Chapter Text
The Ministry were a bunch of fools. Under this administration, they had made two very grave mistakes.
Firstly, they had decided that assigning wizards and witches based on the strength of their magic was a sensible plan to somehow keep them tied to one another, rather than a recipe for disastrous arguments. They had allowed those who were the most powerful to join together to fight against the irregularities of arranged and forced marriages. They had allowed those who were must temperamental to argue against the establishment, rather than with each other. The uprising had been swift, the arguments had been well thought out and excellently planned. And the Wizengamot had been easily defeated. It was an overwhelmingly simple thing, when people were forced to take sides, for those sides to be established far quicker and more efficiently than anyone had ever expected.
And secondly, they had decided to allow divorce with no penalty whatsoever. Marriages established before the Law, before the War even, had come to light as forced or arranged. Couples well known for having been prolific in their descendants were suddenly and irrevocably dissolving their magical bonds and their marriages were ending without any fanfare or ceremony whatsoever. There was no penalty for unhappy couples, nothing financial, and there was no boon for those who chose to stay together. They had been paired off without being given much choice and had separated without any input from the government thank you very much. And it only took one person to petition the Wizengamot for them to accept the divorce. Even if the other party tried to contest the divorce…well, the Wizengamot hadn’t made provisions for that option. If one partner was unhappy, or vicious, or spiteful, or just…bored of their current partner, the Wizengamot allowed the marriage to be dissolved.
They had worked at the beginning hadn’t they? They had made it all work at the beginning. His stubbornness in not allowing her into certain areas of the house they shared had not been unsurmountable. Indeed, she had commandeered a separate area for herself that he was not allowed to enter and, after the singularly most explosive temper tantrum she had ever witnessed from a grown adult, he had mostly accepted her terms. Later, their private spaces had become less private and they had started encroaching on each other. And then eventually it had once again become a sanctuary, a safety, and a private space for them to retreat to.
He was stubborn through and through. It drove her completely mad at the beginning. And then she had loved his passion and the way he fought for what he believed in. And then she hated how unyielding and unmoving he was. Now he didn’t fight for anything at all. He just nodded and walked away. He looked defeated, accepting whatever anyone had to say as fact, even when it was fallacy.
He had been kind though. Unfailingly, unexpectedly, kind. She had expected a monster, perhaps even a parody of the monster he had once been, her punishment for daring to be accepting of their fate. She hadn’t expected his kindness, his hesitance, even his willingness to discuss her. He would never love her. He had explained that quietly, calmly, stoically…as was his way. It wasn’t that he couldn’t feel affection but no one would ever be able to replace the girl he had first loved. Oh, he was aware that who she had been when she died may not have been the same as who she was when they were children together. He accepted that. But his heart and decided that no one could love him the way she had cared. Hermione would never disabuse him of that notion. It wasn’t fair on him.
Things weren’t always supposed to be fair though were they? After all, was it fair that he was locked away inside the walls he had built and she was on the outside, begging for a crack to appear so she could get inside? Was it fair that he could walk away from this without any consequences, without any regrets, without any hurt and she was being torn in two? Was it fair that all she could think of was their firsts and their lasts…?
The first time he, haltingly, nervously, awkwardly kissed her…the last time she had brushed her lips against his as he slept, just last night, her own private goodbye. The first time she called him by his given name and he hadn’t jumped down her throat…the last time he had called her by her name as he had sighed and told her they had an escape. The first time they had made love…the last time he had refused her advances. The first time she had seen his name on the parchment that proved he was alive…the last time she had watched the light in his eyes die as his shutters raised again.
She sighed, lost in her thoughts, and the young wizard across the desk from her coughed, glancing at the clock on the wall and breaking her reverie. She smiled softly, apologetically, and lifted the quill, staring at the parchment before her. The parchment he had already signed, the swooping curls of his signature so flamboyant and over-zealous, very unlike the tightly buttoned up man most people saw. He only needed one signature of course. She needed two. She signed her old name first, the last time she would ever sign it. And then, with a deep sigh of resignation, she signed the name she had assumed she would never have to use again. Hermione Jean Granger. Once more returned to her maiden name.
Damn the Marriage Law for giving him as an option for her. Damn the Ministry for deciding they were the most compatible match. And damn her foolish heart for trying to prove them right.