“You look fine!”

Balfour adjusted his tie fussily, glancing at his grandfather in the reflection of the mirror. They were in the Study - a mirror had been brought in, all manner of clothes and tartan ribbons, bits and bobs littered about the usually neat but cosy room.

Fair sunlight streamed in through the windows and leant the place a dreamlike ambience.

The other groom had taken over the parlour just off the living room, which had once been his mother’s parlour and nowadays served as Johann’s workspace.

“I know, I know,” he muttered as he turned around to smile grimly at Balthair. “Just… nervous, you know.”

Gods knew why. This was all pomp and flash; a public declaration of a life they were already living, two men in love. But still, something stirred in his belly, not unpleasant.

Seanair lit his pipe, leaning against the cluttered desk whilst Balfour checked that his long socks were even and his kilt unwrinkled.. “I was, too. When I married your grandmother.”

It was kind of Balthair to lead today’s proceedings. His parents, though in attendance and always cordial, were not entirely comfortable with him marrying a wizard. Today was not the day for a shadow to fall on anyone’s happiness.

“Shaking in your shoes, I bet.” Bal laughed, feeling some tension leave him. “Ridiculous. It’s a ceremony, a dance, why do I feel like this? Christ.”

He breathed in and out slowly, and rubbed his face. It was Balthair’s turn to laugh. An old man’s cackle - and behind it, he picked out the murmur of the manor. Chattering voices in the passageway outside, the entrance hall, the kitchen. Children yelling or giggling.

Balfour strode to the Study window and looked out across the side terrace; he could make out the corner of the white marquee they had set up at the back of the house. Guests were making their way from the front, where the portkeys landed them, though they seemed oblivious to the groom gazing out at their blithe, prettily dressed figures.

“Too good to be true…” Balfour said to himself as he reached into his sporran pouch to retrieve a cigarette. “That’s what it feels like. I shouldn’t be allowed to be this happy.”

He drew breath, puffing away. The scent of his tobacco mingled with that of Seanair’s, and he felt the old wizard’s hand on his shoulder. It was light.

            “Don’t go talking nonsense now,” grumbled Balthair before letting go. “You’ve as much right as anyo–”

The door flew open with a bang, Knox suddenly in the room wearing a rust-coloured taffeta affair that brought out all the warmth in her already flushed countenance. She made a frustrated noise, gesturing at the two men.

”What are you dawdling here for? Gods, Balfour, put that bloody thing out!” his sister exclaimed, glancing at the wall clock anxiously. ”You’re getting married!”

He hastily ditched his cigarette. The Spectre wizards exchanged a sheepish look.

His mother was fussing with his curls, muttering to herself in her native tongue. She twisted one around her forefinger and frowned over his head into the mirror propped on the desktop. Johann caught her expression in the reflection and looked up from his cards. Despite their many revisions, scribbles, crossings outs, edits, re-edits, he didn’t need them. He had committed to memory everything important: his vows, his soon-to-be-husband’s middle name and the names of every Spectre expected to fill the house. In less an hour and a half there’d be one more. Him.

“Maybe my husband will be able to tame it,” Johann suggested with a smirk. Balfour had cut it more than once, but Johann’s hair seemed to grow back almost the instant it was cut. Camille took a beat to let the smile transform her concern.
“Well, I suppose he’s chosen to marry it!” She gestured with both hands at his dark hair. It was the neatest it had been in a long time, expertly tended to first thing that morning by a witch with enchanted scissors.
“And the rest of me, I hope.”

The humour was to cover the fluttering in his chest. Excitement mixed with nerves had been steadily growing all week. He’d dreamt he’d been terribly late, then that he’d woken up to find Balfour had vanished. Last night, the marquee had blown away with them and all the guests in it. The sun had just begun to lighten the night sky as he’d rushed to the window to check it was still there on the grounds, glad it had been just a bad dream.

“Warts and all.” His mother confirmed, her reflection smiling affectionately at him as she squeezed his shoulders with both hands, her grip keen over his cream shirt. Johann knew it was possible, his mother had loved his late father unconditionally once too, but in Johann’s eyes, his and Balfour’s relationship lacked any warts, metaphorical or actual. They’d weathered Ira Almasy, Layton and a surprise son in the time they had been together. Not even Balfour’s favourite dragon had successfully intervened, nor Johann’s sleeping potions.

“Not today,” Johann uttered under his breath to fate. “Today we’ll be married.”

He wasn’t drunk but he absolutely felt drunk, standing before the crowd of family and friends (and in some cases, strangers) beneath the high marquee ceiling.

It was an open marquee - the sprawling grounds of the Spectre estate fell away from the celebration in a carpet of Spring grass and the lush, sharp trees jutted starkly out in the forests beyond. A beautiful day, thanks the gods.

            ”You remember your vows alright?”

Nathaira’s voice was a whisper but, as she was his ‘best man’ and stood right next to him, Balfour heard her well over the murmuring watchers in their white Edwardian chairs. He had been contemplating the scenery and glanced over his shoulder now, wry.

“Did you have to ask?” his eyebrows went up, “I’m nervous enough, thanks.”

He spoke in a whisper as well, to avoid disturbing Balthair - who would be performing the ceremony - and Feliks, who stood in concentration next to his great grandfather holding a long strip of their clan tartan.

The two grooms would have to tie the cloth in a knot when they, well, figuratively tied the knot.

            “Oh that's daft, you’ve nothing to be nervous about,” Knox clicked her tongue lightly. ”Little brother,” she added, ”who slays dragons.”

“You know I don’t slay them,” Balfour retorted as he turned his gaze to the end of the aisle formed by their guests. “And besides, Johann’s much prettier than a dragon.”

Their exchange did help settle his nerves - and he knew that had been the point of his sister’s jesting, though he wouldn’t admit it. Knox drew breath to start on a rejoinder but she gasped instead.

          “Oh, they’re coming!” she exclaimed at a regular volume, causing the wedding chatter in the marquee to drop.

Balfour felt a calm come over him. He had not seen his husband-to-be all morning, and wondered if maybe his anxiety had been that lack of Johann’s presence. If so, why be anxious for any longer?

The bagpipes shocked the wedding crowd with a sudden clamour of noise. Balfour’s laughing smile turned soft. Here came his groom, walking down the aisle.