This was it. Her wedding day. The day she would be bound to a member of Voldemort's inner circle. Today, she would lose her freedom, her innocence and her future. She had said goodbye to her dreams of making a difference to the world. Hermione felt defeated, as she prepared for her wedding. Upon her return from her shower, she noticed a rectanglar black box on her bed. Atop it, was a folded piece of parachment. She was exhausted from researching Wizarding marriages the night before, and wanted nothing more than to crawl back into bed; yet, she was curious. Picking up the note and unfolding it, she read the beautifully written note inside.
Dorogaya,
I planned a proper handfasting ceremony. Some of my associates will be attending, but the ceremony will be held at Hogwarts. Aren't I a considerate husband? Knowing my future wife fears the idea of marrying anywhere else.
In the box is your gown. Wear it. I think it will suit you; you'll wear no shoes - handfastings are done barefoot. Wear your hair down.
Until later, my little bride.
A.D.
Opening the box, Hermione's gaze was met by white fabric. With shaking hands, she extracted the dress from the confines of the box; allowing the length to unfold, revealing the dress. It was exquisite. The gown was made entirely of Acromantula silk. The bodice had a sweetheart neckline, and a corseted back. Dotted along the neckline, was tiny celtic runes sewn into the fabric; some of which she didn't recognise. Pooling on the floor, was the skirt of the dress. From the bottom of the bodice, the lace skirt gently fanned out to the floor. She couldn't deny that her fianc had good taste.
Laying the gown on her bed, Hermione dried herself the muggle way. It took longer, yet, it grounded her. Whenever she pictured her wedding, she imagined her mother doing her hair and make-up; her father bodering on tears, as he tells her how beautiful she looks. But, she hadn't told her parents about the law, so they wouldn't get to do any of that. She slipped on the white underwear that had been at the bottom of the box. The bra push her breasts up and encased them in lace; whilst the panties were lace brazilians, bordering on being a thong. They only added her discomfort.
Clad in the underwear, she transfigured a quill into a mirror, and began on her hair. She refused to have it down like he had ordered, so she gathered the top layer of her hair. Deftly, Hermione began to braid the hair into a running plait. As she reached the end of the plait, she carefully tied it before beginning to put the rest of hair into a bun. Wrapping the plait around the bun, she pinned it into place. With the exception of a few little curls that framed her face, her hair was perfect. Dolohov has another thing coming if he thinks he can tell me what to do, Hermione thought determinedly. Casting a quick Tempus charm, she noticed that she only had thirty minutes before the beginning of the ceremony. Applying mascara and a light blush, the young bride rushed to put on her dress. The quicker this gets done, she thought, the less time I'll have to be around him.
Although he didn't show it, Antonin was nervous. Having pictured himself an eternal bachelor, his future was changing quickly. He found himself thinking of gifts he would rain upon her, in an attempt to win her affections. His thoughts changed to their wedding night; would she cry and refuse to go near him? Or would his Little Bird put on a brave face? Either way, he would enjoy the feeling of her under him, above him. He planned on consuming her, hoping that she was as responsive as she was when duelling. Damn, he was hard now.
Looking out at the guests, he saw faces of Order members and fellow Deatheaters; heard them talking amongst themselves. The half-breed Lupin and his little girlfriend were amongst the Order guests that he had invited for Little Bird; hopefully, getting him in her good graces. Looking at his own guests, he saw the Malfoys - with the young scion smirking at the idea of the Mudblood marrying a Deatheater; Rabastan Lestrange, the brother of his best friend; and Rowle, the Dark Lord's hit-wizard. Seeing the Order on guard made him smirk, they were unaware that the Dark Lord had ordered a temporary truce. There would be no attacks from the Deatheaters today. It did not shock Antonin to see that Snape was glaring at him; neither was it lost to him that he seemed rather protective of Hermione. But why? Why want to protect a Mudblood?
Surprising to everyone, Antonin had opted for a muggle suit. It showed his broad shoulders, narrow waist and long legs. In his lapel, was a Dolohov rose. The rose had been designed by his mother; the petals were forest green, with silver accented tips. A truly unique flower, just as unique as his Little Bird. Silence fell upon the guests as the band began to play the wedding march. Walking slowly, down the petal-littered aisle, was Hermione. Antonin was shocked; she looked like the embodiment of an angel, the epitome of innocence. She didn't look at him, even as she stopped in front of him. Woven into her hair, was a Dolohov rose. It aggitated him that she had worn her hair up; he had wanted it down. Although, with her hair up, her long plae neck was on show - begging to be bitten.
Before walking down the aisle, Professor McGonagall approached the young bride. In her hands was a green rose. "Hermione," the scottish woman began, "I'm sorry you have to go through this. But, all of the Order's efforts have been in vain; Voldemort made sure there would be no loopholes." McGonagall wove the rose into Hermione's hair, as she tried to process this new information. She tried to speak. No words came out. "According to your future husband, this is a Dolohov rose; completely unique. He insists that you wear it." McGonagall stated;yet, in her heart she knew that her young lion cub did not care for Herbology.
Walking down the aisle, Hermione thought of nothing more than how much she wanted to bolt. The grass tickled her barefeet, although it was still wet with morning dew. One half of the guests were Order members, she could see Remus Lupin and Tonks in the front row; whilst Mad-eye Moody stood off to the side. Yet, none of her close friends - no Harry or Ron. The only Weasley there was Bill, who gently smiled when she caught his eye. The other half of the guests were 'cleared' Deatheaters. Malfoy's senior and juniour smirked maliciously, whilst Mrs Malfoy looked slightly fearful. Was it for Hermione's wellbeing? Most likely, Snape had said that Dolohov was known for his incredibly short temper.
There, at the end of the aisle, was her fianc . Clad in a muggle suit, Hermione could easily see him being an athletic man. Broad shoulders, long legs and a narrow waist - if she ignored his beliefs, Hermione might have been attracted to him. Taking her position next to him, and holding his broad calloused hand, she allowed her mind to wander. The ministry offical began the ceremony, tying a length of white ribbon around the couple's hands before fluently speaking Gaelic, but Hermione couldn't hear. She was thinking of the dreams she had given up; of curing lycanthropy; of giving muggle-borns more rights. The official turned to her and waited for her reply - it was time to say those fateful words that would change her life. "I do." Hermione whispered. She could feel Dolohov smirking at her, she refused to look at him. He declared his own "I do," before the daunting part of the ceremony.
The official turned to the bride and groom. "I now pronounce you man and wife, you may kiss the bride." Dolohov pounced. Pressing his sinful lips to her own plump one, he moulded her mouth for a minimalistic amount of time. His hand cupped her cheek, before pulling away. He had forgone his serpent ring. Dolohov ran the pad of the thumb across the light scar on her cheek before pulling it away. The Deatheater held her gaze, the slightly insane glint in his eyes reminded her of a sane Barty Couch Jr. Yet, under that slightly insane haze, Hermione could see an unrecognisable emotion. What was it? She thought. "I present to you, Mr and Mrs Dolohov!" Exclaimed the ministry official, as the wedding bands appeared on the newly wedded husband and wife's left hands.