Disclaimer: All J.K. Rowling's
SHADOWS OF OURSELVES
Chapter 10: Blunder
Blunder: A very bad move, an oversight.
Monday, August 18, 2003-Friday, September 19, 2003
"I prefer the marbled green," Draco said, frowning at the creamy white parchment Hermione was considering. "The marbled green parchment with the emerald lettering and silver border," he informed the printer.
Draco and Hermione were picking out their wedding invitations. They were in his study at Black Castle, seated behind the large mahogany desk while the printer nervously hovered in front of them as they considered his finest samples. With Draco's decision, the printer came forward to collect the samples, but Hermione brushed him away with a wave of her hand.
"I prefer the pure white parchment with the emerald lettering and a gold border," Hermione said. "The gold border especially."
The printer quickly shuffled backwards. Draco exhaled slowly and reclined in his high-backed leather chair.
"Gold never goes with green," Draco said dismissively, holding his gold-gilt quill up against the green parchment to prove his point.
Their eyes met briefly over the edge of the paper, amusement dangerously close to the surface. Though Draco's expression remained properly disinterested, he looked as if it was taking all of his will power not to roll his eyes. He glanced at her unwavering expression and sighed. "Make the invitations exactly as I specified, but use my fiancée's preference for the envelopes. Send the finished products to the Manor."
"Yes, sir," the printer acquiesed, bobbing his head up and down in humble gratitude as he collected the samples and shuffled his way backwards toward the door. "You have been most kind to—"
"Yes," Draco interrupted impatiently. "I expect the entire order no later than this afternoon. Good day." He waited until the printer was out of earshot before rounding on Hermione. "Were you really going to argue with me over wedding invitations?"
Hermione shrugged. "I always imagined my wedding invitations with gold borders."
Draco frowned. "You can have your gold border when you marry Weasley, or at least you can draw it in by hand then."
"Will that be before or after he and the Order finds out that I'm engaged to you?"
The sarcasm in her response was cuttingly sharp. Their engagement had made the front page of every newspaper in the wizarding world. The entire Order, who always had an eye on the papers, would have all had to have gone blind not to know the exact shape and size of the ring that now rested on Hermione's finger.
"Malfoy, you threw down the gauntlet," she said. "You were in Grimmauld Place minutes before you proposed to me. You had all the chance in the world to warn them about it so they wouldn't have to find out from the front page of the Daily Prophet! And you proposed in such a public, theatrical way just to make sure they got the message!"
"I thought such a momentous event in our lives deserved the best dramatic entrance I could muster," he said, feigning innocence. "A tea party with all of Voldemort's finest assembled was just too good a chance to pass up."
Hermione was completely unfazed. "Your theatrics erased any trust the Order could have had in this entire affair."
"Does it look like I care?"
"Yes."
Draco exhaled slowly, not wanting to admit she was right. He was not a person easily read, and now she was reading him like an open book. It was his own fault, really. Gone was the downtrodden girl he had pulled out of the dregs of Grimmauld two months ago. He saw before him the confidence in her posture, the assertive tilt of her head—all his handiwork and now the workings of a potential headache.
He shrugged carelessly. "Then break our engagement and go back to the Order."
Hermione crossed her arms and looked out the window. Of course that wasn't an option. She was in this with him ... and she would be lying if she said she wasn't a bit miffed the Order was keeping secrets from her, too.
"We're going to have to make peace with them," Hermione said decidedly. "We can't fight two enemies at once. It will get us nowhere or worse."
"I take one step into Grimmauld Place, and that's the last you'll ever hear of Draco Malfoy."
"Don't pretend to fear them when you don't."
"Don't pretend to know me."
"I don't have to pretend."
They glared at each other, but there was no true spite behind it.
"So what do you propose?" Draco smirked at his word choice and decided to start over. "What would you have us do? Even if I admit to you that I committed a tactical error—which I'm not,by the way—apologizing to the Order is out of the question."
"The thought of you getting down on your knees to beg forgiveness from the Order is as ridiculous as the thought of you getting down on one knee to propose," Hermione dismissed. "No, it must be something else..." After a moment's thought and idle gazing out the window, it came to her. "Yes ... I have to go reassure the Order everything's all right."
Draco raised a dubious eyebrow in her direction, but his interest was piqued.
"Don't be difficult, Malfoy," Hermione said impatiently. "The Order doesn't trust you because you're holed up in Grimmauld Place, where they can keep an eye on you at all times. You're out of their control, and it scares them."
"Same goes for you now," he observed.
"Exactly. What you did showed them just how little power they have over our actions." She paused, faint curiosity and confusion in her tone when she asked, "Why did you do it?"
He toyed with his quill. "Not everyone has to kiss their asses just because they happen to be on the right side of this war. Being on the right side does not make them right in everything."
Hermione understood more than she wanted to show. "Nevertheless, I will go to them and convince them they can still trust me. This is getting difficult, isn't it? With you, I shouldn't trust the Order. With the Order, I shouldn't trust you. And Voldemort is the only one pretending to trust me at all."
"I hope you understand what this means," Draco said brusquely. "We'll be playing both Voldemort and the Order."
"That's exactly what you've been doing all these years."
"Granger, you're throwing in your entire lot with me."
"Don't you know I did that when I said 'yes' to you in Pansy's parlor, when I said 'yes' to you in the basement of Grimmauld Place?" Hermione said, almost sounding amused. Almost. "Malfoy, that isn't a question of my trusting you. It's all about whether or not you trust me."
To keep from having to answer, Draco started summoning the caterer, the next appointment they had, but he stopped short.
"Granger, don't you know why I chose you for all this?" he asked, staring at the suddenly interesting fireplace. "Because you're ... you. You believe in things. You believe in absolutes, in good and evil, in right and wrong and nothing in between. Because I trust you to make the right decision ... and to keep me from making the wrong one."
His confession shook both of them more than they wanted to admit. They both sat down behind the desk again, avoiding one another's eyes. Hermione pulled a sample menu from the neat pile of parchment on her side of the desk, but she was staring at it blindly. Draco still did not summon the caterer.
"Granger?"
She set down the menu to show she was listening.
"If—when you go back to the Order, you're going to have to lie about the Dark Mark. They ... they won't understand."
"Of course. I'm going to lie straight to their faces." She smiled bitterly. "And then won't you be so proud of me?"
It was only half a question, so Draco gave her only half an answer. "I think Voldemort will be the one jumping for joy."
It was some time before Hermione paid the promised visit to the Order. Engagement parties were being thrown left and right for her and Draco. She was invited to join all the elite clubs and circles that the wealthy and ridiculously bored ladies of pureblood society had formed to amuse themselves with. An entire month slipped by before her thoughts turned seriously to the Order again.
When Hermione found herself scheduling a luncheon with Pansy Parkinson-Zabini for a half hour more than was absolutely necessary just to take up time, she knew she had put off her visit for too long. Yet she couldn't bring herself to Apparate to Grimmauld Place, even though the Order had had enough time to get used to their engagement. It was publicized in every medium possible, from Witch Weekly to the wizarding wireless. She had seen to it that one invitation was owled to Grimmauld Place. All that was left was for her to find the courage to face them, and she didn't find that courage until she was facing a three-sided, full-length mirror in her wedding dress on her wedding day.
"Oh, God," she breathed, staring at her reflection.
A stranger stared back at her from the soft folds of white silk, someone whose bushy brown hair had been magicked into luscious curls and cheeks turned pink once more by the liberal hand of a professional make-up artist who served the crème de la crème of society. She looked very beautiful in the emptiest sense of the word.
Behind her, the door clicked shut. She looked up in the mirror and saw Draco.
"I know what you're going to say, Granger, but it's not possible for us to start off with any more bad luck," Draco said, looking over her shoulder at his own reflection and straightening his bowtie.
Their eyes met in the mirror. "Ten minutes is all I ask," she said, laying down her bouquet.
Draco nodded once, as if he had been expecting it the entire time. "It's all I can give you," he answered truthfully. She nodded and prepared to Disapparate. "And, Granger." She froze. "It's not too late to walk away. The Order does still have the power to get you out. I won't hold it against you."
"You won't, but I will. Ten minutes," she repeated, slipping on her elbow-length gloves, which conveniently concealed the Dark Mark, before she Disapparated.
She walked down the shadowy hallway that led to the kitchen. Her immaculate dress practically radiated in the darkness, the train swishing over the threadbare carpet. She took her steps slowly, satin-covered fingers tracing the design of the faded, torn wallpaper as she passed. She could hear hastily rising voices from the kitchen.
"I have to stop that wedding!" Ron said, his tone desperate. "I can't just sit here and let it happen!"
"Be reasonable, Ron," Lupin admonished. "We did not survive this long by bursting into rooms full of Death Eaters!"
Harry and Lupin were literally holding Ron back while the others looked on. His hair was standing nearly on end from the many times he had run a distracted hand through it. He looked as if he had not changed clothes in days, and a nearly empty bottle of Firewhiskey sat at his usual place at the table.
"You'll kill yourself, and Hermione!" Tonks said.
"As long as Malfoy follows!" Ron declared wildly.
"Ron, that's insane!" Harry said. "It's not the end of the world—""
"Of course it is," Ron said. "I'm insane. I love her. There never was, there never could be anyone else—"
"Hiding in the shadows," a smooth, disapproving voice said in her ear. "And I thought Gryffindors were marked for their bravery?"
This struck a chord. She whirled around to face Draco, her brown eyes alive with anger.
"Only because Slytherins are marked for their cowardice!" she hissed. "I'm only trying to fix what you wrecked, remember?" she hissed, before turning and striding out of hiding.
She had turned round and strode out of hiding before she realized Draco had said that just to provoke her into action.
Ron stopped struggling and stared at her as if he could not believe his eyes. The rest of the Order's initial surprise slowly turned into varying degrees of sadness, pity, and disbelief. Though she had leapt into their midst with veil flying like a battle banner, Draco could see her resolve failing now that she stood face to face with them.
Ginny was the first to move. "Hermione ..." she faltered. She smiled weakly. "You look beautiful."
"You can't do this," Harry spoke up, his face grey. "It's not to late to turn back—"
"Harry, turning back stopped being an option a long time ago."
"Anything you want is an option," Harry answered. "We can get you out of the country—"
"Don't do it, Hermione," Ron pleaded, voice breaking. "Please don't marry him."
"Oh, Ron, can't you see it's the only way? I have to. I can't back out now. Voldemort will kill him, and then what? That'll be the beginning of the end. We won't know anything that Voldemort's planning. We'll lose."
Ron turned, seized her hands in his own, and placed a kiss on the backs of each of them.
"Just promise me that when this is all over and done with, we'll get married—an Unbreakable Ceremony so that no one can ever take us away from each other. We'll buy a house in the country, far away from here, so that we can watch the sunrise and sunset from our porch, because it couldn't be anything but sunny every day then. And our home will be small so that our kids can have acres and acres to play—"
"Ron, stop," Hermione ordered.
"No, Hermione. I've been stopping myself for years. I never believed I was good enough for you—"
"I can't promise you that," she blurted out.
"Why not?" he demanded, looking more confused than hurt.
"Because I'm marrying Malfoy through the Unbreakable Vow."
At this revelation, everyone jumped to their feet, determined to stop her from leaving by sheer force. The protests that arose from the Order echoed deafeningly in the small room.
"Hermione, you can't!"
"Are you crazy?!"
Placing his hands on her shoulders, Ron's despairing blue eyes locked onto hers. "Please don't do this."
She backed out of his reach. "But we can't always have what we want," she reminded him sadly. "Or what others want of us."
"You're not going anywhere, Hermione!" Harry said, blocking her path. "The Unbreakable Vow! That's a death contract!"
"Voldemort would have it no other way."
"Well, we're not going to have it that way," Harry declared, taking a hold of her arm, right where her Mark was.
"Granger?" Draco stepped through the doorway of the kitchen, his voice cutting through the din. The Order looked from him to Hermione, waiting for her to make her decision. "Hermione," he said more urgently, holding his hand out towards her.
"Coming," she answered softly, avoiding Ron's gaze.
She pushed past Harry, who released her and let her by without any protest, paralyzed in shock. As she took Draco's hand, she looked back over her shoulder.
"I'm so sorry," she told them. "But there is no other way."
"You don't have to be martyr," Ron said desperately.
"Better a martyr than an unwilling victim," she replied.
"Anyway you look at it, they're both just casualties of war."
Draco started to give his own response, but Hermione stopped him with a firm grip on his arm. "Anyway you look at it, we're all casualties already."
Under her fingers, Draco's arm felt strangely comforting in its steadiness. Draco could feel her shaking. Figuring it might make things complicated if the bride splinched herself, Draco took it upon himself to Apparate both of them to their wedding.
It took Hermione a moment to realize she was no longer in Grimmauld Place but right outside the doors that led into the ballroom of Voldemort's mansion. She could hear the numerous wedding guests waiting on the other side. She froze.
"Oh, come on, Granger," Draco said impatiently, turning to face her and giving her a shake. His eyes gleamed. "You're not backing out now, not after that. Paint yourself out to be some sort of martyr going to execution? The only way? No choice at all? You and I both know that this is your choice. This is you making your own destiny."
"And how about you?" she demanded. "Have you finally thrown your lot in with me? Are we making our own destiny together, or are you just playing me like everyone else?"
"Granger, if you don't know the answer to that, don't walk through these doors. Oh, and happy birthday."
And without further ado, he strode into the hall, leaving her alone to make her choice.
Voldemort stepped away from the pair kneeling before him, their hands still clasped as the last bond of magic slowly faded away. The bride and groom stood, first bowing to their Bonder, then to their guests.
The thunderous applause faded to the background for both husband and wife as Draco pulled Hermione closer to him. He maneuvered her expertly, bending her backwards and leaning down over her amid whoops of approval from the guests and the continuous flashing of photographers' cameras.
"Whoever thought it would come to this?" he whispered. "Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger wed in magical matrimony."
"We did," she answered, eyes gleaming. "Because we make our own destiny."
And because they already had put it off for too long, Draco pulled her in for a kiss.