Chapter 10

Vows and Shadows

The hearing had done little to shake Hermione's resolve. If anything, it had solidified what she already knew—no matter how many doubted them, no matter how many whispered behind their backs, she and Lucius would not be swayed. Their love had been tested, bent, nearly broken, but it had survived. And now, as the final preparations for their wedding began, Hermione refused to let politics, prejudice, or old ghosts dictate their happiness.

Yet, beneath the excitement, an unspoken tension lingered.

Lucius noticed it in the way Hermione stared at her reflection longer than usual. In the way her fingers trembled slightly when she signed the final documents legalizing their union. And most of all, in the way she hesitated when discussing the guest list.

The weight of their pasts still pressed upon them.

It arrived three weeks before the wedding—an elegantly sealed envelope bearing the crest of a name Lucius had long since erased from his life.

Narcissa Malfoy.

Lucius stared at it for a long moment before breaking the seal with steady fingers.

The letter was brief, yet every word was weighted with something unsaid.

Lucius,

You may despise me for the choices I made, but know that I did what I thought was best at the time.
Despite everything, I wish you happiness. If you will allow it, I would like to attend your wedding.

Narcissa

A quiet sigh left his lips as he folded the parchment and set it aside.

— "Something troubling?" Hermione asked from the doorway, rubbing her hands over her growing belly.

Lucius looked at her, then at the letter, before handing it to her without a word.

As Hermione read, her brows furrowed in thought.

— "She wants to come?"

Lucius nodded, watching her reaction closely.

Hermione bit her lip. She had never spoken ill of Narcissa, despite knowing the truth of the spell that had inadvertently bound them together. She understood, to a certain extent, why she had done what she had. But forgiveness was another matter entirely.

— "What do you want to do?" she finally asked.

Lucius exhaled, glancing out the window.

— "I suppose that depends on whether you would be comfortable having her there."

Hermione hesitated. The rational part of her knew Narcissa had played no direct role in their pain—her spell had been careless, yes, but not malicious. And yet, inviting her into the most important day of their lives felt like opening a door she wasn't sure should remain unlocked.

Still…

— "If you want her there, she should be there," Hermione said softly.

Lucius studied her carefully, then leaned down, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

— "You are far more gracious than I deserve, my love."

Snow blanketed the grounds of the Malfoy estate, transforming the ancient manor into something almost ethereal. Enchanted lanterns floated above the courtyard, their golden light flickering like fireflies against the crisp night air. The scent of pine and mulled wine filled the air as guests arrived, their footsteps crunching over the freshly fallen snow.

Hermione stood in the bridal chamber, staring at her reflection in the ornate mirror. Her dress, made of delicate layers of silk and lace, shimmered under the candlelight. Her curls were loosely gathered, leaving soft tendrils framing her face. And yet, despite the beauty of it all, she felt strangely detached, as if watching someone else prepare for their wedding day.

A soft knock at the door broke her from her thoughts.

— "Come in."

Ginny Weasley entered, her red hair braided with small pearls, her smile bright as she took in Hermione's appearance.

— "You look incredible."

Hermione let out a small, breathy laugh.

— "I feel like I might faint."

Ginny smirked.

— "If you do, try to aim for Malfoy. That should give the guests something to talk about."

Hermione chuckled, shaking her head.

Then Ginny's expression softened.

— "Are you happy, Hermione?"

The question was simple, but it struck something deep within her.

Hermione exhaled.

— "Yes. But I'm also… scared."

Ginny nodded knowingly.

— "That just means it's real."

Before Hermione could respond, another knock sounded at the door. This time, it was Draco Malfoy.

Ginny arched a brow.

— "Well, if it isn't the Best Man himself."

Draco gave her an unimpressed look before turning his attention to Hermione.

— "Granger." He paused, then sighed. "Or should I say Malfoy soon-to-be?"

Hermione gave him a lopsided smile.

— "I suppose you should."

Draco rolled his eyes before handing her a small envelope.

— "He asked me to deliver this to you before the ceremony."

Lucius.

Hermione took the note, fingers trembling slightly as she unfolded the parchment.

My dearest Hermione,

In mere moments, you will walk toward me, and my world will change forever. And yet, I feel it already has. You have altered me in ways I never thought possible. You have forced me to face my past and given me a future I never imagined I would deserve.

And now, I stand here waiting for you, knowing with certainty that there is no force on this earth—no spell, no fate—that could have ever kept me from loving you.

I am yours. In every way that matters. Now, and always.

Lucius

Hermione inhaled sharply, pressing the letter to her chest as warmth bloomed through her.

Draco shifted awkwardly.

— "I assume he said something adequately sentimental?"

Hermione smiled through misty eyes.

— "Something like that."

Ginny nudged her playfully.

— "Well, let's get you married, shall we?"

The moment Hermione stepped into the candlelit hall, a hush fell over the room.

Lucius stood at the altar, dressed in deep emerald robes lined with silver embroidery, his hair falling over his shoulders like molten silk. His usually composed expression was unguarded—his eyes locked onto hers with a quiet intensity that stole her breath.

Slowly, she walked toward him, each step steady, purposeful.

When she reached him, he took her hands in his, his touch warm despite the cold air.

— "You are breathtaking," he murmured.

Hermione squeezed his fingers.

— "You don't look so bad yourself, Malfoy."

A soft chuckle escaped him before the officiant spoke.

The vows were spoken with quiet reverence, their words binding them not just in magic, but in something far more profound.

And when Lucius kissed her, it was not the kiss of a man claiming possession.

It was the kiss of a man who had fought for this moment, for her.

For them.

As applause erupted around them, Hermione barely noticed.

All she could feel was Lucius's arms around her, his breath against her ear as he whispered—

— "We did it, my love."

And for the first time in what felt like forever, Hermione Granger—no, Hermione Malfoy—felt at peace.

The world dissolved around her.

The soft glow of candlelight, the warmth of Lucius's hands in hers, the murmurs of the gathered crowd—all of it flickered like a dying flame before vanishing into darkness.

Then—
A gasp.
A sharp inhale of breath.
The unmistakable weight of reality crashing down on her.

Hermione's eyes flew open, her heart hammering violently in her chest. She was in bed, her fingers tangled in the sheets, her skin clammy from sleep. The room was dim, illuminated only by the soft blue light of early morning filtering through her curtains.

Her chest rose and fell in rapid succession as she struggled to orient herself.

"What—?"

She sat up too quickly, dizziness hitting her like a curse. The lingering echoes of the dream clung to her, so vivid, so utterly real. Her fingers ghosted over her stomach, expecting to feel the swell of her pregnancy, but there was nothing.

Lucius.

The wedding.

Their child.

"It was just a dream."

The realization sent a cold wave of shock through her.

Swinging her legs off the bed, Hermione pressed her feet to the floor, but they felt unsteady, like she had been asleep for a hundred years. Her muscles ached, as though she had truly lived every moment of the dream, as though her body remembered what her mind could barely comprehend.

She needed confirmation. Proof that she was truly awake.

With frantic hands, she grabbed her wand from the bedside table, flicking it toward the shelves. A small notebook flew into her grasp—her personal agenda.

Her eyes scanned the date.

She was no newlywed Malfoy. There was no hundred-day separation. No wedding. No pregnancy.

It was just another Monday.

And she was expected at the Ministry for a meeting.

A meeting that morning.

"Get a grip, Hermione," she muttered under her breath, throwing the covers aside and rushing to get dressed.

But no matter how fast she moved, the dream refused to fade.