A/N: I'm so glad you all love Theo and Luna so much because I also love them! Good news, we are getting into a few chapters from Hermione and/or Draco POV which is exciting :) A small warning - a brief mention of a past suicide in this chapter (not descriptive).
Once again, thank you for all the reviews, I truly appreciate them.
November 10th, 1999 - Wednesday evening
Hermione is standing in her wedding dress when her wards alert her that someone has breached her property line. There are no further wards triggered, however, so it can only be one of three people.
Ron and Harry enter moments after the notice, and they take her in, standing in her living room in front of her tallest mirror.
"Blimey," Ron gapes, "Mione, you look beautiful."
Hermione flushes — in all her years of knowing Ron, he has never called her that, not even when they were briefly together.
"Really?" She hates how uncertain her voice sounds.
Ron's gone red and is rubbing the back of his neck, but Harry can always be trusted to remain cool. He approaches, a familiar smile around his eyes.
"Really," Harry assures her.
Hermione looks at herself in the mirror once again and takes in the gown. When she had first put on Molly Weasley's old wedding dress, it had fit surprisingly well — she'd altered the bust slightly with her wand and shortened the hem a little. The biggest change had been removing the horrendously large shoulders that had puffed out nearly to her ears.
Now, the gown has long sleeves that taper at her wrists, covering up the letters carved into her flesh. The bust has beadwork sewn in and a higher neckline that follows her collarbones. It's held together at the waist with a simple belt of silk and then falls loosely to her socked feet.
"That's uh… very traditional of you, Mione." Ron says.
"Is it?" Hermione stares at the gown. It looks very similar to a muggle gown, though perhaps more of a darker champagne colour than a pure white. The belt had been a golden hue with scarlet edging into the lace work extending below, similar to Fleur's wedding gown, but Hermione had spelled it to match the more white colour. She didn't like how the lace resembled spiderwebs of blood.
"Yeah," Ron steps closer. "Usually the sash is the colour of the wizard you're marrying's house. Or his family's crest, if it's different."
"Oh, that's why it was red and gold." Hermione blurts.
Ron raises his eyebrows, "Did you buy it second-hand?"
"Your mum gave it to me."
Ron recoils, as though the dress he had so admired suddenly contained his mother. "What?"
Harry laughs, "Molly Weasley wore this?"
Hermione puts her hands on her hips. "Yes. What's wrong with that?"
"Nothing!" Ron sputters, "Only you look pretty, and mum—"
"Wotcher, mate," Harry warns, glancing around as though Molly could appear in a fit of rage at any moment.
Ron stills. "I just… are you sure it was hers?"
"Yes, Ronald," Hermione huffs, "I took the shoulders in a bit and changed the sash from gold and red to white, but otherwise it's almost the exact dress your mum wore when she married your dad."
"Ugh," Ron replies.
Hermione can feel a mixture of anger and hurt rising in her throat, and Harry elbows Ron hard.
"Hermione, you look great. Can't believe the ferret gets to marry you in that." Harry's voice is earnest and gentle, and her ire dies.
She smiles. "You mean it?"
"We do," Ron finally recovers. "You look pretty, Mione. Malfoy is… a lucky… bloke."
It's possibly the nicest thing Ron has ever said about Draco Malfoy, so Hermione knows he means it.
"Hey, Hermione," Harry says softly, "Ginny told me what you said on her wedding day. Something old, something new, something borrowed, and something blue, right?"
Hermione nods. Harry extends his hand and sets a small box in hers. She opens it to find two beautiful hairpins detailed with sapphires and diamonds. They're delicate and stunning.
"Oh, goodness," Hermione breathes.
Harry smiles, "Ron and I decided that you deserved something old and blue. And new? From us. We wanted to come by after work and give it to you before this weekend."
"This is too much," Hermione protests weakly.
Ron shakes his head adamantly. "No. Listen, Hermione. You have saved our lives a thousand times and you deserve it."
"You could have gotten me a book," Hermione tells them.
Harry rolls his eyes and gestures around her room at all the piles of books. "We don't even know what you already have. At least this is safe."
"They're beautiful, where on earth did you get them?"
"They were in my parents' vault, so they're old," Harry tells her, "but Ginny suggested we get some sapphires put in for the blue, so Ron took it to a jeweller he knows on Diagon. So that's new, I guess."
Tears fill her eyes immediately; there are so few possessions Harry has of his parents, for him to gift these to her speaks of his love of her. Her entire chest feels warm.
"This is… wow. Just thank you. Both of you." Hermione takes them out and pushes them both into her wild curls that seem to move in every direction. She had planned to tie her hair back into a bun for the wedding, remembering the distaste with which Draco had eyed her messy hair the last time they had gone to Java Corner, but when she stares in the mirror, she somehow looks like herself. It's been a while.
"I'm going to wear it just like this," she tells the boys.
They grin at her, and she impulsively throws her arms around them, pulling them close to her. It feels familiar to be surrounded by Harry and Ron.
"Let me just change and we'll have a cup of tea," she tells them when she pulls away, dashing a stray tear away. They look on fondly, and Harry putters to the kitchen as she escapes to her room.
She lays her wedding gown on her bed and stares at it with a mixture of trepidation and anticipation. Although it's not exactly the way she'd pictured her wedding, and definitely not the groom she'd pictured, she can't help but feel a sense of excitement about the upcoming weekend.
She's about to leave her room when Hermione turns back and looks at the sash, remembering the colours it had been. Gold and red for Gryffindor; for Arthur Weasley.
A simple flick of her wand and the sash has turned emerald green. She simplifies the dropping lace below the sash into soft tendrils that move from the Slytherin green into a sparkling silver, into the cream of the dress.
Hermione turns away and nearly runs from her room to escape her own actions. There's a cup of tea waiting on the table, milk and sugar sitting beside for her to add to taste. She's reminded briefly of Draco, preparing her tea exactly the way she has always preferred it without instruction.
"Have you seen this?" Harry demands, distracting her from her musings. He's holding a copy of the Daily Prophet in his fist, annoyance across his face.
Luna and Theo peek out from it, hands entwined and Luna's starlit wedding gown obvious. The headline reads: "Lovegood to Marry into Nott Family Under WPG?"
Hermione scoffs at the newspaper. "No, but I was there. It's true they married, but anything else Skeeter said in her article is probably rubbish."
"Not that," Ron replies as Harry frantically flips pages, "the article about Tracey Davis."
Harry slaps down the Prophet on her table in front of her. There's a small square of the paper that reads: 'Witch Found Dead at 20 - WPG to Rematch Husband'.
The article is only four lines long. It reads: "Half-blood witch Tracey Davis, 20, found dead at her home by her fiance, Marcus Flint. Flint and Davis were matched by the Wizarding Population Growth Act. Flint will be re-matched at the earliest opportunity. The funeral for Davis will be held at her family's estate on November 16th at 5PM."
Hermione can feel her fingers trembling against her teacup.
"Very suspicious she died at twenty," Harry hisses. "I think Flint killed her."
Hermione sighs. "He might as well have. She killed herself."
"What?" Ron gasps. "How do you know?"
"Malfoy told me. They were friends, I think. He received a letter. Apparently, she had tried before, but matching with Flint was the final straw."
"They were both Slytherins!" Ron protests.
Hermione frowns. "That's what I said, but turns out Davis was half-blood. Muggle mum."
Harry's green eyes narrow. "The Flint's are an outspoken pureblood family. Why would the Ministry match him with Davis! They had to know it was a disaster waiting to happen."
Hermione shrugs. "I don't think the Ministry considered histories or proclivities."
"I think you're wrong," Ron intones, as though he is mulling a thought before unveiling it.
It's rare for Ron to contradict her, but this is the second person who has disagreed with her view on the Ministry's random assignments, and Hermione will listen. Though she has already shared her suspicion that the Ministry has rigged matches for potential business benefits with Draco, so far there has been no rhyme or reason for the other matches that she can decipher, and she had assumed it was mostly random.
"Explain," Hermione demands.
"Flint was a Death Eater, right?" Ron asks.
"Not officially," Hermione says, "but he wanted to be."
Ron frowns, "All the other Death Eaters stood trials. Most went to Azkaban with the exception of Malfoy and Nott."
"Nott never cast any unforgiveables," Harry agrees, "they only had him on aiding Voldemort, but it was under coercion. He was underage pretty much the entire time."
"And we testified for Malfoy," Hermione adds. She doesn't have to add how traumatizing it had been, to see him suspended in a cage, dressed in rags with his dark mark visible. He had been skin and bones, with defeat written across every inch of his face, as though Azkaban was the only place he could imagine himself. Though Hermione had testified that he had tried to help them at Malfoy Manor by not identifying them, it was Harry's testimony about Dumbledore's death that had spared him.
"So what if they couldn't get Flint on anything, but they want to?"
Hermione can feel her jaw slacken. "Are you saying that you suspect the Ministry is attempting to frame Marcus Flint?"
"No," Ron mutters darkly, "I'm suggesting they're just setting him up to commit a hate crime so they can catch him. He'll be guilty, no framing involved."
Hermione feels faint.
"That's sick," Harry looks pale.
Ron shrugs, "I agree, but you asked me to explain. If I wanted to catch Flint and put him in Azkaban, and I do, so I can bet the Ministry does too, the easiest way is to catch him red-handed."
Silence reigns for a moment and Hermione sips at her lukewarm tea. She'd almost forgotten how bloodthirsty Ron could be when strategizing.
"That might explain Flint, but what about all the other matches?" Harry finally asks.
Hermione heaves a sigh. "Malfoy and I were wondering if there's a possible business advantage. They seem to match families and pairs that could benefit a currently running business, or open or improve a new business, and therefore boost the economy in wizarding Britain. Like Katie Bell and Dean Thomas."
"Quidditch," Ron agrees, "Katie told us once in D.A. when she offered to get us brooms that her family owns part of the Cleansweep company."
Hermione nods, grateful that Ron remembered that fact. She hadn't told Draco how she had known, unwilling to give up D.A. members' information. Katie had wanted them to keep it quiet, and Hermione had already felt guilty sharing that much with Malfoy.
"Exactly. And did you know the Parkinson's are really well known for potions?"
"Neville has access to a bunch of restricted ingredients," Harry adds slowly. "He's been cultivating his garden for years, even before we were out of school."
Hermione smiles at the boys — as every year goes by she feels like they get better at connecting the dots, but perhaps they're just finally learning how she operates.
"Exactly. It almost seems like the Ministry is setting up possible business partners."
"You think Pansy and Neville are going to be civil long enough to become business partners?" Ron says skeptically.
Harry frowns. "I saw Neville the other day. First time in a long time. He's heartbroken over Hannah, but he didn't say anything bad about Parkinson. He was out shopping — he said she was at home."
"At home? They're living together?" Ron exclaims.
Harry shrugs, "I guess so. Maybe they eloped quietly?"
"Does Hannah know?" Hermione looks at Ron, who has gone pale.
"I don't think so. She wouldn't take it well." Ron sighs. "We're planning to just sign the papers at the Ministry this week, no big wedding. I think she's dragging her heels a bit because she's hoping Neville will just show up one day and they can run away together."
"You think they would?"
Harry shakes his head at Hermione's question. "Not a chance. Have you ever seen Neville run away from anything in his life?"
Ron chuckles, "Even in first year. You remember, right? He tried to stop us — blimey, Neville's got more bravery than half the Gryffindor's I know."
"He loves Hannah, though." Hermione protests, "What if he thinks running is worth it if he gets her?"
"That's a nice thought, Hermione, but I don't think he would." Harry's tone is gentle. "His parents are here in St. Mungo's. His gran is here. Neville fought in the war — as hard as we did. He deserves to be here, and he wouldn't let anything drive him away. Not even for Hannah."
Hermione watches her oldest friends. Ron is frowning; so different from his usual smile.
"I'm going to book a hearing with the Wizengamot," Hermione tells them abruptly.
Ron scoffs, "What use could they be?"
"Honestly, I don't know." Hermione sighs, steepling her hands. "I think I just want to present my case that the WPG is a terrible and inhumane idea, especially following the trauma of the war, and they'll agree and everything will go back to normal."
Harry's laugh is humourless. "Hermione, you're good, but we both know that's unrealistic for the Ministry."
"I know." Hermione can feel a tension headache building in between her eyes. "I actually want to inquire more about their matching methods and see what information they'll give me."
"You think the Wizengamot is going to explain themselves to you?" Ron questions, "No offense, Mione, but somehow I doubt it."
She shrugs, "I'm not interested in what they say, Ron. I'm interested in how they act. Who is in charge? Who becomes uncomfortable when I bring up all the unsuitable matches? Who flinches when I mention Tracey Davis? I need the names of those on the Wizengamot who oppose the WPG."
"Well, let us know how we can help." Harry smiles at her. Ron nods in agreement.
"I will," Hermione agrees, "but first tell me, how is George? And Harry, how is Ginny? I barely got to talk to her at the wedding!"
Harry's smile grows, and he answers enthusiastically, "Ginny is great! She's officially moved into Grimmauld — she was there all the time anyway, so it wasn't hard. We've started renovating a bit!"
"Yeah, it looks bloody good. Hermione, you should go visit, I popped by the other day and it's like a whole different house." Ron adds.
"And we found a permanent sticking charm strong enough to silence Sirius' horrible aunt," Harry shudders, as though remembering Walburga Black causes him physical pain. "So you wouldn't even have to endure her shouting."
Hermione laughs, "That is actually a relief. Did you know that she's related to Draco? His great aunt or something."
"I believe it," Ron groused. "He always was a bastard."
Hermione elbows him, "Be nice, Ron. He has been nothing but gentlemanly, so far."
Even as she says the words, she's conflicted; it's true that Draco Malfoy, the boy who had tormented her for years, seems to have disappeared without a trace. Only the Sunday prior, they had signed Theo and Luna's wedding certificate and returned to Nott Manor, and Draco had toured her around the gardens with Theo and Luna. They had laughed and joked, and after an hour Hermione realized she was having fun.
They had parted ways easily, and Draco had been writing her letters each day. Taffy had taken to roosting on her kitchen windowsill, stealing treats from her fingers and pressing his face into her hands for her pets. He was a welcome sight, and Hermione was coming to enjoy writing to Draco.
She almost wondered if they were friends.
"The Prophet thinks you still hate each other," Harry's voice drags her back to reality. Ron is scowling, a normal sight when discussing Draco Malfoy.
"What do you mean?" Hermione asks.
Harry gestures at the paper he had flung down. "It's on the front page with Theo and Luna. Says you and Malfoy accompanied them. It emphasizes how you didn't speak to each other and stayed far apart. Called you 'schoolyard enemies' or some other bollocks."
"It was Draco's idea," Hermione admits, "the Prophet would assume we were only there for our respective friends to sign their marriage contract. It had surprised me that even after your wedding the Prophet didn't report that we had been matched, Harry. Not that I'm upset about that — it's definitely a relief."
"To be honest, Hermione, I think a few people were paid off." Harry rubs the back of his neck. "Most people who were there wouldn't betray us, but I wouldn't be shocked if Malfoy's keeping it hushed."
Shock filters through her; it hadn't even occurred to her that Draco would have done that. He had the money, to be sure, and he had admitted he wanted to keep them out of the papers as long as possible, but Hermione had assumed they were just playing an inevitable waiting game.
"Oh," She breathes. She's not sure if she's offended or relieved.
Harry shrugs uncomfortably and looks away. Hermione understands his feelings; it goes against every Gryffindor bone in her body to hide her problems.
"Oh, Godric, I forgot to tell you!" Ron exclaims, "Parvati and George eloped! They just showed up married at Harry's wedding after you and Malfoy left!"
Hermione nearly drops her cup. "What?!"
"Came as a surprise to all of us," Ron explains, "Last I had seen George he'd been trying to drink himself to death and hiding away in his flat. Then he shows up with Parvati on his arm with this ridiculous ring, and he doesn't drink anymore at all."
"What?" Hermione repeats faintly; she's not used to working so hard to keep up with information.
"I think the no drinking was more Parvati's rule than anything else," Harry tells her ruefully, "but he was in good spirits and laughing."
"Do they… does he —" Hermione isn't even sure what she's trying to ask, but Ron's face falls a bit.
"I don't think he likes her, like that." Ron shrugs, "I think they're friends — they've got a lot in common."
Harry nods, "There are worse things than being friends under this law."
As if summoned by this truth, Taffy knocks at her window, startling the trio. Hermione stands and goes to let the owl in, offering him a treat in exchange for the parchment tied to his leg.
"Who's owl is that?" Ron asks.
"Draco's," Hermione answers, already opening the letter.
"Dear Granger,
If you are free tomorrow evening after work, please consider joining me for dinner. I will endeavour not to storm away like a prat this time.
If it works for you — I'll pick you up at 6?
Yours,
Draco Malfoy
PS: Stop feeding Taffy treats I think he already likes you better than me."
Hermione laughs and feeds Taffy another treat with zero remorse. When she turns back to the table, the boys are talking about Quidditch. It's such a familiar sight — thousands of memories of them doing the exact same thing flit through her brain.
She accio's a pen and parchment and scrawls Draco a reply.
"Dear Malfoy,
I'm free — I'll be ready for you at 6. I'll endeavour not to bite your head off this time.
Also — Harry and Ron stopped by today. I have so many things to tell you! George and Parvati eloped and appeared at Harry's wedding after we left! The last I had heard they hadn't even spoken. Also, apparently Pansy and Neville are living together!? Or so Harry thought, he ran into him just the other day.
There was also an article by Skeeter in the Prophet about Luna and Theo — you probably already saw it. We were mentioned, but don't panic, they have referred to us as enemies... so very dramatic, I know, though I am glad the press won't be following us yet.
On another note... the Prophet also mentioned Tracey Davis — if you don't have a copy of the paper and wanted to read it, let me know and I'll bring one for you tomorrow.
Yours,
Granger
PS: I'll stop feeding Taffy treats he definitely deserves when you start thanking your house-elves."
"Blimey, Hermione, are you writing him an essay?"
Hermione scowls at Ron's question, setting her pen down. "That was a perfectly reasonable response, Ronald."
"Of course it was," Harry's voice is fond, if exasperated.
Hermione huffs and makes her way back to the table. "I hardly think a few sentences equate to an essay."
"Does he even read them?" Ron leans back in her chair, relaxed. Though Hermione loves him dearly, she is immediately reminded about how absolutely not right they were for each other.
How often she had written him letters — longer than the one she had just sent Draco Malfoy — and he had responded in two sentences or fewer?
Though… perhaps Draco just thinks he hasto reply to her? Perhaps he doesn't want to and he just is being polite? Ron had never struggled with being rude.
"Nine days," Harry interrupts her sudden internal panic.
"Nine days until what?" Ron questions.
Harry locks eyes with her, and Hermione grimaces. She knows this answer. "In nine days, the Wizarding Population Growth Act states that each matched couple must be married."
"People are flocking to the Ministry," Harry adds, "The lineup on the second floor is round the corner."
"Do we know what the Ministry is going to do to those who don't obey?" Ron is pale.
Hermione shrugs, "They state deportation from the British magical communities."
"Not only that," Harry adds, "But the Aurors are on call to make arrests. Magical Law Enforcement, too. They're planning on charging anyone who ignores the WPG."
"They can't send them to Azkaban!" Ron argues.
Harry sighs, "They don't need to. If they charge them, they can seize their assets, even from Gringotts. They'll bankrupt any witch or wizard they can, send them out of the country if they're lucky, or Azkaban if they're unlucky."
The table is silent, stewing in fury. To be so betrayed by your government; the government you had supported and had hoped would be better than the last.
"I suppose I better go tell Hannah," Ron stands slowly, wearily. "We should get it over with. Maybe we'll just go tonight, I think they have it open late all this week."
Harry stands, and Hermione watches them. Her heart is breaking. "I'm so sorry, Ron."
Ron half-smiles at her, "It's not your fault, Hermione. We're going to fix this, remember?"
"Definitely," Harry agrees, "Hermione, let us know when the Wizengamot allows you a hearing."
"I will," she promises.
"Harry, let us know when Kingsley finally answers one of your memos," Ron demands, "Can't believe that wanker is hiding."
Hermione doesn't say anything, but she agrees. Kingsley has been absent for more than a week, and it's shameful.
She walks the boys to the door and watches as they head outside of her gate to apparate away. It's fully dark by now, just the sliver of a moon and stars to light their way. Hermione wonders if she should put in a small lamp-post at the end of her walkway. Though she rarely has guests in her tiny cottage, she supposes that might change. Draco would surely want Theo to have access, and Hermione could perhaps allow Luna in her space.
With the thought that her world might be expanding, Hermione heads back into her cottage. She supposes she should clean it a bit, prepare a few shelves for Draco's imminent arrival.
It's nearly two hours later, and far past her bedtime when Hermione deems the cottage ready. Everything is spotless, and she's transfigured her old armchair into a corner couch large enough to hold more than one person. Her bed has been moved to the centre of the bedroom, with night tables on both sides; though she doesn't dwell on the why of this. Her closet is half empty, and although it had never been full to begin with, she had purchased a new dresser only the day beforehand, for Malfoy, and what she assumes is an obnoxiously extensive wardrobe.
The last touch on her cottage, however, sends a genuine thrill through her. She strengthens her wards and hides her magic behind shields as much as she can before casting the undetectable extension charm: Capacious Extremis.
She has done the complicated spell once before, on the beaded bag that had carried her through the war. It was heavily controlled magic, and Hermione had taken ages to figure out how to hide such a spell from the Ministry — it had been Barty Crouch Jr in the fourth year who had actually given her the clues. They had left his trunk alone in his classroom office after his arrest and the recovery of the real Mad-Eye Moody, and Hermione had snuck in to run diagnostics on it. She'd known, even then, that it was a particularly tricky bit of magic.
It had taken her months to figure it out.
This time, the magic comes easily. The trunk in her office shudders and Hermione throws the lid open. There are stairs leading down to an empty space, and cautiously she crawls inside.
Though the charm could in theory be applied to make the trunk as large as she could ever need it, she had spelled it specifically to be about the size of the office she had come from. She summons the bookshelves filled with books from above, and they float down into her new library space.
It takes her another hour, even with magic helping, and Hermione feels as though she could collapse by the time she finishes. Exhaustion races through her, even as she delights in the wall-to-wall bookshelves, and the impeccable filing system for easy access.
"Just need to buy another chair," Hermione mutters before clambering out of her trunk stairs. Her office looks almost empty with the bookshelves gone, just a lone desk in the centre of the space.
Her bed is calling her, and though she hates it being in the middle of the space and not safely against the wall, she's tired enough that once she pulls her blankets over her shoulder, she's asleep before she knows it.
A/N: Hermione's wedding dress inspiration found here... please imagine no lace on the chest, but instead a lace style belt in emerald green that gradient fades into the same colour as the dress: (NO SPACES) https: 0x0/f2/albu/g17/M00/E4/C5/rBVa4l_rPUqAOcNLAADEPWGlax0291.