Base: Tracey Davis

The first snowfall of the year had come early to Hogsmeade, dusting the cobblestone streets with a serene white blanket. Hermione Granger pulled her cloak tighter around her, the warmth doing little to stave off the chill that had settled in her bones. Her eyes darted around the bustling town, watching the witches and wizards going about their business, their laughter and chatter muffled by the soft snowfall.

Her thoughts drifted back to her mission – a plan that had been years in the making. She had always been the brains behind the operations, the strategist, the one who found the loopholes. But along with all that, she was now the weapon. Her body had been altered, her mind sharpened, and her resolve unshakeable. The purity of bloodlines meant power, and she aimed to snatch it away from the purebloods who had wielded it like a bludgeon for centuries.

Hermione has grown herself a little, very big secret, away from the eyes of Hogwarts. She had discovered an ancient text, hidden deep within the restricted section of the library, detailing forgotten spells and dark rituals that could manipulate the very essence of biology. The book was bound in leather, worn with age, and smelled faintly of decay. It whispered of power and transformation. Her quest for knowledge had led her down a dark path, but she knew it was the only way to bring justice to a world that had been skewed by the prejudices of the few.

"If not being pureblood means you're worthless, then what does that mean for purebloods' having "dirty" children? Pretty humiliating. And then, if nobody's lineage is pure after them, what good is it being pureblood anyway?" Hermione murmured to herself as she approached the Three Broomsticks, the warm light spilling out onto the cold street. She had to be careful – her actions had to be meticulous and precise. Each step was a calculated move in a grand game of wizard's chess.

Even down to who gets to go first.

There has to be the right choices, in the right order. Not the most obvious of targets, because that's hard to follow-up. Not the most obscure either, because that wouldn't feel satisfying. There has to be a statement and an endorphin release, without such a high profile aftermath that alerts every other pureblood to the threat.

Six minutes of casual people-watching pass until Montague walks in, his arm around his prize girl Tracey Davis. Montague became the sidenote to Hermione's true attention. Tracey was a good start-up pureblood to "dirty", the one of the few main minions of Pansy Parkinson.

Hermione was not carrying her plans out today. She was not a spontaneous person, she planned her moves with preparation and precision. She had her target, and now she'd go away to prep the operation to be carried out at the right time