A/N: My dog (Mister Optimus Prime Choa) ate my chapstick and threw up on my bed just now. It's frothy. I'm going to explain why I write all this pointless crap that I doubt anyone reads. I always find that in author's notes, you learn to connect to the writer more. Personally, it helps remind me that there's someone putting in sheer effort (to the point of pathetic obsession) to crank out entertainment, and a spectacular form of escapism, for ME. It makes my toes curl- I feel so special. Snort. Seriously though, I just want you guys to know that I enjoy feedback and I aim to better my writing with opinions and suggestions. I'm also willing to make shout outs or if you want a special word thrown into the chapter etc. Anyyyyways, I've got to hurry. I made a 25 (yes, out of 100) on a math quiz (and that was my teacher being generous) and the test for it is tomorrow. Hurray for failure! Fact: I bought a batch of cookie dough from my neighbor (with a mentally handicapped son) for twenty bloody dollars when I could have gone to Walmart and paid three. I better go to heaven.

The Battle of Olpae is real. Who can guess what war it was in? Google is for cheaters.

Hermione had walked inside to find the room changed. It was no longer the dark lair she'd woke up in, but a spacious lackluster room with two large doors on either side. She saw that there were little wads of paper littering the cement floor. Tom brushed past her making the hairs on her neck stand.

He swore in a hiss, cursing Dumbledore's existence, before bending to pick up a ball of parchment. She could make out the curvature of his backbone as his robes tightened when he bent. Huh, the Dark Lord had a spine after all- and here she was, thinking he hid behind his Death Eater lackeys. She mentally snickered. With a flick of his wand, it turned stretched and bubbled, transforming into a couch.

Oh. Hermione wanted to smack herself. Of course! Dumbledore must have left the décor up to them, with a witty twist in his specialty. She smiled; despite being stuck with an extremist murderer, despite being before her time, he could always make her feel at ease. She trailed past Tom again, enjoying brushing him aside, to stand in the middle of the room. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. She wanted to give him a little preview-hook him.

Exhale. It hurt her chest to expel that much air. Inhale. She felt it, the brief tingle of energy. She exhaled; rid herself of everything around her. It was just Hermione Granger and her magical spirit. The tingle bubbled in her belly as she continued to breathe softly. It swelled and hummed. Her eyelids slid open the slightest. She could see the blur of Tom Riddle, watching her from across the room. She could see white blobs swaying in the air, pulsating to her magical heartbeat. The tingling felt like an uncomfortable pressure now. It was like something was sitting on every inch of her skin, heaviness.

Her eyes shot open as the parchment wads pitched in all directions. Tom Riddle ducked for cover behind his transfigured couch. Hermione wanted to laugh at the sheer outrage and shock on his face, but remained in a trance. It felt like her body weighed a ton. The magic seeped from her, escaping into the scattered scraps, as she redirected her essence. Her body felt tingly-no, she was trembling.

Hermione grit her teeth and casually walked to the door furthest from where Tom was. Well, as casual one can get, knowing they've drained themselves to the point of suicidal. And whatever for? Hermione was ashamed to admit it, but she wanted to show off, to put that megalomaniac in his place.

When she glanced back, Tom was looking around at the room in disgust mingled with a smidgen of awe. The room was furnished with gothic forms of heavy proportions, dark finish, elaborately detailed carvings. There was a large Victorian chandelier with golden nymph goddesses dancing around each flame and rich green velvet tapestries covering the stone walls of historical wonders from the Battle of Olpae to the Goblin Wars. All-in-all, Hermione deserved a pat on the back. She pressed her hand against the door and her handprint started to glow. Hermione let out an audible sigh of relief. At least she'd be able to sleep at night now that her ward recognized its owner. She slipped into the room once the door cracked.

Another quick glance back showed Tom Riddle snapping his wand in anger. Hermione Granger, Selwyn now, had just transfigured an entire room and created arithmantic wards that could cage hell if she wanted….

Wandlessly and Nonverbally.