I have been nominated in three categories for the 2018 Enchanted Awards. My reaction was as follows: What?... then, Holy shit!... followed by, WHAT?!
The list of nominees is available on the Granger Enchanted Survivors 18+ page on Facebook, and voting's open till March 24th. So if you'd like, you can... you know. Ahem.

And now -

DISCLAIMER: I own nothing but this twisted so-called "plot".

Some of the dialogue here has been borrowed (and maybe somewhat decontextualised and fiddled with,) from DH.

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There was a plate of stale biscuits before her, with a cup of cold tea to the side – both remained untouched. Hermione was doing what she always did when beleaguered: She was making a list.

Their first day in hiding at 12 Grimmauld Place had been, to say the least, utterly insane. So here's what happened, she summarised systematically and succinctly in her head:
1. Harry was being tormented by the idea that Dumbledore had sat mute and indifferent while his domineering mother had abused his squib sister, (based on a claim by the oh so scrupulous Rita Skeeter).
2. R.A.B. stood for Regulus Arcturus Black. (Now that was a discovery that truly stunned her. Sirius' so-called 'evil brother' – supposedly an irredeemable coward and ex-follower of Voldemort – turned out to be an unexpected hero. They didn't know what it was that had caused him to turn against his master, but it was enough for him to sacrifice his life. And he hadn't let Kreacher take the fall for him either. How could such a man, all things considered, be thought of as anything but brave? His family and upbringing had led him down a certain path, but he had eventually chosen to turn away. Not as soon and as easily as his brother, but still... Hermione's mind jumped to Theo and Malfoy – a situation that could be similar... but wasn't quite...)

"...literally no food in the bloody house!"
Harry and Ron stomped into the drawing room, shattering her train of thought. Ron looked supremely disgruntled, but perked up a trifle on spotting the plate of biscuits that Hermione wasn't eating.
"-choo up to?" he asked with a mouth full of crumbs.
"Nothing," she replied wearily.
Harry was noticeably twitchy, and he strode over to the large window to peer outside. "Shouldn't Kreacher be back by now? House-Elfs are supposed to be great at finding people..."
"It's Mundungus, mate," said Ron smoothly, "He's a good hider, yeah?"

Hermione clasped her hands together and sighed –
3. The locket, that is, the bloody Horcrux, had been in their hands two years ago, and they'd tossed it aside carelessly. Now that crook Mundungus Fletcher had it. (Thinking of Kreacher's horrible ordeal made her eyes sting, yet again, with tears. It was truly sick the way...)

"Hey, Hermione? Hullo... more where that came from?"
She glared balefully at Ron who was pointing at her cup. But then, Harry came and sat beside her, looking discouraged and jittery and everything else that characterised a person in desperate need for a spot of tea.
So, she muttered, "Of course," and fished a kettle, two cups, and a box of teabags out of her bag.

One... Two... Three... Four days went by, and Kreacher did not return. Worry over that, mixed with the strain of their general situation and the gloomy atmosphere in the house had turned the three 'best friends' into bad-tempered, intolerant, and reluctant roommates who could scarcely stand to be around one another.

One the fifth night of Kreacher's nonappearance, Harry was, true to form, glued to the drawing room window with his hands in tight fists by his sides, and Ron was stretched out on the moth-eaten sofa, twiddling his thumbs. Scribbling furiously into a notebook, Hermione sat on the floor translating The Tales of Beedle the Bard – mostly to keep her mind off Theo and how much she wished he was around. The text was littered with irregular runes, some that she couldn't find anywhere in Spellman's Syllabary, and so she was forced to improvise.

The Wizard and The Hopping Pot

There was once (deviation from the standard rune for 'c') a kindly old wizard who used his magic generously and wisely for the benefit of his neighbours. Rather than reveal the true (single symbol used; similar to the Old Futhark rune for 'truth') source of his power, he pretended that his potions, ?, and antidotes

"What's wrong, Harry?"
She dropped her pen at Ron's exclamation, gazing up at the Chosen One's choicest look of disquietude.
"Death Eaters," said Harry darkly, "Outside."
"Reckon they know we're in here?" asked Ron while sitting up.
Hermione nervously tapped her nail against the floor and mused, "I don't think so... else they'd have sent Snape in after us, wouldn't they? And Moody's curse is preventing him from telling them how to get in... They're probably watching to see whether we turn up. They know that Harry owns the house, after all."
"How do they—?" began Harry.
"Wizarding wills are examined by the Ministry, remember? They'll know Sirius left you the place."
With a low grunt, Harry stalked back to the window to keep vigil. Ron fell back on the sofa, and Hermione picked up her pen.

sprang ready–made from the little cauldron he called his lucky cooking pot. From myls (i.e., miles) around people came to him with their troubles, and the wizard was pleased to give his pot a

The lights went out.
Then they came back on.
Ron was fiddling with the blasted Deluminator again.

stir and put things right.
This well-beloved wizard lived to a godly (goodly?) age, then

The lights went out.
Then they came back on.

died, leaving all his ?haytles (chattels?) to his only son. This son was of a very different disposition to his gentle father. Those who could no

The lights went out.
Blind with rage, (and, yes, okay, the lack of illumination, too,) Hermione chucked her pen in the direction she thought Ron was. It landed with a thud somewhere embarrassingly close to her.
"Will you stop it!" she yelled.
"Sorry, sorry!" Ron's voice called through the gloom, "I don't know I'm doing it!"
The lights came back on, and Hermione glowered at Ron's sheepish expression. "You don't know you're doing it?!" she demanded in disbelief, "I know you're remarkably thick, Ron, but how could you not notice the lights going on and off and –"
"Oh, simmer down! I said I'm sorry, didn't I?" Ron responded hotly.
"Well," Hermione spat, "can't you find something useful to occupy yourself?"
"What, like reading kids' stories?"
"Dumbledore left me this book –"
"– and he left me the Deluminator! Maybe I'm supposed to use it!"
"I'm sure he didn't intend for you to use it to annoy the shit out of your friends!"
"Well, maybe he did! You know, since I don't have your natural talent for annoying people –"

There was a loud CRASH from downstairs, and Hermione and Ron froze. They stared at each other in alarm for two-and-a-half seconds...
They tore down the stairs, wands drawn, coming to an abrupt halt in the hall, where Mrs. Black's portrait was raving, and Harry stood with his wand trained on a man whose identity was masked by a cloud of dust.
"MUDBLOODS AND FILTH DISHONORING MY HOUSE!"
Hermione skittered over to Harry's side; her heart was in her throat. The mysterious man coughed, waved his hands about to clear the air, and said, "Hold your fire, it's me, Remus!"
The relief she felt was so enormous that she nearly laughed. Oh thank goodness. She pointed her wand at Walburga Black's portrait and closed the curtains that kept her silent.

They sat at one end of the long wooden table in the kitchen, sipping on warm butterbeer that Lupin had pulled out from under his cloak, and stared down at the copy of the Daily Prophet that he'd placed before them. The entire front page was taken up by a photograph of Harry, under the most inflammatory of headlines: WANTED FOR QUESTIONING ABOUT THE DEATH OF ALBUS DUMBLEDORE.

"I'm sorry, Harry," said Lupin gently.
Harry said nothing. He simply pushed the paper away and took a small sip of his beverage.
Hermione seethed on his behalf; "So Death Eaters have taken over the Daily Prophet too? But surely people realize what's going on?"

Lupin shook his head tiredly. "The coup has been smooth and virtually silent. The official version of Scrimgeour's murder is that he resigned; he has been replaced by Pius Thicknesse, who is under the Imperius Curse.

"Naturally many people have deduced what has happened: There has been such a dramatic change in Ministry policy in the last few days, and many are whispering that Voldemort must be behind it. But that's the point: They whisper. They daren't confide in each other, not knowing whom to trust; they are scared to speak out, in case their suspicions are true and their families are targeted."

"And this dramatic change in Ministry policy involves warning the Wizarding world against me instead of Voldemort?" Harry asked bitterly.

"That's certainly part of it," Lupin replied, "and it is a masterstroke. Now that Dumbledore is dead, you – the Boy Who Lived – were sure to be the symbol and rallying point for any resistance to Voldemort. But by suggesting that you had a hand in the old hero's death, Voldemort has not only set a price upon your head, but sown doubt and fear amongst many who would have defended you. Meanwhile, the Ministry has started moving against muggleborns. Look at page two," he said, gesturing towards the Prophet.

With anticipatory disgust, Hermione turned the page. "Muggleborn Register," she read aloud, and the more she read, the higher her voice got. It reached a fevered pitch at phrases like 'the so-called muggleborn is likely to have obtained magical power by theft or force', and 'the Ministry is determined to root out such usurpers of magical power'.
"People won't let this happen," Ron said questioningly.
"It is happening, Ron,' said Lupin, "Muggleborns are being rounded up as we speak."

And so, Hermione deduced, she would have had to be on the run even if she hadn't chosen to stick with Harry.
"It's ...it's ..." Harry stuttered, face red and eyes blazing.
"I know." Lupin stated gloomily.

Hermione used the spell of silence that followed to steel herself to broach a rather precarious subject. She hadn't said a word about it to Harry or Ron, since tempers had been flying high of late, but with Lupin here... well, she just had to know.
"Proffes – ahem, pardon me, Remus... What is going on with Draco Malfoy?"
To her right, Ron choked on his butterbeer, and broke into a loud bout of coughing. To her left, Harry froze, and stared at her in discombobulation. Hermione, however, kept her eyes locked on Lupin, who, with a look of great resignation, said, "I was wondering when you'd bring that up."
"Draco Malfoy?!" Ron splutter, "What the hell?"
Hermione sighed, and at long last, told the tale about her run-in with Malfoy at Bill and Fleur's wedding, and his subsequent spat with Lupin that she witnessed.
"What the hell," Ron said again, once she had finished.
Lupid chugged the final dregs of his butterbeer, set the bottle down on the table rather loudly, and ran the back of his hand across his mouth. "He came to us on the night of Tonks and my wedding. Genius move on his part, to show up at Andromeda's – no matter what the family history, she would never turn her nephew away. I was all for handing him over to Mad-Eye, but she insisted he be allowed to explain himself. And for the first time in my life, I witnessed Tonks agreeing with her mother.
"First thing, he wanted to know where Theodore Nott was. Of course, I told him nothing until he first made his intentions clear... So he told us that Dumbledore had offered him sanctuary, but... um... had unfortunately died before he could accept –"
"And whose sodding fault was that?" Ron spat.
"He said," Lupin continued, "That he wanted to take up that offer... that he would switch sides and help out. Of course, I didn't believe a word he was saying, so he offered to drink Veritaserum, if necessary –"
"He wasn't lying," Harry muttered, "I was there, remember? Dumbledore did offer, and he was going to accept..."
"Well, yes," Lupin concurred, "The Veritaserum confirmed as much. When we asked him what his terms were, he demanded again to know the whereabouts of Nott. But then, he declined to go into hiding with him – said he couldn't leave his parents behind. Bear in mind, I'm giving you a highly sanitised version of what transpired; that boy is a smartarse reprobate, and I quite nearly rung his neck."
"You should've," Ron grumbled, and Hermione, who was completely riveted by Lupin's account, shushed him impatiently.
"So then what happened?" Harry prodded.
"Well, he said he'd play the spy – pass information about Death Eater plots and plans –" (Lupin paused to acknowledge Hermione's surprised snicker of approval at his phrasing,) "– and in return, we would have to swear not to harm either of his parents, and, when...and if... the time for sentencing comes –"
"NO," Ron exploded, "You're JOKING. He wants to be let off?"
"Him and his mother, yes. I told him that there was no way Lucius Malfoy could dodge punishment, so he demanded leniency in his case –"
"That's just... oh wow... batshit insane!" Ron shouted, "Leniency for Lucius Malfoy?! NO punishment for his arsehole son? He's a murderer!"
"He isn't a murderer –" Hermione reasoned timidly.
"Bloody close to one though!"
"Ron," Lupin called calmly, "His information has proved to be true and has helped us deflect some half a dozen Death Eater attacks – one of them, Hermione, being on your parents' neighbourhood."
Hermione shuddered... dreadfully... but Ron was not deterred.
"All that's well and good," he growled, "But he still fucking tried to kill people –"
"Ron –"
"He tried to kill ME!" Ron turned his eyes, burning with fury and betrayal towards Hermione, "I almost died, thanks to him. Don't you care about that? Shouldn't he be punished for that?"
Hermione let out a low whimper, not knowing at all how to answer him. Still, she tried: "Ron, it was an accident –"
"An accident," he hollered, "That's all? I could've died, and you're brushing it off as an accident?!"
"Harry nearly killed Malfoy, too! This whole... thing... is a mess..."
Next to her, she felt Harry shift uncomfortably. Ron's face twisted with contempt. "I don't believe this." He turned away from Hermione in disgust, and rounded on Lupin, "How... HOW... could you agree to this? How could you?"
"I told you, his information proved –"
"No. I mean before all that. How could you agree?!"
Suddenly, Lupin looked tired. His greying hair seemed to wilt, and a shadow passed over him. He looked crushingly sad. "He's Sirius' cousin. His... his whole demeanour... his eyes..." he broke off with a devastated sigh.
"For fuck's sake," Ron roared. He jumped out of his seat and stormed out of the kitchen.

Nobody spoke for a long time. Eventually, Lupin tentatively asked, "Are you okay with this, Harry?"
Harry shrugged apathetically. "It's what Dumbledore wanted. And turns out, Dumbledore wasn't a very good person at seventeen, either... so yeah, I'm all for redemption."
"Harry," Hermione whispered, "You know the Prophet is being controlled by Death Eaters; you can't believe what –"
"Right," he cut in shortly, and got to his feet, "I'm going to check on Ron."

And that left Hermione with Lupin who continued to look completely depressed.

"Remus," she whispered, and he started.
Clearing his throat, he broached, "I presume you still can't confide in me what your mission is?"
"I can't. Sorry."
"I thought you'd say that," said Lupin despondently. "But I could still be of some use to you. You know what I am and what I can do. I could come with you to provide protection. There would be no need to tell me exactly what you were up to."
Hermione felt her face pull into a frown as she considered him confoundedly. "But what about Tonks?"
"What about her?" Lupin raised his brows.
"Well," she said hesitatingly, "you're married; how does she feel about you going away with us?"
The tone with which he replied sent a shiver down her spine: "Tonks will be perfectly safe," he said coldly, "She'll be at her parents' house."
"Remus... is everything all right ...you know...between you and–"
"Everything is fine, thank you," he snapped acerbically.
Her face burned, and she stared diligently at her knee, even as she itched to squirm –
"Tonks is going to have a baby."
– Her head snapped up to gape at Lupin. "Oh, how wonderful!" she cried.
Lupin smiled tightly, as though it pained him to do so, and then – "So... do you think Harry will accept my offer?" On seeing Hermione's look of astonishment, he closed his eyes. "I-I made a grave mistake in marrying Tonks. I did it against my better judgment and I have regretted it very much ever since. She... the child... they deserve better than me."

It struck her like a flash of lightening: Why he had accepted Malfoy's deal... Why he was so morbidly unhappy... Why he could bring himself to leave Tonks...
She'd never had him to begin with. Lupin belonged to a dead man, and... And Hermione's heart broke for all the players stuck in such an awful tragedy. But before she could say anything, Harry's rough voice erupted from the doorway: "I see. So you're just going to dump her and the kid and run off with us?"

The scene that followed involved a lot of livid yelling and spiteful words (coward... bastard...). Hermione was barely aware of what was being said, and desperate to restore peace, she threw herself between the raving men. It came to an end when Lupin charged out of the house in a towering rage, eyes full of hurt.

"Harry!" Hermione keened, "How could you?"
"It was easy," he spat, shaking with anger, "Don't look at me like that!"
Ron, it appeared, had been drawn back downstairs by the hubbub, and he barked, "You shouldn't have said that stuff to Lupin."
"Oh shut up. He had it coming to him," Harry snapped, "Parents shouldn't leave their kids unless – unless they've got to."
Pity curdled in Hermione's gut. "Harry—" she whispered, reaching out to touch him, but he shrugged her hand off and stomped away to stare into the fire grate. Ron turned his back on both of them and began rifling through the pantry.
Hermione sat down again, keeping her eyes on the ground.

The three 'best friends' stewed in silence and resentment.

The silence rang on for two more days… And it was agony.

One night, not being able to keep it together, Hermione locked herself up in the loo and cried. She clutched her DA Galleon in her hand, wanting so badly to send a message, just so she had someone to communicate with. Maybe Luna would give her Galleon to Theo, and even one word from him would be a boon.

But then, there was a loud crack from outside, and on running pell-mell to the kitchen, she found that Kreacher had returned, with a frenzied Mundungus in tow.
And with that, suddenly, they had everything in the world to talk about.

Something had fissured, irrevocably, between Ron and her. While pieces of her feelings for him had been falling away all year, Ron had suffered a single moment of disenchantment. Ever since the night of Lupin's disastrous visit, there were moments when she'd catch him watching her in a way that made her skin crawl. He was amiable enough otherwise, as the three of them got involved in preparing for operation Trounce the Toad, but ever so often, he'd lash out at her with jibes more poisonous than ever before, and as a result of which, Hermione was the one who'd volunteer to watch the Ministry entrance most often.

She apparated back to the doorstep of Grimmauld place just as the sun had begun to set, careful to stay hidden under the invisibility cloak; there were four menacing Death Eaters on the street.
Her co-conspirators were seated at the now disconcertingly spotless kitchen table, pouring over their plan and the bits of Intel they had collected thus far, while munching on some scrumptious walnut cake.
"Everything okay?" Harry asked as she slipped tiredly into a chair.
"Yes, I – oh, thank you, Kreacher!" she gushed, eying the slice of cake he'd placed in front of her. Kreacher grunted, which was a marked improvement on his usual oh no, the mudblood is speaking to Kreacher, doom, gloom, kaboom reaction. "Anyway," Hermione soldiered on, "I know where Umbridge's office is. I overheard that big, bearded man telling his friend, 'I'll be up on level one, Dolores wants to see me,'... So round here, most probably." She marked a tentative 'x' on their roughly drawn map.
"That's great!" Harry cheered, "Now we just need to figure out a way in..."

Over the past two weeks, they'd learned that nobody, (save for the most senior officials,) was allowed to connect their homes to the Floo Network. Apparating in and out of the Ministry had been banned. The only way in was by using newly issued tokens. They had, maybe, possibly, identified three people who took the same route to the Ministry every day...

Unlike Kreacher's excellent cake, their scheme was disturbingly half-baked.

Three days later, after Hermione had spent six hours crouched in front of the Ministry, she decided to throw caution to the wind, and just walk.
She pulled the cloak tightly around her and ambulated down Whitehall, breathing in the cool evening air, and pensively watching the traffic rush by.
There were a surprising number of people out that evening, and as she neared St. James's Park, the crowd thickened. She looked about her in surprise; many people appeared to be crying, and nearly everybody was holding flowers.

Utterly perplexed, Hermione dived deeper into the swarm, hoping to find her way to the epicentre...

It was two hours after dark when she finally made it back to Grimmauld place.
"Where the hell were you?" Ron demanded, but Hermione held up her hand pleadingly.
"Kreacher," she whispered, "Would there be any... um... firewhiskey in the house?"
Not looking directly at her, the House-Elf nodded, and vanished. He rematerialised a second later with a bottle of Ogden's Old, and three glasses.

It was only after she'd had taken a couple of brisk sips that Hermione turned to her two anxious friends and said, "Princess Diana died."
"Who?" said Ron unsurprisingly.
Harry's forehead creased with worry, "Was it Death Ea–"
"No," Hermione said, "Car crash in Paris."
"Oh," Harry mumbled.

Hermione stared at the bright amber liquid in her glass while Harry (ineptly) told Ron about the monarchy. Somehow, holed up in that dingy house, she'd become myopic. She'd forgotten that while the British magical community was paralyzed, the rest of the world was carrying on. Princesses were dying, people were mourning. In some other part of the world, people must've had a cause for celebration. Children were being born. The sun was rising in Japan.
She wondered what dentists in Australia were up to.

Another three days later, Harry returned with a copy of the Daily Prophet, from which they learned that Snape had been appointed the new Headmaster of Hogwarts, and that attendance was mandatory.
Hermione shot up the stairs immediately, (secretly applauding her presence of mind,) to shove Phineas Nigellus' portrait into her trusted beaded bag. When she returned, the boys were quiet and sombre, and she knew that they were thinking about the same person as she was – Ginny.

"I think we should do it tomorrow," Harry declared softly, but firmly.

She would never get used to inhabiting someone else's body. Mafalda Hopkirk was not much larger than her, but she definitely had a touch of rheumatoid arthritis. The pointy kitten heels weren't helping. They click-clacked with every step she took, trailing behind Dolores Umbridge down to the Ministry court chambers. Hermione-as-Mafalda felt an urge to laugh hysterically. God, but her life was absurd.
However, that untimely urge left her the moment they stepped into the passage outside the courtrooms. It was brimming with dementors. She felt so terribly cold... until Umbridge snapped her fingers, and the whole swarm of black-cloaked soul-suckers disappeared into the other end of the hall.
"This way, Mafalda," Umbridge trilled. She patted the hideous velvet bow sitting on her head, and led them into a room to the left of the passageway.

It was a small room with a high rounded ceiling, like a giant bell jar. A fresh assault of despair alerted Hermione-as-Mafalda to the presence of more dementors here, on a raised podium but the wall. She followed Umbridge to a bench behind a banister, where a self-important looking man was already seated.
"Morning Yaxley," Umbridge sang, "I've got Mafalda along for record keeping." She then proceeded to summon a patronus (a silver Persian cat) and instructed it to pace before the banister. Instantly, the air around them warmed.

The "trials" Hermione-as-Mafalda witnessed were worse than she'd ever imagined. This was the build-up to a holocaust. She could barely keep herself from screaming in outrage, from hexing the two depraved monsters next to her. She needed to escape... And she needed to help out as many muggle-borns as possible...

"No, no! I'm a half-blood; I'm a half-blood, I tell you! My father was a wizard, he was, look him up! Arkie Alderton… he's a well-known broomstick designer! Look him up, I tell you—get your hands off me, get your hands off—"

Hermione-as-Mafalda bit the insides of her cheeks as Jimmy Alderton was dragged away by the dementors. It was good that she was so adept at taking notes, because she was hardly focusing on what she was writing.

"Next!" Umbridge called out, "Mary Cattermole."
Oh fuck. Hermione-as-Mafalda blinked in horror at the slim, petrified woman who'd just sat on the lone chair in the middle of the room.
"You are Mary Elizabeth Cattermole?" Umbridge asked authoritatively.
Mrs. Cattermole nodded meekly.
"Married to Reginald Cattermole of the Magical Maintenance Department?"
Mrs. Cattermole burst into tears. "I don't know where he is, he was supposed to meet me here!"
Hermione-as-Mafalda's hand was shaking. If they had just waited a little longer, they might've found someone else for Ron to impersonate...
"Mother to Maisie, Ellie, and Alfred Cattermole?" Umbridge continued ruthlessly.
"They're frightened," wailed Mrs. Cattermole, "They think I might not come home–"
"Spare us," Yaxley sneered, "The brats of Mudbloods do not stir our sympathies."

Okay, she absolutely had to help this woman... but what could she do? It was two against one, not to mention the army of dementors outside, and the entire ministry above...
Her eyes darted to the door... perhaps she could use a Decoy Detonator... cast a quick patronus...
"I'm behind you," came a whisper from behind her.
Hermione-as-Mafalda's hands flew up in the air. Her bottle of ink tipped over. She gasped in alarm. But after all that came immense relief – she knew that voice belonged to Harry-as-Runcorn.
Thank heavens.
And luckily, Umbridge and Yaxley were too busy interrogating to notice her little accident. Now, all she had to do was wait...

They were sprinting across the Atrium like madmen; Yaxley and his vengeful entourage hot on their tail.
"Come on!" Harry-as-Runcorn bellowed. His abnormally hand was in hers, slick with sweat, and they dived into the closest fireplace.
They were tossed, a moment later, out of a toilet, and outside the cubicle, they were reunited with Ron-as-Cattermole, trying to get away from his supposed wife.
"Reg, I don't understand—"
"Let go, I'm not your husband, you've got to go home!"

"LET'S GO," Harry-as-Runcorn yelled, over the noise of multiple cubicle doors crashing open. Hermione-as-Malfalda felt his fingers tighten around her, and he disapparated, landing them squarely in front of 12, Grimmauld Place.
No sooner did they land, than yet another clamour arose. Death Eaters – one, two, three, shit, too many of them – "Incarcer–"
She gripped Harry's hand, focused on the first place that popped into her head, and spun.