Fandom 𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐬 (𝐚𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐬 & 𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐚)

[Asteria]

IT'S BITTER, IT'S

RANCOROUS.

; aeneas & asteria

CHAPTER ONE

FALSE DECLARATIONS.

coded by the one and only, aeneas. ​

 

[Asteria]

esme irmgard

keene.

She hesitated. For the first time in her life, Esme Irmgard Keene hesitated as she found herself in front of the barrier between the Muggle understanding of King’s Cross Station and what laid behind: the magically concealed extension of Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. Up to this point, she had done everything out of force of habit, her movements almost gaining a mechanical quality to them. She had packed her trunk the night before, only to wake up this morning and go through her usual routine before being picked up and left off at the station by her family’s chauffeur. She had walked up to the apparent wall that separated Platform Nine from Platform Ten, stopped, gathered momentum… and then came to an abrupt halt right before the front of her cart could make it through the barrier. It was as if she woke up from a trance and only now realized where she was going and what was waiting for her on the other side.

Or, better said, who.

The thought of him sent a shot of rippling pain straight through her head. Her progress with Occlumency felt insignificant. All her meticulously arranged mental compartments were out of joint, threatening to burst and spill over and she lacked the necessary time to put them back into order, to regain that lost sense of control. Maybe this was what they wanted, after all. Her parents, the Rothchilds, her cursed fiancé – they wanted her to be disoriented to the point of debilitation. She was utterly useless when she was like this.

“Um, miss? Hello? Are you all right?”

Esme quickly turned her head towards the source of the voice. Melissa Cox, a fourth year Hufflepuff, stood behind her, her gaze worried. She was also fairly impatient, if the light tapping of her foot was any indication. A group of young children had gathered behind her as if she were their elected spokeswoman – they were future first years, no doubt. The Cox girl was giving the present prefects a run for their money.

Esme wasn’t even spared a second to respond before her eyes lit up in recognition and she shifted her attention back to the others. “No need to fret about, this is Esme Irmgard Keene! She’s going to be the Slytherin house’s Head Girl.”

And then came that dreaded question, once again. “Are you all right?”

Her head throbbed still, the pressure slowly becoming numbing, and for the briefest of moments she wanted to tell someone, anyone, that, no, she wasn’t all right and she wasn’t going to be all right and Tiberius Rothchild was going to come out on top once more because, even when they both lost, she was always going to lose a little more than him and—

The words died in her throat. It was a foolish impulse and she would never recover from the humiliation of having willingly subjected some innocent first years to her melodramatics. Some continued to watch her curiously, but others seemed to have grown a little uneasy around her after her name had been shared. They were all expectant in one way or another, though, and she knew all too well how to handle and exceed expectations.

So did Esme straighten her back and curl her lips into a small smile, at once sympathetic and conceited.

“I am,” she responded, her tone even. “This one, on the other hand,” she moved to the side, to give them a better look at Perle, her owl, “decided to rattle me right before I could make the jump. He doesn’t like the barrier much.” Perle narrowed his eyes at her lie, but Esme pretended not to see as she pulled her cart back and away from the barrier, before adding, “Come along now. The Hogwarts Express will leave soon, and it does take a while to get settled in.”

Cox joined her in silence. With a nod of approval from both she and Cox, the others began to go through the barrier one by one. When the last one of them made it through, Esme canted her head towards the barrier as the young girl looked up at her, to signal to Cox that she could go first.

“You know,” Cox began as she got into position, “it’s all right to be anxious to go back. I mean… if I were to go into my seventh year right now, I’d be screaming bloody murder too. And if you are worried, what chance do the rest of us have? But it can’t be that bad. You must look on the bright side. Once you’re done with the N.E.W.T.s, you’re basically free for the rest of your life to do as you please, yeah?”

‘No,’ Esme thought, ‘I won’t be free. I won’t ever be free to do as I please now.’ It was hard not to think of it, to not let the fear that she would lose control over her life once she was married to Tiberius fester. Even in the year of 2015, pure-blooded families continued to follow the ancient principles of the institution of marriage, so why wouldn’t he take advantage of that, after all? Why wouldn’t he seek revenge by constricting her future after everything that she had put him through during the last few years? Maybe this was why he had accepted to go through with the arrangement. He wanted to get a kick out of her, to be the one who wielded the final blow.

Contrary to popular belief, Mr. Trusty Tiberius could be vicious. Esme had once basked in the fact that she could break through his carefully constructed façade – that, if she prodded him the right way or she pushed him far enough, he’d slip up and give her a glimpse of what hid behind that infuriating nonchalance of his, behind the perfect outer layer fit for one of the brightest wizards that Hogwarts had ever had the honour of teaching. She had enjoyed discovering that Tiberius was no more different than her, that he was just as snarky and biting, and, mayhap, angry, and broken.

Now, she wished she had steered clear of him altogether. It would’ve made this far easier.

Merlin, she’d rather have him publicly shame her by divorcing her in a fortnight of their wedding because she was a shrew or by running away with a secret lover or any other sort of scandalous debacle that would have the journalists from the Daily Prophet bloody their wands for exclusivity rights than let him become her master. But she still had one year at her disposal to sort this out. They could strike some sort of deal, couldn’t they? They could settle on living entirely separate lives and be around each other only when a dire situation required it.

Just like her parents.

No, life didn’t get any easier once you were out of school. It only got much harder and for that reason she told Cox what she always told the younger students who believed that their responsibilities would end with the N.E.W.T.s: “Life is hardly about pleasure. You’d better keep that in mind, miss Cox, or you’ll end up disappointed. Go on."

Cox’s smile didn’t falter as she shrugged nonchalantly. “Just saying.” And, with a boyish two finger salute, she took off and vanished.

There was little left for Esme to do but follow her. Once she went through the barrier, she was met with the sight of Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. The voices of students, parents, and teachers alike melded together into a frenetic buzz, a buzz that was loud enough to swallow her wandering thoughts as she moved through the crowd.

Cox was wrong for one more reason, though. Esme’s anxiety of going back to school had nothing to do with Hogwarts per-say.

But it had everything to do with Tiberius Rothchild. It wasn’t as if that would be a secret any longer; people would catch on soon enough, once the engagement was made public and she paraded his ring around the schoolgrounds as if it were a victory of sorts.

It was going to be a long year, yet the wait until she had to see Tiberius again proved to be shorter. Esme had thought that the sight of him was going to be her breaking point – that this would be the moment when her mental compartments would fly open, at long last, and, yet, she felt oddly calm as she watched him from afar, her little Tibi, who had always tried to become one with his surroundings, only to end up standing out even more. Her little Tibi and his abominable height and the way he would slouch ever so slightly. It had been infuriating, how much and how fast he had grown and how she had gone from looking down on him to becoming his armrest whenever he was in a funny mood.

Her stupid little Tibi. The familiarity of him rendered her previous thoughts foolish and exaggerated.

She could ruin him long before he even thought of ruining her.

After she patted down the oversized brown and green checkered jumper that she had thrown over her taupe satin dress and pulled her coat tighter around herself, Esme began to push her cart once more. She strutted towards Tiberius, her heels clicking ominously on the pavement. There were two ways in which she usually greeted the unfortunate boy: she either didn’t greet him at all or she took him by surprise. This time, she went for the second option, and she lightly bumped the back of his legs with the front of her cart as she came behind him. Her intention was to only get his attention, not make him lose his balance.

For once.

She couldn't help but playfully grin as she tightened the grip on the handle of her cart. “Oh, no, Tibi.” Her voice dripped with mock surprise. “Silly me, I didn’t see you there. But how convenient it is, to have run right into my little secret love, isn’t it?”

 

[aeneas.]

tiberius

rothchild.

He wasn't alone. For the first time in the past three years, Tiberius Rothchild wasn't alone in his private ride to King's Cross Station. A warm feeling if it hadn't had such cold implications, having his mother sitting at his side, coddling his hand as if it was his first year of school. On the contrary, it was his last. And as the muggle saying goes, he's "Going out with a bang". Not that he had the choice to do so, it was all to be according to the plan he had only been aware of the night before. To give justice to the emperor he was named after as his father had put it shortly after Tiberius' reluctant agreement. It held little to no weight on his chest as he continued to pack his belongings that night; Tiberius Caesar. The gloomiest of men. Sullen. Was forced to leave his heart for a marriage of power. He wasn't the man he wanted to become yet, perhaps the two weren't all that different; perhaps his name sealed his fate since the day he was born.

"You must wait for your betrothed before you go aboard the express, little moon. It is the polite thing to do." Diana Rothchild rubbed her hands against his right. It felt both odd and familiar. The feeling of her hands brought back memories of his youth where she'd guide him in embroidery during the summers. Her hands were soft, never having to work a day in her life, yet the absence of the gaudy wedding ring made him hyper-aware of its presence in the pocket of his black wool trench coat. "And then you—"

"And then I take her left hand and place the ring on her ring finger." He saved his mother the wasted breathes on her lecture. "I know what I have to do, mother." The look of hurt on her face made him force a smile. "You have taught me well."

The white lie seemingly appeased her, head pointed high in a feeling of pride. "Of course I did." For only a moment, she opened her mouth to speak another thought, hesitant; was she to apologize for allowing her son to follow the commands of another? Mourn the morality that would be lost with it? Tiberius will never know as she quickly closed them shut and returned to her light smile. Even as good natured of a women Diana Rothchild is, she too was as proud as all the other noble purebloods.

Most people in his situation would crack under pressure once away from the security of their family's luxury car or the grasp of their mother's hand. Tiberius however, was calm and collected. He had a decent head on his shoulders, and much like the night before Tiberius planned on surviving every moment after. Even if it meant momentarily adapting to the marital plans his family had in store for him. And as much as his displeasure at the thought festered within him, being engaged to Esme Irmgard Keene was the least of his concerns.

Cleansing the wizarding world of mudblood scum beneath the boots of those with the right to magic.

It left a bitter taste in his mouth even thinking it. What he heard at the dinner table was a vague belief and plan his aunt Julia had somehow thought up on pursuing over his last year of education. He assumed the decision to tell him at dinner had been in the moment, perhaps his family planned on only sharing to him the arranged marriage and his aunt would ease him into the bigger picture later on. How foolish they had been to think Tiberius would allow himself to be married to the die Gouvernante herself without defending his case.

A vicious terror the school has so wrongfully decided, deserved the same power and authority as himself. Lady Fate was a fickle woman, seeming to have forced their paths to cross from the very beginning of their education at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry; from the first trip to the old castle, to quidditch games, and to prefect— now headboy and headgirl duties. Polar flames destined to leave the other a pile of wax and burnt wick. Born to hate each other yet forced to be bonded in the ties of marriage till death do them part. It wasn't like Tiberius could issue a divorce for the two, it would slander both her and his family names to shame. Perhaps he could arrange them to live in separate properties after schooling. Preferably a different continent to guarantee he wouldn't breath the same air as her, it would keep their oath to one another for the sake of family name and would give them the freedom away from each other. Both her and Tiberius had brothers to continue both their bloodlines respectfully, thus the duty to bear children would barely be mentioned.

Please, children?

"When Morgana rises from dust." He muttered under his breath before running through the barrier. What felt like white noise buzzing through his head throughout the journey up until this point, was replaced by the nonsensical chatter he would partake in himself if he hadn't had so much on his mind. Forcing a couple more smiles and a few short waves and greetings, before finding a spacious spot, not too crowded, not too scarce, to halt his cart to wait for his dearly beloved.

Minutes trickled by and soon enough even Pollux, his albino owl grew restless in his cage, hooting at him with clear displeasure. Ever since his twin brother, Castor, left with Augustus to his villa home up in France with his wife, he had become easy to displease. Unfortunately Pollux wasn't as relieved to see his brother leave as Tiberius was when his own left. Augustus represented everything Tiberius lacked in being the picture - perfect pureblood nobility his family desired him to be. To his vexations, he occasionally found himself asking what his brother would do in particularly tough situations.

What would Augustus do in a situation such as this?

He would've simply never have been put into this situation. This was dirty work. Duties the second son would be required to do in order to be made of use for once. This was his birthright to help in the ambitions of others rather than himself. Augustus wouldn't be able to comprehend it, given that nothing about this circumstance revolved around him whatsoever. And besides, it wasn't as if he could tailor the execution of this performance to the tee to perfectly replicate the headspace of his brother. Esme had a way with bringing out the worst in him.

Students have often made comments about his stray vials of venom when Esme decided to toy with him. They like to gossip about how she has the ability to send him to the madhouse and drive him to the brink of insanity. Not exactly the prettiest picture one could describe their dynamic to be. He could already hear the boisterous laughter of his dormmates and the pitiful gasp of his Ravenclaw headgirl, Selena Sharp when they all finally hear the news.

Though that wouldn't be something to worry about if the two manage to kill each other on the express ride to school.

Tapping his foot to a nameless melody and swiping the emerald green ring box from his coat pocket, he was oblivious to the clack of condescending heels approaching him. Pollux had tried to warn him of the incoming cart that came with them, but it had already been too late when his eyes left the sight of the velvet package. It hadn't forced him to his knees, quite the opposite, the impact had been surprisingly merciful given the wielder of the cart. The change of heart irked him more than it would've if she had pushed him into the train tracks to perish beneath industrial wheels.

“Oh, no, Tibi.” And like that, Esme's mercy has left behind the familiar sound of her self-absorbed smirk that Tiberius didn't need to turn around to see. “Silly me, I didn’t see you there. But how convenient it is, to have run right into my little secret love, isn’t it?”

Tiberius wanted to scoff, so he did; turning around to glance down at her. Emphasizing the height difference between them. "My dearest, I'm so happy for our paths to cross." Sarcasm seeped through ever word he said, taking his time as if it were poison. "And as prompt as ever may I add. Shall we be on our way inside?"

If he hadn't tried to dispel his discomfort by squeezing the hand which possessed the ring box, he would have forgotten he even had it. "Ah but before I forget," Tiberius tried not to make eye contact with the curious onlookers of students, parents, and staff. If there were to be witnesses, so be it. His mother would use whatever photos they take to commemorate the event.

The official betrothal of Tiberius Rothchild and Esme Irmgard Keene.

He opened the box and bestowed to Esme the ring that once was his mother's, and all the female Rothchilds that came before her. Too grand for his taste, an Edwardian period ring made of yellow gold that was said to have come from the hoard of a dragon his ancestor had taken to prove the devotion he had for his betrothed. In the middle, a polished emerald surrounded by a halo of diamonds, to represent prosperity, unconditional love, loyalty, and the long line of Slytherin blood Tiberius had ironically put to a halt.

If only Augustus didn't feel the need to provide his own ring to propose to his now-wife, Tiberius wouldn't have been forced to give Esme a ring that spoke no truth between the two. Regardless, his smile never reaches his eyes, looking to her with not a loving gaze but one of loathing. "Secret love no more." It pained him to say it. He walked closer towards her, gently easing her left hand from the tight grip it had on her cart. Was this the first time her hand would make contact with his that wasn't inherently violent? The first time in a long time for sure, since they shook hands in their shared compartment in first year. He had tried to kiss it as his family taught him how to introduce himself to women, but she had forced him into a simple, yet firm as any eleven year old could, handshake.

Who would have thought their final year would be spent engaged to one another?

Tiberius would always be a gentleman first than an enemy; slipping on the ring which had been adjusted to perfectly fit Esme on her porcelain ring finger. To his internal embarrassment, he already began to hear murmurs of gossip from those who knew the two, and congratulatory claps and hushed cheers from those who didn't. This was only the beginning of Tiberius' journey down the circles of the inferno. And whether poor little, fiery, savage Esme knew, she was along for the ride.

"Till death do us part, dearest."

coded by reveriee.

 

[Asteria]

esme irmgard

keene.

Tiberius had acknowledged her presence with a contemptuous scoff before he turned around to face her. He stood tall and proud before her, her little Tibi, in an attempt to intimidate her, but she matched his stance, standing just as tall and just as proud, even though she was the one that had to look up, and not down.

He had some play left in him. The term of endearment didn’t go unnoticed by her. “My dearest, I'm so happy for our paths to cross.”

‘Mhm, sure you are,’ Esme couldn’t help but think, though she responded in kind. “Likewise.”

It was at his statement that they should be on their way inside that she watched him more carefully as if he had said something that should make her wary of him. He was supposed to ask her here. For a split second, she thought that there was still a chance that Tiberius had changed his mind and had chosen to not go through with the arrangement. It was an odd feeling – that her fate belonged to Tiberius more than it did to her –, but she did not care, she did not care if it meant that he could end this once and for all.

But he didn’t end it once and for all. “Ah, but before I forget,” he quickly remarked as he pulled out the emerald green box.

To Esme, his forgetfulness wasn’t a mere consequence of his nerves.

It was a stupid, cruel game. He was toying with her.

And he opened it.

Esme looked away from him and to the ring, a single emerald flanked by tens of small diamonds resting atop a bed of yellow gold. A family heirloom by its appearance, that was rather certain. Its design was far too peculiar for the newer models of engagement rings she had seen and its imprint was far too resounding. Opulent and intricately symmetrical – it was beautiful, the way all period pieces were, but just as cold and emotionally void in consequence. Esme found herself instinctively despising it for what it represented: the leash to her hounded dog. Its grand size appeared to be mocking to her. She wanted to pick it apart in its symmetry, diamond by diamond until there was nothing left but that obnoxious yellow golden plate that was going to contrast so abominably against the pale silver of her family’s signet ring.

It outshined it by far, signalling who she was to become in the future. A Rothchild. She would be remembered throughout history – if she were to be remembered at all – as a Rothchild.

“Secret love no more,” Tiberius spun her mocking words around in that sorrow-sodden tone of his. She wanted to laugh at the joke of it all. At him. It was the least she could do in retaliation, all these small, childish gestures of rebellion, and, yet, when she raised her gaze to meet his own, the malicious merriment she felt died in her chest and bloomed into the slightest feeling of dread.

Oh, she recognized that look of his all too well.

“It’s not worth it,” she could remember her mother sobbing the words into the chaise she had chosen to lounge on in her drunkenness. “All this love is not worth all this hate.” Petra, a renowned seductress in Germany – and, somehow, less so in Britain – transformed into an utterly pathetic, suffering teenage girl when it came to Dunstan Keene, her own husband. But for all the shame she had felt at her mother’s breakdowns, Esme couldn’t help but wonder about what could have been if she had told her the truth. If she had told her that her future husband hated her and she hated him in turn; that hate had an entirely different taste and weight when it wasn’t born out of love.

But what would’ve come out of it? Another disappointment at the expense of her sincerity. She wasn’t Petra, after all.

She would never be her. This renewed stubbornness swallowed the dread and Esme raised her chin defiantly, a playful smile still playing on her lips as her eyes burned at the sight of him.

Yet, she still felt the need to take a step back as he came near her, though she didn’t do so. At his touch, she let her hand fall limp in his grip. When she felt the cold gold circling her finger, she absently thought of taking off the ring and throwing it on the railway tracks. But it would’ve been of no use. The ring was most certainly charmed, if not cursed.

And one should not forget that all of this was a game, in the end, where one would lose and another would win. A play. She was playing the role that their dear families requested of her. If they wanted the Daily Prophet to burn with the news, so be it. And if Tiberius would burn with it as well, even better.

“‘Till death do us part, dearest.”

Esme spread her fingers in his grasp and, as her hand slipped out of his, instead of seeking to add distance between the two of them, she reached out to his face, grazing his cheek with the back of her hand before she cupped it. She added a light pressure in order to get him to bend down so she could be able to whisper in his ear: “I have always wanted to be a widow. I will look very beautiful at your funeral, Rothchild, I promise you that.”

With a low chuckle, she moved slowly to press a kiss on the soft flesh of his cheek. “‘Till death do us part.”

With those words exchanged between the two of them, she broke away from him completely, allowing the crowd one last good look at the ring as she let her hand linger in the air before she brought it down, at her side.

The murmurs ceased for a moment, giving way to the cheers that now grew louder, followed by eager claps. Yet, when the murmurs began again, once the shock of what the crowd had just witnessed wore off, Esme could feel the questioning gazes and whispers, the tension all around her.

Worse of it all was that, among the bystanders, she could spot Diana Astor, the Captain of the Slytherin Quidditch Team – and, therefore, her Captain – stare her down, her arms crossed over her chest. She raised her right eyebrow, not in curiosity like those around her, but in unrestrained judgement. Even her pet ferret, Puck, whom Esme had bribed with treats for over two years in order to get him to like her, looked at her differently now, curled around Diana’s neck as he was, resembling a creamy fur collar for her trench coat.

When Diana canted her head, he moved beneath her river of red curls.

If there was anyone in Hogwarts that could make Esme feel uneasy, it was these two. But, under the pretext of needing to acknowledge certain congratulations, she chose to overlook their presence for then.

Once the crowd’s elation began to die down and the mass of people spread across the platform as the Express gave them all a warning whistle, Esme moved her attention back to her cart, picking up only Perle’s cage. “I suppose there are certain perks to our engagement. I get to have a servant all to myself. Get my trunk up on the Express, will you? Mr. Trusty Tiberius has to maintain his gentleman-y reputation, after all.”

 

[aeneas.]

tiberius

rothchild.

In expense for not having to kneel in his proposal, he promised his family he'd smile. Not the smirk that would grace his face on days he beat Slytherin in a quidditch match, nor the forced one he used to cover his anguish on days he lost. A genuine smile that would at least feign the image of two young lovers finally uniting themselves in the bonds of marriage. It would ensure a pleasant title on the Daily Prophet and it would look pristine on the mantle where his mother debuted all the best accomplishments of the family. His brother got to smile brightly at the magical photograph of him sweeping the lovely Élode off her feet after their proposal, and Tiberius got to be reminded of the day he sealed away his happiness and looked the devil herself in the eye with false devotion and adoration.

When Esme's feline claws gripped his face and ever-so-lightly pulled him down to her size, Tiberius forced down his alarm. To the outside world, it could be seen as a sweet gesture and to the journalists specifically, the perfect shot to capture both the ring and the purebloods' affection for the cover. He hummed at her words instead of shivering at her implications. A violent thing. His vicious darling Esme. Tiberius was sensible enough to laugh at what she said, posing it off as a shy girlfriend whispering sweet nothings in order to appease all the eyes on the two. "I'll be sure to leave a letter that claims you responsible for my untimely demise, Keene." He replied in a hushed tone, the small bit of smugness quickly rushing away as Esme twisted his own words against him and sealed it away in a chaste kiss on the cheek. Tiberius was sure that there were traces of her lipstick that he couldn't remove till they were in the seclusion of a train compartment.

The feeling still ghosted around his cheek even after Esme released him to give the crowd more time to ogle at the family heirloom. He remembered when Augustus apparated home to remove the curse it had on their mother's finger, how he congratulated Tiberius on "Finally finding someone to brighten up your stormcloud" and continued to ramble on about what an amazing girl Keene was. Of course, the two pains in his arse would have a decent history together from when Augustus was still a student. It only made Tiberius wish the holidays away as there was no room for question that Esme would be the guest of honor. A load of hogwash.

Perhaps he'll get lucky and perish from a freak accident on the quidditch pitch. But Keene would enjoy his demise as much as he would and he couldn't have that. Not when she was already planning his funeral before they even stood before an altar.

He stepped away from his betrothed to make a quote for the stout little man representing the Daily Prophet. William Quill, as he introduced himself to Tiberius with an all-too-excited smile. Everyone loved to romanticize an arranged marriage among purebloods and it was clear that at least one of his or Esme's family members tipped him off to the news of their engagement. It would make the headlines like most pureblood elite's engagements would, but all would go to worthless ash and dust if the narrative wasn't perfect; if the whole wizarding world knew that the daughter of the righteous House of Keene and the son of the influential House of Rothchild rather be mortal enemies than eternal lovers. So instead of painting himself to be the doting husband, one who would gently direct his beloved towards Mr. Quill, he chose to act assertive, allowing Esme her moment in the sun while he spoke for both of them.

"This is the happiest day of my life." He recalled the first day of his third year when he greeted Keene after his growth spurt to keep his eyes warm to fool the older man. "I never thought I'd meet anyone like miss Esme Irmgard Keene." It wasn't entirely a lie, leaving it an open statement for the paper and all who bothered to read it to interpret the meaning for themselves. Even though if Esme were to hear his words herself, she too would know the true meaning.

Apparently, he said it convincingly smitten enough for Mr. Quill to chuckle as his charmed pen scribbled his quotes in the hovering notepad. By the time the correspondent waddled his away, the little crowd gawking at the two moments ago long faded. Leaving those who Esme and Tiberius could never fool, no matter how hard they tried. The entire student body knew of their distaste for one another— the two never tried to hide the fact. But when the bystanders who longed to live vicariously through what they believed to be love-struck socialites left, they left behind the students who watched curiously and for some— concerned.

In the sea of murmurs and long stares, was an all too familiar bark of a laugh. Tiberius only needed to glance for less than a second to see the all-too-proud, all-too-amused grin of Leon Wiley, one of his dormmates— directed right at him. The lenses of his wireframe glasses were somewhat fogged from the humidity of standing so close to the hot smoke spouting out of the Express but it didn't stop the feeling of his gaze on the headboy. There were people who romanticized arranged pureblood unions, and there were those who made a mockery of it. And Leon was exactly the latter. Having known him since they were just eleven mingy children if Tiberius knew anything, he knew that Leon will continue to act like a teasing 3rd year until someone smacked it out of him.

He made a mental note to hit the git on the back of his head before he entered the train. Or if his day could get any more eventful, when the harbinger of chaos inevitably sat with him and Esme in a carriage.

"Get my trunk up on the Express, will you? Mr. Trusty Tiberius has to maintain his gentleman-y reputation, after all.”

Tiberius bit his tongue, instead dramatically bowing. "Of course, anything for the ever so imperial die Gouvernante." Although performative to show how the command didn't affect him, the pure concoction of bitter displeasure and hate mixed perfectly in his cold irises. She could see right through his layer of costumery and makeup that was his politely indifferent outer shell— he knew this since their 1st year. But he couldn't allow her to think he was seething at her words to the point he would give up his act in front of her.

So, he begrudgingly picked up the luggage of his unfortunate fiance in one hand and attempted to carry both his own luggage and his frazzled Pollux in the other. "You're really not making it easy to be engaged to you, Keene." He muttered as he followed Esme towards the Express' closest entrance. Trust in Esme to secure him odd looks in public as he was forced into chivalry, carrying all their belongings with his long limbs. "If I had known you were going to make our way to school this petty, to begin with, I would have gone with proposing to you in front of the entire student body." A lie, he wouldn't allow himself to propose anywhere else. The station was quick, people would forget the event and prefer to talk to each other about their break rather than a silly proposal from two of the 7th years.

Or so he thought.

Unabashed and unafraid, a Gryffindor disguised as a Ravenclaw as Tiberius would often say, Leon came walking up with his pet leopard gecko, Bowie resting right on his shoulder. "A lovely morning to the newly engaged!" There was a giggle to his tone and a giddy to his step, the Irishman was enjoying this way too much. "I am under semi-strict orders from the one and only Selena Sharpe to ensure you two won't kill each other on the ride to school. She mentioned that she doesn't want you two's deaths to give her more headgirl duty this year." Tiberius couldn't help but release a laugh, count on their peers to think only the worst. Though the worst is also the most possible scenario for the two. "I'll take Polly off your hands," Pollux ruffled his feathers let out an offended squawk as his halfblood dormmate snatched him from Tiberius' grasp. Admittedly, Tiberius let out a small gasp of surprise. "And take you two to our carriage."

Leon on the other hand, cooed at the proud owl before he looked to Esme. His grin showed no malice as Tiberius would wear it, just pure amusement. He had been a witness to the two's hatefest for years. Having grown up listening to Tiberius complain, complain, complain. For most friends of Tiberius, the news of his arranged marriage was devastating, doomed to marry into a loveless marriage. Leon considered himself a self-proclaimed seer and thought of it as a good thing. Which was a load of malarky to get a rise out of his friend. "Feel free to bring whoever you want for this ride, because it's gonna be a long one."

coded by reveriee.

 

[Asteria]

esme irmgard

keene.

He had always been good at lying. She envied his inherent talent for it – the easiness and the charm of his lies, the ideal equilibrium between openness and elusiveness when he spoke them out loud. After years and years of watching Tiberius conjure untruths before their teachers and the student body – and now the pestilent Mr. Quill, the Daily Prophet’s missionary, in front of whom Tiberius played the ever-enamored and protective fiancé – better than he did any other little thing during their Transfiguration class, she still hadn’t been able to master the art of it. Esme had been a terrible liar in her younger years, turning silent or throwing tantrums when she was found guilty of something, and, even when she had begun to realize the benefits of lying, her lies came out all wrong, all clumsy and unoriginal. They had an edge to them even now, something biting, and cruel, and aversive. Even her apparent softness towards Tiberius was a rebellion; she wanted to rip him apart.

One thing she has learned, though, was that if people wanted to believe something, they would fill in the gaps themselves. They would manufacture lies on your behalf. They would repeat them to themselves with the ardor of a prayer. The wizarding world wanted to believe that she would love and be devoted to Tiberius. Her parents wanted to believe that she was a good girl. An ever-obedient daughter.

Tiberius could be charming. He could make himself liked. Esme simply wanted to not give anyone room for questioning her. Winning those she lied to on her side held far less importance than having them be impartial to her.

Having Tiberius be impartial to her would’ve helped in the long run. But it was too late for that, and he kept up the spiteful charade, bowing in acceptance of her order.

“Of course, anything for the ever so imperial die Gouvernante.”

Esme didn’t grace him with a response. She only looked down upon him with disdain before she turned around and away from him, taking the lead toward the Express. The left corner of her mouth turned upward, though, as she heard him fuss behind her, spewing an array of complaints and hollow threats. Tiberius would have never proposed to her in front of the entirety of Hogwarts. Yet, if it was that route that he wanted to go down on, why not prolong his misery?

“It’s a pity that you didn’t,” she spoke up but didn’t turn to look at him. “I might’ve even given you a proper snog then.” She could already picture his disgusted expression. “Can you imagine what a ruckus it would’ve caused? The talk of it would’ve been endless.”

She lightly turned her head, peering at Tiberius over her shoulder. Her half-smirk had shifted into a dangerous smile. “It doesn’t have to always be this way, Tiberius. I could make it easy for you – I could be really good to you. If you learn to keep your head down, bow, kneel, perhaps even crawl when you see me, that is.”

“A lovely morning to the newly engaged!”

The whimsical greeting was more than enough to attract Esme’s attention away from Tiberius. She halted, her smile dimming, as she came face to face with the ever-good-natured Leon Wiley, who was watching her and her unfortunate other half from behind his wireframe glasses as if they were playing the main roles in a poorly made comedy. She had taken these amused looks of his personally during their first interactions, thinking Wiley was laughing at her; but she had learned, over time, that this was his way of being – coltish and unbothered, and a little wrong in the head.

Just one of Tiberius’ numerous types, she supposed.

“I am under semi-strict orders from the one and only Selena Sharpe to ensure you two won’t kill each other on the ride to school. She mentioned that she doesn’t want you two’s deaths to give her more head girl duty this year.”

“A poor choice, really,” she commented as Tiberius laughed. Trusting Wiley to put an end to their subsequent altercations was as foolish as trusting a Mandrake to not rupture your eardrums once you pulled it out. But Selena had always been this way, too. Apprehensive, yet stupidly unguarded.

Wiley reached out to Tiberius and Esme pulled back just a little, watching the two as the agitated Pollux was retrieved by the former. Perhaps his presence wasn’t terrible; Tiberius would have a distraction and she’d have a reason to slip away unnoticed. She could use this if she became truly desperate in the long run: a rekindled romance between exes.

But Wiley gazed at her, then, eyes dancing in glee. She couldn’t even consider him a threat, let alone a savior. “Feel free to bring whoever you want for this ride," he offered, "because it’s gonna be a long one."

“I am already here,” a voice spoke up from behind them before Esme could do so. Diana circled around them, then, slowly and assuredly. “Someone should tell Sharpe that the reason for the decimation of the pure-blood community is not mariticide, but some… other external factors.” She didn’t try to hide that she had been eavesdropping in the first place and she pointedly looked at Wiley, in part because he was a half-blood. Muggle-borns couldn’t help the fact that they were muggle-born, in Diana’s pitiful view, but half-bloods had purposely and knowingly betrayed their blood.

Esme thought of Poppy, for the briefest of moments, and how in love she was with Diana, clinging on to the memory of a drunken kiss they had shared in the bathroom of the Three Broomsticks Inn after their team had all gone out to celebrate a victory against Gryffindor, while she still referred to her as another forgettable muggle-born.

It wasn’t fair, but Diana had never sought to be fair in the first place and that became even more apparent as she said out loud another external factor, the other part, “Let’s hope that you won’t be an external factor, will you, Wiley?” Puck also freed his head from her curls and peered at their victim, expectantly.

Of course that she wouldn’t let that go or see the benefits of such a reunion. Not as if Diana would ever consider the ways of escaping an arranged marriage in the first place.

And Esme did what she had never thought she would do. She came to Wiley’s defense. “I am fairly convinced that Wiley is more than relieved to have Tiberius taken off his hands. We can’t all be that lucky.”

Diana shifted her gaze from Wiley to her. She watched her for a moment, raising an eyebrow, before beginning to chuckle, soft and low. Esme felt that she had stirred that idle amusement from back when Diana had annoyingly believed that she was jealous of Wiley because of Tiberius, only to now be so assured that nothing would happen between the two. But if it was so, Diana didn’t let it be seen outwardly. “Mhm. I suppose you do need to be in good relations with your fiancé’s contacts,” she reasoned her gesture.

At the mention of the word fiancé, Diana looked toward Tiberius for the first time. She nodded in acknowledgment. “Rothchild.” Her tone was far more respectful and so was her demeanor. Reasonably so. The Rothchilds were an older, richer family than the Astors.

Tiberius didn’t seem to be the reason for Diana’s judgemental look from before. If she wasn’t disagreeing with her choice of man, then what had bothered her?

“Congratulations are in order, certainly,” she added, then, taking them in. “Come now, show me the ring. I couldn’t see it that well back there.”

Esme’s hand tensed up at the mention of it. Only then did she notice that she had anxiously pulled and balled the sleeve of her sweater in her hand all this time, hiding it away.

The Express puffed its last warning.

“I’ll show it to you on the train.” She let go of her sleeve, spreading her fingers. “Where’s your trunk?” she asked, hoping to change the subject.

“Our little new Head Boy was sweet enough to carry it for me. I’ve instructed him well.” Diana shrugged. “It’s going to end up in my room either way.”

Only Diana could get someone like Angus Maxim Griffiths to carry her trunk for her.

“Well, escort us, then, Wiley. And perhaps the love birds will tell us how they came to the conclusion that they couldn’t live without each other in the meantime. Did you two spend the summer together?”

 

[aeneas.]

tiberius

rothchild.

She always had a way with control. Control over him to be exact, and the buttons to push him in all the wrong places and unleash the worst side of him—his genuine self fueled on self-torture and self-destruction. He envied her audacity and the way she used it to challenge him, to question the rapport he had spent his entire time at Hogwarts building—only to risk it crashing down like a first-year in Madam Hooch's flying lessons. Time and time again, she would intervene right before he could shoo away a student who should've gotten points docked off for minor rule-breaking, like a predator stalking her prey, she seemed to always know where he was whenever he wanted to be the merciful prefect, and let students off the hook. And like the viper she was, she'd jump out and swallow her poor victim whole, suffocating Tiberius as she does. Teasing and domineering over him—he was never good at what she did, articulating with a sharpness that hurts to talk back to and she knew that, used it to her advantage. Even now, she refused to let him off the metaphorical hook as she challenged him to bow, crawl, and kneel like a dog would towards its master for a treat.

Tiberius saw strength in numbers and having allies yet Leon was no help at all. Like silverware is to electricity, the Irishman was a conductor of chaos, feeding off of the ever-so interesting soap opera he saw his friend's pureblood lifestyle to be. Though that didn't mean Leon wasn't reliable when he needed to be. As terrible as he was in his quidditch try-outs in fifth year, Leon was much better at the muggle sport football, showing his strength in some capacity. And Tiberius had seen him swing a punch at unpleasant people who didn't take their relationship nicely when they were together.

However, the shriek he released when Astor chimed in left Tiberius questioning all he thought prior. "Astor, long time no see! Didn't see you there. I'll make sure to send your feedback back to her." The flailing hand that shot up earlier in his moment of weakness quickly became the fingers that brushed through his brunette head of hair in an attempt to save himself from embarrassment. From the look on Pollux's face alone, it wasn't working. Astor's comment further about the halfblood didn't go unheard, where Leon snickered, Tiberius tried to hide his look of mortification.

He and Leon dated in their fifth year. In the briefest flash of memories, Tiberius recalled how short-lived it lasted, Leon called it off much quicker than Selene or any of his other exes for that matter. After three and a half's months of easy love, his dormmate had sat him down first thing in the morning before class. Quick and straight to the point, quite the opposite of how Leon Wiley is but Tiberius would have been more distraught if he said it like he would with his jokes. It stung but the stinging was pushed aside when Leon mentioned Keene.

Claiming their hatred for one another to be love made Tiberius not speak with him for an extra week. Perhaps he is enjoying his friend's suffering because he thinks his point has been proven.

The mixture of Keene's words and Leon's laughter did not forbode well for the Rothchild. Far from reassuring and now Tiberius suddenly wished to find Selene and give her a lecture. Didn't she know that fiancés and ex-lovers on a train ride together was madness? "Oh please Keene, I remember the look in your eyes when I told you that future hubby and I are no more. I expect to be the best man for my services."

"You all are acting as if I'm not listening to all of this nonsense, I'm right here." For someone whose name (and awful petnames) was in the mouths of his two current pains in his side, Tiberius tried to remain calm and collected. And if calm and collected meant focusing his attention on Diana Astor—someone he has only spoken to on the quidditch pitch and at dinner parties, so be it. "Astor, wonderful to have someone who might save me from both insanity and embarrassment." If Astor was as good of a companion to Esme as Leon was to him, then Tiberius would have a lifeline in the impending tidal wave that was the express ride to Hogwarts.

“Congratulations are in order, certainly. Come now, show me the ring. I couldn’t see it that well back there.” And perhaps he spoke too soon.

Some may call him a masochist for putting himself through everything he's taking now, but he was no fool. The stolen look at his fiancé's face and met with hesitation, to the ring which he then noticed was covered up told him all there was to it. If Astor noticed her friend's behavior too, she didn't mention it. Not that it would be surprising as she should know what the two were feeling.

Despite the materialistic luxuries of being of a pureblood family name that held title and opulence, there were no purebloods in any family tree who would proudly say that they are deeply, truly happy. Augustus and Élodie possibly, but they were both halfwits and blissfully ignorant to the chokehold that truly came with their blood. The irony of purebloods weaving the system they live by, yet find no true pleasure living in it. There is no room for feelings when your purpose is to keep the bloodline both flowing and pure. To marry for appearances and aesthetics, for maintaining preconceived notions of who you and your family are, and in Tiberius' case, marry for more ulterior matters that even he hasn't fully grasped.

He looked away and Esme changed the subject. They were quickly becoming the picturesque depiction of an unhappily married pureblood couple and they hadn't even gotten to an altar.

"It's endearing to know I'm not the only one who's been demoted to a bag boy today." He muttered, grip tightening on the handle of his fiancé's luggage. Although he was far from a lovesick fool like Angus Maxim Griffiths. He was more bound by the shackles of arranged marriage than he was by love.

Leon showed a minuscule amount of solidarity under his devious chortles by patting him on the back before giving a dramatic bow to the girls. "Of course m'ladies, follow me." There continued to be a pip to his step as Leon walked by the narrow, bustling halls of the train. Sharply yelling "make way!" and "move it!" while Tiberius softly apologized for his friend's brash behavior, there was a multitude of reasons onto why Leon was never even considered for a prefect position. And his recklessness for order was just in the middle of the list of reasons. "Well don't stop the lovefest party on my account, answer the question, moonchild. Did you and Keene settle your differences in the summer, discovered your undying love for one another, and planned to wed right after school?" The wiggling of his eyebrows made Tiberius want to drop the pleasantries and slap Leon square on the head.

Instead, he faked a laugh and maintained a strained smile. "You could say that we exchanged letters over the summer, couldn't get enough of each other, really." There was a twinge of sarcasm that could be picked up on by those keen enough to find it. It wasn't entirely a lie, the two had sent letters in the few moments they had right after their parents announced to them the engagement plans. It was a far cry from the starcrossed, passionate letters of Romeo and Juliet but it still had passion. Just of a different kind. Their passion was of bitterness and obligation, acknowledging how much they hated the outcomes of their fate, but having to go through with it regardless.

His Ravenclaw companion stopped at an almost-empty compartment besides what Tiberius assumed to be Leon's hand-me-down luggage at the top. "Viola! Our little chatting area for the rest of the ride." The headboy was certain that Bowie did jazz hands while his owner did. "If you have any complaints, you should have spent less time ogling at each other for photos."

"Sorry for that, we just wanted to capture the moment." He tried not to roll his eyes at his own words. Sliding open the compartment door he looked at his fiance, something he avoided the entire walk. "Ladies first. And perhaps you can show Astor and Leon the ring like you said, darling."

Playing pretend was what Tiberius did best, and if he could use it to his disadvantage to make Esme be the one to squirm and fester, he'd gladly play.

coded by reveriee.