Artifice And Illusion
Exposition and inhibitions
It is a truth universally acknowledged that a recently divorced Pureblood in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a new wife.
However little known the feelings or views of such a wizard may be on his first entering a neighbourhood, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of the surrounding families, that he is considered as the rightful property of some one or other of nearby matrons seeking to marry off their offspring.
Such a wizard had recently rented Wildmane Hall, a stately mansion within close Apparating distance of Ottery Saint-Catchpole, together with an old friend of his, a Mr. Snape, and Mrs. Weasley interpreted this a sign from the powers above that the time had come to marry off one of her sons – she had so many, and none of them had a dowry! She would not press the Fates, of course, but maybe some well-placed maternal advice – some judiciously organised ball – some hints in the neighbourhood, to the effect that the new tenant's heart had already been captured – the possibilities were endless.
A story beginning under such auspicious beginnings would no doubt thrive in further descriptions of the courting taking place between one dashing young red-haired wizard, and a wiser, elder blond wizard; how circumstance, and a mother, brought them together; how misunderstandings emerged, and were solved with the timely intervention of a well-phrased letter; how an entire division of dashing young Aurors interrupted into the scene and danced, seduced and eloped; how the dark, robed figure of one Severus Snape played a crucial role in the heart of some witty young Weasley with more sarcasm than income.
Such would have indeed been the stream of the respectable matron's thoughts, in the privacy of her kitchen, with only the cries of the family ghoul to disturb her, if either slash or Mpreg had been listed among the wishes of this story's commanditaire. Sadly, this is not the case; and the cute, lively little bunny shall therefore have to be slaughtered in a most inhuman fashion – which is, after all, well deserved, as rabbits are no humans.
You need not flee away in distress, dear reader. If the mistress of the Burrow did not think of marrying her sons away, she did consider the new neighbour as a worthy prospect for her one daughter, who did deserve to be kept in a manner she would soon grow accustomed to, and therefore needed a wealthy spouse. What might have passed as an incoherence within the beginning of the story is therefore nothing more than an artifice on the authors' part to draw attention to her humble tale, and to draw a parallel between their version of Mrs Weasley and some other, better, more widely read story.
Once the plan was hatched, the matriarch didn't lose any time to put it into action. Mr. Weasley was dispatched to Wildmane Hall, under strict orders not to come back without a promise to visit back from the coveted Pureblood. Ginny was called forward, groomed and generally instructed how to behave and speak. And, of course, preparations were made for the social niceties that certainly were to take place shortly in Ottery Saint-Catchpole.
While the respectable Mrs Wealey bustled around, filled with the importance of her task, a regiment of dashing young Aurors took their quarters in the village of Ottery Saint Catchpole. Why they came here is a very pertinent question indeed; maybe the Minister deemed fit to store them far away from London and the potential danger it could represent to them, or to him, as Aurors are often reputed to threaten the very power that armed them. Or perhaps the author just seized this large plot device to station other potential protagonists close to where the action takes place. This you shall never know, which is all for the best, as knowing things is not your place, you are after all only the reader.
The regiment was not all that large, and, within it, several figures stood out in all their might above their companions. Harry Potter is of course the first that comes to mind – young, rich, famous, and reputed to be fearless in combat, as he had demonstrated twice in the past, once aged 12 months, and once at the more respectable age of 18 years. The lad bore a fierce scar on his forehead, which prompted his admirers to dub him "The Marked One", and his enemies, more prosaically, "Scarface", a nickname that passed very well amongst the Muggleborn population, for some reason this Pureblooded author cannot quite fathom. His fortune was discussed in every circle; his good looks, drooled upon, or disparaged, depending on what side the speaker was on, and on their age and gender too. His decision to enter the Aurory had been much commented on; and no one, not even his staunchest enemy, would have let go of an occasion to get a glimpse of his lithe silhouette under the red-striped uniform.
In relative anonymity compared to our Man Who Lived Twice, his long time foe and recent ally Draco Malfoy liked to think of himself as the finest Pureblood in the regiment. He was after all tall, blond, with shapely legs and positively gorgeous eyebrows; if the world wasn't kneeling before him is silent worship, the fault lay upon the world, without a shadow of doubt. This self-centeredness, coupled with what he liked to think of as an air of detached superiority, which came across to the average onlooker as a very cute pout, endeared him to our third Auror protagonist, Hermione Granger.
Now among the three, Hermione was by far the quietest. No drinking matches for her, no wizarding duels the following morning, before either had had quite enough time to sober up. No, she showed the same calculating attitude she had while researching and creating the spell that annihilated the late Dark Lord. With a few lapses in judgment, Potter liked to claim, like the one that led her to share the (tasteful green and black) bed linen of a Draco Malfoy. The hero of the wizarding world could never quite accept the strange noises that arose from their shared bedchamber at night. But, lapse in judgment or not, they both had very contented smiles on their faces in the morning, even before coffee was served, a tell-tale sign that something utterly indescribable in a smutfree fic was taking place between the two of them, to their mutual satisfaction.
Young Ron Weasley, as you may have noticed, did not figure among the members of the Auroring regiment – that would be because his family's fortune was too small to allow him to take such a post. He had therefore been dispatched to Hogsmeade to an old friend of Mrs. Weasley's to instruct her ward in basic magical skills, dancing, latin and other social graces the lad might need when he entered school. To his despair, he was not to be in the Burrow when his friends arrived to Ottery, and he would miss them by barely a day; but such are the misfortunes of the newly employed, and he took consolation in the knowledge that they could always Floo, or Apparate, or Portkey should the need arise.
And thus may our plot commence.
A/N: This was submitted to the HPsmutfree ficexchange on Livejournal, as a gift for Just A Penniless Writer. It is thus finished, and shall be posted here at the rhythm of one chapter per day. Reviews are more than welcome.