October 2009
Wizarding Brooklyn, New York
Saturday Afternoon
Lyra fidgeted nervously in front of the long mirror in her old bedroom at her parent's house. She vacantly fingered her wrist in search of her transfiguration bracelet. Stop it, Black, she told herself.
She wasn't afraid of getting married. She was just afraid of falling on her face in front of the photographer.
She was startled from her worry by the sound of the door opening behind her.
"Oh honey, you look perfect."
Lyra smiled and turned to face her mother who looked sweet in a red wrap and purple earrings.
"You look pretty, momma," Lyra answered. "Where's dad?" She asked.
"He's going to meet us there," Mrs. Black replied, adjusting a small flower in Lyra's hair. "Ready?"
Lyra turned back and took a cursory glance at herself in the mirror. "Well, I guess I'll just have to do."
October 2009
Wizarding Brooklyn, New York
Saturday Afternoon
"Come in," Draco said absentmindedly as he adjusted his collar in the dingy mirror of the proprietor's office above the bar where he was about to be married.
No, you read that correctly. Draco Malfoy, old of name and pure of blood, was about to marry his woman in a bloody pub.
They'd decided to have two ceremonies. Lyra wanted something quiet and simple but she didn't want to deny Narcissa the thrill and spectacle of a high society wedding, especially now that the Malfoys were en vogue again. They settled on having a private ceremony in New York and a big production in England.
"She's on her way," Alastair Black's rich voice came from behind him.
"She taking the floo?" Draco inquired.
"She wanted to walk," the older wizard replied.
Draco quirked his mouth in amusement. "Of course she did."
Lyra's father made a noise of agreement and walked up behind Draco so the younger man could see him in the mirror while he adjusted his outfit. He could tell that Draco was uncomfortable wearing something so informal for a wedding. Two years ago, he would have found the man's snobbery useless and insufferable, but now, he felt differently. This kid loved his daughter. She'd been in a pretty rough spot when she got out of prison. Scared, erratic, withdrawn. Draco had carried her through the worst and, maybe most importantly in his eyes, didn't hold her back when she felt well enough to put herself back out there in her career and friendships.
"Do you remember when we met, I said to you that I didn't care if you fucked this up?" Alastair asked.
Draco snorted. "It...rings a bell, yeah."
Lyra's father cleared his throat awkwardly. "Well, I changed my mind. I do care if you fuck it up and would prefer if you didn't."
Draco frowned and turned to face him. "Mr. Black, I hope I've made it clear that I wouldn't do anything..."
The older wizard shook his head and cut him off. "That came out wrong. I don't want you to fuck it up because I want you to stick around. You're a good kid and you love my daughter. More than that, you put yourself out there and help her get through the hard stuff. You make yourself uncomfortable for her, you try. That's priceless. Keep it up and you'll have yourself a hell of a good marriage. I want that for Lyra and I want that for you too."
Draco stared at the man dumbfounded. He didn't know what to say. He couldn't remember a moment in his life where a father figure had ever said anything like that to him. He furrowed his brow.
Alastair reached into his pocket and pulled out a little box. He opened it and extended it to Draco. Inside was a set of silver cufflinks. They were round discs stamped with elegant star shapes.
"My great-grandfather gave these to my grandfather on his wedding day. He was the first Black to come to America and he spent most of his time working odd jobs and scrapping for change. The rumor is that he saved half a year's wages to buy these for his son. That's more than love, it's sacrifice and it's a good reminder to have on your sleeve the day you start a new family. My grandfather wore them, my father wore them, I wore them, and I ask that my sons wear them as well," he explained, handing them to Draco.
Draco stared down at them. Back when he was an idiot, he would have thought them plain. Now, he knew better. They represented generations of men who had worked hard to make life better for the people that they loved. He thought that was a much better thing to aspire to than power and influence crafted to maintain your wealth at the expense of others.
"I..." Draco started. He had no retort for this. No quip. He had nothing. This had never happened to him before. Also, he was just so very English and was preternaturally ill-equipped for this kind of emotion.
And I've rendered the poor kid mute. Nice work, old man, Alastair said to himself.
"Hey, I get it. Let's strip away the feelings and cut to the chase. You are my son now. Your son is my grandson. End of story and I will ruthlessly lay into anyone who questions it or says any different. You understand?"
Draco nodded tightly and tried to will away the growing lump in his throat. "Right. Yes. Thank you very much."
Alastair smiled at the shaken wizard and plucked the cufflinks out of their small box to help him put them on.
Draco's mother poked her head in from behind the door and smiled sweetly at them. "She's here. Best get downstairs, love" she said to her son.
They followed Narcissa down the front staircase and entered the main level of the old, oaken bar.
Draco had been here several times, passing through with Lyra between Wizarding and Muggle Brooklyn. It wasn't the ugliest dive he'd ever seen, there was The Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade to contend with, after all. It looked, with it's dark wood, stone floors and arched ceilings, a more Irish version of any of the old storied pubs around Oxford. And he, in all of his snobbishness, had to admit that it looked pretty nice today.
Gretchen, Lyra's sister-in-law, was a muggle botanist and had commandeered the place, leaving it dripping with green ivy, orange lilies and white hydrangeas. His mother had charmed a number of fairy lights to float freely in the air, making it look like a night garden. It was a cloudy day outside, adding to the ambient coziness of the inside. He was impressed. For a muggle, Gretchen had done quite well.
Mr. Black guided him towards an offshoot of the main hall where the ceremony would take place. It was already full of their guests. There was an ornate stone fireplace at the back wall and his mother had assembled a stylish hodge-podge of leather couches, old upholstered chairs and overstuffed ottomans on both sides of the room, creating an aisle down the center. There was a single violinist in the corner playing something pretty and appropriately weddingesque. Draco took one look at the scene and knew Lyra would absolutely love it.
He met Lyra's mother just outside the room and she gave him a shameless kiss on the cheek before taking his arm and having him ceremonially guide Mr. and Mrs. Black to their seats. He then went back for his own mother and showed her to a seat in the front row where Pip, her insufferable Scottish boyfriend, was already waiting for her with a cheesy, presumably buzzed, smile on his face. Draco didn't like Pip, but he couldn't curse him unconscious even if he wanted to (which he did) because both Lyra and his mother adored him. Shame...
Draco went back one final time for Ron, the barkeep who would be officiating their wedding. In the little time that Draco had known him he understood him to be a huffy, typically grumpy man who just happened to have a soft spot for Lyra and her family. According to Ron, he'd never let anybody get married at the Seven Belles before and he probably never would again, but that the Blacks were the best sort of folk and, for them, he would make an exception. Draco walked shoulder to shoulder with him up to the fireplace. He shook the man's hand politely and then stepped off to the side and turned back to wait for his witch.
Lyra barely recognized Seven Belles when she walked in. Her sister and Draco's mom had really outdone themselves classing it up for the occasion. It was a nice looking pub most days, but today it looked like a woodnymph's haven...and with beer! It was amazing. When she arrived, she hugged and kissed her mom and Narcissa and then waited alone in a side nook, unseen until it was her time to walk in.
After a few minutes of anxious pacing and trying to slow her heart rate, Mella, her favorite barmaid came up to her and told her they were ready for her.
"Oh god, Mel. Oh god," she huffed, bending over to put her hands on her knees.
Her friend laughed. "Relax, doll. He's handsome, rich and loves you like crazy. I mean, if you're not interested..."
"Oh I'm interested," Lyra remarked. "I just need to vomit real quick."
"No you don't," Mella replied, pulling her up and holding her by both arms. "You will not throw up in this dress. Say it."
Lyra breathed in deep. "I will not throw up in this dress."
"Good. Now drink this and get outta here," she said, forcing a shot of amber liquid into her hand.
"Right. Thanks," Lyra sputtered before slamming the shot, grabbing her flowers and walking out to go get herself married.
As she walked, she heard the sound of her guests rising to their feet and heard a lovely crescendo from a violin somewhere that had her thinking for a split second 'Ooh! Where's the bride?!'
Oh shit. It's me. The bride is me. God I'm so nervous. I want Draco. I wish he was here. Oh, wait a minute...there he is.
Draco stopped breathing when he saw her.
She looked like a goddess. She wore a cream colored gown that had a deep V down to her waist which exposed and accentuated the smooth inner curve of her breasts. It was risque, but not indecent. The dress had no sleeves and the skin of her shoulders looked warm like creamed coffee. The soft muslin of her skirt was voluminous but sheer enough to let the light through and gave the dress an ethereal glow. He recognized his mother's handiwork on her make up and figured that Gretchen had wrangled her long hair. It was done in a whispy, romantic updo with gentle curls and little daisy flowers throughout with a small crown of English ivy encircling her head.
Her face at first looked unsure, but he watched her carefully and saw her make some kind of internal decision before she looked up for him and smiled beautifully as she made her way down the aisle.
When Lyra finally came to the front, she vaguely remembered handing her flowers to her mother in the front row and that Ron asked her and Draco to hold hands. Ron carried on saying some stuff about love or whatever but Lyra heard nothing. Her eyes were transfixed on her husband to be.
He was so handsome that it was almost insulting. Lyra had told him that he could wear whatever he wanted, but cautioned that full on dress robes might look a bit out of place in a bar. Draco had done some truly inspiring bellyaching about the dilemma but then finally punted the issue to his fashionable mother and told her to work her magic.
And work her magic she did. How she could make him look like that? Why did he always look so good?! He was wearing black trousers in the soft fabric that Lyra loved, a dark gray vest over a white dress shirt and a black tie. His hair was even styled in that casual sweep she adored. How was she supposed to pay attention and say vows with him looking like this? How was she supposed to do anything but drool at him for the rest of her life. And just look at the way he's smiling at me...the smug bastard...
"Lyra," a voice said awkwardly.
"I'm sorry, what?" She said tearing her eyes reluctantly off of her fiancee and turning to Ron, who apparently had been trying to get her attention. Their guests laughed pleasantly and gave a few 'Awwwws' at Lyra's clear oogling and lack of situational awareness. Draco chuckled at her and squeezed her hands reassuringly.
"Have you come here of your own free will to join your life to that of this wizard?" He asked.
"I have," she confirmed.
"And what quality will you be casting into your bond?"
Lyra looked down and blushed at her feet. "Passion," she said quietly, leading to some raucous whoops from her friends, mostly the Aurors.
"And have you, Draco, come here of your own free will to join your life to that of this witch?"
"I have," Draco replied.
"What quality have you chosen to cast into your bond?
"Loyalty," he said quietly at Lyra, who looked up at him with pale gold eyes and smiled.
"Your wands, please," Ron said, in an uncharacteristically formal tone. He was taking this very seriously, Lyra could tell.
They drew their wands and Draco and Lyra clasped each other at the left forearm. Ron cast a spell that made a glowing gold cord encircle their joined hands and wrists.
Lyra raised her wand and muttered her incantation. As she did so, a chord of vibrant red emerged from her wand and joined the gold around their grip.
Draco followed suit and cast his loyalty onto their bond, further uniting their hands with a shimmering blue ribbon of light.
Ron performed a final spell that joined all three streams of magic into a brilliant silver coil of before it disappeared, leaving Lyra's hand and arm buzzing with warm energy.
They decided to exchange rings at their ceremony in England, so the final bit was just the proclamation.
Lyra looked at Draco excitedly and he did the same back at her.
"Under my authority and in the presence of your friends and family, let it be known that you are now joined as witch and wizard, husband and wife. May you be passionate, may you be loyal and may you be together now and for the rest of your days," Ron pronounced proudly before turning to Draco and cracking a silly grin. "That's your bride, son. Better kiss her before she comes to her senses."
Draco smirked handsomely and pulled Lyra in by the waist for a kiss. His heart was pounding in his ears but he could barely hear it over the sound of all of the loud Americans cheering like it was a bloody football match. He came back from their kiss and looked with adoration at his favorite loud American who was smiling up at him brilliantly.
"Loud American!?" She protested to him in mock offense, reading his thoughts. "I am your wife!" She said tugging him into her by the tie for another kiss, which only served to make the other loud Americans cheer more loudly, which set Lyra off laughing.
My wife, Draco thought to himself as he gathered her close into his side and led her back down the aisle to the front of the pub so they could drink whiskey and receive their guests.
Author's Note - This made me happy to write. I hope you like it. -MM
