Amorem Consentit

To my Adoring Fans:

deathprincess - I think Ron's a little git too. And Hermione really needs Draco.

Larrabee - Thanks for the compliment! I'm a bit of a grammar stickler. And I wanted it to be dramatic and hilarious... MLC doesn't need to start out grim and gruff.

Byrony - Crookshanks is a very smart Kneazle. He knows humans better than anyone, even humans themselves. And Ron needed a justifiably in character departure.

ginzo - Here's the long awaited update. Glad I made you laugh.

jcschaefer - I wanted to start with comedy, so I guess it worked!

Ceruse - This is going to be a very very unique MLC fic! I can't reveal everything, but there will be lots of goodness!

kazfeist - Thank you for your encouraging words...

lala - I have a very nice concept; I hope you will like the new chapter as well.

paigeey07 - I'm glad that you loved it! Here's more for you to read!

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MORE CHARACTER DEATH IS TO BE FOUND IN THIS CHAPTER. JUST A WARNING.

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Hermione spent the next week locked away in the bedroom which used to belong to her and Ron. The sweaty whiff of Ron's shirts kept her tears at bay, but there was something else creeping into her heart.

Had she really wanted to spend her life like a Molly Weasley clone? Catering to her brute husband and a squabble of greasy faced children?

Hermione felt utterly lonely. It wasn't a new feeling, as normally Ron didn't have anything interesting to tell her besides his joke product tests and food.

She wanted someone who'd be her intellectual equal. Wasn't that a lot to ask? Someone who knew more topics than Quidditch, Dungbombs, and joke candy?

She wanted more from life than being a mother. She wanted to be a mother. But not like Mrs. Weasley. She wanted more. She couldn’t live the way the Weasleys did. It would make her crazy. To be trapped in a house barefoot and pregnant with more children than she and Ron could afford. She definitely wanted at least two children; being an only child had made her feel lonely. But having lived with the Weasleys for so long had convinced her that she did not want a tiny army. Two to four children would be just fine though as long as she and the father of the children had enough money to afford to buy everything that the children would need while it was new. And she wanted a career.

She wanted a husband who would respect her desire.

And passion. A man who would sweep her from her feet and carry her off on a unicorn into the sunset to his castle. She would be his princess, and he would allow her everything. It was a silly faerie-tale dream. No princes in the Wizarding world. She wanted a sex god, who'd make her tingle in excitement. With Ron, sex had been a chore. Three minutes of harsh gropes, piggish grunts, a silently cast lubrication spell...A man who would be able to give her a first non-self induced orgasm. She wanted wonderful soft skin that was clear of pockmarks and zits.

She knew it was a little silly. But she was a romantic, and Ron. Well, he had been Ron. And that was fine for a friend. He’d been a great friend. Helped Harry to defeat the basilisk, destroyed horcruxes, won the chess game of the century. Sure, he had been temperamental and prone to grudge holding. But he was loyal in the end.

Ron had been the perfect friend. But somehow, it just wasn't enough to love him as a... a love interest, she concluded. There was no burning passion between them. Just sloppy, wet kissing, rough groping and uneventful sex. Her heart didn’t flutter in anticipation when they went to bed.

She couldn't live her life that way. She needed to be swept off her feet and penned to a bed by a man that was desperate for her and only her who would make every inch of her body sting where he applied his lips. To be taken in such powerful arms and know that the male who was with her was in charge of everything. Succumb to a masculine strength, losing her mind in hot passionate kisses. How would a kiss taste like if it wasn't given by an un-brushed mouth?

Often she entertained fantasies of gorgeous, honed and toned hunks with striking features. Defined abs, strong arms...also generously well endowed, unlike Ron's smallish sex. She often wondered how it would be to be bedded by a man like that, how a hard toned body would feel on top of her. She only knew Ron's slightly pudgy shape, as he had begun to gain weight steadily after starting to work at his brothers' joke shop and eating too many joke sweets in testing.

Hermione huffed, disgusted. She was so dirty. How could she think of this when all that mattered now was that Ron was dead? Dead, due to his own gluttony, but still...

Romances always described kisses tasting of chocolate and strawberries. Hermione however, only has fried chicken and garlic bread kisses in her life.

What would it be like to touch smooth male skin rather than what could easily have been a shaggy sheepdog?

Or what does a clean male smell like? Ron's hygiene had become abysmal. He didn't take showers more often then once a week, he wore clothes till there were fat stains all over... He believed that a real man didn’t need to groom. That cleanliness undermined masculinity. For a good while now Hermione had had odd dreams. The dreams were delicious. She dreamt of a toned man gently caressing her body. It was just light touches, but these dreams always made her wake up hot and bothered. One thing that bothered her the most was why she never saw the man's face.

But she could always hear his voice, so soft and deep and gentle. She could remember the feel of his arms. His taste, it was like tiramisu, her favorite dessert sweet, but with just the right amount of tartness here and there.

However, she was definitely sure that Ron wasn't her dream man. Ron's body was soft and smelly, his belly growing so steadily like a witch's when pregnant.

Ron's death was like a release from slavery for her.

Harsh, but true. She had only been with Ron because it had been the right thing to do and everyone expected them to be happy ever after.

She shuddered when she remembered what Mrs. Weasley had said to her earlier that day.

‘I still have three other unwed sons, dear.’

She didn’t want to be locked here forever. The Burrow was nice, but not the life she aspired to.

Trying to be productive, Hermione decided to go downstairs and pick up her mail and newspaper.

She would have hanged herself if she had been doomed to Molly Weasley's life.

There next to the window she found a nervous owl perched. The animal wasn't one belonging to the Weasleys, and Hermione's curiosity grew when the bird extended its leg to offer her a letter.

Hermione reached out and unfastened the letter, and smiled sadly at the bird offering it a piece of the greasy bacon that had been part of the morning's meal.

The bird cooed happily as Hermione opened the letter. There were two pieces of parchment-one bearing a Ministry seal, the other a family crest.

Hermione grabbed her chair when she recognized the seal.

It was the Malfoy coat of arms

Dear Miss Granger, the Ministry sealed parchment read, we are happy to inform you that we have found you your perfect match.

The two winged serpents intertwined to form the letter ‘M’ was a dead giveaway.

The Department for Family Life and Procreation would like to congratulate you for being the first one to be matched under the new Marriage Law.

Through extensive magical means, it has been determined that the best match magically, emotionally, physically and intellectually for you is Mr. Draco Malfoy, only heir to Mr. Lucius Malfoy.

Draco Malfoy is Co-Head Auror and a valued member of our society.

Recently he has been awarded Order of Merlin, 3rd Class for his effective work in crime stopping. He is an absolutely unimpeachable member of our society regardless of his dark past which was not his fault. Our tests have shown that Draco IQ is 135; he is extremely gifted in spell casting and development of potions for the Auror Department.

In his free time Draco enjoys flying, reading, and training Quiddich for a pre-School group of young wizards and witches.

A copy of the full text of the Marriage law can be found on the back of this parchment.

Hermione fell back.

Draco.

Draco Malfoy.

The boy who'd insisted that she was a 'Mudblood' all her schooling years, who laughed when he made her look like a beaver by enlarging her front teeth. And now he was described as some kind of angel!

Well, she knew better.

He was a hellion! A demon. The spawn of the devil himself.

The print on the back of the ministry's parchment was tiny, but she tried to read it nevertheless.

No matter how many times she re-read all of it, it was still a hellish predicament.

She had to be pregnant with the devil's progeny within a year!

Pregnancy within a year, consummation of the marriage as often as demanded by the husband, but no less than 4 times a month. Obligatory living in the same household as her husband, starting from the day he deems it necessary which may or may not be before the wedding.

A laughing, muscular man with blond hair hanging to his shoulders stood holding a little girl who smiled and waved at the camera as she kept one arm around Draco's neck. Every so often, Draco would lean forward and snuggle her causing the girl to squeal in delight before he would tickle her sides.

I bet he doesn’t like animals, Hermione thought as she looked at the ideal picture. After all he had tortured Buckbeak and been happy at the hippogriff's apparent demise.

She felt like puking. He was not an angel.

He was a prat. A little spoiled git!

He was playing them all for the fools they were. And they bought it. Or his father paid for it. Malfoys! Sodding GITS!

How did the Ministry dare to match her with a Malfoy?

Malfoy was worse than Crabbe and Goyle in her opinion.

They would probably cruciate her the moment she stepped into the house.

Yes, the law stated an anti-abuse clause, but bruises were easy to cover. And the cruciatus just made it feel like she had bones snapping.

They were vile, vile people.

And what was to stop them from calling her names and being utter and complete bastards?

Most likely they'd make her sleep in the dungeon cells or somewhere equally dreadful, or lock her in the tallest tower at the very least.

Probably their good looks were made by numerous glamour charms. She suspected they'd look like hags under it all, or maybe like their feared Lord Voldie-Snort. Hermione giggled at her nickname for the former "Dark Lord."

They ought to be in Azkaban and would be if they weren't so wealthy.

Compared to a life at the Malfoys, the past prospect of becoming a Molly Weasley clone didn’t seem as dreadful. At least the Weasleys wouldn't have let Ron abuse her.

Stinky and gluttonous as he had been, but at least he was harmless.

But Draco Malfoy just looked too perfect on the surface. Co-Head Auror! Buckbeak's ass! Most likely he bought the position, just like had bought the Slytherin Quidditch team.

Anybody with half a brain would know better than to buy the quality blast-ended skrewt manure that he pedaled.

She stared at the picture again. If she hadn't known who the man was, she might've thought him handsome.

Hell, he was handsome. She could suck it up and admit it.

Hermione screamed then just to let all of her anger out.

Why was the evil one always the handsome one? How was it fair that his hair looked perfect even in windy weather? Ron's hair was a greasy mat, and she was used to that.

Before she knew it, tiny bits of picture were fluttering in the light breeze from the open door.

Hermione ducked down as she heard Mrs. Weasley's raucous sobs. When she looked outside, it looked as if the yard had caught fire.

“Hermione, dear, let's get you sorted,” a puffy faced Molly said, hiding away sobs.

“Sorted? For what?” Hermione asked confusedly, and she stuffed the parchment written by the Malfoys into her pocket.

She followed Molly to the master bedroom, not asking anything further. No silencing charm had been able to cut off Molly's constant wailing. There on the bed, a black dress was laid out. Looking closer at it, Hermione gasped. It was the dress supposed to be her wedding dress. Not in ivory anymore, but in a murky shade of black. Molly's transfiguration had always been bad.

And it looked as if the lace had been roughly cut off, and made to be knee length and not the floor sweeping A-line Hermione had chosen.

"What did you do?" Hermione asked. She had had to go cheap enough on the dress as it was. It had been cotton with cheap lace.

It had cost just thirty pounds, found in a Muggle charity shop.

The wedding budget was low, and most of the moneys were going into foods. Ron's favourite food was on the menu.

Mainly fried chicken....and deep fried chips, together with Mayo slathered egg salad.

Hermione was only allowed to choose the wedding cake, but even that choice was corrupted when the Weasleys insisted on icing the cake with loads of whipped cream instead of a simple sugar icing. And when she looked at the top, she could see that her part of the topper had been removed and the whipped cream was colored black

It looked just as bad as her dress.

Outside, the white marquee was also black; all table settings, flowers and even plates in one monotone black.

What happened to the lilies she wanted? Why were there roses there instead? She loved the white and gold Japanese lilies. They had been her favourites since she was a tot! Why were the napkins cheap paper instead of the simple cloth? Why was it tuna instead of salmon? Chicken instead of dove?

The marquee was full with people she didn't recognise. Quidditch Anthems were blaring from hidden speakers.

The sea of redheads were happily tucking into their over-laden plates of greasy food.

Crookshanks eyed the crowd of similar read headed humans suspiciously. Hadn't they learned that this kind of food had to be eaten slowly?

He noticed the bespectacled wizard he had come to like during his mistress' school years. He always wondered why his mistress didn't choose the dark-haired man.

A sandy blonde haired wizard stood to the side of Harry Potter before he leaned over and tilted the darker haired male's face up for a light brush across the lips.

When Neville left to get a glass of drink, Ginny Weasley approached him.

“Harry, my dear, did you miss me?” Ginny asked, pushing out her magically enhanced chest.

"Ginny, I told you that Neville and I are together now. I've been busy," Harry answered, scanning the crowd to find Hermione before taking the glass of cheap sparkling wine Neville offered him.

“But I thought it was just a quirk,” Ginny laughed and flicked her hair.

Harry downed half the glass before answering.

"No, Neville and I adopted a boy and girl who were orphaned in the war."

Suddenly Harry felt a bout of dizziness and was thankful that Neville helped him to stand still. Maybe it was the cheap bubbly.

“I’m sure you'll come to your senses, Harry. I know who you've always loved,” Ginny said with a wry smile.

"I have to go and find something to make sure Ron has when he is buried."

He will be mine, Ginny thought as she ascended the stairs to the attic. The key to the Potter vault would soon be hers. No more fried chicken and sleeping on a rickety bed. She'd live a life of luxury. Her little love-intensifying spell would make Harry beg her to marry her.

The Potter and the Black fortunes were both hers. After all, Harry inherited half the Black fortune as well. The other half was in possession of the Malfoy family.

As she hadn’t managed to ensnare Draco Malfoy in her web, she'd do with Harry. The little sod had been to smart to fall for her. But he was a Slytherin. Life was about making tough choices, she mused.

Draco was richer than Harry, after all, but Harry's money would still meet her needs...barely. Besides Malfoys and Weasleys didn't mix, but Weasleys and Potters could be beautiful.

She might pop a brat for him too, in good time. Just to have a token heir. Of course, first she needed to dispose of his adopted kids. But that would be a piece of cake. And displacing Neville, that loser, would be even easier.

And then...jewels, luxury...

She smiled when she spotted the brown fuzzy teddy-bear Ron had been so fond of while a baby. But ever since George had transfigured it into a spider, Ron hadn't touched the toy, even when it had been scourgified and made non-transfigurable. She knew that he would want it in his early stages of the afterlife, so it needed to be buried with him.

As she stooped to pick up the teddy-bear, she felt something stir within it and the ghoul leapt out with a horrible cackle. She screamed falling back and crashing through the thin wall. The last thing she heard before she landed in the thorn bush was the Chudley Cannon's Theme Song.

Having forgotten her wand, there was nothing there to help her.

Her neck snapped when she hit the ground head first.

Hermione slipped away from the crowd. It was all too much to have Molly throwing her body on Hermione's slight frame every few minutes. She frowned when she saw a white and gold glimmer under the thorn bush.

Bending down, she reached in and drew out the glimmer. It was the topper of the wedding cake. She felt a sour taste in her mouth when she saw blood on her hand.

Something was not right here. She parted the bush and saw a horrendous sight. The corpse of Ginny Weasley. There was blood everywhere, Hermione couldn't look, so she just took a mad dash into the Burrow and up to the room she and Ron had shared. She would not suffer another Weasley funeral.

She flung open the door, not caring when it slammed into the wall.

Frantically she packed her small suitcase with the first belongings she could grab.

She ripped open the drawers and tore her clothing out.

Crookshanks came sidling into the room and sat down calmly.

He meowed. What was mistress doing? Was she finally ready to leave this dump? It was about bloody time.

He strode to her and brushed himself against her ankles. The kneazle's purr comforted her and put her mind at ease.

Suddenly, she remembered that she hadn't read the letter written by the Malfoys.

"Accio Malfoy Letter,” and with a flick of her wrist, she summoned the crumpled parchment.

Dear Miss Granger,

I was quite pleased to discover that you and Draco were matched under the terms of the Marriage Law. You are the most accomplished witch of this generation, and will surely bring a lot of good to our family. We will be expecting you no later than 5:30 p.m. this evening for supper. The dress will be formal.

This letter is a portkey. It will bring you right to the entrance hall of the Manor. Simply say “Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire.”

Also, from this day on, you shall reside at our estate. Your belongings shall be collected by our well-trained elves.

Sincerely Yours,
Lord Malfoy

Hermione sighed. She hadn't thought that she would ever feel gratitude for a Malfoy or their prissy bossiness. She looked at the clock. It was 5:20 already.

Crookshanks yowled loudly and dug his claws into her the cloth of her horribly mangled dress.

She tried to remove him, but he stayed still and yowled again.

Mistress would go nowhere without him. He would protect her. Make sure these new humans were right for her. And if not, make them suffer.

He hoped the new humans had a nice house. This one stunk. And these people! They wanted him to live outside. He was a cat; not a chicken, not a gnome, not a snake, nor dog. A cat. Cats were proper indoor animals.

Hermione squeezed the letter after gathering Crookshanks close in her arm, "Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire."

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Well, I hope this morsel satisfies your cravings, though I also hope that it will increase your appetites. Do send a review.

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