Fic: For the Present for seren_canis
Title: For the Present
Author: penhaligonblue
Recipient: seren_canis
Rating: PG-13 for swearing
Word Count: 3,298 (Forgive me; it’s broken into 6 digestible bites)
Prompt: "Remind me again, why did Lily and James choose a winter wedding?"
Author's notes: Many thanks to belledezuylen for the beta read, and for inspiring the name of James and Lily’s wedding venue.
For the Present (January 1979)
“You look due for a stiff drink.”
Sirius Black peered out the grilles of the Ministry lift at a thoroughly bedraggled Remus Lupin.
“Just get me out of here,” Remus replied, shunting the grilles open and stepping inside. Earlier that day, during his precious lunch break, he had been called away from the canteen to the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Somehow, word had got out that Remus had a way with dark creatures, and so he had spent the last three hours in the Interpreters’ Lounge, contending with a particularly obstinate boggart. The fact that Sirius (or rather, Sirius’s hands) had kept Remus up until three that morning had probably not boosted his stamina in the endeavour.
“Dare I ask how it went?” Sirius said as the lift resumed its descent.
“I won’t be sorry if that’s the last coffee-pot I see in my life,” Remus grumbled. Then, more reflectively, “I’ve never known a boggart to squeeze into such a small space. Took me hours to coax it out of the brew basket. By the time I did, I was almost too knackered to manage a decent banishing spell.” He slouched against the lift wall. “Well, the coffee-pot’s boggart-free, at least. The Interpreters can pour their decaf in peace once again, praise Merlin.”
“They couldn’t get someone from the Pest Advisory to deal with it?” Sirius asked.
“They’re all handling some bundimun outbreak in Carlisle,” Remus said.
“Ah,” Sirius replied sagely. “Never underestimate the bundimuns.”
The lift clattered to a halt at level seven, where a burly wizard stepped aboard. “Afternoon, gents. Slinking out a bit early, aren’t you?”
“We’re off to a wedding, Vivian,” Sirius explained cheerfully.
“Cor, anyone I know?” Vivian replied.
“James Potter and Lily Evans,” Remus answered, mustering a smile.
“Ah, that’s grand, that is.”
“I’m best man,” Sirius added. Vivian’s face quirked with interest, but Remus wondered privately why Sirius hadn’t just taken out a full-page ad in the Prophet: surely that would have been more efficient than the incessant bragging of the last few months.
By now they had reached the main level of the Ministry. As Vivian led them out of the lift, a barn owl swooped inside with a pair of memos.
“Say, boys,” said Vivian, dropping his voice as they entered the Atrium. “Falmouth are up against the Magpies this weekend.” He tapped a steely grey pin on his lapel. “Montrose’s keeper’s out with a concussion - could be well worth a galleon or two, if either of you was the betting kind.”
“Thanks for the tip, Vivian,” Sirius replied, “but I’m out a week’s pay for my new dress robes, and Remus here has never had much luck where broomsticks are concerned.”
“Suit yourselves. Fine weekend, boys.”
They watched Vivian step into a Floo grate and vanish in a whirl of green flames.
“What’s this inn we’re off to, then?” Sirius enquired.
“Are you or are you not the most incompetent best man in creation?” Remus replied, nevertheless drawing a slip of parchment from his trouser pocket. “If you can’t be trusted to know the plan, who can?”
“You can. That’s why I keep you around,” Sirius said, plucking the parchment from Remus’s hand. “You’re part of the plan,” he continued, glancing at the parchment. “Don’t call me incompetent,” returning it.
Remus grinned ruefully as he watched Sirius scoop up a handful of Floo powder from the basin beside the fireplace. Casting it into the fire, he shouted, “The Gibbon Arms,” and disappeared from sight.
Part of Remus was tempted not to follow. The atrium was airy and peaceful, disturbed only by the sound of footsteps on its far side. By comparison, a weekend full of chattering strangers - not to mention a boisterous, boastful Sirius - was hardly appealing. But, telling himself that he was only minutes away from slumber in a bed someone else would have to make, he took his fistful of powder and followed Sirius.
He wasn’t far ahead. In fact, Remus nearly toppled into him on his way out. The two men found themselves in a cozy, amber-lit, wood-panelled room. Leather armchairs were arranged around tiny, polished tables, and one corner was occupied by a brass-trimmed bar. Beside it sat a pretty redhead, looking quite harmonious with her warm surroundings. On seeing them, she sprang from her chair and strode toward the fire.
“Remus,” she cooed, and Sirius thought he could detect a lilt of cajolery in her voice. “I have so been looking forward to your arrival.”
“Lovely to see you, too, Lily,” Remus said, a bit sceptically. “Erm, you seem chipper.”
“How are things?”Lily continued in that drawn-out, sycophantic style. “How’s work? How is your father?”
Something was not on. Sirius had a fair opinion of Lily, but it was downright unnatural for a bride to converse about anything beyond seating arrangements and centrepieces on the eve of her wedding.
“Right, Evans,” Sirius interrupted. “Just tell him what you want.”
* * *
By the time Peter, wearing a heavy duffel coat, roamed in from the lobby of the Gibbon Arms, Remus was tending to his third glass of buttered rum, and Sirius was amassing a comprehensive knowledge of the lounge’s selection of crisp flavours. So far he had sampled sesame sage, chicken paprikash, Stilton, and persimmon.
“Wotcher, Moony. Padfoot,” Peter said, pulling a seat up to the bar. Behind it sat a weary-looking witch whose sagging features had been ineffectively camouflaged with a thick layer of rouge. She seemed thoroughly engrossed by the paperback in her hands, but at a small cough from Peter, she roused herself.
“A hot toddy, please. With Ogden’s, if you have it,” Peter said. The witch nodded, pointed her wand at the kettle, then at a bottle on her top shelf, and returned to The Ardourous Warlock while Peter’s drink mixed itself.
Remus, meanwhile, drained his rum and returned the glass to the bar with a surly thump. Eyebrows raised, Peter said, “Why so glum, Remus?”
A glare was the only response Remus offered. Instead, Sirius leaned in and said helpfully, “He’s been conscripted.”
“Conscripted?” Peter asked, taking a sip of his toddy. “How do you mean?”
“The wedding party’s undergone a last-minute revision,” Sirius went on.
“I’m a fucking bridesmaid,” Remus grumbled at last.
“Maid of honour,” Sirius corrected, punctuating his words with the wave of a leek-flavoured crisp.
“Well, that’s... smashing,” Peter replied before muffling his giggles with his drink.
“Lily ambushed me. I didn’t have a chance to refuse.”
“Took me two hours to convince him he’d done the right thing. We nearly missed the rehearsal. Lily’s best friend Mabel got a nasty bite during some research on boomslang venom, and her healer ordered her to maintain a supine position until next week.”
“Mabel Comstock?” Peter said, impressed. “I’d like to boom her slang.”
“Not right now, you wouldn’t,” Remus said. “Lily says her jaw’s puffed up like a pomegranate - and has turned approximately the same colour.” Peter winced.
“But despite all that, Remus kept hunting for ways out of standing up for dear Lily - claimed he knew nothing about weddings, that he lacked the charisma.”
“Oh, now,” Peter clucked. “Maid of honour’s a great - you know - honour, Remus.”
“That’s what I tried to tell him,” said Sirius. “You can’t have just anyone for your maid of honour. They’ve got to be dependable, and attractive, and charming. Come to think of it, I wonder why Lily didn’t just ask me.”
“That’s easy,” Peter said. “Moony looks better in taffeta.”
Remus pelted him with a crisp.
“Couldn't Lily just ask her sister?” Peter asked, more seriously.
“Petunia?” his companions exclaimed in unison.
“Have you met her?”
“She’s mad.”
“She’s a harpy.”
“She’d rather have her toes chewed off by rabid Crups than participate in a ‘freak show’ like this.”
Peter grimaced. “I suppose that settles it, then.” He emptied his glass, set it on the bar, and said, “Well, I’m off, lads. See you in the morning. Remus, you’ll make a lovely bridesmaid. If you need help with your girdle, you know how to find me.”
That got him a double barrage of crisps.
* * *
Next morning, the windows of the Gibbon Arms revealed a pale expanse as far as the woods on the far side of the inn’s garden. Some of the more sentimental wedding guests, taking their leisurely breakfast in the dining room before the ceremony began in the adjoining hall, might have remarked on the snow’s bridal aptness; but Sirius Black, as he raced along the upstairs corridor, open collar flapping, had no time for such platitudes.
His concerns were far from trivial. As he neared the groom’s suite, he went through his mental checklist for the ninth time that morning. Ring? Check, breast pocket. Copy of the vows? Check, right trouser pocket. Crib notes for toast? With the vows, and an extra copy back in his room for safe measure. He’d woken up too late to charm the getaway broom to shoot fireworks out its end; but he could leave that until the middle of the reception if necessary.
“Move your hindquarters, Prongs,” Sirius hollered as he burst into the suite. “We’ve got a marriage to make.” He located a mirror with uncommon speed, even for him, and set to work straightening his dress robes.
“So, it comes at last,” Sirius went on. “The day you leave the merry fields of bachelorhood and manacle yourself in holy matrimony, never to be heard from again.” He stuffed the end of his necktie through the uneven knot he’d made; but it was hopeless. He gave the tie two sharp tugs, undoing his work, then looped it around his neck and started again.
“I’ll miss you, of course, mate; but there again, it’s better you than I.” Sirius tweaked his tie a quarter-inch to the left, perfected the dimple, and stepped back to admire himself.
“Come on, Prongs, we’re meeting the photographer in the lobby in twenty minutes - there’s no time to lose,” Sirius said, turning to face the room for the first time. The bedclothes showed signs of use, but not of any sleeper’s presence. The sofa was untouched, the loo silent. Panic approached.
“Prongs?” Sirius called. “Prongs?”
* * *
Remus opened his door after the second knock.
“Moony, I’m ruined,” Sirius said breathlessly.
Taking in his sodden turn-ups and rumpled hair, Remus narrowed his eyes and said, “Oh, Sirius. You don’t look that bad. Here, let me do your tie.”
“No, no! It’s not that,” Sirius replied, brushing Remus’s hand aside. “I’ve lost the groom.”
Remus gathered quickly that this was not a conversation to be had in the corridor. He stood back to admit Sirius into his room.
As Remus shut the door and turned about, Sirius observed, with a rush of elation, that Remus looked positively dashing. He wore a silk waistcoat and a tidy cravat - secondhand, Sirius knew, but becoming nonetheless. Mastering the urge to forget the wedding, lock the door, and drag Remus into the nearby bed, Sirius inhaled and said, “James is missing.”
Remus, who turned Socratic in times of trial, answered merely, “What do you mean, ‘missing’?”
“Gone, vanished, evaporated. I went to find him in his room, and it was empty. He wasn’t in the corridors, or the lobby, or the public rooms - ”
“Did you ask anyone downstairs if they’d seen him?”
“Oh, that’s a fine idea. I’ll just walk up to some powdered old auntie and say, ‘Lovely day for a wedding. Have you seen the groom, by any chance?’”
“Perhaps he stepped outside for a breath of air?” Remus persisted.
“Have you seen what it’s like outside? I’ve been outside. I’ve been outside for the last forty minutes. It’s glacial. The whole back garden is like arctic tundra. Nobody’s shovelled the walks yet. I got snow down my shoes. And in my pants.” Ignoring a quizzical look from Remus, he concluded: “Remind me again, why did Lily and James choose a winter wedding?”
Remus frowned into space a few moments, drew a breath, and placed a hand on either of Sirius’s shoulders. “Maybe,” he said, “Maybe it’s not James you should be looking for.”
* * *
The black dog trod the snow with quiet but determined steps. Overhead, boughs whined under their burdens, occasionally releasing a load of shimmering white into the frozen air. Here and there a rabbit scampered, but the dog paid them no heed: he had his scent.
At last, behind the glossy leaves of a holly bush, he glimpsed a plane of tawny, velvet fur. Crouching low, the dog crept toward his quarry. The stag was just yards away now: in a few tactical moves, the dog would have him.
The deer’s scent was intoxicating by the time the dog entered the holly thicket. Just a little closer...
Scrack!
In the same instant that the dog’s withers snapped the low-hanging branch, the buck darted off into the recesses of the forest. Wasting no time with cursing his luck, the dog bounded after him.
The deer made a wide arc past a stand of elms, then twisted aside when he met a fallen tree at throat-height. The dog pursued him at every step. They tore through a cluster of snow-covered bracken, finally coming to a stream cased in ice.
The stag leapt for the far bank, but his rear hoof caught on a stone as it landed, causing him to lurch to one side. The dog seized his advantage. With an almighty growl, he lunged forward. His teeth found purchase on a hind leg.
The deer kicked violently, let out a series of gasp-like barks, and reeled his antlers back and forth. But the dog knew it was no use. His jaws clamped harder as the stag’s leg jerked a few last, futile times; then the dog loosened his grip as the limb eased and fur smoothed into skin.
James and Sirius lay tangled on the frozen bank, their dress robes torn and wet. Fixing his friend with a fierce glare, Sirius growled, “This is not the time for cold feet.”
“I can’t,” James said. “There’s no way. I don’t know what I was thinking, getting into this mess. A thousand galleons’ worth of table linens and musicians’ fees. Licenses. A mortgage. The rest of our lives. It’s too much.”
“So you expect me to go back there and tell all those people - tell Lily - that all of a sudden you’ve got buyer’s remorse?”
James groaned and fell back in the snow. “I’m sorry, Sirius.”
“You’ve got two words to say today, and ‘I’m sorry’ isn’t them. Think of Lily, James. What do you expect she’ll do when she hears she’s being left at the altar?”
James gave another groan, then sat up. “She grinds her teeth, Sirius. Every night. Could you stand to sleep next to a teeth-grinder every night for the rest of your life?”
Sirius had a fleeting impression of Remus stealing the covers. “Better than sleeping alone, mate.”
James frowned at him, but made no retort.
“Listen,” Sirius went on. “You know how... sometimes, when you’re pissing, all of a sudden you panic because you think you must be doing it wrong, even though you’ve been doing it right for ages?”
“I’m confused. Are you comparing me to piss?”
“I’m comparing Lily to piss.”
“Well, cheers. Now I’m desperate to go marry her.”
“Apparition, then.” Fuck, this was hard. “Sometimes, right before you turn about - do you ever panic, and realize you’ve forgotten what the second ‘D’ stands for, or worry you’ll just Disapparate without Apparating, and spend the rest of your existence in some miserable void?”
“Sure,” James admitted. “Now and then.”
“Even though you’ve never so much as Splinched yourself?”
“Right.”
“Well, what I’m saying is - maybe this is like that. Maybe being with Lily has got so easy that you’ve started wondering what you’re doing wrong.”
James directed his gaze at the bubbles beneath the stream’s frozen surface. “Maybe,” he mumbled.
Sirius laid a hand on his shoulder. “James,” he said, “I’m not going to force you into anything. I’m with you, whatever you decide. But first, I want you to picture Lily. Picture her grinding her teeth, if you like, or three days gone with no bath. But alongside that, I want you to picture her the day you met her. Picture her the moment you realized you loved her.”
A muscle at the corner of James’s mouth twitched.
“Now tell me if you’re ready to walk away from her,” Sirius said.
James faced his friend with a broadening smile. “Padfoot, my friend,” he said, “I’d like to see my wife, please.”
Sirius returned the smile. “Not looking like this, you won’t,” he said, gesturing to their ragged clothes.
“I have you to thank for that,” James said as he stood. “That was some hold you had on my shin.”
“Call it instinct,” Sirius shrugged. “Don’t worry, I’ll have you patched up in a minute. Do it for Moony all the time.”
* * *
The catering staff of the Gibbon Arms had started clearing the tables under the watchful gaze of the inn’s livery badge, a sable, long-haired ape with its white hands folded before it. Most of the wedding guests had departed, bibulous and content; but a few late-stayers remained, taking in the band’s last few songs. At the head table, the two honour attendants lolled amid the aftermath of the conjugal feast.
“Well, Moony,” Sirius said, “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
“Indisposed bridesmaid, runaway groom, send-off that nearly seared the newlyweds’ ankles...” Remus ticked off, his speech slightly slurred. “All in all, I’d say it went off without a hitch.”
“There’s just one thing,” said Sirius.
“Hmm, whassat?” Remus replied.
“I believe it is customary for the best man to dance with the maid of honour.”
“Already danced with you.”
“You call that dancing? I thought you’d been hit with a Jelly-Legs Jinx. You’re no good to me sober, Moony. I need you nice and squiffy.”
“Like now?”
“Like now.”
Sirius led him through the grid of tables, with their floating arrays of tealights and white lilies. They reached the dance floor, and Sirius drew Remus in to him. They made no effort at a foxtrot, contenting themselves to sway together in approximate time to the band’s slow, woozy tune.
As they rocked back and forth, Sirius felt as though they danced on the edge of a precipice. He knew they were nearing the end of something. But what came next? Whatever it was, he wanted Moony there with him: stealing his blankets, grumbling at the end of the work week, getting tipsy off weak champagne. So long as they both should live.
But even as he surrendered to such thoughts, Sirius paid mind to another thought, which chilled him like this morning’s cold. If he tried to say that to Remus - if they tried to do what James and Lily had done today - inns wouldn’t open their doors to them and their guests. There probably wouldn’t be many guests, at any rate. People wouldn’t want to celebrate a love like theirs; people would retreat from it.
Remus’s cheek bristled faintly against his. He was half-asleep now - Sirius could tell by the irregularity of his steps.
“Remus,” he murmured, stroking his thumb.
“Yes, love?” Remus replied.
“If we wanted to do this - ”
“Mmm...”
“They wouldn’t let us.”
“I know.”
They rotated another few measures. Then, raising his voice just above a whisper - as loud as he could manage - Sirius said, “If we could, I would.”
Remus pressed Sirius’s hand with his own. “So would I,” he said.
That would have to do for the present.
Outside, the snow fell afresh.
Author: penhaligonblue
Recipient: seren_canis
Rating: PG-13 for swearing
Word Count: 3,298 (Forgive me; it’s broken into 6 digestible bites)
Prompt: "Remind me again, why did Lily and James choose a winter wedding?"
Author's notes: Many thanks to belledezuylen for the beta read, and for inspiring the name of James and Lily’s wedding venue.
For the Present (January 1979)
“You look due for a stiff drink.”
Sirius Black peered out the grilles of the Ministry lift at a thoroughly bedraggled Remus Lupin.
“Just get me out of here,” Remus replied, shunting the grilles open and stepping inside. Earlier that day, during his precious lunch break, he had been called away from the canteen to the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Somehow, word had got out that Remus had a way with dark creatures, and so he had spent the last three hours in the Interpreters’ Lounge, contending with a particularly obstinate boggart. The fact that Sirius (or rather, Sirius’s hands) had kept Remus up until three that morning had probably not boosted his stamina in the endeavour.
“Dare I ask how it went?” Sirius said as the lift resumed its descent.
“I won’t be sorry if that’s the last coffee-pot I see in my life,” Remus grumbled. Then, more reflectively, “I’ve never known a boggart to squeeze into such a small space. Took me hours to coax it out of the brew basket. By the time I did, I was almost too knackered to manage a decent banishing spell.” He slouched against the lift wall. “Well, the coffee-pot’s boggart-free, at least. The Interpreters can pour their decaf in peace once again, praise Merlin.”
“They couldn’t get someone from the Pest Advisory to deal with it?” Sirius asked.
“They’re all handling some bundimun outbreak in Carlisle,” Remus said.
“Ah,” Sirius replied sagely. “Never underestimate the bundimuns.”
The lift clattered to a halt at level seven, where a burly wizard stepped aboard. “Afternoon, gents. Slinking out a bit early, aren’t you?”
“We’re off to a wedding, Vivian,” Sirius explained cheerfully.
“Cor, anyone I know?” Vivian replied.
“James Potter and Lily Evans,” Remus answered, mustering a smile.
“Ah, that’s grand, that is.”
“I’m best man,” Sirius added. Vivian’s face quirked with interest, but Remus wondered privately why Sirius hadn’t just taken out a full-page ad in the Prophet: surely that would have been more efficient than the incessant bragging of the last few months.
By now they had reached the main level of the Ministry. As Vivian led them out of the lift, a barn owl swooped inside with a pair of memos.
“Say, boys,” said Vivian, dropping his voice as they entered the Atrium. “Falmouth are up against the Magpies this weekend.” He tapped a steely grey pin on his lapel. “Montrose’s keeper’s out with a concussion - could be well worth a galleon or two, if either of you was the betting kind.”
“Thanks for the tip, Vivian,” Sirius replied, “but I’m out a week’s pay for my new dress robes, and Remus here has never had much luck where broomsticks are concerned.”
“Suit yourselves. Fine weekend, boys.”
They watched Vivian step into a Floo grate and vanish in a whirl of green flames.
“What’s this inn we’re off to, then?” Sirius enquired.
“Are you or are you not the most incompetent best man in creation?” Remus replied, nevertheless drawing a slip of parchment from his trouser pocket. “If you can’t be trusted to know the plan, who can?”
“You can. That’s why I keep you around,” Sirius said, plucking the parchment from Remus’s hand. “You’re part of the plan,” he continued, glancing at the parchment. “Don’t call me incompetent,” returning it.
Remus grinned ruefully as he watched Sirius scoop up a handful of Floo powder from the basin beside the fireplace. Casting it into the fire, he shouted, “The Gibbon Arms,” and disappeared from sight.
Part of Remus was tempted not to follow. The atrium was airy and peaceful, disturbed only by the sound of footsteps on its far side. By comparison, a weekend full of chattering strangers - not to mention a boisterous, boastful Sirius - was hardly appealing. But, telling himself that he was only minutes away from slumber in a bed someone else would have to make, he took his fistful of powder and followed Sirius.
He wasn’t far ahead. In fact, Remus nearly toppled into him on his way out. The two men found themselves in a cozy, amber-lit, wood-panelled room. Leather armchairs were arranged around tiny, polished tables, and one corner was occupied by a brass-trimmed bar. Beside it sat a pretty redhead, looking quite harmonious with her warm surroundings. On seeing them, she sprang from her chair and strode toward the fire.
“Remus,” she cooed, and Sirius thought he could detect a lilt of cajolery in her voice. “I have so been looking forward to your arrival.”
“Lovely to see you, too, Lily,” Remus said, a bit sceptically. “Erm, you seem chipper.”
“How are things?”Lily continued in that drawn-out, sycophantic style. “How’s work? How is your father?”
Something was not on. Sirius had a fair opinion of Lily, but it was downright unnatural for a bride to converse about anything beyond seating arrangements and centrepieces on the eve of her wedding.
“Right, Evans,” Sirius interrupted. “Just tell him what you want.”
* * *
By the time Peter, wearing a heavy duffel coat, roamed in from the lobby of the Gibbon Arms, Remus was tending to his third glass of buttered rum, and Sirius was amassing a comprehensive knowledge of the lounge’s selection of crisp flavours. So far he had sampled sesame sage, chicken paprikash, Stilton, and persimmon.
“Wotcher, Moony. Padfoot,” Peter said, pulling a seat up to the bar. Behind it sat a weary-looking witch whose sagging features had been ineffectively camouflaged with a thick layer of rouge. She seemed thoroughly engrossed by the paperback in her hands, but at a small cough from Peter, she roused herself.
“A hot toddy, please. With Ogden’s, if you have it,” Peter said. The witch nodded, pointed her wand at the kettle, then at a bottle on her top shelf, and returned to The Ardourous Warlock while Peter’s drink mixed itself.
Remus, meanwhile, drained his rum and returned the glass to the bar with a surly thump. Eyebrows raised, Peter said, “Why so glum, Remus?”
A glare was the only response Remus offered. Instead, Sirius leaned in and said helpfully, “He’s been conscripted.”
“Conscripted?” Peter asked, taking a sip of his toddy. “How do you mean?”
“The wedding party’s undergone a last-minute revision,” Sirius went on.
“I’m a fucking bridesmaid,” Remus grumbled at last.
“Maid of honour,” Sirius corrected, punctuating his words with the wave of a leek-flavoured crisp.
“Well, that’s... smashing,” Peter replied before muffling his giggles with his drink.
“Lily ambushed me. I didn’t have a chance to refuse.”
“Took me two hours to convince him he’d done the right thing. We nearly missed the rehearsal. Lily’s best friend Mabel got a nasty bite during some research on boomslang venom, and her healer ordered her to maintain a supine position until next week.”
“Mabel Comstock?” Peter said, impressed. “I’d like to boom her slang.”
“Not right now, you wouldn’t,” Remus said. “Lily says her jaw’s puffed up like a pomegranate - and has turned approximately the same colour.” Peter winced.
“But despite all that, Remus kept hunting for ways out of standing up for dear Lily - claimed he knew nothing about weddings, that he lacked the charisma.”
“Oh, now,” Peter clucked. “Maid of honour’s a great - you know - honour, Remus.”
“That’s what I tried to tell him,” said Sirius. “You can’t have just anyone for your maid of honour. They’ve got to be dependable, and attractive, and charming. Come to think of it, I wonder why Lily didn’t just ask me.”
“That’s easy,” Peter said. “Moony looks better in taffeta.”
Remus pelted him with a crisp.
“Couldn't Lily just ask her sister?” Peter asked, more seriously.
“Petunia?” his companions exclaimed in unison.
“Have you met her?”
“She’s mad.”
“She’s a harpy.”
“She’d rather have her toes chewed off by rabid Crups than participate in a ‘freak show’ like this.”
Peter grimaced. “I suppose that settles it, then.” He emptied his glass, set it on the bar, and said, “Well, I’m off, lads. See you in the morning. Remus, you’ll make a lovely bridesmaid. If you need help with your girdle, you know how to find me.”
That got him a double barrage of crisps.
* * *
Next morning, the windows of the Gibbon Arms revealed a pale expanse as far as the woods on the far side of the inn’s garden. Some of the more sentimental wedding guests, taking their leisurely breakfast in the dining room before the ceremony began in the adjoining hall, might have remarked on the snow’s bridal aptness; but Sirius Black, as he raced along the upstairs corridor, open collar flapping, had no time for such platitudes.
His concerns were far from trivial. As he neared the groom’s suite, he went through his mental checklist for the ninth time that morning. Ring? Check, breast pocket. Copy of the vows? Check, right trouser pocket. Crib notes for toast? With the vows, and an extra copy back in his room for safe measure. He’d woken up too late to charm the getaway broom to shoot fireworks out its end; but he could leave that until the middle of the reception if necessary.
“Move your hindquarters, Prongs,” Sirius hollered as he burst into the suite. “We’ve got a marriage to make.” He located a mirror with uncommon speed, even for him, and set to work straightening his dress robes.
“So, it comes at last,” Sirius went on. “The day you leave the merry fields of bachelorhood and manacle yourself in holy matrimony, never to be heard from again.” He stuffed the end of his necktie through the uneven knot he’d made; but it was hopeless. He gave the tie two sharp tugs, undoing his work, then looped it around his neck and started again.
“I’ll miss you, of course, mate; but there again, it’s better you than I.” Sirius tweaked his tie a quarter-inch to the left, perfected the dimple, and stepped back to admire himself.
“Come on, Prongs, we’re meeting the photographer in the lobby in twenty minutes - there’s no time to lose,” Sirius said, turning to face the room for the first time. The bedclothes showed signs of use, but not of any sleeper’s presence. The sofa was untouched, the loo silent. Panic approached.
“Prongs?” Sirius called. “Prongs?”
* * *
Remus opened his door after the second knock.
“Moony, I’m ruined,” Sirius said breathlessly.
Taking in his sodden turn-ups and rumpled hair, Remus narrowed his eyes and said, “Oh, Sirius. You don’t look that bad. Here, let me do your tie.”
“No, no! It’s not that,” Sirius replied, brushing Remus’s hand aside. “I’ve lost the groom.”
Remus gathered quickly that this was not a conversation to be had in the corridor. He stood back to admit Sirius into his room.
As Remus shut the door and turned about, Sirius observed, with a rush of elation, that Remus looked positively dashing. He wore a silk waistcoat and a tidy cravat - secondhand, Sirius knew, but becoming nonetheless. Mastering the urge to forget the wedding, lock the door, and drag Remus into the nearby bed, Sirius inhaled and said, “James is missing.”
Remus, who turned Socratic in times of trial, answered merely, “What do you mean, ‘missing’?”
“Gone, vanished, evaporated. I went to find him in his room, and it was empty. He wasn’t in the corridors, or the lobby, or the public rooms - ”
“Did you ask anyone downstairs if they’d seen him?”
“Oh, that’s a fine idea. I’ll just walk up to some powdered old auntie and say, ‘Lovely day for a wedding. Have you seen the groom, by any chance?’”
“Perhaps he stepped outside for a breath of air?” Remus persisted.
“Have you seen what it’s like outside? I’ve been outside. I’ve been outside for the last forty minutes. It’s glacial. The whole back garden is like arctic tundra. Nobody’s shovelled the walks yet. I got snow down my shoes. And in my pants.” Ignoring a quizzical look from Remus, he concluded: “Remind me again, why did Lily and James choose a winter wedding?”
Remus frowned into space a few moments, drew a breath, and placed a hand on either of Sirius’s shoulders. “Maybe,” he said, “Maybe it’s not James you should be looking for.”
* * *
The black dog trod the snow with quiet but determined steps. Overhead, boughs whined under their burdens, occasionally releasing a load of shimmering white into the frozen air. Here and there a rabbit scampered, but the dog paid them no heed: he had his scent.
At last, behind the glossy leaves of a holly bush, he glimpsed a plane of tawny, velvet fur. Crouching low, the dog crept toward his quarry. The stag was just yards away now: in a few tactical moves, the dog would have him.
The deer’s scent was intoxicating by the time the dog entered the holly thicket. Just a little closer...
Scrack!
In the same instant that the dog’s withers snapped the low-hanging branch, the buck darted off into the recesses of the forest. Wasting no time with cursing his luck, the dog bounded after him.
The deer made a wide arc past a stand of elms, then twisted aside when he met a fallen tree at throat-height. The dog pursued him at every step. They tore through a cluster of snow-covered bracken, finally coming to a stream cased in ice.
The stag leapt for the far bank, but his rear hoof caught on a stone as it landed, causing him to lurch to one side. The dog seized his advantage. With an almighty growl, he lunged forward. His teeth found purchase on a hind leg.
The deer kicked violently, let out a series of gasp-like barks, and reeled his antlers back and forth. But the dog knew it was no use. His jaws clamped harder as the stag’s leg jerked a few last, futile times; then the dog loosened his grip as the limb eased and fur smoothed into skin.
James and Sirius lay tangled on the frozen bank, their dress robes torn and wet. Fixing his friend with a fierce glare, Sirius growled, “This is not the time for cold feet.”
“I can’t,” James said. “There’s no way. I don’t know what I was thinking, getting into this mess. A thousand galleons’ worth of table linens and musicians’ fees. Licenses. A mortgage. The rest of our lives. It’s too much.”
“So you expect me to go back there and tell all those people - tell Lily - that all of a sudden you’ve got buyer’s remorse?”
James groaned and fell back in the snow. “I’m sorry, Sirius.”
“You’ve got two words to say today, and ‘I’m sorry’ isn’t them. Think of Lily, James. What do you expect she’ll do when she hears she’s being left at the altar?”
James gave another groan, then sat up. “She grinds her teeth, Sirius. Every night. Could you stand to sleep next to a teeth-grinder every night for the rest of your life?”
Sirius had a fleeting impression of Remus stealing the covers. “Better than sleeping alone, mate.”
James frowned at him, but made no retort.
“Listen,” Sirius went on. “You know how... sometimes, when you’re pissing, all of a sudden you panic because you think you must be doing it wrong, even though you’ve been doing it right for ages?”
“I’m confused. Are you comparing me to piss?”
“I’m comparing Lily to piss.”
“Well, cheers. Now I’m desperate to go marry her.”
“Apparition, then.” Fuck, this was hard. “Sometimes, right before you turn about - do you ever panic, and realize you’ve forgotten what the second ‘D’ stands for, or worry you’ll just Disapparate without Apparating, and spend the rest of your existence in some miserable void?”
“Sure,” James admitted. “Now and then.”
“Even though you’ve never so much as Splinched yourself?”
“Right.”
“Well, what I’m saying is - maybe this is like that. Maybe being with Lily has got so easy that you’ve started wondering what you’re doing wrong.”
James directed his gaze at the bubbles beneath the stream’s frozen surface. “Maybe,” he mumbled.
Sirius laid a hand on his shoulder. “James,” he said, “I’m not going to force you into anything. I’m with you, whatever you decide. But first, I want you to picture Lily. Picture her grinding her teeth, if you like, or three days gone with no bath. But alongside that, I want you to picture her the day you met her. Picture her the moment you realized you loved her.”
A muscle at the corner of James’s mouth twitched.
“Now tell me if you’re ready to walk away from her,” Sirius said.
James faced his friend with a broadening smile. “Padfoot, my friend,” he said, “I’d like to see my wife, please.”
Sirius returned the smile. “Not looking like this, you won’t,” he said, gesturing to their ragged clothes.
“I have you to thank for that,” James said as he stood. “That was some hold you had on my shin.”
“Call it instinct,” Sirius shrugged. “Don’t worry, I’ll have you patched up in a minute. Do it for Moony all the time.”
* * *
The catering staff of the Gibbon Arms had started clearing the tables under the watchful gaze of the inn’s livery badge, a sable, long-haired ape with its white hands folded before it. Most of the wedding guests had departed, bibulous and content; but a few late-stayers remained, taking in the band’s last few songs. At the head table, the two honour attendants lolled amid the aftermath of the conjugal feast.
“Well, Moony,” Sirius said, “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
“Indisposed bridesmaid, runaway groom, send-off that nearly seared the newlyweds’ ankles...” Remus ticked off, his speech slightly slurred. “All in all, I’d say it went off without a hitch.”
“There’s just one thing,” said Sirius.
“Hmm, whassat?” Remus replied.
“I believe it is customary for the best man to dance with the maid of honour.”
“Already danced with you.”
“You call that dancing? I thought you’d been hit with a Jelly-Legs Jinx. You’re no good to me sober, Moony. I need you nice and squiffy.”
“Like now?”
“Like now.”
Sirius led him through the grid of tables, with their floating arrays of tealights and white lilies. They reached the dance floor, and Sirius drew Remus in to him. They made no effort at a foxtrot, contenting themselves to sway together in approximate time to the band’s slow, woozy tune.
As they rocked back and forth, Sirius felt as though they danced on the edge of a precipice. He knew they were nearing the end of something. But what came next? Whatever it was, he wanted Moony there with him: stealing his blankets, grumbling at the end of the work week, getting tipsy off weak champagne. So long as they both should live.
But even as he surrendered to such thoughts, Sirius paid mind to another thought, which chilled him like this morning’s cold. If he tried to say that to Remus - if they tried to do what James and Lily had done today - inns wouldn’t open their doors to them and their guests. There probably wouldn’t be many guests, at any rate. People wouldn’t want to celebrate a love like theirs; people would retreat from it.
Remus’s cheek bristled faintly against his. He was half-asleep now - Sirius could tell by the irregularity of his steps.
“Remus,” he murmured, stroking his thumb.
“Yes, love?” Remus replied.
“If we wanted to do this - ”
“Mmm...”
“They wouldn’t let us.”
“I know.”
They rotated another few measures. Then, raising his voice just above a whisper - as loud as he could manage - Sirius said, “If we could, I would.”
Remus pressed Sirius’s hand with his own. “So would I,” he said.
That would have to do for the present.
Outside, the snow fell afresh.