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Dragon's Bride	By : ladyw Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 4177 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 5
- 6
"This is blackmail," Hermione said accusingly after the two of them had left the dungeons.

"Of course not," replied Draco coolly, " I'm just stating the truth, darling. As much I'd love to save my fellow students, I have no other way to save them as to demand them as gifts for such outstanding events as the birth of an heir or a wedding. Therefore I have no other choice but to marry the first willing girl on short notice," he said stretching the word 'willing' slightly. "Do you understand me?" He added.

Hermione understood. The difference between willing and blackmailed was enormous in the Wizarding World. After the infamous Heiress of Ravenclaw House wedding, weddings were literally charmed. If a bride (or bridegroom) were forced into the marriage by anything else but parental power, those charms would prevent her or him from saying the vows.

"I am willing, I am willing" she whispered when they reached the door to her room; a mantra repeated silently more for her own than Draco's benefit.

"Good," he said. He opened the door to let and closed the door behind them when they were inside. A house-elf must have been in the room as the bed was made and in the fireplace flames were crackling. Draco stood close to Hermione, too close for comfort. To her he looked incredibly tall -- 'When did he grow that tall?' she asked herself absentmindedly -- an imposing, threatening figure. A boy, still her own age and yet older, redefined... powerful, she realized, was the word she had been looking for to describe him. Power, magical and mundane crackled around him, seemed to oozes out of every invisible pore of his too perfect skin, his too well-groomed hair, even his too expensive, black robes reeked of it.

Draco reached inside a pocket of his robes and drew out a ring. Hermione looked at it, like he just presented her with a mummified canary; disgust, morbid curiosity, disbelief and wonder washed over her in one confusing wave of emotions.

"What is this, Malfoy?" she asked.

He took a step closer. "First of all and most importantly, darling, it is Draco or 'love'." Hermione snorted un-ladylike. Draco continued undisturbed: "Second this is the ring all Malfoy brides wear until their sons want to marry. My mother has worn it until this very day and I expect you to cherish it."

He took Hermione's right hand and put the ring -- a simple gold band with letters, Hermione couldn't decipher, on the inside -- on her ring finger. It fit perfectly; like it was made for her. 'It's probably enchanted,' Hermione thought and made a mental note to take it off as soon as Draco had left the room.

"Now, beloved, I have to go and leave you to your own devices. I am sure, mother will prod you some more with wedding details." He pulled her hand to his mouth and kissed the ring. The kiss gave Hermione a feeling like tiny little pinpricks were wandering from her finger, up her arm, all over her body.

She snatched her hand out of his grasp and took a step back. "Don't touch me, Malfoy."

Draco's expression changed from the serene smile of a devoted fiancee to a nasty grin without missing a beat. He closed in on Hermione, while she retreated against a wall. "What did I tell you just five seconds ago?" His right hand gripped her jaw harshly.

"To call you Draco." Hermione said fearfully.

"So you remembered? Why," and his eyes searched hers when he said this, "why didn't you used it then?"

Hermione didn't know what to say, his hand hurt her and he still wore that nasty smile that promised pain and humiliation. Yet she forced herself to say: "Habit."

Draco relented. He took his hand of her face and with the "devoted fiancee" smile firmly in place, he kissed her left cheek lightly. "See you later then, beloved," he said as he disappeared through the door.

Catching her breath and willing her heart not to beat too fast, Hermione tried to pull the Malfoy ring off her finger. It didn't budge.

***

A day had gone by with more visits from the seamstress, a thorough lecture in polite conversation, a shallow one on contemporary wizarding politics -- Voldemort good, muggleborns bad -- and several unsuccessful attempts to remove the Malfoy ring. In a desperate attempt to distract herself from the rather troublesome situation, Hermione had picked up the only books she could find in her room. Sadly the books she found, consisted only of "Tact, Polite Behaviour and Five-hundred Other Ways to Avoid Getting Hexed" and "The Malfoy Family - Surviving and Living In Style."

The latter proved to be a rather curious find. It included the long and rarely, if ever, noble history of the Malfoy family, several rules every Malfoy religiously had to obey and not one tiny hint how to remove that blasted ring.

Ironically enough most rules were so odd, that by rule number fifty-four Hermione was in stitches. And because that wasn't enough irony in itself, her fiancee chose just that moment to pay her a visit.

"What so amusing?" Draco asked, surprised beyond measure at his bride's merriment.

"'Never wear orange on a Friday, in public, on a Quidditch field or in the bedroom.'" Hermione recited. "Who made those rules? And has anyone in your family ever been a Chudley Cannons supporter? Well, publicly, on a Friday, on a Quidditch field or..." she giggled, "in the bedroom?"

Draco was taken aback. He had expected death threats, stolen kitchen knives, a crying fit, catatonia... everything but Hermione ridiculing and laughing over his family. He didn't know what to say. "I... uhm... well, I don't think anyone in my family has ever supported any other team than the Falmouth Falcons."

Hermione seemed to find this even funnier than the 'Orange' rule. "The Falmouth Falcons? The Falmouth Let-us-win-but-if-we-cannot-win-let-us-break-a-few-heads Falcons? The most violent team in the entire history of the British Quidditch League according to Kennilworth Whisp and his Quidditch Through the Ages? As the Malfoy Quidditch team of choice... well, no-choice, really. Why am I not surprised at all?" she laughed.

"We go for the best and the Falcons are the best," Draco tried to defend his family's team.

Hermione knew better and promptly contradicted him: "Actually the Falmouth Falcons aren't the best team in the British League. The Montrose Magpies are the best team in the whole league, Draco, every child knows that."

Draco could have said a lot of things at this point; he could have expressed his astonishment that a muggleborn knew so much about Quidditch even if it was just from some books; he could have made a huge fuss over the fact that the Falcons had been the consistently best team in the League; he might have taken offense that Hermione so openly laughed about his family's traditions, but he did neither of those things. His mind repeated her last sentence over and over again - 'Draco, every child knows that... Draco, every child... Draco, Draco, Draco.' He was disturbed how much of an impression her happy tone and her voice saying his name with friendliness instead of the usual contempt and fear had made on him, how much he wanted to hear it again, so confused as he was, he stayed silent.

Hermione felt a similar confusion and while she wrecked her brain what she might have said to turn a conversation about Quidditch into stony silence, her temporary elation evaporated. Back were her worries, her grief and the dreary future and the role the man in front of her had played in all of this. Her smile vanished and she went back to reading the book, only this time the rule to wear black on Friday was more unsettling than amusing.

Draco, still reeling how much a little, happy 'Draco' from his bride's mouth had muddled his emotions, barely noticed her distress. He said goodbye, leaned down and kissed her on the cheek, without even registering that tears had started to pool in Hermione's eyes.

Had he taken dinner with her and his mother that night, he might have seen that the cheek, he had kissed her on, was scrubbed nearly raw.
- 5
- 6
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Dragon's Bride