Chapter 5: A strict no [happy] returns policy

True to Graham's word, Lily's planning had conjured a truly spectacular display – one matched to the wedding of the pre-eminent students in charms and transfiguration of their generation. As Graham, David, and Jessica thunked down in the small copse of woods which Lily had designated as the landing zone, there was at first very little indication of the celebrations beyond the warm illumination of fairy lights and the distant sounds of conversation. Then, out of thin air -

"Sirs, madame – might I offer our warmest welcome?"

In front of their eyes, a figure formed from thin air. It almost resembled a butler – which is to say that its top half was rather like a butler, and its bottom half wasn't there at all – its face was entirely blank and serene, almost like a china doll, but its voice was avuncular in spite of this deficit. The figure paused for a moment, before continuing.

"The reception lies just beyond the forest – if you would be so kind as to follow me." And with that, it turned and floated away, leaving David awestruck, and both Graham and Jessica impressed in spite of themselves.

"That's a semi-intelligent responsive automata which Lily's created," muttered Graham to the others as they followed the creation through the trees. "Remember those little people in the snowglobe? I started to cover a little of the theory in my spare time when I was a seventh year, and they're as far as I got. But the effort and talent to create a proper, responsive one? It's just crazy."

"It's Lily, you mean." Said Jessica, rolling her eyes. "In other words, it's exactly what you'd expect."

Before Graham could reply, however, they emerged from the woods, and were all, for a moment, struck dumb.

"Oh, wow." Murmured David. "You said it'd be special, but this- it's like another planet or something."

Great spires of shimmering marble had been pulled from the earth around the edges of the field, curving inwards to form the skeleton of a dome around the proceedings. Between the spires, a gentle shimmering of the air – underlaid with strands of gold – indicated the strength of the wards which had been woven around the wedding.

"Would sirs and madame care for a drink?" Their attendant drew from thin air a laden drinks tray; once it had ensured that the three of them were satisfied with their refreshments, it wished them a pleasant evening before fading into non-existence.

The three of them stood for a moment, appreciating the champagne they'd been handed.

"Well, then." said Jessica, at length. "I think it's time I introduced some people to my fiancé!" She took David by the arm, smiled at Graham, and led her paramour into the throng of people before them.

The wedding's layout was more cabaret than church, with exquisitely decorated tables clustered around a central stage (laden down by a dazzling wedding arch, a small lectern, and an enormous flower display); but Graham was more overcome by the spectacle of the wizarding population which was on display. It had been a long time since he'd dared to venture into magical society: after his quiet relocation to Oxford, he had felt it to be rather too dangerous to venture back into Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade lest he be recognised for the muggleborn he was. Not for the first time, he was overcome for a moment by an aching sense of loss: common sense or not, he had lost so much – a whole world, in fact – from going into hiding.

"Mr Longshaw, I presume?" A squeaky voice startled Graham from his despondence, and he looked down to see Filius Flitwick smiling up at him.

"Professor!" he blurted out, a little flustered. "It's so good to see you – how have you been?"

His diminutive former head-of-house smiled benevolently, drawing up a sound-dampening spell around the two of them so that they could talk properly.

"Please, call me Filius – you're not a student any more, after all! I sensed that you were, perhaps, a little overcome by the occasion? I imagine you've been a bit out of touch with wizards these past few years."

Graham nodded gratefully. "It's nothing bad, just a bit strange, I suppose – like seeing a long-lost friend."

"So, what are you up to these days, Graham?" Asked Filius. "I believe I'm right in thinking you planned on venturing into the world of muggle medicine?"

Graham quickly caught his former teacher up on the basics of his post-Hogwarts life, before hesitating for a moment, then deciding a little discretion could do no harm.

"I'm actually working on a few magical projects now I've graduated – some really exciting stuff. It's not got far yet, but you'll definitely see the results in a few years if I have anything to say about it!"

Filius smiled. "I certainly hope so! I'm sure you know how distressing I find the current situation. I truly do hope you'll be able to take up the position you deserve in our world, Graham – oh, I think it's time for the ceremony! Lily's tagged all the place-cards, so yours should respond to a point-me; such a clever girl, really, and such a delight. Have an excellent evening, Mr. Longshaw!"

As if Graham needed another reminder of Lily's skill as a charms mistress, when he took his place at the table he'd been assigned – some distance from the stage – he was startled to discover that he suddenly seemed to be right next to the stage and in his original place, all at the same time. As was usually the case with magic, this apparent violation of space appeared perfectly innocuous in spite of its impossibility.

Graham was joined at the table by Jessica and David, who gasped at the spatial distortion as he sat down, as well as one of Jessica's dorm-mates from Hufflepuff, Florence Branstone, who siezed Jessica's hand at the sight of Jessica's ring and promptly burst into excited chatter.

"Oh, Jess, it's beautiful! Have you and Graham set a date yet?"

There was a moment of awkwardness, before Graham laughed it off. "Sadly not, Florence – we broke things off a while ago – we just work better as friends, you know? But let me introduce you to Jessica's actual fiance – this is David."

"I'm a muggle, so please let me off the many mistakes I'm sure I'll be making today! Charmed to meet you." David supplied, leaning over and proffering his hand to Florence, whose eyes had widened at this admission. A second later, she smiled, and shook his hand, looking him up and down.

"A muggle, Jess? How adventurous of you! I assume that he swept you off your feet – strangers from different worlds collide, and so on? He's certainly tall, dark, and suitably handsome." David and Jessica both blushed a little: David had certainly swept her off her feet when they had first met, in that their introduction had constituted colliding hard enough to knock each other to the floor.

"Something like that, yes." Jessica smiled, putting her hand on David's. "Oh, hello, Professor!"

Graham smiled as Pomona Sprout joined them at the table – he'd kept Herbology as a NEWT subject when he'd thought he could become a healer, and although he'd never been blessed with a particularly green thumb, he'd always enjoyed Professor Sprout's tuition – and respected the protectiveness which she bestowed on Jessica as an orphan under her care.

"Good to see you all!" the professor beamed. "And such a relief to have such a lovely table – for a moment, I thought I'd be with our neighbours back there." Turning his head, Graham noticed a muggle couple at a table which had apparently been entirely reserved for their use; the woman was sitting straight-backed in her seat, a slight look of distaste on her face. She nodded at something her scowling, bloated husband was muttering into her ear, the distaste growing; Graham got the distinct impression that she had very little desire to be at the ceremony.

The professor's smile widened further at the sight of Jessica's ring – but before she could enquire further, an ethereal wedding march began to play, and they quieted down.

Graham hadn't caught sight of Lily or James that evening, and, watching the stage, he quickly realised why. The archway, empty just a few moments before, had suddenly become a corridor – from which began to emerge the wedding procession, culminating with James – dashing in immaculately tailored dress robes – and Lily, wearing a simple wedding gown that was all the more elegant for its simplicity.

What followed was – for David – rather disappointingly similar to a non-magical wedding ceremony, although the religious component was supplanted with a great deal of verbiage about the history of magic, the combining of the couple's mixed heritage, the hope for fertility to maintain the wizarding population (Graham swallowed a snort at that, although nobody noticed), and so on.

Finally, though, the vows were exchanged; James pulled Lily into a kiss which literally set the sky ablaze, as the previously translucent wards flared into shimmering gold, and the audience burst into raucous cheers and applause.

Unsurprisingly, the reception's catering was excellent: as Graham fondly recalled, house elves were if nothing else consistent in the quality of their cooking. After all, magic might make it easier to make a meal, but it certainly hadn't made Graham a better cook – all the spells in the world couldn't help on that front.

Of course, the speeches which followed the meal followed the usual pattern, although the deaths of both Lily's and James's parents opened up slots which were duly filled by James's friends – who relished the opportunity to recount some of his less successful ventures in life and in love:

"I don't think James has ever told Lily quite how long he pined over her, you know." Peter Pettigrew remarked. "But, well, I'll put it this way: I was put on 'mandatory surveillance duty' a long time before she got her Prefect's badge to punish us for our mischief; and, well, sorry, James, but I still don't see what strategic value 'the way Evans is wearing her hair today' has!"

"Lily had her fair share of gripes about James when they were young, let me tell you." This from Alice Longbottom, who had been in Lily's dormitory. "But she would never tell you just how soppy she got when she and James finally got together – let alone about the hour and a half she spent trying on every hairstyle under the sun for her second date with him. I still think it's a shame you didn't go for the afro!"

More sombre was Professor McGonagall's speech, the last to be delivered. After praising James and Lily – scolding the former for his mischief before praising his skill and his evidently excellent taste, and extolling the virtues of the latter – she paused for a moment, before continuing.

"One of the hardest parts of being a teacher is saying goodbye to the students you've looked after for such a long time, knowing that you're not able to protect them from the world they're entering, or to advise them on all the growing up they have left to do." She sighed, looking around the room. "And that aspect of teaching has never been more difficult than it is today. I know that I'm being a little dour and Scottish, and for that I apologise! But our world, our way of life, is under threat – and if we are to weather that threat we must stand together and support each other." Although she was still a handsome middle-aged woman, for a moment, her words seemed to add decades to her frame. Then she smiled, and the years lifted off her again.

"But the fact that – in such trying times – we can have such a joyous occasion is truly a thing of wonder to me. James and Lily Potter are both credits to their family and friends – but they are also a credit to the Wizarding world, and I wish them the happiest of lives together. To the husband and bride!" She cried, raising her glass for a toast which was echoed around the room.

Finally, James stood, and ushered the crowd into silence. "Friends," he said, smilingly (with a hint of tipsiness) - "I cannot begin to express the pleasure it is for you all to be here. That said, if words won't do the trick, why don't we see how well expressive dance will fill the gap?" With a laugh, he flourished his wand, and the tables – by now empty – sunk into the ground, and the guest's chairs shuddered to life, conveying their occupants to the edges of the room.

"As Ababa would say -" (Lily groaned behind him, hiding a smile). "You can dance!"

This was, of course, a hugely overoptimistic estimate of the Wizarding world's dancing abilities, but the after-dinner party was nevertheless a great deal of fun. David and Jessica had slunk off earlier in the night (for purposes Graham wasn't willing to think about) so he'd mostly steered clear of drink to ensure that all of him survived his apparition home at the end of the night. It had been a couple of hours, though, and Graham sensed that the party was dying down – so he sought out Sirius for the one piece of business he'd planned to deal with that evening. Unsurprisingly, Sirius was attempting to secure the affections of a very pretty witch, so Graham watched with amusement for a moment, until attentions were entirely rebuffed and the witch stalked away, muttering threats under her breath. Graham took this as his cue, and he went to pat Sirius on the shoulder, grabbing a drink from a passing waiter-construct on his way.

"Now, I'm no critic of ambition," he began, "but that was the famously ice-cold Amelia Bones, wasn't it – isn't she your superior?"

Sirius sighed, though he couldn't entirely prevent the grin which had stolen across his face.

"Well, I've never been faulted for ambition, have I? Maybe I should have been a Slytherin after all, you know!" He drained the rest of his glass, before shaking his head as if he was a dog shedding water, and turning back to Graham. "So, what can I do you for?"

"Nothing as fun as with Amelia, I'm guessing. I just wanted to talk to you about the deeds you mentioned earlier."

Sirius grinned, somewhat viciously. "Oh, you mean your plan for committing theft against my family? I couldn't be more on board, let me tell you." Graham opened his mouth to justify himself, but Sirius wasn't finished. "You know, a few hundred years ago? There were tens of Blacks. Tons of Blacks. Whatever. But they're all gone now, because they had the wonderful Black habit of doing the dirty with cousins; and they've left heaps of land, the deeds for which dear old Mum keeps in her house because she doesn't trust the 'lesser races' with her property. And, you know – I honestly can't think of a better way to show her the finger than to repurpose one of her properties for educating muggleborns. As far as I'm concerned, it's already yours!"

"I can't begin to tell you how brilliant that is, Sirius – thank you so much." He began. "It's really going to mean the difference between – wait, is that a gong?"

The deafening chime echoed all around them, before a second and a third followed it. Around them, the structure of the dome began to flicker and fade. Sirius' eyes widened in horror, but before he could speak, James' magically magnified voice rang out above the confusion.

"We're under attack!" He cried. "Get to your portkeys and get out!"

Screams and crying broke out, and the crowd thinned rapidly as people rushed to use their portkeys. Graham, seized with a sudden terror, spun on the spot in a futile attempt to apparate away – but some kind of blocking ward had evidently been laid over the whole event and he accomplished nothing but falling heavily onto his backside.

One final gong rang out, the wards by now practically non-existent, and Graham had the foresight to cast a sobering charm at Sirius, who shook his head to clear it and nodded sharply at him in thanks.

And then, with a sharp crack, the wards had fallen and everything went to hell.

Later, Graham would, quietly, be proud of the fact that he didn't have a panic attack there and then – and cringe at his general rustiness in what had been (in theory) his second best subject. Some wizards and witches had pushed their way to the outer extremes of the small crowd that had remained behind – these, Graham realised, were probably members of the Order.

Far from joining them in the wide-ranging duels that had begun, Graham quickly decided that working as support was safer and probably more useful. As far as he could tell, it was only a force of death-eaters that had attacked that evening – a very sizeable contingent, but one which seemed on equal footings.

His first patient was an elderly witch, whose spell-chain had begun to degrade from exhaustion.

"Expelliarmus-Stupefy-Immobulus-St-Stupefy-Inflagratio-o-ossi-ossifius," – As her opponent's far crueller spells began to overcome her, Graham threw up his strongest shield, buying her a few seconds, before hurriedly using an "Episkey!" to close up her smallest wounds.

"Thank you, young man!" She wheezed, steeling herself. "Now get on to someone else, I'll be fine!"

And so it went for another minute or so, Graham stealing around within the ring of duellers, enervating one stunned wizard and just about deflecting the spell of another; for the couple of wizards that had been hit with more serious curses, however, he had only the time to cast the emergency stasis spell which most healers learned, granting them a few minutes before their condition degraded further. With relief, he noticed that the tide seemed to be turning in their favour; James and Lily, standing tall on the central platform, seemed to be providing a degree of tactical bombardment which was proving a crucial advantage to their ebbing compatriots – until, that is, Voldemort strode onto the field.

Although some part of Graham was consciously aware of the battle continuing around him, it nevertheless seemed as if a cloak of silence had smothered the world; time had ground to a sluggish crawl. Staring at his waxen visage, twisted in glee, Graham was suddenly – hysterically – reminded of Nosferatu the Vampyre. Was Voldemort a film lover, he wondered? Before he had a complete breakdown, however, the battle had begun again, this time with a far deadlier tilt.

Most wizards, whatever their magical strength, cannot cast the killing curse on another human being. This is not because of its potency; it is not even particularly draining to cast. The reason is that – more than any other spell – its putative practitioners make a fundamental error in trying to cast it. The killing curse does not require hate for another; it doesn't require that you wish for another's death. Instead, to cast a killing curse, a wizard needs to have the upmost lack of care for the life of their target: whether the person on the other end of their wand lives or dies has to be a fact of such irrelevance to the caster that the spell must feel no more significant than ordering a coffee might.

Such ambivalence to the life of others was beyond the grasp of most death-eaters, although they were far better at using it on muggles than on Wizards. For Voldemort, though, there was no such issue – and, in the space of a few seconds, he had already launched four such spells into the crowd of his opponents, hitting with two of them.

The conflict had reignited, and Voldemort was engaged by Flitwick and another wizard who Graham couldn't identify; although they held him off, dispelling and deflecting spells in a storm of motion, they were slowly being forced back into the defensive perimeter, which was being pushed inwards from all sides.

The help Graham was able to provide was by that point entirely inadequate for the damage that was being done to the Order, and – when a woman right in front of him was blasted from her feet, it was with a sense of dread that he strode forwards and began his own, rather less effective, defence. Shields had always been his stronger suit over offensive spells, but his opponent –a short, broad woman – was shattering each one he erected with hardly a hint of effort. All of a sudden, she squeaked with delight.

"It's not poor little Longshaw, is it?" She cried, her spells now silent but no less strong than before. "Oh, we had such fun at school, didn't we?"

With horror, Graham realised that he had to be facing Alecto Carrow, his erstwhile tormentor in his first three years at Hogwarts. Before she'd graduated, he recalled, she had tracked him down one last time, pinned him to a wall, and promised, breath tickling his ear, that she would find him and show him exactly how welcome his intrusion into her world was when he was older. He hadn't been her only target, but in retrospect it had taken him longer than most to develop the mental fortitude to stop showing fear, and it had made him far more enjoyable prey to Carrow and her like.

For all that he wanted to respond, Graham's silent casting was nowhere near sufficient to do so, and he grimaced as another hasty "Protego!" shattered under a bone-breaking curse. Taking a step back, he almost tripped over the witch Carrow had previously bested, and realised he could retreat no further: in desperation, he started to cast every distracting spell he could envision to buy a little time.

"Lapidistra-Avis-Scolopendratis-Blatta-Mordaci!" From his wand sprang a stream of conjured butterflies, birds, cockroaches, and centipedes, which swarmed towards Carrow, who was momentarily overcome by this tide of life, forcing her onto the defensive – just long enough, it transpired, for Lily and James to unleash the best defence they could muster from the central stage.

"Animatus Tentaculae!" they both shouted, thrusting their wands into the air. For a moment, nothing seemed to happen, until, with a resounding thump, the static marble spires which had made up the dome burst into life around them, spearing the ground as they began to attack the death-eaters, immediately knocking a few of them insensate.

Carrow shrieked, and threw up her strongest shield as a marble column swept across her, throwing her back and away from Graham; elsewhere, death eaters were knocked back, while heavy columns thunked down to protect the wounded on their side. Even Voldemort, who had been just metres away from the defensive line, was forced back as he contended with two wizards and three pillars doing their best to impale him. Finally, it appeared, enough was enough. Just a few seconds later, the flare of a Phoenix's transportation marked Dumbledore's belated arrival; with a hiss of rage, Voldemort launched a spell at one of the spires, shattering it into a sea of shrapnel with a blast that resounded across the battlefield, and hissed the order to retreat at his followers, before twisting into nothingness as he apparated away.

The chaos of the battle – even though it had only lasted a very few minutes – took some time to die down. Voldemort's shrapnel had caused a wave of injuries, major and minor, and Graham spent a little while helping those that he could before the aurors and medical support from St. Mungo's arrived. Technically, performing advanced healing spells required a license, and Graham had no desire to draw the ministry's attention. That said, he had noticed one particular set of victims was conspicuously missing.

"Pet!" A man had bellowed. "Pet, stay down, don't move – I've found one of those damned cards, just hold on –" as far as Graham could recall, the muggles from the next table over had been hit by the shrapnel from the exploding column, before the man finally found a portkey amid the ruins of the party and escaped. With a shock, he realised that they could potentially be minutes from dying of their wounds, and rushed to the stage, where Lily and James were being interviewed by an auror, both understandably more than a little shell-shocked.

"Lily!" Graham shouted. "Lily, I have to talk to you, just give me a minute?"

As the auror nodded his consent, Lily carefully sat down, swinging her legs over the edge of the stage.

"Is everything alright, Graham? You were terribly brave today –"

"No, I'm fine, but it's some of the guests here. Do you know a muggle called Pet-something? I saw her get wounded, but she and the man she was with were both ported away without getting help.

Lily's eyes widened in horror. "Petunia and Vernon! I thought they'd left ages ago – oh, God above. Will you help her if I make you a portkey? Please, Graham – she's my sister, and Dumbledore says that James and I can't leave: it'll take hours for ministry healers to check up on them if they manage to at all."

At Graham's assurance that he'd be happy to, Lily gave him a hug, summoned a spindle that had broken off a nearby chair, and cast "Portus" on it; with a wave goodbye, Graham grabbed hold of it and was whisked away from the ruins of Lily's celebration.

Graham thumped down into an unfamiliar living room, and was immediately forced to dodge the fists of a man insensate with rage, weakened by his wounds though he was.

"Vernon! Vernon, please, it's alright, I'm here to help you – I'm a doctor."

Vernon paused, before lowering his fists for a moment. "Are you one of their witch doctors, boy?" He snarled, "You've hurt us enough already!"

Graham saw that Petunia, resting on a sofa, was far more injured than Vernon, and consequently had no patience for that conversation. He sent a stunner at the overweight man, and rushed to Petunia's side as her husband crumpled to the carpet.

"Please!" She gasped, "Please just leave us alone-"

Graham kneeled down by the sofa. "I really am a doctor; a normal one, not just a magical one – Lily sent me when she saw you had been injured. Stay still – I need to find out what's wrong so I can fix it, alright?"

Petunia was still terrified, but she did at least assent to this. A diagnostic charm indicated that most of the damage was external and not serious; but one fragment had embedded itself below her sternum: with a shock, he realised that the spell also indicated that she was in the early stages of pregnancy, and – if left a minute longer – the shard could do irreparable damage to her and her child.

"Alright, Petunia. This will feel very strange – just breathe as regularly as you can, alright?"

And with that, Graham set to work on delicately extracting the shard and healing the internal injuries it had caused, wand in a frenzy of motion for a few crucial minutes. Once the shard had been removed, he turned to her external injuries, but for the most part these were superficial, and were the work of a few moments to repair. Petunia gasped, finding her skin unblemished again, and thanked Graham profusely – but by that point he had already turned to tend to Vernon's injuries.

Once Vernon had been healed, Graham helped Petunia to prop him in an armchair, before careful reviving him. A few minutes of explanations finally calmed Vernon down enough that Graham was invited to take a seat – a gesture, he guessed, of unprecedented gratitude for a wizard, even if he had just saved the man's unborn child.

"It was those damned canapés!" Vernon groused, more than a little embarrassed. "I was feeling pretty petty, so I told Pet- 'why don't we make the most of your sister's hospitality, instead of leaving it all to these bloody lunatics?' and we stayed a couple of hours longer than we needed to. Thank God we had someone babysitting Dudley!"

Graham sympathised with them for a few minutes before he decided to make his excuses. He had no idea if or when Jessica would hear of the attack, but he needed to make sure she knew he was safe. He did, however, address one last issue before he bade the Dursleys farewell:

"Mr. Dursley – I couldn't help but notice an inflammation of your thyroids when I was diagnosing you. Not to be insensitive about it, but it could very well be the cause of some of this weight you're putting on: do you want me to correct the imbalance?" It was the work of a quick spell, and another round of thanks later, Graham made to leave. Before he could go (through the front door, this time), Petunia stopped him for a moment.

"Tell Lily I wish her well, alright? I'm never going near her – or any of you – again if I can help it, but I do care." She paused, and looked up at Graham with a penetrating stare which was almost defiant. "I do care."

And with that pronouncement, Graham was ushered out into the night.

AN: I thought I'd take a little time to clarify my approach to canon today. Depending on your depth of Pottermore knowledge, you may have noticed that I've retconned Petunia's fallout with Lily somewhat in this chapter (and the reasons for it): in canon, let's say, she and Vernon were obliviated and given a botched healing, leaving her seething with an even greater resentment of Lily she couldn't place a reason for. By and large, I'm keeping established world-building in place (e.g. what departments the ministry has, Harold Minchum being minister – as, according to Pottermore, he was!), but I am changing character backstories and dates slightly as necessary; Minchum was not, to JK, an anti-muggleborn minister, for example. It's an approach I hope serves to preserve the original world which Rowling built while letting me tell my own story. In my headcanon, by the way, Graham went to this wedding in canon as well; but, having used far less magic in the preceding months, he was tragically struck down by a death eater. Poor sod.

Thanks again for reading – I really do appreciate feedback as to my writing, so I'd be flattered and hugely appreciative of any reviews or critique you provide!