[Nice] A Mediterranean Wedding (Maximilien, Lyra, PM to join)

The weather was splendid. The sun was shining, tiny little white clouds looked like pretty decorations in the flawlessly blue sky. The Mediterranean Sea glistened in the bright light, looking like diamonds and sapphires. There was a slight breeze making the heat bearable and brushing through the flowers and trees that framed the garden which was located on a cliff towering the sea and the city of Nice. There were several rows of chairs put up to face the sea and, almost at the edge of the cliff, a rose arch. The scent of the roses was in perfect harmony with the smell of the salty breeze that came from the sea. A string quartet was tuning their instruments and soon began to play calm and romantic melodies.

Excited chatter could be heard from small groups of people who had already arrived. Most of them wore light pastel coloured clothes, matching the scenery nicely. Looking around, many smiling faces could be seen. Little girls with small baskets filled with rose petals were chasing each other, giggling happily. In short, the atmosphere was perfect; everything seemed perfect for a magnificent wedding.

* * * * *

Sylvain had long given up hope that the wedding could be prevented. As much as he hated the thought of his parents being separated and his mother marrying Alphonse, he understood that there was no way around it. In a few hours Maximilien Manet would be his step brother, no matter how much he despised the thought of it. He tried not to get too worked up about this. Despite it all the boy did not want to spoil his mother's big day. He had thought about causing a scene but in the end he had dismissed the idea, believing that it was not worth it. He wanted to act like a mature young man and accept what couldn't be changed. He had to survive this summer and the last year at Beauxbatons. After that he was free and could leave his new family behind if he wanted to.

While he had considered wearing traditional wizarding robes as his mother had asked him to, he had decided against that last minute, thinking that he'd feel too awkward in them. Besides the robes he had were rather warm and not appropriate for a summer day like this. In the end the boy had chosen light grey dress pants and a short-sleeved pale rose coloured dress shirt. It was too hot for a jacket or anything really so he decided that he'd rather look casual than sweat.

The heat was bothering him about as much as the bright sunlight which was already giving him headaches. The whole romantic scenery meant nothing to him. Actually it seemed paradoxical to him. Why would adults who married a second time want to have such a wedding? To him this was rather appropriate for a young couple who believed in the one and only true and endless love. His mother and Alphonse could hardly be in love like that.

Sylvain clenched his fist. The wedding to him was like his family meant nothing anymore to his mother. She had left his beloved father, was marrying despite the fact that he did not like the new family and it felt like she was not only leaving his father behind but didn't mind leaving him behind as well. The boy wanted to scream but he could make no sound. He wanted to cry but no tears would come. He felt like his anger was boiling deep inside of him, eating him from inside. Yet, there was no way he could let this out now.

He was standing at the entrance of the garden, greeting guests with a forced smile as they came. The back of his shirt was already damp and a single sweatpearl made its way down his forehead. Quickly he brushed it away with the back of his hand. His headache was getting worse when the string quartet started to perform and he would have liked to petrify the little girls who were chasing each other and used him as a barrier behind which they could hide.

"Avéline!" he called out to his sister, "please, take them away from me..." Why did his sister have to make a fuss about her hair instead of helping him? The Ombrelune sighed as he realised that Avéline would be of no help. The younger Chéret had even told him how beautiful she found their mother in her dress which was something Sylvain did not see at all. Seeing his mother wearing a wedding dress was rather like a bad joke and nothing he could enjoy.

"Get off!" he snarled at a much younger cousin who used him as a hideout even holding on to his leg. He just wanted to suggest that the kid should jump off the cliff when his aunt rescued him and probably also the child.

Why couldn't the day be already over? He didn't feel like smiling and acting as though this all did not bother him at all but he had chosen this role and he was determined to play it well. He was going to play an entirely a selfless person, he'd even practised a little heartbreaking speech for later to please his mother and hopefully annoy Maximilien.



@Maximilien Manet  @Lyra Hartmann

This was beautiful.

Lyra hadn't been to the south of France before and she was wondering why. The vista was breathtaking and the wedding photographs would be out of this world. It looked perfect, like it had been plucked right out of a cotton candy dream. She gave a wistful sigh. They would be surrounded by crystal clear water, cooled by a breeze and awarded with bright sunlight. Her faith in love had been shaken quite a bit over the last year but days like this made her realise that despite how down she might get, it was all worth it.

Lyra was on time despite taking over two hours to get ready. In fact, she was sure she was having an existential crisis. What was she supposed to do? Be demure? Be sexy? Well, she sure as Hell couldn't be herself. What a train wreck. In fact, she'd gotten very little sleep the night previously as she'd spent most of it trying to talk herself out of attending. The last time she'd seen Sylvain, she'd made a complete fool of herself. But, he had invited her and he was clearly struggling with the idea of his new family. He'd also been much more of a friend to her than Maximilen  had been, so she owed him this support.

Her slim legs made a careful way down the path, her heels just about keeping her upright. Today, she dressed in a baby blue ensemble, her smooth, pale and freckled skin peeking out of the off the shoulder neckline. Her blonde hair was pinned up and off her face in a pretty intricate braid that looped around her head, fastened with shiny pins. It had taken the best part of an hour to get the "just so" look. Lyra didn't do casual, she was far too stressy for that but it was piled on her head with casual elegance, two tendrils softly framing her round face. Her make up was clean and fresh, with perfectly executed winged eyeliner, mascara and lipstick in the softest shade of pink.

She didn't know many people here but that didn't stop her from offering smiles as she followed the crowd to the venue. Her nerves were jangling. Since his absence, she'd finally relinquished the fact that she had an odd sort of crush on Sylvain. In a very Romeo and Juliet-esque fashion, had she chosen to pursue it, things wouldn't be good. She'd be upsetting a lot of people but that was fine because she was a chicken. She carried herself confidently, her strides long, her small evening bag in her left hand.

The sea breeze took the edge off the heat but it was still warm. As always, she'd taken extra precautions. She'd packed extra hair pins and a small vial of perfume in preparation for dancing. Lyra often danced at weddings but with older members of the family as no one her own age would touch her with a ten foot barge pole. Surprise, surprise.

"Oh!" Lyra slipped on her heels as a few cute little girls darted around her, giggling and dropping rose petals as they dashed off. She couldn't help but laugh. The soft sounds of a string orchestra caught on the wind and she could feel the thrill of anticipation buzzing through the air. Like everyone here, the bride's dress was the main thing. She'd never met Sylvain's mother but she was willing to bet that she was heart-stoppingly beautiful. Lyra smiled, fondly watching the little girls dash off and looking up, she finally saw him.

As always, her stomach did that weird swooping motion; it felt like excitement and fear. As quick as a flash, she felt both hot and cold and she stopped dead in her tracks. Was it too late to turn around and run? It wasn't that she didn't want to spend time with him, she just didn't know how to spend time with him. They had absolutely nothing in common. Sylvain was too handsome, too smart and too refined for her. In his presence, she felt profoundly insignificant. When he wasn't looking, she looked him over as she anxiously chewed on the inside of her lip. All she could think of was thank goodness she hadn't chosen to wear pink. They'd match and then she'd be labelled a try-hard.

Her nerves were jangling and her palms were so sweaty, she almost dropped her clutch bag. Taking a deep breath, she followed the crowd and offered a dimpled smile as she reached him in the garden. "Hello," she said brightly, coming to a halt a respectful distance away from him. "This is gorgeous," she said, gesturing to their cliff top surroundings. She daren't mention that his smart casual look was amazing and that his well fitting shirt did wonders for his torso. She'd never seen him shirtless but the thin cotton of his shirt eluded to what she was thinking. In that moment, she felt her resolve wither and die within her and she shifted her weight awkwardly.

"Should I just take a seat?" Lyra asked, pointing forward. Was she a guest of the bride or the groom? Sylvain had been the one to invite her but she knew Max's dad much better, having spent many a summer in the Manet family's back garden. Swiftly, she offered him another, encouraging smile. "You're going to do great."

When he saw her, Sylvain immediately felt better. A smile spread across his face without him really being aware of it. Lyra had actually come. She was wearing a lovely pale blue dress, her hair was pinned up revealing a beautiful neckline. For a moment he just looked at her. She had not noticed him yet and was looking at the little girls who were chasing each other. It was a lovely picture, one that would look nice on a photograph but even better in painting. The boy pushed this thought away though, thinking it was silly.

He would have kept watching her, had not a distant relative approached him to say hello. Sylvain felt strangely impatient now, greeting the relative in a rush and sending him off to his aunt. All these relatives he never really talked to felt even more insignificant now that Lyra had shown up. Her presence was giving the wedding a whole new purpose. He suddenly felt strangely aware of his looks, wondered if his shirt was already wet from sweat and he blushed faintly as he did so.

A few more people came to greet him and made their way past him to find themselves a seat. Sylvain barely noticed them, hardly remembered whom he had shaken hands with. Then Lyra stood in front of him, looking stunningly cute. He wanted to avert his gaze, not make it look like he was staring at her but he couldn't.

"Salut," he greeted in a hushed voice. "Yeah... I guess..." he agreed. To him nothing but Lyra looked gorgeous here but that was his very personal point of view. He assumed that if one wasn't biased it was indeed a beautiful location and that the atmosphere was nice for those who approved of the wedding per se. He shrugged apologetically, knowing that if he'd play his role perfectly fine he needed to show more enthusiasm for the wedding location.

When she asked if she should take a seat, Sylvain felt somehow disappointed. He did not want her to leave him already. Her encouraging smile immediately made up for that though. "I hope so," he responded not sounding convinced. While he was determined not to let it show. he could not deny that this wedding was a real struggle for him,  at this point even more so than he had anticipated. The prospect of joining his mother at the end of the aisle, smiling so nobody could think badly of him was nothing he looked forward to.

Most people seemed to be seated, some were still looking for people they expected to see and Sylvain had the impression that hardly anyone was still missing. He looked around, seeing how the ceremony was prepared and he smiled nervously.

"I guess you should take a seat," he finally admitted. "Why don't you go over there?" He gestured towards an empty chair in the third row at the outer side of the bride's side. "I'll see you when the ceremony is over?" His voice sounded hopeful. He'd appreciate it very much if Lyra would stand next to him when he'd toast the newly weds and then he wanted to clink glasses with her and drink as much champagne as he could get.

Offering her a last rather tormented smile, the boy turned around and went to find his mother whom he'd lead up to the front. He had offered this in an attempt to demonstrate just how mature, selfless and kind he could be.

*****

The ceremony was festive and romantic. The string quartet played beautifully. The bride wore an off-white dress and was led down the aisle by Slyvain. A beaming smile on her face, Yvette had a hard time walking up slowly. She was evidently excited and overjoyed to be marrying Alphonse. Her grip on Sylvain's arm was tight and she shot him a nervous glance as the reached the front.

The music paused and the marriage registrar spoke. The woman shared a story about how the couple had first met and how they had started to love each other. The crucial question was asked and after both had replied with yes, the rings were exchanged and the couple kissed. It was a soft kiss, they seemed to forget the audience around them for a short moment. Then the couple turned around smiling and the music started to play again. People were lining up to congratulate.

*****

Being at his mother's side for the ceremony felt odd, wrong even. He was the son, for Merlin's sake. Of course he had agreed he'd lead her down the aisle. It was the right thing to do if he wanted to annoy Maximilien and demonstrate just how mature he was but truth be told, Sylvain did not want to be this mature just now. He was and would always be his mother's child and he did not want to accept that his mother was moving on, leaving his family behind. The love story the marriage registrar told the people who had gathered for the ceremony made him feel numb.

And then she said yes.

Sylvain, who had tried to keep a positive or even neutral expression, lowered his gaze. He wanted to cry out loud. He bit his lip, pinched his arm, he tried everything to keep focused on playing his part. He felt dazed when the couple exchanged the rings, couldn't bear looking at them kissing. It was final now. His mother was a Manet. His family as he knew it did not exist any more. From this day on he had no family anymore. He would never accept Maximilien or Gaspard as brothers and he didn't want to like Alphonse.

"Congratulations," he said, his voice hoarse as he stepped towards his mother, pulling her into a robotic hug. "Congrats," he said to Alphonse shaking his hand while patting him on the shoulder with his left hand. "You'll have to answer to me if you don't make her happy," he added in a whisper.

Then he stepped away. He tried to take a deep breath but the hot air did not make it as sobering as he would have liked it to. The boy was shaking. He wanted to leave so badly now but of course he couldn't.

Waiters with trays filled with champagne cups made their way through the crowd while the music played some annoyingly romantic tunes. Sylvain grabbed a glass and pulled out his wand to tap it against the glass.

"Dear bridal couple, mamman, Alphonse... dear guests, we've all gathered here at this beautiful location to share this wonderful moment with you. Seeing you so happy, mamman, makes me rejoice too. With all my heart I wish you the best for your future together. Now let's raise our glasses to toast the newly weds!"

He offered a smile of which he hoped that it looked genuine and not forced and raised his glass. He felt like jumping off the cliff but of course he didn't do that. Instead the boy just downed his drink and searched for a waiter to give him another glass.

Oh. He looked uncomfortable. It was unsurprising, really. This was a huge, life changing upheaval and he was handling it like a champ. Suddenly self-conscious in all her pastel finery, Lyra folded her hands in front of her chest as the warm sea breeze ruffled her hair. Her small talk was usually top notch. Had it been anyone else, she would have said how gorgeous everything looked but it seemed…inappropriate. Sylvain had been quite vocal about his distaste for this union and she couldn't help but feel a bond with him; if this were her parents, she'd be doing the exact same thing.

They hadn't mentioned how one another looked and it was on the tip of her tongue to say how handsome he was. An awkwardness settled over her, feeling like a weight pressing on her shoulders. She didn't really want to go and take a seat and leave him to be thrown to the wolves. Due to his protestations about the matter, Lyra almost felt like she should be against the marriage too in solidarity. But she knew Maximilien's dad and it was clear to see how head over heels in love he was with Sylvain's mum, it seemed like something out of a story book.

"Okay," she said with a faint blush. "Good luck." With another smile, she turned and tottered off to where the Ombrelune boy had pointed. "Hi. Hello. Oh, sorry, sorry," Lyra said as she lifted her bag and scooted along the row of chairs. Everyone seemed chatty and friendly and there was good will in the air. It was impossible not to feel uplifted.

Sylvain's mother looked beautiful. Lyra didn't even know her but she was so moved, she felt herself welling up a little bit. She truly hoped the photographer had managed to capture the look on both of their faces. They looked so young and glowing, like they were sixteen again and she gave a wistful sigh. Like many in the congregation, the final kiss that sealed the promise had her whooping and cheering in delight. Eventually, her eyes slid from mother to son and she frowned a little. Sylvain barely seemed to be holding it together. She didn't know him well enough to read his face or his mood and she assumed he was doing everything he could to hold this all in.

"Thank you," Lyra said brightly as she took a glass of champagne, taking a small sip and enjoying the way the bubbles popped and fizzled in her tongue. She didn't mind standing at the back. It was a warm and lively wedding but she knew she shouldn't really be there but being by herself was nothing new. She hung back, offering smiles to people who passed her by when the tapping against glass caught her attention and she stopped.

Lyra had a good vantage point, she reckoned. She felt her heart twist in her chest as she watched Sylvain. He was clearly unhappy and she really did feel for him as he spoke. She chewed on her lower lip, surprised at how much his wellbeing actually meant to her. Yvette looked radiant, holding hands with her new husband, her eyes wide as she watched her son. He was putting his personal feelings aside, just for her and Lyra bloody well hoped she knew what a sacrifice he was making for her. "To the newly weds!" She called out, joining in the chant as she lifted her glass, giving Sylvain an enthusiastic thumbs up as she did so.

At the end of the speech, the guests came forward. There was a lot of enthusiastic hugging and kissing and clapping of backs as they offered their congratulations. Lyra placed her glass down on a nearby chair, making a mental note to pick it up later as to not inconvenience anyone. "Congratulation to you both," Lyra said softly with a broad smile as she kissed Sylvain's mum and Maximilien's dad on the cheek. Sylvain's mum didn't recognise her but Alphonse did. They shared a quick embrace and she became uncomfortable when he said that he hadn't seen her in a while. When they were younger, she and Max had been thick as thieves and Lyra had been a regular fixture in the Manet household. That's your son's fault, she thought darkly. She had no idea what she did to Max to make him cut her out of his life completely. Six months ago, he was her be all and end all and now? Heck, they were strangers. She hadn't seen him yet and she wasn't planning to, either.

"Just been busy," Lyra said with an insincere laugh before squeezing Alphonse's shoulder and making a quick get away. Feeling a little overwhelmed, she stepped away and fanned herself with her hand before spotting Sylvain and hurrying over. "You did really well," she told him, genuinely impressed and proud. "Your mum looks gorgeous," she said fondly as she smiled at the happy couple. In the background, the band began playing some more upbeat music and away from the crowd, it felt easier. "Dance with me?" She asked Sylvain with a lopsided grin, holding out both of her hands, palms upwards, for him to take.

In a different life with different people, this would have been an amazing affair. As if to mirror the happiness of the couple involved, the sun was beaming above, bright and hot - but not as hot as the anger currently being experienced by one Maximilien Manet. He felt lost in this grand affair, surrounded by hordes of smiling guests throwing their well wishes upon him and his family. Family. The word now left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Max wanted to be happy for his father; love was a beautiful thing, after all, and the fact that Alphonse had managed to find it for a second time was amazing in itself. Furthermore, the man seemed truly at peace for the first time in a long time. He wore a bright smile that radiated on his face, eyes crinkling at the corners whenever he would look at his new wife. It was a sweet sight, something Max would have appreciated normally. But, the Cherets - particularly Sylvain - were not people Max could readily accept into his life, not even after being given such a long time to deal with it. The feeling of betrayal that this wedding brought, though not quite fresh, was still there, bubbling beneath the skin of the dramatic boy. Every time he looked in Sylvain’s direction, he wanted to deck him, and then he would find himself beneath the stern gaze of his real brother and regrettably hold back.

In contrast to his soon-to-be new step-brother, Maximilien was currently wearing his finest dress robes. It was both an attempt to highlight exactly how different the pair was, as well as a tactic to impress his date, Gabrielle Delacour. In spite of the saddening end of their relationship, he’d managed to convince her to accompany him to the affair, and up until the actual day, her agreement had almost convinced him that he would be able to tolerate the wedding. Now, however, despite having easily the prettiest girl on his arm, his attention was - for once - elsewhere. He went from glaring daggers at Sylvain to feigning smiles for people he barely knew to throwing knowing glances at his brother. And then he saw her.

Lyra Hartmann was his best friend, yet they hadn’t spoken in ages. It seemed that somehow during that time, she had developed a new friendship with his worst enemy. Max’s eyes narrowed as he watched her approach Sylvain without so much as a glance in his direction, and the fingers of his free hand curled into a fist as the Ombrelune led Lyra over to a seat. His Lyra. His friend. This new feeling of betrayal mixed in with the old one, and he could feel his ire rapidly increasing at the sight. He was tempted to rush over there but was interrupted by the sound of an older man’s voice, and managed to pull his gaze away to face a guest who was trying to chat up his date. Max grimaced before excusing them and leading Gabrielle to a seat on his father’s side.

With a swift apology, he took his post beside Gaspard and his father, trying to his hardest to look at least content as the wedding proceedings began. Occasionally his stare would wander to Lyra, then when he felt the anger swelling up in him, he’d find Gabby’s grey eyes.

Vows were exchanged, rings were put on, and before he knew it, the pair were wed. There was no changing anything, no going back. The Manets and Cherets were officially one group - a unit, a family. And Maximilien was experiencing many different things. Again, he wanted to be happy for his father but he felt disappointed. In spite of all his outbursts and unashamed proclamations, he was still bound to Sylvain. Though they were now technically brothers, Max knew he would never think of the other boy as such. He kept his head bowed as the pair kissed, their happiness almost tangible, but still not reaching him. He only moved when Gaspard rested a heavy hand on his shoulder and directed him towards their father to give his congratulations. The boy forced his lips to curve into a smile as he gave the man a firm hug.

Soon, the atmosphere became even brighter than what was imaginably possible. Champagne was going around, everyone was conversing and laughing beneath a bright blue sky, the newlyweds were grinning from ear to ear, and children were still scurrying about. The happy noise only died down slightly at the chime of something hitting glass, and all eyes fell on Sylvain who was to give a speech. As the ridiculous words left Sylvain’s mouth, Max snorted unceremoniously, earning him a kick in the shin from Gaspard - who had annoyingly taken on the role of the responsible accepting son - and a quick disappointed glance from his father. The guests seemed to ignore it and Sylvain continued on, finishing his speech and being bombarded with congratulatory wishes once he was done.

Max was seated with Gabrielle and trying to distract himself with conversation while simultaneously fending off many of his uncles and cousins, who were slowly becoming more and more intoxicated with every glass of champagne they inhaled. Somewhere in the middle of talking though, he glanced over at his father only to see the man speaking with his childhood friend. The sight of her made him happy and annoyed all at once. He was glad she’d shown up, but hurt that she was here with Sylvain, and the feeling only intensified as he saw her approach the Ombrelune. Heated, Maximilien abruptly stood up and without turning to face her, gave a quick apology to his date and excused himself.

With purpose in his quick but heavy steps, he walked up to Sylvain and Lyra and placed himself between the two, staring his blonde friend in the eyes. “Lyra,” he breathed, straight-faced. “What a surprise.”

Sylvain perceived the things happening around him as though he was in trance. He had tried so hard to control himself and lock away his feelings that he felt like he wasn't quite there anymore. Like he was observing the scene from far away. It was as though his body was a mere puppet acting as common courtesy demanded. He clinked glasses with lots of people but barely saw them at all. Since he had made his speech, Sylvain was feeling drained and just terribly tired.

He had noticed Maximilien's snort when he had held his little speech. Truth be told he wished his new step brother had acted even more unceremoniously than that to earn himself more reprimand. However, the Papillonlisse had not done anything else. He had not held a speech of his own either which made Sylvain feel strangely content and superior.

Now Lyra was approaching the newly weds and apparently chatted a little with Alphonse. Already her talking to his new step father made Sylvain feel somewhat jealous. He frowned slightly but soon enough she was stepped away from Alphonse and over to him. The Ombrelune smiled weakly as she complimented him and his mother's looks.

"Thanks," he said. "Yeah, she really does look beautiful, doesn't she?! And happy." The word 'happy' seemed like venom to him. In fact, Sylvain made it sound like something really appalling. He felt like someone was hitting a dagger into his heart as he looked at his new family now. He didn't want to be a part of this family. He loved his mother, of course, and his sister Avéline but he felt he could rather be without them than accept Alphonse and his two sons in his life.

Fortunately Lyra was there. She was the perfect date for this event. And her holding out her hands and inviting him to dance with her made him smile genuinely. He was just about to take her hands in his and lead her to the dance floor when they were interrupted by his rude step brother.

Sylvain had deemed Maximilien to sit with Gabrielle Delacour but somehow he suddenly was standing right next to him. Sylvain shot him an angry look. Why couldn't he stay with Gabrielle? Why did he have to take away his friend? Gabrielle and Maximilien were a perfect match in Sylvain's opinion. They were both insufferable. They deserved each other. Lyra, however, deserved better than Maximilien. Maybe she also deserved someone better than Sylvain. The thought of that made his insides cramp. He felt hurt already before he even knew what would happen next. He felt almost certain that she'd leave him. She had probably only been waiting for Maximilien to pay attention to her again.

The Ombrelune swallowed. He felt tense. He wanted to get away. If Lyra abandoned him now he'd just leave the wedding. Without her he could not bear it any more. He could not put on a smile and pretend everything was good when the Manets were family now. He now had two brothers whom he hated, whom he did not trust. If his friend now also decided to bond with the enemy his job here was done. He'd leave and never come back. He'd run away, find himself a place to live far away from all these people. He would not be missed, he was quite sure.

However, he was not going to give her up so easily and maybe he really mattered to her? He looked at Lyra hopefully. Then he faced Maximilien. How dare he even chat up his date?

"Hey brother," he said, grimacing a lopsided smile. "A beautiful wedding it is, isn't it?! Didn't you bring your own date? It's impolite to leave her behind to chat with another girl." He had intended to make another nasty comment about Maximilien having no manners but he figured that would just drive his friend into his arms.

"Lyra," he addressed the Bellefeuillle now smiling insecurely at her. "I'd really love to dance with you." He bowed to her and held out a hand for her to take. He held his breath and hoped that she'd take it. His mouth felt dry now, his heart was beating frantically and he felt that the palm of his hand was sweaty already. He couldn't recall a moment in his life when he had felt this anxious before.

"Oh."

Before their hands could touch, something blocked the action and she took a quick step backwards. She'd know Max's silhouette anywhere and despite it being his father's wedding, his appearance caught her off guard. Lyra had been so distracted by the weather, by the champagne, by the atmosphere and admittedly by Sylvain, she genuinely forgot Maximilien was even present.

Like a guilty child, she dropped her hands to her side and offered the Papillonlisse boy a gentle smile. "Hiya Max," she said politely. It was difficult to swallow her emotions. He'd all but cut her out of his life and left her floundering, lonely and with no friends. He'd always been popular, a social butterfly, riding the waves that fame brought when dating someone like Gabrielle. Speaking of, it was impossible to miss Maximilien's girlfriend. She sat a little away from them, sitting with perfect posture and her hair glowing like gold. Lyra lifted a hand and gave her a friendly wave. Their interactions had been minimal but she was both sweet and terrifying.

A surprise? The petite blonde frowned at Max, struggling to keep a lid on things. Was he kidding? Was he being deliberately hurtful? "Not really," she said with another smile that made her cheeks hurt. "Your dad mailed us all an invite," she said casually, meaning both her parents and her older brother Julian. But Sylvain had invited her in person, which was why she came. Had he not, she doubted she'd be in France at all.

The first thing she noticed about Max was just how handsome he was. He wore a well fitting set of dress robes and like his father and brother, good looks ran in the family. They all had the same eyes. She didn't know what to say to him that would sound nonchalant and like he hadn't stabbed her both in the back and then the heart. He might as well have been a stranger. He'd had ample time to come and talk to her in school but she was dimly aware of the fact that she could have done the same. Maxmilien was always with Gabrielle, though, and she didn't want to interrupt. In the end, he should be spending all of his time with his girlfriend, that was how it worked but it still stung like a bitch.

"Sylvain, don't," Lyra said quietly, touching the Ombrelune's wrist briefly. She knew how they both fought. She'd seen it first hand but a wedding wasn't the ideal place to be airing frustrations. She wasn't admonishing Sylvain, she was just taking a pre-emptive strike. Lyra knew both boys loved their parents enough not to cause a scene but she picked up on some simmering tension that she was sure wasn't due down to the vows.

Was it Gabrielle?

Lyra's pale eyes shifted to watch the younger girl. She knew Sylvain had had an encounter with her previously. He'd been less than complimentary about the beautiful teenager but Lyra was pretty low ranking in the school's hierarchy and she deemed it safer to just avoid her and her friends. She smiled at Max's girlfriend briefly before dropping her eyes to her feet. It was unsurprising if they were fighting over a girl like that. She looked like a Renaissance painting.

Sylvain's tone and careless words niggled her, though. She felt uncomfortable and she knew why. Despite everything that had gone on between her and Max, she still didn't want him to be upset. It seemed silly and stupid and downright odd that she should feel anything towards him after he'd treated her so poorly. At school, it felt like she was being hit with hundred of tiny diamond-sharp knives when she saw him passing in the corridor and he deliberately looked away. In Max's absence,  it was easier to tell herself that she didn't care but things were different now they were face to face.

But this was her fault, clearly. Maximilien wouldn't have ditched her had she not been the catalyst, would he? The last time they'd spoken had been when the House Elves went missing and she'd saved him from that monster and they'd shared a really weird moment. It was fleeting, flickering, gone in the blink of an eye but it was a fission that kept her awake at night for months. Max would never want her in the way she wanted him once upon a time. Then she met Sylvain.

Her stomach lurched. Had she accidentally been playing brother against brother? Swapping them out? Changing them? Replacing Max for Sylvain in an unintentional manner? When Sylvain's warm and comforting hand came towards her, Lyra hesitated as her head swam.

Did she want to dance? Hell yes. There was nothing more she wanted to be spun around in the southern French sunshine on the cliff top with music and warm air and happy atmosphere but it felt like she was being made to make a choice; Sylvain or Max. If she chose Max, she didn't think things would be different back at school. He'd leave her on her own as he chased Gabrielle, deftly climbing the social ladder. Time with Max was safe, for the most part. He was warm and comforting and fun and silly. When times were good, she felt on top of the world and she was flattered by his attention. Then there was Sylvain.

Her feelings were messed up. One day, she thought they might kiss and then the next, he seemed detached. He was quiet and a deep thinker and smart, so much smarter than her that she often thought that they had nothing in common. He liked theatre and poetry and she understood neither.  Then there was that mystery girl he hinted at knowing when she'd made that bouquet of flowers for him. She felt sick. There was one thought that was bumbling around her head; I don't want to play this game.

Turning to Sylvain, she offered him a smile. "Sure," she said gently as she took his hand, squeezed it briefly and then let it go. "I just --" swallowing, she shot a fleeting look at Max before the colour drained from her face and she looked rather unwell. She felt hot then cold and wobbled a little on her feet. "Too much champagne," she said to the boys in a weak attempt at a joke. "I'm just going to get a little bit of fresh air," she finally managed to say. She hadn't rejected Sylvain in any way and it was clear on her face that she was struggling with something. She hadn't chosen one over the other. She'd treated them equally. They had things they needed to talk about. She'd derailed her own happiness for the sake of a peaceful day and their feelings. Like she always did, she ignored what she wanted for the sake of others.

"I'm just gonna --" she said, pointing to the trees and shade before placing a hand on her damp forehead. Stepping around them, she squeezed Sylvain's shoulder affectionately. Confusing thoughts and feelings bombarded her at once as she took a step away from the pair and all she could think was oh no, not again as her vision swayed.

That Lyra seemed to warn him not to provoke Maximilien felt strange. On the one hand it was nice that she wanted to prevent him from doing something silly as it had to mean that she cared in a way on the other hand he didn't want to be belittled. This all was so confusing. The mixed feelings were unsettling him. How was he supposed to act like an adult when people around him were making it all so complicated?

His question if she wanted to dance was like a last escape. It seemed like the only thing he was able to deal with now. If Lyra chose him over Maximilien and if he could just hold her tight then he could also survive this wedding day. However, if she refused to dance with him she could as well push him over the edge of the cliff.

He held his breath in nervous anticipation, his palms were getting sweaty, his heartbeat quickened.

And then she said she'd love to dance but turned away. She spoke about needing fresh air and if he had not been so preoccupied with his own predicament, he'd have realised that his friend was unwell at once. However, as it was the boy just felt like Lyra had hit a dagger right into his heart. He nodded, trying to take the rejection like a man. Yet, the Ombrelune just wanted to scream and run away.

The squeeze she gave his shoulder felt like a goodbye to him. He turned his gaze down, not wanting to see anything anymore. The whole wedding day felt like a trial worse than anything he had experienced before.

He saw Lyra sway out of the corner of his eye and looked up at once. Shocked he made a quick step towards her, flung his arm around her and tried to steady her. "Lyra..." he didn't know what he wanted to say or what he should do.

"Maximilien," he said through gritted teeth. "Please, get a chair for her." It felt wrong to ask for his step brother's help but he didn't know what else he could do. He had really no experience with fainting girls and holding her tight he could hardly pull out his wand to summon a chair himself. It did not occur to him that they were hardly alone now. There were the newly weds and lots of guests but, of course, most of them were preoccupied.

A date? So Lyra was Sylvain’s date? Holding back the disbelief, Max threw a questioning look at her that flitted back to the curly haired boy when he asked his friend for a dance.

“Oh for Merlin’s sake, can you even dance?” He questioned with a raised eyebrow. He could feel his temper welling up, hot and vivid. Was Sylvain just talking to Lyra to get under his skin? Had their lack of success in dividing their parents led to Sylvain searching for different methods to bother Max? He wanted to believe that, but their interactions made it seem untrue; an eye twitched as her fingers delicately wrapped around the Ombrelune’s shoulder for a gentle squeeze. It looked like they were genuine friends, and that did not sit well with Max at all.

Everything about the pair of them was making his blood boil. Max’s brown puppy dog eyes made four with Lyra’s striking blue pair and he looked at her with a desperate, fleeting glance that quickly narrowed when turned towards his new step brother. He noticed how the other boy was swift to move forward. He saw the concern dashing across Sylvain’s face. When had they become so close? Had he really missed this much? He knew he’d been spending a lot of time with Gabrielle, but until now, it had not registered with him that maximised time spent with Gabrielle had equated to minimised time spent with Lyra. And minimised time spent with Lyra must have meant maximised time spent with Sylvain. He wanted to wretch at the betrayal but instead he crossed his arms, eyes cold as ice, expression hard as stone. Max wanted to pull at Sylvain’s olive hands. He wanted to walk away. Instead, he shook off the stubbornness that palled him and reached for his wand to retrieve the chair.

Once the chair slid over, he rested it behind her so that she could take a seat, then shuffled backwards, observing from what he felt was a safe distance. He wanted to clock Sylvain right here. Creating a scene was his specialty, after all. It was taking all of his self-control not to use the wand that was still in his hand to send a nasty hex their way. This was his father’s wedding, he kept reminding himself. A wedding. A joyous occasion. He could scoff at just how not-joyous he felt. “So, when did you two suddenly get so close?” he asked through his teeth.

I haven't done anything wrong.

That was the only thing she could think as a strong pair of arms wrapped around her waist to keep herself upright. She reached out and pressed a hand against Sylvain's chest gently, a mixture of wanting to keep a distance but suffering from an overwhelming need to touch. "Thanks," she whispered to the taller boy gently and quietly enough for Max not to be able to hear. She stood upright and looked up, accidentally bumping her nose against his before she flushed a deep pink almost instantly.

Lyra dropped to the proffered seat as soon as she felt it touch the backs of her thighs. It must be too much sun, she thought absently but deep down, she knew it was just shock. In the bright sun, she squinted at Maximilien.

"Why are you being so hostile?" The petite blonde asked as she brushed a stand of bright blonde hair from her eyes as her full lips down turned into a frown. She suddenly felt cold and in her weakened state, she was convinced she could still feel the imprints of Sylvain's fingers on her arms. This entire thing was insane and it made very little sense. She hadn't done anything wrong.

At Maximilien's loaded question, she chewed on her lower lip as she flicked her eyes to his new step-brother. It was very Shakespearean, Lyra supposed. The first time she and Sylvain had met, it was when she'd asked him to be nicer to Max. Sylvain thought she was some sort of spy and didn't trust her and she accidentally blurted out that she had a mega crush on Max. But looking at them both now was jarring. They looked nothing alike and there was a chasm of difference between the pair of them.

"Since last term," Lyra said gently as she cracked her knuckles, her coping mechanism in stressful situations. Well, getting close was an odd phrase. She'd been circling Sylvain for months, hopelessly waiting for him to tell her the name of the mysterious girl he liked or waiting in vain for him to tell her that he was no longer interested. They had nothing in common but that didn't make him any less alluring. Sylvain had saved her life on multiple occasions and he'd seamlessly slotted into the hole Max had left and she didn't even see it coming. "He's absolutely nothing like you've lead me to believe," she told Maxmilien, her voice uncharacteristically steely as she heaved a sigh; Sylvain Cheret was a bona fide dreamboat.

"Pretty much the moment you dropped me," she told the Papillonlisse boy. Her tone wasn't accusing. She respected his decision, even if she didn't agree with it.  Lyra had gone through the entire spectrum of emotions since Max had started dating Gabrielle. Shock, hurt, confusion, anger, upset, sorrow, the lot. It actually felt like a real break up. "Max," she said, sounding tired. "You haven't said a word to me in six months. I really don't know why you've come bounding over. I was having a perfectly lovely time. Your parents look lovely. Don't spoil things," she said, addressing both boys.

The usual Lyra wouldn't say boo to a goose but she felt something bubbling up inside of her. Righteous indignation simmered below the surface, combining with outrage and confusion. They'd been friends, so close for so long but this didn't hurt so much any more. She'd played by the rules and didn't rock the boat, like a good girl. Oh sure, it hurt in the start. She wasn't sleeping, she wasn't eating. It was worse not knowing if she'd accidentally done something wrong, if she'd hurt her former friend and that was why he'd cut her off. She couldn't and she wouldn't wait around until he decided he needed her back in his life like some love sick moron. He'd been so casually cruel to her.

Sylvain wasn't a replacement for Max and she'd never thought of him as such. Lyra suddenly felt like she was in some bizarre and toxic friendship triangle. Maximilien  had disappointed her. He'd not told his father, which was why Alphonse was so shocked and surprised to see her turn up. Effectively, he'd buried her. Sylvain had been her saving grace. Kind and well mannered, he was a little stiff and perplexing but they were at the point where they were able to make sense of one another. Was, perhaps. It could be in past tense.

Maybe it was the champagne or the sunshine but Lyra was feeling brave. She couldn't bare the thought of being made to choose between the boys but the longer she sat there, the more this felt like an ultimatum. The small blonde heaved a heavy sigh as she pinched the bridge of her nose. Tensions were high anyway and she didn't want this to dissolve into a cliffside punch up. Lyra got to her feet and wiped her palms that were slick with moisture on the skirt of her pretty dress and stepped over to Max, speaking quietly.

"This isn't a playground. You don't need to make a scene. Both of you," she said, looking over at Sylvain. He wasn't blameless in this either. They were both firing snipes designed to push the other over the edge and she for one didn't want to be the catalyst. It must be a shock for Max to see Lyra now. She'd always been his unpopular and chubby friend that he tolerated, trailing behind him, trying hard to be cool, desperately trying to catch his attention and his affection. There were still some feelings there, she was certain, but they'd dulled somewhat. She could and she would get over Maxmilien Manet.

Taking a step back, she pressed a hand to her forehead as she sighed deeply. "Please, just go back to your girlfriend," she told Max. She and Gabby weren't close but if she was in her position, she'd be livid if she was left by herself in a mass of people she didn't know. Pausing, she looped an arm around Max's neck and gave him a brief hug before letting him go. Automatically, she drifted back into Sylvain's aura. She hoped she hadn't accidentally upset him. "How about that dance?" She asked with a tired smile. Had she and Max parted on better terms, she'd happily have danced with them both.

Sylvain couldn't deny that he felt relieved that Maximilien summoned a chair and when Lyra was seated safely on it. However, he felt out of place. This day was getting worse and worse. The wedding itself was an ordeal but this scene now felt painful too. Sylvain wanted to get away, be on his own. He was looking forward to the night when the bright sunlight was gone and he could find comfort in gazing at the stars. He didn't really hear the word 'thanks' which Lyra offered him, the only thing he noticed was the tension between his friend and his step brother.

Stepping from one foot to the other, Sylvain suddenly felt quite self-conscious. He knew his shirt was sweaty, he could feel his cheeks burn. His heart was hammering in his chest and he was almost certain that Lyra and Maximilien would leave him behind now. They had been friends for such a long time. How could he matter in the grand scheme of things? He was just Sylvain, an outsider, a dreamer... He did not have Maximilien's charisma or confidence.

He didn't want to overhear the private conversation that Lyra had with Maximilien. He didn't want to intrude. He didn't want to give Maximilien yet another reason to hate him. This was really not his business. If Lyra had just spent time with him in order to spite Maximilien then he didn't want to hear it. It had not felt the way before but right now he wondered if Lyra had chosen to befriend him in order to draw Maximilien's attention back to him. It hurt to even think along these lines but it was possible. He looked at Lyra, saw her lips move as she addressed the Papillonlisse and heard distantly how she spoke about him and how he was not like Maximilien had described him.

Nervously Sylvain ran his fingers through his already dishevelled hair, feeling both flattered and scared. How was this going to end? Lyra clearly still liked Maximilien and now that the family connection could not be reversed so easily, Sylvain did not want to get into further trouble with his step brother. Should he leave Lyra to him to make his life easier? Would it be easier that way?

Don't spoil things.

Did leaving the scene count as spoiling things? Sylvain wasn't sure. He glanced at his mother who was still talking to relatives who congratulated the newly weds. She looked lovely but first and foremost she looked happy. Alphonse was definitely a decent guy. The Ombrelune had nothing against him other than that he didn't want his father replaced or have Maximilien close. Would anyone even realise if he just fled the scene? The boy looked around some more. Nobody seemed to take notice of the three teenagers right now. Only Lyra and Maximilien would notice if he disappeared and they might not care...

As he still considered his options, Lyra got to her feet again, looked at him and reminded him, too, that they didn't need to cause a scene. The boy nodded instinctively. He was mildly surprised to hear Lyra send Maximilien back to Gabrielle and he doubted that the other boy would oblige. However, he didn't want to voice a comment of his own.

Lyra's question if he wanted to dance now almost startled him. Sylvain didn't feel like dancing anymore. He didn't want to be watched, he didn't want to be a part of this seemingly joyous wedding party. He looked down, avoiding her gaze and shrugged.

"If you really want to..." he offered insecurely, gazing briefly at Maximilien. He felt like he was walking on thin ice now. He didn't want to provoke his step brother and he didn't want to push Lyra away either. It was a difficult situation.

"We don't have to dance," he muttered, "we could also grab some food and find a shadowy place or..." his voice trailed off. "Whatever you prefer, really."