"It's just jitters mate, it'll pass. This is normal."
"No, no. Theo, no. This is not normal, I am not normal, I do not feel normal."
I am okay with this. I am okay with this.
"Hmm, and what happened to the wizard who insisted, 'Oh it's just a Muggle ceremony, I'm not that fussed about it, I won't be nervous.'"
Draco had said that. Several times. Verbatim. But he really didn't need reminders from Theo of what an idiot he'd been on today of all days.
"Do you write down every stupid thing I say?"
"No, because if I did that, I'd have to build a whole new wing to my already overflowing library."
If Draco had the wherewithal to glare at his friend, he'd have done so, but currently all his energy was being directed into willing his body not to throw up.
"Have you eaten anything?" asked Sasha as she pinned a boutonniere to Theo's suit lapel. A symbolic gesture as they'd forgone a formal bridal procession with attendants. Draco would stand alone.
Draco gave a sort of feeble grunt and motioned vaguely at the tray of tea and untouched sandwiches Hermione's mother had dropped off about an hour ago.
"Right, well that's stupid," she clipped and poured him a cup of tea to which Theo added a measure of firewhisky from a flask.
Draco was holed up in the Grangers' sun room with the Notts as babysitters, and would soon be expected to march out the French doors and take his place at the end of an aisle in front of a crowd of mostly Muggle strangers.
Sasha shoved the cup into his numb hands. "Hold still," she ordered unnecessarily and pinned a sprig of flowers to his jacket too. Flowers he hadn't bothered helping to select because he was a complete and utter fuckwit. Gods, he'd let his fear of the unfamiliar override supporting Hermione in planning their fucking wedding like the selfish idiot he'd somehow always find a way to be.
"You really should eat," Sasha admonished quietly. He could only shake his head. He'd found eating a rather cumbersome task the past few days and had trouble forming full sentences. Speaking for a reasonable length of time seemed to require more breath than usual, his lung capacity refusing to cooperate and retreating into a sensation of restricted airflow.
"I shouldn't... we shouldn't... fuck me, how did I ever convince myself that... fuck. I should just... apparate away... hide out in fucking... Estonia or... Peru or... fuck."
Sasha rolled her eyes and moved away with a muttered, "drama queen, honestly."
Theo made a show of peering out the curtains at the presumably assembled crowd awaiting a groom currently in danger of disappearing altogether and starting a new life on the run, possibly as a Muggle.
"Well, Potter's here, so if you do a runner, you've basically assured the entire weight of the DMLE will be thrown into your capture and mutilation," drawled Theo, giving Draco a pointed look before continuing his survey of the guests.
"Oh look and there's Ginevra. Actually I might be more afraid of her than Potter... and there's Weasley, he'd probably get his entire brood involved in your torture... I believe that's your Aunt Andromeda, and we all know crazy runs in the Black family... this is before even mentioning your wife-to-be, who I've yet to see for obvious reasons, but I know for a fact she would hex every last inch of you if you were to break her heart in this public of a venue..."
"She'd be fine... better off," Draco rasped. Theo let out a sort of frustrated exhale and pulled the curtains shut. Draco didn't miss the concerned look shared between Theo and Sasha.
"Love, can you give us a minute? I just saw Astoria and Dennis arrive if you want to grab seats by them."
She squeezed Draco's shoulder as she passed by, but his nerve endings didn't even register the sensation of touch. Theo hauled an ottoman over to sit directly in front of Draco and added another splash of firewhisky to the tea cup. He raised a brow and Draco begrudgingly took a sip, a bit irritated that it actually did serve to take some of the edge off.
"Draco... it's going to be fine. This is something good, mate, for once this is something good. Hermione is willing to marry you twice, isn't that ridiculous in the best way? What's got you like this?"
Draco shook his head back and forth, feelings of shame and guilt roiling in his gut and at extreme odds with his true wants.
"How can I... how can I go through with this? How can I shackle her to me? It's not—"
"Stop. Just stop Draco." Theo scooted forward in his seat and clenched and unclenched his hands a few times. Draco wondered if he'd meant to lay one on his arm or some other display of physical comfort. An aberration from their general habits of friendship, which would take the form of stiff handshakes, or perhaps a clap on the back every now and then.
Theo clasped his hands together instead. "I'm not sure where you picked up this martyr complex, where you think earning Hermione means constant self-sabotage but it has got to end. There are people out there who showed up today for you. For you and Hermione. Because they believe in the two of you. What do you think Hermione would say if she could hear you right now? Or your healer?"
Gods, Theo might accidentally motivate Draco into taking his place at the end of the aisle prematurely if it meant he didn't have to sit through this stream of self-righteousness.
"Probably some tripe about how I need to stop thinking myself undeserving of happiness."
Theo blinked in surprise. "So he is capable of listening then. We need to work on your follow-through though."
They shared wry grins, but Theo turned serious again.
"I used to think like you, you know. And I always thought we were quite the pair. Never destined for happiness. And that if we ever did manage to secure just a little bit of happiness that eventually it would all come crashing down. But I was so very wrong."
He trapped Draco in a shared stare. "No more Dark Lords, no more overbearing fathers, no more impossible choices. You're out of obstacles and you're well out of excuses. You can enjoy your life now, I promise mate, the only thing in your way is your penchant for melancholy. You're such a broody little thing, you know."
"And you're a meddlesome wanker."
Theo barked a laugh and stood to give Draco some breathing space. "You know I... well we've known each other since birth but I... " Theo coughed and fiddled with a cufflink. "I've seen everything you've had to overcome and I... well it's quite admirable really. What you've done for yourself despite... despite the burdens placed upon you."
Draco couldn't look at Theo, but he could study the tips of his shoes, which seemed as good a place as any to stare. He glanced up again when he heard the rustling of the curtains.
"My mother... is she... have you seen her at all?"
Theo peeked out again, but Draco already knew the answer even before his friend turned around with a grim look. "I'm sorry, mate, I don't think she's coming."
"Right," Draco nodded. "That's fine. It's fine, it's—"
"It's shite," asserted Theo, bluntly. "It's disappointing and I'm sorry. But Hermione is choosing you today. Never forget that, yeah?"
Theo twisted his own wedding band around his finger. "Sometimes... sometimes we have to choose our family. And that doesn't make those people any less important to us just because we may not share blood."
"Are you including yourself here?"
"If I am?"
A question quietly spoken with a resolute stare; an offer of brotherhood delivered with a stiff spine and an expression that dared Draco to deny him. He wouldn't, of course.
"You know, we probably do share blood."
"Good thing we're not getting married then, eh?"
"It'd probably be enough for my mother to show."
Theo snorted then held out his hand. Draco grasped it and allowed himself to be yanked to his feet.
With nothing more to be said between them, Theo pulled the doors open and escorted Draco to his proper place: the end of an aisle waiting for his bride, alone but for their officiant.
The matronly woman with her sharply cropped haircut and overall demeanor reminded him so strongly of Madam Hooch that it succeeded in settling some of Draco's nerves. But he experienced another pang of regret as she reminded him of another task Hermione had taken on solo: masterfully creative Charms work on some papers for both Draco's Muggle identity and so they could celebrate in her parents' garden.
The officiant regarded the stiffly standing Draco with a knowing grin. "Steady on lad, I've presided over dozens of these things. Just repeat back what you're told and it'll all be over soon."
He might've nodded or acknowledged her in some way if he knew how to operate his body at the moment. Occlumency would help with this next bit, but Draco knew he'd ultimately regret sinking into the numbness. Hermione didn't deserve a vacant groom.
Uncomfortably aware that a large number of eyes watched him, and though tempted to sneer or scowl, he repeated to himself that most attendees did not know the first thing about him. To them, he was merely Hermione's unfamiliar and mysterious fiancé. The non-magical sector openly stared, but with curiosity devoid of malice.
Draco heard an elderly woman in the second row of seats gossip loudly to her neighbor: "He's French, you know, and from old money. Looks like that boarding school paid off for our Hermione. And no parents in sight, the poor dear, but I suppose that means no troublesome in-laws, eh?"
"Oh yes, the poor thing," her friend replied, also in a carrying voice. "Fills out that suit rather nicely, doesn't he? And, as you said, French."
The contingent of magical folk in attendance included far too many Weasleys and he could already see Molly dabbing at her eyes while keeping a physical hold of her husband, who appeared so overexcited by all the Muggles surrounding him he quite literally bounced up and down in his chair.
Aunt Andromeda sat next to Teddy (hair a white-blond today, which Draco thought might be the shy boy's way of accepting him) but with an open chair on her other side. She craned her neck behind her every so often, and Draco stuffed down the rising feeling of disappointment once more.
The eyes of a certain group of guests sparkled with amusement at the sight of him awkwardly holding the attention of far too many strangers and doing his best not to scream. Draco willed himself not to look at either Potter or Weasel, but Ginny's knowing eyes and gleeful curl to her mouth set off warning bells in his mind. The fuck is that look for Ginevra?
This odd purgatory in which he now existed, this strange limbo between fiancé and husband, felt like a gulf that would never be breached. Moving forward in time meant making vows he fully intended to keep to a woman he intended to cherish, but what if he failed? What if he gave Granger everything he had and it wasn't enough? What if she hated living with him? What if they devolved into one of those stereotypical married couples, miserable in their togetherness but too afraid of loneliness to call it quits? What if he avoided all this risk and really did apparate away and leave Potter and co. the messy task of obliviating an entire crowd and then hunting him down for a proper dismemberment?
What if what if what if what if?
I am okay with this. I am okay with this. I am okay with this.
The sound of music dragged him out of his fear of ineptitude and thrust him back into the reality of his impending marriage. A familiar tune pricked his ears and it took a real effort to hold in a loud laugh. Because the song being delicately played by the pianist and the guitarist was instantly recognizable to Draco as the instrumental back-half of "Layla."
Leave it to Granger to select a wildly inappropriate song for the occasion of their wedding. He immediately conducted their imaginary argument in his head:
"Merlin, Granger, you can't be serious? It's about an infamous love triangle! On what planet is that suitable for a wedding?"
"Oh who cares? It's such a beautiful melody and you love it! I don't give a flying fig what people will say, I love this song and you love this song and that's that!"
Good lord, she even won the made-up rows inside his own mind.
But his amusement at his own pathetic state of constantly besotted was short-lived.
She appeared; flanked in the doorway of the house by her parents. The guests all stood and finally turned their backs to Draco in favor of a far more appealing sight.
There.
Right there.
Not forty feet from him.
There in the sweet upturn of her lips that signified genuine joy.
There in the rise and fall of her chest; fluttering breaths that connoted a touch of nerves.
There in the cinched-in bodice of her mother's altered wedding dress. The same one from her picture above the fireplace, now adorning Hermione's figure. A pristine white dress that accentuated her lovely shape; a shape he'd know blind with curves he'd grab and knead and clutch onto for dear life.
There in the way she held her bridal bouquet, a collection of flowers overly familiar to him. The same type of narcissus flowers his father would gift his mother on special occasions. A mother she'd sought to include, just for him.
There in the upward tilt of her chin, set high in that determined way of hers. It was slightly haughty and too endearing by half and screamed, "I know bloody well what I'm getting into, thank you very much."
There in the bright gleam of her eyes. Eyes focused on nothing but him. Excited, glowing eyes, the only ones capable of piercing him acutely. Eyes flecked with a golden color that inspired a madness wrapped in the embrace of desire, a love entrenched in willing foolishness. Draco's long list of poor life choices weighed on him, and some days that weight felt heavier than others. Two of three Unforgiveable Curses had left the wand currently stowed away in his inside jacket pocket. But if you told him that to arrive at this particular moment—with those eyes seeking his—that he'd need to re-commit every last despicable act, re-feel every painful second, re-live every moment of torture? He'd accept and without hesitation, grateful for every regrettable second that led him here.
There.
Right there.
His whole fucking world came towards him, willingly. Eagerly, according to the expression on her face. What had he been running from?
His face felt odd. Tight. Pinched. He'd be required to move his mouth soon, but no longer felt confident in its ability to function properly. Should he smile? Is he already smiling? Why did configuring his face into a basic human expression require this much mental and physical energy?
When the family unit reached him, Draco took a determined step forward. Each of her parents kissed Hermione on her blushing cheeks. Her father offered Draco a sincere handshake that he returned but did not feel and some gruff approval that Draco did not hear. Her mother pecked his cheek but it registered no sensation and whispered something sweet that he did not catch. Hermione passed off her bouquet to her mother and reached for him with both hands.
Hello, Hermione mouthed.
A white dress. A wide smile. And she stood in front of him with her small hands clasped in his and it's real and he put every Dementor in the universe on fucking notice with the way he felt right now.
Distantly, perhaps on some other planet, Draco heard the measured and booming voice of the officiant, welcoming the guests to bear witness to this union and delivering some rote speech on the importance of today's occasion. Everything surrounding them that should have triggered his senses failed to make an impact beyond a blur.
Only Hermione offered clarity; her sweet face an entreaty to slip into a hypnotized state wherein he would only ever feel cherished. Though no vows had yet been spoken, the firm way she gripped his shaking hands offered an eternal promise of safety in her love.
Breathing felt difficult in a way he hadn't experienced before—not a loss of breath that signified impending panic, nor a struggle for air that warned of too much exertion or stress, but in a way that his lungs felt foreign, every part of his body untethered because Hermione had rendered him undone.
His physical form had cracked wide open and his heart and soul laid bare for all to see. Draco would go through with the official soul-bonding next week, lest he wish to be murdered by Narcissa, but he no longer believed it necessary. His soul already belonged with Hermione now, and if the bonding ceremony felt even a tenth this euphoric, then he might shatter from sheer ecstasy.
His bride bit down on her lip to hide a giggle and urgently squeezed his hand.
"...to marry Hermione?"
The words of a question seemed to enter his ear in disparate pieces, and he realized he'd quite missed what the officiant had asked him.
"Sorry, could you repeat that?" Draco had to ask, and heard some light laughter as his face flushed.
The older woman smirked, but again delivered the request in a professional monotone: "Are you Draco, free, lawfully, to marry Hermione?"
"I am," Draco firmly replied this time.
"Are you Hermione, free, lawfully, to marry Draco?"
"I am," she replied, beaming at him.
The officiant proffered the rings that rested on the open pages of her ceremony book to the couple. Draco plucked the smaller gold wedding band off the page and held it to her fingertip. He then repeated the easiest words he'd ever been asked to say, and even though his voice trembled, he knew the culprit to be awe, rather than nerves.
"I, Draco Lucius Malfoy, take you, Hermione Jean Granger, to be my wedded wife.
I give you this ring as a sign of our love, trust, and marriage. I promise to care for you above all others, to give you my love, friendship, and support, and to respect and cherish you throughout our life together."
Draco slid the ring all the way past her knuckle, then thumbed over where it came to rest. Where it would remain forevermore.
Hermione's voice sounded higher-pitched than usual, but rang out for all to hear.
"I, Hermione Jean Granger, take you, Draco Lucius Malfoy, to be my wedded husband.
I give you this ring as a sign of our love, trust, and marriage. I promise to care for you above all others, to give you my love, friendship and support, and to respect and cherish you throughout our life together."
The smooth feel of gold pushed against his skin, placed there by a woman he'd surrender his magic for if she asked it of him, but knew she never would.
The next pronouncement from the officiant may not have included the phrase, "I now declare you bonded for life," but Draco felt the indelibility of their vows nonetheless. He dared someone, anyone, to try and tell him they weren't already bound together eternally and see which curses left his wand.
"I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss to seal your union."
Hermione let out a startled laugh when Draco wasted no time in yanking her towards him to follow the delightful instruction. Draco was careful not to disturb her artfully styled chignon with eager fingers, but Hermione did not grant him the same courtesy. After the second of surprise at his enthusiasm, her eyes smoldered and she threw her arms around his neck and thrust her hands into the hair at the back of his head.
He'd kissed her countless times before this moment, but the tingle of blissful peace that rippled through him when he pressed his lips to hers and cupped her face felt new in a way he could not describe.
With an incredible amount of restraint on his part, Draco kept the kiss moderately brief, only allowing for a gentle and momentary dip of his tongue between her parted lips. She broke away with a light giggle as someone (probably Weasel, the scoundrel) let out a wolf whistle. Draco pressed another kiss to her temple and he heard a shaky exhale of, "I love you."
Draco did not care that they were in front of an entire crowd of people and that the look on his face had probably turned feral. This woman had just married him, happily it would seem, and he intended to immediately show her how much he appreciated this recent development in their relationship. Hermione tucked her arm through the crook of his elbow and faced their guests, but Draco's stare fixated on his glowing bride.
A camera clicked and flashed and still Draco did not tear his gaze away. Flower petals rained down upon the newlyweds (not grains of rice because Granger said they were bad for the birds), and while the overall effect assuredly looked lovely, he kept his eyes on her. They walked back down the aisle, arm in arm, and Draco's long stride ensured they made quick work of it.
The second they stepped over the threshold of her parents' home and out of sight, Draco tightened his grip and apparated them away. They instantly reappeared in the Grangers' upstairs guest bath, and Draco wasted no time in hoisting Hermione atop the sink and claiming her lips.
These were not kisses for public consumption.
These were kisses of tongues and teeth and moans and roaming hands as Draco stepped between the layers of Hermione's dress to part her legs and encourage the ultimate close proximity. Draco teased out her tongue with his own and when she panted into his mouth he allowed her a brief reprieve and moved down to her neck.
His hands slid over the front of the satin material to knead her breasts, approval of his touch exhibited with her heeled feet digging into his back. As Draco dropped sin disguised as worship along the delectable skin of her collarbone, Hermione came to her senses for a moment.
"Draco... Draco... we're meant... meant to be... receiving our guests," she said, though her tone of voice suggested she much rather Draco keep sucking a love bite just beneath her ear.
"Ask me if I care," he whispered threateningly.
He took her lips once more, intent on silencing her the usual way, with the added maneuver of reaching his hands down the top of her bodice so as to thumb over her nipples.
"And we need... need to... take our... pictures."
But even as Hermione said it, she still bunched up the material of her dress to press herself fully against him. Draco rocked into her for a few euphoric moments, relishing in her wanton sighs as he rubbed against her core with an achingly hard cock.
"You look fantastic, did you know?" he groaned.
She went for his neck this time, licking along his pulse point. "So you like my dress then?"
He removed his hands from her chest and gave her a once-over.
"Mrs. Malfoy if you didn't look so bloody beautiful I'd rip it straight off."
"That's Mrs. Granger-Malfoy, if you please, and either way I'm still your wife."
He jerked his head back to stare her full in the face. Wife. His wife.
"Wife," he echoed, tasting the term of endearment on his tongue. "Wife," he whispered against her lips. "Wife," he crooned into her ear. "Wife," he muttered in the crook of her neck. "Wife," he gasped into the valley between her breasts.
All the while, his fingers trailed underneath the skirts of her dress, skimming along the heated bare skin of her inner thighs and reaching his absolute favorite destination of inside her knickers.
Hermione threw her head back against the sink mirror and shoved her hips forward desperately. "Oh... oh gods... Draco," she mewled when he teased her wet slit, giving the barest of strokes to her clit before plunging two fingers inside her.
"Yes... awfully sentimental for a man who... a man who thought the Muggle ceremony... oh right there... ceremony would be... superfluous... yes Draco..."
"Been chatting with Theo have you?"
"Well he's... he's... my friend too."
Draco stilled his fingers within her. "As your husband I'd like to request that any time any part of me is inside of you that you refrain from speaking of other men."
"You brought him up first," she whined and tried bucking her hips, but Draco's other hand held her by the waist in place. He smirked as Hermione attempted a sort of thrashing movement to encourage some friction but both his grip and the amount of tulle pinned beneath her wouldn't allow for it.
Hermione went completely still and just when Draco thought he'd finally get her to beg, the little cheat grabbed him by the belt and palmed him through his trousers. He let her rub up and down his length a few times before conceding defeat and resuming the pace with his fingers inside her.
Her hands fell away as she grabbed the counter beneath her for dear life, and Draco prepared himself for his favorite sight in the entire world. He leaned in to hover his mouth just above the corner of her parted lips, the tip of his nose pressed against her cheek.
"Come for me, wife... I'm going to take care of you like this for the rest of our lives... be a good girl and come for me..."
Something he should have already known, but withholding pleasure could never compete with whispered praises and demands if he wanted to hear her plead, if he wanted to feel her clench even tighter around his digits.
"Oh please... please... I'm so close..."
Yes, he could tell.
"You want to be a good wife, don't you love? Show me you can be good... come all over my fingers..."
Hermione showed him perfection.
She threw her arms around him, chanting a breathy refrain of "I love you I love you I love you," into his neck as she rode out her high.
When she'd returned to earth, Hermione reached for his belt once again, but Draco took her hands in his.
"No, this was for you."
"We'll be quick, let me just—"
"Absolutely not," he protested and helped her down off the counter and smoothed down her dress.
"When we consummate this marriage I will be taking my time. So let's go fulfill our social obligations because once this wedding is over I'm not letting you leave our bed for quite some time. Days, even."
Hermione drew him in for yet another heated kiss.
"Are you sure I can't at least take care of you? It hardly seems fair," she frowned and eyed the significant and obvious bulge in his trousers. It probably wouldn't take very long with the way she'd riled him up, perhaps a shallow thrust or two past her lips and he'd spill down her throat...
"Knock knock love birds!"
One surefire way to kill his erection: the chirping voice of Ginevra.
"If you're quite finished," she called through the door, "I've spun a tale to all your curious guests about fixing the missing bride's hair and makeup!"
Draco yanked the door open and glared at the unwelcome intrusion.
"Which it appears Padma and I will need to do as it stands," she broke off with a snicker as she noticed the dazed and rumpled Hermione behind him. "Married all of two minutes and you already reek of dirty deeds. Come along Mrs. Granger-Malfoy."
She reached around Draco and tugged Hermione out by the arm and shoved her lightly down the hall. With Hermione out of sight, Ginny turned back to Draco with a calculating expression.
"Hmm, face a bit pink, lips swollen, hair tousled but not too messy... suit still buttoned correctly... tie still in place..."
Draco ignored her and proceeded to wash his hands instead.
"Aha!" she crowed in triumph. "I knew it! Hermione just received some marital benefits, eh?"
"You'd think motherhood would have tempered some of that crudeness. Classy as ever, Ginevra."
"Well her benefit is mine too, I'm getting paid out big time for this little tryst."
Draco raised a brow at her reflection in the mirror. "Are you reprobates actually gambling during our wedding?"
"Oh, there's quite the scandalous amount of betting going on here involving all sorts of predictions around your nuptials. This particular pile of gold revolves around why no one could find hide nor hair of the new couple. Ron and Dad abstained from the bet here, but the rest of the men were all rather rude, they went for full on shagging. The women were far too romantic, they all put in for heavy snogging. But I said you'd be a gentleman and let the lady get off."
"Tell me again how you are not the Potter with an Auror badge?"
"The pay is shite. Now, downstairs with you, I've got gold riding on how many old Muggle biddies try and pinch your bum."
Draco scowled and vowed to stick very close to his new bride. "You're an awfully shameless lot."
"Quite. Think you could kiss at least eight sets of wrinkled knuckles? That particular over/under is a rather hefty sum for the victor."
"Split the pot with me and I'll get you twelve sets."
"That's the spirit. Welcome to the family, Malfoy."
Draco recoiled in disgust. "Not sure which wedding you just attended, but I'm fairly certain I married Granger today."
"Oh you sweet, naïve fool. You just married Hermione. My parents have adopted people for far less."
His face registered a mixture of dawning horror, confusion, and incredulity as the reality of that statement set in. Ginny would have none of this, and physically pushed him towards the stairs.
"Come along, you can have a proper meltdown about that epiphany later. I've got 10 Galleons invested in you dipping Hermione during your first dance."
Those absolute heathens.
I am okay with this.
-------------------------------------
Hermione generally wanted to gag when couples referred to one another by their marital status instead of their actual names, but if Draco whispered, "I love you, wife," one more time in her ear she'd tear off his wedding clothes in full view of everyone.
Of course if she did that, she might only be rewarding some of the more forward behavior of a few elderly aunties. As the reception wore on and Hermione experienced smile fatigue and rampant soreness in her feet as her Cushioning Charm diminished in efficacy, she thought longingly of absconding with her new husband away from curious eyes, invasive questions, and one too many pitying glances at Draco.
Hermione kept her opinions on Narcissa's absence to herself, and Draco stoically bore all the well-meaning condolences from guests at his "orphan" status, even as her parents tried their best to immediately change topics on his behalf.
Andromeda and Molly on the other hand, seemed most prone to acting the mother hen, but had thus far contained themselves and only indulged in rather long hugs as Draco and Hermione finally started the tedious task of thanking guests and bidding goodnight.
They'd started the process more than an hour ago.
Harry and James, dressed adorably in a tiny suit, were the final straw for Draco in the endless parade of farewells required before their release from the wedding.
Hermione kissed both Harry and James on the cheek, the smaller Potter squealing a giggle and burying his face in his father's shoulder.
Harry shifted James in his arms and held him out towards Draco, making the toddler giggle harder.
"Here Malfoy, do you want to hold your nephew?"
Draco instead reached out a large hand and ruffled the already messy black hair of James.
"One day Potter, I am going to have a Time Turner built, go back to our Third Year and show you this memory just to witness the look of pure rage and disgust on your moronic pre-teen face."
"You'd have much better luck getting a rise out of Fifth Year me. Moody little bugger."
Hermione thought it best to call it a night after that based on Draco's eye roll.
Away from prying Muggle eyes inside the house, Draco held out his arm to apparate them to his home. No, their home.
She reached for him, then pulled back suddenly. "Promise you won't laugh at me?"
"Granger, you know I can't be held to impossible standards."
Hermione huffed and crossed her arms. "I know it sounds rather silly, but is it possible to apparate us to the front steps of the house?"
"It's possible to apparate us straight into bed, so yes."
She gripped his arm and gave him an expectant look, and a moment later they reappeared on the front steps of Franklin House. Hermione looked everywhere but at Draco, her hands alternately scrunching and then smoothing the skirt of her dress. Draco waited her out, knowing by now that she only needed to find the right words to convey a self-conscious thought. She preemptively waved her wand at the doors to open them.
"Willyoucarrymeoverthethreshold?"
"Sorry?"
"Please don't laugh."
"Again, not a promise I can make."
She inhaled a breath of the beautiful, clear country air that surrounded her new home.
"But it's just a Muggle wedding night tradition and I know, I know, how odd it sounds, but I always pictured my husband picking me up and carrying me over the threshold of our home on my wedding night."
Hermione finally looked up at her endearingly confused husband as he rubbed the back of his neck, no doubt questioning her sanity.
"Er... okay."
She braced herself for him to scoop her behind her back and knees, but before she could properly explain, Draco moved forward, hoisted her from her midsection, and slung her over his shoulder, and she found herself facing his lower back with her bum in the air.
"No! Not like some sort of caveman! Draco put me down!"
As he deposited her back on the ground, she gave him a more thorough instruction of how he should bend to pick her up from beneath her knees and arms and she could hold him around the neck. He complied with her odd demand.
"Didn't you ever wonder why this type of carrying a person is called 'bridal style'?"
"That question has literally never entered my brain."
To his credit, Draco did not smirk at her as she tightened her hold around him and he carried her through the doors of the manor house. She rewarded his restraint with a soft kiss to the side of his neck.
"Now what?"
"To bed please."
"All the way up the stairs?"
"Are you saying I'm too heavy?"
"No you tiny daft thing, I'm just rather impatient to fuck my wife."
Hermione giggled and nuzzled the side of his face. "Oh go on then."
A turn and a pop and the next second she found herself gently deposited on the edge of the four-poster bed. Hermione blinked and looked around the surprisingly fragrant bedroom, unsure of what to make of the petals scattered everywhere.
"Draco did you...?"
Draco ran a hand down his face as he surveyed the vast amount of purple and white hyacinth plants and petals covering almost every available surface.
"No, of course not. Crick, however, is more than aware of my, ah, affinity for the blasted flower and correctly deduced that I associate it with you and... well apparently the old thing is a romantic at heart..." He trailed off and started banishing them in droves while Hermione sank against the mattress in mirth.
He joined her once the room no longer reeked from the overabundance of sickly sweetness and the air a tad easier to breathe. Finally alone with each other after their long and exciting day, Hermione tugged him towards her by his tie. True to his promise from their bathroom romp earlier, Draco's lips slid against hers in an unhurried manner.
She could lose herself in him, a pleasant relinquishing she didn't care to fight. But she had one last task to complete before she could succumb to his taste and touch.
Hermione pressed a hand to his chest and eased him back. "Before you make me rather incoherent, may I give you your wedding present?"
"I have a feeling what you've got on under this dress is gift enough, love."
She laughed and pecked his lips. "Consider my expensive lingerie a bonus then."
When her laughter died away, she met his patient stare and steeled her nerves. "I wanted to do something just for you. Just for us. I was so proud standing up in front of my family and friends today and pledging myself to you. But everything I really wanted to say could never be contained in standard marriage vows."
Hermione reached over to the nightstand for her beaded bag and fished out her journal. "Instead, I wrote something in permanent ink in here. It'll have appeared in your journal by now. They're not exactly vows, per se, more... thoughts on... why I love you. You can... you can read privately if you want to later or—"
"Read them to me."
She glanced over at the man sitting flush to her body on their now shared bed.
"You want me to read this to you? Now?"
"Yes."
Her gaze roamed over his tense form; Draco's hands clenched on his thighs, his tightened jaw and rigid posture. His gray eyes burned with unabashed longing for the verbal affirmation she held in her hands.
She lowered her eyes to the words she'd agonized over, not quite prepared to have to say them aloud.
"Draco. You probably don't remember, but I once told you that I thought you had a lot to offer someone as a partner—"
"I remember," he cut in and her head snapped up. He looked like every word out of her mouth would heal him, would sate a desire for hearing confirmation of affection he'd long been denied and long craved. She would never deny him that again.
"I once told you that I thought you had a lot to offer someone as a partner. I was wrong. I was so wrong. Draco, what you have to offer is boundless. To overcome what you have, and to still carry such passion and love in your heart... love that you hid away for far too long. You should never have felt the need to, so please, do not ever, not for one single second, hide away that love again."
Her throat felt tight, but she ploughed on.
"Before you ever told me you loved me, I already knew. Because you'd shown me in hundreds of ways. You continue to show me in countless ways. You love me every time you support my ambitions... every time you disagree with me and force me to think about my opinions."
She heard a low chuckle.
"You love me every time you let me comfort you and every time you choose to confide in me. You love me every time you look at me."
She met his gaze then, and Hermione finally lost the battle with her tears, but the surrender felt right, felt natural.
Draco's thumbs wiped them away in an instant and Hermione no longer needed to read her next lines from the notebook. She had the rest memorized.
"You look at me with purpose," she whispered and his hands fell away from her face.
"There are more dimensions to you than you know. Dimensions and layers that you have trusted me to accept and protect. I promise to guard what you've given to me with the utmost care, because... because it is the most precious thing in my possession. It is my absolute privilege to discover each and every side to you, Draco. I love you."
He released a stuttering breath. "I love you."
Hermione closed the book and Draco tugged it from her hands.
Draco slid off the bed and knelt before her. He undid the straps of each of her shoes and freed her aching feet from their fashionable prison.
Sitting back on his heels, he took one foot in her hand and kneaded her sore arch, forcing a contented sigh out of her mouth. He bent his head and kissed her ankle, his fingers skated up to her calf as his lips soon followed. Tasting and touching her, inch by sinful inch, until she could no longer see the man laying waste to her sanity as he disappeared beneath her dress. When he reached her inner thigh, so very close to where she needed him most, he withdrew completely.
He started the process all over again with her other foot. As he repeated the trail from ankle to calf to knee to thigh once more, Hermione wanted to combust with need.
"Not that I'm complaining, but what happened to the man who said, 'I'm rather impatient to fuck my wife'?"
Draco's ministrations against her skin ground to a halt. He pulled out from beneath her skirts with a blazing stare.
"Say that again."
"Say what again?"
"Fuck."
Hermione pursed her lips, an admonishment on the tip of her tongue when she registered the sincerity in his eyes. Not mockery. Not amusement at his proper little swot saying a lewd word. Not ill-natured teasing at her discomfort.
Lust.
She indulged his request.
"Fuck."
He pounced.
Flat on her back with the familiar hard lines of his body atop hers, Hermione helped him shed his tie and suit jacket, eager to finally experience all of her spouse after ogling him in his black wedding suit all afternoon and evening.
Feeling bold now that she'd blown apart his plan to take her slowly, she yanked his ear to her lips. "I want you to fuck me."
The noise he made, a sputtered desperate groan of both disbelief and arousal, sent a thrill through her veins, a thrill only encouraged by the hands touching her in ways that signified he would absolutely make good on her sultry request.
Draco vanished his own shirt then resumed feasting on the skin above her breasts with sloppy, greedy kisses sure to leave welts and marks of possession. Good.
"Do you know what it's like to hear those filthy words come out of your pretty mouth?"
But as he pressed her further into the mattress she winced with a hiss and clutched the back of her head.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing, just my hair. I swear there's about a hundred blasted pins keeping it in and stabbing me." Her mum and Ginny had been a bit overzealous with sticking bits of metal in her hair in an effort to keep her curls contained for hours on end.
He frowned then heaved himself off her. Draco sat up against the headboard and patted his lap. "Come here love."
Hermione crawled toward him, intending to straddle him when he shook his head.
"No, other way, turn around."
He parted his long legs so she could scoot back in between, back resting against his bare chest. Draco trailed his fingers up her arms, to the sides of her neck, and then she felt them digging through her styled hair. Some of the tension that often accompanied a tighter chignon lessened and she realized Draco had removed a pin. His delicate touch reached into her curls over and over, and with each pin removed, he dropped a soft kiss to either her neck or shoulder.
When her tresses were free once more, tumbling down her back in waves, Draco combed his fingertips through from scalp to ends, banishing the lingering ache around her temple.
"Better?"
She hummed in approval. She felt a large hand on her back ease her forward a bit and then sweep her hair over one shoulder. Draco undid the clasp of her grandmother's pearls and out of the corner of her eye, she saw the necklace float over to the wardrobe. Her mother's diamond earrings received the same treatment.
The only thing left to be removed was her dress.
Draco began with the buttons up the back of her bodice. Though with each deft flick of his fingers the garment loosened around her chest and ribs, Hermione found she could only take shallow breaths with each undone button.
His knuckles skated in light patterns along her skin as he let the top half fall away from covering her. The cool metal of his wedding ring surprised her, a sensation she'd not felt from him ever before. The realization of the significance of said ring called forth intertwining emotions of desire and fondness for the man she'd agreed to share her life with today.
"Will you stand up for me so I may take off your dress?"
Hermione nodded, allowing him to return to his original script of savoring her. With her arms free from the short sleeved, wide-necked top, Draco already had a preview of the sheer white corset beneath.
He stood behind her and tugged the zip of her skirt down, and with a light shimmy of her hips, the wedding dress worn by her mother, and now by her, pooled around her feet. Draco came around her front and offered his hand so she could step out of the pile of fabrics. Another wave of his hand sent the dress floating to hang over the back of an armchair.
Hermione remained completely still as Draco circled her in careful, measured steps. He dragged a hand along the curve of her backside, up and around to her midsection, his palm coming to a rest on her hip when he reached her front again. Gray eyes swept up her frame, cataloguing her every feature, inspecting the lace detailing of her bridal lingerie, and finally staring her full in the face. With purpose, as she'd written and said to him.
His eyes and hands had already spoken for him, but Hermione appreciated it all the more when he verbalized his assessment of her.
"You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen."
Draco made her fall in love more than once over the course of the night.
She fell when he kissed every inch of her, when he murmured he loved her, when he made her come sobbing his name, when he finished inside her gasping hers, when he thanked her for marrying him, when he made her squeal with laughter by tickling her ribs because he said he missed the sound, when he promised to wake her in an hour or so for another go, when he succumbed to slumber with but a few flutters of his pale eyelashes, when he shifted in his sleep to tighten his hold on her.
The experience of falling never stopped and she knew it never would.
----------------------------------
A/N: Just one chapter left. This story comes to an end on November 24.
Come say hi on tumblr: @heyjude19-writing.