Always a Bridesmaid

Always a bridesmaid, but never a bride.

Hermione was reminded of that old saying when she looked in the mirror and tried to find enough fabric in her current bridesmaid dress to properly cover her cleavage. It was strapless, a pretty shade of pale peach, and probably the best bridesmaid dress she’d worn, which was saying something considering she’d been in at least six wedding parties in the last eight years. Of course, Pansy Parkinson soon to be Potter had more fashion sense than the other brides so that was beneficial.

It was definitely better than the purple taffeta Lavender had chosen and the bright pink with white polka dots, of all things, that Luna had chosen. The dark green Ginny had picked hadn’t been too bad but Hermione just looked awful in the color. Tonks had chosen pale yellow, which was all right but made Hermione’s pale skin looked totally washed out. Padma had chosen a deep red that had been Hermione’s favorite dress until now but the style hadn’t been as pleasant as her current dress.

As she mentally ran through the list of dresses she’d worn over the years, she realized just how many of her friends were now married. Harry was the last one single and, in less than six hours, he’d have a ring on his finger and someone to call ‘my wife’. Hermione had little interest in being married. It was something she thought she’d eventually do but it wasn’t the end all and be all if it didn’t happen. She was nearly thirty, after all, and hadn’t had even a semi-serious relationship since she and Ron broke up nearly a decade ago.

With work, her family, and her friends, she had a busy and happy life. Sure, she thought about dating someone steadily because the nights were often lonely and she honestly missed having sex with someone other than herself, but she never felt jealous of what her friends had until another party or, more particularly, another wedding rolled around and she was the single one, the one that made things odd instead of even, the one that was often paired with anyone else single just to make things nicely balanced, and the one that often caused issues because she’d arrive dateless and mess up the perfectly planned dances and photographs by being alone.

It was those times that she realized just how lonely it could be being a single and independent woman. It wasn’t like she deliberately set out not to have a relationship, despite Harry’s mutterings after reading some of Pansy’s girly magazines about her being ‘hands off’ and far too stubborn and opinionated for most blokes to want to date. Harry did wonders for her self esteem when he was on one of his meddling missions and Ron rarely helped matters by pointing out the various reasons why they hadn’t lasted as a couple.

By the time they’d stop, she’d wonder why any man would ever want the trouble of attempting to even speak to her much less shag or possibly date her. She knew they meant nothing by it, finding her faults just part of who she was and accepting them years ago when they’d become friends, but there weren’t many people that accepting. It was one thing to know she was obstinate, focused on work, demanding, intolerant towards sheer stupidity, impatient, and tended to have high expectations from someone she was involved with on a personal level without actually discussing said expectations. It was entirely another to hear Ron and Harry rattle them off, always balancing with positive traits like they were listing pros and cons for a school project on Why Someone Would Not Want to Be Involved with Hermione Granger.

However, she was who she was and that was what. She had no intentions of changing herself just to attract someone. If they really liked her, after all, they’d like her, faults and all. If it required being some docile and passive woman to have a relationship, she wasn’t interested, thank you very much. If a man had some outdated notion of being the strong controlling one who went out to work and faced daily battles while returning home to the ickle wifey and kids, they could bloody well bugger off. Hermione loved to work, had plans of her own, and was in no hurry to even think about having children much less go about starting a family before she had accomplished several of her professional goals.

The problem was that her notorious habit of speaking her mind and the reputation she had for being a bossy workaholic preceded her everywhere, it seemed, and no one even asked her for a date. There were only two or three who even flirted with her, and two of those were gay friends so they didn’t really count and the other just liked to be an infuriating nuisance. Hell, she’d even be happy for a relationship based on mutual respect and casual sex. If men could have such relationships, why couldn’t a woman? It was a bloody annoying double standard. She had no interest in being a slag that picked up blokes at a pub, different one every time, and she’d actually only had sex with two men in nearly twenty-nine years, but the idea was rather nice: intimacy and sex without having to deal with the hassle of an actual relationship.

Hermione finally gave up trying to keep her breasts properly covered. The dress barely went up over them and no amount of tugging and pulling was going to suddenly make it less revealing. She smoothed out the skirt of the pale dress and eyed herself skeptically. She thought she looked rather pretty, which was something as she tended to be somewhat critical about such things.

Her hair was loose and fell down her back in voluminous waves that, thankfully, had decided not to be too uncontrollable this afternoon. By the end of the wedding, she’d wager a butterbeer that her hair would be a bit wild and unruly, though. She had a nice enough figure. Her hips were a bit wide and there was a slight curve to her belly but she was healthy and could care less that she was more curvaceous in certain areas that was typically considered ideal by most women.

Her breasts were actually quite nice but none of her male friends ever let their eyes drift to those without turning bright red and stammering. They weren’t huge by any means, but they were a nice handful for a bloke with the right size hand. The bodice of the dress was gathered up so it actually made her breasts look a bit bigger, which meant Ron and Harry would most likely offer her a cloak as soon as the ceremony was over, attempting to protect her defenseless cleavage from leers. Her boys, silly foolish men, didn’t seem to realize she’d actually like to be ogled, even once.

There was a flower at her side that she thought was a bit sickeningly girly but it was Pansy so she was just relieved she’d not been forced to wear stuffy dress robes or something with lace, ruffles, or taffeta. The ceremony was going to be outside overlooking the ocean. Some spot where Pansy and Harry had gone during a weekend holiday and decided they’d revisit if they ever made things legal. It was a beautiful place from what she’d seen since arriving earlier, and she was glad she’d had the foresight to just reserve a room at the tidy bed and breakfast where the wedding was being held.

Once she was content that she looked as decent as was possible, she slid on her shoes and left her room to go down and help Pansy get ready. As she walked down the hallway, she wondered if Pansy would be hysterical, nervous, worried, confident, or relaxed. It seemed a bride ran a gamut of emotions during the few hours leading up to the wedding and there were many times that Hermione wondered why they didn’t simply live in sin without such a ridiculous ceremony. She might be old-fashioned about some things and would deny any accusation of being a romantic, but she was a modern girl when it came to relationships and such.

Hermione was so distracted by her predictions of Pansy’s behavior that she failed to notice the figure hurrying through the hallway paying as little attention to his surroundings as she was. They collided by a portrait of a smug looking woman holding flowers. She was a bit dazed after she ran into the very solid form that had caught her elbow before she fell backwards. It took her a moment to steady herself and then she became aware of the fact that whomever it was had her bent backwards and she was straddling his leg with his hand practically covering her arse.

Goodness, he’s fit. The mutinous thought flashed through her mind as she gripped strong shoulders and slid her hands down what felt like a nicely developed back. When she realized that she was copping a feel, as backs were one of her weaknesses when it came to men, she blushed slightly and finally looked up, straight into pale gray eyes that were looking down at her from a very handsome face. Oh, how bloody embarrassing.

“You okay, Granger?” he asked with just a hint of amusement.

“I would be if you’d not nearly knocked me down, Diggory,” she said sharply. Of all the blokes to run in to, it had to be Cedric Diggory. Good-looking, charming, far too intelligent and nice to be normal, and one of the only people she hated to feel like a fool around. “You should watch where you’re going.”

“Well, that certainly straightens me out, Granger. Here I thought it was you that nearly ran me over,” he said as an easy smile crossed his full lips. She glared at his lips for being entirely too full and making her think of kissing in the way they had done since she was a silly fifteen year-old with a bit of a crush on the boy everyone wanted. Fortunately, she’d gotten past that silly notion and now knew he was just a pretty pain in her arse.

“I’d have thought you’d be used to being wrong, Diggory,” she said with a slight smirk, glancing up at him from half-lowered lashes. She hadn’t realized that Harry had included Diggory in his wedding party. She should have, she guessed, because she knew they were pretty good friends, but it was still a bit of a surprise.

Harry might not hang out with Diggory like he did Ron or Neville, but the events during fourth year had guaranteed a strong friendship between the two regardless. Her gaze flicked down to look at the scar on Diggory’s chin and jaw that was a permanent reminder of just how lucky he was to be standing there. Without it, he’d have been standing when Voldemort sent the killing curse at him all those years ago instead of lying on the ground bleeding from where his face had hit a tombstone.

“What are you thinking about, Granger?” he mused softly and her eyes widened when she felt his fingers pinch her bum.

“Diggory!” she gasped and snapped out of her thoughts, glaring at him when he chuckled and gave her an innocent smile.

“I was merely trying to distract you from thinking too much. It can be painful, you know,” he informed her in a matter-of-fact tone that nearly rivaled her own for smugness.

“You’re a prat,” she replied with a roll of her eyes. It was then she realized they hadn’t moved. She was still leaning backward and he was holding her far too close to be proper for casual acquaintances who tended to verbally spar when together. “You can let me go now.”

“I don’t know, Granger,” he told her thoughtfully as his gray eyes glanced down. “I rather like the view from here.”

She was distracted by a lock of dark hair that kept falling across his forehead that her fingers itched to push back. When she noticed him looking at her in a way men just did not look at her, she glanced down at her chest. Her eyes widened again as she noticed that the bodice of her dress had fallen just enough to reveal a majority of her breasts, just covering enough to keep her from being totally indecent.

“Remind me to tell Parkinson that I love her choice in dresses,” Cedric muttered with a very masculine leer before he grinned, winked, and straightened them. He pulled her dress up for her, his fingers casually brushing against her bare skin as he fixed it.

She tried to ignore the spark of heat that followed that brief touch because it was ridiculous to lust after someone like Cedric bloody Diggory, too nice for casual sex even if he was attracted to her and too everything else to ever be attracted to her. Who wanted the overworking bookworm with bad hair when he had his choice of many willing women who were far prettier and sexier than she’d ever be. Besides, he was thirty and still single, which meant he was either somehow damaged, gay, liked shagging about even if she didn’t hear gossip about him doing that sort of thing, emotionally distant or preferred to focus on other things just like she did and wasn’t to be bothered with relationships and the like.

“I can do that,” she snapped, her face flushed with embarrassment and possibly just a hint, a tiny tiny hint, of arousal. Okay, maybe it was more than tiny. She slapped his hands, large hands with long fingers and clipped nails, away and tugged her dress back up.

Cedric stepped back and she heard him clear his throat. She looked at him, surprised to see him staring at her and frowning slightly. Her eyes narrowed as she watched him run his fingers through his thick hair, the candlelight in the hallway catching the lighter strands of brown that were probably bleached from the sun. “You look beautiful, Granger,” he told her suddenly, his gaze meeting hers as he dragged his tongue over his lower lip.

“Thank you, Diggory,” she said, uncertain whether that was just politeness on his part, as Cedric was always very polite, or if it might be sincere. While she felt rather pretty, it was different to hear the words from a handsome man.

“Oh, bugger,” he suddenly cursed and snapped his fingers as he remembered something. “I was on my way to find you, actually. Potter sent me up to get you. Parkinson is having some sort of meltdown and he said you could calm her down?”

“The joys of being a bridesmaid,” she murmured as she pushed past him, inhaling sharply as she had to press against his lean body to reach the stairs. She glanced at him, her gaze lingering on his lips as she tempted to do something entirely reckless like kiss him, and stopped herself before she gave in to the temptation and humiliated herself in such a way. She moved past him to go down to help Pansy, focusing on not seeing just how kissable his lips were and reminding herself that he was stubborn and loved to disagree with her about things.

“Granger,” Cedric called out as he moved quickly and grabbed her hand before she reached the stairs.

She looked at him, wondering if he felt the same heat when he touched her that currently had her thinking very inappropriate thoughts about someone she should not be considering in such a way. “What is it, Diggory?”

He grinned at the sharpness in her tone and dragged his finger over her palm as he asked, “Save me a dance?”

She blinked at him stupidly for a moment, not expecting that question at all, and then smiled slightly. “Maybe,” she told him before she reluctantly removed her hand from his and hurried down the stairs.

She was smiling and rather flushed, definitely not just from embarrassment, but knew it was silly to think it was anything more than their usual cross between bickering and flirting that had been going on during parties and events since the war had ended. Nothing ever came of the flirting except her being flustered and annoyed that she was so bad at it and he did it with natural ease and charm that was infuriating.

A dance would be nice, though. He was an excellent dancer and she did enjoy to dance even if she never had a partner of her own. She saw Harry pacing nervously in the hall outside the room where Pansy was getting ready and grinned at how disheveled he looked, worse than even Neville during his wedding to Ginny.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she informed him crisply in her most stern tone.

“Hermione! God, what took you so long? I sent Diggory after you ages ago,” Harry whined as he moved into her arms and hugged her tight. “She’s freaking out. I don’t know why but it’s something about flowers and veils?”

“I’ll take care of it,” she told him with a smile.

Harry pulled back and sighed with relief as he pushed his spectacles up. He suddenly looked at her and whistled before he leered playfully. “You look great, Hermione,” he told her sincerely as he played with one of her errant locks of hair.

“Go get dressed, Harry,” she told him with a good-natured laugh. “I think Ron’s more nervous than you are, you know? Grooms are supposed to be wrecks, too. It’s in the marriage handbook or something.”

“You know I hate to read,” he said with a shrug and teasing smile. “Why be nervous? I’ve been with her for years now and I’d not have asked her to marry me if I didn’t want to get married. Ron’s all nervous because I’m marrying a Slytherin. Stupid prat still thinks we’re back at school sometimes.”

“I think he’s mostly worried that your child will end up in Slytherin and he’ll have to root for that team during Quidditch games,” she confided with a wink. “Now run along. I have work to do if you want your bride to stop sounding psychotic.”

“She’s kind of scary,” Harry whispered with a smile. “I’ll run along, though. Thanks, Hermione.”

“No problem,” she told him sincerely. She brushed a kiss against his cheek and then swatted his arse. “Now go.”

“So bloody demanding, woman!” Harry laughed as he moved to avoid her next swat and then went back to the room where he was getting ready.

Hermione shook her head and opened the door to the bride’s readying room. She hadn’t put a foot into the room before Pansy was grabbing her. “Hermione, the flowers are all wrong! And I look like a bloated cow!”

She turned to shut the door, catching a glimpse of a familiar figure pacing in the garden outside the window, running his fingers through his thick brown hair and muttering to himself. She allowed herself a moment to ogle and, as if he could feel her gaze, Cedric looked through the window and their gazes met. She flushed and quickly shut the door, turning towards Pansy. “It’s all right. I’m here now.”

A bridesmaid’s work was never done.

End Chapter 1