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Assistant: Title: To Have A Wedding Where No One Cried
        Author: asleepinstars undefined 
        Chapter: 1/9 
        Summary: You would think after sacrificing her childhood for the greater good they would have given her the courtesy of opting out. You would think that her high up role in the Department of Care and Control of Magical Creatures would be enough. She’d said— screamed —as much at Kingsley, but he was firm in his choice, along with the Wizengamot. The wizarding world’s population had been slashed astronomically by the war and the breeding practices of purebloods for centuries. If there was any hope of the magical community surviving past three more generations, then they needed to start having babies, and they needed to start having them now.It was barbaric, but it was their reality. F@ck, or face extinction.
        Contents: Chapter 1: A Truly Heinous Reintroduction
    

    


  

  
  
    
    
  Hermione Granger sat in the ministry appointed room to meet her betrothed for the first time since the marriage law went into effect wearing black robes dotted even darker from the bitter tears streaming down her face. 

  To be honest, she was surprised that she had any tears left to cry. In the weeks since the announcement, she’d dedicated every moment of her free time to either sobbing over her circumstances, sleeping away the misery, or researching the marriage law’s dismissal. With every passing day ending with the law remaining intact, she cried for the life she was about to lose. 

  You would think after sacrificing her childhood for the greater good they would have given her the courtesy of opting out. You would think that her high up role in the Department of Care and Control of Magical Creatures would be enough. She’d said— screamed —as much at Kingsley, but he was firm in his choice, along with the Wizengamot. The wizarding world’s population had been slashed astronomically by the war and the breeding practices of purebloods for centuries. If there was any hope of the magical community surviving past three more generations, then they needed to start having babies, and they needed to start having them 
  
    now
  
  . 

  It was barbaric, but it was their reality. F@ck, or face extinction. 

  All while she researched to fight the law, she and other eligible witches and wizards were subjected to several tests of muggle and magical aptitude. They had to provide a wand scan and even a small vial of blood. When they gave her the requirements, Hermione thought she’d have gone to Azkaban before handing over her wand and blood, but Kingsley intervened at that point and called her to the ministry, letting her in to meet with the team that developed the matching protocol. There, she spent days hounding them, looking at the magic and muggle psychology involved, and interrogating the Wizengamot’s lawyer about the legality of the whole thing. 

  If it hadn’t been for her name or role in the war, she doubted she would have been given such a close look at the entire process, but after three weeks with the team heading the project, she couldn’t deny the soundness of the science and magic behind it. By combining the results of magical aptitude, personality, and genetic predisposition, the team found matches that would result not only abundantly healthy offspring, both magically and physically, but would be the most fulfilling relationship both personally and magically. It was flawless, beautiful magic.

  And yet?  

  She hated it because it took away her choice. 

  So she left. She went home to her ratty little apartment in Diagon Alley, and stared at the walls. She couldn’t come to terms with her choices being taken away, but the academic in her was wired with the information she received. When she was able to pretend that the results wouldn’t affect her, she could think about the fascinating magic and science behind the marches with awe and interest. It was only when she remembered that she too was going to be forced to marry and procreate with a wizard she didn’t choose that the tears started rolling once more. 

  It was a week later that they announced the matches were finished and ready to be owled to the population at large. Within a week of notice, matches had to meet. Within three, they had to be married and cohabiting. Hermione couldn’t even argue with the timeline, as when she was presented with the beta trials of witches and wizards in France who voluntarily submitted themselves for the process, the couples were so happy that they jumped at the chance to join together almost instantly. 

  On Sunday, July 1st, everyone gathered at the Burrow to open their letters. Harry and Ginny were exempt, as they had gotten married as soon as the news came out, but Hermione, Ron, George, Percy, and Charlie were all still subject. Ron had been startingly quiet, George was openly resigned, Percy was a nervous wreck, and Charlie couldn’t stop making jokes. Everyone tried their best to be supportive, but no one had taken the news well. 

  At exactly noon, five ministry owls came swooping in toward the Burrow. Hermione’s heart clenched in her chest and her hands squeezed both Harry and Ron’s as she watched them land one by one on the kitchen windowsill. 

  Bill was the one to retrieve them after no one moved to do so. Solemnly, he handed the letters out, and each of them stared blankly at the envelopes with their names scrawled across in bold calligraphy, as if the pretty writing would hide the horror within. 

  Percy was the first to open his. He was set to marry a half-blood girl a year older than him, a girl he’d never met. Everyone was pale and quiet when they offered him congratulations. He nodded, staring at the picture included in the letter. From what Hermione could tell, she was quite pretty. 

  George was next, smarting off about how they should all be ashamed of themselves for letting someone like Percy beat them to the punch. Wide-eyed, he said the name of his match. “Angelina Johnson.” 

  The good news felt like a good omen as everyone released the breath they had been holding. As they all knew and loved Angelina, and she and George were already well acquainted, it was a better match than they could have hoped for. George even seemed to lighten up at the prospect. 

  Charlie was next. Without ceremony, he ripped open his envelope, muttered a name, and tossed it back to the side.

  Hermione was glad to have a partner in pessimism in Charlie, who gave her a wink of solidarity. 

  Ron looked at her with a grimace before slowly sliding a knife into his envelope. Pulling the thick paper out, he swallowed and looked at the name and picture of his future wife. 

  “Jenny DaVincy,” he murmured before looking up, wide-eyed and panicked at the room at large. “I have no idea who that is. She didn’t go to Hogwarts, I’m sure of it.” 

  Hermione was sure of it too. They had looked at every yearbook that Hogwarts had at the ministry archives to ensure that they could match names to faces, and this Jenny girl hadn’t been listed anywhere. 

  “What does it say in her bio?” Harry asked, scooting around Hermjone to take a look. “See, there– it says that she’s from Britain, but went to school in America. Huh.” Harry pushed his glasses back up his nose. “She likes quidditch and loves to cook, apparently.” 

  “Oh,” Ron said, his brow furrowing. “That’s… nice.” 

  Molly seemed to be holding back tears, only offering a small, “That’s wonderful, darling,” before turning to push her face into her husband’s arm. 

  Arthur grimaced, squeezing her. Turning to Hermione, he gave her a look that screamed, 
  
    Brace yourself.
  
   

  All eyes turned to her once they had stopped fussing over Ron. She stared at the unassuming envelope in front of her, still sealed and untouched, and wondered if she ran, would they find her? If she moved to a separate country, hauled all of her friends and loved ones there, and just left this mess behind? 

  But she had done that once with her parents, and she had sworn to never run again. 

  Steeling herself, she moved trembling fingers to the envelope and slowly tore it open. Pulling the parchment out, she took a deep breath, and told herself that no matter what, no matter who’s name was on the paper, she’d be okay. She had people who loved her, supported her, and they were all with her now, there to hold her up if she needed them to. 

  Hermione opened the letter. 

  She went so pale, so cold, it felt as if someone had summoned a ghost right where she sat.  

  The name on her paper was Draco Malfoy. 

  Hermione knew that she was going to die. Whether it was by his hands, his actions, his inactions, or his cruelty, she would die. If she had to marry him and produce his heir, she would at least die inside. That was certain. 

  The letter was snatched from her hands and passed around, each family member reacting in a similar way. Shock, anger, devastation, and pain wracked the Burrow’s kitchen, all to the soundtrack of Hermione’s cries. She didn’t even know she started crying until warm fingers started to wipe her tears, shushing her, holding her tight to their warmth. Molly.

  The explosion of voices was all Hermione remembered of the rest of that day. Molly and Ginny pulled her to her old room upstairs and held her while she cried herself to sleep. Arthur, Harry and Ron went to the ministry to try and fix things, but Hermione knew there was nothing they could do. Still, they went straight to Kinglsey’s office. 

  Where they were met by none other than Narcissa Malfoy. 

  Apparently, she was there to beg for the two of them to be rematched as well. Narcissa had been in tears, pleading with Kingsley and even Harry at one point, to not force the two of them into marriage. Narcissa said that it would destroy them both to have such shared trauma and be forced to bind themselves together, that it would only result in an unhappy marriage with parents who would hate their offspring’s connection to the other. Hermione heard it all secondhand from a very tired, very exhausted Harry, whose disappointment in himself and his lack of success hurt nearly as much as her impending doom.

  But there was nothing they could do. The magic had been worked, the data had been crunched, and on paper, magically, psychologically, and emotionally, Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger were perfect for each.

  Hermione had cried harder when she heard about Narcissa’s desperation despite knowing that Malfoy would do anything he could to get out of marrying a mudblood like her, but it didn’t mean that it didn’t still hurt. She was going to be forced into a marriage with a man who would never want her, never love her, never 
  
    enjoy
  
   her. It was agonizing as wave over wave of grief crashed over her. 

  They had a week to make first contact with their matches. Three weeks after that, they had to get married. So, for six days, Hermione grieved the loss of her dreams of her future. 

  She cried in bed, held by at least one Weasley or Harry at all times. Ginny and Mrs. Weasley stayed with her the most, and even Charlie sat with her for a few hours. Before he left to meet his new wife, he distracted her with stories of dragon taming in Romania for hours on end, giving her all kinds of points on how to really maim or kill someone if they were sent to see him on a surprise visit. Percy wrote her a letter of support that was actually quite touching before leaving as well, but Ron and Harry barely left her side, save for when they went to get her food or reply to the owls inundating the Burrow. 

  Since the matches weren’t public, no one outside of the Weasley’s and Malfoy’s knew, but that didn’t stop news outlets from trying to get the information another way. Who Hermione Granger, war heroine, Golden Girl, and a member of the Golden Trio matched with was the talk of the entire wizarding community that week considering that Ron went public and Harry was already married to Ginny. The thought of it all seemed to crush her to the floor, Hermione she just cried and slept. 

  Ron, despite his nerves, had set an owl the day after they received their matches to Jenny. He had received one back almost immediately from Jenny’s father, asking for Ron to meet with him and Jenny at the same time. Ron was trying to hide it for her sake, but she could tell that he was excited. From what she could tell about his comments about his and Jenny’s correspondence, they both were opening more to the idea of their match. 

  Eventually, the day came, and she could no longer legally put off making first contact. It was awful how little time everyone had to develop a relationship, marry, and consummate with a magical bond, if they so choose. It was a beautiful, ancient ritual Hermione had dreamed of doing with someone she loved, someone who loved her— not someone who terrified her, had made her feel the worst she’d ever felt, and had actively campaigned for her removal from magical society. 

  She had arrived at the ministry alone, despite the protests of her friends and chosen family. She was tired, exhausted even, of the entire situation. She had cried herself dry, or at least thought she had, and was determined to face her childhood nemesis, now fiancé, with nothing. She wanted to feel nothing, give nothing, want nothing, and reveal nothing. 

  But the longer she sat there, waiting behind the table where they would negotiate their lives, the more the nothing she fought to keep grew into pure, undiluted sadness, and tears began falling once more. They were a steady stream, and as the clock ticked closer to the time, the sadness spiraled. 

  When the door opened, Hermione did not look up, and she did not wipe her tears. She felt the nothing, but it was 
  
    she
  
   who felt like nothing. 

  It clicked shut behind him, but she still did not look up. She didn’t move as the sound of expensive shoes grew closer. She could feel him in the room, feel his magic filling the space where hers hadn’t, and how much it hurt how her magic wanted to reach out, recognizing his as its equal, as its match. 

  
    They were right
  
  , was Hermione’s first agonizing thought since Malfoy walked into the room. 
  
    We’re a perfect magical match
  
  . 

  It was silent. Then, “Granger.” 

  Hermione had to have lost brain cells during her bouts of tears. It was the only explanation for her snorted response. “Not for long.” 

  She felt the tension in the air thicken impossibly, but she still stared at the floor, tears streaming down her cheeks. She wasn’t sure if they would ever stop. 

  “You don’t have to change your name.” 

  It was short, simple. There were no inflections in his words, just a fact he was offering. It meant nothing to her. 

  She was losing far more than just her 
  
    name
  
  .

  “Granger…”

  She didn’t look up. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have anything 
  
    to
  
   say. She was back to nothing, and holding on to it for as long as she could. 

  “I’m not going to…” Malfoy seemed to struggle with his words, the sound of him starting and stopping several times filling the room before he bit out with frustration evident in his tone, “I’m not going to bl@@dy hurt you, so would you stop f@ck@ng crying?” 

  Hermione’s head snapped up so fast, even 
  
    she
  
   was shocked. 

  She was sure she looked a mess with red-rimmed eyes and blotchy cheeks, but a burning anger coursed through her veins, igniting a fire in her that was seconds from erupting. 

  “You think you’re not going to hurt me?” Hermione asked, her voice deadly soft. “You think that forcing me to marry the boy who bullied me, threatened me, tried to 
  
    kill
  
   me, and has actively hated my very existence since we first met, isn’t going to 
  
    hurt
  
   me?” 

  She could see Malfoy now, and she didn’t know if it was her words or her icy rage that had him taking a step back, but he did all the same, with slightly widened eyes and a shuttered expression. He looked wounded, like he was shocked by her outburst, and it filled her with more rage. It was 
  
    him
  
   who could hurt her the most. 
  
    He
  
   was the one who had already hurt her. She was the one who had everything to lose, not him. 

  “I don’t plan on hurting my 
  
    wife
  
  , Granger,” Malfoy spat, his face scrunching with disgust. “I’ve more honor than 
  
    that
  
  .” 

  “Honor…?” Hermione closed her eyes, unable to look at him any longer. “You know 
  
    nothing
  
   of honor.” 

  His retort came quick as a whip. “I know enough to honor this stupid law. I wouldn’t ever do anything to be sent to Azkaban, especially not anything to the woman I’m to marry.” 

  Hermione’s eyes snapped open and locked into the silver ones across the table. She wanted to watch him realize what he was going to do to her, what he was currently doing to her. “You think Azkaban would be worse than this?” She laughed. “They’ve already taken much more from me. They’ve taken any chance I had at finding true love, of being with a partner who not only wanted to be with me, but respected me as a human being, as a 
  
    person
  
  . They left me to a life of being shackled to someone who would rather see my guts splattered on the ground than see me be the mother of their 
  
    heirs
  
  .”

  “Granger,” Malfoy warned, his eyes flashing, but she wouldn’t have it. Hermione had finally hit the moment of detonation, and all the anger she held in was released like a blizzard; powerful and icy with rage. 

  “I wanted a 
  
    life
  
  , Malfoy,” she snarled, leaning into the table with both palms pressed into the surface. “I wanted to be 
  
    happy
  
  . I wanted to figure out what I wanted to be, 
  
    who
  
   I wanted to be, and set up my career before settling down. I wanted to meet a 
  
    nice
  
   boy, someone who thought I was beautiful– or at least attractive –and create a life 
  
    together
  
  . I wanted a partner, someone who would complete me, someone who would fight for me and be 
  
    proud
  
   of who I am as a person. Not someone who was disgusted by me, not someone who spent years telling me how little I was worth, someone who didn’t think my life had any value. I wanted someone who would love me, who I would love in return, and I’m stuck with 
  
    you
  
  .”

  Hermione was seething by the time she finished, and Malfoy had taken several steps back. Now, she could see every inch of him, and it slashed at her heart further. 

  Simply put, he was beautiful. 

  Perfect skin, soft, pale hair, and silver eyes that seemed to devour every inch of her as he stood stricken. He was tall, taller than she remembered, and had gained weight since she had seen him last, a scrawny, war-torn boy at the final battle. Now, he looked every inch the pureblood aristocrat he was in a three piece suit, his shoulders broad and waist slim. 

  How unfair it was, for someone to be so beautiful on the outside, yet so ugly on the inside. 

  After composing himself from his shock, Malfoy responded, his tone low and conciliatory. “I understand that this isn’t ideal. I certainly am not happy about it either, but as someone who has prepared to be in an arranged marriage all of my life, I can tell you that they’re not all bad. We can… deal.” 

  Hermione’s laugh was empty and cold. “Great. Congratulations, you’re already ready for a life of a cold side of the bed and a loveless marriage. Well, my 
  
    sincerest
  
   apologies for mourning any chance I had at happiness. I’ll make sure to schedule all further displays of disappointment outside of the time we are forced to spend together.” 

  His eyes became thin slits. “I don’t plan on making my life f@ck@ng miserable either Granger, so it’s fair to say that making sure my wife is happy might be one of my f@ck@ng priorities.” 

  “Like you 
  
    care
  
   about my happiness!” Hermione screamed. Her chair flew behind her when she stood, her fury too wild to be contained in a stationary form. “Like you give a 
  
    d@mn
  
   about me as a person! It’s just some title to you, it’s not about me!”

  Malfoy looked like he was going to respond, but Hermione beat him to it. She twisted her lips in a cruel, devastated smirk and added, “As long as I’m alive and open my legs often enough to produce a child on the ministry regulated schedule, right? As long as I act like a good little Malfoy wife? As long as I bind myself to someone who would never offer me an ounce of warmth or compassion? 
  
    That’s
  
   the person who’s supposed to complete me, body, magic, and soul?” 

  Hermione thought he might throw up, he looked that horrified. 

  Grabbing her purse, she pinned him with another glare, and let her cold, unrelenting rage smooth over her vocal chords, giving her the strength to say her last piece. “Listen closely, Malfoy. I might legally become your wife, but I will never, 
  
    ever
  
   submit to you. I will never support you, never be a shoulder for you to lean on, never be an ear when you need one— we will be 
  
    nothing
  
  . I’ll lay there when the time comes and pretend I’m somewhere else if that’s what it takes, but after the five years are up, I’m leaving. We’ll split custody, never speak again, and I will be free from the burden that is you and your evil family.” 

  Hermione turned to leave, but before she could, she turned over her shoulder and spit a horrible thought out. “I just hope I have enough goodness in me to make sure your darkness doesn’t stain the children.” 

  And with that, she turned, snatched the floo powder from the pot by the fire, and departed for the Burrow. 

  She didn’t realize she was crying again until after she’d fallen to the Burrow’s living room floor. And, it wasn’t until several hours later that she remembered the look on Malfoy’s face before she left. 

  Utterly crushed, just as she was.'
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