Witch Hunt

1

April

'Dearest intended,

I look forward to the day I might see your face. Caress what hands from which such carefully written letters are borne, where so delicate words are formed. I took note of the last tome you suggested for light perusal, and was quite surprised to find it among the few I have not already read in the field of herbal magical properties. You impress me once again, little bird. It is not often that I am so pleasantly surprised. Not with the extensive library at my disposal within the walls of-'

The letter was cut off.

Torn, actually.

Hermione had never once seen the entirety of a letter from the wizard to whom her hand was promised. After the war and the shenanigans that ensued what with the trials and the cleaning up of the Ministry of Magic, every eligible witch was paired with a partner to further the growth of wizarding population. The numbers had dwindled significantly in years prior. What was once a comfortably numbered populace was now on the edge of extinction.

It was a ridiculous law, no doubt. Hermione had planned on marrying Ron shortly after the war, though it seemed the Ministry had other plans in mind. Still, she lived with the Weasleys at the Burrow. They were still the only family she had left, and they welcomed her with open arms despite her new status. Ron had been promised to someone as well, though he seemed to be allowed to read the entirety of his letters. Not that he received very many.

Not like Hermione.

Hermione received up to four or five letters daily, constantly exchanging with the mysterious man who wrote her. The missives were always torn in places that seemed to reveal the most information about him. Sometimes, it was just the signature that was carefully carved away to look like it was never signed at all, other times it was at the very beginning, and again, like today, straight in the middle. She had once considered coming up with a code that only he was able to understand to find out his identity, though transferring that information to him seemed far too complicated as their owls were always intercepted by Mrs Weasley.

Meddlesome witch.

Though she had always insisted it was for Hermione's sake and in her best interest to know little about her fiancé. Reluctant to argue and afraid to outstay her welcome at the busy house, the young woman respected the decision. Though, she was always curious about who she was writing to. She wondered if he had noticed that she wasn't getting entire letters. That there was information missing.

Regardless of it all, they were supposed to meet in one fortnight.

To marry.

Fourteen days left of writing to a complete stranger before she was to bind her soul to him for all eternity. Or at the very least, until their deaths. Which could very well feel like an eternity depending on who she was marrying.

She shuddered uncomfortably. Hopefully, it wasn't anyone horrid like Malfoy or any one of his cronies. She'd rather face whatever punishment the Ministry had in store for those who went against the new law than marry any one of them.

No, it couldn't be. The man who wrote to her every day had a way with words that was too polite and proper to be any of the goons she had grown up with at the castle. A turn of phrase so distinct and somehow familiar, though she couldn't put her finger on why it tugged at her memory the way it did.

She would find out soon enough, though. Wouldn't she?