The study was cluttered and it looked like chaos incarnate. If it was used as a games room for children, it would seem more appropriate than it being a place for work. If one looked closely, however, they would see the wealth beneath the mess: a heavy oak antique desk, a collection of expensive pens– still in their boxes, as most were gifts, things given by the wealthy people known by the owners father.

The owner herself was hunched over the desk, still writing. She had ten minutes before Barnabas Cuffe himself would come through the door, ready to read the piece she'd been keeping a complete secret. She'd been in the room for a few days now, working on her big piece. It'd be a huge deal, really, but she had to get it right or it wouldn't work.

It had a scandalous air to it, the sort of thing Rita bloody Skeeter usually covered. But Skeeter didn't know about this, not for sure, not more than a rumour. And this touched politics, gossip and conspiracy, which meant it'd even appeal to those odd fans of the Quibbler. Maybe she could sell publication rights to Lovegood afterwards, too. If he was true to nature at all, he'd drag this out until summer, at least.

"Is it finished yet? Is it any good?"

"Shh, Charlotte, I'm almost done. Just one – more – word – there!" She looked up at the gilt framed portrait, grinning. "There's going to be a field day when this goes to press! I owe you so much for this."

The woman in the portrait, blonde and beautiful navy gown, beamed down at her descendant. She had selected Betty over all the Braithwaite cousins alive then. Of the five hovering around the wizarding world today, the young journalist was the one who inherited the family home– not chosen by Charlotte, but by her great-granddaughter– and the furniture, chosen by countless others. Passed down, mother to daughter, until Laurie Braithwaite had died in childbirth. She'd always been a sickly young woman, but Betty, despite being her spitting image, was vibrant and full of life. Charlotte couldn't imagine Betty sick or weak. She'd even had her name legally changed to her mother's, first chance she got - she didn't want to be known for being related to her boss. It was a clever move, actually, to avoid people accusing her of favouritism.

A knock sounded against the door, followed by a crack as the house elf left the hall. "Come in!" Betty was on her feet facing the door in an instant, pulling a stray strand of her brown hair out from behind her glasses. "Did Ella offer you anything to eat?"

The man rubbed his beard, then shook his head. "I told her to leave me be. Now come hereand give me a hug, Bets."

She shook her head, but did as told, her bare feet small and pale against the wooden floor. She looked a right mess, of course, and judging by her body odour she'd used a charm to clean herself, rather than actually bathe. In contrast, he smelt of lavender– the body soap his wife used. Showered together again, Betty decided, releasing the hug. "Thanks for coming, dad."

"Ah, you sounded excited for a story. That hasn't happened for a while. And you were so proud." Barnabas Cuffe glanced at the portrait. "Are you eavesdropping again, lady Shafiq?"

"You know 'tis more help than you wish to give me credit for. I swear I provided actual, factual 'evidence' this time. Though I continue to fail to understand what your problem with gossip is. 'Twas the lifeblood of England, while I lived."

"Don't pretend you actually talk like someone out of a fictional medieval book, lady Shafiq, we know better."

"I do spend a lot of time here. Much more than I should. What must the Malfoys think, that their lovely painted lady spends so little time in their fancy ballroom?"

"I'm sure you loved playing in that room when you were a child."

"As a Malfoy? Well. Perhaps when grandfather was around."

Barnabas frowned slightly, then shook his head, refocusing. "What's this article you've written, Betty?"

"Oh! Come have a look. Here." She rummaged through the papers, producing her final copy. "Less than 500 words. Perfect front page length."

"Bit cocky there, Bets."

She grinned. "You'll see why."

Shrugging, Barnabas Cuffe started to read through his daughters' work. She and Charlotte seemed to be communicating silently in the background, letting him read in peace. The two women got along wonderfully– Charlotte was probably the best friend Betty had ever had, and that included Hogwarts. After a couple of minutes, the editor in chief of the Daily Propet, the most widely read wizarding newspaper in the UK, looked up.

"Front page, Betty. Front page."

✦

Hermione was getting rather sick of everyone staring at her. She'd been back at Hogwarts for one night, classes were about to resume. And everyone was staring. "I look exactly the same as I did before Christmas," she said crossly, almost hitting Neville in the arm when she swung her satchel back over her shoulder.

"I'm not saying anything."

"What? Why not?"

He coughed. "This is me being quiet."

"Oh, you're being silly. What happened to you over the holiday? You used to talk more."

"Just give it time," Neville mumbled.

"What was that?"

"Hello, Blaise! How was your Christmas?"

"Fine. Spent some time with my mum," the Slytherin frowned at Neville, "as I planned to. Why, is that not allowed anymore?"

"What? No! Of course it's allowed. I just –"

"I'm messing with you, Longbottom." Blaise slapped his shoulder, smirking now. "Gryffindor table or does her highness want to talk to her prince?"

"Why would she –?"

"She hasn't seen the Prophet yet? I thought she got it delivered."

"Yes, Blaise, I do. At breakfast. Like everyone else. And I'm right here, I won't bite your head off if you talk to me directly."

"You probably will, Hermione. You're very high strung, don't you know."

"And you're very happy. Did somebody drug you?"

"Drug me? Why, who would do that?"

"Probably Theo. One of his stupid jokes. Just like those annoying Weasley twins."

"Ah, and poison of vipers is on your lips. That was cruel, Gryffindor."

Hermione jerked, glaring at the new arrival. Theo must have materialised out of the darkness of the dungeons, but he was tanned from wherever his father had taken him over Christmas. "Was that a bible quote? Aren't you pureblooded?"

"And what, I can't read? My mother was Christian, Hermione. Now Slytherin table with us, or all alone at Gryffindor?"

"Slytherin. They don't stare as much as that Lavender Brown." She was also trying to avoid Parvati Patil, but that wasn't something the boys needed to know while they walked with her to the other table.

She was wrong, though. Slytherins were staring. They were whispering among themselves, flicking glances at them. She ignored them as she took the seat beside Draco, slipping out from between Neville and Theo to take the empty seat.

"Morning."

He grunted back at her.

"Dorm bed too hard for you?"

Instead of providing a scathing retort, as he usually would, he shoved the thing he'd been staring at towards her. On closer examination, she saw that it was the most recent issue of the Daily Prophet. Front page.

Where a picture of Lucius Malfoy took up half the piece of paper. "What?" Hermione gaped, before unfolding it to have a look at the article.

MALFOY MARRIAGE LAW MANIPULATION: FACT

Written by Betty Braithwaite

Everyone knows about favouritism, and everyone knows about the Ministry and its supposed

corruption. But does everyone know that it's true? This reporter doesn't think everyone has the

facts.

Every pureblood child knows about the marriage law imposed in 1988. For readers who don't,

here's the gist of it: the Ministry was reeling in the aftermath of the biggest loss of magical life in

centuries. And they had seen what the hatred of things that were different did, both in the war and

afterwards. Purebloods threatened muggleborns and half-bloods. Afterwards, the non-purebloods

got their revenge by treating the purebloods the way they had been treated.

Minister Advisor Cornelius Fudge and Minister for Magic Millicent Bagnold worked together to plan

the perfect solution: combine the two groups. Wed purebloods to muggleborns and half-bloods.

Couples couldn't hate each other. So, pass a marriage law.

Students and staff at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry have been wondering since this

school year started: how is it possible that Draco Malfoy, a member of a family famous for anti-

muggle beliefs, seems to actually care for his muggle-born pair, one Hermione Granger?

The Ministry has always been very clear on the matter of how the pairs were chosen. A random

lottery picked out a pureblood, and then a non-pureblood of the opposite gender. This was

repeated for each age group: children born in and after September, 1978. The law would only apply

to children who weren't already of an age to go to Hogwarts in 1988.

But everyone has heard the rumours about the Malfoy heir, have they not? That Lucius Malfoy was

able to arrange for his son to be exempt from the lottery. Oh, he would still have to be married to a

non-pureblood, that was non-negotiable. But the boy would be the one to choose his match.

The only one.

All of this escalated dramatically at the annual Malfoy family Christmas formal, when the young

Malfoy leapt to the defence of his muggle-born. According to witnesses, the boy outright shouted

at his father when he said something insulting towards Miss Granger. 'It was very sweet,' one

witness shared, 'but also rather disappointing. Is this how the best of purebloods will fall?'

Not all opinions were so negative, however. Another witness to the same exchange said that it was

'a brilliant indicator of what is to come. If that's our future, then we've got nothing to worry about.'

Article continued on page 9.

Hermione stared at the page for several minutes without saying anything. Draco stared morosely at his half-eaten toast, not willing to take another bite. Neville, Blaise and Theo each looked at each other, their thoughts obviously the same: crap. It broke Hermione.

"What is it?"

"Prophet article, Neville," Blaise said. "It is about her. I thought she'd already seen it and that was why she's in a bad mood."

"No. That was because Lavender's been staring at her and whispering since they came downstairs from their dorm, and she really doesn't like Lavender much."

"Who's Lavender?"

Theo frowned. "She hangs around Patil sometimes. The insane one."

"You don't own me." The three boys looked at Hermione, more worried by her whisper than they should've been.

"What?"

"Draco Malfoy, you do not own me. Do you hear me? I do not belong to you."

It took almost a minute, but Draco looked up at her, his cold silver eyes fixing on her warm brown ones. After a moment, he nodded. "Fine. I don't own you. Deal."

"It better be," she snapped, and stole a piece of his toast. "I've got Herbology first. I think you've got History of Magic."

✦

They didn't, as it turned out, have any classes first thing that morning. Professor Dumbledore himself stood up and announced that none of the students would be attending their first class. "In light of todays news, all students are excused from their first period classes. Third year students will follow Professor Snape, furthest to the left. Second years will follow Professor Cauldwell. First years are to follow Professor McGonagall. All other students are excused from their classes."

"Does he think we can't work out where to go? Professor McGonagall is standing furthest from Professor Snape. It's pretty clear where we need to go."

"Are you going to be like this all day, or is this something that will go away if I ignore it?"

Neville groaned, looking away from Blaise. He didn't even want to know what the Slytherin thought he was doing, picking a fight with Hermione Granger, of all people, who knew more than half their grade put together. It was kind of like baiting a dragon: not at all clever and incredibly dangerous.

"You're right. I'll keep it to myself."

"Seriously? That easily?"

"I will hit you, Theo, and not just because I know you're afraid of germs and it'll turn out to be even worse than a bruise."

Theo rolled his eyes and leant back. He'd taken a seat just behind her and Draco, alongside Blaise. Professor McGonagall had led the first years to a large classroom that wasn't being used for classes, designed more like a lecture hall than a typical classroom. Blaise and Theo could both lean forward to have their heads between Neville and Hermione and Hermione and Draco, respectively. They were quite comfortable in their little group. With Hermione in the middle, she could pretend people weren't still staring at her and Draco and whispering among themselves.

"May I have your attention, please?"

The students fell quiet quickly, as they were wont to when Minerva McGonagall began speaking. She wasn't the sort of person one crossed, not if they could help it.

"It has come to our attention that many of you have been behaving rather badly, given your situations. Is anyone here unfamiliar with the marriage law? Yes, I do mean the law that was passed in 1988 and the one that was in the paper this morning, Miss Moon, do pay attention. Anyone else? No? Very well, then.

"Apparently, none of you are actually aware of who you've been paired with. Peculiar way for the Ministry to handle things, but I'm not here to pass criticism on their methods. That said, I have a list here of who has been paired with whom." She raised a piece of paper. "Provided by the Pairing Registration Commission at the Ministry at the request of Professor Dumbledore. I assure you, they are all accurate. Now, if everyone could please stand when I call your name and move to the front of the room, I'm sure you'll all be relieved to finally have your questions put to rest. And yes, Miss Brown, I assure you that these decisions are final and cannot be compromised. No, Mister Malfoy, you and Miss Granger are not exempt from this, except that there is no need for you to stand before the rest of us in judgement."

Hermione sighed and leant back. She didn't notice as she leaned towards Draco, but her other friends do. Theo outright snorted, though he managed to wait from through three pairs before doing so. He didn't quite block out the huge Vincent Crabbe being told that he would have to wed a tiny half-African Hufflepuff called Sally-Ann Perks. The pair shuffled off together, his stomach grumbling despite the fact that they had only just had breakfast.

She didn't try too hard to listen until McGonagall got up to male students whose surnames started with G. Anthony Goldstein, a Jewish Ravenclaw boy, drifted to the back of the room with a book and his housemate, Megan Jones. Gregory Goyle, as it turned out, had been assigned the second of the Hufflepuff Sallys, Sally Smith, to be precise. And then she called Neville, who almost tripped out of his seat.

"And Susan Bones," said McGonagall. A red-haired Hufflepuff with a face like a doll stood up, removing her fingers from her mouth. It looked like she had been chewing her nails, something she stopped before she offered her hand for Neville to shake.

"Hi," she said, her voice barely more than a squeak. She was taller than him, too, which made her look almost like a muggle model. Hermione's eyebrows rose as Draco nudged her.

"I wish we could see his face," he murmured in her ear. Hermione bit her lip to keep herself from laughing.

Theo was next, called out just before Harry Potter was. The name 'Cassie Runcorn' was called immediately after, and he didn't hesitate as he nodded to the third Hufflepuff to be paired with a Slytheirn. She had curly brown hair, blue eyes and pale skin: she looked more like a Scandinavian than a British citizen.

And then Harry Potter, the name everyone was looking forward to finding out about. "Harry Potter," Professor McGonagall read out, Hermione watching her face carefully as her eyebrows shot upwards. "And Parvati Patil? Well, I'll be a..."

Whatever the Professor said next was lost as Harry and Parvati stared at each other, apparently not sure what to think about this discovery. Potter and Patil, of all people? There were probably worse matches.

For example, before the hour was done, Ron Weasley found out that he was going to be stuck with Millicent Bulstrode. Millicent Bulstrode, a Slytherin he'd made it very clear he didn't like, a girl who looked like she would be able to pick him up and throw him across the room without breaking a sweat. Millicent Bulstrode, whose name was inspired by the Minister who'd proposed the law that had put them all in this mess to start with.

Finally, Blaise was given his pair– Padma Patil– and McGonagall looked up at all of them. There wasn't a word being spoken in the room. Hermione and Draco were the only people still sitting, the only students at all comfortable with the declarations made in that hour. They were both silent, but only because they were waiting for someone to crack.

"Millicent Bulstrode," Ron Weasleys voice could finally be heard. "Milling bloody Bulstrode. Seriously? This isn't a nightmare?"

"Mister Weasley! Five points from Gryffindor for that atrocious comment," barked McGonagall. "These pairings are not things to argue over or question. They exist. One of each of you is pureblood, and the other isn't. The point of this entire exercise is to encourage generations of disdain and rivalry and misery to end. There is no need for this ridiculous behaviour to continue. You will each learn to respect your partners through a series of activities prescribed by Professor Dumbledore himself. Any comments? No? You are dismissed. And yes, Miss Brown, you are to attend your second period classes."

The classroom emptied neither quickly nor slowly, as students torn between anger, confusion and shock left the room at varying degrees of sprinting and shuffling. Draco and Hermione didn't move beyond his helping her to her feet until the room was mostly empty: Blaise, Theo and Harry Potter were still in the room.

"Alright, I know that you two are waiting for us," Draco nodded to his friends, "but what's he doing here?"

Harry sighed and frowned. "Parvati Patil. What am I meant to do with that?"

"Ah, I think that's meant to be your choice, Potter. What do you want?"

He pushed his glasses back up his nose. "Ron and Millicent Bulstrode. That's what they said, right? She looks like she could bench-press him."

"What?"

But Hermione had chuckled slightly, drawing Draco's attention. He couldn't decide whether to be pleased that she seemed to be less irritable, or annoyed that he'd laughed at bloody Potter. "He kind of deserves to be bench-pressed, Harry."