No one's gonna take me alive
The time has come to make things right
You and I must fight for our rights
You and I must fight to survive
Hermione struggled to remember a time when her life wasn't complicated.
Even before being immersed in the magical world, there had been complications. Her gran's illness, her parents' financial struggles whilst her father finished off dental school, and their attempts to hide the little 'accidents' that seemed to plague her childhood. Disappearing toys, objects moving across the room without any explanation, and that one time all their furniture ended up on the roof.
Of course, she now knew it was a burst of accidental magic. At the time, though, there didn't seem to be a plausible explanation for their gifted child's little quirks.
Once introduced to magic, Hermione had assumed it would fix all their problems. With explanations for all of the unusual occurrences that seemed to follow her around, well, surely her life had to have been on the up and up? It was almost laughable how wrong she had been, for the story of her adolescence was now so well known there were bloody books on the subject—as in multiple.
The Magical Life of Hermione Granger—The Brightest Witch of Her Age. A rather long title for what she deemed a dreadfully boring biography.
Harry's Muggleborn. Even now, married to him, she still quite disliked that title. She was many things, but most certainly not anyone's property.
Her least favorite, though, had to be the collection of work Rita Skeeter put together shortly after her twentieth birthday. How Womanhood Won The War of Potter's Heart. It was nearly five hundred bloody pages of nonsense on how Hermione used her sexual prowess to help Harry—as if having a vagina trumped any sort of actual logic and skill she possessed.
Regardless of the awful books and articles, the fact remained the same: her life from age eleven onward was an open book—even if she hadn't wanted it to be.
Which is why, for those few short few weeks following their marriage, when she was happily married to both James and Harry, she should have known something was coming. She'd assumed they'd weathered the storm, but the truth was that they had been in the eye, blissfully unaware of the destruction and wreckage that was waiting for them.
Shortly after returning home following James' arrest, an owl arrived carrying a letter from the Minister himself. It informed James that he was released of his duties as Head of the DMLE effective immediately. No thanks was given for his years of service. No mention of his war efforts. Nothing. Just two hastily written lines and a sloppy signature.
Hermione knew James was upset, but he refused to show it. Courageous in the face of adversity like any good Gryffindor, he simply tucked the letter back in the envelope and slid it into his office drawer. No outward reaction had been given, but in the privacy of the night, when he'd assumed Harry and her were both long asleep in their marital bed, he slipped from the safety of the covers and disappeared down the hall.
She could hear the soft sound of his tears, small broken sobs echoing down the hallway from where he hid in the study, likely re-reading the apathetic dismissal from a man he'd once considered a friend.
She longed to go after him, to kiss the tears that slipped down his cheeks, nuzzle the moisture from his skin, and remind him he was more than just his job. She wanted to tell him that h was her husband, one half of the love of her life, and what they were doing, what they were all doing was so much more important than any position he would ever hold within the Ministry.
But as much as she wanted to tiptoe down the hallway and comfort him, she knew he needed this moment—he needed to shed these tears.
It wasn't weakness, nor sorrow over the loss of his job. It wasn't selfishness nor the loss of his status. It wasn't even the loss of income. No, she knew the tears he shed all too well.
Frustration. Anger. Injustice.
James was furious at what had become of the Ministry he'd dedicated his life to protecting. They'd turned their backs on him—on his family—after years of service. And this mistreatment ran deeper than just the three of them. Evident by the warrant that had been the catalyst for his dismissal, it appeared it was more than just the Potters who'd found happiness together. If how the Ministry's handled the first issue of the Decree was any indication, the future that awaited those who wanted to defend their polyamorous marriages was not going to be pleasant.
It had taken three days for Hermione to set aside her pride and formulate a plan—or rather, the beginnings of one.
If they were going to have any chance at preserving not only their union, but also changing the definition of marriage to not only includemulti-partner marriages, but also same-sex couples, they were going to need someone who understood the current laws in place.
James was a pureblood, familiar with ancient customs, but the Potters had always sat on the outskirts of society, considered black sheep for their acceptance and support of Muggles into magical society. Even before his first marriage, they were never considered a part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, and thus, would never be able to garner support from the Wizengamot members whose votes they needed the most.
No, they needed someone with a connection. Someone who understood the culture, who could speak on their behalf and help them navigate the complexities of the political climate that felt more foreign than familiar to Hermione and both of her husbands.
This need, and the initiate competitive streak inside her that wanted nothing more than to bring Pius to his knees, fueled the fire inside her. It kept her up at night, trying to find the perfect person to help bridge the Magical and Muggle views.
Every time she looked over the list of people she knew, contacts she'd made within the Ministry, friends, family and business associates, she always came back to one name.
One particular person who she swore she would never speak to again.
One person whose family name still made her straighten her spine and prickled the skin on the back of her neck with unease.
"Granger."
Hermione lifted her eyes from the cup of black tea in front of her, milky ribbons still rolling through the almost black liquid. It had been ages—at least four, maybe five years—since she'd seen him last, but even now, she recognized that thatch of platinum hair.
"Malfoy."
Pushing up from the table, she brushed her hand across the outside of her thigh, hoping to pull the moisture from her palm before she extended her hand towards him.
Grey eyes flickered between her extended hand and her face, as if stuck in some debate about the propriety of touching her, and for half a moment, she wondered if he was going to decline. She couldn't blame him, the only other time they'd ever actually touched had been third year when she'd slapped him. But still, years had passed, the world was changing, and surely he was beyond that… Wasn't he?
Lifting his hand from his trouser pocket, long fingers curled around her palm and he gave her a firm handshake that felt much too clinical. His head inclined ever so slightly in a silent greeting, and just as quickly as his hand found hers, he pulled back.
"Thank you for meeting me. I've ordered a pot of Earl Gray and some scones if you're peckish." Hermione returned to her seat, hands smoothing across her abdomen, trying to pull the wrinkles from her blouse.
"I don't make a habit of eating with potential clients." Draco unbuttoned the single button on his blazer, pulling the sides of his sport coat open as he claimed the seat across from her. "I would say I was surprised to receive your owl, but word travels fast. Despite my obvious elation at your humility, I am going to warn you that even with all the gold in the Potters' vaults, I'm not sure you'll be able to afford my services."
After the trials that succeeded the war's end, the only living Malfoy had gone into hiding of sorts. His name vanished from the papers, no mention of his comings and goings, no pictures depicting the pointy blond hiding from paparazzi—avoiding reporters by ducking into shops. He had fallen completely off the radar, only to resurface two years ago when he opened his firm.
From what the articles had said, he'd used his solitude to further his education with a focus on Magical Law. He spent time in the Americas—both northern and southern—studying legal proceedings under the best lawyers in all of the Magical world.
His specialty laid in criminal trials, often defending celebrities and Pureblood families from sentences in Azkaban, and thus, he was able to charge obscene rates to make up for the pro bono cases his firm took on. It seemed, from what Hermione could tell, he was using his budding legal team as a means of reparation for the years of damage his family had done.
It seemed admirable, his charity work and activism in the Magical world, but then again, he was still a Malfoy, and surely everything came at some sort of price.
"Oh, I have no intention of paying for your services." Hermione picked up her steaming mug, taking a slow sip of her tea, and watching as Malfoy bristled across from her. His eyes flickered with mild interest and something akin to incredulity. The porcelain tinked softly against the glass top as she set her mug back down on the table. She lifted her hand to silence him before he could begin to protest. "Rather, I was hoping this particular business venture might be mutually beneficial. Maybe even beneficial enough for you to work for free."
She could see him stiffen, the thick muscle that ran the length of his jaw tightening as his eyes narrowed. He was trying to read her, find the hidden meaning in her words. She had spent a number of years on the opposite side of that critical stare, but much to her surprise, now it did not cause the same feelings of ill-contempt.
Perhaps it was age.
Or maybe knowing she had the upper hand.
Whatever the case may be, she leaned back in her chair with a smug smile lifting the corners of her lips, her eyebrow cocking in silent challenge.
"Why on Earth would I ever do that?" Draco shifted in his chair, long legs crossing over one another. He reached out to pluck a scone from the plate, snapping the corner piece off before popping it into his mouth.
"Because I know about your family's reluctance to dissolve your marriage."
If looks could kill, Hermione was certain the snap judgement that cut through his gaze would have eviscerated her. The scone betwixt his fingers crumbled over the table as his fingers instinctively flexed. "You don't know the first thing—"
"Actually, I do." Hermione lifted her hand as she interrupted him. Waving her hand over the mess he'd made, the confection vanished. She scooted closer to plant her elbows on the table, leaning in so her words didn't carry beyond the safety of their table. "Malfoy, I did not ask you here to pass judgement. On the contrary, I came to offer my support. I am not sure how your family intends on handling the amendment with the Decree, but it should be no surprise that we—my husbands and I—intend to fight it."
"Our intentions are none of your, or the Ministry's business." Draco brushed the stray crumbs off his trousers, grey eyes still storming with malice behind long blond lashes.
"I don't disagree. I was just hoping you all might—"
"Might what? Come out publicly in support? Become a part of Hermione Granger's next charity case?" Scoffing, he clenched his jaw, indignation rippling off his person, filling the tiny space that separated him with the sharp sizzle of magic. "Not all of us are afforded the luxury of being able to speak out against the Ministry. We're not all bloody war heroes. Some of us were the villains."
"I would never ask anything that compromised the terms of your…your…" The word felt thick of her tongue, heavy and foreboding—even now. It was still strange to think that the man she sat across from bore the mark of a group that hated the very existence of her kind. But she had to remind herself that his involvement in their cause, although not slight, was forced.
He was just a child when it all began.
No different than Harry.
No different than herself.
"My parole," Draco finished for her, tongue sliding across his lips.
"Yes. Your parole. Look, Malfoy, just...just let me show you something, okay?" She was already moving, bending to snatch her bag off the ground, when his protests began. She knew this meeting was a long shot. He was the best private barrister Galleons could buy, and frankly, the history than ran between the two families was almost as murky as the Capulets and Montagues.
The Malfoy-Potter feud began decades before either Draco or Harry were born, and it was evident they made no effort to ease the tension between the two ancient households.
Opening her beaded bag, she ignored his thinly veiled protests and withdrew the thick file she'd composed over the last forty-eight hours before setting it in front of him.
"What is that?" Draco didn't touch the manila folder. Instead, he opted to narrow his eyes on his, a sneer lifting the corner of his lips as if its mere presence had personally offended him.
"That is just the beginning of our case. I still have some more text to review, but I'd say it's a solid start." Clearing her throat, Hermione shot a quick glance over each shoulder before picking up her wand off the table and casting a Muffiato over their table. "That is the history of non-monogamous marriages in the Wizarding World. Strangely enough, it also seems to correlate with same-sex marriages. The history of what I've cataloged as non-traditional marriages is actually quite extensive within the Wizarding World—far more in-depth and accepted than that in with Muggle history—but that's not really important…yet."
Reaching over the teapot, she flipped open the folder, awkwardly shuffling through the parchment copies she'd made until she found the document in question. "This is the first iteration of The Magical Marriage Act of 1621."
"I am familiar with the law, Granger."
"Yes, but—" Sliding the document over, she began to uncover copies of periodicals printed during the year of the law's implementation. Moving each of them across the table, she began to cover every inch of available surface in front of the blond. "Look at these articles. None of them call forth the law being problematic due to the nature of the plural marriage, only the issue with the Ministry choosing their intended. Which I found exceedingly odd until I pulled a copy of the marital law in force during that time. It was implemented more than fifty years before that back in 1550."
She shuffled through the stack once more, pushing papers about until she found the right copy and tugged it from the stack. "Not only is there no law prohibiting plural marriage, but there are literally regulations regarding how many spouses a single person can have—regardless of sex or ethnicity."
Draco's brows furrowed, grey eyes flickering between the pages before he slowly leaned forward to pick up one of the news articles. She could see the gears inside his mind churn to life, the slow flicker of acknowledgment of what this could mean followed by the spark of curiosity.
"Malfoy, this is just the beginning. From what I can gather, the institution of one wizard to witch marriage was introduced around the same time Christianity flourished in the United Kingdom. We literally changed our laws to reflect a more conservative stance in line with that of the Muggle population. If…if you're willing to help, we could go in front of the Wizengamot and show them unequivocal proof that what we are proposing is not some… some fetish, but rather something so deeply ingrained in the history of Magic—"
Draco lifted his hand to silence her, eyes slicing over the top of the parchment, halting her words. He picked up page after page, examining each with a level of scrutiny she was all too familiar with after spending years alongside him in Scotland.
Biting her bottom lip, Hermione willed herself into silence. She watched as his index finger glided across the parchment. His eyes widened when he came across a key word or phrase and then he tapped his bottom lip in thought before picking up a new piece of evidence from the table.
It was tortuous watching him slowly absorb the content she'd painstakingly spent the better part of two days collecting.
Worse was her complete inability to read his thoughts.
She could tell he was curious, intrigued by the history she'd uncovered in her one-woman quest to defend her marriage, but his interest did not necessarily translate to him being willing to help her fight the single source of power that ran their world.
"So…Will you do it?"
She broke the silence after what felt like an entity, and the maroon polish that had perfectly covered her fingernails was now in bits, scattered across her thighs as she nervously picked at her nails.
Draco glanced up, a momentary look of shock colouring his eyes as if he'd forgotten she was sitting across from him, waiting eagerly for a response. A small, unreadable noise slipped from his throat as he straightened his spine, adjusting his seat in the chair before he began to collect the papers and slide them back into the manila folder.
She could feel her heart sink as she watched him pick up the mess she'd made, and while she knew Malfoy was not the end-all-be-all in terms of private barristers, she had hoped his own personal interest in the case might be enough to give them an advantage when taking on the Wizengamot.
She was a war hero, as were both of her husbands, but when it came to the pureblood families that ran their government, well…The Potter name only held so much clout.
He closed the file, long fingers resting on its cover for half a second too long, before he rose from the chair, moving to button his sport coat "If we're going to have any sort of chance at this, which I doubt we will, but if we have a shot at convincing them, we're going to need to find others willing to stand with us—preferably not children of any former Death Eaters."
The lump in her chest fell into her stomach, the hope that had felt like it was slipping through her fingers returned, filling her body and soul until she could feel the excitement slip from her pores and fill their little corner of the café with her magic. "You'll help?"
"I'll do what I can." He picked up the file, tucking it under his arm. "No promises—especially if we cannot find others."
"Don't worry about that!" Hermione stood up quickly, her chair screeching across the tile floor in her haste. "I'll find others."
"You better." His tongue ran across his teeth, grey eyes flickering over her face, apathy masking his own emotions, but she could tell, even from a distance, that there was something glimmering in the silver flecks of his eyes. Hope.
"I'll be in touch." With a single nod of his head, Draco turned from her, his loafers purposefully snapping against the floor.
She began to ease back into her seat, a smile stretching wide across her lips, as she allowed that four letter emotion that shone in his gaze to fill her. They had a chance. With his help, she was almost certain they would be able to do this.
"Oh…Granger."
Hermione pulled her eyes up from where she'd lost focus on the table, turning her chair to find him lingering just a few steps away. "Yes?"
"Thank you." Those were two words she was almost certain she'd never heard him utter. Even now, after watching them slip off his tongue, she wondered if she's misheard him through the ambient nose of the café.
Her brow furrowed, nose wrinkling just slightly as she cocked her head to the side. "What?"
"Thank you…" The words hung idly between them. "For doing what you did. Standing up against the Amendment. Reading about it is what gave us the courage to fight back. We figured if you lot could do it, then members of a proper house could as well."
A nervous laugh bubbled up her throat, brows slowly creeping up her forehead in surprise as she watched him shift uncomfortably between the balls of his feet. While pride was an obvious Malfoy trait, it appeared showing gratitude was still something he struggled with after all these years.
"Oh. Uh…you're welcome?"
No verbal response was given, just a single dip of his head, his eyes closing in time, as if to silently portray his appreciation for her efforts. He spun on his heel, making a quick escape from the bustling café, leaving her sitting at the table feeling equal parts excitement and confusion.
She knew she couldn't linger long. She had people to contact, ancient law to research, and husbands to inform of the latest updates in their fight. But she was going to allow herself just a moment—a few precious minutes—to bask in the blissful hope of what could be. She knew that while fighting the Ministry these moments of tranquility were going to be few and far between.
Author's Note:
Hey! it's been a while. /hides in shame
I hope you don't hate the wait, my muse went cold and only recently has decided to show her face. I have a couple chapter buffer, far less than I would like to but I didn't want to keep you waiting even a second longer.
until next time. xx
Song: Knights of Cyndonia by Muse
