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Revised July 19, 2004
As Hermione unfolded the Daily Prophet, the blood
drained from her face. The Ministry had passed the
Marriage Act. It had been hotly debated from both sides;
with pure-blood wizards being disgusted by the very idea
of intermixing bloodlines and Muggleborns screaming,
"Slavery!" Apparently neither science nor the will of the
general population had any affect on the Ministry's
decision.
Harry and Ron were talking about today's upcoming
quidditch match with Hufflepuff, oblivious to her
concerns. A quick glance across the high table showed
passing sympathy from several of the female teachers and a
pinched, frozen look on Professor McGonagall's face.
Professor Flitwick looked overjoyed. Professor Snape was
sneering and scowled as he caught her looking at him.
Hermione returned to reading the details. Obviously it was
a good idea to get the paper so she could get the news
directly. Last week the headmaster had taken her aside and
cheerfully informed her that children were always a
blessing and she was extremely fortunate that she could be
wed so quickly and easily after the law was passed.
Hermione had decided on the spot that it would be
important to get impartial information, or as impartial as
it was possible to receive. Surprisingly, the complete
text of the new wizarding law was printed on a continuing
page. She turned to read the specifics amid the hum and
buzz of breakfast in the Great Hall.
Words leapt from the page and burned themselves into her
mind. A witch was to marry within thirty days of receiving
an offer, with her head of family choosing between
multiple offers (the Ministry would serve that function
for any witches without family) and setting the date. The
majority of the text outlined a bound witch's remaining
rights and gave specific requirements for the amount and
types of sexual intercourse. A bound witch would be
required to service her husband daily without
contraceptives, even if she was 80 years old, or already
had 20 children. It got worse. There was no sunset
provision to the law; it would not be automatically
rescinded when the population stabilized or after a
certain number of years. It was a near certain doom for
any children born into a society with such a law. Hermione
didn't recognize the binding ritual, but most ceremonial
magic was permanent. The binding was a life sentence. Even
if the law was repealed, she could not be set free.
Finally, the limits of Hermione's horror were reached, "In
the event of the wizard's death, the witch will be free,"
there was a line break, as a tease to hope, "to accept new
offers under the same provisions originally decreed."
As Hermione's mother and father had been killed, she
realized the Ministry would be selecting a wizard to be
her husband. Thoughts of possible choices ran through her
mind. It was a litany of worst possible choices when she
thought of who had the power to influence that kind of
decision. The newly-widowed Lucius Malfoy. Draco Malfoy.
Crabb. Goyle. Neville. Percy Weasley. Professor Snape! Or
worse, it might not even be someone totally human.
Professor Flitwick had been thrilled. Her mind replayed
the expressions on the faces of the teachers and dread
sank in.
Sucking in her breath and deciding she needed to know
exactly how bad it could get, Hermione continued reading.
Witches who did not comply would have their wands snapped.
Hermione expected they would also have their memories
modified, as that was the common practice. Asterisks led
her to the note saying that the wizarding communities in
continental Europe, various parts of Asia, and America
were all signing extradition and compliance treaties as of
the time of the announcement. Escape was a forlorn hope
anyway since the wizarding world functioned on the
who-you-know principle. Hiding her background would mean a
lack of recommendations and would just make her
unemployable.
A late owl flew into the Great Hall, dropping a scroll
with a Ministry seal in front of Hermione. Warily she
cracked it open. "Due to your authorized and recorded use
of a time turner (Permit number #3215) you have reached
your age of majority. Pursuant to the new Marriage Act and
based on your lack of wizarding family, the Ministry has
chosen an eligible wizard to be your fiance. You are to
report to the Ministry at 11am today for the marriage
ceremony in the Ministry temple. Aurors are being sent to
escort you to the ceremony or to the Memory Modification
department as you choose."
There was no help for it. Professor Dumbledore was in
favor of the law and no one else with any power would
stand between her and the Ministry. Harry might have done,
but his dreams of getting scouted during the upcoming
match took precedence. He had said she should find out who
the wizard was and get to know him before September when
she would come of age. After all, she might like
being married and getting lots of sex. When Hermione had
pointed out that contraceptives were forbidden and that
the Ministry had tracking charms to enforce the regular
consummation of the marriages, Harry had shrugged saying,
"Well, 'Mione, it's only a baby."
Harry did not seem to notice the prejudice against married
witches having careers. The bias made sense to Hermione;
pregnant witches tended to make various magics unstable
and they required a great deal of coddling (even more so
than the Muggle women Hermione had seen at her parents'
dental practice.) Under the new law, it could be assumed
that all married witches would require the special
treatment. Then they would have children who needed care.
No one wanted to hire witches who would suddenly abandon
their jobs. There were exceptions, places that employed
witches in certain capacities, Hogwarts, and the Ministry,
but none of the witches was married. They were
probably contractually obligated to remain unmarried, lest
they neglect their duties. This law was going to cause a
lot of vacancies at the Ministry and Hogwarts when they
lost their spinsters. Hermione personally suspected most
of the female Hogwarts teachers were lesbians. A sly
thought crept in that the law did not make any provisions
for sexual preferences. Those teachers who had been
thinking only in vague sympathetic terms for their
students were going to be in for a rude awakening!
She didn't want to be pregnant at 17, even if the Ministry
said she was actually 18. It was still too early! In fact,
Hermione was fairly sure that she would never want
children. It seemed like a poor trade for all the effort
she had put into her studies to abandon it all and become
a housewitch. Her mind would be wasted. No wonder
Professor Snape had never bothered to praise her skills!
He knew she would never amount to anything, no matter what
happened. She would abandon the magical world, die in the
war, or be married off and become a broodmare. It had been
highly unlikely that she would have remained single and
thus employable in the face of the overwhelming prejudice.
Now even that slim chance was impossible. It really didn't
matter who the Ministry had selected for her, Hermione
realized. Her life was over. There was nothing she could
do to have any control over the situation once she was
bound. She had poured over the law's text and not seen
anything regarding restrictions on punishments of wifely
"transgressions". There were a few suggestions to
avoid striking gravid women, so as not to actively
countermand the point of the law, but nothing designed to
prevent violence. Long-term exposure to discreet bouts of
the Imperius Curse would not do her any good either.
A quick glance at Seamus' watch across the table showed
that the quidditch match would start in an hour, and the
aurors would be there for her in 90 minutes.
Just then, Ron leaned over and asked if she would be
interested in going for butterbeer after the game.
Hermione could barely hide her shock at Ron's complete
oblivion. He asked what she'd gotten from the Ministry.
Too late! She'd forgotten to hide the scroll. He pulled it
out of her hands, read it with surprise, then said, "I
can't believe they kept track of the extra time. Wait, 'Mione,
that's today! They cannot make you miss the game. It's a
big deal with the scouts for most of the big teams here.
We need you to bring us luck!"
Harry pulled the scroll out of his hands before Hermione
could get it back, skimmed it until he saw the time of the
meeting. "At least you can see the first half hour of the
game. Your ceremony probably won't take very long, but
I'll try to catch the snitch quickly so the game will be
over by the time you get back to Hogwarts." He passed her
parchment back, and smiled at her.
Hermione just blinked at him. He didn't understand that
she probably wasn't coming back. There was no point in
paying further school fees to educate livestock. In fact,
the only way she would be allowed to return to Hogwarts
would be if she married one of the professors. A visible
shudder ran through her at the thought. And even then, she
wouldn't be a student anymore. Certainly according to the
law she would be busy on her back, being repeatedly
pounded by some lout of a wizard intent only on spilling
his seed and ruining her body and her mind. The whole law
was institutionalized rape and slavery on a grand scale.
Horror was permeating Hermione's conscious mind, seeping
across the barrier she had set to keep the screaming from
becoming visible. But Harry and Ron had turned away again
and waved to her as they left to warm up for the game. She
never noticed them.
Her life was over. Absolutely nothing was going to change
that.
Surely having her once-prized mind dissolve into the gooey
mass that pregnant women always exhibited was a waste
worse than death. And even if she ever recovered her
faculties (something that had been unprecedented in the
myriad examples she had seen from serving as her parents'
receptionist last summer) she would not be allowed to
research or to work at all outside their home. The
wizarding world had been hard hit financially, there
simply were not enough jobs to go around. Wizarding
families were suffering from the economic depression
following the dark years and the increased taxes to pay
for the war efforts. She could be forced to live like
Molly Weasley, only worse. The Weasleys had a family home.
She envisioned a wizarding flat with diapers strung on
lines across the living room like she had seen of Bill's
flat and its sock laundry. Hermione's hands started to
shake.
Wizarding education could only be transferred to the
Muggle world with the express aid of the headmaster, who
clearly would not do so in her case. She was a 17-year old
orphan without any meaningful school records (good marks
in history as a 10-year old were not going to help her
secure a position). Everyone assumed she had inherited her
parents' estate. Ha! Her inheritance had been a heavily
mortgaged house and a heavily mortgaged dental practice,
both of which were sold. The few proceeds had gone toward
funeral expenses. She had barely managed to afford this
term at Hogwarts. When the Ministry obliviated her, she
would become homeless. She would likely end up on the
streets of some big city, whoring herself to live. How
long would she last without mediwizardry? Muggle diseases
were deadly and the streets were violent.
There was no choice. Any child she might have would grow
up in the same environment. A girl would be a slave just
like she was about to become, and a boy would grow up
expecting to continue the cycle.
With that thought, she drew herself up from the table, her
hand clenched around the parchment, but composed and
serene on the outside. She pulled her own magic into a
tight mass she envisioned in the center of her chest and
she walked to the middle of the Great Hall. The Hall was
now nearly half empty of students. It was a calm and sunny
Saturday morning. Hermione gathered all the magic she
could reach, opening her mind, no longer conserving her
magical power. She turned her face toward the high table,
where the teachers were starting to look up. They were
only vaguely realizing that the head girl was not just
stopping to speak with a Ravenclaw at the other table.
Hermione pointed her wand at her own throat. The students
started looking toward her, expecting her to make a
Sonorus-assisted speech. Hermione's words conveyed all the
bitterness, hatred, wasted opportunities that were
dominating her emotions. She flatly and quietly said, "Avada.
Kedavra."
Her wand had been so close, there was no flash of green
light, and as she fell to the floor in the middle of the
Great Hall, everyone thought it was a joke. They all
thought she was only pretending to be dead. She looked
perfect, eyes open, staring at the charmed ceiling she
loved so much. Then the rush of released power flooded the
room and her body combusted in brightly colored flames and
dissolved into ash. The Ministry's charmed scroll
fluttered down and landed atop the grime, seal broken and
wax bits decorating the ashes of the most promising witch
the wizarding world had ever seen.
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