Chapter Text
Magic was not just spells and incantations. It existed far beyond cauldrons and tea leaves. Magic was the breeze in the wind and the thread that joined every living thing. Its origin was a mystery, and those who dared to wield it had only just begun to scratch its surface.
Even Hermione Granger, brightest witch of her age, did not know everything there was to know about the arcane arts. Her understanding only extended as far as the witches and wizards who’d come before her. Yet, there was so much more to learn, so much more to explore. She could go deeper, but only if she was brave enough to take that leap.
“You look lovely.”
Hermione jumped at the sound of Ron’s voice. She spun on her heel, nearly dropping her earring in the process. “Ron!” she hissed. “You’re not supposed to be in here! It’s bad luck.”
But Ron was already at her side. He placed his hand on the small of her back and pulled her closer until their lips were touching. His kiss was hot and probing and entirely inappropriate for two people who were about to walk down the aisle together.
Hermione put her hands against his chest and pushed, separating them. Ron looked hurt, but Hermione could not help but notice how his mouth was now smudged with red. She would have to do her makeup all over again.
“What?” he said. “We’ll be married soon enough, and I want you all to myself.”
Hermione shook her head as she secured her earring back. “You’ll have me. Tonight. Until then, you’ll have to share me with the rest of your family. Now, please get out.”
Despite the momentary snag, Hermione managed to fix her lipstick before Ginny appeared at her door, telling her the ceremony was about to start.
“Are you nervous?” Ginny asked.
“A little,” Hermione admitted. But the ceremony would be over before she knew it, and then she could take off this uncomfortable dress.
“Everything is going to change,” Ginny said.
“Yes…” Hermione replied, smoothing her skirts. In truth, nothing would change much. She and Ron were already quite close. This wedding was merely a formality.
“I would be nervous if I were you.”
If Hermione didn’t have to walk down the aisle soon, she would want to have a conversation with her friend about her fears. But, at that moment, she was a little pressed for time.
“Listen, Ginny, let’s talk more later. But I need to find your father.”
Mr. Weasley appeared at her shoulder like he’d been summoned. “There you are!” Hermione said. She expected Arthur’s usual chipper demeanor. Instead, she was met with almost blank-faced solemnity.
“Are you ready?”
“Yes,” Hermione said. Though she wondered why everyone seemed to be so much more serious about this wedding than she was.
She nearly jumped when Arthur rested his large hand at the small of her back. It wasn’t a strictly romantic or sexual gesture, and he probably only meant to be reassuring, but Hermione couldn’t help but feel like there was more to it.
“Let’s go,” he said, steering her toward the door.
The band picked up their instruments and began to play. Hermione’s heart picked up with the music. Like a bad habit, Hermione lifted her nail to her teeth, which she bit down upon. Arthur slapped her hand away.
“No blood shall be shed before it is required,” he said, his voice a monotone.
Hermione looked up at him, very confused. She had never known her future father-in-law to behave in such a way, but perhaps it was the stress of throwing this wedding. Arthur had planned everything down to the last minute, for which Hermione was immensely grateful. She made a note to thank him when things quieted down.
The band played their cue, and Arthur nudged her forward. Normally, a bride’s father would walk her down the aisle, but since Hermione’s parents had both been lost to her memory charms, Arthur had graciously stepped in to take over.
“You look beautiful,” he murmured as they made their slow journey through the rows of chairs. All eyes were on them, and Hermione forced a smile.
“Thank you,” she said through her teeth.
“I have waited for this day for a long time.”
The statement struck Hermione as odd at first. But then Hermione remembered that all parents were excited for their children to get married.
“It’s a shame I will have to share you.”
Hermione was reminded of Ron’s words: I want you all to myself. The context was perhaps a little different, but the sentiment was somewhat the same. These men did not like that Hermione would have to socialize with all the guests at the wedding.
“Such is the plight of all brides,” she answered with an awkward laugh. Hermione was not exactly thrilled by the prospect of pretending to remember distant Weasley relatives either.
They were nearly at the altar when Mr. Weasley whispered a final time, “Not you. You are special.”
She could not put her finger on exactly why his comment had unnerved her, sending a full-body shiver down her spine. Perhaps it was his proximity or his breath in her ear. Or the fact Mr. Weasley had referred to her as “special.”
Yet, was it such an unusual thing to refer to a bride as “special,” given that the wedding was often described as her “special day”? In reality, Hermione was probably overreacting; the comment didn’t need to bother her.
But it had.
Nevertheless, the ceremony continued. The officiant—a friend of Mr. Weasley’s from the Ministry—gave a few opening remarks, platitudes about duty, love, and sacrifice. Hermione was only half paying attention. Mostly, her mind kept snagging on the words Arthur had spoken to her. And, of course, how much her shoes pinched her feet. Merlin, she couldn’t wait to take them off.
“If the bride and groom will now extend their hands…” the officiant began.
Hermione did as she was told, reaching out to hold Ron’s hand. He squeezed hers in return, which Hermione took as reassurance until his touch became bruising. But she couldn’t let go, not when the officiant had begun to wrap a strip of fabric around their joined hands. The fabric was a rich purple and embroidered with gold thread. She remembered it vaguely from every other Weasley sibling’s wedding, but now that she was seeing it up close, Hermione noticed that there was some sort of writing woven into it. At least, she assumed it was writing—she couldn’t recognize the script.
The officiant began to chant, his voice going impossibly deep as he strung his words together in a way that Hermione could not understand. At first, she assumed he was speaking Latin, but she knew a bit of the language, and the sound coming out of his mouth was definitely not that.
Hermione winced as a burning sensation started under the fabric. She tried to pull away, but Ron held her tight. She looked down to see the gold thread glowing, and the burning only increased. Was this how it was for Fleur? Audrey? Angelina? She kicked herself for not having paid closer attention to their ceremonies and instead having read a book she’d hidden under her skirt.
When she thought she could bear it no longer, the officiant stopped chanting. The glowing thread dimmed until it returned to its usual golden sheen, and Ron relaxed his grip. As soon as she was able, Hermione pulled her poor, aching hand away, cradling it against her chest. To her surprise, however, she noticed her skin was covered in angry red marks resembling the unknown script embroidered on the purple fabric.
“You may now kiss the bride,” the officiant said.
Hermione did not know if she was exactly in the mood for kissing, given the ordeal she’d just experienced, but she leaned in anyway, placing a perfunctory kiss on her now-husband’s lips. She was angry with Ron for not sharing this painful ritual with her beforehand. The least he could have done was warn her.
But her thoughts were drowned out by the sound of joy as everyone stood up and cheered for the new couple. Hermione’s anger cooled with the mounting applause, wondering if Ron had merely forgotten to tell her, given the stress of the day. Or maybe he himself hadn’t known. It was possible no one had told him either.
Yet, as her hand continued to throb, she thought about how tightly he had gripped her hand, like he knew she would try to pull away.
Hermione’s attention snapped back to her surroundings when she felt warm lips on her cheek. At first, she assumed it was Ron, but, no, Mr. Weasley had leaned down to give her a paternal peck. Hermione smiled, already having forgotten his strange comments from before.
Another kiss on her cheek.
Hermione looked up to see Bill’s bright blue eyes looking down on her. A blush crept into her cheeks. She’d always had a crush on Ron’s oldest brother but (obviously) never acted on it. Or told anyone. Her flush was inappropriate, given it was her wedding day, yet she told herself there was nothing to it, given that Bill was merely showing brotherly affection.
And then Charlie kissed her. She didn’t know him as well as Bill, but the gesture was equally sweet. His kiss was followed by Percy’s, whose teeth dragged across her lips. Hermione was starting to notice a pattern. Fred and George kissed her at the same time, one on each cheek.
Then she felt a hand around her waist. Ron was staring daggers at his brothers like they had done something against his wishes. But Hermione hadn’t minded; she’d felt welcomed into the family.
Ron took her hand—the one that was still throbbing—and led her down the aisle, whereupon they were showered with rice. Beaming with joy, everything started to hurt a little less.
Plus, Hermione was finally able to take a seat. She kicked off her shoes under the table and breathed a sigh of relief. A plate of food was brought over to her, and she tucked in with gusto. She just needed to get through the reception, and she could finally have a nice rest.
Antiquated notions of a wedding night be damned.
But before Hermione could collapse into her bed, she needed to dance. First was with Ron, who spun her about the dance floor with practiced—ease was not the right word, but neither was unease. Ron’s shoulders were tense, and he stared at his shoes the entire time, but he never stepped on her feet once.
Again, in lieu of her own father, came the father-daughter dance with Mr. Weasley. He possessed more grace than his son and, indeed, seemed more comfortable as they stepped to the lilting melody.
“I couldn’t be more happy that you’re joining the family,” Arthur said.
Hermione nodded politely, firmly aware of the presence of his hand pressing into her lower back.
“You will fit in quite well into our family. Quite well, indeed.”
Hermione looked up to meet his gaze, only to discover that he was staring openly at her breasts. However, she did not have much time to dwell on it before she was passed on to the next person. Hermione danced with Bill, Charlie, Percy, Fred, and George, who all held her close. Their touch was cloying like they were afraid she might wriggle away.
Little did they know, however, that Hermione did not possess the energy. And when she was finally permitted a moment’s rest, her eyelids grew heavy, and she contemplated laying across many chairs to take a nap.
But, as the bride, she was expected to be sociable. So, when Auntie Muriel sidled up beside her, Hermione put on her best smile. Experience told her to expect the worst. Experience had been correct.
“Now that you’re married, I feel comfortable giving you advice. If you and your husband ever quarrel, just put on your laciest negligée and walk past him. Soon, it will be like you haven’t quarreled at all.”
Hermione did not know how to respond to that, so she didn’t. And at that moment, her niece, Victoire, appeared with her mother in hot pursuit.
Auntie Muriel sighed. “Yes, it won’t be long until you’ll have your own gaggle to chase.”
Hermione could have explained that she and Ron did not want children so soon into their marriage, but she knew Auntie Muriel would not understand, so she simply nodded and took a sip of her champagne. Eventually, Ron’s aunt grew tired of her reticence, and she moved on to bother someone else, leaving Hermione alone until the next family member came along to tell her how beautiful the ceremony was and how gorgeous she looked in her dress.
This cycle repeated until the sun had set and the guests had trickled away. At last, it was just Hermione and the rest of the residents of the Burrow. And at last, Hermione could close her eyes.
But, as she said goodnight to her new father- and brothers-in-law, Ginny pulled her aside and wrapped her arms around her shoulders. “I love you. Good luck.”
Hermione was too tired to question her friend’s words. Only in hindsight did Hermione understand why Ginny had offered such a blessing.