Chapter Text
November 1st
“This is outrageous. A total, bullshite-”
“Don’t forget stupid. Unfair-”
“Unnecessary, worthless- I say we burn the place to ashes.”
Hermione just glared at the letter in front of her as Harry, Ron, and Ginny continued their violent promises. The rest of the Weasleys stared at duplicated letters, Hermione’s name scrawled across the address.
“Ashes you say?” Fred interjected, his eyes sparking in his sister's direction.
“We do love fire,” George added. “Need some pointers?”
“Yes,” Ginny hissed toxically.
“Let’s calm down,” Percy said calmly, but even Hermione could see the outrage in his eyes. Bill sat silently at the end of the table, but she could see him gritting his teeth tightly. Molly was blubbering to Athur who had gone stone white. The letter had infuriated the whole family but Hermione could not help but feel numb.
It was nice, seeing the support. How everyone in the family rallied behind her. But it just reminded her they were all focused on her because they weren’t affected. She turned back to the parchment on the table, scanning the black ink.
By order of the ministry… to eradicate blood purity… kill it at the source… muggle-borns… purebloods… marriage law... consequences… absolute compliance.
She had read it no less than twelve times in the last twenty minutes but the words had begun to morph into an illegible watery mess. It was only then that she realized she was starting to cry.
“Kingsley,” Molly asked shakily, turning toward the very uncomfortable Minister-turned-owl as he stood off to the side. “They couldn’t actually think that this will work!”
“It’s out of my hands, Molly,” the slow timber replied.
“I haven’t seen this kind of prejudice from the Ministry since the first war.” Arthur responded weakly as he shook his head. “I don’t think I can stand for it anymore. This isn’t what we fought so hard for.”
“Hermione?”
Hermione jumped at the feeling of a hand on her shoulder and she rapidly tried to blink away the tears. Harry and Ron were staring at her while the rest of the table talked amongst themselves, everyone looking sick to their stomachs. Her best friends, safe at least from this law. Muggleborns were the limiting factor here, and so they were the ones the onus was on to marry.
“Hermione, it’ll be alright,” Harry said awkwardly as he patted her on the shoulder. “You have time. We’ll find you a bloke you fancy. You’re Hermione Granger. Any man, pureblood or not, should be throwing himself at your feet for the chance!”
“Of course ‘Mione!” Ron added. “I mean… if you want… we could try again. I could-”
“P-please,” Hermione hiccuped. “Don’t.”
Ron cringed, but nodded his agreement. If their failed relationship from earlier in the year was anything to go by she couldn’t even hope for a loveless but friendly marriage. Something about how the two of them fit resulted in explosions and flames, and not of passion just of anger. They both much preferred each other as friends.
“Why would they do this?” Harry asked bitterly as he glared at the letter. The table jumped when the letter caught fire, only to calm as it crumbled to ash. “I mean- fuck!”
“It has a decent precedent,” the minister tried to reason. “In 1803 the Concubinal conjunction of-”
“Concubine!?!” Ginny snarled.
“Choose your words carefully Kingsley,” Harry hissed. “We’ve already overthrown one puppet government.”
“That’s dangerously close to treason, Mr. Potter,” Kingsley responded tiredly. “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear it for now. Look. The fact of it is that if there are no purebloods left, then blood purity does go away. All it will take is this, perhaps one more generation if there are enough muggleborns and then...”
“So they take her right to-” Ginny spat from where she had been hunched down with Fred. Hermione saw a concerning number of diagrams and bright splashes of ink that appeared to have materialized on the parchment.
“Ginny,” Hermione said bitterly. It was quiet but enough to silence the table. “He’s right. We can’t handle another war. ”
“But-”
“Thank you, Miss Granger,” Kingsley continued, rubbing his temples. “I know its… not ideal. But the plan works in theory. Two wars still haven’t provided a solution and if nothing changed there would simply be another in ten or twenty years. We lost so many in the last one. I know your family was lucky to make it out whole but I would think that considering how narrowly that was avoided, you’d have more sympathy.”
Hermione made a point not to look at Fred, but it mattered little when everyone else did. George had gone white as a sheet and wrapped his hand tightly in his twin’s.
“That was uncalled for,” Bill snapped.
“Look. I would never ask this of you, but it was above me. All I could do was my very best to offer as much freedom as possible,” Kingsley continued. “The muggleborns may pick their spouses from any pureblood, not just the oldest families. They are entitled to support and safety. Muggleborns tend to gravitate towards each other, creating imbalances between blood status that are easily targeted by blood purists through a variety of means. This can solve that, eliminating the prejudice among the next generation.”
“We gravitate to muggleborns because we feel excluded from the rest of you,” Hermione responded darkly. “Now we’ll just be alone as we feel excluded from our own home.”
“Miss Granger, please. This is for your own safety as well as for the future safety of muggleborns as a whole,” Kingsley responded. “If they are attached to a pureblood, overt shows of prejudice of muggleborns will be reduced, in fear of offending a powerful member of society or one of their spouse's friends. Over time there will be no ‘pure-bloods’ left. It will keep muggleborns safe .”
“So I need a protector,” Hermione hissed, her anger flaring. “I can’t be respected as a human so I’ll be respected as a wife!?!”
“Now Hermione-” Arthur started.
“Maybe I should just stomp up to Malfoy manor then and demand Draco,” Hermione snarled, watching the room flinch.
“‘Mione-”
“After all, Malfoy is one of the oldest and most respected bigots. If anyone should be given a wife surely it should be them. I’m sure he’ll hate it but he can’t say no right?”
“Hermi-” Harry started.
“Maybe with all this sudden ‘respect’ I will be getting from the purebloods I won’t even notice the scar on my arm as I host dinner parties for them, tittering along while they make jabs about muggles and the mail-order muggleborn spouses. Setting gentlemen's agreements on who will offer for who and how best to tempt a child with money and gifts. Maybe I will serve them wine while they speculate on the incoming crop graduating Hogwarts and how to best bid for the most desirable muggleborn like chattel.”
“They wouldn’t!” Mrs. Weasley gasped.
“They would!” Hermione responded, keeping her eyes on the minister. “You know it, they know it, and I know it. There will never really be any ‘choice’ in the matter,Kingsley. The purebloods won’t stand to be forced into anything. They may act cowed but will find a way around it. To make it work for them. To abuse the law. Then what?”
Kingsley blinked but said nothing, horror dawning on his face.
“Exactly. Ownership. You just signed off on the eradication of muggleborns, not of blood-purists,” Hermione said, sitting back down from where she had risen to a stand. She hadn’t realized she was yelling and yet the silence of the room made it apparent.
“Why her, Kingsley?” Ron said mutely from next to her. “After all we’ve worked for. All we have given up. Why Hermione? Couldn’t you have exempt her from it? Citing war trauma or something?”
“I tried,” Kingsley responded quietly. Hermione absently wondered if every muggleborn was getting a ministry guide to answer questions or if most were just baffled and lost, trying to understand why this was happening. She wanted to help them, but she couldn’t. Not while she was barely keeping her own head above water. “But they wanted her most. They said that if… Merlin... If we could get her to agree. If we could show her marriage working, that the rest of the muggleborns would be more amenable. I didn’t think…”
“You didn’t,” Hermione responded bitterly. “You were played for a fool. So which violent bigot am I marrying?”
“Sylus Nott was bidding most ardently for assigned couples,” Kingsley responded mutely. “But I stopped that. The law is clear that it will be your choice. I was too afraid of bribery and back room deals. I thought I was so clever by choking that out before it began. But at least… It is your choice Hermione. I insisted. With the spotlight shining on you, they wouldn’t dare try anything and blow their plans so easily.”
“Please tell us there’s a way out, Kingsley,” Percy said softly when no one else spoke. “What are these consequences?”
“A fine? I’d pay it for it. All of it.” Harry said firmly but Kingsley just shook his head.
“Azkaban?” Ron asked worriedly. “If so, we could just get her to the continent. What about France?” Hermione’s surprise must have shown as Ron smiled sheepishly at her. “See, sometimes I listen. I remembered you said your family had a cottage there. France wouldn’t be so bad. We could all come hook up our floos and-”
“I’m afraid it’s more serious than that,” Kingsley said darkly. “To avoid splinter cells and rebellions…”
The room held their collective breaths as Kingsley paused. Eventually when the minister looked up his eyes were grave.
“Her magic will be sealed permanently.”
000000000000000
Kingsley left in a whirl of flames, desperately scrambling to find some way to fix this, but Hermione was confident that it was a lost cause.
“France then?” Harry said firmly, glaring at the fire. “To take anything, they have to find you first.”
“Aunt Muriel has a lodge in Germany,” Bill suggested.
“I’ve kept in touch with Victor after you three left,” Ginny suggested without looking up from the plans she was sketching out with the twin. “He offered us his hunting cabin in the Bulgarian mountains for the war. I’m sure he would be happy to help Hermione.”
Hermione watched the world rush around her in a haze. Eventually it was Bill who approached her. Hermione blinked at the familiar beaded bag in his hand, glancing around to see everyone staring at her expectantly. She had no idea how long it had been.
“I packed everything I found,” Ginny said softly.
“It won’t be forever,” Harry assured. “Just until we get this whole mess straightened. Think of it as a vacation. Merlin knows you deserve one.”
Hermione simply nodded and took the bag, looping it around her neck. With that secure, she smiled weakly at the room, trying not to cry. Dazed was a good word for what she was right now. It felt like she was merely an observer, watching someone else’s life through her own eyes. She was just so tired .
She took Bill’s hand, preparing for the apparition. Bill was the best at it, he would make it as easy on her as such a long distance could be. He would handle it. They were doing their best to take the best care of her they could manage and Hermione could distantly appreciate it.
Suddenly, she felt the horrid swirling as her gut pulled tight. It was dizzying and spinning, made worse by the power required. Suddenly, it all stopped a split second before she felt like she was slammed into a wall. Out of instinct, she dropped Bill's arm, her hands flying to her nose to stop the blood she already began to feel dripping from it. It would have been a death sentence while apparating but something had clearly happened as she just found herself still at the Burrow, staring up at the wooden ceiling in shock.
“What the fuck!” Bill groaned.
“Bill! Hermione!” Mrs. Weasley’s worried voice registered in Hermione’s perfiery. But suddenly her vision was filled with the three worried faces of her friends.
“Everything looks present. Hermione? Are you splinched?” Ron asked nervously. “Let us see your nose.”
Hermione groaned but dropped her hands, not liking how the boys winced. Ginny however simply raised her wand, casting a quick episkey, which only hurt marginally less than the pain itself.
“She’s fine,” Ginny said calmly. “Only a broken nose.”
“Thank Melin!” Percy sighed, stepping over. “Bill’s okay, too. What in the hell happened?”
“Move,” Bill barked gruffly as he shook off his mother who was trying to heal a nasty gash on his chin. Her friends scattered but didn’t go far as he raised his wand, muttering spells. Hermione felt his magic roll over her with an aching familiarity. It had been Bill who pulled the dark magic out of her cursed scar in fifth year but for as gentle as he had been, her body remembered his magic and the pain it had extracted from her.
“Well?” Molly asked, her voice short but worried. When Hermione opened her eyes, Bill was backing away with a dark look on his face.
“They put a trace on her.”
“What?” Hermione asked, glancing at her holstered wand. “Like on my wand?”
“I think so,” Bill growled. “It was meant to alert them to whenever you would use magic but I think it'll be altered to tell them when you try to leave the country. We hit the border wards and bounced off them. It wouldn’t surprise me if they put it on every muggleborn on the register.”
“They have no right!” Ron shouted.
“They don’t have the right to a lot of things. It’s never stopped them from doing it before,” Hermione said, glaring down at her wand. She had never felt so betrayed. Getting her wand back after the war felt like a gift. A presence that was warm and comforting in her hand, one that she had never thought she would feel again. To have that tainted drained her.
“Well what now?” Molly asked.
“We try again,” Hermione said, withdrawing her wand and staring at it wistfully. “We leave it behind and I’ll find a new one wherever we settle. Or I can do without for a little while. I know some wandless magic. Enough to get by.”
“Hermione,” Arthur said gravely. “It's a rather large thing to abandon a wand. It may never take you back.”
“I don’t,'' Hermione inhaled softly at the idea of leaving it behind after she had just got it back. “I don’t have a choice.”
“I’m sorry, Hermione,” Bill said quietly, breaking the silence. “But it doesn’t matter. New wand or not, the trace has bonded to you. It’s twisted in with your magic. You can’t leave.”
Hermione continued to stare at her wand, wondering why the realization didn’t hurt more. She didn’t feel relief or anger or joy. The finality of the situation didn’t hurt more than it felt empty, missing. There would be no escape. No backing out and away. She was well and truly trapped.
The weariness of the morning was already wearing on her. Just as she felt ready to collapse, the sound of fluttering wings and clicking beaks came into focus.
Everyone turned as Percy opened the window, a multitude of owls dropping a variety of letters and packages on the table over her newly dead wand. There was a carousel of feathers as the pile grew until well over thirty parcels had been gathered. Some were wrapped hastily and clumsily, some beautifully by hand, and others direct from the store.
“What on earth?” Ginny asked.
“Gifts,” Hermione said mutely, picking up the nearest letter and tearing it open. It was from the Cornfoot family, some cousin of Steven she had never met.
Ms. Ganger,
I hope this letter finds you well. In light of the most recent news, my family is shocked to discover the future of our family lying in your hands. While never overly concerned about the messiness of blood purity, we loathe the idea of marriage of our son Michale towards any bride who should claim him.
As such, we have chosen to see this awful business as a sort of business proposition. As someone of your powerful skills and reported intelligence, we are confident that you agree-
“It’s already begun.” Hermione put down the letter, unable to read any more. Ginny was carefully unwrapping a box while Fred, George, and Bill were scanning the gifts for anything dangerous. Ginny whistled as she pulled out a box of expensive Italian chocolates but Hermione just pulled up her lip in disgust. “They’re trying to buy me.”
Hermione recognized some of the names etched into the letters. While at least the Cornfoots were honest about the proposition given, many were not nearly as straightforward. Suddenly everyone who had a son in Hogwarts at the same time she had been ‘had always admired her from afar’. Hermione scoffed. Marcus Flint had most certainly watched her from afar, but only so he could identify the best time to hit her with a tripping hex so that she fell down the stairs.
“Like chattel,” she sighed.
“Expensive chattel,'' Ginny muttered while pulling out a rather ugly silver brooch. “This is horrid.”
“Ginevra!” Molly snapped.
“What?” Ginny questioned. “It is. If you’re going to try to buy my best friend at least recognize that she's worth more than a flea market broach. Honestly.” Molly flustered even as Hermione felt a laugh force it’s way past her lips. It was maniacal, and more full of sadness than happiness but it was all that she had. When she finally calmed, Ginny spoke to her. “I assume we will be sending these back with a ‘no thank you’ for the worried ones and a ‘Fuck You!’ to the blood purists?”
“Don’t worry, Hermione,” Harry said. “We’ll fight this. We’ll find a way to fix it.”
“Yeah,” Ron agreed. “You’re so strong. They can’t take you down that easily. No way they stand a chance against you.”
Hermione smiled weakly at him but it was hollow. She was so tired of this. So exhausted from fighting. She didn’t want to be strong. She didn’t want to be congratulated and complimented on how well she took a hit and got back up. She had just wanted an easy life, the one she had been robbed of as a child.
But wars raged on, even if you refused to fight. She could not stick her head in the sand and avoid it forever. Taking a deep breath she gathered her will, her indignation, her utter fury and forced it to fuel her. To ruin the Ministry’s plans, if only out ofspite.
Even as those around her muttered and planned, she had to move. She had to try.
Hermione took a deep breath and shook off her best friend's hands. The room fell silent again as she stepped back and away from the table.
She was not helpless. She had options. And most importantly she was Hermione Granger. She could do this. She did NOT fight a war for half of her childhood only to roll over and be a Ministry mandated incubator.
“Give me a letter,” she said, glancing at where Percy still held his. He sent it floating over to her with a wave of his wand. Her eyes scanned over the words, looking for loopholes. There were none.
She was to be engaged within the month and married within three to a pureblood. While the verbiage about children was vague, it was clear they were expected due to family lines and duties. Hermione would wager they left it that way so that each pureblood could demand whatever requirements of their muggleborn that they wanted. Good, she could use that.
Rules about the marriage were restrictive. She would have to move in with her partner immediately after the engagement. There was to be no divorce. They were to be publicly registered with the ministry to ensure compliance. Hermione could only imagine how eager the press was about the idea of a book of engagements. If she refused they would just pair her off with someone random.
Hermione took a deep breath calming herself. It was her fatal flaw, she was always at her best when the world was collapsing around her. There may be no way out of this for her, but she could make the Ministry regret giving her the slightest bit of flexibility.
“I’m so sorry, dear,” Molly tutted. “But we’ll help you, you’re family. Percy would make a fine husband for you. You would be a good fit together.”
“Mum!” Percy gasped but Molly pressed on.
“Bill is married but Charlie is still single and shares your love for creatures. I’m sure you’d get on fine. I think Ronald would be the best choice but any of my boys would be lucky to have you.”
She knew the family and possibly the Ministry expected her to choose Ron (though some clearly still hoped that she could be bought). The papers had been egregious about making any friendly move a hint of something more. If she did that they would hold her up to the world and cart around how happy she obviously was. How well the program worked.
That would not be happening.
She glanced around her at the Wealsey family. Bill, Arthur, and Molly were speaking rapidly to each other. Percy was trying to manage the mail with the help of Ron and Harry. Fred and George had returned to Ginny's abandoned plans with a fervor that marked chaos.
Hmmm, chaos.
“Any of them?” Hermione asked dully.
“Percy!” Molly hissed, glaring at her middle son.
“Oh! O-of course,” Percy coughed, clearly caught off guard. “We will protect you, Hermione. I know that it would not be a marriage of love but it could be one of… friendship.”
“Just what a woman wants from the only man she can snog the rest of her life,” Ginny scoffed.
“Ginevra!” Molly chastised, as Percy flushed brilliantly. “That’s inappropriate!”
“The whole situation is!” Ginny snapped back at the same time Molly spoke over her.
“Just because-”
“She deserves-”
“I know but-”
“Fred,” Hermione said simply as her mind finally locked the pieces into place. “I need Fred.”
The room was silent but for the quiet hooting of owls as they all stared at her.
“What?!?! “
“Granger. Hermione. Mione. Darling. Love-” Fred looked over at George clearing hoping for his twin to continue but Geroge just shook his head violently.
“Hermione. You're a sweet girl. Wicked sharp and just a bit scary. Totally my type. But there was that whole thing where you dated my little brother and it seems like that's setting us up for 150 years of awkward holidays and-”
“Don’t be daft, Fred.” Hermione snorted, coming alive as she already began laying out her plan in her mind. Fred was the loudest, the most outrageous. The one who could be talked into anything. If she was going to fight this, she needed him on her side. “I don’t want to marry anyone let alone you of all people.”
“Oh…” Fred said, before squinting his eyes. “Wait. Why not?”
“Why him?” Percy asked. “I mean I can understand why you'd pick one of us but Fred ?”
“Oi!” Fred shouted.
“Are you volunteering?” Hermione asked sharply. Percy winced and she pulled back her anger, trying to funnel it into something more useful.
“It can't be Ron, that is what they want. Who they expect me to pick. It can't be you because you would violently oppose what I'm planning. I'd take Ginny but she's a girl and Harry would never forgive me.”
“Hmmm,” Ginny hummed thoughtfully.
“Hey!” Harry shouted.
“Which leaves Charlie, who I don't know and isn’t even here. Or one of the twins. And I need Fred's mean streak over George's steadying hand for what I’m planning.”
“Planning you say?” Fred asked, his eyes bright and interested. Even George was watching her warily, precisely why she needed Fred for this. “I love a good plan. What are we planning then?”
Hermione smiled, her thoughts bringing to order for the first time all day.
“Chaos, Fred. Chaos.”