The Alkahest
Chapter Two: A Wrench In The Works
…
"How could this have happened without us even hearing about it?" Hermione wondered for the fiftieth time, looking into the distraught faces of her best friends. "No one in the whole Ministry even knew."
Harry frowned. "I did hear in passing that recently, a lot of marriage licenses weren't getting approved, but I heard that was just because the applications were getting piled up since the administrative office was downsized. I guess they were just waiting for it to pass."
"This is absolutely crazy," Ron whispered, staring at the headline. "They can't possibly expect anyone to actually go through with this."
Hermione looked grim. "They can and they probably do. This is the Ministry of Magic we're talking about, Ronald," she reminded him. "The same institution that upholds a variety of laws that persecute wizards and witches just for having the wrong blood status." Her tone had taken on a bitterness as she reminded him of that constant threat of pureblood supremacy and bigotry.
"Those pureblooded gits must be having kittens," Ron muttered, looking almost darkly amused by the thought. "In any case, I daresay none of them will agree that this law is in their best interests. They'll probably just start rampantly binding with each other. The pureblood families always do their bindings with old magic, anyway. The licenses are just a formality."
She nodded. "The law's drafters seem to have thought of that, too – performing old marriage rituals will be persecuted as actual felonies, according to the article. Complete with time in Azkaban."
"I bet some of them do it anyway, rather than let a Muggle-born into the family to pollute their precious, inbred bloodlines."
"I feel bad for any Muggle-borns that have to marry into those awful families," Ginny said, frowning. "Can you imagine what kind of life that would be? To have to marry into and possibly live with a group of people who just..."
"Hate you," Harry finished, looking pale.
Hermione swallowed. "Well, that was a stark reminder of my future," she muttered.
"You can't possibly be considering going through with this daft law," Ron exclaimed, looking alarmed.
"It doesn't look like I'll be presented with a choice," Hermione pointed out. She clasped her hands on her teacup so that the others wouldn't see them shaking. "I'd have to look at the law itself, but I doubt there's a lot of loopholes to take advantage of. Some of the finest legislators in the magical world work for the Ministry."
"But you're Hermione Granger, famed Know-It-All of Hogwarts. If there's a way around it, you'd find it," Harry said, leaning towards her. "Surely whatever you need is in a book somewhere. It always is."
She smiled wryly. "I didn't say I was going to take this lying down," she scoffed. Sobering, she added, "But we mustn't get our hopes up."
"What 'we'? We're already married, and so we're excused from the proceedings." Ginny leaned into Harry contentedly.
Ron glared at them. "Goody for you."
Harry grimaced in apology. "Hermione, is there a word in some obscure language that means, 'while we're sorry for your misfortunes, by golly are we excited that those same misfortunes shall not befall us'?"
"Harry, I'm going to hit you," she promised, eyes narrowing.
"There's probably a word for that in German," Ginny said, looking thoughtful. "They always have those oddly specific ones."
"Maybe there's also a word for 'I hope you choke on your marital bliss, you bunch of prats,'" Ron grumbled, draining his tea and standing. "And maybe one for, 'And I'm leaving because your happy relationship is making a mockery of my misfortune.'"
"I'm leaving, too." Hermione stood.
"We were just kidding!" Ginny protested. "Sit down."
Ron made a face at her and slipped out anyway, although Hermione allowed herself to be persuaded to stay for at least one more cup of tea.
0o0o0o0o0o0
The law itself was going to go into effect in one month – that was when the first match would be declared. Purebloods would be forced to marry Muggle-borns or half-bloods, for the good of the British wizarding community. Hermione was hardly sure what to make of the assertion that pureblood inbreeding was resulting in a higher likelihood of squibs. After all, there were enough purebloods around that intermarrying without inbreeding should be possible, provided each family was somewhat careful about it.
Furthermore, she'd read in a Muggle science journal that people as close as first cousins could have babies with the same chance of birth defects as woman giving birth when they were already over the age of forty. That is to say, it was a rather small percentage.
Of course, this was the Ministry. She doubted the phenomenon of squibbery had been studied for more than three minutes before some idiot had started drafting the first iteration of the law. The Ministry could be horribly frustrating and slow most of the time, and then when it came to making bad decisions, it worked so quickly it took her breath away.
After three years of working in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, she knew just what a fickle beast the bureaucracy could be. Some of her own items that she considered to be of the utmost importance had taken months or even years to push through, while many of her smaller projects had gotten approved with barely any effort. "Capricious" didn't even begin to describe how the Ministry truly worked.
Hermione had finally gotten her hands on the actual law, and spent a whole afternoon studying every word of it. The basic gist of it was that a pureblood and a non-pureblood had to marry, and were permitted up to one year of engagement before matrimony was enforced. The two were matched based upon a series of rigorous testing that would prove that they had less than a 2% chance of having a squib. She was very interested in seeing what kind of test they could devise that could possibly manage to prove that.
After the match was declared to both parties, the witch had until her thirty-second birthday or four years (if she was already 29 or older) to beget a child; the "generous" time limit was so that a career-minded witch could still at least have something of a life before pregnancy put everything on hold for a year. She scoffed at the idea that a law like this could be, in any way, "generous."
The marriage could be dissolved through divorce either upon the birth of two magically gifted children, or after ten years as long as there was one magically gifted child. If no child had been produced within the time limit provided, the couple would have to present proof that attempts had been made.
So, should she be unable to challenge the law itself, there was at least an exit strategy built into it. It made a twisted sort of sense; the Ministry didn't care about happy marriages, it just wanted non-Squib babies out of every able-bodied witch in the country. The more babies, the better, and once the world was full of screaming babies, apparently the "crisis" would be concluded and everyone could return to normal.
As in, the so-called "Marriage Law" would only remain in effect for the next ten years, after which the Ministry expected such a population boom as to remove the necessity for the law indefinitely.
It was all positively barmy, especially the part where single witches over the age of thirty-five weren't even expected to participate. Wizards over the age of forty-five weren't expected to participate, either. Nor were any witches or wizards who had previously been married, whether their marriage had ended I death or a divorce.
If it was so important to plump up the baby economy, why had the Ministry decided to cut out so many possible pairings? While it was true that women seemed to have less chances of successful birth as they grew older, there was no science that suggested a man in his sixties couldn't produce perfectly acceptable sperm.
The other exception to the law – infertile or sterile persons would be exempt – at least made sense, although anyone trying to prove their sterility or infertility had to undergo what she understood to be an incredibly invasive medical procedure, courtesy of the Ministry itself.
After dissecting every word, Hermione had to conclude that there wasn't a mistake within it that could be capitalized upon.
So she paid a visit to Hogwarts, getting permission from Headmistress McGonagall to check out as many books from the library as she needed. She had a month to figure out if this law was, in fact, lawful – or if it could be dodged in any way. She could only pray there was some archaic measure put into place to prevent turning every witch of the right age into national broodmares.
Surely there must be.
0o0o0o0o0o0
"You're running yourself ragged," Ron noted. "When was the last time you got eight straight hours of sleep?"
"I can sleep when I'm dead," she insisted, stretched across her couch. "Can you believe there is not a single pre-existing law that would somehow negate this madness?"
He considered it. "Sadly, yeah. I can."
She was half-asleep, her eyes closed. "What are we going to do?"
"Maybe we should do it. Get married. To each other," he clarified, sounding a little uncertain.
That woke her up. Her eyes snapped open. "What?"
He looked uncomfortable. "I mean, if I have to, anyway... I'm pureblooded. And I'd rather... you than some stranger," he added. "And I hope you'd consider me to be a better alternative to some other pureblood. Besides, if I had to have babies with anyone, you'd be the best one to have 'em with, what with your brains. I don't want stupid babies." He trailed off, his face going red as he scratched the back of his neck.
"Didn't you read the law? We don't get to choose," she reminded him. "We're paired off by the Matchmaker's Committee."
"Well, my dad and Percy might be able to put in a word for us. And hell, if we can get Harry to come in and be famous at the right people, maybe they'd tweak the results a little in our favor," he said, rubbing his hands together nervously. "I know it's not what we really want, but... well, we could always divorce after, like the law says. And at least I love you, even if it's not precisely the right kind of love. And I'd hate to see you stuck with some bigoted arsehole that won't even treat you right." He started to look and sound considerably upset as he thought about it – what if she was put with a former Death Eater or some other Voldemort-sympathizer?
Overcome with fondness, Hermione smiled at him. "Alright," she agreed.
His eyebrows shot up. "Come again?"
"I said, 'alright,'" she repeated, slowly, grin widening. "If I had to have any babies... well, I'd rather they be yours than some Death Eater's, obviously."
"So glad you added that part, just to make it so absolutely clear that you're only agreeing because the rest of the field is full of arseholes and bigots," he muttered, although he seemed pleased that she'd agreed, anyway.
She sniffed, looking prim. "Well, I wouldn't want you to go and get a big head over it."
He chuckled. "Always looking out for me, aren't you?"
0o0o0o0o0o0
Harry had agreed to try and throw his weight around, although he didn't seem to think that his fame had as much clout as Ron clearly did. Hermione wasn't sure it did, either, but when it came to a matter of this level of importance, she wasn't above hedging her bets with every possible advantage.
Arthur Weasley readily agreed to try and shift matters in their favor, although Percy had become gravely offended that anyone thought him capable of "twisting the law" like that.
After some badgering from his mother, though, he'd relented and begrudgingly agreed to try his best.
It was a tense few weeks before Arthur finally came home during a family get-together with a smile on his face. "I just spoke to Nancy Arles, secretary to one Rastian Howles, the head of the Matchmaker's. They did prove that there was the acceptable less-than-two-percent chance of a squib and she said Howles had agreed to put your names together."
Hermione felt like she'd been punched, with the force of the exhale. Relief hit her like a train, and she turned to Ron and threw her arms around him as the rest of the family cheered.
"That just leaves George," Ron said, breathlessly. "And Percy, of course."
"Don't worry about me," George laughed. "As long as she's not ugly, I'll get on fine. Percy, though, I have some doubts about. My poor brother's inclinations, I'm sure, do not lean towards the female variety."
Molly glared at him. "Don't gossip about your brother while he's gone."
Hermione heaved another sigh of relief. It wasn't perfect, of course, but it was... well, it was better than she could have possibly expected this disaster to turn out. Feeling like the weight of the world had fallen off her shoulders, she tucked into dinner. After telling Harry to stop chewing with his mouth open like a troll, he snipped, "Good to see you're back to being your usual bossy self, 'Mione."
"When should we plan the wedding?" Molly wondered, dreamily, earning an eyeroll from Ginny.
"We should wait until it gets announced, at least. They won't let us get the license until then, anyway," Hermione pointed out, and felt Ron squeeze her hand beneath the table. She shot him a smile.
Crisis sort-of averted, then.
0o0o0o0o0o0
It turned out Molly had truly jumped the gun.
Once the first match had been announced, Howles' committee kept things going at as fast a pace as they could, but given the amount of eligible witches and wizards in Britain, it was taking a while to get through them all.
It was four months after the first announcement when Hermione finally got the letter bidding her to come to the clerk's office, informing her that she was encouraged to bring her parents. A lot of Muggle-borns were receiving those instructions, and she wondered if that was because pureblooded parents were sure to be in attendance, regardless of whether or not they'd been invited.
Either way, she'd already told her parents of the law and her plan with Ron, although they'd been confused and horrified about the existence of the law at all. Her mother in particular had beseeched her to just leave, perhaps to return to Barcelona until things in Britain stopped being so... draconian.
She'd considered it, her parents' reaction somewhat reminding her of the momentousness of this law, and what it meant. This law was setting a precedence of invasiveness that could only lead to worse things down the road.
But Kingsley Shacklebolt was the Minister, she reminded herself. He was a good man. If he'd signed this law into existence, she had to assume he knew what he was doing. Or, at least, that's what Harry told her when she'd floo-called him to talk about her new, pervasive doubts. And she did trust Harry. If Harry was being calm about this, and if even Ron was being calm about this, she couldn't go flying off the handle. She was supposed to be the reasonable one.
In the end, she'd decided not to let this law chase her out of the world she'd come to love. It was just a law, and not forever. Just a child and ten years, or two children and considerably less, and she could be free again to love whomever she wished. So could Ron. They could make this work, and it was going to be fine.
So, she called her parents, meeting them at her childhood home after they hastily left the office (canceling on several patients), and brought them back to the Ministry by the Floo she'd thankfully had the foresight to connect the Granger's home to.
They were ten minutes early for the meeting, and when she arrived with her parents, there was only a nervous-looking clerk.
She felt somewhat bad for him, in that moment. She couldn't imagine he had a pleasant job, doing this.
The clerk at the table stood, adjusting his glasses as he offered her a nervous smile. "Ah, Miss Hermione Granger, right? Hello, I'm Jeffrey Winston, of the Marriage Act Committee. These are your parents, I trust, yes? Please, sit." He waited for them all to seat themselves before he folded his tall, thin frame back into his own chair, vibrating with nervous, cheery energy.
"Lovely to meet you, Mr. Winston," Hermione said, cordially. "This is David and Rose Granger, my father and mother. Sorry we're early, and I'm afraid Ron has a habit of being late."
He blinked at her, a little confused. "Not at all, Miss Granger," he said, a little uncertainly.
She frowned a bit. Something dreadful settled in the pit of her stomach, but she didn't have time to examine it.
The door opened, and she turned to see none other than Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy swan into the room, their son Draco following with somewhat less grace and a great deal more bitterness.
"Oh, hello, Mr. Malfoy, Mrs. Malfoy," Winston said, smiling broadly and nervously once more.
Hermione stared at them, shock permeating her entire being. "Um... Am I in the wrong room?" she asked, dumbly, looking around. Her parents looked confused; this was not Ron Weasley, whom Hermione had assured them she was marrying.
"Of course not, Miss Granger," Winston exclaimed.
"Then are they?" she demanded, pointing at the blonde family as they sat across the conference table from her and her parents.
Winston blinked. "Ah, no, Miss Granger."
"I don't..." Hermione murmured, shaking her head a little in confusion. "No, what are they doing here?"
"I... thought that should be clear," Winston said, awkwardly. "The younger Mr. Malfoy would be your match."
"No, Ron is my match," she said, her voice growing a little shrill with panic. "Ronald Weasley." She felt her mother's hand settle on her arm; Rose Granger was confused, but all she knew was that her daughter was upset, and she wanted to calm her.
Winston stared at her in bemusement, and looked at his papers. "I'm sorry, Miss Granger, but your match is Mister Malfoy," he said, utterly confused by her outburst.
Her mind went blank, her stomach feeling somewhat like lead as she struggled to make the words Winston was saying make any sort of sense. Her eyes darted between the three imperious purebloods sitting across from her as her brain churned sluggishly to come to terms with what he was saying. Hermione's eyes caught against Draco's, his a stormy-grey and no less troubled, and she felt her stomach heave.
Lucius looked disdainful of her emotional reaction, although Narcissa, at least, looked suitably concerned (if a tiny bit offended).
She was frozen, her eyes going to the table as she tried desperately to process this. This could not be happening.
In her silence, Winston cleared his throat awkwardly, and began to speak, mostly repeating the stipulations of the Marriage Act that she'd already memorized by then. She tuned out for most of it, until suddenly his voice penetrated the fog in her brain with, "... Of course, our suggestion is that the couple use a fertility potion during coitus to speed things along..."
Sex. With Malfoy. She would have to have sex. With Malfoy.
Bile pressed up into her throat, and she swallowed it back, pressing her hand to her neck and closing her eyes. She would not throw up. She was in a very important, life-altering meeting with her parents and her future husband and – and parents-in-law –
Oh, she was going to be sick, and quite fantastically, too. She felt her mouth grow wet and swallowed desperately.
Rose's hand tightened on her daughter's wrist as she whispered, "Hermione, are you alright?"
"I'm sorry," Hermione choked out, jumping to her feet and stumbling out of the conference room, leaving her parents, the nonplussed Malfoys, and the guilt-stricken Mr. Winston behind to stare at each other.
She must have found a bin, because a few seconds later, the sound of her retching carried into the room. David and Rose winced, blinking at their future in-laws. The Malfoy patriarch met their gaze almost politely, determined to ignore the noise. Narcissa summoned a faint smile that was probably meant to be reassuring, although her eyes flicked to the door a few times as she heard Hermione retch, concern warring with disgust on her delicate features. Draco did his best not to react, although his nose wrinkled slightly as he attempted to keep from following in Hermione's footsteps. The very sound of her losing her lunch made his own stomach twist in mutual, empathetic disgust.
Mr. Winston tidied his papers as he waited for the poor girl to stop. Then he tidied them again.
Lucius drummed his fingers across the snakehead of his cane, blinking serenely as he surveyed the room in one casual sweep of his eyes. "That is somewhat less than complimentary," he commented, although he did not look very bothered or surprised.
Draco grunted an affirmative.
"Perhaps she ate something that disagreed with her," Narcissa suggested, although not very convincingly.
"She did eat some salmon," Rose volunteered, weakly. She glanced at her husband, who was staring resolutely into the table as he tried to ignore Hermione's violent retching. "Three, um, three days ago," she added, with a slight grimace.
The gagging and retching persisted for another minute, until finally Draco scowled, belatedly realizing how offended he should be.
Miraculously, the sounds stopped, and they all held their breath for a moment in hopes that the awkward moment was over. After ten seconds of silence, another loud gagging noise filtered in through the open door. "Oh, come on," Draco snapped to the silent room, his scowl deepening. Catching his father's warning look, he added, defensive, "Well, it's not like I'm swimming the English Channel to prove my adoration for her, either, but at least I'm keeping my lunch where it ought to be."
"Quiet," Lucius advised, his drawling tone doing little to disguise the command beneath. Narcissa patted Draco's arm comfortingly.
The sounds of squishy sickness finally faded, and after a few more moments, Hermione re-entered the room with one of those little paper cups at the water cooler, sipping delicately. Her pale, waxen expression had the usual sheen of someone who'd recently vomited. She did her best to look unruffled and calm as she rejoined her parents at the table.
Draco glared at her as Winston tapped his papers together for the fiftieth time.
"Right," the bespectacled man murmured, mustering up a smile for everyone. "In any event, the law does state that an engagement must begin, ah, immediately, although it may extend for as long as one year before, um, nuptials... are expected."
"And there's... no way out of this," David said.
"Well, she could give up her wand and exit the wizarding community, if she so chose," Winston said, looking faintly apologetic.
"Well, that's certainly something to think about," Rose pointed out. She understood that magic was important to Hermione, but surely not important enough to sell herself into a loveless marriage?
"Indeed," the elder Malfoy droned, a faint smirk touching the corners of his lips. "Perhaps she should seriously consider this."
"No," Hermione bit out, coming out of her stupor enough to fix Draco's father with what she considered to be one of her best Basilisk stares. His eyebrow twitched faintly in amusement, and she fought the childish urge to crumple up her paper water cup and lob it right into his stupid aristocrat face. "I'm not going anywhere. I belong in this world just as much as you do."
"That remains to be seen," Lucius disagreed, coolly.
"Lucius," Narcissa murmured, disapprovingly.
"What, still?" Hermione demanded, hotly, ignoring Narcissa's attempted intervention as she glared at Draco's father. He really had some nerve, still acting like a pompous git after she had played such an enormous role in trouncing the absolute pants off of the Dark Lord Voldemort. At the age of seventeen, no less. "How many more attempted usurpers to the fictional Wizarding Britain throne do I have to put six feet under just to get the recognition that I deserve to practice magic?"
She expected him to snap back at her, but strangely, her outburst only served to make him more smug and self-assured. She grit her teeth, grinding them together as he leaned back in his chair to regard her with amusement, tellingly silent; making it clear that he didn't consider her even worth responding to.
"Hermione, don't grind your teeth," her mother chided her.
Her father cleared his throat. "I suppose I don't really understand," David admitted. "It seems no one at this table really wants them to be married, so why do we have to just sit here and allow this to happen, again?"
"Because it's the law and neither of us fancy the prospect of getting our wands snapped," Draco muttered. "Can we just get the contracts drawn up and signed, already? I have something to do today that doesn't involve listening to Granger retch into a wastebasket, and I'm rather eager to move on to that part."
"Draco," Narcissa said, and although her voice was sweet, there was an undercurrent of steel there that instantly had Draco's mouth snapping shut. "Please mind your manners. This is a formal meeting."
Winston waved his wand over the papers, duplicating them and passing a copy to each side. "These are the standard contracts, although quite a few pureblood families do seem to like modifying them. As long as these stipulations remain within the final contract, they can be added to as much as either party wishes."
Lucius slid the papers over to himself after pinning them with his cane. "I shall have my solicitor go over the documents and make necessary changes. When must they be signed?"
"Within three days."
"Then I shall send the final documents to Miss Granger's abode in three days," he determined.
Hermione stared at him incredulously. "No, you'll send them over tomorrow so that I can review it and we can discuss alterations."
"That will not be necessary, as I will not tolerate any alterations."
She felt herself flush with fury, but thankfully Narcissa interceded before she could really say what was on her mind. "Of course we'd be happy to include you on the decision-making process," she said, smoothly. "You'll find our additions will be quite standard."
"Standard to which century, precisely?" she demanded, crossing her arms.
Draco inhaled, deeply, trying to calm himself. "Oh, she's absolutely impossible," he whispered to himself, eyes going heavenwards as if to beseech some unknown god.
Silence reigned for a minute before Winston summoned another watery, fake smile. "Well, if that's all, then," he said, with forced cheer. "I do have another set of families to, ah, betroth, if you're all settled."
Hermione stood first, jaw clenched – whether out of anger or to keep another round of vomiting at bay was unknown – and stalked out of the room with the Ministry-issued marriage contract in her sweating fist. Her parents jumped to follow her, and Rose managed to keep her wits enough about her to offer, "Perhaps you all could join us for tea next week."
She summoned a tight smile, although it was clear from her face that she truly did not understand the proceedings all that well, and hurried from the room.
Draco pushed to his feet, glaring sullenly about the room and finally announcing to no one in particular, "I'm not going to have tea in some ugly muggle flat."
"As I am loathe to admit them into the Manor, that may be unavoidable," Lucius pointed out, leading the way out of the room.
Narcissa threaded her hand through the crook of Lucius' elbow. "You will likely have to admit them sooner or later, dearest," she reminded him. "We can't very well exile our new in-laws from our home. It wouldn't be mannerly."
"Of course you're right," Lucius agreed, amicably enough.
Draco remained silent, watching Hermione stomp away with her frazzled parents in tow, her outrageous hair bouncing in time with her steps. "I'll end up hexing her before we make it to a week."
"You will be on your best behavior," Narcissa disagreed, firmly. "Now do come along, Draco, we have an appointment at Madame Malkin's to tailor your new dress robes."
0o0o0o0o0o0
Ron was outside of the clerk's office, having gotten Hermione's owl more than an hour earlier – telling him not to be late to their meeting to get betrothed, of course, before she'd known. He was still clutching the letter in his fist, pale. "You were called without me?"
The rage that had been building in her during the meeting finally broke, and after a hapless moment of trying to get the words out, Hermione burst into tears.
Her father's arms went around her as she felt Ron clasp her hands. Her mother huddled against her as well, trying to soothe her as she sobbed angrily in the middle of the clerk's office's lobby. She didn't even notice the Malfoy family slip out behind her and walk purposefully away – Draco shooting her an annoyed glance – but Ron sure did.
TBC...