Chapter Text
“I thought for sure you were going to go crimson and gold,” Grace said, eyeing the crisp black of James’s suit.
“Sod off,” James muttered under his breath, looking thoroughly put-out.
A flash of sympathy passed through Grace. “This looks nice though,” she consoled, backtracking quickly. It was a simple three-piece suit: silky black jacket, slacks, and waistcoat. Around his neck was a dark tie with gold accents. His cufflinks were lilies, something that Sirius had gotten him, no doubt thinking it was very clever. “It looks very sleek. Very nice. The Muggles will like it.”
“Yeah, but—” James faltered, likely trying to figure out how to give his opinion in a way that didn’t make him seem like a petulant toddler. He very quickly decided it wasn’t possible, and simply burst out, “I really did want to go crimson and gold! Mum was going to have it custom made from Twilfitt and Tattings—scarlet dress robes with floral gold inlay. But then Lily’s mum said it wasn’t traditional.” He heaved a gigantic sigh, and collapsed amongst a pile of tuxedos meant for his groomsmen. “Merlin, I’m going mad with all these so-called traditions. You know Lily’s shoes are going to be blue? Blue, Grace—blue! As though we were both Sorted into Ravenclaw!” His lips twisted into a grimace. “It’s for some sort of old Muggle rhyme—something old, something blue, or some bollocks like that. I don’t understand why a centuries-old Muggle rhyme is dictating my wedding.”
Grace stared at him, wide-eyed. “Er—”
“Who knew Muggles had so many blasted traditions,” he grumbled to himself quietly. “Oh, and don’t even get me started on the flowers. Some idiot’s gone and picked up violets! If I ever get my hands on them—”
“I think that was just a mix-up,” Grace interrupted, very much hoping that James would not commit murder on the day of his wedding. “Everything is fine. Sirius is, rather surprisingly, sorting things. And—” she waved her wand, and the color of James’s tie turned from jet-black to deep crimson, “—that will still match, so you can at least have a little of your dream wedding.”
James touched the end of his tie. “If Lily’s mum—”
“Lily’s mum won’t do anything,” she assured. “Now, come on—am I taking you to Lily or what?”
He sprang to his feet in an instant, face bright and sunny and the complete opposite of what it was a mere few seconds ago. “Really?” he said, positively beaming. “I thought you were just kidding. You’re really going to help me?”
She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Of course I’m going to help you. Would it really be a Potter wedding if I didn’t sneak you into the bride’s dressing room?” She glanced at him. “Have you got the cloak?”
“Have I got the cloak?” he repeated exasperatedly. From the depths of his pockets, he pulled out a sheer, intricately patterned, and impossibly long bolt of fabric.
Grace stared at him. “Have you really gone and put an Extension Charm on your pockets? What else have you got there?”
James put a hand into his pockets, and shuffled around. Grace faintly heard the chime of bells, what might have been a couple of rocks collide, and a low growl. He winked at her and began to cover himself with the invisibility cloak. “Oh—just a few necessities—”
“If you show magic to the Muggles during the reception, Mum’ll have your head,” Grace said warningly as James vanished from sight.
“Only if she can find my head,” his disembodied voice responded, laughing. “Where is Lily’s room, anyway?”
Grace led him up a flight of stairs. “They haven’t told you?”
James let out a disgruntled sigh. “Of course not. Yet another tradition. It’s absolute bollocks, isn’t it? Why is it Lily’s not allowed to see me before the wedding?”
Grace swerved by one of Lily’s bridesmaids, Dorcas Meadowes, who was levitating three bundles of golden wicker chairs. “I dunno,” she told James under her breath, giving Dorcas a slight, uneasy smile as she passed by. “Lily’s mum was saying it was bad luck or something. I didn’t understand much of it.”
“Bad luck?” James repeated shrilly. “Seeing me is bad luck?”
Grace snorted. “Must be. Look at my whole life if you need evidence.”
“What—!”
Grace shushed him hurriedly as a few of Lily’s Muggle cousins flounced down the stairs, giggling amongst themselves.
“Hello, Grace!” one of them called out brightly.
“Er—hey—” Grace said, trying very hard to remember the woman’s name.
“Agnes,” James whispered into her ear.
“—Agnes!” Grace finished.
Agnes grinned and waved as she descended down the stairs, followed by the others. Grace led James up slowly, keeping an eye out for anyone else—especially Mum—who might be ruin her smuggling mission. The duo slinked down a narrow hallway, and Grace sighed in relief as she saw no other people. Lily must have sent them away.
“Have you taken your draught?” James asked as they rounded a corner.
Grace had begun a course of Clear-Head Concoctions back around fifth year, when the potion first came out. While it didn’t cure her illness by any means, it did delay the progression of paroxysms by months. Last year, Grace had managed to go through the whole school term with only one paroxysm to show for it. Clear-Head Concoction, her parents had proudly declared back then, was the best thing invented since Fizzing Whizbees.
“Yes, Mum,” she drawled.
He fell into the role immediately. “Oh, darling,” he cried out, wrapping his arms around, “thank goodness! What would we ever do without that wonderful potion—”
“Shove off,” she muttered, feeling for his invisible arms and untangling herself from him. “Thank Merlin you and Lily will be moving out. I’ll finally get some peace and quiet around the house.”
He snorted. “What does that matter? You’re heading back to Hogwarts in less than a week.”
“Only because you procrastinated your own wedding—”
James’s voice turned from amused to irritated in an instant. “Procrastinated? I’ll have you know I dedicated nearly every day after the proposal to planning this wedding. You can’t just pull this all off in one day! The guest list alone took weeks—”
“Don’t talk to me about the guest list,” Grace huffed.
The guest list was a touchy topic between the Potter siblings. Grace had wanted to, right off the bat, invite Regulus. She knew he likely wouldn’t be able to get away from Grimmauld Place long enough to stay for the whole event, but she was almost certain he would have been able to pop in and show his face.
James, much to her dismay, had vetoed this idea immediately—because of Sirius. Something about tensions and how uncomfortable it would be and, besides, would Regulus even like a Muggle wedding to begin with? Grace had thought the whole argument was a steaming pile of bollocks. Regulus probably wouldn’t like the Muggle wedding. But neither did Grace, truth be told. Hell—even James had his qualms about the Muggle wedding, but they couldn’t have a full-out, spectacular wizard wedding, as Mum and Dad kept reminding them, what with all the Death Eaters creeping about.
So, a bland Muggle wedding it was. In the middle of nowhere. With most of the guests on the Potter’s side of the family in disguise.
“Oh, you can’t still be mad about that,” James groaned. “That was months ago.”
“I can hold onto a grudge for years.”
“Don’t remind me,” he muttered.
“So can you,” Grace pointed out. “Have you ever really gotten over what Snape did to Lily in sixth year?”
“Of course not!” James cried out, and Grace immediately began to regret bringing Snape up at all. The mere mention of that name was enough to send James into an hours-long monologue. “Do you know how many owls he sent Lily after I proposed to her? No less than—”
“Fifty-three,” Grace mouthed with heavy boredom.
“—fifty-three!” James continued wildly. “Merlin—has he got no life? My hand starts to cramp halfway through one letter, and this wretch wrote fifty—”
“Wretch?” Grace interrupted, smiling. “Did you just say wretch?”
“And what of it?” James sniffed.
“I dunno,” she shrugged. “Just doesn’t seem your style. Wretch. Has snogging Lily nonstop finally transferred some of her vocabulary to you?”
“Prat,” James snipped.
“Git,” she shot back almost absentmindedly.
A brief moment of silence settled between the two of them before James asked, “Are you sure Sirius handled those violets—”
“James,” she interrupted, “can you promise me something?” Grace’s voice had dropped into something much softer, much more serious.
“Er…what is it?” His voice was nervous, and Grace was almost certain that he was darting his head about, likely hoping someone better for a ‘serious talk’ would magically spring into existence.
“Please never get a divorce and remarry,” she cried out, throwing her head back. Her voice shifted seamlessly from solemn to exasperated. “Merlin’s beard—if you ever do another wedding again, I’ll convince Mum and Dad to disown you. These past few months have been absolute torture—”
“Don’t do that to me,” James snapped, nudging her sharply with his shoulder. “Godric, I was about to have a heart attack. I thought you were going to tell me you were pregnant or something—”
“Pregnant?!” Grace burst. “With what? A baby?”
“Obviously a baby—what else?”
“But with who?”
“I dunno—some bloke! That was the part I was most worried about. Don’t ever start off like that—” he adopted a higher voice, “—James, will you promise me something?”
“What? You can’t keep promises for me?” She couldn’t tell exactly where he was, since he was still under the cloak, but she shot a glare in the general direction of his voice. “What sort of older brother are you?”
“What sort of little sister are you—having me believe you’re about to tell me something life-threatening secret—”
“Life-threatening—”
James whipped the cloak off, instantly reappearing. His hair was tousled forward as the fabric slipped over his head. “You know I love nothing more than bantering with you, Grace. But, seriously now, where in Merlin’s name is Lily’s room?” he asked. “Is it even on this continent?”
“Stop being dramatic,” Grace said. She pointed down yet another hallway. “It’s the last room here. I think Lily’s Muggle cousins chose it so you wouldn’t find her.”
“Flipping tradition,” James muttered under his breath. He let out a breath and marched forward. “Alright—let’s go.”
“Hold on,” Grace said, catching up to him. She cast him a side glance. “You never promised me you won’t divorce and—”
He let out a loud, exasperated sigh and said, “I promise you I will never, ever get a divorce, but Lily and I are planning on renewing our vows at some point, which will mean a whole other ceremony—”
Panic gripped Grace’s heart tightly. “What? No, you can’t be serious,” she pleaded. “That’s a joke, right? Tell me that’s a joke, James!”
“Oh, my love’s a joke now, is it?”
“Haven’t I been through enough?” Grace groaned. “I’ve got to do this whole thing all over again at some point in the future? Taste cake samples and pick out fabrics and—”
James decided to ignore her small outburst in favor of knocking on Lily’s door. Grace cut herself off and settled glumly by the door, crossing her arms over her chest, and hoping desperately that if James and Lily were going to renew their vows in the future they would choose someone else to help prepare the ceremony.
From beyond the door, a frustrated voice spoke: “I swear to God, Marlene, if you try to convince me to charm my shoes a different color one more time—”
“Er—not Marlene, love,” James called out. He paused a moment, and then added, “But if Marlene thinks you should change your shoes—”
The door swung open, revealing a rosy-faced Lily Evans (soon-to-be Potter). She wasn’t yet in her wedding dress, a magnificent work of delicate white lace and silk, but her hair was finished. Her crimson locks were curled and free-flowing; near her temple, a golden flower was pinned into her hair. Her eyes, brighter than emeralds, shone with joy as she took James in.
“Red and gold!” James burst instantly, pointing at the flower in her hair. “Look—me, too!” He held out the tie Grace had charmed.
Lily’s grin grew wider. “Yeah—I thought it might be a nice touch. But the shoes are still going to be blue. I doubt anyone’ll see it under the dress, though.”
James merely shrugged at the news. “You can’t win them all.”
Lily’s eyes turned onto Grace. “Thanks for bringing him. No one spotted you?”
“Yeah, it was actually pretty easy—”
“Hold on,” James said, glancing between Lily and Grace before settling on the latter. “You only brought me here because Lily asked? I thought you were trying to make me feel better!”
“I was trying to make you feel better,” Grace insisted. “Thankfully, that fell in line with Lily asking me to bring you to her.”
He seemed appeased by this, and turned back to Lily. “Oh, so why—”
“The violets!” Lily cried out, brows drawn together in despair. Her sunny expression crumpled in an instant. “Mary told me that some idiot’s gone and brought violets!”
“I know,” James said, eyes growing wide. He clasped Lily’s hands in his own. “I was just telling Grace this. Who would do such a thing? It doesn’t match the color scheme at all.”
“We had a very specific floral design planned for this,” Lily agreed. “And I ordered from the florists myself two weeks ago. Everything was planned and ready for pick-up. I don’t understand who could have botched that up so badly—”
“Alright, alright!” Grace interjected. “We get it—you two hate violets—”
“I wouldn’t say hate…” James said.
“But definitely not in my top ten flowers,” Lily said matter-of-factly.
“Oh, definitely not,” James nodded.
Grace resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Alright, whatever. What you two should really be focusing on is the fact that Sirius has already fixed it, okay? He transfigured them into carnations while Peter distracted your relatives, Lily. Everything is fine now, so can we please stop talking about these bloody violets? Besides, would it really be a big deal if there were some violets smattered amongst the other flowers you two have ordered—”
“Of course—” James began.
Grace shot him a dark glare. “No,” she bit. “It would not be a big deal. The big deal is that you two are finally going to be married, which means that this wedding business will finally be over. I can finally get some peace and quiet, maybe even a good night’s sleep, because you—” her eyes were narrowed at James, “—won’t have any reason to barge into my room in the middle of the night to discuss fabric swatches!”
Lily stared at Grace for one long moment. “Alright,” she said uneasily, “if the violets are really fine—”
“Yes, the violets are fine!” Grace said, throwing her arms in the air. “The violets, which are no longer violets but carnations, are fine! You two—” she swung her finger between James and Lily, “—need to stop worrying about every last detail. It’s been sorted, okay? Why don’t you two go and snog each other for a good bit and release some stress, so this wedding doesn’t turn into a massacre.”
“I’m not going to massacre someone over violets,” James scoffed after a moment.
“I meant,” Grace ground out, “that I will massacre you and—”
“How about we don’t continue discussing the hypothetical massacre?” Lily cut in. She glanced up at James. “I actually did want to talk to you privately. Besides—” she looked about the narrow hallway worriedly, “—you’d better get in here before my mum happens by and spots you.”
“Ah, right,” James said flatly. “We wouldn’t want to break a time-honored tradition, would we?”
“At least my traditions are reasonable,” Lily said with pursed lips. “Your dad had us do that eel eye ritual under the full moon—”
“Alright, I recognize that was incredibly strange,” James granted, “but Mum and Dad were only worried, because they had fertility issues in their marriage, and that ceremony—”
“Please stop talking,” Grace begged. “I will do literally anything—” she began pushing them into Lily’s room, “—if you get out of my sight.”
James wheeled around and opened his mouth, but Grace slammed the door in his face. She turned around and leaned against the door, massaging her temples. Merlin, if she heard the word violet one more bloody time…
Grace wished now more than ever that Regulus were here. He would have tried to get her mind off of all these wedding details. In fact, all of this might have gone off smoother if he were here; not necessarily because he’d have played a part in the preparations, but because Grace would have felt like it was all going much smoother. He would have pulled her from the disgruntled slump she was falling into, tell her trivia about old wizard wedding traditions, perhaps even help her sneak out of wedding preparations entirely.
She wished he were here, plain and simple. She had written to him, despite James’s objections, and invited him to the wedding and reception all on her own. She had asked him about four times if he could find a way to make it. She had written to him about other things, too, of course—about how obsessive James was getting, how particular Lily could be, how irritating Sirius always was.
Regulus had not written back.
Grace wasn’t particularly worried. He had mentioned something about spending more time at his cousin’s this summer, so perhaps he wasn’t receiving her letters or messages. Or maybe Walburga Black had stumbled upon her letters and was ripping them up to shreds before Regulus had a chance to read them. Grace wouldn’t put it past the old bat to do just that.
She hefted a sigh, and smoothed back her dark hair. She had used Sleekeazy’s for perhaps the first time in her life, and her hair seemed almost like it wasn’t her own. She wasn’t used to the easy way it fell back, the smooth way in which it glided through her fingers.
She wanted her hair to be thick and tangled again. She wanted the wedding to be over even though it hadn’t even started yet. She wanted Regulus to show up—somehow, some way.
A warbled hoot from down the corridor pulled Grace out of her thoughts. She craned her neck, and saw an owl fluttering by the window.
“Oh, Merlin, please tell me it’s not from Snape,” she grumbled, heading to the window all the same.
She hoisted the window up. The owl, speckled and brown, flew in easily and settled on the ledge, chirping up at her cheerily. Grace took the letter tied to its leg, and frowned at the Hogwarts crest emblazoned onto the envelope.
“Either this tells me I’ve been expelled, or they decided to make me Head Girl against all odds,” she told the owl.
It gave her another bright hoot. Grace tore open the letter, and read:
Dear Ms. Potter,
I am writing to inform you of a change to your seventh-year schedule: Hogwarts has been unable to find a professor to fill the post for Divination. As such, the course has been cancelled until further notice, and you will not be able to continue onto N.E.W.T. Divination for your final year. Without Divination, your course load is now below the minimum requirement of five classes. Normally, I would suggest you choose another N.E.W.T. subject to be enrolled in. However, your O.W.L. exams from fifth year disqualify you from all other subjects.
Your best course was Care of Magical Creatures, in which you earned an Acceptable. An Exceeds Expectations is needed in order to enter N.E.W.T. Care of Magical Creatures, so you are still barred entry into the course. However, I have spoken to Professor Kettleburn and arranged an opportunity for you to assist him with his third-year students once a week in order to make up for your decreased course load.
Sincerely,
Horace Slughorn
Slytherin Head of House
Grace stared at the parchment in her hands. What the bleeding hell was this? Where had Vablatsky gone? Was helping a few snot-nosed students really the only option she had? How come she had no say in this? Why was Slughorn doing this?
It’s payback, Grace realized immediately, for the time I brought that Niffler into Slug Club in third year.
“Oh, you wily bastard,” she muttered, crumpling up the letter.
“I’m not that bad,” James called out disapprovingly.
She whirled around, and found James leaning against the doorframe, one arm wrapped around a beaming Lily’s shoulders. Lily looked much the same—not a hair out of place—but James was utterly disheveled. His spectacles were crooked on his nose, and his jet-black hair was a hundred times messier than it had been before he went into Lily’s room. His suit was rumpled, and the knot in his tie was loose.
“What happened to you lot?” Grace said dryly, walking back towards them. “Did you snog or get into a fistfight?”
“Oh, the fistfight,” James said. “Obviously. No nuptial is complete without the planned ten-minute fistfight between the bride and groom, of course—”
“What’s that?” Lily interrupted, pointing at the crushed letter in Grace’s hand.
Grace frowned. “It’s nothing,” she said, depositing the parchment into the pocket of her robes. “My course schedule’s changed, and I’m just irritated at Slughorn for it.”
“I can write to him, if you want?” Lily suggested. “He still listens to my input, although why…”
She seemed genuinely perplexed. But James wasn’t.
“Why wouldn’t he take your input?” James said incredulously. “Your input is valuable. It’s so valuable, we should start using it for currency instead of Galleons!”
The joke was the worst one Grace had heard yet. Despite this, Lily laughed, bright and full, and James beamed, swinging down to plant a kiss against her lips.
“Disgusting,” Grace said, and pretended to retch.
The wedding was in the luscious back garden of the Potter manor, which had fallen to Grace’s father after the unfortunate passing of Uncle Charlus, Aunt Dorea, and cousin Ollie. It had been rather a difficult task to get all the Muggles on Lily’s side to the manor, but they had figured it out somehow with a few well-shot Confundus charms and a couple of glamour spells to keep the more magical parts of the estate hidden.
Lily and James were standing face-to-face in front of a large arch of golden chrysanthemums and crimson asters. The sun, which had reached its peak, was directly overhead the duo, flooding them with light. Behind them, the minister droned on and on about marriage and commitment and whatnot. It had been a bit interesting in the beginning, when he had been referencing Muggle gods, but as the minutes ticked by and his voice grew more and more monotonous, Grace found her attention drifting.
The wedding, truth be told, was the most boring event she had ever witnessed (and she had once fed Flobberworms lettuce for three hours straight). But this was what Lily and James’s parents had wanted—a simple affair that would not catch anyone’s attention. It was for the best, given the circumstances in the wizarding world. And although Grace loathed the prospect of doing this all over again, she privately hoped that James and Lily really would hold a vow renewal, perhaps after the war was over. It could be an entirely magical event—with shooting stars blazing through the night, enchanted ice sculptures dancing amongst the guests, flowers charmed to light up whenever the bride and groom passed. The end result would be more than worth James and Lily’s obsessive planning.
Grace tugged at the collar of her Muggle dress. It was the same one that all the bridesmaids were wearing—a pale gold with a lace bodice and silk skirt. It was a bit tight and suffocating (not at all breezy like the sweeping robes Grace was accustomed to), and the collar itched tremendously, but she put up with it. Hopefully she’d be allowed to change into something more her style for the reception later tonight.
Her eyes flew over the crowd of guests before landing on her mother and father. In the streaming sunlight, Mum’s hair was lit silver. Her eyes were damp and dewy, and there was a silken handkerchief clutched tightly in her hands. Dad was sitting right next to her, clutching her other hand, his hair sticking up like it was nothing more than dandelion fluff.
Dad caught her eye and smiled warmly. She grinned back, and crossed her eyes goofily. Dad swallowed a snort, unintentionally triggering a hacking cough.
Grace winced sympathetically and was about to mouth a sorry to him when a soft pat against her hand brought her attention away from the seated crowd.
“What?” she asked, looking to her immediate left.
Dorcas glanced down at her briefly with a raised brow. “The vows are starting,” she said softly. “Pay attention.”
“I am,” Grace said defensively, swinging her eyes back to the center of the altar, where James had taken both of Lily’s hands in his own.
“Lily,” James started, and the name flew from his lips like a dove taking flight. He said the name with utter devotion, a sea of love crashing over the wedding goers. “You’ve always said we don’t see eye-to-eye, and never would, but—” he stooped down a little, so that he was approximately Lily’s height, “—now we are. We’re exactly eye-to-eye.”
A few snickers traveled through the guests. Sirius, besides James, slapped a hand over his mouth and tried to stifle a loud laugh. Grace couldn’t quite see Lily from her position, but she was almost certain the redhead was rolling her eyes.
“I want to be eye-to-eye with you for the rest of my life,” James said honestly, and Grace had to wonder what on earth that meant. “I want for us to be able to confide in one another. I want for us to be able to be sad and grumpy and completely intolerable with one another. I want for us to be cheery and exuberant and sickeningly in love with one another. I want for us to understand each other.”
There were quite a few guests—mostly James’s friends—who were giggling. Most people were smiling warmly at the happy couple, except for Mum, who was openly weeping.
“Lily,” James said earnestly, “I promise to love you and respect you and listen to you. I promise to be patient and considerate and compassionate. I promise to be the best version of myself for you, always for you, Lily. And I promise—and this is the most important one—to stop making so many puns.”
Watery chuckles filled the air. Grace was grinning. Whoever had helped James workshop this had done a world of good.
“James,” Lily began when the guests quieted, “I’ve known for you for seven years, and you were a right git for most of it.”
The front row, filled with many of Lily and James’s classmates, along with the row of bridesmaids and groomsmen burst into laughter. A fond smile slipped across Grace’s face. Who could possibly forget all the clashes between Lily and James over the years? She often found herself collapsing into giggles at the mere mention of the time James got Lily a singing telegram for Valentine’s in fourth year.
“You were arrogant and air-headed and entirely too annoying for me to stomach,” Lily continued seamlessly. “And I know you’ll never admit it, but I’m almost certain it was you that turned Mary’s pigtails into a mullet back in third year.”
“Wanker,” someone called out from the crowd faintly.
“I spent nearly six years furious with you. I never thought that would change.” Lily’s grin faltered into something softer, something more sincere. “But it did. Seventh year came, and I got to know you. Really know you. You always took the blame whenever one of your mates was in a spot of trouble. There were a group of sixth-years bullying a first-year, and despite the fact there were hexes flying about, despite the fact you were almost certain to end up in the Hospital Wing—and you did—you stepped in. You picked up patrols you didn’t have to. You cheered me up when I was rude to you. You were…you. Loyal to a fault, brave till the very end—that’s you.” Her eyes were so tender, warmer than honey. “That’s my James.”
A murmur of affection washed through the guests. Grace’s heart flashed with warmth. She wanted to run up to the altar and throw her arms around James and Lily. She wanted to have them stay in the house instead of move out. She wanted to drag them back to Hogwarts.
“I will always be there for you,” Lily promised. “Even if it’s just to rile up some bloke or pull off a ridiculous prank, I’ll be there for you. Through thick and thin, wide and narrow. I will never hesitate. I will listen before I judge. I will support you. I will encourage you. I will cherish you. I will love you, James. I really will, because, well—you’re very deer to me, James.”
And then she winked at him, although Grace had no idea why. James howled with laughter, and pulled Lily in for a kiss even though the minister hadn’t finished his piece yet. Sirius made a complicated hand gesture to someone off to the side, and suddenly the sky was filled with fireworks. Balloons were being set afloat. Roses were flying through the air. Grace could barely spot Lily and James amongst the mess.
“Well,” Dorcas sighed happily, stepping down from her spot, “that’s that.”
Grace wiggled through the crowd of guests. Her eyes pierced through the throng, soon settling on James and Lily. The minister was frantically trying to call them back, but they were already heading away, completely wrapped up in one another.
She smiled. “That’s that,” she echoed quietly.
The reception was being hosted on an entirely different portion of the estate, much to the Muggles’ discontent. Some relative of Lily’s was organizing a carpool, carting off a handful of guests every now and then. Grace, having managed to sneak off in the disarray of the wedding, changed into a more comfortable dress and simply Apparated to the other side of the grounds.
“Agh,” Grace muttered as she appeared by a particularly large pine tree. There was a ringing in her ears, likely an effect of her body being compressed through space. She shook it off as best she could, and wandered into the reception party.
It was somewhat scant now, with only a few guests roaming about. James and Lily weren’t here yet, but Grace had a feeling they had pretty much ditched their own wedding in favor of getting a headstart on their honeymoon. Mum and Dad were definitely not coming; they were, in all likelihood, heading back to the cottage to get in a good night’s sleep.
Aaand that’s my whole friend group, she thought rather scathingly, setting off to the only thing that had been properly set up for the reception: a bar conjured up by the gazebo. This was almost certainly done by Sirius, and Grace was one hundred percent sure that the dark-haired man had neglected to include Muggle drinks. Oh, well. Hopefully they’d like the taste of Firewhiskey and gigglewater.
Grace hopped onto a stool, settling by the bar top. The bartender hadn’t arrived yet, so she simply summoned a bottle of Firewhiskey from below the counter as discreetly as possible. She popped the cap open and took a swig directly from the mouth of the bottle, delighting when a tell-tale warmth flashed through her.
She glanced around the reception once more. A few more Muggles had arrived, but still no one she recognized. If Regulus were here, she could not help but think, we could have gone off together. They could have ditched the whole event, probably, and gone to Diagon Alley. There was a new bookstore there that Regulus would have liked to check out, and Grace could restock on stink pellets and Dungbombs. They could settle at Fortescue’s ice cream parlor and simply while away the time.
“Hullo,” someone said politely, coming to sit directly besides Grace.
She glanced suspiciously to her right, where a young man with pale, tousled hair and dark blue eyes had sat. “Who are you?”
“Oh—er—I’m Michael,” he introduced. “Lily’s cousin. Well, second cousin, actually. My mum and her mum are cousins, so we’re not very close, but I did visit quite a bit when I was younger—and—well, you probably don’t need all that detail, right?” He laughed nervously.
She grunted in response, turning away and taking another sip of her drink.
“Nice…dress…?” he said, eyes lingering on the hem of Grace’s deep green robes. “Very avant-garde.”
Her head whipped back to his, and a very disgruntled grimace overtaking her features. “Avant-what?” Was that supposed to be some sort of Muggle insult?
“Oh, you know—” he gestured uselessly, “—really original. Unorthodox, I suppose. It suits you.”
“Unorthodox,” Grace repeated, eyes narrowing.
“I mean—not like—it just seems to be that—” he spluttered for a moment, trying to find his words. “Lily’s mum was telling us that your family’s just a bit unconventional, you know. Special traditions and whatnot.” He swallowed thickly, and completely veered away from the subject by asking, “Your family’s from the countryside, isn’t it? Life’s much simpler there?”
“No,” she said flatly.
“No?” He stayed silent for a moment, and then said, “Lily mentioned that you were around my age. Have you—er—started looking at universities?”
“Universities?” She slammed her drink down. “What—what are you talking about?”
He gulped. “Oh, you know—”
“I really don’t,” she bit, feeling very much out of the loop. “What do you want, exactly? Is it a fight you’re itching for? I’ll have you know—Lily taught me the proper way to throw a punch, and I’ve gotten quite good at it.”
“Hello,” a new voice interrupted kindly.
Grace looked up abruptly, and found, to her utter relief, that Remus had decided to attend the reception party. He looked much better than he usually did—less shabby and rumpled. His sandy hair was smoothed back, and, under the evening light, the faint scars that lined his face were barely visible.
Remus’s eyes flitted over the terrified Muggle. “Someone in a green hat’s been asking for you—”
“Oh, right!” Michael said, and promptly fled from sight.
“Thank you for that,” Grace sighed, propping her head up with her hand. “I was about to break the Statute of Secrecy.”
Remus plopped down besides her. He summoned a bottle of mead and a glass. “Actually—I was just trying to save that poor man before you murdered him. You do realize he just wanted to ask you out?”
“What?” Grace said, sounding very scandalized. “Ask me out where?”
“We’ll never know,” Remus said with feigned sadness.
Grace rolled her eyes, nursing the Firewhiskey back to her lips. She felt a trail of faint fire lick the back of her throat. The tips of her fingers and toes were lit with warmth. “That’s dumb,” she said quite firmly. “Imagine going to your cousin’s wedding and flirting with the groom’s sister. Who in their right mind would do that?”
“Oh, of course, because there was that law they passed strictly prohibiting exactly that, right?”
“Ha, ha, very funny.” She clapped slowly and mockingly. “Is that the opener for your stand-up routine?”
“You know—you’re sounding an awful lot like Sirius.”
Grace soured immediately. “Now that’s an insult,” she said, frowning. She took another swig of her drink. “He’s moved out, good riddance. I couldn’t bear another second of being under the same roof as him.”
“He takes up too much space,” Remus agreed quietly.
“Must be his enormous ego.”
“Must be,” Remus echoed emptily.
Grace glanced up at the older man, and found his eyes flitting over the growing swarm of guests before finally settling on a familiar head of thick dark hair. Sirius had arrived. He had an arm planted firmly along Peter’s shoulders, a glass of rum lifted in the air in his other had. He was shouting out a story about James to a few amused relatives of Lily’s. His bowtie, which Mum had meticulously fastened earlier that day, was loose, dangling from the collar of his suit.
“You don’t need to say anything if you don’t want to,” Grace started slowly, “but…have you two made up, or…?”
“Sort of,” Remus said shortly, and tore his eyes away from the scene. He settled back against the bar edge, busily pouring himself a glass of mead.
Grace never managed to find out what had happened between the two of them. She only knew it had happened sometime in Hogwarts, back when she was still in fifth year. Sirius had done something reckless or thoughtless or dangerous or all three, and suddenly Remus wasn’t talking to him anymore, wasn’t even glancing at him. And James was gutted about the whole thing. And Lily was in the know, somehow, but Grace was not. The whole affair stank of deceit, but since Grace had never found out what happened, she never knew whose deceit it was.
If she had to hazard a guess, though, she would say it was Sirius’s fault.
It was no secret she had harbored a grudge against the older Black brother since he ran away from home the summer of Grace’s fourth year, leaving Regulus in tears. Grace had gotten two messily written letters from Regulus that summer—one that was just a series of angry rants, and the other begging Grace to find a way to persuade Sirius to come home.
She had tried. She had really, really tried, but it was to no avail.
She sometimes wondered if it was the natural order of things—for a relationship to simply fall apart after years and years, like it was a car running on old parts and bound to break down after a while, like it was nothing more than a rubber band that had been stretched to its breaking point and now it was time for it to snap back. Regulus and Sirius had been so close, once upon a time, and now they could hardly stand to look at one another. And there had been Lily and Snape, too—a steely, seemingly everlasting friendship broken after months of strain.
She could not help but have her thoughts turn entirely to Regulus. They were made of stronger stuff; she was sure of it. They had been through so much together—the ups and downs of Grace’s condition, the twists and turns of Regulus’s family. Grace was almost certain there would be no pulling them apart. They were bound for life.
And yet, she could not help the nagging thought in the back of her mind: Why hasn’t Regulus written once this summer?
She decided not to think about it.
Her eyes skimmed over the gaining crowd. More people had arrived. Some relative of Lily’s happened to be a Muggle party entertainer and was producing multi-colored ribbons out of thin air, much to the delight of a few already-drunk wizards. Dusk was settling, quick and heavy, and Grace knew it was only a matter of time before the party was over, before the summer was gone, before her seventh year drew to a close.
“Can I ask you a question?”
Remus’s eyes flickered down to her. “Always.”
“Did you actually enjoy your last year at Hogwarts?” Grace sighed, and leaned further back on her bar stool. “It’s just—you know how tense everything was last year. There wasn’t a spare moment to just be happy. Not with the—” War. Not with the disappearances. Not with the Ministry delving into a state of panic. “You know….”
“It was tense,” Remus agreed. He set his drink on the counter. The warm amber of it sloshed precariously against the rim of the glass. “But that doesn’t mean there weren’t happy moments. You were at Hogwarts last year, too. Surely there were still some parts you actually enjoyed.”
“Yeah, but things are different now.” And because Grace could not bear to explain how strange it would be to be at Hogwarts when James would not, she hastily added, “I’m going to be down a class this year. Slughorn wants me to assist Kettleburn once a week to make up for it. Instead of doing what I want, I’ve got to help some dumb teenagers.”
Remus snorted. “You’re a teenager.”
“Yes, but I’m not dumb,” she sniffed.
“Is it Defense that you weren’t accepted for?” he asked. “Because, technically, if you were trying to enter the class based on the last professor’s requirements, I don’t see why that should prohibit you—”
“No, no. It’s Vablatsky. I think she’s done a runner or something, and now the Divination post is empty. They haven’t found anyone for it, which makes sense, I suppose. There are hardly flocks of Seers roaming about.”
Remus’s brows were raised. “You haven’t heard?”
She looked up at him, frowning. “Heard…?”
“About Vablatsky. It came in the Prophet a few days ago.”
“Our house has sort of been cluttered with bouquets and doilies for the past month,” she joked weakly. When Remus’s serious expression didn’t lift in the slightest, Grace’s throat closed in. “It’s nothing bad, is it?”
Wordlessly, Remus waved his wand. An edition of the Prophet from earlier that week appeared from midair and dropped down in front of Grace. She lifted it from the wood of the bar top and opened it up. The headline read, ‘MINCHUM INCREASES AZKABAN SECURITY.’
Grace glanced at Remus. “What’s this got to do with Vablatsky?”
“I think it’s the seventh page.”
She flipped open the newspaper, and her eyes flew over the article:
Famed Seer Cassandra Vablatsky Found Dead
By: Emma Squiggle
On Monday, the twenty-first of August, Aurors were called to the home of famed Seer Cassandra Vablatsky following a neighbor’s report of ‘loud bangs and flashes of light.’ The commotion occurred well after midnight, which the neighbor, who has chosen to keep his or her identity anonymous, noted as being ‘unusual’ due to the fact Vablatsky generally ‘put her lights out by eight.’
As it turns out, this neighbor had good reason to be paranoid. After Aurors arrived on the scene, it was quickly discovered that Vablatsky’s home had been raided. Her belongings had been strewn everywhere, treasured photos had been ripped, and items were possibly missing. Vablatsky herself was found in her bedroom, dead by way of baneberry. A near empty vial of the incredibly poisonous plant was found on her person.
Aurors initially pinned the incident as a robbery gone wrong, but were still puzzled over the motive behind Vablatsky taking her own life. It was only a few hours later, when the Dark Mark appeared over the Tutshill home that the picture became clearer. It is now suspected that Vablatsky’s home was attacked by Death Eaters—the dangerous group under the command of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.
Our team reached out to Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt, who was first on the scene, regarding possible incentives He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named may have in going after Vablatsky. Unfortunately, Shacklebolt has refused to comment.
If you have any knowledge at all about this, do not hesitate to contact the Prophet…
Somewhere along the middle, Grace stopped reading. In the midst of the wall of text was a flickering photo of Vablatsky from her younger days. Her hair was thicker and pale, and her large eyes blinked up at the viewer. There was a sly smile slipping across her face.
Grace swallowed thickly. A heavy feeling settled into the pit of her stomach. This was the woman who had taught Grace every Divination trick she knew for the past seven years. This was the woman who invited Grace into her private room for tea. This was the woman who gave Grace an Outstanding every year despite the fact that she showed absolutely no talent for Divination. Vablatsky had not just been a teacher; she had been a friend, too.
“That’s it?” Grace said, voice hollow. “She—she’s just gone?”
“I’m sorry,” Remus said softly.
She shook her head. “I just—I don’t understand it. Why would You-Know-Who go after her? It’s not like Vablatsky was a particularly outspoken about him or the war.”
“What I’ve heard…” Remus began, “…is that You-Know-Who is looking for a leg up. Minchum’s rounded up quite a few of his Death Eaters, and he’s intent on having them stay locked up in Azkaban. If You-Know-Who has even a chance of winning this war, he needs to know what areas Aurors aren’t monitoring. He needs to know where to send his Death Eaters, when to send them…”
“So—what? He needed Vablatsky for that?”
“I think he wanted a Seer’s insight.”
“That’s bollocks!” she cried out. “He wanted her to do a tarot reading for him? I—that’s unbelievable—and I bet she said no, so she—” Grace’s eyes wavered back to the newspaper. Her throat closed in. “Oh, Merlin…the baneberry.”
“If You-Know-Who was looking to have Vablatsky join his side—either willingly or by force—well…I reckon Vablatsky wasn’t very fond of the idea, so she…”
“I can’t believe this,” Grace breathed. “I can’t…”
It had been Aunt Dorea and Uncle Charlus first, just two years ago. The war wasn’t at its height yet, but You-Know-Who was definitely a threat. Grace had never quite thought her family would be at any risk. They weren’t very keen on You-Know-Who’s ideas, of course, but she didn’t quite think that was enough to warrant the old coot’s attention. Uncle Charlus had given an impassioned speech to the Wizengamot about creating a task force to resist You-Know-Who and his growing power. Next thing she knew, Death Eaters had gone after Aunt Dorea and Uncle Charlus, and at night, too, like how cowards would. Ollie had managed to escape, likely through some or the other secret tunnel, but he had been found out sometime last year. And he had not made it out alive then.
There had been others after that. An old employee of Dad’s from Sleekeazy’s had been kidnapped in broad daylight. One of the shops in Diagon Alley had been ransacked and left with the Dark Mark over it. Muggle-borns had begun dropping out of Hogwarts towards the end of last year.
The wedding—that ceremony that had been so full of life and light—felt like it had happened a million years ago. Grace couldn’t even stomach the thought of being happy.
“Do you think things are ever going to get better?” she asked after a long moment. She flipped the Prophet article on its back. Although the photo of Vablatsky was now hidden, the feel of it was seared into her mind—the shift of her smile, the knowing gleam in her eye. Had death truly been the only option? Surely there was another way. Surely there was always another way.
“They say it gets worse before it gets better,” Remus said somewhat moodily.
“Isn’t it already worse?”
The last of the light was extinguished from the horizon. The world was swept in darkness.