nesta acheron deserved better

"How was it?" you ask.

"Brilliant!" says James, at the same time as Sirius groans, "Awful."

"It was like being in Willy Wonka." James props his chin on a fist as both boys flop down on the bed by yours and Remus' feet.

Sirius shudders. "Creepy film. Why does chocolate require so many mascots? Between the show last night and walking around all of today, my legs are pulverized."

"Is that why you're back early?" asks Remus.

"Partly." James smiles, reaching up to ruffle Remus' hair. "We also missed you. Massage?" he offers Sirius.

Sirius looks momentarily like he could cry for gratitude, but he neatens his expression into one of cool imperiousness soon enough. "Seems like the least you could do."

James scoots closer gamely. He pushes his thumbs into Sirius' calves, and Sirius sighs, dropping his head to his folded arms.

You try not to stare, but even just the awareness of it, James' strong hands kneading confidently at the flesh, is enough to make heat rush from your face down to your chest. It only gets worse as James makes his way up the backs of Sirius' legs.

You search for something to distract yourself. You've been trying to find a hook that could function as a through-line for your feature; maybe this could be it. The Marauders as not only one of the most popular bands in Britain, but the most closely-knit group of boys you've ever witnessed. Supportive, as devoted to each other as they are to their music, and unafraid of showing it.

"So." Sirius turns his head to peer at you, cheek resting on his forearm. You tuck the idea away for later. "Do you think you'll ever walk again?"

You smile, praying it's not obvious how they've flustered you. "That's the hope. You?"

"Likely not." He heaves a great sigh. "My career is finished. Struck down in my prime."

"We'll be alright without you," James says lightly. Sirius kicks one of his feet, and James retaliates by pressing knuckles into his thigh. Sirius stills with a hiss.

"What about you?" he asks, poking Remus' foot. "How are you feeling? Think you'll ever be able to get up onstage again?"

Remus, already a few bites into his chocolate bar, gives Sirius a dry look. "Oh, because that's all I matter to you, is that it?"

"Obviously. If I'm out of the band, James will need you. Otherwise, the whole show will just be him throwing drumsticks off into the crowd. No one will come to see it."

"They'd still come," James defends himself.

A thought strikes you. You take your tape recorder from the nightstand, setting it to record and putting it where the boys can see it. Remus eyes it, but no one objects.

"Uh oh," James jokes. "She's gearing up."

"I was just wondering," you say, "what do you think you'd be doing if you weren't in the band?"

As always when your tape recorder comes out, Sirius takes the lead. He sits up on his elbows, his grin sharpening as if by instrinct or habit.

"Well, if my family had their way I'd have ended up in banking," he says, "but I think I could've been an actor. This face was just made for the public eye, don't you think?"

"So you think you'd have still ended up in entertainment?"

"Don't I entertain you, gorgeous?" Sirius winks.

"If there weren't films or microphones," teases James, "he'd have found a circus to ringlead."

It's funny, because even sitting here with Sirius now—in normal clothes, bare of the dark slashes of eyeliner he wears onstage, with the sun shining on him and warming the impenetrable black of his hair to dark brown—you can't picture him doing anything else. He's right; whether by nature or by practice, Sirius has mastered stardom. He doesn't have to wait for a spotlight to find him. He emits his own.

"Remus," James goes on, "wanted to be a teacher, though."

You turn to the bassist, feeling your brows lift. "Did you really?"

Remus appears almost shy. "I did, yeah."

"He was always very swotty." Sirius grins, fond around the eyes. "He used to finish his homework and then stick around to help us with ours. Lily, too."

Remus rolls his eyes. "You never needed much help."

"No," James agrees. "It was really more the three of them helping me. I'm useless at maths."

"What did you want to do?" you ask him.

James shrugs. "I don't know. When I was little I wanted to be a firefighter. I thought about being a veterinarian for a while, but then I heard there's some maths involved in that sometimes too…" Sirius reaches back to pat him consolingly. "Maybe a footballer? I guess it's a good thing I'm already doing this, or else I might not be able to decide."

You hum, nodding. "I could see that for you."

"That I would never have decided?"

"Yeah."

James pauses Sirius' massage, his eyes squinting behind his glasses. "That feels like it might be an insult."

You copy Sirius and reach over to give him a consoling pat. "You'll live."

"She means you could've done anything you wanted to," Remus translates helpfully. "You're good at lots of things, Jamie."

"You could've been a masseuse, too," adds Sirius, who appears to have nearly liquefied into the mattress.

"Oh." James puffs up. "Well, thanks. What would you have done?" he asks you.

You blink. "Other than journalism?"

"Yeah."

The answer, honestly, is nothing. You're not like James. You didn't have a myriad of other ideas and viable options. This is the whole plan for you. The only plan.

You're saved from answering when the room's phone rings.

You all startle. You hesitate a moment before remembering that this is your room, and you reach over to the nightstand to answer it.

"Hello?"

"L/n?" Your posture straightens unconsciously at the sound of your editor's voice.

"Yes, hi," you say quickly, then cringe at your lack of professionalism. Sometimes it feels like you get greener by the day. "How can I help you?"

He begins speaking in his usual brusque, clipped way. It still intimidates you, even if you're slowly getting used to it. The boys must catch onto the nature of the call; Sirius sits up, looking unsure, and James whispers to you that they can leave. You wave them off, frowning as you listen to the voice on the other line.

"Yes," you say. "Yeah, I can do that."

You hold the phone to your ear with your shoulder and reach for your pen and notepad.

"Where is it? Okay, thanks….and pre or post-show? Got it. No, that's perfect. I, um…" You hesitate, a bit embarassed to be having this conversation in front of others. "Thank you for the opportunity. I'll—"

You cut yourself off when your editor begins speaking again.

"I understand. It will be, thank you. Alright, goodb—"

You're cut off again by the click of the receiver.

Sirius' brow wrinkles. "That guy wasn't letting you get much out, was he?"

"What's going on?" James asks.

You take a breath. "They want me to interview another band."

His eyes widen. "You're done with us?"

"No. It's…Reckoning is having a show here tonight. They've scheduled me for a pre-show interview because I'm nearby."

"They're asking you to cheat on us?" Sirius gasps in mock outrage.

"You all cheated on me first," you remind him, "when you got interviewed by another reporter."

You don't recall what else came out of that day until the levity has already sapped from Sirius' expression, leaving a dark pinch in its place.

"We should go with you," he says.

"Don't be stupid." You shake your head, looking away. "I do this stuff all the time."

Sirius seems as if he might argue with you, but Remus speaks before he can. "It's good that they're asking you to do more work for them, isn't it?"

"Yeah," you hedge. "Just…my editor sort of implied it's because the feature is taking me too long. I think they're starting to get antsy."

Remus eyes you worriedly.

You try to sound assured. "But it'll be fine. Since I'm here, I can write this other article in the meantime to keep them happy."

Sirius sighs, rolling over and casting his head back dramatically. "So long as we're still your favorites."

"I don't think I'm supposed to pick favorites," you tell him, a smile creeping onto your face.

"What we're supposed to do and what we do are two different things, doll. Anyway, I think you already said we're your favorite band." He casts a look at Remus. "Didn't she?"

"I remember that," Remus agrees.

"Think you called us amazing once too," muses James. He bumps your good ankle with his elbow playfully. "Don't forget that when you're writing your feature, alright?"

"You're the feature," you remind them. "This is just an article."

“I don’t know. It’s not like he paid tons of attention in those dance lessons when we were kids.” 

Remus smothers a grin, watching James sweep you across the ballroom floor. It’s true that while he looks confident, his steps don’t always align perfectly with yours. It’s you who keeps him from floundering, your reassuring hand on his shoulder, subtly guiding him through the dance. Although Remus is selfishly very grateful for all of your help, his heart aches like a bruise to think of what you confessed to them about your hopes for yourself. 

He imagines playacting like this must hurt you. You thought James was courting you, once, and now you have to go through the motions of that same courting while knowing there’s nothing beneath the surface. Remus saw the way you looked at Mary and Lily in the solar that night. You’d been wistful. And it hadn’t gone away completely with James’ platitudes and Sirius’ teasing, there was still a longing about you. It tore Remus up inside to think that they were responsible for it. 

The music tapers to a stop just in time for Monty to clink his knife against his glass. 

“I won,” Remus whispers to Sirius. 

“You didn’t wager, prick.” 

“Would have won, though.” 

“Shh. It’s rude to talk over the King.” 

Remus smirks to himself, enjoying another pastry as Monty thanks everyone for coming and spends some time applauding the kitchen’s efforts and the wonderful selection of the conductor. You and James are standing off to the side, perfectly placed so that when Monty directs the attention of the room to you, you can smile and absorb it without anyone’s view of you obstructed. James’ arm is around your waist as you lean amicably into his side, the image of young love. 

“They’re putting on quite the show, aren’t they?” Sirius murmurs, eyeing the clasp of James’ fingers around your side. 

Remus hums. “That’s what’s been asked of them.” 

“A toast to the happy couple,” Monty finishes. 

As you all sip your champagne, someone shouts, “Let’s have a kiss!” 

Sirius whips around to find the perpetrator. You and James look surprised, but boisterous laughter and cheering go up throughout the room as more guests take up the sentiment. Remus winces for you both as you look at James, uncertain. A few words pass between you. James pulls you to him. 

It’s a show, that’s for sure. The sort that gets the crowd roaring, glasses raised as James turns you in his arms, the two of you sharing a fairytale-worthy kiss. And then…then, perhaps it’s something more. 

You don’t pull away. Neither of you. James’ fingers splay over your back, the movement so familiar Remus can feel heat in the shape of them over his own spine even as he watches from yards away, and your free hand travels up to cup James’ face. Your posture bends under the weight of something undeniable. It’s plain for everyone to see, no longer a show, and for four of you, an illusion shattered. 

It should make Remus sick. But it doesn’t. 

The crowd’s encouragement grows louder, until it dissolves into amicable laughter when your champagne tips and spills onto James’ suit. You break away, open-mouthed as if you’re taking in a gasp of air, petrified in the moment before you recall your audience and your expression smooths itself into one of polite sheepishness. James takes a few beats longer to pull himself together, struck dumb. His eyes don’t leave you. 

“What the fuck,” Sirius breathes. 

Remus startles, reaching for him instinctually. Sirius’ face has gone ghostly white. “Sirius—” 

Sirius stands. Remus sees your head turn towards the motion, then James’, but Remus is already pushing his chair back to follow as Sirius stalks from the room. The other guests are too occupied for anyone else to really notice. 

“Right, thank you all,” Remus hears you say, the perfect amount of blushing humor in your tone, “but we should go clean off the Prince’s suit.” 

James’ voice raises to second you, Monty calling for the music to begin again, and Remus pushes out the grand doors knowing he has you and James on his heels. Sirius always checks his pace so Remus can keep up, but he doesn’t now. Remus strains to keep him in sight until a door closes behind him. 

James’ room. Remus wonders if Sirius even meant to take himself here, or if it was only habit. 

You and James are faster, and reach the door at the same time as Remus does. James is ashen. Your eyes shine with remorse. 

“I’m sorry,” you say as soon as you near Remus, your voice a fraught whisper, still conscious of being overheard, “I didn’t know what to do, I—” 

“What did he say?” James asks urgently. 

“He was—” Fuck, Remus can feel a migraine coming on already. The dull ache in his muscles he’d ignored to chase after Sirius flares with renewed consequence. “He was surprised. He didn’t say much.” 

James swallows, nodding. They’ve all had their share of rows, but James and Sirius never properly fight. Not about anything real. “Okay.” 

He opens the door, going inside. Remus stops you before you can follow. 

“I don’t know if you should…” he starts. 

Your eyes well. “Remus, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—for it to be—” 

“I know,” he cuts you off. “I know you didn’t. It’s not your fault. I just, I think this is a conversation we need to have alone.” 

You press your lips together. “Okay. I’m sorry.” 

“It’s alright,” Remus tries to soothe you, hating that he has to shut the door. But he does. 

The album feels like a young summer night; the kind of romance and contentment you felt when you were young. Romance in its simplest terms, most basic, innocent form - when hands feel hot and heavy when you hold them. The constant murmuring melodies of the guitar, base rhythms, like a lull to send you dizzy, feel comforting. Mitchell’s lyrics, ranging from societal commentary to soft love songs, fit together well. Come in From the Cold is one of my favourite - the opening lines - Back in 1957 // We had to dance a foot apart - already set the tone of the song - taking the listener back to the past, where the barest of touches sparked desire, sensuality, those finger tips glancing was all you were allowed, the forced separation amplifying any meeting of flesh. It explores the first base desire - to touch, to be touched, when you are first discovering it, when you cannot have it, when it is all you want, to come in from the cold. Again, Nothing Can Be Done brings us the contrast between old and young, comparing the perception of love and partners from both ages. This song takes a more cynical view; nothing can be done. She hears him leaving, and she lets him - she remembers the hunger that she felt in her youth (tying back to Come in From the Cold), but she is not young anymore, and she must face the realities of life instead. She’s looked at love, from both sides now. 

Songs, ranked:

Slouching Towards Bethlehem

Night Ride Home

Cherokee Louise

Come in From the Cold

Nothing Can be Done

Passion Play

Two Grey Rooms

The Windfall

Ray's Dad's Cadillac

You wait until you’re sure Remus is asleep before slipping past him out of the library. The kitchens are rowdy, a clamor that never seems to die down even between meals. You wave at a few familiar faces as you go to the freezer for an ice pack. Marlene shouts hello to you, kneading some sort of dough with batter caking her wrists, and you smile back. It’s nice, feeling like you’re almost friends with some people in the castle, though secrecy remains a wall between you. You’re keenly aware of how no one has decided you’re trustworthy enough to tell you of your actual role here; for your part, you haven’t told any of them what you know, either. 

Thinking on it for too long makes your insides feel hollow, so you say a cheery hello to Marlene and move along. 

Winter’s creeping up on Gryffindor now. It’s cold enough that you don’t go outside on a whim, but the sun seems brighter than ever, almost piercing the windows of the castle with its warmth. You’ve taken to cracking your bedroom window when you’re in there, bundling yourself in blankets and letting the cool air kiss your face. 

You wonder if Peleria has had its first chill yet. It always comes a bit later at home, closer to the holidays. There might still be some pears on the trees, or otherwise they’ll be pressing marigold seeds into the soil to attract bees and butterflies after the cold season. When you were small, the children would run into the lake, screaming, until it either froze over or fretful mothers made them stop. You wonder if they’ll be recovering their ice skates from the backs of closets soon. You wonder if your family will come across yours, if they’ll keep them or give them away. 

“Hi,” says a voice, pleasantly surprised. 

It’s a testament to how far inside your head you are that you haven’t noticed James coming up behind you. You turn, an instinctive happiness bursting inside you as your eyes catch on his, before you remember. Your smile becomes a bit more effortful. 

“Hi,” you say back. 

James catches up to you, grinning. “It’s nice to see you.” 

He sounds like he really means it, and that aches like a bruise. James strikes you as an honest person. Genuine. You want to believe he means everything he says sincerely, but that’s hard to reconcile with all you know he holds back from you. You understand why he does it. You sympathize, really; you wish you could tell him he and his secret are safe with you without revealing that you already know, but because you can’t you’ve been avoiding him more than anyone.

You miss him.

“You, too.” The warmth in James’ eyes ignites the same feelings it always has. It’s hard to look at. “Are you on your way to the library, by chance?” 

James hesitates. “I am, yeah. You?” 

“I was, but...” You hold the ice pack out lamely. “Maybe you can bring this to Remus instead.”

He looks bemused but takes it from you. Your fingers brush, and a frisson goes up your arm which you ignore. 

“Is he okay?” James asks. “He asked you for this?” 

“Yeah—or no, he didn’t ask me.” You press your lips into a reassuring smile. “I was just going by and saw him laying down on the couch. He looked like his head might be hurting him, so…” 

James’ eyes go all melty soft. There’s a terrible ache inside the base of your throat, a pain that begs to be let out. “That’s really thoughtful of you,” he says in a tender voice. 

You swallow around the ache.

“He gets migraines,” he says, and you nod to show that you know. “They’ve been coming more often lately. It happens sometimes when he’s stressed.” 

You wonder if that’s your fault. 

“I hope the ice helps,” you say feebly. 

James smiles. “I’m sure it will. And he’ll appreciate it.” You smile back, meaning to go—to turn down some random hallway or whatever gets you away quickest—but before you can James says, “I feel like we haven’t seen much of you lately.” 

You almost make a sound. A sigh, or a low whine; only a lifetime of etiquette training keeps you from it. You turn back around. “I’ve been exploring more,” you say. 

“We’d be happy to show you around.” 

“We?” 

James grins, sheepish. “I,” he amends. “The engagement ball is coming up anyway. It would be good for people to see us together.” 

You have to work hard to shove down on how that stings. For people to see us together. James wants to be seen with you, not to be with you. 

“They can see us there,” you say, in as breezy a tone as you can muster. “It’s really fine, I don’t need to take up so much of your time when we’re not in the public eye. It’ll be good practice for after the wedding, right?” 

James’ smile has faded. His brows twitch slightly towards the center, like he’s searching for something he can’t quite grasp. “Right,” he echoes you. 

“Right,” you say again, taking a couple of steps away from him. “Thanks, James. I hope Remus feels better.” 

“Yeah.” He still sounds a bit lost. “I’ll let him know you went and got this for him.” 

A warmth spreads from your chest, washing over your face and down your arms. You wonder if James can feel it tingling in your fingertips. “I’ll see you later?” you ask softly. 

James smiles. “Yeah, I’ve just got a couple of things to handle first. I’ll come find you, yeah? For dinner?” 

“Sounds great.” Your answering smile is irrepressible. He gives your hand a squeeze before letting go, slipping into his room. 

It’s difficult, not to collapse against the closed door with a sigh like a lovesick girl in a film. You’ve no doubt that to anyone watching you give the general impression anyway, huge smile still stuck to your face and hearts in your eyes. 

You hear Sirius’ voice from inside James’ room. You’re sure Remus is in there as well, his presence only less audible than Sirius’. You suspect they’re James’ couple of things to handle. You don’t mind; James likes to have at least some time alone with his friends each day, and you wouldn’t begrudge him it. It’s sweet. Honestly, it only endears you to James more that he has such close friends, friends which go all the way back to childhood and whom he clearly loves fiercely. You’re glad you’re getting to know them as well—not only because Remus and Sirius are nice to be around, but you don’t imagine it can be a bad thing to get along with your partner’s friends. Sirius seemed to have some trouble getting used to you, but you think you might be finally moving past that; if you’re lucky, you could all be quite happy once you and James are married. 

You meander the halls a bit on your way back to your room, still buzzing with a restless, giddy energy, a throat-squeezing feeling of possibility. It’s as you pass the open doorway of an office that you hear your name. 

“...see how he was holding her hand? It’s cruel.” 

You stop on the other side of the door. You don’t grow up in a palace without developing a healthy proclivity for eavesdropping; if people in Gryffindor are talking about you, you want to know what they’re saying. 

“They’re engaged.” That’s Lily’s voice, matter-of-fact. “Holding hands is part of the deal.”

“It is when it’s for the cameras.” You recognize Mary’s cadence now, too. 

“You know James. He’s touchy with everyone.” 

“Exactly, but she doesn’t know that,” Mary argues. She sounds the tiniest bit upset. “James can—I know he’s only being friendly, he doesn’t mean to, but he can flirt without having any idea he’s doing it. She’s going to get the wrong idea.” 

Your stomach quiets. You can’t tell if the butterflies you’ve been feeling all afternoon have frozen in place or fallen dead. 

“I know.” Lily’s voice is a murmur. “I know, but what do you want him to do? I’m sure he wants to tell her everything, but Remus and Sirius will know better than to trust her yet. She’s only been here a couple of weeks. If they tell her and she calls off the wedding, how would that look for Gryffindor? Or if she tells anyone else?” 

Mary sighs. 

“He’s the prince,” Lily says gently. “He has to consider the whole kingdom, and we can’t afford for this to get out. Not everyone is ready for…for…” 

“For their king to be in a gay polycule?” 

You choke on air. 

“It’s not like it would be the first time,” Mary offers.

“Allegedly,” Lily says, though there’s a hint of a smile in her tone. 

Mary scoffs. “Right, allegedly.” 

There’s a long pause. You hear the scrape of wood against the floor and imagine Lily scooting her chair closer to Mary, playing with the ends of the other girl’s hair. 

“I’m sorry,” she says. “It does feel…well, it’s not ideal. Maybe I can talk to James about being a little less…James.” 

Mary’s voice lowers. “I just feel bad for her. She left her home, her family didn’t even seem to hesitate about sending her away—forever—and now she’s an outsider in her own marriage.” 

The barb of their pity stabs through you. Lily murmurs something in response, but you don’t stick around to hear it. You’re done being gossiped about for the day. 

You’re moving so quickly, you walk past the hallway to your room twice before finding it. There’s something warm and sour curdling in your gut, and you’re—you don’t know what you are. Hurt, indignant, nauseous. You feel like an idiot. 

It all seems so transparent now. Horrifyingly, glaringly obvious. Remus’ hand on James’ knee when his bouncing was shaking the table. The private look on Sirius’ face when James fished a leaf out of his hair. How comfortable they all are with each other, touching and joking and speaking in a language you hoped—foolishly—you might one day crack. But it’s not meant to be shared with you. 

You’ve thought, once or twice, that James hasn’t seemed as nervous as you are when you spend time together. Not since that first day. You told yourself it was part of his personality—he’s a confident man, not the sort to trip over his own feet when he likes someone, you shouldn’t read into it—but now, of course, this makes sense. None of this is real to him. The performance is as much for you as it is for the cameras, meant to keep you happy and incurious. 

You would never have gone along with it if you’d known. It’s no wonder Sirius hasn’t been friendly to you; you’re encroaching on his relationship. On all of theirs. You’ve flirted with James in front of all of Remus and Sirius, planned dates, talked about your wedding. You wouldn’t have—god, you’re not trying to stand in the way of what they have. Even when you thought they were only friends, their love for each other was so obvious they couldn’t hope to mask it. You would never want to get in the way of that. You don’t want to do this to them.

But just as the acidic tang of guilt rises in your throat, another force shoves against it. You aren’t doing this to them. Every part you’ve played in this has been against your will. If you’d gone into this arrangement with your eyes open, you could have done things completely differently. Only you hadn’t been given that choice. 

You don’t think James hates you. Remus might not, either. But whatever progress you’ve made with each of them seems pointless now. The impression you had upon first entering Gryffindor has never felt more true. No one wants you here. They never did. 

You’re every bit the girl in a film now, laying on your bed letting tears slip down to wet the pillow. You register the cliche and do nothing about it. 

You don’t know what to do. You can’t go home. Riddle is at Peleria’s doorstep. Even if you could get the King and Queen to commit Gryffindor’s armies without going through with the marriage, Lily is right; it would look bad for both of you to call it off now. You have to marry James. It’s all that’s been asked of you. It’s all you can offer your family, your kingdom. You can’t go home. 

Gryffindor was supposed to be your new home. 

A soft knock on your door summons you from the smog of your self-pity. You sniffle, scrubbing mostly dried tears from under your eyes and checking your reflection in the mirror before saying, “Yes?” 

Remus pokes his head in. The sight of him makes your chest hurt—the slight uptilt to his mouth, the kindness of it. You wonder if this whole time, he’s only been kind to you out of sympathy. “Sirius is jealous that you and James got to spend all day in town,” he says. “He wants to go out for dinner. Are you ready?” 

“Um.” Your voice comes out rough, and you clear your throat. “I’m a bit tired, actually. You guys go ahead.” 

Remus’ almost-smile fades. “If you’re tired, we can eat here.” 

“That’s okay.” 

“Sirius doesn’t always have to get his way,” he says wryly. “It’ll be good for him.” 

“I think I’m just going to…” You give your pillow a lame pat. “...go to bed.” 

You don’t look out the window, at the sun hardly beginning to set; neither does Remus. His brows furrow, and you fuss with your comforter so as not to meet his eyes. Too clever, too discerning. 

“Are you alright?” he asks. 

“Hm?” 

“You sound a bit hoarse.” 

“Oh.” You press your lips into a smile. “I think it’s just the weather.” 

He makes a soft hum. “I’ll have someone bring you a tea. We’ll see you tomorrow, then?” 

“Yeah,” you murmur, lying back down. “Thanks.” 

The door clicks shut behind him. A wave of feeling washes over you—silly, feeling abandoned when you’ve asked to be left behind. A couple more tears squeeze from your eyes nonetheless. They trace meandering paths down your face, the wetness cooling in their wake. 

You wonder if this is how your life will be. Going out in front of cameras with James, smiling, holding hands, then delivering him to his true partners so you can return to your room. Alone. This arrangement isn’t what you thought it was, but you can play the part. For Gryffindor and for Peleria, for James and Sirius and Remus, you can.