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“Are you mental?” Lily adjusted her straw hat, casting a panicked look out onto the stage, where James Potter stood giving the performance of his life. Remus rubbed his face, grimacing.
“I’m really sorry,” he said. “I’m so sorry. But I couldn’t ask Mary, and Marlene’s already been out -” He wrung his hands. “I’d send Sirius, I really would, but his evil queen costume takes the best part of thirty minutes to get him sewn into and they’ve already started.”
Lily took a deep breath. She only had two lines to remember – that wasn’t the issue. It was that she’d gone from being a wordless fishwife to the titular character – and naturally, the titular character was a sidelined damsel-in-distress that could have been replaced with an aristocratic lamp. Why Lockhart kept choosing these sorts of plays, she didn’t know. Why had they allowed a megalomaniac of an eighteen-year-old to direct anyway? He wasn’t even making the calls – he was just in the audience basking in it, the useless knob.
“Lockhart will skin me alive,” Remus said, clasping his hands together. “He’ll wear me as a cloak and use my blood to shampoo his hair. Please, Lily. I’ll owe you. And,” in his begging, he grasped at something. “You’ll humiliate James. He’s expecting Lisbete to prance out. You know he can hardly talk to you. You’ll get the last laugh.”
James. That much was true. In rehearsals, they quarrelled over everything, which was a miracle in and of itself as they were never in the same scene. Fortunately, however, as of late he could scarcely look her in the eyes, which made winning the arguments a lot easier. Lily huffed and folded her arms. “That’s a bit evil, Remus.” He shrugged.
“It’s show business.”
She blew air through her lips. “Fine,” she said. “But don’t lose it if I become a diva.” She hesitated. “And I want kebabs after the show.”
“Whatever you want,” Remus promised. “Anything.”
Lily skulked further backstage, past where Lisbete sat holding an icepack to her ankle, and reluctantly greeted Dorcas Meadowes.
“I’m the princess now,” she announced glumly. Dorcas blinked.
“Oh.” She looked to the costume rack. “We haven’t much time.”
Five minutes later, Lily had transformed from a humble villager to the King’s kidnapped daughter, clad in a ridiculously over-the-top pink gown and a matching cone with a long veil. Dorcas hurriedly braided her hair as she repeated her lines under her breath, and then Lily was shoved into the wings as the stage went dark. Benjy and Caradoc threw a red tablecloth over the metal structure that was to be her ‘bed’ and patted it.
“Hop on,” Benjy said, and Lily obliged, sitting on it.
“This is like one of those things they wheel bodies around in the morgue,” she informed him, laying down. It was terribly uncomfortable.
“Well, you would be a body if he didn’t come save you,” Caradoc said. “So it’s a fair thing.”
They wheeled her past Remus, who gave her a thumbs up and mouthed ‘thank you’, and then out onto the stage. It was terrifyingly empty, the audience glaring with narrowed eyes, trying to make sense of the shapes in the dark. An unfamiliar set loomed around her, with painted castle walls. In her only scene it had been a market square, and there’d been so many people on stage and her so far at the back that she’d been sure nobody was watching her. Now she’d be a main feature. She swallowed hard, and when Benjy and Caradoc hurried off, she was alone. She shut her eyes. Please, please don’t let me fuck up.
She sensed the lights going up, and James’ voice filled the world. With its disconnection from his actual face, it was almost pleasant-sounding.
“In the depths of the castle lay the Princess Acanthus, locked in an endless slumber, trapped by the Evil Queen Rostra. With every moment,” a clock tick, tick, ticked, “her life ebbed away. If Sir Arthur could not wake her, she would be lost forever.” Lily fought to keep her face still, trying to ignore the gazes of near fifty people on her. The lights warmed, and the clash of swords echoed in her ears.
“En garde! Get back!” James shouted from offstage. “Begone, foul creature!” The swords died and romantic music started as he entered the scene. He gave a strangled cry. An unscripted cry. Lily fought to keep her lips still. It would work with the character, perhaps, but it was all James.
“Princess?” he gasped, with more question than usual. He padded across the stage. After a moment, she felt the warmth of someone nearby, and the light behind her eyelids changed. “Could - could it be? This is where the Evil Queen has kept you all along? So close, and yet…” he sighed. “So difficult to find. Had I only known.” A rummaging sound. “And this antidote! Why, this antidote! The wizard has promised that this should wake her, and I must believe him. If he has lied…all hope is lost. We will never defeated the Evil Queen. All of Etrariana will be lost to her wicked powers!” His footsteps circled, so that he stood behind her. Lily squeezed her hands where they held each other, praying she kept still. Her body tensed in anticipation of his touch.
It was all she could do not to jolt when he lay his hands upon hers, heart pounding in her throat. His fingers brushed her cheek. Sleeping. You’re sleeping. Stay still. His thumb touched her lips, and her stomach clenched. His hands were softer than she had expected, and gentler. Something cold replaced his thumb.
“Please, let this potion work. Please, or I will be bereft! So very bereft!” he declared. Lockhart had written the play. He was the sort who named himself a great fan of Shakespeare after reading the Sparknotes of all his works. The mouth of the vial tilted against her lips. Crap. Now she had to wake. She hadn’t thought about how to act that.
Lily flung her eyes open and sat slightly. James snaked an arm around her. She almost looked to the audience, but his fingers curled around her waist as a reminder. His brown eyes were wide, faintly accentuated by the mascara on his lashes. She had never been so close to him. His breath stroked her cheek. A gold ring outlined his irises, and his lips were slightly parted, revealing a little of his white teeth. It took her a moment to remember what she was to do. She made a small sleepy sound – James held her a little more firmly – and opened her mouth in shock.
“Prin – princess.” James’ voice shook. She didn’t recall that from the matinee, but then, she had never paid much attention. Lily bit her lip, trying not to smirk. “You – you are awake.” He held her face with his free hand, and guided her gently into leaning back a little more. It sent her a little off-balance. If he pulled his arm, away, she would fall. She had to trust him. The heat of the lights flushed her cheeks. “I feared you would never wake.”
“Sir Arthur!” she said. “You have saved me! I thought I would die here, because of the Evil Queen’s evil intentions. I have been asleep so very long.”
“Of course I saved you,” he said, drawing nearer. Her tongue felt fat in her mouth. “I vowed to be your protector.” It’s worse for him than for you. She lifted her hand and cupped his cheek. There was colour in his face, too – she must have been harder to prop up than she thought.
“My saviour,” she breathed. “I am so very thankful.” She had to initiate. Her stomach rolled. It was stupid – she had done this plenty of times, with plenty of different people, on dares or dates or when she was drunk or dancing. What did this matter? Lily tilted her head and bridged the gap between them, pressing her lips softly against James’. He inhaled sharply, but it was only the briefest meeting, and he was the first to draw back. His lipstick had smudged a little. That hadn’t been so bad. The first was done.
“Princess,” he said. “Oh, Princess. How I have dreamed of this day.” And then he kissed her. A strike of lightning ran through her. His kiss was hungry, passionate – as it was directed to be – and his tongue swiped her lips. Fine. She could do better than that. She pressed harder against him, tasting the inside of his mouth, and lifted her other hand to hold onto the back of his jerkin. He could take all her weight, if he liked. He kissed her harder, stealing her breaths until she was gasping against him, desperately breathing through her nose, which crashed against his. Fine. If the audience wanted a show – if he wanted to make this a show – that’s what it would be.
Her teeth skimmed his lower lip, tugging gently, and then she moaned softly. His arm jerked in surprise. She dropped back. No! But he saved her at the last moment, cradling her in his arms, and then lowered her to the table. Now James was directly above her. By rights, the kiss ended there, but she kept on, trailing her fingers up his back until they reached his hair, where she then twisted them into his locks. James leaned over more, pressing some of his torso against hers, and trapped her tongue between his teeth, slowly drawing back and releasing her. Lily could up the stakes. If they were going to send her out to do this with little warning, as a favour, this is what they would get. And besides, he couldn’t win. No fucking way. She arched her body against his, whining a little. He gripped her face with both hands and kissed her harder again, pressing down until the metal of the ‘bed’ was firm against her back. Her head spun, the lack of air getting to her. Her whole body was warm under the glaring stage lights. The music had passed where it was supposed to be, and they were dragging on too long. She had to put an end to it.
She pulled back as best she could – her head hit the ‘bed’, and he only leaned down further, lipstick now smeared.
“James,” she whispered, very quietly. He flinched and opened his eyes. She stroked his cheek and pulled back, before sitting up of her own power. She could improvise.
“Sir Arthur,” she said, loud enough for the audience to hear, smiling pleasantly. “My saviour. My love.” Even if the line didn’t change the fact that the Princess didn’t pass the Bechdel test, at least she had three lines instead of two.
“We must run, my princess,” he said. Here, he was meant to step back and help her to her feet, but instead he stayed dangerously close. Lily’s palms sweated. Something in her core was on fire. As he let go of her, one finger swiped at the corner of her mouth. He subtly showed it to her as he finally did the blocking he was supposed to. It was marked with red. Her own lipstick had been ruined. He cleared his throat. “We must go now! The Evil Queen will realise I am here at any moment!” He circled to the front of her bed, took her hand, and helped her up. His palms were as gross as hers; she could feel his pulse jumping through his wrist.
There was only thing left; the music changed and swelled, and he started to run slowly, pulling her offstage. Lily joined him in the overdramatic fleeing, pretending to look terrified, and followed him into the wings.
As soon as they were in the darkness, James grabbed her waist; she rasped in surprise and he pulled her flush against him, hands stronger than she had known. Her heart raced. His face was only inches from hers, near as close as it had been on the stage. There was a wildness in his eyes, and his hair was still ruffled where she had messed it. Lily scoffed, mostly to herself. Was this his attempt at surprising her? She could do worse.
She smashed her lips against his, throwing her arms around his neck, and he stumbled backwards. But he returned her kiss with his own, fierce and insistent, and bit her lips. She stepped forward, pushing him against the theatre wall. How did he like being beneath her? But he gripped her waist harder and it became difficult to think clearly; her body ran on pure animalistic frenzy, only caring about his tongue against hers, his lips against her, the taste of his mouth.
“Are you mental?!” Lily broke from him at once, staggering backwards, and Remus gaped at them, holding his clipboard only by the string-attached pen. Lily smoothed her hair back, attempting decorum.
“You were the one who put me out there,” she said calmly. “I wanted to give it a hundred percent.”
Remus blinked. “Jesus Christ.”