Author: Lucinda
Rated T for teen
Disclaimer: the setting and any specific recognizable characters of the Harry Potter world belong to JK Rowling, who is not me.
Set in a somewhat AU post-book 7.
. . . . . . . . . . . . .
The second rise of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and his Death Eaters had been ended by the valiant efforts of Harry Potter in a dramatic and terrifying and also quite confusing battle at Hogwarts. There were people claiming Harry Potter had died, while others insisted he hadn't but had only pretended to be dead, and others insisting there had been clever spells or potions involved. Everyone was quite relieved the fighting and the disappearance and the horrific gory deaths were over, even if quite a few people were still confused on details. And many people had died.
The Ministry was quite concerned about how many people had died, and the proportionately high number of them who had been purebloods of old and sometimes quite wealthy families. Some people were rather less concerned that those same dead purebloods may have been cooperating with the Dark Lord. The important part was that even when counting the mud – err, muggle born and the muggle born who hadn't yet been contacted, the numbers of active magical within the British Isles were at the lowest point they'd been in centuries.
Members of the Ministry were certain Something Had To Be Done. As were many members of the Wizengamot.
Not even a month after the final battle, some of the Wizengamot were agitating about enacting laws to force witches and wizards to marry, to demand children to increase the shockingly dwindled population. Ideas were being tossed out about demanding children within the first few years, about forbidding any sort of contraceptive magic or potions, and greedy whispers about who would control the joint finances. Certain groups started angling to manipulate pairings for their own benefits.
This was brought to a confused stumble when they entered the Great Hall of the Wizengamot to discover the Ministry's Seal on the floor was gone, replaced by a strange crest nobody would admit to recognizing. The same one was on the wall, replacing the triple sized portrait of Minister Cornelius Fudge, which hadn't been replaced by any of the Ministers or puppet-Ministers of the war, though one had been commissioned of Rufus Scrimgeour. Once they had all shuffled into the chamber, trying to determine who had dared to make changes to the Hall of the Wizengamot, the doors shut with a soft squelch, not quite the same as the colloportus spell.
A multi-layered voice echoed, though none could see the speaker. "Your shameful behavior over the last few years has brought about a few changes. Old protocols have slid into place, and the Ministry will need to make a few adjustments."
"Who says so?" demanded a portly old wizard in the rear of the gathering.
"Consider this as being relayed by the Department of Mysteries and the Unspeakables," the voice replied. Nobody could tell if the speaker was male or female, as there seemed to be at least five different voices in unison, ranging from a deep voice reminiscent of an actor called James Earl Jones to a high and youthful sounding voice with a Swedish accent. "There are a few changes."
"What sort of changes?" An older witch spoke, leaning on a cane she hadn't needed a few years earlier.
"It has been decided the Wizengamot can't be trusted with as much power as they've claimed in past years. Any law proposed will apply equally to the Wizengamot members as to any other citizen of magical Britain. No law is permitted that will discriminate against a person on basis of their ancestry to what country their relatives may have lived or still live within, and no law may be passed that is not fully compatible with the laws of non-magical Britain, which is ruled by her sovereign Majesty, Queen Elizabeth II."
"I don't see what any of that has to do with…"
"Which means you may not determine who anyone else marries." The figure that glided from the antechamber normally used by the Supreme Mugwump was almost seven feet tall, and very gaunt, though the person was also completely shrouded in a grey robe with a hood. The arms were held in front of the person, hands presumably clasped together under the long sleeves which descended in a bell shape almost to where the knees should be. Nothing could be seen under the hood.
"It has also been pointed out that some of the whispers and plots violate several previous laws. For example, nobody will be forcing someone to leave a spouse, a bonded partner, or a pledged intended whom they have chosen. Nobody will be marrying before their legal age of majority." The figure's movements seemed wrong, too smooth, the robes not seeming to shift as they drifted closer to the middle of the room.
"What other whispers are problematic?" asked a rather short and elderly figure.
"If you can't manage to produce a child within five years in the marriages you've arranged for your family members, what makes you think you can do such a thing for anybody else's marriage? Eleazar Mockridge over there was married to his second wife twenty nine years before they had a child, and ten to his first wife with no children. I could make quite a list about the less than fruitful marriages of most of you."
"Our population is quite low," insisted a rather heavy-set man, recently claiming his family seat after a shocking number of his family had died in the fighting.
"Did you know, muggle countries often have reduced populations in the immediate aftermath of a war. They also generally have a spike in the birthrates for the next few years after, with no laws being required to help the birth rates along. They let the natural joy at not being killed and the delight at being able to return to loved ones and have the time to settle into families handle all of that for them. France and Germany had similar population booms after the Grindlewald conflicts, and while the data available is rather limited, we suspect the same of magical Italy, Switzerland, Poland and Greece."
"Does the Department of Mysteries have a counter-proposal?" asked the ancient form of Griselda Marchbanks.
"One with multiple points. First, the laws regarding those of mixed heritage are being repealed. Second, the laws requiring squibs to be obliviated and cast out are repealed, and instead they should be given the chance to stay within the magical communities. Studies in several foreign nations have showed that if a squib and a first-generation, what we of Britain call a muggle-born, produce children, those children are always magical. Those who enter the muggle world often produce magical descendants within three generations. Third, we request and require a new specialization in magical medicine, involving pregnancy and the related issues of fertility and reproductive health. Forth, instead of making absurd demands regarding when and how often witches should bear children, the Ministry will offer financial assistance to any magical household below a certain level of income with a magical minor as part of their family. The ease of financial worry may encourage many to have larger families."
"We spoke of spells to determine the compatibility of the proposed couples," began a rather round man with a strong resemblance to a toad.
"Instead there will be an offer for any adult witch or wizard to have a full physical evaluation from a medical professional to determine if they are physically capable of producing a child. If they are, they will be gently encouraged to find a partner and produce as many children as they feel comfortable bearing or siring. This will also apply to all members of the Wizengamot and employees of the Ministry, set to the same standards you are attempting to whine others into following."
"We are the Wizengamot! We do not whine!" the voice emerging from the back sounded remarkably petulant.
Someone else had a suspiciously amused coughing fit. A low voice muttered 'or we could just ask the Weasleys who they'd pair people up with. One thing a Weasley can do is pick fertile couples. Why else would there be so many of them?"
"As some of you are no longer as young as you once were and may have developed age related problems with hearing or short term memory, there will be no marriages of anyone who is not yet of the age of majority. There will be no Ministry-determined couples. You will pass no law which does not apply equally well to yourselves." The figure gave the impression of looking at a pack of misbehaving children, without changing maybe-his posture in the slightest.
"What if some of the young witches and wizards resist the idea? Young witches can be terribly foolish and often have no idea what is best for themselves," huffed an old wizard, who seemed oblivious to the looks of incredulous fury on the faces of quite a few witches.
"I fear anything not perfectly clear as a true accident may cause some of my associates to have pointed words with those suspected of responsibility," the figure shook the hooded head. "And do not try to have the aurors or the dementors interfere with anyone's plans involving marriage or courtship."
There was a pause, and then the figure spoke again, the hood tilted a little to the left, "Then again, should you chose to attempt to send the Dementors as the late Dolores Umbridge sent them after Harry Potter a few years back, one of my colleagues negotiated with them. They will no longer listen to whichever Ministry personnel manages to send certain forms, and are likely to remove the oft-ignored soul of anyone selfish enough to try to send them to meddle in relationships and romance. Dementors have a keen appreciation for the power of romance, particularly involving love and first kisses. They will be willing to give demonstrations if pressed."
For reasons nobody seemed willing to admit to, the discussion faltered and the wizards and witches began trying to leave the chamber. After a few long minutes the doors finally opened and the Wizengamot retreated, the chamber quickly emptying.
The robed figure returned to the small antechamber. Nobody was left to see the hood be tossed back, revealing pale blond hair and pale eyes. Nobody watched as Luna Lovegood opened the robes and stepped down from the glide-stilts.
"I didn't endure torture from Death Eaters and fight against their nonsense only for a less murderous group to tell me who I should marry. Neither did my friends. And I'm done playing nice," she muttered.
After all, Daddy had made a bargain with the representative of the Dementors, sealed with offering them both Lucius Malfoy and Aloyicius Talbridge as sacrifices for whatever unspeakable doom the Dementors intended for the evil men with their remarkably pretty hair. Between giving them a crate of a high quality skin smoother, a box of silk scarves, and a copy of Aunt Delilah's Personal Book of Personal Spells – Aunt Delilah said she'd give Luna a copy when she was older or betrothed, whichever came first – the Dementors now like the Lovegoods much better than the Ministry. There were also all the things she'd learned during her unwilling and rather unpleasant stay at Malfoy Manor. Luna could play quite viciously now, and she would if it meant she had the chance to be happy.
She hoped they'd learn from this. The magical population really had dropped. But it would be far better to let people pick their own partners to build their numbers back up. Though if they didn't, Luna was perfectly willing to start killing members of the Wizengamot. It wasn't as if most of them contributed much to society anyhow.
End Pottery Shard: Proposed Marriage Law.