.:Prologue:.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of J.K. Rowling's characters. I do, however, own the ones that I choose to create.

I could feel the thrum of power magic through me, making my flesh tingle. Never mind what I had to do to get this power, I thought grimly.

But... somehow, I had grown immune. I had suffered so many times, why didn't others have to suffer as well? So now, here I was. Hermione, Head Girl of the Slytherins.

Sure, to my naive self of only five years ago, the title might have sounded horrifying. But now... it gave me pleasure. Pain, suffering. They were my drug. My high. Without them I would be nobody, nothing.

It had all happened so long ago...

Memory Flashback

'Perhaps I'll be in Gryffindor. Or Ravenclaw; I do, of course, have the brains,' the young Hermione proclaimed. Her hair was bushy, brown frizz accumulating to accentuate the 'know-it-all' look.

She had seemed so confident, so assured. On the inside she was trembling with fear. Perhaps the most frightened of all the first-years. And that was what scared her the most.

A redhead, by the name of Ronald Weasley, scoffed at her statement. 'Oh yeah? You talk big, but I bet you're just as scared as the rest of us. There's no way you would make it into Gryffindor, much less Ravenclaw. You would be lucky if Hufflepuff even took you, Granger!'

The remark stung, and Hermione was, for once, silent. He was right.

She was saved the humiliation, however, when the Transfiguration Professor silenced them and ushered them into the Great Hall. Hermione, her knees trembling, complied.

She was in line behind the redhead, and ahead of a youth with pale blond hair. She tried to look bored, but only succeeded in giving her eyes a wild glint to them.

'Aarden, Jarred,' the Professor announced, her voice amplified by a spell of some sort. Hermione jumped in surprise. What was going to happen? Her eyes wide, she watched as the first-year approached a stool. Then, the woman professor whispered something in his ear. He nodded nervously, and she moved off to the side, her quill upraised and poised elegantly above her clipboard. Hermione was almost envious- she seemed so calm, so collected.

Jarred lifted an old patched wizard's hat to his head and slipped it on. It was ridiculously big, the brim coming down to about mid-chin. It would have been funny if it had not been for the circumstances she was now in.

Suddenly, a loud voice pierced the air. 'RAVENCLAW!' It must have come from the hat! she realized, her eyes wide.

Still shaking, the boy put the hat back on the stool, and headed toward the now cheering Ravenclaw table. Hermione felt relief wash over her in waves. Good. There wasn't a competition or ordeal. Just a hat. The idea seemed so absurd, she almost laughed. Lucking, it caught in her throat, and she choked slightly. The redhead glared darkly at her, then turned back to face the procession.

Hermione felt anger rise in her, but she quickly squelched it. She would have to deal with this one later.

Hermione waited in line with the rest of them for quite a while. The line was visibly thinning, the majority of the occupants now seated at their team's table. Hermione felt envy course through her, but that evaporated when she heard the next name called.

'Granger, Hermione.'

Swallowing a sudden lump in her throat, Hermione ambled clumsily forward, tripping several times on the hem of her cloak. When she reached the stool, she hesitated. Staring at the hat, she felt disbelief. Shaking her head, she picked up the hat and slipped it over her head.

After all, what could this hat tell her about herself that she didn't already know?

'A lot more than you think...' whispered a gruff voice across her mind. Hermione gasped, clutched instinctively at her head. The hat was talking... in her head!

'Heh heh... Reactive, aye? Perhaps yeh'll do well in...'

'SLYTHERIN!'