A/N: Special thanks to Wren Craven, my best friend, who gave me the idea for the story and half the lines in it. Check out her story 'Guilty Innocent Pleasures' after you've reviewed me! Because you will review, of course. Right? OO

If I Met You In A Scissor Fight

"Hmm… Mascara or kohl?"

Holding up the separate tubes, Lavender debated on the use of each, before settling on both. Spreading a thin layer of rouge on her lips, curling her eyelashes, and giving her hair a final inspection, she twisted the lid of the mascara off and carefully began to apply it with practiced strokes. She'd barely finished the one eye before something hard slammed into her back, knocking her forward so that she cracked her head against the mirror and promptly ruining her makeup.

"What the-" She twirled around and looked down at the linoleum floor – pink pages torn, lock broken and cover shredded, her diary lay at her feet. Raising her astonished gaze, she barely had time to register the angry red face of Hermione Granger before she was slammed into the mirror once more.

"You've been fucking him, haven't you!" Hermione screeched, her brown eyes dark with anger and body positively shaking with rage. It was a statement, and not a question. The other girl stared back at her.

"Who?"

"Professor Snape. Ron, of course!" Her arms snapped out yet again with impressive force, grasping Lavender by the shoulders and drawing her close so that their bodies nearly touched. "My boyfriend, you bloody whore!" she hissed, voice laced with a menace that sent chills down Lavender's spine, and she shuddered.

"I don't know what the hell you're talking about." Unlike her name, Lavender's blue eyes were cold, not yet registering the danger she was in as the muggleborn's hand crept up her head.

"Oh, I think you do." Hermione's voice was a growl as her fingers twined in the blonde's silky hair and, making a fist, she pulled down sharply, eliciting a cry from her opponent. "I think you very well do know, Miss Brown." With her free hand, she flipped down the other girl's collar – revealing a cleverly covered (with makeup, of course) red love mark. "You pensive bitch."

Lavender allowed a single tear to escape before she wrenched herself out of Hermione's hold and stumbled to the other side of the girl's bathroom. From all appearances it seemed the girl had been punched, not shoved – black makeup smeared her eye and dried slowly on her skin. Her perfect braid was ruined and, running a hand over it, her hand came up wanting as it met empty space. She glared at Hermione, who held the large ornamental butterfly that Parvati had given her as a birthday present. "Give it back," she said tightly.

Dangling the creation precariously, holding it between two fingertips, Hermione grinned nastily, lifting her foot. "A shame you can't give your virginity back," she taunted – and let go. The ornament fell to the floor, and as it hit, she brought her heel down.

Crunch.

"Why you- you…!"

"Vengeful heinous bitch?" Hermione supplied helpfully, leering. She drew her hand from behind her back and raised it. Lavender's horrified eyes caught the glint of metal, and transferred the object of their horror to the pair of flashing scissors looming ominously above her.

"I can't believe you'd… you'd… "

"That fucking butterfly is nothing compared to what you took from me!" Hermione screamed, a glint of insanity in her dark eyes as she stalked the other girl. She jabbed out with the scissors and, with Lavender unprepared for the attack – or unwilling to admit that it might actually occur – the blades sank inch-deep into unprotected flesh just above her collar bone.

With the other girl's hand rushing out to smother her scream, Lavender replaced a cry of pain with biting on her lip as agony swept over her; before her teeth found another target. Swearing, Hermione withdrew her hand and tore the scissors away. "Fetid wench!" she cried, slapping her hard across the face with the flat side of the blades. A thin red line appeared swiftly on the girl's cheekbone, blood trickling down her skin and mixing with rouge and face paints.

As the faint trail of blood left it's weak mark on Lavender's pale cheek, the rage swelled in Hermione, visible in the uncontrollable shaking of her hand as she raised the scissors again. Lavender cringed, and found herself slammed into the closest shower stall, her quivering head slamming against the cold tiles of the wall. Water drizzled from the nozzle above.

"Now Little Miss Happy-Go-Slutty can go visit her fantasies," Hermione whispered, brown eyes boring into Lavender's blue ones, wide with terror, "in Hell." Up come the scissors-

"You're just a mudblood, Granger," Her voice was shaking and thin but she forced the words out. "Just a fucking mudblood-"

-and down came the blades, flashing angrily as they plunged through fabric into muscle and flesh, a thudding sound of each stabbing impact hidden underneath high-pitched screams. Again and again and again, fueled by jealousy and rage and a thirst for vengeance deepening with every fatal thrust of the blade.

Hermione stiffened and stood up slowly, daintily wiping flecks of blood from her face, only to realize that she'd smeared more of the crimson liquid onto her skin than there was before – her hands dripped with the blood of her – sadly – deceased housemate.

"Bet you didn't see that one coming in your crystal ball," she sneered down at the cooling corpse. Then she bit her lip; a body with obvious signs of murder found in the Gryffindor girls' bathrooms would be a little difficult to explain. Hauling the body into her arms – much weaker without her bout of rage, she realized exactly how much heavier people were as deadweights (she smirked as she thought the term) – Hermione half-carried, half-dragged it into the dorm room. Stopping in the doorway, she cast her gaze over the contents of the room. A smile spread across her face.

Plunking herself down in the stiff's area of the room, she carefully opened the lid of the bedside trunk and began methodically removing its contents. When the bottom of the – she shuddered – pink trunk was laid bare, Hermione heaved with a rather lack of grace, the body into it, tucking limbs as close together as possible.

"It would be so much easier without that bothersome blonde head in the way," she mused aloud, fingering her scissors lovingly. There was a spot of freshly dried blood on the blade, and she scowled, licking her finger and wiping it away; she needed no reminders of that bitch's poison.

Carefully she began to replace clothes, spellbooks, quills and parchment, and that which no longer fit – just about everything, it seemed – was arranged on the bed; alphabetically in the case of texts and according to size in the case of objects. Then she closed the lid.

Laying her blood-speckled cheek against the smooth wood of the trunk, Hermione pressed her lips to it briefly, and began to whisper.

"Now I've won. He's mine, and before long, he too will forget you ever lived."