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Hermione grimaced as she looked down at the parchment in her hands. The marriage law recently passed by the Ministry was messing with everyone’s lives, no more so than Hermione’s. As much as she wanted to disagree with the law, the losses during the war had been quite massive. Most of the Weasley’s were dead, as were both Harry and Ron. In fact, most of Hermione’s year at Hogwarts was dead. She was the sole surviving Gryffindor, there were two Hufflepuffs and a Ravenclaw. And the last Slytherin?
Gregory Goyle
Her parchment held the name of the only Slytherin in her year to survive the war. Unless, Hermione wanted her wand snapped and her memory Obliviated, she’d be marrying Goyle of all people. And providing children for him. The whole thing was distasteful in the extreme, but what could she do? She felt an obligation to help rebuild the wizarding world she’d been thrust into as a child. If nothing else, with so many dead, Hermione felt that she had an actual voice. Kingsley had managed to survive and wrestle control of the Ministry. Hermione worked for him because even the Ministry’s ranks were decimated. Better to work in the seat of power, she had concluded.
A moment later, another owl burst through the window of her office.
Miss Granger,
Would you be amenable to meeting and discussing our upcoming nuptials?
Yours,
Gregory Goyle
Hermione frowned. Nothing was misspelled, and perhaps it could have been politer, it was at least rather straightforward. Honestly, Hermione hadn’t even seen Goyle since the final battle. And before that, it hadn’t been since sixth year. Over three years. Perhaps he wasn’t the goon she was imagining in her head?
She penned a quick reply back and sent it off with the owl, returning to her work. It was an hour before lunch, she could meet with him then. And until then, she would busy her mind with work so as to not work herself into a tizzy over it all. With how low the wizarding population was, she really was doing the work of four people traditionally. Granted, with the lower population also meant less work, but even then Hermione was regularly working sixteen hour days.
Greg Goyle shifted from foot to foot as he waited for his intended in the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic. Hermione Granger. It seemed impossible that she was his ‘perfect match’ according to the Ministry’s calculations. How? Greg didn’t fool himself. He knew he wasn’t nearly as bright as Granger. Nor was he as capable. So really, it didn’t make sense. Unless they were matching people up based on houses, blood status, and age? That might make sense. He was a pure-blood. She was a Muggle-born. He was Slytherin. She was Gryffindor. And they were in the same year. That summed up almost everything he knew about her.
When she rushed out of the lift, the breath in his throat caught. He hadn’t seen her since the Final Battle at Hogwarts, and even then, he only had glimpses of his memory. She was breathtaking. She looked directly at him as she strode forward, her hair a nimbus cloud around her head. Her chin held up, tall, proud. It made Greg stand taller just having her look at him. He straightened his shoulders and shifted his feet again.
“Goyle,” she nodded tightly. Greg offered her his arm.
“I’ve booked a reservation at an Italian place on Diagon,” Greg said softly as he led her toward the Floo. She nodded and allowed him to lead her into the Floo. A flick of his wand and a muttered spell once they arrived removed all evidence of soot from both their persons and Greg felt his face heat up at the appraising look Granger shot him.
“Right this way, Mr Goyle,” the maître d' waved them through a heavy curtain to the dining room beyond. He felt Granger’s fingers flex against his bicep and he shot a look to see who or what had caught her eye. But he couldn’t quite figure it out, perhaps she was intimidated by the decor? Greg wished he would have thought she might not have been to such an establishment before. They were pretty exclusive in serving only pure-blood populations, it would make sense that Granger hadn’t been there.
“I hope this is alright,” Greg said in a low voice just after the maître d' showed them their table. He held out Granger’s chair for him and received another of those looks from her.
“It’s fine,” Granger replied quietly. “I’ve never been here though. Never been allowed,” she murmured with a self-deprecating laugh.
“That will change now,” Greg said with quiet assurance.
“Yes,” she agreed with a tight smile.
“I know—” he stopped when the waiter arrived for their drink order. Once the waiter had left, he continued, “I know I wouldn’t be your choice, but I hope I will make you a good husband.”
He held his breath as he looked into her warm, brown eyes. She had bitten her lip and he had the urge to reach across the table and pull it from between her teeth.
“I...you’re right,” Hermione said. “But only because I don’t know you.” She shrugged. “We didn’t exactly run in the same circles as children.”
Greg’s lips twitched. “No, we didn’t.”
Granger took a deep breath and lifted her eyes to meet his. “I believe in the wizarding world. I won’t be letting my wand get snapped and my memories Obliviated. I will conform to the law and marry you, however, I have dreams, ambitions. I won’t become a broodmare.”
“The law requires three children,” Greg replied, he hurried to continue as she looked like she was going to interrupt, “but, it doesn’t specify a timeline. I will comply with the law because it is required of my probation and it serves the purpose of propagating my house, but I am ambivalent about the specifics.”
“And if I wanted to work after children are born?” Granger asked. She lifted her glass of water to take a sip and Greg watched her carefully. Pure-blood women did not work once children were born, but there were hardly any pure-blood women alive in the world. Greg didn’t work, he didn’t have much of a need to, and the idea of staying home with his children actually made him smile.
“I’d be happy to stay home to mind the children so you could work, Hermione.” It was the first time he’d said the name and he liked the way her eyes brightened upon hearing it. “As I said, I’ll follow the law, but the specifics can be up to you. I do have a request though.”
“And that is?”
“I’d like us to try and have a real marriage. I…” he trailed off, looking down at his hands. Granger reached across the table and grasped the hand lying near his water glass. His eyes flicked to hers.
“I’d like this to be a real marriage too,” Granger said softly. “It’s likely this law won’t be overturned. If we can make it work, I think we should try.”
Greg felt his entire countenance soften at her words. He turned his hand in hers so that he could entwine his fingers with hers and smiled at her.
“Perhaps we could start with a few dates? Get to know each other?” she suggested.
“I’d like that,” Greg agreed. “This can be our first.”
“Alright.” Granger smiled brilliantly at him and Greg felt the breath leave his lungs. He hoped they could make this marriage work because they hadn’t even eaten a meal together yet and he was quite sure he was half in love with her already.
~Fin~