Emergency. We need 300 paper lanterns and the wedding is in like 4 hours. Can you get some? -Mary
It was approximately eight seconds before Caradoc realised the sound that had woken him was a very persistent owl tapping at his window. He groaned, loudly, and rolled over, burying his head in his pillow and hoping the owl would go away.
He glared at it, and then, with painstaking slowness, got out of bed. Everything hurt. That was his second thought. His first thought was “fuck.” His third thought was also “fuck” as he realised he had absolutely no idea how he’d gotten home the previous night. He glanced at his alarm as he made his way to the window, and then wished he hadn’t. He’d set it for 12:30pm, allowing him plenty of time to get showered and dressed before apparating to the wedding. It was currently not 12:30. It was not even close to 12:30. It was 8am in the bloody morning.
“Whoever sent you,” he said to the owl as he opened the latch on the window, “Better be in bloody hospital. Or dead.” The owl, now inside, made no response other than to hold out its leg. Doc couldn’t remember much of the previous night, which was worrying. He remembered interrupting a lot of conversations. He remembered tripping over an inflatable shark. He remembered saying far too much about Mary to Remus Lupin. He thought he might have thrown up in the kitchen sink at one point. He was fairly certain he’d cornered Sirius Black and not let him move until he admitted he was related to Stubby Boardman. He didn’t remember much else.
He sighed, and hoped to Merlin he had some of Harold Higginbottom’s Hangover Helper in the bathroom. Or if not, he hoped he had some poison that would put him out of his misery as soon as possible.
He untied the letter. It took him less than a second to recognise Mary’s handwriting, and a second longer to tear it open, all thoughts of headaches and nausea gone. He read it once. Then a second time.
He looked at the owl. “This is a joke, isn’t it?”
The owl merely shifted its weight to the other leg. It made no move toward the open window.
“I am not doing this,” he told the owl. “You should know that up front. She’s going to be cross when you return because there is no bleeding way that I am going to get...” he glanced at the letter again, “300 paper lanterns.”
“I am horribly hungover. I am very tired. In fact, I am probably still too intoxicated to apparate. And I don’t care what she wrote: this doesn’t qualify as an emergency. It doesn’t even qualify as a very big favour. She’ll have to find someone else.”
He sank down onto the bed, the letter in his hand. She knew he’d had the stag night. He groaned. And then, because he was Caradoc Dearborn, he took a quill from his nightstand and neatly ripped a page from his notebook.
“I’m on it,” he scribbled.
He folded it twice over, and tied it to the owl’s leg. Where the bloody hell did you even buy 300 paper lanterns?
Two and a half hours later, Caradoc was checking the last of the wards on his flat. His hair was combed flat, and his blue bowtie was finally sitting straight. He fiddled with his cufflinks for a moment, before deciding that there was nothing more he could do, and he really ought to deliver the lanterns.
In the end, he’d been forced to visit the Muggle end of London. There were few places open at 8:30 on a Saturday morning, and though he’d been grateful of an excuse to have a cup of coffee (the Hangover Helper did not taste pleasant), by 9:30 he was cursing Mary and Lily and anyone else who might have had something to do with not ordering the paper lanterns. It was probably very lucky that none of those people were in earshot, because Doc was not being his usual polite self.
Still, in the end he found some, and though the woman who served him seemed dubious at his ability to carry the 15 boxes, he got them home safely. They were now tucked safely into his pocket, having been shrunk to a much more manageable size.
Checking his tie in the mirror once more, he apparated.
They couldn’t have chosen a better location for a wedding, he thought. The gardens were immense, and their beauty was made more impressive by the stone manor house that overshadowed them. Someone had begun tying white ribbons to the garden stakes that lined the gravel path, and he followed them around until he could see the chairs set up for the ceremony. He paused for a moment when he spotted Mary, and watched her as she hurried around. He’d been rather determined to be angry with her over her request, but at the sight of her he realised he didn’t have it in him.
Even from this distance she was beautiful.
