Bathwater

For the Greater Good

"Look," she said through her teeth again, the red in her cheeks still not wavering, "I'm not saying all of this okay, but you're talking about giving up your—"

"You just don't get it," Hermione interrupted, standing from the bench and grabbing her schoolbag all in one sharp movement. "None of you do. And I'm happy for you, truly, I knew you'd end up together—and that's exactly why I told you not to start a fight, but this is not the ending I wanted for myself."

"'Mione—"

Securing her bag over her shoulder, Hermione did not pause to hear what else Harry and Ginny had to say over her predicament because there was nothing else that needed to be said. She could see that they thought her to be irrational, but Hermione was anything but. She was completely justified in wanting to tear down the world around her for having been engaged to Draco Malfoy against her will. 

And it just wasn't about having to marry Malfoy—a stupid, cowardly boy who loved to make her life miserable since they were children, but having to intertwine her life with his family, too. While she indeed had defended his and his mother's actions through their extensive, draining trials, Hermione knew they still had blood on their hands. She knew they still carried sins that would take more than a few redeemable actions to forgive. How, then, could she sit across them and pretend to be their family? When they hated her since she was a girl? When they thought her to be a disease? When they wanted her dead?

It is not that she did not believe Draco Malfoy did not deserve forgiveness (only after tirelessly working for it), she just did not want to be the one to give it to him.

"Miss Granger, a word, please."

Hermione stopped mid-turn down the empty corridor that led to her favorite abandoned classroom. McGonagall stood at the end, her dark, brown eyes cold and dissatisfied behind her glasses. 

She wanted to tell the Headmistress that she had a workload to get to, but instead Hermione found herself conceding to her command with a small nod. So she followed McGonagall down the corridor, heading for her old Transfiguration classroom just a few steps away. Hermione wondered if that was where the Headmistress planned to do it—where she planned to expel her. 

After all, a witch with no magic was not a witch. 

When McGonagall was behind her old desk, where so many times through the years she patiently assisted Hermione's growing interest and aptitude for Transfiguration, she motioned for her to take the open desk before her.

"I am disappointed in you, Miss Granger," she said before Hermione even had a chance to sit. The words made her wince, like they were all thin, dainty razors sinking into her spine. It made Hermione hold her breath to keep her from gasping. "Challenging two professors and the Ministry of Magic with such display. I had better expectations for your composure than this."

"You're marrying me off to Malfoy, Headmistress," Hermione reminded. "Is it really that hard to understand why I'm upset?"

"Of course I understand why you are upset," McGonagall returned sharply. "I expect most of you to be more than upset at the Ministry deciding your fates. It is ridiculous they had to resort to something like this, Miss Granger, but do you not think it was ridiculous that there was a war based on blood that made the Ministry end up on this method to repopulate?"

"I did not start this war," Hermione told her loudly. "People like Draco Malfoy did."

"And now two of opposing sides are meant to find a union," McGonagall replied in her usual, cold tone, unruffled by Hermione's outburst. "You have a chance to make this impending marriage into something revolutionary, Miss Granger, but you are giving up before you break barriers."