Title: The Lion and the Beast
Author: BookyJuliet
Genre: Dark, Romance.
AU/CU: Alternate Universe.
Rating: M, for safety reasons.
Warnings: More harsh language.
Word Count: 2,750.
A/N: When I imagined this scene, it was nothing at all like it came out. However, I was possessed to keep writing, and so I did. And here is the next chapter. Before all you snooty patoties start commenting saying it isn't reasonable for her not to know information about Wizard holidays, remember two things. FIRST: This is a work of fiction, and as such I as author have the ultimate control in creative freedom, and am using her as a means to an end to explain them to you. And SECOND: That she is a muggle-born, not raised around wizard traditions, and most of what she knows about Wizard culture is learned in school, while shopping for supplies, or from Ron. And I don't see him chatting all day about how he spent his holidays before he went to Hogwarts.
Two Pieces
The sun turned his hair from platinum to gold, haloing him in light, and Hermione triumphantly added it to her list of things she found acceptable about one, Draco Malfoy. So far, the list was short. His taste in literature, he cleaned up after himself, his fingernails were never dirty, the serene look in his eyes while dancing, and the way he seemed to be cloaked in gold in the sunlight. Five things. Five things to save their lives, it seemed inadequate; but was better than nothing.
"Obviously there is a hierarchy," he explains, using his hands as he speaks, his back pressed to a tree in the shade as she stands not five feet away, walking the edge of a pond that was within the barriers of the cottage. It isn't very large, but seems deep enough for swimming if they were inclined. "It's hard to understand at first, and it depends on two factors. If you've got a title, and how close you are to Voldemort."
They lapsed into silence for a while as she busied her mind thinking over this gem of information. "Title, like the Duchess of Cambridge, or title as in Albus Dumbledore, Merlin First Class?" Her question probably seemed stupid and she feels an embarrassed blush rise into her cheeks. It is stunning really how little she knows about Pure-blood society. She wasn't one, and had met very few whom she liked, it was never a subject of interest to her, but now on the bank of the pond, she wishes she had.
"We aren't Muggle royalty, Granger," he groans, like it should be obvious what he is talking about. "Our names, Granger, are our titles. I am Draco Malfoy, son of Lucius Malfoy, grandson of Abraxas Malfoy. I'm a third generator Death Eater, and supporter of Voldemort. Third generation, and my father is inner circle. That puts my family, towards the top, while say, Blaise, while still higher than a blood traitor, half-blood or Mud-Muggle-born is towards the bottom of the triangle. Zabini is a well enough known name, it holds power, and has a sizable fortune to back it, but he isn't a Death Eater, and he isn't close to Voldemort."
Her entire body stiffens as his lips start to form the words she knew were likely in his thoughts, but had somehow remained free and clear from their conversations until this point, before she relaxed as he covers for his almost slip, and she decides to let him. The witch scrunches her nose in thought. This was going to be harder than she initially imagined. "Does generation always factor?" She finally countered, turning to look at him, arms crossed over her chest as she tries to think of who she knows to be a Death Eater.
"Not always. First Generation Death Eaters are always revered with more respect. And while it's true that no one stops being a Death Eater without suffering the…consequences, those who are getting on in age or were gravely injured are allowed the respect without being 'active duty'. Defectors are labeled blood traitors. If you are highly respected, they may let you live, but only after they torture you half insane and destroy your memories. Someone like, aunt Bellatrix and uncle Rodolphus, they are first generation, but their parents were supporters, and they have no children, but are still active and are special to Voldemort himself. Thus, the Lestrange family is highly revered in our society, at least amongst those that are viewed as truly pure."
He takes a break, maybe to collect his thoughts, or to marvel at the fact that he had in fact become one of those defectors. Maybe he is imagining his fate should their side fail. "Peter Pettigrew on the other hand, is a first generation Death Eater for the Pettigrew family; his parents were not supports of Voldemort in the first war and the campaigns before it. And while his lips are firmly attached to Voldemort's arse, his level of respect is just above that of Blaise Zabini."
Hermione mules this over, twisting it this way and that inside her mind as she abandons the cool water to slip into the shade, sitting a comfortable distance away from before she lays back in the grass, one arm resting against her stomach as the other plays with the blades of grass. "It's almost sad, really." She muses aloud, thinking on what she knows of the nervous, scampering Pettigrew. "He betrayed his friends, caused their death and was hunted to the ends of the earth by Sirius, and he's still just a lap dog to be laughed at…"
He seems to ignore this outburst as he pushes onward with his lesson. "Snape, is a half-blood. But he is thought very highly of by Voldemort, and is often sought out by him for advice. Though his blood status is undesirable, his importance to Voldemort cannot be denied, and so he is also looked at as high status."
It was all very confusing, confusing but not unexpected. "My Mother is from the Black family, as is aunt Bella, Andromeda, Regulus and Sirius. The Black family were great supports of Voldemort and what he stood for, and of the four children they had, three of the four became Death Eaters. Because they are from a great family, and married into a second, my Mother and aunt Bella are seen as very important. However, they will always bare the shame of Regulus, their cousin being a defector, and Aunt Andromeda and Sirius being downright against the cause." As he spoke, it seemed to her that he'd been taught these lessons himself, maybe by his Mother, or Father. Or maybe the Aunt of which he accepts so easily.
"His inner circle, the ones he trusts the most, there are twelve of them. They are the ones who are allowed to sit with him at his table during meetings, events and meals if he is staying with a family instead of one of his many bases of operation. The inner circle consists of Severus Snape, Aunt Bellatrix and Uncle Rodolphus, my Mother, Father and I, Peter Pettigrew, Yaxley, Antonin Dolohov, Alecto and Amycus Carrow and Thorfinn Rowle. To other Death Eaters and their families, being a part of the inner circle is a form of royalty in itself." He spoke calmly, like he wasn't giving her a list of the most dangerous men and women in Wizard Britain.
The brunette stayed quiet as she implemented the same analogy she'd been running with all day. Marking Voldemort as King, and setting up his court around him. Listing everyone she knew of to be on his side in order from highest ranking, to lowest in her mind.
"Do you have feasts often?" She inquired, letting her head fall in his direction, taking in the picturesque Malfoy who paused in thought before deeming the question acceptable.
"As you know, the Wizard year runs from October thirty-first through October thirtieth. In that time there are eight major holidays. Samhain, Yule, Imbolc, Ostara, Beltane, Litha, Lammas and Mabon. Some of the Wizard holidays, are larger events, some smaller." He glances up, maybe to make sure she is still paying attention. When he seems satisfied, he starts again.
"For Pure-bloods, Samhain is our Muggle New Year. It's our greatest and most revered holiday of the year. Every Samhain there is a big celebration. It begins with a festival for young Witches and Wizards, there is food, and drinks and games for them to play. In the traditional style, there is a large bonfire, the Feast of the Dead is prepared, and the food offerings placed on altars and doorsteps in the village, extra chairs are everywhere, apples are buried along the road side, and right before the pinnacle, you can write your name on a stone and toss it into the fire so the next day you can retrieve it and see what your year is going to be like based on its condition."
"Then, the fun begins," he smiles devilishly. "All of it leads up to a themed ball, and large feast, hosted by a different family every year that begins at sundown, and lasts until midnight. It is mostly filled with playing pranks on one-another and the sweets are amazing, always homemade. Everyone rushing around, giving their well-wishes for the year, and offering reminders to strength your wards for the year; not to forget about protecting themselves and their families."
Hermione was lost in the things he explained, trying to picture it. At Hogwarts, there was a big feast at Halloween, but nothing like he described. At home, children dressed up in costumes and went door to door for candy. But his description of events was much more satisfying to her imagination. Arts and crafts, hot spiced cider to hold off the chill, playing games. But the ball was the part that had her mind reeling, lost in swirls of autumn colored fabrics that swept elegantly around a grand ballroom.
"That sounds really wicked," she finally admitted, moving to support her weight on her elbows. Ron it seems has rubbed off on her, and she is unsure how she feels about it. "That's only one holiday though; do you celebrate them all that way?" She hates that her voice is filled with the edge of wonder that she is trying, very poorly to conceal.
He smirks, not fooled by her façade. "Mostly. Not all of the festivals are as big or intricate as Samhain. But they are usually filled with good food and grand parties. You will probably be around during the Samhain celebrations, but before that will be Litha. It's the longest day of the year. There is a festival for this as well, but it's smaller, and the feast is usually just for friends and family. Though there is a party, but usually only the adults attend it." Draco shifts then, making a face before settling back into stillness.
"Lammas or Lughnasadh, is a larger festival in July, but it is celebrated in the larger villages, Pure-bloods favor Hogsmeade, but anyone who would like can show up. There is a craft fair, a bon fire after sundown, everyone comes in casual wear, the children braid flowers into the women's hair, men compete in the funeral games and the villagers prepare a feast that is open to everyone, women create gifts to give to their husbands, boyfriends or fathers." The blond has seemed to have gotten lost as he explains the festival, his hands moving along with his words as he tries to explain the happenings.
"After the feast there is dancing around the fire, live music and free drinks from the pubs; thank Merlin. And all day, Tailtin trial marriages are being announced. Funny things trial marriages," he chuckles, the sound dying off quickly as he realizes his slip and his face goes passive once again. "They last for a year and a day, and at the end, you get the choice of actually getting married, or it can be broken without consequences. To Pure-blood families, they are kind of a pain in the arse, but no one is too concerned about them since they are magically binding to an extent, but not legal in the long term…" he trails off, lost in his thoughts, hands going still in his lap.
Hermione's chocolate eyes look up into the sky, watching the clouds as they drift by as she tries to imagine herself in these festivals. Getting lost in their crowds, dancing along; creating gifts to give to…well probably her current companion, he would more than likely toss them out. It wouldn't stop her from creating them, and watching the trial weddings all day wouldn't be too bad, it would even be fun to see what it was like, a year and a day wasn't so bad, and maybe after the war she and Ron could try it. After being Malfoy's fake girlfriend for however long it couldn't be as terrible as…
Sitting up so quickly her head spun, a smile settled on to her lips, she released a sound of victory. "That's it!" She proclaimed a little too loudly for the small space between them. "Malfoy you bloody brilliant ferret!" She moved to stand again her eyes locked on him like he'd suddenly sprouted another head.
"Lammas! Lammas is the answer to Serena staying close to the Malfoy family after the holiday!" She was vibrating with the kind of excitement that only came when a good idea was finally on the table after thinking too hard to find a good answer. "We'll do the Tailtin trial marriage thing. That guarantees us at least a year and a day before we have to start worrying over the next step in the plan, and is a lot more feasible than some disaster in the Hawthorn family. And if your family would rather she not be at the Manor all the time, which I doubt since faking a marriage will no doubt get your mother interested in her in a way she wasn't before that, you can always tell Moody that I need a flat or a house to reside in part time," she mused aloud, before stop in the steady pacing she'd begun to look at him.
"It does make sense, doesn't it?" He finally breathed, his fingers smoothing through his hair. "If it was an accident or streak of bad fortune Mother and Father would want to know all about it, details we don't have and why none of it has been in the post, or circulating through gossip. Not that we concern ourselves with American blood lines, but if it was that bad, we'd know about it…"
She could tell he was cursing her. Cursing himself and the Order and everyone else who just magically assumed that this would be a good idea, and they would manage to pull it together and survive just because the greater good was counting on it. Cursing it because it seemed to actually be happening and despite themselves they were managing to go with the flow and not just cave to the pressure to scream and fight and murder one another. Not that hadn't crossed her mind a million times over by now, because it has with a terrifying frequency.
He growled in apparent frustration. Hermione figured she could understand to an extent. He had his reasons for being a defector; she had her reasons for choosing to be a spy, and risking her life. But those reasons didn't change how they felt about things. She was still 'Mudblood' Hermione Granger. He was still Pure-blood Draco Malfoy. He hated her for things she could not control, and she in turn hated him for it. If there was one thing she could say for them, there would be no lack of passion in their faked relationship.
"You aren't marrying me," she snaps finally when she can take his silence no longer without it wounding her pride further. "You're marrying Serena Hawthorn. American witch. Pure-blood." She lets the word stretch on her tongue, emphasizing it while she does her best to keep the heart and discomfort from her face. "And it wouldn't be real, either. Just a faked year and a day marriage to go with our faked relationship, with an imaginary witch; that happens to be acted out by myself, and not because I particularly want to do it either."
Malfoy's eyes are flashing, and she takes this to mean that he is angry for some reason over something she has said. Probably the part about not wanting to do it anymore than he does, why shouldn't she want to be his wife for a year? What possible reason could there be for her? He maybe her school time enemy, but he is still one of the most well off blokes in Wizard society across the globe.
"Fine, we'll bloody do it then!" He hisses no end to whatever rage he harbors inside of himself. "Fuck…" he spits, as he pushes up from the tree, with his sleeves rolled up, she can see the mark branded on his forearm, the twisting black void that mars his alabaster flesh. Right, her mind seems to answer. Because, he's a Death Eater. Even if he was parading around as a Phoenix, he still had the mark of his hatred and blood supremacy on his skin.