the harmonies in our symphony

by blitzst4rs

Summary:

The first thing Sirius notices are his eyes. Oh, his eyes...

Then, he notices the massive instrument the boy is wheeling around. An upright bass.
Sirius swallows, his throat suddenly very, very, dry.

Like all of the other counselors, the boy is wearing one of those sticky name-tags written all over with a sharpie. From his distance, Sirius can just barely make out the letters if he squints.

REMUS; the name-tag reads.

Suddenly, the boy turns, and Sirius gets a full view of his face. And. And.

the boy has a smattering of freckles across his sunkissed cheeks, and long silvery scar running down the side of his face, which is currently occupied with a forlorn expression.

He has the most gorgeous eyes Sirius has ever seen.

Also, he's looking straight at Sirius?

he jolts suddenly, becoming acutely aware of the freckled boy’s eyes on him. Turning away swiftly, He clenches his jaw, desperately trying to recollect his thoughts.

But it’s no use. Sirius is gone. Oh, he’s so far gone. And when he finally musters up the courage to glance back,

The boy is still staring.

*orchestra au
* jily + dorlene
*Remus is English, Sirius is American

Chapter 1: summer?

Sirius unclasps his violin case, and swings the top open. He slips his bow out from its place, and gingerly tightens it till the hair is stiff. He unwraps his rosin from the paper, all amber and worn, and gently glides it down the length of his bow. He lovingly lifts his violin out from the dark red crushed velvet, and after fiddling slightly with the fine tuners, begins to play his favorite, Chaconne in D minor.

His sound is achingly beautiful, warm and rich, while simultaneously mournful and haunting. His fingers glide up and down the fingerboard deftly, sure of themselves from years of expertise. He has finally begun allowing himself to play again after refusing to touch it for years. He still has had trouble expressing what it means to him, as he so hates the memories that are attached to the instrument.

 

He does adore the violin though, and always has. He has since a tiny maple violin with polished pegs and glimmering strings was plopped into his tiny grabby hands at the age of four.

As he draws to the end of the piece, his bow slows, and the warm vibrato of his final piercing note echoes over the walls of his studio apartment. He lowers it from his chin, and gently places the violin on his lap. He tips his head back and closes his eyes.

Fuck, he’s tired. Someone in an apartment next to him is vacuuming, and he can hear a crying toddler above him, screaming and begging for sweets. Sirius honestly can't blame him.

 

BANG!

 

Sirius’s eyes fly open at the sound of a car backfiring somewhere down the street. He has still not grown accustomed to the constant buzz of the city, but it does help to stifle the restless chatter in his head. He doesn’t mind it anymore, at least not too much. It’s better than the quiet where he grew up.
Shaking himself from his thoughts, Sirius gets up, his knees popping slightly.

He maneuvers himself around the boxes that have been sitting around for the past few months, ambling his way towards his desk. Amid the stacks of rumpled papers, expired gift certificates, and empty cans of cherry coke, he spots a worn photograph.

Aha.

In the picture, two scrawny teenage boys in their swim trunks grin at the camera. One of the boys is short and sunburned with long black hair, and a glob of sunscreen smeared on the tip of his nose. The other boy is tall and tanned with dark messy hair, his glasses splattered with sand. The pair stand in front of the ocean looking positively elated.

Sirius remembers this trip. He also remembers when the photo was taken, not long after his parents had kicked him out. With no place to go, Sirius had turned to his best friend, James Potter.

The Potters welcomed Sirius with open arms, and James’ parents had treated Sirius as their own.

When fifteen year old Sirius black had stood, trembling, at the doorstep of the Potter manor, drenched in rain and peppered with bruises, Euphemia Potter had answered the door. She took one look at the battered boy, and promptly engulfed him in her arms, and Sirius had sobbed into her shoulder. That was the first time he had felt the love of a mother.

And then-
College.

Euphemia and Fleamont Potter had insisted he attend college, and even offered to pay for it.

Sirius had politely refused, but did move out to attend a community college in New York City, hoping to broaden his occupational opportunities. James was currently in his dorm at NYU, and Sirius could not have been more thrilled that the two were attending schools in the same city.

However, James was busy, and Sirius was bored.

Sirius drops the picture back onto the desk, and finds his way over to the window. He pauses a moment, gazing at the buildings lighting up the night sky, then unlocks the window. As he pushes it open, he breathes in the comforting, if not toxic- fumes of the city. His new home.
He slowly pulls himself onto the fire escape, shutting the window behind him.

As he settles onto a step, he gazes up at the stars. His eyes automatically dart to Regulus, the heart of the lion.
Sirius swallows.

“Shit Reggie, how are you?” Sirius mutters quietly.

The star winks at him in response, almost laughingly.
He pulls his eyes away and scolds himself internally. He left that life behind a long time ago.

 

Instead, he fixes his eyes on the moon. It’s full and beautiful, and has always filled him to the brim with longing for some unbeknownst reason. even in the city glow, it manages to cast a soft silvery shadow upon Sirius's pale hands.

He’s suddenly pulled away from his thoughts when his phone buzzes inside his pocket. He swipes past the growing amount of notifications from the attention he’s been getting recently for posting videos of his playing, trying to ignore the pride he feels in his stomach every time he receives a like or comment. He pulls up his email, deletes a few junk messages, and immediately feels his heart plunge into his stomach with what he sees.

It’s a brief email from his boss. He’s being laid off from his office job. It’s not like he really needs the money, Sirius is actually quite well off, but the repetitiveness of a job helps him distract himself from… well, himself.

Sirius is agitated. Of course this means he has more time for school, but break is just around the corner, and he'd hate to sit around doing nothing all summer.

scrolling through his inbox, his eye catches on another unread email, from an unknown sender. He squints in confusion.

 

He clicks on the email and his brows furrow as he scrolls through the information. A summer camp in southern Maine is asking him to be a counselor for the summer. Not just any summer camp, an orchestra camp. He scans the email, drinking in the invitation. Apparently, the facility is short-staffed and has been searching for talented string musicians to help run the camp for the summer. A music major isn't required, but it certainly adds to his resume.

He smiles bitterly to himself as he thinks of the toxic prestigious orchestra camps he was sent to as a kid. He opens up a new window and types out the name of the camp. The Hogwarts Orchestra Institution. What a mouthful.

He is, however, surprised when a website full of smiling kids pops up. At each one of the prestigious music camps Sirius was sent to as a child, every camper was beaten down, overworked and completely devoid of joy.

 

Maybe this could be different?

Sirius chews over the idea in his head slowly, wrestling over the pros and cons. Maine is nice during the summer, he supposes, and maybe a little fresh air would be good for him.
At least he knows what he’ll be doing this summer, right?

Chapter 2: please?!

“Please???” Sirius whines into the receiver.

“No.”

“Pleaseee??”

“No.”

Sirius huffs, exasperated.
“You’re killing me, James.”

Sirius can practically hear James roll his eyes over the phone. Good. With luck, he’ll wear him out before registration closes.

“Look,” Sirius starts. “You’re an amazing cellist, and they need more counselors. We'd barely have to lift a finger.”

James scoffs. “Don’t be stupid, being a counselor is a huge responsibility. It requires you to spend basically all your time chasing after hordes of hormonal teens.”

“See?? You already know more than I do!” Sirius replies, a drawl to his voice.
“But seriously, you’d make a great counselor Jamie.”

James’ voice softens. “Sirius, as much as I love the cello, I’m not sure I’m willing to be cooped up inside all summer, staring at a music stand twenty-four seven.”

“You won’t be.” Sirius exclaims, his grin widening. “Listen to this-” he says, pulling up the camp website. “‘Although the Hogwarts Orchestra Institution prides itself in its music program, we still aim to provide campers with a summer camp experience like any other, with outdoor activities, water sports, and more events outside of the musical realm. Once a day, campers participate in a counselor-led rehearsal, then are free to do as they please till the staff performance in the evening.’”

Sirius swears he hears the gears whirring inside James’ head.

“So? Whaddaya think?”

James releases a long gusty sigh. “I suppose this means you’ve successfully roped me into another one of your schemes.”

Sirius lets out a whoop in celebration. “ It appears so, dear friend.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Notes:

Short chapter- Sirius basically just forces James to come w him to camp lmao

Chapter 3: Remus goes insane

Summary:

REMUS IS HERE! guys I love him so much u don't understand

Remus slumps into his desk chair, his eyelids drooping with exhaustion. He massages his face with his hands, blocking the light out of his eyes.

“Stupid bloody insomniac,” he grumbles to himself.

Remus does his very best not to think about the paperwork he has to process by tomorrow. He’ll have to work late again.. He groans internally at the thought. He’s so utterly exhausted.

A week ago, his trusty stash of melatonin gummies that he keeps under the bed ran out. Remus would normally just buy more, but his bank balance is at an all time low, and he’d really rather not drain his savings on a few measly hours of rest. So, he’s made the conscious decision that he will not be sleeping till his next direct deposit comes in.

Which is tonight.

Remus straightens, feeling a flicker of hope at the thought of his upcoming paycheck. He grits his teeth, and with a sudden burst of energy, opens his desk drawer, pulling out a stack of files. He reckons that the sooner he starts, the sooner he’ll be finished. As he sorts through the lot, he can’t help but feel a twinge of hopelessness in the dreary mundanity that now clouds his everyday life. He pushes the thought aside. One meticulous job at a time.

I miss my mum.

 

Staple.

 

Why the fuck did I move here?

 

Shuffle.

 

And why New Jersey of all places?

 

Pencil.

 

You’re a failure. That’s why you dropped out of university. That’s why you’re working in a miserable office job just so you don't drop dead. Pathetic. 

Remus scowls. "Shut up." Can’t he go one minute without being berated by his mind? Also, who the fuck tells themself to shut up? And. And. What kind of lunatic spends hours on end berating themselves for every life decision they've even made? He seriously needs to get a grip.

 

He chose this. To live here.

 

When Remus was in secondary school, he developed an odd, and frankly obsessive interest in the United States. He wanted to live there, to work there, and go to school there. And since his slimy little father- Lyall had more money than he knew how to spend, (as well as an intense dislike for his son) Remus had been shipped off to university in New Jersey, along with an immigrant visa the very moment he graduated. Prouder men might’ve objected, but at the time, Remus was happy to milk his hateful father’s wealth all he could, in naive hope that maybe someday he’d bleed him dry completely.

Remus has grown up though. A year really can make a difference sometimes. 

He cut the act too. It wasn't as if the world needed another rebellious posh kid. His father may have gotten him started here, but he sure as hell won't be paying for Remus’s groceries, or even his education.

 

 That’s why he dropped out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Remus stands in the middle of the hallway as he fumbles through his pockets, fishing out his keys. He struggles with the door for a moment, but he manages, triumphantly clicking the key into place. As the door swings open, he notices his roommate slumped on the couch, her brilliant red hair in a rumpled mess. 

 

“Lils?” Remus calls, softly. “You awake?”

 

Lily pries one bright green eye open

 

“Hey Remus,” she replies, her voice peppered with exhaustion.

Remus grins. “Long day, eh?”

 

“You have no idea,” she snorts. 

 

“Unfortunately, I think I do.” he says, throwing his bag down.“D’you want to talk about it?”

 

“Nope!” Lily says cheerily, combing her fingers through hair. “That’s what makes this friendship work, Remus. We ignore our problems.”

 

Remus flops onto the couch beside Lily. He lands on one of the awful throw pillows Lily insists on polluting the couch with, and he pulls the stupid thing out from beneath him. It’s dreadfully hideous, all fuzzy and covered in sequins.

 

“Yeah, that sounds healthy,”  Remus responds, propping his feet up. “What’ve you been up to today? Anything special”

 

Lily rolls her eyes. “Nah, nothing really-” Her eyes widen suddenly as if she’s remembered something “Wait yes!”

 

Remus raises his eyebrows “well, go on then,” he says, good naturedly.

 

“You remember that old teacher of mine, up in Maine? She asks, her eyes sparkling

 

“You mean Minerva?” he asks. “Wasn’t she your cello instructor?” 

“Well yeah, but that’s not the point! Apparently, good ol' Minnie runs a summer camp up there. It’s not just any sort of camp either, it’s an orchestra camp! 

 

“I’m not sure I see your point,” says Remus. “I would've loved to go someplace like that as a kid though.”

Remus plays the double bass, and has, ever since he was 9. His mother was the one that encouraged him to start. His father hadn’t taken to it too kindly at first, insisting that music was for lowlifes and dreamers. He wasn’t entirely wrong, as Remus had ended up both, but nobody needed to know that.

 

“She asked me to be a counselor there this summer! They get to do all sorts of cool stuff, and teach kids how to play,” Lily exclaims. “Normally, they require their counselors to minor in music, but they're short staffed, and Minnie emailed me because she thinks I’d be perfect for the job.”

Remus pastes a smile onto his face. “Wow, congrats Lils,” he says, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach at the thought of living alone without Lily this summer.

 

“But Reeeemus, I haven’t told you the best part yet,” she says, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “She asked me if I knew any other string players who’d be up to the job, and I happened to recommend an excellent bassist.”

 

Remus sputters in disbelief.

 

“Check your email!” Lily laughs, patting Remus on the shoulder.

Chapter 4: Schindler's list

Summary:

I promise Ill make longer chapters from now on, trust. (this chap took me like a month wtf)

The following evening, it’s raining. Not the kind of rain that settles into the air like a secret untold, gently tapping at your window as the drops drip from the glass panes like teardrops. No, it’s the kind of rain that releases all of the pent-up frustrations that the sky possesses toward the people of Earth. The kind that batters against the window panes like a steady, mournful drumbeat. The kind of rain that people in the movies confess their love to one another in, their hair plastered to the side of their face. Remus loves those movies. It’s not like he has anyone to confess to, or anyone that would ever confess to him for that matter, but he doesn't dwell on topics like that. He’s accepted it.

Remus stands in front of his bass. He hasn't played in ages, and it’s been eating away at him. He doesn't quite understand how he’s felt such a heavy sense of guilt about not practicing, yet he can still never quite bring himself to pick it up nowadays.

What if he’s shit at it?
What if he forgot?

Hands shaking slightly, Remus reaches for his folder full of music. He flips through the pages of worn paper and faded ink, till he finds what he’s looking for.
The theme from "Schindler's List”.

Schindler’s List is honestly Remus’s favorite movie ever, but it physically pains him each time he watches it. It’s heartbreaking and painful, and in his opinion, one of the greatest masterpieces ever created.

His mother had shown it to him when he was thirteen. She believed in educating Remus, instead of shielding him from the horrors of human nature. She was truly a wonderful woman, and she loved Remus more than anything.

Her name was Hope.

Hope died in the spring of Remus’s 16th birthday from Leukemia. Sometimes he remembers, and he feels sixteen again. He remembers gasping for air between horrible wretched sobs that ran deep inside of him, remembers tearing at his hair, remembers staring into the distance, his mind utterly and completely numb.

Remus plucks the sheet music out of the folder, gently placing it on his music stand. He retrieves his bow case with the blue embroidered flowers on the strap and unzips it slowly. He peers inside at the bow resting on the velvet lining, waiting for him. He picks it up and tightens it until the hair is no longer loose against the wood.

Remus removes his bass from its small wooden stand in the corner of the sitting room, setting it down gently on its side. He unscrews the fine, gold, end-pin, and extends it a few notches. Remus picks the bass up off the ground and begins tuning swiftly, his hands twisting the pegs up top with ease. Setting his tuner down, he breathes in slightly, adjusting his bow hold.

He starts a two-octave C-major scale, smiling softly as he feels himself slowly slip into the music. He’s missed this. He begins a descending melodic minor scale, relishing the bite of the strings into the pads of his fingertips.

Remus exhales.

He begins to play Schindler's list. He lifts his bow, ever so slightly, and he’s off. His fingers slowly dance across the fingerboard with ease, as he fills the room with vibrato. His bow brushes against the strings gently, then firm. Remus doesn’t notice. He’s not here. He is the music. And he is everywhere and everything. The elegiac tone is hollow and rich, prying itself deeper into the brown-eyed boy’s soul. The tune is simple in parts but irrevocably complicated inside Remus’s head.

This has nothing to do with the difficulty of the piece either.

The song shifts slightly, less light and melancholic, becoming bruisingly wistful and poignant. He crescendos, his head dipping as he leans over the side of the bass. It’s raw and utterly heart-wrenching, and it’s beautiful. This is the reason Remus loves this piece so much, not because of its beauty (although that is certainly a contributing factor), but because of how incredibly evocative it is.

This is her song. His mother’s favorite song. Hope Lupin was a pianist and a wonderful one at that. The Theme from Schindler's List was played so frequently in the Lupin household, that Remus is positive it had been permanently ingrained into his brain from the age of six. In some of Remus’s earliest memories, he remembers her playing it at the grand piano, smiling as he sat beside her on the bench, banging on the low keys nonsensically.

Once, He remembers stumbling in on her in the middle of the night, her head bowed as her fingers softly glided over the keys. Remus had stood there, in his blue footie pajamas, rubbing sleep from his eyes, watching. She hadn’t noticed him till he crept out of the shadows, dragging a stuffed wolf on the ground behind him.

“What're you doing, mummy?” Remus had asked, anxiety creeping into his voice. Even though he was little, he knew it was far too late for mummy to be up. Shouldn’t she be in bed with Daddy?

He remembers her turning swiftly, a panicked glint in her eye. He will always remember. He remembers how her shoulders slumped in relief once she saw it was only him, the fear draining out of her eyes; how she patted the bench next to her, and let him watch as her fingers danced over the keys. Then she had stopped, midway through the piece, turning to look at her son as she did so.

Remus had gazed up at her, perplexed.

She had laughed softly, gently taking his hand in hers, and splaying it over the keys, and instructing him on which two notes to play. When she began to play again, Remus was determined to make her proud, and played his two notes enthusiastically and strenuously as she wove a musical tale beneath her fingertips, so gentle and serene, Remus remembers feeling like he was in a dream.

Not all his memories in that house were happy ones, though.

Remus doesn't really know when it was when he began to realize that his mother was being abused by his father, but if he had to pinpoint a specific time in his memory, it fell sometime around the fall of his 5th year, when he was only nine years old.
On Halloween night, he had spent the evening mucking about the neighborhood with the other boys his age, wearing a football jersey that was three sizes too large as his costume (Not that Remus had ever particularly enjoyed football, but all the other lads seemed to find it to be the epitome of coolness).

But when Remus had finally thrown the towel in and walked home, something was incredibly off. His mother was not waiting in the kitchen to greet him with smiles or to scold him for tracking mud in. His father was not in his armchair by the furnace.

This alone was worrisome.

That and the yelling that was coming from his mum and dad’s bedroom.

Remus silently crept along the floorboards, careful not to squeak. He came to a stop across the hallway from his parents room, but could only really hear bits and snatches of conversation.

“…don’t want…”
“…Not your place to tell me…”
“…He’s just a boy…”

That last one caught Remus's attention. Remus tiptoed forward a bit more to hear better, pressing his ear to the door.

“…Fucking bitch!” his father yelled, followed by a smacking noise and a cry of pain from his mother.

Remus had barreled into the room as fast as his little legs could carry him. His mom was sitting on the ground, tears flowing from her eyes. Mummy was in pain, and he was pretty sure Daddy was the one who made her hurt. He had thrown himself into her arms, clinging to her with all his might, and sobbed and sobbed till his throat was raw and his eyes stung from tears. When he could finally bear to lift his head, his mother and father were still staring at each other.

“What happened Mummy?” Remus had asked tearfully. A red welt had already formed on her cheek, its purple tint rapidly unfurling like a ghastly wildflower.

She had only smiled sadly at Remus, and shook her head. “Nothing happened, baby. Mummy just had a bit of an accident.”

“But why were you and Daddy yelling?” Remus had inquired, not ready to drop it
Hope’s smile had faltered slightly, but only for a moment.

“That’s just what grownups do sometimes, my sweet.” She stood carefully, dusting her hands on her apron as she did so. “Now come on, my little wolf. It’s far past your bedtime.”

Remus remembers lying awake that night, staring at the glow in the dark constellations his mother had put up for him one summer. He remembers puzzling over each possible scenario of what could have happened, and what output it would garner. He remembers the moment he realized that his father was the cause of Mummy’s bruises. He remembers lying awake under his little quilt consumed by a burning desire to avenge his mother– seething with unbridled rage that seemed far too fiery for a boy so small to feel. He remembers that night as the last night he ever loved his father.

 

He hates to remember, yet sometimes it feels like that's the only thing left he knows how to do.
~~~~~~
Remus’s hands shake slightly, as his vibrato wavers and his fingers find their final note. He straightens, dabbing at the beads of sweat that have collected on his hairline with his sleeve. Lightly setting his bass down, Remus picks up his cellphone to three missed calls from Lily.
He calls her back immediately, wiping his clammy hands on his jeans.

“Remus!” Lily shouts excitedly over the phone.

Remus grimaces, turning the volume down. “Lily, you are perfectly aware that you don’t have to yell for me to hear you? Phones are for, like, long distance?”

Remus can practically hear her eyes rolling up inside her head.
“Oh shove off, little British boy.” Lily quips, ignoring Remus's sounds of protest before continuing, “I got off from my shift at the library early because Emmeline Vance owes me for covering for her when her boyfriend took her out last weekend.”

“And you’re telling me this, why?”

“Because I’m at the mall, and we need to shop for String Camp. You’re meeting me here in thirty minutes.”

Remus groans wearily. “Do I get a choice?”