When morning comes, and finds me in the kitchen of my small flat, paper in hand, I discover that Draco Malfoy was not, in fact, joking.

I am perusing the news section, while wondering whether or not Luna has finally caught up with her sleep, when the sudden tapping of an owl outside my window catches my attention.

It's early, and I am still sipping on my coffee and picking at my eggs.

I don't even bother to look up from the paper, rather, I grab my wand and use it to open the window with a simple incantation.

The owl curtiously drops my mail upon the table, and I sigh in relief to note that it is not the same bird that delivered my last batch of mail. The damn thing always nips, and expects a treat in reward for its hard work. And while normally, I'm all about just rewards, I really can't afford to keep feeding the mail owl.

I finish scanning the newspaper, and fold it neatly away so that I can move on to the mail.

"There's only one letter today, " I mutter curiously.

On average, I generally get a lot of mail. Aside from the brochures and registration crap that everyone gets, I get a shite ton of letters from admirers and enemies alike.

One time, I got this letter from a Death Eater on the run, filled with a particularly nasty hex.

Good job that I'd learned my lesson in fifth year.

But this letter is nothing quite as exciting as an envelope filled with bubotuber pus, it's just another notification from the ministry of a new suitor.

I frown, recalling the specifics of the marriage law.

For starters, everyone calls it the marriage law, but it actually has an actual legal name.

The Magical Blood Conservation Law, or TMBC as it is achronized.

And the truth is, it isn't so much about the marriage, as it is about the offspring you are expected to produce.

After the war, when all the rubble was finally cleared, we'd stood, and breathed deeply. It was then, in that moment of first calm, that we'd realized two simple truths.

Our population had taken a devastating hit. The majority of Pure-bloods had sided with the dark lord, and as a result, those that did not die during the war, fled after it's finale. The Death Eaters took far heavier casualties than the Order, another bloody fact of the bloodier reign of the great hypocrite, Tom Riddle.

I've never understood why you would follow a man more likely to kill you than your adversaries.

Of course, that's not to say that the Order hadn't casualties at all. We lost Fred, Tonks, Lupin, Sirius, and a whole other slew of people that I'd never even met. And we'd lost two brilliant, and amazing men.

Dumbledore, and Snape.

Though it had initially been a shock to discover Snape's true allegiance, thousands of hearts were touched by his devotion to his own personal cause.

Harry.

All along, he'd been trying to atone for Lily's death, by assuring Harry's safety. He'd never stopped fighting the war, even when the dark lord was silent, and even when we were but children, unable to comprehend why some grown-ups were just bad.

He'd known.

He'd been vigilant.

And in the end, his actions had saved Harry.

I like to think that there is an afterlife, and if there is, I hope Snape is finally able to sit with Lily, and feel peace.

"But I'm going off on a tangent, " I realize, beleagured.

A lot of people died. And more than anyone, half-bloods, or muggleborn like myself.

What remained was a population in need of replenishing, and that's the cold, hard truth.

Unfortunately, the wizarding world is currently at an odd impasse.

The majority of the remaining population are actually Purebloods. The few that remained neutral during the war stayed relatively safe, and the even fewer who joined the Order and survived, are also still with us today.

There are a small portion of half-bloods that survived, but muggleborn like myself have become even rarer than we already were.

But the problem is that Purebloods are well known for only copulating with other Purebloods. And to the ministry, it was a two fold solution.

By forcing Purebloods to marry half-breeds, or muggleborn like myself, not only do they hope to see some population growth, but to stop what has been labelled as Pureblood bigotry from ever rearing it's ugly head again.

And though I can understand where they are coming from, why it is needed, I also feel that in the end, it has caused more suffering than good.

The way of it is that one must be married by the age of twenty-six, and a full year is given before pregnancy must be obtained. Within that year, unless you can prove yourself to be infertile, if you do not concieve a child, both the witch and wizard lose their wands, and their status as a member of the magical communtiy.

At the age of eighteen, a witch becomes eligible to take what the ministry has deemed 'suitors'. Whichever wizards might be interested in her, may submit a form, stating his intent to marry, as well as any stipulations he might have, and she has until she is twenty six to choose one.

The one bright side, is that witches are also able to negotiate terms, assuming they have a father figure to speak up for them, and many have become rather clever.

Just the other day a young woman had come into the shop looking for contraceptives. She had a small child in tow, so at first I was more than confused. But, as it turns out, she'd told me that she'd taken the option to divorce her Pureblood husband once a child was born, and as it had been part of her terms and conditions, he'd been unable to stop her from leaving.

It's archaic, and a veritable source of life altering misery for many.

I've been burying my head in the metaphorical sand, hoping that it would go away because there is absolutely nothing I can do about it. No matter what I say, no matter what spell I cast, this is a problem to which there is no solution.

I eye the letter, fingering the golden lettering thoughtfully, recalling Malfoy's words.

As much as I hate to admit it, he's not entirely incorrect.

I flip the letter around and tear through the seal.

Inside, more golden lettering reveals that Malfoy has, in fact, added his name to my list of suitors. Interestingly, his list of terms is actually rather short and simple. It comes as a complete surprise to me to be honest, but he's asking only for fidelity, and a shared bedroom.

Even more surprising, is the generous list of what he is offering.

I can't believe that Draco Malfoy, son of the pretentious Malfoy family, would be so willing, or capable, of making his proposition so tempting. Chewing over his words once more, I have to admit.

He's right.

And like lightning, a light bulb goes off inside my head and I realize that, wait a minute, why don't I just do what Penelope Clearwater did?

If I stipulate divorce in my terms, and birth Malfoy an heir, I can be free of him after only a years time. That's a lot less painful than any other alternative to date.

But the real question is, can I do it?

Malfoy was also right about us having chemistry, I still recall the way his touch had felt. A few months later, and I still haven't been able to forget just how incredible my first time had been. But that's the problem.

It was only meant to be a one night stand, and that's the truth.

I was angry. I was hurting. And then, I made a stupid decision due to large quantities of alcohol. That should have been the end of it.

But it wasn't.

Because the second he apparated us into his bedroom, and his hands began mapping my skin, something within me came alive in a way I didn't know was possible.

It had begun as an indescribable heat, an inescapable pull between us. I was left speechless, and gasping for mercy again, and again, until I could only think in broken sylables and whispered sighs.

But it was still my first time.

My first time, and I wake up next to Draco Malfoy. Shame, that's what I'd overwhelmingly felt, and anger too. Of all people, why did it have to be Malfoy's bed that I inadvertently jump into?

He'd rolled over, all traces of my childhood tormentor gone as he'd smiled at me, truly smiled.

I didn't know Malfoy could be so angelically beautiful.

Or so devilishly handsome.

He'd attempted a repeat performance, and then, when I'd brushed him off to search for my clothes, he'd become insistent upon talking about it.

"What's wrong?" He'd asked, frowning slightly. "Regret it?"

I'd told him yes, and watched as his good mood crumpled in on itself.

Grabbing my wand I quickly summon a quill and some parchment with a quiet accio. The moment they touch down upon the paper, I scribble a polite letter, requesting to begin the negotiation process with Draco Malfoy as my choice in suitor.

I attach it to the document, and reseal it with my wand. The owl gazes at me quizically, neck twisting this way and that to look side to side as I attach the letter to it's leg.

"Return that to the ministry for me, will you?"

I'm almost positive that I am going to regret this many, many times before my year is over, but for now my mind is set. The idea has me gritting teeth, clenching my fists, and nausea churning in my gut.

But what else can I do?