Disclaimer – I don’t own any of the canon characters or concepts. Don’t sue me.
CHAPTER 16 – White Wedding
They sat on the couch in the living room, not kissing but simply embracing, touching – they couldn’t seem to let go of each other, to lose the simple, uncomplicated joy of mere physical contact. He rested his head on her shoulder, rather enjoying the contrast of his fair, almost silver hair tangled with her dark red; of his black robes against her plain cotton pants and shirt. What a pair they made – the aristocrat, without his normal social mask, not bothering to hide his predatory nature anymore, and the woman who had only just begun to find her own truths, her own identity.
He had found himself long, long ago – in the darkness and terror of a midnight attack, in the stark, uncompromising choice between one evil and an even worse one. In the bloody hell of a horrifying war with no front lines and no rules, and in the hatred and the grief that he had never managed to drown, not with violence, not with drink, not with sex and not with drugs. But in Ginevra, he had found peace. In the cool, shadowed depths of the Grove, held against her breast as she rocked him and let him cry, he had found catharsis. What would he find in her love?
For the first time, he let himself hope, just a little.
“I’m not quite sure that this is real,” she said softly, almost wonderingly. “It’s like a dream, like a fairytale…”
He stiffened involuntarily, ruining the mood. “I don’t believe in fairytales,” Draco said softly. “I haven’t since I was fifteen.”
She looked at him, huge, drowning eyes silently questioning. “I found out, that year, that there were some things that all the power, all the influence in the world, couldn’t fix, couldn’t make better…”
“You found out you weren’t omnipotent and omniscient?” she guessed, half-smiling.
But he didn’t laugh. “No,” he murmured, turning away from her to hide his eyes, “I found out that my father was only a man after all.” He set her on her feet, walked slowly over to the window, and leaned his head against the glass. “My father, the great and powerful Lord of High Clan Malfoy, was a man just like any other; for all his power and all his influence, he was still a mortal man, and he died, as mortal men do, when I stabbed him.” He finally looked at her, his eyes bitterly amused. “I half expected him to survive…”
She walked up to him, her heart filled with compassion, and laid her palm against his cheek – turning his eyes to hers, exposing them in all their defenceless vulnerability. “Oh, Draco…” she whispered, grieving for the boy he had once been. There were many kinds of innocence…
He didn’t look away, he didn’t close his eyes. He let her see everything. Covering her hand with his own, he leaned into the caress, rubbing his cheek against the soft, scented skin – it was so gentle, and yet so strong; she would have even less chance than Gerald, were he to turn on her in a cold rage, but he couldn’t look away from her, couldn’t free himself from the silken chains she bound him with.
Trust. Affection. Compassion. Understanding. Love. Oh, Lady, he loved her – it was more than physical desire, more than the bond… It was everything. And it was terrifying.
But he had gone so far beyond common sense, beyond self-preservation, beyond any kind of sanity today. With an almost tortured groan, he reached out and slowly, so slowly, pulled her against him, into his arms that held her almost too tightly, as if he were afraid she would pull away, as if he were afraid that he wouldn’t be able to stop her.
“Oh, Ginevra…” he whispered it against her hair, his eyes shut tightly as he inhaled her scent, the unique, utterly intoxicated smell that was hers alone. He felt as if he would recognize her anywhere, no matter what she wore, what she looked like, what she smelled like – he would recognize her. Because he loved her. And because he loved her, because he knew that of all things in this world, love was by far the rarest and the most fragile, he threw everything he had been taught of discipline and self-control and the Game out of the window.
For once in his life, he would do something solely because he wished it. He would have something for himself alone, something that no one else, not his Clan, not his blood kin, not his allies, would share in, benefit by or profit from. Draco Malfoy tossed aside years of caution and proper behaviour, and for once in his life, did something that he would have, in other circumstances, utterly deplored. He acted recklessly and impulsively, without first thinking of the possible consequences.
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Ginny wondered just what had inspired the almost rib-crushing hug, but was too happy to really care, because it meant that Draco had, at long last, cast aside all the control and discipline that had kept his behaviour relatively polite when dealing with her – especially when it came to the more…intimate…dealing.
But this had absolutely no resemblance to his first chaste kiss outside her parent’s house. And his kiss after their argument, well…she fought the urge to giggle mindlessly. He must have been angry, furiously angry, to have lost that much control and actually jerk her off her feet – after the first initial shock, she had found herself participating fully, and had been more than a little disappointed when he had slowly toned down the heat and pulled away. But this – this almost desperate hug was excellent. Exactly what she had been looking for. Because, quite frankly, she had been intrigued by the thought of finally consummating their bond…
But it was more than that. The desire was a very large part of it, an integral part, but her fascination with him ran deeper than that. She had wanted to know him, know his heart and his mind and his soul; after he had broken down in her arms in the Grove, he had been opening up to her more and more, letting her see into him, allowing her to see exactly what he was and what drove him. And somehow, during the times she had fought with him, comforted him, defended him, mistrusted him, desired him, been horrified by him, and had, eventually, found him stronger and more reliable than any other man she had ever met, she had somehow fallen in love with him.
He had paid for and masterminded her transformation, and held her hand throughout it all. He had told her, as she guessed he had told very, very few others, of his patricide and what he had done to become the Malfoy. He had taken her to a High Clan, political dinner and had whispered a running commentary in her ear so she wouldn’t be completely lost. He had held her hand as if she were the only real thing in a world of illusion; he had needed her for his very survival. He had killed Gerald for her. Because Gerald had struck her, he had killed him.
Of course she loved him, even if he did think differently, live differently, and even talk differently. She had always sworn that she would never end up like her mother, whose life revolved around her family – but there was one thing that she had picked up from Molly. Living with a family as large as the Weasleys, there were occasionally problems and spats, differences of opinion and outright arguments – keeping the peace almost always required compromise of some sort.
There was no problem that couldn’t be worked out if the two parties were willing to compromise, to meet each other halfway…
It wouldn’t be easy. Draco, the High Clan Lord with all his views and values and his archaic beliefs, and Ginny, with all her views and values and beliefs, almost none of which seemed, at first glance, to be compatible – they came from different worlds, High Clan and normal society, Slytherin and Gryffindor, and they thought that they could make a life together. The bond would help. But that would only provide the impetus and the reason to stay together – it wouldn’t guarantee that their life would be happy, or even peaceful. They would have to work at it, work at it harder than they had ever worked at anything before.
To her eyes, it was more than worth the price of trying – and so it must be to him, else he wouldn’t be holding on so desperately to her. She didn’t realize that she was holding on just as closely to him… She could feel his heartbeat, feel its steady rhythm, and hear his steady breathing as he breathed her in, as she breathed him in. And then she felt him tense again, heard him breathe, almost hesitantly, “Ginevra…?”
Still lost in dreams, she was smiling foolishly as she pulled back to look up into his eyes. Her heart skipped a beat as she saw the serious expression in his eyes, the most uncharacteristic look of tension. “Yes…?” she answered uncertainly.
He took a deep breath, closed his eyes momentarily. When he opened them again, he looked down at her intense silver eyes. “Will you marry me?”
She frowned. “I thought we had already agreed to,” she said, worried. “Don’t you…?”
He shook his head. “No, I mean today. Right now. I don’t want to wait anymore…”
Her heart leapt, and she opened her mouth to agree wholeheartedly, but then hesitated. Stopped and thought. “This is about your trial, isn’t it?” she asked, suspicious, but pleased with herself for working it out. “Circumstances have changed, so we need to get married sooner, right?”
He blinked, looked confused for a priceless moment. “What? No! Well, yes, it would certainly be good, but that’s not the reason I was asking. I just…” He swore under his breath, raked a hand through his hair. Turned back to her with scowling eyes. “Damn it, can’t I do something without a secret agenda for once?”
She thought it best not to answer.
He swore again. “Sweet fucking Lady! All right, you want the real reason?” he asked, snarling at her quite irrationally, she thought. She nodded dumbly. It only made him angrier. “I love you!” he shouted, actually shouted, “isn’t that enough for you?”
Stunned, she could only blink. And then she smiled slowly, a crazy exultation welling up in her heart. She reached out and pulled his mouth down to hers, telling him her answer without the need for words. “I love you too,” she whispered shyly. She felt him reach out, felt the world spin, and held on for dear life as they apparated.
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They came out in Diagon Alley, at the apparation point nearest the registry office. Looking at it with distinct foreboding, she looked at Draco suspiciously, wondering whether he had lost his mind. “The registry office?” she asked with dangerous softness.
He looked down at her, amusement lurking in his eyes. “Yes, the registry office.”
She only looked at him, at the soulless brick façade of the registry office, where tedious administrative details were carried out by a nameless, faceless bureaucracy in complete anonymity, and down at herself, dressed in old clothes and the slippers she’d slipped into this morning. She was certain that she had bags under her eyes. Then she looked back at him, in his expensive robes and his perfect grooming, still gorgeous even after the horrendous day that he’d had. She moved closer, felt him control an impulse to step back. She had always known that Draco was intelligent…
“If you think,” she said very, very softly, “that I am getting married at the registry office, in,” she looked down at herself, “an ancient shirt and ratty pants, with my hair mussed and in not an ounce of makeup…”
This time he did back away, holding up his hands. But someone had raised him correctly. “I think you’re beautiful,” he said sincerely, not a bit of amusement showing. “Even in the old clothes and without makeup, you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen…”
She looked at him with grave suspicion – but decided to let him live. And then, looking into his beautiful silver eyes, seeing the truth of the words he had spoken, that she was, indeed, beautiful to him just as she was, she felt her heart melt all over again. For a love like that, for the captivated look in his eyes, for the hint of heat that he allowed through, for everything that he was and everything that they could have together, she happily abandoned any plans she might have had for a properly planned wedding.
She didn’t need a long, glorious white dress, or a beautifully decorated church, or every single one of her relatives watching; she had old, comfortable clothes stained with the dirt and grass of the Grove, with Draco’s tears, and with Gerald Tarrant’s blood – bits of sacred ground, mixed with the proof of Draco’s trust and love…and she had Draco’s eyes to watch her.
She didn’t need an elaborate, public ceremony to cement and flaunt what had grown between them. The Grove knew, as did its Guardians. His family and his people knew, and so did hers. In the eyes of his Law and his Gods, they were already all but married, and all that was lacking was the consummation. She supposed that she could get married in the Registry Office. Smiling, she linked her arm through his, and they went in.
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The clerk, bored and unenthusiastic, asked them their business. Draco was in no mood to play games, or even try for subtlety.
“We want to get married,” he said with disastrous bluntness. Luc would have been most displeased. Well, Luc could take his discipline and… “Please,” he said, the lessons too well learned. He could all but see Ginny laughing at him.
The clerk blinked, looked down his nose somewhat at their less than immaculate clothes – especially at Ginny. Draco supposed that they did look rather ill dressed for a wedding; quite frankly, he didn’t care, as long as they got it over with soon. “Very well, sir,” murmured the clerk. “I will need both your birth certificates, and some proof of identification.”
Ginny looked at him, but he calmly produced a shrunken file which he had been carrying in his pockets for a while now – Arthur Weasley had slipped it to him while his wife hadn’t been watching. He had added his own documents later. He lay the documents flat on the counter so the clerk could see – papers certifying that Ginevra Molly Weasley had been born in mid-1981, to Molly Agnes Weasley and Arthur John Weasley, and her apparition license. Then he added his own birth certificate, confirming the birth of Caius Draconis Malfoy in early 1980, to Caius Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Celeste Malfoy. He took considerable pleasure from the look on the clerk’s face. Any hint of boredom or superiority vanished as if it had never been. There were no more glances at their unusual attire or their dishevelment, only smooth obsequiousness.
They made their way into the civil celebrant’s office, with its lectern for the celebrant and its discreet desk for the register, and the strip of red carpet to add a little prestige. Draco escorted her to the end of the carpet, unconsciously walking a little regally and with all the pride he had; he passed the attitude onto Ginny, who had her head high and was carrying the old clothes with all the grace of a queen. He gave her hand a little squeeze, and smiled reassuringly.
The celebrant cleared his throat, and if he had any thoughts or comments about the unusual nature of this ceremony, he chose, perhaps wisely, not to air them. His face was a study of impassivity, and he even managed not to stare overlong at Draco, or to stumble over the words of the High Clan ceremony Draco had insisted on. There were some things he would not give up, even to make her his wife as soon as possible.
“Do you, Caius Draconis, of High Clan Malfoy, take this woman, Ginevra Molly, of House Weasley, to be your wife, your companion…your Lady?”
He nodded. “I do.” This was the ceremony of his forefathers, the words that had been passed down through the generations; strictly speaking, they should have been wed in the Grove, witnessed by his ancestors and his People, on Beltane Eve with the fertility fires burning. The words sounded oddly out of place in this soulless building, spoken by the colourless bureaucrat who had no understanding of the forces he was invoking, the strength of the Vows he asked them to swear.
By my blood and the blood of my ancestors – he could feel it begin, feel the power gathering, called by the invocation of a blood vow – I, Caius Draconis Malfoy, swear to take this woman, and even her family, including her mother and her brother Ron, into my keeping and under my protection, to hold her through the good times and the bad, to keep her from all harm, to stand with her for the rest of my days, to love her with all that I have and all that I am…
There was an undeniable feeling of rightness, in speaking those words. It was meant to be. Of that, he had no doubts.
“Do you, Ginevra Molly, of House Weasley, accept this man, Caius Draconis, of High Clan Malfoy, as your husband, your companion and your Lord?”
She nodded. “I do.” He looked at her, and for perhaps the first time since she had come into his life, there was not a single doubt in her eyes, or even the slightest hint of mistrust. She looked certain, as if she wanted this with every bit of her Gryffindoric resolve… He knew that it wouldn’t last, that it would come back, eventually, every now and then and probably more often than not. He accepted that. She was a Weasley, and a Gryffindor, and so naturally they were suspicious of the Malfoy – in fact, it quite amused him on occasion. But still, her absolute certainty made him feel quite ridiculously exultant.
Through a daze of happiness, Ginny heard the celebrant ask if there was anybody who had any objections. She could feel Draco tense, knew that if there were any interruptions, he would kill them – luckily for him, there were no objections from the clerk or one of the secretaries, who had been rounded up as witnesses. She wondered, just a little irrelevantly, whether Ron would have had something to say.
That reminded her – she hadn’t yet told her brothers and Harry about the wedding yet – aside from the fact that they had only agreed to marry early this morning, she thought it might be best if the wedding were a fait accompli before she broke the news. Ron could rant and rave all he liked, then.
The time had come to exchange rings – Draco hadn’t thought of this, and so after some thought, slipped the ancient silver ring of the Malfoy Lords off his finger and onto hers. It pleased him, in some way that he couldn’t quite define, to see his ring on her slender, elegant fingers, a visible mark that she was Malfoy now, that she was his. And Ginny, who had been equally unprepared, rooted around in her pockets and found a paper clip, which she promptly transfigured into a ring.
He grinned delightedly, laughing at the recklessness that had driven them so precipitously into this, but before she could think too much of it, the celebrant pronounced them husband and wife, they signed the register, and Draco, her new husband, her new Lord, was kissing her. Possessively. Lovingly. Passionately. They looked at each other for a long, timeless moment, and then, both in complete accord, she put her hand in his as he apparated them both to the edge of the Malfoy land. They would do this, at least, in the correct manner. They apparated, hand in hand, to the Grove, which welcomed them home and into the heart of the Malfoy.
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Back at the Burrow, Arthur’s instinct quivered again, warning him of another imminent arrival. This time, the intruder felt older, deeper, and somehow…richer than Gerald had – this man was certainly not pure, certainly not innocent, but there was more complexity in his personality, and a deeper feeling of bedrock solidarity. Arthur had only met this man once, but that one time had been enough to form a favourable impression of Dane Harcourt.
He headed back into the living room, to warn Draco of the Auror’s arrival, only to find the room empty, and both Draco and Ginny gone. There was a note on the table – he picked it up, read it, raised an eyebrow and passed it to Luc, looking forward to seeing the other man’s reaction.
“Couldn’t wait,” it read. “Getting married today. See you tomorrow.” It was hastily stamped with the Malfoy seal. Luc swore under his breath, showing the first real, unfeigned displeasure that Arthur had ever seen him display. He stifled a most indiscreet grin, and sat down to await the Auror’s coming – and to plan just what he was going to say when Harcourt asked where Draco had gone. He was a past master at keeping his troublesome children out of trouble…
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CHAPTER 16 – White Wedding
They sat on the couch in the living room, not kissing but simply embracing, touching – they couldn’t seem to let go of each other, to lose the simple, uncomplicated joy of mere physical contact. He rested his head on her shoulder, rather enjoying the contrast of his fair, almost silver hair tangled with her dark red; of his black robes against her plain cotton pants and shirt. What a pair they made – the aristocrat, without his normal social mask, not bothering to hide his predatory nature anymore, and the woman who had only just begun to find her own truths, her own identity.
He had found himself long, long ago – in the darkness and terror of a midnight attack, in the stark, uncompromising choice between one evil and an even worse one. In the bloody hell of a horrifying war with no front lines and no rules, and in the hatred and the grief that he had never managed to drown, not with violence, not with drink, not with sex and not with drugs. But in Ginevra, he had found peace. In the cool, shadowed depths of the Grove, held against her breast as she rocked him and let him cry, he had found catharsis. What would he find in her love?
For the first time, he let himself hope, just a little.
“I’m not quite sure that this is real,” she said softly, almost wonderingly. “It’s like a dream, like a fairytale…”
He stiffened involuntarily, ruining the mood. “I don’t believe in fairytales,” Draco said softly. “I haven’t since I was fifteen.”
She looked at him, huge, drowning eyes silently questioning. “I found out, that year, that there were some things that all the power, all the influence in the world, couldn’t fix, couldn’t make better…”
“You found out you weren’t omnipotent and omniscient?” she guessed, half-smiling.
But he didn’t laugh. “No,” he murmured, turning away from her to hide his eyes, “I found out that my father was only a man after all.” He set her on her feet, walked slowly over to the window, and leaned his head against the glass. “My father, the great and powerful Lord of High Clan Malfoy, was a man just like any other; for all his power and all his influence, he was still a mortal man, and he died, as mortal men do, when I stabbed him.” He finally looked at her, his eyes bitterly amused. “I half expected him to survive…”
She walked up to him, her heart filled with compassion, and laid her palm against his cheek – turning his eyes to hers, exposing them in all their defenceless vulnerability. “Oh, Draco…” she whispered, grieving for the boy he had once been. There were many kinds of innocence…
He didn’t look away, he didn’t close his eyes. He let her see everything. Covering her hand with his own, he leaned into the caress, rubbing his cheek against the soft, scented skin – it was so gentle, and yet so strong; she would have even less chance than Gerald, were he to turn on her in a cold rage, but he couldn’t look away from her, couldn’t free himself from the silken chains she bound him with.
Trust. Affection. Compassion. Understanding. Love. Oh, Lady, he loved her – it was more than physical desire, more than the bond… It was everything. And it was terrifying.
But he had gone so far beyond common sense, beyond self-preservation, beyond any kind of sanity today. With an almost tortured groan, he reached out and slowly, so slowly, pulled her against him, into his arms that held her almost too tightly, as if he were afraid she would pull away, as if he were afraid that he wouldn’t be able to stop her.
“Oh, Ginevra…” he whispered it against her hair, his eyes shut tightly as he inhaled her scent, the unique, utterly intoxicated smell that was hers alone. He felt as if he would recognize her anywhere, no matter what she wore, what she looked like, what she smelled like – he would recognize her. Because he loved her. And because he loved her, because he knew that of all things in this world, love was by far the rarest and the most fragile, he threw everything he had been taught of discipline and self-control and the Game out of the window.
For once in his life, he would do something solely because he wished it. He would have something for himself alone, something that no one else, not his Clan, not his blood kin, not his allies, would share in, benefit by or profit from. Draco Malfoy tossed aside years of caution and proper behaviour, and for once in his life, did something that he would have, in other circumstances, utterly deplored. He acted recklessly and impulsively, without first thinking of the possible consequences.
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Ginny wondered just what had inspired the almost rib-crushing hug, but was too happy to really care, because it meant that Draco had, at long last, cast aside all the control and discipline that had kept his behaviour relatively polite when dealing with her – especially when it came to the more…intimate…dealing.
But this had absolutely no resemblance to his first chaste kiss outside her parent’s house. And his kiss after their argument, well…she fought the urge to giggle mindlessly. He must have been angry, furiously angry, to have lost that much control and actually jerk her off her feet – after the first initial shock, she had found herself participating fully, and had been more than a little disappointed when he had slowly toned down the heat and pulled away. But this – this almost desperate hug was excellent. Exactly what she had been looking for. Because, quite frankly, she had been intrigued by the thought of finally consummating their bond…
But it was more than that. The desire was a very large part of it, an integral part, but her fascination with him ran deeper than that. She had wanted to know him, know his heart and his mind and his soul; after he had broken down in her arms in the Grove, he had been opening up to her more and more, letting her see into him, allowing her to see exactly what he was and what drove him. And somehow, during the times she had fought with him, comforted him, defended him, mistrusted him, desired him, been horrified by him, and had, eventually, found him stronger and more reliable than any other man she had ever met, she had somehow fallen in love with him.
He had paid for and masterminded her transformation, and held her hand throughout it all. He had told her, as she guessed he had told very, very few others, of his patricide and what he had done to become the Malfoy. He had taken her to a High Clan, political dinner and had whispered a running commentary in her ear so she wouldn’t be completely lost. He had held her hand as if she were the only real thing in a world of illusion; he had needed her for his very survival. He had killed Gerald for her. Because Gerald had struck her, he had killed him.
Of course she loved him, even if he did think differently, live differently, and even talk differently. She had always sworn that she would never end up like her mother, whose life revolved around her family – but there was one thing that she had picked up from Molly. Living with a family as large as the Weasleys, there were occasionally problems and spats, differences of opinion and outright arguments – keeping the peace almost always required compromise of some sort.
There was no problem that couldn’t be worked out if the two parties were willing to compromise, to meet each other halfway…
It wouldn’t be easy. Draco, the High Clan Lord with all his views and values and his archaic beliefs, and Ginny, with all her views and values and beliefs, almost none of which seemed, at first glance, to be compatible – they came from different worlds, High Clan and normal society, Slytherin and Gryffindor, and they thought that they could make a life together. The bond would help. But that would only provide the impetus and the reason to stay together – it wouldn’t guarantee that their life would be happy, or even peaceful. They would have to work at it, work at it harder than they had ever worked at anything before.
To her eyes, it was more than worth the price of trying – and so it must be to him, else he wouldn’t be holding on so desperately to her. She didn’t realize that she was holding on just as closely to him… She could feel his heartbeat, feel its steady rhythm, and hear his steady breathing as he breathed her in, as she breathed him in. And then she felt him tense again, heard him breathe, almost hesitantly, “Ginevra…?”
Still lost in dreams, she was smiling foolishly as she pulled back to look up into his eyes. Her heart skipped a beat as she saw the serious expression in his eyes, the most uncharacteristic look of tension. “Yes…?” she answered uncertainly.
He took a deep breath, closed his eyes momentarily. When he opened them again, he looked down at her intense silver eyes. “Will you marry me?”
She frowned. “I thought we had already agreed to,” she said, worried. “Don’t you…?”
He shook his head. “No, I mean today. Right now. I don’t want to wait anymore…”
Her heart leapt, and she opened her mouth to agree wholeheartedly, but then hesitated. Stopped and thought. “This is about your trial, isn’t it?” she asked, suspicious, but pleased with herself for working it out. “Circumstances have changed, so we need to get married sooner, right?”
He blinked, looked confused for a priceless moment. “What? No! Well, yes, it would certainly be good, but that’s not the reason I was asking. I just…” He swore under his breath, raked a hand through his hair. Turned back to her with scowling eyes. “Damn it, can’t I do something without a secret agenda for once?”
She thought it best not to answer.
He swore again. “Sweet fucking Lady! All right, you want the real reason?” he asked, snarling at her quite irrationally, she thought. She nodded dumbly. It only made him angrier. “I love you!” he shouted, actually shouted, “isn’t that enough for you?”
Stunned, she could only blink. And then she smiled slowly, a crazy exultation welling up in her heart. She reached out and pulled his mouth down to hers, telling him her answer without the need for words. “I love you too,” she whispered shyly. She felt him reach out, felt the world spin, and held on for dear life as they apparated.
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They came out in Diagon Alley, at the apparation point nearest the registry office. Looking at it with distinct foreboding, she looked at Draco suspiciously, wondering whether he had lost his mind. “The registry office?” she asked with dangerous softness.
He looked down at her, amusement lurking in his eyes. “Yes, the registry office.”
She only looked at him, at the soulless brick façade of the registry office, where tedious administrative details were carried out by a nameless, faceless bureaucracy in complete anonymity, and down at herself, dressed in old clothes and the slippers she’d slipped into this morning. She was certain that she had bags under her eyes. Then she looked back at him, in his expensive robes and his perfect grooming, still gorgeous even after the horrendous day that he’d had. She moved closer, felt him control an impulse to step back. She had always known that Draco was intelligent…
“If you think,” she said very, very softly, “that I am getting married at the registry office, in,” she looked down at herself, “an ancient shirt and ratty pants, with my hair mussed and in not an ounce of makeup…”
This time he did back away, holding up his hands. But someone had raised him correctly. “I think you’re beautiful,” he said sincerely, not a bit of amusement showing. “Even in the old clothes and without makeup, you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen…”
She looked at him with grave suspicion – but decided to let him live. And then, looking into his beautiful silver eyes, seeing the truth of the words he had spoken, that she was, indeed, beautiful to him just as she was, she felt her heart melt all over again. For a love like that, for the captivated look in his eyes, for the hint of heat that he allowed through, for everything that he was and everything that they could have together, she happily abandoned any plans she might have had for a properly planned wedding.
She didn’t need a long, glorious white dress, or a beautifully decorated church, or every single one of her relatives watching; she had old, comfortable clothes stained with the dirt and grass of the Grove, with Draco’s tears, and with Gerald Tarrant’s blood – bits of sacred ground, mixed with the proof of Draco’s trust and love…and she had Draco’s eyes to watch her.
She didn’t need an elaborate, public ceremony to cement and flaunt what had grown between them. The Grove knew, as did its Guardians. His family and his people knew, and so did hers. In the eyes of his Law and his Gods, they were already all but married, and all that was lacking was the consummation. She supposed that she could get married in the Registry Office. Smiling, she linked her arm through his, and they went in.
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The clerk, bored and unenthusiastic, asked them their business. Draco was in no mood to play games, or even try for subtlety.
“We want to get married,” he said with disastrous bluntness. Luc would have been most displeased. Well, Luc could take his discipline and… “Please,” he said, the lessons too well learned. He could all but see Ginny laughing at him.
The clerk blinked, looked down his nose somewhat at their less than immaculate clothes – especially at Ginny. Draco supposed that they did look rather ill dressed for a wedding; quite frankly, he didn’t care, as long as they got it over with soon. “Very well, sir,” murmured the clerk. “I will need both your birth certificates, and some proof of identification.”
Ginny looked at him, but he calmly produced a shrunken file which he had been carrying in his pockets for a while now – Arthur Weasley had slipped it to him while his wife hadn’t been watching. He had added his own documents later. He lay the documents flat on the counter so the clerk could see – papers certifying that Ginevra Molly Weasley had been born in mid-1981, to Molly Agnes Weasley and Arthur John Weasley, and her apparition license. Then he added his own birth certificate, confirming the birth of Caius Draconis Malfoy in early 1980, to Caius Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Celeste Malfoy. He took considerable pleasure from the look on the clerk’s face. Any hint of boredom or superiority vanished as if it had never been. There were no more glances at their unusual attire or their dishevelment, only smooth obsequiousness.
They made their way into the civil celebrant’s office, with its lectern for the celebrant and its discreet desk for the register, and the strip of red carpet to add a little prestige. Draco escorted her to the end of the carpet, unconsciously walking a little regally and with all the pride he had; he passed the attitude onto Ginny, who had her head high and was carrying the old clothes with all the grace of a queen. He gave her hand a little squeeze, and smiled reassuringly.
The celebrant cleared his throat, and if he had any thoughts or comments about the unusual nature of this ceremony, he chose, perhaps wisely, not to air them. His face was a study of impassivity, and he even managed not to stare overlong at Draco, or to stumble over the words of the High Clan ceremony Draco had insisted on. There were some things he would not give up, even to make her his wife as soon as possible.
“Do you, Caius Draconis, of High Clan Malfoy, take this woman, Ginevra Molly, of House Weasley, to be your wife, your companion…your Lady?”
He nodded. “I do.” This was the ceremony of his forefathers, the words that had been passed down through the generations; strictly speaking, they should have been wed in the Grove, witnessed by his ancestors and his People, on Beltane Eve with the fertility fires burning. The words sounded oddly out of place in this soulless building, spoken by the colourless bureaucrat who had no understanding of the forces he was invoking, the strength of the Vows he asked them to swear.
By my blood and the blood of my ancestors – he could feel it begin, feel the power gathering, called by the invocation of a blood vow – I, Caius Draconis Malfoy, swear to take this woman, and even her family, including her mother and her brother Ron, into my keeping and under my protection, to hold her through the good times and the bad, to keep her from all harm, to stand with her for the rest of my days, to love her with all that I have and all that I am…
There was an undeniable feeling of rightness, in speaking those words. It was meant to be. Of that, he had no doubts.
“Do you, Ginevra Molly, of House Weasley, accept this man, Caius Draconis, of High Clan Malfoy, as your husband, your companion and your Lord?”
She nodded. “I do.” He looked at her, and for perhaps the first time since she had come into his life, there was not a single doubt in her eyes, or even the slightest hint of mistrust. She looked certain, as if she wanted this with every bit of her Gryffindoric resolve… He knew that it wouldn’t last, that it would come back, eventually, every now and then and probably more often than not. He accepted that. She was a Weasley, and a Gryffindor, and so naturally they were suspicious of the Malfoy – in fact, it quite amused him on occasion. But still, her absolute certainty made him feel quite ridiculously exultant.
Through a daze of happiness, Ginny heard the celebrant ask if there was anybody who had any objections. She could feel Draco tense, knew that if there were any interruptions, he would kill them – luckily for him, there were no objections from the clerk or one of the secretaries, who had been rounded up as witnesses. She wondered, just a little irrelevantly, whether Ron would have had something to say.
That reminded her – she hadn’t yet told her brothers and Harry about the wedding yet – aside from the fact that they had only agreed to marry early this morning, she thought it might be best if the wedding were a fait accompli before she broke the news. Ron could rant and rave all he liked, then.
The time had come to exchange rings – Draco hadn’t thought of this, and so after some thought, slipped the ancient silver ring of the Malfoy Lords off his finger and onto hers. It pleased him, in some way that he couldn’t quite define, to see his ring on her slender, elegant fingers, a visible mark that she was Malfoy now, that she was his. And Ginny, who had been equally unprepared, rooted around in her pockets and found a paper clip, which she promptly transfigured into a ring.
He grinned delightedly, laughing at the recklessness that had driven them so precipitously into this, but before she could think too much of it, the celebrant pronounced them husband and wife, they signed the register, and Draco, her new husband, her new Lord, was kissing her. Possessively. Lovingly. Passionately. They looked at each other for a long, timeless moment, and then, both in complete accord, she put her hand in his as he apparated them both to the edge of the Malfoy land. They would do this, at least, in the correct manner. They apparated, hand in hand, to the Grove, which welcomed them home and into the heart of the Malfoy.
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Back at the Burrow, Arthur’s instinct quivered again, warning him of another imminent arrival. This time, the intruder felt older, deeper, and somehow…richer than Gerald had – this man was certainly not pure, certainly not innocent, but there was more complexity in his personality, and a deeper feeling of bedrock solidarity. Arthur had only met this man once, but that one time had been enough to form a favourable impression of Dane Harcourt.
He headed back into the living room, to warn Draco of the Auror’s arrival, only to find the room empty, and both Draco and Ginny gone. There was a note on the table – he picked it up, read it, raised an eyebrow and passed it to Luc, looking forward to seeing the other man’s reaction.
“Couldn’t wait,” it read. “Getting married today. See you tomorrow.” It was hastily stamped with the Malfoy seal. Luc swore under his breath, showing the first real, unfeigned displeasure that Arthur had ever seen him display. He stifled a most indiscreet grin, and sat down to await the Auror’s coming – and to plan just what he was going to say when Harcourt asked where Draco had gone. He was a past master at keeping his troublesome children out of trouble…
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