A Flawless Matrimony

Title: A Flawless Matrimony

Author: Emerald Essence

Rating: I would recommend this for readers aged 15 and over, though I've put the rating at PG13.

Summary: It's seven years since The Battle Of The Dark Lord and Hermione is broken. With nobody and no-one, she decides to solve her problems with an arranged marriage... but will she be able to love her husband and confront her past? A HG/DM romance.

Disclaimer: The characters are copyright of J.K.Rowling and a lot of the plot is stolen from Mills & Boon novels I read now and then when I need a romance fix. However I think this fic is quite different to most of the others out there, though I may be wrong- there's far too many to be sure.

Notes: I began writing this fanfiction shortly after seeing The Prisoner Of Azkaban at the cinema, and was inspired by Alfonso's brilliant directing; soon I realised this was going to be more of a novel than a short story. At first it may seem a little confusing but I think if you stick with it, it will be worthwhile. I know that I love writing it anyway. Please review and tell me what you think.

Chapter 1 Mrs Malfoy

It is often said a woman looks her most beautiful on her wedding day, and Hermione was no exception. She adjusted her veil and took calming breaths that failed to quell her nerves. Large, frightened brown eyes gazed out from a thin but pretty face, which was framed with long brown curls reaching down to the small of her back. They had been coaxed into corkscrew tendrils instead of the usual frizzy tangle, and she'd even been given a beautiful ivory gown with a billowing skirt so she would look the part. But no matter how much she looked like a bride, she certainly didn't feel like one.

"How did I get myself in this mess," she whispered quietly, fingering the diamond tiara nestling amongst her hair. For the first time in years she had a powerful urge to cry, but she resisted; not only would it show everyone that something was wrong, but it would ruin the makeup they had caked on her not ten minutes ago.

It had been seven long years since The Battle Of The Dark Lord, but even now Hermione couldn't bring herself to talk about it. How could she ever explain the guilt she felt inside at being the only living survivor? How could she even begin to put into words the terror and despair she'd felt when Harry and Ron had died? And how could she possibly live with the fact that people blamed her for their deaths?

She had taken the coward's way out ever since, and gone into hiding with a new name: Mary Whittaker. A plain, unremarkable name that nobody would recognise as the confident and intelligent girl she had once been. To avoid the risk of being noticed, she had become a recluse, speaking to nobody and whenever possible and living off the bare essentials. But when money had ran out, she found herself broke and with no way of paying bills...

So it had seemed like a miracle when she'd spotted an advertisement in the Daily Prophet:

"Wanted: a well-spoken Pureblood woman aged 20-28 for a convenience marriage. Guaranteed comfort, security and happiness for rest of life. Reasons are financial. If interested, please contact Gibson Lawyers via the Floo Network to arrange an interview."

Hermione had been so desperate she had taken the chance, so poor that she overlooked the lack of name and the sleaziness of the offer. To her surprise she had passed the interview and been told by the lawyers that she would make a suitable wife for the man, who remained unnamed. In return of becoming his spouse, she would live in a comfortable house for the rest of her life, enter into money, be secure and want for nothing. Hermione wasn't a superficial person: she just knew that if she didn't take the opportunity, she would have to live on the streets. The reason for the marriage, she was told, was so that the unnamed man could claim a fortune that he had been left in his father's will. Apparently, he was only allowed the money if he married a Pureblood.

That was six months ago, and Hermione still hadn't been allowed to see her future husband. She didn't even know his name. After musing on the subject, she had come to a decision that he must consider himself very ugly if he didn't want her to see him. Not that she cared- after all, why did his looks matter? She was doing this only because she had to, and she didn't expect any sort of fondness, let alone love, to come into the relationship.

Another thing that worried her was the lying. She had to pretend to be a Pureblood so she could marry him, and had even had to fake birth certificates and family trees to show the lawyers. Hermione wasn't a natural liar, but after seven years of practice, becoming Mary Whittaker was now easy to her. She'd left behind her own identity, and become Miss Whittaker, a twenty-six year old Pureblood with no ounce of Muggle in her.

She stopped pondering her fate and glanced around at her surroundings. They were getting married in a wizarding church, and she was stood outside, surrounded by dozens of lawyers, chatting earnestly and writing things down in notebooks. The sky was cloudless and a sun shone down merrily, but it did nothing to improve Hermione's mood. When she was younger she'd always dreamed about marrying for love and envisaged a handsome prince sweeping her off her feet and taking her to a beautiful, exquisite church where all her relatives would watch and cry and say how perfect they were together.

The church was large and looming with immense towers and leering gargoyles flanking the entrance, their eyes cold and blank. The presence of the huge building overwhelmed her, and she blinked back her tears. She needed to get away now, and fast, before it was too late-

"Miss Whittaker," said one of the top lawyers, Mr Hastings. He was a tall man with a mop of dark brown hair and startling green eyes that peered out behind spectacles. "It's time to begin the ceremony now. Are you okay? Nervous?"

"I'm o-o-okay," Hermione stammered, feeling comforted by the lawyer's friendly tone. Mr Hastings had been the lawyer that had dealt with most of the enquiries, and she thought of him almost as a friend. "I wish I could have seen him first though."

"My employer wishes that your wedding day will be the first time you set eyes on each other, Mary," Mr Hastings answered. "If you are worried that he will find you in someway unsuitable, you have no need to fear. I have been his companion for a long time and know how his mind works; I am fully confident you will be everything he wishes."

She didn't trust herself to speak. She nodded, and took his arm when it was offered as they progressed up the steps. He would be waiting for her at the end of the aisle: her future husband.

---

Draco Malfoy shuffled slightly, scuffing his black expensive shoes on the stone floor. What was taking so long? Perhaps she was having second doubts, whoever she was. Well, it was too late now. He'd been waiting to inherit the thousands of Galleons his late father Lucius had left him for three years now, and he wasn't going to lose the chance now. Still, he wasn't exactly confident himself.

If I weren't such a freak, he thought to himself furiously, then I wouldn't have to be doing this. I could have married someone I knew.

If he hadn't been so- disfigured- then he could have married one of the ex-Slytherins from Hogwarts, like Pansy Parkinson or even Millicent Bulstrode if he was desperate. Any of them would be willing to take a greedy snatch at his money and revel in the pride of his last name, but he thought most of them would be repelled by his deformity. He hated it that people avoided looking at him, or flinched when they saw him: he most certainly didn't want that from his wife. And that was the reason he had gone to such lengths so that the girl would not see him, know his name or have anything to do with him beforehand, to minimise the risk of her backing out.

Alex Hastings, his confidante and lawyer, had confirmed to him her beauty. "She's very pretty, Draco," he had answered. "Not in the usual way- not conventionally beautiful. But attractive all the same, in a meek sort of way. And she's a lovely girl, very polite, well-spoken, good manners, seems to have good breeding."

"And you're positive that this Miss Whittaker is a Pureblood?" he had asked, time and time again.

"Yes," Alex had replied. "I've seen the papers."

Draco was brought back down to earth with a clash as he heard the church organ break into its first notes of the familiar wedding tune that had been played at every Malfoy wedding for centuries. It meant she was coming down the aisle. He didn't dare to turn his head; only concentrated on staring straight into space and the vicar that was stood directly in front of him. As long as he kept his back to her, she wouldn't scream and run away. As long as he put off making eye contact with her, the wedding would go smoothly.

---

Hermione felt everyone's eyes on her as she traveled down the aisle, which seemed to go on forever. Mr Hastings had hold of her arm as a father usually would (Hermione's own parents had died from Lord Voldemort's attacks eight years previous) and seemed to be holding her upright.

A man was waiting for her at the end of the aisle, but he had his back to her. All she could see was the back of his head, which was covered with white-blonde carefully slicked hair. Something about that colour seemed familiar. How often was it you meet people with that exact shade of white-blonde hair, so pale yet somehow so bright? For the life of her she couldn't pinpoint exactly who it reminded her of.

As she came closer, she noticed he was very tall and broad shouldered, and he wore the usual black suit with expensive designer shoes. He was tapping one of them, probably with impatience, and the sound reverberated around the silent stony building.

"Good luck," came Mr Hastings' whisper, and she found herself being pulled level with the man, standing mere inches away from him. The lawyer himself stepped back and gave her a huge, warm smile that gave Hermione a tiny bit more confidence. She still didn't dare look at the man.

"Dearly beloved..." The vicar began his speech, and she raised her eyes to examine his appearance; he was a small, balding man with a melancholy expression, as though he would much rather be doing something else. Everything seemed too unreal. This was her wedding day, for Christ's sake! She should at least have the guts to look at her future husband!

Hermione pulled her gaze away from the vicar and onto the person next to her- and had to stop herself from crying out. It was Draco Malfoy! That evil, sneering, sarcastic, cruel little bastard from Hogwarts, whose father had once been a supporter of Voldemort himself! He carried on looking at the ground as she searched his features. She could only see half of his face, which had a handsome, hawkish look to it, though it was pale and drawn. The nose was long and straight, the eyes a cloudy, indeterminable gray and the jaw strong and defiant, and there was a definite aura of temper around him.

She turned away, her heart pounding. He hadn't noticed her yet. What could she do? As soon as she looked at her, he would recognise her as Hermione Granger, a halfblood and hated enemy of his. He would spot her and cancel the marriage! Maybe that was what she wanted... but if she didn't secure herself some money, she would starve. She had absolutely nothing, and needed this matrimony to take place. She would have to make sure he didn't look at her until after they had said their vows...

Hermione realised the vicar had stopped talking, and raised her head a little as she heard Malfoy answer "I will." He sounded grim, but determined. It would be her turn in a minute: she wasn't so sure she'd be able to manage the words.

"And you, Miss Mary Elizabeth Whittaker. Do you promise to love, honour and cherish your husband as long as you both shall live?"

The silence was deafening. Hermione's mouth puckered and she mouthed the words, but they didn't seem to come out. The precious few seconds felt like years, until finally she managed, "I w-w-will."

Well, that bit was over- now it was the rings. She was dimly aware of Mr Hastings stepping forwards and pressing something into her hand, then doing the same with her husband, before stepping back again. Malfoy had turned now and seemed to be facing her, so she propelled herself so that she too was standing directly in front of him. Keeping her head far down, she allowed her hand to be grasped in his. It was the hand of a rich man, a man who had never done a day's work in his life. The diamond encrusted golden ring that slid onto her finger proved that expense had not been spared with the wedding, despite its farcical situation.

It was her turn now. She pushed the golden ring she held onto his own appropriate finger, her hands shaking and her breath coming raggedly. Could he tell how petrified she was? Had he spotted her yet?

"You may now kiss the bride."

It was now or never- she lifted her head up and met brutal eye contact with those stormy eyes that widened with recognition. His mouth dropped open and for a terrifying moment she thought he was going to shout and bellow. But it wasn't just that. Fighting a terrible urge to scream, she pressed her eyes shut and felt his lips graze her cheek roughly.

He had changed a hell of a lot since Hogwarts. Down his left cheek, stretching from the corner of his left eye right down to his chin, ran an ugly, ragged scar that ravaged his whole appearance, its harsh and hideous line standing out from the pallor of his cheek. The shock of it had made her flinch with repulsion- and worst of all, he had noticed.

Hopefully it was clear what was going on, but if it wasn't, don't hesitate to tell me. Hermione is now under the identity of Mary Whittaker, Draco has a scar... both of them had their pre-nuptial secrets! In the future: how Draco got the scar, exactly what happened the day Harry and Ron died, plus lots of tension between our favourite characters!