A/N: Sometimes, ideas hit you while you're in the shower and sometimes, just sometimes… they evolve into fanfics. This is a bit of an oddly-constructed one, so apologies if there seem to be inconsistencies. Basically, all of our favourite characters (and some not-so-favourite ones) are living in a time when wizarding society is quite different. While Hermione, Ron and Harry all attended Hogwarts together and are very good friends, they didn't grow up experiencing the threat of Voldemort quite as much as they do in the books. This, however, is about to change… so all I ask is that you keep an open mind. If characters that died in the books/films suddenly turn up alive and well, it's because I intend them to for the purpose of this story.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any related material. This is just for fun.

Le Droit du Seigneur

Chapter I: A Shift in Situation

Hermione closed her eyes against the reflection in the mirror.

The young woman in it looked so unlike her that she felt, at least for a brief moment, as if the body around her wasn't quite her own. Instead, she felt like a mere spirit in passing, playing at being a stranger for a few seconds of amusement. If she chose to, she could move on without a second thought and abandon this earthly husk to whatever fate awaited it. But amusement eluded her. She could not escape.

"Arms up, please."

"I can do this myself, mother."

"I know you can my dear, but this is not a day when you need to prove yourself to me. Let me help you for once."

There was no use arguing. The excitement bubbling inside her mother's voice was unmistakable. Hermione kept her eyes shut as her mother pulled her undershirt over her head. Despite the warm summer breeze filtering in through the open window, she felt a shiver course through the flesh on her arms. She could hear the sound of tables and chairs being moved outside and the first tantalising smells of Molly's cooking were beginning to permeate the air. Ron had asked for game pie and apple cobbler and ale from the muggle brewery in the nearest town. Hermione had taken one look at the worried expressions on Molly and Arthur's faces and asked for nothing in particular. She would just let Ron choose for her. Hermione fought back a sigh. Wasn't that what all good wives did? She was about to tell herself it didn't matter when her eyes flew open. Her mother's fingers had started to pull on the ties of her shift.

"What are you doing?"

"What do you mean? Getting you out of that tattered old thing, of course."

"Why? It's perfectly functional…"

Tucking away a stray lock of her dark brown hair, Rose Granger looked down at her daughter and shook her head, a small smile playing on her lips.

"You're not in school anymore, Hermione. This is not just some training session where you get to run around, getting your clothes dirty and torn in the name of magic. You need to look presentable."

"I will look presentable. The dress is lovely… besides, Ron won't care. He-"

Hermione had just been about to say that Ron wouldn't care what kind of shift she wore because he wouldn't be seeing it. Then she remembered. 'Some men like to see their wives entirely naked, you know,' her friend Lavender Brown had giggled during their last meeting. She'd glanced at Hermione's horrified expression and laughed even harder. 'It's not compulsory of course, you can keep your underclothes if you're worried, Hermione, but if he's anything like my Seamus, you'll have a hard time holding on to them!' The other girls present had also laughed and Hermione couldn't help the blush that spread over her features. Blushing was what brides were supposed to do, but somehow she just felt like a fool. She knew what to expect of the mechanics of becoming Ron's wife, but she found herself wishing that there didn't have to be emotions involved. Ron was not the most gifted man when it came to interpreting emotions and she was worried hers might suffer a worse kind of pain than the one caused by any physical ministrations he might inflict upon her.

"Well yes, Ronald will probably not care much… but you will. Trust me."

Rose pressed both her hands to the sides of Hermione's face and looked her straight in the eye. Hermione repressed a groan. Her mother always did that when she wanted Hermione to avoid repeating her own mistakes. Hermione usually ignored her, but for once she couldn't help but wonder how her mother had felt on her own wedding day, twenty-odd years. Perhaps she'd worn her worst possible shift and her new husband, Hermione's father, had laughed. But her father looking at her mother's undergarments was not something Hermione wanted to dwell upon. In fact, she didn't feel like dwelling upon anything for once. If only her mind would go blank… mercilessly blank...

"It's lucky I had this made along with your gown," her mother was saying, moving to the wardrobe on the opposite side of the room.

Hermione missed her room in her parents' house, but her goodbyes to her childhood home had been made several days ago. As a future Weasley on the verge of getting married at the Burrows, she was expected to spend her last few nights with her parents in her husband's home. It was a transition of sorts, an ancient tradition of the wizarding world. The Grangers had travelled to the Burrows by cart, as neither family could afford enough Floo powder after the various expenses of organising the wedding.

"What are you talking about?" asked Hermione, her gaze drawn towards the window. A large tent was being erected outside. She could just see the tip of it wobbling slightly in the breeze. 'Wouldn't it be my luck if it fell on me?' she mused, unsure about how the thought made her feel. It wasn't that she didn't want to marry Ron, just that it all seemed a bit sudden. A year ago, she had left Hogwarts filled with dreams and hopes for the future, certain that she could use her talents to create a solid place for herself in wizarding society. Then everything had gone wrong, so wrong she had no idea how anyone might fix the world they now lived in. She liked Ron, she always had, but now…

"This, silly. Will you pay attention?"

Hermione looked at the shift in her mother's arms and immediately felt her cheeks heat up. Instead of the loose, unadorned garment she usually favoured, this one was fitted and trimmed with lace and small glass beads. Worse still, it seemed to be unfinished at the sides. The front and back panels were separate, only held together at each side by lengths of crisscrossing ribbon.

"You need to send it back! They ran out of fabric!"

"Nonsense, dear. This is all the fashion at the moment, at least among muggles. These wizards can make you wear a bridal robe all they want, but their idea of undergarments is laughable. The seamstress wouldn't hear of it when I placed the order, but once I showed her some designs she became quite excited. We may even have started a new trend!"

"We started nothing," Hermione grumbled, eyeing the shift with mounting disgust. But she knew she was fighting a losing battle. She didn't have the heart to dampen her mother's spirits on such a day. "Can I at least have some privacy?"

"Of course, darling. Just call me if you need me, I'll be in the next room, getting ready."

Hermione waited until her mother had left the room before undoing the remainder of the ties on her old shift and pulling the garment free of her body. Again she avoided looking in the mirror. What was there to see? She'd overheard Ron joking about the busty barmaid in the Three Broomsticks on many occasions. If voluptuousness was what he wanted, then he was in for serious disappointment. While she was far from flat-chested, Hermione knew without needing to check that there was nothing remarkable about her in that department. 'Perhaps once he realises this, he'll let me keep my clothes on…' She winced at the thought and reached for the bridal shift her mother had draped over the end of the bed. Pulling it over her head was awkward, as she kept sticking her arms through the wrong places. When she did manage to tug it into place, it seemed to be far too small. There was a gap of about an inch running from below her arms, straight down her body to around mid-thigh. No amount of pulling either way would get rid of it. If she tightened the silk ribbons to close it on one side, the other side only opened up further. It seemed she would have to compromise and leave an equal opening on either side. Grumbling, Hermione finally stepped back in front of the mirror.

"Fine," she whispered. "If it makes you happy, mother…"

For the second time that day, it seemed like another girl was looking back at her. A girl whose appearance made Hermione want to avert her gaze in shame. Who dressed like this? The whores that Draco Malfoy and his cronies liked to boast about, no doubt. But what had possessed her mother to think that she would enjoy wearing something like this? True, her otherwise unimpressive chest seemed just a little bit larger due to the elaborate stitching around the bust, and the fabric clung to the curve of her hips in a flattering way, but the whole impression made Hermione feel cheep. How had she come to this? How could she have let herself be wrapped up like a prime cut of meat to be sold off to the highest bidder? No, that wasn't entirely true… the only bidder, as it turned out.

The worst thing about the situation, in Hermione's opinion, was that she and Ron would have probably become engaged anyway. They might have waited a few more years, a long period of bumbling courtship on his behalf and timid but growing feelings on hers, but eventually they would have tied the knot like everyone expected them to. She would have been happy about it, excited even. She would have been ready, at least. By then, she would have had time to find a paid position within the Ministry of Magic and spent a few years furthering her knowledge of magic. A witch from a good family who chose to work before founding a family was not frowned upon in wizarding society, something that couldn't be said about its muggle counterpart. Tolerance and understanding had been growing right up until her graduation from Hogwarts. Witches were being considered for some of the highest positions within the Ministry. And then it had all gone wrong…

The Dark Lord. Hermione despised the name almost as much as she despised the man. He had been stirring trouble for years among the wizards and witches of pureblood families, spreading his poisonous views on muggleborns and muggles in general. While Hermione had been fairly sheltered at Hogwarts from the growing discord, rumours of muggles being hunted and tortured reached her through the likes of Draco Malfoy and his entourage. The snobbish blonde boy had delighted in calling her a Mudblood whenever he could, but she had dismissed his insults as mere ignorance and jealousy. She didn't want to believe that this Lord Voldemort, the same man responsible for murdering her friend Harry's parents many years ago, could be coming back to power in such an otherwise enlightened age. Not only did he believe that muggleborns had no right to magic, he also proclaimed that a witch's place was to remain hidden away in her husband's mansion, producing pureblood heirs and overseeing the household elves. A preposterous, antiquated notion in her opinion.

Not everyone shared these views, thank goodness, and Hermione could have quite happily ignored the Dark Lord and his followers for as long as possible, had the unthinkable not happened. Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic himself, had been murdered just under a year ago by a group of Death Eaters, the very men claiming to be Lord Voldemort's most fervent followers. Ever since, the Ministry had been struggling to recover from the blow, and the position of Minister had still not been filled. Distrust ran so deep among wizards nowadays that a suitable candidate has not yet been found. Attacks on muggleborns and their families had spread across the country like wildfire. Everywhere, people were taking whatever measures they could to protect themselves. Without a functioning government, the entire wizarding world teetered on the brink of chaos, and Hermione found herself in the thick of it.

"Are you ready?" her mother called from the next room.

"I'm really not sure this fits. I don't see why I have to wear it," Hermione said as Rose walked back into the room, her hair pinned up in an elegant bun. She was wearing a simple blue muggle gown that brought out her eyes. "You look nice," Hermione ventured, hoping her mother might reconsider the horrendous shift.

"Not as nice as you, my darling! When did you grow into such a beautiful young lady? You're always wearing those heavy robes, no wonder you look so shapeless. But now… That's exactly how it's supposed to look!"

Hermione rolled her eyes. Her mother had quite a knack for mixing compliments with criticisms.

"Let's get your gown on, shall we?"

Sighing, Hermione nodded. There was no use putting up a fight. She was getting married today, and in order to get married, a bride had to be wearing her wedding gown. 'Or at least in polite society, she does,' Hermione thought with a nervous giggle. Perhaps Ron would stop thinking about the barmaid in the Three Broomsticks if Hermione walked up the aisle wearing nothing but her revealing shift.

"Am I doing the right thing?" she suddenly asked, lifting her arms again as Rose slid the gown over her head.

Her mother paused behind her and Hermione could see her reflection in the mirror. The woman who had brought her into this world had lost her smile, all of a sudden, and seemed to be searching for the right thing to say.

"It's a good marriage, from what I understand about wizarding customs, there's no doubt about that…"
"But should it really be happening like this? What if we didn't have to hurry? What if I'm in no real danger?"

So many questions she had already mulled over in her mind. What if… What if Ron hadn't rushed to propose to her in order to protect her from the rising hatred against muggleborns? She was a clever witch; everyone at Hogwarts had told her so. She had learnt to defend herself with a wand and so far, there hadn't been the slightest sign that she might be targeted by Lord Voldemort or his followers. In fact, no one she had been to school with seemed to have suffered at his hands yet. The muggleborns he had targeted so far were the ones who came from extremely poor families and whose powers were not great enough to earn them a place at Hogwarts. These unfortunate muggleborn children were forced to attend one of the smaller schools dotted around the country where they struggled to gain a basic command of magic taught by unmotivated teachers, often talentless wizards themselves. Hogwarts only had a few spaces available for the most powerful muggleborns out there, as half-bloods and purebloods were always given priority.

"I was talking to Arthur and Molly about it only last night, Hermione. They made it clear that the situation is worsening. By becoming a Weasley, you remove yourself from harm, at least temporarily…"

"Yes," Hermione said, breathing in as her mother pulled on the laces at the back of her robe. "Temporarily. But surely marriage shouldn't be about temporary salvation, mother. Surely it should be about-"

"-about love? Is that what you're going to say?" Rose yanked on the laces, causing Hermione to wince. She knotted them into place, grabbed her daughter by the shoulders and spun her around. "Listen to me, girl. You're not the first one to marry for convenience and you won't be the last, trust me. Women have been seeking refuge in the shelters of men they have little or no affection for since the dawn of time, be they witches or muggles. At least you like Ron, or so you've always led me to believe. There are worst predicaments than marrying your best friend."

Rose must have seen the tears threatening in her daughters eyes, as her toned softened a little.

"I'm not trying to scare you, Hermione. This is not how I imagined things for you, but the situation could be much, much worse. You will bring your strength and your powers to the Weasley family, and in turn they will take you under the protection afforded them by the purity of their blood."

"Don't forget my wand…" Hermione muttered.

"And your wand," Rose said with a sigh.

Soon after starting at Hogwarts, Hermione had learned that the poorer wizarding families only had one or two wands at the most between all of their members. Traditionally, the wizard at the head of the household would keep the wand on his person at all times, and anyone else who wished to use it had to ask. Ron's family was no exception to this. Arthur kept the family wand, although he happily let his wife and children use it whenever they needed to. There had been rumours of a second wand lying around the attic, but no amount of searching on Fred and George's part had managed to unearth it. One day, Arthur's wand would pass to Bill, his eldest son. As for the other Weasley children, their only hope of acquiring more wands would be through marriage.

Hermione had not always had her wand. For the duration of their studies at Hogwarts, every young witch or wizard who was too poor to possess a wand would have the possibility of borrowing one from the extensive collection the school possessed. Unfortunately, this meant that the wand was rarely suited to its bearer, but the students learned to make do, Hermione among them. While her parents lived comfortably in muggle terms, they did not possess nearly enough money to purchase a new wand from one of the shops on Diagon Alley. For seven years, Hermione had struggled with a wand made of yew and unicorn hair that veered ever so slightly to the left whenever she cast a spell. Only through sheer wilfulness and huge amounts of patience had she managed to move past its shortcomings and achieve the results that had impressed her professors so much. Still, Hermione had never dreamed of possessing her own wand until she had graduated with the highest grades anyone had ever seen, and been awarded an elegant wand of vine wood and dragon heartstring by Headmaster Dumbledore himself. For one blissful year, while the world was crashing around her, Hermione had been able to use magic to the full extent of her abilities. But now, all in the name of safety and, supposedly, love… she would have to give it up. As with any of her possessions, her wand would pass to her husband, who would be head of their own little family.

Ron had at least had the decency to refrain from mentioning the subject, but the whispers she'd overheard from the other members of his family left no doubt as to their excitement that a second wand was entering the family so soon. Dowries were still common in wizarding unions and Hermione was well aware of the value of her wand to a family like the Weasleys. She knew they had no ills designs for it, and Ron would probably let her use it whenever she wanted to, but the fact that she would have to ask him for it filled her with rage. It wasn't his fault; it was just the way the world worked, but if only…

"Oh well," Hermione sighed, turning to look at her reflection once more. "It's no use wondering, is it? I'm doing this now. I'll just have to learn to live with it."

Although the robe was also tight at the bust, Hermione felt a little more comfortable now. She even looked quite nice, something she rarely ever thought about herself. The gown was a lovely cream colour with gold trimmings around the bell-shaped sleeves, sweetheart neckline and hem. The gold ribbons her mother had so painstakingly laced floated down the back of the dress, almost touching the floor. Picking her wand up off the bedside table, Hermione waved it at her hair, watching as her unruly curls took on a more defined, glossy air. It was a simple spell, but one she could rarely be bothered with. She brushed her hair backwards, twisting a few strand above her ears and securing them in place with a couple of golden pins. Then, reaching into a little box she had set out on the bed, she hooked a delicate teardrop-shaped pearl earring into each lobe.

"That's my girl," her mother said, clasping her hands together. She looked a little tearful and Hermione wondered how much of a front her mother was putting on. For all her harsh words of no nonsense and her brash cheerfulness at the lavish underwear, Rose did not seem entirely comfortable with the situation. "Who knows? Ron might turn out to be the husband of your dreams…"

Hermione waited for her mother to add "just like your father is to me", but the words didn't come. 'What do I even know of their marriage and their feelings for each other?' she wondered. The question filled her with dread. Would she have to put up a similar façade for the rest of the world? For her own children? Just for the sake of keeping up appearances?

"Maybe he will," she said with a heavy heart.

Her mother smiled.

"It's time to go now, darling. He'll be waiting."

A/N: That's all for now. Hope you enjoyed it. If you liked it, you know what to do!