AUTHOR'S NOTES:

This was my 2012 HP Porn In The Sun (hp-porninthesun . livejournal . com) entry. The fest is over and reveals are out, so now I can post this for you here. This fanfic is finished. I will post a new chapter up every week until it's done.

My recipient for the fic exchange was: roadkill2580

Here were her prompts that I worked from: Marriage Law, snark, teasing, bondage, rough sex, dub con, lots of sex in general, some semblance of a plot, UST (just a bit).

A gigantic thank you goes out to my betas, Unseenlibrarian and Ladysashi, who were wonderful enough to read this monster of a fic and beta it for me in record time. Thank you to the HP_PornInTheSun Fest mods for running this wonderful fest!

DISCLAIMER:"Harry Potter" is the property of J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. This fanfiction was written entirely for fun, not for profit, and no copyright infringement is intended.

TIMELINE: Post-Hogwarts, EWE (2004).

MAIN CHARACTERS FEATURED (alphabetical order, last name): Hermione Granger, Rabastan Lestrange

SECONDARY CHARACTERS FEATURES (alphabetical order, last name): Susan Bones, Millicent Bulstrode, Gregory Goyle, Astoria Greengrass, Draco Malfoy, Theodore Nott, Harry Potter, Ginny Weasley, Ron Weasley

SUMMARY: She'd defended him before the entire Wizengamot and won him his freedom, but Rabastan Alastair Lestrange wasn't a man to be so easily forgotten post-trial... and he would do absolutely anything to secure his former Defence Barrister, Hermione Granger, in his bed. Can Hermione resist the temptation the tall, dark wizard offers when a Marriage Lottery pairs them up? Or, will their pasts haunt them both, destroying this chance at happiness before it can even take root?

RATING: NC-17 (MA)

WARNINGS: Explicit heterosexual sexual situations, explicit profanity, alcohol consumption, pregnancy, marriage troubles.

EXTRA NOTES: For the sake of this fic, Rabastan was born in May 1962 (there is a 17-year difference between him and Hermione). "Ral" is pronounced, "Raul". The first wedding anniversary gift given by husbands to wives (and vice-versa) is traditionally a paper product, at least in Western culture. Mobile Vulgas = Latin for "the fickle crowd," from which the modern word 'mob' derives. A Silk = Senior legal advocates conferred by the Crown, nicknamed such for their wearing of silken gowns. The position is by appointment only from within the legal profession and generally based on merit, not years of experience.

IMAGES TO GO ALONG WITH THIS FANFICTION (remove all spaces to make URL load properly): s905 . photobucket . albums/ac260/RZZMG/The%20Illusion%20of%20Negative%20Images/

THE ILLUSION OF NEGATIVE IMAGES (ALTERNATIVELY, "OLD PHOTOGRAPHS")

BY RZZMG

o.o.o.o.o

Hermione unrolled the standard-sized, cream-coloured parchment for the third time in as many minutes, praying that she was merely misinterpreting the information contained therein. Perhaps one too many all-night Jane Austen reading marathons had simply strained her eyesight. Her mum had always warned her that poor reading light could lead to astigmatism. Maybe that's all this was - a case of finally needing glasses.

As the paper was opened, revealing the contents once more, she despaired at the knowledge that a trip to a Muggle optician wouldn't cure this particular problem.

The magical photograph of Rabastan Lestrange still appeared in the centre of the page between her hands. He continued to smirk at her in that smarmy, infuriating way he always had. His black and white impression even tossed her a naughty wink.

Bloody buggering hell.

"I've been told that paper is traditional for the first gift," her new fiancé stated, sounding entirely too smug for her soured mood just then. "Well, then you can just consider this my present to you, kitten. You're welcome."

She crumpled the image in a tight fist. "I can't believe this," she hissed under her breath at him. "Of all the wizards participating in this event, how is it possible that I drew your scroll? The odds were... Gah! I can't stand you!"

He chuckled. "Now, now, love. I'm fairly certain that isn't true."

"Oh, it most definitely is," she bickered, letting her waspish temper find its intended target without reserve. "You ruined my relationship with Ron."

The tall, dark-haired, sexy nightmare that had haunted her doorstep for the last year and a half simply smirked. "As if you can call that juvenile farce a proper relationship. The two of you weren't even together when we... Besides, I was merely a bystander to that inevitable train wreck."

She turned and openly gaped at him, uncaring of the awkward silence that had fallen over the rather large crowd of wizards and witches spread out before them. "An innocent bystander?" she hissed. "Is that what you tell yourself to get to sleep at night, Ral?"

To her disappointment, rather than flinch at the childhood nickname that his older brother had christened him, Rabastan Lestrange turned his wicked baby blues onto her and had the audacity to toss her his most sinful, devastating grin - the one that never failed to make her heart patter faster and her blood pressure rise to dangerous levels. "I never said I was innocent, darling. That was your big claim to fame for me, remember?"

"Don't remind me," she groused, glancing stage left at the small group of witches and wizards gathered behind the Muffled curtain, hidden from the crowd, waiting their turn for fickle fate to choose a partner for them.

There was Susan Bones smiling sympathetically at her, and trying to cheer her. Nearby the witch stood the Carrow twins, who chatted up a storm with the refined beauty, Astoria Greengrass and the shy Eleanor Branstone. A nervous Millicent Bulstrode was at their side, but she was silent, peeking glances at a similarly restrained Gregory Goyle directly opposite her. The hulking former Slytherin was predictably hanging out with his infamous friend, Draco Malfoy, who was engaged in a conversation with Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini, and Adrian Pucey. Behind them stood Evan Rosier III, the second oldest of the bunch, who by association alone - his father had been a Death Eater - had been condemned with the rest in the public court.

This group - Hermione and Ral included - were part of the first of the Marriage Lottery candidates, selected mostly for the sensationalism (infamy, in some cases) of their individual reputations, she suspected. They were to launch the volunteer program, designed to reconcile a still-broken country post-war and to launch a new era of peace.

She almost snorted at the thought. Peace with Ral within an arm's length from her was not very likely. The man had a way of heating her blood to dangerous levels.

"Don't remind you?" he bit, his tone dark and dripping with devilish intent. "Oh, but perhaps that's just what you need, Hermione. A very vivid reminder."

Moving in for the kill, he wrapped both brawny arms around her and pulled her into his embrace.

"Don't you dare!" she warned in a panicked tone, trying to squirm out of his hold.

"Stop me if you can," he challenged, and slammed his mouth down upon hers, taking their first kiss in slightly over a year without her permission and in front of an entire audience of interested on-lookers.

The expected eruption of outraged gasps, amazed whistles, and tiny smattering of amused clapping crashed and melded with the burst of hundreds of excited voices wildly speculating on the meaning of the kiss, filling the auditorium with an oppressive amount of noise. Did this kiss signal something clandestine between she and the younger Lestrange brother, or was the former dark wizard-turned-Dumbledore's spy merely provoking a heroine of the war in an attempt to get even with her? The room was abuzz with these questions and more.

Several flashbulbs went off, too, to capture the moment for posterity's sake, nearly blinding her at the same time. Great, tonight she would appear in the evening paper, most likely under some ridiculously scandalous headline about easily succumbing to a former "bad boy" Death Eater's seduction or other such ridiculous hype. Just what she wanted.

She forced her hands between them to try to push Ral away, but his tongue peeked through the closed seam of her lips at just that moment, forcing her mouth open, and the touch of that soft, pink appendage stroking across hers again made her go still. It also made things low in her belly clench with an all-too-familiar and consuming need.

Godric help her, she was going to murder Ral in his sleep. Slowly. With a hand-knitted scarf!

Crimson with mortification, Hermione shoved her partner away, breaking their lip lock. He fell back a few steps, smirking, licking his lips.

"You'll pay for that," she vowed in a hissing whisper as he took a firm grip of her elbow and guided them towards the other end of the stage, where the curtain was pulled aside to allow them an exit.

"I've no doubt," Rabastan cheerfully announced. "Later, though. Come along now, kitten. It's about time we got this over with."

From the front row, Ginny waved up at her, giving her a commiserating wince. "Chin up, 'Mione!" she called out. "Gryffindor brave!"

The rest of the Weasleys and Harry also added their less-than-enthusiastic, but loyal encouragement as she passed by them, situated as they all were in the front rows of the auditorium that the Ministry had rented out for today's special occasion. All except Ron. He glared daggers at Ral as they hurried by, and resolutely refused to look at her, dropping his hurt gaze to the floor as she attempted to meet his eye.

Hermione's conscience gave a small tug of regret. She didn't blame Ron for his resentment, even though they hadn't been together in twelve months. Yes, she could understand why he was still so very bitter, and this situation surely hadn't made things any easier for him.

After all, it wasn't every day you watched the woman you loved marry the man responsible for stealing her away from you.

o.o.o.o.o

The minute the red curtain fell back into place behind them and they were shielded from the crowd, Hermione hauled back and slapped her new fiancé across his scruffy, bearded face. His head turned with the blow, but he made no move to retaliate. In fact, all he did was smirk, as if he'd expected her attack.

Too bad she'd restrained her initial impulse to knee him in the groin. He wouldn't look so irritatingly smug after that sort of a shock, she was sure. Then again, damaging her would-be husband's gonads before the "I do's" were said might be construed as a passive-aggressive rebellion against Minister Shacklebolt himself. After all, it had been Kingsley's mad plan to reunify wizarding Britain by marrying off its single witches to former Voldemort sympathizers and loyalists. That kind of defiant indiscretion just wouldn't do... at least not for someone with her eye on the Minister's seat in the future.

"I love it when you unsheathe your claws, love," her ill-fated fiancé murmured, rubbing the side of his cheek where her hand print burned red and hot under his whiskers. "Best thing about you is your spirit, I've always said."

He said that last while grinning like a fecking idiot.

She frowned at him.

Why wasn't he more upset about their situation? In a few minutes they were going to be married by the Deputy Minister. As in, legally bound to be husband and wife. Considering the fact that Ral had openly admitted to being allergic to commitment a year ago when they'd... well, why wasn't he putting up more of a fuss?

Sure, the money for agreeing to participate in the Marriage Lottery was quite the enticement. Half a million Galleons per couple had certainly proved too much a temptation for some of the more destitute or avaricious witches and wizards in Britain to resist. They'd received such a flood of applications they had had to stage the Lottery out in three phases over the next year, with Hermione's group being the first candidates to draw names. Truthfully, the amount offered had been enough to lure her in as the first volunteer, as visions of being able to fund her favourite charities that suffered from budget cuts danced in her head.

And yes, being guaranteed a job for at least a year at the Ministry was a definite bonus, too, as work was increasingly hard to come by in post-war Britain. Since Kingsley had taken the reins, and the Office for Budget Responsibility revealed that the war had almost bankrupted the government, the new Minister had been forced to downsize and revamp department internal policies, and there had been a lot of eliminated positions as a result. A hiring freeze had been established and hadn't yet been lifted. People were clamouring for jobs and so it was no small thing that such an inducement was included in the Marriage Lottery program. Hermione, personally, intended to use the change to apply for a position as a Silk within the Wizengamot.

Also, the idea of outright owning a newly-built cottage in the lovely village of Winkfield in Berkshire definitely appealed to the homesteader within all Britons, especially since purchasing wizarding real estate in England was generally rather expensive and fairly difficult to procure. Hermione was tired of living in a flat in the heart of noisy, dirty London, honestly, and the idea of living in her own home in the quiet, restful country was just added sweet for her tea.

But Ral needed none of those things, as the Lestrange family was as filthy rich as the Malfoys - even after the Ministry's war reparations had been levied against them and paid - and they owned their own ancestral Manor house just outside of Bristol. He didn't need a job either, because he invested his money in international ventures, at least according to The Prophet's business column.

So why had he volunteered to take the Ministry's deal if they'd had nothing of interest to offer him?

o.o.o.o.o

"I am," Ral gave the clear, strong reply to the Deputy Ministry's question regarding him being lawfully free to marry.

Hermione's pulse roared through her veins, and rushed through her ears. She couldn't believe she'd been talked into this madness. What had she been thinking?

A light caress brushed across the back of her fingers as it lay against the crook of her intended's arm. It jerked her back into the present, and as she glanced up, she met her fiancé's sharp gaze staring down at her in a silent warning.

The registrar cleared his throat. "Miss Granger?"

She blinked, confused, her gaze switching between the man at her side and the man before her and back again. "I-I'm sorry, can you repeat the question?"

Ral mouth became a flat line and his eyelids hooded like a serpent's, indicating his displeasure with her inattentiveness during such a sacrosanct moment.

"Are you, Hermione Jean Granger, lawfully free to marry Rabastan Alastair Lestrange?"

She took a deep breath.

The Remus Lupin Memorial Lycanthropy Research Fund and the Merfolk Rights League were both on the brink of going under and desperately needed the infusion of gold that would come from her marriage to Rabastan. If those organizations folded, the petitions to change the official Ministry status of werewolves and merfolk both from 'magical creature' to 'magical being' would most likely lose momentum. If that happened, both groups could continue to be hunted down like animals by trophy hunters or lynched by the mobile vulgas, rather than afforded the same legal protection under the law as human wizards and witches. No matter what the newspapers touted, it was for those reasons, and not the propagandized 'reunification' call-to-arms, that she'd agreed to participate in Shacklebolt's plan.

For them, Hermione determined.

At least, that's what she told herself when she straightened her spine, raised her chin, and replied, "I am." A little voice in the back of her head, however, declared her a fibber, reminding her of how good it had been for those few seconds on stage this afternoon to be in Ral's arms again.

o.o.o.o.o

The Victorian-style wedding ring her new husband procured from an inner robe pocket was simply stunning, obviously an heirloom, and perfect to her taste in jewellery. It wasn't too large, nor too small a declaration. It was feminine, with a touch of boldness, but arranged in such a way as to not be too flashy and obnoxious. Made of a purer karat of gold - eighteen, perhaps - and delicately banded, it flared out into a full-blooming flower design on top. The center stone was at least a three karat, round, natural blue diamond, and it was surrounded by six, smaller, perfectly rounded white diamonds of sparkling clarity.

"My grandmother's," he murmured to her, as he slipped it onto her left ring finger. "And her grandmother's before her."

"It's beautiful," Hermione rasped, feeling her throat begin to close as terror crept through her.

He produced a plain matching man's wedding band and handed it to her, indicating that she should slip it onto his ring finger, per tradition. She did, feeling the sweat bead atop her lip. Gods, she was really doing this, wasn't she? She was really marrying Ral - the man she'd fought tooth-and-nail to keep out of her fantasies and out of her bed for the last year, refusing to acknowledge her persistent desire for him despite the space she'd intentionally put between them.

Well, tonight he'd be in both, and there would be no more refusals.

His warm hands cupped her smaller ones between them and the ring suddenly felt very heavy as it took its rightful place. "No fear, kitten," he whispered, as he leaned forward to perform the perfunctory kiss, sealing their bargain. "Not from you. Not ever. Only this between us."

She shut her eyes tight and bit back a whimper as his lips touched down.

Their first kiss as husband and wife was a sweet melding of mouths, tender and a bit hesitant on his side. There was no blatant lust or anger behind it, but rather a gentleness that spoke of wishes and promises. It felt like every first kiss should.

Except it wasn't technically their first kiss, nor even their second or third. More like their hundredth.

After it had been revealed that the younger Lestrange brother had turned spy for Dumbledore during the last war, and had consequently been acquitted of all of his past war crimes, Ral had made winning over his defence representative - her - his first order of business as a newly freed man. He'd been ruthless about it too, capturing Hermione's mouth at every opportunity. Eventually those kisses had led to more...

...and she'd lost Ron as a result.

Right, so technically she and her long-time boyfriend hadn't been officially dating during that time period - "taking a break," Ron had called it - but seeing your rainy-day-girl locked in a passionate embrace with a former Death Eater tended to kill any chance at resuming a relationship. He had called them permanently quits twelve months ago, after a half-dozen years of an on-again, off-again affair, and he hadn't spoken to her directly since.

Losing Ron as a boyfriend hadn't hurt as much as she'd thought it would, but losing him as a friend had cut into the very heart of her. She'd been mourning that loss ever since.

And she'd made Ral pay for it, even though he was right and it hadn't been his fault.

The guilt ate away at her from both ends.

"There are some signatures we'll need from you both to make it official," the Deputy Minister announced as Rabastan's mouth disengaged from hers. "If you'll just follow the Undersecretary."

Hermione followed on auto-pilot, her heels loud against the hollow, wooden stage beneath them. Her step matched Percy Weasley's as he guided them towards a door at the back of the theatre entrance. Behind her, Kingsley was speaking to the crowd and introducing the next witch to volunteer for the Marriage Accords program: Susan. Hermione wondered what her boss had offered her friend to get her to participate. What enticement had it taken for the witch who had lost nearly everything between the last two Wizarding Wars to agree to let one of the few "redeemable" Death Eaters become her spouse? She hoped the woman was paired with a man who would respect her and be gentle with her.

Ral's hand smoothed over her shoulder as he stepped up to her side, and his touch distracted her thoughts. He pressed them close together as they walked and she noticed that she still fit perfectly against his side; their strides matched, despite him being longer of leg, and her forehead pressed right against the underside of his jaw, putting her lips at the level of his throat's pulse.

A flash memory of having sunk her teeth into the lightly bronzed flesh right at that point had her skin prickling and a shiver racing up her spine.

"All right, love?"

She didn't look at him when she nodded. Couldn't, afraid that he'd see the desire in her eyes and on her cheeks.

He rubbed his palm up and down her arm to warm her. "Can't wait to get me alone, hmm?"

Her cheeks burned with mortification. "Did you know that I'm simply dying to try out this new Castration Hex I recently invented?"

His answering chuckle rumbled through his chest.

When they came to the door, Percy opened it for them and Ral stepped behind her to allow her to go first, behaving with an odd chivalry that she hadn't expected of him. She tossed him a suspicious glance, and he smirked in amusement.

"Now, we just have the General Registry Office's paperwork to finish up, and then I can take you to your new home," Percy informed them, guiding them over to a desk that had been set-up for today's event.

"Perfect," Ral chimed in, his straight, white grin stretching from ear-to-ear. "Let's get to it then, shall we? I'm eager to get inside."

The double entendre was intentional. Ral's sense of humour had always bordered on rakish and sexually crude innuendo. Hermione threw her new husband a narrow-eyed warning as he held her chair out for her, tucking her in.

TO BE CONTINUED...

AUTHOR'S NOTES:

Please review and let me know what you think! This is my first time shipping this couple.