This is an idea I've had for a while now. Enjoy x

Prologue

A Small, Two-bedroom Apartment

Somewhere outside of London, England

A hair breadth of time is all that was required to turn Hermione's day from one extreme to the next. The young Witch, brightest of her age, Britain's fiery beacon had returned home barely ten minutes earlier after a lovely outing with close girl-friends, to an ever-dawning understanding of the hushed chatter and scornful remarks of varying degree. The limited scatterings of strangers' conversations Hermione had overheard throughout her trip to Diagon Alley were rather peculiar; a discomforting irony to the otherwise tranquil summer's day.

Settling down at her quaint dining table with a copy of The Daily Prophet, the front-page article glaring defiantly in her face, Hermione finally understands the reason for such gossip and contempt as she feels her world crumbling around her. Her body trembles uncontrollably, face drained of all colour, that horrid, uncomfortable, sickening lump in her throat. The undeniability of what her future will now hold is clear the moment she reads those damning words.

MINISTRY DECLARES PET MUDBLOODS

'LORD RIDDLE PROCLAIMS A NEW AND IMPORVED registry of muggleborn Wizards and Witches.'

The whole of Britain's Wizarding populous had been anxiously awaiting the first official press release during these past few months after the blissful end of the Second Wizarding War. Since Lord Riddle claimed victory over the Rebels terrorising civilians and the peaceful prosperity of our great nation, He and his most trusted advisors have spent many gruelling hours rebuilding the Ministry and its Laws imperative to Wizarding culture and society.

Finally, during the late hours of yesterday afternoon, an exclusive press conference was held at an undisclosed location, formally addressing key solutions and announcing possible exciting changes. One such change will likely cause a stir throughout Wizarding Britain, though perhaps such a drastic measure is long overdue to protect and promote our prestigious legacies.

Lord Riddle proclaims a new and improved registry of muggleborn Wizards and Witches. The Ministry demands all with Muddy blood certify their identity and magical prowess, not only to determine their worth within our society, but to also influence biddings.

Yes, that's right! Mudbloods are decreed to become the complete, encompassing property of Pure Wizarding families.

Wizarding families of Pure blood and legacies, clearly expanding to the larger community of Half-bloods, now have the grand opportunity of bidding for Wizards and Witches of tainted, impure blood. Of course, 'officially' the Ministry's intent is to adopt Muggleborn Witches and Wizards into Pure Blooded familial Houses, though they request a reasonable donation to a charity of one's own choosing to assist with re-establishing the Wizarding nation's former glory.

Rita Skeeter

The Daily Prophet

Of course, Rita Skeeter glammed and sparkled the article for the benefit of the majority of Wizarding Britain, but Hermione Jean Granger has not been called the Brightest Witch of Her Age for absolutely no reason. Many Pureblood families continue to despise the very ground Muggle's and, in association, Muggleborn's walk upon. Whilst Lord Riddle and His did not mercilessly decimate millions of innocents simply because they do not have magic or are born of those so unfortunate circumstances during the Second Wizarding War, there is still a divide within the magical community.

One end of the spectrum sees beautifully bred, stunning and well-deserving Wizarding families – even Half-bloods are not so diluted of purity to be considered beneath mainstream Wizarding society. However, the opposing end of the spectrum glances scum Mudbloods, unfit to function appropriately within the pure intricacy of Wizarding culture. Life for Hermione has formed a rather complicated web of diagrams, in retrospect. So much so, her fear for her unknown future well-being is tenfold. The first metaphorical page of her life within the Wizarding world labels Potter's Little Mudblood Bint; the next scribes Muddy Serpent; the final, perhaps most shockingly disturbing of all, dictates Black Bastard.

Hermione Jean Granger. The Muggleborn best friend of Harry Potter – Lord Riddle's defeated nemesis; first ever Mudblood Slytherin; long-lost unclaimed illegitimate daughter of Rodolphus Lestrange and Narcissa Malfoy nee Black . . . hence entitled a Bastard of Black.

She can remember meeting Harry and Ron on the train during that very first journey to Hogwarts. They were going to be the best of friends – they already pinky-swore (at least, after Hermione and Harry explained the purpose of the sacred oath of promise-keeping to Ron). Even after Hermione was sorted into Slytherin, an arguably impressive and pivotal moment throughout Hogwart's history, and Harry and Ron were sorted into Gryffindor they both told Hermione she was still their friend. Hence becoming Potter's Little Mudblood Bint. Muddy Serpent may have started before or after that – Hermione can never remember which. Her House 'mates' decided she could not be a Pure Snake. The Serpent on the other hand is an evil creature, muddied by sin, below the grace and illustrious purity of the cunning, artful, slithering Snake.

These refences alone paint a rather bleak picture of Hermione's time at Hogwart's, and within the impressive Wizarding World she longed for. Her beginning years were torture of course. There are a spatter of scars adorning her body, many from the War, though Hermione can look at some and remember which House 'mate' was responsible: Terrence Higgs tripping her down the moving staircase, Rose Yaxley throwing that slightly-larger-than-small rock, Blaise Zabini scratching her thigh as he and his friends tore at her skirts . . . But that was another time, before her House somehow became among the most important people in her life.

Somehow began just before the summer between fifth and sixth year. This was when Black Bastard came into effect, though it is important to note none of those titles were ever spoken quite so brashly, cruelly, callously again – not to, in front of, near or around Hermione anyway. This is the time when she discovered her true parentage. The situation is unusual enough. Given the coupling of certain Witches and Wizards, and the clearly established love both sets hold for each other to this day, how on earth did Hermione happen? Something about a comatose Bellatrix and Lucius' dire, strenuous tasks as Lord Riddle's virtual Lieutenant caused a 'spark' between the grieving Rodolphus and lonely Narcissa. The formidable blonde had recently birthed Draco after all, and had not deigned attention from her beloved for months.

Hermione does not know much about her parents' thoughts or emotions at that time, let alone her early infancy or her parents', specifically Rodolphus', later involvement given the scandalous and, thus, extremely secretive pregnancy. Hermione was given away. The how's and why's of disappearing within the Muggle world became clear as Albus Dumbledore's treasonous actions were brought to light. He who desired a world void of dangerous Muggle humans and their vile, dirty tendencies; He who manipulated Gellert Grindelwald and later Tom Marvolo Riddle, effectively creating fledgling psychopaths in the making; He who influenced the Prophecy of the boy who will destroy the Lord De La Mort and, in consequence, the pure nature of Wizarding culture across the nation; He who infiltrated the Death Eaters to steal a babe from her crib and later abandon her in the Muggle world, predetermining her loyalty and allegiance to His cause.

Pins prick the corners of her eyes. Hermione angrily swipes a rogue tear trickling down her cheek. Very few people know how much Dumbledore ruined Wizarding Britain, creating a sense of unnecessary hatred and fear of non-magical beings and indirectly killing over one million Wizards and Witches within an eighty-year period. Fury and despair well within Hermione, for as Dumbledore ended millions of lives, including Grindelwald and Harry, He also destroyed her life and probably also her future.

Even after his death four years before the end of the First Wizarding War, even after Lord Riddle, Harry, the Rebels and Death Eaters knew of Dumbledore's treachery, there remained an ever-growing unrest within Wizarding Britain, predominantly stemming from an absolute fear and hatred of Muggles. The Rebels believed Wizards and Witches could live peacefully alongside the Muggle world as before, yet the Death Eaters' disdain and underlying aversion of Muggles could rival even the historic Witch Trials. Thus, concluding the Second Wizarding War with Harry's ultimate defeat little over seven months ago.

Tears fall unabashedly down Hermione's ashen cheeks. Dumbledore's death came shortly after Hermione learnt the truth of her parentage, though that alone sorely tested her loyalty, tearing her in two between one of her best friends and the family she had grown markedly close to in such a short frame of time. To suffer four years of war, her loyalty split between opposing forces, was Hell – especially when she ultimately chose Harry and received a swift reminder of how cruel and malicious Slytherin's, Death Eaters' and Purebloods could be . . . how cruel and malicious they had already been for the best part of her life.

In hindsight, Hermione has wondered whether her fealty to the Muggle world and Muggleborn's is the reason she remains Rodolphus and Narcissa's unclaimed illegitimate daughter. She continues to bear her Muggle family name, therefore, according to familial records archived within the depths of the Ministry, Hermione Jean Granger is still a Muggleborn Witch. Scanning through the article one final time, Hermione now knows the recent chatter and her impending doom as a pet for any Pure-blooded Wizarding family with fortunes to spare are completely and wholly terrifyingly true.

Malfoy Manor

Wiltshire, England

- 9 Days Ago -

Narcissa Malfoy growls as her grip on the paper, held in her delicate hands, tightens drastically. She desperately wishes to scrunch the offending post into a ball and set it alight, though she cannot. Malfoy manner is currently entertaining a number of family friends, both traditionally and formed within recent years. As it is, Eleanor Greengrass, Eva Parkinson and her eldest sister, Andromeda Tonks, are glancing over, concern regarding Narcissa's unusual behaviour marring their features.

Of course, Narcissa Malfoy is an aristocratic Witch. Though not afraid to get her hands a little dirty from time to time, she is the definition of perfectly demure in the public eye. Familial gatherings, such as this, are indeed far less formal than the game Witches of Narcissa's pedigree play among the populous, yet anger is certainly out of place when one socialises with friends and family. One could argue reading the Post is not acceptable when entertaining a social gathering, though the moment Narcissa overheard some Wizards and Witches discussing the 'obscene and degrading piece' – their words, not hers – and the terminology often used, she had to read it for herself.

Narcissa cannot help the rising fury as her sharp gaze stares at the letters adorning this particular article. It is obscene; 'degrading' is a term far too kind to describe the awful scene that horrid woman has painted. Smiling apologetically at the three Witches seated with her, and further ignoring anyone else glancing in their direction, Narcissa pleas her excuses, elegantly rises from the settee and stalks out of the room, the blasted paper clutched in one hand.

Bursting through the doors leading to the Malfoy's very own bar, the usually graceful Witch does not even flinch as one door ever so gently clashes into the wall. Ignoring the stares, she marches across the room, eyes fixated on one Wizard standing with her sister, his brother and four other Wizards by the bartop. She does not even spot her husband, Lucius, standing to her right, concern the only emotion flashing within his eyes as he retains the famous Malfoy aloofness attributed to the men in their family. Reaching her target, the irate Witch noiselessly, short of rustling paper, smacks the article on the counter. Staring straight at the formidable Wizard in question, she is unimpressed as his only response is the subtle raise of one eyebrow.

"Have you read this article?"

Her tone of voice is surprisingly calm considering her bizarre behaviour and actions, perhaps partially resulting from sensing a certain presence behind her and the Witch knows her husband has joined the group. She can also hear the continued chatter within the room; relief (and a little amusement) fills her as she realises Lucius has dealt with any prying eyes and ear-wagging. Outwardly, nonetheless, Narcissa maintains an irritable countenance as the Wizard opposite her barely glances the paper.

"An article written by that harlot, Rita Skeeter? I think not." His glance was too brief, too quick as he once more rests his gaze upon Narcissa's exasperated form. Though this time he holds a sense of irritation and disbelief, as though her mere suggestion of reading such . . . such trash, is a slight to his worthy title. Irises narrow and anger bristles, her magical core prickling her fair skin, sparking the tips of her blonde hair. Carefully, yet statically shoving the article an inch closer to the man, a growl once more resonates from her being.

"Read it." And he does.

Her demand clearly amuses him, as well as the one Witch and six Wizards still forming a circle around them. However, Narcissa knows the exact moment he finally fully absorbs the crass title, swiftly scanning the words underneath, for his amusement promptly disappears. A range of emotions cross his features, to the surprise of their gathered friends: Shock, Anger, Disgust, Sadness, before forming scorching hot, raving Fury. Even Lucius cannot hide his curiosity now.

"Rodolphus, what is it?" Bellatrix's voice is soft, her hand gently squeezing her husband's arm as a form of support. She tries to read the paper, though the writing is too small from her position.

His body is just as tense and irritable as Narcissa's; jaw clenched, hands balled into tightening fists, nostrils flaring. He once more looks at Narcissa, brown orbs fixated directly onto her azure irises. He even mirrors Narcissa's own reaction as one fist grips the paper, scrunching the pages even more. Breathing deeply, Rodolphus regains control of his anger. Flashing a reassuring smile to his wife and concerned brother, his full attention once more returns to Narcissa.

"However vile and disgusting that article and . . . that trollop, Skeeter, may be, you know the content is complete nonsense." His voice and features are calm, controlled, despite his continual disgust, though his eyebrows furrow in question upon Narcissa's unladylike scoff.

"Is it?" Rodolphus appears disgruntled, hurt flashing within his eyes upon what the Witch has insinuated. "There are plenty of charities raising funds to contribute to rebuilding after the War and we all know the decision regarding registering Muggleborn's to adopt them into Wizarding families."

Narcissa's voice gradually rises in tempo as her anger surges once more. She could barely control the crack in her voice when she said the word Muggleborn, knowing the title is politically and legally correct given Rodolphus' and her own actions – or lack, thereof. Though, given the hint of hurt she saw flickering within Rodolphus' orbs, guilt begins clawing at her insides. However angry and upset she is, Narcissa knows she is being unfair. The large Wizard appears to agree with her inner reflection, though before he can utter a response Lucius suggests taking their discussion somewhere with more privacy. Narcissa and Rodolphus concede upon realising they have gained attention from no less than half the room once more, after Narcissa's justifiable outburst.

Leaving the bar, Narcissa and Rodolphus are accompanied by Lucius, Bellatrix and Rabastan to Lucius' personal study in the West Wing on the second floor. Before he can close the door, however, one Antonin Dolohov forces his way into the room. Fixating a glare towards Lucius, he cuts across the man speaking his name and presumably about to dismiss him from the pending private conversation. Turning his attention towards Rodolphus, one of his closest friends since childhood, and Narcissa, it is the blonde Witch he addresses.

"I heard what you said. You're talking about Hermione and I deserve to know what is wrong." Turning back to Rodolphus his next words seem to do the trick. "You made me responsible for her the day she was born and you named me her Godfather." Rodolphus inclines his head before turning once more to Narcissa who had now begun to restlessly pace the length of Lucius' desk. However, he is once again cut off by his suddenly irate wife.

"You cannot seriously believe this rubbish, Cissa." Bellatrix Black had grabbed the article from the bartop downstairs, desperate to know what has angered her sister and husband so. Now she simply discards the article atop Lucius' desk, knocking over a photo and rustling some papers in her quick dismissal.

"Bella is right." Rodolphus finally speaks, though his voice is now soft with clarity as his prolonged silence has enabled the man to control his frustration with certain reports and their less than desirable content. "The two declarations are unparalleled." Regardless, his word and calming tone do not seem to play any affect upon Narcissa who is still pacing.

"You mentioned Skeeter." Rabastan pipes in. "Any information she publishes from now on will more than likely be false. As far as I'm aware she has been banned for life from attending any press releases, public or private."

"Regardless, we will have to rectify her error in judgement. There are many who would naively believe anything that Witch utters." Lucius stands to one side as the typically aristocratic Pure-blooded Wizard he is in every way, down to his family name; legs no more than shoulder-width apart, back straight, cane elegantly poised in his firm grip. Nevertheless, displeasure clearly masks his tone as his concerned gaze watches his wife who has yet to settle. His words, however appear to rouse Narcissa's temper once more. Whipping round to face the room, they are all startled to find her eyes glistening, though the Witch does not allow tears to fall.

"That is my point." Her voice sounds broken, a begrudgingly unconcealed sob catching in her throat. "Hermione has probably already read the article and all the disgusting implications that Bi . . . that, that horrid woman has suggested."

"I would hardly call Hermione naïve." Bellatrix snorts derisively.

"Narcissa has a point." Antonin ignores the glares everyone sends him, Bellatrix's particularly frosty as Narcissa appears to crumble even more. "I mean, given her history . . ." His explanation faulters as anger alights the three opposing Wizards and one formidable, markedly terrifying Witch.

"You may wish to consider your next words carefully, Dolohov, before I hex your jewels off." Bella hisses, her eyes sparking as she actually reaches for her wand.

"What I am trying to say is, given the War and Hermione's history amongst predominantly Pure-blood Wizards and Witches at Hogwarts, the article, however vile and untrue, is not entirely unfounded." Antonin eyes Bellatrix's hand virtually caressing her wand as he addresses Rodolphus, trying to ignore the heated glares from Lucius and Rabastan and the uncustomary shine adorning Narcissa's ice-blue orbs. "Even now we still distrust Muggles and are wary of Muggleborns."

Each occupant in the room is averse to Antonin's statement. There is, however, a sense of disgruntled acceptance that his words are unquestionably true, though Narcissa seemingly continues to grapple for the tethered edge of hysteria in a very un-Slytherin-like fashion. The very thought of what that malicious, ghastly reporter has insinuated is sickening to the core, if only because of their familial connection to a particular young Witch. Contemplating the heinous article and Antonin's irritably valid point, an unprecedented, yet perceptively unanimous realisation confounds the group.

The entirety of Wizarding Britain is at least subconsciously aware there remains a generic distrust of Muggles, beings with no magical core. The ideology of enslaving those characterised as lesser is a long-lasting quintessential rumour, revered by many Pureblood families within recent decades, especially Pure and Ancient Houses of the Sacred Twenty-Eight – the Black's; the Malfoy's; the Parkinson's, Goyle's, Flint's and Crabbe's to name a few. Lord Riddle's original inner circle of highly trained, tremendously dangerous Death Eater's indulged themselves with power rendered from the subjugation of hundreds, feasibly thousands of innocents. Such an epitome of potential Wizarding conduct is now everything short of abhorrent, diabolical and nauseating.

In that moment, Lucius reaches a decision. Gathering his robes from behind his desk, grasping the Paper, completely ignoring the disturbance Bellatrix caused after her dismissal of the dreadful article – all the while knowing the 'mess' will provoke him once the current problem is resolved – the Malfoy patriarch folds the pages and swiftly slips the inked parchment in an obscured pocket inside his cloak. Fully aware he has acquired the rooms' full attention, Lucius ignores all but his beloved, stepping before her so unnaturally fragile figure; grasping one shoulder, knuckles tenderly brushing against her cheek, Lucius smiles softly.

"Go back downstairs. Enjoy the company of our family – perhaps stay with Andromeda if you feel unable to entertain anyone for the rest of the evening." Lucius quells any protest Narcissa attempts to make. "I will go to the Ministry; I will demand Tom meet with me in person and put an end to these asinine claims."

"Lucius . . ." Rodolphus involuntarily steps towards the couple. "I am grateful for your support, but I should deal with this."

Turning towards the elder Lestrange, Lucius barely conceals the slither of amusement as he appraises the large male's disgruntled expression. "If we desire to keep our invested interest from public scrutiny, you should not be seen parading around the Ministry, demanding for answers to these vile claims, however justifiable your concerns."

Reluctant acceptance is all Lucius requires to know the man is in agreement. Glancing over Bellatrix's irritation and Rabastan's thoughtful countenance, Lucius rests his eyes firmly on the final man.

"Dolohov." An imperceptible nod, no words needed to convey understanding. The men leave Lucius' office, intending to floo to the Ministry and nip this deplorable ordeal in the bud.

Perhaps they will succeed before the populous naively believe such sordid claims or, sweet Salazar have mercy, attune to the ideology. Their society has miraculously bounced back during these past months since the victorious end to the Second Wizarding War, though there are still fractures that require undivided attention. It would be a shame if Wizarding Britain's culture were to suffer a decline in prosperity. Detrimental circumstances could snap the threads already so sparsely intertwining the fabric of their legacy, for though their family – more specifically, one member of their family – will be deeply affected by this false decree, the men are all too aware of the atrocities that could occur in the near future now the seed has been planted and inextricably sewn.

I hope you guys enjoyed this introduction :D

I have a plan in place for where to take this fic, however even with the extra time from the lockdown updates will be slow and sporadic in the immediate future.

Please be patient and keep a weather eye x

Note: The summary, key (additional) characters and perhaps the rating are not yet set in stone.