I hate writer's block. It's…evil. Evil, I say! Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeevil.

I love stretching words out, don't you?

But, seriously it IS evil. I can only write a REALLY good something, like, once every seven months, and even then it isn't that good. It's depressing when there are all these amazing writers (e.g. Inconnu, Rhiawen, Zimagesto, AllDayIDreamAboutFics, Cyrano de Tucson, etc.) and it's…really, truly depressing. In a good way, though. You'd think it would motivate the lazy writers like me, but, sadly, no, that's not how the world works.

So, here's my newest HP fic.

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Harry Potter. I'm too much on the slow side to own them in anyway. And do not worry, people, I shoot myself down all the time. It kinda rubbed off one of my friends and…it's weird. But that's not part of the disclaimer, so we'll just pretend it's not there 'coz it's too cold in my room to even bother with the back space button right now.

How She Came To Be

Chapter One:
Do it Yourself

The clock of the dusty library chimed midnight as Hermione Granger finished her three feet long essay on the uses of gas-puffing roots. She sighed happily as the last dot of ink glistened in the dim lamplight.

"Miss Granger!"

Hermione groaned inwardly as a lady with a vulture-like façade and a bathrobe came out of the shadows of a row of bookshelves, her mouth twisted in fury. The librarian, Madam Pince, opened her mouth, obviously ready to tell her off, but the eighteen-year-old didn't give her a chance. She whipped out a sheet of parchment and waved it in front of Madam Pince. "I had special permission from Professor McGonagall!"

The librarian took the sheet of paper, studying it closely. She took out her wand and tapped the parchment, but nothing happened. The lady finally pocketed it, her sharp eyes darting from the books in front of the bushy haired girl to the shelves next to her.

"Well, go on, get out of here!" said Madam Pince. "It's past midnight!"

Holding in an exasperated sigh, Hermione slung her bag over one shoulder, grabbed her essay, and trudged out of the room. She looked over her shoulder before leaving and was not surprised to see the librarian bobbing around with the books that she had used, muttering under her breath.

"Probably telling her little books that they are safe," the bushy haired girl grumbled as she shut the door behind her. She stooped over and placed her bag on the cold, stone floor in order to put her rolled up essay in it. "Stupid, obsessive-compulsive librarians," she muttered as she started her march up to the seventh floor. She looked out a window as a fork of lightning split the dark sky in half. "How am I suppose to do my work with her breathing down my neck?"

The last flight of stairs came into view as she started to rant, "I wish there weren't so many stairs! Why couldn't they have some sort of magical escalator or something?"

She rounded a final corner and the portrait of a snoring Fat Lady in her familiar pink dress was before her.

"Glass slippers!" Hermione shouted. The portrait continued to snore. She marched up to the frame of the picture, tipped her head up, and tried again. "GLASS SLIPPERS!" It still didn't respond. "Gla!"

Just then, the portrait jumped forward, knocking the bushy haired girl off her feet. She looked up at the painting and saw that the lady had not broken the smooth rhythm of her snores.

"Hi, Hermione!" greeted a baritone voice.

"Ron?" she said with an air of suspicion as she got to her feet. In the hole hidden behind the portrait stood a tall, lanky red haired young man.

"How's it going?" he asked as he stepped back so she could enter.

"Okay," she muttered as she stepped into the dim common room. "Where's everyone else?"

"They're all in bed," he said without much thought. "Lovely weather, huh?"

She looked out the window. Rain was pouring down by the bucketful.

"All right, what did you do?" she asked in an exasperated tone, turning to face him.

"N-nothing," his voice broke slightly as he took a step away from her.

"Ronald Bilius Weasley!" she accented each name as she stomped toward the noticeably nervous person. "What did you do?"

He squeaked out an inaudible phrase. She got on the tip of her toes and glared into his eyes. He cleared his throat quickly, but the next words were still a few octaves higher than usual, "I accidentally burned your homework," he said in a rush, his nose quivering in fear, for he had good reason to cower under the infamous glare of Hermione Granger. "But it was an accident, honest! I was!"

"You—burned—my—home—work," she repeated jerkily.

"Yeah, but it's a funny story if you think about"

"You were going to copy my homework?"

"Actually, I did copy it. It's just that these second years were…" he faltered as her glare doubled in strength.

"Where is it?" she asked in a deathly whisper.

He pointed at the fireplace, his freckles stood out as the color drained from his face. She looked at the dying embers.

"You stupid, little idiot," she whispered. He took a step away, toward a window. "You little cheating, irresponsible moron," her voice gathered in volume as she turned back to him. "You dimwitted dolt."

Ron gulped as he braced himself for an explosion. This was usually expected from Harry, but Ron usually survived those little tantrums, but this…

"YOU AND YOUR STUPID WAY!" she erupted, bright red spots blinding her sight. "WHY CAN'T YOU DO ANYTHING RIGHT FOR A CHANGE! YOU ALWAYS COPY OFF ME AND I'VE HAD IT! I'VE HAD IT! WHY CAN'T YOU DO IT YOURSELF?" she kicked her foot out, trying to make contact with any part of his body.

"IT'S NOT FAIR! I ALWAYS HAVE TO DO THE WORK WHILE YOU AND HARRY GO OFF AND HAVE ADVENTURES! I HATE YOU!" She kicked again, her shoe flew off and the sound of glass breaking came to her ears.

"I. HATE. YOU!" She screamed as loud as she could. Her leg pivoted forward one last time and something cut through the fabric of her sock and pierced her skin. The pain that registered cleared her vision and there was Ron, a cut across his cheek, the window behind him, broken. The floor was littered with glass. A small crowd of Gryffindors stood off near the dormitories, all donning pajamas and unhinged jaws, shocked at what they just saw.

"What are you looking at?" she snapped as she stomped over to the girls' dormitory. The cluster shrank back from her as she stalked by, like she was radioactive or had a deadly disease of some sort.

When she was in the safety of her room, Hermione quickly undressed and got into her pajamas, wincing as she placed all her weight on her right foot when she was trying to get into her pajama shorts. Her roommates, Pavarti Patil and Lavender Brown, were already asleep as she limped onto her bed. Her foot's pain doubled as she examined it. It was a nasty gash that cut across part of her foot, still gushing with blood. Her head spun slightly as she grabbed a towel to stop the bleeding.

"This is not my day," she muttered as she fell back after securing the towel with a bit of Spellotape. She didn't even bother to get under her sheets as she fell into a deep sleep.

"Get up, sleepy head," said a voice. Hermione cracked an eye open to find two brunette girls giggling at her.

"C'mon, Hermione," said the one with a braid down her back, "Lavender and I are going down to the Great Hall for breakfast."

"And what happened to your foot?" asked Lavender Brown.

"I…stepped on a nail," Hermione answered groggily as she sat up in bed. She looked down and saw a bloodstained towel. "Do either one of you have a Band-Aid?"

"A what?" asked Pavarti.

"Here," Lavender crossed the room to her trunk and took out a first aid kit, "my parents wouldn't let me come here without one."

"Why?" asked Hermione.

"You know I'm a Muggle-born, right?" Hermione nodded before the other girl continued. "My dad's a doctor and he doesn't believe that magic should mix with medicine."

"Yeah, Madam Pomfrey could give him a run for his money," Pavarti giggled as she spoke of the nurse at the Hospital Wing who had cured many ailments that weren't known to the Muggle world.

"Erm, here," Lavender passed the kit to Hermione, eyeing the towel with distaste. "I faint at the sight of blood."

Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes until the two left the room. She quickly busied herself, cleaning up the nasty gash with rubbing alcohol and a cotton ball. After that, she quickly bandaged it up before dressing for the day.

"Did you hear her last night?"

"Yeah, she was yelling at that Ron Weasley person."

"Must be that time of month."

"Yeah," another voice agreed. "Hey, are you going to Hogsmeade today?

Hermione stopped at the door of the bathroom and turned back to her bed. She pursed her lips as she sat on it and hugged her pillow. They didn't know what it's like to be Hermione Granger, she thought bitterly as she stared at her reflection.

Hum, it's nice to write again. Really nice. But I dunno how long this one will last. I know for a fact that there WILL be another chapter, though, so I'll see how well that one'll go.

Okay, farfanugans of all ages, I ask you to review. Is it that hard? Send me some flames! I'm COLD (it's below freezing over here!). Or constructive criticism (my God, I need it!)

Okay, until next time, my little muffins. :Hands out slurpees:

The Insane Chikin Wang.