AN: If you are willing to wait a little longer to read the actual story, I would like to tell you how the hell I came up with this stuff...Once upon a time, in the summer of 2010, my friend and I were lounging around in her room reading the amazing Hunger Games series by Suzanne Collins together. (If you haven't yet read it, then you should be ashamed). Well, we got talking about personal survival and using generally mundane objects as weapons – which tends to happen quite a lot in the Hunger Games as you will know, if you've read them. Then she started listing various ways of how one would go about killing somebody with a pen or something like that. (Slightly disconcerting, I know :D). To which I responded with quite a long, colourful and graphic list of ways you could possibly kill someone with a book. (Even more disconcerting...) And so this story was born! Have fun reading it, guys! :)

Chapter 1

Psycho

Hermione had some issues. Very, very serious issues. She had certain issues with certain people. But Hermione would find her revenge soon. She was no longer a child: she was a war hero – albeit, a very angry and psychopathic one.

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It was late at night behind the walls of Hogwarts and Hermione, now finally Head Girl, was stalking the web of Dungeons – searching for her prey. Not just anyone would do, no – Hermione was on the prowl for one particular person.

That bitch who had made her life at school miserable – had driven Hermione to the edge and back - to the point where she seriously contemplated jumping off Gryffindor Tower.

But Hermione was stronger now...tougher.

Weeks she had walked these corridors, every night for hours. All just so she could be certain that her victim would conveniently run right into her open arms.

She stopped at a sharp right turn and stood leaning against the wall, opening her book on the page where she had left off.

Through her years at Hogwarts, Hermione had always wondered why a hair-raising chill slithered around the dungeons...Now she knew. It wasn't the lake above, it was the frozen souls of its cruel inhabitants. Her ruthless fellow students that went around sucking out all happiness and kindness, in way which was much worse than an army of Dementors. Nowadays, it wasn't just the dungeons that felt like that. The cold was sneaking into every corner of the castle. Not even Gryffindor Tower – which had been a hearth of warmth for centuries – could withstand the frosty caress.

Hermione could feel her own heart stiffen and harden to stone - now full of resentment, instead of the ball of crackling fire.

It was funny really: just three months ago Hermione had been full of excitement to return to the castle and complete her seventh year with Ron and Harry. But Hogwarts wasn't the same anymore, not to her anyway. Sure, it was back to looking the same as ever, but Hermione swore that she could smell the blood of her friends on the walls and from behind tapestries. And it drove her crazy.

Hermione, not lifting her eyes from the page of her book, absentmindedly fingered the icy hilt of the bejewelled dagger, that hung from the side of her skirt. It was such a beautiful object – so powerful. One moment it would be glittering prettily in the firelight, and the next it would be cutting your foe's jugular.

Hermione's mouth twisted into a wicked grin as she heard the oh-so familiar sound of her victim-to-be's footsteps. Slowly she closed the leather bound book in her hands and stepped away from the wall.

Time to play.

"Parkinson." Hermione said quietly, as a dark haired girl walked around the corner, straightening her robes.

Pansy's head snapped up, her black bob swishing with the movement. Something in Hermione's eyes made her take a step backwards - a feral flash of hostility.

"Wh-what are you doing down here, Granger?" Pansy's voice went up an octave as Hermione took a controlled step towards her, turning her book thoughtfully in her hands.

"You know," she said quietly, "this book – it's muggle – is quite good. Inspiring, really. You should read it some time. It's called...Psycho." By now Hermione was standing barely a foot away from Pansy; so close in fact, that she could hear the girl's panicked breathing.

Hermione let the book fall to the floor with a dull thud.

Pansy flinched, her breath hitching and her pulse racing so fast that Hermione could watch it jump by the girl's collar.

The Slythering gave a nervous toss of her head, "Why are you down here?" she demanded, trying to keep the terror out of her voice.

Hermione seemed not to hear at all, and continued, "You really have been such a bad girl lately, Pansy. I don't think your friends would be too happy if they found out about your little rendezvous, now would they? And with a Hufflepuff too I believe...tut tut..."

"Is that what this is about? You want to blackmail me?" Hermione could almost hear the relief in the girl's voice.

"No..." Hermione answered slowly, pulling the dagger out of its scabbard and starting to lazily clean her nails with the glinting tip of it. "Not quite, no. I wouldn't call it that."

Pansy's eyes widened, but as she was about to turn and run, a hand caught hold of her collar and dragged her back. "Now where do you think you'd be going at this time of night? Surely you wouldn't leave little old me here on my own?" Pansy whimpered, as a small, malicious smile crept onto Hermione's face. "Do stay to keep me company." She whispered into Pansy's ear – who flinched as a cold, pointy something (though she had a fairly good idea of what it was) made contact with her pale, bare neck.

A searing tear ran down Pansy's cheekbone, "Why are you doing this to me? Please..."

A flash of anger rose in Hermione and blazed through her eyes as she tossed the Slythering girl to the floor with a furious force. "Because you're a FUCKING BITCH!" Hermione bellowed, giving the girl, curled into a frightened ball on the ground, a powerful kick. "You and your family and your associates all ruined my fucking, fucked up life! Not only did you rob me of my self-confidence, but of my feelings, my friends, my home, my family - you even robbed me of my BLOODY, FUCKING SANITY!" the Gryffindor screamed at the top of her lungs, jumping up and down – flailing the dagger around dangerously.

"I was a child, Granger!" Pansy cried, standing up whilst clutching her aching side. "You can't punish me now for the mistakes of a child!"

"You want to watch me, Bitch?" Hermione shrieked, rushing towards the other girl, dagger held out in front of her – ready to pierce her icy heart.

Pansy - not exactly willing to die so young - jumped out of the way and managed to kick Hermione in the hollow of her knees. This sent the Gryffindor flying to the floor and the dagger skidded down the hallway and out of reach. Hermione let out a string of colourful curses as she lifted herself off the ground.

She sort of regretted leaving her wand on her bedside table now, as she knew Parkinson wouldn't have one with her either, and she had been planning on making her death as slow, painful and crude as she possibly could – hence the dagger that now lay in the shadows somewhere.

"Bitch!" she spat out a mouthful of blood from a split lip, and started stalking towards Pansy with clenched fists and narrowed eyes. She backed the Slytherin into the stone wall and paused for a moment to grin before punching the girl slap-bang in the face. Pansy's features contorted in pain as the back of her head made a scalp-splitting connection with the wall. As Hermione's curled fist came at her face again for another strike, Pansy managed to duck down just in time and the Gryffindor's hand made contact with a sickening crunch.

Hermione roared in agony and fell to her knees, clutching her shattered hand. After a few moments of relative silence in the corridor, Hermione looked up and glared at the other girl. She slowly picked up her heavy, leather-bound book that happened to be lying on the ground right next to her with her left, un-harmed hand, and rose from the floor. "You really, really should not have done that, Parkinson..."

Pansy tried to swallow her fear as the enraged Gryffindor came closer with every step. But this time, it was too late to duck or dodge - before she knew it, a huge force hit her around the head and she was lying flat on the floor, barely able to cling to consciousness. Feebly she tried to push up off the floor, but her arms trembled and gave out under her.

Hermione turned the girl on the ground over with a shove of her foot. "Time to pay, Bitch."

The crazed Gryffindor then crouched down to the defeated Slytherin, lifted her left hand with the book high, and brought it down on the girls head. A sickening crunch resounded through the deserted hallways, followed by a chocked, blood curdling scream of anguish.

Hermione grabbed a tuft of Pansy's blood-soaked hair and leaned down to whisper in her ear, "Scream as much as you want – nobody will hear you..." She then brought the corner of the book down hard on Pansy's temple. The girl could no longer manage a scream, so she just lay there – broken and battered – whimpering quietly and waiting for death to take her. But her attacker was not finished yet: the book came down once more.

That was all it took.

A manic cackle escaped from somewhere deep within Hermione as she watched her classmate's eyes go glassy in the torchlight. They were staring at her...begging.

Hermione stood up - satisfied with her work - and walked down the corridor towards Gryffindor Tower, wiping away a trickle of blood running from her lip.

As she walked, she opened the blood-stained book in her arms and smirked at the first words on the page:

"She just goes a little mad sometimes. We all go a little mad sometimes. Haven't you?"

AN: The book Psycho is actually a real book written by Robert Bloch. And no, I have not read it. I hate those kind of horror/crime books. They give me the creeps. Sort of ironic that I should end up writing a fic like one, eh? Anyhoo, the quote at the end is from the series (which I haven't watched either), but for all I know it could be in the book too.

Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me. As always. Sigh...

Tell me what you think, or I'll send dear, sweet Hermione after you.