Perished Dreams

Perished Dreams - Chapter 10

A Ring from the Fair

Chapter 10: A Ring from the Fair

Somehow it was as if the passion for this stranger she had known so long threatened her, threatened her very being by eradicating her faiths and beliefs, for which she had suffered and sacrificed so much. Or perhaps, she thought, rather the importance of them.

"Stop..." She wrenched away, not creating a great amount of distance, but it was sufficient to have her request uttered.

He did not seem to listen, though, and made a movement to decrease the space that separated them.

Her body's demand, that she should let him; scared her almost beyond the rest of what had taken place the last 24 hours had. The increasing panic strengthening the force with which she fought, while passion weakened his to restrain her, she pulled away from him. Staring at him, her big eyes darker than usual due to slightly dilated pupils and emotional uproar, she said forcefully, picking up their conversation from previously, "No. You. Don't"

Accepting her temporary absence from his embrace, for now, Draco lent back against the wall, a look of boredom on his face. "You're not really big on this varied conversations thing, are you, Granger?" he commented musingly. Then, letting his eyes languidly travel down her body, he continued, his facial expression changing from that of tedium to a smirk. "Fortunately, it appears as if you have, shall we say," he cocked his head slightly to the left, "other qualities that will serve to keep my interest."

Unconsciously Hermione folded her arms over her breasts in an attempt to shield herself from his stare. Nevertheless she met his cold, grey eyes unblinkingly, defying the hint of pink that crept up her cheeks and betrayed her embarrassment.

Taking her chin between his thumb and forefinger in a clearly dominating yet oddly tender gesture, he whispered, so close that she could feel his breath tickle her ear, "Oh, but I do, my sweet. Willingly so or not, you belong to me." He paused and pulled slightly back. Meeting her gaze with his icy grey he repeated, with even greater impact, "You belong to me."

Hermione ignored the fear his words awoke in her, and the ever-present panic regarding what he intended to make of her future. Instead she said with absolute conviction and an authority that left no uncertainty that this was the founder of S.P.E.W who was speaking, "No one has a moral right to own other people, and no one should have it legally, either."

Draco stared at her with a condescending amusement. "Well, at least you now managed to string together to an entire sentence. I guess I should be grateful for the small things."

Clenching her hands together so hard that an actual hurt could be felt over that of her beginning headache, Hermione lent her head back, and weary whispered what was a worded thought, not an acceptance, "And I'll be the property of someone who has no respect for me in the slightest..."

Draco couldn't even explain to himself why seeing her in such a dejected state always gave him the want to say something, do something, to brush her sadness away. "Oh, but rest assured that I do have respect for you, my dear. So much, in fact, that I'll probably never feel safe in your presence again once you've retrieved your wand."

A sudden ray of disbelieving hope illuminating her eyes, she looked up. "You're going to give me my wand back?"

He stared at her in confusion, a previously uncommon feeling that after reacquainting Hermione had become annoyingly familiar. "Of course. You wouldn't be able to function in the Wizarding community without one." Arching a silver eyebrow in understanding he then added dryly, "I take it you simply assumed that we keep our wives pregnant and barefoot in the kitchen?"

"More like chained to a bed in the dungeons, really."

"Now isn't that a charming idea."

Hermione decided not to pursue that particular subject any further. "However, regardless of our differences when it comes to your possessive caveman attitude, there is one thing that remains an absolute certainty: 'Just because you have the right to do something, doesn't mean it's right to do so.'"

He frowned. "And that means...?"

She appeared triumphant. "That you can't kiss me unless I tell you so."

"Who in the world came up with something as stupid as that?"

"The American Supreme Court." There was a definite note of smugness in her voice.

"Oh." The unimpressed tone would most likely have been found highly offensive by the honourable men and women of this venerable institution. "The personal freedom people?"

"Yes. Can you understand all the energy they put down in maintaining that?" she asked sarcastically, annoyed that her revelation had not had the desired effect. "They should be grateful that someone is willing to take the obligation of making all the decisions in their life for them."

Draco eyed her appreciatively. "Exactly. You know, Granger, I think this marriage is going to work out just fine."

She moaned as if in pain.

He creased his forehead. "If you hurt somewhere, you have to tell me, Hermione. Remember, I'm going to be your husband, it's my responsibility to take care of you now."

Of some reason this made her groan still louder.

After ten minutes in which she seemed to suffer in silent pain, she fastened her dark gaze on him. "So, when are we going to Ollivanders?"

"Ollivanders?" Draco felt as if he had missed an important part of their conversation.

"To buy a wand," Hermione explained carefully, as if she were talking to someone a bit slow.

Feeling that this comparison to Longbottom was highly uncalled for, Draco threw her an annoyed glance. "There's no need for that. I have your old one, right here." He patted the left side of his robe. "That's actually how I knew you had been captured. I recognised it."

"Oh." She couldn't subdue the feeling of great relief. In spite of the fact that a visit to Diagon Alley would have been the perfect opportunity to attempt an escape, the bereavement of her wand had felt like losing an old and dear friend. And she did not have many of them left to spare...

Struck by another thought, she regarded him inquiringly. "How did you know what it looked like? We weren't exactly regular working partners at Hogwarts."

For a moment he hesitated, then Draco shrugged and said dryly, "After all the times our professors called you up to demonstrate some charm or another it would have been a miracle if I hadn't seen it. As to how I remembered it so many years afterwards," he added casually, "one does not so easily forget what has been presented over and over as the example of what anyone possessing magical powers should be."

Hermione nodded. The explanation made sense to her. She did not think about that the only courses she and Draco had ever taken together were Potions, Arithmancy, Studies of Ancient Runes and Care for Magical Creatures. Snape, who would rather have taken down a Blast-Ended Skrewt by himself than ever compliment her in any way, Professor Vector who had taught them in two wandless subjects, and Hagrid who had been careful never to display any obvious signs of favouritism...

Closing her eyes, as if not wishing to see his reaction to her question, she quietly asked, "Will you hurt me?"

"What?" If this were how Longbottom had gone through his life feeling, Draco felt an entirely new and deep-felt sympathy for him.

She swallowed. "It's clear that I annoyed you at Hogwarts, and that if you could, you would have made my life less than pleasant back then." The corners of her mouth curled wryly. "As I recall, you gave it your best try. But you see..." Her voice faltered. "I haven't really changed when it comes to that area." Opening her eyes she met his gaze before quickly looking away again. "I'm still the know-it-all. I still enjoy reading, researching and learning. I still correct people automatically if they say something I'm aware of is wrong."

His silence led her to believe that he found her attempt of expressing her emotions dreary. "I guess my point is - How long will it take before I start to irritate you? Before my very presence irks you? Until you, unconsciously at first, start searching for excuses to punish me? For a mistake you made, committing for life to someone you don't even like?"

She sighed. "I'm not stupid. I realise that you aren't the prototype of an abusive husband. Perhaps you would never even lift a hand at me. But the truth is, as we both know," speaking suddenly became very hard, "is that I simply don't have it in me to keep a man's interest." Unbidden the images of the three men that had left their imprints on her heart appeared before her eyelids. "In not long your current interest in me will fade and you will start seeking other beds, regretting you ever came to mine. And I will have to suffer your contempt, and the thousand little ways a husband can show his wife that he is displeased with her in this society."

"Well, you make an extremely good impression of it." The iciness of his tone was one she had never encountered even during their Hogwarts days.

"Of what?" She couldn't keep the nervousness out of her voice. As always this display of his darker side - or perhaps simply the reminder that he had one - frightened her.

"Of being stupid."

Before she could determine whether or not this would be a wise time to be insulted, he cursed something under his breath which she was glad she could not distinguish, and moved over to her.

Grabbing her shoulders, it seemed for a moment as if he were about to shake her, and that none too gently, but he regained the control of his temper. Settling simply with forcing her now somewhat terrified chocolaty eyes to meet his stormy grey he said determinedly, "I think we need to get some facts straight about your future position in this household." For a moment it appeared as if he were pondering how to begin. "What status exactly is it that you think you're going to have?"

Hermione bit her lip uncertainly. Even though she hated to use them as examples as something that was considered lowly after the hundreds of years of mistreatment and injustice towards their kind - "One a little above a house-elf's?"

When he merely groaned and pulled a hand through his hair, she asked gingerly, "One a little below a house-elf's?"

Taking a deep breath, he began, "Hermione, I don't know how it is in other families, nor do I care." His lack of concern regarding the possible maltreatment of others did not come as a great surprise to her. "But to me the fact that you belong to me does not mean that I consider you as merely some toy to be played with and broken. In certain matters, yes, I will simply do as I please regardless of your possible objections." As one thumb started tracing her collarbone she was not left in any doubt of exactly which situations these were. "And I will do what is necessary to make you obey me. But," his voice grew sterner, "it also means that I'll do what is within my power to assure your happiness. You're mine, and what is mine I protect."

"Even from yourself?" There was a note of breathlessness in her tone.

"Even from myself," he confirmed, and bent slowly down to kiss her.

His lips a mere inch from hers, she whispered softly, "And your foul temper?"

Abruptly straightening up again he stared darkly at her and snarled, "I do not have a foul temper!"

Rolling her eyes, she put her hands on her hips and said resolutely, "I'll never be anyone's property but my own, Malfoy. And the day I'll ever come to regard myself as 'yours'," she snorted to clearly indicate how preposterous she found that idea, "will be the day you'll find ice-skating among your potential spare time activities in afterlife!"

Draco scowled at her, still furious about what she had said about his foul temper. Him, bad tempered! He who had let her come with insults he would have killed any other for, tolerated her outrageously disrespectful behaviour and even chosen not to retaliate when she hit him, not to mention, he glowered, when she stepped on his pinky toe!

He should have given her to Nott. He would have taught her what it meant to be "foul tempered"! Immediately Draco could see a Hermione for his inner eye, heavy with a child that was not his, a cut on her lip, fresh and old bruises adorning her face. So cowed that she didn't dare open her mouth without first being spoken to, and then only in hurried sentences, always ending with a "sir" or a "sire". A shudder went through him. This string of thoughts confirmed his belief in making the correct the decision when he chose to include her in his family. Once she bore his name there would never be any opportunity for anyone to hurt her ever again.

Which she should be grateful for, he reasoned, staring enraged at her, instead of behaving as if she had just been sentenced to Azkaban for life. For in spite of her unquestionable strength and courage, crushing her vibrant personality like a bluebell under one's boot would be easy as long as the one walking was someone devoid of respect for it's delicate, fragile beauty.

For the years as a Death Eater had educated Draco in many truths. One of them being that breaking people was simple. It was making them trust you, love you, even, he glanced at Hermione, stare at you with proud defiance in their gaze, unafraid of you despite all their knowledge of your actions, which represented difficulty.

Though the last destiny seemed to be unconditionally handing him, he thought sardonically.

With effort he resisted the overwhelming urge to use the next hour thoroughly lessoning her in exactly why people feared him to the point of avoiding to speak his name, and how very unwise it had been to wake his anger by opposing to his ownership of her.

If he were to collect her pet and be back in time for the Dark Lord's mission there was hardly even minutes to spare. This little encounter with Hermione had taken longer than he had estimated.

Removing a small item from his robes, he said coldly, "I would have believed that by now you would have understood that what you regard yourself as holds no importance. It is merely my opinion of you that matters, as in all other things. Legally after the laws of war as it soon will be after those of our society, you are mine to do with as I wish. What you are, what you'll become, is all my choice. And so far I have been very indulgent and considerate against you, Hermione. I do not think you want that to change." Holding out the object he had fetched, he continued, "I've even brought you a little something to may use as a token of that, unless of course," he smiled almost cruelly, "you would like another form of reminder instead, in which case I would be happy to oblige."

By the sight of what appeared to be a little box in his outstretched hand Hermione could feel the colour slowly draining from her face. There were times she regretted that she had spent her classes actually studying. Descriptions of the devious tools used to control prisoners and wilful female relatives rang in her ears. The Drogia, a bracelet that could not be removed except by the one who had put it on, and that caused intense pain if you went against that person's wishes. The Brakest, a miniature branding-iron that formed either the name or the coat of arms of the 'owner', its imprint usually left on the inside of the wrist, marking the bearer efficiently with an easily recognisable name tag. The Cladda, that would allow him to hear her thoughts. The...

Shivering she reached out and took it, not daring to defy him now. He had been right when he pointed out that for being Draco Malfoy he had acted amazingly patiently throughout the day. Perhaps if she were careful, she could persuade him that such measures weren't really necessary. She had to. The mere idea of him - or anyone for that matter - being able to listen in on her every thought, even the most personal ones, was unbearable.

Swallowing hard, with trembling fingers, she began opening what on closer inspection proved to be an old, somewhat worn...jewellery case?

Apprehensively she looked down at the content, unsure of what she would find. Perhaps it was simply a Malfoy family trait to enjoy keeping their most treasured torture devices in nice surroundings, she mused, remembering the well-polished glass cases in the hall.

However, on the little, powder-blue velvet pillow was nothing except a small ring. Encircled by diamonds, the gleaming topaz in its gold setting seemed to sparkle as mesmerising as Hermione's eyes did in that moment. Only when Draco started speaking she finally stopped admiring it. He sounded almost insecure, quite unlike before, and his ordinary self. "If it is not to your liking, I'm sure you'll be able to find one more satisfactory for your tastes. The collection of jewellery my forefathers left is pretty substantial. Well, foremothers in this case I assume, unless some of my ancestors had inclinations the aftertime is unaware of." Realising he just might possibly be babbling, Draco abruptly closed his mouth.

However, unsure of how he should interpret her persistent silence he felt compelled to resume. "Most of it is far more valuable than this ring. I did consider a diamond one, but I've heard that women find them cold and much like a piece of broken glass. This, however..." he nodded towards the glittering content of her hand. "The gem seemed to agree with your eyes. It reminded me of those golden glimmers you get in your eyes when..." God, now he sounded like a lovesick teenager who had spent too much of his time listening to boybands. And who just might possibly be gay. Because he was most certainly not in love with Hermione. The very idea was absurd. The only thing he felt for her was lust. Or urges, as she would have put it. The corners of his mouth reluctantly started twisting. And she made him laugh. Not many had done that. Even fewer had tried.

Clearing his throat he continued in a more commanding tone, "Since it's an heirloom, after my grandmother to be more specific, you have to be careful with it. Throwing it away in one of your temper tantrums would of course be unacceptable. If you so much as try attempting something like that..."

Raising one finger and laying it lightly against his lips, she cut off the menacing monologue. It was the first time she had ever touched him voluntarily.

Although he of course easily could have overcome the small barrier, he remained quiet, apprehensive to hear what she planned to say.

However, when Hermione opened her mouth, it was to utter something that ostensibly had nothing to do with the matter at hand. "When I was five years old," she began softly, "I lived next to a boy named Ben. His family owned this enormous, Victorian house surrounded by old apple trees." She smiled dreamily, far away from a place called Malfoy Manor in the Voldemort era now. "He gave me my first kiss under one of them. When I was seven, he proposed to me under it." She looked up at him, her eyes dancing. "Do you remember when you were little, and had been to the dentist's? How you were given some little reward if you had behaved well, sat still, not cried and the likes?"

He nodded, recollecting that very well. Once, when he was four, he had behaved "entirely impossibly" according to Dr. Bannister, his childhood dental wizard. Trying to place a previously proven extremely painful boring charm on one of Draco's teeth, the sorcerer had been met with a kicking and screaming boy. One who had even drawn blood when the warlock, oblivious of the danger, had pressed his finger into his mouth in order to force it open. When Draco returned home, he had run straight from a pale and nervous Narcissa to his father, crying that he hadn't got a trinket. Dr. Bannister had in his turn been visited by a furious Lucius Malfoy, who in no uncertain terms informed him that if he wanted to keep his job - and perhaps something even more vital to him - he'd better treat the Malfoy heir with suitable respect from now. Always afterwards Draco had exited the office with a big bag filled with articles such as Dungbombs, Frog-Spawn Soap and nose-biting teacups. One item each of the different merchandises purveyed by Zonko's Joke Shop to find their way to the dental wizard's bureau chest. The memory made him smirk.

"Well, our little town dentist had all the ordinary articles. Coloured scraps, the small mirrors used for checking your teeth, those little coiled plastic thingies that kept your mouth dry... However, he also had a collection of rings. Not real, of course. Merely the artificial, inexpensive kind that can be won at funfairs. One of those Ben slid on my finger that spring day in May. In was gilded, with this beautiful red stone shaped as a heart..." Lost in thought, she suddenly threw him a humorous glance. "His mother told me later that she had been quite relieved when she realised what he wanted it for. I'm afraid we're a rather old-fashioned and conservative bunch in that part of Kent.

"I wore it until it became too small even for my little finger, then on a chain around my neck up until..." She quieted, unwilling to speak of Harry. "It was in my dormitory room the night of the battle. I can imagine that it's destroyed now, as the Gryffindor tower was burning when we fled."

"It's restored now," Draco attempted to comfort. "The Dark Lord," he did not believe she would be partial to him referring to "You-Know-Who" as 'Master', "was furious. He didn't wish for any of the building to be damaged."

She gave him a quick look, as if to show that she appreciated that he had tried. "When I was nine," she paused slightly, "he died.

"Leukaemia," was the answer to Draco's unasked question. Averting his shocked gaze, she resumed. "I was there, holding his hand, actually. The doctors and my parents were worried that it might be a too hard experience for someone my age, but they weren't able to stop me. And then, at the near end, he wondered," she struggled to keep her voice under control, "if I regretted becoming his fiancée, since nothing came out of it after all. I replied," her lips curled slightly and she looked at him with eyes brighter than usual, "with one of those phrases children hear grown-ups use, and grown-ups laugh at when they hear children repeat it, believing the youngsters don't understand the full meaning of it. 'We may not have reached the destination, but it was a wonderful journey.'

"We will never 'reach the destination', either, Draco," she said decidedly, stubbornness and determination evident in everything from her straight back to the gaze that boldly met his, "but I think we can be sure of that it will be one interesting trip."

She reached out her hand, and he found himself looking down at the small ring on her palm. Realising what she wanted, he took it and threaded it carefully on her left ring finger. He wondered if he should risk ruining this moment by attempting to kiss her. However, before he could reach a decision, he felt her soft, cool lips on his. It wasn't a bell ringing, fireworks exploding, declaration of undying love and passion kiss, just the light one you give when you're not entirely sure about that person and your own emotions. Or the chaste one shared by two five-year-olds in their parents' garden.