Chapter Text
Miss Hermione J. Granger,
Marriage law decree:
By order of the Ministry for Magic the Marriage Law of 1657 is hereby ratified. This is to combat the decline in birth rates and the unprecedented amount of Squib births.
All purebloods, half bloods, and muggleborns between the ages of 17 and 40 will be required to undergo testing by the Department of Mysteries to determine their match.
All couples will have one year from the date they receive their match to marry and two years from the date of their marriage to produce at least one magical child.
Failure to comply with the law will result in a one year stay in Azkaban or their wand snapped.
Your appointment to meet with the Department of Mysteries is scheduled for 17 April 2002.
We look forward to seeing you.
Joseph Withering
Department of Magical Cooperation
The weather seemed to be reflecting Hermione's mood the past week; dreary, dark, rainy, with thunder so loud it rattled the window panes in her tiny but cozy flat. She had only left her flat in the past week to go to work; the impending appointment at the Ministry was the only thing she could think about.
Hermione had read the letter from the Ministry so many times since it had been delivered to her flat the week before, she could recite it word for word. The letter that had once been rolled up tightly, curling on either end when she opened it, now lay flat on her kitchen table from so many readings.
Out of herself, Harry, and Ron, she was the only one eligible for the law; Harry having married Daphne Greengrass just six months before and Ron had eloped with Lavender Brown three weeks after the war ended. They were both so disgustingly happy in their respective relationships it was difficult to be around them.
Hermione had gone on a handful of dates over the years but no one that caught her attention for more than the occasional night. The men that she had agreed to go out with were either too intimidated by her intellect and war record to engage in conversation or so self-involved that all they would do was talk about themselves, Hermione barely able to get a word in. After two years of blind dates, set ups, and random guys from bars asking her on dates, she decided she would be content with just her Kneazels. Hermione had always been an independent witch, she didn’t need a man to make her happy but if the right one came along she wouldn’t be opposed.
After the war ended, Hermione had returned to Hogwarts to finish her education properly. Everyone, herself included, thought she would start work at the Ministry as soon as she graduated; either joining Harry and Ron in the Auror department or making her way up the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.
She would never be sure why she didn’t choose either of those paths. It was probably a culmination of things: unresolved trauma from being a child soldier since the age of sixteen, the death of many of her friends, the obliviation and subsequent death of her parents, who were killed in a mugging gone wrong, not even remembering they had a daughter.
Hermione was a different person when she returned to Hogwarts for her final year. She wasn’t as focused on her studies, didn’t spend weeks at a time buried in books. She was just there, existing.
When she finished school with a handful of NEWTs, she had offers from multiple departments in the British Ministry, as well as offers from other countries, to join their ranks. Instead, two days after graduation, Hermione had packed the few things she had stashed at Grimmauld Place and took a Portkey to Ireland.
She found a tiny flat on the outskirts of the magical enclave in Dublin and found work in a Muggle bookshop nearby. When Hermione told Harry and Ron she was moving to Dublin, Ron pulled her aside to ask if she was upset about the fact that he didn’t want to pursue a relationship with her; Harry asked her if she was running. After assuring them both that she just needed space to heal but still loved them both, she left. Returning home occasionally to visit, Hermione genuinely liked the quiet life she had created for herself.
While it might not have been the life everyone expected of her, it was the life she could handle. And now this stupid law was throwing a wrench in her plans to become a reclusive old lady surrounded by nothing by her books and a Kneazle or two.
The moment Hermione arrived at the Apparition point inside the Ministry, she was engulfed in a hug.
“Merlin, Harry, it’s not like you haven’t seen me recently. I came over two weeks ago for dinner,” Hermione said. Harry pulled back and looked her over with a critical eye, causing her to huff. “I’m fine. You won’t be, however, if you keep acting like my dad.”
He grinned at her before pulling her over to where Ron was standing.
“You’re all the way in Ireland now, ‘Mione,” Harry whined. “We just don’t see you as often as we’d like. You’re always working or coming up with some other excuse not to see us.”
Rolling his eyes at her over Harry's dramatics, Ron gave her a quick hug.
“Leave off her, mate. She’s happy where she's at. She doesn’t want to come watch you and Daphne feed each other and make eyes. No one wants to see that.”
Hermione laughed as Harry insisted that they were not like that.
“It’s good to see you both but you didn’t have to meet me down here. I’m a big girl, I can make it to the DoM all by myself.”
Ron scoffed as he led the way to the lifts.
“We want to take you to lunch after your appointment; Lav and Daphne want to see you too.”
Hermione sighed. It wasn’t that she didn’t like her best friend's wives; she really did. It was just difficult to see them both carrying on with their lives when she was stuck in the same spot: no boyfriend, no children, no grand career.
“Alright, sounds good. I’ll meet you both in the Atrium when I’m finished. I’m not sure how long this foolishness takes.”
Harry looked at his watch as the doors to the lift opened.
“Dean Thomas was gone for about an hour, so we’ll meet you down here around one.”
Hugging them both, Hermione gave them one last smile before she stepped into the lifts. The ride down was quick, taking deep breaths to calm herself down before she got there. The feeling of dread that had been creeping in the back of her mind for the past week was overtaking her every thought.
There was no one in the room when she arrived exactly three minutes before her appointment time. Pulling a book out of her bag, Hermione lost herself in the words of Jane Austen, trying to think about anything but why she was in this dreary, stone-walled room.
“Oh, Miss Granger!" came a cheery voice, speaking quickly. "I’m so sorry I'm late. We had back to back appointments and I just needed to step out for a moment!”
Hermione jerked at the exuberant voice of the witch who looked to be in her 60s. Pasting a smile on her face, she put her book away and stood to greet the woman who would likely be the one changing her life.
“It’s no trouble at all," Hermoine told her. "I had a book to occupy my time.”
The woman, who had still not introduced herself, chuckled.
“Ah yes, the infamous bookworm of the Golden Trio! Your reputation precedes you.”
Smile changing into a grimace, Hermione listened as the woman babbled on about all the stories she had read in the Prophet about her. Unable to take it any longer, and telling herself she wouldn’t be allowed books in Azkaban if she cursed the shite out of this annoying woman, Hermione interrupted the woman's babbling.
“I’m so sorry, I don’t believe I caught your name. Are you the one who administers the testing for the matches?”
The woman flushed a dull red color and started pulling parchment out of a folder on her desk.
“Oh excuse my manners. I’m Anna Underwood. I won’t be the one administering the test; we leave that up to the Unspeakables, you see." She continued to shuffle papers around on her desk in the most unorganized manner Hermione had ever seen. She curled her hands into fists to keep herself from tidying up the woman's mess. "I’m just here to get you checked in and take some information from you.”
Hermione sighed as she sat in the seat across the desk.
“Alright, let’s get on with it then.”
Anna smiled at her gently.
“I know this isn’t what you want, but I’m going to try to make this as quick and easy as possible. Now, we have most of your information. There's just a few more things we need. It says here you relocated to Ireland. Do you have a job or family there?”
Hermione stifled another sigh. “I work in a Muggle bookshop and I have no living family.”
She ignored the pitying look from the woman across from her.
“Alright then. To your knowledge, are you able to conceive and carry children? You may be exempt from the law if you are unable to. We’ll need a certified letter from St. Mungos confirming this, however.”
Inwardly groaning and trying to decide if she had enough money to pay off a healer to say she was barren, Hermione responded. “As far as I’m aware, I am able to. I sustained quite a bit of curse damage during the final year of the war, but have since been given the all-clear by the healers.”
“That's wonderful to hear!” Anna smiled brightly at her. “Children are such a blessing. I have four myself, though they're all grown up now!”
Hermione forced a smile and gritted her teeth through the remaining questions.
“I’ll just send this paperwork and an Unspeakable should be out shortly to take you back. Good luck, dear.”
Giving her a nod of thanks, Hermione went back to the chair she had been sitting in before. It was useless to pull her book out again; she couldn't concentrate on anything but the door in front of her, waiting for it to open.
Ten minutes later, the door opened and an Unspeakable –she couldn’t tell gender– motioned for her to follow. Hermione grabbed her bag, hurrying out the door after the Unspeakable, who didn't seem intent on waiting for her.
Hermione had an uneasy feeling as she was led through the DoM, thinking back to the last time she had been there. She saw flashes of her friends riding on Thestrals and dodging Death Eaters. It was overwhelming.
She shook her head and focused on the back of the Unspeakable as they opened a door with a complicated wand movement. Inside the room was a dark granite pedestal. On top of the pedestal was a glowing orb that looked like it contained an entire galaxy within.
The distorted voice of the Unspeakable caused her to jerk back.
“You will place your bag and wand on the floor near the door. Approach the orb and cover it with both hands. Do not move until it is finished.”
The Unspeakable started to walk away when Hermione called out, “How will I know it's finished?”
The Unspeakable turned around just before leaving the room.“You’ll know.”
Hermione huffed as she laid her things down as instructed and peered closely at the thing which would be deciding the rest of her life.
No sense in resisting; might as well get it over with.
As soon as Hermione's palms touched the orb, she could feel her magic as it started to shimmer on her skin. She had never felt so exposed in her entire life. The feeling of having her magic examined wasn’t physically painful; it was just extremely personal.
Whatever this orb was, it wasn't just reading her magic; but her very soul. She could feel it judging her intent when she used her wand, examining her mind with the most gentle Legilimency she had ever encountered. There was no chance to occlude her mind; the orb probably wouldn’t have been stopped anyway.
This hadn’t been what she expected. Hermione assumed some sort of spell or questionnaire; not something that was seeing her actual self, her flaws, her hopes, her fears. Perhaps if everyone was being matched this way, the person she would be matched to would genuinely be the person she was meant to be with and not just some name picked out of a hat.
Suddenly her hands were gently pushed away from the orb, which was now filled with a bluish smoke. Hermione hadn’t realized how hard she had been breathing and had no idea how much time had passed since she had put her hands on it.
An Unspeakable returned to the room—she couldn’t be sure it was the same one—and instructed her to gather her things and follow them. In short order, she was facing the same set of lifts that had brought her down. As the doors closed, Hermione cast a quick Tempus to find out she had been down in the DoM for almost an hour and a half. Hopefully Ron and Harry would still be waiting for her.
When the doors opened to the Atrium, Hermione walked out. Looking in her bag, she wasn’t paying attention to her surroundings, and walked into a broad, hard chest.
Opening her mouth to apologize, Hermione looked up into the wide hazel eyes of someone she swore she would never speak to again. Snapping her mouth shut, she shoved the man out of the way.
“Hermione, wait!” he called.
Without turning around, Hermione kept walking. “Fuck you, Nott. Stay the hell away from me.”