YOU GUYS.
The response to this story has been a wee bit overwhelming, to be honest! My husband is like... your phone is going off the hook with emails over here...
I practically squealed as I explained why!
I am glad to hear you are all interested! Thank you for your feedback!
I am several chapters into the story and as a thank you for following and reviewing (omg I really did NOT expect...) here's chapter two!
To say she was shocked was quite an understatement. Hermione was more than just shocked. She was furious. Enraged. Offended. Insulted. Terrified.
"You idiots!" She screamed at the gathered group of men. Kingsley flinched under her steely gaze.
She could feel her magic swirling within her as her emotions raged within her.
"Are you absolutely bonkers? Have you lost the plot completely? You can't force people to get married! You can't take away free choice!" Hermione seethed. "Just another group of manipulative madmen trying to take over people's lives and happiness and desires!"
She turned sharply, "AND YOU!" leveling her eyes with the Minister for Magic, "You once fought alongside heroes, determined that we all should be free from the tyranny of blood prejudice and here you are not five years after that war, ready to take the reins to remind us lowly mudbloods of our place beneath the great pure-blood race! How could you Kingsley? I trusted you!"
"That's enough, Hermione. You will not use that word in my presence again." Kingsley stood, slamming his hand down hard against the cherry wood of the table. "If you think for a second this is something we wanted, that it's something I thought I'd see happen in my lifetime, you are sorely mistaken. I fought for the right for us all to be free, but there won't be an us if we don't fix the birth problem. I fought for the betterment of our world, for rights for all, and I know it must feel as though they're being stripped away from you, but we have no choice. You must listen!"
Tears were streaming freely down her face at this point, and Hermione wanted nothing more than to run, to apparate as far away as she could, and hide forever.
"God damn it, Kingsley. God damn it." she muttered, half under her breath, sure no one was focused on her at this point anymore, as everyone was stunned at the volume of the words from their Minister. She turned and briskly rushed from the room.
Five minutes later, Kingsley Shacklebolt found himself pacing silently outside the bathroom attached to his office.
He knew Hermione hadn't left the building. Hell, he knew that she hadn't left his office suites, as the wards were designed to notify himself or his receptionist of the comings and goings in the rooms.
Knowing she had locked herself in the bathroom did not ease his tension one iota. He needed to get her out of her isolation, and into a chair, willing to listen to what they had to say.
He knocked softly. "Hermione, please come out. I know this is overwhelming. I know this is infuriating. I've felt it all myself over the last few weeks. But I need your help now. We need your help. We can't move forward without you".
The door opened with a nearly inaudible click, and she stood in front of him, puffy and red from her tears.
"I don't want to do this, Kings. I really don't." she whispered.
"I know, but I need you." He guided her back into the conference room and she sat rigidly among the gathered men.
"Tell me why I am here. Why did you need me of all the witches in Britain? There are other muggle-born women you could have called in. I am not important to this."
Tiberius glanced quickly at her. "You are vital to this, Miss Granger. Yes, you are a muggleborn woman, which will give us perspective on your viewing of the law, but you are a known spell inventor, as well as a highly sought after law representative. You are uniquely qualified to help with almost every aspect of this project.
The Wizengamot has drafted legislation to attach to the Magical Matching Law, as we're calling it, but we need you to review the laws suggestions and provide us with feedback.
As it stands, we wish to require all eligible witches and wizards to cast the geneticae spatium within 30 days of law implementation. The results of the spell are immediate and will trigger an automatic communication to affected parties. We intend to declare that matches must marry within six months of their spell cast.".
"Be that as it may," Hermione interrupted, "forcing witches and wizards to marry will do jack all for your reproduction problem. Just because you're forcing marriages upon people, you can't force love. You can't force children."
"Actually, we can." Tiberius countered. "We intend to require pregnancy within the first two years of the marriage."
"NO. You absolutely cannot force us to have children! I'm going to be bloody sick! You pillocks, you just have absolutely no idea what you're doing, do you!" she shouted. "You're going to end up with another stupid Wizarding War because you can't pull your heads far enough from your arses to see what this will do to all of us! You really think pure-bloods are going to sully their bloodlines? Do you really think muggle-borns are going to put themselves in a world of risk to marry a pure-blood for babies they don't even want?"
"No, we don't think that at all" Saul Croaker intervened. It was the first he'd spoken at the meeting and Hermione had to catch her breath in order to even hear what he had to say. "We know that people will be against this law. We have no other remedy for the upcoming crisis. There is no other option. People will comply, or they will leave the magical world."
"You-" Hermione began.
"No. Stop talking and listen." Croaker demanded. "The magical population of Britain will die out if we don't do something. That includes you. There's nothing to say that you could marry the man of your choice and have a family, regardless of blood status. The magic that feeds us all is sick, Miss Granger, and this is the only way to fix it.
We know it's manipulative. We know it's oppressive. We know it's monstrous. But we have no other choice. We have done our very best in the Department of Mysteries to develop a spell that will track down a person's magical genetic complement, but the spell is designed for the safety of the caster. It cannot connect a witch or wizard to another who would wish them harm or ruin.
The spell has many layers, and the genetic matching component is only one of them. This is why we have asked you specifically to be here in regards to the spell creation. We have seen many of the spells you've created, the least of which is on the walls of every office in this building. You understand spell layering and verbiage and we need you to verify that the spell is valid and inviolable."
Hermione was doing everything in her power not to break down in tears. Again.
"What you're asking me to do is be the muggleborn witch to test your spell so you can determine if it works correctly? You're asking me to not only test your spell but to research that its components are safe. That it will not harm the caster or intended matches. You're asking me to help you with a spell that will surely destroy my future. Am I understanding this correctly?"
"Yes" was the simple reply from Croaker.
"Fuckers". She mumbled under her breath, as Croaker pushed a folder in front of her.
"Here is our research, everything we've put together on the geneticae spatium. The spell is complete, and everyone in this room has cast it themselves with no ill side effects or harm. However, none of us are muggleborn, and each of us has only one magical match." Kingsley explained.
"You've done the spell? All of you? If it works why do you need me here?" questioned Hermione.
"We each have very specific guidelines towards what our matches allow. As pure-blood and half-blood wizards, we are allowed only one match per the spell specifications. A powerful muggle-born witch like yourself may have many matches. You may have only one match. We need to see how the spell responds to a muggle-born caster."
"And you couldn't find anyone else to do this? Anyone other than me!" she nearly shrieked at the gathered men.
"Of course there are other witches, other muggle-borns. But you are the only one bound to the confidentiality clauses set forth by the Wizengamot, as part of your work with the DMLE. You are the only one who literally cannot speak of this outside of the gathered company." Tiberius explained.
"For fucks sake," she groaned, "show me how to do the spell so I can get the hell out of here. I need a bloody break".
Augustus approached her with a blank piece of parchment.
"The spell is quite easy, Hermione. We will prick your finger, and you will smear the drawn blood across the top of this page. You will move your wand in a circular clockwise spiral, three circles complete, and say the incantation geneticae spatium. This will generate the magical pulse. The pulse travels outward to the barrier wards of Britain, reading the magical genetic content of each witch or wizard it passes. The passing pulse and readings are not noticeable, obviously, as each one of us has already cast the spell.
After a few moments, the pulse will return. Your parchment will glow white, indicating a match or matches. The spell is designed to glow red if magical matches are not found, but we don't anticipate that happening, especially not to you."
"Fine, whatever" she snapped. "Let's just do it."
With the paper placed in front of her, and tears welling in the back of her eyes, Hermione used her wand to slice open her fingertip, knowing the amount of blood amassed was more than necessary, but feeling better for the spitefulness of it, smeared her finger across the parchment in a thick dark line.
She raised her wand, gave three tight circles, and cast the geneticae spatium. A light blue glow filled the room, and then was gone.
She sighed, lowering her head into her hands, praying no one thought to speak to her in the moments she waited.
As quickly as it began, her parchment began to glow white, and she snatched it off the table, not wanting anyone to see her results before she did.
As words began to form out of the smear of dark blood, Hermione began to laugh.
In seconds, she was hysterical.
"You gobshites." she choked. "You utter wankers. Your spell is fucking broken! It doesn't work!"
Croaker looked insulted, but she didn't care. She couldn't find it within herself to find empathy for the men willing to destroy her life but not able to even craft a spell well enough to do it correctly.
"You ought to figure this out before you talk to me again. Your bloody spell matched me with two dead men and a former Death Eater!"