The Replenishment Decree

Harry, rising early to enjoy his morning peace again, heard Hermione bustling around in her room. He tapped quietly on her door as he passed on his way down to the kitchen.
“Yes, Harry?”
“Nothing, Hermione! You’re just up early is all. Would you like some tea?”
“No, thank you,” she answered, opening the door, “I’m fine. Just trying to get myself ready to face the Ministry with Narcissa.”
At Harry’s blank stare, Hermione realized that she hadn’t shared a single bit of what had happened yesterday with her best friend. “On second thought, Harry, why don’t you get your tea and bring it up here and we can talk? Or, have your tea and then join me at Black Manor and we can explain the whole thing together?”
Blinking owlishly for a moment, Harry finally answered, “I think I’ll take option two. I rather enjoy my quiet tea and I’d like to check the Prophet’s headlines today.” Harry turned and continued his trek for tea.

Settling back into his comfortable routine, Harry found both the Daily Prophet and The Quibbler on the doorstep along with a familiar owl waiting patiently.
“Hermes! Hello, friend! Come in for a treat?” Harry knelt down and untied the letter from Hermes’ leg. Percy Weasley’s owl flew in ahead of Harry and he continued his conversation with the bird, “Now why didn’t you tap the window? No need to wait outside! Come on into the kitchen and I’ll get you a bit of bacon.”
Hopping onto the sill, Hermes let out a small hoot as Harry dropped some bacon in a pan and set the kettle to boil. Before he checked the papers, he opened the letter Hermes had delivered; only after he read it did he realize it had been addressed to Hermione.
“Oh, boy, Hermes, we’re in for it today, mate, aren’t we. You’d better wait for an answer from Hermione before you go home. Here’s a bite for your troubles, though.”
“Harry,” the woman in question said as she burst through the door, “whomever are you speaking to?”
Harry silently handed Hermione the letter and placed a quill on the table next to where she stood. “I’d like to have some tea. I have a feeling I missed quite an exciting day yesterday and I need some fortification before I hear about it.”

Hermione dropped into a chair at the table and furiously scribbled a response on the back of the letter she had just read. Before she could attach it to Hermes’ leg, though, Harry intercepted it and handed her another piece of parchment - blank this time - saying, “I know you’re angry. I understand why and I support you. Whatever you’ve just written was no doubt satisfying but don’t send it. The Weasleys mean you no harm however you feel right now.”
Huffing, Hermione slapped her pam down on the table. “I’m expected for supper! Expected! As though I answer to them now! And Mrs. Weasley has questions for me about my ‘mealtime assignation at The Wize Wizard’ yesterday. Harry! I am going to lose my mind. I know I’m just 18 and hardly an adult in the eyes of Molly and Arthur Weasley but I will not stand for this. I am part of the reason we won the damn war. I fought alongside you, without running away, for months. Protecting us. Hiding us. Apparating, Disillusionments, hexes, curses, shields, whatever we needed. I do not deserve to be treated as though I am unable to make my own decisions.”
Hands on her shoulders, Harry looked Hermione right in the eye. “You are right. You are absolutely, inviolably correct. You still don’t want to lash out. It’s not who you are and you’ll just feel guilty later. If you really don’t want to see the Weasleys tonight just tell them you’re not available and you’ll reach out soon about catching up.”
Tears leaking from her eyes, Hermione shook her head, “That’s just it, though. I don’t want to catch up. We have nothing in common. They blindly believe that the Ministry is one hundred percent good because Voldemort’s gone. Mrs. Weasley, and Ron for that matter, can’t see that we still have a long way to go to fix the attitudes that allowed those pureblood supremacist views to take root in the first place.”

Harry pulled Hermione in for a tight hug. Nothing he could say was going to change anything and he agreed with her, anyway.
“You going to tell me why we’re heading to Black Manor or do I just get to be surprised again?”
While she chuckled into Harry’s shoulder, they both heard the sound of the front door opening.
“It’s just Ron,” Harry whispered.
“Yes it is. And he’s going to be sorry.” The talented witch pulled Harry’s wand from his back pocket, where he’s still lucky not to have cursed off his own buttock, and had it pointed right at the kitchen door where she knew she’d see Ron in a matter of moments.

Smirking at the accuracy of their assumption, Hermione said loudly - just to startle the redhead - “Locomotor Mortis!” and cursed Ron into immobility.
“Hermione!” he shouted as his legs locked together and he fell straight backward through the doorway. “I can not believe you just did that!”
“Were you not warned?” She handed Harry back his wand and pulled out her own, “Levicorpus.” Hermione walked under Ron to the front door before muttering the counter jinx. A quick Disillusionment charm on Ron before she opened the door saying, “Wingardium Leviosa,” and Ron found himself deposited right back on the front step.
Just before the door shut, he heard Harry quickly call out, “Finite incantatum!”
No amount of knocking, shouting, or “Alohamora” could get the door to open for Ronald again that morning.
Witnessing Hermione purposefully walk back into the kitchen, Harry gave up on his tea. He watched in amusement as she simply scrawled Unavailable across the parchment and signed it H. Granger before gently tying it to Hermes and scratching his soft head. “Thank you, little owl. Fly safely.” She pushed open the window and Hermes was off, soaring through the gray sky.
“No doubt Ron is still out front. Can we just carefully Apparate from the back? I really do need to get to Black Manor and then the Ministry. We never made it yesterday.”
Overwhelmed, Harry simply nodded.

When the pair finally appeared at the gates of Black Manor, Narcissa was waiting to let them in.
“Good morning, Narcissa,” Hermione offered with a little grin.
“Hermione,” Narcissa smiled back.
“Good morning, Lady Malfoy,” Harry said uncertainly.
“Oh, it’s not Lady Malfoy anymore, Harry. They’ve divorced. She’s Mistress Black.”
“Thank you, Hermione. Good morning, Mr. Potter. Shall we go in for breakfast?” Narcissa presented her arm to Hermione with a slight tilt of her head.
“Mm-hmm,” Hermione pressed her lips together, attempting to contain her smile. She had genuinely enjoyed her hours with Narcissa the day before and was looking forward to spending more time together. The other woman was so smart and well-read, Hermione was excited to go to the National Gallery with her.
Glancing back, Hermione watched as Harry rubbed his hand over his messy hair, head tilted down.
“Harry,” she called, “It’s okay. I promise. Come inside with us for tea and breakfast and we’ll explain everything.”
Hands firmly in his pockets, the boy who lived and died and lived again, trailed behind his best friend.

Just before they stepped into the house, Hermione stopped short, “Oh! Um, Narcissa, just, um, give us a moment. I have to tell Harry...something...important. We’ll be right there.”
Nodding, Narcissa stepped inside and moved the door partially closed.
“You should know, Harry, before you see her that there is a house elf working here who will remind you very much of someone you lost.”
“Are you talking about Pepper?”
Jaw dropped, Hermione just gaped at Harry.
“I’ve met her. Dobby told me all about her. She’s a free elf, Hermione; she chooses to work for the Black family. She’s actually been to visit me. We’ve spent time at Grimmauld Place, cleaning things up a bit. Is she here today? I’d love to see her again!” He smiled.

Finally in the kitchen after an extended conversation with Pepper, Narcissa, Harry, and Hermione were just sitting down at the breakfast table when Draco came in.
“Potter.”
“Malfoy.”
Hermione bit her lip, grasping the other woman’s arm, and Narcissa’s eyes filled with tears. She wouldn’t be able to make this work if her son and Hermione’s best friend still hated each other. No one would believe them.
The former enemies proceeded to fall into hysterics.
“What on Earth?” came from Narcissa.
“Sorry, Mother,” Draco sputtered, still laughing. “Harry and I have spoken a few times this summer. We ran into one another at a Quidditch match and went for a beer after. Cleared the air a bit as it were.”
“Too right we did. We were both being manipulated into situations that were really just beyond us for the most part and played into stereotypes handed down through generations for no reason other than willful ignorance. It’s one of the things we need to work towards stopping with the current generation of Hogwarts students.”

After a full minute of silence, Narcissa finally broke, “Well, then neither of you should have a problem with our news either.”
Draco wisely bit his tongue to allow his mother to share her own news at her own pace.
“As you’re both no doubt aware,” she began, “the Ministry has laid down the Replenishment Decree to turn witches into baby making factories and remove self-determination from the magical human British population. Hermione, being the brightest witch of her age, has ingeniously come up with a plan to, how did you say it?” Narcissa turned her head to Hermione, “To light the spark of rebellion?”
Hermione nodded enthusiastically before turning back to Harry and Draco.
“And how do you plan to light the spark, Hermione?” Harry asked.
“By marrying my girlfriend, Narcissa, of course,” she answered in the tried-and-true tone of the know-it-all she would always be.
Draco, laughing, applauded. “It sounds like a fun rebellion! A wedding between the House of Black and a member of the Golden Trio? Should be the biggest party of the year!”
“And...you get to tell the Ministry you won’t marry the person to whom you’ve been assigned.”
“Exactly, Harry. Subtle refusals. Nothing huge. No foot-stomping. Just a simple, ‘No, thank you, I’ll choose my wife for myself’ to start it off.”
“And my Aunt Andromeda? Where does she fall in all of this?”
“Oh, she’s lighting a different spark!” Narcissa joined in again, “Andromeda is going to find a reporter from the Prophet and bear her broken heart. She’ll talk about how being a widow of the recent war, it’s just too soon for her to say good-bye to the memories of her dearly departed husband and how she can’t possibly introduce someone into little Teddy’s life right now. He’s a child who’s just been orphaned by war, he needs consistency and calmness, not the stress of a new adult. And she can’t possibly consider getting married and having a baby right now, she’s already caring for one.”
Draco sat next to Harry as Pepper served breakfast to the foursome. “Is there another angle? We’re covering people in relationships, widows, single parents with young children. Is there another group who should be lighting their own spark?”
“I think, I mean, that is to say, I think,” Hermione stumbled over her words, “We need to see who their pairs are. I think we need to come at it from a gay rights are human rights standpoint, too. Talk about how advanced the wizarding world is supposed to be and how forcing our child-bearing population into arranged marriages with members of the opposite sex is an ancient practice that’s better left in the history books and not the headlines. We aren’t chattel and the government should not be trying to force us to breed. What about people who simply don’t want children?”

The foursome continued to discuss different population groups who could be exploited by the Ministry’s latest overreach. “If I didn’t know better,” Harry said, as they stood from the table, “I’d say this has Umbridge written all over it.”
“Is she still around? I thought she ran off after the Battle,” Draco followed Harry to the front door.
“I think she’s back at the Ministry right now. I saw her there last week when I stopped in to inquire about Auror training.”
Heads shaking all around, no one could believe the Ministry would let her back in after so much documented abuse against others.
“No need to worry, I have some experience going head to head with Dolores Umbridge, haven’t I?” Hermione chuckled dryly, “I’ll just bring a recording of hooves along.”
They split up just outside the gate. Hermione and Narcissa headed to London to go to the Ministry, Harry went back home, and Draco was still being quite mysterious about his Replenishment Decree plans.

Once in the Ministry phone booth, Narcissa spoke, stating both their names and that they were seeking to rectify a mistake regarding the Replenishment Decree. Their name badges popped out and they were instructed to stop at the Security Checkpoint inside.
“You’re taking our wands?” Hermione asked for the third time.
“Standard procedure, Miss Granger, as I’ve just said. All guests at the Ministry are to submit their wands for safe keeping while visiting the Departments. It’s for everyone’s benefit,” the security witch repeated, clearly frustrated.
“It’s fine, Hermione,” Narcissa whispered in her ear, “just hand over your wand. We’re making a scene of the wrong sort.”
Hermione turned her body into Narcissa’s to whisper back, “I don’t like the way some of the people in here have been looking at us. I feel unprotected. What if someone is aggressive?”
“I’m sure there won’t be any Death Eaters popping up in the Ministry to attack you today, dear,” Narcissa reassured the younger woman.
“In the words of your dear cousin, ‘the world isn’t split into good people and Death Eaters.’ And it’s not the latter I’m worried about today. Nor is it me for whom I’m worried,” Hermione stepped back, looking into Narcissa’s eyes. Due to their closeness, she was able to see the subtle flush of the other woman’s cheeks and the near smile her words had caused.

Turning back to the security desk with a huff, Hermione handed over her precious wand for weighing in and inspection.
“Vine wood, ten and three quarter inches, dragon heartstring core, purchased in 1991 from Ollivander’s, registered to Hermione Jean Granger, muggle-born. Accurate?”
Hermione didn’t answer as she stood staring incredulously at the witch behind the desk. Narcissa pinched Hermione’s arm to get her to respond. “Yes. Yes, that’s all true.”
“Here’s your ticket. Bring it back to this desk when you’re leaving and we’ll return your wand.”
“Lady Black?”
Narcissa silently placed her own wand upon the counter for inspection.
“Rowan wood, ten and three quarter inches, dragon heartstring core, purchased in,” the witch paused and glanced at Narcissa before continuing, “in 1998 from Ollivander, registered to Narcissa Black, pureblood. Accurate?”
“Yes.”
“And where is your former wand?”
“My son borrowed it in May and it was destroyed by a Fiendfyre curse cast by Vincent Crabbe.”
After making a note about it, the security witch asked if Narcissa had proof.
“I’m very confused,” Hermione interjected. “Are wands illicit property now? Is there not a wand shop right in Diagon Alley where we could go and buy a hundred wands if we so chose?” Turning to Narcissa, Hermione rolled her eyes and asked sarcastically, “Did I miss another Decree?”
Snorting, Narcissa shushed the other woman.
“I’m sorry, I haven’t got proof other than my son telling me what happened. You’re aware I purchased this wand just this summer from Ollivander and my previous wand had been purchased for me at birth from the same shop. I apologize if this makes your job today more difficult. I can see about getting proof that my other wand was destroyed, though I haven’t really any idea where to start.”
“Thank you, ma’am, I’ll check with Ollivander myself. He seems to know everything that happens with his wands. Here’s your ticket. Bring it back to this desk when you’re leaving and we’ll return your wand. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement is on the second floor.”

The two headed quietly to the elevators, Hermione walking as stiff as flagpole, muscles completely tensed. As the elevator door opened before them, Narcissa gently placed her hand on the small of Hermione’s back to guide the other woman in first and hopefully bring a little relaxation to her body. Alone at last, Hermione asked about Narcissa’s wands. “I think it’s quite interesting that we both have dragon heartstring, don’t you?”
Smiling at the direction Hermione’s train of thought had gone, Narcissa murmured her agreement.
“What was your first wand? The one you didn’t choose? Or rather, the one that didn't’ choose you?”
Narcissa answered with a smirk, “Elm, of course.”
“Why of course? What’s special about Elm? I don’t really know much wand lore other than that about the Elder wand and Harry and Voldemort’s twin cores.”
“Oh, it’s said that only pure-bloods can produce magic from Elm wands. So, of course, many old houses insisted on Elm for their children.”
Hermione’s brow furrowed and she absently ran her fingers across her lips. Before she could ask her next question, however, the doors opened on the second floor.
Even though Hermione didn’t ask, Narcissa still answered her unspoken question quietly as they stepped into the hallway, “No, I did not purchase - nor did I allow anyone else to purchase - Draco an Elm wand upon his birth. He was chosen by a Hawthorn wand at Ollivander’s before he went to Hogwarts just like the rest of you.”

The women were stopped by a receptionist and directed to the office of the Administrative Registration Department where they were handling all pairing related to the Replenishment Decree. They knocked on an office door where one could still faintly read the hastily scraped off “Muggle-Born Registration Commission” writing that had been replaced by a piece of paper taped to the nearest wall proclaiming it to be the ARD. A copy of the Replenishment Decree, technically called Ministerial Decree Number 192, also hung on the wall next to the door. While they waited for the door to be opened for them, the women found themselves reading the actual text of the decree itself.
“Whereas to further the goals of the Ministry for Magic; this Ministry hereby proclaims Ministerial Decree Number 192, the Replenishment Decree. The purpose of Ministerial Decree Number 192 is to increase the number of Wizarding children to thereby increase the Wizarding population in the United Kingdom and beyond. Ministerial Decree Number 192 will call upon our Ministry officials to assign marriage partners to all unwed witches and wizards of legal, child-bearing age. All such arrangements must wed before 2 January 1999. All such arrangements must result in the production of at least one child per calendar year for the years 1999, 2000, and 2001. Ministerial Decree Number 192 is approved with the majority vote of the Wizengamot.”
Just as Hermione finished reading, the door in front of them opened and a startled Mafalda Hopkirk was before them.
“Miss Hopkirk,” Hermione stuttered out.
“Miss Granger, Lady Black,” Mafalda nodded.
“We’re here about the Decree.”
“Yes,” Mafalda answered with a gusty sigh, “I assumed so. Right in there,” she gestured to the office she had just exited. “I think you’ll find you’re not the first with complaints.”
Surprised at the tone of frustration, Narcissa and Hermione entered the Administration’s office.

“May I help you?” A young man asked.
“Yes, thank you. We’re here about our marriage...assignments,” Hermione said flatly.
Finally looking up, the seated man realized to whom he was speaking, “Um, Miss Granger, of course. Is there a problem? You’ve been given Ron Weasley, right? Your boyfriend?”
“Well,” Narcissa interrupted with a fake laugh, “that right there is the problem. Ron and Hermione are not dating.”
Bewildered, he pulled out a copy of the Daily Prophet from earlier in the week with a headline above a picture of a laughing Ron and Hermione. “I’m confused. The Daily Prophet has been calling you the number one couple of the summer for months.”
“Sorry to disappoint but the Daily Prophet is completely wrong. Ron and I are absolutely not dating. We’ve been friends for seven years, there are bound to be pictures of us laughing together, crying together, probably even hugging. But we’re not dating. I’m not marrying Ron.”
“And I do not wish to marry Lucius. He and I were just divorced, in fact. It does seem rather cruel that, after a very well-publicized divorce with details that were certainly known to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, you would assign me right back to the abusive husband from whom I’ve only just escaped.”
“Terrible,” Hermione shook her head and wrapped her arm around Narcissa’s waist as if for support.

“And what do you propose I do about this?” the young man looked completely dumbfounded.
“We’re going to marry each other, of course,” Hermione said with a bright smile.
“You two?” The women nodded. “Are going to marry...one another?” They nodded again.
“Yes. Hermione and I are going to marry one another.”
“She’s a muggle-born, Madam Malfoy.”
“It’s Lady Black, thank you very much, and soon to be Madam Granger-Black. And her blood-status is of no matter to me. Did we not just fight a whole war about this?” She turned to Hermione, clearly exasperated.
“We did, my dear, and I was actually under the impression that the winning side was NOT concerned with pure-blood rhetoric. Is there a Dark Lord around here somewhere with which I’m unfamiliar?”
“No, of course, not. I meant no disrespect, missus, I was just trying to consider your placement in the Sacred Twenty-Eight. If you prefer a younger female partner I can pair you with Pansy Parkinson, Hannah Abbott, or Astoria Greengrass,” he said to Narcissa, not even glancing at Hermione.
“No! You most certainly may not! This whole thing - ”
“Is getting out of hand,” Narcissa interjected. “We merely wished to assert our right as a couple to wed one another. Though we do wish we didn’t have to rush the wedding so much. We’d have both liked to put a lot more planning into it and the Decree completely ruined the romantic proposal I’ve been working on,” she said gently as she intertwined her hand with Hermione’s. “My future wife does not need to be paired with anyone else, of either gender, thank you, nor do I. Can you please simply adjust the register to put us together?”
Though she sorely wanted to hex the rude expression of his face, Narcissa merely smiled as he removed their previous arrangements and listed them together.
“Thank you,” Narcissa hesitated, looking for his name, “MacMillan. My fiancée and I appreciate your swift attention to this matter.”
“Are you by any chance related to Ernie?” Hermione asked.
“I, uh, I am, yes,” the officer answered briskly, “he’s my younger brother.”
“I just wondered how he was doing? I saw him that day...at Hogwarts? But didn’t see him afterwards and I was worried.”
“Oh, well. Yes, he’s home with our parents. Thank you for asking,” he nodded dismissively and bent over his work once more.
“Darling, we really should be going. We’ve taken up quite enough of his time today,” Narcissa gently tugged Hermione toward the door.
“Yes, of course,” Hermione followed but stopped just in the doorway, “If you wouldn’t mind, could you just tell Ernie I’m glad he’s okay?”
The two witches left quickly after that, maintaining their grip on one another’s hands absentmindedly.