Chapter One: Her Demented Professor.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the material written by J.K. Rowling or her publishing company.

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"All I have is logic, Harry," Hermione said, quite motivationally if she had to say so herself, "You are a true Gryffindor." Harry looked up at her with his frightened eyes, and she decided she needed to keep going, listing off everything he had that she didn't.

The muggleborn witch was surprised when a fire flashed in his eyes, "You're right Hermione, and I think I can do this." He stood taller, and Hermione was about to hand him the vial when guilt struck her straight in the gut. How could she, a no one, send Harry Potter who was the greatest beacon of hope the wizarding world had ever seen to his death?

She shook her head while wanting to vomit more in that moment than when the stench of the previous room full of dead trolls had first hit her nose. Guilt was running rampant across every part of her body causing her to notice tiny details such as how his hands trembled and his eyes were glistening, as though unshed tears were welling up behind his eyes. How could she send him to slaughterhouse, the very same one that had murdered his own parents? It was simple, she wouldn't, Hermione plainly did not lack enough moral fibers to do that to the first friend she had ever had.

What her parents would say was her primary thought but she shrugged it off, for she knew that if there was any way she wanted to go out it was to die a hero. The possibility to stop Lord Voldemort from rising and hurting muggles like her relatives was enough to go through with this. "Hermione," Harry said in a quavering voice, "I need the potion." The bushy haired witch knew he would fight her if she shared her plans so she uncapped the vial to go forwards and downed it all in one gulp. Harry stared at her in shock, and he screamed, "WHY DID YOU DO THAT?"

Hermione shook her head and merely said, "Go and help Ron to the infirmary, I will face Voldemort tonight Harry. Get help while I hold him off as long as I can." Harry had gone deathly pale and almost dropped the vial that would allow him out because of his shaky grip. Harry gulped it down quickly before tossing the vial into a corner carelessly.

Quickly he pulled her into a hug while saying, "You're the smartest person I have ever met, Hermione Granger, and Voldemort doesn't know what is going to hit him." He turned to leave, but said one last thing when he was about to step out of the room, "Remember that the Sorting Hat put you in Gryffindor for a reason." Then he fled with the barrier making a swooshing noise as he stepped through. Hermione turned, and decided that she needed to go through the barrier before the potion wore off. Shakily she yanked out her wand, gripping it tightly, as she stepped through the black flames. Shock swiftly overtook all of her fear by strides. Quirrell stood before a large mirror that was placed in the center of the dungeon chamber they were in. Glancing around, she stepped closer to a large pillar, so that she could duck behind it when he noticed her.

It seemed as though she had just stopped moving when Quirrell, without turning said, "Miss Granger, I am quite surprised that you would come in to face me instead of Harry Potter."

Hermione was still in shock but was clever enough to fill in the pieces to the whole story herself. "It was you who jinxed Harry's broom, you who gave Hagrid the egg and it was you who has been after the stone the whole year."

The professor released a booming laugh and said, "Who else did you think it was? Flitwick and McGonagall? Everyone except p-poor, st-stuttering Quirrell?" Hermione was ashamed to admit it, but the stuttering was the primary reason that she had never assumed it was him.

"The only question that I have left is how on earth a simple mirror is preventing a mastermind such as yourself from obtaining the stone?" The girl asked sharply as she prepared to defend herself, clenching her wand firmly like the textbook on dueling she had read said she should.

The wizard turned to mirror and murmured, "I have no idea."

A voice that made her think of dead, rotting, and cold things then called out, "Use the girl."

Quirrell spun around and said, "Come here Granger." She stared at him as she stepped back, a malicious glint flashed in his eyes as he pointed his wand at her. "I don't like repeating myself you little mudblood," Her demented professor snarled. Hermione watched in horror as a thick set of ropes promptly flung from his wand towards her as soon as she shook her head.

She had never practiced shielding before, but now seemed to be the best opportunity. "PROTEGO," The muggleborn witch roared, and didn't stick around to watch the ropes fly back at her professor, instead flinging herself behind the pillar while desperately thinking of another spell she could use.

Flames roared passed where she had been standing a moment ago and Quirrell spoke up, "Impressive for a witch so young, Miss Granger, now come out so I can give you a lesson in real magic!" Hermione breathed in deeply as a crazy thought struck her mind, she heard Quirrell's feet tapping up the steps rapidly, yet she willed herself to go through with it silently.

She had only just read about the spell a week ago, and a first year would have to be extremely talented to pull it off. She shook her head and remembered what Harry had told her, 'The Sorting Hat put you in Gryffindor for a reason.' Breathing deeply she stood against the pillar waiting until Quirrell was close enough that she could hear his short breaths. Then she pointed her wand around the pillar with a sharp jab like the book had instructed, shouting, "CONFRINGO."

The powerful Blast Curse ripped from her wand, and she heard Quirrell mutter a weak protection spell before he was tossed like a ragdoll across the room. Stepping from her protective barrier she fired a myriad of the jinxes, hexes and curses that she knew at him, casting each one perfectly. The first few struck home until he stood, casting the counter spells. Hermione jumped behind another pillar listening to the next vile threat which spewed from his mouth.

"I should have given you more credit Granger. I thought you were an inconsequential mudblood. But look at that Blast Curse you just pulled off; I obviously underestimated your abilities." Quirrell was pacing around the room again, and Hermione was running out of luck and ideas. The only advantage she had was the element of surprise since he no longer knew which column she stood behind. Suddenly a gust picked up, and she felt it increase in speed when Quirrell spoke again, "Come out and play little mudblood." She grimaced in fear and realized he was using some sort of Wind Summoning Charm to blow her out of her hiding place.

Putting her wand in her pocket she held on tightly to the column and felt her grip begin to loosen as the wind increased to a break-neck speed. Quirrell still paced while muttering constantly in Latin, but she could barely hear him over the roar of the wind. Then she felt her right hand slip and she stumbled backwards onto the stairwell. Her head slammed into the stone, as Quirrell cast some sort of spell that made the steps flatten, so her disoriented body slid down next to his feet. The next thing she felt were ropes binding her legs tightly, and then she was levitated in front of the mirror, his wand pressed into the back of her skull.

"Look in it," he hissed in her ear, "What do you see dear mudblood?" Hermione shook in rage at how helpless she had become and she stared in the mirror. Anger continued to vibrate throughout the witch's body as her brown eyes glared murderously at the mirror. She saw herself standing free of the thick ropes with a Head Girl badge plastered on her robes. Silky hair tumbled down to her elbows while two rows of flawless teeth glimmered in her mouth. Hatred continued to pool in her stomach causing the mirror to send things spinning in a disturbing direction. When Quirrell poked his wand tip into the back of her skull urgently the rippling images finally slowed. In the mirror's reflection Hermione stood much like she had before, but now Quirrell lay on the floor. Nothing more than a tattered corpse.

Hermione's brilliant mind realized just how the horrific sights could work to her advantage. "I see…" She paused skillfully to allow the anticipation to build, "Myself with a Head Girl badge." Melodramatically she choked with widened eyes, "You are dead! Someone has… Ripped your throat out!" A weight fell heavily in the pocket of Hermione's pants though she was too busy stringing Quirrell along to pay it heed.

Quirrell breathed deeply and asked, "What?" Hermione suddenly grinned, for the man had lost enough focus that she could move her head just a smidge. Slamming it back she rammed him in the nose with her head, and then fell to the stone floor with a painful thud. Wasting no time as soon as the spell was broken she yanked out her wand and saw that he had fallen next to her. Blood was gushing out of his bent nose, and he snarled at her, fingering his wand as though about to slaughter her. In that instant she reacted in a purely instinctual manner, ramming her wand into his right eye ball with so much force that it exploded. Hermione tried to pull her wand back out but it twisted wrong and snapped.

They both screamed, Quirrell in agony, Hermione in absolute terror. Right when she thought things couldn't get any worse he slumped onto his back with the turban slipping all the way from his head.

He layed still for a moment and then, while his eyes were still closed tightly shut, his arms pushed him up. His body moved in an awkward manner, and Hermione tried to shift back as far as possible despite her bound legs. Quirrell's body had picked itself up fully, turning so it stood backwards now, revealing the most horrific thing she had ever seen in her eleven years of existence.

Her psychotic professor had two faces, which was quite fitting since he was a two faced liar. "Hello, mudblood filth," Whispered the face, "I see you are at your rightful place on the floor." Hermione quivered with indignation wishing she had stabbed this face's eyes out instead. "It is quite humorous, isn't it?" Voldemort asked in his frightening, raspy voice.

"What is?" Hermione demanded, trying to show that she wasn't frightened, even though she was. Personally, the muggleborn found that she was struggling to grasp what could possibly be funny about any of the events which were transpiring.

"That your friend, Harry Potter destroyed me when he was a mere infant, the greatest wizard of this age," Voldemort rasped this all bitterly.

Hermione shifted back further and stared at the darkest wizard of all recent history warily. "Dumbledore is the greatest wizard of modern British history, you don't have an ounce of his talent," Hermione hissed, spitting at his feet vehemently.

Voldemort cackled insanely, his damaged face contorting in a painful manner. "You have broken my vessel beyond repair, Miss Granger, and I fear I need a new one."

She scooted back farther and screamed, "NO." Voldemort smiled wickedly, no more words flowed from his mouth and he merely walked towards her slowly, step by step.

Gasping for breath and on the verge of a panic attack she kept moving back, further and further in an attempt to waste time and prevent him from fulfilling his awful plan. Then she stopped due to an overwhelming quantity of nausea, Voldemort seemed to be contorting, his face was twisting off of Quirrell's body. Hermione watched as Quirrell seemingly woke and arched his back, screaming in agony so pure that her head pounded in pain.

Soon her professor crumpled to the ground and convulsed as though he were having a severe seizure. Then he stopped moving, Hermione cried out covering her mouth in disgust. Voldemort drifted in the air in front of her, he looked like a large cloud of dust that had a face. The ropes that once bound her legs disappeared, presumably because their caster was now dead, and she stumbled to her feet as the spirit of Voldemort rushed after her. She jumped up the steps and pushed herself to get as far away from him as she could.

It wasn't enough however, and Voldemort rushed her, flinging himself into her body. Hermione's eyes rolled into the back of her head and the eleven year old girl collapsed backwards on the steps tumbling back to where she had just run from. Her body twisted and contorted, her body rising in the air as Voldemort attempted to possess her. Awful things ran through her mind, all of the evil things that Voldemort knew.

She wanted to cry, she wanted to vomit, but the most prominent thought running through her young and feverish mind was that she wanted Voldemort to die. She felt herself lose control of her mind, it became his mind. Then went her senses, which became his senses. Finally the control of her body slipped away, instantly it became his body. Then she felt him tug at the magical essence that shrouded her body, her aura, and pour his own into it. Hermione screamed in defiance while her body continued to twist and writhe above the ground.

That was her magic and no one would ever take it from her. Energy pulsed from her body, and Voldemort's spirit lost its hold over her after a large battle was waged inside her body. Then Hermione screamed one last time, it was different from the others though. This wail was different, so different; this scream was tinged with the victory she had just tasted. When Voldemort was ripped from her body she fell back to the ground watching as his spirit fled the dungeons.

Her eyes closed and she began to drift in and out of consciousness. The last thing she saw when she opened her eyes for the final time that evening was someone stepping through the barrier, instantly rushing to her side before everything went so woefully dark.

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Hello, please review follow, etc. If you like this idea, I don't know if it is any good yet.

Next Chapter: The Prophecy for a Mudblood.