A/N: I know it's been a really long time since I last updated, but here is the next chapter! Thanks to Homeric for all her help as beta with this chapter.
However if anyone is interest, or knows anyone that might be interested in acting as an permant beta please let me know!
Thanks to everyone for reviewing, and those of you who kept badgering me to update!
Enjoy.
----------------------------------------
She'd always known that she'd be sold to the highest bidder, but was she worth so low a price no one else had shown an interest?
Her father had always stressed that marriage was a business arrangement, and because of his views she'd never sought a husband herself. Was she to be punished now for obeying him? For doing her duty to her family?
Would it have been better if she'd rebelled in her actions rather than merely in her mind? If she'd shown an interest in another wizard would her father have given his blessing and spared her the disgrace of Abbott?
No. Her father was a cruel man, thoroughly enjoying the tormenting of others. There were few that would stand up to him and succeed in their quest. Had she shown interest in another he would have separated them to remind her of her place and hurt her.
Her father had a perverse sense of humor. Yet she still owed him her allegiance, her loyalty, her trust all because his blood ran through her veins.
Not that he would ever know the damage his words caused. Nor would he care about the insecurities that wracked her mind and body. He would never know. She was as much a Slytherin as him. Though others often thought otherwise; by then it was too late for them. Not that there were those to truly appreciate the cunning with which she disarmed fellow witches and wizards.
If she could only leave.
But obligation held her strong. Family was the most important thing in the world. Unmarried her father held the strongest claim on her loyalty. Married her husband would.
These were dangerous times, and it was not safe for her to be alone in the world unprotected. If she left she'd be an outcast from all her family, from any friends or acquaintances she knew now. She'd be fair game for both sides of those that fought in this battle.
She was angry at her father for his decision, but she was not stupid. Logic was important. She had to remember the consequences of her actions. Logic and sense; both were important.
Those were that facts. And she did not resent them. It was the way of the world. In the future perhaps it would be different, but the future was exactly that; the future. She needed to concentrate on the here and now. She would be a good wife, in whatever way her husband demanded it. But did she not deserve a husband that would provide protection for herself and any children she would bear? Was she not to have the security knowing that her husband was strong man? A sensible man? He didn't have to be honorable. He didn't even have to be particularly clever so long as he was sly and cunning. She didn't never a vain poppycock obsessed with his looks. As long as he was clean she'd have no cause to complain.
Ducking out the courtyard, Athalie continued along her path to her father's study. She blinked rapidly, her eyes quickly acclimatizing to the dark hallway and the dull gray of stone opposed the bright rays of light outside.
There was little doubt in her mind that Matthew had a hand in this. He'd have a good time laughing at the misfortune of her predicament.
Abandoning caution for the first time in her life Athalie wrenched the iron handle of the wooden door open and let it slam loudly against the wall.
She was left disappointed. There was no one to wonder at the theatrical entrance. Her father clearly did not wish to know her thoughts on the subject.
But he would. She would not embarrass her family by letting the public know of her unhappiness, her disgust and sorrow at such a union but her father would know her thoughts on the subject. And if her was forced to listen to them at wand point so be it.
Her mind yearned for more. She was intelligent, had she not beaten Matthew in exams throughout her entire term at Hogwarts? Often she had broken into the restricted section at the library and devoured the dark arts and black magic eagerly.
The banging of her fathers study door had done little to soothe her, instead of the steely self control which she always possessed the magic of her blood thrummed through her veins, dancing just beneath her skin and whispering persuasively at her to allow it free. It was telling her, as it always did, of how good it would make her feel when the sensations coursed through her body, that ultimate high and then the lethargy that swept through her. And then finally, that satisfied feeling of contentment burning in the pit of her stomach.
Jerking the door open, the laughter in the room she entered ceased. Glancing over the young men in the room, Athalie's gaze passed over them until it settled on the one most familiar.
Her brother sat staring back at her, his eyes laughing, a smirk settled onto his lips.
He knew then.
Courtesy dictated that she greet the guests in her home. She ignored it. "Where is father, Matthew?"
"You have a pressing matter of business to discuss with him?" He enquired, a mockingly polite tone in front of his friends. He knew exactly what she wanted to discuss with their father.
Checking her anger, Athalie continued further into the room, skirting around the chairs scattered about and the people seated in them.
"Nothing for you to concern yourself over brother, I beg you not to distress yourself on my behalf." Her own voice was sickly sweet.
He blocked her own verbal foil with his own, quickly springing his own attack. In doing so he left himself open to her own attack.
"Indeed. And as a member of such a distinct family it gives me pleasure to share our fortunate circumstances with those less fortunate than myself, I understand that you feel the same way brother. Walking the estate but a day ago I made note of your own contribution to the families working on our fathers land."
It was unfortunate that Matthew's contribution of the number of children springing from the loins of serving maids and farmers wives put more of a strain upon them instead of lessening it.
She made another sly dig at him, satisfaction riding her as she watched her brothers reaction. Such things were not discussed between family, whether it was between brother and sister or husband and wife. To be discussed in front of friends was scandalous. Nevertheless, she was not particularly bothered about decorum at this moment in time. "You are most generous with your," she paused to draw the seconds out, "coin, brother. As I am sure many could testify."
Matthews face was unchanged, but his eyes were livid. She smiled up at him from where he now stood and took a seat to his right.
The others in the room were watching them silently waiting to see the outcome.
"Your diligence does you credit sister."
"I thank you for the compliment brother. But you flatter me."
"Compliment sister? Flattery? I spoke the truth." He assured her with utmost sincerity. "Indeed your husband will be a lucky man should you care for his interests half as well as my own."
"Husband? Fear not and put your mind at ease brother, I have no plans to be torn from the bosom of our family just yet." A hint of steel became evident as she bit of the last word of her sentence.
Tension was thickening in the room, despite it large size. The air felt stuffy and close against her skin.
"Indeed? Perhaps I have been mistaken, I rather thought that Zachary Abbotts' attention had become most fixed, but it appears then, that his intentions were not completely honourable."
"My honour is intact brother, just as it has ever been. Pray do not challenge Zachary to a duel, my heart would be unable to cope with the concern I'd feel for you brother."
The look in his eyes promised that she would receive retribution for that last remark. She had embarrassed him in front of his fellow peers, doubted his talent with his wand against Zachary Abbott no less.
His fingers curled around the back of her chair, his knuckles white from the force of his grip.
"Thank you for your concern sister, though I assure you that you need not worry. I am more than proficient at defending myself."
"I would never doubt it brother. Just as you should never doubt my love for you, truly you are the very best of brothers."
It had always been a habit of theirs, to refer to each other as brother or sister instead of by name. They had both used it as an insult, rather than a term of affection. Moreover, its use was a key for each of them as to how nettled the other was by their conversation. The number of times it was used and the tone in which it was spoken always a factor in revealing more than each of them was comfortable with.
She hoped it also served to remind him that she was his sister, the child he had played with when he was younger. His eyes had wandered over her form in a manner far too intimate for brother and sister; his hand had lingered on her arm, in her hair far too often in the last few years. There was a look in his eyes when such a thing happen, it made her feel dirty, ashamed in a way she'd never experienced before.
"Just as you are the very best sister a brother could ask for. I am sure father feels the same, you are indeed a dutiful daughter and I have no doubt he plans to reward you when the time comes."
"You are too kind, though you spoil such a surprise brother!" Athalie scolded him lightly, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth as she spoke. She had spent hours in front of her mirror preparing for a moment such as this and she would not fail herself now. "It is your luck indeed that such a time is far off so that I may be able to push your teasing suggestion to the back of my mind!"
"Then I am truly sorry sister, for I feel that the time we speak of is growing ever closer." Athalie's needling of Matthew paid off as he spoke his next words in anger at her seeming composure. If only he could see past her cool façade, he would laugh at her. "I regret to inform you that he has already left for town on business that I am sure relates to you."
Finally, an answer at last. Over twenty minutes since she'd asked the question, but an answer none the less, ever if it was spoken in anger.
"Then pray excuse me brother, I have kept you from your companions too long. If father has important news for me it is only fitting that I am in the correct state to receive it." Standing she smiled calmly at her brother, but anger rolled beneath the calm mask. There was no way that she would be able to intercept her father now, she realized too late now that she had done as her brother wished and dallied sparing words with him instead of continuing on to her destination.
No doubt the announcements had already been made. There was no escaping it now, only through death would she be free and so was no coward.
"Gentleman." With a polite but distant nod their direction, her eyes swept over them again. Her brother had the worst taste possible in companions. Adam Nott was sprawled out on the couch next to James Crabbe, who was an imbecile if she had ever met one. His only regaining feature was his wealth, which was just as well since he was too stupid to earn any himself.
Dexter Black was slumped in the chair to her left, watching her with lazy eyes as they flickered back and forth between herself and Matthew. All were a similar age to her brother, give or take a few years way; they had played Quidditch together, many years prior on the Slytherin house team. And as the way it is with men and sport a bond had formed between them, if not through genuine meeting of people that like each other, at least through the meeting of people with similar minds and means.
All were a similar age except for him. Tristan Montague. Athalie rested her eyes on him for a second. For one reason or another, they had never been formally introduced, and despite his apparent friendship with her brother there hadn't been a great many times when she'd seen him at the family estate.
He was taller than she was, but not overly so. His features were not particularly refined; there was a roughness to the shape of his face, to the bold sweep of his cheekbones and straight lines of his jaw. Green eyes set deep in his face started back at her with speculation, his mind already making calculated guesses and predictions.
He was an educated man, but from what she knew of his reputation, educated or not he always fought dirty.
She respected that, but did not fool herself. To set her cap at him would be to fail, and she did not have the inclination to humiliate herself when her brother enjoyed the pastime so well.
Her family, while secure in their finances and the influence they held were not overly powerful. Their redeeming feature was their pureblood, something becoming rarer and rarer these last few years. There were far better matches that he could make, that he would make. She had not lost anything, he was a man she barley knew, one that she probably never would.
Spine straight and shoulders back in a display of confidence, Athalie made her way across the room to the door from which she had entered.
"You will be comforted to know sister that your husband does indeed care for you! The ever charming Zachary Abbott, I confess has professed his love for you, indeed he swore to die for you if there was ever need."
The words Matthew called out to her stopped Athalie so quickly she gave herself whiplash. This was worse that she had previously thought. Spinning around to face her brother, Athalie looked at Matthew with a sinking heart. The words he spoke were true.
They were true. The malicious smile on his face was too smug for him to be lying.
It was becoming increasingly difficult to maintain her composure, to remember the strict instructions that had been drilled into her since birth. If she was not careful, she and her brother would have serious argument in public and the feelings she held regarding the marriage between herself and Zachary would become apparent.
"I can but wish you the same luck in marriage brother."
"I hardly think that will be so, you have used up the luck for both of us sister. But come and tell us how it feels to have a man declare he would die for you. After all that it is what all young girls dream of isn't it?"
"Some girls perhaps, but I sure you can recall brother, I have never been one for words." It would be far better if he did happen to die, before the ceremony preferably.
He smiled a benign smile at her, as if he were a great sovereign bestowing a gift. "My sister is very modest is she not? Come now sister, don't be shy, tell us how it feels to hold the life of Zachary Abbott in your hands."
"I give you warning brother; do not provoke me on the subject."
There was a pause, and Matthew looked shocked for a second at her announcement, did he not realize it was to make him aware of his friends still currently sitting in the room. There was silence for a minute, broken eventually by Crabbe sliding even further off edge of his chair.
"Come now sister, don't be shy, tell us how it feels to hold the life of Zachary Abbott in your hands." Matthew repeated the words deliberately. Throwing down the challenge at her feet.
Shock me Sister.
Hurt me Sister.
Humiliate me Sister.
Do your worst Sister.
The dark thrum of magic hummed beneath her skin, beating at her to break free.
"Tell me how you feel about Zachary Abbott's declaration sister."
Athalie snapped, her control finally breaking.
"Better he should kill for me."
She should not have said that.
Shock met her words. Apparently it was not an answer he was expecting, but then what did he expect? Had he forgotten that she had been in Slytherin as well? Matthew looked at her in stunned silence, not even glancing over to the loud thud of Crabbe sliding off his chair onto the floor.
"What use is a dead man?" She asked her brother bitterly. "Better he should kill for me. That is how I feel brother."
The threads of her self-control began to reach out to each other again, began to tether together. The temperature in the room took a sudden drop, and even the fire-burning fireplace did little to take away the chill.
The skin prickled along the back of her neck, the small hairs rising beneath the intensity of someone gaze. Montague's, she knew without a doubt there was no one else in the room that could make her feel as self conscious, that had such power.
"Does that answer your question brother?" Turning away from Matthew, she turned her gaze upon Montague, looking back boldly at him.
The connection was broken however as Matthew wrapped his hand around her arm, pulling her back to face him.
"Let go brother."
"Why, would you do harm against blood kin sister?"
Ignoring the question, she told him yet again to release her arm. The thin threads of self-control were fraying already and so far she had only released a small part of her temper, none of the magic surfacing beneath her skin.
"Make me sister." He challenged her.
"Distorqueo Intestunus!"
His hand that held her to him dropped abruptly as he fell to the ground with a howl, his arms curling around his stomach as if to protect himself. His body was jerking itself back and forth on the floor involuntarily, limbs wracked with muscle spasms.
"You have pushed me too far today brother."
Cries of alarms came from several of his friends, they stood tall having leapt from their seats, wary looks were cast in her direction, but they made no move towards her brother.
Only Montague looked back at her with indifference, curiosity shining in his eyes as he watched her reaction to the screams she'd induced in her brother.
Stepping out of reach, she passed through the doorway, and disappeared further down into the corridor. Matthew's screams trailed behind her, the voices of his friends barely discernable.
What she did hear quite clearly was a deep chuckle, and there was little doubt in her mind as to whom it belonged.
The sound of Matthew's cries drifted further away with each step Athalie took, and cut off abruptly as she disappeared back out into the gardens, the heavy door closing firmly behind her with a thud, its hinges squeaking with discontent.
Taking off at a run, she crossed the green lawns leading away from the manor down to the lake, taking shelter among the shady trees and dense foliage. She had no desire to be discovered just yet. The consequences of her actions would be brought upon her soon enough and she had no desire to feel their weight just yet.
She would have been in enough trouble had there been no audience, but to cause him such disgrace in front of his peers was unimaginable.
She would not be disturbed while she was here the soft rustling of the trees and the quiet lapping of the water would soothe her enough to face her face with a tranquillity bordering on lethargy. It would be of no use to scream and shout, to argue. At least not regarding her actions and the curse she'd cast upon her brother.
She had learnt long ago to pick her fights and the disagreement that would occur between her and father over her brother was nothing if she intended to win the fight over her impending marriage to Zachary Abbott.
Taking a deep breathe she felt the frantic beating of her heart slow and the energy pulsing through her blood decrease.
Pulling her hair from it's confines and her feet from her slippers she lay back on the thick grass to stare at the sky, determined to take her mind from its depressing thoughts and instead concentrate on a common pastime of cloud watching.
With a sigh she closed her eyes for a moment, once again becoming lost in her thoughts.
It was with reluctance sometime later she opened them.
A scream welled up as she took notice of the figure looming above her. It was stifled as hand closed over her mouth to keep her quiet. Wriggling Athalie reached down to grasp her wand, but another hand was faster. A sharp snap signalled the disposal of her wand, and the fragments were torn from her grasp.
Blunt teeth bit down on the hand covering her mouth, a hiss emerged from the figure above her. The hand was pulled from her grasp the same time a voice spoke. "Petrificus Totalus."
The spell froze her body, and the chuckle emitted from her captor had the same effect on her soul. Only her eyes were free to move, leaving her to do little more than scowl at Tristan Montague.
"Now there's a sight to behold." He commented, pleasure colouring his tone as he smirked down at her. His fingers skimmed over her face as he removed several strands of long hair that were obscuring her vision. "Such a pretty little thing, so innocent and pure," he teased, his hand trailing down the side of neck and coming to a halt when it was positioned over her the top of her breast. "And such a black little heart underneath it all."
Unable to make a scathing remark or to remove her body from his reach there was little that Athalie could do but glare angrily up at him. The look in her eyes however did little to deter him.
Instead he settled himself down next to her, his body pressed intimately against her own the upper half of him propped up by his elbow do that he could look down at her.
"A lesser wizard would ask where you came across that spell. A lesser wizard would ask if you knew what you were doing when you cast that curse. But rest assured, I shall not insult your intelligence.
The first time I saw you was at Hogwarts and you were placed upon that wobbly stool about to be sorted.
The first time I noticed you was January 23rd in 1923. You'd snuck into the library and were holed up in the restricted section.
The first time you caught my attention was on the 18th June and you shrunk John Potter's eardrums, you got detention for a week and twenty house points were deducted from Slytherin. It took 3 weeks for them to discover what curse you'd cast, and another week to discover the solution.
The first time I wanted you was on the 24th December 1927 at 9:47pm and the first time I realized I would have you was one minute later at 9:48pm.
Are you speechless my little sorceress?"
A murmured word and a flick of Tristan's wand released her from effects of the spell he'd cast.
Instantly she tried to roll away from him, but his hand slipped down to her waist stopping the motion and he leant over her to prevent her sitting up. Another flick of his wand and the silencing spell was cast, "Ssshhh," he whispered mockingly, and then the spell slithered off her, but the position of his body kept her still and quiet.
"Not so much speechless as disturbed." Athalie retorted perturbed by his nearness and past actions of which she centred. What normal person could remember such dates and times?
Athalie was unaware she had spoken the question aloud until Tristan answered it with a question of his own.
"What normal person knows spells to turn the intestines inside out?"
"I had limited reading material as a child."
"Indeed? That would explain your choices of breaking into the restricted section of the school library then." He conceded.
"I have very select tastes."
"Then we are of the same mind. It pleases me to know that you have no objections."
"Objections? Objections to what?"
"To our marriage." Said Tristan seriously. "I fear that the nuptials will have to be short and done with some haste, it would be unfortunate that you should be married to Abbott while waiting for me."
"My father would not allow such a union Montague."
"Your father would not be part of our marriage bed."
"Of course he would not, especially since we are never to share a marriage bed. Release me Montague, I shall be missed before long and wish to make my way to the manor before I am found in such a compromising position."
"My name is Tristan Athalie, I suggest you use it. And I care little for your father, he would not keep you from me whether he married you to another or not."
"While my father might have little to say to that, I imagine my husband certainly would."
Tristan snorted in amusement at the thought of Abbott standing up to him. "Hufflepuffs are loyal Athalie, not courageous or have you forgotten? Your father would give you a weak husband. You know this, you've thought it, said it even as you declared it would be better that he kill for you rather than die!
You might be married to him and I would still demand your company. There would be little that he could do that would stop me, and he wouldn't have the guts to even do that.
You are a beautiful witch; I have little doubt that there would be others that would seek favours. Do you believe him strong enough to keep them from you? Do you want to end up like Caitlin McNair? Treated as little more than a party favour? You must have heard the stories, who hasn't? You think the likes of Malfoy and Warrington care whether her husband is in the room when they bend her over the table to fuck her between starter and main course so they may work up an appetite?
Your father knows exactly what will happen to you if you marry Abbott. Doesn't seem to care very much does he?"
"Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!" Athalie felt to sick to her stomach, in vain she tried to bring her hands up to her ears so that she could block out Tristan's words but ruthlessly he held her still. It hurt to believe her father could put her in such a horrible, disgraceful position with such intent, that he wouldn't even care of the distress he would cause her.
It was disgusting to know the rumours that were always floating around were true! The reality of her situation was brought to the forefront of her mind as Tristan spoke of the degradation that would become a daily part of life if she married Abbott. It was one thing to know of such things and to have suspicions, it was yet another to be told exactly what would happen.
She might well be strong enough to hold off one or two, but she knew that she would be unable to do so indefinitely. It was the way of their world; the strong survived and took what they wanted while the weak were destroyed.
Much more of these thoughts and she would not be able to control herself. The shock of her betrothal to Zachary, the events of the afternoon with Matthew, and then these revelations were far too much for her to handle. She needed to compose herself.
"The branding." Athalie protested, clinging to that one lifeline.
"Oh…Athalie…" Tristan's hand came up to cup her cheek as he stared down at her in amazement. "Many of those brandings are nothing more than ink. Abbott knows." He whispered. "It was why we were brought here, to be given first claim should we want it-"
"No! Don't say it! Don't say it!" It wouldn't be true if he didn't say it. How could her family sell her out like this? Did she matter to them this little because she was a girl? How could they justify such things? This was not a crime committed in war, or against another family, this was a crime against their daughter! Their own flesh and blood!
Frantically she tried to push Tristan away; it was not safe for her to be alone with him. If he had responded to her fathers summons…
"Athalie," murmured Tristan gruffly trying to soothe her as he pulled her into his arms. She was still fighting him, god she made him proud. Even now, she struggled to preserve her dignity and self-control; even now she refused to shed those tears that were welling up inside her at such a bitter description of the future she would spend with Abbott.
He knew the vision of frailty she portrayed, the innocence and purity of her looks masked the backbone that held her head high, which helped her withstand her family's actions and Abbott's bumbling courtship.
Rolling over Tristan pulled Athalie with him, so that she now lay partly over him, he tightened his arms, pushing her head into the crook of his neck. It was a risky move should she decide to incapacitate him, but Athalie was not a stupid woman. The move would also help her feel a little better as well; she would be lulled into thinking that she had some kind of control over the situation.
She truly was a woman worthy of the Montague name, a woman he would willing call wife.
Her breathing had quieted, but as soon as he relaxed his grasp on her she began to draw away, an action that displeased him so he tightened his grip on her once again.
"Let me go Montague, it is improper." Athalie protested, her voice muffled by his robes.
A chuckle escaped Tristan, and he buried one of his hands into the thick stands of Athalie's hair watching with satisfaction as they slid between his fingers and trailed over the back of his hand.
"What is improper about a betrothed comforting the woman who is to become his wife?"
"Nothing, however I feel it imperative to point out to you that we are not betrothed, nor will we ever be, so therefore your behaviour is quite scandalous and I have no wish to be branded a harlot by association."
"If anyone ever insinuates such a thing they will have cause to regret it."
"I will give them no cause."
"Of course you won't, you'll be the perfect wife in society and everything else I could want in a women, in my wife behind closed doors."
"I will be nothing of yours Montague." Athalie spat having had enough of the charade that had been playing out.
Before she could remove herself out of his arms, Tristan wrenched her head back and flipped them over so that she was trapped beneath him. He crushed his lips against her own, the kiss hard as he took what he wanted with a savage intensity she'd never seen, never experienced in any man before.
"Never deny what is between us Athalie. Never ever deny the fact that you belong to me."
--------------------
Coming back to the world with a bump, Angelina turned back to the woman in the portrait, to Athalie, and stared at her for a long moment.
"W-what…what did you just do?"
A small laugh came from Athalie, "Nothing in this house is as it seems. Remember that Angelina, for it even applies to the men that own it."
Brushing off the comment with a frown, Angelina turned her attention to more important matters.
"So what happened afterwards?" She asked with a burning curiosity, now that she had seen the beginning of Athalie and Tristan she wanted to see the end, to know how he had changed into the man Athalie spoke so fondly of.
"That…" Athalie paused with a sigh, a small smile playing around the corners of her mouth. It was a true smile Angelina realized, a smile that portrayed happiness, the real thing not a front put up to convince others. "That is something that stays between Tristan and I, I'm sure there are memories that will stay just between you and Montague.
However I think it is a prerogative of all Montague's to make other wizards and circumstances so bad that as the alternative they seem heavenly."
An inelegant snort escaped Angelina breaking the moment of reflection Athalie was residing in. She'd rather think of it being insecurity rather than a prerogative, but who was she to judge?
"Well, if he hasn't created those memories yet you can be sure he will do soon. Was my grandson that inept at the Missum ceremony? Surely you must understand that he has not performed such a ritual before."
"I have no idea how apt your grandson was at such a ritual!" Seeing the confusion on Athalie's face Angelina expanded her explanation. "I woke up like this. I went to sleep and the following morning I woke alone with this giant tattoo stretched across my back and a necklace that will not allow me to take it off! So tell my Athalie, how apt is your precious grandson Alexander?"
"You weren't awake for it? Well, that a new approach to be sure!"
"How do I get rid of the necklace and the tattoo? How do I put an end to the effects of this ceremony? How do I break this supposed 'marriage?'?"
The pleasant demeanour that Athalie had portrayed so far in their encounter faded, a serious look entering her eyes, her mouth forming a grim line.
"Allow me to impart a piece of very valuable advice Angelina. Never deny the relationship or connection between you and Alexander, either in private or the company of others whether he is present or not. Tristan warned me once, and I made sure never to mention it again, it would have only ended badly.
Moreover, I dread to think of Alexander's reaction considering you were not an active participant in the binding ceremony. If I did not know my grandson better I would assume those bruises covering your skin were left by his hand."
No, Montague had never raised his hand to her. He grabbed her, shook her, snarled at her and trapped her body with his own but he had never hit her. The only bruises Montague ever left upon her skin were the result of a long night spent together.
"Montague has done many things, but he hasn't hit me." Said Angelina. Just to clarify things, not because she was defending him although the smirk on Athalie's face assured her it was only herself she was fooling. It was that which made her add as an afterthought, "Well not recently at any rate."
"He hit you?" For the first time in their meeting Athalie's voice rose.
Angelina shrugged absently. "What happens on the Quidditch pitch stays on the Quidditch pitch."
"But other than that?"
"Well there was one time back in my 5th year at Hogwarts but he was aiming for Fred and I got in the way. Clipped my chin." Angelina glanced up at Athalie, and took note of her pale countenance. "Why, did Tristan beat you?"
"Never! Tristan may have been a bastard to everyone he knew but never to me! We might have had arguments like every married couple but he never lifted his wand or hand to me like my father often did to my mother.
Say such a thing about my husband again and you shall not enjoy your time here as Mistress. Portrait or not my power still reaches far."
Realizing she had hurt Athalie, rather than caused offence, Angelina apologized to the woman, guilty to having jumped to such conclusions. Her words were just in time as Athalie made to depart the picture.
There was a grave look on her face as Athalie spoke again after a long moment. "You will come to understand before long child. Tristan was never a paragon of virtue, no man is…but, Montague men as I am sure you have realised are so much more. Vengeful, manipulative, ambitious, greedy, not loyal to anyone other than those they care for. Montague men can be very dangerous.
There is not much that you can defend them in and that hurts child, to listen to slander about the one you love and to know that you cannot defend them because it is true. Not that they need you to fight their corner but you will want to, you will want the world to see the man that you have seen in them, the man that you fell in love with, the man they are with you.
When you find something you can defend them in, it is easy to get carried away."
"I truly am sorry Athalie. I never meant to insult him."
"I know. If you had meant too I would have left by now. But for all his faults, Tristan was a good husband to me. It was unfortunate our son lacked a backbone but none of the Montague vices, a trait that comes from my bloodline to be sure."
"What happen to Montague's father?" Angelina enquired tentatively.
"His ambition killed him; it could have destroyed the family, everything that we have worked for throughout the generations if Alexander took after his father and not his grandfather."
"His mother?"
A hint of the same underlying steel entered her voice and ice into her eyes, much the same as when she'd defended Tristan. "She turned traitor to the Montague family and she was dealt with accordingly."
"Montague." Angelina whispered to herself. Montague had killed his own mother for betraying their family.
"It was him or her; do not hold this against him." Athalie told her. There was a quick quirk of her lips and then she spoke again. "It might be better if you got into the habit of addressing Alexander by his first name, you might find that he is surprisingly more receptive to any schemes you concoct, or any advances you make."
Angelina spoke haltingly; not wanting to upset such a font of information especially considering the woman was a younger version of Montague's grandmother. "You seem very happy and secure in your position of the Montague family despite your initial…doubts." Floundering Angelina settled on the word but it still seemed inadequate for what she was trying to say. "Did you not feel suppressed, suffocated at all by the tattoo and necklace?"
Athalie studied her with narrowed eyes, a slight frown marring the smooth features she was blessed with.
"I don't wish to-"
"My grandson has not spoken at all on these subjects?" She asked.
Angelina shook her head mutely.
"I suggest you pull up a seat child, there is much to tell and I have no doubt that you will be plagued by questions once I have completed my narrative."
Crossing over to the large dressing table, Angelina withdrew the seat from under it and moved it across so that she could face Athalie as they spoke.
"I suppose it is better to start at the beginning," She mused. "So that is what I shall do. As you know many years ago, unions between witches and wizards were based on far more than love.
Essentially both the tattoo and the necklace are used as components to ensure that the women will never leave her husband, that no matter what he might do she will not walk away. You might find in time however, that such things are not needed to keep you by his side as I did.
The branding ritual, or ceremony, whichever you prefer, was introduced after a particularly powerful wizard was cuckolded and murdered by his wife and her lover. Initially the brand was used as a way to mark a wizard's property, a sort of chastity belt. Whether a woman wanted a lover or not was irrelevant, so long as she was bound by the ritual such a thing was not possible, and as an extra precaution the spell was crafted so that the wife would be unable to attack her husband through her own will or another's.
Who attacked you?"
"Warrington."
Athalie nodded and continued. "When he attacked, he used magic, yes?" She asked for confirmation. "And each spell he cast only took hold momentarily before sliding off?"
Angelina nodded for a second time agreeing to the question that was posed more as a statement.
"It's built into the ritual as a protection component. The tattoo is specifically for your own safety and co-operation through either fear or lust. You see, originally the tattoo was little more than a brand, but over time modifications have been made to it.
In 1418, Henry Montague married his wife Esme. Neither of them cared for the marriage but they were both of an acceptable age, and an alliance was needed between the two families. Henry came up with the idea of being able to control his wife through the tattoo with the threat of lust or pain.
His wife made the affair of heirs difficult for him. Esme hated the Henry, and it was said that he did not care much for her. Henry often confessed that she was a nag and a nuisance when he had drank far too much mead. However, his wife was also a woman obsessed with self-control, and was not prone to bouts of hysteria.
At this point in their marriage she had bore him one son, but Henry wished for other children. They were useful in forming connections and allegiances such as his own marriage had been but he was also aware of the mortality rate among children and wanted an insurance policy as such.
Esme was adverse to this; as far as she was concerned, she had completed her duty to her husband.
Henry could have forced her, no one would have questioned it she was after all his wife, little more than a possession he could do what he wanted with. The idea of raping the women that would become the mother of his children was distasteful. What effect would it have on the child in her womb should he be lucky enough that she should conceive?
Henry let this pass and set about improving the brand his wife wore. In the end, he was able to induce lust or pain, and through those, fear.
Esme as you can imagine was not particularly pleased by this latest turn of events, although from Henry's point of view the marriage became much more acceptable. He'd found a way to curb his wife's displeasing tendencies as he only had to mention how much he enjoyed her lack of restraint. There were another four children born within the following four years.
You see the tattoo also allows each partner to understand what the other craves, needs during the union. Although that modification was made later by Henry's son Lester."
The last part of Athalie's speech caught her attention and a memory rose from where it had been banished to the back of her mind.
Even in the darkness of the room, and the shadows he was hidden in, she could see the ire in his eyes, the straight lines of his body as he watched her. Fingers shot out, grabbing her chin in a punishing grip and much to her later dismay, she gave a whimper as lips covered hers in a brutal kiss. Montague's tongue forced it's way passed her own, dominating her tongue, and taking possession of her mouth.
Something inside told her to relax, and she obeyed allowing her body to become passive as she stopped fighting the intrusive kiss. She was rewarded almost immediately, as if sensing she had submitted to his will Montague's grip on her jaw slackened and his hand burrowed up into her hair as the frenzied kiss slowed down to a more familiar pace, no less brutal, no less demanding, no less possessive, but almost leisurely.
Breaking away from the though of Montague's kiss another thought occurred.
"Well, what about the necklace how does that tie into the tattoo?"
"Once again the necklace was designed with the safety of the Mistress in mind. The necklace unlike the tattoo is a blood binding. This means that any particularly strong emotions are felt by the other, either pain or desire."
So it hadn't been her then. The attack in her kitchen had been made on Montague, not her. She'd merely felt the side effects of it.
A scream tore from her throat as knees buckled beneath her sending her crashing to the floor. She didn't register that she scream she had heard was her own until pain unlike she had ever felt before ripped through her body, whimpers and cries, choked screams and gasps for air were pulled from her body as she curled up into a foetal position on the floor.
Kat lurched up from her chair hearing the tremendous thud and scream of her sister. "Angie? Angie?" Her hand reached out to touch her sister but was withdrawn as if burnt when her sister's torment only increased.
Angelina's fingers scrabbled over the floor, fists clenching and unclenching as if searching for something that she dig her fingers in.
It was so difficult to breathe! So difficult! So painful! She whimpered. Oh god, it was unlike anything that she had ever felt before. Vaguely she heard her name being called by a hazy voice that seemed familiar. Hands were touching her even as she told them to stop!
There was something cold and heavy around her throat but it provided little comfort. There was a burning sensation on her lower back that was reminiscent of when Montague had been proving a point but this was intensified a hundred times.
What was happening to her? What was causing this?
As quickly as the pain started it stopped leaving her as a heaving sweating mass lying on her kitchen floor. Dimly she was aware of the fact that she was shaking, trembling throughout and that her eyes were still squeezed shut. Pain still lingered, but it was a dull aching sensation now, nothing like the hot sharp pain previously
"The stone also holds the location or locations of whoever's blood it holds. That means that any tracers, or location spells put out looking for you or Alexander will be unable to find either of you.
The stronger the bond between the witch and the wizard, and the more powerful the wizard the stronger the necklace and its capabilities.
Understand child, the tattoo was designed with the witch solely in mind, either through fear or through lust, while the necklace was crafted for the safety of both. It links together emotions, you cannot shut Alexander out."
"But-"
"Try all you wish Angelina, but it is impossible, any strong emotions felt by either party had to be known by the other. The necklace not only draws on magic but on emotions as well. Trying to block the partner, you are linked to will do nothing but let them know you wish to shut them out.
And one thing with Montague men is that when they are denied something they fight all the harder for it and far dirtier by our standards.
Why do you think that Montague gave you no choice in the matter of your position in our family and the treasures he has bestowed on you?"
"Choice? What choice? Had Montague raised this matter with me there would have been no choice to make!"
"You would have refused him." Athalie told her sagely, taking the very words from her mouth, although phrased in a far more polite manner.
"Exactly!"
Now Athalie was smiling at her, laughter lurking in her eyes as she agreed. "Exactly."
Angelina had stood previously in the excitement of her exclamation. She slumped back down in the tall backed chair as realization hit her. She was so tired. Tired of fighting, losing, and being confused and overestimating herself.
"Do not be disheartened Angelina. Alexander must think a lot of you if he is willing to go to such lengths to secure you for himself."
She immediately rejected the words spoken. "I would have been happier without him! If he thought so much of me why doesn't he leave me alone?"
"He will make you happy child. If he decides to make you happy he will succeed." A proud smile broke out across her face. "He is a Montague. One worthy of his place. A man that will accept only the best of whatever life offers.
"He may be all that for you Athalie, but don't expect me to feel the same way about him! He may do what he wishes with his life but he can leave me out of it. I won't be controlled by him; I won't be controlled by any man!"
"Everyone is controlled by something or someone girl. Whether is hate, fear, anger or lust, love, duty, mother, father, brother, sister, husband, or wife. It makes no difference. Everyone is controlled something. The only thing you can do is find out what your weakness is and try to overcome it. If my grandson can control you, make sure that you are equally capable of controlling him."
"I…I can't believe…that, this! This is your advice to me! I don't care about controlling Montague-"
"Alexander." Athalie chided.
"- I just want to be rid of him."
"Well that will prove to be somewhat of a problem!"
"Earlier! Earlier you called his actions a 'new approach!' What did you mean by that?"
"When each of the rituals takes place, they are slightly similar to a wedding ceremony. A wedding allows each of the participants their chance to object or make their vows accordingly. In the wedding however both must speak to make their vows and voice their agreement. In these rituals such words are not needed, by not objecting you were agreeing."
"But I was unconscious!"
There was a small shrug, but no show of sympathy from Athalie as she dismissed Angelina's words with a wave of her hand. "That is of little matter. There is more than one way to skin a puffskin."
"But it's ridiculous." Protested Angelina, dismay echoing in her words. "Do you have any idea the number of marriages witches could be forced into if this became common knowledge?"
"Don't be stupid child. Even in my day very few knew of such magic. Even back then the purebloods were beginning to die out, as children became more headstrong and dangerous, more of a liability to parents fewer and fewer of them were taught these spells and curses. And even then, not all of them had the ability to cast them. No more than a handful have that kind of power, you were simply unlucky that you attracted Alexander's attention and he is one of the few that has such power."
"That's it? That is all you can say? It's 'unlucky' that I attracted 'Alexander's attention,' and that he is one of the few with the 'ability' to cast such spells! That makes it alright?! That just because I've been trapped into this sham it doesn't mean that all witches do!" So angry that she was having trouble forming words Angelina stood abruptly from the chair, the legs grating on the marble floor of the bathroom. It…it was beyond comprehension. It was just as well Montague wasn't the one telling her, other wise she'd be held up for murder before you could say avada kedava! Stomping away from the rim of the bath, she started pacing trying to rid the energy swirling inside her.
The stone around her throat went cold, and the impression of Montague, frowning at her in concern pushed itself into her minds eye. Enraged that he would even interrupt what little solitude and sanity she had left in her mind, and hardly thinking about what she was doing she sent the full force of her anger down their little link. "Bastard!" She hissed spitefully between clenched teeth.
"His parents were married when he was born, even if they were not when he was conceived." Athalie informed her. She watched Angelina for a few moments with pursed lips and narrowed eyes. "My grandson did well in choosing you, although I begin to wonder if he has bitten off more than he can chew and finally meet him match.
Make sure you keep him on his toes child!" A gay laugh rose from her throat. "Montague men march all over you if you're not careful!" With those parting words she turned and disappeared out of the portrait.
"Wait!" Angelina called out belatedly, but Athalie had already left her alone. "I've still got so many…questions."
Questions that it appeared she would have to answer herself. Taking a deep breath, Angelina tried to look at things objectively.
Ok…deep breath…Now, Montague had tied the necklace around her throat, and stamped his mark upon her back on movie night. He wouldn't have had time to do it when Charlotte or Kat were present, from what she had gleaned from Athalie they would have taken up a large portion of the night. Ok so thinking back…
Pulling the locks into place behind her, Angelina walked over to the couch and coffee table where she started gathering the wine glasses and napkins, taking them into the kitchen so she could wash up and dispose of the rubbish.
She jumped when she felt him kiss the base of her neck, felt him smile against the skin at her reaction, his hands trailed down her arms, and removed the items out of them.
"From one kind of work to another." He mumbled as he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her against him. "What say we move this into the bedroom? Unless you'd like me to screw you over the kitchen counter?"
Angelina didn't say anything. What was there to say? She was trapped. There was no way out, was there? Who could she go to? With those thoughts spinning around her head, she allowed herself to be led away.
And then after that, nothing. Nada. Zilch. Zip. The next thing she was aware of was waking up and vomiting.
Now, the next question was how. If what Athalie said was true, then the chances were that Montague had either drugged her or cast a sleeping spell so that she would not oppose him during the rituals and put an early end to his plans. That would also explain what Fred had ranted and raved about during the Ministry Ball. How he had bellowed at her for allowing Montague to do such a thing, and she had screamed back, albeit silently, that she hadn't allowed him to do anything. She'd been adamant then, and she still was now.
And Montague knew then, just as he knew now that she would not be receptive to such a thing, and that was in part responsible for the course of action he had chosen. It was no excuse, but at least she could understand the reasoning behind it.
Although why she would want to understand him was beyond her.
So, the big subject up for debate now is what does this mean for her? Athalie referred to her as the current mistress, which meant she was essentially Montague's wife. A position that she had though of as more repulsive, especially now she was stuck in it. She had neither the time nor desire for wizarding politics that came with such a title.
She was not a witch whose sole aim in life was to deplete the Montague gallons that were gathering dust in the family vaults. She had little interest in the kind of charities that such women represented, where the names of members and founders were more important than the cause.
And by the magic in her blood Montague would understand that.
---------------
A/N: So, what do you think?