The July evening was cooler than usual as Hermione sank down to her shins in the garden, her back resting against the ricketing wood of the Burrow. Her face felt tight as the summer breeze dried her tears against her freckled skin. The atmosphere for Harry's eighteenth birthday was strained, to say the least. Disembodied music poured into the night from the open windows, and the spicy scent of rhubarb pie wafted in the air. It was her favorite, but at the moment it made her want to gag. She went outside to catch her breath, today's issue of The Daily Prophet clenched in her fist. She was angry for what was printed, but even angrier for it having been hidden from her since the Post Owl had delivered it, dropping it on the tea kettle early in the morning, the pot whistling and banging around the kitchen so loudly that it had acted as her alarm clock.
The festivities were just beginning in the late afternoon. Everyone was arriving with treats and gifts for Harry's birthday party, an event that seemed to blindly grasp for a sense of normalcy in this crippled world they now lived in. No one knew when they would see their next birthday now, as everyday reached signaled a celebration. Remus and Tonks were the first guests to emerge from thin air (guests not counting every Weasley in existence, along with herself, Harry, and Ron's rekindled love, Lavender). Tonks was sporting a very tame, blonde braid with ribbons and feathers intertwined in each twist. She had a babbling, bubble-gum haired toddler resting on her hip, playing in her braid and reaching for dangling trinkets as they stepped inside the Burrow. Neville and Luna were next, brandishing an engorged bottle of fire whiskey, clearly the work of Luna's charms prowess. Harry's eyes lit up as they rested upon the receptacle that was sloppily strapped to Neville's back as he stumbled through the doorway, moments from collapsing under the drink's weight. Cho and Roger Davies arrived with a basket full of bread and pastries. Angelina came in a whirlwind at some point, pushed right past Hermione and into George's arms. The two disappeared for the entirety of the evening. Last for a good while, a twinkle in the sky quickly grew larger as the drone of a sputtering engine engulfed the delicate sounds of the countryside. A motor bike splashed in the standing water of the field as Hagrid made his entrance, and lifted a dainty Professor Mcgonagall from the side car. Her bun was askew on the top of her head and her skin was wind-bitten, the imprint of riding goggles pressed upon her porcelain skin. The hustle and bustle was quickly building in the crowded front room of the Burrow, but Harry's eyes rested on the door, waiting for his last guest who was notorious for being the most fashionably late.
A snort escaped from Lavender as Ron attempted to pinch her backside without anybody noticing. Due to her surprise, she jumped to the side and knocked over a wooden chair that sat in a corner. This particular chair was the kind that tended to accumulate miscellaneous papers and documents, sometimes the occasional sweater or pair of pants after being ironed. As it toppled to the floor, parchment went flying, gliding around party-goers' feet. Lavender's face turned a shade of red as Hermione attempted to help gather all of the loose papers. She had gathered the majority of the strays when she reached for an issue of The Daily Prophet, now wedged under Harry's foot as he held a very boisterous conversation with Hagrid. She tried to gently retrieve it from beneath him, but in his constant state of unawareness, she resorted to a hard yank, knocking Harry's balance off only slightly. He still paid no mind to her. She glanced over it, as one does when they have a new item in their hand, and recognized that she had not seen this issue previously. But she read the periodical everyday, so how could she have missed this one? Her skin began to pale and her stomach felt like decay as she glimpsed at the headline, having to read it three times before the true message managed to set in. She wanted to run and hide, but she also wanted to make a scene. How could they have kept this from her? As she tousled with herself on whether or not to scream, halt the party and make everyone around her feel as uncomfortable as she felt right now, she didn't realize the dissonance began to die down. She looked up from the newspaper and recognized all eyes on her. Harry gulped down the remnants of his fifth glass of fire whiskey as Hermione met his eyes. He looked like a deer in headlights, as he swayed from side to side. She now felt self-conscious, very aware of wrongly being the center of attention at her best friend's birthday party. She felt panic set in as she made a beeline for the front door, pushing past the guests with no sense of politeness. No 'excuse me,' or 'nice to see you,' just a complete urgency as the walls collapsed around her. She saw Ginny dart toward her in her periphery, but was intercepted by her mother. Mrs. Weasley knew it was not the time for consoling. Hermione needed a moment by herself. A moment to think. The very last thing she needed was for someone to attempt to explain away why they hid this from her for a full day.
Once she caught her breath, she attempted to read the paper beyond the headline. Perhaps it was misleading? Perhaps it actually has nothing to do with her. She always expected the worst, so maybe this wasn't as bad as she had thought. A gnome scurried out from his hole and began to tug on the edge of the paper, just as she had raised it to her face again. She read it once more.
ELOPEMENT OR ENTRAPMENT? MUDBLOODS SAVING GRACE HAS COME WITH NEW MARRIAGE LAW
It is no secret that the epidemic of the idea of 'tainted blood' has been running rampant in our world. The notion of sharing floo systems and sacred spaces, or sending our children to school to rub elbows with those of non-magic descent, haunts some of the purer witches and wizards of our communities. Pius Thickness, Minister for Magic, along with his trusted and well-spoken Senior Undersecretary, Madame Dolores Umbridge, drafted a decree last Tuesday which would help to remedy this unease and to refine the pool of magical heritages. Less than three months after the official installation of the new cabinet for the Ministry, The Proclamation for Purity was passed on Friday with a unanimous vote. This new law will require any current, registered magical person from complete non-magical descent to marry a witch or wizard of a pure bloodline. It will also ban any mudblood child from joining the Wizarding community furthermore. Meaning, Hogwarts will no longer be accepting students of non-magical heritage. Children under the age of eighteen will be bound by this law once they come of age.
"In a large way," Madame Umbridge stated during an extended afternoon tea in her office on Friday, "this new law will help those of tainted ancestry. Without this decree, who is to say that these individuals would ever find true happiness? Who is to say that they would ever find their true place in our world? This will ensure that witches and wizards will be integrated into our society in the most controlled and acceptable way possible." Of course, the Ministry will be overseeing, as well as approving, each and every match made under this new law. Madame Umbridge also stressed the fact that the only approved matches are to be with one-hundred percent pure bloodlines. "Perhaps in the future, once the purest of the market has been monopolized, we can make the decision on whether or not we will allow the matches to be extended into the half-blooded community. But I do not foresee that happening anytime soon." This has come after very careful consideration and deliberation among the witches and wizards of the Ministry of purest descent. "I imagine," Madame Umbridge continued after dropping an impressive eleven lumps of sugar into her tiny teacup, "that many pureblood witches and wizards will not be happy about this pairing proclamation. But to those of you who wish to argue, I implore you to see the reason behind this effort, and to watch for the post, as a munificent consolation will be arriving shortly."
The gnome had recruited two of his comrades to attempt to commandeer the newspaper. Hermione balled up the newspaper again and dropped it for the gnomes. She rested her forehead on her bare knees as she heard a faint pop come from aways in front of her. She refused to look up as she heard boots plodding toward her from the side of the yard. She expected the party guest to waltz right past her and trudge into the house to join the birthday boy in an attempt to escape the reality of the world they lived in, to leave her in the garden to mull over this death note now being forced down a hole by her feet. She was very surprised when she felt a body sink down beside her. She didn't look up, nor did she say a word to this new companion. She felt her body relax just slightly at the new company, her heartbeat slowed and her breathing evened out. She could smell mothballs and leather, old cardboard and roses, furniture polish and aftershave. A hand touched her shoulder, firmly yet tenderly. Hermione knew that he knew. She took a deep breath in and finally looked up at her garden companion. He was looking off into the distance, his hair being pushed into his face gently by the breeze. She could tell that his facial hair was already growing back in, even though he appeared to have shaved today. His deep purple shirt rippled slightly against his chest as he breathed and the sun hit his brown eyes making them gitter with amber flecks. Sirius Black would never pride himself on his ability to comfort others, but this sort of comfort was what Hermione craved. Silent and unasking, unfastened yet present. She was certain that the moment she stepped back into the Burrow, conversation, if not the entire gathering, would be shifted to more serious matters. To her and her fate. To this new law and to whom she was to be auctioned off. She wanted to give Harry his time. Her reentry would nullify that.
Sirius took a deep breath in. "This will all be okay, Hermione." He said peacefully, as if he had seen the future and the future was bliss.
"Harry is expecting you, Sirius," Hermione said sharply. "Rather impolite to arrive this late to your godson's eighteenth, don't you think?" Her sharp tongue had no effect on Sirius, as she knew it wouldn't.
"Never was the polite one. That would be Regulus." He tensed for a moment, wanting to stand but feeling unable to vacate his seat without being excused. Hermione let out a half-giggle, half-sigh.
"You can head in. I'm going to remain here for a moment longer," she said, picking some lingering blades of grass off of her bare legs. Sirius stood up and dusted himself off.
"We will talk some later," Sirius said as he placed his hand on the top of her head. "Would you like a cauldron cake? Lemon cookie?" Hermione wanted to shake her head and object, but her sour stomach was beginning to growl at her now.
"Perhaps a slice of rhubarb pie? It's my favorite." Sirius nodded as he began to head inside. "Oh, Sirius!" Hermione called to him before he got fully into the door. "Might want a wide base. Harry has had a few and he's very excited and a little wobbly I imagine." He flashed a dazzling grin and gave her a sweet wink before he disappeared into the house and left her in the garden with the gnomes, now untying her shoes and attempting to crawl into her socks.
