Hermione Jean Granger sat at her maple desk, the light from the library's fire illuminating her elfish features as she tapped the corner of a crisp piece of parchment against her lips, deep in thought. Spread out around her, in between the mountains of books, piles of blank parchment, and the veritable army of ink bottles and quills, were letters.

Now, that in itself wasn't so strange; given Hermione's intelligence and reputation she corresponded with dozens of governments and leading reformers on a daily basis. No, it was the content of these letters that posed a riddle that was currently vexing the former Hogwarts Head Girl.

The letters had begun arriving two days ago, on her twentieth birthday, and at last count there were a grand total of nine. Nine letters requesting the honor and privilege to court one Hermione Jean Granger. She held the latest letter in her hand, a beautiful piece of verbosity written by non-other than the young Lord Theodore Athelstan Isidor Nott. She had also received courtship requests from her old schoolmate Neville Longbottom, Draco and Lucius Malfoy, as well as the Weasley twins among others. In fact, all of the letters came from an of age, single male of the Sacred Twenty-Eight houses.

It would have been flattering if she had not known any better.

Hermione, for all her gifts (and she was not so unaware as to not know there were plenty) knew that at the end of the day she was still a muggle-born. Still considered of inferior blood and the only thing that had ever mattered to the members of the Sacred Twenty-Eight was blood.

And so the riddle that had been perplexing her for the last two days had been this: what did the pureblood know that she did not?

"Father, this is absurd!" Draco hissed. He was torn between baffled amusement and growing horror at the predicament he and his father currently found themselves in. "We cannot court the same women!"

Lucius Abraxas Malfoy merely sipped his evening glass of port and moved a white pawn across a chessboard. The chessboard was part of a set, magicked into mimicking the movements of its twin which was currently set up in the Potion Master's rooms at the Hogwarts Castle. He was currently in the middle of a vicious game with his longtime confidant, Severus Snape, and any distractions now could mean ruin.

"Desperate times, Draco," Lucius lazily replied. "We have to pool resources."

"Pool resources!" Draco cried incredulously. "These are women I went to school with!"

"They are eligible women nonetheless. There isn't exactly an overabundance of mudbloods and half-breeds."

At that Draco's fiery anger turned to ice-cold rage. "I wonder why that is, Father."

Father and son shared a stony look before Draco finally through his hands in the air in defeat. "Fine! But don't expect me to call the one you pick out mother!"

Lucius waved his son away and returned to his game. He merely needed a wife to fulfill the requirements set by the law. He was not interested in acquiring a new Lady Malfoy.

The greenhouse was one of the few places Neville Longbottom felt assured of himself. It was in the greenhouse, among the creeping vines and aromatic blossoms that he felt at peace. Which explained why, when he knew he would be dealing with his grandmother, he came out here set up his defenses.

He had come a long way from the pudgy, sniffling, insecure boy who first left home and the iron clutch of his grandmother. He had grown, had matured, had found his niche in life, and was for the most part, relatively happy with the young man he was becoming - an Apprentice Herbologist, a war hero, and an awardee of an Order of Merlin-First Class.

Unfortunately, he was also the last heir to the Noble House of Longbottom.

He sighed as he carefully snipped off the dried leaves of a Nixus Flower. The dark bloom was an essential ingredient in the Dreamless Sleep Potion but it tended to emit a very powerful narcotic if not approached delicately; which was hard to do when one had Lady Augusta Longbottom interrogating you about your love life.

"Well?" She demanded, stamping her blackthorn cane into the ground. "How many responses have you received?"

Neville straightened his considerable frame from where he had been bent and angled himself towards his grandmother. He observed her as he tended to a holly berry bush and wondered what she had been like before his father died. Had she always been so harsh? So domineering? Had his father let her ride over him or had he fought back for his independence?

She had had the elves place one of her chintz armchairs in the greenhouse (for the specific purpose of a comfortable place to harangue him from he was sure) the first year he had returned from Hogwarts. The little boy who had cowered and curtailed to her for years was gone and in his place was a young man who would not be summoned at all hours of the day to listen to how he had failed his family. Instead, was a young man who gently, yet firmly reminded his grandmother that he was an of-age wizard and the Head of the Longbottom Household.

Neville loved his grandmother, he did, but he was not sure how much longer he could bow down to the railings of a twisted, fearful, old woman.

"Two, grandmother," he quietly replied, separating the spiked leaves of the holly bear to check the branches. The muggles might think the berries the most interesting part of the plant but wand makers treasured their firm branches and stems.

"Two!" his grandmother cried. "That's less than half!"

Neville shrugged. "I'm sure the responses will pick-up once the ministry releases news of the law. I believe the lack of responses just stems from confusion."

"That shouldn't matter!" Augustus angrily replied. "You are a pure-blood son of the Sacred Twenty-Eight! These witches should be falling over themselves to be courted by you! I can't believe you can't even…," and here Neville's attention wavered as it normally did. He had heard it all before. He was not his father. Not worthy of the honors and privileges bestowed upon him. Not enough.

Theodore Nott considered himself a smart man. Unlike most of his peers, he had actually taken his education seriously, wanting to immerse himself in the experience and learn as much as possible before he was swept up into the darkness that consumed most of his family. So instead of taking the new law at face value, and panicking, he had researched. He had hoped to find some kind of precedent or loophole that would prevent some poor muggle-born or half-blood witch from being condemned to a lifetime as his wife but unfortunately his education and persistence had done fuck-all in this instance. The law as written was sound.

"…to white, all pure-blood, single males belonging to a bloodline of the Sacred Twenty Eight must marry an of legal age witch born to one magical parent and one non-magical parent OR born to two non-magical parents. This marriage must be consummated before a year and a day pass from the date of this law's inception, this date being September 21, 1999, when this law will legally go into effect. Any member of the aforementioned class who attempts to falsify facts, use force or threats, or use magical means to fulfill is law will be subject to arrest and brought before the Wizengamot to face punishment. Any member of the aforementioned class who does not comply with this law will be subject to arrest and brought before the Wizengamot to face punishment. Punishment may include fines up to 2 million galleons and up to twenty-five years in Azkaban Prison."

Really, it was ingenious. The ministry had managed to neatly capture all of the former Death Eater's, their associates, and sympathizers that they hadn't managed to round up the first time around. It was highly unlikely that any half-blood or muggle-born witch would consent to marry a former Death Eater or one of their sons (which most of the Sacred Twenty-Eight were). Even if some of his peers did manage to convince some poor chit to marry them they would be under scrutiny from the ministry for the rest of their lives and the girl would have complete control over the funds, the decisions, the entire relationship.

No man, pureblood or not, wanted to be cuckolded.

In the much more likely scenario that the couldn't convince a witch who met the requirements to marry and sleep with them within the year, their fortunes would be appropriated by the government and they would be sent to prison to serve out the term they would have been subjected to as a convicted Death Eater.

The Slytherin in Theo appreciated their deviousness. The man in him was resigned to spend the next year of his life fruitlessly pursuing women beneath him in order to remain out of Azkaban.

Because really, what was the difference between losing your freedom and your gold and getting married?