Mr. and Mrs. Granger of London were proud to say that they had a witch for a daughter, proud that is until their daughter Hermione wiped all trace of her existence from their memory.
Hermione was in the midst of a war, and she was trying to protect her parents from the foes she had been fighting against for years, the patriarchy.
Now bitch is going to die.
Six years earlier, Hermione first boarded the Hogswart’s express, excited to make friends and finally be valued for her talents, rather than teased for being different. “Hello, I’m Hermione Granger, is that seat taken?” “I’m Harry, Harry Potter, and sorry, this carriage is for boys only.”
It was in that moment that Hermione first learned a valuable skill, throwing shade. “I’ve read all the rules, there’s no such thing as a boys only carriage.”
“Do you know who that is? That’s Harry Potter, the boy who lived.”
“It’s funny you should say that because I’m Hermione Granger, the girl who gave literally zero fucks.”
Her badass antics attracted the boys’ attention. “You are fierce and independent, and that scares us, will you be in our gang please?”
Despite their vaguely offensive ways, Hermione sensed that Ron and Harry weren’t so bad. Over the course of the year, she saved them several times.
Without Hermione, the boy who lived would have been dead as shit.
Harry and Ron began to think of Hermione as a sister, and felt protective toward her, but she she didn’t need their protection, especially when Draco was involved.
“Nice hoodie. It would look even better on the floor of the Slytherine dorms.”
“What did you say to me? Go on. Say that again.”
“It was a compliment I swear, it was just a complement.”
“Oh yeah, well, so is this.”
Twitter wasn’t around in those days, but if it was, she’d have just invented the boss witch hashtag.
Fourth year brought with it Bulgarian bombshell Viktor Krum. He had asked Hermione to the dance, and the pair looked resplendent.
Ron was more than a little jealous and asked Hermione to dance, but she didn’t want to. “Why are dressed like that if you don’t want attention eh?”
“Ron! You idiot! How dare you? How fucking dare you? I didn’t dress like this for Viktor or for you or for anyone. I dressed up for me so I could feel good, and you’ve ruined it.”
Trying to repair the damage, Harry apologized on Ron’s behalf. “Ron’s a nice guy, not like Drako. He didn’t meant to hurt you.”
“Well that’s the problem Harry, he didn’t think what he was saying was wrong. And it’s not just Ron and Drako I have to worry about.”
“Not all witches feel that way though surely.”
“Yes, all witches. All witches have had to put up with comments like that and worse.”
“But that’s, that’s impossible.”
Hermione was furious. If she couldn’t get Harry, her most reasonable, supportive, male friend to understand, then she may as well give up.
Then, the dark wizard Voldemort returned, “Surprise, bitches,” and summoned his death eaters, including Draco’s dad to update him on their plan.
“We’re not oppressing all witches quite yet my lord, but soon.”
Harry couldn’t believe his ears. He managed to escape, but his world had changed forever. “It’s real, you were right. I’m so sorry. Yes, all witches.”
Hermione forgave Ron, realizing he too was a victim of the patriarchy.
“When you grow up in a culture that allows wizards to speak to witches that way, how are you supposed to know that it’s wrong, but do it again and I’ll cut you.”
The fight against the patriarchy was beginning in earnest. After months of wandering around forests, Hermione took charge.
“Let’s go fuck up their shit.”
Sensing this might be her last night on earth, Hermione kissed Ron. She didn’t have time to explain that this was not a binding contract, guaranteeing a future of marriage and children. Sometimes a kiss was just that.
Draco was still trying to make this all about him.
“Witches get a free ride, it’s wizards like me who suffer. Where’s my special treatment? I deserve a kiss. It’s misanthropy I tell you.”
“Don’t misinterpret your feelings of inadequacy for the cultural, social, economic, and political oppression of an entire gender.”
Draco didn’t listen, so Hermione shut him down the best way she knew how. She set that bitch on fire.
Outside, the battle of Hogwart’s had begun. Hermione broke the bad news to Harry. For the plan to work, he’d have to die.
“Harry Potter is dead. Long live the patriarchy.”
Hermione wasn’t done yet.
“Not so fast cockface!”
“The girl who literally gave zero fucks. We meet at last.”
“You know, I used to hate you, but now I pity you. You don’t hate witches, you hate yourself. That’s what this is really about.”
Harry was alive the whole time, so much privilege that boy, even death gave him a pass. Hermione had figured out the source of Voldemort’s power, his snake.
She’d given Neville the most important job, because good leadership is about good delegation and he arrived right on schedule, cutting the head off Voldemort’s snake, just the tip really.
With his snake dismembered, Voldemort crumbled away to nothing, and took his archaic notions of gender roles with him.
“Does this mean the patriarchy is over?”
“Unfortunately no. Their figurehead is gone yes, but the fight will continue. We need to weed out and destroy sexism in all its forms.”
Hermione did just that. She dedicated her life to wiping out sexism in both the magic and muggle world, all was well.