Hermione Granger

The plan had been discussed for three weeks. The war had paused due to a lack of bloodlines. The Sacred Twenty-Eight sustained their cause with blood like a roof is supported by columns. Arranged marriages; Muggle-born witches with pure-blood Death Eaters.

The ministry called it a coercive integration program for the preservation of peace.

"You don't have to do it," Harry had told her that morning for the fourth time.

"I know," she had replied.

And it was true, nobody was forcing her, but she knew it was the right thing to do to stop that war.

Kingsley explained the terms, and Hermione listened with her back straight and her hands resting on her knees, aware that Ron was glancing at her every thirty seconds as if he were afraid she might disappear. Harry was staring at some point on the wall, but his knuckles were white.

"The agreement is binding for a minimum of seven years," Kingsley said. "Effective cohabitation. No nullity clause during the first five years."

"What if he..." Ron began.

"There are protections," Kingsley interrupted, something in his voice saying the best I could get, even if his mouth didn't say it. "Legal and of another kind."

Hermione nodded once.

"When will it arrive?" he asked.

Kingsley checked the clock on the shelf.

-Soon.

Ron stood up and began pacing the perimeter of the room with his shoulders tense and his hands in his pockets.

Suddenly, the doorknob was heard being turned. There was a squeaking sound.

Everyone tensed up when they saw who Hermione would marry.