Prisoner of History ll Art&Scorp
Breathe in, breathe out.
You’re fine, it’s your big day. You’ve been waiting for this for years. Be happy, god dammit.
The words are like a mantra in his head as he walks down the isle slowly and steadily, crisp black tuxedo, black bow tie and all, so beautiful on the outside and yet so broken on the inside. He keeps his eyes strictly forward because four steps ago he’d tried to smile at Noelee, who waved to him and ended up with a more than familiar prickling sensation in his eyes. He glances to the side and there is Fred along with half the Weasley clan. There’s Evolet, the Scamamnder twins, the Edwards and even Theodore god damn Mathers. Two more steps and there is Albus Severus Potter looking up at him, smiling for his sake.
And right there next to Albus sitting at the edge of the isle is the sweetest, most gentle half Veela, half Malfoy child Art has ever had the pleasure of having a hand in raising. The young girl reaches out a hand towards him, a grin on her own face. She’s still so young, so innocent and so clueless about her surroundings, what she’s doing there, who she’s with.
“Artie!” she calls to him in all her sweet innocence as she tries to reach out to him. With all the gentleness of a father, Albus tries to restrain the child and get her to sit properly again. Art only gets to brush his fingers against hers before she’s pulled back and then he keeps on walking. Eyes forward once again to the altar where a certain brown haired, blue eyed former Hufflepuff waits for him with a smile.
Art exhales deeply and puts on a shaky smile as he comes to stand in front of the older man, as larger, warm hands close around his. “Almost there, love” Alex whispers to him just before the priest begins to speak and for a moment Art’s smile is genuine. He looks to his two groomsmen, Miles and Carson and one of them is winking at him while the other is giving him a thumbs up. His smile only widens and this time his eyes begin pricking for a different reason entirely.
“Daddy, do they kiss now?” little Pandora Malfoy-Potter questions louder than she’d intended in the middle of the priest’s readings and the entire audience lets themselves laugh freely despite the slight air of tension floating around from being gathered together after so many years. Art smiles and Alex in front of him chuckles as well, looking first to Pandora and then to Art, shaking his head fondly.
Art then looks to Pandora as well, just as the laughter begins to die out and the priest begins reciting again. And never has Art felt a sick feeling consume his heart and close up his throat the way it does in that moment as he looks over to where his best man is standing and sees a tall, proud Mason Stancliff instead of a cocky, arrogant, supportive, lovable but most of all, deceased, Scorpius Malfoy.
