Shades of Silver and Black

LYRA WONDERED HOW AND WHEN to bring up the topic of marriage with Lucius. Theoretically, since they were engaged, holy matrimony between them would be implied and imminent unless they broke it off. However, Lucius was still in the middle of his heir travels. However, Lyra had already made a big deal of not wanting her grandfather to be her Head of House anymore. However, in the year and a half they had been engaged, not once had they actually discussed getting married.

She didn’t want to create an awkwardness between them by bringing up the topic abruptly nor did she want to make it seem like she was cornering him to marry her immediately, giving a false impression of it being an ultimatum.

Lost in her mind, she hadn’t realised Lucius had returned from work until he approached her and kissed her cheek. “Hello, life,” he murmured against her cheek, taking a seat beside her on the sofa. “How was your day?”

“Eventful,” Lyra responded, cuddling to his side. “I didn’t have any operations today, so I’m not as tired as I was yesterday."

"That's lovely to hear. I hope it continues this way."

"It won't," said Lyra, and changed the topic. "How was your day?”

“A bit boring.”

Lyra tilted her head, noting the disappointment in his tone. She sat up straighter and observed his face. “Why do you look sad?”

“It’s nothing big, really.”

“Your feelings are big to me. What happened?”

Lucius sighed and Lyra wrapped her arms around him, patting his back. “There’s this famous fort here that I wanted to visit, but it’s closed for visitors. If I’d left work maybe five minutes earlier, I could have gotten in.”

“You can visit it tomorrow.”

“But I wanted to visit today,” whined Lucius, pouting.

“Oh,” said Lyra, face thoughtful. “Oh!” Her eyes lit up like constellations. ”We could build our own fort here!"

"I don't think we have enough cement for that, life."

The look Lyra gave him implied that he was particularly stupid. "I meant," she ventured to clarify, "we could build our own fort here out of pillows."

“Oh.” Lucius blinked. “That makes sense.”

They summoned pillows and blankets from the plethora of rooms in the Manor to the parlour. Lucius placed four tall chairs in a square while Lyra used the largest bed sheet they had to spread it over the backrest of the chairs, applying sticking charms so they hold. Another chair had been fixed in the middle to resolve the hollow dip that the bed sheet had begun to form.

After that, it was only a matter of spreading blankets and comforters over the wooden floors and throwing pillows inside their fort, which in Lucius’ humble opinion, was the grandest to have ever been built.

Lucius ordered the house-elves to bring them a cheese and fruit platter to snack on before they crawled inside and laid on their backs. Lyra produced bluebells to provide light and stared at them, transfixed in a child-like way.

“What’s your favourite love story?” Lucius wondered aloud the first thought that sped through his mind, twisting his head to watch her watch the floating bluebells.

“Altair and Vega,” responded Lyra. “They’re both two of the brightest stars in the night sky. It’s said they were deeply in love, but forever separated by the celestial river of the Milky Way.”

“That sounds more like a tragedy than a love story.”

“Most love stories are tragic, but you didn’t let me finish. See, once a year on the seventh day of the seventh month, Vega cries so hard that all the magpies of the world fly up and create a bridge with their wings so the two lovers can be together for a single night. I think that’s beautiful—how love can be far and apart but still together at heart. What’s your favourite love story?”

“Ours.”

Lyra rolled her eyes even as a blush bloomed on her cheeks. “You’re so cheesy.”

“Which type of cheese: stilton or mozzarella?”

“Parmesan.”

“I’m honoured.”

“You should be.”

Lucius chuckled and then returned his attention to the bluebells. “You know, if it were up to me, I’d marry you right now,” he told her absentmindedly.

Lyra spun to face him, surprise knitted into her features. “Huh?” She said, exhausting her large vocabulary.

Lucius didn’t look at her, but there was a certain wistfulness in his tone that was hard to ignore. “Really. I’d start my life with you as soon as possible. We’d go out shopping and buy my hair gels and place an order for your custom-made diamond heels. We’d pick whether we want the curtains of our house to be velvet or satin and then argue about which theme of colours the interiors of our house should be. We’d kiss, read by the fireplace and eat breakfast together the next morning. Go to work, and rush home just so we could see each other—although I suppose it isn’t much different to what we’re doing now, but…Eventually, we’ll have children when we are ready and fight over who’s the favourite parent and debate on whether to name them after emperors or stars. We’ll buy more white peacocks and venomous snakes and try to get them to coexist in harmony. I’ll play your favourite song on the piano and with exasperated fondness, you’ll heal the injuries our children and I will receive when we play Quidditch behind your back.

“We’ll celebrate our birthdays every year in a location of your choice while being surrounded by our friends and family. We’ll cross our tenth anniversary and ponder about where all the time went while flipping through old, worn photo books. We’ll get into those bad fights you’re afraid of but make up after a day or so. We’ll continue to surprise each other, watch the sunset from our front porch now and then and eat the occasional dinner under the stars that you are named after. We’ll watch our children graduate and start journeys of their own; meddle into their love lives, give them advice. Retire. Meet our grandchildren. Hold each other every night and never forget the love that started this all.” Lucius inhaled a breath, a wistful smile dancing on his lips. “If it were up to me, I’d start that adventure with you right now.”

Lyra was rendered speechless. She had known, of course, that he loved and adored her but she hadn’t been privy to the fact that he gave so much thought about their future, about them.

For the span of a second, she didn’t know which words to string together to construct a sentence. For a heartbeat, she was incapable of speaking English, French, Parseltongue, or any other language. For a whole moment, her mind went blank before metaphorical butterflies flew around her, fireworks exploded and painted the sky in bright, beautiful light and then, she knew. She knew precisely what to say.

“Then let’s do it,” Lyra announced, abruptly sitting up, the tip of her head being touched by the bed sheet that acted as the roof of the fort.

Lucius hesitated as he pulled himself up as well, folding his legs underneath him. “I’m sorry?”

“I happen to be immensely spoiled, Lucius. I always get what I want. And I want that. I want all that you just said and more. I want everything in it. I want you. I want to start that adventure with you right now as well.”

“Wait really?” Lucius blinked, bewildered. “Right now? You’re serious?”

“Actually, I’m Lyra.” Lyra grinned, prompting Lucius to fondly roll his eyes. “But I am not kidding about this. Let’s do it. Let’s get married.”

“Alright. We can start sending the invites and preparing for the wedding from next week and have it in another six months? I reckon that should be enough time to set everything up and—”

“Lucius,” Lyra cut in softly. “I want to get married now.”

“Now?” Lucius repeated, baffled. “As in, right now-now?”

“As in right now-now,” Lyra confirmed calmly, dimples on display as her enchanting eyes fixated on him.

“But, I thought you wanted to have a large wedding with a hundred-tire cake and five thousand of our closest friends and family.”

“I would like a big wedding but I want a good marriage more.” She grinned lopsidedly. “Marry me. Let’s spend our weeknights eating chocolate cake on the grass when there is a perfectly fine table inside a house that we share. We can pick wildflowers on our way to the lakes where we can create competitions to skip stones for fun. Marry me. We’ll stubbornly insist on painting the rooms ourselves with magic and get more paint on us than the walls. We can hold hands and go to parties where we end up ditching to drink firewhiskey out of the bottle in the solitude of a balcony. Marry me. And we can have pillow fights that will eventually evolve into slow dances in our bedroom with an unmade bed and apple-scented candles on the nightstand. Let me love you forever and evermore. Marry me.”

Lucius’ mouth dropped for a heartbeat. Then, a smile lit up his regal features. “Lyra Black, did you just propose to me?”

“Well, yes. It’s a little spontaneous, I’m afraid, so no ring.” Lyra’s eyes danced with mirth before an epiphany dawned. “Actually, wait!”

She shuffled about and picked up a cherry knot from the fruit platter. Then, she faced him, clearing her throat and thrusting the cherry knot forward. “Love?”

“Yes, life?”

“Will you pretty please with a cherry on top marry me?”

Lucius’ eyes glittered as he responded, “Yes, but only because you asked so nicely.”

Lyra laughed, proceeding to gently lay his hand on top of hers before looping the cherry knot around the ring finger of his left hand. The ring finger of a person’s left hand was special because it contained a vein that led directly to their heart. Lucius echoed her action, taking another cherry knot from the fruit platter and delicately knitting it around Lyra’s finger. For a second, they simply admired their intertwined hands, each bearing a cherry knot.

Then, Lyra giggled. “Does this mean I win then? The bet,” she clarified upon spotting Lucius’ confused expression. “The one we made at Bellatrix’s wedding about who proposes best.”

“Well, technically, I asked you to start a new adventure with me. So I proposed first.”

“Sure you did.” Lyra agreed in a voice that screamed that she didn’t. “But for formality's sake, let’s proclaim that I am the winner.”

“Sure you are.” Lucius accepted, the ring of sarcasm in his tone visible. Silence engulfed them. “Now what do we do?”

Faint dimples etched on Lyra's cheeks. “I did say to let’s get married right now, didn’t I?”

He thought that although it was she who was named after constellations, it was he who was made by the stars— how she shined so brightly in his dense night-like soul. Lucius broadly smiled. “Yes, yes you did.”

Fury radiated off Lady Melania of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black like heat from the setting sun outside. Her husband stood at an arm’s length distance behind her, a hand hovering over his wand holster and the incantation for a shield charm on the tip of his tongue.

Before Melania, below the archway of the entrance of the Planetarium, leaning against the doorframe with a dopey expression was her youngest granddaughter, Lyra Black.

“What do you mean you want to get married tonight?” Melania gritted out and Arcturus took another cautious step backwards. “Tonight, as in, in three hours?”

“Roughly, yes. I suppose sometime within the next ten hours would be lovely.”

“And you couldn’t have thought to give us a three-day notice?”

“Three-day notices are for murder, grandmother, not marriages.”

“What’s the difference?”

Lyra directed a deadpanning stare at her. “Murder, grandmother.”

“Darling,” Melania pinched the bridge of her nose. “When you told your grandfather that you would let him know in advance when you were getting married, I assumed there would be at least a month’s time.”

“Oops.”

“Besides,” Melania sniffed, crossing her arms over her chest. “Didn’t you tell your grandfather that Lady Malfoy was going to plan the wedding?”

“Oh, yes, you’re correct. Apologies, grandmother, and goodb—“

“But she’s never planned a wedding before,” cut in Melania, stopping Lyra from turning around. The younger girl had to swallow the overwhelming urge to smile as Melania resumed speaking: “And, well. You’ve seen their obsession with peacocks, haven’t you? There isn’t much taste in decor either. Surely stars are better.”

“They are,” agreed Lyra. “So you’ll do it?”

“Of course,” responded Melania, like she was offended that Lyra would think otherwise. “However, I would have appreciated you letting me know as soon as you decided to get married then informing me a few hours before the date you selected.”

Lyra blinked. “I did inform you as soon as I decided to get married,” she said slowly. “I floo’d here straight from Malaysia—after making sure Nivedita had our grandkids safe and secure, of course, they haven’t hatched yet but we’re expecting them too soon—while Lucius left to let his parents know. Don’t worry, grandmother,” added Lyra. “We want a very, very small wedding. So minuscule that it makes tiny look huge, compared to normal standards. Just our immediate—nothing beyond first cousins—family and not more than three of our closest friends.” After springing that news on her grandmother, Lyra beamed and proceeded to say, “Good luck, and thank you for agreeing to do this. I love you.”

When a vein made itself visible on Melania’s forehead, Arcturus placed a shield charm on his granddaughter who was behaving way too nonchalantly for her sanity to still be intact. Just in case.

After a session of reprimanding and congratulating Lyra on finally wanting to be married, Melania, Arcturus and Lyra apparated to Malfoy Manor, where Lucius, Belladonna and Abraxas awaited at the parlour. Melania wasted no time in shouting directions and orders. Belladonna joined her a moment later while Arcturus and Abraxas traded a grim, resigned look.

House-elves belonging to the Malfoys were directed on the variety of dishes they had to make while those belonging to the Blacks were split between helping with decor and baking a four-layered cake—to symbolise the number of years Lyra and Lucius had officially been together.

Arcturus was sent away to call in the seamstresses and tailors to quickly make and fit the bride and bridegroom into wedding clothes and Abraxas since he had the prettiest handwriting out of them, was tasked with penning down a simple invite letter, which was then duplicated into the amount required and owl’d to the recipients. For those at longer distances like Alphard, Arcturus floo-called him an invitation.

Meanwhile, Lyra and Lucius were sent to separate rooms, after being adoringly told that they didn’t have to worry about anything and had to focus on taking rest.

On the way to the guest room she had stayed at the previous times she had visited Malfoy Manor, Lyra made a quick stop at the library and picked up a book that instructed how to apply blood magic in healing. She would probably not be able to use that knowledge since blood magic happened to be a teensy bit illegal in Britain, but it was still good to know about such things.

The walls of her would-be dressing room were as white as the peacocks screeching outside while the carpets were a muted grey. In contrast, the finely crafted furniture was rich, dark and eye-catching. Abstract paintings in metallic shades occupied the walls. Lyra seated herself on an armchair beside the fireplace which overlooked the windows, allowing her a perfect view of her grandmother driving everyone else mad as she tried to convert the estate into wedding-worthy.

Lyra had never been more grateful for not volunteering to help plan her own wedding. Watching Molly and Bellatrix stress out had prepared her better.

No sooner had Lyra opened her book than the fireplace of her dressing room erupted into fire. The flames swirled into a whirlpool of crimson, saffron and gold before forming the shape of a head.

“Am I really invited?” Was the first thing Narcissa asked quietly. “I received an invitation to your wedding. My name was specifically mentioned so I ruled it out as being misdelivered or misaddressed. Is this a prank by Sirius or James?”

“It isn’t,” responded Lyra. “I really am getting married in a few hours. I’m already at Malfoy Manor, as you deduced.”

“And I’m really invited?” Narcissa sounded bewildered and hopeful at the same time. “Even after all the things I said to you?”

Lyra smiled, closing her book and setting it on her lap. “Of course, Cissa. You’re family. You’ll always be invited and I’d love for you to attend.”

Narcissa didn’t say anything for a long time. When she finally spoke, her voice was thick with the tears she held back. “I suppose it would be a bad thing if your matchmaker didn’t attend your wedding.”

“Well, technically, it was James and Sirius who put up the mistletoe and—“

“Shhh,” Narcissa placed a finger over her lips. “Let me have my moment.”

Lyra laughed, the tension in her shoulders melting like candle wax and her features softening. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” returned Narcissa, her face more gentle and loving than it had been for a while. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

Bellatrix was the next to floo-call Lyra, a fiery version of her head popping up in the fireplace.

“You’re actually getting married,” blurted out Bellatrix, voice tainted with disbelief. Embers flew from her mouth as she spoke.

“Well, I was engaged for quite some time. It was bound to happen sooner or later.”

“I thought you’d break off the engagement, buy an island and rule over it.”

“I thought so too—I had the blueprints for conquest and everything—but tragically, here I am.”

“If you’re being forced to marry Lucy, blink twice.”

Lyra blinked once and Bellaxtrix pouted.

“You’re actually getting married,” repeated Bellatrix and Lyra’s eyes twinkled like the stars above them.

“I’m actually getting married,” she confirmed. “Extremely soon as well—sometime in the next few hours, so come to Malfoy Manor as soon as you can. Molly’s here as well.”

Bellatrix pursed her lips. “If Andy and her mudblood are coming, I’m not.”

“They won’t come. Even if they want to, I won’t let them.”

Bellatrix faintly smiled. “Grandmother Irma won’t like it.”

“Then she doesn’t have to attend as well,” Lyra stated simply like it was the most obvious solution in the world. “This is my wedding. What I say goes. And I’m choosing you over everyone else.”

Irma did show up at the Malfoy estate, her face as vacant as it usually was. She expressed no disapproval over Andromeda and Ted being the only ones in the immediate family who were not invited and instead, volunteered to find them a respected priest who would be willing to officiate the wedding on such short notice.

Pollux, who had also become close with his granddaughter and her husband, had also followed Irma’s lead. After the massive confrontation that occurred during Yule, they would be fools to expect Lyra to hold pleasant feelings about Andromeda still.

Narcissa had been rude and blamed Lyra for her misfortunes as well. However, Lyra hadn’t helped Narcissa. Lyra hadn’t gotten herself involved with Narcissa’s troubles and aided in relief. But for Andromeda, Lyra had tried her best to solve Andromeda’s problem in a way that would still allow her to stay in the family. She had even given her cousin the key to enter her estate should things go sour. For Andromeda’s happiness with her mudblood, Lyra had been willing to do everything within her power.

Apparently, Andromeda didn’t see it that way and that hurt Lyra more than Narcissa’s spiteful words ever could.

Within the next five minutes, Narcissa had arrived, her timing coinciding with that of the seamstresses and tailors’. After Lyra’s measurements had been taken, Narcissa helped her choose the fabric and the cut, walking out of the room with the seamstresses and tailors delivering detailed instructions on everything. Lyra watched her go with a smile.

She spun around, intending to return to reading the book when a knock sounded on her door. “Who is it?” She called out.

“Your fiancée,” came her response. “Am I allowed to come in or is talk about the wedding dress still occurring?”

“It just wrapped up, don’t worry. You can come in now—just don’t tell your mum.”

“That’s obvious, I don’t have a death wish.” Lucius snorted on the other side of the door and pulled the door open enough to peek in and grin, almost child-like. “Hello,” he said and threw the door open wider. “Look who’s here.”

Orion dashed into the dressing room, enveloping Lyra into a hug. “Oh! I can’t believe you’re both getting married!” Orion gushed as he withdrew before his eyebrows meeting in concern. “He does know that he’s getting married, doesn’t he, Lyra?”

“He does, father.”

“Good, good.” Orion re-focused on the couple, beaming. “Oh Morgana, I can’t believe you both grow up so much that you’re getting married! It seems like it was just yesterday that Lyra was—“

“Father,” Lyra interrupted, eyes widening. “I don’t know what you’re going to say but please don’t say it.”

Orion pouted. “But—“

“Please?”

“It isn’t that bad, Lyra.”

“Still no.”

“But why not?”

“Yes, Lyra, why not?” Lucius asked, stepping over to stand beside Orion. The grin he sported on his face prompted Lyra’s gaze to narrow. “I mean, you know about my Egyptian phase and my maroon crayon story and Circe only knows what my mother told you, so why can’t I hear a story from my beloved’s lovely childhood?”

“Do you want me to become a widow before we even get married?”

Orion stepped forward and shielded Lucius from Lyra’s view. “Hey! Don’t kill Lucius before he wins the ‘Historian of the Year’ award.”

“Which I’ll win soon,” chimed Lucius, peaking over Orion’s shoulder.

“Which he’ll get nominated for in a few years,” added Orion before tossing an apologetic look at Lucius. “Sorry, Lucius, but we’ve got to be realistic.”

Lucius inclined his head in acknowledgement.

Orion swivelled back to Lyra who didn’t seem keen on her future husband suddenly being best mates with her father. “I’m going to say this slowly so you understand what I’m saying clearly: I love Lucius. So don't hurt him.”

“Not even a little stab?”

“Not even a little stab.”

Lyra pouted, struggling to contain a smile as she recalled the conversation she had with her father when she initially confessed she fancied Lucius.

She sighed dramatically. “Alright, fine. I won’t hurt him. Like, unless he’s into that?” She looked at Lucius pointedly and questioningly.

Orion’s features contoured into a grimace and he shook his head. “No. Oh no. No no. Na-uh. No talking about that in front of me.”

“But father, I thought you—“

“I have stories to share of yours, Lyra,” Orion cut in before she could finish. “Loads of stories. Some stored in pensive. I am not afraid to share.”

Lyra’s jaw clenched. “Neither am I. I also have stories, father. Loads of stories of Lucius and me together. I can store them in a pensive also.”

Orion paled despite trying hard not to. “Oh no, Lyra, that’s not how this works. You can’t blackmail someone who is trying to blackmail you.”

“I wonder what I just did then.”

“Traumatise your poor father, that’s what.”

“Father,” Lyra looked him up and down, lingering on his custom-made gold watch and perfectly tailored acromantula silk robes, “you are definitely not poor.”

Orion t’sked. “Metaphorically, darling.”

“Literal is superior, father.”

“Not in metaphorical circumstances.”

“But what does count as a metaphorical circumstance?”

“This situation.”

“And how can you define it as a metaphorical circumstance?”

“Because it is,” came Orion’s wise, philosophical answer.

“Um, I’ll just go now,” said Lucius awkwardly, moving towards the door. “Somebody has to check whether my mother has been killed by your grandmother due to an argument over the decor, after all.”

“Yes, yes, love you,” said Lyra dismissively before scoffing and folding her arms over her chest. “That’s not how defining things work, father.”

Orion gave Lucius a quick farewell smile before answering his daughter. “Well, if blackmailing can’t work like blackmailing, then why can’t defining not work as defining?”

“Those are two entirely different matters and you know it.”

“Do I?”

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you—“

Lucius exited the room and shut the door behind him, a smile present on the curvature of his lips as he left, happy that Lyra was once again comfortable and bonding with a cherished member of her family.

On the orders of Lady Melania, Narcissa, Lucretia, and Cassandra barged into Lyra’s dressing room to assist her to get ready for her grand day, tossing out Orion, who soon received a command from his mother to assist with the decor.

The three women fussed over the dress, argued over potential hairstyles and loudly proclaimed their disagreements over pieces of jewellery as Lyra did her make-up. After she had finished applying the final touches, she gave the three women a look, one which she had inherited from her paternal grandmother, and suddenly, order emerged victorious and the companionship became harmonious as Narcissa styled her hair, Lucretia helped her get into her dress and heels, and Cassandra did Lyra’s nails, painting on a silvery blue colour that had been glittered.

When she only needed to put on the jewellery, Melania summoned the three women to replace Orion and Walburga, calling in Dennis and Theodore as well so the bride and groom could have some alone-time with their parents.

By the time Walburga and Orion had entered their daughter’s dress room, Lyra had completed accessorising.

“So,” Lyra twirled around, the curvature of her lips blossomed into a breathtaking smile. “What do you think?”

The shape of her eyes had been traced with liner and her lips dipped in red. A rose-coloured blush had been painted on her cheeks while silver, shimmering highlighter had been smeared on her cheekbones.

Strips of her dark hair near her temples had been plaited till the back of her head and secured with pearled bobby pins like a crown while the rest of her hair had been tied into a knot at the nape of her neck, held together by an elegant, silver floral-vine hair-clip a few inches long.

With off-shoulder sleeves hanging off the top of her arms and a sweetheart neckline, the simple grace the corset excluded contrasted the utter magnificence of the skirt.

Below the silver belt studded with diamonds at her waist, the skirt flared out around her in layers of tulle and lace, intricately detailed in floral motifs and glitter.

Combined with her trademark diamond heels, the charm bracelet she had received for her birthday from her father and long, diamond-stud earrings, Lyra looked like an enchanting vision in white.

Walburga passed tissues to Orion who accepted them without a word.

Lyra’s smile dropped. “Dad, are you crying?”

“I’m not crying,” said Orion, definitely crying and sniffing. “I just, um, have dragon pox. That’s why I’m sniffing so much.”

Lyra stiffened at his statement.

“Your father is joking, darling,” Walburga rushed to assure, noticing the change in her disposition. Elbowing Orion hardly, she whispered heatedly, “You really thought it was alright to joke to our healer daughter about having dragon pox? Especially when she probably loses so many patients to it?”

“It’s not my best excuse,” admitted Orion and clarified to Lyra, “I’m sorry, Lyra, I didn’t realise. I was only japing. I do not have dragon pox.”

“Yes, yes, I knew that,” said Lyra, smilingly tightly.

“So,” Orion cleared his throat, “peacocks, huh?”

“Technically, there’s a star called Pavo representing a peacock, so I’m not going too far.”

“No, you’re not,” agreed Walburga. “If you ever feel like you are, just look up. We’re all there in the night sky. We’ll guide you when you’re lost—“

“And judge you if you do anything under the stars that are not appropriate for a three-year-old,” interjected Orion, narrowing his eyes on his daughter, who winked at him.

Lyra laughed and hugged her parents, even as a voice that sounded suspiciously like Narcissa berated her in her mind for allowing her dress to be wrinkled. “I love you mum, dad.”

“We love you too.” Walburga kissed her daughter’s cheek and Orion smiled at her in a warmness he had never shown before.

It was because of that kiss and that warmth, Lyra decided to forgo the traditional route of carrying a bouquet and instead, looped her arms around both of her parents’—her father at her right and mother at her left.

They stood like that for a while, reminiscing and laughing and sharing memories and exchanging promises until Bellatrix swung the door open and peeked her head in, her wild curls shadowing half of the wicked grin that danced on her lips. “They’re ready for you, Miss Perfect.”

“About to be Mrs, actually.”

“But not yet. Come on.”

Walburga, Orion and Lyra’s steps were slow and purposeful, perfectly synchronised so they wouldn’t fall. They stopped before a glass wall that displayed a perfect view of the scene outside. The sky was a water painting of deep and pale blues with splatters of white dots, streaks of shell pink and hues of orange spreading.

Lyra’s eyes immediately landed on Lucius, standing below the steps of an altar that had been engraved with designs and dressed with arrangements of flowers. White peacocks lounged lazily on the yard behind him while the rising sun cast an incandescent glow around him, making his gelled platinum hair appear white. Around his head was a gold circlet resembling oak leaves. He looked dashing in dark robes, tailored to fit him perfectly and embellished with intricate gold accents and designs. His parents stood at a distance near him, their outfits matching his with no less extravagance.

Lyra's heart thrummed in her chest.

Leading to him was a white strip of cloth that covered the green. Petals of red and white roses had been sprinkled over it like glitter, transporting her to a scene from a fairytale—the ones that ended with the words, and they lived happily ever after.

Candles guarded each side of the aisle, brightening the path she was to take. Behind it were rows and columns of pale chairs, tied with white satin. Standing before them were all the people she found important. They smiled at her.

She smiled back and tightened her hold on the arms of her parents.

Orion leaned towards her, his voice an octave above a whisper, "You know, it's not too late to--"

"No, father."

"I felt quite nervous on my wedding day," admitted Walburga and looked at Lyra with a softness she hadn't expected her mother to possess. "And I just wanted you to know that I still have the plans I created to run away."

"Mother, no."

"Wait, you were going to run away?" Orion asked at the same time, bewildered. "Why?"

Walburga shrugged. "My father suggested it. Said if I didn't want to marry you, he could have my death faked and a new identity granted within the hour."

Surprise painted Orion's features. "I didn't know Uncle Pollux was like that."

"Because you know him as an uncle or your in-law. I know him as a father," said Walburga, returning her attention to Lyra. "And I'll tell you what my mother told me before I walked down the aisle: Not even the most efficient poison-detecting rings can warn the wearer about potato leaves if they are blended into a nice soup. It's guaranteed respiratory failure."

Orion paled a shade but Lyra planted a kiss on her mother's cheek. "I love you, mum."

"I love you too, Lyra," responded Walburga. "And remember: you only need to submit that blasted three-day notice when you need your grandfather to hide bodies. Your mum and dad will do it and more within a second for you."

"Yes, yes we will," replied Orion, although colour hadn't returned to his face yet. "Are you ready to do this?"

Lyra nodded, the slightest dip of her chin. "I think so."

"Then let's go," said Walburga.

Bellatrix opened the glass door and together, the three of them pushed walked forward, gentle music accompanying their steps.

Heads turned towards her. Lucius’ lips parted, his eyes showed awe. Faint moonlight bathed Lyra’s skin while the fading stars paid witness to her racing heart as her parents released their hold on her.

Lucius smiled like he could read her nerves like a letter and outstretched his hand. Lyra accepted it, knitting their fingers together.

Then, the young couple climbed the short steps up the altar and knelt. A single horse-shoe guarded by two bells hung overhead, warding off evil and promising fortune and fertility. Bluebells floated the air, providing light to areas the sun hadn’t yet.

Their friends and family circled them while the priest, dressed in plain grey, invoked the Spirits and the Goddesses—Hecate and Trivia along with the sorceress Circe—to look after the couple and help them lead a happy, respectable life.

When the priest gestured for the parents of Lyra and Lucius to invite the four elements to bless their union, Orion headed to the north of the altar and lit a candle, requesting fire. Walburga steered towards the east and placed a wooden bowl of water, summoning water. Abraxas stuck an incense stick at the south, provoking air; while at the west, Belladonna removed her gold necklace and laid it down, calling forth earth.

Then, Orion and Abraxas approached the still kneeling couple and lifted their respective child to their feet, passing a smile at them. Walburga and Belladonna arrived next and used a naturally woven fibre to tie Lyra and Lucius’ hands together.

As the priest sang hymns and promises of eternal love, trust, fellowship, faith and devotion; Lyra and Lucius traded a grin, twisting and shaking their hands to let the binding slip off while simultaneously keeping the knot intact to symbolise that they would henceforth be bound together in marriage.

Their family and friends cheered when the fibre fell to the ground but Lucius and Lyra’s fingers were still linked, only separated when their fathers transferred them a gold ring each, the bands of which had been queued with diamonds, before returning to their stance in the circle.

The sun had taken its station in the clouds and the stars had cleared away. Birds chirped on trees and Molly’s younger son whispered to his brother that he was hungry, only to be shushed by all the adults present.

It was then the priest spoke. “I’ll now narrate the traditional vows,” he explained, standing between the couple. “Both of you, please repeat after me and exchange the rings as you finish. Then, of course, you can add on your own words, if you’d like to and then we’ll seal the ceremony. We’ll start with Miss Black.”

“Heiress Black,” chimed Orion, his voice suspiciously wet even if his eyes were hard. “She’s still a Black. She’s not married yet.”

In a few minutes, Lyra would be in the line of succession of the Malfoy household instead. If she pulled a Zabini and her husband died under mysterious, unfortunate circumstances that left her a grieving widow, she would continue to be the Heiress of the Malfoy estate, and if her in-laws passed away in equally mysterious, unfortunate circumstances, she would gain a spot in the Wizengamot and become Lady Malfoy.

However, nobody had the courage to tell Orion that Lyra wouldn’t be a Black any longer—thus, removing her from the line of succession of the House of Black, especially since she was wedding the Heir to the House of Malfoy unless she chose to back out now or terminate her marriage when Lucius was still alive later—when under the scrutiny of his stormy glare.

So, the priest made a hasty dip of his head. “Right, apologies. Heiress Black, is it alright if we start with you?”

“Of course,” responded Lyra.

The priest cleared his throat, proceeding to speak and Lyra dutifully repeated after him. “I take you in my heart at the rising of the moon and the setting of the stars to love and to honour through all that may come, through all our lives together. In all our lives, may we be reborn, that we may meet and know and love again and remember.”

Lyra slid the ring she had been given into the ring finger of his left hand, the one where a vein directly led to the heart.

The priest smiled and said, “Wonderful, thank you, Heiress Black. Now, er—is he an Heir as well? He is? Okay—Heir Malfoy. Go ahead.”

Lucius repeated the vows, slipped the ring to Lyra’s finger before planting a kiss onto her knuckles, making Lyra smile so widely her cheekbones began to hurt.

“Wonderful,” said the priest. “Now, if the two of you’d fancy saying anything to each other, please do so. This will be the last conversation you exchange as fiancés.”

“I’ll go first,” Lyra volunteered, clearing his throat and staring into his eyes. With each word that left her mouth, her dimples deepened. “Despite what some people tend to think, I am not very good at a lot of things. I cannot paint you pictures because the beautiful things in my head cannot be translated, nor can I sing to you as my voice has an uncanny habit of falling flat. I cannot play for you either as my fingers fumble when my thoughts cross over to how you look, watching me. But I can make you laugh when you are having a bad day. I can listen to you rant, rave or vent. I can watch your back in duels and I can recite the brands of your favourite hair gels. I’m not good at many things but I believe I can be good to you. And—well, I’d choose you. In a hundred different lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality, I’d find and choose you. I’d choose to be beside you. Even when I’m dead, I’ll swim through the Earth like a mermaid of the soil just to be next to your bones.” She paused, adding as an afterthought, “Plus, you happen to be the most adorable person I’ve met.”

Lucius laughed at her addition, the corners of his lips tugging upwards as he gazed into her eyes. “Lyra, I was drawn to you from the day we met. Your warm and inviting eyes and your magnetic, dimpled smile softened my tough façade immediately. I remember wanting to have, and sometimes make, reasons to talk to you. To see you beam that amazing smile back at me, immediately putting me at ease and brightening my day. I love that we started as friends. That is my favourite part. You truly saw me. You understand me, accept me, in a way no one else has, in a way that I believe no one else can. You are my best friend. I'm so grateful for our special brand of weirdness. To me, it means more than just being silly. It signifies a special, profound, unfettered love for each other. It's loving each other at our most intimate, vulnerable times. It colours our tapestry with yet unnamed, exotic colours, known only to the two of us.”

Lucius stopped to catch his breath before continuing, “I’m trying to be poetic in the way that I love you, but it is so passionate and so great I cannot string enough words together in any manner that makes sense. I just love you. I’ll love you forever and even after that and even after that. Let me love you till forever fades into a memory. Let me love you until the stars come crashing down and all that’s left is my hand in yours. This is a promise.”

“That was beautiful,” intoned the priest and Lucius could register cooing sounds and tears being shed across the altar. Through an exquisite feat of windless magic, the priest summoned a golden goblet with two finely-wrought handles, courtesy of Bellatrix, who had insisted before the ceremony for this cup to be used for the Invocation ceremony, claiming something along the lines of nothing short of a founder’s possession to be worthy of her beloved cousin.

Had Lyra not been so caught up in the bliss of getting married, she might have recognised that cup as the one she had theorised years ago to belong to Helga Hufflepuff. But since she was, she beamed brightly to Bellatrix when told that it was a Lestrange family heirloom, one old as time and more precious than gold.

The goblet had been filled to the brim with mead, in recognition and to seek the benediction of Lord Dionysus, the Greek god of wine and faithful marriage.

Lyra took a sip first, and then Lucius, after which the priest proclaimed, “With the power of magic, I now pronounce Lyra and Lucius as wife and husband, joined through love and trust. May you both remain healthy and happy for the rest of your days. You may now start your new life together with a kiss, hug or any sign of affection in thanks to Lady Aphrodite—for out of the millions of people alive, the two of your hearts resonated.”

People in books were always comparing the ones they loved to the moon or the stars like love was some kind of metaphor. Lucius did as well but he had never grasped the reason why but now, at that altar, standing in front of Lyra, he understood. When you’re truly, madly in love, you can’t believe that the person standing across from you is actually from the simple earth. But to him, personally, Lyra wasn’t just the stars or the moon. She was his whole night sky.

He leaned in so carefully.

Lyra was breathing and not breathing and their hearts were beating in a synchronised symphony and he was so close. They were so close to sealing an everlasting promise and she couldn’t feel her fingers anymore. She couldn’t feel the warm spring breeze that was caressing her hair or hear the shuffling of sounds in the room or her father choking back soft, soft sobs.

All she could concentrate on was him and that was enough. Their lips were nearly touching, lingering in the wind.

“I love you, husband,” she whispered into the minute space of air between them and Lucius thought that her voice was far sweeter-sounding than the lyre, far more golden than gold and brighter than stars.

“I love you, wife,” Lucius whispered back.

Her mother had once told her that the eyes were the window to the soul and Lucius’ were such a light blue, nearly silver. Somewhere in the time they spent together, it had become her favourite colour and a marvellous kind of high coursed through her veins whenever she gazed at them, just as it did at that moment, in the rhythm between their heartbeats.

Lyra’s dimples deepened and she placed her hands on his cheek. She tilted her head, he did the same. Then, she closed her eyes and ever so delicately connected her lips with his as his arms wrapped around her waist.

The sun was a star. The moon only glows when it is kissed by the sun and Lucius felt like a light had enveloped him as he kissed Lyra. Her lips were softer than anything he’d ever known, soft like a first snowfall, like biting into cotton candy, like melting and floating and being weightless in water and he wished that the moment could be caught in a loop.

The distinct noise of claps forced them to slowly break apart. He caught her ever-amused eyes and reflected her smile. They were boyfriend-girlfriend, fiancé-fiancée no longer. They were husband and wife now and on their next great adventure together.

They were Lucius and Lyra Malfoy.