A/N: Sorry about the big delay in posting... I've been consumed with writing projects and graphic making of late, and RL has been super busy. In any case, I'm back on track with updates and can't wait to know your thoughts :)

The Betrothal

... Four months to D-Day...

The previous month had been absolutely hellish. Hermione had known that, as sure as she knew the nose on her face, things would only go from bad to worse. They had. As she had told Malfoy that evening, she'd gone straight to Harry and Ginny's to hash out – to the best of her ability – what had really happened. Both had been extremely sceptical about Malfoy's intentions behind giving her the money.

Neither suspected any foul play on her behalf of course. But they did believe it was possible that the heir to the Malfoy fortune was up to something shifty and using their trustworthy friend as a cover. Harry argued that her fervent wish for help on the S.P.E.W project could lead her to trust anyone. She'd been rather peeved at that.

It wasn't just her friends that found the whole tale rather sketchy. As she had guessed, the story had been bandied about in the news for weeks, no matter how many statements she or Malfoy made.

Sadly no one took the bait. All manner of conspiracy theories danced on the tongues of gossipers around England. She had even had a particularly uncomfortable meeting with the head of her department and the Minister for Magic.

It was a tricky situation, they said. Whilst they appreciated all the work she had done for them, the public wanted blood and answers; they wouldn't rest until they had them. It was positively scandalous to think she had aligned herself with a Malfoy!

There would have to be a trial they said, before the full Wizengamot court at which point all evidence would be heard. They told her not to worry, they'd get it all cleaned up without too much bother.

Her heart had sunk at each uttered word.

That particular conversation had occurred only a few days ago, when the Ministry had suggested that she take a few days off because of the strain of it all. She'd scoffed at that. Strain for them, not her. After all she had done for the Ministry, fighting at Harry's side and helping save all of them, this was the repayment she got.

That was the main reason she was sitting in the Weasley kitchen, drinking tea and eating biscuits whilst discussing her dwindling future with Arthur, Harry and Ron. Molly Weasley could be heard bustling about in the kitchen and interjecting every few minutes with scolding remarks directed at that deviant Malfoy boy. Hermione thought it improper to remind her that he wasn't exactly a boy any longer.

They had been hunched over the table discussing and rehashing everything, and it was starting to make her head throb. Arthur Weasley, bless his soul, had her best interests at heart, but she knew his help would be of no good because she simply couldn't give him the information needed to resolve her problem.

"They can't just fire you, Hermione, when you did nothing wrong." This was Harry, lovely, righteous Harry, who believed in the eternal purity of her intentions.

"I know… but it just seems like after all the media circus Rita Skeeter has created, they're trying to find a scapegoat."

Arthur concurred. So did Harry, with reluctance. He knew that routine rather well, having experienced it himself.

"It's all bloody Malfoy's fault," Ron muttered. If he only knew, she thought.

Actually if he and Harry knew that she'd been shanghaied into an Unbreakable Vow with Draco Malfoy, they'd probably have killed him anyway. Or set Ginny Weasley and her alarmingly potent Bat Bogey Hexes on him at the very least.

Tempting thought, she mused.

It was from this frame of thought that she was interrupted by the tapping of a neatly trimmed owl talon on the window. All faces turned toward the direction of the noise to see an absurdly extravagant looking eagle owl gazing haughtily in at them. Its sleek feathers were so perfectly in place, in spite of the howling winds outside, that she knew it could belong to no other than a Malfoy.

Hermione was getting quite good at reading the signs. If, according to Malfoy, she reeked of self-righteousness, then the pretentious air of superiority around everything Malfoy was even more potent.

"That's Malfoy's owl – I recognise it!" Ron and Harry both jumped to let the bird in, and she scrambled to get there ahead of them. Fortunately like all other creatures owned by that family, this one was extremely well trained and quite malicious. The glare it shot both of her friends, and the way its beak snapped in their direction was sufficient to ward them off.

Once she released the letter from the holder around his claw, the bird flew off again. She broke the blackened wax seal and read its contents.

Granger,

9 o'clock or I'll feed the peacocks.

Malfoy

At least she assumed the sign off was from him. It consisted of such convoluted calligraphic strokes that one could never tell. She tried not to laugh at the reference to peacocks. She was fairly certain he was joking, in his very not funny, but rather obscure way.

"Peacocks?" Ron's voice came from behind her. She really hated when he exploited their height differences and read over her shoulder. "He's going to feed you to peacocks! What the-"

"Oh, Ron! Don't be silly." She tucked the missive in her pocket and rolled her eyes at him. "He has no social skills… you know that. Anyway, I have to go… we need to sort this out."

"Hermione… you're not going to Wiltshire on your own." She swivelled to look at Harry, who had a rather determined expression on his face.

"Actually I am… you won't even get through their wards. Invitation only, I suspect." She waved the letter to illustrate her point.

And anyway, it wasn't as if she wanted to be there. But this was a situation that couldn't be ignored. If she was correct, then it was likely Malfoy had been contacted regarding the Wizengamot hearing, and was just as eager to find a solution as her.

There was absolutely no conceivable way that either of her friends, despite how good their intentions were, would be coming.

He was standing directly before her when she vacated the green blaze of the fire place, trying to covertly shake any excess soot from her clothing.

"You're walking ash all over a three hundred year old rug."

She sighed, beyond the point of aggravation. "I don't care about your fancy rug! My career could be over after this, don't you realise?"

"Well, now," he said, staring at her appraisingly. "That's optimistic thinking. Here I thought your primary concern would be the permanent vacation to Azkaban that we're both looking at if this isn't fixed."

She stared at him, eyes wide with dismay. It was true. She hadn't even considered that possibility. She wasn't guilty, so naturally it had never occurred to her that they would find her as such, but without any defence it was highly possible.

Hermione sank into one of the exquisite armchairs, ignoring the cringe on his face at the prospect of ash on the furniture too. She hated the thought of him bearing witness to a moment of weakness, but she succumbed to the urge to let her head fall into her hands.

Everything had spun absurdly beyond their control.

"Look, Granger, be under no illusions... I like this no more than you. In fact I'm at greater risk than you! Just for goodness sake… don't cry or anything."

She lifted her head to glare at him. Sensitive, he most certainly was not. "Okay... we need to come to some sort of resolution. Do you have any bright ideas because-"

He sat across from her, staring unblinkingly into the fire. "We're waiting for my mother. She's been to the family... solicitor. Trying to find out what our options are. You know, loopholes, that kind of thing."

Shockingly, she drew little comfort in this. She did question him about Narcissa Malfoy's constant involvement in everything. He told her simply that his mother solved problems in their family. Whatever that meant.

They waited in heavy silence for a further ten minutes or so before the matriarch and a rather weedy looking man joined them. The man was introduced as Alphonias Astrophy. Hermione took it to understand that he too was integral in the solving of family problems. The Malfoys, with their strange ways, were so unlike any other group of people she had ever known.

"I have spoken with your father and Mr Astrophy extensively, Draco." She paused to cast a glance at her companion before continuing. "There is only one solution. You won't like it; indeed it hardly bears thinking about. But I won't have you going to that dreadful place..."

Hermione's heart quickened as she watched the thin veil of composure slip from the graceful woman's features. One tended to forget that the woman had any real feelings beneath her icy façade, but she was a mother, and that she would do anything for her son was patently obvious. Hermione spared a glance at Malfoy and could see the clenching of his jaw in reaction.

"Tell me," he said. This he directed at the other man.

"Mr Malfoy, there is a small aspect of the law, particularly in relation to Wizengamot court hearings, which we can... uh... bend to our will." He coughed delicately before continuing. "Actually it would bear on this situation in two ways. You see spousal-"

Hermione jumped, both at the dreaded word uttered, its implication, and the smashing of the glass which slipped from Malfoy's grip. Narcissa cast them both a stern glare and they listened, the words dizzying in their effect.

"As I was saying, spousal immunity will prevent either of you from having to testify against each other, thus protecting you both under the constraints of the Unbreakable Vow. It will also have bearing in so far as the argument of Mr Malfoy's intentions of giving Miss Granger money. An acknowledged relationship between you both would seem justification enough for the generosity. Given the falsity of the allegations, there'll be no actual evidence to support them… and without testimony there is no case."

"It's not a perfect solution… there are no guarantees the Ministry won't pursue the inquiry anyway," Narcissa interrupted. "But it's very likely they will leap at the chance to drop the whole case, what with Miss Granger's history and connections." She uttered the last word with clear distaste. "The important point is that this will protect you from breaking the Vow… which is the greatest concern."

"No." Malfoy said the word, but it was the same one that was echoing in her mind. She concurred vehemently. "No fucking way." He shook his head to punctuate the point.

"I agree," she said quickly. "Though not quite so crudely. I refuse to marry him... there has to be some other way."

Narcissa Malfoy was now looking at her like she was an unknown specimen of flobberworm, no doubt for having snubbed her beloved son. "Miss Granger, with all due respect, if you are forced to testify in court, you will breach the agreement of the Vow. Surely you are aware of the consequences of that? Be under no illusions… if there was a way to prevent this outcome, we would not be having this discussion."

Hermione felt dizzy from the knowledge of this very true and very awful statement. She noticed that Malfoy was massaging fingers to his temple. All she wanted was to leave, to go back in time and to have ignored her urge to find out what he was up to. If she had done that then she wouldn't be in this mess.

She was also feeling extremely resentful toward the Malfoys for this predicament. If they had trusted her to hold to her word, they could have avoided the Vow and this explosion of implications. The truth of what had happened was so much easier to admit, regardless of how it would have tarnished their reputations, than what now had to happen.

Well, she thought, perhaps not for Malfoy. He'd still have been looking at a prison sentence, but she would have been fine.

"I wasn't aware that spousal immunity even existed in Wizarding Law. And in any case, we're not currently married, so how would it even apply?" Hermione, being Hermione, tried not to think about the context of the question and focused instead on the root problem.

It was Mr Astrophy who responded, speaking with some difficulty over the inane mutterings of Malfoy. "There were several attempts to eradicate the clause after the first war, yes, but no motions were passed. As for your second point… betrothals are-"

"-taken very seriously, Miss Granger. You will find that as a betrothed couple, you would be afforded the same privileges."

She could see quite how horrible the words tasted on Narcissa's patrician tongue. This made perfect sense to Hermione, as she herself found the whole thing to be equally distasteful and archaic. It also aggravated her to know that she had looked quite so uninformed just now.

Malfoy, having apparently regained control of all his faculties, stood up and seemed to take in an inordinately large amount of air before he exhaled. "Fine."

Fine. That was all he had to say? It was not fine.

"How long would we have to stay married for?" she asked. Malfoy laughed at her and Narcissa turned and elegantly raised a brow in her direction.

"Till death, Miss Granger. Whatever else were you expecting?" Hermione swallowed, slightly alarmed at the expression on the other woman's face. She was almost certain that there wasn't a veiled threat in there, or that it was a joke. Narcissa Malfoy, however, didn't seem all that in touch with her funny bone, though. Something of which to keep note.

"Miss Granger," said Mr Astrophy. "The marital contract would be binding… there can be no risk of shame brought on the family by something as unsavoury as…"

"Divorce? This is absurd! I can't be expected to give up my own hopes for marriage, and settle for this... all because of some stupid decision."

The very concept of divorce was intrinsically Muggle, so it was only natural that the Malfoys wouldn't believe in it. The problem, Hermione knew, with wizarding marital custom, was that a contract was issued and it was, for the most part, binding. She had never read much in the way of the marital laws before, but she knew that development of a process for divorce of wizarding marriages was very much in the early stages. It wasn't impossible though, whatever Narcissa thought.

"And who, exactly, were you planning to marry?" Malfoy's lip curled as he stared her down. "Deal with it... I'm not going to drop dead on the floor all because it's inconvenient for you to marry me." He sneered at her then. "I on the other hand was intending to marry."

Her mouth, in preparation for another argument with his hateful self, popped open. She hadn't even been aware he was dating someone. It was probably some arranged marriage planned from birth, since she couldn't imagine anyone actually choosing to tie herself to him forever.

"You know nothing about my life or my family, so enough with the assumptions."

She narrowed her eyes in response. "Oh, I'm sorry. Perhaps the half naked girl writhing around on your lap threw me off! Or was she your intended?" She smiled sweetly, noting the way his mother turned swiftly to stare at him before muttering something under her breath.

He stepped forward, completely ignoring the other people in the room. "Paying that much attention were you? I bet it made your prudish self blush all over... the thought of someone having fun," he paused and stood closer barely whispering, "the thought of sex." His expression was relentless and she wanted nothing more than to claw out his eyes.

She'd better not though, or else she suspected Narcissa Malfoy would try and feed her to those ridiculous white peacocks.

"For Merlin's sake, both of you stop it. We have a lot of work to do... damage control. I will arrange the wedding announcement, but in the meantime we have to notify the Ministry and somehow make this whole thing believable." She paused to scan the tension between the two of them. "An impossible task."

She swept out of the room with an abundance of hauteur and disdain. Mr Astrophy followed meekly in her wake.

"Fuck me," Malfoy said once they were alone, apparently dispensing with the venom. "We're both going to hell."

She sat down too and they both stared at the fire, lost in thought. "I can't marry you... not if it's a life sentence," she whispered finally.

"Look, annoying though you undoubtedly are, you're also exceptionally relentless. Not unlike a bout of spattergroit." She narrowed her eyes at him. "I figure there must be some way to break the marital contract; there have been occasions in history when it's happened. So find a way and after an appropriate amount of time we can go our separate ways."

She stared at him, considering his words and was almost sidetracked by the slight hint of a compliment in his speech. "But what about all that till death nonsense?"

"I suppose it's partially apt... given that I just might kill myself if I were truly stuck with you forever. But I think it would be in our best interests to keep any research of that sort to ourselves."

"Your mother might put a hit out on me." There was a slight twitch in his expression which looked almost like laughter before he reined it in. It was probably noted in some archaic family guideline of behaviour that it was unbecoming for a Malfoy to laugh, or smile, or have a soul.

"Quite. All the more reason for stealth, I suppose. Really not a strong point of yours, but surely the threat of my mother is incentive enough?"

All jokes aside, she suspected it truly was.

She grinned then as a sudden and delicious realisation dawned on her. He eyed her suspiciously. "What?"

"I just realised that, in fact, I may not have to marry you at all."

"And how do you figure that?"

She smiled. "Because Ron and Harry will not be able to restrain themselves from cleaning up the problem, you, when they hear the news. You know, my mood's improved vastly now... and you know they say it's frightful bad luck to go to sleep upset."

He surveyed her with one raised brow. "Rather vicious, aren't you? Perhaps you're not entirely beyond hope, after all." The twitch was there again. "Good night, Granger... oh and do think to brush your hair next time, I really can't be seen in public with you otherwise."

For the third time in a matter of months, she reached into the pewter dish of green powder, stood in the fireplace and whizzed herself home. She wanted nothing more in that moment than to sink into the warm blankets of her bed and sleep until she forgot. The insane events of that evening would have to wait for tomorrow before she could begin to dissect and process them.

That was Hermione's way, of course. She had to break things down into neat little pieces and put them back together in a way that fit, to her mind. The problem, in this scenario, was that there would be no fit, no right way of framing the words to make sense of them. In no respect could she, or anybody who knew her, accept the prospect of a proposal to Draco Malfoy.

It was utterly incomprehensible and yet, despairingly inevitable.