Unsurprisingly, the lecture was held in an old hall which had obviously been magically transported into the middle of some remote marshland. Out of the small crowd, Hermione could only recognise Lucian Bole and Draco. Her Father was deep in conversation with some foreign wizard (probably from the international confederation), so Hermione sped straight towards Draco.

"Hello, Malfoy."

"Ah, Hello Flint." He was dolorous. Who wouldn't be, in his circumstances.

The wizard holding the talk emerged onto the platform to prepare. "Come on, let's get a seat at the front." Hermione led the boy through the bustling wizards by his arm, and they managed to snag front row seats in the middle of the dusty hall. Draco managed a smile at the witch's incessant eagerness to learn.

"This tosh better be worth you ruining my new robes, Flint." Draco checked the absence of creases or stains where Hermione had touched him.

"Hush- don't be so precious. You look fine."

The younger prefect rolled his eyes but looked forward as the crowd grew quiet, and the lecturer cleared his throat.

"Good evening, and welcome to this conference on magical objects and inventions. It is wonderful to see so many of you here."

There couldn't have been more than twenty wizards in the hall. Draco rolled his eyes as the talk began:

"There is a complexity to charming different bits of machinery and assembling them to form a working tool. Sometimes it even involves inventing new spells, such as the cushioning charm on broomsticks. The greatest and most influential witches and wizards of the middle ages created the bulk of the spells which we all use and take for granted today. But there are many complex and ambitious spells that they never perfected at all. They did the theory, came up with rituals and incantations, but the spell either did nothing, or had disastrous or useless effects, and there are yet more failed incantations and wand movements they documented before perfecting the spells that work…"

Severus had taught Hermione some of the spells he had invented, like levicorpus. She had no cause to invent anything herself, though.

The old wizard talked about the inventions of the lunascope, time turner, golden snitch and remembrall. He rambled on about the lives of Ignatia Wildsmith, and Mnemone Radford, which Hermione listened to with rapt attention, and replayed in her head after the lecture had finished, when they had taken the teaspoon portkey back to the Cotswolds. She was well acquainted with the inventors mentioned, through her reading. Wildsmith invented floo powder, and Radford famously created the memory-erasing charm, obliviate. But what if she had also created other memory charms that were less prolific? Hermione had to go to the library at once.

The library in the right wing of their house had been built upon and magically extended for decades. The resulting labyrinth had gravity-defying shelves that coiled and weaved up two stories high; random alcoves and nooks hosting the odd heirloom; dark corners containing the strangest fiction. Despite its complexity, it was organised by topic, and in alphabetical order.

Mnemone Radford, that would be the charms section, R… Radford, Radford… Ah! There you are! Hermione picked out the witch's biography and consumed every page eagerly, gleaning the titles of five more books written by or about Radford.

It transpired that the witch didn't stop at just inventing obliviate. Her journal detailed many complex applications and adjustments to do with memory. A particular candle-lit section of the diary caught her eye: Mnemone had been seen performing magic by a muggle. She stunned him, and, instead of simply wiping his memory, she changed it to superimpose an irritating suitor over herself. The muggle was released, and told the muggle townsfolk about a warlock that he was convinced he had seen casting a spell. The muggles formed a mob and murdered that wizard, who had fatefully proposed to Radford one too many times. She had penned down an application of mass delusion and many creative variants of that magic, even in the form of a potion that had never been perfected in her lifetime. But the memory altering charm had been. Hermione combed through several volumes in the charms section until she found a passage on the charm she was looking for:

The wizard must first cast obliviate before incanting: Memorimendacium fabula. Pronounced (mēm - ør | eé | mēn - das | ï ~ um). Memorimendacium fabula is best spoken aloud, especially when the story is complex. The caster must focus on the perfected and complete illusion they wish to impart. Any small mistakes and inconsistencies will have disastrous consequences. The wand must stay on the bewitched the entire time, aimed steadily between the eyes.

Hermione was saved from her studies by her owl tapping on the window, wanting to be let in after hunting mice. She opened the window, ignoring the dead rodent dropping to the floor, and scribbled a letter to Gemma, inquiring about anyone known to use the spell, before tying it around his ankle to deliver it.

Hermione grabbed a slice of toast and water from the kitchen, and returned to look out onto the view. It was a one way thing, looking. That is, no muggle could see the house if they were to venture out this far. It seemed that wizards spent 90% of their energy trying to repel muggle scrutiny, and only 10% actually doing the magic they were born to do. How much more prosperous they could be as a race, if they didn't have to worry about muggles so much? It was a common myth among mudblood students that persecution of the magical race started and stopped at witch burning in the middle ages. Magical folk- mostly witches, of course- had been murdered since the beginning of wizarding history, and were still murdered today. One of Father's roles in the ministry was smuggling witches out of underprivileged remote areas, where they would otherwise have been killed.

It was easy to abhor the ministry's moral superiority- their sanctimonious show of forgiving and protecting those who had once sought to eradicate them. It was not righteous to forgive the oppressor. Justice is the only thing that is righteous. Blood traitors betray not only their own family and ancestors, but magic itself. In their pathetic attempt to conserve magic through cross-breeding, they are actually destroying it, and giving sacred magical information to those who don't deserve it, and who might use it against them. No mudblood's ancestors bled to find out the magical information they managed to divine. Magic, Hermione firmly believed, was the key to answer all questions about the universe, and existence. Since magic is inherited, magical knowledge of all these valuable secrets should be kept within families, and passed down through generations.

Witches deserve to live with their own kind, without fear or persecution, to go outside without hiding who we are, not have to go to immense efforts to hide ourselves away, under threat of wizarding law. Hell, there was an entire department set up to keep muggles from the knowledge of magic's existence. Plants and beasts have the purpose of reproducing, muggles have the purpose of thinking about whatever it is they think about, and wizards have the purpose of performing magic. We deserve to inherit the earth, own the world in the way that muggles do currently. That was what the death eater movement was all about. It was honourable that Marcus was considering joining them over a quidditch career, even if he hadn't yet produced an heir. Wizardkind should not be discriminated against, and nor should Slytherins.

Magic comes with a rich culture, tradition, knowledge and history that is passed on down by generations. This is innate to magic, and even more important than magic itself. It is an insult for magic stealers to appropriate our culture, without experiencing the negative effects of it until the age of 11, and even then they don't suffer as much because they are part of the group that owns the world. Ability aside, it is not their knowledge to learn. We used to share knowledge and help muggles, and they were repulsed out of fear and ignorance.

In her fourth year, there was an altercation between her friends and a group of Gryffindors. Apparently someone had stolen someone else's scales, and there were two warring groups forming in the corridor. Hermione attempted to calm the situation down before a teacher came by, but a silly mudblood, became too hysterical by the conflict and called all the Slytherin girls evil, ugly hags who rode around on sweeping brooms at night to play tricks. The Slytherin boys promptly roared their retort (angry hexes) and they collectively injured a lot of blood traitors before teachers pulled them apart. It was only then that she learnt what muggles all thought about witches and wizards. It was horrible that mudbloods who'd been raised that way were allowed with magical born students.

We have so few spaces to ourselves, and not even our boarding school is safe from insidious muggle influence.

She and all her friends had spent their entire lives contained within their homes, the Ministry, Hogwarts, one of the scarce wizard-only villages, and Diagon. Obliviate was far more important than it should have to be. Hermione was driven to practice memorimendacium fabula, to further wizardkind.

The next few days passed in a blur. Many games of wizard's chess were played with both her parents to pass the time, in the directionless existence that had become her life. Even Marcus's boorish presence would have been welcomed. Hermione finished three entire sugar quills while making notes on advanced magical theory. She played around with easy spells- even managing to revert her serpensortia snake into an egg, before aging it to ashes. Father always said this sort of magic was silly and improper, but Hermione firmly saw it as the purest and highest form of magic, as opposed to mere perfunctory spells. The graduate also did some light reading on 'the state of consciousness of transfigured animals, and their implications.' The essays in 'Transfiguration today' could always provide brilliant, thought provoking, and (of course) light reading.

Gemma replied with preamble about her parents intending to move before the war began in full, but her younger brother and older sister begging them not to. She was graduating from her Ministry apprenticeship in magical law, and had written:

Someone from the research office at the ministry had documents on the spell. Very interesting stuff. Hopefully this is all theoretical and academic, and you're not getting into any trouble. This magical historian at my stoddard's club told me that Tom Riddle (he who must not be named) killed his entire family just after graduating Hogwarts. He made his uncle believe that he had killed them, and the man confessed. He died in azkaban. There is also evidence he used the same spell on a house elf. It must be very difficult and complex, but I'm sure other wizards have managed it too.

Hermione was bored, so she decided to practive the spell by smashing a bottle of ink on the flagstone floor. The house elf apparated immediately to clean it up.

"Obliviate." Hermione erased the memory of the elf finding the mess, and pictured it dropping the ink instead of herself. "Memorimendacium fabula." The elf must have believed herself to have dropped the ink, because she began to punish herself by hitting her head against the wall.

"Stop! Don't worry- just clean it up, please."

The elf obeyed, and Hermione felt a slight twinge of guilt at the unnecessary pain she had caused.

The day before visiting the Malfoys, her mother forced her out shopping. They met at the front door, both in black tailored robes, with an enamel pin at the collar, and went onto the front porch to dissaperate. Hermione closed her eyes, and pictured a dank alley with a wall covered in moss, next to an arch that stretched across the thin cobblestone alleyway. She spun on her heel and was there, in front of a hanging sign in gothic font that read 'Borgin and Burke's'. Her mother arrived next to her and strolled past the window crammed with dusty skulls and artefacts, taking care to tut in disgust at a ragged skeleton of a man who was whispering at a wall in distress.

"Another recreational potion user," she hissed disdainfully, opening the shop door for her daughter, with a flick of her wand. "You see more of them every day." They entered the store, Hermione wondering if she would be able to create such a potion. She probably could, but she would need advice from professor Snape, and he would never give it for such a purpose. At her parents request, Severus had given her private lessons on the dark arts from her fourth year. He had given her the Durmstrang equivalent of a NEWT level dark arts exam just weeks ago, and she was proud to achieve 100% in her theory, but irritated at her imperfect practical grade. Severus said she needed to think less and allow the magic to flow freely.

"Do you think Severus would answer my owl? He's probably still marking NEWTs, but I am the best Alumnus of our year…"

"Yes, he has done well to humour your incessant questions for seven years. What's one more?- Mr Borgin! Good morning."

As they set about talking, Hermione wandered around to look at the curiously morbid items for sale. The closet was still there. The one she helped Draco fix last year. The poor boy had been driven out of his mind with stress before Hermione noticed and pieced together the clues to understand what was happening. Draco had broken down crying in front of her and accepted her help on his knees. They spent so much time together that rumors of dating started to fly around- which was preferable to the dark truth. Hermione was grateful she had never been chosen for such a task, but she was happy to work on the vanishing cabinet. There were curiously disfigured, inhuman skulls on the shelf next to the cabinet; a blood stained pack of cards; a staring glass eye; A silver snuff box with teeth; A mysterious grandmother's clock with uneven tiks; a chequers board which was playing itself; an entact, animated snake's skeleton in a cage; an assortment of shrunken heads. Rusted medieval swords, inscripted with runes, hung from the ceiling. One price tag had 300 galleons on it, and the details of the ancient enchantments put on the sword, and the battles it had been used in. dusty phials of dark blood peeked out from an ornate box, a hat with tassels repeatedly strangled the absence of a victim's neck below. Realistic tiny snakes slithered around a mannequin's fingers, hissing aggressively.

"Hermione Flint," her mother snapped, making her jump. "Stop that. Go to Diagon alley and buy something for the Malfoys. Buy yourself a graduation present too. Here-" She dropped a small sack of galleons into her daughter's hand.

Hermione hurried along the uneven street- past the necromancer's, the undertakers, the chimney sweep house elves for hire, the pub and the poison shop- to flourish & blotts. The standard book of spells grade one, and basic transfiguration were in the window, giving her fond memories of her schooling as she walked into the shop. The Hogwarts library had become her third home (second being the Slytherin common room) and where she usually went at break and lunch with Gemma, and sometimes Miles and Terrence, if they weren't practicing quidditch. They always cast muffliato and disillusionment charms in their favourite corner so they could eat and have conversations without being reprimanded by madame Pince. Hermione was able to get Professor Snape to write a permission slip for her to enter the restricted section early on, so she read everything she could find about the dark arts early on. Her favourites were Magick moste evile, and secrets of the darkest art. She had personal copies of those though.

A book on duelling technique caught her eye, so she queued up to buy it. There was still a lot of money to spend, so she wandered around the street, window shopping. Some shops had gone out of business, but most were still trading. Ollivanders was all boarded up. Hermione remembered reading about his abduction in the prophet last year, and wondered where he was being kept hostage now, if he was still alive. She treated herself to a quill that could write without ink before buying an elderflower and gold leaf liqueur for the Malfoys, from an alcohol peddler that was busier than all the other shops. Her purchases were stowed away in a small purple velvet bag which she had recently enlarged on the inside, just to pass the time.

Bored, with her tasks completed, Hermione wandered down to the Garish weasley's shop. It was abuzz with excitement and students. Unable to help herself, she transfigured her face as a disguise, and entered. On her left there were small dragons breathing fire on nuts, and a cage of fat pygmy puffs being oggled at by young witches. Hermione was impressed by the ingenuity, despite herself, and quickly elbowed her way to the pick out peruvian instant darkness powder, and shield gloves. She spotted Gryffindors Alicia and Katie eyeing up the same display, and made sure to tread on their toes before disappearing into the crowd. There was so much she wanted to buy, so many interesting inventions. She also ended up purchasing extendable ears, a patented daydream charm, a skiving snackbox, a headless hat, and all of their fireworks.

When she made it back to Borgin and Burke's, she was glad the contents of her bag were invisible to her mother.

Later that day, a tawny owl tapped at the window. It wasn't the daily prophet, or one of her friend's owls, or even a letter from the ministry. Hermione gasped in realisation. Just as she thought, the letter around it's leg had the Hogwarts seal on it. Her NEWT results. They were here. With a trembling hand she opened the window and took the envelope.

"Mother! Father! They're here! They've been marked!"

Hermione had taken every subject available for NEWT levels, apart from divination, which was ridiculous, and muggle studies, which she wouldn't have touched with a stick.

With her Mother and Father breathlessly assembled and watching, Hermione eyed the paper at arms length. The sum of her illustrious schooling career. The product of many sleepless nights and seven whole years of intense study. Now she would see if she really was the brightest witch of her age.

"Come on, open it." whispered her mother, eyes intense, hands clasped. Hermione ripped open the envelope, and unfolded the letter. Her eyes scanned over the preamble, and took in the columns of grades before even reading the subjects they corresponded to. Outstanding after outstanding- but an unexpected character, E, stood out among the Os. She had received an E in defence against the dark arts. The one subject that would actually be useful in the years to come! Hadn't she studied technique harder than anyone else? And been the first to produce protego wordlessly? Her O in defence against the dark arts OWLs meant nothing now.

Impatient and sick of the suspense, Anna snatched away the letter and read over it with Callidus.

"Hermione, this is so good! Merlin, by the look on your face, I thought you'd failed something. You got an O in arithmancy, potions, charms, transfiguration, herbology, history, astronomy, ancient runes, and alchemy! That is- well, outstanding."

But Hermione was fuming. She spent the evening poring over her book on duelling technique, and reducing an unfortunate chair (her target for practising) to a state far beyond what repairo could mend.

A/N:

Stoddards is wizard polo. It's canon but hasn't appeared in anything, I though it would be the sort of thing pure-bloods play.

Sorry for the Gobineau-esque internal monologue. It's weird writing Hermione as a fascist instead of a sjw, but she will grow and develop throughout the story.

The next three-ish chapters are almost purely sexual tension, mostly with Narcissa.