Chapter Text
The letter in Hermione’s hands feels far heavier than a thin piece of parchment should weigh. It quivers slightly, a by-product of the way her fingers tremble. Yet, try as she might, she can’t control her nerves.
At this point, she doesn’t even bother to hide it anymore.
She’s anxious, more than she has been in quite some time. Hermione won’t go so far as to say that her apprehension now is the worst that it’s ever been. The unease that was her constant companion during their time hunting Horcruxes would easily beat how she feels now, not to mention the distress she experienced during the final battle—especially when she thought Harry was dead.
Still, Hermione also won’t pretend as though her pulse isn’t fluttering frantically, that every breath she sucks into her lungs doesn’t take a considerable amount of effort. A thin sheen of sweat coats her skin, her muscles tight with tension.
From the other room, she can hear her friends chatter quietly amongst themselves. There’s an air of fear that pervades Grimmauld Place, just like it has since they all gathered shortly before lunch. It’s impossible for those gathered not to feel some degree of agitation, given what this day means.
The continued disquiet is just a sign that the rest of her friends and former classmates have yet to open their letters either.
If they had, there would surely be some indication of the results—whether resignation, consolation, or fury.
Hermione closes her eyes, forcing herself to breathe in through her nose and hold the air in her lungs before exhaling quietly. It does nothing to settle her racing heart.
With every minute that passes, her head continues to spin as her skin grows more clammy. And while this avoidance is a natural reaction to the fear she feels, logically, Hermione recognises that she is only making the situation worse.
This is not a problem that will go away simply by ignoring it.
Given that she and the others have tried every other avenue to resolve their predicament, there is little other option but to face reality.
After months of fighting against the Ministry’s mandate, all of their efforts have culminated in a resounding failure. Despite their fervent protests, none of the elected officials seemed willing to waver on the decision that was announced earlier in the year.
All Alphas and omegas of age are to be matched with a witch or wizard of the opposite designation on this fateful day, married within a month. Otherwise, they forfeit their wands and their citizenship in the magical community.
It’s complete bollocks, but the fervid objections of Hermione and the others have fallen on deaf ears. This is the one thing on which most, if not all, of the magical world seems to agree on. Yet, in the end, none of their protests mattered.
There’s a history behind the current socio-political status, one that, as a Muggleborn, Hermione doesn’t completely understand. It has to do with previous generations of Alphas and omegas—namely the pureblood ones. Since every problem in the wizarding society seems to somehow trace back to them.
And if the problem at hand were less personal, she might have spent more time researching.
It seems fascinating, after all.
However, as it is, all her free time has been devoted to trying to find a way out of the current mess that she and the others found themselves in. As such, Hermione understands the implications of past pureblood marriage practices to some extent, but only to the point that it helped her better prepare her arguments against the law.
The bulk of her research was dedicated to finding precedents in which it was deemed unjust for the Ministry to impose such an overreaching order on the lives of magical persons.
Ultimately, her extensive efforts were for nought. Even though the ghastly legislation is a heinous, cruel act of government, no amount of lobbying was able to change it.
Now, she holds a missive that will tell Hermione who her best match is, the Alpha that she is objectively the most compatible with.
Gods, she still can’t believe this is happening.
Bile rises in her throat as she turns the envelope over and slides her finger beneath the seam of the parchment. Her stomach is in knots, a sick sense of nausea washing over her and making her weak in the knees.
Yet, she persists.
There’s no use in continuing to try and prolong the inevitable.
She has tried and tried every possible avenue and now, all she can do is accept this fate and make the best of it. The only other option is to give up her magic, which she refuses to do.
After everything she sacrificed to get to this point, the only way she’ll relinquish her wand is if she's dead.
Just as she unfolds the note, a droplet of perspiration slides down her temple and across her cheek to land on the parchment. Her mind hyper focuses on the way the sweat causes the ink to bloom. In fact, Hermione is so focused on this inconsequential detail that it takes nearly half a minute before she realises the name of her Alpha.
Draco Malfoy.
This time she does succumb to gravity, collapsing to the floor in a heap of limbs. She blinks once, then twice as if to force her mind to stop playing tricks through sheer willpower. Yet, every time she looks at the page, the letters remain arranged in the precise order to produce the same exact words she read the first time.
Draco Malfoy.
He’s the Alpha—
No, he’s her Alpha.
Of all the fucked up games that fate could play on her, it just had to be him. There’s no contesting it, either.
Hermione has seen firsthand the complex process through which Alphas and omegas are paired.
There are algorithms upon algorithms that determine compatibility based on factors like personality, intelligence, magical compatibility, and, of course, pheromones. Even if Hermione is a fierce opponent of the ethical and moral implications of the law itself, she cannot argue with the delicate science of assigning people to their true mates.
Still, she doesn’t have to like the results.
And she certainly doesn’t have to like him.
Although years passed since the war, Draco has done little to improve her opinion of him. To be fair, he no longer ascribes to the same blood purity poppycock that resulted in a life sentence in Azkaban for his father, at least not based on outward appearances.
He and his mother have returned to good standing amongst the larger wizarding populace, from hosting charity events that generate financial aid for the rebuilding efforts to serving as advocates and supporters of equal rights amongst all magical people. However, for all Hermione knows, his reformation is merely a farce that Draco maintains to stay out of prison.
If that’s the case, then it’s certainly working.
And while she strives to see the best in most people, she will never fully trust him. It isn’t that he still truly antagonises her anymore, either.
In fact, she has hardly seen him since their repeat seventh year at Hogwarts and even then, he generally just avoided her.
Still, the times in which they have interacted have been less than pleasant. There are no longer remarks about her blood status, but he always finds ways to belittle her appearance or oppose any bill she tries to push forward through the Wizengamot.
Honestly, Hermione doesn’t understand why the Malfoys are even allowed to still keep a seat in the parliament, though it also doesn’t surprise her. The rich and powerful and well connected will nearly always prevail in the end.
Mostly, she resents Draco for the fact that he managed to walk away from it all relatively unscathed. This bitterness hardly bodes well for their matrimony, which is, truly, a shame.
Hermione doesn’t want to loathe her future husband and mate.
Life would obviously be much easier if she didn’t. After all, they are well-matched, according to science and maths. She’s hardly one to argue with such fundamental truths of the universe.
When Hermione sets aside the rather difficult history they share, she can understand why the Ministry’s system paired them together. However, this impartial view is not one she can adopt fully.
As much as she would love to cling to logic and reason, the volume and intensity of emotions she feels when thinking of Draco make it too hard to remain detached.
A hand on her shoulder startles her from her reverie.
“Sorry,” Harry says, running his hand through his hair like he always does when he’s nervous. “I didn’t mean to surprise you. I just wanted to make sure everything is alright.”
Tears fill her eyes.
“It’s not.”
“Me either.”
“Has everyone opened their letter, then?”
Harry nods his head, reaching a hand out to help her to her feet.
“Any good news?” she asks.
“We haven’t shared our results with each other—we were waiting for you.”
“Well,” she says, sighing. “I suppose we should just get to it then.”
She loops her arms through his and together they return to the sitting room where most of their friends are gathered around, crowded onto the few armchairs and sofas that she and Harry managed to salvage when they moved into the home.
An awkward silence permeates the space now, as though no one is quite ready to divulge whatever person they’ve been matched with.
Hermione would normally volunteer to go first, if not to lead by example then just to get it over with. Yet, she can’t bring herself to do it. The anticipation of how the others will react is far too much to bear—from anger to disbelief to empathy to pity.
Neville is the first brave soul to share his results.
“Pansy Parkinson,” he says, or rather, whispers. “She’s my Alpha.”
Well, at least Hermione won’t be the only former Griffyndor paired with a Slytherin. Although they’re far too old to bother with silly matters like house rivalries, that particular subset of Hogwarts alumni has remained rather aloof. The rest of the students from her cohort and the ones a few years ahead of hers meet regularly, but the former Slytherins keep to themselves.
“A female Alpha?” Ron exclaims, distracting Hermione from her thoughts. “Mum always made it seem like those were just a myth.”
“Oh, please,” Ginny says. “You know that designations aren’t tied to sex or gender.”
For good measure, she casts a hex at his feet and causes him to yelp.
“I’m just surprised!” Ron protests. “It’s not like they’re common.”
“They might be,” Luna interjects, “now that more Alphas and omegas are presenting than ever before.”
“Who did you get?” Ginny asks the other witch.
“Blaise… He seems like a suitable Alpha.”
“You don’t even know him,” Ginny says.
“His aura is bright,” Luna says and with that, she gets up and leaves.
As the rest of the group continues to disclose their assignments, it is revealed Lavender was matched with Padma and Parvati with Hannah. And while their mates may not be the person they would have chosen for themselves, neither of her friends seems that put out by the results.
It makes sense, though.
Lavender at least knows Padma, given how close she is with Parvati.
Hannah is nice enough, which bodes well for Parvati.
George, who wasn’t able to leave the shop, sends a Patronus to inform the group that he received a letter denoting Romilda as his mate.
That just leaves Hermione and Harry.
Given that Ginny has not yet reached full maturity, she still has a year before the Ministry dictates whether her marriage will be forced or not. She hasn’t even undergone testing to establish whether she’s an Alpha or an omega.
Although traits related to designation begin to emerge in the two years leading up to their twenty-first birthday, the mandate sets forth established a very clear timeline. Per the proposed calendar, the process begins when a person turns twenty.
For those who were past this age and either had not presented or remained unmated when the law was announced, they were ordered to report to the Ministry immediately or else.
After a determination is made as to their status, data was gathered to aid in matching them to their mate.
And now, a few short months later, they know the person with whom they will spend the rest of their lives.
How lucky for Ginny, Hermione thinks, to be able to avoid this mess for a little longer.
Of course, if the other witch does present, the same misery is inevitable. And although Hermione feels a twinge of guilt for resenting her friend, she can’t help but envy Ginny for her temporary freedom.
“I got Theo,” Harry says, his eyes fixed on the letter in his hands.
“Theo Nott?” Ron asks incredulously.
“What other Theo do you know?” Ginny asks.
“But he’s from a family of Death Eaters!” Ron says. “Why are they matching everyone up with people from different houses?”
“Maybe they’re trying to promote more unity,” Parvati offers, right as Lavender says, “Theo seems nice enough, despite his past.”
“It’s possible,” Harry says, “though more likely that it’s just about opposites attracting one another. These pairs allow for balance.”
Hermione flashes him a small smile, her heart aching for how tired he sounds.
After everything Harry went through for the betterment of magical society, it’s an outrage that he would be forced to the same humiliation as the rest of them. Ideally, no one would be ordered into a marriage against their will.
Yet, if the Ministry insists on this barbaric proposal, the very least they could do is grant an exception for the wizard who saved them all.
“Who did you get, Hermione?”
She isn’t sure who asks the question, just that the same sense of nausea from before washes over her once more.
Gods, this must be a nightmare.
She closes her eyes, silently hoping that she’ll wake up and be tucked into her bed with Crookshanks sleeping on her feet. Yet, when she opens her eyes and glances around the room, it remains unchanged.
Curse the universe and her magic.
“I’ve been paired with Malfoy.”
Seconds pass, the silence so pervasive that she could literally hear a pin drop. Then, the uproar she was expecting.
While some of the other matches are less than ideal, none is as bad as hers.
Pansy might have suggested handing Harry over to Voldemort, but one could easily dismiss that grievance as a mistake made under extreme duress. While Hermione will never forgive the other woman for trying to trade her best friend away so callously, she can at least understand that Pansy was trying to protect herself and those she loves.
It’s easy enough to cast judgement, yet Hermione might have done the same if put in a similar position.
And although Theo may be the son of a Death Eater, he never engaged in any sort of behaviour that would suggest he felt the same as his father. In fact, it’s hard to remember him at all during their Hogwarts years, given how quiet and withdrawn he was. Aside from his family history, there is nothing offensive about him.
Then there’s Draco.
He and Theo might indeed have had similar upbringings. However, Hermione cannot muster an ounce of sympathy for her former childhood bully.
Whereas Theo kept his head down and kept to himself, Draco made so many people miserable.
There isn’t a single person in the room that hasn’t been affected by his actions in some regard, not to mention the fact that he bears the Dark Mark on his arm and played a pivotal role in orchestrating Dumbledore’s death. And yes, Hermione understands that Draco had little choice in the matter.
To some extent, she can sympathise with the impossible situation he was placed in. It might be even easier to forgive him if he showed real remorse for his actions, if he offered sincere apologies to those he hurt.
That would be the least he can do, given that she and Harry testified on behalf of Draco and his mother.
However, aside from a brief, generic written note expressing his gratitude for her testimony, Hermione hasn’t had any friendly interactions with him—aside from one night, at the start of their eighth year. And even that might be better categorised as pleasurable, rather than amicable.
Either way, she doesn’t like to think about it.
Even on a good day, she pushes those memories far from her mind. On a day like today, it would be inadvisable. Her emotions are already elevated, anger and despair crushing her chest.
If she were to recall that night, it would only add fuel to the fire.
It’s best to just focus on the future, rather than dwelling on the past. As much as she may regret that night, there’s nothing that will change what already happened. It was a mistake, one of her worst.
If she’s lucky, Draco won’t bring it up or get it into his mind that they need to talk about it. He hasn’t attempted to yet, thankfully. Who knows what he might try to do now that they are to be husband and wife.
The thought makes her sick, both the idea of having to discuss what happened and of being bound to him in perpetuity.
Hermione is so absorbed in her own thoughts that she doesn’t realise her name is being called until Harry bumps her shoulder.
“I’m sorry—what?” she asks.
Harry offers another sad smile and repeats, “Are you okay?”
“You can’t marry Malfoy!” Ron exclaims, his face as red as his hair.
Although she knows her friend only means well, all she feels is irritation.
She and Ron were never meant to be and both of them know that. They gave it an honest try, right after the war, before coming to a mutual conclusion that they were better off as friends.
And they really are happier this way.
That’s how she knows that his intentions are good, that he’s speaking from a place of concern rather than jealousy or possessiveness.
Yet, she can’t manage to stop herself from lashing out.
“Please, Ron, tell me how to resist the Ministry on this—tell me how I’m going to get out of this in a way that won’t result in my banishment from the magical world. We’ve fought and fought and fought for months on end, ever since the law was announced. Do you have some excellent strategy that we’ve thus far overlooked?”
Hermione will regret her cruelty later, but at this precise moment, it feels good to finally have an outlet for all her frustrations. Thus, she leans into the rage, even if it is misplaced.
“Unless we find a way to overturn the mandate entirely, there’s nothing I can do but marry him. Even if we did… The algorithm they use is foolproof, regardless of what we all may think or feel about Malfoy. Of course, I would love to not resign myself to this fate but…”
“She doesn’t have a choice,” Harry finishes.
Tears well in her eyes—angry tears at the injustice of her situation and at how she can’t manage to control her temper.
She shouldn’t be speaking this way to Ron, given how he has worked tirelessly beside them even though the law doesn’t affect him as a beta. And to do so in front of all the others only adds to her shame, but all Hermione can do is focus on not devolving into a full-scale mental breakdown
While she has staved off the panic thus far, she can feel it rising—coursing through her bloodstream and making her lightheaded. Thankfully, Harry notices her distress and intervenes on her behalf, before she completely loses it in front of the group.
“None of us has a choice,” he continues, “but we’ll get through it, together. Just like we always do.”
It’s a sign to the rest of them to leave and slowly, the others filter out. Neville and Luna leave together, while Ginny and Ron Floo back to the Burrow. Parvati goes to meet up with Padma to process the news before the two of them reconvene with Lavender later in the day.
Finally, it’s just Hermione and Harry left. With his arm around her shoulders, he guides her to sit on the couch beside him. As intuitive as always, he understands that she isn’t ready to retreat to her room.
She can’t be alone right now, which only makes her that much more grateful that she accepted Harry’s offer to be his roommate after they left Hogwarts.
“We can still flee the country,” he says, “make a new life for ourselves in America.”
A smile tugs at the corner of her mouth, but it does nothing to stave off her tears. She chokes back a sob, curling against Harry as her head falls to his shoulder.
“We fought so hard to be here, for our place in this society.”
“I know,” Harry says, sighing.
“Sometimes I wonder if it was worth it, if we wouldn’t have been better off just abandoning it all when we realised how much of a mess this world was. I could have asked my parents to take you in, we could have lived life as Muggles... We could have been happy. You would have been free of this unjust burden placed upon you.”
“We probably should have. Though I don’t know that Dumbledore would have let me go that easily. He had it all planned out, from the very start.”
“Do you resent him for it?”
“A little, yeah. It’s complicated. I wish he hadn’t died, but I also wish he hadn’t put the success of the entire war on me, either.”
“I’m so sorry, Harry. I should have fought harder for you.”
“It’s in the past and we were children. We didn’t know better than to trust the adults in our lives. Either way, there’s no use dwelling on it. And it isn’t too late for our current predicament. If you go, I’ll go.”
“What will two omegas do in the Muggle world? As much as I hate to say it, we need the Alphas as much as they need us.”
“With suppressants, we might be okay—”
“For a while, maybe...but I don’t know that the research would support sustained usage of potions to prevent the cycle.”
“An unaccompanied heat wouldn’t be the end of the world.”
“I don’t know,” she whispers, her tone laced with dread. “From the journals I have been able to get my hands on, it seems like the Cruciatus curse might be preferable. The suppressants work, but only for short periods.”
“We’re out of luck, then.”
“Yeah, we are.”
“I’ll kill Malfoy if he hurts you,” Harry promises.
A half-laugh, half-sob escapes her.
“I don’t think it’ll come to that. Once the mating bond is complete, any harm he inflicts would cause him an equal amount of pain. However fucked up it may be, the universe has decided that we’re the best match for one another.”
“You’re sure it isn’t some plot on the part of the Ministry?”
“I’m sure,” she says with a decisive nod. “I looked at the process myself. Whoever they pair us with truly is the most ideal candidate for the mating cycle and for reproductive purposes.”
“It feels like we’re broodmares.”
“We are, in some regard. From what I can tell, the methods employed by the purebloods wouldn’t be sustainable forever. Magic doesn’t care about birth status, that was just a way for that lot to make themselves elite and hold on to power. This is just nature’s way of righting itself.”
Harry sighs, tugging his glasses off his nose so he can drag his hand across his face.
“I hate that we’re casualties in this—that we’re the ones who have to suffer.”
“Me too. It really is unfair. At least we have each other, though?”
Harry smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Taking her hand in his, he rests his cheek against her head.
“At least we have that.”