Hoof, Hearth, & Thorn
They were in trouble.
When Ginny had caught them making out behind Arthur's shed, they hadn't thought much about it. The girl had always had a crush on Harry from those stupid 'Boy-Who-Lived' adventure books, so of course she'd be disappointed, or even jealous, seeing another girl get 'her' prize. This though, was beyond the pale.
They'd awoken in cages, and they weren't alone.
From the dim light, she could make out Harry laying in the shadows within the cage to her right, and Fleur passing around in the cage to her left. Beyond Fleur were three more cages, but the narrow bars prevented her from seeing more than the fact that at least one of them was occupied as well. She could see her cloths and wand sitting on a shelf just across the room waiting for her, but she had a much larger problem to deal with than being naked in a cage beside her boyfriend.
"Wanted you to know what you're in for, Slut!"
That was the opening for the letter Ginny had written, describing the rings of Hoof, Hearth, and Thorn, all she had to do was put them on and she could leave the cage.
The comical sigil of a red weasel riding a horse like a knight from a chess board left no question about who she would belong to if she put the rings on. The rings were another of those 'pureblood loopholes,' this one in the anti-slavery laws… if you put them on yourself, it isn't against the law for them to own you.
Hoof, hearth, and thorn…
Foot, hand, and tongue…
She'd only be able to go where Ginny's brother said she could, only do what he allowed, or speak…
The Rings were death.
A groan drew her attention back to the blond in the next cell. Fleur was kneeling, fastening he first ring on her ankle.
"Fleur, don't!"
"It's been… days…" she glanced over. "And ozer than 'Arry. No one in Britton will miss us." She stood and started working the next ring onto the wrist of her wand arm.
"But once they're on… they don't come off, Fleur."
"I know," she said, a tear glistening as it slid down her cheek, "but I want to live." She sniffled as she clasped the torque around her throat, the Rings tightened, shifting to simple bands of what looked like silk with the crest displayed on the inside of her wrist and the hollow of her neck. Then the door swung open, Fleur didn't even have to touch it, and a muffled voice could be heard.
Fleur was gone.
And the same fate awaited her and Harry…
Starvation or bound… in hoof, hearth, and thorn.
