Hermione Granger: A Mudblood No More

Expression: Not always shown in the way one expects

A/N: Hey everyone! It's the author of this (hopefully good) fanfic! I'm really excited to have started this new writing project of mine. I'll try to update as much as possible, but I do have a life. Sorta. Kinda. Okay not really. Just school. But still, that's plenty important. In this story the characters will be a bit OOC but I'm not going to apologize because this is MY story and I'll write it however I want! So please don't criticize me horribly if I'm bad at making their characters. But please do review, and tell me how I can improve. Thanks lovelies!
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters. They all belong to J. K. Rowling as well as the world of Harry Potter. I only own the plot and the OOCness of said characters. I might also own an OC here or there. But I'll tell you in an author's note if I created them.

A young woman in her early twenties smiled happily at the scene before her. Bright red splattered as far as the eye could see. She looked down and grabbed at the metal sword lodged in the object below. It came free with a small squishing sound. What a lovely sound it was too. It made her feel complete inside and she give a small laugh. She took a deep breath through her nose and out through her mouth, giving a sigh of satisfaction. She then replaced her sword in her belt loop, and started a leisurely stroll through the town.

'Thirteen' she thought continuing her walk, nodding to the different areas of color. 'A personal best' she thought with a smile. Stopping at a few objects with the most red, she surveyed her work. Satisfied, she nodded at them, her brown curls bouncing. And her doe brown eyes, enhanced with black eyeliner and mascara, twinkled with the last bit of adrenaline she could still feel pumping through her veins.
The blood of thirteen, was fresh on her skin-tight shirt and leather jacket, black skinny jeans and black boots. Many people thought of her as a murderer, a slaughterer of the innocent. But to this young woman, she was an artist. The bodies, her canvas. And the blood, her paint. She was expressing herself. Besides, these people weren't innocent. They had done her wrong, and she had given them what they deserved. It was only fair after all. The crap that their kind had put her through her entire life, finally received the justice the woman thought that they had earned.

She rose one black leather, gloved hand and wiped some of the blood off of her cheek. Clucking her tongue in disapproval she thought back to just a few minutes ago. It was a very messy job. Not that any of her other times had been clean, far from it. This one just happened to have a few more fighters than the rest. She could still hear their meager threats, while their comrades begged for mercy like pathetic poor children, asking for food to fill their empty bellies. But alas, she could not give them what they wanted. How would they learn their lesson if she let them live? Others wouldn't know not to mess with her. Although nobody lived once she decided that they'd wronged her. 'No one indeed' she thought with a proud smirk.

She had more than once, asked herself if it was worth it. The musical screams and intricate designs of the dripping blood of the dead had made up her mind for her. She had always known that she had a darker side, a stronger side. She, of course, is still the brightest female of her generation. But now, she is also a criminal mastermind with a lust for blood and revenge. Worth thousands of Galleons, as a price for her head. Number one on the Most Wanted list for Azkaban. And no longer is she the bushy-haired, buck toothed, Mudblood, know-it-all, goody-two shoes and former member of the Golden Trio.
Hermione Granger.