There would be books written some day. Whole shelves of them in fact, on the moment her Darkness took hold. Many would claim it was years later, when she faced down the hordes of those who dared stand against her, and laughed in their faces. Some claimed it was when the last Dark Lord fell, and she herself took up sole custody of the title. Many would claim it was an event in her final days at school.
None would believe, of course, the truth. After all, that was often stranger than fiction, as many an author was want to say. In fact, her moment, the very instant she began to want the Dark for company was on Halloween night. The year was Nineteen-Ninety-One by the calendar, and it was a night momentous for some only as the twelfth anniversary of the First Fall of the Dark Lord Voldemort, and the end of the Blood War.
For Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, it was the day a troll was loosed on them, and panicked teachers, staff, and students in the school were sent about like chickens with their heads cut off. The Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, attempted to direct the chaos, but a school, even a small one like his, was prone to disorder. So is it any wonder that in all the hustle, bustle, and perhaps a few intrigues, that a single name was left off the teachers' minds, one not seen in the Great Hall, or noted to be missing even when her dormmates made it to safety?
In another place, in another life, a pair of boys would perhaps find her. Maybe, with luck on their side, they might even save her, and a friendship would form, one that would see them through all the worst the world could throw at it. But this was not that place, that life. Instead, the boys, as frightened as one might expect, pushed out of their heads that fate of one young lady, as the youngest of the Weasley boys assured his friend that the Teachers had to know what was happening, and wouldn't have missed her. They were too good for that.
And so, in a girl's bathroom on a floor of Hogwarts, a young girl, twelve years of age only recently, was just finishing crying, sniffling back her tears of sadness, to be replaced by ones of fear…
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Hermione Granger sniffled, sucking in the snot that plugged her nose so fiercely, trying to catch her breath. She had known…had known that no one loved her but her parents. Had known that since the beginning of primary school. She was different, she was…smarter than them, honestly. When other kids played on the grounds, when they swung bits of wood, or tumbled on the grass, she sat to the side, a book in her hand, reading, not of wondrous worlds and far away places, as one might expect, but of numbers and history and all sorts of real world things.
She had been interested in that from the moment she was born. Her parents were doctors, after all, and so her home had been covered in books, covering a huge range of subjects. Some were, of course, tales of fanciful places, like Middle Earth, or far away stars plied by ships full of strange people. She'd read those, obviously, but her favorite were those that spoke of this world. Of the people and places that made up the mundane Earth, and how it all fit together.
And Hermione, while by no means a prodigy at anything specific, had drunk in all the knowledge the books offered. Every scrap of information, from the makeup of the Roman pantheon, to how planets interacted with each other to create gravity, to which street specifically it had been that Archduke Ferdinand's driver had taken him that fateful day. It was all so fascinating, all so interesting, that she knew there would never be enough time to learn it all, but she wanted to try.
That was why she'd skipped grades. When others were still in the early schooling, she was already thinking of where to go to broaden her horizons. Maths, history, and languages came easily to her, allowing her to conquer them, as they were memorization, learning the facts, and putting them onto the page. She was top of her class, despite being a full two years younger than any of her classmates, and even tutoring a few on occasion if they asked for it.
But she WAS younger. She would study with them, she would read with them their books, and she would even help them with their homework, but when they went to do things, they excluded her, as she was too small, too weak, to keep up, they assured her. She resented them for that, for being older, but she kept from saying it, always holding in the back of her mind that she was obviously better than them, and if the rules allowed it, she'd pass them again next year.
And then the strange woman had come to their door, turned into a cat, and it had seemed all her thoughts had been correct. Hermione Granger was a witch, a being different from mundane humanity, and she would soon be the heiress to fantastical powers, like in the stories of Tolkien and others who'd come after him. She'd make friends there, people who were like herself, who were up to her level, and perhaps find challenges for her mind.
But…no one was like her here either. She'd finally found out she WAS special, she was different…and even in a school for people who were like her, she was ridiculed, she was mocked. She was a 'know-it-all'. Worse yet, here she couldn't skip grades. She'd asked, after reading through the first and second year books, and being able to do the things within them. They weren't too complex, after all, a few months of practice, real practice, and she was as good as any third year.
And still she was stuck with these lesser minds, these people who played instead of studied. She wanted to be up there, with Fourth Years studying for her Ordinary Wizarding Levels. Or even the Nearly Exhausting Wizarding Test. Those sounded like fun, like challenges, and she knew she could do them…maybe not magically, those spells required more of an oomph, but she was there mentally, so why hold her back just because she couldn't do that part?
But Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall had told her it wasn't right, that she should be around those her own age. And so she'd sat here, languishing, knowing the spells, knowing the wand motions, the odd words, and even the stirring solutions for potions, though that Professor would never admit it. She could do them all, and it was wasting her time, and the professors' to do it like this, to hold her back just because of her age, to place her with those who simply weren't up to her level.
Then the Weasel had insulted her for trying to help, for trying to be someone on his level, and it had hit her. She had no friends in her year, and the older years couldn't talk with her, not without violating some unspoken rule of the school on associations. Her dormmates had been as bad as the Weasel, trying to get her to do their homework for them, like she'd bother with bribing friends? She knew that didn't work…had known it since the first two times it had left her alone.
Trapped for another year, maybe two or gods forbid all seven with these fools? She had let it finally come out, and ran away to have a cry. To let her emotions get the better of her, rather than bottle them up. Recovering, finally, she was just about to get up from her seat, and perhaps make her way out towards the hall to the Halloween feast, and maybe hex a few of her classmates on the way, when the door swung open, and heavy feet came in.
She kept quiet at that, not knowing why Hagrid would be in the girl's loo, but figuring he might have a reason…though the odd gait told her he might simply be drunk, as she'd heard he could sometimes get at parties, even with students around. But then the smell hit her nose, and she dropped down to the floor, and saw bare feet that were not Hagrid's…bare feet that belonged to something inhuman.
Hermione's mind did not freeze up at this. After all, she saw a way out, the door, still hanging open behind the creature the…it was a troll. She wasn't sure if it was swamp, mountain, or the much rarer ocean variety, but regardless, it was a troll, it had to be with the weight and the club she could see it was dragging along behind it. She tried to recall everything about it from the book of magical creatures she'd read in the library, as she scooted along the floor, being as quiet as possible.
And then, as if by magic…obviously by magic, the door slammed shut, and the lock closed, with a feeling of static in the air of a shield spell going up. Someone had sealed the door, likely not caring that someone was in here, if they had known at all, and causing Hermione's mind to skip a thought, and before she knew it, a swear word had passed her lips. Not a loud one, not more than a whisper, but the troll, who had been hunting her by smell probably, heard it all the same.
She screamed as the club of the troll came down not towards her, but across the stalls, smashing them hard, and splintering the wood and primitive materials they were made of, rather than causing them to just fall over as they might have with a modern metal material. She might have hidden beneath that, if it had fallen the right way, but instead the stuff actually seemed to divide around her, sparing her injury, but exposing her right to the troll, which smiled at her, as it brought its club back up for another smash, this time right on top of her.
Her mind was panicked now, and she rolled away, saved from death by the troll's sluggish movements, meaning she was a meter away by the time his club came down. The impact of it struck the ground hard enough that she was tossed by it, but better, the chucks of wood bounced in the air, striking the troll all over its body, making it recoil, thinking it was being attacked, probably by insects of some kind, as they did not do enough to damage its hide.
She set the chunks of wood alight with a word and a wand swish, the spell, not powerful or an attack, was still enough to make the wood burn as it hung in the folds of flesh along the troll's body, causing it to almost comically start batting at them, dropping its club, and allowing Hermione to rush the door, screaming an unlocking spell she'd learned from the second-year course book in the library.
The door swung open to the spell, making her shout excitedly, and run for it…only to bounce off an invisible barrier, one that had no visible movement, and made her swear again, this time harder, as she demanded it open. It failed to do so, of course, and by that time, the troll was already starting to recover, the bathroom providing no more cover for her to run as it reached for the club it had dropped.
"You will do nothing of the sort!" she cried out, confusing the beast as she set the club itself alight…or tried to. The flames bounced off the wood of the club, magically reinforced probably, same as the troll. But still, it caused the dumb brute to stumble backwards, landing against the far wall, and then looking around, confused, as Hermione began to beat on the doorway, open but at the same time sealed.
"Open! Damn you, open!" she demanded again, as the troll, no longer reaching for its weapon, instead got to its feet, and bellowed a challenge at her, causing Hermione, a twelve year old girl too smart for her own good, to look into its eyes, and see them for the first time. She had nowhere to run, nowhere to hide…but she had a wand, and she had survived it for over three minutes now. It was dumb, like all the others. She was not dumb, and she would prove that brains beats brawn.
"Wingardium Leviosa!" she cried out, aiming her wand. A smart wizard, or perhaps one hoping against hope for rescue, might have aimed for the still discarded club, using the spell to move it to the side, understanding that a simple flick would cause the motion of the levitated object to move to the side rather than up. Thus they could place the thing between the legs of the troll as it tried to charge, and even perhaps, use its weight to smash the wall in, bypassing the door, and escaping this nightmare.
But Hermione had not been taught yet how to modify spells. She knew it was possible, she'd even started to look into a few books in the library on it, but that was fourth year work, and she was still 'a little firstie'. Worse, the club was far heavier than the things she'd lifted before, and strong as she knew she was in magical theory, moving it with any speed was beyond her at this moment.
So she did the thing every smart person did in a fight they couldn't win. She fought dirty, and went for the eyes. The moment she did, it screamed again, as her spell 'lifted' the eyes of the troll. Eyes that had nowhere to go, no space to move, and so pressed against the top of its skull, and then, like grapes, squished into paste, making the young girl's stomach roil with horror, as the troll roared in agony and pain.
She did not let her revulsion stop her, knowing the blinded troll was not yet safe, as the thing already flailed about, limbs trying to stop the pain, rather than clutching its face as a human might do. Animal then, not person, despite the weapon and crude clothing, her mind supplied. So she aimed the same spell again, and with far more force this time, she cast it at the troll's head again, her aim this time, the bones in its ears, and as it's painfilled roar came again, it was far higher pitched, as the thing fell to the side, no longer able to balance on two feet.
She watched it move, watched it try to find itself, and she felt the magic from it. Trolls were, after all, creatures of magic, this one more so than most, as she could feel spells upon it other than the natural ones, though she had no idea what those were. Still, trolls were famous for regeneration of their flesh, and while not quite as fearsome as muggle legends might make them out to be, this one was already starting to find its eyes, as it raised its head up, and blunk away the ichor of the destroyed pair.
It was angry now, not merely playful, and when it roared, as it tried to find its footing, Hermione knew she had to do something more. She looked at its ears again, but it was flopping towards her now, not trying to stand, but merely get close, as its limbs surged and folded like the tentacles of the octopus in the lake. She knew that if it grabbed her, she would be crushed like its eyes, and her thudding heart in her chest, as she faced a death with no way out, she held out her wand, and prepared for the worst spell she could think of.
"Wingardium Leviosa!" she cried again, as the thing opened its big stupid mouth, and this time, she imagined following down into that throat, deep into its body, and within it she could imagine its own heart, thundering in its chest. And she lifted it upwards, pushing it against the back its ribcage thanks to how it was laying, perhaps against other organs too, she wasn't sure, but regardless, it felt that, and then, like the eyes, a moment later, it felt the heart pop, the blood instead coming out in a gush that flew from the ears, eyes, nose, and mouth.
It didn't spray, fortunately, instead it just sort of…flooded onto the floor, the water from the destroyed toilets washing it away, as the troll lay there, its flesh rippling and moving, as the spells laid over it vanished. Strangely, she was aware, watching it, that its very nature was still ongoing, repairing the damage she'd done inside it, and leaving the only mark on its body the burn marks from where she'd set the wood on fire.
Then, all at once, the door shield vanished. She had no idea how she knew that, since it wasn't visible, but it did so, and she rushed out into the hallway, tears refusing to come now, her body dehydrated from before, leaving her to do nothing but fall to the floor, gasping and gagging, as the water inside the bathroom began to come out, and she was left to just lay there on her hands and knees as it pooled around her, leaving her nothing but a wreck.
"What foolishness is this?" came a pompous voice she had never been so happy to hear before, and Hermione turned to find Professor Snape and Professor McGonagall standing there, with her trying to stand and rush to hug them, only to fall down a few sobs coming out of her mouth pathetically instead, as the Darkness had not yet come to her, and she would not seek its solace yet this night…not yet.