Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe and all its lovely characters belong to JK Rowling.

A/N: Updated 7/3/18. If you're new to this story, welcome! If you're a returning reader, I've updated all the posted chapters with help from my lovely new beta lolitaweasley! The content is the same, but it's much cleaner now.

Chapter 1: A Call to Arms

The scene at the Hog's Head looks vaguely familiar. Twenty witches and wizards sit in a rough circle filling a dusty corner of the pub. They look at each other with some uncertainty and wariness, but mostly with impatience.

"Can we get a move on, Hermione? The store's not going to open itself," says George, a tall, gangly man with long, shaggy hair. He sits on the edge of a bench, one leg fidgeting with excess energy, and forearms propped on his knees as if readying his body to spring into action at any moment.

"Don't know why we even need to open so early. No one comes into a joke shop at eight in the morning on a Monday," grumbles an even taller and ganglier man lounging next to him. His hair, matching George's shocking shade of nectarine, is styled much shorter. They are brothers.

"If you don't like it Ronniekins," says George, "you can start your own joke shop called 'Won-won's Widdikulus Whimsies,' and you can open your store whenever you wake up after lunch. But, until then, you work at Wheezes, which means you come in early and open at eight."

'Ronniekins' turns a shade of red that clashes with his hair and issues a rude retort, which only serves to make the others groan in exasperation. Someone moans, "I haven't had enough coffee to put up with this shite," while another whispers angrily, "You're referring to your own mother, Ron. Show some respect!"

"Hermione," says Harry, a raven-haired man who wears round-rimmed spectacles about a hundred years out of fashion, "let's get this started. We all have to go to work soon."

Hermione eyes the pub entrance once more, watching for any stragglers. She is expecting twenty-five people to be at this meeting; they RSVP'd.

Sighing, she turns back to the group, and all nineteen pairs of eyes urge her to commence. She relents.

"Thank you all for coming," she begins. She produces a half-rolled scroll of parchment. The word 'Decree' and an official-looking seal peek through her fingers at the top of the page. "I assume everyone got one of these last night?"

Each person holds out a similar parchment—some rolled tightly, others creased from their time in pockets, and quite a few crumpled due to frustration. One even bears blackened scorch marks from when it was set on fire; though, as its owner is one Seamus Finnegan, the fire may not have been intentional.

"We have to do something about this," declares Hermione as she violently shakes the parchment clutched in her hand. "The Ministry simply can't force marriage on us. It's a violation of our rights!"

A rumble of assent exudes from the crowd, and Hermione is encouraged. "It says here that all unattached persons have until the end of the month to marry someone of their choosing. After the end of the month, they'll round up the remaining single people and marry them to each other in a mass wedding ceremony. It's—it's—"

"Convenient?" suggests Neville Longbottom, a bashful-looking gentleman seated at the edge of the group. He shrinks like a violet under Hermione's glare and tries to backpedal. "The giant ceremony, I mean. Not—not the compulsory marriage thing," he mumbles.

"Although," interjects Michael Corner, a former Ravenclaw and, therefore, primed to be pragmatic, "it is convenient when you think about it. No fussing about marriage proposals or worrying about what you'll do with the ring if she turns you down flat on your arse. If you're already together, you can just get married, and if she says 'no,' there's already someone waiting in the wings."

"How romantic," says Susan Bones scathingly. She is Michael's girlfriend; at least, for now. The couple starts whisper-fighting, and the group collectively tunes them out.

"I agree with Hermione," states Seamus. "I shouldn't be forced to get married right now. My twenties are supposed to be my wild years. I'm supposed to be out bedding strangers and," he adds with a mischievous wink, "experimenting."

Harry shoots Ron a confused look and silently mouths, "Experimenting?" The redhead only shrugs in response.

"I don't mind," offers Terry Boot, a diminutive man with a prematurely receding hairline. "We all have to get married sometime. If it saves me the trouble of having to go on expensive dates, then why not?"

A loud snort is heard from George's direction. "And exactly how many Galleons have you spent on a date this year, Boot? I bet my other ear that it's less than the change I've got in my right pocket."

Terry throws an offensive sign at George, and more insults follow. Soon, the whole group is abuzz and taking sides, until Hermione yells out, "Quiet!" Their bickering halts immediately. "This is exactly my point, Terry," she insists. "We don't all have to get married. Some of us may choose to remain single," she says carefully, heat creeping into her cheeks as she gazes at a spot on the floor, "because some of us may have other priorities, like traveling, or focusing on our careers."

A pretty woman named Lavender shoots a glance at a redhead named Ginny and silently mouths, "Choose?" The redhead only shrugs in response.

"But, what can we do about it?" asks Harry. "As of yesterday, it's the law. If we don't follow it, we'll be sent to Azkaban."

"Besides, is it really that big of a deal?" shrugs Dean Thomas, who anxiously looks at his watch. "The law says we only have to be married for a year. No kids required, and no other strings attached. We don't even have to live in the same house! If we don't like it, we can get divorced after the law expires, and the Ministry will leave us alone."

Lavender nods. "The Ministry is giving us a choice: a year of marriage or a year in Azkaban." She quirks a manicured eyebrow. "I'll take marriage," she adds smugly

The group murmurs in approval.

"No!" yells Hermione. "This is not just an issue of marriage. This is an issue about freedom! We all risked our lives to fight a would-be tyrant from taking control of our government and forcing us to bend to his will. Did we suffer through all of that, just to let this Ministry do the same thing to us?"

She stands up, and her face glows with emotion as she continues. "We must take a stand against this law. We must not let the Ministry threaten to take away our freedom just so it can get its way. We must fight back!"

Hermione glances around, looking each person in the eye as she challenges them. "Now, who's with me?"

ooOOoo

Hermione sits across from her friends. It is a smaller group this time—just Ron and Harry.

"We are so sorry, Hermione," says Harry, whose voice sounds muffled. Hermione can't tell if her hearing is off because she's in shock, or if sounds just don't carry well across the thick glass between them.

Harry lays his left hand flat across the clear divider, and his face is full of sorrow as he implores, "Hang in there, Hermione. We'll talk to Kingsley. We'll talk to the Wizengamot. We'll do a séance and talk to Dumbledore if it helps. One way or another, we're going to get you out."

She fights the strong urge to scowl at the gold ring glinting on his hand. Instead, she turns her gaze to Ron, who is on the verge of tears.

"Hermione," he croaks. "I shouldn't have listened to you when you told me to follow the law because no one helped you protest the Ministry. I should have just told the Ministry to just fuck off, like you did, so I could be in there to protect you!"

"You can stop that nonsense, Ronald Weasley," Hermione orders with as much bravado as she can muster. "There's no way I would have let you be in here with me. It's not safe for either of you. Especially you, Harry, since there are so many Death Eaters in here who would love to get their hands on you."

She watches as her two best friends droop under the heavy weight of their shared guilt, so she tries to comfort them. "Besides," she says with a gentler tone, "Ginny would have killed me if she had to marry anyone else but you, Harry."

Harry flashes her a shy smile, as he plays with the wedding ring on his finger.

"And Ron, I honestly don't know how you and Pansy Parkinson haven't murdered each other yet, but I'm pretty sure you're a tad bit safer being married to her than you would be if the Ministry stuck you in here," she reasons.

Ron groans and puts his head in his hands.

"This was my cause to fight for, from the beginning," she continues, squaring her shoulders as she sits up straight. "And I knew what the consequence was. I accepted it."

"Just always watch your back, and be careful, Hermione," Harry urges.

"Don't worry about me, Harry," she says quietly. "I survived almost a year in a tent with the two of you. How much worse can Azkaban be?"

A/N: Thanks for reading! Reviews are appreciated!