Prologue
Despite the complete teardown of social systems, health care, housing, and financial institutions, Wizarding Scotland was bloody beautiful in mid-winter. She'd slept underneath the thatched roof of an abandoned garden shed the entire week, but Hermione found the still, white snow wondrous as it cozied up around her.
This landscape reminded her of snowball fights, warm fireside cocoa, festive yuletide celebrations, and tickling beards nuzzling her forehead, as strong arms carried her all the way home from the Christmas parade. She snuggled closer to her patched-up quilt as she remembered her father's loud laughter and the smell of her mother's spicy perfume. These were the melodies that patted her to sleep on winter nights. Now, they provided the tune that filled up her soul, even when her belly was empty.
"I'm going to miss your dreams and schemes," said Neville. He stood leaning against the garden shed door.
Hermione smiled as she saw all the small faces grinning at her, from within the extended room. He must have Apparated inside when she wasn't listening.
"And just how can you tell I'm dreaming? Or scheming for that matter?"
"It keeps you sweet and innocent. And, it keeps you strong enough to hide us all." Neville seated himself beside her after closing the door behind him. Hermione sensed this conversation had taken a turn and she pulled her back up straight.
Neville did not continue speaking, and after many years on the road together, Hermione had learned that listening always gave more information than talking out of turn. Finally, the young man sighed and rubbed his leg, which never did heal quite right after that final battle. Neville watched, as the sun twinkled goodbye and the moon emerged, before drumming up enough courage to speak.
"This location's compromised. My ministry contact didn't meet me today, and I think it's time to make our escape."
"Neville, you can't possibly know that for sure. Maybe she got held up in prayer or, or-"
"Hermione," Neville said in warning, effectively stopping her protests. "I think I know my own grandmother. If she could've come, she would have. We have to push our plans up a few months. I know it isn't what we discussed, but we're running out of time."
Wrapping her arms around her middle, Hermione said, "That's very hasty. Your contact doesn't show, and you're ready to abandon our base? If we rush, we may not pull it off; then, all our hard work is gone, and the Ministry gets the elves anyway."
Neville was never a mean-spirited person but had grown considerably more sarcastic as the years dragged on.
"Sure, we can just wait around here for them, and maybe they won't show. Maybe they'll even knock if they do decide to drop in."
Hermione closed her eyes as she willed her temper down. Neville was right, and she was being purposefully naive. She didn't know she was crying until his rough fingers brushed her tears away.
"I'm sorry, 'Mione. I'm just mad as hell with nothing to do. My grandmother's most likely been killed, and I'm asking my oldest friend to pursue a suicide mission. Honestly, if Harry were here, he'd kill me himself for even suggesting putting you in danger."
Clasping the hand that he'd cupped around her cheek, Hermione nodded.
"He's not here, and we've got a job to do. You're right. We'll make our move tomorrow."
Neville's face turned to the side, and Hermione knew there was more. She and Neville had been watching each other's backs since the Final Battle when the Wizarding World collapsed into chaos until the order was eventually restored by a rogue group of charlatans. Neville had been wary of the new government, from the moment it began, and had convinced Hermione to continue the fight by his side, as they tried to dismantle "The Ministry" one mission at a time.
For the past three years, they'd been kidnapping house elves and had managed to steal hundreds, offering them protection. Hermione had realized that in a society that capped the magical output of its citizens, the Ministry would need extra hands to pick up the slack. That was where the elves came in, and that was when the Elvish Rescue Project started; if Hermione and Neville could bend the knee of even a small part of the Ministry's power, it would be worth it.
The elves had been so near death that they came rather easily. Each subsequent elf was in worse shape than the one before, and the little beings took a surprisingly long time to heal. The oldest rescue had only recently recovered his full range of motion. That was the trick with house elves; if they were attached to a master or a sufficiently magical homestead, they were able to pull the lingering magic from their home's bricks and mortar to heal, but in this new republic, where most elves were public slaves with no homes to draw strength from, most died from depleted magical cores.
Neville cleared his throat multiple times in rapid succession and his voice was thick with something when he finally did speak. "Hermione, if things fall apart tomorrow, I need you to do what you promised. I can protect myself, and I'll be very cross if you see a chance to save yourself and you don't."
His eyes were wet, and Hermione knew he hated bringing it up, as if it was admitting defeat. But, they were honest with each other, and they had to face the reality that their plans may not go smoothly. They had to face reality even if it hurt, even if it somehow tainted the memory of their friends, heroes who had died before them.
Hermione pulled Neville in close, listening to each other's steady breathing, as the liberated house elves coughed and moaned elsewhere within the secret garden shed. Neville did not speak, as if scandalized by his own words; he knew what Hermione's designation was, what he was asking her to become, but it was better than dying, in his opinion. Hermione whispered that she would, but only if she had to.
Not able to stand the fear and anxiety anymore, Hermione tried to make herself useful.
"The house magic will hold for the next few hours. If we're going to make a run for it, I'll start packing."
"I'm counting on you, Hermione." It was a warning. A promise.
"And, I'm counting on you to not do something stupid like sacrificing yourself." She shot back.
He frowned up at her as he reached in his pocket.
"I've been saving this. My gran said this is the best brothel; they'll treat you better than the rest."
Before she could object, he'd handed her a hammered metal cuff. Chiseled flowers of all varieties danced in intricate circles on the inner and outer surfaces. On closer inspection, there were delicately carved circles on the cuff with upwards of at least one hundred flowers. Hermione stared at the thing, as though it was a Horcrux waiting to drain her soul. Neville noticed.
"You'll wear it if the mission goes sideways."
Today was a very bad day for Hermione Granger. It was not only her first time back at King's Cross Station, in several years, but it was also the day her luck ran out. Without a person on the inside, they had to relocate, and now there was a mad scramble to get the elves moved to a new location and to keep Neville and herself somehow safe in the process. It had not gone according to plan.
Neville had used much of his strength to Apparate Hermione and the transfigured elves to the outskirts of London. With his subpar wand, he'd been forced to throw more power into his casting to ensure a successful spell. Hermione mused that a lesser wizard couldn't have done it, but Neville had always been more powerful than he'd ever given himself credit for and while it hurt to admit, without Harry's shadow blocking the way, Neville had become quite the fierce lion. But Hermione knew everything and everyone grew at their own pace, and only when there was enough sunlight on them to grow. Neville would need hours, if not days, to recuperate, and the world was burning, while the Ministry was closing in on them.
The Ministry's sudden attention was the strange part. For several years, the Ministry had clocked Neville and herself here and there, even putting them in prison for a time, but that was mostly for show. Once they'd properly humiliated the pair, they'd let them both go free without a word or even an explanation. The Ministry seemed to enjoy pulling their tails now and then just to hear her and Neville scream before releasing them like a bored if slightly vindictive cat. At first, even the elf-napping didn't seem to phase the government, until it suddenly did. Neville couldn't make any sense of their behavior, while Hermione suspected it was a long game that she wasn't qualified to deal into. But that had all changed about a year ago.
The Ministry, although different from the one from years before that constituted the Wizarding British Government, still seemed to deal in influence similarly. Much like with Harry before, it had become clear that they needed one more set piece to consider themselves fully realized. The ruling elite needed Hermione Granger inside the fold, and they'd do anything to have her. Hermione had surmised this when she'd been crowned Undesirable Number One, a phrase that had fallen out of favor in the five or so years after Harry's death.
It was a quick perusal of some dystopian Muggle literature that gave her the answer: for all their work to control the Wizarding population, the Ministry still needed a recognizable, almost celebrity-like presence to give them credibility. A member of the old guard, the old republic to truly get the citizens on board. And the easiest way to do that was to have Hermione and Neville under their paws to play with as they liked.
Neville had wondered when Hermione had come charging at him with her theory, why the Ministry hadn't simply asked them to join in the new government rather than making them outlaws? Hermione hadn't bothered to laugh and fell into a languid lecture that essentially boiled down to one plausible reason: if captured and shown mercy by the Philosopher's Sacramens and his Mage Bishops, the country's citizens would believe their government just and forgiving. By forcing Hermione and Neville to be indoctrinated into the new belief system and showing the world that the pair not only repented their sins against the government but now agreed that the Ministry was right, there would be no reason to doubt its validity. It truly was pedantic, if not slightly well played.
Hermione was apoplectic. The elves were her friends, her children, her charges, and she had to get them to safety. Keeping them out of the Ministry's clutches kept the Ministry weak and impotent. Without them, they had to put much more magical output into their own spells and their own households. The elves needed to stay disconnected from any political faction. Even the French wanted the elves. They, too, were desperate to have Neville and Hermione on their side, but Hermione had learned to stay away from well-meaning ideologies. It was Neville, herself, and their elves against the world, and damn anyone else.
She'd changed since the final battle. Her courage and morals had withered out just like Harry and Ron, the two halves of her soul had been eviscerated. The loyalty that lingered in a Gryffindor only applied to Hermione and her loved ones now. She didn't have time to worry about anyone else, and she had a chip on her shoulder a mile wide. That was fine with her.
Neville had thought to disguise the elves as coins, jangling inside a cloth coin purse that she held close to her hip. She, too, would be disguised, hoping to not seem out of place walking to the muggle world. She'd planned the whole scheme perfectly. In the end, it was all for naught.
They'd sat outside the shed, long after the elves had gone to sleep, in order to keep rehearsing their parts. They only had one wand between them, and while it was better than most wands made today, it still wasn't the most reliable. The trouble was that it only answered to Neville and ignored Hermione completely. Neville had practiced the transfiguration spell three times and had still not gotten it right when the mysterious Patronus appeared. Neither she nor Neville had seen a Patronus in years, let alone one so strong and detailed. It was an eastern screech owl with sharp talons and piercing eyes. It had caught them in the middle of the night. Neville's assumption had unfortunately been correct.
"Granger, the Ministry has been tipped off to your whereabouts. Proceed with extreme caution."
Hermione did not know what to make of the mysterious message. The sender sounded like a woman, but it wasn't a voice Hermione could place. That the person also had enough magical output saved up, that they were able to send that message to her, was another oddity. Very few people could do such a thing. Furthermore, how did the person know about Hermione, much less care if she were captured? Even if the person was a ministry drone trying to confuse her, they still knew too much. She looked over at Neville, who looked as concerned as she felt.
"Neville, what should we do?"
Thinking on his feet was his specialty of late, "Continue with the plan. Even if it was a ministry spy, we have to get those elves out of sight. Remember our goal."
"Agitate the Ministry's power base; I know."
"Then you know that it's our only option."
"Yes," she agreed before falling into a restless sleep.
The next morning was a slow and sluggish one. The elves took hours getting themselves sorted and ready, despite having had more than enough time to do so. Hermione's patience nearly ran out, but one silly grin from Neville and her heels cooled. The two of them were so in tune that one wrong look from the other could leave them in a tailspin, but one smile had the power to leave them feeling weightless. It was a strange side effect of living and working on a singular goal together, without any outside interference. It was something beautiful and treasured and something she didn't expect to have twice in her life; she'd been on the run with Harry years ago but had been on the run with Neville for far longer. But, like their twin origin tales, so too did both Harry and Neville burrow themselves deep in her heart, only to stay there indefinitely like a tattoo. Perhaps, the more apt comparison, considering Hermione's luck, would be a bird, forever trapped in her cage, fluttering and flittering with pale, thin wings...going nowhere.
Eventually, the small group was on their way. They slowly journeyed forward to the platform. Hermione never thought, in her wildest dreams, that one day she'd be attempting to leave Platform Nine and Three Quarters, rather than running to it. She hadn't ventured into the Muggle world in three years, and she'd never felt the ache for its normality in such inviolable waves.
It was forbidden to go into the Muggle world, under the current Ministry's rule. They'd decided that all magical beings were valued, but no one else could join their preselected club. That Grindelwald was actually correct, well mostly. They'd decided that Muggles were better off being left completely alone. They added nothing to the magical world and thus, needed to be excommunicated from the Wizarding world. Any Muggle-born child the Ministry became aware of was vanished in the middle of the night, to be raised by Ministry Wives. It was for the best, after all.
All exits to the Muggle world had been closed, Floo access had been strictly curtailed, and Portkeys were tightly regulated. Any feasible access to another country had either been closed or was so closely watched as to make it infeasible. It was the Ministry and the Ministry only, for all magical Brits, and if they didn't like it, well, that was just too bad. As far as Hermione could tell, the only real rebellion was hers and Neville's alone; so, clearly, it wasn't too much of a problem, or everyone was too beaten down with their magic capped to complain a whole hell of a lot.
Hermione, dressed as a Ministry Nun, walked slowly and purposefully through the crowd. They'd chosen the perfect day to run their play. It was the final day of school for Hogwarts students, before the winter holidays, and the train had just pulled into the station. There was a sharp pang in Hermione's heart that she staunchly ignored. These students were so different from her and her classmates, even as they succumbed to the Ministry's efforts, becoming the soldiers they were destined to be. Despite everything that had occurred, Hermione and her friends had had more joy and more individuality than the sad, lifeless students, who now marched off the Hogwarts Express.
The students formed orderly lines, as they exited the train cars that matched their school year. The Seventh year students stepped off first and calmly walked to the ministry designation point; however they didn't go into their respective communities until graduation, so Hermione could only imagine they were having some sort of trial run. They'd been sorted already and therefore knew where to go. They filled into three distinct groups: Ministry nuns and monks, Ministry husbands and wives, and the least likely group: brothel boys and girls. It didn't have to be said that Ministry Nuns and Monks were the most elite and most lucky group of all. Husbands and Wives had their own place and their own power and were generally given distinct orders that were easy to follow; so, even that designation wasn't terrible. It was the last and most cursed designation that no one wanted. Whilst the older students were utterly blank, Hermione could still see the fear reflecting like shields in their eyes. No one wanted to be one of them.
The younger years quietly headed to their parents or Ministry-appointed guardians, before being popped away without a lingering goodbye or look back at their school comrades. It was a bleak picture even for a hardened warrior like Hermione, who'd long since given up believing in anything good. It made that place in her, that missed her friends, feel hollow and dead, like a tree trunk that people refused to cut down even if it practically begged for it. No one and nothing wanted to live like a dead thing; it was crueler than death in many ways.
The ministry outfit she'd procured from an off market salesman was not entirely in fashion, with its too long sleeves and its not quite black color, but Hermione wore her habit with pride and haughtiness; she fervently hoped that'd be enough to get by. While not many people crossed into the Muggle world, enough Ministry Nuns and Monks were strolling through that she knew she'd be fine.
"Just a little more," she thought.
She was passing the school trunks that had been haplessly dumped at the final train car, with slaves picking through them to find the ones belonging to their owners. In place of elves, naughty children and convicts made up that no name class that wasn't even worth being mentioned.
Hermione had just stepped past the last trunk when a hex was thrown in her direction. She handed the bag to a disguised Neville and whispered for him to continue walking calmly. She did not answer the hex with one in return but merely continued to walk as she racked her brain for smaller, less noticeable, curses that she could discreetly cast let alone wandlessly.
She'd just decided on an Arresto Momentum when a Stupefy was thrown in their direction. Quick as lightning, she threw up a shield and pushed Neville into the crowd of startled Monks, whispering for him to just get through the platform.
In hopes of distracting the crowd, Hermione pushed two more bowl-cutted monks causing them to trip into some nearby slaves, as she ran towards the separating line. She felt herself being pulled through the barrier when she heard a child scream, and despite her best efforts, she turned to watch as the child was shoved to the ground by a Godric's Guard, one of the Ministry's attack dogs.
That was when the announcement came, "Citizens, it has been brought to our attention that highly dangerous criminals, Undesirable Number One and Two, are on this very platform. We ask for your assistance in capturing these heretics, and as an added incentive, we will be dropping magical stipends for the next 5 minutes. The one to catch them will be given unlimited units!"
At this, all measures of order collapsed. Everyone handled the news in one of three ways, Disapparating immediately to flee the danger, running for cover, or whipping out their wands to begin the hunt.
"Give yourself up! You promised!" Neville was apparently closer than she'd thought, as she heard him scream from the other side of the wall. "The cuff! You have to use the cuff."
She breathed, frantic. There were Godric's Guard members all around. She was trapped. The game was up. She pulled out the gleaming cuff before slapping it on her wrist. "For heaven's sake, Neville, run! " She prayed that he did.
And then, everything went black. Her last thought was to hope that the impact with the ground would spare her skull and wouldn't it be trampled when it made impact with the ground.
So I'm just uploading this here because I'm finally getting around to it! This story is already complete on my AO3 profile if you want to check it out. I may not be able to upload the final chapter here due to this story actually being closer to "E-rated" but only in the last chapter. I may cut some parts out or just not upload the final chapter. The sequel to this is also up on my AO3 profile! Thanks and I'd love know your thoughts!