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In the summer of 2004, the British Ministry of Magic signed into law the Wizarding Alliance and Reconciliation Decree, a mandate casually known as the marriage act, which the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and the Wizengamot had been working on since the end of the war six years prior.
Hermione had known it was coming, both through regular updates from her contacts in the Auror Division (Harry and Ron), and through intel provided by the Minister (Kingsley), who she’d stayed close with since their time in the Order.
And so, with post-war reparations moving more slowly than the Ministry had expected after the defeat of the Dark Lord, a letter announcing both the law itself and Hermione’s match was delivered to her flat one ordinary Wednesday in July.
The Decree ordered her to 1) move in with her match for a trial period of five months, whereafter their compatibility would be reassessed in a Ministry-administered test, and if the result was satisfactory, 2) they would marry within another three months.
Hermione wasn’t happy about being forced into marriage—it wasn’t exactly the romantic union of love she’d pictured when she was younger—but at least the Ministry was considerate enough to grant people a trial run and without forcing them to have children.
The magical population’s actually fine in terms of numbers. We just need to give everyone unmarried a little push, Kingsley had said.
Everyone unmarried.
In her circle of friends, Hermione was the only one still unmarried, while the rest of the group had tied knots at various points throughout the years, foregoing being matched with someone other than their beloved.
But Hermione hadn’t found the one.
Not for lack of trying or refusing to date, despite her busy schedule as Assistant Head Healer at St. Mungo’s and her godmother responsibilities for Harry and Ginny’s son, James, but because no one had made her heart somersault the way she needed it to.
No one had made her feel like she was the one.
When the marriage act was announced, Hermione readied herself to say goodbye to that dream once and for all. She didn’t think the odds of her expectations being fulfilled by a man the Ministry was sending her way after a compatibility test were exactly high.
And when Hermione read her match’s name—a name belonging to a wizard she hadn’t seen since her eighth year at Hogwarts, one she’d heard only a handful of times in the last few years, and only from her friends’ partners who were coincidentally his friends—, she wondered if the test was just a front for covertly bringing together as many Muggleborns with Purebloods in the name of a unified society as possible.
But then—
Despite the brief apprehension she felt at the name Theodore Alexander Nott staring back at her from the Ministry owl, Hermione found herself relieved the first time she came face to face with him since Hogwarts.
Theo was a snake, sure, but he had never been unkind to her. He’d apologised to her during eighth year for not intervening when his friends had mocked her; they’d had many riveting discussions that year about books they both liked; and sometimes, Hermione had been almost sure he was flirting with her when he smiled at her in class or bumped shoulders with her at the library.
But then Theo had disappeared after graduation, and the next thing Hermione heard about him was that he was studying law in the States, then that he was a solicitor in Wales, and then that he was coming back to England to tend to his godfather duties for Draco and Astoria’s son Scorpius.
When Hermione materialised outside Theo’s flat the day after their match announcement, he had only been back for a few months, and Hermione wondered if he was even more put out by their circumstance than her.
Gone from England for six years only to return and be immediately forced into an unwanted marriage.
But then the door opened and the same dimpled smile she’d grown fond of in eighth year greeted her, and Hermione had to try hard not to swoon from the flip her heart surprised her with at the sight.
Theo was both the same boy she’d known at nineteen and an entirely unrecognisable twenty-five year-old man with neatly styled waves instead of unruly curls, with tortoiseshell glasses that made his blue eyes look sapphire, with lean muscle filling out the grey Muggle suit he was wearing when he invited her into his spacious flat in Richmond, a quiet part of London Hermione had always been partial to.
Theo had just returned from his new solicitor job (hence the suit, he told her), a piece of information Hermione used to break the awkwardness of the moment, and after several hours and many questions about law and St. Mungo’s and the last six years, Hermione almost felt like they were back in eighth year, unbothered teenagers on the couch in the common room.
But then Theo stood to show her to a large guest room with an en-suite bathroom that would become hers in a few days’ time.
If it’s okay, he said from the doorway, and when Hermione turned to him after staring in awe at the king-sized bed, the free-standing bathtub, and the floor-length windows, she could do nothing but nod and thank him for being so easy-going about their situation.
Theo just smiled in response and handed Hermione a set of keys, added her to his wards, informed her about the closest Apparition points, and offered to help her with the move on the weekend.
And that was that. Three days later, their trial run began, and Hermione soon understood that, as far as arranged marriages went, she had surely hit the jackpot.
She and Theo still shared a liking for coffee and films and Jane Austen; they enjoyed spending time with their godchildren; they liked their jobs and discussed them often; and they both had fond memories of their eighth year.
Theo was smart and kind and interesting, honest and funny and complex, and even after several months of living together, Hermione sometimes stared at him when he asked her one of his considerate questions.
When she had a bad day. Can I give you a hug?
When she had a good day. Can I take you to dinner?
When she was overworked. Can I draw you a bath?
When she went out with her girlfriends. Can I send you a text to make sure you’re okay?
By month five, it was almost impossible for Hermione to ignore the somersaults her heart was performing whenever Theo showed her he cared.
And every time he did, she wanted to say something sensible, but she didn’t know how without giving herself away, so she just nodded or let Theo pull her into an embrace.
All while knowing that she had at least a crush and that she would be devastated if they had to part ways after the second compatibility test.
The final day of the trial run in December was Hermione’s day off from the hospital, much to her chagrin, because she was far too nervous about the possibility of her time with Theo ending the next morning not to have patients to focus on.
Sure, Hermione knew she was compatible with Theo in ways she’d never been with anyone else, but would the test still pick up on that?
She spent the day cleaning the flat, shopping for food, and packing her things, cooking and baking and occupying her hands, all while trying not to cry.
When Theo stepped through the Floo at 6pm, and Hermione recognised his grey suit as the same one he’d worn the day she’d first come to his flat, she had to bite her tongue so hard to keep her tears from falling that she almost drew blood.
“Hi,” Theo greeted with his signature dimpled smile, a paper bag in one hand, a bouquet of flowers in the other. “I brought dinner.”
“Hi,” Hermione returned after a heavy swallow. “I made dinner.”
Theo dropped the paper bag on the kitchen island, then cast a Stasis Charm on what Hermione recognised as takeaway from the Vietnamese place they both liked.
“It’ll keep,” he said, and Hermione almost lost her battle against her tears when she thought: Will we?
Theo joined her behind the stove, stepping so close that only the flowers separated them.
Daisies. Hermione’s favourite.
“They’re for you,” Theo whispered. “Thank you for making dinner.”
Hermione inhaled the sweet scent of the petals and tried her best not to let Theo see her sadness.
“Thank you. They’re beautiful.”
Another dimpled smile, and then Theo turned to the island, where a tray of baked goods was waiting for him.
Brownies. His favourite.
“They’re for you,” Hermione echoed his words, her voice breaking towards the end.
Theo noticed immediately, his brows furrowed when he cut his eyes back to her.
“Are you okay?”
Hermione nodded, determined not to ruin their last night with crying.
“Shall we eat?” she suggested instead, spinning around to find a vase in one of the cabinets.
“Can I grab a quick shower? I’ll only be five minutes.”
Hermione gave him another nod, grateful for a small window of time to swallow down her emotions until she was alone in her room later.
It was hard to keep them in check, though, because Theo returned from the bathroom how Hermione liked him best: curls wild and unstyled, dressed casually in black joggers and a grey henley with the sleeves rolled up.
They ate dinner and dessert on the barstools at the kitchen island, and then cozied up on the couch like always: Theo’s legs stretched long, Hermione perched on her heels next to him with her head in her hand and her elbow on the back of the couch, her favourite movie—Pride and Prejudice—playing for the umpteenth time since she’d moved in.
But tonight, the film had been an exceptionally bad choice, because Hermione barely made it halfway through before she couldn’t keep her sobs in anymore.
Theo hit pause on the remote and turned to her with a worried look.
“Hey, what’s wrong?”
His soft tone made Hermione’s chest even tighter.
He handed her a tissue from the coffee table, then placed his hand on her thigh and squeezed. Gently, reassuringly.
“Is it the film?”
It was, but only in its ability to cut Hermione’s feelings loose.
She looked at her lap and shook her head, pressing the tissue to her eyes.
Theo reached for her chin, lifting her head so she’d look at him. His eyes were as soft as his voice, the blue in them a deep sea of concern and fondness.
And when he caught the next tear with his thumb and wiped it from her face, the caress made Hermione’s months-long secret spill out.
“I don’t want to lose you,” she whispered, her cheeks warming from the weight of the truth, her heart aching from the prospect of rejection.
Theo blinked, then scooted closer.
“Why would you lose me?”
“Because—tomorrow—” Hermione trailed off, sniffling.
Theo took one of her hands, then interlaced their fingers.
“What—you think we’re suddenly incompatible?”
He sounded like it was the most absurd thing he’d ever heard.
“And even if we were,” he continued before Hermione could answer, “you think I wouldn’t fight Kingsley to keep you?”
It was Hermione’s turn to blink, her mouth falling open.
“You—you want—me?” she stammered, incredulous.
Theo gave her the sweetest of smiles as he reached for a loose curl and tucked it behind her ear.
“Only since eighth year,” he said, amusement accompanying the breathlessness that came with his confession.
“Really?”
He nodded. “When the letter arrived, I couldn’t believe my luck.”
“Me too,” Hermione answered without a second’s pause.
It was true, maybe not for the same reasons at first, but now she knew her heart had been in it from the start.
Theo beamed in response, a sigh falling from his lips when he angled his body fully towards her.
“I didn’t say anything because I wasn’t sure you wanted me, too, but—” he began when they were almost nose-to-nose, so close Hermione could smell his aftershave. He pushed his hand into her hair, cupping her neck. “I want to marry you, Hermione.”
She gasped, then huffed a surprised chuckle as another tear rolled down her cheek, this time from relief.
“I want to love you and grow old with you,” Theo continued, touching their foreheads together. “I choose you, Hermione. I don’t need a test to tell me you’re the one.”
Hermione was overwhelmed with joy as she squeezed Theo’s hand in her lap.
“I choose you, too, Theo.”
His smile lit up his face, and then Hermione’s soul.
“Does that mean I can kiss you?”
Hermione was mid-nod when Theo tilted his chin, brushing his nose with hers, then captured her lips in a soft touch that tasted like summer and salt.
She melted into him, a hand disappearing in his curls, her heart all somersault.
The kiss was electric, sparks pricking all over Hermione’s body when Theo teased her mouth open with a careful lick.
A sigh, a nip, a bite, squeezing hands and tugging fingers, then heavy drags of air followed by a whispered question.
“Will you sleep in my bed tonight?”
Hermione pressed her answer to Theo’s lips in another kiss that said yes and all other nights, too.
With their truths laid bare and a dream come to life that was five months and six years old, with their bodies touching from head to toe in the middle of a bed that immediately felt like theirs, Theo ran a hand over Hermione’s head and down her hair, tangling his fingers in the ends of her curls while she placed a hand on his heart, delighting in the even beats under her palm.
“You’re my one,” Theo whispered when Hermione was halfway to her dreams, but she still felt him smile when she snuggled closer, the intimacy of the moment carried on warm touches and steady breaths.
And then—
On a morning kiss and a reassuring nod in front of the Minister’s office.
Kingsley beamed when he saw Theo and Hermione’s clasped hands, as if he, too, didn’t need a test to tell that they were an even better match now than they had been five months ago.
An inclination that was confirmed by a flick of his wand and a wedding date in early March.
Two hours later, Hermione was unpacked, undressed, and undone in Theo’s bed—their bed—, where another level of their compatibility was unlocked between sheets and gasps and rocks of hips against hips.
And when Theo kissed promises onto her freckled skin on the first day of the rest of their lives, Hermione smiled and silently counted in her mind.
One.
