"Excuse me, Professor?"

"Yes, Miss Granger, go ahead—Oh. Miss Abbot," Professor Sprout looked up from a compilation of old books left on the desk she sat behind. She startled at seeing Hannah's arm in the air; she blinked at where Hermione sat, pulling out her fresh, neat parchment rolls and her nifty muggle pen from inside her schoolbag. Students within earshot laughed at Professor Sprout's confusion and the embarrassed, growing pink in Hannah's cheeks. "Sorry. What is it, dear?"

"Are you subbing in for Professor Flitwick today?" asked Hannah, her arm coming down to cross over and rest on the surface of her desk. Beside her, Neville squeezed her elbow, smiling sweetly at her that the blush under her skin was no longer from embarrassment but an overwhelming burst of butterflies in her stomach at how he looked at her.

Professor Sprout let out a loud laugh, startling Nott from his dozing off in his place squashed between Romilda Vane and Blake Harper. "Flitwick quit, Miss Abbot."

"Quit?" repeated Seamus, a frown settling between his brows. "He can't quit. They said we can't quit."

"You can't, Mr. Finnegan," Sprout said with another laugh, this time shaking her head at him like he was still that silly little boy that made her laugh with his silly little jokes. "Professor Flitwick just thought this particular class was an unnecessary weight to everything he has to do this term."

"You two have officially fucked up Flitwick," Blaise Zabini laughed, leaning over to Draco on his left, nudging him roughly. Next to him, his betrothed Cho Chang narrowed her brown eyes at his volume. "One class with you and Granger and he goes running the opposite way. Bloody terrors, the two of you."

On Draco's own left, Hermione leaned further in to get a better look at Blaise. He stilled at the proximity, at the warmth of her aura grazing his, a murmur on his skin that made him both freeze and burn.

"Stop talking or I'll glue your tongue to the roof of your mouth, Zabini," Hermione said through clenched teeth, raising a finger at him.

If she had been anyone else, the latter would have laughed at the sight and over-the-top threat, but Blaise would never question that Hermione Granger could do a decent amount of damage with a twitch of her finger just as if she was pointing her wand at him.

"Defend me, mate," Blaise mumbled as he pushed against Draco's arm, adding a safe distance between him and Hermione, but further pressing Draco into her side. Immediately, he slid over to the furthest edge of their shared bench.

"True love," said Sprout, her voice ringing through the classroom crowded with couples, startling them from their individual conversations and daydreams. "That is why people marry, is it not?"

"Unplanned pregnancies—"

"Drunken nights—"

"Pureblood mania—"

"Marriage laws forced upon us by the Ministry—"

Professor Sprout blinked at the fire round of responses echoing from different spots around the room. When she processed each, she let out another laugh. "I will rephrase then—true love is what we aspire to have when we make the choice to marry. It is both the knowledge and acceptance that the person next to you is a flawed, but ideal partner to share your life and a home with. Someone who is compatible with you. And while we are all here by unusual circumstances, the Ministry believes in compatibility."

"Because of a sorting hat?" This time it was Hermione whose arm shot up, waving it frantically like Professor Sprout would have a difficult time spotting her from the herd of students mumbling to each other. At her voice, the others quieted, turning to her with furrowed brows of concentration or a small curl of their lips. "Compatibility is not a science when it comes to people. It is impossible to look at a couple and infer true love on them because of how they look side by side or because they might have a few things in common. The sorting hat itself isn't foolproof. Yes, it was created to look within a person to place them in a specific House, but that can be manipulated."

"Do you not believe you belong in Gryffindor House, Miss Granger?"

"I could have fit perfectly well in Ravenclaw, too," Hermione said to Professor Sprout. "But the sorting hat chose one specific trait of mine and put me in Gryffindor knowing that I could have thrived somewhere else, too. How, then, is that logic applied to people? How did I end up with Malfoy?"

Draco frowned at the thumb she pointed at him.

"True love is not science, Miss Granger," Professor Sprout said. "Yes, there are chemicals in your brain that produce the feeling and all of that, but it is something more. It is—"

"Please do not say magic," Pansy groaned from her seat. She cast a dangerous side-eyed glance at Ron slouched next to her, his back turned on her as he had struck up mindless conversation with Dean Thomas and Looney Lovegood on the desk to his right as to avoid an angry, uncomfortable silence between each other. "There is nothing magical about this bullshit."

A few students laughed at the Slytherin's comment, but a frown began to settle between Professor Sprout's brows. "The sorting hat is magic. It was created with an old kind of magic, a magic in truer, rawer form that is able to decipher parts of ourselves. Yes, there are other possibilities—Miss Granger could have been in Ravenclaw, Mr. Longbottom could have been in Hufflepuff, and Miss Weasley could have been in Slytherin. Does that mean their present Houses were chosen wrong? Absolutely not. It means that there are other alternatives, but where they are now was the better one. Does that answer your question, Miss Granger?"

Hermione blinked away from Professor Sprout, stilling in her seat as she briefly looked over at Draco. She refused to believe he was her best choice.

"Yeah, absolutely not," Pansy spoke up again, sitting up taller, commanding attention from her classmates. "I am not settling for what a bloody hat dictated for my future. Where is the divorce option?"

"Agreed," Ernie Macmillan chimed in, raising his hand to acquire Professor Sprout's focus. Beside him, Millicent Bulstrode rolled her eyes. "Not all marriages make it through the first year. Statistics don't lie."

Professor Sprout let out a sigh, nodding slowly at her students. "There is no pending option for divorce under this law, I'm afraid. Not without facing the consequences that Minister of Magic has informed you about in your sorting. Listen, listen—" she added quickly when another round of loud protest started around the classroom, "The point of these Marriage and Family Life lessons are to give you the tools to manage life as a married unit. We will dive into psychology, history, economics—everything you need to help you and your partners how to navigate the complexity of marriage. It is hard work, I will be honest, but rewarding when you are able to overcome problems with your spouse for the good of your marriage and your family."

"Then where are the experts?" Pansy said, waving her hand to beckon Professor Sprout when she was busy smiling sweetly at Ginny Weasley and Harry Potter, like they were the ideal couple, like they were the poster couple for this Marriage Law. "How is the Ministry going to give us professors such as yourself who have dedicated their lives to living and teaching in this castle and have no idea about the real world. It's completely ridiculous—"

"What is ridiculous, Miss Parkinson," Sprout raised her voice, "is still being completely self-centered at your age—after having survived a war, too. The people around you, even when you deem them less than you, even when you deem them unworthy of your attention, are still people. They have lives. The professors in this castle have lives outside pigheaded, silly students who think they wait in their classrooms for lessons to restart after they've gone off on holiday."

Ron let out a loud snort, slightly turning in an angle to cast a sneer at his soon-to-be-bride.

Pansy had opened her mouth, no doubt having come up with something cruel to retaliate with, but Professor Sprout continued with, "Not that it is any of your business, but since you are so worried about my credentials to teach this class, I have been married for fifty-three years. I have three children, four grandchildren, and a great-grandchild on the way—all while teaching Herbology at Hogwarts and still conducting research projects for privately-owned labs in America and Africa."

Girls around the classroom sat up in their seats, grinning wide at Professor Sprout as Ginny clapped.

"And all you hoped to be was an heiress, wasn't it, Pans?" said Tracy Davis, mirth reflecting off her glasses as in twinkles of blue as her secret girlfriend (and now public fiancee) Susan Bones giggled into her shoulder.

Professor Sprout cleared her throat, moving back to the blackboard at the front of the room. With a wave of her wrist, a piece of chalk started to write. "In accordance to the Ministry's timeline, today's lesson will be dedicated to cohabitation. Now, the concept of two individuals living together has changed through the course of the years. Before, it was an absolute law that women were only allowed to be in the presence of their suitor under the watchful eye of their chaperones, so the idea of living together before marriage was unheard of. Of course, as times changed, couples started living together before or instead of marriage. What, then, are the beneficial factors of cohabitation in preparation for marriage?"

As her classmates started to grudgingly write down their notes on their wrinkled parchment, Hermione was listening intently instead, processing the information. Key words jumped out at her, two-and-two coming together. Her grip on her pen tightened before her hand shot up in the air again.

"As well, why do you think couples now choose to cohabitate instead of—yes, what is it, Miss Granger?"

"The Ministry is going to force us to live together now, aren't they?"

Professor Sprout grinned, but quickly pressed her lips into a tight line to not give evidence on how entertaining she saw Hermione Granger's intelligence.

"Live together as in....?"

"As in living together, Zabini," snapped Draco at his friend's fading question. "Sharing a bedroom and other spaces with—" he then paused, shaking away the thoughts of what it meant to live with Hermione.

His panic was perfected reflected on her face, too.

"Where are they sending us?" asked Lavender Brown, excitement glittering in her eyes as she happily smiled at Seamus. He groaned, dropping his head on the desk, banging it on the edge one, two, three times. "Oh! There are some cute little rustic flats they are building by Knockturn Alley. The area is not too desirable, but Father thinks it will definitely face some changes once the right people start brightening up the—"

"Shut up," Seamus begged, rubbing his temples. "They aren't moving us out of Hogwarts, Lavender."

Slowly, a shadow of confusion started dimming the spark of joy in her gaze. She turned to Professor Sprout, raising her left brow. "Where are you moving us to, then?"

"In the castle, of course," said the professor, laughter slipping past her mouth again. "Each couple will be assigned a chamber of their own."

XX

With a sigh of defeat that rattled inside his ribcage, Draco lowered himself at the edge of his—their new queen-sized bed. "Honestly, Granger," he started, forcing himself not to sound exactly how he felt, "it can't be that bad."

Hermione's ever-present glare was directed at him, the brown in her eyes darkening to shadows just as she looked back at the bed. Her back had been pressed against the door of their dreaded new bedroom since Professor Sprout had led them in. She hoped she could morph into the old wood of the door, stay trapped in there forever so she did not have to go through this, but freedom was not an option. Professor Sprout made that clear when Hermione made a run for it when she handed Draco the key to their chamber; she had not made it far—it turned out Draco was a fast runner and he earned Slytherin House ten points for catching his runaway bride before she made it down the corridor.

"You agreed to try," Draco said. "Remember?"

"To be civil," she muttered over her knuckles, her hands on her face as if she was attempting to catch the scream that was surely not too far from sounding out of her mouth. She then used her left to point at the bed, "This is mental."

"They're preparing us," he told her. He put his own hands on his kneecaps, forcing his legs not to run just as Hermione had done, too. "Married people sleep on the same bed."

Hermione turned to him again, a realization lightening her eyes to expose the flickers of gold they held. "Get up," she commanded, pushing herself away from the bedroom door. "Now, Malfoy. Get up."

"I said sleep on the same made, Granger, not jump into sex—What the hell are you doing?" Draco let out another sigh, this time narrowing his own eyes when she pulled the silver sheets off the mattress before grabbing one of the pillows.

"Making your bed, can't you see?" Before Draco could question her right to make that stupid choice, Hermione added, "You will not be sleeping with me. I draw the line there, Malfoy. You can sleep on the floor, outside in that makeshift common room, or outside in the corridor—I don't care, so long as it's not with me."

He grabbed the sheets and the pillow, throwing them at her. "I'm not sleeping on the floor, Granger."

"You are," she hissed, throwing the pillow back after it had smacked her on the face. "How are you okay with any of this? Think about it, Malfoy—we can't stand breathing the same air, do you really want to share the same bed with me?"

"I didn't choose this," he said, his voice louder than he expected it to be. It made her take a step back, but the fire in her eyes was there, burning bright whenever she settled them on him. "We've discussed this already. Why are you making things more difficult than they have to be?"

"Because I don't believe you!" Hermione startled herself at the screaming match she had just initiated. She paused for a second, reminding herself to breathe. "I know I agreed to being civil, but I don't trust you. Every time I turn my back, I expect you to be there, waiting to plunge a knife in. This marriage law is ridiculous, yes, but having to do it with you...Dangerous doesn't begin to cover it."

In the same way she had done, Draco added distance between them, his back colliding with the edge of the door. "Are you afraid of me, Granger?"

Hermione's mouth twitched into a smile that died a moment later. "Isn't that what you always wanted?" She let out another breath, looking away from him as she gathered the sheets that had pooled around her feet. She lowered herself on the same edge Draco had previously been sat. "No, Malfoy, I'm not afraid of you. You can't kill me, but you're still going to be taking my life another way. Promise of civility or not, that thought is not easy to accept."

"I'm not trying to take anything from you," Draco said, sliding down against their bedroom door. He brought his knees up, locking his hands around them to keep him in place. "No one's having a good time with this, Granger. Not even the happy couples. Our choice to marry or not marry was taken from all of us. We're all grieving that."

The smile on the corner of Hermione's mouth resurrected itself. She let out a small laugh, too, an echo of satisfied disbelief she often caught herself giving to Ron when he said or did the right thing. She never thought Draco Malfoy would be at the other end of one, but there he was, his silver eyes and pale skin darkening from the shadow she had pushed him toward. She looked out to the large window on the left of their chamber, the moonlight pouring in, highlighting their trunks set in front of a wardrobe meant to house their clothes.

This was real.

She was going to marry Malfoy—even if she did not want to.

Hermione let out a breath, lowering her back against the mattress. "Fine," she whispered, closing her eyes, "but you're still sleeping on the floor."