For Ash
"Your father thinks I'm mad
If truth be known, I think he'd be not glad
If, dear Ophelia, we were to wed."
-"Dear Ophelia"- Abney Park
Ambrosius looks a bit too smug, in spite of the sadness in his eyes. "I told you so," he says.
Alastor scowls. Of course Ambrosius had been right. However lax their families might be, they still hold tight to certain traditions. Alastor had been a fool for thinking Mr Flume would allow him to marry his son.
Ambrosius takes Alastor's hand, giving it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. "Now what?" he asks, looking to Alastor for answers as he always does, as though Alastor somehow knows everything.
"I have no idea," Alastor admits with a defeated sigh.
"Alastor Moody, giving up?" Ambrosius muses. "Let me mark my calendar."
Alastor doesn't laugh. He had hoped against hope that they could somehow make it, that their families would be okay- maybe even happy- with their relationship. Now, it's crumbling before his eyes, and there's nothing left to hold on to.
"Hey," Ambrosius says, kissing his cheek. "We can't get married. But that doesn't mean we have to stop."
Alastor gives an almost smile. It's such a small, fleeting flicker of hope, but he'll take it.