His father fussed over Oliver's brooch for what felt like half an hour. He tried to be as patient as possible, knowing that his father was nervous for him, but Oliver was very rightly the most nervous of the two.

"Da, please! It's fine. Thanks." His father snapped his hands back and looked abashed.

"Right. Yeah. You're right. I just want to make sure everything is perfect for you. It's a big day, son." He brushed his son's shoulders brusquely of none-existence dirt. His mother tapped on the door and peeked her head in before she came in fully. She gave him what looked to be a very emotional smile. She looked like she was trying very hard not to cry.

"Oh son…" She took her son into her eyes. He patted her back softly, as though to comfort her. "You're so handsome. When did you grow up to be a man?" He laughed.

"Ma. Let go. Come on. It's okay. Most sons grow up to get married." He felt a lump in his throat when he said it. Married. He was incredibly nervous. Excited.

"You are far too young! Can't you wait a few more years? She's such a lovely girl, we all know that. We love her! But can't she wait for you?" Oliver frowned.

"Mother… We may not have years…" There was a sombre silence in the large room off the Valentine gardens. "Aren't you excited though?" he asked with a small smile, trying to make the mood a little lighter.

"Of course we are, cricket." his father said, looking slightly bleary eyed. "This may be the happiest day of our lives. I'm so proud of you son. I don't say that nearly enough." His father told him every time he saw him, actually. But every time he said it, Oliver felt proud to be on the path he was on.

"Do you think… Do you think I look okay? These are the Valentines. I don't want to let her down…" Oliver stared at his reflection in the mirror, frowning, and pulling at his kilt this way and that.

"You look perfect. You're a Scotsman. You'd put any of these French pansies to shame." his mother said. He stared at his mother incredulously.

"I'm marrying into a French family, ma. You might want to tone it down…" He stared out the window to the sunny French countryside. Tall poplar trees brushed the sky delicately with a slight breeze. The day would be bright and glorious. A perfect day for a wedding. His stomach twisted in knots. What was he doing? He was so young. They hadn't been together that long in the scheme of things. Were they being too hasty?

But then he thought of a future that didn't have Aquila in it. Well he tried to, but he found the task impossible. In every scenario he had daydreamed about, Aquila was always there. She had the starring role in his life. Always. This time of their life was perilous now. Circumstance had made it so. So what else was he to do. He knew that in some part of his life he would marry her. He wasn't going to let the chance slip away from him. This was war. And there was no time for hesitancy. He straightened his back, threw his shoulders back, and walked towards the door.

"I have a woman to marry." he said. His parents chuckled and followed him. The sun beat down on him the second he stepped out into the beautiful garden. Many white chairs seated their copious amounts of guests on the rolling lawns of the Valentine garden. Oliver saw all his friends grinning up at him. The entirety of Puddlemere United, manager and coach included. His Gryffindor team. Even god-damned Percy Weasley, who looked shell shocked. Maybe witnessing them getting married would convince him that he and Aquila were together. Oliver walked down the aisle that separated the sea of guests. He stood before the burbling fountain that had small statues of fairies playing in the water. Subtle.

He stood for a time, thinking over all that he wanted to say to her. The short witch who was to officiate the ceremony would say calming words to him every now and then. And then music began to play, and a hush fell over the crowd. Aquila had been serious about her 60s music, it would seem. He smiled nervously as Moon River played. He almost laughed with nervous energy. And then a figure in white appeared, walking slowly towards him. His heart leapt into his throat. Her dress was relatively simple, with details picked out in lace. The shiny silk hugged her hips, which swayed gently as she walked. She clutched a bouquet of purple dahlias. Her face was covered with a delicate lace veil. He couldn't breathe. It was happening. Here she was. The woman who would very soon be his wife. The world seemed to slow around him as he took in every detail of her. He felt as though he should fall on his knees before her. He had never felt so overwhelmed by the love he felt for her as he did now. She was so close now. He could just about make out the shape of her face beneath the veil, which was held in place with a sparkly diadem. When she stood beside him, he took a moment before he reached out his shaking hands, and lifted back her veil. Her sparkling blue eyes stared into his. She looked just as overwhelmed as he felt. His hand rested on her cheek for a moment. She closed her eyes and leaned into his hand. The moment felt heavy and incredibly important. He felt incapable of speech. It was as though he had never fully realised how much he truly loved her. When she looked back into his eyes, it was though she knew. They stared into each others eyes intensely. With solemnity, they turned together to the small witch. And the wedding began.