Hermione tipped her head to get a better view of the back and adjusted a stray curl. A flick of her wrist set it magically into place, and—there. Perfect.
Not a hair out of place.
Content with her hair and face, she stepped out of the direct light of the bathroom, and paused by the full length mirror at the end of the hall to get a proper look at herself, one surrounded by an antique, ornate frame. The vintage dress she was in suited it so well that her reflection could've been a picture.
The dress was a champagne sort of off-white that suited her skin tone and the gold of her ring. Its body had a sweetheart neckline covered by delicate, sheer lace that fitted modestly around her neck and finished at her wrists. It was more conservative than the sort of dress she'd previously imagined herself getting married in, but it suited the time, and it was undoubtedly beautiful. It also didn't hurt that it fit her like a glove, like it'd been made just for her.
Hermione twisted on the spot, turning to make sure all of the buttons at the back were properly fastened, and then, as ready as she was ever going to be, she took hold of the white bouquet that was waiting for her and headed out into the castle.
Outside, leaning in the corridor opposite the borrowed bedroom door and slimmer than she ever remembered him being, was Cygnus Black.
"Miss Granger," he greeted as he pushed off the wall and looked her over, voice dripping with the same smugness she remembered of him. His tone was aged though, worn from the last decade, but she supposed he wasn't a schoolboy anymore. "You look... all set."
Hermione hesitated as she approached. She wasn't sure why, but as she lingered in the hallway, she was struck with a mild wave of... trepidation?
It didn't last long though. It was only fleeting, and as quickly as she'd felt it to begin with, the feeling was gone.
"I am," she told him politely as she approached him, admiring his extravagant robes. "And you look very fetching, Cygnus. The green suits you."
Cygnus laughed. "Chuffed you think so, Miss," he said as he adjusted his tie, brows raised with delight. "Shall we then?"
Cygnus poked out his elbow towards her, and without thinking about it, Hermione gently took hold with her free hand. She was ready.
Arm in arm, Cygnus started them off at a considerate pace out through the ground floor of the castle, through the clock tower courtyard and towards the grounds. Being the middle of summer, they weren't interrupted on their way, and Cygnus didn't bother trying to fill the quiet with small talk. Hermione didn't either.
She didn't know where they were going, but she wasn't worried. Cygnus had undoubtedly been informed of Tom's choice of venue, and she knew that despite his many faults, Cygnus wasn't daft enough to misguide her on a day like this, not while Tom was waiting for them.
At the end of the footbridge, as the pavers turned into the dirt track that led down toward the lake, Hermione noticed infrequently scattered white petals lining the path.
They must've been on track then.
They followed the petals along and as they reached the bottom of the path, Hermione expected Cygnus to lead her to the left, further down the hill to the lake shore. Instead, however, he guided her right, and together, they followed the path down to the forest line to where several small balls of golden light hovered, seemingly waiting for them.
One of the balls gently took off into the forest as they reached it, and Cygnus led her on, following after their guide.
He slowed down as the ground became uneven, and she was grateful that he took particular care to warn her of any roots they passed over so she wouldn't trip.
Birds chirped around them as they ventured deeper into the forest, to where the trees thickened and the afternoon sun dimmed in their shade. They kept going, though, not slowing until the path barely resembled a path any more. Had it not been for their guide and the petals lining the way, she would've asked if Cygnus was sure they were going the right way, but then—
Ah. Music.
A quiet echo of a string quartet reached them as the petal-lined path led them to a giant tree blocking their way, and she was sure. This was definitely it.
"You ready, Miss?" Cygnus asked, pausing by the treeline.
The answer was on her tongue before she even registered his words. "Of course."
"Well then," said Cygnus as he started to guide her onward, "hold on tight and watch your step. He'll never let me forget it if you trip in front of everyone on my watch."
Using his arm to steady her, Hermione carefully climbed alongside him up and over the roots blocking the way, and then over the hill at the base of the tree.
And down ahead, past another two short trees that came together like an arch, was a clearing.
Those particular trees were vaguely familiar to her, and Hermione was suddenly sure she'd been in the very same clearing with Tom once before.
This time, however, it was dressed entirely differently.
Beneath the trees was a rich crimson carpet, laid out to guide their entry. Past them, flanking the carpet, were neatly aligned rows of wooden chairs. What must've been hundreds of lit candles hovered above over the clearing, filling the space with a warm glow, and it must've been filled with thirty, forty people, who all stood and turned at the sight of them.
The small string band at the back continued playing as they strode forth, and as Hermione scanned over the small crowd, she didn't spot many faces she knew. But that wasn't to say she didn't recognise them.
She caught sight of three, four, five well-known politicians looking back at her from the back few rows; all members of the Wizengamot, and beside the chairman, she noticed Roderick Lestrange, Head of Law Enforcement.
In the row ahead of them, were his children, Rabastan and Rodolphus, looking almost grown in their pristinely pressed dress robes. Beside them, was Abraxas Malfoy and his young wife, fresh out of school, and in the two rows that followed, Hermione found only strangers. In the second row from the front though, she caught sight of Tom's friends, Nott and Rosier. They grinned and Nott gave Cygnus a thumbs up as they passed.
Aside from the Hogwarts staff she recognised—Dippet, Slughorn, Kettleburn and Beery—the guests were all Tom's.
And there, standing regally at the end of the carpet, underneath an arch of low meeting of branches before them all, was Tom himself.
His eyes remained keenly focused on her as she approached, drinking her in, but despite the intensity he appraised her with, she walked confidently beside Cygnus. She didn't stumble, didn't trip over her own feet, didn't hesitate.
She was the perfect bride.
Cygnus led her up the gentle slope of the raised mound Tom waited for her on. At the top, he gently unhooked her arm from his and took her flowers for her, while Tom took hold of her hands.
His skin was cool and Hermione relaxed into his touch. His grip was firm, and though it was reassuring, she didn't need it to be.
Now that she was there, she didn't have a single worry in the world.
The music quietened down just then as an elderly man dressed in formal green robes approached to her left and took place in the centre behind their joined hands.
"On behalf of your hosts," he announced loudly to the clearing, "I'd like to welcome some of you, for the first time, to the Hogwarts grounds, and to welcome the rest of you back. Please be respectful of the grounds upon which we meet, and for your own safety, please refrain from straying from the marked path into the forest..."
As he spoke, Tom's grip tightened.
"You look beautiful," he murmured quietly.
"Thank you," Hermione whispered, swelling with the praise, "My Lord."
At that, Tom's lips twitched and he glanced away, turning his head to watch the officiant as he spoke. Hermione didn't look away from Tom though. Instead, she watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed and admired the curvature of his lips and the gentle lines that formed as he tried to restrain his smile.
His robes were subtler than Cygnus', but no less regal. His outer jacket was black, lined with a deep, royal green. His collar was crisply folded, neatly covering his off-white tie that was woven subtly with the same floral pattern that was stitched into the lace of her dress. The petals of his boutonnière matched impeccably.
He looked breathtaking.
The perfect groom to match the perfect bride.
"I didn't expect you to choose the forest," she whispered, eager for his attention to be back on her.
"No?" he murmured, careful not to interrupt the officiant. "Where did you think we'd be?"
"In the Great Hall, maybe," she suggested. "Or even by the lake."
Tom's eyes finally met hers again and his smile widened before he glanced back over to the end of the makeshift aisle.
"Do you remember coming out here, all those years ago?" he whispered, a familiar glint of hunger in his eyes. "You thought you could outrun me."
Hermione remembered it vividly, the way he'd caught her, the way he'd straddled her, the hard press of his wand into her neck. "Like it was only yesterday."
Tom's featured sobered. "You will never run from me again."
"No, My Lord," she agreed eagerly. "Never."
Tom's eyes flicked down slightly, down to her lips. She drew her bottom lip between her teeth.
"...elected to affirm their vows under a unifying ritual originally described more than four centuries ago, which you will now bear witness to."
Hermione didn't want the distraction—she'd much rather Tom and all in attendance saw just how perfectly in love she was—but she was forced to pay attention to the officiant as he brought forth a round, golden antique plate.
She shifted back slightly to make room as he held the plate out between herself and Tom, and left it levitating there beneath their hands.
Tom's eyes didn't leave hers all the while, nor did his grip on her hands loosen. It was almost as if he half expected her to flee.
She didn't.
Next, from the from the inside of his robes, the officiant drew out a sharp, thin blade with carvings in the metal that matched the plate perfectly, and held it by his side.
"Do you, Tom Marvolo Riddle, before witness, take Hermione Jean Granger, to be your partner in this life and the next, bound by vow, by blood, and by soul?"
Tom didn't hesitate. "I do."
"And do you, Hermione Jean Granger, before witness, take Tom Marvolo Riddle, to be your partner in this life and the next, bound by vow, by blood, and by soul?"
Hermione didn't miss a beat either. "I do."
"Do you vow to respect and uphold the ancient customs of the esteemed Gaunt lineage, and to ensure your union continues the legacy that runs through the blood of your bondmate?"
In the pause that followed the officiant's question, Tom's composure, only very, very subtly, wavered.
But eager as ever to reassure him, to make him happy, Hermione smiled back widely. It came easily, naturally. It took no effort at all.
"I do."
Tom blinked quickly and as the officiant held out his hand expectantly, Tom focused back onto him.
He was good at hiding it. If it hadn't been for how long she'd known him, she wouldn't have noticed his relief at all. She doubted anyone else in the clearing had seen it.
Tom smoothly let go of her hand with his right and offered it to the officiant, palm side up. The officiant brought the blade to the centre of his palm.
"Then with this knife, I spill the blood of the groom."
A quick flick, and the knife sliced smoothly across Tom's palm, and he allowed the officiant to move his hand back, positioning it so that his blood to dripped down into the plate.
"And the blood of the bride," the officiant said next, gesturing for Hermione's hand.
She immediately went to give it—
And there it was again. A quiet, but definitely there wave of hesitation. Almost... like there was someone else there that she hadn't noticed until then, tagging along in the back of her mind, urging her not to.
...don't, please, whatever you do, don't do this, please, please don't—
But as abruptly as she registered the voice, it quietened back down, like it'd been muffled by something, and it was like it'd never been there at all.
Hermione dismissed it as nerves and offered her hand.
The officiant took it, and just like he had with Tom, he took the same knife, the one that was still coated with a fresh layer of Tom's blood, and slid it across her skin.
She flinched at the sting of the cut, but it wasn't unbearable, and the officiant guided her hand back into place.
Hermione watched, quickly becoming mesmerised as the droplets of her blood dripped down to join Tom's onto the plate, red joining red, until enough gathered for the drops to pool together into one.
"If you would now join hands," the officiant told them.
Tom offered his, his fresh wound facing upwards, and Hermione took it without pause. As their hands met, broken flesh against flesh, the wound thrummed with a joined pulse, seeming to grow hotter.
The officiant next brought his wand up and held it above their joined hands before he started to chant. Almost at once, thin shimmering, golden threads started to form, swirling up and outward from the plate of their mixed blood.
"Duabus animabus sanguine alligatis, nunc et in perpetuum..."
The threads danced together, elongating with his ongoing chants until they wove themselves around their hands. They circled around and around, tying them together from their hands to their forearms, until they shrunk in and closed in around them, seeping down into their skin.
The threads buried themselves down hotly to the bone, and as Hermione met Tom's eyes and the magic bound them together by vow, blood and soul— it all flooded in, like the snapping of a rubber band.
She returned to herself all at once, and the sudden weight of where she was, what was happening, what she'd just agreed to, all struck simultaneously, but it was more than that, too. Deep beneath her visceral, erupting horror, her dread and her shame, there was a distant onslaught of hunger, excitement, and relief.
It was done.
Emotions that weren't hers bubbled hotly around the outskirts of her mind, foreign and overpowering, and one glance at the thinly veiled elation in Tom's eyes told her exactly where they came from.
Hermione lurched with disgust and tried to pull her hand free, to interrupt what was happening before it was too late, but it was no use. The magic had their hands bound into place, connected like they were one, and she could do nothing more than watch as the the officiant's spell came to completion and they were fully bound together.
Forever.
What had she done?
"Then, for now and forever more, I declare you bound."