Lavender Brown felt like the world had crashed down around her.

Again.

After the war had shattered their country, after it had taken friends and family—after a werewolf had taken chunks of her skin too, Lavender thought what was left would never fit properly together again. On her hospital bed in St. Mungo's, she sat with thick, yellow paste on her missing pieces, terrified, trembling fingers trying to pick up what was left of her life and figure out how she was meant to survive with it.

Such a vain, ridiculous, starry-eyed girl in the body of a mangled, grief-stricken war hero.

Lavender never wanted that—she never wanted medals and praise for her bravery. Her courage did not come from a wand and her spell arsenal; it came from her ability to see a world through rose-colored glasses, to daydream about sunshine despite rainclouds, to draw hearts over the names of people worth loving, people others did not deem convenient or right, but she did.

Because it took guts to believe in people.

The Healers told her some of the scarring would fade, that she was lucky not to have been contaminated with the werewolf bite, but what was untainted of a girl with mismatched skin, a broken brain, and a shattered identity?

She spent weeks grieving on that hospital bed, even after Seamus Finnegan had started visiting her. Lavender did not want to see him; she did not want to see the first boy she ever fancied, the first boy who had called her beautiful, who had taken her to her first dance and had wrapped caring arms around her waist, both swaying under melting icicles and dim lights.

The same boy who had hugged her, head on his chest, when Ron Weasley broke up with her. The same boy who had told her she should never cry for someone who could not see that being loved by her meant knowing they were accepted, flaws and all.

Lavender would cry into her pillow, thick, yellow paste sticking to it as she begged him to leave because she was hideous, because she was broken, because nothing would ever be the same, but Seamus never left. He would let her sob, but once her shoulders would stop shaking from the force of her pain, he would reach for her hand, his fingers lacing through her trembling ones and whisper you're still beautiful, Lav; you're not broken; you're the best; I miss you; you're strong; you survived Greyback, you can survive anything.

Such a mangled, grief-stricken war hero wishing she could still be a vain, ridiculous, starry-eyed girl.

She never felt worse about what she had become when she started looking at Seamus Finnegan and believed she could be Lavender Brown again.

People had died: family, friends, classmates, but she did not want the grief. She did not want to change, to become someone haunted by ghosts and war. Lavender wanted to leave St. Mungo's and see sunshine, see people smiling, see them loving each other.

How was she supposed to handle knowing Seamus never wanted to love her? Not in the way she had daydreamed about when she watched him from her hospital bed, his mouth tugged up in a giant grin, chest echoing with a laugh that filled the room.

Such a vain, ridiculous, starry-eyed girl caught in the body of a bitch.

Lavender never meant to kiss Dean Thomas.

Yes, she had thought him attractive—in the way she thought everyone had something charming about them that could make them the most beautiful person in the room. She liked how kind Dean's eyes were, how he looked at everyone the same way Lavender did; like they were worth something, like they mattered, but she never saw him as more than a friend. Not when she had been pining after Seamus and then Ron like the hopeless romantic people laughed at.

In that second, as her heart shattered because she once again loved a boy who only humiliated her, Lavender saw the compassion in Dean's eyes and she wanted to matter to someone. All rationality was clouded by her own selfish needs, by her own pain and anger, that she made the mistake of kissing Dean to feel wanted for a single moment.

Such a bitch caught in the body of a vain, ridiculous, starry-eyed girl.

"Seamus," Lavender breathed, coming up to where he sat as she entered the Marriage and Family Life lesson with the Patil twins flanking each side of her, ready to catch her if she fell. "Seamus...Please let me—I can—"

"Piss off," he snarled at her, stopping her from completing her sentence when his brown eyes found her blue. There was no glimmer of gold in them, like when he sat at her hospital bed, smiling at her. They darkened like desert ruins, like he hoped he could turn her to ashes with a blink of his eyes. He had done so to cups of tea, potions, and goblets of rum—how hard could it be to make Lavender Brown disappear?

Lavender burst into tears when she read the hatred and hurt in his eyes.

Around the room, couples already sat together stopped their conversations among each other. She could feel their eyes on her and Seamus; she could feel the amusement, outrage, annoyance hitting her in the back like daggers.

"Please let me explain," Lavender muttered through her tears, chest heaving. "Let me tell you what actually happened. What Luna saw was completely wrong, I swear it. She's insane if she thinks Dean would ever—"

"Don't you dare," hissed Seamus, standing from his desk with his palms slamming on the surface. Lavender and the Patil twins winced at the sound. "Don't you say his name to me! And don't you bloody dare insult Luna! For years you and Parvati have ridiculed her, but at least she's honest!"

Classmates snickered and made hissing noises, but Parvati shot them all death glares unbecoming of a sweet, fanciful girl like her.

"My best mate, Lav," Seamus then said, his voice trembling with more than anger now. "The first person I told I got you that ring. The first person I told when I realized I loved—"

"I wanted to tell you," Lavender cried, waterfalls down her cheeks now when Seamus paused, when he forced himself not to finish what she had been waiting to hear for years. "We both did, but...I was scared! I know I'm not a good person, Seamus, but I never wanted to hurt you! I never wanted—"

"Stop lying," he snarled.

"I'm not!"

Seamus let out a deranged laugh that made the Slytherins in the classroom smirk. "What were you doing in his chamber in the first place? There's a reason why the Ministry assigned each couple a chamber of their own, Lavender! And that's so some vain, ridiculous, starry-eyed girl like you wouldn't go jumping from one room to another, searching for someone to want her!"

Those same Slytherins howled with laughter now. Other classmates broke out into frantic whispers or cringed at Seamus' choice of words. Yet, those who agreed with him, those who were on his side, looked on with full support. The few who sympathized with Lavender shook their heads, unapproving of the insult aimed at her.

Parvati took a step forward from behind Lavender, shoving Seamus back down onto his seat. "Don't speak to her like that," she seethed. "You can be angry all you want, Finnegan, but don't disrespect her!"

"Goyle—" Pansy had just glided into the classroom, fingers laced through Ron Weasley's when she had caught the last minute of the spectacle the Gryffindors were making. She had been busy running her hands up Ron's back, his mouth on her neck when they heard them yelling, ruining their little snogging session before their lesson started.

"Handle your witch," she said, turning sharp eyes at Gregory Goyle. He knew better than to second guess his next action, of course; Pansy was often nicer to him than most others, but she also knew it made her scarier to him than anyone else in their House. "Patil needs reminding that not everything requires her giant nose."

"Just because you've never had a real, loyal friend to defend you, Parkinson—"

"Enough, Parv," said Goyle as he reached for his betrothed's elbow, thick fingers wrapping around to gently pull her back.

"Don't tell me—"

"Sit," Goyle told her through his teeth, helping her to the desk he had chosen for them.

Parvati gawked at him with bewildered eyes. Had Goyle really just raised his voice at her? Dear Merlin, had she liked it, too? That was more flare she had witnessed from the Slytherin in all this time. She was intrigued by him now.

From beside Pansy, Ron shifted on his feet. He did not particularly care for her opinion on Lavender, but seeing his ex-girlfriend in tears pulled at something in his chest. After their breakup in Sixth Year, he had kept away from her out of respect and fear. He knew he was a right twat to Lavender at the end of their little tryst, but she had been his friend before all of that. Ron had studied with her, shared jokes with her in the common room, laughed when they both were paired in classes together, or talked about having older brothers who had already accomplished everything first.

And he had hurt her despite it; this vain, ridiculous, starry-eyed girl who should not be caught in the body of a mangled, grief-stricken war hero deserved to stop crying over blokes who humiliated her.

Blokes like Ron Weasley and Seamus Finnegan.

"Ease up, mate," Ron said, clearing his throat. Pansy turned that sharp gaze at him, but he just squeezed her fingers. "This is not where you should be having this conversation."

"Ease up?" repeated Seamus with a scoff. "Easy for you to say, isn't it, Weasley? You used to snog her, too. Tell me, did she end up in your chamber before my best mate's?"

Ron's ears turned bright right.

Eavesdroppers were now at the edge of their seats, far more invested in the situation now that Ron and Lavender's past relationship was brought up.

Pansy, however, was not amused. "Watch your words, Finnegan," she warned. "Just because you can't keep your betrothed in your bed, doesn't mean Ron can't."

"Me and Lav are in the past," Ron told Seamus, but his hands once again tightened against Pansy's fingers to reminder her of this detail. "It has nothing to do with what's happening now."

"Exactly," Seamus shot back. "So stay out of it."

Ron turned blue eyes at Pansy, looking for assistance. He knew she hated Lavender for more than making Luna Lovegood cry, but Lavender was his friend. Maybe he did not have any right to search for her defense, but Ron had caused Lavender enough pain not to want to help her when she was in it again.

Pansy glared at Ron, but said with a reluctant, bored tone, "I know I told you not to be a naive twat, Finnegan, but don't be dramatic dickhead either. Brown has the misfortune of fancying you and that's where she's kept her sights. If you want the truth, stop being a typical, tiresome act-now-think-later Gryffindor brute and just talk her."

With that, each word unpleasant for having had said them, Pansy tugged on Ron's hand and led him to the furthest desk in the classroom. They had a good five minutes before their lesson started; she was angry at him as to not fumble with the waistband of his trousers, but not angry enough to not let Ron trace the skin under her skirt.

Pansy Parkinson might have been done with the Gryffindor drama, but the rest of the classroom was well aware of the next people that entered the room. Coming in first had been Luna Lovegood, all pale, sweet, dreamy features plagued by exhausted, purple shadows under her eyes as the blue in them burned red, swollen from all her crying.

"Luna, please wait." Dean Thomas begged as he ran in after her, his hand managing to take a hold of her wrist.

"I can't believe him—"

"Fucking cheating prat—"

"Has no shame—"

"He needs to leave Lovegood alone—"

When Luna froze, her chest heaving at Dean's fingers touching her skin, he let go. There were tears in his own eyes he did not bother to hide from all the glaring, entertained, judging classmates looking at them now.

"Don't," said Harry as he and Ginny stopped behind Dean. He pulled his wand out from the pocket of his trousers and pointed it against his shoulder. "Mate, I don't want to curse you, but I will. Luna doesn't want to talk to you right now. Leave her be."

Dean was not afraid of Harry Potter. And that was not why he stepped away from Luna; the shattered blue in her eyes made him want to sink down to his knees and beg her to destroy him, turn him into ash for the wind to take away so she would never have to see his face again and feel that pain.

When Luna did look away, settling for a table at the front of the classroom, Dean was poked by Harry's wand. Ginny had slid the seat beside Luna as far away from her as possible, pointing a finger at it for Dean to sit. There was a flash in Ginny's eyes that threatened him against thinking he could inch closer to Luna at any point. Then, she and Harry took a desk across from them.

Fashionably late as always, Blaise smirked at his classmates as he strutted to where Cho Chang sat. She glared at him as Professor Sprout walked in behind him, but he only pouted his lips at his lovely betrothed, blowing her a kiss, then turned to his left where Draco and Hermione sat.

"You know something, mate, what's going on here will make a great plot for a Muggle movie. We've got cheaters, loonies, crying witches, angry witches," Blaise nodded towards Cho, who aimed daggers at him with her brown eyes, "backstabbing best mates, sex scandals, and the Boy Who Lived! It practically writes itself."

Draco smirked, chuckling along with his fellow Slytherin, but instantly let out a hiss of pain when Hermione elbowed his ribs.

"All right. Enough nonsense," called Professor Sprout from the front of the class, tapping her wand on the surface of her table to get the attention of all the couples. "Today's lesson will have us discussing the importance of emotional and mental health of every individual when dealing with stress caused by internal and external situations. This is particularly significant not only because negative outlets can impact the individual, but marital and family dynamics, too."

"Professor," called Hermione, raising her hand, "The chapter for this lesson suggests sessions with Mind Healers, but what about—"

"Hold that thought, Miss Granger," said Sprout with a hearty laugh. "We will have plenty of time to dissect this lesson and answer all the questions I'm sure all of you will have. However, before we dive right in, the Ministry has sent in another announcement and deadline decreed under the Restoration and Magical Retention Act."

The students groaned at the scroll of parchment in her hand. They were all coming to realize that nothing good ever came from the Ministry and their expectations for the marriage law they passed.

"Research on the aftermath of the Second Wizarding War is still being conducted," Sprout began as she unrolled the announcement and read, "and the Ministry of Magic has refined its inquiry of the estimated number of lives lost. Before, researchers had calculated a fifty-three percent reduction of population, but they now confirm it at forty-seven. Of course, this percentage is still relatively high and the possibility of our magical inheritance being lost continues to be an issue the Ministry wants to tackle—"

"Yes, we know," grunted Tracey Davies beside Susan Bones. "While I do love my fiancee, being forced to marry by the Ministry of Magic still doesn't sound noble even with all of these statistics. No offense, Professor."

At the murmurs of agreement from other couples, Sprout continued, "These researchers hypothesize the next two Wizarding generations to hold an alarming number of Squibs as a consequence of not only a smaller population, but the number of surviving witches and wizards who have been cursed infertile or have suffered brain damage. The Ministry will like to remind you that Squibs are valued members of our community, but preserving out magic is also vital. As such, every capable couple under the Restoration and Magical Retention Act is tasked to assist with this issue."

"Assist?" Pansy called from the back of the room, Ron suddenly paling beside her. "You mean it's up to us to—?"

"Produce children, yes," said Professor Sprout, her cheeks suddenly pink. "All couples with the ability to have children in the traditional manner have three years to produce a first child. Of course, there will be health examinations for all witches and wizards, as well—"

As Sprout expected, there was an uproar. Students were rising up from their seats, hurling insults and threats, while others let out cries like wounded animals.

Beside Draco, Hermione started making a choking noise. He reached over as a reflex, thumping her back as he felt dizzy at the commotion.

"You want us to have children already?" Hermione bellowed once she found her voice, neither of her arms able to shoot up in the air for her to ask the indignant question. "Are you all insane?"

Draco thumped her back harder, unaware of she was talking at all.

"Well, Miss Granger, that was the entire purpose of this law," Sprout reminded her, but she was addressing the entire class, too. "The Ministry of Magic did not pass this law because it wanted to play Cupid. This law was passed so your generation could help repopulate our world. Every one of you is young, in possession of magic, you come from diverse backgrounds, bringing your own diverse genetics—you are all brimming with the chance to produce the next witches and wizards."

Blaise crossed his legs, twisting his body away from Cho. "I suddenly feel very sexually harassed."

Cho glared at him. "Trust me, Zabini, I'm not going anywhere near your reproductive organ."

"Granger?" whispered Draco once Sprout's words finally made sense in his head, placing a hand on Hermione's knee. "Are you all right?"

"Don't touch me!" she shouted, slapping his hand away. "This is how it starts. Before I know it I'll be walking down graduation with a watermelon in my womb!"

Despite the marriage law ruining her last year at Hogwarts, Hermione thought maybe there was some divine force looking out for her.

The night before she had been willing to shag Draco Malfoy because he had been horrible and incorrigible as to blindside her with his gleaming, perfect naked chest—well, God or Merlin himself had stopped her from being a silly teenage girl guided by trivial things like lust and a stupid, handsome Slytherin.

Sure, perhaps Hermione had indeed finally wrapped her head around accepting (fancying, whatever) Draco, but she had yet compartmentalized everything else that fell under the Ministry's marriage law. Accepting (lusting after, whatever)Draco did not mean Hermione was equipped to be a wife. Yes, the Ministry and Hogwarts were offering lessons to cover the psychology, history, and emotional toll involving marriage, but even Hermione Granger knew being a wife was not something she was going to learn from a book. She and Draco would ultimately gain the knowledge of married life by being married—but being parents? Where was the logic in having teenagers have children?