Author's Note: Liked the idea of a Marriage Law, so tried to give it my own take.
Oh and none of these people are mine…
What Might Have Been
Chapter Eleven
"How many does that make?" Harry asked, tiredly. Ginny looked down the parchment that she was holding in her hand, her lips moving slightly.
"Seven," she answered with chagrin. "And that's not including Susan or Parvati."
"That's too many," he said. "Who bid for Susan?" Ginny consulted her list again.
"A Slytherin named Bole, and two forty-somethings. Addison is under suspicion of Death Eater activity. There were two Ravenclaws who said they were going to offer, but she hasn't heard from him."
Harry winced. "Did you talk to Dean yet?"
Ginny shook her head, and made a notation with her quill. "Not yet. I'll try to catch him tonight in the common room." She sounded a little reluctant to speak about something like this to an ex, and Harry didn't really blame her.
"How's Neville doing?" Ginny grinned up at him.
"He sent his owl for Parvati in tonight," she said, then her eyes flashed as she laughed. "I can't believe Luna had twelve scrolls the day after she turned 17!" Harry shook his head, and smiled wryly.
"Most of those men just wanted their hands on the Quibbler fortune," he said.
"Ick, and they were all so old!"
"We'll find somebody for her," Harry said. He had a soft spot in his heart for offbeat Luna Lovegood. They smiled at each other for a moment, before looking back to their notes and making sure they had covered everything of importance.
"Harry?" Ginny asked, presently, as they were packing away their parchments and quills from where they had been spread all over a library table.
"Hmm?" Harry said absently, rolling one particularly large parchment into a fat scroll.
"You haven't - have you -" He cocked one eyebrow at her in amusement, as she stuttered and then flushed. "Some of the boys have started getting owls now," she finished lamely.
"I've gotten seventeen," he said flatly. He hadn't been terribly surprised, but had expected this enough to have Hedwig deliver his mail to his room now, rather than the Great Hall. The wizarding world tended to be a little more archaic than the Muggle world, but he had been sure that witches would be sending scrolls of their own eventually. And to him, especially, given his cursed high profile.
Ginny looked a little surprised that he had even told her.
"Several were from witches that weren't even of age yet," he said, with chagrin. "And a lot of them were old enough to be my mum." He sighed, shoving a quill and ink bottle into his bag. "I'm sure that's only the start of it. Who wouldn't want to be married to the Boy Who Lived?" He threw out his arms, sarcasm dripping from his words.
"Well, then you ought to make the choice, Harry," Ginny said quietly, "before the choice gets made for you."
"The choice has already been made for me, Gin," Harry said heavily, referring to Hermione.
"Right," she said faintly.
Harry stood on the bridge over the Volga, and stared out into the rippling depths. He had been traveling for two weeks now, and had expected some change in his spirit. What kind of change exactly, he didn't know, but isn't that why he'd left?
Bill…Percy…Seamus…Lavender…Padma … The guilt drove him relentlessly onward, only to travel with him, eating at him, mocking him. It kept him awake at night; it preoccupied him during the day.
Perhaps, he thought, this was Voldemort's final revenge, to ensure that even though Harry had liberated the wizarding world, that Harry himself would never be free. Harry puffed air abruptly through his nostrils, and smiled a cynical smile. He supposed that on some level, it was rather poetic.
But then he remembered Hermione, fiercely grabbing his shoulders, as he lay recuperating at St. Mungo's, and furiously telling him that it was not his fault. He remembered Ron and Hermione and their unadulterated support, even in the face of loss.
It was not his fault. He rolled the words around in his mind. He said them out loud, testing the feel of them in his mouth.
"It wasn't my fault," he said, hesitantly, almost making it sound like a question. He tried it again, a little more loudly and assertively. "It wasn't my fault!" A businessman strolling across the bridge, and a lady selling flowers nearby looked at him strangely.
"It wasn't my fault," he whispered to the river, as it gurgled and sloshed around the pilings of the bridge. It seemed to be reassuring him somehow, and Harry found the sound soothing.
"It wasn't my fault," he said again. Maybe if he continued to say it, then one day, he would really believe it.
He began walking again, crossing the bridge to the opposite bank, trailing one hand along the bridge railing.
It was a beginning.
Ron looked sidewise at Harry, as they entered Defense Against the Dark Arts together. Harry looked drawn and tired, and there were purplish circles under his eyes. Hermione was already seated, having come from Arithmancy, and she stiffened visibly as they approached the table where she was seated. Harry and Hermione had been stiff and uncomfortable and awkward around each other, lately; each unsure of what the other needed or required at the moment.
Harry stopped to let Ron go in first and sit by Hermione, and he sat on the other side of Ron, who paused. Hermione usually sat in between them, so that she could assist them both if the need arose. Ron looked at Hermione, who made a kind of choked noise under her breath, and began feverishly scratching on some parchment, quill flying.
He looked at Harry, who was slumped in his seat as if he had not slept in days, his eyes unfocused, staring off somewhere into middle distance.
"Oy," he said, nudging Harry. "You sick?" Harry jumped.
"What? Oh, no, I'm just tired," Harry replied.
"You look sick," Ron said, undeterred. Harry arched his brows, and managed a weak smile.
"Thanks a lot, mate," he replied. "I'm fine, really." Ron began to dig around in his bag, while Hermione shot a pained look at Harry, who was studiously ignoring her.
"Susan, what's wrong?" Neville said in surprise, as Susan Bones had suddenly burst into tears, drawing the attention of the rest of the class.
"N-n-nothing," Susan stuttered, completely unconvincingly.
"Her deadline is up tomorrow," Parvati offered, her voice sympathetic.
"Oh," Neville said softly.
"I - I sent a scroll for you," Dean suddenly spoke, keeping his eyes fixed solely on the desk in front of him.
Beside Ron, Harry straightened in his chair, and smiled suddenly. Susan gulped back a sob, and turned to look at Dean, managing a tremulous smile.
"Th-thank you," she sniffled. Murmurs ran through the classroom.
"What about Elinor?" Someone whispered, referring to Dean's sometime Ravenclaw girlfriend.
"Didn't you see her at breakfast? She was really upset," someone else whispered back.
"Well, I think this is bloody ridiculous!" Hermione burst out suddenly.
The other students fell as mute as if she'd struck them all with a powerful silencing charm. There were numerous creaking sounds as everyone shifted, all eyes turning to the Head Girl.
"I mean, really!" she continued, after pausing for a moment in consternation, "Making us marry when we're barely adults ourselves, to become little baby-making machines," here someone giggled nervously. "Minister Fudge has obviously become out of touch with modern wizarding society!" The silence was thunderous.
"There's not even an age limit," Susan hiccupped, recovering some of her lost composure. "We shouldn't have to worry about marrying someone older than our parents!" There were murmurs of assent from the other girls.
"We shouldn't have to marry anyone at all…unless we want to," Hermione pronounced, giving no quarter. Ron's ears began to redden a little. Harry stared at Hermione, aghast. Was she going to blurt out everything?
"But, Hermione," Parvati said, pointing out what everyone in the room had been thinking. "You're marrying your best friend."
"I know, and I'm very lucky. I realize that," she shot a fond glance at Ron, and Harry wanted to double over under the force of the envy that shot through him from head to foot. His jaw tightened. "But it doesn't change the fact that we're still being forced. No matter what you read in the Prophet, Ron and I are both still being forced!"
"And that's what we fought against Voldemort for!" Neville interjected, and everyone looked at him, surprised that he spoke up and that he said the Dark Lord's name.
"How did this law even get passed?" Parvati asked dejectedly.
"The Ministry can still be bought," Harry spoke wearily, quoting Ginny. He turned and looked deliberately at the Slytherins in the classroom. "Even from Azkaban." A few eyes darted covertly over to Draco Malfoy. Harry sighed heavily, and spoke again. "Listen, if anyone's having any…problems…with their marriage offers, please just come see me… or Ginny Weasley. We've been…er-working on things."
Another murmur of assent rippled through the room.
"Oh please," came the smooth voice of Malfoy, slicing into the quiet. "You poor put-upon little witches! Whatever will you do?" His voice dripped with sarcasm, as he stood up. "First of all, it is we Purebloods who should be upset that we're being forced to sully our lineage! The others should be grateful that they're even getting to align themselves with a Pureblood heritage."
"If it wasn't for us, your whole magical line would eventually die out!" Hermione said angrily.
"And good riddance to it!" Dean added, fire in his tone.
"The Malfoys don't have anyone to blame for their sullied lineage but themselves," Ron said with withering scorn. Hermione smiled gratefully at him. Malfoy's face darkened.
"I'm sure that blood traitors wouldn't know anything about sullied lineage!" Draco observed. "Look at the mudblood trash you're marrying!" Harry and Ron flew to their feet, their chairs scraping noisily, their wands out.
"I'd be very careful how I spoke about my fiancée, if I were you!" Ron seethed, pulling his wand, adding venomously, "You're just sore because she didn't want you." Malfoy pulled his wand as well.
"I've got news for you, Weaselby," he hissed. "It's not you she wants either!" The entire classroom froze. Harry was afraid to breathe. Hermione stood up defiantly, threading the fingers of her hand through Ron's in a gesture of solidarity. She withdrew her wand as well. Draco arched an eyebrow in surprise at her movement, and his gaze raked over her, as he spoke with amusement. "Really, Granger? One shag as good as another?" He let his eyes go deliberately to Harry. Harry stared back at him in horror. How would Malfoy know? Or had he just made a nasty guess that happened to be accurate? Harry tried his best to look nonchalant, but figured that his heart was pounding loudly enough for the Care of Magical Creatures class outside to hear.
"That is enough!" Lupin spoke suddenly and severely, though not loudly, and several people jumped. Nobody had even seen him enter the room. "If you will kindly take a seat!" Most of the students stared at him, bemused. "You're lucky I don't take points from the four of you for pulling your wands."
Ron stared at Lupin as if the professor had somehow done something underhanded, but put his wand away. Malfoy put his wand back in his robes, with an air like he was doing it because it pleased him to do so, not because Professor Lupin told him to. He slanted a cocky grin at Hermione, and fielded glares from both Ron and Harry.
Hermione's expression became worried, as Draco turned to face the front of the classroom. She had a sickening feeling that the blond Slytherin was up to something.
Hermione, Ron, and Harry filed slowly out of the Ministry courtroom, feeling like they had been cheated. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley followed just behind them, Mrs. Weasley still sniffling into her handkerchief. Ginny was patting her mum on the back, while tears ran down her face as well.
Ron was visibly slumping, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. Harry and Hermione exchanged glances, and Hermione slipped her arm through Ron's, saying nothing, but just letting him know by her touch that she was there. He looked at her gratefully for a moment, and then included Harry in his gaze as well.
"Thanks," he started hoarsely, then cleared his throat, "…for coming - coming with me - us, I mean." He spoke clumsily, like one who is afraid that if he speaks, he'll give the tears clearance to fall.
"It was important to us, Ron. You're important to us," Hermione said fervently.
"Percy was family," Harry added, his green eyes darkened with sympathy.
They rounded the corner then, and stopped short, as they came face to face with Draco Malfoy, and his mother.
Ron stiffened instantly, his face flooding with color, and then going pasty white. Harry thought for a moment that his best friend was going to be sick. All over Malfoy would be nice, he thought.
Draco gazed coolly at all of them, his arm through his mother's, who still looked like she smelt an unpleasant odor. She had been sobbing audibly in the courtroom, but her eyes were neither red nor puffy.
"You got my husband thrown into prison," Narcissa observed, as if she were discussing an item on a menu.
"Your husband killed my son," Molly Weasley choked, rage and grief rendering her voice barely understandable. Mr. Weasley's arm tightened around his wife's, and Ginny and Ron both moved to flank their parents, contempt clearly stamped on every feature.
Harry's glare was reserved for Malfoy alone, as he clearly dared Malfoy to try something. Go on, he thought, pull your wand…pull your wand, and I'll hex you into oblivion.
Draco seemed to read his irate thoughts, and one corner of his mouth turned up in his trademark smirk.
"Come on, Mum…Dad," Charlie said softly, having appeared just behind them. Without sparing one glance for the Malfoys, he helped Ron and his sister escort their distraught parents away.
Hermione and Harry turned to follow as well, but Malfoy's gaze remained fixed on them both.
"Waiting for something, Malfoy?" Harry asked coolly.
"I won't forget this, Potter," Malfoy spat. "This is not over."
Harry and Hermione were seated in their common room, the blazing fire the only thing in the room giving off warmth. Hermione was at her desk, books towering around her in neat stacks, her quill a blur against a roll of parchment that was already dangling toward the floor. Harry was sprawled on the sofa, a book open on his lap that he was not reading. The book had been a prop, in case Hermione decided to berate him about efficient time management.
She had not spoken to him, since they had arrived after supper.
The silence went on, complete except for the scratch of Hermione's quill. Harry continued to sit, tension mounting in his spine. Finally, he stood in one hasty motion, and hurled his book across the room. It ricocheted off the wall, and knocked over a lamp, which then shattered all over the floor.
"Damn it, Hermione!" Harry yelled.
Hermione carefully laid down her quill, and turned to Harry slowly, her eyes drifting from the fallen book to the broken lamp.
"If you wanted my attention," she said blandly, "you've got it."
Harry glowered at her, but said nothing, as she padded across the common room, repaired the lamp, and handed him his book.
"Why are you doing this?" he asked, wearily.
"I'm not doing anything!" She protested. He was shaking his head before she even finished denying it.
"Yes… yes, you are! You're - you're treating me like a stranger! After… after all - all this-and you're just - just going to sit there, and treat me like some kind of - some kind of - of roommate?!" he sputtered.
"You are my roommate," she said, her face a mask. Harry swore violently, and looked as if he would like to throw the book again, but he restrained himself.
"You. Know. What. I. Mean." He said, his voice low and dangerous. They glared at each other, while the fire crackled in the hearth.
"You were the one ignoring me in class today," she accused.
"What? We're keeping score now?" Harry said sarcastically. Hermione's jaw trembled mutinously.
"What is it that you want me to do?" she cried. "What are you expecting from me?"
"I want you to be with me!" He shouted, his voice cracking under the force of the emotion.
"Then do something about it!" She shrieked, her voice going up so high that it muted. "At least, Ron is being pro-active about this situation."
"Damn Ron!"
"You don't mean that," she said softly.
"Yes, I do," Harry said hotly, "I - " but some of the fight went out of him. He didn't hate Ron. He didn't blame Ron. He looked down at the floor miserably.
"Maybe I should go - move back to Gryffindor, I mean. It might be easier if - " Hermione began, and then jumped when Harry laughed. It was not pleasant, but bitter and mirthless.
"Easier?" he said, pain rattling through his voice. "Easier to have not only your love taken away from me, but your friendship too? You think that would be easier?" His tone was that of incredulity.
"No," Hermione corrected, looking shamefaced, "I meant easier for - for me." Harry blinked at her, stung.
"Hermione?" He asked, looking at her like she was someone he didn't know. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she hastened to apologize.
"I'm sorry…I didn't think - I just - I - " she swallowed a sob, and continued, straining to keep her voice even. "I shouldn't have assumed - I know this is as hard for you as it is for me…"
He reached out and took her hand in his.
"If this is what you need to do to be able to go on…" he began, but she shook her head violently.
"No," she gulped. "No, I'll - I - the Trio is the best thing we have. I won't - I'm not going to destroy it." He smiled then, and kissed the back of the hand he was holding, startled to discover that his own eyes were swimming with tears.
"Hermione, I - " he started to say, when there was a muffled thump against the outside of their portrait hole, like something heavy had fallen against the wall. They exchanged anxious glances. "What the hell?" Harry said, half to himself.
He pulled out his wand. "Stay here," he cautioned her, and walked quietly over to the portrait hole, pushing it open.
Hermione had completely ignored him, and was right behind him, wand out.
It was late, and the corridors were only dimly lit by the torch sconces on the walls. "Lumos," Harry said, and his wand tip lit the hallway brightly.
There was something crumpled against the wall, just to one side of their passageway. Harry lifted his wand higher, and Hermione shrieked, clambering past Harry into the hallway.
"Hermione, wait, we don't - " Harry said frantically. Hermione looked at him beseechingly, cutting him off.
"Harry, it's Ron!" Harry joined her in the corridor, crouching down beside his two best friends.
Ron lolled his head toward the light, evidently barely conscious. Hermione gasped. His shirtfront was bloody, and his face was swollen and badly bruised. He was cradling one arm to his side.
"Ron?" Hermione cried, her brow knit with anxiety. His head slumped against her shoulder, smearing her shirt with blood, as he tried to speak.
"Warn…" he managed, before losing consciousness completely.
TBC
I'm so angry right now after reading a particular review, that I've half a mind to just delete this story. I can't believe people can't just read the damn story through to the end before deciding to do me bodily harm….or other disgusting things. Absolutely unbelievable! This is fiction, okay? It's not even original fiction! Geez…
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