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Chapter 3

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Hermione slammed her bedroom door behind her, flinging her blazer onto her bed as she fumed. How could they? Harry? Kingsley? They'd all but ambushed her at the Ministry. She'd thought she was going to discuss her future with Kingsley, possibly get a job offer or two, but as soon as she'd opened the Minister's door and seen Harry's mopey mug, she'd recognized the trap.

She just hadn't known it would be this bad.

Collapsing onto her bed, Hermione grabbed one of her pillows, buried her face in it and screamed like a banshee. A bloody marriage law! Letters with Ministry-approved matches were being sent out tomorrow and Kings had called her in to offer her an out. No doubt believing that the short time frame would pressure her into accepting his generous offer.

Only the offer hadn't been generous at all. Either Hermione could cut all ties with family and friends and become an Unspeakable or she could wait for the letter to arrive in the morning and accept her fate. Her screams turned to sobs as she remembered how Harry had encouraged her to take Kings up on the offer. "You'd be so amazing at it, Mione. Think of the things you could do. We'd miss you, but it's not like you're around much anyway."

The sodding arsehole.

Screams turned to sobs and before Hermione knew it she was hugging the pillow to her chest as her tears stained the bedding. It hurt to know her best friend thought a life without her in it wouldn't be any different than it was now. It hurt to know that a man she trusted, a man she had helped become the Minister, thought he could blackmail her into the Department of Mysteries. What hurt the most, though, was knowing that both of them believed she would be happy with that kind of solitary, anonymous existence. For that was what being an Unspeakable meant–giving up her name, her friends, her family and her future for the good of the Ministry.

The same damn Ministry that had tried to kill or imprison her more than once.

"What about Ron?" she'd asked.

"I love you, Mione," Harry had said, sitting next to her on the settee in Kingsley's office. "But you don't honestly think you'd be happy with Ron, do you? You're too smart to pander to his every whim for the rest of your life. You'll be bored in months. Ron will be fine without you. He'll find a nice, boring gal to settle down with and have a gaggle of children while he and Neville save the world."

At least Harry had been right about that, Hermione thought, wiping her face and sitting up. Though where he'd learned a word like "pander", she'd never know. Hermione looked down at the beautiful ring that still felt too heavy on her finger. The rubies caught the light from her bedroom window and she frowned. As much as she loved Ron, she hadn't been able to picture a future with him in a long time. It was part of the reason they'd never moved further in their relationship. Nevertheless, wouldn't Ron be a better match for her than some random Ministry-Appointed wizard? Or the forced spinsterhood Kingsley and Harry thought to push her into?

Wrenching the ring from her finger, Hermione flung that across the room. It bounced off the wall and rattled down the back of a bookshelf. It didn't much matter, did it? By tomorrow morning she'd either be an Unspeakable or engaged to another wizard. Any future she could have had with Ron in it was gone. His Weasley temper would rear its ugly head and their friendship would be hanging on by a thread by the time he finished chewing her out for yet another thing that wasn't her fault. Hermione sniffed and shook her head. None of her options were good.

Two abrupt knocks sounded on her bedroom door–her mother–and Hermione quickly dried her face on the blankets.

"Come in," she said, not even bothering to sound happy about the intrusion.

Jean Granger strolled through the door with a smile on her face. Hermione didn't miss the way her mom's gaze skated across her belongings, no doubt making sure there wasn't anything magical on display. Fatigued by the constant scrutiny, Hermione scooted back on her bed until her back was pressed against the headboard and closed her eyes. Her mum would let her know why she was there when she was good and ready, so there was no point in filling the silence with small talk.

More quickly than she had thought, the bed sagged as her mom joined her on it. Opening her eyes, Hermione met the blue-grey gaze of her mum.

"Did you have a nice visit with that teacher?" Jean asked.

"Hmmm," Hermione confirmed, knowing from experience that words were dangerous. Her mom was a master at picking up nuances in her speech that weren't there. Yet another source of tension Hermione had unwittingly created when she'd saved her parents' lives.

"That's nice, dear," Jean said, patting her leg. Hermione tried not to twitch under the touch–her mum hadn't so much as brushed her shoulder in passing in six years. "I took some time today to go through the brochures from Oxford."

"Oh." At the raised eyebrow from her mother, Hermione tried to temper the unpleasantly surprised sound that escaped her with an interested expression. "Were they informative?" she added.

"Very. I remember how much you liked that class–the one with the mean professor. What was it called? Poisons or Pots?"

"Potions?"

"Yes," Jean said, smiling and patting Hermione's leg again. "Potions. And I found this brochure and thought it sounded just perfect for you."

Accepting the glossy brochure from her mother, Hermione glanced at the title before unfolding it and reading some of the "fun facts" from inside.

"Biochemistry?" Hermione asked, bewildered. Science had never been her forté. Once, in elementary school, she had thrown up all over the frog she was supposed to be dissecting. Later, in a summer program for gifted students, she'd accidentally added the wrong ingredient to a chemistry test and the resulting explosion had burned a hole through the tile floor. Of course, if her teachers had been even a quarter as intense and foreboding as Snape, Hermione suspected she would have fared better.

"Why biochemistry?" Hermione stared at her mum like the woman had grown a dragon head.

Jean plucked the brochure from Hermione's fingers, humming to herself as she looked over the bold print and stationary pictures of scientists and test tubes. "Because it's just like Poisons class, darling. Only it's real."

Her mum's words were a sucker-punch. Hermione felt the blow of her words as a bruising, air-sucking pain in her gut. Barely managing to bite back her gasp, she closed her eyes and counted to ten, breathing in through her nostrils and out through her mouth. Tears burned the back of her eyelids, begging for release, and Hermione shook her head.

"Potions is very real, mom," she finally said.

"Psh. It may be real to those people but you live in our world now. It's time to get your head out of the clouds and do something useful. Tomorrow morning we're going to sit down and fill out an application for Oxford. You can pick a major or I will pick one for you. By this time next year you'll hardly even notice that you're doing biochemistry and not Poisons."

Laughing mirthlessly, Hermione sat up straight and tucked her legs under her. She all but sneered at her mother as words Hermione hadn't even known she was holding back tumbled out of her. "Tomorrow morning? Ha! Tomorrow morning a marriage law goes into effect and I'll be getting a letter with the name of my future husband in it. I know you don't want to deal with the fact that your only daughter is a witch, mother, but I am. And I've lived in that world long enough to know that no husband the Ministry chooses for me will let me get a muggle degree in Biochemistry when I could be a Potions Mistress or work for the Ministry or teach at Hogwarts."

The perfect, glossy brochure crumbled and tore under Jean's hands and the woman leaped up from Hermione's bed. "I told you to never say that word in my house."

Hermione jumped up from her bed as well, squaring off with her mother as her magic swirled angrily inside her. "Muggle? Or Magic? I fought for the right to exist in both worlds, mom. Muggle and Magical. I nearly died so I can use my magic and be respected the same as Draco bloody Malfoy can. I sacrificed everything! And I damn well didn't do it so you could tell me that who I am is wrong."

"It is wrong!" Jean screeched, her face turning red. "You chose them over us when you used your magic against us. You choose that world over us every day. You think I don't see it. You think I don't feel it. But I can. I felt it when you dissected my mind. I felt it when you tried to put the puzzle back together again. I feel it every day when your hand twitches, when you think you're hiding your little spells, when you lie to me so you can run off to that world. To Harry and Ron and people who never even liked you. But you're not hiding it. You're flaunting your power over us and it's wrong. You're wrong."

"Mom," Hermione deflated instantly. She thought she had known how upset her mother was over the memory thing but clearly she'd been wrong. She wished there was a way to explain, to make it clear that if she hadn't taken such drastic measures, they would all be dead. Reaching for her mom, Hermione bit her lip when Jean flinched away from her touch. "Mom, I'm sorry. I was protecting you. The only way I knew how. I never meant to hurt you."

"Well you did. And you are. And if you're going to continue to live in that world then you'd better hope whatever husband your government chooses for you wants to get married soon. Because I won't have you living under my roof any longer. Not if you continue to play with magic."

Bellatrix's cursed knife hadn't cut as deep as her mother's words. Hermione grabbed onto her headboard for support as her legs threatened to fall out from under her. "What are you saying?"

Jean tossed the now mangled remains of the Biochemistry brochure onto Hermione's bed and stared at her daughter with a look that so closely resembled Lucius Malfoy's disdain, Hermione wondered for a moment if they could be distant relations. "I'm saying that you either snap your wand and forget all about that world or I want you gone by tomorrow morning."

"Mom," Hermione shook her head, her knuckles turning white as she gripped onto the headboard and tried to remain standing. She failed and sat down, heavy, onto her bed. "Mom, you can't ask that of me. Please. Magic is as much a part of me as my mind or my heart or my soul. You don't know what you're asking. Please."

But apparently her mother was serious. Hermione watched as Jean Granger walked calmly to the door, as if she hadn't just given her only child an impossible ultimatum. One that, because Hermione was magical, was as binding as any wand oath ever made.

With one last glance at her daughter, Jean frowned. "Have a nice life, then."


Thanks so much for continuing to read!

Blessings.