Disclaimers: Dark themes, police state ideas, mention of spousal abuse (including rape) on and off-screen, death of minor characters, graphic imagery and violence, frank sex discussion, copious bad language, villainising the Weasleys and Dumbledore, liberties taken with mythical history and the HP real-life timeline.

The Ethel Hallow's Young Witches Academy was one of the feeder schools to Hogwarts, educating witches from the ages of three to eleven. The curriculum there used to be remarkably similar to a Muggle primary school, focusing on reading, writing and other such core skills. Art, music and basic history were also taught here, though lately this had taken on a peculiar slant, focusing on depictions of the idealised Magical State, singing songs in praise of the Dark King Voldemort, and teaching a history that only included Harry Potter as a passing footnote in the annals of The Death Eater's glorious rise to power.

In the year between leaving Hogwarts and being confined to domestic servitude by Ron, Hermione had undertaken much work experience at the Ministry of Magical Governance, including in the Education Department, where she had watched this new curriculum be drafted. Appalled and disgusted, she snuck into the magical printing press one night, where the first copies were being rolled out, and flung a wooden shoe, called a Sabo, into the machines to stop them.

Hence reprising the word … 'sabotage'.

She was dismissed from her internship immediately and heavily fined, but the little act of rebellion felt totally worth it. Harry would have been proud of her, she thought, and if he was too dead to launch an insurrection of his own, then Hermione was determined to do what she could in his stead. Little did she know that it would be the last significant act of resistance she was able to carry out.

So for Hermione, tonight was really the continuation of a campaign that had been disrupted by Ron's betrayal of not only her, but Harry, too. He'd been with them as they hunted and destroyed Horcruxes … well, mostly with them … but now he had sold his secrets to their enemy, himself. And he'd given her to him as well, and Hermione was acridly bitter by just how deep this betrayal went.

For she had been trying to adjust to her sobering reality for almost a week now, and she was no closer to feeling any less furious about it. Ron had passed her into the power of Tom Riddle, and he in turn had made her into a part of this genius way to protect the last piece of his soul … to Harry-proof it, as Hermione had come to think of it, to guard it from the biggest threat to Voldemort's dominion … the one fated to ultimately vanquish him.

But how to do it without killing her, or the other three sources of power currently feeding the lost Horcrux? That was a conundrum even Hermione's powerful brain was struggling to pick apart. Their very lives were keeping the thing from being destroyed. Hermione didn't know who else was doing the protecting, even though she had a few ideas, but they could all burn as far as she was concerned.

But she had Harry now … and dying was not on the agenda for either of them.

Hermione scowled about all this as she pulled back the sleeve of her robe and knocked three times on the rear door of the Academy, in two quick knocks and one after a delay … the signal agreed on by Harry and Eloise Wood. Thirty seconds later and the witch married to Oliver Wood opened the door and beckoned Hermione inside, while Frank and Alice Longbottom stood guard in the dark, thrilled at being back on joint field duty. It felt just like they were being active Aurors again, and they basked in the rush of danger that the mission brought.

Hermione threw off her hood and frowned, for Eloise was quite alone. "Where's the girl?"

"We have a problem," Eloise whispered. "Mrs Lestrange has put a Alert Charm on her daughter. If Delphini is hit with magic, it will trigger an alarm and Mrs Lestrange will come right back here. I haven't been able to subdue her."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "That's a blow, but it isn't terminal. I'm not leaving without the child."

Eloise nodded. "Is Oliver with you?"

"No, one of our security witches is just scanning him now," Hermione replied. "You have to be similarly tested. Try to understand that these precautions are necessary to make sure you can't do unwitting damage to our home."

"I understand," Eloise nodded, grimly. "So, what do you want to do?"

"I'll get the girl the old fashioned way. You have the key to the door, so stay here. Are the children all in their dorms?"

"Yes," Eloise confirmed. "Delphini is in with the other three-year-olds, the Foundation Children. The dorm room is on the first accommodation level."

"Which floor is that?"

"Third."

"Alright," Hermione breathed, bracingly. "Stay here, and be ready."

"Be careful. Other teachers or nurses or night patrol witches can appear at any moment. Security is … well … strictly enforced here."

"Thank you. I'll be on my guard."

Then Hermione moved off. She picked her way carefully through the first floor, past classrooms draped with the Death Eater banner - acid green, with a flayed silver skull surrounded by a serpent on a black circle - but found the place silent. It felt more like a morgue than a school, she thought, as she moved through the frigid air. She disappeared in and out of view, through intermittent shafts of moonlight, that streamed in from the high windows and scorched the gloom that pervaded the place.

But there was no-one to see her here. The same was true of the second floor, with rooms turned over more to brainwashing than education. Hermione spat bitterly at the whole lot of them, almost hoping to run into trouble just to score a victory by cutting out the tongues that were spreading these lies about the world, about her very own husband.

Though she knew Harry wouldn't want that. It wasn't the mission tonight. They had a goal, a target, and Harry had trusted Hermione to do this by herself, and she was determined not to get distracted and let him down. So she hurried up the back stairs and onto the third floor, which is where she saw the first signs of life in this silent place.

For the first room she came to was a sort of kitchen or scullery. There was a large, old-fashioned range there that was still alight but smouldering rather than blazing. Seven sets of identical white night dresses were drying on a line in front of it, while to the left a stack of day-work aprons were neatly folded ready for use. Plain enamel tea cups were draining on a rack next to a sink, the tap of which was still dripping.

Someone was here recently, Hermione thought to herself with a thrill of caution. She was right, too, for a cigarette butt was still smoking in an ashtray on a table nearby. And next to that, a pair of spectacles. Which would mean …

"Don't know how I managed to get upstairs without my glasses," a female voice suddenly said from the corridor. "I'm blind as a bat without them."

"You should get your eyes corrected," said another. "It's a defect and you're lucky it hasn't been clamped down on yet. We are breeding perfect girls here, you ought to set an example."

"Yes, Sister."

Sister. That made Hermione seethe with anger. The Sisters of Magical Obedience must run this place then, she thought. They were a nun-like order, all devout worshipers of King Voldemort, their Dark Lord here on Earth. The very notion of them made Hermione sick to her gut.

But she had to act fast. There was nowhere obvious to hide, bar a deep but doorless pantry that was more cubby hole than store cupboard. But it was all she had. She darted to it and pinned herself against the wall, breathing hard, knowing that any minute one of the zealous Sisters might walk by and discover her. She held her breath as the speakers entered the room now.

"Ah! There they are!" the short-sighted Sister exclaimed. "I knew I had left them in here!"

There was the sound of shuffling feet, then a sudden gasp of breath … then a thwack as one of the Sisters struck the other with a firm blow.

"Ow! Ow!" the Sister with the glasses whimpered, as another blow rained down on her. "What have I done, Sister?"

"Smoking? In the kitchen?" the elder Sister admonished sternly. "You have been told about this!"

Thwack.

"It wasn't me, Sister!" the first whined. "I don't even smoke. Ow! Sister, please!"

"A liar, too!"

"I am not lying, I swear!"

Drawn by the commotion, another voice entered the fray, and this one was a man's.

"What is going on here? What is the meaning of this, Sister Merope Morfin?"

"Sister Merope Marvolo was smoking in the kitchen, Father Yaxley," the stern witch explained. "She knows that smoking near the open gas line is strictly prohibited."

"Ah, forgive me, Sister," Father Yaxley replied. "The cigarette is mine. One of the girls on the fourth floor was playing up. I had to discipline her … but spanking a Mudblood always leaves me feeling a little tainted. I understand that this half-breed is particularly talented but, given her background … I am surprised she was permitted to live, let alone attend the school.

"Anyway, I had to have a cigarette to calm my nerves. The fault is mine, Sister."

"Do not think this absolves you of responsibility, Sister Merope Marvolo," Sister Merope Morfin snapped. "Let this be a lesson to you."

"Yes, Sister," the young nun whimpered pitifully.

"As for the Mudbloods, Father Yaxley," Sister Merope Morfin went on. "As you undoubtedly know, our Exalted Lord Voldemort has deemed that all Muggleborn children of magical ability be rooted out, so that they may be studied in order to find a causal link in the development of magic from Muggle parents, so that we may put a stop to it altogether. Which Mudblood child gave you particular difficulty this evening?"

"The little horse-faced one … Dursley, I think her name is."

Hermione choked out in her surprise. Choked out loudly. There was no way it wouldn't have been heard. In her shock, she also knocked a bag of flour all over herself from the shelf above, completely covering her face in a white coating

"Who's back there?" Sister Merope Morfin demanded. "Sister! Show yourself!"

Hermione hesitated for just a second, then a second later the hands of Sister Merope Marvolo lunged out and dragged her bodily into the main space of the scullery. She looked keen to atone for being so careless, in being half-blind, and hoped that Hermione might take her place and stop her being punished for Nature's transgression against her any further. Hermione looked down shamefully, wringing her hands in her nervousness. She hoped the ruse would give her time to think, for her wand was stowed awkwardly at the back of her waistband and out of easy reach.

"Sister … who are you? And how did you get into this state?" Sister Merope Morfin demanded, gesturing at Hermione's stark face.

"Flour, Sister," Hermione mumbled, pointing dumbly at the spilled bag behind her. She realised with a thrill that her dusting was masking her identity. She might just get away with this, if she could hold her nerve and lie well enough.

"Your name, Sister?"

"Sister … Merope Rowena," Hermione invented quickly.

"A good, solid name," Sister Merope Morfin nodded approvingly. "Where is your uniform?"

"I'm new, Sister, I've only just been issued it," Hermione muttered, meekly. "But I got lost following Evening Prayer and forgot the spell to the Sleeping Quarters. It's in there. But I'm new, Sister."

"You said that," Sister Merope Morfin frowned. "When did you start here?"

"Just today, Sister."

"And where were you before this? Oh of course, Mildred Hubble's Academy," Sister Merope Morfin asked then answered. "I recall us being due to take in a few new Sisters from over there this week."

"Yes, Sister," Hermione nodded, piously.

"And just what were you doing skulking back there in the pantry?"

"I was on Floor Duty this evening," Hermione lied. "The Dursley Mu-Mudblood was crying. She'd wet her bed so I was just washing her things."

Hermione motioned to the drying rack of nightclothes near the range. She hadn't washed a thing, of course, but she would definitely have to wash her mouth out later … for saying the M-Word. She felt dirty just for thinking it.

Sister Merope Marvolo looked over suspiciously. "Sister Merope Borgin was supposed to be on Floor tonight."

Hermione swallowed hard, thinking harder. "She is feeling poorly this evening. Period pains, she said. I offered to cover her duties, to make a good impression on my first day, Sister."

Sister Merope Morfin nodded grimly. "She always does have a heavy flow, that one. This makes up my mind to put her forward for the neutering programme. No use to us if she cries off once a month with a little cramp or two. She has the constitution of a damned Muggle, weak girl! It's not as if she has need of her uterus, is it?"

"No, Sister," Hermione ground out firmly, trying to mask her bitterness as condemnation of the Sister in question. That was a lucky guess … well, not for poor Sister Merope Borgin, but Hermione didn't have time to feel sorry for her.

"And why were you hiding, Sister?" Father Yaxley asked. "Laundry is a perfectly legitimate task to be carrying out."

Hermione looked up at Yaxley. He showed not an ounce of remorse for beating the poor Dursley child, thinking it perfectly reasonable that she should be in tears and wetting her bed right now. He almost looked satisfied at the story, which had every chance of actually being true, Hermione thought angrily.

"I … I didn't want to be punished, to make a bad impression on my first day," Hermione mumbled in her submissive tone, curling her eyes down ashamedly. "I don't have my uniform on … my first day … and I forgot the spell to the …"

Thwack!

Hermione was taken totally by surprise as Sister Merope Morfin crossed to her in two fast strides, belying her advanced age, and clobbered Hermione with an open palm around the side of her head. She reeled back and stumbled into the door frame of the pantry as stars popped before her eyes. Dizzy and disorientated, Hermione braced herself for another whack, which duly came a second later. She bit her tongue and fought to push her magic down, from where it was fighting to rise up and defend her.

She had to allow this … no matter how degrading it was to be punished by someone she could rip apart with a single spell.

A third stroke came and then Father Yaxley stepped in. "That's quite enough, Sister. This young woman has learned her lesson."

"I don't think she has, Father," Sister Merope Morfin spat sternly. "As a penalty for your stupidity, Sister Merope Rowena, you will not clean your face for twenty-four hours. You will wear that soiling as a penance, and at this time tomorrow you will receive twenty-four lashes to your back, to remind you that you are in service to our Great Lord and that proper respect and obedience must be shown to Him, by being correctly garbed at all times. Am I clear?"

"Yes, Sister … thank you, Sister … for your mercy," Hermione whimpered through her roiling fury. It was all she could do not to reach for her wand, which was throbbing of its own volition against the base of her spine, just itching to destroy something.

"Very well," Sister Merope Morfin frowned. "And as further punishment, you will fully bathe the soiled Mudblood. Scrub her filthy genitals with as rough a cloth as you can find, to remind her that our fine linen is not to be begrimed by her dirty urine. Go, do it now … and I expect you to drill the message in loud and clear, Sister. I will check in the morning that you have done this, and I expect the skin to still be raw. If it is not, we shall add that punishment to the list to be handed out to you."

She thrust a clean nightgown at Hermione, who took it and buried her fists into the scratchy fabric. She was shaking with fury, she had to get out of here before she exploded. Bowing her head to mask her grinding jaw, she hurried past the hulking figure of Father Yaxley and into the corridor, before practically running the length of it until she found another room, one full of spare bed linen.

She dived inside … found the thickest pillow she could see … then screamed as hard as she could into it, to try and offset some of her uncontrollable rage.

Three whole minutes … that's how long she screamed for. It was muffled, it wouldn't leave the room, and if either of the Sisters happened to walk in here Hermione could just pass it off as getting clean bedclothes for the poor Dursley girl. That thought sobered Hermione up in a second.

Could it really be what she thought? A magical child of Harry's cousin? The age would be about right if it were, and Harry had once described his hated aunt as horse-faced, too. But he'd never mentioned his relative having a child, in fact he never mentioned them at all, even though they were his only living family …

An icy shiver of cool understanding crossed Hermione's flesh, turning it from searing hot to pimply frozen. A Muggleborn child, here, in an Academy that taught girls to hate Muggles. It didn't make sense … only it did, if the child was here to be protected, as if it was important … as if she might be protecting something else.

"He wouldn't know," Hermione whispered aloud in astonishment. "He'd think that Harry loved his family … they protected him until he was seventeen … Riddle wouldn't know that it was all part of Dumbledore's mistake!"

And she felt an immediate affinity with the child, as if the Dark magic infecting her felt a kindred nearby. And in that second she made a snap decision … for this wasn't just a mission to kidnap one young witch now …

… it was also a mission to rescue another.

Hermione threw the pillow aside and grabbed a rolled up blanket from the shelf, hiding her wand in the middle of it. Then she slipped out of the storage closet and into the cold corridor. It was empty and Hermione struck out for the staircase opposite her. Up the whitewashed walls, down another corridor with just one candle burning at each end, and Hermione was soon turning the handle to the double doors of the girl's dormitory, which was right in in the very middle.

There were around thirty beds in here, in two uniform lines, that faced each other which such military precision that it looked like a geometric design. Hermione frowned at that. Then she started looking for the Dursley girl. It wasn't hard to find her … for all of the four-year-old girls were lying stiffly on their backs, as though to sleep in any other position was a crime that carried a thrashing as punishment. Hermione scowled, thinking that it was probably true.

But one girl had already been punished, and her backside was probably too raw to press into the hard mattress, so she was curled up in the foetal position under a thin blanket.

Hermione heard her pitiful little whimpers from a bed about half way down the dormitory. Hermione hurried to her, crouching down low in the dark as she reached the bed. The girl braced as if expecting to be punished now for crying.

"Sssh, sssh now, honey," Hermione offered in a soothing whisper. "I'm not going to hurt you."

The girl opened an eye suspiciously. She looked unsure and utterly terrified.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Hermione repeated softly. "If you can be very brave and stop crying, I can get you out of this place. Can you do that for me?"

The girl opened both eyes, barely daring to hope. She scanned Hermione's eyes for a hint of deception, and Mrs Potter hauled her most truthful expression onto her face. It seemed to work, as the girl accepted the rescue a minute later with a series of brief nods.

"Good girl," Hermione whispered, gently smoothing her thick, dark hair. "Pop up for me, quickly and quietly, and put this blanket around your shoulders. It's cold out here. Try not to talk for now. Just stay close to me. I wont let anything happen to you, I promise."

Dudley Dursley's daughter compliantly slipped out of bed. She followed the instruction not to speak, but she couldn't help but cling hard to Hermione's thigh, her eyes scrunched tight in a gesture of earnest thanks. Hermione's heart bled for the poor little thing. She hoped Harry would share her sympathy for the child when he found out what Hermione had done, when she presented the girl to him later.

But that was a problem to deal with in the future. For now, Hermione had to get her safely out of here, and snatch Delphini at the same time. Bundling the girl under the blanket and keeping her tucked next to her thigh, Hermione guided them along the dark dormitory and back into the draughty corridor. They hurried along it, taking the stairs at speed and making for the Foundation Dormitory.

Then Hermione realised she had a problem … for she wasn't completely sure what Delphini-De-Mort actually looked like.

She had a vague idea, from pictures she'd seen in publicity shots, but apart from ice-blonde hair she didn't really have a great idea of her face. How the hell would she know which bed was hers? Then she looked down at the frightened child at her side … and wondered if her learning about her might have another fortuitous use.

Hermione knelt down low and addressed the Dursley girl. "I'm looking for another little girl here. She's called Delphini. Do you know who she is?"

The girl nodded meekly.

"Can you show me her?"

The child nodded again, and began padding along the dorm until she came to a bed two from the far wall. She pointed down in an animated fashion at the child sleeping there. Hermione hurried up to the bed and looked into it, seeing that shock of blonde and that familiar snarl, present even in her sleep … a sneer that her bitch of a mother would be proud of.

Now, how to get her out without magic? There was only one thing for it. Holding her wand in her right hand right above the child's head, Hermione covered the girl's mouth with her left and gently shook her till she woke. She choked a little in wide-eyed fear as she came to, her eyes pinned to Hermione's wand. She looked a second away from screaming …

So Hermione bent her head very low to Delphini's face, eye-balling her and breathing dangerously. "Try to make a sound … even a single peep … and I'll cut out your tongue before even your father would have chance to get here and save you, got it?"

Hermione wasn't sure how well the girl could talk, but she certainly seemed to understand well enough … though, in fairness, the fierce look in Hermione's eyes would have been sufficient to quell even the most fully-grown of adults.

Hermione tugged Delphini to her feet, her hand still covering the girl's mouth, just in case she found a gout of disobedience. She couldn't cast a spell at her, not yet, so she flicked a powerful Disillusionment Charm at the blanket on her bed instead, a Silencing Charm, too, then threw it over the child's head. She shimmered, rather than became completely invisible, but against the darkness of the night it would be enough.

Then Hermione dragged Delphini along with one hand firmly on her shoulder, pocketed her wand and gently took the Dursley girl's hand in her other. The three of them entered the corridor and walked briskly along, passing the kitchen as they reached the far end. Hermione looked inside. Father Yaxley was gone, Sister Merope Marvolo was still sweeping up the flour, and the aged Sister Merope Morfin was standing over her to scrutinise. She looked up suspiciously as Hermione stopped and caught her eye.

"What is it, Sister Merope Rowena?" the old crone asked.

Hermione pushed the Disillusioned Delphini against the wall and out of sight, then held up the Dursley girl's hand.

"Just taking this one to be washed," Hermione replied.

"Remember what I told you, Sister," the crone warned. "Scrub hard, or you'll be scrubbed hard."

"Yes, Sister," Hermione replied, unable to keep a trace of sarcasm from her voice. The old nun scowled at her, but said nothing.

Hermione riled and fumed as she spirited the girls away. She ground her jaw and gnashed her teeth as she found the back staircases again. A minute later and she was on the ground floor, greeting Eloise, who looked white with worry.

"What happened?" she hissed, as she opened the door to Frank and Alice. "You were ages! And why are you covered in flour?"

"I haven't got time to explain," Hermione replied, dismissively. She turned to Alice. "Here, take Delphini. She's under this Disillusioned blanket. Take her to Myfanwy and Oliver as planned. And remember, no magic directly against the girl."

"Alright … and who's this?" Alice asked, pointing at the shivering other girl.

"A refugee I couldn't leave behind," Hermione answered evasively. "Take her, too. Get Eloise and the two girls out of here. Frank, come with me … I'm not done with this place yet."

Hermione was so firm and fierce that no-one dared to argue with her. Alice took hold of Delphini as Eloise beckoned the Dursley girl to her. She looked up uncertainly at Hermione.

"Go on ... you're safe now," Hermione smiled, gently. "This lady will take care of you, I promise."

The girl conceded and allowed Eloise to wrap an arm around her, before they moved to Alice, who drew a rapid communal Apparition circle around them. A second later, and all four had vanished in a swift rush of air.

"So, what did you forget?" Frank asked, as he hurried along in Hermione's slipstream.

"I forgot to clock out," Hermione snarled, taking the stairs two at a time and drawing her wand. "I want you here for cover only. Watch my back … this one is all mine."

"Gotcha," Frank nodded.

Up the two flights of stairs, back to the scullery, back face-to-face with the Sisters, who looked stunned to see Hermione back there with company … and her wand held angry and aloft in front of her, pumping with raging power.

"Sister! What is -"

"Stupefy!" Hermione yelled, furiosuly.

She blasted Sister Merope Marvolo so hard off her feet with the intensity of her spell that the young nun slammed firmly into the wall at the far end of the room, where she slumped down to the ground, quite unconscious. Then Hermione crossed the floor, threw her wand into her other hand, then punched Sister Merope Morfin so hard in the face that she heard her nose crack, as she went tumbling backwards over the table.

Frank gasped in shock behind her, but Hermione was in full-on battle mode now and she was as relentless as a hurricane. Even Harry would be proud of this level of anger. Hermione booted the little table out of the way, advanced on the bleeding nun … and kicked her right in the cunt.

She had no need for it, after all.

Hermione reached down, took a handful of the Sister's slate-grey robe in her fist, then spat directly into her face.

"You listen to me, you fucking disgrace to humanity," Hermione seethed, boring her raging eyes into the lined face of the terrified nun. "I hope you've not lost all your brain cells to Darkness quite yet, because I want you to remember a message for me. I've stolen the child, Delphini, and I want her mother to come looking for me. Because when she finds us, I'm going to send her to Hell on a silver platter, in the name of all things Good and Light.

"But not only that, I've liberated the beautiful child that you dare to call a 'Mudblood'. She's coming with me, too. She's special, I don't think you know why, but I think you know who has asked you to protect her.

"So take this message to Tom Riddle … take it to your Dark King, do you hear me? We're onto him, we know his weakness … and you tell him our justice is coming.

"You tell him the Potters are coming for him, Harry and Hermione Potter, can you remember that? That's me, by the way, you stupid twat. We're the ones who destroy his Horcruxes for fun, in case he's forgotten … and our biggest playtime will be coming very soon. You tell him that for me, will you? There's a good cunt."

Then Hermione slammed Sister Merope Morfin's head powerfully into the floor, knocking her out cold. She turned to Frank.

"I never was cut out for convent life," Hermione shrugged in mild consideration, as she clocked the stunned look on Frank's face. "I swear too much."

Frank laughed deeply. "Come on then, Mrs Potter. You promised me that I could use a curse word or two against Bellatrix Lestrange before the weekend was out … and it would be quite the scandal if you broke your word."

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