The Ten-Year Gap

I own nothing but the plot.

Chapter One: Something Wicked This Way Comes

August 19, 2000

There's a certain kind of happiness that's frightening; the kind that can only beget terrible pain. It's the kind of happiness that leaves you so open you get hit with badness in the form of a brick wall. But I blinded myself. The war had ended, Harry had survived, and Ron loved me. Those were the only things I concerned myself with. There were many things others called me but stupid was not one of them. I was Hermione Granger, the brightest witch of her age. But I stood there that summer morning dumbfounded, in the backyard of the burrow, holding that damning piece of paper. My death sentence was hand written, artfully on thick expensive cream parchment. My pulse began to race; I started sweating. The humidity of August choked me. The scene before me of Harry, Ginny, and Ron playing quidditch against George, Bill, and Charlie was like a knife to the chest. It was a scene that would never really occur in the same way again. I would never be a part of the unit, the lover admiring from below.

I guess he could tell, even far up in the air, that something was wrong with me. Ron stood in front of me, sweating and beautiful; everything inside me hurt just looking at him then. I'd waited so long for him to get it, to love me back. And after only three months we were being ripped apart. I wasn't usually selfish or elitist, but I was a war hero; didn't that merit something? I fought for equality of status and here in my hand was the great equalizer mandated by the minister of magic himself. Just this once I wanted to reap a reward. There would be no brood of red haired children for me, no growing old together. Ron leaned down and kissed me but I couldn't return it.

"Hermione," he whispered, warm hand pressed to the side of my face. Silently I handed him the letter. His confused blue eyes shifted quickly over the looped letters eventually turning them a dark blue filled with unwanted knowledge. His lips pulled into a tight line, his freckled face turned to stone.

"We have less than forty-eight hours," I whimpered—I never whimpered. But I did then, like a child.

"We can fight this," he pleaded in an already half defeated tone.

"Not this time Ron," I shifted on my feet as the others descended on their brooms in the peach glow of the evening, blurred around the edges by the tears I pushed back. I would NOT cry in front of Ron.

"Check the kitchen table," my voice was flat. Ron hesitated before stalking inside, followed by Harry and a train of freaked out Weasleys. I stood there for just a minute observing the perfectly kept garden, the clear sky, the quiet. There was no evidence of the trauma that had been inflicted mere minutes ago; no broken glass, no blood, no fractured pieces of Earth or battered bodies. I could no longer hold it; the piece of parchment felt like fire in my hand. It floated to the ground so gracefully, an elegant grenade.

Miss Hermione Granger,

It is with great responsibility to the new era of the wizarding community that I inform you of a new Ministry policy effective immediately. Refusal to comply with this policy will result in immediate imprisonment within Azkaban Prison. The edict will affect all wizards/witches between the ages of 17-27. As there is still unrest within the wizarding community post the Second War, the Ministry has found what is the only plausible solution: a marriage edict. Your partner has been chosen and will appear at the bottom of the parchment once the edict has been read in its entirety.

Forty-eight hours from the time you finish reading the edict, you should have signed a betrothal contract with your chosen partner.

One week from the time the contract is sealed, there must be a wedding ceremony performed by a licensed minister/justice.

One month from the date of the wedding ceremony, you will be expected to have conceived a child barring any extenuating circumstances, i.e. fertility complications.

In the next five years you must produce a second child.

In ten years, if you have followed all the previous protocols, the marriage can be absolved and you are free to be with whomever you choose; however, there can be no adultery or abuse of you partner to qualify.

Your partner has been chosen based on blood status and compatibility through a magical logarithm. Thus, there is no better match for you magically than the one the Ministry has chosen for you.

Draco Lucius Malfoy

Ron came outside and stood next to me. He handed me his paper: Penelope Clearwater. She was beautiful in school, quiet but had a quick wit. She had long wheat blonde hair with fair skin and deep brown eyes. She had a slow smile and a relaxed air about her. I was immediately jealous. Jealous of her beauty and jealous that Ron had been given someone benign while I'd been chained to my enemy. Harry and Ginny emerged from the burrow holding hands, looking guilty. I violently hated them in that moment. Ginny reached for my abandoned letter on the grass.

"Hermione," Ginny whispered full of pity and I just couldn't bear to hear it.

"I need a moment," it was almost a scream. I laced my fingers through Ron's and pulled him into the house, up the stairs, and into his childhood bedroom. "Kiss me."

"Hermione, we should talk," he said, his eyes downcast.

"Please," I never begged. "Do you love me?"

"Of course I do, " his voice was hoarse.

"Kiss me Ron." And he did. It was kind of sloppy but pressured. It was Ron and I clung to him. He pulled me into his arms and I got as close as I could. I needed to memorize the way he smelled, like clean laundry and outside and mint toothpaste. I needed to memorize the way his lips fit on mine and the way my small body fit against his large one.

"I'm not going to be able to give you up Hermione," he mumbled into my forehead.

"You have to," my voice cracked, "for the next ten years."

"Ten years from today," he paused to kiss me again. One of those kisses that kind of pulls the energy from your body, and leaves you incapable of breathing. "I'm coming for you."

I sat in my apartment in muggle London that night in black pajama pants and a forest green shirt of Ron's that he'd left behind. There was a hole in the sleeve near the wrist. My apartment wasn't very large; I didn't require much room, and I wasn't sure I'd ever get used to spending vast amounts of money. The sofa I sat on was a worn in oatmeal colored number across from an oversized chair the color of steel. I'd managed to get hardwood flooring in the apartment. The walls were the off-white color they were when I moved in four months ago.

George had been given to Pansy Parkinson, Ron to Penelope, Harry to Ginny, and I to a reformed death eater. My life was warped, and the only certainty left was in my healer training orientation Monday morning. I knew very little about Draco Malfoy really. He'd been a disgustingly obnoxious prat in school and fought on the wrong side of the war, supposedly to protect his mother. Harry took the stand for him. Malfoy was a slimy little git but not a git that deserved Azkaban. He'd evaporated from the world while his icy mother stayed locked away in Malfoy Manor. In ten minutes he was due at my apartment door. The moment I'd stumbled into my apartment earlier that evening a black owl had been waiting for me with a message from Malfoy. It was vague but concise, exactly six words:

I will be there at eleven.

To be honest I was pissed; I'd seen no other way to distract myself than to sit in a pub and drink myself silly. So I sat there waiting for that knock on my door drunk and fuming instead of the depressed witch I'd been earlier.

And then came the knock.

I unsteadily walked to open the door, and it was definitely Draco Malfoy on the other side.

"Are you going to bleeding stare at me all day or let me in?" I made no motion to move. He swept past me and into my apartment.

"Granger, are you arseholed?" Eyes wide, he glared at me.

"Absolutely. I'm surprised you're not," I threw back. He smirked but it held no malice, not like it used to. He sat down on my sofa looking unbelievably out of place in his expensive black robes and black dragon skin dress shoes. His features were still very aristocratic, his lips were a little fuller than I remembered, and his platinum hair was cropped close to his head, which suited him much better than that slicked back atrocity.

"I have the paper work," he drawled.

"I thought we had to sign it at the ministry," I scowled. Everything was being rushed.

"Who am I Granger?" I rolled my eyes very dramatically so he knew just how ridiculous I thought he was. My mind was fuzzy. Exactly. He was a Malfoy.

"Malfoy how do your parents feel about you marrying a Mudblood," I asked bitterly. He flinched just a little.

"Father's dead, and thus of no concern. Mother has never really held with those beliefs." He spoke so bluntly I was taken aback. "Well you nosey bint, what about your parents?"

"They're in Australia and happy. I altered their memories before the war. They have no idea they have a daughter," I murmured as if I were talking to someone who cared. He cleared his throat.

"Right then. The paperwork." He tossed the thin packet on top of my scuffed coffee table.

"Let's get this over with. I can't look at your face much longer," I spat. I was angry with myself for sharing about my parents, and angry at him for sharing about his.

"Granger," his voice was suddenly made of glass. "My children better not have red hair; I'm warning you."

"Fuck you." I swore vehemently. I never swore.

"Let's not pretend like you and Weasley weren't fucking like rabbits the last few months. I know you think you love him and all that rot. I think you're barmy and intolerably uptight, but I've never thought you were stupid. So I'm warning you Granger, not to make a fool out of you and me." I stood up then, towered over his sitting form, teeth gritted together.

"If you think for one minute that this contract means you have any control what so ever over my actions think again. I'll comply with the Marriage Edict so that ten years from today I can be with a man I love and who loves me. Anything I do until then is just to pass the time in this prison sentence."

"Despite all that rambling, I assume you understood my general sentiment Granger. It's a basic betrothal contract that is implemented before a wedding ceremony." He paused. "It must be sealed with a kiss after the signatures."

"Oh for Merlin's sake. I really don't want to kiss you. Especially right now," I seethed. But then I saw it in flashes, Penelope kissing Ron, her perfectly bowed lips against his, and I felt sick at my stomach.

I walked in an uneven line to my desk and grabbed a quill and inkpot. I plopped down next to Malfoy and slid the ink and quill to him across the coffee table.

"It looks like a secondhand store in here Granger."

"It's homey," I snapped. "Sign the papers." He smirked that grating smirk again as he signed in neat script on the line under his printed name. I snatched the quill from his hand, dipped it in the inkwell, and signed quickly under my name. The gravity of everything hit me then; I could feel my face fall. I turned towards him to seal the contract and his pointy face softened.

"I'll be quick," He muttered. I couldn't breathe as my former enemy's lips loomed closer. And then they were there, cool and smooth against mine for a few seconds. He pulled back just enough for me to see the contract glow gold, sealed. My heart sped up as I surged forward and crushed my lips to his surprised mouth. I could taste the firewhiskey on his lips; so he HAD been drinking. I swung my left leg over him and straddled his lap. His hands gripped my hips, his fingers pale and slim. They reminded me of what finesse looked like. I broke our lips apart and kissed my way down his neck until I found his pulse point. I bit it, grinding my hips forward at the same time. The noise he let out shattered whatever haze I was in; it was some mixture of a moan and a growl. I was off him like a shot. Again I could barely breathe.

"Oh my god." I panted, more to myself than to him. His hair was skewed from where my hands had been. I felt sobered, standing there looking at a flushed, disheveled Malfoy with swollen lips. I'd done it. I'd attacked him. I groaned, putting my head in my hands.

"Granger." I looked up at him; his tone was awed, his eyes dark with something, and his mouth grinning.

"Get. Out," I told him, finger shaking as I pointed at the door.

"Worried Granger?" His snarky tone set my teeth on edge.

"Out." I stomped like a child throwing a temper tantrum.

"See you soon." He apparated with a smirk and a crack. I could feel the panic humming through my skin. I ran to the bathroom and stood in front of the mirror. My hair was standing practically on end; I looked like Medusa. My cheeks were red, my own lips swollen. I looked at this Hermione and hated her. I sunk to the cracked black and white tile flooring, angry, confused, and sad. I missed Ron. I missed him in a way that amputees miss a limb. But kissing Malfoy felt like putting my finger in an electrical socket. And for a moment earlier he was kind. My plans were disintegrating, and I was a mess of hair and tears on the bathroom floor.

I'd gotten somewhat over my jealousy-fueled contempt for Ginny. Two days post my stunning bathroom break down, I found myself in a high-end robe shop in West London. Everything looked delicate and fragile; wisps of lace and tulle were everywhere. The walls were a soft gold and the rail thin shop owner had kind eyes edged in crazy.

"What a pleasure to host such exemplary young women. Can I offer you champagne while you peruse?"

"Yes, thank you," I breathed a sigh of relief at something to take the edge off just a little bit.

Today would be almost as hard as marrying Draco Malfoy. From the time I was just a little girl I'd imagined the same perfect wedding. From the one of a kind dress, to the magnificent outdoor canopy ceremony, to my father walking me down the aisle. For Ginny this was a perfect moment, but I felt like I was suffocating in pools of silk. I wanted to sulk, but I restrained myself for Ginny's sake. My ceremony was in four days, Ginny's in six, and Ron's in eight; a week of weddings. I imagined Malfoy picking out robes, completely metrosexual and consulting his best man Blaise whom I'd spoken all of three words to. Ginny tried on like fifteen million dresses: pastry type ones, trumpet styled ones, classic a-lines, and trendy ones. Just as I was contemplating jumping from the top of the boutique, Ginny emerged from the platform, beatific smile on her face, to stand in the middle of the mirrors. She was stunning. Her vibrant red hair shown even brighter against the ivory of the dress. It was form fitting, covered entirely in lace. The dress was high-necked in the front and dipped low in the back. It hugged her body close until just above her ankles where it flared out a bit. In short it was THE dress. I tried not to tear up like a stupid little girl but if someone had asked me six months ago if I would be trying on wedding dresses and drinking champagne, I would have laughed bitterly and borderline hysterically.

"Yes," I smiled.

"Yes," Ginny repeated.

I did it for me, the dress thing. I felt like after everything, I deserved something perfect and pure, something that couldn't really be taken from me or decided for me. I stood in front of the floor length gilt mirror and admired it. The dress was kind of an antique white with a sweet heart neckline and a wispy layer of lace for cap sleeves. Delicate pearls outlined the bodice down to the one-inch thick satin band at my navel. From the band there were six-inch panels of lace arranged to look like the dips of an umbrella. The rest was made of floating chiffon. The dress was made to fit close to the body and had none of that girly taffeta under it. It fit me like a dream; clichéd to say but undoubtedly true. As I walked down the aisle, a vintage diamond and platinum headband framed the hair that had been beaten into submission by Ginny to form a smooth French twist. It was a gift from Malfoy, apparently an old tradition of the Malfoy family to pass it down, from bride to bride. Ginny was two steps ahead of me in a lavender dress made of chiffon that fell to her feet on the silk white runner beneath me; my feet were sheathed in espadrilles covered in pearls.

There wasn't much to plan, other than to book the place. I only needed twenty white folding chairs to put in even numbers on either side of the center aisle. Sheer lavender ribbons were tied around the back of each chair. There were no embossed invitations, no daylong celebration while I drank mimosas with my bridesmaids and giggled about lascivious wedding night scenarios. My parents weren't here. My dress was the only piece I'd been able to keep of my perfect childhood vision of my wedding.

There were only fifteen people at my wedding ceremony. Mrs. Malfoy did not leave the shield of Malfoy Manor to attend her only son's ceremony. My parents were happily unaware as I stepped closer and closer to a Minister of Marriage. Luna and Ginny were my bridesmaids where as Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott stood up for Malfoy. Harry, Ron, Penelope, and the rest of the Weasleys were in attendance. They were my second family. Molly wept silently in the back for all the wrong reasons. The emptiness to the left of my body was bigger than I'd imagined it would be. I could barely discern the music that was played as I continued my journey to the end of the white satin. I carried violet orchids, my mother's favorite.

When I reached him he looked very serious in his impeccably tailored black dress robes. His eyes a kind of grey that only came before the worse storms held me there, in front of him unable to move. The words I was instructed to say barely translated in my head before I mumbled them back. Malfoy took my left hand and slid an elegant but large sized diamond on my ring finger. Ginny handed me a platinum band that matched mine, and I placed it on Malfoy's finger mechanically. This was it, marriage. My mind began to race with thoughts I had tried to subdue for days. I would never be able to be with Ron later. Not really. We would both have two children by other people. I would forever be bonded to Malfoy through the life we would bring in together. This would be my life now, and I needed to try or I'd die a bitter woman full of regret. So when it was over I barely caught the, 'seal with a kiss', before Malfoy's lips were once again on mine. I wrapped my arms around his neck and pushed close. I imagined it was real, the kind of real that mattered and kissed him like someone in love. When I pulled away shock was painted on everyone's face, most noticeably Malfoy's. His lips parted and tainted by my blood red lipstick looked like a gash in the middle of his face. So I did what any sane person would do, I took my bouquet back from Ginny, linked my arm through Malfoy's and apparated.