The Sun and Her Moon- Remus Lupin

A Toast To The Happy Couple

Words could not possibly describe Aveline's thought process as she sat inbetween her brother and Theodore Nott, forks scraping against plates. Aveline hadn't even noticed what they were eating, her mouth barely moving as she stared out in the distance, begging this to be some fucked up prank.

She knew pureblood usually got married young, her own parents got married at 15 and 18 respectively, but she was 16 and engaged— she was seriously freaking out. Her mind whirled around, trying to think of anyone way she could get out of this, and only one blaring solution was present in her mind.

She would have to go the ministry. Tell them Mr Rosier was keeping their mother— who was register as dead— locked up, and that he himself was a death eater trying to marry his teenage daughter off.

But then they'd most certainly drag Evan down along with her father. He'd most likely be thrown in Azkaban, and with that she really didn't know what to do.

For he was her brother, and everytime she looked at him she refused to believe he truly was a criminal and a murderer.

The little boy who would sneak her toast when her father wouldn't let her eat, was certainly not this man sitting beside her, blood thick on his hands.

Mrs Nott was chatting like an annoying sheep who wouldn't shut up about all the wedding details. Claiming that it needed to be better then the wedding of Bellatrix and her husband, as if that even mattered.

Aveline wasn't even listening, and she certainly didn't notice when the woman was asking her questions.

"Aveline," her father said sternly and her eyes flew up. "Mrs Nott is asking if you'd prefer a spring or summer wedding."

His tone was full of warning— don't fuck up or else.

"Oh uh, apologies Mrs Nott," she muttered in a flustered tone. "I honestly don't have a preference."

"Well certainly you must have some care it is your wedding dear!"

"We should wait till summer," Mr Nott piped in, a porky man with a thinning grey moustache and a non existent hair line. "If I'm correct, that's when Miss Rosier turns 17, isn't it Calvus?"

By the end of the dinner the date was set— August 1st. Exactly ten days after she turned 17. Theodore seemed more then happy to go along with all the dotting, happily accepting the glasses of champagne and fire-whiskey both their fathers were feeding him for celebratory purposes.

After dinner they retreated to the sitting room, where Theodore sat next to Aveline on a love seat, and in which Mrs Nott continued to dott over the couple.

"Well you two certainly will have beautiful children, won't they gentleman?"

Aveline hadn't said a word for the better part of the hour, trying to ignore Theodore's hand snaking around her waist. He seemed to be as excited as his parents about the match, his face red and drunk and his hands ever so wandering.

"To the happy couple," Mr Nott toaster, and the glasses clinked.

The only thing running through Aveline's mine, was that she could not marry Theodore Nott.
______

The second the Nott's apparated away, Aveline felt all her frustration rush forward. Her cold body, suddenly feeling warm. As if the rage was dancing in her finger tips as she rounded on her father, who was trying to retreat to his study as if none of that had even happened.

"I will not be marrying him."

Calvus didn't say anything, the man still walking as if she was nothing but an annoying fly on the wall.