For the Climate Control Challenge on the Ministry of Magic Discord.
On Cedrella's wedding day, it rains. In fact, it pours. Each drop hammers into the roof above, the deafening sound echoing throughout the hall. The guests—mostly members of the groom's family—scurry through the grounds, the men clutching their lapels across their chests and the ladies hopping over puddles in their heels. But even as some clever folk make creative use of their magic, there is no safety from the storm raging around them. And as they step into the building, each person is well and truly soaked.
Cedrella watches from above, looking down on the scurrying crowd. Her family, she supposes, would say it's a sign. The rain against the window is a warning that even the universe disapproves of the match she's chosen for herself. The torrential downpour—one that cannot be swayed even by magic—soaking her guests is their punishment for supporting the couple.
"Stop that."
Cedrella starts. Then, seeing Septimus hovering in the doorway, she smiles. "Stop what?"
"Thinking."
"I'm not thinking."
"You are." His grin widens as she begins to pout. "You're thinking about the rain and how—"
"All right," Cedrella interrupts, relenting. "I was thinking."
Septimus strides across the room, immediately sweeping his arms around her and holding her close to him. And as her chin finds its home in the crook of Septimus' shoulder, Cedrella's eyes flutter closed. The sound of rain lashing down slowly fades into the background. All she can hear is her breath—in and out, in and out—falling into the rhythm of Septimus' heartbeat.
"I'm sorry your sisters won't be here," Septimus says quietly. "I know you miss them. And your parents, I suppose. I mean, I never really liked them, but I know they're important to—"
"Septimus."
"Yes?"
"Stop that."
He shudders, laughing into her hair. "Stop what?"
"Thinking," she says, smiling. "Let's both stop thinking."