Chapter Text
Hermione shuffled her papers as she walked through the library, never needing to look up to maintain her efficient glide. After the Fall of Voldemort, Hermione had made the choice to return to Hogwarts. She wasn’t Head Girl. That dream had gone by the wayside in the fight to defeat Voldemort. She was happy to support the current prefects, the current Head Girl and Boy, who were seventh years by right rather than by circumstance.
Still, Hermione found that the younger students did come to her for help, support, and attention. She did her best to redirect them to the current prefects, but it likely did not help her case when she found herself once again scanning the library, making sure that the ever-changing status quo was maintained as she went about her day.
Some Ravenclaw first years were bunched up together at a wide oak table. Hermione stopped, and considered the fact that they had been there since her stop to pick up some scrolls before breakfast. One looked up and waved at her, as she passed by the tiny little eleven year olds.
Yet another child whispered, “Miss Granger!”
Hermione found herself smiling widely at the little shock of a boy before her as she approached, for his robe was askew and his wide eyes were earnest. His name, which Hermione recalled from her stolen list of first years, was Jacoby Phillips-Merit. “Hello, Jacoby. You’re all studying, I see.”
“Yes, Miss Granger!” Jacoby replied, “But we were wondering. Would you help us with our charms homework? We’ve decided that asking for help is the ex-exemplification-” Here Jacoby stumbled over the word, and Hermione nodded imperceptibly when he got it out on the second try, “-of Ravenclaw’s traits.”
Hermione smiled. In her early years, no Ravenclaw would ever ask a rash Gryffindor for help. How times, Hermione thought, were slowly changing, now that Voldemort was a thing of the past.
She shook off the thought of all the lives that had been lost in that struggle. Tonks was gone. Remus was heartbroken, and even Sirius was somber in the face of his loss. Bill and Fleur were gone. Their baby, unborn, had never even had a chance at life. Dobby, oh Merlin, Dobby.
Still, Hermione forced a smile. “Would you like my advice?”
“Yes!” Amaryllis Carew, a distant relative of the former Death Eater, who was rotting in Azkaban, was so excited that her voice rose. Hermione felt along her sleeve for her wand, avoiding the scars.
Hermione pulled out her wand. She thought for a second, back to that long ago time in Charms, when the wonder of magic, of this whole world, had filled her soul.
Then, she looked quickly at the books piled around the tiny children, and changed her mind. “I’ll tell you a secret, but it must be guarded carefully.”
“Upon my honor as a Carew, Miss Granger.” The tiny pureblooded girl lisped, “We won’t tell a single soul, not even if it means a lower mark, even on OWLS!”
Little, earnest, faces gazed up at her. Hermione knew how easily her peers joy of magic had been taken. She was determined to give that back, somehow, even if she could never feel it again herself. She made a big flicking motion, and a swoop, and cast a tiny muffliato, one that would barely span three feet around. It encircled the table, and that was Hermione’s point.
Their eyes widened as they scooted closer to avoid the buzz in their ears, and Hermione spoke. They hung on to her words, “The best way to learn charms is to study in small chunks of time, and then go and take a break, to allow the information to sink in, often with a bit of physical exertion.” Hermione bit her lip convincingly as she fibbed, “I read it in Hogwarts: A History. The 1477 edition, you know. Very rare. But it’s true.”
“Oh!” The first year with long braids and a big smile said, “We can....” Agathe Vilitz paused, “What should we do?”
Not one of the first years spoke. Finally Hermione suggested, “When Harry, Ron, and I were first years, we often raced to the lake, but of course you might want--”
At that, they jerked into action.
Hermione released the spell with a tiny jerk of her pinky. They all felt the shift in the magic, but Hermione did not think the first years really noticed. Like all first years regardless of house, they moved quickly, elbows flying, knees banging, tugging robes, and falling chairs. As Ravenclaws, though, their eyes were on replacing their books.
“I’ll get those.” Hermione offered, already gathering the books into a floating stack hovering over the table. Without thought, they sorted themselves, so as to be put away when she walked by those shelves. The eleven-year olds had taken out piles of books, and those books were what had caught Hermione’s eye in the first case.
The Ravenclaws dashed as much as their innate respect of a temple of learning would allow. Hermione smiled.
Mischief Managed.
She leaned across the table to reach a quill, likely borrowed from Madam Pince, and in doing so, knocked her levitating stack over.
Hermione braced herself for the sound even as she thought, “Wingardium Leviosa!”
The book did not float up. Hermione glanced over, surprised, and found that it had been subverted. It was trapped against a cloaked wizard, pressed against a cozy jumper that peeked out from where his robes parted.
“Thank you.” Hermione said, as Harry extended the book.
“I never thought I’d see the day that you encouraged firsties to skive off.” Harry mentioned, ignoring any semblance of order that compelled him to whisper.
“They’re children.” Hermione modeled good library etiquette, walking past Harry to begin to put away her books, “And there’s time enough for learning. They’d been there since breakfast.”
“The lioness guards her cubs.” Harry quoted softly. Hermione knew he was teasing her with information he’d gleaned from what he and Sirius jokingly called Marauder lessons.
Hermione knew better. Those meetings were the tutelage Harry should have had all his life, training that would enable him to carry on his family’s legacy, and guard the considerable Potter interests for future generations.
“I’m not Head Girl.” Hermione reminded him, stocking back yet another Bagshot title. “And I’m not their carer.”
Quick as lightening, Harry had scooted in front of her, and walked backwards in front of her, taking up the long aisle with his quirky smile, “And yet, you’ve found a whole gaggle of small creatures to cuddle to your bosom.”
“Stop talking about my bosom.” Hermione hissed, as they passed a study table full of Hufflepuffs. Seventh years, Hermione noted.
Great. Just great. She glared, “Would you like Hufflepuff to be abuzz?”
“They’re buzzed anyhow.” Harry muttered, “I actually came to see if you wanted to get out of here.”
“Why?” Hermione asked, shoving another book onto the crowded shelf, now that they had finally reached the charms section. Four and five books went away at a time. Those earnest little first years really had cleared the elementary texts from the shelves. “Term’s only begun!”
“I happen to know a young wizard who misses his My Own when he doesn’t get enough time with her.” Harry put his arm out, blocking the aisle, “And I’m going to go barking mad if I don’t get away...”
“Harry.” Hermione wanted to lecture him. She’d read quite a bit about protracted breakups. She knew him. She knew Ginny.
Hermione paused, though, and took in the set of his shoulders. Lecturing wasn’t going to help him if he wasn’t in a mind to listen. “We’ll go and see Teddy. But please, please, talk to Remus about this.”
“Why not Sirius?” Harry asked, his brow furrowing, his scar hiding amongst the lines that revealed his confusion.
Hermione put away the last of her books, and looked over at the lanky man archly. “Sirius, while certainly knowledgeable about women, does not understand angsty, protracted, breakups, or their aftermath.”
“He’s had a lot of them.” Harry protested.
Right, Hermione thought. He’d had a lot breakups since being released from Azkaban because his bonded had gone and civilly married someone else.
Sirius was complicated, and that included facets of his sexuality. Yes, he enjoyed his time with women. But in truth, Sirius called himself “Remussexual.” Thankfully, the magical community did not share the same homophobia that was common in muggle communities. Hermione made a mental note to do a little historical and sociological research into the differences. It would help when she went to Pride Week in London, this year, as was her plan. “And we both know that’s had nothing to do with women.”
The truth became clear to Harry, and his grin and humor were electric. “Fantastic point, as always, Miss Granger.”
“Thank you, Your Grace.” Hermione returned formally, inclining her head to keep from laughing at the absurdity of it all, “I’ll meet you at the gates, as soon as I check in with Madam Pince about this manuscript she’s been helping me to locate. I think I may be onto something quite interesting.”
An hour and a half later, Harry paced in front of the empty grate at Grimmauld Place.
“Sit down, Harry. You’re giving me a headache.” Remus rubbed his greying temple with his fingers.
“Moony, Prongslet is much like his sire.” Sirius teased in a supercilious tone as he lounged in front of the fire, “Consumed by thoughts of a flame-haired woman.”
“Except the woman in this case is the one who won’t take no for an answer.” Remus replied, happy to correct Sirius.
“Hermione says that I should learn from Dad, and develop empathy for Mum. Chasing after someone when they’ve said no doesn’t really feel romantic.” Harry said, sinking into the vacant armchair. “But this whole thing with Ginny...”
“Isn’t she shagging that seventh-year boy? Michael something. I don’t know the family.” Sirius asked, “I got a letter from Molly. Very concerned, you know.”
“Sirius!” Remus declared. “Stop reading my mail.”
“Have a chocolate, Moons.” Sirius deadpanned, tossing a chocolate frog at his partner. “Your point is a good one, though.”
“Right.” Remus replied, chewing on his third frog, ripping the head off with wolfish relish, “The thing is, Harry, that the War changed everyone. I just think that Ginny isn’t ready yet, to face those changes. I...I...know.”
“Hell, I’m sorry, Remus.” Harry blurted, raking his hands through his hair. “Here I am. Blaming the war for the reason that I can’t get rid of...”
“No. I made that mistake once.” Remus did not hide the sharpness in his voice, “You always come to me. Always. You are not alone. None of us are, not really.”
“Losing Fleur and Bill hurt Ginny.” Harry allowed, “Hurt us all. I don’t think...” Harry did not say that there was no moving on, not really, from losses like that. Remus knew better than he did, and sometimes talking about it was somewhere he did not want to go, or take them with him.
The library door clicked open with a bit of magic, flying open ahead of Hermione’s voice, “Go on and show your Papa, Teddy Bear!”
Tiny feet pattered into the room. Teddy, Harry knew, was barely two. And yet, his left eyebrow was a bright orange, and his right was polka dotted. Hermione’s excited voice continued as she followed the wobbly toddler closely, even when he toddled to Remus, triumphant, though he was only picking up on Hermione’s joy.
“He’s isolating his abilities! That kind of complexity and competency is rarely seen in children under the age of seven!” Hermione schooled her features, and Harry could not look away as she shifted into lecture mode, “According to Professor Spleen’s text, Your Magically Adorable Metamorphmagus, he shouldn’t be able to isolate body parts like that until much later, and given that they’re his eyebrows, well, I...”
Sirius coughed, after high fiving Teddy. “Ten points to Gryffindor.”
She paused, Teddy staring at her with eerily green eyes, shifting from his usual color in a slow bleed. He reached up.
Rather than being offended, Remus prompted, “Use your words, Teddy.”
“Myowne.” He demanded, “‘ook. Myowne.”
“Fantastic job, Teddy!” Hermione agreed, “Let’s see if we can’t find Mr. Puckle Finds a Pig. Did you know that pigs are actually very good house pets, Ted?” She picked up the baby and whispered conspiratorially, “You should ask your godfather for one. You could keep it in the garden.”
“Moony would love a chew toy!” Sirius agreed, “Good idea, Herms!”
Remus sighed, “I do have some standards, you know.”
“Rather low ones, if you ask me.” Harry deadpanned, smiling at Hermione as she looked fondly upon their bickering.
“Watch it.” Sirius ordered, “I changed your nappies.”
“You spelled them away, and gave the kid spell rash on his bits.” Remus corrected, rising to cross the room to his desk.
“I apologized!” Sirius spluttered, “I bought him a puppy!”
Remus had grabbed his glasses, and spoke as he perched them on his nose, crooked from the brutality of his shifts before Wolfsbane, “He was seven weeks old at the time.”
“Never too early to give a boy a dog, Rem.” Sirius declared, his gaze shifting, “Teddy, don’t pull on Hermione’s jumper.”
Teddy let out an ear splitting yell, and glommed more tightly onto his Hermione, who wrapped her spare arm around him more tightly and kissed his hair.
“Or a pig!” Hermione shifted Teddy upwards on her hip as she scoured the tiny child sized shelves in the corner of the library. “Ah Ha! Here we are! Mr. Puckle Finds a Pig!”
Teddy babbled something, and his hair began to change, even as his eyes stayed green. Slowly, his sandy hair shifted, became more sable-like, became bushy, rather than wiry.
Harry could not breathe.
Sirius cackled gleefully.
Harry did not breathe until Remus gently redirected his son, “Ted, let go of Hermione.”
“Mine!” He hooted, frowning at his father.
“It’s really all right.” Hermione said, looking slowly up at the scene before her, “I don’t mind.”
Remus broke into the direction of Harry’s thoughts, confused and rushing through his brain. “You’ve got a letter here. Shall I read it aloud?”
Harry wasn’t thinking about mail. He couldn’t hide from the look Sirius sent out of Hermione’s line of sight. It wasn’t like Sirius aristocratic eyebrows suggested, and it never would be. Hermione had never really had a serious relationship, and it was clear to Harry that she did not want to be in one. She and Ron had danced around each other, kissed a little, but there had never been a deepening of their relationship beyond their abiding friendship. He loved her as he always had, and he didn’t wish it was his child in her arms. He didn’t. That was absurd. He only liked how happy she was around Teddy. “Hm.”
Remus scanned the letter. His face went ashen. He made a sound so anguished that it set Harry to looking at Hermione, who had tucked Ted against her and gripped her wand.
“Moony?” Sirius went rigid as he sat properly, “What’s wrong?”
“He’s just a boy, Sirius.” Remus declared, “He is a boy, and I’m not going to take this sitting down.”
Confusion bloomed within Harry. Remus never got upset like this. That was Sirius’s job, who took getting upset very seriously.
“While I would never want to make a joke about you taking anything while little ears are present, I would like to know what has you so riled up.” Sirius stood, reaching for the paper.
Harry shook his head at Hermione in response to her wordless question.
“Remus?” Hermione asked, from where she had settled into a chair with Teddy. Teddy’s hair went shockingly green, a telltale marker for his interest.
Remus’s hand shook, and the paper slipped from his grasp. Teddy hooted, and tossed his book on the floor as he scrambled off of Hermione’s lap. He leapt on the paper, and gave it to Hermione.
Remus voice rose as he spoke, “This is illegal. They cannot be made to do this. It goes against Wizarding culture, and centuries of tradition. It goes against common fucking sense. What more will they ask of them? What more, Sirius?”
Harry looked to Hermione. The communication that passed them was swift and silent. They had been through one war, and if fate brought them another, so mote it be. His pulse was steady, and Harry found that the worry and confusion was fading away, giving rise to a need to take action in the face of this unnamed foe.
Harry reached for it, fear deep in his bones, but Teddy gave the paper to Hermione. All she had to do was smile, and say, “Let Hermione see it, Teddy, please.”
The smile on her face faded as she scanned the letter quickly. Harry didn’t like the fear that bloomed in her eyes. She looked up, and Harry wasn’t sure he had heard her properly when she said, “I have to get married.”
“I...” Harry hadn’t heard her, clearly, because he was laughing. “You have to what?”
“Married, Harry.” Hermione repeated, gesturing with the letter as Teddy shoved himself against her calves. Hermione’s mind was whirling, but she had the awareness to pick up the baby. His softness was a balm to the centrifuge that was her mind.
“The Wizengamot has enacted emergency laws based on the statue of secrecy. To make a long, complicated, story very, very, short, when we ratified the Statute, there were many an addendum added over time to protect wizarding peoples from dying out. Due to the Wars, the birthrate has dropped. Thereby...” she glanced at the letter.
Hermione could barely force out the words, “A new marriage law will but put into force. It won’t require ratification or debate. It will require that unmarried muggleborn witches and wizards marry, and within seven months, enact a Wizard’s Oath stating they plan to begin a family.”
“Hermione, no.” Harry insisted, “No.”
Hermione wanted to give a whole lecture, as none of these addendums were covered in History of Magic, but she figured that now was not the time to give into the hysteria building in her heart. Babbling on would do no one any good. She was seconds away from screaming and running from the room.
She could only bring herself to nod.
“You’ve got to be kidding.” Harry breathed, “Why send me a letter? I haven’t read anything in Prophet.”
“Harry.” Hermione held fast to the facts, “You are a Potter. Moreover, you are Harry James Potter. The Boy Who Lived, and the Man who Conquered. This letter asks for your support in the matter.” Having Harry’s support would be a boon in what was sure to shake the foundations of Wizarding Society.
“I won’t be a part of doing this.” Harry blurted, “I can’t let this happen to you. You fought and bled and sacrificed to save this society, and here they are, so quick to marry you off. You’re the Witch Who Won.”
“Harry.” Sirius warned, and Harry’s shoulders deflated.
His question was earnest, “But why not make us all marry?”
“It’s still permissible to target muggleborns and other minorities.” Remus told him, “It’s even accepted. You defeated Voldemort, not all prejudice. It’s systemic.”
“That said, you’re targeted, too. You’re going to be front and center, as an example of the Ministry’s competency.” Sirius’s urbane upbringing only served to highlight his fury, “For the Man Who Conquered, this letter suggests you will be ah, let me read this filth verbatim. ‘Naturally, a bride from a Noble and Most Ancient House will help you to move forward in this new era with an eye towards keeping our most sacred traditions alive.’ Utter gobshite. The Ministry wants you trussed up and chained to a pureblood bride with no hope of escape.”
“Not...” Harry’s eyes went wide.
“No.” Hermione shook her head. The Weasley family was pureblooded, but they were still considered blood traitors by many, and not politic enough to keep Pureblood traditions alive. Though Ginny insisted that she and Harry were together, and that she was the next Lady Potter, poor Ginny had never truly stood a chance of being picked for Harry by the Ministry. “Astoria Greengrass.”
“Astoria?” Harry shook his head, “Why would anyone think I’d want to marry a sixth-year Slytherin I don’t even know beyond name?”
Hermione felt sick to her stomach.
“It’s not about what you want!” Sirius lectured, “They’re trying to hide that Greengrass was grey! They’re trying to settle a feud no war can end with marriage, and by trying to erase Lily. Think, Harry! Think.”
“No one could erase my mother.” Harry retorted, “She saved their world.”
“Your children, if also Astoria’s children, would be 3/4 Pureblood.” Hermione reminded him, “They would be heirs to both the new worldview, and reared correctly according to tradition. You can be sure than any scion of the family Greengrass would never allow anything less. Your son would ascend the title with every possible political failsafe, no matter how the wind blows, and you would be forced to toe the party line for your wife’s sake.”
As if to soften this blow, Remus gently prodded him,“You are Lord Potter.”
“I am!” Harry agreed, “I can work to overturn this law, prevent it. Hermione, we can, we can if we try. I can’t let you be paired off with Goyle, and Ron with some child bride muggleborn or something.”
“I want to, Harry.” Hermione licked her lips, “I want to spare you this, spare all of us this, but even I can’t do much with what little time I'm given. I am not Nimue, Harry.”
She was a mortal woman, facing a very scary future. She wasn’t going to go down without a fight. If there was only some way to protect herself and save Harry. Upon her magic, she would not be bartered off to go back to the way things had been in the Wizarding World. It needed to change, and she would make it change, if it was the last thing she did. A marriage to a traditionalist of the Sacred Twenty-Eight would do little to help her meet her goals.
“You’re Hermione Jane Granger. You can do anything, you’re unstoppable. We have to try. Others won’t have the choice I’ve got, Hermione. You...” Harry sank to the ottoman, “You are...”
“Don’t you worry about me, Harry.” Hermione knew that right now, she could not consider her own fate, “We’re going to fix this.”
“How?” Harry asked. The law was going to be announced in mere days. The first thing to do Hermione realized, would be to get word to Muggleborns. Maybe she could break into the archives and find a copy of that hateful bitch’s registry. So many muggleborns had gone back into muggle society, not that Hermione blamed them.
She could not save others until she had a plan for herself. Mums put on airline masks before helping their children in aircraft. Hermione knew that in this case, she was going to be putting on Harry’s mask as she gasped desperately for air. She would never feel right about doing anything else. Still, she knew that once she’d figured out what to do for them, there would be no stopping her in launching a resistance.
Hermione thought aloud, the though coming together as she spoke, “They can’t make you marry someone if you’re already married. Do you know a woman you could stand to be married to while we overturn this, and whom you think would agree?”
Harry blinked. That was a no, then.
Hermione wondered if perhaps Luna could see the merits of such a plan. Luna would understand, quite clearly, the importance of her role. She was their friend, and she believed in the power of change. She was working more with the Quibbler, sure, but she would have to leave her search in Europe to actually be front and center. Hermione was sure that she would do just that, once she understood the stakes.
Just as Hermione was about to mention Luna, Sirius cleared his throat.
Hermione jumped when Sirius winked at her.
Hermione was baffled, “What?”
“If he doesn’t...” Sirius hinted, “I do.”
“Sirius.” Remus was eating a Chocolate Frog with some ferocity, “This is not a time to hatch a scheme.”
“Oh, I think it is, Moony Mine.” Sirius countered, “I do believe I know just the lady. Don’t you, Hermione?”
With a twist of her stomach, Hermione knew that Sirius was talking about her. How could she have been so stupid? Of course she would be ideal. A simple civil marriage would allow them protected communication and unfettered access to each other in a society that was, after Hogwarts, rather segregated by gender. She could work on overturning the law with every bit of support of the Potter estate behind her, if she too, held the name.
He was right. They needed to do this. Marriage to each other was the only way. Hermione knew it in her soul. The future of society hinged on keeping Harry out the Ministry’s clutches. For herself, Hermione knew that a marriage to Harry would be far better for her own soul than whomever the lottery would draw for her, being that it was rigged, “Harry...”
“You’re not pushing Hermione into this.” Harry countered, shoving to his feet, “You can’t. She deserves more than this, and I won’t hurt...” Harry swallowed, “I think you should go to Australia. We’ve got a house there. You should go, Hermione.”
“Harry.” Hermione all but shouted. His eyes swung to hers, “We can get it annulled. I would rather it be you than Malfoy.”
“You’d do that for me?” Harry balked. The ministry in Australia was far more progressive. He was offering to get her out of the firing line, but she would not leave him to face this alone. They had to do something.
“I’d do it for both you and myself.” Hermione corrected, “I’m not an altruistic Mary Sue.”
“Mary Who?” Harry was clearly confused.
Evidently, his literary education had not included a discussion of tropes. Hermione replied, “You, if you want.”
Harry smiled at her joke, and it was enough to stop Hermione’s heart. Harry ran his shaking hands through his hair. “Hermione...”
He sank to his knees before where she was sitting on the chair, and placed his hands over hers. Hermione could barely breathe. The kneeling was clearly, something he had been taught to do by Sirius. It was not the muggle-style, down on one knee, sappy proposal. It was a solemn gesture. It was an ancient custom among Wizarding people, older than wands. He knelt, in part, to show that his magic, his power, would be in service to her will. It had a lot of historical and sociological importance, but all Hermione saw was that their faces were level and his gaze was resolute.
This was Harry. Her best friend, Harry. All the trappings of power and the machinations of a war torn society fell away in that realization. She knew this wasn’t the proposal she’d always dreamed of coming from the heart of a romantic lover, but something told her this moment was more than empty promises. Whatever they faced together, she knew they would have each other’s backs.
“Hermione Jane, will you be my wife? Will you plot against the corruption in our government, install more democracy, and seek justice?” Harry asked, “Will you help me avoid a lifetime as ministry puppet? I am rash, and I am short-sighted in more ways than one, but you’re the woman with the plan, and...” Harry paused, and he stroked her hand with his thumb, “I know you didn’t plan this, but will you let me give all I have in service of a plan we make together?”
It was all Hermione could do not to laugh, or cry. The fact that Sirius, Remus, and Teddy were watching ceased to matter. Hermione knew that was he was offering her, what he was telling her, was worth more than every bit of flattery that she’d ever dreamed up as a lonely young girl.
“For much of my life my plan has been focused on keeping you alive.” Hermione slid her hands to lace their fingers together, equalizing the exchange, in a way that was not customary, but felt right for her, and for their friendship. “I have never regretted, not for one second, the road we’ve walked together. I’ve only ever wished that you knew deep in your heart how lovable you are, not for the things you do, but for the person you are.”
Hermione met Harry’s eyes, refusing to let him deny the truth she’d just told him, “I plan and we end up doing things anyway, and I never regret it. Not ever. I will be your wife. I will, for every day we find something to challenge in the world around us, and for every day that we sit and eat beans out of the tin. There’s no planning this, Harry, but I would be happy to try. I’ll even get a new quill to write it out.”
Harry laughed, honest and watery, “I’ll come with you to buy it.”
“If you’re sure.” Hermione asked, just once, just to be sure. This wasn’t a extra long trip to Flourish & Blotts, after all.
“I’m sure.” Harry leaned against her body and she felt his breath against her cheek, “Anything you think is a good idea is something I’d put my life behind.”
And so they were engaged.
The intimacy of their promises to one another thrummed in Hermione’s veins, her magic recognizing the solemnity of this moment, even though her brain could not move past the thought that her initials would not change. That tiny detail resonated. She was still going to be HJG, and she would not have to change her monogram. Not that theirs would be a marriage of monograms and china, like her mother had always hoped.
When they both stood, and looked to Remus and Sirius as if to ask what they ought to do now, Remus pulled out a parchment, and with a sly look to Hermione said, “I’ll be keeping this list, if you don’t mind.”
Hermione looked down at Teddy, who was crawling up on her lap once again, and over at Harry, with his tentative smile and shuffling feet, “I don’t. The only thing I ask, Harry, is that we sit down with Sirius, Remus, and my Mum and Dad.” She smoothed back Teddy’s hair, “I couldn’t find the words myself.”
Harry’s grin was crooked, and Hermione’s heart squeezed. Air left her lungs in a hot rush.
“Cheers, you two.” Sirius broke into the moment between them, “Best proposal I’ve heard. Your poor dad couldn’t get the words out.”
“Our marriage is a political alliance, and the commitment of two friends.” Hermione primly patted Teddy who had pressed his way to her again, “Hardly the stuff of romantic lore.”
“We’ve never even kissed.” Harry blurted, glaring at Sirius like any Godson might. Hermione saw a blush rising over his neck and forced herself to look away.
“You’ll have to, for the engagement to be legal.” Remus remarked, all the while scribbling on the parchment.
Hermione did not miss the look of something she could not name crossing Harry’s face. Sirius saw it too. He seemingly knew what it was, whereas Hermione did not have a clue. She felt, suddenly, as though there was more to Harry than even she had known.
Sirius shook his head, “Moony, have you ever done your duty and sat the poor lad down and explained what legitimizes a marriage between a man and a woman?”
Harry shook his head, “What?”
“Sex.” Hermione informed him, covering Teddy’s little ears, earning herself a protest from the toddler and a guffaw from Sirius, “Very heteronormative sex, if texts are to be believed. I’m given to understand that the sex magic...”
“Excuse me?” Harry broke into her train of thought, which was likely good because she did not intend to reveal how much she had read on the subject in front of two legendary pranksters.
“Good Merlin, Harry. You dated a Prewitt daughter.” Sirius scolded, “She never told you why Mummy and Daddy have so many ginger-haired bundles of joy?”
“They...” Harry fumbled, “Wanted them?”
“Actually, that’s only partially true.” Hermione allowed, “Their magic melds. Like found like. It’s why Molly and Arthur are so good at partner spells. They’re soulmates, to use the least complicated term.” She tried to hide a blush, “So, partner spells between two magical cores ultimately ideally suited leads to potency in spell work, like the clock, for example. And other things that require mutual magical efforts, like conception.” Hermione mused, “I guess it’s as well that they wanted them.”
“For you two, however, you won’t need to do anything other than the ceremonies.” Remus set them at ease, “It is your intention to gain a civil divorce, correct?”
They both nodded. In this they were in perfect accord. Hermione loved Harry. She wanted to be his friend, wanted to be there for him, just as he wanted to be there for her. A civil divorce, rather like submitting any paperwork, would do nothing to damage their friendship.
Get married and proceed with a full civil divorce when the dust settled and the law was overturned. In the meantime, well, there was work to be done.
Remus continued, “The most expedient way to do that is to say that, while your magics are well suited, that you have decided to seek romantic avenues elsewhere, and your magical compatibility did not lend itself to sexual interest.” He smiled, “Rather fraternal, if you take my meaning.”
Sirius grinned, “Or sororal, in your case, Harry.”
Hermione did not take their meaning, not at all. A marriage was simply like Bill and Fleur’s wedding, a basically muggle ceremony one might find at a registry office. She was not opposed to another form or rite, but she knew that their magic would have little to do with the arrangement. Their magic was well-suited, after all. No one who had seen them fight would ever buy such a story. Hermione figured they would cite irreconcilable differences. Hermione knew she would ask questions later, once she had taken the time to think them out.
“Right.” Harry cleared his throat. “I’ve got to go...feed Hedwig. She, ah, needs vitamins.” He looked encouragingly at Hermione, “Hermione, didn’t you say you had brewed a tonic for her?”
Hermione had done no such thing as Hedwig was in the peak of health, but she knew an escape when she saw one, “It’s got ginger in it, you know. Very soothing to the stomach...” She continued to babble as they fled the room, Harry following behind her quickly.
When the pair left them the room, Remus asked his bonded, “Are you going to tell them that they likely won’t choose to end up divorced?”
“Oh, every young couple deserves their dreams for their family.” Sirius said, “I’m leaving it to Rookwood.”
“Sirius, you coward.” Remus snickered.
“And you are a bloody shameless liar.” Sirius appraised, fondness coloring his tone. "Fraternal, Moons."
Remus looked well pleased. “Made Harry think, didn’t I?”
“One can only pray.” Sirius murmured, deciding that they had given enough time to being adults, and stood to suss out Harry and Hermione. “Well, Mr. Moony, shall we?”