Notes & Warnings: This is the first chapter of a multi-chapter plotline that deals with abortion, contraception, and welfare. I'm not going to have anyone say anything blatantly misogynistic, but many readers may consider this plotline to depict a sexist situation. I am not trying to incite arguments about real-world social policy, but rather, to tell a story. I'm also not editorializing about my own views this time. The characters' positions are their own, opinions that I think would be realistic for them as they have developed in this AU. Please keep this in mind.
tneha: There will be some family moments in the future, I promise!
Chapter Twelve: Wizarding Renaissance, Part I: Population Curve
Hermione examined the wizarding census records with a contemplative frown. Unlike many witches and wizards, she had learned "Muggle" mathematics, so she was able to do the kinds of calculations needed for population analysis. Tom was right, she realized. The wizarding world was going to experience population decline if current trends continued.
Wizards had longer lives than Muggles by a few decades on average, but by that age, neither witches nor wizards were reproducing. It wasn't, of course, impossible with most wizards, but it was socially unacceptable for grey, wrinkled old men to marry young women. Infant mortality in the wizarding world was much lower than that in the Muggle world—about eighty percent lower than the Muggle infant mortality rate, in fact—but even with this structural advantage, the magical birth rate was below replacement level and had been gradually declining for decades. The wizarding population would become increasingly grey, and then when the elder generations died, there would not be sufficient numbers in the younger population for recovery.
As Tom had pointed out, even adding in likely magical births to Squib couples would not compensate. In the short term, Tom's policy making it easier for brothers and sisters of Muggle-borns to meet each other would help, but the long-term numbers were not hopeful. Far more disturbing than wizards' own declining birth rate was the fact that the magical percentage of all births in the Muggle world was also declining—and had been for a century. No one else had noticed it because, Hermione guessed, they had not examined the overall Muggle birth and population figures. So far, the simple number of magical children from the Muggle world was still increasing, because the non-magical population itself was increasing. But Hermione could see that this was not going to last indefinitely. In a few decades, the number of Muggle-borns—Squib-borns, she corrected herself in thought—would level off and start declining too. If there were fewer Squib-borns, that meant that fewer non-magical people with partial wizarding genes were meeting each other, and that implied that there would be fewer "almost-there" Squibs born in the long term as well. There was also no way to identify such people if no one in the family manifested magic, so the magical genes they carried would be further thinned out. Some process must be taking place right now, must have been taking place for about a hundred years already, that was already thinning the magical genes that existed in the non-magical population.
It was a grim calculation, and she wondered what Tom had come up with to combat the problem. There would probably be a child tax credit, she guessed. Considering that this was the same group of people that had created the sprawling Ministry of Magic, wizarding tax policy was surprisingly simple, with a tiered progressive rate for individual households and a separate progressive tier for businesses. There were few credits or deductions, because so much could be done with magic instead of spending large sums of money. Hermione had pressed hard for a tax deduction for research expenses, since it was so difficult to pay for magical research. There was also a deduction for charitable contributions and educational expenses. It was a good thing that the income tax was progressive, Hermione supposed, since there were virtually no credits or deductions that could make an appreciable difference to people who were not wealthy.
Hermione put aside the population data and stretched as she rose from her desk chair. She headed downstairs and met Tom in the family sitting room. He was standing next to the mantel, robes trailing the ground, gazing idly at the clock.
"I wish I could avoid having these meetings in the evening," he remarked. "I don't like leaving the children here by themselves. It isn't fair or safe to put a seven-year-old in charge of a four-year-old, even when the rooms with dangerous things in them are warded."
"Why have you held them in the evening?" she asked. "I take the children to work. I could leave them in the care of my staff if you had all your meetings during lunch, or the early afternoon."
He laughed in disbelief. "You have to ask that? I've found myself with rather less time on my hands as Minister than I did even as Law Enforcement Head." He met her eyes with a calculating look in his own. "We could hire a Squib to sit. I've come to agree with you about house-elves—"
Hermione beamed.
He chuckled again. "Not for the same reason, though. I just don't like the idea of an outsider living in the household, listening to everything we said unless we remembered to ward the door for every conversation we held. They're supposed to keep their masters' secrets, but they can disobey. They just have to punish themselves if they do. It's not good enough security. A Squib sitter would be here only when we were both gone, and she could actually be kept out of any rooms we didn't want her in. It's worth considering, at least." He glanced at the clock. "But anyway, I was going to explain my population growth policy."
Hermione stared levelly at him, half convinced that he already had made arrangements with some Squib woman and that a sitter would show up in a few minutes. "Very well," she said. "I read the records and did the maths, so you can skip that part. I understand the problem."
Tom smiled. "Good. The basic idea for the solution is quite simple: I am going to make the silphium plant a Non-Tradeable Substance. It's an import, it won't grow here, and I'm taking it off the market. The Muggles think it's long extinct, and it has only one potions use."
Hermione blinked, not quite believing her ears. She had used that potion before. She used it frequently. It was the very potion used to prevent pregnancies or abort them in early stages. She stared at him, her lips parting. "Excuse me?" she sputtered.
He raised an eyebrow. "Is there a problem?"
Anger surged in her. "Is there a problem?" she mocked. "Is that a serious question? Tom, you can't do that! Women need that potion. What if a witch became ill from a pregnancy?"
"Oh, well, there's more to the idea than that," Tom replied. "I've already thought about that—and other things. The plant will still be imported, but only through the Ministry. St. Mungo's and Hogwarts will receive it. If a witch has to end a pregnancy—or has been told by a Healer that it's unsafe for her to get pregnant in the first place—or she was raped, then she can get the potion from St. Mungo's." He smiled at Hermione. "And if a family needs more money, the Ministry will take care of that. We need population growth and I am perfectly fine with the Ministry paying people to have magical children."
"I had arrived at the same conclusion myself, but there are other ways. You could just tell people of the population decline. There would be some people who voluntarily stopped using the potion once they learned that."
Tom snorted. "Not nearly enough, and there would be many more who recognized the threat but assumed that others were going to stop using the potion, so they didn't have to. And you know how that always works out."
"You could create a child tax credit."
"It won't work," he dismissed. "I've looked at the numbers, and this isn't about lack of gold. Poor families are actually having more children than others. I'm only including the welfare part because of situations like my mother's, where someone really can't afford a child. I'm going to start taxing the Squib families to pay for that."
"Oh, that's nice," Hermione scoffed. "They're already paying taxes to the Muggle government. And besides—"
Tom cut her off. "That's easily enough handled. They can get a credit on their Muggle taxes for whatever they pay in the wizarding world."
Hermione stared at him in disbelief. He wasn't being hostile; he just truly did not seem to understand her main objection. "Tom, you're missing the point. Those exceptions are fine—the welfare policy is fine—but you can't do that to women. You don't have the right to make that decision for them."
He looked legitimately confused. "Hermione, we are talking about women who have consensual sex. That means it's aimed at couples, which means there's a man involved too."
"Men don't have to carry pregnancies," she replied tartly. "Also, women—and men—sometimes just want to shag for pleasure. They don't want there to be even a chance of pregnancy from it."
Tom smirked. "I am in favor of shagging for pleasure, as you well know, but the wizarding world needs to grow. There are so many married couples with one child, or none at all. It doesn't matter for Muggles, but it does for us."
"That's not your decision to make, and married people aren't the only ones who will be affected by this. What about the unmarried couples who find themselves expecting when they aren't ready?"
"If somebody needs financial help, the Ministry will help. And there's also the foster system. Nobody will have to raise a child if they don't want to."
"They might have to be pregnant when they don't want to, and they'd know the child was still out there. I doubt that's as easy to live with as you seem to think."
Tom clenched his teeth. "Then if they don't want to give it up," he hissed, "they can keep the baby. I'd prefer that anyway."
Hermione could hardly believe her ears. "You would prefer that? This shouldn't be up to you, any of it!"
His face twisted in irritation, and he gazed down at her from his taller height with scorn in his face. "It is the Minister's job to act in the best interests of the wizarding world," he said loftily.
"It is not the Minister's job to interfere with the personal family decisions of every witch of reproductive age," Hermione snapped, storming away. She stopped, whirled around, and glared at him. "But you've already decided, haven't you? You have it all planned out, and nothing I say could change your mind. You aren't asking for my thoughts at all; you're telling me how it is."
"Hermione—"
"You know what else, Tom? I'm not going to this meeting. I'm not going to sit next to you and pretend I like this while you explain to all your toadies what you're going to do, and I'm not going to let you trample over me in an argument in front of them. I won't have it. I won't be a prop for you on this."
He stared at her, his eyebrows narrowing. "So you're staying, then?"
"I am staying. I'm going to think about this and come up with another answer—because there is another answer; there always is—and I hope your cronies consider what it means that I'm not there." She sat down hard on the sofa and glared defiantly at him.
"Suit yourself," he sneered. "There is not another answer—at least, not one that would really work. But if you won't take it from me, then you'll see for yourself once you think about it." He stormed out of the sitting room. Hermione heard him Disapparate in the hallway.
She growled in irritation, but it was a futile expression. How could Tom not understand her perspective? Clearly it wasn't just that she was born in a different time. Witches took that potion for a reason. They already wanted to decide for themselves when or if they wanted to start families and how large those families would be. Her point of view was obviously not so anachronistic that it was unheard of. He just didn't care about anyone's personal rights when they conflicted with his opinion of what was the greater good.
Hermione sank into the back of the sofa. She thought about his policy record so far. Some of his laws respected personal liberty and some did not. His Wolfsbane Law would have forced werewolves to take a toxic potion for life if not for Catriona Dagworth's innovation—but werewolves posed a danger to everyone in their vicinity during the full moon. His plan to modify the views of magic-hating parents also restricted people's rights—but in that case, it was to protect the rights of another group, magical children. This felt different somehow. There was a danger that he was trying to stave off, but it was a long-term, nonspecific danger.
No alternate answer presented itself to her, and she realized that even the Muggles did not have an answer for this particular problem. Tom wanted to use force. There were also persuasive policies designed to encourage family formation, such as child tax credits and assorted social welfare benefits, but if Tom was correct and poorer families already tended to be larger ones….
She went back upstairs to her desk and brought the records down to the sitting room. It did not take long to see that he was correct about that too.
Would the wizarding world as a whole see the issue his way? Hermione could not say. As he had pointed out, no one seemed to be aware of the danger of population decline. It was possible that when he talked about it, people would be swayed to his view on the policy as well. He certainly had a gift for persuasion.
Hermione realized that she had made a tactical error in choosing to stay home. It would have been immensely trying to sit next to Tom and listen to this again, but she was not going to know now what his cronies thought of the idea at first, before he got to them. Unless there was an open revolt, which was unlikely, the next time she saw them, it would be in public and they would be his loyal subjects as usual.
She sighed. After he had explained his plans to his cohort, he would give an address as Minister. She would attend that and gauge the public reaction.
"Mum?"
Hermione's musings were interrupted by the welcome sound of her young son's voice. She glanced up and smiled. Both he and Madeline were standing at the door, clad in their pyjamas, clutching books. Heads of riotous black hair filled the door frame.
"Oh, it's storytime," she said as they entered the room and shuffled toward her sofa. She patted each side of where she was seated.
They climbed on the couch. "You didn't want to go to Daddy's meeting?" Madeline asked. She handed Hermione the book she was carrying and sat primly on one side. The attempt at ladylike dignity was highly incongruous with the wild hair that the little girl currently sported, but Hermione found it endearing.
"Not tonight," she replied. "I was feeling tired."
"Well, I'm glad you stayed here," Virgil said, squeezing under her left arm as she opened the book. Clearly he felt no need to feign dignity after his bath when asking his mother to read to him.
She smiled at him. "Me too."
She read to them, combed their hair, put them to bed, and got a bath herself. Just as she had put on her nightgown, she heard the distinct pop of Apparition. Five seconds later, she heard the front door shut on the floor below.
When he entered their bedroom, she wordlessly acknowledged him with a nod.
A sneer crossed his face for half a second. "Just so you know, they were shocked when I talked about the numbers, and they're behind me with the idea. I'm going to introduce it to the Ministry on Monday, if you care to attend."
Hermione glared at him. "They're always behind you with anything by the time you're through with them, so I'm not surprised. I certainly intend to show up at the Ministry, though."
"Good," he said shortly. He stalked into the bathroom to get a shower.
She went to bed, but not before quaffing a dose of the potion. It was an act of private rebellion as much as anything else.
The press room of the Ministry was packed. Everyone was interested in the revolutionary new ideas that the young Minister was coming up with each month—even, it seemed, those who resolutely disagreed with what Tom and the Wizarding Nationalists stood for. Hermione had a front-row seat, near many of his cronies, but also close to several high-ranking Ministry officials who were not part of Tom's coterie—or, in some cases, even his political faction. She would pay special attention to their reactions.
Tom stood behind the Ministerial podium, silken wizard's robes flowing elegantly, sending a message to everyone in the room. Behind him and to the right was a large presentation board with charts. At the moment he was educating the crowd about the population problem, which was easier to do with graphics.
"As you can see, our own birth rate is not close to what it should be for full population replacement," he said. "Now, some say that the addition of Squib-born half-blood wizards will compensate for the decline in the wizarding-world birth rate, as it has done since we instituted Seclusion. This idea has some historical support, but it isn't borne out by the facts anymore."
Tom flicked his wand at the board. The page flipped, displaying a new chart. At the bottom was a progression of years, 1600-1950. Two lines in different colors tracked across the horizontal axis.
"This chart shows, in tan, the British Muggle population in millions. In blue is the percent of magical births as a fraction of the total births to non-magical parents." He sent a harmless jet of red light toward the left side of the chart to point out a detail. "This percentage has tracked well with the Muggle population over the centuries. When their numbers increased, the number of Squib-born births increased correspondingly, with the percentage remaining stable. But as you can see, in recent decades the Muggle population has been increasing dramatically, while the magical percentage of births to non-magical parents is actually decreasing. The numbers are not tracking anymore.
"This, we think, is because the Muggles have become industrialized rather than agrarian, and they have inventions that make it easier for them to migrate, and it is now much less likely for two non-magical people with wizarding blood to meet. In the past, they were more likely to have a common wizarding ancestor and live in the same village. Now, they scatter."
So that's it, Hermione realized. In her irritation over Tom's "solution," she had not given too much thought to the reason that new blood was expected to decrease, but this made sense.
Tom stared out at the audience. "I should be clear: The raw number of magical births to people outside the wizarding world is still increasing. But it won't last. Magical births per total births in the Muggle world are going down. Eventually the raw number will decrease as well. The truth is that we cannot depend on the Muggle population to sustain us. Their society has changed drastically over the past century, and the old expectations aren't valid anymore."
A reporter called out, "Minister, the fact that you're bringing entire families of Muggle-born children into the wizarding world surely is accelerating this trend, by removing them from the Muggle population."
Tom glared at the reporter, very displeased at the interruption. "The trend, as the graph clearly shows, began last century. My policy is making it more likely for these otherwise-undocumented Squibs to marry each other—or, occasionally, a witch or wizard. My policy preserves their wizarding blood and potential for magical offspring, rather than leaving it to a gradually decreasing chance that they'll happen to meet someone else with that blood. That helps a little, but it is not enough to offset the long-term trends in the Muggle population." He stared out, his gaze passing over the heads of the audience. "Members of the press, Ministry officials, honorable Witches and Warlocks of the Wizengamot, eminent academics… my constituents. The simple fact is that here in the wizarding world itself, we have to make some changes. They are not onerous—in fact, they should be very happy changes. I have drawn up a comprehensive plan to address special contingencies as well."
The audience began to rumble. Those few bureaucrats already in the know—Vincent Rosier, Geoffrey Fox, the head of Adoption and Fostering, the head of Social Welfare—murmured under their breaths. Hermione tried to force the scowl off her face. If this were met with mass revolt, it wouldn't matter how much Tom wanted it. And if people were uncertain, she still had something to work with. She had to be impassive and gauge the audience's reaction.
"The central policy of my Wizarding Renaissance Plan is to reclassify the silphium plant as a Non-Tradeable Substance. The plant is used only in potions to prevent or abort pregnancy. After a time, legal imports will be limited to Hogwarts School, for educational purposes, and to St. Mungo's Hospital, which will be licensed to brew and dispense these potions for select situations—including cases where a witch cannot safely carry a pregnancy to term, or was not a willing partner. The potions will also be permitted for families that already have at least three magical children."
Hermione wondered about that. He had said no such thing to her. Perhaps one of his cronies had suggested it. She gazed around the room. There were faces hardening. Not all, and it was hard to say if there was a majority, but Abraxas Malfoy looked particularly hostile.
"The Office of Social Welfare will dispense aid to families who need it," Tom continued. "No one should experience financial distress due to the Renaissance Plan. The purpose—the basic purpose, that is to say—is to create more and bigger magical families, not to impoverish them." He gazed around the room. A faint smile appeared on his face; apparently he liked what he saw. "Anyone who simply does not want to raise a child will have the option of putting the child in the Ministry's adoption and foster care system, with no punishment inflicted.
"A minute ago I said 'the basic purpose.' You might wonder if that implies additional purposes, and you would be right. The broader purpose is to promote a culture of strong family in the wizarding world. It is good for our world for there to be a culture that values family—truly values, with actions rather than mere words. No couple should have to limit their family size out of financial fears, and under the Plan, they won't have to." He flashed a white smile at the crowd, and Hermione was grimly impressed at how well he was selling this.
"On the other hand, there may be a deliberate choice in a family for there to be only one child, or the proverbial 'heir-and-a-spare,' but the wizarding community takes a loss from it—and not just in dry population maths, but also in unrealized potential. There is, after all, an ancient and honorable history of sons and daughters making their own way in the world because they were not designated the heirs to estates."
This appeal was obviously aimed at the old pureblood families. Tom apparently thought that a lot of the opposition would come from there. That was… interesting.
"I want to make it very clear: The Renaissance Plan will have no provision penalizing anyone who, because of age or happenstance, cannot have children, or cannot have any more children, or anyone who chooses to remain single," Tom continued. "But the vision of this Plan is that getting married—or… how to say this?—acting as if you are—"
There were a few appreciative chuckles. Tom smiled that dazzling white smile again, much to Hermione's irritation, and continued.
"—is a serious matter, and usually should be a step toward family formation, and the Plan's policies treat it as such. The wizarding world in general needs bigger families, and the Ministry will be prepared to provide any assistance necessary to help members of our community who decide to pursue that goal."
Tom stepped back from the podium. There was applause, but Hermione noticed that it was not universal. Once it quieted down, people began to shout questions.
"What about these Muggle-born families?" shouted the reporter who had asked Tom the question earlier. "Are they going to be subject to all this?"
Tom smiled suavely. "There will not be exceptions for Squibs simply on account of their being Squibs. The rules about who can get the potion from St. Mungo's are the same for everyone."
"But what about this Ministry social welfare?" the reporter persisted. "Is the Ministry going to be subsidizing Squib births?"
Tom glared at the reporter. "It appears uncommon for two Squibs who both have magical siblings—the main group you're talking about—not to have any magical children if they marry each other. From what we've seen, most of the time, they do have at least one. But even if they don't, that still increases the amount of wizarding blood in that new generation, which makes it a virtual certainty that the generation following it will be magical—so long as the family remains in the wizarding world. If you think of them not as Squibs, but as people with a strain of wizarding blood, it makes sense for the long-term future."
Hermione could not help but focus on the fact that her husband was basically promoting eugenics with his Renaissance Plan. It just didn't take the form of killing off the "impure," as Voldemort would have done.
Was Tom always going to do something like this? Hermione thought. Was it inevitable, due to his fixation with demography, or could I have stopped it?
Hermione gazed around the room. There were many approving faces, but also many that looked very discontented indeed. It might be stopped without her help, she realized.
If it did—if someone mounted a challenge that succeeded—then everyone would assume she was on Tom's side, when in truth, she opposed this. Did that matter, though, as long as it was stopped?
Public opinion was not as important as one's own conscience, but the idea of someone else preventing Tom Riddle from doing something she didn't like, while everyone assumed she supported him, bothered her more than she was comfortable admitting. He was hers. It was her job to stop him from going too far with anything. Wasn't it?
Or have I become as controlling as he is?
She decided not to worry about that. Tom had opposition, and this time, she was going to see what she could do to leverage it.