Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or anything having to do with him or his world. If you want to sue me, umm, I only have about ten bucks.
AN: I didn't assign this girl a specific character from Harry Potter. You can choose who she is, just as long as it's a Slytherin and thereby, also, a pureblood. Same thing for her fiance. And they don't have to be in the same year as Harry. I think that's it. Enjoy. Please review to tell me if it sucks or what not. Thanks!
I glance back down at my finger. It is not supposed to be like this. But maybe it is. Yes, it is beautiful. It is big. No doubt the girls will all squeal in delight and jealousy. They will all say I am soooo lucky to have found him. And his money. I did not find him. The people I call Mother and Father did. Really, they found his money. He is just an added bonus. Or maybe I am the added bonus for him. After all, he is aligning himself with a very powerful family by marrying me.
I remember hearing about him from the girls who read the society pages of The Daily Prophet. He was described as good looking, a little older, but not more than twenty-eight. His voice sounded like velvet. Yet, no one had ever met him, so it was impossible to know what his voice sounded like. I always found these gossip sessions rather dull and, dare I say, below me. Listening to the girls gossiping about the available men, I found myself envisioning nasty old men with hairy noses and hairy ears marrying women young enough to be their granddaughters. It disgusted me really. Every year, another girl would not return to school because she had married. Others would leave throughout the year. Of course, it was no surprise to us, as we were all in attendance at their weddings.
I knew I came from a well to do family, but I never thought much of it. I never really thought of the responsibilities involved. My brother married a beautiful young woman from a good family who is two years older than me. I did not really know her at school. But I knew of her family. "Good breeding," my parents would say. My sister is also married to a man from a wealthy family. He, however, is not that young. Rather old, if you ask me. I supposed with the two of them married, I thought that I would be granted a reprieve from a young marriage to a man I hardly knew. Although, if I thought about it, I should have known that it would not have happened. A rich, well-known, powerful family, letting their daughter choose her husband? Unheard of, I tell you. My parents probably thought that I would have chosen a Gryffindor or a mudblood. I cannot say I blame them. There is that one Gryffindor who is very good looking. Long, lean muscles under tight tan skin. Oh, he is a sight to behold.
The only time I got sucked up into the rumor mill was when the topic of my favorite Gryffindor came up. Surprisingly, quite a few girls had flings with him. And many of them were engaged or at least betrothed to someone. I supposed you could call it their one and only act of defiance. Or a final goodbye to girlhood. What can I say? These were hormonal young women facing a future of a marriage for money with a handsome young man willing to bed them. I cannot say that the thought never passed my mind. I hoped I would marry a young man so I did not have to face a future of being a broodmare to a man older than my father.
I sincerely hoped to love the man I marry. Yes, I read romance novels. I love romantic plays. Romeo and Juliet is one of my favorites. I feel like I can relate to Juliet. She was faced with an arranged marriage by her family, but she fell in love and married Romeo instead. It is too bad they end up killing themselves over it, literally. I do not have anyone that I love that would ruin the arrangement that my parents have set up. Yet, I cannot help but wish that my knight in shining armor will appear, take me away, and love me. Really, really love me. Juliet. I almost think her a fool. She comes from a wealthy and noble family in Verona. She had to expect that her parents would arrange a marriage for her to wealthy and noble family. Maybe, like me, she hoped it would not happen. But she was an only child. An only daughter no less. She should have expected it. Then, she would not have had to bother with the whole pretending to be dead, but not really be dead thing and then waking up to find Romeo dead and then killing herself. If she had thought her situation through thoroughly, she would have spared Romeo, his parents, her parents, the entire city of Verona, the reader, and herself loads of grief and anguish. But I supposed that would not have made as dramatic of a story.
Well, I may not be marrying for love, but I cannot deny that my intended is good-looking. And his voice is like velvet. Maybe I should have paid more attention to the girls when they gossiped about him. I had gathered that he was quite the catch and that all of our fathers were petitioning him and bargaining for our hands. I hoped he would not choose me. I do not care for the spotlight and try to remain away from it as much as possible. And being a member of my family, it is not always an easy task to accomplish. When my brother and sister were younger and unmarried, they attracted more attention and I was able to remain the somewhat anonymous youngest daughter. However, I knew that an alliance with him would make me daily headlines in The Daily Prophet. Our families combined would prove the most powerful match in a generation. Prior to us, it had been my parents. Hence, the constant newspaper coverage.
I sip my tea and look at my finger again. I hear a woman at the table behind me trading stories with her companion. They are talking about me and the recent announcement of my engagement. How I wish to return to the anonymity of school. It will not be a complete respite from the gossip mill; however, the girls will tire of the news quickly enough and it will fade away into the background and I can concentrate on my studies. I will be heading back in a few days for my seventh and final year at Hogwarts. I was pleasantly surprised when my intended insisted that I finish my education. He told my father that is was a deal breaker. Not many girls are given this luxury. He said he did not want a wife who could not speak intelligently with him or do her own basic charms. I believe that that holds promise. Maybe it will not be a loveless marriage after all.
But I do not want to get married. I am seventeen years old. I am very smart. I am the top of my class at school. I was named Head Girl this year! How can my life become such a waste? What is the purpose in returning to school for my final year, if I will merely become a trophy wife and a brood mare? A very sophisticated and eloquent brood mare, but a brood mare none the less. I do not want this. I do not want this for my life. I do not want this for my daughters. I want something more. The intangible that will make life worthwhile. That will make my time on Earth not seem so pointless. So I will be remembered. Remembered as someone more than the wife, daughter, or mother of someone. Some man who accomplished something. Something of great importance. Or of little importance. But something. I want more than what my life is giving me. I want to see the world as others do. Not through the eyes of royalty. I want to taste it. I want to go skiing in the Alps. I want to go on an African Safari. I want to see the sunrise from the edge of the Earth. I want to go to the poor side of town and not look down my nose at those less fortunate than me. I want to meet people and not think about social obligations. I want to discover what life is really like. I want. I want more than this. But it is just wishful thinking. I will get married. I will have children. My fate was written out long before I was born. A long, labored sigh escapes my lips and I angrily wipe away the self-pitying tears. Crying will not solve anything. Then again, neither will anything else.
The engagement gala was a few nights ago. I had always dreamed of an engagement gala around Christmastime. I find the Christmas décor absolutely stunning and, in a way, romantic. It is especially charming at our country estate. That manor has been in our family for nearly three hundred years; a distant ancestor built it as a summer home. We still have much of the original acreage to which I make use of by taking my white mare, Misty, out for rides. At Christmastime, the manor is covered in evergreen garlands, wreaths, holly, and, of course, mistletoe. In most homes, mistletoe is only hung in the entrance hall. Father finds it amusing to compel guests to kiss, so he makes certain that it is hung all over the manor. The smells of cinnamon and pine and hemlock and fir and cranberry and apple fill the manor. The windows and doors have wreaths hanging from them and tall white candles sit on the sills. Our Christmas tree is always incredibly large and decorated awfully elegantly. When I was a little girl, my sister and I would help the house elves decorate the tree by stringing together cranberries and popcorn. The cook makes wonderful gingerbread cookies and he always made us a few extra to eat while decorating the tree. It is always a family occasion when Father tops the tree with our angel. She has wings of spun glass, a crinkled gold skirt, and a bisque face. In the parlor, with the Christmas tree, sits our pianoforte. Mother, sister, and I are accomplished pianists and singers. Christmas Eve we all gather in the parlor and sing carols. It all seems so romantic. I would have had the gala in the ballroom, mistletoe hanging all over, garland and ribbon strung around the room. It would have been so beautiful. Alas, however, the gala has already occurred.
The gala was something else. It was a beautiful event held at our home in London. It is smaller than the manor, but it is quite a bit larger than most other homes in London. Mother deemed it better to have the gala in the city rather than the country because "it is more central for everyone." While the wedding would no doubt become the society event of the year, I presumed, incorrectly, that the engagement gala would be a smaller affair. I should have known. Mother says that engagement galas are where you invite those whom you do not wish to invite to the wedding. However, Mother plans on inviting all of Wizarding Society, so I do not see the necessity of the large gala that was put together in our honor. My intended expressed his wishes to be left out of all planning for anything wedding related, which included the engagement gala. "It is something to be left to the ladies," he said, articulating only to be informed of the when and where of the events. I must admit, the gala was extravagant and elegant. The ballroom was decorated in shades of red and white. It reminded me of the Valentine's Day dance we had at Hogwarts last year. The table in the Great Hall was covered in a large white tablecloth with red embroidery along the edges and throughout the middle as well. One-third of the way to the end of the table, the table cloth was embroidered with my family's coat of arms and my intended's coat of arms was at the other end. The gorgeous tablecloth was presented to my intended and me as a first gift from my parents. I must admit, I was quite pleased with it. Father made quite the show of presenting me to my intended by giving a rather long-winded speech at dinner. Following the meal, there was dancing. I enjoy dancing immensely and it was even more pleasant with a guaranteed partner. I had never lacked on offers to dance before, but it was nice to know that I would no longer be required to dance with emerging young and old aristocrats attempting to court me. At the close of the evening, my intended gave a brief speech thanking everyone for their attendance. This was the moment I had been looking forward to all evening, when I could retire to my rooms, away from prying eyes.
I nibble at the scone on my plate and take another sip of tea. One of Mother's friends has just walked in. She notices me, so I stand to greet her. We chat for a short time before she notices another person whom she recognizes. Sitting back down, I look around this room. It is beautifully decorated with crystal chandeliers and sterling silver candelabras. The vases are gilded and filled with freshly cut flowers. Glancing around the room, I see people that I recognize, making note of those whom I should greet before leaving. Thankfully, there are no parties this evening, so my presence will not be required at home before dinner. Tomorrow is some young woman's coming out gala in the evening. I believe it is one of the Nott daughters. My intended also wishes me to have tea with him and a colleague of his in the afternoon. As I only have a couple more days before leaving for school, Mother insists that attend as many social gatherings as possible in order to secure my place in society as well as to begin to assume my duties as the wife of a gentleman. Or a Death Eater.
I reflect again then that this will be my life. Endless days of teas, parties, weddings, galas, coronations, coming out parties, Death Eater functions. I can see it all now. I will, of course, be expected to have children. At least one son is all but required in a marriage. I hope to have a daughter as well, to take to some of these ladies social functions I must attend. That may sound cruel, but I know Mother always enjoyed taking my sister and me. I imagine my intended would like more than one child. He seems to enjoy children and has already taken to doting on my nieces and nephews. As I am the ever doting aunt, I say we make a decent match in that regards. I sneak sweets to my nieces and nephews, much to my siblings' chagrin. Yet, looking around the room again, I see little girls, like I was once, having tea with their mothers, sitting elegantly. I am beginning to think about my future children. My children will attend the best wizarding schools. I hope that they will attend Hogwarts like me, but I know my intended attended Durmstrang. He may wish to send the boys there. When their schooling is finished, they will get respectable occupations befitting their station and marry women of good standing, as arranged by their father. The girls will attend Hogwarts. I will fight for that. Hopefully, their father will ensure their schooling is completed before they are married and compelled to be society ladies. I will organize engagement galas and weddings for my daughters. I will orchestrate galas and parties for my husband and his colleagues. I can see it already.
Shaking my head, I look towards the door. I allow a small smile to grace my lips before I rise to greet my intended. He places his lips to my hand, then to my ring. He tells me I am beautiful and a blush creeps to my cheeks. We settle into an easy conversation and I notice the women at the table behind have stopped talking about me. In fact, they have stopped talking altogether. They probably saw him walk in and realized their faux pas, praying I had not heard anything. I look into his eyes and see a genuine happiness in them. He soon turns his conversation one-sided. I am only expected to listen to his ramblings and nod politely every so often. My mind wanders back to thoughts of my life and my eyes begin to pool with tears again. This time, however, they are angry tears. I am angry that this acceptance, this life is the plight of many women, girls. How can this be considered right? How can not utilizing thirteen years of schooling at any point after it be considered normal? He spots my tears before I can hide them and he questions me about them. I try to come up with a believable excuse for my tears, but each is as ridiculous as the last. He is beginning to pressure me further, to explain what has upset me so. How do I explain to him that I am upset that my life is set in stone? How do I tell him that he is the reason I am crying? How do I tell him that I do not think I will ever be happy? Juliet may have been a fool, but am I not also a fool for staying in a situation in which I am unhappy and have no hope of being happy? At least, Juliet ended up happy. Maybe she was not the fool I thought. I reach for my ring, my engagement ring, fully intent on pulling it off and throwing it at my fiancé. Before I can get the ring off, he grabs my hands and sits me back down. I look into his eyes and I see unshed tears pooled there. He is just as trapped as I am. I suddenly feel something that I have not felt before. Sitting with him so near me, feeling the same way as he does regarding our lives, I think, for the first time, I feel love. I love him.
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