Betrothal

The mad crowd of a Gryffindor/Slytherin quidditch match wasn't an ideal place to think. Hermione was in a flurry of emotion. She was righteously angry and piteously terrified. She had a weighty law tome open on her lap, but her fingers were shaking too much to turn the pages, and her thoughts were too jumbled to read a sentence. She seriously doubted that anyone could force her to marry, but she knew that they could use the decree to make her life a living hell.

"Betrothal, betrothal, must be in here somewhere..." she muttered. "Ah, here it is." She took a deep breath. Her eyes refused to focus on the words.

"Miss Granger," came a crisp voice from behind her. "Admirable as your devotion to your studies is, this is not the time for reading. You should be cheering on your friends." It was McGonagall."

"Sorry, Professor," she murmured contritely.

A long bony hand plucked the book from her lap. "What's this?" McGonagall's eyes narrowed in concern. She oh'd softly as she read the title. "Come to my office after the game, Miss Granger. No one can hurt you between now and then, I'm certain. Enjoy yourself."

Hermione sighed.



Gryffindor won, 180 to 40. The Slytherin chasers were worthy of worry, but Ron handled them well. He was practically dancing in the changing rooms, singing at lunch, and then humming in potions. He and Harry were working on their term-long project - poly-juice potion.

"Psst. Weasel."

"Shove off, Malfoy."

"5 points from Gryffindor. I don't permit whispering in my class, Mr. Weasley."

Ron huffed.

"Psst."

"Five more points."

"That wasn't me Professor Snape, that was Malfoy!"

"Fine. Detention. Both of you." Professor Snape smirked. "My office. 7 pm."

Draco glared at him.



Professor Snape's door was closed. Ron and Draco were both standing with their backs against the wall waiting for it to open. Draco's arms were crossed casually, and he was wearing the same cocky smirk he had worn all day. Every time Ron glanced over at him, he grinned.

"Though of a good way to earn those galleons yet, Ron?"

"I'm going to ignore you now."

"Giving up, are you?"

"Good game today," Ron responded, giving Malfoy a smirk of his own.

"Yeah, too bad they don't pay you for it, eh?"

"Money doesn't buy happiness," Ron growled through his teeth.

"Tell that to Granger."

"Stay away from Hermione. She's not interested in an arse like you."

"400 galleons say it doesn't matter if she's interested or not."

"What?" Now Ron was genuinely perplexed.

Draco reached into his pocket and pulled out a clipping from the Prophet. "Well, you had to find out eventually,"he said with a smile.

Ron glanced through the paper. "Bloody hell" he whispered.

"Bloody hell is right," Draco replied.

"Tell Snape I went to the hospital wing," Ron commanded.

"Yeah, right, Weasley!" Draco called after him. Ron was already too far down the corridor to hear him.



Rain was pouring down steadily on the Burrow, but the pleasant pattering. Arthur Weasley sat bolt upright and slammed his head on the curio shelf his loving had hung over their bed just a few days ago. "What is it? Who's there?" he whispered.

"Someone's at the door, Arthur. Banging." Molly muttered.

"Banging, Molly?"Arthur groaned. "Are you quite sure?"

She grunted in reply.

Arthur threw on a dressing robe and grabbed his wand. He pushed past the knitted curtain that graced his bedroom door, strode through the tiny kitchen, and pointed his wand at the back door. "Who's there?"

"Dad, it's me! Let me in! It's cold."

Arthur dropped his wand in surprise. "Ron! What on- get in here. Molly!"

Ron stood awkwardly inside the door, dripping all over the carpet. "Wait, dad, don't call her yet. I need to talk to you."

"Oh. Er. All right then. Let's get you dry and we can sit down. Hot chocolate?"

All of Ron's winter clothes were at Hogwarts, so Arthur wrapped him son in his spare dressing robe. "Your mother can dry your clothes when we decide to wake her. She's much better at this sort of thing."

"Do we have to wake her? I don't really want her to know about this yet..."

"Well... we'll see. What's wrong, Ron?"

"It's about Hermione, dad."

Arthur's eyes grew as wide as saucers. "Well, Ron... well, indeed... well, your mother and I will do what we can to help of course, but we will expect you to do the right thing for dear Hermione."

"You know what I'm talking about? And you think it would be the right thing?"

Arthur chuckled softly. "Well, Ron, we Weasleys are a passionate bunch, but we believe firmly in doing the right thing, especially when it comes to our women. Why your mother and I... but never mind. It all works out for the best, we wouldn't trade Bill - or any of you, really - for the world... I wouldn't have expected it of Hermione, though. Ah, well, you know what they say-"

"Dad. What are you talking about?"

"Er- you. And Hermione. And... oh." Arthur turned a deep shade of pink. "Say, I don't think we're talking about the same thing after all."

Ron, too, was beet red, but he was laughing deep in his gut. "You think I got Hermione pregnant? Dad, we aren't even going out yet..."

Relief washed over Arthur's face. "Oh, thank Merlin, I must say I wasn't ready for a baby quite yet..."

The two enjoyed a good laugh so loud that soon Molly appeared at the edge of the kitchen.

"My little Ronnie! what in heaven's name are you doing here? And how did you get here? And where are your clothes?"

"Er. flew. And... just there." Ron pointed to his clothes. "I fancied a chat with dad," he said sheepishly. "Actually, it's a bit pressing," he added, glancing significantly at his father.

"Right. Molly, would you mind drying off Ron's clothes while we have a bitof a chat?"

Molly pressed her lips together, then nodded. "Well, all right. I'll just take care of charming these, then I'll fix us a bit of warm stew ." She gathered up Ron's clothes and retreated into the washroom.

"Stew at midnight?" Ron asked.

"Your mother likes to feed people. It's her way of solving problems. Speaking of problems...?"

"Dad, haven't you heard about the new preservation thingy that the minister put into effect today?" Ron scowled when he said 'the minister', as though biting into a lemon.

"The Preservation Decree? Of course, Ron. It's a nasty business. The minister has yet to learn that if you try to please everyone, you'll end up pleasing no one." Arthur sighed softly. "He's got a lot to learn, that one, I'm afraid."

"Dad, he can't really force the muggleborns to marry whoever picks them, can he?"

Arthur sighed again. "Yes and no, Ron. A betrothal is a magical contract, so of course it needs permission from two parties to be binding. Unfortunately, it doesn't necessarily require the permission of the two parties it involves. In the old days, betrothals were set up as early as birth by both parties parents. Some of the very old families still practice this."

"So if you and mum wanted me to marry someone, you could just strike an agreement with her family?"

"Well... no. Not anymore. As you're of age now, Ron, no one can enter into a contract for you."

"So then it's okay... because Hermione's of age, right. So no one can force her a contract, right?" Ron asked quickly.

Realization dawned in Arthur's eyes. "Hermione... of course, I see now why you came. Hermione has two strikes against her, Ron. She's a muggleborn, and she's a female. Muggleborn's are all right under some of the newer laws. But females are still... well, property of their fathers, until they are marrried. And muggleborn females, at least those with muggle fathers, are property of the ministry."

"You're kidding!" exclaimed Ron.

"I'm afraid not. It's one of the many reasons why I am working where I am. Muggles don't have any kind of legal status in the ministry. They can't enter into agreements without sponsorship from the minister himself. They can't hold jobs in our shops or participate in our government."

"But squibs can, can't they?"

"Yes."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"No it doesn't."

Ron dropped his head. He had a brief memory of a flashing "S.P.E.W." button and, for just a moment, understood what Hermione was trying to do. Then he sat up suddenly."

"But, wait, dad, that's why I came. I think Hermione's in trouble."

"Oh, Ron, I seriously doubt anyone is going to snatch her up from you quite yet." Arthur chuckled.

Ron brushed this aside. "Malfoy."

"Draco's not even out of school yet. He wouldn't-"

"He would. He is. He's been hounding her at school, and he told me that he was working on getting the galleons already. And all he'd really have to do is ask his mum for them, she's got loads of money. Isn't there anything we can do?"

"Well, I wouldn't worry about the galleons. Draco won't be able to get them from his parents. A brideprice has to be money that the man earned for himself. The contract won't work, otherwise."

"That's excellent." Ron seemed to breathe easier. "I can trace my line back 11generations, right?"

Arthur studied his son carefully. "Ron, what are you asking me?"

"I'm not going to let Malfoy get his slimy hands on her. I'm going to get her first."

Arthur sucked in a deep breath. "Does Hermione know this?"

"No. I'm not going to tell her. I don't want her worrying about it. I don't think she knows about the decree. I'm not going to force her to marry me or anything. I'm just going to keep her safe until you can get the law changed."

"Well..." Arthur didn't seem to know what to say to this. "I'll do my best, Ron."

At this, Molly scurried in and wrapped her arms around Ron, nearly choking him into a hug. "I' so proud of you, Ron. It's so much like something your father would have done."

Author's Notes: Thanks for the reviews!
Lisa - I'm so flattered that you find my characters to be all right. They are the shining stars of J. K. Rowling's work. I adore them, and adore writing about them.
Honey Bee 80 - Thank you! I can not claim the idea for the story, but I'm glad you enjoyed it so far.
S. C. Hardy - Thank you... I think! :)
Merryday - Thanks much!!
Seakays - Thanks! For once I actually have the story plotted out ahead of time. It's fun in my head. I hope it actually turns out that way :)