Chương 344: Epilogue #1- Wedding

It started as a joke, which was how far too many of Cassian's life choices began. In the middle of rebuilding half the world and trying not to let the other half trip over the first, he had told Bathsheda, with complete seriousness, that they ought to elope to Gretna Green purely to confuse everybody. She had looked at him for a long moment, as if weighing the practical benefits of murder against the inconvenience of paperwork, and said, "I will push you into the sea."

Cassian knew she wasn't joking, so it became a possibility, then a plan, and then something even simpler than that. If there was any place in the world where they could be allowed one day of happiness without apology, it was here. Under the white tree. Under the thing that had seen them bloodied, frightened, half-lost, furious, sleep-starved, and still refused to judge either of them for any of it. So the wedding was held in Greece. The temple still carried its scars.

No one had polished the marble, filled the cracks, or tried to make the ruin look gentler than it was. The stones had earned their history. The tree had made itself at home among them, pale roots curling round old fractures and broken rings. Its branches spread high overhead and caught the Greek sunlight in a thousand white leaves. The light passed through them in shifting patterns and came down soft over the old pillars and the worn floor. Every now and then a leaf would brighten when someone said something kind.

If someone swore too close to the trunk, it dimmed with offence. Despite all its glory, the tree was a snitch. So much for perfection. Cassian stood beneath one of the lower roots and reminded himself that fainting would be humiliating enough on its own without doing it in front of several ancient masters, most of Hogwarts, and at least three people who would never let him live it down. Perenelle found him before his thoughts could get properly stupid.

She came toward him with the smooth force of a woman who had been elegant for so long she no longer had to think about it, reached straight for his collar, and said, "Keep still." He made a noise of complaint while she fixed something he hadn't realised had gone crooked.

"If you keep fussing, people will think I'm incompetent."

"They already know that," she said.

"I'm improving your odds regardless."

"Oi, rude," he said, "I'm eloping out of spite."

"You're already at the wedding."

"I can still storm off with dignity."

"That would require dignity to begin with." Coriolanus was nearby on a fallen stretch of column, already holding a glass and looking like a man who had wandered into a private theatre and decided to stay for the better seats.

"Leave him be, Nell," he said.

"The poor bastard's about to get married. He deserves to look properly terrified."

"He deserves to look presentable," Perenelle replied. She straightened the fastening one last time, stepped back, and gave Cassian a long assessing look.

"There. Better. Don't fidget."

"I'm not fidgeting," he said, while actively fidgeting. Sabine appeared on his other side and looked at Coriolanus's glass with the sort of calm that usually came before violence.

"If you're slurring by the vows," she said, "I'll let Ji tie you to the root above our heads."

"Kinky." Coriolanus took a slow sip.

"Why are the lot of you so aggressive today?"

"Because," Sabine said, "I was promised a day in which you didn't set anything on fire." He smiled.

"Still time." Cassian opened his mouth to say something unhelpful and got cut off by the shifting hum of wards. Another wave of magic rolled through the temple as the guests began to arrive. The space filled the way homes filled before important dinners, with voices crossing over one another, laughter getting louder, someone calling for someone else to watch the roots.

"You're early," came Dumbledore's voice from his right. Cassian turned and found him approaching in blue robes that caught the light like moving water.

"I'm being guarded against escape," Cassian said.

"By a whole lot of them." Dumbledore looked much too amused.

"I'm sure Minerva has a list." As if summoned by name and irritation, McGonagall swept past with a parchment and a floating quill at her shoulder. Several chairs shifted a millimeter as she waved her wand.

"Minerva," Dumbledore called lightly, "our groom would like a complete accounting of those responsible for his detention." She didn't stop walking.

"Everyone," she said.

"Sit straight."

"You're arranging chairs at your colleague's wedding," Cassian observed.

"If I don't, Filius will," she said.

"And I refuse to let the seating descend into decorative chaos."

"Excuse you," Flitwick said, popping out from behind a pillar.

"My sense of arrangement is impeccable. Ask Ekwensi." Ekwensi, bright in purple and entirely too amused, raised both hands.

"I want no part in this war, Filius. I'm here to discuss student exchanges and eat something with honey on it." She turned to Cassian as if continuing a conversation they had started hours ago.

"I still think we should send our most enthusiastic duellists to your school in winter and take your quietest students during monsoon season."

"We don't have quiet students," Cassian said.

"We'll take care of that," Ekwensi replied. Around them the temple kept filling. Sprout crouched to put a hand to the earth and smiled to herself as if the tree had said something approving. Snape drifted near enough to be heard and said, to no one in particular, "If anyone enchants the flowers to sing, I'm leaving."

"The temptation," said Sirius.

"Don't," said Aurora.

"Absolutely don't," said Septima.

"We're not late, are we?" Sirius called.

"You are almost on time," McGonagall said from across the chairs.

"For you, that counts as early." Sirius grinned at Cassian, then glanced around the temple with approval.

"Lovely. Ancient roots, ruin, enough dangerous people to make it festive. Blink if you need to be rescued."

"If I need rescuing," Cassian told him, "you're not my first choice."

"That hurts." Remus and Septima came next, both of them in autumn colours, like figures out of a library painting. Septima smiled.

"If either of you uses runes in the vows, I reserve the right to annotate them aloud."

"Of course you do," Cassian said. Bathilda wandered up whistling under her breath and looked around with satisfaction.

"Lovely venue," she said.

"Reminds me of a Roman ruin I once-""Please don't finish that sentence," Cassian said.

"There are children here."

"Only Gabrielle," Bathilda replied, peering round someone's shoulder.

"And she's French. She'll cope." Miranda arrived with Selena at her side, both of them arguing.

"It's a social record," Miranda was saying.

"People behave very differently at weddings. It matters."

"You're not taking notes during the vows," Bathilda said. She plucked the parchment from Miranda's hand and replaced it with a glass.

"Drink. Observe like a civilised menace." Selena gave Cassian a grin as she passed.

"Cousin." Master Ji appeared beside Sabine so quietly that Cassian only clocked him when Coriolanus pointed his glass in his direction.

"Ji," Coriolanus said, "tell Sabine to stop threatening me." Ji's gaze moved from Coriolanus to the glass in his hand and back.

"No." Then he turned to Cassian with a big smile.

"Congratulations. My condolences on the speeches." Kingsley arrived mid-conversation with Charity, who looked half delighted and half exasperated by some bit of ministry nonsense.

"... and if they won't sign it, we revise the structure from the ground up," she was saying. Kingsley noticed Cassian and smiled.

"Good day for a ceasefire disguised as matrimony." Amelia marched up behind them, "Have you seen the latest draft of-" before stopping, resetting, and looking Cassian up and down with fast professional judgement.

"Congratulations. You look far too calm. That usually means trouble."

"Yes," said Cassian.

"I'm being deeply suspicious of the weather."

"That's sensible," Amelia said. Tonks arrived by nearly tripping over a root and somehow turning the near-disaster into a flourish. Her hair had gone bright turquoise for the occasion.

"Trip count so far, none," she declared.

"Kingsley owes me money if I stay upright through the vows."

"I agreed to no such thing," Kingsley said.

"You failed to object in time." Hagrid ducked under a low branch with Madame Maxime, who had to duck under an arch despite the tree raising its branch as if in greeting. Hagrid wiped a hand on his jacket, which still didn't fully qualify as a jacket, and bent to pat the roots fondly.

"Look at yeh," he murmured to the tree.

"Aren't yeh a sight." Fang thudded in behind him, drooling happily. Gabrielle Delacour promptly launched herself at Fang, put both hands on his face, and solemnly informed him he was "very squishy." Fang accepted this as gospel. High above them, something large shifted through the white branches. If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Ash had claimed the upper canopy hours ago and was now sprawled along a thick root like an overgrown cat with wings, one eye half-open in judgement. Every so often her tail flicked and the leaves around it brightened in protest.

"She's behaving," Hagrid said proudly.

"She's glaring," Madame Maxime corrected.

"Aye," said Hagrid.

"But politely." Then the younger lot started appearing in clusters that still looked, to Cassian's eye, like students out of habit even though most of them had long since become adults in jobs, uniforms, businesses, marriages, causes, and complicated disasters of their own. Harry wore dark formal robes sitting oddly well on him, Auror trainee pin catching the light at his collar. Ginny walked beside him, red hair pinned back and her whole face alight with whatever argument she was currently winning.

"Tonks had me running blindfolded again yesterday," Harry was saying.

"Apparently I rely too much on my eyes."

"You do," said Ginny.

"Come train with us for a week and we'll sort that right out."

"The day I join Harpies training is the day you stop speaking to me on principle." Ron followed with Hermione at his side, looking as though he had already found something to complain about and was delighted by it.

"She made me duel with a cauldron balanced on my head," Ron said.

"That can't be regulation."

"It wasn't," Hermione replied, not looking up from the rolled parchment in her hand.

"That's why she did it."

"You're no fun." Hermione reached up and fixed a fold in his sleeve.

"That's an outrageous lie." Neville came with a small potion cradled in both hands.

"Daph sent this for the tree," he explained when Cassian glanced at it.

"She said it felt appropriate." He looked sideways at Daphne.

"And I needed an excuse to ask Hagrid something about the forest replanting scheme." Daphne's mouth curved.

"Because heaven forbid you ask directly." Behind them, Draco appeared with the sort of posture that suggested he was attending either a wedding or a hostile takeover, depending on how the afternoon went. Pansy walked beside him.

"If you step on my hem," she told him, "I'll hex your ankle."

"The ground is uneven," Draco replied.

"I'm the victim here." Blaise came behind them with one hand in Millicent's and the other in his pocket, apparently at peace with the world purely because he looked well in expensive fabric.

"Millicent says your tree looks like it's listening."

"It is," said Cassian.

"Also reports back." Theo and Tracey slipped by without making a fuss, which, for the two of them together, usually meant they were up to something. Astoria followed a little later. She drifted toward Daphne with a smile and rested her fingertips against the bark as she passed. Fred and George arrived with Angelina and Alicia, already carrying folded slips of parchment that absolutely looked like bets.

"Professor," Fred said, clapping Cassian on the back, "I've got ten-to-one that you cry during the vows."

"That's touching."

"It's business," George corrected.

"Different department entirely."

"Ginny said she'd hex us if we rigged the outcome," Fred added.

"So this is ethically sourced." Lee Jordan popped up at their shoulders.

"Percy's placed a galleon on Snape smiling."

"That's reckless," Hermione murmured. Percy, standing a bit further back, straightened sharply.

"I did no such thing." Susan handed him a napkin while Amelia nearly dropped a plate onto a stack of ministry notes she shouldn't have brought. Hannah came behind them with a tray of pastries, Wayne and Megan close by. Justin Finch-Fletchley looked as though he'd been ironed into his clothes by a professional and was now discussing potion cooperatives with the serious expression of a man planning a peaceful revolution through logistics. Dean and Seamus appeared mid-laugh.

"Ask me to paint a plaque for the place," Dean was saying, "and I'll include Professor R's serious face in one corner."

"Only if you add Snape glaring in the background," said Seamus.

"For atmosphere." Lavender swept through in a cloud of perfume and confidence, Parvati and Padma with her, the three of them already evaluating decorative choices with the focus of experts. Padma somehow got Miranda and Septima into a discussion about dead languages in modern protections before either of them had managed to sit down. Terry, Anthony, Michael, and Lisa hovered near a knot of researchers, looking one interesting sentence away from abandoning the wedding entirely in favour of scholarship.

Marcus Flint and Oliver Wood arrived within sight of each other, exchanged a look that held years of sporting hostility, and then, through an act of astonishing maturity, didn't ruin the day. Fleur came with her family, and Gabrielle, having exhausted Fang for the moment, spotted Cassian and changed direction like a hunting bird.

"Cass Cass," she said, stopping in front of him and looking him over with delight.

"You look terribly serious. Why?"

"Because," he said, "I am currently responsible for half the people here not starting a duel."

"Only half?" she asked sweetly.

"That's selfish."

"Gabrielle," Fleur said, in the voice of an elder sister who had already survived too much.

"I'm supporting him," Gabrielle insisted. Then she leaned in and said, in a whisper, "Don't faint. It will be embarrassing. I'll laugh."

"Your loyalty is overwhelming." Gabrielle winked and vanished again before Fleur could catch her by the shoulder. Luna found him later, just after the last of the sunlight had slipped between the pillars. She had a habit of arriving precisely when his thoughts started straying somewhere less cheerful.

"You should see how the roots sparkle when you don't look straight at them," she said by way of greeting.

"Reminds me of your magic." Cassian smiled, mostly because she was looking right at him.

"I'll take your word for it. Last time I tried looking sidelong at magical radiance I walked into a pillar."

"Your depth perception is terrible," Luna said kindly.

"But your other senses work." She tilted her head, the flowers in her hair chiming softly.

"You look well," Luna said to Astoria. Astoria laughed softly.

"I look like I can eat without fainting, which is progress. Master Flamel says I'm his favourite experiment."

"He shouldn't call people experiments," Cassian said. A little way off, Frank and Alice Longbottom were seated with Augusta. Frank's smile was gentle. Alice's eyes were bright.

"We wouldn't have missed this," Ayda said from beside Edevane, as the two walked.

"It is rare to see such stubbornness rewarded." Edevane smiled.

"I also wanted to see which of you cried first. My money was on Sabine." Cassian gave her an offended look.

"Who told you about the betting pool?" Slowly the temple settled. People found seats, then changed them, then changed them back. McGonagall and Flitwick directed traffic with the air of generals in wildly different armies. Snape stood at the edge of the chairs on the obvious pretext that he preferred standing and the less obvious truth that he liked having an escape route. Bathilda began telling an outrageous story about a centaur wedding loud enough for nearby Hufflepuffs to hear while pretending not to.

Cassian watched it all with a smile. Hermione and Kingsley muttering about educational reform until Ginny physically dragged Hermione away toward the food. Ron and George arguing about whether a portable swamp counted as a tasteful wedding gift. Draco leaning toward Theo with some observation that probably sounded civil and absolutely wasn't. Daphne and Pansy discussing a Ministry gala and whether a certain new undersecretary was incompetent or merely exhausted.

Astoria and Luna talking to the roots about sunlight as if they expected answers. Hagrid already wiping his eyes. Sirius telling Harry that yes, he had once attended a wedding where someone got cursed into a pond and no, he didn't recommend the custom. Then the music changed. The whole temple turned. Ash circled above the branches, copper-red wings catching the light.

Then she settled along the higher roots with a rumble, reminding everyone that this bit mattered and wasn't to be interrupted unless someone was very stupid. Bathsheda appeared at the far end of the aisle. For the first few steps Perenelle and McGonagall walked at either side of her, not because she needed escorting, but because the pair of them had clearly decided that this much ceremony was non-negotiable. Then they peeled away and left her to finish the walk alone.

That was more difficult for Cassian than any vow would later be. She wore white and silver, though not in any frilly, dreamlike way that would have made her look borrowed from someone else's fantasy. The runes had been stitched into the fabric in lines so subtle they only showed when the light caught them, and when the light did catch them, they moved softly down the sleeves and over the folds like something remembered rather than sewn.

Tiny blossoms from the tree had been worked into her hair, and several had already escaped, which made him want to grin and go weak in equal measure. She looked like herself. That was what did it. Not transformed or idealised. Simply Bathsheda, walking toward him under the white branches with that calm of hers and the tiniest spark of amusement already waking in her eyes because she could obviously see what state he was in. She stopped in front of him and took him in.

"You look like a man on trial," she murmured.

"I feel like a man on trial."

"It's too late to mount a defence."

"Objection," he said.

"Overruled," said Nicolas from beneath the arch. That got a laugh through the chairs, and thankfully it knocked Cassian's lungs back into partial working order. Nicolas didn't speak long. He had been warned by both of them and by Perenelle, which in his case meant he had chosen wisdom over martyrdom. He spoke about endurance more than romance. About choosing a person in ordinary time, in the spaces between crises, in the daily work of living.

About love not as one great blinding moment, but as a chain of decisions made again and again until they formed a life sturdy enough to stand in. Someone sniffed loudly. Hagrid, by the sound of it. Bathsheda spoke first.

"We have nearly died in ruins," she said, "and argued in libraries. We have discovered things that were dangerous, things that were impossible, and things that, in retrospect, were deeply stupid. You are brilliant and exasperating and you make terrible tea. I promise to remind you to eat, and sleep, and stop bringing cursed objects into rooms that contain crockery. I promise to tell you when you're wrong, because you often are.

I promise to stand beside you when you're right, because that happens more than you deserve. And when history drags you into its theatre again, I promise to be there holding your notes." Fred laughed out loud. Hermione tried to shush him and failed because she was laughing too. Cassian looked at the ring in his palm, then at Bathsheda's face, and took the breath he needed.

"I had a proper speech," he said.

"It was excellent. Elegant. Possibly civilisation-altering. Unfortunately, I then saw you and forgot all of it." That drew another ripple of laughter.

"So here's the less polished version. I promise to keep choosing you. On quiet days and ugly ones. On the ordinary Tuesdays and the catastrophic Wednesdays. I promise to listen when you tell me to sleep. I promise to share the work, the danger, the books, the discoveries, and the bits of myself I still don't fully understand." He smiled then, because there was no point fighting it.

"And I promise not to leave cursed artefacts near the tea again. If I ever attempt to run from a wedding after this, you have full legal and moral permission to throw me into the sea." Bathsheda's mouth curved.

"Agreed." They exchanged rings. The silver warmed as soon as it touched skin. Above them, a branch dipped. White petals drifted down in a soft scattering, turning slowly through the air before catching in Bathsheda's hair and on Cassian's shoulders and over the front rows of chairs. Arthur forgot to take the photograph he had been preparing for. Even the tree seemed pleased with itself. Nicolas looked up, smiled with relief, then back at the pair of them.

"Well," he said, "that seems clear enough." Then he married them. Cassian kissed Bathsheda under the white tree, and the temple erupted. Ash let out a sharp, triumphant cry from above, flared her wings, and sent half the nearest leaves rattling.

"That counts as approval," Cassian said.

"From her," Bathsheda replied, "it's practically a blessing." Gabrielle whooped. Fang barked. Hagrid sobbed into a handkerchief the size of a tablecloth. Lee loudly informed everyone that Snape's expression counted as a smile and therefore he had won at least one bet. Snape denied this by standing very still and looking murderous, which only helped Lee's case. The chairs vanished shortly after, and the tables appeared. Food followed in abundance and then in excess.

Roast meat, grilled vegetables, breads warm enough to make the whole ruin smell of spice and comfort, bowls of fruit, platters of pastries, dishes no one could properly name because they had come from too many kitchens and too many countries to simplify. Molly still improved half the spread on sight. Sprout's wine turned out to be indecently good. Moody found fault with three exits and then ate as if nutrition were a private grudge match.

Snape accepted one glass of something dark and then, after being trapped by a perfectly polite word from Bathsheda, stayed longer than he'd intended. Ash eventually dropped from the canopy to a broken ring of stone near Hagrid and Maxime and accepted offerings with the air of royalty tolerating tribute. The noise rose the way good noise should. Gabrielle dragged over a chair and sat by Cassian with sudden seriousness.

"Are you happy?" she asked. It was such a direct question that it cut clean through the pleasant haze of the afternoon. Cassian looked around. At Harry with an arm loosely draped over Ginny's shoulders. At Hermione pretending not to enjoy being fed a bite of cake by Ron. At Neville with dirt on his cuff, still listening earnestly to something Augusta was saying. At Daphne and Tracey leaning together while Astoria said something that made both of them look at her with the same affection and exasperation.

At Draco laughing despite himself. At Luna dancing with Fang while Tonks applauded and Fang did his best. At Nicolas and Perenelle holding hands under the table like the oldest teenagers in the world. At the white leaves overhead moving in the warm air like the tree itself had settled into contentment.

"Yes," he said at last.

"Very."

"Good," Gabrielle replied.

"Because if you weren't, I was going to tell on you." Bathsheda appeared at his side just then and laced her fingers through his.

"Who's threatening you?" she asked.

"Your tiny sister-in-law."

"She means well."

"She's terrifying." Bathsheda glanced out over the tables, the laughter, the drifting petals, the old ruin turned generous for one day.

"It's loud," she said.

"Good," Cassian replied.

"Loud is lovely." The war had not ended the world. It had produced this instead. Too much food. Arguments about tariffs. Ministry gossip. Root systems. Potions clinics. Quidditch schedules. Ghosts hovering near dessert. Ancient scholars drinking under a tree born at the root of magic. Former students with jobs and jokes and bruises and futures. A family assembled from disaster, affection, obligation, survival, and repeated choice. The evening deepened. Lanterns came up among the roots. Music changed. People danced.

Or attempted to. Or claimed they were only moving to improve circulation, which fooled no one. Cassian drifted back toward Bathsheda and found her waiting beneath the tree as though she had known the exact path he would take through the crowd.

"Don't drift off," she said.

"You'll fetch me back."

"Always." He took her hand again. Above them, the leaves stirred. Somewhere behind them Fred set off a small firework that wrote Congratulations in pink over the roots before fizzling out in a shower of silver sparks. The branches rustled with what Cassian chose to interpret as tolerance. Bathsheda leaned lightly into his shoulder.

"This is nice," she said. He looked round once more.

"Yeah," he said.