Harry Potter's revenge.

Dumbledore "Oh?"

stopped

mid

beard

stroke.

"Mister Harry Potter."

Dumbledore chuckled while inside his heart leapt. "And what is it about our young saviour's brother that interests you?"

Quirrell made a vague hand waving motion. "Oh, this and that. For starters he possesses situational awareness that I rarely see in wizards thrice his age."

Dumbledore frowned. That… was not what he expected to hear. "Situational awareness?"

"He is very good at spotting a dangerous situation and adjusting his behaviour accordingly."

"Indeed?"

"Yes. In many ways, he reminds me of a younger version of myself."

"Hey, Filius, you're up!" Vector arrived back and high-fived the diminutive professor. The screen flashed a seven next to the name 'THE PRIME MINISTER'.

"Really?" Dumbledore watched his pink bludger roll back into the ready rack as though by magic. "Are you perhaps thinking of taking on an apprentice?"

Quirrell made a face. "No, thank you, Headmaster."

Dumbledore nodded and looked away from Tom's vessel. "Well, do keep an eye on him. Its in all our interests to see both Potter boys grow up into strong, powerful young wizards."

Filius zoomed towards the seated witches and wizards on his knees, both hands in the air. "Strike!" He came to a stop between the two rows. The screen flashed, and an X appeared next to the name 'PINT SIZED CHARMER'.

Dumbledore frowned. If Filius won again, it would be his fifth in a row. Damn duelling champion.

Hermione's next free period found her walking towards the Hogwarts infirmary clasping five thick textbooks to her chest. She nudged open the door and stuck her head through the gap. The pristine clean interior reminded her of her parent's practise. The smell of bleach filled her nostrils. "Um… Madam Pomfrey?"

"Ah." Madam Pomfrey bustled around a corner at the far side of the long, bed-filled room. "You're here. Good, good. Come in."

Hermione entered.

"Take a seat." The older witch gestured to a stack of folding chairs. "And, Miss Granger?"

Hermione froze while reaching for a chair. "Yes, Madam Pomfrey?"

Pomfrey put a single hand on her hip. "Now, Miss Granger, you may call me Healer Pomfrey." Hermione flushed. "Ah, right, yes… er, Healer Pomfrey." She sat down next to a bed and waited.

A few moments later, an older Ravenclaw girl entered.

"Miss Clearwater," Pomfrey gestured to a desk in the back. "Box number eleven. I want a full diagnostics and report. Then I'll approve or disapprove your treatment recommendation."

"Yes, Healer." The girl walked to the back of the room.

Hermione craned her neck to see what the Ravenclaw was up to, but couldn't get line of sight.

A few minutes later, what looked like a seventh year Hufflepuff boy entered, and, once again, he was directed to a separate desk towards the back of the room.

Eventually, after several more minutes, during which time she was too anxious to even open one of the many thick books in front of her, Healer Pomfrey returned from whatever task she'd been handling, pulled up a chair, and sat down opposite her.

"Miss Granger, I'll be upfront about this." The healer put a small pile of parchments down on a small table next to her. "I think you're too young for this."

Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but a held-up hand stopped her.

"I think you're too young, but apparently, it's not my business to decide who joins our program." She sniffed. "So, you're just going to have to make up ground as we go. And quickly."

Hermione made small, rapid nods.

"This program is intended to replicate the first eighteen months of St. Mungo's healer training, part time, over five years. Although in your case, who knows. You've got seven years to work with, but I'll be damned if you just waste those extra two years. Clear?"

Again, she nodded.

"Right. The first year of the program is spent on the basics of first aid and dealing with common physical injuries. These include broken bones, flesh wounds, torn ligaments, sprains, and internal bleeding. We'll start with a demonstration and then I'll assess your capabilities to actually do the practise considering your disadvantage." She nodded.

"Follow me."

Healer Pomfrey stood up and led her around the back of the room, past where the other two were working at hidden desks, to a third desk surrounded by walls that came over her head. On Madam Pomfrey, they didn't reach more than halfway up her chest.

"Sit."

She sat.

The healer reached up to a shelf and pulled down a clear box.

Hermione's eyes widened. Her stomach lurched. Inside the box, a live mouse scurried around, putting its feet up on the see-through walls and sniffing the air. Healer Pomfrey put on a glove, opened the box, and pointed her wand inside. "Stupefy." A tiny flash of red shot from the wand and hit the tiny rodent. Pomfrey then took out the now stunned mouse and lay it on the desk.

"Tell me what you see."

Hermione looked at the mouse. They weren't really doing this were they? This was a live animal! "Umm… it's a mouse, Healer Pomfrey. A stunned, live mouse."

"Correct, Miss Granger. Can you cast the stupefy spell?"

"Yes, Healer Pomfrey."

The healer looked up in surprise. "You can?" "Yes."

Pomfrey put the mouse back in the box. "Enervate."

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