Mistakes Can Last a Lifetime.

Summary: Just how wrong can the Ministry get Marriage Law pairings? I did not choose this pairing. Oneshot, marriage law fic.

"Fucking hell." said Harry Potter, whilst staring at the front page of the Daily Prophet.

"What in the name of God?" said Minerva McGonagall, similarly staring at the front page of the Daily Prophet.

All across the country, many similar reactions could be observed, from any in the viewing of that particular issue. The article in question had, for once, almost nothing to do with the Golden Trio, more to do with some preposterous, appalling, and unfortunately irreversible Ministry ruling. This was the phenomenally bad mistake known as the Marriage Law.

Through the heady fumes and engine fog that cloaked the bustling platform 9¾, Harry could see the unmistakeable red hair of the Weasley family. Unfortunately, as he made his way towards them, he was also thoroughly aware of the low whispers and occasional shout of exclamation.

As he neared the sea of ginger hair, he noticed Hermione standing beside Ron. Ron gestured towards the train before leaning in to hug his mother. Harry boarded the train, found an empty compartment, and closed all the blinds save a small slither – he really did not need the whispers, mutters and people hopeful for autographs that had surrounded him even more than before after his defeat of Voldemort at the battle of Hogwarts. Against his better judgement, he had allowed Hermione to persuade himself and Ron to return to Hogwarts for their final year of schooling, as they had, regretfully, spent the previous year hunting out horcruxes.

A few minutes later, Ron and Hermione entered the compartment, slid the door shut and sat down. "Hi," said Harry dully. "I suppose you heard about the marriage law then?" Ron mumbled. "Yeah" came the unenthusiastic reply, "You got your questions yet?" Ron and Hermione both answered with an affirmative: "sent them off yesterday." An awkward silence ensued.

"Maybe we can finally hope for this year to be better than those that have come before it" said Horace Slughorn hopefully. "Almost undoubtedly" replied Minerva McGonagall, accompanying her words with a withering glance. "And then there is the matter of the Marriage Law" muttered the new Defence against the Dark Arts teacher, Susan Bones. "Now, Now," began Albus Dumbledore, "the Ministry has set a strict guide to how we should deal with this situation…

"By Ministry decree, all witches and wizards between the ages of 17 and 60, must marry by the new year. Unless currently incarcerated in Azkaban, there are no exceptions. Questionnaires will be sent out by the beginning of September and must be returned by September 5th. Pairings will be decided based on answers to these questionnaires and you will be informed of your match by September 10th. Once pairings have been submitted, they are part of a binding magical contract, and cannot be changed. Couples will be expected to produce at least one child by the following New Year. Those who fail to complete this legislation will be confined under a four year sentence, to Azkaban. This law will have effect until further notice.

"A new block has been resurrected, for the couples, and they will be expected to move into this on, if not before their wedding day. For those whose matches have already passed beyond the walls of Hogwarts, they will stay in the new block during the week, and go to the home of their spouse on Friday night, returning on Monday morning in time for their first lessons. The same rule applies to teachers, except teachers will remain in their own chambers." There was a moment of awkward silence before Dumbledore closed the staff meeting with a simple goodnight.

September 10th

The general hubbub in the great hall was even greater that morning, specifically those older pupils awaiting the arrival of the owls that would inform them of their future paths.

The owls swept in, a mass of white and grey and brown, with the occasional glimpse of more exotic plumage. Letters were dropped, and fell into the waiting laps of their recipients, every seventh (or eighth) year received one. Ron was the first to open his, resulting in a loud whoop, closely followed by a gasp from Hermione as she snatched it from him. It didn't take a genius to guess that they had been paired…

Harry was more cautious, slowly sliding his finger under the envelope's seal, before removing the cream parchment bearing the insignia of the Ministry of Magic, the words neatly printed upon the paper in black ink were to set the Harry's future:

Dear Mr Potter,

As you are aware, due to the introduction of the Marriage Law, each single individual between the ages of 17 and 60 must be paired. Those who fail to comply will be incarcerated in Azkaban under a four year sentence.

After careful deliberation, with your answers to the questionnaire in mind, your chosen partner is Professor Minerva McGonagall, a ministry official will have to be present at your wedding, and your first child will be expected within 1 year of marriage. You must wed and consummate your vows before midnight on January 1st.

Have a good day,

Gemma Farley, Department of Magical Population Control

Minerva was sitting in her quarters, reading the letter from the Ministry over and over again: not Potter, there had to be a mistake, she simply could not be paired with one of her students, especially not Harry Potter. There was a 40 year age gap just to start with...

September 12th Gemma Farley's Office, Department of Population Management, Ministry of Magic

"You cannot do this!" barked Minerva. "I am afraid there is nothing I can do" came the response, "With the Law set up the way it is, there is a binding…" "magical contract, we know" Harry somehow managed to sound both angry and sarcastic at the same time. " And we don't care!" screamed Minerva, before turning on her heel and storming through the door in a whirl of emerald robes. She was closely followed by Harry, who did not wish to end up alone with the flabbergasted Ministry official, then again, he didn't exactly want to be alone with McGonagall either.

When she finally slowed her pace, and then several minutes after that, when she had calmed down, Harry tentatively asked "Well, what are we going to do?" He was shell-shocked by the reply…

"There is nothing we can do…"