Chapter Text
When a little girl dreams of her wedding day, she imagines the perfect gown she’ll wear, walking down the aisle on her father’s arm, and the celebration following that one magical kiss. When she was much younger, Hermione spent a great deal of time thinking she would never get married. What the fuck was the point?
Her own parents separated when she was six after her father walked in on her mother with some guy from their church. He was six feet tall and twelve years younger than Helen, in community college, and had taken a total of $11,191 from her mother over the course of one summer. Since Helen did not work, the money truly belonged to Dr. Granger, a PhD-holding professor at the local state university. He promptly divorced the ‘love of his life’, no contest, and sought full custody of Hermione. The ever irresponsible Helen missed the court hearing and eventually surrendered her sacred parental rights when the girl was entering high school; Hermione hadn’t seen her in over ten years.
You might be wondering how Hermione knew these details. Rob Granger was also a best-selling author when he had time to put pen to paper, or rather fingertip to keyboard (in modern times). He’d written a novel titled My Daughter's Mother , published with Hermione’s blessing, detailing the trials faced by a single father. The protagonist loses his faith in love and struggles with trusting himself and the new people who enter his life as his daughter grows.
Hermione never finished the book—a rarity for her. Even when a novel was trash, she felt an obligation of sorts to finish it. This one was the exception. Her father was an incredibly talented wordsmith, but when he detailed his issues with his own mental health, it was difficult for her to reckon with—the fact that he wasn’t indestructible.
Marriage had nearly shattered her father, so why on earth did she even say yes when Blaise proposed?
Simple—it was more of a business arrangement than anything else.
They’d signed a prenup, combed through the financials dozens of times, and planned the wedding over fifteen painstaking months. The whole event was practically a collaborative project, sponsored by the jeweler behind her engagement ring, a high-profile event planning company, an Italian fashion house run by his cousin, and countless others.
Between their combined personas—‘@TheItalianStallion’ and ‘@abitoflightreading’—they had a staggering audience of over fourteen million followers, according to the stats.
Blaise used to be a highly regarded college athlete with a clear path to the pros—until an injury in his junior year changed everything. He recovered well physically, but the professional teams were no longer interested in signing him. Lucky for Blaise, he was already popular in his own right and started sharing fitness content online.
Calling him charming and charismatic almost feels like an understatement. It didn’t surprise anyone who knew him that his fame took off. Collaborations with even bigger names shot him straight to the top, where he built a massive audience—mostly guys aged 13 to 40, a demographic he had locked down.
Hermione’s path to fame was nothing like her fiancés. Turns out, best-selling authors run in the family. With his connections and support, she published a series of magical realism novels about four very different young women navigating the highs and lows of adulthood. While working toward a degree in public health—one of her passions—Hermione managed to make the New York Times best-seller list and kickstart her career as an influencer.
Over the past six years, her audience had grown, drawn to her mix of content: running a popular book club, sharing lifestyle tips, and offering advice on healthy relationships, sex education, including consent. Hermione loved talking about it all, and her education gave her the credibility to back it up. The irony of her success would not be lost on her.
This was supposed to be an easy win for both of them. Their wedding was shaping up to be one of the year’s biggest events. He was literally regarded as one of the most beautiful men in the world, and she had her own charm—gorgeous but demure , sweet as sugar, and effortlessly lovable. The best part? Their content never overlapped, which worked perfectly in their favor. They brought in separate sponsors and avoided competing with each other.
They were stunning on their own, but together? Unstoppable. People wanted to look like them, live like them, be them. Their audience practically lived vicariously through their every move, cheering them on. The fairytale engagement video—shot in Paris, naturally—had them trending worldwide.
They rarely appeared in each other’s content, claiming they valued their privacy. But that didn’t mean squat on her wedding day. Their managers had decided the whole thing should be live-streamed for the sponsors, who were practically salivating over the exposure. Now, Hermione was pretty sure those same sponsors were going to sue her for being stood up at her own wedding. In front of the entire world.
There she stood, her father on her right, and no groom in sight. The exquisite venue was big, sure, but not so big that a grown man couldn’t find the room filled with flowers, lights, and, oh yeah, his bride . If he was drunk, she’d kill him. If he was stuck in the bathroom, she’d laugh first—and then kill him.
The bridesmaids, her closest friends, had already made their way down the aisle with the groomsmen, but Blaise was still nowhere to be seen. The classical music shifted to the exact piece a sponsor insisted on for the bridal procession, and Hermione felt a gentle hand on her bare shoulder. She’d wanted a classic dress, something timeless and elegant, but instead, she was wrapped in a strapless gown with a sweetheart neckline that cost more than her first car. The sponsor wanted it to sell out immediately, so she swallowed her preference.
“Keep smiling,” Severus said quietly. He’d been her accountant for four years, and he understood the cameras were always on—rolling, filming, capturing every single moment. “We can’t find him. We’ve looked everywhere.”
Her smile faltered. “Have you texted him? Called him?”
Severus nodded, leaning in to whisper. “We could tell everyone there was an awful accident—postpone or cancel the ceremony altogether. This can’t be the first time something like this has happened. People will understand.”
Hermione, born in the late nineties and raised on the internet, knew better. People didn’t understand. They thrived on chaos and drama, and this was both. The guests were already whispering, making assumptions, buzzing with curiosity. She stood frozen at the entrance to the hall, still waiting for her groom, when suddenly all the heads turned her way. But it wasn’t awe or admiration she saw in their eyes. No one was marveling at her gown or her flawless makeup. They were staring at their phones—and then at her.
“What’s going on?” Hermione asked Severus. She felt like she was missing a limb without her phone, which was still in the dressing room. “What are they all looking at?”
Before Severus could answer, her maid-of-honor, Padma, gracefully but swiftly made her way back up the aisle toward her. “Let’s go,” Padma said quietly, taking Hermione by the arm and steering her toward the atrium.
Rob, looking confused, stayed behind and leaned in to ask Severus something, but Hermione couldn’t hear what was said. “Where are we going?” she demanded.
“Back to the dressing room,” Padma replied.
“No. Stop. Wait! What is going on?” Hermione pulled back, her tone sharp with panic.
“I need you to go back to the dressing room before I explain,” Padma insisted.
“No! Tell me now! Did something happen? Where is he? Was there an accident or something?”
With an exasperated sigh, Padma handed her the phone, unlocked and ready. Crossing her arms, she shook her head. “I’m serious, Hermione. Nothing good will come from you watching that here, in the open, where everyone’s got their phones out.”
But Hermione had already pressed play.