Title: Arranged Love
Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter series, all credit of it goes to J.K Rowling. I own the plot and the plot only.
Warning(s): Dirty innuendos, a blushing bride-to-be, and a fabulous Ministry.
Character(s): Draco/Hermione, background Harry/Ginny, Blaise/Pansy, Ron
Summary: The Ministry has appointed a new law for wizards and witches at the age of 23. Arranged Marriage! Hermione Granger's life is running smoothly until she learns that her new-soon-to-be-husband is the infamous Draco Lucius Malfoy.
Chapter One /A Not-So Pleasant Letter
"Here is the life you have tried to throw away. Here is your second chance. Here is the destiny you have tried to shake off by inventing a hundred false roles, a hundred false identities for yourself. It will look at first like a disaster but it is really good fortune in disguise, since fate too knows how to follow your evasion through a hundred forms of its own. Now you will become at last the one you intended to be."
― David Malouf
January 8th, 2003
This isn't suppose to be happening. Hermione bites down upon her thin lips for one, two, three seconds too long. She isn't ready; isn't ready for the emotional trauma this can - and will - conflict. Not ready for the new set of knowledge, new set of rules this would add into her already desirably peaceful life. Hermione's slender fingers cautiously caress the letter previously placed precariously upon her lap, above the smooth, and rather proficient fabric of her navy pencil skirt. Her sigh is shaky, wavering and so - so, undetermined, disorganized, a disruption compared to her normal placid, serene form. She's already had enough rules in her life, already has had enough strangers and old acquaintances plummeting themselves into her odd life and changing it for both better and worse.
She shuts her eyes tightly, wanting to obstruct herself from this world she was made a part of the moment she had turned eleven - allowing them to remain closed for a couple of agonizing seconds. The witch's long, curving eyelashes flutter delicately as her eyelids open to reveal weary, honey-nut brown eyes that read of war-ridden tales of a girl; young, beautiful, never given the chance for a proper childhood. She swallows - one fidget, one twitch - swallows down all those explicit images - memories, and purses her thin, cherry red lips.
The events occurred during this morning's wide, and public press conference replay throughout her crucial mind, including the wired words of the current Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt:
As all of you have been recently informed, the Ministry has passed a new law which requires all unwed, and - or unattached witches and wizards to go through an assortment of tests and quizzes to determine their perfect, other half - a compatibility arrangement, in other words. When given the name of your 'soul mate' - insert air quotes - you and your partner will be assigned a specific date in which you must be married by - preferably, and most likely by the age of twenty-four for either sides. After being wed, you are obligated to provide the Wizarding World with an, or various, of magical offspring - ahem - by consummating your marriage. There is, of course, no due date for that specific requirement. We will do our best to pair you up with someone you've at least had a minimal amount of contact with, after narrowing down your compatibility, although, results are not guaranteed. Now, are there any questions?
What sort of compatibility are you looking for?
Through the tests that you've been required to take, we are using the results to determine the matches through personality - of course, as well as intelligence, political views, magical abilities, and et cetera.
What the Ministry is doing is simply uncouth! If you allow this to actually happen, then you're just as lousy as Scrimgeour and the rest of them!
As much as I appreciate your lovely input, Mr. Jefferson? - Johnson? As I have stated earlier, 'are there any questions', not statements. There is currently no need for comments like that without thoroughly examining the situation. (And - Potter, sit down - no need to cause a riot.)
Minister, what is the reason for this detestable law?
After the event of the Second Wizarding War, leading to the defeat of Voldemort, there has been a massive decrease of population in the magical world.
Why now? You could have addressed this years ago, so, why now?
The Ministry was allowing time for the Magical World to progress, to flourish; despite so, even over the years - there hasn't been a worthy advancement in that category. The Ministry has decided that it is time to take this matter into our own hands.
And are there any.. loopholes to this?
Other than already being in a matrimony, or near-matrimony relationship with your significant other, or paying the fine the Ministry has stated - no, there are no other methods used to be excluded from this law if you are the age of twenty-three and up. I understand most of you may have your doubts and complaints over this new law, nevertheless, the Ministry must take charge in providing the Wizarding world a prime, healthy, and gradual future for further and present generations. Thank you, now if anyone has any more questions, please consult the Ministry through via owl, and we shall get back to you as soon as possible.
After having a predictably chaotic hissy-fit during her private, one-on-one meeting with Kingsley, concerning the sketchy topic, and only receiving reasonable explanations that would make any stubborn idiot see through the distinguishing lack of harmony in the system, and realize that what the Ministry was doing could only qualify as a bit demanding and tyrannic, and more-over justified and righteous. Hermione decided to wallow in minor self-pity, then momentarily chuck all those negative feelings into a well somewhere off in Scotland, and live happily ever after in the land of Denial.
Sadly, reality had other plans for her.
Hermione sighs another explosive sigh, shaking her head involuntarily and crumpling the letter a bit in her harsh grip. She couldn't altogether blame the Ministry for trying to help restore the population after the wide vary of casualties due to the war, the depressing state of said-casualties being another cause for lack of 'wanting to get freaky' for witches and wizards everywhere - even at this point in time. To her bitter delight, however, there is still plenty of other things to blame the Ministry for, even with Kingsley's prestigious leadership. Once corrupt, always corrupt - it seems so.
"Well, open it already! We've been waiting for hours!" 'We' meaning you, and 'hours' meaning a couple of awkward seconds. Hermione bitterly regards the young, squealing red-head sitting besides her, with a tedious glance. She had nearly - nearly - forgotten about her friend, Ginevra Molly Potter (née Weasley). Hermione mildly cringes at the name and rethinks her choice in companionship for a second or so, Ginny's pinching nudges being the main reason in which Hermione notes the mental battle for later on evaluation.
Ginny, being the lucky witch she is - and seems to have always been - did not have to commit to such an absurd plan, having already been wedded to Harry James Potter not even a year after the war had ended. The red-head nudges (or jabs, in this case) her once again with her unusually pointy elbow - Must warn Harry! - leaving Hermione wincing and nodding to herself. Hermione inwardly grimaces before putting herself up for the increasingly painful task of having to open the letter. The least Ginny could have done was jokingly volunteer to do so. She pulls out the parchment paper with a tense form and a sweating brow.
Her cocoa brown eyes dart from one word to another with a deteriorating speed, each and every damned word sinking into her noggin as her frown grows deeper and deeper to the point of seemingly no escape. "Oh Godric, Dumbledore, and Merlin's pink knickers.." the frown never exactly leaves her place, but instead of looking like someone has suddenly stepped on her pet Kneazle, she looks as if she has just witnessed Harry and Ginny getting it on on top of his work desk. To conclude so, the witch looks utterly horrified and ready to faint any moment from now. Trust me, it's happened.
"Merlin's pink knickers?"
"Bloody hell! Shite! Bugger!" Hermione's tone drastically changes in an instant, screech-like, piercing, and threatening to bust Ginny's eardrums. "Wanker! Bollocks!" The string of curses dies down a bit when she can longer come up with anymore colorful language, settling on repeating simple, mundane ones.
"Who is it? What is it?" The ginger girl's voice is stern, but the bemusing smile playing upon her freckle-covered face merely gives it away. Her companion grows awfully pale, weak to the knees (despite the fact that she's sitting), and she's no longer able to hold the Ministry-addressed letter anymore. Ginny quickly snatches it away the second it leaves Hermione's grasps, adrenaline mildly pumping throughout her pure blood as anticipation floods her brain. The eyes wander across the parchment, widening a significant amount, as the same horrified expression cascades her face. "Malfoy? Draco bloody Malfoy?" She looks hysterical, a clash between shock and mirth, her soundless laughter starting to resemble a cry for help. She stifles her merriment with physical determination, as she clutches onto Hermione for both of their sakes'.
"You mean Draco Lucius Malfoy.." Hermione's expression grows more vehement second by second, grabbing onto Ginny's arm with far too much pressure than Ginny would like. Or live through. "I'm going to cry, Ginny - and murder you. And Malfoy. Must murder Malfoy." Her hands tighten reflexively on the witch's arm and a painful gasp is let out by Merlin-knows-who. "I have to murder Malfoy. Then I'll be sent to Azkaban and won't have to deal with him. Yes - that sounds like a plan.." There's this frightening, resolute twinkle in her eyes that makes Ginny concern genuinely over her friend's mental health.
"Now, now, Hermione - surely he's changed! No need to go all homicidal mode on him.." Worrying glance. One twitch. Two Fidgets. "I mean, look, it says on here that he's found a position as an auror working for the Ministry. He can't be that bad, to be currently working with two of his childhood rivals - one being my husband and the other being my brother - and still living and breathing! Honestly, he's working with Ron. Surly, if he were still the same snot-nosed ferret he was at Hogwarts, Ron would have knocked some sense the moment Auror training started. Then again I'm curious as to why they haven't said anything bordering close to this delightful piece of information.. Well, then again - I can't really blame them, I'm never really paying Harry my full attention whenever he's talking about his raids and cases - God forbid he grasps that I don't give a shite about half of the things he blabbers about that Ministry, even the gossip isn't gossip.. And Ron - well, Ron's just a lost cause, really. But goodness, Malfoy of all people - you'd think they.." Ginny patters continuously as Hermione clings fervently onto each and every word, finding her grip growing more painful by each spoken syllable.
"An auror? A sodding auror?" Hermione's tone is full of doubt, there's no possible way Draco Malfoy could have ended up being an auror. "Hah! Then it must be fake! Must be some kind of joke that wanker Smith's trying to pull. You know he's been all pissy and vengeful after last month's Christmas party fiasco." She scoffs, a positively blinding smile on her victorious face. Ginny sighs aloud, watching her with moderate hilarity as her beloved friend goes through an 'in denial' phase that allowed for far too much cursing to be involved.
"Hermione," she begins slowly, That's seriously the only thing you concluded out of my rant? eyes sparkly with whatever emotions are stirring inside her stomach, staring straight at her fellow witch. "Kingsley Shacklebolt signed it himself, with the Ministry's official stamp, it still has a trace of Kingsley's magic running through it.. seems rather real to me." Ginny waves the parchment in front of her, her manicured finger pointing and marking the the exact spot with the Minister's signature which practically glows with a lingering tidbit of the Minister's magic.
Hermione frowns a somewhat childish frown at Ginny's supposedly helpful doing. Even if some little, nagging part in Hermione knows it's the horrible truth - Ginny still could have gone along with the silly act. The pair sit there for a couple of seconds, atmosphere: unreadable, unrecognizable, and more tense than either of them would prefer to discern. "I thought you were my friend, Ginny Weasley," Hermione sniffs, causing Ginny to smile a benevolent smile. "I hate you." Insert another not-so convincing sniffle.
"I am your friend, Hermione, and that's why I'm not allowing you to bury yourself in a rut." The ends of Hermione's mouth twitch and Ginny knows she's already been caught up in her web by now. Hermione's sigh is theatrical as she lessens her death grip upon the witch, a weary smile playing delicately on her lips, the negative thoughts not altogether fleeing from her filtered mind, but nor are they clouding up the aforementioned witch's consciousness.
"I still need to talk to him - if this truly is the case. I need to meet up with him - discuss this - anything!" Hermione's tone is once again borderline frantic, and Ginny really thinks she should take some Calming Potions, or have it stuffed unceremoniously down her throat while she's in cahoots with her own mental trauma, at this rate. The older witch notices the sheepish expression on the latter's face, and pulls off her own sheepish smile, conceiving that she's becoming fairly barmy, at such a concise amount of time.
"I'll need to talk to Harry and Ron, as well.. Might bring up the topic about the whole auror business, in the meantime," Hermione wistfully adds, her dry humor soon seeming moreover vague and insecure. "I haven't seen him in years. After the war.." she begins, soon drifting off onto no where reliable or knowledgeable. "Really, Ginny. I don't think I can do this." The brunette looks crestfallen to the point where the red-head feels her heart twinge in a disturbingly empathetic manner for the girl.
All the playfulness that filled the air earlier abandons with little to no grace.
"Hermione.." Ginny begins, but ceases all speech when she realizes that whatever reassurance was going to slip out of from her mouth would do no good to the current situation, at least, not significantly. "His address is given on here, for contact purposes. I'm surprised he's not living at the old Malfoy Manor, but rather - at some place in London. You can owl him, Hermione. Ask him to meet up with you to talk about what will be happening because of this." She sends the witch a pleading glance, and Hermione nods hesitantly, slowly trudging off for to find Missy, a far-too skeptical owl the Weasley bunch had given to her for her twenty-first birthday.
Taking advantage of Hermione's present occupancy, Ginny shuffles off to the brunette's so-called medicine cabinet to gather a bottle of wine or three. Simply because wine solves practically everything in life.
A/N - /Meanwhile, Malfoy is off having a panic attack somewhere off the course of nowhere.
Yay for not-at-all-consistent revision! /crawlsintoarolypoly .
- Saga (Miss-I'll-Update-Every-Week-HarHarHar)
A/N - Updated 6/29/14
I will no longer be updating this. I will soon be deleting this; I have, however, decided to write another Dramione story that's somewhat parallel to this story. I apologize for the inconvenience and hope that my second attempt at a Dramione fic will go well.
-Saga