Wedlocked
Chapter 11: Drumming
"WAKE UP!"
Hermione shot to her feet, wand at the ready and sleep-encrusted eyes darting around the room for signs of danger. All she found was Ginny bouncing merrily in front of her, eyes glittering, cheeks bright and a grin so wide that she looked mad.
"What is it?" Hermione demanded.
"It's your wedding day!" Ginny announced and attacked the girl with a tight hug. "Aren't you excited?"
"No."
"You aren't thrilled?"
"No."
Ginny's smile sank into a thin and threatening line. "Hermione Jean Granger, today is the day you are getting married. I don't care why it's happening, but it is the happiest day of your freaking life and if you don't at least pretend to enjoy yourself you will regret it. Breakfast is almost ready, so get downstairs."
Even with the unbearably early hour of the morning, the kitchen table was filled to capacity, Harry, Remus and Tonks taking the places vacated by the Weasleys' eldest sons. Ginny bustled around beside her mother, setting the table and the mood. Despite the girl's jubilance, Hermione could feel the anxiety thrumming just beneath the smiles and chatter, see the tension in Arthur's face and Remus' shoulders, hear it barely contained in Fred and George's jokes.
They were worried.
She could not be certain about what, precisely. There were so many things to worry about, the chances of them each focusing on the same thing was unlikely. For her part, Hermione was concerned about not throwing up. Her throat felt tight and sore as the bile rose up.
"Drink this," Remus said, pushing a cup across the table to her. Her stomach turned at the thought of drinking some horrid potion meant to calm her nerves, but when she looked down she saw he had provided her with a simple, steaming cup of tea.
"Thank you," she said and took the warm porcelain into her shaking hands. Just holding it helped.
"Breakfast will be ready in a moment, dear," Mrs Weasley said.
She didn't have the heart to tell the woman that the idea of food made her sick. Watching those gathered around the table, she could see that no one looked overly thrilled by the notion of eating, but minutes later Molly was setting plates of eggs and bacon down for everyone.
"What-?" Hermione gaped at the plate before her; the two dry pieces of toast, while generally unappetising, looked and smelled heavenly.
"I remember how I felt on my wedding day," Molly smiled and dropped a kiss on the girl's head. "Eat what you can. There's plenty more if you're up to it."
The woman sat down at the table. "Oh, do you remember our wedding day, Arthur?" she sighed wistfully. "I was so excited I barely slept all night, but come morning I was terrified. My mother came to wake me up and started going on about duty and expectations. After that I couldn't think straight!"
"Too busy imagining the wedding night?" Tonks grinned and wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.
"Eugh!" Ron spat out his eggs and glared down the table at the young woman.
"How could I after that?" Molly laughed, ignoring her son's outburst. "Oh, but I wish you could have seen Arthur in his dress robes. I never saw anyone so handsome." She giggled girlishly.
"Mum! We do not want to hear this!" Ron protested, but she didn't hear him over the sound of Tonks's encouragement.
Blushing, she kept reminiscing through breakfast, much to Ron's disgust and Hermione's delight.
Hermione was having so much fun listening to Mrs Weasley that she forgot why they were talking about weddings to begin with. It all came crashing back down on her when Remus stood; the fear and resentment and panic returned the moment he set his hands on the table and pushed his chair back. Then he spoke and it only got worse.
"I had better make sure Sirius is presentable."
There was nothing inherently bad in what he said; she knew that, really she did, but a gut-wrenching fear shot through her as her mind immediately sprang to the previous day's attack. She had no idea how badly he had been injured and Remus's words made her think that maybe he was in worse shape than Dumbledore had let on. And while they were gathered around the warm, welcoming Weasley table laughing, Sirius was all alone and in pain.
"You boys go on," Mrs Weasley said, hugging each of her sons and Harry in turn as if they were soldiers heading off to a battle already lost. Hermione truly hoped the mournful atmosphere was all in her head.
"Off you girls get," the woman pointed to the door. "Mrs Granger is expecting us in forty-five minutes and only Nymphadora is ready!"
With more energy than seemed possible, Ginny grabbed Hermione by the arm and sprinted up the stairs, dragging her along behind. "You shower first," she insisted and pushed the bride into the washroom.
The hot water eased the strain in her muscles but did little for the persistent pain stabbing into her temples. She could have stayed all morning under the stream of clean, scalding water. She had been in there such a long time, she wondered if they were already late and why no one had called her yet. Just as the thought came to her, Ginny started pounding on the door as if it were a drum, beating a fast, hard rhythm that filled her ears even as the hiss of the old showerhead echoed and re-echoed around the tiled room.
The drumming noise took over and echoed in her ears as she stepped out of the washroom, as she dressed, as she pressed her palm to the Wellington boot, as she hugged her parents.
The drumming never stopped. It filled her ears even in her bedroom, drowning out the considerable noise everyone made as they raced around the Grangers' home, frantic in their attempts to get ready on time.
The drumming stayed with her all morning. It dulled her thoughts. She sat in a stupor as her mother arranged her hair and Ginny her makeup and her dress. It thumped in her ears and beat against the inside of her head as she walked down the steps and into the back garden. She could not hear the music over that of the drumming. It pounded on her brain and blinded her to the faces in the seats. As she walked, her feet moving mechanically down the path toward Sirius, the drumming grew louder. If the noise would only let up she might have been able to judge the level of his injuries, but it just kept getting louder with each step forward. As the speed of the drumbeats increased, she finally realised what it was, for it could not possibly still be the noise of Ginny pounding on the washroom door. It was her. Her heart, beating loudly, frantically inside her chest as if it might break free if it beat hard enough against the cage her ribs made for it.
Knowing what it was did nothing to help quiet the drumming noise and the intensity only continued to build until her feet came to a stop before the vicar, a man she vaguely recalled from childhood. As he, Vicar Martin if she remembered correctly, began to welcome the motley assembly, the drumming came to an abrupt end, silence taking its place in her ears and head. She doubted that a man she barely knew, even a man of the cloth, could have stilled her heart's uncontrollable rhythm by the power of his presence and voice alone, and she was right.
The drumming had not ended as his lecture on the meaning of marriage began, but with Sirius's hand wrapping tightly around hers.
Sirius had done it.
She glanced at him, expecting him to show some trepidation or vague discomfort at their involuntary arrangement. Instead she found him smirking down at her.
Smirking at a wedding.
Smirking at their wedding.
The sheer cheek of it!
"What?" she asked in a small but demanding voice.
He leaned closer, smirk still firmly in place, and responded in a low whisper. "That looks suspiciously like a bodice."
"That is completely inappropriate," she hissed.
He just smiled. "I'm not the one wearing a bodice. Quite low-cut, too. I can see clear down to Cornwall from up here, you know."
Vicar Martin cleared his throat pointedly, drawing their attention back to the ceremony. "Whenever you're ready."
"Sorry, Vicar," Hermione ducked her head and realised that Sirius was right. Not only was she in a bodice, it was so low and tight that she was embarrassed to be wearing it. It was absolutely unsuitable for a wedding. Her grandparents were here and Ginny had her in this? What had she been thinking letting that girl pick out the dress without demanding final approval of it?
"Sirius Orion Black," Vicar Martin said, his voice rising as he began the vows of commitment, "repeat after me:
"I do solemnly declare,"
Sirius said the words back, somehow without sounding as if he were parroting them mindlessly.
"that I know not of any lawful impediment,
"why I, Sirius Orion Black, may not be joined in matrimony to Hermione Jean Granger."
The old man's eyes fell to her. "Hermione Jean Granger, repeat after me."
She did, saying the words with as much confidence as Sirius had, or at least trying to. Insecurity pulled at her, making her think she sounded like a child playing a game of pretend with her friends while wearing a tea towel on her head instead of a veil.
When lightning did not strike them dead, Hermione took it as a sign that things were going to be alright. She let out the breath she had been holding and found she couldn't really breathe very well in the damned bodice. She snuck her hand away from Sirius's grip to pull at the horrendous article of clothing, but he caught it and forced her to stand still as the vicar spoke again, calling on their friends to come forward with a reason for the marriage to be denied. Hermione waited, expecting her mother to pop up in vehement protest.
"I like it," Sirius whispered to her in the brief silence. "The bodice, I like it."
"You would," she snipped. "I am going to kill Ginny."
"For making you look that hot?" he asked.
"Will you stop talking like that during our wedding!"
"Will you both stop talking, period," Vicar Martin said, his stately robes and mellow voice somehow made the request sound polite despite the words.
"Sorry," they chorused and a low chuckle rolled through the guests in attendance.
The man's cloudy blue eyes fixed on Sirius again, an eyebrow rising to indicate his displeasure in how they were behaving during such a sacred ceremony. "Sirius Orion Black, wilt thou have this woman to be thy wedded wife, to live together according to God's law in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honour and keep her, in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?"
"Of course," he said with a smile.
The other eyebrow rose on the old man's face.
"Say it right," Hermione hissed.
"I will," Sirius said in reply to both the vicar and Hermione.
"Hermione Jean Granger," the man turned his disapproving eye to the young woman and began to speak the vows again. She replied and repeated and vowed and declared and wondered how many times she had to promise to honour and love Sirius when magic ensured one and nothing could force the other.
Vicar Martin bound their hands together with a silk ribbon, declaring, "Those whom God hath joined together let no man put asunder."
"What about Dark Lords?" Sirius muttered.
"Shut up," she told him quietly, her voice shaking slightly. Her agitation was growing. They had been vowed to death, given each other rings and now had their hands tied; the kiss had to be coming soon. The old man started blessing their guests, leaving Hermione and Sirius bound together. She remembered now why her parents had stopped going to church regularly, the long-winded prayers and general feeling of unworthiness… or maybe that was just Vicar Martin's effect on people. As the man finally returned to bless the couple, Hermione shifted closer to Sirius.
'Here it comes,' Hermione thought, the drumming starting to pound in her ears again. She forced it down so she could hear the words, know when she had to stand on her toes to reach her husband's mouth. Nervous butterflies flung themselves with abandon against her stomach as the prayer came to an end.
"Amen," Vicar Martin said and stepped back from the couple, his job officially done.
"Well, that was different," Sirius said as he started to unwind the ribbon on their hands.
"Leave it!" Tonks shouted. "We need photographs!"
Hermione glanced over her shoulder and saw the young woman stumbling toward them, her hair in softened black spikes. She looked more like Sirius today, which Hermione suspected was the point. He had depressingly few relatives attending on his behalf. The excitable woman came to a stop and trained her camera on them, snapping photo after photo of them standing and doing nothing. She dropped the camera, frowning. "Will you both do something?"
"Like what?" Hermione asked.
"Try smiling," Sirius muttered.
"Git."
"Swot."
"Kiss!" Ginny called.
"Oooh! Yeah, pucker up!" Tonks ordered and grinned maniacally, lifting her camera again, waving and gesturing for them to step closer to one another as she framed the shot.
"You ready?" Sirius asked, the smirk gone from his face.
Hermione shrunk back, stepping away from the guests, noticing for the first time that everyone in attendance was looking at them. Her parents and grandparents and aunts and uncles were all watching them expectantly. Harry and Ron and Remus were standing close, dressed in formal suits and looking an odd mixture of relieved and slightly sick.
"They're all looking at us," she pointed out. "How abou—"
Sirius leaned in and captured her mouth just as her lips were pouting around the vowels. The drumming filled her ears again, but she still managed to make out the cheers. He didn't press his advantage, nibble or lick at her lips. He didn't have to. The chaste, closed-mouth massaging of his lips on hers was enough to have her blushing Gryffindor scarlet and fighting to keep the mew of pleasure in her throat. Just that simple, church-approved kiss was better than any of the snogging she had done with Viktor fourth year, and, for the briefest moment, she wondered how good Sirius would be if he kissed her properly.
'Bad!' Hermione shouted at herself. 'He is your fake husband. He doesn't want to kiss you at all, foolish girl.'
Sirius pulled back, "Not bad."
"Git," she muttered.
A/N: I tried very hard not to fall into the usual traps of marriage law fics where it's all a blur of confusion and panic or worse, excessive purple prose that beats the reader over the head with just how fabulous the wedding is. How'd I do?