Harry Potter 1. A Shift in Situation

A/N: Sometimes, ideas hit you while you're in the shower and sometimes, just sometimes… they evolve into fanfics. This is a bit of an oddly-constructed one, so apologies if there seem to be inconsistencies. Basically, all of our favourite characters (and some not-so-favourite ones) are living in a time when wizarding society is quite different. While Hermione, Ron and Harry all attended Hogwarts together and are very good friends, they didn't grow up experiencing the threat of Voldemort quite as much as they do in the books. This, however, is about to change… so all I ask is that you keep an open mind. If characters that died in the books/films suddenly turn up alive and well, it's because I intend them to for the purpose of this story.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any related material. This is just for fun.

**Le Droit du Seigneur**

_Chapter I: A Shift in Situation_

Hermione closed her eyes against the reflection in the mirror.

The young woman in it looked so unlike her that she felt, at least for a brief moment, as if the body around her wasn't quite her own. Instead, she felt like a mere spirit in passing, playing at being a stranger for a few seconds of amusement. If she chose to, she could move on without a second thought and abandon this earthly husk to whatever fate awaited it. But amusement eluded her. She could not escape.

"Arms up, please."

"I can do this myself, mother."

"I know you can my dear, but this is not a day when you need to prove yourself to me. Let me help you for once."

There was no use arguing. The excitement bubbling inside her mother's voice was unmistakable. Hermione kept her eyes shut as her mother pulled her undershirt over her head. Despite the warm summer breeze filtering in through the open window, she felt a shiver course through the flesh on her arms. She could hear the sound of tables and chairs being moved outside and the first tantalising smells of Molly's cooking were beginning to permeate the air. Ron had asked for game pie and apple cobbler and ale from the muggle brewery in the nearest town. Hermione had taken one look at the worried expressions on Molly and Arthur's faces and asked for nothing in particular. She would just let Ron choose for her. Hermione fought back a sigh. Wasn't that what all good wives did? She was about to tell herself it didn't matter when her eyes flew open. Her mother's fingers had started to pull on the ties of her shift.

"What are you doing?"

"What do you mean? Getting you out of that tattered old thing, of course."

"Why? It's perfectly functional…"

Tucking away a stray lock of her dark brown hair, Rose Granger looked down at her daughter and shook her head, a small smile playing on her lips.

"You're not in school anymore, Hermione. This is not just some training session where you get to run around, getting your clothes dirty and torn in the name of magic. You need to look presentable."

"I will look presentable. The dress is lovely… besides, Ron won't care. He-"

Hermione had just been about to say that Ron wouldn't care what kind of shift she wore because he wouldn't be seeing it. Then she remembered. '_Some men like to see their wives entirely naked, you know,'_ her friend Lavender Brown had giggled during their last meeting. She'd glanced at Hermione's horrified expression and laughed even harder. _'It's not compulsory of course, you can keep your underclothes if you're worried, Hermione, but if he's anything like my Seamus, you'll have a hard time holding on to them!'_ The other girls present had also laughed and Hermione couldn't help the blush that spread over her features. Blushing was what brides were supposed to do, but somehow she just felt like a fool. She knew what to expect of the mechanics of becoming Ron's wife, but she found herself wishing that there didn't have to be emotions involved. Ron was not the most gifted man when it came to interpreting emotions and she was worried hers might suffer a worse kind of pain than the one caused by any physical ministrations he might inflict upon her.

"Well yes, Ronald will probably not care much… but you will. Trust me."

Rose pressed both her hands to the sides of Hermione's face and looked her straight in the eye. Hermione repressed a groan. Her mother always did that when she wanted Hermione to avoid repeating her own mistakes. Hermione usually ignored her, but for once she couldn't help but wonder how her mother had felt on her own wedding day, twenty-odd years. Perhaps she'd worn her worst possible shift and her new husband, Hermione's father, had laughed. But her father looking at her mother's undergarments was not something Hermione wanted to dwell upon. In fact, she didn't feel like dwelling upon anything for once. If only her mind would go blank… mercilessly blank...

"It's lucky I had this made along with your gown," her mother was saying, moving to the wardrobe on the opposite side of the room.

Hermione missed her room in her parents' house, but her goodbyes to her childhood home had been made several days ago. As a future Weasley on the verge of getting married at the Burrows, she was expected to spend her last few nights with her parents in her husband's home. It was a transition of sorts, an ancient tradition of the wizarding world. The Grangers had travelled to the Burrows by cart, as neither family could afford enough Floo powder after the various expenses of organising the wedding.

"What are you talking about?" asked Hermione, her gaze drawn towards the window. A large tent was being erected outside. She could just see the tip of it wobbling slightly in the breeze. 'Wouldn't it be my luck if it fell on me?' she mused, unsure about how the thought made her feel. It wasn't that she didn't want to marry Ron, just that it all seemed a bit sudden. A year ago, she had left Hogwarts filled with dreams and hopes for the future, certain that she could use her talents to create a solid place for herself in wizarding society. Then everything had gone wrong, so wrong she had no idea how anyone might fix the world they now lived in. She liked Ron, she always had, but now…

"This, silly. Will you pay attention?"

Hermione looked at the shift in her mother's arms and immediately felt her cheeks heat up. Instead of the loose, unadorned garment she usually favoured, this one was fitted and trimmed with lace and small glass beads. Worse still, it seemed to be unfinished at the sides. The front and back panels were separate, only held together at each side by lengths of crisscrossing ribbon.

"You need to send it back! They ran out of fabric!"

"Nonsense, dear. This is all the fashion at the moment, at least among muggles. These wizards can make you wear a bridal robe all they want, but their idea of undergarments is laughable. The seamstress wouldn't hear of it when I placed the order, but once I showed her some designs she became quite excited. We may even have started a new trend!"

"_We_ started nothing," Hermione grumbled, eyeing the shift with mounting disgust. But she knew she was fighting a losing battle. She didn't have the heart to dampen her mother's spirits on such a day. "Can I at least have some privacy?"

"Of course, darling. Just call me if you need me, I'll be in the next room, getting ready."

Hermione waited until her mother had left the room before undoing the remainder of the ties on her old shift and pulling the garment free of her body. Again she avoided looking in the mirror. What was there to see? She'd overheard Ron joking about the busty barmaid in the Three Broomsticks on many occasions. If voluptuousness was what he wanted, then he was in for serious disappointment. While she was far from flat-chested, Hermione knew without needing to check that there was nothing remarkable about her in that department. 'Perhaps once he realises this, he'll let me keep my clothes on…' She winced at the thought and reached for the bridal shift her mother had draped over the end of the bed. Pulling it over her head was awkward, as she kept sticking her arms through the wrong places. When she did manage to tug it into place, it seemed to be far too small. There was a gap of about an inch running from below her arms, straight down her body to around mid-thigh. No amount of pulling either way would get rid of it. If she tightened the silk ribbons to close it on one side, the other side only opened up further. It seemed she would have to compromise and leave an equal opening on either side. Grumbling, Hermione finally stepped back in front of the mirror.

"Fine," she whispered. "If it makes you happy, mother…"

For the second time that day, it seemed like another girl was looking back at her. A girl whose appearance made Hermione want to avert her gaze in shame. Who dressed like this? The whores that Draco Malfoy and his cronies liked to boast about, no doubt. But what had possessed her mother to think that she would enjoy wearing something like this? True, her otherwise unimpressive chest seemed just a little bit larger due to the elaborate stitching around the bust, and the fabric clung to the curve of her hips in a flattering way, but the whole impression made Hermione feel cheep. How had she come to this? How could she have let herself be wrapped up like a prime cut of meat to be sold off to the highest bidder? No, that wasn't entirely true… the only bidder, as it turned out.

The worst thing about the situation, in Hermione's opinion, was that she and Ron would have probably become engaged anyway. They might have waited a few more years, a long period of bumbling courtship on his behalf and timid but growing feelings on hers, but eventually they would have tied the knot like everyone expected them to. She would have been happy about it, excited even. She would have been ready, at least. By then, she would have had time to find a paid position within the Ministry of Magic and spent a few years furthering her knowledge of magic. A witch from a good family who chose to work before founding a family was not frowned upon in wizarding society, something that couldn't be said about its muggle counterpart. Tolerance and understanding had been growing right up until her graduation from Hogwarts. Witches were being considered for some of the highest positions within the Ministry. And then it had all gone wrong…

The Dark Lord. Hermione despised the name almost as much as she despised the man. He had been stirring trouble for years among the wizards and witches of pureblood families, spreading his poisonous views on muggleborns and muggles in general. While Hermione had been fairly sheltered at Hogwarts from the growing discord, rumours of muggles being hunted and tortured reached her through the likes of Draco Malfoy and his entourage. The snobbish blonde boy had delighted in calling her a Mudblood whenever he could, but she had dismissed his insults as mere ignorance and jealousy. She didn't want to believe that this Lord Voldemort, the same man responsible for murdering her friend Harry's parents many years ago, could be coming back to power in such an otherwise enlightened age. Not only did he believe that muggleborns had no right to magic, he also proclaimed that a witch's place was to remain hidden away in her husband's mansion, producing pureblood heirs and overseeing the household elves. A preposterous, antiquated notion in her opinion.

Not everyone shared these views, thank goodness, and Hermione could have quite happily ignored the Dark Lord and his followers for as long as possible, had the unthinkable not happened. Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic himself, had been murdered just under a year ago by a group of Death Eaters, the very men claiming to be Lord Voldemort's most fervent followers. Ever since, the Ministry had been struggling to recover from the blow, and the position of Minister had still not been filled. Distrust ran so deep among wizards nowadays that a suitable candidate has not yet been found. Attacks on muggleborns and their families had spread across the country like wildfire. Everywhere, people were taking whatever measures they could to protect themselves. Without a functioning government, the entire wizarding world teetered on the brink of chaos, and Hermione found herself in the thick of it.

"Are you ready?" her mother called from the next room.

"I'm really not sure this fits. I don't see why I have to wear it," Hermione said as Rose walked back into the room, her hair pinned up in an elegant bun. She was wearing a simple blue muggle gown that brought out her eyes. "You look nice," Hermione ventured, hoping her mother might reconsider the horrendous shift.

"Not as nice as you, my darling! When did you grow into such a beautiful young lady? You're always wearing those heavy robes, no wonder you look so shapeless. But now… That's exactly how it's supposed to look!"

Hermione rolled her eyes. Her mother had quite a knack for mixing compliments with criticisms.

"Let's get your gown on, shall we?"

Sighing, Hermione nodded. There was no use putting up a fight. She was getting married today, and in order to get married, a bride had to be wearing her wedding gown. 'Or at least in polite society, she does,' Hermione thought with a nervous giggle. Perhaps Ron would stop thinking about the barmaid in the Three Broomsticks if Hermione walked up the aisle wearing nothing but her revealing shift.

"Am I doing the right thing?" she suddenly asked, lifting her arms again as Rose slid the gown over her head.

Her mother paused behind her and Hermione could see her reflection in the mirror. The woman who had brought her into this world had lost her smile, all of a sudden, and seemed to be searching for the right thing to say.

"It's a good marriage, from what I understand about wizarding customs, there's no doubt about that…"  
"But should it really be happening like this? What if we didn't have to hurry? What if I'm in no real danger?"

So many questions she had already mulled over in her mind. What if… What if Ron hadn't rushed to propose to her in order to protect her from the rising hatred against muggleborns? She was a clever witch; everyone at Hogwarts had told her so. She had learnt to defend herself with a wand and so far, there hadn't been the slightest sign that she might be targeted by Lord Voldemort or his followers. In fact, no one she had been to school with seemed to have suffered at his hands yet. The muggleborns he had targeted so far were the ones who came from extremely poor families and whose powers were not great enough to earn them a place at Hogwarts. These unfortunate muggleborn children were forced to attend one of the smaller schools dotted around the country where they struggled to gain a basic command of magic taught by unmotivated teachers, often talentless wizards themselves. Hogwarts only had a few spaces available for the most powerful muggleborns out there, as half-bloods and purebloods were always given priority.

"I was talking to Arthur and Molly about it only last night, Hermione. They made it clear that the situation is worsening. By becoming a Weasley, you remove yourself from harm, at least temporarily…"

"Yes," Hermione said, breathing in as her mother pulled on the laces at the back of her robe. "Temporarily. But surely marriage shouldn't be about temporary salvation, mother. Surely it should be about-"

"-about love? Is that what you're going to say?" Rose yanked on the laces, causing Hermione to wince. She knotted them into place, grabbed her daughter by the shoulders and spun her around. "Listen to me, girl. You're not the first one to marry for convenience and you won't be the last, trust me. Women have been seeking refuge in the shelters of men they have little or no affection for since the dawn of time, be they witches or muggles. At least you like Ron, or so you've always led me to believe. There are worst predicaments than marrying your best friend."

Rose must have seen the tears threatening in her daughters eyes, as her toned softened a little.

"I'm not trying to scare you, Hermione. This is not how I imagined things for you, but the situation could be much, much worse. You will bring your strength and your powers to the Weasley family, and in turn they will take you under the protection afforded them by the purity of their blood."

"Don't forget my wand…" Hermione muttered.

"And your wand," Rose said with a sigh.

Soon after starting at Hogwarts, Hermione had learned that the poorer wizarding families only had one or two wands at the most between all of their members. Traditionally, the wizard at the head of the household would keep the wand on his person at all times, and anyone else who wished to use it had to ask. Ron's family was no exception to this. Arthur kept the family wand, although he happily let his wife and children use it whenever they needed to. There had been rumours of a second wand lying around the attic, but no amount of searching on Fred and George's part had managed to unearth it. One day, Arthur's wand would pass to Bill, his eldest son. As for the other Weasley children, their only hope of acquiring more wands would be through marriage.

Hermione had not always had her wand. For the duration of their studies at Hogwarts, every young witch or wizard who was too poor to possess a wand would have the possibility of borrowing one from the extensive collection the school possessed. Unfortunately, this meant that the wand was rarely suited to its bearer, but the students learned to make do, Hermione among them. While her parents lived comfortably in muggle terms, they did not possess nearly enough money to purchase a new wand from one of the shops on Diagon Alley. For seven years, Hermione had struggled with a wand made of yew and unicorn hair that veered ever so slightly to the left whenever she cast a spell. Only through sheer wilfulness and huge amounts of patience had she managed to move past its shortcomings and achieve the results that had impressed her professors so much. Still, Hermione had never dreamed of possessing her own wand until she had graduated with the highest grades anyone had ever seen, and been awarded an elegant wand of vine wood and dragon heartstring by Headmaster Dumbledore himself. For one blissful year, while the world was crashing around her, Hermione had been able to use magic to the full extent of her abilities. But now, all in the name of safety and, supposedly, love… she would have to give it up. As with any of her possessions, her wand would pass to her husband, who would be head of their own little family.

Ron had at least had the decency to refrain from mentioning the subject, but the whispers she'd overheard from the other members of his family left no doubt as to their excitement that a second wand was entering the family so soon. Dowries were still common in wizarding unions and Hermione was well aware of the value of her wand to a family like the Weasleys. She knew they had no ills designs for it, and Ron would probably let her use it whenever she wanted to, but the fact that she would have to ask him for it filled her with rage. It wasn't his fault; it was just the way the world worked, but if only…

"Oh well," Hermione sighed, turning to look at her reflection once more. "It's no use wondering, is it? I'm doing this now. I'll just have to learn to live with it."

Although the robe was also tight at the bust, Hermione felt a little more comfortable now. She even looked quite nice, something she rarely ever thought about herself. The gown was a lovely cream colour with gold trimmings around the bell-shaped sleeves, sweetheart neckline and hem. The gold ribbons her mother had so painstakingly laced floated down the back of the dress, almost touching the floor. Picking her wand up off the bedside table, Hermione waved it at her hair, watching as her unruly curls took on a more defined, glossy air. It was a simple spell, but one she could rarely be bothered with. She brushed her hair backwards, twisting a few strand above her ears and securing them in place with a couple of golden pins. Then, reaching into a little box she had set out on the bed, she hooked a delicate teardrop-shaped pearl earring into each lobe.

"That's my girl," her mother said, clasping her hands together. She looked a little tearful and Hermione wondered how much of a front her mother was putting on. For all her harsh words of no nonsense and her brash cheerfulness at the lavish underwear, Rose did not seem entirely comfortable with the situation. "Who knows? Ron might turn out to be the husband of your dreams…"

Hermione waited for her mother to add "just like your father is to me", but the words didn't come. 'What do I even know of their marriage and their feelings for each other?' she wondered. The question filled her with dread. Would she have to put up a similar façade for the rest of the world? For her own children? Just for the sake of keeping up appearances?

"Maybe he will," she said with a heavy heart.

Her mother smiled.

"It's time to go now, darling. He'll be waiting."

A/N: That's all for now. Hope you enjoyed it. If you liked it, you know what to do!


	2. Fire in the Blood

A/N : Thank you very much to those of you who decided to follow my story and extra-special thanks to the people who left me reviews. Glad you like the story so far!

**Le Droit du Seigneur**

_Chapter II: Fire in the Blood_

The Malfoy family was in deep trouble, there was no doubt about it.

Draco clutched his glass of firewhiskey and stared up at the carvings on the ceiling, one leg hooked over the arm of his chair. The heavy velvet drapes were drawn over the windows and he couldn't tell if it was day or night outside. He also couldn't tell how many drinks he'd had, which made him feel somewhat vindicated. Was it not his duty as a son to mourn his parents' unfortunate predicament? Just because he chose to do so by drowning his worries in alcohol did not make his feelings about the matter any less valid. The whole thing was becoming intolerable and only the fire in the aptly-name firewhiskey seemed to help him brood adequately. Just as he was contemplating asking one of the elves for a new bottle, Draco was pulled from his torpor by an unexpected sound. Somewhere in the depths of Malfoy Manor, the doorbell rang.

'The doorbell never rings' was the first thought that entered his mind. The Muggles were too afraid to come up to the Manor and most of the wizard families who lived on their lands hated the Malfoys with a passion. Anyone vaguely interesting would be using apparition or the floo network. Groaning, Draco roused himself from the chair and moved towards the window, pulling the curtains open just enough to wince at the morning sunlight. Squinting against it, he saw an opulent black carriage drawn by four thestrals standing in the driveway.

"No… No! Don't let her in!"

Draco turned and ran towards the door, shouting, his newfound headache pounding louder than his footsteps on the cold marble floor. Bursting into the corridor, he ran as quickly as possible towards the grand staircase leading into the entrance hall.

"Perky, no! Don't open that door!"

"Well hello, nephew. Nice to see you too."

Stopping in his tracks at the top of the stairs, Draco allowed himself to fall back against the wall with a moan. It was too late. Why had he been drinking? Why wasn't he having his breakfast like a normal, civilised person at this normal, civilised hour? Perhaps he would have been able to stop her then, although people were seldom able to stop Bellatrix Lestrange from doing something she had set her mind on, not even family. Dropping a trunk on top of Perky the house elf, Bellatrix glided up the stairs to where he was standing. She was wearing a dark green dress that clung tightly to her body and a black cloak trimmed with black ostrich feathers. They tickled Draco's nose as she kissed him forcefully on the cheek.

"What are you doing here?" he croaked, struggling to get his voice back.

"Cheer up, will you? One might think you'd been abandoned to your own devices…"

"I was. There's nothing wrong with that. I don't need you here."

"Nonsense," Bellatrix laughed, already turning away from him to inspect the carpet on the landing. "Someone's got to help you hold the fort."

"I was managing fine on my own," Draco said.

He did not get on with his Aunt Bellatrix under the best of circumstances. When he was a child, she was forever pinching his cheek with her long, talon-like nails and telling him he would grow into a fine Death Eater one day, just like his father. 'Like my father,' Draco scoffed. 'Look where that landed him…' To have her with him at Malfoy Manor now, in such delicate circumstances, was sure to drive him over the brink.

"Pesky! Fetch me a lucidity potion," he snapped.

Pesky, Perky's twin brother, appeared on the landing with a sharp crack, bowed and nodded, and disappeared again. Thank goodness for well-trained house elves. He was not looking forward to watching Bellatrix mess with them to pass the time. His mother would be furious when she came home… if she ever came home.

"I take it the Dark Lord let you go?" he asked of Bellatrix's back as she started off down the hallway, fingering statues and vases as she went.

"What? Oh, he never had me in the first place," his aunt said, snickering. Draco rolled his eyes. "He took Roddy while I was shopping in Knockturn Alley. Came home to an empty house and a load of squeaking house elves. So now I'm here."

Draco sighed. Bellatrix was his mother's sister. Even though they weren't the best of friends, Narcissa Malfoy would have wanted her son to offer shelter to her older sister in times of crisis. This, if any, was certainly a time of crisis. Much to his chagrin, Draco couldn't think of a way to get rid her that wouldn't result in dire punishment at a later date, especially if something happened to her as a consequence of his actions.

"Fine," he muttered. "Just don't start changing things, you know Mother doesn't like that. And don't get in my way."

"Get in your way for what? Were you planning on holding a ball? I doubt your parents would appreciate you lounging about with your little friends, drinking and throwing parties, while they rot in the Dark Lord's cells."

Bellatrix stared at him and after a moment, Draco realised she was being serious. 'She's going to be worse than Mother…' He had to fight not to groan at the thought. All he needed was another tortured soul waiting alongside him for news, any kind of news…

"I'm not throwing parties! But if you can think of a better way to pass the time than drinking, please let me know!"

Pushing back a strand of stray hair, Draco turned his back on her, fully intent on going back to the library. Pesky would bring him the lucidity potion and he would spend the day avoiding Bellatrix and the constant reminder she brought with her that things were not as they should be. Not that Draco needed a reminder, but he didn't particularly want to discuss his feelings with his aunt. Only yesterday had he received another curt note from Peter Pettigrew informing him that his parents were to be detained at the Dark Lord's pleasure for an indefinite amount of time until the Swindon fiasco could be resolved. Draco had cursed loudly, causing one of the house elves who was lighting a fire in the grate to run squealing from the room. What did his mother have to do with what had happened in Swindon? She and Draco had been at home that night. Only Draco's father Lucius had attended the gathering with Lord Voldmort's most trusted Death Eaters, Rodolphus and Bellatrix Lestrange among them. Besides, who cared that Walden Macnair had got himself killed in the middle of an attack on a family of Muggles? There was the small matter that the cause of death had been due to a killing curse, but Draco thought the Dark Lord was blowing the whole thing out of proportion. Nobody liked Macnair and his creepy habits anyway. Yet Lord Voldemort seemed convinced that the Death Eaters had a traitor in their midst and had subsequently imprisoned as many of the people present on that night, as well as any other family members who got in the way, as he could lay his hands on. Like his Aunt Bellatrix, Draco had been away from home when Voldemort had come for his father. He could only guess that his mother had tried to put up a fight, as she was now rotting in a cell alongside her husband. Draco had absolutely no idea what he could do to get them out of there and it was driving him crazy.

"Well actually, there might be something…"

He'd already walked some way down the hall and almost didn't hear Bellatrix's words.

"What was that?"

"There might be a way. It will certainly amuse you and it might also give you the opportunity to bring the family back into Lord Voldemort's good books."

Turning towards her, Draco tried not to show too much interest. He was not the bravest person at the best of times, but he was not above putting himself out there for his family's safety. As long as it didn't involve too much pain, at least on his end…

"Who do I have to kill?"

"Oh no," Bellatrix laughed, walking towards him. "Nothing like that. I would call it… 'having a little fun', dear nephew. Nothing very sordid at all."

Draco eyed her wearily. Aunt Bellatrix's idea of fun involved kittens, and not in a good way. More than once, he'd overheard his father talking to his mother about 'cleaning up your damned sister's messes'. If Draco thought about it, it wasn't all that surprising that Lord Voldemort had failed to capture Bellatrix along with her husband. She was one of his favourites and he was notoriously lenient where her shortcomings were concerned. Anyone the Dark Lord favoured was not to be trusted too closely, in Draco's opinion.

"You see, as I was travelling here, I happened to notice that several other witches and wizards were heading in this general direction on various modes of magical transport. Such large gatherings are rare and so I took a little detour. They didn't see me of course, but I saw them… Did you know that you have a wizard wedding taking place on this very day inside your very own lands, Draco Malfoy?"

Leaning against the wall, Draco crossed his arms and let out a sigh. Women and weddings… goodness knows where she was going with this.

"No. Why should I care? Was I supposed to be invited?"

"As acting Lord of Malfoy Manor and its surrounding lands, yes. In actual fact, I suspect your father probably received an owl about it a while ago. Does he usually attend?"

"Not unless it's anyone of importance, no. He always says 'let peasants be peasants'."

There was a definite glint in Bellatrix's eye that caught his attention, but Draco pretended not to be too interested. Until Pesky returned with the lucidity potion, he didn't feel up to trashing some poor sod's wedding. Speaking of potions, where was the bloody elf?

"What if the peasants are important peasants? What does he do then?"

Draco merely shook his head at her. He hated when she played games, but he knew that getting angry with her would only make her withhold the information longer. So he kept quiet and waited, feet itching to take him somewhere dark and quiet instead.

"Tell me, dear nephew… do the names Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger mean anything to you?"

Draco almost asked 'why, are they invited?' before he stopped himself. The Weasel had always had a soft spot for his little Mudblood friend during their years at Hogwarts. He hadn't seen either of them since they'd all graduated, but news of their impending union hardly came as a surprise. 'How amusing indeed… turns out Granger is too stupid to find herself a better husband… well perhaps that makes them well-suited to each other then.' Immediately, his throbbing head began to fill with thoughts of setting the buffet on fire or cursing Ron to start squawking like a chicken in the middle of his vows. A slow grin spread across his face.

"Alright, that does sound like fun. What are we doing? Using cloaking spells and sneaking up during the ceremony? Maybe we could make Granger's dress disappear… not that there would be much worth seeing underneath…"

Draco was lost for a moment in imagining what _might_ be hiding under Hermione Granger's wedding dress. It was not something he'd thought about before, but the idea stuck in his mind in a way that disturbed him. 'Why should I care?' he thought, shaking his head ever so slightly. 'She's a filthy, disgusting Mudblood well beneath any decent wizard's consideration.'

"So crude, just as I feared," Bellatrix sighed, grabbing hold of his shoulder. "How do you expect to regain the Dark Lord's favour and free your parents with a few childish pranks?"

Noting that she didn't include her own husband in the list of people to be freed, Draco shook his head.

"I'm not. You just talked about having a little fun. That's what I expect to get out of it, nothing else."

Bellatrix tutted and shook her head. "No ambition, my dear boy. That's the problem with Malfoy men, always content to hide until the problem is resolved by someone else. This is your chance do prove yourself, Draco. Not only will you show the Dark Lord that you are willing to hurt Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers in the worst possible way, you will also get revenge for the years of torment Harry Potter and his friends subjected you to."

Draco scoffed, before realising that Bellatrix's misguided notion on who was to blame for his troubles in school was largely his fault. Many a time during his early years at Hogwarts had Draco come home crying, blaming everything and anything he could think of on the Gryffindor trio. While they were certainly not innocent of landing him in trouble on several occasions, he realised that his entire family must view Harry Potter, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger as a pack of bloodthirsty monsters by now. Although he regretted whingeing about them so pathetically, the idea that they needed to pay dearly for all the wrongs they had caused him (namely, landing him in detention with most of the professors at Hogwarts) amused him even more. Perhaps it was time for a little payback after all.

"What did you have in mind?"

"You weren't all that far off, actually, when you mentioned getting rid of Granger's dress… I trust your father taught you all about the laws that govern wizarding property?"

Biting his lip, Draco debated how much of the truth he could get away with. Lucius had tried, on several occasions, to get him interested in the numerous large volumes that took up an entire shelf in the library, but Draco couldn't say he'd paid much attention to them. He'd been too busy practicing the Cruciatus Curse on flies instead. Not trusting himself to speak, he shrugged. Bellatrix's scowl lasted only a few seconds, however, before her lips turned upwards in a grin that raised the fine hairs on the back of Draco's neck.

"Let me tell you about a little something called _le droit du seigneur_."

A/N: voilà, hope you liked it. As you can probably guess, I'm going to be alternating POVs between Hermione and Draco so we get the full scope of the story. If you enjoyed it, you know what to do!


	3. Unceremoniously

A/N: Here is chapter 3.

**Le Droit du Seigneur**

_Chapter III : Unceremoniously_

Nobody had ever told Hermione she looked beautiful. That had been for the other girls at school, the ones whose robes were tailored to show off at least a hint of curve. Those were the girls who giggled loudly, who played with the loose strands that broke free from their elaborate hairstyles and winked at boys when the professors weren't looking. Those were the Lavender Browns of the world, girls who never seemed fazed by anything, let alone such trivial things as marriage. Even Hermione's mother had never used the word 'beautiful' to describe her daughter until that very morning. 'Smart', 'intelligent', 'competitive', 'clever', 'kind'… Those were Hermione Granger's words.

The first few times she heard it on her wedding day, it brought a faint rush of heat to her cheeks and lifted the corners of her mouth into a shy smile. Molly Weasley practically screamed it when Hermione emerged into the kitchen in full garb, her mother hovering behind her, still fussing over details.

"Fred, George, don't you have something better to do? I think your father would like some help setting out the chairs."

The twins looked up from where they had been crouching in a corner of the room, whispering to each other about something Fred was holding in his hand. As soon as their mother spoke, Fred quickly slipped the thing into his pocket. Hermione frowned. 'Oh please not today…' Even she found Fred and George Weasley's antics amusing from time to time (as long as no one got hurt), but they couldn't have picked a worst possible time to try to pull something off. She was already nervous enough without having to worry about some kind of explosion going off right in the middle of the ceremony.

"Wow, Hermione. Nice… dress," George said, bowing deeply in her direction. Hermione had the distinct impression he'd been about to say something else.

"Delightful! Radiant!" added Fred, joining his brother.

"Magnificent! Regal, even!" George cut in, bowing so low his forehead was almost touching his knees.

"Boys! Out, now!" Molly snapped.

"Can't we compliment our darling sister-in-law?"

"George is right. Ron should get married more often, we don't get such lovely beauties wondering around the house nearly enough."

"Hey!" said Ginny, Ron's younger sister, as she walked into the kitchen. She was wearing golden gown that matched the trimmings on Hermione's sleeves and hem, and her hair had been done up in a lovely plaited bun. She looked older and more confident than she had in school, and Hermione found herself worrying about the number of eligible young men that might start pestering her at the banquet later on.

"Sorry Gin, I said 'sister-in-law'. You're our actual sister, you don't count. Quaint dress, though."

"I said, OUT!"

Grinning at Hermione one last time, the boys walked out of the room backwards, bowing as deeply and often as they could, bumping into each other and various pieces of furniture along the way. With a flick of the family wand, Molly closed the door behind them with a loud bang.

"They're right, though," said Ginny, staring at Hermione in admiration. "You look absolutely beautiful."

At least this was sincere, and Hermione returned Ginny's smile. She'd chosen Ron's sister as her bridesmaid not only because she thought it would please her new family, but because she genuinely liked the younger girl. Ginny had just finished Hogwarts and to Hermione's delight, was in the process of enquiring about a job at St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. If she was successful, she would work as an assistant for several years while training to become a full-time Healer. Ron had once said he thought it was ridiculous for his baby sister to even consider such a long-winded career, but Hermione's glare had soon caused the words to die in his mouth. He was a kind-hearted boy, but she found him a little old-fashioned in his views sometimes. All she could hope for now was that they could overcome their differences in time, or at the very least agree to disagree without stepping on each other's feelings too much.

"Thank you… You don't think it's a bit much?"

"It's your wedding day. Of course it's not too much," Ginny said with a grin. "The fabric looks so soft…"

Hermione held her arm out so Ginny could touch the sleeve, while Molly joined Rose in fussing over her hair. 'This is it', thought Hermione. 'There's no more hiding now, no going back…' Even if she had felt capable of putting her foot down and asking for a reprieve, for a little more time to gather her thoughts and feelings into something that made sense, she couldn't bear to think of the disappointment she would cause among the Weasley family. They might be eager for a new wand in the family, but she had no doubt that they were equally happy about gaining a daughter. Ginny was the only girl out of Molly and Arthur's seven children and Hermione had heard Molly complain enough about the noise and the mess that came from having so many men in the house. While Hermione and Ron would only be living at the Burrow for a short time until they could find a house of their own, it would be a completely different kind of life for Hermione, who was an only child. No more parents fussing over her at every turn. She would have to find her own place in the Weasley family and guard it firmly. She could only hope she didn't become overwhelmed too quickly.

"How is everything coming along outside?" she asked. She hadn't dared do more than steal glances out of windows throughout the morning, lest Ron catch a glimpse of her before he should. While she had seen the large white tent and the beginning of the deep red carpet that led into it, the rest she could only guess at.

"Just fine, my dear. You have half-an-hour until the guests are shown to their seats. Don't worry about anything; Arthur's doing a great job out there. I promise you won't be disappointed."

Molly had tried to consult her on more than one occasion about the tent decorations and the food and the seating arrangements, but Hermione's mind had gone blank every time and she'd merely shrugged and smiled. She had no idea what she wanted, or even what was currently in fashion for weddings, and her future mother-in-law seemed to have plenty of ideas, so Hermione had just been happy to let her get on with it. Besides, she was hoping she would be too distracted by the discovery of her wedding venue to pay much attention to her nerves.

Hermione picked up a golden pocket watch that was lying on the table. It was half past twelve. Molly had decided that an early wedding would be best, followed by lunch. There would be some dancing in the afternoon (Hermione had overheard Charlie Weasley talking about enchanting the roof of the tent to look like the night's sky, just like it was in the Great Hall at Hogwarts), as well as light refreshments for those who were still hungry, and then Hermione and Ron would leave on their honeymoon just before sunset. This, Hermione had also let Ron organise, and the excitement in his eyes whenever the subject was mentioned was beginning to worry her. What if he tried to take her on some grand adventure to the Egyptian Pyramids or something? All she wanted was a quiet week somewhere warm, possibly by the sea, where she could come to terms with what was happening and spend some time getting to know her husband a little more intimately. Running around Hogwarts and getting into trouble had brought them close, but Hermione had no doubt she still had a lot to learn about the man who would become her sole provider and protector in just under an hour. Would he be different from the slightly insensitive but equally funny and loyal friend she had grown fond of? Would he stop trying to make her laugh when they were married? She hoped not, even if his jokes did make her cringe and slap his arm more often than not.

For the next twenty minutes, Hermione tried to help Molly, Ginny and her mother with the final preparations, but was told to sit and relax so many times that in the end she gave up, retreating to a corner with one of the books she'd brought with her. Most of her things were still at her parents' house and would stay there until she and Ron found somewhere to live. There just wasn't room at the Burrow for all of her books and magical equipment that Hermione had kept from her time at Hogwarts. She was sure most of the other students in her year had shut away their tools and manuals in trunk somewhere as soon as they had left school, but Hermione made sure she tried making new potions and casting new spells as often as possible, just to keep her mind sharp and her magic in use. Having a wand helped, of course, but she was certain even people like Draco Malfoy, who had probably owned a wand since before he could walk, no longer practiced. The fear of becoming complacent, of her senses dulling one by one, drove Hermione to push herself whenever possible.

At ten to one, Rose went to fetch the velvet-lined wooden box with Hermione's wand in it. Hermione took it from her mother with a slight flutter of frustration. She had worked so hard to earn this wand. While Muggle brides carried bouquets up the aisle, she would be carrying the one thing most capable of giving her independence and power.

"He'll take good care of it, you know," Molly said as she saw Hermione looking at the wand. "Chances are he'll just let you keep it unless he needs to use it. I'm sure he won't make you ask for it. Arthur never does."

Hermione nodded, ashamed that Molly had guessed her thoughts. This was how witches had always lived unless their families were made of money. Although she had been given a wand for academic merit, Hermione knew she shouldn't expect the other witches and wizards to treat her differently. Being Muggleborn made these differences harder to accept, but she just needed a little adjustment. By the time she'd been married for a year or two, she probably wouldn't think of it as strange at all.

"Almost time," Ginny whispered, pulling back a curtain to peek outside. "What _is_ Lavender wearing?"

Feeling a nervous giggle start to build in her throat, Hermione quickly filled a cup with some water from the jug in the corner and gulped it down. Lavender's wardrobe was extravagant on most days, but she was known to wear particularly outrageous outfits during celebrations and certain public events. Hermione only hoped the Gryffindor girl would not be sitting in her line of vision during the ceremony, lest she cause Hermione to burst out laughing in the middle of it.

"What are the colours this time?" she asked, not daring to approach the window.

"Dark blue and bright orange… really bright… I didn't think you could have fabric that bright."

"Must have dyed it with a spell," Hermione muttered. Lavender only ever seemed to borrow her husband's wand when she needed to improve her appearance.

"She told me she's paying a tribute to Weasley ginger," said a voice from the doorway.

The girls turned with a gasp, while Molly waved her arms about. Harry, looking very handsome in deep grey robes, ignored her. He grinned at Hermione.

"OUT! What do you boys not understand about giving the bride some privacy?" Molly scowled, Rose nodding alongside her.

"The bride is my friend. I felt like making sure everything was alright for her," Harry replied with a shrug.

"It's fine. I want him here." Hermione smiled at her best friend of eight years. "A tribute to Weasley ginger? Did I hear that right?"

"Yes, she seems very proud of herself… but I think she must have given Fred and George a bad idea because they went running off the moment she said it. I wouldn't be surprised if they managed to colour their hair to match her dress."

"Well it's lucky Molly has the family wand, isn't it?" Hermione said, rolling her eyes. Why was everyone trying to turn her wedding into some sort of mockery?

"Don't get your hopes up," Molly said, tucking the aforementioned wand inside her robes. "They always find other ways. Rose, why don't you come with me to see if everyone has found their seat?"

The two mothers left arm in arm, and Hermione found herself smiling despite it all. At least their two families got on well, which was more than a lot of married people could say. Her mother couldn't stand her own parents-in-law and Hermione had only met her paternal grand-parents a handful of times and she had to agree that they were rather stiff and sour. She doubted they even knew she was getting married. That was the problem with being Muggleborn. She couldn't invite any of her extended family, lest they be exposed to too much magic and become suspicious. How could she explain to them what giving up a stick of wood might mean to her and her future husband? They would just be confused, and the wizards and witches attending the party would feel frustrated at having to hide their powers as much as possible. It was probably best that way, though Hermione felt a little sad that her family was so underrepresented.

"So, this is it," said Harry, turning to her.

Ginny hovered near him, glancing every so often at the bulk of his shoulders beneath his dress robes. Hermione bit back a smile. Ginny had had feelings for Harry for a long time now, but he'd been too busy running around getting into trouble to notice. 'If this wedding has to serve at least one purpose,' she found herself wishing, 'let it be that these two find each other at last.' Harry deserved to be happy, especially with the Dark Lord and his circle of followers on the rise. Hermione knew that difficult times lay ahead of them all and the idea that her wedding might bring people joy and respite from the mounting tension in the wizarding world eased her nerves a little.

"This is it," she whispered, not quite trusting her voice.

"He is going to keep you safe, you know… This might not be what you always dreamed of, but I think you can be happy together, Hermione."

Closing her eyes, Hermione tried not to let any tears escape as Harry pulled her into a hug. How could he always read her so well, when Ron couldn't? They had never spoken about her feelings for Ron, but somehow Harry knew she had been expecting something else from life, something… more. And yet, just like everyone else, he was encouraging her to embrace it. Hermione didn't know what to make of this. Were her friends and family trying to shut her into a well-defined box? Or did they know something she didn't? What did everyone seem to think that marrying Ron was the best thing for her? Perhaps, just like her, they were too afraid to contemplate the fact that she might be making a mistake. Perhaps, in their eyes, safety trumped over happiness. What about her? She didn't even know what to think anymore. Tears gone, Hermione pulled away and looked up at her friend.

"Only time will tell," she heard herself say.

"My brother may be a bit of an idiot sometimes," Ginny said, leaning even closer to Harry, "but he's a nice idiot."

Hermione nodded, eager to end the conversation. What would Ginny think of her if she didn't manage to find happiness with Ron? Would the younger girl think Hermione didn't love her new family either if she couldn't love her husband? Just then, the door opened and Rose stuck her head in, a big grin on her face.

"Everybody's in place. Your father's waiting, Hermione."

Clutching the box with her wand, Hermione followed Harry and Ginny out of the kitchen and into the hallway leading to the back door of the Burrow. She could hear people talking outside and the faint sound of music gently floating through the air. Her mother, Harry and Ginny all smiled at her before stepping out into the warm summer noon. Somewhere in the tent, she could hear Albus Dumbledore's deep, reassuring voice. She had never expected him to agree when she and Ron had asked him to officiate the ceremony, but the twinkle in his blue eyes had given them their answer even before he had spoken. Taking a deep breath, Hermione left the confines of the house. The sunlight outside was almost blinding and she was glad the ceremony would be held inside the tent. She didn't think she could stand for more than ten minutes in the glare without collapsing.

"You look lovely, Hermione."

Blinking, she looked to her left to find her father standing by her side. He was wearing a traditional Muggle suit, the same one he always wore to important functions and events, and she found herself smiling at the familiarity of it. She might be joining a family of wizards and embracing a whole new set of traditions and customs, but at least her parents would never change, she could count on that.

"Ready?" he asked, looking a little nervous himself.

She nodded. Arm in arm, they set off towards the beginning of the long red carpet that led into the tent, taking their time as the hum from the guests quietened and the music grew louder. Hermione recognised the piece; it was by a Muggle composer she liked. She wondered if Ron had requested it, or if it was her mother's suggestion. Probably the latter, as Ron didn't usually pay much attention to music unless the lyrics were loud and lewd. By the time she had reached the entrance to the tent, her heart was beating fast inside her chest and the heat was beginning to bother her. She looked at the rows of seats on either side of the carpet, the smiling faces turned towards her, mouths whispering and fingers pointing at her dress and hair. Hermione had been the centre of attention before, but only due to her brains, not her looks. This was a different sensation entirely, one she wasn't sure she liked. She felt like a novel form of entertainment, the audience grappling to enjoy a piece of it while they could.

Every step brought her closer to the dais at the end of the tent, and yet it was only at the last minute that Hermione thought to look ahead of her at the man waiting for her there. Ron was dressed in elegant white dress robes that matched hers and made his hair stand out in a flattering way. She noted with relief that no one had dyed it bright orange to match Lavender's dress, which she'd caught a horrified glimpse of out of the corner of her eye. His hands were clasped in front of him and he looked every bit as nervous as she felt. The tightness in Hermione's chest eased a little. Perhaps this wouldn't be so bad. After all, neither of them knew what they were getting themselves into. Perhaps they could learn together? Ron smiled at her and she found herself smiling back with ease. He was her best friend. How hard could this be?

"Welcome, friends and family, to the wedding of Hermione Jean Granger and Ronald Bilius Weasley," said Albus Dumbledore as Hermione came to a halt beside Ron. Their former headmaster, wearing a deep blue velvet robe studded with faintly glowing stars, was standing behind a golden lectern with his arms spread wide. He winked at Hermione as she looked at him. "Today, we are celebrating a union of mind and spirit, body and soul, between this young witch and this young wizard. Please stand."

Hermione heard the scraping of chairs behind her. This was it, she realised, not for the first time that day. She was in the middle of her own wedding ceremony. There was no way of going back without embarrassing herself, Ron and both their families for eternity. The only way lay forwards. Hermione squared her shoulders a little, clutching her box with both hands.

"Today, you will both enter into a magically binding agreement that will seal your commitment to each other. You will create a new family of your own and, one day, bear children who will carry your magic in their blood. The furthering of magical bloodlines is a noble cause, as you both know, but so is the gift and acceptance of love. It is perhaps the highest, most noble cause of all. You will be expected to honour it every day of your lives together."

Hermione bowed her head, and saw Ron doing the same out of the corner of her eye. There was a gap between them, a thin pillar of air that would soon be breached when they were told to hold hands for their binding. But first, she knew she had something else to do.

"Hermione Jean Granger, I understand that you possess your own wand?"

Trying not to frown, Hermione said "I do." She knew he had to ask her, but it seemed ridiculous when he was the one who had given her the wand in the first place.

"In accordance with wizard law, you must pass it on to your husband, who will become its keeper. Do you accept?"

"I do," Hermione said, as lightly as she could. Turning towards Ron, she held the box out to him. He smiled at her and placed his fingers over hers. They felt warm, comforting almost.

"Ronald Bilius Weasley, you will now become keeper of your own family wand. Do you promise to protect it and care for it?"

"I do."

"Do you also promise to allow Hermione Jean Granger, your wife, to use this wand whenever she desires, as long as her intent to perform magic does not endanger your family or the wizarding world in general?"

I do," Ron said, while Hermione tried hard to contain her irritation. What did they expect? That she would go running around spurting multicoloured bubbles out of the wand with Muggles nearby? Surely wizards were just as much at risk, if not more, of exposing the wizarding world due to miscast or careless spells as their wives? Biting her lower lip, she let go of the box and watched as Ron placed it inside his robes. The feeling of longing was already inside her, her fingers itching to wrap themselves around the handle again. How would she bear it?

"Now, unless anyone has any objections, I invite our young couple to join hands for the binding ceremony-"

"Not so fast!"

Never in a million years had Hermione expected to hear those words at her own wedding. They seemed so out of place that she had already started to extend her hand towards Ron before she turned to see who had spoken. The sunlight shining in the entrance to the tent made it hard to see, causing her to squint. Someone was silhouetted there, someone whose voice was all-too familiar, even if she hadn't heard for the past year.

"I, Draco Lucius Malfoy, invoke the ancient tomes governing wizarding property and tax that were set down in writing in 1156 and have been in vigour ever since."

"What the hell?" Ron shouted as Harry grabbed hold of him. Hermione glanced at Dumbledore, whose eyes had narrowed dangerously.

"Watch what you're going to say, boy," the old wizard growled. "Do not invoke the old laws unless you have a clear understanding of that which you speak of."

Stepping forward into the shade of the tent, Draco Malfoy held up what looked like an extremely ancient book covered in leather and studded with gemstones. Under different circumstances, Hermione knew she would have been itching to touch it, to open it and discover its contents. At the moment, however, she could only stand and blink in confusion as her old arch-nemesis came to stand in front of her with a gleeful grin.

"According to article 3823 of the _Wizarding Code of Law and Property_: "a Lord Wizard is entitled to the first bedding of any witch resident, or any witch set to marry a wizard who is resident, of that Lord Wizard's own lands. He is allowed to detain the witch at his pleasure for a total of three days before he must return her to her family or husband. If her husband or family do not accept her back, the Lord Wizard has the duty to provide the witch with food and board, as well as pay suitable reparation to her family or husband. This payment may take the form of an ox or a pair of goats, or a book of minor spells if the witch's family is of some standing in society. Once payment has been accepted, the Lord Wizard's right to the witch is sealed. She will thenceforth be considered a member of his household, and treated as such both by the Lord Wizard and the wizarding authorities in government." There you have it."

What had started out all around Hermione as startled murmurs now grew into angry shouts. Guests were still standing, some red in the face, cursing Malfoy where he stood. Ron was still being held back by Harry, who looked like he was barely containing himself as well. In the corner next to her, her father had gathered her mother in his arms. Hermione couldn't look at them. What had she brought them into? What was this society that she understood so little of? Why hadn't she heard of these rules before? Immediately, her thoughts turned to Fred and George. Were they behind this? But even as she contemplated it, she realised it couldn't possibly be true. Fred and George hated Malfoy as much as the rest of them. There was no conceivable way they would do this to her on her wedding day. That could only mean…

"Is this true?" Ron snapped, turning to Dumbledore. "Is what he's saying actually true?"

Dumbledore's mouth had shrunk to a thin line. He looked only at Malfoy, who as still smirking, book open in his hands. Only then did Hermione notice the woman standing behind him with an equally unpleasant smile on her face. Bellatrix Lestrange, hater of Mudbloods and personal favourite of Lord Voldemort. Although she had never met the woman before, she had heard rumours of her fanatical views and sadistic tendencies. The sight of her standing by Draco, looking so mug and sure of herself, made Hermione shiver.

"Do you have papers that prove the lands the Burrow is built on belong to the Malfoy family?"

"I do," said Draco in a sleek voice, almost a parody of the vows Ron and herself had been saying just a few short moments before. Dumbledore's jaw clenched.

"Arthur, can you confirm that you pay annual land taxes to the Malfoy family?"

Hermione looked at her almost-father-in-law. There were tears at the corner of his eyes and Molly was talking to him rapidly in a low voice, pressing his hand in hers. Hermione thought she could make out the words "don't do it", but she couldn't be sure.

"I can confirm that, yes," said Arthur finally with a heavy sigh. "It doesn't give him the right to do this though. She doesn't even live here yet, officially."

"Unfortunately, it does. Hermione is very clearly set to marry your son and so, according to the law, he has every right to claim her. I'm sorry…"

"But this is completely antiquated! It's barbaric!" The words poured forth from Hermione's mouth before she could stop herself. How she wished she hadn't given Ron her wand. She tried to look at him, to signal that he hand it back, but he was staring at his feet, seething. Fists clenched, she turned towards Malfoy. "This is ridiculous. He's not even Lord of Malfoy Manor. His father is."

Hermione thought she saw Draco's smile fade a little, but Bellatrix leapt forward and draped her arm around her nephew's shoulders. "Actually," she drawled, "he is Lucius Malfoy's sole heir, which makes him acting Lord of Malfoy Manor whenever his father is absent. Is that not so, Albus?"

The old wizard bowed his head. Somewhere to her right, Hermione's mother fainted, her husband barely catching her before she hit the ground. Beside her, Hermione could hear Ron muttering under his breath, eyes still fixed on the floor. Harry's gaze, however, was on her. Full of pain, of regret, of powerlessness. As if there was nothing left to do but watch her disappear into the sunset. Hermione took a step back.

"If you think I'm going to come quietly…"

"But you don't have a wand, now, do you? And any resistance on your behalf would constitute a serious breach of wizarding law. As you are Muggleborn, if you rebel against our customs, you will be stripped of your powers and have a memory spell placed on you. You will never be able to perform magic again. You won't even know magic exists," said Draco, walking towards her. "Seems a small price to pay in comparison to what you would lose, doesn't it?"

Before Hermione could protest or break into a run, Draco pulled out his wand and uttered the words of the full-body bind curse. Hermione felt a scream die in her throat as she fell forward into his arms and was hoisted over his shoulder as effortlessly as a sack of brain. As he turned to walk away, all she could do was listen to the horrified murmurs of the people she loved, their faint sobbing and muttered curses, and wonder what was going to happen to her.

"Come and see me in three days, Weasley. We'll see if you still want her then."

A/N: … and that's it, folks. Hope you enjoyed it, please leave me a review if you did!


	4. The Right to First Blood

A/N : Here is chapter four, from Draco's point of view. Enjoy!

**Le Droit du Seigneur**

_Chapter IV : The Right to First Blood_

Ah, silence. Draco couldn't remember the last time he'd been anywhere near Hermione Granger and enjoyed more than a split second of peace and quiet. The girl could talk for England and her bossy, know-it-all tones usually gave him a headache. But there were no teachers to show off to now, no books to recite entire passages from and no Harry Potter and Ron Weasley to snigger with behind Draco's back. And there was of course the small matter of the full-body-binding curse he'd cast on her. That helped.

Draco shifted his grip on Hermione, his right hand on the backs of her legs. He could feel their shape through the thin fabric of her wedding gown, their rounded softness beneath his palm. If he moved just a little higher… A sideways glance at his aunt Bellatrix nipped that thought in the bud. While he didn't doubt that she couldn't care less if he had his way with Granger, she was a stark reminder of what he stood for, as a member of the Malfoy family and, in name anyway, avid follower of the Dark Lord. Mudbloods were so far beneath him he might never recover from the social shame of it. In his opinion, they were even lower than the Muggle whores he sometimes frequented. Those girls might lack the powers and mystique of their magical counterparts, but at least they didn't pretend to be something they weren't, unlike Mudbloods. Draco had a brief vision of Granger lying abandoned in the corner of a brothel, untouched because she was a freak of nature. The thought sparked a grin on his face.

As soon as they were out of sight of the wedding party, Bellatrix apparated back to the Manor with a cackle and a sharp bang. Draco held back for a moment, looking over his shoulder at the Burrow in the distance. Never in a million years could he have imagined that this was the way in which he would finally get his revenge. It was so perfect it made him want to down an entire bottle of firewhiskey and laugh manically for the rest of the day. Wait until Blaise Zabini heard about this. Blaise had a fine appreciation for well-thought-out plans. Never mind that it had been his aunt's idea in the first place. Bellatrix soon tired of her own games and so Draco would be free to claim the whole twisted plot as his own. After Pesky had finally brought him his lucidity potion, he had had a little while to think things over while Bellatrix read to him from _The Wizarding Code of Law and Property_. The law said three days, but it also said that the wronged future husband had the right to refuse to take his fiancée back. Dark thoughts had begun to take root in Draco's mind. If things were to be done carefully, without overplaying it, perhaps he could turn the golden Gryffindor trio against each other once and for all. Absentmindedly patting Hermione's leg, Draco apparated them back to the Manor.

"Where are you going to put her?" Bellatrix asked as soon as he strode into the entrance hall, still carrying his load. She took off her cloak and threw it in the direction of a house elf with a barked order for some lunch. "The dungeons?"

Draco shook his head. He hadn't thought of all the logistics, but he was aware that they needed to keep up certain appearances with what they were doing. If Ron Weasley came back in three days to find his future wife locked up inside a dungeon but essentially unharmed, the joke would have hardly been worth it. No, he needed to make Weasley's worst fears work against him.

"I was thinking the room next to mine. The one Pansy usually stays in."

Bellatrix's eyebrow arched in mild disgust. "You would put her in a guest room? She's hardly worth it."

"Of course she's not," Draco snapped, lifting Granger off his shoulder with a flick of his wand. He let her hang in front of him in mid-air, watching her stone-like features still bound by the curse he'd cast. Even though she had no control over herself, he could have sworn she was still managing to glare at him. There was something rather tragic about her, the sad tilt of her mouth and the beautiful gown that would never finish fulfilling its purpose. If Draco cared about such things, he might have been moved by the sight of her helpless form. Instead, he spun her away from him so he wouldn't have to look at her eyes. "But this is hardly going to seem believable if we lock her up. I'll have Pesky and Perky purge the room afterwards, if it makes you feel better."

His aunt did not look convinced. Personally, Draco couldn't care less if Pansy Parkinson slept in the same sheets as Granger had. In fact, it would amuse him to see the look on her face if she ever found out. His parents were forever trying to set them up, but he found her screeching voice even more annoying than Granger's, especially as Pansy really had nothing interesting to say for herself. Making Granger float ahead in front of him, Draco was about to go upstairs when he felt Bellatrix's sharp nails dig into his shoulder. He spun round, recoiling from her touch. They might be family, but that didn't mean he wanted any physical contact with her. She unnerved him enough as it was.

"I'm leaving this up to you for the moment, Draco, but don't mess up. Have your fun with her, do whatever you like, but don't lose sight of the true purpose of this."

She looked at him pointedly and nodded at the large portrait of his parents that adorned the entrance hall. Draco blinked before realising that she didn't want Granger to understand. Of course not. This was still about her master plan to please the Dark Lord and have his parents released. While the Dark Lord hated Harry Potter and his friends, Draco wasn't sure that this would suffice to make his anger abate. Lord Voldemort loathed treason about as much as he loathed Muggles and Mudbloods.

"I won't. Trust me, I've been thinking about the possibilities more than you can imagine."

For a moment, Draco thought he detected a hint of pride in his aunt's smile. It made him feel odd. Displays of affection were rare in old wizarding families and he'd always enjoyed it when his mother spared a kind word for him, but he wasn't sure he wanted to be admired by the likes of Bellatrix Lestrange. She might start to get ideas about gaining him early entry into Voldemort's inner circle. The current age to be admitted was 25, as the Dark Lord claimed he couldn't suffer the presence of 'pretentious upstarts fresh out of Hogwarts and that bumbling fool Dumbledore's influence', but there had been talk of lowering the age to 20. For Draco, that was only a year away. While he had nothing against the Dark Lord's Mudblood-hunting activities, he wasn't sure he was ready to be part of something like that. Muggle-bashing was fun on a certain level, but he had no desire to end up in Azkaban because some whiny Mudbloods had complained about him. Playing tricks such as this one, where the law stated he was perfectly in his right to do so, were much more amusing and effective.

"Come on, Granger, let's show you to your quarters," Draco laughed with a mock bow, turning Granger so she could see him. "You've probably never seen anything like them, so try to enjoy them while you can."

He floated her upstairs ahead of him, making her zigzag along the corridor so she almost hit various vases and statues, but veering her off-course at the very last second. He knew he was being childish, but who knew how long this opportunity would last? Before he had to give her up again, he would make her pay for every single test she had beaten him on, for every single insult and condescending look.

"Here you go."

Without further warning, he moved her through the open door to the room next to his and lifted the curse. She fell to the floor with a scream, dress pooling around her. The room was far more beautiful than she deserved. With its elegant four-poster bed, large fireplace and window seat overlooking the gardens, it was fit for the noble daughter of a pure-blooded wizarding family. It was decorated in pale lilacs and soft blues and Draco thought he could still detect a whiff of Pansy's perfume. The smell made him want to gag. He would have to have words with Perky about that. Glaring up at him, Hermione clutched an ankle that was poking out from beneath the pale fabric of her dress.

"You complete monster! Let me go!"

Leaning against the doorframe, Draco kept his wand pointed at her. She might be powerless, but he wasn't taking any chances. She was the most powerful witch in his year, after all, and even if he was pretty certain she couldn't do wandless magic, he wouldn't put it past her to try and punch him.

"That's not going to happen, I'm afraid. Come on, Granger, don't tell me you were actually enjoying that farce of a ceremony back there. You and I both know you could do better than Weasley... if only you weren't a Mudblood and a know-it-all pain. Those details do lower your prospects drastically, but never mind. You should really be thanking me for saving you from a loveless marriage."

"Ron does love me," Hermione snapped, her anger burning in her eyes. Still on the floor, she crawled towards the bed, her ankle dragging behind her. Draco wondered if she had really hurt herself or if it was all an act. You could never be too careful with Gryffindors.

"Perhaps he does, although not as much as he loves himself. But tell me, Granger, do _you_ love him? Can you honestly tell me right now that you were ready to spend the rest of your life with him? To watch him wave your wand around, pretending he actually knows how to use it? To let him come to you at night, touch you with his bumbling paws and put his children inside you?"

Her back propped up against the side of the bed, Hermione glared at him, but Draco thought he detected a note of uncertainty in her expression. 'Good… this is something I can work with. Weasley and Potter will be easy to work on, but if I can break you too, Granger…' For a moment, he thought he could see the appeal of her. The rage in her eyes gave her a certain feistiness that made his insides tingle. He watched the way her low-cut bodice hugged the curves of her breasts, the way the fabric moved as she breathed heavily, struggling to regain her composure. Yes, there was a lot of fun to be had with this situation, even if all he did was look.

"Better him than you, that's for sure! If you think I'm going to let you touch me, you're mistaken, Malfoy! You're going to pay for this. Harry and Ron won't let you get away with it!"

"Oh really," said Draco, a little more forcefully than he'd intended. The fact that she would rather sleep with Weasley despite clearly having no feelings for him made Draco feel somewhat jealous. She might be a lowly Mudblood, but he was far more attractive than that freckled weasel could ever hope to be. "I'm sorry to break the news to you, sweetheart, but they just did. Your fiancé and his idiot friend let me carry you right out of your wedding without lifting a finger. Even Albus Dumbledore didn't try to save you, so who do you think is coming for you now? No one. You thought you were so lucky and special when you discovered you could do magic, but you really don't know anything about the wizarding world. It's not all _Wingardium Leviosas _and mermaids, Granger. It's time you learnt your place."

"And what's that? Do you expect me to become your little harlot without a fight? Do you really think I'm going to let you treat me like some slave? You're the one who's completely delusional. I don't know what ideas that horrible aunt of yours planted in your head, but it's clear to me that you really don't know what you're doing, Draco."

Perhaps it was the way she said his first name, or perhaps it was the fact that it wasn't all going as well as he'd hoped, but Draco could feel the sting of her words reach deep down inside of him. She was supposed to cower away from him and beg him not to take her. It was supposed to make him feel powerful, not like some little boy who'd made a mistake when casting his first spell. This was why he hated her, he realised. Never mind that she was a Mudblood and that she always paraded her achievements in front of everyone. Granger was the one with the knack to get under his skin. With Weasley and Potter, if things got too out of hand, all he needed to do was cast a couple of well-placed curses or even throw a good punch and the problem would be solved for a while. But Granger had a way of getting inside his head that drove him crazy. Almost as if she knew him better than he did, sometimes…

"We'll see about that," was all Draco said before leaving, slamming the door and locking it behind him.

"How does the Mudblood like her new cage?" Bellatrix asked lightly at dinner that evening, mashing a potato with the back of her fork.

"Why do I care if she likes it or not?" Draco grumbled. He would have preferred to eat alone in his room, brooding over the day's events, but Bellatrix had insisted he join her. Casting a glance over the table, Draco shuddered to think what she had threatened the house elves with to force them to come up with such an elaborate meal. There was enough food for a dozen people, and Bellatrix seemed to be only playing with her plate's contents rather than eating them.

"Exactly. I really don't see why that little bitch can't sleep in one of the oubliettes-"

"Enough," said Draco, holding up his hand. It was bad enough having Granger question his motives. He really didn't need Bellatrix to join in. "I said I was putting her in that room and that is where she will stay, at least for the next three days. She can't be trusted and I want to keep an eye on her. We can't have her escaping while our backs are turned."

"Nothing a few manacles wouldn't put an end to…" Bellatrix muttered, finally taking a bite of potato. "I didn't hear any screaming earlier, so I guess you haven't broken her in-"

"NO! And it's none of your business. I thought you wouldn't want me to touch her anyway…"

Bellatrix scowled at him and began to cut into her steak.

"That's not what I said. I told you to have a little fun… It wouldn't be the first time a wizard of high standing ruined a lowly Mudblood for his own entertainment, trust me."

Pushing his food to the far side of his plate, Draco made a face. He did not want to know how she knew that. There were some things that just shouldn't be talked about with members of one's family and Draco was fast discovering that despoiling your worst enemy was one of them.

"Look, I'm not an idiot, nephew. I've been around enough men to know they can't control themselves, especially at your age. I know all about your little ventures to the brothels of Hogsmeade and beyond."

"Who told you that?" Draco spluttered, spitting the wine he'd just been sipping onto the previously white table cloth. More work for the elves. Why couldn't the damn woman just stay in her quarters like he did? They could live peacefully enough if they just ignored each other, so why did she insist on meddling so much?

"Your father, actually. He's been worried about your adventures, Draco. Especially the ones that end up in Muggle neighbourhoods of ill-repute, if you know what I mean."

"Why should you care? You just practically told me to go and rape Granger!"

Bellatrix sighed and closed her eyes.

"You're not very clever sometimes, my dear boy. Didn't your father ever teach you that some Muggle whores carry diseases that could strip you of your magic? You won't get rashes like a common Muggle if you get syphilis, Draco. You'll lose your powers and become a burden on your family. Is that what you want? To end up a Squib just for the sake of a few cheap thrills? At least we can be pretty sure Granger is safe, on that front. That little witch is so uptight she won't know what's hit her… so my advice is to have your fun while you can. Because I can't see your father putting up with this for much longer."

Teeth grinding together, Draco stared at his aunt. Who was she to give him lessons when she was guilty of so many reprehensible things she should have been living in Azkaban since the age of twelve? Of course he knew about the dangers of Muggle venereal diseases and had always protected himself accordingly. What he couldn't stomach was the idea that his father knew and had been talking about it with other people, especially his aunt Bellatrix. Had Lucius told his wife? Draco couldn't bear the thought of his mother knowing some of the things he'd been up to. He'd always managed to stay relatively pure and innocent in her eyes and even if it was a deception, he quite enjoyed being loved unconditionally by at least one person. He was just about to snap at Bellatrix when she put her hands up and leaned back in her chair.

"Frankly, Draco, it's up to you. You can make that Mudblood lick the floor in front of you for all I care, but remember your parents. Remember the Dark Lord's expectations. I was there that night in Swindon with your father, and I can tell you the Dark Lord will stop at nothing until he gets an answer, no matter who it comes from. Can you imagine what he'll do to your mother if your father doesn't have the answer?"

Draco blanched. Nothing was worth the torture Narcissa Malfoy would suffer if her husband didn't obey the Dark Lord. Bellatrix was right, they needed to end this. And if Granger was the key, then so be it. Draco had no reservations about hurting the Mudblood's feelings, or even her body, if it meant saving his mother. Feeling a little sick, he pushed away his plate, hating himself for letting Bellatrix get to him. If only she had stayed away and let him carry on obliviously. Standing up, he took his glass of wine with him and made to leave. Bellatrix caught his arm as he walked past her. Only this time, Draco didn't flinch.

"If you want to make Potter and Weasley mad, all you need to do is give them some proof…"

Draco waited until he was out of the dining room to finish his wine. It was not nearly as powerful as firewhiskey, but it set his blood boiling as he pounded up the stairs and down the corridor towards his room… and hers. In a fit of fury, he flung the delicate crystal cup against the wood panelling of the hallway and watched the shards sparkle like ice as they fell to the floor. Even more work for the elves. Who cared? Wasn't he supposed to be above such considerations? Shoulders squared, he marched towards the door of Granger's room and unlocked it with a clumsy wave of his wand. The frightened squeak of an elf reached his ears and he froze on the doorstep. Whimsy, another of the Malfoy elves, was in the middle of helping Granger remove her wedding dress. There was an untouched plate of food on the dressing table in front of her, food that had come from the same dishes served to Draco and Bellatrix downstairs. The sight of it sent him flying over the edge.

"What are you doing? Who told you to feed her?"

Whimsy dropped the laces she had been undoing and fell in a heap on the floor, hands clutched together in front of her.

"I'm sorry, Master. I came in to light the fire and Miss Granger said she was hungry. We thought that with all the extra food downstairs, you wouldn't mind…"

"Get out! NOW!"

Scrambling out of the way, Whimsy shot Hermione an apologetic glance before scurrying out of the room. Hermione tried to pull the fabric of her dress up to cover herself, but Draco made it vanish with a flick of his wand. What was he even doing? Was this the wine acting or a darker part of his soul, one that was already so twisted and corrupt it didn't need alcohol to spur it along? Then it came back to him. Bellatrix had told him to obtain proof. Walking towards the chair Hermione was still sitting in, Draco let his gaze roam over her.

She was wearing a type of shift he had only seen once, on his latest foray into a Muggle house of pleasure in London. The girl he had enjoyed there had flaunted it, assuring him it was the latest fashion, and he'd enjoyed undoing the silk ties down each side of her body, kissing the spaces in between. It had amazed him that Muggles were capable of such brilliant ideas, not that he would ever have admitted such a thing in public. And yet here they were again, these flimsy panels of fabric, intricately embroidered and laced up just loosely enough to show that tantalising strip of pale skin down the sides. Granger had her arms crossed over her chest and he could only imagine what lay beneath them, delicately encased in the pure white fabric. It was enough to render him speechless for a moment.

"Don't you dare punish that elf for trying to help me, Malfoy. She was only being polite."

"She went against my orders."

This wasn't true, strictly speaking, as he had given no orders whatsoever where Granger's food and comfort were concerned. If he hadn't been so rattled from the conversation at dinner, he would never have given it a second thought. After all, he wasn't exactly planning on starving her, even if the thought held a certain appeal. Trying hard to compose himself, Draco focused on Granger's mouth, which was set in a thin line. Even that didn't help entirely.

"Stop staring at me like that," she snapped. "You're making me uncomfortable. What do you want anyway? Are you here to end this ridiculous farce and return me the Burrow? If not, then I don't want to know."

His hand balling into a fist inside the folds of his robe, Draco forced a smirk onto his face. If she wanted to push him, then so be it. Lunging forward, he grabbed her by the arm and dragged her over to the bed, revelling in the fact that he was much stronger than she was. She could whine and hiss and spit at him like a cat, he could still push her around if need be. Although he felt slightly ashamed of that thought on some deeper level, the wine and anger in his blood egged him on. He was acting Lord of Malfoy Manor. There was no one around to stop him now.

"What are you doing? Don't-"

Stopping short of the bed, Draco pulled Hermione towards him so their bodies were almost touching. He could feel the warmth of her body through his clothes and smell the faint floral scent of her hair that drew him in and made him want to run his hands over the slight swell of her breasts, down the side of her body and over her full hips, pulling those silk ties free as he went. His grip around her arm tightened.

"Don't what? Don't tell me what to do, Granger. You're not in a position to negotiate. Now take off your knickers."

Her mouth fell open ever so slightly and it was all Draco could do to stop himself from leaning in to claim her lips with his own. 'This is the alcohol's doing,' he told himself. 'She is a disgusting, filthy low-life Mudblood who deserves to…' But even his thoughts seemed to be failing him. Instead, he waited as she took in his request.

"You can't be serious."

"I'm perfectly serious. If you don't remove your knickers in the next five seconds, I'll do it for you."

Smirking, he let go of her arm and watched as she slowly bent over, her cheeks flaring a glowing shade of pink. Her hands slid underneath her shift and she undid the ribbon that made up the waistband of her knickers. They were the long kind, worn by both Muggles and witches alike, that ended just below the knee with a little frill of lace. He carried on watching, a smile still pulling at his lips, as she slid the garment off and stepped out of it. The shift fell back in place without having revealed anything, but he could only imagine how exposed she must feel. Not even Weasley, he realised with a small laugh, had gone this far. Granger seemed to think he was laughing at her, however, for she turned her head away in shame, hands gripping the hem of her shift to keep it as low as possible. Draco took a moment to admire her uncovered chest, the way her breasts stretched against the embroidered fabric, so rounded and perfect in their own way. He also let his gaze drop down to the strip of exposed flesh down her side, which now included a tantalising portion of thigh.

"Pick it up."

Knees pressed together, Hermione lowered herself as far as she dared before snatching up her undergarments and holding them against her chest, as if for protection.

"Give me your hand."

She shook her head. 'Of all the things she could have refused to do,' Draco mused before grabbing her wrist in an iron grip and pulling it towards him, leaving her holding the knickers with her other hand. Reaching into one of the deep pockets of his robes, he pulled out a small knife with a silver hilt shaped like a serpent. Hermione's eyes went wide and she tried to struggle away from him. His grip on her merely tightened as a result and he thought of the bruises that would surround her wrist like a bracelet, come morning. The desire to mark her skin caused him to bite his lip ever so slightly. Perhaps he should do it again in three days' time, just to make sure Weasley saw. Perhaps things would work out the way he intended after all.

"Please don't hurt me-"

Holding her hand up, he drew the knife across her palm and revelled in her gasp of pain, closing his eyes to let it sink down to his core. When he opened them again, he watched the blood run freely from the wound, trickling down over her wrist and his own fingers. Her dirty, filthy, hot blood… Before Draco lost it completely, he snatched her knickers from her and pressed her bloody hand into the crotch, spreading the stain carefully so there wouldn't be any finger marks. When he had finished, he let her hand drop and stood back to admire his work. Hermione instantly grabbed the cover off the bed and pulled it around her body. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her shoulders shaking as she hid her face in the silky blanket. Let her cry. That had been close. Far too close.

"Thank you, Granger. If you carry on doing as I say, your stay here doesn't need to be nearly as unpleasant as you imagine it will be. As a gesture of goodwill, I'll let you keep that plate of food and send Whimsy up to run you a bath. Now be a good girl and get yourself cleaned up while I go owl these to your fiancé."

Deaf to her sobs, Draco walked out of the room and locked the door behind him, before leaning back against the panel and letting out a deep, unsteady breath. He had his very first piece of evidence, but it had nearly cost him his restraint to obtain it. The whores he had lain with and the girls he had fooled around with in school were very different from the beautiful, quivering young woman in the room behind him. They had always been confident and eager to please him, almost too eager sometimes. The fear in his archenemy's eyes, the raw potential in her never-before-touched curves made his loins ache with longing. The owl to Weasley would have to wait a while longer. Bundling Hermione's bloody underwear in his hands, Draco disappeared into his room.

A/N: so there you have it. I really hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it, the tension had me on the edge of my seat there (if you spot any mistakes, it was because my fingers were trying to type faster than they actually can). If you liked it, please leave me a review!


End file.
