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"What do you mean I'm already married?" Hermione asked, as white as her wedding gown.
"Yeah! What the hell, mate!?" Ron added, face turning as puce as his dress robe.
Hermione woke up in a sweat. That damn nightmare again. She lay back down in her fluffy pillows. The good thing about Ron breaking up with her was that he wasn't hogging all the bed now. Or snoring. Or farting under the sheets. Sometimes, she was almost relieved her marriage had been called off, then felt just as guilty about the thought.
Of course, they hadn't gone as far as the ceremony. No white dress drama, shocked attendees, or run-away bride. No, the problem had manifested as soon as she and Ron had filed the paperwork with the Ministry: an ancient contract came to light between magical ancestors of hers, centuries back, with another family. Apparently the two Houses had signed a binding magical contract between their two families to make them stronger, but the conditions had never been met: they had never had a son and daughter of age to wed at the same time, then both lines had faded out of magic and into the Muggle world.
Until now.
So she had a Muggle husband out there somewhere, because those damn old wedding contracts married people in absentia by default if the contract had not been annuled before legal age was reached, or so her lawyer said. Very useful to know now that it was too late , and she had no one to blame for this idiocy except for long dead ancestors she couldn't curse into the next century.
Of course, Ron exploded in a rage and accused her of all sorts of things, before a strong bat-bogey hex shut him up long enough that she was able to tell him what was actually going on. He still broke up with her though. Maybe he had been looking for an excuse to all this time.
So, instead of wallowing or accepting her fate, Hermione looked during a whole year for a way to break the bond, but to no avail, and now, Ron had truly moved on, engaged to another witch. Not that she blamed him, and maybe it was for the best. She would like to move on as well, but she already had a husband out there.
She was a bit curious, to be honest. Magic had a way of getting exactly what it wanted, but she would not know what that was until she found her wayward husband. Add to that she liked the idea of a quest in the name of magic, and, before she could second guess herself, she put in a sabbatical, packed a bag, and took an international portkey to Washington DC. In an effort to appease her, clerks at the Ministry had at least managed to draw the family tree of her "in laws", up to a point where the last of their magical member had moved to America. From there on out, they couldn't help anymore and referred her to their colleagues overseas.
The MACUSA did agree to help her, but unfortunately, the line in question died out, just one generation after their arrival, and two squibs were placed in the Muggle world. Hermione then hopped over to the muggle public library, then a group of enthusiastic genealogists. And she desperately needed their help because once they entered the Muggle world, the names changed much more often given the size of the population in comparison to the magical one, records weren't as thorough or well protected as the magical ones either, and worse, research was mostly done using computers, something she had absolutely no experience with. In short, it was like tracking needles in messy mountains of haystacks wearing a blindfold. Throwing money at these genealogist was more effective by far. It's not like she didn't have any after the war anyway between war repetitions from the dark families and rewards from the Ministry. War money. Blood money. She was more than happy to part with it.
Soon, they found out one line had died out completely, and they were now working on the second. Her husband had to be there at the end of this line. All she had to do was reel him in. Knowing she was so close to finding out who he was made her heart beat faster, although she wasn't sure why. Probably just the frill of solving the puzzle.
"Hey! Granger! What are the odds? You've been following the line of Tony Stark all this time," one of them snorted with no amount of contempt.
"Tony Stark?" The name sounded vaguely familiar. "Is he one of your celebrities?"
"You're kidding? Right?"
Hermione rolled her eyes. Apparently, not knowing him on account of being British wouldn't cut it this time, but she couldn't very well tell them the magical world didn't have TVs.
"Assume I'm stupid. Who is he?"
Instead of answering, he grabbed a newspaper at random and placed it in front of her.
"There," he said, pointing at a picture on the front page.
"A robot?"
"Iron Man! Jesus, lady! Have you been living under a rock?"
After that, Hermione researched Tony Stark, or alternatively, the Iron Man, and there was too much information, even for her. And what she found out… well, if she was impressed by his mind, she couldn't say the same about his personality: a drunk, womaniser, smug and mouthy, privileged brat. Or that's the impression she got from the press, but given her own experience with Rita Skeeter, she would give him the benefit of the doubt.
If it was true, however, it should be easy to get him to sign the magical divorce papers. Then, she could return home and get on with her own life, free of a cumbersome, unwanted husband.
Finding Tony Stark was easy. He had his ruddy name on a skyscraper, which must be why it had sounded so familiar. She must have walked passed it dozens of times. Getting to meet him, however, was impossible. She had tried to do it the polite, legal, Muggle way, but to no avail. There was always someone in the way. A secretary, an assistant, a bodyguard, or simply a door.
Time to be a witch and make him regret it, then. Hermione cast the invisibility charm on herself and just walked into Stark tower, past security, and into the elevator. She took it to the top, because everyone knew that's where the princess was found. However, once she stepped out, she realized she was far from the top of the building, even if the view was already breathtaking.
There was a second elevator. Was this the norm for Muggle skyscrapers? It seemed a bit tedious, but she stepped into that one, only to realize there were no buttons. And then the door closed.
"Dang it," she muttered as she tried to press the doors and panels for something to happen.
Did she fall into the pitfall of technology ignorance again? Oh, sweet Merlin… was she turning into Mr Weasley?
"Come on, Hermione. You can figure this out."
"I beg your pardon, but my sensors seem to be malfunctioning. Could you identify yourself?"
Hermione looked around the metal cubicle, looking for where it could be coming from, but settled for looking at the lighted ceiling in the end. Should she lie? Tell the truth? Maybe a little of both?
"I'm here to see Mr Stark. I asked for an appointment," Hermione said, disregarding the fact she had never obtained said appointment.
"Name?" the disembodied voice demanded in a much sterner tone.
"Hermione Granger."
The doors opened.
"You may leave now."
Hermione crossed her arms and stayed put.
"I will not. I came all this way to see him, and I bloody well will, whether he wants to or not."
The doors slammed shut and the elevator sped upwards. It couldn't be that easy. The silence in the elevator was as good as a threat, so Hermione readied herself for when the doors would open once more and had actually expected to see the Iron Man. What she had not expected was for him to fire at her, no questions asked. Good thing she had a shield up.
"Are you completely mad?" she shrieked.
"I think I've heard that before, yeah, but we did invite you to leave, so technically, it is my right to shoot you down. Trespassing and all that…"
"Yes, well... legally, we're married, so I doubt that defense is going to hold up in court."
"I think I would remember if I married the invisible woman. Right, Jarvis?"
No one answered.
"Wait, how drunk was I?" he asked her.
Hermione scoffed. He really was as bad as the press made him out to be. She dispelled the invisibility charm and glared at him.
"You weren't, but I'm sure our ancestors must have been. Could we discuss this someplace more civilised?"
Stark eventually agreed, after he had patted her down for weapons and taken away her wand. Hermione only let him because she wanted this over and done with sooner rather than later. Besides, it wasn't as if she couldn't wandlessy summon her wand back.
After telling her story and showing him all the documents she had amassed as proof, Stark finally seemed to believe her.
"I'm married. Me. To you. That's…"
"Ridiculous. Yes," Hermione agreed.
Stark might be smart, and good looking, and filthy rich, and a superhero, but he was so aggravating, she swore he was giving her a headache.
"So just sign this parchment and we will be legally, and magically, divorced."
Pushing the documents and pen towards him, she held her breath as he picked them up and read them. He uncapped the pen,lowered it to the parchment, then stopped and smirked at her.
"I can't sign these," he said.
"What? Why?"
"I have to pass these through my legal team, of course. You didn't think I would just sign anything, did you?"
"You can't do that," she hissed, snatching them back. "They're magical documents! You're allowed to know about magic because of the marriage, but no one else!"
"Looks like it's more advantageous for me to remain married to you then, dearie. Sweetums? Honeybuns?"
"I'm about to curse you so hard right now."
"Oh, kinky. I like that. But how are you going to do that , without this ?" he mocked, holding up her wand just out of reach.
Hermione lost it and wandlessy cast Ginny's famous bat bogey hex. They had been casting it for so long on indelicate wizards and stalkers that it came as naturally as sneezing.
In fact, Stark did sneeze, then began to shriek when the bat-bogeys began attacking him. It took him only ten minutes to blast them into oblivion though, which was quite impressive.
"Okay, you win this round, Mrs Stark."
"Don't," she warned as she picked up her wand from where he had dropped it earlier. "I'll be back in two days, and by then, those papers better be signed."
They weren't. The next time Hermione paid Stark a visit, she was welcomed up to the top floor by both security and disembodied voice, although the way they were all calling her Mrs Stark didn't bode well. Neither did the candle light and obnoxious dinner table all laid out with white tablecloth and gleaming silverware.
"What are you playing at, Stark?" she asked looking around for the culprit.
"I think we got off on the wrong foot," he replied, stepping out from the shadows in a sharp suit, holding a bouquet of flowers which look suspiciously like bats.
"You look ridiculous," she said flatly.
"Knew it. I should I have worn the other suit," he muttered, dropping the flowers as he moved towards the dinner table.
In one swift movement, he uncovered the dish from its silverware dome.
"Pizza?"
That was so unexpected, she burst out laughing.
"Knew you were a pizza kind of girl. So how about you join me for dinner and we talk? I would at least like to know the woman I'm married to, before we divorce."
Damn that lopsided smile, and sad puppy eyes. She was such a sucker for both. And he was rather charming, damn him. And if magic had a reason for all this nonsense after all, shouldn't she at least find out what it was?