A/N: The wedding ceremony is completely different to the ceremony as it really happens in Spain. I needed to take a lot of creative licence in order to make this chapter work. To readers in Spain, I apologise. I'd decided on the plot before conducting my research. Oops.
The engagement ring and 'wedding dress' are on my Tumblr (Nevernike). While Hermione does have a lot of dresses from previous chapters, it won't do for her to wear something the groom's already seen, so a new dress is the way it's going to be.
Chapter 21 Spanish phrase: I'd made an error, which has now been corrected. For those who already put the phrase through Google Translate – you receive a gentle 'tut, tut' plus an 'I'd do the same, anyway'.
Note: Dramione lemon. A small one. Don't get your hopes up.
But of course Hermione has a dress...
Leaving Draco sitting outside the dress shop because it's bad luck for the groom to see the wedding dress before the bride tries it on and pays for it, Hermione dashed inside, hoping the white dress was still there.
It was, of course.
Another thing that was also still there was the horde of rude tourists.
Hustling up to the sales counter, Hermione said to the surprised shop owner "I found a wedding I can go to!"
"Already?" the lady laughed. "Whose?"
"Mine." And Hermione shyly showed the ring Draco gave her.
"Oh my goodness!" The lady grabbed Hermione's hands with excitement. "Congratulations! I'm so happy for you! Already you look like the blushing bride!"
Hermione retrieved her hands and put them to her cheeks. It's just the summer heat that was flushing them, right? But when mixed with that tingling feeling in her tummy... and the memory of how sweetly nervous Draco looked when he knelt on the ground... maybe she was feeling excited?
"Where is the groom?" the lady asked.
"Oh, he's just outside the shop" –
In a trice, the lady whipped around her counter and raced up to the display window. "Is he the tall blonde man in khaki shorts and wrinkled white shirt?" she asked, poking her head among the display mannequins.
"Yup, that's him."
"You are so lucky! He is gorgeous! Such colouring, we hardly ever see here! You will make a beautiful couple!"
Meanwhile, one of the horde had finally decided to purchase a bronze micro-mini rouched bodycon party dress and was tapping her fake nails impatiently on the glass counter. "Oi!" she snapped, accompanied by a ferocious chomp of her chewing gum. "I don't want to be in here all day, you know! Some of us have lives to be getting on with."
Her posse grunted and flicked their collective hair extensions in agreement while tapping on their phones.
The shop owner glared at the potential purchaser and marched to the door. "This shop is closed," she snapped, opening it. "Everyone out!" ("Not you," she mouthed to Hermione).
The purchaser's mouth fell so far open in shock that her chewing gum made a bid for freedom by flinging itself to the floor. "You wha'?"
"The shop is preparing for a wedding. Out you go!"
"But can't I just" –
"OUT!"
The purchaser dropped her dress onto the floor in disgust, right on top of her gum and stood on it (deliberately), then flicked her own hair with annoyance. "See what sorts of reviews your poky little shop is going to get on Yelp!" she snapped, and stormed towards the front door, her posse bringing up the rear.
Hermione seethed in silence at their appalling behaviour, and she grasped her shrunken wand through her pocket. With a few twists and some muttered words under her breath while no-one was looking in her direction, she gave the horde a severe case of facial acne – one that would develop over the course of the day to present itself - fully-fledged, pulsating and horrendous, on the faces of those rude women - by the time they woke up tomorrow, just in time for La Tomatina. She was angry enough to give them boils, but dialed it down at the last second.
She actually felt a little exhilarated at having done something so naughty, and wondered what Draco would think.
Outside, Draco couldn't help but notice the shimmer of magic weaving over and through the mass of scantily-clad, sun-reddened women piling out of the shop Hermione just ran into, and wondered what his increasingly-naughty-and-soon-to-be-wife had gotten up to in there. He smirked behind his sunglasses.
And, of course, Draco's presence was not unnoticed by the horde and its putative leader, the one deprived of the bronze bodycon dress. Their vocal bitching about the shop's crappy customer service ceased, boobs were surreptitiously adjusted and arses were surreptitiously shimmied.
Draco let his smirk segue into a sneer, and the horde put their noses in the air and headed to the nearest tapas bar.
Meanwhile, back inside the shop, the owner switched her 'shop open' sign from 'open' to 'closed' with a flourish and turned to Hermione. "I insist on helping you with your dress!" she declared, and held out her hand for Hermione to shake. "I'm Maria."
Hermione smiled. A good omen! "Hermione," she replied.
Hermione tried the dress on, and it looked lovely. However, Maria had her step onto a low box in front of the shop's mirror so she could circle thoughtfully around it, tugging at some of the material here and there. Despite Hermione's gentle protestations that she didn't have a lot of time and please don't make a fuss, Maria dashed off to her cubbyholes beneath the sales counter, and returned, brandishing a sewing kit and a mobile phone.
"This won't take long," Maria promised, slinging some pins expertly into place while speed-dialing her phone. She conducted a short, loud conversation with the other party in Spanish while making some deft nips and tucks that instantly made the dress look like Hermione was born wearing it.
"I have called my mother!" Maria said, ending the call. "She lives nearby and will be able to help!"
Hermione was mystified. "You've done more than enough already" –
But Maria wagged her finger playfully. "A bride needs a dress, shoes and flowers!"
Hermione wasn't sure about the flowers, but she looked down at her rather grubby sandshoes guiltily. She wanted to look the part for Draco.
And herself, obviously...
"Not to worry!" Maria grinned. "I keep stocks of shoes for my window displays! Now, what size are you?"
As Hermione was tottering around the shop floor in a pair of wedge heels, the back door to the shop banged open and a lovely floral smell preceded the woman who burst through.
Almost hidden behind a ginormous collection of fresh flowers, the lady launched into a torrent of Spanish as she spied Maria. They embraced and kissed each other on the cheeks, then Maria presented the lady to Hermione. She looked almost identically like Maria, but a little more weathered and shorter.
"Hermione, this is my mother," Maria said. "She doesn't speak English so I can translate. Mama" – (in Spanish) "this is Hermione, the bride who is getting married in a hurry."
Maria's mother said "Ahh...!" and eyed Hermione's stomach speculatively.
"No, no!" Hermione said hurriedly. "I'm not pregnant. This is just a spur-of-the-moment thing." She certainly wasn't going to admit that she was getting married just so she could sleep under a roof tonight.
The older woman burst into happy chatter and laid the flowers out on the desk. After taking a few blooms and laying them against Hermione's skin, she set about creating a bouquet. Maria helped Hermione touch up her make-up with the anaemic collection she carried in her purse.
Maria's mama marched up to Hermione and had a brief conversation with her daughter. Maria said "Mama wants you to gather your hair into a loose bun, low at the back, and she has some flowers to decorate."
Slightly alarmed, Hermione did so with Maria's help, letting the odd curl stray naturally from the confines. Maria's mum then threaded little chamomile flowers in Hermione's hair, so they looked like tiny twinkling stars. Maria held up a mirror to show Hermione, and she was almost moved to tears.
"Thank you so much," she sniffled, nearly overcome. "It looks so beautiful."
"You are beautiful," Maria said stoutly, while her mother proudly presented Hermione with a cascade bouquet of purple wildflowers and feathery-light greenery, accented with chamomile flowers. In her wildest dreams, Hermione could never have imagined a more perfect bouquet, and she hugged the tiny matron, trying hard not to cry.
"How much do I owe you?" she warbled to Maria.
"Well, if you return the shoes tomorrow..." Maria grabbed a calculator from a cubbyhole and punched in some numbers. Then she named a sum that was already familiar to Hermione.
"But... that's just the cost of the dress," she stammered.
Maria beamed. "I would never charge for true love! Plus, the flowers are from Mama's gardens, and she loves arranging flowers. She does all the nearby churches."
Hermione made a note to charm her mascara to waterproof itself. This generosity was just all too much.
But Maria was more interested in something else. "Who will be your witnesses?" she asked.
Witnesses! Hermione hadn't a clue. Had Draco arranged witnesses? "Um, I'll have to check with Mal- my fiancé," she said.
Maria grinned. "I have the afternoon off! I can help!"
Meanwhile, Draco was seriously wondering just how damn long it took a witch to buy a sodding dress, when at last, the shop door dinged open, and a gods-forsaken angel stepped shyly over the threshold.
He was struck dumb by Hermione's delicate beauty. Far from a stiff, formal wedding with acres of satin and lace and formal robes and frowning portraits criticising the bride's weight and Father getting belligerent and Mother in floods of tears –
Here was his bride, informal and ethereal, in a white summer dress and wildflower bouquet, smiling at him. Only him.
And himself, in shorts and a wrinkled shirt, smiling only at her.
Oh my gods... he thought.
I...
He stepped up to Hermione and took her free hand. "You are exquisite," he whispered as he gently kissed her cheek. That cheek, plus the other, rapidly bloomed, and Hermione blinked suspiciously. "I need to fix my make-up," she stammered.
Maria asked her mama to show Hermione where the shop's tiny bathroom was, then turned to Draco and shook his hand firmly.
"I'm Maria," she smiled. "Do you have witnesses?"
As it turned out, Draco did not have any, and he felt nerves clutch his chest.
"Not to worry!" Maria said. "I can help."
She turned and yelled across the cobblestones at a waiter who was cleaning up tables before the cafe he worked at closed for the day. "Lorenzo!" she shouted.
The waiter looked up. "What do you want, Maria?" he shouted back (in Spanish).
"We need you to witness a wedding!"
"Sure! When?"
"Right now!"
Shrugging, Lorenzo dropped his cleaning cloth and undid his apron. "Papa!" he shouted into the depths of the cafe. "I have to go now to witness a wedding!"
"Ridiculous boy!" came the answer from inside.
Lorenzo ambled over, kissed Maria on the cheeks, then held his hand out to Draco. "Are you the groom?" he asked (in English). "Congratulations!"
"See?" Maria demanded. "This couple got engaged two hours ago! So how come we've been engaged two years but no wedding date is set, hey?"
Lorenzo eyed Draco. "I think you are setting a bad precedent for me."
Draco grinned. Each to their own, and right now, there was nothing in the world more than he wanted to do right now than marry Hermione Granger.
The wedding was held in a registry office.
Both Maria and Lorenzo agreed that the couple radiated love and happiness, and when they exchanged plain gold bands for rings, Maria's own mascara was in danger of escaping and running away down her cheeks.
Lorenzo found it hard to swallow the lump in his throat as the English couple kissed, and he promised to save even harder for the wedding of Maria's dreams.
Afterwards, Maria invited the pair back to her parent's house for an impromptu celebration. Lorenzo and his family would be there, plus a few neighbours –just a small, quiet affair, she promised with a twinkle in her eye.
"We'd love to," Draco replied, "but we have something important to do first."
Draco and Hermione strode confidently through the Casa de Santa Maria's beaded curtain entrance. It was 5:15pm.
When the dour matron finally responded to their repeated bell-dinging, Draco slapped their marriage certificate onto the counter with a flourish. "Do you take Visa?" he asked.
Even the Virgin Mary had no idea how to respond.
Later
Casa de Santa Maria
The old lady was as good as her word, and provided the married couple with a room. It was on the plain side, but they didn't need luxury, and it had all the necessities: a bed, a washroom, and privacy.
Their impromptu 'wedding feast', courtesy of Maria, was a happy and raucous affair, with plenty of delicious food, wine and beer. Guitars were produced from nowhere, and people danced on the small space cleared in the courtyard. Even Draco and Hermione self-consciously swayed to a slow song, encouraged by their new friends – their first dance.
Eventually, the happy but weary couple made their way back to their lodgings, avoiding the wistful eyes of Santa Maria as they headed up the stairs. Draco picked the flowers out of Hermione's hair (the ones that hadn't been flung off while dancing), dropping kisses onto her bare shoulders with each one he found.
Eventually nude, the pair tucked into bed. Draco wrapped his body around Hermione's and they both looked at the bright moon that shone through the flimsy curtains.
Reaching for her left hand, Draco kissed her ring finger. "Shall we sleep, Mrs Malfoy? It's been a long day."
Hermione's body shook with laughter and she snorted. "What makes you think I'll answer to Mrs Malfoy?"
Draco's eyebrows hoicked themselves upward. He hadn't even thought this would be an issue.
Hermione wriggled around to face her husband, a smile playing on her lips. The bedsheet fell, revealing her breasts, thus distracting Draco for a moment or two. "I'm keeping my own name, of course."
"Oh, really? What's the point of having a wedding ceremony if not to show the world evidence of our union? We could have gotten ourselves a civil disobedience thing." His fingers brushed over her hard nipples.
"Civil union," she corrected, "but you are right. So... how does 'Hermione Granger-Malfoy' sound?"
Draco rolled Hermione back on to her side and swatted her bottom. "Hermione Malfoy-Granger," he growled by her ear.
Hermione pressed her derriere up against his body. "That sounds quite nice," she replied. "But I'm not going by 'Mrs.' You can get that out of your head right now."
"Don't push me," he muttered.
"You're the one pushing something up against me," Hermione pointed out.
"So I am." Pulling her hair away, he dropped kisses down her neck as his fingers sought her core. Her moan ended on a gasp as he felt her wet and open for him. Raising her leg to fit his under, he slowly eased his cock into her willing body, enveloping it like a glove. They stayed like this, rocking gently together, until they both orgasmed on a long, intense kiss.
As both drifted off to sleep, they each had a similar, fleeting, unbidden thought:
How will I live without her when she's gone?
How will I bear to leave him when I die?