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He shivered as a shaft of late afternoon sun, tinted blue by the stained glass, touched the black silken wool of his dress robes. Averting his eyes from the glares of the saints and martyrs encased in the windows, he slipped into the back row of pews and settled onto the unpadded ancient oak. He didn't need any St. George or Andrew or David telling him what he already knew. He wasn't supposed to be here. Didn't have the golden ticket for entrance disguised as the ivory card stock and black ink calligraphied invitation.
Shifting slightly so the light wouldn't touch any part of his person, he tried to ignore the swell of discomfort knotting in his stomach. Leave it to the bride and groom to combine both muggle and magical in the ceremony binding them for eternity. Though why they chose Hogwarts' chapel over the Great Hall or some romantic spot by the lake was beyond him. He might blame the choice on her parents but he knew their faith lay in pearly white teeth and pink gums. Bloody hell! Could the rumors of some kind of conversion on the part of the groom following Vol...the Dark...He Who He Still Could Not Name's final destruction be more than the load of bollocks he thought they were? Merlin knew the bride would do anything for this man who captured her heart sometime in the two years since the final battle.
Anger surged and he curled his fingers into tight fists. He wasn't here to make a scene or try to stop this marriage. Why should he? They'd all made their choices...regretted or not. He merely wanted to see the mysterious attraction his friends and family seemed to think had always existed between the Gryffindor princess and the unsung hero. Perhaps then he could understand why. Why that git was lucky enough to gain her love and he wasn't.
Damn it all! I loved her first.
With an almost physical shove, he moved the thought deeper into his mind. He couldn't risk it lingering too near the surface. Combined with his temper, such things could easily break his resolve to not only remain unseen but unheard.
Deciding the best defense was distraction, he focused on a visual exploration of the one building he'd avoided entering during his time at Hogwarts. Aside from the stained glass windows depicting what had to be New Testament scenes if the snatches of conversation he overheard from some guests seated near him were to be believed, there were other things that separated this place from the inside of the castle. Instead of the gray stone, the walls were dark ornately carved wood panels, polished and gleaming like mirrors in the combined light of sunset and the thousand flickering candles lining the white marble high altar and placed in scones and candelabras around the sanctuary. It was peace in the flesh. Or would have been if he were comfortable with traditional religions.
While he was no expert on 10th century architecture...or anything else for that matter, he would have a hard time believing it could have been more impressive if he'd have seen it in its pre-war state. McGonagall and the others had certainly done an outstanding job on its renovations.
Of course they did. After all, it was what the groom wanted. And whatever the git wanted, he got. His bride was proof of that.
It was a struggle to remove the sneer and an absolute brawl to swallow the bitter bile of anger this time. Yet he managed. And by Merlin he would continue to manage. Just like he had since the day she told him...
His eyes burned when he closed his lids over them. He didn't want to remember. Remembering made this more real. His tentative hold on his emotions wouldn't withstand the onslaught. Not today. Clenching his fists until his fingernails threatened to permanently fuse to his palms, he breathed in slowly. In the nose, out the mouth in silent puffs until his lungs tingled with the mingled scent of Parisian colognes and flowers.
Slowly, he opened his eyes again and searched for something else to divert his attention. The decorations, perhaps. Green, silver, red and gold banners hung from the rafters and swayed gently as if touched by a breeze. Ribbons in the same colors curled around the bases of the candlesticks, graced the ends of the pews in billowing bows and tethered the bunches of amaranth and asters scattered around the chapel. He frowned and studied the arrangements along the chancel rail. Lily of the Valley, delphinium, gorse, blooms and greenery he didn't recognize but if he were one to wager would bet they carried the same meanings. Returning happiness. The ability to transcend the bonds of time and space. Love in all seasons. All the things she should have had with him, damn it.
Bloody hell. He couldn't do this. He couldn't be here. He shouldn't be here. He would only cause a scene and ruin any chance of salvaging the friendship they once had. He had to go. Now.
He was almost on his feet when the organ's pipes swelled with Pachelbel's Canon. The one he knew she'd wanted played on her wedding day since she was a little girl dreaming of Cinderella's marriage to the prince. They'd talked about it one time. In a field tossed tent while Harry Potter hunted Horcruxes and the future seemed closer than any of them ever thought possible. And he knew she was already lost to him. Her head already consumed by the man in finely tailored dress robes making his way with his best man and groomsmen to the altar.
I loved her first. Dear Merlin, I loved her first. So why is that git...
The notes seemed to form a hand as they moved closer to him and gently pushed him back onto the pew. For the chance to answer why he'd stay. Stay seated. Stay quiet. Stay in his place. The place he wasn't supposed to be.
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