Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"This is a bad idea," Harry hissed in Ron's ear, repeating himself for the umpteenth time. "Hermione's going to kill you. If there's any fighting over her, she'll want to fend for herself. You know how she is!"

"I know it's a bad idea! But I don't have a choice. Backing out of this will put my family's name in the mud and I'll lose my right to marry Hermione." Ron's voice was almost lost in the hubbub of the crowded Atrium, where the Ministry had set up a duelling platform at Ron's request.

"You'll lose it anyway. Malfoy wasn't a Death Eater for show!"

"Shut up! Some second you are, you should be encouraging me," Ron complained. "I can do this." He sounded as though he was trying to convince himself.

"I don't want to give you false hope," Harry said, breathing deeply. He'd be no use to Ron at all if he lost his temper.

"Just keep your big mouth shut!"

He inhaled between clenched teeth, and glowered at Ron, a suitable retort on his lips when Snape interrupted their bickering: "Potter!"

Harry shot Ron one last glare before he walked towards his fellow duelling second. It was a small consolation that Snape didn't look any more pleased than he did to be there.

"Shall we get this farce over and done with?" Before Harry could reply, Snape smirked, "that was a rhetorical question, Potter. It doesn't require an answer."

"I know that." 'Git.'

"Have you taken part in any formal duels before?"

Harry thought for a moment. None of his duels with Voldemort really counted, as they were nothing less than thinly-veiled attempted murder. "There was that duel with Malfoy in the duelling club..."

Snape snorted, interrupting him. "In other words, no. The challenged – in this case, Weasley – chooses the ground. The challenger chooses the distance. Both of these steps have already been completed." He gestured at the duelling platform where they stood.

"The seconds fix the time and terms of the duel. As it stands, those are simply that it will not be to the death. Apart from anything else, the Ministry will not tolerate it. Hell must have frozen over; it seems the new regime actually values life."

"Disarm only?" Harry tentatively suggested. He glanced back over his shoulder at Ron, who was pacing back and forth, passing his wand from hand to hand, his jaw set mulishly.

'That's Ron, perfectly capable of being contradictory even with his body language.'

When he turned back to Snape, the older man grimaced. "Wishful thinking, Potter. I suspect 'nothing fatal' is the best we can hope for."

Sighing, Harry nodded. He stared as Snape stiffly held his hand out and reluctantly took it, shaking it briefly. The knowledge that he had an audience was all that kept him from wiping his hand on his clothes. While he no longer felt quite the animosity towards Snape as before Voldemort's death, Harry had no desire to touch him.

He walked back to Ron. "No spells that will kill," he said shortly, still simmering with anger at his best friend.

Ron looked quite hurt. "What do you take me for? Do I look like a Death Eater to you?"

"Snape's telling Malfoy the same thing!" Harry pointed at the other end of the platform, where Snape was speaking to Malfoy. "It's just the terms of the duel. I'm on your side, remember?"

Ron muttered something that sounded an awful lot like 'could've fooled me'. He stepped forward, his toes on the line marked on the platform. "Ready, Malfoy?" he called. Silence fell in the Atrium, all conversation ceased between the watching wizards and the few recovered witches.

Malfoy stepped up to his line, twenty paces away. He tossed his head, bringing his hands up to his long hair to tie it out of the way in a ponytail. He held out his hand to the side for Snape to pass his wand.

"Still want to settle this matter in a duel, boy?" Malfoy drawled.

Harry watched Ron's back stiffen. "What do you mean?"

"Gentlemen only resort to duels when negotiations fail. A young man from an impoverished background such as yourself could profit considerably from surrendering his claim on the witch in question."

Sparks flew from Ron's wand. Harry had to jump forwards and hold Ron back to prevent him from forfeiting the duel. "Not yet! Wait until after the count to three," he said and forced Ron to lower his wand. "Don't let him get to you."

Ron shook him off. He was breathing heavily, his ears flushed red. Harry got the impression that he hadn't listened. But at least he waited until after the master of ceremonies (Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Minister himself) had started the duel before he began casting spells as fast as he could, shouting the syllables at the top of his lungs.

Malfoy was using non-verbal spells, as far as Harry could tell. Malfoy's lips weren't moving and he could hear no curse being spoken, but with Ron shouting right in front of him, Harry couldn't hear anything else. At this rate, his ears would be ringing before the duel was over.

The brightly coloured sparks of the curses, hexes and jinxes were ricocheting wildly. But the rebounding spells were weakened by the barrier between the duelling platform and the spectators, only causing minor injuries or effects when they struck the caster or the target ... Or the unfortunate seconds, as Harry found, his hair ruffled by a hex even as he ducked.

When he cautiously peered around Ron's sweating body, Harry was disheartened but unsurprised to see Malfoy unruffled, casually deflecting Ron's bellowed spells and flicking his own at Ron.

As the minutes dragged by, poor Ron started panting, the colour of his spells began to fade as his exhaustion increased. Malfoy finally seemed to grow impatient, his lip twisting into a contemptuous sneer as he clearly enunciated: "Expelliarmus."

Ron tried to block it, but couldn't summon the energy. His earlier rage-fuelled reckless casting had left him drained. His wand flew out of his hand and he fell down, dragging Harry to his knees as he tried to catch Ron.

An outburst of noise, a chaotic mingling of booing, excited chatter, catcalls, whistles ... and even some applause at Malfoy's victory swept through the crowd in the Atrium. The racket almost drowned out Ron's voice, but Harry was close enough to hear his devastated, cracked voice repeating the same three words: "I've lost her. I've lost her. I've lost her..."

Harry exhaled shakily, thankful that he hadn't given in to Ron's requests, pleas and demands for the Elder Wand. It would have been disastrous for it to end up in the hands of Lucius Malfoy. He instantly felt his stomach lurch with guilt; Hermione was now in Malfoy's hands.

* * *

Hermione had been in St. Mungo's for almost a fortnight when Healer Gould pronounced her fit to be released. The wait had been tedious except for visits. True to his word, Severus had come by whenever he could, usually once every day, and Harry had managed to come once or twice. Thankfully, Ron hadn't poked his long nose into the ward since his ill-fated proposal.

Healer Gould gave her no warning that she was free to go, just presented her with her clothes and wand after lunch one day. He/she (Hermione still didn't know) drew the privacy curtains closed for her to dress. She found that she had to transfigure a belt from a handkerchief on finding that her trousers sat dangerously low on her hips; she'd lost weight, although she wasn't skin and bones. But she was in far better shape than a Muggle coming out of an equivalent length coma would be. Presumably the enspelled sleep had more components to it than simply keeping the patients unconscious, such as monitoring spells to keep track of safe levels of body mass and maintaining muscle tone.

Looking down at her body, threading the belt through the loops of fabric at the waist of her trousers, Hermione had to admit that she was looking better than she had when Voldemort had fallen, although there had been about six months for her body to recover from that before she had been infected.

Fully dressed, she pushed open the curtains and let the androgynous Healer lead her to the waiting room, where she could find her own way out. Hermione felt her heart sink when she realised that Severus wasn't waiting to escort her, but he probably hadn't known she was being discharged.

She beamed when she saw Harry hurry in. But her smile faded when she saw him quail at the sight of her, his face pale. She walked over to him, noticing that he was clutching what appeared to be a rolled up newspaper.

"Hermione, I..." He handed her the newspaper, audibly swallowing. "I'm sorry."

Giving him a suspicious look under lowered brows, Hermione unrolled the newspaper.

'Sat 24th April

STOP PRESS: War Hero Loses Love To Death Eater'

Hermione's frown deepened as she read the article, her lips compressed tightly. The wizarding photograph that accompanied the article captured the moment of Ron's defeat. She felt a brief flicker of amusement at Ron's fall, but the look of complete and utter devastation on his face banished that. Poor Ron....

Her eyes narrowed when she discovered the identity of the seconds supporting the duel. 'How could he?'

She looked up at Harry. "I'll talk to you later," she said, her voice cold and clipped. "I have bigger fish to fry."

* * *

The crack of her Apparition echoed around the wild patch of Wiltshire countryside surrounding Malfoy Manor. She was shaking with barely suppressed fury, her mind far too hazy with anger to manage a more graceful, silent arrival. It was a wonder that she hadn't Splinched, really.

She stood before the wrought-iron gates barring the way to the long drive leading to Malfoy Manor. Steeling herself, Hermione reached to take hold of one of the iron bars in order to summon the enchanted gate guardian she had seen at her first ... visit. She stumbled back when her hand passed straight through the metal as if it wasn't even there.

Shock briefly overrode her anger. She cautiously reached forward again, passing her hand through as much of the gate as she could reach. The gate guardian still didn't form, although Hermione strongly suspected that her actions had to be tickling it.

Mentally shaking herself, Hermione stepped through the insubstantial gate. She was here to give Lucius Malfoy – and Severus, if he was here – a piece of her mind, not to contemplate the magical intricacies of his property.

She marched up the driveway, ignoring the scream-like calls of the albino peacocks strutting along the tall hedges to either side of her. The dark, hulking shape of Malfoy Manor loomed in front of her, growing larger with every step she took. Hermione paused at the base of the broad marble steps leading up to the heavy oak front door. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and gritted her teeth. Now was not the time to remember her last visit, and certainly not the time to recall her torture within these walls at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange.

She tightened her grasp on the newspaper, using it as a tangible reminder of why she was there. Her eyes snapped open, and she strode up the steps to hammer on the door with her fist.

It was opened almost immediately by a house-elf. "Miss come in, please."

Hermione shivered slightly, although the air inside was warm enough on her exposed skin.

"Can Dilly take Miss's coat?"

"Thank you, but I won't be here for long," Hermione answered, tugging her coat out of the house-elf's eager hands and folding her arms around herself in an effort to ward off the strange chill. "Is your master home?"

"He is." The voice came from an open doorway. In the dimly lit hallway lined with wizarding portraits, Hermione almost mistook Malfoy for a full length one, until he sauntered out, advancing to meet her. She almost expected the chill she was feeling to deepen, but if anything it lessened slightly ... movement in the same doorway caught her attention. Severus was standing there. For a moment, he looked pleased to see her, a smile briefly lighting up his face, until his eyes met hers and he flinched slightly.

Malfoy drew her attention back to him, clearing his throat. "What can I do for you, Hermione?" He laughed softly, reaching for her hand. "I may call you Hermione, may I not? Such a lovely name." Malfoy bent to plant a kiss on the back of her hand.

Just before his lips could touch her skin, Hermione swung the rolled-up Prophet at him, striking him across the face. He straightened up, looking flabbergasted. A part of her was delighted to witness how the smug, arrogant expression had been wiped off Malfoy's face by the blow. While another part was frantically shrieking that she'd just gone and struck a former Death Eater. Most of her was too angry to care. She never stopped to think, raising the newspaper to hit him again.

"How dare you?" Thud. But before she could strike him a third time, he snatched the impromptu weapon from her hand, his cheeks reddening and his eyes narrowed dangerously. His knuckles whitened where they gripped the paper. Hermione held her breath, her body tense.

"Lucius," Severus snapped, suddenly right behind Malfoy, his equally white-knuckled hand on his friend's shoulder, his other long-fingered hand reaching for the newspaper. He tugged it free and stepped around Malfoy to unfold it for both of them to see, nonchalantly placing himself in front of Hermione.

"My, my. We made the headlines," Malfoy observed, glacially calm once more.

Hermione clenched her fists, trying to restrain herself from slapping the renewed smugness out of him. "Is that all you have to say for yourself?"

He raised his sleek blond head from his perusal of the Prophet. "When would you like the wedding to be?" Beside him, Severus hissed between his teeth in a belated attempt to shush him.

Now she felt as if she'd been slapped. The article in the Prophet had been bad enough, but for Malfoy to rub it in like that ... "Just because you won that duel doesn't make me your bride! Apart from the fact that I wasn't Ron's to lose, I don't accept the medieval concept that women are property to be won and lost.

"And you," Hermione turned to Severus, hugging her arms tighter around herself. "Your part in this... I am so disappointed. How could you?" She sniffed, swiping her knuckles under her eyes, and angrily dashed her threatening tears away.

Hermione turned on her heel and swung the door open, ignoring the protestations of the house-elf that 'Miss must let Dilly do his job'. She paused at the top of the steps, but didn't turn to face them. "If I never see either of you again, it will be too soon." She strode away, refusing to look back even when Severus called her name desperately.

* * *

The house-elf obediently closed the door at Lucius's dismissive wave of his hand, before Severus could follow Granger.

Severus grabbed the door handle, tugging fruitlessly. "Open the door, elf!"

Dilly took one look at Lucius and Disapparated. Stifling a guttural snarl, Severus twisted around to face his host. He looked almost unhinged, his face contorted into a grimace, his eyes unblinking, glaring.

Lucius watched as coolly as possible as Severus began advancing on him, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides.

"Open the fucking door, you inbred twerp!"

"No..." Lucius was cut off when Severus grabbed hold of the front of his robes, shaking him hard enough that his teeth rattled.

"You've really fucked things up. I told you she wouldn't appreciate being duelled over. If you'd listened to me, we'd still have a chance!" Severus gave him one last shake, and let him go as if he was something unclean.

Lucius extracted his handkerchief from a pocket and used it to wipe off the spittle. Severus had a disgusting habit when enraged of spitting when he spoke. "Rest assured, I will rectify the situation. We will have the bride of your choice, I promise."

He Disapparated, feeling the wards gently test him, then allow him to pass through unhindered.

Like Hogwarts, Malfoy Manor was sentient, responding to the whims of the master of the house in much the same way the wizarding school did with the commands of the headmaster. As such it was absurdly simple for Lucius to adjust the wards, so recently changed so that his future bride could come in unhindered, to lock her inside the grounds.

Lucius arrived at the gates almost instantly, just in time to see Granger walk into the suddenly solid iron bars. His lips twitched, but he managed to control the impulse to laugh.

Granger staggered back, briefly clutching at her ribs before grasping the closest bars and shaking the gate. When that failed to summon the guardian, she kicked it.

The sight of Granger hopping about on one foot, swearing, was more than Lucius could take. He managed to muffle the guffaw as a snort, but she heard him, spinning around to face him, her wand in hand.

"Let me out, Malfoy."

"Not until you have heard what I have to say. Kindly lower your wand," Lucius murmured, speaking to her as if she were a wild animal. For all he knew, she might have been raised like one, which would explain her lack of manners. He absently rubbed his cheek where she'd struck him with the Prophet.

She slowly lowered her wand. Lucius raised an eyebrow, although he was unsurprised at her current target. "Lower, if you please."

When Granger had pointed her wand toward the floor, Lucius gingerly stepped closer. "Thank you. I think I can understand your outrage, but you mustn't take it out on Severus. He advised me against the duel."

Granger looked completely unimpressed, her face impassive. "Really? Even if that was the case, he was your second."

"He didn't have any choice. Severus cares about you, Miss Granger. He cares about you enough to want to marry you. Weasley had a claim on you, and duels are the way such matters are settled in the wizarding world, medieval though the concept may be. I won the duel, so now Severus and I have that claim on you. If Severus hadn't been my second, he would have no claim."

Lucius was suddenly conscious of large droplets of water splattering on his exposed skin. He looked up, grimacing. "Please come back inside. While we could continue this conversation in the rain, using magic to stay dry, it is unpleasant to do so."

She scowled at the suggestion, her wand hand twitching.

"I promise I will allow you to leave afterwards."

The way Granger's lip curled implied that she didn't trust his promises, but she nodded reluctantly.

Lucius offered her his arm. Predictably, she refused to take it. "Miss Granger, if you hold on to me, I can Apparate us both inside. Much better than walking in the rain, I think you'll agree."

"I don't trust you," she stated bluntly. "But I do trust Severus, even after this stupid duel." She took Lucius's arm.

Malfoy Manor was very reluctant to allow a witch of such parentage through the Anti-Apparition wards, but Lucius wasn't the master of the house for nothing. The house seemed to realise that it was to get used to the presence of Granger, so it let them through with only a second's delay.

Severus whirled around to face them. It seemed that he'd been pacing up and down the hallway. Frankly, the man was fortunate that Lucius hadn't Apparated on top of him. The deep lines of his scowl were erased when he saw Hermione with Lucius. He took a tentative step forward, one hand outstretched, falling short when Hermione let go of Lucius and defensively crossed her arms.

"Let's discuss this matter in more comfortable surroundings, shall we?" Lucius suggested. He opened the nearest door. "Ladies first," he said, carefully moderating the sarcasm in his tone. For nothing, it seemed, because Granger glared at him all the same before she stepped past him.

She stumbled to a halt, staring around the spacious room. Lucius smirked; the drawing room always had this effect on guests. He walked inside, and waved his arm in a broad gesture encompassing the highly polished floor, the crystal chandelier, and the ornately carved marble fireplace.

"Wonderful room, isn't it. You'd never guess that is not the original chandelier. It was replaced after the destruction of the first over a year ago, when..." Lucius almost twisted a muscle in his neck when he jerked his head around to look at Granger. He swore under his breath. Quite the faux pas, bringing the girl into the room where she'd been tortured by his unhinged sister-in-law.

Granger was deathly pale, her eyes focussed somewhere far away. She didn't seem to be breathing either.

'Shit.' Lucius took a step towards her when he saw her sway on her feet, but Severus reached her first, wrapping his arms around her before she could fall. She seemed to be unconscious now, her eyes closed, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.

"What did you do?" Severus demanded, giving him an accusing glare. He shifted Granger in his arms so that her head was better supported by his chest.

Lucius shrugged helplessly. "Nothing, I just... I forgot about the particulars of her first, ah, visit."

Severus's eyebrows lowered over narrowed eyes. "What happened?" he ground out.

"I'll tell you later," Lucius muttered. "Suffice to say that we shouldn't rouse Granger here." He stepped forward, drawing his wand to Transfigure his handkerchief into a stretcher, but Severus would have none of it, hefting the girl up into his arms to carry her manually.

'Merlin's cave, the man's smitten!' Lucius thought, his jaw almost dropping. He watched the lovebirds for a moment before his lips curled up into a smirk. So Severus had a heart after all ...

Shaking his head, Lucius held the door open and lead the way to his private study. He stepped inside, held it open again for Snape and his burden, almost letting it swing back in his shock when a petulant voice spoke up from the fireplace – from his favourite chair!

"What the hell is going on, Father? And why's she here?"

AN: Many thanks to septentrion and JunoMagic for betaing.

http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/amex/duel/sfeature/rulesofdueling.html was referred to, although only rule 17 seemed relevant for a wizarding duel.