggle, for one thing, though I certainly didn’t mention my beliefs to any of my Slytherin compatriots.

It was harder to get over my aversion to working against Malfoy. He was actually quite kind to his friends; as long as I remained on his good side, he’d treat me well. Yet, for my plan to work, I’d have to secretly oppose him. Unfortunately, that meant a major lifestyle change.

Potter was the logical person to approach, but now that we were at NEWT level, I didn’t have classes with him any more. One of his friends would have to do.

And so, as my Runes class was dismissed that afternoon, I tapped Hermione Granger on the shoulder. "Ummm…Hermione?"

She shot me a withering glare. I supposed I deserved it, considering what I’d done with the Inquisitorial Squad. Oh, and there was the matter of the little brawl we’d had in the dueling club…

"I really, really need help with the homework assignment. I don’t suppose…"

She snorted and turned away from me, then stomped out the door. Behind me, Pansy Parkinson giggled. "What do you expect from a Gryffindor?"

What indeed? Well, I hoped she had enough sense to wait until she was alone to read the note I’d slipped her. I’d spent hours pondering exactly what to say, but in the end I’d settled on a brief but to-the-point missive:

Hermione (and allies):

I am sick and tired of being used by Malfoy and crew. Will work for food (or respect).

M.B.

A little less than a week later, I received a brief message calling me into Snape’s office. This wasn’t too unusual for a Slytherin; he was, after all, Head of House. However, I was a little edgy when I knocked on his door. From what I’d overheard, he was fairly high in the hierarchy of Death Eaters.

He ushered me inside without a word, came right up to me, whipped out his wand, and said the word I never expected. "Legilimens!"

He was in my head, looking through my memories. He saw the night I overheard Crabbe and Malfoy; saw me in my room, crying into my pillow. Saw me vowing revenge. Swearing never to join the Dark Lord. He was going to see me writing the note to Hermione next…

Then Snape was gone from my head. He spat out a string of curses, rubbing his nose. Evidently I’d punched him in the face as part of a subconscious effort to get him out of my mind.

"You are excused," he said sourly as he applied a handkerchief to his nose to staunch the flow of blood.

Now what? Was the Dark Lord going to kill me for not wanting to join? Surely Snape would tell him what he had seen…I spent the next two days fearing for my life.

Dumbledore called me into his office later. Evidently the brilliant Miss Granger had deigned to give him the note. I had never really considered him as the head of the resistance movement; to me, that had always been Harry Potter.

Would Dumbledore trust me? Would I be killed by Voldemort before I could be of any use?

He did trust me. He wanted me to continue as Crabbe’s girlfriend, if that wasn’t too abhorrent to me. It was, but I figured I could put up with it if that’s what it took.

And since it wouldn’t be good for people to see me associating with Dumbledore on a regular basis, he wanted me to report my information to…Snape, of all people.

I was in shock. "But Snape is a…"

"I know exactly what Professor Snape is," said Dumbledore gently. "Unlike Mr. Malfoy and friends, who only think they know him."

You could have knocked me over with a feather.

My role as spy continued for the remainder of sixth year. Once again, Crabbe and I did not see each other over the summer; I looked forward to resuming my espionage when seventh year came.

Unfortunately, at the beginning of seventh year I learned that my services as a spy were no longer needed. Dumbledore had a better mole–Draco Malfoy, of all people. He and I were going to get private tuition in Defence work from the esteemed Harry Potter. Dumbledore thought that it wouldn’t be wise for us to join the D.A., since we needed to maintain our credibility in Slytherin, but he wanted us to be trained nonetheless.

I broke up with Crabbe. I didn’t need to hang around him for intelligence purposes any more, and I no longer feared Draco’s reprisal. That was a relief, I tell you! Malfoy broke up with Pansy, and somehow managed to match her up with Crabbe; they seemed happy enough.

During the course of our Defence lessons, Draco found out why I’d turned against Crabbe and apologized. He’d been ordered to befriend any possible prospects, especially those who were ambitious, friendless, or poor. I can certainly see why he thought me a likely prospect.

Seventh year flew by. I finished Hogwarts with a miserable four NEWTs. I did fine on the practical exams, but the theory finished me off every time.

Everyone had predicted that Voldemort would finish Harry Potter off before he left school, but it hadn’t happened. Actually, it made sense to me; he was too well protected at Hogwarts.

I couldn’t get a job at the Ministry due to my poor marks, so Dad got me a job as booking secretary for his team, Puddlemere United. That’s a fancy way to say that I sold tickets. I thought I would be bored to death, but Dumbledore told me he hoped it would be otherwise–Quidditch players talked a lot and there were several Death Eaters playing in the league. I was to keep my eyes and ears open.

So I became a member of the Order of the Phoenix. I didn’t associate with the other members much, didn’t really get to know them at all. Just watched and listened and reported on my own corner of the world.

It was mid-January when I heard the words. They could have referred to anything, but I knew right away what they meant. Oddly enough, it was Crabbe whom I overheard. He and Goyle were reserve Beaters for the Wimbourne Wasps; they were playing Puddlemere that night and didn’t realize I was sitting on the bench right behind them.

"Can’t wait for Valentine’s Day," he said happily to Goyle. "Can’t wait to Bludger the little Seeker into the ground."

Goyle laughed. "Too bad he doesn’t have a sweetie-pie," he remarked. "I would just love to send his girl his bollocks on a platter…"

That was all I needed to hear. I rushed down to the ticket office, locked myself in, and pulled out the mirror I used to communicate with headquarters.

Arthur Weasley was the one on the other end of the line. He scratched his bald spot after hearing the news. "Are you sure they’re talking about an attack, not a Quidditch game?" he asked, a note of disbelief in his voice.

"Check the calendar. Valentine’s Day is a Monday," I replied. "The league never plays on Mondays."

"Ah!" he said, comprehension dawning in his eyes. "Thank you, Miss Bulstrode. I’ll report this immediately."

I heard from Dumbledore later. He was immensely pleased. Draco had discovered where the ambush was going to take place, but hadn’t been able to learn the date. The Order now had all the information it needed.

So it was that, on the fourteenth of February, the members of the Order of the Phoenix took position just east of Hogsmeade station. I had never fully understood the size of the Order until that day; I’d only talked to half a dozen of them. There were close to a hundred people there.

Harry took his position as bait, meandering slowly from Hogsmeade village towards the station. We knew where the Dark Lord had cast the sensor spell; as soon as Harry set foot on the spot, Voldemort and his Death Eaters Apparated in, eager to attack.

They were only surprised for a short while, and they fought like demons. We lost a bunch of people that day; not just the weaklings, but good people, strong people. In all honesty, the only reason I survived was because I was hit with a stray Stupefy. Susan Bones died right next to me and fell on top of my body. Don’t ask me what happened at the end; I was still out cold.

Amazingly, I was hardly hurt at all. After being revived, I found I only had a few bruises and one broken finger. I didn’t remember getting that, so I assume that someone stepped on me while I was down. These injuries were quickly healed, of course, so I was free to attend the victory party.