February 2010
Growing up, Draco never really gave much thought to the activity of wedding planning. He would have been given very little say in the whole ordeal.
After the requisite courtship period, he'd be presented with a betrothal contract from his intended's family (or vice versa), and then the negotiations would begin between parental units. Narcissa would ensure some clause or other about heirloom jewelry or house elves be included. Lucius probably would have a purity check done on the bride's line and also amass future blackmail material should they prove uncooperative. The bride's family would counter with compensation requirements based on how many heirs the marriage produced and whether they were male or female, and it would all go round and round on a carousel of horrific yet meaningless drivel forever recorded on official parchment and probably then sealed with a blood rite.
Circumventing all that tedium, Draco's time as a bachelor now had an official end date: August 14th of this year. Well, technically, his bachelorhood comes to an end the Saturday before, on August 7th.
He'd not quite come to terms with the event that would occur on August 7th.
"I'd like a Muggle ceremony."
Mother will be apoplectic, perhaps fatally. This initial thought ran through Draco's mind and rendered him temporarily speechless.
Here lies Narcissa Malfoy. She survived the Dark Lord living in her manor only to meet her end upon hearing the news that her only son is to be wed by Muggles in Muggle attire as he takes Muggle oaths.
He'd marry Granger on the bloody moon if she wanted, but every version of a ceremony in his head looked familiar, magical.
"And what does that mean… exactly?" Draco asked cautiously, trying to thread that fine line of curiosity devoid of condescension. He'd no idea how Muggles married one another, but reasoned it probably didn't involve dress robes or bonding rites or protective enchantments. Did it even mean anything, legally? If they just signed a piece of paper couldn't they just go do that right now? Why even bother with the ceremonial aspect? It certainly didn't seem very binding to Draco.
Hermione fidgeted from her spot on the couch and her nervousness became a tiny stab at his heart. She'd replied so firmly when he asked her about the ceremony she envisioned after they'd settled on the August date that he knew she truly desired this.
"I've been thinking and this is something I'd like to do for my parents. My Muggle heritage is very important to me, and though I was hardly the type of girl that fantasized about her wedding day growing up… any time I did visualize my wedding I always saw myself with my parents on each arm… walking me towards my future spouse in their back garden. Nothing lavish just… just my parents escorting me into this new phase of my life."
She hugged her knees to her chest. "They missed out on quite a lot with me, so a simple, traditional wedding is the least I can do, but more than that… it's what I'd prefer. I want to honor the non-magical side of me by celebrating that core part of my ancestry with my new husband."
He'd be a monster to deny her this.
"However," she peered at him through her long lashes, bottom lip drawn briefly between her teeth. "I'm not so selfish that I would deny you your familial history either, Draco. You've every right to want a traditional magical ceremony and I have no intention of depriving your mother the opportunity to plan something more to her taste. So," she took a deep breath. "Let's do both."
"Both?" Draco echoed blankly.
"Yes," Hermione affirmed. "We'll have it on a different day." She flipped open her planner. "How about the week before?"
"Erm, uhh… that's fine?"
Her head snapped up and she stopped writing. "You're uncomfortable with this," she stated baldly.
"No! I simply don't… I mean… I've no idea… I mean… Granger, you realize you're having us plan two weddings, yes?"
"I'll do the Muggle one on my own," she claimed quickly. "And actually my Mum will be a big help, she's so excited you know, she's been sending me bridal magazines practically daily, and I think she'd love to bond with me over all the planning—so you wouldn't have to do anything and we could just focus on the preparations for the bonding ceremony on the 14th—and my parents already said they'll cover the costs and it wouldn't be much anyway if we host it at their home—the gardens are so lovely there in late summer and I don't expect you to even want to help—"
Oh gods, they aren't even married yet and he's already disappointing her.
"—it's nothing too odd, I promise, you know there's actually a lot more overlap in cultural wedding traditions than you might think, it's all rather derivative, and I—"
"Granger."
Draco placed a hand on top of her knees in what he hoped served as a gesture of comfort to help stem her anxious babbling.
"I'm not opposed to a Muggle ceremony in addition to a wizarding one. Perhaps it might be best if… if you and your mother do the bulk of the planning? I'll weigh in on things if you like… but I frankly don't know the first thing about Muggle ceremonies."
"It's pretty simple really, well not all of them, but the standard non-denominational ceremonies resemble the basic bonding ceremonies. We exchange vows and rings and there can be a reading or two, and an officiant presides over everything and signs off on the marriage certificate. So really it's very straightforward but obviously no bonding magic or wands needed. Then a reception follows with a meal and some dancing if we want."
She spoke in her small voice. The one she used when unsure of how the information she said would be received. She uttered it as meekly and quickly as possible, as if trying to get the worst of it over and then deal with any fallout. But he'd never want to stifle her cultural customs, even if he couldn't quite grasp how he should feel about participating in a Muggle tradition.
He cleared his throat. "I'm not opposed to it, love." He moved closer and dropped a reassuring kiss to her temple. "I don't know what's expected of me for… that type of ceremony but I do know you're not paying for it either way."
That successfully flared her back to life.
"Absolutely not Malfoy! I have plenty of my own savings and my parents already offered to pay for this!"
Draco snorted. "You are aware of what happens when you marry me Granger? You'll be one of the wealthiest women in our world. A peasant no longer."
"I'm not taking your gold!"
"Hush, it will be our gold. You will have a key to all my vaults at Gringotts and I won't hear another word against it."
Hermione rolled her eyes which Draco took as a sign of defeat and squeezed the tops of her knees in appreciation.
She settled back into planning with new zeal, while Draco wondered which notion aroused him more: that his future wife could not care less about the contents of his vaults or that she wanted to marry him twice.
March 2010
During their recent Floo call, Draco's group of solicitors and financial advisors raised a rather astute point about updating his will now that he was to be married. Draco agreed with the prudent suggestion, immediately dictating that all his assets be equally distributed between Hermione and Narcissa (should his mother outlive him). Hermione would inherit Franklin House and after deliberating internally for a few minutes decided on a tidy sum each for Crick and Watson.
"And for your heirs?" one of the advisors spoke up.
"Pardon?"
"Your heirs, Mr. Malfoy."
Oh.
In lieu of an actual answer, Draco coughed and shuffled some parchments on his desk, then picked up a pen and clicked it a few times.
"If you'd like," piped up a different voice. "We can add a blanket clause stating any heirs sired during the marriage also receive an equal portion of assets to your mother and wife upon your passing. Does that sound reasonable Mr. Malfoy?"
Draco made a mental note to send that particular solicitor a flat-out disturbingly large Christmas bonus next year. "Thank you for the elegant solution, I think that would be wise."
As the embers died from the end of the Floo call, Draco stared into the empty grate and wondered how best to bring this up with Hermione. In all the flurry and excitement of planning ceremony details, they'd yet to discuss this particular subject.
A thought and a memory tried to peek out from one corner of his mind, but Draco slammed the mental door shut, locking it all behind layers of cautionary phrases such as "not something you deserve" and "you've got nothing to offer in this role." Just as he'd done a year ago when he'd been blindsided by the sight of Hermione holding an infant in her arms. Granted, it was a Potter by way of a Weasley, but Draco had still needed to hastily secure away dangerous notions regarding a future time that she'd be holding their child.
Before he could truly spiral, Draco threw up his Occlumency shields and successfully avoided thinking too hard about how disastrous he'd be as a parent.
I am okay with this.
Hermione beamed the following week when he told her about his updated will and rewarded him with a quick kiss.
"Very proactive. See? Wedding planning isn't so painful."
Draco shrugged and folded himself onto one of the stools behind her kitchen island. "I thought you'd be pleased to know your practical streak has rubbed off on me."
"About time," she teased over her shoulder, and continued on with cooking dinner.
"And in that vein we should probably discuss, ah," he took a breath and in that one tiny, minuscule intake of air, drew on every shred of wisdom Healer Browning had ever tried to impart into his thick skull about open communication in a committed relationship. "…children."
She froze. The hand stirring the wonderful smelling stew paused in its task, even her hair (an almost sentient-like extension of her) seemed to come to a complete stop. Hermione turned around and Draco saw that she did not have an answer to the question left hanging between them.
It dawned on him that they were quite the pair of perfect idiots. Because to not have seriously considered this monumental question when they'd be married by summer's end was such a farcical oversight on the part of two otherwise rather intelligent people.
"Well," she started. "I'm not… opposed to the idea. Of children. I think."
A non-committal answer from a normally disturbingly decisive person left Draco unfortunately in charge of driving this conversation. A conversation that, again, they definitely should have already conducted, given all the things they'd experienced together: war, sex, panic attacks, sex, near-death experiences, sex, hospital stays, sex, crying jags, sex, awkward family dinners, sex, Weasley's terrible sense of humor, sex, uncomfortable and undignified uses of one another's lavatories, sex, holidays, sex, silly arguments, sex, etc.
"Did you want to… expand on that?"
Salazar fucking Slytherin he'd even quoted Healer Browning, just appoint him Head of Hufflepuff House already.
A measured inhale and exhale between her perfect lips.
"Right well, I know you've been raised with certain… expectations when it comes to children and child-rearing and I swear Draco, I'm trying to push my preconceived assumptions aside and not have that be a factor. It isn't fair for you to think that my hesitation has anything to do with you or your family. I know that you wouldn't expect me to… take up the sole responsibility of caring for a baby while you continue on in your career. That doesn't mean I wouldn't want to take some time, perhaps a year or two, to be a mother. But that's not the immediate path for me."
She paused for a nervous breath, and Draco could see she had more to say and gave her an encouraging nod and smile. Of course he knew all this about Granger already, or could have guessed as much, but this type of decision needed to be voiced aloud, not left to linger in presumptions and guesswork.
"But if it's not only a question of 'when' but a question of 'if'… to be honest, I'm not entirely sure. I don't… I don't have an answer for you just now and… I have so many career goals I've yet to accomplish and if I'm to be a parent I'd want any child of mine to have my undivided attention in those early years—which are so crucial to development—and God knows how my parents did this and kept on in their dental practice."
Another anxious inhale before she continued.
"I don't want additional elves and I don't want governesses. I'd want to raise any child of ours, but I don't know how to do that and balance my career trajectory and private research and charitable pursuits."
Draco frowned, puzzled at the way she'd phrased the entire act of parenting as a solo endeavor. He could easily follow her breathy rambling by this point in their relationship, but the thought path confused him.
"Do you not think I'd help in that way?"
"I… well I mean, that's not really traditional in your family, is it?"
He ignored the insidious and self-defeating thoughts that threatened him, reminding himself that she'd never seek to damage him with cutting words, but the sting of "your family was supremely fucked up and by extension, you are still supremely fucked up" lashed against his sense of calm.
Hermione didn't give him any time to convey a reaction, though. "I'm sorry!" she blurted suddenly. "Love, I'm sorry. That sounded so awful."
She closed the distance swiftly and threw herself in his arms, Draco eagerly accepting both her unnecessary apology as well as her physical affection.
"Of course you'd be a good partner, I'm sorry, I'm just… I'm so lost when it comes to this," she admitted, and pulled back out of his hold.
"I mean," she huffed a self-deprecating laugh, "I've got a timeline for everything in my life, but when it comes to children, I just can't seem to figure out the right time. Maybe there isn't one for me."
She took a steadying breath, one he recognized as her precursor to a statement or idea she hesitated to voice but needed to nonetheless.
"So I suppose we should establish right now, before any vows have been taken, whether that is a deal breaker for you, if I'm never ready for a child. Because I couldn't… couldn't live with keeping you from living the life you truly want."
Draco's initial reaction almost came out as a derisive snort. Short of some oddly evil and out of character act like murdering Narcissa in cold blood, there'd be no future of his without Hermione involved.
But her follow-up question stole any response he might have made.
"Do you want to be a father?"
It shouldn't have surprised him, that she'd turn the question around on him, because obviously he'd need to have some sort of opinion as well. But fuck if it didn't slam like a barreling, out-of-control train through his psyche, smashing through his meticulously crafted mental and emotional walls.
Fatherhood, in general, made him more than a little uncomfortable. And that self-knowledge combined with Hermione's reasonable question led Draco down a sudden road of horrifying self-examination that threatened to undo several months of healing in one fell swoop.
Oh gods, Draco had the worst example of fatherhood, how would he know what to do? How did one learn to parent? What the fuck did you do when it cried? He had zero experience handling children. How the hell did you instill discipline? Lucius, a right failure on that front, had somehow been far too indulgent and far too stern in one dysfunctional paternal package.
Draco cringed thinking about how he heard the never ending spiel about his "specialness" growing up, and look at how terrible he'd turned out. But good parents told their children they were special, right? Lucius managed to straddle a line of contradiction with Draco; in one breath he'd been hailed as some anointed, perfect specimen of a pureblood heir and in the next dismissed with a chilling aloofness and warned to uphold the reputation of their ancient line lest he risk disinheritance.
How the hell was he supposed to be a father? Beyond the abysmal application of the practical skills, gods, any child of his would be absolutely doomed, cursed to bear his rotten surname. The child would be judged and scorned through no fault of its own. Could Draco live with that? Live with burdening an innocent child with the sins of his past? What right did Draco have to saddle a newborn with the weight of his name, fated to be judged by their world before it could even draw its first breath?
Pariah. Traitor. Coward. What do you deserve in this world? I am okay with this. I am okay with this.
Thinning air, a humming in his ears… it'd been so long he'd almost forgotten the sensation of impending panic. He clutched the edge of the countertop for support and before he could blink, Hermione's hands were stroking up and down his back.
"Draco. Please, talk to me."
Her. Anchor. Tether. His lifeline. Grab it, hold it, stay, stay, stay, please, please don't leave. I am okay with this. I am okay with this.
He should not want it.
But oh gods, a child with Hermione, how fucking mind-altering and wonderful a concept. She'd be such a good mother. She wouldn't let him—wouldn't let them—fail. He succeeded in steadying his breathing and released his grip on the marble.
"Draco. This marriage will only work if you feel comfortable telling me what you want."
Her. She's still here, follow her voice. Hermione loves you. I am okay with this. I am okay with this.
What did he want?
The second his mind asked the question, he received sudden and absolute clarity.
Two beautiful options appeared before him and for once in his miserable damned life, both choices were fucking glorious.
He saw himself with Hermione; a child with his hair and her eyes tugging on her hand, her belly swollen with another one yet to come, maybe with her wild curls this time.
Then he saw an alternate, just as thrilling, just as fulfilling path. Hermione, hair streaked with gray, (his still a perfect white-blond) only the two of them, existing in peace, still strolling to the café for blueberry scones, hand-in-hand.
Draco—no, not just him—they had two choices. And both… both were fantastic. Either path held contentment. Either road led to an amazing fucking life.
The knot of tension in his chest ripped apart, destroyed by the notion that he could finally look forward in his timeline with something other than trepidation, without waiting for an axe to fall.
He didn't know whether to laugh or cry with relief and surely looked quite mad.
He cupped Hermione's face with his large hands. "I want what you want."
She frowned, looking concerned. "Draco that's not how this should work, you can't just cave to my wishes because you think I'll—"
"No Granger, that's not what this is, I swear."
The fogginess of panic gave way to the joy of certainty. His thumbs traced twin tracks down the apples of her cheeks, his touch upon her smooth skin calming him fully. Draco collected his stray thoughts of all the delightful different future timelines with this incredible woman.
"To be honest, parenthood scares the ever-loving-shit out of me. I'd probably be right terrible at it and gift our offspring with all my deeply ingrained complexes and fucking absurd amount of issues."
"Language, Malfoy."
"And I'd have to give up cursing."
Her lips twitched.
"Making a family with you would be the honor of my life. But if that's not something you want… I'd never force the issue, love. You will always be enough for me."
Hermione still looked dismayed, eyes searching his desperately, looking for any hidden feelings, any unvoiced desires.
"I'm not looking for the right answer, Draco. I'm looking for your answer. I don't want you to feel as if you're missing out on the life you truly want."
"The life I truly want is already right here, in my hands." His fingers trailed down her face, down the sides of her neck, then moved back to anchor in her hair. "What I'm trying to articulate, is that this is a choice we'd make together when we're both ready. If you're ready the day after we're married, then I'd trust you to make sure I don't completely cock it up."
Draco had a feeling she needed to throw out one last attempt at self-sacrifice at the altar of his happiness. He at least repressed a smirk when Hermione immediately proved him right.
"And if I'm never ready? You'd be all right with your line ending?"
Draco chuckled at her dramatic phrasing and pecked her temple. "Granger, I will gladly be the last of my line, I could not care less for that legacy rot. I don't want to have a child for the sake of having one. I'd only ever want to have a child if it were with you. I don't need children to live a fulfilling life."
Hermione finally smiled and hugged him firmly around the middle. Whichever choice they eventually made would be theirs and theirs alone, and for Draco, only that mattered.
The other night's discussion of future progeny had ended happily with a cheeky suggestion by Draco that they practice making them anyway.
Days and nights sped by as they checked off item after item on Granger's little list of wedding things they must discuss ad nauseum and reach some sort of agreement on before facing Mother. Though Draco had agreed to about every suggestion posed by Hermione, he'd not foreseen a conversation about notices sent to relatives he didn't care for and publications he didn't read to turn into a spectacular source of angst.
Tonight's task: selecting invitation wording, which then morphed into crafting the formal post-wedding announcement (something Draco knew Narcissa would insist upon) of their union. Draco thrust a sample parchment at her, wording copied from most other announcements he'd read before with their names and bonding date inked in.
Hermione scanned it quickly, then took out a pen and made a quick edit.
"Granger-Malfoy."
"Sorry?"
"My new last name. It will be Granger-Malfoy."
His body instinctively tensed at her statement. Perhaps an overreaction, but all the same, her pronouncement felt like the sting of rejection, as if she sought to soften the blow of introducing herself publicly as a Malfoy.
Bitter anger should not be his initial reaction, but Draco could sense it building within him all the same. He'd already acquiesced to the Muggle ceremony, to her keeping her townhome until they married, and now to further denigrate himself, she'll not take his name. Not fully anyway.
I am okay with this.
"I understand," he said stiffly. Healer Browning will need an extra five hours with him this month.
Logically, he did understand, and he'd sat through more than one rant from Hermione on how sexism lay at the core of the expectation that only the bride give up her name. Still, her decision dredged up those sinister, lurking insecurities that loved reminding him he'd never truly be worthy of her.
"I don't think you do," she said quietly. Hermione threaded her fingers through his, and Draco stared at the ring on her fourth finger, willing the sight of it to remind him that she'd accepted him for eternity. The emerald side faced up today. She probably scheduled which days she showed the amethyst and which days she flipped to the emerald. The odd and fond thought settled him slightly.
"I'm proud of you, do you hear me? I'm proud to be marrying you. But Draco, no matter the surname, I was always going to keep mine." She squeezed his hand. "I earned my place in this world as a Granger. A Muggleborn surname with no notable magical ancestors to boast of, and I want to honor the name that I've made for myself by keeping it."
And what could he say to that? How could Draco respond to her passionate plea that she grant her own family name equal billing to his when it came from such an earnest place? Especially a surname like hers, while not "pure" from a lineage perspective, but pure in a way that mattered more in the grand scheme of things. History books would list her surname preceding an exhaustive list of noble accomplishments and daring deeds. He'd be lucky for his name to escape the moniker of "villainous" and it would in all likelihood be forever recorded next to phrases such as "obscenely wealthy" and "morally dubious."
Come to think of it, marrying Hermione would probably be the only positive anecdote associated with his familial line.
"But I want to honor my husband too, so I'll be Hermione Granger-Malfoy," she stated.
It did sound lovely to his ears, but the little dream he'd had more than a year ago when his brain decided to chant Hermione Malfoy died a silent death inside him. So he nodded and kissed the back of her hand and gestured for them to move on to other planning tasks, even as the vestiges of feeling slighted remained, taking up a not insignificant portion of his chest.
Perhaps for this reason, Draco decided on a demonstration of his devotion to his future wife. Yes, a gesture that showed him capable of contributing equally to their domestic life beyond the vast amounts of gold at his disposal.
In his most recent session with Browning, the healer introduced Draco to the concept of love languages. Apparently, there were five common ones: gifts, quality time, physical touch, words of affirmation, and acts of service. A rather broad framework, the healer cautioned, but Browning asked Draco to think about the ways that he preferred to show Hermione that he loved her.
He obviously excelled in four of those areas, but acts of service was a bit of a foreign concept if he were honest. Browning earned every single Galleon Draco had ever paid him when he did not laugh when Draco asked if "acts of service" meant: "as in… pretending I'm her servant and doing her household chores?"
In retrospect, he really should have summoned Crick to summon Watson to supervise. That way, he'd be less likely to burn Hermione's home to the ground. Currently, a very real danger.
Cooking a meal from scratch would be just like Potions, Draco theorized. Cooking a surprise dinner for his fiancée would be the height of romance, Draco theorized. Presenting his gorgeous witch with a delicious meal he'd prepared so she wouldn't get stuck with the task (again) after a long day of work would ultimately prove his worth as a spouse, Draco theorized. French onion soup would be an easy first-time cooking experiment, Draco theorized. Quite a simple dish, with ingredients he had easily prepped: butter, white wine, onions, garlic, thyme, a few different stocks, freshly grated Gruyere and a baguette.
All of Draco's "theorizing" earned him several new welts on his hands, the complete destruction of one of Hermione's soup pots, and plumes of smoke hovering over the burners.
The stove contraption perplexed him. Without a visible flame, how did one regulate the proper temperature when not boiling a kettle? And how the ever-loving-fuck did one "brown" onions? There should be a standard amount of set minutes for them to brown, or a specific number of stirs with the spoon, and what shade of brown was brown enough for a damn onion?
Brown did not mean black and these onions were not only black but forever encrusted to the bottom of the pot and the top of the stove. Shit.
Crookshanks had given up his post of casually bathing in that disgustingly public way only cats seem to enjoy from his spot on a kitchen chair, and high-tailed it out of the scene of the crime. Traitor.
"Oh my God, Draco! What happened?" came the shrill cry from behind him. He whirled around to see Hermione in the threshold, wand already out and siphoning off the smoke threatening to set off her alarm system.
She hurried over to the stove, frantically banishing smoke and looking aghast at the state of her cookware and utensils. Draco shuffled back out of her way, still clutching a large metal ladle that had partially melted and hoping the floor would somehow swallow him.
"Were you trying to… cook?" she asked incredulously, peering into the decimated pot and poking the burnt heap of onions with her wand.
"Yes," he said shortly. "I thought you'd appreciate the… effort."
She frowned at his answer but then flew into a brief panic. "Your hands!" she gasped, vanishing the unrecognizable ladle. "Stay still!"
Draco's face went as red as his smarting hands as Hermione summoned burn paste and dittany to heal his physical wounds. He doubted any salve existed to soothe the internal wounds, so his destroyed pride remained unsalvageable.
When she'd finished rubbing the ointment into his skin as gently as a healer would treat a reckless toddler, she directed him to the couch so she could finish rectifying her crime scene of a kitchen.
Great, now he'd just created more servant work for her.
"How are your hands?" she asked, once she'd finished and plopped in an armchair across from him.
"Fine."
"Would you like to discuss why you felt it necessary to almost burn your skin to the bone performing a task you'd literally never tried before using Muggle technology you've never learned to operate?"
Crossing his arms and glaring felt like the childish option, but he so desperately wanted to employ it here.
"As I said before. I thought you would appreciate the effort that went into providing you with dinner after you'd spent the day hard at work."
Hermione sighed, and he bristled at the way it indicated exasperation with his well-intentioned actions. Then again, he had royally cocked up her stove and almost set her home ablaze.
"Draco… you have a live-in cook that you pay. Why did you suddenly feel the need to demonstrate your cooking skills?"
He scowled and looked away. "Can't a bloke just do something nice for his fiancée without some ulterior motive?"
She didn't take the bait.
"Is this because I want to hyphenate my name?" Hermione asked quietly. "Or because I won't move in until just before the wedding?"
He considered other versions of the truth but instead set his jaw and clipped, "Both."
"Draco, I've told you my reasons for both of those decisions and neither had to do with doubting you or not wanting to spend time with you. I'm keeping my home until we're married because—"
"—because it's the first time you felt like you had a home after Hogwarts and it's the only place that's ever truly been yours," he finished for her. "Trust me, Granger, I get it. If anyone can understand that experience, it's me."
He ran his hands through his hair and leaned back against the sofa. "I'm trying not to have a complex about every stupid wedding decision but," he chuckled darkly. "I suppose the alternative is giving Mother free rein, and I doubt that's what either of us would truly want."
Draco patted the spot next to him on the couch and Hermione joined him. "I'm sorry about the kitchen."
"It was a very sweet gesture, but you have nothing to prove to me, Draco. I'm quite secure in my decision to marry you and it certainly isn't for your cooking acumen." She laid her head against his shoulder.
Draco sunk into the peace of this moment, feeling the earlier shame and worry dissipate along with the shadows of smoke from her kitchen.
"Have we decided about everything? No offense love, but we haven't even met with my mother yet and I've already got full-fledged decision fatigue."
She laughed softly. "None taken, I feel rather the same. But… well…"
Hermione sat up straight to peer into his face. "There's just one more thing," she hedged, and Draco braced himself for further indignities.
A deep inhale and a steadying exhale. A rather serious sentence teetered on the precipice of her mouth.
"I was thinking about the bonding ceremony and the wedding vows and I want to… I want to soul-bond with you."
Soul-bond.
His skin prickled as her incomprehensible and wildly fantastical statement floated into his ears then slithered down within him and coiled like a vice around his heart.
Soul-bond.
But surely she'd hadn't said something so preposterous. Draco shifted to look down at her. He needed to see those words come out of her mouth in order to believe them.
"Soul-bond?" he echoed weakly.
"Yes. If you're not opposed to the idea."
She looked nervous, yet resolute. He desperately searched her face and found it showcased earnestness, and not a reluctant concession she'd be making to please him, but something she actually, truly wanted. Draco hadn't even broached the topic with her, nor would he have broached it in any discussion, no matter the bride.
Afraid to dream it was in the realm of possibility for a man like him, it hadn't come up, not once, in their discussions of the wedding ceremony. Which meant Hermione had, of her own volition, thought about soul-bonding, researched the magic required, and come to the conclusion that she wanted him in that enduring of a way.
An archaic concept, rooted in very ancient magic and historically practiced in pureblood matrimonial affairs, but even amongst the Sacred Twenty-Eight it fell out of fashion during the last century or so. Soul-bonding, while revered, was thought of as overly sentimental by most of these families, whose marriages often had motivations in aligning family dynasties or fulfilling longstanding betrothal contracts.
Soul-bonds were fairytales; whimsically romantic and not available for people with possibly compromised souls like Draco Malfoy.
Did Granger have any idea the seriousness of her suggestion? No one alive even knew if the bonding worked, and Draco wondered if the Department of Mysteries studied it. As someone who thrived on dealing in facts over beliefs, Draco hadn't much dwelled on souls, or an afterlife, or other realities beyond his current existence. To twine one's soul to another showed a willingness to not only physically tether one's self during your time here on earth, but to commit to a blending of your magical cores, putting faith in your magic to recognize its bonded counterpart in another life. Should other lives even exist.
While not banned by the Ministry, they were considered borderline taboo ceremonies, straddling the line between light and dark magic. Ministry-conducted marriages didn't list it as an official option, and couples needed to seek special dispensation via a government-registered soul-bonder.
Supposedly, the ritual could protect against blood curses from appearing in your future descendants, and could even bolster your own spellcasting. But to soul-bond meant to willingly submit every single part of you to another; reduce yourself down to the most basic elements only to then be recreated with the co-mingling of your intended's magic. One did not enter a soul-bond lightly, as again, the long-term effects weren't quite known.
And Hermione had just declared her intent to bare her innermost self, everything that resided within her, and share part of her being with his in an indelible connection that had the potential to last infinite lifetimes.
She couldn't possibly know what she'd just offered, but Draco's fiancée wasn't the type to half-arse a single thing. Still, he had to be certain.
"Hermione… love, have you thought about everything involved in that type of bond?"
One surefire way to discover the true opinion of Granger: ask if she knew all the information on a subject.
"Of course! I've thoroughly researched the history, spell theory, and specific versions of the incantation. I've never seen one personally—Harry and Ginny avoided it for obvious reasons—so I've only ever witnessed the standard wedding bonds. I'm aware this type of ceremony is rather rare these days—no one's even sure if it actually works, you know, the supposed original incantation is so ancient and obviously it can't be proven—I mean, there's no evidence-based body of research on what happens after death. The concept of one having a soul is, of course, established at least in the magical world, as we have ghosts, and the unfortunate horrifying way the Dementor's Kiss affects us. That's before we even approach the sinister aspects of soul magic, horcruxes and unicorn blood as examples, obviously, and—"
She had thought about it. At length.
"—really it's more symbolic than anything else—which I suppose most magical marriage rites are symbolic in nature—but this would be a little more intense with the brief connection of magical cores with intent to bind, and the bonder has to be very precise and an extremely powerful caster, and officially registered with the Ministry to be able to perform this type of ceremony. Did you know Professor Flitwick is qualified? I remember once he mentioned it in Sixth Year during a lesson on—"
He grabbed her by both hands and yanked her to standing as he crushed his lips to hers.
"I take it you're not opposed to soul-bonding then?" She murmured amusedly when he let them resurface for air.
He rested his forehead against hers. "I didn't dare hope that any woman… let alone you, would want to tether themselves to a soul such as mine."
Hermione pressed her hand over his anxious and rapidly pounding heart. She placed a gentle kiss to the middle of his chest, then one to the thrumming pulse of his neck, one to each cheek, one to his lips, and Merlin, if this witch didn't already own his whole soul.
She pulled back to study his face. "You truly want this too? I know I… I've asked for a lot of non-traditional elements all along and this seems almost antithesis to a lot choices I've made but I… I've never been more certain of anything in my life."
"Gods, yes, Granger. Yes I want this—I—I—"
Draco's facial muscles twitched suspiciously and before he could give that reaction the chance to fully form into something embarrassingly sentimental, he leaned in to kiss her again. Their lips touched briefly before Hermione gasped and pulled away.
"Oh! I forgot!" she ran through to her bedroom and sprinted back clutching a worn, leather-bound tome.
"I found this in your library a few weeks ago to research the rites properly—there's even some runes work involved—and I left the others at yours, and I'd meant to cross-reference everything if you'd agreed to the ceremony."
Draco chuckled and took the book from her hands. "Your track record of thievery continues."
He ran his fingers lightly over the cover, marveling at what he held in his hands: instructions for conducting a solemn and sacred ceremony that would allow him the privilege of joining the very essence of him to the innermost part of her.
I hope there are a hundred billion lifetimes with you.
"Could you… could you tell me one more time?"
She smiled broadly, his favorite smile of hers. The one that meant uncontained happiness, joy so overwhelming it might very well spark out of the ends of her hair and shroud him in a haze of protective, warm light.
"Draco Malfoy, I want to have a soul-bonding ceremony with you… so long as you promise me to never, ever attempt to cook without my direct supervision again."
A/N: All my gratitude to my friend mrsbutlertron (popsiclememories on tumblr) for her quick and kind assistance with this chapter.
We're getting closer to the end and I remain ill-prepared for that future time. You readers have made the experience of sharing my story an unbelievably rewarding one and I cannot thank each and every one of you enough. Whether you comment here, flail at me on discord, send me love on tumblr, or just read it at all, I appreciate it. So much.
Next chapter will be up on November 16.
Come say hi or throw me a tumblr ask: heyjude19-writing.