Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Minister, Minister!" The squeaky voice of Penny Pepperwhistle broke the contemplative silence Minister Shacklebolt had been ruminating in for hours. He looked up; his assistant was as close to his desk as she could be, on her tiptoes to be on the same level as him. She was holding a stack of papers and tugging on a strand of her long hair. She was nervous.

"Pepperwhistle?" Kingsley dreaded whatever the witch was about to announce. Maybe, if he moved quickly, he could grab his Floo powder and be in Angola before Penny could talk... No, too late.

"Minister, the Wizengamot is pushing through with the bill! I tried to tell Mafalda what you said, but she said they already decided! Ooo, Minister, you ought to go and tell them, right to their faces, that-" She stopped short, flushing. "Well, I don't presume to tell you what to do... They've just been mighty disrespectful, is all!" Just as Kingsley had dreaded. Well, the whole Wizarding world was about to hate the Ministry, that was for sure... He might be sick.

"Alright then, Penny. We put up a good fight." It was a very good fight, filled with legal jargon and manilla folders. "You better go and notify the Department of Announcements... Alfonso should be in office, so go right to him. And let the Department of Department Formations know, too. This will need a department of its own. Ah, the amount of paperwork this new Department will need... Anyways, off you go. Thank you, Pepperwhistle." Penny gaped at him, opening and closing her mouth in a manner that made her look like a fish. She was red with anger, but still turned on her heel to go do her job.

Kingsley sighed; this was all going to go to absolute shit.

Chapter Text

Hermione Granger took her job very seriously. That was why she was currently up to her elbows in moldy history books.

“Eurgh, I think there’s blood on this one! Honestly, one book without a mysterious bodily fluid would be lovely!” She glared at the offensive book. “Really, Crookshanks,” she spoke to the cat curled around her feet, “I think I ought to vomit on one, just to carry on the tradition!” The witch looked truly crazy, sitting on the floor of her study, surrounded by disgusting books, and talking to her cat.

In front of her was a stack of parchment filled with notes and page numbers. It was her newest project, which would hopefully end up as well as her last. Her foray into the world of writing history books had begun with “Hogwarts: An Extended History”, a series of editions and revisions to the old work of Bathilda Bagshot. It had grown in popularity rather enormously; she was well on her way to being a required textbook! This next book needed to be just as good.

She was working on a book detailing the ins-and-outs of a reclusive group of Irish witches from the fourth century, whom she suspected had a rather large hand in the invention of many potions. They were rather a hard group to research… The bloody book had actually been her best lead.

Reluctantly, she picked it back up, attempting a Scourgify to no effect. One more useless attempt to clean the book, and it was right back to research.

Crookshanks left after another hour and began to howl from the living room.

“I’m coming, Crookshanks! One second, okay?” She pushed her notes off of her lap, hurrying to the living room. Her cat was hissing at a ginger head in the fire.

“Oh, Ron! Hello, what’s going on?”

“Ah, nothing much… Get away, cat… Hey, would you happen to know what to do if- well, let’s say a Dungbomb 3.0 went off in an office? Would a Scourgify work? Or Aguamenti? I think I have some Mrs. Skower’s Magical Mess Remover somewhere!” He sounded panicked, and Hermione noticed a rather foul smell coming off of his head.

“I’m coming over. How that business stays out of legal trouble, I will never know… Dungbombs exploding at random! Oh, and didn’t a Nose-Biting Teacup bite something… something else… last week?” Ron at least had the nerve to look embarrassed. He looked down his long nose like a kicked puppy, but bounced back in a second, eager to get the dung out of his office.

“Well! See you in a second, ‘Mione! Thanks!” And he popped out of her living room hearth with a grin on his freckled face.

Sighing, Hermione went to her cupboard and grabbed an old Muggle air freshener. She sprayed around her living room vigorously. The smell of dung still lingered; she pulled her wand out of her trouser pockets.

“Jucundus odor!” Her living room slowly cleared of the smell, being filled instead with the scent of vanilla. With her living room dealt with, she grabbed her own bottle of Mrs. Skower’s, her coin purse, a handful of beetle-green Floo Powder, and stepped into her fireplace. It still had an odd smell, but she would deal with that later.

“Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes: Ronald’s Office!” She threw down the powder with a poof. A whirl of Wizarding hearths spun around her as she hurtled through the Floo. She knocked her elbows only once before being spat out into a reeking office.

“Took you long enough! I’ve been scrubbing at this desk all by myself for at least ten minutes!” He was using a charm to scrub the dung, but was really just smearing it.

“I had to clear my living room of the smell you left behind. Anyways, you wouldn’t have to scrub your desk at all if you had Dungbombs that weren’t as sensitive as a landmine!” She looked around his office, scrunching her nose at the stink.

The Chudley Cannon figurines on his cluttered shelves were wiping dung off of their tiny faces and orange uniforms. His burgundy carpet was now a murky brown. Ron himself had dung coating his blue suit-robes and speckled in his red hair.

“I think you need to decrease the amount of dragon horn you use. It’s so volatile, and I doubt your customers want their Dungbombs to go off at random.” She had begun to wave her wand, siphoning away the dung. “You should go take a shower, and give your suit to a dry-cleaner. I think Mistress Verri’s is open today, and she’s very good at getting stuff out of fabric. Last time I went to Ireland, for the new book, I got Dugbog gunk on my robes! Godric, the smell was awful, but she got it all cleaned up in no time!” The dung was out of the carpet now, and she had moved on to his chairs and desk.

“What are you, woman? A walking advert for dry-cleaning?” Ron was huddled in a corner, avoiding the dung flying off of his furniture.

“Ronald Weasley! Go to the shower!” He finally left his corner and retreated to his office bathroom. It had a shower for situations just like these; situations like these happened quite a lot. She moved next to his poor figurines. The little Seeker, Antioch Mickosky, was spluttering and green by the time she got to him. A quick Aguamenti cleared him off.

“Jucundus odor!” Now Ron’s office was dung-free and smelled nice. Her work was over. “Ron! Your office is clean! I think I’m going to head into Hogsmeade. I’ve been needing some new Self-Inking Quills… And another notebook. I could probably do with another paperweight, too!” She had begun counting off the things she needed on her hands. The quills, a stack of parchment, paperweights… She’d been meaning to buy some wand polish, too. Perhaps some glowing ink for highlighting… And some candy would be nice.

“Alright,” Ron called back, “You can leave through the shop! If George offers you some chocolate covered almonds, do not take them!” Very ominous.

“What do the almonds do?!”

“They’re Ant Crawl Almonds! They make you feel like there are ants in your throat! Honestly, it’s a great invention. We’re putting it on the shelves next week! Maybe you should try them; tell us what you think?” Hermione did not want to try the Ant Crawl Almonds.

“Eughk. I’d rather not… Have Harry try them, will you? I’m going now. Bye, Ron!” Hermione started for the door. “Oh- I’d be careful if I were you. Your Chudley figurines look mutinous.” The figurines did look quite angry, clenching their little brooms and muttering to each other.

Ron having been warned of his murderous Quidditch players, Hermione set down the stairs. The shop below was noisy, packed with customers, and spots of colored light bounced off of the walls. George Weasley stood on a platform above a crowd of giggling kids.

“Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes is proud to present… Bum Bombs! Throw one of several multicolored- and scented!- Bum Bombs at the witch or wizard of your choice, and watch their derriere become extraordinaire!” He winked at the cheering group. As he hopped off his platform, he caught Hermione’s eyes. “Ah, Miss Granger! Here to purchase some fabulous merchandise?”

“I actually just finished cleaning some of your smellier merchandise off of Ronald’s walls, so I’m going to pass.”

“Agh, don’t tell me the Dungbombs exploded again… It’s the dragon horn- way too much of it… Sorry about that! Bye Hermione!” He winked again, waltzing back into the crowd.

Hermione finally exited the store. She was quickly enveloped into the crowd of Hogsmeade. Pushing past a frazzled wizard in sparkly green robes, she headed in the direction of Scrivenshaft’s Quill Shop. At one point, she was knocked into the wall of Madame Malkin's, thoroughly upsetting a young witch on her smoke break at the same wall. Hermione didn’t hold a very high opinion of the habit, staying quite clear of the noxious red smoke the witch spat in her direction.

Finally, after one final shove in the crowd, Hermione reached her destination. A bell jingled the chorus of a Celestina Warbeck song as she entered. The shop- which smelt of parchment and ink- was cluttered; rows of shelves displaying quality quills, long cases filled with stacks of parchment, more quills floating around the shop, rolls of especially large parchment stuck in corners. It was, Hermione thought, very lovely.

“Miss Granger! Back so soon?” the cheery witch at the front desk greeted.

“Hi, Hilda! I need more Self-Inking Quills. You know how it is!” She started towards the back of the shop, where all of the charmed quills were stored.

“Hello, Hermione.” A floaty voice stopped her in her tracks.

“Luna! How have you been?” The girl was holding a cluster of purple-pink feathered quills. Hermione found them very similar to the old Spectrespecs that Luna wore all those years ago (really, only a few years). The glasses weren’t present, but Luna’s outfit was still just as eccentric- a puffy green top, purple overalls, and mismatched socks. Her earrings looked like frog eyes.

“Oh, I’ve been okay. Daddy suggested a nice topic for the next big article, so we’ve been going around surveying people. Have you ever heard of Nillywumps?” She pulled a piece of parchment from her quilted bag. Small unicorns on one of the patches trotted as the bag moved.

“Er- Nillywumps? No, Luna… I can’t say I have.” She had to stop herself from asking the girl if Nillywumps had been heard of by anyone before.

“What a shame… That’s the article, of course. Not many people have heard of them, which is such a shame… Nillywumps are quite extraordinary; they’re from Ireland, and they float up the mountains…” Luna sounded very fond of the Nillywumps and their floating. “Well, anyways, I was just buying a few new quills. Purple finch feathers look very striking, don’t they?” She wiggled the bright quills, which were rather striking.

“Yes, very striking. Have a nice day, Luna! Goodbye!” she called to the girl who had already began walking away. It had been quite nice, if confusing, to see her old friend. Well, she needed to get back on with her shopping.

She left Hogsmeade an hour and a half later; her bags were full of parchment, several varieties of quills and ink, a purple owl paperweight, wand polish, some Dark Chocolate Frogs, and owl pellets.

Could she Apparate home? Yes.

Did she want to Apparate home? No.

Was she too worried about security to allow any public Floo fires to be connected to her home? Yes.

So Hermione would Apparate home, which always left her slightly shaken and almost expecting to need to pull Dittany out of her bags…

Crack!

Hermione landed in her living room, shaking a tad. Crookshanks immediately wound himself about her legs. His purring calmed her shaking, and she scratched between his twisted ears.

“Hello, my little boy! Did you miss me? I’m sorry I had to leave you! Poor kitty!”

“He seemed alright to me.” Hermione jumped.

“Merlin’s beard! Harry James Potter, you scared me half to death!” She whacked him soundly with some of her new parchment.

“Get off, get off! Geez, ‘Mione, do you assault everyone who brings you a gift?” he questioned, waving a small brown bag in her face. She felt a bit guilty.

“Oh, Harry! You shouldn’t have!”

“Yeah, I’m getting that impression. Here you go, anyways.” He shoved it into her hands. “Ginny and I thought you’d like it.” Him and Ginny were going two years strong, not counting when Harry was a complete idiot and tried to break up with her.

Hermione gasped; inside the bag was a wood carving of a bride and groom. “Harry… Oh, Harry!”

“Yeah… I finally asked last week. I got Mr. and Mrs. Weasley’s permission… And Ron’s…And Bill and Charlie’s… And George’s… And Percy's… I even got Muriel’s. Anyways- We were on this small film date, and I just- I just popped the question. I’d had the ring for two months by then, so I wanted to get it done soon, and she said yes! I mean, I thought she would, but it was still a bit... Ah, well, I’m engaged!” He had the proudest grin on his face. “Ginny wanted you to be a bridesmaid, but I called it first. You can be an- Er… grooms-maid? I don’t know if that’s a thing, but you get the point.” Harry shuffled a bit. He had no reason to be nervous.

“I’d love too! Do you have a date set? Have you found a venue? Do you have ideas for decorations?” She was very excited.

“Er… None of the finer details are set. But I was thinking the Burrow? Sometime this fall?” Oh my.

“Harry, it’s May! You’ll only have a few months to plan!”

“Well, I figured magic might make the planning easier, you know? And we don’t need to rent a venue, if we use the Burrow.”

“I suppose… Well, Harry, tell Gin’ I’m really happy for you two, and I’m here if either of you need anything. Goodness, I’ve been waiting for this for years!” She hugged the living daylights out of Harry, only stopping when he could no longer breathe.

“Bye, ‘Mione! Thanks a ton!”

“Bye, Harry! Give Ginny my love!”

Crack! Harry was gone.

“Well, Crookshanks, I think it’s time to get back to work. What do you think?”

“Mrrp.” Crookshanks did not think it was time to get back to work, and instead jumped on the couch for a nap. Lazy old thing. So, Hermione got back to work alone.

Her study was just as cluttered as she had left it, and it took her a good five minutes to find her notes. A small, hard to find section of the- oddly useful- bloody book had inspired her to look into the magical creatures native to Ireland. The witches had lived in forested areas; perhaps they left some mark on the creatures around them… It was certainly the best lead she’d had in months. She would need to acquire some more in-depth creature books as soon as she could.

Until she could procure those books, however, she could use the collection she had; Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander was a tad base-level, but still a valuable read; Moste Impressive Creachers by Gustonius Clampitt was quite dated, but had a few compelling first-hand stories.

Just those two, and her old Care of Magical Creatures textbook: The Monster Book of Monsters.

Hermione was disappointed in herself. She had an incredible library in her study, floor to ceiling mahogany shelves on three walls, yet so few books on creatures. It was a disgrace, truly. She had to Owl Order more at once.

From one of her back shelves, she grabbed an order leaflet from Tomes and Scrolls. After marking down a few creature books, she dropped a few Galleons and some Sickles into a small pocket on the leaflet.

“Circe!” she called out her open window. “Circe! Delivery time, Circe!” she called again.

Soon, a brown-speckled barn owl swooped into the study. She landed gracefully on a stack of books, and stuck out her leg with a soft hoot. “Good owl, Circe. Take this to Tomes and Scrolls, okay?” She gave the owl an owl pellet, and sent her on her way. She watched out the window until Circe was just a speck.

“That’s sorted then!” She was very pleased; her research now presented a clear path forward, and she just had to wait for her books to arrive.

Maybe she should have a little snack. A Chocolate Frog sounded like a great idea. Yes, it was time for chocolate.

So, she grabbed her bags of shopping and got out one of the Dark Chocolate Frogs she’d bought earlier at Honeydukes, pausing to look at the card.

Her own face looked back up at her.

Hermione Jean Granger,

Hero of the Second War, Granger is thought to be the smartest witch of her generation. A Muggleborn, she is a credited activist for the protection of Muggles and magical beings. Hermione Granger has been awarded an Order of Merlin, First Class .

This was her fortieth (or so) card of herself; she had some of Harry and Ron, too. Little portrait Hermione was tapping her chin with a quill while the real Hermione caught and ate her frog.

It never would feel normal, she thought, to be on a Chocolate Frog Card…

Honestly, she felt it would be less jarring to see Crookshanks on a card. That thought made her giggle a bit- picturing the old, squished face of her cat on one of the cards. Speaking of the old beast…

“Meowwwww!”

“Crookshanks?! Are you alright?” She dashed to her living room and… He was fine, yowling at a squirrel outside the window. “Oh, you old thing. Leave the squirrel be.” She scooped him up around his middle, depositing him on his cat tree in the corner of her study. “You’re back to work now. I need the help, anyways; I’m going to organize some of my notes until the books get here, and these are not simple notes to organize.”

So, organize she did. Crookshanks was not of much help, flicking his tail and watching her with little interest. She managed to organize a fair bit of her notes in the time it took for Circe to return- four hours later (common for Owl Post (still faster than Muggle mail)). She gave her owl another pellet and took her parcel.

With fervor, she unwrapped her new books:

The Astonishing Guide To Astonishing Animals by Winifred Bigfell

The Magical Explorer’s Guide to Irish Fauna by Brecken O’Connell

A Magizoologist's Comprehensive Encyclopedia by Cosette Caradoc

Hermione, being Hermione, settled down with her new books immediately. She was very excited.

Chapter Text

It was with great difficulty that Molly Weasley and Hermione Granger managed to get everyone sat at one table. It was with even greater difficulty that they managed to nab all of the Ant Crawl Almonds from George’s pocket. Seventy-two in total- seventy-one because of poor Harry.

“You all have no idea how happy I am!” Mrs. Weasley began, “It means the world that no matter how old my children get, they will never stop visiting their-” Horrible retching noises interrupted her lovely speech.

“Oh, Merlin! Oh, Merlin’s great, big, saggy, snake balls! What the hell is wrong with my throat?! Eughk! EUGHK!” Ron had listened to Hermione, and instructed George to try the latest product on poor, unsuspecting Harry. George had kindly obliged.

“Now, young Harold, I understand your throat is bothering you, but that is no reason to curse at my mother’s table.” George grinned at the coughing boy, delight in his eyes. “Perhaps kissing my sister gave you cooties! You are facing the consequences of your actions, ickle Harrikins! No more Ginny for you!” He was positively trilling with glee.

“George Fabian Weasley! You undo whatever you’ve done to that poor boy!” Molly seethed.

With a reluctant flick of his wand, George undid the charmwork his almond candies had inflicted on the boy on his left. Harry glared at the almonds being Accio’d from George’s pockets.

“Y’know,” Harry muttered to Hermione, who was sitting in front of him at the garden table, “George is a real git. I may not tell him now.” He wasn’t serious, of course. He was going to tell the Weasley’s of his and Ginny’s engagement regardless of George. After receiving their approval months ago, and already having told Hermione, it was well past time for him to relay the news.

Hermione knew all of this, and simply rolled her eyes at her best friend. She knew he was ecstatic, and no Ant Crawl Almonds could change that.

“Ahem! As I was saying… It is so lovely that all of you could come. I’m glad to know that none of you will desert me in my old age. Now eat, eat!” Mrs. Weasley had spared no effort with her food that evening, and all dug in happily.

Kingsley smiled from Molly’s side. “Now, Molly, you and I are the same age; I’d hardly say we’re old.”

“We’re older than we were last year, when I still had some children living under my roof! Now, they’ve all gone and- and made lives… But they’ve yet to forget their mother!”

“I don’t think anyone could forget this cooking, Mum,” Bill Weasley commented, smiling indulgently at his mother. He shoved another potato wedge into his mouth.

“Bill!” His wife pinched him. “You do not love your muzzer for ‘er cooking! You love ‘er because she eez your muzzer!” Fleur, in her throaty accent, reprimanded her husband thoroughly.

“Yeah, that too.” Bill went right back to his beef and potatoes whilst Fleur rolled her eyes.

Laughing, Molly finally sank down into her chair to enjoy the dinner she had made.

“Mum,” Percy Weasley piped up, “Has the Minister told you the news? I’m being considered for a new position. A new Department at the Ministry is set to open, and I may be the Junior Secretary for the head of the Department; my old job will go to someone else, of course, and I’m worried they’ll mess with my order of things. But needs do what needs must.” Percy sounded like he though his new job would be the most important job in the Ministry.

“That’s lovely, dear. What Department?” Molly asked, with polite interest.

“Er…” Percy had gone rather red. “Only a few people know what the Department is exactly, and I haven’t been told yet. Completely understandable, of course,” he added to the Minister.

“Yes, well, all will be revealed in due time. We’re still- we’re working some things out…” Kingsley looked a bit uncomfortable, Hermione noticed. He was shifting a bit in his seat; she knew the signs of someone under pressure.

“Well, happy for you dear! Eat your food before it goes cold, now.” Molly seemed unperturbed. Harry and Hermione shared a glance; they were perturbed. Percy didn’t have a great track record of Ministry jobs, and his last one hadn’t even been secret.

Everyone turned back to their dinners, and Hermione pushed her suspicions away. She trusted Kingsley, and it was perfectly reasonable for him to be stressed- he was Minister, after all.

Finally, as the night wound down, Harry stood, pulling Ginny up with him. Everyone turned towards the pair, halting their conversations and setting down their coffees and treacle tarts. Hermione smiled encouragingly at the pair.

“Hello, Weasleys! And non-Weasleys! We have an announcement!” Harry had started strong, but now was glancing at Ginny for encouragement. She squeezed his hand. “As most of you know, Ginny and I really like each other, so… I mean, it took me a few months but- So, really…” Ginny rolled her eyes, pulled a ring out of her pocket, and shoved it on her finger. It glittered prettily.

“I’m getting married! Ron and George, you aren’t invited!” Ginny shouted. The table exploded with noise, sparks went whirring around the garden, and Mrs. Weasley was crying.

“Oi! How come we aren’t invited?” Ron spat food as he yelled. Hermione grimaced.

“You’ll have to do a lot of apologizing for those almonds, mate! Until then, you aren’t getting within a hundred yards of my wedding!” Harry was grinning. “Speaking of- Mrs. Weasley? Could we have it here?”

“Copycat,” Bill muttered, but Mrs. Weasley didn’t care if it was copying. Her light tears burst into sobs.

“Of course you can! Oh, come here! You two, you two!” She raced to them, holding the happy couple tight. Very tight. George and Bill had to pull her off. Hermione smiled into her coffee.

It was a beautiful night, regardless of Mrs. Weasley calling the Minister old, of Percy being pompous, of Kingsley’s odd behavior. It was a very nice night.

It was not a very nice morning; Crookshanks had left a dead mouse on her pillow, she spilled tea down her front, and- certainly worst of all- she had received a letter over breakfast.

She was sitting at her small kitchen table, in a clean shirt, eating her eggs and toast, when a large Ministry owl swooped through her open window. She knew what it was instantly- another letter from Wirrin.

About two months ago, Wirrin Kekney of the Department of Memory Retrieval had located Hermione’s parents; they had moved to Switzerland! Since then, he had been working tirelessly (he was such an angel) to find out if the Wilkins/Granger’s memories could be restored.

It was, as emphasized by the unusually reserved letter, unlikely that Wendell and Monica Wilkins could safely remember that they were really Anne and Thomas Granger, or that they had a daughter who needed them back.

Hermione read the letter with as much poise as she could. She set it down with shaking hands, breathing deeply with great difficulty. It was fine- just a bump in the road- that her parents had such strong experiences tying them to their new identities. Wirrin would find a way to fix it. Wirrin had to find a way to fix it, to finally relieve her of her guilt, to give Hermione her family back.

She cried on her couch for a bit, Crookshank’s bottle brush tail flicking her face as he lay curled in her lap. Then, she got on with it- she had to keep busy. Distracted. She was good at that.

Her research was right where she left it, strewn about her study. She dove back in to The Magical Explorer’s Guide to Irish Fauna with feverish haste. She dog-eared the pages of Doxies and Unicorns- they looked promising. She had a feeling that, if she was right about Doxies and Unicorns, then the population and variations of the creatures in certain areas may give her clues as to where the witches settled.

She spent a good few minutes searching for a quill (she had just bought some?!) before remembering she was a witch and had spells for that. Then, she couldn’t find her wand- it was on the couch. She made tea. She took more notes. She read more chapters.

She went to bed completely exhausted, woke up with another mouse on her pillow, and spent a quarter of an hour cleaning the pillow with every cleaning spell she could. Unfortunately, her usual methods of distraction were not working, as she was holding back tears during all of this.

Hermione was tired; she wanted her mum and dad… She knew what needed done…

“The Burrow!” After knocking her elbows, tripping over her shoes, and landing on her bum, she was in the Burrow kitchen and startling poor Mrs. Weasley half to death.

“Oh, Hermione, love! We weren’t expecting you- up you get- up, up, up!”

“Sorry, Molly,” Hermione choked out, “I usually would have sent notice, but…”

“But…? Is something wrong, dear?” Hermione’s mum used to call her that. “Oh, let me make you some tea. Where did I put that old kettle?” Hermione sunk into a chair, very determined not to cry. She wanted to be around a mum, but that did not mean she would stop distracting herself from the one she had lost.

With a chipped mug of tea and a plate of cherry pie in front of her, she felt a bit better. Mrs. Weasley, with years of experience, knew exactly what Hermione needed- notably, not distraction. But, Mrs. Weasley, with years of experience, also knew that distraction was all that could happen right then.

“So, dear, I hear the book may become a required text?”

Hermione brightened a small bit. “Oh, yes. Professor McGonagall feels it would be a good edition to History of Magic. She just has to push for it- Professor Binns is rather opposed. I think it’ll get approved, though. She’s very set on it.”

“That’s wonderful, love. I’m ever so proud.” Mrs. Weasley was spooning more pie onto Hermione’s plate. “The other day, Harry was saying he wanted to recommend some of the books that you three had used to the new Defense teacher. He says they were very helpful when you were… going about. Well, anyways, I just think that you and Harry may soon be changing the curriculum of the whole school.” Hermione giggled. It felt nice to giggle.

“Oh! Hello, Hermione!” Mr. Weasley popped in through the Floo himself. He reached for a plate and served himself a slice of pie, settling down at his table. He had a broad grin on his face, and a rattling bag at his feet.

“Hi, Mr. Weasley. How was work?”

“Ah! Glad you asked! Today, Perkins and I got an interesting call to Kent. This old lady, blind as a bat, had taken in a Crup. We got rid of the second tail, but then she screamed inside her house. We run in, and her toaster has started chasing her around her kitchen! Very exciting- we hardly ever get two occurrences at one residence on the same day.”

“Right, Arthur- the shaking in your bag wouldn’t have anything to do with that toaster, would it?” Mrs. Weasley stared suspiciously at her husband, who turned red.

“Of course not, dearest!” Hermione saw him shoot a silent spell at the bag, which stopped its rattling. “In more interesting, less incriminating news- remember that new Department? The one Perce was being considered for? Well, the news of a new Department would normally be all over the Ministry and the Prophet, but this one’s a complete mystery! They’re not telling anyone outside the Department of Department Formations, except the people they’re giving the jobs, too! Of course, Percy hasn’t officially been given the job, so he still has no clue. Kingsley will not talk to me about it, either.” He took a long drink of tea.

“Well, that’s odd! I wonder what it is…” Mrs. Weasley sounded troubled. She gripped her mug harder than necessary.

“I’m sure it’s harmless, Molly, love.”

“Why else would it be secret?” Mr. Weasley had no answer to this, choosing to focus on his plate of pie.

Hermione was also troubled by the news- Ministry secrets were hardly ever harmless.

“Er- Mr. Weasley? You wouldn’t happen to know who they’ve already hired, would you?” She was scrabbling for purchase, trying to figure out even the slightest hint as to what the new Department was about.

“Hm. I know they’ve got Coulter on it- he used to work for the Department of Magical Education, they kept track of magical children, school relations, approved parts of curriculum- that sort of stuff. Minceby, too, I think… He was in the Department of Announcements- they make formal announcements about new laws and things… A bunch of new hires… And I’ve no clue who they’ve got heading it.” He sounded unbothered.

Hermione sealed this in her memory. Department of Magical Education. Department of Announcements. Secretive positions. Her stomach was turning; the last new Department had been made to eradicate people like her- not the best track record for the Ministry.

Mr. Weasley, sensing the apprehension he had caused, jumped up to fetch more tea. “Really, I doubt it’s anything to worry about. If it were really bad, I’m sure Kingsley wold have cracked and said something! More tea, Mollikins?” He was already pouring it

“Or maybe Kingsley isn’t saying anything because its very bad. Yes please, dearest.” Mrs. Weasley and Hermione shared a look across the table. Mr. Weasley kept pouring tea, red as the syrupy cherries on his plate. Possibly redder.

“So!” Mr. Weasley exclaimed, trying to keep the tension away, “I hear you’re in the wedding party, Hermione? Molly and I are very excited. I saw a Muggle wedding in passing, the other day; they were throwing rice at the couple! I thought that was just a Wizarding tradition, truthfully. Muggles, they share so many traditions with us, and they’ve not a clue of it!”

“Yes, Arthur, dear. Including toasters?” The bag had started to shake again. Mrs. Weasley looked very displeased.

“I’m just going to… go to the shed with… this.”

“You do that, Arthur, love.” Her eyes hadn’t left the bag.

Mr. Weasley walked off with his shaking bag, and Mrs. Weasley rolled her eyes. She and Hermione cleared the table.

“If I wake up to a toaster running about my garden, Arthur will not be taking that bag to work anymore. He can keep everything in his bloody pockets,” said Mrs Weasley, with a stern look out the window. Mr. Weasley was wrestling the shed door open, made very difficult by the violently shaking bag.

“Maybe the toaster will keep the gnomes away- like an invasive species,” Hermione joked. It was rather funny to imagine the fat little gnomes being chased by a toaster. She could imagine them trying fight it off, only to be whipped with the cord.

“Well, that would be helpful,” Mr.s Weasley chortled.

Pop!

“Goodness, Kingsley! You’re the second surprise today! Can I- can I get you some tea and pie?”

“That would be lovely, Molly. Thank you. I’m sorry for showing up unannounced. Hello, Hermione.” He nodded at the women in turn. Mrs. Weasley set a plate and cup at the table, inviting the Minister to sit. “Looks wonderful, Molly. Now, I don’t want you two to worry, but… I’ve come with some news.”

“Did Arthur get in trouble at work?” Mrs. Weasley looked expectant.

“No, no. You see, tomorrow the Ministry will be making an official announcement regarding the new Department; I think it would be best if the family was together when the owls came. It will happen at noon. Wonderful pie, by the way.” Despite Kingsley’s attempt at casualty, his eyes were shifting far too much to achieve it. He had, unfortunately, succeeded in panicking the women at the table with him.

“Is it that terrible, Kingsley? What- another eradication of Muggleborns or something?! Here to take my wand, are you?!” Hermione’s voice was loud and shrill; she had spiraled rather quickly.

“Of course not, Hermione! Never again, I swear that to you. It isn’t pleasant, though. I’ve ought to go now- you’ll tell the family, Molly?” Kingsley left his seat and had Apparated from the room before either woman could say another word. His pie and tea had been abandoned.

“Well, I- I’ll go fetch Arthur, then. Would you like to stay for- for dinner, dear?” Mrs. Weasley looked as faint as Hermione felt, but was slowly regaining her composure.

“No, thank you. I should head home now… I’ll come round tomorrow, for the letters, shall I?” Her voice was still shrill.

“Yes, of course. I’ll get everyone over. It was nice to see you, love.” Mrs. Weasley gave her a good, firm, motherly hug. “I’m sure this will all turn out. Bye, sweets.” She headed out to the shed, looking for her husband.

Hermione Flooed home, dreading the noon letters. Crookshanks purred upon her arrival, slinking lazily by her feet.

Sighing, she picked him up round the middle and settled on the lumpy couch. She summoned over a book- The Great Gatsby- and flicked her wand to set the kettle on, waiting for it to whistle. She put more cream and sugar in than usual.

“What do you think, Crookshanks? Should I be worried?” Crookshanks stared up at her, unblinking. He didn’t seem worried…but he was also an old cat who would be completely unaffected by what the Ministry did- unless they were announcing a Department for the Regulation of Grumpy Old Cats. That would be something- Ron would love it.

She knew something so silly would not worry Kingsley as much as the new Department clearly did. She knew it was something bad.

She could only wait for tomorrow- for noon.

Chapter Text

Again, Hermione and Molly were wrangling their family. The Burrow sitting room was full to bursting with people and nerves. Mrs. Weasley- true to her word- had invited everyone- Harry and Ginny, Bill and Fleur, Hermione, George, Ron, Charlie, and Percy. Everyone was talking, trying to distract from the nerves.

By the fireplace, Ginny was talking to Bill and Charlie about her recent signing to the Hollyhead Harpies. “It was between me and this Irish girl, and she swerved at just the wrong time-”

Harry was talking with George and Ron about the joke shop. “Seriously, mates, those Dungbombs have gotta be dealt with. You both smell like dung as is- no need to cover yourselves in more.”

Mrs. Weasley and Fleur were talking wedding plans, and Hermione was reading A Magizoologist’s Comprehensive Encyclopedia, bookmarking a page on Irish Short-Claws at Charlie’s suggestion.

At eleven forty, Ron spilled tea on George’s pants.

At eleven forty-five, the radio was turned off.

At eleven fifty, Mr. Weasley popped in by Floo on his lunch break.

At eleven fifty-five, Hermione’s hands began to shake.

At twelve, right on time, a troop of Ministry owls swooped in through the window. They were sleek and elegant, with a purple envelope each. One for Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, one for Bill and Fleur, and an envelope apiece for everyone else.

They landed on the arms of the chairs and couches, cooing importantly. Everyone grabbed their own letters, and a few owls flew off. The ones that stayed behind surveyed the room as if waiting for the letters to be opened. No one made to open theirs.

“Go on,” urged Mrs. Weasley, finally opening her and her husband’s envelope.

Bile rising, Hermione opened her letter. Two pieces of purple parchment were inside; one floated out. She opened that one first- she was clearly meant to.

The ink was dark, and the writing was neat. The Ministry emblem glittered as she read:

Good afternoon,

The Ministry of Magic is pleased to announce it’s new Department of Population Regrowth.

Sadly, the Second Wizarding War wiped out a significant portion of our magical population. In light of our population decline, The Ministry of Magic has instated the Department of Population Regrowth, in hopes to restore the population of our Wizarding community.

The Department of Population Regrowth has been formed to enforce the new Population Regrowth Act, recently passed by the Wizengamot. The Population Regrowth Act states:

All* unmarried and childless witches, wizards, and Squibs of Great Britain, between the ages of seventeen and thirty at any point whilst the act is in effect, will be made to wed a fellow witch, wizard, or Squib of Ministry choosing. The eligible persons must fill out a questionnaire (enclosed in their announcement letters), which will better enable the Ministry to choose a well-suited partner for each witch and wizard. They will return the form via Ministry owl no later than six hours after receiving their forms.

*Some may be asked to wed a Muggle of their choosing, for the sake of a diverse gene pool, and will be given a different set of stipulations upon their selection.

Exactly one week after the forms are submitted, new letters announcing their official pairing will arrive for the paired couples. Following the letters, the pairs must begin living together within a month of their official pairing. They must be married within six months of their official pairing. The pair must conceive a child within one year and six months of their official pairing. Provisions have been made regarding same-sex pairings. Following this first announcement, no eligible witch or wizard may marry or have sexual relations with anyone other than their official Ministry assigned partner.

This law will also be applied to those who come of age whilst the law is intact, and will still affect those who leave the age category before having fulfilled all requirements. They will follow the same requirements.

Following the pairings, the Ministry will provide a week in which appeals may be made. The Ministry will then review the files, and potentially assign a new partner.

Failure to comply with any of these requirements will result in the snapping of wands and banishment from the Magical world.

Thank you for your understanding,

Ermina Calix,

Head of the Department of Population Regrowth

The room was silent, everyone gaping at the letters in their hands; Ron and his parents were pale, Percy and Charlie were clenching their jaws, Bill and Fleur were very still, George sank into a chair, and Hermione’s brain spun a mile a minute.

Ginny went red in the face.

“Right now, Harry- We have to go to the Ministry right now and get married, before- before… Come on… COME ON, HARRY!” Harry didn’t move, holding Ginny in place.

“We can’t, Gin. It says it in here-once you get this letter, you can’t get married to anyone except your official partner.”

“I don’t care! I don’t care! We’re going!”

“Ginny,” Charlie spoke up, “they’ll snap your wands. I’m sure you and Harry will be paired anyways. It’s the rest of us that have to worry- we aren’t dating the Boy Who Lived.” His tone was comforting at first, but turned nervous and sullen. “Have some tea, Gin.” He had regained his comforting voice.

Ginny took the tea he offered, and she and Harry went out to the garden. She was still red with anger. Harry looked pale and strained.

Everyone looked pale and strained.

“Can they even bloody do this?!” Ron’s voice was strangled, and his hands were clenched. He was turning, desperately, between his dad and Hermione.

“It’s worse than anything I’d suspected,” choked Mr. Weasley.

“I think,” Hermione started, “that if there were any laws or loopholes around this, Kingsley would have found them. He didn’t sound too pleased with this yesterday.” Her composure finally broke. “And for good reason! This is an affront to our rights! Whoever approved this horrid thing is a bunch of gross, unfair, elderly old bullies! This just backs up my argument that we need younger people in the Wizengamot! They wouldn’t have passed this if it applied to any of them, that’s for sure! I swear, I’m going to storm the Ministry and-!” Whatever Hermione had planned to do was interrupted by an old, scruffy owl flying through the window and crashing into Percy’s lap. It was, notably, not a Ministry owl.

Percy cleared his throat. There was a feather floating to his feet. “I have to go and respond to this. Might I just say, I am glad I was not chosen to work in this Department.” He gathered up the letter and owl, and walked uneasily to his old room.

Fleur stood. “I think I will go and write my muzzer. I must warn ‘er, in case our Ministry tries something.” Bill followed his wife to the kitchen, where she found a quill and parchment. She wrote feverishly.

Hermione finally looked back at the other paper. Pulling it out, she realized immediately what it was- the form that the Ministry thought could find a person she would be happy to marry.

The Ministry was wrong.

She wanted to focus on her career, on her friends, and on her parents. She did not want to focus on a spouse and child…

The form had close to fifty questions, ranging from gender preference to preferred side of the bed.

“Guess we should fill the bloody things out, then,” Ron muttered, red about the ears.

“No! No, we are not giving in to this- this tyranny! I saved their bloody world, they can’t take the wand I did it with! Voldemort’s been dead a bloody bollocking year, and they’re already trying to ruin lives again!I’m going directly to Kingsley, and we’ll sort this out; I’ll research it for as long as I have to, this is not going to happen, and we will not be filling out these forms.”

Everyone stared. Hermione bristled.

“Hermione…” said George, “You said yourself that if there was a way around this, then Kingsley would have found it. Anyways, they will snap your wand- hero or not.” His eyes looked pained, but his jaw was set.

Hermione sniffed- she would find what Kingsley hadn’t. In the meantime, however, she didn’t want to cause more distress- or have her wand snapped- so, she stood.

Charlie, Ron, George and Hermione trudged into the kitchen, grabbing quills and sitting with Fleur and Bill at the table. Harry, Ginny, and Percy joined them shortly.

Mr. and Mrs Weasley stayed in the sitting room, talking in hushed tones.

Hermione stared at the questions in front of her, trying to think of the form as a test- she liked tests. She filled out the spots for her name, birthday, and other personal information easily. It took her a moment to identify the moon, sun, and rising signs of her birthday.

Stupid Divination.

Quickly enough, she had made it to question ten:

Gender Preference: Male, Female, Both

She stared at the question for a few moments, rather surprised at the inclusiveness the Ministry was demonstrating. Likely, many people wouldn’t be very pleased.

Tentatively, she circled Both. She’d known that she was bisexual for half a year. After she and Ron had split, she had a healthy bit of introspection, deciding what she would truly want out of a relationship. It turned out that she could get what she wanted in a relationship from ladies as well.

Anyways, in a situation like this, it was good to know. Though, if she could help it, this matching would never come to fruition, anyways.

It was a solid hour and a half before she finished her form; she got stuck a few times- How was she supposed to answer questions about the type of family she wanted?! Up until the letters arrived, she’d put next to no thought into whether she wanted a son or a daughter.

The only other person finished was Percy, who had begun to pace the kitchen, staring at his finished form. He kept looking out the windows, waiting for an owl response to his response. It must have been a serious letter, for how anxious he looked.

Hermione spent her time building the bones of an argument in her head. Her thoughts were whirring- there was no way that this would last. The whole Wizarding world would riot, and Hermione would lead the fight.

She had six months to build her case- six months until she was made to enter a magically bonding marriage. It was exceptionally hard to end a Magical marriage. That would be a good point in her argument.

She would meet with Kingsley the next day… Yes, meet Kingsley and build a plan with him. Perhaps he could point her to members of the Wizengamot who had voted against the act- they would be powerful allies.

When everyone had finished up, the forms had been sent back, half the group was pacing, and Mr Weasley had left, Bill suggested that everyone go outside. The air was still and balmy. Harry, Ginny, Bill, Charlie, George, and Ron grabbed brooms, and set to the sky to play Quidditch in teams of three- one Seeker, one Chaser, one Keeper.

Everyone else stayed on the ground and continued to fret. Fleur and Mrs. Weasley were speaking in hushed tones, gesturing wildly and both rather frightening

Hermione, as was her nature, was going through books she’d found in the sitting room- Magical Marriages: The Ups and Downs and In-betweens by a witch named Dina Dolkiss- who had exceptionally large ears- proved unhelpful- unless one wanted a hundred ways to build a chore schedule. Magical Motherhood by Healer Sage Salberry proved equally unhelpful. Hermione tossed aside book after book, until evening began sinking its pink claws into the sky, the Quidditch game finally ended, and Mrs. Weasley began to make dinner. None of the books said anything that could help build her case.

She read more at dinner. They ate outside again, and she put up a charm so the summer gnats would quit landing on her pages. The gnats were like the Ministry- annoying and incessantly fixed on ruining lives- but, unlike the gnats, she could not fix her issues with the Ministry via magic- not unless she wanted to go to Azkaban, anyways.

She was confident she could fight this- last year, she and Professor McGonnagal had secured freedom and basic wages for all Hogwarts house elves, even though the Ministry had tried to object. She jotted down McGonnagal’s name on her list of potential allies, right next to her bowl of soup.

“Hermione!” Harry poked her, sounding as though he had been trying to get her attention for quite some time.

“Hm?” She wondered if Madam Pince might be amenable to loaning her a few books from the Restricted section.

“I was asking if you were actually going to meet with Kingsley, ‘cuz if you do, I’d like to come. Reckon I know a few people ‘round the Department of Registrations who’d know some good points against this- I had to talk with them for a case a few weeks back.” Harry was the youngest Auror the Department had ever taken on- of course he was. (They’d taken Ron, too, of course, but Harry was younger.) The Department of Registrations dealt with birth certificates, wedding papers, and death certificates- rather useful, in this case.

“Oh! That would be wonderful, actually- great idea, Harry! Day after next? Send me a list of those who will be accompanying- keep it four or less, please.” Hermione, sensing a wonderful new route forward, was excited.

“Right on, ‘Mione.” Harry went back to his corn, and Hermione to her soup and note taking. She had about a day to build her initial case- not that she doubted Kingsley would take her side.

“Oi!” shouted George, from across the table, “Pass the corn, yeah?” The night’s tension dissolved.

Well, somewhat, anyways.

Hermione stayed up very late in her study, surrounded by books and notes and broken quills. She had pushed her precious coven research messily aside, such was her frenzy. Kingsley had agreed to an office meeting in four days time.

The next day brought a letter from Harry. He had snagged two people from the Department of Registrations for the meeting: Clove Chapman and Mahika Broadhurst. Exceptional witches, Harry had expressed in a long-winded letter. He also expressed, many times, of his desire for treacle tart; Hermione sent a bit of it with her response- she wasn’t a monster.

Treacle on its way, she settled back into her new research. Her own books- some just bought- were much more help than the ones at the Burrow.

Her argument was based on two main facets- the prevalence of domestic violence in arranged Wizarding marriages throughout history, and the unsettling fact that divorce was nigh impossible in the Wizarding world, due to the magical nature of its marriages. A divorce could take years of experts working to unbind the couple’s magical cores.

She combed through pages upon pages of books on law and books on marriage. Her highlighter quills stained her hands with neon ink. Crookshanks played one-sided keep-away with her crumpled parchment.

Amidst all her research, she had almost forgotten about the rest of the world, and was thoroughly shocked by the amount of letters she had forgotten to open- left to die on her counter tops. Most were letters from her friends. All had correctly guessed that she would be working against the decree. Their faith in her was touching.

There were also several editions of the Daily Prophet, and one of the Quibbler, discussing the decree. General consensus: Outrage.

Good.

And right back to work. Hermione outlined entire debates to bring before the Wizengamot, complete with seventy-two sources. She broke her eighth favorite quill- crow feather and engraved silver.

Finally, the much anticipated meeting day reared its somewhat hopeful head. She headed into Muggle London and took the telephone booth to the Atrium a whole hour early. She strode off the elevator, pinning her Visitor’s badge to her robes, and joined a small throng headed towards Visitor check-in.

The Fountain of Magical Brethren had been restored, gleaming under the blue ceiling; Hermione had insisted early on that the others in the fountain not be worshiping the witch and wizard, and Kingsley had seen to it that the elf, goblin, and centaur all looked confidently ahead. She dropped in a Sickle on her way by.

The tall witch at the check-in did a double take as she took Hermione’s wand. She stuck the paper onto the spike, and handed back the wand with awe-struck eyes. It made Hermione nervous, and she sped away from the gaping woman as fast as politeness would allow.

She loaded into the elevator alongside a slouchy wizard carrying a screeching cage. A clawed rabbit paw swiped out.

“Level Two: Department of Magical Law Enforcement,” announced a cool voice. The old doors slid open, and Hermione walked out, avoiding the reach of the rabbit.

She walked into a wide hallway with a red carpet. Various noticeboards covered the walls. At the end of the hallway were tall, wooden double doors. On either side, two burly wizards.

“State your business!” ordered the one the left. “Oh, wait a minute! Ebbin, it’s Ms. Granger. Potter said she’d be popping by!” He grinned.

Ebbin held out his hand, and she handed him her wand. “Gotta say, Ms. Granger, if you’re here for why I think you’re here, you’ve got the support of the whole department behind you.” He handed back her wand after a series of diagnostic spells. (Tonks had upped security.)

She gave him a smile and walked into the Department. It was the same large space it had always been, the floor filled with large wooden cubicles and the walls covered in Wanted posters and doors to smaller department offices. Purple memos swooped overhead, diving low seemingly just for the fun of it.

Harry’s cubicle was far to the right, next to Ron’s. Like all the cubicles, a thick curtain closed off the entrance to Harry’s work space. Someone else- someone who knew Harry as The Great Harry Potter- may have knocked on the wall, but Hermione had seen Harry put Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans up his nostrils, and she entered with zero decorum.

Harry had been writing something, and jumped, spilling some ink, as Hermione barged in. “Aaghk. Tergeo!” The spilled ink siphoned back into its pot.

“Oh, sorry, Harry!”

“S’fine, ‘Mione. Er, you all set?” She was as set as she could be.

The previous late afternoon and evening had been filled with owls between herself, Harry, and the two witches. Notes, articles, pages of books- all passed back and forth as fast as could be read. She carried all of them with her.

“Of course. Are you? Did you have time to read Article G, Clause 12? I know I sent it rather late…”

“I was… going to read it after I finished this memo. Yeah.” Harry had not been planning on reading the clause- Hermione could tell.

“Harry! It’s rather important!”

“I read all the other stuff- and I found things on my own! It was from one of the books we’d already looked at, anyways, so I figured it would be pretty much the same as the other things from the book.” He sounded only a bit sheepish.

“Well, it- Yes, I suppose it was… But! It’s still another mention of the binding nature of Magical marriages. We need as many examples and explanations as possible, to back up our arguments!”

Harry sighed. Something on his desk glowed purple and whizzed in place.

It was a Pocket Picture- an invention of Hermione’s that the Auror department continued to pay very well for- and it had sent in a photo of some person of interest. Harry pinned it to his wall before turning back to Hermione.

“You’re pretty early, so it’ll be a while before Clove or Mahika get here. Want a snack or something?” He had begun to help himself to a Chocolate Frog from his drawer of sweets. “Bugger! Eargit the Ugly again; this has got to be my twentieth card of the guy.”

Hermione chose a Dark Chocolate Frog (Bran the Bloodthirsty) and took a seat, pulling out a quill. She jotted a few new notes, accidentally smearing the corner of her page with ink.

“Hey… Hermione?”

“Mm?”

“It’s likely, right? They’ll match Gin’ and I?” Harry was a bit red, but genuine.

“Well, hopefully they won’t match anyone… If they do, though, I’m sure they’ll match you and Ginny. You’re literally engaged- They’d be crazy not to match you.”

“Who d’you think you might get matched with? McLaggen?”

Hermione glared at her friend. “No. Besides, if I do my work right, I won’t get matched anyways.”

“But if someone were to be your match…” Harry grinned like the imp he was.

“I don’t know. Someone smart… kind… Someone who will stay up late watching Muggle movies, but also stay up reading advanced magical theorems. I marked ‘Both’ for gender preference, so there are plenty of possibilities…” She trailed off. She’d never exactly told anyone of her preferences- she wasn’t embarrassed, it had simply never come up.

Harry, for his part, only looked mildly surprised. “Yeah, well, more likely it won’t be McLaggen, then.”

“Exactly.”

“Does anyone else know, or…?”

“Just you, but I don’t quite care who knows, so you can tell Gin’. I suppose everyone else might find out if the matches go through, and if the matches don’t, this will go through the grape vine at some point anyways.” She pulled a pumpkin juice out of her bag, chilling it with her wand.

For the next half hour, she ensured that Harry had read every note (he already had, mostly), and then they both made a few more. At last, there was a tap, tap, tap, on the wall of the cubicle. Clove entered first.

Clove Chapman was tall and wore her hair in a long, shiny ponytail. She was a bit older than Hermione, but not by much. She seemed to bounce as she walked, cheery and sweet.

Mahika followed in. Her short black hair was cut around her ears, and she had an excited look on her . Hermione remembered her from Hogwarts- she had been in fifth year when Hermione was in first.

“Hello! Clove Chapman, Department of Registrations. Pleasure to meet you!” Clove’s handshake was firm. Turning to Harry, she asked, “Hey, Harry! How’s Ginny?”

“Oh, she’s alright- still worried- you know how it is.”

“You two have nothing to worry about; you’re one of those couples that make it- I would know. Tell her I said that.”

“I will, Clove. Cheers.”

Mahika had moved in on Hermione. “Hi there, Miss Granger. Great to finally meet you. Can’t wait to tear down some tyranny together!” Her handshake was firm as well, and she eked a Tonks-like enthusiasm.

Hermione gave her greetings and exclamations of gratefulness, then set the team into action. They ironed out their verbal arguments, made last minute adjustments, and had a pumpkin juice each. They set for Kingsley’s office floating books and stacks of paper behind them.

The Minister’s Offices were on the first floor. A purple carpeted floor led from the elevator to a frosted, double-wide door. There were no guards in the hallway, but Hermione knew that was because there were at least ten in the offices. The hallway itself was still covered in charms, setting a faint buzzing feeling over the air.

Harry entered first, pushing through the doors to reveal a waiting area. Three guards were already stood at attention as the group entered, waving their wands to identify any disguises or weapons. The guards gave curt nods as they cleared each person, allowing the four to approach the secretary’s desk.

The secretary at the desk was a young man, with a name-plate declaring him: Dell Rubbins, Assistant Secretary to the Minister of Magic.

“Names and time of appointment, please?” Rubbins peered up at the group before starting. “Ah! Yes, yes,” he paged through a stack of parchments, “I was told you’d be coming in! Still do give me your names and time of appointment, please- for integrity’s sake.”

Hermione stepped forward. “Hermione Granger, Harry Potter, Clove Chapman, and Mahika Broadhurst. We have an appointment with the Minister- one o’clock in the afternoon.”

Rubbins bustled with importance as he smoothed out their appointment file. He led them to the door of Kingsley’s office. Dark wood, frosted glass, gold lettering. Rubbins gave a polite knock before opening the door a fraction. “Minister, sir! Your one o’clock has arrived!”

“Let them in, then.”

“Of course, sir!” Rubbins made a small show of pulling the door open and then made another small show of closing the door and heading back to his station.

Kingsley somewhat smiled behind his imposing desk. Hermione returned it with an almost smile of her own.

“Sit,” Kingsley offered, “We have much to cover.”

Chapter Text

The chairs in Kingsley’s office were dark blue and soft. There were exactly enough for the four of them to gather in front of Kingsley’s desk, on which they were given space to spread out some of their notes. The rest of their papers and books were set on various surfaces around the room.

Kingsley sighed as he surveyed the group before him. “I presume you’re all quite upset, but please know-”

“Quite upset?” Harry interrupted, “Kingsley, I just got engaged, and now I may have to put that ring on some random bird you’ve pulled from the street! Did I not save the world well enough to deserve some peace? Well, I’ll tell you right now, if I don’t match with Ginny, I’m gone. Ginny and I will snap our wands ourselves, and I’ll work on taking this shite down from the outside.”

“If I end up with some blood purist, I’ll set this building ablaze, Kingsley.” Hermione’s voice was ice.

“I know. Recently, I’ve held a similar sentiment. Please understand that I have been fighting this as best I can. I signed against this. The International Confederation of Wizards, the Wizengamot, and many of the smaller legislative bodies vetoed my dissent. So many of us in government are fighting, but those highest in power make the ultimate decisions. The writing of the Act is near impossible to dismantle, and Acts written by the International Confederation have, historically, taken years to dismantle”

“Then you better be ready to keep fighting.” Harry’s words were a threat, and Kingsley nodded solemnly. “It may not affect you, but it affects the people you lead, and I’ll be damned if I let the Ministry screw us over again.”

“Of course. I fought the same war you did, and knew the same Ministry you did. But this will be a slow process, filled with research and meetings and compromises and revisions. When I first denied this Act, every opposition I brought up was shot down fiercely.”

“All the better to have the four of us, then,” supplied Clove, leaning forward in her seat. “Now that there are more people working to dismantle the Act, our oppositions will become even stronger.”

“Strength in numbers,” added Mahika, “and now that the Act is fully realized, there are more facets of it that we can choose to target- more loopholes to unravel.” Her fingers tapped rapid beats at her sides.

Hermione wondered silently why Mahika had chosen to work in the Department of Registrations, when she so clearly came alive when given challenges to work through. She stored that question to ask later.

“Kingsley,” said Hermione, “We’ve got this. You know we’ve got this.” She unrolled a sheet of parchment, which had been tied with another sheet, and quickly entered her infamous mode of professionalism.“This is a breakdown of Wizarding population growth over the course of ten years, 1960 to 1970, in a city in France.” She unrolled the other sheet. “This is a breakdown of the same thing, in the same year, in a city in Great Britain with a similar starting population. We have a small pile of these- breakdowns of Wizarding population growth in cities all over the world, in numerous decades, compared to that of cities here. We also have sheets that are an overview of the same thing, but on the scale of whole countries. America has an especially large population of -”

“America didn’t just suffer a devastating Wizarding war,” Kingsley interjected.

“No, but the trends are still useful. We’re working to identify common factors in other countries with consistent population growth, to see what new or since retired ideas could be implemented here. We have accounted for our depleted population size, of course.” Another scroll, this time summoned from a tea table. “This is a trend sheet for the entire country of Columbia. Back in the 60s, they were hit with a terrible outbreak of dragon pox, driving their Magical population down, close to where ours is currently. Now, their Magical population is thriving, not quite how ours was before the war, but certainly much higher than what we have now. It may be useful to study their rebuilding efforts.”

“And to study what’s different in other countries- like America,” Harry joined in, sounding weirdly professional. “We haven’t had time to get a good look into it, but considering their Magical population, its worth a good investigation. What we did see, though, are plenty of instances throughout Magical history across the globe where Wizarding populations took a serious hit, and have since rebuilt- none of them had bills like this in place.”

The four of them tag-teamed a rather impressive guide of their studies thus far.

Kingsley hummed, seeming very interested. “I wonder…” he began, “The Wizengamot and International Confederation are, shockingly, staffed with a number of geniuses. I wonder why they hadn’t thought of this…”

“We did, too.” Hermione grabbed another sheet. “Some of our current theories include that this is an attempt at strengthening pure bloodlines.” She grimaced and Kingsley nodded contemplatively. “Somehow, though, another theory of ours is worse…”

Mahika took over. “We’ve theorized- Well, we think… It could be that some members of the International Confederation or Wizengamot seek to seize power, potentially as Dark sympathizers.”

“I know that we thought we had, y’know, nabbed most of them, but I’m worried some of our investigations weren’t as thorough as they ought to have been… And we couldn’t even really launch investigations into many members of the International Confederation…” said Harry.

“I’ve been thinking along those lines, truthfully. I hate to suspect those I’ve worked with, but we’ve far from realized the true influence He ” admitted Kingsley. He stood. “Somehow, it has already been half an hour, and I only had forty-five minutes to meet with you, so I must draw our attention elsewhere. This was planned rather short term- I will ensure longer meetings in the future.” He walked to the other end of the office, where stood a series of shelves filled with things both incredibly interesting and office-standard mundane. Murmuring a set of words, he pointed his wand at a spot behind some extra wells of ink. The spot glowed purple, and he pressed his palm against it.

A square of the wall swung forward, revealing a dim, spacious cubby, from which Kingsley pulled a stack of papers. He smiled as he closed the wall, saying, “Many papers I need frequently are also the papers I cannot keep out in the open. You’d understand.”

Hermione did understand, and she was sure Harry did, too.

Kingsley set the papers down on his desk, resuming his seat. “These,” he started, “are copies of the Population Regrowth Act in its entirety. I apologize for not giving them to you sooner.”

Hermione was confused- copies of every Act were available to the public. The group all had their own copies. She voiced her confusion to Kingsley, who shook his head. “You have the final, official version. I meant that these are all drafts, initial and final, of the Act. As it was created by the International Confederation, even I had to receive special clearance to show these to the four of you.”

The group nodded in understanding and took the proffered papers. They briefly looked through them, glancing at each other as they quickly pointed out one thing or another. Kingsley looked stoically hopeful by the time the meeting came to a close, and bid them farewell with promises of furthering his own research.

The group retreated to Harry’s office and Hermione perched on a chair immediately, doing a slightly more thorough skim of the papers. It all seemed in order, but she knew she would need to take a further look before deciding that, and the group needed to part ways soon.

“We could meet again in a week?” proposed Clove. Hermione really liked Clove and Mahika, they had been wonderful to talk to through letters, and were even better in person. She readily agreed to meet again at a cafe in Diagon Alley.

When Clove and Mahika had headed back to their Department, Harry and Hermione sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes.

“Harry?”

“Yeah, ‘Mione?”

“I don’t think this will be overturned before the next few deadlines…”

“Me either…”

“Harry?” Hermione placed her head on his desk, like she used to when she had all her work finished before him.

“Yeah?”

“I hope you get Ginny.”

“Me, too…” He smiled.

“And-” She cut herself off.

“Hm?”

“I hope I get someone kind…”

“You will.”

And, because Harry said so, she was sure she would.

Hours later, Hermione was curled up on the couch. She had been knitting, but had since abandoned the project in favor of staring out of her windows. Her mind had been reeling, working through the truth of her situation. She’d put off such thoughts by staying busy, but even Hermione Granger needed a break, sometimes. It had hit her that, no matter how hard she and the group worked, it would take much longer than she had hoped to dismantle the Population Regrowth Act.

Earlier, she had sent a letter to Ron, filling him in on the meeting with Kingsley. She knew he felt bad for not being able to help, because business at the shop had picked up considerably in the past weeks, and she assured him that his help was still, and always, welcome. However, writing that letter had caused her to wonder who the Ministry thought Ron should wed, which made her consider her own potential match, which sent her into a bit of a spiral

She knew she would be matched- there simply wasn’t a way to avoid it, short of giving up magic- and knew she would likely have to move in with her match. She could deal with all of that, she could be civil and kind, she could share a space with someone for a few weeks. However, she could not marry someone. She could not have a child.

Hermione began to shake, clutching at her discarded yarn. How was she meant to be a mother? A wife?

The way Kingsley had put it, the Act could take years to dismantle. Years in which she would get married and have a baby. Years that would change the course of everyone’s lives in ways that could be so drastically harmful. It was something straight out of a nightmare.

Hermione was softly crying when she went to bed. Crookshanks purred at her feet, nuzzling her calf and trying to calm her. Sometimes, she forgot to leave her bedroom door open for him… Her misery increased. How could she care for at least two new people in her home if she couldn’t take care of her cat?

She drifted into an uneasy sleep… Perhaps her potential new family would hate her. Her future spouse would hate the messes she left whenever she worked, and the cup stains she left on furniture, and her cat paw pajamas.

Crookshanks didn’t seem to hate her, though, and came right to her when she woke up. He sniffed her ears, then followed her to the kitchen. She drank tea while he wound about her ankles.

She felt… not quite alright, but better, at least, then she had the night before. The mail that arrived over her breakfast brightened her further.

Luna had published her article on Nillywumps, which was impressively academic in nature, and almost convinced Hermione of the creature’s existence. She still doubted it, though, as she did with most news in the Quibbler.

She had also received a letter from Ron.

Dear ‘Mione,

Thanks for filling me in. You guys are doing awesome. The International Confederation of Twats doesn’t know what’s coming for them- feel free to use our products for mass Ministry destruction any time. I recommend slipping U-No-Poo to them at their next meeting, if you can get in there.

Mum wanted me to tell you hello for her, so… Hello. She also wanted to know if you’d pop round tomorrow and have lunch and a shop about Diagon Alley with her. Anyways, I’ve got to go now (George just flooed and demanded I “haul arse to the shop”).

Lots of love,

Ron

He’d also sent her- and she may have giggled at this- a box of U-No-Poo on which he had scrawled ‘For the Ministry’. There was also a box of Dark Chocolate Frogs. She ate a frog while she owled Mrs. Weasley and told her she’d be delighted to come round for lunch and would certainly accompany her to Diagon Alley.

She dedicated the rest of the morning and most of the afternoon to annotating the first three drafts of the bill, comparing them to each other and the final version. There were six drafts in total, including the final.

Hermione and the group- they really needed a name- owled back and forth in the evening, discussing the changes from one draft to the next. Then they planned to meet in person at Dragon Dew Cafe, a new spot in Hogsmeade. It would be in four days… Two days after the matches would be made.

She tried not to think about that.

Chapter Text

Diagon Alley was bustling in a way Hermione hadn’t seen in months; mothers shouted for their families to stay close, people crowded around merchandise windows, and children weaved between the doors of sweet shops and toy displays. It was still a smaller crowd then would have been present before the War, but Hermione could see that her world was trying to rebuild.

The evidence of the War was still present, though. Shuttered windows seemed like missing eyes on the faces of the buildings. Florean Fortescue’s was no more. Memorial plaques shined brand new on doors and walls in the light of the sun.

There were a few photos of Hermione, Harry, and Ron pinned in shop windows for seemingly no reason but to be admired. As she walked past one of these windows, a young boy tugged on his mother’s sleeve and pointed at Hermione. She gave him a quick smile and pushed her way through a small group of people who had also stopped to stare. A man tried to hold her in place for a photo, and Mrs Weasley nearly hexed his trousers off.

The two window shopped, bought a few books, and had lunch in the Leaky Cauldron for old time’s sake. The pub wasn’t very crowded, which was a wonderful break for Hermione, who had felt very overwhelmed by how many people pointed and stared as she shopped.

Once the women had gotten drinks and settled at a table, Mrs Weasley sighed and fixed Hermione with a motherly look. “Hermione?”

“Mrs Weasley?”

“How are you, dear?” she asked, wrapping her hands around her mug of warm cider- Hermione didn’t know how she could stand something warm in the summer, even in England.

“I’m alright, Mrs Weasley.” Hermione got the impression that this was not the answer the older woman was looking for. “I mean- It’s horrible, of course, the new Act, but we’re… trying.”  

“I can tell, sweets. But I was meaning how are you feeling? How do you feel about getting married? Having children?”

“Well…” she sighed. She felt horrible about it- she wasn’t ready yet. She said that to the woman in front of her, who squeezed her hands.

“You’ll be fine. You are sweet, and smart, and you’ll figure it out. Whoever becomes your husband, whether that’s for a week or- Merlin- even a year, will be very lucky. So will your children. Anyways, on the very unlikely chance your husband doesn’t treat you as you deserve, I’ll handle him.” Mrs Weasley had the kindest look in her eyes.

Hermione swallowed. “What if we can’t do it though? What if we can’t figure out how to get along, or how to take care of a baby?”

“What am I, chopped liver? I’ve had seven, love, I can help. And if you can’t get along, you come over to the Burrow and I’ll hex him if he tries to come get you. Very simple.” She sounded like her daughter. She sounded like herself. She sounded like a friend. She sounded like a mother.

Hermione hadn’t gotten to tell her mother that she was bisexual. She could tell this one.

“Mrs Weasley?” The woman nodded, smiling gently. “Mrs Weasley… It might not be- the person I marry might not be a man.” She said that last part very fast, then cleared her throat. “I marked Both on the form. I might be matched with a woman.”

Mrs Weasley seemed surprised for a moment, before softening again. “Any woman who married you would be lucky, too.” Relief and affection crested over Hermione. “I’m not worried about your marriage- you’re a sweet and smart girl, you could make it work- but some of my children… Well, if Ginny doesn’t get Harry, I don’t doubt that they’d both give up their wands. George is still not himself, and I can’t get a clear answer out of him on how he feels. I’m not sure if Percy is still dating that Clearwater girl- he won’t talk about it. And Ron is just- You know how he is.”

Hermione did know how he was. Ron Weasley was kind, loyal, and easy to love, but also sullen, stubborn, and quick to rage. She had loved him, truly, for a time. It had been wonderful, but it wasn’t right for either of them. They were more like brother and sister, and they ended as they began- best friends.

Mrs Weasley sighed. “It’s all just so upsetting, and so odd. Never, ever, could I have imagined this happening. It doesn’t sit right. Kingsley almost got Percy a position in the Department, remember? I suspect they turned that down so that Perce wouldn’t be able to report back to Kingsley about what they’re doing in there. I hate to speculate, of course… But I’m a mother worried for my children and I’ll speculate if I damn well please!”

Hermione placed her hand consolingly over the older woman’s. “I swear that I’ll do everything I can to figure this out and get rid of it. My meeting with Kingsley was productive, but I didn’t get to say everything I needed to. I didn’t even bring up how binding Magical marriages are! I mean-,” she took a breath and continued, “Well, anyways, we’ll keep trying, Mrs Weasley. You’re right about this all being suspicious.”

“Oh, I know you’re all working hard. Don’t work yourselves to the bone, dear.” Mrs. Weasley turned her hand around to squeeze Hermione’s in a way that felt so very safe. That was love.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hermione loved calm evenings. Her cottage smelled like grass, the door open to allow in the summer night air. She had a cold mint tea in one hand, a book in the other, and had almost forgotten that the next set of Ministry letters would arrive tomorrow.

She hadn’t quite forgotten, though, and it eventually overtook her brain. She wondered, oddly calm, about who her match could be. There was Ron, who she could no longer love that way, and though she loved him, it would be terribly awkward. Harry, who she would happily encourage to snap his wand to be with Ginny- their world couldn’t actually get rid Harry Potter, so he could come back easily when all was said and done. It would be the same with Ginny. Her and Parvati still owled, too. She could end up matched with any of her friends, and while it might be awkward, it would be fine.

Thinking outside of her group, there were some worst case scenarios. Cormac McLaggen, for instance, would be hell. Even worse, however, would be a Death Eater- she wouldn’t put it past the Ministry, all things considered. Draco Malfoy, or Blaise Zabini. Pansy Parkinson, or Daphne Greengrass.

She shuddered, and downed the last of he tea. Floating the cup to her kitchen sink, she stared out her cottage door. It was a good cottage, small and safe, no neighbors and plenty of protective wards. Her yard was part forest, and the outline of trees against the evening sky was something out of a picture book. She didn’t want to leave it, but she wasn’t sure she could share it, either.

A noise in her kitchen drew her attention.

Flying through her open kitchen window was a tan speckled owl. The letter had to be either from the Ministry, one of her friends, or a newsletter- those were the only letters permitted through her wards. It landed on top of a stack of tea towels, cooing and fixing its large yellow eyes on Hermione in a way that was as disconcerting as it was endearing.

Reluctantly, she left her couch to greet the owl and take the letter tied to one of its scaly legs. She fed it a treat and it nuzzled into her hand before taking off.

The letter was written on a thick piece of purple parchment that smelled like some herbal tea or other. She knew, as she took in the odd choice of paper and looping, yet scratchy handwriting, that the letter had come from Luna. She settled back on the couch to read it.

Hermione,

I hope you’ve been well. Do you like the parchment? It’s cinnamon tea scented, and I think its rather lovely. Though, my favorite scent to put on a letter is chamomile. This is Luna, by the way.

Harry owled me earlier today to tell me about the group you two have started to take down the new Act. Its terrible, isn’t it? Daddy and I were horrified to receive the letter.

Anyways, Harry was wondering if the Quibbler would be writing a piece about the Act- we are, of course- and offered to meet at some point to give his thoughts and share the work of your group. Apparently, the Daily Prophet reached out to ask him for an interview about it. He declined, but he said it gave him the idea to reach out to us. We accepted, and he mentioned that you and the other girls might be interested, too.

We’ll be meeting at Harry and Ginny’s flat in three days, around noon. Please owl me back if you’ll be coming. I hope you do- I’ve missed you.

-Luna

PS: Harry’s told me that his flat is generally Wrackspurt free, so you shouldn’t need to bring any protection against them.

Hermione smiled. Same old Luna.

She wasn’t very tired yet, so she summoned over a piece of parchment- hers was not purple and smelled like regular paper- and began to quill her response.

Luna,

Thank you for asking- I’d love to meet with you. There’s a lot that needs to be said about all of this. I will definitely be there.

The parchment is lovely; I love cinnamon, but chamomile would certainly be nice, as well. Where did you find it? I’ve seen a few scents at Scrivenshaft’s, but never cinnamon or chamomile.

Thank you again for the invitation,

Hermione

She went to bed an hour or so after sending her letter, and woke early in the morning. Her breakfast of dry toast and tea was meant to calm her roiling stomach, but it did nothing to help.

Her mind was on loop.

Marriage. Babies. Match. Babies. Marriage. Babies. Match. Marriage.

Match. Marriage. Babies.

She chided herself in between the looping words; she was going to get rid of this law anyways, so why should it matter?

But it did matter. It mattered because dismantling the Act could take weeks, months, years. Marriage and babies were a striking possibility that she was ill-equipped to handle. The matches- while less daunting as an individual factor- would decide whom she would possibly share such possibilities with.

Even if she didn’t have to marry anyone, or have children, the matches could still bring about a level of awkwardness she did not want to face.

She didn’t want to face anything, she admitted to herself, brushing the last crumbs of toast from her mouth and wrapping her blanket around her shoulders. That morning, in a very un-Hermione-Granger-like fashion, she wanted to lead a quiet, unassuming life in which monumental responsibilities didn’t fall to her. She wanted to spend every Sunday curled up on a chair in her favorite pyjamas drinking tea and being largely left alone.

This wasn’t true, of course. She loved to help others, and to use her brains in a way that mattered. It just got to be quite a lot, sometimes.

That thought stuck with her through the morning. It repeated in her head as she stepped right outside of her cottage wards to Apparate, and only simmered down when she arrived, fingers trembling towards a non-existent beaded bag, on the doorstep of the Burrow.

The house looked just the same as always. Same gnomes rummaging in the garden, same old cauldron by the door. Hermione almost felt as though it should look different- wrong, somehow. The world needed to bend and shift to reflect what was happening. Thunder and lightning would be suitably poetic.

Alas, no such thing. Only the door in front of her, and the future waiting on the other side. So, needs do as needs must, she entered the Burrow to be swept into the arms of Ginny Weasely.

“Hermione! Mum, Hermione’s here!” Ginny’s hug was bone-crushing, and the girl lifted Hermione into the air for a moment. There was a manic glint in her eye that Hermione recognized as Ginny’s passionate form of worry.

“Hey, ‘Mione.” Harry offered a small grin as he wrapped an arm around Ginny’s waist. His brows were furrowed. Hermione smiled back, reaching to take Harry’s other hand as Mrs Weasley bustled past them from where she’d been nervously working at the oven.

“Hermione, dear, you’re just in time for lunch! Ginny, set the table- there’s a good girl- Arthur! Get down here! Harry, love, pull the carrots off now, will you?” The woman was frazzled, waving her wand with fervor, making blankets over in the sitting room fold themselves and sending mugs to fill with hot water.

Lunch was delicious, of course, but everyone was tense. Bill, Charlie, and Mr Weasley all sat at one end in a hushed conversation. Harry and Ginny sat pressed against each other. Ron picked moodily at his food, while Mrs Weasley tried unsuccessfully to engage a steadily reddening Percy in conversation about what happened with Penelope. Hermione and George sat together in companionable silence, both focusing on their own growing nerves.

When, finally, the old Weasley clock struck noon, the Ministry owls arrived right on time, flying through the open window in a neat row and landing importantly in front of their charges. The table shared uneasy glances, no one daring to open their letter first.

Finally, Mrs Weasley stood. “All of you, just open them together. No matter what they say, you have a family right here at this table, and family does things together.”

Steeling herself, Hermione reached for her letter. The envelope was a deep purple, like some ominous parody of the lovely letter from Luna. She broke the seal at the same time as the others, pulling out her letter, but didn’t read it quite yet. Instead, she watched for her friends reactions.

Harry gave a delighted shout, and Ginny jumped into his arms as he stood to twirl them both around. Thank Merlin. Mrs Weasley stood as well, running to embrace the pair, and Bill whooped.

Charlie smiled gently, turning his letter to show the table. “Alicia Spinnet. I remember her from school- one hell of a flyer.”

“Better than you!” George had tried for a joke, but his tight voice only drew worried eyes. “Well, then… Her name is Clarissa. Clarissa Malty. She was a Ravenclaw in our- my year.”

“I remember her,” encouraged Harry, “She seemed nice.”

“Yeah…” George agreed halfheartedly At his side, Ron had turned a sickly shade of green. “All good, Ronnikins?” His voice was still tight, but the joke sounded easier that time around.

“I got Parkinson,” Ron choked. The table exploded, voices rising to share in the confusion and outrage. Ron’s face had gone from nervous to surly and closed off. He stood quickly, pushing back his chair, and stormed upstairs.

“I’ll go talk to him,” Bill offered, following his brother. Fleur looked up at him, unsure.

“He eez very upset, Bill. Maybe it eez best you give ‘im space.” She pulled him back to his seat. “When Gabrielle gets like this, she needs time on ‘er own.”

“That… Yeah, you’re probably right. I’ll talk to him later. What’s the news, Perce?” Everyone turned to the boy in question, who had been staring down at his paper with a soft smile. He looked up quickly, closing his letter.

“All good. I’m going to go to my room- I have some letters I need to write.” He took off hastily, up the stairs and around the corner before anyone could stop him.

“That was odd…” Mr Weasley stared up where two of his sons had disappeared. “D’you think he got Clearwater?” No one was sure.

“Hermione, dear, how’s it looking over there?” Mrs Weasley inquired. As was becoming the pattern, the table swiveled towards the new subject in unison.

“Oh! Er…” Hermione, who had happily gone unnoticed thus far, turned to face everyone with a jolt. She still hadn’t read her letter, and as she went to open it, she noticed her fingers trembling slightly. Harry reached out to take her hand in his own, and George placed his hand on her shoulder. Comforting.

Steeling herself, she took out the letter, unfolded the crisp paper, and read the letter she’d been dreading for days.

Good afternoon,

In accordance with the Population Regrowth Act, the contents of this letter will dictate who the recipient shall wed, marry, and reproduce with under the guidelines and stipulations previously addressed, which are as follows: All unmarried and childless witches, wizards, and Squibs of Great Britain, between the ages of seventeen and thirty at any point whilst the act is in effect, will be made to wed a fellow witch, wizard, or Squib of Ministry choosing. Some may be asked to wed a Muggle of their choosing, for the sake of a diverse gene pool, and will be given a different set of stipulations upon their selection.

Following these matches, the pairs must begin living together within a month of their official pairing. They must be married within six months of their official pairing. The pair must conceive a child within one year and six months of their official pairing. Provisions have been made regarding same-sex pairings. No eligible witch or wizard may marry or have sexual relations with anyone other than their official Ministry assigned partner.

This law will also be applied to those who come of age whilst the law is intact, and will still affect those who leave the age category before having fulfilled all requirements. They will follow the same requirements.

Following the pairings, the Ministry will provide a week in which appeals may be made. The Ministry will then review the files, and potentially assign a new partner.

Failure to comply with any of these requirements will result in the snapping of wands and banishment from the Magical world.

By way of comprehensive Matching Packets and Match Analyzers, and with the best interests of all involved,

Hermione Jean Granger

has been found a suitable match with

Luna Lysandra Lovegood.

More information on matches and requirements to follow. For all inquiries and questions, it is recommended that one first- looks over a copy of the Population Regrowth Act, available via owl order from the Ministry Records, before contacting a Ministry employee.

The Ministry of Magic thanks you for your continued cooperation in our pursuit of regrowth and prosperity and wishes you congratulations on your match.

Signed,

Ermina Calix,

Head of the Department of Population Regrowth