Y/N appeared at the entrance, every head turning instantly. The dress she wore was a masterpiece of pale ivory silk and delicate embroidery that seemed to shimmer with its own light. The fitted bodice curved flawlessly over her figure, while the flowing skirt whispered against the marble with every step.

Her steps were measured, elegant, and purposeful as she made her way down the aisle. Pansy Parkinson stood to the side, eyes bright, lips pressed together, watching intently. Though she said nothing, her presence was a silent reminder of the bonds of friendship that had survived years beyond Hogwarts.

At the end of the aisle, Mattheo Riddle waited, a figure of stillness and shadow in the flickering light. His dark brown curls were neatly combed, dark eyes sharp yet weary, and his posture deliberately controlled. He had been arranged to stand here, to marry a stranger, yet every inch of him seemed alert — a predator, even in this gilded hall.

The guests remained silent, the enchantments keeping whispers hushed. The lilies around the hall seemed to lean toward her, their petals catching light as if enchanted to honor her. Belle’s eyes were forward, her hands lightly clasped, gloved in cream silk, every motion a deliberate act of elegance.

One step at a time, one vow at a time, the ceremony unfolded. Each word, each subtle gesture, began to weave the delicate, unspoken web that would tether them together, whether they wished it or not.