"Kingsley, you can't be serious," Hermione moaned, crumpling against a chair in the decadent Ministry office, "it's totally against human rights." Hermione muttered, her head in her hands.
"My dear, I truly am sorry to have to enforce it, but without this new Law the magical blood of ours will start to sour. I don't mean to sound like a- well like 'Them', but blood mixing is the only way we can ensure the survival and secrecy of the Wizarding population in Britain. The only way to ensure it happens is a successful and fruitful marriage between two people."
"Can't I just move to Albania?"
"Would you, Hermione?" His eyes pierced hers.
Hermione was silent. She couldn't abandon everything she had built for herself in Britain. She thought of her lovely two room apartment in the heart of London, its magical fire crackling away whilst waiting for the return of its mistress, her position in the Ministry, that was a good five years in the making. She had successfully legislated anti-slavery laws against non-wizarding folk, gotten house elves the recognition they deserved (nicknamed the Dobby Law), sacked Rita Seeter and the use of QuikQuotes Quills in the media and made sure that Umbridge would never have a position of power again. She couldn't abandon all this now. She couldn't leave Harry and Ginny to deal with their kids alone on date night, or the devastated Ron, after he was sacked from the Chudley Cannons for using Liquid Luck in their finals match against the Romanian Team.
"Can't I choose my partner? Can't I get at least that liberty, Kingsley? I defeated Voldemort for God's sakes!"
"Hermione, please, the Ministry knows possibly everything about you and your potential partner. Using both magical tests, muggle psychological tests and blood samples, the Ministry has full confidence that you and your intended partner are compatible. And I know you defeated him but that's beside the point."
"I don't want 'compatible', Minister," Hermione spat, "I want more than that for my life. And when did the Ministry get my blood? Is Umbridge back with the quills?" Her eyes shifted dangerously, which, thankfully, was noticed by Kingsley who put on a gruff and overpowering voice.
"Look, I'm sorry but there's nothing I can do, Miss Granger. It is the decree of the Ministry and henceforth as a law abiding citizen AND employee, I ask you to comply with this, uh, arrangement. You will be informed of the details of your match in a letter later this week. I do hope you stay in England."
"Minister Shacklebolt, I will not comply with this utter madness." And with a flash of reslience in her eyes she stormed out of the office, passing two blonde witches and wizard; a familiar, seated, blonde haired man by the name of Draco Malfoy, awaiting his fate." You're up, Malfoy, have a smashing time in there," she scoffed and strode out the door of the reception room.
A couple of days later, Hermione opened her letter. A sense of dejavous came over her as she saw the familiar MoM stamped on the front of the envelope. Her Hogwarts letter had the name initials of the Ministry postal service to non-magical homes. However, unlike her Hogwarts letter, this one did not contain good news.
Inside her small living room sat her three best friends, Ron, Harry and his wife Ginny, anxiously awaiting the contents of the letter. Ginny had bags under her eyes from the lack of sleep because of her 2 children while Harry had rolled his eyes up, trying to sleep while looking awake. Ron was sprightly, however, as he had a full nights rest and had done practically nothing the whole day. He moved towards the kitchen for some firewhisky and cheese.
"Who knows H, could be my name on that envelope!" Ron shouted to her from the kitchen fridge, his voice muffled as he stole a slice of Jarlsberg.
"Ron, I'd murder you on our wedding because you snore way too loudly. Didn't you get your nose checked out?" Hermione asked.
"Yeah but a bludger put it in worse condition two weeks afterwards."
Once Ron returned with half the original amount of cheese and a full bottle of firewhisky, Hermione opened the letter. Carefully she meticulously slid her ruby jewelled letter opener across the top of the envelope and read, her eyes widening and, spying the now open bottle of Firewhisky, she took a great gulp before reading out the key words.
"Malfoy… by the end of the year…no annulments… need children…biological children…meeting in three days." All three patrons on the sofa were frozen.
"No bloody way, they wouldn't dare," Ron spoke first.
"What happened to the bloody compatibility!?" Ginny shouted.
"…" Harry mouthed something that sounded like fire truck.
Hermione leaned back against her chair, closing her eyes and ears to the world, the memory of her taunt to a gaunt faced Malfoy that day in the Ministry running through her mind. 'Why him,' she thought desperately, 'I'd rather have-' And at that point she realised she did not want a husband at all. No one could compare with her. She opened her eyes.
Harry was busy scribbling a strongly worded request to Kingsley while Ron was sipping the alcohol. Ginny was by Harry's ear, loudly suggesting threats and synonyms for his letter. Then it hit her.
"It's alright," Hermione sighed. And before Ron could interject she silenced him with a flick of her wand.
"Look, it's far from ideal but I have no choice. Kingsley meant it when he said I had to do this bloody thing or leave the country. I can't leave now, I've got my whole life here, my sanity exists only here. The only logical path now is to talk with Malfoy, you know, with his money and my status, combined, we should be able to get the Ministry to let us go. It's the only way."
"This better work," Ron said warily, "otherwise you're going to become my cousin, and we've kissed. It's not on."
"Ron: gross" Ginny hissed.
Three days later, in a little abandoned coffee shop in muggle London, a well dressed man and petite woman met for a chat. Malfoy had barely opened his mouth when Hermione blurted out her plan, who he had to pay off and who she would threaten.
"My my, we are quite Slytherin today," he commented, when she had stopped for air.
"Is that all you can say? We haven't spoken since Harry saved you from the Fiend Fire, and that's it? Insult me?" Hermione snapped, glaring daggers at the blonde.
"Being Slytherin is no insult. No, I'm simply pointing out the obvious, my dear."
"Don't call me that." Hermione snapped.
"Granger," Malfoy's eyes darkened, " you honestly think I haven't tried paying off every single miserable employee in that Godforsaken Ministry the moment I saw your scrawny little name? I offered them everything I could, an early retirement, no repayments to Gringotts, free education for their kids at the best Wizarding schools but no go. It seems your darling Shacklebolt is quite the bastard, I must say. He's got them all quaking in their boots."
"But my position in the-"
"Your 'I'm a war hero; love me' phase died three years ago. Get over yourselves. " Draco said slowly and cruelly.
Tears started to prickly in Hermione's eyes as she realised the gravity of those words and the memory of the parents she lost in the war cut at her like a knife. She thought of the fact that her father would never be able to give her away at the end of the aisle, which brought her back to the situation at hand.
"We can't get married." She said bluntly.
"We're not going to. I'm going to move away, since you aren't strong or courageous enough, according to the world's longest letter you sent me. I am going to move to France; I have a lovely little villa that overlooks the beach and the babes. Incidentally, the very same place I was just at before I had to meet you at this basic little place." Malfoy made a move to grab his coat and push his full coffee cup away, "well then, that's all settled. Goodbye Granger, and good luck to the poor soul who ends up stuck with you for the rest of his life. What? Didn't think that they'd let YOU go so easily? After I leave England, there are hundreds of other male options 'compatible' with the likes of you, trust me, I've seen the list of names." With a swish of his cloak under his arm, Malfoy rose out of this seat, dropped a few sickles on the table, and left. Hermione muttered as she picked up the sickles, obviously he forgot the currency difference and what country is was. At least she didn't have to marry Malfoy, she saw the silver lining and wound it around her waist like a belt.
"Granger. Granger. Mudblood. Granger. Oi. Wake up. Pig. Muddy. GRANGER!"
Hermione's head shot up, looking for the voice. She spotted a face in the fireplace, it was him.
"What are you doing in my floo?! Get out!" she yelled at him, chucking a slipped at his rotten face. It was 5am in the morning, the streets were still dark outside.
Suddenly, Malfoy climbed out of the fire.
"Alright I'm out."
"No the other exi-"
"Save it Granger, look here, we have a problem. I can't leave. After yesterday's delightful mud drink, I tried apparating, flooing, flying, portkeying,heck I even tried walking across the border to the villa but I can't get out. You're looking at me, yeah? You're hearing this? I cannot leave England and I don't know why but I'm going to slay our favourite Minister, if you don't tell me that you did something stupid yesterday after I left." He stared at her, eyebrows raised.
Blinking, Hermione rubbed her tired and red eyes, it was all a dream.
Except it wasn't. There was a certain Draco Malfoy, standing frigidly in the middle of the room, telling her that her world was collapsing around her, while she had hayfever eyes. This could not be happening.