Chapter 34
“The true man wants two things: danger and play. For that reason he wants woman, as the most dangerous plaything.”
Friedrich Nietzsche
Overhead the night sky lingered dark and starry with no sight of the moon. Beneath the magic that mirrored the Great Hall of Hogwarts, small orbs of light flickered to keep the room lit without taking away from its beauty.
Rows upon rows of guest-filled chairs stretched before him. It didn't matter how many times the lieutenant had stood before a crowd; this one had his stomach clenching uncomfortably. Too many doors, too many windows. Where he had given Hermione every liberty he could, their choices had merely been aesthetics added to his master's demands. Death lurked in every shadow. It had his hand twitched near where he kept his wand holstered. In his wedding robes, he felt the time it would take to claim it too long. Enough to make the risk seem astronomical.
Blaise stood tall at his side, Nott beside him. In all his years of scheming and plotting, Draco Malfoy had never thought he'd feel vulnerable. His dress robes were sharp, black with accents to his bride's dress. A dress he still hadn't seen. Movement ahead had his gaze lingering on the set of double doors opening and what would come of it. A familiar yet completely different precipice he'd never factored into his calculations.
The night before the wedding, she had been warned that the Dark Lord would be the one confirming their vows, making sure it all fell into place. It was taking all of Hermione's self-control not to try and run. Her bridesmaids had already gone down the aisle. Theo's father took her arm, while she struggled to keep her expression calm enough. Happy enough. No getting sick allowed.
The dress hugged the curves that nearly two months of a healthy diet had returned to her. The gems across her chest and along her ribs glistened. Her hair fell in careful waves down her back and was pinned in place with a small comb that mimicked the gems she wore. Her bouquet held the flowers her new friends had recommended to convey a clear message: white chrysanthemums (loyalty), violets (devotion), and gladiolus (strength). She didn't feel strong when the music started back up, the doors opening up. She took measured steps down the aisle, keeping her eyes on Draco. Mental shields in place, she maintained them on Draco, a small smile curving her lips; she stayed focused. Just a bit longer of a public role, and then they could make an excuse to leave early. So she hoped.
He looked handsome, every bit the part he was expected to play. Though he and the boys had a few lingering bruises and cuts from the stag party, she was sure not many others noticed. Most likely saw it as a hazard of their roles.
Draco had been merely reviewing every precaution that had been possible until she appeared. The ledge he was on felt narrow until he saw her. That dress's darkness matched the night sky. Every step seemed to lighten it. As she drew closer, she might as well have been the bloody sun rising in the east with how bright the gems and dress became. He imagined she'd embodied a fallen star with its silvers and greys.
Her smile forced him to swallow down as he met her gaze. Everything about her entrance was more than he could have imagined. Had it been a product of her company or her own volition? He couldn't think about it, not so close to his master. Instead, he focused on how stunning she was and how he would enjoy stripping her out of her attire.
The way Draco looked at her—the swallow as he met her gaze—had a bit more of a smile curve her lips. Well, that was a reaction, at least, and it had her focusing on that rather than the man who loomed right behind them. Her eyes stayed on him until Nott Sr let go of her so she could take Draco's arm.
As soon as she had the chance, she stepped closer to him, keeping her attention on him rather than the Dark Lord. She knew that everyone was going to see this union, and she had to pretend like there wasn't anything else in the world.
When Hermione finally stood in layers of near-see-through fabric superimposed in a way that left his imagination running wild. He gave a nod to Nott Sr.'s direction, offering his bride an arm. Countless eyes were on them, judging every look and smile they shared.
Though magic hadn't changed its ways, changes had come from the breakdown of the statute. It wasn't just the large room filled with people watching. No, the Dark Lord had wanted everyone to know, to see. Across the country, images of the ceremony were being displayed in a similar manner to how royalty made fanfare of their unions.
"Today, we are here to celebrate a new chapter in our history..." Lord Voldemort's voice held a tenderness to it that had Draco tense. The sort of tone that often came with immeasurable amounts of pain.
The tone from Lord Voldemort sent a chill down her spine, and her hand on Draco's slightly tightened, but she kept her gaze on his like she was a love-besotted bride, not wanting to look away from her groom.
"A unification of powerful magical talent, regardless of what side they once had been on. Proof of our mercy, if one only shows that they can learn and earn a place among us," he continued in a more tender tone as if all he wanted was for others to follow in Hermione's footsteps and join the new regime.
Keeping her expression the same was difficult. Her mind was shielded, even as her stomach knotted and her skin felt like it was crawling. Perhaps a spell or potion to help calm her nerves might have been a good idea. But then she would have been left unaware with slower reflexes. Magic came with a cost that sometimes could be too high to pay in times of trouble.
"In true Wizarding tradition, with blood oaths and vows, Hermione will showing her true devotion to her wizard and his cause," he intoned with a bit more of a smile.
Draco stood steadfast and unflinching, taking in every word and allowing them to wash over him. He could pry apart their hidden meanings and intended targets at a later time. Until then, he stood before his betrothed, with a steel gaze and unwavering resolve that left little room for emotion.
"Before we begin, does anyone here dare oppose this union?"
A few moments passed that felt like an eternity. Draco knew there was always the possibility of a duel. Of someone being so offended by the concept that he would have to fight to the death. It would be the only way to prove himself, after all. Though he made no motion, he was ready to draw, to arm himself, the slightest twitch of his fingers as though hoping someone would help him take the edge off.
There were a few titters and a few uncomfortable shifts in their seats, but Hermione didn't look over her shoulder or over at either side. Even with her back straight and her hand on Draco's arm, she was prepared to draw her wand if necessary. Apparently, objections were to be handled by her husband-to-be rather than her unless the objection was more from another witch who wanted her betrothed.
While she was certain that there were many people who would have wanted one of the most eligible bachelors in the kingdom, no one said a word. No one raised their voices, and when no one did, Voldemort's smile widened as he drew his wand.
"Excellent," he concluded, sweeping the crowd once more as if he were almost... disappointed.
A sentiment the couple noted. Hermione was certain that many had hoped that some from the insurgency would gate crash to try and "save" her or interrupt the nuptials. Any that didn't believe this little ruse had likely thought it was all meant to draw out more of her side to kill them.
None of them would be that stupid.
When no one countered, Draco felt the slightest tension release inside of him. He didn't take the wave of discomfort for anything less than what it was. Fear.
"Then let us begin," his voice was almost sweet as he summoned a silvery basin akin to a pensieve before them. As tradition dictates, the union of two bloodlines is a sacred ordeal." He paused and looked between the two. Present your wands," he invited. And extend a piece of yourselves into the sacred amorium," he motioned to the pensieve-like basin, its wisps of mist-like clouds unsettled in their coloring.
Draco produced his wand and held it carefully before him with its tip up. He'd have to pluck from his mind. Had prepared for this, as he'd ensured she'd be prepared for it.
Hermione drew her wand from the small pocket that was carefully hidden in her wedding dress, drawing it with a flourish of ease that she didn't truly feel. Not when her heart was thundering in her chest as she held it, tip up.
Plucking something from her mind to represent their vows was something that she had struggled with. What could she possibly pull to put into this basin that would work? But then she knew what show of devotion might. Her healing him and caring for him fit some of those vows of fidelity, and to death did they part. Among other vows.
Drawing the memory of that from her mind first, she dropped it into the basin. "A vow to be an anchor, through magic and blood, to cause no harm to the other," she intoned, watching as the memory fell and blended into the silvery mist.
As she drew hers, Draco did as well, the black tip of his wand against the pale of his temple. Where she showed devotion and care, he would have to wield it differently. No one was here to witness anything but what it was. A power play.
"A vow to protect, to honour with truth, and to continue our legacy," he responded, pulling a series of memories. Small defining moments. The way he had stalled her in battle rather than let her fall with her peers. His promise that she would lack for nothing, though she may not like the consequences, and that morning where she had surprised him by claiming she'd someday give him an heir. They had over a dozen vows, and he would claim every last one of them.
Slowly, their silver strands of memory melded in the misty substance, hidden to view and yet seeming to accept one another, to give a sheen to the contents of the basin, neither liquid nor air.
Those vows that he pulled from were wielded well. Her devotion to him was what they were pushing in the media, and with so many eyes on them, she pushed that forward. Made sure that those words were the ones that would activate the vows properly once they added more of their blood. Pureblood blood magic rituals seemed excessive, but this was the way. To show her change of allegiance.
Her stomach felt like it wanted to expel itself. She took in a steadying breath when Lord Voldemort started speaking again.
"Good, very good. And now for the blood," he reminded as he pulled an ornate ritual knife from a box nearby. He offered it hilt first to Hermione since she had drawn her memory first.
Putting her wand back in its pocket, she drew the knife and drew it carefully along her hand as tradition dictated. Once she dripped some of the blood into the basin, the knife was passed to her betrothed as magic tingled across her hand to seal the cut closed.
With his right hand, he accepted the dagger graciously. Though she had cut herself, not a drop remained on the silver blade. Every last droplet had either rolled off or seemingly been absorbed by the metal. Slow and steady, he mirrored her action, pulling a line and holding it over the amorium, allowing his own blood to follow hers. The silvery hues began swirling again, and the contents of the rune-carved basin turned a shade between red and pink, similar to a sunset.
The Dark Lord took the dagger back and exchanged it for his wand. "Now, join hands."
Draco offered her his bloodied hand, the one that held his ring. From his ring finger, he could feel that buzz of magic below. A slow rumble of power.
Her heart hammered in her chest as she took in a slow breath. At least, most would think this was excitement rather than dread or anxiety. She took the hand he offered, facing him to take his bloodied hand with her own.
The magic and power in the rings buzzed. She could feel both of them tingling across her skin like a live wire. Like all it wanted to do was be close to its partner. Was that normal? That would be one of many questions that she'd be asking once they had the freedom to speak a little more openly with each other.
"We bear witness to the union of Draco Hyperion Malfoy and his wife, Hermione Jean Malfoy," The Dark Lord stated in a conclusory statement. From this moment forward, their lives are entwined by vows to forge their way forward—a path to which I grant my blessing."
As he spoke, filaments from the basin sprang forward, like string fasting their hands together. Once crossing their rings, it seemed to refract. It was cool and hot, tight and binding as it seeped through flesh and robes.
Draco had never felt anything like it. The way it slithered over his skin with the chill of a fine Gobelin crafted chain, yet sunk like fire down as if carving his very bones with the weight of his vows. Still, he kept his eyes on Hermione, on his wife, his partner he now held with the blessing of the Dark Lord for all to hear.
Malfoy. That name would forever be bound to her, and there would be no escaping it. As soon as the blessing was spoken, those filaments from the basin seemed to twin around their fastened hands and then race up their arms through their robes, and sink into the skin. Cold. Hot. A further spark of magic that she could almost taste on her tongue sank into her skin.
Keeping her eyes on Draco, she felt her heart racing, her hand slightly tightening on his at the feeling of the magic just sinking into her very being. Was it branding itself onto her bones or on the tattered remains of her soul? She didn't know.
"You may kiss your bride, Draco." Voldemort intoned.
She was glad she hadn't bothered with a veil. Even more aware of him with that magic that seemed to reach between them.
With the bonds in place, the amorium faded back to where it had been conjured. Draco took a step forward. Even without permission, he had needed more than their hands entwined. A new wave of heat coursed through him, beckoning him forward. With a single step, he made it so he towered over her. In sealing their fates, the magic seemed to have healed their palms. Their rings and that heady feeling of magic were the only remnants of what they'd done.
From entwined with hers, his hand moved to raise her chin, silver gaze staring at her lips. This was one of those moments he knew the press would eat up, and yet, it wasn't what made him pause. It wasn't what drove his lips to hers as if kissing her as firmly and demandingly as he did. Knowing they were watched was the only reason he hadn't slipped his tongue into her mouth. Because he wanted to. It was almost all he could think about. To press their bodies and fill every gap with proximity.
Hermione let him, feeling that hammering in her chest. There was that look again. Like all he wanted to do was eat her alive and keep doing so until there was nothing left. Obsession rather than love. Possessiveness. But as soon as his lips touched hers, she shivered and kissed him back, answering the demand.
Sparks went through her, and she hated and loved just how good he was at kissing her. He knew just how she needed to be kissed, it seemed. Her free hand moved to trail up his arm and rest on his shoulder, drawing him closer, letting that heat that they had claimed in the interviews and had shown in the photoshoot be more visible in real-time. Showing it hadn't all been staged. There was truth to their chemistry. Even if she still didn't want there to be at times.
Parting from her had been harder than he'd expected. In fact, it had his forehead resting against hers, needing a few seconds to take a breath. She was his. He could feel it in his bones, in his skin, in his very soul. His thumb brushed her cheek.
"I look forward to tonight, Mrs Malfoy," he breathed before pressing a more chaste kiss to her lips.
Her heart hammered, and the heat of the kiss had her blush a little bit more before she could hear clapping, polite more than actually happy, to congratulate their union. Returning the chaste kiss, she smiled a little bit more.
"As do I," she admitted. She wouldn't have to think. He did a fantastic job of chasing her out of her own head and just making her feel.
They turned to face the crowd. The announcement of them as a married couple with their names happened again before they strode out down the aisle. Pictures had to be taken with their wedding party for the Prophet and various other publications and for themselves while their guests were led to the reception space. Just a few hours. Then, they could disappear.
He kept her hand in the crook of his arm, guiding her down the aisle, their wedding party following, and then row by row of guest as they proceeded out of the hall that had been set up for their union and across the hall to a dining hall.
Above head, the ceiling had been similarly enchanted. Magically lit sconces and orbs of light, giving a warm light that didn't overpower. Around a large wooden floor that could only be assumed as a dance floor, round tables were spread. Flowers in the middle with a charm to give them a twinkle of lights that looked like tiny stars.
On another dais, a large table extended. Two larger chairs in the center for him and her to sit at, which he guided her to.
Hermione let him take the lead in getting them to their seats. The fact they would be on display for most of the evening was enough to make her stomach knot all over again, but she used him to steady herself a little. The feeling of him so close felt right with that new bond buzzing through her system, getting used to that new spellwork that seemed to weave through her very being. How would some of those vows manifest? She had no idea.
But she took her seat with him, glad they wouldn't have to dance immediately as everyone started to trickle in.
Once everyone was seated, the Dark Lord stepped onto the dance floor. It was clear by the filled seats that he would not remain for further festivities.
“Tonight, you have proven yourself, my son,” he told him in a slithering tone. “Enjoy the evening,” he spoke to everyone in attendance and disappeared in a flume of black smoke.
With his disappearance, a certain stiffness seemed to leave the room. Conversation came easier, and in turn, Blaise and Pansy gave speeches, and course after course of food was served.
Even some of her own tension eased as soon as the Dark Lord disappeared. Proved himself. Of course, he had. He'd brought her to heel when she couldn't kill him.
That thought had her almost tense again. She sipped her wine, glad for Blaise and Pansy's good-natured speeches and that she could occupy herself with food.
Where congratulations might have come right then from people at a Muggle wedding, others seemed to keep their distance.
Instead, the blond rose to his feet and offered her a hand. “I believe it’s time for our first dance,” he told her gently. A few more hours of drinking, guests, and dancing, and he’d be free to whisk her to their suite, waiting for them on the top floor.
After taking another sip of her wine, she set down the glass and took his hand with a small smile as she stood. "I was so hoping that tradition was universal," she murmured, more teasing than anything, fitting into her role still. Later, she would want to bottle that memory of how he looked at her as the dress shifted. That might be something to get her through darker moments.
Those words tickled up his spine. He’d learned to dance at a fairly young age for events and milestones such as this one. Back then he hadn’t been fond of it but had still been the diligent student. With her hand in his, he was glad for it. Even with every gaze on them, he indulged in the steps between their table and the dance floor. In the corner, a live band was given more attention, their background music turning into something that had to be acknowledged as the couple now stood front and center.
Settling her hand on his shoulder, his hand found the small of her back. “It’s nice to see you enjoying some traditions,” he teased lightly, his nose nearly brushing hers with how close he kept her.
Letting him lead them out onto the dance floor, she made sure she stayed relaxed and focused on her new husband. That word was going to take some getting used to. But she left her hand on his shoulder, her hand in his, feeling almost electric pulses of fresh and almost pleasurable magic jolting through her arm from where the ring sat on her hand.
"Who doesn't like dancing?" She asked with a bit more of a smile, teasing him back with how close they were. Her shoulders eased as she kept her eyes on his silver ones.
“I’m finding a newfound appreciation,” he responded with a glimmer. At the Yule Ball, it’d been a great way to gain the attention of girls, but beyond that, it hadn’t exactly been something he’d enjoyed. This, on the other hand, has her so close. He felt every lace of their vows wrapped around his very bones. They tingled happily, leaving him with a heady feeling that had nothing to do with drinking.
"Well, I'm glad I could help with that. I might have to convince you to take me dancing every so often," she smiled a little bit more. Other than just dancing to lighten a mood, to feel like a person, she hadn't in years. This was the best excuse to, and she could feel that tingling magic through her body that had her body relaxed against his. Then he whispered in her ear, and she couldn't stop the shiver as she stayed close.
“You look absolutely ravishing,” he whispered against the shell of her ear.
A bit more of a grin curved her lips. "Guess you'll have to take care of that and ravish me later then," she crooned against his jaw, just loud enough for him to hear. Focus on that. The escapism that was their physical chemistry.
They could continue certain festivities his mother put together. That would certainly be a way to cater to her desires. Perhaps even attend the occasional event. He couldn’t make promises, though.
“Say the word, and I’ll happily carry you over my shoulder to our suite,” he nearly growled the words, keeping them low. That dress would come off, and he would do more than ravish her. Being so close, having her perfume in his nose, the spinning of dance and magic…it only made him want her more.
The sound of that growl had her breath hitch and desire roll through her body. She hated how strongly she reacted to him. Her nose brushed his, and she was about to lean in and kiss him, nearly consumed by how close he was to her body, but then she heard the doors slam open.
Two wizards moved forward, wands at the ready.
Looking over as soon as she caught sight of the wands and the wizards pointing them, her smile turned into a cold sneer that made her seem like she fit right in with the Malfoy family. "Wood. So wonderful to see you," she greeted, her voice cold as ice as she rapidly drew her wand, using a disarming spell on Malfoy's uncle, he could handle that one, as she disarmed Wood.
"Crucio," she intoned coldly, watching as the former quidditch player crumbled to the floor and attempted not to scream.
As quickly as she drew, Draco did the same at her side. Years of bracing against her or dueling at her side made it almost ingrained into muscle memory.
“Well, well, well, isn’t this a lovely gift,” he drawled, whipping his wand forward at his uncle without a second thought.
Within moments, he was in a duel, parrying and taking back the offensive. Every motion calculated, impersonal, like he was bored and not fighting for his life. Guests scattered, some fleeing while others remained out of morbid curiosity.
Dodging a strike of green that found a nearby flower arrangement, Draco responded with a silent curse. It struck true in Rodolphus Lestrange's shoulder but didn't bring him down.
"That all you-" he began, a single cut becoming two, then four, exponentially increasing. Soon, the man was screaming on the floor as if a window had opened and cut him everywhere with strategic shallow cuts.
Wand at the ready, Draco took slow, steady strides forward, disarming his opponent before closing the gap. Draco smiled, crouching beside the man, careful to stay out of the blood. “We’ll have ample time to discuss that later,” his voice was a nearly sung promise.
“Zabini, Nott,” he called, the two men coming forward as Draco pocketed his uncle’s wand.
Wood attempted to regain his wand, it not having fallen far from him, his voice choked. "H-h-hermione...."
Letting up on the curse for a moment, she cast it again with even more intent. "Crucio!" Striding forward, her wand stayed pointed at him, the click of her heels against the floor filling the silence of guests having scattered. "You don't get to say my name anymore, Wood," she nearly hissed the words as she held concentration on the spell, keeping him held in place.
The man was smart, though. He used his flailing to reach his wand. Before he could attempt to cast a spell, however, she aimed for that arm rather than center mass and cast the very spell that Harry had once thrown at Draco without knowing what it would do.
The serpentine gash that split open his arm had him scream as he dropped the wand that had split with the spell hitting it. "Oh no. Your poor wand," she tsked her tongue and stepped over and around Wood on the floor as she snatched up both pieces of the wand, carefully keeping her dress out of his blood.
"Very rude to cut in like that. And I do have some choice words for you," she drawled, a fiery hatred and betrayal shining in her eyes as she looked down at him. She'd trusted him. Never would she be so foolish again.
With Theodore and Blaise securing his uncle, Draco came to step behind his wife. He flushed his chest to her back, watching her work from an all-new vantage point. There had always been the utmost thrill to encounter her wand-to-wand, but this was a sight to behold. If her dress and a dance had inspired him, he was certain there’d be no sleep for him in the foreseeable future.
“I do so love it when you get angry,” he purred in her ear. “We should take this to a more private location,” he offered. He wouldn’t deny her a hand in their latest guest's torture.
Feeling Draco behind her had her almost relax a bit more, but she kept her wand trained on the man cradling his arm to his chest. She was rather certain she could see the bones in his arm. It gave her a twisted level of satisfaction that she felt weird for feeling. The purring in her ear had her almost tremble. "Is that why you vex me so?" She asked, just loud enough that Draco and their gate crasher could hear.
"We should...You did say that we could make taking care of Wood a family affair. If you left me out today of all days, I'd be more than vexed," she murmured.
“Good thing you married a man of his word,” he reminded. “Theo and Blaise can take him when they return. I’d hate to deny you a full dance before unwrapping our presents,” he shot Wood a look like he considered how he would look without flesh and then away. He felt untouchable. He had Wood again, and likely a string to unravel any high-ranking leaks. This was a good day.
"Very lucky for me, indeed. Don't have to worry about you putting anything in my drink either," she drawled as she glanced at Wood as if he was less than the blood pooling on the floor. Looking back up at Draco, she leaned in and pressed a kiss to his jaw lightly. "Oh good. I was hoping they wouldn't ruin this." Though she doubted there would be running up to that suite for some time.
A couple of his men tied Wood, keeping him otherwise bound while Blaise and Theodore handled their first prisoner. With the insurgent otherwise occupied, Draco sheathed his wand and took advantage of the kiss to his jaw. Gently easing her to face him.
"I do love my witch free of will," he licked his bottom lip. Even when they had fucked the first time, they had known what they were getting into. "And absolutely lethal," he leaned in to kiss her, keeping the last part for only her ears to hear.
Ignoring Wood, now defenseless, as she tucked his snapped wand into her pocket along with her own, she faced her husband easily enough. The way he licked his lip sent a spark of fire through her. She knew what he could do with that tongue. Her will was free, as free as he could allow. He'd likely regret it, but he was stuck with her now.
Kissing him back, she looped her arms around him, needing that bit of anchoring into the moment. If it was just physical chemistry, they'd be fine. More than fine. At least he appreciated her wit and how lethal she had become over the years, even if part of her hated what she had had to do in the name of continuing to fight.
Draco didn't part from her lips as he tucked her back into his embrace. Whether the musicians picked back up or not, he couldn't tell as he gracefully swayed with her across the floor. Their bodies, now bound by magic, had a tune of their own, one that demanded more contact.
Where he might have left her to do what needed to be done, he knew things were different. He hadn't even flinched at the thought of inviting her to torture both Wood and his Uncle. To expose a potential weakness he'd been fearing for some time. After all, she'd helped expose it, and for better or worse, she was in deeper than she could ever imagine.
Hermione held that kiss as he pulled her in closer. Her arms loosely looped around his neck as she swayed with him. That magic that buzzed through them was heady. It seemed to have settled into her very soul and not just bound her body. Perhaps they had made too many vows. Would that buzzing settle down or demand closer contact?
Things would get delayed. The least they could do was handle the bit of their reception and have a moment or two, especially with that damnable need to be close.
It was almost too easy to reciprocate. Every meeting of her lips drew her in. They melted away immediately. If he wasn't calculating the next few hours to fit a few hours in his quarters, he might have considered a nearby table. The need to have her, to be close to her, it was almost overwhelming. His breath shortened, and he pulled away his lips to remove the growing temptation.
"We'll head home soon," he sobered. "I still plan to ravish you," he breathed. "After we get some answers." He still had trouble believing his uncle, of all people, would join forces with the likes of Oliver Wood of all people, but one could never be too cautious.
As he broke the kiss, she almost sought after him to reclaim his lips, her own almost forming into a pout. But she just barely managed not to. What the hell had gotten into her? She'd blame the magic. "Hmmm, could always open the gifts later. Give us a bit more time to get answers...among other things."
Had Wood used the Imperius curse on Rodolphus? There were so many questions she had that she needed the answers to.
"Open them later?" he drawled with amusements. That was an interesting thought. "I suppose uncertainty does make the mind grow...weaker," he mused. Leaving them tied and separated for some time would likely do little, but there was no reason to deny himself what he wanted.
Whatever vow was being triggered, or mix of was strong. When Draco caught Theo in his peripheral vision, he paused. "Nott, keep them separated and, do make sure they get something to drink," he grinned wickedly. Being along and incarcerated wouldn't do anything to Rodolphus, and using similar tactics to last time would hardly work on Wood. "I have some...family business to attend to first," he kept his gaze on the brunette as he spoke the final portion.
"We could. I doubt any present rivals, my husband," she drawled with a note of amusement, even as she played into the role. Even if part of her was rather certain that watching him undress actually was a treat. She had no clue what was wrong with her, and she couldn't even blame the vows. That was her.
But she nipped at his bottom lip gently. "I was more interested in figuring out what they were up to sooner rather than later...unless you want to make them wait." If he wanted to make them wait, then she would enjoy this little party with him a bit longer—before whatever it was he was thinking of.
She was perfect—ever the epitome of a strong Malfoy witch. His mother had been as demure and prim as she presented herself, but her strength and lust for violence were more akin to the Black side of his family. That nip of his lip had him nearly growling.
"They can wait," he decided. "And then, they can scream," he noted. "And then you can scream," he nipped her lip back. No, he wouldn't pull away from his wedding. Wouldn't run back to his ancestral home so soon. He trusted Nott and Blaise, and the crowd had enough, mostly loyal men, to ensure there would be no more interruptions.
A smile curved her lips at that; seeing how hungry his eyes were, she almost shivered. They could get some space from the torture, for now. Her fingers brushed the back of his neck as she smiled a little bit more. "Then I suppose we should open gifts and accept well wishes and drink a bit longer then darling," she murmured, ever playing into that role.
It felt...odd to unleash that dark side of herself without fear of having to cover it up. Something had twisted and warped inside of her when she had been tortured often. Interrogated often. She was good at it. But not many trusted her for it. That and how they had 'failed' before.