Wedlocked
Chapter 10: Protection

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Hermione winced as the headache intensified. Lavender had wasted no time in divulging the name and sexiness of her fiancé, and it had been nonstop whispering and questions since she left the hospital wing for dinner the night before. She and her engagement were the biggest news since the term had begun barely three weeks earlier.

She looked up and saw a girl watching her expectantly and realised that she had been asked another question. Who the girl was and what the question had been, she had no idea. She wasn't even listening to anyone anymore.

"I'm trying to study," Hermione replied with as much politeness as she could muster. That much was true. She had found a tattered old book about blood magic in the library and had been finding it very interesting before this stranger of a girl decided to start talking to her.

"You're always studying," the girl said. "Take a break."

"I'd rather not," she said and turned pointedly back to her book, ignoring any further attempts at conversation.

"Hermione!" Harry said as loudly as he dared.

"What?" Hermione snapped. "I am studying!"

The boy took a step backward, startled by the violence of her reaction. "I noticed," he said flatly. "I noticed when you ignored me for the past fifteen minutes."

"Fifteen?" she repeated. "I'm sorry, I didn't hear you."

"Well, it's time for dinner. Ginny's saving you a seat," he said.

"Oh good," she sighed.

Relief filled her as she sat between Harry and Ron in the Great Hall. Annoyed as she was to require guards, she did enjoy the buffer her friends provided against the repetitive inquiries. None of them asked her a single question about her impending marriage or fiancé. Neville and Luna had been told the truth of the arrangement and Seamus, while uninformed about the true circumstances of her engagement, was simply not that interested. He kept the conversation firmly on the topic of Quidditch, Quidditch tryouts and his possible role on this year's Quidditch team. If she didn't think it would cause a small scandal, Hermione might have kissed him for his single-mindedness.

As the dessert plates vanished from the table, a scroll appeared before her.

"Dumbledore?" Harry asked, looking over her shoulder at the familiar looping script.

"Travel arrangements, most likely," she agreed and unrolled the parchment. Reading quickly, she stood. "We better pack. He wants us in his office in an hour."

"So soon?" Ron moaned. His sister slapped him upside the head and followed Hermione out.

Even though she was only going away for a weekend, half of which would be spent in whatever flouncy or fluffy dress Ginny had chosen for her, Hermione was stumped for what to pack. Once her toiletries were in her bag along with a change of nightclothes, she had no idea what else to bring. Should she pack expecting to be smothered by her mother or Mrs Weasley the morning of the wedding? Would she be keeping up appearances and spending Sunday with Sirius at Grimmauld Place? Or would Molly find the idea unseemly and insist she stay at the Burrow? Her choice of clothes altered with each situation. She finally settled for bringing clothes for all three, which left her lying atop her overstuffed bag in the hopes of forcing the zipper closed.

"I can tell you're nervous," Ginny laughed at her from the door. "You've somehow managed to forget you're a witch."

"What?" Hermione blushed and realised a bit too late that magic could easily shrink her clothing and make her bag not only easier to close but a lot lighter, too.

A few incantations later and her considerably less bulky bag was slung over her shoulder as she walked down the stairs and through the common room. Whispers dogged their exit, as had been expected. Four Gryffindors heading out for a weekend was highly unusual, especially when one of them was Harry Potter and another was his friend who was recently engaged to an incredibly gorgeous and much older man.

"Think the rumours will let up once I'm married?" she questioned.

"Doubt it," Ron grumbled, earning his second slap of the evening. "Ow! What? She asked!"

"You're an idiot, Ron," his sister said flatly and took the lead, marching them through the corridors toward Dumbledore's office at a brisk pace.

Hermione knew the girl was eager for the wedding. She had been acting as if the coming ceremony was the greatest thing to ever happen. Never mind that it was arranged and loveless, that it was all to keep Hermione from being tortured and killed by a Death Eater husband; Ginny had never once treated this marriage as anything but a beautiful thing. While the parade of magazines and fabric swatches grated on her nerves and the wilful refusal to face reality saddened her, Hermione loved that the marriage was making someone happy.

Although, she suspected that the thing Ginny loved most was the prospect of using Hermione as a living doll to be dressed up, made up and played with. She shivered to imagine whatever dress Ginny had selected.

"Come in," the Headmaster's voice called.

They entered his office slowly, unsure what to expect. Somehow the idea of guards and decoys had come into Hermione's brain, but that was likely from spending too much time watching Harry and Ron play wizard chess by the fire in the common room. What she saw was the Headmaster standing alone, holding a dented and rusted bumper from an old car. While Hermione was relieved that she had not inconvenienced anyone else with this marriage, she felt a tendril of anger uncurl in her gut that after all the plans and debate and precautions and blood diamonds she was not worth at least one guard.

"We cannot risk travelling via the Floo Network, I'm afraid," the man spoke with purpose and seriousness. He set the bumper on the floor and trained his wand on it. "Portus!"

"Step closer," he ordered. "The portkey will activate momentarily."

They obeyed immediately, driven forward to touch the chill metal by the dark urgency in his voice. Before she had even a second's worth of time to think why they were rushing, she felt the familiar hook take hold behind her navel and the office was gone.

"Goodness, I was getting so worried!" Mrs Weasley cried and rushed over to hug her children.

"The others?" Dumbledore inquired, the edge of alarm still colouring his voice.

"Placing wards around the house," she said. "I've not heard from them since they left."

"What's going on?" Harry ventured to ask.

"Nothing to worry about, dear," Molly assured him with a loving pat on the cheek. "Go get settled into your rooms. I'll have tea ready in just a moment." She hurried from the room and began bustling around in the kitchen.

"What's going on?" he asked again.

Dumbledore considered the boy, no doubt remembering the harm keeping secrets from him had nearly done just months earlier. "Word of the wedding has gotten out. It seems Miss Brown's information network is more thorough than even I suspected."

"Is everyone alright?" Hermione asked. "My parents?"

"Your parents are perfectly fine, Miss Granger," he said. "Wards have been in place these last few weeks as a precaution. Remus and Miss Tonks are out reinforcing them now under the guise of helping prepare the house for tomorrow."

"But why is everyone so panicky?" Harry demanded.

The man's conviction to tell the truth seemed to flicker slightly as his blue eyes examined his students.

"They got to Sirius," Hermione said. She wished she could claim some grand connection with her betrothed, but her question had not come from some loving bond. It was simple logic. Since the attempt to force her into changing fiancés had failed, she knew that Sirius would be the next obvious target. Remove the competition and Hermione would have no choice but to take a new husband.

"He was attacked while in Diagon Alley this morning," Dumbledore said quietly, probably so Molly would not hear him. "No need to panic. His injuries were slight, I assure you."

"Then where is he?" Harry asked.

"Recovering," said the Headmaster simply.

"But—"

"No, Harry," Dumbledore insisted, his tone kind but final. "We need no hero tonight."

Harry glared and grumbled but did not protest again.

"Now, I am leaving you in Mrs Weasley's capable hands," he said, a slight twinkle daring to return to his eye. "I look forward to seeing you all tomorrow." The dirty old bumper glowed blue as he turned it back into a portkey. Seconds later he was gone, leaving them in a confused and worried mess in the sitting-room of the Burrow.

"Well," Ginny said quietly, "if they hurt Sirius enough to scare him off, you'll have to marry Fred, and then you'll get to be my sister."

Hermione laughed. She couldn't help it.

"That is nowhere near funny," Harry said darkly. If Hermione wasn't a girl she would have been in serious danger of getting slapped.

She did feel bad. The man had been injured because of her. He was also Harry's best hope for a normal, loving family. She knew she shouldn't be laughing, but she couldn't stop.

"Hermione!" Harry shouted, his scowl faltering under her prolonged fit of giggles. He chased her up the stairs with threats of giving her something to really laugh about, his fingers reaching out and tickling her sides, never staying there for more than a second. The tiny part of her brain that was not dedicated to figuring out a way to fight off Harry's attack wondered if his fingers would get burned if they stayed on her too long. At that moment, gasping for breath and laughing herself hoarse, she was hoping they would get burned.

"Serves you right!" Harry declared triumphantly, his anger long faded and turned to laughter.

"That's no way to treat your future Godmother, Harry Potter," she wheezed.

"Oh, that does it!"

She shrieked as he launched himself at her a second time. Her declaration ensured that no amount of pleading or apology would make him stop until she was bright red and hiccupping from laughing too hard.

Tea, biscuits, a hiccup removal spell and a change into pyjamas later and Hermione was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. She hoped Sirius was alright and wished that there was a way to avoid hurting him any further.

'There's always cancelling the wedding,' she thought.

A glance at the clock told her it was literally the eleventh hour, far too late for the wedding to be avoided. Her mind turned instead to ways that she might keep Sirius from being killed. Clearly, the Death Eaters wanted her and would do just about anything to get her. She suspected that they would have no sympathy for a widow; they would start sending petitions and force her to choose a new pureblood husband before his body was even cold.

She felt the pain in her temples grow as her options dwindled from few to none.

It frustrated her to no end. Not just that her hand was being forced, but that Sirius had been left so vulnerable. She was guarded by walls and wards, professors and portraits, fidelity charms and blood magic while Sirius was left with only his wits and wand. Perhaps if she had a way to keep tabs on him the same as he did her then she would feel a bit better about the arrangement. Yes, he was a grown man, but one with a track record of doing rather stupid things without thinking them through. His impetuousness had led to false accusations of murder. Although, she did admit, he was maturing in that respect; he had not run off, half-cocked in June without telling anyone else where he was going or why. The old Sirius, the one who hunted Peter Pettigrew down with murderous intent, would not have told Remus or any other Order member that he was going to the Ministry to save Harry.

Even with this slow start toward responsibility, she would prefer knowing at the time that he was attacked instead of finding out about it hours later when she was useless to help. After the wedding, she would start researching to make a proper plan. After the wedding, she would make him safe. After the wedding, she would make him happy.

"After the wedding," she mumbled sleepily as she drifted off, goal in mind.