Author's Note : Super, special thanks to Thalia, without whom, this entire work would not be possible. I owe her a lot, and I just want to make it known that though the pairing mentioned in this story might still have existed, it would be nothing interesting without her. All thanks go to her, and a special nod should be given to her characterizations of Cassius Warrington and Kirsten Bundy as well as her help and input in using the character of Seamus Finnigan.
Disclaimer : I am poor and own nothing. All characters, situations, places, etc. therein belong to J. K. Rowling unless otherwise noted. No copyright is being infringed and no money is being made. Etc. Etc. Etc.
I'd never thought that I'd be maid of honour for a Slytherin girl's wedding. But then, I'd never thought that I would be friends with Emma, either.
But I've learnt from her. It seems so long ago... when I found her roaming about the Quidditch pitch at Hogwarts.
I arrange the bouquet of lilies, and hand it to her. She looks beautiful... absolutely lovely. Seamus is probably going to stop breathing for a few moments. Let's hope that he doesn't faint or turn blue.
But it's not just her features, or her dress, or her carefully brushed hair. This isn't even a huge, complicated wedding. But it's the look in her eyes, the look of anticipation. She's fought for this. She's bled for this. This is all that she wants.
And I know that Seamus feels the same way.
She's wearing an old charm bracelet on one wrist, that Seamus gave her so long ago. Something old. And then there's the freshest of snow-white lilies in her hair. Something new. The earrings she's wearing are rather incongruous with the dainty, ethereal dress... they're gold. Tiny snitches, in fact. They're mine, actually. Something borrowed.
She smiles, and the sapphire on her engagement ring sparkles on her finger. Something blue.
"Are you ready to go, then?"
I wait while she takes a deep breath before she can answer my question. She looks calm and happy, and yet nervous at the same time, like she doesn't want anything to wrong...and not for herself either, but for him. I tell her she looks beautiful and radiant for probably the hundredth time that day, but she thanks me politely, as always, before grabbing me into one last hug.
Praying that she doesn't start crying, I put my arms around her and give her words of encouragement, patting her on the back gently. Finally, she pulls away and smiles. Her expression finally answers my question.
Yes, she is ready.
