Archive of Our Own ^beta

Immediately after the second wizarding war, as often happens after wars, there was a baby boom in the Wizarding community in England. Baby bump announcements took over the owl network within months. One year postwar, the run on Bugaboo strollers at Ignatius’s Infant Importium was intense; rumor had it that duels had broken out there over Birkin nappy bags.

Within a few years, her friends were organizing play dates, discussing the best Pee-wee Quidditch leagues, or trying to get their tots to eat vegetables without magic.

Twelve years on, Hogwarts school was bursting at the seams. Dormitories had to be magically enlarged and two extra houses were added to accommodate the influx. This sent the Quidditch Cup contest spiraling into chaos and expanding the season to a whopping 30 games.

All this happened whilst the Golden Girl was blissfully unaware, cloistered in her office in the Ministry of Magic, happily writing and passing legislation, freeing elves, supporting werewolf rights, and generally being the best do gooder she could be.

This suited Hermione just fine, right up until the moment that it didn't.

On a fine Thursday morning in September, Hermione sailed into the ministry lift. She was reviewing a proposal in her mind about protecting the golden snidget population, when a bright orange notice caught her eye.

Hermione's eyes bugged out of her head. What the fuck was this, then? What do you mean, we can't get married? The ministry was forbidding marriages? And children?!

Hermione had no plans to get married in the next 3 years. As a matter of fact, she didn't have a boyfriend, or even a current fuck buddy since Viktor had returned to Bulgaria after the summer Quidditch League. Regardless, she felt very strongly about government overreach, and felt this was a step too far. Who was the Minister of Magic to tell her that she could not marry and have a child? If she wanted to birth 16 children tomorrow, it should be her right, damn it!

She jammed the button on the lift for level two, the Auror Department. She knew Harry and Ron, reluctant though they had been to join her in her crusade for elf rights, would certainly understand her distaste for this current overstep.

“Oh, thank God,” Harry moaned when she told him. “Ginny has been hinting about baby number four for months, and I don't think I can handle it. We just got Lily potty trained, and James and Albus fight like pitbulls. If I have to break up one more argument over who gets to play with Tickle Me Elmo, I'm going to avada myself. I mean, we own seven Tickle Me Elmos. We are literally outnumbered by them, and yet they still fight over them.”

Ron was no help either. “Well, that's a relief. Susan has been asking about a ring for over a year. She's upset because I proposed to Lavender only six months after we got together years ago, but I keep telling her, look how that marriage turned out! We nearly killed each other. There's really no need to jump back into marriage. You'd think after Ernie left her for another man, she would understand that. And it isn't like 6 years is too long to be dating.”

Hermione just stared at them in disbelief. Surely they understood – It wasn't about the actual practice of getting married and having babies. It was the principle of the thing!

“I saw that too, Granger. I completely understand where you're coming from. It's entirely wrong,” a familiar voice said from behind her.

She whipped around. “Malfoy! What are you doing, listening in on private conversations?”

“Not sure you're aware, Granger, but this is a bullpen. There's no such thing as a private conversation here. We don't even have cubicle walls. Our desks literally touch each other.” Malfoy leaned back in his chair and propped his expensive dragonhide boots on his aforementioned desk. Dressed in a crisp white Oxford shirt under his wand holster, with a thin blue tie and gray trousers, Draco Malfoy exuded ease and wealth.

“I'm aware of where I am, Malfoy, thank you. But I'm surprised that you agree with me. I thought the Playboy of the Decade would be perfectly fine with a marriage ban.” She tossed back her brown curls disdainfully.

“Even Playboys get married, Granger,” Malfoy said in a low voice. “And just because I leave most days at 5:00 doesn't mean I'm out fucking everything in a skirt, you know. Some of us just enjoy spending time with our pets.”

“I like spending time with my pet, Malfoy! My cat has no complaints,” Hermione shot back.

“That's because your kitty cat hasn't met me. Tell your cat I said pspspspsps.”

“I will not, you can fuck right off, Malfoy!” she said hotly, embarrassed at his blatant innuendo.

“Just let me know if you change your mind, Granger. I'm available ‘round the clock, and I'm certain my vaults have plenty of acceptable rings,” He drawled, twirling his wand in his fingers.

“Acceptable rings for what?” She asked, no longer upset, just confused.

“Our engagement, of course. What did you think we were talking about?”

“Our – what?” spluttered Hermione. She turned back to rope Harry and Ron into her disbelief, but they had mysteriously vanished into the background chaos of the bullpen. Harry appeared to hold a conversation with a hat rack. Ron polished the glass door of Robard's office studiously with his shirttail.

“Our engagement, Granger. You know what? Let's just cut to it, shall we?” He dropped his feet to the floor, stood, and then lowered himself to one knee in front of her. “Would you, Hermione Jean Granger, do me, Draco Lucius Malfoy, the honor of becoming my wife? Will you marry me?” He took off his Malfoy signet ring and held it up to her with his thumbs and long index fingers.

Hermione had stopped breathing as soon as he stood, due to his proximity. Now, she huffed out her breath, looking down at him in enraged confusion.

“I don't know what kind of sick game you're playing at, Malfoy, but I am unimpressed,” she whispered.

“And yet, still unwed,” Draco said smoothly. “Come on Granger, you always enjoy throwing off the shackles of governmental and societal oppression. You love showing your middle finger to any authority who tells you that you can't. Why not put this ring on that middle finger and we can do it together. And by do it, you know I mean sex.” He shuffled on bent knee closer to her, but if he expected her to step back, he was wildly misinformed.

As he was speaking, a plan was forming in Hermione's mind. Sure, it wasn't well thought out, and it was likely to blow up in her face, but if she played her cards right, it would also blow up in Malfoy's face, and the Ministry's as well. Two birds with one stone, like.

She smiled. “Yes, Malfoy. I will marry you.”

His look faltered for only a second, revealing the shock he must have felt. But he recovered quickly, slipping the ring onto her finger. “I'll go before our honeymoon and get you something more appropriate. Diamonds, emeralds?”

“Not fucking emeralds, Malfoy. Get me sapphires.”

“Your wish is my command, Hermione,” He murmured. At her look of sudden surprise, he continued, “Well, darling, you didn't expect me to call you Granger for our entire married life, did you? In a couple of hours, your name shall be Hermione Malfoy, after all.”

She clenched her teeth. In for a knut, in for a galleon, she supposed. “You're right, Draco. Silly me. But as for a honeymoon, I can't leave for a couple of days. I've a meeting with my department tomorrow.”

“Then we'll go Saturday. How do you feel about boats?”

“Er– like, the things on water?”

“Like the things on water,” he confirmed.

“They're… acceptable methods of transportation?”

“Perfect. I'll have Pim ready the yacht, we'll go on a round the world cruise. I shall have you pregnant by the time we return.”

Hermione was nearly done with this charade. “You fucking asshole, Malfoy.”

“Not sure anyone's explained the process of getting pregnant, Hermione, but that's not the way you do it.”

“Arghhhh!”

She turned, charging to the lifts to go to her own, much quieter and less chaotic department. It wasn't until she was at her desk that she realized she still wore his ring on her left middle finger. She tugged it loose. How had it magically resized itself to fit her? She thought idly. She placed it on the desk to return to him later and threw herself into her work, putting the morning out of her mind.

At 12:30, her door banged open.

“Miss Granger, I tried to tell him that you were busy–”

“It's all right, Violetta.” She sighed deeply and stretched cat-like, fixing Malfoy with a look of annoyance. “What do you need, Malfoy? Back for your ring so soon?”

She reached for where she'd left the ring on her desk, but was surprised to find it gone. Bugger! Did she knock it into the bin?

“Yes, in a sense, Hermione,” he said silkily, crossing the room in two long strides to stand by her side. “I decided to change that one out now. I didn't want to show up to our ceremony with the wrong one. It might make us look less legitimate.”

“What are you on about, Malfoy?”

He grabbed her left hand, and she went to slap his hand away when she noticed the signet ring back on her left middle finger. How did that happen?

“Right, and I think perhaps the ring finger is the better option? If we're going to do this, we should do it properly.” Swiftly, Malfoy removed the signet ring, returning it to his own right pinky. He spun his hand, magically producing a delicate ring with the largest oval sapphire that Hermione had ever seen, surrounded by a sparkly circlet of diamonds. It was exquisite, and it had to cost in the millions.

Before she could protest, he had pushed the ring onto her left ring finger.

Their eyes met, molten copper burning into cool pools of liquid silver.

“There we are, much better. Now, I've taken the liberty of ordering us lunch, it should be delivered–”

There was the squeak of unoiled wheels in the anteroom. A small tea cart was being pushed in magically by nothing. Laden upon it were covered silver dishes, and a bottle of champagne chilling in an ice bucket.

“- now. We'll eat, and then head to the Marriage Registration Office. I hope you don't mind, I went ahead and set everything up for 1:00 p.m.”

“What–” Despite her confusion, Hermione found herself looking at her watch. “You really think we're going to have time to eat and make our way to the fourth floor in 25 minutes?”

“You're right. I'll send word to Potter that we're going to be running a few minutes late. I'm sure they'll understand.”

“You'll send word–? What are you talking about, Malfoy, we're not getting married!”

“Hermione, first of all, calling me Malfoy will get confusing, because again, that will also be your name in about an hour. Second of all, you did agree this morning to marry me. I have witnesses. Plus, I've done all this planning. Are you really going to let it all go to waste?”

She wanted to cry in incredulity. Whatever this joke was, it was going too far. But the smell of curry was intoxicating, she had to admit. “Let's just eat, shall we?”

30 minutes later, after a surprisingly delicious meal and an even more surprisingly pleasant conversation with Malfoy– he was better read and more informed about world events than most of her friends, she would give him that– he stood.

“Going so soon? Please take all these dishes with you.”

“Hermione, are you a witch or not?” Draco snapped his fingers, and the dishes disappeared. She suppressed a small gasp. Wandless magic was seriously advanced stuff. Against her will, she felt her thighs clench just a bit.

“Come, darling, let's go.”

“Where?” she asked warily.

“The fourth floor, of course.”

“Oh, of course!” She laughed a bit, accepting his arm. If Malfoy wanted to continue this charade, what was the harm? Hermione had to admit, it was a bit fun, thinking about the uproar in the Minister's office when they heard about the Golden Girl wanting to marry.

When the lift opened on the fourth floor, strains of violin and harp could be heard. She furrowed her brow and peered around curiously.

The waiting room chairs that normally lined this space had vanished, replaced by gold chairs swagged with white tulle and pink peonies. The floor, normally a dull beige, was now a soft green carpet of grass. The overhead lighting, usually harsh rectangular fluorescents that blinked periodically for no good reason, were now a cloud of fairy lights that bathed the entire room in an ethereal light.

“What is happening…?” She asked as she stepped off the lift, her sensible work shoes sinking a bit in the grass carpet. She looked down. As she watched, her shoes were transformed into strappy silver sandals, and her practical work clothes were being transfigured into a lovely tea-length ivory dress of the most luxurious duchess satin, beaded with tiny pearls and crystals along the hem, waist, and bustline.

She looked first at Malfoy, but he slid his eyes left. Ginny stood there, wand outstretched, performing delicate movements to add beadery to the dress hem.

“Ginny!” Hermione half-whispered, half-shouted indignantly.

“What? You didn't expect to get married in a navy blue polyester blend, did you?”

“I am not–”

But just then, her eyes alighted on the Minister of Magic himself, Kingsley Shacklebolt. She smiled wickedly. Ah, just the man she hoped to see.

“Minister, so glad you could join us for this auspicious occasion,” she said.

“Miss Granger, when I issue a decree, I expect the employees of the Ministry to follow that decree to the letter. I don't make exceptions, and I don't believe in special favors,” Shacklebolt said sternly.

“Well, Minister, I suppose you're going to have to learn to deal with it,” Hermione replied firmly. “I refuse to accept that the executive government shall have any authority over what happens in my home, with my body. If I wish to marry, I will do so. And I will not accept ‘no' for an answer from you.”

“Miss Granger, you didn't let me finish. I was going to say, I don't believe in special favors, but in the case of Hermione Granger, it isn't just a special favor. It would be an honor. To show the unity of our community, to prove that a muggle-born and a pure blood are willing to marry. Someone from a mundane background, joining one of our sacred 28 families, it truly is a groundbreaking day in the wizarding world. Thank you, thank you both for this gift.”

Flash bulbs went off nearby, Hermione turned in disbelief to see half a dozen members of the press gathered.

Fuck. Hermione suddenly realized that this was about to happen. She was about to marry someone that had once hated her, someone that once found everything that she was repulsive.

There was only one person that could end this, and it was the same person that had started it all. She turned to face Draco.

“Malfoy–” at his quirked eyebrow, she started again. “Draco, surely this isn't what you want.”

Draco spoke in a low voice, meant only for her ears. “Why can't it be? Hermione, you're the most intoxicating witch I know. You're beautiful, smart, and passionate about the things you care about. And if I'm being honest, I've daydreamed about something like this for years. Why do you think I've not married already? As you can imagine, my mother has begged me to marry for years. I always refused, because I knew that the witches she would set me up with wouldn't be the one I wanted. If we're being honest, I've always pictured myself standing by you on my wedding day.”

Hermione was silent. To hear this confession, to know Draco had had daydreams similar to her own, was astounding. She’d often found herself staring at his forearms under his rolled sleeves across the table at the Leaky on Friday nights for years. When she caught a glimpse of him, sweaty from a workout at the end of the workday, she went home and got herself off to the memory. Sitting in the Auror bullpen for lunch, she couldn't help but laugh at his jokes and marvel at the amount of knowledge he had in his mind. If she had to imagine a perfect mate, she wasn't sure she’d have come up with a better one than Draco Malfoy.

“Ask me again,” she whispered.

Obediently, he immediately dropped to one knee, holding her hands. “Hermione Granger, will you marry me?”

“Yes,” she breathed.

The air was filled with cheers and claps, flash bulbs popping blindingly. Draco stood and held out his arm to her.

“Don't you want to change too?” she asked.

“Hermione, I'm always impeccably dressed,” he smirked.

She narrowed her eyes, smiling in spite of herself.

Two weeks later, Hermione awoke on the deck of the largest yacht she’d ever seen. They'd been asea for 10 days, and were currently docked in Kallithea, Greece, where Draco owned a beach house.

She smiled and stretched. It had been the best 10 days of her life.

“Hello, darling,” Draco said as he climbed the ladder up to the sun deck. He was shirtless, muscles rippling. The sunburn of his first day had faded to a warm golden tan that played well off his white blonde hair. “Ready for lunch?”

A platter of Greek meze floated up to them. “Gods, this looks delicious,” she said, popping an olive in her mouth.

“You look delicious,” Draco said, kissing her warm neck and pulling down the strap of the string bikini top.

“Again so soon?” She laughed, running her fingers through his soft hair as he lapped at one nipple, nipping it gently.

“I've missed you,” he said longingly.

“You only had to stop in at the house for a few minutes to check on the renovations,” she said. “You've been gone an hour, at most.”

“An hour away from this pretty cunt of yours is like a lifetime,” he groaned, kissing down her body and pushing down the sides of her swim bottoms hungrily.

“Aren't you going to eat?”

“Yes, gods, I thought you'd never ask,” he said, settling his face between her thighs and swiping his tongue through her wetness. “Best pussy ever.”

She giggled, both from his continued words of adoration and from the sensations he created in her body. She arched against his mouth, pushing herself down, creating just the right amount of friction. Yes, there, she thought, and told him so.

He flattened his tongue against her clit, going up and down in perfect rhythm, and it was all she could do not to scream out his name as loudly as she could. She wasn't certain that he had cast a muffliato, and her wand was below decks in their sleeping quarters.

Once she had come on his tongue, he pushed himself back up her body, lowering his swim trunks past the V of his groin. He took out his hard, long cock and ran a hand down its length. “You've got me so stiff, Hermione, gods, I can't wait to be inside of your beautiful pussy,” he said, mindlessly rutting against her side in an effort to quell his desire to come.

He rolled over, and she swung her leg over him, mounting him. She poised her glistening sex over his thick cock, dropping herself quickly to sheath him entirely within her. She howled at the sensation of fullness, and he yelled her name as the intensity of the feeling overtook him. They moved together, bodies connected at their centers in a chase for ecstasy.

When they were finished, they lay boneless, sweaty and exhausted next to each other on the deck.

“Don't forget the contraception charm,” she murmured lazily.

“Are you sure, pet?”

She turned her head to look at him quizzically, and he smirked charmingly at her.

“We're on a hot streak. Certain you don't want to break a few more of the Ministry rules?”