Disclaimer – I own nothing.

A.N – Welcome all! So I've had this in my head for a while, and I couldn't get it out, so I outlined, and here it is. I know, lots of people have done marriage fics but I'm hoping to add something new to the table, which I warn you now, I may fail at. On that note, this story is HBP compliant, AU Seventh Year. This is going to get gritty, and raw at times, but I sincerely hope you will enjoy the ride anyway.

Note: For those of you who are new to my stories, this story will be categorized as complete, and I will make sure that no chapter ends on a cliffhanger so that the story will feel complete until the next chapter. However, I usually update about once a month, sometimes twice depending on my schedule—when the story is complete to my liking you will know it because it will say "The End." Well, hope everyone enjoys!

A.A.N – The opening paragraph is from A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens.

/And I wanted it, I wanted it bad, but there were so many red flags

Now another one bites the dust; yeah, let's be clear, I'll trust not one.

You did not break me, I'm still fighting for peace

Well, I've got thick skin and an elastic heart

But your blade—it might be too sharp/

-Elastic Heart, Sia

Chapter 1 – The Temptation of Choice

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way – in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.

Hermione looked at Draco Malfoy – broad shoulders, eyes made of ice, tall and dominating presence; she knew that she was looking at a man that could convince her that the devil had a nice side…but she had to be strong; she had to be wise in her decision…she had to remember that she does not know him, so as to give him a fair chance; but it was so hard after so many years, after knowing that he was the reason a great man was dead, to look a man in the eyes that had despised you a week ago, only to find that today he desired to be your husband. But he wasn't a man yet, not yet.

"The marriage law will blow over, you know," Hermione lied. She knew it wouldn't, and so did he. It was a test, and he knew it was one. The Ministry of Magic was too desperate, too hopeful that Purebloods forcibly marrying muggle-borns and halfboods will bridge the divide between them.

Draco raised one eyebrow, and without words acknowledged what she tried and had failed to do.

"Granger," Draco stood by the window of the living room in a fancy muggle hotel Presidential suite, regal in his posture and king in his domain. He looked strong; a stark contrast to the unraveling boy he'd been at the end of Sixth Year. "I know our history has been a volatile one."

"Exactly," she leaned forward. "You've hated me for the last—what, five years? There are countless muggle-borns out there. Why me?"

"Because if I must marry a muggle-born then I'm at least going to marry the best one of the lot," he replied simply. It was his truth in all of its arrogant glory, and Hermione couldn't even fault him for it. This was who he was—arrogant, prideful, and relentless when he wanted something.

Today, he wanted her, and Hermione had yet to know what to do with that fact.

"I know two others have petitioned for your hand—Weasley and McLaggen." He looked over at her, and she didn't look away.

She wasn't ashamed or embarrassed that one was her best friend and the other is even more arrogant than Draco with less reason to be. She could almost shudder at the thought of Mclaggen's attempt at wooing at Slughorn's party—what now feels like a lifetime ago. Focus.

"Even without Ron or McLaggen, we're on opposite sides of everything, Malfoy. Why would I marry you?" Hermione asked him honestly. His reasons for entering his name to marry her made sense in a Malfoy-type-of-way. But she was genuinely confused as to why he thought she would ever consider marrying him.

Malfoy took a moment, and thought out his answer. He knew this could make or break her consideration.

"Because as my wife you would have influence over me, and could help me see the light?" He deadpanned, but there was a teasing quality to his eyes that Hermione acknowledged with a roll of her eyes.

"Oh, yes, how could I forget that the sole purpose in my life is to make you see the error of your ways?"

"I don't know how, really, considering how irresistible I am," he puffed out his chest which earned him a raised eyebrow.

Everything was calculated with him—even the teasing glint. It wasn't real. It was a ploy, but she didn't call him out on it. This was who he was now that Voldemort had returned—calculated, cautious, Slytherin to the bone. They had all changed in their own ways.

"You know what they say about men who boast too much, Malfoy" Hermione tried to hit him where it would hurt.

"Tsk, tsk, Granger," Draco smirked. "Hitting below the belt won't work here. I have a very good memory regarding a certain poll the fifth year girls had—sexiest wizard in Hogwarts, was it? Nonetheless, I distinctly remember Pansy telling me I won by unanimous vote."

"Yes, well, that was before I knew you were going to try to assassinate Dumbledore," Hermione tried to contain her glare as best as she could, but it was so hard when Draco was being smug, and all she wanted was to knock him down a peg—make him just as uncomfortable as her. "Guess murder taints the looks, huh?"

Surprisingly, Draco let out a sharp laugh instead of the torrid of insults which Hermione expected. But this was now, and nothing was the same—not anymore.

"Has Saint Potter been telling tales again? Because I don't quite remember murdering anyone," Draco's eyes were like steel, but his voice has an air of nonchalance that Hermione was sure he must have been born with.

Because you were too cowardly, Hermione wanted to shout at him, but knew that the words would be a step too far. His relaxed stance, so drastically opposite to hers, grated on her nerves. Inhale. Exhale. Breathe.

They'd gotten off track; there was too much honest animosity to let a moment of good-natured teasing last too long with them. There was too much history between them.

"Why Malfoy, really?" Hermione asked, and he knew what she wanted. She wanted him to plead his case, the same way McLaggen and Weasley are expected to.

He nodded his head and looked away for a moment. Inhale. Exhale. Breathe.

"Have you ever been hungry, Granger? Have you ever been made fun of for having hand-me-down clothes? Because any child you have with Weasley would suffer that fate and you know it," Malfoy began, but Hermione opened her mouth to object. He held up his hand, which silenced her. "It's great to romanticize poverty, until you're living it. As far as McLaggen goes, you would murder him within a week! The guy's a dunderhead."

Hermione conceded mentally that McLaggen truly was a fool, but she felt slightly disappointed that this was his defense. This was supposed to make her choose him over Ron? It wasn't enough.

"I don't know about McLaggen," Hermione began, not willing to admit what she knew was true concerning McLaggen, if only to be difficult. "But poverty doesn't scare me, Malfoy. No, I've never been hungry and I've never wanted for anything, and yes, maybe it's all romanticized, but it's my best friend…I already know all that I need to know about him to be…happy."

"One's poor and the other one's an idiot. How does that equate to happiness?" Malfoy rebutted, and Hermione's glare was its own defense against his words. "Love doesn't conquer hunger or bills no matter what you may want to convince yourself to believe."

"But at least he'll love whatever children we may have," Hermione fought back verbally. He wouldn't win this without a fight. "He wouldn't disdain them simply because my blood runs through their veins."

He sighed, and rethought his approach for a moment. He wasn't lying when he told her if he was forced to marry a muggle-born he wanted her.

There was something there, underneath the glares and the caustic remarks, covered by years of nurtured hatred that, now that it was legal and forced, he could acknowledge without shame. Malfoy walked over to Hermione, and knelt at her feet on one knee. He knew she felt it too, or else she would have already left.

"What could I say to tempt you away from him?" Malfoy asked, and they both knew he meant Ron. "I could offer you jewels the size of your palm, or a private island for you to leisure at your pleasure, but you don't want any of that. So what do you want?"

The question caught Hermione off guard, so much so that she couldn't lie to herself; she had no clue what she wanted, or what could tempt her away from Ron. The question was dangerous, and so was the response.

But she wouldn't lie. Not when Malfoy was being so honest, even though his eyes were still cool grey, and guarded against the world.

"I don't know," she whispered. She didn't know why she whispered, except that she was slightly ashamed of her answer even if it was the truth.

"Could you even touch me without flinching?" Hermione lashed out in her shame. "A mudblood?"

The second the words escaped her, Malfoy's eyes bore into her like lightning, and his mouth was suddenly on hers a moment later. His kiss was rough and turbulent like the sea, and she was lost and helpless as she drowned in him; they were best of times and the worst of times.

"My wife," Malfoy began harshly after their lips parted, "is not a mudblood. My wife will be adored, and ravished until I have left an imprint of my body so deep that with one look others will know she's mine. My wife will be a goddess among men, and my children will be princes in this world because no matter her lineage, they come from my loins. So, yes, I will love them, and yes, I could touch you without flinching."

Hermione gasped slightly at his words, and he saw a spark in her eyes. He saw something primal.

He looked down, his mind racing a million miles per hour. He knew he was so close, if only he could grasp the truth that hung deep in her heart.

And just like that the answer came to him.

"There's a war going on," he began slowly, letting his eyes pierce hers. "And I know what side you fall on, but as my wife you would have my protection. Regardless of any disagreements, or conflicting ideologies, you would be my wife, which means that I would protect you over anything in the world."

"Why?" She felt like a parrot, repeating the same questions, no matter the conversation.

"It's just the pureblood way," he whispered. "You would be my family, and I would do anything to protect my family. Anything."

Hermione knew she was missing something. It was in his eyes, the way they spoke to her—she wanted to claw them out so that he would have no effect on her.

"Loyalty isn't new to me, Malfoy," Hermione pursed her lips and replied coldly. "It may be a foreign concept to you, but—"

"Yes, your friends—the Weasel, would do almost anything for you," Malfoy cut her off. "They would fight for you, and die for you. As my wife I would do the same; I'd fight and die, and kill for you, and that's the difference, Granger. I would kill for you, to protect and defend you as my wife, and that's one protection that your Weasley could never guarantee."

The second the words left his mouth he knew he had her. He was offering something that few would in this world, because they were too saintly. They were too good.

Hermione wanted to deny it. She wanted to call his bluff, and shout to the sky that anything he was willing to do for her, Ron would be willing, too…except she knew it wasn't true. She knew.

"I'm not a nice guy, Granger," Draco spoke, though he knew that silence would have benefitted him more. But he didn't want to cheat, not here, not when it could cost him so dearly later on. Magical marriages were forever; he wanted Hermione to know exactly who she was choosing, and choose him anyway—despite who he was.

"I know," Hermione conceded—she didn't dare to look away or speak louder for fear of crumbling under the weight of this moment. They were seventeen for Merlin's sake! They were going to enter their seventh year in three weeks! Things should have been easy! But things weren't, and this marriage law, sprung from the depths of a terrified ministry barely holding on at the brink of all-out war, complicated things too much!

"I'll never be a nice guy," Draco brought his point home. He wanted her to see a monster, because that's who he'll be when he takes the mark two weeks from now—a monster with at least some redeemable qualities, he hoped. "But I'll defend and honor you, as best I can. De magia et fides…if you'll have me." On my magic and my honor.

A pledge.

Hermione had been told once by Neville that purebloods bound everything with their magic—their word literally was their bond. She had never been in a situation where a pledge was needed. She had never considered it before.

Draco had been counting on her lack of interaction with purebloods outside of the Weasleys to throw her—he wanted her to see how serious he was. On his magic and honor, and he had meant it.

But all that was left was her answer—would she accept?

Silence engulfed them like long lost friends, or hated enemies used to silence in between, and Hermione thought about the first time she had felt desire.

It had been the day she had punched Malfoy right after the Buckbeak incident. He had been so foul, and she had been furious. Her body had reacted before her mind had understood, words hurling forth my her mouth, wand drawn tight in her hand; then, without conscious thought, her body had pivoted, and her knuckles made contact with his face. And it had felt good. Let him bleed, she had thought, only to realize that he had never looked more beautiful than he had at that moment: blood running down his nose, red and bright against his pale and vibrant skin.

Her stomach had clenched, and their eyes met—and the magic in the air had been palpable for that one second where they both felt but couldn't describe. The magic rising in light of their disgust at the alien feelings.

Desire was a peculiar entity, and had been completely foreign to her. She'd had crushes—on Ron and Victor—but something about the fever that had spread in her belly had made Hermione nervous. The infinite moment had been lost, and Malfoy had gone running with his two lackey's right behind him—but Hermione had seen the shame in his eyes…because he had felt desire, too.

And just like that the memory lifted, and Hermione was back in hotel suite, sitting in an elegant sofa that was ostentatious in its elegance and simplicity.

Draco Malfoy was on his knees in front of her—silent, waiting for the answer that will change both of their lives irrevocably.

This is dangerous. This could all be a way for Voldemort to get to Harry.

The countless reasons that Hermione had for walking out without a second word flitted across her mind—and there were so many.

She looked into his eyes, and saw what she had seen then—so much she couldn't understand, so she let her body move without thought; she let her hand reach for his face, and saw the spark in those cold grey eyes, and whispered, "I'll have you."

As the words slipped passed her lips, unguarded, Hermione knew that she would rue the day she agreed to let Draco Malfoy tie the silk thread of marriage across her magic and bind them forever. She wished she was wrong, but knew she wasn't.

She could see it in his eyes…he knew it too.

Sooo? What do you guys think?. Anywho, did you hate it? Like it? Let me know and Review! :)