See chatper one for disclaimers.
"So, what you're saying is that this little piece of jewelry," for emphasis, Harry held his hand up close to Hermione's nose, "is going to make me marry Draco Malfoy?"
"Well," Hermione shifted in her seat opposite Harry and stole a quick look at Ron. "When you put it that way, it sounds stupid."
Ron rolled his eyes and played idly with his knife, a subconscious movement he'd been indulging in for the past few hours, which was beginning to make Harry very nervous.
Harry sighed and looked down at his-Draco's-ring. "And you say it means I'm…" he swallowed convulsively and shuddered in disgust, "his true love?"
"That's the rumor." Hermione hesitated and then shrugged, "At least, it's what all the girls are saying."
"You know what I think?" Ron interrupted, and hurried on before Hermione could say that she didn't care what he thought, "I think that it's an evil plan, thought up by You-Know-Who, to make Harry marry Malfoy and spend the rest of his life under that git's evil thumb."
"Which git?"
"Vol-," Ron narrowed his eyes, annoyed at almost having been tricked into saying the Dark Lord's name, "You-Know-Who."
"I do?" Harry's voice was amused.
"Well, I think that it would be much too obvious a plan for You-Know-Who to try to pull." Hermione interrupted them, and then smoothed her robes and straightened her Prefect's badge. "Harry could always actually be Malfoy's true love."
Harry made a gagging noise and Ron scoffed at her, "It's not too obvious a plan for Malfoy to pull, though."
Hermione looked up at him in surprise. "Do you think he really would?" She turned her look on Harry, her gaze becoming scrutinizing. "But why?"
"So…" Ron trailed off, then frowned, "so he could marry Harry and make the rest of his life miserable?"
Hermione shook her head, "I rather think that they would make each other's lives miserable. I think we have two options here… we can tell Malfoy that you're the one who's got his blasted ring, or we can research. We know practically nothing about the whole thing… and the paper hasn't been exactly clear on how it works."
Harry threw her a sharp look, "I don't plan on having that conversation with Malfoy any time soon."
"I thought that would be how you felt. Well, then. We have to find some way to cover that thing up. It's remarkable that no one saw it."
"I was hiding my hand in the folds of my robe. Besides, my sleeves are still longer than my arms," Harry demonstrated, letting his sleeve drop back over his fingers, falling past his knuckles. "And everyone was looking at Malfoy anyway."
Hermione looked doubtful, "I doubt that it will work for long, but it seems to be our only option for now. I'll look into finding a way to hide it later."
"Research," Ron plastered on a clearly fake smile and settled back into his corner, having sidled away from Hermione halfway through her explanation into Harry's new dilemma, "I love research."
Harry's light was on later than all the others that night as the sixth year Gryffindor boys' dorm settled into comfortable silence. Dean snored softly, Neville mewled and turned over in his bed, and Ron's face was smashed into the comforter below his pillow. Seamus silently dozed, shifting every moment or so.
Harry stared into the darkness, breathing shallowly, trying to think past the mental block that had asserted itself at Hermione's insistent, "Engaged. Draco Malfoy."
Logically, he knew that no one could force him to marry Draco Malfoy. He also knew that, if Draco himself were aware of the circumstances, he'd be as disturbed by the possible implications as Harry was.
Still, Harry felt… angry.
For three weeks this ring, up till today, had been like a gift from Sirius. Some kind of revelation from his dead Godfather. It had made the nights go easier. It had even made the nightmares go away. He no longer dreamt painful memories of Sirius' death. He no longer saw Voldemort's face.
It had all become like a memory, unreal.
His eyes felt heavy now, but he was determined to avoid sleep at all costs. He was almost certain his sleep would be interrupted this evening on mere principle. Now that he knew that his ring was nothing but a gaudy Malfoy trinket, there was nothing to reassure him that Sirius was safe. There was nothing to reassure him that his rest would be peaceful that night.
No reason to let his eyes fall heavily closed against the glow of his wand.
A moment later, the glow faded from gold to blue and a breeze picked up through the room. Harry stirred, fighting to keep his eyes open, and then froze and shot up in bed at a sharp, horrified yell.
"Oh Merlin!"
The voice was sharp and feminine, though harsh with pain. The yell heightened to a scream, twisting in agony, and Harry shot up from his bed, grabbing his wand up off of his bedside table as he went.
He stopped at Ron's bed first, shaking the redhead vigorously, and cursing when his best friend would not stir. He tried each of his dorm-mates, but no one would wake from their slumber.
Then the screaming stopped, and Harry could barely make out harsh panting, before a soft, dying groan snapped him back into action.
He shot to the dormitory door, planning to seek out the suffering woman on his own, and flung it open… to find, instead of a hallway leading to the stairs down to the Gryffindor Common room, a bedroom. It was decorated in rich, deep purple. There were hardwood floors, scrubbed meticulously shiny, and high, gothic windows throwing moonlight in patches. The room was lit with several tapered candles, and was void of all furniture save a high wing-backed chair against the far wall and a large, luxurious bed, covered in purple and lilac silks.
He hesitated, but flew forward at a whimper of pain from amidst the sheets.
There lay a woman, round with child, fingers twisting as she writhed in pain on her bed, unattended by a maid, husband, or midwife. Her hair was a vibrant, pale blonde, slick with sweat and plastered against her forehead.
Her wide, blue eyes rolled in their sockets wildly before landing on him. She stretched out her arm, panting, and he quickly moved forward to take her hand in his.
"Where is your mediwizard?" He asked, panicked.
She drew in a deep breath and, squeezing his hand, answered him in German, which he found to his surprise he could now understand. "Listen to me, child."
She licked her lips and pulled on his hand in an attempt to bring him closer. He pulled away, looking anxiously around for someone to help her, "Who should I call for?"
"Call for no one, child. Help is here."
Harry looked around again, turning back to her, meeting her calm eyes with his own, frantic gaze. "Me?"
"Nein." She shook her head, then grimaced and shivered, her right hand soothing her stomach, her left hand clasping and unclasping his.
Their rings clacked together.
He pulled at his left hand, suddenly remembering what he'd been trying to hide all day long, but was drawn in by her once again calm gaze.
"You will solve it. Listen to me."
His eyes flew down to their intertwined hands, and he sagged against the bed to see that their rings matched perfectly. He met her eyes again, and she nodded.
"We are one, you and I. I will protect you. So much like my husband."
His breath caught as she moaned in agony again. "Let me help you-"
"Nein. No one can help us now, child. We must help ourselves. I will protect you as I could not protect him. I will give you what you most deserve… what he most desired."
"What?"
But she would say no more, her mouth opening into a shriek of pure pain, and Harry was shoved forward-and pulled abruptly back.
"Harry?"
"Wha-huh?"
Harry spun around in the darkened hallway, coming face to face with his best friend and several worried housemates.
"You were yelling, Harry. Did you… have another nightmare?"
Behind Ron, Dean and Seamus exchanged speaking looks and Neville turned a little green.
"No," Harry said, blinking rapidly and allowing himself to be led back towards his bed. "Just a dream."
"Does…" Neville hesitated, "does your scar hurt?" It fell into a whisper in the end, and then everyone was looking deeply at Harry, who stepped back into his trunk, offering up a reassuring smile.
"No. Just your everyday, run of the mill dream."
Three of the boys seemed to accept this and, after offering pats on the back and orders to get some sleep, Harry was left alone with Ron's worried countenance.
"Are you lying to us?"
"No," Harry sighed, his smile turning real, "It really doesn't hurt."
"But, it wasn't your run of the mill dream, was it?"
"Ron, I don't have run of the mill dreams." Harry rolled his eyes and climbed into bed, spelling off his wand and settling down into the covers, before turning his attention back to he redhead.
"Go back to sleep, I'm sorry I woke you."
Ron gave up, grunting in irritation. "Don't think I won't tell Hermione about this."
At that, Harry heatedly glared at his back until they were both settled into their beds and the darkness overrode everything else.
Draco woke to a fluttering on his face, and he batted it away with a hand, angrily burrowing back into his pillow and whimpering.
There was an insistent nudging, which he steadily ignored, and then just a slight whirling breeze above his head, which he immediately forgot about in favor of the soothing color of the inside of his eyelids.
"Draco?" came a gruff voice to the left of his bed, and there was a heavy shifting and a meaty chuckle, before air blew against his face again and Draco sat up so suddenly he smacked right into Goyle's flying hand.
"Ow! What?! What do you want?"
Goyle stared at him, holding something tightly in his fist as Crabbe snickered at them both from the other side of Draco's bed.
Draco turned his glare on his other friend. "What is so funny?"
"We…" Crabbe spluttered between laughs, "j-just wanted to let you know that this things was attacking you."
Goyle offered his closed fist to Draco, who scowled at them both and then motioned for Goyle to let whatever he had go.
Draco watched in shocked fascination as a tiny broom shook itself almost haughtily free of Goyle's fingers, shaking itself presentable for another moment before setting up a slow, twisting figure eight a few feet above Draco's bed.
"Where did you get it, Draco? We woke up and it was going at you-"
"Could you give me a moment, boys?" Draco asked, still wide-eyed at the little broom. "I'll meet you at breakfast."
After a few token protests, which had more to do with their loyalty to Draco than their unwillingness to descend upon breakfast and fill their stomachs once again, Crabbe and Goyle left him alone to muse over a little broom his mother had given to him when he was five.
It was, without a doubt, the same broom. A little worse for wear over the years, but it had the same bite mark at the end of the broom, made when Draco had been young enough to wonder if everything fun was secretly made of chocolate. It had been so long ago, Draco mused, and smiled genuinely for the first time that year, slipping out of bed to find clean robes for the day.
He passed the Gryffindor table on the way to his seat, barely registering the whispered argument amongst the Dream Team, playing bemusedly with his toy broom.
Harry ducked away as Draco approached, ignoring Hermione's latest hissing reprimand, folding in on himself, watching under his dark bangs for his fiancé to settle himself at the Slytherin table.
Ron looked over his shoulder at Draco and sneered, "Something's got the git in a good mood."
"Could we focus," Hermione angrily stated, eyes fixed on Harry, "I don't think you're telling us everything about this dream you've had."
"It's not important-"
"It's a dream that you've had. And you woke up screaming out in the hallway, and you expect us to believe your scar wasn't hurting?"
"It wasn't me screaming," Harry began to insist, but was cut off by Ron.
"I hate it when Malfoy's happy."
"Fine. If you want to be secretive about it, you can be. Just remember where that sort of thing gets you Harry," Hermione huffed. Harry opened his mouth to retort, but she cut him off with a wave of her hand, "I've found something out about your ring."
"It's not my ring." Harry immediately inserted, drawing a smirk from Ron and a confused look from Hermione. "I'm going to make a stand and say, right here and now, that I believe I am in hell. This ring is a figment of my imagination, a punishment for whatever perceived wrong I've committed. In short, I'm crazy, and none of this is happening."
"Ah," Hermione nodded, smiling for the first time that morning, "denial."
"I'm not Malfoy's true love."
"Well, as I've said, I've news on the ring. And you just might not be."
"Really?" Ron perked up and both boys leaned in for an explanation.
"But we can't talk about it now. Meet me in the library."
With that, she stood and left them to finish their breakfasts.
Ron shook his head at her dramatics and dug back into his toast. Harry watched her go, and then turned a look on his best friend. "Did you have to tell her about my dream?"
"Yes. I told you I would. Are you going to eat that?"
"When did you turn into such a pig?" asked Harry, passing over his bacon, and Ron shrugged.
"I'm a growing boy. And with Fred and George gone, there's no one to steal my food but Ginny, and she's always 'watching her weight'." He finished his sentence in a girlish falsetto, then scowled into his plate. "You should have seen her when she read that newspaper article on Malfoy's damned ring. She and Mum walked around in a romantic daze for weeks. It was disgusting. They immediately lost all sense. It was as if Ginny'd never actually met the slimy arse."
Harry shrugged, "girls."
"Yeah. Thank Merlin for our Hermione. Kept a cool head. Wasn't the least bit interested in the romantics of the situation."
"She's interested in the Magics of it, though," Harry mused. "We've only been here a day, and she's already found something."
Ron shifted in his chair, and threw a glare in the direction of the Slytherin table. "Just as long as she not interested in Malfoy, I don't mind at all."
He finished Harry's bacon and then stood to leave, Harry grinning after him.
In the library, Ron quietly snuck up behind Hermione and admired the fall of her hair over wiry, silver frames. She'd picked up reading glasses over the summer, and had sheepishly shown them to the boys stating that her optometrist had lectured her on why reading with little amounts of light in the dead of night was, apparently, bad for her eyesight.
Ron thought she looked breathtaking in them, no matter what she thought.
He'd been waiting to see her in them ever since she'd blushingly ripped them off during the modeling portion of their ride into Hogwarts when Harry had teased her.
Now, she started and turned on him, turning pink at what must have been an intense look in his eyes. "I expected you both to be another little while. Where's Harry?"
Ron shook himself free of his spell and shrugged, sliding into the seat opposite her. "I think he's finishing his breakfast still."
She nodded, offering up a shy smile, "Growing boys…"
They sat in silence for a moment, just looking at each other, when there was a shift in the carpet to their left and an amused cough.
"Am I interrupting something?" Harry said innocently, and Hermione cleared her throat as Ron glared at Harry.
"We were waiting for you, actually, have a seat, and both of you lean in close."
"Ooh. Secrets."
Hermione looked affronted for a moment, and then slipped her glasses off, much to Ron's disappointment and waited for Harry to seat himself at Ron's side.
They leaned into each other.
"Now. I couldn't get to sleep last night, so I slipped down here-"
"Alone?" Ron exclaimed, and Hermione just glared at him.
"I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself, Ronald Weasley. Really. It's not as if it's dangerous. We've done it a thousand times."
"With Harry's cloak." Ron spluttered, "Together."
"I wouldn't say a thousand," Harry mused, but was ignored.
"You should have come to get us-"
Hermione's voice became slightly shrill, and she leaned back from them. "I don't need your help with every little thing-"
"-and I don't like you wandering around in the middle of the night-"
"-as if I were some helpless little girl. I can take care of myself, I think I've proved that-"
"Maybe a hundred."
"What happened to the days when you'd advise against this sort of behavior?"
"It's different when it's important. Harry's life could be at stake!"
"Really?" Harry asked. "Well, yes. I suppose I might die if I had to marry Malfoy. Do you think they'd make me kiss him?"
Ron paused and looked over at Harry, suddenly disgusted, "Eww. I hadn't thought of that. We have to get that thing off of you, Harry."
"And," Hermione growled, catching their attention, "to that end, may I tell you what I've found?"
"Please," Harry smiled at her, and Ron's mouth clicked shut.
"Fine. Well, it seems that your ring-"
"Ahem," Harry inserted.
"Fine. Malfoy's ring, was made by Salazar Slytherin himself. With the aid of one of Malfoy's ancestors. Her name was Nyx Malfoy, and she was the wife of Damien Malfoy."
"Wait. Salazar Slytherin? The bloke who put Harry's basilisk in this school? The one who wants muggle-borns dead?"
"Yes, that Salazar Slytherin. Of course, this was before he and the other founders built Hogwarts. Just out of University, when all he had ahead of him was brilliant promise. He became a close friend of Nyx's son, Loki. This was back during what's considered the first generation of Malfoy's. They'd just won their fortunes, although my resources couldn't find how, and Nyx was concerned that some young woman would take advantage of her son. She enlisted Salazar's help to create the ring as a gift to her son. Salazar, as you should know, was a Charms Master, as well as the only Parseltongue of his time."
Hermione turned to her left and picked up a book, slipping her glasses back on, which caused Harry and Ron to exchange a look, and flipped through a few pages until she found what she was looking for. Turning the book, she pushed it to Harry, who looked down into a shimmering picture of the very ring that encircled his finger.
"Have you tried speaking to it?"
Harry blinked up at her, "The ring?"
"Yes. Well, the snakes on the ring. I was thinking that it worked the same way as the entrance to the Basilisk's chamber. Try it."
Looking vaguely uncomfortable, Harry held his ring up to his face and spoke into the large diamond.
"Er… hello?"
Nothing happened, but Ron snickered beside him. "Try speaking Parseltongue, Harry."
Harry threw him a glare, and then concentrated enough to finally hiss out a hello.
The ring seemed to shimmer a little, and one tiny, snake eye rolled his way, but there was no answer. Harry looked up at Hermione, who was beaming. "What did it say?"
"Nothing. Hermione, its mouth is full."
She deflated a bit, and Ron patted her hand, and Harry shook his head. "It was worth a try. Does that book say how I get it off?"
Hermione shifted in her chair and then sighed. "Apparently, you don't. It can only be removed by your husband-to-be. You're going to have to tell him."
Ron frowned, and then grabbed Hermione's book from Harry. "I say we leave that as our last option. We'll find a way."
Hermione rolled her eyes and drug the book away from a protesting Ron. "Is the telling Malfoy option before or after cutting Harry's finger off?"
"After," Ron muttered, and Harry looked nervously at Ron's boot as if he could see a knife through the leather.
Hermione sighed, "All right. We can keep digging into the ring's magical make-up and hope we find some way to remove it. In the mean time, we still need to find a way to hide it from everybody."
She shook her head and picked up another book, and after a pause looked back up at them. "Well, don't just sit there, start reading."
Ron grabbed a Hermione's book back, and she scowled before finding a nearby charms book and started searching for invisibility charms. Harry picked up the Malfoy Family History.
Silence settled among them.
Draco's blissful mood had slipped a bit as the day moved into the afternoon. Usually, he'd be using this last day of freedom during classes to harass the lower years and make a general nuisance of himself, but he was finding it hard to get the respect he deserved this year.
First, his father had been imprisoned as a proven follower and conspirator of the Dark Lord. It wasn't the taboo of evil upon his family that brought disrespect from his housemates. Amongst the Slytherins, 'caught' seemed to be the operative word. The consensus seemed to be that Malfoys, with the reputation of cruel and intelligent cunning, should never be caught. It showed stupidity.
Secondly, his fiancée had not introduced herself yet. At breakfast that morning, he'd overheard a couple of fifth year Ravenclaw girls wondering loudly what could have possibly happened to his true love that would keep her from coming forward. Their story began to sound utterly ridiculous.
"Perhaps she died…"
"… or maybe she's being imprisoned by her evil father…"
Blaise jumped in at about this point, grinning wickedly at the annoyed look on Draco's face. "Maybe she knows exactly what she's got, she just doesn't want to be Mrs. Draco Malfoy."
Draco's eyebrows clenched together and from a few seats away, Pansy snorted in contempt. "Then she's an idiot."
There was a bit of an uncomfortable silence, during which Draco glowered at Blaise, who smiled back unrepentantly.
"He's filthy rich."
Draco turned his glare on Pansy, who met his angry look with her own cool stare.
"What?" she asked irritably.
He shook his head and bent back over his food.
Blaise snickered. "Maybe she's a muggle?"
Draco choked on his eggs and Crabbe made a disgusted noise of his own.
But it had Draco thinking about the whole situation. Up until now he'd only desperately wished that no one would come forward with a claim on his family name. He wasn't in any way ready to be married, or even engaged. Now he worried that he wouldn't be getting engaged, and would therefore bring down more shame upon his family. No other Malfoy had waited this long to discover who his bride-to-be was.
He knew that his mother was looking forward to the engagement and subsequent wedding. He knew that it soothed her frazzled nerves to think of him walking down the aisle with someone suitable, someone worthy, someone attention getting. Someone who could remind the world that the Malfoy's were about tradition and opulence, and not violence and fanaticism.
He owed it to his mother to find his bride in any way possible.
And, with an irritated huff at himself after hours of playing with his toy broom while students around him readied themselves for classes that would begin just after the weekend, Draco made his way to the library.
He had to find a way to locate his future bride. He doubted that his mother would know where he should begin, as her dealing with the Malfoy Ambition had been clear cut and pedestrian.
No, this would take research.
The book that he wanted… several of them in fact, were missing. He shouldn't really have been surprised. Interest in his family history and the inner workings of the ring was bound to be endless, with the amount of news they'd made recently. He'd been surprised enough to find that the Hogwarts library included the Malfoy Family History at all, and was intrigued enough to read it from cover to cover, though the family had their own copy. It had been written by a woman named Eirene Malfoy several hundred years ago, and enchanted to record important events that happened after her life in the same style of writing in which she'd began it. He wanted to see if anything had changed.
Turning around a bookcase with a swift, angry step, Draco pulled to an abrupt halt at the sight that greeted him.
There was a drag at the bottom of his stomach, and the corners of his mouth pulled tight.
Harry Potter.
"Well, isn't this a popular place today?"
Granger jumped nearly a foot off her chair, startled at his entrance. Weasley slammed his book shut, title facing the table, and glowered at Draco.
Potter turned white and slunk into his seat.
"What do you want, Malfoy?"
"I was just passing through," Draco shrugged, then smiled innocently at them. "You haven't seen a book about yea big," Draco demonstrated the proportions of the Malfoy Family History with his hands, "being passed about, have you?"
"What do you want, Malfoy?" Weasley repeated.
"It's got my name on it in large, gold letters. No? Haven't seen it?"
Draco didn't notice as Potter slunk further into his seat, pulling his book down with him.
There was a short silence, during which Weasley radiated anger and Granger looked rather annoyed through her…
"Nice glasses, Mudblood. Taking after Potter, hmm? Soon you'll all look alike. Ugly, nuttering girls."
Potter began to look a little irritated, and Granger turned an embarrassing shade of red. Weasley growled, "Got nothing better to do than pull a fashion critique on unsuspecting students? Who's the nuttering girl?"
Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "I'll take that as a 'No, Draco. We haven't seen your book.' Mannerless cretins."
Draco drew up beside Granger, picking up her book and perusing the open page despite her spluttering protests.
"Hmm. Invisibility charms. Thinking up new and interesting ways to kill yourselves this year." His eyes became big with feigned hope, "Can I help?"
It might have been the wistful tone in his voice that finally drew words from Potter's mouth, but Draco was slightly thrown at the desperation in his enemy's tone. "Will you please go away now? We haven't got your book."
Potter's fingers were white against the binding of the book he was holding and Draco's eyes slipped to the straining knuckles before he shrugged and dropped Granger's book back to the table. "Desperate to see my backside?"
"Yes." Potter growled, and Draco smirked.
"You only had to say so, Potter."
He was several strides away from them, and still inwardly chortling before Potter caught on.
"Not like that!"
Draco was pleased to have his day back on track again, a feeling which lasted until late that evening when he trapped his toy broom into his trunk to keep it from waking him the next morning and snuggled up into his silk pillows.
Sleep that night came reluctantly to Harry, who was still annoyed at having lost the day's verbal sparring, but eventually it did come.
As he slipped into dreamy darkness that night, a strangely familiar, angrily desperate voice whispered into his ear.
"I love you."
The words were swatted away like flies.