The laughter and music from the reception drifted softly across the grounds, a warm bubble of joy that seemed impenetrable beneath the enchanted night sky.
But in the distance—beyond the shimmering lights of the estate's enchanted boundaries—shadows gathered.
Figures cloaked in black, faces masked with malice.
Death Eaters.
At their head stood Lucius Malfoy.
His pale face twisted into a sneer as he surveyed the celebration he'd been excluded from—his son's wedding, where the old rules had been shattered, and a new legacy forged.
He stepped forward, wand drawn, voice dripping with venom. "Mudblood. Traitor. Filth. How fitting that you parade yourself as a bride while disgracing our name."
The revelry faltered as a ripple of unease passed through the crowd.
Hermione stood, steady as stone, her gaze icy but unflinching.
Lucius's words fell on her like acid, but she refused to react—not with anger, not with fear. Instead, she lifted her chin and met him with quiet power.
"I am not a mudblood," she said clearly, voice ringing like a bell. "I am the first Trueblood—a union of strength, heritage, and change. And I am proud."
Draco moved beside her, voice low but fierce. "We both are. We stand together, the first generation of a new bloodline. One that refuses to be chained by your hatred."
Lucius's eyes narrowed. "You defy nature itself."
"No," Hermione answered. "We redefine it."
Magic shimmered around them—golden and silver, pulsing with the strength of ancient vows and fresh hope.
The crowd behind them stirred, emboldened by their courage.
Lucius's sneer deepened, but no wand was raised. The power in their words and presence was undeniable.
For the first time, he realized: this wasn't a break in the night. It was the dawn.