AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is my take on the "marriage law" concept. Some of my fav stories on here center on this premise; however, I've always struggled a bit with how Hermione just accepts being forced into a marriage.
This is a sequel to "Letters to the Dead;" set about 9.5 years after the events in that story. I recommend you read that first; however, I will try to provide backstory/context as I go.
A couple of house keeping items:
1. The Wizarding World and all of its inhabitants are the property of J.K. Rowling. I (sadly) own nothing.
2. I'll provide warnings at the start of each chapter. Warnings for chapter one: Language.
3. Each chapter will have some kind of letter or note (even if it's super brief).
4. Each chapter will have a song. Think of it sort of like a "theme" song for that chapter... because why not?
I hope you enjoy. Please review and let me know what you think.
Take this pink ribbon off my eyes
I'm exposed and it's no big surprise
Don't you think I know exactly where I stand?
This world is forcing me to hold your hand
'Cause I'm just a girl, oh, little old me
Well, don't let me out of your sight
Oh, I'm just a girl, all pretty and petite
So, don't let me have any rights
Oh, I've had it up to here….
"Just a Girl" - No Doubt
9 Years, 11 Months Since the Final Battle
"Granger, be a dear, and grab me another whiskey on the rocks," Draco said, not even looking at her as he thrust a tumbler in her general direction.
She took it, more out of surprise than anything else. Surprise and to keep it from falling and shattering. Hermione still didn't like making a scene or a mess for others to clean up.
As her fingers closed around the slick glass, she felt something else, something small and a little scratchy press against her palm. Draco was passing her more than an empty glass. She tightened her grip.
"Just because I no longer fantasize about turning you into a ferret doesn't mean I want to fetch your drinks, Malfoy," she quipped, pleased that something resembling wit had tumbled out of her mouth. Occluding this hard tended to leave her tongue tied, as if her words had to dig their way, one syllable at a time, through the thick barrier she had erected between her mind and the room.
"But you do fantasize about me?" Draco drawled, finally flicking his gaze in her direction.
"Of course not," Hermione snorted.
Draco smirked, his expression suggesting he didn't believe her for a moment. "I figured you'd rather I ask you than a house elf. How is S.P.E.W., by the way?"
Hermione shoved Draco's glass back into his hand, palming the piece of wadded up paper in the process, and stalked away.
She slid through the crowd with ease, head up, shoulders back. She felt eyes drag across her skin but no one tried to stop her. It had taken years, but Hermione had finally gotten aloofness down to an exact science. Really, she could teach a master's level course on it.
She resisted the urge to tug at her sleeves, her last (and apparently hardest to conquer) "tell." Hermione detested that gesture; in her mind it was akin to a dirty habit like picking one's nose.
She slipped out of the Great Hall, emerging from the swirling music, humming voices, and clinking glasses with relief. As soon as she was out of site, Hermione felt as if a physical weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Her chest rose a little easier.
She leaned against a stone wall, shielding herself behind a statue, and took a moment to just breathe. For perhaps the twentieth time that night, and she had only been here for a quarter of an hour, Hermione thought how strange it was to be back at Hogwarts.
She hadn't set foot in the castle since she quit teaching potions nearly eight years ago.
Everywhere she looked, she was still haunted by memories but they weren't all bad anymore. When she looked at the grand staircase, she saw Fenrir savaging Lavender, but that was overlaid with the memory of Harry and Ron, mouths slightly agape, as she appeared for the Yule Ball their fourth year.
Ghosts overlaid with ghosts overlaid with ghosts. That's what Hogwarts was.
It made her head throb dully. Or maybe that was all the occluding. Despite years of practice, it had never become effortless for her.
Regardless, she knew the tightness in her throat was all Hogwarts. It would be a relief to escape the castle. The only reason she'd come was because it was a charity event, a charity event for education at that. Multiple people, including Minerva herself, had requested Hermione attend. And Hogwarts had been her home for years.
And she couldn't think of a way to say no.
With a quiet sigh, Hermione smoothed out Draco's note, which consisted of a single, hurriedly scribbled line:
Meet me in the Slytherin Prefect's bathroom in 15 minutes. Password Salazar.
She bit her lower lip and shook her head. Six years ago, if someone had told her she'd be sneaking off to meet Draco bloody Malfoy in a bathroom she would have laughed hysterically.
Now it wasn't who she was meeting that was causing her stomach to knot in anxiety but why. What could be important enough that Draco would risk being seen with her in a very public setting? Whatever it was, it wasn't going to be good news, of that, Hermione was confident.
She didn't see Draco exit the Great Hall, and she didn't see him on her way down to the dungeons. Nevertheless, when Hermione entered the prefect bathroom 10 minutes after reading the note, he was waiting for her.
As soon as she saw him, she knew it was going to be worse than she had hoped.
Draco was pacing in front of the sinks, stalking back and forth like a caged tiger, and running his fingers through his hair again and again. She had only ever seen him like this three times: When he showed up on her doorstep to apologize for their schooldays, when he talked about his dying wife for the first time, and while they waited to see if Hermione's illegal cure for said wife would work.
It hadn't. Well, it hadn't cured Astoria, but it had slowed the curse down. It had bought them some time. It was still buying them time.
"Draco."
He stopped mid stride as if surprised by her presence, as if he hadn't initiated this meeting.
Without a word, Draco checked each bathroom stall to see if anyone was lurking there. Hermione had a feeling he had already done this at least once before her arrival.
"Colloportus," he growled, and the bathroom door locked behind her. He ran his fingers through his hair again. Hermione waited, but he didn't seem to be getting on with it.
"Draco, is it Astoria?" She didn't think she was lucky enough for it to be that. Merlin, that sounded terrible, to be hoping that Draco wanted to meet her because his wife had taken a turn for the worse, but at least that was something Hermione could deal with.
"No."
Long silence.
"Well then? Do you want me to guess? Shall we play 20 questions?" Hermione pressed. She hoped it didn't sound too snippy but that dull throbbing was picking up the pace in her head, becoming a steady drum beat. She wanted to go home.
"Hermione…." He trailed off. She forced herself to stay still and quiet. "I—there's no good way to say this. They're going to pass a law. Soon."
Hermione needed to know more, but just that single halting statement made her palms grow clammy. At 28, Draco was already a fairly high ranking official within the Ministry of Magic. If he said a law was going to pass, she had no doubt that it would pass.
"What kind of law, Draco?" Her voice sounded hushed, muffled to her own ears.
"A marriage law."
Hermione closed her eyes, behind her eyelids she saw a string of recent headlines about declining magical abilities and birth rates. She titled her head back, stared at the cold stone ceiling, and said the only thing she could think of, "Fuck."
"That's the idea," Draco said with a grim smile.
"Tell me."
"You—well, all witches, will be tested for fertility and hereditary markers that indicate you'd be able to pass on magical abilities—"
"Wait, they're only testing women?"
"Err, yeah. They think the current… issues are—"
"Of course they do. Of course, it's never a 'penis' problem, is it?" Hermione seethed. She knew that wasn't really the point right now, but still.
Draco steered the conversation back on course, "So, if you pass the test you'll be required to marry."
For once in her life, Hermione sincerely hoped she would fail a test. Not that she planned on letting it get that far.
"And if you refuse?"
"You can become a surrogate for another family."
"And if you refuse?" Draco pursed his lips.
"They'll bind your magic and banish you."
Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose and forced her shields a little higher, made them a little thicker. Pressure built in her head.
"How long?"
"The law will be brought forward for a secret vote in 25 days. Hermione, believe me when I say this, it is going to pass."
"Thank you… for telling me. I know—this is a big risk for you, Draco."
"How could I not, Hermione? After everything you've done for us…." He trailed off, and she knew he was thinking of Astoria.
She took a deep breath before she spoke. "I'm not going to comply, Draco."
"I figured you wouldn't."
She was relieved he wasn't trying to argue with her. She had feared he might. If her magic was stripped away she wouldn't be able to help Astoria.
"And I'm not going to let them take my magic." She saw Draco exhale a breath she hadn't known he was holding.
"I was hoping you wouldn't," he confessed, "What are you going to do?"
She moved to one of the sinks, turned on the cold tap, and dabbed a little water on her face. Hermione looked at herself in the mirror, directly in the eyes. The thing she had been carrying around since the war was still there, but it was starved and shrunken. Merlin, she wanted to scream and rage and sob right now. It wasn't fair. She snorted at her own naivety. When was it ever fair?
Still looking herself right in the eyes she said, "Run."
"America?" Hermione nodded, tucking a wayward curl back in place, barely looking at Draco in the mirror. "Good. Go before the law passes. Once it does, the Ministry will try to make you come back. You're a well known figure so they'll need you to comply. If you refuse, they'll rescind your passport and try to get the American Ministry to deport you. They don't know that we're going to pass this law or even vote on it, but the idea has been kicked around before, and I know that the American Minister is against it. Solidly so. If you ask for asylum, I feel confident you'll get it, but Hermione—"
"I know. If that happens I won't be able to come back here. Maybe ever. And I'll essentially be a fugitive, which means no one can have content with me."
"Right."
"This won't make Astoria's potion any more illegal, Draco. I'll still help you. You don't have to worry about that."
He hesitated for a long moment. Hermione saw him struggling. "Thank you."
"It sounds like you've thought a lot about this."
"How could I not? Hermione, this is… Merlin, it's barbaric."
She bit the inside of her cheek. She knew she shouldn't ask, but she couldn't help it. "But you're going to vote for it, aren't you?"
He wouldn't meet her eyes. "Yes, you know I have to."
Hermione forced air out of her lungs. Draco had to protect himself and his causes, one of which was the illegal potion ingredients he funneled to Hermione. One wrong step, or in this case vote, and a lot of unwanted attention would be on Draco. She knew what he would say if she pressed, but she really hated this "for the greater good" bullshit.
"If the American's won't protect me, I'm going to disappear. I will not be coming back here. I will not be giving up my magic. I've already given up enough for this world, Draco. But if that happens, I will make sure Astoria is looked after. I'll make sure someone knows how to prepare the potion. Trust me. I wouldn't leave you in that situation," Hermione promised.
"I never thought you would." It was entirely sincere.
"25 days?"
"Yes."
"Goodnight, Draco." Hermione turned to leave.
"Hermione, one more thing. Be careful. I think—it's possible some other people have leaked that this law is in the works. Don't let on that you know. Don't—just keep your head down until you can leave, alright?"
"Alohomora," Hermione said at the door. She tugged at her sleeves and left.