Chapter Text
Welcome to the Woodland Winter Wonderland Wedding
of Luna Lovegood & Rolf Scamander
Alliteration. How sweet. Cue the eye roll.
Bracing herself for yet another evening consumed by an event she couldn’t care less about, Hermione Granger bit back her snarl and plastered the fakest, most pleasant ‘so honored to be here’ smile onto her face. Four years spent at the top university in the United Kingdom, achieving the highest marks and graduating summa cum laude with dual degrees in Communications & Rhetoric and English, all wasted.
She wouldn’t say she was miserable, per sé, but she certainly wasn’t fulfilling her lifelong passion either. No, instead she was spending her evening at the wedding of a couple she didn’t even know. A wedding she’d have to portray and likely reimagine into a whimsical, romantic article for the Commitments section—her main job responsibility with the Manchester Gazette.
Ah, the Gazette. It’d been the perfect starter job. An opening that aligned with graduation and granted her the opportunity to jump right into journalism. Hermione thought that was what she wanted—she’d dreamt of landing a job with a newspaper or magazine that might put her in a position to travel the world and cover stories surrounding politics and international relations.
She’d done more than enough research and spent too much time studying writing styles of other journalists that she was confident she could make her voice be a true neutral, only stating the facts and figures of any current situation. And what better way to get her foot in the door than with Manchester’s top newspaper?
The job description called for a full-time writer to cover a multitude of different topics. Basically, she’d been hired to fill in for others who were out on holiday or leave that prevented them from completing their weekly articles. It may not have been consistent, but it helped her broaden her range and hone her skills—and it was salaried. She had a steady paycheck, benefits, and could afford to live on her own…that was saying more than many of her classmates who’d graduated with the same degree. Not that she was keeping tabs on them via social media or anything.
But that was beside the point. Honestly, she had enjoyed the job at first. Hermione liked the articles she was writing. She figured it would only be a matter of time until another position opened up and she could slide into it after proving her worth. And she was right. A position did open up. If only it wasn’t the last possible position she could have wanted.
Of course, she had no one to blame but herself for the way the cards fell. Hermione was meticulous, detail-oriented, and believed in nothing less than perfection when it came to job performance. Even if it involved writing an article for a section that made her want to vomit—like Commitments.
One time. Just one time she was asked to sub in and write the week’s headliner wedding because her coworker, Charity, had gone out on maternity leave and they hadn’t finalized the contract for the temp who was supposed to fill in. Though it was the last thing Hermione wanted to do, she’d gone above and beyond in her article because she’d liked and respected her coworker and didn’t want her to worry about anything.
But it turned out she’d written it a little too well. So her boss, Horace Slughorn, a self-centered man who only cared about ratings and good reviews and the money that came along with it, had done some last minute shifting. Apparently, Hermione’s article had the best response that he’d seen in ‘years,’ so he put her in the position for the remainder of Charity’s leave, and the temp got her former job.
It had taken a lot of convincing herself that everything would be fine, and perhaps this was Slughorn’s way of setting her up for something else more consistent when Charity came back, which was how she mentally survived those first six months.
Then Charity announced she wasn’t returning, and Hermione had died a little on the inside once she realized what the implications meant for her. She tried to talk to Slughorn about it, but she was stuck. And now, five years later, here she was, still covering weddings that all promised to be ‘the event of the season,’ having to tap into her creative fictitious side to detail the lavish wonder of all things ‘love.’
If only she believed any of it.
Things would be fine, though. They had to be. She wouldn’t be stuck in this dead-end job writing about something she wholly didn’t believe in for long. Because she’d finally put her foot down and decided to do something about it.
After her last meeting, which also happened to be her annual review with Slughorn, she’d finally bucked up the courage and expressed her dissatisfaction. Hermione told him she wasn’t happy and would like to be considered for something else. Everyone else always believed he was a fair boss who listened, who wanted what was best for his employees. And she wouldn’t say she disagreed with that sentiment, but it quickly became clear that happiness was not something Horace valued for his employees.
“But you’re good at Commitments,” he’d argued.
Not wanting to sound unappreciative, Hermione thanked him but didn’t back down. “I appreciate your praise, but I’m good at a lot of things. If you’d only give me a—”
“I’m sorry, Ms. Granger, but I’m not going to move you to a different department simply because you’re feeling the itch for something new. You’ve got a gift for making people fall in love with love. It shows in our ratings. It’s what’s saving the company. Ophelia Griffin is single-handedly keeping viewing traffic busy on our website. The tech people even said we’ve got avid readers from all over the UK!”
Flattery may have worked on some people, but not Hermione. The whole world could read her articles in the Commitments section, but it’d never be enough.
So, she started thinking about applying elsewhere. At this point, change was necessary. She couldn’t do it anymore. Except, staring up at the white sign with its pale blue and forest green calligraphy, she knew she had to. At least until she finally bit the bullet and filled out an application.
But change was hard, and Commitments was comfortable , so the thought of actually taking the step was…most likely enough for her to stay right where she was and continue dreaming about the day where she finally took the leap.
Pulling her creamy white peacoat closer to her body, she was thankful she’d opted for the long velvet dress in emerald green. She’d heard rumors that this particular wedding was being hosted outside, so she’d made sure she came prepared in her fleece leggings and black dress boots underneath the loose pleated skirt. After all, arriving in the appropriate attire helped her fit in—it made her more unassuming.
When she’d been forced into the Commitments role long-term, Hermione did the only thing she could think of to make the position more palatable. She re-invented the concept of covering weddings, which had turned out to be a big factor in its current success.
Most of the other Commitments writers in the UK established a relationship and met with the couples before covering their weddings. Hermione did not. She wouldn’t say she liked to work alone or keep herself isolated, but that was part of the reason she’d always wanted to be a travel writer. She thrived in isolated environments, and if she was going to be stuck in that God-forsaken position, she wanted to do it her way.
So, when she’d started, she created her pen name—Ophelia Griffin—and began her attempt at fulfilling her ‘Commitments’ obligations as undercover as possible.
Hopeful couples still submitted their wedding invitations along with a little blurb summarizing their love story, but instead of choosing which wedding to attend and notifying the couple, Hermione chose her favorite three and sent them all responses declaring them as finalists for coverage the day after their wedding—she couldn’t have them be looking for her during the event itself. It allowed her to attend the chosen event as quietly as possible.
Today was no different as she passed through the welcome center at Heaton Park and headed for the ceremony. Whimsical wooden arrows with ivy draped around them led her to the back of the building, where floor to ceiling windows boasted the view of a beautiful garden—well, it would be if it were the proper season. Right now, everything was mostly brown and dead, save for a few green shrubs.
But as she passed through the doors, she noticed that the garden was alive and thriving, which was wholly unexpected. It wasn’t with the vibrant pinks and yellows that signified spring, but lots of white and soft blues decorated the area. Whoever was in charge of the wedding planning had pulled out all the stops. They’d taken the theme and ran with it, which clearly meant the bride had hired out. She highly doubted one person could have executed all of this—even with help and a perfect vision.
To be fair, most couples sought wedding planners nowadays—especially the ones who submitted their weddings for coverage. Honestly, Hermione figured half of her applicants only put in for it because their wedding planners wanted the bragging rights too. At this, she rolled her eyes, momentarily forgetting the part she needed to play.
Recollecting her composure, she ventured toward one of the rustic wooden benches and took an unassuming seat on the far end in the back. As she waited for the ceremony to begin, she continued eyeing the venue, memorizing small details to use in her writing later on. She’d come back and take pictures once everyone shifted to the reception area, knowing whichever planner that was in charge would be running around making sure the next event was set before returning to tear down the previous one.
The details were immaculate. Everything was natural. The wood on the benches smelled so freshly of pine, Hermione worried she might get sap on her dress—which would not be good since it was a rental, as all her event outfits were. There was no doubt in her mind that all of the flowers were real too, and she wondered just how much money they doled out for fresh flowers considering it was the middle of January. At least the pansies and snowdrops were in season, she supposed.
Soft classical music filled the area as the remaining guests found seats, fading out just in time to announce the entrance of the bridal party. She hoped the music wouldn’t be too loud—sometimes planners overcompensated for the outdoor space and cranked the volume on processional music, and Hermione firmly believed this ruined the atmosphere.
Thankfully, though, when the music came back in, it was set at just the right mark. Hermione smiled sweetly as the wedding party came down the aisle, studying the dress choices and tuxes with a scrutinizing eye. The sweet little flower girl wore a white dress with colorful flower patterns adorning the tulle skirt. Bright yellows and oranges and pinks were a bit of a jarring clash with the soft earthy tones the setting displayed, but she couldn’t fault it too much. It was endearing.
The bridesmaids came down the aisle next in flowy, sage green dresses. If the bride was going for a fairy feel, this was surely it. The layers of sheer tulle were adorned with muted flowers of the same color, keeping a monotone feel unlike the flower girl’s dress. And when the bride came out, Hermione could see that they’d been chosen meticulously to match.
Luna wore a nude and cream dress with cold shoulders and loose sleeves adding to the fairy effect. There were flowers on her dress too, white with green leaves that matched the color of her bridesmaids’ dresses. And to top it all off, her veil boasted a flower crown that rested on her head. Hermione had to admit that from these first glimpses, the bride had absolutely nailed the theme.
As the bride floated down the aisle to a theme from Vivaldi’s ‘Winter’—which Hermione only knew because she’d played cello growing up and had studied The Four Seasons with the small chamber orchestra her dad had signed her up for—it started to snow. At least, Hermione assumed it was snowing. She couldn’t hear a snow machine anywhere, and the weather was chilly enough, so perhaps it was nature bestowing a wedding gift upon them.
Oh, that’s good. I’ll be using that in the article.
Turning her attention to the ceremony itself, Hermione listened intently to the words that were exchanged. She should have known with the uniqueness of the venue and theme that the vows would be a little unconventional, but when the officiant led them through a strange circle ceremony Hermione had never heard of before, she knew she’d made the right choice coming here tonight.
As the bride and groom recited some ritualistic prayer involving the four elemental signs, Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. She appreciated that, for once, the couple was doing what they wanted for themselves. They weren’t trying to impress anyone else, and perhaps that’s what made the evening more magical.
While she made a mental note to research what she assumed was a Pagan ritual, she started subconsciously drafting the article in her mind. This one would be easier to write than she expected. Its uniqueness was sure to benefit the summary. But that was the one thing she still liked about this black hole of a job—the fact that maybe there were couples like this who could prove that love was pure and did exist.
It wasn’t often that a wedding could make Hermione feel as if something was missing from her life, but tonight, this one did. A brief stab of disappointment punctured her heart and rippled through her body as the bride and groom shared a kiss, and when everyone stood to clap and cheer for the newly married couple, Hermione slipped out the back to study the rest of the venue and walk off the annoying bout of self-pity.
🦙
A few hours later, Hermione found herself hovering on the outskirts of the massive reception tent, staying warm thanks to one of the many space heaters utilized to keep the chill out of the large area. The party was well underway at this point—all signs of an earthy, natural theme long forgotten, replaced by the bright rainbow of artificial strobe lights and disco balls illuminating the crowded dance floor.
She’d just come back from sneaking a quiet bite to eat from the service tent as the party raged on inside. This was always the trickiest part about being undercover—which was why she usually opted for weddings with buffets instead of sit down dinners. But luckily, she’d been to enough events where she knew the timing of where service workers would be and when, so she knew when she could quickly fill a plate and find a quiet place to eat before she was noticed.
Of course, neither option would have mattered tonight, given she couldn’t stomach much—whoever thought a vegan menu was the way to go was sorely mistaken. Sure, the wedding was mainly for the bride and groom, but the food should always be considered with the guests in mind. There was no way she’d be getting the taste of garlic jackfruit out of her mouth anytime soon.
As the music transitioned to yet another overplayed group dance, Hermione considered ducking out early. The only thing she was waiting on was the cake, and honestly, she’d already seen it. Sure, it was beautiful, with its mossy green layers and tree bark decorations making it look more like an aged stump than a cake, but if it was as vegan as the rest of the menu, it wouldn’t be worth the calories to even have a taste. She’d rather stop at a Shake Shack and splurge on a chocolate milkshake instead.
Though, she figured she should at least see if the cake cutting would be soon. She didn’t want to be rude and leave as it was happening. Not that anyone knew she was here to begin with, but still. Etiquette was important to her. So, she continued to linger in the space between the reception and the service area to see if she could overhear any mention from the waitstaff regarding the cake cutting, she decided that would determine her departure. The music faded the further she stepped away from the main tent, and it was dark, save for the small solar lights that illuminated the path.
She admired the way the lights made the light dusting of snow sparkle on the frozen grass, but it also sent a shiver up her spine, reminding her how truly cold it was outside of the warmth of the tent. Perhaps she didn’t need to stay for the cake cutting. She’d seen a million of them to know it would either end with a dainty bite shared between the two lovebirds, or frosting would be painted all over their faces as the bride shrieked about ruining her dress.
It wasn’t a detail she included in every piece she wrote, and she had enough that she wouldn’t need it. So, abandoning her efforts to go snoop in the service tent, she turned to double back toward the welcome center so she could head home. Except as her heel spun on the ground, she realized she was no longer alone. A man with fiery red hair in a black suit was barreling toward her, his eyes very clearly looking past her. Honestly, she wasn’t even sure he saw her there.
But before she could shout or move out of the way or give any sort of action, he rammed into her like a body check in rugby. The force knocked her over and she landed on her side—the smooth velvet of her dress was sure to be soaked and ruined from the fall, but that was the least of her worries. What could possibly possess this stranger to be so rude?
“Hey!” she cried, realizing he hadn’t even bothered to stop and apologize, let alone help her up.
Chivalry really is dead, isn’t it?
All he managed before he turned into the entrance of the service tent was “Sorry, cake emergency!”
And then he was gone.