Chapter Text
_______________________________________
The Sacred Twenty-Eight is Dead!
by Rita Skeeter
_______________________________________
You’ve read that right, dear readers. Today the Wizengamot voted unanimously to pass the Emergency Repopulation Act of 2002 – better known as the Marriage Law of 2002. It has recently been discovered that magical births have been steadily decreasing over the past four decades, especially amongst our Sacred Twenty-Eight families. Reasons for this are still under investigation, though it is believed since purebloods tend to marry and reproduce with other purebloods, the anomalies are a result of this “continuous inbreeding."
As of the date of this publication, the most important details are still confidential within the Ministry itself, but according to one of the sources close to the Wizengamot, unattached purebloods of proper childbearing age – eighteen to fifty – will be matched to a half-blood or Muggleborn, and will be required to marry and produce one magical offspring per spouse within a specific allotted time period. Further details were not given.
War heroine and one-third of the Golden Trio, Hermione Granger, a magical historian and archivist with the Ministry of Magic, is most noted for this discovery. This writer wonders if Miss Granger - who has a history of pursuing the rich and famous - is reveling in the Wizengamot's decision. As a Muggleborn, she certainly does have a wide pool of eligible pureblood bachelors at her disposal.
Do not be dismayed, faithful fans. More information is to come.
For accurate history on the Sacred Twenty-Eight families, their contributions to Wizarding society, and more, make sure to buy my newest tell-all, 'Pureblood Heritage: The Legacy of Cantankerus Nott.'
One does wonder, however, what the late Nott patriarch would say if he could see the Wizarding World today.
***
Hermione barely heard Healer Jordan’s explanation, her gaze transfixed on the subtle golden glow emanating from underneath the fine layer of mist. As quickly as the spell had been cast, it faded, and not even a moment later, the loud screech of an owl sounded overhead.
Startled, Hermione looked upwards as the owl dropped a thick envelope in her hand. Her heart galloped in her chest, her hands shaking as she flipped the envelope over, as she slid her finger underneath the green St. Mungo’s seal. Her eyes caught Harry’s – who looked just as nerve-wracked as she felt – and broke the seal, unfolding the parchment.
29 May 2002
Miss Hermione Granger ,
As per the requirements of the Emergency Repopulation Act of 2002, you have submitted the following hair sample to St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries:
Sex: Female
Age: 22 years
Date of Birth: 19 Sep. 1979
Root: Intact; approved
Blood Type: O-Positive
Blood Status: Muggleborn
The automated system has analyzed your magical essence and based on the received samples of pureblood hairs, you have been matched with the following witches or wizards:
Name: Charles Weasley
Sex: Male
Age: 29 years
Date of Birth: 12 Dec. 1972
Root: Intact; approved
Blood Type: A-Positive
Blood Status: Pureblood
-
Name: Sirius Black
Sex: Male
Age: 42 years
Date of Birth: 3 Nov. 1959
Root: Intact; approved
Blood Type: O-Negative
Blood Status: Pureblood
-
Name: Theodore Nott II
Sex: Male
Age: 22 years
Date of Birth: 21 April 1980
Root: Intact; approved
Blood Type: A-Positive
Blood Status: Pureblood
-
The Ministry of Magic would like to thank you for your cooperation.
Sincerely,
Mildred Pimperknuckle
St. Mungo’s-Ministry Liaison
***
Clearing her throat, she smiled, “It's true. As a Muggleborn entering into the Wizarding world, it feels like a piece of you that you didn’t know was missing was put back in its rightful place. All of this odd stuff I could do as a child - a page in a book turning on its own once I finished reading it or the time a biscuit floated into my hands when my mother told me I couldn’t have another - there was suddenly an explanation for it: it was literal magic. And on top of that, mountain trolls and centaurs and goblins exist… I don’t know if I’m making any sense.”
“You are. Making sense,” Charlie replied, then met her eye and took a deep breath before continuing, “I can’t imagine it, living without magic, having to leave this world behind…”
There it was. The reason they were alone in a usually boisterous Burrow, eating Molly’s tender roast under floating candlelight with an open bottle of wine between them.
The fucking marriage law – and the consequences should anyone refuse to comply.
The guilt that had been soft, smoking embers in her gut erupted into a bonfire, and she tore her amber eyes away from Charlie’s blue, swallowing thickly. “I am so sorry, Charlie, about this law. About the… consequences if we don’t follow through. I’m so sorry you have to marry me-“
“Hermione,” Charlie’s deep voice stopped her apology, and she looked up, watching a small smile curl at his lips. “I don’t blame you, and, honestly, I’m glad it’s you I was matched with.”
***
In the center of the room was a round dining table, the color exactly like the wine racks, where an array of candles sat on golden chargers, already lit to offer more light to the refined atmosphere. As she expected, a sophisticated-looking man sat before one of the place settings, and he, indeed, was familiar. His mop of curly brown hair was styled the same, she recalled, and his dark eyes were lined with even darker lashes, making them pop against his golden skin. He had the same aristocratic nose she knew all purebloods to have, but his jaw was beautifully cut and strong with a smattering of dark growth on his cheeks and chin that made her weak in the knees.
He stood when he saw her, buttoning the top button of his fitted waist coat with shaky fingers, and as he swallowed, her eyes followed the bob of his Adam’s apple. Her mouth suddenly ran dry; how she could have gone to school for nigh seven years with this man and never notice him was beyond her.
He was perfection wrapped up in Gucci.
She watched the corner of his mouth curl up into a nervous smile. He looked away from her for just a moment, his jaw moving with the motion of his lips, and when she walked fully into the room, she followed his gaze, her feet stopping in surprise.
As if in slow motion, Draco Malfoy stood from a second place setting, nodding at something Theo whispered in his ear, and he, too, buttoned the top button of his waist coat. Malfoy turned to face Hermione, acknowledging her with a brief nod, before she watched Theo take Malfoy’s hand in his and interlaced their fingers tightly.
Theo looked at her and swallowed again. "We need your help, Hermione.”
***
When the door clicked shut behind Hermione, Kingsley collapsed into his chair with another heavy sigh and pressed the pads of his thumb and forefinger into his eyes. “I sent an owl on Friday night-“
Hermione scoffed. “What’s with all the bloody owls? Did everyone lose the ability to conjure a Patronus? I checked my post this morning, Kingsley. I didn’t have a letter from you.”
His hand fell to his lap, and he blinked several times before focusing his gaze back on her. “Well, I did. That’s beside the point anyway-“
“Kingsley, I don’t think you want to speak those words to me. It’s definitely not beside the point. If you recall, I discovered this bloody crisis. I am the one who ran the bloody numbers-“
“Which turned out to be an error-“
“That we ran multiple times! That I had double and triple checked! That Erikson checked!”
The air was silent and still between them, the tension so palpable, Hermione could almost taste it. They stared at each other for a long moment, Hermione’s amber gaze latched onto Kingsley’s near black when he finally said, “Hermione, we had half of the muggleborn responses we were anticipating.”
Rearing back in shock, she blinked and breathed, “What?”
***
She adjusted enough in her seat to face Hermione, then smile at her again, though it was just a quick flash, as if she was taught smiling was not allowed. “Miss Granger, we regret you were not able to join us at the briefing yesterday-“ Hermione snorted, which was incredibly unladylike, and, to give her credit, Healer Horne did not respond to it, “-though I do know you have questions.”
Healer Horne dug into a small handbag and produced another copy of that morning’s The Daily Prophet, flipping it to page two where Skeeter published the transcript of the briefing then laid it on the coffee table. She sat back in the sofa, repositioning her hands on her lap, then looked at Hermione expectantly.
“Oh, erm…” Leaning forward, she pulled the newspaper towards her, re-reading Skeeter’s words. “Maybe more clarification than question. Where we reside-“
“Yes. The family will reside as one household. I doubt the Ministry cares which home the family chooses to utilize, but we’re leaving that decision up to the family,” Horne stated matter-of-factly.
Hermione stared at her for a moment before swallowing, “Okay. The second amendment here…” She glanced up around the room; Amos, Percy, and Jareth were pointedly ignoring her gaze, but Horne and Pimperknuckle were staring at her, the former with a relatively bored look in her eye, the latter with a fake smile plastered on her lips. “The article cut off before the answer was given about future measures that could be taken to ensure ‘procreation efforts.’”
The thought of St. Mungo’s or the Ministry monitoring the amount of sex she had with her husbands twisted in her stomach, making her feel ill with disgust, and the wild urge to vehemently protest any potential measures ran thickly through her veins. Her gaze finally landed on Kingsley, and he looked away, cupping his chin in his hand.
Pimperknuckle craned her neck, her eyes flicking back and forth as she read the second amendment, her smile broadening on her face. “Oh. That's just a little hint, just a small push, dear. To make families aware that they need to be actively engaging in, erm, well, baby making.”
Her high-pitched laugh echoed in the room, making Hermione wince, but she flattened her palm against the paper, her finger pointing at the second amendment with emphasis. “To be clear,” she began, her teeth gritting, “My family and I will not have someone from St. Mungo’s or the Ministry showing up on our doorstep, demanding to know how often we-“
“Of course not, Hermione. How uncouth,” Percy interrupted, shifting uncomfortably on the couch, the leather squeaking beneath his trousers.
Hermione’s head swiveled to him, her eyes narrowing at the man she had considered a friend, “You better hope not, Percy. I would hate for Mildred here to show up at your house just to see how often you fuck Audrey-“
“Hermione!”
“Stop the bullshite – now!” she spat, jumping to her feet, addressing the room, “I want the truth. Less than a month ago, a law was passed that forced people to get matched to be married to perfect strangers and have children with them. In that same time frame, amendments have already been made to said law. What I want to know is if I am going to have some surprise inspection by an official to see how often my spouses and I have sex?”
“It’s possible,” Horne’s airy voice chimed in with an elegant shrug to her shoulders.
Hermione eyes widened in astonishment at her nonchalance, “What?“
“If, by the fifth anniversary of the law’s passing, birth numbers aren’t favorable, we will be implementing Phase Two of the amendment process,” Horne stated tonelessly.
“Which entails what exactly?” Hermione slithered, eyes narrowed.
Horne stood in heels that matched her lipstick, her hand smoothing down her black robes, then clasped her hands in front of her person before taking a step towards Hermione. “Miss Granger, you know just how precarious our situation is. We’ve had to pass some extreme – and yes, disturbing – legislation to ensure the survival of our world. Phase Two simply expands the current requirements to include monitoring of reproductive activities while doubling the number of child each spouse.”
Hermione opened her mouth to retort, but Horne quickly cut her off, “Families will be given an additional ten years to reproduce the number of required children, twenty years total. Or, if families so choose, bondings can be dissolved as soon as all of the magical children are produced. However, not until then.”
“I… I have so many questions. I mean, are you going to hire someone to sit in couples’ bedrooms to make sure they’re having sex?” Jareth snorted, then hid his smirk behind his hand when Hermione continued, “And who is going to pay for so many children? Surely if the Ministry is forcing people to have children, they can also help financially-“
“The Wizengamot-" Kingsley inserted, “-has approved the reallocation of funds from the War Reparation Fund.”
“I bet they weren’t happy about that,” Hermione barked a sardonic laugh.
“Families will be allotted a stipend every month, I assure you,” he stated, ignoring her tone, then crossed his arms over his chest and gave her a pointed look. “I made sure of at least that.”
Warmth - and a small amount of relief, perhaps - seeped into her veins as she eyed Kingsley, watching him pace back and forth in front of the fireplace, and as irate as she had been, she felt the slightest amount of respect for him flare in her chest.
“Good. That’s good,” she said, clearing her throat. “The last thing here… We have a year to get pregnant with the first child. Do we have to go through a specific healer at St. Mungo’s, or… I don’t know. How will the process work?”
“This little amendment you have free reign over, Miss Granger. You may choose a private healer or use one at St. Mungo’s, it doesn’t matter to us as long as pregnancy is confirmed by the first bonding anniversary,” Horne stated, sitting down in her stiff, formal posture once more.
“And that’s it? Our lives can continue on their present course - our careers - as if nothing else is different?”
“While as unprecedented as this law is, we are trying to intervene as little as possible in the daily lives of witches and wizards, Miss Granger. I understand you’re a magical historian, that you work here in the Archives. You are free to continue doing so; you never had to stop. The law is about procreation only, so as long as the Squib birth rate declines back to its proper place, you can traipse across the globe again for all we care,” she responded with a dismissive bluntness that grated Hermione’s nerves - especially for a woman who, even as well put together as she was, clearly exceeded the age limit for the law.
She could be as blunt and rude as she wanted, she wasn't being forced into marriage and motherhood.
Hermione didn't think she like Helga Horne very much.
***
“We’ve both been with witches... at Hogwarts, before he and I even got together. But… I’ve always kind of been drawn to him. You know that feeling you get when you can’t seem to stay away from someone even though you know you should? That’s how it was for me. Come to find out it was mutual, but I didn’t know it at the time. I don’t think either of us really understood what that draw meant.
“Then sixth year came around and he- he…” he continued, his eyes flicked up to her and held her gaze, “He was forced to take the Mark, mainly for Lucius’ failure at the Department of Mysteries. Why I wasn’t forced to take it is beyond me; my father got so injured he nearly died – eventually did because of his injuries… But anyway, Draco stopped eating, stopped sleeping, stopped making an effort in class.
“One night, during the Christmas holiday, I came in late from the library and he was sitting alone just staring at this roaring fire in the fireplace as if it would solve all of his problems,” Theo continued, his voice beginning to thicken with emotion, “I sat next to him, and when he turned his head to look at me, he was so… heartbreaking, Hermione. Then he did something I never had the courage to do - he kissed me.”
Hermione’s heart constricted in her chest and a wave of sadness rippled through her. She tucked her lip between her teeth, listening as Theo’s sigh stuttered out of his mouth.
“We were inseparable from then on. Each other’s firsts in many ways. But when Potter used Sectumsempra on him in that bathroom, when Draco was convinced he was going to die, even going as far as to say that he should die, that what he had to do for the Dark Lord would kill him regardless, that if our fathers’ circle ever found out about us, they would kill us… I think that was when I knew I would do anything for him.
“After the War, after we defied our parents – again – to be together… He eventually admitted he still found witches attractive. It helped that I was still attracted to them, too, so we began inviting them back to our bed on occasion. But neither of us have kissed – or have had sex – with a witch without each other since sixth year.”
He grew silent even though she knew he had more to say as his face betrayed his uneasiness. She didn’t know how to respond, and tore her eyes from him, tasting blood on her tongue from where she’d chewed the inside of her cheek raw.
It was kind of pointless to be embarrassed about sleeping with multiple men in this marriage; she was about to have four husbands, after all. Yet, she’d never really thought about a threesome, never really had an opportunity to try it – but the mental image that played on a near constant loop in her brain, of her writhing between Theo and Malfoy, she found she grew soaked by it.
She tucked her leg under her bum in what she hoped looked to be a casual shift in posture, and cleared her throat. “Do you think he’s going to be mad then? About the… kiss?”
Theo looked down at his tea again, his tongue peeking out from between his lips in thought, but eventually shook his head. “I don’t think ‘mad’ is the right word. Jealous, perhaps.”
***
He chuckled again but bobbed his head. “How was your week?”
She chewed the bread slowly, thinking back over the past week. It was… long. The longest week she think she’d had since the War. And stressful. And exhausting. Sighing, she set her soda bread on a small plate and wiped her hands on a napkin.
“Do you want the short version or the long version?” she said, a tired smile lifting the corners of her lips.
Brows furrowed, he licked his lips before his cerulean eyes met her amber. “Whichever you’d like to give.”
“It was long and emotionally-fueled,” she blurted, and she felt her cheeks grow warm as a flare of frustration flickered in her gut, “There’s just so much going on between figuring out the best way to pursue our bonding, on top of new requirements from the Wizengamot, and- and-“
“Hermione,” Charlie said, reaching a hand out to blanket hers, “All of us should be figuring out the bonding... Though I did read yesterday’s Prophet…”
She stared at his large hand engulfing hers, feeling his smooth skin between the grooves of blisters and burns and callouses, studied the black letters inked on his fingers, then her eyes drifted north, drinking in the colorful portraits of dragons on his arm – the deep reds and stunning golds of the Chinese Fireball, a roaring fire flaming out of its open mouth; the shimmering pearlescent scales of the Antipodean Opaleye, gluttering in the moonlight as it slept under a clear, night sky – noticing the way his bicep flexed and moved under the material of his oxford, finally dragging her gaze across his exposed neckline and up to his handsome face, then blushed furiously when she locked eyes with him, as it seemed he was studying her just as intently.
“Sorry,” she murmured, sliding her hand out from under his as casually as possible, grabbing her water glass to conceal her sudden fluster, “Your tattoos are beautiful. I’ve never seen anything like them.”
“Oh, er, yeah. Bit of a rite of passage at the Reserve,” Charlie replied with a small laugh, though something flashed in his eyes... something like pain.
Her heart constricted in her chest, and as much as it burned her to ask, she decided the conversation of his sabbatical could come later; it seemed cruel to ask when it was obviously still so raw for him.
***
Pansy Parkinson. A half-blood?
“This… this is impossible!” Hermione exclaimed, though rationally she knew it wasn’t; magic didn’t lie. “I just looked at the Parkinson family tree today! She was on it! Right next to her sisters…”
Eyes widening again, she shoved the letter into Ron’s chest and tore up the stairs, ignoring the siblings’ shouts, asking where she was going and what she was doing.
Running into her room, she grabbed her work satchel and dug into it, “Where is it…”
Dumping the contents onto the floor of her tiny bedroom, she scrambled through the copies of the family trees she made for the Ministry’s records. Tali had kept her late at work, Hermione reasoned, and she had hastily shoved all of the copies in her satchel intending to file them in the morning on her way to her office…
Ah, ha! There it is!
Heart pounding, her eyes scoured the tree, finding Azalea’s name easily. Next to it, her husband’s. To the left, her elder sister, Violet and her husband Gordon. She saw Pansy earlier, she know she did…
Her mouth dropped open and she fell to her bum.
“Hermione? Did you find something?” Ron asked behind her.
Swallowing thickly, she turned around and held up the copy of the Parkinson family tree.
“Pansy is a Parkinson... but her mother isn't.”
“What do you mean?” Ginny asked, stepping into the room and taking the parchment from Hermione’s outstretched hand.
“It seems Pansy’s father had an affair.”
***
She sucked in a breath, her eyes flicking from face to familiar face, each of them looking at her with different expressions. Sirius had a small smile on his lips, his eyes darkening when he noticed she was looking at him, his face tucked behind his curtain of raven black hair. Charlie stood next to Sirius, a little stiffer in his stance with his hands tucked into the back pockets of his Muggle jeans, but he, too, had a small smile on his lips. Across the room, Theo and Malfoy stood, their bodies angled towards one another, but they were looking at her, Theo’s face slightly more relaxed than Malfoy’s, but both were tense in their posture.
This was going to be… interesting.
Her hands gripped the skirt of her dress, then smoothed down the material before they found themselves in her hair again, habits she picked up long ago when she felt overly anxious. Finally, she swallowed and gestured to the large sofa sitting in front of the fireplace.
Hermione licked her lips, “This may be… easier if everyone sat."
They hesitated, heads turning to look at each other, then Charlie walked around Sirius and stepped in front of Hermione, taking her hand and squeezing it in greeting before planting his bulky body in the middle of the sofa, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.
Sirius followed suite, the edges of his lips curling higher as he winked at her. “Kitten,” he greeted, sinking into the plush cushions, and flung his arms up to rest along the back of the sofa.
Theo was next, flashing Malfoy a look, and walked to Hermione, leaning in to kiss her cheek before his hands unclasped the top button of his suit jacket and sat on Charlie’s left, though slightly further away than where Sirius plopped down. In a near identical move, Malfoy did the same – sans kiss on the cheek - lounging against the back cushions, resting his ankle on a knee.
Simultaneously, all four men focused their attention on Hermione and cold nerves rushed through her veins, her mouth suddenly dry. They were finally here – all four of them – all eyes on her… and she didn’t know what to say. Where was that fire she had burning in her gut just yesterday? Where was the furious inferno that had exploded, asking all of the questions that kept her up at night? ...Where had she decided she was going to start? From the beginning, but was it even relevant anymore? Maybe she should just thank them for coming over on such short notice, and then talk about marriage and fucking?
***
“Hermione-” Kingsley’s deep voice came from her left, and she swiveled towards it, her brows creased in fury.
The Minister was sitting on one of his royal purple sofas, a crystal tumbler full with at least four fingers of Ogden’s Old balancing on his knee, and when his head twisted to look at her, he didn’t look at all surprised to see them.
“-et al.,” he finished, his eyes flicking from man to man, then he raised his glass to them and gulped the entire tumbler worth of liquor. He didn’t even wince as the alcohol burned his esophagus on the way down.
“Kingsley-“
“Did you know,” he interrupted as he placed the tumbler back on his knee, the tip of his forefinger the only thing keeping it from falling to the floor, “Even strings can be pulled too taut… And when that happens, they break.”
Heart pounding, Hermione stared at the Minister as he studied the clear glassware, the flames from the fireplace’s hearth dancing through the wavy designs in the crystal. She was so infuriated, but the sarcasm in his voice – a tone she’d never heard Kingsley use – gave her pause.
His dark, glassy eyes looked back up at her and he huffed a laugh, “That woman is a manipulative bitch.”
“Who?” Sirius asked.
Kingsley’s eyes flicked from Hermione to Sirius, the corners of his lips curling up into a sardonic smile, but Hermione was the one to answer.
“Horne.”
The Minister huffed another laugh, then leaned forward to place the tumbler on the coffee table in front of him. Grunting, he stood, his hands smoothing down the nonexistent wrinkles in his midnight blue robes.
“Who’s Horne?” Charlie asked.
“Head Healer Helga Horne,” Kingsley laughed. “Fucking cunt.”
“He’s pissed,” Malfoy murmured by her ear. Hermione couldn’t tear her eyes away from Kingsley long enough to look over her shoulder at him, but she subtly nodded in acknowledgement.
“Yes, Mr. Malfoy. I drank the last of my twenty-year-old scotch, of course I’m pissed. Though I’m also pissed we let that- that-“ he waved a hand vaguely around the room as he stumbled for the right word, “-witch head the Matching Department.” Kingsley turned to fully face the group and settled his hands on his hips. “I suppose you’re here because of the Prophet I sent? I ‘suppose’… Fuck, I know you are. Well? I’m here.”
Hermione opened her mouth, words about to roll off her tongue, but Kingsley held up a hand and barked a bitter laugh, then snapped his fingers, “Oh, nearly forgot. I do suppose you should know in order to get Draco Malfoy matched with you, I had to let Horne announce your bonding to the paper.”
Her jaw clicked shut, her teeth ground together, and she felt fire burn through her veins.
“What?” Malfoy snapped.
Kingsley nodded, a derisive smile wide on his face. “Oh, yes. And I am to tell you… What did she say? ‘The Granger Family will need to be present tomorrow for their pre-bonding evaluations.’”
“Excuse me?” Sirius growled.
Hermione felt her magic static at her fingertips.
“Pre-bonding evaluations? Was there anything about that in the paper?” Theo asked, a venom she’d never heard from him lacing his words.
“What was it that she said? Something about bondings being personalized for each family group? Apparently, that includes an evaluation, though I have no idea what that is supposed to entail,” Kingsley replied acerbically.
Just as Hermione was about to retort, a feminine sound came from the doorway – almost as if someone was daintily clearing their throat – and, simultaneously, everyone twisted around to see an elegant Helga Horne standing in the doorway, a squat Mildred Pimperknuckle standing at her elbow.
“My apologies for interrupting, Minister,” Horne said in her light, airy voice, the corners of her eyes crinkled with the false smile plastered on her perfect face. “I was leaving for the evening and thought I heard familiar voices. Seems I was right.”
***
“Right, well… Age, and date of birth?”
“September 19, 1979. I’m twenty-two,” Hermione sighed.
“You are Muggle-born, correct?”
“Yes.”
“And your parents’ names?”
Hermione stiffened. “That matters why, exactly?”
Pimperknuckle looked at her and shrugged, “I’m not privy to the whys, dear.”
She bit the side of her cheek to keep herself from retorting, then said, “John and Helen Granger.”
“Their place of residence?”
“Irrelevant to this interview.”
“Miss Granger-“
“My parents have nothing to do with getting married or having children to save magic, Ms. Pimperknuckle. I refuse to answer further questions about my parents,” Hermione bit out. Another large hand cupped her other hand, and she felt her increasing heart rate slow down – only just a tad.
Mildred Pimperknuckle pursed her lips, her eyes narrowing at Hermione, but then she clucked her tongue and said, “Fine. I suppose you’re right; your parents have nothing to do with magic-“ Hermione felt a spark of furious indignation flare in her chest at the woman’s thinly veiled insult, “-let’s just move on to the medical portion of this evaluation.”
“Medical?” Sirius questioned, his voice low and almost growl-like.
“Of course. The law, after all, is about procreation. We need to make sure you’re all in tip top shape for, ahem, ‘baby making,’” Pimperknuckle whispered in a conspiratorial way, then had the gall to wink at Hermione.
Her jaw dropped open. “This is ridiculous!”
“Now, now, Miss Granger. I only have a few questions, nothing invasive. When did you have your first menstrual cycle?”
Hermione reared back and blinked, noticing how everyone shifted uncomfortably in their positions, though the hands encasing her own tightened their grips. Pimperknuckle smiled innocently, blinking several times as though she hadn’t just asked an, indeed, invasive question.
“I don’t think this is a conversation I should be having with you, Ms. Pimperknuckle. You are not a healer, therefore I think it best that I continue this… evaluation at St. Mungo’s-“
Pimperknuckle chuckled loudly, “Oh, no, dear. I am conducting all of the pre-bonding evaluations, healer or not. Unfortunately, the hospital is overwhelmed with the Matching, on top of their regular cases. If it makes you feel better, the information that is gathered is passed onto a healer at St. Mungo’s, who will be assigned to your family for all matters, especially once you conceive.”
“I was told I could pick a private healer.”
“Right. If you choose to look outside of our esteemed St. Mungo’s for a private healer, your information will then be passed onto them,” Pimperknuckle responded, her lips drawing into a thin line. “Now, then. How old were you when-“
“Twelve,” Hermione spat, fixing her gaze on the parchment that sat in front of her.
“Any issues?”
“You mean besides not having a period for six months in a row while on the run fighting Death Eaters and Voldemort?” Everyone flinched. “No.”
Pimperknuckle wiggled in her seat, shifting just that much closer to Malfoy (who, again, shot the witch a venomous glare), “Right. Are you sexually active?”
Despite the liquid fury flowing through her veins, she felt a blush spread on her cheeks as her men stiffened slightly in their seats, and she watched as each of them reacted differently in anticipation of her answer: clearing throats, scratching noses, twiddling thumbs, picking invisible lint off of pristinely pressed suit trousers. Even Malfoy cupped his chin in his hand, his gaze toward the Minister’s desk. All of them, it seemed, were trying to grant her some kind of privacy, despite having to be present in the same room as her.
Shifting in her seat, Hermione said, “Define ‘active.’”
“Have you had vaginal intercourse within the last, say, fourteen days?”
Hermione sighed deeply and her eyes closed, swallowing thickly before she nodded. Sirius’ hand tightened on hers.
“Contraceptive?”
Hermione’s eyes popped open, and she glared at Pimperknuckle. “Of course. The potion.”
“And how long have you been on the potion?”
“Since I lost my bloody virginity when I was seventeen! For Merlin’s sake, why does any of this matter?”
“It matters, Miss Granger, because taking a contraceptive potion long-term can harm a witch’s fertility. It can take months for ovulation to resume normally. You’ll need to stop taking it, especially if your current sexual partner is any one of your fiancés here. No time like the present to start trying for a wee one-" Pimperknuckle said, jovially, "However, if your current sexual partner is not in this room, then you will need to stop taking the potion by the date of your bonding. The sooner, the better.
“Just one final medical question, Miss Granger,” Pimperknuckle continued, ignoring the daggers being shot at her, “I assume the rumors of you and Mr. Potter expecting a love child are false-“ the woman eyed Hermione’s middle inquisitively, “-but have you ever been pregnant?”
Hermione sighed in aggravation but shook her head. “No. And let the record state that Harry and I have never been romantically involved… Fucking gossipmongers.”
Pimperknuckle ignored Hermione’s quip as she responded, “It’s more important, then, to make sure you are off the potion before the bonding. You’ve been taking it for five years, on top of never having been pregnant. Those are two factors that will work against your family group in the coming months.”
The witch stood and smoothed down her lime green pencil skirt, returning her hazel eyes to Hermione, “If I may suggest… You have an advantage here, Miss Granger; you have four young, virile wizards at your disposal. You ought to make good use of them."
Hermione shot to her feet as Pimperknuckle waddled to the Minister’s desk and picked up the remaining stacks of parchment. “Are you seriously encouraging me to use my fiancés for-“
The blonde witch sighed in an exasperated way and turned around, walking the few paces back to the coffee table, setting a stack of parchment in front of each of Hermione’s men. “My dear girl, your little act of innocence is quite grating on the nerves. We all know what this law entails, so let’s stop pretending that you won’t have to bed every male here – with the exception of our Minister, of course – until you give them each a child.”
The woman flicked her wrist and her Quick-Quotes Quill fell into an ugly lime green handbag Hermione hadn’t noticed before, closing it, then slung it over a meaty shoulder. “If you lot would be so kind as to fill out the remaining paperwork, read through the last twenty pages, and sign the sheet that says you have received a copy of the law, that would be peachy. I’ll expect all paperwork via owl by Friday.” And with that, Pimperknuckle swept out of the Minister’s office with less grace than her equally repugnant counterpart.
Breathing heavily, her lips twitching in an uncontrollable rage, Hermione stared at the space Pimperknuckle had occupied mere seconds earlier. Her heart pumped furiously fast, beating a rapid staccato against her breastbone, and she felt her blood rush hot in her veins, flowing like a river over a waterfall.
Vaguely, she felt hands squeeze her balled fists, heard hearty baritones talking to her, but she couldn’t… just couldn’t hold it back any longer. Her fury ripped a vicious scream from her throat – and a blast of hot static rushed from a spot in the middle of her chest, magic exploding from her core in a burst of bright, yellow light.
Simultaneously, the panes of glass in the windows shattered into fragments and the stacks of parchment on the coffee table in front of them roared into flames.
The villain in this story wasn’t the death of magic.
The villains were two witches named Helga Horne and Mildred Pimperknuckle.
***
“Answer me, Sirius. Do you… do you not want me?”
He belted out a laugh of disbelief, and his hands dropped wearily to his sides as he turned around. He gave her an incredulous look, his brows raised high, then nodded downward, where a prominent bulge strained at the crotch of his jeans. She bit back a groan but tucked a lip between her teeth as she stared, unable to keep herself from rubbing her thighs together.
For Merlin’s sake…
“Does this look like I don’t want you? I’ve wanted you for so long, kitten…” he trailed off, emotion swimming in his eyes as his hands met his face, rubbing his skin roughly with an aggravated grunt. “It’s been torturous listening to you whinge about Ron and Richard and Luca and Oliver fucking Wood over the years while also knowing how wrong it was that I wanted you, too. I mean, you’re my godson’s much younger best friend. You’re off limits.”
***
She stared at him, eyes wide, watching as he paced mere feet from her, one hand balled in a fist at his hip, the other carding through his hair. She couldn’t help the pounding of her heart, the way her blood rushed through her veins, the embers in her belly that roared into a blazing inferno. Swallowing thickly, she shifted in her seat, attempting to unstick her suddenly soaked knickers from her cunt before she opened her mouth to speak.
“What-“
He stopped abruptly and faced her, causing her jaw to snap shut. “You know, when Theo told me he kissed you, I was jealous.”
Theo looked down at his tea again, his tongue peeking out from between his lips in thought, but eventually shook his head. “I don’t think ‘mad’ is the right word. Jealous, perhaps.” He said that last part with a small smirk, and it took her brain a minute to process what he said – Malfoy would be jealous?
“I’m-“
“I’m jealous he got to do it first,” Malfoy interjected, his eyes narrowing towards her, his shoulders rounding in a tense defensiveness. Her heart stopped and she felt the air whoosh out of her lungs. Lips parting in astonishment, her brain scrambled for words to say. Surely he wasn’t serious. He… he didn’t even like her!
***
Hermione watched as Charlie eagerly picked up the tongs and plated several items on his small plate, then held them out to her when he was finished. She studied him as he ate, as she plated a few selections of her own, and, frowning slightly, her thoughts drifted back to his self-imposed sabbatical from the Reserve. Why did he take leave? She didn’t ask him to. Maybe he felt obligated to? He had said he wanted to get to know her better – and it made sense he would want to; they barely knew each other. But the way he quickly corrected the word ‘his’ to ‘the’ regarding the new dragon tamer was interesting.
There was also Ginny.
The conversation between the two of them was an ever-present noise in Hermione’s mind, the increasingly worrisome reaction she had to her brother’s leave of absence plagued her curiosity – and paranoia. The man himself sat in front of her, happily scooping marinated vegetables onto toasted sourdough, seemingly sweet and eager, yet shrouded in maddening mystery.
“Ginny and I talked,” she suddenly blurted, eyes wide, her heart thumping against her breastbone.
His head popped up, his smile fading into a frown, and the hand holding his bruschetta lowered toward his plate. He laid the bread down and wiped his hands on his napkin, his eyes focused on the table while he swallowed.
“What did-“ he croaked, then cleared his throat, “-she say?”
Hermione took a deep breath in, then shook her head. “She wouldn’t.”
***
“Fascinating?” Luna offered with a dreamy smile. “Our magical essence didn't match us with partners who would only give the best chance of producing magical children. It matched us with our soul mates.”
Hermione was silent for a moment, the memory of Skeeter’s interview with Horne flickering to the forefront of her mind. Horne had said as much in the article, that being matched based on magical core compatibility was almost like finding one’s soul mate…
“So… so I have four soul mates?”
Luna nodded, tying a pink string at the end of her long braid. “Humans – some other species, too – have multiple soul mates. It’s not always known, of course. You could spend your entire life as friends with one of your soul mates and never know it. But when the soul bond is provoked…”
“I’ve always… It’s always felt different for me when I touch you, kitten. Which-“ he barked out a laugh, “-is embarrassing, considering an old dog like me shouldn’t be pining after a girl twenty years his junior. But ever since your magic exploded, it’s been more intense. I don't know the whys of it, but there’s like this… draw-“
Hermione gasped.
“So… so… my magic is reaching out to my soul mates’ magic to ground itself and that’s why the pain lessens when Sirius or- or Draco touch me…” she trailed off, her hands lifting to card through her hair in understanding. “But… why is it stronger with one over another?”
“It really isn’t stronger. It's just been provoked, is all," Luna answered, bending down to pick up her basket. “When the emotional connections are fully forged, the strength will be the same across all the bonds.”
***
_______________________________
Narcissa Malfoy?
No, Narcissa Tremlett!
By Rita Skeeter
_______________________________
Shocking news has graced mine ears, dear readers!
Narcissa Malfoy née Black (47) has filed for divorce from long-time husband, Death Eater Lucius Malfoy (49). While this reporter is told it was to be expected as the former Malfoy Matriarch is not yet fifty, there was confusion surrounding the decision as Mrs. Malfoy has produced a magical child – Mr. Draco Malfoy, who is expected to bond with Muggle-born darling Hermione Granger later this month. “The decision wasn’t attained easily,” empathized Head Healer Horne, who met with Mrs. Malfoy earlier this week. “But since Mr. Lucius Malfoy is imprisoned for life – and their son, Draco, was not conceived until their sixth year of marriage in 1979 – the law states the Malfoy marriage must be dissolved and a match made on behalf of Mrs. Malfoy.” Azkaban – and therefore Mr. Malfoy – could not be reached for comment.
So, who has the former Mrs. Malfoy snagged? Rock star and bassist for the most popular band in all of Wizarding Britain, of course! Donaghan Tremlett (30) – a Muggle-born wizard who attended Hogwarts from 1983 to 1990 – gets to lay claim to a witch from two of the purist bloodlines in history. “No comment,” Mr. Tremlett offered when this reporter caught up with him outside of The Weird Sisters ‘Weird Stories’ show in Rome. No comment, indeed.
One does wonder how the Malfoy heir is taking the news.
***
“I know you’re not, but I’m going to ask anyway. You okay, kitten?”
Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck, drawing him into her, and propped her chin on his shoulder. “No.”
Sirius nodded, placing a soft kiss to her clavicle – causing a shudder to spark up her spine – then pulled away to look down at her. He released a hand from her waist, bringing it up to swipe at a tear she didn’t know had fallen. “I take it you got Milly’s letter?”
She nodded, sniffing her nose. “Yeah, and a copy of that disgusting garbage called The Daily Prophet, which sounds like you received, as well.”
Sirius’ rain-cloud eyes met her honey, anger flashing in his gaze before he nodded, bending down to kiss her. “Ruddy owl dropped it in my shepherd’s pie.”
She sniffed again, planting another chaste kiss to his lips before lightly pushing on his shoulders so she could move freely. “I just don’t know…” she paused, sighing, “The bonding is so close. It- it was an inevitability, I know, but so far off that- that it wasn’t worth the energy it took to think about it. And now-“
“It’s a week away,” Sirius finished for her, walking backwards a few steps until he hit the opposite counter, lifting himself to sit atop of the marble, and leaned back against the cabinets.
“Yeah, and now the whole fucking world knows and- and… What about Narcissa Malfoy? What about Draco?” Hermione said, crossing her arms over her chest and tucking her lip between her teeth, worrying the flesh as she studied the nigh imperceptible flash of concern flicker over his features.
He shrugged, then looked down at his hands cradled in his lap, one thumb nail picking at the cuticle of the other. “Somehow, I don’t think Cissa’s going to mind being married to a rock star, kitten. She won’t admit, but I know for a fact she played Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon on repeat during Easter hols in ’73. As for Draco… The kid’s tough, and I know he hates his father, especially after how that fuck treated his relationship with Theo.”
Hermione’s eyes rounded. “He told you about that?”
Sirius shrugged again, but looked up at her, the edges of his lips quirking. “It’s come up. He’s got some bollocks, I can tell you that. Traditional pureblood society, kitten, is not a pleasant place. If you question anything that’s drilled into you from the time you can hold a quill and recite ‘Cantankerus Nott’s Pureblood Directory’ by heart…” He held up a hand, lifting his pointer finger as he continued, “One, you cannot associate with anyone less than half-blood, and even those people are questionable,” he held up a second finger, “Two, you are not allowed to flirt, kiss, or Merlin forbid, have sex with anyone less than a Sacred Twenty-Eight, otherwise you run the risk of a half-blood bastard and stain on the family tree,” he held up his ring finger, scowling deeply, “Three, romantic relationships between same sex couples are filthy and must be absolved quietly to avoid scandal,” his pinky met his other three fingers, “Four, any of the above deem you unworthy of your name, house, and title,” then his thumb popped up, “And five, unworthy heirs are beaten into submission, and if the abuse does not drive the point home, well, then they’re disowned and blasted off the family tapestry,” he paused, then mumbled, “Like that was a loss…”
A short, stunned silence hung between them. Hermione’s heart constricted in her chest, and she felt her magic reach out to Sirius, enveloping his pain in a warm hug, trying to will it away. She pushed off from the counter and dropped her arms, walking the handful of steps until she stood between his thighs, pulling him down into a hug. He sucked in a shaky breath, curling his hands into her hair as he continued.
“Like I said, it takes bollocks to go against Pureblood ideals. There’s a reason why it doesn’t happen often. You’re raised in this privileged life, you want for nothing material - and you grow up afraid. There were whispers, of course, of what had happened to so-and-so, the second cousin twice removed who married outside their station or good ol’ Phineas Black who supported Muggle rights. Andromeda set the precedence for my generation by marrying Ted. My Uncle Alphard was blasted off the tree when he signed over his money to me before his 'mysterious' death. And I was disowned for telling my mother to go fuck her Pureblood ideology since it was the only thing that seemed to get her off. The beatings, well… Let’s just say my St. Mungo’s record fills an entire cabinet drawer.”
***
She spotted Draco’s head of platinum blond easily the closer she got to the café. He was sitting outside at a table draped with a white tablecloth underneath one of the large, opened umbrellas, a menu in his hand and speaking to a waiter. The waiter nodded, taking Draco’s menu, then walked into the café as Draco straightened the cuff on his suit jacket sleeve. Unconsciously, her feet slowed down as she took in his handsome profile; the sleek bridge of his aristocratic nose, his perfect chin and jawline, the way his face lit up with a smile as Theo paced into view and bent down, his lips molding against Draco’s before falling into the chair on Draco’s left.
She froze, her feet cementing to the cobblestone, and her heart began to pound in her chest as the pain beneath her breastbone pulsed. Her nervousness spiked, shooting adrenaline through her veins, and a brief ‘I should leave’ passed swiftly through her mind. It wasn’t necessarily a shock seeing Theo with Draco at the café; Draco didn’t explicitly state that it would be just him meeting her there. It was welcomed, really, as she watched Theo’s dark eyes roam his boyfriend’s face, a breathtaking smile taking over his lips when Draco said something that caused him to laugh. But seeing them together like this, kissing each other the way long time lovers did created a burning need for a relationship like that – and she was truly afraid she wouldn’t get it.
She wondered, not for the first time, if she was just an interloper in their relationship. Yes, they asked for her help. Yes, they assured her (and she knew from experience) fucking wouldn’t be an issue as they often shared a witch. Yes, Draco admitted the… crush?... he’s had on her since fourth year. But really, none of it truly mattered in the end, did it? Not when the relationship between Draco and Theo was already so well established, so important, so loving, so beautiful…
***
Narcissa sighed again, looking at her hands in her lap. “Complete disownment on top no communication - permanently?”
Hermione’s brows furrowed in confusion, and this time, Theo squeezed her hand. When she looked up at him, his dark eyes were on her, wide with a mixture of emotions – shock being the strongest - and they both looked to Draco, whose brows rose on his forehead. “I was disowned.”
Narcissa shook her head. “No. Lucius knows that as the only Malfoy heir, he wouldn’t be able to completely disown you without forfeiting the Malfoy vaults and properties to the Ministry. He told you that you were disowned; he thought a few, sickleless months would change your mind... I- I was forbidden from speaking with you to keep up with the ruse, no matter how much it hurt me to do so. Kreacher was watching me… The kind of bonding Lucius and I performed at our wedding… Well, let’s just say my magic wasn’t all mine.”
Draco stiffened in his chair with those words, his eyes traveling to Hermione and Theo, his skepticism slowly fading into anger. Though, this time, Hermione was sure his anger was directed at his father.
“When the marriage law – and its amendments – passed, the opportunity presented itself. I met with Ms. Pimperknuckle and Healer Horne, had my marriage to Lucius dissolved. I’m no longer Lady Malfoy, so Lucius holds no true power over me anymore,” she paused, looking down at her hands. “I asked you – and Miss Granger and Theo – to supper, Draco, to- Draco, I am so very sorry I made you believe I thought your love for Theo was anything less than pure. I’m sorry it took the marriage law for me to break free of your father’s hold and just…” Narcissa’s voice broke and she rose a shaky hand to her mouth as a small sob escaped her lips.
A tear slid down Hermione’s cheek as she worried the flesh of her bottom lip between her teeth, her heart racing in her chest as she dragged her eyes from Narcissa to Draco. Another tear met its twin at her chin when she saw the rim of Draco’s eyes red with unshed tears, though still stiff in his posture – as if hope was too good an emotion to feel.
“Draco,” Narcissa began again, her voice cracking as she lifted her head to meet her son’s torn expression, “I love you for you, my dragon. My love has always been unconditional, regardless of who you end up loving in this life – man, woman, both, none at all.”
***
“You seem to be the closest to her, Sirius. How- how do you feel about, you know, having to share her?” Charlie asked, his voice quivering nervously, breaking Sirius out of his thoughts.
He looked up, his grey eyes meeting Charlie’s blue, and opened his mouth to speak, but… He didn’t really know what to say. This was Charlie, another man Hermione would eventually have to fuck, eventually have to bear a child for. The knowledge of that settled heavily in his chest, which was surprising, really, as he never considered himself monogamous. The stories about his Hogwarts days weren’t exaggerations; he’d chased skirts, took them in hidden alcoves, behind tapestries and in broom closets. He was the school bicycle, and he had zero qualms with that.
Loved it, actually.
Not that his immediate post-Hogwarts life was any different. He used to bring birds – sometimes multiple at once - home from the pub, much to Moony’s dismay. After Azkaban, however; after being sequestered in Grimmauld, after nearly being killed in the Department of Mysteries, after losing both Remus and Tonks in the final battle… Well, sex became sporadic, usually pulling women from pubs, old habits die hard and all that shite. He could hear Moony sighing in exasperation from beyond the grave.
But the last one had been… A long time ago.
Then there was Hermione. She escaped to Grimmauld Place when things went wrong - which was often. She found her peace there when retrieving her parents’ memories had become nigh an impossibility and then again after she broke up with Ron when he proposed marriage. Soon, though, she began to show up just for Sirius’ company, and his heart began to grow fond of the fiery bushy-haired witch. That should have been the first red flag.
When she left to work on her Mastery in Italy, she also left Sirius behind to realize just how much he missed her barging into the shitty townhouse he loathed to call home, imbibing on his liquor, rambling about some obscure historical factoid that Moony would have surely appreciated. That should have been the second red flag.
One random night somewhere in the middle of her Mastery, she showed up claiming she had a week's holiday and cried over a bottle of her favorite cheap tequila, lamenting the break-up with her Italian bloke – Sirius was positively gleeful it didn’t work out. After her embarrassingly short mourning period, it was like old times between them. That should have been red flag number three.
When she left for Egypt, she took his heart with her - and it horrified him when he realized it because that should have been red flag number four.
Four fucking red flags waving in his face, and he bloody denied them. He denied them because if he didn’t, then he would have had to admit that he had deep feelings for his godson’s much younger best friend.
And now…
“Honestly?” Sirius asked, planting both feet on the ground, bracing for his confession.
Cupping the tumbler between his palms, Charlie leaned forward in his seat and dug his elbows into his knees. “Yeah.”
“I’m bloody terrified.”
Charlie exhaled heavily, turning his head to look Sirius in the eye. “Me, too.”
***
Hermione’s feet cemented to the hardwood floor, her heart thumping in her chest, and she allowed her hands to fall heavily to her sides as she looked up into Draco’s face, as blurry as it was due to her tear-clouded eyes. “No, Draco. I don’t want to breathe. I want to get this over with so I can… So I can get over you both. I need a plan. I need to know-“
“What do you mean ‘get over you both’? What are you trying to get over?” He asked, looking over his shoulder briefly at Theo before meeting her eyes.
She laughed, a sarcastic tone, taking a step back from Draco as she began to pace. “It’s exactly how it sounds, stop being daft. I’m falling for you both, but I know where I stand. How can I not? But… but that’s beside the point. I need to stop falling-“
Draco suddenly laughed, cutting her off. “You have no idea where you stand if you’re asking these idiotic questions.”
Her brows furrowed in anger. “They’re not idiotic questions! We’ve barely spoken lately! How am I supposed to know anything if we’ve barely spoke since- since the fucking ‘family meeting’? I’m over having people tell me that we have ten years to figure this shite out. I don’t want to wait ten years to bloody figure it out! I needed to know where I stand so I can fucking get over you two, so I can treat this- this arrangement as bloody clinical as possible. We- we bond, we fuck, I get pregnant with your heir, and after ten years, we divorce. That’s it, right? I know I don’t have a deeper place in your relationship, I never did. You didn’t ask for me, and I understand that, I respect it. So, please, for my sanity, can we just… just lay it all out, right now, so I can mend my broken heart in peace?”
She didn’t realize she was screaming – or that she was facing away from Draco and Theo – until she lifted her gaze from the floor to see a bookshelf-free wall. Twisting around, she was unable to keep the tears from spilling down her cheeks, muddying her vision as she carded her hands through her hair again.
“Granger,” Draco said, his voice eerily calm, “I’ve been half in love with you since fourth year. Why in the fuck would you think you don’t have a place in our relationship?”
A bitter laugh bubbled out of her throat. “How about the fact that you haven’t given me any reason to believe otherwise?”
“Did you forget that I bared my fucking soul to you and then finger fucked you on your dining room table?”
She ground the heels of her hands into her eyes, sighing heavily. “Draco, that’s all either of you have seemed to show interest in. Fucking. Just like any other witch you bring home from the pub, right? You told me as much that first night at Polpetta. You told me you ‘know the mechanics,’ that you are both still attracted to witches. But I have been told repeatedly, as if you’re driving the point home, that neither of you have been with a witch without the other since sixth year. I can take a hint.”
Hermione’s hands dropped to her sides again, and she looked at the men – her fiancés. They were standing side-by-side; Theo’s arms were crossed over the cream-colored linen shirt he wore, his knuckles turning white from his tight grasp on his forearms. He was looking at her, his dark eyes boring into her as he rolled his jaw, as if he was biting in the inside of his cheek to keep from saying something. Draco stood a hairsbreadth closer to her, his hands curled into fists at his side, his own jaw tight.
“What if I wanted you individually, hm?” she continued, ignoring her raging heartbeat as adrenaline continued to flood her veins, and she took a step towards them, “What if I wanted more than a threesome every time we were together? What if I wanted to fuck Theo while you weren’t there, Draco? Or Theo, what if I wanted to ride Draco’s cock while you were away in Paris on business? What… what if I wanted a relationship outside of the obligations of the law? What if I wanted to share in what you two have? That is what I want; I want you both – together and separately; I’ve recently realized that I can’t, and that’s fine, I’ll be fine… eventually. That’s why I needed to know where we all stand so I can start the process of- of getting over you both.”
Aside from Hermione’s heavy breaths, you could hear a pin drop it was so quiet. Her heart was racing in her ears, the steady thump thump thump wild against her eardrums, and she felt exhausted, defeated. She sighed, looking around the room for her beaded bag, not even remembering where she placed it when they entered the reception room; she’d leave, give everyone time to process, and revisit with a level head-
“We weren’t looking for a third.” Theo’s voice was thick and gravely as he spoke, catching Hermione off guard. She swallowed around the growing lump in her throat, dragging her eyes back to him. He wasn’t looking at her; instead, his eyes were studiously on the floor, his chin propped in his palm. “Draco and I, we weren’t looking to add a third to our relationship. You’re right that, on occasion, we’d pick up a witch at a pub, bring her home, and send her on her way in the morning. But he was it for me, Hermione, has been since sixth year... At least until I was matched with you.”
***
Her own breathy chuckle escaped her throat. “True. Though it’s not just watering. Monstera, for instance, needs its leaves to be misted at least three times a week; they like humidity, and if they don’t have enough moisture, the leaves will get brown spots. Don’t get me started on fertilizer-“
“Tell me again why you didn’t join Neville for an Herbology mastery?” Sirius teased, throwing her a wink as he began taking the stairs two at a time.
Hermione shrugged her shoulders. “Herbology was never a passion, per se. My grandmother’s roses were her babies; I guess I learned how to care for plants through her.”
“I’m kidding, kitten.”
“I know,” she said with another chuckle, pinching his arse as she followed him up the stairs. “Prat.”
“I like plants,” Charlie chimed, trailing closely behind Hermione. “There’s nothing like working the soil with your own two hands and watching all of your hard work blossom.”
A secret smile played at her lips as she adjusted the paper sack, letting the handles slide down her arm and into her hand. She ended up buying four different reference books on organic gardening and a variety of vegetable seeds that, if sown soon, would be ready to harvest by the early spring. If Charlie insisted on staying in London, putting his life – his love for his dragons and The Hole – on hold, then she wanted to give him part of his home: a little garden to call his own.
And she couldn’t wait to plant these seeds with him.
***
Opening her eyes, she chewed, then took another bite, a little bounce in her shoulders as she turned, taking a spatula to the cooking bacon. She laughed then, popping the remaining bit of bacon into her mouth. “I could do without the coffee, though.”
“Really?” Theo replied huskily, his breath at her ear. She froze, her heart beating a staccato-like rhythm in her chest. His hands came up to caress her bare shoulders, the tips of his fingers gliding down the skin of her arms, leaving goose pimples in their wake. “Because I love coffee.”
Her eyes closed again, her bottom lip making its way between her teeth and tried not to lean into his stroke. “Mm,” was all she said as his fingers made their way back up her arms and across her clavicle.
“You know what I also love? Though, sadly, I haven’t partaken in some time,” Theo taunted, his lips grazing her earlobe.
“Mm?” she answered, then squeaked as his hands curled around her waist, quickly twisting her to face him.
“I loved kissing you,” he uttered breathlessly. “I think about it all of the time. Every time you bite your lip, every time you moan when something appreciative crosses your palate…”
Her eyes popped open, suppressing a small gasp. His already nigh-black eyes impossibly darkened, flicking down to study her lips. Sucking in a breath, she watched as he dipped his head, his gaze meeting hers once more. “May I kiss you, Hermione?”
***
“Theo,” a breathy male voice suddenly gasped.
Hermione’s feet froze to the floor; she was now very much awake, her eyes widening as she zeroed in on a beam of light at the end of the hallway shining through a minute gap in the door.
Draco and Theo’s room.
Heart pounding, she took a silent step forward, noting how, indeed, both Charlie and Sirius’ doors were wide open, indicating they were still out, and she crept closer, dodging creaky boards until she stood just before their bedroom door.
“Jesus Christ, Hermione, what are you doing…” she mumbled to herself before she closed the short gap, peering into the bedroom.
Instantly, she was wet.
The first thing she saw was the deliciously toned expanse of Theo’s back, free of a shirt, his fingers woven through Draco’s platinum locks as they kissed. Her fingers itched to touch him again, but she bit her lip, stepping closer to the door, watching as Draco’s hands slid down his boyfriend’s back, reaching down to palm the globes of his arse. Theo was still wearing the loose khakis from earlier, and Draco’s fingers easily sank into the fabric, outlining, as Hermione suspected, a beautifully shaped bum.
It was sudden, the movement, but Theo yanked Draco’s hands away from his arse, holding the blonde’s arms to his sides as he attacked his mouth, drawing out a long, desperate groan from Draco.
“On your knees, Draco,” Theo demanded huskily, breaking their kiss. Draco immediately sank downwards, his hands quickly working at the button on Theo’s trousers.
“I can’t believe you told her I would be sucking your cock,” Theo tsked with a shake of his head, curling his fingers into Draco’s hair and yanking his head backwards to look up at him. Draco smirked then and bit his lip, shrugging nonchalantly.
Theo pulled his hair harder, taking his forefinger and thumb to Draco’s flesh, plucking it from between his teeth. “That drives me mad. You and Hermione both with that damn lip biting thing…” Adjusting his hips in front of Draco, Theo’s free hand ran along the other man’s jaw, his thumb disappearing between the blonde’s plump lips. “Open wide, Draco. Let me show you what happens when you try to play a role you’re not meant to play.”
Hermione swallowed thickly when Draco’s smirk melted off his face, groaning in his throat as his hand moved upwards towards the front of Theo’s trousers. She wished… she wished she could see. She blinked, watching Draco’s jaw drop, the pink tip of his tongue swiping against his bottom lip as he leaned forward. Hermione couldn’t see, damn it, but when Theo’s head fell back onto the nape of his neck with a guttural growl, she let out a small whimper. She felt her knickers grow damp, studying the way Draco’s head bobbed, eyes closed as if savoring a scrumptious dish, his hands tugging on the khaki fabric until Theo’s trousers fell to his knees. Her eyes latched onto the way Draco trailed his fingertips up Theo’s bare legs, then kneaded his delectable arse, the way his pale skin contrasted Theo’s beautiful gold as his forearms flexed, urging his boyfriend to thrust into his mouth.
Then Draco’s silver eyes popped open - and looked directly at her.
She gasped.
***
“You are the blood of my blood…“ Charlie sipped the wine.
Sirius took the outstretched chalice and drank deeply. “And bone of my bone…“
“I give you my body that we might be one…“ Theo stated, savoring his own mouthful of red wine.
“Or three-“
“Draco!”
A smirk pulled at Draco’s lips, but his eyes never left Hermione’s as he, too, sipped on the wine, “I give you my spirit ‘til our life shall be done…“
“I pledge my blood, my bone, my body, my spirit, and my magic. I pledge each of you a child, an heir for your House,” Hermione promised, her eyes moving from Charlie’s to Sirius’, Theo’s then Draco’s, finishing the remaining wine and passing the goblet back to Harry, “Above all this, I will cherish and honor each of you through this life and the next.”
“Upon consuming the potioned wine, the bond is primed. Upon tying House cords-” Kingsley’s voice was firm and low, nodding to each of the cords wrapped around their hands, “-around the bound wrists, the bond is forged. Upon magic's consent, the bond none can break. Anima par.“
***
Swallowing thickly, she saw a knowing smirk tug at Theo’s lips, but he didn’t address the abrupt tension in the air, and with a tilt of his head, he shoved his fists into the pockets of his black suit trousers. “So?”
Hermione licked her lips, and urged her galloping heart to slow, allowing a beatific smile to spread her lips. “I just… I can’t-“
“We wanted to do something for you,” Sirius remarked, twining his arms around her sternum, brushing a kiss under her jaw.
Draco dipped his head as he stood. “We may not have had a wedding, but we thought… a honeymoon-“
“You deserve a honeymoon, Hermione… And so much more,” Theo chimed in, rocking back on his heels.
She was breathless. “Alexandria?”
“Charlie’s idea,” Sirius responded, smiling against her skin.
Her eyes met Charlie’s across the garden, her breath catching in her chest. Charlie. It was Charlie’s idea to come to the place she loved most in the world. They could have gone anywhere – he could have gone anywhere; he could have gone back to Romania. Instead, he thought of her and…
She placed a kiss to Sirius’ temple and unwrapped herself from his embrace. Taking slow steps, she caressed each of Draco and Theo’s arms as she passed them, studying Charlie’s cerulean blue eyes the closer she got to him. She stopped when the tips of her toes touched his loafers and smiled, kissing the corner of his mouth before flinging her arms around his neck. “Thank you.”
He didn’t hesitate to return her hug, wrapping his bulky appendages around her waist and dragged her into him, burying his nose in her hair. “It was a group effort. I just suggested Alexandria; I know you’ve missed it.”
She withdrew slightly, meeting his eye again. He missed Romania, but he still thought of her. Smoldering embers of guilt began to burn in her belly, but she internally shook her head and pushed the feeling away; she had her own surprise for Charlie, something she meant to give him tomorrow. But as they surprised her with a honeymoon, the garden would just have to wait a little while longer.
***
Hermione cleared her throat and set her wine glass down on the table. “Can we talk about the bonding now? You… you said it was a soul bonding?”
Heads turned to Sirius, and he chewed on his bottom lip before twining his fingers together, resting them on his stomach. Nodding, he said, “It was. Couldn’t you feel it?”
Everyone nodded.
“There are different kinds of marriage bonds, kitten. There are your contractual marriage bonds that purebloods use in arranged marriages,” he rolled his eyes. “There are marriage bonds like Harry and Ginny performed, intimate and personal. For love, you know. Then there are soul bonds. They’re rare because finding your true soulmate – or soulmates – is rare. Well, used to be rare, but this whole Matching thing may change that.”
Hermione studied her wine, her forefinger and thumb running the length of the stemware. Soulmates… Sirius, Charlie, Draco, Theo… She bit the corner of her lip. They were her soulmates. “You, erm, said that the golden veins was my magic melding with yours?”
“Highly possible. Magic told me I help ground you,” Sirius responded, and she looked up, meeting his eyes. One by one, her other husbands nodded their heads.
She sucked in a breath. “Yes. He told me that, but… Do I ground you, too?”
Hermione watched them meet each other's eyes, then Sirius inhaled. “You’re powerful, kitten. Muggle-born magic is the most powerful magic in the world.“
Her eyebrows rose high on her forehead in shock, mouth gaping open. He wasn’t supposed to know that. How did he know that?
“Magic,” Sirius explained simply with a twitch of his lips.
“We, erm…” she swallowed, then took a breath, “We’re researching Muggle-born magic in the Department of Mysteries.” No one said anything, but they all bobbed their heads again. “So, the four of you help ground me?”
Sirius tipped his chin. “When your magic gets out of control, like it did in Kingsley’s office, our magic will automatically calm it. This kind of… thing is extremely rare. Soulmates are rare, this amount of power is rare. I’m sure if Voldemort-“ Draco scowled, “-knew the true power behind Muggle-born magic, he wouldn’t have been so flippant about killing them.”
Hermione snorted. Of course not. The megalomaniac wanted nothing but power and appealed to pureblood ideology to gain it. How fast would that mindset have changed if he knew the kind of power Muggle-borns held?
“Anyway,” Sirius said with a growing mischievous smirk, leaning forward to grab his water glass, “We’re bonded – married. Each of us to you, and Draco to Theo, Theo to Draco-“
“Does that mean you three are a triad?” Charlie cut in, brow creased in curiosity, but the flare of… something rushed her senses and she had to take a deep breath. It was doubt. Hermione could feel Charlie’s self-doubt. Her heart throbbed and shared in his pain because… bloody hell, if she still didn’t hold some deep-seated insecurities of her own.
She reached across the table, grabbing Charlie’s hand. “I think we are. There’s a relationship between the three of us, but there’s also a relationship with just Theo and I, just Draco and I, just Sirius and I, and just you and I. Whatever forms those relationships may take right now. But there’s also a relationship between just Theo and Draco.”
“And Magic bonded the two of you?” Charlie confirmed after a silent moment, squeezing her fingers, but his eyes met Theo’s, then dragged to Draco’s.
When they nodded simultaneously, a grin parted Charlie’s lips. “That is brilliant. Merlin knows that while those bigoted fools hold seats in the Wizengamot, the laws won’t change. I’m very glad for you both.”
***
“We can hear you, kitten.” And she could hear the smirk in Sirius’ voice, a blush staining the apples of her cheeks as she walked through the arched doorway, then huffed as nonchalantly as possible when she slipped into the free chair between Charlie and Theo.
“I wasn’t trying to be quiet,” Hermione quipped, jumping slightly when a plate materialized on the table in front of her, her eyes falling onto a beautiful, orange egg yolk. Her stomach growled, and she picked up her fork, only then realizing how hungry she was.
“You weren’t, were you?” Theo asked, his deep voice carrying hints of knowing. Her flush spread down her neck and across her chest, warmth spreading through her appendages in… embarrassment? Possibly, though it was more likely because of the way Sirius’ eyes darkened at Theo’s innuendo or the way Draco’s lips wrapped teasingly around his spoon as he took a bite of his Beid Bel Basturma.
It could also be because Charlie looked at her with his own level of heat in his eyes.
***
“If you want to leave, we can. I just thought… Well, with your love of animals-“
He stopped abruptly, his head popping up to look at her. “No, this is brilliant. These animals are brilliant, fascinating. I feel… grateful that I’ve been able to witness them. There’s just…” he paused for a moment, tucking his lips between his teeth as he sought the words he wanted to say, “…a fine line between preservation and captivity. These animals are endangered so their species should be carefully documented with every effort given to preserve them… That is possible without allowing people to gawp at them.”
He waved his free hand around the small crowd, toward the children who knocked their knuckles against the glass plane separating them from an unimpressed Bennu; it ruffled its orange feathers and turned its back to the onlookers. Hermione bit the corner of her lip.
“But then you’ll encounter other opinions on the matter. Zoos and menageries provide educational experiences for both civilians and magizoologists alike; any fees, any donations go toward preservation. I do understand; not every preservation effort is funded by a ministry or two, like The Hole is. I just wish both could be achieved. These animals deserve to live their lives outside of a cage.”
Hermione nodded in response, in thought. “So, the dragons at the Reserve…?”
Charlie took a step forward, his feet following the curvature of the stone enclosures, his arm straightening, releasing Hermione’s hand from the crook of his elbow. Her brow creased at the abrupt movement, wondering if she offended him. She inhaled, an offer of elaboration on the tip of her tongue when his hand grabbed hers and he laced their fingers together. Hermione sucked in another breath, but in surprise this time, her eyes latching onto their entwined hands.
“Is this okay?” Charlie asked, his voice but a whisper.
She recovered quickly, feeling something – joy, hope, elation – swirl in her belly, and eagerly squeezed his fingers. “Yes.”
***
“Oh, Theo…” She bit her lower lip to keep it from wobbling, and took a step forward, laying her hand reverently against the limestone.
This had been her home for years. It was where she’d unearthed scrolls pre-dating Ancient Egypt. It was where she’d discovered relics from Cleopatra’s reign, bygones of old (despite Julius Caesar’s love-struck idiocy that led to the Great Fire of Alexandria, destroying much of the city). It was where, buried deep in a hidden alcove behind a wall and protected by a handful of spells that were unused today, Hermione had pulled out a linen-wrapped tome six inches thick that detailed Atlantean life so thoroughly, she knew their daily diet consisted of aquaponic-raised fish (with sketches!), hydroponic-grown greens (with diagrams!), and a honeyed puff pastry dessert that sounded suspiciously like baklava. That book was shoved back into its hiding place and warded with spells so strong, permanent amnesia was an immediate concern for anyone who tried to access the tome’s resting place.
“I knew coming to Alexandria, the Library would be one of the first places you’d like to visit. Mine, too, to be honest. I know Draco has a… different idea for a date. Sirius, as well. But I wanted to come here with you.”
***
Prying her lips apart with his, he devoured her mouth like a starving man, each stroke of his tongue against hers more desperate than the last. God, this man was divine. Her fingers trailed up his sleek torso, her digits grazing the slightly raised skin of his tattoos, each beautiful in their own right, for their own reason. Pulling her fingers across his chest, his muscles contracted under her ministrations as she dragged her thumbs down the runes bisecting his pectorals.
Nauthic, for struggle, turmoil, persistence.
Uruz, for strength, willpower, endurance.
Algiz, for protection, defense, security.
Eihwaz, for death, transformation, understanding.
And-
Tearing her lips from Sirius’, she leaned away slightly and looked down at her fingers. There, just beneath them, standing stark against his pale skin, a new rune, still red around the outline. “Sirius…” Tracing the line, she brought her finger back up, careful not to hurt him as she gently glided her digit over the top point, then the bottom. “Berkana-“
Sirius sucked in a breath, his chest heaving slightly, then took her hand in his, lacing their fingers together.
She met his eye. “For new beginnings, renewal, rebirth…”
“I…” he dropped his gaze, watching his thumb trace over the back of her knuckles, “Hermione, you… It’s all been because of you, for you.”
***
27 June 2002
Ms. Granger,
Congratulations are in order, I hear.
I do hope you are enjoying your honeymoon in Alexandria; it’s quite the city.
We have much to discuss when you return to London. Are you available for tea on the 3rd of July at one o’clock? A little birdy told me you’re due back by then.
Perhaps you’ll have even better news for me than that of a surprise elopement?
Sincerely,
Helga Horne
Head Healer
St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries