MARRIAGE LAW IN PLACE
The headline occupied most of the front page of the Daily Prophet, along with a picture of Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt during the press conference. Hermione sighed. Since her return to Hogwarts for her eight-year, she was being treated as just another student. That sounded nice at the beginning. "Don't worry," the Minister assured her. "The war is over; you get to live your life with only the concerns a young girl like you should have." Bullshit. This headline was proof that once people got some power, they decided their opinions mattered more than others. Kingsley was a well-meaning guy, but he was also socially awkward. The wizard was unequipped to thoroughly understand the real-life repercussions of his ridiculous idea: that every eligible pureblood should enter into an engagement with a muggleborn and give the relationship a sincere try. If the engagement did not pan out, they could try again with a new partner until they either find their significant other or present a surrender with their memories to prove that they couldn't make it work despite their best efforts. Leave it to a pureblood and lone wolf such as Shaklebolt to think that marriages are a matter of math.
The intention was noble: to promote the integration of purebloods and muggleborns with a long-term goal of eliminating the belief in purity. It had started innocently enough, with economic incentives for people that created new business and workplace exchanges and a vigorous campaign of interaction among Hogwarts students. In September, Shacklebolt had sent Hermione a personal note asking her to spearhead the student body integration by offering friendship and collaboration to pureblood scion Draco Malfoy. A partnership between two notorious students from each side was a symbol of a future without resentments. So much for being an ordinary, autonomous student.
Despite initial doubts, That worked better than expected. Malfoy came back to school under probation after spending the summer in Azkaban. He seemed spooked enough by the experience: the former schoolyard bully was now taciturn and, dared she say, humble. Hermione dutifully offered to pair with him for potions class and eventually for almost any assignment requiring teamwork, as the Slytherin proved to be exceptional in his academic performance when he applied himself. Over time Malfoy replaced his permanent sneer with a soft expression and, eventually, an easy smile. Lately, the Gryffindor girl was enjoying her study sessions a tad too much.
The curly witch shook her head and looked at the newspaper again. That was all well and good. But there was another obstacle to the whole integration plan: old habits die hard, and some of the traditional families were still drawing marriage contracts for their children to marry among their "class." That was the habit that the Ministry was trying to discourage with the new law. As an unattached muggleborn, Hermione would be asked to accept an engagement to a pureblood and to give it a sincere try. Fighting this stupid law sounded like an exhausting waste of time. If all she needed to do was go on a few dates, so be it. The instruction was to give a chance to at least one candidate. How hard could that be?
Her mind quickly ran through the prospects. There was one possibility she wished was on the table. Hermione stopped herself with a grunt. Just because they were friendly, it didn't mean Draco had changed that much. It is one thing to be polite. A very different one is to wish for a deeper relationship, especially with a guy who, until last week, was betrothed. His intended was a vision of perfection called Astoria Greengrass.
Hermione was still sour from the incident she witnessed in the library the previous Thursday. She had been sitting with her study partner, stifling laughter while the Malfoy heir performed a scarily accurate impersonation of Madam Pince, the cranky librarian. The gorgeous Slytherin girl had approached their table and asked to have a moment to speak to Draco. Her trembling hands were holding a thick folded parchment. The pair had excused themselves and walked to stand behind a bookshelf for privacy. Still, the absolute silence of the almost empty library had allowed their conversation to reach Hermione's ear. The Gryffindor had to unwillingly listen to the young girl humiliate herself as she practically begged the Malfoy heir to fulfill the betrothal contract between them. The boy sternly refused, withholding all explanation besides assuring the crying beauty that there was nothing wrong with her and that she would be better off without him. The girl insisted that the contract was valid until one of the parents overrule it. The bickering continued for a bit.
Listening to that exchange left Hermione deeply conflicted. On the one hand, she pitied the pureblood girl. It was apparent she had a crush on the Malfoy heir. On the other, something about Draco being betrothed made her feel queazy. But then again, what was the point of dwelling on it? They were polite acquaintances. Or maybe friends. Confidants? They certainly told each other more intimate stories this year than she ever shared with Harry or Ron.
It had started when she tried to help the Slytherin open up by telling anecdotes about her years before Hogwarts. He reciprocated, and the floodgates opened. Hermione now knew enough about the Malfoy family to write an unauthorized biography. Still, not a year ago, they were enemies. Why would she even consider attempting a deeper relationship with him? Not that he would ever ask. And no, Hermione Granger did not have a case of sour grapes. Nor was she nervous about not getting any proposals. One of her oldest friends was a pureblood. Ron Weasley would ask for sure. Right? Right?
Well, that was a whole lot to digest with her breakfast. Hermione packed the darn newspaper in her bag and headed for the dungeons. When she got into the potions classroom, Draco was exchanging whispered words with a fellow Slytherin. He did not look happy. The curly witch approached carefully, offering a smile.
"Good morning, Nott," she prompted.
"Granger, hello. How are you this morning? You look great," the usually shy boy answered, trying to sound upbeat.
"Uhm, I'm good, thank you," she responded, throwing a questioning look at Draco's way.
"Alright, class is starting," Malfoy snarled, giving Nott the cold shoulder. The other boy waved awkwardly before walking away.
"What happened? I thought Theo was your friend."
"He is," Draco said in a tone that seemed to spell "change the subject," so Hermione did. Whatever happened between them had nothing to do with her; better let sleeping bears lie.
As expected, the whole day went by, and Draco did not bring up the paper article or the marriage law. He did stay close, though, and even suggested that they grab some sandwiches and have lunch by the lake. It would have been romantic if she could think that he liked her. But as sleeping bears went, this one was a giant grizzly she was not going to poke. It may end up ripping her heart off, so Hermione Granger chose to deny, deny, deny. These silly feeling things go away on their own. Right? Sitting under a tree chewing on a sandwich does not mean anything. It's not a date; it's just lunch. In a romantic setting. With a gorgeous guy. The witch shook her head to snap out of it.
"Hermione?"
"What?" she responded, looking up, eyes like a deer caught in headlights.
"You keep shaking your head. Are you ok? Are there bugs bothering you?" Draco asked, looking intently at her face and hair, reaching with soft fingers to move a strand of curls.
"We're late for class!" she clumsily stood up before doing something stupid like leaning in to kiss him. Can you imagine the humiliation if he pulled back? Hermione was not going to sit there to find out. Storming back toward the castle, the hurried girl missed the look of anguish on the Slytherin boy's face.
The denial lasted until Hermione went back to her dorm that night and found three mail pieces waiting for her. She had never been more grateful that eight years had individual rooms in a separate castle wing. Whatever was on those parcels, the Gryffindor did not want anyone's opinion about it. She had a plan and was sticking with it. After a fortifying breath, it was time to get down to business.
Three official Ministry letters. Three boxes. Three rings. Three marriage proposals. Hermione looked at the boxes, each one displaying a family crest. She recognized one of them; another one seemed vaguely familiar and one she never saw before. None of them was the Malfoy coat of arms. The Gryffindor princess ignored the sinking feeling that came with that acknowledgment. Quickly moving on, she first grabbed the box with the unknown seal. It contained a gold ring, a bit too big, a bit too ostentatious. Not at all what she would choose. The accompanying letter read:
"To Miss Hermione Jane Granger, from Mrs. Eleonora Nott, on behalf of her son Theodore, Lord Nott."
Well, that felt weird, getting an engagement proposal from someone with whom she had barely exchanged two words. Hermione had never even noticed the Nott boy before this year. He was the silent type. Wait a minute. Was this morning's impasse with Draco about her? Oh, stop it, Granger. You are letting your imagination run wild. That Theo is easy on the eyes, though, she mused. Had he been the only candidate, maybe she would consider giving him a "sincere try."
Nevertheless, the logical course of action would be to take the offer from an old friend. It was the safe option; the second box was engraved with the Weasley crest. The Weasleys, bohemian as they were, belonged to the Sacred Twenty-Eight. Although Molly and Arthur had chosen to live a simple life, it did not mean they didn't have an uppity past, just like any other pureblood family, as proven by the heraldry. Unfortunately, things between Hermione and Ron were weird these days; their friendship barely survived a botched relationship attempt after the final battle. They should have known better than to trust an impulsive kiss based on a near-death experience. And yet, tense as circumstances were between them, the practical thing to do would be to accept Ron's proposal. If the relationship did not improve, she would still fulfill the "sincere try" part of the deal and get the Ministry off her back. Easier than having some awkward, stiff courtship with a stranger. With that practical mentality, Hermione reached for the box.
When she opened it, an involuntary gag noise escaped her throat. The ring was horrendous, big, and gaudy. Stunned by it, she grabbed the letter that accompanied that box and read:
"To Miss Hermione Jane Granger, from Mrs. Molly Weasley, on behalf of her son, Percy Ignatius Weasley."
"WHAT THE FUCK?" the young witch cried out loud in outrage. Well, that explained the ring for sure: Ron was not a fashionable guy, but only Percy could choose something so tawdry. Still, how was this possible? Then it hit her: Ron was planning on engaging other witches. The rule from the Ministry was to give an inter-blood relationship a sincere try. People were probably using the law as an excuse to date several options in a row without the embarrassment of asking someone out the normal way. And since there was no limitation on how many times you could try, magical folk could merrily fool around before choosing a spouse or present a declaration of surrender along with a few memories that proved that they "did their best." Fuming, Hermione admitted how that scheme sounded like something Ron Weasley would do. Heck, it sounded like what almost everyone would do—everyone except her. Under the excuse of "we may get married," witches and wizards were off to sow their oats.
Grinding her teeth, Hermione dropped the ring box on the table and sat back, eyes closed. Her temper cooled down when she confronted the reality of it: she did not want Ron, and he did not want her. Now that the practical option was off the table, maybe it was her time to jump on the merry-go-round. Why not agree to date some hot guy and call it duty fulfilled?
The proposal from Nott felt too weird, though. She could not picture anything but awkward silence between them. The wizard likely had been trained to sit stoically through arranged dates and get married regardless of feelings. That was beyond what Hermione could stomach, handsome as he was. The Gryffindor princess opened her eyes and stared at the third box. Her heart picked up the pace. She turned it around with her fingers, too nervous to open it. The crest shape seemed to form a B. She couldn't think of any purebloods classmates with the last name starting with the letter B. Why did it look so familiar, though? Where had she seen it? Heart pounding, she unfolded the accompanying letter.
"To Miss Hermione Jane Granger, from Mrs. Narcissa Malfoy, on behalf of her son, Draco Lucius Malfoy, Lord Black."
Hermione's jaw dropped. She did know the crest, seen it many times at Grimmauld Place but never paid attention to it. Sirius had been the previous Lord Black. After he passed, the title went to the closest blood heir, the son of his cousin. Chest heaving with a mix of laughter and sobs, she opened the box. The ring was a princess cut diamond on a platinum band. It was simple, elegant, absolutely perfect. She pulled it out of the box, slipping it on her finger. A warm feeling washed over her whole body. Her legs moved on their own. In seconds she was out of her room, running down the hallway. She pounded on a door with a snake-shaped knocker.
A frazzled looking Draco opened the door. Words failed, so Hermione showed him her hand.
"Oh, thank Salazar," he breathed, hands reaching to cup her face and kiss her.
The whole world slowed down. The taste of Draco Malfoy's mouth was the most wonderful thing Hermione had ever savored. If the sun, the moon, and the stars had a flavor, it would pale compared to this slice of paradise. The sensation was so overwhelming that for half a second, the witch opened her eyes and looked at her hand entangled on his blonde locks. Did the ring carry a charm, maybe a lust spell? What else could explain this all-consuming moment? Oh, fuck it. It was too pleasurable to resist. With a jump, she wrapped her legs around his hips.
The wizard gave a lustful growl, moved his hands to her ass, and carried the witch to his bed. The pair unceremoniously plopped on it, Hermione fumbling to undo their uniform ties, Draco resorting to brute force to rip their shirts open. They kissed wildly, his mouth moving to nibble down her jaw, neck, and chest. He slowed down to nuzzle over the cups of her bra. She looked at him, trembling, hands caressing his soft hair; her eyes kept drifting to the beautiful ring. Whatever the enchanted object was doing to her will, she chose to surrender to its power for once in her life. Why fight getting pleasured by the most beautiful boy in the world? Her thoughts went foggy again when he slipped the bra straps down her shoulders, then pulled the cups down. His lips, tongue, and teeth did unspeakable things to her breasts before moving south. Before she knew it, Hermione was bare naked, and Draco's prodigious mouth devoured her center with a hunger that rocked her world from the core. Orgasmic waves disable what was left of her rationality. An animalistic side no one suspected to exist inside the prim girl took over. Before Draco could react, he was pinned down against the soft sheets, a gorgeous, wild creature impaling herself on his manhood.
"Fuck! Yes! Hermione Granger, you are a fucking goddess! Merlin's wrinkled ballsack! This is better than my dreams," Draco panted, hands holding onto the witch's hips to help her keep a delightful rhythm, driving them both crazy.
"Merlin, Draco, It feels so freaking good!"
"Yes, let me feel you, my love, my perfect beautiful witch!"
That did it. Hermione's brain disconnected, rapture took over, and she let go. For the first time, the willful girl gave in to a force stronger than herself. No doubts, no hesitation. Only bliss. When she came to be, the first sound she made up was her fiance's heartbeat. Lying down over his chest felt close to Nirvana.
"Hello, gorgeous," a deep voice called.
"Hi," Hermione sighed contentedly, tracing circles on his alabaster skin. The diamond sparkled in the soft light of the room. Whatever the ring's magic was, it felt so good that for once, the little swot decided to let it go. For now, at least. Draco reached for that hand, bringing it to his lips.
"Do you like it? I didn't know what to expect from a muggle jeweler, but this Harry Winston guy knows his craft; I'll give him that."
Hermione's head snapped up.
"What? This is a Harry Winston diamond? As in a muggle ring, with no powers?"
"What are you talking about? Wait, are you disappointed? I thought you would prefer something muggle; my aunt Andromeda suggested this jeweler was the best. Do you want me to get you a goblin-made ring instead? I'll get you whatever you want; just say the words."
Hermione slipped off to lie next to him, face red as a tomato. Draco rolled to his side, lifting her face with a soft knuckle to look at him.
"What is it? Tell me, please."
"I, well, is just," she cleared her throat. It was so embarrassing. "What we just did, it was so...wild. So intense. I've never felt anything like it. So I thought maybe the ring had some sort of lust spell on it," she mumbled the last part, ashamed.
Draco stared for half a minute in disbelieve, then burst out laughing. Hermione pummeled soft fists on his chest.
"Stop laughing. Stop it!" her face now resembled the crimson red of her house.
"Let me get this straight," he said in between laughs. "You came to my door, pound on it, jumped my bones, rode me like a prize stallion, and now want to claim that a lust spell made you do it?" he tried to catch his breath, holding her wrists to stop the cute assault. "You are too fucking adorable, Hermione Granger. I can't wait to marry you."
That made her stop.
"What about Astoria Greengrass?" she blurted.
Draco shook his head, confused.
"What about her?"
"You are betrothed to her."
The wizard reached for her hand, plant another kiss over her adorned finger, and said:
"This looks like proof that I am not. Didn't you receive an official, Ministry-sanctioned letter from my mother?"
She smiled.
"I did. So, are you sure? How can you know this is what you want?"
He pulled her flush against his body.
"For two years, I lived in hell. Surrounded by psychopaths, drowning in self-hate, convinced I could never atone for my misgivings. Then I came back to school, and you offered a helping hand. I won't lie; I thought your attempts at sharing confidences were some form of interrogation for a while. Then I decided I had nothing else to lose. If I were going down, I would go with a bang. So I stripped my soul to you. And you cared for me. Hermione, I'm head over heels in love. Don't tell me you haven't noticed."
She wrapped her arms tightly around him.
"I thought I was making things up in my mind. How could things change so much in a matter of months?"
"I don't know. And I don't care. All I know is that this moment is beyond what I could ever dream. And I'll do whatever I have to to keep this feeling alive."
Hermione lifted her face until their lips touched. Draco was right; this feeling was beyond her childish romance dreams. If this could be her life, she would live it to the fullest. She was done questioning everything. Perhaps the Minister was right after all. Not that she would ever tell him.