Though he had expected all manners of disaster to spring from the hastily thrown together wedding, everything seemed to be going fairly as planned. The caterers were on time and with the programme, unlike at his own wedding that had had the benefit of almost a year of preparation. The decorations, despite being picked out by the other side of the wedding party, were even a little bit tasteful. Even the musical quartet of elves, wearing mini sets of dress robes, didn't bother him, despite being Hermione's idea of 'fair and equal employment'.
The happy couple was still enjoying the afterglow of their makeup session the night before, despite a slight bit of nausea on Lily's part, which did a world of good in calming nerves all around. Even Ginny, who had only returned the day before from covering the Eastern Europe Quidditch Playoffs after a league record twenty-two hour match and four hours' worth of travel time in the intercontinental Floo Network, was not as disturbed by the idea of her daughter marrying a Malfoy as he would have expected her to be. She even managed a nod of acknowledgment as they passed one another in the hallway of the events hall that he and Hermione had eventually decided upon.
Much more of a relief, though, was that Astoria, once inside the building, lost much of her hostility toward the wedding. She had even admitted to allowing Hermione to accost him in bed just to annoy him, not due to any desire to contribute to the nuptials. Draco had suspected as much, but he felt far more vindicated that she owned up to it at last. Despite his assumptions of disaster, everything was going remarkably as hoped save for one thing: Hermione wasn't there.
He had to say something to her. It didn't take a genius to figure out that the kiss they'd shared the night before had been a giant fiasco and a poor decision on both their parts. When he kissed her after the wine-tasting, Draco was more willing to write that off as alcohol-induced daftness, but the previous evening had no such luxury of an excuse. He still had no idea what had possessed him, and even less of an idea of why she had kissed him back. What he did know was that, after this day, they hopefully would never be in such a compromising situation again.
As if called by his thoughts like a beacon, Draco finally saw none other than the object of his imaginings. She was stumbling out of the Floo, tugging a large box behind her while simultaneously trying to keep the fabric of her dress from being caught under her cargo's edges. And her endeavour was not going well, either, as she stepped on a hem and found herself quickly falling on her bottom. He didn't know whether to laugh or to hide before she saw him and took him to task for not helping her carry the box.
He decided to settle somewhere in between. Stepping back into the nearest doorway, he said loudly, "What was that?" Out of the corner of his mouth, he said in a high-pitched, mock female voice, "No idea. You should check." Then Draco stepped back out into the hall and caught Hermione's eye, who had undoubtedly heard his concocted conversation. Walking up to her, he picked up the box and freed her dress.
Hermione gave him a wan smile and got quickly to her feet. "Thanks," she muttered before smoothing out the ruffled fabric with her hands.
Looking over the nondescript box, Draco asked, "What's in there?"
She averted her eyes before mumbling, "Lily's new dress."
Draco's eyes bulged. "What the hell is that supposed to mean? I spent hundreds of Galleons on that piss-soaked travesty, and she's going to wear it!"
"Her maternity Healer told her not to!" Hermione hissed. "There's some sort of compound in the fabric that can make the baby sick, so she couldn't wear it. I took the other dress back and told them they had to give a refund and make a new dress or no one would ever see a Weasley in that shop ever again."
He couldn't help but grin. "I knew you'd see it my way." Pulling his wand from his pocket, he muttered a quick, "Wingardium leviosa," and manoeuvred the box to the entrance of the bride's suite.
"Thank you," she breathed. Hermione bent at the waist, resting her hands on her knees as if out of breath. "Just… so tired."
"Did you spend all night at the dress shop?" Draco asked, almost in awe at her dedication.
Not looking up, Hermione said, "Someone had to, and Lily was, er, busy. We'd been going as often as we could, but it was a few days of work short unless I stayed all night." Yawning heavily, she added nearly inaudibly, "Also, I had to explain to Ginny that her daughter was pregnant and manage to not tell her where Lily was at that moment."
She stood up straight, blinking rapidly before closing her eyes and leaning against the wall. Draco waited patiently for her to either start talking again or to flit off with the gigantic list of things that likely still needed to be done. However, she did neither, and it wasn't until he noticed that her jaw was slack that he realised that she'd fallen asleep standing up. Tentatively, he poked her shoulder with his finger to make sure she wasn't about to fall over, but she didn't budge.
With a shrug, Draco left her standing there before knocking on the door of the bridal suite. "Lily!" he called. "Your dress is here."
After a few seconds, the latch clicked, and the door opened very slowly. "Thank you," whispered Lily, whose face was ashen.
"Are you, um, all right?" Draco asked, though he wished that he'd thought better of it before saying anything.
Shaking her head, Lily said, "I've been sick all morning, and I feel awful." She fanned her face with her hand. "And bollocks, it's hot in here."
Not sure how he was supposed to respond, Draco offered, "Do you want me to, er, get someone?"
Lily said, "No. I just need a bit of help with the zipper is all." Taking the box, she jogged into the corner behind the screen.
When pieces of clothing started to be flung aside, Draco darted behind the door and called inside, "Let me know when you're decent." Leaning against the door frame, he muttered to himself, "Fucking hell."
He sighed, but then he remembered Hermione propped up against the wall like an old umbrella, and if she woke up on the floor, he knew she'd behead him for leaving her there. Before Lily could finish putting on her dress, he sped down the hall and awkwardly scooped Hermione up into his arms and staggered under her weight to the nearest empty room. There was a small settee, which he immediately appropriated for his cargo before running back to the bridal suite.
"Ready yet?" he hissed through the still-ajar door.
"Yeah," she answered. "I just need to —" A crash was punctuated by a frustrated, "Shit!"
A thousand scenarios flashed through his brain as to what could've fallen, most of which involving several ways that his unborn grandchild could be maimed. With no further concern for decency, he barged in, only to gawk at the sight that met his eyes. Lily was holding the front of her dress up with one hand while balancing her other on the wall over a toppled table that once held a fleet of bottles and jars, which were presumably beauty products. "Are you all right?"
Kicking one of the jars in front of her, Lily said, "Yeah. Just… this stupid hem is too long, and —" Carefully backing away from the clutter, she jerked up her bodice to a more decent height and added, "Can you zip me up before I accidentally kill myself?"
Nodding stupidly, Draco did as he was told. He was definitely used to women bossing him around. First, his mother guilting him into marriage before he'd been ready; Astoria lit her bitch torch and never stopped running with it; recently, even Hermione had been silently ruling his life with her totalitarian wedding planning. But even with his limited contact with the youngest Potter, he could see why Scorpius liked her. She had accepted his son, despite all the things that had transpired between their two families, and she treated Draco as if he were just any other father of the groom. It was… nice.
After her dress was firmly secured, Draco asked something that had been niggling in his mind since he found Lily alone. "Don't you have, er, bridesmaids or something?"
Lily's jaw clenched. "None of my cousins would do it. They think I'm being stupid for even considering marrying Scorpius, let alone wanting them to participate."
Draco was surprised. "Are they not coming at all?"
He could almost feel her eyeroll. "They're coming, all right. Only because Dad and Aunt Hermione are making them. 'It's not PC to snub a family wedding. What would the papers think?'" she said with a sneer in her voice. "They just don't know Scorpius like I do."
Before he could think better of it, Draco quipped, "No doubt."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Knowing he was in dangerous territory, he directed his gaze pointedly toward her abdomen. At first, she looked at him in confusion, but then her mouth dropped in horror. Draco barely saw her hand coming at his face before it made hard, solid contact with his cheek.
"Holy hell, what was that for?" he moaned as he gingerly rubbed the enflamed skin.
"Is that how you are? Staring at my tits like I won't even notice? You dirty old bugger!"
Scandalised, Draco stuttered, "That's not what I —"
"I thought you were different."
The steel laced in her voice scared him a bit. "Lily, let me explain."
Jabbing her finger toward the door, she demanded, "Get out!"
Considering the rapid change in her pallor, from pasty to a mottled shade of rage, Draco thought it best to do as he was told. Darting out of the room, he decided to pay another visit to the room his son was occupying, half to show his support and half to plead his case before Lily had a chance to mention the incident that had just transpired. Also, if there were any nerves or tension involved, he would be looked upon to alleviate them, however misguided and disastrous any advice from Draco would end up being. Especially considering he hardly remembered ninety per cent of his own wedding due to a monstrous hangover.
Draco couldn't get away fast enough, and without knocking, he practically flew into Scorpius's dressing room, leading with, "I have to tell you something, and I promise it isn't how it looks." Then he looked up at his son sitting in the corner with his hands firmly grasping a body part that Draco could've gone his entire life without seeing on another bloke. Slapping his hands over his face, he turned back toward the door, but the image was quite likely welded into his brain forever.
"What the hell, Dad? I thought you were helping Lily's aunt get things underway?"
"And I thought you were marrying the Potter girl, not your hand," Draco snapped, still trying to erase the damaging sight of his son masturbating. "What in the name of Merlin are you doing?"
The embarrassment was ripe in Scorpius's voice as he said, "I… I kept thinking about last night, and, well… it kept popping up and I didn't want anything, er, showing. I heard you can stop that by —"
"I get it!" Draco interrupted. "Please, in the name of all that's good and decent, stop talking!" Trying his level best not to think about what he'd seen, he asked, "Are you nearly ready?"
"Yeah," Scorpius replied, his voice reminiscent of his physical duress. "Just need a few minutes."
"Good. Just make sure you're not up to any more nonsense." Before he could see or hear anything else awful, Draco left the room. At least he wouldn't find Hermione playing around while there was work to be done. When he approached the settee on which he'd left her, she had shifted onto her side and curled into a ball. Fleetingly, he thought of rudely awakening her as she had done to him, but he found that he couldn't do it. Whether it was appreciation for all that she'd done to make sure his son's wedding was perfect or because she was simply so exhausted that it would've been cruel, he didn't know. But, instead, he gently shook her shoulder and whispered, "Hermione."
It took a little while, but she eventually murmured incoherently and sat up, her eyes still closed. "What time is it?" was the first thing she had managed to say that Draco understood
"Half ten," he said, glancing at his watch.
Hermione nearly jolted awake. "Oh! The ceremony starts in a half hour!"
"And everything is fine," Draco said, a bit surprised that he felt it at all necessary to alleviate her nerves. When she noticeably calmed, he added, "Both of them are all but ready; Potter and Weasel are greeting the guests. Astoria is keeping my mother from having a fit over being in a sea of blood traitors."
He had not expected her to laugh, but she did. "I can imagine."
But soon, a taut silence strummed between them, and they both diverted their eyes away from one another. It was back. That stupid, inexplicable phenomenon that had made her drunkenly kiss her during the wine tasting and then again at the Cauldron the previous night. Draco desperately wanted to know what it was so he could eradicate it, but for the time being, he was stuck with this obnoxious attraction to Hermione bloody Granger-Weasley. That didn't mean that he couldn't try to talk himself out of it.
"Granger," he said, still not looking her way. "About last night…"
"Forget it," she said quickly before he could properly figure out what he should've said. "It was an accident, nothing more."
Nodding, Draco murmured, "Yeah. Accident. Right." He wasn't entirely sure, but he could swear that he felt just a little bit hurt by her denial of what had happened. He had not been averse to it, and she had seemed to feel the same. But her tone made him think that the mere idea offended her. He wasn't offensive — at least he didn't think so.
Nonetheless, he didn't bring up the matter again, and that would be that. He could take comfort in the fact that he wouldn't have to see her on purpose ever again. That was fine by him. If she thought he was so bloody offensive, then she could go home and snog that ginger degenerate. Besides, his own wife was better looking and ignored him most of the time, which was a far preferable arrangement for everyone involved.
The rest of the time before the wedding seemed to crawl by. There was nothing left to be done; the guests were all seated and the minister ready, as were the bride and groom. All that was left was to sit and wait. The room in which the wedding was taking place was split down the middle, with the Potter-Weasley clan on the right and the smattering of Malfoys and Greengrasses on the left. The Minister of Magic was in attendance, sitting in the front row on the bride's side, which Narcissa was undoubtedly bitching about with Astoria. Not to mention the overflow of the distant Weasley cousins that had migrated over to the far more sparsely populated groom's side. He could almost feel his whole family shivering collectively in distaste.
At last, the ceremony started, which was prefaced by a long-winded speech from the presiding minister about commitment and sacrifice. It didn't take long for Draco to tune out and just look around the room discreetly for anything of visual interest. The windows were nice: large, ornate mosaics of stained glass. And he actually liked Lily's new gown more than the old one — mainly because it wasn't soaked in animal urine. He would've been far less upset to pay as much as he did for that dress instead.
The last vestiges of a long night were starting to creep up on him, so he couldn't even imagine how hard it would've been for Hermione to stay awake. He chanced a look over at her, only to find her head propped on Weasley's shoulder for an ill-timed nap. Draco wanted badly to shake her and make sure she was awake through the whole thing, since she had put so much work into it. But he had a pretty solid premonition that, should he put so much as one finger on her anywhere in her husband's vicinity, said husband would most certainly deposit a big, pudgy foot up Draco's arse.
Astoria knew him far too well, unfortunately. She must have noticed his waning attention, judging by the sharp elbow in his ribs. "Pay attention," she hissed as her teeth remained clenched in a grin. "You're embarrassing us."
"No one is looking," Draco mumbled back, rubbing the sore spot on his side when she averted her eyes back toward Scorpius and Lily. From that point forward, he thought better of doing anything but staring straight ahead or saying anything, lest he find himself in more trouble.
The binding ceremony went forth without issue, and Draco couldn't help but feel a sense of pride that he was able to help do this for his son. Their happiness was not remotely in doubt, and for a moment, he even wished that he'd been able to have a relationship like that with Astoria. They got along all right, despite a rough start, but she had never looked at him like he hung the moon.
Before Draco could snap out of his trance-like state, the entire wedding party rose as the newlywed couple exited the hall. Astoria, already annoyed with his negligence, had hauled him to his feet along with her. Once he was firmly ensconced back in reality, though, he then marvelled at Scorpius. His son usually had a brisk, purposeful stride to the point where it was hardly even considered walking, but as he escorted Lily down the centre aisle, he matched her shorter, slower footfalls inch for inch. He seriously doubted that Potter or Weasel did that for their wives. Mentally, he rooted for Scorpius to show those gits how it was done.
Once the bride and groom were out of the room and headed toward the bridal suites, the rest of the wedding party followed them out the door and outside so the staff could convert the room for the reception. Though his services weren't required, Draco scowled at the men waving wands to pack away the rows of chairs and benches and make room for tables, all at what Draco considered to be a reasonably efficient pace.
He happened to look to his right, and he was surprised to find that Hermione was doing much the same as he was, only her head was resting on the wall. If he didn't know any better, he could have sworn that she was sleeping whilst standing up. Glancing around to make sure anyone of import was not watching, he side-stepped to stand beside her.
"Oi!" he hissed under his breath. "Why are you in here? Everything is fine. Go take a nap before you pass out and knock yourself unconscious."
"Have to . . . have to make sure it all goes well. Lily . . . counting on me."
Draco could hear the yawn in her voice and rolled his eyes. "Let her mother do some of the bloody work. You must be a shit delegator in your department at work."
However, Hermione never replied as she slumped back against the wall once more and began sliding to the floor. Groaning in annoyance, Draco hooked his hands under her arms and began to manoeuvre her toward the back of the hall, partly to keep her from injury, partly to keep her sleeping form from being an impediment to the event staff. Knowing the bride suite was taken and not wanting another disastrous run-in with his new daughter-in-law, he opted for the nearest safe haven: the men's loo in the back.
As carefully as one could in a hurry, he propped her up against the wall and shook her arms briskly. "Come on, Granger, wake up. You're going to kick yourself if you miss the reception." And I'm probably next on that list, Draco added mentally.
His efforts garnered a pitiful moan from Hermione, and her eyelids flickered open for a moment. However, this was fleeting; her head lolled to the side, her mouth slack, and her breathing adopted a light wheeze. Draco was running out of ideas and patience, so he resorted to the one thing that would probably work, though it could very well annoy her. With a flick of his wand, he hissed, "Rennervate!"
Despite knowing what was going to happen, Draco started when Hermione promptly sat bolt upright, eyes bulged open, and inhaled as if there hadn't been a scrap of air left in her lungs. It took her several seconds to clear the disorientation and focus her attention on him. After blinking rapidly as if to clear out the rest of her sleepy fog, he braced himself for the onslaught of ire that he could see brewing in her eyes. Draco even had time to squeeze his eyes shut before her open palm collided with his upper arm — repeatedly.
"You —" she hissed between blows, "— idiot!" With one last slap that sent shards of pain down Draco's whole arm, Hermione added, "Don't you know how dangerous that spell is on someone who's not unconscious. You could've given me a heart attack!"
Rubbing the sore and likely reddening spot on his arm, Draco scowled. "Well, you wouldn't bloody wake up. By some ridiculous circumstances, I've been left to deal with you whilst that bloated git you call a husband is probably drinking himself stupid and eating his weight in overpriced food!"
"How dare you blame this on Ron! How is it his fault that . . . that I was up all night at the dressmaker's?"
Draco watched curiously as Hermione's breathing grew shallow and her hands actually started to shake. Not quite sure how to react, he decided it best — and less detrimental to his safety — to slowly back away. If she was going to have a fit of rage, she could bloody well direct it somewhere else. However, he stopped in his tracks when she began to fish though her purse. He heard her mutter something that sounded suspiciously like profanity before she found what she was looking for: a small glass phial no bigger than his thumb. The contents were a dark, brownish-purple potion, which she tossed back and drank as soon as she could remove the stopper.
Feeling brave, Draco asked, "What's that, then? Don't tell me you're lubricating during the daytime." The latter had been meant as a joke, but he still earnestly wanted to know what sort of potion could give her tremors.
"It's an anxiety potion," she said flatly. "After I had Hugo, I had a bit of . . . difficulty adjusting. Any time I would get wound up about something, whether it was a crisis at work or burning dinner, I would have seizures. I am supposed to take this every day, but in the flurry yesterday, I forgot."
Not sure how to respond, Draco uttered a quiet, "Oh." He didn't know a whole lot about medical potions, other than the fact that he paid several apothecaries good money to sell substances exactly like that one, but he had a suspicion that her overreaction to the Revival Spell was a product of that. The welt on his bicep suddenly seemed like less of an imposition.
Ignoring his comment, Hermione stuck out her tongue, her face wrinkled in distaste. "They started giving me a new generation of this potion, but it tastes so vile." Wiping her brow, she added, "And it makes it unbearably hot everywhere." To prove her point, she tugged at the collar of her dress, exposing a sizeable chunk of hitherto hidden bust line.
Gulping almost painfully, Draco's mind was vaulted back to the night before and the passionate kiss she had planted on him. The mere memory of it was beginning to make him tingle in a pleasant way, but promising to escalate soon after. No, he chided himself. That had been a mistake, an accident. Nonetheless, even the beads of moisture collecting at her temples were beginning to hold some form of strange appeal.
Her respiration had not turned to normal; instead, it had become deep lunges for breath. Each inflation of her chest created quite impressive cleavage and gave Draco the mad desire to bury his face into that pillowy flesh. Astoria's were small and never touched, despite having grown marginally due to motherhood. Only that lack of stimulation could reconcile itself in Draco's mind as he openly stared at a pair of unfriendly, married breasts.
Hermione looked up and immediately recognised the focus of his attention, and Draco blanched — partly in embarrassment, partly in fear for his life. All he could do was hope she either waved it off or had enough of the potion taking effect to counter the ill will his actions would normally have garnered.
But he had never expected what happened then. Before he could so much as squeak in protest, she grabbed his lapels and smashed her lips to his. Encouraged by the lack of bodily harm, Draco let her do what she pleased, and that tingle began to crackle into a slow-burning flame.
Draco didn't know when or how he had come to desire Hermione Granger Weasley World-Saviour, but as her lips devoured his, he bathed in its intensity. Blaise Zabini had always said that it was the quiet ones or the prudish ones who made a man's blood boil, but that adage had never held much stock with Draco until that very moment. He definitely would've classified Hermione as a prude, but she was anything but that — much to his benefit at the moment, he mused smugly.
The creak of the door opening barely cut through Hermione's guttural moans and the haze dominating Draco's higher funtions; the voice accompanying it, however, did so unmistakably.
"Get your hands off my wife, Malfoy."