A note on inspiration: I listened to "Betty" by Taylor Swift today. Let the reader understand.
The day had finally arrived, the highlight of the 1976 social calendar for purebloods. The great Malfoy-Black Wedding.
Narcissa had been determined to do everything differently than her sister Bellatrix had. Bella's wedding had been on New Year's Eve, under the dark of night, in St. Salazar's in Diagon Alley, with the traditional Black family reception at Grimmauld Place. There was no question of either sister mimicking Andromeda, who'd married in a white sundress and a handful of wildflowers in Hogsmeade, with a reception at the Hog's Head after. It was bad enough as it was, and she hadn't even chosen the nicer of the two pubs in the village.
Narcissa had chosen the home of her intended, the gothic mansion in the countryside where there was a private chapel older than Hogwarts itself, fields of lush meadows, where she hoped for sunshine and maybe a little happiness. It wasn't traditional, it didn't sound like the plans of a pureblood lady. Her bridesmaids wore yellow, and Narcissa was to hold a bouquet of daisies.
The day began with pouring rain. Narcissa didn't mind as much as she had thought she would, sitting in her chair in the suite of rooms she'd be allotted in the Manor, a cup of hot tea in her hands, the magical beautician brought from Paris swirling about her with creams and elixirs and powders divined to give her a lit-from-within glow. She thought of yesterday, ah yesterday, now that had been her sunny day. She allowed herself to imagine that was her true wedding day. She'd secretly met 'Drom, Ted, and their little girl Nymphadora in Cornwall, a day by the sea. It was the first time she'd seen her sister in years, and knew it might be the last. Lewis had encouraged her to do so, to take her sister into her confidence. To have someone else she trusted on the outside.
Lewis. After the rehearsal and pre-wedding feast last night, she'd spent the night with him, and she knew that would not be the last. When she'd woken that morning and left him, she felt a strange sense of peace. Almost spiritual.
"Cissy. Dear God, CISSY!" Bellatrix tried to get her sister's attention as she stared into space. She finally resorted to a small zapping charm, prodding Narcissa with her wand.
"Salazar save us, was that entirely necessary!?" Narcissa yelped, rubbing the shoulder her sister had hexed. Bellatrix had never been subtle with her wand work.
"The flowers are here." Bellatrix drawled, "And hideous they are. I can't believe Madam Malfoy approved of them."
"I don't believe she did." Came the voice of Emma Howard-Shelley, tucked into a corner of the room, charming her hair into soft curls.
"Who asked you, Emma?" Bellatrix huffed.
Bellatrix, never a warm or friendly person, was particularly sore after the previous evening's events. As sister of the bride, she'd been tasked with keeping an eye on Narcissa at all times. She'd failed (hence why Narcissa had been able to sneak off) as her vision had been clouded by her own jealousy. The Dark Lord's clear preference for Emma Howard-Shelley had been infuriating before, but with Hogwarts holidays currently ongoing, the younger witch was suddenly thrust into their presence far more often. And there was no mistaking the way he was drawn to Emma. If Bellatrix didn't know better, she would assume the interest was based on something baser than power and intellect.
Rollo, Bellatrix's house elf, ambled past them with a box on his head, the bouquets of daisies that Narcissa had specifically chosen, with the aid of a minor confundus charm on her future mother-in-law.
"Rollo has flowers for the witches." He intoned in his tired, elvish voice.
"Thank you." Narcissa said, before she could help herself.
Bellatrix's head snapped toward her sister, "What?"
"Thank you very much Rollo." Emma repeated, trying to attract the ire away from her friend.
"Not you too! Thanking a house elf, what on earth! You sound like a pair of subservient mudbloods. Don't you ever do that in Lucius's presence." Bellatrix snarled with disgust in her voice.
Silence resumed as the finishing touches were put on Narcissa's hair and face. It was to be a noon ceremony, with a tea-time reception, and a formal ball later in the evening.
"I'm going to find Mummy and Father. It's almost time you know." Bellatrix jumped up, Rollo and the beautician following her.
Emma alone helped Narcissa into her wedding robes. First holding the skirt open so Narcissa could step in easily, then the fastening of the peasant sleeves with thread of goblin gold, and finally the intricate lacing at the back. Emma felt her eyes well up as the final laces were tied and knotted.
"It shouldn't have to be this way." Emma whispered, resting her forehead on her friend's shoulder, practically in defeat.
"It must." Narcissa turned to face Emma.
"Why not Lewis? His politics aren't openly known, not yet. It could have been a good match."
"It might have," Narcissa sighed, "But it was too late to change."
"Oh, Cissa, what kind of life will this be?" Emma's emotions were breaking through.
"The kind of life our parents had, and their parents before them. A life of duty."
"I hope you don't give him up. But I also don't want you to ever tell me about it. After last night, I know that my secrets must be few. He, Lord Voldemort, he has taken more of an interest in me than ever. I must be careful."
"I know. You will never be burdened with our details." Narcissa said, with an edge to her voice.
Emma didn't have time to question it. The door burst open, and it was Bella, followed by their parents Cygnus and Druella Black. The two girls immediately curtsied to their elders, and followed them on the rainy walk to the church.
Lewis Howard-Shelley sat in the fifth pew on the left side of the chapel. His robes were grey, matching the drizzle outside the stained glass windows, his brown hair mussed up and his mother trying her best to discreetly tame it with her wand in her lap. She kept missing, and he felt the hairs in his nose twist and plait.
It was a bit appalling how feeble her charms were, considering her birthright.
The magical harp began to strum up a soft, gentle tune, and all eyes turned to the back of the church. Beginning to process was Bellatrix Lestrange, and his sister Emma. They walked side by side, as if it was a purposeful comparison for the sake of the Dark Lord. Everyone knew Bellatrix was desperate for Voldemort's attention, but that Emma had it despite never trying. Some whispered behind closed doors that one or the other was his lover, but to say so publicly would have been cause for banishment. If comparison had been the point, Lewis thought, then it had worked, and worked in Emma's favor.
Bellatrix was a striking woman, in her own way. With a mass of raven, curly hair, her fair skin, deep set eyes and dark lips. But the soft, buttery yellow robes chosen did not suit her. Next to her, with chestnut hair and just tanned skin, and a flush on her cheeks, Emma shone in her role as bridesmaid. The short, fluttery sleeves of the gowns made one think of a butterfly.
Both women bore similar expressions, neither smiled, each had an eyebrow slightly raised. Some called them haughty, some said mocking, many thought it was dignified and proper. Pureblood weddings of this variety were not raucous occasions. Aunt Lucrecia Prewett had been to the wedding of Molly to a Weasley some years ago and had fainted at the sheer frivolity and volume of it all. Such laughter. So many children running about. Firewhisky downed by the flagon.
Their procession ended and they stood to the left of the altar. Emma glanced back, nodded to her family, and then Lewis noticed her eyes wander, to a few pews ahead of them, where Orion and Walburga Black sat with their sons, Sirius and Regulus.
Ah, Lewis thought. It must run in the family.
And then the moment he'd been dreading for a year came. Narcissa, in her bridal robes. Something he'd both longed for and detested seeing. It was beautifully painful to watch her glide through the doors of the church, flanked by her parents. His eyes took it all in, so he could remember what he saw, and maybe someday dream of it at night, and instead see himself waiting for her at the altar.
The train of her gown had been bewitched to float just above the stones of the aisle, as if she were walking on water. He saw the threads of goblin gold at the hem and at the cuff of her billowing sleeves. The subtle embroidery created patterns, flowers and magical beings like unicorns and hippogriffs, and of course the crests of the two families, Black and Malfoy. That same crest was in a pin in her hair, supporting the veil beneath the knot of the bun at the crown of her head.
"Get up." Hissed his mother, yanking him by his elbow.
Lewis had totally forgotten to rise with the rest of the congregation.
Narcissa and her parents arrived at the altar, joined by the priest Father Rosier, a cousin of the bride. The liturgy began, the customary prayers and responses. The guests sat back down.
But then, something happened that shocked Lewis. It was time for the true marriage portion of the service, the blessing of the couple, the uniting of man and wife. The priest stepped aside, and Lord Voldemort left his place in the pews, and stood before the couple who knelt.
"I unite thee, Narcissa Violetta Black, with thee, Lucius Armand Malfoy, in purest matrimony." Voldemort proclaimed
"What is he doing?" Lewis whispered to his mother.
"Hush. He is marrying them, like any fool or muggle could see." She hissed in reply.
"How? He is neither priest nor ministry official. He has no authority under holy or wizarding law." Lewis countered.
The look his mother gave him was sterner and more quieting than a silencio charm. It dawned on Lewis that nothing, nothing was to be barred from the Dark Lord's list of powers. Even something as mundane, and sacred, as performing marriages now belonged to him.
It was the moment Lewis realized, truly, that the rules the purebloods were playing by were no longer fair, because they weren't rules at all. They would do what they wanted, because they thought it was their right. Nothing else mattered to them but the end result. Something as simple, as small, as personal as a wedding showed him what years of veiled threats and comments and sly hexes and exclusion should have. He had learned much in France, had formed his cerebral, political opinions. But the moment it hit his heart was now.
The wedding was over, the happy (of sorts) couple had recessed, the guests had followed them out for the tea reception, and only one remained in the chapel.
Well, one and another.
Emma stood at the altar rail, picking at the petals of her daisy bouquet. She didn't know how she had wound up back here, before the holiest of holies, she remembered following Cissa out, casting sparks with her wand in good cheer as Lucius led his bride back to the manor. But here she was.
Sirius leaned in the archway at the back of the nave, hidden in the shadow of the vestibule. The chapel was old, gothic, dark weathered stone, the only light it had was from the windows and the bewitched tapers at the altar. He watched her fiddle with the bouquet, admired her even.
"What do you want, Sirius?" Emma asked, not turning around.
"Many things." He responded, strolling up and seating himself on the first pew.
"What do you want today?"
"That's an unfair question." He scoffed.
"Why?"
"Because it is an unfair day."
"True." Emma replied.
She turned and looked at him, then sat down in the pew across the aisle from him.
"After today it will never be the same." Sirius continued.
"Of course, Cissa is gone now. Married."
"No, I know that, but I meant for me. It will never be the same."
"What do you mean? Our official betrothal?" She queried.
"No."
"Then what, Sirius? Just say what you mean."
"I would, if you'd give me a moment to speak."
Emma smirked and remained silent. Sirius continued.
"I won't be going home tonight. I've brought my broom, and I'm going to stay with James from now on. My things were already sent by floo."
"Did your parents kick you out?" She inquired.
"Somewhat."
"I see. Lewis might be feeling similarly I imagine."
"You don't know how right you are." Sirius muttered.
"Why?" Emma's head snapped in his direction.
"Because, because he is in love with someone forever committed to the pureblood life."
Her breathing quickened. She felt her heart had risen to her face, the way the blood pounded in her ears. Still, Sirius kept talking.
"Emma, I, I may always be Sirius Black, I may always be a pureblood, always my mother's son, but I will never be what they want, what they need. And you, you…"
"I'll have to be what they want." Emma finished.
"Yes." Sirius confirmed.
"You know, you know by now that I've long doubted. That I'll never be able to give myself to the cause like my mother. Once I thought I could. I wanted it. But then, something changed, I don't know how. And yet I know I will never openly defy them."
"I know."
Emma stood, walked over and knelt before Sirius, her flowers on the ground, and she took her hands in his. The rain outside had increased since the ceremony's end, and now it pelted the windows in a torrent. She could hardly hear her own words as they came out.
"But I swear to you, on the life of Godric Gryffindor, that they'll never have me. I may look like them, live like them, be in their confidence, but my heart will always be somewhere else. And I will work in whatever way I can to help from within." She whispered.
It was a declaration. Not the kind they'd heard before, about love as patience, and kindness, and keeping no record of wrongs. She had not pledged that she would go where he went, that his people would be her people, his God, her God…And yet, she had.
"You cannot deny that our betrothal was right." Sirius said, lifting his hand to stroke her face.
Emma, through slow, silent tears, shook her head. She couldn't deny it.
"Whatever is to be of this, of you and I, I welcome. I adore. I will give myself to preserve."