Forced to Love by Nephthys Moon

Chapter 2 - A Frightening Day

Harry sat in his living room, staring at the fire. He always had a fire lit these days. It kept the chill from the room and drove the shadows to the corners where they belonged, where he had banished them. A tap came from the window. Looking up, Harry saw a beautiful tawny owl.

He sighed, set the small glass of firewhiskey on the spindly table next to his chair and crossed the room to the window. When he opened it, the owl flew to his chair, dropped the letter and flew back out. Walking back to his seat, Harry recognized the distinctive purple parchment. It could only mean one thing; the Ministry had sent the letter. Half-tempted to tear it up, he sighed instead. It had been many months since they had contacted him, and he preferred that. Once his drinking habits became public knowledge, he’d gone from the Boy-Who-Lived to someone the Ministry wanted to dissociate itself from.

He picked up the letter, wondering what they wanted with him now, broke the seal and began to read:

Dear Mr. Potter,

You are hereby informed that you have precisely one month to enter into a Marriage Contract with the Pureblood Witch of your choice. Should you fail to comply, a suitable marriage will be arranged for you. A full copy of the Marriage Law has been included for your perusal. In order for your Contract to be approved, you must submit it to the Ministry no later than August the 31. May I be the first to congratulate you on your upcoming nuptials.

Sincerely,
Augustus Pye
Chief Healer

What the bloody hell? Harry reread the letter, trying to wrap his whiskey-soaked brain around the words. Though they appeared a bit blurry to him, as though the person writing the letter had forgotten to blot the ink, he was fairly certain he’d read them correctly. He quickly removed the second sheet of parchment and read it. It clearly stated the Marriage Law, and Harry began to wonder what idiocy the Ministry was up to. He shook the envelope and a pale blue sheet of parchment fell out. Picking it up, he saw that it was the Contract he was supposed to place on a Pureblood witch.

No one in their right mind would marry me, he thought sourly. He crumpled the Contract and threw it into the flames. The rest of the letter soon followed. He wasn’t getting married. He wasn’t passing his blood on to anyone else.

Peering into the shadows as he went, he crossed the room and opened another bottle. Though the remaining bit of civilisation in him rebelled, he tossed the crystal into the fire as well. The flames grew brighter as the final drops of alcohol caught. Harry smiled as he brought the bottle to his lips.

***

Ron Weasley stood behind the counter of the store, carefully filling in the blank lines on the blue Contract in front of him. When he was finished, he motioned to the miniature owl to come to him. Tying the scroll to Pig’s leg, he instructed the bird to take the letter to the Ministry immediately. The bird chirped and flew out the door as Dean Thomas opened it.

“Hey, Ron!” he called. Dean worked at Gringotts as a Muggle Money Recirculator. “Did you hear?”

“Hear what?” Ron asked. He was used to this. Most of his friends had interesting, high-paying jobs, while all he’d been able to do was work for his brothers.

“Hermione’s been Contracted,” Dean began.

“By who?”

“Yeah, I thought it was you, ‘course, so when they told me it was Krum, well, I thought I’d come over here straightaway and tell you.”

“Viktor Krum?” Ron asked, his voice dangerously soft. “International Quidditch Legend, Hogwarts Professor and Hermione’s ex-boyfriend? That Krum?” Ron’s face was slowly turning red.

“Hey, it’s alright, mate,” Dean said reassuringly. “Didn’t you read the Prophet? You can still Contract her – there will be a trial to see who gets her.”

Ron’s face faded. “I won’t win anyway. Krum’s famous and I’m just a nobody.”

“Hey, that’s not true. You’ve killed Death Eaters, and helped destroy You-Know-Who. You’re in all the history books. The only book he’ll ever be in is the fifty-seventh edition of Quidditch Through the Ages,” Dean said scathingly.

Dean had taken over in the best friend department, but Ron missed Harry. He’d realized, years ago, that he’d rather be Harry’s sidekick and in his shadow than to have anyone else for a best friend. Of course, being Ron, he’d never be able to articulate it, but he felt it all the same. He hadn’t had a choice in the matter, however. Harry had shut himself off from the world a year after defeating Voldemort, tormented by demons only he could see. They’d tried to help, he, Hermione and Ginny, but then Ginny had left, and Harry had refused to see anyone. He hadn’t left his home in three years.

“Don’t worry about it, Ron,” Dean said, misunderstanding Ron’s silence. “You’ll win the trial.” Ron looked at the darkening sky.

“I’ve got to close up, Dean. Want to go to the Hog’s Head with me?” Ron asked.

“Can’t, mate. I’ve got a date with Pansy tonight,” Dean told him.

“Oh, yeah. Well, I’ll see you at home, then.”

After Dean left, Ron doused the lights and locked the doors. He didn’t much fancy having a drink alone; it reminded him too forcibly of Harry, drinking firewhiskey and raving at shadows. Ron put his head in his hands and sighed.

***

Romania – the one place Ginny felt self. Here, working with dragons, no one cared that she’d once dated the famous Harry Potter. They were grateful for her role in the downfall of Voldemort, yes, but no one stared. She lived peaceably with the other Dragon-Keepers in a small, drafty castle at the edge of the preserve. Ginny worked in the nursery, helping abandoned eggs hatch. In many ways, it reminded her of herself, abandoned, still waiting for her life to begin.

Stop that! You weren’t abandoned, you left them, remember?

As she did each morning, she put on protective gloves, cast a Fire-Retardant Charm on herself and prepared to leave her bedroom. As she reached the door, an owl, black as night, soared through the window. Seeing the blue scroll tied to its leg, she shuddered. How did he find her? Surely, he didn’t think she’d allow him to get away with this? The years had dampened her anger and hate, replacing them with pity. This occasion, however, caused the anger and betrayal to renew themselves, forcing pity to the side. Trembling, she released the bird’s burden and watched him fly off. Dropping the scroll on her cherry nightstand, she marched to the dining hall.

The chattering of her co-workers soothed her nerves and she looked around the room. She would have to leave. She couldn’t imagine how he’d found her, but if he knew where she was, she was no longer safe. With a sigh, she took an open seat next to her brother and ate her breakfast in silence. Charlie looked over at her, concerned, but she shook her head. She didn’t want to be questioned. She’d leave quietly, just as soon as breakfast was finished.

***

Viktor stood alone in his study. Four years ago, when he’d seen the advertisement for the Defence teacher at Hogwarts, all he could think of was seeing Hermione again. When he’d arrived in London to realise she was with that baboon’s backside, Ron Weasley, he began plotting an accidental death for the bastard. For two years, he’d schemed. Then, one night, he’d gone into Hogsmeade the day after summer term ended. There was Weasley’s sister, sitting alone at the bar in the Three Broomsticks, looking forlorn and alone. Viktor sat down next to her.

During the brief time they’d dated, he’d abandoned his plans to kill her brother. Eventually, he’d decided that he still loved Hermione and she was in love with Potter. When they’d parted, he’d renewed his ideas. He’d been two days from following through on them when he’d received his blank Contract. Quickly, he’d filled the page and taken it directly to Augustus Pye. It had been immediately approved, pending blood tests. Viktor wasn’t worried on that end, she was certainly descended from Muggles, and his blood was the purest in Bulgaria.

He stopped in front of the fireplace in his gloomy study and sat in his hard wooden chair. “You vill be mine, Herm-own-ninny.”

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