When the Prophet printed the news of a marriage decree, he knew that there was only one muggleborn he would accept. Hermione Granger. By the time he got to her flat, she was screaming that she didn't need anyone to fucking rescue her to some poor bloke with pitiful flowers.

"Having a good morning I see."

"Bloody brilliant, in fact, thank you."

"If you let me in... I'll help you hex the moronic ones."

She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes on the arm still behind his back.

"...and I brought Firewhiskey... your favourite brand..."

She stepped out of the way and let him in. "It's been an hour and I've been insulted fifty ways from Friday. Who the bloody hell thinks I am willing to marry you even though you're a frigid bookworm is a good proposal?"

"You are joking, right?"

She pulled out a letter from a stack on the table and handed it over. No, she wasn't kidding... Cormac's little brother apparently had even less charm than Cormac. "Any good ones yet?"

She sighed and handed him a stack.

"Well, at least they aren't insulting."

"No," she opened the bottle and poured two glasses, "they barely avoid that."

"Yeah, bringing the size of one's vaults into the proposal seems... gauche."

"I need to drink more before I continue. Let's finish that bottle and catch up first."

"It's only been a week." She glared at his words, "Buuuuut I can think of a few things we can talk about that isn't this."

The small smirk before downing the first of many, many glasses was the only thanks he was likely to get. An hour later, they were both rather drunk and laughing over the latest owl to come in- this particular winner insisted she would make a brilliant housewife. The one before said she would make acceptable children with her intelligence.

"Well at this rate, I could say Marry me to avoid being stuck with them and it would be the best proposal."

"Yes."

"Oh, Merlin. This one actually wrote about how they can forgive your unladylike fighting in the war."

"Did you mean it?"

"What? Yeah, see... right there."

She looked down and took a breath. "I meant the proposal."

"Oh, I... I don't want you to think I'm just like everyone else."

"Oh, okay."

"But, if you want it to be, then it's real." Before he could react, she was kissing him.

"I think that went well." She said once the kiss ended, he was speechless still. "I say yes."

The next day he was sitting with some of his classmates, before handing each of them a pleasant rejection. He had an extra large smirk when tossing Draco his. "Hey mate, next time, try to not mention your riches to a girl who doesn't care about it."

Dear Draco,

I thank you for your petition for my hand, but unfortunately, I have already accepted another.

Many Blessings,

Hermione Jean Nott.

"Hermione Nott?"

"Yup," Theo said with a huge smile.

Draco let out a small protest. "How the fuck did that even happen?"

"Well, I saw the article, like you lot did."

Blaise groaned. "That explains nothing, Nott."

"Ooooh, surname. You're really pissed off, huh Blaise?"

"Start talking or leave," Draco added.

"I made a choice."

Blaise sighed. "Again, helpful."

"I headed to her place with a bottle of blishen. Then we got drunk and ripped apart the horrible proposals she got. In the end, me suggesting myself as her fiancee was the best option."

"So you got her drunk and then married her before she sobered up? That's fucked up," Blaise grumbled.

"No, we got drunk, got engaged, got sober, then got married."

"Fuck you, Nott."

"I believe," he said with a dramatic pause, "that only Hermione gets to do that now, and she does rather enjoy it."