A/N: We need to talk.

So, it's been awhile. That's an understatement, it's been years. Long story short: I grew up. I was sixteen when I started this story, and I'm twenty-seven now. I went to college, got a degree with honors, and started my career. But the clock app has brought be back - I am in a Dramione swing, and this story never really left me.

I've reread it multiple times since I abandoned it years ago, and while I like the premise I have not enjoyed the story itself. Like I said, I was sixteen when I wrote it. It deserves better.

So this is Everything I'm Not (Redux). The same plot, but I'm making it better. It's longer, it's more in-character, it's improved.

I hope you're willing to stick around to rediscover it (or discover it for the first time, if you're new). I am eternally awed by (and feel bad for) anyone who read the first iteration and I hope that you enjoy reading again just like I've enjoyed rewriting it.

As of this posting, I have almost finished rewriting but was previously abandoned and I am beginning new chapters. This will be finished - promise.

Chapter One

"Effective immediately following this posting, a Ministry mandated Marriage Law will take effect. The guidelines of this Marriage Law are as follows: Tomorrow afternoon every eligible Pureblood or lesser witch and wizard will report to the Marriage Department of the Ministry for Magic for the Auctioning, wherein every eligible Pureblooded witch or wizard will have the opportunity to bid for the Half-blood or Muggleborn witch or wizard of their choosing. All proceeds of this auction will go directly to the relief fund to aid the rebuilding of our Magical World. Eligibility applies to all those unmarried witches and wizards ages 18 to 35. A wedding must occur within three months of the auction. If within two years an heir is not produced, the marriage will be considered dissolved. Failure to comply will result in consequences. Thank you all for your support in rebuilding our World."

Hermione cried for hours in the arms of Harry and Ron. They said nothing, only held her as she cried herself to the point of retching and exhaustion. Harry quietly murmured soothing words in her ear and Ron stroked her hair. They each tried to calm her, providing any comfort that they could – whatever they could do to make this better.

But nothing could make this better. She faced the stark reality of marrying someone who would more than likely be a complete and total stranger, someone who didn't truly care for her. It was probable that they would only want her for the fame she carried, for her connections to Ron and Harry. She cried for the bleak reality that in less than a day she would belong to someone else. Someone else would literally buy her hand in marriage.

When her owl had dropped the condemning document onto her kitchen table, she had read it with tight lips and shaky hands, barely controlled anger settling deep into her bones. How dare they force people into marriage? Force two people who have nothing in common to have a child together to promote mixed blood? And even worse, to auction people off like they were furniture or livestock? It made her sick and enraged. It took her several moments to realize this also applied to her, and that was when the panic and upset sunk in. She didn't want to get married at her current age of nineteen, let alone married to someone she likely didn't know, whom she knew wouldn't love her. It made her sick.

Everything that they had fought for – for freedom, to destroy the idea of blood status superiority or inferiority, for the right to make their own choices, for their rights to exist – gone, like that. Once again, she found herself in the position of being inexplicably betrayed by the world that she had fought so desperately to belong to.

Harry and Ron had arrived at her flat via Floo less than ten minutes after everyone in the Wizarding World had received the decree, and knew without having to talk what this meant. Ron had been the first to wrap his strong arms around her, and Harry had followed seconds later. Her obvious choices were out of the question—Harry had married Ginny two weeks after the Battle of Hogwarts and Ron had married Cho Chang less than a month ago. She could feel their frustration as they clung to her. The Golden Trio was helpless to aid each other in this instance. It had always been them against the world, but now it was the world against Hermione, and Ron and Harry could do no good.

Eventually they had moved to the couch and Hermione had sat in between them, leaning heavily on Harry as Ron ran his hand up and down her arm, trying desperately to soothe their best friend. When Hermione had finally cried herself to sleep, eyes puffy and skin blotchy, Ron had gathered her up and put her in bed, pulling the covers over her and shutting the door. He and Harry had sat at her kitchen table in silence. The clock was their enemy. In a mere twelve hours, someone would bid on Hermione for their wife, and Ron and Harry were powerless to do anything about it. Even Harry's influence in the Ministry couldn't stop this; the Ministry had planned this in complete secret. No one had known this was coming.

"Blimey, mate," Ron said mournfully. Harry nodded and said nothing, green eyes staring unblinkingly past Ron's head at the wall behind him, where there was a framed picture of the three of them. It felt like the world was starting to crumble.

"I feel like shit," Ron said suddenly. "I could have married her, Harry. We kissed at the battle." His tone was bleak and distant.

Harry shook his head and reassured his friend. "It wasn't right, Ron. You weren't right together." He had known that they had kissed – he had known while they were hunting Horcruxes that there had been something there. But in the end, it hadn't been more than a product of their circumstances. Ron and Hermione had each been lonely, looking for comfort in each other and experiencing the rush of near-death and victory.

"And this is?" Ron demanded, hands hitting Hermione's kitchen table with a jarring crack. "At least that way she'd be happy! She'll never be happy like this and you and I both know that!" Harry shushed him, looking towards Hermione's door. Ron's blush crept higher up his face, nearing his hairline.

"Whatever happens," Harry said, "We will be there for her. We have always been there for her. This will be no different."

"You're awfully calm about this," Ron fired back at him. "You're awfully bloody calm."

"I'm tired," Harry answered, voice finally betraying it. "I'm tired of fighting these things that are bigger than we are. I think you are, too. And I think she is."

Ron knew Harry was right. They had been fighting an impossible battle their entire lives, before they even knew what they were doing. Voldemort may have been dead, but the ruins he left behind were very real and the Wizarding World was trying to heal however it could. This was, unequivocally, the wrong way to do it. But their hands were tied.

After a drawn-out moment of contemplative silence, Ron stood and made his way into the small kitchen of Hermione's flat, going for the bottle of Muggle whisky that she kept above her refrigerator for special occasions. He poured himself and Harry each two fingers, and held out a glass for his friend.

Harry stepped forward to take the glass from him.

"Whatever happens?" Ron asked. Harry raised the glass.

"Whatever happens."

Draco Malfoy saw red, though he couldn't tell if it was from how angry he was or if it was from the multiple lacerations on his hand that had occurred when he had smashed his glass into the mahogany table. He was beyond 'angry' – he was furious. How dare the Ministry do this? Force him to marry a Mudblood or a Half-blood. What right did they have to dirty his family's name?

His mother watched with dark amusement as her only son paraded around the room, spewing out nonsense about the destruction of the family name and the mixing of bloodlines. It disturbed her to see that, even after all their family had suffered, he still repeated the lies Lucius had drilled into their lives.

Lucius Malfoy was in Azkaban, and would remain there indefinitely. Contrary to what most people would have imagined, Narcissa Malfoy was happy. Beyond the marriage that had been arranged for them as children, she and Lucius had no significant relationship with each other. Though she had loved him briefly, she had fallen out of love with Lucius after he had rejoined the Dark Lord's forces, and after that she had become more a less a prisoner in her own home. Lucius had developed a terrifying temper the higher he climbed in Voldemort's ranks, and for the safety of herself and her son, Narcissa had followed behind him. She kept her head down, her voice low, and the protection of her son at the forefront of her mind.

At the end of it all, it was due to Harry Potter that Narcissa herself was not in Azkaban with Lucius. Harry Potter had come to every day of her trial, and sat as a witness for her defense. He had patiently been cross-examined by the Wizengamot and by her counsel, and explained that she had put herself and her son at risk to lie to Voldemort's face. She had saved his life, and in turn had saved the lives of the entire Wizarding World. Harry's testimony, in conjunction with Narcissa's harrowing recounting of her life with Lucius, and her estrangement from the rest of her Death Eater family, was enough to grant her freedom.

Harry had given Draco Malfoy the same treatment that he had given Narcissa. Much to Draco's misguided anger and embarrassment, Harry had explained that it was well known that Draco was under Lucius' thumb, and then under the thumb of the Lord Voldemort, only to protect himself and his mother. Harry had recounted witnessing the assassination of Dumbledore, and testified confidently that Draco Malfoy would have never been able to cast the curse. He told the Wizengamot that Draco had lied about not recognizing them at Malfoy Manor, a fact that Draco himself had not wanted to admit to himself. But it was true – he had lied. He had known what was happening was wrong, and he had lied to protect them.

Draco had taken their trials and Lucius' imprisonment poorly. It had been two years since the end of the war, and while he had grown and matured, there were times where Draco was still an angry and prejudiced child. Narcissa had held out hope for the first year that perhaps Draco was just angry, and that after their trials were over and their names were cleared that he would simmer down and be able to process the trauma that he had experienced. Unfortunately, it seemed that instead of engaging in self-reflection Draco had turned himself away from her, and towards his father. She knew that this was a knee-jerk reaction to protect himself – her son was terrified of the new world around them, of having to face his peers after all that had happened, and of having to admit that his father, whom Draco had idolized his entire life, was not the man that he wanted him to be.

Although she would never admit it, Narcissa was very grateful for this seemingly unfortunate turn of events. Perhaps this forced marriage, and its resulting closeness with not only another human being but someone that Draco previously would have looked down on, would force him to confront all of the fear that he was running from.

"Filthy Mudbloods!" Draco slammed his fists into the marble fireplace and winced as the pain shot up his arm, and Narcissa was pulled from her reverie by the shout. She sighed and looked down at her hands, clasped firmly in her own lap.

"That's enough, Draco," she said sternly. "That language is no longer allowed in this home, and your attitude is repulsive." She rarely spoke to him like that. Despite his current behavior, he was an adult and he was the head of the Malfoy Household. But right now, he was acting like a child. As if finally recognizing his infantile behavior, Draco froze at the mothering tone in her voice and then sank into the chair across from her, pulling out his wand to heal the cuts on his hand and clean his stained skin.

"Our family has suffered enough indignities at the hands of the Ministry," he muttered, turning his hands over to inspect them. He was quietly pleased to see that, despite a year of not having his wand as a punishment and a safety precaution, his natural ability to heal still seemed to remain. Not a mark was left on his pale skin, save for the fading remnants of the Dark Mark on his forearm.

"Our family has suffered enough indignities at their own hands," Narcissa corrected. "The Ministry, and families of other blood, have had nothing to do with it." She watched him carefully as she remanded him, looking at the crease between his brows as he frowned and mulled over her words.

"I am a Malfoy," he responded, but she could tell by the tenor in his voice that she had already won. He was trying to save face now, to recover some of his pride. "They have no right to make me do such a despicable thing." Narcissa resisted the urge to roll her eyes at his antics.

"You will do this, Draco, and you will choose wisely. You will choose someone who will bring back some amount of honor to this family. Do you understand?" Her words left no room for argument, not that Draco would have argued any further with his mother. She was, as she usually was, correct.

He left the room without another word, and made his way to his own wing of Malfoy Manor. As he walked swiftly through the dark halls, the portraits of his ancestors watched him. Portraits were gossipy things, and they had no doubt heard about the Marriage Law from either the portraits in the room with his mother or from the House Elves. They were mostly quiet as he passed, though he heard a few muttering in disgust. To his surprise, Draco was annoyed by their response. They had no right to be disgusted with him when it was their Pureblooded antics that had, in many ways, led them all to this point.

When Draco reached his room, he wasted no time in tossing a handful of Floo Powder into the hearth and stepping into the green flames. "Pansy Parkinson."

He stepped elegantly into Pansy's bedroom, where she was sitting at her desk staring at her own copy of the Marriage Law. She yelped in surprise when he arrived, standing and swiveling on her heel to face him.

"You could have called first," she said accusingly, a hand pressed to her chest as she got over her shock. "I could have been undressed, for all you knew."

Draco smirked and paced towards her. "I was rather hoping you would be," he answered, eyebrow raising suggestively. "We have one night until we're condemned to suffer, and I intend to go out with a bang."

Though she rolled her eyes, Pansy made no attempts to stop him after that. She wanted him as much as he did her, and this was a dance the two had been doing for the last two years. There was no romance between them, just an unspoken agreement to be each other's landing place when the need arose.

When they finished, Draco rolled off her and lay in her bed, staring at the ceiling. The anger and frustration that had already started to ebb away was fully gone now, leaving him feeling only hollow and, to his horror, scared.

"Thank you, Pans," he said quietly. Pansy looked over at him in confusion, and then pulled herself up onto her elbow to look at her friend's pale and troubled face.

"You don't need to thank me for good sex," she chuckled, though the laugh did not sound convincing even to her. "That's mutually beneficial, Draco."

"Not for the sex, though it is excellent," Draco answered blithely, managing to give her a small smile. "I meant for being a friend. I wish… I wish that tomorrow didn't mean for you what it means."

Pansy's face fell. "I have faith," she said after a moment, "that whatever happens tomorrow will happen for a reason, and that I can do my part and pay some penance for what my family – and I – did during the War. Not that I agree with it," she added, flopping back down and joining Draco in staring at the ceiling.

"It's inhumane, auctioning witches off like livestock," Draco agreed. "Sexist, too."

Pansy snorted. "Imagine, Draco Malfoy being concerned about feminist ideologies," she giggled. "Your father would be rolling in his grave, if he were in it."

Draco laughed, and the sound startled him. He hadn't really laughed in a long time. But what Pansy said was true. If Lucius could see him now, discussing feminism and mixed-blood marriages, he would be apoplectic. That made the idea slightly appealing to Draco – he harbored a strange mixture of admiration and fury towards Lucius Malfoy, always wanting to make him proud and make him as angry as possible in turns.

"It's a shame that none of the half-blooded classmates I knew are single, or at all attractive if they aren't married," Pansy mused darkly. "I'd just like someone that's not bad to look at. Maybe enjoys cooking so I don't have to."

"You're rubbish at cooking," Draco concurred quietly. Pansy reached over and whacked him firmly on the side of the head.

"Stuff it," she muttered. "Be nice if he had a sense of humor, too."

"I'd marry you," Draco said, closing his eyes. "If it meant that you wouldn't have your choices taken from you. We could be happy together."

Pansy sighed and looked over at him, taking in his profile. Draco was handsome. He was from a respected (formerly respected, she supposed) family. He had money. He was intelligent, and he could be funny. But…

"We would be content," she agreed finally. "But you're my best friend, and you always will be. We deserve better than that."

Pansy lay awake for several hours after that, with Draco sleeping quietly beside her. It would be an outright lie to say she wasn't nervous about tomorrow. She didn't like not knowing what would happen and who would choose her. Her blood prejudices had disappeared long ago, almost overnight as she had been locked in the Slytherin dungeons and listened to the sounds of death and destruction ringing out above her. She had always loved Hogwarts, and to emerge the next day to the Great Hall filled with the corpses of her friends and her professors, and to see the proud stone architecture of Hogwarts crumbled around her had almost broken her.

No, tomorrow was not what Pansy had wanted for her life. But what she had told Draco was not a lie. She would do it, and she hoped that by complying she would be able to make amends – even if only within herself.