Author's Note: Okay, so here's the deal. I know I have other stories ongoing, but this plot just would not leave me alone no matter how hard I tried to ignore it. I won't abandon any of my previous works, but perhaps I'll write this one too.
The idea for this story came from Kittenshift17's lovely piece "Limerence Laws." It's still in the process of being written, but I fell in love with it nevertheless. If you haven't checked it out yet, do it now! The major pieces of this story are different, but that's where the inspiration came from.
Anyway, tell me if that would be something you'd be interested in reading, okay?
Disclaimer: I own nothing, alright? I'm just playing here.
Hermione knew, from the moment she woke up late to her first class in the morning, that the day would not be great. She felt as she jumped out of bed in a rush, that maybe she ought to just return to her still warm spot and pretend her obligations didn't exist. But, knowing that was impossible for her, she quickly got dressed and ran down the stairs.
When later Dumbledor called for an urgent Order meeting, Hermione again felt the sinking feeling that no good would come from that god-forsaken November monday. Regardless, against her instincts, she dutifully stepped into the Floo and whisked away to Grimmauld Place — already preparing her mental shields.
No one was there before them, which suited Hermione just fine. The quieter, the better as far as she was concerned. So, in order to make the most of her limited peaceful time, she chose a comfortable seat and enlarged one of the books she always kept in her inner pocket for situations such as that one.
She ignored Dumbledor's soft voice, telling Harry he would have to study Occlumency once again — this time with him. She ignored Ronald's loud noises in the kitchen, while he grabbed something to eat. She ignored the Gaelic song Minerva murmured under her breath. She ignored it all — or at least pretended to do so — until an owl landed in front of her carrying an envelope with the Ministry seal.
"What do you have here?" She wondered, petting the gray owl behind the ears while retrieving the letter.
She opened the letter and read its content, a sinking feeling in her stomach the further she read. When Hermione finally reached the bottom of the page, where two names were written in bold, her hands were already shaking with suppressed anger.
How dare them? This was preposterous; a true absurd if she ever saw one. All those years in the Wizarding World, she grinded her teeth and tried to ignore the prejudices, the older-than-old laws, the favoritism, but this... it changed everything.
Hermione felt the time pass, but could not force her body to move from her frozen position. She knew the house was starting to fill with the Order member's, and soon she would be caught, open-mouthed and sizzling magic, by someone, so she recomposed her expression the best she could given the circumstances.
That was when she noticed the man walking down the stairs. Harry's godfather wasn't someone who could enter a space quietly — everything about him screamed for attention. Hermione felt her breathing become somewhat shallower as her blood began pumping fast one again inside her body. Fuck, she had to contain her temper — it would not do to curse him in front of everybody.
Sirius whole appearance was somewhat wild. From his dark pants — so tight on his strong legs — to his button-up shirt — half undone and flashing a tantalizing piece of his chest — to his black leather jacket — which he left unzipped — everything about him screamed sexy-appeal. It wasn't the unassuming attractiveness that Harry wore so well those days, no. Sirius Black was an incredibly handsome man, and he was all too aware of it.
He didn't walk into the room, he strolled — slow and surely —, a smirk firmly settled into place. Hermione hated it. Hated how his freshly shaven face seemed so smooth and soft; hated his smug expression of victory; hated his damn fragrance, that smelled as if it were made just for him; hated, most of all, how he wore it all to his advantage shamelessly — flirting with man and women alike.
One would think his imprisonment would've altered his ways, but one would be wrong. Apparently, fifteen years of Azkaban did nothing to diminish his infatuated ego. It seemed like the Black uprising had an everlasting effect that couldn't be ignored even by those who claimed to hate the house and everything it stood for.
How could she ever love this man? It wasn't fair that she was asked to give her body and her mind to someone so unlike herself or so unlike all that she envisioned her other half would be. But, she had to remind herself, Sirius wasn't her other half — of course not. It wasn't enough for her to marry one completely inappropriate individual, she had to marry two.
Remus Lupin, the enabler of his best friend's act. Hermione disliked him no less than she did Sirius, despite his less aggravating personality. She knew that, behind his carefully constructed mask, laid the brains of the Marauders. While James and Sirius had happily posed as the head of their groups, basking in the attention their stupid pranks and holier-than-thou attitude granted them, Remus hid in the back, nose pressed in countless books, quietly laughing while providing material, spells, and potions for their private use.
No, Hermione wasn't fooled by either of them. She understood their personalities, as well as the persona they played while at the meetings — almost as well constructed as Snape's. They both pretended to be responsible adults, concerned by the sad news of the day — whether it was a single Muggle-born witch or an entire village of muggles —, and fooled everybody into thinking they grew out of their petty, aggressive, and vengeful adolescent mindset.
She crumpled the paper in her hands, refusing to read the message one more time. It would be pointless anyway, by now she had the whole thing memorized — the words burnt deep in her mind. She was to marry within' the month and was encouraged to try, as soon as possible, to mother a child from at least one of her husbands to be.
What a fricking joke, Hermione thought darkly. She was eighteen, still in school and in the middle of a massive war, when was she to find time for a baby? She wasn't sure a child was even on her long hauls plans...
She inhaled, letting the oxygen seep into every pore of her body. This wasn't the time to consider her life expectations, Hermione had to figure out a way to get through this farce of a wedding without killing one of her husbands or offing herself along the way. Her mind was running a mile an hour, rushing to find a solution she knew wasn't there. None of her precious books told her how to get through an imposed marriage proposed by the government; she'd have to find a way on her own.
"You alright there, honey?" Sirius asked, his voice smooth and deep — another perfect feature in his already flawless record, another thing she hated.
"I'm fine," Hermione said curtly, not even bothering to glance his way. Soon enough she would have to endure his chauvinist behavior for extended periods of time, might as well enjoy the moments of peace she had left.
Unfortunately, he didn't get the memo, and instead of moving away like she hoped he would, the youngest black moved forward, allowing his body to drop on the couch behind him with the same carefully constructed laziness with which he always paraded.
"Bad news?" He asked, looking pointedly at the crumpled piece of paper in her still clenched hand.
Yes, she wanted to say, the worst kind of bad news actually. But she didn't because, like all of them, she too was playing a part. The good student who respected authority and rules above all else.
"No, just useless." Her voice had a slight tremble to it, but he probably wouldn't care to notice.
He said nothing but regarded her with a look that told her she convinced no one with her poor excuse for a lie. She cursed in her own mind, wishing she had done a better job to hide her rage.
"If you'll excuse me," She said, getting up without waiting for his reply and moving to the stairs.
Hermione needed a plan, fast. Soon enough the news would reach Dumbledor, and there would be no hiding her pairs. If luck was on her side, she had thirty minutes before the hurricane arrived.
Thankfully, she only needed ten.
She walked into the room, her mental shields in place and her expression as neutral as possible. Hermione wouldn't screw this up. She had a plan and she'd stick to it, despite the fear coiled in the pit of her stomach.
People were screaming at each other, each trying to outspeak the other in a disorganized manner. To put it simply, it was nothing more than what she imagined it would be.
Letters were being passed from hand to hand; everyone seemed somehow displeased by the names on the paper — though Hermione could understand the feeling all too well. It was hard to draw any amount of satisfaction from a union which was crafted by the Ministry in an attempt to raise the birth rate.
She tried to be as silent as she could, hoping to gain a few more seconds to herself, which she planned to use to gather as much information as she could. It wasn't overly complicated, seeing as they all were involved in a heated discussion.
Severus was spitting out words at the headmaster, his usual neutral expression completely replaced by a deep disdain, which appeared to be etched in his every pore. Dumbledore, on the other hand, also lacked his signature twinkle in his eyes. He seemed to be trying to calm his spy down, something Hermione knew from experience was almost impossible to do.
The Weasleys, like customary, were all squeezed together in a tight circle, passing letters to each other and screaming nonsense rapidly while crying and blushing from the anger. Ginny was hugging Charlie and sobbing much more intensely than the others, which suggested that the surname Potter was not, indeed, in her immediate future. Good, Hermione thought, at least some good came from that mess.
Hermione knew that a marriage between Harry and the redheaded had been on the Headmaster's plan for some time now, despite how subtle he thought himself to be, and she tried to interfere as much as she could, but this was indefinitely more efficient. The last thing Harry deserved was to be tied to a delusional little girl who thought she was entitled to much more than she actually was.
Ronald was quietly regarding his letter, looking more like the best friend she knew and less like the explosive kid Molly thought she had. It was a slip — a moment of surprise that led to a glimpse of his true reaction, instead of the one they both knew he should be displaying.
Hermione wasn't overly concerned, though. Ronald was only one of the many Weasleys congregated in the center of the room, and would most likely go unnoticed among the loud mess his family was creating. For a moment, Hermione allowed herself to imagine who had been picked for him. From the look on his face, he wasn't displeased with his matches, only surprised. Not much surprised Ronald these days, so it spiked her curiosity as to who it may be.
Tonks was grinning hungrily at Kingsley, not even attempting to hide her satisfaction at the opportunity to have the auror to herself. While she always spoke candidly about her misplaced affections, Shacklebolt never acknowledged or even pretended to be aware of her in any form.
Moody was talking to Mundungus Fletcher, Minerva, and Dedalus Diggle in a corner...
And finally, leaning against the table, was the one she had been searching for: Harry Potter. Like always, Harry was her priority, and knowing who he was to be paired with played a major role in her future decisions. He was too important to risk — in her mind, more important than any other. If she thought, even for a moment, that he was in any sort of danger from his selected spouses, then she would grab Ronald and they'd disappear.
Harry didn't look angry, though, which was enough of a surprise in its own, but he also appeared to be in deep thought while he pretended to listen to whatever Black was spouting at the moment.
Sirius and Remus stood together, talking among themselves about something Hermione would rather not know about. Their opinion of her person was irrelevant, and she was trying hard not to think about the fact that she was supposed to be married to these men in under a month — and have their babies.
Hermione desperately wanted to know the names in Harry's letter, which was almost reason enough for her to step forward and come close enough to ask him directly. However, that would involve having contact with both previously said men, who Hermione was avoiding right now.
So, instead, she allowed her body to turn to the left, where Severus was still arguing with the Headmaster. That was exactly who she wished to speak with before any other move could be decided. So, with that thought in mind, she walked in their direction, coming closer and closer, until she was invading all of his personal space.
"Who?" She demanded, knowing she needn't say anything else for him to understand what she meant.
She heard a low sharp intake of air coming from the Headmaster. It was obvious that Hermione had surprised him with her boldness. Not only was Severus her professor, but he was also the feared dungeon bat who struck fear in the heart of every breathing being at Hogwarts. Not many dared to demand something from the man, and even fewer were the ones who managed to extract an answer.
"Your Mister Potter and Fleur Delacour," He responded, slowly punctuating each word as they came out of his mouth in an exemplary show of distaste. In sharp contrast with his acid words, though, his eyes softened a little, showing he understood just how much it meant to her that Harry had been paired with someone she could trust.
A large portion of the weight she had felt on her shoulders immediately lifted, just as soon as the words were processed in her brain. Harry wouldn't be pleased, but with his displeasure she could deal with, just as she had many times over the years. Harry would be safe, that was what truly mattered.
"And you?" Severus asked in return, grabbing her arm with some urgency and not seeming concerned by the fact that they both were rudely ignoring the presence of Albus Dumbledore. Hermione had his full attention.
"Sirius Black and Remus Lupin," Hermione promptly supplied, watching the corner of his eyes pinching in anger. She was not disturbed by his grip on her body or his tone of voice, too used to it by now to mistake it for something other than the concern it was.
Her match was far from ideal, she was well aware, but no one — not one single soul — would find it more ridiculous and frustrating than Severus. Not only because of his legendary hatred for the Marauders, although it weighed heavily on his mind still, but because he knew her. He saw her — the real her — which at the moment only served to anger him further.
Hermione was tempted to lower her mind shields just enough for him to enter her mind and express his honest thoughts on her match — knowing he would never do it out loud as long as they were surrounded by others. His eyes were still shielded, however, which meant that was not the time to expose their speculations.
"Miss Granger," The Headmaster interrupted their silent exchange, apparently tired of being ignored. "Is this information accurate? Have you been paired with Sirius and Remus?"
"Indeed," Hermione turned to face him, feeling a sinking feeling at her own confirmation of her fate. "A most appropriate match, don't you think?"
The sarcastic jab escaped her mouth before she could stop it, and Hermione instantly regretted her carelessness. Her position was way precarious as it was, with her walking a fine line each day she lived a double life. There was no need for her to lose grip on her role.
The ice blue eyes perusing her were clouded with disapproval and irritation, although it was impossible to tell if Dumbledore resented more the current situation or the impertinent response she just threw at him.
"The Ministry has stepped too far with this law," Severus said, preventing whatever the Headmaster had been about to utter to be heard, in a move that both pleased and frustrated Hermione. Seeing the old man lose his cool was a rare opportunity, and she enjoyed the chance to take profound pleasure in each one of them. "Even Scrimgeour, the idiot, must know the uproar this will cause in our society. They haven't the manpower to prevent a mass flight of terrified citizens."
"The obviousness of the flaw only serves to worry me, Severus," Dumbledore said. "We must assume Tom is behind this and that he has bigger plans than the primary stated goal. That you hadn't heard of any of this...Is indeed a worrisome thought, for it either means his trust in your services is wavering or, in a case worse scenario, he finally decided to come out of the shadow."
With that dramatic sentence, he turned and began to walk towards the kitchen, probably to hear from the rest of the Order. The meeting would not be without trouble, Hermione would bet anything on it.
It wasn't long before people started to converge to the kitchen as well, following the Headmaster. Owls were flying in at an increasing speed — probably from various undercover Order members who also received their matches. Most of the letters landed in front of Albus, but he didn't bother himself with any of it, but rather allowed them to pile on top of each other.
In the middle of the crowd, Hermione spotted Ronald again, and, as luck would have it, he was pointedly looking at her with an expression she knew all too well. Curiosity must be killing him because he would never ask her for that in a room full of people otherwise — but Hermione readily complied, regardless, lowering her mind shields to allow him inside her head.
"I assume you got no Death Eaters?" His voice rang clear inside her.
"No, no such luck," She mocked, letting the names — their names — pop into the front of her thoughts.
"Could be worse," Ron debated. As always, the practical one. He then supplied his own names without needing to be asked. "Blaise Zabini and Luna."
"Slytherin, hun?" She mused. "Interesting. Luna is a powerful ally, I'm glad you were matched."
Suddenly he severed the connection, leaving her mind and turning to answer a question his mother had just directed his way. Hermione blinked, trying to mask the discomfort of the abrupt withdrawal. It still amazed her sometimes how good Ron had become at Legilimency - better than Harry; better than her.
Hermione's mind was much more suited for the subtle art of organizing and protecting. Occlumency was where she excelled. All she had in prowess to fight off invaders, Ronald had to be the invader.
They were all screaming at the Headmaster — eager for him to pull a fast solution out of his sleeves, as they seemed to think he always did. The complaints, however, were all about the marriages to come. Nobody spoke of the pregnancies. Surely a bunch of pregnant women and babies would be a concern in the middle of a freaking war?
"Will we not speak of the pregnancies?" Hermione questioned when she could not hold back any longer, as always surprised by the line of thought of the wizarding folk. "How will a bunch of pregnant girls fight this war?"
"I concur," Severus spoke, crossing his arms in front of his body. "The last thing we need is more hormonal, irrational students."
"Can't you brew something?" Harry asked, surprisingly lacking his usual aggressiveness. Even Hermione was surprised — Harry's part included a heavy hatred for Severus. It seemed like they were all off their games that night.
"Certainly," Severus agreed, also lacking his usual sneer. "But it may not be advisable."
"Problems with your master, traitor?" Mad-eye mocked, drinking from his flask.
"Indeed," He replied. His unaffected drawl almost forcing a smile on Hermione's face. "If the Dark Lord reveals himself to be the creator of this law, then brewing a modified conceptional potion might not be within my possibilities."
"We can't allow dozens of students to be forced into early motherhood," Hermione protested, all amusement leaving her. "We're talking about sixteen-years-old girls who could potentially still be virgins and with no idea on how to raise a child! Muggleborns who will have to bear half-blood children who, in turn, will never be accepted by their pure-blood families — forced to be an outcast, with no family to speak of."
"I'm afraid there's not much we can do for these girls, Miss Granger, Severus position is simply too important to risk," Dumbledore said, his voice grave as he sentenced the lives of hundreds of girls.
Hermione was livid, furious. Most members of the order looked slightly sickened by the idea, but none would question the Headmaster's choice. They were ready to allow the teenagers to be forced into this. She felt ready to explode, but suddenly there was a hand gripping her leg under the table. Severus gave no outer sign that he was aware of her inner battle, but the hand in her thigh was strong as it gripped her. It was a much-needed anchor. Hermione couldn't afford to question the Headmaster any further without drawing too much attention to herself, she would just have to wait and talk to the man beside her later.
"What good is he as a spy if he can't even bring information?" Moody began once more. "If we had known of this before the law came out, we could have done more."
"Like what?" Tonks asked, a little on the rude side.
"Anything!" The matriarch of the Weasley family spoke out, apparently having run out of what little patience she had been holding on to, so far. "Anything would have been better than seeing my children being married off to two random people, selected by this ridiculous law. My girl is to be married to a death eater; my Ginny —" A sob overcame her, halting her sentence midway.
Said girl, sitting right next to her mother, looked as white as paper and on the verge of tears from her mother's words.
"Yes," The Headmaster agreed, not looking disturbed by the news — or, at least, as disturbed as Hermione thought one should be in face of such news. "Perhaps it would be better if we all revealed the matches, so we know what we're dealing with."
He looked at Fred and George — who sat directly to his left — clearly expecting them to begin. Hermione noticed Amelia shifting in her seat, which was explained when Fred turned to her and said:
"Our lovely Amelia and Graham Montague," He declared, not bothered by his future spouses, even though Amelia was almost old enough to be his mother.
"What do we know about Montague?" Amelia asked, not even bothering to comment on her own match to two much younger men. If anything, she had always been a very practical woman.
"Slytherin, the same year as the twins. Quidditch team captain. Average grades, but a very skilled duelist. Pureblood and son of a Death Eater," Flitwick said. "Rogers Montague is a known supported of he-who-must-not-be-named. However, he has never been reported by an order member to be present at a raid, and his son is continuing his studies under the tutelage of a professional duelist."
"So, bad but not awful," Remus declared, too eager to grasp at a silver lining that was just not there. Graham was most likely training with a fellow Death Eater to become a Death Eater. The fact that neither he nor his father had been seen or recognized by an order member meant next to nothing, as Remus was well aware.
The M.O of the Dark Lord's servants was to cause as much destruction as possible in as little time as they could, engaging with the Order members only when necessary and, instead, fleeing the scene most of the times. It was a message; a show of power and strength. They were a step ahead, always. The ones controlling the game board, as Ronald often described.
"My son is to be married to a Montague, I think that's bad enough, Remus," Arthur finally chimes in, showing only a reasonable amount of indignation at the situation. Passive, that's how Hermione saw Arther Weasley. For a father of seven — all who fell under the rules of that law — he seemed no more disturbed than he had been when she explained the necessity of electricity for a microwave to function.
As another person began to talk, Hermione looked at the clock hanging on the wall. It was late, she realized, later than she would've liked, and there was still much to be discussed. She could feel the stress settling on her shoulders as she prepared herself for another sleepless night. After the official meeting ended, Hermione knew her boys would want to have their own private talk, which would also, undoubtedly, not end without a heated fight first. After all, there was much to be decided, and nowhere near enough time to do it properly.
AN2: Gotta say, guys, I'm excited about this one.