November 9th, 1998
Department of Mysteries—Ministry of Magic
"That's indecent." Gerald Greengrass looked affronted.
Hermione bit her tongue before she could retort that it wasn't his daughter that would get farmed out for baby-making.
"From a purely scientific standpoint, that's how we save our world. Again. Unless," she looked at Arthur, "we're going to kidnap Muggle women and resort to slavery. Sex slavery."
Arthur returned her gaze with the look of a frustrated father who knows he is being provoked. "How do we account for family ties? We don't want to set later generations up for failure because we didn't take the dispersement of…"
"Wombs?" Hermione offered.
"…into account." Arthur looked a bit sheepish about his concern.
Hermione nodded. "We'd have to group men accordingly." She looked at Healer Pye. "If each Weasley son is assigned to a different women, in two generations we'll have some serious issues with blood lines intermarrying, right? Assuming we have enough fertile women for it to matter, it would be better have a load of half-siblings from brothers raised as such, who won't be interested in each other when they start thinking about children. If the following generation can resist marrying their cousins, we should be fine, from a genetic standpoint."
Healer Pye nodded his head in agreement. As she glanced around the rest of the room, she noted various reactions. Percy looked pensive, but slightly disgusted; Lucius and Severus were wearing the trademark Slytherin mask of neutrality; Greengrass and Brett Davies, the legal representative who had been present at the initial meeting two weeks before, were speaking in low voices and occasionally glaring her way. She turned back to the Unspeakables and waited.
"What will you do with these children, if their parents are unmarried? Who will provide for them?"
Hermione shrugged. "I would assume the witches who will be giving birth will eventually settle down, so maybe they'll keep the children. Maybe the fathers will want to raise their offspring. I would imagine that's a personal decision for her and whatever partners she may have. That seems like an issue that could be addressed-or at least made provisions for, if we want a lighter legislative hand-in the bill."
"What about infertile women?" asked Gerald Greengrass. "They might want to take in children."
Hermione nodded, knowing he was thinking of Daphne. "That's true. And without a marriage law, we wouldn't preclude those women from getting married. While it's not ideal, we could encourage fertile witches to act as surrogates to couples who cannot conceive."
"And how do you propose going about conception? I can't imagine too many witches would be comfortable with their husband sleeping with another witch, particularly if pregnancy doesn't take immediately."
Hermione just stared at the Unspeakables. "Are you a wizard or not? We have fertility potions and rites to promote conception; it's not fool-proof, but it certainly helps. We can legalize the use of lust potions—heavily regulated, of course—to encourage couples who feel they need them. If infertile witches have a problem with it, well, we're all making sacrifices. That seems like an issue to be negotiated between the three involved parties. The Ministry can't regulate everything, you know."
"Well, haven't you just solved all the crises then?" The Unspeakable bit out his question.
"I did a sight better than you, and with a fraction of the time," Hermione spit back. "But maybe having a witch involved in these decisions—you know, the decisions you're all making about them—brought a new perspective to things. Who would've thought?"
Arthur decided to interrupt before wands were drawn. "OK, so a procreation bill. We require fertile women to have children. How many? How often? With how many different men? How do we determine the groupings of men? Do we require all men to participate?"
"Yes."
All the men looked at Hermione.
"What?" she asked. "Are you giving women who can bear children a choice to participate?"
The Unspeakable who didn't speak often scoffed. "Of course not! We have a finite number of resources."
"Exactly," said Hermione. "If we're considering women's fertility a resource, then we must consider men's genetic material as a resource." She glanced around the room. "Which of you would chose not to participate if you weren't forced to it?" She looked long at Severus, who returned her gaze.
"You know I would not."
"Exactly. And that would be a travesty. You're a wizard with genes that are markedly different from any other wizard in Britain. The a combination of the last remaining Prince and a Muggle? This project couldn't ask for better genetic make-up." Not to mention tall, dark, and, if not conventionally handsome, then striking. But she wouldn't editorialize.
She looked to Severus's right and sighed. "Just because someone is paired up does not mean they'll have another child this year or even next. Many people are still in mourning for their loved ones. I can't imagine what it would mean to lose your wife and then be asked to have a baby with someone you barely know." Her gaze drifted from Lucius to Gerald Greengrass. "But if forced breeding is the step we're taking—and, as grotesque as it sounds, that's exactly what we're discussing—then we need as much diverse genetic make up as possible."
"And what about someone like me, Hermione," Arthur asked. "Molly is still alive. We have six sons."
Hermione shrugged. "I would normally say that's a question for Unspeakables, but as it seems that they fail to grasp even the most basic concepts of genetics, bloodlines, and inbreeding, I wouldn't hold my breath." She took a deep breath. "Though I imagine as Minister, it would be frowned on if you required this of everyone but then exempted yourself."
Arthur looked despondent. Hermione felt pity for the man; three months into his term and it was disaster after disaster, and that was from a purely political standpoint. She couldn't imagine what Molly would say to Arthur having a child with another woman.
"You know we cannot pursue this until we understand how the plague would affect future female children, right?" Severus looked at the Unspeakables. "It would be unethical."
"I agree," said Hermione, "though I think the problem could be somewhat alleviated by pairings. If you pair pure-bloods with Muggle-borns, you already have as half-blood as you can get without involving Muggles. There will be a little more finagling with pairing half-bloods, but that's an issue for Arithmancy Masters. But to your point, there must be more research on the plague. Not just for future children, but for re-opening our borders and bringing British citizens abroad home." Bringing Luna home.
"And if we find an antidote for the plague, or at least determine it's safe to bear female children?" asked Lucius.
The table turned to Hermione. She knew what they wanted. She knew as soon as the Unspeakables laid out the problem what this would mean.
"Then you set me up with a gaggle of pure-blood men and slap me on the front of The Prophet. We all know I'm going to be the goddam poster-child for this travesty."
November 11th, 1998
Number 12 Grimmauld Place
It was only three o'clock, but Hermione was sipping her second firewhisky of the day as she went over the results the Arithmancers from the DoM had sent. It wasn't that she didn't think they could do their job, but after Monday's fiasco with the Unspeakables she wasn't taking any chances. Their calculations looked sound, if horrifying: every fertile woman of child-bearing age would be partnered with 5-7 men, and she would be expected to bear at least two children to each. Barring health complications, each man must have a child within ten years of the bill's inception. Accounting for standard health complications and death rates, this was the bare minimum they could do to ensure Wizarding Britain's survival.
Ten children, minimum, thought Hermione. Fuck.
From the library, she heard the roar of the Floo in the drawing room. She knew Harry was upstairs resting—he'd taken a leave of absence from the DMLE after Ginny's death and was only barely functional enough to care for his godson. Sirius, in an effort to give Harry a break, had taken Teddy to a park a few blocks away. She looked toward the door and saw a familiar shock of white-blond hair.
"Granger."
"Malfoy."
If one could gracefully plop, it would be Draco Malfoy. All long lines and designer robes and aristocratic features, he dropped unceremoniously into the seat across from her.
"Accio tumbler."
A glass flew off the table and into his hand, and he slid it toward her. She opened the bottle of Blishen's and poured him two fingers.
"Make it a double."
She quirked an eyebrow and filled the glass another two fingers. He swirled the glass, staring at the amber liquid, before knocking it all back in one gulp.
"I'm no expert, but I'm pretty sure this is sipping firewhisky. If you wanted the cheap shit I have a bottle of Ogden's around here somewhere."
"And you're in a 'sipping' mood?"
"At three in the afternoon I am. Ask me again in a couple hours."
Draco eyed the folder in front of her. "Arithmancy results?"
She closed her eyes and huffed. "What part of highly confidential does your father not understand?" She glanced up. "How much do you know?"
"Everything. If it helps, he made me take a wizard's oath to not reveal any information to anyone not already in the know. Thus, my presence in your esteemed company." His slight bow to her was mocking, but lacked contempt.
She rolled her eyes and shoved the folder at him. As he read through the results, she finished her glass and poured them both another. It probably was time to pull out that Ogden's, she thought.
"Fuck."
"You're telling me. Except, oh wait, I'm the lucky one who has the distinct privilege of sleeping with five to seven men the Ministry decides to pair me with, and then pop out at least ten kids for said men. Tell me again how bad you have it, Malfoy?"
"How about the part where my fucking fiancée died, leaving me alone in a Merlin-forsaken world where, to have the family I want, I have to share my children's mother with four to six other men?"
A blush rose to Hermione's cheeks. "I'm sorry. I know you and Astoria genuinely cared for one another, and I know that's rare in arranged marriages."
The sipped their firewhisky in silence.
"Harry isn't in great shape either."
"Well bully for us. Perhaps we should start a support group. The Dead Girlfriends Club? Although, unlike my other social circles, this isn't really an exclusive group."
"I guess you've moved on to the 'anger and bargaining' phase then?"
"What?"
"The seven stages of grief. Muggle psychological taxonomy. When you're grieving, you go through a process. Harry is still in the 'pain and guilt' stage, but you seem to have moved on to 'anger and bargaining.'" She stood. "Snack?"
"Crisps if you've got them." She left, and returned from the kitchen with a bag of crisps, which she threw at him, and an apple.
"So, Father tells me you're going to be the poster child for whatever law the Ministry decides to institute."
She nodded. "Makes sense. I'm a Muggle-born war heroine known to have a good head on her shoulders. If anyone should be fighting this bill, it's me. But I can also see the bigger picture, as I've been working on this since the beginning, and from an objective standpoint we have no choice. I have no choice." She segmented the apple with her wand and held a piece in her finger. "Doesn't mean I'm even remotely happy about it." She examined the first slice before eating it. "It could be worse."
"You could be dead."
"I could be dead."