Not to say she immediately set out on the path of Darkness. She was, after all, only twelve, and she had stories in her books of how Dark Lords began their quests to dominate the world around them. No, she had much to learn and many years of growing to do before she could join those ranks. Still, she was in a place of learning, and walking to the shelves, she began to thumb through the tomes on them, muttering the titles to herself, and stopping when one caught her eye.
The reason was not the title itself, but rather, the language. Many of the books of the Hogwarts library were in modern English, but some, she realized, were written in the old English, or even things like French, Spanish, Latin, and characters she knew only as an eastern tongue, and not the specific one. Those tomes might hold great knowledge, and thus the key to her success in reshaping the world to what it ought to be.
Stymied, the young lady started to twist her finger in her hair, knotting the frizzy strand a bit, as she thought of what to do, and finally, she went to the librarian. Irma Pince, a woman of middling years, as wizard's counted them, was shocked that a student came to her with a request for knowledge simply for its own sake. So many might come with the desire to learn for a test, though more often than not she only spoke to students to keep them from disrupting the sacred silence of her stacks, or the chaotic order of her beloved books.
Hearing one wanting to learn, and learn something to help with future learning? It was a joy for the woman, especially from one so young, and so she spent most of the morning helping her find a spell for translations, as she knew such magic was 'beneath' the eye of most practitioners of the craft. Still, finding the book, she helped the young lady with the wand motions, and even phonetics of the incantation, overjoyed for Hermione when she got it to work, Latin words on a page put into her mind in English.
The pair parted, Irma reminded of one of the few joys this career of hers offered while 'on the job', and Hermione seeing a path to power far quicker than what she had expected. Her expectation for a translation spell was that it would make the words appear to her as her native tongue, but this spell? It was far, far more than that. A tap of the wand and a word, and it brought all of the information into her mind, and a quick test showed it worked with any written material, even those she didn't know the language of, or was so smudged and lacking that she couldn't understand it with her eyes.
Excitedly, she sought out another book, this one on her own as she recalled it from her first time looking through the library in her first week. It was an advanced tome, to be sure, but only fourth-year, so she felt she would easily be able to master the secrets within. It took her the rest of the day, and she missed lunch in the Great Hall as she hefted up her prize, and quickly reading through it, as she read faster than a page every half minute, which was slightly faster than the spell, she gained knowledge.
This was the crafting and modification of spells. Breaking down the components, and seeing what was needed, and what wasn't, as well as what motions and sounds did what. It was a heavy book, but with it and the one she'd learned, the translation one, for reference, she felt confident, and went to bed that night, having eaten not a crumb and drunk not a drop that day, but her mind so full that her body didn't seem to care.
The next day was a Thursday, and as such, classes were set to resume, so Hermione went to them, eating only a little at meals, and heading to the library at every free moment. The same on Friday, making others look after her in curiosity…but not enough to investigate, as her books stayed on the table until the middle of the third day, Saturday, and she finally placed them back on the shelf, smiling to herself.
She had done it. A spell modified. The first she would ever do, and many would later be surprised by that it wasn't a pain spell designed to torment an enemy, or something to incapacitate her foes in a fight. No, it was a spell for knowledge, and giddy with excitement, Hermione cast it. The flick of the wrist was replaced with a twist, emphasis on the third syllable of the words, not the fifth, and finally, she tapped the tip of her wand on the book of spell modification, and felt the knowledge enter her.
The feeling of it was…beyond description to her. The words of the book printed themselves into her memory, and more. The intent behind them was carried with them, and she suddenly understood more than what she had from simply reading it. Another cast, and she tapped the book with spells involving languages, and knew all that was contained in its pages, leaving her light headed as she tapped the next.
A diary this time, of an American witch brought to England during the Second World War. She had been an agent of government, sent to offer what aid she could, and had written of her experiences. Spells, formulas, even perhaps a memory or two entered Hermione's mind, and she tapped the next on the shelf, this time a dry treatise on hexes and their uses. The next much the same, but for charms this time. Then another…and she knew no more.
She would awaken in the mid afternoon, having Madam Pomfrey worry over her, as she had been found passed out in the library. Obviously, she questioned the girl, asking what she'd eaten, drunk, and what spells she'd cast, and after hearing it all, she concluded that Hermione had simply exhausted herself, eating so little, and insisted on some creature she called a house elf, a large eyed pointy eared thing, to bring her some food from the kitchens.
Hermione knew better, of course, but chose not to enlighten the nurse of her real condition. The spell, it…did something to make room in her mind for all those words, and trying to take too much in, it had forced her to shut down. So five a day was her limit then? Or was it five an hour? No, she knew it to be the day, her head throbbed, and even as she ate from the plate, complimenting the cook, and getting a giddy laugh from the creature, she was already thinking.
Five a day was not really all that much. More than she could read, but still, less than tenth of what an average shelf contained, and the Hogwarts library had shelves for days. She would be at this for a while if she had to only use the spell on five a day. Perhaps, as she read, she'd come up with a way to make it work better? She wasn't sure, but when she went down to bed that night, her mind was still going over all that she now knew, and she smiled despite herself. She was on the path to greatness.
Sunday saw her ask Ms. Pince to leave the shelf she had been using to her, as she was learning, and needed to know what it was she had read so far. Irma, thrilled, did so, tapping her wand on it, and telling the young Ms. Granger how proud she was of her, before she returned to her duties, allowing Hermione to smile as, this time, she carefully selected the five books she would 'read' this day.
She had so many options before her, so many things she wanted to know about, but she decided to test herself a bit. Looking at her schedule, she had Potions the next day. The only class where she regularly did not make an O, and the first since Halloween's incident. She quickly gathered five books on potions, not the ones for the classes, but three diaries of master potioneers from ages past, and two books on efficient potion making, that she took into herself.
Strangely, she found the knowledge easier to 'digest' today. Her mind instantly just knew all that was contained within, and her head felt less full, almost making her seek out a sixth book. But no, she would not risk another visit to the infirmary so soon. Too many questions would be raised, and she would not like the adults finding those answers. Not yet at least. She would shout them at the fools in time, when she began to teach them what it was to have a just world.
So she spent the rest of Sunday reading the old fashioned way, finding 'Her' shelf empty, save the five books already there, and she placed the five new ones there as well. Over the day, she even added one small journal to it, nothing huge, only two hundred pages of large scripted rambling on some esoteric spell crafting, so she could try and improve her reading spell. She saw a few ways it might work, but needed to run the maths on some of the pieces to be sure.
Monday morning rolled around, and Hermione Granger had a grin on her face that kept the other girls in her dorm on edge. They would, when asked about it years later, say it was a dark sort of smile. The kind a wolf might have before it pounced on an unsuspecting hare. It sent shivers down their spine, and made them almost able to ignore the musty smells and dank atmosphere of the dungeons as they took their potions class with the Slytherins.
That class seemed normal at first. Snape, antagonistic as ever towards the Gryffindors, did his best to make them feel stupid. Today, however, it was different. Hermione, always the one to raise her hand and answer questions, did not. No, she sat in her seat, smiling at him, in a way that, to the girls of her dorm, was unknown, but Snape recognized the gleam in her eye, and knew there was a plan, and that it was directed at him.
To sabotage it, he made them divide into pairs, one to work the cauldron, one to prepare the ingredients, and stuck her with Neville Longbottom. The boy was…not quite proficient with his potion making as he might be. In no small part due to Snape's own dislike for him and his family. He knew the boy's own bungling nature would keep her in check. Perhaps even give her her first T in his class if he was exceptionally lucky.
Imagine then, the surprise on Snape's face, and the rest of the class when the potion, a simple Brew of Boil Removal, was finished in less than a quarter of the time expected. Better, it looked Outstanding, a perfectly made batch, which caused Snape to fume, saying that obviously Granger had cheated somehow, and had her make it again…no, a better idea, she would instruct Neville on how to do it, and he would watch the results.
Again, a shock, when she pointed out that would make her the teacher of a practical, and if she was doing that for Neville, being his tutor, she asked for permission to do it with all the Gryffindors. Her grade for the morning could come from all their cauldrons aggregated. That left Snape speechless for a moment, but then he grinned back at her, saying that, if she were so confident as that, who was he to say no? With a flick of his wrist, he vanished the contents of all the cauldrons in the room.
He announced to the class that he would accept Ms. Granger's terms, and to ensure a baseline, he would give personal guidance to each of the Slytherin students. It would give her something to 'measure' herself against. His tone implying very much that she would not, in fact, measure up to his skill. The terms set, the two went to work guiding their charges, the Snakes for him, the Lions for her, in their efforts.
And yet, the potion master was shocked when, less than half the time it should have taken, each of the Gryffindors stepped away from their cauldrons, and within each and every pot was brewed the perfect potion. The Potion Master of Hogwarts, in his many years, had not been struck so speechless by the efforts of a first year, especially one who, even a week ago, had only been average in his eyes.
Quickly he wrapped up the Slytherin's attempts, and while some, like Malfoy, heeded his instructions like the gospel of some dark god, there were a few who erred. Cutting the roots too thin, stirring at twice the rate they should. By the time it was ended, the potion bottles from the Gryffindors sitting on his desk almost shone with their perfection, while the Slytherin's efforts paled in comparison.
Declaring, to the shock of all in the room, that he would admit she had bested him, Snape urged her to not get too full of herself. But he had lost this bet, and quickly affirmed an O grade for her…and 1 point for her house, which nearly floored everyone in the room such that he had to shout at them to leave him be, as he waved his hands, and slammed shut the door behind them.
In the hall, as the Slytherins slunk away, the Gryffindors nearly piled around her, heaping some praise onto her, but she waved it away, saying she'd been preparing for a showdown with him since Halloween, and she would be magnanimous in her victory, as she strode away, an almost skip in her step, leaving her housemates to watch her go in awe, the story already spreading of this first year that had one upped the worst professor in the school.