A/N: Hi friends! Sorry for the wait for this one, I've been recovering from a bug, but all is well now. The next few chapters may take a bit longer since I'm simply drowning in schoolwork, but I'm really hoping to plow through since this story is coming to a close. Continue to mind the tags listed in chapter 1 of this story. Please review if you enjoy the story, I love reading them.

EDIT: Minor edits 03/01/2021

Friday, January 7th, 2000

Draco Malfoy simply doesn't know everything. In school, he thought he did, but there is something about joining an evil megalomaniac and taking part in a war that sheds light upon every single flaw and ignorance a person can have. Fortunately for Draco, surviving said war allowed him the chance to re-evaluate what he does know; which is actually not very much, incidentally.

He now knows that blood simply does not make a witch or wizard better or worse; character does. He paid for this knowledge in pain and fury, and he's now become a person who would fight a war over it — would die for those who he once thought inferior.

And while he also knows that the Wizarding Population Growth Act is a deeply unfair and awful piece of legislation, it's also the reason he married the greatest witch he's ever known. Not only is Hermione Granger (now Malfoy — and the thought is enough to send pleasure into his bones) formidable and intelligent, but she's also kind, which is a trait that Draco has learned is infinitely rarer.

It's hard not to be consumed by these thoughts as he watches his wife cooking in their tiny kitchen. She's actually a shite cook, but she had awoken this morning determined to make him eggs without Juney's help, and he hadn't tried very hard to stop her. It almost reminds him of potions class, the way her hair keeps growing larger with each passing minute, but instead of being in a murky dungeon with Severus Snape and years of hatred between them, they're in a sunny kitchen, smiling stupidly at each other whenever their eyes catch.

It's about as close to heaven as Draco Malfoy ever imagined getting.

Which is why he's nearly unsurprised when Juney appears before him, large crocodile tears spilling out of her bright blue eyes. Her tears are at odds with the unfamiliar fury painted over her tiny house-elf face. She thrusts a piece of parchment at him violently and pins him with a scowl. Draco's almost proud of the little thing — his father would have tortured her for her insubordination, and it means a lot that she's so unafraid of him.

"For you, Master Malfoy," she hisses, apparating away almost before finishing the moniker.

Draco glances at his wife, who appears nearly as baffled as he feels until he looks down at the paper in his hand, an official-looking document with the Ministry of Magic's official emblem painted across it. He steps towards their counter and flattens it with shaking hands so Hermione can see it. Eggs forgotten, she presses herself close and they read as one.

"The Ministry of Magic is very pleased with the way the Wizarding Growth Population Act is progressing and is thrilled to announce that we have seen substantial growth in our economy, our international wizarding relations, and pregnancy and birth numbers, all of which has cemented the future of the magical world.

With such success, the Ministry of Magic is happy to offer the WPG - Compatibility Act. This act is specifically designed for those matched couples who are finding their current marriages no longer viable. To receive a Divorce, the couple must petition the Ministry of Magic for form T-978. Upon receiving this form, the couple must attach their magical signatures to the form by tapping their wands to the applicable section.

To petition the Ministry of Magic, please contact 'The Office of Magical Marriage'.

Regards,

Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister of Magic

Ernest Hawkworth, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot"

Hermione actually laughs out loud, excitement exploding out of her. "We did it! We actually got in a divorce option!"

Draco is not celebrating. He has lifted the letter to read the second missive below, which is much shorter and much, much worse.

'To Draco Malfoy & Hermione Malfoy;

You have been approved for magical Divorce. Please see the T-978 form attached, pre-signed. Simply tap your wands to finalize your magical Divorce.

Signed,

The Office of Magical Marriages'

"Granger," Draco chokes out, heart pounding nearly out of his throat. "What the fuck is this?"

Hermione freezes mid celebration, scrambling back to her place at his side and reading the words faster than he did.

She stares at him, and he stares back.

He doesn't want this; he desperately wants to keep this witch. He wants to curl around her at night and wake up to her in the morning and watch as she steamrolls anyone who dares get in her way. He wants to love her and support her and grow old and change the fucking world with her.

She's shaking — in a way she hasn't done in a long time. The long-term effects of the cruciatus curse tend to appear in times of great stress or exhaustion, and while she used to forget to feed herself when she locked herself in her office for hours at a time, neither he nor Juney would let her go hungry any longer.

Oh, Juney. Draco swallows hard; his poor house-elf thought he requested this.

"No." He says, the word tearing out of him violently. Hermione flinches, as though he's yelled.

"What?" she whispers back.

Draco straightens his spine. "No. Fuck that, Granger. I don't want a divorce, and I know you don't either. You're mine, you said so yourself."

"But I'm—"

"Don't you dare give me some shite excuse like I'm sacrificing something, or that you're muggleborn."

"Your family magic depends—" Hermione's voice is so much calmer than his, and Draco panics.

"You are my family!" He roars, and Hermione stills in the silence his words evoke.

He calms minutely, reaching out to grasp her shoulders gently. She sinks into his fingers, her body betraying her hesitance. "There are only two Malfoys left in this entire world, Hermione. It's just me and you. If you don't want this, then I'll sign this right now, because I won't chain you here. But don't you fucking dare tell me I'll be better off. I won't be."

It pains him to see the tears tracking down her face, and she nods tremulously. "Okay," she whispers. "If you're sure you want this, okay."

Draco's relief at her agreement is palpable, and he reaches out to pull her close to him. She twines around him in a way he's becoming familiar with and presses her nose into his collarbone.

"Are you sure, Granger?" He asks quietly, "I want you to want this, too."

She leans away just enough to meet his eyes. "I want this. Nothing's changed, I just… want you to have all the options."

"You are the only option," Draco says firmly, and she smiles tremulously at him.

He lets go of her only to pull his wand out, ready to incinerate the bloody letter; fucking Hawkworth, sending them this as some sort of sick power play.

"Wait," Hermione says suddenly, moments before he is about to cast. She's pulled entirely away from him now, curling her arms around herself in the way she does when she's scared. Draco lowers his wand and stares at her expectantly.

"I have…" she swallows hard. "I have to tell you something before you destroy the form."

For the oddest moment, an image of Ron Weasley pops into his head, the warning he had delivered at Christmas: Hermione has secrets — from everyone. Draco pushes the thought away and focuses on his wife.

She takes his silence as permission to continue. "Do you remember in fifth year when your father failed a task at the Department of Mysteries?"

Draco winces, his hand unconsciously creeping up to his chest. The Dark Lord had been furious, and particularly sadistic; the crucio he had delivered to Lucius had paled in comparison to his mother's punishment, given simply for being the wife of someone who had failed.

"Well, I was there," Hermione continues. "With a few others. We have a charmed coin from when we were part of Dumbledore's Army — you remember when Umbridge had you all pull us into her office? Anyway, the coin lets us communicate. We called our reinforcements that night because we thought someone was in danger at the Ministry. We had to fight a few Death Eaters that night. Dolohov was one of them."

At this, Draco focuses — he's not blind, and from the beginning, he had watched as Hermione had flinched at every mention of Dolohov's name, as though he haunted her even from the grave. He remembers how she had gone cold when he had asked after her scars, choking out Dolohov and Bellatrix's names with fear.

"What did he do?" Draco asks, and the fury that licks up his spine is so palpable that Draco knows if Dolohov was still alive, he'd murder him.

"He hit me with a rather nasty curse as I mentioned before." Granger's voice cracks and tears trail down her face, "It was too much for Madam Pomfrey, and she sent me on to St Mungo's for specialists. I obviously survived."

"But?" Draco demands, because she's not reliving this trauma just to tell him — he knows how terrible the war was to her.

She straightens her spine. "I can't give you the children that you want, Draco."

And it's not until she says the words that he realizes just how much he wants. Mourns the loss of children he'd never dreamed of before, all in the space between seconds.

Then he swallows this down because he's not a fool; he had never even entertained the idea of children before Granger had been planted into his life. The loss of one-day children is nothing compared to the loss of her.

"I'm sorry," he says softly. Her eyes flick up from the floor to meet his. "I'm sorry Dolohov did that to you. I'm sorry he took your choices away."

"Draco…" she murmurs.

He swallows. "Nothing changes, Granger. I won't lie and tell you I'm not a little sad — you'd be a great mum and I've never had a big family before. But nothing changes between us. I want you."

It's as if he's given permission because suddenly he's got an armful of witch and she's sobbing harshly into his shirt. He gathers her closer and strokes a heavy hand down her spine until her near hysteric breathing quiets.

"Ron wanted a family," she cries, "and I couldn't — couldn't—"

"Let's not talk about the stupidity of Ronald Weasley right now, love," Draco murmurs. Inside he's reeling — Ron and Hermione arguing at their wedding, at the Nott's Christmas party, at the Burrow, when he had warned him.

"He's the only one who knows," Hermione explains. "And he wanted me to tell you, but I was too scared. He's not being cruel, Draco — he hates lying. He wanted you to know before you got in too deep. In case you… in case you didn't want me anymore."

Draco clutches her closer; it's an odd feeling to realize that Ron Weasley has actually been trying to be fair to him. He almost wants to thank him — wants to punch him in his stupid fucking face, too, but also thank him.

"I do want you, Granger." Draco reiterates. "And it occurs to me that Mrs. Weasley has more than once referred to you as another daughter."

She sniffles. "Yeah."

He presses his face into her riotous curls. "Then where did you ever get the idea that children had to be from their parents to matter? Molly and Arthur Weasley love you just as much as they love all their other children. If you want kids, Granger, then we can make that happen. You have all the money at your disposal — you can ask for second opinions, find specialists, find a surrogate, adopt, whatever. Look, I know you — you are very capable of loving anyone and anything — I mean, you love Potter, and he's the worst; so if you want kids, then say the word and we will have them."

Her face stays buried in his chest for a long time, and he waits patiently. When she finally pulls away, she's blotchy and red-eyed, but she's staring at him as though she's never seen anything like him before.

"Harry isn't the worst," she argues weakly.

Draco rolls his eyes, "Let's agree to disagree."

She hums, and the smallest smile appears. "I love you madly, Draco Malfoy."

He wants to laugh — wants to run marathons and paint her name in the sky and destroy anyone who ever hurt her.

"So can I incinerate this bloody awful paper now?"

Hermione flicks her fingers toward the nearly forgotten paper and whispers: "Incendio". It bursts into flame and crumbles into ash on their countertop.

Draco gapes. "Just how much wandless magic have you been practicing, Hermione? You're a bloody menace."

She grins. "Too late to divorce me now."

Draco doesn't deign to even answer. He presses forward and kisses her, trapping her against cupboards and savouring every inch of her body against him.

"We should go to Theo's," Hermione says, breathless when he pulls away.

Draco flops his head against a cupboard, clunking loudly. "Why are you always thinking when I'm kissing you?"

She laughs, musically. "I'm not! But we should make sure they didn't get any divorce papers. I think we'd be the only ones to get them; Hawkworth probably wanted to see if we were lying about being happy. But we should be sure, just in case."

He sighs dramatically, holding back his smirk when she laughs out loud at his theatrics. "Alright, wife. Let's finish our bloody breakfast first. I don't fancy walking in on Theo if he received divorce papers."

"Luna wouldn't sign them, obviously." Hermione laughs. "They're absolutely mad for each other."

"Exactly," Draco drawls, sending her a faux-scowl. "Do you know what regular couples do after they've had a row when they're mad for each other, Granger?"

He raises his eyebrows meaningfully, leaving her spluttering and blushing to her ears.

They don't make it to Nott Manor for another hour, and their eggs rest forgotten on the countertops.

It's Luna that opens the door when they apparate to Nott Manor, and Draco nearly blinks at how mundane she appears. She's always been pretty, but he doesn't recall ever seeing her without some sort of gaudy bauble or ridiculous outfit.

Now, she's wearing what is obviously Theo's collared shirt in typical Slytherin green over top of loose navy pants. Her hair is down and spread over her shoulders and she peers at them without her usual wide-rimmed pink Nargle glasses.

"Draco, Hermione," she greets. "Come in."

They step into the foyer — the Christmas lights have been removed, but Draco notices that there are more plants than ever in the front room. It's a lovely effect, and he's quite sure it's all Luna's doing since Theo's never owned a plant in his life until Luna gifted him with a fern — and yes, he did have to ask Hermione what the bloody fuck a fern was.

"Who is it, Lu?" Theo's voice carries down the corridor, but before anyone can answer, he turns the corner.

"Hi, Theo!" Hermione chirps.

Draco is almost insulted that his best mate looks worried to see them, though he supposes that they've been appearing on their doorstep with a new crisis each week since the WPG was announced.

"We should sit," Luna announces, leading the way towards a small sitting room. It's one Draco doesn't recognize, since Theo more or less spent his time in only two rooms before Luna crashed into his life. It's lovely — the furniture is all light wood and twinkling lights, the obvious work of Luna.

"How are you two?" Theo asks, settling into a loveseat beside Luna. She curls up into him, tucking her knees to her chest. Draco imagines the way his mother would have fainted at the sight of her bare toes, all twinkling in different colours.

Still, he's disappointed when Hermione sits beside him so properly, even though he can almost still taste her on his lips.

"We're good. The Ministry announced a divorce law," Hermione says. "Which was wonderful news until we discovered a pre-signed approval form for divorce for Draco and I underneath it."

"You're getting divorced!?" Luna nearly yells. Her feet crash down to the floor in a thump, and it's the closest to angry Draco has ever seen her. "That's ridiculous! Hermione — he's in love with you!"

Hermione blushes, and Draco holds back a smirk. "She's quite aware, Luna, but thank you."

Luna's mouth drops open even more. "Then why would you get a—"

"We're not divorcing!" Hermione's voice has gone a bit shrill. "We came to see if you got divorce papers."

Theo sits forward abruptly, and Draco nearly flinches; while both he and Theo have always known they look like their fathers, this is the first time Draco's ever seen his friend look so bloody dangerous.

"We're not divorcing." Theo hisses. Luna laughs.

"I know!" Granger squeaks, and Draco lays a hand on her thigh, so she stops shaking the couch with her incessant jitters.

"No one is divorcing!" He announces. "We incinerated our papers. We were wondering if you received such papers, or if we were just specially chosen by the Ministry."

Theo relaxes once again into the back of the couch. "We only got the news release, no divorce papers."

"Great. A parting gift for that dreadful Wizengamot meeting, then." Granger grumbles.

Luna giggles again, "Hermione, don't be silly. It's strategic. You've shown you're standing together, and now you're too powerful. They want you to split up because it's better for them to hold all the power."

Both Draco and Hermione gape at Luna. He doesn't know why he's so shocked. Years ago, when Luna had been imprisoned in the Manor, her cunning had surprised him. Despite her dotty personality, she had survived weeks living in the same house with multiple Death Eaters and Voldemort himself. Luna was every inch the intelligent Ravenclaw.

An intelligent Ravenclaw who suddenly grasps at her chest, letting out a little shriek of pain. Theo leaps to his feet in a blink, and Hermione is nearly just as fast to pull her wand.

There's no threat — Nott Manor is warded to the teeth, and the only people alive who can circumvent the wards are standing in the room.

"Sorry," Luna breathes. "It just stung for a second and surprised me, is all. It's been so long since I've felt it."

Slowly Draco turns to see what Luna's on about, only to find her pulling a long gold chain out of her shirt, with a Galleon on the end. Hermione nearly falls to her knees beside where Luna is still sitting on the couch, stark fear painted on her face.

"What is it?" She demands. "What does it say, Luna?"

Luna frowns. "SOS - CC - Meet with Ariana 5 PM."

Hermione glances at the clock and back at Luna. It's the first time he's ever seen his wife communicate without saying words to anyone other than Potter or Weasley.

Hermione's gaze softens, and she reaches out to rest one finger on the coin at Luna's neck. "You keep it on you?"

"Of course I do," Luna says gently. "What if you needed me?"

Hermione takes Luna's hand and presses her face to it, an unbridled show of affection. "You are a wonderful friend, Luna," Hermione murmurs gently.

Luna smiles, "I know."

They both stand as one, and Draco watches as Luna sneaks a hand down to clasp Hermione's. They're both scared; it strikes him how fucking young they are, even now, years after they fought a war.

"Do you remember how I told you earlier that I went to the Ministry of Magic with the Dumbledore's Army group?" Hermione asks.

Draco winces — Dolohov's curse. Only a moment later, he connects the dots; she had mentioned an enchanted coin, just like the one resting against Luna's chest on top of her shirt.

"It's one of the charmed ones?" Draco asks. "So the message had to be sent from someone you know."

"Cho Chang," Theo murmurs. "CC. Right?"

Luna nods gravely. "Yes. And Ariana is Dumbledore's little sister. Her portrait is in the basement of the Hog's Head Tavern."

Hermione grasps her wand and says fiercely, "EXPECTO PATRONUM."

A shimmering otter bursts from her wand and laps circles around them. Draco wants to laugh at the sight — he's hardly been given the chance to see many Patronuses, and he didn't even consider the fact that Granger had one.

"Go to Harry. Tell him to check his coin. Ron too, if you can make it there." Hermione instructs, and the otter bounds away through the walls, disappearing.

"That was bloody brilliant," Theo breathes. "Luna, can you make a Patronus?"

Luna nods shyly. "Yes. It's a hare. I'll show you later."

"Okay, Draco and I will go to Hogsmeade first. We'll disillusion ourselves the best we can first. You two come in about ten minutes, so it's not too close together."

Theo and Luna nod gravely at Hermione's instructions, and she spins on her heels and marches towards the door. Draco throws a wave over his shoulder trying to catch up with her. Fear settles in his stomach; he carries it all the way out of Nott Manor, and through his apparition with Granger. By the time they've snuck into the Hog's Head, he's vaguely nauseous. He's familiar with the feeling if nothing else. It had occurred often when the Death Eaters had been on the verge of battle — he feels like they're about to go to war again.

There are a few customers sitting sporadically spaced out, most blurry-eyed and fist deep into a tankard. Hermione nods at a man with a grey beard behind the bar who watches them with discerning blue eyes, even though they're disillusioned. He's familiar in a distant way, and Draco can feel his fear ramp up.

"Who is that, Granger?" Draco asks hoarsely — he knows the answer before he asks, but he still has to say it.

"Aberforth," Hermione murmurs, squeezing his hand and sending him a sad smile. "Dumbledore's brother."

Draco chokes on anguish the entire way down the rickety steps into the basement; even if Aberforth were standing in front of him, he'd have no way of forcing whatever apologies he should make out of his throat.

Luckily for him, he doesn't have long to ponder the mystery of Albus Dumbledore's brother.

Cho Chang is standing in front of a portrait of a young woman, hand outstretched as though they'd been communicating.

Draco hardly knows Cho, but even he is shocked at what he sees. She's nearly unrecognizable; her shoulder blades jut out of her back like broken wings, and her wrists are so thin he thinks he could crush them between two fingers. She's emaciated beyond any scope he's ever seen before, and when she turns to look at them with a fierce glare, she's got a wicked burn across her left cheek. It's angry and red, and definitely not that old.

Beyond that, her sleeveless arms are covered in bruises. Most look like handprints.

Hermione stares at Cho Chang, and they don't speak. Tears begin to track down her cheeks, but Cho's gaze never wavers, not until creaking signifies people are joining them in the basement.

Luna takes one look at Cho and nearly falls all over herself; they scramble together with desperation, and Luna wraps Cho into her arms and clutches her tightly while the other girl hides in her collar.

Draco once again finds himself unbearably grateful to Luna bloody Lovegood.

Only moments later, what appears to be an entire crew clambers down the stairs. First, Neville Longbottom with Pansy Parkinson in tow, Fred and Parvati, Ron, Susan Bones, Padma Patil, Seamus Finnigan, and a few others Draco doesn't recognize. Harry Potter is the last, and he closes the door gently behind him.

"Bringing the snakes in?" Seamus Finnigan hisses, gesturing blindly at Theo, Draco, and Pansy.

Hermione sighs. "Seamus. Surely you know we've married them, right?"

"Unwillingly." Cho's voice rings out, and Seamus' argument drops when he catches sight of her, half-hidden behind Luna's body.

Everyone else follows suit, and as their group recognizes the abuse that Cho has obviously been dealing with, wands and righteous fury appear. Harry Potter steps forward but doesn't approach Cho further, and it is Luna who speaks instead.

"Cho, tell us who hurt you?" Luna asks in her gentlest voice. "We can fix it. We'll protect you."

"I don't need protecting," Cho hisses.

She steps out from her hiding place half behind Luna, showing the extent of her bruising and neglect; broken murmurs and furious whispers break out behind him.

"Terrence Higgs is dead," Cho says calmly. "I woke up this morning, looked at myself in the mirror, and walked back to my bed and avada'd Higgs where he lay sleeping."

Shock suspends that moment in silence, and it is Pansy Longbottom nee Parkinson that breaks it.

"Good for you." She announces viciously. "Do you need us to get rid of the body?"

Cho's glare, so furious and hardened, cracks just a little. "You would help me?"

Pansy tosses her hair as if in annoyance. "To be honest with you, I've been looking for ways to get rid of Terrence Higgs since first year."

Cho laughs, but halfway through it cracks into a sob, and suddenly the group is converging on her, wrapping her up in arms and love and support. It's overwhelming, and Draco finds himself hovering at the back with Theo and Pansy. There's more than one person crying, and Pansy is shifting from foot to foot. She's been adamant since she was fifteen that she's allergic to tears.

"Draco, do you still have that particularly beautiful solarium at the Manor that your mother so loved?" Pansy murmurs.

Draco gapes at her. "This is hardly the time, Pans."

She waves his protests away. "This is a perfect time. Narcissa was always so well prepared. Such a good Slytherin. So many… strategic secrets."

"What the fuck are you on about, Pans?"

Pansy sniffs at his words. "Come on Draco. You don't think your mother cleaned up more than her fair share of your father's messes? There's a perfectly good mulching machine in that solarium, and it creates the best fertilizer. There's a reason her flowers were always simply brimming with life."

Draco stares at Pansy. "Are you telling me my mother put dead bodies in her bloody flower beds?!"

"Don't be ridiculous, Draco," Pansy says primly. "I was simply inquiring about your gardens, and if the Malfoy wards would allow me entrance."

"They would," Draco says after a long moment — he's not entirely sure if he wants to know if Pansy is telling the truth about his flowers or not.

Luckily, Pansy doesn't ask anything further. She spins away from him, moving towards the epicentre where Cho Chang still stands. Pansy barely exchanges three words with her before she's off again, clambering up the stairwell and disappearing out the door.

"You're really trusting her?" Seamus questions. Cho turns red eyes on Neville.

"Do you trust her?" Cho asks.

Neville nods.

Cho shrugs. "Then I do, too."

Slowly, the group breaks apart enough to give everyone room to breathe. Luna stays beside Cho, and Theo hovers close to Hermione and Draco.

"Why didn't you call us sooner, Cho?" Susan Bones asks gently. "We would have helped you."

Cho scowls. "He took my coin away. He didn't realize what it was, but I had it on a necklace like Luna does, and that meant he thought it was jewellery. I wasn't allowed jewellery."

Draco has always hated Terrence Higgs, but he's about ready to follow Pansy up those stairs and go to his mother's solarium and mulch him twice for good fucking measure.

"I'm sorry, Cho," Hermione says softly. "I'm so sorry."

Cho nods. "Me too."

"As of today, Hermione got the divorce law passed," Harry says into the silence. "Which is a good start. But we need to do more. At this rate, it's going to be years before the Ministry abolishes the WPG, and new witches and wizards will graduate Hogwarts this year and be matched before they even have a chance to live."

"What do you propose, Harry?" Fred Weasley asks.

Harry shrugs helplessly. "I honestly don't know. We could hold a march, maybe?"

"A march?" Cho laughs dryly. "Have you all lost your goddamn minds? A march?! Why don't we take ourselves to the Ministry and demand a revolution?! Oust everyone in charge!"

Harry winces. "We don't want this to come down to a fight, Cho. We need to be peaceful—"

"We were made in war, Harry Potter!" Cho snaps. "We've never known peace! Look around — this room is missing members, members who died so that we could live. So we could love and grow up and not be so fucking battle-worn. You want peaceful? Fine. Don't forget that you married the love of your life — but I've been living with a monster for months. I've been fighting a war this entire fucking time, and I didn't choose this war! If you don't want to help me, then get out of my way. I'll go to the Ministry myself."

"Stop!" Hermione's voice rings out, cutting through the electrifying hum of the basement. "Stop. I think you're both right."

Ron Weasley sighs. "Obviously you've got an idea, 'Mione. Fill us in."

"Next Friday there's supposed to be a Ministry fundraiser, with a few of their employees; Arthur Weasley was planning to attend with Molly, and Harry and I were also invited. We'll spread a rumour of a protest happening the following week, so we can gauge who liked the idea and who is upset about it. Then, we will have the protest march — Luna, could you print something about it in the Quibbler?"

"Of course," Luna agrees. "It will pair nicely with today's article, anyway."

Draco blinks — he had forgotten that the Quibbler was supposed to have published Granger's article on the Wizengamot meeting today; Juney hadn't delivered it when she had dropped the divorce papers off in her fury.

"What exactly is a protest march going to achieve?" Cho Chang asks. She's obviously frustrated, and Draco can hardly blame her. "Sure, we'll get some notice, but people already know the WPG is rubbish. How will it change anything?"

This time, Harry Potter speaks. "It's not going to change anything," Harry says seriously. "But it will be a good diversion. We get as many people as we can to flood Diagon Alley and the Ministry, and the Aurors will be stretched thin. Hawkworth will be vulnerable."

"Vulnerable for what, exactly?" Draco asks abruptly. He's still standing far enough back with Theo that most of the Dumbledore's Army members glance behind them, nearly surprised, as though they'd forgotten the Slytherins were there.

"Revolution," Hermione answers easily. "We're going to take over the Ministry of Magic."