Everything Is Eclipsed by the Shape of Destiny

The sun had set long ago, giving way for the moon to take its place in the sky, but although the hours had passed, Marceau still found himself seated on the steps of the house, exactly where Emerson had left him. He’d been thinking about her. That was all he’d been doing since he saw her face in Fleur’s wedding pictures. Her face plagued his thoughts, not giving him a moment’s peace and their memories replayed on loop, reminding him of all the great moments they’d shared, as well as their idiotic fights. They’d been young, headstrong, and a little foolish. Well. Not a little foolish. They’d been very foolish. There were times when he literally cringed at the thought of some of the arguments they’d gotten into, but despite all that, despite the heated words that had flown from each of their lips, he still loved her. To him, she would always be the one that got away and now that he was twenty six years old, on the verge of turning twenty seven; he realized that she didn’t have to be the one that got away. Not if he put the effort into patching things up between them.

But she was still angry at him. She’d made that perfectly clear when she called him an insufferable bastard. He hadn’t showed it, but those words had stung deep into his very being. That was his first love. The first person he’d ever made love to. In truth, she was the only woman he’d ever made love to. All the others were nothing but fucks, the emotional attachment he felt to them – to any of them, was nothing when compared to what he’d felt for her. To what he still felt. But would she ever let him love her again? Would she ever be open to starting anew with him? He didn’t know. He wished she would. Merlin, nothing would make him happier. But the chances of that were slim and it wasn’t solely due to the fact that she’d cursed him out. It was because in her eyes . . . in those precious orbs, he’d seen something. He’d seen that her heart belonged to another. Who that person was, he didn’t know. All he knew was that her heart was theirs and he hoped – he prayed that his charms would be enough to make her forget. And if that failed . . . if it became absolutely necessary to take other measures, then he’d take them.

“Marc.”

He craned his neck to see who called him. It was his brother-in-law, Bill. He stood with his back resting against the door, his fiery red hair blowing gently in the wind, as a cigarette hung loosely from his lips.

“Thought you were quitting,” stated Marceau.

“I am.” Bill spoke calmly. “First one in nearly a week . . . that’s quite a feat.”

He returned his gaze to the ocean. “Am I supposed to pretend this never happened?”

“That’s up to you now, isn’t it?” Bill took a long drag from the cigarette. “If you fancy a decent nights sleep, then keep that mouth of yours shut. If not, go right ahead and tell her. Reckon you’ll get to hear her telling me off and who knows, she might even drag you into it. You know how she is when she gets all worked up.”

“Afraid that’s a family trait.”

“Have to do with the Veela blood?” asked Bill as he walked away from the door.

“Most likely . . .”

Bill took another drag, he then held the cigarette out to Marceau. “Fancy a smoke?”

“Don’t smoke.”

“Neither do I,” Bill casually replied.

“Well, in that case,” Marceau took the lit cigarette from his brother-in-laws hand and raised it to his lips, relishing in the feel of the smoke traveling down his lungs. He wasn’t a regular smoker. He didn’t go through a pack a day. In fact, he didn’t even buy cigarettes. He just sort of had one whenever he was out with friends, just to be involved. “You don’t think she’ll smell it from here?”

“She’s gone to bed, won’t smell a thing. You mind if I have a seat?”

“This is your house, you can sit wherever you like.”

“Still better to ask,” Bill sat beside him. “So are you liking this alright? England, I mean.”

“Yeah, I am, thanks for having me over.” Marceau handed the cigarette back. “I know I'm imposing and all, but you’ve been great. Really, ya have.”

“You’re not imposing. If anything, you’re a help.” He ran a hand through his hair. “This . . . this war has been a lot for Fleur – for all of us to cope with and to have you here, well, I know it makes her feel better. Loads better. So thanks mate, really.”

A silence fell upon them. There was one topic which they were both keen on discussing. Emerson. That was why Bill had wandered outside. He’d seen Marceau sitting there by himself and figured that a smoke would be the best opening for conversation, but Bill didn’t want to seem overly eager on pressing Marceau for details about his time with Emerson. Marceau was just as eager to interrogate Bill, as Bill was to interrogate him. He had loads of questions that needed answering. And he hoped that Bill would be kind enough to answer them for him, he just needed to figure out how to ask without coming off desperate. Marceau thought of different ways of asking Bill about Emerson, some of them were rather clever, others made him sound like a socially inept teenage boy.

He soon grew frustrated and simply asked, “Mind if I ask you something?”

“Ask away.”

“Is Emma . . . I mean, Emerson, is she with anyone? You know, at the present.”

“Not that I know of, but I can never be to sure with her. She’s got a way of keeping things private when she wants.” Bill forced himself to appear emotionally uninvolved by the conversation. “Take it ya fancy her.”

Marceau smiled one of those smiles that made Bill feel self conscious about his own looks, the type of smile that made him think that he was a right troll for thinking that Emerson could ever deem handsome. “More than just fancy her.”

This was it. Bill could start asking his own questions. “If you don’t me asking, how do you know her?”

“You mean, she’s never told you about me?” he knew the answer that, yet still asked the question. “Can’t say I'm surprised . . . had a nasty falling out, we did.” Marceau looked up at the night sky, blinking as he did so. “Was stupid, really . . .”

Bill waited a moment before saying. “I take it you two dated.”

“Hah. Yeah. Dated, we dated.”

“Was it serious?” he hoped that he’d say no, that it was just a teenage fling like Emerson had told him it had been.

“I’d say it was.”

There it was a verbal smack to the face.

“Ran off to Paris after graduation and nearly married her.”

Apparently the smack to the face hadn’t been hard enough. It was now a furious punch to the heart.

“M-married?” he stuttered. “Did you just say married?”

“Shocking, isn’t it?” Marceau kept his gaze on the sky. “Nearly married me, and now she can’t even stand the sight of me. That’s life though.”

“Sorry to ask, but why didn’t you two end up getting married?”

“Because she couldn’t go through with it, not without her parents consent.” Marceau explained. “A few days before the wedding, she told me that she wanted her parents to be there so it could be done right. And I . . . well, I knew they wouldn’t go for it, told her that we should get married then have another wedding in America. Got into a nasty fight over that and I never saw her again . . . “ His voice grew softer. “Well. At least until now,” he quickly added. “I’ve bored you, haven’t I?”

“No! No. Of course not,” reassured Bill. “Interesting to find that out about Emerson, never thought she’d have gone through all that.”

Marceau smiled pitifully, “Must be odd for you to hear about this.”

“Why would it be odd?” asked Bill, his voice slightly higher pitched.

“Because she’s your mate,” answered Marceau.

That was when the panic set in. For a moment Bill forgot that Marceau meant mates in terms of friends and not in the literal sense. That panic, potent as it’d been, was short lived. He quickly realized how idiotic his thoughts were and recovered by saying, “Eh. It’s not really odd. It’s just different.”

“How different?” he asked. “Has she not been with anyone in the time you’ve known her?”

Marceau was beginning to annoy Bill with all his questions, but Bill did his best to not let it show.

“There was one bloke a bit ago.”

“Her brother said there hadn’t been –”

“Her brother’s not been around, has he?” Bill took in a long drag, letting the smoke linger, in his lungs as he composed himself. “Bloke she was with was alright enough, thought they were gonna be serious for awhile but it didn’t work out for them.”

“Do I know him?”

“The bloke?” asked Bill, even though he knew very well that that was who Marceau meant.

Marceau nodded.

“Hmm, no, don’t think you do.”

“Was he English or?”

“Doesn’t really matter, does it? Didn’t fancy him enough to stick around,” Bill tapped lightly on his cigarette, the ash falling onto the dirt. “That’s just how she is, though. Whoever she ends up with will have to be one hell of a bloke to keep her interested.”

“Mind giving pointers as to how to keep her interested?”

“Uh . . . pointers,” Bill didn’t want to give him any, not really, but he knew if he didn’t that it’d reflect badly on him. “Hates The Beatles, so you should probably hate them as well or else she’ll break all your Beatles records and do it with a bloody spell that can’t be reversed.”

“No. Did she? No! Now that is mental!” laughed Marceau.

“Yeah,” Bill smiled. “But that’s just how she is. Sometimes she does things that make you want to tear your hair out in anger, but then . . .” he thought of all the times he’d felt sheer happiness at her side, all the mornings that he’d woken up to her sleeping face, Merlin, did he love her. “. . . then she makes you laugh and you can’t imagine even being mad at her.”

“Sounds like Emma, alright.” Marceau’s voice was dreamy, his eyes glazed over as he thought of days gone by.

A silence settled between the pair; Marceau thought of what had once been and began to think of what he could do to ensure that it would once again be. And Bill, oh, Bill, he was left with the thoughts that plagued him at all hours of the day. There was no escaping his love for her. He’d been a fool to think that marrying Fleur would solve his problems. It had done nothing more than to add to his misery. The comfort she had once offered him had vanished and it was only when he thought of Emerson that he could muster the proper emotion for his wife. She deserved better than him. She deserved a man that would love her, the way he loved Emerson.

“So do you think she’ll give me another chance?”

Bill remained lost in his thoughts.

“Bill?” Marceau called to him. “You alright, mate?”

“Huh? What? Yeah. I am. Sorry about that. Was just thinking,” he took in a breath. “What’d you say, though?”

“Do you think Emma would give me another chance?”

No. Not really. He didn’t think Emerson would give Marceau another shot. In all honesty, he couldn’t even believe that she would go out with someone like him. He was to pretty, to clean. He looked like someone that folded up his socks and took his vitamins every morning. He wasn’t the sort of man that Emerson should be with. She deserved someone adventurous, someone that would go to rock shows with her and actually look like they belonged there. She deserved someone that would smoke with her in the evening and take walks with her in the country. He was the man that Emerson should be with, not Marceau, not anyone else. None of them would ever love her like he did. They wouldn’t even come close.

Bill forced himself from his thoughts and mumbled an insincere, “Think she would.”

“Brilliant!” exclaimed Marceau, his lips hitching upwards into one of those perfect smiles that he’s so fond of giving. “Thanks so much Bill. You’re a great brother-in-law, you are. Fleur’s lucky to have you.” Marceau jumped up to his feet. “I’ve got to be going. Need to get some sleep if I'm to start planning tomorrow. Again, thanks, really.”

A halfhearted smile was forced onto Bill’s face and that was enough to please Marceau, whom disappeared into the cottage, leaving Bill alone with his thoughts. He hated Marceau. He knew he didn’t have any real reason to, since he was married and the wizard had been with Emerson long before he’d ever known her, but Bill still hated him. Emerson was . . . well, she was his heart. She was his and he didn’t want someone else to touch her, to make love to her the way he’d made love to her. The thought of her laughing with Marceau and lying in bed naked with him, made Bill’s stomach constrict violently.

She couldn’t do that.

He couldn’t let her do that.

And before he had a chance to think things through, before he even stopped to consider the fact that it was eleven at night, he apparated to her place. What he was going to say, he didn’t fucking know. He just had to make it known that she shouldn’t be with Marceau – that she shouldn’t be with anyone! There was a very good chance that he was about to make an ass of himself, but that didn’t matter, at least not then. At that moment all that mattered was telling her that Marceau wanted her back and that she shouldn’t take him back.

The moment he landed on firm ground, he stalked over to the side of the house that her room faced and proceeded to scale the wall. He hadn’t done much climbing since he was a teenager, but the old skill hadn’t been forgotten and soon enough he was clinging to the windowsill with one arm and knocking on the actually window with the other. He watched in silence as a dark figure grew closer, he could make out her wand. Hopefully she wouldn’t curse him before she realized it was him.

Thankfully for him, she’d recognized his scent. She placed her wand on the table beside her bed and opened the window, letting Bill climb through it. She stared at him in silence, her eyes intently focused on his disheveled figure. At first, she’d thought he was drunk, but she couldn’t smell any alcohol on him. Something else must have happened.

“Bill, what the hell are you doing here?” she asked him, careful to keep her voice low.

“Don’t be with him.” Bill blurted out.

“I'm sorry. I'm confused. What are you talking about?”

“Marceau. He wants to be with you. He kept talking about how he wants to be with you, but you can’t be with him! You have to remember why you didn’t marry him. Just remember that, please, remember that and don’t be with him. Don’t, alright?”

Emerson took a step back. “He told you about that?”

“Told me all about you two running off to Paris to get married,” Bill stepped towards her. “Look, I know he’s bloody fit and that he’s got the sort of face that sculptors have been trying to perfect for centuries, but you can’t be with him! You can’t! I won’t allow it!”

Emerson had never seen Bill in such a state, the fear in his eyes coupled with the desperation in his voice was overwhelming, but also maddening. He had no right to tell her who she could and could not go out with, absolutely no right. He was the one that had run off to get married. He was the one that had extinguished the hope she had of them ever getting together.

“I don’t want to get back with Marceau. I left him for a reason, but my being with him or with anyone else, is none of your business!” she hissed, struggling to keep her voice down. “Just because –“

“It is my business!” he snapped.

“How the hell is it your business?!”

“Because I BLOODY LOVE YOU!” and there it was, he’d finally told her.