Speak Now

"I am not the kind of girl who should be rudely barging in on a white veil occasion"

I wake up to the sound of birds chirping outside my window at the Burrow. The morning sunlight spills through the curtains, too warm, too bright—too cheerful for a day like this. My chest hurts I am so filled with these feeling —regret, longing, heartbreak

Bill is getting married today.

To Fleur Delacour.

I squeeze my eyes shut,as if I can will the day away, pretend it’s just another morning, pretend I’m not about to watch the man I love vow his life to someone else.  turning onto my side, forcing myself to take deep breaths, but the ache only grows. It wasn’t supposed to be Fleur. It was supposed to be me.

Instead, all I see is the first time I ever saw his face.

_____

Few days before third year

The Daily Prophet is open on the table. I trace a fingertip over the grainy photograph—nine redheads grinning in front of the pyramids.

One stands out.

Tall. Confident. His long hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, an earring glinting in the sunlight. He has the air of someone who belongs elsewhere—like he’s meant for adventures far beyond the frame of this photograph.

My stomach flips.

I don't realize I’m staring until someone speaks beside me.

"That’s Bill."

I startle and snap the paper shut as Ron flops onto the couch next to me. He glances at the paper and shrugs. "My oldest brother. Works as a curse breaker. He’s cool, I guess."

Cool?

I force a neutral expression. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. He’s always off somewhere doing dangerous stuff. Mum hates it, but he loves it. Doesn’t like to stay in one place too long." Ron stretches his arms behind his head.

I spent the entire train ride to Hogwarts staring at the photo, tracing the curve of his jaw with my fingertip, wondering what his voice sounded like. That year, I read everything I could find on curse breaking, just to feel like I was learning something about him.

_____

She should get up. The wedding won't wait for her heartbreak.

She pushes herself out of bed, mechanically going through the motions—dress, makeup, jewelry.

"Hermione, are you ready?" I snap back to reality. Ginny stands at the door, a hairbrush in her hand.

Ginny sits her down, her deft fingers weaving Hermione’s curls into an elegant twist.

"You look awful," she says bluntly.

"Well, good morning to you too." I force a smile and sit down as she starts brushing my hair.

Ginny watches me through the mirror. "That is not what I meant, you look beautiful but I am your friend and I see that you haven't been sleeping, Is it your parents?"

I nod automatically, but I see the flicker of doubt in her eyes.

"But you are not the kind of boy who should be marrying the wrong girl"

The Burrow is alive with wedding preparations—floating candles, enchanted flower arrangements, Mrs. Weasley barking orders. I pass by her as she frowns at a bouquet, muttering about ‘that French girl’s ridiculous taste.’

If it were me marrying Bill, would she be happy?

My hands tighten around the flowers I’m arranging.

I remember the first time I met him.

_____

A gust of wind sweeps through the Burrow as the front door swings open.

"Oi, Bill!" Fred shouts from across the room.

I look up.

And there he is.

He shakes the dust from his travel cloak, laughing as Charlie claps him on the back. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, a thin leather cord wrapped around his wrist. His boots are worn and scuffed, and he looks like he belongs anywhere but here—like he was plucked from an adventure and dropped into the Burrow by mistake.

I can’t look away.

His gaze sweeps the room—and lands on me.

"So, you’re Hermione," he says, stepping forward. "I’ve heard a lot about you."

My brain stutters.

He’s talking to me.

I clear my throat. "Hopefully good things."

He grins, and it’s devastating. "Only that you’re the smartest person Ron knows. But I need to hear it for myself—tell me something interesting."

My mouth goes dry.

"Uh—about what?"

"Anything," he says, watching me. "Surprise me."

I blink. "Did you know the Egyptian wizarding community has curse-breaking techniques that date back to the reign of Pharaoh Ramses II? They use wandless magic to disarm ancient traps."

His smile widens. "Now that is interesting."

And just like that, we talk.

For hours.

For days.

Leading up to the match, we fall into easy conversation—over breakfast, in the garden, by the fire at night. Bill is different from Ron and Harry, different from anyone I know. He has this way of making me feel like my thoughts are worth listening to. He asks questions, challenges my ideas, argues just enough to make it interesting, and never once makes me feel like I have to prove myself.

At night, the camp glows with floating lanterns, and laughter drifts between tents. He finds me outside, sitting near the fire, my book forgotten in my lap.

"Not enjoying the festivities?" he asks, dropping onto the log beside me.

"I was reading," I say, though I can’t remember a single sentence from the last ten minutes.

He smirks. "And yet, you don’t look particularly engrossed."

I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling.

We sit there, watching the flames flicker, listening to the distant sound of a wizarding folk band playing.

"You’re going to love the match tomorrow," he says after a while. "Nothing like seeing the players up close—feeling the crowd, the energy."

I glance at him. "And who are you supporting?"

He grins. "I’m supposed to say Ireland, but I have a soft spot for Krum. You?"

I hesitate. "Viktor Krum is said to be brilliant, but I think I have to go with Ireland."

He chuckles. "So we’re at odds, then?"

"Looks like it."

He nudges my shoulder, and the contact sends a strange thrill through me. "Better keep an eye on you, then. Don’t want you hexing me when Bulgaria scores."

I shake my head, laughing. "I wouldn’t!"

But he just smirks, tilting his head. "Mm. Not so sure about that, Granger."

World cup campsite, after the game

The match is incredible—more than I could have imagined. The crowd, the speed, the skill. When Krum catches the Snitch but Ireland wins, Bill gives me a triumphant smirk, and I roll my eyes, pretending to be annoyed.

Back at camp, the celebrations stretch into the night. Wizards set off fireworks, music blasts from enchanted instruments, and people are drinking, laughing, dancing. Even Mr. Weasley doesn’t try to stop it.

I slip away to the edge of the camp, the noise a little overwhelming. I don’t expect him to find me.

"Not one for wild celebrations?"

I turn, and there he is, standing with his hands tucked into his pockets, his hair loose around his face.

I shrug. "It’s… a lot."

He nods, stepping closer. "Yeah. It is."

We don’t say much after that. Just sit together, watching the stars.

And then, it happens.

The first scream.

The first explosion.

Suddenly, the night is burning.

I spin toward the camp—spells are flying, people are running, smoke is curling through the air. Masked figures loom in the distance.

I can’t move.

"Hermione!"

Hands grip my arms. Bill.

His face is tight with urgency. "Are you hurt?"

I shake my head, my breath coming too fast.

"Come on." He grips my wrist. "We need to go."

I stumble after him, my legs barely keeping up. All around us, the world is collapsing—tents are burning, people are screaming. I clutch my wand, but I can’t think, can’t focus.

I trip, and before I can hit the ground, Bill’s arms are around me, hauling me upright. "I’ve got you," he says, voice firm. "Just keep moving."

Spells streak past us. A tent to our left erupts in flames.

Bill yanks me behind him, his wand raised. "Protego!" A shimmering shield flares in front of us, blocking a jet of red light.

My heart pounds. "The others—"

"Fred and George are getting them out. We just need to—"

A scream cuts through the air. A woman stumbles in front of us, a Death Eater raising his wand at her. Without thinking, I move.

"Expelliarmus!"

The Death Eater’s wand flies from his hand. Bill doesn’t hesitate—he grabs my arm and pulls me down a side path, away from the chaos.

"That was stupid," he hisses, his grip tightening. "Brave, but bloody stupid."

I don’t argue. I can barely breathe.

He stops suddenly, pulling me into a gap between two collapsed tents. "We wait here for a second," he murmurs. "Catch your breath."

I nod, pressing a hand to my chest, trying to slow my heartbeat.

Bill watches me closely. His hands are still gripping my arms, his touch grounding, steady. "You okay?" His voice is softer now, his worry evident.

I meet his eyes. "I think so."

He exhales, running a hand through his hair. "Good. Because I’d rather not explain to my mum why I let you get killed on my watch."

Despite the fear, I huff out a laugh. "Wouldn’t want that."

His lips quirk, but the worry doesn’t leave his face. "Stay close to me, okay? No heroics."

I nod.

We run.

He never lets go of my hand.

_____

That was the moment she started falling for him. Stupid of her, really. Nine years older, her best friend’s brother—he was never meant to be hers.

A tear slips down onto the flower she’s holding. She wipes it away before anyone sees.

"I sneak in and see your friends"

Hermione wanders the Burrow’s garden, needing air, needing space. The summer hums with the sound of crickets and bees, but her mind is too loud to find any peace. 

"You look miserable."

She jumps.

Charlie leans against a tree, arms crossed, watching her with an infuriating mix of amusement and sympathy.

"I’m fine," she says quickly.

"Yeah?" He cocks his head. "You don’t look fine."

She forces a laugh. "I’m just—thinking."

"Right. About how you’re in love with my brother?"

Her breath catches.

Charlie smirks. "You really thought no one noticed?"

"I—" She swallows, heart pounding.

He pushes off the tree, stepping closer. "I always thought you and Bill would end up together, you know."

"That’s ridiculous," she scoffs, too fast. "We barely know each other. He’s nine years older. I’m just his brother’s friend."

Charlie snorts. "Right. Except he told me about the letters. What happened, Hermione?"

She freezes.

The world tilts.

She can’t think, can’t breathe—so she does the only thing she can.

She turns and runs.

But the thoughts chase her. I’m not as pretty as her. Not as accomplished. I don’t know. I don’t know what happened.

By the time she reaches the pond, she’s breathless, her chest tight. She sinks onto the grass, pulling her knees up, staring at the water.

_____

The first letter arrived just after the World Cup.

Hermione,

I enjoyed our conversation about magical theory. I recommend on Advanced Charms and Curses it will be spot-on for you. If you ever want to borrow my copy of Ancient Runes: A Curse Breaker’s Guide, let me know. I think you’d love it.

Stay brilliant.

Bill.

**************************************

I pressed the parchment to my chest, rereading his words until they blurred, the ink like a whisper of his voice.

And I wrote back.

Again and again.

**************************************

Hermione,

Your argument about goblin-run banks got me into a two-hour debate at work. You would’ve loved it. I think you’d get along with Ragnok—he has no patience for nonsense either.

Take care of yourself, yeah?

Bill.

**************************************

Bill,

I read up on Egyptian curse-breaking techniques like you suggested. Fascinating. Have you ever come across a curse that resisted counter-spells completely? If so, how did you break it?

Be careful out there.

Hermione.

**************************************

Hermione,

There was one, actually—nearly lost a hand to it. I’ll tell you the full story when I’m back home.

You worry too much.

Bill.

**************************************

Bill,

I worry exactly as much as necessary when someone I care about is constantly sticking his hands into cursed tombs.

When are you coming home?

Hermione.

**************************************

Hermione,

"Someone you care about," huh? I’ll try not to let that go to my head.

If things go well with this job, I’ll be back for Christmas. Save me a spot by the fire?

Bill.

**************************************

Bill,

Don’t be insufferable. And yes, there will be a spot waiting.

Write soon.

Hermione.

**************************************

The letters continued. Through the Triwizard Tournament, through O.W.L. year.

Some were short. Some spanned pages. Some were lighthearted, filled with teasing and book recommendations. Others felt heavier, like there were things they weren’t saying.

**************************************

Hermione,

You really called an international Quidditch star insufferable to his face? Please tell me you wrote that down. That’s history in the making.

Let me know if I need to come hex anyone.

Bill.

**************************************

Bill,

I did no such thing. I simply suggested that Krum should consider passing the Quaffle occasionally instead of hoarding it like a dragon with gold.

(He wasn’t offended. He asked me to the Yule Ball, actually.)

Hermione.

**************************************

Hermione,

Did he, now? Interesting.

I’m sure he’s a nice bloke, but if he starts acting like a git, let me know. I do work with cursed artifacts, after all. I’m sure I could find something fitting.

Bill.

**************************************

Bill,

You’re impossible.

(But I’ll keep that in mind.)

Hermione.

**************************************

Hermione,

If you ever need an escape from O.W.L. stress, I highly recommend a week in the desert. Nothing makes exams seem trivial like nearly falling into a pit full of venomous vipers.

Joking. Mostly.

You’ve got this.

Bill.

**************************************

Bill,

I’ll take the exams over the vipers, thanks.

But if you’re offering distractions, tell me about the worst curse you’ve ever broken. Preferably one that didn’t involve you nearly losing a limb.

Hermione.

**************************************

The letters became a ritual. A comfort.

Until they stopped.

Until Fleur.

______

Their letters had been her lifeline, and it was gone.

"And her snotty little family all dressed in pastel
And she is yelling at a bridesmaid
Somewhere back inside a room
Wearing a gown shaped like a pastry"

Hermione takes a steadying breath and walks back toward the Burrow, determined to compose herself. But as she nears the house, her steps slow. The Delacours stand near the entrance, impossibly poised and elegant. 

Madame Delacour’s gaze sweeps over her, cool and assessing, and suddenly Hermione feels utterly out of place. She tugs at the hem of her dress, then at her hair, aware of the stray curls escaping her updo. The laughter and polished perfection surrounding her feel suffocating.

A sharp voice cuts through the air.

"Non, non, non! I said fix it!"

Hermione turns her head toward the sound.

Through the open window, Fleur stands in the middle of the room, arms crossed, her bridal gown—layers of delicate fabric, shaped like a pastry—flaring as she moves. A bridesmaid stands before her, looking thoroughly miserable.

Hermione exhales, the scene striking a nerve.

Two weeks ago, she and Ginny had been sprawled across her bed, flipping through bridal magazines.

Ginny had snatched one up, flipping to a page with a model drowning in lace. "That’s hideous," she’d declared, wrinkling her nose.

Hermione had laughed. "That’s basically Fleur’s dress."

They’d dissolved into giggles, their amusement only growing when Fleur had floated into the room, radiant as ever, beaming.

"My dress has arrived!" she’d announced.

Hermione had forced a polite smile. Ginny had not.

"Please tell me it’s not like that," Ginny had whispered later, pointing at the magazine.

Hermione hadn’t answered. Because it was.

Her fingers tighten around the fabric of her dress as another memory pushes forward—

Fourth year. The Beauxbatons students sweeping into the Great Hall, draped in soft blue, otherworldly in their grace.

And Fleur, at the front. Her nose up in the sky.

"She’s part Veela, you know," someone had whispered.

And now Fleur was marrying Bill.

The thought hits her like a hex to the chest.

She inhales sharply, forcing herself to push it all down.

It’s too late.

"This is surely not what you thought it would be"

The decorations, grandeur, so many people. This is surely not what you thought it would be Hermione murmurs to herself as she retreats to the room, her heart heavy with uncertainty. She opens a box filled with letters, the cherished remnants of a love that has blossomed over the years. As she sifts through them, her fingers graze a familiar object—a Polaroid photo.

It’s a snapshot of Bill, smiling brightly, his face free of the scars left by Greyback. He looks striking, just as he did then, and always will.
_____

Bill adjusted his tie in the mirror, frowning slightly at his reflection.

"You clean up nicely," Hermione teased, leaning against the doorframe.

He smirked, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Yeah? You look beautiful every day."

Her heart fluttered at his compliment, and for a moment, she nearly forgot how to breathe.

Later, when he returned from the wedding, Hermione was curled up in the library, fast asleep. The soft sounds of the house faded around her as she dreamed.

Suddenly, she felt gentle fingers brushing her hair from her face.

"Hermione," Bill's voice was soft, close.

She stirred, blinking sleepily. "How was it?"

His smile was warm but weary. "Beautiful."

Before she could gather her thoughts, he lifted her effortlessly, carrying her down the hall.

He laid her back in bed, tucking the blanket around her, and pressed a tender kiss to her forehead. "Sweet dreams, Mi."

The next morning, excitement bubbled within her as she recalled the night’s tender moments. “Tell me about the wedding,” she urged when she saw him.

A wide grin spread across Bill’s face. “You should have seen it! Small, intimate—everything felt personal.”

Curiosity sparked in her eyes. “What do you mean?”

Bill leaned back, his excitement palpable. “There was this amazing cake, just the closest friends and family—no big fancy stuff. It was all about the love, you know? It felt so real.”

“That sounds perfect,” Hermione replied, her heart aching with a longing she couldn’t quite place. “I think I’d want something like that too. Just the people who matter.”

“Exactly!” he said, nodding vigorously. “No show, just genuine moments. You’d love it. It was magical.”

His expression shifted, turning serious as he looked at her. “You know, one day, I want to have that kind of wedding too—something simple, something special.”

“Really?” she asked, surprised but thrilled. “You do?”

“Of course. It’s about what matters most,” he said softly, his gaze lingering on her.

In that moment, Hermione felt the weight of what could be, mingling with the reality of the present. Every word he spoke wrapped around her heart like a warm embrace, deepening the connection between them.

_____

Now, as she holds the photo, the spot where he had kissed her feels like it’s burning with the same warmth as it had back then. It had been a moment of pure magic, a time when everything felt simple and right.

And then, Charlie's voice echoed in her mind. "What happened?"

She didn’t have an answer—not yet. But the pieces of her heart, her thoughts, were all tangled in the past, caught between what was and what could have been.

"I lose myself in a daydream
Where I stand and say
Don't say yes, run away now
I'll meet you when you're out of the church at the back door
Don't wait, or say a single vow
You need to hear me out"

Hermione slipped on her heels, but the moment she stood, a wave of unease crashed over her, knocking the breath from her lungs. A bad feeling—deep, unshakable—curled around her ribs.

She hurries to check her bag, ensuring she has everything she and the boys need where ever they go. Her gaze drifts to the room, and she spots the box of letters—memories of him, of them. After a brief hesitation, she takes it, her heart heavy.

Memories flood her.

_____

The library at Grimmauld Place was dimly lit, the scent of parchment and dust thick in the air. Hermione sat curled in one of the worn armchairs, a book open in her lap, but she wasn’t reading. She couldn’t. Not with the weight of everything pressing down on her.

Bill was late.

She had stayed behind to wait for him while the others went to visit Arthur at St. Mungo’s and he comes back, knowing he wouldn’t be released until morning. He had insisted he was fine, that he didn’t need company, but she had seen the tightness around his eyes, the way his hands had trembled when he thought no one was looking.

The door creaked open.

Bill stepped inside, shoulders stiff, hair disheveled. The moment he saw her, something in him broke.

He crossed the room in long strides and dropped to his knees in front of her, wrapping his arms around her waist. His head fell against her lap, and he exhaled sharply, like he had been holding himself together for too long.

Hermione hesitated only a second before threading her fingers into his hair, her other hand settling on his back.

“He’s going to be okay,” she whispered.

Bill let out a breath, but he didn’t answer. He only tightened his hold on her, pressing his forehead against her thigh, his grip firm like he was afraid to let go.

“I know,” he finally murmured, his voice thick. “I just—when I saw him lying there—” He cut himself off, shaking his head.

Hermione swallowed past the ache in her throat and ran her fingers gently through his hair, the way she used to soothe Harry after his nightmares. “It’s okay,” she said softly. “You don’t have to say anything.”

They stayed like that, the silence stretching between them—not uncomfortable, just there, like a shared understanding.

Eventually, Bill sighed and pulled back, sitting back on his heels. He didn’t let go of her completely, his hands still resting lightly on her knees. He looked up at her, something unreadable in his expression.

And then he gave her a small, tired smile. “Thanks, Hermione.”

She nodded, her fingers still tangled in his hair before she hesitantly pulled away.

When they were back in school a letter arrived one morning

**************************************

Hermione,

There’s a new witch at work—Fleur Delacour. She’s French, brilliant at Charms, and has everyone utterly enchanted.

I think you’d like her. Or maybe you wouldn’t.

I don’t know why I’m writing to you about this. Maybe because you always seem to understand things before I do. Or maybe because I miss you.

Arthur is healing, but things feel different now. Everything feels different.

Write back when you can.

- Bill
**************************************

Hermione traced the ink with her fingers, a sharp pang blooming in her chest. She knew exactly what it was—what it meant—but she wasn’t ready to face it. Not yet.

She had tried to stop him.

“Harry, it’s a trap,” she’d said, gripping his arm, desperation clawing at her chest. “It doesn’t make sense. You-Know-Who wouldn’t let Sirius live if he had him—”

“I have to go,” he had said, his jaw tight with determination.

And in the end, she had gone with him. Of course she had. She wouldn’t let him face it alone.

But she had been right. It was a trap.

Dolohov’s curse hit her square in the chest. Searing pain exploded through her, ripping the breath from her lungs. The world tilted, her vision blurred, and the last thing she saw before it all went black—

Bill.

Then—pain. Darkness. The distant hum of voices, hands pressing against her, trying to heal.

When she finally woke, the world was blurry and unfamiliar. She shifted slightly, wincing at the dull ache in her body. The scent of potions clung to the air.

A rustling sound made her turn her head.

Bill.

He was slumped in a chair beside her bed, fast asleep, his face slack with exhaustion. His hand rested on the mattress, so close to hers.

Her fingers twitched, barely brushing his.

His eyes snapped open instantly. For a second, he just stared, disbelief written all over his face. Then, without thinking, he stood, leaning over the bed to wrap his arms around her tightly, burying his face in her neck as he held her close.

“Merlin, Hermione—you’re awake,” he breathed, his voice thick with emotion.

“You came back,” she murmured, relief washing over her.

“Of course I did. When I heard what happened… I had to see you. I’ve been here for days.”

Something shifted in her chest. He was so close—his arms warm around her, his voice unsteady in a way she had never heard before.

“I was so scared,” she admitted softly, her heart racing at the proximity.

“Me too,” he replied, pulling back slightly to look into her eyes. “I thought I lost you.”

As she turned her head, still nestled against him, their faces were inches apart. His breath caught, and in that charged moment, he leaned in and kissed her.

Soft at first, hesitant—like he wasn’t sure he was allowed.

She kissed him back.

But then he pulled away, exhaling sharply. “Sorry,” he muttered, raking a hand through his hair. “I just—I thought you were going to die, and…” He shook his head, his expression turning serious. “When you’re of age, I will court you properly. If you’ll have me. I’m sorry—I won’t do it again.”

Hermione reached out, cupping his cheek gently. He finally met her gaze.

“Bill, I… I’ve been in love with you for almost two years now. I can wait a few more months.”

His brows furrowed in surprise. “Months?”

She gave him a small, knowing smile. “I used a Time-Turner in my third year. According to the Ministry, my age was affected. This birthday, I turn seventeen, not sixteen.”

His lips parted slightly in shock, then softened into something deeper. “Godric, Hermione,” he whispered, pressing his forehead against hers. “I love you.”

They stayed like that—wrapped up in each other, steady, unshaken—for a long time.

_____

What would happen if she simply stepped forward, interrupted the proceedings, and laid bare her feelings?

What if I asked Bill what he truly wanted? What if I urged him to reconsider the promises he was about to make?

What if I told him I couldn't bear the thought of him committing to someone else? What if I said I loved him, that I wanted to be with him, no matter the cost? What if I asked him what happened? what changed?

Hermione gathered her strength, she steps into the tent, her eyes lock onto Bill standing at the altar. Charlie, positioned behind him, glances back at her, worry etched across his face. She can’t meet their gaze and looks down, trying to steady herself as a whirlwind of emotions courses through her.

"Fond gestures are exchanged
And the organ starts to play
A song that sounds like a death march"

The wedding ceremony began, and Hermione felt an odd detachment from the festivities unfolding around her. She greeted familiar faces, exchanging pleasantries with guests, even Viktor, who had come to support them. But no matter who stood before her, her gaze always returned to Bill. He stood at the altar, radiating a charm and warmth that made her heart ache.

Memories flooded her mind—those fleeting moments from that summer after they kissed. She remembered how they barely saw each other afterward, the lingering taste of hope and disappointment mingling in her heart. She had sent him letters, pouring out her feelings, yet his responses never came. Those lonely hours in the library at Grimmauld Place haunted her, waiting for him to appear, only to be met with silence.

The few times she caught a glimpse of him from afar felt like bittersweet reminders of what might have been. And then there was Fleur, effortlessly beautiful and poised, always by his side. Each moment she witnessed them together—Bill's laughter, the way he looked at her, and the tenderness of their kisses—shattered her heart anew, each piece falling to the floor like a forgotten promise.

Now, as she stood among the well-wishers at their wedding, her heart felt heavy with grief. She could hardly breathe as the reality of the moment settled in. How could it come to this? she thought, fighting against the tide of emotions threatening to overwhelm her. The melody of the organ reverberated in her chest, each note a reminder of the love she had lost.

Hermione clenched her fists at her sides, forcing herself to stand tall, even as her heart lay shattered on the floor. She wouldn’t let her pain define her today. With a deep breath, she steeled herself for whatever came next, determined to hold onto her memories, even as she let go of the dream she had once cherished.

"She floats down the aisle like a pageant queen
But I know you wish it was me
You wish it was me
Don't you?"

As Hermione watched Fleur glide toward the altar, her heart raced uncontrollably, pounding in her chest like a drum. Her body shook with a mix of anxiety and heartache, and she could barely find the strength to stand. What happend?

_____

The atmosphere at Slughorn’s party was electric, filled with laughter and the clinking of glasses. Hermione stood to the side, a sense of unease swirling in her chest as she scanned the crowd. She had been surprised to see Bill there, especially after he had stopped answering her letters following his relationship with Fleur.

As she watched him from afar, a familiar pang of longing washed over her. He was laughing with friends, his warm presence a stark reminder of the connection they had once shared. The sight of him made her heart ache, memories flooding back to the moments they had spent together—moments that felt like a lifetime ago.

Then, unexpectedly, Bill spotted her and made his way across the room. “Mind if I ask for a dance?” he said, his smile brightening her world. Hope blossomed within her, and she nodded, feeling a rush of excitement.

As they danced, Hermione tried to focus on the warmth of his hands on her waist, the music wrapping around them like a comforting embrace. But it quickly became clear that his thoughts were elsewhere. He twirled her around, but it felt as if he were looking right through her, oblivious to the depth of her feelings. Each moment spent in his arms felt like a bittersweet reminder of the distance that had grown between them.

“Having fun?” she asked, attempting to draw him back into their shared moment. She wanted to rekindle the spark they once had, to remind him of what they meant to each other.

“Yeah, it’s great,” he replied, but his gaze drifted past her, searching for something—or someone—else. Hermione's heart sank as she realized he was no longer truly present with her. The laughter around them felt louder, as if mocking her quiet despair.

She felt the familiar sting of tears threatening to spill as he stepped back, his attention shifting entirely to his friends. In that moment, it hit her hard: he was no longer hers. The connection they once had had been eclipsed by his new relationship with Fleur, leaving her in a shadow of heartbreak.

After the song ended, she watched as Bill moved away, absorbed in conversation with others, completely ignoring her existence. As the vibrant atmosphere continued around her, Hermione turned away, feeling the weight of disappointment settle in her chest.

That night, as she fell asleep, tears streamed down her cheeks, mingling with the quiet ache in her heart. She had hoped for something more, something that could mend the cracks in her soul, but all she felt was the emptiness of unspoken words and lost chances.

_____

Now, as Fleur approached him, Hermione’s thoughts spiraled into a whirlpool of despair. She focused intently on Bill, willing him to glance her way, to recognize the connection they had forged, even if just for a fleeting moment. And then, in a heartbeat, he did. She saw him catch his breath, confusion etched on his face as he looked from her to Fleur and back again.

For just a moment, it felt as though time stood still. He took a tentative step toward her, hope igniting within Hermione's chest. But just as quickly, Fleur reached him, took his hand, and locked eyes with him. In that instant, the connection between Hermione and Bill seemed to fade into nothingness. The warmth of his gaze vanished, replaced by the glowing admiration he reserved for his bride.

A single tear slipped down Hermione's cheek, and she fought to maintain her composure. Charlie, who had witnessed the whole exchange, stood off to the side, his expression a mix of concern and confusion. He sensed the tension, the heartbreak swirling around Hermione, and was determined to understand what had just transpired.

As the ceremony continued, Hermione felt like a ghost, a mere observer to the love story unfolding before her. She wished desperately for things to be different, for Bill to see her, for him to know how much she cared. But all she could do now was stand there, lost in her pain, as the reality of his commitment settled heavily in her heart.

"Your time is running out"

They're at the alter now, Hermione’s gaze fixated on Bill. She noticed him touch the scars on his face, She knows hates them, but to her, he is still gorgeous, each scar a testament to his bravery.

_____

The battlefield is chaos and flashes of light. A curse hurtles toward her and time seems to slow as she watches Bill leap into action, his figure cutting through the chaos. In a heartbeat, he shoves her out of harm's way, his body shielding hers from the curse's lethal intent. The moment is both heroic and heartbreaking; his eyes—once warm and full of love—are now clouded with a confusion that pierces her heart.

“Be safe and come back to me!” she cries, desperation lacing her voice as she reaches for him. But instead of reassurance, he gives her a blank stare, a look that feels like a stranger standing before her. 

At night she finds herself in the quiet of the hospital wing. The sterile scent of potions hangs in the air. The room is dimly lit, shadows dancing across the walls as moonlight streams through the window. She sneaks in, her heart racing, relief flooding her as she spots him lying there, pale and still.

Cautiously, she approaches his bedside, her footsteps soft against the floor. She takes his hand, cradling it in both of hers, feeling the warmth of his skin grounding her in the stillness. “You’re so brave,” she whispers, her voice barely above a breath. “I’ll always be by your side if you want me to be. I still love you, even if it seems like you don’t remember us.”

Tears prick at her eyes as she speaks, each word laced with the weight of her fear. The memories of them flash through her mind. She leans closer, pressing her forehead against his, hoping for some flicker of recognition.

“You have to stay alive" she murmurs, her heart aching at the thought of a world without him. The fear of losing him grips her tightly, and she clings to his hand as if it’s a lifeline. The room feels too quiet, too still, amplifying the thundering beat of her heart.

_____

She wanted to scream out to him, to remind him of everything they had been to each other. But all she could do was watch, helpless, as he stood beside Fleur, the love of her life standing at the altar with someone else.

“Your time is running out,” she thought, feeling the urgency in her heart. She had to fight for him, to remind him of their past, to reignite the connection that had once burned so brightly between them.

"I hear the preacher say, "Speak now or forever hold your peace"

The church was filled with a hushed reverence, the kind that made every heartbeat echo in the stillness. Fleur stood beside Bill at the altar, radiant in her white gown, her hand confidently clasped in his. The organ played a soft melody that felt like a march toward the inevitable. But as Hermione sat in the pew, she felt a storm brewing inside her.

Bill’s eyes were locked on Fleur, the warmth in his gaze making Hermione’s heart clench painfully. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Just weeks ago, they had shared stolen moments, laughter, and plans for the future. Now, here he was, about to marry someone else.

As the ceremony progressed, Hermione's mind raced back to their last moments together, and the anger and confusion bubbled up inside her. She knew she couldn’t let this happen without saying something.

“Bill!” she called out, her voice trembling but resolute.

All eyes turned toward her, shock rippling through the congregation. Fleur’s head snapped around, her expression a mix of surprise and annoyance.

“Look at me, Bill!” Hermione’s voice cut through the silence, raw and pleading. “You said you loved me! What happened?”

Bill hesitated, confusion flickering in his eyes as he turned away from Fleur to face Hermione.

“You promised me, after my birthday, that you would court me. What happened?” Hermione’s heart raced as she took a step closer, the words spilling out of her like a desperate plea.

Fleur's expression hardened as she stepped forward, her voice sharp and defensive. “He’s mine!”

But Hermione wouldn’t back down. “Bill, please! You can’t marry her! You have to remember us!” She felt tears welling up, blurring her vision, but she refused to look away from him.

Bill’s brow furrowed, and for a brief moment, Hermione saw a flicker of recognition in his eyes. “Hermione, I—” he started, but Fleur tightened her grip on his hand, her eyes blazing with possessiveness.

“Don’t you dare!” she shot back, her voice loud enough to draw gasps from the guests. “You chose me!”

Hermione’s chest tightened with desperation. “Bill, listen! You don’t have to do this. We had something real. Don’t you remember?”

Standing next to Bill, Charlie, as the best man, shifted uncomfortably. He glanced at his brother, concern etched across his face. He knew Bill loved Hermione—had seen it in every glance, every shared moment—but he didn’t understand why Bill was choosing Fleur now. “Bill, think about what you’re doing, mate,” Charlie urged, his voice calm but firm. “Do you really want to spend your life with someone you’re not sure about?”

Ron and Harry, sitting in the pew behind Hermione, exchanged confused glances. They had no idea about the history between Hermione and Bill, their eyes darting between the scene unfolding in front of them. “What’s going on?” Ron whispered to Harry, bewildered.

Luna, seated nearby, tilted her head thoughtfully, her voice cutting through the tension. “Well, isn’t it obvious? She’s part Veela,” she said, nodding toward Fleur. “That’s why she’s so enchanting. It’s hard to compete with that.”

The comment hung in the air, adding a strange levity to the gravity of the moment, but it didn’t lessen the tension between Hermione and Fleur. Hermione turned her gaze back to Bill, desperation fueling her words. “Bill, don’t let this be the end for us. Please, just say something. I can’t lose you like this.”

The air was thick with tension, the silence pressing heavily on them. Bill’s expression softened again as he flickered back to Hermione, and for a moment, it felt like the world stood still.

But then Fleur pulled him back, her grip firm, locking him in place.

“Bill, this isn’t just about today. It’s your future,” Charlie urged, standing resolutely by his brother’s side. “You know how you feel about Hermione. Don’t ignore it.”

Hermione’s heart shattered as she watched Bill look at Fleur, the warmth in his eyes returning, but now it was only for her.

As Fleur smiled at Bill, Hermione felt a tear slip down her cheek, the finality of the moment crashing over her like a wave. She had fought for him, but now it seemed it was too late.

Ron leaned in closer to Hermione, whispering, “We’re here for you, Hermione. No matter what happens.”

With her heart breaking, Hermione took a step back, the fight slipping from her as she realized she could only hope Bill would remember the love they once shared.

Feeling the weight of the moment too heavy to bear, Hermione turned to leave the tent, her heart aching with every step. 

"And you'll say, "Let's run away now"
I'll meet you when I'm out of my tux at the back door
Baby, I didn't say my vows
So glad you were around
When they said, "Speak now""

Something shifted in Bill’s eyes, a spark of realization igniting within. Charlie leaned in closer, urgency threading his words. “You know what you want, Bill. Don’t let this moment pass you by.”

As the music faded, Bill’s grip on Fleur’s hand loosened. His gaze was drawn irresistibly to Hermione’s retreating figure, the hurt and heartbreak radiating from her piercing his heart. Her name lingered in his thoughts like a spell, enchanting and powerful. Hermione, he thought, tasting the magic of her name on his lips.

In that moment, everything fell into place. He had been caught in a whirlwind, swept away by the allure of a Veela, but now, clarity pierced through the fog enveloping him. He took a deep breath, the realization striking him like a lightning bolt.

“I can’t do this,” he finally said, his voice steady, though his heart raced in his chest.

Fleur’s eyes widened in disbelief, her expression shifting from confusion to anger. “What do you mean?” she demanded, her grip tightening around his hand as if she could hold him there.

He turned fully towards her, his heart pounding as he spoke the truth he had kept buried deep inside. “Hermione is the one I want. She’s the one I love. I can’t say my vows when my heart belongs to someone else.”

Gasps rippled through the congregation, shock evident on every face as eyes darted between Bill and Fleur. Charlie stepped back, a proud smile spreading across his face, sensing the monumental shift in the air.

As Hermione paused at the tent’s entrance, his words echoing in her ears, a glimmer of hope ignited within her. Could it be? Was he really choosing her?

“Hermione!” Bill called out, his voice breaking through the chaos.

“I didn’t say my vows,” he continued, his voice firm and unwavering. “I’m so glad you were around.”

Slowly, Hermione turned, tears glistening in her eyes. In that moment, the world faded away, and it was just the two of them. Charlie’s encouraging nod and Ron and Harry’s shocked expressions melted into the background as Bill took a deep breath, stepping toward her with a mixture of determination and vulnerability.

He enveloped her in his arms, holding her tightly against him. “I’m so sorry. I love you, Hermione. I love you so much. I can’t believe I hurt you this way. It will never happen again, I promise.” His hands cradled her face, their foreheads touching, their bodies entwined as they found solace in each other.

Molly Weasley watched from the sidelines, tears of joy streaming down her face, while the twins couldn’t help but catcall, their playful banter breaking the tension.

But before the confrontation could escalate, a large and silver lynx entered the tent, the Patronus's mouth opened, and it spoke in the voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt.

“The Ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming.”

Chaos erupted around them, panic washing over the crowd like a tidal wave. Bill instinctively shielded Hermione as Death Eaters began to emerge from the shadows, their faces twisted with malice. He pushed her behind him, ready to defend her against the encroaching danger. “Hermione, we need to go!” he shouted, his eyes darting around for the others.

With determination, Hermione reached for Bill’s hand, her heart racing. She caught Harry and Ron’s attention, who ran toward her, ready to fight alongside them. Bill continued to fend off the Death Eaters, protecting the group as best he could.

When Hermione finally had all four of them together, she focused her magic, feeling the familiar tug of apparation. “Now!” she urged, and in an instant, they vanished, leaving the chaos of the tent and the broken wedding behind.