Part Two
Part Two:
Ginny wanted to be at the Ministry right when the Floo networks opened for the day. While Hermione had managed to calm everyone down the night before, now, after some sleep, Ginny was once again boiling. She couldn’t even be convinced to wait for the post, to see if anything official was sent out. Instead, she’d woken Hermione when the light outside the bedroom window was still that slate grey of Not Quite Morning, already dressed wand in hand. Hermione, who would not (even in circumstances as dire as this) describe herself as a “morning person” took quite a bit longer to drag herself down into Harry and Ginny’s living room. As she descended the stairs, she scrubbed the back of her hand of her eyes. Even after washing her face, her eyes had that tight, painful feeling that happens only after a very intense late night crying jag. She hadn’t bothered to look in the mirror in the bathroom, but she was sure if she did her eyes would be ringed in puffy red and dark circles vying for control of her face.
Harry was waiting for her in one of the chairs by the fireplace. He was flipping through a folder filled with notes in his own, messy scrawl. How he managed to hold a job in an office that required meticulous note taking that could be read and understood by fellow aurors was beyond Hermione’s ability to comprehend. She’d known Harry for nearly a decade and could still barely make out his handwriting in birthday cards. Unreadable penmanship or not, he seemed to be able to read his own writing fine and was engrossed enough in the work that she was all the way into the room before he dragged his eyes away to meet her own. He gave her one of those sad, tight smiles that tugged at those familiar wounds of hers. It was the same smile he would give her most mornings while they were Horcrux hunting. How little things change.
“She didn’t want to wait for you.” He said, shoving the file back into his messenger bag and pushing himself up from the chair. “But we’re supposed to meet her at Shacklebolt’s office.”
“Will they even let us in?” Hermione sighed, as she tugged her hair up into something resembling a bun on the top of her head. “Didn’t you try yesterday?
“Yeah, but that was when everyone was trying to flood his office at once. If he’s going to talk to anyone today, it might be us. How would he say no to the people who saved the wizarding world?” Hermione could practically hear Ginny’s voice in Harry’s words. Most of the time, when asked, Harry would refuse to categorize any of their behavior as “world saving.” He liked to pretend that every person who fought against Voldemort did just as much as he did. The beauty of his relationship with Ginny is that while he was ready to scrub his name from the history books, she was ready to carve it into stone. It kept them balanced. The fire glowed a bright green, flames licking higher against the brickwork, as Harry tossed in his handful of floo powder from the jar on the mantle. He threw her one more look over his shoulder as he called out the Ministry and stepped into the blaze, leaving Hermione alone in the living room, emerald light reflecting off the dark walls. She could just stay here, she reasoned as the fire died down. She could go back upstairs into the spare room, and unpack her clothes. Would that be so bad? Surely there were plenty of other young, single witches and wizards capable of demanding answers from the Ministry. Why did it always have to be them? What was it that Ginny had lamented the night before, we were supposed to be done with the horrible.
Hermione took several steadying breaths. Letting the pop of the embers draw her slowly back from the edge of the panic precipice. Harry was there, just on the other end of the fire, waiting. This wasn’t Voldemort, or Death Eaters. It was Shaklebolt and the Ministry, the good guys. They wouldn’t do anything purposefully harmful, she reminded herself. She allowed herself one more deep breath before dipping her hand into the floo powder, the grains like fine sand, gunpowder sliding between her shaking fingers. And before she lost what little nerve she had, she stepped into the fire and followed after her friends.
The Ministry lobby was about as busy as could be expected the morning after the biggest news since Voldemort’s defeat was leaked to the press. Just to get to the elevators, where she had spotted Harry’s mop of brown, unruly hair and a flash of Ginny’s red, Hermione got at least two elbows to the ribs and back. She finally broke free of the throng of people, all crowding around the information desk, where one poor witch who looked barely older than Hermione, was trying to speak over all the shouting. The crowd, mostly reporters, Hermione realized, was a roiling pit of vipers, but when she was finally free of them, she only wanted to dive straight back in head first when she realized the red hair waiting in the elevator bay wasn’t Ginny, it was Ron. Of course. The obviousness of it smacked her in the throat. Of course Ron would be here. Wasn’t Ginny’s entire plan to leverage the influence of the Golden Trio into an audience with the Minister. Hermione had, wrongfully, assumed that given the recent turmoil that brought her Ginny’s doorstep in the first place, she wouldn’t have invited her brother. Sliding along, just behind the shock of it, was a slight betrayal. She’d been with Harry not five minutes ago, and he hadn’t thought to warn her that her ex would be at this meeting? Not even a hint? But as she moved closer to them, she saw that while their posture was stiff, Harry was grinning as Ron told some story. Not betrayal, she realized, just obliviousness. To Harry, Ron was still just Ron. Nothing had changed for him over the past month, why would he think to warn her. He’d probably assumed Hermione knew he would be there. Before she could slink back into the crowd at the information desk, Harry spotted her, waving his hand in a “hurry up” sort of gesture. She fixed her eyes steadily on a spot between the two of them, a bit of textured wallpaper that was bubbled up as if there’s been a leak, in hopes that it wouldn’t be too obvious she was avoiding Ron’s eyes.
“Finally!” Harry said, calling the elevator before turning back to look at the crowd in the lobby. “It’s not even eight yet, I’m sure it’s just going to get worse.”
“Can’t blame ‘em.” Ron said, voice slightly pinched, as they all filed into the lift. There was a rather haggard looking lift operator. An older man, his greying hair, plastered against his forehead with sweat.
“Good Morning.” Hermione said, as the doors slid shut.
“Morning Ma’am. Minister’s office, I presume?” He replied, already moving the lever before anyone could respond.
“A lot of visitors already?” Harry asked. The elevator hurtled up, pausing for a moment before changing course and moving to the left. Hermione stumbled slightly, bracing herself against the mirrored wall.
“Plenty have tired, Sir. Strict orders from the Minister’s office not to let anyone without an appointment onto any of the upper levels.” As he spoke, the elevator shifted to upward momentum once again.
“Well where are you taking us then?” Ron asked. Hermione’s stomach twisted into an unpleasant knot as he spoke. She used to think he had a nice voice, boyish still, but with a good timbre. During their Hogwarts years, she would have been able to pick it up in the middle of a packed great hall. The sound of his laugh sending shivers over her arms like a blast of cold air. Now, though, it just sounded like a voice.
“Up to the Minister’s office, Sir. Just like you asked.”
“Do we have an appointment?”
“I think that’s a question you should know the answer to, Sir.” He said, just as the elevator doors slid open to the deep wood hallway leading to Shaklebolt’s offices. “All I know is that I was given specific instructions that if the persons Potter, Weasley, or Granger were to arrive today, I was to take them right up here.” Hermione thanked the attendant, Harry nodding at him, as she filed out after him and into the hall. She’d been to the Minister’s office several times before, but this was the first where she felt her breath catch with nervousness as they passed the portraits of the former Ministers. At the end of the hall, where it opened up to the secretary’s desk and several low benches, Ginny was waiting, her feet tapping anxious rhythms onto the rug.
“Finally,” Ginny shouted as she spotted the three latecomers, jumping to her feet. The witch behind the secretary desk, an older woman wearing very traditional Ministry robes that haven’t been a required uniform since the eighties, glared at the outburst. Ginny didn’t seem to notice, or perhaps she didn’t care as she walked up to the desk and said, with a level of forced politeness that did precious little to hide her annoyance, “Alert Minister Shaklebolt that we are ready to meet, please.” The witch sighed, and stood from her desk, the chair squeaking loudly.
“I’ll just be a moment.” She said, directing the comment at Harry, Ron, and Hermione as she disappeared through the door and into the offices beyond it. Ginny rolled her eyes as soon as the door clicked shut.
“I’ve been here nearly an hour. That old bat wouldn’t let me without you three. Apparently, Shaklebolt assumed we’d be here, but wanted to talk to us all at once.”
“Do you all feel like we’re being called into Dumbledore’s office for a dressing down? Or is that just me?” Ron asked, clearly looking for a laugh. Hermione tried not to roll her eyes. Thankfully, Ginny didn’t hide her distaste for the poor joke.
“I really don’t think, Ronald, that this is the moment for that. We’re going in there to demand some answers, try not to sound like some nervous, nose picking second year, even if that’s what you feel like.” His mouth snapped shut and his cheeks burned. Hermione turned to face the office door so that he wouldn’t catch the twitching of her lips as she worked to control her smile. At least she could always count on Ginny to put Ron back in his place.
The office door pushed open suddenly. But instead of the older, robed secretary, a younger woman walked out. While still closer to Hermione’s parents’ age than her own, she seemed decades younger than the secretary, who filed out close behind her. The younger witch, for one, wasn’t dressed in robes, but in a high necked top and a close tailored blazer. She was holding a large file, multi colored tabs sticking out the side and was speaking with a level of authoritative ease that Hermione immediately envied.
“...received, I’ll be in touch within the next few hours.” She was saying to the secretary as the older woman settled back behind her desk. “Please advise the Minister to let me know if any line level changes are to be made and we can send over revisions.”
“I will pass that along, Ms. Fitzmoor.” The secretary promised, picking of a quill to scribble the note. The woman took her leave without a thank you, but as she passed the still huddled group, she gave Hermione an easy, confident smile.
“Minister Shaklebolt is ready for you.” The secretary said, still not looking up from her writing. “Last door.”
“Thank you.” Harry said, and led the troop down the short hall past several shut doors. The last door in question, a double door really, was slightly open, Kingsley Shaklebolt visible through the crack. When the man spotted Harry he gave him a tired sort of smile, rising from his desk to extend his hand. Hermione, Harry, and Ron all shook it. But when he offered it to Ginny, she ignored it, setting herself down firmly into one of the two chairs across the desk.
“Good Morning.” Shaklebolt said, waving his wand as two additional chairs slid across from the wall. “Please sit.” He quirked an eyebrow at Ginny, but she didn’t flinch.
“You were expecting us, Sir?” Harry said once they had all sat back, including Shaklebolt.
“After our brief conversation yesterday, Harry, I assumed you’d be back today.” He said with a humorless laugh. “And as for the rest of our Golden Trio, that was more of a hope than an expectation.” He turned more fully towards Hermione then. “I do hope you’ve been well Hermione. I see Ron and Harry here down in the auror’s offices occasionally, but I don’t think I’ve seen you since the memorial. I so hoped Ron would have brought you along to the banquet we held last month for Undersecretary McFauly’s retirement.” Hermione had known about the retirement event, she’d even been planning to go. Ginny had taken her dress shopping and they’d bought this absolutely beautiful, alebit overpriced, deep green gown. But it’s hard to go to an event when the person with the actual invitation dumps you two weeks before. Harry had offered to get her an individual invitation, but in those early days Hermione could barely peel herself from bed to do the necessary things like showering and eating, let alone go to an entire dinner.
“I’ve been well.” Hermione said in answer, voice strained. She felt eyes on her from someone in one of the chairs beside her, but she couldn’t bring herself to turn her head enough to see if it was Ginny or Ron.
“Well, I do hope you will attend the next function.” Shaklebolt said, before turning back to face the whole group. “I think it’s best, now, if we cut straight to the quick of it?” This was the window, it seemed, that Ginny had been waiting for. Sitting up straighter in her chair, she leaned forward to place her palms on Shaklebolt’s desk.
“First, then, could you please explain how you get off trying to control the lives of every young British witch and wizard? Or, perhaps, explain how it is any way the Ministry’s business, who I bloody marry?” At this, Shaklebolt visibly squirmed, moving his chair back, away from Ginny, ever so slightly.
“Ms. Weasley, I appreciate your passion.” He said, evenly “In fact, it’s just that passion that I’m hoping to tap into. You all are, in many ways, the public face of Voldemort’s defeat. You represent the freedom that was nearly taken from us, and I’m hoping you will understand that this law is simply the next step in securing that freedom.” Ginny opened her mouth to interrupt, but Shaklebolt held up a hand, “If you would, let me give you some additional background and detail on our situation. I’m hoping it may change your mind.” Harry, who Hermione knew had always held a soft spot of Shaklebolt, reached over and pulled one of Ginny’s hands into his own. She got the memo and settled back into her chair, although she did pull her hand free of Harry’s so she could fold her arms across her chest.
“Please do explain, Minister Shaklebolt.” Hermione said, “I am trying to understand where this could all possibly be coming from, but I can’t make sense of any of it.” Shaklebolt nodded, pausing to pull out several stacks of documents, handing one to each of them.
“These are reports of all blood status related discriminations and violence that has occurred over the past ten years. Of course, you’ll see the incredible spike that occurred leading up to the war, but the most concerning part of the data is over the past twenty-four months.” Hermione’s finger ran over the graph of data on the second page, trying to make sense of the numbers.
“What am I looking at?” Harry asked.
“While the the rate did, of course, decrease drastically after Voldemort’s defeat, we’re seeing that the rate of attacks on muggle-born wizards is rising again. We are in need of quick, and revolutionary action to disrupt the pattern, or irrevocable damage to our society will occur.” Ron cleared his throat, shifting nervously as he spoke up.
“I’m just not sure what that has to do with a Marriage Law? How would that help?” Shaklebolt clapped his hands together, smiling as if Ron had gotten an answer correct instead of asking a question.
“That’s exactly it! Last year, when we first became aware of the trending concern, we developed a department to try and come up with solutions the Ministry could implement. The workings of our government can be incredibly slow and filled with red tape, so we were specifically looking for solutions that already had the framework in written law. Something we could simply build upon. And that is where the marriage law comes in! While it’s origination was back in the 18th century as a failsafe in case too many wizards were leaving Britain for the newly founded magical society in America, it ended up not being needed. Thankfully, the language of the law is rather vague, and open for interpretation. Thus, we are shifting it to fit our grave need for a way to nip this thorn filled branch of blood superiority before it gives rise to another Voldemort.” Here, Shaklebolt pulled out a much longer piece of parchment. Hermione strained to see it clearly, but could only make out a few words from the edge closest to her. It seemed to be a copy of the law in question.
“I need you all to understand,” Shaklebolt continued, “that our intention, my intention, is in no way to institute some archaic, controlling command upon any unmarried person. This is not some form of punishment. Its goal is only to create a future in which blood status is one horrible chapter in a history book. But the problem of blood status, of blood purity, is that there will always be those with prejudices who want to act upon them, as long as they have victims to inflict that hatred upon. Hermione, I’m sure you, as a person with non-magical parents, is well aware that there are still many people in our society who treat you differently because of your presumed blood status.” The scar on Hermione’s arm, covered under her sleeve as well as a glamour charm, seemed to burn at the memory. She resisted the urge to cover it with her opposite hand.
“I do, Sir. But like, Ron said, I don’t understand how a Marriage Law will fix something so inherent within our society.”
“Because,” Shakelbot said, tapping the parchment in front of him, “the marriage law is requiring that all marriages be between people of different blood status. Thus, the next generation of wizards and witches will no longer have a single pure blood.” There was silence, tense and thick as the words settled over the room.
“But a marriage law,” Ginny said finally “suggests people are going to have to get married, not just a regulation on who can marry who.”
“Yes.” Shacklebolt said, “The marriages must be required, or those with the opinions we most want to destroy will simply remain unmarried. Or, they will leave the country and marry a pure blood from somewhere else and then return. Bringing back their societal destroying beliefs with them. The only way to ensure that the cancer does not continue to grow, is to destroy it all at once.”
“What if people refuse?” Harry asked.
“Of course, as I said, we are not enacting this law as a form to take away control. No one will be forced to marry. Every witch and wizard has several options to choose from if they do not wish to comply with our efforts. First, they may choose to leave. Of course, international immigration can be complicated, but they’re more than welcome to go through the proper process and permanently immigrate to any other wizarding community outside of Britain. However, if they are to stay within the Ministry’s jurisdiction and will not be married, they, of course, have the option of simply giving up their magic and turning in their wands. We are not in the business of sending anyone to Azkaban or anything. Everyone will freely choose to participate, and we will be continuously monitoring the progress of those participants to make sure no one is being taken advantage of, abused, or otherwise experiencing any undue hardship based upon the marriage.”
“So, basically,” Ginny said, “We either get married to whoever the Ministry assigns, lose our magic, or permanently leave our country and family behind?” Before Ginny finished, Shaklebolt began shaking his head vehemently.
“Ms. Weasley, of course you won’t simply be assigned a random muggle-born or half-blood spouse! That would be the exact time of overbearing control which I am trying to avoid. Every unmarried, eligible witch and wizard will be receiving quite the packet of paperwork over the next few weeks. There, they will have a full copy of the law so that they can understand all the regulations and make an informed decision. And then, they will have the ability to either name a specific partner, who meets the blood status requirements, of course or they may leave that field blank and choose instead to fill out the extremely detailed questionnaire that we will use to find matches for those who do not already have a partner. They can include as much or as little detail as they want regarding their ideal match, including gender, age, location, occupation, and so on. We will do our very best to match as many criteria as possible.” Another lengthy pause as he carefully rolled the parchment back up, and slipped it into one of the drawers. Hermione’s mind felt like an overfilled bucket, weighted and spilled over. She trusted Shaklebolt, she’d seen his efforts during the war herself. Not to mention, Dumbledore had trusted him completely. He was a member of the Order for Merlin’s sake! If he did the research and decided that a marriage law was the only available solution, shouldn’t Hermione agree with him? Still, she was reeling. With a bit of effort, she brought one of her many swirling questions forward into a complete thought.
“Minister, earlier you said you were hoping we’d all be here. If the Daily Prophet was accurate, this is settled law, already passed through all the necessary hoops. What exactly do you expect us to do? Are you just looking for our public endorsement?” Shaklebolt considered the question for a moment, arranging and rearranging several quills on his desk.
“I guess calling it an endorsement isn’t entirely incorrect. It’s more that I want you all to be on board. It’s important that you are. Like I said, you are the face of freedom, especially for your generation of witches and wizards. If, once the specifics are released, you three lead a charge of civil unrest against the law, or express your plans to abandon Britain or give up your magic, there will be many who follow you. Hermione,” He said, once again turning all his attention onto her. “ I am from a pure-blood family and I’ve married a pure-blood witch. Our children are pure-blood children. I am enacting this law, fully knowing that it will affect them once they are of age. But I also know that it is the very thing creating a safer, kinder, and better world for them to grow old in. I know that you have felt the horror of what an unchecked blood privilege can lead to, the pain and the long lasting damage that even things like simple schoolyard taunts can cause. And while the loss of some level of autonomy may seem frightening, when we are able to see what that sacrifice will lead to on a larger scale, I think that you, of all people will find it a worthy cause.” Without warning, Shaklebolt rose from his chair, “This Marriage Law is settled law, and it will be enacted. Unfortunately, I cannot discuss every detail with you now, as the leak in yesterday's Prophet has filled my day, as you can imagine.” He motioned them up then, ushering them towards the door. Hermione rose, somewhat unwillingly, and followed him out as he continued talking. “I am simply asking that you all not lead a misguided revolution against the thing that will help heal what has been broken long before Voldemort took power. And while you all have the same freedom of choice that all those affected by the law will have, I want you to understand that your choice will hold more weight than others.” Without much else in the way of pleasantries beyond a “Thank you for your time” as he closed the office door, leaving them in the silent hallway.
They didn’t speak to each other, not as they walked back out into the waiting area, not as they waited for the elevator, not once the doors slid open to a different attendant who took them back to the atrium, no longer filled with press but now lined with several aurors and other security personnel. Once they reached the large, empty lobby, all but one of the floo fires closed with a metal grate, did Ginny finally let out a heavy sigh.
“Obviously, I’m going to be reading every single word of this law, but that doesn’t feel nearly as tyrannical as I thought it would.” Harry, beside her, nodded.
“It sounds as if they really have done the research. I don’t love it, but Gin’s right that it doesn’t sound nearly as bad as it could have been. And it’s for the right reasons.” Ron scoffed, face red and twisted in annoyance.
“For you lot, maybe.” He said, stepping back from their circle. “I still think it’s bullshit.” He glanced briefly at Hermione before muttering something about getting to work and stalking back in the direction of the elevator bay.
“Well we knew he was going to hate it.” Ginny said, “But I don’t know if we can call it ‘bad’ necessarily. Hermione?” Hermione, who’s overfilled bucket of a brain was still heavy in her skull like a painful weight, just shook her head.
“I don’t know.” She said eventually. “I’ll have to think about it, like Shaklebolt said.” And Hermione realized that, while to Harry and Ginny (who would only be affected by the law by pushing up their inevitable wedding) the fear was gone. For the first time in months, maybe even years, she and Ron were on the same page. Good intentions or not, this was definitely bullshit.