Merely the Bride

Chapter 1

Hermione laughed at Harry's joke and stood from her chair at their table at the Leaky Cauldron. "I'm going to the Ladies; I'll be back in a minute." She ran her fingertips along Ron's back as she walked by and felt him shiver slightly. Smirking to herself, she made her way across the busy pub, turning to greet a few people she knew as she passed by. As she neared the hallway leading to the restrooms, she found herself face to face with another old schoolmate.

"Granger."

"Zabini." Hermione flicked her eyes over him and noticed his shoulders had broadened in the past few years. Still, his dark face held the characteristic sneer, his black eyes stared into her. His lips turned up slightly at the edges as he took in her appearance. Hermione hadn't seen him since the end of her sixth year at Hogwarts. He had completed his seventh about the time of the final battle on Hogwarts grounds, and she had returned to complete her seventh year the following fall after the school had been put to rights again. Since she had never been the least interested in him, she was surprised to feel a small tug of attraction to him.

"You clean up decently." He stepped closer and tipped his head slightly. "I suppose even a Mudblood can put on a decent set of dress robes."

Fuming, Hermione glared at him. "Still the same narrow minded prat as always, I see." She'd seen enough of the Pure-blood prejudices to last her a lifetime, but it had lost much of its sting. "Still allowing Malfoy to do your thinking for you?" She moved to push past, but he reached out and grasped her forearm and she felt a sizzle of electricity run up her arm. Her breath caught for an instant before she could push the growing chemistry back.

"And you're still fighting battles to protect beleaguered house-elves. Some things never change."

Hermione glared and pulled her arm from his grasp. "At least I'm doing something worthwhile with my life, not wasting it sitting in my royal tower, looking down on all the people I think are below me. Get a life."

She pushed through the crowd and made her way to the restroom, still feeling the heat of his hand on her arm, the thrill of electricity in her chest. It both excited and nauseated her. The response made no sense to her, and she couldn't ignore it. After taking her turn in one of the stalls, she stood before the mirror and washed her hands, staring at her face. What was wrong with her? Was she sick?

She didn't think she and Blaise Zabini had given each other the time of day before, but this time they both stopped to exchange insults. He had always been a self-aggrandizing prat. He hadn't exactly followed Malfoy around, like she had suggested, but he held similar beliefs to Malfoy, about blood purity and his own self worth. Zabini hadn't taken the Dark Mark, and Hermione didn't know if murder and mayhem appealed to him, but she wasn't interested in finding out.

She glanced over her robes in the mirror, and decided Zabini had been right about one thing—she did look rather nice this evening. There was just a hint of cleavage displayed by the low neckline—Ron was certainly enjoying that, and with a little luck she would finally be able to enjoy his interest right back. She smiled and returned to her friends.

****

Blaise watched her return to her table. Hermione Granger had always been an obnoxious swot, head in her books, hand in the air, hair wild and untamed. He wasn't sure why he'd bothered to cross verbal swords with her tonight, but something had spurred him on; the same something that had pushed him to intercept her in the first place. It was out of character for him to go looking for a fight. Though he didn't put near the stock in it as Malfoy, he had always believed in blood purity and the value of a large, stuffed vault at Gringotts, but generally avoided confrontation.

She did look nice tonight; her wild hair somewhat tamed and pulled back to reveal her face, which maturity had certainly improved. Her complexion was good, her eyes bright and appealing. And her figure . . . well, he wouldn't mind getting a little closer to a body like that, if only it wasn't attached to her personality. He shook his head, trying to forget her. He wasn't sure why he was still thinking about the chit in the first place. He turned to the leggy red-head seated beside him. He had all the women he could possibly want at the snap of his fingers. This one wanted him right back. He figured she had longer-range plans for him than he harbored for her, but that wouldn't stop him from enjoying the evening. If he could get past his little problem.

* * *

Octavia Prewett hurried down Diagon Alley, her hood pulled up to cover her face on the off chance that she might run into someone who could recognize her in her current identity. Not that there were more than a handful who might, but one never knew when Hermione or her friends might wander down Diagon Alley. Octavia had kept tabs on Hermione over the years, watched and waited. She hadn't wanted to act, hadn't planned to move quite yet, but she had figured the young woman would have received notice by now. The fact that Hermione appeared to be getting serious with the Weasley boy indicated that she hadn't gotten a letter. What was wrong with those solicitors anyway?

It had been nearly two decades since Octavia had been in Diagon Alley last. Her current lifestyle precluded trips into the familiar streets. Every time she came out in London's wizarding section, she risked being caught, even if there were very few who might figure out who she was. She had taken great pains to disappear years before.

Reaching the solicitor's door, Octavia glanced around her, then hurried in. If a notice hadn't been sent to Hermione yet, one that would prevent the relationship Hermione had with Ron from growing any more serious, Octavia would have to take action. Besides, if Hermione didn't change course, and fast, the consequences didn't bear thinking on. She tried to ignore the ache in her chest as she thought of the way Hermione would feel when she received her copy of the contract, but it couldn't be helped. Hermione would be affected whether she received notice or not.

* * *

Hermione stood at the stove at number twelve, Grimmauld Place and gave the cheese sauce a final stir. "So, I figured my next step would be to protect the werewolves, to try to keep others from being placed in Remus' position." She turned and found her audience had long since lost interest. Harry and Ginny were wrapped up in each other, their arms intertwined. Ron was engrossed in a Quidditch magazine. He made a noise of agreement, but didn't lift his gaze from the article he read.

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "So I figured I would move to Bora Bora and open a shirt shack and drink Margaritas by the seaside until my dying day."

"You're right, of course. Good idea." Ron flipped the page of the magazine and didn't look in her face.

"Right-o." Harry leaned in and pressed his lips to Ginny's, totally engrossed in his fiancée.

Disgusted, Hermione took the pan off the stove and set it on the hot pad, allowing it to hit the table a bit harder than necessary. "Collin Creevey and I are going to shack up and make love until the sun turns into a red giant and swallows the Earth."

"Great plan." Ron didn't glance in her direction, but reached for the butterbeer at his side as he continued to read. "Hey, look at this. Westerly is going to sign with the Wasps after all."

Hermione reached out and yanked the magazine from Ron's hand, glaring at him when he looked up in protest. "I was reading that."

"Yeah, and I was hoping to have an actual conversation with you."

"I was listening, really. Just scanning the pages."

"So you think my plan's a great one, do you?"

"All your plans are great, love." He took her hand and pressed his lips to the back.

She pulled away and crossed her arms over her chest. "And can you recall what my plan was?"

He took on that look of a cornered wild animal. "Er, you discussed your hopes for your house-elf legislation."

Hermione folded the magazine in her hand and smacked him on the chest with it. "That was nearly fifteen minutes ago."

"Er, sorry. It was a great article. You should be happy I'm reading something."

Hermione sighed. She accepted that Ron had only minimal interest in her job in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures; she hardly cared about his work with George at Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, after all. She should know better than to expect his complete attention if she was going to talk about her work for more than two minutes at a time.

Harry and Ginny came up for air, and Harry grinned, then reached across the table for his fondue fork. "All ready then?"

She couldn't blame Harry and Ginny for being wrapped up in each other. Ginny was playing for the Harpies, and had been on the road for nearly two weeks with little time to spend with Harry. He was still in Auror training and had only been able to get away for one game while she was out. With their wedding only a couple weeks away, she could hardly expect them to be any less than completely wrapped up in each other.

Ginny talked about something that happened at her game a few days earlier and caught both men's attention. Hermione turned her face toward Ginny, but after a few minutes, found herself drifting off every bit as much as the other three had been during her own work discussion. Since Ginny had been recruited to play for the Harpies, Hermione had gone to more Quidditch matches than ever. She enjoyed the game most of the time, and didn't mind some Quidditch discussion, but she'd hardly consider herself an enthusiast. Harry's work as an Auror was far more interesting to Hermione because of the situations and training he received, but lately she had trouble focusing when he spoke as well.

Her mind returned to the conversation she'd had with Blaise Zabini a few nights earlier. It had been brief, unimportant, barely worth her notice, really, but she had found her mind repeatedly turning back to the encounter. The feel of his touch when he grabbed her arm, his warm hand wrapped around her arm, the dark expression in his eyes. She wondered if she had imagined the look of surprise in his face when he touched her, or if it had been real. Had he felt the same elemental reaction to their touch that she had? She shook her head to clear it, knowing it was useless to dwell on the issue. She hadn't seen the man in four years, and probably wouldn't see him again for several more. He had no place in her life.

She speared a chunk of cauliflower and dipped it in the cheese sauce. She popped the vegetable in her mouth, then looked up as an owl pecked at the kitchen window. Kreacher hurried over to the window and allowed the bird in, and Hermione was surprised when it flew over and settle in front of her.

"Hello, what've you got?" She took the paper from the owl, fed the bird a bit of smoked sausage from her plate, and turned to the paper.

She didn't notice when the bird flew back out the window or Kreacher shut the casement behind it. She didn't notice Harry and Ron returning to their Quidditch discussion or the way Ginny savored the rich cheese sauce on a square of French bread.

What she did notice was the solicitor's name at the top of the page, and the few lines that followed. Her whole world seemed to zero in on the papers, then shattered around her.

Dear Miss Granger,

It has come to our attention that your twenty-first birthday is approaching. As this is so, we find it past time to alert you of a betrothal contract made by your ancestors some years ago. Enclosed is a copy of the contract with all of the official signatures and affidavits. Due to a clerical error, we have failed to send the required notice at your seventeenth birthday as would be the norm. Please accept our humble apologies, and know that you can contact us for future questions regarding the matter.

It was signed by the solicitor and Hermione reread the first sheet. A betrothal contract? There must be some mistake. How could her ancestors have been involved in something like that, and why would they do it?

She flipped to the next page and looked the contract over. She snorted when she read that the contract affected the offspring of Octavia Prewett and Augustus Nott. She was a Muggleborn; the daughter of the Grangers. Obviously there was some mistake. When she read over the clauses that stipulated the various charms and enchantments that had been placed in the contract, she took a few notes. After all, she hadn't heard of them before and was curious about what they did—even if this was all a mistake.

"Hermione, what's that?" Ron asked, slinging an arm around her shoulder.

"Nothing much. Just a bit of business." She folded and stashed the papers away. In the morning she would visit the solicitor, if for no other reason than to tell them that they had made a mistake.

* * *

Blaise Zabini sat in his home office frowning over reports from the family businesses when a brown barn owl pecked on his office window. He lifted a perfectly formed eyebrow and waved the window open. He knew it wasn't a missive from one of his business interests, as the Zabini family would never use such a common owl, and it was rather late in the day for a business note, anyway. "What's this?" he muttered as he pulled the scroll from the owl's leg. He unrolled it and looked it over.

He read the opening sentences, swallowed, felt his shoulder droop, and continued on. Blaise read through the notice twice before he was sure he had understood it correctly. Even then, he would rather believe it a mistake. How could he be contracted to marry Hermione Granger, of all people? She was a Mudblood, and neither of them were even born in 1915. And what was with the last name Nott?

"Like I would condescend to marry someone like her." He scoffed and threw the scroll into the garbage can. It had to be some elaborate joke of Malfoy's. His mother walked in as the scroll hit the can and rolled off the top of the papers he'd been throwing in there all day. When it hit the floor, she picked the scroll up and, noticing the solicitor's seal, unrolled it.

"Don't worry about that rubbish. I'm sure Malfoy's trying to be funny," Blaise said as he noticed what his mother was reading.

Her beautiful face drew tight as she reread the missive, then turned on her heel, carrying the letter with her.

"What is it, Mum?"

"Just something I need to check. I'll return shortly."

Blaise shook his head and wondered what she was up to. The whole matter was confusing. If Hermione was a Muggleborn, she couldn't possibly have been contracted back in 1915, as only wizards were capable of making a magically binding contract. Dismissing the worry from his mind for the time being—his mother was checking on it, after all, and he did have pressing business to attend to—he returned to his work.

An hour passed as he slogged through the paperwork, seeing to the myriad details before him. Then his mother walked in, and Blaise saw the look of triumph in her eyes. "What do you know of this Hermione Granger?" she asked.

The image of her sashaying though the crowds at the Leaky Cauldron, her robes enhancing her lovely shape, crossed his mind. He pushed it away and considered the question more academically. "She's bright, obnoxious, has to show off her brains at every turn, and is the Boy Who Lived's best friend. Did you learn something about the contract? A product of Malfoy's fertile imagination, I assume?"

"Not quite. I've seen the contract once before. A copy of it, at least. It came to me the week before you were born."

Blaise lifted his brows. "You've known about this more than twenty years and said nothing about it?"

"I did mention to you that your marriage had been arranged, but I'd been unable to ascertain the girl's whereabouts," She reminded him. "When the first came before you were born, there was no first name on the line. Just now I looked up the contract in question and compared it to this copy. You do realize it says you two must wed before your twenty-first birthdays both pass. Since hers is only weeks away and yours isn't far behind, that means your wedding will take place before October first." She looked thrilled by this prospect.

He felt his stomach drop out. This couldn't possibly be true. "You've got to be kidding me. I don't even like the girl, and Theo couldn't have a sister. We'd have known if he did."

"Apparently we don't know everything." His mother lifted a perfectly sculpted brow and set the scroll back on the desk. "I think we'll have a little dinner party, you, me and your fiancée. How does Thursday sound?"

Blaise groaned. His mother had been after him about the way he played the field as he dated. He was only 20 for Merlin's sake, but as the last Zabini male, he had a duty to the family name, or so she'd been saying. "Mum, I don't like the witch, not even a little bit. She's nothing but Mudblood scum, no matter what that letter says."

"Well, I think we should get to the bottom of it, and if the Ministry, and the contract require you to wed, you ought to get to know each other while you have the chance, don't you think? The consequences for not following through include the loss of your magical ability and being cut off from the family. No more spending the Zabini gold or running the family businesses. I'll go make the arrangements and invite the girl." She turned without giving him the chance to protest further. "Just think, my Blaise marrying the brightest witch of her age! We can grill the Mudblood training right out of her."

Blaise groaned as his mother disappeared down the hall. This was something out of a nightmare. And his mother was right. He had every intention of getting to the bottom of things.