Wedlocked
Chapter 7: No Escape
There was no escaping it.
Talk of The Bloody Law was everywhere. The paintings were discussing it. The ghosts were debating it. Even Peeves was floating around pelting people with rice – sometimes cooked, sometimes not. Worst of all were the students who were all swooning over The Bloody Law; even the allegedly clever Ravenclaws talked of little else. Despite Dumbledore's warnings, several seventh years were making arrangements to get married.
"This is ridiculous!" Hermione huffed as she watched a pack of girls sighing dreamily over a bridal magazine. "Do they not realise that marriage is an Unbreakable Vow? They would willingly throw their lives away for a crush!"
"Well—"
"Shut up, Ron," Harry warned. "We're not talking about it at breakfast."
"Hermione was," the boy said defensively.
"She wasn't going to bring that up," Harry said. His tone and glare somehow managed to get across his hidden meaning of their friend's arranged marriage.
Hermione snorted. "You'll say Voldemort's name when no one else will, but you're afraid to say the word 'marriage'?"
He shivered as she said it. "It's just wrong," he insisted.
"We know," she said flatly. "Believe me."
"No, I mean it's wrong," he dropped his voice to a hushed whisper. "You're going to be my Godmother, Hermione… has that even occurred to you?"
She rolled her eyes. "I've had about two months to consider all this, Harry. I've found every disturbing thought there is to find."
"Mail's here," Ron said eagerly, keen to interrupt whatever row might be forming between the two.
Hermione glanced up, not expecting anything. She was surprised to see an owl swoop down and deposit its letter in front of her. It flew away and was promptly followed by a second, third, fourth and fifth.
"What on Earth?" she questioned, taking up the envelopes with some interest.
"Hermione," Harry said with something verging on a laugh. "Do you not realise what tomorrow is?"
She frowned. "No," she said slowly as she mentally ran through her assignments. There were no tests or anything worth noting, not for a few more weeks. It was only the eighteenth. Even with NEWT-level material, their two-and-a-half weeks of classes were not enough to warrant even a surprise quiz.
'Wait…' she thought. 'It's the eighteenth.'
She gasped as the date hit her. It was the day before her birthday, the day before she turned seventeen. She looked down at the envelopes in her hands, horrified, dropping them as if they were a diseased rodent threatening to bite her. She quickly wiped her hands on her robes.
"So those are…" Ron hesitated, turning green, "marriage proposals?"
"Must be," Harry said. He reached across the table to pick one up, but Hermione slapped his hand.
"Don't!" she cried.
"Ow! Why not?"
Professor McGonagall hurried down the aisle toward them, her face as impassive as it ever was, but her voice held the barest hint of her anxiety when she spoke, "Miss Granger, those letters, please." Hermione refused to touch them, preferring to use magic to send them from the table to the napkin McGonagall held in her hands. Wrapping the envelopes securely in the thick cloth, the old woman eyed her meaningfully, "I would suggest you wash your hands immediately, Miss Granger."
"What was that about?" Ron demanded.
"Early proposals," Hermione said, fighting a wave of nausea. "They could be covered with love draught to make me choose them."
"Cheating bastards."
"I guess you can't escape it, then," Harry said darkly, "not if they're asking a day early. You'll have to say 'yes' to someone."
She nodded and looked back at the high table. Seeing the Headmaster and Deputy Headmistress talking furiously, she felt a pain in her head that she hadn't felt since the that day in July when the Daily Prophet's headline announced the new law. Glaring her helplessness at no one in particular, she raced to the nearest washroom to scrub her hands raw.
"Looks like someone feels filthy," a sneering voice echoed in the tiled room. "Face it, Granger, no amount of soap will ever get you clean. The dirt is in your blood." Hermione said nothing, refusing to dignify the girl's bigotry with a response; Pansy didn't seem to notice or care, stepping closer to continue her taunting. "So, who would be sending you so many letters?"
"Hate mail, most likely," Millicent decided with a cold laugh.
"Oh, don't be cruel," her friend chided. "Isn't it your birthday tomorrow, Granger? Maybe you've got someone pining for you." She smirked as if such a thing were as likely as Lord Voldemort reading Harry Potter a bedtime story.
"What if I have?" Hermione snapped. "What if I have a boyfriend? What if I have a pureblood who wants to marry me? What is it to you?"
"Now she's so desperate she's making up stories," Pansy laughed.
"What's his name?" a low moan came up from the U-bend of the last toilet.
"Oh, Merlin, not her, too," Millicent groaned. "Let's go before they infect us with their filthy germs." With a hideous sneer, the girl pulled her friend from the washroom leaving Hermione alone with the despondent spectre.
Hermione sighed and sank to the floor, never so grateful for the ghost in all her life. "Thank you, Myrtle."
The voice bubbled up from the toilet again. "Are you just making it up?"
"No," Hermione sighed. The news would be official the following day, so she might as well get used to saying it aloud. "There is someone. He's going to propose tomorrow."
"What's his name?"
"I'd rather not say just yet," she hedged. "I don't want it getting out too soon."
"You're making it up," Myrtle decided.
"You'll see tomorrow," Hermione promised, closing her eyes and leaning her head against the cool tile wall in an attempt to alleviate her headache. "I wish it were already tomorrow."
oOo
The nineteenth arrived much sooner than Hermione had expected, as she felt firm hands grip her shoulders and shake her awake. The girl blinked and groaned and stared into the face of her Head of House.
"What?" she asked groggily, fighting her way into consciousness. "What is it?"
"Get dressed, Miss Granger," McGonagall said quietly. "The Headmaster wants to see you as soon as possible."
"Why? What time is it?"
"It's two o'clock," the woman said, her voice hushed but no less stern. "Happy Birthday, Miss Granger. Please hurry, the Headmaster is waiting." Hermione did not see her leave, but the sound of her tartan dressing gown rustling toward the door told her that the woman was gone.
The girl stood slowly, the thick rug beneath her feet doing nothing to ground her in reality; she was still half-asleep even as she moved to her bureau, thinking this all a rather boring dream. In the nearly black room, alone and half-dressed, the woman's words sunk in and pulled her fully and painfully into consciousness. Happy Birthday… She was now seventeen, of-age.
Moving as quickly as she could, the young woman dressed and ran from her bedroom. If they were waking her at such an hour, time had to be something of importance and she did not want to keep either the Deputy Headmistress or the Headmaster waiting. She met Professor McGonagall in the common room and followed the woman's hurried path through the dark corridors and secret passages. Neither spoke until they reached the stone gargoyle that guarded the Headmaster's office.
The gargoyle moved aside to allow them passage without the woman having to offer up a password. She turned instead to Hermione, gripped her shoulders in something rather close to a hug and said, "Congratulations, Miss Granger. I wish you happiness."
"Thank you, Professor," Hermione said numbly.
Happiness? How could the woman believe such a thing was possible, Hermione wondered. She was two hours into her seventeenth year, standing alone on the stairs that were leading her to the Headmaster's office. She might be young, but she wasn't foolish enough to believe that such an early morning visit was for pleasant reasons. Had the Ministry changed the law? Had they found out about her arrangement with Sirius? Any number of things might have happened, and she considered each on as she ascended the stairs and entered Dumbledore's office.
"Miss Granger, do come in. Sit down," Professor Dumbledore greeted her warmly. "Would you care for some tea?"
"No, thank you," she said, making no effort to disguise her mood. "Why am I here, Professor?"
He smiled pleasantly. "To select your fiancé, of course," he said, gesturing to the pile of letters on his desk. The five from the morning had multiplied by at least three. She gulped down the lump in her throat as she eyed the teetering stack of envelopes. Were there that many Death Eaters so eager to ensnare her?
"Wasn't that already decided, professor?"
"Not in the eyes of the Ministry, no," he replied disdainfully. "A formal acceptance must be made to one of your numerous proposals. Only after an officer of the Department of Marital Duties and Affairs has signed it will the engagement be official. Only then will you be safe."
"But it's two o'clock," she said, emphasising her point with a face-splitting yawn. "Who would be there to approve it at this hour?"
Dumbledore just smiled, his eyes bright despite the unbearably early hour.
"Don't put anything past Old Dumbles," the deep voice of Sirius Black commented as he dropped into the chair beside her. "If he can get me out of bed at this hour, he can do it to anybody."
The Headmaster's eyes twinkled with delight. "Excellent. Now we are all here, we may begin," he declared. "Sirius, have you the proposal?"
Sirius handed a piece of paper across the desk. The old man unfolded it and read it thoroughly to ensure it was all in order. Hermione craned her neck to get a look at it. She expected it to be some handwritten declaration, but it was a standardised form with only a handful of blanks to be filled in. It was rather disappointing.
"Perfect," Dumbledore said, rising from his chair and walking to the fireplace. A brilliant flash of green later and the letter was gone. He turned back to them, "We will not have to wait long. Are you sure I can't interest you in some tea?"
"No, thank you," Hermione said again. "Who is there to accept it?"
"I'd love a cup," Sirius said, leaning back in his chair. His role fulfilled, he was able to relax.
"A friend," Dumbledore said without elaboration and waved his wand, a full tea set appeared on his desk. "Do help yourself."
The green flames erupted again, sending ash and a letter flying into the room. Dumbledore caught the paper in his hand, the same hand he had used to conjure the tea and gesture to the proposals. Hermione thought it strange that he should suddenly favour the one hand while leaving the other hidden in the folds of his robe. Dumbledore was generally a man of grand gesticulation; she could not imagine why he would secret away his dominant hand.
Her observations were put on hold as the Headmaster held the letter out for her. "Miss Granger, I believe this is for you."
Hermione took the envelope and opened it. The paper inside looked no more personal than the last one, all straight script and long blanks that had been filled with their names, birthdates and blood statuses. She read it twice. "All I have to do is sign?"
"Yes, the Ministry is nothing if not proficient," the Headmaster smiled and stirred the sugar into his tea. "In the areas where it matters least, at any rate."
She took a quill from the desk and signed on the line indicated, handing the form across to Dumbledore for his approval. It felt like a strange exam. There was only one question and no right answer, yet it would haunt her as no other test would.
"That will work splendidly," the old man said.
The letter, like the previous one, was sent into the Floo Network. Minutes passed as they waited for final and official approval. Sirius and Dumbledore did not seem in the least bit disturbed by the long wait, each content with their tea and the silence. They must have been extremely confident in the person authorizing the engagement.
The flames changed colours one final time and a scroll was returned. This, unlike the previous form letters, was handwritten with a flourish.
"'On this day, the 19th of September 1996, the Ministry of Magic does hereby recognise the acceptance of the proposal of marriage by Hermione Jean Granger from Sirius Orion Black.' Official signature and blah blah," Sirius read. "Well, there's no escaping it now; you're stuck with me."
"I think it's the other way round," Hermione commented.
"Perhaps a symbol of the impending bond might be in order," Albus suggested.
Hermione could not imagine what the old wizard was talking about. Sirius, however, smiled as he dug into the inner pocket of his jacket. "You are not going to be disappointed. I promised you the most ostentatious ring I could find…" He pulled the jeweller's box from his pocket, looking from it to her and back. After a pause, he took her hand and pulled her to her feet.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"I'm only going to get to do this once. Might as well do it right," he said. She frowned, not understanding his meaning until he dropped down onto one knee.
Panic rose in her at the sight of him in so formal a pose; her mind flit back to the early afternoon in Oxford where he made plain his plans to be a good and useful husband. That had been strange enough, but to have him proposing properly was too much. It made it too real. "This is completely unnecessary," she protested. "Stand up. You don't have to." She gripped his arm and pulled, trying to get him to stand.
"Shut up," he said, shaking off her hands.
She scowled. "You're not supposed to say 'shut up' to the girl you're proposing to."
"I am when that girl is you," he smirked. "Hermione, will you marry me?"
She could only stare at him, too dumbstruck to believe that this was her life.
"I will take that awed silence as a 'yes'," he said and slid the ring onto her finger.
The chill of the metal around her ring finger was proof enough that this was reality and not an extremely bizarre dream. She looked down at her hands, small and ink-stained as they always were, and saw the addition of a massive ruby so large it nearly covered the length of her ring finger from first to second knuckle. She would have thought the single, blood red stone would be enough, but apparently the jeweller thought otherwise, for he had added a few diamonds for good measure.
"Wow," she said quietly. "That really is ostentatious."
"Sirius Black always delivers on his promises," he smiled proudly.
A/N: I would like to take a moment to thank you for reading and reviewing, especially the aptly named TooLazyToLogIn. TLTLI, thank you for reviewing nearly every chapters of Time Interned and Broken Wall. I wouldn't normally bother everyone in order to communicate with just one reader, but you no log in I no can PM you to say THANK YOU!