A/N: Love to reviewers and my dear Countess Black.

Of all the things Draco tells Hermione, all of them were actual laws during the Victorian era or later. Until the 1970s, the doctrine attributed to Fimbrius Malfoy was a law in numerous states in the US.

"A Witch and Wizard are one person under the law, and that person is the Wizard."

Fimbrius Malfoy 'De Familia' 1785

The history books also didn't record Draco Malfoy's attempts to find Granger during the battle, nearly mad with the desire to protect her, or how he'd been thwarted, and then consigned to house arrest with both his parents.

Or the symptoms he was manifesting. Like the pacing. He was always pacing, when he wasn't trying not to smash things and yelling at anyone who got too close. He'd actually shouted at Mother. The sight of her tears had been incredibly awful, and Draco found a new ingredient added to the Veela stew inside him: self loathing.

To make things worse, he found he was burdened with compulsions now. He'd had the elves put up heavy winter curtains to make his bed feel safer and more private. He spent inordinate amounts of time patrolling the grounds to see that intruders were kept away; some people think of long solitary walks as a means of self improvement-Draco considered them signs of encroaching madness.

And then there was Parkinson. The Ministry had put out that he'd been badly injured and no guests were to allowed at Malfoy Manor until he was well. That suited Draco. He'd no urge to see Pansy. It would seem like a substitution of the most unsatisfactory kind, a scrap of mouldy bread for a piece of Sacher torte.

Draco heard Father's footsteps in the corridor. He paid more attention to those things these days, rather through instinct or because he had cause to think about them he didn't know. Father knocked and then paused, careful not to approach without Draco's say so. "Enter, Father."

"Draco, there's a woman from the Ministry here. They want you examined."

The woman was a pretty, tired looking witch of thirty five or so. "Sit down, Mr. Malfoy. Your arm, please." The woman tried not to grimace when she saw the Mark; she calmly drew a drop of blood and swished her wand over it, analysing the resulting runes and sigils with startling rapidity.

"No doubt about it, he's got active veela traits. I'd say a good thirty percent or so."

She gave them some forms to fill out, stamped them, and like that, Draco was registered as a part veela, and therefore a protected class. And I presume you're aware of your right to choose a mate?"

Narcissa spoke up from the chair next to Lucius'. "He has."

Draco briefly outlined what had happened for the woman, who was nodding along.

"The actions you took show plainly that this girl is your mate. I'll file the petition when I get back. Who is she?"

"Hermione Granger."

The functionary dropped the quill. "You don't mean-"

"And now perhaps you see the dilemma?"

The woman was shaking her head. "There's not one. The Granger girl has no choice but to comply. Since they started keeping records on this in 1469, there have been over five hundred cases of mates who tried to refuse. They finally enacted laws to take away that option." She showed them a small pamphlet entitled 'Veela Blood? Know your Rights!"

"So this Veela Mate Act takes away her right to refuse me?"

"Correct. They were having serious problems with outbursts of violence on the behalf of the veela-mate."

"What do we have to do?"

The woman felt a twinge of sadness for the girl, she really did. But considering exactly how violent part veelas could get to claim (or defend) a mate, she understood precisely why refusal wasn't an option for Hermione. So she calmly took out a mini-Pensieve and asked Draco to call forth his memories for her to harvest.

After a brief test with Veritas syrum, the woman left, having ruined Hermione's life, as required by law.

Hermione and Ron had been sitting on the divan, her head on his shoulder, when the letter had come. He'd been stroking her hair. "Hermione?"

"Ron?" She'd always wonder what he might have said next, except that the letter came, along with an eagle owl. He'd rose, grumbling, and opened the window. "It's for you."

She took the letter from him, slit the seal and read:

"Dear Miss Granger,

A veela claim has been registered between yourself and one Draco Lucius Malfoy. A hearing has been set for three days from now, at 9:00 AM.' There were a few more details but Hermione didn't notice them, so intent was she on what she'd just read.

"Ron? I think we've a problem here."

They reached the room at 8:45. The Malfoys were there. As soon as Draco saw Hermione, he started toward them. His father quickly clamped his shoulder and said something in his ear. He calmed ever so slightly, but it hardly took an Arithmatician to see that he was like a pot on slow boil.

This was torture. It took all Draco's self control not to go over there that second and take her away. Couldn't they see she was his? Everything about her belonged to him, and this whole thing was stupidly unnecessary. It was so absolutely plain, why didn't they just give her to him so they could go home? Draco could feel his nails digging into the flesh of his palms and understood why there were veela laws.

"Malfoy claim hearing? Room three, please."

The magistrate was sitting at the table. "Claimant first."

The Ministry employee handed the file over. "Everything looks in order. Miss Granger?"

Hermione had spent the previous two days and nights poring over every books she could find that had anything to do with veelas. She'd found very little to help her refute Malfoy's claim on her, but she'd not go down without a fight.

"Mr. Weasley has asked me to marry him, which is a binding verbal precontract. Harry Potter is prepared to swear to the veracity of my statement." Harry nodded and shot daggers at the Malfoys.

Lucius hardly grabbed Draco quickly enough to keep him from springing at Potter. Draco wanted to tear his arm from the socket. How dare they try to take her away!

"The law makes clear that the ritual pre-mating activity constitutes binding betrothal and therefore overcome a verbal precontract. Your previous engagement is null and void. Has the former fiance paid any bride price to Miss Granger's parents?"

"No, sir." Ron blushed, knowing the Malfoys were smirking at him. Well, sod them, Hermione's parents didn't want his money and they were modern people-why should he pay for her like she was a wheel of cheese?

"Mr. Malfoy, have you made restitution to your former fiancee?"

"I have, your Wisdom."

The old man nodded. "Fine, then. Let the record show that Draco Lucius Malfoy, active part veela, and Hermione Granger, his mate, are by Ministry decree joined and become one in fact of law. Miss Granger is released into the custody of Draco Malfoy."

"Then I might take her home right now?" Draco was already crossing to where Hermione was, and when her friends blocked his way, he simply shoved them aside. It might have got truly ugly had the aurors not stepped in and pulled Harry and Ron away from Hermione.

"Legally."

Draco knew that, betrothed or not, it wasn't seemly for him to touch Granger in public. He found he didn't care. He put both arms around her and held her tightly for a moment, revelling in her scent and her warm skin. She was wriggling against him, but that was all right. She'd learn, surely. It took all his will to step back, keeping a hand on her arm. "Time to go home."

"No."

"Granger."

"No, I said." Hermione reached for her wand, only to remember they'd taken it from her, like everyone else. Malfoy stepped closer and the magistrate finally stepped in.

"Miss Granger, I regret that you don't wish to go. But you must understand, at the moment you're a public health risk, exactly like an epidemic of Dragon Pox or Hierophant's Chorea. You've seen Mr. Malfoy nearly attack several people as we were standing here. Whether you go voluntarily or not, you will go."

Hermione wondered if this is how prey animals felt the second before the predator pounced. "Isn't there an appeals process?"

"I'm sorry. Mr. Malfoy, perhaps you should leave before things turn unpleasant."

"Of course. Draco, if you're ready..." Draco took Hermione's wrist and led her off without another word. Hermione jerked against his hold as he led her down the corridor. "Stop it and come along, Granger."

"Let go!"

They'd reached the Floo before he could respond and he decided that, the strong talk about manners they'd be having later aside, to take a direct course. He simply stepped in and said 'Malfoy Manor'.

Hermione's first impression was they were in a museum, or a high class brothel. Everything was mirror and gilt, thick carpets and dark wood. Malfoy, without releasing her wrist, managed to get her cloak off and threw it to the floor.

"Well, Draco, that went nicely."

"I thought so too, Mother."

"I expect Miss Granger and yourself will be adjuring upstairs now?"

"I daresay. Though I expect an apology wouldn't be amiss, would you, Granger?"

Hermione pulled hard at her arm. "Hell will freeze first."

Lucius didn't especially want a scene at the moment-after all, the girl had been here all of five minutes. Once Draco had got to work kerbing that stubborn streak, he'd give her a good scolding about her behaviour, but not until she'd adjusted a little. One might as well shout into a storm, otherwise.

"Perhaps later, Draco. Why don't the two of you go and get to know one another better, hmm?"

Draco nodded. "Yes, Father." Without another word, he started to drag her toward the stairs and then thought better. They would Floo instead, so she'd be less inclined to try to esca-wander where she oughtn't.

For the second time in one day, Hermione found herself spit into unfamiliar territory, except that it wasn't. It was Malfoy's rooms. She had only a second to notice before Malfoy was through, and was staring at her,

"Well?"

"Well, what?"

"I want an apology."

"Fuck you." Hermione stared right back, not caring if he liked it. Malfoy huffed and stood a little closer. "Granger, perhaps you've not quite adjusted to this yet, but you're mine now, and when I tell you to do something, you'll do it."

"No."

"That wasn't a choice. Tell me you're sorry and we'll move past this." He was very annoyed she was acting out like this-of all people, she ought to have seen how important this was, how utterly right. And they were in their own rooms-wasn't that comforting to her? He could keep her safest of all here.

Hermione stood straighter. "I'm not apologising. You dragged me here against my will, and I shan't pretend otherwise."

Draco shrugged. "Your choice." A second later, Hermione found herself being carried toward the bed, struggling and fighting, trying to claw. He put her down on the bed and easily pinned her, letting her pound his chest and try to kick him.

"Get this out of your system directly, Granger, because it won't happen again. "

"LET GO! YOU'RE HURTING ME!"

"No, you're hurting you. Lie still."

"GET OFF!"

Hermione twisted violently and tried to squirm out from under him, even trying to bite him. Malfoy chuckled softly and pinned both wrists over her head, dropping his face to her neck and breathing. Her smell was still there, muted now that she wasn't in oestrus but still familiar, still compelling and earthy and wonderful.

Hermione was tiring. His grip was like iron and her muscles were burning, trembling. He was pressing himself to her, murmuring softly. "Keep fighting, Granger. Easier for me if you tire yourself out, isn't it?"

Hermione froze. Did he mean to...would he...Malfoy chuckled again. "That's better."

"Please let me up."

He shook his head. "No, I think this a good position for a chat about obedience, hmm?"

"Please, Malfoy?"

"That's a start, Granger. Now, if you're good, you get rewarded. If you aren't, you get punished, understand?"

Granger's pulse was racing in her throat. Draco grinned, knowing he was at his advantage now. "I shan't hurt you, Granger, but I can make your life most unpleasant. Are you going to be nice?"

Hermione nodded, eyes wide. Draco could faintly smell her fear-it was hot, strangely sweet, heady as wine. He suspected, had it been anyone else, he would have quite liked it, but as it was, it just made him feel unsettled, almost...nervous.

He relaxed his hold and found himself, quite unwillingly, stroking her hand lightly for a moment. "I really shan't hurt you, you know. Just take a deep breath and stop fighting, won't you?"

Hermione made herself go limp. She felt cold all over, realising how vulnerable she was and how awfully alone. She was in Draco's house, and if she screamed, no one would come. Even her parents thought she was at Ron's. They'd have told them, but...

"Malfoy?"

"Hmmmm?"

"Would you mind climbing off now?"

"Not yet. You understand your behaviour this morning was unacceptable, don't you?"

"I..."

"I know you've not been taught any better, but starting from now, if you're told to do something, you need to do it without fussing. We've a much higher standard than you're used to, but I expect you to make the effort."

He slowly let go and then rolled off, loathe to break contact just yet. "What did you eat last?"

Hermione slowly sat, watching him. "Dinner. Malfoy, this will never work."

"Of course it will. You're mine and that's an end to it."

"No, it isn't."

"Yes, it is. Stop being stubborn about this, it's irritating."

"At very least, I need to go and tell my parents." She assumed Ron already had, but she was desperate to see them and explain, or just get a little comfort from their presence.

"No. The Ministry's already done, I'm sure." She wasn't leaving his sight for a very long time, at least, and they really did need to make an understanding about her behaviour. She'd feel better once she understood that he was in charge.

"I'd like to tell them in person."

"No, I said. Tibby' the little elf appeared and bowed 'fetch us something to eat, Miss is starving. And some pumpkin juice."

He turned back to Hermione. "Punishment and reward. Your fit at the Ministry means you don't get to go and see them for-oh, let's say a week. When you've proved you can behave in a way that befits a lady, we'll talk."

Hermione went white. "That's not fair, Malfoy."

"Look, have something to eat and perhaps you can send a letter."

The elf had brought smoked fish and cheese and bread, and Hermione picked at a little of the food, wanting desperately to contact her loved ones. Draco frowned. "No letter until you've cleaned your plate."

Hermione set her food down slowly. "Malfoy, I'm not a dog. Stop trying to tell me what to do."

Draco felt stung. He was trying to do what was best for them, that was all. But perhaps this was good-once she saw she couldn't have her own way all the time, she'd calm down.

" The magistrate said you're mine. That means I can tell you what to do and you'll have to do it. Meant what I said, I can make your life terribly unpleasant."

""How?" Nasty little git, always making himself feel better by tearing someone else down. Malfoy ate a bit of his food.

"I decide where you go, for one, and whom you might see. At the moment, you're restricted to this room, the lavatory and where ever Mother and Father explicitly request you be. I decide what books you read, what shops you shop at, what food you eat. You have no secrets from me, no matter how minor, no right to privacy I don't give you. When you go to St. Mungo's, the medi-wizard will be whomever I select to treat you, and he'll consult with me about my wishes as to your treatment. Have an account at Gringotts?"

"Yes." It was modest but Hermione had always been comforted, knowing she had a small nest egg in the wizarding world. Draco was smirking again.

"Not anymore. It's been frozen, or will be as soon as they get the word from the Ministry. After we're married, it gets closed and the funds transferred to my account. If you want something, you'll ask me and I'll decide if I want you to have it or not."

Hermione's cheeks were getting pinker by the moment. "That can't be right."

"No, it is. And I can dispose of anything of yours I like. Clothing, jewellery-not that I imagine you have much-books, that mangy animal-all belong to me now. So I guess I'd stop acting out, because your behaviour determines your comfort."

"You're making that up."

"Am I? Tibby, go get Fimbrius Malfoy's commentary on family law, and then whatever one like it is newest." Tibby obeyed, and returned with two huge tomes. "Go on, read."

Hermione flipped until she found the relevant portions and discovered, to her horror, that what he'd been saying was true. "This...this is...barbaric."

"Not at all. I've my obligations as well, you know. To keep you in reasonable style, for one, and make sure you've everything you need. Care for you, make sure you're protected and healthy. Support whatever children we have, and educate them."

And he'd do it. She was his, and if some of this was bitter to her, somehow, there was sweetness as well. He made her choices, but, if she was good, his guide would be her happiness. He'd see she was beautifully dressed, fed the finest foods, served by loving elves. Her life would be quiet and peaceful, and he'd keep her safe. What more could any woman want?

Hermione felt ill. She let the book slide from her hands onto the bed. This is so much worse than she might have thought. No matter how bad it had seemed, this was a thousand times more terrible. She wouldn't cry, she wouldn't...her eyes were aching. "May I have some privacy?"

"No.' Draco scooted back on the bed and opened his arms to her. "Come and tell me all about it."

Hermione jerked as though she'd been burnt. "What?"

"No secrets, remember? I can't keep you safe if you won't trust me to make it better." He waited for her to curl up against him and tell him about what was bothering her. The rational human part of him seemed to find that unlikely, so Draco told it to piss off. Of course she trusted him; she was his.

Hermione made herself swallow the tears she'd only wanted a little privacy to shed. " No. I feel fine now."

"Mmmm, lying is naughty. If this continues, I should be forced to write that letter for you." He settled back and watched, delighted, as Hermione made herself approach him. This was proof, wasn't it, that she felt safe with him? "Take your outer robes off and leave them for Tibby to collect."

Hermione did it, leaving her in a simple dress and stockings. "That's so much better. Head on my shoulder, that's right." She was here, she was safe, she'd never leave him again. He locked his arms about her and gently slid down until he was lying nearly flat and he could direct her head to his chest.

Hermione's skin was crawling. She and Ron had done this so many times, and it had never felt like this. She hated it, hated him, hated the house and everyone in it. She'd never feel safe here, never.

"We don't have to talk about it right now. Would you rather a good nap first?" Hermione hated him even more for seeming sincere. Bastard. He'd ruined her life and then, unbelievably, wanted to cuddle like they were anything but captor and captive, or close enough to it.

"We'll be married soon, of course. Be sure your parents know that. I've no intention of ruining your reputation or anything. And Father will pay them a good bride price. Do you have a dowry?"

She shook her head no. Her parents...how would she ever tell them about all this? The sheer impossibility of the situation made her close her eyes against a few errant tears. How could she have survived everything only to end up on virtual house arrest in Malfoy Manor?

He could smell her tears. Hot, salty, without the depth and sweetness of blood. "Crying?" Stubborn mudblood, she actually shook her head! He tipped her face up, holding her chin. "Are too. Out with it."

"Don't you want to cry?"

"No." Why should he? His universe had righted itself. He gently rubbed her back with his free hand, feeling her heart pounding under his palm. Perhaps he ought to have her dosed before their first nap together.

"What about Parkinson?"

Draco actually got quiet for a moment. "It's not like it was. I wish her well, but'... but every ounce of passion had got concentrated that night, and spent on her. He had no room for feelings other than relief and a sort of bone deep contentment. It wasn't exactly happiness, but it wasn't unhappiness, and definitely wasn't Granger's silent, defiant misery.

"May I write that letter now?"

"Not yet. Close your eyes for a little while. Shall I read aloud?" He'd always loved being read too, and he was willing to bet Granger did too. Hermione shook her head. "I think I'd rather just sleep."

"That's fine. Tibby, find Miss a nightgown until we can get her one of her own." The elf complied and Draco smiled indulgently at Granger's discomfiture with his watching her undress. "Look, I'll hide my eyes. Is that better?"

Dressed for a second time in Narcissa Malfoy's spares, Hermione found herself under a mound of bedclothes. "I shan't leave you, Granger. Close your eyes and you'll feel so much better once you've woken."

Hermione found herself lying on her side, knees to chest, trying not to cry. Malfoy stayed beside her and then, sighing rose. "I'm going to write some letters. You stay there and rest, you're worn out." She'd be much more compliant and sensible after a long rest. Perhaps she'd even want to cuddle.

He sat down at the escritoire in his little sitting room, in full view of Granger, should she need him. "Dear Pansy,

I am compelled by sentiment to tell you..."

'