A/N:

Last chapter this week (now we're caught up to AO3). We get to see The Marauders in all their glory, and Remus gets a little... thirsty (author is totally not projecting).


Wembley, May 2, 2020

Remus was starting to get impatient. They had been standing in the queue for over an hour now, and people kept knocking into him. On the bright side, it wasn't raining for once, and the May evening air was relatively warm.

Marlene, making full use of her friends being unable to escape, was spewing Marauders-trivia at them in a never-ending stream. "So, the lead singer is James Potter—he has the most insane voice on the planet, and he also plays piano and rhythm guitar. The lead guitarist is Sirius Black, obviously." She paused to fan herself. "He's been named the best guitarist of his generation by Rolling Stone and BMG, and he's like the embodiment of rock—he's been arrested multiple times, he has all these tattoos, and he's done just about every drug in existence."

"You're making it sound as if that's some special feat?" Lily scoffed.

"Oh, you know what I mean. It's certainly more exciting than working in a bank. Besides, I hear he's clean now." Marlene brushed her off and continued, "Then we have Gideon Prewett on drums—an absolute freight train—and his twin brother, Fabian, on bass. He's always a blast live. They broke through five years ago with 'Supremacy' and 'The Shadow of the Swastika', and they've released three studio albums since then, each going straight to the top of the charts."

"Wait, they're not neo-Nazis or something?" Lily asked, looking wildly around to check that they weren't surrounded by people in red armbands.

Marlene laughed. "On the contrary—it's about breaking free of the past and rejecting all that nonsense. They say they wrote it because people kept assuming they were Nazis simply for being a metal band. I know, stupid, right? But I hear Sirius Black actually wrote it for his family, and they disowned him after that," she whispered conspiratorially, wagging her eyebrows. "He comes from this semi-royal, super stuck-up family, who sent him to boarding school when he was young, which is where he met James. He never saw eye to eye with them, and when he was sixteen, he ran away from home and never came back," she boasted, as if she had been personally involved. "I heard his great-grandfather worked for the Germans during World War II, but it was never officially proven. And his brother landed himself in some trouble a few years ago when it got out that he was connected to some unsavoury people, but Sirius must have cut all ties with him as well when he left home…. But it's all speculation and rumours—he's notoriously tight-lipped about his personal life."

"I never knew that…" Alice muttered in awe. For once, even Lily remained silent.

"Well, you're not a walking encyclopaedia of Marauders knowledge like me, are you now?" Marlene joked, wrapping an arm around the petite woman. "Anyway, most of their songs are about rebelling against the system, so if you came for love songs, you might be disappointed." She laughed and winked at Remus.

"Oi, why are you looking at me?" he protested.

"Remus, you might try and hide it behind all those ridiculously oversized cardigans, but we all know you're the biggest romantic at heart." Alice laughed and elbowed his side.

The doors finally opened, and the group eventually made it inside after showing their tickets and checking in their jackets. Marlene dragged them through the heavy crowd towards the front of the stage, but Lily dug in her heels and steered them to the side instead.

"I've been to a few rock concerts, and you don't wanna be in the middle of that when the music begins," she explained and ignored Marlene and Alice's protests. Remus was secretly glad, as he felt awfully out of place looking around at the other concert goers. Like Marlene and Alice, they were all wearing black, occasionally broken up by denim or bright red. Most people had piercings and tattoos, but others looked like they had just dressed up for the occasion—not unlike Marlene, who normally rocked a very corporate style for her work at the bank.

Heavy military-style boots, often equipped with decidedly non-standard-issue spikes and high heels, seemed to be obligatory, and Remus glanced sheepishly down at his own oxfords. His outfit seemed practically librarian in this crowd: his print-less, powder-blue t-shirt and the knitted cardigan his mum had given him for his birthday stuck out a mile in this crowd, and his boring, sandy-blonde hair was nothing like the blacks, purples, blues, and pinks that surrounded him.

A roar of excitement and a surge of movement broke out when the lights suddenly dimmed and an air raid siren sounded from every speaker in the stadium. Red lights swept across the stage and the audience, who pressed ever closer. The big backdrop with the Marauders logo fell to the floor to reveal a giant screen spanning the entire length of the stage. Police sirens, radio recordings, and indistinct chanting and shouting mixed to create a wall of sound while a blur of stylised images flashed across the screen: tear gas, people in skull masks, snakes, spiders, and puppets on strings. Black silhouettes with huge gleaming eyes. The soundscape rose steadily in pitch and volume, eventually morphing into the sound of a fighter jet taking off. It all culminated in a giant set of teeth that seemed to devour everything, opening to swallow the crowd. The screen went black, and a lone church bell started tolling.

The crowd was holding their collective breath until a barefooted figure appeared on stage, making them go wild. The man had fiery red hair tied into a low ponytail, several piercings and tattoos, and wore frayed jeans with a cut-up shirt bearing some twisted letters Remus supposed was some sort of metal band name. He figured he must be the drummer, because he raised a set of drumsticks in salute and took his seat behind the drumkit, which featured a lot of unusual items such as a steel rim, a rig of pipes and a dust bin. He took a moment to survey the crowd before he made a cutting motion in the air with his drumsticks, commanding complete silence. A few seconds ticked by, and then he let his sticks rain down on the drum skins and the cymbals. He soon fell into a steady rhythm and a piano started following along, though Remus couldn't see it. But then smoke drifted up from a pit in the centre of the stage and a grand piano emerged. A man clad in a bright red suit was seated in front of it, moving his hands across the keys in perfect concentration. As his face was projected onto the big screens, Remus could see that the lapels of his jacket were embroidered with intricate floral patterns, and a string of dark red gemstones hung around his neck. He was clean-shaven, his skin a smooth, light brown, and other than a single golden hoop in his ear he had no visible piercings. All in all, very presentable, if it hadn't been for the red stripe painted across his face and his utter mess of black hair, which fell into his eyes as he bent over the piano. This must be James Potter. The crowd went crazy cheering and whistling, and Marlene and Alice were hugging each other while jumping up and down.

The smoke cleared to reveal another redhaired man, stood on top of the piano with his hair tied back like that of his brother's, but clad in a grey vest, cargo shorts and a camouflage cap turned to the back. He was holding a bass guitar and after greeting the audience, he joined in the rhythm. Then Potter started singing, his clear voice filling the entire stadium:

Race, life's a race
And I am gonna win
Yes, I am gonna win

And I'll light the fuse
And I'll never lose
And I choose to survive
Whatever it takes

You won't pull ahead
I'll keep up the pace
And I'll reveal my strength
To the whole human race

Yes, I am prepared
To stay alive
And I won't forgive,
Vengeance is mine
And I won't give in
Because I choose to thrive

Yeah, I'm gonna win!

When he sang the last line, the lights shifted to illuminate the top of the great wall of amplifiers to the side. The roaring from the crowd reached deafening proportions as the last band member was finally revealed, a gleaming red and gold guitar in hand, going straight in for an epic riff.

Remus felt a surge of excitement as he took in the vision. The musician had an elegant air about him that seemed to clash with the rugged state of his outfit; his tight leather trousers were sewn together from many smaller pieces, and his heavy combat boots were worn and dirty. His t-shirt was a jumble of prints, tears, rivets, and fringes. Leather cuffs were buckled around his wrists and from his neck hung several silver necklaces. Long, raven curls fell carelessly around his face, spilling down over his shoulders. A silver ring was pierced into his eyebrow—almost like an intentional spite to the perfect symmetry of his features. He looked completely engulfed in his playing; didn't even seem to register his surroundings, as his fingers plucked and bent the strings of his instrument. The resulting sound reverberated through the stadium, sending a chill to Remus's bones. He suddenly had to support Marlene, who was so ecstatic she had trouble staying on her feet.

When the song finished, the temperature in the room had gone up several degrees, and James Potter stepped away from the piano and up to a microphone stand at the very front of the stage.

"Good evening, Wembley!" he sang, shielding his eyes from the bright lights with his hand to better survey the audience. "God, you're a good-looking lot, innit? How are you all doing?"

The crowd greeted him with a deafening wall of roaring and whistling.

"We just came back from the States, and I cannot tell you how good it feels to be back home! Do you like our new place, by the way?" he said, gesturing around them. "We're thinking about adding a few lamps, maybe some throw cushions in the back, what d'you reckon?" The crowd obviously agreed and cheered wildly as he grabbed a guitar and launched into their next song.

Remus had never seen anyone look as confident as James Potter; it seemed to ooze from his every pore. Barely two songs in, and he already had the crowd eating right out of his hands. Remus was amazed at his ability to sing live so flawlessly, especially with the amount of jumping and running he did. He went from the deepest growl to the highest falsetto, never missing a tone. His voice weaved almost symbiotically together with Black's guitar, harmonizing and contrasting like their minds were one and the same.

But Remus's eyes didn't stay on Potter long; they kept straying to the lead guitarist. It was clear Sirius Black had music in his blood; his fingers danced across the strings as if it was the easiest thing in the world, making the songs become living, breathing organisms—beautiful and vicious all at once. He morphed seamlessly between melody and mayhem, and the weeping of the guitar in his solos cut through to Remus's soul. But there was also a playful, devious side to him; he and Potter would banter or start water fights in between songs, acting like they were performing in a small pub rather than a giant stadium, and he was constantly trying to mess up the drummer's playing by getting all up in his face or standing on the bass drum.

His fingernails scratched along the strings, tapped, pulled, and slid; wrenching sounds from his instrument that Remus had never even considered could come from a guitar. Sometimes he looked like he wanted to kill it, bending and shaking its neck, beating its strings; other times he held it tenderly, almost like a lover, caressing it and sliding it across his body. When he at one point, during a song where Potter was singing about 'the mare of my night', actually laid down the guitar on the floor and started licking the strings, Remus suddenly wished he had opted for looser-fitting jeans. And it still—somehow—sounded absolutely brilliant.

The next song changed the theme, and Black was back on his feet (with a different guitar now). He and the bassist joined Potter in the centre of the stage, standing back-to-back, building up the song until it exploded into the chorus, and they took off in opposite directions.

Where did the man get all that energy from? It was truly impressive how he could play an intricate solo all the while swinging his head and jumping all over the stage. Potter was almost a match for him; he was switching effortlessly between the piano, synths, and rhythm guitar, and his voice never seemed to tire. When he wasn't jumping around or playing an instrument, he ground up against his mic stand or struck powerful poses like it was second nature. He orchestrated the cheers and made the crowd sing along or chant in between songs. He'd lost his jacket after the first couple of songs, revealing a tight-fitting black shirt and a red waistcoat. He undid his cuffs and rolled up his sleeves while the drummer did a back-breaking solo. A couple of songs later, the waistcoat came off.

The crowd loved him, and everyone strained to touch him whenever he came close to the edge of the stage. A girl, who was sitting on the shoulders of her friend, broke into happy tears when she got a kiss on the lips from the singer, and during the next song, someone threw a pair of pink, lacy underwear at him which he made a show of sniffing and draping over his mic stand. While performing their biggest hit he went into the audience, guitar and all, and Remus lost sight of him for a while. He instead focused his attention back on the lead guitarist who was standing on the very edge of the stage, riling up the front rows. He had switched his guitar for what seemed like the millionth time; this time to a pointy black one that seemed to have too many strings. The whole stadium sang along, and Remus vaguely recognised the tune; perhaps from the radio or from the many times Marlene had blasted Marauders songs from her room, he wasn't sure.

You, who think the hue of your hide means you are to blame
And your father's misdeeds are his sons' to carry in shame
Not mine, I'll take no part
You can shove the sins of your father where no light may pass
And kiss my insubordinate ass

Black and Prewett provided back-up vocals on the anthemic chorus, and the drummer was making full use of his kit, keeping up the galloping pace of the song. Next to Remus, Marlene and Alice were jumping up and down in time with the beat, waving their hands and screaming out the lyrics.

Pages of the past
How long will they last?
A lie lost in the legacy of fools left us this parody unsurpassed
Pages of the past
How long will they last?
The shadow of the Swastika by fools' fears now for far too long has been cast

You, who think the hue of your hide means you get to blame
The black for your own faults and so bring humanity shame
Make sure you count me out of the ranks of you inbred morons
With your sewer gas
And kiss my insubordinate ass

When Potter re-emerged from the crowd to sing the last chorus, he had lost his shirt; though how he had managed that with a guitar strapped to him, Remus didn't know. He definitely wasn't bad to look at—lean and tall and graceful, with just a single tattoo decorating his skin: a giant pair of antlers across his upper back. The best part for Remus, though, came when Black apparently got tired of his shirt as well, and he got to see the flesh-and-blood version of Marlene's poster. His arms and chest were decorated in a multitude of tattoos, but they were so intricate it was impossible to make out any motifs from this distance. Remus could, however, see all the impressive muscles flexing and relaxing as he moved around. His leather trousers hung low, and whenever he shifted his guitar, Remus could see the triangle of his hips disappearing below the waistline along with a thin trail of dark hair from his navel. And those fingers…. Was it just him, or had it turned sweltering in here? When Black turned his back to the audience, they were rewarded with a spectacular view of strong shoulders, covered by even more tattoos. Lower, a perfect set of back dimples led Remus's gaze down to what he decided was the leather-clad highlight of the evening, and if anyone had asked him what this song was about, he could not have told them.

When it finished, he removed his cardigan and tied it around his waist, promising himself to pay more attention to the music, which actually wasn't as abrasive and noisy as he had feared. The songs were melodic and varied; a mix of hard-hitting rock-anthems, light-hearted tunes about getting drunk and making mischief, songs of war and political statements, but there were also some darker ones in there, more personal. Remus thought he could identify elements of folk songs and classical symphonies sometimes, interlacing with hard rock and metal traditions in a unique concoction that sounded like nothing else he had heard before. He could see why they were so popular.

By the last song, Potter was jumping up and down on the piano keys while Black was smashing the drumkit with his guitar. Remus feared that the drummer would get hit, but he just kept playing dutifully on the few intact drums. Everyone in the band were drenched in sweat; Black's dark locks stuck to his face, and Potter was emptying an entire water bottle over himself (and the piano by association). The drummer had also lost his shirt somewhere along the line, exposing an impressive upper body, which Remus supposed was a natural side effect of beating skins all day. His brother, who was clearly the goofball of the band, was jumping around doing silly dances, incredibly still maintaining a fierce bass line. Both of them had long since lost their hair ties, and their flaming manes were swinging all over the place.

When the song finally finished (because all the instruments were wrecked), the four of them went to the front of the stage to bow and thank the audience. The drummer threw his sticks into the crowd and Black and Potter followed up with a handful of the picks they'd used during the show. Marlene and Alice were desperately trying to press through the crowd to get at them, but they were too far away.


A/N:

I wish I had been at that concert...
Next chapter will be uploaded next week - it will be another flashback chapter, where James discovers his best friend has been keeping a massive secret from him - but then our characters are finally gonna meet in the chapter after that - I can't wait!

Lyric credits:
Muse - Survival (I imagine this to be something Sirius wrote recently to show the world he's back on track (and perhaps convince himself in the process))
Týr - The Shadow of the Swastika (This is just the perfect finger to the Black family in my opinion. I had to change the lyrics a bit to fit this story - the original last line in the chorus is "And kiss my Scandinavian ass", but y'know... The Marauders aren't Scandinavian. Týr are from the Faroe Islands - definitely check them out if you like Folk/Viking Metal!)