Chapter Text
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or it's characters. Any unrecognized plot or characters are mine.
Prologue
The Second Wizarding War was over. The Dark Lord and his army defeated, this time with unquestionable finality.
Buildings, homes, and lives were still in the process of being rebuilt.
However, the cost for such a victory was unimaginable.
Hundreds dead on both sides during the battle itself, but so many more over the years leading up to the Final Battle. The numbers for the records were steadily climbing, to the Ministry's dismay. Hermione attended the mass funerals and the smaller funerals, crying more than she knew she was able to.
To add insult to injury, a plague swept through the Wizarding community like wild fire, stemming from Hogwarts. More specifically, the site of Voldemort's demise. According to witness statements an unnatural cloud of an unnamed substance burst forth from the scene moments after the event that ended the war. At first, it was thought to be a side effect of the curses slung between wizards at the time or a failed attempt at self preservation. Medi-witches has since confirmed that it was indeed a curse, but not the one they originally suspected.
Lord Voldemorts' curse had struck hard and without mercy. Wizards, witches, and squibs from all walks of life had been killed by the illness. Panic surged, hospitals all over the world were overrun with the dead and dying. Hope plummeted every day a cure stayed out of reach, until it appeared as if all was truly lost.
The Weasley family suffered even more loss. Fred fell to the disease shortly after the battle was won, making the victory feel more like a failure. The taste of the celebration turned more bitter than sweet.
Days turned to weeks, weeks to months, and the list of the dead multiplied rapidly. The numbers swelled until the patient traffic resembled a horrific force of nature. Until one day, the roaring waterfall of bodies became a fountain and then a trickle, then---lastly---a droplet.
Molly, dear and ever sweet Molly, was the last patient to become infected with the disease. She survived just long enough for her remaining family to gather around her bedside to say goodbye. Her loss was by far the most difficult. Arthur secluded himself in his home, leaving only rarely, surrounding himself with surviving family and self assigned work.
The plague was over as suddenly as it had appeared. Days passed without a death, without sickness, and the community dared to hope again.
Unfortunately, the combination of war and the disease devastated the Wizarding population. Squibs outnumbered Purebloods and Muggleborns. Men outnumbered women and children were fewer than had been seen in decades.
Once last of the dead had been buried and the majority of the buildings reconstructed, news was spread that newly appointed Minister of Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt had called a special meeting with what remained of the Wizengamot. They were in session for the better part of six hours, when they emerged and Kingsley asked for a press conference. Reporters from the Daily Prophet, Witch Weekly, the Quibbler and every other news outlet gathered outside of the Ministry of Magic the next day. The Minister took his place on the podium and announced spirit raising, but equally shocking news.
A solution to the population crisis had been found.
The Wizengamot passed a marriage law.
The next day, the Wizarding World exploded in frenzied chaos as the post dropped the proverbial bomb on the community.
Hermione stared, speechless, down at the paper.
The Daily Prophet headline read Marriage Law To Fix Population Crisis?
She quickly flipped to the page number offered for more information.
Minister Shacklebolt called a press conference outside of the Ministry of Magic yesterday to discuss a possible solution to the crucial population crisis. The Minister has announced the unanimous passing of the Marriage Law. The Minister has described what this Law is to entail and the information we've received is printed below.
An elaborate system of enchantments and current consensus profiles has been used to match one witch to the wizards that best suits her.
Witches and Wizards starting from the age of fifteen and ending at the age of seventy five are required by law to participate. Failure to comply will result in six years in Azkaban prison.
All marriages prior to the Marriage Law are now nullified and void.
The matches will be sent to each person in the form of a letter. The matches are to be wed no longer than three months from the date of receiving their letter and the Marriage is to consummated. No exceptions!
Two children are expected from each wizard the witch weds. Failure to comply will result in twelve years in Azkaban prison.
Keep your eyes and windows open, your future will soon arrive via owl.
Hermione felt the blood drain from her face. A Marriage Law? Surely Kingsley could see how badly received that would be? Especially so soon after the war. Witches and wizards were being forced into marriage and parenthood no matter their wishes.
A Marriage Law.
This couldn't be happening.
The young witch promptly tossed up her lunch in the nearby garbage bin and sent Harry an urgent owl.
She couldn't do this alone.
They were going to push her into marriage and then into bed with people she probably didn't know. Oh, Merlin, what if they were on the tail end of the required age?
She couldn't do this.
She dry heaved over the garbage bin, her entire body trembling.
She couldn't do this.
Hermione paced the kitchen, waiting anxiously for Harry to come.
He should have been here by now.
He could be at work. If that's the case, she could have her letter in her hand by the time he arrives. She couldn't open the letter, read the names that sealed her fate, if he wasn't there with her.
He's her best friend.
She glanced at the clock for the fifth time, wringing her hands.
He should be off work soon.
Hermione walked to the living room, deciding to wait for Harry there.
She sat and stood, alternating the movements, growing more restless with each action.
The fire roared to life, the flames changing from a vibrant red to an eerie green, and a familiar soot covered figure stepped out. Harry quickly dusted the excess soot off his clothes and strode across the living space to stand in front of her.
"Has it come yet?" He asked, his green eyes studying her face.
She shook her head. "Not yet."
"Mine either." He sagged a bit, relief filling his features. "I'll wait here with you. We'll read our letters together when they come. It's going to be okay, Mione."
She smiled weakly at him.
She really wished she believed that.