"Hermione!" Fleur called drunkenly from upstairs. Hermione abandoned her search for her other lavender stiletto (the beaded bag was her own Room of Hidden Things at this point, so full of unorganised crap), and went upstairs to dutifully do whatever the bride-to-be wanted.
She opened the door and something clingy and wet hit her right in the chest.
"Protego!" she screamed, lunging for her wand, but Fleur and the other women in the room merely burst into peels of laughter.
"Wh-what –" Hermione said, looking around. Ginny caught her eye and shook her head, looking irritated.
"Veela tradition," she said, and Hermione lowered her wand – she did not understand, but did not want to be rude.
"Yes, tradition, Hermione!" Fleur yelled, spilling her champagne over Mrs Weasley, who was still in fits of giggles and did not seem to mind or even notice. "For a veela to be the most beautiful woman at her own wedding – so gauche, non?"
Hermione was quite lost. Every day of Fleur's life she was the most beautiful woman in any given vicinity. Wasn't the bride meant to be the most beautiful person at the wedding?
"It is no commitment to me, if Bill cannot see past the veela," Fleur said, pointing a lecturing finger around the room. "So he will pass by all these beautiful women, see, and in front of everyone, marry only me."
Hermione supposed it sort of made sense. "Ah – ok…" she said, still not sure what that had to do with some unpleasant goo spell being thrown at her. Ginny rolled her eyes and Hermione suddenly noticed her dramatic lashes, and the dewy glow of her skin –
"Oh no," she whispered.
"I told them you would hate it," Ginny said, inspecting the black varnish on her nails.
"Hermione would never be so rude," Fleur said loftily. "And look how stunning she looks with a splash of veela, non? Poor Ronald will be beside himself –"
Everyone except Ginny and Hermione cracked up again; Mrs Weasley was actually crying with mirth.
"Come on," Ginny said, pushing herself off the wall she was leaned against at the sight of Hermione's upset expression and single shoe. "Let's find your other shoe."
"Ginny –" Embarrassingly, she could feel her throat blocking up a bit. The whole experience reminded her unpleasantly of primary school and being picked on by a gaggle of girls. And the last thing she needed was any more of Ron's attention. Besides, why did Fleur surprise her like that, anyway? God, it was a war, you expected a surprise spell to mean your death, not some stupid prank.
"I know," Ginny said sympathetically. "But she didn't mean any harm. Just think of Bill." Hermione could actually see Ginny's jaw set. "Don't want to ruin Bill's big day," she forced out through gritted teeth.
It was so strange that Bill and Ginny were so close, and yet Fleur set Ginny off like no one else. She found her other shoe underneath Ginny's bed, and stared into the mirror.
"Do I even finish my makeup?" Hermione asked, watching Fleur's veela spell bounce through her curls, and draw the eye even more to the pretty pearl ear cuffs Draco had given her. "This is so obnoxious…"
"Maybe a muted lipstick would help?" Ginny half-heartedly suggested. "Or, I dunno, lean into making a whole bunch of men feel miserable."
That seemed to be Ginny's approach, Hermione thought, as she watched Ginny add a bright red lip to her clashing makeup. Perhaps the smoky eyeshadow, dramatic mascara and black nail polish was a mourning tribute to Bill finally marrying Phlegm? It did not go at all with the gold bridesmaid dress or Ginny's hair.
"No," Hermione said. "I think I'll just stop." She picked up her beaded bag and cast an eye around Ginny's room for anything important; but it had all been packed away.
"Ok. Time for you and me to find a smoke and a drink before this thing kicks off, then," Ginny said, sighing. "Bill wouldn't even let me join in his pre-drinks."
Hermione patted Ginny on the back. The lame, gendered traditions were obviously getting to them both. "It'll be ok," she said bracingly, aiming her wand in her bag to find her cigarettes, handing them to Ginny. "Here, I'll join you in the herb garden in a minute." She walked up to Ron's room and grabbed Harry's rucksack, double checking he had put the snitch and cloak inside it before packing it in her beaded bag. She couldn't see the Deluminator …she'd have to ask Ron if he had it on him.
"You there – ugh, another one, is it?" an old witch holding a tiara said rudely on the stairs. "Where is Molly and this cousin or whatever of yours?"
Hermione blinked. "Uh – Mrs Weasley and Fleur are in this room," she said, showing the elderly woman to Fred and George's old door and knocking on it.
"Come in!" Fleur's voice called out, but the witch had already strongarmed Hermione out of the way and opened the door.
"Where's the bride?" she stated coldly. Hermione could feel the happy mood of the room start to ebb.
"Ah, mother," Mrs Weasley said, all prior drunkenness falling away from her. "I see you've met Hermione."
The witch spun around to size Hermione up again. "You're the muggle-born? What's with the veela get-up?"
"Oh, Great-Aunt Muriel," Fleur started, "it is a tradition in my –"
"Well, ignoring whatever that nonsense is, then," the Great-Aunt Muriel said, staring at Hermione intently while Fleur and her family looked rather offended behind her. "Slumpy shoulders. Ugh, and poor ankles – you'll break a leg on these rickety stairs in such muggle shoes -"
"Thank you, Mother," Mrs Weasley said, cutting in and looking at Hermione with apologetic eyes. Sensing the opportunity to get away, Hermione backed out of the room quickly as Muriel started lecturing Fleur on exactly how her heirloom tiara was supposed to be worn. When she got to the kitchen, however, she could hear Ginny talking outside, energetic and happy.
"- shocking, Gin. Mum was alright with that?"
"I told her it was to honour your work in Egypt," Ginny said, voice sparkling with laughter, and Bill's laugh joined in, floating in the open window.
There was no way Hermione was going to interrupt if Ginny actually got her pre-wedding whiskey wish with her favourite brother. She walked out the front door and headed to the wedding tent instead.
Lots of guests were arriving now. There was a huddle of wait staff under the big tree in the Weasley's yard, and whatever they were smoking was giving off a very interesting blue haze. She sidled up to them, having lost her cigarettes to Ginny.
"What are we smoking?" she asked, greeting them with a smile. The veela magic was at least good for something – all five of the men were extremely agreeable to sharing their illicit substances.
"Skullcap, my love," one said, holding out his pipe to her.
"Amongst other things," another said, and they all laughed while Hermione inhaled, coughing – it was some sort of magical upper and downer mix, she could tell, as the calmness and excitement hit her bloodstream instantly. "So you're related to the bride, sweetheart?"
Hermione blew the shaded smoke out her nose, shaking her head. "No, she's just aiming veela spells at every woman she sees. Plenty of temporarily-beautiful women tonight," she said drily.
"Fuck yes, I told you this'd be good Richard," one of them said.
"Any insight on who's single?" another asked her. Hermione grinned and turned around to view the guests.
"Well, the ginger bridesmaid is," she said, smirking. "And, hmm, let me see…"
Her grin faded as she saw two people in sunflower yellow approach the tent, their pale hair blowing in the summer breeze. Luna and her father.
An arm was suddenly around her waist, pulling her in. "I don't see any boyfriend here," the man with his arm around her leered.
The effect was instantaneous; an immense pressure in her head and chest that threatened to pull her soul beyond her skin. Hermione pulled his hand off her, digging her nails in and bending his fingers back painfully.
"Don't," she snarled; the man yelped and the rest of the wizards stepped back. Any casual congeniality was dead after that. She shoved the pipe back at the wizard she took it from and stalked off.
Hermione had suspected this outcome, after she snuggled up next to Ginny and felt the same, comforting sensation of hugging a friend as ever. If she'd stopped to think about it, nothing had registered when she pulled on Harry's hand in front of the now possibly-dead Scrimgeour, as she tried to separate the two. But with the too-forward waiter, she now had uncomfortable proof of exactly how Draco's fucked up Vow was crawling through her body. It left her with some unwanted conclusions she'd been happily avoiding about Ron.
She walked into the tent, feeling rather miserable now she had been taken away from a magical drug blend and brought right back to earth. Not knowing what else to do, she wandered over to Ron and Harry, who was disguised as another Weasley.
"Wow," Ron said, blinking at her. Hermione sighed.
"Fleur's hit a bunch of us with some veela magic," she said tersely. "Some wedding tradition or something in her family."
"Oh, really?" Harry asked, squinting. Of course he hadn't noticed – it was Slughorn's Christmas party all over again.
"Yeah, your Great-Aunt Muriel thought I was a relation on the bride's side," she told Ron. "But she tried very hard to see through the magic to insult my posture and shoes."
"Classic Muriel," Ron groaned. "Don't take it personally, she's rude to everyone."
"Oh, Muriel?" George said, showing up next to her. "Yeah, she just told me my ears are lopsided."
They all laughed at the absurdity and rudeness of Muriel's insult. Suddenly, Ron's expression grew dark, gaze fixed on someone behind her. She turned her head to see who it was.
"You look wonderful," Viktor said politely.
"Viktor!" she shrieked unhelpfully, dropping her bag. It landed so loudly that Harry gave her a furtive look as she bent down to snatch it back up. This was not good; Harry had been present for Draco's Valentine's impersonation, and someone had probably told Ron about it. She had to get Viktor away from them. "Uh – I didn't – it's lovely to see – how are you?" she babbled.
"How come you're here?" Ron asked rudely. Viktor raised his eyebrows in slight surprise.
"Fleur invited me?" he said. Of course it was Fleur.
"Shall we go find seats?" she asked Viktor, leading him away from Harry and Ron as quickly as she could in her heels.
"I didn't realise you were coming!" she said, looking around for veela relatives who might be interested in taking a famous quidditch player off her hands. "I should have checked the guest list."
Viktor smiled. "It's nice to see you, Hermione. It's been too long."
Not as long as you might think, she thought, keen to keep Viktor away from the topic of how little they had talked in recent years. "I know!" she exclaimed politely, spying some pretty women with long, chestnut brown hair and wondering if they would suffice. "Are you still playing professionally?"
He nodded. "But you never liked to discuss quidditch," he said, smiling slightly. "Are you still studying?"
"Um," she said intelligently. "I'm deciding whether to do my last year at Hogwarts," she said carefully. "I've been getting into languages and curse breaking – might need to go overseas for further study."
"You would be good at curse breaking," Viktor said, entirely incorrectly.
"I don't know about that," she said under her breath, thinking of evil, screaming sapphires as she sat behind the pretty girls. "You picked the right wedding to attend stag, Viktor. So many beautiful veela relations of Fleur's! Ladies –" She tapped the girls in front of her on the shoulder; they turned around to look at her and Viktor. Hermione smiled widely. "My friend Viktor Krum only knows myself and the bride today! I wonder if you might sit with us at the reception?"
One of the girls' eyes narrowed in recognition. "Krum? The Seeker for Bulgaria, right? I have seen you play, I think." The other girl's face lit up with opportunity now, too; Viktor leaned in to reply politely, and Hermione hoped that would do it. She looked over to try and find Ron and Harry; Ron was looking elsewhere, talking with Fred, but she caught Harry's eye, and gave him a quick grimace that she hoped would indicate she would come find him later.
A hush fell over the crowd as the wedding procession started; Fred wolf-whistled as Bill and Charlie entered, standing near the front of the marquee. Fleur entered with her father, and Hermione thought she now better understood the Delacours' wedding tradition. Her dress was simple, but the veela glow was stronger than ever, and it somehow made everyone around her look more beautiful instead of uglier by comparison. The magic was strongest when she reached Bill; she couldn't help but gasp as the scarring Fenrir had unleashed on Bill seemed to fade, and Bill's true, handsome features were visible to everyone again.
Everything about the ceremony was beautiful, but the whole effect made Hermione feel somewhat cold. All the talk of lifelong bonds, and Fleur's beautiful, pure magic that supported her loved ones, made Hermione reflect on the Vow she had shakily agreed to in the Room of Requirement, and the ugly means to which it was being turned to now. She hadn't felt quite so jealous since Valentine's Day, when her thoughts had circled Ron and Lavender in a loathing, covetous way.
She pulled off her bangle to surreptitiously check if Draco had sent anything since last night.
It's begun. If you haven't already, leave now.
But Draco overestimated himself, she thought savagely. She was not under his Imperius anymore, and his order related to the one part of her soul unrestrained by his Vow – the mission with Harry. She had already decided she would not leave until the wedding ended. It would be too suspicious.
The ceremony concluded, and in an inspired bit of magic, the ceremony setup transformed into the reception within a few moments. The veela relatives closed in on poor Viktor, and she politely walked with them towards a table before doubling back to find Ron and Harry.
She found them, after a few minutes – sitting with Luna. Hermione tried to get a grip and walked over to say hello.
"Hello, Luna," she said. Luna looked at her, smiling, an enormous crown of sunflowers across her head.
"Hi Hermione," she said. "Did you like the ceremony?"
"It was beautiful, wasn't it?" she agreed. "I like your sunflower crown."
"It's enchanted," Luna said, looking at it in the corner of her vision, a small secret in her eyes. "Want to see? It'll work if you touch it."
Hermione's curiosity was piqued. But as she leaned across the table to reach for it, a flash made her stop and blink. The wedding photographer had just snapped them.
"What are you doing?" Ron demanded.
"Getting photos of the party," the wizard with the camera replied, sounding bored and immediately moving onto the next table.
Hermione turned back to Luna and her flowers; finally touching one of the outer petals, the flowerheads all spun, dropping yellow petals which drifted across Luna's face and hair.
It was so simple, but the effect was really pretty. "I like it," Hermione said decisively.
The band began to play, and Bill and Fleur starting dancing; they all clapped politely along with all the other guests.
"I like this song," Luna said, and she stood up and wandered over to the dance floor, closing her eyes and swaying to the music.
There was a tap on her shoulder; she turned around and saw Viktor, looking uncharacteristically angry. "Hermione? Can I talk to you?"
"Uh – sure," she said, standing up and following him to a corner of the reception. Was he that mad she had left him to the French girls?
Viktor jerked his head in the direction of a blond man in yellow robes – clearly Luna's father. "Who is that?" he asked.
Hermione was quite confused, but relieved Viktor did not at least seem mad at her. "Uh – that's the father of a friend of ours. Mr Lovegood. Why?"
Viktor grimaced, looking at Mr Lovegood very unhappily. "Because if he wasn't a guest of Fleur's, I would duel him right now, for wearing that filthy sign on his chest."
She looked over – Mr Lovegood had some sort of emblem on a gold chain, a circle inside a triangle.
"I don't know it. What does it mean?" she asked.
Viktor's eyes narrowed for a moment, but it passed. "I forget you are less familiar with him in Britain. That is Grindelwald's sign."
The Dark warlock that Dumbledore had defeated? "I didn't know he had a sign," she replied.
Viktor nodded. "He carved it into the walls at Durmstrang. It is only used by weak idiots who admire a hateful murderer."
Hermione looked back at Mr Lovegood. Luna had joined him, now; they were doing some strange dance where their pinky fingers intermittently touched the sides of each others' heads.
"I understand," she started sympathetically. "Um, I think – the Lovegoods are – well, um, idiot is too strong – they are not evil. They're good people but, um, quite odd. They believe in, er, unusual things. Wrong things," she said baldly.
"It certainly is wrong, to bring the sign of Grindelwald to a wedding," Viktor agreed darkly, a vein thudding visibly in his neck.
"Oh – no, I meant – he probably thinks it means something different," she tried to explain. "They, uh, misunderstand things quite often."
Viktor looked at her, unconvinced. "How could someone misunderstand that sign? It means hatred, fear and death," he said.
"You'd be surprised what the Lovegoods misunderstand," she replied. "I really doubt they mean anything by it. Here, we can – Luna?" she called out. Luna looked up and walked over to the pair of them.
"Luna, this is Viktor Krum," she said, introducing them.
"Hello," Luna said politely. Viktor managed a nod.
"What is the symbol your father is wearing around her neck?" Hermione asked her. Luna turned to look at her father.
"Oh – that is the symbol of the Deathly Hallows," she said. Hermione looked at Viktor and rolled her eyes.
"Oh, yes," Hermione said politely, pretending she knew what Luna was talking about.
"It is not," Viktor said stubbornly. "Have you not heard of Grindelwald?"
Luna frowned at him. "Grindelwald?" she asked.
Her wide-eyed confusion seemed to convince him. "Shall we go find a drink?" she asked Viktor. "See you, Luna."
She steered Viktor away from her. "You see what I mean," Hermione said to him quietly.
"I suppose," Viktor said. "What do you want to drink?" he asked, as they reached a waiter, who was chatting up –
"Ginny!" she exclaimed; really, it had been so unhelpful that Viktor had attended the wedding. She didn't know if Ginny thought her secret boyfriend was Viktor, but at this rate it seemed unlikely she would escape the wedding without some part of her lying being revealed.
"This is your friend, Hermione?" Viktor said, eying up Ginny the way any straight male was wont to do around her beautiful friend. Well, that would give it away immediately.
"Viktor, I don't know if you've met Ginny," Hermione said politely. Viktor dramatically took Ginny's hand and kissed it. Ginny looked from Viktor to Hermione, eyes all narrowed and shrewd.
"How lovely to meet you, Viktor," she said. "Gosh, how long has it been since you and Hermione caught up?"
Dammit. "Far too long," Viktor agreed.
"Ginny is also a talented quidditch player, Viktor," Hermione offered. If Ginny had already figured out it wasn't Viktor on the end of her bangle, she could at least keep him away from Harry and Ron for the remainder of the reception. Ginny waved her hands wildly in disagreement.
"Oh, no, I just play on the school team –" she protested.
"Harry selected her for our house team. She's the vice-captain – you know how well Harry flies. Ginny is just as good," Hermione advocated directly. Viktor's eyes just lit up the more she said.
"You should be signing to a British quidditch league, then," Viktor said. "You know, I have a friend, Gillian, she plays in your famous –"
"Gillian Kol?" Ginny asked, and Hermione could see her sports ambitions take flame. "Of the Holyhead Harpies?"
"Of course you know her," Viktor said, smiling brilliantly. "I was going to visit with her tomorrow, actually – but perhaps you would like to join us?"
"That would –"
"Can I have a word, Hermione?" That prickly sensation on her shoulder and ice-cold voice in her ear could only mean that Ron had found them.
Hermione smiled at Viktor and Ginny, the latter suddenly looking very annoyed. "I'll be back in a minute," she lied, walking away with Ron. "What is it?" she asked, bracing for the shouting match she could feel was in the offing.
"What the hell are you playing at?" he hissed. "Why is Vicky chatting up my sister?"
"They're just talking quidditch, Ron," she replied sweepingly, heading to a table with glasses of firewhisky – she desperately wanted alcohol. "Ginny wants to play professionally after school, Viktor's going to introduce her to –"
"Oh yeah, looks like there's a lot of introducing going on," Ron said. "Are you that naïve? Or are you ok with him messing you both around?"
She downed her glass in one, willing the whiskey to make her more amenable than quicker to anger. "What are you talking about," she said blearily, scanning the crowd for Harry's disguise.
"I know you were talking to him when I was going out with Lavender," Ron said viciously. "Which was pathetic, by the way –"
"Oh my god, Ron," Hermione said loudly, walking away from him, but he was much taller than her and kept up with her stilted pace in high heels easily. Where was Harry? He could normally stop Ron behaving like this…
"-an idiot, Hermione, he's never liked you, he's just used you for whatever he wanted, and you're just too stupid to see it."
"I had no idea you knew so much about me and Viktor. That is so interesting since I have never talked to you about him," she commented, angry and sarcastic. "Where did you leave Harry?" They really shouldn't lose each other in this crowd, especially when Harry did not look like himself.
"Why, so you can hide behind him? I'm talking to you, you evasive, cowardly –"
"Evasive?" she repeated, rankled; and she shouldn't have, it just revealed which of Ron's insults had hit, and he seized on it.
"Yes, evasive, with your stupid secret letters with Krum, and wandering off with Harry, cutting me out –"
"What the fuck are you talking about?" she snapped back. "I don't need to deal with this –"
She turned to walk away, but he grabbed her by the shoulders and held her in place, not letting her shake him off. Her vision blurred as Draco's fucking Vow kicked in – god, it was the most unhelpful magic.
"Let go of me!" she said, and it came out as a shriek; suddenly, Fred and George were standing between the two of them.
"Alright, Ronnie? Hermione?" George asked.
"Fuck off," Ron said. "We're talking –"
"You're making a scene," Fred said. "At your big brother's wedding."
Hermione took the chance to put some distance between her and Ron; she stalked off back amongst the tables. George appeared alongside her again.
"Everything ok?" he asked quietly.
"Yes, thank you," she replied, tone clipped. "Do you know where Harry is?"
"Let's look for him," George offered, though his motive became apparent quite quickly. "Is Ron barking up the wrong tree?" he commented casually, as they passed by Charlie and Hagrid, drunkenly singing.
She sighed, trying to catalog all of the redheads in the crowd to find Harry. "Yes," she confirmed.
George nodded. "You might need to tell him straight," he advised. "Ah, there he is – oh no, looks like he's stuck with Muriel –"
George pointed to the corner of the marquee, where Muriel was holding court over a thoroughly miserable looking old wizard and a dismayed, disguised Harry.
Hermione sighed. "I'll go rescue him – thanks, George –"
He clapped her on the back and they parted ways; she tapped Harry on the shoulder, but he barely seemed to notice her.
"The Dumbledores lived in Godric's Hollow?" Harry asked Muriel.
"Yes, Barry, I just said that – boy, you are slow, aren't you?" she replied rudely.
Ah, Hermione thought – the misery trap made more sense. "Barry?" she asked, and he blinked and turned towards her.
"Um – come with me, let's find a drink," she said, pulling on his wrist. She wanted to get him away from the ghastly Muriel. "Do you want a butterbeer?"
But Harry did not have the chance to reply. A huge, silvery charmed lynx leaped into the tent; several people exclaimed in delighted surprise, but Hermione knew this was not part of the planned festivities. The Patronus opened its mouth and Kingsley's voice echoed across the entire marquee, making her blood run cold.
"The Ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming."
People started screaming. Hermione tightened her grip on Harry's wrist, her other hand feeling for the chain over her shoulder that held the beaded bag with all their possessions, and then alongside her ribs, where her wand was held to her body under her bra. The crowd was a sea of panic and redheads and veela; she could not see Ron –
A spell shot over their heads as dark figures entered from the side of the open marquee, and she made her choice. Pulling Harry's hand, she Disapparated.