“Rain on a wedding day,” he says, sticking his hand out of the open window. “That’s supposed to be bad luck, isn’t it?”

Something his mother used to tell him; rain is bad. Get married on a Sunday in the Summer when there’s no chance of it. Sundays are good luck. Means the marriage will last long. And get married in a big Church, because Churches are good luck, too. Even if you don’t believe in angels, Jamie. It’s nice to see all of them looking down at you and sending you off with good things on your side. Good things, baby. Remember all the good things.

She might be disappointed if she were here.

His heart clenches a little. “We can’t start the ceremony until it stops raining!” His voice is kind of high. Kind of panicking. Remus adjusts his bow tie and then pats him on the cheek.

“It’s fine. A little drizzle never hurt anyone.”

He doesn’t need soothing words.

He needs someone who will agree with him and not look at him for being a ridiculous fuck an hour before he’s supposed to exchange rings with the—this is where he falters—the love of his life. Who’s supposed to be just a couple of doors away from him piling together her bridesmaids and getting a dress tugged up over her hips, Mary poking her in the belly and asking if she’s been sneaking one too many midnight snacks because she could have sworn the dress wasn’t this snug when they tried it on a few weeks ago. Instead of making him smile, the thought makes his mouth go dry. “It’s not fine, Remus. It’s definitely not fine. It’s bad luck and that’s not fine!”

Peter and Remus exchange looks over his head. “We’ll uh,” Pete scratches at his neck, where his collar’s been all buttoned up.“We’ll go find Sirius. Pull him off of whichever Muggle cousin of Lily’s he’s cornered in one of the chapel closets!”

And he slips down with his head between his knees as soon as the door slams shut.

And it’s raining.

And it’s bad luck.

And his mother would have frowned at him before forcing him up and trying to smooth down his hair in the back while telling him all those Mum things she was so good at. Like, James Ezra Potter, you’re being an idiot. If you make this girl wait any longer, she’s going to end up running away with some bloke that isn’t you!

It’s bad how much he wants her to, sometimes. Find someone that’s not him because he’s shit for her. Good fiances aren’t the ones that have dreams about a different pair of legs wrapping around him at night and stealing the covers. Lily kicks them off and he just lays there sometimes, wondering if he stays this way long enough he’ll disappear. Good fiances don’t have second thoughts three times a day, when he sees his almost-wife walking around their flat in nothing but his old button down and turns away, because at another point in time—during another life, a different girl had been wearing that with all the buttons undone while he grabbed at her and he was always just a little bit too slow. He is living on the landslide of what he used to be.

There’s a knock on the door. James bites his tongue and waits for whoever it is to come in. A pair of clammy hands yanks him up. “You’re a sad, sad, asshole,” Sirius says, slinging an arm around Jamie’s waist. “Pouting about a bit of rain on your wedding day. Christ, sometimes I think you might have a vagina instead of a Jimmy Junior. I think we need to check to make sure that you’re still a man, because all signs point to you having a shriveled up dick instead of like, the major stallion I know you used to have.”

“Rain is bad luck on a wedding day.”

“Says the old woman inside of you! You’re supposed to be meeting Lily at the front of the fucking church in thirty minutes, so stop pouting and make yourself look dapper, eh?”

James pushes him off. “I’m waiting for it to stop raining.”

“Good lord, man! Pull your balls out of your back pocket. Is this about Marlene? I bet it’s about Marlene. We’ve been over this, Prongs. Live and let live. Carpe diem. Forget the dumb bitch because she’s not the one you’re going to be spending the next fifty years with.”

“It’s not about Marlene.” Liar.

“I’m calling bullshit.” Sirius reties his best friend’s bow tie. The fifth time today it’s happened. “Regardless, when you see Lils, you’re going to be forced to forget Blondie. She’s a knockout, mate. For a ginger, at least. You’re winning big with this one—especially because she still loves your sorry ass regardless of the shit you’re always pulling.”

“I know,” he replies. “I’m lucky.”

“Then start acting like you’re lucky.” Wise words from the best man. They make there way down a long hallway and over half filled pews—the organ starts to play too soon, and Lily nearly trips over the rug at the end of the aisle. James has the hint of a smile tugging up at the corners of his mouth. Until he sees Her sitting in the very last row, wrapped up in a leather jacket he’s seen before—just never on her.

When the service ends, he has to run to catch up with her.

They stare at each other for a while before either of them actually speaks. Marlene grins. “It’s raining.”

“I know.”

“Bad luck on a wedding day.”

“Yeah.”

“I cried like a bitch,” she says.

“I knew you would,” he responds.

He leans over and tugs at her until she relents and eases in to a hug. One that’s different from all the others they’ve had over the years. James lifts her up a little bit, and her feet dangle a few inches off the ground. “Love you, Macks. Forever.”

It’s unfair.