Disclaimer: I own nothing. Harry Potter and all it's characters and settings belong to J.K. Rowling.

I decided to create an account separate from my old account used primarily for anime fics. It's been a good nine or so years since I've published anything on this site, but I still prefer it, despite it's many issues. So I hope any fics I post in the future will be well received among the other authors here.

That said, please enjoy!

Foiled Again

The ministry hadn't actually lost it's collective mind; contrary to what had recently become popular belief. Due to an alarming increase in the birth of squibs in the last several decades―and the whispers of Dark Lords that shall remain unnamed and their minions in the ears of certain Ministers of Magic―the ministry, in all it's infinite wisdom, had passed a decree that all single pure blood witches and wizards had two months to issue a petition for a spouse of mixed or muggle blood.

In the brilliant and kind nature of the ministry, in such an inconvenient time, pure bloods were allowed to petition for the hands of Muggle-borns or Half-bloods of their choosing, who then had a week to accept the petition, or receive a petition from another. The affianced couples would be wed immediately, and from that point forbidden to use any form of contraception, thus increasing the birthrate of future offspring.

So, no, the ministry hadn't lost their minds at all. It was the definite opinion of several in the Great Hall at Hogwarts that morning, that the collective drones of the ministry had never had minds to begin with, never mind lose.

Just look at Percy Weasley.

And so, less than a month since the new marriage law had been passed, several students in their sixth and seventh years, had begun receiving petitions. Just two days ago, the hall had watched with baited breath as a horrified and pale Angelina Johnson received a ministry owl carrying a petition scroll in it's talons. Tearfully, she read the petition. The whole hall, even the Slytherins, had been silent, as if a death sentence was being issued. Then the tearful young woman was throwing herself at Ronald Weasley, the younger man baffled and blushing, as Angelina proclaimed how wonderful his brother was. No one, not even the Weasleys themselves, was quite sure which one she meant.

The event had been surprisingly uplifting, but everyone was still waiting for the cauldron bottom to fall out, as it were, and the true devastation of the marriage law to rear it's ugly head.

And ugly it was indeed, when on a fine Tuesday morning in November, the doors of the Great Hall sailed open. Dressed in her finest frills of the most garish pink conceivable, Dolores Umbridge strode into the hall, putting many, student and teacher alike, off their breakfast. Though the woman was short and stocky, rather like an unpleasant gift box no one wanted to open with a bow in her hair, she walked with a remarkably confident air. The sort only the smug and self deluded could truly manage.

See again: Percy Weasley.

All conversation stopped, and owls bearing good and bad tidings alike were ignored as the ministry toady who had once tormented the school―those scant few months not nearly enough for one to forget―sailed up to the head table. It had the horror and fascination of a train wreck to watch when she came to a halt in front of a certain Potion Master. And not an often unfortunate Slughorn, who was doing his best to eat his breakfast while keeping one eye riveted on the display. No, she came to a halt in front of the other potion master, dark black eyes narrowing imperceptibly as though a speck of dirt had landed on his meal.

And though no one was sure what was going on, they knew it would be far more interesting than the morning post.

"Ah, Severus, such a fine morning, isn't it?" The woman beamed, geniality exuding in noxious waves―or perhaps that was simply her overripe perfume. Her high, girlish voice was no less grating than it had been the term before. No one bothered to wonder how she had escaped the centaurs; the poor creatures had probably begged the Ministry to 'rescue' her, and escorted her out of the forest themselves. Heaven forbid she die there and risk haunting them.

At her question, Snape's expression became a moue of distaste and he regarded her sourly.

"It was."

Ignoring that pointed remark with all the self-delusion she had amassed over the years, Umbridge's smile only increased.

"And on this fine day, I come bearing wonderful news."

"You've been officially declared unfit to breed?"

For just a moment fury flared in the woman's watery-colored eyes before it was masked, and she tittered, the sound grating.

"Oh, Severus, don't be so silly. I have come all this way here today to officially petition for you in person. I can only imagine how thrilled you must be."

Someone from the Gryffindor table, most likely of the Weasley persuasion, began gagging and retching, but it was largely ignored. The moment that followed would become a part of Hogwarts history in later years as all the houses, even the Gryffindors, were completely united in one thing. They all felt horribly sorry for Professor Snape. Even the Slytherins didn't even stop to wonder about their Head of House's apparent lack of blood status. This was a fate not even a Mudblood deserved.

"Why Dolores..." The students watched in horror and shock as Snape affected what appeared to be a coy smile, his voice actually seeming to soften. "I had no idea you felt that way. I... I'm horribly flattered." Disgust and dismay ran rampant through the hall, and even Dumbledore seemed to be at a loss, his ever-present twinkle winking out as he looked at Severus. He seemed to regard his trusted young friend as though he had never seen him before.

Umbridge simply preened.

"However," The Great hall seemed to collectively hold it's breath as they watched Umbridge pause in her self-congratulations, and look to Snape warily. There had been a purr of satisfaction in the man's voice that many recognized. It was usually followed by a great loss of points and months of detention.

"However?"

"It would seem that I already received a petition, just this morning." Somehow, Snape managed to look sorrowful, even with his eyes glittering with malice... "And, having no idea of the honor you chose to bestow upon me, I'm afraid I already signed it."

"What?!"

He raised the parchment that had been sitting next to him, showing amazing restraint in not looking too smug.

"It's too bad, really, since these contracts are immediately binding..."

The rather remarkable shade of purple Umbridge was turning clashed horribly with the lurid pink of her robes. And it was likely a testament to all the horrible things Snape had seen in his lifetime, that he wasn't forced to look away. Poor Filius, who was seated next to him, didn't have nearly so strong a constitution, and turned his head, pushing his breakfast aside.

"Wha―let me see that!" It seemed Snape didn't even bother trying to keep the scroll away from the woman, a smirk tugging at the Potion Master's thin lips. There were soft whispers among the students, possibly wondering who else would actually want to marry Snape, as Umbridge scoured the document. Those whispers were quickly drowned out by the woman's outraged shriek.

"What is the meaning of this?! Granger?"

She actually hissed the name, and for a moment Harry, who was nibbling his toast while watching the events unfold, wondered if she was secretly a Parselmouth as well.

As one, the students, teachers, and even ghosts of Hogwarts turned to look at the one occupant of the great hall who was still calmly eating her breakfast, absently skimming a new book, Arithmancy: Playing the Cosmic Lottery. Unperturbed, she slowly put down the text, took a sip of her juice before turning to address the apoplectic woman.

Attention was riveted. Everyone knew that if there was anyone Dolores Umbridge hated more than Harry Potter: boy-who-lived-to-threaten-the-establishment, it was Hermione Granger. Mud blood and all around wretched, vile little strumpet.

It had, of course, been kept a tight secret that Hermione had lured the idiotic woman into the Forbidden Forest, and all but sacrificed her to the creatures there. And as Albus Dumbldore had once sagely spoken, years ago: it was a secret; so of course everyone knows. And because they knew, those who valued their health played nice with Granger.

Or at least stayed the hell out of her way.

Clearly, Dolores Umbridge wasn't one of those intelligent minds.

"Granger! What is the meaning of this?!"

Hermione cocked her head to the side before smilingly sweetly. It was an expression many Gryffindors knew well. It also featured prominently in their nightmares. Draco Malfoy was pretty sure that smile was what had decided him quite firmly on being gay.

"That would be a marriage petition. Pureblooded witches and wizards are being encouraged to marry outside of their bloodlines to increase the magical population and potentially decrease the number of squibs born." She recited pertly, nodding to herself as though she had memorized the words from some font of information. "That, in particular, would be my petition for Professor Snape. Though I suppose it's Severus, now that we're married." Her tone was reminiscent of one talking gently to a particularly slow child.

Or Percy Weasley.

Umbridge looked ready to explode.

"Falsifying ministry documents is a capital offense! You'll see Azkaban for this! How did you manage to create this contract? I demand you tell me at once!"

Amazingly, Hermione didn't so much as blink, her genial smile never faltering.

"The same way as everyone else, Madam. I requested one from the Ministry."

"Don't lie to me, girl; you're in enough trouble as it is. Only a pureblood can request and obtain a marriage petition. Everyone knows you're a Mudb―er, Muggleborn."

It was a sight as Umbridge nearly sawed her tongue in two with her teeth in an attempt to bite back the slur she clearly preferred to use in regards to such filth. Especially that wretched girl.

Hermione, to her credit, did not acknowledge the obvious slip. Instead, she perked up, taking in a deep breath.

"That's actually a very interesting thing, really. Did you know that squibs still qualify as purebloods?"

Nonplussed, everyone blinked at the statement, and the school caretaker faintly preened at the indirect acknowledgment.

Umbridge simply stared.

"In the magical amendment of 1745, Squibs were deemed a separate entity from muggles; insofar that they possess the same magic as witches and wizards, they are simply unable to use it. Rather an unfortunate birth defect. Muggles would likely call them handicapped, I suppose. In any case, Squibs still fall under the classification of magical beings, pureblood or otherwise."

"I fail to see what that has to do with―"

"And really, it's the most fascinating thing." Hermione barreled on, cutting off the woman effortlessly. Most of Gryffindor, and a few Ravenclaws, shared grins; no one stopped Hermione Granger when she went into lecture mode. "Apparently, squibs that are cast out into the muggle world, of which there are a great deal, actually, are over ninety percent purebloods. And over seventy-seven percent of squibs end up marrying other squibs, whether they know what they are or not. It seems as though the magic in them attracts them to one another. Like calling like, if you will. It turns out my parents, and all my grandparents for that matter, are squibs. My great-grandmother on my father's side even went to Hogwarts. From what I've managed to discover, she was actually a fourth cousin to the Black family. According the Wizarding Standards of Genealogy, I'm actually considered a second-generation pureblood. It was all very startling. It came as quite a shock when I received notice that I needed to marry. When I realized that Professor―oh, er, Severus was a halfbood by birth, well, I simply couldn't resist."

Hermione had the gall to pinken prettily, lowering her eyes in supposed modesty.

"I always did quite fancy him, you see. He's so very brilliant and talented, isn't he?"

At the moment, Umbridge seemed incapable of speech in her outrage―though it was probably too much to hope that it would last long―she didn't give a damn about those things!

Snape was a dirty half-blood, and surly and disagreeable on top of it. But the man had remarkable sex appeal, was the only inheritor of the Prince Estate, despite his mother's scandal and subsequent estrangement. And he had quietly amassed a sizable fortune. Very few knew just how much money Snape made with his potion developments. Especially as he never used a knut of it, except to put it back into his research. That was what she cared about. And it was all being wasted on Granger! She wanted to claw the little tart's eyes out. And she had the nerve to sit there, looking so innocent. But if she really was considered a pureblood, then there was not a thing she could do, blast it all!

"I am terribly sorry for stepping on your toes, Madam Umbridge I had no idea you were looking in that direction. And I never imagined Severus would actually accept." She insisted, pausing to smile demurely at her new husband, who inclined his head in acknowledgement while watching the byplay in amusement.

"But, you're so well-respected and admired, Madam, I know you could win any man you wanted without even trying. I imagine you have your pick of all the bachelors."

The words were said so completely without guile that Umbridge actually had to pause a moment and primp her hair. Though anyone with sense could see that Granger was practically laying it on with a trowel. Naturally, Umbridge, with her acute sense of self-delusion was blissfully unaware.

"Yes, well, still, it is such a disappointment."

Though shameless flattery had mollified the worst of her ire, her plans for a rich and influential husband had fallen through. She was most certainly not happy, but how could she salvage this. Who else could―

A devious thought occurred in her wicked little mind, and her eyes shifted from Hermione to the next spot over.

"Harry, my dear, dear boy."

Dear boy in question froze, like a Prongs in the headlights of a very nasty looking SUV, and he swallowed gamely around the last of his toast.

"Harry, sweetheart, from what I understand, you haven't accepted any of your petitions yet. Perhaps you just haven't...ahem... received the right one yet." She actually fluttered her eyelashes at him.

Harry turned green at the implications. Though he had been receiving petitions since day one, he had a week after the most recent to decide. And since he was receiving them every day, he'd been safe for the time being.

Desperately trying not to be ill, he reached for the scroll on top of his most recent pile of petitions.

"Ah... actually, I just signed one while you were talking to Hermione." He stammered. Chattering broke out immediately. It seemed classes had been forgotten, but who cared? This was big news! Even the teachers were leaning forward at the head table to try and hear better.

"What?!"

Harry had clearly been giving Hermione lessons, because the innocent, mournful look he gave Umbridge would have melted butter, and was nothing short of a work of art.

"I... I don't know what to say... I mean... I never imagined someone like you would, well... I was so much trouble for you, and you were so very mad at me all the time... I would never have thought a troublemaker like me could interest other people." He mourned, green eyes dancing behind thick lenses. "Oh well, I suppose Malfoy will keep me in line."

In that very moment, it seemed as though time itself stopped to blink, and the entire great hall shifted it's attention to the Slytherin table.

Snape and Granger... well, that was one thing. They were both bossy, academic types. They liked to yell and were strangely sadistic when angered. In a way it almost made sense.

But Potter and Malfoy? That was just... against the laws of nature, certainly.

At least, Umbridge certainly seemed to think so, looking as though the world had simply dropped out from under her suede kitten heels.

"What?!"

At the Slytherin table, looking like a young king eyeing his territory, Draco Malfoy leered shamelessly at the boy-who-lived, leaning back on his hands that were resting against the bench.

"I don't know; I rather like a spot of trouble now and then."

Harry's lips twitched.

"B-b-but you're both boys!"

Draco simply shrugged. "Father's lawyers went over every inch of the law. It never once said anything about same-sex bindings."

The poor harried woman was looking rather ill now, torn between horror and outrage. How had the world gone so incredibly mad?

"The whole point is to have children!"

Harry just grinned now.

"Guess we'll have to adopt."

Meanwhile, Ron, poor, forgotten Ronald Weasley, was in a state of conflict during the entire event. If there were two things in the world Ron didn't like, they were surely Malfoy and Snape. But this was Umbridge, and she was evil, and icky. After all, she had banned Harry from Quidditch! Sure, Malfoy may have tried to cheat now and then, to beat Harry, and Snape was just a git, but getting in the way of Quidditch was just not on! Besides, Harry and Hermione usually knew what they were doing.

And at least neither of them married Percy.

Conflict settled, he instead began to contemplate a sixth-year Hufflepuff girl who had the cutest little... er, dimples. Yeah. Dimples. He had his own petitions to worry about sending anyway.

Umbridge, however, was not taking things nearly so well, fuming at being foiled at every turn. She was going to marry someone, dammit!

It was Harry turning his innocent stare on her one more that kept her from exploding.

"But, um, you know, ma'am... I know this guy who might be perfect for you." He waited until it was clear he had her attention. "He's a little older, a half blood, of course, with a pureblood mom. I've heard lots and lots about him, and he is still single."

"...I'm listening."

Harry's grin was sharp and lethal.

"Well, his name is Tom..."

Epilogue:

"You owe me."

Hermione stood, braced against the desk as she regarded the man sitting there, her new husband.

"I had no intentions of getting married so soon. Certainly not before I graduated."

From his chair, Snape sighed heavily, and ran his eyes over the young woman who had spared him a fate worth a thousand deaths. A mole in the ministry―or rather Lucius, when he wasn't trying to sound mysterious and enigmatic―had found out about Umbridge and her personal ambitions, and warned him. The Order had taken it to be a serious threat, and it had been Granger who had finally presented a solution.

"I don't suppose I could offer you my firstborn child?"

Hermione gave him a wry look.

"Considering I'll be the one bearing said child, and any subsequent ones, I don't think so." She tapped her fingers impatiently against the desk.

"Can't I pay you off with money or sex?"

"I'm pretty sure those come part and parcel with the whole marriage package."

"Damn."

There was a moment of tense silence before Severus finally sighed heavily.

"Lab access?"

Hermione's grin was quick and bright, lighting up the dungeon, and she slipped around the desk, depositing herself in his lap.

"Now we're getting somewhere."

Deep within the recesses of Riddle Manor, the Dark Lord was staring in horror at the scroll Malfoy's personal owl had delivered to him.

"Tom Marvolo Riddle,

By order of the Ministry of magic, in regards to marriage decree #264:

This document is a petition of marriage..."