AN: Hey, guys. I know this idea has been used, quite often, but I just wanted to toy with it a bit and see what I can do with it. With that said, read and review?
Disclaimer for All Chapters: I do not own Harry Potter. That's JKR's imagination, I'm just playing in it.
Flash! Pop! Flash! Pop! Flash! Pop!
It had been exactly one year since Hermione Granger, female counter-part of the Golden Trio, war hero, bookworm extraordinaire, had set foot out into the Wizarding public. It was this exact reason Hermione had moved to the States and into hiding. She, without a doubt, hated her picture being taken. And what she hated even more so, was standing before her, blocking her path.
"Ms. Granger, what brings you back to London?" A reporter shouted.
"Excuse me!"
"Ms. Granger, now that you're back, will you being resuming your position in the Ministry of Magic?" A reporter from Transfiguration Today, hollered at Hermione.
"Move out of the way!" A voice screeched.
"Ms. Granger, have you returned due to the news of Mr. Weasley's engagement?" Another reporter, this one from Witch Weekly, called out.
"If one more bloody person steps on my foot, I swear to Merlin, I will bloody curse someone into oblivion!" The voice was definitely coming from a witch – a foul mouthed one at that.
Hermione watched as a petite brunette with a pug nose fought her way to the front of the crowd. This witch had certainly been one during her Hogwarts schooling, making sure to make fun of Hermione's teeth and bush hair when they were younger. Neither of them was fond of the other; Hermione had been the war hero, while Pansy Parkinson was the coward, unnoticed in the face of the Wizarding world. Dressed in a tailored pencil skirt and an asymmetrical collared jacket, Pansy forced herself out of the growing crowd of spectators and reporters.
"Bloody pigs," Pansy scoffed.
She turned to Hermione and motioned her inside of the new boutique beside the restored Olivander's wand shop. Pansy accio'd a table and chairs from a back room after covering the store's windows with curtains and a heavy locking spell to prevent any intruders. She swept her hand out gesturing for Hermione to sit down. Hermione took a seat on one of the egg-shaped chairs. Following suit, Pansy sat and snapped her fingers. A house elf appeared holding a silver tray. On the tray was a tea kettle and matching cups and a plate of biscuits.
Hermione winced at the sight of the mangy house elf. She was still an avid activist of S.P.E.W.
"Now, Granger, or maybe I should refer to you as Hermione for the press, anyway. Glad you met me here today. I understand it would have been… difficult to come out of your… solitude. So, tell me, how was living in… muggle society as a… uhm… what did you call that profession of yours?"
"Well, Ms. Parkinson," Hermione said, sticking to formalities. "I was working as a crossword puzzler. This profession, more of a hobby really, involves taking words and arranging them in a grid where one letter of each word is connected to another word. To solve the puzzle, a person would have to read the clues that related to the words and fill words in the grids.
But, I bet you didn't ask me here to listen to a description of my muggle hobby, am I correct, Ms. Parkinson?" Hermione laughed.
"I'll admit it was not my full intentions, Hermione. I didn't want you to be pressured into doing an interview for the first time since the end of the second Great War," Pansy said, tapping her fingernails on side of her tea cup, smirking. "So, why is it that you have returned to London after essentially up and disappearing from the Wizarding World shortly after being the Ministry's poster child and the end of the war? Business or Pleasure, I'm sure the majority of the population is glad to have you back."
"Ms. Parkinson, I assure you, this is not on pleasure. I have been called back to London by our Minister, Kingsley Shacklebolt. The Minister of Magic wanted me to inform the public of an important matter at hand. Nothing to worry about, really," Hermione said before drawing in a long breath. Oh, how she hated herself for agreeing to do this. "The Minister of Magic has imposed a new law that is to come into effect as of the thirty-first of this month." She paused. "Due to the massive loss of the Wizarding population – the census taken is relatively close, if not dead on, that we did indeed lose more than half of our friends and family – a marriage law has been put into action."
"Are you saying, Ms. Granger," Pansy said, taking on the formalities, "that every witch and wizard will have a chosen spouse, courteous of the Ministry of Magic?" Pansy questioned, taken aback.
"What the Ministry is trying to do, is stop the potential, yet threatening extinction of the Wizarding race. With the marrying of muggles on the rise, the Ministry wants to ensure that the magic will continue through the bloodlines, preventing squibs from overtaking the Wizarding population," Hermione said, trying to clarify. "With the news said, I shall be going, Ms. Parkinson. Kingsley Shacklebolt expects this article to be in tomorrow's print of The Daily Prophet. I would do my best not to disappoint, with all things considered. Thank you, for the tea."
Hermione stood, and dissapparated to Charing Cross Road, outside of the Leaky Cauldron. She continued walking until she was on a busy street in muggle London. She soon became just another face in the crowd, exactly what she wanted.
The morning rush of people trying to get to work, Hermione envied them. Their lives filled with mundane shit. How easy it should be to fall into a boring routine like that. How easy it was, hidden away like the muggle poet, Emily Dickinson; that's what Hermione had enjoyed. That's what she had sought after and accomplished for a year. And now, now, she was brought out of her solitude only to be used again. She hated her face being plastered everywhere. She hated being fawned after, men only seeking her as a sex symbol. That's not what she was. That's not who she was. She hated the treatment she received.
Harry hated the lime light, but he was use to it. He grew up in it. Harry still treated her as always, like a sister. Even through the war, the post war diplomacy, her and Ron's break up, everything. Ronald Billius Weasley was a different story. He was always a thick-head. Unfortunately, everything went straight to his head, like calories women always obsess over and claim pile on their hips. The fame of being part of the Golden Trio became too much for him to keep himself grounded. His head was a balloon held by a child on a windy day. The wind was the fame, excitement, and women. The child had let go and Ron's head flew into the clouds.
Hermione could not handle him losing himself and her becoming someone else. She had tried to keep up with him, against her better judgement. One day she had found herself staring down at a book, Guide to Medieval Sorcery, she had left on the table next to a cushy chair. The book was placed, pages own, breaking the spine. She had started the book three weeks prior when she found it. That was the beginning of her wake-up call. A few days later, after lunch with the engaged Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley, she floo'd into her flat. The sight before her, after getting the soot off of her eyes, was both upsetting and liberating. Ron was in her bed with a blonde witch. She had stood there, a moment or two, surveying the scene before diverting her eyes, grabbing a pinch of floo powder, and shouting, "Thirteen Grimmuald's Place, London."
The last thing she witnessed was Ron jumping out of the bed, the blonde nitwit dazed as to why her sexual needs were not being satisfied. She was bugged by the notion of the ownership. It was her flat, not the both of theirs'. She paid the rent, she bought the furniture. It all belonged to her. But what really bothered Hermione, though, was that she was okay with the scene she had witnessed. She should be cursing his name, throwing a fit about the git he was, but she was completely calm. So calm in fact, it was disgusting. Even Ginny pointed it out after she arrived back at the former Order of The Phoenix location. She just didn't care enough to fight for that life anymore. She was done and wanted to move on. So she did. Wizarding London lost an occupant, the Ministry lost its spokes person, the Golden Trio lost its female, and Ron lost his long desired girlfriend because the git couldn't keep his head on straight.
When she returned to her flat after spending a few days out because she couldn't bear to look at her flat, Ron was sitting on the couch waiting for her.
"So, you're leaving, without waiting for me to apologize and give an explanation," he said to her as she stepped out of the fireplace.
"Yes, Ron, I am."
"You weren't even going to tell me, you were just going to up and leave," he accused, his hotheadedness showing through.
"No, it's been a week, Ronald. I've been to the Burrow. Everyone knows. You have a tendency to not listen to the conversation," she pointed out to him.
Ron's anger grew. "You've left me! After everything we've been through! You left me, all because of drunken sex!"
"Drunken sex. It was barely passed noon." She kept her tone even. "You were copulating with a groupie of the Chudley Cannons, Ronald. "
"Don't use big words at me, Hermione!" Ron shouted.
Hermione sighed and started looking for a suit case.
"I can't stand by and watch you walk away from everything we've had, 'Mione," Ron attempted to calm his voice and be charming.
"Ron, do you even know what colour my eyes are?" Hermione waited for an answer.
Ron tried looking around the room for a picture, anything to help him with the answer.
"They are hazel, Ron. Hazel. We've been friends for nine years now. And you didn't know that. How much attention did you really pay towards me, Ronald? How much effort did you really put into our relationship, since the start? I tried, I put so much into our relationship, and I was losing myself. You know, I found a book sitting with its spine bent. I had started to read that book over a month ago, Ron. I broke the spine of that book because of you. I went out to parties with you. I did so much; I ended up changing my lifestyle just to please you. And you had sex, in my bed, in my apartment, which you don't even live in. So excuse me, if I have decided that I wanted to give myself a break."
At the end of her rant, Hermione had tears welled up in her eyes. She didn't turn around to acknowledge Ron's goodbye, or even his departure. Now, eighteen months after the war had ended, a year after solitary confinement, here she was again. She promised herself, not to go down that road again. She would not go back into a life of ignorance. She would keep purpose. And she would most definitely not let anyone take her back to her previous lifestyle. If they tried, she would put up a fight, screaming and kicking as the dragged her.
Draco Malfoy noticed a little girl twirling and playing near her mother, who stopped at a trolley selling muggle newspapers and magazines and was currently talking with the solicitor. The little girl, who was quite small, maybe three years of age, then fell down, probably because she was dizzy. Her mother lifted her up and held her hand. Not long later, the little girl weaseled out of her mother's grasp and ran up to the window of the coffee bar; the one Draco was looking through. She took no notice of him; her nose and cheeks were flushed pink because of the cold wind. She huffed her breath on the window, watching it fog up. She smiled excitedly and began to draw with her finger. She drew, what appeared to be, stick figures; one was tall, one was shorter, and the very last one was the smallest. The little girl whipped her head around and looked at her mum, who called the young girl over to her. She glanced at her mum then back at her window art and quickly drew a halo above the tallest figure's head before running back to her mother's side.
Suddenly, a newspaper hit Draco in the chest with a thud, disturbing him from his stupor.
"Go on, read the headline," a surprisingly calm voice said as the booth's seat creaked underneath the assailant's sudden weight. The new occupant had one arm over the back of the booth, one leg on the booth's mahogany, vinyl seat, and even though his back was to the window, he was staring up at the uncovered rafters of the ceiling. Through his sudden attack on the back corner booth, the bloke managed to, predictably, knock into the rosewood table, causing a porcelain cup on the table to be jolted, the contents sloshing inside.
Draco grabbed the Daily Prophet from his lap and set it on the wooden table. For throwing a bundle of papers, Blaise Zabini was acting suspiciously out of character. Draco eyed his closest friend before saying, "You're lucky my coffee didn't spill when you so vivaciously sprawled out," Draco paused to survey Blaise once more. "You do realize we are sitting in a fine, muggle establishment."
The dark Italian sighed exasperatedly. "Yes, yes, that may all be fine and dandy but will you read the bloody newspaper?"
Draco consented, but before he could grab the newspaper Blaise was already on his second round. "Can you believe this? It's an outrage, I tell you! An affront to my manhood! This ridiculous Minister of England is taking away my civil duty, my rights, of pleasing any woman who wants me!"
Draco raised an eyebrow at his friend's dramatic monologue. He took a mouthful of his cream coloured drink before he opened his mouth to speak. "Are you finished with your childish antics? You've attracted the barmaids' attention, you dolt."
Indeed, the muggle barmaids had turned their attention to the two young men. The two muggles were standing behind the counter. The barista on the right was wearing a black, three-quarter length peasant shirt. She had her dark hair pulled up into a twist and had purple framed glasses on her oval shaped face. The one on the left was leaning forward a bit to see around her co-worker. She had to brush her copper-blonde hair out of her face. She had her hair cut into an inverted bob, with the hair tapered longer in the front, closer to her neck. A faint blush coloured her cheeks when she noticed Draco and Blaise looking at her. The darker haired girl rolled her eyes at her redheaded co-worker before continuing wiping the counter with a rag.
"Draco, you're missing the point here. I'm going to get myself some coffee, and if this works out, I'll have someone to take refuge in before I lose my last chance at being a free man," Blaise said.
Draco snorted at his friend. He had already read his own copy of the wizarding newspaper when he had gotten up that very morning. He knew about the marriage law, and yes, he was as dissatisfied with it as much as the next wizard. But what concerned him was the drastic change in Blaise Zabini after the war. He knew Blaise to be one much like himself, conservative. But now Blaise stopped caring about public appearances, mostly in muggle society. "Don't strike out," Draco said and Blaise waved him off.
Draco watched Blaise compose himself, saunter up to the bar, and flash his sparkling smile he often used to charm women. Blaise was not one to mess around when he wanted something, a female in particular; he was dedicated and went for the kill. It was hard for one to bruise his ego. He would bounce right back, unfazed.
Draco viewed the scene going on in the middle of the establishment. Blaise was leaning on the counter now, chatting up the copper blonde haired girl. She continued to blush and act bashful. From this, Draco knew that tonight he would not have Blaise around to barge in on his evening. He shifted his attention outside, through the window. It was mid-morning, the sun was shining brightly for November, but it wasn't close enough to bring warm weather. Instead, it was nippy out and many people dressed in coats. Some had hats on, others wore gloves. Draco, himself, had a on a pair of grey trousers, a white collared button down, and a cream coloured jumper over the shirt. His khaki trench coat was hanging on the side of the booth.
Blaise walked back to Draco proudly. "This bloke has a date tonight," Blaise said, smiling and pointing at himself. "I've to go. I'll stop by later to further express my feelings about this outrageous, life constricting edict." He grabbed the Daily Prophet off the table and tucked it in a hidden pocket on the inside of his charcoal tweed coat. "See you, mate," Blaise said as a goodbye. He winked at the barista he had been flirting with only moments earlier before he finally left with only the jingle of the bell by the door to be heard.
Draco stared down at his empty cup of coffee. He was contemplating getting some more when he heard footfalls getting louder as they got closer. He looked up to see the dark haired barista. She was holding a pot of coffee, the orange rim contrasting with the black of her shirt. Around her waist was a standard, three pocket, wine coloured apron. Underneath the apron, she was wearing a zebra striped pencil skirt. Draco thought, why must female muggles insist on wearing garments like that? It is unflattering.
"Hello, can I get you something? A refill? Maybe some biscuits? Anything at all?" The barmaid asked, looking over her glasses at Draco. She had set the coffee pot down and pulled a pen and pad out of one of the pockets on the apron.
"Actually, I was just about to leave," Draco said.
"Alright, thank you for your business," The barmaid replied before walking away to find something else to do in the empty shop.
Draco stood up and placed £2 on the rosewood table. He pulled on his coat and walked to the nearest apparation point.
Draco apparated to Malfoy Manor; he stood, perhaps, ten feet from the wrought iron gate that would allow him entrance onto the property. He took a moment to survey his childhood home. With the sun shining, the three story manor didn't seem to have that looming affect anymore, or well, not as much when the warmer seasons were around with the plants full of colour and lively looking. Draco could feel the atmosphere difference from when the Dark Lord had decided to make his presence permanent in the mansion and now, eighteen months after the death of the wretched coward, bent on ruling the world.
Draco finally made the trek up the cobblestone path. He was barely through the foyer when a house elf appeared.
"Master Draco, sir," the scruffy, female house elf squeaked. "Mistress sent Hartley, sir, with a message. Mistress wanted Master Draco to know there was an owl waiting for him on the terrace. Mistress said for Hartley to get the letter."
"Thank you, Hartley." He thought for a second. "I suppose I'll have the letter, now."
"Yes, Master Draco," Hartley said before disappearing with a loud Crack! Perhaps three seconds later Hartley appeared with a rolled up piece of parchment with a single ribbon tied in a bow to keep it from unravelling.
"Before you go, Hartley, where is Mother?" Draco inquired after taking the scroll-looking letter from his mother's house elf.
"Mistress is at Tea with Mrs. Parkinson, Master Draco, sir."
"Thank you. You're dismissed," Draco said briefly. A crack! sounded and Draco continued walking and took the right, marble staircase up to the second floor, one hand on the cherry wood and wrought iron railing the other fingering the rolled paper. He wondered if this was the official letter that the Daily Prophet had talked about.
Draco's room was located in the east wing of Malfoy Manor; the second floor of the east wing was, essentially, his own. It contained a smaller, more personal study that connected to a library. The library had walls lined with bookshelves, a latter that moved to and fro around the room. The library was one of Draco's favourite places in the manor, it had been since childhood. His mother, Narcissa Malfoy, would often read to him when he was a young child in this particular library. A small room was attached to the library, it was a reading room filled with cushiony couches, a lounging chair, and had ceiling to floor, bay windows that looked out onto a secluded corner of the garden and beyond that the rest of the property.
Draco entered the study and sat down in the large, dark leather swivel chair behind the ancient desk that had been in the Malfoy family for centuries. After getting comfortable, he turned his attention to the document. As he undid the ribbon around the rolled parchment, it flattened itself out into the original state, as though it had never been rolled or delivered by an owl. A wax seal was centred keeping the folded ends of the document closed. It was the official seal of the Minister of Magic, England. Draco pried the paper apart and began to read the standard newsletter.
To Whom It May Concern:
Due to the drastic decline in population in the last two years, I, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister Of Magic of England, hereby impose a mandatory law affecting every which and wizard of age eighteen through thirty who is not legally and/or registered as married. This decree is to assure the growth of the wizarding population. It is a marriage law.
The law goes as followed: Each unmarried witch and wizard are to sign their full name at the bottom of this document to show confirm that they are complying. Then as followed, this page will change into the compatibility questionnaire set to put everyone in groups of four. (i.e. Once the groups of four are sorted, each witch will be courted by two different wizards, and each wizard will court two witches.) Each question must be completed and filled out honestly. From the time the groups are presented to every eligible witch and wizard have exactly 122 days/ roughly four months time to court and make a decision.
If you have any concern about the marriage clause, below is a list of possible answers to possible questions that may arise:
If one is engaged, that does not mean this person will be excused from this law. It applies to every unmarried witch and wizard.
There is a set time frame on when a partner must be chosen and a ministry official in the newly established Department of Population Control must be notified by this set date.
Failure to comply may end in trial of the Wizengamot and a numbered day stay under the watch of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.
If one set out of the two in the groups have chosen that they would like to be married, then the other pair is automatically placed together and the Department of Population Control notified will also place the second pair under the title of engaged.
The marriages contracted in this Marriage Decree will NOT have a muggle wedding. It is to be an official wizard wedding that is binding until death do ye part.
Please sign your name on the line to continue the compatibility sorting.
X_
Draco snorted. He found this to be completely ludicrous, but picked up a quill and signed Draco Lucius Malfoy in his elegant script penmanship.
The words on the enchanted parchment disappeared and were replaced by a series of questions.
"What is this, muggle eHarmony?" Hermione snorted as she looked over the questions on the ministry issued compatibility test. She continued to read before answering each question on the parchment.
Please circle one.
Gender: Male or Female?
Female.
Eye Colour: Brown or Blue or Green or Other?
Other.
Perfered eye colour of partner: Brown or Blue or Green or Other or No Preference?
No preference.
Interested in: Male or Female or No Preference?
Male.
I am the: oldest, youngest, middle, only child?
Only child.
Annual Income: Less than 6,000 Galleons, Between 6,000 & 9,000 Galleons, More than 9,000 Galleons
Between 6,000 & 9,000 Galleons
Prefer indoors to outdoors: Indoors or Outdoors or No preference?
No preference.
As soon as Hermione finished writing her last answer, the text began to fade like before and the next set of questions appeared. She dipped her quill into the ink well and began the next set.
The following questions require open answers.
What are you most proud of in your life?
What are some of your hobbies and interests?
What is the biggest turn off/annoyance in a partner?
What is the biggest turn on in a partner?
Where do you see yourself in the next five years? Ten years?
Hermione laughed at the last question. She found it ironic that the ministry would ask such a question after imposing such a law that restricts the rights of people. But still, she answered each question in her fluent script, each curly letter loopy, straight letter blunt, curved letter arcing in a manner that one with a doctor's scrawl would be jealous of.
Once she finished the unexpectedly easy questionnaire, Hermione refolded the parchment. She left it on the desk in her room; she figured that she would brave Diagon Alley to visit the new Owlery that caught her eye the other day. She would have preferred to use Pigwidgeon or even Errol, but she was not prepared to face the Weasley family just yet.
Hermione was living at her childhood home due to having sold her flat the year prior. Her parents, however, were at their second home in Australia that they had decided to keep for a warm escape during the cold months of the year. It was nice to be somewhere comfortable for her, not to mention the peace it provided was giving her more time to puck up the courage to see Harry. Yes, they may have sent letters to each other via owl, but she hadn't been face to face with him since the week she had left.
She sighed. "It's only natural I should visit," she said to herself. After a few more motivational thoughts, a shower, and lunch Hermione decided it was time to face her long time friend. She grabbed a pinch of floo powder and put it in the fireplace. When the green flames rose, she stuck her head through and called out, "Harry, are you home?" She waited.
A booming Crack! sounded and Kreacher appeared. "Master Potter is not in," Kreacher said in his disdained voice.
"Oh. Alright, thank you, Kreacher," Hermione said slightly relieved but mostly disappointed. She pulled her head from the fireplace and sat back on her legs. She had a spur of the moment thought and quickly climbed to her feet. After fixing her clothes and grabbing the letter off of her desk, she imagined the lone house outside of Ottery St. Catchpole. She felt the familiar tug at her belly button, but still closed her eyes, imagining the place she had spent so much time at.
The Burrow stood before her, welcoming her back. She could see Molly Weasley through a window in the kitchen. Molly looked up from her cooking. An already large grin grew on her face. Hermione waved at her. Molly met her at the front door and the women shared a rather long, yet comfortable hug.
"Hermione, dear! Oh, am I so glad to see you, and after such a long time of you being gone!" Molly expressed with much enthusiasm. "Come in, come in! I'm quite glad you stopped by. It is just a delight to see you."
Hermione laughed nervously. How could she have thought that this woman would not welcome her back? She was, after all, like family. That is precisely it with Molly; she treated everyone like family, that is, if you're not Bellatrix LeStrange.
"Hello, Mrs. Weasley," Hermione said with respect and gratitude.
"Hermione, what have I told you for how many years? Call me Molly or even Mum. You'd think that you've been part of this family long enough to stop with that," Molly chastised kindly causing Hermione to chuckle. And just like that, they were falling back into the old routine.
"Are you sure you don't want to stay for dinner? You know you're always welcome, dear," Molly asked Hermione again for the umpteenth time. "Ginny and Ronald should be back from practice within the hour."
Hermione gazed around the living room. It was soothing and held many memories, most pleasant, but some repressed ones that she didn't quite want to resurface just yet.
"I would love to, but I'm not sure how Ron would react. I mean, I know time has gone by and all, I just don't want it to be blown out of proportion or awkward," she gave as her reasoning.
Molly clucked her tongue. "Well, yes, I suppose that would be reasoning enough."
Hermione knew that she had hurt the older woman's feelings slightly, so she asked, "Is family dinner nights still on Sunday?" Molly nodded. "I'll be here Sunday, I promise."
"Alright, dear. I'll make sure it's special."
"Sounds perfect," Hermione said. She was pulling on her coat when she remembered part of the reason she came to the Burrow. She pulled the piece of parchment out of her pocket. "I hate to ask, but could you have Pig or Errol deliver this to the ministry for me? I was going to stop at the Owlery in Diagon Alley, but I don't feel like going."
"Sure thing, I'm sure Pig would love something to do. It might calm him down a bit, as well."
Hermione smiled at the woman before giving her one last hug before disapparating.
AN: Hey, I know you guys probably got really excited, thinking this was an update, but alas it is not. I am just thoroughly dissatisfied with they way I had done this and so, I'm just tweaking it to my liking. I do promise that I will be bringing the "new" chapter 2 soon. I, stupidly I might add, got ahead of myself and went against my original intent, posting this when my story was fully finished. But what can I do. Anyway, I'm getting off topic; Also, I hate to be one of those people who beg for reviews, but I'm going to do just that. I'm groveling at your feet, seriously. Please, I beg you, review.
Thanks for putting up with this, readers. Until next time, RansomWriter.