Chapter Text
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Hermione stood before the chipped mirror.
Her reflection was a stranger in white lace. The dress she was wearing was made by her soon-to-be mother-in-law. Its traditional cut was exactly what Ron had always described as his vision of the perfect bride. Her wild curls had been tamed and twisted into an elegant updo, not a strand out of place.
Just how Ron liked it.
“You are so beautiful!” Ginny smiled at her, adjusting a wayward curl. “Ron’s going to lose his mind when he sees you.”
Hermione forced her lips to curve upward, but the smile died somewhere before it could reach her eyes. She watched in the mirror as Ginny lifted the delicate veil, securing it with antique pearl pins passed down through the Weasley family.
Then Ginny handed her a bouquet of flowers—garish orange lilies mixed with sunflowers. Gryffindor colors.
Hermione drew in a steadying breath and turned toward the door where Harry waited, resplendent in his dress robes. His green eyes held understanding as he offered his arm.
“Ready?” he asked.
She nodded, though a wave of melancholy washed over her. Her parents should have been here. Her father should have been the one to walk her down the aisle, her mother fussing over her veil. But they were an ocean away, living a life that no longer included her. The memory charm she had cast to protect them had proven irreversible.
The music swelled—strings and soft piano—and the double doors parted. Everyone rose.
The violin hit a wrong note, a brief discordant wheeze before the melody righted itself.
The ceremony hall was awash in sunlight and flowers, golden rays streaming through the tall arched windows. The air felt strangely stale despite the open doors, thick and hard to breathe. She saw the Weasleys in the front row, Molly already crying, Arthur beaming with pride. She saw Luna and Neville, Dean and Seamus, dozens of friends and colleagues and well-wishers all gathered to witness this moment.
Her breath caught as her eyes locked onto the one person she was certain wouldn’t show up. His grey eyes looked at hers with an intensity that made her knees threaten to buckle.
Her hand reflexively moved to the pear-shaped pendant that rested just above her breast. The large diamond rose and fell with her rapid breathing.
Harry squeezed her arm gently, a subtle reminder to keep walking. She tore her gaze away, fixing it firmly on the altar ahead. On Ron. On her future.
This was right. Ron was right. It’s possible to fall in love with someone eventually, isn’t it? People do it all the time. Arranged marriages. Marriages of convenience. Plenty of people grew into love rather than falling into it.
Passing by Malfoy, his presence washed over her like something forbidden. Her heart picked up.
She forced herself to keep walking.
Harry released her arm at the altar, taking his place as best man. Hermione climbed the stone steps on unsteady legs, her train whisking against the floor.
Ron stood waiting, his dress robes new but slightly ill-fitting, his face flushed with nervous excitement. His blue eyes shone with uncomplicated joy.
He reached for her hands. They were familiar. She knew every callus from Quidditch, every scar from their adventures. These hands had held hers through war and peace. They were safe hands. Good hands. This had been a day she’d dreamed about for a long time.
So why couldn’t she meet his eyes?
All she could do was look at his shoulder, at the slightly wilted boutonniere, at the small stain on his dress robes that Molly had tried to spell away.
The Bondkeeper stepped forward, ancient and austere in his silver-threaded robes. As the ordained keeper of matrimonial magic, only he could perform the Eternal Binding. The most sacred of wizarding unions.
“Magic calls to magic,” the binder intones, his voice carrying the weight of centuries. “Today we bind not merely two people, but two magical cores, two destinies, two souls into one eternal whole.”
Hermione felt Ron squeeze her hands. She still couldn’t look at his eyes. The Binders words washed over her like water, and she caught only fragments.
“...in the presence of magic and witness…”
Breathe. Just breathe.
“...from this day until magic itself ceases to exist…”
Her heart was pounding so loudly she was certain everyone could hear it.
‘...bound not only in flesh but in spirit, in power, in the very essence of your beings…”
He pulled out the binding cord of braided moonsilk and phoenix feather that glowed with golden light. He wrapped it around their wrists, creating the sacred pattern of infinity between them.
“This cord represents the unbreakable nature of magical marriage. Once complete, the Eternal Binding cannot be undone by spell or potion, by time or distance. It recognizes the truth of the heart. It seals what is meant to be sealed.”
What is meant to be sealed.
The words echoed in Hermione’s mind.
She knew this was a wizarding wedding, but the sudden realization that they would be bound to each other permanently—magically, irrevocably—made her begin to panic. The cord started tightening, responding to the Binder’s incantation.
“Repeat after me,” the binder said to Ron. “I, Ronald Bilius Weasley, bind my magic to yours.”
“I, Ronald Bilius Weasley, bind my magic to yours,” Ron repeated, his blue eyes shining with emotion as he finally caught her gaze.
“I bind my soul to yours.”
“From this breath to my last.”
The binder turned to Hermione, his weathered eyes settling on hers. “And now you, my dear.”
Her mouth went dry. The cord was warm against her wrist. She could feel the magic waiting for her response. The bodice of her dress felt suddenly too tight, the stays digging into her ribs.
“I, Hermione Jean Granger, bind my magic to yours,” she whispered.
The cord tightened.
“I… bind my soul to yours.”
This is permanent. This is forever. Once the binding is complete, there is no undoing it. No divorce. No annulment. Your magic will be intertwined with his until death.
Was this normal? The feeling that I might be making the biggest mistake of my life.
“From this breath to my…”
Hermione gasped, the words dying in her throat. The golden threads constricted around her wrist. She couldn’t breathe…
The cord tightened again.
She tried to pull away, but as the spell began to bind them, the rope became tighter and tighter. Her magic recoiled, fighting against the binding like a wild thing trapped.
“I can’t—” She whispered, then louder. “I can’t!”
“Hermione?” Ron’s voice was concerned.
The cord was burning now, searing into her skin. She could hear gasps from the crowd and could feel Ron trying to hold onto her, but the magic was rejecting her, rejecting the bond…
Ron’s eyes went wide with confusion and hurt.
The cord snapped.
A shockwave of golden light exploded outward, and Hermione felt herself thrown backwards, the world spinning into a blur of screaming faces and overturned chairs.
She never hit the ground. Strong arms caught her, pulling her against a solid chest. Her head fell back, her vision swimming. She tried to focus on the face above her, but darkness was already creeping in at the edges.
Then everything went black.