With this ring I thee wed.
Draco took her hand in his, and Ginny resisted the temptation to yank it away. She knew better than to antagonize him in public; she knew better in private, too, but that hadn't stopped her yet.
His face was a mask of dignified grace, but she caught the smirk in his eyes. It caused one strange set of heady, rebellious emotions to erupt from her heart, and another set of the sickening kind to settle in the pit of her stomach.
He slid a gold band onto her left ring finger, neatly placing it next to the engagement band he'd cursed her with a few months prior. She couldn't help but feel smug as she remembered the battle she'd given him over that – he'd nearly had to tie her up in order to manage to force the thing onto her, and then spell it every which way to stay.
Of course, remembering the consequences of her battle left her little to feel smug about. The sickening, sinking feeling came back.
With my body I thee worship.
He slid his thumb over her cold hand, and a chill ran through her body. A tiny, bitter voice wondered how sacrilegious a devotee the man could be. He was the opposite of reverent, the opposite of awed. No, he was quick to remind her that she was beneath him—unless he was in the mood for her to be otherwise.
He lifted her other hand and caught her eyes once more, clearly basking in his victory. She'd seen that look before – the first night, and the first time she'd cried, and every time she begged. This time, however, he had an audience, and he was gloating.
She stuffed her temper deep inside and made a note to let him have it later. Damn his punishments.
With all my worldly goods I thee endow.
He squeezed her hands with finality and dropped them, then swept her into his arms for a picture-perfect kiss—though the camera couldn't feel the sharp grip he had at the back of her neck, or hear the whispered, "You're mine," as he broke it away.
A derisive snort threatened to bubble up alongside the wave of anxiety that washed over her. Draco Malfoy might have her as his wife, but he'd never have her heart.
She'd show him a honeymoon.
A/N: Whew. Came in at 397 words. I was worried about this one.
If you're wondering, these vows are where the prompt comes in – they're from the sixteenth century – and the fact that only Draco says them is rather archaic, too.