June 14th, 1943
"Miss Granger!"
Hermione ignored him and fled Dumbledore's office, heading to the second floor girl's bathroom. She knew Dumbledore wouldn't follow her.
Coward.
Coward.
She whispered the password that led to the stairwell door into the chamber and ran down the stairs. She was shaking in anger, stumbling along the ancient stone as her vision blurred with furious tears burning down her cheeks. She reached the bottom and headed into the main chamber and just…
Collapsed onto the floor, ignoring the wetness. Unable to hold it in anymore, she did what she wish she had been able to do in Dumbledore's office.
She screamed. Pure rage, grabbing her hair and nails drawing blood from her hands fury, the sort of rage that led to murder, to torture, to crimes of passion, a vision of Madea made modern. She raged on that damp floor, the basilisk coming over 'are you hurt?' that she ignored as she cried choking, breathless tears.
Finally, with still trembling hands, she reached into the bag she'd dropped heavily into the puddle beside her. "Bloody fucking hell," she swore, having trouble getting the buckles open, her accent returning to the common lower class one of her birthplace.
Finally, she got it open and immediately reached for her journal. She paused in reaching for a quill and dug into the bottom of her bag a pen she secretly kept in the bottom of her bag.
Her hands were a mess and she'd get ink all over the page and the tears and snot would smear her words-
Dear Diary,
I hate Albus Dumbledore.
It sounds so small an insignificant to write it. The are no capitalizations, not enough words, not enough exclamation points, and not enough underlines to emphasize just how much I hate our saintly bloody deputy headmaster.
The basilisk killed Myrtle yesterday. It wasn't intentional. I had checked but had not realized she was in one of the stalls. She opened the door and looked directly into Basil's eyes.
But that's not the point. She had wanted to eat her and take the body-it's how they hunt, after all-but I did not want that. It was not only a good warning to the Slytherins who didn't believe I was the Heir of Slytherin but also the body should go to her parents. If I could find out where my mother was buried I'd want to know.
THEY'RE CLOSING THE SCHOOL. I went and begged Dippett, which was as useless as trying to convince a brick wall.
I'll transcribe it here for memory's sake and to be able to return to as it was so significant. I want to be able to come back to this memory when I make this diary a penseive:
I went into Dumbledore's office in the hopes of convincing him to not close the school.
"Miss Granger," he said, genial as if the school wasn't collapsing around him.
"Professor," I told him. "We can't close Hogwarts. There are students who need to be here."
The man had the gall to look sympathetic, as if the bastard even understood. "I understand you don't want to return to the orphanage-"
"The Germans have been attacking London the whole war! Who is to say I won't die in an explosion. What about the Muggleborns at risk?" I asked, probably losing my cool far too quickly than was intended. I just could not stand him acting like he understood anything about the horror of my situation at Wool's.
He paused. "Miss Granger, I understand your concerns but Hogwarts must close. Miss Warren is dead and we cannot have another student die-the next could be you, considering your-"
"I'm not a Muggleborn," I said flatly. "But that's beside the point. What about the students at risk?"
"There's nothing I can do," he said. "Miss Granger, I have faith in your ingenuity and resourcefulness to make it through this war as we all are."
I stared at him as he smiled at me, as if he had said something wise rather than just completely dismissed my fears and concerns. I couldn't stop shaking. I tried holding onto my bag to hide it but it eventually became so obvious I couldn't hide it.
"You're a coward," I whispered. It was so quiet Dumbledore looked like he might not have heard it, but I knew he did. Nothing went by that man.
"I beg your pardon?" he asked, genial as always as if I hadn't insulted him.
"You. Are. A. Bloody. Coward," I said. I couldn't hold onto the mask I wore that hid just how angry I constantly was-angry at not knowing my abilities until eleven, anger at my living circumstances, anger at being hated and feared for things out of my control, anger at the Slytherin prejudice I had to end by eventually returning their abuse back in spades. "You're one of the most connected and powerful men that's not in the minister's Cabinet and Grindelwald fears you-but you hide here, away, and even when students in the most desperate of situations you dismiss us."
"Miss Granger-"
At first it was unintentional, rage I could not hide and spilled out of my mouth like a broken dam. But this? This I found out from my classmates and loved being able to use against him in this moment. If I ruin everything, I ought to do it well.
I smiled, a bitter, broken thing, ready for the comment to hurt. I was so thrilled let my anger out at this man. "No wonder your sister is dead. You don't help anyone."
His face went from pale, to white, to ashen. "Miss Granger, I'm not abandoning you."
"Aren't you? Won't my ingenuity save me?" I asked. "Won't the magic I cannot use save the dirty orphan mudblood? The friendless student who tried so hard to impress her professors to have a safety net and realize, well, they don't care. And it makes sense. You saw my circumstances and how much Mrs. Cole hated me and you pitied me but did nothing for me being vilified for my magic."
It is something to make Dumbledore speechless. But the more I had talked the angrier I got. The Windows shook, his books fell off the shelves onto the floor, and Fawkes squawked a warning at the rising magic.
"Miss Granger, please, calm down, we will figure out something-"
I completely lost it then. I took out my wand and pointed it at Dumbledore. He stopped-he didn't reach for his or say anything, or even look angry. He just still looked like I had slapped him, that sort of surprised painful shock, stock still staring at it.
Realizing what I was doing, I pointed it at a vase on a shelf. It blew into millions of tiny pieces, and it was like time slowed, those small shards glittering in the afternoon light spreading around the room. That's when he took out his wand-he did not point it at me but repaired the vase.
It returned to it's beautiful, expensive self and I couldn't stand that he had ruined my destruction. And, either in cowardice or instinct, I just fled, unable to handle it anymore.
Hermione sobbed, putting her pen down and clutching the journal. "What if I'm expelled?" she asked no one, rocking back and forth. "I can't go back there. I cannot just be a Muggle, a useless housewife to some blue collar drunk or working in a factory until my hands bleed."
Rock forward. "I can't go back."
Father, there's something wrong with her, it's like the devil has done something to the girl-
Rock back. "I can't go back."
The priest yelled out in his exorcism, "...Against the rulers of this world of darkness... Against the spirits of wickedness in the high place-"
Rock forward. "I can't go back," she breathed.
She put on the gas mask and went out with the other orphans to the safe place. But what if this dirty cellar didn't hold? What if they were bombed directly? Could they survive that? What happened if the orphanage was hit? Sitting in the hot dark for hours…
She gasped for a few more moments, trying to hold back her panic. She had done everything right-she had made sure meticulously that the basilisk never killed anyone but also that no one ever saw her. She even "found" the first victim to make sure that petrification wouldn't hurt them. She'd never intended to kill Myrtle Warren, the stupid bitch.
She would never last two more years in Slytherin if she didn't do something to prove she wasn't a Mudblood. She'd been cursed, pushed, shoved down stairs, attacked in her bed at night, had her food poisoned...she knew talking about it to teachers just made it worse so eventually she just began retaliating in kind carefully away from professors.
She pulled out her diary again and began hurriedly writing.
Love and kindness aren't real or are superficial. It's one thing to be decent in polite society but people in private are monsters. They only understand pain and control.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She then took her wand and sliced open her arm before taking her quill.
I put this in blood to make it known I am committed to this. I am committed to creating a better world-one where Muggles don't control and abuse magical people and one where rich magical people don't rule the world. I will become the Minister and create something better.
Better to rule in Hell than serve in Heaven, as they say. I will do what I have to in order to create the world I imagine.
June 15, 1943
Hermione Granger successfully reported Aragog to Headmaster Dippett. Rubeus Hagrid was expelled from Hogwarts.
Professor Dumbledore tried to talk to her, and she overtly turned and walked off, ignoring threats of punishment.
She began to petition to no longer take Transfiguration by extension of taking the NEWT level Transfiguration exam early. She proved to Dippet by demonstrating her skills to him.
Later in 1943
Dumbledore, looking grim with bags under his eyes, relented to her request with no protest. He tried to speak with her after but she literally fled down the hallway.
She was tested with the seventh year students and passed with an Outstanding, the third highest score of the year. Hermione never returned to Transfiguration.