Chapter Text
The latest version of the Nott contract arrived at the beginning of July, in a more sensible form than its predecessor.
It did, however, contain several clauses that were so outrageous they made Hermione scoff out loud. Most importantly, they didn’t consider what she wanted, which was considerable by Pureblood standards.
Hermione let her lawyers work their magic first, adding a few suggestions for more creative clauses to keep the Nott lawyers busy.
She was growing impatient with the back and forth of it. Hermione had to constantly remind herself that no matter how painfully slow the process was, a marriage was still her best chance of getting an audience with, and close to the Dark Lord. Otherwise, Voldemort saw only his Death Eaters and their families, and she needed to either take the Dark Mark, or get his attention in some spectacular stunt - which could easily backfire.
As the clock crept closer to her goal, a restless energy was growing within her. She was almost halfway through her time, and the slow pressure to manoeuvre herself to a place of trust in the Inner Circle weighed heavily.
The thought of speeding up negotiations made her nervous, though. There was the risk she would end up too tightly bound to make a difference. It would also go against ‘the way things were done’ and set her apart from her pureblood peers.
There was a carefully laid out plan, and Hermione was still on target. Slow and steady would win the race.
So she fully intended not to push too hard in the contract negotiations and extract as much as possible from them. Stalling was a tactic. So she sent back her proposed amendments, knowing full well they wouldn't be the last.
The Malfoys hosted a small garden party a few days later.
All of Hermione's Slytherin acquaintances were attending, and she was looking forward to mining them all for information. So she dressed carefully and arrived just early enough to be fashionable, but make the most of her time.
Parminda made a beeline for Hermione as soon as she walked from the floo onto the lawns, where champagne were being served.
There was a look of panic on Parminda's face that made Hermione stop in her tracks. There had been far too much bad news recently. As much as Hermione could rationalise that Parminda wasn’t involved in the war, it still made Hermione’s heart sink at the worry that something had gone seriously wrong.
‘It’s happened,’ Parminda announced dramatically, throwing her hands up in the air.
‘What’s happened?’ Hermione started, and then stopped. There was only one thing that would cause such a reaction from her friend. A match must have been found for her for marriage. ‘Oh…’
‘Oh, sum it up. I’ve got three months, then I’m being carted off to India. It will be spring before I’m back in Europe,’ she said miserably.
‘What’s he like?’ Hermione probed, grabbing a glass of champagne from a nearby elf and taking a sip. It was delicious, of course.
‘He’s got a nice face, I suppose. Just deadly dull,’ Parminda sighed.
‘It could be worse, ‘minda.’ Hermione said gently.
‘I know. At least I’m coming back. I never really wanted the whole set of Marauders anyway…’ she trailed off wistfully.
‘How many did you get? Please say you didn’t go near Peter…’
‘Merlin, no! He doesn’t count. I was just missing Sirius, and he spends far too much time looking at your bum anyway,’ Parminda replied with a smirk on her face.
‘Parminda!’ she scolded. ‘I can’t help it if I have a very nice bum,’ she added primly.
They both burst into laughter, clinking their glasses together.
‘Please tell me you’re not objectifying my intended?’ Titus drawled, coming up behind them and giving Hermione a squeeze on the arm, which she returned gratefully.
Hermione turned towards him, catching the twinkle in his rich brown eyes, her cheeks heating as she gave him a small smile.
‘Oh, has she signed a contract yet?’ Parminda said with mock innocence.
‘I’m working on it,’ Titus replied, eyes narrowed. ‘She has some rather specific needs...’
‘I’ll leave you to hash them out then,’ Parminda replied, kissing Hermione’s cheek as she left.
‘My lawyers are feeling a little harassed,’ Titus commented, taking her empty cocktail glass and handing Hermione a glass of champagne to replace it, which she took gratefully.
‘As they should be. It’s good to make the help work for their money, isn't it?’ Hermione replied, taking a sip and enjoying the feeling of bubbles in her throat.
Titus hummed, taking a sip of his own glass and eyeing her carefully. He leaned forward and whispered in a low, conspiratorial voice. ‘I’ve been asked to beg for your mercy, but we both know that’s not my style, Cariad. So tell me, what is it that you really want?’
Hermione eyed him carefully, gesturing for him to sit on a nearby stone bench, behind a fountain and away from prying eyes. He did her bidding, with a small smile and a wry raise of his eyebrow. Hermione sat down next to him, taking a moment to centre herself before beginning again.
"I want freedom, Titus," she began without preamble, her gaze steelily determined. ‘To live my life, practise my magic, go where I please, see who I wish and so on.’
‘That doesn’t sound like a marriage,’ Titus replied tightly.
‘It sounds like a partnership. I still want to support your goals, share your bed, and be the mother of your very clever children. It doesn’t take away from the dowry you will receive, the information you’ll gain, the skill you and your family will have at their fingertips.’
‘You cannot be naive enough to think my Father will accept such a deal,’ Titus countered.
‘Make him see reason then. You deserve the wife you choose, and the Nott family deserves the best, my offers alone show that I am that,’ she answered, head held high.
‘Bringing Flores into this is a low blow, Cariad.’
‘I didn’t mean to. This is about us. I don’t do well with shackles, you know this. I choose the cause, I choose this life, and I choose you. Is that not so much more valuable than force?’ she implored, leaning forward to emphasise her point.
Titus took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, not breaking his eye contact. He bit his lip, his eyes twinkling as he took her in. Finally, he held up his hands in concession. ‘Fine, we’ll go over the details later. You lost me after ‘share my bed’ anyway, to be honest…’ he smiled.
She burst into a low chuckle. It very clearly wasn’t true. Titus would always weigh up every word she said carefully. It would take more than the suggestion of sex to throw him.
‘I have something for you,’ he said lightly, pulling out a box from his robes.
Hermione pursed her lips but took it from him, opening it carefully. Inside were a pair of ornate earrings. His courting gifts were getting more serious.
‘They have strong protective qualities, and act as a Portkey to the Nott estate whenever you need it. I’ve stripped them back to those two uses only, of course, as per your previous requests.’
‘They are beautiful,’ she said reverently.
‘So are you,’ he replied with a soft kiss.
.............
The day of James and Lily’s wedding was predictably beautiful. The sun shone brightly over the lawns of Potter Manor, the lake glistening and birds singing brightly, as if nature itself was blessing the union.
It was to be expected that someone as blessed as James would get a day to suit his mood, which was, of course, ecstatic. He was marrying the woman of his dreams.
Hermione forgave him all his ridiculousness that day - and there was a lot of it to go around. There was a middle-of-the-night start, panic over rings, and morning Quidditch for all, and that was all before 9 am.
James deserved the world, so he could get away with it.
Luckily, it was Sirius who was at the sharp end of it all. As James' platonic soulmate, he remained charmed by him throughout.
Hermione watched on as Sirius cajoled, reassured and at one point wrestled James into his robes, all with a surprising amount of good humour. Managing James was a full-time job, and Sirius made it look so effortless. Hermione told herself she was just being the good sister checking on them, ignoring the way her gaze lingered on Sirius’s artfully draped robes, warm smiles and crinkled eyes. She realised as her heart panged, what a sucker she was for his loyalty, unwavering friendship and sheer fun. There was nothing more attractive.
He hadn't really spoken to her since he'd found Regulus at Lily's parents' house, but Hermione could see his fire had burnt out. Whenever she'd seen him over the last few weeks, he'd looked jaded and melancholy. It was good to see him today in his element, his eyes sparkling with joy again.
Remus and Hermione took on the less onerous task of making sure the wedding practicalities were in order, supporting Euphemia and Fleamont to greet the guests, chase after wayward house elves and smooth over minor issues.
One less than minor issue was the Evans. Lily’s father was shy and frightened of magic, but reassuring words could help with that. Vernon and Petunia Evans were something else entirely. Hermione had never met such vapid, insipid, hateful people, and she’d lived with Slytherins for years.
‘You cannot leave me with them, Remus,’ Hermione said tensely. ‘I might murder them.’
‘Don’t try it on, Lady Potter,’ Remus replied, setting out the last of the chairs for the ceremony. ‘We both know you are perfectly capable of controlling your murderous urges, or James wouldn’t be with us.’
‘Don’t you dare try me! You know full well I’m supposed to hate Muggles,’ she shot back.
‘You’re really bad at that, you know,’ Remus smirked.
‘That man is an abomination, and don’t get me started on that sister of hers! She wouldn’t spit on any of us if we were on fire! She doesn’t deserve to be Lily’s sister,’ Hermione ranted.
‘Alright, alright, I can see you feel passionately about this one,’ he conceded. ‘You can take Murial Prewitt.’
‘Done,’ Hermione said quickly.
‘Really?’ Remus questioned, perplexed.
‘Really. I can handle her criticism of my fat ankles; she has information on just about everyone.’ Hermione smiled serenely, skipping away to do her duty.
Hermione's main stress for the day was whether Titus would be invited. Fleamont and Euphemia agreed that he absolutely should be, as he was courting her formally, but that he would only stay for the ceremony and drinks. Hermione was more than happy with this arrangement.
When he arrived through the floo, Titus was the consummate gentleman. He was a little stiff in his greeting, clearly there to do his duty and nothing more. As the ceremony was about to start, Titus took Hermione's hand and escorted her up the aisle to their seats.
'I don't think I've seen you in gold before,' Titus whispered in her ear. 'It brings out your beautiful eyes.'
It was enough to make her blush slightly as she sat down, fussy with her robes and giving him a small smile which seemed to satisfy him.
Titus was soon engaged in polite conversation with Fleamont, and Hermione turned her gaze towards the dais. James was bouncing up and down on his heels in excitement and nerves, but Sirius stood beside him, stock still, staring blankly at Hermione.
Hermione could see his shoulders tighten and a flash of some dark pass his eyes as his gaze turned to Titus. When he turned back to her, his gaze seemed to soften slightly, and his mouth parted. It was as if he'd never seen her before, and the sight of her had left him dumbstruck.
Hermione could hear the thump of her heart through her ears, all other sounds washed away as she gulped, unable to tear her eyes away from him.
Sirius' expression was schooled quickly, though. James had let out an extremely nervous laugh, and Sirius turned back to him, beaming at his best friend, clapping him on the back and whispering in his ear.
When Lily walked down the aisle, time stood still. She was vision in cream lace, but the look in her eyes sold it. It was pure, unadulterated joy. Hermione’s heart melted seeing how much Lily was into this - just as much as James -and that was saying something.
Hermione tried not to cry as she saw the beaming joy reflected in her adopted brother's eyes, who stumbled his way through the vows, and couldn't control the shake in his hands as they were bonded together.
It was a soul bond, of course. No matter how rare they were, it could be nothing else.
Titus watched Hermione carefully throughout the ceremony. She felt his heavy gaze on her as she laughed at their vows, clutched her heart and threw glitter cannons into the air as they walked back down the aisle.
The sensible part of her brain screamed ‘you’re giving yourself away!’, ‘fall back!’, and ‘pull down the mask!’. But resistance was futile. The joy spilling out of her could not be repressed.
It was crazy to think her happiness might be her downfall, but she couldn’t stop it if she tried.
Titus barely said a word to her as they made their way to the reception and took their first drinks. They stood in silence, sipping their drinks and gazing out at the crowd. Hermione tried to still the heavy best of her heart, fearing what he might say when he finally spoke.
They exchanged only a few words with each other as they listened to the speeches, Hermione wiping away tears of joy and laughter. Sirius made her smile so hard her face began to hurt, James's speech was so heartfelt she almost sobbed, but it was Lily's Father who struck her the most. A Muggle father, just like her own, full of awe and appreciation for his daughter, trying to make sense of the world she now lived in.
‘You love them both,’ Titus commented in a monotone voice as they made their way to the cloakroom.
He was pulling on his outer robes, ready to leave. Hermione knew how easy it would be in this moment to say exactly the wrong thing. So she took a moment before she replied.
‘It is hard not to in a moment like this, Titus,’ Hermione replied, smoothing down some imaginary lint on his lapel. ‘Love is a powerful, magical force, and they know it.’
Titus sighed deeply, taking her hand and giving it a squeeze. ‘I want them to see the way, Cariad. For your sake.’
He pulled her to him then, and she leaned into it gratefully, closing her eyes and breathing his scent in as he kissed her cheek gently.
‘I want you to see it that way too,’ she whispered, pulling him by the hand to the Floo. ‘I’ll worry about that tomorrow, though.’
The look on his face was cryptic as he paused by the Floo grate. Hermione thought he was searching for something in her face, trying to weigh her up once again.
‘Enjoy tonight,’ he said in a stiff tone and with a final bow, he was gone.
What did that look mean? Panic rose within her at the thought that he was not as sure about her as she thought.
She was about to spiral, when Remus stumbled into the Floo Parlour.
‘We’ve been looking for you! Is the brooding fiancé gone?’ Remus slurred, stumbling towards her.
Hermione tutted and crossed her arms. ‘You can talk about brooding…’
Remus grabbed her arm and looped it under his own. ‘Well, I’m not brooding tonight! And neither are you. Come on, you owe me a dance…’
Remus dragged her through Potter Manor, into the makeshift ballroom, and straight onto the dance floor. Hermione gave an exaggerated huff in protest, rolling her eyes. Remus merely smiled, spun her around wildly and demanded she drink more champagne and enjoy herself. It took a while, but eventually her body uncurled as she got more and more relaxed and lost in the lights, the music and Remus' infectious joy.
She could do nothing about Titus' words now. Enjoying the moment was the only thing for it.
As the night drew on, she let herself go completely, laughing with James, hugging Lily, Fleamont and Euphemia, dancing with Sirius and Remus, gossiping with Murial Prewitt and drinking far, far too much champagne, until everything was hazy.
There was no talk of the outside world. Here, life was a beautiful bubble, filled with only the good. Hermione would happily stay there forever if she could.
By the time Lily and James retired to enjoy their first night as a married couple, Hermione was a joyous, stumbling, drunken wreck.
In the early hours of the morning, the usual suspects ended up in the music room. Remus led the charge, pulling Marlene, Peter, Gideon and Fabian Prewitt along with Sirius.
Those hours went by in a blur. Hermione played request after request on the keys, her timing completely off, but no one seemed to care. Perfection was not required; just warmth, camaraderie, and sheer fun.
Still, as fuzzy as her memory was, she would never forget that night —the sounds of these beautiful people singing their hearts out, lost in the sheer wonder of being alive.
At the end of the night, she gravitated to Sirius. The pull was too impossible to resist, and neither of them had it in them to fight.
He cocked his head to one side and gave her that look. The one he always did - with a wry twinkle in his eye, that dared her to engage. In the hazy fog of drunkenness, it was all too easy to comply.
So she resisted the urge to melt into a puddle on the floor like her traitorous body demanded, and flashed back a saucy look of her own.
His eyes flashed and stalked towards her, a panther tracking its prey, his smirk widening as he reached her. Hermione felt the arm loop around her waist, her body reacting on instinct as it melted into his side.
They fell into a comfy sofa together, mumbled, giggled, sang along to the music and slowly wrapped their bodies around each other in a drunken haze.
Hermione leaned into his deliciously musky scent, burying herself further into his side. Their hands idly played with each other's curls, Hermione revelling in their softness as their breaths slowed and fell into a natural rhythm together.
Hermione couldn’t remember the last time she had felt so blissfully content.
She fell asleep on that sofa, snuggling into Sirius’s arms, listening to him sing softly in her ear:
‘Rock on, Gold Dust Woman, take your silver spoon, dig your grave…’