The Grimmest of Occassions

It was ten o’clock in the morning and, still, Gabby refused to get out of bed. He had this grand idea that, if he could just sleep through this ordeal, he somehow would not have to go through with it. He had never followed the rules before – what was making him go through with this particular one?

Oh, yeah. Right – the threat of Azkaban. Gabby felt pretty special. He had ignored most of his owls to go through with the actual deed. When the Aurors had rounded up all of those in noncompliance, he had been meant to be one of those few. So, he had decided to take a day trip to Paris to visit with some of his ‘acquaintances’ there. When he returned, the riot was over and everyone was back in their place. Except for two particularly hard-faced Ministry officials who were not in their place in their cramped cubicles, but were, instead, waiting on his doorstep. He was given one final warning. He was to get married or he would be chucked into Azkaban.

At first, it was a major compliment. As far as he was aware, he had been the only one to get two officials, and such a hard ultimatum. There was no shred of professionalism, it seemed, left for Gabriel Jamison Short, the third. He was so unmanageable that the Ministry considered his noncompliance to be a personal threat. The glow of pride did not last forever, however. Because Irene had sent him the information on the ceremony to take place, and time had flown, and now he was certainly going to be late for his own arranged wedding.

He rolled over in bed, groaning loudly as he yanked away the pillow he had been using to shield his eyes from sunlight. A moment later, he wished he had not done so. For, in the chair in the corner of his room, was a smirking ginger.

“Sacred mother of Dumbledore, what the bloody hell are you doing here, Dyllan?!”

Jack Dyllan grinned wider, dropping her head onto her shoulder so she could look at him properly in his horizontal position. “I’m your best man, mate – just doing my duty.”

Gabby sat up straight, drawing his blankets up to his chest as though protecting his modesty. A grumpy look settled onto his face, steeping his countenance in the many expression wrinkles on his skin. “You’re not my best man,” came the grouchy retort.

Jack shrugged. “Well, I’m sort of your best man’s best man, so, you know, I offered to help out.” The grin loosened a little, drooping slightly. “Come on, Gabby, it’s time to go.”

He rolled over, pulling the blankets over his head. “I’m not ready to go to Azkaban.”

“Then go get married.”

“But I’m really not ready to get married.”

There it was. It had nothing to do with Irene – well, it did a little. He had a horrible feeling he would not make it to three dinners as a married man before he was fed Onion and Arsenic Soup. But, more than that, he would be forced to have a ring on his finger. He would have to face his family with some societal proof of settlement. He would be passed up by women, only leaving those with the smallest consciences, and those typically had the smallest personalities as well. And he would be bowing to an authority he did not approve of.

He heard Jack moving and when he pulled the covers away, she was kneeling next to his bed, her elbows propped up on the bed. Her look was almost maternal – he supposed Sunny had trained Jack’s face to form that particular expression. She gave him a grin. “Neither was I. But, as you may have noticed, I’m the same old Jack as ever. And there’s no way your partner is going to be any worse than me. If Max can do it, surely you can too, right?”

Gabby preferred the Jack who hid rum from him, who lit Fireworks off in the backyard when things got too quiet. This was a Jack who had been given some wisdom, some inner peace, and it seemed that her successful marriage had helped with that. Gabby was not sure if he was ready for peace or wisdom. His eyes fluttered closed. One big breath in, one big breath out. It was his wedding day. His wedding day. He was just going to have to accept that-

“Aaaand, time!”

His eyes opened in confusion just in time for him to see Jack at the foot of the bed. She whipped off his comforter, before reaching forward and grabbing his feet. He let out a yelp and pulled his legs inward, ready to kick. Jack threw her weight backward and he came sliding off of his bed, landing with a heavy thump on the ground. Jack bent over him, smirking in his face. “We no longer have time for peaceful negotiations. You’re now my hostage. I already took your suit, and I have a suit bag to throw you into if you don’t cooperate. Capice?”


He had arrived. He was a half hour later than he should have been, and he was cranky, but he was there. He followed Jack up the steps of the courthouse, noticing that she had dressed more carefully than usual. In fact, Gabby had noticed that, though Jack was still known to throw on socks that didn’t match and a t-shirt that should have been retired after rip number three, that when she was taking care in her dress, she wasn’t looking too shabby. In slacks that lengthened her short figure, a plain white tomboyish blouse, and a fitted blazer, she almost looked like a woman. And if Gabby was noticing, the man who was still certain that Dyllan was satan in disguise, surely Max was noticing too.

Speaking of…

“Maximus Traitor Morrison! Where are you?”

Jack rolled her eyes as these words escaped Gabby’s lips. She angled herself towards a specific room, seemingly having arrived before she had picked Gabby up. “Groom’s quarters this way,” she explained. “Max is in there. I’m going to go let Irene know you’re here. And the official.”

Gabby kept walking as she peeled off, looking more and more urgent. He approached the door that seemed to be his, as there was a suit bag hanging on the door. He yanked at it, but it was hooked tightly around the door. Three yanks later and he let out a small roar of frustration, finally tearing the bag down, arms flailing and flopping madly. He threw the door open and crossed into the room in quick strides, struggling to wrestle the bag from out of his grasp. “How dare you sic your ginger demon on me! Force me into marriage – ha! I’d like to see them all try. You’re going to bust me out of here before I marry that… that… oh.”

It was only then that Gabby realized he was not addressing Maximus Morrison, but the very woman he was about to marry. For there, in the flesh, was Irene Norwood.

Meanwhile, Jack was sitting down with Max in the room where the ceremony would take place. Jack grinned as she sat, explaining before he could ask. “I may have… intervened. Gabby’s here, and he’s having a much needed talk with his bride to be.”

There would be no heroics here. Irene liked her life. She had spent years molding her house, job, and friends into a configuration she genuinely enjoyed and there was very little that they could have done to her to make her give it all up in exchange for prison. Of course she didn't want to marry Gabriel, that much was obvious, but part of her hoped that he would make some last minute protest and be the one dragged off in chains to leave her free and clear. Irene felt a bit like they were playing a game of chicken, waiting and watching to see who would back out first.

Irene had made all the wedding perpetrations. To be fair, it was only a wedding in the loosest and most technical sense. She made an appointment at the court house but beyond the simple date and time she put no thought into the affair. There would be no flowers, cake, or rings (unless another member of the wedding party had taken that responsibility on themselves). Even the wedding party was not really a wedding party.. just a married couple that Gabriel was friends with to act as officials.

Irene was ten minutes early.

She was not excited or anxious but punctuality was no deeply engrained in her nature that she could not help but be timely to an event that she would rather be skipping altogether. Upon arrival Irene was directed towards a dressing room where she was grateful to find an assortment of plushy, light pink chairs. Truthfully, the bride-to-be felt a bit silly sitting there. There were inspirational quotes about love hung on the walls and a vase of wilty flowers on the end table. The longer Irene sat the more she wished she had picked a place with less feminine decor and picked a dress that was not this close to white.

Time ticked on, giving Irene plentiful opportunity to think and overthink her current situation. She began to pace and jumped slightly when the bashful face of Maximus Morrison peered in to greet her. He left quickly and there was more waiting. Irene would have been annoyed at his tardiness if she wasn't so hopeful that he wouldn't appear at all. Maybe her dreams would come true and she would be left alone a the alter.

But when had luck ever been on her side? No sooner than Irene had began to feel safe her door was unceremoniously thrown open by a figure wrestling a suit bag. His voiced filled the air like a bad stench, lingering even after it had trailed off. Upon seeing his face it was no longer possible for Irene to be worried about the wedding. She could feel nothing but annoyance. Her internal critique immediately began. He was infuriatingly like himself right now - bed head, undressed, late, shouting. The corners of Irene's lips dipped into a frown as she surveyed him, unsure if she was unhappier about the state he had arrived in or that he had arrived at all.

"Demon ginger?" Irene repeated slowly, her eyebrows raising scepticly. She could only assume he was referring to Ms. Dyllan (or Dyllan-Morrison as it now technically was) and the name was nearly enough to amuse her. Irene remembered Jack from her term as head of the Department of Magical Creatures and had to admit some respect for the young, reckless girl.

"You're late." Irene snapped as she shook off his loud comments, unfolding her legs and sitting up in the chair. "I need to get back." It would have been easy to get a week or so off for a honeymoon but Irene had refused even a day off work. She knew going back to the house after this.. event.. would give too much time to think and the Ravenclaw craved some distraction from her personal life. Even if that distraction was paperwork.

He was definitely not happy to see Irene. He had been honestly hoping to find Max. It would start as innocent complaints, sure, but he knew that when he needed to tell Max how he was feeling, his friend would come up with something. Once Max knew that Gabby could not marry Irene for more than his playboy tendencies. There was a lot to be said for his own fear of commitment, his certainty that Norwood would poison him before trying couple's counseling, and his own inability to accept adult responsibility. There was two pervading problems. What would Trixie be to him once he was married? And how was he supposed to be a good father, when he had spent his whole life hating that very name?

She looked almost smug, and he wasn't sure what that meant. Surely, she did not want to see him. Jack must have done this - she would be getting hers eventually. "Yes. We'll celebrate the nuptials with an exorcism. It's much overdue."

He was more aware than anyone that he was late - and yet, it was so much earlier than he would have liked it to be. "I was making myself extra special for you," he said scathingly. He held up the suit bag. "I'm assuming this was a joke. I don't see why I would need to wear a real suit for a fake ceremony." He tossed the suit bag over a couch and walked over to the window, fiddling with the blinds.

For whatever reason, Irene's words irritated him. Yes, her business was so important and this ceremony meant nothing. He knew she was trying to pretend that getting married held no weight, but it bugged him to feel like he was the only one to see what a big deal it was. It was going to change everything for him, and he was feeling like a petulant child with not an ally in the world. Would no one sympathize?

So the child did what the child did best. Pushed buttons.

"You can't work on our honeymoon? The marriage isn't official until we've spent the night making it official."