Authors note: Thank you again for the lovely reviews, and keep them coming! I may not answer them, but they are greatly appreciated.

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Chapter four

Hermione looked at him uncomprehendingly for several seconds. He was having her on, that much was obvious, but why? She hadn't seen him for three, four years? Save for that bizarre, impromptu waltz at the Anniversary Celebration, every encounter they had ever had left a bad taste in Hermione's mouth. That one alone had been, if not horrible, just very strange. He didn't even like her, and the feeling was unequivocally mutual. He had been a bigoted prick in school and at one point she had actually struck him across the face for his blatant nastiness. Why was he really here, and how did he find her? Did he still bare her ill will? It would be odd after their last encounter, but Malfoy was odd. If he were here to murder her, then he was going about it in a peculiar way.

"I'm not getting down on one knee, Granger!" he snapped.

"What are you talking about Malfoy? Why are you really here?"

He looked at her incredulously; there was a flash behind him out her window over the sea. Lightning, she thought, how appropriate to herald Draco Malfoy's unanticipated arrival into her neatly arranged little world.

"I'm talking about the Marriage Act," he said with sarcastic and deliberate slowness. "I'm here to ask you to marry me, and keep us both out of prison. How much wine have you actually had?" he was referring to the half empty glass of merlot beside the couch where she had been reading before his intrusion.

But Hermione wasn't thinking about the wine, she had only a half a glass. The Marriage Decree had been only a whisper in the Ministry before she left Brittan, but Hermione had done enough inquiry and research to understand the implications of such an act. She never did find out who was pushing for the law though. It couldn't have been anyone from the muggle relations' office; they would have been proud of their intentions. Magical Blood had become inbred and needed fresh, and very often non-magical, blood to replenish it. It wasn't a secret that the wizarding population had suffered great losses before, during and after the war. But it was a lesser-known fact that Hogwart's was sending letters to fewer and fewer muggle born children. Not because of the underlying prejudice against them, but because there was a drastic decrease in their existence. Hermione had discovered during her research as an intern, that for a muggle-born witch or wizard to be magical, they must have a witch or wizard somewhere on their family tree. Hermione had narrowed down two or three possibilities on her own, but couldn't be sure. The only thing she knew for certain was that pureblood witches were having trouble conceiving with pureblood wizards. But when they were paired with someone, like a half blood or muggle born, that did not have biological ties to their family, they were pregnant almost immediately. She didn't know why they were all so surprised about it either. They came from an incestuous pool of relatives and had become madder with each generation. Something surely had to be done, she agreed, but hadn't entertained the blood chilling thought that she would be subjected to a law forcing her to marry and have babies like a brood mare. It was a contributing factor of her decision to relocate to Greece. For a while the white sand and sunny skies had brought her the much needed respite she craved from Wizarding England and its oppressive regulations on the magical community. But like a lingering illness, it followed her. She wasn't safe anywhere, she suddenly realized. It hit her then, cold sinking panic. Her head swam and her small flat seemed to spin around her, bile rose in her throat. She sat down quietly on the sofa before she did something that would embarrass her; like faint in front of Malfoy.

It was inconceivable. She couldn't be subjected to this law, and with Malfoy of all people. She knew that the Ministry would have selected wizards and witches who had no common bloodlines to make magical babies, but she didn't know if there would be only one match, or several.

She felt the cushion next to her dip with his weight.

"You didn't know," he stated.

Hermione shook her head dumbly. She was inexperienced at being blindsided like this, and instantly regretted her uncharacteristically rash decision to cancel her subscription to the Daily Prophet. She should have seen this coming, prepared herself, maybe even fought this barbaric edict.

"I didn't know," she repeated softly.

"Neither did I," he said. "Didn't you get a letter?"

She shook her head, determined not to break down in front of him.

"Well, what are you going to do then?"

"Do I have a choice?" she asked.

"Azkaban," he said stiffly. "There's talk of banishment from the magical world, but the family barrister thinks it's only talk. We have only a few days to satisfy the law before we are found in noncompliance."

"You mean we have to get married in a matter of days?" she said, alarmed. "That's contemptible! How can they expect that of us? I was only made aware of this edict five minutes ago! How can they do that?"

"I don't know," Malfoy said. "I've known for less than three days. They claim to have attempted contact with me, but I've been abroad as well and didn't receive the summons."

"Well isn't that convenient!" She snapped. "I'm sure they "tried" to contact me as well."

Malfoy looked at her with raised eyebrows but said nothing.

"Am I your only option?" she asked.

"Yes," he said tersely.

"Surely they present people with more than one choice in partner though," she pressed. "What if I had been spoken for?"

"You were the only available option," he amended, but did not elaborate. Hermione was sure there was more that he wasn't telling her, but was sure that he wasn't any happier about his intended spouse.

"What does that mean?" she challenged.

"That the other witches were not suitable," he said in clipped tones.

"Suitable? Malfoy, you have made it your life's mission to impart to me and everyone else in the wizarding world, that neither am I suitable but that my mere existence is intolerable to you and your lot. Surely anything would have been better than a muggle born."

Malfoy's expression was dark and unfathomable.

"If I am forced to marry," he said began, "then I am going to choose the witch that best suits my purposes. Unfortunately for you, you're it. So how about it, Granger? Me, or prison."

Hermione was furious; Malfoy's nerve was astonishing. He has no right, she thought angrily, to waltz into the tidy life I have painstakingly arranged around myself and spring this on me. And insult me while he's at it!

"Maybe I have options worth considering too," she countered.

"Maybe," he said boredly, examining her DVD player. "But you only have three days to fulfill the edict. By all means, take your chances Granger."

"How did you find me?"

"You didn't make it hard," he said vaguely. "But your pal Potter told me almost immediately."

"No he didn't," she said. "Harry would never tell you-"

"Are you sure about that?" he challenged. "Even if I told him you'd go to Azkaban if you didn't marry me? For 'The Chosen One' he's a bit of a push over."

Anger rose violently in her. The onslaught of murderous thoughts toward him for forcing her to marry him, and Harry for ratting her out, was almost overwhelming. Her fingers itched toward her wand, but it was lying uselessly on the end table.

She couldn't believe Harry had given her up. After everything they have been through, he gave her up to Malfoy. Even if he thought she would go to Azkaban, he could have come here himself and explained the situation to her. Malfoy could have snuffed her out in her sleep for all he knew.

She looked at Malfoy with pure disbelief, but if this affected him she couldn't tell. She sighed deeply, still refusing to make eye contact with him. She didn't know what she was going to tell Harry, but at the moment didn't feel any obligation whatsoever to explain anything to him.

"Fine," she groaned in defeat.

Hermione sent a white dove to the hospital, relaying her resignation, and gave similar notice to her landlord. She bid a quiet goodbye to her sunny little, lemon colored flat, and packed her trunk and three suit cases, which she then sent ahead to her parent's empty house in Oxford. They left the next morning before it was light, and traveled to the international portkey office, but couldn't get to England until much later in the day, so they went to Paris and took the train. She was an adult and could have gone by herself, she told him. But he insisted that they go together and register at the Ministry as an engaged couple immediately. She was sure that it could have waited for her to settle in for a day, but she was just as sure that Malfoy didn't want to leave her in case she split and he wound up in Azkban. It was insulting, but she couldn't blame him entirely, she might have had the same fear if she were in his place.

Hermione felt as though she were in a bizarre dream sequence. Less than twenty four hours ago she was in her small apartment listening to the ocean and anticipating a romantic dinner the next night. Now she was watching the scenery past the train compartment become increasingly wet and dark with rain. The feeling of dread settled inside of her, she wasn't really ready to come back. Draco sat next to her in his impecibly tailored robes, looking unfathomably out the window and not speaking, which was fine with her.

She took the time to study him discreetly from the corner of her eye while she pretended to read. Not even Hermione could deny that he was attractive in his own way. His shoulders were broader than she remembered from their school days, and his forearms, exposed by his shirtsleeves, which were rolled up to his elbows, had a masculine quality. She wondered what it would be like to be married to him. She would immediately see to talking to a barrister upon their arrival, which would determine what her obligations were. Her inner optimist preened at this thought. Maybe this could be virtually painless. They would live separately and keep up appearances if the Ministry came to call. He could stay in his mansion and she could stay at her parents old home in Oxford.

Maybe they wouldn't even need to consummate the marriage, which churned Hermione insides just to think about. It wasn't as though she were a blushing virgin. She had had a few encounters with different men, but mainly it had all been with Ron. She was attracted to men, certainly to Ron at one point and then to few others after him, but Hermione had just come to accept that she wasn't a very sexual person. She still felt the keen desire for intimacy and wasn't repelled by sex, but her experiences weren't the electric, pulsating, rapturous events that she had heard other women talk about. She felt about sex the way she felt about romantic love in general; maybe it wasn't what it was chalked up to be. Or maybe there was something wrong with her that prevented her from connecting with another person. Whatever the reason, she was determined not to let it interfere with her decision making during her stay in England. She had to find a way to stop this law before it got out of hand, which honestly might have already happened. There was really no way to know before she got there.

Their lunch came towards late morning/ early afternoon, chicken salad sandwiches, but Hermione couldn't bring herself to eat. She was still a bundle of nerves, anxious to get to England and thinking about the action she would need to take upon her arrival. She was finding it hard to sit on a train for hours just thinking about what lay ahead of her. Draco ate half of his lunch before pushing it away and describing it as "substandard."

When the train arrived at the station Draco levitated Hermione's small bag to the platform.

"This is my address in Oxford," she said, handing him a slip of parchment. "I'm going to unpack and change, maybe see Harry, and then we can register if you want."

"You can see Potter tonight," he said. "We need to get to the Ministry and register so we'll be eligible to wed before next week. I'll give you two hours and then I'll come and fetch you."

"This is a muggle address," she warned. "Don't do anything to upset my neighbors."

Muggles, he thought contemptibly. He should have known he would have to deal with them at some point, he just hoped to avoid her family. She might object if he hexed them.

"You should have sent your things to my townhouse in London," he said complained.

She bristled, he could tell he had struck a nerve but didn't care. If she thought he was going to live in muggle England amongst her set, then she was gravely mistaken.

"We can talk about our living arrangements later," she sniffed.

Draco contemplated this for a moment.

"Fine," he said shortly. "I'll give you two hours, but don't think of running off Granger. I'm not going to Azkaban for you."

She rolled her eyes at him, and clutched her luggage before dissaperating.

Draco returned to his townhouse to find that his elf had returned and reported that the doxies, pigeons, and garden gnomes had been vanquished from the chimneys and conservatory, but the peacocks were still on the loose. Draco would still need to take action but it would have to wait until after the "wedding."

Draco spent the two hours he had promised her in his study catching up on some correspondance. He would have gone to the Manor and surveyed the damage again before brining a grounds keeper on, but was afraid that he didn't have the time. Hermione Granger, for all he could tell, wasn't the sort of woman to be fashionably late.

He sat at his father's desk, the only piece of furniture he had brought from the Manor, and composed several owls. The South American property was still being threatened by their government and Draco was in intense negotiations with a local land developer to sell. He had taken a three day reprieve from his business dealings, which for him was almost unheard of. He sent three missives off to potential buyers for the land, glad to be rid of it. It was a piece of property he had kept for sentimental value, but that value was quickly diminishing as the Peruvian government faced an increasing amount of upheaval. It had belonged to his mother's Aunt, and he understood that she had spent several summers there as a child. He was sad in a small way to be rid of it, but it couldn't be helped. In any case, sentiment never got a wizard too far. It had its place, he admitted, but it wasn't in business. It was nice to take his mind off of Granger for a moment or two, and let it drift to safer more familiar waters. There was also the business of deciding where they should live that would need to be addressed. Draco wouldn't live with, or near muggles. He wasn't ready to live in the Manor, and was equally as sure that Granger would make his life difficult if he suggested it. But the townhouse wasn't suitable for a Malfoy wife or children, mudblood or no. It was a bachelor pad, by all accounts, and had only three bedrooms and two baths. While it was built of marble and teak floors, it was almost a hovel compared to Malfoy Manor.

No, some place suitable would need to be found. There was a sprawling property in Bath that might be acceptable. He would need to see it for himself and make sure it hadn't fallen into disarray like the Manor. He would need to find a way of convincing her that this was a good idea or else he might end up neighbors with the likes of Potter.

He almost groaned at the thought. His father would spin in his grave if he knew he was marrying a mudblood. Even if she was a well connected, attractive, and admittedly smart mudblood she wasn't appropriate for a Malfoy. The only prospect that he was looking forward to was getting her between the sheets, if it came to that. She was a pain in the ass, even her so called friends admitted it, but she had a bookish appeal that Draco couldn't refute.

He had been watching her intermittently through the train ride as she read. She really was lovely; it was too bad she was a Gryffindor mudblood. If her circumstances had been different he may have pursued her, this sham of a law aside. Her pink lips moved silently as she read, and the contours of her legs were clearly visible in her muggle pants. Her hair was longer now than it was in school and hung in a neat ponytail down her shoulder. Something, perhaps the sheer weight of her hair, or perhaps something more sinister, like her part in the war or Weasley's death had taken some of the curl out of it. She looked different than the last time he saw her, not worse or better, but different. He had studied her in school more than he liked to admit, but the difference between now and then were palpable to Draco. She still had the same features, the same bossiness, the same figure, but she was no longer the girl she was. Who was though? Draco didn't keep any company to speak of, save the odd dinner with Blaise, but he couldn't name any acquaintance that wasn't changed by the war.

When he arrived at her home in Oxford he was surprised. With the obvious exceptions like concrete aside, this could have been a magical neighborhood; a nice one. The Granger's must have done well for themselves, he thought. He had expected some muggle dung heap, for everything he had ever been told about them, but their neighborhood was, for lack of a better word, pleasant. There were neatly manicured lawns with sprawling houses made of brick and stone. Old trees with thick trunks, which were probably leafy in the summer, were positioned on a grassy strip in the middle of the road. And beyond the houses he thought he could see a park enclosed by a wrought iron fence.

Not bad for muggles.

He found her house, grey with a red door, and used the knocker three times. He waited for several seconds and was immensely relieved when she came to the door and not her parents. She had changed and was wearing a black pencil skirt with a mauve blouse and a gold watch, which she was still trying to fasten.

"Come in," she said distractedly. "I'm finishing a phone call to electric company."

He didn't know what she was talking about but lingered in the doorway. She motioned him further in. He looked apprehensively around.

"For Heaven's sake Malfoy," she exclaimed. "My parent's live in Australia. You don't have to worry."

She must have ascertained his anxiety about mixing with her sort from something in his actions and immediately schooled himself. It was unseemly to appear "afraid" of her muggle parent's; his mother would have scolded him.

She finished her conversation with the "electric company" on a suspicious looking device she called a "telephone," and proclaimed that she was ready once she had donned her coat.

"I've had the floo set up since I was in my fourth year at Hogwarts," she explained. She reached up to the mantle above the fire place and pulled a crystal vase down.

"Finte incantatem," she whispered, and it transformed into a terracotta pot full of floo powder.

The grate enlarged to allow them to both step inside and Draco watched as she threw the powder down.

"The Ministry of Magic!" she coughed as the powder rebounded on them.

The Ministry was abuzz as they entered. It was midday, past lunch hour, but the energy was frenzied. A few people stared at them as the walked across the Atrium, but no one was openly hostile. Hermione was sure that they had their own problems to contend with. She certainly did.

Several new departments had been added upon the creation of the Marriage Decree, she noted. Marriage Registration, their destination, The Department of Matrimonial Matching, and The Offices of Magical Child Production, which made her shudder. She had a good feeling of what that entailed. Hermione felt her dream of a neat marriage and divorce slipping ever further away.

Their appointment wasn't for another twenty-five minutes so Hermione stepped into the Ministries library and checked out material that was freshly written on the law. She then immediately flipped to the section on reproduction.

Shit. Marital relations, as the Ministry referred to it, is required weekly beginning the seventh day after the marriage is officiated, until pregnancy is achieved. The couple is also required to live in the same residence for the duration of their child/children's formative years. Failure for a reproductively healthy couple to conceive in one year's time can and will result in termination of their bond, and reassignment for both parties. . .

It went on, but Hermione couldn't bare to read anymore. It was worse and more terrifying than she could have imagined. She couldn't even imagine of having a child with Draco Malfoy. He was possibly the most unpleasant person she had ever met.

Malfoy, who had been reading over her shoulder looked equally grave. At least, she thought, he is just as unhappy about this.

They walked through the Ministry in silence and met the registrar just on time. They were required to take a wand oath, which they did, to uphold their engagement, and made an appointment for 9:00am for the day after next to make their marriage official.

Malfoy walked her to the floo, and she sensed his unease in letting her out of his sight.

"I'll meet you at 8:45," she was referring to their wedding day, which was too strange to think about.

"I'll collect you," he stated.

"Oh, there really isn't any need," she protested. "I'm perfectly capable-"

"Of course you're capable. It is simply the way things are done Granger," he said sarcastically. "Really, what kind of barbaric customs do muggles have?"

"They certainly don't force people to marry!" she hissed.

"Really?" he sneered. "I believe arranged marriages are not only a wizarding practice."

"Piss off Malfoy," she said, taking a step toward the grate.

"Bye wifie," he drawled, some of his swagger coming back.

Hermione didn't know how he had the energy to be so smug; she was exhausted.