Disclaimer. JK Rowling owns the characters and settings. Just borrowed temporarily for a monet's amusement.
Hermione Jane Granger stormed out of the Great Hall, and headed for the Gryffindor Common Room. She, like all the other female students of the sixth and seventh years, had received a letter from the Ministry of Magic. Because of the rapidly declining Wizarding Population, only increased by the last war, they were being forced to marry and to bear children. To make matters even worse, no one was given a choice as to who they could marry, and she, Hermione Granger, was being matched with the cowardly Draco Malfoy. "Pride," she snarled as she approached the fat lady's portrait, that took one look at the furious war hero and hastened to clear her way.
"What happened," Harry stood up from the couch where he'd been playing Wizarding Chess with Ron.
"What didn't," Hermione snapped and threw the parchment at him. "We fought a Voldemort for this," her voice rising to a scream. Harry hesitantly took the paper and scanned it, his face visibly paling. Ron looked over his shoulder.
"Your getting married?" Harry looked up at her, wide eyed.
"To Malfoy?" Ron's face grew red. "Why?"
"Like they gave me a choice." Hermione rolled her eyes. "I either marry the prat or I get my wand snapped and be obliviated."
"What are you going to do," Harry asked.
Hermione sank into a chair, resting her head in her hands. "I don't know. Marry the git I guess. I don't want to forget you or Harry or what we did."
"There must be something we can do," Ron said. "They can't marry you to that…that…"
Whatever Ron was going to say was lost when the portrait clatter open and Dean Thomson stumbled in, clearly out of breath. "Malfoy, Great Hall," He gasped. His eyes found Hermione's. "Hurry…"
"I will not marry her," a cold calm voice was saying as Hermione Granger, Ronald Weasely, and Harry Potter reached the door to the Great Hall. They looked at each other and pushed the doors open.
Inside, Malfoy was sitting cross legged in the middle of the aisle. He was bare chested and a small knife was placed on the floor in front of him.
"I can not."
"Mr. Malfoy." Headmistress McGonical hurried down the aisle. "This is not acceptable. The law, as distasteful as it is, is still the law."
"Then match me with someone else. A pureblood. Any pureblood will do."
"Mr. Malfoy, need I remind you the war is over. The time for old prejudices is over."
Malfoy picked up the knife, stared at the blade, and then positioned it so that the tip pointed unerringly at his own belly. His eyes remained fixed on it even as the Headmistress continued to admonish him. Finally he lifted his head and Hermione felt as if his eyes bored right through her. "Don't do this," she begged, a single tear finding it's way down her cheek.
"I must," was his answer. A look of solid calm and peace swept over his face. Hexes and spells flew as Headmistress McGonical suddenly remembered that she was a witch. They all slammed against a barrier, lighting it up like so many multicolored bulbs. "I am a Malfoy."
His hands blurred as the blade was driven home. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and clutched at Ron and Harry. She didn't know how, above the pandemonium that broke out, but she was sure she heard these words.
"Some things I cannot change."