Prologue

Minerva climbed the winding staircase, her snow-dusted travelling cloak weighing down her shoulders. Someday she would have to accept that all of the magic in the world was not going to stop time from having its way with her.

By Merlin, today was not that day.

Her destination was a secret eyrie, a hidden room that waited for her on the floor above. Using her hands to pull herself along the railing, she made it to the landing and stood collecting her wits and her breath.

It would not do to allow her dearest friends to see her like this. Every Sunday afternoon they gathered in the sunny space for tea, nosh, and gossip.

They'd started meeting here that terrible year after Dumbledore's death. Minerva and Pomona had stumbled upon the mysterious room together one afternoon when they'd been wandering the castle in search of some "fresh air" (as the Carrows were spectacularly flatulent).

A hidden door, tucked away in a little-used stairwell, led up another set of stairs to a round spacious tower room, a mirror of the Headmaster's suite. Instead of portraits, the walls were lined with windows. Ancient furniture was left draped in sheets and dust, but with a little magic, the place was transformed into a safe spot that she and the other weary witches of the castle needed. They could not say much or interfere with the Death Eater-administered school, for if they were fired, the students would be that much more vulnerable. It went without saying that the added severance package consisting of a mandatory and immediate all-expenses-paid funeral was also a strong motivation.

They'd had to work together, they needed to be strong. Pomona and Minerva had invited all of the witches on staff who could be trusted (that is, all but the one). Still, it hadn't been all plotting and rebellion. There had always been tea and biscuits, and sometimes even those little watercress sandwiches.

One night, Poppy had suggested they call themselves the "Femmes Fatales" in jest. None of them had had much use for men that year. Irma had objected, deeply offended by any suggestion that their little group would degrade themselves to outright violence against men (a suggestion that intrigued Rolanda), not even for sport or as potions parts (as a Potions master must make the best ingredients). Pomona suggested a society inspired by Cerridwen, or perhaps Cailleach Bheur, as they were in Scotland and ready for a fight but this failed as Sybil refused to be a part of a group inspired by a militant hag. Rolanda suggested something inspired by the underground groups that rose up in Europe to help protect the persecuted. Minerva found these distasteful the aftermath of Grindlewald's conflict.

Instead, Irma had made a compelling case for calling themselves The Sisterhood. Nearly everyone could agree that this sounded dignified, suitably mysterious, and quite a bit more accurate.

Right now, Minerva needed more than a moment's peace and her sisters. It was time to revive their war council, put to rest these five years.

This morning's emergency session at the Wizengamot worried her deeply, for it seemed increasingly certain that the Wizarding world was going completely crackers. Old men blustered and spouted odorous ideas, all in a panic to preserve life as they knew it. In their hurry to restore the magical population to safe levels, they would enslave and destroy what was left of those of child-bearing age.

Her breath was returning to normal so Minerva straightened her shoulders. Forget those weak-minded whinging windbags that dared call themselves wizards. This was witches' work.

The heavy oak door swung open under her touch, the ward upon it recognising her both as Headmistress and a member of their little coven. She was forced to squint against the eyrie's sun-bright lights. Pomona had installed them so she would stop dropping stitches.

Cries of welcome greeted her. Before she knew it, Poppy and Pomona were at her side, the former relieving her of her cloak and the latter claiming a hug.

"Minerva, you're chilled to the bone," Pomona said, always such a mother hen. "Why don't you use those nice leggings that Miss Granger knitted for you?"

It was easier for Minerva to put up with the clucking when she felt the wave of heat envelop her, one of Pomona's special charms for winter. The first time she'd been subjected to the wandless cuddle-charm, Pomona had needed to calm her down for Minerva was particular about being simultaneously enchanted and touched.

Clearing her throat, a vision of those same woollen leggings came to Minerva's mind. They were warm, but they also made it difficult to walk because they were knitted from thick wool and covered with cables and knotwork that held enchantments of both protection and temperature regulation. Rudely put, Hermione's well-intentioned handiwork made her waddle like a duck, and that would not do for a Wizengamot meeting, no matter how cold it was.

Poppy herded the pair of them over to the circle of padded chairs and sofas, making certain that Minerva sat down and was settled before handing over a cup of tea already waiting for her arrival.

Irma greeted her with a nod and the supremely companionable gesture of putting down her book. One had to take what one could get from the extremely reserved witch.

After the first cup of tea, Minerva squinted about the room. Not finding the missing member, she asked, "Where's Sybil?"

Making a face, Irma picked her book back up and looked for all the world as though she had much to say.

It was Poppy who answered, however. "She had a restless night, so she's having a lie-in." Minerva must have let her disapproval show, for Poppy said, "I am trying to persuade her to go back to the Mind Healers, Headmistress. We must be patient with her, for she suffers nightmares and cannot tell what is and isn't prophecy. It is exhausting."

Everyone sat in silence, no doubt all recalling a night when they'd had to coax Sybil back from the edge of her private balcony. Madam Hooch had spotted her and called for help before the worst happened.

It would not do to linger on such dark times. The present day world was a mess, and it was up to them to fix it. "Well, we can fill her in later. You will not believe what the Wizengamot has in mind this time! I swear some of the bastards are just looking for an excuse to get into our young witches' knickers for the Greater Good."

She continued to explain the current proposal for a marriage law to boost the Wizarding population. It would require all witches of childbearing age, that is up to age sixty, to submit to medical exams. Then the witches who were still fertile would be contracted in marriage to a partner not of their choice, but selected from eligible wizards who'd undergone similar testing. These marriage contracts would last until they produced a specific number of children, dependent on what the Healers felt was the witch's best reproductive potential. Ginevra Weasley, for example, might be expected to carry five to seven children. Failure to meet these obligations would result in summary expulsion of the individual from magical society unless the Healers found a change in the couple's reproductive health or compatibility. That would result in reassignment.

Her friends responded with genteel expressions of shock. Irma, a normally taciturn bibliophile, made a grand gesture of unprecedented fury by slamming her book closed. Having everyone's attention, she spoke for the first time that afternoon. "That will not do. Not at all!"

"I agree! They wouldn't dare." Poppy shifted to sit on the edge of her chair, her face pale, her hands shaking. Her eyes, usually a nondescript watery grey, had hardened to steel.

Minerva imagined the usually kind and compassionate mediwitch performing a complimentary castration on every wizard foolish enough to support the motion. It would be so easy, and a good lesson in consent for the crooks. Tempting indeed.

Pomona, ever the voice of reason, said, "Is the problem really so bad as that, Minerva? Surely it is only time that our young people need. What's the justification for forcing anyone into parenthood?"

Irma said, "Yes. Where's the data?" Her thin arms were folded across her chest and her knuckles went white with tension. Much more and she'd have bruises.

After draining her second cup of tea, Minerva marshalled her thoughts and provided a summary of the presentation given by one Marietta Edgecombe, undersecretary to the chairman of the Magical Census subcommittee. It was a well researched presentation, and she'd shared graphs and charts that updated before their eyes. Deaths far outstripped births, and magical births were at an all-time low. The population of the youngest and most fertile members of society had been shrinking slowly over the past two centuries, but the impact of three wars were obvious to anyone who had eyes to see.

Worse, Edgecombe continued her presentation with details of what had already been tried. For the past two years, studies by the Healers at St Mungo's, attempting to come up with new treatments for infertility, showed no promise. Incentives to marry and procreate had been introduced on a limited trial basis, but were unsuccessful at tempting any but the already willing to tie the knot.

The Department of Mysteries shared the results of their research, and it was the consensus that it was magic itself that was the problem. The black magics employed regularly by Voldemort's followers and on a wide scale poisoned the country even now. They estimated that it would take 300 years before the natural magic would return to full power.

Pomona poured another round of tea. When she finished, she broke the silence. "Well. That's quite the pickle."

"Yes. Yes, it is," replied Poppy. Minerva was relieved to see the mediwitch had regained control of herself, her hand steady when she picked up her cup of tea.

The silence from Irma was, for lack of a better word, deafening. Her usual nonverbal communication was often sardonic and disparaging, making her wonder—not for the first time—if the woman might be related to Snape. As Minerva decanted her intelligence from the Wizengamot, her initial reaction started in full derision which progressed to tight-mouthed fury. As Minerva related the Department of Mysteries' report, Irma had become pensive, her face relaxing to a mask.

As Pomona and Poppy bounced ideas back and forth, all of which had already been touched upon by the Wizengamot, Minerva continued to observe the librarian.

She recognised that look.

The witch had an idea.

When a lull in the discussion presented itself, Minerva decided she'd waited long enough. "Irma. What are you thinking? Any idea is worth consideration, given the stakes."

Mouth twisting in a scowl, the librarian met Minerva's eyes steadily. "As much as I am loathe to bring up such a fanciful idea, I believe that the old rites might represent our best chance."

"Oh, surely not!" Poppy cried. "That's hardly better than a marriage decree!" She then lowered her voice in embarrassment. "I mean, isn't that sex magic?" A blush on her parchment-pale cheeks betrayed her interest.

Minerva digested the idea. She'd had an interest in the old gods and celebrations since she was a girl. More recently, the Board of Governors floated a proposal to reintroduce the old ways. "The ritual requires only a symbolic marriage, and participation would be voluntary. In fact, it could be performed privately…"

Irma interrupted, raising her voice to be better heard. "No, it couldn't. The rituals are magnified by the assembly's will and the strength of their faith. A crowd needs to take part in the ceremony; the more pageantry the better. And we'll need a properly consecrated circle."

Clearing her throat to garner attention, Pomona said, "It is lucky that the village of Hogsmeade is going to celebrate Beltane with the full ritual." With a nervous titter she added, "Severus was a wonderful Lord this past Samhain, although he would die of embarrassment if he thought you all knew. I can count on you all not to tease the poor wizard. It is wonderful to see him excited about anything. In fact, he's been asked back as Green Man."

Minerva was already aware of the development, but hadn't known that Snape confided so much in Pomona. She didn't need to wait long for an explanation, for the combined stares of disbelief prodded the Herbologist to further frankness.

Pomona said, "It is a very great secret, mind you. He needs help with his costume, and asked me for advice. Really, the project's an exciting challenge for us because I'm going to grow it and it will be in pieces." Her hands waved in the air as she elaborated on her passion.

Poppy's hands clasped in front of her bosom and she smiled, leaning in. "I don't suppose you need help with taking measurements…?" It was an awful impression of wide-eyed innocence.

As the two witches devolved into a competition of innuendo, Irma captured Minerva's ear. "This must be done at the right place and time, with people who are in the right frame of mind. We need to stall the Wizengamot's vote. Do you think you can manage that? "

"I'll see if Secretary Edgecombe would be willing to meet with me. We should bring in Severus on this as well, for he might have thoughts on who else within the Ministry might have interest in supporting our counter-proposal."

Pomona's merriment disappeared and after hushing Poppy, she interjected, "I promised Severus faithfully that I wouldn't gossip. The poor lad's already had such a time of things."

Minerva reached over to place a steadying hand on Pomona's shoulder. "Of course, I will need to be involved in the Hogsmeade event planning, so he'll have to accept that I know his secret from other sources, and that it was, in fact, need-to-know."

The first blush of excitement was passing off but the energy of the group remained high. All four of the witches put their heads together to concoct the rest of their plan in earnest, and Sybil drifted in. Fortunately, she'd foreseen it all, so she needed only a scant debriefing. No one needed her to point out how bad this would be for their society, but she did her part with dramatic gusto.

Minerva was heartened by how simple the solution might be, since much of what was needed was already in place. Come this May, they would invoke a higher power in a ritual as old as the standing stones. The whole affair stank of fate, and this time Sybil hadn't needed to point it out.

If the Department of Mysteries was right, the tremendous scope of the problem required a solution much larger than a marriage law.

Their world needed a miracle.

It was up to The Sisterhood to invoke it.

AN: This was originally written for grangersnape100 on LiveJournal, but the prologue came later. I have had lots of help with beta's on this story - Havelocked, deweydecimateher, Toodleoo, and qdrew! Thank you all.