Wedlocked
Chapter 9: The Bloody Ring

The arguing reached Hermione before she was completely awake, altering her dreamscape from a lovely, if rather surreal, world of an endless library with a carpet of freshly-mowed grass and decorative orange trees in full bloom. Her library vanished, replaced by the darkness behind her eyelids. She tried to will herself back into that library, but it was no use, the voices kept her firmly anchored in consciousness.

"Go away," she groaned and pushed the pillow down over her ears to shut out the voices.

"Now see what you've done!" Madam Pomfrey said in a clipped tone. Hermione just knew she was waving her finger admonishingly at whomever it was that was talking so loudly and she silently thanked the woman for her efforts.

"Hermione?" Harry asked.

She felt the bed droop as he sat beside her. "You know very well who it is. Why are you yelling in the hospital wing?"

"Just a lively debate, pet."

She frowned beneath the soft and sterile pillow. Harry never called her 'pet', and his voice was nowhere near that deep, even when he was speaking in hushed tones as he just was.

"Sirius?" she asked.

"Of course," he said, a smile in his voice. The girl peeked out from under the pillow and saw him standing with Professors Dumbledore, Snape and McGonagall; Harry on her bed; Ron, Ginny, Neville and Luna sitting on the bed next to hers. She felt the electric undercurrent to the assembly, a tangible alertness she was familiar with from so many Order gatherings at Grimmauld Place but with an edge of fear. They were worried.

"What's going on?"

"They're discussing Malfoy's punishment," Ginny informed her. "I personally vote for expulsion and disembowelment, but apparently Professor Snape thinks that's a bit harsh."

Despite the humiliation she had suffered and knowing that Ginny was not making a joke, Hermione laughed. "Sorry to have worried you, but I'm fine. He didn't get the ring and I'm not going to marry him."

"Told you!" Sirius declared triumphantly. "Git was trying to steal my fiancée. I deserve a crack at him."

"That 'git' is my responsibility," Snape glared. "I will tend to him, not you, Black."

Hermione watched them bicker, amazed that Sirius was taking the assault so personally. If anyone deserved to be as angry as he appeared to be it was her; if she had only his reaction to go by she would think it was Sirius who was attacked and humiliated. He looked positively livid that Snape was denying his claim for revenge. She turned away before she thought too hard about what he might do to Malfoy for his actions and looked to her friends. "Why are you all here?"

"Guarding against the Perspanterburies," Luna said seriously. "Very nasty creatures."

"And waiting for you to wake up so we can get a copy of your schedule for tomorrow," Ron added.

She frowned. "You know my schedule, Ron."

"No, we need a detailed schedule," Ginny insisted. "Down to the minute, everything planned out and colour-coded like you always do. There's no way we're leaving you alone for a second if that's the kind of game those bastards are playing."

"Language, Miss Weasley!" McGonagall chided sharply from across the room.

"Sorry, professor," she replied reflexively.

"It's only one day," Hermione insisted. "I can manage for one day."

Her friends levelled her with flinty stares. She shifted uncomfortably at the idea that she needed protection. She was the brightest witch of her age, able to perform spells none of her classmates had ever heard of. Why should she need guarding? It was insulting. Her protests only met with more glares; these, the members of Dumbledore's Army that had faced Death Eaters just months earlier, would not be pushed aside by one of their own and she knew it. "Fine," she sighed grudgingly, matching their gaze with equal intensity. "Give me parchment and a quill."

Luna gave her the requested items and they waited impatiently for her to make up a schedule. She handed it over and they started scouring it for times they might change shifts or have a girl handy to accompany her to the washroom.

"We have class, but we'll be back to get you for dinner," Harry said decisively. "Don't even think of leaving without us." She scowled her response and he nodded his approval of her (unwilling) compliance.

Left alone with no one but the professors and Madam Pomfrey, Hermione took to viewing the 'lively debate'. Watching Sirius and the professors argue was no help to her darkening mood as it just reminded her of how little control she had left over her own life. She slumped down and glowered at them, hoping to convey through expression and posture what she couldn't in words. It didn't work and they continued discussing her as if she were not in the room.

Professor McGonagall left to preside over her class, then Snape, leaving only Dumbledore and Sirius to discuss further spells that might protect her.

'I hate Voldemort,' she thought for probably the hundredths time since July and the passing of The Bloody Law.

"Well, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said brightly. "You appear to have protection enough in place. However, I will ask the portraits to keep watch over you for the remainder of the week."

"Yes, Professor," she replied dully.

Sirius dropped onto the bed next to hers, hands behind his head and ankles crossed, looking more comfortable than he had any right to. "I'd offer you a brandy to get you through the rest of the afternoon, but Dumbledore wouldn't let me bring any," he sighed and she found herself smiling despite the irritation still spiking painfully in her temple.

"No offense, Sirius," she said. "But why are you here?"

"That git attacked my fiancée. I've every right to be here," he sniffed in a manner befitting a teenager.

"They called you in because he forced Amortentia on me and broke my finger?" she questioned sceptically. His presence seemed completely unnecessary given her minor level of injury. Really, she was mortified more than she was hurt, which hardly called for his presence.

"No, they didn't even bother telling me," he admitted.

"Then how did you even know—" she stopped, thinking over the horrid encounter in the washroom, Malfoy's scream of pain and the horrendous blisters that appeared on his palms after he had grabbed hold of her engagement ring. "The ring! What did you do to it?" She brought it close to her face, studying every facet of the ruby and diamonds. Nothing looked out of the ordinary, but if it was bought in Diagon Alley anything was possible.

"I didn't do anything," he replied, sounding rather insulted at her accusation, but adding quietly after a pause, "I didn't have to."

"Why not? What is it?" she demanded. "Why won't it come off? How did it burn Malfoy when he grabbed it?"

"Magic," Sirius said vaguely.

She narrowed her eyes and tightened the grip on her wand dangerously.

"Fine. It's a Goblin-made ring. They forged fidelity charms into the gold so that it can't be removed once a proposal has been accepted."

She wished she had something to throw at him. How dare he make such presumptions! It was bad enough being married to someone she didn't love, but to have him making suppositions about her character was unacceptable. She was not the one making sly comments about sleeping with people. If anyone deserved to have such charms cast on them, it was Sirius. She glared her anger at him, demanding, "What?"

"You've not been seventeen for a full day and you already have twenty-three marriage proposals sitting on Dumbledore's desk and a bloody Malfoy trying to tear that thing off your broken finger," he replied coolly. "I think I made quite the good choice with that particular feature."

Once again she was reminded that Sirius would likely manage to win every argument. It was infuriating. He couldn't even let her have her outrage. She folded her arms across her chest, refusing to admit he had been right. "How did it burn him?"

He grinned. "What sort of stone is it?"

"A ruby," she frowned, annoyed that he was changing the subject.

"Wrong. It's a Blood Diamond."

"That's what Muggles call diamonds mined in warzones and with forced labour," she said.

"It's also what wizards call diamonds made from blood," he countered.

She looked down at the ring again. The red stone still shone as brightly as any polished ruby would. Dense as it was, she found it hard to believe that it was made of blood, but Sirius had never lied to her. Her nose wrinkled up, "Ew."

"It's old magic," he continued, grinning at her childish reaction. "Like the magic Lily used to keep Harry alive."

"Blood magic?" she tore her eyes away from the stone to look at him. According to a book she had read, blood magic was the oldest form of magic known to exist. Spells cast with blood were some of the most powerful, though often the most difficult because blood was selective, specific to only one person. If Voldemort had used another boy's blood to revive himself, he would still be vulnerable to the magic running through Harry's veins. Knowing that did not help her figure out why the ring had burned Malfoy. It had to be someone special to have caused such a severe reaction.

"Whose blood is it?" she asked.

He smiled. "Mine."

She blinked several times in quick succession; if it were not for the downward angle of her lips it would have appeared that she was batting her eyes at him. "Yours?"

He nodded.

Her eyes fell to the ring again. Sirius's blood was on her finger, solidified, cut and polished to rival the neighbouring diamonds in beauty and lustre, but it was still blood. "I'm trying not to saw 'Ew' again."

His bark of laughter filled the ward. "You can be grossed out all you like, but that thing is staying right where it is," he told her. "I'll know when another man – or, in this case, git – touches you for too long. Anyone tries to remove it, I'll feel it like a fire in my blood."

"Malfoy was burned when he touched it and me," Hermione said, still staring at the magical red stone. Massive and intimidating as it was, the aptly nicknamed Bloody Ring was becoming something highly interesting. There were so many things she wanted to go research about it, forms of magic new to her that she wanted very much to study.

"Fidelity charm plus blood magic equals bad news for any man who isn't me," he informed her as a self-satisfied smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Like I said, you're stuck with me."

"Oh. My. GOD!" a shriek pierced the room.

Sirius was on his feet instantly, wand trained on the intruder.

"Put it down," Hermione said hurriedly, struggling to escape from the mass of blankets Madam Pomfrey had tucked around her as she slept. "It's just Lavender."

The girl squealed and pointed an excited finger between the pair. "Tell me I really just heard what I think I heard. Did you really just say 'you're stuck with me'? As in you are her fiancé?"

"What if I did?" he asked.

"Well, you're Sirius Black, right?" she ventured, bouncing with excitement but too nervous to step any closer. "You look so different than your 'Wanted' posters."

"Two years and a clear name will do that," he replied and shifted his wand in his fingers, clearly unsure what to make of the eager girl.

"Lavender, why are you here?" Hermione interjected before the girl had time to ask anything else.

"Hm?" she tore her eyes off Sirius and looked at Hermione's flushed cheeks and nervous lip-chewing. "There was some kind of accident with third years brewing an advanced potion in secret or something. Big mess. We need Madam Pomfrey."

"I'll go get her," Sirius volunteered. His desire to escape the conversation was obvious to both girls.

"So… is it him?" Lavender grinned and sat down on Sirius's vacated bed, scooting so close to the edge that Hermione was amazed she didn't fall to the floor. The girl's eyes remained fixed on Hermione's face with an intensity she had never shown before. It was disquieting to say the least. "It is him!" Lavender practically screamed. "He's the one! Oh my god! He's gorgeous! And so scary! I practically fainted when he stood up and got all protective of you. You are so lucky!"

"Shut up," Sirius growled from the doorway, his voice intimidating in a way Hermione had never heard before. It certainly had an effect on Lavender; the girl clamped her mouth shut immediately.

"Poppy's on her way," he said. "Now get out."

The girl hurried around him, stopping in the doorway to get a view of his backside and sending Hermione a silent thumbs-up before running down the hall.

"She's annoying," Sirius said flatly. "I'm glad you aren't like her."

"If I were, you wouldn't have to worry about marrying me. I'd have been too vapid to get involved or be of any interest to Voldemort," she replied heavily. That had been one of the first thoughts to enter her brain back in July, after the anger faded and hope had been denied.

Sirius dropped back onto his bed, face still heavy with his own thoughts. "I can't picture that," he admitted. "And I tend to think that's a good thing."

"Thank you," she smiled. "That is the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

He smirked. "Now I know how to flatter you. Remind me again, exactly how far will flattery get me with you?"

"Git."

"Swot."

Companionable silence fell between them, leaving Hermione with time to think about what had happened to her, precisely how she had failed to defend herself. The attack had been a surprise, yes, but if she had not been handicapped by her inability to breathe she could easily have fought the boy off.

"Are you any good at nonverbal spells?" she asked, drawing Sirius from whatever thoughts had been occupying him.

"Of course," came his smug reply. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, in the washroom," she said slowly, a little concerned that talking about the incident might anger him but needing to explain so that he could know why she wanted to learn, "he had knocked the wind out of me, but I still had my wand. If I could do nonverbal spells, he wouldn't have been able to get any closer."

Sirius nodded his understanding and waited for her to finish.

"But I can't," she admitted. "I read the textbook and I've been practicing, but I just can't do it." She kept her head down, sure that he was laughing at her silently. He had once called her the brightest witch of her age, but now she couldn't manage one of the simplest NEWT-level tasks. This whole day was becoming more humiliating by the minute.

"It's not really as hard as you think," he replied and she did not miss the absence of mirth in his voice. He sounded almost like Remus as he explained, "Speaking a spell is just the most natural thing. We say it almost as soon as it enters our head, so we forget the amount of concentration involved in performing the magic." He paused, taking out his wand and swishing it through the air, a colourful band of light flowed from the tip. "It's like relearning how to walk. If you think about all the things you have to move, it's impossible to get everything right, but when you actually start doing it… it's the simplest thing in the world."

"But what do I do?" she asked.

"Close your eyes," he ordered and she did. "Pick a spell, something simple from first year."

"Okay."

"Remember everything you learned about it – the pronunciation, wand movements and speed, where you were when you mastered it, everything. See yourself saying the incantation. Picture it in your mind, the words on your tongue, your lips forming around the sounds," he urged her on almost seductively. "Now pick up your wand."

Her fingers wrapped lightly around the polished wood, feeling the magic tingle against her skin like she had not since it first chose her. She lifted the wand, swished and flicked.

Daring to open her eyes, she thrilled at the sight of her quill hovering inches off the bed in front of her. Had she said the words aloud, the quill would have been bouncing off the ceiling. Weak as it was, that it worked at all was enough to bring an enormous smile to her face. But like a cartoon coyote running off a cliff without realising it, awareness of the levitation sent the quill falling back onto the duvet.

She pouted, disappointed that the spell had ended.

"That's my girl," Sirius beamed. "Soon you'll be hexing my competition into the ground without saying a word."