Chapter Text
If you had told Hermione Granger on October 30th that someday in the future she would be sitting in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, wearing fancy robes while doing her hair so she could go out with a bunch of purebloods on an evening excursion, she would have assumed you were nothing but a bully and were making fun of her. But here she was in January, the second day back from the Christmas break, sitting in front of a conjured mirror and wearing Persian blue with ivory robes as she finished braiding her hair, tamed for once in her life thanks to the bottle of Skeezy's that she got for Christmas sitting on a desk next to her.
“There has to be a spell that helps with weaving flowers into your hair,” she muttered to herself as she adjusted the snowdrops and crocuses she had woven into it, a silver hairpin with a small scroll on it gleaming in her hair. “Whose idea was it for me to put flowers in my hair anyway?”
Hermione then heard her own voice from this morning. ‘Rather than putting my hair up with a lot of pins like most of the pureblood girls will do, maybe I can just put flowers in it. It is something different and will look nice.’
“Right, my idea,” Hermione grumbled as she smoothed out her robes. “Still less work than the elaborate updos that the pureblood girls do, even though there is a good reason for it.”
She took one last look at herself, feeling entirely unused to her appearance. ‘I have never worn something this finely made in my life; these robes have to have cost as much as my parents make after a busy week at the office.’
Hermione reached into the pocket of her robes, pulled out a carefully folded invitation written on expensive parchment that was the reason she was doing this, and read it once again.
On this most auspicious day and with the blessings of the Ancestors and the Sacred Magic,
Harry Arcturus Black,
Heir Apparent to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black and the Noble House of Potter,
Requests the esteemed presence of Miss Hermione Jane Granger to accompany him in his party.
Let Magic Guide Us, Let Our Blood Remember,
For the Ways of Old Forge Bonds Unbroken.
(P.S. Formal wear is required. Don't worry, Hannah has some robes for you to wear. I figured the Gryffindors wouldn’t throw a fit if a Hufflepuff gave you them. If I handed you them, they’d swear that I cursed the stitching, as if I’d be that obvious. - H.B.)
Hermione, once again, chuckled at the P.S. before putting it back in her pocket and making her way over to the classroom door. She opened it, only to find Cassiopeia Black, the youngest, and, to her consternation, the shortest girl in Hogwarts, standing in the hall, rocking back and forth on her heels, her black, wavy hair done up in a high ponytail and a silver hairpin in the shape of a raven gleaming prominently. There was a pitch black raven prominently embroidered on her charcoal and silver robes above her heart.
“Finally, you are done. I was about to come in and ask what was taking you so long,” she chirped before giving Hermione a once-over and nodding. “Very good, the Ancestors are pleased.”
“Are you sure this is appropriate for me to wear?” Hermione asked while fidgeting with her robes a little.
“Don't fidget, please; it is improper,” Cassiopeia said, the smile not leaving her lips. “And this is the minimum amount of appropriateness for tonight. Now you look like someone who should be with my cousin.”
“Where is Vela?” Hermione asked, looking up and down the hall and not catching sight of her.
“She had to go and do something, but told us not to wait for her if you got done before she got back,” Cassiopeia answered before smiling energetically. “Now come on, Hermione, everyone is waiting.” The girl turned on her heel and fast walked down the hall, and Hermione hurried to catch up with her.
“You are going to love tonight’s ceremony, Hermione, it really shows the beauty of the Old Ways, trust me,” Cassiopeia said as they walked.
“I’m sure I will, Cassiopeia,” Hermione said thoughtfully. “Harry hasn’t shown me anything disappointing yet.”
“Of course he wouldn't, Harry knows how to put on a show.”
The pair rounded a corner and nearly bumped into an older student, the one who was supposed to be outside waiting with Cassiopeia, Vela Black, Cassiopeia’s elder sister. But honestly, anyone would recognize Vela by her wild curls that cascade down to her waist, her perfectly tailored figure-hugging robes, and her confident presence that demanded attention.
“Ah, good timing, I was just making my way back,” Vela said with that smirk she often wore that has always made Hermione feel like she knew something that she didn’t.
The older girl gave an approving hum as she gave Hermione a once-over. “Well, Granger, blue and white definitely suit you far more than that gaudy red and gold that you Gryffindors like to wear. Maybe try for green and silver next time, or, I know,” her smirk widened, “charcoal black and silver. I know Harry wouldn’t mind you wearing our colors, and they would look grand on you with a little work.”
She winked at Hermione, and a group of passing Gryffindors, still in their school robes, frowned and began whispering to each other as they hurriedly made their way away from them, shooting dirty looks over their shoulders.
That, unfortunately, was another thing that Hermione had gotten used to. Ever since the day Harry saved her from the troll, her house, which she had already had poor relations with, entirely gave up on the idea of tolerating her presence. So relations between her and them have been frigid at best. It is why she had to change in a classroom with the Black sisters keeping watch instead of in her own dormitory.
Hermione could already hear their comments, ‘traitor,’ ‘Black’s pet muggleborn,’ ‘Slytherin sympathizer,’ it had been nonstop for the past two months now.
‘I won't lie, it still stings. Professor McGonagall said that our house is supposed to be our family, but Gryffindor…’
“Oh, ignore them,” Vela said dismissively, interrupting her thoughts with an eyeroll and a flick of her hand. “They wouldn’t know fine taste if it hit them in the face with a beater’s bat.”
“That and they are just jealous,” Cassiopeia chimed in with a sweet smile.
“That too,” Vela acknowledged. “Also, Cassie, here is everything that you need.”
Vela tossed a pouch at her little sister who deftly caught and pocketed it. “Everything go alright?” Cassiopeia asked.
“Went perfectly,” Vela replied. “Now come on, Harry is probably being driven to distraction.”
The trio made their way down the stairs to the entrance hall, where it seemed to Hermione that over half the school had shown up, with students from all years and from every house except Gryffindor standing around chatting and waiting. “I need to catch up with my friends. Have fun and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do you two.” Vela said. She then gave Cassiopeia a pat on the shoulder and separated from the pair to make her way over to a group of fourth- and fifth-year students.
“How many do you think are here?” Hermione asked Cassiopeia as the two of them looked over the crowded hall, where people were still streaming in.
“Most of the purebloods in the school and a decent amount of the halfbloods, I imagine,” the diminutive girl answered. “Almost certainly everyone from the Sacred Twenty-Eight besides Longbottom. But do you see Harry yet?” She asked, looking like the only thing keeping her from standing on her tiptoes was her sense of decorum.
Hermione looked around and caught sight of the familiar messy black hair of her first, best, and, really, only friend in the crowd after someone shifted away. “He’s over there.”
The pair made their way over a small group of students who were talking to each other, and Hermione did a headcount of who was all there: Hannah Abbott, Susan Bones, Daphne Greengrass, Draco Malfoy, and, most importantly to Hermione, Harry Black. All of them wore different colours, and the girls had different hairstyles, with Harry wearing the colours of the House of Black, the same colours that Vela and Cassiopeia were wearing.
As they approached, both Harry and Daphne’s heads moved in their direction simultaneously, Harry’s warm dark brown eyes meeting hers while Daphne stared with her icy blue ones.
“Hermione, I am glad you were finally able to join us,” Harry said with that familiar aristocratic accent that seemed to be shared by everyone in Slytherin.
“Yes, my Harry was debating on sending a search party or not.” Daphne, in her evergreen and silver robes with an emerald heart with a silver serpent wrapped around it above her heart, said.
“He was just worried about her, Daphne,” Hannah, in her sage and baby blue robes with a sword and shield circled by a ring of stars above her heart, interjected before smiling politely at Hermione. “You look lovely tonight, Hermione. Glad to see the robes fit alright, they were a bit of a rush job.”
‘This is a rush job?’ Hermione wondered to herself. ‘No, don’t question it.’
“We should probably start heading out to the carriages,” Hannah added. “What do you think, Cassie?” They turned their attention to the little girl who was reading a piece of parchment. “Cassie?” Hannah repeated.
“Hmm?” She looked up and folded the parchment to place inside her robes, “I am sorry, what was the question?”
“If we should be heading out to the carriages now,” repeated Hannah kindly.
“Ah, right. We should get going.” Cassiopeia took off into the crowd.
“Cassie, you are heading the wrong way!” Hannah called out before following after her with Susan.
“This lets us get around the crowds easier!” Cassiopeia called back.
Daphne raised an eyebrow but shrugged. “I suppose we are going Cassiopeia’s way then.”
“Seems so,” Harry replied without the slightest surprise before turning to Hermione with a small smile. “So, ready to see some real magic?”
“With you? Always.”
The three of them walked together in the direction Cassiopeia had gone with Hannah and Susan, skirting around groups of older students making their way to the castle's exit. “You nervous?” Harry asked her.
“A little. Professor Dumbledore warned us earlier, remember? He said that while he couldn’t stop anyone from attending, he urged us to avoid participation in the old rituals, especially the one tonight. He-”
Harry waved a dismissive hand, and Hermione could see the hint of anger in his usually serious expression, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared. “Dumbledore doesn’t know what he speaks of. You are a smart girl, Hermione; you can make up your own mind about what you see tonight rather than listen to him.”
“I suppose you are right, Harry,” Hermione replied thoughtfully. “Looking wouldn’t hurt.”
“Independent thinking is a perk of being in Slytherin,” Daphne dryly noted. “Good to see that my Harry is having a positive impact on you, Granger.”
“I am the picture of positive impact, Daphne,” Harry replied in a dignified and serious tone, but Hermione could see the twitch of his lips.
‘You would think after living with him for two weeks that I would be able to understand him, but I still don’t sometimes. He can go from the picture of decorum to dry humor to just a boy at the drop of a hat.’ Hermione thought to herself. ‘Yet none of it ever seems forced, and his formality has never been pretentious.’
They walked outside into the night, and the winter chill caused Hermione to shiver until she took out her wand and cast a warming charm on herself. ‘Thank God for warming charms.’
“You three are moving too slowly!” Cassiopeia called from up ahead.
“Alternatively, you are moving too fast, Cassie,” Harry called back. “Some of us want to enjoy this evening after all.”
“That and running will not start the festivities any faster,” Daphne added candidly, adjusting one of the hairpins in her blonde hair. “So we might as well enjoy the stroll in all aspects.”
“Fine.” Cassiopeia slowed, allowing the others to catch up to her.
The group continued to walk together as other groups filed out of the castle, the stars in the sky crystal clear thanks to it being the new moon. Hermione had never been out on the grounds at this time, and her head was slightly on a swivel. When they arrived at where several dozen carriages were sitting and waiting, Hermione stopped dead in her tracks, causing Harry to stop next to her. “Harry, what are those?” She asked, pointing a shaking finger at the front of one of the carriages. Hitched to the front of it was something she had never seen before. She could describe them as horses, or maybe as undead horses, with their bones visible and their black coats through which you could see their bones.
Harry looked at her oddly before it clicked. “Ah, those are thestrals. Magical… horses, I suppose you could say. They are only able to be seen by those who have witnessed someone die.”
“I see,” Hermione said with a thoughtful tone. “And are they, well, safe?”
“The Hogwarts herd is,” Harry reassured her. “They are well trained.”
“My aunt would be issuing arrest warrants left and right if they were not,” Susan commented with a note of pride. “Everyone second year and older rides these carriages at the start of the year, and they are used for Hogsmeade visits.”
Once they got to one of the carriages, Harry stood by the door and helped each of the girls in before climbing in himself and sitting between Daphne and Hermione while the other three girls sat across from them. Hermione couldn’t help but enjoy how comfortable the seating was and, more importantly, how it was pleasantly warm in the carriage. Before she could ask Harry about the magic to make the carriage like that, someone else spoke.
“When are we leaving?” Cassiopeia asked impatiently.
“It shouldn't be too long before we depart,” Daphne replied primly.
“How long will the ride be?” Hermione asked, turning to Harry, her earlier question forgotten.
“Maybe around thirty minutes. We will be going somewhat past Hogsmeade,” Harry answered.
A couple of minutes later, their carriage started rolling smoothly in the direction of the castle gates. Hermione stared out the window at the snowy landscape, as best she could see it in the night anyway, and couldn’t help but feel a bit excited. ‘I had never ridden in a horse-drawn carriage before, and now I am riding in one being pulled by magical creatures. It is something I would have never experienced if they… no, I am not going to think about them tonight. Tonight is going to be a good night.’
“So, do you know who it will be this year?” Susan asked the rest of them, drawing Hermione’s attention away from the window.
“I know Xenia Orantis will be one of them,” Hannah commented thoughtfully.
“Also Maria Heriot will be there,” Cassiopeia chimed in. “Vela talked a lot about it.”
“Though that is because she is Vela’s best friend,” Harry remarked. “Sebastian Crouch and Jasmine Parkinson will also be participating.”
Daphne picked up where Harry left off without any effort. “It is hard not to know about Heiress Parkinson’s participation. Pansy wouldn't cease being smug about it. It was to the point you would think that she was the one participating.”
“Leave it alone, Daphne,” Hannah told her. “She is proud of her big sister; we both know that.”
“What do you think, Hermione?” Cassiopeia asked, and they all turned their attention to her.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t exactly know what you are talking about,” Hermione replied somewhat sheepishly. ‘Hogwarts, A History didn’t make any mention of things like this, you would think it would include something about how all the purebloods leave the school for rituals on the first new moon after the Christmas holidays in carriages provided by the school.’
‘Hogwarts, A History not making mention of something’ was a thought that Hermione had been having a lot more lately, and she was starting to get worried about how that had begun to disturb her.
“You don’t?” Daphne asked with a raised eyebrow. “Didn’t Harry invite you to this?”
“Yes, and Harry didn’t say what it was. All he told me was that it was a surprise.”
“Ah. Well, then we probably shouldn’t tell you what it is then,” Hannah playfully quipped. “Far be it from us to ruin Harry’s showmanship.”
“Am I really that much of a show off?” Harry asked in bemusement.
“Yes,” four voices said at once.
“You do have a bit of a flair when it comes to telling me about things,” Hermione said instead, and then she gave a smile. “Not that it's a bad thing, it makes it fun.”
“At least Hermione appreciates it.”
“Oh, we do too,” Hannah said with a smile. “It is just that all of us have known you for forever, so we know about it.”
The carriage came to a stop eventually, and Harry stepped out first. He held out his hand to each of the girls to help her down. Hermione stepped out into the dark night and, seeing that everyone else who had arrived and her companions were casting Lumos, drew her wand and did the same.
“So what now?” Hermione asked, looking over at Harry, who was standing there with Daphne next to him.
“We wait until the last carriage arrives and we proceed onto the ritual site on foot,” Harry explained, gesturing at a path already cleared in the snow going further on ahead and into a forest.
“Who are those people?” Hermione gestured over at a nearby tree where five foreign-looking witches and wizards, who Hermione guessed were sixteen or seventeen, stood, looking at the students stepping out of their carriages as if each of them were searching for someone.
“Tonight’s ceremony isn’t just Hogwarts students exclusively. There are always a couple of attendants from different schools watching and participating," Harry explained to her.
"I see. What about the adults standing over there?" She gestured at a different group standing nearby. 'Are they aurors? Or security or something?'
"The parents of the participants also show up to watch. For example," Daphne gestured at a large, bald, and muscular man with a thick black mustache wearing robes with various jewels woven into them. "That is Lord Parkinson, Pansy Parkinson's father. He is here because Heiress Parkinson is participating."
The last carriage soon arrived, and the prefects of every year stepped to the front of the group, standing in formation behind one of them, whom Hermione vaguely recognized as Raphael Lionath, a seventh-year Hufflepuff and the current Head Boy.
"Alright, now that everyone is here, we will be heading off. Same rules as every year: we will be processing by year, with the seventh years in front and the first years in the back, with prefects evenly split down the side. Stick with your groups, and if you have any problems or concerns, please speak to one of the prefects." He pointed behind his shoulder with a thumb, and Vela, standing among her fellow prefects, nodded at Hermione's group.
The procession along the path began, and Hermione, even as she walked among them, couldn't help but marvel at how they all, from the oldest to the youngest, moved with purpose, hundreds of wands in the air, pale blue light emerging from their tips, and elaborate robes filled with symbols woven into them. Their magic seemed to form a corridor of light around them in the darkness. Despite her background, Hermione, with her wand in hand, felt a sense of belonging, a sense that she wanted to be here among magic and watch everything and understand it.
Hermione was reminded of that night in the hospital wing after Harry saved her, the two of them speaking in the dark. "One of the foundations of the Old Ways is that magic is to be incorporated into one's life in as many aspects as possible. In this, we honor it and the Ancestors who came before," he had said to her when she, ever curious, asked him to teach her about the Old Ways after he referenced them in their talk about why he saved her.
Speaking of him, Hermione glanced over at the boy next to her, who was walking with his wand firmly held up and a solemn look that should have seemed out of place on the face of an eleven-year-old boy, yet Hermione thought fit him perfectly. And on the other side of him, Daphne looked much the same. Still, Cassiopeia somehow managed to top both of them, perhaps because of the contrast between her youthful innocence and the solemn, almost austere expression on her face that Hermione saw once during the Christmas holidays when she had wandered into the family altar room during ceremonies.
All of that combined caused Hermione to feel the weight of whatever it was she was walking to. And if that didn't, the fact that she had just caught sight of Crabbe and Goyle walking with Draco Malfoy, their faces uncharacteristically focused, certainly did.
They walked out of the tree line and into an open glade where Hermione saw a dozen stone arches spread around in a circle, and in front of each of them was a plinth with a crystal clear bowl filled with water sitting on top of it. Standing at the center of the circle was an elderly witch in silver robes, her white hair falling freely down her back, while a younger man with long blonde hair, whom Hermione recognized as Lucius Malfoy, stood next to her in the same robes. Both of them had canes in one of their hands.
"You know Uncle Lucius, but with him is Dowager Lady Augusta Longbottom," Harry whispered to Hermione. "You might have heard Neville Longbottom refer to her when he speaks of his gran. They won the lottery to be the Keepers of Ceremonies tonight."
"You had a lottery for this?" Hermione whispered back. 'That seems frivolous when you look at just how much effort goes into these rituals.'
"It is a great honor to be the Keeper of Ceremonies for any ritual, so one was needed," Harry answered, not raising his voice even as they shuffled along so everyone could spread around the glade and watch what was going to happen.
Augusta Longbottom addressed the crowd, her voice easily carrying over them all. "Tonight, we witness the bonds of young hearts in the Old Ways. May magic and the Ancestors guide and bless those who stand beneath the arches, may they guide your magic to entwine together. Now, come forward and take your places beneath the arches as those before us did."
"And let it be known," Lucius said, his voice smooth and silky, "should the magic manifest something... unacceptable, and you taint the sanctity of tonight's ritual, the Ancestors demand not mercy or kindness, only justice." He then smiled coldly, his fingers tapping against the serpent head of his cane as his eyes swept the crowd in front of him. "And we serve their will, always."
Hermione shivered at his tone and the implications, but Harry looked fondly at the man. "That's just Uncle Lucius' form of encouragement. He loves his dramatics."
'I think I will stick with Harry's encouragement,' the Gryffindor girl thought to herself, starting to wonder if all the drawn wands were just for illumination or something more.
"The Ancestors are just, but they are also fair," Cassiopeia muttered with reverence that was ill-fitting for a girl her age. "Though if they taint tonight, fairness is..." The girl shrugged.
Pairs of older students, including all the foreigners, separated from the group and walked hand in hand towards the arches, each pair taking place under one of them. Some looked solemn, others looked giddy; one girl who Hermione thought might be French, giggled before straightening the robes of the boy beside her, then took her place on the opposite side of the bowl from him.
"Bonds of young hearts," Hermione murmured, her mind working fast as she sorted through what little she did know of pureblood customs to try to figure out what was going on. "Is this a betrothal ritual?"
Harry gave her a proud look, "Exactly, this is a betrothal ritual that couples undergo as their wedding gets closer."
Lucius and Augusta moved, each to opposite sides of the circle. They produced silver knives and solemnly and reverently made cuts in the hands of each person in the couple. They then moved in opposite directions, doing the same to each witch or wizard standing before an arch before returning to the center.
"You may begin," Lucius Malfoy said.
"And may your magic weave together true," Augusta added.
Each couple clasped their cut hands together over the bowl, allowing the blood to mix and drop together into it. When the first drop hit the water, it transformed. One turned sapphire blue with silver flecks moving through it, another turned gold with tiny flames manifesting, another turned into something where red, blue, and black swirled around each other; all the bowls showed something like that.
"That is their magic entwining," Harry explained, his eyes fixed on the ritual and not on the girl next to him.
"It's beautiful," Hermione whispered with wide eyes.
"The water isn't normal water; it is drawn from certain sacred springs with strict ritualistic traditions and practices," Harry added. "It has certain properties that make it excellent for usage in magical ceremonies."
Hermione wanted to bombard him with questions about where the springs were, what made the water special, how it was drawn, and more. Before she could, however, Lucius and Augusta drew their wands. They waved them, muttering spells that Hermione couldn't hear, and silver ropes emerged from the couples and began weaving around their wrists, binding them together.
“Vela mentioned these rituals to me, the rituals to protect and defend the couple,” Hermione said to Harry, not taking her eyes off of it. "But seeing one in person is something else."
'Something I couldn't get from books.'
“Did she explain this one to you?” Harry asked.
Hermione shook her head. “She only said there are protections in traditional betrothals to keep us safe, and our magic enforced them.”
‘That was a conversation and a half.’
Harry nodded; that was about as much as he expected. “Right. Well, what color are all the ropes?”
“Silver,” Hermione answered after a glance at all the couples.
“Correct, silver is the most common and second-best color. It means that the relationship is completely consensual with no form of coercion.”
“So it is a magic that detects coercion?”
“In part, yes. It also serves as a form of magical binding to help keep you faithful." Hermione raised an eyebrow because that seemed like the opposite of there being no coercion, so Harry elaborated. "It won’t force you, but it will provide you with certain nudges to remind you what you agreed to if you try moving away from it. This kind of binding is only done by couples who expect to get married within a year, a final commitment before the wedding, you could say.”
"That makes sense," Hermione murmured. “What other colors are there?”
“There are three other colors, black, pink, and gold.” Harry began ticking off on his fingers. “Black tells you that there is some form of coercion happening, imperius curse, compulsion charms, manipulation, abuse, or something else forcing the relationship. The magic checks for those things, and if it finds them, the ropes will turn black.”
“And pink?”
“Ah, that is a more specific check. It checks for love potions and other potions that might impact your ability to think. Love potions can get past most coercion detection spells, so a different way of looking into it had to be developed.”
Hermione nodded, an approving look on her face. 'That is a brilliant way to protect yourselves and your relationship.'
“Magic always provides what we need,” Harry said as if reciting an ancient proverb, one that Hermione had heard a lot from him. "And it is rituals like these that Dumbledore will decry as dark, as something you should not witness or participate in, but, I ask, what is dark about this? This is a celebration of love and proof of free will."
'Dark?' Hermione thought to herself. 'If anything, this should be a textbook example of magic being used for good.'
Instead of saying as much, however, Hermione had a more pressing thought. “What happens when the ropes appear black or pink?” She asked with a tilt to her head.
Harry smiled thinly. “You don’t want to know. Though if they somehow avoid the magical consequences, everyone in attendance is honor-bound to take matters into their own hands.”
If there were two things Hermione had learned after being Harry’s friend and part-time student for two months, it was that if a Black says that you don’t want to know about something, it is true, and that taking matters into their own hands is quite literal. So, instead of pressing, she asked, “And what about gold?”
Harry’s expression turned contemplative, his eyes drawn back to the arches. “Gold is the ideal color, but it is incredibly rare. It means the couple are soulmates.”
“Soulmates?” Hermione whispered. ‘Surely that must be a metaphor or something like that. Perhaps it is a poetic term for people who the magic says are extremely compatible with each other?’
“My parents were soulmates,” Harry whispered quietly, reverently. “Aunt Bellatrix has always said that my father could make mother smile in a way no one else could, and Sirius says that mother could temper my father’s more… immature tendencies. Not the word he used, but close enough.”
‘So I was right, two people who are extremely compatible,’ Hermione thought in triumph.
Harry rarely talked about his parents, James Potter and Andromeda Black; they died when he was two months old and he didn't remember them after all, but whenever he did speak of them, Hermione noted he would always get a longing look in his eyes.
They fell into silence as they watched the silver ropes continue to tie the couples together, but eventually, Hermione’s companion broke it.
"Maybe someday you'll stand under an arch and discover gold," he said softly and with a hint of wistfulness, as he stared at the scene before them, snow starting to fall lightly around them.