Part Four
Part Four:
Hermione tried to write Ron a letter. She really did try. She tried so long that she went through every scrap of parchment available to her, falling asleep late in the night with ink stained fingers and only a stack of the latest rejected versions.
Dear Ron,
I hope you have been well. I’m not sure if you want to hear from me, but I felt like I had to should reach out.
Ron,
We should discuss this law and the implications for our relationship. our future each of us. Has your opinion changed since you said that I “sucked the fun out of everything good in your life?”
Ron,
I don’t want to marry a stranger. Do you? If not, are you expecting us to get married?
Dear Ron,
Ginny thinks I should marry Neville. I’m not going to, but it did make me wonder if I should talk to you about the prospect of us marrying other people. I know that we’re broken up so we don’t have to ask to marry other people, and there’s a marriage law so we have to marry people, but it feels like one of those things we just need to say. Do you want me to marry Neville? Send me your thoughts.
Hermione
Ron,
Sometimes I think I might hate you. But I still feel like I need to talk to you about all of this. What do I do?
When Hermione woke, blurry eyed and dazed, the next morning, she crawled to the edge of the bed and, after reading them all once more, crumpled up all the notes she hadn’t ripped to shreds the night before and lit them on fire. The sparks shooting from her wand too bright to her still adjusting eyes. The smoke curled up, collected at the ceiling before slowly dissipating. She’d gotten nowhere with writing a letter, and to make it worse her dreams revolved mostly around chasing a shadowy figure she knew to be Ron through some dark hallways that looked vaguely like the basement of the Ministry. When she’d finally caught him, he’d exploded into dust. She felt like she could still taste the grit of it in her teeth. It was unsettling to say the least.
The house was quiet as she moved through the hallway and down the steps. It was late enough, based on the light streaming through the windows, that Harry and Ginny would both be at work. It smelled vaguely of coffee and something slightly burned, and she wondered if they had sat together and had breakfast before leaving. Had they talked about her? She imagined Ginny, toast in hand, retelling how she thought Hermione should forget Ron and start looking for a husband like Neville before the ministry could name someone for her. The thought of it made Hermione want to disappear straight through the floor. She never talked to Harry about anything Ron related, not even in those first days after the break-up when she could barely leave her bed. She’d let Ginny give the news. It was too uncomfortable to watch him try to balance his friendship with Ron and his friendship with Hermione. And, if she was being completely honest with herself, she was always a little afraid that if she pushed him, he’d pick Ron over her.
The kitchen was empty, but there were two mugs in the sink, a bit of milk still lingering in the bottom of one. She made herself a tea, fishing an apple from the basket by the sink, and moved to go back to the bedroom, wanting to crawl beneath the heavy covers and disappear for at least a few more hours. She should be studying for her next rotation at St. Mungos, A&E this time, but instead she stopped at the bottom of the steps, where Crookshanks was basking in a sunbeam, twisting on his back to get as much of his exposed stomach into the warmth as possible. Careful not the slosh the still steaming tea, she lowered herself onto the bottom step beside him, and scratched that stop between his ears he loved. She was still sitting there, her stomach just beginning to growl and the tea gone tepid beside her, when a dark shape fluttered against the window, beak tapping at the glass. It was too late for the Prophet. The glass was frosted, to give some privacy from the street, so Hermione couldn’t tell exactly if it was an owl she knew, but a slow moving cloud of unease was beginning to fill her chest. Shacklebolt had mentioned that they would be getting out the full packets as soon as possible following the leak, but she had expected the wheels of government to take at least several days before they could churn it out. Unless, Hermione realized, as the owl tapped again, they had already had them ready. Maybe the leak was planned, a soft launch for the law so that there wasn’t mass hysteria when a bunch of young people woke up to a letter from the Ministry. Would Shackleolt have mentioned that to them? Maybe not, Hermione reasoned, if his goal was to get them on his side. Another tap, louder and more incessant. She stood and opened the front door, since the window in question couldn’t be opened. The owl that was standing on the sill was large and tawny, a Ministry owl. And there, clutched in its beak, was a stack of shimmering blue envelopes, each as thick as a finger. As the bird moved towards the open door, dropping them just inside the doorway, Hermione’s heart and stomach seemed to switch spots, her entire body still going like a hunted animal. She shouldn’t have opened the door. Then again, knowing the resourcefulness of owls, especially Ministry owls, she wouldn’t be surprised if it had shoved them straight through the letter slot or under the kitchen door. There was no escaping this.
Once the bird was gone, up over the house and out of sight, Hermione bent and picked the stack of envelopes up gingerly, as if they could explode or catch fire. Harry’s was on top, followed by Ginny’s, and the final envelope had her name, scrawled in a precise but still elegant script. If not for the color of the envelope, and the ministry seal on the back, it would have looked quite similar to her Hogwarts acceptance letter. She couldn’t remember the name of the older wizard who’d delivered it. But she remembered him sitting at the table with her parents, speaking in those hushed tones while Hermione had read the letter over and over and over again. It had been the missing puzzle piece, her magic. Even though she’d barely done anything but animate a few of the books in her father’s office, she could feel the magic in her, how it answered some long asked question she hadn’t realized she was asking. Like a door was being pushed open and all this new, bright light was coming in. This, this blue envelope, felt like the opposite of that. As she pulled free the wax seal and tore the paper open, it did feel a bit like a door. But instead of it being pulled open, it was slamming shut, boxing her in.
The first several pages, just like Shacklebolt had promised, were a complete text of the new law. Hermione couldn’t bear to spend the time going through it as slowly as she’d planned to, but she skimmed it enough to check that everything they’d been told yesterday had been true. It was. She set aside those pages onto the little entryway table, next to where she’d dropped Harry and Ginny’s envelopes, and began reading the letter that preceded what she assumed to be the matching paperwork.
Dear Ms. Granger,
As you are most likely aware, the newly enacted Matrimonial Unity Law has been put in place to ensure a long standing and unified future for all witches and wizards, regardless of magical history. While we are aware that this change may feel sudden or scary to some, please know that the Ministry has created an entire department, the Department of Matrimonial Placement, to provide support, security, and assistance for all those who are affected by this legislative change.
You are receiving this letter as you have been identified as an of age unmarried magical person. If you believe this identification to be in error, please contact the DMP and we will conduct a thorough review. If this identification is correct, please complete the attached forms and return them by owl post no later than the 20th of November. Failure to complete the forms will result in random matching through our partner matching program outlined on pages 2-10 of this document. If you are unwilling to participate, please instead complete pages 2 and 11 of this document where you may select between resettlement outside of Britain or the surrender of your wand.
While we understand that this accelerated timeline may be cause for concern, we wholeheartedly believe that the success of our mission is dependent on swift action. As stated in the previously supplied text of the law, the drastic increase in blood related attacks and emotional harm over the past two years indicate that we are nearing the point of irreparable damage to our community. Thus, those who choose to comply with the Matrimonial Unity Law will receive final confirmation of their chosen or matched partner by the 25th of November with required attendance at the binding ceremony on the 30th of November. Those who choose to exercise the right to resettlement or wand surrender will be required to provide the documentation listed on page 11 no later than the 25th of November.
We encourage all who are receiving this letter to review the packet thoroughly and, if needed, complete the matching paperwork with as much detail as possible to ensure a proper match. As stated, the DMP was created to support you throughout this process. While we expect wait times to be longer than usual, please do not hesitate to write to us with any questions, comments, or concerns.
Serving you faithfully,
Beatrice Fitzmoor
Head of the Department of Matrimonial Placement
Kingsley Shacklebolt
Minister of Magic
Hermione read through the letter several times, trying to let the reality of it sink in. The 30th. That was all the time she had, just until the end of the month. She was right, then, that they were trying to rush through this to avoid giving people enough time to game the system. Her fingers shook as she laid aside the letter to review the packet.
The first page seemed standard. It had places to confirm her name, date of birth, blood status, current address, among other basic details. However, the bottom of the page had a section labeled “Choice of Partner” with blanks for a name and blood status. The blank stared up at her. She wondered if Ron had gotten the packet yet. He was probably at work, so it would be waiting at the burrow for him. She tried to imagine what it would feel like to pick up a quill and write “Ronald Weasley” into the space. She turned the page, unsettled.
The rest of the packet was an extremely detailed questionnaire. It had questions on everything from her line of work and education background post Hogwarts to her sleeping habits and side of the bed preferences. The last several pages were longer, more in depth questions. They reminded her of the essay questions on her OWLs. They were things like “What do you believe the responsibility of the individual wizard is in creating a safer world for people of all magical backgrounds?” and “Describe the relationship of your parents and if you feel their relationship has affected the way you view the institution of marriage and/or romantic relationships in general.”
Despite her mild horror over this entire process, and her still entirely confused feelings about Ron, Hermione’s brain seemed to buzz at the prospect of completing the packet. Really, she wanted to know how the matching would work. Surely, based on the sheer number of young, unmarried wizards they couldn’t be doing it manually. What kind of spell must have been created to sort through short and long answer questions? Wouldn’t it have been easier to have a lengthy multiple choice questionnaire? For the briefest moment, she forgot the implications of the packet, and let herself be carried away by the thought of new, exciting magic. But then, as it always did, reality crept back in. She realized that this wasn’t just some theoretical concept, it was her life and the lives of her friends.
Ten days, that’s how long she had until the Ministry would be giving her the name of the person she’d be magically bonded to. Ten. It had taken her longer than that to start regularly eating and showering again after her break-up. How was she supposed to handle this? How were any of them supposed to handle this? Up until today, she’d thought that Shacklebolt was a reasonable man, a kind man even, but this was neither. She wondered if the Ministry lobby was full of reporters again, maybe protesters. But settled law is settled law, there is nothing any of them could do expect to try and make the best of it.
That was the question of the hour, Hermione realized. What would be the best of it in this scenario? Since she’d firmly decided that both leaving or giving up her magic were nonstarters, she figured she had three choices moving forward.
First, she could reach out to Ron. She could present the situation and see if he thought that marrying her was ideal to marrying anyone else.
Second, she could follow Ginny’s suggestion and somehow pick a pureblood (not Ron) to marry.
And third, she could fill out the matching paperwork and allow the Ministry to pick her spouse. As she thought again of marrying Ron, her stomach did that anxious knot tying thing. She still felt like, on some level, she needed to reach out to him, but she couldn’t imagine marrying him. Not after everything he’d put her through. If, at least for right now, she removed that option from the table, then it was just between finding a match herself or allowing the ministry to. If she’d had any parchment left from her letter writing disaster the night before she would have started making a list.
Instead, she settled for moving into the living room and laying on the couch, staring up at the swirls of stucco on the ceiling as she made a mental list of every single pureblood she knew who she considered remotely her type. Cringing as she tried to picture standing hand in hand with each of them. Maybe it was the break-up or maybe it was the marriage law, either way, she worked her way through her Hogwarts classmates and even her coworkers without landing on a single option that made the prospect of marriage seem anything less than punishment. She flipped back through the packet of questions, slower this time. She’d fill them out, she decided. She wouldn’t mail it in yet, of course, but filling out the questions couldn’t hurt. It may help her decide, she reasoned. And besides, if she changed her mind she could always write in a name on the first page. But Hermione trusted tests, she trusted the Ministry, and she trusted herself. So maybe this sort of packet was the way to get the best out of this.