Chapter 32
Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes as Harry checked his wristwatch for the twelfth time in as many minutes. She sat with the rest of the Weasley family as Ron and Harry stood nervously at the alter. While Harry looked concerned, and Molly was beside herself (hysterically assuring the ministry worker that her son would marry that woman today and begging the man not to haul Ron to Azkaban because she was running late), the groom-to-be seemed to be getting more relaxed by the second. Mione couldn’t believe that Pansy would pull a stunt as dangerous as not showing up for her wedding. The girl was a Slytherin, for Merlin’s sake! Wasn’t self-preservation written into their DNA? From the whining and complaining she’d endured from the other girl throughout the last few weeks (and especially last night) it seemed entirely unlikely that she’d not show up to the wedding today.
Mione glanced around the room again, eyeing the calm relatives of the bride as they looked down their noses at her and the rest of the groom’s side, eyes meeting Draco’s across the room. He quirked an eyebrow at her before casually shrugging his shoulders at her unspoken question; Where the hell is the bride?
“Hermione,” she jumped and reached for her wand instinctively as she whipped around to face the speaker. Mr Weasley gave her an apologetic smile. “Sorry dear, but would you mind going to see what’s taking so long? I’d send Molly but I’m afraid she’ll do something she’ll regret later if I do. I’m sure the bride will be here soon, but I’d feel better if you’d check in and see what the problem is.” She nodded curtly, vibrating softly as she unclenched her tense muscles and stood on shaky legs. She held herself as steady as possible as she made her way to the Savoy’s dressing rooms, located a few doors down from the altar room. She could hear the commotion before she even opened the door.
“- Not just the dress! If I can’t have even one thing go right today, then I’m not going in there! I don’t care what the ministry has to say about it!” She ducked in quietly so as not to interrupt Pansy’s tirade.
“If you don’t go in, Princess, they’ll send you to Azkaban.” An older man (whom she assumed was the other girl’s father) pleaded. “Your Mother and I don’t wish to see you from behind bars.”
“Then get it fixed! Daddy, everything is wrong! How can you put me through this? Don’t you even love me?” Hermione cringed as she watched the almost twenty-two-year-old woman have a tantrum.
“What’s going on?” Hermione whispered to Astoria where she and the other bridesmaids sat waiting.
“What’s going on? What’s going on!” Pansy cried in frustration, “What’s going on is they’ve sent the wrong dress! I asked for yellow. Gold. This is not yellow gold! This is white gold. And the dress was supposed to be 36 inches wide! This is clearly not even 31. And don’t even get me started on the venue! I mean, the Savoy? It’s insulting. I should be getting married in Cowley Manor! Or at the very least the Royal Pavilion. I deserve to have that at least since I’m marrying this derelict, brutish-”
“That’s enough.” Hermione turned to see an elegant, older woman entering the room, interrupting Pansy right before she had the chance to. Her anger at the other girl lessened some as the room got slightly colder. She noticed Astoria, Bulstrode, and Tracy Davis stand up straighter. Their eyes slightly downcast as they nodded at the older witch. The bride-to-be had stopped sobbing and was breathing slowly in an attempt to calm herself.
“Mother, this isn’t fair. I deserve better than this, don’t I?” Pansy sounded like a lost child as she kept her head down and clasped her hands in front of her, her father scrambling out of the way to greet his wife.
“Vicky, darling, I have this under control.”
“Alastair, all you have under control is your Galleon book. What have I told you about coddling the girl? Pansy, I have raised you better than this. Crying over a dress? It’s pathetic. I expect you to present yourself better than this. The Selwyn and Parkinson lines are noble, pure-blooded and respected. If you show up looking like you’ve been unsettled it will give the impression that you are the derelict one. You may be marrying a blood traitor but you are not in jail, you are not dead, and you are not turning into some bumbling squib. I will be returning to my seat now, I expect I won’t have to return to speak with you again before you are married.” Pansy bowed her head softly, squaring her shoulders.
“Of course, Mother. I will not let you down further.” The woman levelled a glare at her husband before turning to leave the room. She stopped for a moment, arms crossed, as she stared at Mione.
“I didn’t see you on the wedding party list. Why are you here?”
“Mr Weasley sent me, to make sure everything was alright,” Hermione answered, standing tall and as unaffected by the woman as she could make herself appear.
“Hmph, they would send a mud-blood to sully the preparations. Leave this room now, you have no business being in here and I don’t want the guests to think we’ve lowered ourselves to associate with your kind. ” Hermione glared at the older brunette before biting her tongue and glaring at the other occupants of the room who refused to meet her eye.
“I just came to see what the hold-up was. Parkinson, will you be making an appearance today or should I send in the Minister?”
“Didn’t you hear my Mother, mud-blood? I’ll be there in a second. Leave before you infect me with something.” Pansy snapped angrily, a glint of regret in her eye as she glared. Hermione scoffed and stalked out of the room, Mrs Parkinson not far behind.
“A word of advice, girl. Know your place.” Mione turned as the woman walked past her. “You may be marrying into the Malfoy family but all that will achieve is lowering their status. You will never be anything more than a parasite. It’s a wonder the Dark Lord didn’t squish you when he had the chance.” The witch kept walking and Hermione had half a mind to hex the living daylights out of her and half a mind to turn her in to the authorities. She took deep breaths to keep herself from doing either, knowing that however angry the woman made her she had no say over Hermione’s life. She’d dealt with enough bigots and racists in her short 11 years in this world to know when to prove herself and when to just ignore the bullies. After calming herself enough to think straight she walked back into the ceremony and sat down gently in her chair with a smile that didn’t quite meet her eyes.
“Just a wardrobe malfunction. She should be out soon.” She assured Arthur.