AN: Okay, so it's been a hell of a while since my last "Collar..." update, and I'll be honest, I'm not sure when the next chapter will be out. I've hit a bit of a writer's block without Voldemort around to create a ready-made conflict, and emotions are a lot harder to write than action scenes for me. This idea came to me last night, and I eventually decided to write it down and publish it as a one-shot that could possibly be more. If I decide to continue it, maybe it'll get my creative juices flowing and I can continue with "Collar..." There are mentions of rape in this story, but nothing graphic, so no worries there.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Harry Potter. If I did, this shit would be cannon.

How Governmental Policies are Created

Once, as a social experiment, a group of scientists placed six monkeys in a cage. The monkeys were non-aggressive, and specifically chosen because they showed passive and submissive tendencies when around other monkeys. From the roof of the cage hung a banana on a string, and a small ladder was placed directly under the banana.

"Theodore Nott," Hermione spat the name as though it were acid on her tongue, "raped an eight-year-old girl during the Tri-Wizard Tournament! He was also a known Death Eater during Voldemort's" she bit back a smirk as her audience flinched in terror, "second reign. You mean to tell me that you only plan to punish him for one of those crimes?!"

Some of the all-male Wizengamot looked a tad guilty at the accusation, but a disturbing majority merely scoffed or raised a condescending eyebrow in response.

"Miss Granger, there is no law stating that subhuman beings can be raped by wizards." The Chief Warlock, a professional puppet with a permanent look of smelling something rancid, glared down his nose at the defiant brunette who had dared to interrupt the courtroom proceedings.

Naturally, one of the monkeys eventually tried to climb the ladder to reach the banana. As soon as he did, every monkey in the cage was sprayed with ice-cold water until the monkey jumped back down. This process was continued every time one of the monkeys attempted to get the banana hanging from the ceiling.

Eventually, the monkeys stopped trying, and were even careful to give the ladder itself a wide berth. None of them even looked in the banana's direction.

"That 'subhuman being' is my sister-in-law." Hermione growled through tightly clenched teeth as she struggled to contain the angry magic sparking from her fingertips. "And it's Madame Delacour, Chief Warlock. If there is no law, then the answer is simple: make one!"

"Miss Granger, need I remind you that marriages to subhuman beings are not recognized by the Ministry, either? Even if it is recognized by the French Ministry." Chief Puppet sneered distastefully as he mentioned his government's French counterpart. "Furthermore, this august body does not make laws on the say-so of a spoiled brat."

"A spoiled brat who's not afraid to say the name Voldemort, you mean?" This time, Hermione didn't bother to contain her feral smirk at the cries of terror that echoed throughout the courtroom. "A spoiled brat who sacrificed everything, including her parents," she threw her cloak from her shoulders and ripped her left sleeve off, exposing the jagged scars that ran up her now almost useless arm, "and her body, so that a pathetic toady like yourself could weasel his way into the top seat of this corrupt court?! A spoiled brat who fought like an angry wolf so that mice that you could tell her to stop fighting and get in her cage?!"

"THAT IS QUITE ENOUGH!" Chief Puppet screeched as he jumped to his feet, his face red from either his anger or the effort. "I WILL NOT SIT HERE AND HAVE THIS HONORABLE GOVERNING BODY INSULTED BY A MUD-"

"By a MUDBLOOD?!" Hermione challenged with a victorious smirk as the courtroom stared in awe and fear at the showdown taking place.

Once they knew that none of the monkeys would make another attempt for the banana, the scientists removed one and put a new monkey in his place. The new monkey had never been touched by the water, and he had never seen the other monkeys being sprayed. Naturally, he went straight for the ladder and the yellow fruit hanging from the ceiling.

The other monkeys, specifically chosen for their docility and submissiveness, immediately jumped on the new monkey. The bit, punched, kicked, and scratched him before throwing him in the corner farthest from the ladder. The new monkey tried for the banana a couple more times, and each time was met with the same brutal treatment.

Eventually, the new monkey also stopped trying for the banana.

Chief Puppet's blue eyes stared into Hermione's angry brown ones. The courtroom collectively held their breaths as the stare down continued for what felt like hours. Hermione knew that this man could throw her in Azkaban, or through the Veil, or just make life in Magical Britain all-around hellish for her, but she didn't give a shit. Gabrielle had waited eight long years for justice, and the brunette would be damned if she allowed this group of holier-than-thou pureblooded bigots to tell the girl that she would never see Nott punished for what he did to her. She'd stood up to Snatchers, Death Eaters, Mercenaries, and (in one particularly memorable episode) Voldemort himself to protect Fleur and Gabrielle; this jumped up little sycophant was dreaming if he thought his purple robes and superior demeanor would make Hermione back down.

Finally, the Chief Warlock blinked and stiffly re-took his seat.

"Auror Potter," he said with barely contained fury, "escort Miss Granger out of this courtroom. Note also that she is fined one knut for using a slur in the presence of the Wizengamot." The fine was only a formality, and he made sure to use it to emphasize to the young woman just how much he thought she was worth. In this pissing contest, it was the only victory Chief Puppet would be getting from the muggleborn witch. He intended to wring all he could out of it. "I advise you not to resist, Miss Granger. After all, Potter did face down He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named like a true Gryffindor."

Hermione, refusing to be baited any further, shifted her hard gaze to the emerald eyes of the Man-Who-Triumphed.

"Lions may be the stronger animal," Hermione said with an eerily calm voice as she stared the Auror down, "but wolves never perform in the circus."

She then fished a galleon out of her pocket and flipped the coin with her thumb, using a bit of wandless magic to make it land in Chief Puppet's goblet of pumpkin juice. The tiny splash caused a few drops to spill onto the parchment on his desk.

"Keep the change." She called over her shoulder as she stalked out of the courtroom with her head held high.

Once the new monkey began to avoid the banana with the same intensity as the others, the scientists replaced another one of the original monkeys with a new one. Once again, this new monkey had never been touched by the cold water. Of course, he went straight for the ladder and the banana. Yet again, the other monkeys attacked the newcomer savagely. However, the scientists noted that not only did the first new monkey join in on the beat down, he attacked the newcomer even more savagely than most of the other monkeys. He had never been sprayed, and he had no idea why they were not allowed to get the banana, he simply knew that it was forbidden.

Eventually, the second new monkey also learned not to go for the banana.

Harry hurried out of the courtroom as soon as it had emptied, frantically looking for the defiant brunette. A shiver ran down his spine as a cool voice drifted from the darkened corner nearest the courtroom door.

"Did you know, Harry?" Came the cold tone with a hint of accusation.

"Hermione," he called desperately as he whirled to face her, "please, you have to understand-"

Whatever Hermione needed to understand was cut off as a chilly hand grabbed Harry by the throat and pinned him against the wall. Harry had always been wiry and fast, but his lean body was no match against the solid wall of muscle that the Second War had turned Hermione into.

The scientists continued to periodically switch out the original monkeys for new ones. Each time they added a new monkey, he would be taught the hard way not to try to get the banana. Eventually, there were six monkeys in the cage who had never been sprayed, but absolutely refused to go near the ladder.

The Second War against Voldemort had been fought on two fronts: the public front and the private front. Harry obviously had to be the public figurehead, since his presence kept the people of Magical Britain in good spirits and made them more willing to oppose the Death Eaters. The public army was comprised of talented duelers, skilled Transfigurationists, and master healers. People who had a great deal of magical power and stamina. Dean Thomas, whose years of playing MMORPGs gave him a surprising amount of tactical knowledge, affectionately referred to Harry's group as "The Tanks". Most of the purebloods didn't get it, but it never failed to make the muggleborn and muggle-raised smirk in equal parts secrecy and pride.

When Harry publicly dueled and killed Voldemort in the middle of the Ministry of Magic, he and the rest of the Tanks were awarded Orders of Merlin for their bravery. Harry Potter was the conquering hero, able to flatten any who dared challenge him in a magical fight.

A physical fight, however, was a completely different story.

Hermione's right hand grabbed Harry's in a vice-like grip as she pinned him against the wall with her left. His green eyes traced the vein-like scars that ran like lightning bolts up her arm, souvenirs from when she had grabbed a Death Eater's equivalent of a cattle prod by the business end to protect Gabrielle and to pull the gaping Death Eater close enough for Hermione to shove a knife into his eye socket and brain. Her left arm now suffered from extreme nerve damage and hurt like hell the few times she could force it to respond to her commands. Harry looked into Hermione's eyes and didn't see pain, only cold fury.

"Did you know that they weren't going to charge Nott with rape?" Hermione asked again, her jaw clenched with barely contained rage. "Do you know how long it took for me and Fleur to convince her to share that memory? Do you know how many times I promised her that he would be punished for what he did?! Do you know how many night terrors she's suffered because of that piece of shit?!" Her hissed words floated eerily through the empty corridor.

"I…I'm sorry, Hermione." Was all that Harry could offer. The rage that had built in Hermione's eyes vanished in an instant, leaving behind two hollow orbs that stared him down coldly. They scared Harry even more.

"…So am I." She whispered as she released her grip on Harry and watched him crumple to the floor dispassionately. As she turned to leave, she left the green-eyed wizard with one last haunting question.

"What would Ron say, if he were here?"

Deviating slightly from their normal routine, the scientists added a seventh monkey to the group instead of replacing one. The new monkey, of course, went straight for the banana and was attacked. The six monkeys attacking the seventh had never been sprayed with water. They had no idea why they weren't allowed to go near the banana, they simply knew that anyone who did needed to be punished.

Why?

Because that's the way it's always been done.

Hermione retreated to her small workshop behind the cozy cottage that she and Fleur owned in France. Gabrielle, after numerous calming and dreamless sleep potions, had finally succumb to a fitful sleep. Even then, she refused to close her eyes unless her sister promised to stay with her. The muggleborn had given the two some privacy as soon as Gabrielle had drifted off, but told Fleur that she would leave a monitoring charm on the bedroom in case she was needed. Her wife didn't argue, knowing that the conflicted brunette needed some time to think. To sort things out. To plan.

Hermione knew that this would happen. Veela, werewolves, elves, goblins…they were all considered less than human to the bigoted English government. That hadn't changed when Voldemort had finally been killed almost a year ago, and Harry didn't seem to be interested in using his newfound political clout to make the changes Magical Britain really needed. He'd already fought one war, and he wasn't eager to start another one. Still, in a last-ditch attempt to give him and the pure-blooded government one last chance to start changing their ways, Hermione had petitioned for Theodore Nott to be charged with the rape of Gabrielle Delacour, who had been eight years old at the time.

She knew, deep down, that all of her effort would be in vain. Veela carried with them a certain stigma in Britain, and were stereotyped as being promiscuous and sex-crazed.

"She probably forced the poor young man into it, then cried rape to get some galleons from his family."

"Really, what was she thinking, wandering around by herself with so many wizards weak to her thrall?"

"The little tart was asking for it, really."

The cruel words of some of the courtroom audience members came back to her as she pulled various folders and rolls of parchment from her desk. Her left arm throbbed in agony as she forced it to work, but she ignored it. She needed the pain. She had failed her sister-in-law. She needed the punishment.

Soon, the walls and desks were covered with blueprints, files, and dossiers. All of them pertaining to the Ministry of Magic and its leadership. On the corkboard in the center were the pictures and names of the department heads, Wizengamot members, and major donors. Pureblood fanatics, all of them.

She sat in her chair and looked at the pictures, her good hand compulsively fingering a small bronze badge with a wolf's head holding a dagger in its teeth engraved on the front. The badge of the Rogues.

Led by Hermione and comprised of witches and wizards who weren't particularly powerful or well-known, the Rogues were the other main force in the war against Voldemort. They were people who tended to go unnoticed all of their lives, and were generally considered unremarkable in terms of power or ability. But what they lacked in power, they made up for in cunning, agility, and pure ruthlessness.

While the Tanks kept Voldemort focused on themselves, the Rogues would do the work that no one else could do. They kidnapped and "interrogated" higher-level Death Eaters, they set fire to manors and supply storage facilities, they monitored every home in Magical Britain, and they assassinated public supporters of Voldemort. It was a dirty job, and it used a surprisingly small amount of magic in order to keep the Rogues somewhat under Voldemort's radar. The arrogant Dark Lord continuously dismissed them as being too weak to fight like "real Wizards", even when they managed to slit Draco Malfoy's throat in the middle of Knockturn Alley. Luna had particularly enjoyed that kill.

Forgoing their wands and charms for knives and runes, Hermione's small army carefully picked off important members of Voldemort's regime until none but his most incompetent followers remained when the final battle took place. Harry never knew how many Horcruxes Riddle had made, nor did he know about the magic-draining poison slipped into the Dark Lord's tea every morning for a month. As powerful as Harry was, Hermione never took chances.

After the final battle, the mostly pureblooded Tanks were celebrated for their actions, while the primarily muggle-rooted Rogues were quietly given minor awards and shuffled into menial administrative and custodial roles within the Ministry. Hermione often wondered if the difference in treatment was due to blood status, or because the public simply wasn't willing to admit what it really took to win a war. It didn't matter, because the Ministry had done exactly what had been expected of them.

Only a fool whose power comes from nepotism ignores the people on the bottom rung of a company. Receptionists, gophers, and custodians may make less than the department heads, but they knew far more about what was going on around them. As the Ministry taxed, bullied,0 and blustered their way back into "respectability", the Rogues quietly gathered intel. Over the course of a year, they'd amassed enough information to know every department head's extended family by individual names.

They'd plotted and planned and waited, and it was finally about to pay off. If the government didn't want to change itself, then they would change it. They would start a revolution, and Hermione would lead the charge. And she knew that, with enough convincing, the downtrodden elves, werewolves, goblins, and other "sub humans" would follow. British purebloods spent so much time degrading anyone they considered "beneath" them, that they'd never stopped to consider that they were the minority in the magical world.

Hermione intended to remind them.

Another jolt of pain, far stronger than the earlier ones, shot through Hermione's arm suddenly, making her hiss in agony. She stared down at the arm she'd sacrificed for the "Greater Good" with undisguised distain. She never regretted saving Gabrielle from one of the "Shock Staves", as they were called by the Death Eaters, but she hated how devastating not having one working arm was. Fleur was using magic and physical therapy to heal her arm, but it was a slow process and it didn't guarantee that she'd ever have the full use of her arm again.

Hermione needed two arms to fight the revolution.

She cleared the nearby desk and stretched her arm across it, casting barriers to protect the papers on the walls and floor. She re-enforced the silencing charm that was already around the shed and cast several strong numbing charms on her arm. She pulled a Pepper-Up potion from her pocket and downed it swiftly; it would keep her from going into shock. She then conjured a piece of wood and stuck it between her teeth, biting down in anticipation.

Hermione contemplated what she was about to do. Replacing her arm with a metal one would be a simple task, though she would make sure to use a duller black-colored metal in her conjuring. It's rather difficult to sneak about when you have a shiny metal arm gleaming in the light, after all. Still, Fleur wouldn't be too thrilled about the metal arm, though she would understand why it was necessary. But, despite the pain her current arm caused her, she would miss feeling the warmth of Fleur's skin under those fingertips. Feeling Fleur's hand trace lightly along her bicep and shoulder, causing her to squirm. Feeling the wet heat of her lover's core as Hermione loved her with her fingers. She would miss a lot of things about this arm. But she would gain a lot, as well.

The brunette placed the tip of her wand against her left shoulder, her mind whirling with images of a free Britain. Of muggleborns who weren't treated with distain simply because of who their parents were. Of elves who weren't ordered to die fighting bravely as their masters cowered in secret rooms. Of goblins who were respected for their incredible abilities, rather than restricted and treated with unfair suspicion. Of pureblood bigots forced to work the menial jobs they'd actually earned.

Of a little blonde Veela finally seeing justice for the horrible things done to her.

Hermione's eyes flashed with resolve, and she muttered around the wood in her clenched teeth the first spell of the British Revolution:

"Diffindo."