The Dress
The sunlight streamed through the large windows of Madame Malkin’s Witches’ Wear Emporium, casting a warm glow over the racks of delicate fabrics and elegant designs. Hermione had never imagined she’d find herself here—surrounded by swirling silks and satins, delicate lace, and the soft hum of excited voices—yet, here she was, in the thick of it, nervously flipping through a selection of wedding gowns.
She had always known this day would come, of course, but now that it had, she wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. The idea of marriage had always seemed like something distant and abstract, reserved for fairy tales and stories of happily-ever-after endings. Yet, here she was, standing in the middle of a bustling boutique with Ginny, Molly, and Fleur by her side, all of them pulling out dresses for her to try on as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
Hermione tried to focus, tried to remind herself that this was part of the journey, part of the process. She had a lot to figure out, but this was supposed to be fun, wasn’t it? Her gaze drifted over the dresses in front of her, from delicate ivory lace to shimmering gold fabrics that caught the light in a way that made her breath catch. It was all so overwhelming. There were so many options, so many choices, and the weight of the decision felt heavier than it should have.
“Try this one,” Ginny said, practically bouncing with excitement. Her eyes sparkled as she held up a dress made of soft, flowing silk that shimmered in the light, the fabric catching the sunlight that streamed through the large windows. “I think this is perfect for you. It’ll look gorgeous with your hair.”
Hermione hesitated for a moment as she took the dress from Ginny’s hands, her fingers brushing against the cool fabric. It was a beautiful dress, undoubtedly, but it felt like just another piece of fabric in a sea of options. She ran her fingers along the edges, her mind swirling with thoughts she couldn't quite organize. There were so many choices, so many expectations, and she wasn’t sure where to start. The thought of her wedding day—her real wedding day—was still something that felt so far off, so abstract.
“It’s lovely,” she said absently, her voice quiet as she absently traced the fabric with her fingertips, trying to focus on the dress in her hands, but her mind seemed to race. “But I’m not sure if it’s… me, you know?”
Ginny raised an eyebrow, not quite accepting the response but sensing Hermione’s uncertainty. Before she could press any further, Fleur—who had been carefully inspecting several dresses on a nearby rack—stepped over, a knowing smile on her lips. “Mon amie,” she said, her French accent adding an elegant charm to the words, “you look beautiful in anything, but we are looking for the one that makes you feel like you, non?”
Hermione looked up at Fleur, a small appreciative smile pulling at her lips. There was something undeniably comforting about Fleur’s presence. Her confidence, her calm, the way she carried herself with such ease. It made the whole situation—filled with so many emotions and expectations—feel a little more manageable. “That’s exactly it, Fleur,” Hermione said softly, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on her. “I’m not sure what me in a wedding dress even looks like.”
Fleur’s smile softened as she took a step closer, her tone gentle and reassuring. “Oh, I understand,” she said, her voice low, but not without conviction. “But trust me, it will come. The right dress will speak to you, and you will know. It is like when you meet the right person, no? You just… know.”
Hermione’s lips quirked up at the comparison, feeling a tiny knot in her chest loosen. Fleur had a way of putting things so simply, so beautifully. The analogy, though so casually made, resonated with her more than she’d expected. “I like that,” Hermione admitted, a light laugh escaping her. “It’s just… all so new, you know? I’ve never even thought about this day, and now it’s here, and I’m trying to figure out what it all means. Sometimes I wonder if I’m even ready.”
Fleur gave her a small, understanding nod. “I remember, at first, feeling the same. Everything was moving so fast, and I was not sure what I was supposed to be doing. But look at me now,” Fleur continued, winking playfully, a mischievous glint in her eye. “I am married, and happy, and confident in the choices I’ve made. You will be radiant, Hermione. You are already.”
Hermione felt a weight lift from her chest at Fleur’s words. There was a kind of magic to them—a quiet assurance, as though Fleur had been through the doubts, the struggles, and had come out on the other side. It was exactly what Hermione needed to hear in this moment. She needed to remember that, despite the chaos, despite the overwhelming decisions, this was supposed to be a joyful time. This was about love and connection, not perfection.
“Well, I’ll try this one on,” Hermione said, glancing at the dress Ginny had chosen, though the uncertainty still lingered in her voice. She hesitated for a second, then gave in to the pressure of her friends’ excitement. “But don’t expect me to have some grand revelation when I put it on.”
Ginny, who had been bouncing around like a firecracker all morning, grinned mischievously. “Trust me, Hermione,” she said, her tone playful, “when you walk out of that changing room, you’ll feel like you’ve just stepped out of a fairytale.”
Hermione smiled, though the words didn’t quite settle in her mind the way they were meant to. A fairytale. She couldn’t help but wonder if fairytales were meant for people like her—people who couldn’t quite picture themselves in the delicate lace or smooth satin, people who were still figuring out what “happily ever after” really meant. She wasn’t the kind of girl who daydreamed about weddings as a child. This was new ground for her.
Before Hermione could protest further, Ginny had already ushered her toward the fitting room, a grin on her face as though she knew a secret Hermione didn’t. Meanwhile, Molly was rifling through another rack of dresses, clearly on the hunt for something that would make Hermione feel like a princess. Fleur, always poised, had resumed browsing through the racks, picking up a few silk gowns with a thoughtful air, as if considering something. She caught Hermione’s glance and smiled softly, her eyes bright with a knowing warmth.
“You are not worried, I hope?” Fleur said, her voice light, but with a depth of experience beneath it. “The dress is just the icing on the cake, my friend. The real magic is in the love that you share with Percy.”
Hermione paused at the doorway to the fitting room, the sudden shift in conversation making her heart skip a beat. She looked at Fleur, taken aback by the perceptiveness in her words. “I guess so,” Hermione replied, her voice quieter now. She wasn’t entirely sure how to explain the swirl of emotions she was feeling. “But sometimes I feel like I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be doing. It’s all so… overwhelming.”
Fleur’s smile softened as she stepped closer, her gaze steady but kind. “I remember, at first, feeling the same,” she said, her voice gentle. “The anticipation, the expectation... it was all a little too much. But, look at me now,” she added with a wink, “I’m married, with Bill, and I’m happy. You will be, too, Hermione. You are already, you know.”
Hermione swallowed, her throat tight with emotion. She hadn’t realized until that moment how much she needed someone to tell her she was already enough—just as she was. Maybe she didn’t have to have everything figured out. Maybe she just had to take it one step at a time, and trust that the right choices would reveal themselves when the time was right.
With a deep breath, Hermione nodded, smiling at Fleur. “Thank you,” she said quietly, “I really needed to hear that.”
“You are always welcome, my friend,” Fleur said, her smile warm. “Now, go. Try the dress on. I promise, the right one is waiting for you.”
Hermione smiled to herself as she shut the door behind her. It wasn’t much, but it was comforting to know that Fleur had been through all of this herself. She felt a little less like she was treading uncharted territory.
Inside the fitting room, Hermione hung the dress on a hook with careful hands, her fingers trembling slightly as she unbuttoned her blouse and began to slip into the gown. The fabric, soft and luxurious, slid over her skin like liquid silk, a feeling that both soothed and unsettled her. She couldn't help but be mesmerized by how light and airy it felt, as though the gown was weightless, almost as if she were floating rather than wearing anything at all. She could see her reflection in the full-length mirror that stood in the corner of the room, and for a moment, she was lost in the image. The dress clung to her figure, hugging her curves in a way that made her feel delicate and feminine, but also foreign, as though it didn’t fully belong to her.
The soft, shimmering fabric cascaded down to the floor, the train pooling around her feet in gentle waves. It was beautiful, undeniably so, with intricate lace details at the neckline and a subtle sparkle woven into the material, catching the light in such a way that it seemed to glow. It was the kind of dress she’d always imagined brides wearing in fairy tales, the kind of gown that could belong to anyone, but still, she felt a sense of detachment. Was this what she was supposed to look like on her wedding day? She couldn’t help but ask herself the question, her hands resting lightly on her waist as she took in her reflection.
For a long moment, she stood there, still and quiet, lost in the image staring back at her. But as she looked deeper, she began to question it all. Was this gown truly her? Was this what Percy wanted to see when he looked at her on their wedding day? The thought sent a small flutter of nerves through her chest. She hadn't yet had the chance to fully discuss all the details of the wedding with him. There had been so much going on, and the day itself had always seemed so far off—something for the future, a milestone that would just... happen. Yet, here she was, standing in a dress that, while lovely, felt like it belonged to someone else, someone who knew exactly what they were doing.
She exhaled slowly, adjusting the gown again, her fingers brushing against the delicate fabric. The soft rustling sound of the silk was almost comforting, a reminder that this was real, that she was here, preparing for a wedding that she wanted, that she chose. She glanced at herself in the mirror once more, searching for something—some sense of knowing, some quiet reassurance that this was her path. But the uncertainty lingered, like a cloud on the edge of her thoughts. She couldn’t rush this moment, she realized. The dress was just one small part of the picture, but she needed to understand how she felt about it, how she wanted to feel, before she could choose.
Taking a deep breath, Hermione stepped out of the fitting room, pushing open the door with an air of reluctant anticipation. Ginny, Fleur, and Molly all turned toward her at once, their eyes lighting up with excitement and approval. Hermione couldn't help but smile a little at their expressions, but she also felt a wave of embarrassment rush over her. She had never been one to enjoy the spotlight, and having all eyes on her now, as she stood in a wedding dress that she wasn’t entirely sure about, felt more than a little overwhelming.
“Wow,” Molly said softly, her voice thick with emotion. There were tears in her eyes, the kind that only a mother could have, and Hermione’s heart skipped a beat at the sight. “You look absolutely stunning, Hermione.”
Ginny, ever the optimist, grinned wide, her excitement practically radiating off her. “I knew it!” she exclaimed, her voice bright. “You look like you just stepped out of a dream. You’ll be perfect, just perfect.” Her enthusiasm was infectious, but Hermione’s smile faltered just slightly. She appreciated their kind words, but part of her felt that the dress wasn’t quite the magic they were all seeing.
But it was Fleur who stepped forward, her gaze soft but discerning as she circled Hermione slowly, inspecting the gown with the eye of someone who had spent years around fashion. Fleur’s movements were graceful, almost artistic, as she took in every detail of the dress—the way it draped over Hermione’s figure, the way the lace caught the light, the way the silk flowed like water. Her smile tugged at her lips, an approving glint in her eyes. “Ah,” Fleur said, her voice low and rich with admiration, “C’est magnifique! It is… beautiful.” She paused, circling once more before turning to meet Hermione’s eyes. “But we must find the dress that makes you feel it, Hermione. Not just see it.”
Hermione swallowed, her throat suddenly tight. The praise, while appreciated, only seemed to highlight the distance she still felt from the dress. It was beautiful, yes, but she didn’t feel it—didn’t feel like her in it. She bit her lip, a flicker of doubt passing through her. She looked down at the gown again, brushing a hand over the smooth fabric. It was almost like it was someone else’s dream, not hers. The vision of what a bride should look like, the dress that would make her feel like she was walking into the future with confidence and love, felt out of reach.
“I don’t know,” Hermione said, her voice quiet, almost hesitant. She shook her head slightly, taking a step back. “It feels… like it’s someone else’s dream, not mine.”
Fleur nodded sympathetically, taking Hermione’s hand in hers. The gesture was warm and reassuring, a silent acknowledgment of the uncertainty she was feeling. “I understand,” Fleur said softly. “But you are not just a dream, Hermione. You are real, and your wedding dress will reflect that. Let us try a few more. The one is out there, and when it’s yours, you will feel it. I promise.”
Molly, who had been watching silently, stepped forward then, her motherly instincts kicking in. She gave Hermione a warm smile, her eyes filled with understanding. “Don’t worry about that right now,” she said gently, her voice tender but firm. “You’ll know when it’s the right one. And no matter what, you’re going to look incredible. Percy’s a lucky man, Hermione.” The last part was said with a wink, but Hermione couldn’t help but feel a flutter of warmth at the mention of Percy’s name. Yes, it was for him she was doing all of this, but she couldn’t help but wonder: would he like what she picked? Would he think she looked beautiful? Was the dress she was searching for one that she could love, not just wear?
Ginny leaned in then, a mischievous twinkle in her eye, sensing that Hermione was still not entirely sold on the gown she had on. “Alright,” she said with a grin, “try on the next one. You’re not allowed to leave until we find the one that makes you feel like you could walk down the aisle right now.”
Hermione laughed lightly, the tension in her shoulders easing just a little. “Okay, okay,” she said, shaking her head with a playful smile. “But no promises. I don’t know if I’ll ever feel like a princess in a dress.”
Ginny’s grin widened, and she gave Hermione a knowing look. “You already do, Hermione,” she said with a wink, taking her by the arm and leading her back toward the racks of dresses. “Trust me, you’ll be the most radiant bride.”
For the first time that day, Hermione felt a flicker of hope, of belief in what was to come. She had spent so long trying to get everything perfect, trying to meet some expectation, but perhaps she needed to let go of that control. For the first time, she allowed herself to believe—just for a moment—that she could be beautiful, radiant, and most importantly, true to herself on her wedding day.