A Marriage of Truer Minds

Authors Notes: Please forgive the use of sonnet 116, I simply couldn't resist:)

Disclaimer: If only they belonged to me. . . alas

Chapter One:

England was just as miserable as he remembered. It was cold and grey and rained almost constantly. It was a stark and jarring contrast to the Mediterranean, where Draco had been spending the majority of the last five years. He already missed the azure sea and the white sand, and most of all the sun, which was something he had grown accustomed to. After his parents deaths, there really wasn't anything left for him here. He had no other family to speak of, no real friends, and spent very little time here. He had come back three or four times to see the family attorney and to tend to the Malfoy accounts, but his visits were brief and he always stayed in a townhouse in London.

While he was away, he didn't squander his time or inheritance. He may have been many things, but foolish wasn't one of them. He stayed mainly on a sparsely populated island on the coast of Spain, where his family owned a villa, but he spent time in France, South America, and other parts of Europe conducting business on behalf of the Malfoy estate. He bought and sold property and businesses, and found that he had a knack for investing in companies that would eventually thrive. He did anything and everything to keep himself occupied so he didn't have to think to long or hard about his parents or the grief that still clung to him. The Mediterranean and business were therapeutic for Draco. They allowed him to take in the sun and sea, and to flex his sense of industry.

When he arrived in England he quickly found that Malfoy Manor was literally falling apart. It surprised him, really, that it could fall into such disarray in such a short period of time. He still saw it in his memory as pristine and flawless, the epitome of his childhood. That it could become so rundown in five years was an anomaly to him. The Manor was centuries old and had withstood the Goblin revolution and the invasion of the Dark Lord. But rundown, it was. The roof was leaking in several places and had ruined a priceless Parisian rug in the drawing room, acquired during the fifteenth century. The grounds were overgrown with vicious brambles and blackberries and the peacocks had bred and now ran wild through the guesthouse. There were doxies in the chimneys and crows nesting in the guest suite. The elf almost cried in relief when she realized that Draco had returned. The house had all but waged war against her.

His father would spin in his grave if he could see how the estate had become so derelict. His mother would cry if she saw the conservatory, where she took her afternoon tea, overrun with garden gnomes. He knew he would immediately need to set this right. As soon as his meeting with Graham, the Malfoy attorney, was finished he would see to hiring a groundskeeper. Until then he would send another elf to assist in clearing the gnomes and doxies out, at least.

Graham worked in an office hidden in Muggle London, and had actually called him back to England. Draco was surprised to get his letter, but Graham was very insistent, claiming it was of the top most priority, but not telling Draco why. Draco had been dimly planning a trip anyway, to see to the Manor and to conduct some other small affairs, but was thinking possibly in the spring.

Traveling to muggle London was uncomfortable, although his town home was not far away, although more secluded, but his father had thought very highly of Niles Graham and so Draco kept him on after his parent's deaths. To reach his office, you had to walk into a muggle coffee café and tap three times on the second stall door in the men's room to enter his lobby. His secretary, an aging blonde witch with robes that stretched across her bosom, showed him back straight away and offered him tea.

"Young Mister Malfoy," he beamed. "I almost thought I was looking at your father! Please have a seat!"

The mention of Draco's parents, particularly his father, often gave him a tight feeling in his throat. He nodded, not trusting himself to speak, and sat in crushed velvet, straight-backed chair.

Graham was a balding, middle-aged wizard with the worst comb-over Draco had ever seen. But he had kept his family out of Azkaban on several occasions, so at least his legal prowess was in tact. He shuffled some papers on his desk and took a more serious expression.

"Well," he said, now somber. "I'm sure you know why I called this meeting?"

"No," Draco admitted, "I don't. Is it regarding the property in South America? I understand their government is making life difficult for foreign land owners."

"No, Mister Malfoy, I'm afraid it's regarding the Marriage Decree. I have a letter from the Ministry, ordering you to choose a bride. It seems that you did not receive their summons last month."

There was a ringing silence. Draco actually cocked his head to one side, as though he had misheard him.

"Come again?"

Graham donned his spectacles and extracted a scroll from the top drawer of his desk, which he then unrolled.

"The Marriage Edict, Mister Malfoy." He reiterated. "I'm afraid to say that your number has come up, so to speak."

"I don't understand," he said flatly.

"Well," Graham said, shuffling yet more paper and finally extracting another. "You haven't responded to their requests to come to the Office of Magical Matrimony and Reproduction Office. This is unfortunate, of course, because then you may have had some more influence in the choosing of your intended. I took the liberty of writing a letter on your behalf, explaining that you have been out of the country. So," he continued, "They have consented to giving you a list of pre-selected witches who have no biological ties to the Malfoy family. They have granted you one week from yesterday to choose and speak to a witch from the list. I have copies of the original summons, of course"

He handed a scroll to Draco, who stared at him unmoving.

"Are you drunk Graham?" He finally said. "What are you on about? Is this a practical joke? Because if it is, I don't have to pay you to call me to London unexpectedly to have a laugh! I'm not exactly sitting on my hands while I'm abroad!" He was positively livid. "I had to reschedule two important meetings to come to England at all! I can't believe father thought so well of-"

"Mister Malfoy!" Graham had to raise his voice to be heard. "I assure you this is not a joke!"

"What?" Draco's ears were red and he was breathing hard.

"Haven't you been keeping up with current affairs? Do you truly not know about the Marriage Decree?"

"I canceled my subscription to the Daily Prophet!" Draco snapped. "It's nothing but a rag that drug my family name through the mud."

"I see. Well, in your absence a law has been passed forcing young witches and wizards to wed and produce children. The magical population has suffered since you've been gone. Procreation has dropped down 50%, not to mention the losses of the war."

"They can't do that!" he erupted. "It's barbaric!"

"I agree," Graham said sagely. "But they have. Here," he brandished a scroll at Draco. "This is your list of pre-selected witches. It was really all I could do, and I had to pull some strings. Take it home tonight and look it over. You should really have your pick though. All of these witches are not yet spoken for and any of them would jump at the chance to marry a Malfoy, I have no doubt."

"You don't expect me to actually choose a wife from a list?" Draco exclaimed.

"I wish there were other options-"

"Well I won't do it!" he pronounced. "What can they do?"

"Arrest you, for one thing." Graham said. "Strip away the Malfoy holdings, freeze your assets, snap your wand, the list goes on. The Ministry is taking a hard stand on this law, Mister Malfoy. It would really behoove you comply and look over your list of brides. Most young witches and wizards do not have as many options and have to file injunctions if they have been married within the last year, to keep the edict from dissolving their union."

Draco felt himself pale. This was a catastrophe, worse than that, really. Heads would roll if his father were still alive. As it was, he wished he were here to consult with. If he were, Draco was almost positive they wouldn't have passed this sham of a law in the first place. Which buffoon brought this idea to fruition? He couldn't even blame this on Potter, though they disagreed on nearly everything, not even he would stand for this.

They spoke for a while longer about the options, each one as horrible or unlikely as the last. The bottom line was, that with the decrease in population they were facing extinction, to which the Ministry had taken action. He finally tucked the scroll and several other papers away in his brief case and bid Graham a good day, numbly promising to return when he chose his future wife.

The town home was dark and cold upon his arrival, and he remembered that he had sent the other elf to assist at the Manor. Draco felt anesthetized and drained, as though he had aged ten years upon his arrival to England.

He stared at the unopened scroll on his roll top desk as though it were poison. He hadn't even looked at it yet, fearing the worst. There were so many questions he had now that he had left Graham. Were these witches even his age? Had they gone to school with him? How long did they have before they were supposed to marry? How long before they would be forced to produce a child? How would the ministry know if they were even doing it? For all they knew, they could be infertile. What would they do; send someone to watch? In the morning he would have to take action and find a bride, hopefully not a mudblood or a gold-digger. What a mess.

He thought vaguely about getting pissed at the Leaky Cauldron, which was only three blocks north, but dismissed it almost instantly. Drinking in public was crass and beneath him. It was tantamount to airing one's dirty laundry. Instead he poured himself a tumbler of cognac and fell into a dragon hide armchair with his business robes still on. He hadn't thought of anything but death and business since he left the country almost five years ago. Marriage hadn't even crossed his mind. Firstly, he had met no one with whom he felt an emotional connection. There had been a few women who had taken him home, but he was always gone by morning, always held them at an arms length. They were whores anyway, mudbloods probably. In any case, a family wasn't a notion he entertained. His own parent's deaths had been so sudden, so devastating, that Draco filed the idea of a family somewhere between flobberworms and indigestion.

After his second glass of brandy, he withdrew his wand from his robes and summoned the scroll of names with a flourish. It sailed smoothly across the room and Draco broke the seal.

Cecelia Andrew's

Hannah Abbot

Allison Bulstrode

Cassandra Burke

Ivy Creevey

A list of names lay before him like a warped prison sentence. He knew some of them and had heard of others, and some were unfamiliar all together. He traced his fingertip down the ink. He had gone to school with some of them, some were siblings of schoolmates as well. He followed the list of names with his index finger until one stood harshly out to him, as though it didn't belong there at all. He was sure she would have married a Weasley, even if Ron was dead, Draco would wager that there were a hoard of other Weasley's prepared to take his place. Her name may as well have been written ten times larger than any of the others, for he couldn't take his eyes off of it. He briefly went back to his original thought that this was an elaborate prank of Graham's. There were plenty of people in England that didn't like him, he knew he was very unpopular after the conclusion of the last war. Surely some of these people would think it was hilarious to lure him back and laugh as he proposed to half of the witches in London. But something told him things had changed since he was last here. He had taken a stroll through Diagon Alley on his way back from Graham's and had noticed a frenzied energy. Young witches were crowded in groups, some of them crying, but they were all whispering frantically. Something had obviously changed. Was it his imagination that every clothing store seemed to have ivory gowns in the windows? This had to be real, and so was her name on his list. He stared at it again; to be sure he was in fact seeing it as clear as day, as clearly as he knew his own name.

Hermione Granger.