Chapter Text
Pandora looks up from wiping tables to the band practicing for their gig in a few hours. The members are flushed with adrenaline, sweat beading on their foreheads in the humid air. A captivating aura surrounds them, inviting the spectator to join in on the chaos. The last few drum beats fade, and the band looks up at their sparse audience, breathing heavily.
Pandora jumps up and down, hands flapping excitedly, before clapping and letting loose a cheer.
One of her coworkers sighs, rolls his eyes, and walks away, while the band approaches Pandora.
“You guys were amazing!” she exclaims. “I could feel the energy radiating from you. You’re so full of life, it was magnetic!”
“Thanks!” the messy-haired drummer grins as he adjusts his glasses. “I hope our audience tonight is as awesome as you!”
“That would be a hard thing to do,” one of the guitarists says with a wink.
The bassist pauses in fixing his bun to share an exasperated glance with the scarred lead guitarist.
“I’m Peter,” the first guitarist fails to notice his friends’ response. “You?”
“Pandora,” she says. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Here’s our demo,” the bassist says with a charming smile, sliding it across the table to her.
“Oh!” the drummer perks up. “Have one of our T-shirts!”
He hands her a red top with gold letters spelling out “Marauders”.
“I’ll make sure not to clean the counter with this one,” Pandora says.
“I’d recommend against that,” the lead guitarist says. “When it gets wet the color bleeds everywhere.”
“Remus!” Peter shoves him. “Ignore them.”
“It was lovely meeting you,” the drummer says. “But I’m hungry. I believe street-dogs were mentioned?”
“I’m good,” Peter says. “You guys go on ahead.”
“But it was your idea,” the bassist says. “Ow!”
“Oops,” Remus says, removing his foot from the bassist’s toes. “My bad, Pads.”
Pads grumbles about stupid heavy unfairly tall people.
“You are short aren’t you?” the drummer says jokingly.
“Shut up, James!” Pads snaps. “I thought you were hungry?”
“Right!” James says. “Let’s go.”
He drags the other two towards the exit.
“Bye, James!” Pandora waves after them. “Bye, Pads! Bye, Remus!”
Peter starts laughing and Pandora laughs along, needing no reason to enjoy life.
For some reason, Peter laughs harder.
- - - - - - -
“‘Pads’?” Sirius repeats. “Did she just call me ‘ Pads ’?”
“I thought you wanted girls to have pet names for you,” Remus says, ignoring the slight twist in his gut at the thought.
“Shut the fuck up,” Sirius says.
The three teens giggle uncontrollably, amused by their sophisticated sense of humor.
“Guys, I can’t believe we’re playing the Phoenix,” James says. “Granted, on Halloween, but this is still huge. It’s gonna change our lives.”
“Do you think Minnie will be proud of us?” Sirius bats his eyelashes as he tucks his lustrous hair behind his ear.
“She’ll never admit it,” Remus clears his throat. “But-”
“-yeah,” they all say, nodding.
“Food!” James grabs Sirius as they reach the hotdog vendor, shaking him energetically.
“I have eyes, Prongs.”
“Yes, but food,” James pouts.
“Idiots,” Remus says, and turns to the vendor, handing him several bills. “Three, please.”
“Go ahead,” the vendor hands them three hotdog buns and gestures at the open hood of his car, where condiments and pickle containers lie haphazardly.
They quickly put together their street-dogs, retreating to a bench to eat.
squelch
They bite into their buns, chewing slowly.
“Is that a new flavor?” Remus asks.
“Relax, Moony,” Sirius says. “Street-dogs haven’t killed us yet.”
The three of them stop to look at their hotdogs for a second before shrugging and taking another bite.
By the time the ambulances arrived, it was too late.
- - - - - - -
Luna sits in the passenger seat of her dad’s car, looking blankly at the school building ahead of her.
“You got this, Looney Tunes,” Xenophilius says.
“Thanks, Dad,” she says with a forced smile.
She leans over to give him a quick hug, before opening the car door and stepping out.
"Te amo muito," Xenophilius says.
“Me too,” Luna’s smile softens slightly. “See you later.”
His car drives away and an impatient Ginny immediately runs over and leans on a signpost.
“Hey, bitch,” she says casually.
“Hello, ginger,” Luna responds.
Ginny’s face scrunches in disgust before her expression turns serious.
“Do you know what you’re going to do?” she asks. “McGonagall said it’s your last chance to stay in the program.”
“I know,” Luna says sarcastically. “I was there.”
“So you’re doing..?”
“I’ll let it come to me,” she says. “If it’s meant to, it will.”
“Will it though?” Ginny asks. “Are you really going to let music go without a fight?”
“I don’t even know if I want to fight,” Luna says quietly.
“Dude, the fuck?” Ginny glares. “Don’t ditch me.”
“I’m not planning to, but, like-” Luna shrugs helplessly. “I don’t know.”
“Let’s just get to class,” her friend says with a scowl.
- - - - - - -
Ginny winces as her classmates applaud Neville’s trumpet solo.
“That instrument should be banned,” she mutters.
“Don’t be mean,” Luna says. “It was fine.”
“I’m not saying he’s bad, I’m saying he has bad taste in instruments,” Ginny says.
“Well done,” McGonagall tells Neville, then turns to the class. “Luna, you’re up.”
“Hey,” Ginny grabs Luna’s hand. “You got this.”
“My dad would agree with you,” Luna says. “But I make no guarantees.”
“You’re gonna be amazing, you’re awesome, now go, go, go!” Ginny shoos her.
Luna sits at the grand piano, and Ginny sees that her hands are trembling.
“There she goes, staring at the piano without playing a note,” Ginny overhears Pansy whispering to Draco. “Classic Loony.”
“Shut the fuck up, Pansy!” Ginny snaps, cutting off Draco’s response.
“Don’t be homophobic,” he sasses.
“I’m literally a lesbian,” Ginny says.
“Notice how she’s avoiding the accusation?” Pansy says.
“Oh, you bi-”
“Quiet, class!” McGonagall snaps her fingers twice. “And Ginny, language! Luna, go ahead.”
Luna takes a deep breath, looks at the keys, shakes her head and walks right out the door.
“Luna!” Ginny rushes after her.
On her way out, she hears Pansy once again.
“Called it,” she says.
Ginny flips her off without a backwards glance.
“That’s a detention, Miss Weasley,” McGonagall calls.
“Sure, sure,” Ginny waves it off and picks up her pace.
She catches up to Luna in the school’s greenhouse, gazing at the spider lilies.
“Hey, Lunes,” Ginny says softly.
“Do you think she’d be disappointed in me?” Luna asks distantly.
“Never,” Ginny says and pulls her into a hug. “Don’t ever think that.”
“Music was her passion.”
“And she’d be proud of you for trying.”
“I miss her,” Luna hugs Ginny back.
“Well, yeah,” Ginny says. “She was your mom.”
“Get me out of here,” Luna says abruptly.
“Aye, aye, captain,” Ginny salutes. “Your wish is my command.”
- - - - - - -
The Lovegoods’ house is empty of people when Luna gets home.
“Well, it’s official,” she tells the air of her mom’s studio. “I’m out of the music program. I’m sorry.”
The cluttered room seems to stare accusingly back at her.
“And I’m sorry I didn’t come here until now,” Luna continues. “You know, sometimes I think Dad will never step foot in here again.”
She absentmindedly brushes her fingers over her mother’s writing desk, wincing as her hand gets covered in dust.
The next thing she knows, an hour has passed, and she’s sitting on the recently cleaned floor, sorting through her mom’s old things. She opens the CD player to find a red disk with golden letters spelling “Marauders” on top.
Without thinking too much, she slides the disk back in and presses play.
A guitar riff opens the rock song, but is quickly ruined by the sound of screams.
“That’s an interesting artistic choice,” Luna says.
Three figures materialize out of nothing, screaming, and she does a double take.
“Who are you, and what are you doing in my house?” she asks.
“Your house?” the tall scarred one says.
“More like what are you doing in our studio?” the tattooed one says.
“This is my mom’s studio,” Luna frowns.
“No, that’s my beanbag chair, right there,” the one with glasses jumps onto the pink beanbag. “The desk is new, though...”
“How’d they move their things in here so fast?” Tattoos scream-whispers.
“Witchcraft!” Glasses gasps.
“There’s no such thing as witches,” Scars says.
“And I used to think there was no such thing as ghosts, yet here we are,” Glasses responds.
“I knew ghosts were real!” Luna says.
All three ghosts jump.
“I forgot she was here,” Tattoos mumbles.
“Seriously, though,” Scars says to her. “How did you get your things here in a day?”
“I’ve lived here my whole life,” Luna says.
“No, that’s impossible,” Glasses tilts his head. “How old are you?”
“Maybe witches grow up fast,” Tattoos whispers.
“You’re really bad at whispering,” Luna says. “But to answer your friend, I’m nineteen. And you still haven’t told me who you are.”
“We’re the Marauders,” Glasses says.
“Tell your friends,” the three say in unison.
Luna looks at the CD player. She looks up at the trio. She looks at the CD player one more time.
“Ghosts,” she says definitively.
“Okay, so if you’ve been here for nineteen years-” Scars begins.
“My parents have been here for even longer,” Luna cuts him off, then adds, “sorry for interrupting. Continue.”
“How long have we been dead?” Tattoos says, voice squeaking towards the end.
“Let me just Google it real quick,” Luna pulls out her phone.
“What’s that, and what’s a Google?” Glasses asks.
“This is my phone,” Luna says, and shows them the results of her search. “And it’s been almost thirty years. These are you, right?”
“‘Stolen From Us Too Soon’,” Scars reads aloud. “‘Promising young rock band, the Marauders, found dead mere hours before playing the Phoenix stage’. This is dated nineteen-ninety-five.”
“What year is it again?” Tattoos asks with dread in his voice.
“Twenty-twenty-four,” Luna answers. “So yeah, twenty-nine years.”
“I’ve been crying this whole time,” Glasses says. “I’VE BEEN CRYING FOR TWENTY-NINE YEARS?”
“There, there,” Tattoos pats him on the shoulder. “We won’t tell anyone.”
“ That’s your concern?” Scars says.
“How did you not know that it’s been twenty-nine years?” Luna asks, confused.
“One moment, we were eating hotdogs, one moment we’re dead, and what felt like an hour later, we’re here,” Tattoos says.
“In that hour,” Luna says hesitantly. “You didn’t happen to see other dead people, right?”
“No, not really,” Scars says. “Why?”
“Twenty-nine years,” Glasses says, eyes wide. “Crying. Twenty-nine years. TWENTY-NINE YEARS? CRYING?”
“It’s okay, you’re emotional,” Tattoos says. “You just died. It makes sense.”
Luna glances at her phone before turning to the trio again.
“Crying Glasses - James?” she asks.
“Huh?” James says.
“That’s him,” Scars answers. “I’m Remus, this idiot is Sirius.”
“Hey!” Sirius protests.
“Okay, James, Remus, idiot Sirius, got it,” Luna says, pointing at each one as she says their name. “I’m Luna.”
“I’m not an idiot!” Sirius says. “He’s the one who’s been crying for twenty-nine years!”
“Well, this has been lovely,” Luna says. “But I need to finish cleaning. See you later.”
“Is she kicking us out of our own studio?” Sirius fails to whisper quietly.
“Not ours anymore, bitch,” Remus swats him on the back of the head. “Let’s give her privacy.”
They vanish from view, a shimmering aura slowly dissipating where they once stood.
“Are you here?” Luna asks the empty room.
But silence is her only answer.