Turning Points

Halfway through 6th year, Hermione Granger was pissed. She wasn't just mad, or angry or even ticked off, but full-blown mind numbingly pissed off at everyone. The Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge wasn't doing anything about the rising threat of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Headmaster Dumbledore wasn't doing anything about the rising and looming, mind you, threat of the Dark Lord. Harry Potter wasn't even doing anything about the rising, looming and immediate threat of Lord Voldemort. He was too busy mourning the death of him and Sirius, still. Hermione, in fact, believed it was Harry's fault that he was dead. If he hadn't been so foolish as to involve his friends in his stupid schemes to save this person or that thing, then she and Ron wouldn't have followed him into the graveyard near Godric's Hollow and he would be alive right now playing Wizard's Chess or quidditch or irritating the bloody hell out of her.

'But precious Mr. Harry Potter was as foolhardy as ever and rushed into battle without thinking...' she thought to herself. 'If only we had listened to Dumbledore and stayed put.'

His death was the reason for Hermione's current isolation in the library at one in the morning. She knew that nobody could ever find out about her new chosen career for when she graduated Hogwarts and went out into the real world. She would, however, need somebody to help her. Having spent many days debating the potential of one person or another, Hermione had narrowed her decision down to two: Blaise Zabini and Draco Malfoy. Both were extremely cunning and well connected in the wizarding world and either would be a great asset to her team. Neither knew what she was up to, of course, and both still felt she was still some goody-goody Gryffindor with a death wish, cavorting off to certain death every time Harry Potter called. Perhaps she still was, in some ways, but something had to be done and nobody else was doing it. And they'd join her in the end, after all. They wouldn't dare refuse her.

When she thought about it hard enough, she found it odd that nobody had figured her out yet. Sure, she was still the same on the outside, nothing could change her bushy hair or less than perfect face, but her attitude was drastically different. Not once did she volunteer in any of her classes, her impeccable note taking skills were not put to use once she stepped inside any classroom anymore and she refused to hold a conversation with any of her so-called friends.

'How could they say they were ever his friend? If they truly were, wouldn't they be in mourning too? Wouldn't they feel as though their hearts were breaking just knowing they'll never have the chance to see him every again? No. Instead they're all laughing and frolicking about talking about how Gryffindor will annihilate Slytherin in the next quidditch match. Of course, quidditch. He probably misses that the most.'

Her seclusion was good for her, though. It gave her more time to herself to study. Hermione had a purpose now and she wasn't going to waste any time at all attempting to fulfill what she believed to be her new destiny. A destiny she had Voldemort to thank for. And in all of his attempts at immortality, he had forgotten one thing: everything dies sooner or later. Even vampires eventually get the stake and werewolves the silver bullet. Hermione just hoped that his time was sooner rather than later. She didn't fancy waiting too long and would really rather not having to work out a way to rid the world of him. That's just too good of an act. Perhaps she'd feed Harry information on how to kill him, lead Harry to him, have Harry pull the proverbial trigger and then, when Voldemort was long gone, get rid of the "evidence", so to speak.

'Yes,' she thought, 'that'll work quite nicely.'