The warlock is saying something important.
Draco is sure it's important even if he can't be bothered to pay attention. There's a pause.
Long enough to make Draco realise it's his cue. His heart jumps and he inhales.
"Yes," he says, and immediately the oath he just made takes hold, pulsing through his veins.
He probably should be paying attention to what's being said. It would be the sensible thing to do when using immutable magic involving his soul. He knows that—logically.
However, Hermione is standing in front of him and it's impossible to pay attention to anything else. Her smile is wide and her eyes are crinkled up into crescents, the sparkling brown just barely visible as she beams at him. Her fingers are entwined with his, squeezing his hands tighter and tighter.
Draco's so overwhelmed currently, he's afraid if he does anything but look at her, he'll start weeping like a fool.
The warlock begins speaking again but Draco can't tear his eyes from Hermione.
She's radiant. He knew she'd be beautiful, but he hadn't been prepared for how stunning she'd be in bridal white. The sight of her at the end of the aisle left him unable to breathe.
Her skin is gilded by the deepening hues of evening sunlight. Her hair is resplendent and untamed, barely contained by the veil that frames her. There's a small peony pinned above her left temple.
There'd been talk of Sleekeazy's treatment. Neat curls for the wedding photos, perhaps an elegant updo. Ginny had been full of ideas and there have been dozens of practice stylings devoted to taming Hermione's hair. Unfortunately, Draco accidentally knocked the potion out a window the night before, and even though Ginny could have sworn she'd had two bottles, no one could find them, and all the nearby beauty apothecaries were completely sold out.
An astonishing series of coincidences if there ever was one.
There'd been absolutely no choice but leave Hermione's hair alone and natural for the wedding.
The warlock stops speaking and there's another pause.
"Yes," Hermione says, lifting her chin. Her magic flares through her fingertips against his skin. Subtle golden tendrils that lace between their fingers. Her eyes widen incrementally as she stares up at him, he can see the emotions brimming in them.
He glances down to watch the binding magic wrap itself around their wrists.
The enchantments in their wedding vows have to be subtle. It's necessary when there are Muggles in attendance.
Wendell and Monica Wilkins are sitting one row from the front, close enough that it seems they could be family. Hermione met them during her annual holidays in Australia several years earlier and they've grown very close. She is, they often tell people, the daughter they never had.
It's a very small wedding that the Wilkins have travelled from Australia to attend. Intimate friends and adopted family only.
The row for parents was expected to remain empty. Hermione Granger is legally orphaned, and Draco expects to be disowned by the end of the day.
Perhaps not.
Despite his parents' cold refusal to acknowledge the relationship or the engagement, and the silence in response to the wedding invitation, Narcissa is present. She arrived just as the music began. It was the first time Draco had seen her in months. There was no time for him to do anything but take her arm and escort her in.
Her posture is rigid and her expression a cool mask, but her eyes shine and she blinks rapidly as she sits watching.
It's not a society wedding. His mother's presence makes Draco more aware of that. It hasn't been planned down to the embroidery on the napkins. Most of the details revolved around accommodating the Wilkins, and discussing how to perform the necessary ceremonies without the magic being obvious.
Hermione wanted her parents to be at her wedding infinitely more than she cared about venues, or chinaware, or the shade of the fairy lights in the trees.
People have always been the only part that mattered to her.
"...then I declare you bonded for life," says the warlock, tapping his wand against Draco and Hermione's conjoined hands. The tendrils from their vows weave around their fingers and wrists, entwining with each other.
Draco watches as they swirl around one final time before wrapping about their ring fingers and setting into wedding bands. As the bands form, they're intended to kiss.
Draco looks up and realises he'd never asked Hermione how she wanted their wedding kiss.
Probably something restrained. She's never been much for overt displays of affection, she prefers subtle intimacy. He doesn't want to look like some kind of entitled bastard acting as if he owns her because she married him.
He dips his head to meet her lips chastely, but she takes a quick step forward. Her lips capture his in a fiery and possessive kiss. She is as unrestrained as the dawn.
Gryffindor. She always had to be first and best. Of course she beat him to their first kiss.
There's a part of him that wants to laugh as he meets her lips, cradling her face in his hands as the magic of their marriage bond floods through them.
Christ, he worships her.
His arms wrap around her waist and he kisses her hungrily, lifting her off the ground. She slides her arms around his neck and there's nothing else that matters. He could stay in that moment until the galaxies burn out.
She draws back just enough to breathe, pressing their foreheads together, still holding him. She smiles as she catches her breath against his lips.
"I'm going to love you for eternity," she whispers to him.
As he stares up at her, he realises there are tears blurring in his eyes. He keeps holding her, unable to let go or set her down. The evening light has faded to dusk and the stars begin to emerge in the night sky, but as Draco stands looking at her, he could swear she's a sunrise in his arms, as bright and glorious as the dawn.
The music has started again. They were supposed to have already turned and presented themselves to the witnesses. There's a recessional, a reception, dancing. Cake, probably.
Draco doesn't particularly care about any of it. The only part that matters has happened; he's holding his wife.
Hermione's in no more a rush than he is. She dips her head and her lips meet his again, slowly. The kiss is so deeply ardent he can feel the burn of their souls on his lips.
If anything is able to last an eternity, it would be the way she loves.
