"Hermione! Hermione!"
Hermione wanted to pound her forehead against her desk but managed to keep her face blank as one of her juniors came bursting through her door without knocking. She watched dully as Dennis Creevey knocked over her potted plant without a glance before fixing him with a hard stare.
He stopped in front of her desk, panting, bent over with his hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath.
She rolled her eyes and reached for her wand. A simple twist and her plant was righted once again. At least he hadn't cracked the pot this time.
"Well," she finally asked when her patience wore thin.
Dennis thrust a stack of papers at her and heaved a deep breath.
"I intercepted Jinksby with the post on my way through the entrance just now. The minister sent the notice out to all the department heads."
It hadn't been easy working her way up to head of Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures when she started after finishing her seventh year. Starting in the Office of House Elf Relocation, she'd dutifully worked her way up until her predecessor retired six months ago. She was only twenty-four, nearly twenty-five, but in typical Hermione fashion she'd made quick work of it.
Hermione squinted as the rumpled parchment with the ministry's seal on it. It was merely the mandatory quarterly meeting coming up soon. Leave it to Creevey to over exaggerate. The man was a ball of anxiety as it was.
"It's just the quarterly meeting, Dennis," she sighed in exasperation.
He squinted in confusion before his eyes went wide with understanding and he dug through his robe pocket. "Oh, no…this! This was the important piece. It was addressed specifically to you from the minister."
Hermione snatched it from his outstretched hand and waved him off. If he didn't leave her soon she was afraid she'd hex him just for working her nerves.
She ran her fingers over the seal before slipping a finger under the envelope's flap to break it and unfolded the paper within. Her eyes scanned the words but it gave nothing away besides that Kingsley was requesting a private meeting with her at nine o'clock.
She glanced at her watch and her eyes nearly bulged. It was five to nine already! It would take at least seven minutes to make it from the lifts, down the second floor corridor, and to his office where she knew his slow-as-Christmas secretary would waste another minute getting her into his office. That would make her a whole three minutes late and there weren't many things Hermione Granger hated more than being late.
She cursed the new heels she'd slipped on that morning. They weren't broken in yet and wouldn't do for running through the ministry. That and her snug pencil skirt weren't helping her at all.
"Hold the lift," she shouted before the door could close.
A large, pale hand reached out and pushed the door back open and she stepped inside without making eye contact. She knew from her peripheral vision who he was and didn't really feel like having another awkward encounter with him today.
She muttered a polite thanks as she stepped inside. She pressed the two and turned to face the front with her arms folded protectively across her chest. Her floor came up first and she rushed through the doors without a backwards glance.
Draco stood there, eyes controlled but straining nonetheless. He swallowed the lump in his throat as he watched her rush off. She was always doing that around the Ministry. Everything she did was done with speed, clarity, and efficiency.
He'd been guilty of raking his eyes over her small form for the short time she was in the lift with him. He had a hard time remembering her as the bushy-haired first year he'd first met. He'd despised her from the start, though much had changed since then.
Even he hadn't been blind to how she'd blossomed at Hogwarts over the years. A quiet, sedated beauty. Mature, collected, and secure in herself. It was no secret, except from her, that most single men ogled her daily. Some married ones, too.
She was a war hero and had more accomplishments to her name than he had parchment to write them on in his desk. And yet, he hadn't felt anything negative towards her in years. Not since that night.
They passed each other in the halls with overly polite nods. He would edge out of Potter's office whenever she dropped by unannounced.
They simply avoided each other.
Unlike Harry Potter and many other former classmates who he'd come to be on friendly terms with, Hermione Granger was not one of them. And he respected her friendship with Potter over his own. If she was present for an event, he wouldn't show despite invitations extended to him.
He heaved a sigh as the lift doors closed and he lost sight of her.
Hermione glanced at her watch as she rounded the corner into Kingsley's office and stood in front of the secretary, waiting to gain her attention. She'd predicted the timing accurately.
"Oh, Miss Granger," the aging witch finally looked up with a genial smile.
Hermione returned it with one of her own. Though on the inside she was itching with impatience.
Within the minute she predicted, she was finally ushered into a chair sitting opposite Kingsley's desk.
"Ah Hermione, great timing as always."
She almost groaned aloud but held it in. Didn't he realize that she was three minutes late?
She smiled instead and relaxed a bit further into the comfortable chair. "You wanted to see me?"
"Yes, I did." He shuffled some papers as his face fell flat. "There's been a new law that's been rather quietly passed by the Department of Mysteries."
Hermione's brows scrunched together in confusion. "The Department of Mysteries doesn't typically pass laws. In fact, I'm not aware of any laws they've ever passed."
"I'm well aware. It was something suggested by my advisor minister and debated within the Wizengamot."
Something about the way he was looking at her sent a stone weight straight to her gut. Pity?
"Get to it, Kingsley," she muttered.
"Right. Well, as I'm sure you're likely aware, while it's been seven years since the end of the war, the wizarding community is still healing. We lost so many during that year alone that our numbers had plummeted. Your generation taking quite the hit." He paused and finally must have found the paper he was looking for and slid it across his desk to her.
Her eyes scanned the parchment, her brow creasing more so with every line she read. "A marriage law? Is that even possible?"
"Possible and a new reality. All unmarried witches and wizards between the ages of twenty-one and thirty will be assigned spouses."
One major detail stuck out to her.
"Assigned," she blurted.
"Via the use of legilimency. It was decided it would be the best way to provide the most successful matches."
"This is ludicrous!" she shrieked. "How can this even be legal?"
"It's legal and it's happened before back in the sixteenth century. The wizarding community is small as it is, Hermione. The British community hasn't recovered the way we thought it would. While I wasn't in favor of the ministry choosing matches, I was ultimately overruled."
Her hands had begun to shake, the paper rustling within them. Rage, fear, or anxiety—she wasn't sure. Likely all of them at once.
"When?"
Kingsley's face softened and he sighed. "They'll start within the Ministry and work outwards. If your match is found within the Ministry then you'll have one month. If your match is outside the Ministry, they'll alot more time. They've already begun work. They're within the Ministry now observing and taking notes. You should have your match within the week. You and your spouse will have up to one year to consummate the marriage and start trying for children. Should you choose not to, you'll receive one more chance and be rematched with someone else." He had the good grace to soften his expression some more. "I'm very sorry, Hermione."
She swallowed, "Me, too."
She excused herself without another word, dropping the notice in the chair she'd just vacated.