Chapter 11 – The Lady in White
That we tell the twelfth,
Where the horse of the Valkyrie sees food on the battlefield,
Where twenty kings are lying,
Against the harmful skag-Valkyrie,
So that she never shall, though she never would,
Evil woman! – injure your life.
Draco froze as Hermione emerged from the inn wearing a long flowing gown of white gossamer silk. He honestly didn't think she would even come out of her room – not after he told her about the mating ceremony that was to happen tonight. Yet, here she was, in all her elegant splendor. He was mystified and electrified by her haunting beauty. Just when he thought he had his feelings of desire for her under control, she would do something like this, something as mundane as walking out of a door, toward a village green, with the last rays of sunshine bathing her in its warm, golden glow. He was a ruined man, under her spell, his own thoughts and wants beaten into submission by nothing more than a glimpse of her.
And apparently every man and woman here felt the same, for every eye was upon her. She smiled as she tilted her head in greeting to those around her. The wind blew her long curls in her face and she laughed as she reached up to remove them from her cheek.
She was the loveliest woman he had ever seen. Desire swept through him with a startling intensity, along with a deeper emotion he long thought was dormant in a man like him. He didn't want to examine the deeper feelings. He would prefer for them to dive back down to the dark, murky depths of his soul where they belong. Instead, they sprang forth and he felt like he was exactly what he was… a man in love.
At that thought she turned her head to look at him and frowned. The unspoken anger he saw in her eyes was like a knife in his chest. Apparently her smiles were a sham – or for everyone but him – not that it mattered. He would do his duty to her no matter what she wanted and no matter what he felt.
He had given his word.
XXXXXXXXXXXXX
Hermione looked over at Draco and frowned. She was still angry with him for not telling her about this antiquated mating ceremony before she came to this place. Perhaps if she had known she wouldn't have come. Now it was too late. It was too late for everything. Things would happen as they were meant to happen, and whether or not she wanted them to happen.
Walking toward the crowd, she saw Devlin step forward. He gave her an incongruous grin, which she couldn't decipher. Holding out his hand, he said, "Welcome home, Cousin."
She left his hand in the air. "This isn't my home," she said in a soft voice. "And I'm not pleased about this."
He raised his eyebrows in question. "I'm not pleased either, believe me; I didn't plan this little debacle. Your intended did." He placed a sarcastic twist to the word 'intended' and then turned to watch as Draco pushed through the crowd to join them in the middle of the crowd.
Draco reached down for her hand and pulled her away from everyone. Quietly he said, "You came."
"Did I have a choice?" she asked in return. "I understood that this was a part of everything… part of my ascension."
Draco could hear the resolute tone of her voice and it suddenly made him angry. "You can go back up to your room if you'd like. You don't have to go through with this. Do you honestly think I want to bind myself to you forever? No, I don't, but I'm doing my duty to my family."
She recoiled as if slapped, and he instantly regretted his tone. "I don't want you to do anything you find repulsive, such as marrying a mudblood. You go back up to your room, why don't you?"
He narrowed his eyes to stare at her. "If we don't go through with his mating ceremony – which by the by, isn't the same as a legal marriage – then every single Veela male here will fight for the right to stand by your side. We might as well let the battle begin at dawn, for that's what it will be, a battle."
"And how would that affect you?" she snapped. "It would be my problem, not yours."
Before he could comment, Devlin walked up to the pair. "I think it's time. Is there a problem here?"
"It's time when we say it's time," Draco retorted.
"Don't make a scene here, Malfoy," Devlin warned, his voice laced with a threatening menace that only made Draco laugh.
Grabbing Hermione's wrist in his hand, he pulled her back toward the middle of the green and said under his breath, "Go to hell, Halberdsen," although the only person who heard his request was Hermione. He pulled her to the side of the Inn and decided he should start over.
Guiding her to a bench by the steps, he stood before her as she sat and said, "Perfect evening for a feast, isn't it?"
Before answering, she looked out at the crowd of villagers as they moved around long tables filled with plates and dishes of food.
He cleared his throat. Her eyes darted back to him and she said, "You disappeared earlier. I mean, I know I ran away first, after your declaration about the purpose of this feast, as you call it, but about twenty minutes later I went to look for you and you were gone."
"I had things to do," he said vaguely. "Did you miss me?"
"Not at all," she commented in return. "I merely made an observation." Tilting her head toward the crowd in front of them, (but out of hearing range) she said, "Did you have anything to do with planning any of this."
"Truthfully?" he said.
"If you can," she leveled.
"Yes, a bit," he revealed.
"Did you leave this dress at my door?" she said.
"About that, yes, I did. It's why I was late. It was very hard to find a Valkyrie mating dress at the local mall," he teased.
She laughed. "Did you think I would show up wearing the bedspread from the bed?"
"Knowing you," he began, "you would probably wear the bathmat."
Clutching her hands together she said, "That makes no sense, and goes to prove that you DON'T know me. I would much prefer curtains over rugs." She turned her gaze back toward the party in the green.
He held out his hand to her. "Shall we take another short walk before the festivities begin?"
"Why?" she looked at his hand, still suspended in air, and added, "Do you have more bad news to tell me? Are we to consummate our mating in front of everyone, or something?"
He didn't answer. He wiggled the fingers on his hand, indicating that she should take his hand. With an exhaled breath she slapped his hand away and stood. "You know, I'm not in the mood for a party. We only have this evening and tomorrow to discover what's going to happen to me. I'm on edge as it is, and if you really wanted to set me at ease, you'd take me to the caves with the runes, or let me talk to someone who knows what's going on with me. You mentioned that there might be a woman to whom I could speak. I want to see her now."
Making a noise that sounded like a growl he said, "You can't go into the caves until it's your time. You wouldn't even be admitted, and I can't be admitted unless we go to the feast, and continue with the mating ceremony."
"That's stupid. Why?" She waited for his response.
He said, "I don't know. I guess it's ancient Veela magic."
"Good thing I'm not a Veela, then," she harped, bringing her hands to her hips as she stood before him.
He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her close, causing her to squeal, even as she placed her hands on his chest for support. "You're purposely being obtuse, aren't you? It's VEELA not A VEELA. How many times must I tell you this?"
She started to smile, but quickly hid it. "Maybe I am being obtuse on purpose, Draco, but don't you see how frustrating all of this is for me? I'm sick with worry."
"Then let me help you, little love," he said as sweet as he could. Reaching one hand up to stroke her hair back, he said, "You really are prefect, aren't you?"
"Stop that. It will only upset me more. I hate to be patronized. No one's perfect." She placed her hands on his shoulders and closed her eyes with a shiver.
Leaning his face close to hers he said, "You're perfect for me."
She opened her eyes. The sun drifted down through the leaves on the trees, casting them in both shadow and light. Regarding the sunlight in his silver-gray eyes, she questioned the truthfulness of that statement, but only to herself. She couldn't dispute it aloud, because there was something deep inside of her that wanted that statement to be true. She thought he might be perfect for her as well, which scared her more than all the unknown things facing her. Each layer of feeling became more overwhelming, making her sway in his arms.
Pulling her to his chest, he placed a protective hand on the back of her head and said, "Steady, sweetness." Turning her away from him and placing her arm through his, he started back toward the party and all the people milling about. The path was littered with sticks and leaves. The tree limbs acted as a protective canopy, where cascading sunlight continued to dapple down through the branches.
He waited until they were at the edge of the crowd then announced, "There's someone I'd like you to meet, Granger."
They approached an old woman who was sitting on a tree stump. Bowing to the woman slightly, Draco said, "May I introduce you to Hermione Granger – descendent of Ana Hansson, who was her great grandmother." Then, turning to Hermione, he said, "This is Helga Hofstadter. She's the matriarch of our family here in Sweden. She's my fourth cousin, three times removed, or some such shite."
Hermione looked appalled by Draco's turn of phrase, but the old woman merely smiled and said, "You were always an impossible child, Draco Malfoy, and I see you haven't changed since becoming a man. I'm glad." She spoke with accented English, and reached up her hand to Hermione.
Hermione took her hand and for the first time in weeks felt a sense of calm.
The old woman was still beautiful. It was hard to decipher her age, but Hermione would guess that she was somewhere between 80 to 90 years old. With her hand still grasped by the woman, she sat down next to her, on the same large tree stump. The woman looked up at Draco and said, "Yes, this will be an excellent match for the both of you. Well done, Draco Malfoy. Well done. Now leave us for a moment. I must speak to this young woman. She has questions for me, I can tell."
Draco winked at the woman, then smiled at Hermione and walked toward the crowd, which parted as well, leaving Hermione and Helga virtually alone.
"Well, Miss Granger, do you have questions for me?"
Hermione sighed. "I have a million."
The old woman laughed. "Let's start with just one, please."
Hermione smiled as well. "Will it hurt?" She hadn't meant to ask that question first, but it came out all the same. Clarifying, she said, "My ascension, will there be much pain?"
Releasing Hermione's hand, the woman said, "We don't know much about Valkyrie's ascensions. The last one was over two hundred years ago. We thought all Valkyries were extinct until you came along. We've been watching and waiting for years… hoping another Valkyrie would come along… hoping that would be you."
"Why?" Again, not the question she meant to ask, but she found she wanted to know. "I mean, why are you waiting so anxiously for the last Valkyrie?"
The woman took a moment to answer. "There's going to be another uprising, someday. Everyone here is too young to remember. The last Veela uprising happened when my own grandmother was a mere babe, but it was a bloody battle. When it was over, there weren't many left. There wouldn't have been any left, if it weren't for the Valkyrie. The Valkyrie chose who would live, who would die, and who would be victorious."
"That's a heavy burden to bear," Hermione said seriously. "How do you know they'll be another uprising, as you call it?"
She looked up at the sky, which at twilight, was still mostly light rather than dark. "It's written in the stars. It's been prophesied for centuries. It will happen. It always does."
"Leaving that aside," Hermione begged, "Can you tell me about this?" She pulled the pendant with the heavy amulet out from under her dress, placing it on top, over her heart."
"Ah yes, that's the mark of the Valkyrie. That's their emblem, their sign. That pendant around your neck is hundreds of years old. Moreover, only a true descendent of the original nine princesses could wear that. If I tried to touch it, or any other woman dared to wear it, it might very well kill us."
Hermione looked pensive then said, "My mother's touched it. And it once belonged to my grandmother, so I know she touched it, too."
"But they weren't Veela or magical, were they?" Helga inquired.
Hermione looked down at the pendant in her hand, dropped it back to her chest and shook her head no. "Will you be able to tell me what's in the journals I brought with me?"
"Of course," the old woman replied with a smile.
"I'll go get them," Hermione said, standing. "I can read some of it, mostly just the preludes at the start of each chapter, which is some sort of poem, but most of its written in Old Norse, which I don't understand."
"Sit down, dear," the woman prompted. "I don't need the journals in front of me to tell you what they say. I have them committed to memory. They are simply the story of the Valkyrie. I'll tell it to you, if you'd like."
"Please," Hermione said.
And the woman began…
"In Norse mythology, a Valkyrie, which is from Old Norse valkyrja, meaning 'chooser of the slain', is one of a host of female figures who decide which soldiers die in battle and which live. Selecting among half of those who die in battle, the other half go to the goddess Freyja's afterlife field Fólkvangr. The Valkyries bring their chosen to the afterlife hall of the slain, Valhalla, ruled over by the god Odin. Valkyries also appear as lovers of heroes and other mortals, where they are sometimes described as the daughters of royalty, sometimes accompanied by ravens, and sometimes connected to swans or horses.
"Archaeological excavations throughout Scandinavia, and especially here in this city, have uncovered amulets such as the one you're wearing, which depict Valkyries. In modern culture, Valkyries have been the subject of works of art, musical works, and poetry. I believe you read the poem most often associated with Valkyrie, as it's written in English in the beginning of each section of the journals."
Hermione nodded. "I know all of that, actually. I've read everything I could find out about Valkyries in both Muggle and Magical books. What I want to know is," she sighed, "I guess I want to know why it's so important. What does it all mean? How is it relevant to me and to today? What's fact and what's fiction?"
Helga laughed. "I wish we knew more so I could put your mind at ease, young woman. However, all we know are the stories that are handed down, generation to generation. Some of them are legend, or mythology, and some of them are true. All we really know for certain is that of the nine original Valkyrie fairy princesses, there is only one descent left, and that's you."
Hermione stood. "And the day after tomorrow I'll ascend, and no one knows what to expect, what it will mean to me afterwards, or why." Turning to look for Draco, she caught his eye and motioned for him to join her. "Thank you, Mrs. Hofstadter. I appreciate your time."
The woman stood, and just as Hermione started to walk toward Draco, she stopped her. Hermione turned back. "And I appreciate your candor, Miss Granger. I wish I could make your way smoother. I will, however, tell you this. Trust your own instincts, and let others make your way smoother when they can. When the time comes, you'll know what to do."
"I hope so," Hermione said resolutely. With a small nod of her head, she turned away from the woman and walked toward Draco.
Once again he offered his arm to her. She accepted it with silence, and they mingled through the crowd slowly, enjoying the light breeze and the late summer splendor. Walking in silence, she noticed that he continued to look at her from the corner of his eye. It was terribly obvious that there was something more he wished to say to her. It was only that she was so weary at that point. She was almost beyond caring… almost.
She urged, "Do you have anything else to tell me? Any other surprises in store? Am I secretly pregnant?"
"Not yet," he quipped. She turned her head sharply at his comment and saw that he was smiling. Finally, "I'm trying to find the right words to say this next thing to you, but I know that no matter what I say, you'll become angry and sullen and you might hex me into next week. Do you have your wand?"
She inhaled a long breath. "Of course I do. Go on."
"I think we should marry." He said it so fast that she almost missed it… again, almost.
"Ah," she began. Stopped. Started again. "What's involved in this mating ceremony?"
"Way to change the subject," he replied. "We'll have to say a few words in front of the eldest member of my family, which would be Helga. Promise a few things, etc., etc… pledge our alliance, and like a marriage ceremony we'll talk all about sickness and health, death and dismemberment, and then I'll pledge to see you through your ascension by a holy covenant."
She was quiet for a long time. He steered her away from the center of the village toward the road.
Stopping by the edge of a stone wall, she sat down and said, "Death and dismemberment?"
He laughed. "I was beginning to wonder when you would notice that part."
"Is this what you were trying to tell me earlier? You know, when you tried to talk to me after breakfast?"
"Yes, but also, there's something important you need to know about the ceremony, and about the ascension. Something we most certainly do know, and you aren't going to like it, but that can't be helped." He lowered his voice, took her hand, and continued, "We'll have to exchange vows, pledges and – and – well, blood. It's just the once. Symbolic, if you will."
With a disgusted look on her face she said, "What if I want to miss that part?"
"You can't," he proclaimed. "And you won't want to, believe me. My blood will help protect you from others who might try to claim you."
"Seriously, Malfoy," she said, folding her arms in front of her, "do you think someone can just 'claim me' if I don't want them to do so?"
He waited. Then he answered. "Yes, I do. I've seen it happen."
She rolled her eyes. "Is that what you meant when you told me I would crave blood? That first day when we found out about this, you mentioned that I might crave blood."
He shook his head no. Turning so he wouldn't have to see her expression he said, "It's more complicated than that, and when I mentioned that to you, I meant during your ascension, there's a chance, if it's anything like Veela's ascension, that you might crave blood. We don't really know for sure."
"This whole thing stinks," she said like a petulant child. "How would we even do it? I don't have fangs, you know."
Grabbing her hands in his, he raised the right one to his lips, and then did the same with the left one. Her warm brown eyes widen, and he took that as a sign to kiss her lips. Impulsively, he pulled her to him, and gave her lips a quick but sweet kiss. "Neither do I, you know. Now, are you ready for the merriment and revelry that's about to ensue?" he asked.
"My head aches," was her answer.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Draco knew just what she meant. He felt a dull ache in the back of his skull, too. This entire day was going downhill quickly, and tomorrow promised to be no better, and then the next day she would go through a hell, which he would strip from her if he could. He really would.
But since everything was inevitable, he took her hand back in his, feeding his warmth into her cold skin. Walking closer toward the crowd on the green, he acknowledged Potter with a nod to his head, and then walked with her back toward Helga Hofstadter.
Nearing the crowd and the old woman sitting on the large stump, Draco could feel Hermione's heart pound wildly by the pulse beating erratically under his fingertips as he held her wrist in his hand. She looked for a chance to flee, but Draco continued to hold her hand in a tight grip, and now Harry was standing at her other side. Before she could move a muscle, the old woman in front of them said, "We are about to begin. Gather around everyone. Gather around."