"To turn..."
Hermione held the small vial up to the light, the ultra-dark liquid inside sloshing in oily waves up and down the glass.
"Or not to turn. Such a choice."
In front of her lay a book, bound in the skins of delinquent house-elves and written in the black juices squeezed from the spiders in the Forest beside the school.
"And yet ... to have the ability ... to be the most powerful witch in the world. All you have to do is drink the potion and then you'll be able to read the book."
She turned the vial this way and that, catching gleams of darkness in the same way as a diamond sparkles light. The small voice in her ear continued, seductive, enticing.
"You don't have to do it permanently. Just for a little while. Just long enough to feel what it's like."
Hermione shook her head, and smiled as she carefully placed the vial back into its small, gem-encrusted box. Laying one hand regretfully on the soft leather book binding, she stood and turned - and in an instant her wand had flashed and the little fly that had been whispering in her ear was now a middle-aged nosy annoying female reporter, pinned to the wall with the volley of ultra-sharp knives that Hermione had conjured.
Rita Skeeter struggled vainly to free herself, but her blood was running down the wall now in red rivulets, pooling beneath her. Hermione felt its stickiness underfoot as she walked up and put her face two inches from her victim. Rita stared, fascinated, into Hermione's dark and bitter eyes.
Hermione looked over Rita, noting with satisfaction the way the blades held out the reporter's arms and legs like some sort of grotesque pinned insect. Then she looked back into Rita's face, the expression one of deep and utter loathing.
"What makes you think I haven't already tried it?"
And with those words, she turned on her heel and walked out.