Superstitions of a blushing bride

by: Faithful Wheezy

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling created them, I messed with them. Please review!

Hermione Granger has earned a reputation for being logical—which contradicts her secret habit for superstition. So, she doesn't feel safe marrying without something old, new, borrowed, and blue, but she's only got an hour until her wedding to find them…

-x-

Over the last seven years, people have really started getting to know me. After word had gone around that Ron and I had accompanied Harry the year he was on the run—and especially after Voldemort was defeated—people began to piece together that we weren't just his best friends, but managed to do some noteworthy things, too.

How egoistical do I sound right now? But I digress.

The point is, since then, people have been interviewing and photographing me, looking for newspaper articles and archival recordings. I'll admit, it's not all bad; I was approached to do a full translation of Beedle the Bard's stories. And thankfully, Rita Skeeter's tail—or should I say stinger?—is still between her legs. One time, she tried to interview me in the Leaky Cauldron. She managed one foot in the door and her acid-green Quick Quotes Quill establishing an orbit around her head before she lost her nerve and ran for it, but… I digress again.

As I was saying, people are starting to know the littlest things about me. It gets quite disconcerting, actually, when a little kid recognizes you and shouts random—and startlingly accurate—personal facts, such as my O.W.L.s (I rue the day I got an E in Defense Against the Dark Arts), the color of the dress I wore to the Yule ball (blue, for the record, some people seem to think I wore pink), and the exact location of the desk where I sit in the Department of Magical Law in the Ministry (front and center), for example…

But what they don't know is that I'm incredibly superstitious.

I try to hide that from the public. I'm quite embarrassed of it, actually… my dad's had to tell me from time to time that I shouldn't always have to rely on luck, but it's one of the things I fear the most: that everything is left up to chance. I try to control what I can, but if luck exists, you better believe that I'll do whatever it takes to get on its good side.

So here I am an hour before my wedding day, sitting in Ginny's room at the Burrow where I'd been getting ready, freaking out. I need something old, so that I can maintain my relationship with my family; something new, to symbolize my new life with Ron; something borrowed, to have a bit of a friend's good fortune; and something blue, which symbolizes love. I know how crazy I must sound right now, but if I don't have these items, who's to say I won't have bad luck?

I adjusted my veil, and was admiring the slightly scratchy feel of the organza next to the coolness of the silk when I heard a knock on the door.

Something old.

"Yes?" I called. I heard the door click shut, followed by the unmistakable sound of heels; and I turned around to see my mother. I rose to greet her, and she held me at an arm's length to look me up and down.

After a moment, she sighed and pulled me into a hug. "You look beautiful," she murmured into my ear. "I can't believe this day is finally here. You kids seem to be growing up so fast nowadays."

I hugged my mother tightly. "Nothing much is going to change," I reassured her.

She let go of me and smiled, and reached into the jeweled clutch that she had carried in with her. "Well, as I've been your mum for the last twenty-five years, I feel like I've gotten at least a bit of a grasp on your personality," she deadpanned. She finally withdrew her hand from her bag and pulled out a pair of the most beautiful earrings I had ever seen.

"Your grandmother gave these to me," she said, putting them on my ears for me, "on my own wedding day. As did her mother before hers. This pair goes as far back as your great-great-great-grandmother—more than a century old!"

Momentarily speechless, I simply watched my mother and my expression in the mirror, touching the earrings in wonder. Did she know that I was looking for those four traditional items?

"I may be a Muggle, I'll bet there's some sort of magic in me," she joked, as though reading my mind. "The Magic of Mothers. I noticed you looked a bit worried at breakfast this morning. I know you're probably very nervous about getting married and thought you might like a bit of luck today, even though you don't need it." She patted my cheek tenderly and made to leave the room. "You and Ron are very lucky," she said. "You two really are quite the perfect match."

As I watched her leave, I thought of something. "Wait!"

My mum looked back in through the door. "Yes?"

"Marriage." I played with my fingers nervously, not really knowing where this sudden nervousness came from or how to word the question. "It's not all easy, is it?"

My mother leaned against the door-frame. "Not at all," she said, looking amused. "There will be fights and confusion and some anger a lot of the time. But judging from what I've heard over the years, you and Ron seem to be the masters of it. Nothing new, right?"

We both laughed.

"Anyway, darling, that makes marriage half the fun. You shouldn't feel like you always have to know what to expect." She paused and watched me. "Do you love him?"

"More than anything."

"Then you have nothing to worry about." She smiled. "I'll see you downstairs."

"Thank you for the earrings, Mum," I said quietly, before the door shut. It was hardly more than a whisper, but I know that she heard: Magic of Mothers.

I sat back down at the vanity, contemplating what my mother said. How can marriage be such a confusing but wonderful thing? I wondered if Ron, who was in a different room somewhere in the Burrow—probably with Harry, no doubt—was just as excited as I was.

I was so deep in thought I almost didn't hear a loud THUD! and then the sounds of what seemed to be a conversation between my mum and two other people. I frowned as I heard an excited suggestion, raucous laughter, and the thundering of footsteps running up, and then back down, the stairs. I was so busy wondering at what these affairs might be directed at, that when my bedroom door flew open, I gave a squeak of surprise and fell out of my chair.

Yes. My derriere actually shifted, and the force of the movement sent me into the ground. Force equals mass times acceleration, I thought deliriously.

I fell.

I thought that sort of thing only happened in Muggle comic books.

Something new.

Ginny's remonstrating voice was the first thing I acknowledged.

"Merlin, George, you should have knocked first!"

"Whoops, sorry!" George immediately covered his eyes and whirled round, as if hoping to cancel out the fact that he just barged into the room. "Hermione, are you decent?"

"Yes," I said, stifling a laugh. I picked myself up off the ground and dusted off my dress rather unnecessarily. Thank goodness I had the foresight to cast a small Impervious Charm on it earlier! No dust, spills, or stains are ever going to find a home on this dress.

"Good." George turned around, grinning, as Ginny closed the door, wearing a lovely midnight blue dress and a similar expression to her brother's.

I looked at them apprehensively. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Well, we happened to walk into your mother on the stairwell," George said.

"Literally, he and your mum collided," Ginny chirped.

George uncomfortably rubbed a bump that was forming on his forehead that I hadn't noticed before. "No need to give the blushing bride the details," he said.

Ginny laughed, keeping one arm behind her back as she patted George on the shoulder consolingly. "But anyway, your mum might've mentioned something to us, and we realized that we had something that you might like to have. Well—" she amended, "it was just George that had this. But I think it's brilliant."

"Of course it bloody well is," George said, looking stung. "It's one of my new products, isn't it?"

Products? Oh, fantastic. Just what I needed today—something from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. "What are you talking about?" I asked.

"Something new," Ginny said, showing me what she'd been hiding behind her back. I gaped.

It was a garter. She and George were giving me a garter.

"It's… very lacy," I managed.

Ginny laughed as George took it from her and shot it like a rubber band at me. "Good observation, Granger," he said.

"We better call you by your last name for these last few moments," Ginny said thoughtfully. "I mean, it won't be your last name for long, will it?"

I swiped at them playfully with the garter, then looked at it again. Black lace. Black ribbon. Very lacy.

"That thing isn't just a garter," George said. "Look, there's a little knot on there that will hold your wand, so you don't have to stow it up your—"

"Useful, right?" Ginny bellowed over whatever horrendous thing George was about to suggest.

George roared with laughter as I looked immensely relieved. "Very," I said. I smiled at them. "Seriously though, thank you guys."

"Our pleasure," Ginny said, clasping my hand in hers.

"Or should we say, your pleasure?"

"George!" Ginny said, sounding scandalized, pushing him to the door. "See you later, Hermione!"

I put on the garter and safely stowed my wand away, feeling strangely content considering the feel of the cloth against my thigh and how stressed I was this morning. This is what having a family felt like.

I was still laughing to myself as the door opened for a third time.

Something borrowed.

I recognized the voice instantly. "I know you're probably busy getting ready, but could I come in for a moment?"

"Come in, Luna," I said, looking around. I almost had to resist the urge to close my eyes as soon as I saw her. Not because she looked awful though; on the contrary, she looked very pretty. But the yellow dress robes that she always wore to weddings as a trademark were so bright that they gave off the illusion of giving light.

"Ginny mentioned that you wanted good luck today," Luna said dreamily.

"Did she?" I asked, feeling a bit uncomfortable that yet another person knew about my penchant for superstition. "Oh, well—who doesn't?"

"Very true," she said, plopping down on the bed. She reached into her hair and pulled out the bright flower she had been wearing in it.

"This is a Dimplefug Sunflower. It is a flower that never dies."

It was a beautiful sunflower that smelled faintly of honey and something else I couldn't name. A flower that never dies? "Thank you Luna!" I said, ignoring its strange name for the moment. "It's beautiful—you don't have to, though, I feel terrible taking it from you."

"I know," she said, "but I'd like to." Luna smiled at it and took it back from me, only to rearrange it nicely in my hair. "It's not your ordinary flower, of course."

"What makes it so extraordinary?"

"This flower," she said, suddenly looking very solemn, "attracts Gisted Dimplefugs."

"Oh, er," I said, not knowing how to react to this piece of news, "is… is that a good thing?"

"It's wonderful!" Luna said, her eyes widening. "They are the sworn enemy of Dementors because their true nature is the very root of everything Dementors can't stand. Gisted Dimplefugs are the bearers of utmost happiness and good luck! Anyone within ten feet of a Gisted Dimplefug will become affected with all the best memories they've ever had. Daddy's always said that brides should wear these specific sunflowers in their hair. And it doesn't hurt that it makes those who wear them smell lovely, too."

Well, I'd never read about it in Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, but I supposed since Luna was currently seeing Newt Scamander's grandson, she would be the expert. Suddenly feeling incredibly nervous, I touched the flower for reassurance and found I actually did feel a lot better.

"Thank you so much," I said, hugging her.

"Don't mention it," she said brightly. "But I will need that back soon." She dropped her voice a fraction, but I could feel the excitement behind it. "Rolf and I—we're engaged now. And my garden of Dimplefug Sunflowers hasn't finished growing yet, and may not in time."

"That's incredible!" I said. "Congratulations! Of course I'll return it to you."

Luna got to her feet and put her hands up. "Oh, you mustn't congratulate me," she said, looking abashed, as though she had offended me. "It's your day, today, Hermione, don't forget. Ronald's downstairs, waiting for you."

I continued to look in Luna's direction contentedly after she left the room. Gisted Dimplefug or not, I was glad of her friendship. But then, I noticed the time.

Or rather, the lack of it.

Something blue.

My mind, which had been at some sort of strange quiet and peace, suddenly ran into overdrive.

How is it possible that I'd forgotten something? All my life I've double-checked, triple-checked, to make sure I had everything I needed on time—and on what may be the most important day of my life, I've forgotten something? I need something blue. What can I get? Think, Granger, think. I've still got two minutes: two minutes left of this last name, and…oh! Merlin's polka-dotted underwear, I've only got one minute now. Okay. Is there anything blue in this room that I can stuff into my—

"Hermione, dear?" Mrs. Weasley's voice floated in from behind my closed door. "The music is starting; you'd better go find your father."

"Oh, er," I said, only realizing later that I had been squeaking. "Of course! Of course…"

I think the perfect word for what I'm experiencing is "panic." I flew down the stairs, miraculously not tripping over my immense train. I'm more scared now than when I was constantly on the lookout for the Basilisk when I was twelve. More than when I was at the Battle of Hogwarts about seven years ago. And… I think I'm even more scared now than when I got my N.E.W.T. results! Merlin's beard, I'm getting married. I don't even know how I'm thinking coherently. Oh, now where is my father?

That's when I felt someone grasp my arm. And just for a moment—because of the suddenness of it all, I suppose—I jerked back and reached for my wand (or at least, its general area; there would be quite a few layers of frills and half-slips to go before I reached it). Then, I immediately felt foolish. How's that for constant vigilance, Mad-Eye? I could practically hear his magical eyeball whirring as he smiled down upon me.

"Dad!" I said, momentarily feeling completely relieved. "I was just looking for you."

"And I, you," he said with a twinkle in his eye. "Looks like I caught you by surprise. Guess I should have known better."

I paused for a moment and just looked at my dad: his hair, the exact shade as mine, thinning slightly; wrinkles around his mouth where he laughed, and under his eyes, eyes that flashed the slightest tint of green if he turned his head just right. Perfect teeth, of course, but I guess that's what you get for being a dentist married to another dentist…

I felt the question forming on my lips before I could map it out in my thoughts.

"Dad, how did you feel when you were about to marry Mum?"

My dad regarded me as he offered me his bent arm to take, walking me out of the Burrow and into the lush greenery of the Weasleys' yard. As all of the guests were waiting for me in the marquee, no one was around to interrupt or overhear.

"When I was about to marry your mum, I was so nervous that I couldn't even talk to anybody," he said. "I wasn't thinking straight, and I even tried to walk out with my jacket inside-out and my shoes on the wrong feet. Thank goodness for the groomsmen!" He chuckled, remembering some lost memory. "Yep, I was completely boggled. But I got over it the moment I saw your mum walking down the aisle, and all I could think about was the life that we were starting together. You know, being together, having a family. Cliché, right? But looking at you now, I know I made the right choice. You wouldn't be here if I hadn't married your mum—and you and she make the best family I've ever known."

I was so overwhelmed with gratitude and affection and tried to come up with something to say, but all I could do was lean my head on his shoulder. "Thanks, Dad," I said quietly.

Our moment of peace was cut short when the faint music that had been playing from the marquee finally rose to meet our ears, and I took my head off my father's shoulders with a snap.

"Something blue!" I babbled, rubbing my neck. "I don't have anything blue! Dad, I don't have all of the four lucky things a bride should have at her wedding. What if I've just jinxed everything?"

Instead of offering me advice like he usually did, my dad surprised me by doubling up with laughter. He had tried to be diplomatic about it at first by attempting to pass it off as a cough, but no—my dignified father, Dr. Granger, D.D.S., has his hands on his knees and is laughing. Slightly affronted, I furrowed my brow. "What?"

"It's just," my dad said, wiping away a tear that I hoped for his sake was a tear of sadness at letting his daughter go, "you're a witch! Jinxes. Shouldn't you know by now that you can control them?"

I was dumbfounded.

"I suppose," I said slowly. Harry and Ginny had already started walking down the aisle, and I could see Neville getting ready to go next in the procession with his date, Hannah Abbot. "I still don't like that I didn't get all four things, though…"

My father kissed my forehead. "Everything will turn out well. You'll see."

We watched as the procession slowly made its way, and time seemed to be going incredibly fast and unbearably slow, all at once. Faces of people flew down the aisle and across my subconscious: Harry, Ginny, Neville, Luna, Hagrid, Dean, Luna, Mrs. Weasley, Parvati, George…

And all of a sudden, memories began to mix in with the faces. It felt like my life was flashing before my eyes. Was I dying, or was it the Gisted Dimplefug in the air?

I could clearly see the Hogwarts Express in the back of my mind: billowing steam; excited shouts; owls hooting; the smell of my clean Hogwarts robes, worn for the first time; and the sound of the compartment door sliding open, behind of which sat a redheaded boy with the dirt on his nose that I couldn't help but point out.

Then, the memories started flashing like strobe lights. A feeling like someone had been holding my hand while I was Petrified; my cat, his rat; a high-heel flung against the length of the Common Room, a slammed door…

The memories overlapped, the voices mingling, rising and swelling in volume in my head—I should really invest in a good Pensieve—something old, something new, something borrowed, nothing blue… I dimly perceived that it was my turn to walk down the aisle, faces turning my way. Did I just hear someone whispering that I was beautiful? That can't be, I'm probably mistaken. Or it could be Mum. I couldn't distinguish which voices were real and which were the memories.

The anxiety I felt every time I watched him play a Quidditch game, knowing that at any moment he could fall—but the pride I felt at every save; how he way he held me at Dumbledore's funeral and the feel of his tears as a stray swept my cheek; the way he held my hand, that one night in Grimmauld Place, and how I knew for the first time, that it was love… how his shouts somehow managed to cut through my pain and agony as I lay at Bellatrix Lestrange's mercy; it's now or never, isn't it…

And then, I saw him.

For a wild second, I felt like I was in one of the Muggle movies about war my dad likes to watch, where the scenes leading up to a battle are accompanied with a swell of sound: shouts, yells, drums, violins and "O Fortuna" in the background—and then, all of a sudden, silence. That's how it felt.

All my thoughts were cut short. It was always how I felt, even back then, when I saw him.

In the moment our eyes met, it felt like everybody had left; that it was just him and me. Then he smiled a lopsided grin that I loved so much, and I experienced a burst of clarity. It was Ron Weasley! So familiar, with the red hair and the way he would clench and unclench his left hand unconsciously when he was nervous. I'm marrying my best friend. Who cared if I didn't have all of them: something old, something new, something borrowed…

But wait.

Wait.

My dad and I reached the end of our journey down the aisle. He kissed my hand and smiled at me, then put it into Ron's outstretched one; my fingers tingled at his touch.

And as I looked up at Ron, I didn't notice that the music had stopped, or that both my mum and Mrs. Weasley were comparing handkerchiefs in-between sobbing into them, or that Seamus seemed to be giving a couple Galleons to Dean, who looked a little too smug, or that the tufty-haired minister I have seen much too many times in my life had started to say "Dearly beloved…"

All I noticed were his eyes. The clearest, brightest color I had ever seen in my life.

I had something blue after all.

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