Thanks and a story.
many thanks to killabeez for the Twin Peaks tapes! I think I'm on episode ten and wondering how this show ever got to run for over twebty episodes. It's is DAMN bizarre, and I'm loving every minute of it.
I was supposed to write this story for the Highlander lyric wheel, but instead, I was literally broadsided by something else. I'm not really happy with it, but I don't want to work on it anymore, and I want to post it here as proof that I have been indeed writing.
A Civil Disobedience
Characters: HG, SS, GW, others.
Rating: pg-13 for squick, barely.
Timeline: Seventh Year
Disclaimer: I own nothing from the JK Rowling universe. This means that I cannot, nor do I desire to, make money from this work of fiction. This story was inspired not from the WIKTT Marriage Challenge, but rather the stories I have read answering that challenge. Please see A/N at the end.
The day was cold and sick, frost covering the ground and the few early flowers where spring's attempt to arrive had been stunted by the last dredges of a stubborn winter.
May was too late to see the buds frozen, crystallized as if preserved by a clever botanist.
Hermione watched a lone butterfly move slowly across the field. How it had even survived last night's frost was beyond her. Oh, she could probably puzzle it out, if she cared, thought of more than several solutions to the child's riddle, where does the butterfly land in the land of frost, but she had other things to think about.
The clocktower of Hogwarts rang seven, and a faint cry could be heard from the upper courtyard, the same one Hermione and Harry had seen Sirius off four years ago. Tufts of rose petals drifted over the stone parapet and down the castle walls, pink and butter yellow against the gray stone backdrop. There at the crack of dawn, Neville Longbottom and Gretchen Cleevely, a sixth year Hufflepuff with a thumb as green as Neville's were married --no Bound, with a capital B-- to one another in the Ministry's disastrous attempt to increase the population.
Hermione pulled Harry's purloined cloak tighter around herself and waited for Hagrid to finish opening the front doors. Once they were open the others could slip out. They had more than enough time before breakfast in the Great Hall to do what they had to do.
Once Hagrid had the doors open, Hermione was careful not to let the wind blow the cloak back from her legs as she ran down to the edge of the Forbidden Forest. They didn't plan on going much further into it, but nevertheless, her group had lost several girls to the danger already. Hermione didn't care. They could choose to enter into the Binding, or rather, not choose, if they wished.
The ground was slippery --frozen blades of grass crushing underfoot. The dawn was well arrived, though the sky was too petulant to allow the sun through to any tolerable degree. Hermione would have preferred that the sun would have shone brightly; it would have seemed a better omen for what she was going to do. She belatedly remembered that she hated any form of divination.
The mist rolling out of the Forest obscured her vision, but she could see some dark shapes further ahead. For a split second she wondered if it wasn't some creature bent on dragging her back into the woods and ripping her to pieces. Instead, it was another such creature. Ginny Weasley stood with Hannah Abbot and a few other girls, most of them Muggleborn. Hermione didn't bother to count them or figure out who was there. Most of the girls in Hogwarts had long ago adopted a stance on the Marriage Initiative, though these particular girls had begun, at Hermione's wry bon mot, to call it the Marriage Imperiative.
Ginny's hair was slicked back today, tied in a knot at the base of her neck. Her face was red from a good scrubbing, which Hermione knew she'd given herself less than an hour ago in the Head Girl's bathroom. Hermione had done the same; she removed the hood of the cloak and watched the girls gasp at the sudden appearance of her head.
All except Ginny. "You look surprised that I've come," Ginny told her.
She smiled, and took the cloak off completely. "I had my doubts," was all she said. "And I knew you did too."
"I still do. Look, Hermione, are you sure--" Ginny started, but Hannah gave her a withering look. Hermione raised her eyebrows. Ginny was pureblood. Ginny was safe. For now. In time the Ministry would go for her next.
They made their way a little further into the forest until they had a clearing where a body could actually lie down flat on the ground. Hermione stood in the center of the glen for a moment, wondering about fate and possibilities and the foolishness of rash decisions, something she almost never indulged in.
"Well, nothing to do but get to it, then," Ginny said softly from behind her. "Take off the robes. And the blouse," she added as an afterthought. "Oh, and well, the skirt too, I guess."
Rachel, sweet little fifth year Rachel took her clothing and draped it over her arm, hiding her shaking hands. Hermione saw the tears in her eyes and shook her head. She could never blame anyone but herself for this. Well, herself and the Ministry.
"Lie down," Ginny said coldly, her eyes sparking with the knowledge of the well studied. Her wand was out and ready, looking for all the world as if they were going to practice cheering charms or maybe something a bit harder, like Patronuses. Hermione chose to obey her, settling on the frozen ground and shivering with that first contact of wet frost on her back.
No matter how many times they had practiced, no matter how many times Ginny had gone over the procedure with her, it seemed too tricky to actually work. If things hadn't been so dire, she might have thought about the miracles that could be wrought in the Muggle world with further story of these things, the lives she could save, the people she could help. But as Ginny touched her wand to Hermione's gut, she ceased to think as the pain smashed into her full force, something so raw and horrible that she didn't even have words for it, could only thrash as Ginny worked with the incantations under her breath and the other girls grabbed her flailing arms and legs.
It had better be worth it, was her only thought. It had damn well better be worth it, because the pain was too much to even make her cry.
***
Breakfast was well underway by the time they arrived, Hermione in the throes of recovery and liberal applications of Numbing draught. She had let Hannah help her into the castle, but when they had reached the Great Hall, she had clutched her dragonhide drawstring bag to her chest and waved the other girl's hands away.
Cornelius Fudge sat at the head of the Great hall, Albus Dumbledore on his right, Percy Weasley on his left. Students ate their meals in companionable murmurs. The wedding party was long gone, but guests still lingered for a while; no alumnus could ever pass up the offer of a Hogwarts meal.
When Hermione passed him, Draco Malfoy gave her one of his smarmy smiles, and for the first time she smiled back.
The other girls hung back as she bypassed Harry and Ron at the Gryffindor table. As she passed Ron, her betrothal ringer on her hand twitched and pulled, longing to be near its mate, already attached to Ron's finger. Somewhere in the back of Hermione's head she thought of Tolkien's famous ring and the disaster it had brought its wearer.
Her hand still reached out and brushed his shoulder as she passed anyway, and it little action made her more angry.
Dumbledore knitted his brows and shook his head when she drew near, but she was past the time when she would have paid him any attention. Lucius Malfoy was at the Slytherin table, probably here to oversee the Binding of his son to some Muggleborn they would alternately violate. Fudge was in deep conversation with Percy and only stopped to glance at her when it became obvious that her intent was in fact to address him.
"Miss, uh...Granger," he started, hesitation only until Percy could surreptitiously whisper her name in his ear. Hermione spared only a glance for Ron's brother; he had ceased to interest her at all in their fifth year.
"I just came to address the new law on Muggleborn Binding," she said softly. The Hall fell silent, most of the students not already straining to listen seeming to sense that their cooperation in volume control was most eminent.
Fudge became rather flustered, setting down his fork and beginning to wipe his hands with his napkin. "Yes, well, I'm sure you understand that the law is necessary to increase the population, which has taken substantial loss-"
He broke off, perhaps at the look on her face, perhaps because he had expected her to interrupt at this moment. Instead she said nothing. In the face of the growing silence, and what Hermione was starting to see as Dumbledore's tacit refusal to help him, Fudge set his napkin down and folded his hands into a steeple.
"See here, Granger girl, it's not a death sentence. It's a marriage, which is far from torture. Percy also informs me that you have had more than several proper and illustrious offers from upstanding members of our population." This last was said with an eye on Malfoy senior and junior at their respective tables. "And it is most certainly not permanent."
"No," she whispered. "No it's not." Behind her she heard Ron start to say something to her. It hadn't occurred to her that he would have risen and followed her down the aisle to the Head table.
"Then marry this Weasley and be done with it. It cannot be so much of a burden. Simply provide a child and you can both be free to pursue other things." His face was reddening, perhaps with anger, perhaps with frustration or embarrassment. When Hermione said nothing, he turned to Dumbledore, his raised eyebrows a silent plea for help.
Hermione didn't give the Headmaster a chance to say anything this time. He never said anything anyway, and if he had ever had any control over anything to help her, he had chosen not to use it before this. His age and authority had failed Harry, and she had once sighed and reasoned that he had good reason for letting the cards fall where they may.
That she had let it go this long, wanting to trust in his influence to save her, to save all of them, rankled her worse than the lingering burning in her abdomen.
"I'm no longer in your auction," she hissed, holding up her hands.
Hermione upended the bag onto Fudge's plate, allowing her blood to spill over the golden rim of it and onto the tabletop. Fudge's chair screeched back with a speed that seemed impossible for him to manage with his girth. Percy was up after him, his own unused napkin already spotting her blood from his robes. Dumbledore remained silent and seated, his own hands knotted in front of him. Hermione didn't want to see his face.
Fudge looked down at his plate, at the folds of flesh bleeding on the table, his eyes wide and uncomprehending. He spluttered. The Hall was horribly quiet, except for a strangled sob from someone, probably Ginny or Parvati.
Professor McGonagall stood at once, her wand out and maneuvering the bloody remains back into the bag.
"Students are to report to their Common Rooms now."
***
They had left her in a secluded area of the infirmary after Madam Pomfrey had gone over her several times, interrogated Ginny Weasley, and then gone over he more times with her wand, her face white, lips pursed tightly.
Then she had called in Professor Snape to check again, though what Snape could lend to the medical diagnosis was beyond Hermione.
Now, as she sat in one of the chairs by the bedside, wishing they had allowed Ginny to stay with her instead of being hauled away crying, snatches of conversation reached her ears, though she wasn't particularly interested in what they had to say.
"--Removed it completely-"
"-cauterized. How Miss Weasley managed it is beyond me--"
"-can't be replaced, let alone reattached."
Well, that had been the point, hadn't it? she groused, almost offended to think that they would be able to find a loophole in her research, her work. If it weren't so ludicrous and obviously not the thing to be thinking she might have laughed. Instead she seethed, replaying Fudge's words to her in the Great Hall over and over in her head.
The ring on her finger pulsed, as if it had become aware that she was trying to get rid of it. Now that she was no longer a viable reproductive specimen, it would eventually grow large enough that she could take it off.
That time didn't seem to be soon enough. She twisted it on her finger.
Continued whispers and speaking voices drifted back to her, but her attention was caught on wiggling the ring back and worth. Perhaps if she applied some grease-
"Fudge is calling for you to be sent to Azkaban," said a cold voice behind her. At the moment, the dispassionate tone of Professor Snape was a choice one. If her lecture had to come from anyone, she would rather it was him.
"That's ludicrous," she told him.
His black eyes glittered with something not unlike malice, or even perverse amusement. "Indeed, but you and I both know that he is a silly little man, albeit a silly little man endowed with a great deal of authority."
Hermione stared at Professor Snape as he pulled up a chair and sat across from her, crossing his legs and arms. His greasy hair fell over one eye and he tossed his head absent mindedly to remove it.
"You do realize the effects this will have on your own body," he said pragmatically.
She raised one eyebrow, knowing that she had managed to make it look as caustic as his own expression.
Snape uncrossed his legs and recrossed them the opposite way. "Of all of the foolish things to do, Miss Granger."
The ring made her finger itch. Part of her thought that she might have to cut it off.
"I'm not even going to pretend that I know what's going on in your head anymore," he articulated slowly. "Ronald Weasley is tripping over himself to marry you, Binding or no." When she snorted, he shook his head. "But instead, you do this."
"This," she answered, voice dull. "This is what I have to do." She worried the ring further off her finger, aware of the pain stinging the finger. It made its way millimeter by millimeter, though not alone.
At that, Snape sneered. "Like any sacrificial lamb, you're the first to protest. How Gryffindor. How Potter-esque."
The finger stung, and the progress of the ring was made mildly easier with the blood on her hand. She worried it further. "It's not a protest. It's a rejection. And I think the word you're looking for is Slytherin."
Snape sighed and uncrossed his arms, choosing to stand and walk over to the window. The shutters were open even as the glass itself shielded the room from the wind that rattled the glass in the leaden frames.
"A Slytherin would have bided her time, waited out the law, found a way around it."
Hermione laughed. "This is a way around it." When he rewarded her with a sharp look, she cocked her head and gave him a smile she was sure was rueful. "I would have thought that you'd be pleased that I'll not be providing you with more Weasley disasters to teach."
He turned from her then, pulling his robes closer against him, covering his hands. "Oh dear Merlin, you are right, please inform Mr. Weasley that you have my full support in your hysterectomy. I doubt he'll appreciate your consideration for my person."
She had nothing to say o that, except that it was a rather feeble insult. It crossed her mind as she watched his breath fog the glass that perhaps it had been his form of gentle converse, but she dismissed the idea. Snape being quasi-sensitive to her of all people was right out.
And there was this bloody ring to get off. She had worked it down the first finger joint, and the gold band was halfway across her knuckle, but all the skin it was taking with it got in the way and caked under it until it was effectively stuck. She cursed as she tried to even twist it loose.
"Miss Granger, the ring will come off in due time," Snape said from the window, but she couldn't be bothered to look at him. The rind pulsed in some unnatural rhythm. Gold was inanimate; it shouldn't make this kind of vibration. Her fingers scratched at her skin, and as slippery as the blood welling up from her raw skin was, it wasn't enough to loosen the band.
She wasn't aware that she was ignoring his voice until she realized that it was drowned out by her own whining sounds. The ring hadn't bothered her until now. Now it was the most important thing to reject, the last piece in her freedom.
And here she was, making noises like a rabbit in a loop. It was humiliating; she couldn't have felt more irrationally hysterical.
Hysteric. No longer an argument or viable accusation.
"Stop, Hermione, stop." Snape's long fingers grasped her hands and stilled them in her lap. He was on one knee in front of her, grasping her bleeding hand in his. "Cease this now or I'll Petrify you." Matter of fact, as if she was being inconvenient.
She ceased.
"If you cannot wait, he started to say, and she didn't reply, but his eyes watched hers for a moment. The band pulsed against his skin and hers, and that seemed to decide it for him. He glanced at the ring in distaste before drawing his wand.
"Micropius," he murmured, his wand touching the tip of her finger. She noticed that her blood smeared the polished tip of it, and for a second it gave her a surreal jolt. She watched as her ring finger shrank even as the ring itself remained the same, though it still stubbornly tried to remain attached to her very skin. "With this ring, I thee unwed" he said quietly, perhaps with a smirk. She was about to pull her hand away, to smack him, regardless of how she felt about striking teachers but the he reached out with his left hand and ripped the ring off her finger, taking epidermis with it.
Hermione screamed into her own hand before she could regain control of herself. It had been in no way as painful as the morning's earlier events, but it had been more shocking, more perverse. Where removing inner parts of her had been holy, removing the last traces of the Ministry's law on her body had seemed filthy and violatory.
Or it could have been the man on his knees in front of her, whispering "Finite Incantatum" and guiding her finger to its original size before pulling out a handkerchief and wrapping it around her raw flesh. The ring disappeared, probably somewhere in his robes, pocketed, gone from her sight, and thankfully so.
"Madame Pomfrey should see to that," he told her sternly, rising, as if he disapproved of the wound, no matter that he had helped create it. Hermione stared at the handkerchief, swiftly turning red and pink. It had his initials embroidered on the corner, just like her grandfather.
She didn't want to think of Snape and her grandfather at the same time.
He moved from her field of vision, and she had to search him out, walking to the divider that kept her back here, secluded. His robed concealed his hands again, and when he turned one last time to look at her, his hair fell in his face. Everything that could be hidden was out of sight.
"I hope you know you're not going to change anything. The Wizarding World has had its share of social activists, Miss Granger, and they have never succeeded."
Her ducked her head. "It wasn’t for the Wizarding World," she admitted into the silence. "It was for me."
He was quiet, but when he spoke, she could hear the mild amusement. "Ah. Now *that* is Slytherin, Miss Granger." When she glanced up at him all traces of humor were gone. "I'll fetch Madame Pomfrey."
She dismissed him in her head at that, starting to turn towards the window. Outside she saw the movement of a bird, a rook perhaps, soaring off into the overcast sky.
"Do you want this?" Hermione glanced at him again to see her ring between his finger and thumb. "Perhaps I cold return it to Mr. Weasley for you." His face showed that he was rather repulsed at giving Ron anything other than detention and failing grades.
She shook her head. "No. Throw it away, keep it, I don't care."
And that was that. He shrugged a little then, tucking his hand back into his pocket. "I find that I must admit that your intentions may not have been misplaced, no matter how rash they became."
She watched him turn and leave, wondering what would become of the ring, not really caring, but finding it odd, even as his handkerchief stuck to her finger. Something in her gut roiled, but she knew that it would pass. Madame Pomfrey entered and pulled the thin cloth from her hand, making small noises of disapproval.
Hermione didn't listen to her tutting. Instead she turned back to the window, trying to find the rook she'd lost when Snape had made his confession of sentimentality, if one could call it that. It took a moment, scanning the gray for a speck of black, a spread of feathers stretched out in the clouds. For one second that shape froze in place before clouds moved, and she had to squint into the sun in order to hold on to the rook with her eyes.
She couldn't hold on forever; she closed her eyes and let it go.
FIN
A/N: I cannot deny that this was hastily written and overly dramatic. I have been reading WIKTT Marriage Challenges all week, and it strikes me that there are moments when Hermione is past the point of tolerance. That she would even stand for such treatment of her person is laughable, IMHO, especially after the events of the fifth book. Not that I don't like some of the stories, but really, if push came to shove, I can imagine it like this. Plus, I've recently seen Stepford, and so I'm a little pissed at forced female servitude right now.
The husband says that he has a problem with the Ministry enforcing such a law, but after grudging argument and a giant Outback onion blossom, which has nothing to do with this, we have cobbled together that the Wizarding World is more traditional and thus more apt to fall back on something that might have been done in that society before, even if it is archaic, much like the perpetuation of practices in cultures and communities that are exclusive. If such a Binding had been done in the past (1000 years? Why not?), why not revive it at a time when a society is in fear of dying out (regardless of whether or not that fear is valid)?
In addition, given the rights of women in the Muggle world are still recent in the grand scheme of things, it stands to conjecture that the rights of women in the Wizarding world could have been much the same. In any case, I can see the law being enacted in panic, and with nudges from the right, or should I say wrong, parties.
Faster Hermione! Kill! Kill! Kill!
In the end, I did this because I had to place the theory out there in a believable manner. One has to *buy* the idea that the Ministry would even pass such a Binding law before this story even has a chance of being believable. And If Hermione couldn't, or wouldn't marry Ron (and why should she? Or rather, I imagine that her argument would be why *must* she?), then her options are few and far between. Aside from removing herself from the running, I imagine that the other alternatives would be to kill her "husband", (Ron or whomever, which I cannot see), or to do what I would do, which would be to just kill every man she ran across until she was brought down. As Hermione is always more sensible than I, it was this.
Bah.
I was supposed to write this story for the Highlander lyric wheel, but instead, I was literally broadsided by something else. I'm not really happy with it, but I don't want to work on it anymore, and I want to post it here as proof that I have been indeed writing.
A Civil Disobedience
Characters: HG, SS, GW, others.
Rating: pg-13 for squick, barely.
Timeline: Seventh Year
Disclaimer: I own nothing from the JK Rowling universe. This means that I cannot, nor do I desire to, make money from this work of fiction. This story was inspired not from the WIKTT Marriage Challenge, but rather the stories I have read answering that challenge. Please see A/N at the end.
The day was cold and sick, frost covering the ground and the few early flowers where spring's attempt to arrive had been stunted by the last dredges of a stubborn winter.
May was too late to see the buds frozen, crystallized as if preserved by a clever botanist.
Hermione watched a lone butterfly move slowly across the field. How it had even survived last night's frost was beyond her. Oh, she could probably puzzle it out, if she cared, thought of more than several solutions to the child's riddle, where does the butterfly land in the land of frost, but she had other things to think about.
The clocktower of Hogwarts rang seven, and a faint cry could be heard from the upper courtyard, the same one Hermione and Harry had seen Sirius off four years ago. Tufts of rose petals drifted over the stone parapet and down the castle walls, pink and butter yellow against the gray stone backdrop. There at the crack of dawn, Neville Longbottom and Gretchen Cleevely, a sixth year Hufflepuff with a thumb as green as Neville's were married --no Bound, with a capital B-- to one another in the Ministry's disastrous attempt to increase the population.
Hermione pulled Harry's purloined cloak tighter around herself and waited for Hagrid to finish opening the front doors. Once they were open the others could slip out. They had more than enough time before breakfast in the Great Hall to do what they had to do.
Once Hagrid had the doors open, Hermione was careful not to let the wind blow the cloak back from her legs as she ran down to the edge of the Forbidden Forest. They didn't plan on going much further into it, but nevertheless, her group had lost several girls to the danger already. Hermione didn't care. They could choose to enter into the Binding, or rather, not choose, if they wished.
The ground was slippery --frozen blades of grass crushing underfoot. The dawn was well arrived, though the sky was too petulant to allow the sun through to any tolerable degree. Hermione would have preferred that the sun would have shone brightly; it would have seemed a better omen for what she was going to do. She belatedly remembered that she hated any form of divination.
The mist rolling out of the Forest obscured her vision, but she could see some dark shapes further ahead. For a split second she wondered if it wasn't some creature bent on dragging her back into the woods and ripping her to pieces. Instead, it was another such creature. Ginny Weasley stood with Hannah Abbot and a few other girls, most of them Muggleborn. Hermione didn't bother to count them or figure out who was there. Most of the girls in Hogwarts had long ago adopted a stance on the Marriage Initiative, though these particular girls had begun, at Hermione's wry bon mot, to call it the Marriage Imperiative.
Ginny's hair was slicked back today, tied in a knot at the base of her neck. Her face was red from a good scrubbing, which Hermione knew she'd given herself less than an hour ago in the Head Girl's bathroom. Hermione had done the same; she removed the hood of the cloak and watched the girls gasp at the sudden appearance of her head.
All except Ginny. "You look surprised that I've come," Ginny told her.
She smiled, and took the cloak off completely. "I had my doubts," was all she said. "And I knew you did too."
"I still do. Look, Hermione, are you sure--" Ginny started, but Hannah gave her a withering look. Hermione raised her eyebrows. Ginny was pureblood. Ginny was safe. For now. In time the Ministry would go for her next.
They made their way a little further into the forest until they had a clearing where a body could actually lie down flat on the ground. Hermione stood in the center of the glen for a moment, wondering about fate and possibilities and the foolishness of rash decisions, something she almost never indulged in.
"Well, nothing to do but get to it, then," Ginny said softly from behind her. "Take off the robes. And the blouse," she added as an afterthought. "Oh, and well, the skirt too, I guess."
Rachel, sweet little fifth year Rachel took her clothing and draped it over her arm, hiding her shaking hands. Hermione saw the tears in her eyes and shook her head. She could never blame anyone but herself for this. Well, herself and the Ministry.
"Lie down," Ginny said coldly, her eyes sparking with the knowledge of the well studied. Her wand was out and ready, looking for all the world as if they were going to practice cheering charms or maybe something a bit harder, like Patronuses. Hermione chose to obey her, settling on the frozen ground and shivering with that first contact of wet frost on her back.
No matter how many times they had practiced, no matter how many times Ginny had gone over the procedure with her, it seemed too tricky to actually work. If things hadn't been so dire, she might have thought about the miracles that could be wrought in the Muggle world with further story of these things, the lives she could save, the people she could help. But as Ginny touched her wand to Hermione's gut, she ceased to think as the pain smashed into her full force, something so raw and horrible that she didn't even have words for it, could only thrash as Ginny worked with the incantations under her breath and the other girls grabbed her flailing arms and legs.
It had better be worth it, was her only thought. It had damn well better be worth it, because the pain was too much to even make her cry.
***
Breakfast was well underway by the time they arrived, Hermione in the throes of recovery and liberal applications of Numbing draught. She had let Hannah help her into the castle, but when they had reached the Great Hall, she had clutched her dragonhide drawstring bag to her chest and waved the other girl's hands away.
Cornelius Fudge sat at the head of the Great hall, Albus Dumbledore on his right, Percy Weasley on his left. Students ate their meals in companionable murmurs. The wedding party was long gone, but guests still lingered for a while; no alumnus could ever pass up the offer of a Hogwarts meal.
When Hermione passed him, Draco Malfoy gave her one of his smarmy smiles, and for the first time she smiled back.
The other girls hung back as she bypassed Harry and Ron at the Gryffindor table. As she passed Ron, her betrothal ringer on her hand twitched and pulled, longing to be near its mate, already attached to Ron's finger. Somewhere in the back of Hermione's head she thought of Tolkien's famous ring and the disaster it had brought its wearer.
Her hand still reached out and brushed his shoulder as she passed anyway, and it little action made her more angry.
Dumbledore knitted his brows and shook his head when she drew near, but she was past the time when she would have paid him any attention. Lucius Malfoy was at the Slytherin table, probably here to oversee the Binding of his son to some Muggleborn they would alternately violate. Fudge was in deep conversation with Percy and only stopped to glance at her when it became obvious that her intent was in fact to address him.
"Miss, uh...Granger," he started, hesitation only until Percy could surreptitiously whisper her name in his ear. Hermione spared only a glance for Ron's brother; he had ceased to interest her at all in their fifth year.
"I just came to address the new law on Muggleborn Binding," she said softly. The Hall fell silent, most of the students not already straining to listen seeming to sense that their cooperation in volume control was most eminent.
Fudge became rather flustered, setting down his fork and beginning to wipe his hands with his napkin. "Yes, well, I'm sure you understand that the law is necessary to increase the population, which has taken substantial loss-"
He broke off, perhaps at the look on her face, perhaps because he had expected her to interrupt at this moment. Instead she said nothing. In the face of the growing silence, and what Hermione was starting to see as Dumbledore's tacit refusal to help him, Fudge set his napkin down and folded his hands into a steeple.
"See here, Granger girl, it's not a death sentence. It's a marriage, which is far from torture. Percy also informs me that you have had more than several proper and illustrious offers from upstanding members of our population." This last was said with an eye on Malfoy senior and junior at their respective tables. "And it is most certainly not permanent."
"No," she whispered. "No it's not." Behind her she heard Ron start to say something to her. It hadn't occurred to her that he would have risen and followed her down the aisle to the Head table.
"Then marry this Weasley and be done with it. It cannot be so much of a burden. Simply provide a child and you can both be free to pursue other things." His face was reddening, perhaps with anger, perhaps with frustration or embarrassment. When Hermione said nothing, he turned to Dumbledore, his raised eyebrows a silent plea for help.
Hermione didn't give the Headmaster a chance to say anything this time. He never said anything anyway, and if he had ever had any control over anything to help her, he had chosen not to use it before this. His age and authority had failed Harry, and she had once sighed and reasoned that he had good reason for letting the cards fall where they may.
That she had let it go this long, wanting to trust in his influence to save her, to save all of them, rankled her worse than the lingering burning in her abdomen.
"I'm no longer in your auction," she hissed, holding up her hands.
Hermione upended the bag onto Fudge's plate, allowing her blood to spill over the golden rim of it and onto the tabletop. Fudge's chair screeched back with a speed that seemed impossible for him to manage with his girth. Percy was up after him, his own unused napkin already spotting her blood from his robes. Dumbledore remained silent and seated, his own hands knotted in front of him. Hermione didn't want to see his face.
Fudge looked down at his plate, at the folds of flesh bleeding on the table, his eyes wide and uncomprehending. He spluttered. The Hall was horribly quiet, except for a strangled sob from someone, probably Ginny or Parvati.
Professor McGonagall stood at once, her wand out and maneuvering the bloody remains back into the bag.
"Students are to report to their Common Rooms now."
***
They had left her in a secluded area of the infirmary after Madam Pomfrey had gone over her several times, interrogated Ginny Weasley, and then gone over he more times with her wand, her face white, lips pursed tightly.
Then she had called in Professor Snape to check again, though what Snape could lend to the medical diagnosis was beyond Hermione.
Now, as she sat in one of the chairs by the bedside, wishing they had allowed Ginny to stay with her instead of being hauled away crying, snatches of conversation reached her ears, though she wasn't particularly interested in what they had to say.
"--Removed it completely-"
"-cauterized. How Miss Weasley managed it is beyond me--"
"-can't be replaced, let alone reattached."
Well, that had been the point, hadn't it? she groused, almost offended to think that they would be able to find a loophole in her research, her work. If it weren't so ludicrous and obviously not the thing to be thinking she might have laughed. Instead she seethed, replaying Fudge's words to her in the Great Hall over and over in her head.
The ring on her finger pulsed, as if it had become aware that she was trying to get rid of it. Now that she was no longer a viable reproductive specimen, it would eventually grow large enough that she could take it off.
That time didn't seem to be soon enough. She twisted it on her finger.
Continued whispers and speaking voices drifted back to her, but her attention was caught on wiggling the ring back and worth. Perhaps if she applied some grease-
"Fudge is calling for you to be sent to Azkaban," said a cold voice behind her. At the moment, the dispassionate tone of Professor Snape was a choice one. If her lecture had to come from anyone, she would rather it was him.
"That's ludicrous," she told him.
His black eyes glittered with something not unlike malice, or even perverse amusement. "Indeed, but you and I both know that he is a silly little man, albeit a silly little man endowed with a great deal of authority."
Hermione stared at Professor Snape as he pulled up a chair and sat across from her, crossing his legs and arms. His greasy hair fell over one eye and he tossed his head absent mindedly to remove it.
"You do realize the effects this will have on your own body," he said pragmatically.
She raised one eyebrow, knowing that she had managed to make it look as caustic as his own expression.
Snape uncrossed his legs and recrossed them the opposite way. "Of all of the foolish things to do, Miss Granger."
The ring made her finger itch. Part of her thought that she might have to cut it off.
"I'm not even going to pretend that I know what's going on in your head anymore," he articulated slowly. "Ronald Weasley is tripping over himself to marry you, Binding or no." When she snorted, he shook his head. "But instead, you do this."
"This," she answered, voice dull. "This is what I have to do." She worried the ring further off her finger, aware of the pain stinging the finger. It made its way millimeter by millimeter, though not alone.
At that, Snape sneered. "Like any sacrificial lamb, you're the first to protest. How Gryffindor. How Potter-esque."
The finger stung, and the progress of the ring was made mildly easier with the blood on her hand. She worried it further. "It's not a protest. It's a rejection. And I think the word you're looking for is Slytherin."
Snape sighed and uncrossed his arms, choosing to stand and walk over to the window. The shutters were open even as the glass itself shielded the room from the wind that rattled the glass in the leaden frames.
"A Slytherin would have bided her time, waited out the law, found a way around it."
Hermione laughed. "This is a way around it." When he rewarded her with a sharp look, she cocked her head and gave him a smile she was sure was rueful. "I would have thought that you'd be pleased that I'll not be providing you with more Weasley disasters to teach."
He turned from her then, pulling his robes closer against him, covering his hands. "Oh dear Merlin, you are right, please inform Mr. Weasley that you have my full support in your hysterectomy. I doubt he'll appreciate your consideration for my person."
She had nothing to say o that, except that it was a rather feeble insult. It crossed her mind as she watched his breath fog the glass that perhaps it had been his form of gentle converse, but she dismissed the idea. Snape being quasi-sensitive to her of all people was right out.
And there was this bloody ring to get off. She had worked it down the first finger joint, and the gold band was halfway across her knuckle, but all the skin it was taking with it got in the way and caked under it until it was effectively stuck. She cursed as she tried to even twist it loose.
"Miss Granger, the ring will come off in due time," Snape said from the window, but she couldn't be bothered to look at him. The rind pulsed in some unnatural rhythm. Gold was inanimate; it shouldn't make this kind of vibration. Her fingers scratched at her skin, and as slippery as the blood welling up from her raw skin was, it wasn't enough to loosen the band.
She wasn't aware that she was ignoring his voice until she realized that it was drowned out by her own whining sounds. The ring hadn't bothered her until now. Now it was the most important thing to reject, the last piece in her freedom.
And here she was, making noises like a rabbit in a loop. It was humiliating; she couldn't have felt more irrationally hysterical.
Hysteric. No longer an argument or viable accusation.
"Stop, Hermione, stop." Snape's long fingers grasped her hands and stilled them in her lap. He was on one knee in front of her, grasping her bleeding hand in his. "Cease this now or I'll Petrify you." Matter of fact, as if she was being inconvenient.
She ceased.
"If you cannot wait, he started to say, and she didn't reply, but his eyes watched hers for a moment. The band pulsed against his skin and hers, and that seemed to decide it for him. He glanced at the ring in distaste before drawing his wand.
"Micropius," he murmured, his wand touching the tip of her finger. She noticed that her blood smeared the polished tip of it, and for a second it gave her a surreal jolt. She watched as her ring finger shrank even as the ring itself remained the same, though it still stubbornly tried to remain attached to her very skin. "With this ring, I thee unwed" he said quietly, perhaps with a smirk. She was about to pull her hand away, to smack him, regardless of how she felt about striking teachers but the he reached out with his left hand and ripped the ring off her finger, taking epidermis with it.
Hermione screamed into her own hand before she could regain control of herself. It had been in no way as painful as the morning's earlier events, but it had been more shocking, more perverse. Where removing inner parts of her had been holy, removing the last traces of the Ministry's law on her body had seemed filthy and violatory.
Or it could have been the man on his knees in front of her, whispering "Finite Incantatum" and guiding her finger to its original size before pulling out a handkerchief and wrapping it around her raw flesh. The ring disappeared, probably somewhere in his robes, pocketed, gone from her sight, and thankfully so.
"Madame Pomfrey should see to that," he told her sternly, rising, as if he disapproved of the wound, no matter that he had helped create it. Hermione stared at the handkerchief, swiftly turning red and pink. It had his initials embroidered on the corner, just like her grandfather.
She didn't want to think of Snape and her grandfather at the same time.
He moved from her field of vision, and she had to search him out, walking to the divider that kept her back here, secluded. His robed concealed his hands again, and when he turned one last time to look at her, his hair fell in his face. Everything that could be hidden was out of sight.
"I hope you know you're not going to change anything. The Wizarding World has had its share of social activists, Miss Granger, and they have never succeeded."
Her ducked her head. "It wasn’t for the Wizarding World," she admitted into the silence. "It was for me."
He was quiet, but when he spoke, she could hear the mild amusement. "Ah. Now *that* is Slytherin, Miss Granger." When she glanced up at him all traces of humor were gone. "I'll fetch Madame Pomfrey."
She dismissed him in her head at that, starting to turn towards the window. Outside she saw the movement of a bird, a rook perhaps, soaring off into the overcast sky.
"Do you want this?" Hermione glanced at him again to see her ring between his finger and thumb. "Perhaps I cold return it to Mr. Weasley for you." His face showed that he was rather repulsed at giving Ron anything other than detention and failing grades.
She shook her head. "No. Throw it away, keep it, I don't care."
And that was that. He shrugged a little then, tucking his hand back into his pocket. "I find that I must admit that your intentions may not have been misplaced, no matter how rash they became."
She watched him turn and leave, wondering what would become of the ring, not really caring, but finding it odd, even as his handkerchief stuck to her finger. Something in her gut roiled, but she knew that it would pass. Madame Pomfrey entered and pulled the thin cloth from her hand, making small noises of disapproval.
Hermione didn't listen to her tutting. Instead she turned back to the window, trying to find the rook she'd lost when Snape had made his confession of sentimentality, if one could call it that. It took a moment, scanning the gray for a speck of black, a spread of feathers stretched out in the clouds. For one second that shape froze in place before clouds moved, and she had to squint into the sun in order to hold on to the rook with her eyes.
She couldn't hold on forever; she closed her eyes and let it go.
FIN
A/N: I cannot deny that this was hastily written and overly dramatic. I have been reading WIKTT Marriage Challenges all week, and it strikes me that there are moments when Hermione is past the point of tolerance. That she would even stand for such treatment of her person is laughable, IMHO, especially after the events of the fifth book. Not that I don't like some of the stories, but really, if push came to shove, I can imagine it like this. Plus, I've recently seen Stepford, and so I'm a little pissed at forced female servitude right now.
The husband says that he has a problem with the Ministry enforcing such a law, but after grudging argument and a giant Outback onion blossom, which has nothing to do with this, we have cobbled together that the Wizarding World is more traditional and thus more apt to fall back on something that might have been done in that society before, even if it is archaic, much like the perpetuation of practices in cultures and communities that are exclusive. If such a Binding had been done in the past (1000 years? Why not?), why not revive it at a time when a society is in fear of dying out (regardless of whether or not that fear is valid)?
In addition, given the rights of women in the Muggle world are still recent in the grand scheme of things, it stands to conjecture that the rights of women in the Wizarding world could have been much the same. In any case, I can see the law being enacted in panic, and with nudges from the right, or should I say wrong, parties.
Faster Hermione! Kill! Kill! Kill!
In the end, I did this because I had to place the theory out there in a believable manner. One has to *buy* the idea that the Ministry would even pass such a Binding law before this story even has a chance of being believable. And If Hermione couldn't, or wouldn't marry Ron (and why should she? Or rather, I imagine that her argument would be why *must* she?), then her options are few and far between. Aside from removing herself from the running, I imagine that the other alternatives would be to kill her "husband", (Ron or whomever, which I cannot see), or to do what I would do, which would be to just kill every man she ran across until she was brought down. As Hermione is always more sensible than I, it was this.
Bah.