Fait Accompli

Chapter 7: Optimism in C Minor

The basis of optimism is sheer terror. ~ Oscar Wilde

Harry had held certain suspicions about Ron and Hermione for a couple of years now. Nothing had been so obvious as to allay suspicions one way or the other- but that was a moot point now.

So it was that, feet dragging piteously, the boys opened the door to the hospital wing and steeled themselves for the awfulness to come.

"Ron!" Her voice was a soft croak. Her arm lifted feebly off the blankets in an effort to wave. "Harry! Tell me you brought something for me to read. I'm horribly bored."

Ron frowned. "You sound awful. Hush it and let us do the talking."

He fussed with her blankets a bit and moved a glass of water closer on her night stand. Harry sat down and plucked nervously at his fingernails.

"You're so twitchy," Hermione rasped at last. She tugged at Ron's sleeve. "Sit down."

"I said don't talk, that can't be good for your voice."

"Vocal chords were bruised." Her fingers fluttered at her throat. "Along with everything else. Madam Pomfrey says I might be able to get out of here next week though. And if you don't want me to talk, then say something yourself."

Ron took a deep breath and opened his mouth. Changed his mind and sat down instead. "Look, Hermione..."

She looked at him patiently.

"Well... You see, Hermione, it's like this..."

"Yes?"

"Would you like something to drink? Because that water doesn't look a bit cold, and I'm sure something to drink would feel good right now, what with your throat and all, and-"

"Ron, you're babbling."

He looked down at her blanket and opened his mouth again. Closed it. Opened it and took a great breath.

"Hermione?"

"Yes, Ron?"

Harry felt slightly sick just then. The expectant look on her face, the eagerness in her voice. Oh God, Ron, this isn't a good time, not now...

"Uh... Harry has something to tell you."

She rolled her eyes, ever so slightly, and turned to Harry. Pleasantly, enduringly, she was quite willing to tolerate their waffling for as long as they needed. Good thing, because Harry just could not tell her right now.

"Hermione, you've been sold to Malfoy to be his wife." Shit. Shit. Where had that come from? And was he the most tactless bastard ever or what?

"I beg your pardon?"

Harry's eyes pleaded with Ron to jump in and save him at any time, but Ron was resolutely staring at his kneecaps. "Well... okay, maybe 'sold' isn't the right word." Ron snorted derisively. "There's this contract, see. You get a bunch of money. Malfoy keeps his head on his shoulders. It'll all be over when it's done."

Sceptical eyes peered at him through thick hair. "Harry, that made no sense at all. Start at the beginning."

Harry took a deep breath. "Okay. Right. While you were at the Malfoy's place-"

"When was I at Malfoy's place? I don't even know where it is."

"Right. Well, um- do you recall that big battle here? When you got hurt?"

"Some of it, yes. All that happened before I was injured anyway."

"Sure. So. I killed Voldemort. Then Malfoy's mum kidnapped you, because you were lying on the ground and Ron and I didn't know where you were-"

"It's all right, Harry. It happens. Don't belabour the point. Malfoy's mum kidnapped me, and then?"

"Well, she took you to Malfoy Manor and came back for Malfoy. There was a nurse involved, but we're not sure how, since she's dead."

A vaguely interested light in those brown eyes. Maybe she remembered the nurse. "Go on."

"Yeah. Okay, so this nurse acted as your guardian- you were unconscious and incapable of speaking on your own behalf- so she signed this contract, see, and had you sign it too. And Malfoy signed it, and Malfoy's mum."

"And what did the contract say, Harry?"

The words stuck in his throat and wouldn't move. He couldn't say it.

He couldn't.

Ron leaned over and pulled her hand closer, patting it gently. "You have to marry Malfoy within thirty days. Well, seventeen now, you've been out for a while. You have to bear him an heir within five years. You are required to live in the same house as Malfoy at all times. In return you get half of the Malfoy estate in its entirety- all their holdings, their money, everything except the house itself. You also hold the controlling decision in all things dealing with the Malfoy estate for the duration of the... the, er. marriage."

Her expression was blank. Harry had expected many things. Rage. Helplessness. Threats. He had not expected this complete lack of any reaction at all.

"It's over in five years," Ron said gently. He squeezed her fingers. "The contract specifically states that once Malfoy has his heir and five years have elapsed, you can get rid of him and have your own life. You won't have to stay married to him forever. So, uh... maybe it isn't that bad, you know."

She giggled.

Giggled.

"And why would I do a thing like that? So there's a contract. How is it enforceable? What are they going to do, sue me for breach of legal contract if I don't marry the little sod?" She laughed then, coughing and laughing at the same time. Ron handed her the glass of water and she sipped at it. "I mean, really! Nice try on their part, right boys?"

Ron licked his lips. "It'll kill you if you don't."

The giggling stopped instantly. "What?"

"It's in the contract. Your 'life is forfeit by all magical law' if you don't keep to it. Harry and I have talked it out, and done some reading, and- well, we're not sure, but it seems to mean that your heart will just stop if you aren't married to Malfoy and he doesn't have his heir when the five years are up."

"That's absurd," her voice said, but the eyes were shocked and a little frightened. Trapped. And she knew it.

The bedcovers flew back and she swung her legs to the floor. "Where d'you think you're off to?"

"Oh, I just thought I'd take a fly 'round the Quidditch pitch. I'm going to the library, idiot. This can't be right."

Ron stood in front of her, keeping her in the bed, and shot Harry an alarmed look. Perhaps they should have let Dumbledore do this after all.

"Hermione, do you remember the Tri-Wizard Tournament our fourth year," Harry asked.

"Do you take me for Crabbe?" she snapped. "Of course I remember."

"Well, it's the same deal. I didn't put my name in the goblet. I had to compete anyway, whether I liked it or not."

"Shut up, Harry. That has nothing to do with this."

"It has everything to do with this. Dumbledore says it's a magical contract. It can't be broken. You're stuck."

"Dumbledore doesn't know everything," she rasped back. "Get out of my way, Ron."

Ron almost seemed to acquiesce, then pushed her back down onto the bed. "I've got a better idea. You sit here and rest up, and Harry and I will go to the library for you. We'll bring back all the books we can find. We'll empty the library if we have to. Now, where should we look?"

Ron had gone mad, in Harry's opinion. There was no way out of this, and it was plain silly to let her think so. Dumbledore himself couldn't get her out of it. Why on earth he was standing there, listening to Hermione rattling off lists of the books she needed, he couldn't fathom. Hermione herself had been through that library back in their fourth year looking for the same thing. It was pointless, and he told Ron so the minute the left the hospital wing.

"I know," Ron said with a shrug. "And so does Hermione. You don't get it, Harry; she needs this. She knows that she has no choice, but if she didn't fight by at least exhausting her options first, she would think she was rolling over."

"That makes no sense."

"Sure it does. She's already lost, but she won't admit it until she has to. It helps her- no, it makes her..." Ron thought a moment, looking for the words. "It puts her back in control of her life."

Harry couldn't grasp why a futile search for a way out should make someone feel in control, but chose not to press the issue. Ron had been aching to do something for Hermione for the last two weeks and if going to the library made Ron feel useful, then Harry was in for the haul. Least ways, it was an alternative to wrecking the common room.