Disclaimer: Own Harry Potter, I do not.

The Inbred Problem

Hermione Granger frowned. Wizarding society was on the brink of a population crisis and still the ministry was here waffling about and dragging their feet.

She knew delaying tactics when she saw it and they had tried, quite desperately, to impede her progress however much they could. Hoops after hoops, they've made her jump through. They had even claimed, more than once, that the paperwork that she'd filed was lost till she got tired of their games and placed a tracking spell on her papers and called them out on their shite the next time they tried it on her again.

It wasn't that she didn't understand their reluctance but what she was proposing was a mild inconvenience compared to the conclusion that her months of researching facts and figures had led her to.

"You can protest, you can give me flimsy excuses as to why this is a bad idea, but the fact remains that the population figures of the entirety of wizarding Britain are dismal," Hermione said, eyes flitting from one person to another. "Wars simply aren't conducive to maintaining a steady population. We've lost too many to the last two. We're dying."

That, she saw, finally got their attention. There was no motivator quite like the prospect of staring your legacy's mortality in the face.

"While I certainly see the merit of this law that you're suggesting we enforce," said a man, Richards, if Hermione recalled correctly. The best she could say about Richards was that he reminded her of Umbridge. "Why must we force it between a pureblood and a half-blood or... muggleborn?" He said, his upper lip curling in disgust at the last word.

Umbridge, certainly, except the woman in question would still look prettier in pink than Richards ever would.

"Every single pureblood family is quite literally three steps away from being the pug of humanity!" Hermione quelled the man who had been about to protest that 'pugs are cute!' with a deathly look and turned it to the rest of the room's occupants, daring them to contradict her.

The careful weeding and selection that the purebloods did when it came to marrying off their children had meant that the gene pool of the purebloods in Britain had been bottlenecked to only about 50 individuals. Frankly, Hermione was surprised that they could still tell their arse from their mouths, though, by the look of Richards, he had only just barely avoided that fate.

"We understand your worries, Ms Granger," started one of the men, who to his credit only cringed slightly when she turned her glare on him. "But the Ministry has a hard enough time trying to rebuild after the war. Unleashing a law like this on the families..." He trailed off, but Hermione heard what the man hadn't said. Their main source of funds still came from these pureblood families. Forcing them to something against their convention would only cause them to pull out their support and where then would that leave the Ministry?

Hermione looked down at her clasped hands, running through the possibilities in her mind. It was a contingency that she had planned for, one she wasn't too keen on but because she was Gryffindor to a fault, she was willing to do.

"What if I got the Malfoys on board?"

Narcissa had raised a hand, effectively cutting Hermione off mid-sentence. Hermione had been prepared to argue her point with facts and figures and detailed research about the ill-effects of inbreeding. But the look on Narcissa's face made the words die on her tongue and she silently waited for the Malfoy matriarch to speak.

"I am aware of what you are trying to achieve here, Ms Granger, and I admire your efforts. Given the chance, the pureblood families would rather their lines die out than concede to a marriage with a muggleborn," Narcissa sniffed disdainfully at the mention of the arrogance of pureblood families and Hermione found herself momentarily startled that Narcissa Malfoy of the noble house of Black seemed to be agreeing with her. Years of dealing with wizarding bureaucracy and indolent gentry though had given her a healthy dose of cynicism, so Hermione narrowed her eyes instead and steeled herself for the inevitable 'but' that would follow.

"It is commendable what you're willing to do for the good of wizarding society. Draco..." Here, a sad smile came over Narcissa. "He hasn't been the kindest of boys. Especially not to you."

It was a very odd sensation indeed to find that Narcissa Malfoy may possibly care about your wellbeing. Hermione blinked and blinked again.

"But," said Narcissa and Hermione tensed.

"I have no desire to force him into something against his will. Never again," said Narcissa, her voice hard as steel and Hermione was reminded that this seemingly frail woman in front of her was a mother who had lied to the Dark Lord to protect her son. She reached out and held onto Narcissa's hand, small and pale in hers.

"I have no intentions of forcing Mal-... Draco. Let me speak to him, please," Hermione smiled when slowly, Narcissa nodded her assent.

He was seated, staring at a blank wall when she first came to see him. He looked like a statue, all marble and alabaster; still and quiet as one. Hermione was tempted to pinch him in the sides just to see if he was still alive. Taking that as an opportunity, she'd discreetly observed him.

Aside from his platinum hair and grey eyes, there was almost no sign of the boy that had tormented her throughout Hogwarts. His ever present sneer was absent and there was no longer any of the maliciousness that she had come to associate with him. His right sleeve was rolled up to his elbow, but the left one was covered up to his wrist. That in itself was surreal; she had never known him to not be impeccably dressed. She wondered at this stranger that sat, silent and stationary, with not a flicker of emotion.

"Malfoy?" She waited but received no answer. It was like he wasn't even there.

"Malfoy?" She tried again and inched closer to him. Nothing.

Tentatively, Hermione reached out, intending to grasp his shoulder and shake him from this stupor. At the slightest touch of her hand, he had flinched so violently she had the sudden fear that she had accidentally hit him instead.

She stared wide eyed at the space he had hastily vacated, slamming his back hard against the wall as he looked frantically for an imagined attacker. When he sighted her, he stopped his scrabbling, though the tension did not leave the lines of his shoulders.

"G-Granger?" He croaked and she blinked up at him, noting distantly that he'd started scratching furiously at his left forearm, almost like he was trying to gouge deep troughs into his skin.

It took a few dates, well, she referred to them as dates but it really was more like visits, and a lot of her moving his hand away before he stopped trying to scratch his arm off whenever he saw her. It took a few more for her to try to explain to him what she was trying to do.

"Granger," Draco drawled. "Here again? I'm beginning to think that you can't get enough of me." He'd sneered but there was no malice behind it; she'd learned to tell by now. If she hadn't known better, she would have thought he was flirting with her.

She'd levelled a gaze at him at that and he'd smirked wider in return. His behaviour now was such a far cry from the time she'd first reunited with him that she often found herself wondering if she had just dreamt it all up till Narcissa gave her an awkward hug when she'd stepped through the floo. The Malfoys it seemed, were full of surprises.

Draco, as she got to know him, was pompous, intelligent, wicked and had a lovely, lovely smile. He never backed down from an argument, though he'd concede if her points were valid and he liked his tea sugarless yet he ate jam like a fiend. He was sorry too, for being an evil little git in school, though she'd stopped him when he tried to apologize for the war as well.

Somewhere, somehow, Hermione had moved from tolerating him to genuinely enjoying Draco's company and even Narcissa's when she would join them. She'd put off telling him why she'd first came to him and it was made easier since Draco never pried about what had made her appear in front of him suddenly after all these years.

Still, she was a woman on a mission and eventually Hermione had to say something. She just hadn't anticipated his reaction when she finally did. He'd shut off immediately, bearing a facade of British politeness as she relegated the details to him.

He'd dutifully look over her meticulous notes, nodded at the right moments and made the right noises then had agreed, rather nonchalantly, like it didn't affect him personally. After all that was said and done, she had expected him to return to their easy banter and start teasing her about her latest political exploits only to have him promptly see her off at the floo. He was the perfect gentleman, but his standoffish manners had hurt and she wasn't quite sure why.

The wedding was every bit as opulent as she'd pictured a Malfoy wedding would be. It was truly every little girl's dream if every little girl dreamt of being in an uncomfortable dress while waiting to be married to a man who had barely glanced at her except to discuss wedding details.

They'd recited their vows and when he'd made to kiss her after, she'd turned her face and he'd ended up kissing her cheek. His grip on her shoulders tightened momentarily then. By the time she'd looked back at him, he'd already glance away at the guests, a tight smile on his face.

When Lucius came up, intending to sweep her away for a dance, Draco had clung to her arm, his expression filled with concern. Hermione had had to pry his fingers off and gently pat his hand reassuringly till he'd finally relinquished her to his father. He grabbed Lucius and whispered rather viciously into his ear. Hermione did not miss the slight twitch in Lucius' brow before he nodded stiffly.

As with his son, Lucius was the perfect gentleman and they'd waltzed across the floor for a few silent moments. It was pleasant enough, but she couldn't help but feel slightly ill at ease. She surreptitiously sought Draco out in the crowd, allowing herself to be comforted by his solid presence.

"Be kind to him Ms Granger, he hasn't been the same since..." said Lucius as he followed her line of sight to rest on his son. Hermione wanted to laugh in the man's face but rein herself in sufficiently so as to not cause a scene.

"I wonder whose fault that is," said Hermione, some degree of malevolence colouring her tone. She inwardly delighted at the flash of fury that came over Lucius before his aristocratic mask slipped flawlessly into place.

"I have made mistakes in my life, Ms Granger," he said through gritted teeth. "You don't have to like me but trust me when I say I want to do right by my son this time."

Hermione pulled back a little and looked upon the elder Malfoy's face, so alike his son.

"It's Mrs Malfoy now, Lucius," she said, finally. A small smile curled the corner of his lips before that too disappeared rapidly and Hermione found herself curiously disappointed at that.

"Thank you," began Lucius, "... Hermione." He twirled her around the dance floor and she, laughing breathlessly, allowed him.

"How is the law going over?" Draco asked when they sat down to breakfast one day, spreading a layer of jam as thick as the bread it laid on.

"The public has been more receptive to it since we married," she said without looking up from the paper she was perusing. "As is expected, one Malfoy word is more effective than my months of badgering," she added with no small amount of bitterness in her tone.

She could hear Draco still at the other end of the table. She hadn't meant for it to come out that way, but it was the truth and she'd never shied away from that. She waited for him to say something, to contradict her maybe, but when no words came, she shrugged. At the very least, she could appreciate that Draco did not bother with empty platitudes.

"I've added an amendment to the law. Once an offspring has been borne of the union, they are free to divorce and seek partnership elsewhere. It was the best compromise I could find," she said, if only to fill the awkwardness between them.

"Does the stipulation apply to us as well?" He asked, his voice sounding slightly strangled to her ears.

She was silent for a long time before she answered in a very quiet voice.

"If you wish it to."

They had sex every month on her ovulating days like clockwork. It wasn't making love nor was it fucking. Fucking suggested a hint of passion, but their act of copulation was as sterile as a doctor's examination room. He'd thrust into her, touching as little of her as possible while she'd laid back and thought of England.

Sometimes when he was done, he'd look at her like he wanted to say something, but she didn't enquire and he volunteered no explanation.

Never mind that she ached to press every inch of her body against him and have him return her hold with the same degree of neediness. Never mind that he yearned to know how she'd taste like, to know the sounds she'd make if he were to kiss her like one would a lover.

This was solely a marriage of political convenience and they both knew it.

She pretended not to notice when he brushed the hair off her face tenderly when he thought she'd gone to sleep. He pretended not to care when she edged closer to him in the bed when she'd awaken from a too-real nightmare.

"You'll help me when... if I get pregnant, won't you?" She had asked in a moment of vulnerability after one of their lacklustre round of sex. "You won't leave me to deal with it alone?"

He had gently grabbed her hand then and she'd been startled by the sudden warmth. As she turned her head to face him, she'd caught the look of shock on his face at his own impulsive actions yet he made no move to pull back. She only tightened the grip and felt assured when he returned it.

He didn't say anything but she took the warmth that held onto her all night as a positive sign.

He disappeared for two weeks when she told him she was finally pregnant.

Hermione found him again, staring at the blank wall that had been his only confidant before their marriage.

There were angry, foul, hurtful words on the tip of her tongue, ready to be unleashed onto him as her rage boiled. Their marriage may had been a sham but she hadn't expected him to leave her alone to deal with something so important. They'd both agreed that they'd go through this together, didn't they?

What she had wanted to say died in her throat, however. He'd started scratching again and this time he did manage to carve out the troughs that he was digging for. Her anger bubbled away to a simmer as her face softened.

She brushed the floor next to him and sat down, tucking her legs underneath her. She leaned against him and closed her eyes, breathing in his scent for a while. Slowly, she took his hand, the one that had been scratching madly at his left forearm and held it in her lap, drawing light circles in his palm.

"You can't keep doing this to me, Draco," Hermione said. She felt him startle against her and she waited for him to realise she was there.

"Hermione," he whispered. She screwed her eyes shut at his reverent tone.

"Why did you leave?" she asked. He tried to clench his fist, but she forced it open, barely pausing in her soothing motions.

"I... I can't," Draco started to say but snapped his mouth shut with an audible click. She sighed. He gripped her hand, willing her to understand.

"Can't what?" Hermione coaxed. It was time they stopped running, time they stopped this ridiculous dancing around each other that they did.

"Please don't leave," Draco blurted out.

"I didn't. You did," she said. He cringed at that.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have," he said in a soft voice. "You only need me for my name, I know that. But I can't... Not without you."

Hermione froze. For such a smart woman, she really was utterly hopeless when it came to things like this. She felt that she ought to kick herself and kick him too, for being equally as stupid and presuming her feelings without bothering for clarification.

"And your first solution is to run away?" She finally asked.

"I said I was sorry," he answered petulantly, cheeks tinged red and she'd revelled in that bit of him that was coming back to her.

"We've both been so utterly stupid," she said, looping an arm around his waist and leaning her head against his shoulder. Tentatively, he pulled her closer, holding on to her like she was the most fragile item in existence. In time, she'd break him out of that but for that moment she permitted it.

The both of them had always been very adept at using words to hurt and maim, but words of affection were uncharted territory.

"I love you," she whispered into his ear, feeling brave and giddy and all the silly things that one felt in situations like this. "Not just for your name, but for you." He'd shifted slightly so he could look at her. She offered him the tremulous smile that she reserved for him.

"I'll have you, if you'll have me," she said.

They fucked for the first time against that wall. Passions burning high as Draco got his answer while they exchanged fervour kisses and Hermione got her wish as he clung onto her; both of them frantically racing to make up for all the missed chances.

After that, they'd made love, slowly exploring the other, learning scars and sounds and dips and curves. And somewhere in between all that, Draco had muttered to her again and again, like a prayer:

"I love you."

A/N: I didn't expect that I'll ever be writing a Marriage Law fic... But when I figured how to make it into a plausible situation, it had to be written. Not my best but there you go.

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