What Might Have Been by lorien829

Rating: PG13
Genres: Angst, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 06/08/2005
Last Updated: 23/09/2005
Status: Completed

A Marriage Law threatens Harry and Hermione's newly realized future. This will contain a
non-H/Hr ship (that will be treated fairly), but it will end up H/Hr in the end. You have been
warned.




1. Chapter One
--------------



**Author's Note:** Liked the idea of a Marriage Law, so tried to give it my own take.
There will be a non-H/Hr pairing in the story, but H/Hr will prevail, never fear! I

**AN2:** I am working on chapter 8 of “Isle of Mists”, but my posting here has caught up with
where I am in the story now, so updates may be slower. Hopefully this will help tide you over.

**What Might Have Been**

**Chapter One**

The sparkling scarlet engine of the Hogwart's Express shone in the sunlight, almost
appearing to welcome the students to the journey back to school. There were a few glum faces in the
crowd, and more than a few tearful first-years trying to act like they weren't clinging to
their parents. Harry Potter, however, let a small smile play across his face, even though his eyes
had something somber in them that rarely fully disappeared. He wasn't leaving home, he was
going home.

What's more, he was returning to his 7th year at Hogwart's School of
Witchcraft and Wizardry. His 6th year had been little more than a blur of training and
endless tension, early curfews, warded doors, and professors murmuring anxiously to each other in
corridors. Quidditch had been cancelled, even though his lifetime ban had been rescinded, and trips
to Hogsmeade were banned as well. And when the long-expected attack had finally come…

Harry's grin fell, as he thought of those lost in the final battle in the very halls of
Hogwart's. The student's under 6th year had been sent away some time beforehand
(with Ginny Weasley protesting wildly all the way), but the older students had been permitted to
remain and fight.

*He had awakened in the pre-dawn hours of the fifth day after the younger students had been
sent home, when the sky had lightened to a pearly gray. The atmosphere had been unnaturally still,
heavy, ominous, as though portending some doom. Harry had sat up slowly, peering around the dimness
of his room. The other 6**th* *year boys appeared to be asleep. He wondered
how they could sleep, as his dread was nearly palpable.*

*“Harry, you all right, mate?” the voice of his best friend came softly from the adjacent bed.
Harry* *squinted, and* *could just make out a pale face and fiery hair.*

*“You feel it too?” Harry asked, but never heard the answer. At that moment, his scar seared
through his brain like a brand. His jaw clenched, his back arched, almost as if he were having some
kind of fit.* *He bit off a strangled cry.*

*“Harry?” Ron said, anxiety creeping into his voice. The other boys began to stir, coming
awake quickly, as they saw what was going on. Distantly, Harry was aware of Ron shouting at
Neville, of someone else shouting for Hermione, of a crowd of anxious faces ringed*
*a**round him. Fingers touched his forehead gently. Hermione.*

*Harry looked at all of them in turn, with wild, staring eyes. His hair was sticking up all
over his head, and his skin was as pale as death.* *He said three words, in an odd flat voice
that was* *his,* *and* *yet* *wasn't his.*

*“It has begun.”*

“Harry!” a voice said in delight. Harry shook himself out of his reverie to see the two youngest
Weasleys. Ginny and Ron both noticed his faraway look, and immediately knew what he had been
pondering.

“Kinda strange to be going back, huh, mate?” Ron's face was sympathetic, his blue eyes
troubled by haunting images, much like Harry's. Everyone involved had lost people, but the
Weasleys, perhaps with more to lose than many families, had been hit harder than most.

“Yeah…” Harry murmured absently, sticking one hand in his pocket. His face clouded momentarily,
and Ginny laid a supporting hand on his shoulder. He managed to smile at her, thinking that it
should be him offering her consolation. He forcibly pushed his dark thoughts away, and said, in a
more normal tone of voice, “Shall we find a compartment, then?”

Ron clapped him on the back once, and with no further words, the three friends hefted their
trunks onto the train.

*There were voices clamoring in the corridors, a chaotic blend of shouting and frantic
footfalls. Green light glowed briefly, as a hoarse voice shouted the Killing Curse. Harry exchanged
serious glances with his two best friends, flanking him on either side. Hermione nodded once, her
face grimly resolute. Ron swallowed, and readjusted his grip on his wand. Without needing to speak,
the three of them moved simultaneously* *around the corner into the fray. The other*
*6**th* *years were close behind.*

*Inside the Great Hall, the faculty and the Aurors who had been stationed there in preparation
for such a move were already fighting Death Eaters. Harry could also hear distant cries, as if the
fight had already spread to other areas of the castle. He moved toward the entrance to the hall,
deflecting a curse almost mechanically. After all, he wasn't going to die now, was he? Not when
it was fated that only Voldemort could be the architect of his demise. The students made it through
the wide doors of the Great Hall, and all hell broke loose.*

*Some minutes…hours?...later,* *Harry looked around frantically, having lost sight of
both Ron and Hermione. The air around him sizzled with magic, as curses flew. To his left, he saw
Parvati Patil take down a masked Death Eater. Then, across the room, he saw Justin Finch-Fletchley
fall.*

*“Crucio!” he heard, from somewhere far away, and he barely managed a “Protego” to block it.
He was going to have to pay more attention.* *He flicked a body-binding curse at his
assailant, almost as an afterthought, and thought he saw a glimpse of red hair across the room,
where the fighting was fiercer.*

*“Ron! Hermione!” He called. His voice cracked, and his throat was dry. And when had he
started crying? Hannah Abbott went down, in a flash of green sparks, a look of surprise on her
pretty face. He started toward the melee at the other end of the Great Hall, when he suddenly found
himself on his knees.*

*The pain in his scar flared up so quickly that he was sure his head would split open.*

“There you are!” came Hermione's voice, as she poked her curly head in the compartment door.
“You know, we have to at least make an appearance up in the Prefect's compartment. We do have
an example to maintain.” Ron rolled his eyes, and she glared at him. Harry grimaced and stood
up.

“All right,” he said. “I still can't believe the Headmaster made me Head Boy.”

“Well, who else was he going to pick? Ron?” Ginny cracked, and Ron cuffed her across the
head.

“He might have!” Ron said defensively, but when he grinned at his best friend, Harry saw no
jealousy or animosity there.

“I actually thought he might have chosen Malfoy,” Hermione said matter-of-factly.

“Hermione, I hope you're joking,” Ron said, a few seconds after her proclamation was met
with stunned silence.

“It would have appeased the purebloods and the Ministry. And he wasn't a Death Eater.”


”He wasn't on our side, either,” Ron muttered darkly. “Bloody git should be in Azkaban with his
father. I can't believe they're letting him come back to Hogwart's.”

“It just proves that even though Voldemort is gone, some things don't change. The Ministry
can still be purchased for enough galleons. Even from Azkaban,” Ginny's voice was grim,
sounding far older than her years.

Harry nodded, as he and Hermione withdrew from the compartment, and headed toward the front of
the train.

*Harry struggled to his feet, his vision foggy from the pain that thrummed through his head
like a drumbeat. His wand slid in his sweat**-**slick grip, and he found himself unable
to swallow. The Dark Lord stood before him, pale, thin-lipped, and red-eyed, a sneer twisting his
visage.*

*“So, at last, the prophecy will be fulfilled,” Voldemort hissed. “Avada Kedavra!”*

*Harry was ready for him. The curse bounced off of a shimmery blue shield, and resounded like
a gong.*

*Voldemort stepped back. Fear flickered briefly in his snakelike eyes**, fear that
perhaps he had underestimated this boy wizard**.* *H**arry stood before him,
unafraid;* *the dread anticipation of thi**s meeting had dwarfed the* *meeting
itself. His shield charm still glowed translucently between them.*

*“You can't hold that* *shield forever, boy!” Voldemort observed, with unmistakable
menace**.*

*“You should hope that I do!” Harry shot back, his implication clear. If he dropped his
shield, Voldemort would die. The Dark Lord snarled something incomprehensible, and raised his wand
again.*

*This time, the curse sizzled around the perimeter of* *the shield, which then
dissipat**ed with a smoky tinkle.*

*It was the moment of truth. Harry lifted his wand.*

*“AVADA KEDAVRA**!” And then, several things happened at once. From nowhere, Ron and
Hermione were flanking him, wands at the ready. Rather, than casting a curse at Voldemort, they
turned toward Harry.*

*“**Lux Prevalet!” The shout was in unison, washing over and colliding with Harry's
voice. Two beams of purple light hit Harry's wand, causing the green beam to swell outward like
a membrane, emitting a low vibrating rumble.*

*Voldemort was blasted back**wards, and such was the strength of the magic coursing
through the spell, that he was* *completely* *vaporized. His final cry of rage still
echoed in the Great Hall.*

*Ron and Hermione stood motionless, panting heavily, wand arms limp at their sides. Harry
wobbled, and**,* *as the knife-pain of the scar reverberated back to him one final time,
he blacked out.*

Hermione slipped her hand into his, and looked up at him a little shyly. He smiled at her, and
then looked away, but his grip on her hand tightened. There were times last year, when her hand in
his had kept him from going completely mad with guilt and grief.

“You were thinking about it again, weren't you? Just then?”

“Don't you think about it at all?” Harry's voice was somewhat defensive.

“All the time,” Hermione sighed. The world-weariness in her voice made her sound older. Harry
looked over at her curiously. “No one is expecting us to forget about it,” she elaborated. “Just to
move past it, maybe, where it doesn't hurt….so much…” Her voice trailed off.

She looked toward him, then, and their gazes crossed and locked. Harry felt his heartbeat
accelerate, until it was pounding in his ears.

“Hermione?” he said hoarsely.

“W - What?” she stammered, leaning toward him, almost imperceptibly. Harry was unsure of what
this thing was that trembled between them. When had he started seeing her as more than a friend? Or
had it always been so, and now was just the first time without his “destiny” hanging over him?

His green eyes held confusion…and something else… as he reached up to gently brush a wayward
strand of hair back from her cheek. Tears shone in her eyes, but did not fall.

“So,” she said, almost casually, “you finally noticed,” she said, with a kind of half-laugh,
half-sob, rolling her eyes at herself. “Sorry,” she apologized.

Harry felt as if he'd been hit with a stunning spell. Her implication was paralyzing.

“How - how long?” he said, almost incoherently, but she knew what he meant.

“Over a year,” she said, then blushed and looked away, dashing at tears with the back of her
hand, embarrassed. Harry felt stricken. How could he not have noticed that he fancied her, and she
him? And she had never said a word. He stared at her, and she appeared to read his mind.

“There was no way to be sure how… you felt, and I - I didn't want to ruin any -" she
stopped and shrugged, laughing a little, “You know how I like to be sure about things.”

A half-smile trembled on Harry's lips, and he leaned in. “Hermione,” he whispered once,
before his lips touched hers…

A compartment door burst open, and a foul stench issued forth. Several squealing first years
erupted from the putrescence, and two second years followed, laughing. Harry and Hermione exchanged
exasperated glances, and descended upon them.

**TBC**

**Please review.**

-->



2. Chapter Two
--------------



**Author's Note:** Liked the idea of a Marriage Law, so tried to give it my own take.
Obviously, this is AU following OotP now…

Oh…and none of these people are mine.

**What Might Have Been**

**Chapter Two**

The last first-year had been sorted into Ravenclaw, and the Hogwart's headmaster, Albus
Dumbledore, stood before the student body for his traditional start-of-term address. His blue eyes
were somber behind his half-moon spectacles, but he did smile.

“Welcome back to Hogwart's,” he said simply, and paused, as if to let that simple,
incredible fact sink in. “There have been some changes since we were last here,” he let his eyes
flicker briefly to the empty seats scattered throughout the four long tables.

Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Neville, and Parvati sat in their usual places at one end of
Gryffindor's table. The absence of several 7th year students, including Lavender,
Seamus, and Dean, had not gone unnoticed. “I trust that you will remember that the sacrifices made
by some have allowed you to return here today.” Every student's gaze was fixed on Dumbledore,
countenances grave; there was absolute silence in the hall, save for a half-strangled sob from
Parvati. Not only had she lost her best friend, but Padma was not at the Ravenclaw table. “I trust
you will join me in welcoming the returning Professor Remus Lupin as our Defense Against the Dark
Arts teacher. He has also agreed to serve as the head of Gryffindor house.” The old
headmaster's voice seemed to be rougher than usual at the end of his sentence. There were gaps
at the faculty table too.

Dumbledore cleared his throat, and continued in a more matter-of-fact tone, “Some start-of-term
notices… Quidditch has been reinstated, and the season will begin in a month. I suggest the teams
take advantage of this time to reacquaint themselves with the sport. The Forbidden Forest is still
strictly off limits. Trips to Hogsmeade will be an occasional privilege for those in the third year
and higher….”

Harry's attention wandered. His eyes drifted over the wall hangings honoring the four houses
of Hogwart's, as well as the faces of the teachers and students listening to the headmaster.
There was a tightness in his chest, as he remembered the last time he had been in this room.

*Where there had been motion, light, and noise: the sound of shouting, the crash of crumbling
stone and the crack of splintering wood, the flash of spells cast, flickering off of the walls like
lightning from a distant storm, now all was quiet. Faint smoke still wafted in the air, from hexes
and curses. Mediwitches and wizards moved quickly* *and efficiently among* *the wounded
and the dead.*

*Harry opened sandy eyes to see the brilliant blue sky of the enchanted ceiling, obscured only
hazily by drifting smoke. His ears were ringing, and his skull pounded like a bass drum. He shifted
on the hard floor, and tried to sit up.*

*“He's awake!” Someone exclaimed, sounding very far away. “Ron!” Hermione's face
appeared in his field of vision, smudged with dirt, and smeared with blood trickling from a scalp
wound. Her eyes were shiny, and she gently reached down to brush some hair back from his forehead.
Her fingers came away bloody.*

*“Hermione…” he grunted, bracing himself on his elbows.*

*She shushed him, and said softly, “Don't move. Madame Pomfrey's coming.”*

*He felt his vision clouding over again, and groped blindly for her hand. “Is - is Vold - is
he -- ?”*

*“He's dead, Harry,” came Hermione's voice, holding something like a combination of
laughter and tears. “You did it.”*

*“No…no, we -"Harry clutched her hand, trying to get his point across. He would not have
succeeded without them. They had put their lives on the line out of their love for him. He thought
of Justin…of Hannah…of countless others that had doubtless been lost. Guilt washed over him,
nauseated him, and he could put none of it into words.*

*“Oy, is he all right?” he heard Ron's voice, as if through a long tunnel. And he slipped
away again.*

“And lastly, before we tuck in,” Dumbledore announced, his voice resounding in the hallway, and
pulling Harry back to the present, “let me introduce to you, our Head Girl and Head Boy this year,
Hermione Granger and Harry Potter.” The applause from the students quickly swelled in to cheers and
whistles, the loudest huzzahs coming from Gryffindor table, who were extremely proud that both
Heads had come from their house this year. There were some hisses from the Slytherin table, led by
Draco Malfoy, but these were very half-hearted in nature.

Harry and Hermione stood, a little sheepishly, studiously refraining from looking at each other,
as they had all evening, and sat quickly, both somewhat red in the face.

Ron glanced at both of their glowing faces, and chortled.

“You thought it was bad being the Boy Who Lived, mate?” he grinned, stuffing his mouth with a
roll, as the food had appeared in the waiting trenchers. “Now you're the Boy Who Triumphed!” He
raised his arms above his head in a gesture of victory, while Ginny and Neville snickered behind
their hands. Harry gave Ron a look of mostly mock annoyance. “Seriously, though,” Ron continued.
“You deserve it, Harry. `Specially since you didn't get to be prefect, because of all the….you
know, stuff.”

“Besides, you two get your own rooms, and your own common room and everything,” Ginny
interjected excitedly. “We can pop in for a visit anytime, can't we?”

“Be a sight better than being stuck in the common room with all those little kids,” Ron said,
with as much disdain as he could muster, having a mouth full of potatoes.

“S - sure,” Harry stammered, glancing briefly at Hermione, who happened to look at him at the
same time. Neither one of them had thought of the fact that they would be, in essence, living
together. He watched a flush creep up Hermione's cheeks, and they both quickly returned their
focus to their plates. The memory of what happened earlier that afternoon flashed through his mind,
and he felt his own face begin to burn.

She hadn't said one word to him since then, other than some official Head Boy/Head Girl
stuff resulting from the dungbombs detonated on the train. She was probably embarrassed or annoyed
or both. And now they were going to have to live in the same set of apartments, and… Harry was
starting to get quite comfortable going along in this vein, when he felt a small brush against his
leg.

It was Hermione, and she was reaching for his hand under the table. As she gripped his fingers,
he realized that her fingers were small and fragile, and a little sweaty. He also realized that he
never wanted her to let go.

*When he awakened again, he was in a private ward at St. Mungo's. The room may have been
the traditional sterile white, but Harry couldn't tell. His room was completely blanketed by
giant gift baskets, arrangements of flowers, and a few sundry magical trinkets, that occasionally
jumped or emitted sparks.*

*He was inexpressibly tired, all over, and his head felt as if it were gripped in a vise. His
eyes burned, and he realized that the farthest corners of the room were blurry. Where were his
glasses? He shifted, and the movement made his head reel. He groaned.*

*At the motion and noise, someone leapt to their feet from a chair in the corner. The door
opened, and the person said, “He's awake. Someone get the healer.”*

*Quiet footsteps trod back to his bedside, and Hermione's face came into focus.*

*“Welcome back,” she grinned at him, but Harry could see the fatigue and sorrow behind her
eyes. He wondered if anyone would ever look at him again, without those feelings lurking
there…unsaid, unexpressed, but not to be ignored or forgotten. He had expected to feel as if the
weight of the world had lifted from his shoulders with the death of Voldemort, but it hadn't.
The burdensome pressure of survivor's guilt weighed him down, far worse than the pressure of
being the savior of the wizarding world ever had.*

*Hermione must have seen something of that in his eyes, because her lips compressed into a
thin line, and she squeezed his hand gently, saying nothing, but releasing a small sigh.* *She
handed him his glasses, the sparkly newness of the lenses revealing that she had repaired
them…again. He put them on, gratefully, and her face came into sharper focus.*

*There was a thin white line across her forehead, disappearing into her hair, denoting a newly
healed laceration. Her face was clean, and her clothes fresh. She looked alive, almost vibrant,
prettier than he remembered, placed in juxtaposition with the backdrop of death, destruction, and
despair that he recalled last seeing.*

*“How long have I--?” he asked, his voice raspy.*

*“They brought you here four hours ago,” she answered simply, her fingers threaded through
his.*

*“They?”*

*“Professor Lupin…and Tonks.” Hermione's answers were succinct, as if she didn't want
to answer his questions, as if she were afraid of what questions he would ask.*

*“Ron?” was his next one word query.*

*“He's fine. Dove away from a killing curse, and broke his collarbone, but he's
already been all fixed up. I think he's waiting down the hall.” Her words seemed to tumble out
over each other, now, as she tried to give him good news, so he wouldn't ask about the bad
news. “Dumbledore has been holed up with a bunch of Ministry officials, talking about the Death
Eater trials.”*

*“Did we get them - them all?” He asked with effort.*

*“They don't think anybody escaped. There were only a dozen or so left alive by the end of
the battle. Malfoy's father survived. So did Bellatrix Lestrange.”* *Her eyes hardened at
the names. “They won't see the light of day again,” she said grimly.*

*“The - Weasleys?” She looked away from him, momentarily, and he saw her face quiver and
nearly crumple. Something twisted in the pit of his stomach.*

*“We lost Percy. And Bill - Bill is badly hurt. They've got him up in the critical care
section. It's touch and go, right now.”*

*Harry didn't have the energy to cry, but tears leaked from the corners of his eyes,
running down his temples into his hair.*

*“Who…who else?”*

*Hermione gave him the grim list, her voice breaking and stumbling over the names of their
fellow students, old Mundungus, Madame Hooch, Emmeline Vance**…Professor
McGonagall.**.**Parvati Patil had survived, but her twin sister, Padma, was gone.*
*Harry shook his head, without words. There were no words, no way to describe the grief and guilt
that crushed him. He felt as if something had been physically ripped from his chest, he was hollow,
empty, yet burning. He wanted to scream, to swear, but his throat was a tight clog.*

**It was all his fault****.**

*He didn't realize he* *had* *said the words out loud, until Hermione
gasped.*

*“It is not. It is* **not!****”** *she said, in a kind of savage, hysterical fury.
Her hands gripped his shoulders, and he thought for one instant that she was going to throttle him.
Instead, she embraced him. “Do you know how many more he would have killed, if not for you? If not
for you!?” She said some other things, but they were rambling and incoherent, and he just hugged
her back, without speaking, as their tears commingled.*

Harry could not believe his eyes. The Head Common Room was almost as big as the one in
Gryffindor Tower, and splendidly decorated in Gryffindor colors. There was a large stone fireplace
at one end, with a crackling fire burning merrily in the grate. Hermione instantly noticed the
pretty glazed pottery vase sitting atop the mantle.

“Harry!” she said in excitement. “This fireplace is connected to the Floo network!”

A cozy sofa and several squashy chairs were positioned in front of the fireplace, around a plush
carpet. There were two end tables, burnished red-gold in the firelight, each with a lamp situated
on it. At the other end of the common room, were two gigantic desks, with all sorts of cubbyholes
and drawers. They were already supplied with rolls of parchment, quills, and ink bottles, as well
as a black leather-bound volume, on which was stamped in gold, *“Hogwart's Regulations and
Head Duties”.* Hermione squealed in delight when she saw the tome, and Harry rolled his eyes,
knowing that she would read it quickly, and expect him to have done the same.

Twin staircases ran parallel to each other at the back of the room, one arcing off to the left,
and one to the right. Portraits of the previous Head Girl and Boy were adjacent to these
staircases, and they waved and smiled at Harry and Hermione, who went up the indicated stairs.

Harry's room was large, with a gigantic four poster bed, wardrobe, another desk, smaller
this time, and an arched window that had a beautiful view of the lake. They were up in one of the
other towers, it appeared. On the table by his bed, a strange object caught his eye. The only thing
on the table was a half-flattened Quaffle. He picked it up and felt the familiar hook behind his
navel.

Sunlight streamed in from a doorway, and made Harry squint. A breeze from outside ruffled his
hair, and as his eyes adjusted to the light, he realized he was in Gryffindor's Quidditch
locker room. Only steps away the bright green field of the pitch glimmered. A goofy grin spread
across his face, and he picked the crushed quaffle from where he'd dropped it. A moment later,
he was back in his room.

There was a patter of rushing feet, and Hermione burst into his room, with a similar wide
grin.

“Did you see your…?” she shrieked, gesturing toward the quaffle. Harry laughed, having rarely
seen Hermione worked up into this kind of state. “Where does yours go?”

“To the Quidditch pitch,” he answered.

“Mine's a broken quill. It goes to the library! Can you imagine? My own private portkey to
the library!” Hermione was in ecstasy.

“This is really amazing!” Harry conceded, not necessarily talking about her portkey, but drawn
into her mood. They grinned happily at each other for a few moments, when they both realized
exactly where they were.

“Oh, I'm - I'm sorry, Harry. I just - I didn't even knock, and - "

“What if I'd been undressed?” Harry asked, in mock distress. Something feral flashed in
Hermione's eyes for a moment, but quickly disappeared, as her face flushed red. “Hermione, I
was only joking,” he said hastily.

“Maybe we should…maybe we should talk about what - what happened this afternoon on the train,”
Hermione ventured, after a short silence. Harry felt his stomach rise up somewhere near his
throat.

“What about it?” he asked evenly.

Hermione twisted her hands together. She usually reserved this kind of anxiety for exams or
really long essays.

“Maybe it was an accident,” she crinkled her eyebrows, apologetically.

“You don't mean that,” he said, with more assurance than he actually felt.

“No - no, I'm quite sure,” she said, pulling herself together and speaking in her
authoritative Prefect voice.

“Quite sure? An accident?” Harry said, mimicking her serious tone. His heart was racing, as he
walked toward her. When he reached her, he leaned in until their lips were only a hairsbreadth
apart. She stood stiffly, rigid, as if poised for flight, but desperately wanting to know what he
was going to do next. She nodded, two quick uneven jerks of her head.

“Whoops,” he whispered, in the instant before his lips touched hers, gently at first, and then
more insistently. Her knees wobbled, and he drew her up into his arms, without thinking about it.
She raised her face to his, and began to kiss him back with all the ardor she possessed.

The world swirled away, until there didn't even seem to be a floor beneath their feet. There
was nothing solid, nothing substantial except their arms around each other, and his lips on hers.
Hermione felt as if she were on fire, and tried desperately to keep herself from gasping out his
name.

They might have gone on kissing for quite some time, but as it was, they heard the thump of the
portrait hole opening, and the excited voices of the youngest Weasleys. Harry sprang away from
Hermione as if he'd been burned. They were pink-cheeked, starry-eyed, and breathing
heavily.

“You told them the password?” Harry said, in a breathless whisper.

“I forgot to ward the door,” Hermione replied, blinking in surprise. He didn't have time to
wonder at this un-Hermione like behavior, because Ron and Ginny were calling their names.

“Shall we go down, then?” Harry asked her, trying to achieve a normal tone of voice. Hermione
nodded, reaching up quickly to dash a bit of lipstick from the corner of his mouth.

“Ready,” she replied in an even tone, and they started down the stairs to their common room.

**TBC**

-->



3. Chapter Three
----------------



**Author's Note:** Liked the idea of a Marriage Law, so tried to give it my own take.

**AN2:** I will be out of town this week, and this chapter is a little short, so I've
uploaded a two-fer. Hope this tides you over. I would love to get back and see many reviews!!

Oh and none of these people are mine…

**What Might Have Been**

**Chapter Three**

*Harry stood in the middle of the battle-scarred Great Hall, tapestries aflame, and great
gouges in the heavy stone. Smoke filtered through the air like fine mist. The Death Eaters had the
opposition backed into a wall. Harry saw their eyes, clear and unafraid, but knowing what was to
come. He saw Hermione, Ron, Neville, Seamus, Lupin, Dumbledore, the other members of the Order and
Hogwart's staff.*

*Hermione's gaze was dark and troubled, and she stared at him, with something like
accusation. The Death Eaters had lined up before them, wands at the ready, and Harry trembled at
what was to come.* *He clutched his wand, wondering why he still had it, and then realizing,
with sickening nausea, that he couldn't save them. He would save one - who? - and then another
Death Eater would stun him, and save him for Voldemort. Then, the one he'd saved would die
anyway. When he saw the sneers of cruel laughter on the Death Eaters' faces, he knew he was
right.*

*With muttered curses and flashes of light, one by one they fell. He saw them topple over each
other like discarded dolls, and felt as if the agony would rip him into pieces. Ron was dead.
Hermione was dead. He heard someone screaming, a raw primal scream full of pain and rage and
despair. He realized that the scream was being ripped from his own soul.*

*“Now,” said a voice, brimming with malicious satisfaction. Harry turned slowly to see the
Dark Lord standing nearby. “Now it is your turn to die.”*

*Harry felt his wand drop from limp fingers, and clatter noisily to the floor. What was the
point? He had failed. They were all dead.*

*Burning pain scorched through him like acid flames. His body thrashed convulsively, but there
was no escape…*

*There was no escape.*

“Harry! Harry! Harry, wake up,” Hermione called him urgently, as he struggled into
consciousness, writhing about, tangled in twisted bedsheets.

He looked around frantically, his eyes glassy, until they finally rested on her. His troubled
countenance cleared, and he crushed her to him in a tight embrace.

“You're all right,” he said, his voice partially muffled by her fluffy hair, disheveled from
sleep.

“Of course I'm all right,” Hermione tried to say lightly, but concern for him laced her
tone.

“I - I had - I was dreaming. Of - of *then*,” Harry ran one hand shakily through his
tousled hair. She threaded her fingers through his, and leaned on his shoulder comfortingly. “Only
- only Voldemort - he won. And I had to watch everyone die. He killed everyone…he killed
*you.* And then, what did it matter whether I lived or died?” He was staring at her, staring
through her, seeing a painful scenario that had never happened, seared on an already tortured
soul.

“Harry, Voldemort is gone. You won. Everybody didn't die.” Hermione said matter-of-factly,
kissing him lightly on the lips.

Harry felt the effects of the dream slowly loosening their hold, and he seized on something else
she had said.

“You did it again,” he pointed out. “Said that *I* won…when you and Ron were standing right
up there beside me. Everyone keeps treating me like *I'm* the sole conquering hero.”

“Ron and I are certainly not lacking in the hero-treatment department, don't worry about
that,” Hermione said with a small laugh. “Besides, you might have been able to defeat Voldemort
without us, but we certainly couldn't have done it without you. You're still the Boy Who
Lived, and no one begrudges you that, least of all me or Ron.”

“Speaking of Ron…” Harry began hesitantly.

“What about him?” Hermione said, in a slightly higher pitched voice.

“We haven't told him.”

“About what?” she asked faintly.

“About us?”

“Us?” she squeaked. Harry was starting to get annoyed. “We haven't told anyone,” she
countered quickly. Harry eyed her suspiciously.

“You don't want to tell him,” he observed, watching her reaction.

“Maybe I don't,” she said defensively, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

“Why?” Harry asked, although he had not been too keen on telling Ron himself. He was worried
about what it would do to their friendship dynamic.

“What if he feels left out, or betrayed, or something?” Hermione suggested, her brows knitting
together in anxiety.

“Betrayed?” Harry was incredulous. “Why would he feel betrayed?” The color rose up in
Hermione's cheeks. Harry's eyes narrowed. “What are you not telling me?”

“Ron asked me out over the summer holiday,” Hermione said, faintly, not looking at him. “I
turned him down.”

“*What?*” Harry exclaimed. “That's an important piece of information that you
conveniently neglected to tell me, Hermione!”

“Why?” she asked, in a little-girl voice.

“Why?!” Harry echoed. “Do you know how this looks? Do you know what he'll think?”

“But we never -" Hermione began, but Harry interrupted her.

“Doesn't matter. He'll still see me as a bloke who moved in on a girl he fancied.
He'll *hate* me. How could you not have told me?”

“Okay, okay, you're right,” Hermione said, and she spoke in that voice that she used, when
her mind was racing. “We'll tell him together, tomorrow. And I'll explain that you
didn't know about his asking me out.”

Harry looked like he didn't believe it would work, but appeared slightly mollified. “All
right, then,” he conceded, after a moment of thought. She smiled, and he watched her shoulders
relaxed a little.

“I'm sorry,” Hermione offered tentatively. “I should have told you what Ron did. I should
have told Ron why I said no.”

“Why did you say no?” Harry asked.

“Because I… I fancied someone else,” her voice was very low.

“Really?” Harry arched his brows in surprise, and leaned closer to her. “Do I know him?” A pink
flush slowly stained Hermione's cheeks.

“Maybe,” she said slowly. She was unused to flirting, and it made her voice low and unsure,
quite unlike the strident tone of confidence she normally used.

“Should I be jealous?” Harry whispered, almost breathing into her mouth. Hermione felt a tingly
warmth all over, as her insides melted.

“Unh - " Hermione made a noise in the negative, and started to shake her head, when his
mouth closed over hers. It was like the kiss in his bedroom that afternoon, heady and passionate
and full of abandon. He pulled her closer against him, and then checked his movement suddenly, when
he realized that she was in a short nightgown and in his bed. Harry pulled away from her, and she
looked at him, a question in her eyes.

“Hermione,” Harry gasped with difficulty. “You should go back to your room.” A flash of hurt
appeared in her eyes.

“Whatever you want, Harry,” she said evenly, and started to get up. He reached out and caught
her arm, with a quick movement.

“What I *want*,” he said, hoarsely, opting for frankness, “is to … well, to do ungodly
things to you, and … and howl at the moon, or something.” Hermione put one hand over her mouth, and
a laugh burbled between her fingers. He shot her an annoyed look, but belied that with a gentle
touch, running his hands up and down her bare arms. “I'm not teasing, Hermione. You need - you
need - " His gaze ran up and down over her silhouette, just barely visible beneath her pale
yellow gown. “Merlin, Hermione, I'm trying to be a gentleman.” He ran one hand shakily through
his hair.

The corner of Hermione's mouth quirked up in a smile.

“I suppose it is all a little fast,” she conceded. “Thanks, Harry.”

“Don't mention it,” he croaked, looking like he desperately wished she would change her
mind.

She brushed a light kiss across his mouth, that still somehow managed to crackle with energy,
and then, like a golden wraith from his imagination, she was gone.

**TBC**

-->



4. Chapter Four
---------------



**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 Four**

Hermione went back to her own bedroom, trying to ignore the way her heart was pounding like a
drum. Her limbs felt weak and wobbly, and she was amazed that just a few kisses could do that to a
person.

And it was Harry….*of all people, after all this time*…she thought, shaking her head in
amazement. She had loved him for a long time, but had never even received the slightest inkling
that he felt the same way. *But after that…on the train…surely he must*…she remembered
thinking in bewilderment as they ate their first meal back at Hogwart's. Well, there certainly
wasn't any doubt in her mind now.

She crawled into her bed, pulling the downy covers up to her chin, and snuggled down into her
pillows, floating back to sleep with a smile playing across her face.

*The healer flicked her eyes toward the door, when she entered, and Hermione immediately
understood. She reluctantly unwound her hand from Harry's, and began to edge toward the door,
over Harry's weak protest.*

*“I'll just be outside,” she promised him, as one of his arms lolled over the edge of the
bed* *in a feeble attempt to reach her**. She felt tears sting the backs of her eyelids.
He was so tired**;* *it broke her heart to see him so drained, so empty…and he had done
it for them all.*

*“He's going to be fine, Miss Granger,” the healer said warmly. Hermione started vaguely
at the friendliness in her voice, and then belatedly remembered that she was famous too.
“**His magical strength has been completely sapped, though, I'm afraid. I don't think
he could even do a Lumos spell right now. A**fter I finish the examination, he'll need to
rest again.”*

*Hermione nodded, biting her lip, before she exited into the corridor. Ron was wandering
aimlessly up and down the corridor, looking miles and miles away. His left arm was cradled up next
to his body, his shoulder obviously immobilized with a Sticking charm that only his Healer could
remove. He straightened immediately when he saw her, his eyes becoming quickly alert.*

*“How is he?” he asked, as if he feared the worst. Hermione's face crumpled, even as she
tried to smile. Tears that she had bitten back rushed down her cheeks.*

*“He's going to be fine!” she burst out,* *after* *scaring Ron to death, and
fell into his embrace.*

*“Hey, hey, easy!” Ron warned, leery of further injury. He patted her on the back gently, as
her sobs subsided. “So, he's okay, then?” Hermione sniffed and nodded, dashing one hand across
her eyes.* *“Thank Merlin,” Ron muttered under his breath, with fervent emotion.*

Sunlight was streaming in her window, when next Hermione opened her eyes. She was startled to
see a pair of green eyes quite close to her own, and jumped violently.

Harry misinterpreted her surprise, and said, somewhat defensively, “You didn't ward your
door.” Hermione smiled, and stretched her arms out to him for an embrace and a kiss, feeling
suddenly bold.

“No, I'm quite sure it's warded,” she said matter-of-factly, as he brushed her mouth
with a kiss.

“I just came right through there - " he argued, gesturing back toward her open doorway.

“It's not warded against you,” she said quickly, her words tumbling over his. He stopped and
looked at her in wonder, until Hermione blushed and looked down, thinking that perhaps she'd
assumed too much.

After a moment, though, a grin spread across Harry's features.

“Really?” he asked. She pulled his forehead down to hers, and kissed him lightly on the lips
again.

“Really,” she affirmed, and smiled at the pleasure he had at the trust she placed in him. He had
sat down on the edge of the bed, and was softly caressing her fingers with his own.

“So how come you were stalking me?” she asked playfully. Harry blushed.

“It's time for breakfast,” he said, shyly. “I was about to wake you up, but… but you looked
so…happy…” he shrugged, a little apologetically. “I was just enjoying it.”

“I was dreaming,” Hermione admitted.

“About what?” She fluttered a look at him up through her lashes.

“You,” she said, softly, and the simple reply went through Harry like a bolt of lightning.

They stared at each other, quite contentedly, for another moment or so, when Harry suddenly
remembered their task for that day.

“So,” he said, clearing his throat, and garnering a more serious look on his features, “when are
we going to tell Ron?”

“I dunno,” Hermione answered, looking a little anxious. “On the one hand, I suppose there's
no time like the present. But…but maybe we should wait until we're alone with him, and not do
it in the Great Hall at breakfast.”

“You're starting to make me nervous,” Harry said, running one hand jaggedly through his
already messy hair. “Is he going to really get upset?” He paused, and looked at her, a note of
jealousy in his voice, “Does he still fancy you?”

“No, of course not,” Hermione began, speaking rapidly.

“Then why are you so worried?” Harry countered. Hermione faltered, looking uncertain.

“Well, it hasn't been that long since he asked, after all,” Hermione said, trying to sound
offhand. “And you know how Ron gets…he'll think we won't want him around anymore, and
he'll get all weird and self-conscious around us…and he'll - "

Harry put two fingers over her lips, stemming the rising tide of words.

“He's our friend, Hermione,” he said. “Of course he'll want us to be happy. And of
course, we'll still want him around.” *Perhaps saying the words will make it true*, he
thought.

Hermione looked skeptical in the face of Harry's optimism.

“If you say so,” she sounded thoroughly unconvinced.

“We'll talk to him after breakfast, before we go to classes,” he said, with the finality of
a decision made in his voice. He kissed her again, then moved across the room, turning at her door
to smile at her, and say, “See you down in the Common room.”

She gazed at him for a moment, wondering at the happiness on his face, before she saw it…that
lurking shadow of grief that darkened his green eyes. *Still there*, she mused, and wondered
if it would be permanent in all of them.

Harry must have read some of what she was thinking on her face, because he winked at her, in a
*don't worry about me* sort of way, and disappeared down the stairs.

*“The prisoner is sentenced to life in Azkaban,” the austere witch intoned solemnly, reading
from the slip of paper through a pince-nez. A shocked murmur rippled around the room, causing the
judge to call for order several times.*

*Harry felt himself instinctively stiffen in a* *burst* *of outrage. How had Lucius
Malfoy managed to escape being given the Kiss? He had broken out of Azkaban once already, fought
openly on the side of Voldemort, killed at least 18 people, including Percy Weasley…and
somehow…somehow…*

*Ron was sitting next to him, silent, but ears red with rage, his lips pressed into a thin,
tight line. Mrs. Weasley sat on the other side of Ron, still, wooden, dabbing a handkerchief to the
tears streaming down her cheeks. She made no sound, but clutched tightly onto* *Mr.
Weasley's hand.*

*Harry could see the white-blond, elegantly coiffed hair of Narcissa Malfoy down on the front
row, as she shuddered and began to sob delicately into a lacy hanky. Draco, seated next to her,
patted her on the back and was gently hushing her. Harry felt his gorge rise. After Bellatrix
Lestrange had been given the Kiss, Harry felt sure that Lucius would…but no, somehow the oily
patrician had eluded justice once again.*

*Lucius Malfoy's handsome, but malevolent, face was turned toward him, but Harry soon
realized that the older man was not looking at him, but to his right. He glanced quickly beside
him, and was disturbed to find that Malfoy senior was looking at…*

*Hermione.*

*Somehow this bothered Harry very badly. He stretched one arm along the back of Hermione's
chair, and leaned to whisper something in her ear,* *making sure to maneuver into Lucius'
field of vision.*

*Harm Hermione, and you will deal with me**,* *was his unspoken message.*

*Lucius lifted his chin and one corner of his mouth twitched, as if in acknowledgment of a
challenge.*

Harry was mostly silent on the way down to the Great Hall, mulling over the uncomfortable
memory. He wasn't sure why he had thought of that now, but it had not yet failed to put him in
a foul mood. He had mentioned it to Ron, but not to Hermione, and his best mate had seemed mildly
concerned, but confident that the possibility of Lucius Malfoy hurting Hermione from Azkaban was
slim.

*“They'll lock him down the cellar of Azkaban,” Ron had said assertively. “He'll not
see the light of day again.”*

“Harry, what's wrong?” Hermione asked in concern, slipping one hand into his.

“Just thinking…'bout Lucius Malfoy,” Harry mumbled. Hermione arched her eyebrows in
surprise.

“Harry, the war is over,” Hermione said gently, trying not to sound patronizing. “You can relax
now. Nobody's plotting against you.”

“What about you?” he blurted, before he could catch himself.

“Or me either,” Hermione replied, puzzled.

Harry ran one hand through his hair, and heaved a shuddering sigh. He suddenly seemed very far
away.

“It seems like that is the only way of life I've ever known. I don't know if I can let
down my guard… I don't think I know how.” He looked at her then, and his green eyes were
shining with guilt. “I keep thinking, maybe…maybe if I had done something differently, other people
might have survived.”

He saw anger flare up in Hermione's brown eyes, much like it had in the hospital wing, when
he said that it was all his fault. She squeezed his hand tightly.

“You didn't start this war,” she said, beginning a litany that was familiar to Harry, yet
still comforting, “Voldemort did. Let the blame fall on his head, not yours. If you hadn't been
there, nobody would have stopped him, and he… the killing …” she trailed off, as they both saw,
without actually seeing, visions from their nightmares.

“I know,” Harry finally said, the words pulled from him with difficulty. He managed a half-smile
at her, and mouthed the words “Thank you,” as they dropped hands, and entered the Great Hall.

Ron was already there, shoveling food in his mouth at tremendous speeds.

“Morning,” he said, thickly. “Didn't think I'd beat you lot down here.” Harry and
Hermione's glances ricocheted off of each other, and they both flushed, remembering the night
before.

Ron paused in his ravenous quest, and glanced at them, his eyes narrowing in thought.

“You two look like you've just been -" Harry's eyes widened in a kind of panic, but
he was saved from response by the entry of dozens of owls, carrying the morning mail. Harry had a
small envelope, which he was delighted to find, was a letter from Remus.

Ron, Ginny, and Neville all had packages, containing personal items that they had forgotten to
pack and bring to school.

Three scrolls bounced down in front of Hermione, each sealed officiously with the Ministry's
crest. Harry noticed absently that scrolls were delivered to a handful of other students as
well.

He was in the process of opening his letter from Professor Lupin, shredding the envelope
disgracefully, when Hermione broke the first seal, and opened the scroll. She paled visibly, and
Harry watched with growing concern. Her hands were quite obviously trembling, as she picked up the
second scroll.

Instinctively, Harry looked up to the staff table. The headmaster was looking at the Gryffindor
table gravely, as the Head Girl reached for the third scroll, visibly distraught.

“Hermione?” Harry said softly, a growing knot of dread in his stomach, “What's going
on?”

**TBC**

**Ahhh…the fluffiness before the storm!**

**Come on and review. Make this pathetic author's day!**

**Hope to have chapter 5 up this weekend, when I get back!**

-->



5. Chapter Five
---------------



**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 Five**

Hermione's reaction to the scrolls had caught the attention of most of their classmates, and
their end of the table was nearly completely silent. She let the third scroll tumble through her
fingers, without really noticing it, and began to frantically scrabble for her copy of the *Daily
Prophet.* She found it, yanked it up, knocking over her goblet of pumpkin juice in the process,
and began to read, her eyes darting back and forth across the front page.

She appeared not to have heard Harry at all.

“Hermione!” Harry raised his voice a little. “*Hermione!*” She started noticeably, and
looked over the top of the paper at him. “What is going on? What's wrong?”

“Honestly, Harry,” Hermione began, her voice a shadow of its usual strident self. “Don't you
ever pay attention to the news?” She folded the paper, front page out, and handed it to him.

**Ministry Passes First Marriage Law Since 1632,** read the banner headline. Ron was leaning
across the table, trying to read the headline upside down, and several other Gryffindors were
searching for another available copy of the paper. Harry cast a puzzled look at Hermione, not
seeing what this particularly had to do with her…

…until he began reading the article.

*I**n a historic move, the Ministry of Magic has passed a hotly contested piece of
legislation now known as the Preservation of the Integrity of Wizarding Bloodlines Act. The concern
regarding the rise in the number of Squib births, or births of children having weak or nearly
nonexistent magical powers, has been mounting in recent years. The intermarriage among Pureblood
lines has become suspect.*

*In an effort to counter this, the Ministry will be overseeing the implementation of mixed
marriages. This will involve the marriage of Purebloods with either Half-bloods or those of Muggle
descent. These new and hardier strains of magical ability are expected to revitalize the Pureblood
lines.*

*Any Half-blood or Muggle-born witch over the majority age of 17 may be requested in marriage
by a Pureblood wizard. She will be allowed to choose from her suitors, but is required by Ministry
law to choose one of them. Any Half-blood or Muggle-born wizard will be allowed to marry a
Pureblood witch. Under no circumstances will any further* *Pureblood-Pureblood*
*marriages take place, until the Squib dilemma is judged to be well under control.*

*The Ministry will be available to enact marriage ceremonies, when they are required. The
Ministry will not sanction any Muggle marriage ceremonies.*

*Further inquiries may be directed to….*

Harry did not care who took care of the inquiries. He looked up at Hermione questioningly,
handing the paper to Ron, without looking. His eyes suddenly fell on the three scrolls, and he
understood.

“Those…” he gulped, gesturing toward the scrolls with one hand, “Those are *marriage
proposals*?”

Hermione nodded, evidently not trusting herself to speak.

“Bloody hell,” Ron finally spoke, looking at Hermione with wide eyes. “Really? Who from?”

Hermione spoke in a low, strangled voice that sounded as if she were trying very hard to keep it
under control.

“Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, and Marcus Flint.” Both boys gaped at her.

“But - but Mal - Malfoy always called you—" Ron stammered, unable to finish his
sentence.

“Doesn't matter,” Hermione answered levelly, as evenly as if she were explaining the causes
of the Eleventh Goblin Rebellion. “None of them will be permitted a Pureblood marriage, now,
and…”

“Hermione's the most powerful and smartest witch at Hogwart's,” Harry finished dully,
his statement not really sounding like a compliment. Hermione managed a smile at him anyway. “Any
Pureblood wizard would want…” He couldn't finish his sentence.

“Miss Granger, would you mind accompanying me to my office?” came the familiar voice of their
Headmaster. He gazed at her evenly, giving nothing away, but his eyes drifted significantly to the
scrolls in front of her. She swallowed and nodded, looking up at him. Harry and Ron clattered
noisily to their feet, but Dumbledore bade them sit back down with a wave of his hand. “I'm
sure that Miss Granger will fill you in on everything when our meeting has concluded.” Dumbledore
led the way out of the Great Hall, followed by several girls, including Hermione, all of whom had
received scrolls from the Ministry.

They both sat back down somewhat sulkily, but Harry was almost instantly back on his feet. He
ran down the length of Gryffindor table, and banged clumsily out of the double doors.

“Sir!” Harry yelled, panting slightly, “Sir! Professor Dumbledore!” The aged Headmaster turned,
and all the girls stopped.

“Yes, Harry?” Harry got the sneaking suspicion that Dumbledore already knew what Harry was going
to do, and paused. All the girls were looking at him.

“Um..” Harry cleared his throat nervously. “I'll do it.” He glanced at Hermione, and
suddenly felt like he was alone in the room with her.

“Do what?” she asked, her forehead crinkling.

“I'll marry you. I'll - if I sent an owl to the Ministry, you - would you --?” Harry
flushed, feeling like he wasn't making sense.

Hermione and Dumbledore both smiled at him, a little sadly, Harry thought.

“I'd love to, Harry, but -"

“I'm afraid, Harry,” Dumbledore interjected, “that since your mother was Muggle-born, you
would not be permitted to marry Miss Granger, especially since she does have Pureblood marriage
offers.” He sounded apologetic…and a little angry.

“But - but - she can't. They're all - Do you know how they would treat - ?” Harry
sputtered, feeling bereft. He had not stopped to think what this would mean to his and
Hermione's fledgling relationship…the fact that they could not marry, even if they were so
inclined…the fact that someone else would…Harry grimaced, as if in pain. That didn't even bear
thinking about.

He was at her side in three quick strides, taking both of her hands in his.

“Hermione, you know I - " She cupped his cheek with one hand, and they were once again
oblivious to the onlookers in the hall.

“I know,” she said softly.

“What are you going to - ?”

“I'm sure Professor Dumbledore will come up with something,” she glanced up at the
Headmaster briefly, with shining eyes.

“As much as the faith you place in me means to me, Hermione,” Dumbledore said, “I'm afraid
there's not a lot I can do. The only leeway we have is that the selections themselves are not
being controlled by the Ministry. You are all permitted to select your husbands from the available
offers.” Harry could have sworn that Dumbledore gave him a significant look, as he was saying this,
but couldn't fathom what the Headmaster was trying to tell him. “Ladies, if you please,” he
continued, gesturing toward his office.

Harry realized that he was still holding Hermione's hands. He brushed a tender kiss across
her lips, heedless of the others. “We'll think of something, Hermione, I promise.” She smiled
at him again, silently thanking him for his concern, and disappeared down the corridor with the
other girls.

Harry walked back into the Great Hall, where Ron was eating mechanically, as if his mind were
not really on the kippers and eggs that he was shoving in his mouth. Harry sat heavily in his seat,
looking glum.

“Wha's going on?” Ron asked, swallowing the gigantic mouthful of food.

“Hermione's got to be married,” Harry said. “I offered, but Dumbledore said no.” Ron boggled
at this.

“You -- you *offered* to marry Hermione?”

“Well, it'd be a sight better than her marrying Malfoy, wouldn't it?” Harry said
defensively, feeling a twinge of guilt that they hadn't yet told Ron what was going on between
them.

“Well, why can't you then?” Ron said, and there was a funny tone to his voice. “Your mum and
dad were both magical.”

“Mum was Muggle-born,” Harry said, twiddling his spoon around in his porridge, with a sigh, “If
Hermione has Pureblood proposals, she's got to take one of them.”

They were both silent for several moments, each lost in his own thoughts.

Presently, Ron said, “Well, Zabini's not so bad, is he? He *is* a Slytherin, but
he's definitely not as big a git as Malfoy or Flint.”

Harry said nothing. His mind kept drifting to Hermione's dreamy smile this morning, and her
lips on his. He was losing something infinitely precious, and all because the blasted Purebloods
kept marrying their cousins.

*The first thing he saw when he stepped out of the hospital room that had been his home for
three weeks was Hermione's beaming face. Her eyes were shiny with tears and her cheeks were
pink, and he thought absently that she was one of the most beautiful things he'd ever
seen.*

*“Congratulations, mate,” Ron said, clapping him on the back. “Good to be getting out of this
place, huh?”*

*Harry smiled, still stepping gingerly. “Wish I'd a better place to go home to than Little
Whinging,” he said ruefully, though his smile did not fully vanish. Not even the Dursleys could
ruin this day for him.*

*Hermione laughed, and it sounded like music.*

*“Why ever would you go back there?” she asked.*

*Harry opened his mouth to answer, and then stopped. Why would he go back there? He was of
age. Voldemort was dead. He never had to go back to Privet Drive again.*

*Hermione and Ron watched him, grinning foolishly, as he realized his newfound
freedom.*

*“But where will I - ?” he began, but Ron cut him off.*

*“Dad's already taken your stuff to the Burrow**…as if you even had to ask!” Harry
could not quell a grin.* *The Weasleys were his family in every way that mattered.*

*The rest of the summer had been an odd juxtaposition of complete peace and brooding anxiety.
Finally, before his birthday, listless and jumpy, Harry had left the Burrow to wander around
Europe.*

*He had returned just in time for the start of term at Hogwart's.*

There was no opportunity to speak with Hermione during their classes, although she showed up
only a few minutes late to Transfiguration. She answered questions and studiously took notes, but
Harry could see something lurking behind her eyes. There were some murmurs from other students, but
Hermione appeared to ignore them.

“So…Hermione,” Draco Malfoy leaned down on her desk before the start of Potions. Her name
sounded odd and foreign on his lips. “Come to a decision yet?” Hermione glared at him, but said
nothing. Harry found his fingertips winding around his wand, just in case. “There isn't a witch
in England who wouldn't want the title and privileges associated with being Mrs. Malfoy.” There
was insinuation in his tone that made the word `privileges' sound dirty.

“Sod off, Malfoy,” Harry said firmly. Draco appeared to notice for the first time that Harry was
even there.

“Oh, yes, Potter. Heard about your little impassioned proposal this morning,” he smirked, as if
it were exceedingly amusing. “It's a shame that your mother was a Mudblood - " He had
barely spoken the offensive word, when Harry pushed back his chair with a screeching scrape, and
stood.

Hermione laid one soft hand over his.

“I wouldn't marry you if you were the last wizard on Earth, and Merlin himself was
officiating,” Hermione said vehemently.

“That can be arranged!” Draco said in a low hiss.

Harry made an involuntary move towards Malfoy, but Professor Snape entered the room just then,
and Malfoy had to settle for parting with a sneer. Harry sat back down reluctantly, but
Hermione's hand remained on his for a moment longer.

She did not speak much the rest of the day, and Harry knew that she was worried over the
validity of Malfoy's threat. He and Ron discussed that evening, up in the dormitory, and Harry
could see that Ron was concerned as well. The redhead appeared preoccupied, and did not add much to
the conversation, looking deep in thought.

The next morning, an owl brought Hermione two scrolls and an official letter from the Ministry
on heavy parchment. Hermione read them all, and shuddered, looking positively grey.

“What's wrong?” Harry asked her, putting one arm around her tenderly. Out of the corner of
his eye, he caught Malfoy staring over at them with a triumphant leer.

Hermione spoke in a wooden voice, “Flint and Zabini have withdrawn their offers.”

**TBC**

**Please please review. I'd really appreciate it.**

-->



6. Chapter Six
--------------



**Author's Note:** Liked the idea of a Marriage Law, so tried to give it my own take.
Thanks to all who have reviewed. I like that my story is provoking such reactions!

Oh and none of these people are mine…

**What Might Have Been**

**Chapter Six**

**“**What?” Harry breathed in shock. “Why would they do that?” Hermione appeared dazed, her
eyes wide and staring.

“Malfoy paid them off, so he … so he could…” her words were drowned under a hiccupping sob.
Harry was alarmed, seeing Hermione so close to coming completely unglued. He slipped one hand into
hers under the table.

Ron watched them silently, stealing frequent glances over at Malfoy, and looking pensive.

“He'll pay off everybody….I'll have to marry him…I'll have to live at Malfoy Manor
with his horrid mother…and …” Hermione was speaking lightly and quickly, and looked nearly
hysterical.

“Hermione…” Harry pleaded, helpless to reassure her.

“Hermione, not everyone can be bought,” Ron finally spoke, and Hermione snapped back to the
present, her eyes becoming clear. Her forehead creased with anxiety.

“I hope you're right, Ron,” she said finally, a shudder going through her frame, as she
tried to calm herself down. “I - " she stopped, her eyes drifting over to the Slytherin table,
where Malfoy was watching the trio with interest. He blew her a kiss, and she swallowed with
difficulty, shaking her head violently. “I - I can't - " She stood quickly. “Tell
Professor Lupin I'm ill.”

In a flash of black robes and a swirl of brown hair, she was gone.

“Ron, what are we going to do?” Harry said, his voice desperate, nearly cracking with
urgency.

“I dunno, mate,” Ron said, his blue eyes following the path Hermione had taken from the Great
Hall. Harry looked at him with exasperation, and stood too.

“Tell Lupin that I - " he paused, considering, then shrugged. “I don't bloody care what
you tell him.”

He nearly collided with Ginny, who looked after him, startled, as she sat down next to her
brother, and began ladling food onto her plate.

“What's going on?” she said.

“Damned if I know,” Ron muttered, watching the double doors of the Great Hall darkly. Ginny
looked at him sharply, but refrained from further comment.

*There was thunderous applause and more than a few whistles and whoops, though they perhaps
did not fit with the solemnity of the occasion. Harry looked up into Dumbledore'**s
somber* *gaze as he lowered the wide ribbon over Harry's head. The Order of Merlin hung
heavily from his neck, swinging pendulously. He lifted his chin, looking into the noisy throng, and
tried to smile graciously.*

*Ron and Hermione stood to either side of him, each with a medal as well. Hermione was smiling
uncomfortably, and Ron was standing stock-still, red to the ears, but looking dazed.*

*Mrs. Weasley was in the front row, crying prodigiously into a handkerchief. Harry knew she
was proud of Ron, but was fairly certain that he was not the reason she cried.*

*Bill Weasley had succumbed to his injuries five days previously.* *Harry had sunk down
into a kind of despair, watching the Weasley family - his family - grieve. He was being lauded as a
victor, a savior, but people had still died. People he should have been able to save. And this
ceremony was more than he could bear.*

*He turned abruptly, clattering noisily down the stairs from the dais, and disappeared from
sight. The applause trickled off and was replaced by a rush of whispers and murmurs. Ron and
Hermione exchanged glances, and hurried after Harry.*

*They found him, crouched in a* *Ministry* *hallway, with his Order of Merlin
some* *5 meters* *away from him, a suspicious dent in the wall just above it.*

*“Harry?” Ron prodded, his voice a loud whisper in the silence of the empty hallway.*

*“I didn't ask for this,” Harry said, suddenly, looking up at them. His eyes were hard and
set, his voice low, but his jaw trembled rebelliously. “I didn't* **ask** *to be
everyone's hero!” A shudder ran through his hunched body, and he dashed a tear away angrily
with the back of his hand.*

*“Harry, we know that,” Hermione said gently, kneeling beside him, placing one hand on his
back.*

*“You don't understand,” he replied thickly. “There were - people - Bill… I should
have…”*

*Ron squatted down in front of him, and put both hands on Harry's shoulders.*

*“Bill died fighting Voldemort,” he said, and Harry wondered how much it cost him to say those
four words with such passion. “Just like any of us would have.”*

*Harry sat in silence for a long time, his two friends knelt beside him, lending him what
wordless support they could give.*

*“Ron, I'm so sorry,” he finally said in a quiet broken voice.* *“Thanks.”*

*Ron stared at him for a moment, and Harry felt a closer communion with him than he'd ever
had before.*

*“Don't mention it, mate. You'd have done the same.”*

“Hermione!” Harry gasped, out of breath from having sprinted to their rooms from the Great Hall.
“Hermione!” He took the stairs two at a time, loudly galloping up and careening around the corner
into her bedroom.

She was staring out her window, sitting stiffly in a chair, dried traces of tears on her
face.

“Are you all right?” he asked, rather stupidly.

“Do I look all right?” she snapped back, nastily, but apology immediately flooded her features.
“Harry, I'm sorry. It's not like any of this is your fault.”

“If I were Pureblood -" Hermione cut him off by rolling her eyes.

“Harry, that's just ridiculous. Then you wouldn't be *you*.” She smiled a bit, but
it fell off her face quickly. She stared out the window again. “I'm going to have to marry
Draco Malfoy!” she said quietly, in the tone of one who is resigned to her fate.

“No, Hermione,” Harry said quickly. “There has got to be something we can do…some way that we
can stop this. We can go away…just us, and we'll - "

Hermione shook her head miserably. “The wizarding world needs you, Harry. I can't take you
away.”

“Well, I don't need *them.* I - " Harry protested hotly.

“Besides, I - I don't know if I want to leave…I wouldn't be able to live as a
witch…I'd have to leave everybody I love…my parents…the Weasleys…”

“You'd rather marry Malfoy?” Harry said in a tone of disbelief.

“I just don't know if I could leave it all behind,” she said sadly.

Harry winced as he thought of never seeing Hermione again. The emptiness spread out before him
in a vast chasm of years…years of just existing…years of wondering where she was and how she was
doing…years of longing to see her again.

When he shook away his gloomy vision of the future, and looked up, she was staring at him. He
felt himself flush under her perusal.

“Hermione, what are - ?” he started to say, but the words died on his lips, as she stood and
walked wordlessly towards him.

“Harry, you know how much I hate having other people dictate what kind of decisions I make,” she
said. Harry mulled this over, and nodded. Hermione had never been one who bowed to convention or
popular opinion. “And yet, here, when Voldemort is dead, and we should all be free, my choices are
being taken away from me. I'm being steered, I'm being manipulated…and I bloody well hate
it!” Her voice rang out loudly in the quiet room.

“Hermione, I know,” he said, urgently, tenderly, “I know, and I wish… I wish there was something
I could - "

“There is something you can do,” she said, her voice low and confident. Her face was very close
to his. “There is something I can give you that I can never give anyone else.” He felt her body
close to his in all the wrong places, and his face flooded with heat as he realized what she was
talking about.

“Hermione - " he stammered, backing away slightly, while wondering why he was backing away.
“Hermione, you're upset…”

“Of course I'm upset, Harry. But that doesn't mean I haven't thought about this,”
her voice was passionate. “I have been in love with you for a long time. I've just had our
future ripped away from me. Don't I deserve this one thing?” Tears were standing in her eyes,
and she moved into his personal space again. Her lips were trembling just beneath his.

“Hermione…” he said helplessly, before his lips crashed into hers. He should have known that he
wouldn't be able to deny her anything.

And then, so quickly that he wasn't sure how it was happening, hands were everywhere, his
hands, her hands, discarding clothing at a fevered pace. Her skin was hot and soft, her eyes were
dilated, and her breathing was rapid. He backed her up towards the bed, and when she pulled him
down on top of her, all of the blood left his brain.

“Hermione, I love you,” he said, without stopping to think about it.

“Oh, Harry, always,” she gasped in reply.

Harry dimly wondered what the rest of the school would think if they knew that the Head Boy and
Head Girl were skiving off classes to shag each other senseless. It was the last rational thought
he had for quite some time.

*Ron stood in the hospital corridor, gaze distant, drifting up and down the hallway in an
aimless fashion. Now and then, his glance caught the closed door of Harry's room. Hermione sat
inside, where she had been, unmoving, since Harry had been brought to St. Mungo's.*

*It had been hours. He had poked his head in the door once, to try to get her to eat
something, and had been roundly scolded by a mediwitch, who said there could only be one visitor at
a time.*

*“You stay with him for awhile,” Hermione said quickly, getting up from her chair. “I'm
sorry, I've been monopolizing…” she trailed off.*

*Ron watched the pain flicker through her eyes, as she looked at the pale, prone figure on the
bed. He could understand how she felt, perhaps even more so than she. He had grown up in the
wizarding world, had heard the name of Harry Potter all his life. Harry was a symbol of hope, and,
even with Voldemort gone, if he died…*

*…it would be the death of faith itself…*

*Ron sighed heavily, and winced as the pain of his broken collarbone shot across his shoulder.
He had already lost Percy; they didn't know if Bill would make it; if Harry died too…his
brother, in more than mere blood, his best friend.*

*He watched Hermione again, watched how she twisted her hands around each other, watched the
crease in her forehead, the anxiety in her warm brown eyes. Her eyes had not left Harry's
still, white face.*

*Bloody hell, Ron thought in some amazement. She's in love with him. The certainty shot
through him as surely as if she'd confessed it aloud. And somewhere, there was a pang, a
pinprick of jealousy, of hurt, of fear…*

*“No,” he said slowly, speaking as if from far away, preoccupied, “No, you stay, Hermione. Let
me know if…if he wakes up.”*

*Hermione nodded absently, and Ron wasn't even sure if she'd registered what he said.
With a backward glance at those pleading eyes fixed on that famous heroic face, he quietly returned
to his post in the corridor.*

“Where the hell have you been?” Ron asked in consternation, when Harry finally showed up for the
last class of the day. “You skived off all your classes! You aren't going to miss Quidditch
practice too?”

“No, no, I'll be at practice,” Harry assured him quickly.

“So, where were you?” Ron repeated.

“With Hermione,” Harry answered. “She was.. er…she was really upset.” He turned away to
rearrange his books, not wanting Ron to see his hot face. He felt as if he had a neon sign flashing
above his head that blared “Harry Potter just had sex with his best friend!”

“Anybody would be,” Ron agreed, his face going thoughtful again. “She still upstairs?”

“Yeah,” Harry replied, “she'll be down for dinner, she said.” He tried to focus his mind, on
*anything* rather than Hermione, but still had trouble taking notes for class.

Quidditch practice was a disaster as well, even though he was Captain. He was distracted, had
trouble controlling his broom, missed several blatant opportunities to catch the Snitch, and
finally had to take himself to the hospital wing, after a Bludger broke two of his fingers.

Harry stalked angrily through the corridors, causing younger students to fly out of his way, and
trying to ignore the pain that was throbbing through his fingers and up his arm. Ron was walking
quickly, in an effort to keep up with him.

“You all right, mate?” Ron asked.

“No, Ron, I'm not. I've two bloody broken fingers, in case you didn't notice,” Harry
snapped. Ron looked taken aback.

“What's crawled up your arse?” he said, with no malice in his tone, just curiosity. Harry
stopped, sighed, then continued on at a slower pace.

“I'm sorry, Ron. I'm just worried about Hermione.” He cast a sidelong glance at Ron, who
was nodding sympathetically. “I feel so…so…*bloody* helpless. And all because of who my
parents were.” Harry was speaking quickly, almost unintelligibly, as his words tripped over
themselves. “I'd marry her in a second, Ron…you know I would, if I - if I wasn't…”

“Yeah,” Ron said slowly. “I know you would…” He was looking oddly at his best mate, his head
cocked just to one side.

“Somebody's got to. Marry her, I mean. Anyone would be preferable to Malfoy,” Harry said,
swinging his arm out for emphasis, and swearing suddenly and violently when his injured hand grazed
the stone wall.

“D'you really think so?” Ron asked hopefully. “Mate, I was hoping you'd say that.”

Harry was a little slow on the uptake, still focusing on the incredible pain in his fingers.

“What? Why?”

“Because I sent an owl to the Ministry yesterday,” Ron said, simply, looking as serious as Harry
had ever seen him.

Harry stared, the pain subsiding down to a dull ache in the face of this new and
incomprehensible information Ron had just imparted to him.

“Sent…an owl?” Harry echoed stupidly, coming to a complete halt in the middle of the
corridor.

“Yeah,” Ron said. “To the Ministry. She should get it tomorrow morning, I s'pose.” He bit
his lip, and looked nervously at Harry. “D'you think she'll be mad?”

“Mad?” Harry said, still feeling like his brain was functioning in a lower gear. “Why would she
be mad? You're a sight better than that ferret.”

“Thanks for that!” Ron said, with mock affront, but turned serious again. “It's just
that…well, we fight sometimes, but I really do like her.” He shrugged, self-conscious. “I know
she's not in - " He broke off suddenly, and became very interested in a tapestry just
opposite.

Half of Harry's mind wondered what Ron had been about to say. However, the other half was
occupied with many other important emotions, teeming around his head, vying for the majority of his
attention. One was jealousy… he was in love with Hermione, he couldn't have Hermione, his best
friend was going to get Hermione. Another was guilt…technically (and rather crassly) he had already
*had* Hermione. In an extremely contradictory manner, he was also grateful. He knew Ron would
never ill-use her. He would not have that same assurance with Malfoy. He was so busy analyzing what
he was feeling, that he didn't realize that they had resumed walking.

“Well, I certainly appreciate it, Ron,” Harry managed to say, with false heartiness. “I know
Hermione will appreciate it too.”

“I hope you're right,” Ron said, with his trademark, self-deprecating half-smile.

Harry mustered a genuine smile then, while his heart shattered into a million tiny shards, which
assaulted him like tiny daggers.

“We'll find out tomorrow, won't we?” He clapped Ron on the back, as they entered the
hospital wing.

**TBC**

**Please review! (bats eyes hopefully)**

-->



7. Chapter Seven
----------------



**Author's Note:** Liked the idea of a Marriage Law, so tried to give it my own take. The
reviews have been lovely…I'm glad there is so much interest in my story.

**AN2:** This chapter is a little on the short side, but there was such a natural place to
end it that I did.

Oh and none of these people are mine….

**What Might Have Been**

**Chapter Seven**

Harry was on tenterhooks for the remainder of the evening, and was colossally unable to hide his
unease from Hermione. She had wanted… well, she had wanted the exact same thing that Harry had
wanted…again…but Harry could not bring himself to go into her room. Not when he knew what Ron was
planning…it seemed like betrayal in the worst possible way.

Of course, he couldn't tell Hermione why - he'd promised Ron, and it *was* a
marriage proposal, after a fashion - and they'd had an enormous row - their first - and ended
up slamming up to their individual rooms in sulky silence.

*Oh God,* Harry thought, *this might have been my last night with her, and I have royally
mucked it up.* *But, no…I couldn't…it'll be hard enough explaining about the other
time…if Ron ever finds out.*

He flopped listlessly down onto his bed, feeling thoroughly miserable. He wanted Hermione…in
more ways than one. Their encounter that day had made him hungry for more. Like an addict, he
wanted to know all of her; he couldn't get enough.

And soon, she would belong to someone else…maybe forever. One didn't hear about divorce
often in the wizarding world. He imagined her, looking ethereal in white…*lots of candles and
flowers, I suppose…something sparkly in her hair. Hermione,* **his** *Hermione, pledging
her eternal devotion to … Ron?*

When Harry inhaled his next breath, it was painful, and he made a kind of hoarse, gasping noise.
*I can't do it. Bloody hell, I can't stay away from her.*

In one desperate, fluid motion, he jerked himself up from the bed, and flew towards the door,
swinging it open so wide that it hit the wall behind it, and nearly collided with Hermione.

*Hermione had turned toward Ron and Harry, as Voldemort vanished with an echoing cry. There
was a gleam of triumph in her eyes that she saw also beaming from Ron's. He had done it.
Voldemort's hold over their lives was over. They were free.*

*A slight movement caught her eye, as Harry swayed back and forth for a moment like a sapling
buffeted by a gust of wind. She had taken only one step toward him, one arm outstretched, when he
collapsed.*

*And her world collapsed with him.*

*She loved him. She had for a long time. She had known it for a long time. It had never been
said that Hermione Granger was a girl who didn't know her own mind. That it was hopeless she
had also known and accepted for a long time. She had been content to be his friend.*

*In the instant between Voldemort's vanquishing and Harry's collapse, she had a
shining moment of clarity in which she saw a beautiful, idyllic vista of a future. Voldemort was
gone; Harry was alive.*

*She suddenly realized how wrong she might be, and dropped to her knees on the dusty,
rubble-strewn floor of the Great Hall, at his side.*

*“Harry?” she said, hoarsely, chokingly. Tears left shiny trails down her dirty face. His scar
had split open, and was bleeding rather copiously. He was so pale.* *She suddenly noticed his
wand hand…a livid weal standing out across his palm, from the force of the magic that* *been
emitted.**.*

*She distantly heard Ron shouting for a healer,* *but didn't look up, cradling
Harry's* *injured hand in her arms, instead.*

*How much had he sacrificed to save the world? How much would she be required to give up if he
didn't make it?*

She was standing just outside his door, one hand upraised, about to knock. She blinked at him,
startled.

“Going somewhere?” she finally asked.

“To see you,” he said simply, unable to take his eyes off of her.

“I didn't think you wanted to see me at all,” her voice was quiet, and hurt flickered in her
eyes. His stomach clenched.

“No,” he said, unevenly, “no, it's not - it's not that - not at all. I just -" He
let out a frustrated growl, looking helplessly around his room, as he ran his hands through his
hair.

“Harry, what is it?” She took his hand in hers, concern on her face. “Why are you so upset? Talk
to me.”

He couldn't look at her. He had been going to see her, and now that she was here, he
couldn't meet her eyes. *Ron, Ron, Ron,* it pounded in his head like a pulse. *Ron
sliding a ring on her finger,* *Ron smiling in candlelight,* *Ron holding a red-headed
baby, while Hermione beamed nearby, Ron…and Hermione…*

“Harry?” Hermione tugged at his sleeve, her concern turning into anxiety.

“He's going to take you away from me,” he finally said, turning to gaze at her. The force of
passion blazing from his green eyes was nearly tangible in the room.

“Do you think I care about the - the sanctity of marriage? With Malfoy?” Her voice was low, and
she managed a shaky, strained laugh. “You know I love *you*.”

He smiled at her, but it didn't light his eyes. “Malfoy wouldn't stand for
unfaithfulness, although he probably would share with his friends,” he said bluntly, but then waved
his hand, as if Malfoy were of no consequence. “But I wasn't talking about him. I was talking
about - " He broke off suddenly.

“Someone else is going to propose?”

Harry nodded once, his eyes far away once again.

“But that's good…isn't it?” Harry looked at her suddenly, as if he'd just remembered
she was there.

“Yes, it's good,” he said shortly, his thoughts clearly elsewhere. His stance was that of
pure tension, as he stood rigidly near one post of his bed, his hand clenched so tightly around the
newel that his knuckles were white.

She took a step toward him, his hand still tightly twined in hers. “Harry,” she said
emphatically. “I'm not married yet.” Her meaning was unmistakable. “I'm not even engaged
yet.” She tilted her chin up, moving her head around so that she met his eyes. Their gaze met and
locked, and Hermione felt her knees become unstable. “We should take advantage of the time we have
left,” she murmured, before she kissed him.

And he kissed her back. And the kiss was full of passion and anger and despair and longing and
hunger. Hermione's legs gave out completely, and she pulled Harry down with her. If the bed
hadn't been right behind them, they would have tumbled to the floor. As it was, she was now
prone, with Harry's comforting weight on top of her, and her lips being ravaged by his. His
hand trailed sparks down the side of her face, through the tips of his fingers, and continued
downwards, tracing her collarbone, the side of her breast, her ribs, and her hip. Hermione felt her
breathing hitch, and there was liquid warmth in the pit of her stomach. She shifted her hips to
more comfortably mesh with his…

Harry shot up as if someone had thrown cold water on him, and staggered unevenly away from
her.

“Hermione, we *can't*!” he protested wildly. He looked frantic, and Hermione wondered
at his extreme reaction.

“Why not?” She cried, feeling somehow foolish and wanton at the same time.

He didn't answer, but walked to the window and leaned against the coolness of the glass. He
was still breathing raggedly. His pulse was rapid, and seemed to be pounding *why not? Why not?
Why not?*

Hermione sat in silence on Harry's bed, with tousled hair, swollen lips, and starry eyes.
She was beautiful. She watched Harry's back, tension and anxiety ever apparent, as he stared
moodily out the window.

“Why won't you look at me?” she asked, as if she were inquiring how Quidditch practice went.
There was silence. “Harry!” she cried angrily.

He wheeled violently toward her, his eyes blazing. “Because if I look at you, we'll end up
doing that again,” he gestured toward the bed, “and we can't! Do you hear me? We
*can't*!”

Hermione looked at him for a moment, regarding him silently.

“It's Ron, isn't it?” she said finally, and his name seemed to reverberate around the
room. “Ron's going to propose to me, isn't he?”

Harry nodded, once, stiffly. For the first time, Hermione was fully aware of the depth of pain
present in Harry's eyes.

“Oh,” she said simply.

There was a long silence.

“Now, d'you see why - ?” Harry asked desperately, wanting her to understand.

Hermione nodded. She did understand. She tried to imagine what he was going through, what it
would be like to give up the person you loved to your best friend, knowing that it was what was
best, saving them from an uncertain future.

“He was my first friend. No questions asked. I can't betray him, Hermione.”

“I know,” she said softly. “I wouldn't ask you to.”

“He won't mistreat you. I even think he still fancies you a bit,” Harry said, his tone
light, but his eyes dark.

Hermione managed a weak, wobbly smile. The silence seemed to stretch out into years, as they
gazed wordlessly at each other. The naked yearning in Harry's eyes brought tears to
Hermione's.

“Oh God,” she finally choked, turning away from him, and struggling mightily not to sob out
loud.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Harry soothed, his voice warm in her ear. His arms went around her, and she
leaned back into his comforting embrace. He kissed her temple, and when she turned to look at him,
her eyes dewy and wet, he kissed her lips.

This was not like their previous kiss. This was slow and tender, a benediction, Hermione thought
distractedly. Harry was saying good-bye.

“I love you,” she murmured, her voice willfully tremulous.

“I know,” he said softly. “I love you too. And so will he.”

**TBC**

**(ducks incoming stones) Okay, okay…don't anybody freak out. I'm just trying to make
it as angsty as possible. I like Angsty Harry. Is a baby loophole too cliché? The trio could then
deal with fall-out. Or do we have Hermione and Ron get married, but then kill Ron off somehow? I
will repeat: I really do like Ron, and this will not be a Ron-bashing fic.**

**Thanks ever so much for the reviews. They are my sustenance!**

-->



8. Chapter Eight
----------------



**Author's Note:** Liked the idea of a Marriage Law, so tried to give it my own take.
This is not your normal Marriage Law fic. H/Hr and (some) R/Hr.

**AN2:** For all the people who have asked some variant of the question, “Why can't Harry
and Hermione just leave?” Here is my answer…or at least some of it anyway. I'd like to think
that they have more moral fiber than to just cut and run. Besides, if they did, the story would
have ended like 3 chapters ago, with “So Harry and Hermione went to America and lived happily ever
after. The end.” And how boring is that?

Oh, and none of these people are mine…

**What Might Have Been**

**Chapter Eight**

Harry and Hermione walked into the Great Hall the next morning side by side, but not touching.
The tension in the pair was radiating outwardly from them, and was very nearly palpable. Their
faces were stone solemn and rigidly set. One would have thought that an execution was going to take
place.

They sat, wordlessly, at their customary end of Gryffindor table, and began spooning food onto
their plates, more out of habit than anything else. Neither of them was hungry. Neither was happy
with the way things had ended the night before, but neither could see another viable option.

Ron arrived a moment later, his face a unique shade of pale green, and began to load up his
plate, although he didn't do much more than play with his food. He muttered some variation of
“Good morning” at them, but didn't really make any sort of eye contact. Harry waited, tense and
pensive. When the first owls began to flap into the room, he actually thought that Ron was going to
bolt from the table.

As expected, a regal Ministry owl dropped a scroll onto Hermione's plate. Harry felt his
stomach twist into a tight, uncomfortable knot, but managed to notice Malfoy paying particular
attention to their end of Gryffindor table.

Hermione broke the seal, wordlessly, and read the scroll, her face pale and set. Harry saw the
muscles in her slender neck clench, as she swallowed with difficulty. Ron was trying to give the
illusion that he was eating, but was really eying Hermione as she read the scroll.

She finally looked up, and reached inside her robes for a quill. Her face had not changed. Harry
watched her sign the scroll, thus indicating her acceptance of the offer, her hand steady, her
handwriting as clear and precise as it always was. He felt like part of him was dying slowly, and
pressed his lips together tightly, clamping down on any potential wayward displays of emotion…or
breakfast, for that matter.

The scroll glowed brightly for a moment, rolled itself back up, and then disappeared with a
noise like a thunderclap. Back to the Ministry, Harry assumed.

Ron looked slightly bewildered that everything had happened so fast, but he recovered quickly,
reaching into his pocket for a small box. He raised his eyes to meet Hermione's for the first
time that morning, and Harry was shocked at the jolt of jealousy that ran through him like electric
current.

“Would you do me the honor, Hermione?” Ron asked in a steady tone, proffering the jewelry
box.

Hermione lowered her eyes to her plate, and took the box, pushing it open with both thumbs. In
it, was a pearl and diamond ring, not large, but ornately and uniquely set. It was quite obviously
an antique.

“It was my grandmother's,” Ron said, by way of explanation. Hermione nodded, and her eyes
seemed to glisten strangely for a moment.

“I accept,” she said simply. “Thank you, Ronald.” She slid the ring onto her finger, and the
setting immediately tilted sideways, as the ring was much too large.

“Here, let me,” Ron said, reaching for her hand. They had by now caught the attention of most of
Gryffindor table, as well as some of the other houses, who were gazing at the tableau, raptly. He
held Hermione's hand gently in one of his, and waved his wand with the other, as he muttered
the incantation that would size the ring correctly.

Hermione looked up then, and her gaze locked with Harry's. He had been as transfixed by the
scene as anyone, wanting to look away, wanting to scream, to leave, but being unable to…because
*she* was there. He watched her eyes glaze over with unshed tears, but she still did not look
away.

She felt the metal wrap around her finger, as she gazed at her erstwhile lover. Her countenance
seemed to shout at him, *I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, Harry. I love you.*

Harry felt his jaw clench and his throat clog. He looked away quickly, blinking several times
and breaking the spell.

“Congratulations,” he offered hoarsely, as Ron looked up at him, clearly quite pleased with
himself, whether from the success of the proposal or the spell he had just cast, Harry could not
tell.

Hermione smiled at him sadly, before she was surrounded by a throng of excited and surprised
Gryffindors. “Ohmigod…you two! I had no idea!” he heard, in the ear-piercing squeal of Parvati
Patil.

In the commotion, nobody took notice of the Slytherin table. Draco Malfoy looked positively
murderous.

*“Where are you going?” The quiet voice sliced through the early morning air, and startled
Harry.*

*He shrugged, even as he turned, to face the witch that* *mattered more to him than
anyon**e else in the world.*

*“What are you doing here?” he said, not answering her question.*

*“I've spent a month with my parents,” she said, almost defensively. “I just missed
everybody. I was antsy…I think I was getting on their nerves,” she half-laughed. “My mum's the
one who suggested I come here. I just got in last night.”*

*There was a long awkward pause.*

*“So,” she proceeded, “how've you been?”*

*“Fine,” Harry answered laconically, offering no elaboration. She shot him a piercing glance
that seemed to discern exactly what he was thinking.*

*“Then why are you sneaking out of the house at dawn?”*

*“Why are you up?” he fired back.*

*“Quit answering my questions with questions!” she snapped, impatiently.*

*“I'm not sneaking anywhere,” he mumbled, a little sulkily. “I talked to Mr. and Mrs.
Weasley about it last night.”*

*“But not Ron or Ginny?” she chided playfully.*

*“I just need to get away…for a bit. I need to…” he trailed off, searching for words.*

*“Clear your head?” she supplied. He looked at her in surprise. She grinned, “That's what
everyone says when they want to go off for no reason.”*

*He managed to smile back at her, and looked down self-deprecatingly.* *“It's all
starting to get to me, you know?”*

*She smiled at him gently. She knew. She said so.*

*“Ever since that day when we got our Orders of Merlin…even when the Weasleys offered you a
place, I've been expecting something like this.”*

*“Then you understand?” he asked hopefully.*

*“Of course I do,” she said fervently. “Just one thing…”*

*“Anything,” he promised.*

*“Promise me you'll come back.” She tried to keep the naked longing out of her voice, but
it crept around the edges anyway. She hoped he wouldn't notice; she had waited for so long…she
could wait a bit longer.*

*Their gazes met and held for a moment. The promise of something…someday…flickered briefly
between them.*

*“I'll come back.” His voice was steady and confident, and his gaze did not waver from
hers.*

*She lifted her chin, her eyes bright, as he reached out one hand to cup her cheek
briefly.*

*“Good**,” she said, with more assurance than she actually felt, dropping her
gaze.*

*He picked up his knapsack and his Firebolt. She heard the click of the latch, and looked up
quickly. He was gone.*

Harry was sprawled out gracelessly on the sofa in the Gryffindor common room. He could have gone
back to his own common room, but lethargy had taken hold. Besides, he didn't really want to run
into Hermione.

It had been a long day, and Ron and Hermione had been the names on everyone's lips. As the
closest friend to the two, Harry had been plied with questions all day long, and forced to answer
them in as cheery a tone as possible. It had been trying work, and he was exhausted.

He felt someone plop down on the sofa next to him.

“You can't stay in here forever, you know?” came the wry voice of the youngest Weasley.
Harry's shoulders slumped; he was not in the mood for this.

“Ginny, go `way,” he half-whined at her.

“You are doing a pretty good job, actually,” she continued, ignoring his outburst completely.
She leaned closer to whisper conspiratorily, “I think most people really believe that you're
okay with this.”

He looked at her warily. “I *am* okay with this,” he said.

“Sure you are,” Ginny said, as if to a small child. Harry glared at her, wishing she would leave
him alone. “Don't worry. I won't tell anyone.”

“There's nothing to tell!” he said, more loudly than he meant to. Several third-years
grouped around an intense game of Exploding Snap glanced their way curiously.

“If there's nothing to tell,” Ginny said, speaking in a low voice, “then why are you in here
instead of in your nice private common room? Hermione's worried about you. She says you
haven't spoken to her all day.” That caught Harry's attention, and he snapped his gaze to
Ginny's face, riveted.

“You've talked to Hermione?”

Ginny rolled her eyes theatrically. “It's not hard. You could too, if you'd just get off
your pathetic arse and - "

Harry threw aside any last pretense that he'd been clinging to. It was clear Ginny believed
none of it anyway. His voice was deadly serious. “How much do you know?”

**TBC**

**A little plot is slowly starting to form.** **There's going to be a conspiracy
surrounding the Marriage Law, Draco's got more in his motives than just being a prat, and there
will be some Ron/Hermione. I still consider the chief `ship of this story to be Harry/Hermione
though****, and they will end up together…I promise!**

**Thanks for the reviews. Please leave some m****ore on your way out!**

-->



9. Chapter Nine
---------------



**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 Nine**

Ginny looked a little taken aback by Harry's intensity, “About what?” she asked.

“About all of it. What has Hermione talked to you about? What are people saying about the
Marriage Law? About Ron and Hermione?”

“Where have you been?” Ginny's voice held a hint of teasing.

Harry was not in the mood for it.

“I've been in here since classes were over,” he said with a scowl. “People were starting to
get on my bloody nerves.”

“Well, they're excited,” Ginny said apologetically. “Most people think it's kind of
romantic. You know, two best friends, secretly in love, forced into an arranged marriage, as he
tries to save her from the evil Slytherin…” She stopped, when she saw the shadow of pain dull his
green eyes, and winced at her own insensitivity.

“Yes, well…they haven't got it all correct, now do they?” he whispered hoarsely. Ginny gazed
at him for a moment, her brown eyes shiny with compassion.

“Why didn't you tell anyone?” She asked simply. “Why didn't you tell Ron?”

“I dunno,” Harry replied, with a shrug. “I guess, for a while, we were just seeing what would
happen…it was like a big, lovely secret. Just us. We wanted to tell Ron…in fact, we were going to
tell him, but that was the morning the scrolls came.” Just two days, Harry thought, and it seemed
like a lifetime ago. Ginny seemed to read the bleakness in his expression, because she patted him
on the back gently. He leaned his head on her shoulder. “When did you talk to Hermione?” he asked,
after a moment of silence.

“After dinner. She asked if I'd seen you. She looked…sad…and tired,” Ginny said
thoughtfully. “Kind of like you, actually.”

“I thought I could do this, Ginny,” Harry said, although seeming to speak half to himself. “I
thought I could watch this happen, because it…Ron… would be best for her. She could keep her life;
she wouldn't be in danger…I don't know if I can do this. I don't know if I could give
her up.” His voice was desperation itself. “Surely something could be done…there's *got*
to be something.”

“He is in love with her, you know,” Ginny said gently, her eyes never leaving his face. Harry
met her gaze, grim-countenanced, and nodded.

“I suspected something like that,” he said quietly.

“They could be happy,” she said, biting her lip, her voice tentative, almost making it sound
like a question.

Harry mulled it over. He could see that. *Hermione and Ron, living somewhere near the Burrow,
with a couple of brilliant little red-headed kids. Ron would be working for the Ministry, and
Hermione would have a job doing potions research, or something like that…and they would have big
family dinners on special occasions…and maybe, sometimes old lonely Uncle Harry would stop
by…*

He gasped, sucking air in loudly, with the pain of it. He looked at Ginny again.

“What about me?” he asked evenly. “It sounds awful to say out loud, but what about me?
Haven't I given enough, done enough? My entire life, everyone I've ever loved has been
taken from me…now that Voldemort's dead, shouldn't it be enough? When do I get my chance?”
His voice cracked in despair, and he was startled to realize that there were tears in his eyes. He
tried to blink them back, embarrassed.

Ginny sat in silence for a long moment, eying him as if there were something she wanted to say
that he might not want to hear.

“I suppose that you and Hermione could just go off together somewhere…America maybe,” she said
slowly.

“But?” he prodded, with grim amusement.

“But…I mean, have you thought about what you could do if you stayed?”

“What I could *do*?” Harry's voice was bitter.

“Harry, you could have a lot of influence here. You're the bloody savior of the wizarding
world,” she flung her hands wide, theatrically.

“Could I get this law rescinded?” he asked, shreds of hope creeping faintly into his voice.

“I doubt it,” Ginny replied, matter-of-factly, “not while the Ministry's in bed with the
Purebloods.” Harry suddenly remembered Ginny's grim pronouncement on the train to
Hogwart's. *The Ministry can still be bought with enough galleons. Even from Azkaban.*
“Dad says most of the Ministry is pretty upset with the law; even Amelia Bones said she doesn't
know how it got passed. But the people that complain…you know, out loud…well, they get transferred
- or canned.” Her expression turned apologetic, “Dad needs his job,” she said. Harry waved away her
apology with his hand.

“Nobody's blaming him, Ginny. So, what do we do then?”

“You could - we could…well, we could try to … you know, obey this law on our own terms. Like Ron
and Hermione. She would have had to marry Malfoy otherwise. You know how the Slytherin Purebloods
are likely to treat any Muggle-born or half-blood wives.”

“Like breeding slaves,” Harry said darkly.

“We could stop that….I mean, we could at least try. You have Grimmauld Place. We could help them
escape, or help them make other marriages. There are other good Purebloods…like Neville, or -
"

“What about you?” Harry asked suddenly.

“Me?” Ginny looked confused.

“You're a Pureblood witch. What happens to you?”

“Oh,” Ginny shrugged. “I have to marry a half-blood or Muggle-born, I suppose, after I'm of
age. I have more options than Hermione does.”

“Why?”

“Because there are more half-bloods and Muggle-borns than there are Purebloods,” Ginny said.
“Although, Hermione's so high-profile, what with helping you kill Voldemort and all, that she
could have had any wizard she wanted, if Malfoy hadn't...”

“Bought them off,” Harry finished gloomily.

“What about you?” Ginny asked, nudging him in the ribs. “You're the Boy Who Lived.
You're going to be able to have any witch you want.” Harry had not thought of that before, and
the prospect filled him with dread.

“No I'm not,” he corrected her. “I'm not going to get the *only* witch I want.”
Sympathy flooded Ginny's face again, and she sat with him in silence for quite some time. “We
ought to get the D.A. involved in this,” he said suddenly.

Ginny looked at him, startled, until she realized that he was talking about her idea. She let
out a cry of delight, and threw her arms around him. He allowed the embrace, patting her on the
back, and felt himself smile for the first time in several hours.

“I should go talk to Dumbledore,” he said. “Do you want to come?”

*Hermione dashed to the front window of the Burrow, and watched Harry walk, his back hunched
slightly under the weight of his knapsack. The wind was blowing briskly, and his hair was flying
straight back like a black banner over his head. She splayed her hand out against the window, her
breath fogging the glass, as she watched him go.*

*And somehow this was harder than any* *time he'd left her before.*

*He reached the gate of the rickety fence that surrounded the Burrow, and she watched, with a
sad half-smile, as he wrestled with the stubborn catch, finally resorting to kicking it open. He
stepped outside the gate, and shut it gently behind him.*

*At that point, Hermione knew, he could Apparate away, and she leaned close to the glass, not
wanting to blink for fear of missing his departure.*

*He stiffened suddenly, as if he had heard something, and turned back toward the house,
brushing his hair impatiently out of his eyes.*

*She saw him see her, standing there in the window, one hand upraised. Her very posture was
one of supplication…please don't go…*

*He raised one hand, not quite waving it, but obviously gesturing farewell. He shouted
something at her, but the wind tossed the words away, and Hermione couldn't make it out. She
pelted toward the front door, and flung it open.*

*“What?” she called, desperately, frantically, foolishly. “Harry!?”*

*He had Disapparated.*

Hermione was sitting on the sofa of the Head common room, staring sightlessly into to the
flickering flames. She was curled up under a blanket, and there was a cup of stone-cold tea sitting
on the table beside her. She wasn't sure how long she'd been sitting there.

Her eyes drifted up to the flower pot on the mantle. *I could just Floo away, right now. Get
to my parent's house, catch a plane…go to Australia or America…*

Even as she concocted these hasty travel plans in her head, she knew she wouldn't go through
with them. She couldn't leave…couldn't leave Ron…couldn't leave *him*. She thought
of Ron's face, as he handed her the family ring this morning, twisting the unfamiliar object
around her finger as she did so. He had been so hopeful and nervous…almost the same way he had
acted when he asked her out earlier that year.

Then she thought of Harry's face. The unbelievable agony on his face had almost been enough
to bring her to her knees. She had watched him, her heart crumbling into pieces, as he brought a
mask carefully over his real emotions, watched as the pain in his eyes became shuttered.

“Congratulations,” he had said, smiling. *Oh, Harry…*

She twirled her engagement ring round and round, pushing it with her thumb. Her eyes were glazed
over, filled with tears that did not fall. Flames glowed orange and gold and yellow-white before
eyes that reflected them, but did not really see.

“Harry…” she murmured brokenly to the empty quiet common room. And it was a sigh and a wail and
a plea…and a thousand other things that she would have to turn away from forever. She wondered if
perhaps it would have been better to have continued to love him, unrequited, unobserved, without
ever knowing that he loved her back. She would have been able to love Ron, marry Ron, and her love
of Harry might have faded as a delicious, but unattainable dream.

*But, no…*Her face crumpled in anguish, and she pressed a blanket-wrapped fist to her
mouth, not wanting to give rise to the sobs that clogged and tightened in her chest. She had known
the reality of Harry's love…still knew it, in fact. She had seen the light in his smile, the
glow flaring from his emerald eyes; she had felt his arms around her and his lips on hers; she had
heard the low, impassioned words for her ears only. She wound the blanket more tightly around
herself. That was hers, at least, hers alone, and she would not relinquish it. No one could make
her do that.

The portrait hole opened, with a slight squeak, and Hermione straightened slightly, blinking
back the dampness in her eyes and composing her features. Harry, Ginny, and Ron were the only
students besides herself with the password.

“Ron,” she said, managing a smile that she hoped looked natural.

The lanky redhead smiled when he saw her, and moved across the room to sit beside her on the
sofa. His eyes searched hers briefly, and then flitted to her left hand.

“Do - d'you like it?” he asked, almost shyly, and Hermione wondered if they'd ever have
a natural conversation again.

She extended her fingers to look at the ring. “Yes, I do, Ron. It's lovely.”

“I expect Charlie and Fred and George will be getting married before too long, but,” and here
his grin was impish, “I asked first.” She smiled again, but quickly grew serious.

“I - I wanted to say thank you,” she said softly.

Ron looked at her in a bemused way. “For what?” he asked, his voice light. Her brown eyes were
solemn and dark, with pools of light in them, reflecting the glowing fire.

“You know what. If you hadn't….if I…Malfoy…” she stammered incoherently.

“Don't thank me, Hermione,” he said, with a half-grin, “it kind of ruins it.” He looked
down, self-consciously. “Besides, I - I - I wanted to.” They glanced at each other for a moment,
before Hermione's gaze returned to the firelight.

“Been quite a day, hasn't it?” Ron said congenially, after a moment.

“Yes,” Hermione admitted, “it has been that.”

“You'd think nobody had ever gotten married before.”

“They're going to be affected by this law too,” Hermione predicted darkly. “You'd think
they'd be more worried about their own futures.”

“They think it's romantic,” Ron countered, with a shrug.

“They haven't had to -" Hermione realized what she was saying, and blundered to a
ungainly halt. Ron looked at her sharply, but said nothing, reaching over instead to take her hand
in his. He tilted her chin toward him with one finger, forcing her to look at him.

“I'm sorry, Hermione.” He saw her swallow hard, and she looked at him almost fearfully.

“Whatever for?” she asked, her voice rising a little. Her heart was pounding double-time.

“That this is happening this way.” He lowered his hand from her chin, but his eyes did not leave
hers. “That you're not getting the proposal of your dreams, the wedding of your dreams, and the
m - the man of your dreams,” he muttered the last part, hastily and in a low voice, finally
dropping his gaze.

Hermione started. He looked at her again, and her dark eyes were questioning. *How long have
you known?*

“It's pretty obvious, isn't it?” Ron spoke in an odd mixture of anger and sadness.

“But you would do this,” she flung out her left hand, gesturing toward her engagement ring,
“anyway? Why?”

“Do you really have to ask that?” Ron said, incredulously, his voice soft. Hermione darted a
glance at him, and flushed a deep red.

“It's not very fair to you,” she mumbled twirling a lock of hair around her finger.

“It saves you. It saves H - him. You should have seen him; he's been a wreck from worrying
over you. He knows I - I'll - "

“Yes,” Hermione said in nearly a whisper. “He knows.” She cleared her throat, and continued.
“What do you get out of it?” she asked, almost rhetorically, afraid to hear his answer.

“I get to know that I helped my two best friends out of a jam,” he said, shrugging, trying to
lighten up the moment, but his blue eyes remained dark and serious. “And - and - I - "

Hermione knew then what he was going to say, and put two fingers over his lips. “Don't say
it,” she pleaded, her face anguished. “Please…not…not right now.”

Ron looked crestfallen, but his eyes were looking over her face with concern.

“Whatever you want, Hermione, but just know that I do.” She nodded, and tears began to fall in
earnest.

“I know,” she said.

And then he held her while she cried over the injustice of it all.

**TBC**

-->



10. Chapter Ten
---------------



**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 Ten**

“Ah, Harry…” Dumbledore said, as if Harry had just dropped round for tea. “So good to see you.
Won't you sit down? And Miss Weasley as well, of course.” He gestured toward the squashy chintz
armchairs that he seemed to inexplicably favor. The two students exchanged glances, and each took a
seat. “Now,” the headmaster continued, “what can I do for you?”

“We - we wanted to - we wanted to ask you about the Marriage Law,” Harry began, unsure of where
he needed to start. Dumbledore looked at Harry astutely.

“Does this have anything to do with a certain engagement that I've heard about?” he asked.
Harry's cheeks burned.

“Yes, actually,” he said shortly.

“There is not a lot I can do, I'm afraid,” Dumbledore admitted. “I was hoping, against all
hope, as it seems, that this law would not be passed, but there are nevertheless some very powerful
Purebloods in the Ministry.”

“Haven't they learned anything at all? From the war with Voldemort?” Harry burst out,
angrily.

“Harry, I'm afraid there are some, who are saying that the reason Voldemort was such a
problem was because he was half-blood.”

“They're not!” Ginny exclaimed, half under her breath.

“I'd hoped for Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger to become a couple,” Dumbledore continued. Harry
remembered the piercing look Dumbledore had given him in the corridor outside the Great Hall on the
morning that the scrolls first arrived. “It will keep her safe for now.”

“But what about - ?” Harry burst out, and clamped his mouth tightly shut, before it could betray
him. Dumbledore looked at him with sympathy.

“Harry, I'm afraid whatever relationship you and Miss Granger had will have to come to an
end, at least with things the way they are now.” Harry felt something swell inside his chest, and
his breathing grew more rapid. Something about hearing Dumbledore actually say it hurt more than
anything else so far.

“No,” Harry said, shaking his head, “no, I don't accept that! I refuse to believe that there
is nothing that can be done!”

“I didn't think that I would live to see a day where a Marriage Law was once again enacted.
After all that we've been through in the name of Purebloodedness….” Dumbledore seemed to be
thinking of something long ago. “If it were anyone else but you and Miss Granger, I would marry you
myself.”

“Why not me?” Harry asked, despair trembling in his voice.

“You're the Boy Who Lived… and Hermione Granger is the Girl Who Helped You. You two are
extremely high-profile, and would find it rather difficult to just disappear. There is the added
fact that young Mr. Malfoy seems to have taken an interest in Miss Granger. You don't think
that his pride would be hurt enough to have his father's associates track her down?”

This gave Harry pause.

“Not to mention the enmity he feels toward you. And you would be breaking the law. There are
some who would garner complete pleasure out of making an example of you. Mr. Weasley's marriage
would be legal, and he has my implicit trust that he would keep Miss Granger safe.”

Harry's shoulders slumped in defeat. His eyes, when he looked back up at the headmaster,
seemed devoid of emotion.

“What about the D.A., sir?” he asked. “Is there anything we could do to help?” Dumbledore looked
pleased.

“The word should be spread for the students to follow Mr. Weasley's and Miss Granger's
example,” he said, “Before too many of our young ladies are married off to rich Death Eaters old
enough to be their fathers.” Harry's eyes widened at the undercurrent of anger in
Dumbledore's tone. “It is also possible that the Order could get involved in …extreme cases.”
He looked at the two young people in front of him. “I assume I can trust you two to head this
up.”

“Absolutely, sir,” Ginny said, excitedly. Harry nodded, something inside him grimly pleased to
have something to keep his mind occupied…and off of Hermione.

*Ron was mildly surprised when he woke up the morning after Hermione's arrival to find
Harry gone. Although, he supposed he really should have been expecting it. He had felt something of
the desire to flee himself, and could only imagine how much more magnified it would be in
Harry.*

*“Hey,” he said to Hermione, as he clumped over to the breakfast table, where she was eating a
bowl of oatmeal.*

*“Hey,” she replied, idly. Her cheek was propped up on one hand, as she read a book while she
ate. He watched her covertly, as he stirred honey into his own bowl of oatmeal. A cloud of steam
wafted between them. He didn't even realize that he had continued to stare, until she looked up
at him, impatiently, closing her book with a snap.*

*“What?” she asked. He gazed at her idiotically, for a moment not even comprehending what she
was talking about.*

*“Er…so Harry's off, then?” he said, grasping for the first subject that entered his head.
She always made him feel so awkward and stupid. Why was he so nervous around her?*

*Hermione slumped a bit, and she played with her oatmeal listlessly. “Yeah…” she said slowly,
as if the information had been dragged out of her unwillingly.*

*“He's been under a lot of stress, lately,” Ron added, helpfully.* *Hermione appeared
not to have heard him at all.*

*“I hope he's going to be all right,” she said wistfully. Ron was forcibly reminded of the
vigil she had kept at Harry's bedside in St. Mungo's. She was in love with him.*

*And I'm in love with her, Ron realized suddenly. Bloody hell.*

It was very late when Harry entered the portrait hole leading to the Head common room. He had
walked Ginny back to Gryffindor Tower, and they had spent a few moments whispering plans by the
firelight. Harry was exhausted, in his body, in his mind, in his soul. He wondered if all days
without Hermione would feel this tiring.

He pulled his foot over the rim of the portrait, and stopped, standing as still as if he'd
been petrified. The fire had burned down very low, and Ron and Hermione were snuggled together,
asleep, on the sofa.

Jealousy surged inside of him like the thrum of a combustion engine, but Pain was nipping at its
heels. *Didn't take you long, did it Hermione?* He thought bitterly, even as he noticed
the dried traces of tears on her cheeks.

Instantly his anger dissolved, and all he was left with was the pain of powerlessness, the heavy
burden of having no control over his life.

He turned to go upstairs to his dormitory, but he must have made some involuntary, scarcely
audible noise, for Hermione stirred. He froze.

“Harry?” she said, as her eyelids fluttered open.

Harry shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans, and eyed her uncomfortably. There was
a long awkward silence, broken only by the even rhythm of Ron's breathing. Hermione extricated
herself out from under Ron's arm, and stood in front of Harry, nervously smoothing out her hair
and her clothing.

“That…” Hermione indicated the sofa by waving one arm, “was….I was upset, and he held me.” She
said simply, but with a tinge of guilt in her voice that quite annoyed Harry.

“Don't do that,” he said, bleakly. She blinked at him, bewildered. “Don't say that to me
like you're…confessing or something. You didn't do anything wrong. You're engaged to
him. And I have *no right* to care.”

“You have every right to care,” Hermione's voice was tremulous. “I *gave* you the right
to care. I love you! And I always will.” Harry held up one hand, as if he did not want to hear
it.

“You shouldn't even be saying *that* to me,” Harry said, anger cracking his voice.
“Don't you care how he feels?”

“Well, you certainly seem to! Have you given any thought as to how this makes *me* feel?”
Hermione answered hotly, her voice growing a little louder. “Harry Potter is so damned noble,
sacrificing his happiness for the good of all, while Hermione Granger blithely goes off and marries
the first bloke she finds, and they live happily ever after!” Her tone had grown bitter and ugly.
Harry was taken aback at the sudden geyser-like force of her ire.

“I - " Harry stammered, trying to come up with some kind of verbal defense.

“Isn't that what you've been thinking?” Hermione insisted. “*Isn't* it?” Her
eyes were wild and red-rimmed.

“No, that's not what I've been thinking,” Harry countered, but without much conviction
in his voice. Hermione continued on, as if he had not spoken at all.

“Well, it's not true. You think it's so awful, that you'll be all alone or
something, but what about having to be with someone you're not in love with? Being forced to
marry them and make babies with them, all because some Pureblood is bleeding afraid of siring a
Squib?” Her anger faded, and her voice was broken and sad, “Having to watch your dreams turn to
ashes and fall through your fingers? You think that's easy?”

“I know it's not easy, *because I've been* *feeling the same way**!*”
Harry said, in a tone so intense that it seemed to resound around the room, even though it was not
loud. “I've been wracking my brain all day, trying to figure out if there might not be some way
out of it, but no! I'm the damned Boy Who Lived, and people out there are just waiting for me
to screw up, so they can throw the book at me!”

Hermione lanced him with a sharp look. “You've been talking to Dumbledore.” It was not a
question.

“You have too?” Harry asked incredulously.

“Four times,” Hermione said, looking at her feet self-consciously. “We've tried to think of
any possibility, any loophole. Unfortunately - "

“—there's not one,” Harry finished for her. Hermione sighed.

“Evidently, Ron's was the first marriage proposal to be accepted and sent back to the
Ministry. They want to make a big deal out of this wedding, show how well the Marriage Law is
working…Minister Fudge wants to be at the wedding.”

Harry muttered something about what Fudge could do with his desire to be at the wedding blackly
under his breath. Although the Ministry's motives did make sense. *Ron…Hermione…two people
who were closest to the Boy Who Lived…happy, beautiful, young…*It was great PR, Harry had to
admit.

“When will it be?” he asked, in the tone of one asking how long they had before succumbing to a
terminal illness.

Hermione's eyes flickered up to meet his briefly.

“Well, you have 21 days to consider and send in the accepted proposal, and then - "

“Twenty-one days!” Harry exclaimed. “Hermione, you sent it back immediately. You could have
stalled for time!”

“I know!” Hermione admitted, apologetically, biting her lip. “I wasn't thinking. I wanted
Malfoy to know there was no way in - "

“It's not your fault,” Harry interjected. “How long until the wedding?”

“The Law says within 6 months…with a child on the way within the first year of the marriage. If
a child is not produced, or if the child is a Squib, the marriage shall be dissolved, and new
partners assigned. The marriage may be dissolved under mutual consent from both involved parties
after two children are born.” Hermione said dully, obviously reciting the law from memory.

Somehow in the back of his mind, Harry had managed to ignore the fact that Hermione would have
to have a baby, more than one actually, very quickly. Despair nudged him again, with the tip of his
fiery knife.

Hermione must have seen something of that flash in his eyes, because she looked at him
seriously, her eyes luminous and concerned. He watched her forehead crinkle and her bottom lip go
between her teeth.

“Harry, I - " she began, but he stepped very close to her, and bracketed her face with his
hands.

“I love you so much,” he said, very rapidly, as if talking to himself. “I don't know why I
never realized it before. You've always been there, and I should have seen it. I wish we had
more time.”

“I know, Harry, I know,” she spoke with a shushing noise, like one would use comforting a small
child. Her hands fluttered aimlessly, across his shoulders, in his hair.

Her touch was inflammatory. Before he knew it, his arms were around her, pulling her close
against the length of his body. He was practically breathing into her mouth, and she was looking at
him, wide-eyed and silent, but she did not move away.

“Hermione,” he groaned, the word ripped from his soul, as a plea, as a protest, as a pledge. He
saw the pulse beating rapidly in her neck, saw her eyes grow shiny and dark, as her pupils dilated,
saw her lips part in a kind of breathless expectation.

He kissed her then, roughly, as one giving in to a baser desire. She made a noise, a kind of sob
into his mouth, and melted against him, her arms twined around his neck. And he knew, he
*knew* then, that if he carried her upstairs, she would not stop him.

Even as he felt her body against his, and held her tightly in his arms, he felt rational thought
seep back into his brain. There was a small chuffing noise and a shower of sparks as the last log
cracked in two and settled firmly into the bed of embers. Ron shifted on the sofa.

He stepped away from her, and Hermione's straight posture seemed to sag a little. They both
sighed heavily, in unison.

**“**Hermione, I - " Harry ran one hand back through his hair, appearing at a loss for
words.

She managed an unsteady, tight-lipped smile at him. His eyes flickered up the stairs for an
instant, and came back down to meet hers. “You know I want - "

Her eyes crinkled at the corners. “Me too,” she said, a little shyly.

“You know why we…can't,” the last word stuck in his throat.

“We've had this conversation already, Harry,” she reminded him lightly. He could not smile
back.

“Right,” he whispered hoarsely, his gaze drifting to her mouth. He suddenly looked much older
than his seventeen years. “I'm just going to go on up…” he trailed off, and turned toward the
stairs, climbing them slowly, as if it took much concentrated effort. Hermione watched him until he
rounded the curve and vanished from sight. He did not look back.

Hermione's shoulders slumped, and she started for her own set of stairs, when Ron's
sleeping form caught her eye. She padded quietly to his side, and watched him for a moment. He
shifted a little and screwed up his face.

“'Mione,” he mumbled, never opening his eyes. Guilt stabbed at Hermione with a rapier blade.
She didn't deserve him. He didn't deserve this. She pulled a blanket from where it was
folded over the arm of one chair, and softly covered him over with it.

“Good night, Ronald.”

**TBC**

-->



11. Chapter Eleven
------------------



**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 s**tood 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 the**ir 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 mothe**r'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. W**ithout
sparing one glance for the Malfoys,* *he* *hel**ped 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…**

-->



12. Chapter Twelve
------------------



**Author's Note:** Liked the idea of a Marriage Law, so tried to give it my own take.

**AN2:** To everybody that left a review of chapter 11…thank you so much. I was so angry and
my feelings were very hurt with that terrible flaming review, and you all made me feel so much
better. It is so gratifying to know that so many people have gotten emotionally invested in your
story. Anyway, you are all too nice for me to ditch this story before the end. So here is chapter
12, with my thankfulness!!

**What Might Have Been**

**Chapter Twelve**

Madame Pomfrey clucked her tongue, as she ran her wand over Ron's injuries. Harry and
Hermione stood to one side, watching anxiously. Harry was quite obviously holding Hermione up. They
had levitated Ron to the hospital wing, but he had not yet regained consciousness.

“Somebody - probably more than one - has beaten him rather badly,” Madame Pomfrey said. “He has
some severe bruising, and that laceration will have to be sealed. His left arm and three ribs are
broken. There doesn't appear to be any organ damage…if that's true, he'll probably be
all right.” Harry and Hermione sagged toward each other in visible relief.

“Do you know who did this?” came the familiar voice of the Headmaster, who had just entered the
ward behind them.

“All Ron managed to say was the word `warn', before he passed out,” Hermione replied.
Harry's eyes narrowed.

“It was Malfoy…or some of his goons,” he said, with certainty in his voice, thinking of
Malfoy's warning in the Ministry the day his father was sentenced. *This is not over.*

“Harry, are you sure?” Hermione asked. Harry thought of Lucius Malfoy leering at Hermione from
the chained chair in the courtroom. Had he known even then? *The Ministry can still be bought
with enough galleons. Even from Azkaban.* His jaw set.

“I'm positive,” he declared.

Dumbledore did not appear surprised, but perhaps a little saddened that it had come to this. “I
have something, Harry, that perhaps you would like to see,” he said softly. “If you would come to
my office with me.”

Harry threw a questioning glance at Ron's bedside. Hermione was standing nearby, with one
hand resting lightly on top of Ron's. Madame Pomfrey assured them that she would notify them if
anything changed.

“Are you going to be okay here by yourself?” Harry asked Hermione. She looked up at him then,
and the incredible surge between them would have been obvious to a blind man. Dumbledore and Madame
Pomfrey exchanged sympathetic glances. “Sir,” he turned to the headmaster, “if Ron was attacked
because of He - because of the engagement, then Hermione shouldn't be alone.”

“I'll stay right here, Mr. Potter,” the mediwitch assured him, as she carefully applied
salve to the worst of Ron's bruises.

With one lingering backward glance at his two best friends, Harry left the ward with
Dumbledore.

*He was in Greece* *when an unfamiliar owl* *arrived carrying his Hogwart's
letter. He was a little surprised that he got it, but remembered the addresses on his first letter
“The Cupboard Under the Stairs”…of course they knew where he was.*

*It was bulkier than those letters of years gone by, but he was still pleasantly surprised
when the shiny gold emblem that was the Head Boy badge dropped into his hand. He supposed that
he'd thought the honor would go to Ron, who had been prefect after all.*

*Head Boy…he was Head Boy. He knew Hermione would be Head Girl…there had never been any doubt
in his mind that she would attain the position easily.*

*He felt a pleasant warmth seep through him at the thought of Hermione, and was vaguely
surprised at himself. What was Hermione to him? His best friend obviously, but nothing
more.*

*He told himself that emphatically a couple of times. She's my best friend. My best
friend.*

*He thought of her fiery eyes and determined visage as she shouted, in unison with Ron, “Lux
Prevalet!” She had never wavered; she had been there, at his side where she had always been, just
when he needed her most.*

*Lux Prevalet. The light conquers. The light prevails. The power from the combination of the
three wands had blasted Voldemort out of existence.*

*He could not have done it without them. Without her.*

*The light prevails.*

*She was his light.*

*Why had he not seen it before? Suddenly, he felt eager to return to school.*

Harry rolled up the parchment after reading it carefully, and looked back up at Dumbledore, who
had been sitting patiently and in silence at his desk.

“It's true?” Harry asked, unable to believe what he had just seen.

“We have no proof, only suspicions.” Dumbledore said. “But I think our faith has been misplaced
long enough.”

Harry paused, unsure of what exactly the headmaster meant.

“What are you going to do, sir?” Dumbledore's eyes twinkled briefly.

“The correct question is, what are you going to do, Harry?”

“Me?” Harry asked blankly.

“It is obvious that Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger are in more danger than I had previously
thought. The law gives them six months, but I think that perhaps it should be sooner.”

“Sooner?” Harry's voice was a protest. He held the piece of parchment up, “But what about
this?”

“Yes,” Dumbledore said, as if he'd just remembered about the contents of that particular
scroll. “yes, something will need to be done about that.” Harry waited, but apparently that was all
Dumbledore had to say on the subject. Harry felt himself growing annoyed.

“This is ridiculous!” he shouted suddenly. “We're just - we're leaving - Hermione and I
- I'm just going to take her, and we'll go away. We'll take on new identities, and
change the way we look, and we'll just go!”

“Then the people who passed the Marriage Law have already won,” the headmaster observed softly.
“You are consigning every young witch and wizard being manipulated by this law to their fate.”
Guilt prodded at Harry, and this irritated him further.

“What do you expect me to do?” Harry growled in frustration. “Why am I so bloody important? Why
don't you do whatever it is that needs to be done?”

“The Wizengamot may have reinstated me, but I have far less credibility with those who are in
power than I used to have. Harry, whether or not you like it, or even want to admit it, you
*are* Harry Potter…the Boy Who Lived. And may I say, one of the most powerful young wizards I
have come across in quite some time,” Dumbledore paused, and Harry wondered absently if he was
thinking of Tom Riddle. “With power, there is also responsibility and obligation.” Harry gazed at
him blankly. “People would listen to you, I think, if you chose to speak.”

Harry opened his mouth to say something else, but Dumbledore continued as if he had not
noticed.

“On your way back to the hospital wing, I suggest you pick up Miss Weasley, and let her know
about what has happened to her brother.” Harry stood up, understanding that he was obviously being
dismissed. He was halfway to the spiral stairs, when the headmaster added, “You might want to speak
to Miss Lovegood as well.”

“Luna?” Harry turned around, mystified.

“I believe the deadline you have to answer any marriage proposals is approaching. As is hers.
She is Pureblood, I believe?” Harry sighed heavily, feeling weary beyond his years.

“But, Professor - " he protested. Dumbledore looked him straight in the eyes.

“All you are doing,” he said succinctly, “is buying time for Miss Lovegood,” then added, “and
for yourself as well. If this can be stopped,” he gestured toward the crumpled piece of parchment
in Harry's hand, “perhaps all hope is not lost for you and Miss Granger.”

Harry's eyes suddenly came alight.

There were still a few students in the Gryffindor common room when he arrived, and he had one of
the older girls run upstairs and get Ginny. She came down, bleary-eyed and yawning, in a baggy
t-shirt and flannel pants.

Her eyes became instantly alert when he told her about Ron.

“Is he okay?” Harry nodded.

“He's been beaten up pretty badly, but Madame Pomfrey thinks he'll be fine.”

“Was it Malfoy?”

“I'm pretty sure it was,” Harry said grimly, and then grabbed her arm, pulling her very
close to him. “Listen,” he said. “Dumbledore just showed me something…can you keep a secret?”

Ginny nodded, her eyes wide as she looked up into his serious face. He spoke to her in a low
whisper, showing her the parchment.

“If it's true, and we can prove it, we might be able to stop all of this. Let's go check
on Ron.”

“Do you really think it can be done?” Ginny whispered, as they climbed through the portrait
hole, headed for the infirmary.

“We're going to need to send out a few owls. And someone is going to have to keep an eye on
Malfoy.”

“Where are we going to send the owls?” Ginny was mystified.

“Well, to Amelia Bones and Gringotts…and maybe a couple of other places. I'm not sure,”
Harry admitted. “Dumbledore has given me some hints, but he's basically thrown this at me,
without much other information.” He rolled his eyes. “I wish the old man didn't feel the need
to talk in riddles all the time.”

Ginny smiled a bit then, though her eyes still betrayed her worry for her brother. “It's a
wizard's prerogative. Didn't you know that, Harry?”

“It's damned annoying is what it is,” Harry grumbled, but he only half-meant it.

When they arrived in the hospital wing, Hermione was still sitting at Ron's bedside, her
brow knit with anxiety. The low light in the ward glinted off of the stones in her ring. Harry felt
despair take up its customary place on his shoulder. Ginny rushed up to Ron's side, and began
plying Madame Pomfrey with questions. Harry watched, feeling helpless, feeling responsible, feeling
guilty, and yet still part of him wanted to chuck it all and leave.

At that moment, Ron blinked and began to stir. Hermione let out an excited cry, and Madame
Pomfrey turned from where she was talking with Ginny. The mediwitch started running some
diagnostics over him with her wand.

“Ron?” Hermione said questioningly.

“Feel like…someone opened … crate of Bludgers…” Ron said raspily.

“Ron, who did this?” Harry interjected, his face looking deadly serious.

“Know…Goyle…didn't seem `em all,” Ron spoke with effort.

“How many were there?”

“I think … five..” Ron coughed, then grimaced, “..hurts to breathe.”

“You've some broken ribs, young man,” Madame Pomfrey said severely, managing to make it
sound like Ron's own fault.

“What did they tell you?” Harry said, still sounding businesslike. “You said `warn' before
you passed out. Who are you supposed to warn?”

“Mal…foy - Goyle said…you…'n'Mione - his father… and the law…he wants her to - I
…supposed…take it back, so he can - " He coughed again, and then vomited weakly off the side
of his bed. The other three students backed hastily away from the bedside, as Madame Pomfrey
scourgified the mess, and began spooning a viscous magenta liquid into his mouth.

“That's enough,” she said authoritatively. “You three need to leave, and let my patient get
some rest.”

“Please, Madame Pomfrey,” Hermione said, in an uncharacteristically hesitant tone. “May I stay
with him?”

Harry saw Madame Pomfrey's eyes drift down to Hermione's left hand, and the mediwitch
nodded. “Of course, dear.” Harry and Ginny had begun to drift towards the door, but had stopped
when Hermione spoke. Madame Pomfrey shooed them the rest of the way out.

When they had gotten a few paces outside of the hospital wing, Harry startled Ginny by slamming
one hand into the wall, and swearing violently.

“Harry, what's wrong?” she asked, her eyes wide.

He leaned against one wall, his head in his hands. Ginny noticed blood trickling from his
knuckles, where the rough stone had abraded the back of his hand.

“She's staying with him,” he said, almost as if he did not believe it. Ginny opened her
mouth to speak, but he plowed on. “And, why shouldn't she? They're getting married. But I
really hate it…and what kind of person does that make me?”

“It makes you human, I think,” Ginny observed, sliding closer to him, until she leaned against
the wall next to him. “But don't forget, she's his friend. She would have stayed if it had
been you too.”

“Dumbledore wants them married soon,” Harry said. “After what's happened to Ron…” he trailed
off for a moment. “He said this marriage would keep her safe!” Anger vibrated in his voice again.
“You didn't see - " he thought of Lucius Malfoy, leering at Hermione. He thought of
Draco's whispered threat, *This is* **not** *over!* “I'm not sure there's
any way to keep her safe now.”

“Yes, there is,” Ginny said, confidence creeping into her voice. “We can stop this.” Harry
looked at her gratefully when she used the word “we”. She glanced up at him uncertainly, eying him
for a moment. “Have you - have you thought about talking to Ron?”

“About what?”

“About,” she swallowed, “Hermione.” Harry eyed her dourly.

“Why would I do that?”

“Because maybe he… if he knew, he - " She colored prettily, and could not finish. Harry
arched one eyebrow at her.

“He could keep it a marriage in name only?” he said dryly. Ginny wouldn't look at him.

“If this works, they could have the marriage annulled…and everything would be fine,” she
said.

“You forget that he's in love with her.”

“So are you!” Ginny protested. Harry's eyes drifted down the hall in the direction of the
hospital wing, where Hermione waited, sitting with her fiancé. He felt bile rise in the back of his
throat.

“Yeah…” he said vaguely.

*Hermione slit open her Hogwart's letter, using a carefully placed “Diffindo” charm. A
heavy golden object fell out into her palm. She stared at it, disbelievingly, for a moment. She was
Head Girl.*

*If she allowed herself to think logically, she had known she was the most likely candidate.
But there was still a little fear that she would not be chosen, born out of her innate fear of
failure, fear of rejection.*

*It was part of the reason why she had never mentioned her feelings for Harry to
anyone.*

*She could see him now, flushed and uncomfortable, looking away from her, completely
embarrassed. “Hermione,” he would stammer, not meeting her eyes. “You're my best friend*
*and you're very important to me. But I - I -" Don't love you. He would not be able
to say those words out loud.* *He would look guiltily at her, as if he felt bad for not being
in love with her.*

*And she would laugh, and say not to worry about it, and that she was just being silly. And
she would try not to cry until she got back to her dorm.*

*And then everything would be stilted and awkward between them. They would stop studying
together. Harry would find reasons to avoid her, and she him. Ron would drift back and forth
between them in confusion, but he would eventually choose Harry.*

*And she would be alone. Again. Just like first year. Hermione the bookworm, the bossy
know-it-all, with no friends.*

*She rubbed her thumb over the shiny patina of the Head Girl badge, and smiled.*

*No, she would never tell him.*

Hermione quietly entered the Head common room, as the first rays of light were projecting over
the horizon. The western sky was still a dusky purple-blue. She walked quickly to the stairs,
hoping that she could get a couple hours sleep in her bed, before her first class. Ron was doing
much better, but her step was heavy, her face drawn. Dumbledore had come to see them, just before
dawn, and what he had to say had been most unwelcome.

Her foot halted in mid-air, as she was about to step onto the first tread of the stair. Harry
was laying sprawled out on the couch, still fully dressed, evidently in a light uneasy sleep. She
paused, started across the common room toward him, stopped, started back toward the stairs, stopped
again. She looked back.

“Hermione, what are you doing?” Harry said, making her jump. He had not opened his eyes. She
narrowed her eyes at him, but crossed the common room again, and sat in one of the chairs. He sat
up, running both hands through his hair, and then pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I hate it when I fall asleep in my glasses,” he said, annoyed.

“What's the matter?” he asked, when he looked up at her. She was sitting on the edge of the
chair, looking at him pensively. His eyes darkened in worry. “How's Ron?”

“Oh, he's fine,” she said, managing to smile. “He's a lot better. Madame Pomfrey said he
might be able to leave tomorrow.”

“That's great,” Harry said, sincerely. They sat in silence for a moment. Hermione was
watching him again. A beam of sunlight splashed through the window and landed in a puddle on the
floor.

“Dumbledore came to see us a little while ago,” Hermione finally said.

“And?”

“He wants us to get married this weekend.” Harry shot to his feet, and then stared down at her
stupidly, unsure of what he was hoping to accomplish.

“What? Why?” he stammered. Hermione was looking studiously at her feet.

“He thinks it will be safer. He thinks Malfoy will give up once the marriage has gone through.
He thinks the pressure may be off of some of the other girls, once this `example' marriage has
happened successfully.”

Harry sank back down to a sitting position on the sofa. “I am getting good and bloody well tired
of what he thinks,” he said sourly. “Ron's supposed to be keeping you safe, but he gets beaten
within an inch of his life… where does that leave you?”

“Professor Dumbledore's doing the best that he - " Hermione began, but Harry cut her
off.

“And it's not good enough, is it? It's not helping us.” He leaned back on the sofa, and
felt something crinkle in his pocket. The parchment. He jumped back to his feet, and Hermione
looked at him in bewilderment. “There may be a way…” he trailed off, not wanting to say more, in
case it didn't work.

“Harry…?” she said.

“I've got to talk to Ginny!” he shouted, and was gone, the portrait hole closing with a snap
behind him. Hermione's face was a mask of hurt and confusion.

“Ginny?” she said aloud to the empty common room.

**TBC**

**Next chapter:** Ginny and Harry work on his plan. And a confrontation between the Trio.

-->



13. Chapter Thirteen
--------------------



**Author's Note:** Liked the idea of a Marriage Law, so tried to give it my own take.

**AN2:** I really was fond of this chapter, especially the last scene. I hope all of you like
it as well!

**What Might Have Been**

**Chapter Thirteen**

Harry and Ginny were hunched together at a table that was tucked back in a little-used corner of
the library. Harry finished writing with a flourish, and blotted the parchment.

“Do you think that's enough information?” he asked. Ginny scrutinized the letter, her brow
wrinkling in concentration.

“But you don't even know that for sure, do you?”

“Well….no, but they don't know that,” Harry said, a little sheepishly. He rolled the
finished letter, and sealed it. “Did you finish the one to your dad?” Ginny nodded, and gestured
with a sealed scroll. “What do you think he'll say?”

“I'm his baby girl,” Ginny said loftily. “I think he'll do whatever I want!” Harry
snorted, and started laughing. Ginny watched him laugh, with a satisfied expression. The laugh was
a good thing, she figured. It signaled a return of hope.

She looked at him, as he began to pack up the writing materials. “What about Gringotts?” she
asked.

“I think that one requires a…personal visit,” he said, looking more determined than she'd
ever seen him. She wondered at the change in him, and decided that perhaps the tension over
Hermione combined with the attack on Ron had been the straw that broke the hippogriff's
back.

“Personal?” she said in astonishment. “How are you going to get to Diagon Alley? It's the
middle of the school year.”

“I've been the Boy Who Lived for seventeen years,” he said, and there was steel in his
voice, “and I've never asked for a single, bloody favor.” He darted a sideways glance at her,
and one corner of his mouth turned up slightly. “That changes today.” He jerked his head toward the
library door, tucking the two sealed scrolls under his arm. “Let's go.”

As he exited the library, he rounded the corner, only to be met with the business end of a wand
under his chin. He tried to back up a little, causing Ginny to crash into him when she came out of
the door. The wand followed him, poking him in the throat rather painfully.

“I want to know what is going on right now, Harry Potter!” The voice was level and deadly
serious.

“Hermione, that hurts!” Harry said in annoyance, pushing the wand away from his neck.
“Nothing's going on.”

Hermione arched both eyebrows, and let her eyes flicker over to Ginny and back. “Oh?” she said,
sounding politely surprised. Harry turned and looked at Ginny, then back at Hermione. Ginny was
trying very hard to melt into the wall.

“You - you think - you think th—that…I - we…oh God, are you *serious*?” Harry said, with
almost total incoherence.

“Don't be ridiculous, Harry!” Hermione snapped. “You two are up to something. What is
it?”

Ginny, who had just worked out that she had been insulted, opened her mouth in protest.
“Hey!”

“Hermione, she is helping me,” Harry said, keeping his voice calm. “You asked why I wasn't
doing anything about the marriage law. Well, now I am.” Hermione regarded him for a moment, and
Harry realized with a start that she looked…*hurt.*

“She can help you and I can't?” Hermione said softly. She had always been the one to help
him before.

“I - I just…thought you would rather …” Harry stammered, then remembered what Dumbledore said
when he had explained why he had not made Harry prefect. “I thought you had rather enough to be
going on with.”

“I will never,” she said through clenched teeth, “*never* have so much going on that I
can't help you. I don't care who they make me marry.”

They stared at each other, motionless, the air between them crackling with intensity. Ginny
watched for a moment, agape, but then sprang suddenly into motion, pulling the scrolls out from
under Harry's arm.

“I'll just nip these over to the owlery,” she said, slinging a nervous smile over her
shoulder, as she dashed down the corridor.

Neither Harry nor Hermione appeared to have noticed particularly that she was gone.

“Harry,” Hermione said, with a voice that trembled slightly. “Harry, it's nothing - it's
not - *illegal*, is it?”

“I don't think so,” Harry said seriously, “At least, not technically. And anyway,” and here
he scooped her up in his arms, and backed her further against the wall, “if I can stop this, fix
this…it'll be worth it.”

Hermione tilted her head back to look into his eyes, and smiled, beginning to melt into a puddle
in his arms. “Wait a minute,” she said, straightening up, “what do you mean,
*technically*?”

Harry grinned at her, knowing that it would infuriate her. “I've got to go,” he said.
“I'll talk to you later!” Then he added, his feelings for her plain to read on his face,
“It's going to be all right.”

“Where are you going?” she called out after him, as he started down the corridor, in the
opposite direction that Ginny had gone.

“I'm going to see Ron,” he said, and watched her visibly relax, before adding, “and then
I'm going to London.”

*The Weasleys stood outside of a surgical ward in one of the meandering, identical corridors
of St. Mungo's. They were grouped in a kind of formation…Charlie was huddled with Ron and
Ginny. Fred and George were standing close together, and appeared to be communicating without
speaking aloud. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were together too, with Molly leaning on Arthur's chest,
his arms holding her up. She had been crying, and was holding a damp handkerchief in one
hand.*

*Harry and Hermione stood a little ways distant, their presence marking their concern and love
for this family, but their removal testifying that they were not quite sure that they belonged here
in this atmosphere of anticipation and dread.*

*My fault, my fault, my fault pounded in Harry's head like a relentless drum beat.*

*Bill had been rushed into surgery, earlier that morning. There were seven healers in the room
with him, s**ome of the most acclaimed medical minds* *in all of Wizarding Britain. And
so, the Weasleys waited, waited for the healers to save Bill's life, waited for Bill to die;
they stood on the edge of a precipice, clinging to hope by their fingernails.*

*Hermione leaned on Harry's shoulder, and he had his cheek on top of her head. One leg
still had a vague arthritic ache, and he was terribly tired. He had been a patient here only last
week. He shifted his weight, purposely standing on his weak leg, as pain shot up from his knee to
his hip. He treated it as a sort of discipline. He deserved it. This was his fault.*

*There was a soft squeak, as the door opened, and Harry looked up, lightning-quick, the first
one to have noticed. And he could tell, instantly, from the posture of the healer coming out to
speak with the family; he could tell it in the drooping shoulders, the slack* *posture, the
limpness of his fingers* *on the door handle.*

*Bill was dead.*

*Mr. and Mrs. Weasley knew it too, as soon as the healer's eyes met theirs. Harry watched,
as if seeing a train wreck, as the effect rippled outward, and the Weasleys converged in on each
other* *in grief.*

*His knees buckled, and he felt Hermione's arm under his, supporting him, helping him
stand, even while tears coursed down her cheeks.*

*It was his fault, his fault. He shifted his weight again. His leg was throbbing.*

Harry walked slowly into the hospital wing, his step hesitant, the look on his face one of pure
trepidation. He did *not* want to have this conversation. His palms felt sweaty, and his
throat felt clenched and tense.

Ron was sitting up in his bed now, albeit propped up with pillows. His skin stood out stark
white, except where it was mottled and purple with bruises, in contrast with his fiery hair. He
smiled when he saw Harry, and his face crinkled up around his swollen slit of an eye rather
grotesquely. He caught Harry's dubious glance.

“Look that bad, do I?” he asked dryly.

“You look like you single-handedly took on Hagrid's Blast-ended Skrewts,” Harry said
frankly, “And maybe a couple of centaurs too.” He grinned.

“You're bloody well enjoying this, aren't you?”

“Well, you make it so easy!” Harry teased, feeling a pang that their friendly camaraderie would
probably be coming to an end.

“Consider yourself lucky that giving dirty looks hurts my face,” Ron said in a companionable
tone.

“Is *that* what's wrong with it?” Harry rejoined, and Ron gave him a dour look. Harry
felt a stab of guilt. Ron's injuries had been because he had been trying to help Hermione. And
now…Harry was going to take that away from him. There was a moment of silence. “So…er, how are you
feeling?”

“Loads better,” Ron said cheerfully. “Those potions of Madame Pomfrey's may taste like
dragon dung, but nobody ever said they didn't work. Of course I look like hell…and - did
Hermione tell you what Dumbledore said?”

“Yeah…” Harry said slowly, but Ron rattled on.

“Can you imagine getting married when you look like this?” He grimaced. “Bad enough that
there's a law saying you have to get married…but this face,” he gestured toward his own
discolored visage, “would scare away anybody, really. Maybe somebody can take a picture with one of
those magically touched-up cameras, you know, the ones that can make Millicent Bulstrode look like
a Veela.” He waited for a remark from Harry, something like “I don't think the cameras that
have *that* much magic in them,” but none was forthcoming.

Ron sighed. “Are you still worrying about Hermione?” he asked. “You know I'll… I'll take
care of her, right? I mean, I know she doesn't want this, not now, and not this way, but
I'll - I mean, at least we're friends. Who knows? She could - " *fall in love with
me someday.* The words resounded through the room loudly, even unspoken.

Harry met Ron's eyes then, and the redhead was stunned by the misery in Harry's
expression.

“Bloody hell, Harry, what's *wrong*?” he said, gazing at him through puffy eyelids.

“I'm going to take on the Ministry,” Harry said, in the same tone that he might have said,
“I'm going to have some tea.” Ron was looking at him, however, as if he'd said, “I'm
going to eat Voldemort for lunch.”

“The Ministry? *Fudge*?” Ron said, aghast. “Whatever for?”

“You know that this law is a travesty,” Harry said, and watched with bitter amusement as Ron
tried to figure out what `travesty' meant. “It's unfair, it's wrong, it's stupid,
and I'm going to stop it.”

Ron appeared to contemplate this for a moment. “Well, you *are* Harry Potter,” he said
finally. “You've already defeated Voldemort. What's one blind, stupid, dirty politician?”
He paused, adding, “You have some dirt on him?”

“Not yet,” Harry said, “but I'm working on that.” He smiled, but his expression was
bleak.

“Then why do you look like somebody died?” Ron asked, with his usual directness.

“Er…Ron…are you still planning on marrying Hermione?” Harry asked, hoping that his face did not
flush red.

“Of course, mate,” Ron said, eying him strangely.

“Even though, I'm going to put an end to the law?”

“Well, it's not a done deal yet, is it?” Ron said reasonably. “Malfoy's still running
around being a menace,” he lifted his bandaged arm as proof. “Dad's always railing about how
long it takes to get anything done at the Ministry. Better to keep her safe, until we know for
sure, don't you think?”

Harry had his head down, his hair falling forward and obscuring his face from Ron. He mumbled
something that was utterly incomprehensible.

“Sorry?” Ron asked.

“Idon'twantyoutomarryHermione,” he spoke quickly, the words tumbling out in a rush, as if
they were afraid that they would be bitten back and bottled up again. He looked up nervously,
expecting Ron's ire, but instead saw his best friend blinking at him in confusion.

“What?” Ron asked, looking completely bewildered. Harry looked up at him this time, his eyes
squarely meeting Ron's, and took a deep breath.

“I don't want you to marry Hermione,” he said, and exhaled spastically. There was a long
silence, and Harry felt the tension begin to build up in the room.

“I thought you agreed that this was best for her,” Ron said, slowly, an odd tone creeping into
his voice. He peered curiously at Harry.

“It *is* what's best,” Harry agreed, and then paused, looking uncertain as to how next
to proceed. This had been Ginny's idea. He should have thrown her in here, and made her tell
Ron. “She needs to be married…it will keep her safe from Malfoy.”

“But?” Ron asked coolly, arching his brows as best as he could.

Harry swallowed, feeling like there was a Quaffle in his throat.

“I - I - I want you to - to marry her, but just—just on…paper,” he colored violently, and weakly
tacked on the last word. “And you know…the ceremony…so - so the Ministry…” He could not finish. He
felt vaguely nauseated.

“So the Ministry is satisfied that a proper Pureblood/Muggle-born marriage has taken place,” Ron
finished neatly for him, looking absorbed in his hands and the white sheet backdrop under them.

“Yeah…” Harry said lamely, running one hand through his hair, darting a glance at Ron, whose
face remained strangely impassive. *Dangerous*, he thought.

“Ron, I'm in love with Harry.” The new voice rang out in the ward, and caused Harry and Ron
to both look up, startled. Hermione stood in the doorway, ramrod straight, her hands clasped
tightly in front of her. The fluffy ponytail on top of her head caught the light that poured into
the large room, and seemed to sparkle. Harry felt his heart constrict at the sight of her. He
should have known that she would follow him up here; he should have told her he was breaking into
Dumbledore's office or something.

Ron snorted derisively. “I knew that already…and you know that, Hermione,” he said, still
looking at his hands. Harry ripped his gaze from Hermione, and whipped his head around to stare at
Ron.

“You *knew*?” he asked, in amazement. He looked back at Hermione, “And you knew?”

“What I didn't *know*,” Ron said, copying Harry's emphasis on the verb, “was
whether or not *you* loved *her*. Until just now, that is.” Ron's tone was flat, and
Harry still got a dangerous vibe from it…like an explosive about to ignite.

“I am in love with her, Ron,” Harry said, quietly. “I didn't realize it at first, but I
think I have been in love with her for a long time.”

“So have I,” Ron said, in that same dead voice. Hermione stood, still in the doorway, her shiny
dark eyes going back and forth from Harry to Ron.

“Listen, mate, I - " Harry reached out a placating hand toward his best friend.

“*Don't*,” Ron began fiercely, the first sign of anger spilling out of him, “call me
mate.”

“Ron!” Hermione pleaded, her chin wobbly and her voice tearful.

“So, how long have you two been…sneaking around?” Ron asked, his voice strangling over the last
phrase.

“We *haven't* been!” Harry said vehemently, beginning to grow angry himself.

“We only just realized - how we—we felt at the beginning of term,” Hermione said quickly,
conciliatorily. She desperately wanted to keep them from destroying their friendship. “We were
going to tell you - " Ron snorted disbelievingly. “We *were*! And then the scrolls came,
and everything happened so fast.”

“And you were still…?” he gestured between the two of them with his good hand. “Up there in your
*private* suite? Wearing my *grandmother's* ring?” Ron said, despair causing his
voice to crack.

“No! Nothing's happened!” Hermione said swiftly, both palms up, almost in a gesture of
surrender.

*Since she got the ring,* Harry supplied mentally, but agreed with Hermione's decision.
What was the point of telling Ron about their liaison anyway? He had defeated Voldemort, and really
had no desire to die at the hands of his best mate.

Ron suddenly rounded on Harry, as his mind put the last pieces of the puzzle together.

“Is *that* what you came here to ask me? To keep the marriage one in name only, so you two
could…”

“Ron, I am in love with her! I *love* her! And she loves me! And we had barely started
figuring out what that meant, when all of the sudden, the bloody *government* says that
we're not allowed to get married ever…and worse! She has to marry somebody else. Can you
possibly imagine what that feels like?” Harry burst out suddenly.

Ron looked at him. “What it feels like to have the person you love taken away from you? Before
she ever really belonged to you in the first place? Yeah, I think I might know what that's
like.” Harry looked down at his feet, feeling terrible. There was a strangled sort of sound from
Hermione.

“Ron, I - I didn't mean - " Harry began.

“I know you didn't,” Ron said heavily, and he leaned back against the pile of pillows,
suddenly looking and sounding very, very tired.

The Golden Trio remained silent, the pulsing nothingness filling up the large, otherwise empty
ward, as they tried valiantly to avoid each other's gaze. Ron winced as he shifted positions in
the hospital bed, and his eyes slid closed.

Harry and Hermione glanced at each other.

“Harry…” Hermione stammered in a low voice. Harry got up from his place at Ron's bedside,
and crossed the room to stand next to her. “Maybe…maybe we shouldn't… this is too much to ask
of anyone.”

“Are you saying we should give up?” Harry said in an icy tone. Hermione's chin trembled
dangerously.

“He's doing this because he loves me. He got injured because he loves me. I don't want
to keep hurting him!”

“Do you think I - ?” Harry began, but was cut off when Ron spoke again.

“Damn it, Hermione! I don't want your compassion or your pity!” he said fiercely. “I want
your love.” She stared at him for a moment, and Harry felt strangely left out. Her gaze wavered,
then dropped to her shoes.

“I'm - I'm sorry, Ron,” she apologized softly. Ron swore wrathfully, and Hermione
flinched.

There was a long moment of silence that seemed to stretch out for an eternity. Harry began to
wonder if he should just leave.

“I won't take the risk that they might dissolve our marriage and send her off to be married
to some other Pureblood,” Ron finally spoke, addressing Harry, his voice even, but his gaze far
away, removed from either of them. “The law requires a child on the way within the first year.”
Some distant part of Harry was amazed that Ron was speaking of this without flushing red.
“We're still getting married this weekend; it's safer…but I - we - I'll give you some
time to get this law undone.”

Beside Harry, Hermione let out a slow, tremulous breath. She looked at him like she wasn't
sure whether to laugh or cry. He felt a smile begin to tentatively spread itself across his face,
and then she threw herself into his arms, and he reveled in the feel of her there.

She was laughing and crying, and she was saying something in his ear incoherently. All he could
make out between the sobs was his own name. *Harry, Harry, Harry.*

A choked noise stopped both of them, and they jerked away from each other, instantly ashamed.
Ron was in the bed, rigid, his head turned determinedly to one side, not looking at them. His hands
were clenching the sheets so tightly that the veins in his good arm were standing out.

“Ron - " they said in unison.

“Please,” he managed to grit that word out. Harry could hear the emotion clogging his throat. A
kind of sympathetic understanding lanced through Harry, and he touched his hand gently to the small
of Hermione's back.

“Let's go,” he said softly.

Hermione twisted the engagement ring around on her finger, and took a long look over her
shoulder at Ron. He was still looking away from them, his jaw jutting defiantly in his refusal to
face them. She tucked a wayward strand of hair behind one ear, and mouthing the words, “I'm so
sorry,” *I didn't mean to hurt you,* she followed Harry out.

**TBC**

**Next chapter:** Harry goes to town. And Draco goes missing.

-->



14. Chapter Fourteen
--------------------



**Author's Note:** Liked the idea of a Marriage Law, so tried to give it my own take.

**AN2:** More action in this chapter…less navel-gazing!

Oh and none of these people are mine….

**What Might Have Been**

**Chapter Fourteen**

Harry and Hermione stood awkwardly in the corridor outside the hospital wing. With a breathy
sigh, she came into his arms, and leaned against his chest.

“I wish…” she said wistfully, her voice trailing off. His arms automatically encircled her, and
he rested his chin on the top of her head.

“I know,” he said. They stood in silence for awhile.

“'S almost time for Charms,” Hermione said, as if Charms were the last thing on her mind.
Harry looked at her a little apologetically.

“I'm skiving off,” he admitted. “I think the Headmaster will excuse me.”

“Because you're the Head Boy? Because you're Harry Potter?” Hermione's eyebrows were
nearly to her hairline. “Do you know how many school rules - ?”

“Hermione, relax! There are more important things at stake here than school rules.” Hermione
looked at him as if he'd said something sacrilegious. “I'm going back to our room to….”
Harry groped for a believable lie.

“ To Floo - where? Where are you going?” The phrase came out sounding more nagging than she
meant it to.

“Gringotts,” Harry said, unwillingly.

“Why?”

Harry felt defensive. “Maybe I want some money.” Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, having none
of it.

“You could owl them for money. I'm assuming this involves me! You're telling Ginny, and
I don't know why you can't tell me too.”

“It's too dangero - " Harry began.

“I've stood with you in front of Voldemort himself, Harry Potter! So do not lecture me on
what is or is not too dangerous!” Hermione said in a ringing tone. Harry looked a little taken
aback. “Besides, why aren't you Apparating?”

“Well, you have to walk all the way across the grounds to do it, and I thought I might see if
Ginny was…” Hermione's eyes flashed fire, and Harry wisely stopped talking.

“You're going to Gringotts, right?” She raced on, at Harry's nod. “And I know you're
*not* going there to make a withdrawal. You're going to talk with the bank manager, or
something, aren't you?” Harry stared at her, and she took his silence for assent. “You're
going to the Ministry too? What kind of information did Dumbledore give you about Fudge?”

“Hermione…?” Harry was looking a little frightened of her.

“I'm going with you,” she said in a tone that brooked no argument. “If you're talking to
goblins, you'll need to know how, and I know you never listened in Professor Binns'
class.”

“There's no hope for me to talk you into staying, is there?” he said in resignation. She
smiled, and shook her head at him. He bent down, and gently captured her lips with his. For the
first time in days, she relaxed into his embrace, and let herself kiss him back. She felt awash in
sensation; she felt complete. *How could I have thought that I could ever let this go?* She
wondered.

He pulled back from her to look into her eyes, and he saw them flit to the door leading to the
hospital wing. A shadow flickered across her face, clouding her eyes.

Students began to trickle out into the corridors, and Harry and Hermione made sure to have a
platonic distance between them. The trickle became a flow, and they made their way up to their
common room.

“I'm sorry you've gotten caught in the middle,” Harry offered, as they clambered through
the portrait hole.

“Me too,” Hermione said honestly. “If this does work…or I don't know, even if it doesn't
work…do you think Ron will be okay? Do you think the Trio'll be okay?”

Harry sighed heavily. “I don't know, Hermione. Everything may be ruined, whether we succeed
or not.” Hermione stared off at nothing, and when she spoke, there were tears in her voice.

“I didn't want to hurt him.”

“Hermione, I know that,” he said gently. “And believe it or not, Ron knows that too.” She
nodded. Harry scuffed his shoes on the carpet.

“Are you ever going to show me that parchment?” she asked presently, her tone indicating a
change of subject. He eyed her suspiciously.

“Do you notice *everything*?” he said in a teasing tone.

“Like it was so hard to hear it crinkling around in your pocket,” she sniffed. He held out the
crumpled paper for her to see. It was mostly blank, with something scrawled in the middle of the
page, as if someone had written in a hurry.

*Cornelius Fudge, third row, fifth from left…photograph taken with the* *Yorkshire
chapter of the Pureblooded Alliance, June 17, 1957.*

Harry watched as Hermione's mouth dropped open. Her eyes were like saucers.

“But - but there's no photograph? Where's the photo?” she asked.

“We don't have one. But I bet I know where it is…that's why we have the date,” Harry
said grimly. They exchanged glances.

“The *Daily Prophet*,” Hermione concluded, and Harry nodded. “They're never going to
let us anywhere near that picture.”

Harry smiled, and there was a little twist to it that was sort of frightening. “That's one
of the reasons we're going to Gringotts.” He stood, and held his hand out to her. “Are you
ready to go?”

She picked up the flower pot on the mantelpiece, and scooped up a handful of powder.

*“Do you really think this will work?” Ron said, glancing over at Hermione with a look of
anxiety.*

*“Of course it will work, Ronald,” Hermione said absently, her quill scratching madly over the
parchment.*

*“But you said - you said you couldn't find any… you know, proof…that anybody had ever
done it successfully before.” Hermione looked up at him, her eyes flashing.*

*“That doesn't mean it hasn't ever been done successfully, does it?” Confusion
flickered in Ron's blue eyes.*

*“Well, no…I guess there - "he began.*

*“Thank you,” Hermione said, as if he'd conceded the point. “Madame Pince will be closing
the library soon**. Did you finish reading?” Her eyes flitted to the open book in front of
him, a narrow ribbon marking a page.*

*Ron sighed reluctantly. “Almost,” he said, looking distastefully at the book.*

*Hermione slammed her quill down with such force that it snapped in half. Then she glared
a**t Ron with even more irritation, as if he had broken her quill.*

*“Ron, don't you see how important this is? Do you actually realize what it is we're
going to be doing?” Ron snapped the book closed, and glowered back.*

*“Bloody hell, Hermione! I'm not the blithering idiot you always make me out to be. I want
to help just as badly as you do…and don't you ever think otherwise!”*

*“I never said you didn't want to help! But Dumbledore thinks that this may be Harry's
- our - only chance.. We're it, Ron! You and me! We've got to be able to do this. And
you've got to read the chapter on that spell.”*

*There was a long silence. Hermione and Ron threw a couple of apologetic glances at each
other, and Hermione turned back to her parchment, only to pick up her broken quill.*

*“Blast!” she said angrily under her breath, and repaired it with her wand. She shot a
sidelong glance at Ron.*

*“You do realize that the battle's coming? Voldemort's coming?” she asked, anxiety
darkening her brown eyes. Ron's countenance became grim.*

*“He's going to come after Harry,” Ron said, in a tone of absolute certainty.*

*“And he'll find us,” Hermione said, with quiet confidence. They exchanged a long,
meaningful look.* *She turned back to her parchment, and he opened his book.*

*The ribbon marked a chapter titled “The Lux Prevalet Spell.”*

Harry and Hermione walked quickly down Diagon Alley to the large white building that was
Gringotts Wizarding Bank. The weather was chilly, and Harry used this excuse to hunker down in the
collar of his jacket, hoping no one would realize who he was. Hermione walked beside him, matching
him stride for stride, and was hissing instructions in his ear.

“Don't ever show your teeth when you smile at a goblin. Don't try to shake hands.
Don't address them by their name; use their title. And when you leave, say `May the wealth in
your vaults never diminish.'”

“Merlin's Beard, Hermione!” Harry said, at the rapid onslaught of information. “Where do you
get all this stuff?”

“I read,” Hermione said in a complacent tone. “What are you going to do in there?” Harry's
face was grimly determined.

“I need to buy something,” he said, and then stopped suddenly outside the doors of the bank.
“Listen, why don't you stay out here?” She started to protest, but he cut her off. “If anyone
finds out I was here and starts asking questions, I don't want them to know you were with me.”
She opened her mouth to argue again, but the look on his face stopped her. “Please.”

“All right,” she complied, not looking happy about it. “I'll be in the bookshop.” Harry
nodded in confirmation, and entered the burnished bronze doors that led to Gringotts. He was
walking with a slightly hunched posture, making sure his messy dark hair fell over his forehead and
concealed his scar. The lobby was bustling, and everywhere Harry looked, there were goblins
escorting customers various places. He walked up to one of the high wooden counters, where a goblin
agent was not seeing anyone.

“I'm Harry Potter,” he said in a low voice, leaning down toward the counter. “I'd like
to see the director please.”

The goblin looked at him as blandly as if he was nobody in particular, and Harry felt a wave of
thankfulness that goblins were noted for their discretion. He consulted a rather large ledger, and
pushed a series of levers on his desk.

“One moment,” he grunted, and walked down to the end of the row of desks, conferring with
another goblin there.

The second goblin said only, “This way,” and escorted Harry down the marble hall to an ornate
set of doors, opened them, and gestured for Harry to go inside.

“Thank you,” Harry said, inclining his head graciously, careful not to show his teeth.

At the far end of the office, an impossibly large desk, apparently carved out of some kind of
smooth shiny rock, was situated, and the director was seated behind it.

“Mr. Potter,” he said, by way of greeting.

“Director,” Harry said politely.

“You wished to make a transaction?”

“Yes…sir,” Harry said, with a queasy feeling in his stomach, sure that he was going to mess
something up somewhere. “I'd like to …invest some of my money…in a - a company.”

“Which company?” the director said, making rapid notations with a quill. He was not looking at
Harry.

“The *Daily Prophet*,” Harry said, trying to sound nonchalant. The goblin shot a quick look
at him, but continued writing.

“How much?” Harry swallowed.

“As much as it takes to buy…a majority of the paper.” The goblin looked at Harry again, and this
time, the look was longer and more calculating.

“It will be a moment, while I ascertain the availability of that much stock,” the director said
smoothly, and placed a scrawled memo in a shallow golden dish. The memo then vanished in a puff of
purple smoke. Harry could have sworn that a ghost of a smile flickered briefly across the
director's wrinkled face.

A new memo arrived in the dish, and Harry noticed for the first time, the faint purple haze that
wafted around the large office.

“Very well, Mr. Potter. We'll finalize those arrangements. There will be some signatures
needed.”

“Of course,” Harry said, in an attempt to sound like he made transactions like this every day.
The director handed a roll of parchment to Harry. There were small red X's blinking to indicate
where he needed to sign.

“Is there anything else, Mr. Potter?” the director asked, when Harry had scrawled his name in
the fourteenth place.

Harry cleared his throat. “What I'm going to ask you next is probably illegal,” he began in
a classic understatement. “Have you heard of the new marriage law?”

The bank director nodded, his expression giving nothing away.

“There is injustice being done here by a corrupted Ministry. I believe there is proof of that,
and I would be willing to bet that you have some.” He met the goblin's eyes squarely. “You
helped us - me - fight against Voldemort, and he has been defeated. Would you be willing to help me
again?”

The goblin lowered his eyes back to his desk. He scratched out something on another piece of
parchment, which he then placed in the platter on his desk. Purple smoke billowed over the shallow
sides of the bowl. “I'm afraid what you ask, Mr. Potter, is highly unethical and quite
impossible.”

Harry's shoulders slumped. The memo reappeared in the golden dish, with something stamped
across the bottom in red. The goblin looked at it briefly, and scrawled something across the bottom
of a new piece of parchment, and tore it off.

“Have a good day, Mr. Potter,” he said, and handed the scrap to Harry.

**Owl post on Saturday, by 3 pm.**

Harry looked blankly at the scrap of paper, and stared back at the director. “But I - I
don't - I don't under - "

“It was a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Potter,” the goblin said, smoothly overriding
Harry's protests. His features were an impenetrable mask.

Harry grasped at the shreds of his manners. *What the hell does this mean?* “Thank you,
director. May the wealth in your vaults never diminish.” He made a slight half-bow.

The director gave him a look of pleased surprise, and bowed as well. Harry had his hand on the
door, when the director spoke again.

“Reform is greatly needed, Mr. Potter. Good luck.”

Harry nodded again, without speaking, and exited the ornate office. He looked at the scrap of
paper again, tucked it into his pocket with a frustrated sigh, and charged out of the bronze doors
into the bustling streets of Diagon Alley.

Hermione was still in the bookshop, and Harry wandered around the stacks of books, until he
found her. She took in his agitated face, and sighed.

“You didn't get what you needed?” she asked.

“Not all of it,” he said truthfully, his voice low. “I think something may be coming by owl on
Saturday,” he showed her the note given to him by Gringotts' director. “But that's going to
be cutting it awfully fine,” he added, referring to the upcoming wedding.

Hermione's expression appeared vaguely troubled, but she said, in a normal tone of voice,
“Where to next?”

“The *Daily Prophet*,” Harry said, and his voice was grim.

When they arrived there, the paper was a picture of bustling chaos. Everywhere, owls flew in and
out of windows, people were shouting, there were quills, ink, and parchment scattered everywhere,
interspersed with the clack of magically manipulated machinery, and the occasional flash of a
camera.

Harry stepped up to the receptionist. “I'd like to look at some old back issues, please,” he
said pleasantly. “It's for a school project.”

“Which issue?” the receptionist asked, smacking her gum, and sounding bored.

“June 17, 1957,” he replied. She opened a file cabinet behind her desk, and flipped through a
packet of paper.

“I'm sorry, but that's been restricted. Anything else?”

“No,” Harry said, his voice still polite. “I'd just like to see that paper.” Annoyance
flickered in the receptionist's eyes.

“That's not possible. Have a nice - "

“If I told you I owned this paper, would I be able to see that issue?” Harry said, the polite
mask dropping from his face. His nervousness had eased somewhat. These were not easily offended
goblins, these were people, just people. *Just remember, you fought Voldemort and won,* he
told himself. The receptionist stared, and Hermione had a sneaking suspicion that she had swallowed
her gum.

“Excuse me?” she said, dumbfounded.

“You heard me,” Harry countered.

“Just a moment please,” she said, and contacted someone upstairs. Just seconds later, they were
ushered up a spiral staircase to the editor's office.

The editor of the *Daily Prophet* was now a harried looking man, with graying hair, and
glasses perched on top of his head. His robe was unfastened and the sleeves were rolled up. There
was ink on his fingers. He looked at Harry and Hermione with exasperation when they walked in.

“What's this rubbish about you owning the paper?” he said abruptly.

“It's not rubbish, and I think you know that, or you would have had us thrown out of the
building,” Harry replied amiably. Hermione shot him a flashing look of admiration. “I am the
majority owner of the *Prophet* as of this morning, and I want to look at that issue.”

“You bought the paper because you want to look at one restricted issue,” the editor said, like
he was having trouble comprehending that. Harry shrugged. “Why?”

“The reason I want to look at it is the reason it's restricted,” he said, leveling his gaze
at the editor, who paled visibly. “And I want to copy it, and I want nothing printed about this and
I want absolutely nobody to remember that I was here today. Or I will shut this place down.” He
raised his eyebrows, his look conveying *do I make myself clear?*

The editor rolled his eyes toward the ceiling, as if consigning himself to his fate. “Yes, sir,”
he said, in a dutiful fashion. “I'll show you to the archives.”

*The clamor of shouting and footfalls from the boys' dorm had awakened Hermione from a
fitful sleep. She had leapt from the bed, with Harry's name on her lips, instinctively knowing
that it was about him.*

*And then she heard Neville shouting her name.*

*When she saw him, fear struck her to her core, an icy frozen kind of helplessness that was
paralyzing. He was rigid on the floor**, his scar a searing red brand across his forehead; his
jaw was clenched, but a strangled moan managed to escape his throat. When the fit had passed, he
sat up, looking weak and tired, gazing at them all, as if with eyes that had not seen them
before.*

*She put her fingers to his forehead gently. “Harry?” she said, her voice like a caress of
tender concern.*

*“It has begun,” he said. And the voice was inhuman and otherworldly, and for a terrifying
moment, Hermione thought that it had begun, and in fact, was over. Harry had been taken.*

*But then color began to creep back into his cheeks, and his eyes no longer looked dim and
forsaken. He looked up at Hermione for a long moment, seeming to block out the cluster of faces
surrounding him. His face was inscrutable.*

*“It's time to go,” he said simply. And he sounded like Harry again, a frightened boy-man,
who was being thrust into a situation not of his making, and over which he had no control.*

*Hermione stood to her feet, and extended a hand for Harry to stand as well. She allowed
herself to revel momentarily in the feel of his clammy hand in hers.*

*She and Ron exchanged a long look, fraught with meaning. She looked at the ring of faces
anxiously watching Harry, and dismally wondered how many of them would see the end of this
day.*

Their errand at the Ministry of Magic did not take long. Amelia Bones had seen them immediately,
and had been sympathetic to their plight, even as she made sure her office doors was shut, and
spoke to them in hushed tones.

“Susan has been so upset lately,” she told them. “This law…” she threw her hands up in the air,
and sighed.

“Why is no one doing anything?” Hermione asked. “If this many people disagree…”

“It's not that simple, I'm afraid,” the older woman said with chagrin. “People are
afraid…”

“Of what?” Harry said, annoyed. “Voldemort's gone. The Death Eaters are disbanded,
imprisoned. Cornelius Fudge is just a …”

Madame Bones cautioned him to hush, and he trailed to a curious halt.

“I think you and I both know that Cornelius isn't `just' anything. Right now, he's
got the power of the Ministry behind him, and there isn't anyone else that the people trust
enough with power. Voldemort has left a lot of people extremely wary, and they're scared of
change. They - "

“But Dumbledore - " Harry began, but Madame Bones cut him off.

“Dumbledore is a good man and a wise man, one whom I respect greatly. Unfortunately, he is
always one to deliver unwelcome news, and most people have come to associate him with that. He
makes people nervous,” she added. Hermione cleared her throat suddenly, sounding suspiciously as if
she were suppressing a laugh. Harry glared at her.

“We've got Harry though,” Hermione spoke up abruptly, her eyes shining. “Don't tell me
that people wouldn't trust Harry.” Madame Bones gave him an appraising look, her eyebrows
raised.

“Mr. Potter?” she said, as if asking if he felt himself adequate to the task. Harry flushed red,
and became absorbed in his shoes.

“Oh come on, Harry,” Hermione said, nudging him in the ribs with her elbow. “After that attitude
you got at the *Prophet*, I would think you would - "

“The *Prophet*?” Madame Bones leapt on the word quickly. Hermione looked at Harry, her
mouth open in a small `o' of dismay. They exchanged a glance.

“I bought a majority share in the *Prophet* today,” Harry said, managing to sound like he
had purchased dinner or a birthday present. “But I would appreciate it if you wouldn't say
anything about it, ma'am.” It sort of sounded like a request.

“May I ask what you're planning to do, Harry?” Madame Bones asked, a twinkle flashing in her
eyes.

The threads of a plan for a public confrontation began to gather together in Harry's mind.
Saturday would be a perfect time. Ministry officials would be there, as well as the press. The
wedding would make headlines around the country, and if Harry stood up to the Ministry there, the
effects could be long-ranging.

“I can't say,” Harry said, at length. “I don't know how much of a secret it will be that
I was here, and I don't want to put you under any pressure.” Madame Bones nodded as if she
understood. “But, you will be coming to my friends' wedding on Saturday, right? The first one
to take place under the new law?” That amiable note was back in Harry's voice, and Madame Bones
eyed him suspiciously.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” she asked in a dry tone, and Harry grinned, but quickly
turned serious.

“You might want to have some undercover Aurors there…just in case,” he said, and Amelia Bones
agreed.

It was getting late, and Hermione was very tired, when they Flooed back into their common room.
She stumbled unsteadily out the grate, and stopped short in front of the hearth, when she saw who
was waiting there. Harry careened into her, upon his exit from the fireplace, and sent them
sprawling in an untidy heap.

Headmaster Dumbledore sat in one of the overstuffed chairs near the fireplace. With him, were
Cornelius Fudge, Narcissa Malfoy, and a couple of nondescript wizards in black robes that Harry
assumed were Aurors. Harry also saw Ginny and a worse-for-the-wear Ron seated across the room at
the desks. They were both scowling in Fudge's general direction.

Harry helped Hermione to her feet, and they both stood there, self-consciously brushing the soot
from their clothes.

“Where were you today, Harry?” Dumbledore said placidly, as if he'd been told to ask. Harry
let his eyes dart around the room at the assembly. He really did not want to say anything about his
errands, particularly in front of these people.

“I - " he began. If only he weren't such a horrid liar!

“He was with me…in Diagon Alley,” Hermione said quickly. “I'm - I'm getting married on
Saturday, you know.” She flashed a bright smile at Fudge when she said this. “He was helping me
select some things…for the w - wedding.”

“You took a *boy* with you?” Narcissa put in delicately, her beautifully arched eyebrows
soaring.

“He's my… best friend,” Hermione said, smiling politely, though Harry thought her teeth were
probably gritted. “I couldn't very well take my fiancé, could I?”

“What is this all about, Headmaster?” Harry asked, eying the Aurors in particular. “What's
going on?”

“I'm afraid that Draco Malfoy vanished from Hogwart's sometime this morning. Mrs. Malfoy
said he had received some threats from you.” Dumbledore said, his blue eyes grave. “The Ministry
wants to put you under arrest.”

**TBC**

Well, this chapter ended up much longer than I meant it to, but I hope you enjoy it. I wanted to
get through all Harry's errands, and end it here…because I'm just that mean!

**Next chapter:** Cornelius Fudge's plan… and Ron and Hermione's wedding (it may be
put off a chapter, depending on how long it gets). We're on the home stretch now!

-->



15. Chapter Fifteen
-------------------



**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 Fifteen**

**“**They - they want to - to what?” Harry stuttered, feeling unable to comprehend exactly
what was going on.

Ginny and Ron had stood as one from their seats across the room, unsure up to that moment
exactly what they were doing there. They were both shouting at the same time. Harry caught
something about “bloody nonsense” and “everybody hates Malfoy anyway.”

“It's - it's not a secret that Malfoy and I were not friends,” Harry began tentatively,
his voice strengthening as he continued to talk. He felt Hermione's reassuring presence close
behind him, although they were not touching. “But…that could be said of Malfoy and a lot of
people.” Narcissa let out an angry noise that sounded like half-sob, half-sigh.

“We've been in Diagon Alley all day,” Hermione said stridently. “We left after… after…” her
eyes flickered over to Ron, and everyone in the room turned to look at him. He flushed
slightly.

“They came to visit me in the hospital wing this morning…together,” he admitted, then swallowed,
adding, “Then they told me they were Flooing to Diagon Alley… for wedding s - stuff.” He cleared
his throat awkwardly.

“Harry was with me early this morning,” Ginny added, her face defiant. “We were studying in the
library.”

“When did Malfoy disappear?” Hermione demanded. “What time was it?”

“I assume there are people at the shops who can verify your presence?” Cornelius Fudge was
looking a little discomposed, ignoring Hermione's question.

“I - " Hermione hesitated. They hadn't been anywhere near any kind of shop that could
be construed as having anything to do with weddings.

Cornelius Fudge flicked his fingers toward Harry, with a glance at the Aurors, who stood up, and
advanced toward Harry. They did not look terribly thrilled at the prospect of arresting the Boy Who
Lived.

“We went to Gringotts,” Hermione burst out suddenly. “And the *Daily Prophet*.” Harry
looked at her, but she continued. “I wanted to have a wedding announcement posted. And we went to
the bookshop.”

“Trust Hermione to go in a bookshop if there's one around,” Ron interjected, and she smiled
gratefully at him.

“I didn't really see anything I liked at Madame Malkin's,” Hermione admitted. “We just
looked in the window, but I think I'll try Hogsmeade tomorrow.”

The Auror flicked his wand, and Harry was immobilized. The other Auror relieved Harry of his
wand. Harry and Hermione exchanged frightened, angry glances.

Dumbledore stood suddenly, in a surprisingly agile move for such an old man, and began to place
himself in between Harry and the Aurors. At the same time, a shocked voice said suddenly,

“Cornelius!” It was Amelia Bones, who had just entered the common room through the Floo,
evidently having found out where her boss had gone and what he was up to. “What is the meaning of
this?”

“This young man,” Fudge gestured toward Harry with some distaste, “is under arrest for
questioning regarding Draco Malfoy's disappearance.” Amelia's eyes snapped dangerously.

“As head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, why was I not informed of this?” Fudge
opened his mouth to speak, but Madame Bones continued, “I could have saved you a lot of time and
effort, Cornelius. I know that Harry and Hermione were in town today about the…wedding. They came
to see me, as a matter of fact.”

“You?” Fudge said incredulously.

“My niece is quite good friends with them. They stopped by for a visit.” She turned toward Harry
and Hermione and smiled. “You must do it again sometime.” Then her attention was on her Aurors.
“You will release him at once, and return his wand to him.”

The Aurors wavered, their eyes flicking uncertainly back and forth between Fudge and Madame
Bones. Finally, the one holding Harry's wand extended it back out to him. Fudge grew red in the
face, looking apoplectic.

“This will mean your job, Wilkins!”

“That falls under my jurisdiction, Cornelius!” Madame Bones interposed. The spell on Harry was
removed, and he moved his limbs around experimentally.

“Excuse me!” Narcissa had stood to her feet, looking imperiously haughty. “But what about my
son?”

“*Your son*,” Madame Bones began, but then stopped, obviously trying to compose herself.
She started anew, “Your son is seventeen years old. He has been missing for less than a day. It is
much more likely that he has run off to do something irresponsible than this thing of which Harry
is being accused. *Without* evidence, I might add.” Her voice rang across the common room. “It
is a shameful way to treat someone who saved our lives and preserved our way of life for us. Where
would we be without this young man here?” Harry began to grow red in the face at Madame Bones'
praise. She looked reprovingly at the Minister of Magic, who, Harry began to suspect, was a little
afraid of the head of MLE.

“Amelia, this young man is dangerous,” Fudge protested. “He is a rebel, a malcontent. There have
been reports that he is helping young ladies break - "

“What reports?” Madame Bones overrode him smoothly. “*I* have seen no such reports. I
suspect such rumors probably began at this school…and probably in Slytherin House.” She glanced
disdainfully at Narcissa Malfoy, who bristled. “The next time you decide to arrest a student,
Cornelius - "

“He's of age!” Fudge interposed hotly.

“ - make sure you have evidence first,” Amelia continued as smoothly as if Fudge had not even
opened his mouth.

“I think it would be best if you leave, Cornelius,” Dumbledore said softly, looking slightly
saddened by this turn of events, but his eyes still flashing with the force of someone to be
reckoned with. Fudge looked as if he would like to speak again, but his eyes darted around to the
audience present in the common room, and he appeared to think better of it.

“There will be an investigation into this disappearance, Mr. Potter!” Fudge said, as
threateningly as he could, while quite obviously retreating. “If we find the slightest hint of your
involvement….”

“You will be quite welcome to come arrest me, Mr. Minister,” Harry finished for him, somewhat
cheekily.

Narcissa followed Fudge and the Aurors out of the portrait hole, looking at Harry as if he had
been found standing over Malfoy's bloody corpse, with green smoke still trailing from his
wand.

Harry quite visibly relaxed as the portrait hole snapped shut behind them, and he sank down onto
the cushions of the sofa. Hermione was sitting next to him, one arm around his shoulders,
protectively.

“Is it - is it true, Professor?” Hermione asked quietly. “Malfoy's really gone?”

“I'm afraid so, Miss Granger,” Dumbledore answered. “He did not arrive at his Potions class
this morning, and there has been no trace of him seen since.”

“Do they - do they really think that somebody…did something to him?” Harry said, his voice
sounding a little strangled.

“Wouldn't surprise me,” he heard Ron mutter, as the Weasleys came over to join the gathering
near the fireplace. He felt Hermione's arm slide off of his shoulders.

“No one really knows anything yet,” Dumbledore admitted. “What the Minister did was ill-thought
out and extremely premature. Apparently, he feels somewhat threatened by you.” Amelia Bones grunted
in agreement. “Slytherin House isn't talking, of course, but we have had a few students from
other houses report that Malfoy was boasting about something big that was going to happen
soon.”

“Something big?” Hermione asked, her eyes wide. “What could he possibly do? The Death Eaters are
in jail, or scattered. His father's in Azkaban. Voldemort's dead…”

“Well, if he left on his own, he's certainly not up to anything good!” Ron declared.

“And if he didn't?” Hermione said quietly.

“Good riddance!” Harry and Ron snorted in perfect unison, and then looked at each other
sheepishly. Hermione looked at them reprovingly.

“I'll have the Department take a look at this,” Madame Bones said. “I feel that it's
safe to say that *nobody* here is going to be arrested.”

“I would not have allowed them to remove you from Hogwart's,” Dumbledore said gently,
looking intently at Harry, who nodded.

“I know, sir.”

Dumbledore stood then, and gave Harry another enigmatic look. “I trust your and Miss
Granger's errands were… productive?” he asked. Harry stared back at him gravely, and gave one
solemn, slow nod. Dumbledore gave him the slightest of smiles, before turning to the portrait
hole.

“Madame Bones?” Harry asked in a low voice, as the MLE director stood and headed for the
fireplace.

“Yes, Harry?”

“Do people in Azkaban - can they get owl post?” he asked. She gave him a wondering look at his
seemingly bizarre question.

“Well, there are a couple of Aurors who guard the island that receive mail, but they don't
actually stay in the prison itself. The dementors would make that quite impossible,” Madame Bones
said thoughtfully. “I guess friends or family might send owl post from time to time, but the
prisoners aren't really going to be in a mental state where they could respond.”

“Could you - " Harry began, and hesitated, still unsure of how many liberties he should ask
for. Madame Bones put one hand on his shoulder, and looked directly into his eyes.

“Harry, if it is in my power to do, I'll do what you ask. Now tell me,” she said
encouragingly.

“Could you make sure Lucius Malfoy is actually imprisoned?” he asked. “And can you find out if
anyone is sending him anything, and who it is?” Madame Bones seemed surprised at his requests, but
considered them gravely and nodded.

“I'll let you know if we find anything,” she said, before Flooing back to her office.

“So where were you today, really?” Ginny asked, her eyes flashing in excitement. “Did you get
it?”

A grin made its way, unbidden, over Harry's features. “Yeah,” he said, smiling back at her.
“You were right, by the way,” he added, as he reached into the inside pocket of his jacket, and
pulled out a small packet. “Buying the *Prophet* was a good idea.”

“Wait a minute,” Ron said, looking confused. “You told him to buy the *Prophet*? And you,”
here, he looked at Harry, “did?” Ginny and Harry nodded. “Why?”

“I wanted to look at a back issue, and they wouldn't let me,” Harry said, as if it were the
most natural course of action to take.

“Right,” Ron said, his look obviously saying that Harry was quite mad.

“Let me see it,” Ginny said, as Harry unfolded the paper carefully. He had magically made a
duplicate of the page, which contained a fairly large photograph. Underneath read the caption
“Yorkshire Chapter of the Pureblooded Alliance.” Every now and then, someone in the photo raised a
clenched fist, or shouted a soundless taunt.

“There he is,” Harry said, pointing at a young man in the middle of the group. “Cornelius
Fudge…third row, fifth from the left.”

“And look,” Hermione added, leaning in over his shoulder to point at the picture. “That's
got to be a Malfoy…it must be Lucius's father.” The white-blond hair and haughty demeanor were
undeniable.

“What's the Pureblooded Alliance?” Ron asked.

“It's what the Death Eaters used to be called,” Hermione told him flatly. Ron swallowed, and
his Adam's apple bobbed visibly.

“Oh,” he said, not knowing what else to add. The awkwardness from that morning had been shunted
aside in the fear of Harry's imminent arrest, but it had not disappeared. “So, what're you
going to do now?” he asked, trying to sound natural.

“Can't do anything right now,” Harry said laconically. “I'm still waiting on something
from Gringotts, and I'll have to hear from Madame Bones too.”

“Isn't the picture good enough?” Hermione asked, her voice strained. She darted a glance
over at Ron, who wouldn't meet her gaze. Harry understood. She was trying to tactfully ask if
the wedding would have to go forward anyway.

“No, not really,” Harry said reluctantly. “It might make a good story in the *Prophet*, and
everybody would talk about it for a few days, but Fudge would just say he was young and foolish,
and that was before everybody realized what the Alliance's agenda was. We've got to have
proof of Fudge doing something wrong *now.*”

The four teenagers sat glumly for a moment. Ron was slouched against the arm of a chair, one
hand flat against his side. Harry wondered if his ribs were bothering him.

“Damn Malfoy anyway,” Ron swore, as he shifted positions and winced. “We still have a score to
settle.”

“You don't think he's planning something, do you?” Ginny asked, darting a quick glance
at Harry.

“I wouldn't put anything past Draco Malfoy,” Harry said gloomily.

“Well, Luna said - " Ginny began, but stopped abruptly, when Harry suddenly sat up, and
slapped his hand on the arm of the sofa.

“Luna! Dammit!” He exclaimed, and stood to his feet, looking frustrated and annoyed.

“What?” Ginny and Hermione said together, when no further explanation seemed to be
forthcoming.

Harry rolled his eyes and looked self-conscious. “I was supposed to … our deadlines - mine and
Luna's - are up tomorrow. I have to - Dumbledore said - "

“You're going to propose to Luna,” Hermione said dully, even as she tried to smile.

“Uh….yeah…” Harry said, running one hand through his chronically disheveled hair. He
couldn't look at Hermione, but noticed that Ron seemed slightly more cheery. “I'm going to
tell her…I mean, that it's just in case - you know, if nothing - if Saturday - " He was
unsure as to how much he should say in front of Ron, so he just blundered to a stop. “I guess I
should get something to the Ministry, and then go talk to Luna.” He proceeded over to his desk, and
dipped his quill in a bottle of ink, and carefully wrote a few sentences. “I should take this over
to the Owlery,” he said to nobody in particular. “Ginny, can you get me in Ravenclaw's common
room?”

“Sure,” Ginny said cheerfully. “But you're Head Boy….you could get in there yourself.” Harry
looked at her blankly, holding a scroll rolled up in his hand.

“Oh,” he said airily, as if he'd just forgotten that particular item, “of course.” She
looked at him wryly for a moment, not fooled.

“But I'll go with you anyway,” she said, jumping to her feet, and opening the portrait
hole.

*It had been Hermione and Tonks who had found him.*

*The battle was over, the dead had been removed, and the injured had been evacuated. Harry and
Ron had both been transported to St. Mungo's. Hermione had dashed away protests that she was
hurt too, accepted a bandage for the cut on her head, and then proceeded to accompany Tonks, as the
Aurors searched Hogwart's.*

*“I have to,” she said, simply, as Mrs. Weasley all but ordered her to St. Mungo's. “If -
when Harry wakes up, he's going* *to want to know. I have to be able to tell him that*
*we got them all.” Mrs. Weasley had fluttered her hands a little in protest, but had let her
go.*

*And there he was…just around a corner, just out of sight enough so that Hermione nearly fell
over him sprawled there in the hallway. Hermione's mouth curled downward as she took in his
prone form. Draco Malfoy.*

*He was unconscious, legs and arms akimbo, as he lay where he had fallen or had been thrown.
One lock of white-blond hair tumbled down on his aristocratic forehead. She knelt down beside
him.*

*“He'**s been stunn**ed,” Hermione announced.” Tonks located his wand, where it
had rolled just a few feet away from him, and tested it.*

*“He didn't cast any Unforgiv**…**”* *Tonks trailed off**, and
Hermione gasped, as they both noticed the pool of blood at the same time. Malfoy's shirt sleeve
was soaked in it. Tonks pushed it up to see a jagged, bleeding weal, slashing its way down the
Slytherin's forearm**, curving from his elbow to his palm**.*

*“What're you going to do with him?” Hermione asked. Tonks pocketed Malfoy's
wand.*

*“Take him to St. Mungo's,” she replied.*

*Hermione looked almost disappointed.*

Harry had never been in the Ravenclaw common room before, and stood still for a moment, taking
in the tasteful blue themed furnishings. Mahogany bookshelves lined a couple of walls, and there
were several desks at the far end of the room. *Typical Ravenclaw,* Harry mused, and then
grinned, as he thought how envious Hermione probably was of their common room.

Ginny stopped a younger student. “Is Luna Lovegood upstairs?” she asked, after not seeing her in
the common room. The second-year went to go see, and a murmur threaded its way around the room.
Harry flushed as he felt the weight of curious eyes on him. It would be quite obvious that this
dealt with the marriage law, if he and Ginny were approaching someone together.

“How about a nice public proposal, Harry?” Ginny hissed in his ear, teasing.

“Sod off, Ginny,” he whispered back, and she snickered at him.

Luna came down stairs a moment later, appearing, as always, to drift rather than walk. Her hair
was twisted into a spiky knot on top of her head, and her earrings were blinking red and yellow
lights. Her eyes were as vague and dreamy as ever.

“Hello, Harry, Ginny,” she said with an ethereal smile. “Are you here to marry me off?”

Harry swallowed, having not expected her to be so forthright.

“Actually…” he began, and then paused, acutely aware of the observation of the other Ravenclaws.
“Could we step outside?”

“Why not?” Luna said, showing no curiosity whatsoever. The three of them clambered through the
Ravenclaw entrance, and stood out in the corridor.

“I wanted to let you know that I would be sending a scroll for you, Luna,” Harry said, in a
rushed voice, trying to get it all out in one breath.

“How lovely,” was Luna's surprisingly normal response. “Thank you, Harry.” Ginny and Harry
exchanged dubious glances. This was it? No remarks about Snorkacks or Nargles?

“I'm not in love with you though,” she said seriously, and Harry relaxed. Here it came. “So,
don't get your hopes up.”

“I won't,” Harry said, equally as serious. Luna was a bit batty, but he really did like her.
And he didn't like the way her housemates treated her. “I'm not in love with you either,”
he said, whispering it confidentially. Luna beamed at him.

“Oh, good. Since Hermione's not in love with Ronald either, maybe we can get together for
tea after we're married. We can all four of us be miserable.” She said this in a tone that
sounded like she would not be miserable at all.

“How did you - ?” Harry asked, bewildered. Hermione and Ron had certainly not been dating before
this marriage law came about, but there was supposed to be the at least generally agreed upon
illusion that they were okay with it.

“Really, Harry,” Luna said, and Harry thought for a moment that she was channeling Hermione. She
leaned forward again, whispering conspiratorially, “They say I'm a bit barmy, you know…but I
*am* in Ravenclaw.”

“I know,” Harry said idiotically, blinking at her.

“Well,” she said, in that dreamy sing-song tone that she normally used. “I'll see you at the
wedding - Ronald's, I mean, not ours,” she added. “I expect you'll have gotten rid of Fudge
before we have to get married.” Harry looked completely flabbergasted, and Ginny couldn't keep
back a snort of laughter. Luna continued to talk, as if this were a perfectly normal conversation.
“Have you thought about spiking his punch with the Elixir of Leverenthalia?”

“I'll - I'll consider it,” Harry stammered, not really knowing what to say. “You should
get the scroll tomorrow.” He walked away with Ginny, shaking his head as if there were cotton wool
in his ears. *Married life with Luna would never be boring, that's for sure*, he thought
to himself.

*Harry had still been in the hospital when the article came out. He'd been able to hear
Hermione and Ron arguing about it in the corridor.*

*“He should know about this,” Ron said, his voice carrying quite clearly through the door. The
silencing charms obviously needed to be renewed.*

*“He doesn't need this right now. It'll only upset him, and he needs to rest!
There's nothing he can do about it anyway,” came Hermione's practical tone. Harry was
annoyed. He was almost an adult. He didn't need anyone coddling him, even Hermione…no,
especially Hermione.*

*He picked up the nearest gift basket and hurled it at the door with all the strength he could
muster. The bickering went silent at the heavy thunk against the door, and seconds later, two
curious faces peered carefully inside.*

*Harry wanted to laugh. “Come in here, and show me that damn paper,” he said, holding his arm
out officiously. Ron and Hermione exchanged glances, and shuffled forward unwillingly. Ron handed
him that morning's issue of the* Daily Prophet*.*

*“Hogwart's Student gives Exclusive Interview” screamed the banner headline. It had been
scarcely 2 days since the battle, and the Order of the Phoenix was trying to keep a reign on the
information that was going out to the public. They had had to give a statement to the press,
though, after a rumor began to circulate that Harry was dead.*

*Harry looked to see what idiot gave an interview against Dumbledore's express wishes.
“Heir of Malfoy Fortune Tells Of His Harrowing Story Inside Last Battle”. He rolled his eyes. “Oh,
that figures,” he said sarcastically.*

*He scanned further down the page. There was a quote from Malfoy saying, “When I heard the
commotion, I knew Hogwart's had been breached. I immediately ran to assist**. I took out
two Death Eaters, but then I got hit…twice. I just feel badly that I couldn't do more.”*

*“I'm going to be ill,” Harry said succinctly.*

*“Convenient that the cutting spell hit him right where the Dark Mark would be, isn't it?”
Ron said dryly. “And the stupid prat probably stunned himself to avoid any fighting.”*

*“The Malfoys have always known which side their bread was buttered on,” Hermione stated
grimly. “He'll stay out of prison, mark my words.”*

Harry awakened early on Saturday morning, with butterflies swarming in his stomach, and for a
moment, he couldn't remember why. Then….it came back, sinking into him with a dull kind of
nausea. Ron and Hermione's wedding was today. He tried to tell himself that it didn't
matter, that Ron knew about his and Hermione's feelings, that the wedding would mean nothing,
that the law would be overturned.

And yet it did matter. Hermione would be walking up an aisle. In a beautiful dress. And she
wouldn't be walking to him, but to his best mate. It stung, Harry had to admit to himself.
*You're jealous*, a snide little voice said. *What if you fail, and Hermione decides to
stay with the status quo?*

*She wouldn't do that,* another little voice answered back feebly. It didn't sound
as if it quite believed what it was saying.

Harry sat up, and tried to blink the sleep out of his eyes. His eyes darted around, looking for
some kind of receptacle, if in fact, he did throw up. His gaze landed on Ron's bed, where the
redhead was lying, his arms under his head, and his eyes wide open.

“Can't sleep?” Harry asked.

“Would you be able to if you had to get up in front of a bunch of people and recite a bunch of
ruddy vows that don't mean anything?” Ron said, with only a little bitterness in his tone.

“No,” Harry replied, truthfully. There was a moment of silence. “Ron, I'm - " he
started, but Ron waved his still bandaged hand at him, as if his apology didn't need to be
said.

“You couldn't help it,” Ron said, gloomily. “I don't reckon you can choose who you fall
in love with. And you came and told me the truth, so…” his voice trailed off.

*You told me the truth, you told me the truth*, echoed in Harry's brain, and the guilt
assailed him. He looked frantically around the room again, sure he was going to be sick, but
Ron's next words distracted him.

“You - you will - I should've asked you this before, but…” Ron shrugged. “You'll… stand
up with me, won't you, Harry?” he asked, sounding suddenly vulnerable and unsure. “You
don't have to, if it makes you feel weird,” he added hastily.

“No,” Harry said, firmly, “I'll stand up with you, Ron.” The two best friends exchanged
glances. “I'm honored that you'd ask, considering…”

A scant handful of hours later found them standing under a kind of pavilion out on the grounds.
They were both in black dress robes, and Harry found himself wondering vaguely if Hermione and
Ginny had found what they were looking for in Hogsmeade. They had taken Auror escort, and had been
gone for a very long time.

Mrs. Weasley had outdone herself in such a short amount of time. She wasn't any happier with
the law than Mr. Weasley, but had been secretly hoping that Hermione and her youngest son would end
up together. She was also aware that the Minister of Magic was going to attend, as well as several
members of the Wizengamot and the press; this made her doubly determined to have a nice event.

Music began to play somewhere, and above the pavilion, birds soared into the air, singing
beautifully. The murmur of the guests ceased, and Harry watched Ginny walk up the aisle, looking
stunning in a jade colored dress robe. *Watch Ginny, watch Ginny*, Harry commanded himself, as
he felt Ron shift nervously beside him. *Nobody would fault you for watching Ginny.*

But then he saw Hermione, and he was lost. She was on the arm of her father, who did not look
terribly happy about his only daughter marrying at barely eighteen. Her robe was white, shot
through with silver threads, and she had flowers in her upswept hair. She looked pale, but was
smiling brilliantly. She was beautiful, and he loved her, and he was sure that his emotions were
quite apparent to everyone there.

Up to that moment, he had been scanning the skyline anxiously, hoping to see the black speck
against it that would be a Gringotts owl, or a message from Madame Bones, but nothing had come.

He had been hoping to avoid this altogether, and he could not help but glower at Minister Fudge,
who was sitting on the front row, looking quite complacent at the success of his law. He could see
several venerable looking old wizards, who he assumed were on the Wizengamot, but if Madame Bones
had sent any Aurors, they were well-camouflaged.

Hermione had darted one quick, anxious, longing look at him, as she met Ron at the front of the
gathering, but had not looked at him again.

Harry's heart sank, as Ron and Hermione turned to face Dumbledore. It was going to be too
late…

**TBC**

**Oh, these chapters keep getting so long. But I got everything I wanted in this one. The
wedding scene and its aftermath a****re going to be long, so they need a chapter to
themselves****.**

**I was never seriously going to have Harry arrested. Just wanted to show that Fudge was an
idiot, and a desperate idiot at that.** **I also thought it made a good way to disclose that
Malfoy had disappeared.** **And it made for a nice cliffy too.**

**As for the wedding cliffhanger above…don't throw anything at me please!! Just
wait….it's all about to hit the fan!**

**Only 1 or 2 chapters left…and maybe an epilogue....**

-->



16. Chapter Sixteen
-------------------



**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 Sixteen**

The elaborate wedding ceremony plodded forward at a snail's pace. Harry's heart felt
like lead in his chest. Even when he was fighting Death Eaters from every side, even when he had
been lying injured in the hospital, he had never felt so powerless, so impotent.

*Ron knows, Ron knows*, he kept trying to tell himself. *You have time*. But Hermione
was there, standing less than a meter away, marrying somebody else. He had caught Ginny's
sympathetic eyes on him a couple of times, but Ron and Hermione had not looked at him at all. They
had not taken their eyes off of either each other, or Dumbledore. *Hermione's putting on a
good show,* Harry mused, but that thought was immediately followed by, *What if it's not a
show?* And off Harry whirled on the roller coaster of self-doubt.

Dumbledore then pulled out a length of shiny, wide ribbon that was a deep crimson color, and
Harry found his attention back on the wedding ceremony. He had never attended a wizarding wedding
before. The Headmaster cast an incantation on the ribbon, which flared briefly with a bright, white
glow, then faded back to normal.

“This is the Ribbon of Lifebonding,” Dumbledore intoned. “Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley, please
extend your arms.” Harry watched as Hermione held out her left arm, and Ron held out his right.
Dumbledore looped the crimson ribbon around their arms, using his wand to twirl it into a loose
knot, so that the ends of the ribbon dangled downwards. He then tapped it with his wand, and said,
“*Semperomnia.”*

Nothing happened.

For the first time ever, Harry saw Dumbledore look discomfited. He held up his wand again, and
Harry noted that his hand trembled ever so slightly. “*Semperomnia,*” he tried again.

Nothing.

There was a rustle of whispering that grew into a rush of murmurs. Harry looked at Ginny,
confused. What was going on? What was supposed to happen? Ginny's eyes were wide with shock,
and she looked at Ron and Hermione fearfully.

“Hermione?” came a pleading whisper from Ron, who was angled away from him. Harry saw
Hermione's face then…she was ashen, and her eyes were wide with fright and bewilderment.

“No...” she whispered, half to herself. “No…it can't….” Ron was holding her hand now, the
crimson ribbon linked loosely around their joined hands, forgotten. Ron was moving, trying to stay
in Hermione's line of vision. She was desperately trying to avoid his gaze.

“It's got to be a mistake,” she said, and then for a brief, barely noticeable instant, she
let her eyes flicker to Harry's.

And Ron saw it. He turned toward Harry, a bitter, disbelieving half-smile on his face. “You
bastard,” he said, in a perfectly normal tone of voice, as if he were telling Harry hello. The rush
of many voices grew louder, and Harry saw the flash of several cameras.

“Mr. Weasley, Mr. Potter, I believe - " Dumbledore began, trying to regain control of the
situation.

“What are you talking about?” Harry said at the same time. Ron threw a punch before the
Headmaster could complete his sentence. It connected with Harry's jaw. There were some shrieks
from the audience, and Harry heard Mrs. Weasley scream Ron's name, over the ringing in his
ears. “Ron!” Harry shouted. “What the hell - ?” The Grangers had jumped to their feet, and were
looking as confused as Harry felt.

Ron's face was red with anger and humiliation. “I was going to help you,” he said, clearly
waiting for Harry to get up so he could continue the fight. “I thought you told me the truth.”

“I *did* tell you the truth,” Harry protested, not in any hurry to get off of the ground.
Guilt needled at him. *Could the magic somehow know that he and Hermione had…?* “I don't
understand what - " he gestured toward the ribbon which had fallen to the ground at
Hermione's feet. He noticed Hermione then, standing in an odd slightly-bent posture, as if she
were going to be sick. One hand hung limply at her side, loosely holding her flowers. The other
hand was splayed at her waist. She looked like she was in shock. Ginny was standing right behind
her, one hand on Hermione's shoulder. “Hermione?” he said, fear for her in his voice.

“I believe this has gone far enough,” came the voice of Arthur Weasley, as he came up on the
pavilion from his seat in the front row. “In fact, it has gone too far. Mr. Minister,” he said, as
he rounded on Fudge, “this law of your - "

Harry's ears had only just registered a muttered word from near the edge of the forest, when
light zinged through the air, and Mr. Weasley dropped like a stone, hit with a stunning spell.

“Arthur!”

“Dad!” Mrs. Weasley and Ginny cried, flying to his side. Harry leapt to his feet, and looked
around frantically. They were sitting ducks up there on the dais. Hermione was still standing, pale
and wide-eyed, looking like she did not really comprehend what was going on. Moving in almost
perfect sync, Harry and Ron grabbed Hermione and dove off the side of the platform, where they had
at least partial cover.

The wedding guests began to move as one, jerking about in a chaotic motion, as if unsure where
exactly to go first. The whispers and murmurs had turned to shrieks of fear and the cries of the
wounded. Harry watched people crouch behind chairs and flower arrangements, and some tried to make
it across the open ground to the cover of Hagrid's hut. Not many made it.

Harry jumped up to fire off a curse, as he saw a masked Death Eater come into full view at the
back of the gathering. “Damn! Death Eaters!” he sighed. On the other side of the platform, he saw
Dumbledore crouched near Ginny and Mrs. Weasley.

“Tell me what is going on!” He said ferociously, as he ducked back down to Ron. “What was
supposed to happen?”

Ron scoffed in an ugly way, at Harry's continued insistence of unawareness.

“Like you don't know!” he said, as they both stood together, and took two Death Eaters down.
Harry caught a glimpse of Remus dueling desperately with another masked figure. There was a flash
of red at the edge of his vision, and he figured that Ginny and her mother were trying to drag her
father out of harm's way.

“Why would I know?” Harry said with exasperation, ducking a flash of purple light that shot over
his head, and exploded. Part of the canopy over the pavilion caught fire. “This is the first
wizarding wedding I've ever been to!”

Ron had opened his mouth to retort again, but did a double take. For the first time that
afternoon, it appeared that he had actually heard what Harry was saying. He swallowed, and sadness
seemed to replace anger in his eyes.

Hermione appeared to have gotten control of herself now, and was crouched beside the boys,
firing curses along with them. Harry wondered absently where she'd had her wand. She was still
very pale and seemed preoccupied.

The stone altar on the dais, where the wedding party had stood, exploded from the force of a
curse, with a low rumble. Shards of rock rained down on them, and Harry heard Ron swear as one
gashed open his temple.

Harry peered out again, and saw several of the wedding guests fighting quite well, and guessed
that these must be the Aurors that Amelia Bones had promised. Tonks had gotten herself backed into
a corner, and Harry watched Remus fight vainly to make it over to her side. He ducked back
down.

“We can't stay back here,” he whispered to Ron. “They need help.” He pointed Ron around the
other side of the dais, and prepared to go around the near side himself. “You stay here,” he hissed
to Hermione. Her eyes flashed, the first sign of life he'd seen from her in several
minutes.

“Like hell I will, Harry Potter,” she exclaimed, and proceeded to follow him. Harry noted with
bemusement that she had transfigured the full skirt of her dress robes into pants as she
walked.

They skittered around the edge of the dais, and took momentary shelter behind the wide panel of
heavy fabric where the corner of the pavilion was anchored to the ground.

“So what happened back there?” Harry hissed, knowing there were more important things going on,
but unable to let it drop.

“Harry, for the love of Merlin,” Hermione sighed angrily at his timing. She peered around the
corner, and fired off a hex. “There!” she said, with relief, “Remus got to Tonks. I think - "
she broke off suddenly, whirling and pressing her back against the canvas, as a jet of purple light
shot past her.

“C'mon Hermione, the entire wedding went to hell…evidently I had something to do with it,
and I don't even know what the blinking ribbon was supposed to have done!” he said, in
irritation. Bits of ash began to float down on his head, and he realized that the entire canopy was
engulfed in flames. He grabbed her hand, without thinking about it. “We can't stay here. Go.
I'll cover you.”

Hermione nodded, and hurried over to a large ceramic planter that held a beautiful arrangement
of gardenias. Their heavy perfume wafted in the air, mingling oddly with the scent of smoke,
burning fabric, and the hot acrid smell of curses. Harry followed her carefully, firing spells as
fast as he could.

At the last second, he saw a solitary Death Eater standing on the dais, oddly enough, evidently
unaware that he was making himself a target for the entire room. They saw each other at the same
time.

The Death Eater acted first, firing off a curse that Harry was forced to dive away from. He
landed hard on his right shoulder, at the base of the planter where Hermione was hiding.

“Damn,” he gasped, struggling to suck air into his protesting lungs.

“Harry?” Hermione said alarmed. Every now and then, she stood and fired a spell into the melee.
He tried to push himself into a sitting position, but his right arm caved under him, and he swore
at the pain that shot up his arm. “Are you okay?” she asked, concern creasing her features.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?” he repeated stubbornly. He managed to sit up, his
right arm cradled to his side, and put his wand in his left hand.

“Your arm's broken,” Hermione observed, ignoring his question.

“Is that Death Eater still up on the platform?” Harry asked, looking at her sourly. Hermione
peered through the blossoms, and replied,

“No, he's - "

“ - right here,” came a smooth voice. Harry cursed his inattention, and looked up at the masked
figure standing over them. With a muttered word, the Death Eater had disarmed them both.

“Might as well take the mask off, Malfoy,” Harry drawled, despite the throbbing pain in his arm.
“Although it does improve you somewhat.”

“You are hardly in a position to be insulting, Potter,” the figure spat, leaving no doubt in
Harry's and Hermione's minds that Harry had been correct.

“What are you trying to pull, ferret?” Harry said in the weary tone of a mother who's
constantly reprimanding her children. “Aspire to be the next Dark Lord, do you?” Malfoy
snorted.

“Always so overdramatic, Potter,” he said, obviously amused. “I simply want to keep the
Pureblood lines just that…pure.”

Harry figured that his mind must be operating a little more slowly than usual because of his
arm. “But you…sent the scroll….for Hermione,” he said, with difficulty.

Malfoy actually threw back his head and laughed aloud. “That law was utterly ridiculous!” he
said disdainfully. “My father is the one who `persuaded' the purebloods to sign off on it.
There was never any intention of actually - " Harry watched him with interest, hoping
Malfoy's ego would spur him on to greater revelations, but the blond Slytherin stopped
suddenly, staring over Harry's head, a muttered swear word on his lips. He said two things that
made no sense to Harry. “It didn't work!” and “Why are they here?” And then he flung
Harry's and Hermione's wands out onto the green toward Hogwart's, and apparated
away.

Harry and Hermione cautiously poked their heads over the edge of the planter. Wedding guests
were wobbling around in disarray, looking in dismay at each other around the ruined wedding
gathering. Fred, George, and some other Hogwart's students were spraying water from their wands
to put out the canopy.

Harry looked fearfully around for casualties. He saw Mr. Weasley being helped into one of the
chairs that was still upright, looking pale and shaky, but otherwise unharmed. There were several
others clapping bloody rags to various injuries, obviously victims of cutting curses. Ron was
across the aisle from him, anxiously talking to his father, and still bleeding from the cut in his
temple, but looking well, considering. Harry tried to stand up, and bit back the urge to vomit, as
the bones in his arm ground together. Hermione helped him make it to his feet, and he stumbled into
her, swearing as he tried to catch himself with his broken arm. Their gazes met briefly, and Harry
forgot he even had an arm.

“Hermione…” he began, but then noticed the red smoky replica of the Dark Mark floating at the
top of the canopy. “What the hell?” he muttered, half under his breath.

“It must have been a signal,” Hermione said matter of factly. “It's what Malfoy was looking
at, when he disapparated. Oh!” she cried suddenly, and trotted across the grass to retrieve their
wands. “At least he left us these.” Harry tried to ignore the sensations that flew up his left arm,
when her fingers brushed his as she handed him his wand.

“What in the world was he playing at?” Harry asked nobody in particular, mystified. Then he
noticed a clot of people standing near the back, apparently Aurors, standing with Amelia Bones. Her
eyes roved through the crowd, and landed on him. She smiled slightly, when she saw him, and nodded
almost imperceptibly.

Harry felt his heart surge, a great leaping feeling in his chest. She had gotten something
important, he was sure.

“Harry,” Hermione said, her voice low, her lips quite close to his ear, “I bet the Aurors'
arrival is why Malfoy and the other Death Eaters left.”

His answer was precluded by a soft hoot from behind him. Perched on the edge of the planter was
a regal horned owl, with a golden medallion around its neck. On the medallion was emblazoned the
word, “ Gringotts”. There was something rolled up neatly in its leg sheath.

Harry turned to Hermione with a brilliant smile.

“It's three o'clock,” he said.

*Harry couldn't sleep. He tossed listlessly in his bed at the Burrow, in the room that had
once been Percy's. Soft snoring drifted down from Ron's room, and must have been absolutely
deafening for anyone who might have been in there.*

*After a moment, he sat up in annoyance, deciding to go down to the kitchen and see what might
be in there to eat. He crept quietly down the stairs, and was nearly to the kitchen doorway, when a
voice spoke from the living room sofa, startling him.*

*“Can't sleep either?” Hermione said calmly.*

*“Are* *you going to make a habit of startling me?” Harry asked, grinning.*

*“Are you going to make a habit of sneaking around?” Hermione countered with a shrug.*

*“I'm trying to be quiet,” Harry answered defensively. “I was hungry.” Hermione continued
to stare at him, one eyebrow raised. “I couldn't sleep,” he finally admitted, under her
quelling gaze.*

*“Are you having nightmares?” she asked gently.*

*“No, not really…” he said, trailing off doubtfully. Were they still nightmares if they
happened when you weren't asleep? Were they nightmares if you saw things that had actually
occurred? “Just having trouble getting to sleep…”*

*She regarded him quietly for a moment. “Me too,” she said softly, her eyes looking far away.
“I still see them.” Her voice was faint, as if coming from a great distance.*

*Harry knew what she meant. He didn't have to close his eyes, to see Hannah Abbott fall,
over and over again. He could stop up his ears, but it wouldn't block the mocking sound of
Voldemort's laugh, Ron's cry of anguish when they came upon Percy's unmoving body, Mrs.
Weasley's sobs at the news of Bill's death…*

*“So do I,” he whispered hoarsely. She came toward him then, and he wrapped his arms around
her mechanically, burying his face in her hair.*

*“You know you can talk to me if you ever need to, Harry,” she said, her warm brown eyes
boring into his troubled green ones.*

*“I know,” he admitted, feeling himself grow warm under her gaze. His mouth quirked up in a
half-smile. “Thanks.” She looked at him again, curiously, as if she were searching for something.
Something unidentifiable flickered briefly in her eyes. She lifted one shoulder.*

*“What're friends for, Harry?”*

Harry ripped open the envelope and scanned the missive quickly. He couldn't stop a smile
from flitting across his face. He looked up and searched the crowd, watching as the wounded were
taken up to the castle, and people moved around in anxious knots, talking in low concerned
voices.

“Nobody's dead,” he said aloud, suddenly.

“What?” Hermione exclaimed, having been trying to read over his shoulder.

“Nobody's dead. What kind of Death Eaters attack a wedding, and don't kill anybody?” he
asked, almost rhetorically. Hermione latched on to what he was thinking immediately.

“The kind who are causing a diversion,” she answered.

“And I asked Madame Bones to check out Azkaban for me…”

“They were trying to break Lucius Malfoy out of Azkaban!” Hermione finished for him.

“That's what all this has been about…” he mused out loud, his eyes scanning the throng
again.

He stopped when he saw the Minister talking animatedly to Mr. Weasley, Amelia Bones, and
Dumbledore.

“… be letting them win, if we don't go on with the wedding…” Fudge was arguing, snatches of
his words drifting to Harry. From what he could tell, the others did not seem to be in favor of
this.

“It would be futile, Cornelius,” Dumbledore said. “Every person here… Lifebonding ritual did not
… marriage now would be a complete farce.”

“Would you really seek to break up a family?” Madame Bones asked, her voice carrying clearly
across to Harry.

Cornelius Fudge appeared to be quite upset that the showcase of his beautiful law would not be
completed. He began to bluster and gesticulate again, and Harry caught the phrase “moral decline”.
He felt his face flame. This was his fault….he had slept with Hermione, and thanks to Ron jumping
all over him in the middle of the bloody wedding, everyone here knew it. *At least it won't
be all over the front page of the* Prophet*,* he managed to think gratefully.

“Hermione,” he said, turning back toward her. “I'm sorry.”

“For what?” she asked, even as her face burned pink.

“For…I know it was my fault that the ribbon thing…and I'm sorry for …I know this has got to
be embarrassing - I mean for everybody to know that we - " Hermione's color deepened as he
spoke, and he finally broke off, swearing under his breath, and running one hand through his
hair.

“I'm sorry too, Harry,” she said, her voice a low murmur. She wouldn't look at him. “I
feel so stupid… I mean, I should have known, but - I would - I would have told you, if I had
realized…”

Harry looked at her suspiciously, suddenly getting the feeling that they were not talking about
the same thing.

“Hermione, what -- ?” he began, but was interrupted by Madame Bones. She pulled him off to one
side, firmly.

“You were absolutely right, Harry,” she said. “Lucius Malfoy was on the island, but not in the
prison. The Aurors had been instructed to allow him access to the guardhouse.”

“What?” Harry gasped.

“He was receiving post, and we managed to intercept a quite interesting one… from the Minister
himself.” The tone of her voice was normal, but Harry saw danger flashing in her eyes. Wordlessly,
he held out the parchment he had received from the Gringotts owl. After she had read it, she took
Harry's arm - thankfully his left one - and steered him up to the platform.

“I think you need to address this gathering,” she said, in a tone that brooked no opposition.
Harry blanched, trying to forget about the pain thrumming up his arm.

“But Madame Bones…” he began, desperately, as he saw some of the guests start to notice him.

“You are the Boy Who Lived, Harry,” she said, smiling at him. “You can do this.”

“Oh God,” he said, his voice barely a squeak. The murmurs begin to quiet down, and he wondered
vaguely how foolish he looked standing on a ruined dais for no apparent reason.

“I - I have something - " he began, suddenly feeling very sweaty.

“Harry,” he heard a hiss from the side, and saw Hermione gesturing to her throat with her wand.
“*Sonorus*,” she mouthed. Flushing uncomfortably, he magically amplified his voice, and
started again.

“I - there is something that everyone needs to know about the attacks here today,” he said,
swallowing with difficulty. He wondered how many papers *would* print front page photographs
of the Boy Who Lived losing his lunch in front of hundreds of people.

He saw Hermione standing to one side, her hands and lips clasped tightly together, looking at
him with a shining expression.

“The attack was a diversion… to mask the escape of Lucius Malfoy from Azkaban Prison,” he said,
confidence beginning to creep into his voice. He heard the murmurs begin. Several flashes went off.
He took a deep breath, and continued, “This entire plan was orchestrated by none other than
Cornelius Fudge.”

The murmur became a roar. Fudge was saying something that Harry could not make out, his face red
with rage.

“I think we should hear the boy out,” Amelia Bones was saying calmly. Harry heard Fudge say
something about “pressing charges”.

“You'd better have proof, boy!” Fudge snarled. Harry met his gaze, a sudden calm washing
over him.

“Yes, Mr. Minister,” Harry said politely, though his tone had an edge to it, “I certainly know
how important it is to have evidence when you accuse people of something.” It was a direct
reference to Fudge's attempt to have him arrested, and it caused Fudge to look slightly
discomposed.

“Minister Fudge has been consorting with known Death Eaters for quite some time now,” Harry
continued. “He has made it possible for Lucius Malfoy, a murderer and loyal follower of Voldemort,
to live not *in* Azkaban Prison with the dementors, but to instead live in the guardhouse of
Azkaban, in complete comfort.” His gaze flickered to Amelia Bones, who nodded serenely. “He was
found there just this afternoon, when Aurors interrupted the escape attempt.”

Harry heard Mrs. Weasley's betrayed cry, and had to struggle to maintain his composure.

“I have bank records,” he said, as his voice cut through the exclamations of the crowd, “of
transactions that took place between Malfoy family vault and Fudge's personal vault,” he held
up the parchment from Gringotts as proof, careful to keep his injured right arm cradled to his
side. More camera flashes. “There are also transactions,” he raised his voice, as the roar of the
crowd threatened to overwhelm him, “from the Malfoy coffers, funding the Ministry itself!”

The murmurs turned into an angry grumble, and Fudge began to look quite unsure of himself.

“The Marriage Law propagated by the Ministry, was paid for by Lucius Malfoy,” Harry said, “and
Mr. Minister,” he directed his statement to the irate politician. “You didn't even realize that
you were being played for a fool.” He smiled grimly. “Malfoy and his cohorts wanted you out of
office. They never intended for the Marriage Law to stand. They thought the wizarding public would
never allow it, but they weren't quite right on that count. They were gearing up for your
removal…and, with Malfoy out of jail, they were going to seize control during that gap and take
over the Ministry.” Harry stopped for a moment. The crowd had gone completely silent.

“This boy was powerful enough to take on the Dark Lord…perhaps that power has gone to his head,”
Fudge exclaimed. “He wants to control Wizarding Britain himself!” Spittle flew from the man's
mouth, as his voice became almost incoherent. “This boy has a long history of mental
instability!”

Rage flooded Harry so quickly that it surprised him, and he threw back his head and laughed
suddenly. He could see the doubtful looks on the faces in the crowd, as they wondered if Fudge was
perhaps correct. “The papers said I was mentally unstable when I was having nightmares about
Voldemort. They said I was mentally unstable when he was trying to control my mind. They said I was
mentally unstable when I said he was back. *But I was right*!” The roar of voices was back,
and Harry thought he heard some scattered applause.

“Bet it was easy to convince your old friends from the Pureblooded Alliance to go along with
your scheme, wasn't it?” Harry finished coolly, holding up the photograph that he had managed
to acquire. Cornelius Fudge paled visibly.

“That's a fake! Where did you get that?” he stormed.

“From the *Daily Prophet*,” Harry said evenly. “It was restricted…I had to buy the entire
company myself to get it.” He looked out at the guests, who looked understandably shell-shocked.
“Is this the freedom that we fought Voldemort for?” The angry rumbling was back.

“I call for a vote of no confidence,” shouted a voice from the crowd, and Harry realized with a
start that it was Ron. There were murmurs of assent, as the motion was seconded.

“The Wizengamot is here,” Harry said, gesturing toward the group of venerable looking wizards
and witches. “Let's have the vote now.”

“You don't have a quorum,” Fudge shouted, furiously.

“Actually, I believe we do,” came Dumbledore's placid voice, as he stepped around from the
far side of the pavilion, smiling amiably.

Harry beamed at the Headmaster.

The vote was taken in short order, and Fudge was escorted away ignominiously by two Aurors.

“For someone who loathes the spotlight, you sure manage to get yourself in it all the time,” Ron
said, coming up beside Harry suddenly. His voice was congenial, but his smile was tight.

“Ron,” Harry said uncomfortably, unsure of what to say. Now that he had time to notice it, his
arm still throbbed painfully. He swayed on his feet.

“Bloody hell, Harry,” Ron said, a little gruffly. “You're hurt.” He motioned for Ginny to
join them, and they flanked him, heading for the castle. Several reporters noticed their imminent
departure, and flung themselves towards the group, shouting questions. The actual words being
spoken were lost in the clamor, and Harry threw one hand up against the strobing light of the
cameras.

“What are you going to do about Miss Granger's baby?” one reporter shouted, the question
falling quite loudly into a lull. Harry sucked in his breath suddenly, and he felt Ron stiffen
beside him. He swallowed and stopped walking, but said nothing.

“Harry, is it true that you're the father of Miss Granger's baby?” the reporter
repeated, sensing a story and pressing her advantage. Harry looked at Ron.

“Is that why…the - the ribbon… knew…?” he asked in a trembling voice. Ron wouldn't look at
him, but nodded slowly. The reporters went nuts.

“Mr. Potter - Harry! Does that mean that you were unaware of Miss Granger's condition?”
shrieked another reporter.

Harry turned slowly, searching for Hermione, ignoring the tumult that surrounded him. His eyes
suddenly fell on Hogwart's, and he squinted against the late afternoon sun, thinking he had
seen a glint of white flash at the entrance.

Ignoring the stabbing pain in his arm, he began to run toward the castle.

**TBC**

**There now, we're almost done. Just a little bit more to finish everything off. I
apologize if Harry seemed too William Wallace-y. He got a little carried away!**

**I decided to throw the baby thing in there anyway.** **Hope it's okay.**

**This chapter was a little hard for me to write… I hope you enjoyed it.**

-->



17. Chapter Seventeen
---------------------



**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 Seventeen**

By the time Harry made it to the large double doors that comprised the main entrance to
Hogwart's, he was out of breath, his chest heaving, and his arm nearly numb. He stood
momentarily in the vestibule, watching the staircases realign themselves, and wondering where she
would have gone.

He began a slow, painful climb up to their common room, thinking that, if she was not there, he
could at least retrieve the Marauder's Map and locate her that way.

The portrait hole posed him some problem, as he struggled to clamber through it, using only his
left arm. He was seeing stars, with black haze around the edges of his vision, when he had finally
made it through and closed the portrait hole behind him.

She was sitting on the sofa, staring into the unlit fireplace, absolutely still.

“Oh, honestly, Harry,” she said, as he fought to stay upright and conscious. “Could you not at
least go to the hospital wing first?” Her voice was distant.

“The reporters said - I didn't know what that meant - I thought it was just because - why
didn't you tell me?” Harry said bleakly, struggling to find words.

“Harry, I didn't know!” she turned to face him then, and he could see the shiny paths of
tears on her cheeks.

“But you knew after…didn't you?... when the ribbon didn't do anything,” Harry persisted,
not really meaning to sound accusatory. But Hermione would have researched every aspect of the
wedding ceremony, he was sure.

“Yes…” she admitted faintly. Harry thrust his hands into his pockets, and appeared absorbed in
his shoes. He remembered the look of complete shock on her face, when the ribbon had remained
stationary around her wrist. He tried to imagine what it must be like to discover news like that in
front of a crowd of people…to realize that they would all know what it meant too…to know that they
would think terrible things about her.

“I'm sorry,” Harry blurted idiotically. She shot him a sidelong glance, faint amusement
flickering across her face.

“For what?” she said, smiling slightly.

“For …you know…*that*,” he stammered. She looked at him then, and the full force of the
emotion emanating from her brown eyes made him weak in the knees.

“I don't regret it, Harry. I just - I wish you - we hadn't found out that way - I wish -
I wish everybody in the wizarding world wasn't going to find out about it by tomorrow.”

“I'm sorry,” he repeated, his brow creasing in sympathy. If he weren't the Boy Who
Lived, she would not be the focus of all this attention.

“You shouldn't be sorry,” she said, and turned back toward the fireplace.

“Hermione? Are you okay?” Harry asked, sidling a little more closely to her.

“It's just…a lot to process, that's all,” she replied. “I wasn't planning on this
quite so soon.”

“I - "

“Please don't apologize again, Harry,” Hermione said tremulously, a sad little laugh
escaping her lips. Harry felt terrible. He was sure there was something that he should say, but he
wasn't sure what.

Any brilliant inspiration he might have had was stopped by a scuffle at the portrait hole, as
Ginny blundered through.

“There you two are,” she said heartily. “Harry, haven't you got your arm fixed
*yet*?”

“Er…right,” he said, looking longingly at Hermione, “I was just going.”

“You probably ought to see Madame Pomfrey too,” Ginny said to Hermione, her face completely
bland. Hermione looked at her almost angrily, but sighed.

“I suppose so,” she said, and stood slowly from the sofa. “Did you see my parents?” she asked
Ginny, who looked back at Hermione warily.

“They're…fine,” she drew out slowly. “I did hear some yelling…from your dad…but I don't
know how much Dumbledore told them.” Harry watched as Hermione's face slowly burned a dull
red.

“He's going to kill me,” she said, in a quietly resigned voice.

“Hey,” Harry said softly, stepping over to her side. “I know this wasn't on anybody's
schedule, but… I'm - I'm not going anywhere. Maybe he'll kill me instead,” Harry tried
to joke, actually privately thinking that this was quite likely. His fingers stroked her back with
the barest of touches.

“I don't want you to feel you have to stay…because of the - of the - the baby,” Hermione
said, her eyes filmed over with a sheen of tears.

“Hermione, I love you,” he said, sincerity cracking his voice. “I took on the government because
of you - because I love you. Do you really think that's changed now - just because you're
going to have a baby?”

“I thought you took on the government because the law was wrong?” Hermione said, with a small
half-smile, peering up at him through her lashes.

“Well, that's what I'm telling everybody else,” Harry muttered. “Makes me look
better.”

Hermione laughed in spite of herself. Ginny pushed the portrait hole open, and ushered them
out.

When they arrived at the hospital wing, they were separated by the tumult of people inside.
Hermione was swept up in her mother's arms, and Harry was escorted over to a bed by Ginny, who
skedaddled back out the door, while Madame Pomfrey forced him to swallow a number of digusting
concoctions. He winced at the familiar discomfort that occurred as his bones began to knit
themselves back together.

He watched Hermione talking to her mother, watched her mother brush tears off of her
daughter's cheeks. He saw her father standing over both of them watchfully, and felt a knot of
fear grow in his stomach. How much had Hermione told her parents? How much of the wedding ceremony
had they understood?

He slid off of the bed, flexing and extending his arm experimentally, feeling only a slight
twinge of soreness, and made his way over to the bed where Hermione was sitting. Madame Pomfrey was
just starting to pull the curtains around the bed for privacy.

“Mr. Potter, if you'll excuse us…” the mediwitch said politely.

“I want to be here,” Harry returned, feeling his insides quiver, “seeing as how I'm the
baby's father.” He heard the slight intake of breath, as Hermione's mother gasped at the
outright admission of these unfamiliar words. Hermione smiled tentatively at him, and reached her
hand out to thread her fingers through his.

“That's why Ron hit you?” her father asked. Harry swallowed.

“Yes, sir,” he replied, wondering if Hermione's father was going to repeat the action.

“Can't say I blame him,” Mr. Granger said gruffly.

“Neither do I … sir,” Harry admitted truthfully. “I made a fool out of him at his own wedding,”
his eyes shifted downward, and he wondered if Ron would ever be able to feel friendship toward him
again.

“Well, we appreciate what you've done…getting that marriage law revoked,” Mrs. Granger put
in, her eyes flashing anxiously up at her husband. Mr. Granger made a noncommittal noise, and
glowered briefly at Harry, as if to say *I am not finished with you yet.*

Madame Pomfrey muttered an incantation under her breath, and her wand glowed a soft gold. She
began to run it over Hermione, scanning her body. Hermione's fingers clenched tightly around
Harry's.

Harry felt his heart somewhere around the region of his throat. Hermione's abdomen glowed
briefly, and a small roll of parchment began to stream from the tip of Madame Pomfrey's wand.
The mediwitch pulled it straight, and began to read it, occasionally nodding or making “mm-hm”
noises.

“Madame Pomfrey?” Hermione said, finally, unable to stand it any longer.

“Everything looks just lovely, Miss Granger,” Madame Pomfrey said. “You look to be about six
weeks along…does that sound about right?”

Hermione nodded, but Harry blurted, “Six weeks and five days.” Everyone looked at him in
astonishment, and he added, somewhat defensively, “Well, it was the only - " But then he
realized to whom he was speaking and what he was saying, and stopped. Hermione's eyes slid shut
with embarrassment, and Harry turned brick red.

“I want to see you once a month for a checkup,” Madame Pomfrey continued, her expression bland,
but her eyes danced with suppressed laughter. “I'll give you a potion for nausea, just in case
you need it, and you need to eat nutritiously and get plenty of sleep. I'll give you a note to
give Professor Snape. There are certain potion ingredients that you should not be exposed to, while
you're in this condition.” Hermione looked slightly pained at something else to further
antagonize Snape against one of the Golden Trio.

Madame Pomfrey consulted the parchment again, and eyed the young parents-to-be speculatively.
“Do you want to know the gender?”

“Yes.”

“No.” Harry and Hermione said simultaneously. They exchanged glances.

“No.”

“Yes.” They reversed their answers, and spoke in unison again. Mrs. Granger made a snorting
noise, and tried to make it sound as if she'd been clearing her throat.

“Do you want to find out?” Harry asked. Hermione shrugged one shoulder, and looked down at her
hands, feeling oddly shy at discussing something like this.

“If you do,” she murmured.

“But you said no first,” he pointed out.

“Harry…” she protested, but Harry had already answered for them.

“We don't want to know,” he said. Hermione felt tears pool in her eyes again at his casual
use of the word “we”.

Madame Pomfrey nodded, and concluded her examination of Hermione. “It looks like your due date
will be around the eleventh of June.” Harry and Hermione looked at each other.

“Five days after graduation,” Harry observed, needlessly. They looked at each other again.

“I'll be able to finish school,” Hermione said, slanting an odd, hopeful look up at her
parents. “I'm sure I could take N.E.W.T.s a little early.” There was still danger in Mr.
Granger's eyes.

“Can I speak with you for a moment, Harry?” Mr. Granger said. “Outside?” Fear flared up in
Harry's face, as he was steered toward the corridor. He knew he would get no quarter from
Hermione's Muggle father, who didn't care who he was, only knowing that Harry had done
unmentionable things to his daughter and gotten her pregnant.

“You are going to take responsibility for this child - *your* child?” Mr. Granger said.

Harry cleared his throat. “I should think that that was obvious…sir,” he said, trying to gather
some of the composure he'd had earlier that afternoon. *I just overthrew the Minister of
Magic, for Merlin's sake!*

“How are you going to support this baby? Is Hermione going to be included in your plants?” The
questions were rapid-fire. Harry thought of the towering piles of galleons in his vault at
Gringotts, and had an urge to laugh, which he repressed.

“My parents….erm…left me - left me quite a lot of money, actually. I've inherited from my
godfather as well - some money…and a house - two houses, really,” he rambled, before noticing the
look of surprise on Mr. Granger's face. He looked up at the older man earnestly. “Hermione
won't have to work a day in her life, sir, unless she wants to…which she probably will.”

“You love my daughter?” Mr. Granger asked, although it wasn't really in the tone of a
question. Harry spoke without hesitation.

“More than anything in the world,” he said, swinging his gaze up to meet Mr. Granger's. His
face blazed suddenly with the conviction of his emotions, and Mr. Granger had to admit to himself
that he was impressed. “I'd like to ask her to marry me…with your permission, of course,” he
added quickly. Harry wasn't going to take anything for granted, the fact that Hermione was
pregnant notwithstanding. Mr. Granger regarded him solemnly for another moment, before nodding.

“I'm not saying that I like what happened, but you are both adults… and I believe you when
you say you love her. That means a lot to me, Harry.”

“She means a lot to me, sir,” Harry said honestly, then amended, “She means *everything* to
me.” Mr. Granger laid a hand on his shoulder, and squeezed briefly, before going back into the
hospital wing. Harry loitered around outside, finally deciding to climb up in the broad sill of a
low window, overlooking the Hogwart's green. The canopy had been pulled down, and was lying in
a sloppy, black-splotched heap on the grass. Chairs were flying into the air, and stacking
themselves neatly, and Harry could see Mrs. Weasley directing the entire effort with her wand. He
wondered guiltily how Mrs. Weasley felt about this latest turn of events, remembering the cold
treatment Hermione had received from her their fourth year.

“I faced Voldemort down with you, and *I* still nearly pissed myself, when I had to
`talk' with Hermione's dad,” came Ron's voice from behind him. Harry started and looked
warily at his best friend. Ron's hair was disheveled, and he was still in his wedding robes.
His tie was undone, and hung askew around his neck, and his hands were shoved deeply into his
pockets.

“He is a little scary,” Harry admitted, smiling slightly. There was a long, awkward pause, while
both boys struggled mightily to ignore the elephant in the room.

“Your arm fixed?” Ron finally said, evidently groping for something to say. Harry stretched out
the indicated limb, as if for inspection.

“Good as new,” he responded. More silence. Harry's rear end grew tired of sitting up on the
stone of the window sill, so he hopped down, immediately regretting it, as this put him back to
being several inches shorter than Ron. The silence seemed to stretch out *ad infinitum*, and
Harry wondered if they were still going to be standing in this corridor silently when everyone went
to breakfast tomorrow. “Hey!” he said suddenly, seizing on what Ron had said earlier. “You talked
to Hermione's dad? When was that?”

Ron shrugged. “One of those nights you were in the library with Ginny, I reckon,” he said,
without malice. “She wanted me to meet them…you know, before the wedding. They weren't very
keen on the idea of Hermione getting married at all, at her age.” He gave Harry a sideways look.
“Bet you're real high on their list now.”

“Actually, I think they're okay with it,” Harry mused. He looked at Ron hesitantly. “I asked
her father for permission to - to marry her.” Ron sighed.

“Figured you would,” was all he said.

“Ron - " Harry began, but Ron interrupted him.

“What is it you want me to say, Harry?” Harry drew back, stung.

“*You're* the one who came up here and started talking,” he retorted defensively.

“I was looking for Hermione,” Ron shot back.

“She's in there!” Harry said furiously, flinging his arm in the direction of the door to the
hospital wing. “Be my guest!”

“I just might!” Ron said, with biting inflection, purposely taking Harry's last statement
the wrong way. Both of them froze, staring at each other, and Ron thought that he might have gone
too far. In the next instant, Harry swung, and Ron found himself on the floor, with blood pouring
from both nostrils.

Harry slowly lowered his clenched fist, breathing heavily. “Now we're even,” he said
levelly.

“I didn't break your nose!” Ron retorted, trying to stem the flow of blood with the sleeve
of his dress robes.

“Yeah, but you knocked me down in front of hundreds of people. This makes us even,” Harry said,
without smiling, but a hint of laughter glinted in his eyes. He squatted down in front of Ron,
putting them on the same eye level. “I love her. She's going to have my baby. I'm going to
be a father,” he looked as if he had a little trouble believing that. Ron winced at the truths
coming so baldly out of Harry's mouth. “You are my best mate, and I'll never forget how you
befriended me on the Express first year. But if you can't deal with this… then I'm really
going to miss you.” He stood, and offered Ron a hand up. “Don't make me choose.”

Ron took Harry's hand, and pulled himself up. “The ribbon was supposed to tie itself into a
bow, and vanish in a flash of light,” he said. “When it didn't…I've never been so
embarrassed in my life. *I* knew that Hermione didn't love me…but suddenly everyone there
knew it too. And the Slytherins,” Ron made a disgusted face, “are going around saying something
about me being `cuckolded'. I didn't even know what that meant. I had to go look it up!”
Ron threw his hands up in the air in frustration. “And you know what? They were right! I was!”

“Ron, it was an accident! I didn't know. Hermione says she didn't know. And if she
suspected anything, she certainly wasn't telling.” Harry sighed, and turned back toward the
window. “She was so upset when Malfoy bought off the other contracts. But after you proposed, we
didn't anymore - I swear.”

Ron wrinkled up his nose. “That's what you were doing when you missed all those classes that
day?” He found another dry spot on his sleeve and applied it to his nose, muttering, “Lucky
bastard.”

Harry took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, grinning in spite of himself.

“You look knackered,” Ron observed, laconically.

“It's been a long day,” Harry admitted, his eyes alighting as he saw Hermione and her
parents step out of the hospital wing. Ron saw the look on his face, and turned. When he saw
Hermione, understanding washed across his countenance. “Ron, are you going to be okay?” he asked,
with concern.

“Yeah,” Ron replied, deliberately misunderstanding him. “I'm sure Madame Pomfrey can fix
this right up.” He looked at his dress robes and winced. “I hope this can be scourgified, or you
can just bury me in these, because Mum'll have kittens.”

Harry slanted a look at Ron that said *I know what you're trying to do*. Ron shrugged,
as if to say*, Yeah, well, what'd you expect?* “Thanks,” Harry finally said, with more
emotion than was masculinely acceptable in his voice.

Ron looked at him gravely for a moment, and then waved away his gratitude with one hand, and
disappeared inside the infirmary doors.

Hermione came immediately to Harry's side, taking his hand in hers, concern radiating from
her chocolate eyes.

“Is he okay?” she asked, biting her lower lip. Harry was staring at the doors where Ron had
vanished.

“I think he will be,” he replied truthfully. “How are you?”

“Fine,” she said, with some chagrin in her tone. “I'm going to be on all the front pages
tomorrow. And I'm going to be the size of a house at graduation. But other than that, I'm
fine.” Harry opened his mouth, but Hermione pressed one hand against his lips. “Do *not*
apologize, Harry Potter,” she warned.

They walked her parents to the front doors of Hogwart's, where Dumbledore met them with a
portkey for the Grangers. Mrs. Granger kissed Hermione good-bye, with an admonishment to let her
know how everything was going. Mr. Granger kissed Hermione good-bye, and shook Harry's hand,
giving him an appraising look. Harry felt like he'd been told that he got the job, but would be
on probation for awhile.

“Headmaster,” Harry ventured. “What happened after I - I left?” he asked.

“Cornelius Fudge has been taken into custody,” Dumbledore replied. “There will be a vote
tomorrow, and I believe that Amelia Bones will probably get the job.”

Harry grinned, feeling gratified. He liked Madame Bones very much, and thought that she would be
an honest and fair leader.

“What about the Death Eaters?” Dumbledore's face grew grave.

“The ones who were injured in the attack here have been apprehended, because they were left
behind. There were several that escaped. Lucius Malfoy was unable to leave Azkaban Island. He has
been apprehended as well. With these new charges against him, he may well receive the Kiss this
time.”

“They haven't found Draco?” Harry said, in more of a statement than a question.

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. “He was one of the attackers then?” Harry and Hermione nodded.
“I suspected as much. Aurors have surveillance on his house. They're hoping he'll return
when he hears that his mother has been arrested as well.” Harry glanced protectively at Hermione.
Malfoy's snarled words, *This is* **not** *over,* rang in his mind. He would feel
much better when Draco had been located and jailed.

“I assume congratulations are in order?” Dumbledore said, changing the subject. Harry cleared
his throat, and Hermione flushed a delicate pink.

“Yes sir,” they both murmured.

“I trust that this will not negatively affect your studies,” his voice was stern, and Hermione
looked alarmed. But Harry did not miss the subtle twinkle present in the headmaster's blue
eyes. He grinned, while Hermione hastened to outline her plan for completing her exams before the
baby arrived.

At length, Professor Dumbledore bid them both good evening. “Perhaps you would rather take your
evening meal in your common room, before…facing everyone tomorrow?” he asked knowingly. Harry
sighed, remembering all the reporters at the wedding. His classmates would be just as bad, if not
worse.

“Yes, thank you, Professor,” Hermione accepted politely.

“Students will be coming down for dinner soon,” the headmaster observed. He turned to go, and
had nearly made it to the entrance to the Great Hall, when he looked back at them as if he'd
forgotten something. “There is a reporter in the library that the *Daily Prophet* has
commissioned to write a story about you, Harry.” Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Dumbledore
overrode him. “They are a newspaper, and you are newsworthy, Harry,” he said, smiling. “I'm
sure that the piece will meet with your approval before it is printed. However, she did have one
question that needed to be asked and answered first.”

Harry and Hermione exchanged baffled glances, as Dumbledore's eyes sparkled
enigmatically.

“Have a good evening,” was all the old wizard had to offer in parting.

Harry took Hermione's hand as they walked to the library.

“Harry?” Hermione said, tentatively. “Are you sure you're okay with this? I mean, I
don't - I don't want to - to *trap* you or anything,” her voice wavered uncertainly on
the incriminating word. Harry laughed, and steered Hermione over to the side of the corridor,
backing her into the wall, and standing very close.

“I have no memory of my parents,” he said, looking steadily into her eyes. “I lived for ten
years with people who loathed my existence. My godfather was killed because of me,” Hermione opened
her mouth to protest, but Harry shushed her. “I just found out today that I'm going to be a
father.” There was wonder in his voice. “You - *you ­*- are giving me what I always wanted - a
family of my own. And I can hardly believe my good fortune,” his voice had lowered to nearly a
whisper, and he shyly laid his hand against her still-flat stomach.

Hermione swallowed hard against the knot in her throat, and laid her hand on top of his. “I love
you, Harry Potter,” she said hoarsely.

“I love you back,” he said softly, kissing her gently on the lips. “Let's get married,” he
said, so casually that she thought she'd misheard him.

“What?” He grinned, and kissed her again. She felt her knees wobble.

“You heard me,” he said impishly, but then turned serious. “Your father already gave his
permission, Hermione. So, will you?” Hermione appeared stuck on his previous statement.

“You asked my father?” she said wonderingly. Harry leaned his forehead against hers.

“Answer the question,” he said, growling in mock frustration.

“Of course I will,” she said, barely audibly. The smile that spread across the face of the Boy
Who Lived was brilliant, and he kissed her thoroughly, until the noise of students going to dinner
drove them hastily into the library, which was almost empty.

Both of them scanned the quiet tables for someone who looked like a reporter, but they found
only…

“Ginny?” Harry asked incredulously. Ginny grinned at them both, and put down her quill.

“I told the *Prophet* I could get them a front-page exclusive on you,” she said, smiling
cheekily, “and it wouldn't be sordid garbage like the other papers would print. I'm almost
finished.” She picked up her quill again, and poised it to write. “So,” she asked, her eyes
sparkling with anticipation, “did you ask her yet?”

**TBC**

**Some much deserved fluff for our beleaguered couple! One chapter to go, and probably a
shorter epilogue!**

**Hope you enjoyed it!**

**Oh, and I haven't forgotten about “Isle of Mists”, but after I discovered a quite
embarrassing mistake, wherein I'd mixed up my two stories (it's fixed now), I decided to
wait and finish this one, since it's almost done, and then concentrate fully on “Isle”. Thanks
for your patience!**

-->



18. Chapter Eighteen
--------------------



**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 Eighteen**

Harry gaped at Ginny for a moment. “You - you're - a … reporter?” he finished, trailing off
the word “reporter” dubiously.

“Well, not yet…but I think I might like to be, once I finish school. The *Prophet* was just
salivating for a story about you - that wouldn't get them all hexed - and since I know the
owner *personally*…” Ginny grinned merrily, obviously thoroughly enjoying this. Harry rolled
his eyes.

“How did you know he was going to ask me to marry him?” Hermione asked curiously, and Ginny all
but crowed with glee.

“So, he did already? I knew he was going to, I just knew it!” She spread the parchment open for
them to see. At the top, in large bold letters, obviously intended to be the headline, it read:

**“HARRY POTTER TO WED** **SCHOOLMATE****”**

“You were assuming an awful lot, weren't you, Gin?” Harry asked, in amusement. Ginny blinked
back at him, seriously.

“You would have *completely* messed up my lead-in, if you hadn't proposed, Harry.”

“Well, that was why I did it,” Harry muttered in an aside to Hermione. She elbowed him in the
ribs, and he continued to scan the article. It appeared to be well-written, with numerous
references to Harry and Hermione's long-standing friendship, and their involvement in the
defeat of Voldemort in the final battle.

Not once was Harry referred to as the Boy Who Lived.

“The missing third of the famed Golden Trio is none other than Ronald Weasley, who had gallantly
offered to marry Miss Granger, when her Muggle-born status placed her in peril under the now-void
Marriage Law. When he was queried about his feelings regarding the relationship between Miss
Granger and Mr. Potter, he said simply, `Harry has been through more in 17 years than most wizards
see in a lifetime. Happiness has been a long time coming for him, and he deserves it.'”
Hermione read aloud, and glanced at Ginny with misty eyes. “Did he really say that?” Ginny raised
her wand formally.

“On my honor as a witch,” she replied.

“Is the Marriage Law really defunct?” Hermione asked, looking over the article with
interest.

“Not officially…yet. But Madame Bones has said it's the first order of business once
she's officially in office,” Ginny replied, sounding quite concise and confident.

Harry also noticed that there was a segment of the article dealing with the attack at wedding,
as well as Harry's confrontation with Cornelius Fudge. However, there was no mention of
Hermione's pregnancy or Ron's decking of him after the Lifebonding ceremony failed. He
asked her about those omissions.

“I wanted to ask you first,” Ginny shrugged. “It's really not anybody's affair, but
there's the slight problem that everybody's going to find out about it anyway.” Hermione
and Harry exchanged glances.

“If people are going to hear about it anyway, it may as well be on our terms,” Harry finally
said. The three teens huddled together over the parchment, with Hermione or Harry occasionally
offering suggestions, while Ginny scribbled furiously. At last, she leaned back, and all three
perused the sentence in question, after coming to the conclusion that simplicity was, perhaps,
best.

“Mr. Potter and Miss Granger are overjoyed to announce that they are expecting a further
addition to their new family by June, just after graduation.”

Ginny looked up at Harry uncertainly. “Are you sure that's enough?”

Harry glanced at the line again. “It's the truth,” he said firmly. “It's just an
article, not an editorial or an interview. I didn't buy the *Prophet* so it could sing
glowing praises of me. I just want people to know the truth.” Ginny nodded seriously, while
Hermione fumbled with the cuff of her formal robe, obviously wanting to ask the younger witch
something.

“Is this - is this going to … you know, tarnish Harry's reputation?” she asked
uncertainly.

“I don't give a damn about my - " Harry began, but Ginny interrupted him.

“Do you mean, how many mothers will have kittens about `extracurricular' activities of their
children's role model?” Harry turned crimson, but Hermione nodded. “Oh, loads of `em,” Ginny
shrugged, with a *don't let it bother you* look. She consulted her parchment again, and
chewed thoughtfully on the end of her quill. “Do you have a date?”

“To go where?” Harry asked stupidly. Hermione elbowed him in the ribs, and Ginny snorted.

“For. The. Wedding,” Ginny enunciated slowly, smirking at him. Harry glowered at her, but then
looked expectantly at Hermione.

“Well, when do you want to get married?” he asked her, his eyes twinkling.

“Oh, I don't know. How about tomorrow?” Harry looked at her in surprise.

“Okay,” he said, a little dubious about her unexpected response.

“Really?” Hermione looked dumbfounded, and Harry wondered if he'd called her bluff.

“Sure,” he replied, as he rolled the idea around in his mind. “Why not?” He wondered idly if
there was any family jewelry in his vault, and thought that a trip back to Diagon Alley might be in
order. “We can have Lupin and your parents here in no time, and everyone else is here.”

She looked at him again, with a shy, uncertain, almost tentative look. It would have been
incongruous in anyone else, but Harry understood. He smiled crookedly at her. *I know*, he
thought, *I can't believe it either.* He suddenly became aware of Ginny clearing her
throat loudly, and wondered how long they'd been staring at each other.

When Ginny had declared the article complete, she hurried down to the Owlery to send it to the
*Prophet* offices, and Harry and Hermione wandered up to their common room for dinner. Harry
held her hand clasped loosely in his.

“Long day?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow at her.

“No, it was kind of boring, really,” she said sarcastically. “I almost got married, found out I
was pregnant with some other bloke's child, got attacked, and then got engaged.”

“Yeah, you're right,” Harry mused, in a similar vein, “That is fairly dull, compared to what
we usually deal with.” Hermione grinned at him, and bumped him playfully with her shoulder.

When they arrived in their common room, they saw that the sofa and chairs had been replaced with
a small table, set rather romantically for two. The lights in the room had been lowered, and soft
music was coming from somewhere. Hermione glanced at Harry, a wisp of a smile trailing around her
mouth.

“You put Dobby up to this, didn't you?”

“When did I have time?” Harry protested, innocently, but Hermione figured he had wrangled it
somehow. They both sat down, and looked at each other rather shyly. Hermione flushed red when
Harry's warm gaze appeared to be fixed on her. She rolled her eyes at herself.

“This is stupid,” she burst out suddenly. “I'm having your baby, and we've been suddenly
robbed of the ability to make dinner conversation!” Harry grinned, and poked the roast beef that
had appeared on his plate with a fork.

“It just doesn't seem real,” he admitted softly. “I had trouble believing that you wanted
me…before all this marriage law nonsense started. And now…there's nothing standing in our way,
and I can't believe it. Nothing in my life has ever gone this right before.”

Hermione thought of the events of the day, and chuckled. “I would say that I'd hate to see
what your life looks like when it's going wrong, if this is what you call going right. But I
have seen it, and when your life goes wrong, it does so in a spectacular fashion!”

“Well, I won't have mediocrity!” Harry said loftily, and Hermione giggled, looking surprised
at the bubbly laugh that escaped her lips. His eyes snapped back to her, at her laugh, and he
turned suddenly serious. “Hermione, I love you.”

Her eyes misted at his solemn declaration. “I love you too.”

“I meant what I said earlier.”

“'Bout what?” Her eyes were soft and limpid in the candlelight, and Harry felt his heart
rate accelerate just looking at her.

“About you - the baby - *this* - being everything I ever wanted.” Hermione's heart
clenched, and seemed to literally skip a beat. She'd always wondered if that ever really
happened.

“I know.” They both sat in silence for a time, each just enjoying, savoring the presence of the
other. They played with their food, occasionally taking a bite, but the interest was far more
focused on the person opposite that on their plates. Ron would have been appalled. Hermione took a
deep breath, and listened to the silence, broken only by the subtle crackle of the fire and the
ting of Harry's fork against his plate. It was like life had been distilled down to its
simplest essence….*to be*. Hermione thought that Harry had probably not had many moments like
that in his life.

“Well,” Harry began, swallowing a bite, and speaking conversationally, as if they'd been
engaging in small talk all this time. “Have you packed?”

“Packed?” Hermione echoed. “For what? We can't take a honeymoon now. It's the middle of
term. I guess we'd have to go during Christmas. We certainly won't get a chance after the
baby is born. I'm sure Mum would say something about the consequences of irresponsibility, but
I don't…”

“Hermione!” Harry said, half-laughing, as her words picked up speed. “I wasn't talking about
a honeymoon… but we could take one at Christmas, if you want to.” Hermione bit her lip, and her
eyes sparkled with anticipation.

“Where do you want to go?” she asked, leaning forward with excitement. Harry shrugged.

“Doesn't matter to me. I've never been anywhere.” Hermione felt a pang as she considered
the truth of this statement, but remembered Harry's comment about packing, and refused to be
sidetracked thusly.

“If not a honeymoon, what then?” she said. He lowered his eyes for a moment, and then looked
back up through his lashes. *No boy should be allowed to have lashes like that. It's
criminal.* Hermione thought in fascination that he had no idea at all what an appealing picture
he made. His eyes were crystalline in the fire light.

“I just meant that you wouldn't need your room anymore.” Hermione had somehow not thought of
this yet. She felt her bones melt, and pool somewhere in her stomach, a delicious, leaden
warmth.

“Oh…” she said vaguely.

*Hermione Granger was getting ready to leave for her seventh year at Hogwart's. She had
helped the Boy Who Lived face down Voldemort himself. She was at the top of her class, the
brightest witch of her age, and Head Girl to boot. Why then was her hand trembling, as she adjusted
the strap on her bag? Why was she standing out on the sidewalk, watching the students mill around,
when she had just seen Harry, Ron, and Ginny board the train?*

*She wasn't sure if she could face him just yet. She had seen him standing there, unmoving
in the stream of humanity, his face shadowed, thoughtful, far away. Where had he been this summer?
How had he dealt with what he had been through? Was he going to let anybody in? Would he let*
**her** *in?*

*Ginny had reached out and touched his arm gently. Harry had started from his reverie, and
managed a smile. Ron had clapped him on the back. They had heaved their trunks and belongings
aboard the Express…*

*And yet, Hermione stood, still, out on the sidewalk, shiny Head Girl badge affixed to the
school robes that she had thrown on over her Muggle clothes, although the robes were still
unfastened.*

*She stood by her earlier decision not to tell him how she felt. He had been through enough.
She was doing it for his own good, really. She pushed down the surge of fear that thrummed through
her when she visualized telling him. Some bloody Gryffindor I am, she thought hotly.*

*The Express whistle sounded, and she resolutely shouldered her bag, moving toward the train.
Her expression was determined, giving at least the appearance of confidence.* *She was Head
Girl after all, best friend of Harry Potter.*

*Best friend…*

*She sighed, and stopped just past a compartment, having seen a flash of red hair within. She
inhaled again, deeply, cursing the part of her that was desperate to see how he had been doing. You
can't let him know. You can't let him know, she said to herself, trying to be
convincing.*

*She poked her head into the compartment.*

*“There you are!” she began, heartily.*

They were sitting at breakfast in the Great Hall the next morning, when the morning post
arrived. Harry and Hermione both eyed the owls nervously, wondering what the response of the
wizarding world would be to the general debacle of yesterday. They had not missed the hissing
murmur that followed them to the Gryffindor table, upon their entrance into the Great Hall.
Hermione had felt her face began burning of its own volition, at the nudges and stares, but watched
with fascination as Harry grabbed her hand firmly, and helped her sit down at her usual spot.

“Don't let it bother you,” he said. “You kind of get used to it after awhile.”

“It's all so personal,” she whispered, as he solicitously poured her a goblet of pumpkin
juice. “And they all know we…”

“Yeah,” Harry said, buttering a piece of toast. “What're you going to do? Can't change
it.” He shrugged. “You want grape or raspberry?” Hermione laughed.

“Harry, honestly! I can fix my own breakfast.” He had handed her the toast, with a gallant nod,
but was teasingly holding the jam pot out of her reach, when the owls began to flap in.

Hermione noticed that for all Harry's blasé attitude about the gossip, he too was watching
the owls carefully. The volume of chatter escalated noticeably once people started unrolling their
copies of the *Prophet* and other periodicals. Harry and Hermione both received a fair amount
of mail, but Harry was relieved to see no red envelopes in the mix…at least, not yet.

Ron had finally pried himself from the depths of his plate long enough to let out a snort of
disbelieving laughter, and show something to Neville.

“Oy, Harry!” Neville called out, before Ron could stop him. “Have a look at this!” He shoved
what was obviously some kind of wizarding tabloid down the table toward Harry.

Harry's eyes flicked over to Ron, who was watching a little nervously. They hadn't
spoken since Harry decked him in the corridor outside the hospital wing, and there would be issues
to resolve for some time to come.

The headline blared, “**POTTER FIANCÉE TO BEAR YOU-KNOW-WHO'S LOVE CHILD”.**

Harry's face darkened momentarily, and Ron looked a little fearful. He slid the paper over
to Hermione, who read it and snorted in disgust.

“What rubbish,” she snapped. “Don't tell me there are people who really believe this?” She
took a swig of juice, and promptly spit it all over the page, pointing to a subheader further down
the column. “This actually says that that's why you killed him!”

Harry looked at her for a moment, his eyes widening in stunned disbelief. There was silence on
their end of the table. Then there was the sound of an unsuccessfully repressed snort from Ron.
Neville and Ginny snickered. Harry felt the corners of his mouth beginning to twitch.

“This is just sick on so many levels,” Hermione said to herself, still perusing the article,
completely oblivious to the others at the table.

“Didn't you all hear Harry march up to Voldemort and demand to know whether or not he was
shagging Hermione?” Ron asked.

“Yup,” Harry said agreeably, munching on a slice of bacon. “I AK'd him in a fit of jealous
rage!” The two boys exchanged glances then, and Harry lost it. Ron was already pretending to bang
his head against the table, amid peals of laughter.

Hermione finally looked up from the paper, and rolled her eyes. “Really!” she muttered half
under her breath. “Considering that it's me that they're saying shagged Voldemort, I'd
think you'd take it a little more seriously!” Something was glimmering fondly in her eyes that
belied her words, as she watched Harry and Ron act idiotically. They hadn't been able to do
that in a while.

“Ginny!” Parvati shrieked, from a little further down the table. “You *wrote* the
*Prophet* article?”

“She sure did!” Harry said loudly, while Ginny blushed with self-consciousness and pride.

“It's bloody brilliant,” agreed Neville, who'd just filched Hermione's copy, and
begun reading it. Murmurs of assent rippled down the Gryffindor table.

“Ron, about that article,” Harry began, seriously, stealing a momentary lull in the
conversation, as people read Ginny's piece. Ron looked at him inquiringly, and Harry swallowed,
hoping he wouldn't get all emotion and cause Ron to freak out. “I - you - thanks for what you
said, mate. That really means a lot.”

Ron smiled crookedly at him, and his eyes drifted over to Hermione, then back to Harry. “I
really meant it,” he said, trying to make the moment casual by salting his eggs. “Not that I'm
glad, you know, about the entire bloody world knowing about my own bloody business.” He darted a
look at Harry. “I did find out what the word `cuckold' meant though, so it hasn't been a
total wash. I do think that I have earned the right to be the baby's godfather.” He shoved a
forkful of eggs into his mouth. He was deliberately trying to be casual, much as he had outside the
hospital wing. Harry knew that it was a Ron-way of dealing with uncomfortable things, and at that
moment, he had never been so grateful to him for it.

“Wouldn't think of asking anybody else, Ron,” Harry said, truthfully.

“No other alternative at all, really,” Hermione piped in, having been listening surreptitiously
for the last couple of moments. Ron smiled a little then, and Harry had a sudden flash-forward of
them all sitting around a dinner table in somebody's house, talking companionably with kids
shrieking in the background.

“Ron,” Harry said, breaking the pleasant thought, by speaking hesitantly. “I know I have
absolutely *no* right to ask you this, but - " Ron slanted an unreadable look up at
him.

“I'll stand up with you, mate,” he said seriously, before adding in a lighter tone.
“B'lieve you owe me that too, actually.” Harry grinned back, and darted a quick look at
Hermione to ascertain that she was once again immersed in her paper.

“I've got to go to Gringotts. I think my mum's jewelry might be in there, and I've
got to get a ring for Hermione.”

“When are you going to go?” Ron asked.

“Got to be today. We're - we - we're getting married this afternoon.” He looked
uncertainly at Ron, thinking that he'd seen something flash briefly in Ron's eyes.
“Ron-" he said, but Ron cut him off.

“Want me to come with?” he asked, nonchalantly. Harry eyed him sidewise.

“If you're sure…”

A mere hour later found Harry and Ron strolling through Diagon Alley, having availed themselves
of the floo in the Head common room, and their Headmaster's good graces. Hermione had muttered
darkly about their missing so many classes, but had had the good sense to refrain from asking why
they were going. They were crossing the alleyway toward the entrance of Gringotts, having been
distracted only once by a special sale on Quidditch gear, and Ron was doing a quite passable
impersonation of Harry telling Voldemort off for stealing his woman, when Harry stopped short,
flinging up his hand in a signal for Ron to stop. Ron had been around Harry long enough to know
that this rarely meant anything good.

“What is it?” he whispered, reaching for his wand. Harry stood, still and alert, for a moment
longer, and then relaxed.

“I thought - but I must have been seeing things.” Ron was less convinced, and was still looking
nervously behind them, as they entered the wide marble hall of Gringotts.

One wild and stomach-churning cart ride later (Harry was beginning to regret the second helping
of sausage at breakfast), they were standing in front of his family vault. He opened it wide,
quelling the uncertainty he felt at displaying his wealth in front of Ron, and said, “I don't
know where jewelry would be. Perhaps in a case or something.” His best mate didn't wait to be
asked, but moved into the vault with Harry, and began searching for a jewelry box.

A moment later, Ron held up a polished mahogany box, with a golden clasp on it. “I think this is
it.” Harry took the case, flipped the latch, and exposed a velvet lined interior, with quite a few
pieces of pretty jewelry. He found himself having difficulty swallowing, facing such tangible
evidence of his mum's life. He fingered two rings, a largish diamond solitaire and a gold
channel band, inset with several tiny diamonds.

“These were *her* wedding rings,” he whispered hoarsely. Had they been enclosed with her
personal effects after she - ? Who had brought all of the valuables here? It was something that he
had never considered before. Ron picked up a wide white-gold band that obviously a man's, and
wordlessly added it to the two rings already in Harry's palm. He looked Harry levelly in the
eye.

“I think Hermione'd be honored. And so would your mum,” he said simply. Harry tightened his
lips together in resolve, and closed his fingers around the rings. He closed the box, and placed it
back in the vault.

“I'll bring her back up here sometime, and let her look at the rest of it…see what she
wants,” Harry mused almost to himself. The thought had an element of unreality to it - hell, his
entire life did…*still.* This would be their vault…she was going to be his wife…they were
going to have a baby… He rubbed the bridge of his nose underneath his glasses.

“You ought to get her name put on your vault too,” Ron put in thoughtfully. “You know, so she
can access it…inherit it if any - well, anyway, you ought to do that, while we're here,” he
finished hastily.

“You're right,” Harry said, that thought having not occurred to him either. They had a brief
visit with a goblin at one of the high tables in the lobby before leaving, and straightened all
that out as well. Hermione would have to come by herself and sign something, but everything was
otherwise in order.

“So, are you nervous?” Ron asked Harry as they stepped back out of the bank, blinking at the
sunlight, and headed back to the Leaky Cauldron.

“A little,” Harry admitted. “Were you?” The words slipped out before he could ponder the
inappropriateness of them.

“I was afraid I was going to yak on Dumbledore. Or you…” Ron said, with a small grin. “If
I'd known the way things were going to turn out, I *would* have yakked on you.”

“How long will I have to keep hearing about this?” Harry said with a mock-whine.

“Oh, for the rest of your blooming life, Potter!” Ron said cheerfully. “You owe me,
remember?”

“Right,” Harry said, “and I suppose - " He stopped suddenly, at the intersection of Diagon
and Knockturn Alleys, looking curiously down the crooked alleyway that always seemed dim, no matter
what time of day it was. Ron was several meters further down Diagon Alley, before he realized that
Harry was no longer beside him.

“Harry…” Ron said, with that wary look of someone who knows all too well that he was about to
get tangled up in something most probably unsavory. He saw Harry's eyes grow steely, and his
fingers subtly draw his wand.

“Malfoy…” Harry hissed, and flung himself down Knockturn Alley.

**TBC**

**Almost done…there are a couple more loose ends to tie up!**

**Hope you enjoyed!**

-->



19. Chapter Nineteen
--------------------



**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 Nineteen**

“Harry!” Ron hissed in frustration, as he looked down the maw of Knockturn Alley, in time to see
Harry edge around a corner and out of sight. He did a couple of uncertain takes toward the alley,
which would have been comical to anyone watching, tightened his grip around his wand, and strode in
the alley as well.

He caught up with Harry around the next corner. Harry was lounging against the wall, looking out
toward a rather crowded square, his stance nonchalant.

“What the *hell* are you doing?” Ron whispered, with an expression of disbelief.

“I saw Malfoy…he went into that shop just there,” Harry said, nodding toward a shop across the
way. The windows were grey and grimy, and the wooden signboard hanging outside was weathered with
years. Whatever was etched into it was unreadable, and Ron figured that was probably best for all
concerned.

“Do you or do you not realize that you are about to get married?” Ron said, desperation tingeing
his voice. “Hermione's going to be really hacked off if you get yourself killed. Let's go
to the Ministry and let them know where we saw Malfoy.”

“He could be gone by then,” Harry said evenly, not taking his eyes off the shop in question.
“Why don't you go, and I'll stay here, and watch him.” Ron looked dubiously at his friend,
clearly not liking the idea of leaving Harry here in Knockturn Alley alone. Harry had pulled up the
hood of his cloak as he'd lunged down the alleyway, leaving Ron only the edge of his profile to
glare at. Ron sighed heavily

“Harry…” he pleaded quietly. Harry jerked his head to look at Ron full on, and leveled him with
a glance.

“What?” he said shortly.

“What is it that you're trying to do here?”

“I should think that would be obvious, Ron,” Harry said, annoyed, then lowered his voice.
“Malfoy has proven that he can get people to follow him…maybe only because of his money, but that
doesn't really matter. He was plotting to get his father out of Azkaban! He had Death Eaters
attack Hermione's wedding!” They both noticed that he intentionally left out Ron's name,
but neither commented on it. “He is dangerous, and he needs to be behind bars with his father.”

“Let the Aurors do it,” Ron said softly. “That's what they've been trained for. Think of
Hermione.” Harry's eyes were shuttered and far away.

“I am thinking of her,” he muttered almost under his breath. “Go get the Aurors. I'll watch
him,” he said, his gaze never straying from the shop door where Draco had entered.

“Right then,” Ron said, letting his hand fall briefly on Harry's shoulder. “Be careful.”
Seconds later, Harry heard the crack of Apparation, but did not look back.

Harry leaned against the cold stone wall of an apothecary shop for what seemed like ages.
Various unsavory looking characters wandered the alley, browsing for merchandise and engaging in
trade. Harry was glad he had brought his cloak, since the majority of people traversing Knockturn
Alley were similarly outfitted. He reached his hand into his pocket and felt the smooth rounded
metal of his parents' wedding rings. A smile graced his features of its own volition.
*Hermione*…he thought briefly. She was going to kill him, he knew, but this was something he
had to do.

There was a discordant jingle as some scraps of metal that were hung above the shop door clashed
together when the door opened. Malfoy exited, looking first in one direction, then the other, and
darting furtively up the alley. Harry straightened from his leaning posture, in what he hoped was a
nonchalant fashion, and began strolling along casually, taking care to keep Malfoy in sight.

*How long does it take to get help and Apparate back?* Harry thought in some annoyance, as
he looked back over his shoulder. If he was too far away before the Aurors arrived, they
wouldn't be able to find either him or Malfoy. His attention snapped suddenly back to Malfoy,
as the latter suddenly shot down a side street. Harry hesitated only a moment, before proceeding
cautiously down the same lane.

The rutted alleyway was dim and misty and strewn with refuse. Harry picked his way through it,
wondering what in the hell Malfoy was doing down here. *I would have thought his aristocratic
tastes would have screamed in protest at this place.* He watched in dismay as the shadowy figure
making its way before him slowly faded from sight in the mist.

*Dammit!* Harry shrieked inwardly, picking up the pace, but making as little noise as
possible.

He stopped suddenly when there was a wand at his neck and a low menacing voice in his ear. His
own wand slipped out of his pocket, seemingly of its own free will.

“Looking for me, Potter?” Malfoy hissed. Harry peered curiously at the empty alley, until the
way behind him began to ripple slightly, like a disturbed pond, and peel back. Malfoy appeared out
of nowhere, rolling up a wad of fabric and stuffing it in a knapsack. “Yours isn't the only
invisibility cloak in existence, you know,” he drawled, keeping the wand trained on Harry.

“What do you want, Malfoy?” Harry asked sullenly. Malfoy made a “who me?” gesture, all
innocence.

“I'm not the stalker, Potter. That would be you.”

“Fine,” Harry replied. “I'll stop stalking you. In fact, I'll leave right now…” he
turned toward the mouth of the alleyway.

“Petrificus Totalus!” Malfoy said quickly. Harry was instantly paralyzed, and could do nothing
to catch himself as he fell face first onto the rough pavement. He tasted metal. “Do you really
think I'd let you go? When you got my father put in prison? When you interfered with his
escape? When you got my mother arrested as well?” His silver eyes glittered dangerously. “Your life
is worth less than nothing to me.” He leaned closer to Harry's prone form, and whispered in his
ear maliciously, “And after I've taken care of you, I'm going after your little whore.”

Harry's eyes grew wild with panic, and he wanted to scream and flail and… but he was trapped
in his own body. Malfoy's smirk grew wider, as he apparently noticed Harry's inner
struggle.

“Finite Incantatem,” the Slytherin drawled. “You had something to say?” Harry sat up, feeling
his head swimming from his fall. Blood trickled down his forehead, and he brushed it out of his
eyes.

“Hermione hasn't done anything to you,” he said heavily, still a bit bewildered that Malfoy
had released the spell. *His massive ego*, Harry realized suddenly, *could be my saving
grace. Got to keep him talking.*

“My parents -"

“You know, this fixation on your parents is very Hufflepuff of you,” Harry observed,
interrupting him. “With them gone, you have no authority over you and all their money…wouldn't
it be one big Slytherin party?” Malfoy raised his wand suddenly, and Harry wondered if he'd
gone too far.

“You and your mudblood can place me at that wedding,” Malfoy said. “That is … unacceptable.”

“Killing the witnesses? Is that really why? Or are you just sore because a half-blood and a
Muggle-born single-handedly buried the glorious Malfoy na - ?”

Malfoy's face blazed suddenly with fury, and he lowered his wand on Harry, before Harry
could even complete his sentence. “Crucio!” he screamed.

Harry hit the pavement, his body convulsing as waves of pain buffeted him mercilessly. Someone
was screaming, and the one rational part of his mind that managed to hold on realized that it was
him. The seconds seemed like years, but when the pain ebbed, Harry struggled to sit up again. He
spat blood out onto the street. He could see the bustling activity of Knockturn Alley not too far
away, and noticed that people were passing by as if nothing out of the ordinary were going on.
*Crucio* probably occurred on a regular basis in Knockturn Alley.

“That all you've got?” Harry asked, quirking an eyebrow up at Malfoy, “I'm amazed that
you got those Death Eaters to do anything you sa -" All knowledge of language slipped away
again, as Harry was cognizant of nothing but pain.

His head reeled, and he remained prone on the ground where he had fallen again. He tried to
focus on the figure looming above him, but the image blurred and shimmered. He blinked his eyes
hard. *Apparate away…think of the village at Hogsmeade*. His ears were ringing so loudly that
he couldn't make out what Malfoy was saying. *I'll end up splinched for sure*, he
thought dully*, and when I'm with him, at least I know he's not going after Hermione.*
**Where** *is Ron?*

“Potter, you really are pathetic,” Malfoy said, clucking his tongue, sympathetically. “You think
you're being subtle? You think I don't realize you're stalling for time?” He smiled.
“You can't save her now.” Draco lifted his wand again, to administer what Harry had no doubt
would be the Killing Curse. The Slytherin opened his mouth to speak, and…

Harry saw his opportunity. He reached up and pulled on Malfoy's collar, at the same time
that he kicked upward with both legs, hoping to catch Malfoy in a sensitive place. This was
evidently successful, if Malfoy's wheezing grunt of pain was any indication. The forward motion
propelled Malfoy over Harry's head, where he landed with a satisfying crunch. He stood shakily
to his feet, and retrieved his wand, intending to make sure Malfoy was carefully restrained, when
he heard

“Stupefy!” a mere millisecond before everything went black.

*“Hey, you okay?” came a soft voice, hesitantly, from the doorway. Ron turned from his slumped
position at the common room window. He was still in his dress robes.*

*“I'm fine, Ginny,” he said, though his expression spoke volumes about how he really felt.
Ginny said nothing, but merely raised one eyebrow, her face was skepticism personified.*

*“Really? You're fine? After what happened out there?” Ginny's tone was incredulous.
“You know that the ribbon not tying itself up only happens for one reason, and that -
"*

*“I know that, okay?” Anger began to creep into Ron's voice. “And so does everybody else
at the whole bloody wedding.”*

*“That's what you're worried about?” Ginny asked in confusion. “All that's been
going on, and you're embarrassed?”*

*“Wouldn't you be?” Ron retorted**, then sighed**. “It's not like I
didn't know the way things were. I knew they were in love with each other.” He looked up at his
sister almost accusingly. “And so did you.”*

*“Of course I did,” Ginny answered softly. “But I'm not as emotionally invested in it…as
you are.” Ron shot her a sharp, discerning look.*

*“But you used to be.” Ginny smiled, but did not deny his words.*

*“That's neither here nor there,” she tutted, cuffing him upside the head. They sat in
silence for awhile. “So what do you think happens now?”*

*Ron shrugged. “I guess they'll have a baby.” He paused. “Merlin, that's
weird.”*

*“Are you mad at Harry?” Ginny probed.*

*“What are you trying to do? Be a mind-healer?” Ron asked, not unkindly.*

*“You didn't answer my question.”*

*“I guess I could be, but what's the point?” He looked at her ruefully. “It's not
going to get me Hermione. Besides, after all Harry's been through…happiness has been a long
time coming for him. He deserves it.”*

*“He's lucky to have you as a friend,” Ginny said fondly. “Are you going to talk to him?
He's in the hospital wing, right?”*

*“Not unless I miss my guess,” Ron said. “He went looking for Hermione.”*

*“His bloody arm is broken!” Ginny exclaimed. Ron gave her a “that's Harry for you” look.
“I guess somebody ought to drag them both to Madame Pomfrey.” She looked back at Ron, but his focus
had already returned to the window.*

Harry felt a jolt of energy surge through him, as he began to gingerly move reanimated limbs.
The bright light seared his vision when he opened his eyes, and he knew instantly that he was not
still in Knockturn Alley. He was in the hospital wing at Hogwart's.

“Malfoy!” he said, sitting up so suddenly that his head reeled and his vision faded. He saw
Hermione's face come into his view, knit with worry, and he felt awash with shame that he had
caused her anxiety. She smiled a little, though her eyes were still concerned.

“He's in custody, Harry. You did it.” Her eyes crinkled at the corners. Harry shifted
slightly on the bed. Every muscle in his body ached.

“Malfoy…I threw him…and…” his expression turned quizzical. “Who stunned me?”

Hermione's look became chagrined. “That idiot over there,” she said, chucking her thumb over
her shoulder. Harry craned his neck, and saw Ron, looking shamefaced.

“Sorry, mate,” he said. “Was trying to get a clear shot at the ferret, and you tossed him over
your head, and stood up at the exactly wrong time.”

“Ron, you were supposed to…bring Aurors.”

“I did,” Ron said. “Shacklebolt nearly tore me a new one for Stunning you.” Harry grinned,
adding,

“Serves you right,” with his eyes closed again.

“What'd you go running off after him for, Harry?” Ron asked.

“So…wouldn't lose him. What was the point of bringing Aurors…if I lost him?”

“Well, we heard you screaming about three blocks away. If Malfoy hadn't used…” he trailed
off, looking uneasily at Hermione. Harry glanced up at her warily.

“We won't even get started on how angry I am at you right now, Harry James Potter!” Hermione
said ferociously, her eyes glittering with furious tears. Harry heard a door slam shut, and looked
to see that Ron had beat a hasty retreat.

“Coward!” Harry hollered after him.

“How many times did he use Crucio on you?” she asked.

“Hermione - " Harry protested.

“*How many times?*” Her voice was blurred with clogged tears.

“It was only twice,” Harry said, speaking rapidly. “Look, Voldemort did loads worse, and I'm
fine really. He was coming after us, Hermione… because we knew he was at the wedding… he said so.
He said after he dealt with me, he was coming after you.” *After your little whore*. “What was
I supposed to do?”

Hermione's shoulders sagged, and Harry felt terrible as he saw two tears wend their way down
her cheeks. “I don't know. I - dammit Harry!” He blinked and drew back, slightly surprised, as
always, when she swore. “You scared me to death. Don't ever do that again!”

“Okay.” Harry agreed readily. She glanced at him then, her eye roving over him in a brusk,
businesslike way.

“Get up,” she said abruptly.

“What?” Harry said, bewildered.

“You heard me.” Her voice was clipped. “Get up. My parents are downstairs. Professor Lupin is
downstairs. Our friends are downstairs. Just because you acted with your “saving people thing”
instead of your brain, doesn't mean you get to get out of this wedding.”

“I don't want to get out of the we…” he said, as he stood up. His pulse was pounding in his
head, and the side of his face still hurt where it had hit the pavement. His voice trailed off, as
she stood directly in front of him. Her hands fluttered nervously over him, and she looked at him,
uncertainty and fear in her eyes.

“Are you really okay?” she said, undoing her previous abrasive words. “After last time…” He knew
she was talking about her bedside vigil after the defeat of Voldemort, and he felt his heart
melt.

“I'm fine, Hermione. I'm sorry I scared you.”

“I know you were only thinking of my - my safety,” Hermione admitted, leaning her forehead
against his. “Now the Malfoys can't hurt anybody anymore.”

“I love you,” Harry breathed softly, kissing her lingeringly on the lips. She leaned into the
embrace briefly, but then pulled away, handing him a vial of what looked like Pepper Up Potion.

“Drink this,” she said, as she rummaged in a closet and pulled out a set of robes. “I brought
these down for you to change into.” Harry tossed down the contents of the vial at one go, and felt
warmth surge through his veins. His head seemed to clear somewhat, and he noticed for the first
time, that Hermione was in dress robes of a stunning, vivid green.

“Those are pretty,” he said, gesturing toward her gown, as he stepped behind a divider, and
began to change. “Why the color?” He could sense, rather than see, her twisting her hands together
nervously.

“I figured…there wasn't really any point in wearing white,” she half-laughed, a little
self-consciously. “And I didn't want to wear the same robes as … as yesterday.”

“I should hope not,” Harry said, his voice muffled under the layers of robes he was pulling over
his head.

“And I - I - " Harry fastened his robes, and came back around the corner, while she glanced
at him shyly. “I wanted to match your eyes.”

“You're beautiful,” he said, in such a low, intense voice that she couldn't help but
believe what he said. His eyes told her clearly what he would like to do with the coordinating
dress, at the first opportunity.

They arrived a few moments later in Dumbledore's office, hand in hand, and they were both
touched and surprised at the assemblage waiting for them there. Their Gryffindor classmates were
there, as well as Professor Lupin, Tonks, and the Weasleys, including Charlie, the twins, and Mr.
and Mrs. Weasley. Harry wondered again how they felt about this whole absurd situation, and was
uncomfortable in their presence, but, at the same time, glad that they had come anyway.

They stood hand in hand, facing each other, in front of a small podium, with a wide shallow bowl
on it. Harry recognized it from the wedding-that-wasn't yesterday. Dumbledore was standing just
behind it.

The headmaster began the wedding ceremony, taking Harry and Hermione step by step through the
ritual. When he tied the ribbon around their joined hands, and said the incantation,
“*Semperomnia,”* the ribbon swirled itself together, and vanished in a blinding flash of
light, accompanied by a thunderclap that rattled the trinkets on Dumbledore's shelves. Somebody
snickered - Harry figured it was Fred- and Hermione colored violently.

“And now,” Dumbledore said gravely, “if you will both please place your right hands inside the
bowl.” And here, Harry noted that it was filled with water. Dumbledore pointed his wand at the
dish, and said, “*Animae commisceant.”* The water glowed briefly, and when Harry and Hermione
touched their hands to the shimmery surface, the water shot up in an arching fountain, falling down
in golden sparkles that didn't get anybody wet. Harry thought he heard a chord of distant
music. Dumbledore arched his eyebrows in what seemed to be amazement, and said, “Well, well.” Harry
supposed that he had done something weird again. He looked at Hermione, expecting to see amusement
there, but the love shining out of her eyes took his breath away.

“May the joining of your lives extend also to hearts, minds, and souls. May this circle continue
unbroken.” Dumbledore said solemnly, gesturing that they place the rings on each other's
fingers. His eyes twinkled, as he looked at Harry and nodded. Harry took this as his cue to sweep
Hermione up into his arms, and kiss her soundly. There was a whoop from someone - Harry thought it
might be George - and Dumbledore spoke to the assembly at large, introducing “Mr. and Mrs. Harry
Potter.”

Hermione's eyes were sparkling with tears, and she looked like she wanted to cry, but ended
up laughing instead. She moved to hug her mother and father, while Harry shook Charlie's hand.
Hermione hugged Ginny, who was wiping tears away, while Fred and George attempted to slip something
into Harry's pocket. They were roundly scolded by Mrs. Weasley, while Lupin clapped Harry on
the back, and said something about how proud his parents would have been. Hermione spoke happily to
Neville and Parvati, and Harry found himself face to face with Mrs. Weasley.

“Mrs. Weasley, I wanted you to know how sorry I am for - for what happened …yesterday,” Harry
said, tentatively.

“My dear boy,” Mrs. Weasley sniffed, “I blame that marriage law for what happened yesterday, not
you.” She smiled at him. “You've been like another son to me…and that makes Hermione just as
much like my own daughter as if she had married Ronald.” Harry was taken aback by the obvious love
behind her voice.

“Thank you…” he whispered hoarsely, his throat seeming to close around his words.

Dumbledore brought a large cake, as well as a punch bowl full of steaming butterbeer, from
somewhere, and the entire party fell happily into revelry. Colin and Dennis Creevey had also
appeared from the back of the group, and were taking pictures like people possessed.

Several hours later, Harry and Hermione stood by the doorway to the Headmaster's office,
hand in hand, ready to take their leave. There were cheers, whistles, and catcalls, as well as some
suggestive innuendo by Charlie and the twins that caused Mrs. Weasley to clock all three of them in
the back of the head.

Ron stood close to the door, hand on the knob, ready to show them out. The Golden Trio looked at
each other for a moment, and Hermione felt her eyes well with tears yet again.

“Is this one of those pregnant hormone things?” Ron said, looking uncertainly at her. Hermione
let out a laugh that was also part-sob, and whacked him in the arm.

“Why does this feel like good-bye?” she wondered aloud. “We'll see you tomorrow.” Ron
regarded them gravely, and shrugged in his trademark style.

“It's the end of an era,” he said. He held out his hand to Harry, who moved to clasp it, but
instead ended up embracing his first and oldest friend. They regarded each other solemnly, each
taking the measure of the other. “Treat her right,” Ron said, making it sound like more of a
request than a demand.

“Count on it,” Harry responded, with determination in his voice. Hermione watched them both, and
wondered when her boys had become men.

The newlyweds strolled down the spiral staircase, and emerged from the opposite side of the
gargoyle. When they arrived back in their common room, they faced each other uncertainly, relieved
and amazed to finally be alone.

“Well, here we are, Mrs. Potter,” Harry said. Hermione felt her cheeks glow from the look in his
eyes.

“Here we are,” she echoed, her voice husky and low, and her eyes full of promises. “I love
you.”

“I love you back,” he said in a growly kind of whisper. He caught her up in his arms, even as
she swayed toward him with a sigh. “Hey,” he whispered, as if a thought had just occurred to
him.

“Mmm?” she looked up at him with limpid eyes.

“The deal with the water bowl…what was it supposed to do?” She smirked at him, sliding her body
sinuously against his.

“It usually sprays a fountain of water into the air, but it doesn't turn gold, and I've
*never* heard of music playing,” she said. “It's supposed to be a gauge of the strength
and endurance of love.” Harry looked pleased.

“That good, am I?” he asked, burrowing his face in the crook of her neck, and causing shivers to
run up Hermione's spine.

“Are you flattering yourself, Mr. Potter?” Hermione teased, speaking formally. “Or would you
care to put your money where your mouth is?” She felt her insides melt, as Harry's eyes
darkened with desire, and she led him up the stairs.

Words were no longer required.

**TBC**

**Epilogue next!** **It will be a little short fluffy bit.**

-->



20. Epilogue
------------



**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….

**Epilogue**

**“**Ohhh!” Hermione wailed, as the doors of the Great Hall closed behind them. She buried
her face in her hands to mask the look of mortal humiliation. Harry looked alarmed.

“What? Hermione, are you okay? Are you in pain?”

“Nothing right now that changing my name and moving to another country wouldn't fix.” Harry
looked at her with some annoyance. She picked the oddest times to worry about what people were
thinking.

“That's what you're worried about? Right now?”

“Everyone in the school was in there. And their parents!”

“Technically, it's not everybody's parents…just the parents of the seventh years…” Harry
tried to say casually, but Hermione glowered at him.

“It was in front of a large number of people!” She enunciated clearly, effectively ending the
argument.

“I'm sure nobody even noticed.”

“Yeah, because you were so subtle, going all wild-eyed like that and yanking me out the door. Do
you know how long this could take? We could have at least waited until Ron got his diploma.”

“I didn't go…all `wild-eyed',” Harry said defensively.

“What do you call this?” Hermione said, aping a frantic expression. Now it was Harry's turn
to glare.

“I don't look like that when I - do I really look like that?” Hermione looked affronted, but
the look soon changed into what looked to Harry to be intense concentration. “Hermione?” Harry
asked, but Hermione held up one finger in a “just a moment” gesture. After a second, she exhaled
slowly and said,

“Okay.”

“Okay? *Okay?* What was that? Was that a -" Harry paused in his rant at Hermione's
nod, and added, “You really took it rather well.”

“Thank you,” Hermione said politely. “They haven't been bad at all, really. Aren't you
glad I waited until we got our diplomas?” Harry looked at her as if he could not believe what
she'd just said.

“You've been having these for awhile, then?” he asked, his voice dangerously polite.

“Since right before we got dressed for the ceremony,” Hermione answered. “I read that first
labors can take hours, but since my water broke, I guess… I guess it's getting closer, now.”
She wrinkled up her nose anxiously. “Do you really think nobody noticed?”

“In *those* robes? They're - " Harry stopped himself suddenly. He'd been about
to say “huge”, but changed it to “dark. You said yourself that it wasn't much, since you were
standing up when it happened. I'm sure nobody noticed a thing.”

“Until you grabbed me and yanked me out of the Hall,” she reiterated grumpily.

“You just leaned over and told me your water had broken! What was I supposed to do…say `Okay,
thanks for letting me know!'?”

She didn't answer right away, but said, a moment later, a little breathily, “Yeah, I think
we'd better go see Madame Pomfrey now.”

*Hermione settled back against her pillows, and pulled the covers up over her waist, as she
reached for her book, stopping to smile fondly at the small bump that was just barely visible under
the thick coverlet. Harry came out of the lavatory, dressed for bed, and crawled up in the bed
beside her, after dropping his glasses on his bedside table.*

*“Tired?” She asked maternally, holding her book with one hand, while she ran the fingers of
her other hand through his dark hair.*

*“Snape is a monster,” Harry said, his eyes already closed.*

*“Harry!” Hermione chided playfully.*

*“D'you think it's because I'm getting some action, and he isn't? Maybe never
has?” Harry asked, peeking up at her through one eye. She didn't say anything, so Harry opened
both eyes. She was sitting quite still, staring off into middle distance, with one hand over her
abdomen.*

*Harry sat up, jerking the comforte**r* *and knocking* *Hermione's book on
the floor.*

*“H**ermione, are you okay?” She smiled at him then,* *almost ethereally, and took
his hand, placing it on the slight swell of her stomach.*

*Almost immediately, he felt the tiniest nudge, almost like a muscle twitching. His startled
gaze leapt up to meet Hermione's. “Was that…?” She grinned brilliantly.*

*“I thought I'd felt movement earlier this week, but I wasn't sure* *that
that's what it was until now.**”*

*Harry snuggled down under the crook of Hermione's arm, his head quite close to her
stomach, his hand placed flush against it. “Maybe he'll do it again,” he said, with hopeful
anticipation. Hermione raised one eyebrow.*

*“He?” she asked wryly.*

Hermione let out another keening cry of pain, as Harry's face went white. Madame Pomfrey
leaned to check Hermione's progress, and nodded in satisfaction.

“You're almost ready to push. I'll be back shortly,” she said, and swished out through
the privacy curtains that had been pulled around the bed.

“Are you okay?” Harry asked her softly, brushing tendrils of sweat-damp hair back from her
forehead. She nodded, but her eyes were wide and starry with pain and fatigue. “Why don't you
take the numbing potion? Madame Pomfrey said it wouldn't hurt the baby.”

“I - I wanted…” she stammered, and broke off, her face contorting with the effort to not cry out
at the new wave of pain. Harry knew, watching her with anguish-filled eyes, that to Hermione, it
was another thing to experience, to learn, and if she admitted that she wanted the potion, it would
be a failure, an inability to get herself through this on her own. “I don't want you to think
I'm weak,” she panted.

“*Weak?*” Harry said, in a dumbfounded voice. “When you've been doing this for six
hours now? Bloody hell, Hermione, I think you're the strongest person I've ever known.”

“Really?” She smiled wanly at him, and he kissed her softly.

“Really,” he replied, reaching over for the rejected vial on the medical cart. He held it up for
her to see, an obvious question in his eyes, and she sighed, then nodded. She drank the contents,
and her body involuntarily shuddered at the foul taste. A few moments later, her eyes were clearer
and her body more relaxed.

Madame Pomfrey bustled back in, and checked Hermione again. She eyed the empty vial, with
something like satisfaction, but made no comment. “It looks like everything's in readiness. Are
you ready to push?” Hermione looked at Harry, and then nodded at the mediwitch. Harry felt a
nervous jumpy sensation somewhere near the region of his stomach. His child was about to be
born.

*“Look at this,” Hermione said, gesturing at her stomach in disgust. “If I get any bigger,
I'll have to use a three-foot quill to write, because I won't be able to get any closer to
this desk!” Harry looked at her from where he was sitting at his desk in their common room, sifting
through the piles of paperwork covering every available surface, and chuckled. His searching grew a
little more intense, and he turned and began to look on the floor.*

*“Hermione, have you seen the -"he said, sticking his head under the desk, to look for
the wayward piece of parchment.*

*“Oh, honestly, Harry. Didn't I tell you that you needed to put that somewhere where you
could find it later?” She said, gesturing superiorly at her tidy desk, with neat stacks and
pigeonholed rolls of parchment. He straightened too early, and hit the back of his head on the
underside of his desk, rapping out a muttered oath.*

*“How do you even know which thing I'm looking for?” He challenged.*

*“Aren't you looking for the one from Hogwart's?” she said, and he looked at her in
surprise, as he rubbed his injured head.*

*“D'you really think they're serious?” he asked her, confirming her question, without
really answering it.*

*“Why wouldn't they be?”*

*“I haven't even graduated yet. Why would they offer me a job teaching Defense Against the
Dark Arts?”*

*“**Lupin's leaving* *to work in the Magical Creatures* *Liaison office.
And y**our N.E.W.T. scores were excellent, Harry. Graduation is just a formality, anyway.
Besides, you know more about defending against Dark Arts than anyone else alive!” Harry shifted
uncomfortably under her glowing praise, but couldn't suppress a smile.*

*“But, if you want to work at that research institute in London, I could take the Auror
training, and we could live there.” Harry pointed out.*

*“I can floo to London, just as easily as anywhere else,” Hermione said, shrugging.*

*“I just wish I knew how many of these job offers are genuine, and how many are to the `Boy
Who Lived',” Harry said, looking forlornly at the piles of paper.*

*“Well, the job offer from Puddlemuck has got to be real. After all, you were the `youngest
seeker in a century',” Hermione said, with a fond smile, but Harry was looking at her as if
she'd said something offensive.*

*“It's Puddle***mere***, Hermione,” Harry said. Hermione gave him a “whatever”
look.*

*“I would've thought you'd jump at the opportunity to play Quidditch and get paid for
it. Ron certainly did.” Harry reached across the gap between their desks, and took her hand, gently
caressing the back of it with his thumb.*

*“I don't fancy being away from you that much,” he answered softly, the look in his eyes
making her stomach flip.*

*“Harry, I don't want to make you -"*

*“There are some things more important than Quidditch,” he said seriously, adding with a wink,
“but don't tell Ron I said that.”*

“One more push should do it, Mrs. Potter,” Madame Pomfrey. Harry stood almost behind Hermione,
bracing her in a sitting position, and holding one hand. She pushed again, her growl of effort
ending in a squeaky gasp of exhaustion, overlapped by the reedy wail of a newborn infant.

Harry stood, frozen by Hermione's side, unable to process exactly what had just
happened.

“Mr. Potter,” Madame Pomfrey said, in a tone of one who was repeating herself, “would you like
to cut the cord?” He came around to Hermione's feet, and pulled out his wand, looking
questioningly at the mediwitch. “Just use `diffindo',” Madame Pomfrey coached gently, “nice and
easy.”

Harry cut the cord neatly, and looked in awe at the tiny human being that Madame Pomfrey was
scourgifying and wrapping snugly in a blanket.

“Madame - Madame Pomfrey…what - what is - ?” he began, but she gently put the baby in his
arms.

“Go show your son to your wife.”

“Son?” Harry echoed stupidly, and Madame Pomfrey's lips twitched, as she inclined her head
toward Hermione. He let his gaze travel over to his wife, who was trying to push herself up into a
sitting position. Her face was flushed and weary, and her hair was damp and straggly, clinging to
the sides of her face and neck. He thought that she'd never looked so beautiful in her
life.

He proceeded over to Hermione's bedside, and carefully laid the baby in her arms, while
magically inclining the bed to a more upright position.

“We have a son,” she said, awestruck, while her fingers danced lightly over the curve of his
cheek, his downy dark head, and his tiny perfect hands. He let out a squeak of protest, and opened
his eyes to stare suspiciously at the interlopers bothering him. They were a murky, newborn
blue.

“His eyes are going to be brown.”

“They're going to be green,” Harry and Hermione said in unison, then looked at each other
and smiled.

“He's beautiful,” Harry said, looking at Hermione. “*You're* beautiful.”

“I feel beautiful,” Hermione said, mystified. Her eyes welled with tears, as her husband leaned
down and kissed her. She turned her attention back to their son. “Isn't he the most perfect
thing you've ever seen?” Her hand trembled slightly as she touched his little ears and nose.
“Can you believe we made him?” Her voice was an awed whisper. Harry felt his own throat clog up,
and when Hermione reached up to gently brush tears away from his face, he thought he was going to
come unglued.

“Dammit, woman,” he said abruptly, and Hermione laughed through her tears. Madame Pomfrey looked
at him reprovingly from where she was bustling about at the foot of the bed, scourgifying the floor
and changing the linens.

“There are … quite a number of people outside, waiting to hear the news,” the mediwitch said
with pursed lips. Harry grinned, wondering how much Ron and Ginny had annoyed Madame Pomfrey during
the course of Hermione's labor. He kissed his wife on the forehead.

“I'll go tell them,” he said, then looked at Madame Pomfrey questioningly. “Can they come
in?”

“I suppose,” she said, reluctantly. “But they're to be quick and quiet.”

Harry was surprised at the number of students…and teachers… out in the hallway. At first, nobody
appeared to notice his arrival. Parvati, Neville, and Professor Lupin were quietly talking, and Ron
appeared absorbed in a Chudley Cannons magazine. Harry noticed with a grin, that he had changed out
of his graduation robes, and was already wearing his Cannons' jersey. He saw a fragment of
black billow from around the corner and disappear, and wondered in amazement if Snape could
possibly be waiting for news too. Mr. and Mrs. Granger were standing a short distance away, looking
tense and pensive.

“Ahem,” Harry cleared his throat softly, and created instant bedlam, as people leapt to their
feet, and called out questions. “Hermione's fine. The baby's fine. It's a boy.” There
were cheers and scattered applause. “Mr. and Mrs. Granger?” He opened the door, and gestured inward
with his hand. “Ron? Ginny?” He re-entered the infirmary, while the others outside sat back down to
wait their turn.

“He's so little!” Ginny squealed, leaning over Mrs. Granger's elbow, as the new
grandmother beamed down at him. “Look at all his hair!”

“I don't think he's going to have very good luck in the hair department…genetically
speaking,” Hermione said, with chagrin.

“Hey!” Harry said, looking offended.

“What're you going to call him then?” Ron asked, looking somewhat abashed. Harry and
Hermione had kept the baby names they'd chosen a dark secret, telling no one.

“Jamie,” they said together.

“I like it!” Ginny said. “Is that short for - ?”

“James,” Hermione supplied, nodding. She looked at her parents. “After Harry's father.”
Harry felt his throat close up again, and he closed his eyes, hoping to forestall any more tears.
*Dad, Mum,* he thought, *did you hear that? I have a son. He's beautiful. I wish you
could see him.* When he opened his eyes again, Hermione was looking at him, and he had the
feeling that she'd known exactly what he was thinking. Sympathy shone in her dark eyes, and she
squeezed his hand gently.

Mrs. Granger had passed the baby to Mr. Granger, who handed the baby to Ron, a few moments
later. The redhead looked so gangly and out of place holding an infant that Harry had an
incongruous desire to laugh.

“Can you imagine,” Ron said, somewhat irreverently, “the stroke Snape's going to have when
another James Potter is sorted into Gryffindor in eleven years?” Harry and Ginny chortled.

“Professor Snape,” Hermione corrected automatically, but could not suppress a small smile.

“Did you want to tell them the rest of his name yet?” Harry asked Hermione. Hermione nodded her
head, as all eyes turned inquiringly toward her.

“We're calling him Jamie. But his full name is James Ronald Potter,” she announced, biting
her lip, and looking questioningly up at Ron.

The silly half-smile that had been floating around Ron's face while he looked at the baby
fell off suddenly, and he gaped at them as if he'd been petrified.

“R - rea - really?” he stammered, and Harry wondered when he'd last seen Ron so flummoxed.
His best friend's blue eyes looked suspiciously wet.

“Figured we owed you that too,” Harry said, echoing Ron's familiar refrain. Ron was visibly
trying to gather the shreds of his lost composure.

“Of course you do,” he replied airily. Ginny and Hermione rolled their eyes. After a few
moments, Ron reluctantly handed the baby back to Hermione.

“I guess we ought to let some other people have a go,” he said. “You lot really put a crimp in
the graduation party. Nobody even cared.” Harry and Hermione exchanged abashed glances. “We'll
be back before the Express leaves,” Ron added. Mr. and Mrs. Granger went out with Ron and Ginny,
promising to come back later, after Hermione had rested.

Harry sat on the edge of the bed, one arm around Hermione, as he kissed her softly on the
forehead.

“Well, we've graduated,” Hermione said, with an air of finality. “People are going to be
leaving soon.” She stroked Jamie's soft head with one finger. “Have you decided what you're
going to do…about the job?” Hermione had owled her acceptance to the research firm weeks ago, but
Harry had agonized over the decision, wondering what would be best for his family, for him…

Harry's eyes flitted around the hospital wing. He had finally made his decision; indeed, it
seemed as if it were truly the only choice to make. He felt sure that Hermione would look superior,
as if she'd known it all along.

“Don't you think Hogwart's would be a great place for Jamie to grow up?” He asked almost
rhetorically.

Hermione smiled.

**THE END**

There, it's done. And actually, not that much shorter than the chapters, but I was having
fun.

I just wanted to take a sec and thank every single person who reviewed. Especially those who
faithfully reviewed at every update. I didn't reply to all of them, or even most of them, but I
squealed and clapped my hands every time I saw a new review.

Without your insights, questions, and suggestions, this story wouldn't have been what it
was. It was originally intended as a shorter character piece, highlighting a love triangle in the
Trio, and focusing on the angst of poor lovelorn Harry. It became so much more - and better, I
think - than that, and for that, I thank you again.

Still working on “Isle”, so hopefully I will have a new update for that soon. Also, I have a new
story in the outline-stage that I hope to start posting before too much longer. Hope you'll
give them a look.

`Til we meet again,

**lorien**

-->