A/N: Gah! In my haste to get this to you I accidentally put up the wrong version of the chapter the first time. Thanks to JennCvice for pointing it out! Sorry to anyone who received multiple alerts--I'm still new to the doc manager!
Hermione Granger woke up too slowly. It seemed to be getting just a little bit harder to open her eyes every day—if it was day—and just a little easier to ignore the aches and close them in sleep.
"Good morning, Granger."
She lifted her eyes toward the mask. He was the only one who still called her that; the only reminder that she was still a human being with a name.
"Though I suppose it isn't very good for you, now is it?"
With tremendous effort she lifted her head from the rough stone floor of the cell and leaned on her forearms, the closest thing to sitting she could manage.
"You're in luck," he said brightly. "Today I'm not only going to give you this delightful breakfast, but I'm also going to make you feel a bit better. Doesn't that sound dandy?"
Hermione looked up warily. Her other tormentors had strange ideas about what would make her feel "better," and this one was far too jovial. He pushed a tray toward her. The metal ground against the rough floor and the sound pierced her fragile brain unforgivingly. The usual unappetizing fare graced the plate without shame, and her mind calculated the worth of expending energy to reach for it. From the edge of her eye she saw him reach for his wand and she tensed involuntarily.
"Merlin, Granger. As high-strung as a cornered kitten. You're nearly there, aren't you?"
She was too tired to figure out what that meant. It probably meant pain. Everything meant pain.
"Episkey."
The coolness of the magic spread across the surface of her body, tingling slightly across her bruises. She watched as the blue and black stains on her forearms melted back, leaving her pale skin to glow eerily white in the dim light.
"Well?"
She looked up at him, puzzled. The spell had only healed her smallest injuries and she still weak from lack of food and weeks of abuse. She sat up slowly, and while the motion painfully reminded her of the worst nights of her captivity, she was strangely thankful.
"Aren't you going to thank me, Granger?"
She couldn't read his expression in the dim light, but it sounded like he was trying to be playful. It was too hard to tell.
"Thank you." She whispered.
"Mother, I really don't see why I need to be bothered with all of these details for the wedding. I have four days left to myself and I would like to actually enjoy them."
Draco polished off his coffee and selected a croissant from the breakfast table. Narcissa pursed her lips.
"Draco, this wedding is going to be the social event of the season, and I should not have to remind you that true power is maintained with more than wands and spells."
Lucius put down The Daily Prophet and looked pointedly at his son.
"I think we've all experienced the iniquity of the other sort of leadership before."
Draco rolled his eyes and let out a slow breath.
"Fine. But I still don't care about the details." He turned with a slow smile toward his mother and added, "that's what I have you for, isn't it?"
"That, and to remind you that every single time you eat one of those you get crumbs all down your shirt. Honestly, my dear. Your bride has learned to be less slovenly."
Narcissa raised an amused eyebrow as her son looked down at his crisp white shirt and wrinkled his brow with slightly worried concern. Certainly, he was one of the most powerful wizards of his age on a number of playing fields, but she was privy to his idiosyncrasies and knew well the amount of time her precious son spent in front of a mirror.
"Speaking of power," Lucius cut in, "have you studied the particulars for the Sang Primoris? I know the details of the wedding day mean little to you, but the wedding night must be something else entirely."
Draco glanced at his mother involuntarily.
"No, I haven't looked over the spell since you showed it to me originally."
"But you are capable of—"
"Yes, perfectly capable." Draco said quickly. "Father, perhaps this is a conversation not suited for the, er, breakfast table."
"Now, Draco. You can joke about shagging the Hufflepuffs in front of your dear mother but you can't discuss your wedding night?" Narcissa smiled mischievously. "Honestly Draco. It's not as though I've never—"
"Really, Mother. Please."
Lucius and Narcissa shared a knowing smirk.
"Well, we could always change the subject. Do you think we should select the more traditional roses and stephanotis or something more contemporary, perhaps orchids? Either way we'll stud them with diamonds, an absolute non-negotiable, but I just can't decide on the blossom."
Draco rolled his eyes upward and shut his eyes as though praying for deliverance. He missed his mother's conniving grin toward his father, who shook his head at her teasing and went back into hiding with a flick of his newspaper.
The days had passed too quickly, and now the awful day had arrived.
Ginny exhaled slowly and ran her fingers down the bodice of her wedding gown. The girl in the mirror looked at her with wide amber eyes, not recognizing the face that gazed upon it. The reflection was beautiful, tragically so, with red tendrils resting on cheeks that were graced with the most delicate of beautifying charms. The worried brows were perfectly shaped, arching toward plentiful curls which were tucked away just so under a lacy veil.
She did not look like a Weasley.
The aching sadness that arose when she first wore the gown was nothing compared to the total despair she felt now. She was mourning the loss of dreams she had never allowed herself to have and of moments for which she had never hoped.
She'd never been the type to imagine her wedding—she'd spent more time sneaking off with her brothers' brooms than dreaming of a wedding gown—but suddenly, she realized that she was mourning those choices, those moments. If that weren't enough to agonize her heart, she remembered that there were only a few hours separating her from Draco Malfoy.
Her soul was torn asunder.
It was her own fault this was hitting her all at once. She had filled the last five days with denial. She'd scoured the library from top to bottom with the hope of finding something redeeming, shocking Mrs. Malfoy with her supposed studious diligence. Her efforts turned up void, though. Without a wand there was little she could do to escape. She had fantasized that Charlie and Remus and whomever else would come bursting in at some moment, curse the Malfoy lot into oblivion, and carry her off into the setting sun. For five long days, she'd wished and hoped and determined to escape, but now reality was crashing down around her ears in the form of a white gown, roses, and Pachelbel.
"Miss Weasley. My dear, you look perfect. Such a lovely gown, is it not?"
Narcissa peered at Ginny's reflection from over her shoulder, smoothing the veil with an elegantly manicured hand. Her entire appearance was flawless, and Ginny nearly shuddered at thought of countless beautifying charms applied year after perfect year to maintain the woman's natural beauty. Delicately, Narcissa adjusted the comb that held Ginny's veil in place. The delicate gold filigree was encrusted with precious stones and it sparkled radiantly in the afternoon light.
"Come, my dear. Everything is as it should be."
That was an outright lie, Ginny thought vehemently, but the rise of anger could not still the tide of panicked sorrow. She followed Narcissa obediently, a cold, hard lump in her stomach keeping her from floating away on clouds of denial.
At the top of the stairs two identical, angelic looking little girls picked up Ginny's train. She had no idea who they were and wondered for a moment if the Malfoys had transfigured flower girls from flower pots. She wouldn't put it past them. Narcissa led the small procession through the main hall toward the back garden. Her heels tapped on the floor in time with Ginny's heartbeat, which was thudding like an executioner's drum.
"Here we are, my dear. In a few moments these doors will open, at which time you will walk down the aisle. I should not have to remind you that I have worked very hard to ensure that this day is absolutely perfect, and if you even appear to be sabotaging that, you will find yourself under a very effective Imperious curse. Am I clear?"
The French doors opened and the sun spilled eagerly into the room. Through the doors Ginny could see a crowd of people looking at her expectantly. For a moment, she froze, but Narcissa delicately cleared her throat and Ginny snapped back. Should even the smallest chance at escape present itself, she wanted to have her mind at her own disposal. Tentatively, she stepped out into the waiting sunlight.
The crowd was mostly made up of Death Eaters. She could see the Lestranges and the Macnairs sitting toward the front, and sure enough, both the Crabbe and Goyle families were in attendance. Surprisingly, most of the crowd seemed to be pleasant, though two pretty blondes—Ginny couldn't remember their names, though she was sure they were sisters—looked as though they were trying to figure out how to hex her and get away with it. As Ginny passed by a familiar looking dark-complected young man, he winked flirtatiously and smirked as smugly as any Malfoy.
She had no idea how great the effect of the sunlight had on her gleaming white dress and titian hair. In moments, many of the doubts the Death Eaters might have had regarding Draco's choice vanished, as every single society reporter was ferociously scrawling about the radiant bride.
Ginny felt numb. The faces blurred with the flowers in the strong sunlight, and even the sight of her impeccably dressed, impossibly handsome, husband-to-be did little to stir or shake her. She took his hand vacantly, not noticing his narrowed eyes and stepped up to the altar.
"Are you under the Imperious curse?" he hissed.
"No," she whispered, surprised. "Are you going to—"
He shook his head curtly and turned his attention toward the officiate. Ginny did the same and gasped. Pius Thicknesse, the Minister of Magic, stood before her. Her mind swirled. If he was here marrying her to him then everyone was in a lot more trouble than she realized.
"Witches and Wizards of England…" Thicknesse intoned, beginning the ceremony.
"Bloody fuck," Ginny whispered to herself, "bloody, bloody fuck."
"Oh, that's a perfectly fantastic thing to say at the altar," Draco hissed.
"I'm at the altar with you. I'd say it's fitting."
"You've gotten rather cheeky in the past week." He snapped in barely a whisper.
"I've gotten cheeky? At least I'm not a self-absorbed git." She muttered.
"Self-absorbed, am I? Trust me, Ginevra. I'll spend plenty of time over the next week absorbed with you." He murmured, his eyes on Thicknesse.
She couldn't help but blush, and for a moment was thankful that a few choice charms were hiding her complexion from the world.
"I require and charge you both that if either of you know any impediment why you may not be joined together in lawful matrimony, confess it now."
Thicknesse was glowering down at them, and for a brief moment Ginny considered explaining to everyone that she was not only here against her will, but also that the Malfoy family was inherently evil and carrying out a diabolical plan. However, Draco caught her eye, and the hard silver in his gaze and the shift in his jaw kept her silent.
"Very good. Draco Malfoy, will you have this woman to be your wedded wife, to live together in the estate of matrimony? Will you love her, comfort her, honor, and keep her in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, keep yourself only to her, so long as you both shall live?"
Draco cocked a sarcastic eyebrow at the incredulous expression on Ginny's face.
"I will."
"Ginevra Weasley, will you have this man to be your wedded husband, to live together in the estate of matrimony? Will you obey him, and serve him, love, honor, and keep him in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, keep yourself only to him, so long as you both shall live?"
Now Ginny cocked her eyebrow. The difference in the vows was subtle but marked, and she chided herself for being surprised.
She realized that Draco was glaring daggers at her. Narcissa was seated next to Lucius in the front row, idly toying with her wand.
"Oh, er, I will."
Damn.
"Please join your hands."
Draco's hands were cool and steady, and the gentle pressure of his thumb in her palm sent little chills through her. She had never held his hand before.
Her mind was foggy, yet clear. She was the shell again, but she was filled with fire. She was present, repeating vows, but far away, uncomprehending the meaning. She wondered if Narcissa had cursed her after all, but no, her movements were her own. Draco slipped a band of gold around her finger.
"With this ring, I thee wed, with my body, I thee worship, with my worldly goods, I thee endow."
The words rang loudly in her ears but the meaning was not lost. She'd have better access to his money now, but she would feel guilty every time she spent it. As for worshiping her with his body…Ginny didn't want to think about that. There was no ring for him. Far be it from the Malfoy family to have an egalitarian view of marriage.
Thicknesse droned louder still as he intoned the final words of the ceremony.
"As Draco Malfoy and Ginevra Weasley have consented together in wedlock, and have witnessed the same before this company, and have given and pledged their vows to one another, and have declared the same by giving and receiving of a ring, and by joining of hands; I pronounce that they be man and wife together. You may kiss your bride."
Draco leaned in toward Ginny, cupping her chin with a gentle hand and tilting her head slightly. His mouth met hers softly and she felt sparks shoot through her, and despite the chasteness of the kiss, she still gasped when he pulled away. She hoped he didn't notice.
The guests broke out into a quiet smattering of applause and the two walked back together down the aisle, followed by Narcissa and Lucius. Narcissa gave Ginny a perfunctory embrace and Lucius nodded graciously, but the warmth ended there. Draco let out a preoccupied sigh as the guests began to filter out, greeting the party of four as they entered the Manor.
"Why, Ginevra, you look positively stunning. Your gown is an authentic Tallieur, is it not?"
Ginny was a little taken aback by the friendly interest shown by blonde girl's compliment—it was one of the two girls who looked like they wanted to kill her earlier. She murmured an affirmative reply and watched as the girl passed by Draco with barely a nod.
"Miss Greengrass." He said quietly, and Ginny watched as his eyes followed her through the doorway.
Most of the guests were polite but cool. They called her Mrs. Malfoy, which was terribly odd. Most gave her the smallest bob or bow they could afford while still looking respectful. This didn't bother Ginny at all; she wasn't sure what to make of any of it. The anxious sorrow was setting in again, and she desperately hoped that the after party would be a lengthy affair. She was now actually married to Draco, and only a few short hours separated her from the completion of the evil, ancient spell—and everything that it required.
"Come on, Ginevra."
She took Draco's elbow and followed him into a large ballroom. The space glittered and twinkled with diamond studded flowers and floating candles and soft music filtered through the air. Draco led her to the center of the dance floor and swept her into a slow waltz.
"So, Mrs. Malfoy, how does it feel to be married?"
"I don't really feel anything," she replied quietly.
"A little bit of denial, hm?"
He cocked a knowing eyebrow and smirked in such a way that a few weeks ago Ginny might have tried to smack him across the face for being a presumptuous git. Instead, she avoided his gaze, peering past his shoulder as Narcissa had taught her.
"I don't know, Malfoy. How do you feel about being married to me?"
"It's a means to an end."
She cringed at his blunt remark and he tightened the hand that held her waist, causing her to gasp again. Startled, she caught his eyes accidentally, and the power she found there made her shiver. Even though this was a waltz and Draco's form was faultless, he felt too close. He held her tightly, managing not only his perfect timing, but also her own, and the act of leading her around the dance floor was quickly becoming less than innocent. Ginny felt the tension building with every step. She looked up at him, wide eyed. His white blond hair fell around his face, messy but perfectly placed, and though his expression was calmly ambivalent, the tightness of his jaw and shoulders showed that he was wearing a mask, and Ginny wondered what he was concealing.
The music ended and the gathered crowd clapped politely and began another dance.
"What do you mean, 'a means to an end,' Draco?"
He smirked at her.
"You're mine to do with as I see fit, for whatever end I choose."
Ginny crinkled her eyebrows together and glared from underneath them.
"You're a cold-hearted, arrogant, little ba—"
He covered her mouth with his own and a thrill went through her again. Damned thrills. Damned kisses. Damned Draco.
"What have I told you about calling me names?"
"Like I'm going to stop because I've got a ring on my finger." She muttered.
"No, you're going to stop because I decide what you say and do. I choose where you sit, how you stand, and what you say." He leaned in and whispered, "I decide when you get to go to sleep tonight, Ginny. You do not want to call me nasty names."
The afternoon turned into evening and the party wore on. Ginny danced a few more times and then faded, like the daylight, into the background. Draco was immersed in conversation with the dark skinned young man who had winked at her earlier; it made sense they would be friends. She recognized Pansy Parkinson hovering nearby, probably waiting for a dance. The younger of the two blonde sisters was laughing animatedly at the conversation, and despite the fakery and nastiness that Malfoy's companions seemed to revel in, Ginny felt a stab of longing for her own friends. Once again, the pain of realizing that her wedding day was more of a funeral cut her deeply.
"Draco." Lucius pulled his son into an alcove off the hallway.
"What? I'm just meeting Zabini outside."
"The smoking habits of Mr. Zabini notwithstanding, the Dark Lord has contacted me. Are you ready?"
Draco sighed.
"Yes."
"So you've researched the spell carefully?"
"Of course. I know we discussed the Imperious, but I'm afraid that the spells could interfere. The logic is hazy, anyway. So I have to…well..."
"The old-fashioned way."
"You know I hate it."
"There is no chance that she would be complicit?"
"Very little. And it would take me far too long. The Dark Lord wants it to happen tonight?"
"Before midnight was his request."
"No, I don't think she'll be willing before midnight."
"Well, you know what you need to do."
Draco sighed and lifted his eyes heavenward.
"Yes. I do."
A House Elf led Ginny up the stairs to a grand chamber. It was furnished in ebony and draped in emerald, and Ginny found it fitting for death. The more dramatic part of her wondered if suicide was the best choice, but she decided it was too much like giving up. If this was the end of the tragedy, she'd wait for her deus ex machina.
Draco entered the room and shut the door behind him. It clicked quietly and the sound echoed in the large bedroom. He was still perfectly dressed in formal black and white, and his slightly unruly hair was the only sign that the day was ending. Ginny's curls had begun falling a few hours earlier, and the soft locks falling around her face lent her a vulnerability that did not go unnoticed.
"Come here."
She glared at him.
"Please, Ginevra, don't make this any more difficult than it needs to be."
"What, so I should throw myself at you? You've taken everything else from me and you expect me to lay my last shred of dignity down without a battle? After all, I'm merely a means to an end."
"Trust me, Ginevra. You do not want me to take this from you like that."
The gravity of his tone made Ginny pause, but only for a moment.
"Then don't do it, Malfoy!"
"Draco."
"Malfoy."
"Fine. But I'm going to have my way. I just don't want to hurt you."
"Don't want to…?" she spluttered, "If you didn't want to hurt me then you should have thought about it a long time ago. You killed my family, Draco! You kept me against my will, tortured me, humiliated me, hurt me, and violated me. And now here we are, and you don't want to hurt me?" she breathed heavily, her face flushed pink underneath worn concealment charms. "I was right, in the library. You don't have it in you."
"Oh, I have it in me. In case you haven't noticed, little Ginny, I'm a Death Eater. I may not bear the Mark, but I have the mask. You think I can't force you to my will right now? I've done it before and I've seen it done hundreds of times more. I've seen the light in a girl's eyes dull as something deep inside of her dies. I've seen the pain, I've heard the screams, and I've felt the warm blood. I have it in me, Ginny, if you make me. The decision is yours."
Ginny's rage fell away and cracked against the fear in which she was sinking. She stood frozen as he walked up to her, his eyes unreadable. He circled her slowly, like a predator—like he had when she'd first fallen through the grate. She had been frozen then, too. Gently, he reached down and kissed her.
"Kiss me back, Gin."
Somehow, she did.
Draco's hands turned her, slowly, and went to the ribbons that held her in her gown. He eased the bow undone and slowly pulled the satin through the eye. It popped out with a loud crack and a flash of white light, and when Draco opened his eyes, she was gone.
A/N: Oh, how you must LOVE me right now!
The good news for you is that I'm more motivated to update quickly. Of course, reviews help. The amount of reviews on the last chapter was lower than normal (I think that's due to 's upgrades), so by all means, encourage me!
Much of the wedding ceremony is borrowed from a version of The Form of the Solemnization of Matrimony from 1662 (Anglican Wedding Ceremony).
Also, please read my story, Secret Revenge Doodles, and then go vote for it in Rowan Greenleaf's "Ginny Draws Draco" challenge! All of the info is on Rowan's profile. I'd give you a link but hates me.