The Pure-Blood Ceremony and the Paternal Plotting
“When I get married, I want this exact dress, but in silver,” Ginny decided as she finished lacing up the ribbons across Hermione’s back.
“Mine’ll have to be purple I think,” Tonks laughed as she finished pinning Hermione’s hair up into a simple, elegant twist at the nape of her neck. “But then I’ll have to make my hair orange or something–”
“Trust me, you don’t want orange,” Ginny huffed. “NOTHING goes with orange, just ask any of my brothers. You’re so lucky, Tonks, you can pick any hair you want!”
“So can you,” Tonks teased. “You just have to learn a few more spells, then pick any look you want! Just make sure it matches Harry nicely.”
Hermione saw Ginny’s cheeks darken in the mirror and she smiled to herself. Even though Ginny had been actively dating other wizards for nearly a year, she still crushed on Harry and Hermione knew her friend had hopes they’d end up together.
“Silver would go nicely with Harry’s hair,” she said pointedly. “Perhaps if he wore black robes with a silver tie–”
“Sure,” Ginny said with a playful swat at Hermione’s arm. “Good thing we’re not putting silver on your husband though; he’s got enough going on as it is with those eyes and that hair.”
Hermione’s nose subconsciously wrinkled. Husband.
“Malfoy’s just a temporary husband. Really, I dunno why everyone’s making such a big deal about this.” I WILL divorce him, she determined fiercely.
“Because temporary or not, EVERY witch has a dream wedding in mind,” Tonks pinned Hermione’s hair in place, affixing a small golden comb embossed with a crystalline blue rose on the end. “Even if you don’t admit it, Hermione, I know you’ve got dreams too.”
Hermione turned her head to admire the shiny accessory.
“Where did–?”
“It was my mum’s,” Tonks said with a grin. “It’s your old, blue, AND borrowed. Along with the new dress, you’re all set!”
Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes at the ridiculous custom but smiled gratefully.
“It’s lovely, thank you.”
“Hey, think of this as the practicerun if you like,” Ginny teased. “Anything you don’t like today you can change for your next wedding!”
“Even the groom?” Hermione said with a sigh. “A girl can dream, I suppose.”
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“Just a shade darker–”
“Then they’ll be TOO dark.”
“No, then they’ll be smoky grey instead of cloudy grey–”
“Those are the same thing, you ponce.”
“They are NOT–!”
“OI,” Weasley’s voice came through the bedroom door, alerting the two Slytherins. “Two minutes!”
Draco snatched his wand back and quickly cast the Colour-Changing Charm on his outer robes.
“See? THIS is better.”
Theo rolled his eyes and gave up. Even after five years of witnessing Draco’s obsession with his appearance, he still hadn’t been prepared for the hell that would be his friend’s wedding day. Draco spent a full hour ensuring every inch of his heeled shoes were polished to perfection before deciding Hermione was so much shorter than him that he didn’t need heeled shoes after all.
Theo was about ready to Freeze the egomaniac and drag him downstairs before he changed his mind about the shade of his robes yet again.
“I would ask if you’re ready, but that’s far too risky,” he drawled instead. “Give your wand back, you know you’re not supposed to have it.”
“I never liked that rule,” Draco grumbled, but returned his hawthorn wand to Theo. “What if my shoe gets scuffed or my hair falls loose–?”
“I promise Hermione won’t care,” Theo said with false sincerity. “You know the marriage has to happen with fully wandless participants to ensure there’s no coercion.”
“Like I’d need to Imperius her,” the blond scoffed. “I’m her only option, aren’t I?”
The sudden downcast look on Draco’s face surprised Theo. He realised that in spite of his perfect robes, perfect hair, and perfect swagger, Draco was a little insecure.
“You’re not,” he reminded his friend. “She could’ve married Flint, or that Auror … or Greg.”
Draco snorted.
“Sure. Smartest witch in school with the thickest wizard … a perfect match.”
“But she picked the one who can keep up with her,” Theo said staidly. “She picked you.”
Draco brushed non-existent lint off his pristine robes.
“She didn’t, not really,” he mumbled. “Honestly, she doesn’t give a fuck about me, she just wants to get back to school without putting Potter in danger.”
“Well,” Theo said with a sigh, “Then I guess you’ve got some work to do.”
One pale eyebrow raised in confusion and Theo clarified, “You’re a Slytherin, after all. Don’t you think you can use your natural cunning to make her glad she’s with you?”
“You want me to fake happiness in my marriage? That’s a bit extreme–”
“No, I want you to use your cunning to win her over.”
“You want me to trick your sister into falling for me?”
Theo rolled his eyes.
“I want you to trick her into giving you a second chance. You’ve got a rough history, and she’s already convinced that she’ll conveniently divorce you as soon as the war’s over. I don’t want that for her. OR for you. I want you to make her happy, Draco. Earn her trust. Then … well, then she can make you happy, too.”
The wizards looked at each other for a few silent moments until a loud knock came at the door, reminding them of the hour.
Draco took a very long breath.
“Well … I s’pose I’ll start by saving her life, then.”
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Despite his preference for abundant elegance, Draco was impressed by the simple beauty of the Black parlour. Comfortable sofas and settees draped in ivory silk were arranged for guests. The backdrop of draperies, chains, and gems was enchanted to sway gently as though a light breeze ran through the room. The windows were closed but floating crystals in various shapes had been charmed to emit pale, twinkling beams of light giving the illusion of a clear, spring day.
The only thing spoiling the effect was Dumbledore at the head of the room, who’d chosen to don formal robes of bright, golden-yellow for some reason. He seemed utterly indifferent to the looks from the other guests as he watched the fluttering crystals, humming to himself. As his polar opposite, Lucius stood stock stiff in robes of wine-red, clearly looking anywhere but at the contrary headmaster beside him.
Draco was glad for his mother’s calm presence at his side; he was trying to avoid the annoying warning looks being shot at him from Potter and Weasley in the front row. Though they were hardly threatening, Draco didn’t for the fact that his family was outnumbered in this crowd of Weasleys and carefully-disguised Order members. He wished Snape could be here at least, but of course Lucius couldn’t be made aware of the professor’s role in the Order.
At the rear of the room sat Andromeda and Nymphadora – Draco refused to call her Tonks as it broke far too many social rules – and they were both subtly studying Narcissa. Draco knew they hadn’t seen each other for many years, and he wondered if his mother could make amends with her sister. Blood-traitor aside, Andromeda was a strong witch and might not be as horrid as Draco had been raised to believe.
It was strange how several of the things Draco had always believed were oddly being questioned as of late.
Soft music began to trickle through the room as though carried by the wind, and Draco felt his spine stiffen a little.
About three slow minutes passed before his bride entered the room on Theo’s arm. Draco’s buzzing mind jolted to a halt and his eyes widened.
Hermione’s gown was aquamarine silk, just long enough to brush the tops of her feet. She wore a silver heart-shaped locket that hung just below her collarbone, drawing Draco’s eye to her porcelain-smooth skin. A simple design of lace and beading ran from the neckline down the bodice of the dress, which tightened enough to catch Draco’s attention unexpectedly.
Who knew bookworm Granger had a figure somewhere behind those stacks of books?
Her hair was up in an elegant twist. A few strands fell loose, and Draco’s fingers twitched oddly as he felt the urge to reach out and brush them behind her ears. She didn’t seem to be wearing makeup, only a pale gloss which drew her lips into the perfect bow-shape.
He remembered kissing those lips …
He bit his tongue and took a single step forward to meet the twins. He’d explained to his father last night that Theo was chosen as a witness representing Draco’s closest friend in present company, not Hermione’s. Besides, Draco thought dryly, Potter or Weasley could hardly escort her given they’d have no idea what they were doing, and Draco doubted the plebian Gryffindors could dress appropriately, either.
Thus, only Lucius was unaware of the true significance of Theo gently kissing Hermione’s hand before passing it to Draco. He met his friend’s eyes for a moment, and Draco nodded minutely, knowing exactly what Theo would say if he were able.
Theo stepped to his place at Hermione’s left, his eyes fixed on an ornamental rose in her hair.
His heart thrummed, his hands shook, and he had to hold his breath to stop a tear from falling. He wished for the hundredth time that he hadn’t been so careless … he’d barely spent any time with his lovely sister and already he was forced to hand her over to another wizard. Though he’d maintained a spark of hope that Thoros might’ve willingly allowed the joining of their families, the possibility faded with the arrival of yesterday’s horrific letter.
As Moody began to recite the ceremony, Theo ground his feet into the floor. Despite already hating his father’s ways, he’d never hated the man himself as much as he did today.
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Despite the confidence demonstrated in her posture and elegant appearance, Hermione wasn’t quite comfortable enough to look Draco in the eye. She allowed him to take her hand and kiss it, a tiny flush in her cheeks the only sign of recognition.
Draco tried not to be bothered by her seeming lack of interest as he tucked her hand gently into his arm and turned to the scarred face of Alastor Moody.
“Today, on fourth August in the year nineteen hundred ninety-six, these two souls share their intentions to join in the sight of magic, to bind themselves to one another …”
Hermione stood very still, curling her toes in her borrowed heels.
It was truly unfair; she was marrying the most elegant, eligible, rich, and attractive wizard of their generation – with the exception, perhaps, of her own brother – and she still silently wished for almost any other hand in place of his.
She wanted to believe he cared. She wanted to believe that his lips were deliberately gentle against her hand, and the way he held her against him was meant to be protective. She wanted to believe that he was happy to have the chance to join Harry’s side of the war and ally with them.
She couldn’t.
“In the sight of the Ministry of Magic and of these witnesses, do you stand here of your own free will, under no magical coercion, as an independent wizard, to enter into this relationship of fidelity, trust, protection, and unity?”
“I do,” Draco answered.
Interesting there’s no mention of LOVE in this relationship, Hermione thought bitterly.
“I do,” she answered quietly nonetheless when the question was repeated to her. Being fully aware of the situation, Moody wasn’t fazed by Hermione’s shaky tone.
Draco’s hand was warm, but a bit clammy. His arm against hers was rigid and she felt the tension in his body as he stood listening to Moody. It didn’t matter that this whole charade was intended for her benefit. Malfoy was a Slytherin; he was ambitious and cunning, and she knew this was no charitable act on his part. He was saving her, but he was also using her.
Hermione almost wished she’d reconsidered marrying Flint or even Kingsley, just so she could be sure Draco hadn’t been manipulating her into this all along. War efforts aside, he was getting everything he wanted–
“… belong solely to each other, forsaking all other commitments before your spouse, putting their needs above your own …”
Even if she’d possessed undeniable proof that Draco wouldn’t betray them to Voldemort, this marriage was still self-serving. He’d practically said it when they narrowed down the list of bachelors: she was the perfect prize. Pure-blood, not unattractive, top of the year … not to mention his friend’s sister.
It had been positively easy for Draco to marry her. According to the Pure-Blood Path, he would’ve gone to great efforts to court her under normal circumstances. There would’ve been offers and promises to win her favour.
But in these circumstances, Draco barely needed to do anything but show up.
“… for as long as your souls endure?” Moody finished.
“I will,” Draco said quietly.
Hermione’s heart pounded.
“I … I will,” she whispered.
Moody turned to the left where Dumbledore and Lucius stood solemnly beside a tall pedestal.
“In the sight of the Ministry of Magic and of these witnesses, do you acquiesce to give the hand of your son to this witch, in full understanding that the action cannot be undone and that your son will inherit the status of an adult wizard?”
“I do,” Lucius responded without looking at Moody. He bent to sign his name on the elegant scroll balanced on the pedestal before passing the long quill to Dumbledore as quickly as possible.
“In the sight of the Ministry of Magic and of these witnesses, do you acquiesce to give the hand of your ward to this wizard, in full understanding that the action cannot be undone and that your ward will inherit the status of an adult witch?”
Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled briefly at Hermione as he murmured, “I do.” He barely had to bend to sign his long, loopy name on the scroll. Moody took the quill next and added his own signature, then murmured a few spells and tapped the parchment with his wand to seal the scroll with a flash of blue magic. He returned to the quiet couple.
“Will you share a physical token to represent your eternal bond?”
Draco carefully removed the heavy silver ring from his index finger and reached for Hermione’s left hand.
“Will … will you acquiesce to bear the ring of my ancestors, to share in our joy and our burdens, to partake in our customs and traditions, and endeavour to grow our family?”
She might not be able to divorce him …
… action cannot be undone …
Hermione swallowed.
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Thoros hung his cloak, spelled every speck of foreign material off his shoes, and made for his study.
The elf had his Scotch prepared. He had a primal urge to down the drink quickly, chasing his frustration, but that was not the way.
He sat as he always did, contemplating the necessities of the day, sipping elegantly on his drink. Only the sharpest eye would notice the anger in his body as shown in his tense shoulders and tight grip on his crystal goblet.
His Lord’s plans were well in hand. Untrustworthy followers were being isolated from the inner circle. Warnings were being issued in the form of carefully-placed destruction and devastation in both the Muggle and wizarding worlds, to ensure that the other side knew what they were facing. There were two spies, ready to take their places at Hogwarts in a few weeks.
But not everything was moving according to plan.
Dumbledore’s irritating Order members had infiltrated more Ministry departments than expected. One of their most powerful Aurors was keeping close watch over the Muggle high government. And of course, several maintained their positions at Hogwarts, making it nearly impossible to imagine a breach by the Death Eaters.
Then, today, the Malfoys were inexplicably missing from all meetings.
Thoros drained his Scotch and clicked his fingers for another.
He prepared his mental acuity in the same manner as the rest of his home and lifestyle: meticulous, organised, unwavering. Decision-making was simple because he knew each step to meet his goals and each step had contingency plans solidly in place to account for any possibility.
Or at least, he HAD accounted for every possibility … until she resurfaced.
It was difficult to focus his roving mind through the veil of anger. Though some was directed at his late wife for her betrayal and at the useless slave that swept the girl away, they no longer mattered. They were out of the way.
He took a large mouthful of Scotch and allowed his pointless anger toward the dead to dissipate.
He couldn’t bring himself to waste anger toward the girl herself, given that she didn’t know she was supposed to be dead.
No, his remaining anger was directed at his son … his perfectly-designed heir, who proved that LOVE could ruin everything. Everything their family was, everything Thoros still lived and fought for – ALL of it may vanish because his foolish young heir decided he wanted a sibling instead of a legacy.
Frustrated though he was, he’d managed to muster enough affection for the boy to offer him another choice by letter. Theodore wouldn’t have to kill the girl …
But if the Malfoys were missing for the reason Thoros suspected they were, it meant Theodore would fail. It meant his son was even more cunning than he’d let his father know …
Thoros felt a wave of pride that both pleased and angered him. He’d raised his son so perfectly that he’d been able to outwit Thoros; he challenged him at his own game, produced his own schemes. Thoros had little doubt that Theodore’s mental acuity was close to his own, particularly in terms of designing contingency plans. It was admirable, truly, despite his heir’s unfortunate choice to move against the family.
Of course, he would need another contingency plan now, in case Theodore refused to obey him again.
Thoros’ tight lips softened into the slightest hint of a smirk when a realisation came over him. He set down his empty goblet as the pieces of his plan slid neatly into place.
Even if Theodore were to fail at his task, it may not be necessary to eliminate the girl after all. There was another way he could put his unwanted firstborn to use … and Theodore would never anticipate it.
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Hermione swallowed.
“Y– Yes.”
It didn’t matter that the Ministry paperwork wasn’t officially filed yet; Theo felt a huge weight lift from his shoulders as the silver ring sized itself to Hermione’s finger and Moody cast a traditional cascade of golden sparks over the new couple.
Even though he hated the ramifications, he’d succeeded. His sister was safe.