A/n-

Hey! I don't own Harry Potter, which belongs to J.K. Rowling, OR "Iron Man", which is a song by Black Sabbath. Just so you know. Also, this is an Alternate Universe, where Hermione was never almost killed by a troll, and thus not Harry and Ron's friend. As a result, Quirrel is still alive, and never got to the Sorcerer's Stone…

Every moment in the song where it says 'he' will be for 'she' in the story.

They'll Be Sorry

Deystar

♦ Has he lost his mind?

Can he see or is he blind?

Can he walk at all?

Or if he moves will he fall?

Is he live or dead?

Has he thoughts within his head?

We'll just pass him there

Why should we even care? ♦

Hermione Granger walked through the halls of Hogwarts in her fifth year, by herself, as always. Her books tight against her chest, she walked through crowds, which she knew would instantly part as though she wasn't there. She got a few glances from the people around, but they didn't do anything. She was just that little perfect girl. The bookworm.

A fragile hand grasped the books in a new position as she tossed her hair back, out of her brown eyes. She looked around once she reached her floor, and walked into the Transfiguration Room, early as ever. She gracefully slid into the chair she always took, and opened her textbook to start some pleasure reading before class.

Students filed in around her, and without looking up Hermione knew they were avoiding the fact that one of them would have to sit next to her. She heard a groan as the last people entered—and felt like groaning herself as her classmate Ronald Weasley sat down next to her. Determined not to be distracted from her class work, Hermione just looked up at the board, and made great attempts to write notes without ever looking to her left.

She could hear Ron and Harry talking. "I can't believe I got stuck next to her."

They thought she wasn't listening, didn't they? "It's not that bad, Ron."

"I can't stand her, Harry."

"She might hear you, Ron."

"Why should I care if she does? She knows how much I hate her." Although he denied it, his voice was uneasy, as if he didn't expect her to hear.

Not as much as I hate you.

♦ He has turned to steel

In the great magnetic field

Where he traveled time

For the future of mankind ♦

Hermione stood as soon as the bell rang, not wanting to spend an extra second with anyone, much less him. Ron made a show of sighing in relief, and the other boys laughed.

"Can't believe I survived the class." He said in a mock-tired voice. Some of the girls laughed, too. "Lucky the know-it-all decided not to lecture me."

Hermione stormed out of the room.

About an hour after classes was when she was in the library with the first years. She gently was lecturing some of them about a problem in potions that none of them got.

"And this is?"

"Wormwood." A little Gryffindor named Mark said, and the others hastily agreed. Hermione nodded.

"Right. You see, if you add that and this together," she demonstrated in the mini cauldron, "then you get...?"

"A sleeping potion?" Kimmy, a little Hufflepuff girl, asked.

"Right. Ok, everyone, I've got to go do my homework now."

There were a few groans as she got up. "I'll be back later."

As she left, she heard the all too familiar whispers. "Wow. She's smart."

"Yeah, it's kinda creepy. Hope I'm not like that later."

Hermione could've cried as she left for her dormitory. She'd just saved those kids' potions grade, and in return they insulted her. Just like everyone else.

♦ Nobody wants him

He just stares at the world

Planning his vengeance

That he will soon unfold ♦

As she walked into the Gryffindor Common room, she saw everyone, in groups, studying or playing games like Wizard's Chess and Exploding Snap. She walked through cautiously, making sure not to step on hands or toes on the floor. She looked around at everyone, wishing with all her heart someone would invite her to play.

Wherever she went, it was always the same. People would pull their books closer, or squeeze in closer to the game board, always looking up at her with an expression of annoyance. They hated her. Why would they let the likes of her play their games, read their books? She'd probably read them all anyway.

Hermione knew it would be like this. It always was. She pulled her books closer to her, and didn't even bother to look at Ron and Harry as she passed their Wizard's Chess game. They were the worst, Ron more than Harry. They'd just shun her, too.

Hermione walked into the fifth year girl's dormitory, which was empty. She flung down onto her bed, and, instead of doing her homework, started to cry softly.

They'll be sorry, Hermione knew. They'd be sorry they never cared about her.

♦ Now the time is here

For iron man to spread his fear

Vengeance from the grave

Kills the people he once saved ♦

As she was walking through the crowd after one particularly nasty day, she felt a hand on her shoulder. Surprised, she turned to see none other than Professor Quirrel standing behind her, a fatherly, if nervous, look on his face.

"Pr...Professor?" Hermione asked, wiping her tear-stained eyes on her arm. He

gently turned her to face him.

"Miss Granger... c-can I see you in m-my office?" he asked, stuttering yet not as much as usual. Hermione nodded; since when did she deny a teacher, even if she was full of hatred for her fellow students?

A few moments later, Quirrel had her sit down in a chair in his office.

"Hermione... I saw what happened in the halls."

Hermione hoped her surprise didn't show on her face. Professor Quirrel didn't stutter once!

Quirrel ignored her silent awe. "You're really hated among the students, aren't you?"

Hermione blushed, and murmured, "Yeah."

Quirrel walked up next to her, and knelt. "It's not fair, is it? You're smart, and you help them, and they throw it strait back in your face. They hate you for caring about them. They're horrid, aren't they?"

Hermione nodded.

"Well..." Quirrel said, getting up and fingering his turban. "I know just how you can make them pay..."

After first seeing what was behind the turban, Hermione returned to the Defense Against the Dark Arts office every afternoon.

♦ Nobody wants him

They just turn their heads

Nobody helps him

Now he has his revenge ♦

After a few months of training, it was around mid March. Quirrel had removed the turban long ago, and he surveyed his young charge, eyes flashing with satisfaction.

"Well done, girl." He said, voice still enough to raise the hair on the back of the fifth year's neck. "You've evolved much since we first met. I'm proud of you."

Hermione doubted very much that her teacher could be proud of anyone. However, she no longer cared. She couldn't care.

Nobody cared about her. Her own housemates would gladly throw her out the astrology tower, if they thought they wouldn't get caught. They'd all turned away from her, even if all she ever wanted was to help them.

Nobody helped her, either. Whenever she was picked on, she was picked on by everyone. If someone, anyone, had helped her, perhaps she wouldn't be what she was today.

But it was too late now. She'd learned enough, right?

He smiled at her. "You're perfect, young one. I've taught you all I can. You can turn hatred to energy. That's the most important lesson. Perhaps you believe yourself ready?"

Hermione, instead of talking, gave a simple nod. He laughed.

"Then, Quirrel, you will distract the teachers and Headmaster with news of my whereabouts. Everyone knows Dumbledore will allow the meeting. This will give our young charge... a little less trouble, shall we say?"

He smiled as he looked at the girl that had so long ago been the best student at Hogwarts.

Now sixteen and no longer a child, Hermione was turning from a young girl into a young woman. Her body, however, remained very fit and a tad muscled from training. Her brown mass of bushy hair was tamed back into a ponytail, out of her face. Her skin was shallow and pale from almost no exposure to the sun. Her wand was held on her hand like her only lifeline.

But the main change was in Hermione's eyes.

Instead of the calm, understanding, somewhat troubled amber gaze of earlier years, her eyes were an iron-brown. No emotion whatsoever could be detected from the cold, unfeeling gaze, and it was a wonder those eyes had ever held the happiness of her first chapter book, the sadness of being left friendless, or the love of her parents.

Her eyes, like her spirit, had died long ago. Now, she was ready. Now, she'd have her revenge.

♦ Heavy boots of lead

Fills his victims full of dread

Running as fast as they can

Iron Man lives again! ♦

Everyone was in a great fuss as the Great Hall was emptied of all teachers. Dinner was being served normally, and every student was there... except for one certain Gryffindor...

"Hey, where's the bookworm?" Ron asked, looking around. "Dumbledore told us all to remain in here."

"Never came to dinner." Lavender said from across the table. "She said she was busy."

Harry frowned. Somehow, something didn't seem right.

Cold eyes looked through the windows into the Great Hall, and rested on a certain redheaded boy. He'd be the first...

Ron shrugged to Harry. "You all right, mate?" He asked, frowning. "You look—"

No one ever found out how he looked. A large flash of green light came from behind them as a feminine voice whispered, "Avada Kedavera."

As screams echoed through the hall, no one could forget the sight of the sad little girl that had turned into a monster before their eyes. Not a look of remorse or regret crossed her face as Hermione Granger stood among her fellow students.

She'd made a vow that they'd regret it. Now, no one would speak her name, like her great teacher before her.