Chapter Text
When your boss is the chief of staff for the minister for magic, and your boss’s boss is the minister for magic, you really cannot afford to be late to your job. But on this very important day, Hermione was running late. Not literally running late—as a witch she could disappear and reappear anywhere, as long as she thought about it long enough—but the coffee line was taking longer than normal, causing Hermione to obsessively check her watch.
The young woman in front of Hermione kept giving her nasty looks, probably because Hermione was invading her personal space. But it was not Hermione’s fault that the line was almost out the door. Hermione smiled at the annoyed woman with a high ponytail, who was probably an intern at the ministry, based on her youthful appearance and the fact that she was getting coffee at five in the morning.
Hermione, however, was not an intern. As deputy chief of staff, one might assume that she had more important things to do than to wait around getting coffee, but her boss had decided that the ministry could cut costs by having Hermione serve both deputy and secretarial duties. Hermione relented, but only because she was desperate to one day become minister for magic herself. Every coffee run was putting her one step closer to actually making a difference in the world. At least, that was what she told herself.
Though the line seemed to finally be moving, Ponytail still had a sour look on her face. Hermione did not necessarily blame her. Part of the reason Hermione was late today was that she had stayed up the previous night fretting about the passage of an upcoming piece of legislation. As young women, both Hermione and Ponytail would be most affected, so for both of their sakes, Hermione was still praying it would not be passed.
Drinks in hand, Hermione left the coffee shop and returned to the brisk November air. Shivering, she rounded the corner toward the employee entrance. Tomorrow she would have to remember to wear her winter coat and to dig her hat and gloves out from the storage bin. Hermione checked her watch—it was still not yet six—so maybe her boss would not be so cross with her.
But her hope had been in vain, since in the very next moment, she walked into something tall and solid, a person. “I’m sorry,” she said. But the person, whose long black coat she could make out thanks to the light of a nearby streetlamp, was continuing at their clipped pace in the opposite direction.
Nevertheless, Hermione was not too upset by this rudeness, since it had not delayed her too much. And checking her watch—wait. The coffee cup in her left hand was missing its lid and appeared to be half-empty. Based on its milky contents, she could tell it was her boss’s cup.
Any normal person might just tell their boss that they had accidentally spilled their drink and that they could get them another one, but Hermione had made the mistake of showing up to work without coffee in the past and she was never going to make that mistake again. So she spun on her heel and walked back into the coffee shop, to wait and worry some more.
After a second trip to the coffee shop, Hermione was pleased to see her boss was not at his desk when she set the cup down. But on her trip back to her own desk, she could hear him pulling out his chair.
“Hermione, so glad you could join us,” he said.
Hermione turned slowly, giving herself time to put on her fakest smile. “Good morning. Sorry I was late, Mr. Weasley.” That was another thing about her boss: not only did she have to address him by his last name, he was also her ex-fiancé’s brother.
“Not to worry, Hermione, you will just have to make up the time later,” he responded, taking a sip of his coffee. Great, Hermione thought. Now she would be leaving at nine instead of at eight. “Do you know what today is?” Percy asked.
Hermione knew he was taunting her. “Yes,” she said.
“Good, then you already know I want a press memo on my desk before lunch.”
“But we don’t know how parliament will vote,” Hermione said, cautiously. She knew Percy wanted the law to pass and he knew how much she was against it.
“If you are so worried about it, write two memos for all I care. But I am telling you, we have the votes.”
Hermione lowered herself slowly into her chair. The world was spinning too fast. She could feel her heart beating in her chest, hear her blood rushing in her ears. She wished she could be anywhere else. Hermione did not know if she was on the verge of crying or throwing up.
She closed her eyes and took a few steadying breaths. She could not afford to lose her cool at work. Every wrong move was ammunition Percy could use against her as they both jockeyed for the minister’s favor. And the law had not been passed yet; she still had a sliver of hope, however small.
Reopening her eyes, Hermione slid a piece of paper into her typewriter and began formulating her thoughts. Part of her job was to write statements from the minister to give to the press. Since the law was something of a pet project for the minister, she had to give it glowing praise, even though she despised every part of it.
But after every sentence or two, Hermione had to stop what she was doing to think about how her life would be under the law. It was hard to get work done when your world was about to be flipped upside down. Her greatest fear was that she would no longer be able to work and that all those coffee trips and yessirs to Percy would have been for nothing. It was not as if she knew of any single men who would marry her, so who knew if she might be forced to marry a man with backwards ideas, who thought she needed to work fewer hours or quit altogether.
In the end, however, she was able to crank something out: some nonsense about building a stronger, better magical community. The whole thing nauseated Hermione, but she dropped the memo on Percy’s desk before heading out to lunch.
Following the Second Wizarding War and his subsequent retirement from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Severus Snape had been determined to start his life anew. The two most important facets of his new life, he had decided, were to be peace and anonymity. He had achieved both of those feats by moving to a new house and opening up an apothecary under a false name using the money he received from his Order of Merlin, First Class. He had not thought he deserved such a distinction, but after years of living on a teacher’s salary, he could hardly have refused the monetary portion of the award.
That morning, while it was still dark, he had been on his way to his store, fresh potion ingredients from his greenhouse tucked under his arm, when he was nearly run down by a woman carrying two large cups of coffee, obsessively checking her watch. Severus had recognized her immediately by her single-mindedness and bushy hair, but had not stopped to dress her down for bumping into him, since it was not his intention to be recognized by someone as nosy as Hermione Granger. He recalled seeing her name in the paper at least once before and if he remembered correctly, she had a high-ranking job in the Ministry. This had made sense to Severus at the time—know-it-alls like her always thought they knew how best to rule.
Severus unlocked the door to his shop, but then proceeded to lock it behind him. The apothecary would not be open to the public until Todd arrived. Todd was a young man Severus had hired to be the front-facing half of the business, dealing with his customers so that no one knew that it was actually Severus Snape who owned and operated the establishment. The young man had been specifically hired for his people skills, despite his dearth of potion-making knowledge.
Generally, if the customers did not know what they needed or wanted already, Todd would have them describe their ailment and then go to a room at the back of the shop “to see what he could do” and either come back with an estimate for a price and pick-up date, or to hand them a ready-made brew. The arrangement seemed to work well since no one had figured out who really owned the apothecary and Severus still had a steady stream of customers. Well, at least enough customers to cover the rent and pay for Todd’s salary, with a little left over for Severus himself.
To the back of the store, to his workshop, was directly where Severus went, humming to himself all the while. He set about working on a potion for a woman who complained of her aging husband’s diminishing libido. Severus did not think drugging your spouse was an effective solution to any problem but he was there to sell potions and not to function as a marriage counselor. He had never been married, so what the hell did he know anyway?
But if the rumors were correct regarding a new law, Severus’s marital status might be changing. Although the public was not sure what had become of him following the war, the government knew exactly where he was—he did pay taxes, after all—which he was starting to regret more and more. Still, he might yet emerge from the passage of the law unscathed. Young, single women would be the only group compelled to get married.
Severus wondered briefly if Granger was behind this stupid piece of legislation. To the best of his knowledge, she had married the youngest Weasley boy shortly after the war. Perhaps this law was a manifestation of her unhappy life; if she could not be happily married, no one should be. Well, Severus did not know for certain if her marriage was an unhappy one, but he could not imagine a partnership with a Weasley was a fulfilling one.
Chopping, cutting, crushing, Severus dove deep into his work, eager to have the thoughts of his government’s poor decision-making leave his head. His workshop was his happy place. The room was well-lit, certainly in comparison to his old lab in the dungeons of Hogwarts. The wallspace—that which was not already covered in shelves of pre-made potions, potion ingredients, and potion books—prominently featured botanical drawings he had bought on a whim from an art gallery in Diagon Alley. After Severus had hung them up and saw the signatures at the bottom, he had had a good laugh to himself. If only Longbottom knew that his least favorite teacher loved and hung up his work.
Severus heard Todd come in for the start of the workday without a word to him. That was the other great thing about his employee: he knew not to talk too much around Severus, chatty with the customers but reticent with his boss. Todd would enter Severus’s dominion only if necessary. For common ailments, he had a good handle on what potions were required.
On that particular day, after the third or fourth customer came in, he only interrupted Severus’s peace to ask about a cure for joints that ached when it rained. Even then Todd did not have to say anything, Severus just handed him one of the many arthritis potions he made for the aging magical population. Severus knew immediately which formulation the man required, since he could easily hear everything that went on in his main room. However, he had placed enchantments, which functioned somewhat like a one-way mirror for sound, so no one could hear him when he played his favorite music. For Severus nothing could quite beat stirring a potion to the tune of a song you had loved since childhood.
Around lunchtime, Severus pulled his hood over his head—not an unusual sight on a cold, wet November day—and cast a Notice-Me-Not Charm before stepping into the street to walk to his favorite muggle restaurant. Once inside, he could drop all magic and his hood—there was no chance anyone would recognize him there.
To his dismay, however, while he took bites of his stew and read a chapter of his book, he heard a pair next to him discussing “the ministry” and “Shacklebolt” in hushed tones. He was behind a post so they could not see him, but their very presence meant that magical-folk had discovered this place and might soon appear in droves. Severus would not be returning if that were to be the case.
“This is ridiculous. All of the good men have already been taken. The only ‘eligible’ bachelors are twice our age.”
“You’re telling me. My dad just told me his coworker is newly divorced and was asking about me.”
So the rumors were true. The “marriage law” had been passed. Severus had been buoyed by the thought that no woman would ask for his hand since none of them knew he still existed and even then, he knew he was far from what was considered “conventionally attractive.” But now he was wondering if, based on what these young women were saying, he might be conscripted into service. He shuddered at the thought.
Someone must be happy, however. She would probably be celebrating with the other government bigwigs, maybe even with a bottle of champagne. Where did they even get off enacting such laws? They were not content enough to control magic, they had to control people’s personal lives as well. And for what? All in the name of increasing the magical population? Maybe that was not such a good thing. It was not as if their magical-ness made them any better than any other non-magical person. In that way, the government seemed a lot like Voldemort.
The idea sickened him so much he could barely finish his stew. A great pity too, since it might very well be his last bowl.
Thoughts of running far away from her current predicament swirled in her head as Hermione walked to her favorite spot for lunch. It was a muggle restaurant, so she never saw anyone she knew; a welcome change of pace from having some amount of fame in a relatively small community.
Her back itched, but it was hard to scratch through her coat, so she fought through the discomfort. She had noticed the rash on her back a couple of nights ago but had yet to find the time to look into treating it. Hermione was still unsure what was the cause of the irritation. Maybe it was the stress of work or maybe it was a result of the impending doom she felt every time she had heard any news about the marriage law. It was a minor annoyance for now, but if it grew any larger, it might become visible and seriously impact her ability to attract the attention of a husband. Gross. She shuddered at the thought.
Hermione was about to enter the restaurant when she was so rudely bumped into by a tall man wearing all black. Hermione was about to dress the man down for behaving so poorly when she had the fleeting idea that maybe this was the same man from before. And if he recognized her, he might yell at her for spilling coffee on his expensive-looking peacoat. So Hermione held her tongue, even if that was a very unlikely possibility.
Trying to shake off thoughts about the mysterious man in black, Hermione put on her biggest smile and greeted the woman working at the counter before putting in her order for takeout. Her job might prevent her from enjoying a nice, sit-down lunch, but that did not mean she could not enjoy restaurant-quality food. That, and she did not have the necessary time or skills to prepare her own meals.
A week passed and Hermione was joined by Percy, the minister, and other senior officials in a conference room. They had gathered to discuss their newest piece of legislation. Hermione had been sure to bring a notebook and a slew of different colored pens to doodle through what was sure to be a dreadfully boring meeting.
“Polls are coming in and it looks like we’re getting a lot of heat for this new law,” Percy began. Hermione rolled her eyes. She could have told them that without having asked a single person. “Which is why I am proposing a campaign to help… convince the public, as it were, that this law is actually great.”
Hermione could not draw but it did not stop her from drawing a little Percy, complete with glasses and curls, standing on a box, his hands on his hips. She drew lines coming from his mouth to represent his shouted words and a smug expression on his face, Drawing-Percy pleased to hear himself speak.
“I wonder if it would not be beneficial for one of us to practice what we preach and fall on his,” Percy turned his attention to Hermione, “or her sword.” His comment earned a laugh from every man—which was almost everyone—in the room. “Hermione, you’re not married, are you?”
“No,” Hermione replied, setting down her pen and covering her still wet drawing with her hand. She could not tell if Percy was doing this in front of their colleagues to embarrass her or because he actually wanted her to get married. Percy wielded humiliation like a cudgel.
“That’s a good idea,” Albert Gove, another advisor, added. “Perhaps you should get married, Hermione.”
“That would be nearly impossible on such short notice,” Hermione said, trying to stay calm. She could not believe it had come to this. “I’m not seeing anyone at the moment and—”
“But, you were engaged to my brother briefly, weren’t you?” Percy asked, trying to sound dumb. He was fully aware—as was everyone else there—about her failed engagement to his brother, the very public calling-off of the wedding and subsequent backlash she endured for months at the hands of the media, accused of being the frigid bitch who had destroyed everyone’s favorite relationship.
“Briefly, yes,” Hermione said, wishing she could give the man a swift kick under the table. There was clearly no level to which her boss would not be willing to stoop. Sometimes she wondered if he treated her even worse because she had (allegedly) broken his brother’s heart.
“Well, maybe he’ll take you back,” Percy said, with a simpering smile. Hermione knew that definitely was not going to happen, even if she had wanted it to. Ron had been named Witch Weekly’s “Most Eligible Bachelor” four times this year alone. Inevitably, he was having strings of affairs and would never suffer being “tied down” again.
“It would be a great help to the administration if you could help… amend this situation,” Gove said. “You are the only unmarried person in this room and you possess a high enough profile as to attract enough attention away from people’s apparent burgeoning unhappiness with the law. Could you not at least try to remedy the situation with Mr. Weasley?”
Hermione was saved from having to talk down such a frankly stupid idea by Phaedra Chapman, head of communications. “If I may interject, Mr. Gove? While your plan shows some merit—two estranged lovebirds reunited by the law, very good and all—I think it is still missing that extra something.”
“I’m sorry, Phaedra,” Gove replied, “I don’t think I follow your meaning.”
“What do you think would sell more papers: a story about a couple you’ve been reading about for years or a hot, new romance?”
Hermione felt like she was having an out-of-body experience. Were they really debating her love life in such frank terms at work? Were important decisions about her future being hashed out in front of her while she sat there passively? But she was too mortified to say anything.
“Alright. I think you’ve made an excellent point, Phaedra,” Percy said, with an unmistakable twinkle in his eye. “Is everyone in agreement? Hermione will marry—with our support, of course—to show everyone just how wonderful wedded bliss can be.”
Hermione watched as everyone around the room nodded in assent. No one could meet her eyes, not even Kingsley, which sent a pain straight to her chest. But what was she supposed to say? Your law is dumb and I will not bite the bullet to make it look good? That’s what she wanted to say.
Then again, perhaps Percy had set this whole ridiculous thing up so she would be forced to quit. She knew he wanted to be minister just as much as he did and that she stood in direct competition to him. But if she did well, perhaps she just might earn a promotion. Maybe she would even rank higher than Percy. That might just make it all worth it. Or, a small voice said, she might just go through all this and stay exactly where she was.
The meeting ended and everyone cleared out of the room rather quickly, leaving Hermione in a state of shock. She slowly stood up, trying to process all that she had learned. So not only was she now being forced to get married by law—which required that all unmarried women under the age of fifty to wed within the following year or face steep fines—the date by which she had to do it was being moved up and it was going to be turned into a publicity stunt. Wonderful. Honestly, could this day get any better?
“Hermione,” Phaedra said, blocking her access to the door. “I am so terribly sorry this is happening to you. I just want you to know if you need any help, I am here for you. I could even provide you with a list of single men I know. We could set up a speed dating night for you or something.”
Hermione smiled at her co-worker. How fun this must seem for her. She was not going to be forced into a marriage she did not want and then paraded around like she was in love with whatever dirtbag the Ministry drudged up for her.
“Unless… you had someone else in mind?” Phaedra offered, probably confused why Hermione was just staring at her blankly rather than responding.
“Don’t worry,” Hermione said with mock sincerity, walking from the room. “If I find someone, you’ll be the first to know.”
Back in the bullpen, Hermione wanted to lean her elbows on her desk and bury her head in her hands, but she remained upright in her chair. What had just happened?