It was tragic, of course, this whole marriage law—ehem, Restoration and Magical Retention Act the Ministry of Magic had passed. After all, the reason for its inception was the consequence of a brutal, needless war that not only had decimated their infrastructure, but had also taken more than half of their population with it, too.

No one wanted to see these young adults subjected to such a law, especially after what they had survived, but the emptiness demanded to be filled again. Peace demanded to be born through the broken pieces War left behind in order to create a new, whole future.

Yet despite the tragedy of it all, professors and staff of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry lined up front row center to get a good look at the spectacular mess the Ministry had made. While Flitwick had instantly handed in his resignation of the Marriage and Family Life class, the Headmistress' desk was littered with names of volunteers wanting the position.

Sprout had won the draw, of course, on account of favoritism, but that did not stop Horace Slughorn from swaying things in his favor. It was another consequence of war that had him standing behind the desk, grinning wide at the students grudgingly making their way in, glaring him down with every step further in.

"Honestly," sighed Lavender, "I am a child of divorce. All this instability is not really good for my mental health, Professor. I thought Sprout was in charge of these lessons now?"

"Of course she is, Miss Brown," Slughorn laughed, clapping his hands once together before using them to motion Lavender to her seat next to a sullen Seamus. "But today's lecture is somewhat my area of expertise. Naturally, Professor Sprout only wants the best information for you, so she conceded the reigns of the class for today."

Lavender scoffed at his response, moving to her seat just as Harry hurried in through the door hiding behind the Nott-Vane-Harper unit in an effort to avoid Slughorn's ever-constant, loud praise of him.

"Do you think," Hermione started, looking up from her book to raise an unamused brow at her best friend, "your fortune for survival has suddenly plummeted now that Ron knows you are sexually active with his little sister?"

"Please don't ever bring up my sex life, Hermione," said Harry with a long exhale as he sat beside her. "But, yes—I actually believe Ron has a better chance at killing me than Voldemort ever did. He's an overprotective fool and all that."

Hermione rolled her eyes, sticking a broken quill into the dip of her book to hold her current page. "I'd say a hypocritical, sexist fool, but sure. How'd you even lose him? I'd never seen him run faster, even when we were chased by Snatchers."

"Some Fourth Year girls shielded me from him, actually," Harry let out a puff of a laugh. "They think Gin and I are sort of the perfect couple."

Hermione laughed, tossing her head back at the pink now tinting his cheeks. "So you let the fans save the day, huh?"

"Tried to," he confessed before hunching his shoulders and turning his back on Pavarti Patil and Gregory Goyle's desk, especially because he could see his nosy house-mate leaning in centimeter by centimeter to try and hear Harry and Hermione's conversation. "But then Cho's little sister hexed me out of the circle of protection. She said something about me getting my dues for leaving Cho for Ginny. If only she knew I left Cho for you."

With another laugh, Hermione playfully elbowed Harry when he grinned at her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Although she had felt somewhat horrible for Cho's belief that Harry and she had something more than a sibling-dynamic, the thought of a romance with him continued to bring amusement to both.

"You're in my seat, Potter."

Hermione and Harry looked away from one another, breaking their fit of laughter to find Draco Malfoy glaring down at them. Instantly, the mirth that had stretched out their mouths dissolved into respective frowns.

"Darling," said Hermione with fake honey covering the word, "it's so lovely to see you in such great spirits. Aren't I lucky, Harry? My fiance, the prince of sunshine."

"I like her," said Blaise, smirking as he strutted up to Draco's side. "She totally gets you, mate."

Draco turned his glare at his fellow Slytherin, making the latter snort at the expression before moving to the open desk on Hermione's right.

Harry felt a reflex to remain sat beside his best friend to further anger the Slytherin in front of him, but the same voice that had told Ron and other Gryffindors to refrain from petty rivarlry sounded off inside his head. It made him stand, gesturing to the space next to Hermione as he moved to trade places with him.

"He'll get over it, right?" he asked Hermione. "You don't think Ron would tell his brothers, do you?"

"George and the rest trust Ginny to live her life more than Ronald does," Hermione said, offering him a soft smile, reaching out to squeeze his hand at the edge of her side of the desk. "Will they take the mickey out of you two? Of course. But they won't meddle."

Harry returned the smile, squeezing her fingers before excusing himself when Ginny strut in, her blue eyes instantly finding his green. Hermione watched them as they met in the middle—the fans were right, Harry and Ginny were perfect.

Ron was not too far behind his sister, however; when he stumbled upon them, he plowed straight through, breaking them apart. Ginny was about to lunge, but Harry reeled her back just in time.

"Weasley," Pansy greeted, her nose wrinkling at the way he sprawled himself on the place beside her. "Didn't we talk about personal space?"

Ron briefly turned to her before letting out a snort. "Trust me, Parkinson, I don't even want to be in the same country as you, let alone in your personal space."

Hermione knew enough about Pansy Parkinson to expect a form of retaliation to the rude comment Ron made, but she was shocked to see the tiniest lift to the corner of her red lips.

"How's your day going so far?" asked Pansy as she pulled a long, elegant quill from her schoolbag that matched the scroll of parchment that came out next. Yet, she never turned to him, never looked to search for his blue eyes.

He did not search for hers either, but Ron still said, "Was all right until I found out my best mate sleeps with my sister. Yours?"

"Well, everyone has their hobbies," she said nonchalantly, dismissing the subject as something not worthy of her attention. "I, on the other hand, managed to win Davies and Bones' chamber from them in an early game of manipulation. It's near one of the secret passages."

"We're not taking Susan's chamber," Ron told Pansy, although he did not sound entirely sure it was the right choice. Hermione knew he often took the Invisibility Cloak from Harry to sneak out; being next to a secret passage was a perfect way to avoid Filch or any other lingering staff member patrolling the corridors.

The tone in the exchange between Ron and Pansy was entirely normal, but Hermione picked up on the defeat simmering just below each word. Clearly, it was not an ideal situation for either one; Ron once longed to marry someone on the opposite spectrum Pansy resided on, and she never even wanted to know his name, let alone have to make it her own. Still, Hermione saw their resignation and a part of her mourned that Ron had not fought harder against it.

She had been Ron's dream once, but in the same way he settled on letting her go, Hermione had to accept that war damages daydreams and theirs were buried along with their dead.

"Right then," called Professor Slughorn, clearing his throat to call attention to the conflicted, brooding students sat across him. "Headmistress McGonagall would like me to remind you that you have two weeks to choose a date for your nuptials. You must inform your Marriage and Family Life professor—which, yes, Miss Brown, I assure you, it is still Professor Sprout. If you fail to make your submission on time, the Ministry will assign you a date."

"Is this a joke?" Hermione saw all heads turn to the one person that had been relatively quiet about the marriage law. Cho's face reddened as she stood, keeping the attention on her. On the space next to her, Blaise put a hand to the side of his face, trying to hide from the unwanted, prying eyes due to the scene his fiancee was making. "Because it isn't funny anymore. Does the Ministry actually expect us to comply with this oppressive decision? You actually want me to marry this sex-crazed, arrogant, uncultured twat?"

"Oi!" Blaise stood now, too, glaring at the Ravenclaw witch. "Uncultured? Sono italiano, Chang! We invented culture!"

"The Renaissance was okay at best."

Blaise gasped, eyes wide. "Voglio il divorzio ora!"

Slughorn reached for his wand in the pocket of his robes, grinning to himself before waving his wrist. With yellow sparks, Cho and Blaise were sat back down on their seats with their mouths shut and their hands neatly placed on their laps.

"Since you have been given your respective headquarters to assimilate living together as a coupled unit or polyamorous household, today's lesson is to further the experience. Specifically, we will be diving into the curious art of living in a muggle community."

Goyle looked over to Draco, laughing. "Not bloody likely, eh, mate?"

Hermione frowned when Draco nodded back at the remark.

"Professor?" Tracey Davis raised her hand. "Not to be controversial given, you know, the war and all, but why exactly is this even a lesson? We're wizards and witches. The Ministry is making us marry to continue that specific gene. Why would we need to know how to live in a muggle community?"

"Ah, my dear," Slughorn clapped his hands together, "it is exactly because of this war that the subject has been breached. While there is an important issue of magical reproduction, the Ministry also respects those who are unable to aid in the traditional sense. You and Miss Bones might decide to have children in your future, but while you make that choice, you two and other same-sex couples are required to build a bridge between our two worlds. You will be working with the muggle Prime Minister and her parliament to better communications, politics, and trade between us. In doing so, you are also required to live there for a period of time."

Tracey lowered her arm, slowly turning to blink at Susan. The latter pressed a comforting kiss on her nose.

"Of course, this option is also available for those who are thinking about political careers," Slughorn continued. "As such, the Ministry and Headmistress have allowed me to share my acquired knowledge posing as a muggle for those of you who find yourself equally bewildered by their specific technology. So, how about a bit of show-and-tell?"

The students watched as Slughorn materialized various objects from thin air like party magicians Hermione was never particularly fond of and convinced by in her youth.

"Any volunteers?"

"This isn't Muggle Studies, fuck sakes," Draco muttered to himself, crossing his arms over his chest as he glared at Slughorn's excited, pinking face.

Unable to control the tremble in her hand, Hermione shot it up. "Professor," she called, loud and clear, "Malfoy would like to volunteer."

"Granger, you—"

"Excellent! Come, come, Mr. Malfoy!" Slughorn was clapping his hands again before waving the Slytherin over. "We'll give the microwave a try! It's excellent for Sunday roast, but terrible for tea!"

Maybe Hermione had to resign herself to this fate, but that did not mean she had to submit herself to it quietly.

After all, if she was to give her youth, time, and space to Draco Malfoy, she might as well enjoy the death glare at the other end.

X

"No, Ronald, stop," Hermione hissed, removing her hands from her temples where they had been rubbing circles to ease the headache pounding at the sides of her skull. She used them to grab Ron's wand and wrist, separating the two. "What are you doing?"

His blue eyes narrowed at her as he made a move to snatch his wand back. Although she was never a fan of quidditch, Hermione was agile like a player. "You told me to practice," each word came out sharp, "so I'm bloody well, practicing, aren't I?"

"Enunciation is just as important as the actual technique of spell casting," she reminded him, using a particular line he had collected several times throughout every school term when she decided to study with him.

"Enunciation isn't magic, is it? What about Nonverbals, Miss Brightest Witch of the Age?"

Although he returned the same comeback that always followed her scold, this time Hermione did not reach over and smack him upside the head. Instead, she thrust his wand back into his hands and turned to collect her stack of notes and textbooks.

"Where are you going? Madame Pince hasn't called for closing yet. And we all know you've never been one to leave before—"

"I'm exhausted, Ron," Hermione interrupted with the same low hiss. "Of tutoring you, of listening to you, of tolerating you—I'm exhausted of you."

"Then why the hell are you here?" Ron did not care for the volume of his voice, even if it caused a few neighboring Ravenclaws to turn from their library table, glaring at the noise coming from his and Hermione's section. "I didn't ask you to tutor me. You offered."

Hermione dropped her Charms textbook on the table before she used it to smack him across the face. "Because no one else wanted to. Do you understand what you're doing, Ronald? What your foul attitude has done to everyone around you? Take a look. No one's here. This table always had Neville and Luna and Harry and—"

"I'm a war hero," Ron then said, taking his turn to cut across Hermione. "I don't need help in Charms, do I? I fought in a damn war and did well enough to still be here, didn't I? I don't need to graduate with top marks in a bloody course I have no interest in. I have a job lined up for me in the Ministry I can take up even right now. To hell with Flitwick and this pointless tutoring session."

Hermione gave her temple another press before letting out a long sigh. Frustration bubbled in her blood, making the magic in every cell wake up, longing to be let out in a way that red anger demanded. But she knew control, so instead, she picked up her book and slung her schoolbag over her left shoulder.

"You're stuck," her voice came out in a whisper, but it was crisp and clear. "We all are. War does that to people—it damages more than our bodies and our world. Hogwarts and the Ministry are offering counseling to help fix the damages we can't see, the ones caused to the inside of our heads. Go, Ron. If you don't, you're going to be stuck on the aftermath forever. And you'll be the only one because the rest of us are trying to do more than exist and remember."

She did not wait for him to blink or wait for the red in his cheeks to settle. Instead, she followed the lurch in her chest directing her out of the library, directing her to move on.

And Hermione was now ready to get over Ron.

Everyone had coyly asked if she was waiting for him to change his mind and her answer was always a downplay of what they all knew was true—she was waiting. She was waiting for him to be the boy who she had loved since she was a young girl, but life had other plans that turned him into a man a woman like her should never settle for. His heart was pure, Hermione knew that, she knew his soul and what it was capable of, but she always knew the dark parts of Ron's mind that often led him down the wrong path. She did not want to follow him there.

She did not want to beg him to love her.

He had made a choice. And while her heart had screamed it was the wrong one, that she should wait until his decision changed when he undoubtedly remembered what it was like to love each other, it was still his choice. She had to respect it. And her heart was now in agreement with her head.

There was no use loving shadows of someone who did not love her own.

The thought caused tears to cloud over her eyes. She let the pain burn for a short second before blinking away the sting. It was when the evidence of her heartbreak rolled down her cheeks that she stumbled upon two particular Slytherins she never wanted to see her at such a vulnerable state.

Hermione quickly moved her left hand to smudge out the evidence of her tears, her brows furrowing as she asked, "Why do you have a microwave?"

"Because I won it," Pansy said to her, a dark, glittering smirk tugging red-painted lips up as she leaned against Draco's side, making him frown as the metallic box almost fell from his arms. "Well, technically, Slughorn gave it to Romilda Vane, but she owed me a favor, so I collected."

"You do know most muggle appliances run on electricity, right? Something Hogwarts does not come equipped with."

Pansy rolled her eyes, further sinking her elbow into Draco's shoulder. "Granger," she started, a lazy drawl already forming, "I don't care. If I need a cup of tea, I'll go down to the kitchens or make one of those terrified First Years fetch me one."

"Then why—"

"Are you all right?" Draco's voice shattered the distance Hermione was keeping between the Slytherins. It made her turn to him, something she had wanted to avoid doing until the redness in her eyes had faded away. When she did meet his silver gaze, she found no shadow of malice or intent to humiliate the tears he had seen.

Pansy cocked her head back, studying her fellow Slytherin with narrowing eyes at the delicate way he had posed his question. Her frown deepened further when he briefly turned to her, thrusting the microwave into her hands so that he could take a step closer toward Hermione.

"Yes," said Hermione, immediately taking a safe step back. "Allergies."

Draco looked at the Charms book in her hand before looking back at the direction she was coming from. He did not have to guess where it was she had been because he knew the answer. Years back, before the war had forced her on the run with Harry and made Draco choose his life as a Death Eater, they were almost always the last two in the library. Neither said anything to each other, of course; he hated her too much to even sit on the table next to hers, and she was too preoccupied with finding solutions to aid in the upcoming war to care how his eyes aimed daggers at her from a distance.

"Weasley," he then said.

It wasn't a question, but a definitive answer. While Draco did not know anything about Hermione's life, everyone in the castle had been aware of the growing romantic feelings between Hermione and Ron—and they had been equally aware of how many times he made her cry throughout the years.

Draco especially knew how it looked from those lonely library nights when Hermione tried to concentrate on finding any evidence as to who the Half-Blood Prince was, but ended up silently sobbing into her research when she thought of Ron and Lavender off snogging in dark, private corners.

"He isn't worth it, you know."

"He used to be," Hermione murmured, bringing her textbook closer to her chest. "Not like it matters anymore, right? Marriage law and all."