Author's Note: This story was written as part of the Twice Your Age Plus Seven Age Gap Fest on AO3. It is a surprisingly fluffy story, but it is intended for adults. It contains: adult situations, strong sexual content, delightfully filthy language, imperfections, and other content suitable only for grown-ups. Not dark, but inappropriate.

An Unexpected Proposal

Crash.

There used to be a time when Hermione would jump and gasp each time a stack of books fell over to land on the hard floor with a loud thud. Fearful of there being damage to the volumes, she would drop whatever she was doing in the moment to ensure the beloved tomes were all right. Her heart would pound in her chest until she could verify that desecration of the sacred pages, if any, was minimal and the stacks were once again lovingly rearranged for the next lover of the written word who might want to purchase a copy.

But then the first couple months of owning the iconic Flourish and Blotts in Diagon Alley came and went. The honeymoon period was officially over. No longer in awe every day that she actually owned the shop and all of its delightful contents, she learned first-hand how difficult it was to be solely responsible for her favorite book shop. As she learned many times over the years since she was deemed an official adult in the wizarding world, reality was rarely as glamorous and exciting as dreams.

She finished filling out the order form she had been working on before seeking out the source of the noise. Likely it was in the Divination section again. The publishers of those books seemed to make the outside of those books just as flaky and unreliable as the contents. Twice a day she was picking up a copy of Unfogging the Future that couldn't sit still on its proper shelf.

Just as she suspected, another stack of dusty copies of The Predictions of Tycho Dodonus littered the floor. Some days it felt like the main thing she did all day was right the books that had fallen. It was a never-ending task. She didn't know how the previous owners kept them upright. Precarious stacks of heavy books never fell before she owned the shop. Maybe there were spells she wasn't familiar with that they utilized. None of the sticking and stacking charms she knew were of much help for very long.

She wished she could just owl the previous owners to ask what they did. None of the staff members she retained from before the sale knew how they did it either. Unfortunately, the reason the shop had been sold in the first place was because of the deaths of the elderly owners. There were whispers it had been a murder-suicide, but she didn't listen to rumors. An elderly couple died within hours of each other. It happened. She'd even heard of events like that happening in the Muggle world too. It was even kind of sweet. Certainly she couldn't imagine being so desperately in love with someone that she couldn't fathom existing without them. She'd never been in love like that and believed it was mostly a fantasy. Love like that existed only in books written by other poor lonely souls who wished it was true.

Buying Flourish and Blotts was an impulse decision, one she often regretted. When she was young, she had so many dreams about the grand success she would have in the Ministry of Magic once she left Hogwarts. She would accomplish all of her goals in the betterment of life for house-elves and werewolves, become the Head of her department by twenty-five, and become the youngest Minister for Magic before age forty.

Of course none of that happened. Reality was quite a bit different than she realized. There was a reason why the Ministry had been so incompetent and ineffective over the years - that's how it was designed and no one wanted to listen to the ideas of an annoying Muggle-Born witch fresh out of Hogwarts. Change wasn't welcomed, something she learned quickly. Nor was that likely to ever change. At twenty-five, she most definitely had not been the Head of her department. Nowhere close. It was embarrassing to realize how ignorant she'd been.

Ten years after the war ended, the Ministry was too much. Hermione couldn't bear the thought of spending another hundred years stuck there miserable and depressed, wishing she'd made something different of the one life she was given to live. The moment she heard Flourish and Blotts was for sale, she made an offer. It was quickly accepted. She moved into the flat above the shop and waited for the joy that would inevitably come from working a much simpler job.

But she underestimated how much work it was running a shop. It was hard and took up all of her time. From morning to midnight, it seemed that she was doing something related to the shop. She needed a partner to help her bear the load, but her pride kept her from admitting that. Other people were able to be quite successful on their own. Why couldn't she?

A post owl flew through the open window near the office. Immediately she was in a better mood. Tuesdays and Fridays were her favorite days of the week. When she pulled the letter off of the leg of the owl, ruffled its feathers, and gave it a treat, she turned to her manager Nicholas.

"I'm going to pop upstairs for tea."

He nodded, never saying a word in response. Clearly he didn't care where she went. Often she got the impression that he didn't like her much. It might have bothered her in her past, but she didn't care. Especially not that beautiful Tuesday afternoon in the latter part of February with that letter in her hand.

Upstairs in the small flat above the shop, she went straight to her kitchen to put the kettle on. Ordinarily she waited until the shop was closed and she could sit in front of her fireplace with a glass of wine to savor every written word on the parchment. Because it had not been a very good day, she couldn't bear the thought of waiting any longer. Tea would have to do. Once it was brewed and poured just how she liked it, Hermione sat at her kitchen table to unroll the parchment. Even just seeing the familiar handwriting brought a bright smile to her face. Twice a week she received one of the letters without fail. It was always the highlight of her day.

… Thank you for your latest book recommendation. I devoured it in less than a day. Couldn't find a reason to put it down. There aren't a great many demands on my time after all. I hope you don't mind that I let my next door neighbor borrow it. Of course I made sure he understood exactly how he was to treat it and made him promise that he will return it to me in just as good of shape, if not better, than he received it. It helps to have someone close by who can discuss what I read. As much as I enjoy your letters and reading your thoughts and sharing mine with you, it's not quite the same as sitting across from each other at a little cafe table or next to each other on the sofa, is it? I would give just about anything to make that dream a reality.

It was very cruel of you to mention the ginger snap biscuits you made in your last letter. I could practically taste them. I can't remember the last time I had one. Thank you for checking to see if it was possible to have an owl deliver me a batch. That would have made me the most popular bloke around (assuming of course I was generous enough to share them - something I'm not entirely sure I would've done. Like a dragon with its gold, I'd likely hoard them. I was told repeatedly I was a selfish child and sometimes I fear that maybe I haven't outgrown that fully.), but I understand that 'rules are rules' and must be abided by no matter how worthless they seem. So I will just content myself with dreams of the biscuits instead. Wouldn't it be wonderful if one day I could sit at your kitchen table and sample all of the biscuits as you baked? I confess that I have a rather sweet tooth. You would have to watch how much you fed me or I could get quite fat.

I look forward to your next letter. Your words brighten even the most dismal of days.

Yours, Mr. A

The very moment Hermione finished reading the three page letter, she started again from the top to read it again. Usually she had to read his letter at least three times before she was satisfied. For three years they exchanged letters twice a week without fail. From the first shy, nervous one she received and the shy, nervous one she sent in reply, they hadn't missed their post days.

Most would find it odd to discover that she didn't actually know who the man was that she corresponded with so frequently. On a lark when she was fresh out of a relationship that failed with a broken heart, she agreed to help Luna Lovegood in a ridiculous penpal scheme she thought up through her father's magazine. Hermione actually hadn't needed that much encouragement to strike up a regular correspondence with an Azkaban inmate sentenced to life in prison on the island. They kept their true identities secret out of a fear of prejudice from the other. He knew she was a Muggle-Born and she highly suspected he was a Death Eater, but that's all they knew. Maybe it was the forbidden aspect of their friendship that made it so fascinating and exciting. They should hate each other and yet, they didn't.

Of course she couldn't help wondering who he was. From the first letter she wondered if it would be foolish to keep writing him without knowing his identity. Every time she wrote him in reply she was tempted to ask him his real name. Did he feel the same way? Often she worried that he didn't really care about her the way that he claimed he did and was just bored. It was understandable if it was true. She couldn't imagine Azkaban was all that exciting even after all of the reforms Kingsley insisted on when he became Minister for Magic.

Leaving the letter in the middle of her table, she sighed and stood up. Later, when the shop was closed and she could devote her whole focus to her reply, she would write him back. It also helped when she drank a glass of wine as she wrote. Made her less nervous, more willing to open up.

Returning to the shop after the letter left her distracted. While her mind should have been on the countless tasks that never seemed to end, she could only think of Mr. A. She didn't know why he called himself that. Was it a random letter or an initial? Part of her feared that it stood for Antonin, but she didn't think so. That man seemed deranged. Her Mr. A was charming, even a bit sweet. It seemed out of character for a convicted Death Eater. Anyone could change if they wanted to, she supposed. Prison was often a catalyst.

By mid-morning the next day, Hermione had already picked up three fallen stacks of textbooks. She was on the verge of wanting to set fire to each and every stack. Maybe she would've dared if a post owl didn't fly through the window again. Not expecting to get another letter for a few more days, she didn't have the first clue who it might be from. Other than requests for books from customers, she didn't get many letters.

As soon as she realized it came from Azkaban, she grew worried. She hadn't even sent her letter from the night before. It wasn't normal to receive two letters in a row from him in such quick succession. Was there an emergency? Not bothering to wait to go upstairs where she could read it alone, she opened it right there on the shop floor. Immediately, she had to sit down.

A clipping from that morning's Daily Prophet took up the bulk of the envelope. Based on her personal issues with that particular newspaper over the years, especially in the years leading up to and during the last war, she didn't always read her copy. Often a stack would form in her flat before she'd bother to pick one up to see what was happening in the world. Because she didn't read the paper that morning, she had no idea that Kingsley's newest prison reform had been approved.

Splashed across the front page was an article about the controversial marriage law that would hopefully free up some of the cells in the crumbling prison. After so many decades of constant use and a number of unfortunately successful mass escapes, the fortress was in dire need of repair. Parts of it were threatening to crumble directly into the sea. Because Kingsley was of the opinion, and there were many who supported his position, that prisoners should have the ability to be rehabilitated into contributing members of society, the Ministry was offering the chance for even prisoners with life sentences to be given a conditional parole. There were a number of restrictions that must be met to qualify. The most important one was a Ministry approved spouse who would double as their sponsor. It was a chance, even a slim one, to get out of prison.

My darling, I know this is the height of presumption of me to ask, but as there are new circumstances and an opportunity to actually live a life outside of these prison walls, would you marry me?

Yours, Mr. A

Hermione was shocked. No, that wasn't a strong enough descriptor. Stunned? Flabbergasted? Absolutely amazed? Did she really just receive a hasty proposal from the man she had been dreaming about for years? No, that couldn't be happening. It was an insane idea, but she couldn't help but be intrigued by the whole scheme. There was no one else in her life she was remotely interested in being in a serious relationship with, let alone marrying. Little chance of that changing too unless she wanted to strike out and meet a Muggle who didn't understand the first thing about her history. That seemed unrealistic based on the very fact that she lived and worked right in the middle of the wizarding shopping district. Before she could stop herself from overthinking, she removed a clean piece of parchment from her desk in the office.

My Dear Mr. A,

This is all very sudden. I hope that I don't offend you by not accepting immediately, but I do have some questions and some concerns.

- When would this take place?

- Would this be a real marriage or just one of convenience?

- If one of convenience, how long do you expect it will need to last?

- Is this even possible?

I don't quite know what to say!

H

P.S. I will be putting the finishing touches on my regular letter this evening and will send it before bed.

As she watched the owl disappear into the air with her response, Hermione wasn't sure how she was going to make it through the rest of the day until she received his reply. Would he even be able to send another today? She didn't fully understand how the post worked at Azkaban even after being his penpal for three years. There was always the chance that each inmate had a restriction on the number of letters they could send in one day. If she had to wait until the next day, she wasn't sure she would be able to sleep that night.

Thankfully, she didn't have to wait long. Less than an hour later another owl was flying through the open window. Nicholas was close enough to retrieve the letter before she could reach it. Seeing his eyes narrow at the envelope that was clearly marked as being from Azkaban, she ripped it out of his hand. It wasn't the first time he'd made his feelings about her letters from an inmate clear with just a disgusted expression on his face.

Not caring that he was likely watching, she ripped it open to see what the letter said.

I think I would be more worried if you didn't have questions, my darling. Of course I'm not offended. What I asked you was no small question with an easy answer. I'm not sure when it would take place, but would it be wrong for me to say 'the sooner, the better'? As much as I've grown used to my existence in this dismal fortress, I would much rather be far away from it.

The marriage could be in name only if that was what you wished. It wouldn't have to last forever. I'm not sure how long it must last to satisfy the minimum requirements of the parole. I'm sure I could find out though the question might sound a bit awkward and might place the whole sincerity of the marriage in question.

But, honestly, I hope very much that when we meet in person we will have as much chemistry as we have on the page. The romantic in me would love to fall madly in love the first time our hands touch, but the tiny voice in my head tells me that only happens in books.

Please take your time in considering your answer. I would wait forever. -Mr. A

How could she be anything other than utterly charmed by an admission like that? She nearly sighed when she read about his hope they would fall in love when their hands touched, but stopped herself before Nicholas got more suspicious. He kept looking in her direction.

Hadn't she been wanting to meet her Mr. A for three years? This would be the opportunity and she could do some good for someone she had come to care about. Not to mention that she was already falling in love with the idea of falling in love with him. Would it be just like in the books or something else entirely?

My dear Mr. A,

I would be pleased to accept your proposal under the following conditions:

- We only learn each other's true names when we are at our wedding. (I understand this might sound… well, a bit insane, but I have a real fear that one or both of us will be tempted to not actually go through with this if we knew our real identities.) We must take this leap of faith together. I will have my solicitor arrange all of the necessary paperwork on our behalf so we don't inadvertently see the other's name. We will hear our names as we recite our vows.

- You will sleep in my spare bedroom for a month at minimum. It is rarely a good idea to jump straight into another's bed too early. After the initial thirty days, we can reevaluate both our marriage and our continued sleeping arrangements.

If these conditions are acceptable, I will meet with my solicitor as soon as possible to get the process started.

Yours, H

As soon as the law firm Ollerton and Ogilvy opened their Diagon Alley office the next morning, Hermione was inside requesting to speak with her personal solicitor. Before she went to bed the night before she received her reply. Mr. A had no problems with her conditions. If she still wished to marry him after she slept on it, she was free to start the process.

"Mr. Finch-Fletchley isn't in just yet, Miss Granger, but I suspect he will be in soon."

"Thank you. I know it's presumptuous of me to just show up without an appointment. I do have urgent business."

The kind witch at the front desk offered Hermione a warm smile then returned to the stack of parchment on her desk. Even though she was convinced that she was making the right decision, she was still very nervous. What would Justin think of her when she told him that she wanted to marry an Azkaban inmate she only knew through letters anonymously? He would likely give her a piece of his mind. A Hufflepuff he might be, but he had definite opinions. They grew to be close friends during the year after the war when they both returned to Hogwarts to complete their seventh year.

Almost as if he heard them say his name, Justin pushed open the front door. His eyes fell immediately on Hermione. Though he might have tried to pretend like he wasn't, she could tell that he was worried to see her. Why would she be waiting for him so early unless he had something terrible to discuss with him?

"Good morning, Hermione. This is certainly a surprise."

"I wonder if I might speak to you in private?"

"Of course."

He led her down the corridor to the smallest office in the firm. Still one of the junior associates, it was hoped that eventually he would be trusted enough to take over for one of the senior partners when they chose to retire. One of the more respected wizarding law firms, they handled a great deal of unusual cases. She hoped that she wasn't about to scandalize Justin terribly first thing.

"I'm getting married."

Justin's face was startled for a few seconds before he remembered himself. He morphed the expression into what he must have thought looked to be a pleased grin. Hermione knew him well enough to know that he did not care for surprises.

"That's wonderful, Hermione. I had no idea that you were even seeing anyone. Lisa was only saying recently that she thought we should invite you over for dinner one night when her brother was in town."

"Yes, well, that's where it gets a bit complicated."

She cleared her throat. The entire story came rushing out of her mouth in a torrent that Justin struggled to keep up with. With each sentence she uttered, his eyes grew a little wider until he seemed to forget how to blink. There really was no easy way to break the news, she decided. Best to just get it all out in the open as bluntly and quickly as possible. When she was finished, she waited for him to digest it all. His heavy sigh proved she wouldn't like what he was about to say.

"I know this must all sound very romantic and like something that you've read in a romance novel, Hermione, but this is real-life. Not fiction. You're actually considering entering into a marriage with a man you don't know who is serving a life sentence in Azkaban. Have you really thought this through?"

"I wouldn't be here if I hadn't thought it through. I know what I'm doing."

"But you don't know him. How could you know him when he's been in Azkaban?"

"I would think you, of all people, Justin, would understand why I want to help a man get out of that prison."

It was a shocking comment to make, one she wouldn't have made under ordinary circumstances. But the way Justin kept looking at her like he was ready to floo St. Mungo's to have her admitted pushed her over the edge. His jaw clenched and the skin just above his collar started to turn an alarming shade of red. Unfortunately, Justin knew all about how miserable Azkaban was. He was one of the first Muggle-Borns arrested by the Muggle-Born Registration Commission during the last year of the war. Given a sham trial, he was accused and convicted of stealing magic. While she was riding dragons and running from Voldemort, he was shivering in his own prison cell with dementors sucking every joyful memory and emotion out of him. He wasn't the only person to leave that prison at the end of the war forever changed.

"My experiences there are precisely why I think you need to be very cautious about this. I understand all too well how desperate a person could be to have a chance to leave. He could just be using you."

"I understand that concern. You're right. He could be a very talented liar. I won't know that until all is said and done, but I still want to do it."

Justin sighed again, but she could tell that she was breaking through a little bit. If he truly believed one of his clients needed his assistance, he would give it. Even if he didn't like the idea of what she was planning, she didn't care. It was her life. She appreciated his concern. It wasn't necessary.

"Fine. I'll do it. I don't want to, but I know you're tenacious enough to go above my head to find another solicitor in this firm that will do it. I can see you going across the corridor and asking Zabini. He'd sell his own mother if the price was high enough."

"Thank you, Justin. This is the address that I write to him at. I don't know how the letters get to him, but they do."

"Standard Azkaban post procedures. I know how it works. I'll figure it out."

She nearly ran around behind his desk to kiss him in gratitude. Knowing he wouldn't appreciate such a fervent show of appreciation, she settled for a handshake across the desk.

"I hope you know what you are doing, Hermione. This is… well, this is all a bit mad."

True to his word, Justin worked his magic. As expected, it took time to get the application approved through the Ministry of Magic even without the added complications of the proposed parolee and the proposed sponsor not knowing the other's name. Nearly a month passed before an owl delivered the terse message from her solicitor.

All has been approved. Wedding will take place in the warden's office at 8am on the 3rd. Following a briefing about the terms of the program, you and your new "husband" will be allowed to leave. I will meet you there. -Justin

A week. She had one week to prepare for her entire world to change. There was so much to do she didn't even know where to begin. Excited and terrified, she knew that soon nothing about her life would ever be the same. Whether that was a good thing or not, she had no idea. Starting with getting the spare bedroom ready for him to sleep in seemed to be the easiest.

Hermione didn't tell anyone what was happening or what was going to happen. Only Justin knew and he was bound to secrecy thanks to her being his client. Who else would she tell? After the war most of her friendships became strained. Sometimes Harry and Ron liked to pretend that nothing changed between the three of them, but it had. They had all grown apart. Usually they only sought her out when they needed help with something. It was exhausting and frustrating, hardly good for strengthening the lost friendships.

Being all alone was hard to get used to, but she had. She hoped that very soon she wouldn't have to do it all by herself any longer.