Fated To Be Tied

Chaptne: ne: Summons and Mystery
By Katie-Vixen

At present, one Ginny Weasley sat in front of her parents in their comfy parlor in the burrow,
frowning, in suspicion and puzzlement. “I have to go to Hogwarts two weeks early? Why? Is
something wrong? How come Ron isn’t going as well?”
“The headmaster sent only one letter calling for you, Ginny dear,” said her mother. “It says
in the letter that he wishes you to come to Hogwarts two weeks early in order to attend a meeting
of ectsects. That’s all it says dear. Perhaps it has to do with some new rules or regulations that
the headmaster has planned.”

Thus said, (and after a little more not-so-convincing conversation,) Ginny Weasley was sent up
to her room (one of the only advantages to having all brothers was having your own room, yeah!)
to pack her things, for in a few short hours she would be on her way back to Hogwarts School of
Witchcraft and Wizardry.

She arrived by way of floo from the Leaky Cauldron in Diagon Alley to Madame Rosmerta’s fireplace
in the Three Broomsticks. From there in Hogsmeade was horseless carriage waiting in order to ferry
her to the castle. All in all, it was a slightly anxious trip, for she had no idea what the headmaster
had planned. But, Hermione and Harry were prefects, so it wouldn’t be all too bad. Two Ron-less
weeks with Harry?! She grinned at the thought.

Upon reaching Hogwarts her luggage was magically transported to the hallway where the house elves
would carry it up to whichever room she would be staying in this year. Professor McGonagall was waiting
for her in the hall as well, next to some other sets of luggage, one particularly colorful bag she recognized
to be Hermione’s.

“Welcome back, Ms. Weasley, now if you will follow me, the headmaster is waiting for you in his office.”
“His office?” Nervousness had begun to take hold.
“Yes, Ms. Weasley,” the professor said slightly impatient, “along with the other students summoned,
the professor does want to see you.” The youngest Weasley blushed as this statement was finished by
the prsor’sor’s slight upturning of lips, signaling a McGonagallesque smile. It effectively ended any further
conversation, as the matronly older witch led her up the staircase, and unto the headmaster.

Within the headmaster’s office….

Hermione Granger sat, slightly suspicious and tense, observing the two slytherins in seated in a loveseat
not seven feet from where she was sitting. She delayed any outright perusal however, in favor of the
many bookshelves and wallpapering motifs surrounding her in the cozy office. The slytherins weren’t
saying anything, which was a blessing, since Draco Malfoy and Blaise Zambini (the two aforementioned
persons from the serpent house) were among the snarkiest of their lot, and she’d as soon not to talk to them at all.

However, the tiny hairs on the back of her neck were prickling, signaling that she was being observed,
and whoever was looking was being none too obtuse about it. Gathering her nerve, she looked up and
over only to meet the cool gaze of Malfoy, who was looking her over at what seemed to be his leisure.
His only acknowledgement was a slight nod and a quirk of the lips. She returned the nod, and then
directed her eyes to the window. Draco Malfoy was someone she had very little tolerance for, if at all,
and she had no desire to play into whatever head games he was most likely plotting, the little bastard.
Gods, when was the fourth person going to get here? They were waiting on one more, and then Professor
Dumbledore would make his “announcement” that could “change all your perceptions entirely Miss Granger,
and perhaps the very fate of the wizarding world.” Until then though, it was damn awkward. *Prefect
meeting indeed* she thought with some acidity, *its never simple with Dumbledore is it? Always cloak and dagger…*

Draco Malfoy had noted the Miss Hermione Granger’s discomfiture however, and was both disturbed and
amused by it. Amused because any slytherin finds pleasure in which a member of one’s rival house is
put ill at ease; but disturbed because it was so obvious that she practically loathed him; and of course,
the situation. She was supposed to like him, damnit! Not only like, but lust, desire. That was what the
prophecy said. That was nature. And she practically hated him, if not completely despised his very being.
The whole irony was, he couldn’t really fault her for it. He had tried for nearly four years to get a rise
out of her, to make her miserable, before deciding to ignore her entirely as feelings he wasn’t completely
comfortable with began to surface. And she had slapped him! That slap, the nerve of her! He was Draco
Malfoy, heir to House Malfoy and that girl had the nerve to hit him in public! He had been furious, at
least outwardly. What he hadn’t told his fellow housemates was that although that slap had made him
angry as hell, it had also made him shudder with desire. Her touch, it seemed, had that effect. Even a
touch given in anger. He sighed, gods this was complicated. He just hoped the last member of their little
party showed up soon, he’d as sooner get all these formalities over with now than dragging it out. His mate
was sitting not seven feet in front of him, unclaimed, and still he remained away, not asserting himself
but bowing instead to the idea of civility; that she be at least informed before he began the ancient rite.
He smiled, his mind picturing her in a wholly different setting. Reclined softly on a large bed of black satin,
skin flushed, mouth red and swollen and panting, writhing from his attentions. Gods she would be so hot, so…

A nudge in the ribs interrupted his little fantasy as well as the voice in his ear. The male voice in his ear.
“Perhaps you could keep a lid on it, Malfoy? There are others present, and she isn’t yours yet.”
Zambini’s tenor was a harsh replacement for fantasy Hermione’s breathy whimpers.

He turned a laconic glance towards his long-time friend, replying, “You mean to challenge me?
It’s not my fault that your’s is late; and besides, she is mine, she just doesn’t know it yet.” Smirking,
he turned his attention back to the girl in front of him, who had twisted her torso in a rather beguiling
manner in order to get a better look at the door, which was hesitantly being opened. *Finally* he thought
*this little torture is going to end*. And so entered a Miss Virginia Weasley, red hair and all.

Ginny entered the headmaster’s office, relieved to see Hermion waiting for her. Sitting across from
Hogwart’s resident Head Girl were two of Hogwart’s currently most well-known slytherins, Draco Malfoy
and Blaise Zambini. Professor McGonagall entered directly after her, telling them that the headmaster
would be in shortly, and to take a seat if you please.

A quiet exchange of greetings passed between the two Gryffindor girls as Ginny made herself
comfortable on the couch. They were short and sweet though, as if etheitheir soft feminine voices were too
loud for the overly quiet room. Silence. Ginny glanced over at the young men sitting across from her, noting
that the Malfoy git was by turns studying the window and the door, looking both bored and impatient.
He was handsome, she thought, beautiful even, no doubt about it, but definitely not her type.
He just seemed so…cold. Always in control and calculating, the ultimate slytherin. It intimidated her
as well as nearly making her curl her lips in distaste. Someone like that would have no sense of fun
or play, to her way of thinking. Not that Malfoy would ever be interested in her anyways. He and his
family were obsessed with money and bloodlines, and their families had had a mutual enmity for the
last sixty years or so, and by the looks of things, it would most likely stay that way.

Turning her study to the other occupant of the couch, Ginny noted that Blaise Zambini had nearly caught
up with the ferret as far as looks were concerned. Dark hair fell elegantly about his face and would have
reached to just about his shoulders had it not been pulled back with a dark leather tie. Featureat at
were handsome and aristocratic were nearly waylaid by eyes that had been commented on (and envied)
by nearly every female in school. His eyes were a near-shocking violet color, too purplish in hue to be
termed blue, framed by long dark lashes. Ginny wished she had lashes like that, rather than the dark red
ones (auburn really) that seemed to echo the infamous Weasley red hair.

“See something you like, Red?”
Startled out of her reverie, Ginny looked into the amused eyes of Zambini.
“No.” She answered shortly. She was sure her cheeks were flaming. *Gods*, she pleaded silently,
*Please don’t let him think I was perving on him or something! Please…*

Still smirking, Blaise leaned forward in his seat, intent on teasing her if he could. She looked good
with a blush. “Are you sure? You were staring pretty hard. It’s okay though, I know that you must be
frustrated and all, and now here I am…” Turning an angry and incredulous look towards him, Virgin Wea Weasley’s temper was quickly activated.

“Sod off! Why would I want to stare at someone as…as…and don’t call me Red!” Luckily her angry
tirade was interrupted by the arrival of the headmaster, saving her at what would have been a blot
a
attempt at name calling. The esteemed headmaster was followed by his deputy headmistress and
Gryffindor head of house Minerva McGonagall; as well as the resident potion’s master and slytherin head
Severus Snape.

And So It Begins…

Hermione Granger walked with an impatient glide down the corridor, all the while cursing the “esteemed”
headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, fate, and any other random object that came
into view. Of all the nerve! To think that I would ever tolerated that ferret! And to then insinuate that we
are to be mated! MATED! Not affianced, not married, but mated, like some creature. Which is what he is,
a creature! A slimy, perverted, bastard-like creature with no humility whatsoever! As if I’m going to just
let all the bad things he’s done to Harry, Ron and I just like that, if you please. And Snape. Greasy git.
‘You will be adored and cherished Miss Granger, as well as having attained one of the highest places in
traditional wizarding society. One would think that you would be pleased.’ Calculating bastard! “Traditional society”
indeed. Slimy, perverted, snarky…

Her mind’s tirade was interrupted by a frantic “Hermione” echoing down the corridor, and thankfully, it was a
very feminine echo. Hermione sighed with relief that it was Ginny, and not Malfoy nor some professor. She
needed downtime. It was all just a little too much information to process in such a short period, not to mention
all the emotional baggage that went with the entire ordeal. The youngest Weasley practically sprinted to her
side, obviously believing that there was some sort of safety in numbers. Her face was pale, but judging by the
widening of eyes, Hermione could surmise that she also lacked her usual slight flush.

“Well…” Ginny said.
“Well.” Was the only reply. Hermione’s tone was empty of emotion, which meant that she was thinking,
and plotting, already. Hermione Granger was never one to stand idle and wait for fate to show its hand.
She planned, strategized, and prepared for almost any situation with the same finesse (in Miss Weasley’s
esteemed opinion, of course) of any military general. It was just her way. While Ginny was Gryffindor
through and through, bred from generations of Gryffindors. Plotting just wasn’t her style, as most Gryffs
thrived on impulsiveness and pinache to carry out what they felt needed to be done.

Ginny chewed her lower lip nervously. Sometimes she thought that Hermione had been sorted into the
wrong house. For all her courage and loyalty, she was cunning and intelligent -- a true tactician, and
valued by all of Gryffindor for such. However, had her ancestry been different, Ginny had very little doubt
in her mind that the brunette haired witch would have probably been sorted into Slytherin; Hermione
was kind, but she was also a pragmatist, which rather than being a Gryffindor trait, was well-revered
in Slytherin, and in fact, the house was prized for that quality.

Finally, Hermione spoke. “We need to talk. Privately. NOW.”
“Our rooms then?”
Hermione nodded. “Good a place as any, probably better, as the vipers can’t get into Gryff tower.”
The scarlet-haired witch looked at her friend in askance, “Maybe it won’t be so bad…”
Hermione gave an unladylike snort. “Yeah, and maybe I’m the queen of England.”
Once in the safety of Gryffindor Tower, Hermione paced for a few moments, obviously in deep thought.
“We need to find a way out of this, “ she said. “This is completely insane! To expect us to…and how come
you’re so calm about this?!”

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***********************Well what do you think? This is my first published fanfiction, so any comments
would be truly helpful. Oh, and by the way, here’s the disclaimer:
All things pertaining to the Harry Potter universe belong to a delightful woman of the name of Rowling,
and most definitely NOT ME! So please don’t sue, I have no money even if you do!