Chapter Text
| | | Chapter One | | |
May 4, 1998
Cautious fingers trailed down Hermione’s arms, lips pressing gentle and soft against hers. Everything had changed. It happened in the stab of a venomous fang. Gobbled up by insatiable, sentient flames. The swing of a ruby hilted sword, and the dancing duel of green and red light. It happened through lies, whispered past a traitor’s lips…And in one blink of a kiss.
Last night, with everyone gathered around the bonfire at the Burrow to celebrate the lives and sacrifices of their treasured loved ones, Ron found her sitting alone in the darkness. They’d hardly had a moment between them since the one they’d shared the day before in the midst of battle.
She’d convinced herself that was all there was to it—a moment between friends. It was the celebration of an interim battle won, chasing the high of their piece of the victory. But as he stood tall before her, hand reaching out to her in the warm glow of the fire, Hermione realized something had shifted in him as well.
Ron pulled her to her feet, cupping her face in his hand with a tenderness Hermione knew he’d always possessed. With everyone around, he’d turned to her with those gentle eyes and boyish grin she adored and stole her breath with the press of his lips. A blush spread over her cheeks at the ensuing cheers and riotous applause that ensued. Even Mrs. Weasley turned a blind eye when Ron led her by the hand up to his bedroom last night instead of Ginny’s.
Hermione grinned, opening her eyes to see two baby blues smiling back at her in the early light of dawn. “Hi,” he whispered, with barely a sound.
“Hi.” Hermione fought bravely against the urge to feel self conscious. All those months on the run, sleeping in a dirty tent, half-starving, washing, and sleeping near each other—they’d never done anything like that before.
Ron pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. “How are you feeling?” Genuine concern colored his expression. This wasn’t the same boy she'd attended Hogwarts with. And although those weeks he’d abandoned her and Harry in the forest might’ve been one of the darkest times in her life, when Ron had returned, he’d returned a man grown.
Something had transformed within him those few weeks apart. He carried himself differently, confident and strong. He’d always been a brilliant strategist but now he was someone she would follow into battle. And follow him into battle, she had.
“A little sore,” she answered, smiling at the ache between her legs. The memory of last night played vividly in her mind as she pulled his quilt up higher, covering them from the morning chill.
“A little sore?” Long fingers traveled under the blankets, finding her core. “Anything I can do to help?” His thumb began moving in slow, gentle circles over the sensitive little bud at her center.
Hermione sucked in a surprised breath, wrapping her fingers around his arm. She didn’t know where he’d learned it all, and truthfully, she wasn’t keen on asking. But Merlin, was she grateful to be on the receiving end of his skilled fingers.
Pressure coiled low in her belly as Ron’s soft lips grazed over the stiffened peaks of her breasts. His warm breath on her sensitive skin incited the ghost of a chill down her spine. So this was what all the fuss was about.
“Shh, ‘Mione, baby,” Ron reminded her of the houseful as her breathing increased in intensity. Nodding, Hermione closed her eyes, slowing her breaths through her nose.
He covered her mouth with his as she crested, swallowing her bliss along with the preening gasp of pleasure that escaped her lungs. Strong arms enveloped her, pulling her to his chest while she basked in the afterglow.
Everything was different.
Ron’s heart beat strong and steady under her cheek. She was content to lie in his arms forever. “Marry me,” he whispered.
Hermione blinked, pulling back to look into his eyes. “What?”
“I said, marry me.” There was no smile, no hint of a joke or a jest. Ron sat up on his knees in earnest, grasping her hands. “I don’t have a ring, or—a fancy speech. Just myself. And a promise to love you ‘til the end of time. Please. Say yes.”
They had escaped certain death more times in the past four days than she could count. If Ron had asked a week ago, she might've laughed, called him insane. But all that had changed. Hermione understood the bitter truth now more than ever that tomorrow wasn't promised to anyone.
“...Yes,” she breathed.
“Yes?”
“Yes!”
Ron jumped to his feet, landing with a heavy thud on the wooden floorboards. Hermione giggled as he dove for a chocolate frog box from his nightstand, her interest piquing when he grabbed his wand.
He tapped the box three times, “Charta Verto!” he called. A crystal-clear beam of light erupted from the end of his wand, transforming the chocolate frog box into a silver ring. “It’ll have to do for now,” he said sheepishly, sliding the slightly pentagonal shaped band onto her third finger.
“Are you barmy? I’m never taking it off.” Hermione beamed, admiring her engagement ring. “It’s beautiful. Perfect, really—”
Lips crashed, Ron’s heavy weight covering her body once more as they sealed their promise.
| | |
Ron led her by the hand down the stairs to where everyone was gathered around the breakfast table. All chatter died as every eye turned to them, another blush painting Hermione’s cheeks. Ron gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.
“’Morning, everyone,” his voice cut confidently through the awkwardness.
“Well, it’s about bloody time!” Ginny said, her grin lighting up the room. Mrs. Weasley laughed, fresh tears staining her cheeks as she stood to summon two more place settings. Harry stood, hugging Hermione with a squeeze while Bill and Charlie patted Ron on the back. Even George managed a shadow of a smile before slumping back down into his chair. Plates clanged against the wooden surface as Mrs. Weasley rounded the table to embrace Ron in a hug, then Hermione.
“You know I’ve always thought of you as a daughter,” she said over the rising din. “I’m glad Ronald finally understands how special you are.” It seemed she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry as she steered them to the table. “Come, sit, we’re just finishing up but there’s plenty. Your father and Percy had to get to the Ministry early—”
“Actually, Mum, we’ve got business of our own at the Ministry this morning,” Ron announced, lifting Hermione’s left hand into view while grabbing a slice of toast off the tall stack at the end of the table. He bit in, grabbing another for Hermione. “But, uh—How does next Saturday sound for a wedding? I was thinking out behind the garden?” He turned, speaking to Hermione, “If that works for you? We can discuss it later if—”
“No. No, that’s perfect.” She smiled, misty-eyed.
Ron leaned down to kiss her, with Ginny, George, and Harry erupting into exaggerated shouts and whistles. Molly sobbed anew, pulling them both in for another hug to the sound of congratulating whoops and hollers.
Eagerly, they made their way to the Floo, stepping through the green flames together to find the Ministry Atrium completely packed with witches and wizards. The marked Death Eaters and known war criminals had all been captured and detained, or held in their homes on house arrest while they await trial. Voldemort’s other supporters had been quick to make themselves scarce, making the reclaiming of the Ministry a quick task.
There would be weeks, if not months or years of getting everything and everyone back to rights, but there was no shortage of witches and wizards willing to put in the work. Everywhere around them, Ministry employees embraced each other, reuniting for the first time after the fall of Voldemort’s regime. Others navigated through the crowd with varying levels of distress marking their features. Family members grieved their losses, others rejoiced in victory.
Hermione didn’t dare let go of Ron’s hand for fear they’d never find each other again. They funneled to one side of the hall, maneuvering around the fountain, restored once again to its original design. She was glad to have him here with her; her rock. Their last visit to the Ministry had been a disaster, perhaps more stressful than breaking into Gringotts. Hermione shuddered, remembering their escape on the back of the blind Ironbelly only days ago.
She spun the pentagonal ring around her finger with the pad of her thumb, counting each angular point over and over. The queue at the security desk, now manned by an unprecedented number of guards with oversight from a team of Aurors, took an eternity to get through before their wands could be weighed.
Hermione let out a sigh, relieved to finally be behind the golden grilles of the lift as they ascended with a great jangling and clattering to level two. The harried receptionist at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement quickly directed them to Wizengamot administration services where they stood at the end of yet another very long queue.
They exchanged furtive glances, never letting go of each other's hands as they wound their way slowly to the front of the shortest of the many queues they’d waited through this morning. There was no hurry or impatience with Ron there beside her. Just gentle squeezes and sideways grins. They had the rest of their lives together, after all.
“Next,” the frazzled-looking witch called them up to the receiving desk. “What can I do for you today?” she asked, not looking up from the paperwork she was stamping complete from her previous task.
Ron cleared his throat. “We’re here to apply for a marriage license.”
The witch looked up, a flash of recognition crossing her face, though she made no mention of their identities. Hermione had yet to hear news of their association with the Gringotts break-in, but spending a year aiding and abetting Undesirable Number One was more than enough cause for the entire wizarding world to know their names.
“Right.” She pulled the bottom drawer of her desk open, shuffling through the file folders. “You’ll each need to fill out one of these forms so I can process them through together. Have a seat over there if you wouldn’t mind, and you can bring them back to me when you’re finished. Next!”
Hermione and Ron smiled at each other, meandering to the hard wooden chairs lined up against the wall. She conjured two quills as they sat quietly, filling in their basic information. The occasional playful thigh bump and elbow nudge, sharing their mutual excitement as they sat together in silence before Ron returned them to the front desk.
“I’m going to apply for the Auror training program. With Harry.” Ron said as he sat back down, pulling her arm over his. “Dad told us Kingsley said they’re going to waive N.E.W.T.s for our year, said they need as many good people as they can get.”
“Ron—”
“—Fred…My brother gave his life for us. All of us. For this.” He gestured between them. “So that we can live. And love. I’m going to honor his sacrifice. I’m going to take care of you, Hermione, I swear.”
“We’ll take care of each other,” she swore solemnly. He pressed his forehead to hers, closing his eyes. While they’d been celebrating their victory, grief danced in the periphery. Too many lauded heroes of their cause had lost their lives. Hermione understood that as their lives began returning to some semblance of normal, everyone would begin to feel the gaping holes left behind much more acutely.
She absentmindedly spun her ring with her thumb, enjoying the feel of it. “We can live in my parents’ house until we get on our feet,” she suggested. “I don’t know how long it’s going to take to restore their memories. Months, possibly even years, but I don’t think they’d mind us staying there until they return.”
“Sure, beats living with Mum and Dad until I start getting paid.” He gave her another sideways grin.
The clerk from Wizengamot Services got their attention, waving them over to a counter around the corner with a little more privacy. “Good morning, Mister Weasley, Miss Granger.” Hermione wondered if Ron would want her to take his last name. They had so much to discuss.
“I’m sorry, there was a bit of a problem processing your request for a license. Miss Granger, you didn’t mention that you were already under a betrothal contract. You’re going to need to take care of the unresolved contract on file first, before we’re able to proceed with a new marriage license for you and Mister Weasley.”
“I’m sorry—what?” Her brow furrowed, not quite sure she understood.
“There must be a mistake,” Ron added. “She’s never signed a betrothal contract before. This is her first engagement, we only got engaged this morning.”
The witch looked down at the papers laid out before her, pointing out a date to Hermione. “This betrothal contract was signed last April.” Hermione nearly snatched the parchment from her hands when she read the names listed.
“This isn’t my signature, it's–I didn’t sign this. I don’t consent to this, I need it removed from your files.”
The clerk sighed. “One doesn’t just remove it from the files. You’ll have to dissolve the betrothal contract first, and file the appropriate paperwork to have it nullified.”
“Well how does one go about dissolving this?” Ron raised his voice.
The tired witch rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Miss Granger will have to take it up with her guarantors. Betrothal contracts aren’t standard so that’ll have to be reconciled between the two parties privately. When you’ve agreed to terms,” she summoned another form from deep in her filing cabinet, “you can bring this back to me, and I can mark this betrothal contract null and grant you a new license with Mister Weasley.”
“Can I keep these?” she asked quietly.
“Yes, you can take them all, they're all Geminios.” Hermione felt her eyes well up with tears as she re-read the header of the betrothal contract. “I wish you luck, Miss Granger. I hope I see you back here soon,” she said with more empathy in her expression than before.
A large hand rubbed up and down her back in soothing circles. “It’s just formality, ‘Mione. Let’s go home, talk to Dad tonight. I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding.”
“Did you even read it? Ronald, I’m under a betrothal contract with Draco sodding Malfoy!” she whispered angrily as they entered the blessedly empty lift. “Signed by his own mother and Dumbledore himself. This wasn’t some sort of clerical error.”
Ron frowned. “Well, it doesn’t matter. It’s not like you’re going to go through with it. You didn’t even sign it. You aren't bound to it.”
That was true. Although it gave Hermione little relief knowing she’d been part of a covenant between Albus Dumbledore and Narcissa Black. The lift gates opened, and Ron led her through the crowded atrium, back to the departure Floos.
They stepped through the green flames to the Burrow to an uncharacteristically quiet set of Weasleys seated somberly in the family room. Hermione’s stomach sank.
“What’s happened? Where’s Mum?” Ron asked, making his way to the kitchen to her usual haunt. “Mum! You’ll never believe—” His voice cut off as the kitchen door swung open. “What’s she doing here?”
“Manners,” Mrs. Weasley scolded.
Hermione stepped through the threshold to see Narcissa Malfoy herself seated at the smaller table in the kitchen nook, sipping tea from Mrs. Weasley’s finest set. Anger boiled inside her seeing the lithe woman looking irreproachable as ever. She appeared the picture of grace and refinement, ankles crossed under her seat, back straight. There were no dark circles under her eyes, her expression indifferent and unsullied in the aftermath of the war.
“Miss Granger.” Hermione hadn’t noticed Professor McGonagall standing by the back door. “Please, sit. There is much to discuss. Mister Weasley, perhaps it's best if you give us some privacy—”
“Like hell,” he snapped, not taking his eyes off of Narcissa. “Whatever this is that concerns my fiancée, concerns me too.”
Narcissa’s eyes darted to Hermione’s left hand, her face impassive behind her teacup.
“Miss Granger can fill you in later. Right now, we have an urgent matter to discuss, preferably without interruptions of outrage and indignation.” Their former Head of House held a tone of authority that left no room for argument.
Hermione gave Ron a reassuring nod and watched him reluctantly join the others in the sitting room, who were no doubt listening in on every word.
“Would anyone care to explain what’s going on?” Hermione plopped her small stack of documents on the small table, sitting down opposite Narcissa. “Mrs. Malfoy, why did I just find out I’m under a betrothal contract to your son, when I never signed—or even heard whisper of one?”
“Yes, that’s what we’d all like to know,” Mrs. Weasley interjected.
Narcissa cleared her throat. “I’m sorry, Miss Granger. I had no idea Albus didn’t fill you in on the details of our arrangement.”
“Arrangement? What arrangement?” She looked to Minerva and Molly who seemed to share her outrage at the situation.
“The deal that was brokered between Dumbledore and myself,” Narcissa spoke again. “We had an agreement in which I risked—everything to betray the Dark Lord and ensure the Order’s victory.”
Lies whispered past a traitor's lips.
“And in return, you're forcing me to marry your son?”
“In exchange, he offered to sign a betrothal contract between you and my son, yes, to protect him and the rest of our family after the war. He signed your name, acting in loco parentis. I’m sure you know that as a muggle-born student, your Headmaster was your magical guardian by law while you remained at school.”
“In an egregious abuse of power, Mrs. Malfoy,” Professor McGonagall pleaded. “You can’t expect the girl to pay for the debts of a dead man.”
“You’ll have to understand, Miss Granger, my family’s situation is precarious, at best. That we changed allegiance and aided the Order wasn’t revealed until after the final battle. That my actions made it possible for you to win the war won’t be lauded with forgiveness and acceptance in the court of public opinion. There will be demand for punishment, imprisonment, execution—”
“And so your plan is to take me and my good name to prop up your sullied one, wiping your slates clean by affiliation?” The woman was clever, Hermione would give her that. But she didn’t take into consideration the fact that Hermione would refuse to go along with this ploy.
“I don’t presume to think our slates could be wiped clean by one simple act, no. But your marriage to my son will go a long way in showing the public that our actions at the end of the war were genuine. The Wizengamot is out for blood. They wish to make examples of everyone, my husband and son included.”
“And yet your dear Draco couldn’t be bothered to tag along today? Too big of a coward to show his own face?”
“My son is home recovering. He suffered great losses in the battle—”
“Yes, we all did,” Mrs. Weasley nearly erupted. “How kind of you to allow us a full day to grieve before coming to collect on your debt.”
“It’s okay, Mrs. Weasley,” Hermione reassured her. “There’s no way I’m going through with this.”
“I think you’ll find it’s in your best interest that you do, Miss Granger.”
“Is that a threat, Narcissa?” Mrs. Weasley wrapped her fingers over the handle of her wand peeking from her apron pocket.
“It’s simply a statement of fact.” She raised an eyebrow, turning back to Hermione. “Whether you walk down the aisle and recite vows or not, it will never change the fact that you are bound by your magic to the terms of this contract. If you wish to live in this world, if you wish to apply for a job at the Ministry, Healer training at St. Mungo’s, open a Gringotts vault, apply for a marriage license…” She raised an eyebrow. “You’re going to have a tough time achieving much of anything with this outstanding contract flagged in your official file.”
“But it isn’t right, this isn’t fair—”
“If the world were fair, mine and my family’s actions in this conflict would be seen for what they were—the catalyst that ended the battle and the war.”
Hermione frowned. “Everyone knows the truth about us. They’d see right through this sham of a wedding.”
Narcissa smiled across the table, a hint of pity in her expression. “People will see what you show them, and believe what they see. It’s your job to sell it, Miss Granger.”
Hermione was incensed by her audacity. “You seem to have made sure to cover all your bases. Tell me, was there any outcome of this war in which the Malfoys didn’t come out victorious?”
“I did what I had to. And I didn’t risk everything just to see my husband and son rot in Azkaban when it was through. I regret that your former Headmaster did not inform you of this arrangement, I do, but that does not absolve you of fulfilling your end of this responsibility.” She took a polite sip from her teacup. “That isn’t to say, however, that you won't be compensated for your cooperation.”
“I don’t want your money.” Hermione’s hackles raised.
“I was thinking more along the lines of your parents, actually. They’re going to need intensive treatment if there is any hope to restore the memory modification you performed. Malfoy connections run deep, as well as our means to fund such an undertaking. Think about it while you read through the contract.”
Narcissa stood, thanking Mrs. Weasley for her hospitality before opening the swing door back to the family room. She turned back to Hermione, a tight smile stretched across her lips. “Take a few days, I’ll be in touch soon, Miss Granger.”
The room illuminated green, a flood of red-headed Weasleys swarming into the kitchen in the very next moment. One look at their pitying expressions told Hermione that they had indeed been listening in. Ron’s face was a little harder to read. Hermione frowned, thumb running over the smooth underside of her ring.
“They can’t make you go through with this,” Ginny said, next to Harry. “We’ll take it to the Wizengamot, they’ll nullify it—”
“We were just at Wizengamot services. They’re the ones who informed us about the contract in the first place. There’s nothing they can do until we dissolve it privately first.” Hermione turned to McGonagall. “How do I get out of this?”
Unsmiling, she shook her head. “Without the Malfoys’ cooperation, I’m afraid there isn’t much I can do for you. I’ll speak to Kingsley directly this afternoon. But from what I’ve seen of the contract, you’re going to have some tough decisions ahead of you, Miss Granger.” She disappeared through the back door, vanishing with a crack beyond the garden path.
“Don’t worry, ‘Mione. I’m not going to let anything happen to you. They can’t force you to do anything.”
Hermione frowned. “We can’t just ‘not worry’ about this, Ron. You heard her, this isn’t just going to go away because I ignore it. I need to read the full contract and come up with a plan. There has to be a logical way out.” Slowly pacing the kitchen floor, Hermione knew there would be no easy way out of a contract with the Malfoys. But then, she’d never just done what was easy.