A/N: Thank you so much for reading and reviewing for me. Please continue to do so. I love to read everyone's reactions to this story. Please remember that this is a very alternate world I have created for the HP characters. I have taken things from the book and have written them to help with my story. I hope everyone is enjoying this so far.

Chapter Six – Bud of the Bud, Root of the Root

1528

She stood at the window, looking out, watching as the drawbridge was lowered for the train of horses that had approached the castle. She chewed on her lip nervously, playing with the ends of her hair that Elizabeth had just braided for her. Her heart hammered loudly in her chest like a drum. She tried to see the riders, tried to figure out which was him but they were still too far away to see their faces clearly.

"My Lady, please come away from the window," Elizabeth, one of her ladies-in-waiting, urged her. "It isn't right for him to see you before the wedding ceremony."

Hermione ignored her and continued staring out the window. She thought it was ridiculous for her to keep herself hidden from him. He was going to be her husband in less than an hour. They were going to be married. What did it matter whether it be now or an hour from now? She didn't know which rider he was anyway.

The yellow flags of Diggory, the kingdom that laid to the north, flapped in the wind as the horse hooves neared the castle. In less than an hour, Hermione would be married to their prince and she would be riding back with them. Diggory would be her home, her kingdom. She would be queen one day while her husband would be king. It had been an arrangement since her birth. She had been promised to Cedric of Diggory for her entire life and today, the day of their wedding, would be the first time she would ever meet him.

It was perfectly understandable to be as nervous as she was.

"My Lady, please. It is not proper," Elizabeth said once more, taking hold of Hermione's hand and guiding her from the window.

Hermione reluctantly followed, tearing her eyes from the sight of her future husband's garrison. It was time for her to be dressed anyway. She had to look nothing less than perfect for her intended. Even though she had never met before, she still had the desire to impress him. She wondered how he thought of this entire arranged marriage business. She wondered if he would be pleased with how she had grown up.

It was her duty to be a good wife and someday queen to his people and mother to his children and heirs. Although she knew she had no choice in the matter, she hoped that Cedric was a kind man. There were plenty of men out there who beat their wives and took great pleasure from it. She could only pray that he was not that sort of man though it was already too late to change any of it.

When an hour had passed and Hermione was bathed and dressed in her freshly sewn white gown, those who were to be present at the ceremony had already gathered in the small chapel, awaiting the arrival of the bride.

Cedric, dressed in his best yellow tunic, hose, and cloak, stood at the altar with the priest, waiting almost impatiently for his bride to arrive. He was ready to get this wedding over and done with so he could be back on his way to Diggory. The only reason he was there was because of his obligation to be so. He didn't want to get married – especially to a complete stranger but as prince and future kind of his father's kingdom, it was his duty to produce a suitable heir for the throne and he had been intended for Hermione of Granger since she was born fifteen years earlier.

The people gathered in the chapel hushed and Cedric turned his head to find that she had finally arrived. And he promptly stopped breathing with his first look upon her. She wore a white gown and held a bouquet of yellow wild flowers in her hands in front of her. Canary yellow and black were the official colors of Diggory and he knew that the flowers she held was a gesture made entirely for him. She wore a veil but he could still see her face perfectly – the deep brown eyes, the flawless skin, the sprinkle of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Her thick long curly hair was pulled back in a complicated knot, showing off the graceful elegant slope of her neck.

Looking at her neck, Cedric felt as if he had touched and kissed it before even though he knew it to be impossible. This was the first time he had laid eyes upon her. Yet, he could not shake the feeling off as if he had seen her before.

Hermione walked down the aisle, not seeing anyone else present the moment she locked eyes with Cedric. She didn't notice her mother or father or Cedric's men in attendance. She only saw Cedric, the man who just a few words away from becoming her husband. He was so familiar to her. She had a feeling within her heart that this was not the first time that she had looked into his grey eyes. But it had to be. They had never seen one another before that moment.

As she neared the altar where he stood, he extended his hand out for her to take and she did so with a faint smile, her hand laying in his, his fingers encasing hers. A bright blinding white light flashed in front of Hermione's eyes as soon as they made contact and she felt as if she was falling backwards in a faint. She opened her mouth to scream but she found herself to not be afraid. The white faded into grey and she found herself staring into Cedric's eyes. Oh yes, she smiled at him as she felt herself continuing to fall backwards. She had most definitely stared into those eyes before.

Professor Minerva McGonagall took a step away from Dumbledore's pensieve before the entire memory could be played out for her, her eyes closed and her hand covering her mouth. She could watch it no longer.

She never would have believed it if she had not just looked into the silver basin to see the memories played out right in front of her. Albus had been right all along. Cedric Diggory and Hermione Granger were bound together and had been so for centuries.

She turned her head slowly to look at the aging man, sitting down in his chair behind his desk. He did not move or speak. He simply stared at her as she tried to understand what she had just seen deep within his memories. Of course, they were not his own memories. He had not witnessed any of Cedric and Hermione's, what appeared to be, their previous lives.

The particular spell was such a powerful use of magic that Dumbledore was able to tap into it and channel it. The memories belonged to Cedric and Hermione – memories they were slowly becoming more aware of yet still couldn't control. Dumbledore had stored them in pensieve in hopes of learning more about their condition.

The Bound spell between Cedric Diggory and Hermione Granger was the strongest he had ever seen or studied. It was a spell that spanned through centuries and after sorting through the hundreds of memories from each of their minds, Dumbledore had summoned both Minerva and Pomona Sprout so they could both see as well.

"What will we do?" Minerva gasped softly, growing more emotional as what she had just seen settled into her mind. She had just seen two people she knew to be as Cedric Diggory and Hermione Granger hundreds of years in the past, bound together and in the midst of getting married. It frightened her. "We cannot keep them apart."

"I'm afraid," Albus sighed. "That no matter if we keep them apart, or let them be together, their story in this life will end as it always does."

A lone tear slowly rolled down Pomona's cheek as she stepped away from the silver basin, turning her back to what she had just seen. She had been a foolish young girl to think that being bound to someone could ever be considered romantic. What she had just witnessed, it was tragic, not romantic. Love ruled them in all ways of life. No matter what they did, their souls and hearts were forever intertwined together. And the memory she had just seen, no good came of living with such a condition.

What she had just seen… she wished she could erase it. She wished that what she had seen was nothing more than a dream rather than a memory of actual events. She could not believe that two of Hogwarts very own students had such a thing between them. She could not believe that two of their students were bound. She still could not believe it despite the memory she had just watched.

"There must be a way," Minerva whispered. "There must be a spell to break the bind. Surely, Albus, you know of something."

She knew she had at first considered it all to be a no-win situation. Every case of a Bound spell she knew of did not end well for the two involved. The Bound spell was one ruled entirely with love and love was the most powerful of all emotions. It had more power than even most wizards were aware of. It could drive a person to the greatest euphoria or the deepest of despairs. Love was capable of making a person do anything within its control. Love was actually something that was quite terrifying to experience because of the sheer unpredictability of it all.

But there had to be a way. Some time throughout history, there had to be one case of someone breaking a Bound spell, of severing the connection between the two hearts twined together. There were few things in the world that magic could not fix. It had to be able to fix this somehow.

"There has to be a way," Minerva repeated, trying to reassure herself more than anyone with her words. "We can't let them die, Albus. We cannot."

"Hermione, let me see!" Ron hissed from across the table they sat at in the library, pushing his book away in an effort to see the piece of parchment his best friend was hurriedly scrawling on.

She shook her head adamantly. "Honestly, Ronald. Why don't you and Harry try for once to complete your own assignments?"

"We've been in here since after supper," Ron retorted. "Obviously, we have been trying but now we need your help. So help us!" He added in a hushed exclamation.

Transfiguration, along with most others, was not particularly Ron's favorite, nor best, subject and every night, usually sought the help of Hermione to help him. Usually, she did so without much arm-twisting. He didn't even expect her anymore to allow him to simply copy from her parchments. He had learned that some time ago. When he got help from Hermione, she expected him to do his own work. And he begrudgingly did so. But in order for him to do his own work, he needed her to help.

"What are you writing, Hermione?" Harry asked from his seat next to Ron's.

He also leaned over in an attempt to see but Hermione was bent far too over the parchment to get a good look. Whatever she was writing, she was doing so at an impossibly fast pace. Ron and Harry watched as her hand flew over the paper, writing a series of words down so quickly, her hand almost seemed to be a blur of movement. Hermione lifted her head up to look at them but her hand continued to write as if she had no control over the limb whatsoever.

Ron and Harry stared at her before looking back down at her still writing hand. It stopped suddenly and the pen dropped from her hand. Hermione almost seemed afraid to look down at what she had just written and truly see it but her head willed itself to look down. Ron and Harry peered over as well and all three became truly confused with what they saw.

"What is that?" Ron asked.

"Is that…" Harry turned his head slightly to get a better look at the parchment. "Is that Latin?" He lifted his head to look at his friend. "I didn't know you know Latin."

Hermione's eyes welled with tears as she stared down at the foreign words she had just written as if she had been writing it for her entire life. She shook her head, her hair falling into her face. "I don't," she whispered. Her hands began to tremble as she pushed the parchment away from her and she stood up from the table, her eyes refusing to rip away from it. She couldn't stop looking down at it.

Seeing how much it was upsetting her, Ron reached out and slowly pulled the piece of parchment across the table towards him, folding it and stuffing it into one of his books. And yet, Hermione continued staring down at the table where the parchment had just been. Tears rolled down her cheeks and she finally looked at her two best friends.

They knew her better than anyone. Or… at least that used to be the truth.

"I have to go find Cedric," she whispered but when she began to gather her things, Harry shot his hand out and wrapped it around her wrist.

"Hermione, you can talk to us," he told her as if he was reminding her.

She looked at him and then at Ron. The three of them had been through so much together and she knew that their friendship would never be tarnished. But what was happening with her and Cedric, she couldn't tell them.

She would show them the book and have them read the chapter of the Bound spell and then they would know but she knew they wouldn't understand. They wouldn't understand the steady ache she felt whenever she was away from Cedric or the sheer desperation she always felt to see him and be near him. They wouldn't understand the dreams or the ability to read almost every thought one another had. They wouldn't understand the scar or the red glow of her arm. She loved Harry and Ron dearly but she couldn't talk to them about any of this – no matter how much she wanted to confide in them.

So instead of talking to them, she leaned over the table and kissed both of their cheeks quickly before grabbing her bag and rushing from the library, wiping her tears away as she did so. Though she hadn't seen him since that morning when they had separated to go their own ways for classes, Hermione knew exactly where Cedric was. She could feel him. She picked up her pace and began running towards the Quidditch field. She had to see him. She hadn't touched him in almost five hours and the pain in her chest was almost unbearable. Perhaps he had some sort of idea as to why she had just written Latin fluently. She hoped he had an idea as to what it meant though he was just as lost with this all as she was.

1529

"I'm sorry, my Lord," the healer informed Cedric quietly in the hallway outside of his and Hermione's bedchamber. "She has lost too much blood. There is nothing further that I can do for her."

Cedric stared at the healer for a moment before turning his head to look at the closed doors. It was supposed to be the happiest day of their lives. They had been anticipating this day since Hermione had found out of her pregnancy. They had only been married for a year and already, she was leaving him. He could feel her slowly drifting away from him and no matter how hard his heart clung to her, she slipped further and further away.

He had dreamt this. Every night for the past two weeks, he had dreamt of her death. But he had been foolish enough to just write them off as foolish and horrible nightmares. Never for a second did he believe that Hermione would die and leave him. They had just found one another. How could she leave him?

Without a word to the healer, Cedric pushed open the door to the bedchamber and entered. A fire roared in the hearth and the room smelled of blood – his wife's blood. A nurse was there, covering their stillborn baby with a cloth but upon seeing Cedric, she curtsied quickly and left the room hurriedly.

He hardly noticed though as he slowly approached the bed. Hermione was lying there, the bed sheets once white were now a crimson red. Her night shift was pushed up around her hips, her legs still spread and exposed. She was covered in sweat and her lower half was covered in the blood that had left her. She turned her head on the pillow and upon seeing him, she began to cry. She could feel herself leaving. She could feel herself fading. The red glow from the scars on their arms was fading into nothingness. She reached a hand out towards him and he took it without hesitation.

Cedric crawled onto the bed, wrapped his arms around her, clinging to her, refusing her to go. He rested his head on her shoulder, burying it in the side of her neck, and Hermione weakly lifted her arms to wrap around him. She forced her eyes to remain open but that was a battle she was losing. Cedric moved his hand to her chest, resting it over her heart. Both could feel it slowing down, losing beats.

He lifted his head and fused his lips to hers, kissing her deeply, desperately. Surely, there was something he could do to stop this. But it was too late. Hermione was dying and Cedric could feel his heart begin to slow with hers. He refused to live without her. If she was to die then he would as well. He was not afraid of death. He was more afraid of how he would survive without her.

"I will find you again," Cedric whispered to her, his lips barely removing from hers to say so. "No matter where you go, I will find you again."

Hermione's eyes fluttered open one last time, looking into the pools of grey, before she took her last breath and he felt her soul leave her in a great whoosh of wind. She became limp and the red glow of her scar was extinguished. Tears rolled from Cedric's eyes as he held his wife, his beloved, rocking her, kissing her hair and face. He clung to her tightly, not letting her go – never letting her go. He began to feel his heart slow down even further and he knew that he would not be too far behind her.

Cedric tilted his head down and kissed Hermione's already cold lips. She had become cold so quickly. "Until we meet again…"

When the healer entered the room again five minutes later, both Cedric and Hermione of Diggory were dead, lying on the bed, Cedric's arms wrapped around his wife's body. When his body was examined, they found no cut or poison within his system. They found no explanation as to why the Prince had died so suddenly along with his bride.