Tiwaz
Hermione must have blacked out for a few minutes because she didn’t remember being carried out of the once drawing room turned throne room. She only came to when Yaxley opened a door, yelled “In here Mudblood” and shoved her in. Before she could get up the door had been slammed, the clicking of a lock echoing in her ears.
Questions ran through her head quicker than she could keep up with. What were they doing? What was going to happen to her? As she struggled to keep up with her worrying thoughts, she was vaguely aware that she had landed on carpet, soft and plush. Absent-mindedly, Hermione ran her hands against the flooring, she hadn’t felt anything but cold stone in what felt like forever.
“Excuse me miss, but we have to hurry” Hermione turned her head up to the voice. A young woman, she had to guess around her age, stood before her in plain looking robes. She had her hair tied back and carried no wand that Hermione could see. She didn’t think she recognized the girl and was both even more stressed and relieved.
“What-what’s going on?” Hermione’s throat still scratched as she struggled to get the question out. Without waiting for an answer, she started to look around the room. It didn’t look as nicely furnished as the hallways, but to her it looked like heaven. The room was open and airy with a big window seat that immediately caught her eye as a place she would’ve loved to curl up in with a book as it rained.
There was a monstrous bed in the middle of the room with two night stands. Two doors she assumed the closet and bathroom lined the walls. There was even a fireplace with a couch and table in front of it, giving the space a feeling of more than just a bedroom. Colors of lavender, sage green, navy blues, and creams filled the space. It was ornate and still over the top than any home she’d been in, but it was cozy.
Though she saw the room as the gilded cage that it was, she didn’t care. She was so tired. All she wanted to do was climb into the giant bed and relish in the imaginary safe haven she had been thrown in. It was a place she could stay in for eternity if it meant she didn’t have to face the nightmares outside her door.
“We have to get you ready for the wedding” The girl said meekly, drawing Hermione out of her revelry. Taking in the blonde in front of her, Hermione noted there was something so off about her, like she didn’t belong. While Hermione was innocent of stealing magic like Voldemort and the blood purist preached, this girl seemed innocent of everything. How did she end up here? What did she do to end up as a glorified prisoner?
“Miss? The wedding?” The girl repeated again, making the words feel like a slap in the face. Wedding. She was supposed to be getting ready for her wedding. Hermione swallowed down another sudden bout of nausea. It was cruel, she thought. Less than an hour ago she had thought she was going to be facing her death, only to realise she was not as suicidal as she had thought. But being bound to Draco Malfoy was a death sentence all on its own.
She wanted to yell her objections, punch whoever tried to drag her down the aisle, scream obscenities at the sky. However, Hermione wasn’t stupid enough to think she even had the illusion of choice in this. And with existential dread hanging over her like a rain cloud, she hauled herself up from the ground.
The servant was at her side in an instant, her arm wrapped around Hermione’s back to help support her. They hobbled to the bathroom where the girl started to run a bath in the giant in-ground bathtub that Hermione was sure should qualify as a small pool. God, she knew she shouldn’t be happy about any of this but sponge baths for months were a different type of hell. “We don’t have long so I’ll need to help. Here, take these” the girl handed her what looked like a pepper up and pain potion.
Hermione took them without question. In the back of her mind, she scolded herself for being so foolish to take something without questioning the contents fully, but why would they poison her before their supposed entertainment was to take place? It didn’t help that as she came down from her adrenaline high, pain had started to seep back into her bones.
Hermione had no qualms when the girl started to strip her of her threadbare rags. There was no room for modesty anymore and that bathtub looked too good to pass up just so she could argue over things as menial as nudity. Stepping into the tub, Hermione moaned at the hot water that lapped at her shins. The mixture of the potions with the water felt like pure ecstasy. If the plan really was to kill her, she changed her mind, she would be happy to go this way.
“We need to wash your hair, miss” the girl called from her spot behind the tub. Hermione just dumbly nodded as she took in her surroundings similar to the way she had in the room. It helped calm her once again racing thoughts. The room was done in creams and navy blues similar to the bedroom, a majority of the surfaces were made up of marble and a huge mirror sat in front of a sink and built in vanity. Hermione couldn’t imagine what she looked like nor did she want to see.
Caught off guard, water poured down her head, drenching her monstrous rats nest of curls and causing Hermione to sputter. The girl wasted no time attacking Hermione's curls with what she could only assume were copious amounts of conditioner and a comb. It was an absolute miracle she had been able to keep her hair in a braid for the majority of her time in the dungeon otherwise the matting would’ve been horrendous.
As the girl continued to pull Hermione’s hair back, much gentler than Yaxley she noted, Hermione started to get antsy in the silence. She’d had enough silence to last her a lifetime, if she lived that long. Hermione sat for another minute, trying to think of anything she could say, she needed to start gathering any information she could. “What’s your name?” Hermione asked quietly, deciding to start off easy.
The girl paused and then continued her brushing, acting as if she hadn’t heard her, but after another minute of silence she responded, “I-I’m not supposed to have one…” She sounded less meek now and more of what Hermione thought was resentfulness, though she couldn’t see her face to be sure.
“Well you obviously do. I won’t tell anyone” Hermione said steadily, pushing the girl. She needed to make an ally fast, to be as aware of her situation as possible.
Hermione heard the girl sigh, the comb in her hand stilling “The other Broken call me Tori” She started to rinse Hermione’s hair and handed Hermione a bar of soap. The conversation was curbed for the moment as Hermione began to scrub the months of dirt off her skin, making the water darker than it had already been. She should’ve felt disgusted with herself for how grimey she had been, but all she felt was relief.
“My name is Hermione. Who is the broken?” She asked, trying to sound nonchalant but in truth she was extremely eager. This was the second time Hermione had heard the name, the first being Voldemort calling Malfoy the name. Now Tori had claimed herself to be a part of this group too.
“You’ll find out soon. Come, we need to get you dressed” Tori said as she stood and grabbed a towel. Hermione felt frustration bubble up in her chest at Tori’s elusiveness. It always drove her mad when people evaded questions, especially in times like these. Information could be the difference between life and death. Nevertheless, she stepped out of the tub and into the plush towel that Tori was holding out for her.
Hermione gingerly sat at the vanity like Tori had pointed her to, anxiety starting to brew in her empty stomach. “They told me you are to have your hair up” she said as she began to pin Hermione’s still damp curls. Apparently curly hair was a crime in the wizarding world just as much as being a mudblood was. Hermione sat silent, trying to push down her unease at what was to come. Tori had her hair expertly pinned up in minutes and Hermione was loath to admit that it looked good.
In a state of some form of rebellion, Hermione saw Tori had left some curls to frame her face. A small smirk pulled at Hermione’s lips that she didn’t even notice until she looked back at herself in the mirror. Tori did nothing but meet her stare in the mirror and hand her a hand mirror for her to see the back of her updo. Hermione scoffed at the reflection, “I’m surprised they would allow any adornment besides mud” She spat bitterly as she inspected the pearl pins nestled in her curls.
“You need to watch your tongue around them. This isn’t the dungeons Hermione, they don’t like when you talk back. They won’t hesitate to bring you back down there” Tori spoke in a rushed and quiet tone, as if even saying anything out loud would end in her being dragged down to a cell herself.
Hermione didn’t respond, taking the warning at value. The potions and bath had rejuvenated her, brought her out of her death wish and rebooted her brain. She had become too complacent in her cell. This might be an absolute night terror but she needed to see it for what it really was: an opportunity. She had been brought back to the surface, and she’d make sure they regretted ever dragging her out of that cell more than they did putting her in it in the first place.
“It’s time for your dress” Tori left the bathroom and returned carrying an enormous garment bag that trailed the ground behind her. Hermione couldn’t control the gasp that came out of her when Tori pulled the dress out of the bag. The garment before her was unlike anything she had ever seen. It was deep navy blue, god what was with this manor and navy blue, and silver accents threaded throughout the dress.
With its scoop neck and long bell sleeves, the dress reminded her of the trashy medieval romance books she used to read as a guilty pleasure. Inching closer, Hermione realized the silver thread was sewn into intricate flower designs all along the bottom of the dress and sleeves until they started to disperse around the knees, the last ones hitting as high as the top of her thighs. It was only once the dress was on she noticed the two slits along her dress as well. Both hitting a bit above her knees so that it wasn’t scandalous but a bit of bruised skin was still on display.
Just as with her hair, Hermione was furious that the dress was beautiful and fit her like a damn glove. The sleeves and train trailed behind when she walked, making what she was sure would be a dramatic entrance. This was just a giant mockery of her, and when she asked about where her shoes were, her suspicions were proved right. Tori had solemnly told her they had apparently refused her the right to such a clothing item.
Hermione wasn’t sure how, but that felt even more insulting than dressing her up in all this finery. Shoes were a necessity that she hadn’t been denied even in her cell. They had taken away food, a bathroom, even a bed, but not her shoes. Not until now.
The last touches Tori had put on her was some mascara and lip gloss. She wanted to snort at that. If the Death Eaters weren’t such bigots then they'd know that the saying ‘lipstick on a pig’ would be very fitting right now.
As they stood close to the door, waiting for it to be unlocked so Hermione could be escorted down, Tori leaned in so close she could feel Tori’s lips on her ear. “Trust Draco” She pulled away like she had been burned and Hermione looked in shock at her face. There was a firmness in her stare but also a silent plea. It was nothing like Tori had portrayed this entire time that Hermione couldn’t understand the demand.
The door rattled as the key turned in the lock and opened without warning. The last thing Hermione saw before being marched from the room was Tori ever so slightly nodding her head and then she was around the corner, death marching to her own wedding.
xXx
As Hermione walked down the aisle towards the small stage centered in front of the guests, she tried to keep her head up high and eyes straight. All attendants were in their black death eater robes and metal masks. It looked more like a cultish funeral than a wedding as torch light glinted against the hard metal faces. In a poor attempt to soothe herself, she focused on Malfoy standing at the end of the aisle. He was dressed in a linen shirt and pants without shoes as well.
His hair looked almost illuminated in the full moonlight, his scar more grimly looking with the shadows of the torches flickering back and forth. Once again she couldn’t help but think he looked absolutely nothing like she remembered in school. He was taller now, his hair longer, hitting his shoulders. The blonde strands weren’t his usual straight, slicked back look, but rather curly and half pulled back into what looked like a messy bun. Hermione did suppose hair care wouldn’t be his biggest concern now, but knowing he’d had curly hair all this time made her gut feel weird. If had hidden something as simple as hair texture, groomed himself into the perfect heir religiously, what else had he hidden?
Malfoy had also clearly showered just as she had, but as she got within an arm's reach she noted again how devoid his eyes were. He offered her his arm without any emotion written on his face and she took it without hardly hesitating, remembering Tori’s warning to behave. She’d play the long game for now, she promised herself.
It was only when they ascended the first step and Malfoy seemed to actually look at her, at what she was wearing, that she felt a small tremor run through his hand. Hermione looked at him questioningly but he stared straight ahead towards the officiant who cleared his throat and started. “We are here to witness the marriage and binding of Draco Lucius Malfoy and Hermione Jean Granger. As demanded by his grace, we will be using an ancient Malfoy blood ritual for the soul binding”
Hermione whipped her head to look at Malfoy who only stared ahead even harder, his eyes not straying from the officiant. She opened her mouth but was cut off by a cruel laugh that she immediately knew was Voldemorts by its pure glee mixed with depravity. Even though she had told herself she would behave, play the game, do what it took for her chance at freedom, she had not agreed to whatever a soul binding was.
Her breathing started to become heavy again, her throat wanting to close up with panic. She wanted to bolt and never look back at the altar where she had been treated like a lamb to slaughter. Hermione had no wand but thought she could make it into the woods fast enough if she pushed hard off the platform. Lost in her terror, she felt a pressure on her arm, not painful like Rowle or Yaxley would grab her, but enough to get her attention. Slowly, she moved her head to look at Malfoy and was surprised to see him looking back at her, his eyes sharp. That glint of silver shone again before they were dulled, returning to slate gray.
She didn’t know what the hell he did but she felt rooted into place now, the pressure on her arm not letting up. “Now let us begin. Broken, take the mudbloods hand” Malfoy turned to face her now and grasped her left hand. Her hands were shaking as she tried to push all fear out of her body. Where was that damn Gryffindor courage she used to rave about? Hermione couldn’t find it and wondered had it ever been there at all or had war beaten it out of her?
The officiant summoned a knife and a cup. He instructed Malfoy to give over his free hand and promptly cut him with the blade before turning his hand into the cup, blood spilling from Malfoy’s broken flesh. The officiant then turned to Hermione and without a word she handed her hand over, the warning from Tori playing over and over again. The long game, the long game, the long game. Once again it was like she had taken a back seat in her own head. Hermione didn’t even register the cut on her palm nor the draining of her blood.
The officiant set the cup on a table next to him and said “repeat after me, broken” he waved his wand and started, "With blood as our bond”
"With blood as our bond” Malfoy repeated, his voice flat. It was her first time hearing him speak and she wanted to sob at how blank it sounded. Hermione found herself staring at their hands, both now shaking even if his voice held no emotion.
The officiant nodded, giving the next line “In darkness we respond. Our pledge, sealed in blood”
“In darkness we respond. Our pledge, sealed in blood” Malfoy repeated, Hermione starting to squeeze his hand, pleading in her head for him to stop but knowing he wouldn’t, couldn’t.
“In triumph and in strife, we'll stand side by side, sharing life”
“In triumph and in strife, we'll stand side by side, sharing life” at this she felt his hand return the tight grip. It felt more like he was trying to stabilize himself, grasping at anything. Rather than trying to hurt her.
“This oath we swear, with spirits aligned, Our destinies entwined"
“This oath we swear, with spirits aligned, Our destinies entwined" a feeling akin to how a disillusionment felt, washed over her. Hermione instinctively knew it was the feeling of his magic twining around her. She didn’t know how to feel as it pushed her back to the forefront of her head again.
“Good, now carve the rune of Laguz into the Mudbloods finger. Laguz has been once again chosen by our King. The rune of choice will help define the main nature of the relationship. Laguz, the rune of water. Used for intuition, dreams, and psychosis powers. It can also mean cleansing” The officiant said the last part with full disdain and the crowd laughed along at the supposed irony.
But Hermione felt something different in Draco’s magic as it pushed into the cut he was carving into her skin. In fact she was so enraptured that she didn’t even consider this was a second Black family member cutting into her. Laguz also meant obsession and loss of self-control depending on the person. She assumed this was what Voldemort really wanted, but it wasn’t what Draco’s magic was telling her. As he finished the half arrow rune, Hermione felt a small drag of the knife on the other side. It was microscopic but she felt him pushing the intention into her with all his magic.
She knew within all her being he hadn’t carved Lugaz. No, he had carved Tiwaz. Her eyes snapped to him and she saw the shine of what could only be described as liquid mercury in his eyes. She gave the smallest nod of her life, saying that she understood. Hermione didn’t know what he was doing, but she knew he had done it on purpose.
“Now the Mudblood” it scared her how easily the slur had rolled off the officiant's tongue, diminishing her to nothing in all of their eyes. Malfoy handed her the blade and she lightly grasped it, his blood had coated the handle and she felt her palm tingle as the blood of two souls intermingled.
“Repeat after me. With blood as our bond” the officiant started again.
"With blood as our bond” her voice sounded breathy as she forced the vows out.
“In darkness we respond. Our pledge, sealed in blood”
“In darkness we respond. Our pledge, sealed in blood” it was always blood wasn’t it, she thought.
“In triumph and in strife, we'll stand side by side, sharing life”
“In triumph and in strife, we'll stand side by side, sharing life” at this she also felt her magic leaving her, wrapping around Draco the same way his had around her. It made her want to collapse at the small feeling of safety she felt, their magic seeming to lock together as a shield rather than attacking like animals.
“This oath we swear, with spirits aligned, Our destinies entwined"
“This oath we swear, with spirits aligned, Our destinies entwined" With the final vow the shield that was their magic felt torrent, quick ebbing and flowing the same way the water that Lugaz represented.
“Now carve the symbol of Lugaz” He demanded of her.
Hermione turned Draco’s hand palm up like he had hers. She started the small cut, pushing the intention of Tiwaz into him. She had read once that ancient magic like this was more about intention than anything else and though she had never been a part of a ritual, she felt the intent in her bones.
Tiwaz: Justice, order, truth, and bravery. Honor, and sacrifice. The Polar star, showing the right way in the darkness. The rune of Tyr, god of war and justice.
It could’ve been that this was the only rune he could’ve gotten away with altering without notice, but it felt more than that. It felt like fate as she gave him the additional miniscule cut, completing the arrow. Tiwaz, tiwaz, tiwaz.
“Very good. It is time to drink. First the broken and then the mudblood” The officiant's voice brought them out of the trance they had been in and Draco took the cup. The thought of drinking their mixed blood made Hermione want to gag.
“sanguis ossis, animae humus, duo fit unum et infectum fieri non potest” she watched in disgust as Draco tossed back half the cup and handed it to her, seeming to hold back a gag of his own. Hermione decided to take the same approach as he did and shot it back like muggle tequila. The irony tang wasn’t as bad as she had expected, and the warm liquid spilled down her throat in a thick coat.
“It is done” The officiant said. Voldemort laughed again and the others joined. She tuned them out as she looked at her now husband and soulmate. She thought of Tiwaz. The rune of strength and bravery. She'd carry it with her forever now. Strength and bravery etched into her soul by none other than Draco fucking Malfoy.