The twenty and a half hour plane ride to Australia was hell; the airplane was cramped, full of smelly, fidgety, and noisy passengers who lashed out at the mere thought of being held accountable for being obnoxious or loud. Ron, being the tallest and the gangliest of the trio, took up the most space and as such, claimed the aisle seat, while Harry claimed the window seat because he liked the scenery and Hermione didn't mind sitting in the middle as long as it meant she could read her books without being interrupted.
At this rate, knowing the information they did about this marriage law, it would be anxiety provoking trying to wait until getting back to England after finding out more information.
Hermione, Ron, and Harry sat in solemn silence for long stretches of time during the flight to ruminate on what had happened. There would be a lot to react to, and that was an understatement. Without much information to work off of, it was only natural for them to ask questions and make uneducated guesses about it all. What else were they supposed to do, anyway? Waiting in anxious silence was a terrible idea, unsuited to the hot-headed and highly emotional Trio.
"Who do you think you're going to have to marry?" Ron asked to no one in particular. His question lingered in the air, the silence not broken yet with reactions.
"Someone I get along with, who wants a big family," Harry explained wistfully, taking his time to enunciate his words. Ron nodded in agreement.
"What about you, Hermione?" Harry asked. It was a simple question but Hermione had the epiphany that she hadn't really thought too hard about marriage. She thought of having a career, a truly meaningful one at that, of making herself useful and happy, of creating a world where her purpose was to help.
"Honestly as long as we're compatible and doesn't get in my way, I think we'll get along," Hermione said, and it came off colder than she intended.
"That's a little harsh, isn't it?" Harry asked. Hermione supposed it was but she didn't particularly want to admit as such.
"I would certainly hope not. I want my future husband to respect that I have ambitions and my ambitions don't always circle around him," Hermione explained with more warmth in her voice.
"Well...at least that makes sense!" Harry chirped.
"I wonder how long it's going to take to get the letters," Ron said, clumsily changing the subject. Somehow, beyond comprehension, it worked.
"Most importantly...would there would be enough legal jargon to make our heads explode?" Harry asked. It was a silly way to pose the question, but it held value nonetheless. No one in the trio had legal expertise, and it seemed like no one in their immediate circle would understand either. Seemed unethical. That's how it convinced people to be mindlessly obedient, they all supposed.
"I predict it would be difficult to parse on our own. Do wizards even have lawyers?" Hermione asked. Even if they were in over their heads, they figured with enough determination and curiosity, they would make it through. Or, at the very least, make sense of this newly enacted law.
Until then, the main goal was to get to Australia and find Hermione's parents.
"I had sent them to this address," Hermione said with shaken confidence. Harry took out a pocket map to orient everyone, and they marched forward. Their silence was not awkward: in fact, it marked their solemn determination to find the Grangers.
After a half an hour of speed walking, the once clear blue sky became dark with clouds. Except…there weren't any clouds.
Ron was the first to look up.
"Are those...owls?" His question was summarily answered when a rain of letters drowned Hermione, Ron, and Harry. Each letter had their names written on, and weighed the same amount, no doubt because it contained the same message.
To the wizard or witch reading this letter,
You are receiving this letter because you are a wizard or witch between eighteen and forty-five. Our population has dwindled significantly, and as wizardkind mourns the loss of many lives, so we must remember to gallantly move forward. In order to preserve our history, we must repopulate via matching-
Hermione crumpled up her version of the letter and threw it in the nearest trash can.
"Damn, what did your letter do to you?" Ron asked, incredulous. Her response was over the top, a little too angry for what the boys usually expected of her.
"I'm not going to subject myself to forceful copulation." Harry and Ron, the children they were at heart, laughed at Hermione's user of the word copulation. Typical of her to use big words when smaller ones could've done the trick.
"I'm serious!" Hermione added. "Don't you think it's too oppressive to think of history as simply more bodies?" Harry and Ron looked at each other meaningfully. Hermione sighed.
"How else would we preserve this kind of history?" Ron provided, his voice weak. Harry nodded vigorously.
"Books! Language, traditions, education. I mean, look who you're talking to." They laughed for a moment, their joy a brief respite to the serious tone of the conversation.
"Plus it sounds like eugenics. Why do we have to breed for specific traits? It's creepy." Harry and Ron, clutching their letters, fell silent to Hermione's rant, enraptured by her points. They had nothing to say because her points were valid and made sense, despite being born of what was essentially a rant.
"Hermione, I agree, and your points make sense. But...there's no breeding for specific traits? Nothing in the letter made reference to that, beyond having kids to repopulate," Harry explained in an attempt to calm down a seething Hermione.
"You're right. But my point still stands: being forced to marry is weird. Most importantly, what about my physical health during childbirth? You should care, Ron, you have a little sister."
Before she let Ron answer with the indignance of being put on the spot, Hermione uncrumpled her letter, straightened out the page in the best way she could to make sure it was legible and kept reading. It was pretty typical stuff, a law she expected to have come to fruition after what she had read prior to the angry outburst.
Upon further reading, Hermione noticed some fine print: requesting a spouse. How it became a part of the fine print in the law, Hermione would never know nor understand. Few people knew about it, because of the Ministry's fear of it being abused. A person was able to write a written request if someone found an age-appropriate mate; after sending in that written request, you'd have to fill out an in-depth questionnaire to determine compatibility.
However, the seemingly endless paperwork was hellacious and thorough enough to make even the most studious, meticulously law-abiding citizen cringe. There was a twelve-page essay portion explaining one's history with the requested spouse. Other parts of the essay included in-depth explanation of compatibility, many compelling reasons why the Ministry shouldn't set you up with someone of their choosing, and at least two recommendations explaining why this was a good decision.
The Ministry approved less than three percent of the applications that were submitted, and that alone deterred people.
Hermione, ever the academic, wanted to defy all odds in the best way she knew how: writing. A new task arose. Hermione wanted to be part of the small percentage of people who succeeded.
A new fork in the road popped up without her truly comprehending it's numerous, long-lasting consequences. Although the law put Hermione's sense of autonomy in question, her parents were still out here in sunny desert of Australia, blissfully unaware of her existence. It was her own fault, and even though she had this epiphany many times prior, that profound loss still struck a chord. Hermione couldn't decide she would not live in a world that demanded marriage on a timeline she could not control.
Hermione flipped a coin: heads meant she chose her parents, and tails meant she would start writing a letter to Kingsley Shacklebolt about the marriage law she was forced to abide by. A fiery fury that couldn't be extinguished started burning within. She was not about to marry the man chosen for her, but she would not let her parents down.
Heads.
"Come on you two, let's get out of the middle of the sidewalk. We've got parents to save," Hermione exclaimed, a sudden steeliness in her voice appearing. Harry felt his stomach tie into knots. Her newfound commanding presence startled Harry, because this decision felt out of character even though it made sense. Ron followed without question, his devotion to being useful unparalleled, matched only by Harry's equal amounts of devotion.
Hermione stood on her parents' porch, painted a sunshine yellow and peeling from the eternally beating sun. The cobblestone pathway to the porch added a quaint charm. The meticulous lawn, and precise placement of color-coded flowers in alphabetical order from acacia to zinnia ensured that the people who lived here were truly Hermione's parents.
She took another step and knocked twice. The door opened to reveal a woman wearing a tank top, cargo pants, and hiking boots, whose honey brown hair was put in a girlish ponytail. Her wire-frame glasses sat on her pointed nose. Something like recognition and warmth flickered across her face. The emotions didn't last long, though.
"Hello there, miss. Are you lost?" She had asked, her tone curt yet curious.
"Not particularly. Are you Eve Clark? Is your husband Declan?" She asked, and Harry flinched at her unwavering bluntness. The woman, who Harry guessed was Eve, looked taken aback.
"I'm Hermione Granger and I have something incredibly important to tell you. May I come in?" Eve let her in. Harry and Ron were left to idle around their yard. Not wanting to be taken for trespassers, the boys took a walk around the block to sight-see.
"What do you think Hermione's saying to her parents right now?" Harry wondered aloud. Ron shrugged.
"I can't imagine it's all that fun," Ron said.
"Well, duh, it's hard. You can't deny that. It's probably boring stuff. 'I'm your daughter, and you got amnesia', or something," Harry predicted. The third time around the block blurred into a few dozen. Every ten minutes for the past forty minutes, Harry made sure to check on the yard to see if Hermione returned.
"But how is she going to explain the amnesia? It's not like there's a justifiable medical reason for this to happen," Ron said, after double-checking Hermione hadn't returned from her confrontation.
"Maybe she said they went into witness protection from a burglary?" Harry said.
"Too far-fetched. But it might work if Hermione plays her cards right," Ron responded. They had veered off course of walking around the block to include more blocks around this house, but made sure to stay relatively close in case something happened.
When Ron and Harry returned to the Clark house, Hermione sat on the porch. Her head was slumped into her hands.
"Let's go, Hermione," Harry said, and Ron gave his hand so he could lead her away.
"Is it okay that I don't really want to talk about how the confrontation went right now?" Hermione asked through sniffles. She was about to cry, and any prodding would bring on the waterworks.
"Of course," Harry said, keeping his voice soft.
"Now we have another two days until we get back to England. What should we do while we're here?" Ron asked, his itch for adventure awoken.
There was more to do in Australia than remember the wedge in Hermione's relationships with her parents.