A/N:

Sorry it's taken twice as long as I thought, but thank you all for your wonderful reviews! As always, thanks to my super awesome beta, Hip, for his ability to turn a chapter around faster than I ever hoped. So let the drama begin!

Disclaimer: I do not own the wonderful world of Harry Potter, nor the characters in it. However, I do own all original characters.

xxx

Lucius had been up half the night attempting to convince his ignorantly romantic wife that their son's loveless marriage would not ruin his life. She'd begged and pleaded with him for hours not to go through with forcing Draco into such an arrangement, or to at least figure out a way out. Lucius explained to her countless times that Abraxas was not the sort of person to leave a loophole in a contract, especially one that held the future of the family's company. Nevertheless, he brought her a copy of it to look through and only when she found nothing after hours and hours of searching did she look at Lucius with tears in her eyes, nodding her head reluctantly. She knew that her husband's plan was the only way.

He tried to console her by explaining how pointless love really was. It's cruel and unwavering relentlessness could bring even the most powerful man to his knees. Love is giving another person, if even for a moment, the potential to destroy anything and everything held most dear. Love is merely a bargaining tool used to get one's way. Narcissa had fought him hard on this, claiming that love was a tangible thing felt by the most fortunate of souls. Clearly, his soul had not made the cut.

Tired of her incessant nagging, Lucius begrudgingly agreed to offer Draco two additional choices of bride, allowing his son to have at least a slight say in his own future. Unbeknownst to his incognizant wife, Lucius had actually selected two women worse than Granger – to ensure that Draco would still pick her.

Bright and early Saturday morning, both Malfoys sat at the dining table in silence; Lucius reading The Prophet and Narcissa enjoying a hot cup of tea. They were disrupted by their house elf, Tildy, tearing through the dining room clutching a letter to his heaving chest.

"You has a letter, Master," he breathed heavily, skidding to a stop a few feet away from Lucius.

"Well hand it over, then," Lucius sighed. Honestly, a letter was hardly a reason to disrupt breakfast, and in such a distasteful manner.

Tildy took the two steps the remained slowly, the intense look of concentration evident on his wrinkled face as he tried not to run.

"Well, well," Lucius said, snatching the letter eying the loopy handwriting engraved on the front. "You are dismissed Tildy," he directed towards the little elf, and added, "The letter is from none other than Hermione Granger."

Narcissa put down her cup of tea and listened intently as he read the letter aloud.

"Mr. Malfoy,

After much consideration, I have decided to take you up on your offer. Please advise of your earliest convenience so that we may meet and discuss details.

Hermione Granger"

Lucius glanced over at Narcissa to see her retake her cup and take a long drink, averting her eyes to anywhere but at his own. Sighing, he placed the letter inside the inner pocket of his robe, grabbed his cane, and headed to the second floor where Draco would undoubtedly be sleeping off whatever he'd managed to do the night prior.

xxx

Draco lay in his bed with a pounding headache - a feeling he had become quite accustomed to of a morning. Having absolutely no life and no responsibilities to account for, he often found himself alone and left to think of all the wrong choices he'd made in his past. Refusing to dwell on how royally he'd fucked those up, he consequently got sloshed almost every night, bringing home some random woman when he did. He always woke up early and forced her to leave, making up a lie that his wife would be home or that his dying grandmother would be awake any moment. He'd make sure they actually left before heading back to his floor and passing out for several more hours. Apparating in and out of the manor would be most convenient, but in the same breath, then they'd be able to come back any time they pleased. Draco shuddered at the thought.

He rolled over on his side to check his bedside clock and noticed that it was after ten in the morning, and that meant he'd missed breakfast. Again. Rubbing his eyes with one hand, he waved the other, causing his curtains to open and his lights to turn on. The sudden overabundance of light caused Draco to flinch. He'd had the opportunity to master non-verbal magic during his fifth year and had been using it as a tool to aid his laziness ever since. At nearly twenty one, he could do almost any magic without a wand. Of course, he'd still have to use one to do more difficult or magic inducing spells, but the little things could be done without it. Despite his vast knowledge of magic, verbal and non, there was no spell to cure a hangover. A normal headache, yes, but a headache caused by an excess of alcohol was not within the realm of magical repair.

Normally, he wouldn't be up until well after midday, but the smell that seemed to be emanating from his walls was bothering him to no end. It smelt as if some creature had crawled in there and died, causing the churning in his stomach to get more and more intense. Try as he might, he couldn't begin to count the weeks it had been since he had deeply cleaned the place. There were dirty robes and dishes scattered everywhere, littering every room save for the living area.

When gifting Draco the entire second level, they had also been so kind as to offer him a house elf to go along with it. At first, he didn't mind having someone to clean up after him left and right. Leave a plate on the table? The house elf would pick it up, wash it, and put it away. Drop a robe on the bathroom floor? The house elf would wash it and hang it up. Throw a glass of Firewhisky at the wall and watch it shatter into a million pieces? The annoying house elf would be there immediately to clean up the mess.

It got miserable after a while, never having anything to do. He didn't actually have a job, so he mostly just stayed home and studied up on alchemy. Alchemy was the only subject that didn't bore Draco absolutely to death. He had eventually fired the house elf, if only to give himself more things to do. Not only that, but he didn't actually mind cleaning; it gave him more time to think. As of late, he'd preoccupied his time with sleeping, drinking and sex, which didn't leave much time for tidiness.

Draco had just enough time to escape the warmth of his bed and stretch before his father slammed the door open, stomping over to where his son stood.

"Father," Draco said by way of greeting, continuing to stretch.

"Draco. We need to talk."

"What, pray tell, do we need to talk about at nearly eleven in the morning? And on a Saturday?"

"I am through beating around the bush with you. We need to discuss your future with the company and-" Lucius didn't have time to finish his statement before Draco cut him off, taking two large steps towards his father for emphasis.

"We don't need to discuss a damn thing with the company. I have heard your pathetic speech a thousand times. I don't turn twenty-one for almost a month, and I would like to enjoy that month without worrying about the stock exchange. I've read the bloody pamphlets that you leave on the stairs, and I've already told you that I am prepared to take your place. So, if you'll excuse me, I could really use a shower."

"Draco, there's something you need to know about inheriting the company; something I have been trying to tell you for quite some time now, but that you refuse to listen to. Today, you will hear it whether you like it or not, and I need a decision as to if you are still interested in heading Malfoy & Co. after I tell you."

"Whatever it is can wait until after my damn shower," Draco said over his shoulder, already heading in the opposite direction towards his en suite. Honestly, his father could be a right git sometimes. What in the fuck was so important that it couldn't wait another month? Or at least an hour?

Draco could faintly hear his father rambling on about the importance of patience and maturity as he walked into his en suite and turned on the hot water, allowing the steam to engulf him.

"...honestly, though, you don't have a choice in the matter. If you want to take over the company and be its head as we have discussed in the past, you will be married before your twenty-first birthday. Of course, if you decide against stepping up, you will not be forced to marry but you will have to find another means of work. Your mother and I have agreed not to force you out of your home, but as the Malfoy fortune will no longer be available to you, you'll have to find other means of supporting yourself. Might I suggest..."

But Draco was no longer paying attention. In all of the time he and his family had talked about him stepping up as head of Malfoy & Co., no one had ever mentioned anything about marriage. Of course, Draco would have been daft not to notice his parents' not-so-subtle ways of setting him up on dates. Astoria Greengrass for instance. And that one had worked out so well. Not.

Abruptly, Draco turned off the water and stepped out of the bathroom, a puzzled frown on his face.

"What did you say?"

"Well, I understand if wand-making isn't your line of work, but there's always alchemy. You seemed to do well in potions and I notice the books you've been reading, so I assume you'd-"

"For fuck's sake, Father, don't play ignorant. It doesn't suit you. You know damn well what I'm talking about."

"Watch your language," Lucius said rather tightly, "and I assume what you're referring to is your impending marriage."

"That'd be it, yes," Draco responded through gritted teeth. "Why exactly did you never think of mentioning this before?"

"I tried on multiple occasions to mention this, and before I even had a chance to mutter the words you had stormed off to your room."

"Bullshit."

"Honestly, Draco. Watch that mouth of yours. Your language is distasteful and no decent woman will want to marry a man who cannot control his temper. I admit, I could have tried harder to let you know, but I assumed you would have found a wife by now. Silly me."

"I don't give a fuck what a decent woman would want to marry! I'm not getting married!"

"Well, that's certainly an option you have. Of course, as I said before, you will not be entitled to any more money. Even your inheritance will be gone."

Draco gaped at his father for what seemed like ages. Why in the fuck had no one told him? And how in the fuck was he supposed to find a wife in a month?

"By the blank look on your face, I assume you've now realized that you can't think of anyone on the Earth that would be willing to marry you. Fortunately for you, I've already taken care of it."

"What the bloody hell does that mean?" If his parents thought for one damned second that he would be marrying Astoria Greengrass, they had another thing coming.

"That means that your mother and I have taken the liberty of choosing three women for you. You may pick out of those three, but only those three. I have spoken with them and they have all agreed to marry you on such short notice. Be downstairs in an hour for lunch. We'll discuss everything then."

With that, Draco watched as his father walked swiftly out of his room and heard his loud footsteps echo down the stairs.

Marriage. At twenty-one. Draco always knew his family would marry him off, but never thought it to be this soon. Perhaps if he had known months ago, he could have found a mate of his own instead of relying on his parents' lacking relationship skills to seek one out for him. Out of every last person on the planet, his parents were the last two on the list of people he would allow to choose his wife.

Draco turned around and headed back to the shower he had yet to finish, thinking of his options. He could always tell his father to fuck off, and leave the manor to have a life for himself. Of course, he had never been alone in his entire life and the thought didn't exactly sound appealing. His seemingly only other choice was to choose one of the women they had selected, but who exactly were they? Astoria Greengrass was sure to be one of them, and Draco shuddered involuntarily at the thought of having to spend forever with her. Anyone was better than Astoria. Well, except Pansy Parkinson who was a disgustingly blatant whore.

He sighed and turned off the water, not particularly wanting to leave the security of his shower but knowing that if he didn't, his father would surely send a house elf to come find him. The towel nearest to him found its way around his waist without his touching it, and again Draco was reminded of the simplicity of magic. How Muggles lived life without it, he would never know. He quickly dressed and headed to the dining room, not exactly prepared for the impending conversation.

Without acknowledging either one, Draco took his typical place across from them and began eating his lunch. Usually, he wasn't so cold towards his mother, but as she no doubt knew of the marriage situation, Draco couldn't help but harbor some animosity.

"Good morning, darling," she said sweetly.

"Hmph."

"Did you sleep well?"

"Hmph."

His mother didn't ask him any more questions, and instead focused on her tea. Draco also noticed that she wasn't looking at his father either, and briefly wondered what he had done this time.

"Draco," Lucius began, "as I said before, your mother and I-"

He could hear his mother stomp on his father's foot, causing him to intake a sharp breath.

"-or rather I, myself, have chosen three women for you to pick from. In my opinion, they are the best options you have given your situation."

Draco took another bite of his salad.

"If you are ready, I will read them to you."

At this, Draco put his silverware down slowly and took his napkin from his lap, wiping the sides of his mouth.

"And if I've decided not to marry?"

"I have already taken the liberty of circling several jobs hiring in The Prophet."

"You seem to be taking quite a few liberties here lately, Father."

"Have I? I hadn't noticed. In any event, what have you decided Draco?"

"Well, between my two options of get married and stay rich or refuse and die poor, what other choice do I have?"

"Ah, my point exactly. Now, let's see where I put that parchment."

Draco watched as Lucius made a show of patting his robes, looking for the parchment which read the names of his three potential wives.

"And here it is," Lucius said finally, waving the parchment at Draco. "First on the list is... Pansy Parkinson. She's-"

"-a fucking whore," Draco finished. His father looked quite put out by his obvious lack of filter, but the snort that came from his mother affirmed that at least someone in this room was on his side.

"Honestly, Draco, can you go five minutes without foul language?"

"I could, but what would be the fun in that," smirked Draco, propping his feet up on the table and putting his hands behind his back.

"Next is Astoria Greengrass. You obviously know her, but she's-"

"-not acceptable. I mean, honestly. Did you find anyone out there even remotely decent?" Of course his father would do this. Choose the only two women in the entire universe that would make him choose a slow death rather than a marriage to either one, leaving the real option last. Typical.

"All right then, last is...Hermione Granger."

Draco looked his father in the eyes to see if this was some sort of joke. He slowly put his feet back on the floor and placed his hands in his lap. Looking around for his mother, he saw that she was staring quite intently at something in her cup. This couldn't be real. Draco glanced back at his father, who was holding the parchment so tight in one hand that his knuckles had gone white, and looked up into his eyes to see them stern and unwavering.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me."

"Draco, would you please control that mouth of yours? And no, actually, I am not joking. Ironically, she said precisely the same thing – colorful language and all. Anyway-"

"Granger said 'fuck'?" Draco said as he furrowed his brow in confusion. Surely not. Hermione Granger was the most goody two shoes witch he had ever met, and would certainly not use the word 'fuck', no matter how precisely it described a situation.

"Yes, Draco, she did. Now can we please get back to the issue at hand? Your choices are Parkinson, Greengrass, and Granger. I would personally go for Granger'"

"Of course you would."

"-but that's just my opinion. I feel that with her being Muggle-born, it would help the company's status immensely. Your mother's vote is Greengrass-"

"Of course it is."

"-for obvious reasons. Parkinson is also logical-"

"Absolutely not."

"-as her father has connections in many places that could be of use to us. In any event, I expect an answer before nightfall," Lucius said, ignoring every outburst from his ill-mannered son and tucking the parchment back into his robes.

Draco watched his father rise and walk away, and looked over at his mother. She was still sipping her tea and refused to make eye contact with him – a sign which Draco took to mean that she knew something, but was refusing to talk. He rose from his chair rather quickly, causing it to fall to the ground, and stomped back up to his floor. The unmentionable death smell met him as his foot hit the last step, and he immediately began to clean.

All of his clothes levitated to one side of the room, and the trash found its way into the trashcan in the kitchen. He'd charmed the cans to empty themselves into the chute once he'd filled them. The scrubber in the sink was charmed to do the dirty dishes, and the dishes were charmed to dry and put themselves away; not long after starting, his entire floor had been cleaned spotless.

He walked about aimlessly, searching for anything to do other than think of the dreadful choice he had to make in a matter of hours. How could he be expected to choose between the worst three women that were ever created? One was an obvious liar, only out to seek fame and fortune, the other was a down right whore who would sleep with anything she could get to hold still long enough, and the last was an incessant know-it-all who would seek every day of their marriage to prove him wrong. The problem was not choosing the best girl for him – no, the problem was choosing the girl who wouldn't make his life miserable every day he lived it.

Looking around his floor, he noticed how much happier it seemed than the rest of the mansion. When his father and mother had gifted it to him, he'd immediately begun with renovations. Much to his family's dismay, he'd chosen to paint over the black and gray color scheme that had been present before, and replace it with emerald and silver. Growing up in a home where every wall, accent, and piece of furniture were either black or gray caused Draco to crave color, and what better color than Slytherin green? The guest rooms each had their own color; navy, red, gray, brown and purple.

The walls in the main rooms had been lined with portraits dating back generations of Malfoy men and women. Draco contemplated keeping them around, but after hearing their opinions of the sort of women he brought home, decided against it and moved them to an unused bedroom. The only portraits he'd kept and displayed were a family portrait from when Draco was fifteen, a self portrait to hang above his mantle – because who didn't have one? – and one of his Grandmother Malfoy.

There was only one portrait of his Grandmother Malfoy, wife of Abraxas, in the entire manor and Draco had taken it to his floor without so much as a word from either of his parents. The Malfoy family was not too keen on displaying his Grandmother, for her blatant lack of filter and opinionated ideals. He'd found her picture when he was nine, walking through the mansion on his own after being ignored by both his parents. She was a rather plump woman dressed entirely in black, complete with a very large hat. When he'd found her, she had been hanging in an unused guestroom, with no other picture around. He'd felt sorry for her, and without waking her, very carefully moved her to the drawing room so that she could socialize with the rest of the portraits. That had been an immediate mistake.

His Grandfather Abraxas had also been hanging in the drawing room, and upon seeing his late wife, immediately began yelling and screaming at her. This caused her to wake from her slumber in a very irate state. Their screaming match lasted ten minutes, during which they managed to wake up every portrait on the first floor. Draco's father had come running in and removed his Grandmother Malfoy without a word. He'd placed her back into the guest room and warned Draco to never move her again.

When Lucius had left, Draco had asked his grandmother dozens of questions and from then on, she was the person he went to when he needed advice or someone to talk to. Over the years, they grew very close and so when the time came, Draco moved her portrait to his floor and displayed it proudly in his sitting area – the only room he kept miraculously clean so that she wouldn't know he lived in filth.

As he walked through his living room and even though she was sleeping, he knew he could not wait to ask her opinion on his marriage. Grandmother Malfoy had a lifetime of experience, so surely she would know what to do in a situation such as this one.

"Grandmother," he whispered to her sleeping figure, managing to entice nothing but a snore. "Grandmother," he tried again slightly louder. Her snoring increased.

"Grandmother!"

"HUH?!"

Draco smirked. "Well, good afternoon, Grandmother. How are we doing this fine day?"

"What the bloody hell do you want?"

Draco smiled. Ah, the filter. His grandmother was not one to sugar coat anything, which was one of the many things he loved about her. "Grandmother, I need help," he pleaded. Sensing the desperation in his voice, she sat up straight and fixed the obnoxious hat on her head.

"What is it, my boy?" Her voice was much smoother than either his father's or his mother's – almost like velvet.

"Grandmother, my father says I must marry and he hasn't given me the best of options." Understatement of the bloody year.

"Blasted git," she said, "I always knew he'd come up with something like this. You'd have thought he learned his damned lesson when his own marriage had to be arranged. Right then, what are the choices?" She leaned forward, put her elbow on her knee and her head in her hands, clearly waiting to solve the dilemma of a lifetime.

"Well, I've got that whore of a girl Parkinson -"

"Abso-fucking-lutely not! I will not be the laughing stock of the portraits for having my grandson marry a damn hussy! Next!" He'd told her on several occasions throughout his summer breaks from school of Pansy's extracurricular activities.

"Alright," he chuckled, "next I've got Astoria Greengrass who I went out with once-"

"Yes, and as I recall, that date went to shit before it even started. And the last?"

"Granger, a girl that I went to school with. She's an insufferable know-it-all and I hated her. She even slapped me once!"

"Did you deserve it?" his grandmother asked accusingly, pointing a chubby finger in his direction.

"Maybe," he answered, crossing his arms and pouting like a child. Why did it fucking matter if he'd deserved it or not? She shouldn't have slapped him at all!

"Enough of that! Tell me more about her." Another reason he loved his grandmother – she didn't take anyone's shit.

"Well, she's got huge teeth and a bush for hair -"

"Both can be fixed," his grandmother inserted.

"Yes," he continued, "both can be fixed. I don't really know much more about her. She's intelligent and was the top of our year, beating me by two bloody points." He was still hacked off by that. Losing to a damned Gryffindor.

"She really isn't that bad of a person I guess. Except for her incessant need to be right and throw herself into situations that don't concern her. She's also a mud-blood and a raging bit'"

"A WHAT?"

"A mud-blood, but listen-"

"DRACO LUCIUS MALFOY, YOU SHUT YOUR MOUTH THIS INSTANT," she yelled. "Under no circumstances are you to ever speak of another human being that way, do you understand me? That poor girl probably didn't even find out she was a witch until the Hogwarts letter arrived at her door, meaning she learned what took you ten years to figure out in one summer before heading off to school. Being muggle-born was out of her control, and it sounds to me as if she's taken the witch life in stride. Contrary to popular belief, I am not prejudiced, and I never have been. The only reason I ever made the cut for this snob of a family is because I never actually had the displeasure of meeting Abraxas, and my father was a smooth talker. Now, if the only reason you're not marrying this poor girl is because of her blood status, I am ashamed of you." With that, she got up from her stool and walked away.

"Wait, Grandmother. I didn't mean it offensively, I -"

"NONSENSE," she yelled, whipping back in his direction. "The very word itself is offensive and I don't ever want to hear it come out of your mouth again! Do you hear me?"

"Y-Yes, Grandmother," he stuttered. There was no use in arguing with her.

"Now," she said, repositioning her hat once again and assuming her place on the stool."I think the choice is quite obvious, don't you?"

"No?" It was more of a question than an answer.

"Tell me, boy. What color are Parkinson's eyes?"

What the hell? Why did it matter what color her eyes were? She was a slag, through and through. He wasn't going to change his mind because of her eyes.

"I don't fucking know. What kind of question is that?"

"Mhm. And what of Greengrass'?"

Draco thought for a moment, but for the life of him couldn't remember the color of her eyes. He probably should have remembered, given that he stared at them for nearly half an hour on the worst date in history.

"Green I think? Why does this even matter?"

"Yes, and Granger's?"

He thought about it, and remembered how dark her brown eyes had become the day she'd slapped him, and how light they would get every time she'd heard the phrase "Ten points to Gryffindor!".

"Brown," he said confidently, glad to get at least one of them correct.

"Right. Just one more question. Before you found out that your marriage was going to be arranged, did you have any intentions of marrying for love?

"Well...yeah, I guess so. I mean, I always just assumed that when I was ready to slow down, I'd find a nice girl and settle down."

"Well then, I think your choice is obvious."

"Forgive me, Grandmother. How exactly is the hardest fucking choice of my life that obvious to you?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Draco. If choosing between three women is the hardest choice you have to make in your life, I'd say you had easy. Clearly you need to choose Granger. Pansy is a whore who would cheat on you at the drop of anyone's pants. Astoria is a right bitch and isn't wife material. Granger is intelligent and challenges you, not to mention she is the only one of those women that you took care enough to remember her eye color."

Draco stood there, mouth agape and eyebrows raised. Surely he'd heard her wrong. Surely she hadn't said Granger. How could he possibly sentence himself to a life of always being corrected by the notorious Gryffindor princess? No, there had to be another option.

"There's just one problem, of course," his grandmother continued, successfully bringing him out of his thoughts.

"You tell me that my best option is a stuck up know-it-all and that by agreeing to marry her, I might as well chop my own balls off to save her the hassle, but that there's only one problem? Oh, do tell."

"Have you ever actually said her first name?"

For what had to have been the tenth time that day, Draco was at a loss for words. He knew for a fact that he'd never said her name. There was never a need to. Calling someone by their first name implied a sort of friendship that he'd never cared to have with Granger.

"No," he said simple, "I never had a need to."

"Well go on then," she encouraged. "What is it?"

"Hermione."

The name felt strange coming from his lips, but not necessarily in a bad way.

"Hermione," she repeated. "Not too bad."

xxx

A/N

How about that Grandmother Malfoy, eh? She's in for the long haul, so stay tuned! As always, I am so appreciative of the followers, favorites, and reviews. You guys truly inspire me! If I haven't responded to your review, at least to say "thanks", it's because you left it as a guest and your review isn't linked to an account. I'm not ignoring you!