76.
The stretch of lawn was beautiful in the late afternoon sun.
Lined by maples that created rippling shade and light, and strewn with maple leaves on manicured green. Narcissa had orchestrated the creation of an aisle with rows of natural wood chairs with gauzy trimmings, all filled with people, several photographers present – two magical photographers, and a Muggle-born with a Muggle camera. They would marry again in the Muggle world – a simple ceremony, inviting Hermione's extended family and Karen, probably at Bradford City Hall – but it would be nice to have some Muggle photos to show off.
An orchestra of instruments played without instrumentalists – lilting, rising music that had been Malfoy's choice. Hermione hadn't thought she'd ever get married to the music of an animated movie – albeit one she had enjoyed – but there she was. She hadn't thought she'd do a lot of things, and then Malfoy had come along and turned her entire world deliciously, marvellously upside down. The violins sang and wept, and Hermione shivered all over, goosebumps breaking out. This was them. Muggle music that he had chosen but that they both loved – that she had introduced him to – played with magic.
The air itself buzzed with a pleasant frisson of enchantment. Courtesy of Narcissa, the area had been blanketed with charms that created a literally magical ambience and mood – they made the lighting fairy-tale perfect and the air itself seemed to sparkle, an uncanny, fey cast to everything. And red carnations. Red carnations everywhere. Fascination. Everyone was there – Andromeda and Teddy sat on Malfoy's side, interestingly, along with a handful of his distant relatives. Most of his acquaintances were there – the Notts, Zabini, members of the Wizengamot, and business associates Hermione knew only by name and his complaints about them.
On Hermione's side, she had the Potters and the Weasleys, Hagrid, Minerva McGonagall and much of the rest of the staff, retired or active, and old Aberforth – rather doddery now. Neville and Hannah, of course, and Luna and Rolf – and nearly all of Dumbledore's Army. Viktor Krum and his wife were there even, and Mariska, and everyone else from the division.
Hermione's father patted her hand as she stared ahead the gathering in front of her, everyone twisting to look back as the music began to play in earnest, and Hermione's small wedding procession set off up the aisle – Ginny, Rose, and Carina, in pale sage green dresses that flattered the older twos' red hair.
Ginny was maid of honour, and instead of a bouquet, she carried Carina. At 11 months, she was just beginning to take a few steps, but she was quite incapable of walking down the aisle – even if she could have in a timely fashion, she would have probably toddled back to her Mummy, or charged straight up the aisle to her Daddy. As the flower girl she wore a crown of red carnations on her wheat gold curls, but couldn't be trusted to hold any, lest she try to eat them.
Rose looked tall and elegant, carrying a bouquet of red carnations. She'd spent over a month convincing Hermione to let her pick the dress she now wore – the neckline was plunging, and in the end only the fact that magic kept everything firmly in place, and that it was just for one day, had persuaded Hermione. That and the fact that Ginny had liked it, which meant the two of them could match in their dress choice, as well as colour. They were beautiful, floating tulle midi dresses, with short, sheer capelet sleeves, gathered, fitted bodices, and layered skirts to mid-calf. Carina wore a child's version; a little shift in the same fabric.
The three of them moved off down the aisle to the swelling orchestra, and Hermione took a breath, feeling unaccountably nervous.
"Steady on, love," her father murmured, patting her hand again, dressed in a sharply tailored grey suit that made him look rather dashing. "You're shaking."
Hermione's eyes lifted to the end of the aisle, looking past her bridesmaids to Malfoy, who stood there, looking back. Her fingers trembled as she clutched her bouquet. She couldn't find words to say to her father, her gaze locked to Malfoy's. He was in an Edwardian suit; dark grey sack-coat and trousers, and a charcoal and silver grey pinstripe waistcoat, his shirt a crisp white, and his hair raked back and artfully dishevelled. His eyes were molten; burning into her even from this distance, as her feet began to move.
She let out a puff of shaky breath, and her father laughed softly as he escorted her into the aisle, the short train of her dress dragging over the grass behind her, charmed to lay properly. She was in white silk, fitted through the bodice, with a v-neck and a plunging back, a full, draping skirt, and a tulle overlay and train that was heavily embroidered in silver and ivory carnations. Her hair was swept back into a low, elaborate chignon, a few curls escaping at her hairline, and the nape of her neck.
Malfoy was looking at her as though she was the entire world, and she felt hot and trembling, and like a fairy-tale princess at the same time, her heart thundering as she clasped her carnations too hard. She had too many emotions, all overflowing, and she felt like crying.
"Come on now. You've done this once before already, Hermione, love," her father teased in her ear as they began down the aisle, and she nearly spluttered an unladylike snort.
"Dad!" she whispered, chidingly.
Scorpius stood at Malfoy's side, looking like an elfin version of his father – so similar and yet subtly different in a dozen ways, and Hugo stood beside him, shorter and stockier, both in dark grey suits, and looking very grown up. Scorpius, however, was solemn and straight-backed, contrasting with Hugo, who was grinning ear-to-ear, and somehow rumpled.
But Hermione's gaze passed over the two boys in a second. She only had eyes for Malfoy. Just a few hours ago, he'd fucked her until they were both flushed and wrecked; sweaty and panting, she a veritable puddle of satiation, sinking into his arms, their hearts pounding together as she clung to him. And now here he stood, tall and elegant, his fine, sharp features taut with emotion, and his eyes the grey of hot ashes – quicksilver – the moon reflected in water.
Yearning was written all over his face as she approached, stark and raw. He was stripped bare in front of everyone who knew them, his usual look of cool superiority torn away, leaving only a hot, flayed open need. The cameras clicked and whirred, and Hermione knew he'd hate seeing himself like this, with his lips parted in awe and his eyes filled with want, totally lost in her. Forgetting their audience, like some cliché he had only eyes for her, and she felt the same way. He was the entire world. Her universe, standing there looking at her with a love that made her chest ache.
Her heart thudded in a crescendo with the music, her breath coming in short drags. She felt nearly dizzy as finally she reached him. Standing right before him, looking up into eyes that were as mercurial as they were grey, more expressive even than his mouth; now they were mist over mountains, and the steadiness of stone, the fullness of thundercloud, the bright edge of a blade.
He wore his golden snitch tie, which Scorpius had given him years ago. Their favourite. She blinked back tears. She knew if she checked, he'd be wearing the cuff-links she'd bought him their first Christmas together.
"There we go," her father said to her, extricating his arm from hers, and patting her wrist again as she stood clutching her flowers, staring up at Malfoy. The lines etched at the corners of his eyes, and the angle of his cheekbones. The tiny scar on his chin from a bludger. The long curl of his dark blonde lashes, and the full curve of his lower lip. Everything about him was perfection.
"Good luck with this one, son," Richard Granger said to Malfoy, meaning the last word as he clasped his shoulder affectionately. Malfoy's eyes widened, and he looked oddly vulnerable as he murmured an uncertain thank you. Hermione shot her father a faux indignant look, and he smiled radiantly at his daughter, and kissed her cheek.
"You look beautiful, love." He paused, and swallowed hard, his voice a little hoarse. "Just like your mother."
Oh.
Hermione's eyes filled with tears, a lump in her throat. "Thank you, Dad."
He nodded and stepped back, giving them both a soft look, pressing his lips together firmly in a small, wobbly smile, before he retreated to his seat. The two of them stared at each other, the world an irrelevancy for a handful of seconds.
"You look incredible, Granger."
Her throat felt choked as she spoke. "Thank you. So do you."
"It's a burden." He grinned, all casual charm except for the emotion in his eyes, and she returned the grin, her heart leaping gloriously.
Rose stepped in then, and took Hermione's bouquet from her, and the celebrant – none other than the Minister for Magic – cleared his throat, and arched a brow at the pair of them. Dressed in formal robes with a brightly patterned kufi on, Kingsley looked very officious as he stepped forward to start the ceremony.
"Friends and family, we are gathered here today to celebrate –" Kingsley began the preamble, but Hermione didn't hear much of it; she was lost in Malfoy's eyes. And then Kingsley was interrupted, just as he drew close to the vows.
"Dada, Dada, Dada!" Carina protested loudly, reaching out for her father with dimpled hands.
"Shit," Malfoy muttered, and Hermione huffed a laugh. It had been too much to hope that it would all go smoothly. "Should I?" he asked, and she nodded. Yes. Of course. He met Ginny halfway, scooping Carina up. Delighted to be in her father's arms, she wrapped her own around his neck and kissed him soundly on the cheek, prompting a chorus of 'awws' from the guests. And then Malfoy resumed his place opposite Hermione, smiling at her, Carina cuddled to his chest.
"Mama," she said happily, and waved a hand at Hermione, reaching out. She caught it and kissed the mysteriously sticky little fingers, and then they went on as best as possible, standing close together with Carina between them, Hermione holding her little hand.
"I, Draco Abraxas Malfoy, take thee, Hermione Jean Granger…" Malfoy began, his voice a little tight, but the words came out smoothly enough, without a stumble or hitch, every word weighted with sincerity. It was a little detracted from by Carina patting his mouth toward the end and needing her hand captured, but that only made it sweeter, as Hugo snickered at his baby sister.
For her part, Hermione sailed through until she got to: "...to love, and cherish." She paused there and smiled privately at him before she went on – just for a second, but they both remembered that morning. It was a little difficult for her to put the ring on his finger – provided by Scorpius – while he held Carina, but they managed.
"With this ring I thee wed, and thereto I give thee my troth." She said the archaic words clearly, her hand shaking as she slid the white gold band onto his finger.
Then Hugo brought forward her ring for Malfoy, and he had to pass Carina off to Scorpius – she wriggled a little, but subsided as he jiggled her in his arms, making faces at her. And Malfoy stood there, Hermione's smaller hand lying lightly in his, and his eyes intent on hers.
"With this ring I thee wed," he said, his gaze full of memories. "With my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow." The yellow-gold ring slid on easily.
Kingsley stepped forward then, to speak the marriage vow into existence, his wand in his hand, and Hermione and Malfoy joined hands. Magic hung heavy in the air.
"Duo corpora innexa, duo spiritus inter se connexi, duae mentes connexae, hoc sempiterno voto alligatae."*
A twisting, twining ribbon of magic shimmered into existence around their interlinked hands, not dissimilar to an Unbreakable Vow. It was not, however, Unbreakable – not these days, at least. It was symbolic; a statement of intent, rather than a magical imperative – a fledgling bond, to be nourished, and nurtured, and which would wither away without care. The ribbon was cool as it twined around their hands and wrists, and slowly sank beneath their skin, dissipating and leaving only a tingle behind. Hermione lifted her eyes from their joined hands to Malfoy's face. He was staring at her, a sharp hunger etched into his features.
She wanted very much to be alone with him.
"Let no one separate what has been cleaved together on this day," Kingsley said solemnly, and then smiled, broad and gleaming. "Draco Malfoy, and Hermione Granger‐Malfoy – by the authority invested in me by the Ministry of Magic, I pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride!"
Malfoy kissed her. His hands on her cheek, her neck, her face tipping up toward him and his mouth pressing down over hers. The kiss was firm, and hot, and it left her reeling when he pulled back all too soon, and then the faint background music swelled and built to a crescendo, and the guests stood and clapped – embarrassingly, Ron letting out a whoop from his spot in the second row back, where he sat with the rest of the Weasley family.
"Now only I call you Granger, again," Malfoy said, pleased, his hands bracketing her face, the sheer happiness in his expression making her heart ache.
"Yes," she said, her voice a whisper and tears standing in her eyes. "Just you."
He kissed her again, lightly on her parted lips. "I love you, Granger," he said quietly in front of everyone, as a blizzard of frilly red petals flurried in the air, and Hermione smiled. She felt so buoyant with happiness that she could nearly float away.
"I love you too, Malfoy," she told him very seriously, as she grinned up at him.
They walked down the aisle with Carina between them, her wrists held snug in their hands so that she could toddle, and every few steps – roughly in time with the music – they would lift her up and swing her forward in unison as she laughed in delight, carnation petals swirling. Molly Weasley was crying outright, and Narcissa's eyes were wet, much like Hermione's father's.
She threw the bouquet when they reached the end of the aisle, as everyone crowded around. Mariska snagged it, and shot Blaise Zabini a meaningful look, he looking like well-bred prey under her sharp gaze. Hermione laughed.
At the reception afterwards, Hermione saw Andromeda and Narcissa talking, awkward and cautious. She glimpsed Scorpius and Albus snogging in a dark corner and told no one. Rose flirted with every vaguely eligible young man there, including several who were far too old, until Teddy came to the rescue and monopolised her, excusing himself from a patient Victoire, and whisking Rose out onto the dance floor. Carina fell asleep on Lucius's lap, sucking her thumb, her honey blonde curls a riot, as he looked down at her with an odd tenderness.
Eventually Rose and Hugo went home with Ron – Chastity had stayed at home with Johnnie, or that had been her excuse, at least. Hermione hugged the children tightly. "I'll miss you while I'm away," she said over their honeymoon, and Hugo rolled his eyes.
"We're going back to school tomorrow anyway, Mum. Honestly." But he hugged her warmly, and let her kiss his cheek.
Rose flung her arms around her. "I'm so happy for you."
"I'm happy for me too," Hermione said lightly, with a smile, and then was serious. "Thank you though, darling. I'm glad you're happy."
"Have a nice honeymoon." Rose grinned. "Don't make any more babies yet, please," she added cheekily, and then hugged Malfoy, who had already given Hugo one of those one-armed, manly hugs.
Scorpius would stay the night with his paternal grandparents, as would Carina, who would be staying on during their short honeymoon. At some point, Hermione slipped away for fifteen minutes to tuck Carina into her cot and read her a bedtime story, before Narcissa took over. She looked in on Scorpius to say good night on her way back down to the reception, and he hugged her just as tightly as her own children had.
The rest of the night passed in a blur.
Hermione curled into Malfoy's side as they sat at the long table they'd had the reception dinner at, out under the stars, yawning, her hair half-coming down and three glasses of wine into the night, her feet sore from dancing.
They were going to honeymoon on the Isle of Skye, but tonight they would spend one more night in the Manor, in Draco's old bedroom. And oh, how Hermione suddenly wanted to go to sleep, exhaustion drowning her in a wave.
"Come on, Granger," Malfoy said, as she began to nearly nod off against him. "Let's get you up to bed."
He carried her the last half of the way, settling her gently on the bed and removing her clothes – all but her knickers – with magic, and her shoes by hand, and then drew the blankets up over her. Two minutes were spent carefully pulling the pins from her hair, and telling her how much he loved her, and how beautiful she was, and how this had been the best – no, the second – no, third – well, it was up in the top five, days of his life. He grinned at her ruefully, standing, and she snuggled on her side and watched as he slowly undressed.
He had so many buttons to undo, she thought, drowsy and cosy.
"What were the other days?"
"Scorpius being born healthy. And then Carina too" He stripped off his tie and laid it over his waistcoat. "The day I thought maybe you loved me." He unbuttoned his shirt, cuff-links coming off. "And today. I'm saving one spare."
Hermione smiled at him dreamily. "It was a good day, wasn't it?"
"It was," he told her gravely as he got into bed, drawing her close.
She drifted off to sleep nestled against him, contented and lax, his arms around her. Ms Granger-Malfoy, at last.