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 If there’s one thing I thought I would never understand about weddings it’s the dresses. They are almost always vile. Although I suppose, in a sense, that is the point. The only person supposed to look good at a wedding is the bride. Everyone else has to look like a fashion train wreck that’s kind of the point. I, unfortunately, am in no position to spoil Amy’s party. I look a wreck and I damn well know it. My dress is silky and black and there is nothing wrong with it, but it doesn’t hold a candle to the stunning piece of white fabric donned by my sister. My hair, frequently a mess more than ever nowadays, is long and curly, untameable as it whips around me. My face is stained with tears, but I find that more and more nowadays, I feel like crying. Ever since Kate’s death, six months previous, I find that my emotions run away from me. The wedding has brought out a multitude of emotions in me. The insane happiness of my sister brings tears to my eyes in itself but couple that with the reminders of those I have lost and the fact that I will never be anything close to Amy drains me.

And as for Tom, well we’ve been fighting. A lot. The closer we get to the wedding, the more we’ve been fighting. All the stuff seems trivial, but neither of us has much control over our emotions at all, and the arguments have been getting worse. Last night was one of the worst we’ve ever had. I stayed round his house but the screaming got so bad I ended up blasting apart his front door and storming off, apparating to stay with Harry for the night. Normally, after our fights, I go and cry on Amy’s shoulder. But I couldn’t. Not last night. Not the night before her wedding. It’s not fair on her, whatever my circumstances. I glance myself in the mirror. My eyes are puffy and red, my cheeks streaked with mascara. If my sister hasn’t already guessed what happened last night, the look on my face when she enters tells her the whole story.

“Lucy, honey,” she runs straight to my side and I swear loudly.

“Amy, it’s your wedding day, don’t worry about me, today of all days,” I spit, erupting into a fresh batch of tears.

“It was a bad one, huh?” Amy questions, already knowing the answer before I nod.

“I love him so much it’s fucking crazy, so why do we keep ending up screaming bloody murder at each other?” I ask, pulling myself together as much as I can. Amy, to her credit, already looks stunning. She’s still dressed in a dressing gown and she needs to do both her hair and makeup, but she totally overshadows me.

“Lucy,” Amy starts, moving to a kneeling position by my chair.

“Amy, come on, we’re not going to finish in time unless you hurry!” Macey yells exasperatedly, sticking her head in. “Who fucked you over?” she asks me. Queue more tears. Amy shoots her a clear “piss off” look and Macey rolls her eyes before leaving again.

“Go Amy, it’s your wedding.”

“Lucy, sometimes in life, things don’t always go the way you planned. People fight, it’s natural. What’s important is that at the end of the day the pair of you still want to be together and can work through the problems. Does he still want to be with you?”

“I don’t know anymore.” My reply is so quiet, so soul-destroying, I barely get it out. I truly hope Tom still loves me, but the way I’ve acted lately, I have real reason to doubt that it’s true. Whether or not he’ll even turn up to the wedding is a mystery to me.

“You’ll find out soon enough. If he loves you, he’ll come.”

“Thanks Amy, now let’s get you ready for your wedding.”


I don’t know whether it is the fact that Amy is sure of me, or whether it’s being surrounded by caring friends and family (and Macey), but I feel a touch better as we sit in the bride’s quarters. The morning itself seems to pass in a blur of hair, makeup, clothes and chit-chat. Harry, Ron and Hermione pop in to say hi at one point. Harry wants to make sure I’m okay, which is understandable, considering I spent half the night crying on his shoulder. Poor Ginny, I hope she got some sleep. Hermione’s memory was practically recovered by now. Ron had worked tirelessly with her for months, showing his dedication and love to her. And it worked, Hermione is back to her old, gleaming self. Ginny and Neville also stop by to say hi, but I don’t feel up to talking too much. As much as I hate to say it, Neville reminds me too much of Kate and Zara. Zara who lost everything and Kate whose death triggered my spiral. No sign of Tom.

With only an hour to go to the wedding, there are only four of us left preparing. I’m sat in a corner of the dressing room, straightening my hair as Macey and my mother stress over Amy. Amy, naturally, is as cool as ever, saying it’s no big deal when Macey’s curling wand comes up short and laughing when my mum smears her lipstick. I finally finish up and run over to check out the finished product that is my sister. Her blonde hair is in ringlets, tied up in a neat half and half, cascading over her face. Her tiara has a white veil, very traditional style. Her makeup is simple but beautiful and then there is the dress itself. It flows almost to the floor, the most dazzling shade of white I have ever seen in my life. I gasp, unable to stop myself as I take in how beautiful my sister is.

“You two go, we’ll catch up,” she assures Macey and mum.

“You look unbelievable,” I say, beaming.

“You need to look as good if you’re going to wow Tom,” Amy grins.

“It’s not going to happen,” I insist. “I’m nothing compared to you.”

Amy picks up her wand and murmurs something, pointing it at me. My black dress turns the purest white and my dark, untameable hair, ties itself into a gorgeous braid. Any signs of sadness are wiped from my face and I gasp. The resemblance between myself and my sister is clear now and I can’t help but smile. I’ll never be Amy, but then I’m not Amy. I’m Lucy. And I always be. It’s time to stop snivelling and win back the man of my dreams. Again. Because apparently the first time wasn’t dramatic enough for whatever twisted being rules my life. Sorry brain. I glance at myself in the mirror one last time, before leading my sister out, into the biggest night of her life.

And he’s waiting for me. Tom. Fucking hell he’s gorgeous. He’s wearing sharp, jet black dress robes and he shoots me a look that both pleads and acknowledges fault. I can’t look at him or I’ll break down. I avert my eyes away, staying focused on the altar as I move. Amy must know, presumably because of the fact that my grip on her arm has become a vice, because she looks at me sympathetically. It’s a quick look, but it will show up on the wedding videos and I instantly feel horrible. This is her day and she refuses to stop worrying about me. I wish I could be that selfless.

We reach the altar and Amy peels off. Her eyes have locked onto James’ and the pair are as in love as the moment they first kissed. I take up a position to Amy’s left as the service begins. Fuck. He’s resourceful. Tom has chosen a seat so perfect, that I can’t look away from him without making it painfully obvious to everyone in the hall. I keep my face pleasant and my eyes were glazed over, hiding the emotion. I couldn’t let Tom how hurt I was, how much I wanted him; needed him even. He couldn’t realise how I felt. The ceremony was beautiful, the couple as loving as any I’d ever seen. But, no matter how hard I tried, my attention could not be diverted from the puppy dog eyes and school boy curls sitting in the second row. I wanted to scream, it was that infuriating. I slumped my back slightly, only to stand up straight again as I realised how it looked. On Amy’s other side, my mum was completely absorbed in the ceremony. Eventually, they said the I dos, snogged and apparated off to whatever honeymoon they had planned (Amy was unusually coy about that). Which left me needing to navigate a way to the door that didn’t involve passing Tom. I swore loudly as the crowds began to disperse, heading out the door towards the reception next door. Besides, it was customary at Wizarding weddings that only the couple apparated out, everyone else walked out the room.

I decided, once the wave of standing people reached us, to take the most direct route, and leg it. I moved quickly but I could feel him moving behind me. By the time I was close to the door, I had broken into an almost sprint, swearing as I did so. I heard him call my name and then I felt a hand just brush my ribcage. I tried to go faster but then his hand grasped my shoulder. I shoved him off but his other hand found my waist and twirled me on the spot. He looked pained and I realised tears were already streaking down my face.

“Don’t say it,” I said, less composed than I had intended.

“Say what?” he replied, his voice broken and crackling.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, leaning closer to him.

“But I am sorry,” Tom said, trying to kiss me. I shook my head and pulled away.

“I love you Tom, but we can’t always solve our problems with a kiss. We need to work at it.”

“I’ll do anything,” he replied. “I don’t know why everything has been so messed up recently, but this feels right and I’m not giving up on you.”

“I don’t know why either Tom,” I sighed. “And I know how you feel about me. But we need to take this slow. I know I’ve been off these last few months. Cranky, not myself. But we can’t just keep fighting then making up. I’m not strong enough.”

He holds me. No words, just the feel of our bodies interlocking. It’s strange how in the middle of a room, full of hurrying people I know well, that I can be so absorbed in one person. Tom was the only thing I could understand, feel, as I kept myself locked in his embrace. I wanted nothing more than to apparate back to my bedroom, him in hand. But we were expected at the reception. My parents were waiting. And besides, we couldn’t rush this. Our fights usually ended up with passionate love-making and that just led to more fighting. In many ways, our sex ruined the finer parts of our relationship, which clearly needed work.

We eventually broke the hug, only then did I realise Harry, standing in the doorway, watching, with a concerned look on his face. He slipped out of sight before Tom noticed him, but I knew I hadn’t heard the last of it. The next few hours were tedious. Tom and I ended up separated and although the wedding was fairly low key, there were lots of people there from James and Amy’s year and I ended up getting caught up in the scramble of it all. My parents had a few ministry people over as well and I was introduced to several members of key departments. The truth was, I didn’t have a clue about my career, nor did I find it necessary to worry. I was focused only on Tom, or my other friends, when they presented themselves. The best part of the reception was a half-hour chat with Neville, catching up, before his grandmother fetched him as it was getting late.

I was just about to say my goodbyes as the party was dying down, when I found a hand on my shoulder. I turned, to see nobody there, only to be pulled under Harry’s cloak. He was smiling but I could see his anxiety.

“Tom?” I asked wearily.

“I know you care about him, and I can see how happy he makes you,” Harry explained. “I just want to make sure you know what you’re doing. You were in a dreadful state last night. I don’t want to see you hurt.”

I didn’t have the faintest idea what I was doing. Maybe I never would have. But right there, under that cloak, what Harry said made something click. Tom made me happy. And that was all there was to it. And, in many ways, that was all I needed to hear. And then, I realised, he would be there forever, because without him, I wouldn’t be happy.

And that, dear reader, is the end to this story. I’d love to tell you all about my life with Tom, our house, our jobs, our child. But that, I’m afraid, is a story for another day. And one, that it is not my job to tell…

 

A/N: To say that this is a great ending to this story would probably be lying. But tbh I wasn't really sure how best to end it and whilst I'm not too happy with this chapter, the story is finished :) The Lost Potters, however, will return with LP 4: Problems and, because this story is for you, my loyal readers, here is a sneak peak ;) HP







“Get back here you bloody little toerag!” Argus Filch, the caretaker at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry roared, stumbling in his old age as he hurled himself full pelt down the hallowed corridors. A few steps ahead of him but rapidly gaining an advantage and pulling away, an 11 year old James Potter laughed triumphantly and skidded around the corner. James glanced backwards over his shoulder as he entered the entrance hall. Just as he had expected, Filch was falling back, heaving and sighing, unable to keep up with James’ youthful pace. James kept his eyes facing the wrong direction a little longer than he should have and then, without warning, he ran slap bang into a solid body.
 

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