April 1979

I'll be the ticket if you're my collector
I've got your fare if you're my inspector
I'll be the luggage, if you'll be the porter
I'll be the parcel if you'll be the sorter

Just for you, here's a love song
Just for you, here's a love song
And it makes me glad to say
It's been a lovely day and it's okay

It was raining as they came out of the registry office, and they ran, all eight of them, wands lifted in Imperius to shield their hair.

"Wait, wait!" called Celia, and they all stopped, "Photos, we need photos!"

Lily laughed, and it whistled through the raindrops (and James beamed because she was his wife, and he was her husband and they might be teenagers in a war, but Merlin, did he love her).

"Sirius, Sirius," Celia shouted over to the best man, "Go back into the doorway! We don't want rain in the picture!"

Sirius stubbed out his cigarette and swaggered over, his navy blue, second hand suit still completely dry.

"Link arms with me, darling," the bride grinned at him, "I want a picture with my boys."

"Take the picture quick, Cee!" James roared over the wind, "We've only got a table at the pub for an hour!"

"An hour?" Mary groaned from underneath the tree that grew on the corner between the office and Diagon Alley, "That's not nearly enough time to get drunk!"

"You'd be surprised," Marlene remarked dryly, and Peter handed Celia the camera.

"Smile!"

The wind howled, and it blew Lily's hair every which way, and she worried that her skirt would blow up (it went down to her knees, and was white lace, and had belonged to Mary's sister in the 60s) but she had married James not ten minutes ago, and Remus and Peter were pulling faces at her from across the street, and she was arm in arm with her two best friends in the whole wide world, and God, she was happy.

Celia took the photo, and the wedding party cheered.

The radio was playing a shitty Celestina Warbeck song, but none of them particularly cared. Tom said that drinks were on the house, and they were toasting everyone, from James and Lily, to Petunia and Vernon ("may they be miserable together forever!") to Dumbledore and Moody and most especially, to themselves.

"Oh, come on now," Mary said after the ninth toast, "Let's not toast anything more; we'll be toasting He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and then we'll get chucked out."

"We're getting chucked out in a minute anyway, Mac," Marlene downed her pint, "Might as well go out with a bang!"

"Hear hear," Sirius called, "And now I've got your attention…"

He stood, and the small crowd groaned loudly.

"Not a speech!" Celia moaned, "I hate speeches!"

"Good job it's not your wedding then, Mitch, isn't it?" The best man cleared his throat, and Peter coughed "wanker."

"Oi! Enough of that, please. Now. As I'm sure you're all aware, the journey to this moment has been long and painful-"

"You're telling me!" James interrupted, and Lily laughed.

"Shut up- and I have, on several occasions, been convinced that this was nothing but a pipe dream of James', that Lily would never, ever agree to only ever shag him for the rest of her life- oi, that's what marriage is you tosser- and yet, here we are. I'm a man of actions, not words, so I'll keep this short; Lily. We've had our ups and downs, and spent a good deal of time mutually disliking each other, but…well…if Prongs is only ever going to fuck one person from now until the day he dies, I'm glad it's you."

He raised his glass to her, and she raised hers back.

"Thank you, darling," she smiled, tears of happiness glazing her green eyes.

"And now to the groom," they beamed at each other, "Listen, mate- I tried to write a really detailed paragraph about how much you mean to me and the history of our- the Marauders- friendship, but…shit, man, all I really want to say is this; we're a family now, yeah, now and forever?"

James nodded, and Sirius finished his drink, blinking rapidly.

"Now and forever," echoed the party solemnly, and the rain smacked the pub's window panes like punches in a dark alley.