Disclaimer – standard disclaimers apply.
CHAPTER 17 – The Real World
Hazy, diffuse, golden light softly illuminating ancient, dreaming oaks…
Black cashmere, tossed to the ground, softening the cool, grassy forest floor…
White, white limbs, lean and lithe and lightly muscled; smooth and sensual and previously untouched…dark, wine red hair thrown back and urgent hands clutching, entangled in thick, rich white hair, holding him to her, silently asking for what she couldn’t name…
A gathering power in the light, under the sun – an increasing urgency, a racing heartbeat shared by the very land itself…
A pause, as their eyes met – a last chance to stop, to pull back…a hesitation, as the whole world holds its breath… She smiled. Of course she trusted him… The Guardians rejoiced.
Joining.
A wondering gasp – murmured words of trust, of love, of encouragement…
Merging.
A sense of awareness, of knowledge, of oneness – almost unbidden, they locked eyes, looked into the truth of each other’s soul…
Bonding.
A pleasure she had never dreamed of, that he had never, in all his varied experiences, ever suspected…it bound them together, once and for all, now and forever…Consummation of a sacred marriage far, far older and far, far deeper than anything they had ever known.
*******************************************
Almost inevitably, the rumours started as soon as Draco and Ginny had left the registry office. Any aristocratic, High Clan wedding was food for the high society gossip mill; the wedding of Lord Malfoy and a Weasley was something that had never before been seen, and probably never would be again. And just as inevitably, it came to the ears of Virginia’s family – most significantly, her brother Ron.
Hermione rushed up the stairs, hoping against hope that she would get there before anyone else had the chance to inform her notoriously hot-tempered and belligerent husband of his baby sister’s marriage. She was too late. She could see it by the way that Ron’s face had gone completely red, by the way he was holding himself so tightly controlled that his knuckles, clenched around the arm of his chair, were completely white.
He had come to accept Draco in the years since his father had died. He had even, albeit grudgingly, come to respect him in some ways. But to hear that his little sister had married him, Draco Malfoy, the bastard Slytherin ferret… At the registry office, of all places… And without even telling him, without telling any of the family…! It was almost too much for a brother to bear.
Looking at his face, Hermione sighed soundlessly and braced herself to confront Ron and his temper, and to attempt the almost impossible task of reconciling him to his sister’s marriage. And to the fact that Malfoy was now his brother-in-law. It was time, she thought determinedly, that they all went back to the Burrow, to find out just what, exactly, was going on.
*************************************************
On one of his rare trips outside Hogwarts, Severus Snape, sitting down to lunch at White’s, an exclusive High Clan club in Diagon Alley, heard the news from Rayden Lestrange and Brandon Avery, both of whom seemed more than amused at the thought.
It seemed that Draco had been just as bound by the soul bond as his uncle had been – at least Draco’s partner was a pureblood. Kate was a wonderful person, they all agreed, but she was indisputably muggleborn; it was lucky that Luc was illegitimate, and therefore not in line for the Malfoy lordship. Draco, as the Lord, had a duty to his line to keep the blood pure.
Although, quite frankly, they didn’t know about the thought of introducing the various Weasley brothers into High Clan circles. Severus, who had taught four out of the six of them, merely closed his eyes and smiled in helpless amusement. Oh, Lady, lady, lady…what a thought. As they sat and laughed, enjoying an old, easy friendship, they had no idea of the trouble that was already building, of the storm clouds gathering, massing on the horizon…
******************************************************
They watched, amused at the thought of the lengths the Malfoy would go to in order to stay alive, to stay in the Game. An alliance, a bond – if it indeed was a soul bond, then it would hurt all the more when they ripped it apart.
They had him on the defensive, now that their tool had done all they had programmed him to do, and had died magnificently, for the Cause. The Malfoy were now forced to rely on the Ministry, on the very organization they had opposed and flouted for so long – they would bring each other down. And now, they would begin on Zabini. It was time to close the trap.
******************************************************
Dane Harcourt waited on the doorstep of the house that had been awarded, along with a small grant of land, to Horace Weasley some two hundred years ago by the Ministry in gratitude for services rendered. The Ministry had not revealed just what services had been rendered – and nor had Horace, publicly at least – and so the mystery of just why the Weasleys had been so elevated had remained just that – a mystery.
But some people speculated that the famous Malfoy-Weasley feud had roots that stretched back to this mystery; certainly there was nothing else in their history that would indicate why the Malfoy, with all their other interests, would focus so much hatred on such a small and relatively unimportant family, and just why they didn’t simply wipe them out.
But it seemed that the feud was about to come to an end in the near future – especially if Draco Malfoy was as close to the Weasley daughter as rumour implied. Come to think of it, rumour also placed Gerald Tarrant at Ginny Weasley’s side, before Malfoy had supplanted him; it was also said that Tarrant had thrown an almighty scene at Gringotts, publicly defaming both Malfoy and his erstwhile girlfriend.
The conclusions were obvious – ex-boyfriend, jealous of ex-girlfriend and her new man, intent on causing trouble for them, goes too far; the new man, unfortunately not a man to sit and watch while his girlfriend was insulted, takes exception…
A grand scandal, providing juicy fodder for the gossips and titillation for the tabloids – but Dane knew, after more than fifty years of experience with High Clan politics, that nothing, absolutely nothing, was ever exactly as it seemed. Especially when dealing with the Malfoy. It was just too pat. Draco Malfoy knew better than to kill in hot blood – killing discreetly, in cold blood, was understandable, but in the heat of the moment, provoked by rage and possessiveness? There had to be more to it, something deeper, something more underneath the surface.
Especially if Luc Malfoy had been there, by his side, whispering in his nephew’s ear; who knew just what went on in his labyrinthine mind? No, Luc would never have allowed Draco to act so foolishly. Unless…unless there was something else here – no. Not now. He wasn’t here to lose himself in speculation that could go round and round, with no real answer other than a raised eyebrow and amused silver eyes. He was here to verify that Gerald Tarrant was, indeed, dead, and to find out who had killed him – not why.
And there they were – Arthur Weasley and Luc Malfoy, two of the most unlikely allies that he had ever seen. They were almost as strange as the thought of Albus Dumbledore and Severus Snape had been, when he had first found out the identity of the Headmaster’s secret spy inside the Death Eaters.
Politics was truly an odd game. Arthur Weasley, rumpled and comfortable in his old robes, his hair unruly and carrot red, was standing slightly in front of his noble ally, who was so different from him as to be almost of another world. Luc was letting him take the lead, because this was Arthur’s land, and it was his right to allow or deny entrance.
It was hard to see Arthur Weasley as a patriarch – he most certainly was not one in the Slytherin, High Clan sense of the word, which implied dignity, gravity and power – but, Dane supposed, he was a Gryffindor, so such things had less influence. He did have an odd, almost reassuring presence – here was an ordinary man, it seemed to say. A father, a husband, a comforting eccentric who posed no real threat; he was not a Clan Lord, with the aura and strangeness of the High Clan surrounding him, he was a man like any other man, he had been brought up in the real world, not the shadows of the aristocracy.
It was excellent PR. Dumbledore had taken full advantage of it, during the second rising, when he had set Weasley up in direct opposition to Fudge…
“Hello, Harcourt,” Arthur said congenially, if a little warily. Too much congeniality and it would have rung too false; too much wariness and it would have been a definite indication that something was wrong. Weasley had struck a nice balance. Of course, Luc would have revealed nothing at all – but then, he would not have been investigating Luc for hot-blooded murder. Or even cold-blooded, come to that…
He ventured a smile in return – a small one, because he had found that normal people found High Clan inscrutability a little unnerving. “Mr. Weasley,” he murmured politely, “I’m sure you know why I’m here.”
Arthur lowered his eyes, covering some sort of reaction – Dane didn’t catch it, but he could sense it well enough. This was more than a prank, more than the usual trouble that all of the Weasley children, at one time or another, had found themselves neck deep in; but he held up.
“Yes, I’m afraid I do, Mr. Harcourt.” Dane tried not to wince. He had not been called mister since before his father’s death, at Death Eater hands. “We would like to get this cleared up as soon as possible.”
Dane controlled the impulse to raise an eyebrow. So which way was Draco going to jump? He wasn’t sure. Perhaps he had spent too much of his life with normal people, and not enough playing the Game, because he had been completely unprepared for this. Even warned that something was up by the virulent media attacks, he hadn’t expected something like this, a direct attack on Draco himself, forcing him to choose obeying the laws of the Ministry, which he had never followed or even believed in, or losing every little bit of credibility he had ever possessed with the rest of society outside the High Clan. If he denied it or brazened this out, he would lose all credibility. If he gave himself up, as public opinion would most certainly demand, he would in all probability end up in Azkaban.
And Dane, who had met Draco every now and then during the second rising, and had found him to be cool, decisive and driven, if a little fey, found himself hoping, just a little, that there was a way out. For Draco, for High Clan Malfoy, and for the High Clan. As much as he professed to prefer non High Clan society, which was much simpler, much more democratic and egalitarian, and much freer, he could not, not completely, escape his upbringing or the beliefs that he had been taught from the cradle.
He was High Clan, but he was also an auror – an uneasy alliance, but not an impossible one, if he stuck to his objectivity and didn’t find himself in direct opposition with another House. For some reason, the High Clan resented one of their own wielding Ministry power more than they did the other Aurors.
“Mr. Weasley,” he began slowly, “may I speak to Lord Malfoy?” There was an odd beat of silence, a hesitation. Arthur looked at Luc, clearly questioning – Luc looked back at Arthur expressionlessly, but with a hint of…exasperation? Could that be right?
“I’m afraid,” Luc murmured delicately, looking him straight in the eye, challenging him to react, “that Draco is not here…”
Dane blinked. Surely Draco would not have run – he would not be that stupid.
Luc’s eyes were feline, filled with malicious amusement and a certain cruel curiosity, wondering just how he would react. “He instructs me to give you his most abject apologies, but he could not be present here at the moment; he has just gotten married. He says he will be back tomorrow.”
It took everything he had to meet those cold, amused eyes – to keep his own steady and his face impassive. For a full twenty seconds, he said nothing. And then he sat down, very deliberately, on the couch. “Very well then,” he murmured softly. “I will wait until he returns.” He smiled somewhat grimly. “It will all have to wait until he returns…”
******************************************
He lay his head down on her breast, still breathing raggedly, his heart still racing – he could feel her heart underneath him, beating just as rapidly, just as exultantly. Slowly, her narrow, elegant hand stroked his hair, soothing him in a way that he couldn’t define. He lifted his head just long enough to look at her face, into her dark, fathomless cinnamon gaze – and to see, once again, the truth of what she was, undisguised by defences, deceptions, or evasions.
She smiled, and his heart turned over. Oh, Lady, he couldn’t lose her, not now… She touched his cheek, reassuring, offering comfort as she saw the turmoil that he openly allowed her to see – turmoil that she understood, because she, too, knew that they couldn’t shelter in the Grove forever.
Outside, beyond the Veil, beyond the enchanted land that she had just become a part of, another, harsher world awaited them. Another, harsher reality. Looking into his silver, completely open eyes, she hugged him tightly. He was hers. Her mate, her lover, her husband – and she would not let him go.
***************************************************
CHAPTER 17 – The Real World
Hazy, diffuse, golden light softly illuminating ancient, dreaming oaks…
Black cashmere, tossed to the ground, softening the cool, grassy forest floor…
White, white limbs, lean and lithe and lightly muscled; smooth and sensual and previously untouched…dark, wine red hair thrown back and urgent hands clutching, entangled in thick, rich white hair, holding him to her, silently asking for what she couldn’t name…
A gathering power in the light, under the sun – an increasing urgency, a racing heartbeat shared by the very land itself…
A pause, as their eyes met – a last chance to stop, to pull back…a hesitation, as the whole world holds its breath… She smiled. Of course she trusted him… The Guardians rejoiced.
Joining.
A wondering gasp – murmured words of trust, of love, of encouragement…
Merging.
A sense of awareness, of knowledge, of oneness – almost unbidden, they locked eyes, looked into the truth of each other’s soul…
Bonding.
A pleasure she had never dreamed of, that he had never, in all his varied experiences, ever suspected…it bound them together, once and for all, now and forever…Consummation of a sacred marriage far, far older and far, far deeper than anything they had ever known.
*******************************************
Almost inevitably, the rumours started as soon as Draco and Ginny had left the registry office. Any aristocratic, High Clan wedding was food for the high society gossip mill; the wedding of Lord Malfoy and a Weasley was something that had never before been seen, and probably never would be again. And just as inevitably, it came to the ears of Virginia’s family – most significantly, her brother Ron.
Hermione rushed up the stairs, hoping against hope that she would get there before anyone else had the chance to inform her notoriously hot-tempered and belligerent husband of his baby sister’s marriage. She was too late. She could see it by the way that Ron’s face had gone completely red, by the way he was holding himself so tightly controlled that his knuckles, clenched around the arm of his chair, were completely white.
He had come to accept Draco in the years since his father had died. He had even, albeit grudgingly, come to respect him in some ways. But to hear that his little sister had married him, Draco Malfoy, the bastard Slytherin ferret… At the registry office, of all places… And without even telling him, without telling any of the family…! It was almost too much for a brother to bear.
Looking at his face, Hermione sighed soundlessly and braced herself to confront Ron and his temper, and to attempt the almost impossible task of reconciling him to his sister’s marriage. And to the fact that Malfoy was now his brother-in-law. It was time, she thought determinedly, that they all went back to the Burrow, to find out just what, exactly, was going on.
*************************************************
On one of his rare trips outside Hogwarts, Severus Snape, sitting down to lunch at White’s, an exclusive High Clan club in Diagon Alley, heard the news from Rayden Lestrange and Brandon Avery, both of whom seemed more than amused at the thought.
It seemed that Draco had been just as bound by the soul bond as his uncle had been – at least Draco’s partner was a pureblood. Kate was a wonderful person, they all agreed, but she was indisputably muggleborn; it was lucky that Luc was illegitimate, and therefore not in line for the Malfoy lordship. Draco, as the Lord, had a duty to his line to keep the blood pure.
Although, quite frankly, they didn’t know about the thought of introducing the various Weasley brothers into High Clan circles. Severus, who had taught four out of the six of them, merely closed his eyes and smiled in helpless amusement. Oh, Lady, lady, lady…what a thought. As they sat and laughed, enjoying an old, easy friendship, they had no idea of the trouble that was already building, of the storm clouds gathering, massing on the horizon…
******************************************************
They watched, amused at the thought of the lengths the Malfoy would go to in order to stay alive, to stay in the Game. An alliance, a bond – if it indeed was a soul bond, then it would hurt all the more when they ripped it apart.
They had him on the defensive, now that their tool had done all they had programmed him to do, and had died magnificently, for the Cause. The Malfoy were now forced to rely on the Ministry, on the very organization they had opposed and flouted for so long – they would bring each other down. And now, they would begin on Zabini. It was time to close the trap.
******************************************************
Dane Harcourt waited on the doorstep of the house that had been awarded, along with a small grant of land, to Horace Weasley some two hundred years ago by the Ministry in gratitude for services rendered. The Ministry had not revealed just what services had been rendered – and nor had Horace, publicly at least – and so the mystery of just why the Weasleys had been so elevated had remained just that – a mystery.
But some people speculated that the famous Malfoy-Weasley feud had roots that stretched back to this mystery; certainly there was nothing else in their history that would indicate why the Malfoy, with all their other interests, would focus so much hatred on such a small and relatively unimportant family, and just why they didn’t simply wipe them out.
But it seemed that the feud was about to come to an end in the near future – especially if Draco Malfoy was as close to the Weasley daughter as rumour implied. Come to think of it, rumour also placed Gerald Tarrant at Ginny Weasley’s side, before Malfoy had supplanted him; it was also said that Tarrant had thrown an almighty scene at Gringotts, publicly defaming both Malfoy and his erstwhile girlfriend.
The conclusions were obvious – ex-boyfriend, jealous of ex-girlfriend and her new man, intent on causing trouble for them, goes too far; the new man, unfortunately not a man to sit and watch while his girlfriend was insulted, takes exception…
A grand scandal, providing juicy fodder for the gossips and titillation for the tabloids – but Dane knew, after more than fifty years of experience with High Clan politics, that nothing, absolutely nothing, was ever exactly as it seemed. Especially when dealing with the Malfoy. It was just too pat. Draco Malfoy knew better than to kill in hot blood – killing discreetly, in cold blood, was understandable, but in the heat of the moment, provoked by rage and possessiveness? There had to be more to it, something deeper, something more underneath the surface.
Especially if Luc Malfoy had been there, by his side, whispering in his nephew’s ear; who knew just what went on in his labyrinthine mind? No, Luc would never have allowed Draco to act so foolishly. Unless…unless there was something else here – no. Not now. He wasn’t here to lose himself in speculation that could go round and round, with no real answer other than a raised eyebrow and amused silver eyes. He was here to verify that Gerald Tarrant was, indeed, dead, and to find out who had killed him – not why.
And there they were – Arthur Weasley and Luc Malfoy, two of the most unlikely allies that he had ever seen. They were almost as strange as the thought of Albus Dumbledore and Severus Snape had been, when he had first found out the identity of the Headmaster’s secret spy inside the Death Eaters.
Politics was truly an odd game. Arthur Weasley, rumpled and comfortable in his old robes, his hair unruly and carrot red, was standing slightly in front of his noble ally, who was so different from him as to be almost of another world. Luc was letting him take the lead, because this was Arthur’s land, and it was his right to allow or deny entrance.
It was hard to see Arthur Weasley as a patriarch – he most certainly was not one in the Slytherin, High Clan sense of the word, which implied dignity, gravity and power – but, Dane supposed, he was a Gryffindor, so such things had less influence. He did have an odd, almost reassuring presence – here was an ordinary man, it seemed to say. A father, a husband, a comforting eccentric who posed no real threat; he was not a Clan Lord, with the aura and strangeness of the High Clan surrounding him, he was a man like any other man, he had been brought up in the real world, not the shadows of the aristocracy.
It was excellent PR. Dumbledore had taken full advantage of it, during the second rising, when he had set Weasley up in direct opposition to Fudge…
“Hello, Harcourt,” Arthur said congenially, if a little warily. Too much congeniality and it would have rung too false; too much wariness and it would have been a definite indication that something was wrong. Weasley had struck a nice balance. Of course, Luc would have revealed nothing at all – but then, he would not have been investigating Luc for hot-blooded murder. Or even cold-blooded, come to that…
He ventured a smile in return – a small one, because he had found that normal people found High Clan inscrutability a little unnerving. “Mr. Weasley,” he murmured politely, “I’m sure you know why I’m here.”
Arthur lowered his eyes, covering some sort of reaction – Dane didn’t catch it, but he could sense it well enough. This was more than a prank, more than the usual trouble that all of the Weasley children, at one time or another, had found themselves neck deep in; but he held up.
“Yes, I’m afraid I do, Mr. Harcourt.” Dane tried not to wince. He had not been called mister since before his father’s death, at Death Eater hands. “We would like to get this cleared up as soon as possible.”
Dane controlled the impulse to raise an eyebrow. So which way was Draco going to jump? He wasn’t sure. Perhaps he had spent too much of his life with normal people, and not enough playing the Game, because he had been completely unprepared for this. Even warned that something was up by the virulent media attacks, he hadn’t expected something like this, a direct attack on Draco himself, forcing him to choose obeying the laws of the Ministry, which he had never followed or even believed in, or losing every little bit of credibility he had ever possessed with the rest of society outside the High Clan. If he denied it or brazened this out, he would lose all credibility. If he gave himself up, as public opinion would most certainly demand, he would in all probability end up in Azkaban.
And Dane, who had met Draco every now and then during the second rising, and had found him to be cool, decisive and driven, if a little fey, found himself hoping, just a little, that there was a way out. For Draco, for High Clan Malfoy, and for the High Clan. As much as he professed to prefer non High Clan society, which was much simpler, much more democratic and egalitarian, and much freer, he could not, not completely, escape his upbringing or the beliefs that he had been taught from the cradle.
He was High Clan, but he was also an auror – an uneasy alliance, but not an impossible one, if he stuck to his objectivity and didn’t find himself in direct opposition with another House. For some reason, the High Clan resented one of their own wielding Ministry power more than they did the other Aurors.
“Mr. Weasley,” he began slowly, “may I speak to Lord Malfoy?” There was an odd beat of silence, a hesitation. Arthur looked at Luc, clearly questioning – Luc looked back at Arthur expressionlessly, but with a hint of…exasperation? Could that be right?
“I’m afraid,” Luc murmured delicately, looking him straight in the eye, challenging him to react, “that Draco is not here…”
Dane blinked. Surely Draco would not have run – he would not be that stupid.
Luc’s eyes were feline, filled with malicious amusement and a certain cruel curiosity, wondering just how he would react. “He instructs me to give you his most abject apologies, but he could not be present here at the moment; he has just gotten married. He says he will be back tomorrow.”
It took everything he had to meet those cold, amused eyes – to keep his own steady and his face impassive. For a full twenty seconds, he said nothing. And then he sat down, very deliberately, on the couch. “Very well then,” he murmured softly. “I will wait until he returns.” He smiled somewhat grimly. “It will all have to wait until he returns…”
******************************************
He lay his head down on her breast, still breathing raggedly, his heart still racing – he could feel her heart underneath him, beating just as rapidly, just as exultantly. Slowly, her narrow, elegant hand stroked his hair, soothing him in a way that he couldn’t define. He lifted his head just long enough to look at her face, into her dark, fathomless cinnamon gaze – and to see, once again, the truth of what she was, undisguised by defences, deceptions, or evasions.
She smiled, and his heart turned over. Oh, Lady, he couldn’t lose her, not now… She touched his cheek, reassuring, offering comfort as she saw the turmoil that he openly allowed her to see – turmoil that she understood, because she, too, knew that they couldn’t shelter in the Grove forever.
Outside, beyond the Veil, beyond the enchanted land that she had just become a part of, another, harsher world awaited them. Another, harsher reality. Looking into his silver, completely open eyes, she hugged him tightly. He was hers. Her mate, her lover, her husband – and she would not let him go.
***************************************************
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