Disclaimer
I don't own the HP characters.

I think I do own Hermione's rant.

But, feel free to borrow it anyway.

Note

This popped into my head and had to be written.

It will not be continued, it's just a drabble.

It's not going to continue, but I thought you'd all like to know that

I'm still thinking about scenarios for the next chapter of SP&OotP.

"Do you know what it takes to cast an Unforgivable, Professor?" Hermione stared Dumbledore down across his desk. "You have to really want it. To Control. To Torture. To Kill."

"I'm not certain what that has to do with anything?" His eyes narrowed. One of the varied nicknacks behind her let out a shrill tone that echoed her rage.

"Really?" She looked at Ron and Harry, seated nearby, and then turned back to him. "Two years. You, yourself, gave testimony that put me in Azkaban for two years when I was fifteen. You, as Chief Warlock, denied me the chance to give testimony under Veritaserum – which was my legal right to demand. You, as Chief Warlock, sat there smiling serenely as my two supposed friends testified that I had what it took to murder my own parents in cold blood. You came to retrieve me only after being assured by a Death Eater – a Death Eater that you gave the Veritaserum that I was denied – that I was innocent."

"But, Mione, now we can be married. Just like we've always wanted," Ron interjected. Shacklebolt, having been called in to witness the events of the day, shifted uncomfortably where he stood behind the boys. Harry dropped his head into his hands with a small groan

"Always wanted?" Her tone was dry enough to make the Sahara seem like a rain forest. "Let me see – you were constantly tormenting me about my getting good grades and putting me in the middle every time you and Harry fight. You eat like a pig and bathe once a year, unless you get caught in the rain – in which case you consider the job done. I can't imagine what I must be thinking to not be madly in love with you."

She hadn't even turned to face him. Her gaze was solely on Dumbledore. He was stroking his beard and trying to look wise and all-knowing. Her experience with his supposed wisdom made the facade pointless.

"And, now, you have me released when I've almost hit seventeen. Two weeks before my birthday. You get yourself declared my guardian and have apparently decided that I am – with no input or warning – going to marry this prat today, due a contract that you signed in my name and that you are not going to allow me to read. And, supposedly, this will place us in a position to win against Voldemort. What experimental substance are you smoking, professor?"

"Miss Granger..." He held up his hands, trying to placate her. Instead, it hardened her resolve. She would not let this happen. The Wizarding World had taken too much from her already. She would not be raped by her guardian-chosen "husband" and used as a brood mare for his mouth-breathing spawn.

The bolt of energy flew from her hand and hit him in the chest, cutting off his words. It blew through his body, sending an explosion of tissue, blood and bone in a decorative splatter across the wall. He toppled to the floor, eyes wide and jaw agape. She gave it a seven.

"Mister Shacklebolt, that is my answer to this stupidity." She met his shocked and horrified gaze squarely. "Now, are you taking me back to Azkaban, or should I call the Aurors myself?"