Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.
Author's Note: Thank you, everyone, who's read and reviewed this fic so far! And now, what I'm sure you've all been waiting for, and wondering about, the wedding and the wedding night.
For my dear Amethyst, without whom this fic would never have been written.
The Truth About Love
Chapter 3: Wedding Night Woes
It was her wedding day.
The day went by in a blur, for the most part; she remembered it afterwards in shards, tiny moments here and there. She remembered the tears in her father's eyes even as he smiled when he gave her away; she remembered feeling a moment of fleeting panic as she walked down the aisle and then meeting Harry's eyes and feeling oddly reassured; she remembered seeing the slightly questioning look in his eyes as he reached for her hand and then the small, comforting smile. She remembered the smiles on Professor McGonagall's, Ron's, Bill Weasley's, and Mr. Lupin's faces. She remembered the light, fleeting, ever-so-chaste brush of Harry's lips against hers-and the way her lips tingled afterwards.
And she remembered the strained expression on Miss Weasley's face and seeing, at the last moment as she and Harry turned to face the guests, Harry's glance flicker towards Miss Weasley as their gazes met and held for one fleeting, interminable, endless moment… That one remembered glance was the one lingering memory in her mind, tainting her remembrance of her wedding day, and leaving behind a faint, lingering trace of bitterness. (Was that a wistful, longing look in his eyes when he looked at Miss Weasley? Was he wishing he were married to her instead?) She knew she was tormenting herself with no good reason for it (it had been one look, one exchange of glances, and a brief one at that, too brief for anyone else to have noticed it) but still, the memory of that one glance persisted in her mind, rankled.
But then Harry turned to look at her (she didn't know but she wondered if she had tightened her grip on his arm, unconsciously) and he'd smiled and she was, at least for the moment, reassured.
And then she was hugging her parents, smiling at Ron who gave her a quick, brotherly kiss on the forehead as he congratulated her, and accepting the quiet but clearly sincere good wishes of Mr. Lupin.
But she watched-almost against her will-when Harry finished greeting the other Weasleys and turned to Miss Weasley last of all. She watched, even as she smiled and nodded and pretended to be paying complete attention to what Professor McGonagall was saying to her. The look on Miss Weasley's face was, for one moment, utterly open, her thoughts clear to be read. And Hermione realized, for the first time, with a slight chill, that whatever Harry's feelings for Miss Weasley, just how much Miss Weasley had wanted to marry Harry. She didn't know Miss Weasley well enough to know if Miss Weasley truly cared about Harry but she could read the regret in Miss Weasley's expression. Harry's expression was harder to read but he looked sober, a trifle guilty, as he accepted Miss Weasley's rather forced congratulations.
Hermione looked away, suddenly not wanting to see any more.
He was her husband now-but he was still her best friend too, still the same young man she had known for so many years. She would not-she could not-torment herself with imagined fears. They could be happy together; they would be content together…
~
In all the haste and preparation for the day and in all her wonderings about their wedding night, Hermione hadn't stopped to consider where exactly they would be spending it, whether they would stay the night at Hogwarts or somehow go on to Godric's Hollow.
But then Harry turned to her and murmured quietly, "We should be leaving soon if we're to get to Godric's Hollow before it is too late."
"Oh. So we are going to Godric's Hollow today?"
He nodded but before she had a chance to ask how they would be traveling-since she knew Godric's Hollow was only a few days' carriage ride outside of London and therefore at least a week's distance from Hogwarts, she was being ushered into the small room off the Great Hall which had been converted into a dressing room, to change into a traveling gown and being hugged one last time by her mother and she realized that it was really time to leave.
She was Harry's wife now; her place was with him.
He was waiting for her in the Great Hall, conversing idly with Ron and with Mr. Lupin, but he looked up when she arrived and smiled, a smile which she returned.
She was still wondering how they would be traveling to Godric's Hollow but her question was answered the moment they stepped outside of the Great Hall.
Hermione stared, her breath catching, before she turned to Harry. "Oh, Harry!"
He smiled a little at her wide-eyed surprise. "How did you think we would be getting to Godric's Hollow?"
"I hadn't thought of it," she admitted.
She turned when her mother touched her arm.
"Hermione, I realize I'm not familiar with this world but does this carriage move on its own power?" her mother asked uncertainly.
"Oh, you can't see them," Hermione exclaimed. "It's harnessed to thestrals."
"Thestrals?"
"They're winged horses."
Her father turned sharply towards her, his expression showing his surprise. "Winged horses, like Pegasus?"
"No, they're rather more unpleasant than Pegasus, I'm afraid," Hermione admitted. "They're large and black, but with white eyes, and have rather skeletal bodies with heads and necks that look rather like dragons. Really, they look very threatening and it used to be considered a bad omen to see them but that's only superstition."
"What Hermione has not mentioned," Harry interjected with a slight smile, "is that thestrals are only visible to witches and wizards who have seen death. However, on a more positive note, they do have quite extraordinary senses of direction and can fly at a remarkably fast pace."
"I see," Mrs. Granger said rather faintly, clutching her husband's arm a little more tightly.
And Harry was the one to reassure Mrs. Granger by saying, gently, "The carriage ride will be completely safe, I assure you."
Mrs. Granger gave him a small smile.
Harry helped Hermione into the carriage before seating himself beside her.
The thestrals seemed impatient and took off the moment Harry had closed the carriage door and the carriage set off with a jerk that knocked Hermione back against the seat.
The carriage rose higher and higher with a speed that Hermione would have found alarming, she knew, if she had been out in the open but in an enclosed carriage, with Harry sitting by her side, it wasn't nearly as frightening and she even found it a little exhilarating.
She was flying! It was the one magical experience which she had not had-and had, in all honesty, not regretted much given her fear of heights, but this was different; this felt safer. It was the experience of flying without the danger or the need to look down.
"Oh Harry," she breathed, leaning forward to peer out the window. "This is wonderful. Look at how fast we're going!"
Harry leaned back against the carriage seat and watched Hermione with a slight smile, enjoying the sight of Hermione's transparent excitement. He, himself, rather wished he could be outside, on a broom or perhaps riding a thestral, so he could actually feel the night wind whipping through his hair, really experience it, but he knew he couldn't. It was, too, oddly touching to see Hermione's excitement.
There was, he thought, a magic about seeing someone's first experience of something. A first was special, could never be repeated, and seeing the way Hermione was so clearly enjoying this particular first was an enjoyment in itself, in a way he'd never considered before. All the more so because she was so honest about it; there was no false modesty about her, no pretenses of being more sophisticated or knowing than she was. Hermione was, he had long ago realized, one of the most naturally forthright people he had ever met. She was never coy, never insincere, never pretentious; her modesty was as natural and as ingenuous as her intelligence.
Although, Harry realized now, that this characteristic was not considered a virtue by their society as a whole, that encouraged all young women to pretend innocence and meekness, no matter what the truth was. But Hermione was incapable of pretending to be something other than what she was-and so it was very easy to label her as a bluestocking and dismiss her as such.
Looking at her now, watching her utterly unpremeditated enjoyment of her first experience of flight, Harry realized that Hermione's honesty was one of the characteristics he liked best about her.
He had seen too much insincerity and falseness growing up with the Dursleys, who were adept at pretending to saccharine sweetness when other people were around ("how good of you to take in your dead sister's child and raising him as your own" as he had overheard one woman say, at which his Aunt Petunia had simpered a little) while treating him as little better than a slave in private.
Her eyes were almost glowing in the dim moonlight illuminating the carriage in a patchy manner.
She turned to smile at him. "I've never flown before," she admitted rather self-consciously.
"I guessed that," he said rather wryly and she colored.
"Honestly, I'm rather afraid of heights so I don't like the thought of looking down and seeing nothing but air beneath me, but this is different. I don't have to look down; I can just look out and see the stars and the clouds and I've still got something solid beneath my feet so it's not quite as frightening."
"I didn't know that you were afraid of heights," Harry responded, feeling a flicker of surprise. He always thought of Hermione as being so brave; she was brave. He, of all people, knew just how courageous she could be. He didn't know one other young woman who would have done some of the things she had, who would have taken some of the risks she had to help him. But somehow, he'd never known that she was afraid of heights. It was, he thought, one chink in her armor, a small vulnerability, and he suddenly found it endearing to know this one weakness she had.
She gave a small, rather self-conscious laugh. "It's why the one restriction that I didn't mind was the rule not allowing girls to take flying lessons or play Quidditch."
"That's true; I never really thought of that. That is one thing I never heard you protest about. Merlin knows, I've heard you protest nearly everything else," he added teasingly.
She flushed. "Well, some of the restrictions really aren't fair."
"I know. They're antiquated and based on false generalizations about young women," he said with a slight smile, repeating two of her most frequently-uttered reasons for objecting to some policy or another.
"Well, they are!"
And Harry gave in to the laughter that had been building inside him at the sight of her indignant expression, feeling the last lingering awkwardness from the consciousness that she was his wife now, dissipate. This was truly the Hermione he knew; it seemed like most of his earliest memories of their friendship involved Hermione expressing her indignation at one of Hogwarts' policies regarding what was suitable for young witches and what was not.
She was still the friend he knew so well. They might not have love or passion but they had friendship; they could be comfortable, content, in this marriage…
~
It seemed like hardly any time at all-certainly long before she had tired of looking out the window at the night sky-before she felt the carriage begin to descend and then in another minute, regain land with a small jolt. And she looked out the window, as the carriage rolled forward, to see that they were in a large courtyard.
All that she had heard of the speed at which thestrals could travel was certainly true, Hermione reflected.
"Here we are," Harry said unnecessarily as the carriage slowed to a halt.
He opened the door and stepped out before helping Hermione to step out as well and Hermione's foot had barely touched the ground before their attention was caught by a familiar voice, exclaiming, "Mr. Harry Potter, sir!"
Hermione hastily finished brushing her traveling dress out as Harry turned to smile at Dobby, the house-elf whom Harry had freed and who had, in turn, rewarded Harry with a loyalty that was unimpeachable.
"Hello, Dobby. I trust you remember Hermione?"
Dobby bowed so low his nose nearly brushed the ground as Hermione smiled at the house-elf. "Hello, Dobby."
"Oh, Missmynee, it is truly an honor! Dobby is very glad to welcome you and Mr. Harry Potter to Godric's Hollow!"
Harry suppressed a smile at Dobby's name for Hermione; Dobby was possibly the only person-creature-who had given Hermione a nickname which she tolerated.
"Thank you, Dobby," Hermione responded.
"Is everything ready for us, Dobby?" Harry asked.
Dobby nodded with such enthusiasm his entire body seemed to bob up and down. "Oh yes, Mr. Harry Potter, sir! Dobby saw to it all; the house has been completely cleaned and Missmynee's room is ready for her and Winnie is waiting for Missmynee in her dressing room."
"Winnie is the house elf I hired for you," Harry said in an explanatory note. "We can go over the house tomorrow since it is late."
She gave him a slight smile. "It has been a busy day."
She looked away, pretending fascination with her surroundings, though she actually saw very little of them, suddenly excruciatingly conscious that now was their wedding night. She had tried not to think about it and been successful at pushing it from her mind but now-now she couldn't avoid it any longer. Her mother's words-the comforting part and the disquieting parts-echoed in her mind. She had said there would be pain-how much pain? She didn't fear that, not with Harry, but did he-could he-truly desire her? She remembered the touch of his lips to hers earlier and felt an odd shiver go through her; there would be more kissing, wouldn't there? She didn't think she would mind that, remembered the way her lips had tingled after his lips had brushed hers…
She became conscious that Harry had led her up a wide, curving staircase and down a hallway and was now stopping at a door. "This will be your bedchamber," he said, a touch of awkwardness in his manner, as he opened the door.
Hermione's wide eyes barely registered the furnishings, decorated mostly in white with accents of blue, because all of her attention was focused on the large four-poster bed, with covers that were also white and embroidered with a delicate pattern of small blue flowers.
"If you don't like the decorations, you can, of course, feel free to redecorate the room," Harry said hastily.
Hermione pulled herself forcibly from her preoccupation enough to shake her head and give him as much of a smile as she could muster. "Oh, no, this is lovely."
He gestured to the door on the far wall. "That door leads to your dressing room." He paused, color now rising in his cheeks and, indicating a closer door in the adjoining wall, added in a distinctly constrained manner, "This door connects to my bedchamber."
"Oh," was all Hermione could say. Her lips seemed to have forgotten how to function.
She stiffened her spine, suddenly angry at herself for being so silly. She was acting like a veritable gudgeon, just like any other vapid young lady. She glanced at Harry and forced herself to say, feeling a hot blush color her cheeks, "I'll-I'll just need 15 minutes to… prepare…"
It was his turn to flush and look uncomfortable. "Hermione, I-nothing's going to happen tonight."
"We're not going to… er… consummate our marriage?" She felt as if her cheeks were on fire and she could not meet his eyes, kept her eyes fixed on the wall or on the curtains.
"I thought-I thought you'd want to have some time to… get accustomed to being married before we…" he trailed off, making an awkward movement with one hand.
"Oh," Hermione said again. She wished she could think of something else to say but she couldn't; no etiquette lesson she'd ever learned had ever told her how to respond to this sort of declaration from her husband! Saying Thank you was hardly possible-for that matter, she didn't know if she was thankful or relieved or disappointed or hurt; she didn't know how she felt, other than confused and excruciatingly uncomfortable. And she hated that too, hated feeling so unsure of herself, hated feeling so uncomfortable around Harry.
"It-it won't happen until you want it to," he said, his tone gentler, as if sensing her discomfort and wanting to reassure her. "I--" he began, stopped, and then finally said, simply, "Good night, Hermione."
"Good night." And then she thought, rather stupidly, that at least she hadn't said, "oh," again.
He gave her a last look with a slight twitch of his lips that she knew was meant to be a smile but didn't quite make it, and then he stepped out, closing the door quietly behind him.
Leaving Hermione standing alone in her new bedchamber, feeling more bewildered and uncertain than she'd ever felt before in her life-and she didn't like the feeling.
They weren't going to consummate the marriage-not yet. Harry's reasoning that she would want time to adjust to being married was most likely true enough-it would be like him to be considerate-but a tiny voice in her mind which she couldn't silence wondered, did he not want to consummate the marriage? Did he not desire her? What if he simply did not find her desirable-in that way, as a woman-and he was avoiding consummating their marriage for that reason?
Some part of her knew she was reading too much into this, knew she was being somewhat irrational, but she couldn't help but wonder-if Harry had married Miss Weasley, would he have been so willing to wait to consummate the marriage?
A soft knock on the door from her dressing room pulled Hermione out of these painful wonderings. "Come in."
The door opened to reveal a house elf, this one with a rather dirty pink bow on her head, and Hermione forced a smile. "Oh, you must be Winnie."
The house elf bobbed into a curtsy, beaming to know that Hermione knew her name. "Yes, Mrs. Potter, ma'am. Winnie is very honored to be here, ma'am, and Winnie will work very hard to do anything Mrs. Potter might want."
"I'm sure you will."
"Winnie has put away your clothes which were sent here. Would you like to change now?"
"Yes, thank you, Winnie."
There was a comfort in performing the rote motions of preparing for bed-but even there, Hermione found, the embarrassment of the night was not yet over.
For what she found, after dismissing Winnie and opening the dresser where Winnie had put away her nightgowns, was the nightgown her mother had obviously intended for her to wear tonight.
It was a pale turquoise in color and was made of a completely sheer fabric that didn't even pretend to have any purpose other than to incite a man's desire. Hermione felt the blush that had faded in the past few minutes return to her cheeks hotly. She stared for a moment, hardly able to imagine ever finding the courage to wear such a thing and yet, conversely, half-wishing that she would even have a reason to wear it tonight. But she would be spending her wedding night alone.
She suppressed a sigh as she touched one finger to the silky sheer fabric. Perhaps, one day…
And then she pulled out one of her customary, plain cotton nightgowns, slipping it on with something like a pang, before she climbed into the bed.
She was momentarily distracted by the utter luxury and comfort of the bed-her bed at home, that is, her parent's home, had not been of nearly such quality-and for the first time, she understood just what it meant that Harry was wealthy. She had never thought of Harry in those terms. It had never really mattered to her, but the bed was unavoidable, tangible proof of his wealth and she reflected, with a flicker of amusement, that she was possibly the only young lady in England who would realize, on her wedding night, the wealth of her new husband.
Her new husband.
She lowered her gaze to the connecting door between their bedchambers, wondering if he were sleeping, wondering what his bedchamber looked like, wondering, too, if she would ever find herself in his bed…
Wondering… Until, almost against her will and without realizing it, she fell asleep.
~To be continued…