This was originally an entry into the Wordsmiths and Betas marriage law one shot competition but after I entered I couldn't leave it alone and so it has now become a two shot...with maybe an epilogue to follow! Thanks so much to the fantastic Claireabellalou for beta-ing this for me. Reviews would be gratefully received.
Hermione swallowed deeply as the wedding ring slid onto her finger and she felt its magic bind into her core. She had always assumed that love was needed to make the binding work, particularly after everything Dumbledore had said about love being the most powerful and oldest magic. But Dumbledore must have been wrong, she acknowledged, as she felt her magic melding with her new spouse's. Because if the spell took their feelings into account, the magical rings would probably catch fire or fly from their fingers, propelled by the anger and hatred crackling between the two.
oOoOoOo
It was all Ron's fault, Hermione thought, shooting what she supposed must now be her former boyfriend a dark look. He was sat in the front row, next to Harry, looking wretched at the thought of her marrying someone else. Actually, it was the Ministry's fault – even Ron couldn't take responsibility for the monumental fuck up that was the Repopulation and Regeneration of The British Wizarding Community Law that was passed earlier that year in the Wizengamot by a slim majority. The Department For Magical Law Enforcement had sent round decrees to all unattached wizards and witches of what they deemed to be marriageable age, explaining that since the first Wizarding War, the numbers of magical people in Great Britain had been in a steady decline that had only sharpened after the second war. Put simply, too many witches and wizards dying, too few having babies and the ministry was going to solve the problem by making all unmarried witches between the ages of eighteen and twenty five get married and have children. Everyone had been furious but even Mr and Mrs Weasley had to agree with the reasoning behind it.
"Don't they think we've already done enough?" Ron had exclaimed, slamming his copy of the decree onto the scarred wood of the Weasleys' kitchen table.
Harry and Ginny just exchanged apologetic glances. They had got married earlier that year, as soon as Ginny had finished her exams and had therefore escaped the fate that Hermione and Ron now suffered. After the war, Hermione had gone back to school with Ginny to finish her N.E.W.T.S and Harry and Ron had gone to Auror training. Whereas the distance had only served to strengthen the affection between Harry and Ginny, it seemed to stunt Hermione and Ron's budding relationship, so that when Harry and Ron met them in Hogsmeade at the weekends, dressed in their smart Auror robes with silver buttons, Hermione had felt shy and awkward around her boyfriend. It was only now she had graduated that they were making tentative steps towards deciding what direction their relationship was heading. In her more cynical moments, Hermione suspected that they may be better off as friends. It wasn't that there was anything wrong that she could put her finger on, just that she didn't feel the fireworks that the romance novels she had read had assured her would be present.
Hermione was silent, scanning through the lengthy roll of parchment with her name at the top. The others waited, acknowledging her higher ability in this matter. Ron had given up reading his after he had passed the section that said marriages needed to be made within a month of a match being made and consummated within twenty four hours of the marriage.
"Oh don't worry," she laughed bitterly, "You're safe, according to paragraph 34, subsection 12,"
Harry and Ginny peered over Ron's shoulder as he rifled the paper through his hand, squinting at the spidery writing.
"Just tell me," he sighed eventually, unable to locate the point in question.
"Wizards and Witches shall be excluded for the following reasons: Proven Infertility, as subject to testing at St Mungo's; transferrable or potential transferrable disease such as lycanthropy, chronic Spattergoit, or Scrofungulus; homosexuality; dangerous profession such as Auror or Dragon Wrangler. These examples are not exhaustive. If you suspect that you may be exempt from the Marriage Law, fill in the box below with the reason and the DMLE will review your case,"
"Excellent!" Ron cheered, high fiving Harry, "how come Aurors don't have to get married then?"
"Well, they probably think you won't survive long enough to see your children," snapped Hermione, which wiped the smile off Ron and Harry's faces somewhat.
"Well that's Ron off the hook, at least," Ginny said brightly, "fancy going down with Spattergoit Hermione? I think dad's pretty good at the charms now after practicing on the ghoul. Either that or you'll have to turn gay. After all, snogging Ron might be enough to turn anyone off men – ow!" she bent under the table to rub her leg where Ron had aimed a sharp kick.
"I'd marry you anyway Hermione, even if I am exempt," Ron's tone was casual but she could see the spark of hope in his eyes.
She squeezed his hand gently, "Thank you, that's sweet but it says here that the Ministry will match us with the spouse they see as the most fit. It says that to avoid possible cultural issues, purebloods will be matched with other purebloods and half-bloods and muggle borns matched with each other. Ha! That's how they managed to get the law passed. After all, promising all the rich patriarchs of pureblooded families that seem to make up about two thirds of the Wizengamot that their children will be forced to marry another pureblood must have seemed like a brilliant idea. So it doesn't look like I get the luxury of choice,"
Ron looked downcast, although it wasn't obvious whether that was because his proposal had been dismissed as 'sweet', or at the thought of Hermione being married off to anyone the Ministry fancied.
"They can't just…" he muttered angrily.
"They can, they are and they will," sighed Hermione in response, rereading the document to see if she could find any other loophole.
"Well then Ginny's right! You'll have to say you're a lesbian! And when all this blows over, well then we can think about, you know, you and me. Marriage, or whatever…" he trailed off, the tips of his ears turning red.
As much as Hermione hated the idea, as much as she knew deep down in her bones that any plan that Ron came up with was bound to be terrible, she couldn't think of a better option. She even ran it by Ron's parents and Professor Mcgonagall but none of them could come up with an alternative. So with great trepidation, she wrote 'lesbian' in the same blank space on her parchment that Ron had filled in 'Auror' on his. Just like Ron's, the ink shimmered and disappeared, and a short time later, the word EXEMPT appeared stamped in its place. She smiled and folded the parchment away, intending to forget all about it.
However, her intentions were thwarted when she was summoned to Mafalda Hopkirk, the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement's office, a few weeks later.
"Hermione, thanks for coming. Please take a seat," the older witch looked haggard and almost dwarfed by the piles of paperwork on her desk. Hermione tucked her robes primly under her and sat in the seat opposite.
"How can I help Mafalda, is this about the Werewolf Equality Bill I submitted last week?"
"I wish it was but if I'm being brutally honest with you, I haven't even had time to look at that. I'm completely overrun with the arrangements for the progress of the marriage law,"
A prickle of fear ran up the back of Hermione's neck but she forced herself to smile sympathetically, "Yes, I imagine that is an absolutely huge undertaking. If there's anything I can do to help, please do let me know,"
"Thank you. I know a brain like yours would be a real asset to my team, and if you ever consider a career away from the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, I'm sure I could find a job for you. But no, this relates to your…exemption," Mafalda steepled her fingers and looked at Hermione over them, "I'm not doing this for fun, Hermione, you do know that don't you? The future of the magical population is in grave danger. We've actually downplayed how serious the problem is to prevent people panicking and emigrating to larger magical communities. But I'm sure I can trust you with the figures," she handed Hermione a graph. Hermione didn't need to read the details to see the alarming downward trajectory the line was on. "Even so, we don't want to make people's lives miserable. We are doing our best to make sympathetic matches where we can, and we wouldn't dream of matching you with a man, we can see how badly that would work, although we did think that you and Ronald Weasley from the Auror department…..still we all know how rumours spread,"
Hermione tried to say something but the lump in her throat prevented her producing any more than something between a cough and a squeak. Perhaps the Ministry would have matched her with Ron if she'd have just come and talked to them. Now she was stuck in a lie. Cursing her own attempt to be too clever, cursing Ron and cursing the Ministry, she cleared her throat and tried again, crossing her fingers behind her back,
"Thank you, I'm very grateful. Yes, Ron and I are very good friends but no men for me. I just love girls. Yes, girls, girls, girls for me," Hermione found herself grinning manically, a twitch starting next to her eye.
"So that's the good news," Malfada placed her hands flat on her desk, as though steeling herself for what was to come, "Unfortunately... Well, perhaps that's the wrong word," she laughed nervously, "The Healers at St Mungo's have been researching a Muggle technique called…now what was it….artificial…"
"Insemination," Hermione finished dully, her stomach full of lead. As was often the way, she was two steps ahead and had guessed what the Head of the DMLE was about to say,
"That's right. Which means, with donor sperm, a lesbian couple can parent children. Of course the healers have been able to advance the technique so the child is made up with DNA from both parents, but it is much the same principle. Which means that you are now able to take part in the plans for the regeneration of the Wizarding Community,"
Hermione suspected that if she looked, the exempt stamp on her parchment would have disappeared. She concentrated on breathing in and out slowly to prevent hysteria overtaking her. No more excuses, no more exemptions. She was going to be married, against her will, to a woman.
"Would people - the Wizengamot - accept that?" she ventured.
"There haven't been any objections raised,"
It was an odd quirk of the wizarding world, Hermione mused, feeling strangely detached from the reality of the situation, that despite the pureblood mania that gripped so many witches and wizards, other prejudices such as racism or homophobia didn't really seem to exist like it did with muggles.
"So who am I to be matched with?" Hermione didn't actually know any lesbian witches and despite the horror of the unfolding situation, she couldn't help but be curious.
"We've matched you with a girl of your age, I believe you already know her. I've arranged for her to attend -"
The door banged open and a witch Hermione had hoped never to encounter again stormed in, her face as angry and venomous as Hermione had ever seen it, "I got your Owl and I just want to say that all of this is utter bullshit. Me, married off to some witch I've never even met before? I don't think you know who you're dealing with –" she broke off, noticing Hermione.
"What is she doing here?" the two witches demanded of Mafalda in unison.
Hermione gulped as she stared directly into the furious face of Pansy Parkinson. To give Mafalda her credit, she did her best to diffuse the situation as quickly as she could, offering Pansy a seat and some tea, but the Slytherin witch preferred to pace the office, counting off on her fingers the reasons that pairing the two of them up would be lunacy, "Seventh," she drawled, fully into her stride now "our assets are completely unequal in value. The prenuptial arrangements that my family's lawyer would have to draw up could take years. Eighth. We hate each other. Hate! And that's not a word I use lightly. Let me ask you, is the Ministry prepared to have Granger's blood on its hands? Because I will kill her," "Not if I kill you first," muttered Hermione darkly. "Ha! I'd like to see you try!" Pansy threw back her head and laughed. "I polished off enough of your pals in the war, it wouldn't cause me any trouble to -" "Enough!" shouted Mafalda at the two witches who were now toe to toe, wands drawn, "This is Ministry property and our insurance doesn't cover duelling so if we could please all just sit down and talk about this like normal human beings I'd be most grateful. Thank you," Hermione and Pansy lowered themselves into chairs, rage sparking from the pair of them.
"Now the way I see it, we have a few options here," she said it in such a friendly way that a small spark of hope kindled in Hermione's belly. Hope that she wouldn't have to marry someone who bullied her as a child, even that she might not have to marry at all. She gripped the edge of her seat, her fingers digging into the leather.
"One option is that you two get married. You could decide between you which one of you bears the children, if not both of you, the law doesn't specify. You could perhaps learn to get along, maybe even fall in love,"
Hermione balked at this, before remembering the part she was supposed to be playing,
"I think we all agree that's out the window," huffed Pansy impatiently, waving her hand as if to waft away the offensiveness of Plan A, "move on, move on,"
Mafalda smiled, "another option would be to snap your wands and have your magic drained. You wouldn't be barred from the magical world but things might be a bit…trickier for you. It'd be like being a squib. I imagine it would be easier for you, Hermione, seeing as you've lived as a muggle,"
Pansy's shriek of anger could have shattered glass. In all the time that Hermione had known her, all of the arguments they had had, she had never seen her even fractionally as angry as this,
"Are you insane? People go mad! People die when they lose their magic! Are you absolutely bat shit crazy?"
"The last option, as far as I can see it," Mafalda continued, as though Pansy hadn't interrupted. Hermione leaned forward. This had to be it, the get out clause. She'd work for the Ministry for free, she'd marry Ron, hell, she'd marry Goyle. Anything but this, "The standard punishment for breaking the marriage law is Azkaban. It's only four years though," she said the last sentence brightly, as though offering them a treat.
Hermione, sat back in her chair, knowing that she was currently learning how Mafalda "Firm but Fair" Hopkirk had gained her nickname, as well as such a powerful position in the Ministry. Still, she wasn't beaten yet,
"You know, Mafalda, I've been thinking, and marrying Ron…well. I'm sure it wouldn't be that bad. He wouldn't mind, I know it,"
"I'm afraid that now we've made this match, it isn't really that simple,"
Hermione growled, frustrated at the perversity of wizards. She supposed this was the same kind of crazy rule that meant that Harry, as a fifteen year old, had to face a fully grown dragon and enter an obstacle course of horrors, just because the triwizard cup said so.
"So it's marry Granger, possible death, or Azkaban," Pansy breathed, her face ashen.
"That's all the options I can see, I'm so sorry,"
"And what if I say yes, and she refuses?" asked Pansy slyly. Hermione gasped in outrage.
"That's so…so..Slytherin!"
"Housist," hissed Pansy.
"If one of you is amenable to the idea and the other isn't…" Mafalda mused, rifling through the stacks of parchment, "Ah yes, the match would be voided and the party who is not agreeable will go to Azkaban. The agreeable party…hmmm, I'm not sure, it looks as though they'd wouldn't be matched again,"
"I'll do it!" Pansy and Hermione shouted in unison, keen to get in first.
"No – it was my idea," Pansy turned on Hermione.
"I said it first!" Hermione retorted shrilly.
"You take it back,"
"No, you. I told you, I said – get your hands –"
"You little bitch - you just - oohhh, these robes cost more than your year's salary,"
"Ladies," Mafalda called, in a calm, almost bored tone. Pansy and Hermione looked down at her, then at each other, seeming surprised to find themselves standing, fists full of each others robes. Both reddened and sat back in their seats without a word.
"Seeing as you both agreed, there seems to be no problem here. See," she pointed to an ornate document in front of her. Hermione read 'Notice of Betrothal' upside down, "your names just both appeared on here. So it's set. Let me be the first to congratulate the future happy couple,"
At this, the fight went out of both of them and ten minutes later, Hermione and Pansy left the office betrothed, with the date of their wedding set just over two weeks away. "Leave it all to me Granger, I'll be in touch," Pansy had ordered coolly and walked off without a second look at Hermione. When the brunette was out of sight, Hermione slid down the wall she had been leaning on for support, cast quick muffliato and disillusionment charms over herself and sat in the corridor outside the Department of Magical Law Enforcement offices, just letting the tears pour down her face. It took over an hour for her to cry herself out, apply some simple glamours to her face - because she was damned if there was even going to be the tiniest chance that that bitch might still be somewhere around she would see that she'd been crying - and venture out in search of something strong to drink.
oOoOoOo
The next day, an owl delivered an envelope to her desk. The envelope was circled by black velvet ribbon secured by a large black wax seal. Hermione slid her finger under it and opened the letter,
'Mrs Emerelde Parkinson would enjoy the pleasure of Miss Hermione Granger's company for tea at three this afternoon. The Blue Room, Palm Court'. Palm Court was the most exclusive Wizarding hotel in England.
Hermione dropped the thick parchment back onto the desk and laid her head on top of it. She could, of course, ignore the summons - and it was a summons, she could see that much – but that would be cowardly and Hermione wasn't a coward. She would go and see what the old bag wanted. She sat back up and looked down at her sensible shoes, her office appropriate skirt. She was going to have to go and dress for war.
She smoothed her hands down the form fitting skirt of her knee length floral dress and checked her patent nude heels for ashes from the fireplace as she approached the imposing gold door of the Blue Room. A wizard in black and red dress robes bowed politely and opened the door for her.
Hermione didn't realise that Pansy had risen from the table until her mother tugged at her black lace pencil dress to pull her back into her seat. It was an old fashioned, gentlemanly act that flustered Hermione for a moment. Her hair was hanging loose around her shoulders. It made her look younger.
Hermione held her hand out to Mrs Parkinson, praying that it wouldn't shake. She remembered seeing her once on the platform at Kings Cross – an imposing, angular woman with raven hair and cheekbones you could cut yourself on. She hadn't changed a bit, from her red lipstick, to her disapproving frown. Hermione let her proffered hand hang in midair for a moment, then lowered it when it became clear that it wasn't going to be taken.
"Mrs Parkinson," she murmured politely. She wasn't surprised when Mrs Parkinson didn't ask her to call her Emerelde.
"So you're Hermione Granger," she peered at her, as though she found her somewhat lacking. Hermione didn't know how to respond. Had she been keen to impress her future wife's mother, she might have said she was pleased to meet her, but it was so blatant a lie, she thought it was best to hold her tongue. Another uniformed wizard approached the table and poured them all tea. Other than the clinking of silver teaspoons on china, the room was silent. She looked to Pansy for help but she was just staring morosely down into her tea cup as if hoping to spot the grim in the leaves.
Mrs Parkinson sipped her tea, placed her cup delicately down onto the saucer before being seemingly unable to contain herself any more, "This marriage will go ahead over my dead body," she hissed, her eyes bright with rage.
"Mrs Parkinson, Pansy and I have spoken to the Ministry, to try and convince them that this is a terrible idea and they will not listen. If that's your condition for the wedding going ahead, I truly believe that they would arrange that for you,"
"Yes, I'm sure you tried very hard to convince them," Emerelde sniffed.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Well, it's hardly a disadvantageous match for you – a good pureblooded family, one of the sacred 28, rich too. Whereas…" she looked Hermione up and down again, sneering haughtily.
"So you think I'm a grubby little gold digger, is that it?" Hermione struggled to keep her voice calm.
"Well if the robes fit,"
"Are you forgetting that it was the Ministry that matched us together? I had nothing to do with it,"
"And remind me where you work again," Mrs Parkinson asked.
"Oh for Merlin's – is this what you think too?" she directed at Pansy.
"No!" she laughed, "Sorry mother but no. Granger wants this match as much as I do, which is to say, about as much as a hex to the head,"
"Well, I've written to the Minister for Magic personally to ask him to overturn it, so we'll see,"
Hermione placed her tea cup back on its saucer, feeling dizzy at the surreal nature of this meeting. Leaning in, she whispered conspiratorially, "Kingsley came to my house last night to apologise and told me there was nothing he could do about it,"
The older witch's pale face reddened, "Lies!"
Hemione just smiled smugly, refusing to be drawn on it further, and helped herself to a cucumber sandwich from the cake stand on the table. She was almost starting to enjoy herself. Pansy had resumed staring down at her tea cup but Hermione thought she could see her shoulders shaking with barely contained mirth.
"And another thing, Mrs Parkinson," she tried to recall how she had imitated Bellatrix Lestrange's icy demeanour, "Pansy mentioned your lawyer will be drawing up a prenuptial arrangement. Could you please owl a copy of it to my lawyer as soon as possible. After all, a lot of witches and wizards might see a celebrated war heroine as quite the catch. I can't be too careful either. I don't want a knut of your money, or the ancestral pile that I have no doubt you have just chock full of priceless heirlooms. But if we're to be bringing children into this world, things need to be fair on them,"
Emerelde visibly shuddered, "my child," she wailed, "saddled with a mudblood's baby. What will people say?"
"Well, when you write to your friends in Azkaban, you can leave that bit out," Hermione smiled.
"Just what are you –"
"That's enough now," Pansy snapped, glaring at the pair of them, "Mother, you wanted to meet Hermione. Now you can see she's every bit as objectionable as I said she was. Granger, at least you'll have plenty of mother-in-law material saved up for your speech at our golden wedding anniversary. Now can we all stop bickering, the waiter is too scared to bring the cakes over and the lemon drizzle here is to die for," and she grinned at Hermione. Just a flash of pearly white teeth that you could have blinked and missed. But it shocked Hermione somehow more than the elder Parkinson's hostility.
oOoOoOo
A few days later Pansy Parkinson strode into Hermione' office with the confident sense of entitlement that only purebloodedness could bring. She threw a piece of parchment onto her desk. Hermione looked up in surprise - she had started to wonder if Pansy was just going to ignore the law and their order to marry altogether.
"Guest list for the wedding, Granger. I've put Harry and your Weasel chums on the list. Anyone else you want?"
Hermione's eyes widened at the sheer number of people on the number of names on the list. There must be two hundred people at least. She recognised a lot of familiar family names that she wasn't totally comfortable with - names that she associated with masks and matching tattoos – but she hoped that their traditional sense of propriety would prevent anything untoward happening at the wedding. Save the unforgivables until after the cake is cut at least. She picked up her quill and added Neville and Luna's names on the bottom. She also added Kingsley Shacklebolt, just to spite her future mother in law, before crossing through one name with a decisive slash and handing the list back to her fiancé.
"Lucius Malfoy?" Pansy raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow, "I'm not sure my parents will –"
"He stood and watched that lunatic, Bellatrix Lestrange perform the cruciatus curse on me until her wand arm got tired. And smiled through the whole thing. I don't much care what your parents say, he is not coming to my wedding. Your mother seems like a reasonable woman, I'm sure she'll come round," she added, viciously.
"Nice to see the curse didn't damage your bossiness," Pansy sighed, rolling up the paper, "I'll have the invitations sent out tomorrow," and she turned and left, her cloak swirling in her wake.
"Wait," called Hermione after her.
Pansy turned on the heel of her sharp stiletto "What?" she snapped.
"Do I get any say in organising the wedding? In fact," she screwed up her Gryffindor bravery in her hands, "are we going to talk about what happens...after the wedding at some point?"
"You mean the consummation?" Pansy smirked, taking obvious enjoyment in the blush that rose to Hermione's face.
"No! I mean the rest of our lives! Or at least until I can find a way to overturn this stupid law, which I can assure you I am working very hard on," she gestured to a pile of very weighty tomes on the end of her desk.
"Why does that not surprise me? Look, come to my place tonight if we must discuss it. In the mean time I have to visit Mafalda Hopkirk and do my own bit in the anti marriage efforts," she swung her cloak open slightly and patted a large sack of what Hermione guessed must be galleons.
"But that's bribery!" Of all of the things that Hermione disliked about herself, her tendency to sound like she was twelve years old when faced with corruption or cheating was the one she disliked the most.
Pansy quirked an eyebrow, "We all have our own areas of expertise. Now I'll see you tonight, about eight. 7 Belgrave Square, Belgravia. I'm on the Floo," and she was gone. Hermione sat and listened as her heels echoed down the corridor. Merlin, that girl irritated her. Everything from her snobbery, to her sarcasm to her turned up nose which it pained Hermione to admit was now not in the slight bit puglike.
oOoOoOo
Just before she was about to step into the fireplace she took one last look in the mirror and added another spritz of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion. Impressing her Ministry-ordered future wife wasn't the reason she had taken so much care in dressing, she told her reflection crossly, it was more that the girl had looked down her nose at her for seven years at school and Hermione wasn't going to give her a reason to do it now. She enunciated the address and with a dash of Floo powder, stepped into the flames.
When she emerged she almost stepped straight back in, convinced she was at the wrong address and she had accidentally arrived at an art gallery. Had she tried to imagine the place beforehand, she would have come up with a cleaner version of Grimmauld place, not this light airy space. The ceiling was at least twice as high as her own flat and the walls were covered in paintings. Not the sepia toned, dour faced ancestral portraits that one might expect in a pureblood's abode but bold slashes of colour that had magic woven through them so subtly that you only saw them shimmering, or the paint splashing about gaily, out the corner of your eyes.
Pansy was stood at a drinks cabinet, and Hermione heard the clink of ice and the slosh of liquid into a glass. Her hair was pinned loosely up and she was wearing a burgundy backless dress so dark it was almost black and shocking against her creamy white skin.
"Hermione," she smiled politely, although her eyes were cold.
"Pansy," Hermione forced out. The more choice names she had called her at Hogwarts flowed off the tongue so much more easily. This wasn't going to work, she told herself. She was going to have to marry this girl, or woman, she supposed now, and spend a good proportion of her time with her. For years! Even being in the same room alone with her set Hermione's teeth on edge. They really were going to end up killing each other. Still, Hermione had been studying the law and it seemed as though there was enough play in it that they could lead largely separate lives. The thought of the years stretching out ahead of them made Hermione feel dizzy all of a sudden.
"You alright Granger? You look a bit peaky. If you faint, try not to land on that Hemlock wood table there, it's an heirloom,"
Hermione looked down at the small occasional table and took a step away from it.
"Good girl. There's a seat over there," she gestured vaguely to a velvet chaise in the corner of the room, "glass of wine?"
"Yes please," muttered Hermione, looking enviously at the firewhisky Pansy held as she perched on the edge of the chaise and wishing for some herself.
Pansy came and sat next to her, passing her a glass of red wine. Hermione took a large swallow to try and calm her nerves,
"Oh, it's muggle wine," she exclaimed, grateful that it wasn't the sickly elf made wine that she had never quite grown accustomed to.
Pansy looked horrified, "It is? A muggle product sullying my house? Are you sure? My house elf must be punished," she exclaimed dramatically,
"Maybe I made a mistake," Hermione tried to appease her but it was too late, Pansy was calling for the unfortunate creature,
"Smike, Smike!" she shouted.
"You named your house elf Smike?" Hermione gasped.
Pansy grinned sidelong as an elderly house elf in a smart livery popped into the room, "Actually, he chose it himself, he loves Dickens and has a bit of a flair for the dramatic,"
"I'm beginning to suspect he's not the only one," murmured Hermione as she eyed the elf's clothes with a dawning sensation that there was a joke being made at her expense.
"How can I be helping Miss Pansy?" he asked, his voice completely lacking the subservient tone that so many house elves enjoyed using.
"Miss Granger would like to discuss your choice of wine," Pansy smirked. At this, the elf did at least look slightly nervous,
"Is it alright Miss? Would you prefer something else, only that is Miss Pansy's favourite?"
"It's lovely, thank you," Hermione said weakly, wondering whether she should take another sip to prove it.
"Ah very good Miss. Begging your pardon but are you Miss Pansy's new bride to be that was getting Miss Pansy in such a tizzy earlier?"
"That will be all, thank you Smike," Pansy said hurriedly.
"Sorry Miss Pansy, it's just that she seems very nice and Smike is happy to see you with someone, even if you say she she is a bossy –" Pansy actually stood and physically ushered the elf from the room, "Nice to be meeting you Miss!" Smike shouted over his shoulder as he was hustled out the door.
"You've freed your house elf?" Hermione asked.
"Of course. It just makes sense. Smike was never one for much self flagellation but an elf can hardly work if his hands are in bandages because he thought he needed to iron his fingers or other such nonsense," "But do you pay him and give him holidays?" Hermione challenged, strangely disappointed that she wasn't able to admonish Pansy for keeping a house elf.
"Oh give the Spew stuff a rest Granger. Look at you, all grumpy that you can't tell me off. Haven't you grown up at all since school?" Pansy reclined against the chaise.
"I only graduated a few months ago!"
"Oh yes, that's right, I forgot you went back to finish Hogwarts. Couldn't pass up a chance to be school swot for a bit longer,"
"I think you forget that some people actually need qualifications and to work for a living. I can't just buy my way into whatever I want, like you can. How did bribing the Ministry go anyway?"
Pansy scowled, "Mafalda thanked me for what she said she assumed was a donation to help fund research into curse damage at St Mungo's and said she'd see me at the wedding,"
Hermione couldn't help but laugh. "So not the biggest success then?"
Pansy sniffed, "Not a total success. Then I asked her if she might like to visit the curse damage ward herself, and that didn't go down very well either, So if you have got any of those clever little ideas of yours that used to keep you, Potter and the Weasel out of trouble, now's the time to start coming out with them, because frankly I have neither the hips nor the patience for child rearing,"
Hermione realised that in all of the horrific fantasies she'd been imagining during sleepless nights she had been the one who carried the babies - it was her that was large with child as Pansy locked her in the dungeon or tried to feed her poisoned pumpkin juice. Her having to flee with a little curly haired babe tucked into her arm. She did want to be pregnant one day, to have a child. Maybe she never envisaged it would be made in a test tube and fathered by Pansy Parkinson, in some horrific Ministry funded experiment but being a mother had always been something she had wanted. More than Pansy seemed to, at any rate,
"So is that why you said you were gay too? To try and avoid getting married as well?"
Pansy's brow furrowed in confusion, "What do you mean?"
Hermione faltered, "Well, it was that or saying I had Scrofungulus on the exemption from marriage list. Wasn't that why you….?"
"You mean you're not really a lesbian?"
"You are?" Hermione looked aghast, a nervous giggle escaping her lips.
"Is this all just a big joke to you? Do you have any idea how insulting that is to me? That my life is a joke!" Pansy sat bolt upright, firewhisky splashing from her glass.
"That's not it at all! Wait, you thought I was?" Hermione asked, momentarily wrong footed.
"Oh for fucks sake! For someone so smart, you really are a fucking idiot aren't you. Obviously I thought you were!"
"What!?"
They were both shouting now. Spots of colour were appearing high on Pansy's pale cheeks and Hermione's hair was starting to frizz up, despite the extra hair potion.
"I just assumed. I thought it was common knowledge. I mean, you spent months unsupervised in a tent with Potter and Weasley and nothing happened with either of them. You went out with Krum and only gave him a peck on the cheek,"
"You know a lot about my love life," Hermione reddened.
"I can't help it. The Prophet's always full of it. It's being shoved down the entire wizarding population's throats every single day!"
"Well what about you and Draco then?" Hermione was determined not to take all of the blame in this argument, "You seemed pretty friendly with him at school,"
"It suited both of us," Pansy was unable to meet Hermione's eye for a moment.
"What do you mean?"
"Oh come on Hermione, have you had a lobotomy?" she actually had the nerve to reach out and knock on Hermione's forehead, "Draco was never interested in girls, he was like a dog with a bone over Potter for the whole time we were at school. Emphasis on the word bone," she grinned wickedly.
Hermione gasped, scandalised.
"You are not to tell Potter, or anyone for that matter," Pansy ordered haughtily, "Draco isn't exactly proud of his crush on golden snitch balls,"
"So is he going to marry a man then?"
Pansy shook her head, her mouth a thin line, "There was another exemption that they didn't mention on the forms. He was called into the Ministry and told that Death Eaters need not apply. Presumably they're worried about hereditary insanity or something,"
"Oh right, and you're, um, ok on that front?" Hermione's eyes strayed to the Pansy's wine coloured left sleeve. She didn't know exactly who had taken the mark during the war but she wouldn't have been surprised if Pansy had done. After all, it was her who had suggested they hand Harry over to Voldemort.
Pansy's black eyes flashed dangerously, "that's the second time you've insulted me in the space of five minutes, I suggest you don't make it a third," "Sorry," said Hermione in a way that suggested she was anything but, "but you were a bit of a bitch at school,"
"What the fuck? So because I wasn't Little Miss Sunshine like you, I may as well have signed up to some psychopath's murderous fight for power? You forgot to mention that I was a Slytherin too. That must make me evil. Do you have any idea what you're even saying, suggesting I'm a Death Eater? Just how far you've stepped over the line? Just because I'm from an old family and we've got money and think tradition and good breeding is important, I'd happily go and commit genocide? And you think Purebloods are the prejudiced ones! This is exactly why we don't like Mudbloods – you come strolling in to Hogwarts aged eleven, thinking you own the place and you're better than us, think you know better than needing to understand our ways. You have no idea about the wizarding world, no idea!"
"You call me that again," Hermione dared the dark haired witch.
"Mudblood," Pansy hissed in her face, her eyes narrowed.
Hermione drew her hand back and slapped Pansy sharply across the face. The crack echoed around the room. Pansy stepped back, her hand to her cheek.
"I'm sorry," Hermione gasped, knowing she had gone too far.
"Get out!" Pansy whispered, her eyes shining with tears.
"No – just let me – "
"Didn't you hear me, I said get out!" the last two words were more of a scream than coherent words. Hermione fled.
oOoOoOo
Harry grasped Hermione's arm firmly, "Ready to go?"
He gestured with his head out into the garden of Pansy's parents palatial Manor where at that moment, over two hundred witches and wizards were seated in neat rows, awaiting her arrival.
"If I say no, what are you going to do?"
"We could jump on my broom right now and fly away from here. We could go on the run - I'm sure we could find where we left Perkins' tent,"
"I think Ginny would have your balls for earrings if we did that, don't you? Particularly as I'm guessing there's a better reason than 'a headache' that she wasn't drinking at my hen do?"
"She'd have to catch me first," but Harry's eyes were sparkling and he was biting back a wide grin.
"Thank you for doing this for me Harry," Hermione patted his arm. She had failed to locate her parents, having not dared to put any kind of tracker charm on them when she sent them to Australia, and in the absence of her father, had asked Harry to give her away.
"You don't have to thank me, it's just shit that you're having to do this at all,"
"Don't swear, you sound like Ron,"
"Speaking of Ron, how's he taking all of this now? He was pretty upset..." Harry trailed off, the both of them remembering the huge row Ron and Hermione had when she told him that she was having to marry Pansy.
"He's ok. I think he blames himself for not sweeping me off my feet when he had the chance,"
"Something tells me you wouldn't have let him anyway,"
When Hermione didn't answer, Harry inclined his head towards the door "shall we then?" He was just about to step over the threshold into the garden when he paused, "sorry, I should have said before, you look beautiful Hermione,"
Hermione smiled tightly and smoothed down the chiffon skirt of her wedding dress. She was just going to transfigure the dress she wore to her graduation ball into something approaching bridal wear and be done with it but Ginny and Mrs Weasley, perhaps lacking in other female company, insisted that they go out wedding dress shopping. After two hours of swigging warm champagne and seeing a parade of meringue like dresses pass before her eyes, Hermione found the one. It was love at first sight - the dress had a tightly fitted corset with lace straps and filled out into a chiffon ankle skimming ballet skirt. It even had a concealed compartment for her wand, should things turn ugly and she needed to hex her bride. Hermione had tried to apologise to Pansy but she was blocked from the Floo and any notes she sent trying to apologise were returned, charmed to ignite as soon as they were in her hand. The only contact Pansy allowed was frostily polite owls, discussing the necessary arrangements for the wedding.
They stepped out onto the lawn. Somewhere, Hermione could hear a cello playing as everyone stood and turned to look at her. Harry squeezed her arm and they set off down the aisle. Her bride to be was waiting for her under an arch garlanded with white roses and the small sweet flowers from which Pansy's name had originated. Completely out of season and hugely expensive probably, Hermione scowled. Then she looked at her - properly looked for the first time in years. Pansy was wearing a black silk ball gown with a wide flowing skirt and wrist length lace sleeves. The only colour was a slash of dark red lipstick. Her hair was piled up on top of her head and if it wasn't for the furious expression on her face, Hermione would have called her beautiful.
Hermione barely heard the words that the tiny, ancient wizard who conducted their ceremony was saying over the sound of the blood rushing in her ears. She was taking fast shallow breaths to hold back the tears as her entire life came crashing down around her. Wishing she had had the foresight to take a calming draught that morning, she stumbled through her vows, her hands shaking violently. She sneaked a glance at Pansy, who was ramrod straight next to her, her jaw clenched tightly, staring straight ahead. Hermione winced at the anger bristling from her.
Pansy only met her eye once during the ceremony, when Hermione put the ring on her finger. Hermione saw the jolt of shock go through her at what she herself had just experienced. Feeling Hermione's magic join with her own, Pansy looked up, eyes wide. Hermione nodded, almost imperceptibly, to reassure the other witch that she had felt it too.
"I now declare you bonded for life. You may kiss the bride, er brides," the wizard quavered.
Pansy's face was grim. Her eyes dropped to Hermione's lips. All of the moisture in Hermione's mouth seemed to instantly migrate to the palms of her hands. Pansy, half a head taller, leaned in slowly, awkwardly. Hermione saw her shut her eyes and followed suit. She felt Pansy hesitate, her lips a hair's breadth from her own, the proximity making her nerve endings flare. Sensing that her bride had lost her nerve, she closed the last millimetres between them. Pansy's lips were warm and dry and so soft that Hermione felt that she was falling into them. Somewhere in the distance she heard the sound of applause. Pansy pulled away sharply and her sudden absence felt shocking to Hermione.
Without a word or a smile, Pansy grasped her hand and led her down the aisle.
The reception was possibly one of the most awkward occasions of Hermione's entire life. It was clear that Pansy had not forgiven her for insinuating she was a Death Eater. If pureblood tradition was that one is supposed to speak to one's dinner companion, Pansy was prepared to rebel against the rules for once. They ate in grim silence. Hermione knew the food must have been delicious but it felt like cardboard in her mouth as she marvelled at the gold cherubs that adorned the ceiling of the marquee Pansy's parents had hired. After the plates had been vanished away, Pansy's father stood and clinked his glass delicately. He had Pansy's colouring but none of her haughty manner, which Hermione knew came from her mother. She could see her sneering at her husband's speech. Neither of them had congratulated the pair on their marriage.
His speech began as more of a political commentary about the liberal Ministry policies that had allowed his daughter to marry someone of such different social status, before descending into a rant about the marriage law, the dilution of magical blood and muggle science being imposed onto the wizarding community. Eventually he ran out of steam and sat down to polite applause. Hermione realised with a start that he had barely mentioned his own daughter. She cast a quick look to the side to see Pansy miserably pushing a crumb around the snowy tablecloth.
Without quite realising what was happening, Hermione found herself standing up and clearing her throat, "I'd like to propose a toast," she announced, "to Pansy, who I have made the mistake of misjudging. I won't make that mistake again," she glanced down and saw Pansy looked wryly amused, "To Pansy," she lifted her glass. The rest of the room lifted their glasses in response.
"You Gryffindors do like your grand gestures don't you," Pansy grinned when she sat back down, but she didn't say it unkindly or with the brittle veneer of politeness in her voice that had been there all day. The room descended into a soft buzz of chatter.
"I couldn't think of another way to make you listen to me," Hermione bit back a giggle.
"Idiot," Pansy sniggered. Her expression became earnest and she bit her lip then looked as though she was going to say something but Marcus Flint approached the top table, smiling nastily. Hermione could see the candlelight reflecting on his crooked teeth.
"So it's true then Pans, you really are a lesbian"
"I told you I was enough times didn't I Flint?" Pansy smiled politely but it didn't reach her eyes.
The hulking quidditch player rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, "Thought you were just saying that as an excuse not to go out with me,"
"But you kept pestering her anyway?" Hermione interjected without thinking, forgetting for a moment how much she hated her. The thought of her being hounded by unwanted attention made her angry on her new wife's behalf.
"I could handle myself well enough when he tried it on, don't worry" Pansy turned her anger to Hermione now.
"I never said you couldn't!"
"I'm not one of your stupid magical creatures or something, I don't need protecting,"
Marcus Flint chuckled, interrupting the pair, "Looks like you've got your work cut out with the Mudblood there Pans,"
Pansy reached for her wand and Hermione noticed that her knuckles were white as she grasped it, "Marcus, my mother has instructed me to invite you to this wedding and be polite because she's friends with your parents, and I can assure you, that is the only reason why I haven't hexed your balls clean off already. But know this." She tapped the end of her wand against the table to emphasise her point, causing sparks to skitter across the cloth, "If you call my wife that name again, I will put you under an Imperius, and I will instruct you to peel," she let the word roll slowly off her tongue, relishing it, "every inch of skin from your body, then we'll all see how clean your blood is for ourselves"
Marcus turned a strange shade of green as Pansy smiled sweetly at him until he shuffled away from the table before moving a flower arrangement to cover the scorch mark on the tablecloth.
"What did you say that to him for? You've called me that enough times," Pansy sighed and rolled her eyes, "You wouldn't understand,"
"Because I'm a stupid mudblood?"
"Because you're a Gryffindor,"
"I am quite intelligent, try me,"
"We're bound together," Pansy explained slowly, in the sort of tone Hermione recognised that she herself sometimes used to Ron, "you are now an extension of me and part of the Parkinson family -"
"There's more chance of me snogging Flint than changing my name to Parkinson," Hermione scoffed.
"Do you ever know when to shut up? You are an extension of me. So if that oaf, or anyone, insults you, they are insulting me too. Which would be bad. For them," she clarified darkly.
"Oh thank goodness, so I might still be a mudblood, but I'm your mudblood,"
"They don't call you the brightest witch of your age for nothing do they?" Pansy smirked. Hermione found her eyes drawn to her lips, remembering how soft they had been when they kissed earlier. Nerves started to fizz in the pit of her stomach as she suddenly remembered the task they had to carry out some time within the next twenty four hours.
As if reading her mind, Pansy leaned in, her mouth close enough to tickle the strands of hair that had escaped Hermione's pinned up hair,
"Nervous?" she murmured.
"Errrmmm," Hermione squeaked, cursing herself for the, unattractive response.
"Well, it's your own fault for being a know it all and thinking you can outwit the Ministry," Pansy's stroked her fingernails gently down the back of Hermione's hand. Hermione shivered involuntarily. Pansy smelled like ripe peaches and sun warmed honeysuckle.
"Have you really never been…curious?" Pansy asked teasingly, "never snuck a look at one of your room mates back at school, never played a game of spin the bottle, never cuddled up in bed together with one of your friends on a dark and stormy night?"
Hermione attempted her most prim and proper tone, to try and counter the blush that was painting her cheeks, "I was a bit busy…"
"Saving the wizarding world, yes I know," Pansy sighed.
Hermione took a deep breath. The truth was, she had wondered. Her mind had wandered during snogging sessions with Ron. She had watched sidelong in the shower as soap suds cascaded down over the swell of Pavarti's breasts down the flat planes of her stomach to the black curls at the apex of her thighs. She had felt her nipples harden as Ginny's fingers brushed the back of her neck when fastening a necklace, then felt strangely guilty about it. But she had attributed it to the fact that she was Hermione Granger and she needed to know everything.
"Tell me about it," she whispered, her heart in her mouth. Pansy looked round the room swiftly, to see if anyone was paying attention to them, then leaned back in to Hermione's ear. This time, she laid her hand on her leg, her fingers curling round under her knee. Hermione could feel the heavy heat of it through her thin chiffon skirt.
"With men it's all hardness and stubble and them accidentally leaning on your hair with their elbows. It's all about their cock. Once the cock has finished its business then it's all over and it goes all shy and floppy and hides away again. Women can just keep going. All night, until your body is trembling so much you don't know if you could stand, you're drenched in sweat, and you aren't sure you'll even survive another orgasm. Women are soft, with curves you can hold on to, secrets to explore that open up to you like a flower. Their whole body can be an erogenous zone if you try. It's like biting into the juiciest peach," Hermione flushed - hadn't she just thought that Pansy smelled like peaches, "and the skin is so soft it seems a shame to break it, and it's so sweet, and the juice just runs. And that's it really," she finished, leaning back and smiling brightly,"
Hermione blinked, remembering where they were. The marquee suddenly seemed too bright and too noisy. She was aware of her breathing which was fast and heavy. Pansy smirked, obviously aware of the effect she had had on the other witch. Somehow during her description, her hand had worked its way up to the top of Hermione's thigh and she tapped her leg gently three times with her index finger before removing her hand altogether. The rhythmic vibrations echoed up between Hermione's legs like a call to battle
"Do you think that sounds bearable?" Pansy leaned closer again, her lips only inches from Hermione's. Those lips, those impossibly soft lips.
Harry cleared his throat, standing in front of them, "sorry, er, it's just, it's time to cut the cake," Hermione smiled gratefully at him, feeling like she had just been pulled back out of the jaws of a serpent who had hypnotised her into submission.