Perished Dreams

Perished Dreams - Chapter Six

In a Moonlit Forest

Chapter Six: In a Moonlit Forest

"You see, Granger," he said, grinning mischievously, "we are going to marry."

"What?" Hermione shrieked.

Draco looked bored. "Not to complain or anything, but if you intend reply that every time I say something, it can get tedious. Variation, Granger, variation. That is the key to a good conversation."

Hermione closed her eyes and counted silently to ten in order to control her temper. It didn't work. "What the hell do you mean we are going to marry?!!!"

"You. Me. Bouquet. Little man in black. Forever. That's the essence of it, really."

"Malfoy," she said, using every ounce of her not inconsiderable amount of will force not to scream, "I wouldn't have married you if it were that or being turned into a horned frog with Hagrid trying to mate me."

With an enquiring expression, he asked, "Why not? And what is this about Hagrid and horned frogs? I always did suspect that there was something funny about the man, but honestly... You must tell me what you know, Granger. This is after all a future care provider for our children we are talking about. "

Hermione did not dignify the latter with an answer. Nor did she take any time in closer investigating the funny warmth she felt by the mention of their children. A little girl with curly silver hair... or a boy, with the eyes the colour of rain in his tiny face... Instead she said, practically snarling, "Because I don't like you."

He looked relieved. "That's all? There isn't any other man?"

A sting of pain went through her as she pictured a couple of familiar, bottle green eyes. "No," she answered emptily, "there is no other man." She waited for Draco to come with some sort of snide remark, but there was only silence. A little uncertainly she raised her eyes to meet his, and was astonished over seeing something remarkably alike compassion in them.

Shocked over this revelation, and the strange feeling it brought to her stomach, she instantly turned her attention to a safer subject. "And what do you mean by 'That's all'? Liking each other is actually an important part of marriage." Before he could reply, she frowned as another thought struck her. "Why do you want to marry me, anyway?"

He let his gaze closely examine her body. Hermione felt as if she were a piece of merchandise being estimated by a possible buyer. "Because I want you," was his final cold answer.

"And you usually marry every woman you're attracted to?" Hermione narrowed her eyes. Somehow that didn't fit with her perception of Malfoy. Unless he was some kind of Bluebeard. She could relate to that. Suddenly suspicious, she stared at him, "You're not a virgin, are you, Malfoy?"

"No!" he spluttered, sounding horrified.

"Then why me?"

He shrugged. "Because you are unwilling."

She stared at him in bewilderment.

"I cannot justify deflowering" (here Hermione was about to say de-what but changed her mind) "a woman so protective of her chastity. It is not honourable, it is not decent, it is not worthy of a Malfoy."

Hermione would have thought that anything dishonourable and indecent would have fitted perfectly with a family whose surname meant "bad faith," but the seriousness of the situation made her reply with a mere, "I see." However, she could not restrain herself from adding, "But bride theft is such a long and renowned tradition with the Malfoys."

He creased his eyebrows in obvious confusion. "How did you know that?"

Hermione moaned. "Well, it doesn't matter." Staring defiantly at him, she said, "You can beat me, starve me, hold me in the deepest dungeons for as long you like, but I still won't marry you."

"Honestly, Granger. Why would I go to all that trouble when there is such a much easier, tidier, and far more efficient way of making you comply?" Smirking, he touched his wand fondly.

"You can't use the Imperius Curse. All marrying couples have to be tested for that. It has been so ever since Uric the Oddball used it on Wendelin the Weird. She didn't mind much, but after a while she drove him crazy by getting burned all the time, so he made the Ministry pass that act." Her cocky tone faltered. Lavender Brown's mumbling, incoherent voice resounded in her memory. The blue eyes that looked into nothingness. Or merely saw a nightmarish inferno inhabited by demons that laughingly hissed 'Crucio' over and over again. Seamus' despairing cry. The tears that had come when he saw the ring she clutched inside of a bloodstained hand. His ring.

As always Draco effortlessly interpreted her emotions correctly. In that moment he realised two very important things: One, that he would be able to make her do whatever he wished simply by threatening with the Cruciatus Curse. Two, that nothing could ever induce him to cause her such an anguished, deadened expression again.

Hurriedly, and slightly hurt that she actually believed that he might cause her such pain merely to coerce her into obeying him, he said, "You are aware of the fact that parents in the Wizarding World can betroth their daughters to anyone they choose?"

She nodded silently, not understanding why that concerned her. Her mother and father would never force her into a marriage she herself did not want. Surely he wasn't intending to threaten her with their well-being? A little stubborn part of her refused to assume that.

"However, that is not the case with the parents of Muggleborns. They do not have the right to decide whom their daughters are to marry. But, if a member of the Department for Social Relations feels that it is of the gain of the community that a girl of Muggle breeding is wed to a selected person, use of the Imperius Curse is authorised."

"But no reasonable human being could possibly think that any connection between us would be of 'the gain of the community'!" Hermione said uncertainly. She still wasn't seeing where Malfoy was going with this. Out of a sudden curiosity, this was after all the girl who of her own free will had memorised the book 'One Hundred and One Things You Did Not Know and Did Not Want to Know about Uric the Oddball,' she asked, "Who are members of the Departments for Social Relations, anyway?"

He grinned mischievously. "I am actually the only one. Somehow making our society just one big happy family did not end up among our top priorities."

Dumbfounded beyond a sarcastic reply, she sank down on the bed, staring uncomprehending on him. Massaging her temples, she tried to will her usually so clever mind into plotting a way to escape from this lunacy. Then she slowly lifted her head and asked shrewdly, "What makes you believe I'm chaste? We actually do live in the 21^st century. Although the Wizarding World is still somewhere in the Middle Ages, the rest of us have moved on. For all you know, I might have had plenty of lovers. Viktor Krum, for one, Harry, of course (his eyes blazed by the sound of that loathed name), Ron... In the Muggle world, perfectly normal and nothing to be ashamed about, but hardly appropriate for a Malfoy bride."

"Well, in that case," He tilted his head slightly to one side and smiled coldly, "there's no reason for me to be valiant, is there? Benleddio!"

As comprehension made Hermione rigid with fright, she found herself lying on the four-poster, her ankles and wrists tied to the bedposts. Before she could utter a single syllable, he had gagged her with a silk handkerchief similar to the one she previously had admired.

"Relax, Granger," he said reassuringly, feeling how she tensed as one of his hands slipped beneath the neckline of her nightgown, "I won't hurt you. Pain is not what you will be feeling at all."

And he hadn't lied, she very soon discovered. She was as helpless to resist the feelings he awoke in her, as she was to liberate herself. But something had altered from their prior encounters. Not her reaction, she thought, as tears of shame burned behind her eyelids, but something in his touch. Instead of the impulsive, heated passion that had previously directed his hands and lips, the way in which they now aroused the most incredible sensations was mechanical and controlled. It was the automatic technique of someone who is experienced in pleasing women. She could not believe that her first time would consist of merely being taken by someone who felt nothing but lust for her, and hardly not that anymore, it seemed...

As she made to turn her head so that one cheek would rest one her pillow, he swiftly moved to her side and caught the hot tear she had been trying to conceal with his thumb.

Then, to her surprise, he removed the piece of cloth from her mouth.

Hermione wasted no breath. "I haven't had any lovers! I swear! I've never... With anyone!"

He seemed completely unaffected by this statement.

"I was just trying to make you let me go! I'm so sorry..." The words nearly strangled her, but she was too afraid to be proud. "Please, you have to believe me... I really haven't! I-"

"I know."

"I swear, I- What?" Hermione stared blankly at him. "What do you mean you know?"

A faint smile played on his mouth. "Now, what did I said about variation, Granger?" Quickly sobering, he said quietly, "I've known all along."

"Then why...? Her eyes revealed her complete lack of understanding.

He sighed. "As one of the members of Potter's inner circle we kept you under surveillance for years. If you had developed a relationship of that kind with either Krum or Potter, we would have found out. And when it comes to Weasley..." He snorted. "Please."

"Ron is a very nice person," said Hermione defensively.

"Yeah, his money, his looks, and the nice little 'Most Wanted' poster that decorates every wall from here to China, make him just hell on wheels with the girls. I hope you are aware of the fact that I'm going to have a hell of a lot of trouble getting him pardoned. After all, my wife cannot associate with common criminals."

Hermione opened her mouth to object scathingly to what he had said about Ron, and that his wife - whom she certainly did not intend to be but truly pitied - would be expected to socialise with a lot of people who had done much worse things than working against Lord Voldemort. Like for instance working for him. Then the real essence of his words sank into her. Ron pardoned? "You would that for me?" Her tone of voice was astonished. "And you wouldn't forbid me to have him as a friend?" The moment she had said that, she wanted to kick herself. She sounded like a submissive Slytherin wife already.

She shot him a quick glance, expecting him to smirk triumphantly. However, he merely shrugged. "As long as you behave suitably you will find me quite an indulgent husband." Obviously he saw nothing peculiar in a husband forbidding his wife to do something. Hermione strongly regretted not smashing him in the head with the decanter. "But if you did know, then why were you acting so horribly?" she snapped irritated.

Noticing how his face darkened, she wished she had not. "I will not be played for a fool, Granger," his menacing stare made her flinch, painfully reminding her that she was still powerless to free herself from the exposed position, "and I will not stand for any of your little attempts to manipulate me. Try my patience too hard, and little lessons like these will be taught." As he observed her fearfulness, his tone softened. "I will never hold anything that has occurred in your past against you, Hermione. If you so had had a hundred lovers it would be no one's concern but your own. It is the future we will build together that counts. And I assure you," he eyed her possessively, "in that there will be only me." But even as he said that, he knew that he was lying. He did care, not because of some medieval principles, but because he enjoyed the thought of her being entirely his.

"So, what do you say, Granger? Shall we let the past be the past and try to start over again?" With a wave of his wand the ropes that held her loosened.

Hermione stared at his outstretched hand. She really intended not to take it. She really did. But deep down inside of her, in a place where something she was afraid to acknowledge had started growing, she knew that if she refused this offer of reconciliation, she would get no other. Declining it would not affect the result of their dispute, but it would mean that he would never again reveal this slightly more vulnerable side of himself to her. But that did of course not matter to her. And being denied something he wished for once might be a useful lesson...

Draco was careful to keep his face impassive as Hermione' laid her slender, little hand in his.

"This does not mean that I agree to marry you, Malfoy," she said warningly.

"Of course not," he agreed smoothly. But you will, my dear, you will.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The lingering mist that shrouded the trees muffled the sound of running. Gasps of struggled breathing came from a young woman who, throwing desperate glances backwards, fought her way through the dense forest. Oddly enough the fog seemed only to intensify the calm, composed walk of her pursuer. Unlike her, he had no haste, knowing full well that his prey was within his reach. Like a cat he played with her, chasing her, enjoying the game until it would be brought to an end by his choosing.

The woman's long raven hair swept behind her, sometimes intermingling with the gnarled branches, as if they too wanted to touch something that soft, that beautiful. Her emerald eyes, nearly the exact shade of the forest, expressed terror and dread.

A thousand unseen eyes of the woods observed her futile flight. The little animals crept together in fear, recollecting similar situations. Even the predators sank back into the shadows, drawn between their natural lust for bloodshed and their primitive horror for the unfamiliar force that trespassed on their grounds. Intuitively they felt that this was something evil, something beyond their world, where the only cruelty was the one in need of survival.

The woman did not need any instincts to tell her what bitter experience had. She was fully aware of what destiny awaited her, and that it would only be a matter of time, perhaps merely short seconds, before his amusement would alter into boredom. Yet she could not give up, not do anything except continue her hopeless attempt to escape.

If she had been any other, he would have taunted her, rejoiced in her fear, his minions participating in this exquisite entertainment. But she was no other. At least, she ought to be grateful for that, she thought, the soreness in her throat now not only caused by lack of air. He did not humiliate her so. Mocking laughter would not follow her descent to Hell.

Abruptly she came to a halt, her eyes blinking unbelievingly at the sight of the steep cliff that blocked her path. Painfully struggling for breath, she searched frantically for another route, but suddenly she froze. Although the clearing was soundless apart from the irregular thumping of her heart, she could sense his presence. Not as the small inhabitants of this woodland could, as a threat, a danger, something abnormal that intruded on their domain, but the way she had always been able to detect whether or not he was nearby, the gift of those who truly loved which remained even when the love did not.

Slowly she turned around, unsurprised over seeing him standing there. Nor was it a great shock that the wand he held in his hand was pointed directly at her heart. Not that it was necessary, she thought, nearly smiling. The killing curse worked just as well if it hit you in the leg, but he had always been partial to melodrama.

She stared into his eyes, which still bore the same turquoise blue colour, but an entirely different expression. With a startle she noticed that there were really no visible changes in his appearance. His hair still had that rare, blue-black quality so uncommon among Britons and Northern Europeans, the same as hers. She remembered once teasing him that his only interest in her was seeing a reflection of himself. His features, once causing a large part of the female population of Hogwarts rethink their hostility towards Slytherin, were still handsome, and he wore, as always, his favourite colour black.

In the years to come, many would assume this to be a symbol of his devotion to the Dark Arts. But she knew, with the understanding developed through their years of intimacy, that this was his way of honouring the only place that had provided him with security, stability and loved ones, the only place he would ever think of as home.

Straightening her shoulders in an act of the silent courage that was so characteristic for her, she prepared herself to die with dignity. But she was in reality little more than a young girl, and when he softly started whispering 'Adava Kedavra' she could not stop a flicker of fear displaying itself in her eyes. It was so strange, hearing the voice that had spoken such loving words in her ear when they were as close as two people could be saying the incantation that would end her life.

"Adava Keda..."

For one brief moment, she allowed herself to hope that whatever he had once felt for her would prevent him from fulfilling this. But then he thoughtfully shook his head, "No, not magic. That is too impersonal for you, my dear."

He advanced on her, and she could distinguish a silver dagger, its green gems glittering in the dim illumination of the moon.

The stab was quick and swift, leaving her at the ground, a small trickle of blood in the corner of her mouth. Her eyes, as the light in them rapidly vanished, branded their plea for love, for forgiveness, for mercy, into his soul.

Kneeling by her side, he kissed her gently, marvelling that the blood did not taste different from the times in heat of passion little scratches appeared on the tender flesh of her mouth. His lips lingered on hers as he took in her every feature one last time. Stroking her forehead lightly, he whispered, "Goodbye, my love."

He rose, and without a backward glance he walked away, leaving her unmoving form on its soft bed of crimson moss.