"Right. So the legislation passed," Kingsley looked around the room filled with Order members, Aurors, and powerful, independently wealthy wizards and witches. "Any Muggleborn not married by now is required to consider any requests for consideration of marriage to a Pureblood or traditionally raised Half-blood, as well as set certain criteria for the interested parties to meet prior to submitting a contractual betrothal for acceptance or rejection." He took a deep breath. "We knew it was only a matter of time, and here we are. The announcement will be printed in the Daily Prophet tomorrow morning, and the information for the individual witches and wizards affected will follow shortly thereafter, Ministry owls delivering the missives." He stopped for a long minute, and finally got to the reason for calling the meeting.
"Who is going to tell Hermione?" He managed not to cringe when he asked. Kingsley Shacklebolt, war hero, Auror, former Minister of Magic, and all-around brave man, was oddly proud of the fact he hadn't cringed when asking for volunteers to tell Hermione Granger, war heroine, premier researcher in the Ministry, and all-around terrifying, temperamental witch, she was going to have to get married within the next three weeks.
No one volunteered. In fact, several ordinarily stout-hearted wizards turned pasty, left their seats, and Apparated a safe distance away from the impending explosion. Most of those formerly stout-hearted wizards thought that France was lovely this time of year and promptly took their vacation time early. Some actually remembered to put in for leave prior to skipping the country and calling in to work the next day. Others pretended they had been grafted to their chairs and were no longer capable of human interaction. Only two had the temerity to gulp loudly and elbow one another, whispering furiously about which one would have to break the news.
"Harry, Ron," Shacklebolt hurriedly identified the two young wizards by name and smiled brilliantly at them. "Thank you for volunteering. Make sure Ms. Granger knows before the papers go out tomorrow. Meeting adjourned!"
The stampede was the stuff of legend.
Ron Weasley and Harry Potter stood staring at one another, blinking owlishly at the suddenly empty room.
"Bloody hell, mate," Ron managed to croak out. He was known for his apt summations of sticky situations using proper British slang.
"Fuck," Harry replied somewhat less properly. He wasn't known for his eloquence, but rather for his wandwork. Both wands.
They looked at one another, nodded, and wandered over to the fireplace. Two handfuls of green powder and a clearly enunciated destination later, and two sooty wizards stumbled out of Hermione Granger's fireplace, neither with any idea how to start the required conversation.
"Oh!" Hermione looked up from her work and blinked. "Bit late, innit?" she asked, words a bit slurred from her – she looked up at the clock and winced – thirty-one hour research session. She lost track of time so easily sometimes.
"Erm," Harry replied.
"Mrmphle," Ron added.
"Well, good to know everything's normal at the Burrow and Grimmauld Place," she said, clearly not paying one bit of attention to them or their abrupt arrival after her initial recognition of their existence. "It's late. I'm tired." She yawned, illustrating the point. "We'll talk in the morning, yeah?"
"Sure," Harry said, smiling.
"Fine," Ron said, relieved.
"G'night," Hermione said, leaving them to find their way to their usual rooms. She needed sleep, especially if she was to present her findings to the Wizengamot later in the day. Really, something had to be done about the present birth rate in Wizarding England.
ES***ES
Hermione wandered into the kitchen and fixed breakfast, Harry and Ron sure to follow when they smelled fresh coffee. It wasn't long before they arrived and joined her at the table, tucking in to the large breakfast she always made when they showed up late at night.
"Hangover potion is in the usual place," she said after swallowing a bit of toast with jam. She washed it down with a sip of coffee. "You are hungover, aren't you?"
"Not this time," Harry admitted.
"Not since last time," Ron added, remembering only vaguely the incredible tear they'd gone on a little over two weeks before. He remembered the drinking, but damned if he recalled the reason. If there'd been a reason.
"So, no pub-crawl, no nasty hangover, and no broken hearts over stupid witches more interested in your bank vaults than your trousers?" Hermione pursed her lips and drank more coffee. "Either someone important died, or you're here to tell me something that's going to be in the papers," she concluded. "Something that I won't like."
Harry and Ron exchanged a look.
"Brilliant and scary," Ron muttered, amending his long-ago declaration that his friend was brilliant, but scary.
Harry cleared his throat and rushed through the news. "There aren't enough babies being born, Purebloods are close to dying out, and the Wizengamot passed a marriage law. You have to marry a Pureblood or Half-blood in less than three weeks, and you have to consider anyone who expresses an interest."
"You get to set basic criteria, though, so you don't have to accept just any contract," Ron added helpfully.
Hermione nodded, drank a little more coffee, nibbled on some bacon, and finally spoke.
"So, what's the big news?" she asked.
Harry stared at her. Ron gawked.
"You have three weeks to get married, and then you'll have to have a lot of sex and at least two or three babies. With a Pureblood." Harry looked over at Ron. "D'you think all that research broke her brain?" He thought he whispered.
"Nah," Ron said quickly. "Just not enough coffee yet."
"Right." Harry sat back up. "We got stuck—ow! What was that for?" Harry demanded of Ron, who had just kicked him hard in the shin.
"Phrasing. We were asked to break the news to you, seeing as you're so interested in basic human rights, even for creatures that aren't human." Ron shrugged. "Just figured you'd have something more to say about it, that's all."
Hermione looked closely at them. "Oh, honestly. One little kerfuffle about house elves' rights and suddenly I'm the crazy witch that has to be appeased."
What she designated a "kerfuffle" was considered by the wider wizarding world to be a monumental display of righteous anger, though the Ministry workers who had witnessed it commonly referred to it as the Granger Magi-nuclear Detonation of 1999. She tipped her head to the side and decided to explain something to them. "Ron, Harry, what are we?"
"Wizards and a witch," Ron answered, confused, "but you knew that."
"Right." She motioned her hand around the kitchen. "Look around. What do you see?"
"Well," Harry began, "a self-pouring teapot that brews itself, the dishes cleaning themselves in the sink, and a mop in the next room working on the floors."
"There's also the portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black on the wall, but he's not in right now. And the plants are sipping water from the floating watering station. Oh, you charmed it to take the crazy straws, not just the plain ones. Nice work!" Ron was please to see the whimsical addition to the Self-Caring Plants he had gotten for her two years before.
"Right. We wave wands and say silly words to make things happen that would take Muggles hours, if not forever, to accomplish, my house is filled with pure strangeness, and, yet, none of these things seem odd to you?"
"Well, now that you mention it..." Harry said, as Ron just looked confused.
"Why would it seem odd?" Ron asked.
"And there's my point. I'm surrounded by strangeness all day long, every day. I fought in a war before I shaved my legs – certainly before I began charming them smooth! – and I'm surrounded by the damnedest things. How is this marriage law not perfectly normal for my world now?"
Harry nodded thoughtfully. "Well, when you put it like that..."
"Exactly," Hermione said, smiling as she saw his understanding of her point of view. A look at Ron told her he was still confused.
"I'll explain it to him," Harry offered.
"Good. You speak Pureblood better than I do."
Harry just grinned as Ron kept looking around the kitchen, trying to figure out what was so odd that Hermione thought the marriage law would be normal. Would the witch never make sense?