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"Mr. Lucius Malfoy, My Lord," the doorman announced, bowing as a powerful looking man entered into the room. His robes ordained in gold, he exuded money, from the diamonds on his tie clip to the ornate cane he carried as he walked. His silver-blonde hair, worn to his shoulders, was adorned with a crown, the same color of gold as the stitching in his robes.

Though everything about Mr. Malfoy's attire screamed royalty – he was the King of the British and surrounding Magical communities, after all – his demeanor was submissive, perhaps due to the unknown reason for his required presence at the Imperial Palace today.

This man, Mr. Malfoy, walked the length of the long ballroom to which he'd been summoned, his destination a single throne sat at the far end of the room. Its black color matched the somber hush of this windowless chamber. The very walls of this place were unwelcoming, concrete in their make and design, no unnecessary décor hung about. The lights were dim, lit only enough to make out the blood red carpet that led to the very throne Mr. Malfoy was heading to.

Behind King Malfoy walked a woman of similar age – Queen Narcissa, no doubt – and a man whose similarities to the King began and ended with the same silver-blonde hair and pointed chin.

He was quite handsome, this younger Malfoy, who wore his hair short on the sides and longer on top, but styled back neatly so that his cold, blue eyes weren't obscured. He walked with an air of confidence, or possibly arrogance, keeping a steady pace behind his mother, as was royal protocol. He was never to walk equal with his parents in the Imperial Palace.

When the trio reached the end of the carpet, they bent to their knees, hands placed upon their legs, and bowed their heads, waiting to be greeted by the Dark Lord.

"King Malfoy. A pleasure to see you again, at long last," came a voice, a hiss, rather, from the man on the throne. His eyes, black as night, were snakelike in appearance, and held not a single ounce of warmth.

"You must be curious as to why I summoned your family here today? It was brought to my attention that your son, Draco, just celebrated his 27th birthday." Voldemort leaned forward, eyeing King Malfoy, as if challenging him to deny this newly gained intelligence. "It this true, Lucius?"

Upon being spoken to, the King was able to look his addressor in the eyes. If one had looked hard enough, they could have seen Mr. Malfoy seemingly swallow his tongue before stuttering his answer, "Ye- Yes, My Lord. Yes, Draco is now 27." He looked back to his wife and son, gesturing for the young man to come forward. "Come, son. Present yourself to the Dark Lord."

"Don't deny the boy his title, Lucius. He should be addressed as Prince, just as you are to be addressed as King."

Draco rose gracefully to his feet, keeping his eyes focused on the lush flooring, until he reached his father's side. He then returned to his knees, head bowed and waited for his greeting.

Voldemort's menacing gaze moved to the Prince, who had taken his place next to his father. "Prince Draco. Welcome."

"My Lord," were the only words Prince Draco uttered.

"Draco, dear boy. Not a boy any longer though, are you?" Voldemort said, laughing humorlessly, though his company didn't dare join in. Unfazed by the deafening silence of his audience, the Dark Lord continued.

"Lucius," he hissed, turning his attention back the older Malfoy, "you have made a fine King over the years. Far better than any Minister in our history."

Surprised by the praise, King Malfoy stumbled through his response. "You flatter me, My Lord. I owe my thanks to your assigning me such a – a – an important role within your empire."

"My most loyal followers deserved the most coveted positions, Lucius. However, I must admit, lately I've been pondering the future of your role," he said, twirling his wand in his hands absently. "You, unfortunately, don't have the gall to chase immortality, so I've come to realize that it's imperative we establish the succession to your throne as soon as possible."

Even their bowed heads couldn't hide the Malfoys' shock at the Dark Lord's sudden revelation.

"The succession, My Lord?" Lucius questioned.

"I will make my point very clear, Lucius," Voldemort said, impatiently. He stood now, his pitch black robes billowing around him as he began pacing in front of his throne, the Elder wand still clutched in his palm. "You have a single son. Prince Draco is now 27 years of age, and his formal education has long since finished. It is time that he begins preparation to take over your role, when the inevitable time comes that you must relinquish it. Pray tell, if the day came where something were to happen to the Prince, Lucius, then who would succeed you?"

King Malfoy stole a quick look at his wife, who was doing a poor job at hiding her fear in the presence of Voldemort. "I hope that I understand you – you mean to say that Draco's current obligation as Prince is to find a wife and produce an heir to our family lineage?"

"That is it exactly. Now, do not misunderstand, this is not only for Draco. I am speaking into existence this new decree for anyone of high royal ranking in my court. It shall be written into the law to be followed by all future monarchs. The sitting Prince or Princess, when of marrying age, shall find a spouse and secure an heir to their throne. This is the only way I can ensure that your positions are never filled by an – unsuitable King."

"Of course, the Queen and I will start looking for suitable matches for the Prince immediately. The Parkinson's girl, per-perhaps? I believe she's the same age as Draco."

"An arranged marriage is of no use to me, Lucius, and lacks the urgency I desire. The spouse Draco chooses matters very little to me. I doubt our Prince here would let a woman undermine everything we've built. He will make wise decisions, won't you, boy? It is the heir that will be important to me."

The Dark Lord continued, "My vision is a sort of competition for Draco's hand. A nationwide display of the power and wealth of Lord Voldemort and the Royal family. The title of Princess shouldn't just be handed over – it should be earned."

"And a fine idea it is, but the Queen and I are more than willing to make sure an eligible woman - " but King Malfoy was interrupted but the quiet fury of Lord Voldemort.

"Do you dare deny the Dark Lord his right to delegate his staff in any way he deems fit?" Though his voice remained calm, it was ice in an already freezing room, cold and cutting. His eyes murderous, Voldemort relished the possibility of a confrontation. But of course, King Malfoy wasn't the type to object to authority.

"No, no, My Lord, please forgive the absurd suggestion." King Malfoy cowered deeper into the carpet beneath him.

"What say you, Draco?" Voldemort's black eyes slit over to the boy, who remained upright, challenging the Prince to say anything against this plan.

The look made Draco flinch, and he couldn't took his eyes off the wand in Voldemort's hands as he declared, "I'll do whatever is necessary for the good of the Royal family, My Lord."

And so it was on this day that the Royal Choice came to be. Every single, young woman of marrying age around the Imperial Territories would receive a letter explaining how to submit themselves as a candidate to marry Prince Draco.

In fact, just two weeks after this meeting, far away in the outskirts of Ottery St Catchpole in the English countryside, one young woman of such credentials had just received her official papers notifying her of the opportunity to join the Choice –

Hermione reread the paperwork for a second time before throwing it only the table, exasperatedly.

"Can you believe them? What are we, cattle for show?" She wasn't looking for an answer to this question, but when her opinion wasn't immediately affirmed by the red-head next to her, Hermione flailed her arms dramatically. "Well?" She asked again, making it clear now that she expected to hear Ginny's thoughts on this ridiculous paper in her hands.

Ginny, who had received the same letter, was still reading through the details outlined in the contract. When she finished, all she said was, "I can't believe they're letting Undesirables enter, too. To be one of the 30 Eligibles means an automatic upgrade to Elite."

Hermione felt a pang in her heart. Of course that would be what Ginny deemed important from their Choice letters.

In the aftermath of the war, when Voldemort assumed total power, he announced the caste system, so as to easily identify his followers from those who had tried to subdue him. Hermione remembered the announcement vividly, though it had already been years since it rang across every radio in every wizard home within the Imperial Territories:

"As of today, May 12th, the Dark Lord has secured his Imperial Palace in the formerly known Ministry of Magic, from which he will conduct all future orders of business and herein was announced the first proclamation from the Dark Lord. A caste system will be established to better identify the rankings of the citizens under the Dark Lord's rule.

Each citizen has 48 hours to submit themselves for review at the Imperial Palace by a newly appointed and trusted Wizengamot. The castes will be divided into 5 groups:

The Royals, which will include King Lucius Malfoy, along with the Queen, the Prince, and all those who govern a large group of people in the name of the Dark Lord. Direct staff of the Dark Lord will be automatically given Royal status.

Next are the Elites, which will include any lesser staff of the Royals or those who can perform highly skilled jobs. Outspoken supporters of the Dark Lord who do not fall into the Royal caste will be automatically given Elite status.

Following are the Essentials, which will include any citizen whose work is essential to the upkeep of our society. Most notably, the fields of education, medicine, masters of alchemy, etc. Famed artists and entertainers will automatically be given Essential status.

After will be the Commons. These citizens are of normal importance to society, have questionable loyalty to the Dark Lord, or are otherwise unfit for a higher status.

The final caste are the Undesirables. These are the known enemies of the Dark Lord, the beggars or otherwise useless members of society. Any surviving former members of the Order of the Phoenix will be automatically given Undesirable status.

Very few exceptions will be made to these guidelines. Avoiding to submit yourself within the graciously given 48 hour period will result in the pursuit and death of the avoiding citizens.

Please direct all questions to the Department of Inquiries at the Imperial Palace.

Hermione had been very, very lucky. Despite her wellknown friendship with Harry Potter and her close association to the Order of the Phoenix, she'd been spared her life. Tortured for information, of course, but when it came to her turn to be reviewed by the Wizengamot, her intelligence and potential to teach higher education became her saving grace. She was one of those few exceptions to the rules and was deemed an Essential. It was made very clear to her, though, how easily this could be taken away if she stepped out of line.

The Weasleys had been lucky only in that they got to keep their lives. Though beaten and tortured within an inch of them, they survived. It took no less than 5 minutes for the panel to decide the entire family were Undesirables. At that time, the caste system was still so new, that title meant very little to the Weasleys. But as the years passed, it became apparent just how hard the lives of the Undesirables would be.

Each caste was allowed to perform certain jobs and, naturally, the lower the caste, the lower the pay. Now, the Weasley's had never been a wealthy family, so they weren't affected much until the food rations began. Just like the salaries, the food supplies were divided, first by caste, then by family. It was soon obvious that the Undesirables were meant to receive barely enough food to live on.

So Mrs. Weasley, the fighter she is, produced a small garden at the side of her home to give themselves a little extra food. And of course, the Weasley family had recently so graciously allowed Hermione to stay with them – a secret, as members of different caste's weren't allowed to live together – so Hermione returned the favor by sharing any payment or rations she received. The winters were still hard on everyone, but they've managed for now.

"It says here they'll choose 30 women to come live at Hogwarts." Ginny said, her eyes still scanning the pages hungrily.

"The Royal Castle," George corrected, sarcastically, as he walked into the room, a newspaper clutched in his hand. "The King'll have your head if you keep disrespecting him like this, Gin."

This made Ginny smile. She shoved George playfully, and when he mocked being in pain from it, she laughed out loud. It was a bell-like sound that pierced the usually sullen atmosphere, a sound that came far less often these days.

"My problem with this contest is, the poor girl has to marry Malfoy after it's all said and done. He's the prize?" George asked, grimacing. "Who'd want to marry that sorry bloke?"

Ginny waved the letter, like the motion would help her brother better understand its contents. "It's not about marrying Malfoy, George. Even to be chosen as one of the 30 Eligibles grants automatic Elite status. If I could be an Elite, that would mean us never having to worry about hunger again."

Hermione pondered this. Hearing Ginny consider whether to enter her name felt queer – though it had already been just shy of 10 years since we lost Harry and the war – but hunger was a powerful vice and any thoughts of rebellion had been slowly extinguished in the early days, as many friends and allies began to refuse the new authority. They lost Neville this way, when he refused to show up for his caste assignment. Since those initial days of darkness and terror, they no longer fought the powers that be. There was no more fight left in them.

"Aren't they televising it?" George asked. "Do you really want to waltz around in frilly dresses, batting your eyes at Malfoy on television?"

"Why are you still here?" Ron asked as he, too, came into the kitchen. He paused in front of George. "Don't you have a wife and kid you need to get home to?"

"Well you know what they say, brother – happy wife, happy life, and my wife's happiest when I'm here so - "

"Oh, you got your letters?" Ron interrupted. He let his hand brush Hermione's hair as he passed, then settled into the chair next to her. He grabbed the envelope of her letter, thumbing the ink on its front. "This is yours?" He asked her. "This isn't the Burrow address on the front."

"Professor McGonagall let me register her address as my own after I moved to the Burrow. The Imperials needed proof of residence once I had moved out of my flat, and I obviously couldn't tell them I'm living here. Since she and I were given the same caste, she thought it'd be safer. This is the first bout of mail I've received, so it arrived at hers and she sent it by owl this morning."

Ron nodded his understanding, then flipped open the envelope. "Well? What do the letters say?"

George grabbed Ginny's letter from her hands, ignored her protest – "hey!" – and read aloud the letter the girls received;

"UNDER THE GUIDANCE OF THE DARK LORD

BY THE POWER OF THE KING

HEREIN LIES

A PROCLAMATION

Whereas, on the tenth day of the sixth month, a proclamation was issued by the King under the guidance of the Dark Lord himself, which contained the following:

Beginning this year, and to be followed by any future monarch under the rule of Lord Voldemort until the unforeseeable future, is a new law: when the ruling Prince or Princess becomes of marrying age, a nationwide search will commence in the hopes of finding a suitable spouse, who will, together with the sovereign, produce an heir and begin preparations for their duties as ruling monarchs.

On the fifth day of the sixth month, Prince Draco Malfoy celebrated his twenty-seventh year of life and is anticipating the beginning of what will be known as The Choice.

The Choice will span all Imperial Territories under the Dark Lord's control and is open to any young woman, aged no more than three years older or younger than the Prince, regardless of caste. If chosen, the woman will be automatically considered and Elite and will move into the Royal Castle for as long as The Choice shall commence. Thirty women will be chosen for this opportunity.

The families of the Eligibles will be generously compensated for providing their daughter to the service of the Royal Family.

You receive this letter as the recent census confirmed within your residence lives a young woman who meets the criteria listed above. If the aforementioned lady wishes to submit herself to The Choice in hopes of becoming the Royal Princess, they should fill out the paperwork provided and submit it to the Department of Royal Affairs by owl, no later than the first of July.

The thirty Eligibles will be announce by television broadcast on the fifth of July. Upon being selected, a panel will visit each woman to confirm her eligibility and give further instructions.

Thus ends the proclamation of the Dark Lord and the Royal Family."

"We all knew Malfoy would need something as daft as a contest to find a girl thick enough to marry him," George said, causing the room to fill with laughter. Relishing the light mood, he swat playfully at his sister, causing her to leap from her chair and begin pummeling him as he jokingly attempted to dodge her punches.

Free to do as they please on this Sunday morning, Hermione grabbed Ron's hand and said, "Let's go," dragging him toward the back door of the newly reconstructed, yet still incredibly too small Burrow.

Out back sat a small shed, similar to the one Mr. Weasley used to keep his old muggle trinkets and experiments. Now, anything related to Muggles was banned, and to be caught with something was equivalent to defaming the name of the wizarding world as far as the new government was concerned. So now the shed sat empty, apart from an old burlap rug that frayed at the ends, a sofa, a long, wooden table, and a handful of mismatched chairs surrounding it.

The walls were just as bare, apart from one wall, which showcased a collage of photos of old members of the Order, friends and family members who had died in effort to stop Voldemort's reign. In the center of the collage was a photograph of Harry, big enough to be seen easily, but small enough that it could be stashed quickly if their home was ever inspected. Sometimes Ginny could be heard crying in front of it in the middle of the night. They all pretended not to hear.

The couple sat down on the sofa, as they had many times in the summer nights of the last few years since Hermione's moving in, enjoying the temporary solitude this little shed provided them.

Their romance, once long forgotten in the days following Voldemort's victory, had slowly rekindled within the past few years, and had now become a very sure thing to Hermione. Ron was comfort and love. She imagined them married someday.

As her body fit in the comfort of Ron's arms, Hermione lifted her head, looking up at him expectingly. Knowing what she wanted, and happy to oblige, he kissed her gently, whispers of kisses across her lips, her neck, her cheek, until she was in a fit of laughter at the excessive amount. She grabbed his face between her hands to stop the assault and guided his lips back to where she wanted them.

In between kisses, Ron spoke quietly as he held her "So what will you do?"

Knowing what he was referring to, she answered shortly, "I'll do nothing."

"You won't even try to be an Eligible?" Ron had stopped kissing her and though she pouted her objection, she noticed Ron's expression turned serious.

"I don't want to marry Malfoy, Ron."

"Obviously, Hermione, I know that. This isn't about marrying him. Just by becoming an Eligible, your caste would be raised to Elite. Think about how much better your life would be."

"I like my life with you."

"You want to stay with me and become an Undesirable? Does that sound like a good life to you? Always struggling? Always hungry?"

Hermione knew this was the reality if she and Ron married and started a family. She would take the caste of her husband, and together they'd live a life of poverty, hunger, need.

"We would figure it out, Ron. Let's not worry about it now." She began to fall back into the nook of his arms when –

"I think you should enter your name in the Choice," Ron said suddenly.

"You what?" Hermione exclaimed, reflexively withdrawing to the edge of the sofa. "Why?"

"You've been trying to take care of my family since day one. I just think it's time that you worry about yourself for a change. You heard the new laws. Staying with us is considered fraternizing with the enemy." As he spoke, his fingers ran absently, up and down her arm, causing bumps to form in their wake.

"When have I ever cared about what the law thought?" She paused as soon as the words left her lips, realizing that every fiber of her old self would have died knowing she wasn't following government regulations. But, she thought, there's no way that young, frizzy haired first year could have ever imagined what kind of laws she'd be asked to follow now.

The air in the small shed changed, the playfulness of a couple in love now replaced with reality. Ron's face showed no signs of humor – his eyes, normally crinkled in delight, were dull, as if he had already prepared himself to give this speech, to let Hermione go. He grabbed her hand.

"Look at me," he said, as Hermione continued to peer down into her lap, not wanting to accept the reality of what he was saying. "You're in danger every day that you stay here. You've heard the decrees, the news reports. They plan to start doing welfare checks soon. They're checking up on us, on everyone, making sure we're following the new rules."

"I know that, but I'm sure I can - "

His voice turned cold, pleading, as if trying to persuade a child away for a danger too large for the to understand. "If they find you here with a bunch of Undesirables, they'll strip you of your status too. They're not merciful, Hermione. They'll torture first, ask questions later."

He sighed, as though this conversation was aging him. "Just, promise me you'll at least try and submit your name. And if you don't become one of Eligibles, then, we'll know that you were meant to stay here with me. We can figure out our living situation, together."

"Okay, you're right," she lied, hoping that agreeing with him would convince him to drop the subject. "I have time to think about it, right? Let's just forget that the Royal family exists for," she looked at her watch, "an hour or so? Then I promise I'll focus on making important, life changing decisions."

Ron looked like he wasn't satisfied with her answer, but when she snuggled into his chest, tucking her feet underneath her, his face relaxed and he rested his cheek on her chestnut hair.

"Fine," he said, and he leaned back so he could lift her chin with his hand. Holding her still, he looked around the shed jokingly. "I can think of a lot of important things we can do in an hour," he whispered against her lips before melding them with his, his hand snaking from her chin to her hair. It was a desperate sort of kiss, like he was afraid he may never get to kiss her this way again.

And as they kissed, Prince Draco and The Choice ebbed far away from Hermione's mind.

A/N: I've had this idea in my head for such a long time. I loved the Selection's Princess storyline and I thought it could make for a really interesting love story within the Harry Potter universe. I hope the concept is explained well here and I'd LOVE to know if anyone else thinks this story is worth writing? If it gets enough interest, I'll continue a second chapter.

If you read this wordy chapter, thank you so much for reading. I'd love to know your thoughts.

-Jane