Chapter Fifteen: His Wife
"I got a little bird
I'm gonna take her home
Put her in a cage
And disconnect the phone."
Little Bird-The White Stripes
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"The fabric of your flesh, pure as a wedding dress
Until I wrap myself inside your arms I cannot rest."
Howl-Florence and the Machine
Yawning, Hermione entered her room looking for Harry. She didn't see him, so she assumed he was still in the loo. She walked to the door, knuckles raised to knock, but the sound of the shower running reached her and she turned back to her room.
Humming softly to herself, she began to pull out a random pair of pyjamas from her dresser, laying it out on the bed. A glance at her window informed her it was still snowing outside. It had been snowing all day; the first snow of the season, and she wrapped her arms around herself as she looked out over the grounds.
There must be several inches of snow already, she thought. I'm glad I'm not out there.
She walked back to her bed then, and was about to unzip the back of her dress when she saw something she had not noticed before. Leaning closer, she discerned it was a letter, poking out from underneath her old scarlet jumper.
She picked it up gingerly. What was all this about?
Her fingers were trembling and she didn't know why, but it annoyed her, so with one fluid motion she ripped open the envelope and pulled out the small sheets of parchment inside.
Her face drained of colour as she read the first four words.
We are so sorry, the letter read.
Sorry? Sorry for what? Her mind asked, but she ignored it and read on.
Don't be mad at Ron, Hermione. This was all my idea. He absolutely refused when I first proposed the idea but later agreed it was for the best. This is to protect you. I know we had planned to do this later in the year, but after Malfoy attacked you at Hogsmeade, we decided we would leave right after the ball. We have to end this war and put Malfoy in Azkaban or worse for what he's done.
Tears were clouding her eyes, blurring her vision so that she could hardly read the rest. Furiously, she wiped them away.
I understand if you hate me for this but I just want you to know that I'm doing this because I love you. You are everything to me and if Malfoy knows that, then surely the others do as well. If you had come with us, you would be exposed and right in the open for anyone to find. I know we studied all those protection and concealment spells, but I can't take that risk. If Malfoy or any of the others find you, there's no telling what they might do.
There was a strangled sound suddenly and she jumped, looking around wildly, only to realize it had come from her.
Don't come after us, Hermione. Please.
Tomorrow you'll meet Ginny on the train and you'll go to the Burrow for the holiday. You'll be safe there, the Order will be there and there have been Aurors stationed there as well to protect you all.
Please understand I'm doing this because I love you. I told you I would never hurt you and that was a lie, because no doubt this is hurting you. But I would rather have you hate me than in the enemy's control.
Promise me you won't come after us, Hermione. We won't be able to contact you or anyone else until we've found what we're looking for.
I'm so sorry.
I love you.
Horrible, broken sobs wracked her body and she stumbled to the bathroom, blasting open the door with her wand.
Nothing.
The shower was on but the tub was empty. She turned it off and staggered back to her bed.
This couldn't be happening. How could they? How dare they? Leave her here? She felt numb with shock, and she froze where she stood, feeling her skin turn ice-cold. The letter fell from her hand and landed with a quiet rustling sound on her bed as the panic began to set in. Feeling strangely detached for a second, she grasped her wand and set the note ablaze, watching it curl and cinder in the flames.
They left her.
The rage and fury began to boil inside her, but it was not enough to quell the increasing hysteria growing inside her. They needed her. How dare they think they could just leave her here, to be taken care of like a frail princess when they were out to end a war? She had told Harry, time and time again, that she would go with him. All this time, they'd been lying to her. Her heart sank horribly and for a second she thought she might vomit. He had decided this since the last attack. She felt like an idiot. So that was why they had been acting so strangely.
She hadn't realized she had bolted out of her room until she tripped over her gown and found herself sprawled on the floor of the hallway just outside the Head dorms. Blindly, unaware of the tears sluicing down her face, she scrambled back up and began to run. Her elbows were sore and bleeding but she didn't care about that or the scrapes on her palms. Inwardly, she cursed herself for not having changed before she had set off, or even bringing her charmed purse, which she had kept hidden in her room since the beginning of the year, but she didn't dare go back and waste time. In all her distress Hermione had forgotten about the snow, and would come to regret it.
Her sobs were labored as she ran; she wanted to keep as quiet as possible so no one would hear her and come to investigate. Her vision was blurred and distorted due to her tears, but her feet seemed to know exactly where to take her, because in what seemed like a matter of seconds (though it was really several minutes), Hermione collided into the statue of the humpbacked witch and fell backwards on her backside onto the cold stone floor with a startled cry. Not one to dwindle on pain, she was back up in an instant, shaking with nerves as she whipped her wand out and tapped while shakily whispering "Dissendum."
The secret passage was revealed and without further delay she slipped down into the tunnel.
The note had arrived a few minutes ago, bearing a cryptic message.
She is attempting to run. Expect a special delivery in a moment.
The handwriting was clumsy and unsightly; no doubt the author of the note was not accustomed to writing much. He glared at the scrap of parchment before throwing it into the fire.
Damn it all, it had been only fifteen minutes since its arrival and here he was, waiting for his 'delivery'. He knew full well what the 'package' would entail, and was curious as to why she was running away. Choosing a spy had been a spur of the moment decision- he had merely wanted to keep tabs on her. Merlin knew what on Earth had provoked her to make such a foolish act, but he wasn't complaining. It had turned out to his advantage in the end and he would reap the benefits.
She simply needed to get here first.
The glass structure had finally been completed; mere seconds before he had received the note, in fact. He had rushed to his study immediately afterwards in all his excitement, though he had felt that he had forgotten to do something rather important, he had ignored the feeling and now he couldn't quite remember what it was that he had been going to do.
That didn't matter now, anyway. There were more pressing matters at hand.
It was snowing more heavily in Hogsmeade when she snuck out of the sweet shop, making sure to lock the door behind her and that she had not been seen.
Although- she looked around wildly, shivering though she could not feel the cold due to panic- the snow was heavy and thick; it was hard to see through. No one was outside, as far as she could see. She could feel it catching in her hair, landing and sticking to her skin before melting, not fast enough, though, because more snow was falling over it, forming layers. She brushed it off impatiently and began to run.
They had gone over this many times, marking the route they would take to slip out of the village. Luckily for her, the snow was still light on the ground, and she only slipped once or twice, but always caught her fall, and her footsteps were muffled by the heavily falling snow. She was feeling murderous at this point. She knew they couldn't be far off, unless they had decided to Apparate, but that hadn't been part of the plan, at least, not until they had reached their destination, which was the clearing in the forest, where they would be far enough that no one would her them Disapparating, and they would be safely out of Hogwarts' tracking shield. Her feet were stiff with the cold she could barely feel, yet she ran past the empty shops and dark buildings until she had reached the woods.
Panting, Hermione leaned against a bare tree trunk, clutching at a stitch in her side. Her breaths expelled from her lips in large puffs that she could see quite clearly in the cold, still air. Her dress was ruined, but she did not care. Her curls were frozen stiff with the snow, and it felt awkward on her scalp and back. She looked down to grab her wand when she caught sight of the footprints.
There were two pairs, and with a thrill in her heart she recognized them instantly as Harry and Ron's. They were recent, which gave her a dizzying sense of hope, which was quickly crushed when she realized the trail would soon be covered by the falling snow. Stiff hair forgotten, she set off again, following the trail of footprints as fast as she could.
"Maybe we should head back," Ron offered quietly, hopefully. "She's probably furious right now, and you know we need her, mate. We can't do this on our own."
They had reached the clearing already. They both stood uncertainly in the center, aware their next move, but neither wanting to initiate the journey, they stood at a standstill.
"We've gone this far," Harry said quietly. "We're doing this to protect her. She'll be safe at Hogwarts now that McGonagall knows and now that there's someone to look after her."
"Mate-" Ron protested.
"You think I don't want to run back? You think I don't hate myself for having done this?"Harry snapped. "I feel like a right arse right now. But she'll get over it. She has to. She'll be safe there; he can't get to her there, not anymore. We will find Malfoy and we will do whatever it takes to bring him down."
Ron was silent. Harry sighed.
"I'm sorry," he said brokenly. "I just can't let anything happen to her. I love her too much to let her put herself in harm's way."
"But it's her decision to make, not yours," Ron said.
"I know."
"We're not going to go back, are we."
Harry sighed. It was snowing so thickly he couldn't even see his breath before him.
"No."
If she hadn't felt the cold before, she was really feeling it now. Encrusted with snow, her feet were half frozen and numb, eyelashes were encrusted with snowflakes; even if she rubbed them away, they would be back within seconds. With every step Hermione berated herself for having let herself be so mindless as to forget shoes, of all things, but forged on as best as she could, vowing that she would castrate the boys once she found them.
It must have been her tired eyes and overactive mind playing tricks on her, but twice now she had heard a muffled sound somewhere around her. She suspected it must have been a frightened rabbit or something, but that didn't explain the movement she had sensed behind her just now.
Hermione whirled around, wand brandished, but there was nothing. Heart pounding, she stumbled forward. She could feel her pulse in her temples.
Just for reassurance, she cast a Disillusion charm over herself, and a Muffliato for good measure, and teeth chattering, she began to run again.
"Do you hear that?"
"Hear what?"
"Some odd rustling sound," Ron said, peering about them.
"Might be a fox," Harry said dully.
"Right," Ron said, but he didn't sound quite convinced.
"Ready to go?"
"…Yeah."
The footprints were clearer here, and she knew she was close. Indeed, just as she picked up her pace, she could hear a distant voice, which she just barely identified as Ron's. What were they saying?
Please don't let them leave just yet!
They were in her view now, she could have cried with relief she was so happy.
Until a loud crunch sounded behind her and with an awful drop in her stomach, she realized she was not alone. Fight or flight kicked in, so hard she couldn't decide what to do and when she did, it was too late. Something knocked into her before she could turn and she fell on her side, her head knocked hard onto a large rock and large, fuzzy black spots danced over her vision, even as she violently struggled against whoever this attacker was who was tying her wrists together and had one hand clamped over her mouth, silencing her cries.
Nononono!
Another struggle caused her to accidentally hit her head against the rock again, and oh, how it hurt. Something hot and wet ran down the back of her neck and kicked out with her legs feebly, even as her body was going limp and the last thing she heard was the muffled twin cracks of two persons disapparating, and a second later, she felt herself be sucked into space, spinning wildly away, even as her hands weakly pushed, one last effort to free herself. They were moving quickly, traveling through space, her stomach lurching so violently she feared she was going to sick all over herself. With difficulty, she opened her eyes. Everything was blurry, her ears were ringing so loud she couldn't hear her pained mumblings, but she clearly saw the face of Argus Filch just as unconsciousness claimed her.
He was in study, pacing across the room, pushing his hands through his hair distractedly as he waited.
Why was he taking so long?
He absently kicked at the floor, and stiffened at the noise that erupted in the lower floor. The noise wasn't so unusual. It was more like scuffed footsteps on a smooth floor, but in the otherwise silent Manor, it was as if a troll had just blasted its way through the front door.
Draco let himself shake the tension from his shoulders, straightened his spine.
They had arrived. He ran his tongue over his teeth.
So he hastened down to the main floor and into the foyer, where Filch was staggering under the weight of the girl, whom he was carrying over his shoulder.
"Put her on the chaise," Draco ordered, and watched as the old man dropped the girl onto the furniture like a sack of mulch.
"Gently, you fool!"
Once he had finished, the ancient man straightened as much as his bent spine allowed and turned to him, awaiting his next order. The ancient mans' eyes were glossy and unfocused, his posture unnaturally stiff. There was no expression on his face. Had any Hogwarts student seen him then, they would have sensed something to be amiss, for the caretaker always had an unpleasant frown on his lined, sallow face.
Draco turned to the caretaker.
"Get back to Hogwarts. You will forget any of this ever happened. If you are questioned about the girl you will say you last saw her with Potter."
Filch nodded once and exited the Manor. He would have to walk quite a distance before he would be able to get back to the castle. He'd left a Portkey on the dining room table. Filch would have to remember to grab it, or face an even longer road to Hogwarts. Draco didn't bother reminding him. Either he remembered, or he wouldn't. Draco was too occupied to care.
He took a small object out of his pocket and held it tightly in his fist as he surveyed the young woman lying unconscious on his bed.
Her hand lay limp beside her body, nearly dangling off the side of the chaise. His eyes swept over her form, and he took in her frozen feet. Her gown was shredded and soaked through, clinging to her skin. Her hair was wild and dripping wet, he bent down for a closer look, and watched as the last clumps of ice began to melt. Her lips were blue, her skin deathly pale. He tapped his wand against her forehead, muttering a strong heating charm, and watched, fascinated, as the colour returned to her skin. Now that she was dry, he noticed the redness and puffiness around her eyes. He wondered again what on earth could have prompted her to leave the castle in this manner, improperly dressed for the weather, obviously emotionally unbalanced as well, by the look of it.
He looked at her dress. It was a deep, brilliant scarlet, bringing out the paleness of her skin, the pink in her lips and cheeks. It was rather simple, he decided, with a sleeveless bodice that tucked in at her waist and flared out into a full skirt.
There must have been a holiday ball then, he thought.
Funny, he'd forgotten what time of year it was back there.
Sliding one hand underneath her head, and the other under her legs, he picked her up and carried her to his bedroom, placing her gently on his bed.
It wasn't until he had set her down that he found the blood on his hands. He looked at it in shock, thinking he had somehow injured himself, but then he thought twice and looked at the girl. Nothing seemed amiss until he looked closer. A few strands of her hair were streaked with her blood, and worried; he rolled her onto her side and pushed her hair to the side. The injury was right on the back of her skull, somewhere, he couldn't determine exactly where due to her hair covering it, but at least it was not still bleeding. Her hair was matted with blood and he cursed the ancient caretaker loudly for having treated her so roughly.
He called his house-elf to the room and once it had appeared, gave it orders to heal and dress her wounds and to dress her.
"Give her a sleeping potion once she is ready. I will come to check on her once you have finished and then I have some matters to attend to."
The poor elf nodded and snapped its fingers to levitate her to the bath as Draco left the room.
He entered his study and anxiously began to pace around the length of the room. His heart was beating fast, pounding in his chest.
He finally had her.
Finally. It seemed a weight had been lifted off his chest now that she was here; he was elated and anxious to have her already, to claim her. He still held the ring in his fist, the ring that would tie her to him.
He had originally considered holding a private marriage ceremony with only his parents and Blaise to attend, but he didn't want to go through the trouble of planning it out and waiting even longer for her to be his. So he had done some heavy research, learn some ancient spells and had made a few adjustments to the ring. All he had to do was slip it on her finger and she was officially his wife. He was already wearing his ring, of course. It was a simple platinum band, but it was enough for him.
His thoughts kept going back to why she had run from the castle.
Where are Potter and Weasely? He wondered. Why would they not be with her? And why did she leave? Were they the reason she left? What happened at the ball?
So many questions…
It would be a while before he could get the answers. This frustrated him, for he wanted to know, and he wanted to know now.
He made his way back to the bedroom, where his elf was just laying the girl down onto his bed. Her blood had stained his sheets, so they had been changed.
"Is there anything else Master would like Bogg to do?" the elf asked.
"Leave us."
Bogg bowed and with a loud crack, was gone.
Draco approached the bed, studying her.
Beautiful.
As she always had been. As he had pictured her, dreamt of her, all this time she had been away.
She had been dressed in one of the nightdresses he had got for her, akin to the one she had worn the first time he had slept with her. Her hair was dried and smelled like roses, her curls fanning over the pillows. All traces of the tears she had shed and whatever she had just gone through were gone, as though they had never taken place, and she was just asleep.
Smiling to himself, he took the ring from his pocket and sat on the side of the bed, next to her.
He stroked her temple with his hand, feeling her hair there, the warmth of her head. He picked up her right hand and slid the ring onto her finger, and stiffened as he felt the magic coursing through him, binding them together. He looked down at her again, stroking her curly head.
He was married. Just thinking about it made him want to laugh.
Of course, coming from his lineage, he knew he would have had to marry someday, but he had never seriously thought about it until he knew he wanted her. Once there might have been a voice inside him that would have fretted over the legality and the morale of what he was doing, but he was a child no longer and had never heeded that voice anyhow. This was what he wanted.
And now she is mine.
Taking care not to hurt her, Draco leaned over and kissed her. It was the first chaste kiss he had ever given her, without lust or desire. He would have to be content with it for now, as he had to go inform his parents of the events that had just transpired. Softly, he kissed her again, relishing the warmth of her lips against his, and stood, looking over her one last time with the faintest proud smile on his lips.
"My wife," he said to himself. He decided he liked saying it. His wife.
His wife.
