Author note: The routine that I don't own these characters or make monies off the story can be so depressing. I do own the plot so stick it! :P


Chasing down sightings and rumors from all over the magical world they finally found the Mudblood. Almost four years she somehow avoided his best Snatchers but he wouldn't be beaten by a tainted slag. He heard the rumors of her greatness, but he saw nothing to substantiate the claim. Some did advise layoff, she was protected. What would those creatines know? Lowborn with minimum intelligence their mediocre magic only saves them from being muggles animals. His coffers were going to overflow by 15,000 Galleons. Gathering the reports Dreues pulls Hermione's most updated picture. She has filled out, long dark curls, glowing brown skin from the Spanish sun. After all the trouble he went through he may take a taste before handing her over.

Beneath a nondescript office building in the coastal city of Nador, the Magical Cabinet of Morocco (MCM) is in mid-session.

Grimacing Judge Cherkaoui slams the gavel. "I have heard both arguments for the approval and denial of admitting these British citizens seeking asylum in our country." Looking over his glasses he ponders on the case before him.

These people, standing before me, seek refuge to escape a marriage law. Normally, I would agree to a marriage contract, they would have been regarded as scandalous for disregarding societal obligation.

But! But many within this group are survivors of that ridiculous British Half-blood war.

At the cusp of becoming adults, these individuals took responsibility for warriors and fought for their very right to exist. To breath, think, be worthy! There is no greater cause than to shed blood for countrymen. Instead of given praise for their sacrifice and valor they are demonized as cowards that are fighting against a just system. Each brings a skill thus, a stronger standing in not becoming a burden to the country.

Glancing to the side of the room, a small cloister of men and women, an assortment of people, who normally wouldn't cross paths due to different creed and status. Put aside their differences for a common goal, to take each expat into their homes. The British Enclave were fools. The Moroccans understand and respect fierce devotion is not to be discarded but savored.

"Permission granted."

From the side of the chambers, the small crowd crows in delight. The gravel hits again "Out, out I have other cases to hear." Quickly many of the refugees join the group then spill into the corridor to be greeted by another more official group.

Cameras flashed and microphones were shoved into the faces of attorneys, Giovanni, and Natale Buscema. These powerful, highly paid men were known for representing the elite of both the No Maji and Maji. It was widely known their law firm had a very personal grievance against the British Enclave. One sparked by one too many British pureblood hands greased to escape charges pressed for heritage theft, rape, murder the list goes on.

Fate brought together the most interesting people together. High-quality Pro bono was good for the social status of the law firm and the community.

"Giovanni! Gervese Huston from the Quibbler. Can you tell us what is next now that you were able to ensure these British refugees' asylum?"

Flashing his signature smile he leans closer the reporter with a gleam in his eye "I must say that I am proud to see a reporter of your caliber is willing to write the truth in your country. We of Buscema Law Firm are ecstatic that our great country of Morocco, has opened arms to a rejected people who have so much to offer not only in knowledge and skill but loyalty. Child soldiers that fought amid such chaotic times and leadership. These children who shed blood for freedom, now adults are being targeted by the same government they fought to establish for the "Greater Good". They deserve the right to live on their terms not has chattel."

"Eric Aldo, The Guardian. Will you reach out to your constituents at Palwin and Ingeram?"

Natale boyishly grins, "Why what a splendid idea! I am sure they would welcome more resources to bring this deplorable law to a sure and quick end. Now please let us through we have clients who would like to celebrate their new status as Moroccan citizens."


The small café was teeming with activity as Harry Potter entered unnoticed. He watched as the people chattered in excitement. After witnessing another approval of asylum, Harry and his team weren't keen on confronting the group. Especially with so many reporters around. So, the operation was revised, to keep it under the media spotlight and he was ordered to bring Hermione in himself.

Alone, no backup to spook her. Maybe she would, he hoped she would understand. Given their history and her need to please authority come quietly. His once sister in arms, confident and friend. He knew it was wrong to use their friendship, but he had to seemingly uphold the law and flush out to her 'assigned' spouse, so with Gryffindor courage, he moved in on his target.

People stepped aside as he moved forward. Hermione sat by the wall, chatting with some unremarkable men with black robes, a third was contributing to the conversation just off her shoulder.

He hasn't seen her in so long, but she seemed so happy, glowing even. But she needed to come home where the Order could protect her. Here it was too open and foreign.

On the other side of the room, Attaché Asira Davin watches the Grangers work the room. Each target small cluster of people with assuring gestures of comfort and smiles. At first, the attaché thought this assignment was a demotion. The group was so unassuming, she may even say dull. None were of any status, simple people fleeing due to Human rights violations.

Before she knew it, a man, maybe an admirer, tried to accost Hermione Granger. Before she could blink every wand carrier had their weapons out pointing to the man that was thrown to the floor by the local Maji.

The poor sap, M'Baku was going to have his spleen.


Sub-Basement of the café

The festivities were coming to an end as the patrons began leaving. Soon the courtyard in the back of the café only had the workers were seen cleaning up and putting the tables and chairs away.

Lead Auror, Harry Potter sits in the storage room wondering where he went wrong.

Yeah, it went pear-shaped the moment he decided to go after Hermione.

The door opens behind him, three pairs of footsteps are heard before coming in front of him. All men of dark complexion dressed in traditional muggle clothing stand with blank faces.

The man speaking was approximately sixty years, salt and pepper hair and beard with a London accent "I know you don't remember me, boy. It has been almost nine years since we meet on the Platform."

Anger laced through Harry at the term 'boy' but he set it aside. Looking closer Harry can't seem to place the man. "No, I don't. Look, I'm sure that we talk this out. I can ensure that I can keep your involvement from my superiors. Your impeding on a case for the British Enclave. I need to see Hermione, she's in danger and I need to get her to a safe place."

The other two men stayed silent as the speaker took a step closer to Harry. "I don't look in the least familiar? Not around the eyes or lips or chin?" Shaking his head in disappointment. "Duchess did say you tend to go with minimum intel but fully cocked."

The man smirked "You're here to take her to safety? The fucking arrogance, Dumbledore's doing? Let me give you a quick rundown of what will happen. Pictures of you attacking a female British muggleborn after the verdict of the MCM admitting British refugees will be in tomorrow's international early edition paper. The first set of pictures will be the chaos you created has already gone viral. The mid-morning edition will identify most of the party-goers, the late-night edition will show a very pregnant Hermione Jean Granger cowering from her once best friend, Harry Potter."

Harry paled not only from the implication it was created against MoM but also the news of Hermione pregnancy "She is ok, right?"

Sneering, "Auror Potter, Hermione is a strong woman even in her condition. How should she react to the boy who she helped saved countless times, and always stood by his side come to forcibly take her back to the country that would sell her to the highest bidder?"

Shaking his head in denial "No, I won't let that happen to Mione. Look let me talk to her, I'm sure she would understand."

Raising a questioning eyebrow, the man waits for a further explanation.

"Look there was, uh, is a plan to keep her safe. Once she set foot in England the public would know who is her match. Now things changed. When it is known she complied the Ministry can't touch her. All she needs to do is come back to England and the charges will be dropped."

Letting go a long sigh "You are a fool boy. Let me spell it out. By quietly disappearing, the most prize Muggleborn defied the Ministry. The Ministry wasn't able to use her as an example of fine Muggleborn compliance. Now she has reappeared with a bang, meeting the requirements of that damn law your enforcing. All without Ministry involvement. They cannot control her bloodline or money; her accomplishments will not be credited to MoM. She out of their reach, unlike you!"

Harry nearly flinches at the man's words. "Look it wasn't easy for any of us after the war. We moved on in our lives and lived it the best way we knew. Hermione left to find her way and we went along with it. The act blindsided us but we still believe in the system. If she came to us we would have kept her safe."

"You think as if you had a choice in Hermione's life, boy. So, I call on your bullshite Potter. She was safe but then you never thought things through have you Auror Potter? When has that girl ever done anything without thinking and planning? When she was ready, her whereabouts would have been 'leaked'. A compromise would have been settled between governments. A quick news conference for photo opportunities. All would have been forgiven. Yet, a certain green-eyed boy and his band of fuck wits just bollocks that plan. Wanting to keep her safe!? Where the fuck, have you all been these last fifteen years?! Now, you tosspots, come to save the day? "

Leaning forward, "Tell your superiors and the Order of the Flaming Chicken, Hermione Jean Granger is protected by the Order of Malta. Any move against her or her family will have dire consequences."

The men turn to leave, as Harry sits stunned. "Oh, and Harry, my daughter has no words for you or the others that abandoned her. Also, she always hated that damn nickname."

The door closes leaving the young man to realize his mistakes. Blinking several times, he bends over in grief and sobs.


36 hours later - The British consulate, Morocco

At the back of the consulate, the night guards change for the morning shift, an expensive SUV quickly drives by, dumping a body bag that comes to a stop at the gate. Cautiously the guards find an alive slightly bruised person inside.

Azhaar al-Kamel was not a man that tolerated people who carelessly broke rules. Governments are to civilize the savages and the rule weak. Men of social status and means created them to control the masses. He was one of many who ensured this order was maintained. A man weaned on negotiations and closely guarded secrets. al-Kamel understood sacrifice and had his share of dubious decisions to ensure the British Enclave was kept secret at all costs. In front of him was what he considered a waste of space and time.

British Hero, Lead Auror, Harry Potter was unceremoniously dumped on the sanction grounds of Magical Britain like trash. The paperwork alone was going to be a nightmare.

International papers are already circling pictures of 'The Chosen One' amid a festive celebration lunging at a very pregnant muggleborn icon, Hermione Granger on Moroccan soil.

The debriefing is going to create a shite storm.

All before fucking breakfast.

It was a smooth ride on the Bugatti. Looking from the side Hermione watched the scenery speed by. Her mood was melancholy, her heart was breaking. She knew the possibilities of MoM sending Harry, it was their best bet to get close to her. Hope against hope she thought he would refuse, the little girl in her still yearned for the skinny little boy she called 'brother'. She winced as the baby moved, causing her to shift and rub until she settled. Her baby girl would be ready to see the world soon. Another shift against her lap, a mewl, and snuggle.

"Momma"

"Yes, Idris?"

"Are we there yet?"

The pilot chuckled, "No, little one, we won't reach Wakanda for another thirty minutes."

Attaché Ce'Athauna Asira Davin, sat across from Hermione smiling. She has only been in the presence of this woman for mere hours and comes to deeply respect her. Watching Dr. Granger whip the crowd into a well-oiled machine was interesting. Within a half an hour her family with the help of the refugees managed to pull off a contingency plan with flawless determination and ease. Hermione inspired trust in her quiet command even the seasoned Malta Maji listened.

That sealed Ce'Athauna decision to allow her into Wakanda, present Dr. Granger as a refugee and start the paperwork for this small family to become citizens.

M'Baku loves babies. She'll let him talk to King T'Challa.