Chapter Text
Remus
The old Volkswagen van rattled to a stop on a sun-bleached curb, its tires crunching over broken asphalt and scattered bits of palm frond. The air smelled different here—hotter, sweeter, laced with gasoline and ocean salt. From the backseat, Peter groaned, stretching out the stiffness from the nine-hundred-mile drive. Marlene was already pushing the door open, a flannel shirt tied around her waist, combat boots hitting the pavement with that kind of unshakable confidence she always carried. Remus exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of the moment settle in his bones. Moonsick had made it to LA.
A thin, gangly young man in his mid-twenties stood waiting by the mailbox, arms crossed, an easy grin on his face. He looked exactly as he had the last time Remus had seen him—same slightly rumpled shirt, same buzzed haircut, same energy of a man who knew all the right people in all the right places.
“Look at you guys,” the man said as Remus approached. “Seattle’s finest, gracing us with your presence.”
Marlene punched him on the shoulder and winked. “Soon to be world’s finest, Frank.”
Peter leaned against the van, rubbing his eyes. “Please tell me there’s somewhere we can sleep that isn’t the backseat of this death trap.”
Frank laughed, tossing a set of keys at Remus. “Welcome to your new home.” Remus could hardly believe it.
The apartment was on the floor above a pawn shop, the kind of place where the walls were thin, the plumbing made ominous sounds, and the air conditioner worked only when it felt like it. It smelled vaguely of old cigarettes and something Remus couldn’t quite place—maybe desperation —or maybe just LA.
They were still standing in the entryway when the door across the hall creaked open. A woman stepped out, her sharp gaze sweeping over the three new tenants like a drill sergeant inspecting new recruits. She was older, in a crisp button-down despite the heat, and had the unmistakable presence of someone who owned this building— totally the queen of the castle.
“You’re the musicians,” she said, voice clipped, eyes narrowing slightly. “Frank told me.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Remus said, falling back on the manners his mother had instilled in him long ago.
She sniffed, unimpressed. “No drugs. No parties that get the cops called. And if I hear you playing past midnight, you’ll be looking for a new place to live.”
Marlene elbowed Remus, muttering, "Someone hasn’t been laid since the sixties"
Minerva McGonagall heard. She always heard. Her glare was withering. “I expect rent on time. Welcome to Los Angeles.” And with that, she turned on her heel and disappeared back into her apartment.
Peter exhaled dramatically. “This’ll be fun.”
***
Moonsick had started in a basement back in Seattle.
Remus Lupin and Marlene McKinnon had met during their first year of university, both of them living for the rain-drenched Seattle music scene. Remus, the literature major, had notebooks full of half-finished lyrics, and enough angst to power his bass-playing. Marlene, the women’s studies major, had the kind of raw energy and sexiness that appealed to everyone, girls and boys alike. She was a magnetic frontwoman, and she knew how to shred on guitar. Peter Pettigrew had joined them soon after. He didn’t look like a drummer—didn’t even act like one since he was, in fact, a history major—but when he got behind a kit, he could make every beat feel like it was pounding under your skin.
They had played their first show in a dive bar with a leaky ceiling and a clogged up toilet. It had smelled like stale beer and regret, and maybe a hundred people showed up, most of them there for cheap whiskey, not the band. But something had happened that night. The noise, the energy, the way Remus’s bass had pulsed through the floorboards, the way Marlene’s voice had growled into the mic—it was like alchemy. Like for the first time, they hadn’t been just three kids trying to be a band. They had been a band.
And now, after years of shitty gigs and endless drives and crumpled cash payments that barely covered gas money, after finishing college with three next to useless degrees, and after years of dreaming for their one big break, they were here. LA.
Marlene flopped onto the old couch, her boots kicked up on the armrest. “You think this is where it happens?” she asked.
Peter had already fallen face-first onto an old mattress lying in the corner of the room. “I think this is where I die.”
Remus glanced out the window. The street buzzed below, the neon shine of liquor stores and tattoo shops and late-night diners stretching into the horizon. Somewhere, beneath all of it, was the dream they had come looking for.
“Yeah,” Remus murmured. “I think this is where it happens.”
James
The bar smelled like whiskey and old wood, like it had soaked up every spilled drink over the years. The lights were dim, and the jukebox played Pink Floyd softly in the corner. James Potter swirled his glass absentmindedly, watching the last bit of beer spin in circles along the bottom. It was a quiet Tuesday evening, and Godric’s Hollow was nearly empty. Usually at this hour, he would be behind the sound board, adjusting levels and making sure the night’s music would hit just right, but tonight there was no band scheduled to perform. James loved his part-time gig. Yes, it might be due to nepotism – this bar was his parents’ labor of love, with the soul of the ‘70s still woven into its bones. Monty and Effie Potter had been wild once, ex-hippies and former musicians themselves, and now they ran this gritty, electric sanctuary for the lost and the loud.
Mary McDonald leaned her elbows on the bar, her dark eyes sharp. “You look like a man who’s either about to make a terrible decision or has just made one.”
James huffed out a laugh. “Neither, surprisingly. Just thinking about band practice today.” He ran his hand through his sandy brown hair, making it stick up in unruly tufts. The overhead light caught the sharp glint of his glasses as he glanced around, his vivid blue eyes restless with thought. He was tall and broad-shouldered, the kind of figure that naturally commanded attention even when he wasn’t trying. His worn Led Zeppelin t-shirt clung to his frame, the faded fabric speaking of years of devotion to both the music and the band.
She raised a skeptical eyebrow. “That bad?”
“Not bad,” he sighed, pushing his empty glass toward her. “Just... intense.”
That was the thing about playing with Lily Evans. She didn’t just love music—she tore it apart, examined it, and rebuilt it more strongly. When she was satisfied, the band was unstoppable. But when she wasn’t happy with something they were in for a long practice. And today? She hadn’t been happy.
“She made us redo the same section at least fifteen times,” James groaned. “I swear, Dorcas was two minutes from throwing her drumsticks down and walking out.”
Mary smirked as she grabbed a fresh glass and began to fill it for James. “And Sirius?”
James snorted. “He kept trying to get everyone to switch instruments.”
Mary huffed out a laugh. “God, he’s an insufferable bastard.”
“Yeah,” James grinned. “But he’s our insufferable bastard.”
She slid the beer across to James, shaking her head. “So, what’s the verdict? Is the song any better?”
James took a sip and tilted his head, considering. “Yeah. Annoyingly, it is. She was right.”
“Lily is always right,” Mary said approvingly.
James pretended to be scandalized. “Excuse me, are you implying I should just accept my fate as a mere guitarist and let her run the whole show?”
She leaned in like she was about to share a great secret. “James. That is exactly what I’m saying.”
James was about to protest when the door swung open, letting in a gust of warm night air and Sirius Black.
You could always tell when Sirius entered a room. It wasn’t just that he was loud—though he was. It wasn’t just that he was ridiculously good-looking—though he was. It was something else. A shift in the air, like he carried a whole damn storm with him, wild and unpredictable.
“James!” he called, striding over like he owned the place. “Tell me there’s a beer with my name on it.”
Mary sighed dramatically, already reaching for a glass. “You could at least say hello first.”
Sirius grinned. “Hello, Mary. You look stunning. Pour me a drink, would you?”
She rolled her eyes but handed him a beer anyway.
He slid onto the stool next to James, tipping his head back to take a long drink, shaking his long black hair out behind him. Then he set the glass down and looked at James, all cocky and relaxed, gray eyes dancing with mirth. “So, practice today, huh. I don’t know why we don’t just get her a whistle and a clipboard. ‘Alright, maggots! Drop and give me twenty perfect takes!’”
“Ha ha,” James deadpanned. “She was in rare form today. Proper drill sergeant mode. ‘Dorcas, your timing is off. James, stop tuning mid-song. Sirius, for the love of God, put your shirt back on.’”
Sirius smirked. As he stretched his arms behind his head, his shirt pulled away from his tanned arms, exposing a dark tribal tattoo on his right bicep. “See, that’s where she was wrong. The shirt was the problem. Music needs to breathe, James.”
Mary shot him a look. “Music needs you to keep your damn clothes on, Sirius.”
Sirius shrugged, entirely unbothered. “I am the reason half the crowd at Godric’s Hollow comes back every Friday night.”
James rolled his eyes. “Oh yeah, it has nothing to do with the fact that we’re actually good.”
“We are good,” Sirius admitted. “But also, my abs are a selling point.”
Mary snorted. “Yeah, I’m sure that’s main reason The Quibbler wrote a whole piece about you guys last month.”
That had been a big deal. The Quibbler wasn’t the biggest music zine in LA, but it was respected, and having The Marauders name in print meant they were officially past the point of being just another bar band. People came to see them on purpose.
Sirius smirked. “I mean, the article called Lily ‘a stunning bassist with laser focus’ and said James’ guitar work was ‘feral and hypnotic.’” He turned to me, grinning. “And Dorcas, got called ‘the glue that holds the whole thing together.’ We are good James, and we are on the cusp of something big, I can feel it!”
James took another sip of beer, letting that settle in. Because for all the long nights, all the arguing, all the moments when James wanted to rip his own hair out... Sirius was right. Their band, The Marauders, was poised for something big.
Notes:
At the end of each chapter, I am going to try to describe the bands' styles of music.
Moonsick sounds like a combination of Sonic Youth (partly because Remus does sing on some songs, and he sounds a lot like Thurston Moore) and Babes in Toyland, with a healthy does of Bikini Kill's "Rebel Girl" energy thrown in.The Marauders sound like many typical LA punk bands of the time, but I take most inspiration from The Descendents, except that Sirius Black sounds *exactly* like Paul Westerberg of the Replacements.
Chapter Text
Remus
The bar, ironically named Madame Puddifoot’s Tea Room, was disgusting. Cigarette smoke had soaked into the brown walls decades ago and refused to leave. There was a pool table in the corner with ripped felt, an old jukebox that played only when it felt like it, and a bartender who looked like he’d seen everything and cared about none of it.
It was perfect.
Marlene stretched her arms over her head, yawning. “Well, congratulations, guys. We made it to LA, and we haven’t died yet.”
Peter raised his glass. “Yet.”
Remus smirked, swirling what was left of his beer. “Give it another week. If this city doesn’t kill us, Minerva McGonagall might.”
That got a groan out of both of them. Their new landlord had made an immediate impression.
“She’s terrifying,” Peter muttered. “Did you see the way she looked at my drum kit when we were moving in? Like she was already planning how to evict us.”
“To be fair, Pete, you did drop an amp on the stairs before we even got through the front door,” Marlene pointed out.
“That was an accident!”
“She doesn’t care about accidents,” Remus said, shaking his head. “She cares about noise complaints. And we are walking, breathing noise complaints.”
Peter groaned, slumping forward. “God, we’re gonna get kicked out so fast.”
Marlene smirked. “Then we just have to make it big before that happens.”
That was the problem. None of them had money, and whatever they’d scraped together from their last gigs in Seattle was going to dry up fast. They needed jobs—boring, shitty, soul-crushing jobs—but they also needed to get Moonsick onstage.
“You’d think coming from Seattle would give us an edge,” Peter said. “Grunge is huge right now.”
“Yeah, but we don’t have a name here,” Remus pointed out. “We need connections.”
Marlene drummed her fingers against the table. “Frank’s got some, doesn’t he?”
“He can introduce us to people, yeah,” Remus said. “But it’s on us to actually land gigs.”
Peter sighed. “You know what I hate? Every band that has already made it acts like LA is the dream. But they never tell you how the hell they got their first gig. They just appeared one day, fully formed, playing to packed venues.”
“Yeah, because the real story is ‘I played in a garage and then in a dive and then got rejected by thirty different clubs before one of them gave me a pity slot at midnight on a Tuesday,’” Marlene said. “Not quite as glamorous.”
“A Tuesday midnight slot doesn’t sound so bad,” Remus muttered.
Peter scoffed. “You say that now. Wait ‘til we’re playing to exactly three drunk dudes and a bartender.”
Remus shrugged. “Could be worse.”
“Oh?” Marlene arched an eyebrow. “What’s worse than playing to literally no one?”
Remus grinned. “Playing to exactly one person, and they hate us.”
She laughed, shaking her head. “God. Alright, so, step one: survive. Step two: get jobs that don’t make us want to drown ourselves in the Pacific. Step three: get gigs.”
Peter groaned. “God, jobs. Look, we’re musicians. I refuse to work in an office. I’ll bus tables or flip burgers before I sell my soul.”
“Agreed,” Remus said. “Something flexible. We need time to rehearse.”
Marlene tapped the table. “Frank said his friend’s bar might need a bartender.”
Peter brightened. “Oh! I can bartend.”
“You can drink,” Remus corrected. “That’s not the same thing.”
Peter waved a hand. “Close enough.”
Marlene grinned. “Well, you should look into that for sure.”
Just as they were finishing their drinks, the lights at the front of the bar dimmed, and a guy in a torn AC/DC shirt climbed onto the tiny stage.
“Oh lord,” Marlene muttered, already smirking.
The rest of his band followed— with the exact look you’d expect from an LA metal band trying to make it in 1991. The guitarist had waist-length blond hair and wore a leather vest without a shirt, his scrawny torso glowing pale under the lights. The bassist wore a top hat and sunglasses with his legs encased in leopard print spandex. The drummer, shirtless and already sweating, looked like he survived solely on a diet of white mice and spite.
And the singer? Oh, the singer was a piece of work.
He strutted up to the mic in snakeskin pants, his hair an aggressively over-teased monstrosity. When he grabbed the mic stand, he did that unnecessary wide-legged stance, like the sheer force of his rock and roll energy might knock him over otherwise. He cleared his throat dramatically and, with absolutely no warning, belted into the mic.
“LAAAAAAAAAAAADIIIIIIIIIEEEEESSSS AND GEEEEEEENTLEMEN! WE ARE AZKABAN!!”
The audience collectively winced at the feedback from the speakers.
The band launched into their first song—a wall of speed-metal riffs and overactive drumming.
Peter looked pained. “God, it’s like if a guitar solo and a car crash had a baby.”
Marlene leaned forward, eyes twinkling. “It’s not like they are technically that bad, but my God, the 80’s are over, and metal is dead, man. But you can’t deny they’ve got confidence.”
The singer strutted across the stage like it was Madison Square Garden instead of a dive bar that smelled like stale beer and broken dreams. The bassist was headbanging so hard it looked medically dangerous. The guitarist had his foot up on his amp, thrusting his hips toward the audience.
“They’re… really …..committed ……to the show,” Remus tried to look for a positive.
Marlene laughed. “God. What if we sounded like this?”
Pete turned to her, horrified. “Why would you say something so awful?”
“I mean, imagine it. Me in fishnets and leather. Remus with a flying V. Pete in assless chaps.”
Peter choked on his drink. “Why am I the assless chaps guy?!”
“Because I’d rather die than be the assless chaps guy,” Marlene said. “And Remus is the mysterious one, which means he gets full coverage pants.”
Remus made a face. “Please don’t associate me with whatever the hell is happening up there.”
“Agreed,” Peter muttered. “We’re better than this.”
And they were. This wasn’t Seattle. They weren’t playing to crowds who knew their name. But Moonsick had something these guys didn’t. Something raw, something real, something new.
Azkaban wanted to be rockstars. Moonsick wanted to make something real, something meaningful.
In the midst of the screeching and shredding still coming from the stage, the door opened, letting in a rush of warm night air, cigarette smoke, and something far more dangerous.
Two women walked in, and Marlene stopped talking mid-sentence.
Which was unheard of.
Remus turned to see what had shut her up so effectively.
One of them—tall, sharp, dark-eyed—walked in like she owned the damn place. She was all leather and confidence, her dark hair loose around her shoulders, a smirk playing at the edges of her lips. The other—shorter, with striking red hair courtesy of Manic Panic -looked slightly less like she was here to take over the city, but still walked with the kind of assurance that meant she wasn’t new to LA.
Marlene sat up straight, looking like she’d just been hit by a truck.
Peter raised an eyebrow. “Uh. You good?”
Marlene didn’t respond.
Remus waved a hand in front of her face. Nothing. Remus glanced at Peter. “I think she just fell in love.”
“Tragic,” Peter said solemnly. “We’ll never get her back.”
Marlene finally blinked, turned to them, and hissed, “Shut up.” She quickly turned back around, eyes locked on the dark-haired woman like she was memorizing every detail.
Peter nodded. “Yeah, you’re done for.”
Marlene didn’t even argue.
Instead, she downed the rest of her beer, ran a hand through her messy blonde hair, and stood.
“Oh, this is happening,” Peter murmured, barely containing his glee.
Remus just watched, amused, as Marlene squared her shoulders and strode toward them, all confidence.
The women hadn’t even noticed her yet. But they were about to.
Lily
Madame Puddifoot’s was grimy as hell. The kind of place where the floor stuck to your shoes and the beer tasted like it had been sitting in the tap for days. Where the smoke obstructed views more than ten feet in any direction and obscene pictures were drawn on the walls of the bathroom. Where you were just as likely to have a member of the audience vomit on your shoes as you were to hear a really amazing set. Lily secretly loved places like this.
“Come on,” Dorcas said, leading the way to the bar with that confident, reckless stride of hers. Lily followed, shaking her head, scanning the room.
Lily was familiar with the band on stage. The lead singer, currently strutting around the small stage, was one of her best friends from childhood. They had grown apart throughout the years, mainly because Lily didn’t really like his bandmates, but Lily was nothing if not a supportive friend. The music wasn’t really her cup of tea, but she knew that they had it in them to be successful in their own genre. She started to turn to Dorcas to wave her over to an open table. Before she could, however, a blonde in a battered denim jacket stepped directly into their path.
“Oh,” Dorcas said, tilting her head slightly, looking deeply amused.
The blonde cleared her throat. “Hey.”
Lily blinked. Oh, this was about to be good.
Dorcas raised an eyebrow. “Hey.”
The blonde did not appear to have a follow-up to that. She opened her mouth, then closed it, then opened it again, like a very attractive goldfish.
Lily smirked. Oh, she’s done for.
A clean-cut blond man and a tall, lanky guy with shaggy brown hair stood behind her, watching with open amusement.
“Uh.” The blonde ran a hand through her hair, trying to appear casual. “I’m Marlene.”
Dorcas, to her credit, didn’t make it easy. She just leaned against the bar, smirking. “Cool.”
Silence.
The brown-haired guy sighed heavily. “What Marlene meant to say is, ‘Hi, I’m Marlene, this is my band Moonsick, we’re new in town, and I just forgot how to speak because you’re hot.’”
Marlene whipped around, glaring at him. “Remus.”
Remus smiled, completely unbothered.
Dorcas laughed, finally looking properly interested. “Moonsick, huh? I’ve heard of you.”
Marlene visibly glowed. “You have?”
Dorcas smirked. “No.”
Peter wheezed. Lily had to bite back a laugh.
Marlene just blinked. “Okay. Wow. That’s fine. That’s totally fine.”
Lily took pity and turned to Remus, who looked like he had more brain cells than the other two combined. “Moonsick, yeah? What do you play?”
“Bass,” he said.
Lily perked up. “Oh, no way. Me too.”
Remus actually looked surprised. “Really? Not enough of us around.”
“Right? Everyone wants to be a bloody lead guitarist,” Lily said.
“Oh my God, thank you,” he groaned, looking instantly more animated. “I had to fight to not be a guitarist. Like, ‘No, I don’t want to play thirty-minute solos.’ I want to make sure the whole thing doesn’t fall apart.”
“Exactly,” Lily said, pointing at him. “Bass is the foundation. The heartbeat. But does anyone appreciate it?”
“Not until you stop playing,” he said, smirking.
Lily snapped her fingers. “And then suddenly it’s, ‘Oh, everything sounds weird and empty.’ Yeah. That’s what I thought.”
Peter, watching this whole exchange, gestured wildly at us. “Look at this. Two bassists. Bonding. In the wild.”
Remus elbowed him. “Shut up.”
Lily just grinned. “So, what’s your style?”
“Grunge, mostly,” Remus said. “But with actual structure.”
“Oh, good,” Lily said, rolling her eyes. “Not just noise for the sake of noise?”
“Exactly,” Remus said, looking a little too pleased. “You?”
Lily shrugged. “Bit more punk rock. But yeah, structure is important. Feels like some of these bands just… make shit up and hope for the best.”
Marlene, meanwhile, was still trying to flirt and failing spectacularly.
Dorcas was enjoying herself.
Peter just sipped his beer, watching the chaos unfold.
Finally, Marlene threw her hands up. “Can I buy you a drink?”
Dorcas pretended to consider it. “I don’t know. You haven’t really impressed me yet.”
Marlene looked physically pained.
Remus, completely deadpan, turned to me. “Do we intervene?”
Lily grinned. “Not a chance.”
The music reverberated through the bar, the heavy metal riffs shaking the glasses on the tables as Remus, Peter, and Lily made their way over to an open table. The band was still in the middle of their set, and the crowd’s energy was intense. The cheers of the audience mingled with the thunderous sound of the guitars, and even though the band was obviously over-the-top, Lily couldn't help but feel drawn in by the raw energy they exuded.
As Remus pulled out a chair at the table, she noticed a tattoo stretched along the inside of his forearm—a delicate but dark series of moon phases, inked in rich black and fading gray. It started with a new moon at his wrist, the shadowed absence of light, then grew fuller as it climbed toward his elbow, waxing crescents giving way to a glowing full moon at the center before waning again into darkness. The ink looked slightly faded, like it had been there for years, settling into the lines of his skin as if it had always belonged.
“Moon phases?” she mused, tilting her head as if piecing something together. “That have anything to do with your band?”
Remus glanced down at the ink, his fingers brushing absently over the full moon. A corner of his lips quirked up. “Yeah. Had it longer than we’ve had the band though.” Lily thought she caught a glimpse of sadness in his eyes, so she rushed to change the subject.
“So, have you guys played any shows since you’ve been in town?” Lily inquired.
“Well, no…we just got into town last week. Peter and I are trying to figure out our next move. We’re kind of... broke. We’re here to enjoy the music, but also, uh, maybe try to figure out what the hell we’re going to do next. ” Remus gave Lily a half-smile, a little sheepish. “You know how it goes when you’re chasing a dream, right?”
Lily gave a short laugh. “I hear you. I’ve been there myself. I actually work at a music store nearby called Flourish & Blotts. It’s not much, but it pays the bills, and you get to be surrounded by cool stuff. We could be looking for a new person, especially a musically inclined one. If you’re interested, I could put in a good word.”
Remus looked at Lily, surprised. “Really? That would be amazing, Lily. I could do that. Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it,” Lily said, waving a hand. “Honestly, if you’re into music, it’s an easy fit.”
Lily loved helping people, loved her job, and loved the people who came into the shop regularly. Her fellow employees were like family to her, and she wanted to protect them, so she felt really selective about recommending anyone new. Lily considered Remus... he was different than the average wannabe rock star that moved to LA. He looked genuinely grateful. He would fit in with the rest.
“No problem,” Lily said when Remus thanked her again. “I’ll pass the info along. It’s all about connections in this town. And finding somewhere that’s a good fit, you know?”
Lily glanced toward the bar and wasn’t surprised to see Dorcas leaning in slightly toward Marlene, whispering something in her ear with that mischievous smile of hers.
Remus followed Lily’s gaze. "What’s going on over there? They look like they're... up to something."
Lily grinned. “You have no idea. Dorcas is….well….she is something else when it comes to flirting.”
As the band’s set continued to thrum around them, Lily and Remus caught another glimpse of Marlene. She was standing a little closer to Dorcas now, their shoulders touching as Dorcas smirked at something Marlene had said. Dorcas, leaning in slightly, let her fingers trace lightly across Marlene’s arm. It wasn’t overt, but there was no mistaking the electricity between them.
Remus couldn’t help but chuckle. “Well, I’ll be honest, I’m not surprised. Marlene’s not shy, and I have never seen her speechless before.”
Peter laughed, his voice a little dry. “I mean, they do seem to be getting pretty close, don’t they?” He raised an eyebrow. “Should we be worried, or…?”
Lily snickered. “Not worried. Just amused. Let’s just say that I wouldn’t be shocked if they ended the night macking on each other.”
As the final set of the night ended, the lead singer screeched into the mic “THANKSSSS A LOT FOR COMING TO THE SHOW! WE ARE AZKABAN!!!!” At this Lily stood up and gestured to the stage. “I’m going to go say hi to Sev, catch up with him before they leave. You two can hang out here for a bit. I’ll be back”
Remus looked at Lily with curiosity. “Sev? Is he the—?”
“Yeah, my childhood friend. He’s the lead singer of the band.”
“Ahh.” Remus smiled with a chagrined look on his face. Lily could imagine that the grunge-loving Moonsick wasn’t overly impressed with the heavy metal styling of Azkaban, but Lily just rolled her eyes and headed toward her friend.
As Lily got closer, she felt a shift in the atmosphere. She looked up slowly, straight into the black eyes of her old childhood friend, Severus Snape. He hadn’t changed much, except for the clothes. Same dark eyes, that messy hair, and the permanent scowl that had always made him seem perpetually annoyed by the world. His gaze flickered over Lily, and he narrowed his eyes, though his lips twitched into a barely perceptible smirk.
“Evans,” he sniffed.
Lily sighed. “Sev. Great to see you, too.” She couldn’t hide the bitterness in her voice, even though she really didn’t mean to sound like that. The truth was, it was hard to suppress the old feelings that came up every time she saw him. Severus and Lily had been inseparable as kids, but somewhere along the way, things had soured, and they’d become strangers.
“I saw you when I was onstage tonight. So, did you finally ditch Black and Potter? Found someone new to hang out with?” Severus sneered.
Lily could feel her jaw clenching, but she kept her cool. “No, The Marauders are still together, and they are still my best friends. These are new friends that I just met tonight. Come on, Sev. Be nice”
He laughed darkly. “Nice? Who said anything about nice? I’m just being honest. The world’s full of fake friends, and I don’t have time for them.” His eyes narrowed, studying Lily for a moment. “You’ve clearly found yourself enough nice friends.”
Lily winced, resisting the urge to respond. They both knew the truth—the way he’d always resented her new friends as they’d grown up and apart. Lily knew he’d loved her back when they were younger, and – though she loved him as a brother – it wasn’t the type of love that Severus had wanted from her.
“I’ll always have room for you as a friend, Sev.” Lily sighed.
He scoffed again, his lip curling. “Please. I don’t need your pity friendship. You think you’re above it all—above me.” He took a step forward, his eyes sharp.
The words hit harder than Lily wanted to admit. For a moment, Lily didn’t know how to respond.
“I’m sorry, Sev. You had a good set. I wish you guys the best of luck out there.” Lily said as she turned to walk away.
There was a flash of something in his eyes. Regret? Anger? It was hard to tell. But then, just as quickly, his walls went back up, and he sneered.
“Whatever, Evans. Go on, live your perfect life.”
The bite in his words stung, but Lily didn’t flinch. She watched him stalk off. Turning back to the bar, Lily felt the sting in her chest start to fade. She had good friends, and Severus was not acting like one of them.
It was probably time to cut this friendship off and let it die.
Slowly, her mind wandered back to the present. Lily could hear the laughter from Remus and Peter, sitting at the table. She glanced over toward the bar looking for Dorcas and Marlene, and she couldn’t help but smile. Marlene and Dorcas had their arms around each other’s waists and were pressed up against a wall adjacent to the bar, kissing deeply, as if there was no one else in the room.
Lily looked over at Remus and gave him a thumbs up.
Notes:
I picture Azkaban as sounding like Pantera and looking like Motley Crue.
Chapter 3: June 21, 1991
Chapter Text
Remus
The door to Flourish & Blotts swung open with the sharp jingle of a bell, and Remus stepped into the dimly lit store, his Doc Martens scuffing lightly against the worn wooden floorboards. The smell of old vinyl and faint cigarette smoke clung to the air, a blend that reminded him of every hidden music shop he’d ever loved. The shelves were cluttered with a disorganized assortment of guitar amps, basses, vintage posters, and tattered songbooks. In one corner, a dusty Fender bass leaned casually against the wall, almost as if it had been waiting for someone like him to walk through the door.
He stood for a moment, taking it all in—the low hum of a guitar riff playing somewhere in the back, the random assortment of folks milling about, each with their own story, their own love of music. The store had the air of a place where you’d come to get lost, to be part of the gritty pulse of LA’s music scene.
Behind the counter, Barty Crouch sat, hunched over a stack of receipts, his blue eyes scanning the papers with the kind of focus that suggested he was always on the lookout for something—or someone—worth noticing. His black leather jacket creaked as he straightened up and looked up, meeting Remus’s gaze.
“Can I help you?” Barty’s voice was smooth, but there was a touch of disinterest, as if he’d already sized up every customer who came through the door.
Remus cleared his throat, stepping toward the counter with an easy confidence that only came from years of being in bands and dealing with everything from rowdy crowds to over-enthusiastic sound techs. “I heard you might be looking for help,” he said, leaning a bit on the counter. His hands were tucked into the pockets of his jeans, but his eyes were steady, betraying a quiet determination.
Barty didn’t answer right away. Instead, he studied Remus. “You play?” Barty’s tone was skeptical, his gaze now lingering on Remus’s forearm, where the faint ink of moon phases peeked out from under the sleeve of his shirt.
Remus nodded. “Been playing bass for years. Thought I’d stop by, see if you needed someone for the shop.”
Barty didn’t immediately respond, his fingers tapping lightly on the counter as he took in Remus’s posture, the quiet confidence in his voice. There was something about him—something that matched the vibe of the store, a kind of understated cool.
“You’re a bassist. You know gear?” Barty asked, now leaning forward slightly, his eyes narrowing, weighing the words.
“More than I care to admit,” Remus replied with a small grin. He knew what this was—an interview without the formality. “I can fix amps, give a demo, talk shop.”
Barty’s lips curled into a half-smirk, clearly intrigued now. “Alright, let’s see what you can do then. Grab a bass, play me something.” He gestured to the collection of instruments on the wall with a tilt of his head.
Remus walked over, choosing a bass at random, the weight of it feeling right in his hands. He strummed a few notes, letting the sound fill the air between them, before he slipped into a familiar, low groove, the rhythm coming naturally. It was a simple riff, one of the first he’d learned, but it was steady, smooth—exactly the kind of thing that showed he had an ear for what sounded good.
Barty watched him, arms crossed now, nodding slightly in approval. “Not bad,” he said once Remus had finished, a small spark of approval in his eyes. “Alright, you’re hired.”
Remus raised an eyebrow, surprised at the speed of the decision. “Just like that?”
Barty shrugged, his smirk turning into a more genuine grin. “This place is built on trust. You play like you know your shit. You’ve got the vibe we need. Plus, Lily already told me you’d be coming in. Come back tomorrow. Don’t fuck it up.”
Remus laughed, the tension in his shoulders easing. “I’ll try not to.”
As Barty turned back to his paperwork, Remus felt the weight of his new role settle in. Flourish & Blotts had just become his second home.
***
The small 24-hour diner on the corner of Sunset was greasy and dimly lit. The flickering neon sign, in the shape of the diner’s name – Kreacher’s—cast an odd glow through the window. It was the kind of place where you could sit for hours nursing a cup of lukewarm coffee without anyone asking questions. Remus had been coming here for days now writing lyrics in his little green notebook, the steady hum of late-night conversations and clattering dishes offering a kind of comfort. Tonight, he sat across from Peter and Marlene, both of them already settled into the worn booth. Peter was stuffing fries into his mouth, looking every bit the disorganized mess he always was. Marlene was flipping through a local zine, half-paying attention to the conversation, her eyes sharp despite the bored posture.
“Guess what?” Remus said, leaning in with a grin that tugged at the corners of his mouth. “I’ve got a job.”
Peter looked up, a fry dangling from his fingers, his eyes lighting up. “No way, man. What’s the gig?”
“Flourish & Blotts,” Remus said, unable to keep the excitement from his voice. “Lily’s place. I’m gonna be working there—helping out with gear, fixing amps, talking to customers. I start tomorrow.”
Marlene raised an eyebrow, lowering the zine to give him a smile. “So, you’re working at a music store now? That’s... actually pretty perfect for you.”
“Yeah, I guess so,” Remus said, taking a sip of his coffee. “I’m totally stoked. It’s a bit of a mess—like the kind of place that feels like it’s never been organized or cleaned since the 60’s—but that’s what I like about it.” He shrugged. “Feels right.”
Peter leaned back in the booth, chewing thoughtfully for a moment. “That’s awesome, Remus. Frank got me an interview at his friend’s bar. They’re looking for a bouncer. I think I could actually do that.” He looked a little unsure about the whole thing, but there was a glimmer of hope in his eyes. “I mean, I’m pretty good at making people not start shit, right?”
Marlene snorted. “Yeah, you’re really intimidating with that baby face of yours.”
Peter shot her a playful glare. “I could totally do it. I’m tough when I need to be.”
Marlene smirked. “Sure, tough. You’re practically a teddy bear.”
They both laughed, but Remus couldn’t help feeling a sense of relief. At least Peter had something lined up. Marlene, on the other hand, didn’t seem quite as sure about her next move.
“So, what about you, Marls?” Remus asked, his voice softening. “What’ve you got going on?”
Marlene rolled her eyes, leaning back in the booth and crossing her arms. “I didn’t even want to talk about it, but I got a job as a maid at some shitty motel off the highway. Cleaning up after tourists, yay me. It’s crap, but it’s money.” She let out a sigh, clearly not thrilled by the idea but resigned to it. “Gotta do what I can to survive, right?”
“Jesus, Marls, that sucks,” Peter said, his face wrinkling in sympathy. “But hey, it’s a job. A means to an end.”
She nodded, trying to hide her frustration behind a small smile. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever. It’s just temporary.”
Remus watched her for a moment, knowing that whatever job she was stuck with wasn’t going to satisfy her for long. She had too much fire in her to be stuck cleaning up after people who couldn’t even appreciate it. But right now, it was the best she could do.
They all sat in silence for a beat, each of them lost in their own thoughts, when Peter spoke up again, his voice low.
“What about Dorcas?” he asked. “Have you heard from her again?”
Marlene’s expression faltered, her gaze shifting toward the half-empty coffee cup in front of her. “I... I lost her number,” Marlene admitted. “I wrote it on my arm in ballpoint pen and then took a shower and it washed off.” Then Marlene brightened. “But hey! You are going to see Lily again for sure now that you got the job, so you just have to get me her number. She is the finest chick I’ve ever seen.”
Remus chuckled at her mischievous smile and nodded.
***
Remus’s first day at Flourish & Blotts was everything he had expected and more. The shop was a mix of organized chaos. He had spent the morning sorting through a small mountain of cables and pedals, getting a feel for the store’s stock, and mentally preparing for the customers who would trickle in later. Lily had been there, of course, bustling about behind the counter, her fiery hair tied back in a messy ponytail as she exchanged friendly banter with the regulars. She’d offered him a quick nod when she saw him, busy with her own tasks, but Remus had sensed the shared understanding in her smile. He was part of the team now, and that had given him a quiet sense of pride.
In the back of the shop, tucked away behind an old curtain, was Dumbledore, the store’s resident luthier. Remus had caught his first glimpse of him when he’d wandered into the back to look for a set of strings. Dumbledore was a tall, older man, his long white beard and hair contrasting against the shadowed corner he worked in. The air around him had been thick with a cloud of smoke, the pungent smell of marijuana hanging in the air like a hazy halo. He’d been hunched over a workbench, sanding down the neck of an old guitar with expert precision, his hands steady despite their age. To Remus, the sight had been fascinating, almost mystical—a man lost in his craft, the old wood of the instruments he repaired giving off a quiet, almost sacred energy. Remus had found himself watching Dumbledore work, mesmerized by the rhythm of his movements and the quiet reverence with which he treated each instrument. It’d been clear that this was a man who had spent a lifetime with music woven into the fabric of his being, and Remus hadn’t been able to help but admire the calm, effortless cool that radiated from him as he worked.
At lunch, Lily had taken him out to Ollivander’s, a greasy spoon three blocks from the shop. It had been one of those rare interactions with another human where everything felt both heavy and light at the same time. He hadn’t spoken much on the short walk—Lily had chattered on about the people at work – and he’d listened gratefully.
Once they had gotten comfortable in a booth and ordered lunch, Lily had asked about his family, which was usually a sore subject for him. Remus had never been one to dwell on the past—at least not aloud—but with Lily, something had shifted. Maybe it had been the way Lily had looked at him, her eyes full of understanding, or perhaps it had been the way the afternoon sun had shone through the diner window, casting everything in a bright glow. Something about the moment and about Lily had made him feel like he could share the things he had kept buried for so long. Things he wasn’t even comfortable talking about with his band mates and best friends.
He had told her about his mother—the slow, inevitable march of her illness, the way she had withered in front of him, leaving him with an emptiness he could never quite fill. She had died when he was too young to fully understand it, and yet, the absence of her had always haunted him. Then, his father—distant, cold, and never quite knowing how to show love. He hadn’t really mourned when his father died of a heart attack, not in the way you’d mourn someone you cared deeply about. His father had never been a presence in his life, more a figure that loomed in the background, and when he’d died, it had felt like the final echo of a relationship that had never truly existed.
Lily had listened, never interrupting, her eyes soft with empathy, her own thoughts turning to her own family. She had spoken of Petunia, her sister, with a bitterness that still seemed to really sting. Petunia’s disapproval of Lily’s choices had been constant, an unspoken distance that grew with every year that passed. It had been something Lily had tried, again and again, to bridge, but Petunia had remained unreachable, her judgment always a wall between them. Remus had understood that ache in her voice—the way it felt to be misunderstood by someone who should have known you better than anyone else.
In that loud diner, Remus had felt a connection to Lily that was unspoken but undeniable, and he was sure she had felt it too. Their conversation hadn’t been all serious – plenty of times they had interjected with a sly comment or cheeky remark to keep the conversation from getting too heavy. They’d talked about the trials and tribulations of being in an undiscovered band – the ache of wanting something so badly and so deep in one’s bones that it was physically straining. Lily understood how Moonsick was feeling, having come to a new town and lost their local following from back home. She’d told him about The Marauders’ standing Friday night gig at a club that was owned by the guitarist’s parents, and she had invited him and his friends to join them at the next show. For the first time since he had arrived in LA, Remus had started to relax. Maybe things were looking up – a new job and a new friend – and possibly some new contacts that could help Moonsick find their first gig in LA.
James
James and Sirius’s beachfront apartment was the epitome of a bachelor pad—messy, lived-in, and buzzing with the unmistakable energy of people who had no intention of keeping things tidy. The floors were filled with old rugs and mismatched furniture, each piece adding to the charm of the place. Instruments were strewn about: an electric guitar leaned against the couch, a drum kit wedged in the corner near the window, and amps were stacked up in random places. The air was thick with the scent of incense and stale beer, and the open balcony door let in the salty ocean breeze. There were posters of local bands covering the walls—The Germs, X, Black Flag, The Circle Jerks—giving the apartment the vibe of a garage practice space for a punk band that had yet to hit it big, which was exactly what it was.
Sirius, ever the chaotic force, was perched on one of the stools at the kitchen counter, a shot of whiskey in his hand. He might have had a few too many, and his words were starting to slur slightly as he downed another shot with a grin. Beside him, Dorcas was lounging on the couch, a bottle of beer in her hand, her legs stretched out lazily. James sat next to her, sipping his own beer, feeling content but keeping an eye on Sirius, who was starting to get a bit too rowdy. Dorcas was talking animatedly, her face lighting up with excitement as she described the amazing girl she’d met just a few days ago.
“I swear, James, this girl—she’s something else. She’s got this energy, you know? Like, I haven’t met anyone like her in ages. Her name’s Marlene. She’s just... unreal.”
James chuckled. “Sounds like you’ve got it bad, Dorcas. I can hear it in your voice.”
“Oh, shut up, I do not!” Dorcas laughed, rolling her eyes. “I’m just saying, she’s... she’s different. Like, I can actually have a conversation with her. No pretenses, you know?”
Sirius, who had been listening with half an ear, snorted loudly, raising his glass to them both. “Yeah, yeah, it’s all fun and games until it’s not, girlfriend. But listen, tonight, I’m not looking for a Marlene. I’m picking up someone tonight for a little bit of... fun. Love ’em and leave ‘em. That’s how I roll.” His words were slightly slower now, but his usual smirk never faded.
Dorcas raised an eyebrow, amused. “You never go back for seconds from the same one, do you?”
“Never,” Sirius replied with a wink. “You know me. A little whiskey, a little sex, and I’m good to go to the next. Why would I waste all this on just one person?” Sirius gestured to himself, and James had to admit that he looked like sin waiting to happen for whatever unfortunate soul was lucky—or unlucky—enough to get trapped in Sirius’s web tonight. Shirtless under his favorite motorcycle jacket and clad in a ripped pair of jeans, Sirius was pure sex appeal.
Dorcas rolled her eyes. “What about you, James? Seeing anyone lately? Or anyone you’ve got your eye on?”
Sirius glanced over apprehensively, and James knew his friends were looking out for him on the love front. James was a serial monogamist, and when he fell, he fell hard. There were several times over the years that his friends had needed to nurse him back from a broken heart, as his world fell apart. Luckily for his friends, James was between paramours and usually was pretty level-headed on a night out, not going out of his way to flirt and get laid like Sirius did every night.
Just as the conversation shifted, the door to the apartment swung open, and Frank Longbottom walked in with Alice, his girlfriend, at his side. Frank gave James a quick wave as he entered, looking a little more polished than usual—his usual disheveled appearance replaced by a cleaner shirt and a smile that suggested he was in a good mood. Alice, laughing at something Frank had said, nudged him with her elbow as she followed him inside.
“Yo, Frank!” James greeted him, sitting up a little straighter. “What’s up?”
Frank grinned as he made his way into the living room, dropping into one of the armchairs. Alice followed, sitting beside him, her arm slipping around his neck. “Not much, just came to tell you I’ve got a mate from Seattle in mind for that bouncer job you were talking about,” Frank said, leaning forward. “Name’s Pete. Friendly and knows his way around a bar. He just got into town and is broke. He’s perfect for it.”
James nodded, visibly relieved. “That’s kickass, dude. Thanks. Send him in next week one evening and I’ll talk to him.”
“Pete’s your guy,” Frank assured him. “He’s not the toughest dude out there, but knows how to keep the peace.”
As they talked, the door swung open again, this time revealing Lily Evans. She walked in, looking effortlessly cool in a vintage t-shirt and ripped jeans, her red hair pulled back in a messy bun. She scanned the room with her bright green eyes, stepping into the familiar chaos of their apartment like she had every right to be there.
James looked at Lily affectionately. Lily had been one of James’s long-term relationships back when they were in high school. They’d dated for five years, and everyone had thought they’d get married. They, along with Sirius, had even founded The Marauders back in senior year. When James and Lily had broken up, everyone thought for sure that the band was done for as well, but they had surprised everyone by becoming even closer as just friends. That was the kind of caring soul that Lily was – she had nursed James through their own breakup and then had stayed on as his best friend – after Sirius of course.
Sirius wasn’t just James’s best friend. He was his brother. Back with they were fifteen, James had discovered how horrible Sirius’s home life had become, and had offered him a place to stay during the storm. Sirius had moved in and never left, becoming like another son to his parents. It was one reason why James felt so responsible for Sirius, and was extra cautious to watch the amount of alcohol that Sirius consumed. The image of Sirius, whiskey bottle in hand, laughing a little too loudly at some joke only he seemed to get, lingered in his thoughts. It had become a familiar sight lately—Sirius knocking back drink after drink until his words began to blur and his movements became less controlled. They’d spent countless nights out in the past few weeks, hitting the bars and shows, losing themselves in the music and the chaos of the city, and James couldn’t help but notice the shift.
Sirius had always been the life of the party, the one who would show up with that infectious grin, his energy lighting up a room. But since college graduation, it was like there was something behind the smile, a quiet desperation in the way he clung to the bottle, the way his laughter didn’t reach his eyes. James had known him long enough to spot the signs that Sirius was in his own head. Drinking wasn’t just about having fun anymore. It was a way of numbing something – and James guessed it has something to do with his strained family relationships and his uncertain future. There had been nights when they’d all stumbled out of a bar, the group laughing but Sirius too drunk to stand straight. James would watch him, always the last to leave, always making sure his best friend made it back to the apartment in one piece, but the worry in his chest knew heavier every time. He couldn’t help but wonder when it would stop being a joke, when Sirius’s wild antics would finally catch up with him. James had always been the one to throw himself into the fun of the night, but now, every time he saw Sirius with a drink in hand, unease twisted in his stomach.
“Well, look at this mess,” Lily said with a teasing grin, her eyes briefly landing on Sirius, who was holding yet another whiskey shot.
“Don’t worry, we’re all ready to hit the show,” James said, standing up and reaching for his jacket, determined to keep an eye out again tonight. “You ready?”
“Born ready,” Lily replied, adjusting her bag as she joined them in the doorway.
The group headed out, the evening air cool against their skin as they made their way to the club. It was a night for music, for forgetting about everything but the beat and the people around them—another night to get lost in the chaos of the LA music scene.
Chapter Text
Remus
Kreacher’s was quiet, the clink of silverware and the hum of the neon lights the only sounds breaking the evening stillness. Remus, Marlene, and Peter sat at their usual booth, a chipped ceramic mug of coffee in front of each of them. The place had become a sanctuary of sorts for the trio—a place where they could unwind and talk without the weight of the world pressing on them. The faded booths and cracked menus didn’t bother them. In fact, it had a charm that matched the feel of their lives—unpolished, a little rough around the edges, but comfortable.
Remus leaned back in his seat, a mischievous grin spreading across his face as he continued with his story. "So, I had to help out in the back today, and I ran into Dumbledore, the old luthier. I swear, that man is a walking contradiction. He’s this ancient, silver-bearded guy who looks like he’s seen every decade and never bothered to leave his own little world."
Marlene raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "He sounds dope."
"You have no idea," Remus continued, his eyes twinkling. "So, I thought, 'Alright, I’ll just ask him how things are going back there.' And he looks up from his workbench, with this huge cloud of pot smoke swirling around his head like some kind of magical aura. I swear, it was like he had his own personal fog machine blasting in there."
Peter snorted, nearly spilling his drink. "That’s... that’s pretty rad."
"It gets better," Remus grinned. "So, I ask him how the repairs are going, and he just kind of waves his hand, like it’s no big deal, and says, 'Oh, you know, I’m just in the middle of giving a guitar its soul back.' I have no idea what that means, but the way he said it made me feel like I should be paying more attention. Then, as he’s handing me this old guitar, he goes, 'You know, Remus, every instrument has a story to tell, you just have to listen to it.' And I kid you not, the next thing he says is, 'This one told me it wants to be played in a dark alley with a cigarette and a bottle of whiskey.'"
Marlene burst out laughing, clutching her stomach. "Wait, what?!"
"Yeah," Remus nodded, still amused by the image in his head. "So, naturally, I took the guitar, pretended to give it a ‘listening ear,’ and walked back out. But I’m not sure what’s more insane—him or the fact that he legit believes guitars have souls."
Marlene snorted, reaching for her fries. "Sounds like my kind of dude!" She grinned at Peter, who was casually stirring his coffee, a little lost in thought. "What about you, Pete? Tell us about the new bouncer gig that Frank set you up with."
Peter’s face lit up at the question, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "Actually, it’s totally dope!" he said, his voice a bit more animated. "I had my interview at Godric’s Hollow yesterday, and the lady who interviewed me? You guys would love her. Effie Potter. She’s, like, the epitome of the hippie vibe—just so laid-back and free-spirited. She kept talking about peace, love, and, like, 'letting the energy flow.' I don’t even think I had to do much to convince her. I think she was more interested in my aura than my resume." He paused for a moment, a grin spreading across his face. "And honestly? She was so... genuine. It felt like I could just be myself. I'm about to head to my first shift after dinner, actually."
Remus raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Effie Potter, huh? That sounds like quite the experience."
Peter nodded eagerly. "Yeah, she’s cool. You’d love her, Remus—she’s got this whole thing about non-judgment, about everyone being accepted for who they are. It’s honestly kind of refreshing."
Marlene leaned forward, raising an eyebrow. "So, this bar you work at….the name is…." She paused, her expression morphing into one of realization. "Wait a minute...you just said Godric’s Hollow!"
Remus blinked, then laughed, the sound coming out almost as a disbelief. "Hold on, that’s the bar The Marauders playing at tonight – where Marls and I are going!" He chuckled again, shaking his head. "What are the odds? We’re all going to the same bar tonight, without even realizing it."
Peter stared at him, his mouth open for a moment before he burst out laughing. "Are you serious? That’s where you guys are going, too?"
"Yep," Marlene grinned, a playful gleam in her eyes. "Seems like the universe is conspiring to keep us together!"
Remus shook his head, smiling at the coincidence. He raised his mug in a toast. "To the weirdness of the universe."
Peter and Marlene joined in with their own mugs, clinking them together. "To the weirdness," they echoed, their laughter filling the quiet diner as they finished their meal.
***
After dinner, Peter left them to head to his new job. The sun was starting to dip lower in the sky, casting a warm golden hue over the city as Marlene and Remus wandered through the bustling streets of LA. They had a couple hours to kill before the show, so they decided to wander around the area. After passing a few cafes and record shops, they stumbled upon a little bookstore tucked between a tattoo parlor and a clothing shop. The faded sign above the door read “The Enchanted Quill,” and the heavy wooden door creaked as they pushed it open, the smell of old paper and lavender welcoming them inside.
The bookstore was small but cozy, its wooden shelves crammed with books of all sizes. Dim light filtered through the thick curtains at the windows, casting a soft, almost ethereal glow across the room. Candles flickered on various tables, their flames dancing lazily, and the air smelled strongly of patchouli. In the back, a small glass case displayed crystals, tarot cards, and incense holders. The entire shop had an otherworldly charm, as if it were a little pocket of magic in the middle of LA.
Marlene ran her fingers along the spines of books as they meandered through the aisles. “This place is incredible,” she murmured, eyes wide with delight. "It’s like someone plucked it right out of a fantasy novel."
Remus nodded, his gaze wandering across the shelves. “It feels like a secret hidden in plain sight.” His eyes lingered on a leather-bound book with an intricate, gold-embossed cover. He reached for it, but before he could pull it from the shelf, a voice interrupted them.
“Well, hello there,” said a soft, lilting voice, and both Remus and Marlene turned to find a woman standing behind the counter. She was a bit older than them, with large round glasses and long wavy hair that seemed to shimmer in the dim light. She wore a long, patterned scarf around her neck and had a collection of chunky silver bracelets on her wrists. There was an aura about her that made the room feel even more mystical. Her clothes were dark and eccentric, almost like she had just stepped out of a different time—or maybe a different realm altogether.
“I’m Sybil,” she said, her eyes narrowing slightly, as if she were peering into something beyond them. “Welcome to The Enchanted Quill... a place of knowledge and… other things.”
Marlene raised an eyebrow, exchanging a glance with Remus. “Other things?”
“Oh, yes,” Sybil said, stepping closer, her hands fluttering with the kind of nervous energy that suggested she might be a bit…off-center. “This shop has its own kind of magic, you see. Not just the words in the books, but the vibrations of the space. You may feel them, may not feel them. Some people are more attuned than others. She gave them an almost knowing smile, her eyes twinkling in a way that made Remus’ skin prickle.
Marlene chuckled nervously. “Uh, right, we’re just browsing. I didn’t realize places had that kind of power.”
“Oh, they do,” Sybil replied, her voice dropping even lower. “Books are conduits, you know. They carry energies—stories and even... spirits.” She paused, her gaze sharpening, making Marlene and Remus both feel like she was seeing through them. “I can feel it. You're both at a crossroads, aren't you? Looking for something, but not sure what it is.”
Remus felt a shiver run down his spine at her words. He was pretty sure he knew what he was looking for. “I—uh, I’m not sure I understand…”
Sybil’s eyes gleamed as she tilted her head, her lips curling into a cryptic smile. “Oh, you’ll understand soon enough. Don’t worry. The universe works in mysterious ways… it always makes sure we find what we need, even when we don’t know we’re looking for it.”
Remus blinked, exchanging another confused look with Marlene. “Okay… thanks,” he said, backing away slowly, still not quite sure what had just happened.
As they made their way toward the door, Marlene glanced at Remus with a nervous laugh. “That woman is... something else, huh?”
“Yeah,” Remus said, still a little unsettled. “She actually makes Dumbledore look pretty normal.”
“I’m not sure if I should be freaked out or fascinated,” Marlene said with a shrug. “Either way, I think we should leave before she starts telling us about our past lives or something.”
Remus chuckled, but the unsettled feeling didn’t quite leave him. He couldn’t shake the thought that, just maybe, Sybil had seen something, even if he couldn’t figure out what it was. As they stepped out into the fading light of the street, he couldn’t help but wonder if what he was looking for really was right around the corner.
James
The green room at Godric’s Hollow was a mess of tangled cables, battered instrument cases, and half-empty beer bottles. The walls were covered in graffiti—band logos, scrawled messages, and the occasional obscene doodle. A setlist was taped to the wall, already smudged with fingerprints and beer stains. The air was thick with anticipation and cigarette smoke.
James sat on a ripped-up couch, tuning his guitar with practiced ease. He was already half in the zone, fingers plucking out a few notes as he listened for imperfections, but his eyes kept flicking toward Sirius, who was downing a shot of whiskey near the makeshift vanity. The lighting in the room was dim, a single buzzing fluorescent bulb overhead, casting shadows across Sirius’s sharp cheekbones as he leaned against the counter, smirking at his reflection in the cracked mirror. James sighed. Pace yourself, he wanted to say, but he knew better. This was Sirius’s pre-show ritual: a few drinks, a cigarette, a storm of energy waiting to be unleashed on stage.
Lily sat on the floor cross-legged, drinking a beer while peeling the label into strips. She always did this before a show—her own little ritual. She rolled her shoulders, adjusting the strap of her bass as she went through a mental checklist, her red hair wild around her face. Dorcas, perched on an amp, was idly twirling her drumsticks between her fingers, a restless energy in her movements. “I can’t believe we’re opening for Sectumsempra tonight,” she muttered, kicking her feet. “That’s fucking surreal. They are one of the hottest bands in LA right now”
Sirius let out a low groan, tossing his empty shot glass onto the table with a clink. “What’s surreal is that I’m out of smokes,” he grumbled, patting down his leather jacket pockets like the cigarettes might magically appear. When they didn’t, he made a noise of annoyance and turned toward the door. “I’m running to the corner store,” he announced, already heading for the back exit. “Try not to miss me too much.”
James watched him go, a knot of unease settling in his chest. He hated when Sirius went off alone right before a show—it wasn’t about trust, not really. It was just... Sirius had a habit of finding trouble without even looking for it. But James just pressed his lips together, said nothing, and turned his attention back to his guitar.
***
This was James’s favorite part of the show, the anticipation. The lights dimmed, and for a brief moment, the venue seemed to hold its breath. The murmur of the crowd swelled, restless, electric. Then—the first crash of Dorcas’s drums, sharp and violent, a heartbeat setting the pulse of the song. A split-second later, James’s guitar tore through the tension, a raw, distorted riff that sent a shockwave through the packed room. The energy ignited instantly, bodies pressing forward, a sea of movement and sweat and sound.
And then there was Sirius.
He stepped into the light, leather jacket hanging loose off his shoulders, black hair falling wild around his face, his lips already curled into a devil-may-care smirk. He gripped the microphone stand like it was a lover he couldn’t wait to caress. For a moment, he just stood there, eyes sweeping over the crowd, his presence alone commanding every gaze, every breath. Then he exhaled a slow, lazy laugh, and with a flick of his wrist, he sent the mic stand crashing down.
The room erupted.
Sirius sang like a man possessed, his voice a raw, velvety snarl. He prowled the stage, untamed, electric, a force of nature that couldn’t be contained. He climbed onto the amps, balancing on the edge like he might dive straight into the crowd at any second. He tilted his head back, arms wide, embracing the sheer chaos of it all. The lights strobed in dizzying patterns—reds and blues and flashes of white, illuminating him like some kind of fallen angel.
Lily and James locked into a groove, their instruments throbbing together seamlessly, their years of playing side by side evident in every note.
James’s fingers moved instinctively over the strings, his body locked into the music, but his mind drifted. It always happened on stage, in those in-between moments when the muscle memory took over, when his hands knew what to do without him thinking. The roar of the crowd, the flashing lights, the sheer force of the music – it all blurred, and suddenly, he was back in the green room, just an hour earlier.
Sirius had been gone longer than he should have. James had checked his watch, paced a little, trying not to let the worry settle too deep. When the back door had finally creaked open, Sirius had stepped inside, cigarette already between his lips, but something had been off. He hadn’t been smirking. He hadn’t been bragging about some ridiculous encounter on his way back. He had just exhaled a slow stream of smoke, shook out his hair, and sat down heavily on the old couch, staring at nothing in particular.
James had known Sirius long enough to recognize the shift—something had happened. A fight? A run-in with some asshole? Or maybe something worse, something James couldn’t fix. He’d wanted to ask, What happened? Who did you see? Did they say something to you? But he knew Sirius. He’d known that pushing would only make him retreat further. So instead, James had just grabbed his guitar and started tuning it, acting like he wasn’t watching Sirius out of the corner of his eye.
When Lily announced it was time, they all had fallen into their pre-show ritual—something that had started as a joke but had become almost sacred. They had stood in a circle, foreheads almost touching, hands stacked on top of one another’s. A quick, whispered chant of don’t fuck it up, don’t fuck it up, followed by a sharp clap and Sirius’s inevitable let’s burn this place to the fucking ground.
And just like that, Sirius had been back. Whatever had weighed on him before was gone, or at least buried deep enough that his stage persona could take over.
James snapped back to the present just in time to nail his solo, the roar of the crowd swallowing the last of his thoughts.
Midway through the set, Sirius ripped off his jacket and tossed it into the crowd, sweat gleaming on his collarbones as he ran a hand through his hair, eyes burning with something almost otherworldly. He grabbed James by the shoulder, half-singing, half-snarling into his face before laughing wildly and shoving him away. James rolled his eyes but grinned, launching into another solo that sent the crowd into a frenzy.
By the last song, the mosh pit was full of bodies, the air thick with the smell of beer, cigarettes, and adrenaline. Sirius climbed onto the drum kit, balancing precariously as he howled the final chorus into the mic, his free hand reaching toward the crowd, before he jumped down.
Then—one last crash of the cymbals. One last wailing note from James’s guitar. Sirius stood at the edge of the stage, chest heaving, sweat-slick and feral, a smirk still playing on his lips as he leaned into the mic.
“See you in hell, LA.”
And with that, he dropped the mic, and stormed off stage.
Remus
Remus and Marlene pushed through the heavy doors of Godric’s Hollow, stepping into the dimly lit haze of the bar. The place was packed, bodies pressed together in conversation, laughter, and the steady pulse of music humming beneath it all. The scent of stale beer, sweat, and cigarette smoke clung to the air.
Peter was easy to spot, leaning against the entrance of the side hallway where the security post was stationed. His bouncer t-shirt looked comically oversized, sleeves rolled up to make it somewhat fit, and he wore the kind of smug grin that said he was taking his new role seriously.
“Look who it is,” Peter called as they approached. “Fancy meeting you here!”
Marlene snorted, clapping Peter on the back as she passed. “I’m grabbing a beer. You want anything, Remus?”
Remus shook his head. “I’m good. Gonna check my machine real quick—see if Lily left us a meeting spot.”
Remus headed back out the door around the side of the bar to head into the alley where he thought he remembered seeing a payphone. He rounded the corner, the dim neon glow of the Godric’s Hollow sign casting flickering shadows against the brick walls. He was barely paying attention, already fishing in his pocket for a few quarters, when—
Smack!!!
The impact of his body with another jolted through him, solid and sudden, as he stumbled back a step. And then he looked up.
Fuck.
The man standing in front of him was beautiful in a way that felt unfair, almost preternatural. Long black hair fell in careless waves around his face, slightly damp from sweat, some strands clinging to his sharp cheekbones. His lips were parted in surprise, breath still slightly heavy, like he had been running—or maybe like he was always on the edge of something wild. A cigarette dangled loosely from his fingers, the ember flaring as he took a slow inhale, dark eyes locked onto Remus with a lazy intensity that sent something electric skittering down his spine.
His white t-shirt clung in all the right places, fabric damp with exertion, a flash of inked skin visible at the edge of the stretched neckline. He saw more ink on his biceps, lean and solid. The way the sleeve of his t-shirt stretched just slightly around them made Remus’s mouth go dry, the subtle curve of muscle catching the low light, a hint of a vein visible when he flexed his fingers. Not imposing, not showy—just effortless, like everything else about him. He looked like he had just walked out of some untouchable dream—like he belonged to the night.
For a split second, they just stood there. Remus’s breath caught, heartbeat a little too loud in his own ears.
The man blinked, momentarily stunned, then let out a low chuckle. He took a slow step back, dragging his eyes over Remus like he was sizing him up—like he was interested.
“Well, well,” he murmured, his voice smooth, edged with amusement. “Didn’t realize I was in someone’s way.” He tilted his head, a smirk curling at the corner of his lips. “Or were you just looking for an excuse to run into me?”
He took a lazy drag from his cigarette, exhaling the smoke in a slow ribbon between them. “Not that I mind,” he added, dark eyes flicking over Remus’s face, lingering for just a second too long. “Could think of worse things to crash into.”
Remus felt his brain short-circuit for a second, his usual quick wit drowning under the weight of those gray eyes. The way the other man looked at him—eyes burning with something teasing, something hungry—sent a pulse of heat through his chest, straight down to his stomach, and down to his groin.
His mouth opened slightly, like maybe a response would come, something clever or at least coherent. Nothing did. His thoughts were still tangled up in the low, husky sound of the man’s voice.
He swallowed, forcing himself to blink, to breathe, and let out an awkward half-laugh. “Right. Yeah. Crashing. Sorry about that.” His voice was steadier than he felt, though not by much. Remus shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans, trying to look unaffected, like his heart wasn’t currently hammering inside his chest. “I, uh, wasn’t looking where I was going.” He glanced at the cigarette in Sirius’s hand, at the way his fingers curled around it.
Fuck, I need to stop staring.
Sirius exhaled another slow drag of smoke, cocking his head just slightly. “Shame,” he mused. “Would’ve liked to think you ran into me on purpose.”
And just like that, Remus was totally done for.
***
As soon as Remus stepped back into the bar, still feeling like his skin was buzzing, he beelined for Marlene, who was standing near the stage with a half-drunk beer in hand.
She barely had time to turn before he grabbed her arm, eyes wide. “Marlene. I just ran into the most insanely gorgeous man, and I made a complete ass of myself.”
Marlene perked up immediately, grinning like a cat that just found a new toy. “Oh? Define insanely gorgeous.”
Remus exhaled sharply, shoving a hand through his curly hair. “Long black hair, messy in that perfect way. Piercing gray eyes, tattoos, a cigarette hanging from his lips like he walked straight out of a fucking movie.” He shook his head. “And he was so cool. He said something flirty, and I just—nothing. Brain completely short-circuited.”
Marlene let out a delighted laugh, shoving his shoulder. “You? At a loss for words? That’s tragic. Absolutely tragic. I guess it happens to the best of us.” She took a slow sip of her beer. “And where is this dreamboat now?”
“I don’t know.” Remus sighed, running a hand down his face. “I ran off before I could do anything about it. Probably scared him off.”
Marlene smirked. “Oh, please. If he’s as hot as you say, he’s probably got people throwing themselves at him constantly. Maybe he liked that you were a little flustered.”
Remus groaned. “Doubtful.”
Marlene, however, was already scanning the crowd, eyes sharp with purpose. “Well, now I have to find him,” she declared. “Long black hair, cigarette, stupidly pretty? He can’t be that hard to spot.”
Remus sighed, accepting his fate. He would probably never see the man again – it would be just his luck.
As the bar started to fill with more people and the time for the show to begin grew closer, Remus kept his eyes out for the beautiful stranger. He was really excited to see Lily and Dorcas’s band for sure, but all that excitement was being eclipsed by nervous energy. How could he have been so….so….utterly dumb? Remus had never felt at a loss for words before, but he had also never met someone that he had reacted to so strongly. Sure, Remus had dated plenty of men in his past and was comfortable flirting. He had even been called handsome and charming on more than one occasion by boyfriends and potential suitors. So why was this happening to him now, when it really mattered? Maybe he just wasn’t remembering him clearly – there is no way that any human had a right to be that gorgeous.
Hell, maybe it was a fever dream.
Suddenly the lights dimmed, and Remus could see shadowed figures making their way across the stage and getting into position. He smiled, annoyed with himself for wallowing, and elbowed Marlene. “Show’s about to start. You see your chick up there yet?”
Marlene craned her neck and was able to make out the slim silhouette of a woman folding herself behind the drum kit in the middle of the stage. She grinned over at him and winked.
Remus could see Lily and another man, the guitar player, taking the stage and strapping on their instruments. Another tall figure swooped out on stage just as the lights went on. Remus’s jaw dropped.
Oh fuck. It’s him. It wasn’t a dream. He really is as fucking beautiful as I remember. Shit.
Remus’s insides immediately exploded, and his skin began to tingle again. He took in the way the man moved onstage – like liquid seduction and defiance. He recognized that throaty, growl from the conversation outside and Remus’s insides melted a little. My God, he had it bad.
Marlene looked over at Remus, surprised to see him standing completely still in the sea of bobbing heads.
“You ok?” she nudged.
Remus couldn’t take his eyes off the frontman. “It’s him,” he shouted over the throbbing music. “It’s the guy from outside!”
Marlene could see that Remus was having trouble breathing. She laughed and gave him a one-armed hug. “Relax, babe. You do realize we are hanging out with him after the show, right? He’s Lily’s bandmate.”
Remus exhaled. Holy shit. Okay, maybe he could redeem himself for the ridiculous way he acted outside. He started to calm down a little.
Lily’s band wasn’t just loud—it was raw, a chaotic blend of power chords that seemed to tear through the atmosphere. A sense of urgency in every note, like the band was throwing everything they had into each song, every riff sharp and unrefined. The bass line—Remus’s own point of focus—was a thrumming pulse. It was gritty and unapologetic, the kind of sound that rattled in your ribcage and made you feel like you were doing something reckless.
And the frontman? When the songs were fast, he was all wild limbs and reckless abandon—his black hair whipping around him, boots stomping the stage like he was trying to crack it open, twisting his body like he was fighting the music and surrendering to it at the same time. When the music slowed, he swayed more gently, rolling his hips, dragging his fingers through sweat-damp hair, like he knew exactly how many eyes were on him. A few times it seemed like he got lost in the music, and it seemed to Remus that he was transported somewhere else—eyes shut, arms outstretched, body moving like the music is inside his veins, thrumming under his skin. Remus couldn’t take his eyes off him.
The final notes of the set rang out, reverberating through the air like the last echoes of a thunderstorm. The crowd roared in approval. The stage lights began to dim, and Dorcas and Lily, both flushed from the performance, made their way offstage, weaving through the backstage area toward them.
Dorcas was still grinning, her eyes twinkling mischievously as she nudged Marlene, who was standing near the corner of the room. “Not bad, huh?” she said, her voice low but brimming with excitement. She tossed her hair over her shoulder, her fingers brushing against Marlene’s arm in a way that made both of them pause.
Marlene flashed her an amused grin, meeting her eyes as she leaned in slightly. “You were fucking amazing, Dorcas. You were all amazing.” There was something in Marlene’s gaze that made Dorcas’s grin widen.
“Thanks, babe.” Dorcas teased, stepping closer. She reached up to push a stray lock of hair from Marlene’s face, fingers lingering just a little too long, and Marlene didn’t move away.
“You two were incredible,” Remus said, his voice cracking as he looked at Dorcas and Lily.
Lily grinned, shrugging. “It’s easy when you’ve got the crowd in your pocket. This is our home bar and we’ve been playing here for years,” she replied, scanning the room.
“Don’t sell yourself short. That was an amazing set in any bar.” Remus said, still smiling.
Lily blushed slightly, her fingers brushing the edge of her hair. “I appreciate that. Really. And I’ll introduce you to James and Sirius in a minute, okay? They’ll want to meet you.”
Just then, the tall guitarist emerged from backstage, a wide grin on his face, his energy still radiating from the show. He waved at the group.
“Hey, Lily! Dorcas!” His voice was cheerful, his smile infectious. He was slightly breathless, still riding the high of the performance, but there was a warmth to him that made everyone feel welcome.
Lily stepped forward, introducing everyone to James, who greeted them with a firm handshake and a laugh. The group easily fell into conversation, but Lily’s eyes kept wandering around the bar. Finally, Lily pointed to the bar. “There’s our fearless frontman, Sirius. His habit of picking up girls at shows—no matter how many times we’ve been out—is... consistent.” Her tone was laced with a strange mix of amusement and resignation. “He’s got this way of drawing them in, you know? It’s almost impressive.”
Remus, who had been trying not to stare at the way Sirius interacted with the girl, felt a pang in his chest. His stomach tightened as the words settled into his mind, his thoughts spiraling. The casual way Lily said it, like it was a fact of life, hit Remus harder than he expected.
Of course he wasn’t interested. He was just playing a part. And of course he’s into girls. Just my luck.
He swallowed, shifting uncomfortably on his feet. “Right. I suppose he’s... just the type who doesn’t want to be tied down.” The words came out far more strained than he intended.
Lily glanced at him quickly, her brow furrowing slightly.
But before she could respond, James was already pulling their attention back, asking if they wanted to grab a drink before the next band. He brought them all of round of beers and the small group pressed toward the front of the stage to watch Sectumsempra. It was the last time Remus saw Sirius that night. But it certainly wasn’t the last time he thought about him.
Notes:
Sectumsempra basically is just Tool 2.0!
Chapter 5: June 29, 1991
Chapter Text
Sirius
Sirius rolled onto his back, wincing as a dull throb pounds against his skull. The sheets smelled like stale perfume and cigarettes, unfamiliar and suffocating. He barely remembered the girl’s name—Allison? Alyssa?—but it didn’t matter. His mouth tasted like whiskey and regret, his limbs heavy with the weight of another night gone too far. But through the haze of his hangover, it wasn’t her he’s thinking about.
It’s him. The guy in the alley.
Sirius remembered the first thing he noticed—his mouth. A little chapped, like he chewed on his lips when he was thinking too hard, but soft and distracting. The kind of mouth that looked like it belonged to someone who didn’t smile often, but when he did, it would ruin you. Then his eyes—chocolate brown, framed by dark lashes—fucking haunted, fucking beautiful—that had lingered too long before flicking away like he was afraid to be caught looking. His hair had been a mess, unruly curls falling over his shoulders like he’d run his hands through it too many times, the color shifting between deep brown and amber under the neon glow. There had been something almost careless about him—the way his ripped flannel hung loose over a faded band tee, the sleeves shoved up just enough to show sharp wrists and a tattoo on his forearm, something about phases of the moon. His jeans had been torn at the knees, scuffed Doc Martens tapping against the pavement like he was impatient, like he was always on the edge of leaving.
But it was the way he’d carried himself that got under Sirius’s skin. Like he didn’t quite belong anywhere but had stopped caring. Like he’d been through too much, had seen too much, and had made peace with it. He had that kind of beauty that wasn’t deliberate, wasn’t self-aware—it was just there, etched into his bones, waiting for someone to notice. And Sirius had noticed. Fuck, had he noticed.
Sirius wiped a hand over his face, trying to shake it off, but it stuck to him like the smoke clinging to his clothes. He’d met a thousand pretty boys, a thousand sad-eyed musicians and poets – and fucked his fair share of them – but this guy was different. Sirius didn’t know how, didn’t know why, but the thought of him won’t fucking leave.
The girl beside him shifted and Sirius groaned inwardly. The girl rolled over to face him, stretching before cracking open mascara-smudged eyes. Allison. Right—her name was Allison. Or maybe Alyssa. Sirius didn’t bother asking. He was already swinging his legs over the side of the bed, searching for his jeans in the dim morning light streaming through the blinds.
“Leaving already?” Her voice was rough from sleep, teasing but not particularly surprised. She propped herself up on one elbow, the sheet slipping down just enough to be tempting, but Sirius wasn’t in the mood.
“Yeah,” he muttered, stuffing his cigarettes into his pocket. His head was pounding, and his throat was dry, and all he really wanted was to be anywhere but here.
She watched him for a second, then sighed, reaching over to the nightstand, grabbing a pen. “Here,” she said, grabbing his arm before he can dodge her. She scribbled a number onto the inside of his wrist. “In case you wanna do this again.”
He flashed her a half-smirk, all charm, no commitment, and doesn’t bother promising anything. By the time she was stretching back out under the covers, he was already pulling on his boots, already out the door, stepping into the too-bright morning into the too-loud city. The air was thick with last night’s mistakes, and his head was still swimming with whiskey and something else—something brown-eyed and soft-mouthed, something he can’t shake.
Sirius shoved his hands into his pockets and started walking, the ink on his wrist already smudging with sweat. As he walked, he let the salt ocean air cleanse the smell of the girl’s perfume from his nose, and the pounding in his head started to subside. Finally, he stumbled through the door of the apartment, the sound of his boots on the floor the only thing that cut through the silence. He’d barely taken two steps into the living room when James looked up from the couch, a grin spreading across his face.
“Finally. Thought you disappeared,” James said, rolling over and propping himself up on his elbows. His hair was a mess, eyes still half-lidded from the night before, but there was a relieved warmth in his voice. “You’re still in one piece, at least.”
Sirius dropped his jacket on the back of a chair, tossing his keys onto the counter. “Yeah, well, sorry for disappearing. I just had… things to do.” He flung himself on the couch next to James.
James raised an eyebrow. “Things, huh? Or a girl, more likely. Sounds like you’ve had a night.” He grinned, obviously a little tipsy still, but something in his gaze softened. “Hey, you missed the post-show hang. We all went to Ollivander’s for breakfast.”
Sirius quirked an eyebrow. “Who all’s we?” Realization dawned on him. “Oh God, Lily’s going to kill me. I was supposed to meet her new friend from work. And Dorcas and her new chick. Man, are they pissed off?”
“Probably, dude. But it’s not like you are known for being dependable when a chick’s involved. Anyway, it was late—everyone was a little drunk—and we all needed coffee.” His grin widened. “Lily, Dorcas and her chick Marlene who is totally badass, Frank, Alice, … and, of course, Lily’s new BFF.”
Sirius nodded absentmindedly. “New BFF?”
James nodded. “Yeah, name is Remus. Oh, and this is crazy – our new bouncer, Pete? He and Remus and Marlene are all in a band together, and Frank knows them from Seattle. Says they really fucking jam hard. It was such a weird coincidence. We all ended up sitting there, talking about music and life. You’d really like them, man”
Sirius yawned. “Sounds like a party, dude.”
James laughed, his voice still a little slurred from the alcohol. “It was, man. You should’ve been there. Anyway, we’re going to see if they can open for us sometime in the next few weeks when there’s room on the bill.”
“Cool,” Sirius stretched. “I’m gonna hit the showers.”
Sirius stepped into the shower, the cool spray of water hitting his skin, but it didn’t shake the thoughts creeping into his mind. He leaned his hands against the tiles, letting the water run over him, feeling it wash away the grime of the night—but not the thoughts.
Chocolate brown eyes, dark curls, soft mouth.
His face echoed in Sirius’s head, a face that felt like a dark secret, like something he shouldn’t want, but does anyway. It’s not just the memory of the alley, not just the fleeting moments when their eyes locked and the world went quiet. It’s the way the guy made him feel—like they were the only two people in the world.
Sirius ran his hands over his face, scrubbing at the remnants of last night’s drunken haze. He tried to focus, but his thoughts kept drifting back to that moment. The way the guy’s lips parted just slightly as if he’d almost said something else, but then closed again, a little too quickly, like he didn’t trust himself to speak.
Sirius felt the heat rising in his chest, his fingers trailing down his neck absentmindedly. His thoughts flickered again—the guy’s voice low but fucking captivating, the way he moved, his eyes, his lips…
Sirius’s hand slid lower, over his chest, over the curve of his stomach, his mind caught on the guy’s hands—those long fingers, the way they might feel on him, under him. The water ran down his body, but it was not enough to cool the heat in his veins, the restlessness building in him. His breath hitched, and for a second, it’s like he was right there, the tension of the night before still clinging to him. The steam rose around him, the world shrinking until it’s just the two of them….
Remus
The bell above the door jingled as Remus stepped into Flourish & Blotts for his Saturday morning shift. It was still early, the shop not yet crowded, quiet except for the soft murmur of voices. Lily was behind the counter, adjusting a stack of receipts, her red hair spilling over her shoulders in waves. She looked up as he entered, offering him a warm smile, though there’s a hint of curiosity in her eyes.
"Morning, Remus," she greeted, her voice cheery, but there was something about the way she looked at him that makes him feel like he’s been caught in a lie, though he hasn't said a word.
"Morning," he muttered, giving her a small nod as he walked further into the shop.
Lily raised an eyebrow, leaning against the counter, arms folded. “You alright?” she asked, her tone light but her eyes studying him closely. “You’re a bit… distracted this morning. Little too much partying? You didn’t seem too bad at Ollivander’s last night.”
Remus forced a smile, but it felt off—like it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah, just… tired, you know?” He ran a hand through his hair, trying to shake off the whispers in his mind. Yet his mind drifted back to Sirius—the meeting in the alley, his sexy grin, the way he’d moved on stage like he owned the place, the way Remus has followed his every move.
Remus blinked, pulling himself out of the memory. He cleared his throat, glancing up at Lily, but he didn’t quite meet her eyes. “It’s nothing. Just… it’s been a weird couple of weeks, you know?” He shrugged. “I’m totally stoked you guys are going to try to get us a gig. I can’t tell you enough how much that means to us.”
“For sure! Dorcas is just as excited to be able to help you guys out. And if Frank says you guys are killer, that’s enough for James. He just has to find a time that there’s an opening on the schedule. And wait until you meet Sirius. Sorry he was MIA, but you’ll love him, too. He’s wild and crazy and can seem like a real asshole, but underneath it all he’s a giant cream puff. He and James have been friends forever.”
Remus’s chest tightened at the mention of his name. It was like his whole body remembered the way Sirius had looked in the alley—confident, reckless, magnetic. The way he’d grinned like he was daring Remus to make the first move, to acknowledge the pull between them. Then his chest fell, remembering how Sirius had ditched his friends to go home with the blond chick at the bar.
Just then, Barty Crouch strolled into the store from the back office, a relaxed air about him as he shook out his shoulder length fair hair and stretched luxuriously. His presence was the opposite of what you’d expect from someone in his management position. There was no stiff formality, no cold distance. Instead, he was all laid-back charm, as though the weight of being a manager didn’t quite reach him. The way he moved suggested someone who's in control, but didn’t feel the need to flaunt it.
“Morning, Remus,” he greeted with a lazy smile, leaning casually against the counter. His eyes flickered briefly to Lily, but it was clear his focus was more on Remus, the slight amusement playing at the corners of his mouth. “Everything running smoothly today?”
Remus straightened up and gave a tight nod, his hands smoothing over the counter. “Yeah, all good. Just getting started, you know.”
“You have a good time at the show last night? The Marauders are fucking wicked, man. Lily won’t be working here too much longer before they hit it big,” Barty declared.
Remus’s stomach twisted at the mention of the night before. Lily grinned and put her head back down, totaling up the receipts from the night before.
“You were never in a band, Barty?” Remus inquired.
Barty smiled enigmatically. “Never wanted to be. Got left this shop by my old man, and just love being near musicians. Especially certain ones – like Evan, my boyfriend, who should be coming in any minute now.”
Barty winked at him before turning toward the back office. “Alright, I’ll leave you to it. Just keep things ticking along. Remus. Lily. You know the drill.”
And with that, Barty slipped into his office, leaving Remus to gawk after him. There was a relief in the realization that Barty had a boyfriend, a quiet comfort in knowing that someone as effortlessly confident as Barty could be open about who he is. It’s not like Remus didn’t know plenty of gay men in Seattle, but they weren’t as open about it as here in LA. It’s nice to know he had someone here who to understand him.
Marlene
Marlene dragged the cleaning cart down the dimly lit hallway, the wheels squeaking against the stained carpet. The whole place smelled like stale cigarette smoke and industrial lemon cleaner, an unholy combination that made her wrinkle her nose. She fished the key from her apron pocket, swiped it through the lock, and braced herself as she pushed the door open.
The room was disgusting.
Beer bottles littered the nightstand, their sticky remnants congealing into a dark amber crust. The comforter was half on the floor, revealing sheets that were questionably stained. The smell of something—sweat, cheap cologne, regret—hung in the air. She didn’t even want to know what was crusted onto the remote control abandoned on the bed. With a sigh, she grabbed her gloves and got to work.
As she stripped the bed, she let her mind wander, anything to distract from the biohazard before her.
Dorcas.
God, Dorcas Meadowes was hot. The kind of hot that made Marlene forget what she was saying mid-sentence. Deep brown shimmering skin, with a laugh that seeped into Marlene’s bones every time she heard it. And the way she played drums last night? It was stupidly attractive.
Marlene wanted Moonsick to get a gig so badly it hurt. They deserved to be up on those stages. But the L.A. scene was brutal, and breaking in felt like clawing up a wall of concrete. She was totally amped that Dorcas and Lily wanted them to play at Godric’s Hollow soon. Even James had taken Frank’s word that Moonsick was the real deal.
She scrubbed at a questionable stain on the nightstand and tried to picture playing a set in front of Dorcas. Maybe if they got the right show, the right people watching, someone would notice. Maybe then, Marlene could finally stop scrubbing dried puke off motel sinks and spend more time around Dorcas, preferably in situations that didn’t involve rubber gloves and bleach.
She exhaled sharply, dragging the mop across the sticky floor. One day. One gig. It was going to happen soon.
Chapter Text
Remus
Moonsick sat anxiously in the green room at Godric's Hollow, the air thick with the smell of sweat and cigarettes. Remus sat on a worn-out chair in the corner, adjusting the strap on his bass, his mind focused on the music, but his nerves were frayed. He could feel the electric hum of the crowd outside, but it wasn’t that which had his heart racing—it was the thought of Sirius.
Sirius, who had been in and out of his thoughts since their accidental run-in outside the club weeks ago. He was here tonight—or so Lily said— and the proximity was enough to make Remus’s skin tighten, his heartbeat unsteady.
Right now, Peter was nervously drumming on the arm of the dilapidated old couch that Marlene and Dorcas were snuggling on, and their closeness was making Remus feel unusually jealous.
The door swung open, and Lily, James, and Sirius walked in. Their laughter was the first thing Remus noticed, easy and loud, but the moment his eyes landed on Sirius, everything else seemed to fade. Sirius walked in like he owned the room, as usual, a smirk tugging at his lips. He tossed a glance Remus’s way, and for just a moment, the world outside the green room didn’t exist.
The others made their way to the mini-fridge, grabbing beers, talking about the set, but Sirius didn’t look away from Remus.
“Lily,” Remus muttered, swallowing hard, his voice a little tighter than usual, “good to see you.” He regretfully tore his focus away from Sirius.
Lily gave him a giant hug. “You look... tense. Don’t be nervous, you guys are going to be fantastic. By the way, this is Sirius. I can’t believe you guys haven’t met yet.”
Remus leaned forward to shake hands with Sirius. As Sirius extended his hand, a devilish smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth. The moment felt almost too casual, too normal, but when Remus took his hand, something flickered in the air—like static electricity in a storm.
Sirius held the handshake just a second too long, his grin widening as he watched Remus’s reaction. He leaned in slightly, his voice low but teasing. “Careful, Remus, you might burn yourself.”
Remus swallowed, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks, but he refused to break. “I’m used to the heat,” he replied, his voice steady but carrying an edge.
Sirius’s smirk only deepened, his thumb brushing lightly against Remus’s hand before finally releasing him, though it felt like the touch lingered. "Well, lucky for you, I like to play with fire," he said with a wink.
Remus couldn’t help the dry chuckle that escaped him, the corners of his lips pulling up despite himself. "And I’m sure you’re really good at it." The moment felt thick with unspoken words, the tension hanging in the air like an electric charge neither could ignore.
Sirius leaned back with a satisfied smile, his eyes still locked on Remus, as if the whole room was just a backdrop to the space between them.
"Let’s hope you're ready, then," Sirius added, his voice still playful.
***
The air before their set was thick with anticipation. Remus, Peter and Marlene made their way onto the darkened stage with their instruments. Remus was still buzzing from the interaction with Sirius. It certainly seemed like the chick from the other night wasn’t in the picture, and Remus felt his hopes starting to rise again. He decided to channel all the tension he was feeling into making this night the best set Moonsick had ever had.
Suddenly the lights went up, Peter counted off, and their first song started.
Peter’s hands were steady on the drums, the beat thundering in time with the adrenaline racing through his veins. His drumming had that loose, frantic edge but he found his groove fast, the cymbals crashing with a hypnotic rhythm that set the tone for the whole night. There was something about his drumming that gave Moonsick’s sound an unpolished, almost anarchic feel. It wasn’t neat or clean, but that’s what made it perfect.
Marlene stood front and center, her guitar strapped on, a snarl plastered across her face. She was a force of nature—her energy undeniable as she belted out the opening lyrics, her voice raspy and full of power. She had the kind of stage presence that made you want to watch her, to see what she was going to do next. She was fierce, untamed, and unapologetically loud. She didn’t just sing—she screamed the words, giving every syllable the weight of defiance and rebellion.
And then there was Remus, standing to the side, his bass slung low, eyes focused, fingers flying over the strings with practiced precision. He wasn’t the type to be the center of attention, but his basslines were thick and driving. They gave the whole sound depth—a steady, grounding undercurrent that balanced the Peter’s drums and Marlene’s guitar. Remus was more contained, but his intensity bled into every note he played. His sound was the backbone.
The crowd, sweaty and close, fed off of the energy the band was giving out. The vibe was a perfect storm of frustration and freedom, each song a raw expression of angst. The kind of show where you didn’t stand still—where you didn’t just watch but became part of the noise.
Remus looked out over the crowd to find his group of friends lost in the music amidst a crowd of writhing bodies. He saw James headbanging to the wailing of Marlene’s guitar, while Lily and Dorcas screamed and danced together, throwing their bodies to the beat of the drums. He even saw Sirius bobbing his head to his own pulsing bass line, gray eyes staring at him unblinkingly.
When they hit the last song of the set, the tension in the room was palpable. Marlene’s voice cracked with emotion, her eyes wild as she sung the final words of the song, the feedback from her guitar ringing out. Peter’s drums crashed one last time, and the set was over.
They didn’t even wait for the applause before they rushed offstage, breathing heavily, the adrenaline still pumping. Remus felt the emotion of the night and nearly collapsed backstage into the arms of Peter and Marlene.
Moonsick had just given everything they had—unpolished, imperfect, but all heart.
Sirius
Sirius had walked into the green room with his usual swagger. He’d been amped up about the show tonight and ready to meet this band that had all his friends talking. He’d looked around the room, taking in Dorcas and the blond woman cuddling on the coach, and the clean-cut looking guy twirling his drumsticks around his fingers like he was warming up for Armageddon. Then his eyes had landed on the man in the corner. It was like a jolt through his chest, a flash of recognition that hit him like a bolt of lightning.
His breath had caught in his throat as his eyes locked onto the man's face. That wild, unruly hair. That look—the same one he had seen in the alley. The same man who had crossed his path weeks ago, under the glow of dim streetlights, whose face had haunted him since.
Remus.
The realization had slammed into Sirius like a wave, and for a moment, he froze. His mouth had gone dry, his heart suddenly thudding too hard in his chest. He couldn’t believe it—not here, not now. This was the man from the alley. The one who had looked at him like he didn’t matter, and yet had somehow mattered more than anything else.
Sirius didn’t know how long he stood there, just staring, as the moment stretched between them, thick with unspoken words, a history neither of them had acknowledged. It had felt as though the room itself had faded away, leaving only the two of them in the silence.
Sirius blinked, breaking the spell, but the shock had lingered, rushing through him like a wildfire. His mouth had opened, but no words came out at first. He wasn’t sure what to say, what to do with this sudden flood of recognition, this connection that neither of them had ever expected.
Then, Lily broke the tension by introducing them. Sirius finally collected his wits enough to flirt with Remus, and he was pretty sure that Remus had responded in kind.
“Something wrong, Sirius?” James had asked, after Moonsick had left the green room to head to the stage.
Sirius had cleared his throat, forcing himself to look away for a second, his usual grin sliding back into place, though it was a little too forced. “Nah,” he’d said with a casual shrug. “Just didn’t expect to see a ghost.”
***
The hum of the crowd still buzzed in Sirius’s ears as he made his way through the post-show chaos, weaving between sweaty bodies and spilled drinks. The scent of beer and cigarettes clung to the air, and the dim lighting gave the whole room a hazy, electric feel. Moonsick’s set had just ended, and the place was alive, the buzz of adrenaline and excitement still vibrating through the walls.
Sirius’s eyes scanned the room for Remus. He hadn’t seen him in the crowd after the show, but he had a feeling Remus was nearby. Sirius finally found him by the bar, standing off to the side, nursing a drink and trying to look like he wasn’t still floating on the high of the performance.
Remus caught sight of him first, and his lips curled into a small, knowing smile as Sirius approached. "Enjoy the show?" Remus’s voice was smooth, his eyes flicking over Sirius.
Sirius leaned casually against the bar beside him, letting his body angle toward Remus just enough that their shoulders were almost touching. "It was goddamn badass" he said, a playful smirk on his face. "I thought I was gonna lose my hearing halfway through."
Remus chuckled, a sound that was as low and melodic. "Come on, it wasn’t that loud. And it’s not just about the sound, it’s about... feeling it, too."
Sirius turned to look at him, his smirk softening. "Oh, I’m feeling it," he said, his voice a little lower than usual. "Believe me."
The air between them thickened, a quiet tension settling in as they stood side by side. Remus looked down at his drink for a moment, but he didn’t move away. "Yeah?" he asked, finally glancing back up at Sirius, his voice quiet and teasing. "Feeling what, exactly?"
Sirius’s eyes lingered on Remus’s lips before he looked back into his eyes. "Oh, I don’t know. Maybe this." Without warning, Sirius moved just enough to nudge his shoulder against Remus’s, the touch lingering longer than it should. The contact was simple, but it felt like the quiet crackle of static before lightning strikes.
Remus raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a half-smile. "Is that how you flirt, Black? By pretending to accidentally bump into people?"
Sirius leaned in just slightly, his voice lowering again. "If it works, why change it?" His breath was warmer now, just close enough to Remus’s ear that the words seemed to hang between them, daring and provocative.
"I don’t know if you are doing it right," Remus murmured, his voice so close it was almost a whisper. His hand twitched at his side, then he reached out and placed it on the bar beside Sirius’s close enough that their fingers were almost touching.
Sirius’s eyes dropped to Remus’s hand, and for a moment, everything else seemed to fade away. He deliberately moved his hand a little closer, the tips of his fingers brushing against Remus’s. The touch was light, barely there, but it made the space between them feel impossibly small.
"You don’t think I’m doing this right?" Sirius asked, his voice a low rumble, the edge of teasing in it. His fingers traced just the faintest curve against Remus’s knuckles.
"No," Remus said quietly, his voice almost lost in the charged air. He leaned in just a little closer, like he couldn’t help himself. "I think you’re doing just fine."
The words hung between them, the air between them thick with anticipation. For a moment, neither of them moved. Their fingers were still nearly touching, but neither of them pulled away. Their faces were inches apart now, close enough that Sirius could feel the heat radiating from Remus, his breath just a little ragged.
Sirius’s gaze flicked down to Remus’s lips again, the tension building, crackling like electricity. He couldn’t remember a time when it had felt this impossible to look away. Hell, he couldn’t remember a time he had ever felt so physically attracted to another person.
Then, just as it felt like they were on the verge of something—something inevitable —he saw a familiar face across the bar looking at him.
Oh shit. I’ve got to get out of here.
All thoughts of Remus suddenly vanished and Sirius bolted for the door.
James
James leaned back against the bar, the post-show buzz still humming through his veins. Moonsick had absolutely killed it tonight. The energy in the room had been electric, the crowd going wild for every note, every chaotic thrash of Marlene’s guitar, the steady pulse of Remus’s bass anchoring it all. He couldn’t help but feel a little proud of himself for booking them at Godric’s Hollow.
Now he had Veela’s Curse to look forward to. They were a band who had played Godric’s Hollow many times in the past and always drew a huge crowd. He would bet they were backstage thanking Moonsick for warming up the audience so thoroughly.
He took a long swig of his beer, watching the crowd around him as they went to the bar and chatted between bands. People were still buzzing, but James was already thinking about the next set. Veela’s Curse had more of a goth following, and Moonsick had more of a grunge sound, but the two really did compliment each other. He should go backstage and make sure they had everything they needed.
But then, across the room, his eyes locked on a man standing by the edge of the bar, leaning casually against a pillar, sipping something in a lowball glass. He was striking—there was no denying it. Tall, dark hair, sharp jawline, and the kind of confidence that radiated off of him without effort. He was clad in an expensive leather jacket and black jeans, and looked more clean-cut and mainstream that the average clientele.
James squinted, trying to place him. The guy’s face was familiar, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on where he had seen him before. Was he another musician? A friend of someone in the industry?
James pushed off the bar and started to make his way through the crowd, his curiosity getting the better of him. As he approached Mary, the bartender, who was busy wiping down the counter, he leaned in a little closer.
“Yo, Mary,” he said casually, trying not to sound too obvious, “Who’s the guy over by the pillar? The one in the leather jacket?”
Mary glanced up, following his gaze, then gave him a quick, knowing look. “Ah, that really freaking hot one?” she said, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “He’s a record producer. He’s been asking about Veela’s Curse. Apparently, he’s looking for something new. Saw Moonsick, and was asking about when The Marauders play next. Might be a sign."
As James made his way toward the man, he felt a subtle shift in the air. The closer he got, the more something gnawed at him, a sense of familiarity in the man’s posture, in the way he stood. But it wasn’t until he was just a few feet away that the full weight of the realization hit him like a punch to the gut.
It was Regulus Black. Sirius’s brother.
James froze mid-step, his heart skipping a beat. The world seemed to tilt, and for a moment, all the noise of the bar—the chatter, the clinking glasses, the buzz of the crowd—faded into the background. Regulus Black. The same Regulus who had been a part of Sirius’s life, the same Regulus who had caused the rift between them, the same one who had turned his back on everything Sirius had fought for.
But here he was, looking like a goddamn record producer—cool, collected, and impossible to ignore. The leather jacket. The dark hair. The sharp features that made him look more like a model than a music industry big shot.
James’s stomach twisted. He wasn’t sure what to feel.
On one hand, he was intrigued. A record producer could be the perfect opportunity for his band, but he wasn’t so naive as to not know the potential problem here. Sirius had barely mentioned his brother in the years they’d known each other, and when he did, it was usually accompanied by bitterness and barely-contained resentment.
On the other hand, this was business. The Marauders needed a producer who could elevate their sound, someone who had the right connections, who understood the scene. And Regulus Black had that. But would Sirius even let him in the same room with their band? What would he say if he found out Regulus was getting involved?
Before he knew it, he was approaching the other man.
“Regulus Black," James said, his tone casual, though his words were carefully chosen. "Didn’t expect to see you here."
Regulus turned slowly, his eyes meeting James’s with a cool, calculating look that was so unmistakably familiar it sent a chill down James’s spine. There was something about the way Regulus looked at him that sent a shiver down his spine. It wasn’t altogether unpleasant.
"James Potter," Regulus replied smoothly, the corners of his lips curling into a subtle but polite smile.
James forced a smile, ignoring the way the tension between them felt thick enough to cut through. "I hear you're a record producer now" He glanced at Regulus's leather jacket, noticing the way it almost screamed wealth and status. "I’m sure you’ve seen bands like Moonsick before, but, uh—tonight, they were pretty great, huh?"
Regulus's green eyes flickered slightly as James mentioned the band. His smile didn’t falter, but there was a trace of interest in his expression. "I’ve seen a lot of things in my time, Potter. Moonsick wasn’t bad." He looked around the room, his eyes flicking over the people still gathered, then back to James. "A bit rough around the edges, but there’s potential.”
James’s chest tightened and a heat rose in his cheeks. "Rough around the edges works in this scene, though, doesn’t it?" he said, keeping his tone light. "It’s the kind of thing that gets people to pay attention."
Regulus studied him, his eyes sharp, then leaned against the pillar in a lazy movement that spoke volumes about his confidence. "If you say so. But attention is fleeting. Talent’s what keeps people coming back."
"Talent, huh?" James repeated. "Well, I’m sure you know all about that." His eyes narrowed slightly as he spoke.
There was a flicker of something in Regulus’s expression. Whatever it was, it was gone almost instantly, replaced by that familiar, cool mask. Regulus’s gaze lingered on him for a moment longer, studying him with that same calculating look. "I’m always ready for new talent, Potter."
With that, Regulus turned, his leather jacket swishing as he walked away, blending into the crowd like he had always been a part of it. James watched him go, the feeling of tension still buzzing between them, even after he had left.
It wasn’t just about business anymore. There was something more there, something James couldn’t ignore—and that unsettled him more than he cared to admit.
Sirius was going to lose it when he found out.
Notes:
Veela's Curse sounds like early Smashing Pumpkins' on their first album Gish.
Chapter 7: July 9, 1991
Chapter Text
Regulus
James fucking Potter.
Regulus sat at the edge of a leather armchair in his apartment, swirling a glass of scotch in his hand, the amber liquid catching the light. His mind wasn’t focused on the task at hand, though. It was wandering, drifting back to the night before, to Godric’s Hollow, to the moment he had seen James Potter again after all these years.
He’d heard the rumors about the way James had been involved in the local music scene, but it was still a shock to see him standing there, looking effortlessly cool with his usual disheveled charm. The moment their eyes met across the bar, Regulus had felt something in him stir—something familiar, something that had always been there, buried deep beneath the years.
James had always had that effect on him, even when they were children. Back then, it was subtle—an unnoticed brush of shoulders while passing in the hallway at school, the way James’s laugh seemed to make everything feel lighter, how he had always been the center of attention. Regulus had admired him from afar, not daring to show it, too aware of the vast divide between them.
The realization struck him hard, making his chest tighten.
He still had feelings for James. He had never stopped.
When James approached him last night – casual and confident—it almost felt too surreal. Regulus had kept his face neutral, guarded. The years had taught him how to wear that mask, how to keep his emotions in check. But inside? Inside, he was reeling. The warmth of James’s smile, it stirred something in Regulus that he hadn’t let himself feel in far too long.
“James Potter,” he had said, his voice almost too calm, too controlled. He hadn’t let the nostalgia hit him then, hadn’t allowed himself to think about how much he had longed for James to notice him back in those days.
But now, the years between them were palpable. Regulus wasn’t that naïve boy anymore, one who had spent too many sleepless nights wondering what might have been if he’d just said something, if he’d just acted on the impulses that overcame him every time James was near.
Regulus leaned back in his chair, staring out the window at the neon skyline of Los Angeles. Could he possibly try to sign James’s band? The idea of working with him, of being in the same room, of having the chance to be close to him—stirred something deep inside of Regulus, something he’d locked away long ago.
He also had Sirius to think about. He’d seen him at the bar last night – even made eye contact with him. It was strange, really, how even after everything, after the years of distance, the way his relationship with Sirius still haunted him. The rivalry, the contempt, the biting words exchanged. He couldn’t escape the fact that for a long time, Sirius had been his only connection to something real in their family—before the bitterness took root, before everything had become so poisoned by their father’s demands.
His father’s voice still echoed in his head, sharp and demanding. Gringotts is your legacy, Regulus. This is what we built. It had been the same speech his whole life, the same expectations drilled into him over and over. The Black name wasn’t just a name—it was an empire. The Black family had built one of the most powerful record labels in Los Angeles, shaping the careers of some of the biggest acts of the last two decades. Music was their business, their control over the industry absolute. And for his father, that control was everything.
Sirius had never bought into it.
Regulus exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair as the memory surfaced—Sirius at fifteen, standing in their father’s office, his fists clenched at his sides. “I don’t care how many platinum records you’ve got on the wall! I don’t want any part of this.”
Their father had been livid. Sirius had always been the rebellious one, the son who refused to be molded into the perfect heir. He loved music, but not the way their father did. To Sirius, it wasn’t about money, about ownership, about power. It was about freedom. He wanted to play in bands, to be part of the scene, not sit in an office deciding which artists were marketable enough for a contract.
“You’re a fool,” their father had spat at him. “You think you’ll survive out there without this name?”
And Sirius—stupid, stubborn, reckless Sirius—had just laughed. “I’d rather have nothing than be your puppet.”
That was the moment everything had changed. The next day, Sirius had packed a bag and left. He’d moved in with James Potter, cut all ties with the family business, and threw himself into the underground scene. He was playing gigs in grimy clubs, getting by on couch-surfing and bartending, refusing to take a cent from the Black name. Regulus had watched it all happen, watched as their father wrote him off as a lost cause, a disgrace.
And Regulus? He had stayed.
For years, he had told himself it was because someone had to. Someone had to carry on the legacy of Gringotts, to keep their father’s empire strong. He had convinced himself that Sirius was the selfish one, running away instead of taking responsibility. That he had abandoned Regulus, left him to deal with the weight of their father’s expectations alone.
But now, after all this time, Regulus wasn’t sure who had really been the fool.
He had everything his father had promised him—power, influence, a name that meant something in the industry. But sitting here now, in a quiet apartment filled with expensive furniture he didn’t care about, drinking expensive liquor he wasn’t even enjoying, he couldn’t help but wonder if Sirius had been right all along.
The industry was changing, whether his father wanted to admit it or not. The underground wasn’t just some passing trend. It was a movement. Punk had cracked the foundations years ago, and now grunge was shaking the entire structure. The kids weren’t interested in perfect, radio-polished music anymore. They wanted something real—raw, angry, untamed. The industry could ignore it all they wanted, but Regulus had been watching. He’d been listening.
And last night, when he stood at the bar in Godric’s Hollow, hearing Moonsick tear through their set with that unabashed intensity, watching the way the crowd felt every note, he knew—this was the future. This was what the label needed.
His father would never go for it, of course. He still thought music had to be curated and controlled. He still believed rock should be stadium anthems and guitar solos that sold out arenas, not distorted chords and screams into the void. But Regulus wasn’t his father, and the longer he sat in his high-rise office, signing the next forgettable radio act, the more he felt like a fraud.
His fingers tightened around the glass. Maybe Sirius had been right to leave. Maybe trying to fix something so deeply rotten was impossible. But Regulus couldn’t walk away like Sirius had. He had spent years proving himself, earning his place at Gringotts. He wasn’t just going to abandon it—he was going to change it.
And maybe—just maybe—he could prove to himself that he hadn’t wasted all these years trying to hold onto something broken.
Regulus exhaled slowly, setting his glass down. He had a meeting tomorrow. The board expected him to pitch his next big project. And he had an idea.
Remus
Remus lay on his back in the dim light of his apartment, staring at the ceiling, his mind still buzzing with the electricity of the night before. Moonsick’s set had been their best yet. The way the crowd had moved, the raw energy in the room, the way Marlene’s voice had torn through the air like something untamed. Peter had been locked in, tight on the drums, and Remus had played like his hands weren’t even his own, like something else had taken over. It had been real. It had been right.
But for all the thrill of the set, for all the rush that usually carried him through the aftermath of a good show, Remus couldn’t stop thinking about him.
Sirius Black.
He had been watching. Remus had felt it every time he looked out past the lights—those sharp, gray eyes tracking him. And then, after the set, just when Remus thought maybe, just maybe, Sirius would finally acknowledge whatever was developing between them, he’d bolted.
Why?
Remus exhaled sharply, pushing a hand through his hair, rolling onto his side. He could still feel Sirius’s presence like a phantom touch, like the echo of something unfinished. The way he had looked at him in the green room, the moment their hands had met—Sirius’s grip firm but lingering, his expression betraying something beneath all that cocky bravado. And later, when they had spoken after the show, the way Sirius’s gaze had flickered to his lips, the near-miss of it all.
Remus shut his eyes, frustration in his gut.
It wasn’t just attraction—though fuck, that was part of it. Sirius was beautiful, unfairly so, like he had stepped out of a dream. Remus let out a slow breath, his fingers idly trailing over his stomach beneath the covers. His body was still wired, still too awake, his thoughts drifting into dangerous territory. What if Sirius hadn’t walked away?
Remus shut his eyes, letting the memory play out differently this time. Instead, Sirius had stayed right there, close enough that Remus could feel the heat radiating off him, close enough that their bodies touched.
In his mind, he reached out, curling a hand around Sirius’s leather jacket, pulling him in just a fraction. Sirius would smirk—because of course he would—but there would be something else in his eyes, something sharp and lust-filled.
And then Sirius would lean in, slow and deliberate, teasing him with the idea of it before giving in. Their lips would brush, light at first, but Remus would push forward, hungry, desperate to feel more.
The kiss would be deep, slow, edged with something dangerous. Sirius’s hand would slide into his hair, fingers tangling at the nape of his neck, and Remus would shiver at the feeling. Sirius would kiss like he did everything else—wild and reckless, like he had something to prove. And Remus—fuck, he’d let him.
Remus swallowed hard, shifting slightly against the sheets, his pulse picking up.
Remus exhaled, fingers flexing against his stomach and sliding downward.
Shit.
This was going to drive him insane.
Chapter Text
Peter
Godric’s Hollow felt different in the daytime – quieter and almost eerie without the usual crush of bodies, the roar of music, the dim haze of cigarette smoke. The floor was still sticky from last night, the scent of spilled beer lingering in the air, but the sunlight filtering through the high windows made it seem almost normal.
James was behind the bar, lazily drying a pint glass with a rag, while Peter sat on a barstool, nursing a Coke. It was too early for anything stronger, but Peter had been around James enough to know that if he waited long enough, James would start pouring shots just to liven up the afternoon.
"Swear to God, Pete, we’re both on the edge of something big," James was saying, propping an elbow on the counter. "Moonsick’s getting traction and playing all sorts of places now. The Marauders have been playing extra gigs all over town. I know there’s a record producer out there watching."
Peter snorted. "I guess he’s playing hard to get."
James groaned, tilting his head back dramatically. "Don’t say that. It’s going to happen. I can feel it."
Before Peter could respond, the front door swung open, letting in a burst of sunlight, and Effie and Monty Potter stepped inside.
James’s parents were legends, at least in this part of the city. They had owned Godric’s Hollow for decades, turning it from a rundown bar into a cornerstone of the underground music scene. Everyone who was anyone had played here at some point, and Effie and Monty had seen it all—punk, glam, metal, grunge, and everything in between.
"Ah, there’s my favorite son!" Monty called out, his voice warm, his sunglasses slipping down his nose as he grinned at James.
"I’m your only son," James replied dryly, setting down the glass.
"Doesn’t mean you get to slack off," Effie said, already surveying the place with sharp eyes. She was small but formidable, her hair tucked into a bright scarf, her hands on her hips as she inspected the bar. "Floor’s a disaster. Looks like a bunch of drunk twenty-somethings had a party here last night."
"Probably because they did," Peter muttered, earning a smirk from James.
Effie’s gaze landed on him, her expression softening. "And what about you, Peter? You getting into trouble with this one?"
Peter shrugged. "Trying my best."
Monty grinned and leaned against the bar. "You know, kid, you hang around here long enough, you might as well be family."
Effie nodded in agreement. "He’s right. You ever need a place, Peter, you’ve got one here."
Peter blinked, caught off guard by the sudden warmth coiling in his chest. He’d spent most of his life hovering on the edges of things—never quite at the center, never the one anyone thought of first. But the Potters had a way of making people feel like they belonged, like they were meant to be here.
He swallowed and nodded. "Yeah. Thanks."
James clapped him on the shoulder. "Don’t get all misty-eyed about it, dude. You’re stuck with us now."
Peter rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help but smile. Maybe, for once, that didn’t seem like such a bad thing. Life was looking up – the band was doing great, he had a job he loved, and the Potters were quickly becoming his family away from home.
Remus
The last few weeks had blurred together in a haze of cigarette smoke, cheap beer, and dive-bar stages. Moonsick was gaining momentum—more gigs, bigger crowds, their name spreading through the underground like static before a storm.
Remus should have been riding the high of it. Should have been focused on the way people were starting to recognize them, how the pulse of the music scene seemed to be shifting in their direction. But in the quiet moments between sets, when he was restringing his bass or nursing a drink at the bar, his mind drifted back to him.
Sirius.
He hadn’t seen him since that night at Godric’s Hollow, since the near-miss of something that felt like it could have been big. Sometimes he thought he caught a glimpse of him in a crowded venue—a flash of dark hair, a tattooed arm encased in a white t-shirt—but Sirius never came close, never let himself be found. And it was pissing him off.
Marlene had called him a broody bastard and told him to get over it. Easy for her to say—she had been wrapped up in something new, something charged. Dorcas. It had continued the way it started – with an intensity that was tangible. Dorcas was magnetic, and Marlene was caught in her orbit.
They weren’t calling it anything yet, but it was there in the way Marlene would slide an arm around Dorcas’s waist, in the way Dorcas let herself be pulled in. It was in the way they whispered to each other during soundchecks, in the way they disappeared together after rehearsals. Even though it could be annoying, Remus was happy for them.
Peter, meanwhile, had turned Godric’s Hollow into his second home. Peter spent more time there than anywhere else, hanging out with James even on his off days. Remus could tell Peter was happy, and that made him smile. Peter needed some good in his life.
Remus had also been surprised by how easily he and Lily had slipped into a rhythm at Flourish & Blotts. They bonded over so many little things—shared laughs, common interests, and the endless stream of stories about their lives. It was almost as if their friendship had been inevitable, waiting to happen in some quiet corner of the universe.
They’d exchange stories about the chaotic customers who wandered into Flourish & Blotts, the ones who treated the place like their own personal stage. Lily would tell him about the eccentric regulars who always had some wild theory about music or life, often mixed with inane ramblings that made Lily laugh. She’d complain good-naturedly about Barty trying to make everyone believe he was a businessman when all he really did was show up, make everyone a little uncomfortable with his cool factor, and still manage to win the day.
Barty, in fact, had surprised Remus by inviting him over to the house he shared with his boyfriend, Evan, for dinner a couple times.
Evan was the kind of person who made you feel like you were the only one in the room when he spoke, even if he wasn’t saying much at all. He had a quiet, almost shy presence. But when he played his guitar or sang, everything about him seemed to open up—his voice was soft but haunting. And when he looked at Barty, that softness deepened. His eyes would go gentle, like everything in his world was tethered to that one person. He didn’t have to say it —Remus could see it in the way he held Barty’s gaze, the way his fingers lingered just a little too long when they touched his arm or shoulder.
Barty, on the other hand, was cool. Calm. Collected. He was the kind of person who walked into a room and didn’t just fill the space, he owned it, but without ever needing to say a word. He was always the one who kept the conversation going, who was the extrovert of the pair. The thing was, though, Barty didn’t hide his affection for Evan. It wasn’t obvious like Evan’s, but it was there in the subtle things—the way he would always make sure Evan was sitting beside him, the way he would place his hand just a little too close to his boyfriend’s on the couch, the way he would look at him when he thought no one was paying attention.
Even though he really liked Evan and Barty, and had come to appreciate those dinners at their house, Remus was a little envious of all they had built together.
Remus thought he should be happy about all the good fortune befalling him and his friends. Everything was moving forward, the scene shifting, relationships changing.
And yet, Remus still felt like he was standing still.
James
James didn’t consider himself a secret-keeping kind of guy. He could be loud, rash, and generally terrible at subtlety. But somehow, he’d found himself in the middle of something—whatever this was—with Regulus Black.
It had started innocently enough. A phone call, late at night, James half-drunk and sprawled on his couch after a gig, still riding the high of a show.
"Potter," Regulus had said, cool and composed as ever. "I have a business proposition for you."
James had almost laughed and hung up right then. It wasn’t that he didn’t take Regulus seriously—he did, in a way—but Regulus was Sirius’s estranged, too-polished, too-serious younger brother. And James had spent years hearing Sirius rant about him, about how Regulus was just another cog in their father’s soulless industry machine at Gringotts.
But then Regulus had said the magic words.
"I want to change things. I want to sign real bands, Potter. The kind that actually matter."
That had given James pause. The kind that actually matter.
And so he had listened.
At first, the conversations had been strictly business—Regulus wanted to know about the scene, about who was breaking through, about whether The Marauders or Moonsick would be interested in whatever he was building. James had been hesitant, knowing Sirius would hate it, but also… curious. Regulus wasn’t just toeing the family line anymore. He was trying to carve out something different.
And then, somehow, the calls stopped being about business.
It became a habit—James finishing a gig, slipping into his apartment, and waiting for the phone to ring. They talked about everything. Music, the industry, the bands they loved and the ones they hated. They argued over whether punk was already dead (Regulus was convinced it was. James refused to accept that). They talked about their families—briefly, carefully, like stepping over broken glass. And somewhere along the way, the conversations had picked up an edge.
Regulus had a dry, sharp wit, the kind that made James grin against the receiver, rolling his eyes even as his chest tightened just a little. And when James pushed back, when he teased, Regulus gave as good as he got.
It wasn’t quite flirting.
But it wasn’t not flirting either.
James wasn’t completely clueless. He knew what flirting looked like. And Regulus had that cool, unreadable thing about him, like he was always keeping his cards close to his chest. But sometimes, just sometimes, he let something slip. A comment, dry and laced with something that made James’s pulse jump. A pause, just a second too long, like he was waiting for James to say something first.
It was enough to make James wonder. Enough to make him want to find out.
But then there was Sirius.
And that was the part James didn’t like thinking about. Because Sirius hated his family and had spent years running from them. And James? He was Sirius’s best friend. He wasn’t supposed to be sneaking around, talking to Regulus, much less entertaining the possibility of something more.
So he told himself he wasn’t going to do anything about it.
He told himself it was just late-night conversation, just business and banter.
But deep down, he knew he was lying.
Notes:
Evan's a singer songwriter who sounds kind of like Elliott Smith, but maybe without quite as depressive!
Chapter 9: August 23, 1991
Chapter Text
Remus
Moonsick and The Marauders were finally going to play a show together—something they’d talked about for months, but it had always seemed a little too far out of reach, like one of those plans that sounded good but never really panned out. But now it was real. A night at Godric’s Hollow, two bands on the stage, a crowd of people ready to lose themselves in music.
Remus felt a swirl of nerves and excitement. He knew the gig would be amazing—Moonsick and The Marauders together? That was a recipe for a night to remember. But there was something else tangled up in his thoughts, something he couldn’t ignore.
Sirius.
The last time they’d seen each other, the tension had been palpable. The air between them had crackled, thick with unspoken words, but neither of them had made a move. It had felt like the kind of moment that would pass, like the world had been waiting for one of them to break the silence, but neither did.
Now, though, they would be in the same room again, with no avoiding it. Remus tried to shake off the unease that had settled in his chest, but it lingered there—like a song stuck in his head, playing over and over until he couldn’t think of anything else.
What would it be like to see Sirius again? What would he say? Would they fall back into that strange, charged silence? Would the same tension still hang between them, unspoken and heavy? Or would it all be gone?
Remus had spent so many nights thinking about Sirius—how his sharp smile could melt the world around him, how he always seemed so effortlessly at ease, how he had that wild energy that drew people in. But it wasn’t just about Sirius’s charm. It was the fact that the chemistry between them had been undeniable.
Maybe this show would be the moment when something finally happened. Or maybe it would just be another night of dancing around what was clearly there between them. Or maybe Sirius would ignore him completely. Any which way, Remus was ready for it
Sirius
Sirius didn’t get attached. He didn’t let people in. It was a rule, an ironclad one, and it had served him well for years. He was the guy who could walk into a room, sweep someone off their feet, and walk away with nothing more than a smug grin and a good story to tell. No strings. No expectations. Just fun.
That had always been his thing.
Until Remus.
It had happened so unexpectedly. One second they were having some casual, flirty banter, and the next, there it was—that feeling. The kind of feeling he couldn’t shake. The kind that made him think too much, made him feel too much. And he hated it.
It was fucking annoying.
Sirius had spent the last few weeks desperately trying to ignore it, trying to drown the nagging ache with everything he could. He’d gone back to his old habits—picking up people at bars, keeping things light and easy. The kind of fleeting encounters that used to keep him satisfied. But it wasn’t working.
None of them—none of those men or women—could touch the ache he had when he thought about Remus.
He couldn’t explain it. He couldn’t put it into words. But there was something about the way Remus had looked at him that night. Something about the way he made him feel like he wasn’t just some guy across the room, but someone who mattered. Someone worth noticing.
And that? That had never happened before.
Sirius wasn’t used to being vulnerable. He wasn’t used to caring. So the fact that he’d spent the past few weeks agonizing over Remus’s smile, his laugh, his damn eyes—it felt like a betrayal to everything he’d built for himself. He had a reputation to uphold. He had a lifestyle to maintain. No one got close. No one mattered.
Except Remus.
And that was the part that scared the living shit out of him.
He’d been drinking more lately. It was how he handled things—how he always handled things. He’d sit at the bar, drowning himself in whiskey, letting the burn numb everything, letting the world blur out of focus so he didn’t have to think about the fucking ache in his chest every time he thought about Remus or remembered the way his hand had brushed against his.
It wasn’t healthy. He knew that. But it was easier than facing it. Easier than admitting that maybe he wanted more than just a night. Maybe he wanted Remus. And that, more than anything, scared the hell out of him.
The thought of seeing Remus tonight filled Sirius with a mix of dread and anticipation. He knew it would be only a matter of time before the tension between them became too much to ignore—and that thought both excited and terrified him in equal measure.
James
James had been buzzing all day. Tonight’s show was going to be a blast—Moonsick was opening for The Marauders, and the crowd at Godric’s Hollow was always electric. But what really had him in high spirits was that Regulus was coming.
Tonight, with Regulus in the crowd, everything felt a little more... exciting. The possibility of seeing him, of maybe talking more in person, was like a spark in the back of James’s mind. He couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something was building, something that could shift between them—though he wasn’t sure where it would lead. Either way, it had him on edge in a way he couldn’t quite explain, and it felt like the night was full of potential.
As James prepared for the show, his mind wandered to the conversation he had with Sirius a few days ago, when he’d mentioned that Regulus would be coming tonight. He’d expected some kind of reaction—surprise, maybe, or even a hint of discomfort—but Sirius had just shrugged it off, his cool exterior giving nothing away.
James’s thoughts lingered on Sirius as he threw on a clean t-shirt and ran his fingers through his hair. It had been weeks since he’d seen much of him outside of rehearsal and gigs. Sirius had been distant, a little more withdrawn, and James couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.
He’d noticed it in the little things—the way Sirius seemed perpetually distracted, the way his eyes wandered around the room but never quite focused on anyone. But it was the drinking that had started to worry James the most. It seemed like lately he was doing it more, hiding behind whiskey shots after every gig, staying out late and coming in looking like he hadn’t slept at all.
James didn’t want to push, didn’t want to intrude, but the changes were hard to ignore. He had a gut feeling that something was eating at Sirius, but he couldn’t figure out what it was.
He just wished he knew how to help.
Remus
Remus sat in a quiet corner of the bar, nursing his drink, trying to steady his racing thoughts. The Moonsick show had been incredible—every song hit the right note, the crowd was wild, and the energy in the room had been unlike anything he’d ever experienced. But as great as their set had been, it was The Marauders’ performance that had really sent everything into overdrive. The way they commanded the stage—it was electrifying.
But more than the music, it was Sirius that had been on Remus's mind all night.
Backstage, their eyes had met in a flash of tension—unspoken words hanging thick in the air. It was the kind of electricity that hummed between them every time they got too close, every time their hands brushed or their bodies neared. Remus had noticed the way Sirius’s eyes had lingered on him, how his lips curled in that half-smile, like he knew exactly what was happening but refused to acknowledge it aloud.
And then there was the show. God, Sirius had looked so damn good. The lights had caught his hair just right, the way it fell effortlessly around his face. The way he moved, the easy confidence in his body language—Remus couldn’t help but be mesmerized by it all. It was impossible not to stare, even when he knew it was too much.
Now, with a drink in his hand and the night winding down, Remus couldn’t help but admit it—he was a little more tipsy than he should be. It wasn’t like him to let alcohol blur the edges of his thoughts, but something about the night, the energy of the crowd, and the undeniable chemistry with Sirius had loosened him up more than he expected. He was feeling things in a way that he usually kept locked up tight.
Remus was halfway through another sip when he felt it—shift in the air, a subtle presence that seemed to materialize out of nowhere. He blinked, and there, just a breath away, was Sirius.
It was almost like he’d appeared from thin air, as though the universe itself had decided to close the distance between them. Sirius stood there for a beat, looking down at him with a smirk that was both challenging and amused, as if he’d been watching Remus for longer than Remus had realized.
"Didn't think I'd find you hiding over here," Sirius said, voice smooth, with that same edge of teasing that made Remus's pulse quicken.
Remus, caught off guard, swallowed a little too fast, nearly choking on the drink. He cleared his throat, trying to regain some composure, but the proximity of Sirius made it difficult. The air between them hummed, thick with that same tension that had been building for weeks.
"I wasn’t hiding," Remus managed to say, his voice a little rougher than he intended. "Just enjoying the... aftermath." He gestured vaguely toward the bar, but his gaze never left Sirius, who hadn’t moved an inch.
Sirius chuckled low, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Seems like a good place to be after a show like that." His hand casually brushed against the back of Remus’s chair as he leaned in just a little closer, his body warm and solid in Remus's personal space.
There it was again—that electric charge, that undeniable spark between them. Remus could feel the heat radiating off of Sirius, and his own body seemed to respond without thinking. A shiver ran down his spine, and his fingers tightened on the glass in his hand.
"You looked good up there," Remus muttered before he could stop himself. It slipped out in the middle of the charged silence, and for a moment, he regretted it, wondering if he'd said too much. But when he met Sirius's eyes, he found no judgment—only something that made his stomach twist.
Sirius's grin widened, playful and sharp. "Yeah?" he drawled, his voice dropping lower. "I’d say you looked pretty damn good yourself. Maybe a little too good, actually."
Remus’s heart skipped a beat.
Before he could say anything in response, Sirius stepped even closer, his breath warm against Remus’s ear as he leaned in. "Just don’t get too comfortable, Remus," he whispered, voice hushed, teasing. "This night’s not over yet."
Remus’s thoughts scattered, his pulse roaring in his ears as Sirius pulled back just enough to meet his gaze again, the smirk still in place but with a hint of something that made Remus wonder if maybe, just maybe, this tension was finally ready to snap.
Just then, James’s voice broke through the thick silence.
“Yo Remus!” James called, his grin wide as he approached with Lily, Frank, and Peter in tow. “Sirius! You hanging here, or are we actually going to have a proper after-party?” He raised an eyebrow at them, a playful glint in his eye.
Lily was beside him, glancing between Remus and Sirius with a knowing smile, while Frank and Peter trailed behind, both looking like they’d had just enough of the loud bar to be ready for something else.
Remus, still caught off guard, blinked and cleared his throat. His heart was still pounding in his chest, his thoughts scattered. He almost hated that James had interrupted the moment, but at the same time, he was relieved.
Sirius, ever the quick thinker, smirked and straightened up, making it look like he hadn’t been leaning in just a little too closely only a moment ago. "You know it, James," he said, his tone light and easy, but Remus could hear the underlying tension in his voice. "Always ready for an after party."
James laughed, slapping him on the back. "Yeah, yeah. But seriously, we're heading back to the beach apartment. You coming, Remus?"
Remus hesitated, his mind still reeling from everything that had just happened. He glanced at Sirius, who was already looking at him with that same mischievous glint, as if daring him.
"Yeah," Remus finally said, the words slipping out before he could think too much about it. "I’ll come."
Lily beamed at him, and Frank nodded, already excited about the after party.
***
The party was in full swing, a mix of laughter, music, and clinking glasses that echoed through the apartment. Remus sat on one of the worn-out couches, watching it all unfold around him. Dorcas and Marlene were tangled up in the corner, completely lost in each other, their laughter soft and intimate as they kissed. It wasn’t unusual to see them like this, but tonight it felt like they were the only ones who had it all figured out.
James, Lily, Frank, Alice, and Peter were all gathered around the coffee table, shots being poured and passed around in that ritualistic way that only people who truly knew how to party could. The air was thick with warmth and alcohol, the kind of night where everything felt a little more alive, a little more possible.
Sirius was nowhere to be seen. Remus hadn’t seen him since they’d arrived, but he could feel him, just on the periphery.
Then, suddenly, Sirius was there, appearing beside him like he always did—effortless, magnetic. He had two shots in his hand, one of which he handed to Remus with grin.
“C’mon Moony,” Sirius said, his voice low and teasing, “drink up. But I’m not letting you sit here all night.” He gave him a quick, searching glance. “Let’s go out to the beach.”
Remus hesitated, looking down at the shot in his hand. The alcohol was starting to hit him—his body warm, his mind a little foggy—but it wasn’t just the drink that had him frozen for a second. It was the way Sirius was looking at him, that same magnetic pull between them, stronger tonight than it had been before.
“Out to the beach?” Remus repeated.
Sirius’s smile widened, and there was something daring in his eyes. “Yeah, unless you’re scared of a little moonlight and saltwater.” His tone was light, but Remus could hear the challenge underneath, the same challenge that made his heart race.
Remus didn’t answer right away. Instead, he took the shot Sirius had handed him, the burn of the alcohol almost grounding him for a second.
"Alright," Remus said finally, a smile tugging at his lips despite the nerves in his stomach. "Lead the way."
The sound of the waves crashing against the shore filled the air as Sirius and Remus made their way down to the beach. The cool night air was a welcome change from the heat of the apartment, and the sand beneath their feet was soft, shifting with every step. They both paused at the water’s edge, the moonlight casting an almost ethereal glow across the scene.
Remus glanced at Sirius, who was standing a little too close, his eyes sparkling in the dim light. “This where you usually bring your conquests?” Remus asked, his voice teasing but laced with a nervous energy he couldn’t quite hide.
Sirius raised an eyebrow, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. “Conquests?” he repeated, stepping closer until there was barely an inch between them. “I like the sound of that, but I prefer to think of it more like... adventures.” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a hushed tone, “You’re not scared of a little adventure, are you, Moony?”
Remus’s breath caught, his chest tightening as Sirius’s proximity overwhelmed him. He swallowed hard, trying to keep his cool. “I’m not scared,” Remus replied, his voice steady despite the heat rising in his veins. “But it’s a hell of a lot more dangerous than you think.”
Sirius’s lips quirked into a grin. “Danger’s half the fun, don’t you think?”
Remus was about to reply when Sirius moved—one hand reaching out to gently push a strand of hair from Remus’s face, his fingers brushing against his skin with an electric touch. It sent a shiver down Remus’s spine, and before he could stop himself, he was stepping into Sirius, their bodies just a breath away from touching.
Sirius’s eyes flickered down to his lips, then back up to his eyes, his expression no longer playful but something more intense. "Remus..." he whispered, and Remus felt the word like a pull in his chest. Without thinking, he leaned in, closing the distance between them, their lips finally meeting in a kiss that was all fire.
The kiss was hungry, urgent, as if everything that had been building between them in the past weeks was pouring out all at once. Sirius’s hands slid to Remus’s waist, pulling him closer, his body warm and solid against Remus’s. Remus’s hands found their way to Sirius’s chest, slipping under his shirt and feeling the heat of his skin beneath his fingertips.
The air around them grew hotter, their breathing shallow as they kissed, lips moving together in a rhythm that felt both familiar and new. Remus’s heart was pounding in his ears. The cool night air hit his skin, the sensation making everything feel sharper, more real.
They broke the kiss for a breath, and Sirius’s eyes gleamed, dark with desire. “You’re dangerous, you know that?” he murmured, his lips brushing Remus’s as he spoke.
“Why do you call me ‘Moony’?” Remus asked, his voice rough from the kiss, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
Sirius cocked his head, his dark eyes scanning Remus’s face, and for a moment, he looked almost... thoughtful.
“You really want to know?” Sirius asked, his voice dropping low and teasing again, as though he knew he was dragging out the mystery.
Sirius gave a small smile, his fingers grazing lightly over Remus’s chest. He traced the outline of Remus’s moon phases tattoo with the tip of his finger. "Well," Sirius said, his voice barely a whisper, "It’s not just because it’s your band’s name, though that’s part of it. It’s the tattoo." He leaned in a little closer, his lips brushing against Remus’s ear as he spoke. "I saw it the first time we met, and something about it... stuck with me. Something about the phases of the moon just fit with you. Felt like a good way to call you... mine, in a way."
Remus froze for a moment, the words sinking in. There was something tender in Sirius's voice that made his heart race even faster, a layer of intimacy in the simple explanation that he hadn’t expected.
“You’ve been thinking about it that much?” Remus asked, his voice soft but a little playful, though the heat in his chest was building again.
Sirius grinned. "I think about a lot of things, Moony. But I have to say, your tattoo... it’s hard not to think about it when it’s right there on your skin."
Remus swallowed, his gaze flicking down to where Sirius’s fingers still hovered over his chest. The touch was light, but it felt like a spark, the electric charge between them reigniting.
"Well, if you’re going to call me Moony," Remus said, a small, teasing smirk on his lips, "I suppose I’ll have to call you... something too."
Sirius’s grin widened, leaning in again, his lips dangerously close to Remus’s. "Oh yeah? What’s that, then?"
The teasing note in his voice was almost too much to resist, and for a brief moment, Remus considered the many possibilities. But instead, he pulled Sirius into another kiss.
Chapter 10: August 24, 1991
Chapter Text
Sirius
Sirius woke up slowly, blinking against the soft morning light filtering through the curtains of his bedroom. The usual haze of a hangover wasn’t there, which was a rarity these days. His head was clear, his body relaxed, and for the first time in ages, he didn’t feel like he’d overdone it. There was a certain peace in the air, something that hadn’t been there when he woke up from his usual late-night flings.
Last night came rushing back to him in pieces, flashes of heat, the sound of Remus’s breath in his ear, the soft push and pull of their kisses under the moonlight. Every touch, every word, felt different than all the other nights he’d spent with strangers, people who had come and gone, nothing more than fleeting moments of pleasure.
The connection had been undeniable from the very beginning, and last night had been proof of that. It wasn’t just the physical tension. It was something deeper, something that had been simmering between them for weeks. When their lips met, it wasn’t just a kiss. It was like everything fell into place.
Sirius lay back against the pillows, his hand resting over his chest as he reflected. The usual post-hookup emptiness wasn’t there, the feeling of disconnection that he’d grown so accustomed to. He didn’t feel like he’d just hooked up with someone to scratch an itch. No, last night had been... more. More intimate. More real.
The truth was undeniable, even though Sirius hadn’t admitted it yet—not to himself, and certainly not to Remus. He was different when it came to Remus. His usual careless charm, the easy detachment that kept him from ever getting too close to anyone, didn’t work here. He couldn’t just pull away like he always had.
Sirius ran a hand through his messy hair, letting out a long breath. He wasn’t sure where this was heading. But for the first time, he found himself wanting to find out.
James
James woke up with a familiar ache in his head, the kind that only a good night of drinking and laughter could bring. He groaned softly, rolling over and squinting at the sunlight streaming through the window. The after-party at the beach apartment had gone late, but damn if it hadn’t been a blast. The Marauders show had been amazing, Moonsick had absolutely killed it, and the energy in the room afterward was electric.
But now, in the light of morning, his body wasn’t so sure about all that fun.
As he sat up, rubbing his eyes, a grin tugged at his lips despite the pounding headache. The night had been full of memorable moments, but one stood out in particular—Frank and Peter, getting into an impromptu arm-wrestling contest that turned into something entirely more ridiculous. James chuckled to himself just thinking about it. Frank had made some bold comment about being stronger than Peter, and it had spiraled into the most ridiculous, drunken argument about “true strength” and “guitar arm vs. drummer arm.” Naturally, Peter had taken it all way too seriously, and Frank had ended up tipping backward off the couch, sending beer cans flying everywhere. It had been a mess, but an absolutely hilarious one.
Still grinning, James stretched out and thought about the other things from last night that had lingered in his mind. Remus and Sirius, for one. He’d seen them return from the beach together, their faces flushed, their hair tousled.
Remus had tried to play it cool, like always, but there was no hiding the soft smile on his face and the way his eyes kept flicking to Sirius. And Sirius? Well, he had that look in his eye—the one that was a mix of smugness and something deeper, something almost... vulnerable. James had known better than to ask, but it was clear as day that the two of them had shared a moment under the stars.
Finally, his thoughts shifted to Regulus. When he had walked out from backstage last night after his set and saw Regulus standing there, leaning casually against the counter, James’s heart had given a little jolt.
Regulus,” James had said with a playful smile, raising his glass in a casual greeting.
Regulus had looked up and smirked, taking in James with an almost amused expression. “Potter. Didn’t think I’d actually get to talk to you with all your adoring fans here.”
James had raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. “Well, I like to keep things interesting. You seem like a man who appreciates a little unpredictability.” He’d sidled up closer to Regulus.
Regulus had taken a sip of his drink, his gaze sharp. “You’re a lot more bold in person than you are on the phone.”
James had leaned in slightly, his voice low with playful confidence. “You’re just getting to know me, Regulus. I can be full of surprises.”
Regulus had tilted his head slightly. “I’m starting to see that.” He’d set his drink down and looked James over for a beat. “So, tell me, what else can you surprise me with, Potter?”
James’s smile had turned a little more mischievous. “I’d say you’ll have to stick around to find out. But, if you’re looking for something more... immediate, I could show you a thing or two.”
Regulus had raised an eyebrow but didn’t back down. “I’m curious—does it usually work for you, this whole... charming routine?”
James had leaned back, looking more relaxed. “You could say it works... but only on the right people.”
Regulus had studied him for a moment, a faint smile playing at the corner of his lips. “I’m definitely curious to see what you can do with that charm, Potter.”
“I like to keep people on their toes,” James had said, his voice lowering a fraction, though still light. “It’s part of the fun. Keeps things interesting.”
Regulus had laughed softly, the sound a little warmer than before. “Yeah, I’m starting to think you’re more trouble than you let on.”
James’s grin had been almost teasing as he met Regulus’s eyes. “You have no idea.”
Regulus’s gaze had softened a little, as though weighing something, but he hadn’t pulled away. Instead, he’d reached for his drink again, looking down at it for a moment. “You’re trouble, alright. But you’re fun trouble.”
James had laughed. “I’ll take that as a compliment. You sure you don’t want to stick around for the after-party? I promise I can keep the fun going.”
Regulus had shook his head, a soft sigh escaping him as he’d looked at James with regret. “I can’t, James,” he’d said, his voice lowering, a tinge of hesitation in his words. “Not tonight.”
James had frowned, leaning in, voice softer. “Why not?”
“Because of Sirius,” Regulus had said, his gaze flickering briefly across the room. “He’s... I don't know. It’s complicated.”
The name had hung in the air, the unspoken tension between the brothers still lingering, even here, in the midst of all their flirtation.
James hadn’t pushed, sensing the boundaries that Regulus wasn’t ready to cross. Instead, he’d given a small nod. “Alright, I get it. But we’ll talk about it soon, right? About that project? Maybe somewhere more... private?”
Regulus had given James a slow smile, his eyes darkening with something unreadable. “Absolutely. I think we have a lot to talk about. But not tonight.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” James had said, winking before turning to leave, his heart still beating a little faster than normal.
As he lay in bed remembering, he couldn’t shake the feeling that Regulus was more complicated than he’d ever imagined—and he wasn’t sure if that made him want him more or less. Either way, one thing was clear—this game between them was far from over.
Remus
Remus sat at the counter of Flourish & Blotts, his mind not on the broken amp in front of him, but on the events of the night before. It had been late when he and Sirius had stumbled back to the apartment after the party—buzzed, tangled in each other's arms, with a chemistry that had clearly simmered to a boil.
He smiled to himself, almost absentmindedly taking apart the amp’s back cover, as his thoughts drifted back. The moment he had kissed Sirius on the beach, everything had shifted. What had started as a spark between them had ignited into something much more intense. He could still feel the way Sirius had responded, the hunger in his touch, the way their bodies seemed to fit together perfectly.
The memory of it all—the heat, the closeness, the way Sirius had taken control with a gentleness that had surprised him—made his heart race just thinking about it. It was as if a fog had settled over his mind. He’d kissed plenty of people before, sure, but nothing had felt like that.
Sirius had murmured something about them seeing each other later, but Remus hadn’t been sure whether that was a promise or a cop-out. And now here he was, wondering whether what had happened between them was just a fleeting thing, or something that could lead to more.
Just then, Lily leaned against the counter, her lips curling into a teasing smile as she watched Remus work. It was early afternoon, and the store was quiet, save for a few customers browsing. Barty was standing near the front, flipping through some old posters, but Lily’s eyes were locked on Remus, clearly amused.
"So," she said casually, her voice light and playful, "How was the beach, Remus?"
Remus froze for a moment. His heart skipped a beat, and he looked up at her, the blush creeping up his neck despite his best efforts to stay calm. He cleared his throat, trying to play it cool.
“What do you mean?” he asked, feigning innocence.
Lily raised an eyebrow, her smile widening. “Oh, come on. You’ve got that look. Could it be because of Sirius?”
Remus groaned inwardly, leaning back against the counter and crossing his arms defensively. “Lily, I…”
Before he could finish, Barty glanced over from where he was standing, catching the conversation. His eyes flicked between Lily and Remus, a knowing smirk appearing on his face.
“What, exactly, are we talking about here?” Barty asked with a raised eyebrow, walking over to the counter, clearly intrigued.
Lily’s grin only widened. “Oh, just Remus’s late night beach rendezvous with Sirius Black.”
Barty raised an eyebrow in recognition, looking at Remus, who now looked like he might spontaneously combust from embarrassment. “Is that so?” he said with a soft chuckle.
Remus let out a breath, rubbing the back of his neck, feeling his face heat up even more. "It wasn’t like that," he mumbled, though even he could hear the uncertainty in his own voice.
“Sure, sure,” Lily teased, clearly enjoying his discomfort. "Just some innocent flirting and a kiss in the sand, right?"
Barty nodded thoughtfully, leaning casually against the counter now. "Be careful with that one, Remus. He’s known to be a heartbreaker.”
Remus, still trying to process all the teasing, managed a weak smile. “Thanks, I guess.”
Lily’s smile softened, though there was still a twinkle of mischief in her eyes. "No need to be embarrassed, Remus. I think it’s cute."
Remus gave her a pointed look. "I’m not embarrassed," he protested, though it was hard to hide the warmth creeping up his cheeks. “I just... don’t know what’s going on, that’s all.”
Barty’s gaze softened, and he placed a hand on Remus’s shoulder in a friendly gesture. "Hey, if you’re into him, you deserve to see where it goes. He’s not going to bite... well, not unless you want him to."
Lily snickered, and Remus groaned, face in his hands. "Can we please change the subject?"
Barty chuckled and gave him a reassuring pat on the back. "We’re just messing with you, Remus. But seriously, I hope it works out the way you want it to."
Remus glanced at both of them, his thoughts still swirling with the memories of last night. He wasn’t sure what to say anymore, but at least he knew one thing for certain. This wasn’t going to be a simple thing with Sirius. And whether he liked it or not, it had already become something much more complicated than he was prepared for.
Chapter 11: August 28, 1991
Chapter Text
Regulus
The café near Gringotts was bustling with energy as Regulus sat at a corner table, his legs stretched out casually beneath the table. He had arrived early, as usual, and was sipping a coffee while scanning the menu for something more substantial when he saw James enter, and his heart gave a little flutter at just how sexy James looked in a snug band t-shirt and jeans. James looked around briefly, then spotted Regulus and gave a small wave before walking over.
Regulus stood up to greet him with a strained smile. "Hey, Potter," he said, gesturing to the seat across from him.
Damn, he looks good. Focus, Regulus, focus.
James offered a bright smile, pulling out the chair and sitting down. After ordering a coffee for himself, James raised an eyebrow and leaned back in his seat. "You look like you’re stressed. What’s going on?"
Regulus hesitated for a second, fingers tapping the edge of his coffee cup. He was usually so composed about work. Why was he feeling so nervous talking to James about this? "Well...it’s actually about the idea I’ve been working on for a while now. The, uh, Battle of the Bands concept I mentioned on the phone. I’ve, uh, kind of taken it further than I expected."
James grinned at Regulus, leaning forward with interest. "Okay. I’m intrigued. Tell me more."
Regulus bit his lip. James’s smile was like the sun, breaking through storm clouds – warm, golden and impossible to resist. God, he really wasn’t being very professional with these thoughts swirling in his head.
"Okay, so... It’s going to be a big thing. A months-long event, like a March Madness style bracket tournament. We’ll get a bunch of local bands involved, and they’ll face off against each other in rounds, and at the end, we crown a winner with a record contract. It’ll get a lot of attention. And, uh, my dad’s on board."
James blinked, surprised at how serious Regulus was sounding about the venture. "Wait, Orion Black is involved?"
Regulus winced slightly but nodded. "Yeah. He kind of has to be since he is the face of Gringotts. He... he likes the idea.”
Regulus knew that this was a bit of an exaggeration. In fact, Orion Black had been unimpressed with the idea of a Battle of the Bands, dismissing it as a frivolous waste of time. Regulus had argued for days, using his father’s favorite saying – “A Black should leave their mark” – against him. He had almost begged, saying this was mark he wanted to leave, that this was how he wanted to establish himself as the next generation to take over the family empire. Orion had finally given in, his sharp gaze weighing the arguments and the ambition behind them. Finally, with a slow nod, he had relented. "Fine,” he had huffed. “But don't make a fool of yourself, or this label."
Regulus continued, embellishing his father’s approval. “Actually, he thinks it could be big for the label, for promotion. So... he’s given me the green light to head it up, manage the logistics, the bands, the venue spaces. I’m in charge now."
James was quiet for a moment, taking in the magnitude of what Regulus was saying. "That’s huge, Reg. Sounds like a big deal. I mean, it’s not every day you get handed the reins of something that could make or break a bunch of careers." He paused, a thoughtful look crossing his face. "And this is all on you, huh?"
Regulus nodded, his nerves clearly bubbling to the surface now that the words were out in the open. "Yeah. And, I’m… I’m not sure how people will react to me running it, you know? I’m not exactly my father." He met James’s eyes, his voice softening a little. "I know it’s risky, but I think it could really work. It could be great for local bands—give them a platform, some exposure. And, well, it’s something that could really change the way people look at the label."
James’s eyes softened as he leaned in, clearly impressed by the weight of what Regulus was telling him. "Shit, Reg, it’s an amazing idea. I mean, sure, it's a risk, but isn't that what this whole scene is about?"
Regulus sighed, the tension easing just a fraction as he absorbed James’s encouragement. "I’ve got a lot of work to do. I need to start talking to venues, sorting out the brackets, getting the bands on board. It’s a huge task."
James smiled warmly, leaning back in his chair. "Hey, if you need a hand with anything—anything at all – you just have to ask."
“Hey, I was thinking... if The Marauders are interested….maybe you and your band could be in it? And we could use Godric’s Hollow as the venue for lots of the face-offs? I think it’d be great for the whole scene." He paused, glancing at James.
James blinked, the significance of Regulus’s words sinking in. His first instinct was to jump at the opportunity—of course he wanted to help promote a local music scene that mattered, of course he wanted The Marauders to be involved. But there was something else hanging in the air now, a new layer to this whole thing: Sirius.
“Of course we do, Reg. I’ll talk to the band tonight. Just remember, Sirius may need some convincing” James cautioned.
Regulus’s eyes flickered with gratitude. "Thanks. And I know about Sirius. I was kind of hoping this would be a way to mend fences with him…at least, I’d like to try."
James grinned, lifting his coffee cup in a mock toast. "I’m always down to support a good cause. Plus, I’m already imagining the kind of chaos we’re gonna see at these shows. It’ll be wicked, man."
Regulus laughed softly, the tension in his shoulders slowly melting away. "Yeah... it’s definitely going to be chaotic. But I think that’s the point."
They shared a quiet moment of understanding, both of them acutely aware of how much this project would shape Regulus's future and the local music scene.
"Alright," Regulus said, glancing at his watch. "I guess I should get back to work. I’ve got a million things to do today. But... I appreciate you listening to me. It means a lot."
"Anytime," James replied with a grin, standing up. "And hey, don’t hesitate to call me when things get crazy. I’ll be there."
Regulus gave a small smile, nodding as he stood. "You know I will,” he replied with a significant look at him. “Thanks for being here, James.” And before he could think twice, Regulus leaned in and placed a whisper of a kiss on James’ cheek.
The last thing he saw before the left the café was James standing there looking gobsmacked.
James
James couldn’t sit still. He was stoked—this Battle of the Bands thing was going to be huge, bigger than anything the scene had seen in a long time. He could already picture the flyers plastered around town, the packed shows, the bands clawing their way through the brackets, night after night. It was the kind of thing that could put Godric’s Hollow on the map in an even bigger way. It was brilliant. Regulus was brilliant.
But there was one problem.
Sirius.
James had been talking to Regulus for weeks now—late-night phone calls, long conversations about music, the scene, the label, everything. And now, he had to tell Sirius. His best friend. His very opinionated best friend, who’d rather set himself on fire than have anything to do with the Black family business.
James had no idea how this was going to go down. He told himself it wasn’t a betrayal—he hadn’t done anything wrong. But hiding the conversations, waiting this long to say anything… that was different.
He just had to rip off the band-aid. Before Regulus announced anything, before Sirius heard it from someone else.
“Shit,” James muttered, running a hand through his hair. He’d face down a rowdy crowd at a packed show any day, but telling Sirius he’d been scheming with his estranged brother?
This was going to be rough.
***
James barely got the words out before Sirius’s expression turned stormy.
"You what?" Sirius snapped, his voice sharp enough to cut glass.
James braced himself. He’d expected this—of course he had—but it still sucked.
"I've been talking to Regulus," James said, trying to keep his voice even. "For a few weeks now. He’s putting together this Battle of the Bands thing, and it’s…"
Sirius laughed, but there was nothing amused about it. "So you’ve been sneaking around, chatting with Regulus, of all people, for weeks? And you didn’t think to mention it?"
James exhaled slowly. "Sneaking around makes it sound worse than it is. I was going to tell you."
"When? After the flyers went up? When I walked into the club and saw his name plastered on the walls?" Sirius’s jaw was tight, his fingers twitching like he wanted to grab a cigarette, a drink—something to busy his hands. "Jesus Christ, James."
James ran a hand through his hair. "It’s not like that. He’s not trying to screw anyone over—he actually wants to do something good for the scene. I figured you’d be happy that he’s pulling his head out of his ass for once."
Sirius scoffed. "Happy? Oh yeah, I’m thrilled my darling little brother has decided to make a name for himself under my father’s label—the same label I walked away from, the same one I wanted nothing to do with." He shook his head. "You of all people should understand why I don’t want my name anywhere near it."
James sighed, frustration creeping in. "I do understand, but Sirius—he’s trying to change things. He wants to bring in punk, grunge, all the bands our scene actually cares about. You act like he’s our enemy, but maybe he’s just as done with your dad’s bullshit as you are."
Sirius’s eyes flashed. "Maybe? James, I lived that bullshit. You didn’t. You don’t know what you’re talking about."
James clenched his jaw. "I know that I didn’t want to hide this from you. I know I was trying to do the right thing by telling you before it went public."
Sirius let out a bitter laugh. "Oh yeah? And how long did it take you to decide to do the ‘right thing’? After how many phone calls? How many weeks of knowing and not saying a damn word?"
James felt the guilt claw at his chest. He didn’t have a good answer for that, not one that would make this better.
Sirius shook his head, stepping back. "I need a drink," he muttered, and before James could say another word, Sirius turned on his heel and stalked out of the apartment.
James exhaled harshly, rubbing a hand over his face. Well. That went great.
Sirius
Sirius was wasted.
Not tipsy, not buzzed—properly shitfaced. The kind of drunk where everything felt a little unsteady, like the world was tilting just slightly off-center, but the anger burning in his chest kept him upright.
James. Fucking James. Of all the people to keep secrets from him, James was the last one he ever expected. And over Regulus, no less.
He barely remembered how he got to Remus’s place, just that one minute he was at the bar ordering another whiskey, and the next he was banging on Remus’s door, slurring his name.
When the door swung open, Remus stood there in an oversized sweater and boxers, hair messy like he'd just woken up. He blinked at Sirius, taking in his disheveled state with a sigh.
"Sirius?"
"Moony!" Sirius pushed past him into the apartment, swaying slightly as he made his way to the couch and flopped down dramatically. "James is a traitor."
Remus closed the door and turned to him, arms crossed. "You’re drunk."
"You’re perceptive." Sirius muttered, rubbing his hands over his face before looking up. "But seriously. James. Talking to Regulus. For weeks, Moony. Weeks. Didn’t tell me a damn thing."
Remus sat beside him, his expression unreadable. "I mean…I’m not saying he handled it perfectly, but he did tell you. That’s something."
Sirius groaned, throwing his head back against the couch. "Don’t defend him. Just…be on my side for five minutes, alright?"
Remus sighed. "Alright. James is a bastard. I’m on your side. Now, drink some water."
Sirius huffed but took the glass Remus handed him, sipping it begrudgingly. For a while, he just sat there, staring at the floor, the anger slowly simmering down to something else—something heavy and uncomfortable.
After a long silence, he turned his head, looking at Remus in the dim light. "You’re good to me, Moony."
Remus gave a small, amused huff. "Yeah, well. Why wouldn’t I be?"
Sirius shifted, turning toward him, his gaze dipping to Remus’s mouth. "You know, you could be even better to me right now…" He reached out, fingers tracing lightly over Remus’s knee, sliding up his thigh.
Remus tensed. "Sirius."
"C’mon, Moons," Sirius murmured, leaning in. "Let’s have a little fun, yeah? I’ve been dying to kiss you again… I know you want it, too."
Remus caught his wrist before Sirius could go any further. "You’re drunk."
"So?" Sirius challenged, tilting his head. "Doesn’t change anything."
"It does to me." Remus’s voice was firm. "I’m not doing this while you’re like this."
Sirius pulled his hand back like he’d been burned, something dark flickering across his expression. "Oh, I see. So I have to be sober for you to want me?"
"That’s not what I said," Remus replied, calm but unwavering.
Sirius scoffed, pushing himself up from the couch unsteadily. "Forget it."
"Sirius…”
"No, really," Sirius snapped. "Don’t do me any favors, yeah?"
He staggered toward the door, yanking it open. Remus didn’t stop him.
The cool night air hit Sirius as he stormed outside, but it did nothing to sober him. His skin was too hot, his chest too tight, his thoughts too loud.
Fucking James. Fucking Remus.
He needed another drink.
Chapter 12: September 1, 1991
Chapter Text
Lily
Lily sighed, rubbing her temples as she leaned against the counter at Flourish & Blotts. Rehearsals had been rough lately. No one seemed in sync—off rhythm, off key, off everything.
Dorcas was frustrated, James kept missing cues, and Sirius seemed distracted, like his mind was elsewhere. Even Lily herself had been feeling the tension simmering under the surface. She knew it was only a matter of time before it all exploded, but she hadn’t expected it to be that bad.
It had happened two nights ago in the middle of practice.
James had stopped playing mid-song, unplugging his guitar with a wailing sound of feedback. "For fuck’s sake, can we just focus?"
Sirius had rolled his eyes from where he sat on the amp, lazily running his hand through his hair. "Relax, dude. No one’s dead."
"No, but our fucking band might be if you keep showing up to rehearsals half-way blasted every day," James had shot back.
The room had gone dead silent.
Lily had exchanged a look with Dorcas.
Sirius had sat up straighter, his expression darkening. "What did you just say?"
"You heard me," James had said, voice tight. "You’re always drinking, Sirius. Always. And it’s fucking up our band."
Sirius had let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "Right. That’s rich coming from you. You wanna talk about fucking things up? How about you sneaking around behind my back, having cozy little chats with Regulus…”
"Oh, this again"
"Yeah, this again," Sirius had snapped. "You’re so worried about me screwing things up? Maybe take a look in the mirror, man. Or better yet, why don’t you tell everyone about your secret little Battle of the Bands scheme?"
Lily had frowned. "What?"
Dorcas had sat up straighter. "Battle of the Bands? What the hell is he talking about, James?"
James had sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It’s this thing Regulus pitched to me. A months-long competition, like a March Madness bracket but for bands. Gringotts is backing it, and…”
"And you didn’t think to tell us?" Dorcas had snapped.
"I was going to!" James had insisted. "I just…."
"He was scared to tell me," Sirius had muttered bitterly, standing up. "And for good fucking reason."
With that, he’d stormed out, leaving the rest of them in stunned silence.
Lily sighed, coming back to the present. That was two days ago, and things still felt tense. The Marauders had another rehearsal tonight, and she had no idea how they were going to pull themselves together in time.
James
James sat alone in the back office of Godric’s Hollow, staring at a stack of flyers he wasn’t actually reading. His head was pounding—not from a hangover, for once, but from the weight of everything that had gone to shit over the last few days.
He knew he’d fucked up by not telling Sirius about Regulus. He should have been upfront from the start instead of sneaking around like some kind of traitor. But it wasn’t like he’d planned to keep it a secret. At first, it had just been one conversation—Regulus asking about The Marauders, floating the idea of some big project. Then, somehow, they were talking nearly every night, about music, about their lives, about everything.
And James had liked it. More than he wanted to admit. But now it was over.
After Sirius’s blow-up, James had told Regulus, "I can’t keep talking to you—not until things calm down." And Regulus had only said, "I understand."
And that was it.
No fight. No argument. Just understanding. And that hurt more.
James sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. He missed Regulus—missed his voice, his sharp humor, the way he saw right through James’s bullshit. But he’d made his choice. Sirius came first.
And Sirius… fuck. His best friend was drinking too much. Again.
James had seen it before, years ago, when they were barely out of high school. Sirius had always had a wild streak, but this wasn’t that. This was something else. Something self-destructive. He showed up to rehearsals already buzzed, downed shots at the bar like water, and whenever James tried to bring it up, Sirius would either laugh it off or pick a fight.
And now, on top of everything, James had to figure out how to get Sirius to agree to Battle of the Bands.
But he kept coming up empty.
Sirius would never go for it, not when it meant working with Regulus. Not when it meant acknowledging that his brother might actually be trying to build something good. James exhaled sharply and leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. He heard the door creak open but didn’t look up. He knew that shuffle of footsteps anywhere—his dad.
“You look like your favorite band just broke up,” Monty remarked, dropping into the chair across from him. “Or like they’re about to.”
James sighed and finally looked over. His dad was nursing a cup of coffee that smelled more like whiskey than caffeine. Classic Monty. “Feels like it might.”
Monty hummed, taking a sip. “Let me guess. This is about Sirius.”
James gave a bitter laugh. “When is it not about Sirius?”
Monty didn’t argue. He just watched his son for a moment, like he was waiting to see if James would keep talking. And, of course, James did.
“I fucked up, Dad. I didn’t tell Sirius that I’ve been talking to Regulus, and now he’s furious with me. And I get it, I do, but Regulus….he’s not like how Sirius says he is. He’s trying to do something different. And I think it could be big. But Sirius won’t even listen. And now I’ve pissed off both of them.”
Monty nodded, like this was all expected. “Sirius is stubborn.”
James scoffed. “Understatement.”
Monty chuckled, then set his cup down. “But you are, too.”
James frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Monty leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “You’re trying to win this, James. You’re trying to find the perfect argument, the magic words that’ll make Sirius see your side. But that’s not how this works. Sirius isn’t gonna be convinced by logic, and he sure as hell isn’t gonna be forced into anything. You want him on board? Then stop thinking like a businessman and start thinking like his best friend.”
James was quiet for a moment, mulling that over.
Monty continued, “You and Sirius—you’ve been through hell together. But when it comes down to it, he trusts you. Even when he’s pissed as all hell, he trusts you. So if you want him to give this a shot, then you’ve got to make him want to trust you on it.”
James exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “And how do I do that?”
Monty smiled, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “You tell me, kid.”
James huffed a laugh despite himself. Typical Monty—never giving straight answers, always making James figure it out himself.
But maybe… maybe he had a point.
***
James found Sirius exactly where he expected—standing outside Ollivander’s, a cigarette dangling from his lips, boots planted on the pavement like he was ready to take off at a moment’s notice.
James approached cautiously, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. “Got a minute?”
Sirius exhaled a long stream of smoke and didn’t look at him. “Depends. You here to talk more about my traitorous little brother?”
James sighed. “No. I’m here to talk to you.”
That got Sirius to flick his eyes over, guarded but listening. James took it as a good sign and pressed on.
“Look, I fucked up,” James admitted. “I should have told you about Regulus from the start, but I didn’t, and I’m sorry.”
Sirius scoffed but didn’t interrupt.
“And yeah, I think this Battle of the Bands thing is a good idea, and I do want you to consider it. But, Sirius…” James took a breath. “I don’t care about any of that as much as I care about you.”
Sirius finally turned to look at him fully, cigarette forgotten.
James continued, “You’re my best friend. You’re my brother. And I hate seeing you like this—angry all the time, drinking like it’s the only thing keeping you sane.” His voice dropped. “It scares me.”
Sirius clenched his jaw, staring past James now, like he was thinking of lighting another cigarette just to have something to do with his hands. But after a long pause, he muttered, “I hate feeling like this.”
“Listen, Sirius," he said, voice quieter now. "You know I wouldn’t back something if I thought it was a waste of time. This is big. I’m talking about real industry people watching us, but watching us do our thing—not theirs. A chance to prove that we’re more than just some club band playing to a bunch of drunks on a Friday night."
Sirius exhaled sharply, tapping his cigarette against the metal railing. “You think I give a shit about what industry people think?”
“No,” James admitted. “But you care about music. And you care about The Marauders. This isn’t about your dad, or Regulus, or some fucking business empire. This is ours. Our band, our shot. And yeah, maybe it’s a long one, but when have we ever backed down from a challenge?”
Sirius stayed quiet, jaw tense.
James sighed, then played his trump card. “Remember when we were sixteen and we swore that we were going to make it out of our parents’ shadows and do something that was ours?”
Sirius swallowed.
“This is it, Sirius.” James nudged him. “I’m asking you to trust me on this.”
Sirius ran a hand through his hair, exhaling like this whole thing was painful, but finally he nodded. “Fine.”
James blinked. “Fine?”
Sirius groaned. “Yes, James. Fine. I’ll do the fucking Battle of the Bands.”
James whooped, slapping him on the back. “You won’t regret it.”
“Oh, I absolutely will,” Sirius muttered, but there was something lighter in his voice now, something less weighed down.
James, still riding the high of getting Sirius to agree, smirked. “Alright, now that we’ve settled that, let’s talk about something even more pressing—how bad did you fuck things up with Remus?”
Sirius groaned dramatically, dragging his hands down his face. “Why do you do this to me, Potter?”
James shrugged. “Because I care about you. And I like Remus. And I think you two should just…." He made a vague gesture. “…do something about all that ridiculous tension before one of you combusts. Lily says he’s been moping around the shop for days”
Sirius let out a humorless laugh. “Yeah, well. I fucked it all up.”
James raised an eyebrow. “How bad are we talking?”
Sirius sighed and flicked his cigarette away. “I got shitfaced, went to his apartment, ranted about you, then tried to kiss him, and when he said no because I was too drunk, I got pissed and stormed out.” He dragged a hand through his hair, voice quiet. “So, yeah. Pretty fucking bad.”
James winced. “Dude.”
“I know,” Sirius muttered. “I was an asshole to him.” His voice turned bitter. “I don’t even know why I went there. It’s not like I do this….” He gestured vaguely, frustration written all over his face. “This wanting someone shit. It’s supposed to be easy. You hook up, you leave, you don’t care.”
James eyed him carefully. “But you do care.”
Sirius exhaled sharply. “Yeah,” he admitted, voice almost defeated. “I do.”
James let the silence settle between them for a moment before nudging him. “So fix it.”
Sirius laughed, but it was hollow. “It’s not that simple.”
“Sure it is,” James said. “You go to him—sober—and tell him you’re a dumb bastard and that you’re sorry.”
Sirius huffed. “Like that’ll work.”
James smirked. “You’re Sirius Black, man. You could probably just show up looking all moody and tragic and he’d forgive you on the spot.”
Sirius rolled his eyes, but there was something thoughtful in his expression. Something like hope, even if he didn’t want to admit it.
Chapter 13: September 2, 1991
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Marlene
Kreacher’s diner was mostly empty at 3 am, the fluorescent lights buzzing softly overhead. The air smelled like burnt coffee and greasy fries, but to Marlene, the energy at the back booth was slammin’.
Peter leaned back in the booth, stretching his arms over his head with a satisfied sigh. “Man, that show was fucking electric,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief. “That crowd was into it.”
Marlene grinned, “Right? You felt that energy, yeah? When we hit the first chorus of ‘Silver Doe’—God, I thought the walls were gonna cave in.”
Peter pointed at her. “Yes! And when Remus came in with that bass solo on ‘Parseltongue’…” He clapped a hand over his heart. “I saw this one guy in the front row lose his mind. Like, full-body headbang, drink flying everywhere.”
Marlene laughed, nudging Remus. “Yeah, dude, you had people ready to riot over that shit.”
Remus huffed a small, reluctant laugh. “Well, that’s flattering.”
“Flattering?” Peter repeated, aghast. “Man, we fucking killed tonight. The harmonies? Tight. The drums? Sick. And the way you ended ‘Obliviate’ with that feedback ringing out? Straight-up magic.”
Marlene nodded enthusiastically. “I swear, I got chills. I almost forgot to play my part ‘cause I was too busy being in awe of us.”
Peter laughed. “Marlene, you could never forget your part. You live for that shit.”
“You’re damn right,” she said smugly. “And you know what else? Madam Puddifoot’s is never gonna book another band without thinking, ‘Damn, wish we had Moonsick again.’”
Peter raised his glass of soda in agreement. “To Moonsick,” he said.
Marlene clinked her glass against his, then nudged Remus again. “Come on, broody boy. We were sick tonight. You gotta admit it.”
Remus finally cracked a small smile, shaking his head as he lifts his coffee. “Yeah, alright,” he conceded. “To Moonsick.”
Kreacher, the crotchety and cantankerous owner, scowled as he slams a plate of fries onto the table. “Loud, messy lot, the whole of you,” he grumbled.
Marlene just grinned, popping a fry into her mouth. “Aw, Kreach, you say that like it’s not why you love us.” Kreacher’s overly large ears turned red as he stepped away, but she caught the hint of a smile on his weathered face.
Remus furrowed his brows and seemed to shrink in on himself as he hunched down in the booth. Marlene picked up on it first, nudging Peter and nodding toward Remus. “Alright, what’s up with you, dude? You’ve been back to being a broody bitch the past few days. Wanna tell us what’s going on?”
Peter leaned in, smirking. “Yeah, man, this is post-gig celebration hour. You’re ruining the vibe.”
Remus exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “It’s nothing.”
“Bullshit,” Marlene said immediately, throwing a fry at him. “Spill.”
Remus hesitated, his fingers tightening around the ceramic mug. “It’s just…Sirius.”
Peter raised an eyebrow. “I though you guys started seeing each other after the big show with The Marauders. You were over the fucking moon for days afterward. Impossible to be around—just like Marlene when she gets all sappy over Dorcas.”
“Hey!” Marlene punched Peter in the shoulder, and Peter gasped in mock pain, trying his best to look injured.
“Yeah.” Remus scoffed, rubbing at his eyes. “But things change, don’t they? I just….I guess I thought he was special.”
Marlene exchanged a look with Peter before turning back to Remus. “And you’ve decided this because...?”
“Because…” Remus exhaled, jaw tight. “Just because.” He clammed up, not wanting to talk about the drunken incident with Sirius. “Look, it isn’t like we were dating, or even fucking. I mean, I’m over it and all....”
Peter hummed, thoughtful. “Sorry, dude. That really sucks.”
Marlene grinned. “Yeah, Remus,” she teased, stealing one of his fries. “Sounds like you’re really over it…”
Remus
Remus, exhausted and running on only a few hours of sleep, was reorganizing a shelf of guitar strings when the bell above the door chimed. He didn’t think much of it—Flourish & Blotts had a steady stream of customers shuffling in and out.
Then he heard a familiar voice clearing its throat.
His stomach twisted.
Sirius Black was standing a few feet away, looking out of place. His usual cocky, sharp-edged presence was noticeably dimmed, and there was something uncertain in the way he held himself.
Remus swallowed. “Sirius.”
“Remus.”
Barty, who had been flipping through a newspaper behind the counter, glanced up. “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he muttered under his breath. He didn’t ask—just waved Remus off and said, “Go. Lunch break. Right now.”
Remus hesitated. Sirius, hands stuffed into the pockets of his leather jacket, nodded toward the door. “Walk with me?”
After a moment, Remus sighed. “Yeah. Alright.”
***
They ended up at Ollivander’s, sitting in a back booth with two cups of coffee untouched on the table in front of them Remus leaned back, arms crossed. “Alright, then. Talk.”
Sirius ran a hand through his hair, exhaling. “I was a right prick the other night.”
“Yeah,” Remus agreed.
Sirius huffed a laugh. “Right. Deserved that.” He shifted, fidgeting with a silver ring on his finger. “I was drunk and pissed off, and I took it out on you. You didn’t deserve that.”
Remus watched him carefully. “No, I didn’t.”
Sirius nodded, biting the inside of his cheek. Then, softer, “I’m sorry.”
Something in Remus’s chest loosened at that. But before he could say anything, Sirius kept going, words spilling out like he’d been holding them back for too long.
“And the thing is, it’s not just that I was drunk. It’s not just that I was mad at James, or at myself, or at whatever the fuck else I was brooding about.” He looked at Remus then, gaze open, raw. “It’s you. You’re in my head, and it’s fucking terrifying, because I don’t do this. I don’t get stuck on people. I don’t…” He broke off, shaking his head. “But here I am, completely, pathetically into you.”
Remus’s breath hitched. He’d spent the last few days thinking about Sirius, fantasizing, wondering, but hearing him say it out loud—admitting it—was something else entirely.
Sirius laughed, but it wasn’t mocking. More self-deprecating. “And honestly, if you tell me to fuck off, I’ll get it. But I needed to say it. I needed you to know.”
Remus stared at him, heartbeat pounding in his ears. Then, before he could second-guess himself, he leaned closer, close enough to see the uncertainty flickering in Sirius’s expression.
“You’re not as smooth as you think you are,” Remus murmured.
Sirius blinked. “I….what?”
Remus huffed a laugh and reached out and brushed his fingers against Sirius’s wrist. Sirius held his breath. “I don’t want you when you’re pissed out of your mind, saying things you’ll regret in the morning,” Remus said, voice steady. “But this? You, standing in front of me, saying this sober?” He let his fingers linger before finally pulling away. “I think I could want that.”
Sirius stared at him for a long moment, as if waiting for the punchline. Then, slowly, a grin curled at the edges of his lips.
“Well, fuck,” he said, voice lighter than it had been in weeks. “Guess I have to try to actually impress you now.”
Remus rolled his eyes, but he was smiling, too. “Good luck with that.”
***
Remus finished his sandwich and pushed his plate to the side of the table. “So, this Battle of the Bands,” Remus asked. “You mentioned it before. What’s it all about?”
Sirius paused, his brow furrowing slightly as he thought about it. “It’s kind of a big project that James like…forced me to get involved in,” he added with a wry smile. “It’s this massive competition, like March Madness for local bands. Pitting the best bands against each other, building up this bracket, and ultimately crowning a winner. It’s gonna be big, Remus. A way for the smaller bands to get noticed by some of the right people.”
Remus’s eyes lit up. “That’s amazing.” He couldn’t help it—the thought of a competition like that, one that would put Moonsick on a platform, made his heart race a little faster. “Is Moonsick gonna be part of it?”
Sirius smiled, and there was something a little softer in the way he spoke this time. “I’m not sure, but I don’t see why not. They’d be an idiot to leave you guys out. I mean, you’re Moonsick, Moony. The whole city’s buzzing about you.”
Remus felt a flush rise in his cheeks, though he quickly masked it with a cool smile. “Well, we’re in if they’re offering.” He leaned forward, voice low and serious. “But I’d like to know more. About the whole thing. The reason you were so mad at James about it.”
Sirius hesitated for a moment, his eyes flicking to the floor, before he nodded. “The thing is... I’ve had a complicated relationship with this whole project because of my family, and James know how big a deal it is. This is all my brother’s idea, and I haven’t really spoken to Reggie in about eight years. Look, it’s not a big deal, but my family owns the record label he works for, and I kind of grew up hating it and everything that it stood for. My dad always wanted me to take over his stupid “empire” until I finally stood up to him and moved out and he pretty much disinherited me.” He paused, rubbing the back of his neck. “And Regulus. My baby brother. We’ve never really seen eye to eye, especially since I refused to be a part of the label. It was a... breaking point for me. I was in a bad place for a long time before James helped me leave it all behind. But now, it’s starting to feel like I’m back there all over again.”
Remus cocked his head, studying Sirius. “So what made you change your mind?”
Sirius nodded slowly. “Well, I realized how much James and Lily and Dorcas want this opportunity, and I love them. I can’t keep it away from them just because of my fucked up family. I just don’t want to see Reg, and I was mad because James had been talking to him. James is my friend, and yes, I know that’s selfish, but it’s true.” He sighed. “God, you and I haven’t even been on a real date, and you are finding out what just how fucked up I am.”
Remus’s heart ached a little for him. He knew how hard it was to rebuild bridges that had been burned, especially when it was with family. He placed a hand on the table, steadying himself, before he spoke. “You’ve got a fucked up family history – so do I and so do a lot of people. It doesn’t make you fucked up, Sirius.”
Sirius’s gaze softened, a moment of warmth crossing his face. “Thanks, Moony.”
They sat there for a moment, staring at each other. Then Remus, unable to help himself, grinned. “You know, if Moonsick gets in, I’m going to make sure we totally wipe the floor with the competition.”
Sirius chuckled, leaning back against the booth. “I’d expect nothing less from you.” He eyed him for a second before asking, “You’re not worried about it, though? All that... industry stuff? That they’re going to try to change you? Control you? Cause I don’t want to sell my soul to the devil for a little bit of cash and a video on MTV.”
Remus shook his head, the smile never leaving his lips. “No. We’ve got something real, and if they can’t see that, they are blind. If they don’t want that, then fuck ‘em. We aren’t going to change who we are for them.”
Remus stood up and slid around the booth to Sirius’s side. He leaned in close and brushed his lips over Sirius’s before whispering in his ear, “You know, I’m completely, pathetically into you, too.”
Regulus
Regulus sat at his desk, a cup of coffee in hand, surrounded by a mountain of paperwork and band submissions. The clock on the wall ticked away, but his focus was solely on the task at hand—sorting through a slew of tapes and demos for the upcoming Battle of the Bands. His fingers drummed nervously against the edge of his desk as he and Pandora Lovegood, his diligent assistant, pored over the growing list of potential bands.
Pandora was leaning over the desk, her long blonde hair tied up in a messy bun, her eyes alight with excitement. “Regulus, I’m telling you, you’ve got to listen to this band. The Nargles. They’re absolutely brilliant. I can feel it. I just know they’re going to blow everyone away.”
Regulus raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair, clearly not as convinced. “Pandora, we’ve already got a solid list of bands….and this stack of tapes to get through before we can narrow it down.” He glanced at her, arms folded, eyebrows knitted. “We’ve been through this. There’s only room for sixteen. And they’ve got to be the best.”
She crossed her arms over her chest, clearly not backing down. “But, Regulus, these guys—the Nargles—they’re different. They’ve got this... fast-paced, upbeat energy. You need to hear them. Just one listen, and you’ll see. I swear they’re exactly what this competition needs.”
Regulus sighed. His gaze flickered briefly to glance over at the never-ending stack of band submissions. He rubbed his temples, clearly exhausted from the deliberation.
“Fine,” he muttered, reaching over to grab the tape from Pandora’s outstretched hand. “I’ll give it a listen. But if it’s a waste of time, I’m putting my foot down.”
Pandora’s face lit up, her excitement showing. “You won’t regret it, Regulus. I promise.”
He pressed play, the crackle of the tape filling the room for a moment before the first few chords of the song rang out. The Nargles end up being a high-energy ska band with up-tempo guitar riffs and infectious rhythms.
Regulus started bobbing his head. As the song played, he could feel the chaotic blend of playful horn blasts and rebellious lyrics, all wrapped up in a fun, yet punk aesthetic, the energy that Pandora had been so enthusiastic about.
“Okay,” Regulus said, after a long moment of silence, his voice betraying a touch of awe. “I’ll admit it, Pandora. This is... actually good. You weren’t wrong.”
Pandora grinned triumphantly. “Told you! I knew it.”
Regulus shook his head, amused by her persistence. “Alright, alright. We’ll think about including them. But no promises. And no more surprises.”
She nodded vigorously, clearly pleased with herself. “Deal! The Nargles have a chance. I can’t wait for you to see them live!”
Regulus sighed, turning his attention back to the piles of band tapes that still needed to be sorted through.
Pandora gave him a playful wink as she walked out of his office. “I know. You’ll thank me later when they steal the show.”
Regulus smiled to himself. At first, he’d been skeptical about hiring Pandora. The way she would bounce into the office with an odd mix of enthusiasm and chaos seemed a far cry from what he’d imagined a professional assistant to be. But after a few weeks of seeing her in action, he had to admit she was efficient. He’d been surprised by how well her quirkiness meshed with his own work ethic. It was an odd combination, but it worked. She could organize his calendar like clockwork, chase down the most elusive artists for meetings, and still find time to throw in a weird little observation about the "vibe" of the office.
Regulus couldn't quite put his finger on it, but he liked having her around. It was the perfect balance—her eccentricities kept things interesting, and her competence meant he didn’t have to worry about the details.
***
Regulus sat back in his office chair, the quiet hum of the building around him making the late hour feel even more isolating. Everyone else had already gone home for the day. He stared at the pile of band tapes in front of him, knowing he needed to keep sorting through them. The clock on the wall ticked louder than usual in the silence, and he was about to pour himself another cup of coffee when the phone on his desk rang, breaking the stillness.
“Regulus Black,” he answered, his voice tired but steady.
“Hey,” said an uncertain but familiar voice on the other end. “Uh…I was going to leave a message. I can’t believe you picked up this late at night. This is James.” A rush of butterflies flew through Regulus’s gut.
Damn, he was acting like a stupid teenager again.
“Hey…it’s good to hear from you. What’s up?” Regulus tried to sound casual, as if his heart wasn’t thumping against his ribcage.
“I talked to Sirius today. We had a long conversation... and I think he’s finally on board for Battle of the Bands.”
Regulus sat up straighter, a flicker of relief rushing through him. “Really? That’s great news,” he said, unable to hide the gratitude in his voice. “I wasn’t sure if he’d come around.”
“Yeah, he’s stubborn. I think he’s secretly excited at the prospect of getting to work with you,” James replied, a hint of satisfaction in his tone. “So, that means we might be able to make this happen.”
Regulus exhaled, leaning back in his chair. “I’m glad. It’s going to be fucking incredible with The Marauders on board.”
There was a brief pause before James spoke again. “Actually... there’s something else. I wanted to ask. Now that this is sorted, does that mean we can go back to talking like we used to? You know, our late-night conversations?”
Regulus felt his heart rate pick up even more, an unexpected warmth spreading through him. The thought of talking to James again, of the little chats that had become something more than just idle conversation, made him feel a flutter of excitement. “I... I’d like that,” he replied, his voice softer than usual.
A smile tugged at James’s voice. “Then it’s a plan. Let’s catch up tomorrow tonight, yeah? Call me?”
Regulus felt his cheeks blush at the suggestion, his stomach doing an unexpected flip. “Sounds good.”
Regulus hung up the phone and groaned to himself.
Notes:
So I’ve been singing Moonsick’s song Obliviate to the tune of Sonic Youth’s Incinerate. And Moody’s baseline on Parseltongue sounds like the one in Fugazi’s Waiting Room.
The Nargles sound like The Dead Milkmen but with a little more ska edge.
Chapter 14: September 7, 1991
Notes:
CW: There is an explicit scene in this chapter. If you wish to skip it, stop reading at the first ## and pick up after the second ##.
Chapter Text
Remus
It was a crisp Saturday morning when Sirius called Remus, his voice low and confident. "Hey, Moony," he said, "I'm taking you out tonight. Be ready at six o'clock."
Remus felt his heart skip a beat. A date. With Sirius. He quickly agreed, though his mind raced as he hung up. He had no idea what to wear. It wasn’t like he hadn’t spent time with Sirius before—hell, they’d had that whole heated encounter on the beach and they’d been talking on the phone regularly this past week—but this felt different.
He rifled through his closet, discarding one shirt after another, uncertain if they gave off the right vibe. After what felt like an eternity, he finally settled on a soft grey henley that was the same shade as Sirius’s eyes, paired with well-worn jeans. He stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the silver chain around his neck, then pushing up his sleeves to expose his moon tattoo. He had a sudden burst of self-doubt, but before he could overthink it, the knock on the door pulled him from his thoughts.
Sirius was standing there when Remus opened the door, a playful smirk on his lips. His eyes roamed over Remus, and his gaze lingered just a second longer than necessary.
“Looking good, Moony,” he said, his tone half-serious, half-teasing. “You ready for a night out?”
Remus nodded, his heart pounding as Sirius leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. The moment felt loaded, both of them feeling their undeniable chemistry.
They exchanged a few more light kisses as they stood there, the atmosphere between them thick with tension and excitement. Remus’ stomach fluttered, his nerves easing, but only slightly. He could feel the heat of Sirius's body, the closeness making his pulse quicken.
After a few more kisses, they headed out.
Dinner was at a small, cozy Italian restaurant, tucked in a quiet part of town. The candlelight flickered between them as they sat across from each other, the conversation flowing effortlessly. They joked about garlic breath—especially after they both loaded up on garlic bread—and laughed at the absurdity of it all. Remus couldn’t help but notice how easy it was to talk to Sirius, how comfortable he felt in his presence. It was like they had their own little world, where everything felt right.
Sirius tilted his head in playfully. “So, Moonsick, huh? You name the band?”
Remus, shook his head, sipping his beer. “Nah. That was our guitarist, Marlene. But she says it was inspired by me.”
“Oh? You moon-crazed or something?” Sirius teased.
Remus smirked. “Something like that.”
“That why you got that?” Sirius asked, pointing to Remus’s tattoo.
Remus glanced down at it. “Maybe.”
Sirius gasps mockingly. “Mysterious. I like it.”
Remus exhales, looking almost like he might brush it off, but doesn’t. “It from my mom. She used to tell me that no matter where I was, I could always talk to her if I looked up at the moon.”
Sirius lowered his voice reverently. “She sounds like she’s cool.”
“She was,” Remus replied softly.
“She still around?” Sirius inquires
Remus shook his head. “No. Been a while.”
Sirius nods thoughtfully and reached across the table to squeeze Remus’s hand “I like that, though. The moon thing. It’s kind of… I dunno. Nice, I guess. Knowing someone’s looking out for you up there.”
Remus smiled gratefully. As they finished their meal and got up to leave, Sirius’s hand brushed against his. Remus leaned in, pressing a soft, enticing kiss to Sirius’s lips before pulling away reluctantly.
“Ready for a show?” Sirius asked, his eyes glinting with excitement.
“Always,” Remus replied with a grin, feeling a buzz of energy course through him. Sirius had a way of making everything feel electric.
The night’s destination was Whisky-a-Go-Go, and Sirius had gotten them tickets to see a sold out show—Soundgarden—one of Remus’s all-time favorite bands. The excitement in Remus was palpable as they arrived, walking through the packed crowd toward the front. The atmosphere was charged with anticipation. The lights dimmed, the crowd roared, and the first guitar riff rang out like a burst of energy.
The band’s raw power filled the room, the sound vibrating through Remus’s chest as he moved with the music, lost in the rhythm. He could feel Sirius’s presence next to him, their shoulders brushing, their energy intertwined. The crowd was wild, and the music was even wilder. Soundgarden played with ferocity, and Remus felt every beat in his bones.
Sirius’s hand found his, and before long, they were pressed up against the wall, bodies moving in sync to the beat. It wasn’t long before the heat between them started to feel more urgent. Sirius leaned in close, his lips brushing against Remus’s ear. “You’re fucking gorgeous,” he whispered, sending a thrill through Remus’s spine.
Remus’s breath hitched, and his hand slid over Sirius’s chest, feeling the solid warmth of him under his clothes. They were both swaying, caught up in the music and in each other, the noise of the crowd, the raw passion of the band filling the space between them. Sirius’s lips found his once more, this time harder, more insistent, their kiss deepening as they lost themselves in the moment.
Remus’s heart raced and he felt the blood rush to his groin as Sirius’s hands moved, tracing over his back. Their kisses became more urgent, more heated, as they were pressed together in the crowded space. Remus’s body ached for him. Sirius’s lips left Remus’s mouth to trail along his jaw, his breath hot against his skin. Remus groaned softly, his hands gripping Sirius’s shoulders. They didn’t care about the people around them anymore. They were lost in each other, lost in the moment, the music, the madness of the night.
***
After the show, the night air was cool as they stepped out of Whisky-a-Go-Go, the buzz of the crowd still ringing in their ears. Sirius hailed a cab, and they climbed in together, the driver nodding in acknowledgment before pulling away into the streets.
Sirius didn’t waste any time. As soon as the cab began to move, he leaned in close to Remus, his breath warm against his neck. "I can't believe we just saw Soundgarden," he whispered, the excitement of the night still in his voice. "That was incredible."
Remus nodded, his heart still racing from the adrenaline of the show, but it wasn’t the music that had him feeling alive right now. It was the proximity to Sirius and the knowledge of where the night was headed.
The cab finally pulled up to Sirius’s apartment building, the sound of the engine idling pulling them out of a kiss. They reluctantly broke apart, breathless, but their hands stayed intertwined as they exited the cab. Sirius paid the driver quickly, and they were in the hallway before Remus could fully process it. The tension had been building for so long, and now, in the stillness of the apartment, it was all too real.
##
Sirius led the way into his bedroom, his hand still tightly gripping Remus’s. Once inside, he didn’t waste any time—he kicked the door closed with his foot, his hands pulling Remus to him again, this time without hesitation. Their lips crashed together again, urgently.
Remus’s pulse quickened as he felt Sirius’s hands roam over his chest, slipping under the hem of his shirt. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver down Remus’s spine, and he felt his own response in the tightening of his jeans. He quickly tugged Sirius’s shirt over his head and tossed it aside. Sirius’s chest was all lean muscle, a body carved by chaos rather than careful discipline. His skin, warm and fevered, stretched over the sharp ridges of his collarbones, dipping into the hollow between them—a place just begging to be kissed. A dusting of dark hair trailed down the center of his torso, leading lower, drawing the eye like a whispered invitation. When he breathed, his chest rose and fell with a quiet intensity, muscles taut with anticipation. The faint sheen of sweat only made him look more untamed. Remus pressed against him, running his hands up and down his back.
Sirius arched into him, a low moan escaping his lips, driving Remus crazy. The sensation of Sirius’s bare skin was intoxicating, and Remus couldn’t help but dig his fingernails deeper into Sirius’s back, feeling the muscles flex under his touch. Remus was sure he almost growled as he began to claim the skin in the hollow of Sirius’s neck, gently biting and sucking—then coming back to his mouth for more hungry kisses.
Then Sirius took control. He kissed Remus again, more gently now, as if to savor the moment, before pulling off Remus’s shirt. Sirius kissed his way down Remus’s jaw. His lips dragged over Remus’s collarbones, his breath warm, teasing, as he traced the faint lines of old scars with his tongue. Soft, slow, deliberate, like he wanted Remus to feel every second of it, as if he was worshiping at the altar of his body.
When he reached the center of his chest, he paused, pressing his mouth there, right over the steady, pounding heartbeat beneath. Like he could taste the way Remus trembled for him. Then lower, his tongue flicking over a nipple, and Remus sucked in a breath, tensed beneath him, wanting more but refusing to beg.
Remus couldn’t remember ever feeling quite this turned on, quite this impatient.
He whimpered, and Sirius carefully unbuttoned his fly, pulling his jeans down to the ground and dropping to his knees with them. Sirius grabbed Remus’s waist and looked up at him, his carefully crafted composure shattered—his usual smirk undone, replaced by something raw, something hungry. His lips, always so quick to tease, parted on a breathless sound, like he was surprised by the depth of his own desire. He leaned forward to breathe hot air against Remus’s fully aroused dick through his boxers, teasing as he grabbed Remus’s ass and pulled him closer.
“God, Sirius” Remus moaned. “If you don’t touch me now, I’m going fucking die.” Sirius looked up at him through dark lashes, and slowly, gently pulled down Remus’s boxers, allowing his full length to spring free. Sirius gently licked the underside of his shaft, bringing the tip of his tongue to the crown before fully encasing his swollen dick in his mouth, and Remus’s knees went weak. Sirius’s expert tongue brought him closer and closer to the edge.
“I want to make you come, baby,” Sirius sighed into him.
Remus didn’t waste time. Didn’t hesitate. One moment, Sirius was kneeling there, all smug confidence, and the next, he was flat on his back, thrown onto the bed with a force that stole the smirk right off his lips.
Before Sirius could get a word in, Remus was on him, knees pressing into the mattress, fingers hooking into the belt loops of Sirius’s jeans. He yanked hard, dragging them down over narrow hips, over long, lean legs, until they hit the floor in a careless heap.
Sirius sucked in a breath, all bravado gone. He propped himself up on his elbows, watching Remus with dark, glinting eyes, his chest rising and falling a little too fast. Remus smirked, sliding a hand up the inside of Sirius’s thigh, slow, deliberate, merciless. “I wanna fuck you,” he murmured, voice like gravel and honey, and Sirius quivered under him and sighed his approval.
Remus’s hands were rough and unrelenting. His fingers pressed into the sharp lines of Sirius’s hips, thumbs digging in, before sliding—slowly, deliberately—to take Sirius’s dick in his hands.
Sirius shuddered, his breath catching, his body arching into the touch like he couldn’t help himself. His hands fisted in the sheets, gripping hard, like they were the only thing keeping him tethered to the moment.
"Fuck, Moony," he groaned, voice thick, desperate, his body thrumming with tension.
Remus just smirked, his grip tightening, his voice a low, amused drawl. "You sound good like that," he murmured, hands still moving, still teasing, still driving Sirius absolutely wild.
Remus moved over him in one slow motion, his body hot as he pressed Sirius deeper into the mattress. His weight settled against him, their bodies flush—no space, no hesitation, nothing between them but heat and breath and the dizzying, electric need.
Sirius’s moaned, his hands flying to Remus’s back, fingers digging in, clutching like he needed something to hold onto or else he might come undone right then and there. Skin against skin, heat against heat, every inch of Remus felt alive. He let out a low sound, as Sirius tipped his head back and Remus’s mouth found his throat, teeth grazing, lips hot.
“Fuck,” Sirius gasped again, voice ragged, his hips shifting up instinctively, chasing friction.
Remus growled against his neck, one hand sliding down, gripping Sirius’s hip hard enough to bruise. He grabbed own dick to position himself. They moved together, slow at first, testing, teasing, the slide of skin on skin making Remus murmur something unintelligible, somewhere between a curse and a prayer. Then, as if drawn by some unspoken rhythm, they found it—the perfect pace, the perfect pressure, hips meeting hips, breath mingling, hands gripping.
##
Afterward, they lay tangled together, breathless, limbs entwined like neither of them could bear to let go just yet. The sheets were a wreck beneath them, twisted and damp with sweat, but neither of them cared. Remus’s arm was slung across Sirius’s waist, fingers lazily tracing patterns against his skin, like he was still memorizing him, even now.
Sirius let out a slow, sated sigh, his head tipped back against the pillow, hair a dark, messy halo around him. His eyes were half-lidded, his lips kiss-bitten and smirking. He turned his head slightly, nosing at Remus’s temple, pressing a lazy, lingering kiss there.
“You’re dangerous, Moony. But I think I’m okay with that.” Sirius murmured, voice rough.
Remus huffed a quiet laugh, too content to argue, too tired to move. Instead, he just tightened his grip on Sirius’s hip, pulling him even closer, their bodies still pressed together, skin to skin, heartbeat to heartbeat.
Sirius
Sirius woke slowly, the morning light filtering through the window, casting soft patterns across the room. For a moment, he lay still, listening to the quiet rhythm of Remus’s breathing beside him. The warmth of Remus’s body against his own felt different, more comfortable than any one-night stand he’d had before. His mind started to race, the familiar panic beginning to set in—the no-contact rule he’d always lived by after a night like this.
This is what I do, right? I leave, no attachments, no strings...
But just as quickly as the thought entered his mind, he heard the soft rustle of sheets, and then Remus’s eyes opened. He turned to look at Sirius, his sleepy gaze soft and filled with warmth.
"Morning," Remus whispered, his voice thick with sleep, and it made Sirius’s heart skip a beat.
"Morning," Sirius replied, his voice quieter, almost unsure.
Remus stirred first, stretching out with a quiet groan, his body still heavy with the remnants of sleep. But when his fingers brushed against Sirius’s skin, it was like a spark was lit—immediately, the air around them shifted.
Sirius caught Remus’s wrist, pulling him closer, their bodies pressing together with a sudden intensity that was both familiar and new. A grin tugged at the corner of Sirius’s lips, his eyes twinkling with that dangerous glint. “Didn’t think you’d be so eager this early, Moony,” he teased, his voice rough from sleep.
Remus’s answer was nothing more than a low, mischievous chuckle, before he leaned in, capturing Sirius’s lips with a kiss that started slow but deepened quickly, his hand sliding over Sirius’s back.
“Oh Jesus, I think I left some claw marks on you last night,” Remus sighed.
Sirius responded with a growl, his hands already trailing down, pulling Remus’s body closer, wanting that heat between them again. The teasing tone was gone now, replaced with a hunger that only the early morning could bring, needing each other right then, right there.
Their bodies moved together in a rhythm they just learned, a delicious mixture of playfulness and passion, teasing and tugging at each other until there was nothing but the feel of skin, breath, and the heady rush of wanting more.
When they finally pulled apart, Remus’s hand found Sirius's, intertwining their fingers. "So, what now?" Remus asked, his voice still low and husky.
Sirius couldn’t help but laugh, the sound light and free, as if some weight had lifted from him. "I don’t know," he murmured, his thumb brushing over Remus’s hand. "But whatever it is, I’m not running away this time."
Remus smiled, and in that moment, Sirius knew—everything was different. There was no more need for his stupid rules, his walls. It was just the two of them, figuring it out as they went. And Sirius wasn’t afraid of that anymore.
As they lay there, the world outside was distant, and all that mattered was the quiet intimacy between them, the understanding that something real was beginning to take root.
"Stay?" Remus asked softly, his gaze searching Sirius's face.
Sirius nodded, his heart full. "I’m not going anywhere."
Chapter 15: October 5, 1991
Chapter Text
Regulus
The bass pulsed through Madame Malkin’s, the trendy dance club in downtown LA. It was packed, bodies moving under the shifting neon lights, the air thick with cigarette smoke and the faint, heady scent of expensive perfume.
Madame Malkin's was a two-story club, opulent and buzzing with energy. The upper level featured tables and chairs arranged along a sleek railing, offering a perfect vantage point over the massive dance floor below. The downstairs space was dominated by the pulsing crowd, bodies moving in sync with the relentless beat blasting from several towering speakers.
Bars lined the perimeter of the lower level, each manned by bartenders who moved with well-practiced efficiency, pouring drinks for the eager patrons pressed against the counters. Upstairs, two smaller bars provided a slightly more intimate setting, though the energy remained just as electric.
The entire club was bathed in shifting neon lights, an ever-changing glow that reflected off the video screens scattered throughout the space. These screens played a constant loop of music videos, their flashing imagery adding to the hypnotic atmosphere. The music, a relentless force, throbbed through the air, shaking the walls and embedding itself deep in the bones of everyone in attendance.
Regulus stood at the edge of the balcony, surveying the event with a sharp, practiced eye. He had been nervous about this, though he would never admit it. Weeks of planning had led to this night, and now that it was unfolding before him, he had to admit—it was going well. The venue was packed, the energy electric, and most importantly, the sixteen bands he had signed for the Battle of the Bands were all in attendance, along with lots of industry people and plenty of B-list celebrities – maybe even a few A-listers, too.
Sixteen bands, all competing in the first bracket—a month-long battle across eight venues in the city. Moonsick. The Marauders. The Howlers. Veela's Curse. Azkaban. Gillyweed. Stan Shunpike and the Shrunken Heads. Durmstrang. The Nargles. The Puking Pastilles. And more. Each with their own following, their own sound, their own chance to prove themselves. By the end of this, one of them would walk away with a record deal that could change their career forever. Regulus was really quite proud of his idea, and the bands involved were there to celebrate.
Pandora, his assistant, leaned in close, her voice low. "So far, so good. Press seems happy, industry heads are mingling. The bands are starstruck but keeping it together."
Regulus nodded. "And the performance schedule?"
"Finalized this morning. First round starts next week." She handed him a glass of champagne, and he took it, barely sipping. He wasn't here to celebrate. He was here to ensure everything ran smoothly.
He scanned the crowd, catching glimpses of the bands. Some were keeping to themselves, others networking, a few already making fools of themselves. It was all expected. Even seeing his brother walk into the club was expected. He wondered if he could get away without running into him all night. It was worth considering.
Regulus’s gaze swept the club with sharp detachment—until it landed on James Potter.
James looked insanely good, the kind of good that made Regulus's stomach coil. The dim neon lights traced sharp angles across his face, highlighting his cheekbones, the line of his jaw, the full curve of his mouth. His hair, as perpetually unruly as ever, caught the flickering glow from the video screens. He was dressed for the scene—black jeans that clung to his thighs in a way that made it impossible not to notice, a band tee that was just tight enough across his chest, and a leather jacket slung over his shoulders like he hadn't put any thought into it at all.
Of course he hadn’t. That was the infuriating part. James didn’t try to look hot, he just did. It was effortless. Even now, laughing at something Lily had said, he radiated that insufferable charisma, that easy confidence that made people gravitate toward him.
Regulus hated that he noticed. Hated it more that he looked away before James could catch him staring.
"You look like you're contemplating setting the place on fire," came a smooth, amused voice beside him.
Regulus didn't even have to turn to know it was Barty Crouch, a friend of his from school. He sighed, tilting his glass toward his mouth before answering. "Wouldn’t be the worst idea. I could claim it as an artistic statement. Burn it all down, let the best band rise from the ashes."
Barty snorted. "Dramatic. Even for you. And after all that work you put into this? You know I have a couple employees that are in the bands you’ve selected? I have heard all about your labor of love here. I’m really impressed."
Regulus allowed himself the ghost of a smirk. "Labor of love…ha."
Barty scoffed. "Please, I know how much this means to you." He took a sip of his drink, then nudged Regulus with his shoulder. "Speaking of, I saw your brother downstairs. Looking absolutely wrecked already. Might want to handle that before it turns into another one of his legendary public disasters."
Regulus clenched his jaw. "Let him do what he wants."
Barty hummed in that knowing, infuriating way of his. "Whatever you say, dude"
James
James had stepped inside Madam Malkin’s first, holding the door open for the others as they followed. Moonsick had shown up together—Remus, Peter, and Marlene—with The Marauders close behind. They’d barely stepped onto the floor when the sheer spectacle of the event hit them. A massive dance club in downtown LA, draped in decadence, filled with bands, music industry people, and a scattering of celebrities that Peter was already trying to spot. It was overwhelming.
Except for Sirius.
He looked unimpressed, dark eyes scanning the room with a detached, almost bored expression. James nudged his shoulder. “It’s not that bad,” he teased, though his own voice was tinged with excitement.
Peter, however, had no reservations about showing his enthusiasm. He gripped James’s arm suddenly, his voice high with excitement. “Holy shit, is that Matt Pinfield?”
James’s head snapped toward where Peter was looking, and sure enough, there he was—Matt Pinfield, legendary host of 120 Minutes, deep in conversation with a producer. James grinned, clapping Peter on the back. “Alright, that’s actually sick.”
James spotted Frank, Alice, and the Prewett twins across the room and made his way over to them with a big grin. He clapped Frank on the shoulder and then turned to the twins, his excitement evident.
“Yo, congratulations, man!” James said with genuine enthusiasm. “Being picked for the Battle of the Bands, that’s huge! You’ve earned it.”
Fabian grinned back, raising his glass in a mock salute. “Cheers, James. The Howlers are in and have a chance. Glad we aren’t having to go up against each other right away!”
Gideon gave a sharp nod of agreement, his face lit up with pride. “Couldn’t have asked for a better group of bands to share the stage with. This is going to be something else.”
James turned to Frank and Alice, giving them a wide grin. “Pretty kickass”
Frank chuckled, clearly pleased, while Alice gave James a playful eye roll. “Thanks, James. We’re excited too. It’s going to be the bomb.”
James gave them all a wink. “No doubt. You all deserve it, and it’s going to be an unforgettable competition. Best of luck to you all, but The Marauders are still planning to win it all.”
Fabian laughed. “We’ll see about that, won’t we?”
As the laughter faded, James glanced around the room, his eyes instinctively searching for his bandmates. When he spotted Lily, his good mood faltered just a bit—she’s deep in conversation with Severus Snape.
Snape, of all people.
James exhaled through his nose, forcing himself to stay relaxed. He knew that Azkaban was one of the bands chosen for the competition, which means Snape is here as a musician, not just as Lily’s shadow. And fine, James can admit – grudgingly—that Snape has talent. But that didn’t mean he had to like him.
Still, Lily considered him a friend, and James respected that. Most of the time.
But as he watched them talk, saw the way Snape leans in just a little too close, the way he kept his expression carefully neutral but his eyes betrayed something sharper, James can’t help but think some rather uncharitable things. Like how Snape always looks like he’s sulking even when he’s not. Or how his whole tortured artist act would probably be more convincing if he wasn’t such a miserable bastard to everyone who wasn’t Lily.
James shook his head, tearing his gaze away before his irritation can fester. He has better things to focus on tonight. Like celebrating with his friends. And making sure Sirius doesn’t get too drunk before the night is over.
James sighed when he spotted Sirius at the bar, already deep in conversation with Remus. Even from a few feet away, he could tell by the tightness in Remus’s jaw and the way Sirius gestured a little too sharply that this wasn’t just a casual chat.
As James got closer, he caught Remus’s voice, low and firm but still managing to sound reasonable.
“Sirius, maybe just slow down a bit,” Remus said, nodding toward the whiskey glass in Sirius’s hand. “You don’t need to knock them back so fast.”
Sirius scoffed, rolling his eyes as he tips the glass back anyway. “Oh, come on, Moony. Don’t start,” he muttered, voice thick with irritation. “I’m fine.”
James stepped up beside them just as Sirius slammed the empty glass down onto the bar with a little more force than necessary. Sirius huffed a laugh, but there’s no real amusement in it. “Oh, great, now you’re on my case too?” He shook his head, signaling the bartender for another drink. “I’m having a good time, man. That’s allowed, isn’t it?”
James crossed his arms, unimpressed. “Yeah, having a good time is one thing. Getting wasted to the point of picking fights is another.”
James watched as Sirius’s face twitches, something unreadable flashing across his expression it passes into indifference. “Who says I’m picking fights?” he muttered, grabbing the fresh drink as soon as it’s placed in front of him.
James and Remus exchanged a glance, unspoken agreement passing between them. Sirius isn’t fine. But James also knew that pushing too hard won’t get through to him—not yet, anyway.
Still, James wasn’t about to let this spiral.
“All right, mate,” James said, clapping a hand on Sirius’s shoulder, keeping his voice deliberately casual. “How about you take a breath before you start getting actually insufferable?”
Sirius side-eyed him but didn’t immediately snap back, which James considered a minor victory.
Lily
Lily spun on the dance floor with Dorcas, Marlene and Peter, her laughter mingling with the music, the bubbly champagne adding an extra bounce to her step, her cheeks flushed with excitement. The night was a blur of joy, and she was soaking it all in, reveling in the moment.
As she took a sip of her champagne, feeling the slight buzz of it in her head, her gaze fell on a group of women standing near the bar.
And then she saw her.
The woman who turned around was, without a doubt, the most breathtaking person Lily had ever laid eyes on. She was tall with a slim, willowy frame that seemed to float as she moved. Her long white-blond hair cascaded down her back in soft waves, catching the light in a way that made it look almost ethereal. There was a grace to her—an effortless elegance that made everything else in the room seem to fade away.
She wore a long black satin dress that hung loosely around her, with a tight babydoll t-shirt layered underneath. The simplicity of it gave her the perfect blend of soft femininity and rebellious edge. Her feet were clad in blocked Mary James, adding a couple inches to her height. But what truly captivated Lily were her lips—painted in the boldest shade of red lipstick, the kind of color that screamed confidence and unapologetic style. She was the embodiment of the scene—fierce, effortlessly beautiful, and exuding that untouchable coolness that made every head turn.
Lily giggled, her heart skipping a beat, and she immediately nudged Dorcas, a wide grin spreading across her face.
"Dorcas! Look at her," Lily whispered, her voice filled with awe. "She’s perfect. The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen."
Dorcas followed her gaze, her lips quirking into a knowing smile. "She really is something, isn’t she?"
Lily couldn't tear her eyes away, feeling a flutter in her chest as she watched the woman make her way over to a tall, dark-haired elegant man, completely unaware of the effect she had just caused.
Without thinking too hard about it, Lily straightened her shoulders and walked over.
“Hi,” she said, stopping just close enough to be heard over the music. “I’m Lily.”
The woman turned to her, eyes flicking over Lily’s face like she was trying to remember a dream she just woke up from. Then she beamed. “Oh! I knew I’d meet a Lily tonight.”
Lily blinked. “You… did?”
“Mmm.” Pandora tilted her head, considering. “I had a feeling. And when I have a feeling, I listen. Except when I don’t. But those times usually involve questionable sushi, and this is much better than that.”
Lily laughed, charmed despite herself. “Well, I’m glad to be better than sushi.”
Pandora hummed. “A low bar, but yes, you’ve cleared it.” She took a sip of her drink, then gestured vaguely to the room. “I’m Pandora. What brings you here tonight?”
Lily smirked. “Hi, Pandora. I’m here because I’m in one of the bands. But now that you mention it, I’m open to a more cosmic explanation.”
“Oh, good,” Pandora said, eyes twinkling. “Because I was just about to tell you that you’re standing exactly where you’re supposed to be.”
Lily felt a warmth spread through her chest that has nothing to do with the champagne she’d been drinking. “And where’s that?”
Pandora grinned. “Right here. Talking to me.”
Lily raised an eyebrow, amused. “You’re awfully sure of yourself.”
Pandora shrugged, swirling her drink again. “Not really. I just like saying things with confidence and seeing what happens.” She leaned in slightly, conspiratorial. “It usually works out.”
Lily smirked. “Does it now?”
“Mmhmm,” Pandora nodded. “Like, for example, right now, you’re intrigued. You’re wondering if I’m actually as interesting as I seem or if I’m just a very good liar.”
Lily laughed. “And which one is it?”
Pandora grinned, taking another sip of her drink. “Wouldn’t you like to find out?”
Lily hummed, pretending to consider. “I would,” she said, playful but deliberate. “Which is why I think you should let me buy you a drink.”
Pandora’s eyes lit up. “Oh, excellent. I was hoping you’d say that.”
“You were?”
“Well, yes,” Pandora said breezily. “I mean, I could have just asked you first, but this way, I get to feel delightfully pursued.”
Lily shook her head, grinning. “I think I’ve met my match.”
“Oh, absolutely,” Pandora said, reaching out and taking Lily’s hand as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Now, let’s go see if the bartender believes in fate as much as I do.”
Sirius
Sirius let out a sharp breath and turned on his heel, walking away from James and Remus without another word. He knew Regulus was there, somewhere, and he wasn’t prepared to see him. He didn’t know what he was going to say to him, just that he’s not ready. It’s why he’d been slamming whiskey all night, not that James and Remus would understand. And, God forbid, surely his father wouldn’t be here tonight? That really would be too much for Sirius to handle.
The music was loud, pulsing, and the dance floor is alive with movement. That’s what he needed—something visceral, something physical. Something that drowned out the noise in his head.
It didn’t take long before he’s pulled into the rhythm, his body moving with ease. Two beautiful women—one with dark curls and red lipstick, the other with sleek blonde hair and a wicked smile—slipped into his space, pressing close as they dance. He grinned, letting himself be swallowed up by it, by the heat and the bass and the scent of perfume and sweat.
For a fleeting second, a thought nagged at him—Moony wouldn’t like this.
And just as quickly, he pushed it away.
Fuck Moony.
Moony, with his quiet, disapproving glances. Moony, acting like some self-righteous martyr just because Sirius wanted to enjoy himself.
Sirius laughed, tilting his head back as the brunette slid a hand along his arm, her nails scraping lightly against his skin. He leaned into her touch, letting himself forget, letting himself not care.
Sirius didn’t know how long he’d been dancing, or how many shots he had been passed by the people on the dance floor. He was sweaty and his vision blurred and the floor tilted under him. He knew he was too drunk, but he just didn’t care. God, I need something to drink. He grabbed the two women he’d been dancing with and stumbled toward the bar.
“So, you ever had an Orgasm?” Sirius inquired cheekily, slurring his words more than a little. “I hear they are quite good.” He leaned across the bar and ordered three Orgasm shots and a whisky. The women giggled, and downed their shots dutifully. Sirius put his arm around the brunette and sloshed his whiskey across her shirt, as he stumbled again her and breathed into her ear, asking if she’d like to nip into the restroom with him.
Suddenly, all thoughts of the brunette, of Remus and James, even of finishing his drink – they all were gone. He saw his brother across the crowd, and his anger exploded, simply boiled over. He dropped the whisky glass, not even noticing that it shattered as it hit the floor, and staggered across the dance floor to where Regulus was standing.
Regulus stood straight, keeping his expression smooth, composed and untouchable. He wouldn’t even give Sirius the satisfaction of a reaction, which just incensed him further.
"You always were good at pretending," Sirius said, voice slick with whiskey. "Like you don’t have a single care in the world."
Regulus barely looked at him. "I don’t have time for this."
"Right, you’re busy, aren’t you? Too busy for anything. Too busy for me."
Regulus’s jaw tightened. "You left."
Sirius let out a humorless laugh. "You think I had a choice?" His voice was rising. "You let them throw me away like trash."
Regulus’s voice remained steady. "You don’t know what you’re talking about."
Sirius surged forward, the volume of his voice drawing attention. "No, go on, tell me! Tell me what I don’t know, Reg! Tell me how you slept soundly in that house, in that fucking mausoleum, while I was out on the streets!"
Sirius felt James grab his arm, voice tense. "Sirius, enough. And you never lived on the streets, man."
But Sirius shook him off, “Get the fuck off me, man. This is between me and my brother – you know – your new best friend. The one you went behind my back with to arrange this whole thing.
“Sirius, please calm down” a pleading voice said. Remus tried to put his arm on Sirius’ shoulder but Sirius turned on him, voice laced with venom. "Oh, and of course you’d be the one to say that."
Remus frowned. "What?"
"You’re realizing just how much I’m not worth it right about now, aren’t you?" Sirius sneered. "I am the fucked up one and you’re too good for me. Just say it, Moony. I’m not good for you and you don’t want me anymore." His lips curled. "You don’t. So, just fuck off"
Remus flinched. Just barely. But it was enough.
Oh shit, Moony. I didn’t mean that. Please don’t leave me.
The thrum of music around them suddenly felt suffocating.
Remus inhaled slowly. He turned to James. "Get him the fuck out of here."
And then he walked away.
James didn’t wait. He grabbed Sirius’s arm, forceful, pulling him toward the exit. "You’re done. We’re leaving." Sirius muttered something under his breath, but for once, he didn’t fight. He allowed James to drag him out of the club.
Sirius went in and out of consciousness on the cab ride home. He knew he'd messed up. Knew he'd said something awful to Remus in the heat of his drunken frustration, but the details were already hazy, blurred by whiskey and regret.
James was stiff beside him, arms crossed, mouth pressed into a tight line. The hurt in his eyes was enough to make Sirius feel like he’d been punched in the gut.
"James," Sirius slurred, reaching out, his fingers hesitating before gripping James's wrist. "I—fuck, I didn’t mean it."
James exhaled sharply, his jaw working. "You never mean it, Sirius. That doesn’t stop you from saying it."
Sirius blinked at him, guilt settling deep in his gut. He had gone too far. Again.
***
Sirius woke up with a pounding skull and the sick, sinking feeling of regret curling in his stomach. His mouth tasted like stale whiskey, and his limbs felt heavy as he blinked blearily at the ceiling, trying to piece together the jagged fragments of last night.
The bar. The dancing. The women. The fight with Regulus. Oh God. The fight with Remus.
His chest tightened.
Fuck.
He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the memories to rearrange themselves into something less awful, but all he got is the overwhelming certainty that he fucked up. Badly.
It took everything in him to roll out of bed, his body protesting every movement. He stumbled out of his room, barely bothering to pull on a t-shirt, and dragged himself down the hall to James’s room. He didn’t knock—just pushed the door open and stood there, looking miserable and lost.
James, still half-asleep, blinked at him from his bed. It only took a second before his face softened in understanding. He shifted over, wordlessly making room.
Sirius didn’t hesitate. He crawled in, pressing his forehead against James’s shoulder, and exhaled shakily.
It took a minute, but then it happened—the dam broke. Silent at first, just a hitch in his breath, but then the sobs came, raw and unfiltered. James didn’t say anything, just held him, rubbing slow circles on his back like he used to when they were kids sneaking into each other’s beds after a bad day.
“He’s never gonna talk to me again, is he?” Sirius finally croaked, his voice wrecked.
James sighs. “Who? Remus? I don’t know, mate,” he admitted, honest but gentle. “You really did a number. You were hanging off that brunette all evening…I thought you were about to bang her on the dance floor. You were quite the spectacle. And then your fight with Regulus….”
Sirius swallowed hard, gripping the fabric of James’s shirt. “I didn’t mean to.”
“I know.”
They lie there in the quiet, Sirius trying to breathe through the ache in his chest, James steady beside him.
After a while, James murmured, “Remus cares about you. Even if he’s mad now… I don’t think he’s the type to just walk away.”
Sirius nodded against James’s shoulder, but he was not sure if he believed it. He’s never been good at trust. And after last night, he wouldn’t blame Remus for never wanting to look at him again.
Chapter 16: October 12, 1991
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
James
James tightened his grip on his guitar as he surveyed the dimly lit backstage area of Beauxbaton’s. The club was buzzing with energy, but James’s mind was elsewhere—stuck on the past week, stuck on Sirius – and stuck on Regulus, too.
Those damn Black brothers.
After the party, after the scene with Regulus, after the scene with Remus, Sirius had crashed. Hard. In the past week, he had barely left the house, except to drag himself to rehearsals, and even then, it was like he was only half there. Gone was his usual sharp wit, his cocky smirk, his relentless ability to command a room. Instead, James had spent the week watching his best mate shrink in on himself, moving through the days like he was weighed down by something too heavy to shake. At least he hadn’t been drinking —much anyway.
James had tried. He really did. He had coaxed Sirius into watching shitty movies with him, had tried to make him laugh, had made him tea the way he liked it even though James himself thought tea was a waste of time. But nothing stuck. Sirius would give him a half-hearted smile, mutter a “thanks, man,” and then retreat back into himself, like a dog licking its wounds. Or he’d spend hours on the balcony, smoking cigarettes and just staring into the ocean.
And now, here they were. The first night of their Battle of the Bands bracket, facing off against Gillyweed, and James wasn’t sure how well they were going to hold together. The Marauders were always at their best when they were in sync, when they fed off each other’s energy, but James could feel the disconnect lingering.
Sirius was keeping to himself, leaning against the wall nursing a beer with a cigarette hanging out of his lips. Dorcas was stretching her arms, keeping loose, her eyes darting between the two of them with barely concealed concern.
Lily clapped her hands together suddenly, making everyone—including Sirius—jump slightly. “Alright, I don’t know what kind of moody tragedy you have got going on, but we’re about to go onstage, and I refuse to be in a band that plays like a bunch of broody sad sacks.”
Dorcas smirked. “Bit late for that, don’t you think?”
Lily ignored her. Instead, she zeroed in on Sirius, hands on her hips. “Sirius, I swear to God, if you mope through this set, I will personally replace you with Dumbledore next round.”
That got a reaction—Sirius let out a short, incredulous laugh. “That old fart? Can you imagine him onstage moving like Cheech and Chong? You wouldn’t dare!”
“Exactly,” Lily deadpanned. “So maybe get your head out of your ass and act like you actually want to win. Or at least do it for your friends”
James snorted. “I mean, to be fair, Dumbledore would probably have so much residual pot smoke clinging to him that he’d mellow out the judges and they’d vote us right through.”
Lily grinned. “See? We’ve got options.”
Sirius exhaled sharply, but there was the ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips. The tension shifted just a little, and Lily nudged Sirius’s shoulder. “Look, I know it’s been a week, but you’re still you. And we still need you out there.”
Sirius rolled his shoulders, as if shaking something off. “Yeah, alright.” His voice was quieter, but there was more life in it than there had been all week.
Lily grinned. “Good. Now let’s go out there and kick Gillyweed’s ass, yeah?”
Dorcas pumped a fist in the air. “Hell yeah.”
James played a few chords. “Let’s make some noise.” He smiled at Lily gratefully.
And just like that, they pulled together—maybe not perfectly, but enough. Enough to step onstage as a band, ready to fight for it.
***
James leaned back against the couch, an open beer in his hand, the tension of the past week finally starting to ease from his shoulders. The victory, the music pouring gently from the speakers, and the joint that was currently being passed around his apartment—it was all mixing together into something warm and pleasantly hazy.
Across the coffee table, Peter took another hit, held it in for a beat too long, and then coughed violently, waving his hand in front of his face like it would somehow clear the smoke from his lungs. “Holy shit,” he wheezed, eyes watering. “Gideon, dude, where the fuck did you get this stuff?”
Gideon grinned lazily from his spot on the floor, an arm slung over the back of the couch where Frank and Alice were curled up together. “Trade secret,” he said, smug. “But let’s just say, when you’ve got the right connections, life gets a little… smoother.”
Everyone laughed, though it was more out of the general good mood than at anything particularly funny.
“You’re just lucky we made it through our set the other night,” Frank said, shaking his head at Gideon. “I swear, if Fabian had smoked any more before we went on, he would’ve started playing jazz fusion halfway through.”
Alice giggled against Frank’s shoulder, and Gideon lifted his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, we won, didn’t we?”
“You did,” James agreed, tipping his beer toward them. “That guitar solo was dope, mate.”
Lily, who’d been half-listening to Peter ramble about something or other, leaned over to nudge Sirius with her foot. “You did good tonight,” she said, voice softer than before, like she was still keeping an eye on him.
Sirius smirked, taking a lazy sip of his beer. “Yeah, well. Wouldn’t want you replacing me with Dumbledore.”
The laughter lingered, rolling through the room like the slow tide outside.
James had spotted Regulus in the crowd that night, standing near the back, half-shrouded in shadows, watching The Marauders play. Even from a distance, he had looked composed, dressed in his usual sharp, effortlessly cool way—black jeans, a fitted button-up, a few understated silver rings catching the dim stage lights when he crossed his arms. And, Jesus, had he always been that handsome? He hadn’t moved much, hadn’t joined in with the chaotic energy of the crowd, just stood there with that unreadable expression, eyes tracking the performance.
And then, as soon as the last note rang out, he was gone.
James hadn’t been surprised. Regulus had been avoiding Sirius, and Sirius had been making that very easy to do by refusing to go anywhere but the house or rehearsals all week. Now, as the post-show celebration rolled on around him, James slammed back his beer and tried to shake the weight in his chest. He hadn’t told Sirius he’d spoken to Regulus. Hadn’t told anyone. At first, it had just been him calling to—what? Smooth things over? Apologize? James wasn’t sure what he had planned to say, but Regulus had picked up, and the words had come tumbling out anyway.
“Look, I’m sorry about—”
“James.” Regulus had cut him off, his voice steady but not unkind. “Don’t be ridiculous. You didn’t do anything.”
Which—alright, true, but James had still felt guilty. Regulus hadn’t deserved that, not in front of everyone. And then the conversation had shifted, like it always did when they talked for longer than five minutes.
Regulus had gone quiet for a moment before saying, “I don’t want it to be like this. I don’t want our fucked-up family to be the reason I don’t have a brother anymore.”
James had sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah. I know.”
“I’m tired of it.”
James had wanted to say “me too”—because, hell, he was tired of it, of playing mediator, of watching them avoid each other, of watching Sirius shut down at just the mention of Regulus’s name. But he hadn’t. Because it wasn’t about him, was it?
And then—of course—the conversation had taken another turn.
James still wasn’t sure how it had happened. One minute, they were talking about family, about Sirius, about things too heavy for either of them to carry alone. The next, there was this shift in Regulus’s voice, this knowing lilt, and James found himself grinning into the receiver, his stomach twisting in a way he didn’t want to think too hard about.
“You know, James,” Regulus had said. “I’m sure being in a band means you get plenty of attention from the chicks. Probably can’t walk five steps without some girl throwing herself at you.”
James had grinned, his voice dropping with a playful lilt. “Oh, you have no idea. It’s hard to keep them all at bay, really. They can’t seem to resist.”
Regulus had chuckled, but there was a certain curiosity in his tone now, something more than just casual teasing. “Right, of course. I bet you’ve got them lined up, just waiting for their chance.”
James had paused, sensing the subtle challenge in Regulus’s tone. “You’d be surprised, Regulus,” he’d replied. “It’s not all about the women, you know.”
“Not all about the women? So, what else do you have your eye on, Potter?”
“Men, maybe?” he’d teased, his voice low.
There had been a loaded pause on the other end of the line. “Men? Is that what you’re into? You used to only date girls in high school.”
“Not all men,” he’d said, his voice teasing. “But, you know, some of them have their appeal.”
“I didn’t take you for the type,” Regulus had said, though there was a hint of curiosity beneath his words.
James had let the silence hang for a moment before he replied, his voice quieter now, more sincere. “You’d be surprised how much you don’t know about me, Regulus.”
James had always been the kind of guy who flirted with everyone, effortlessly sliding into conversations with a smile and a wink. He’d never really thought too much about it—it was just who he was. He liked attention, he liked making people laugh, and he liked the thrill of a playful exchange. Women, men, it didn’t matter much. James knew he didn’t do crushes well. He knew he was prone to falling too hard and too fast. He’d always had a lot of fun with his flirtations, keeping them light, never letting them get too serious, keeping his distance.
But with Regulus, it had all started to shift without him even realizing it. One moment, he was teasing Regulus just like he did with everyone else, and the next—he was catching himself thinking a little too long about Regulus’s sharp features, feeling his heart beat a little faster at the sound of his breath over the phone. James’s mind raced as he tried to make sense of it. Could Regulus really be into him? The thought was strange, yet in a way, it felt right. Was there something there?
And now James sat on his couch, still a little stunned by the realization. He wasn’t sure if it was something he should – or even could—do anything about or just let it fade away as some passing feeling. But right now, in this moment, he couldn’t deny it.
He had a crush on Regulus. And that was probably a bad idea.
He caught Sirius’s eye from across the room. Sirius smiled and raised his beer. Yeah. A bad idea.
Sirius
Sirius caught sight of Dorcas and Marlene tangled up together in the armchair, whispering to each other like no one else in the world existed. All week, the sight of them would’ve stung—look at them, comfortable, easy, knowing exactly where they stand—but right now, he just felt… tired.
Sirius sat on the floor of the beach house, his back against the couch, absently picking at the label of his half-empty beer bottle. The laughter and music buzzed around him, but his mind was elsewhere. Remus hadn’t come tonight.
He had half-expected it—no, fully expected it—but the reality still hit like a sucker punch. It was one thing to endure the silence over the past week. It was another to have his absence scream louder than any words could.
Sirius pulled the cordless phone over to himself, turning it over in his hands. He wanted – needed—to call him. Just to hear his voice. Just to know if this was it, if he’d finally pushed too far.
But what if it was?
His thumb hovered over the buttons before he set the phone down with a quiet exhale. He couldn’t do it. Not yet.
Instead, he let his head fall back against the couch, listening distantly as Peter burst into another fit of laughter over something stupid, as Lily teased James about his terrible rolling skills, as Gideon and Dorcas argued about which band had the best debut album of the decade. It was all familiar, all warm and easy, and yet…
He felt off.
This past week, he had done something he never thought he would—he’d stayed in. He hadn’t drowned himself in whiskey and bad decisions, hadn’t lined up meaningless bodies to keep himself distracted. He’d gone to rehearsals, barely left the house otherwise, and even now, after a win, he’d only had a couple of beers, hadn’t even touched the joint when it had been passed his way.
It’s fine. I can stop whenever I want.
The thought came unbidden, defensive, and it made his stomach twist. He didn’t need to drink. He just… usually wanted to.
But right now, what he wanted more than anything was Remus.
And he didn’t think he could handle finding out he’d lost him. Not tonight.
Remus
Kreacher’s was quiet at this hour, the kind of quiet that made the city feel like it belonged to him alone. It was the middle of the night and all. The diner’s neon sign flickered outside, casting a dull red glow across the empty street. Inside, the hum of the refrigerator and the occasional scrape of cutlery against ceramic were the only sounds.
Remus sat in his usual booth, hands curled around a lukewarm cup of coffee, staring at the faint reflection of himself in the darkened window. He looked tired. Felt tired.
He could have gone to the show tonight. Could have stood in the crowd, watched Sirius play, seen if the music still made him come alive the way it always had. But he hadn’t. Because even though the sharp edge of his anger had dulled, smoothed out into something softer—something sadder—he hadn’t been sure if he was ready to see Sirius yet.
Except now, sitting here in the middle of the night, he wanted to.
He let out a slow breath, rubbing his hands over his face.
He hadn’t planned on going to The Enchanted Quill either. He’d just… wandered. Thrown on his oversized sweater, laced up his battered combat boots, and walked. And somehow, without thinking, he had ended up at that dusty little shop again, where Sybil Trelawney had appeared like some eerie, glittering specter.
She had looked at him—really looked at him as if she could see the dark corners of his soul—and said in that otherworldly voice of hers, "You are afraid of the path ahead, but the door will not remain closed forever. When you see him, you will know."
Remus had blinked at her, stomach twisting. "What the hell does that mean?"
Sybil had simply smiled, eyes gleaming. "You already know."
And somehow, against all odds, it had actually calmed him.
Now, hours later, sitting in Kreacher’s, he knew he couldn’t keep avoiding it. He had to see Sirius. Had to hear his voice.
He slid out of the booth, abandoning his coffee, and made his way to the payphone in the back. The metal was cold under his fingers as he picked up the receiver, dropped a quarter into the slot, and dialed the number.
It rang once.
Twice.
His chest tightened, his pulse hammering as his breath came short.
And then—before it could connect—he slammed the phone back down.
His hand shook where it rested on the receiver. He squeezed his eyes shut.
Not yet.
But soon.
Notes:
Gillyweed sounds a bit like Bad Religion if you mixed it with L7.
Chapter 17: October 17, 1991
Chapter Text
Sirius
Sirius had been staring at his phone for almost twenty minutes before he finally called. The line rang four times before Regulus picked up, his voice clipped and cold.
“What.”
Sirius swallowed hard. “Can we talk?”
Silence.
“Please.”
More silence. Then: “Why now?”
“I messed up,” Sirius said. “I know I did. I just—can I come by? Tonight?”
A long pause. Sirius thought he was going to hang up. He almost did it himself.
“Fine,” Regulus said finally. “But don’t be late.”
The line went dead.
***
The sun was setting by the time Sirius called a cab. He lit a cigarette with shaking fingers and shoved his other hand deep into his jacket pocket, heading toward Regulus’s apartment with his stomach twisted into knots.
He hated this. Hated the weight of it. The silence between them, the venom that always seemed to boil over when they were in the same room for more than five minutes. But the thing was—he didn’t want to hate Regulus. He wanted to stop being so fucking mad at him all the time.
And that’s what he couldn’t get around. The anger. And everything underneath it really.
They had grown up in the same damn house. Same cold marble floors, same silent dinners where their father only spoke to correct them, where their mother’s smiles were reserved for clients and men in suits and never for her own sons. Sirius remembered the chill of that house better than he remembered any warmth. Because there hadn’t been any.
Not for him. Not for Regulus either, if he was honest. But that was the thing. Regulus had stayed. Had played along. Had become the perfect little heir, the obedient son, while Sirius had burned it all down on his way out the door. And part of him couldn’t forgive Regulus for not running too.
But deeper than that—deeper than the rage—was something else. Something like guilt. Like regret.
Because if he was honest, Sirius had abandoned Regulus, too.
He hadn’t come back. Not when Regulus turned sixteen. Not when he graduated high school. He stayed gone and convinced himself Regulus didn’t care, because it was easier than admitting he might’ve mattered.
He flicked the cigarette away and stood in front of Regulus’s building, jaw clenched tight.
Time to face it.
Regulus’s apartment was spotless. Of course it was.
Clean lines, dark furniture, not a single thing out of place. Sirius stood awkwardly in the doorway until Regulus nodded stiffly toward the couch.
“You want something to drink?” Regulus asked, already moving toward the kitchen.
“Just water is fine.”
Regulus made a soft noise. “Shocking,” he huffed under his breath.
Sirius didn’t answer. He just sat, hands dangling between his knees, staring at the floor.
Regulus returned with two glasses and set one down in front of him before sitting in the chair across from him. Not next to him. Not close.
They drank in silence for a moment. Then Regulus broke it.
“So? What did you want to say?”
Sirius looked up at him. His little brother. Not so little anymore—Regulus had grown into someone sharp and composed and closed-off. But Sirius could still see that kid underneath, hiding behind a perfect posture and an expensive shirt.
“I’m angry,” Sirius said.
Regulus raised a brow. “I noticed.”
“Not just at you.” He paused. “Well, yeah, at you. But it’s more than that.”
Regulus didn’t reply, but his eyes didn’t leave Sirius.
“I’ve been mad since I was fifteen,” Sirius said. “Mad at Dad mostly, but Mom was awful, too. At everything. But you—I was mad at you for staying. For... fitting into it. For not coming with me.”
“I was fourteen,” Regulus said quietly. “Where the hell was I supposed to go?”
“I don’t know!” Sirius barked, louder than he meant to. He winced, looked away. “I just—I thought you’d hate them like I did. I thought you’d want out. And now you are in deep – working for Gringotts and on your way to becoming just like them.”
“I did want out. Sometimes, I still do want out,” Regulus said. “Maybe I’m just a coward. Too afraid to make it on my own.”
That stopped Sirius cold.
He looked at Regulus, really looked at him. There was no venom in his voice. Just something tired. Something fragile.
“I waited,” Regulus continued. “I waited for you to come back. You never did.”
Sirius’s throat tightened.
“I didn’t think you’d want me to,” he said, voice low.
Regulus scoffed. “You didn’t even ask. And maybe I wouldn’t have. And then – anyway—it was too late. I agreed to an internship after high school and got access to the trust fund, and now I’ve got this huge salary, this big penthouse apartment, all the power the noble name of Black grants me, and I feel like I signed away my soul to get it. I did sign away my soul to get it. I….I don’t have anything real in my life. But I’m trying to change that.”
Sirius leaned forward, elbows on his knees, fingers tangling in his hair.
“I was the coward,” he said. “I left you in that house. I told myself you’d be fine. That you didn’t need me.”
Regulus stared at him. “And I told myself you didn’t care. That you chose your freedom over your family.”
“I did,” Sirius whispered. “But I didn’t want to lose you.”
That landed hard. Regulus looked away, jaw working like he was trying to keep something from surfacing. His fingers drummed against the glass in his hand.
“You really hurt me,” Regulus said after a long silence. “Back at Madame Malkin’s. In front of everyone.”
“I know.”
“And you keep doing it. You drink too much, and you say cruel shit, and then you expect people to forgive you because you’re sorry after. Like our father.”
Sirius flinched. “I don’t expect it. I just… I don’t know how to not be like this sometimes.”
Regulus’s voice was softer now. “Then figure it out. I’m not a punching bag for your guilt.”
Sirius nodded, eyes stinging. “I’m trying. I’m trying to be better.”
Regulus looked at him for a long time, eyes unreadable. Then he sighed and stood up, walking over to the couch. He sat beside Sirius, not touching him, but closer than before.
“You don’t have to be perfect,” Regulus said. “Just don’t disappear again. You know this whole Battle of the Bands thing? I came up with it for you. I’ve been watching The Marauders for nearly a year.”
Sirius nodded, too choked up to speak. After a moment, he leaned back against the couch, both of them staring at the quiet apartment ahead. The silence between them wasn’t quite comfortable, but it wasn’t hostile anymore either. It was the silence of two people circling something too old and too big to name all at once.
Regulus broke it first, voice quiet. “I was jealous of you, you know.”
Sirius blinked, turning his head to look at him.
“I’ve been jealous since the day you walked out,” Regulus continued. “You had the guts to leave. To say no. To choose something else. I hated you for it, and I envied you, too.”
Sirius let out a bitter laugh. “You shouldn’t be jealous of me, Reg.”
Regulus looked at him, eyebrows pulling together.
“I’ve fucked everything up,” Sirius said, eyes flicking away. “I burn bridges and lash out and drink too much and push people away when they get too close. You think I walked into some better life, but it wasn’t like that. I left, yeah, but I didn’t really escape. I just took all the damage with me.”
He ran a hand through his hair, fingers trembling slightly. “I’m not proud of who I am. Not most of the time.”
Regulus didn’t respond right away. He was watching Sirius like he was seeing him differently now—less like the brother who abandoned him and more like someone just as bruised and lost as he was.
“I didn’t mean you had it easy,” Regulus said eventually. “Just that… you were brave enough to stop pretending. I wasn’t. I’m still not, most days.”
Sirius gave a small, sad smile. “Yeah, well. Brave doesn’t always mean smart.”
Regulus smirked faintly. “No. Clearly not.”
That made Sirius laugh, quietly and genuinely for the first time in a while. Regulus let the corner of his mouth twitch upward, then looked away again, like the moment had passed and he wasn’t sure what to do with it.
Sirius leaned back, letting his head rest against the back of the couch. “I miss having a brother.”
Regulus was quiet for a long beat. Then, softly, “So do I.”
Peter
Last night, Peter had sat on the floor of his tiny bedroom, halfheartedly picking at a slice of cold pizza, the glow from his lava lamp flickering orange and red across the walls. He wasn’t sure why, but everything felt heavier lately. On the surface, everything was going his way – Moonsick had won their bracket of the Battle of the Bands against The Puking Pastilles last week (it hasn’t even been a real contest, in Peter’s humble opinion), he was loving his job and growing closer to James and the Potters, and he had kind of, sort of, maybe met a girl a couple nights ago. But, he knew something was going on with his friend.
He hated seeing Remus like this. Quiet in that way that meant something was hurting, even if he’d never say it out loud. Always retreating, folding in on himself like it was the only way he knew how to survive. Every one of his friends mattered to him so much it made his chest ache. And watching Remus quietly unravel these past couple weeks—seeing the way he wouldn’t meet anyone’s eyes, how the usual spark in him had dimmed—it had started to weigh on Peter in a way he didn’t know how to talk about.
He just wanted things to feel good again. Like they did when they were all laughing after a late-night rehearsal, stuffing fries in their faces at Kreacher’s.
Peter had let out a sigh and rubbed at his face.
***
The amps were still humming faintly when Marlene had cleared out, leaving Peter and Remus alone in the cramped rehearsal space of their living room. Remus sat the couch, tuning his bass out of habit more than need, fingers moving over the strings in slow, absentminded patterns.
Peter was coiling cables nearby, quiet for a long time before he finally said, “You’ve been avoiding Sirius.”
Remus didn’t look up. “Yeah.”
Peter nodded. “You want to talk about it?”
Remus let out a long breath through his nose. “Not really.” But after a pause, he added, “It’s complicated.”
Peter gave him space, sitting down cross-legged a few feet away. “I figured. I know the thing at Madame Malkin’s really messed with you.”
Remus didn’t say anything for a moment. Then, slowly: “It wasn’t just that night. That was just… the last straw.”
He stopped playing. His hands rested in his lap, still. “You know my dad,” he said quietly.
Peter nodded. “Yeah.”
“I grew up watching a man drink himself into a ghost,” Remus said. “Sometimes charming, sometimes violent, mostly just… absent. It’s like loving someone who’s never really there. And I told myself I’d never go through that again.”
Peter’s voice was gentle. “Sirius isn’t your dad.”
“I know that,” Remus snapped, and then immediately sighed. “I know. It’s not the same. But the drinking, the spiraling… It’s hard for me, Pete. It pulls me right back. And I thought I could handle it, because what I felt for him was—” He broke off, shaking his head. “It was intense. Is intense. And I thought that meant I could handle it.”
Peter didn’t rush him. Just waited.
“But after that scene with Regulus,” Remus continued, quieter now, “after he lashed out at me for trying to stop it, like I was the enemy—it was like a switch flipped. I shut down. I couldn’t keep getting close just to watch him self-destruct.”
Peter was quiet for a beat, then said, “James and I have been talking. About you and Sirius.”
Remus raised an eyebrow.
“James says Sirius hasn’t been drinking. Not since that night. No partying, no clubs. Just... work, band, and apparently a lot of brooding walks on the beach.”
Remus huffed a breath, something like a laugh but without the humor. “Sounds like him.”
“He’s been asking about you,” Peter added.
Remus looked down at his hands, fingers curled loosely around the neck of his bass.
“I don’t know what to do with that,” he said. “I don’t know if it means anything’s different. Or if I just want it to be.”
Peter shrugged. “Maybe it’s both. People can change. He’s trying. I think that counts for something.”
Remus was silent for a long time, the tension in his shoulders softening just a little.
“Thanks, Pete,” he said quietly. “Really.”
Peter smiled. “Anytime.”
“So…” Remus smiled, raising his eyebrows. “Tell me about the girl you met the other night.”
Lily
Lily had already changed her outfit three times.
Now she was standing in front of her mirror in a cropped tank and vintage jeans, barefoot, with one earring in and the other clenched between her teeth as she squinted at her reflection. The sun was bleeding through the flimsy curtains over her bedroom window, casting soft orange light across her room, bouncing off the gold-framed mirror and the cluttered dresser below it—scattered eyeliner pencils, perfume bottles, a candle that smelled like cardamom.
“Okay,” she muttered around the earring. “You are cool. You are very cool. You do not need to panic just because she said something about our moon phase compatibility.”
She popped the second earring in and turned up the volume on the mixtape she’d made herself just to get ready. It was a chaotic blend of The Pixies, The Sugarcubes, and a live Mazzy Star bootleg Sirius had given her on cassette. She danced a little as she dug through her closet for a jacket, biting her lip as she debated: leather or denim?
Leather, she finally decided. It made her look tougher than she felt tonight.
Pandora had this...energy. She was weird and poetic and seemed to exist at a slightly different frequency from everyone else, and Lily couldn’t stop thinking about her.
Lily spritzed perfume behind her ears and gave herself one last once-over. Tousled red hair, soft pink lips, a choker she'd impulsively bought the day after meeting Pandora because it "felt right," and just enough eyeliner to say I'm mysterious without screaming I'm trying.
She paused in the doorway before leaving, fingers clutching her keys, heart thudding.
Lily was halfway out of the house, when she heard the familiar click of heels on tile. She didn’t even have to turn to know who it was.
“Going somewhere?” came Petunia’s voice, pinched and precise, like it always was when she was working to sound unimpressed.
Lily turned slowly, lips already forming a smirk. Her sister stood by the stairs wrapped in a pristine carnation pink cardigan like she’d been plucked from a department store. Her eyes swept over Lily’s outfit with a look that could have curdled milk.
“You look... interesting,” Petunia said, clearly not meaning it positively. “Is that real leather?”
“It is,” Lily said brightly, swinging her keys around one finger. “And I look incredible, thanks.”
Petunia sniffed. “You never used to dress like that.”
“Well, I never used to have anything worth dressing for,” Lily said. Then, after a pause, her smile widened. “I’m going on a date.”
That got Petunia’s attention. She blinked. “Oh. With who?”
Lily let the silence linger just long enough before dropping it. “A girl.”
Petunia actually sputtered. “A girl?”
“Mm-hm.” Lily leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “Her name’s Pandora. She wears things like taxidermy earrings and platform boots and reads people’s natal charts for fun. You’d hate her.”
“I….” Petunia’s voice pitched up. “That’s just….well, I suppose that’s very punk of you.”
Lily tilted her head. “Thanks. I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“You really don’t care what people think, do you?” Petunia asked bitterly.
Lily hesitated. “Not anymore.”
Petunia opened her mouth like she might say something else, but Lily was already walking away, the heels of her boots clicking confidently down the sidewalk.
***
The sun was just starting to set over Silver Lake when Lily spotted Pandora waiting outside the oddest little café she’d ever seen—part plant shop, part bar, part... tarot parlor?
Pandora stood under the neon sign that read Nightshade & Tonic, wearing a wide-brimmed hat, a leather jacket two sizes too big, and mismatched earrings – with her lips painted that brilliant signature red.
Lily laughed as she approached. “You know, for someone who works in the music industry, you dress like an eccentric apothecary from a parallel dimension.”
Pandora grinned, eyes shining. “Thank you. I was going for ‘time-traveling librarian meets witch.’”
“You nailed it,” Lily said, eyes sweeping over her outfit with clear appreciation.
Pandora offered her arm in a mock-gentlemanly fashion. “Shall we? I’ve reserved us a table in the greenhouse. It smells like basil and ambition.”
Lily took her arm, intrigued. “Is that on the cocktail menu?”
“Only when Mercury’s in retrograde.”
They wound their way through the café, past shelves stacked with crystals, zines, and a small wall shrine to Stevie Nicks, until they reached a little table tucked among hanging vines and string lights. The air smelled like mint, sage, and something floral that Lily couldn’t place.
Pandora plopped into her chair with theatrical flair. “Okay, important first question: do you believe in fate, or are you more of a ‘chaos butterfly flaps its wings and now your coffee tastes like regret’ type?”
Lily tilted her head thoughtfully. “I think I believe in timing. And maybe... certain people showing up when you need them most.”
Pandora blinked, then grinned again. “Wow. That was beautiful. And a little bit flirty.”
“I am a little bit flirting with you.”
“Well,” Pandora said, dramatically fanning herself with a cocktail menu, “in that case, I will have the ‘Botanical Breeze’ and the pleasure of your undivided attention.”
Lily laughed, cheeks slightly flushed, and pointed to the menu. “I’ll try the ‘Lavender Dreams’ because it sounds like something someone would name a song about you.”
Pandora raised an eyebrow. “Is that what you’re doing? Writing lyrics in your head?”
“Only when you say ridiculous things like ‘basil and ambition.’”
“Oh, please steal that. Use it in your next poem, or your next song.”
The drinks came—vibrant, strange, delicious—and the conversation only deepened. They talked music and astrology, the way the L.A. sky looked fake at sunset, the absurdity of the music business, the weirdest rumors they’d heard about the bands they knew. Lily told a story about walking in on Barty Crouch giving his boyfriend a blow-job in the back room at work—causing Lily to swear off doing inventory for the rest of the week. Pandora confessed she once accidentally handed Regulus a glitter-covered demo tape that turned his suit into a disco ball under the lights.
“He still won’t come within three feet of my desk,” Pandora said proudly.
They left the café with hands brushing but not quite held, the tension between them light but electric. The sun had dipped below the horizon, casting the streets of Silver Lake in warm twilight glow. Cars rumbled past on Sunset, neon signs flickered to life, and somewhere a saxophone player was wailing the blues from a fire escape.
Pandora led them away from the bustle, up a quiet hill lined with tangled bougainvillea and crooked palm trees. Lily followed easily, her leather boots clicking softly against the sidewalk, her fingers itching to reach for Pandora’s but not sure if it was too soon.
“Okay,” Pandora said as they walked, swinging her arms slightly. “Serious question: if you were a cryptid, which one would you be?”
Lily snorted. “That’s your serious question?”
Pandora turned, walking backward up the hill with a smirk. “Deadly serious. It’s a major compatibility issue.”
“Hmm.” Lily tapped her lip as if considering. “Probably... the Mothman. Mysterious. Elusive. Likes to hang out around disasters.”
Pandora grinned, delighted. “Sexy. I’d be a selkie. Moody. Oceanic. Has attachment issues.”
“Oh, that tracks.”
“Rude,” Pandora said, laughing. “But okay.”
They kept walking, the city falling away behind them as the hill grew steeper. At one point, Pandora paused and pointed to a cracked bit of sidewalk where someone had drawn a smiley face in glow-in-the-dark paint. She crouched down beside it and took a quick Polaroid from her bag.
“You carry a Polaroid camera around?” Lily asked, amused.
“Only when I have a feeling something beautiful might happen,” Pandora said, waving the photo through the air to help it develop.
Lily looked at her sideways, heart stumbling a little.
They reached the overlook just as the sky turned deep violet. Below them, Los Angeles stretched in every direction, glittering like something out of a dream.
Lily leaned on the railing, her hair catching the breeze. “God, this city is ridiculous.”
“I know,” Pandora said. “It’s always pretending to be something. But sometimes, when it forgets to try, it’s really fucking beautiful.”
Lily turned toward her, their faces close now in the gathering dark. “Do you always talk like you’re narrating a French indie film?”
“Only when I’m nervous,” Pandora said, a little breathless.
“You’re nervous?” Lily asked, voice softer.
Pandora nodded. “A little. You’re—very composed. Intimidating. Also beautiful, which is deeply inconvenient for my brain.”
Lily smiled slowly. “You’re beautiful too. Weird as hell, but beautiful.”
Pandora tilted her head. “I’m going to kiss you now, if that’s okay.”
“More than okay,” Lily whispered.
And Pandora leaned in.
The kiss started soft—tentative, like a question—but deepened quickly as Lily stepped forward, her hands finding Pandora’s waist. Pandora’s fingers curled into the lapels of Lily’s jacket, pulling her closer as the world fell away.
The kiss wasn’t fireworks or explosions – it was something slower, more intimate. Like the warmth of a candle catching in the dark. The kind of kiss that feels like recognition. Like, Oh, it’s you.
Lily pulled back just slightly, her breath ghosting over Pandora’s lips.
“Okay,” she said, a little dazed. “That was...”
“Yeah,” Pandora replied, smiling with wide, wonderstruck eyes. “Me too.”
They didn’t speak for a long moment, just stood there with the city glowing beneath them and something new humming quietly between their joined hands.
Chapter 18: October 25, 1991
Summary:
CW: There is some explicit sex in this chapter. If you wish to skip it, stop reading at the first ## and pick up after the second ##.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
James
James hung up the phone, feeling that familiar buzz of excitement mixed with a knot in his stomach. Regulus had called to discuss The Marauders’ upcoming Battle of the Bands competition with The Nargles, but the conversation had taken an unexpected turn when Regulus casually mentioned he’d be at The Howlers versus Azkaban battle that night.
It was hard for James to suppress the giddiness that bubbled up at the thought of seeing him in person again. It had been a while since they’d had a proper conversation. And honestly, James liked Regulus. He liked him a lot more than he’d ever intended to, which made this all the more complicated. He’d tried to bury his crush, tried to pretend it didn’t exist, but now? Now it felt like there was no escaping it, not with Regulus around, not when he had that sharp, thoughtful way about him that James found impossible to ignore.
Still, there was that nagging worry in the back of his mind—Sirius.
James leaned against his kitchen counter, eyes glazed over as his thoughts drifted back to last week. He remembered the moment so clearly—Sirius had come home from Regulus’s place looking almost light-hearted for the first time in ages. There had been a noticeable shift in him, something James hadn’t expected. His shoulders had been relaxed, his smile genuine, even if it was a bit shy.
Sirius, of course, had been evasive at first, brushing it off as nothing. But James had caught the way his eyes had softened when he spoke about his brother—his actual brother, not the estranged version he had carried around with him for years. The tension that had been simmering between them, the sharp, hurt words they’d thrown at each other, suddenly felt distant. Something had changed. But James knew there was no way that he could tell Sirius about his crush. Things were just starting to calm down.
Just then, the door to the beach apartment swung open as Dorcas and Marlene entered, both brimming with excitement. Marlene was in her usual effortless style, a graphic tee and worn denim jacket, while Dorcas wore a flowy dress that swished as she walked. The two exchanged a playful banter as they made their way through the living room, spotting James standing by the counter with a thoughtful expression.
“Hey, man,” Dorcas greeted with a grin. “You look like you’re about to contemplate the meaning of life. We’re going to a show, not a therapy session.”
James rolled his eyes, smiling. “I’m fine, just thinking about tonight.”
Dorcas flopped onto the couch, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “Thinking about anyone in particular?” she teased, winking at him. James had confided in Dorcas about the late night phone sessions, but hadn’t told her about his crush. He wasn’t sure if she knew, or was just fishing for information.
Before James could respond, the door creaked again, and Lily stepped inside, looking radiant in a sleek black dress that hugged her figure just enough to make heads turn. Her eyes lit up when she saw the group, and her smile widened when she spotted Dorcas. It was clear she’d been waiting for this night.
“Lily! You look amazing,” Dorcas greeted, her eyes taking in the outfit.
“Thanks,” Lily said, laughing softly. “I thought I’d step it up tonight.”
You’re going to turn heads, trust me,” Marlene added with a wink, leaning back on the couch.
“There only one head I care about,” Lily blushed. “She said she be there tonight!”
There was a loud thunk from the hallway, followed by Sirius’s voice. “You all keep acting like this is some damn fashion show.”
A beat later, Sirius emerged from his bedroom.
The room collectively paused.
James knew Sirius was objectively hot. But tonight you could tell he’d put in more effort than usual. The black t-shirt clung just right to his torso, highlighting his lean muscles, and his dark jeans hung low on his hips. His hair, those long black waves, was freshly washed, looking effortlessly cool. Even though Sirius had his usual teasing smirk on, there was something about the way he carried himself tonight—slightly more composed, yet still undeniably magnetic.
“Damn, dude,” Dorcas said, looking him up and down with a grin. “You sure you’re not auditioning for a modeling gig? Because that’s the vibe I’m getting.”
Sirius chuckled, his eyes flashing with amusement. “You’re just mad because I look better than you, Dork.”
Marlene laughed, swatting at him. “Not even.”
As if on cue, Lily turned to James with a slight, teasing smirk. “So... has anyone heard from Remus?”
James leaned against the counter, glancing at the door. “I haven’t seen him yet. I invited him, but…”
The sound of the doorbell cut him off, and the group collectively turned to see Peter and Remus walk in, a quiet but pleasant aura surrounding them. Peter immediately flashed a grin when he saw the girls already holding drinks.
“I have a feeling I’m going to regret this,” Remus said, looking at them warily as the girls immediately pounced.
“Remus! You’ve made it just in time for the most important part of the night,” Dorcas announced dramatically, pulling out a bottle of Jägermeister. “We’re doing shots, and you’re not getting out of it.”
Remus raised an eyebrow but didn't resist. “Jägermeister, huh? You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Peter, already grinning widely, glanced at Remus. “You’re not going to leave me hanging, are you?”
“Oh, I’m leaving you hanging, buddy,” Remus deadpanned, crossing his arms.
Lily nudged him, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “You really want to leave us all to drink alone?”
Peter laughed. “If you don’t take a shot, I’ll have to call you a coward. And you know I don’t say that lightly.”
Remus shot Peter a look but couldn’t hold back the smirk that tugged at his lips. “Fine, fine. I’ll do one shot.”
“Good boy,” Dorcas said, grinning, as she handed him a shot glass.
Sirius, who had been silently observing, shook his head. “I’ll pass,” he said with a polite smile, holding up his hand in refusal.
“What?” Dorcas’s eyes widened. “You’re not taking a shot?” She looked completely scandalized. “Who are you, and what have you done with Sirius Black?”
“Boring,” Marlene teased, rolling her eyes dramatically. “Alright, everyone, to the madness that is tonight. May the best band win. And that will be The Howlers. Cheers to Frank, Alice, Fab, and Gideon.”
Everyone raised their shot glasses, clinking them together before tossing the bitter liquid back.
James couldn’t help but smile as he watched the group. Despite the complicated undercurrents—Sirius’s still-fractured relationship with Remus, his own nervous energy about Regulus’s arrival—it felt like a moment of simplicity. Just friends, together, having fun. There was something about that feeling, that lightness, that made him forget about everything else, if only for a moment.
***
The atmosphere at the show was buzzing, filled with excitement and anticipation. Azkaban was up first, and the crowd was already starting to gather in front of the stage, eager to see what they’d bring. The venue, a dark, moody space with neon lights cutting through the fog, was the perfect setting for the chaotic energy of the night.
Lily, Marlene, and Dorcas, determined to secure the best spot for the night, made their way toward the front row. Lily, being friends with the singer, Severus Snape, wanted to make sure they were positioned perfectly for Azkaban’s set. She winked at James as she followed the girls through the crowd, already feeling the pulse of excitement in the air.
Peter, still bouncing on his feet with the occasional glance around to see if his date had arrived yet, stayed by James, who was leaning against the bar, surveying the crowd.
"Man, it feels like this place is going to explode once Azkaban starts," James said with a grin, taking a swig of his drink and glancing toward the stage.
Peter, always the excitable one, nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, and the fact that The Howlers up against them next? They’re like, intense.”
James laughed. “You’re telling me. The Howlers are so much more mellow – it really is a strange match up.”
Before Peter could respond, his face lit up. “Oh! There she is!” He waved excitedly, trying to look casual but failing miserably.
James followed Peter’s gaze and saw a very short girl coming toward them, her long brown hair bouncing as she walked through the crowd. She was dressed simply, wearing a loose cropped sweater and jeans, but there was a kind of effortless charm to her.
“Emmeline!” Peter grinned, stepping forward to greet her. “You made it! Sorry, I’m being an idiot. I should’ve met you at the door.”
Emmeline laughed as she approached him, giving him a playful shove. “Peter, you’re always an idiot, but it’s fine.” She turned to James with a smile, extending her hand. “You must be James, right?”
“That’s me,” James said, shaking her hand firmly. “Nice to meet you. Peter’s told me lots about you.”
“Really? I’m terrified now,” Emmeline said with a mock-glare toward Peter, though there was a grin tugging at her lips.
Peter waved his hands in protest. “It’s all good stuff, I swear.”
James laughed, “What he didn’t tell me is what you do for a living…anything worth talking about?”
“I work at a tattoo parlor,” Emmeline said casually, “I’m a piercer. You’d be amazed at the stuff that happens in there.”
James’s eyes lit up. “Wait, you’re a piercer? I’ve always wanted to get a piercing, but I’m terrified of the pain.”
Emmeline laughed, her gaze flicking to James with a mischievous glint. “Well, you know, I could always give you a free piercing. I mean, any friend of Peter’s, and so on.”
James looked at her, intrigued. “A free piercing, huh? What kind of trouble are you getting me into, Emmeline?”
“Oh, it’s not that bad,” she teased. “Just a quick little thing. Nothing too crazy.”
James smiled, leaning back slightly as he considered the idea. “Ehh, I don’t know….”
Peter grinned. “Come on, James, where’s your sense of adventure?”
“I don’t see a piercing on you, man”, James teased.
“Yeah, we might just have to change that soon, hmmm,” Emmeline pouted into Peter’s ear, as she pulled him toward the stage, waving at James over her shoulder.
James glanced toward the corner of the room where Remus and Sirius had retreated. Of course, he couldn’t hear what they were saying, but there was something about their body language that seemed intense. He just hoped, for everyone’s sake, it was a good sort of intense.
Suddenly, the door to the venue opened, and Regulus Black stepped inside. Time seemed to slow for a brief moment, and James’s stomach did a weird little flip as he took in the sight of him. Regulus wasn’t looking his way yet, but the sight of him—tall, effortlessly cool in a casual black suit, and a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his lips—made James feel a little light-headed.
His heart beat just a little faster, and that fluttery sensation in his stomach deepened. It was like the moment he saw Regulus, everything around him dimmed, and all he could focus on was the way Regulus moved—casual, yet purposeful, every step exuding that cool confidence James could never quite replicate. It was like a magnetic pull, and despite himself, James knew exactly what was happening.
He definitely had a crush. Shit.
Regulus stood just inside the door. Several people immediately swarmed him to say hello, most of them from the scene or the music industry, all eager to exchange words or strike up a conversation. James watched him with a bit of envy as he smiled and responded to each greeting with that familiar, collected ease.
As the lights dimmed and the opening notes of Azkaban’s set reverberated through the room, James realized he was still standing there, staring. He quickly shook himself out of it, knowing he had to move—he couldn't just stand there and gawk like some lovesick fool.
He grabbed two beers from the bar, one for himself and one for Regulus, and started walking toward him. As he neared, Regulus finally turned and caught sight of him. James hesitated for just a split second before stepping forward, holding out the drink with a grin.
“Regulus,” James said, shouting over the thumping music. “You made it!”
Regulus raised an eyebrow, surprised, but a smile slowly curled onto his lips. “James. Is this for me?” He accepted the beer with a nod.
Regulus took a slow sip of his beer, his eyes locked on James for a moment, giving him a subtle, almost knowing smile, making James’s breath catch. Just then, the loudest guitar solo of all time started, and talking became impossible, and they both turned to face the stage.
His eyes darted briefly to Regulus’s profile, and then, like a sudden splash of cold water, he realized just how much he’d been wanting to talk to him, just how much he’d been hoping for this. And with that, they both fell into the rhythm of the music and the crowd’s cheers, and James felt like anything could happen.
Remus
Remus had stood outside the door to the beach apartment, worried about seeing Sirius for the first time since Madame Malkin’s. He’d taken a deep breath before pushing it open, walking in and immediately feeling the familiar buzz of the place—half-chaotic, half-comforting. But then, his eyes had landed on Sirius, standing at the center of the room.
Sirius had looked... different. Not in a dramatic, earth-shattering way, but enough to make Remus’s heart stutter in his chest. He was dressed simply—a black tee, jeans, and his usual laid-back cool, but there was something about the way the light hit him, how his eyes seemed sharper, how he stood with his shoulders back and that effortless confidence that always made Remus's breath catch in his throat. How does he always look so good? Remus had thought, his knees weak, as if his body had just remembered how drawn to Sirius it was.
Sirius had noticed him right away, flashing a grin in his direction, but there was something different in it. It wasn’t the usual playful, teasing smile he always flashed Remus. This time, it felt softer, almost... apologetic. The tension between them, that tight, simmering thing that had been building ever since the blow-up at Madame Malkin’s, had suddenly felt like it was dissolving in the air.
When the group started handing around the Jäger shots, Remus had seen Sirius’s hesitation. He didn’t take one, just shook his head with a polite smile and a soft but firm, “Nah, I’m good.” The others had joked and pushed him, but Sirius had stood firm, and Remus had seen that there was something in his refusal—something about it felt like a statement.
He wasn’t just refusing the shot.
It was as if, in that moment, Sirius was refusing to drown the conflict between them in alcohol, refusing to run from it. Sirius had always been the one to hide his vulnerability behind a smirk or a joke, but this time, Remus had seen the cracks in that mask, had seen the unspoken apology and longing in his eyes.
And just like that, Remus had known.
They were going to fix this tonight. He had felt it in his bones.
***
After arriving at the show, Sirius pulled Remus to a relatively quiet corner where they now stood, with a strange kind of silence between them. Remus glanced over at Sirius, his lips pressed together in a thin line, and Sirius seemed to be avoiding his gaze, his fingers wrapped tightly around his drink. Several minutes passed with them nursing their beers, the silence not exactly uncomfortable….but heavy.
Finally, Remus broke the silence, his voice quieter than usual. "Sirius, we need to talk about what happened the other night. You were... out of control."
Sirius flinched at the words, and for a second, Remus thought he might brush it off, but he didn't. Instead, Sirius set his glass down, avoiding Remus's gaze as if it were the most difficult thing in the world. "I know," he muttered, voice rough. "I didn’t mean to get like that. I was... I don’t know, I just... I lost it. My brother…."
Remus crossed his arms over his chest, studying him carefully. "Sirius, you were drunk. And not just a little drunk. You were loud, you were reckless... and you said and did some stuff that hurt."
Sirius let out a long, frustrated sigh, his hand rubbing his forehead. "I know, I know. I was a fucking idiot. I didn’t mean to take it out on you like that."
Remus shook his head, his expression softening slightly but still solemn. "It’s not just that. It’s the fact that you were spiraling, and none of us could do anything about it. You were pushing everyone away, even me, and I... I didn’t know how to deal with it."
Sirius winced at that, his gaze flicking up to meet Remus’s for the first time. "I wasn’t trying to push you away, Remus. I’m just... I’m just bad at this whole thing. At dealing with my shit."
"I get that," Remus said, his voice quieter now, but still firm. "But getting drunk and acting out? That’s not dealing with it. That’s just avoiding it, and it affects the people around you. It affects me."
Sirius nodded, the weight of Remus’s words hitting him hard. He felt a flush creeping up his neck. "I didn’t mean to make you feel like that. I’m... I don’t know what’s wrong with me sometimes. I hate feeling vulnerable. I hate feeling like I’m not in control."
"Yeah," Remus agreed, his tone softer now. "You don’t have to push people away when things get hard. Especially not me."
Sirius’s eyes softened as he looked at Remus, and for a brief moment, he looked like he might say something more, but instead, he just nodded. "I’m sorry," he muttered. “I know. I’m a fucking mess, right?"
Remus shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Not a mess. Just... a work in progress."
Sirius managed a genuine smile this time, the tension in his shoulders easing a little. "Well, I am working on it. I talked to Regulus last week and we worked some things out. And I haven’t been drinking, or partying, or even really going out at all. But I’ve been worried that I screwed up everything between us. And I’ve been really wanting to see where this thing between us goes. I haven’t stopped being completely, pathetically into you, you know."
Remus’s expression softened as he gave a small nod. "I’m not going anywhere."
Sirius sighed as he reached his arms around Remus’s waist. “So are you still…into me?”
Without another word, Remus leaned in, brushing his lips against Sirius’s softly. “Completely and pathetically,” he breathed, deepening the kiss and pressing Sirius’s back into the wall.
Sirius, his voice barely a whisper, breathed out, “Let’s get out of here.”
Remus nodded, his gaze steady. Without another word, they slipped away from the crowd, making their way through the bar, hands still intertwined, their movements deliberate as they found their way to the back hallway and toward the bathroom door.
As soon as it closed behind them, the noise of the club muffled by the thick walls, it felt like everything changed. The bathroom light flickered above them, but it only added to the feeling of being in a world that was theirs, a world where it was just the two of them and nothing else.
Sirius pushed Remus against the door, his hands moving to the sides of Remus’s face, kissing him again, this time more urgently, desperately, like they were both starved for something they hadn’t been able to touch before. Remus responded in kind, pulling Sirius closer, his fingers tangled in Sirius’s shirt as he tried to pull him even nearer.
The tension that had lingered between them melted away, leaving only the heat of the moment. Their kiss grew more intense, more urgent, as they pressed against each other. Remus’s hands roamed, pulling at the hem of Sirius’s shirt, and Sirius responded with a quiet groan, letting his own hands trace the line of Remus’s jaw before moving to his neck.
The bathroom, with its chipped tiles and harsh lighting, felt like the only place that mattered in the world right then. The noise of the club seemed miles away, and all that was left was the press of their bodies together, the taste of each others’ lips.
Finally, Remus’s voice, low and husky, broke the silence. “We’re not going back out there, are we?”
Sirius smiled against his lips, a sexy, dangerous smile that made Remus’s groin ache. “Not just yet.”
##
He dropped to his knees in front of Remus as he worked quickly to unbutton his jeans. Remus helped him wriggle his pants to the ground, and Sirius reached around to grab his ass, as he took Remus’s entire semi-hard dick into his mouth. Remus breathed out hard, feeling the blood rushing to his groin, his stomach start to burn in anticipation. He looked down as Sirius’s wild long hair spread out on his shoulders, seeing his sharp cheekbones stand out against the shadows and his full pink lips glistening with spit. Sirius began to bob his head, looking up at Remus from beneath long eyelashes, and it wasn’t long until Remus was burying his hand in that thick dark hair and begging for more.
“Please let me fuck you,” Remus moaned.
Sirius stopped only for a second. “Not yet, Moony. I want to taste you,” he breathed.
Remus felt his orgasm building, threatening his sanity. Sirius gave one last swirl, and stars invaded Remus’s vision. He came hard into Sirius’s mouth, groaning his name and tugging Sirius’s hair. He pulled Sirius up to his face to kiss him deeply, tasting himself and reveling in the way Sirius seemed to physically need him.
“Now it’s your turn,” Remus smirked and started to reach for Sirius’s belt. He flipped Sirius around so that his back was braced on the door and reached his hand down Sirius’s jeans. He grasped his rock hard length in his hand and gave two long pulls. Sirius twisted beneath him, begging hotly in his ear as Remus pumped his dick more quickly. He reached down with his mouth and bit the soft, smooth skin on the side of Sirius’s neck. Sirius let out a groan as he sucked on the delicate skin before Remus dropped to his own knees. Remus took Sirius in his mouth, as if he was worshiping at an altar of pure debauchery, wanting, needing to have him deep inside his throat. Sirius’s breathing got faster and his hands tangled in Remus’s curls, and then suddenly Sirius was writhing underneath him and Remus could feel the salty taste of him erupting into his mouth. Remus sighed and stood up to kiss him lazily.
“Goddamn, Moony,” Sirius stammered out. “That was supposed to be your apology blowjob.”
Remus smiled affectionately at him. “That was the ‘I forgive you’ blowjob that followed it.”
“You are going to make me want to screw up again and again if that’s the case,” Sirius smirked.
##
Afterward, Sirius and Remus headed back to the bar, hand in hand, flushed and disheveled, completely having missed the entire Azkaban show. They didn’t even notice the long line of pissed off concert-goers standing in line to use the bathroom.
Notes:
I picture The Howlers as a bit like Soul Asylum - raggedy, catchy, a little bit messy, and play fun but weird covers during their sets.
Chapter 19: October 26, 1991
Chapter Text
Gideon
Gideon Prewett sat on the edge of his bed, still in last night’s clothes, staring at the scuffed toes of his boots. The Howlers had lost their Battle of the Bands round to Azkaban, and the sting of it was worse than he expected. Not because Azkaban didn’t deserve the win—their set was tight and aggressive—but because they hadn’t shown up. Not really.
Normally, The Howlers put on a hell of a show. Energy. Grit. But last night had been off from the start. The crowd had felt it. So had the judges.
And it all started when Fabian had stumbled in, reeking of smoke and booze, eyes glassy, words slurred. Gideon had clocked it immediately—this was more than just a little pot to take the edge off. His brother had shown up wasted.
Gideon had tried to cover for him on stage, muscling through transitions, signaling changes, keeping the momentum going. But Fab’s bass lines wobbled, broke down entirely in spots. The groove—their backbone—was shot. Frank and Alice had looked livid even mid-set. And after they got offstage, all hell broke loose. There was shouting behind the club, Alice pacing with her arms crossed, Frank in his face, demanding answers.
Gideon hadn’t said much then. Just watched. Listened. Letting his anger boil.
Now, hours later, the anger had curdled into something heavier. He was furious, yeah—but he was scared too. Something was off with Fab. Way off. Weed was one thing. They all smoked. It came with the territory. But this? This felt different. He’d seen musicians fall down that hole before—seen the vacant stares and the slow slide. Heroin was making the rounds in their scene, seeping in under the guise of creative bliss. He never thought his brother would go near it.
But now? He wasn’t so sure.
Regulus
Regulus sat on his balcony in the early haze of morning, the sun not yet committed to rising, a lukewarm cup of coffee cooling between his hands. The sky over Los Angeles was a soft gradient of bruised blue and peach, the kind of quiet palette that made him feel like the world was paused—just for a moment. A pause he sorely needed.
He hadn’t been able to sleep.
Last night had clung to him like smoke in his clothes: the sticky bar air, the din of too many voices trying to sound important, and the cloying smell of cheap beer spilled over floors and egos. He’d gone to the show for work—technically. Azkaban was one of the more buzzed-about acts on the bill, and he’d wanted to see how they held up against The Howlers live. But the second he walked into the venue, a handful of insufferable industry regulars had glommed on to him like moths to a light, cornering him with half-baked pitches and fake compliments.
He’d been halfway through his third excuse to escape when he’d finally managed to pull away, slipping toward the far wall near the back of the venue just as Azkaban was about to take the stage.
That’s when he’d sensed someone else approaching and groaned inwardly. He’d turned with a practiced scowl, ready to bite someone's head off.
And then he had seen him. James Potter.
Of course it was James, all golden skin and messy hair, wearing a ripped up denim jacket with one of those easy grins that made Regulus feel like the floor had dropped out beneath him. He’d been holding out a beer like it was nothing, like they did this all the time. And Regulus—who’d been scowling less than a second before—had felt something flutter traitorously in his stomach.
He'd taken the beer. Said something cool, he’d hoped. But before they could speak more, Azkaban had launched into their set, the music crashing through the room like a tidal wave. Too loud to talk. Too loud to think straight.
They ended up just standing there, shoulder to shoulder near the wall, close enough for their arms to brush now and then. Each time it happened, Regulus felt sparks crawl over his skin, a thrill that sent chills down his spine. He wondered if James felt them, too. He stole glances at James—several, actually—when he was sure James wasn’t looking. The sharp curve of his jawline. The way his eyes caught the stage lights. The little smirk that tugged at the corner of his mouth when Azkaban’s lead guitarist launched into a ridiculous solo.
James never caught him looking. Not once.
And somehow, that only made it worse.
After Azkaban’s set ended, the music finally dipped low enough for conversation. Regulus still felt breathless from the proximity—but he kept his tone light, casually ribbing James about not having the same teased hair and ridiculous style as Azkaban.
“How will you ever complete with that? No spandex leopard print, no hairspray, no eyeliner and lipstick? The Marauders may need a makeover before their next show,” Regulus quipped.
James had bantered back, quick and clever, “I’m in your hands, Regulus. Make me over any which way you want,” giving Regulus a flirty look.
They’d both laughed, and for a moment Regulus had forgotten the rest of the night existed, as he considered whether James had had an ulterior meaning to his joke.
Between sets, Regulus had watched as James drifted away to mingle with his friends. The Howlers’ show had been rough, and Regulus had already been ready to leave. He’d been convinced that Azkaban was poised to take the crown that night. Yet through all the discord, Regulus had found solace in fleeting glimpses of James, each one a spark that lit a quiet hope within him for another meeting.
After the final chord of the last set had faded, the crowd thinned and the backstage buzz cooled, Regulus had stepped to the main floor to head to the exit, and there was Sirius next to a tall, lanky guy with an undeniable, intriguing air about him. Sirius had introduced the stranger as Remus. The man’s expression—suspicious – had spoken volumes, and Regulus couldn’t help but wonder what Sirius might have been whispering about him.
The conversation with Sirius had been brief and polite – they were still handling each other with kid gloves, wanting to keep their tentative truce. Sirius, with his irrepressible charm, had asked Regulus if he’d join their crew for an after-party at a beach apartment. Regulus had assumed it would be a raucous assembly of his rowdy friends. Though the invitation was tempting, Regulus’s had been about to decline. He hadn’t been keen on spending the night with a boisterous gang when all he really craved was another encounter with James.
Then, as if by some twist of fate, there he had been. James had reappeared, his presence unmistakable in the dim light, and before Regulus could protest, James had insisted that he accompany the group. Their eyes had met for a split-second—and Regulus wondered if he saw something there.
At the after-party, the atmosphere had turned unexpectedly mellow. The beach apartment had exuded a relaxed vibe: soft music mingled with the sound of waves lapping at the nearby shore, and the relentless clamor of the earlier night had given way to gentle laughter and quiet conversations. Regulus and James gravitated toward the secluded balcony. There, away from the throng, they lingered together.
They talked about the Battle of the Bands—the disappointments of the Howlers, James’s nervousness about The Marauders next show against The Nargles, and the implications of landing a record contract at Gringotts. They also talked about life in general—hearing about Regulus’s tenuous peace with Sirius had made James smile with happiness.
They had found themselves standing side by side on the balcony, the ocean’s restless murmur low in the background. For a long moment, the only thing between them had been silence. As the cool night air brushed against their skin, James had slowly turned, his gaze locking onto Regulus’s with an intensity that had nearly made him gasp. Regulus noted how James’s eyes had deepened, the pupils darkening with an earnest vulnerability.
In that suspended heartbeat, it had seemed as though James’s hand was betraying his inner intention. It had inched slowly toward Regulus’s pinky, the tip just brushing the railing. Regulus’s heart had pounded with hope, and for a fleeting second, he had allowed himself to believe that James Potter was about to bridge the distance between them with a kiss.
Yet, fate—or just Regulus’s shit luck—had other plans. Abruptly, the balcony door had slid open, and the arrival of a couple of giggling girls had shattered the charged moment. They’d tumbled onto the balcony, passing a joint between the two before offering it to them with raised eyebrow. The intimate atmosphere had dissolved as effortlessly as it had formed. James, startled from his soft reverie, had chuckled and quickly reset into his habitual, playful façade, the intensity of his earlier look receding into the background.
Stupid idiot, he now thought bitterly.
There was no way that James Potter, regardless of some imagined glimmer of desire in his eyes, had truly meant to make a move. James would never feel the same way about Regulus. All those late night phone calls, all the flirting each time they had seen each other in person—nothing had come of it. James was Sirius’s best friend—he’d just been being nice to him because of that, and because Regulus could offer a recording contract. Regulus sighed, his heart still full of longing. He needed to do something about this crush or it was going to drive him crazy.
Remus
In the dimming light of late afternoon, Flourish and Blotts had shed its daytime bustle and found itself in a quieter, cozier mood. Lily, Barty, and Remus leaned against the counter, as the soft twanging of an acoustic guitar wafted up front from Dumbledore’s workroom.
Barty leaned back in his chair, a gentle smile tugging at his lips. "Remus, you look happier than I've seen you in days. What's your secret?" he asked, his tone light and teasing.
Remus shifted in his seat, catching Lily's knowing glance. With a reluctant chuckle, he admitted, "I spent the night with Sirius." His admission was soft, yet delivered with an edge of contentment.
Lily's eyes sparkled. "I knew it! And I thought that shirt look familiar,” she said pointing to the Dead Kennedys shirt has was wearing. “That’s Sirius’s favorite shirt – I recognize the hole near the neck!”
Barty leaned forward, sharing a conspiratorial smile with Remus. "Well, if spending time with Sirius makes you glow like that, then I hope you keep getting what you want," he said, his voice filled with a tender teasing affection.
Remus's cheeks warmed as he returned the smile. "Oh, I am getting everything I want." he quipped, half-mocking but clearly still giddy from the memory of last night.
Before the moment could go too far with innuendo, Lily’s chatter burst forth like a cascade of excitement. "Speaking of amazing things, you won't believe who I'm bringing to Barty's Halloween party! Pandora!" she announced breathlessly. "I can’t wait to see her Halloween costume. She said something about dressing as a Cornish pixie, whatever that is. And I’ve got to come up with a killer costume. Mary is supposed to help me with it. Actually, she is helping Sirius with his costume, too"
Remus blinked, his surprise evident. "Costumes? I... I didn't realize costumes were even a thing," he muttered, a note of mild panic in his tone as he pictured the elaborate preparations.
Barty chuckled, shaking his head with a smirk. "Of course they are, Remus—no costume, no admittance!" he declared, the playful rebuke sending a ripple of laughter through the small group.
Lily clapped her hands in delight as she continued her enthusiastic plans for the party, her excitement filling the corner of the bookshop with a contagious energy. Meanwhile, the quiet camaraderie between Barty and Remus provided a tender counterpoint.
Remus found himself smiling, soft and surprised.
For the first time in a long time, he felt… good. Like the air was easier to breathe. Like the weight he usually carried around—self-doubt, worry, loneliness—had been lifted, or at least shifted somewhere more manageable.
His friends were thriving. Lily practically floated around these days, buzzing about Pandora with a giddy energy that made everyone around her brighter. Peter seemed more confident lately, cracking more jokes during band rehearsals and finally nailing that tricky drum fill in Patronus. And Marlene—well, Marlene always had a spark in her eye, but lately, it was blazing.
Moonsick was on the cusp of something. Their inclusion in the Battle of the Bands was a huge opportunity, and despite everything—despite nerves and near-misses—they were drawing real attention now.
And Sirius. He hadn’t dared say it out loud, even to himself, not really. But maybe – maybe—he had a boyfriend.
Remus shook his head, still disbelieving. Boyfriend. What a ridiculous word. But he had stayed with Sirius last night, and Sirius had curled into him like it was the only place he felt safe, had kissed him like he meant it and then made Remus laugh until he forgot what it felt like to be guarded. And even now, even through all the emotional static and history and complications that came with Sirius Black… it felt real.
He’d always been careful not to get too hopeful. But standing there with the soft rustling of Lily rifling through receipts and the fading echo of Barty’s dry laugh bouncing off the walls, Remus let himself believe—for a second—that maybe this was the start of something good. That maybe he didn’t have to be the lonely, haunted boy in the corner anymore.
Maybe he was allowed to be happy.
Chapter 20: October 31, 1991
Summary:
CW: There is explicit sex in this chapter. To avoid it, stop reading at the first ## and pick up after the second ##.
Chapter Text
Barty
Halloween evening was warm for West Hollywood, with the kind of dusky, golden air that made everything feel slightly enchanted. Barty and Evan’s home, nestled up in the hills, glowed from within—candles flickering in tall hurricane glass lanterns, warm amber light spilling from the kitchen out through wide glass doors that opened onto their backyard haven. The real magic was out there.
Their pool glistened like obsidian, still and mirror-like, tinted deep blue by underwater lights. Floating on its surface were flickering lamps. The reflection of flame danced across the water, broken only by the occasional drift of smoke curling from dry ice pumpkins placed artfully around the deck.
Tall hedges wrapped the entire backyard in privacy, and from the vines draped across their trellis and pergola, garlands and tiny skeletons hung like forest offerings. There was a bonfire pit ringed with low cushions and worn tapestries, perfect for intimate gatherings later in the night. Glowing lanterns shaped like ravens and wolves were strung overhead on invisible wire, swaying gently in the evening breeze.
Barty stepped out from the house, the sliding doors whispering shut behind him. He was dressed like a Greek god, draped in white and gold, a makeshift toga that clung to his body with sensual looseness. His arms and neck gleamed with gold cuffs and delicate chains, a laurel crown perched in his blond hair. He breath caught in his throat as he took in the sight of his lover.
Evan was standing by the edge of the pool, smirking, barefoot on the cool tile, dressed in dark leather and faux fur—a satyr, and a convincingly seductive one at that. His eye makeup was artfully smudged, horns emerged from his tousled curls, and his bare chest was streaked with gold paint, like he’d emerged from some ancient forest orgy. He looked absolutely devastating.
They met at the edge of the pool, bare feet nearly touching the water, hands finding each other’s waists like they always did. Barty ran a finger down Evan’s chest, along the gold-painted line of his sternum. “We should probably behave.”
“No one’s here yet.”
“Yet.”
Evan’s smile was sharp, wicked. “Then kiss me before someone ruins the mood.”
The candles flickered, casting golden shadows across the water as Evan pressed closer, his palms resting lightly on Barty’s waist, then sliding lower—lazy and familiar, but undeniably suggestive. Barty’s breath caught just slightly as Evan leaned in again, his horns brushing against Barty’s crown of laurel leaves, their lips ghosting over each other without quite touching.
“Gods shouldn’t be this easy to tempt,” Evan murmured, voice low and amused.
“And satyrs,” Barty whispered, “shouldn’t be so good at it.”
Evan’s hands wandered beneath the folds of Barty’s toga, fingers tracing the warm skin of his hip, thumb hooking just under the drape of fabric. Barty exhaled through his nose, lips parting as he leaned his forehead against Evan’s, eyes fluttering shut.
“You’re going to wrinkle my costume,” he breathed.
Evan smirked. “I’m counting on it.”
Their mouths found each other again, slower now, deeper. Barty’s arms wrapped around Evan’s shoulders, fingers tugging in his curls as Evan walked him back a few steps—until Barty’s calves bumped the poolside lounge cushion behind him and he let himself sink into it, pulling Evan down with him.
Evan straddled his lap, knees pressed on either side of Barty’s thighs. The warm glow of the floating candles painted their skin in gold and shadow. Barty’s hands were everywhere—palming Evan’s back, sliding under the fake fur at his hips, teasing the edge of exposed skin with maddening gentleness.
Evan shivered, his breath hot against Barty’s throat. “Do you hear that?”
Barty stilled for half a second, listening.
Nothing but the soft rustle of wind in the hedges. The crackle of the fire pit. The quiet pulse of music from the speakers. No voices yet. No footsteps. No one watching.
“Ten more minutes,” Barty said, his voice low and warm, tilting his chin up. “We can be good hosts after.”
Evan grinned, devilish. “Promise?”
“No.”
Evan’s laugh dissolved into a moan as Barty leaned up, dragging his mouth along Evan’s jaw, down his neck, his fingers gripping tighter now, less composed. It was a blur of teeth and velvet shadows and firelight on skin, two bodies melting into each other while the night sharpened around them.
From inside, the doorbell chimed.
They both froze.
Evan groaned dramatically and rolled off of Barty, landing beside him on the lounge cushion with a soft thud. “Buzzkill.”
***
By the time the moon had climbed high enough to light the pool in silver, the party was in full swing.
The backyard pulsed with life, warm and chaotic in the way only a really good party could be. Guests milled between the glowing pool deck and the sprawling living room, trailing laughter, clinking glasses, and swirls of glitter and smoke behind them. Music thumped from hidden speakers. Groups gathered in every nook—a trio of witches in feathered masks lounged barefoot by the fire pit, passing around a clove cigarette and debating whether ghosts could get horny. A zombie and a wizard were deep in a chess match at a bistro table under the pergola, the loser promising to skinny dip later. Two people dressed as matching skeletons were making out under the lanterns strung along the hedge. Inside, someone had put on a ridiculous wolf mask and was dancing alone in front of the living room mirror, totally unselfconscious. Costumes ranged from silly to stunning—a werewolf in leather pants, a flapper with a face full of fake blood, an astronaut, and what appeared to be a very convincing haunted hot dog.
Hovering near a black marble bar cart set up just outside the kitchen doors, was Barty—everyone’s favorite golden god. He was half-perched on a stool, laurel crown a little askew, holding a vintage bottle of absinthe with practiced elegance. He poured slow, smooth streams into tiny etched glasses, each one misting and turning pale as it hit the sugar cubes he’d already set in the glasses. The setup was half ritual, half theater, and Barty looked entirely in his element.
Barty was mid-pour, sugar cube dissolving into pale green liquor, when a flash of a red lightning bolt caught his eye. He looked up and grinned.
Sirius Black was strutting toward the bar like he’d just walked off the cover of a David Bowie album, hips swaying in high-waisted metallic pants, a sleeveless mesh shirt clinging to his chest, and platform boots that made him look seven feet tall. His hair was teased just enough, the iconic red-and-blue lightening bolt painted over one eye with glitter.
Trailing behind him, with a look equal parts sulky and smoldering, was Remus Lupin—wearing what could only be described as a last-minute miracle. A pair of tight jeans hugged his hips, and a fitted white tank top showed off lean, wiry muscle. A drawn-on mustache curled slightly above his upper lip, and he was wearing a thick leather wrist cuff and a gold chain necklace. He looked absolutely filthy hot.
“Barty,” Sirius called out as they reached the bar, draping one arm over Remus’s shoulder like he’d just won a prize. “You will not believe what I had to do to get this one in costume.”
Barty raised a brow, already smirking. “Oh, I’m listening.”
Sirius grinned, eyes glittering under the lightning bolt. “I show up at his place, looking like this—thanks to Mary MacDonald, may she be canonized—and Remus opens the door in jeans and a cardigan like it’s any other Thursday.”
Remus rolled his eyes. “I just don’t really do costumes.”
“I panicked,” Sirius continued dramatically. “I had exactly fifteen minutes, a black Sharpie and no mercy. But Freddy Mercury never looked this hot.” Sirius stretched up to nip at Remus’s neck.
“You do look fucking hot, man,” Barty drawled, eyeing him appreciatively. “You two are a lot to look at right now.”
Sirius made a show of doing a slow, sultry twirl. “You like?”
Barty held up two tiny absinthe glasses. “Like is not a strong enough word. Drink. And don’t fall in the pool.”
Remus took his glass with a nod of thanks, while Sirius raised his in a mock toast. “To last-minute makeovers and the divine power of glitter.”
“To friends who won’t let you show up underdressed,” Remus added dryly—but his eyes flicked sideways to Sirius, and there was unmistakable fondness beneath the sarcasm.
The three of them leaned back against the bar, watching the swirl of partygoers move across the pool deck. Sirius’s hand still lingered at the small of Remus’s back—as if claiming Remus, anchoring them together.
Barty turned his head toward the far side of the backyard.
Evan was leaning casually against a carved marble column near the pergola, glass of red wine in one hand, mid-laugh—his eyes crinkled, his mouth wide open in that easy, unguarded way that always made Barty’s chest clench just a little.
He was talking to Lily, who had gone full bondage witch, all black PVC, high heeled boots, and a plunging neckline that shimmered with dark glitter. Her red hair was wildly spilling out from a pointed hat. She was animated, gesturing with one finger raised as if delivering a truly scandalous spell.
But it was the woman standing beside them who made the scene look like a dream painted in moonlight. The beautiful blonde glowed under the string lights. Her slip dress, nearly sheer and the color of starlight, clung to her like mist. Her skin had been painted an ethereal, pale blue that shimmered faintly when she moved. Elfin ears peeked out from a cascade of platinum waves, and a delicate scattering of silver freckles ran across her collarbones like a constellation. She was breathtaking—celestial, otherworldly, like some Tolkien fae who had wandered into West Hollywood by accident and decided to stay for the vibes.
And then Evan looked up.
Their eyes locked. Even from across the yard, through mist and laughter and music, Barty felt a hitch in his chest.
Evan’s lips curved into a slow, private smile. His lashes lowered, then lifted again. And then—he winked.
Barty lifted his glass in a tiny salute. Remus and Sirius were still deep in their banter behind him, but Barty had one thing on his mind now.
Evan was the eye of his storm tonight, the gravity well at the center of all this glitter and chaos. And that wink? That was a summons. He couldn’t wait to answer it at the end of the night.
James
The fire pit cast a golden, flickering glow over the cluster of friends, making the yard feel like something out of a dream—smoke curling lazily up toward the string lights, laughter rising from around the flames.
James Potter was sunk into one of the cushioned chairs, legs stretched out, a little glass of absinthe in one hand and a clove cigarette between his fingers. His cheeks were flushed, and his hair was even messier than usual, sticking up in all directions like he’d just been in a wind tunnel.
“I still can’t believe you actually let her do it,” he said, exhaling a plume of clove-scented smoke as he squinted at Peter, who was trying very hard not to touch the shiny new eyebrow piercing glinting in the firelight.
Peter groaned, ducking his head. “It was a moment of weakness. She had, like, those eyes and a needle and this very convincing argument.”
Sitting close beside him, Emmeline—dressed in fishnets and a white slip and bra combo as Janet from Rocky Horror Picture Show—grinned wide and kissed Peter’s temple. “He cried a little, but he was very brave.”
“I did not cry,” Peter muttered, though his ears were definitely red. He was dressed in tighty-whiteys, a too-small tank top, and a robe, doing his best Brad Majors impersonation and failing to look anything other than wildly out of his element. “I just said ow a lot.”
James snorted and took another drag from the clove. “I bet you cried.”
“Yeah?” Peter shot back. “Well, ahoy matey. You look like you are trying to go for sexy pirate and failing miserably.”
James looked down at his costume—half open poet shirt, tight leather pants borrowed from Sirius, boots, and a black velvet sash tied around his waist. “Excuse you. I’m a rock star vampire. Thank you very much.”
“You look like Prince cosplaying Long John Silver. Nice eyeliner, dude,” Marlene chimed in from the loveseat, raising her glass in his direction. She was dressed as a punk Medusa—snakes braided into her hair, fangs painted over deep red lips.
Dorcas chortled, curled next to her, dressed as a devil in a red latex bodysuit and horns she’d already managed to lose twice.
Across the fire pit, Frank and Alice sat tucked close together—Frank was a zombie Elvis, and Alice was his glamorous undead bride in a sequined gown with fake blood dripping artfully down her shoulder. Alice looked both amused and exhausted, sipping a beer and whispering in Frank’s ear while watching the chaos unfold.
Then there was Mary MacDonald, lounging like a queen, looking criminally stunning in a flowing white gown, jet-black braids, and dramatic gold jewelry—Cleopatra incarnate, one brow perfectly arched. Her current status as a fashion design major at UCLA was evident in the amazing costumes she had designed and constructed.
James cackled. “You wound me, MacDonald. You made costumes for Lily and Sirius, and left me to scavenge together a third rate costume.”
“You’ll survive,” she said with a smirk. “You are hot enough to get away with wearing anything.”
Everyone laughed, the sound evaporating into the night air. The fire snapped again, casting shadows over painted skin and glittered eyes.
For a moment, it was just that—the warmth of friends, good drinks, dumb costumes, and nothing urgent on the horizon.
***
James hadn’t meant to get turned around in the house—he’d only meant to find the damn bathroom. But the hallway spilled him out into the living room, light from the chandeliers catching the glint of glass, the pulse of the party humming.
And then the front door opened, and everything else went quiet.
Regulus Black stepped inside like he was being announced. He was dressed in full Lestat de Lioncourt regalia, the costume clearly custom-tailored: deep burgundy velvet frock coat embroidered with gold thread, tight brocade vest, cravat tied high and fastidiously neat at his throat. His dark hair was perfectly styled, a single black ribbon tied at the nape of his neck, and his skin had been dusted just slightly pale, like moonlight on porcelain. His eyes—lined in kohl, piercing, unreadable—swept the room with a quiet elegance.
James actually stopped walking. Just… stood there. Mouth slightly open. Staring.
The younger Black brother moved through the room like a shadow, sharp and languid at once, making his way over to a knot of people near the drinks table—Evan, Pandora, a few others in elaborate costumes—and settled into the conversation as if he belonged.
James watched him smile at something Evan said, saw the way his hand gestured, the curve of his mouth, the glint of his rings. It was offensive, really. How someone could look like that and make James forget what he'd come inside for.
“You’re gawking, Potter.”
James flinched and turned to find Barty Crouch at his elbow, two absinthe glasses in hand.
“I’m not,” James lied immediately.
“You absolutely are. It’s kind of adorable,” Barty said, handing him the glasses. “Now be a good boy and take this to him.”
“What?”
“Go on.” Barty nudged him with a smirk. “He likes absinthe. He’ll like it more from you.”
James stared at the glass, then back at Regulus. “You’re evil.”
“Yes,” Barty said, unapologetically. “But I’m also right.”
James sighed and muttered something unrepeatable before straightening his shoulders and walking across the room.
Regulus saw him coming before he got there—of course he did. Those cool eyes caught him mid-step, expression unreadable, posture perfect. But he didn’t turn away.
James stopped a few feet away and held out the drink.
“Figured you’d want something a little dramatic.”
Regulus looked at the glass for a moment, then took it with a single raised brow. “Are you trying to seduce me, Potter?”
James laughed, low and hoarse. “Would it work if I said yes?”
Regulus tilted his head, lips curving just slightly at the corner. “You’re not usually this direct.”
“Maybe I’m drunk.”
“Hmmm,” Regulus said, eyes flicking down and back up slowly.
James stood there, heart thumping in his chest, trying to ignore the feeling that Regulus had knocked him off his game completely. He was used to having the upper hand in these situations—quick with the jokes, charming—but here, with Regulus, it felt different.
Regulus’s gaze flicked to the side, as if noticing how close they’d gotten, and then—just like that—he took a slow step back, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.
“Well,” he said, voice a touch quieter than usual, like he was suddenly unsure. “I’m sure I’ll see you around.”
James opened his mouth to protest—he didn’t want Regulus to walk away—but the words didn’t come out. Regulus was already moving, that elegant, fluid walk taking him toward the drinks table where a few other people had gathered.
“Wait…” James began, but Regulus didn’t turn around. He kept walking, casually sipping his absinthe as if nothing was out of the ordinary.
James stared after him for a moment, his pulse still racing. He opened his mouth again, but no words came out. His mind raced, trying to make sense of the interaction, of how it had started with teasing and ended with… nothing. He couldn’t quite wrap his head around it—why did Regulus walk away so easily? Why didn’t he lean in, just once? Was he imagining everything?
James ran a hand through his hair and cursed under his breath, feeling the heavy weight of unanswered questions hanging over him. He took a long sip of his absinthe, tasting the bitterness, but it didn’t help ease the frustration that was slowly building inside him.
James lingered, still caught up in the quiet after Regulus walked away. A few minutes later, his thoughts were interrupted by Regulus, who had turned back around and walked straight toward him again. This time, though, there was a certain purpose in his movements.
“Potter,” Regulus said, voice flat but his eyes warm, almost as if they were continuing a conversation that hadn’t ended before. “I hope you weren’t—”
Just then, the door to the bathroom creaked open and laughter spilled out. The sound of footsteps followed, and James turned just as Sirius and Remus stepped into view. The pair looked a little… rumpled. Their clothes weren’t completely in disarray, but their flushed cheeks and tangled hair told a different story. They walked out of the bathroom together, clearly in the afterglow of whatever had gone down behind closed doors.
James raised an eyebrow. “Well, well, what do we have here?”
Sirius grinned in that way only Sirius could—half-charming, half-irritating—and Remus did his best to act nonchalant, but the red on his face betrayed him immediately.
Regulus stiffened beside James, his eyes flicking between his brother and Remus. His expression shifted, clearly uncomfortable at the thought. “Please don’t explain. I don't need that image in my head."
James, sensing an opportunity to stir the pot just a little more, couldn't help himself. “Oh, come on, Regulus,” he said, nudging him lightly with his elbow. “Sirius and Remus— doing the deed—it’s not a party until someone gets busy in the bathroom.”
Regulus grimaced, looking as if he might actually die from secondhand embarrassment. “James,” he muttered under his breath, his nose wrinkling. “I don’t want to picture my brother…”
James slapped him lightly on the back. “Ah, come on, it’s only fair game now. High five for your brother’s romantic adventures.”
Regulus shot him a wide-eyed, disbelieving look, like he had just been forced to watch something far too gruesome for comfort.
Sirius, who had been observing this interaction with a smirk, finally stepped in with a wink. “Don’t worry, Regulus. James’s just happy for us.” He turned to James, holding out his hand with a grin. “I’ll take that high five now, dude.”
James grinned and gave Sirius a playful high five. “To sexual liberation,” he said, with a dramatic flourish.
Remus, clearly still trying to not acknowledge what was going on, only sighed and rolled his eyes. “You’re both insufferable.”
Regulus looked absolutely disgusted, but James didn’t miss the way his lips twitched, the faintest smile trying to break free despite his best efforts. It was a little victory in the strange, awkward game they were playing.
“Well,” Regulus said stiffly, his composure returning, “I’d rather be anywhere but here right now.”
James took a moment to watch Regulus walk away, wondering what the heck was going to happen between them. Something had to or he was going to go insane.
Regulus
Regulus didn’t often indulge in flirting. It was a bit too messy, too exposed, and he’d always preferred to stay hidden behind the shield of his carefully curated demeanor. But James Potter… well, that was a different story altogether.
He had noticed James right away—dressed in that ridiculous, devastatingly hot pirate costume. The white poet blouse was laced loosely across James’s chest, the deep V exposing just enough skin to be maddening. And the way the fabric gathered at his shoulders? It just made him look broader, stronger—like he could carry an entire goddamn ship on his back if he felt like it. Regulus hadn’t been able to stop his gaze from dropping lower. The pants. Tight, black leather, hugging every inch of James’s legs. The kind of pants that didn’t leave anything to the imagination.
Regulus had settled his face into something neutral, something unimpressed, but his thoughts betrayed him completely. God, those shoulders. Those fucking pants. He doesn’t even know what he’s doing. Or maybe he does. Either way, I’m so screwed.
“Figured you’d want something a little dramatic,” he’d said, grinning that easy grin and holding out the absinthe with that confident air.
Regulus hadn’t known how to respond at first. He had wanted to say something clever, something that would put him back in control, but instead he’d just taken the glass, meeting James’s eyes for a beat longer than he should’ve. There was something so… distracting about him. That smile, that low, teasing voice, and those eyes—God, those blue eyes. He had to look away before his thoughts became too obvious.
Regulus wasn’t stupid. He could sense that James was flirting with him, that James wanted something from him. And Regulus wanted it too. He wanted to lean into it, to take that risk, to let himself be drawn into James’s orbit.
But then that small, nagging voice inside him spoke up—the voice that had been with him for as long as he could remember, always reminding him of his place in the world. James would never look at him the way he looked at everyone else.
Regulus had been raised to expect rejection, to remain in the shadows. He had seen the way his brother had been adored by all, the way his family’s love had gone to Sirius instead of him. And now, this unattainable person—James Potter—was flirting with him in a way that felt almost cruel. Because what was the point of it? Why would James ever want someone like him?
It was easier to walk away. Easier to put the space between them, to let the warm, heady feeling of desire simmer down into something that could be ignored, buried deep.
So Regulus had turned. He’d walked away, his heart pounding harder in his chest than he would’ve liked to admit, because he couldn’t—wouldn’t—let himself get too caught up in this. Not when he knew how the story ended. He would never be the one James wanted.
Regulus found himself at the drink table, doing his best to calm his racing thoughts. He was acutely aware of how much time had passed, how the party continued to swirl around him, people laughing and talking, their costumes outshining each other’s in a spectacle of colors and lights. And yet, all he could think about was James. His eyes. His smile. The way his lips parted when he spoke. It was maddening, really. Why couldn’t he just ignore it?
Fuck it. He turned and walked back to James. He was going to see this through, one way or another.
“Potter,” he started. “I hope you weren’t…”
Before he could finish, though, he heard the laughter. And then Sirius came into view, arm slung around Remus, both of them looking thoroughly pleased with themselves, their clothes disheveled in that way that made Regulus’s stomach turn.
Regulus winced, trying to suppress a grimace as his thoughts scattered, too embarrassed to look his brother in the eye. He didn’t need this. He didn’t want this conversation to happen. And yet, James was there, mocking him, nudging him in that playful way, making it all the more unbearable.
James gave him a knowing grin, high-fived Sirius, and remarked about the “romantic adventures,” as if this was some game.
Regulus’s face flushed, and for the first time in his life, he felt out of control. He quickly mumbled something, his composure slipping. “Well, I’d rather be anywhere but here right now.” He stepped away, his chest tight with frustration. Damn Sirius and Remus. Damn James. He was going to miss his opportunity.
***
Regulus was moving through the party, trying to keep his mind distracted. He had his drink in hand, barely tasting it, and was avoiding looking at James, even though James’s presence had somehow found a way to remain in his peripheral vision.
He wasn’t sure where he was going, only that he needed a breather. But then, as if the universe wasn’t going to let him have any peace tonight, he walked right into Barty, who was holding a tray of wine glasses with that easy grin plastered across his face.
“Regulus!” Barty said, his voice too bright, too cheerful. There was a look in his eyes that Regulus couldn’t quite place. “You’re looking a bit distant. Party’s happening, but you look like you’re already halfway to another galaxy.”
Regulus gave him a short nod, not quite sure what to say. He couldn’t be bothered to even act like he was in the mood for small talk. “Just enjoying the view,” Regulus replied dryly, holding up his glass, not meeting Barty’s gaze.
Barty studied him for a moment, his smirk never faltering. "Yeah? Or maybe you're just trying not to look at a certain someone?" he asked casually, almost too casually. "I’d say James Potter is somewhere in that galaxy you’re avoiding."
Regulus blinked, trying to mask the heat rising to his face. The way Barty had said it—like it was an obvious, open secret—made Regulus feel exposed. “I’m not avoiding him,” Regulus muttered, his tone flat but betraying his discomfort.
Barty tilted his head, his eyes scanning Regulus’s face with a look that was somewhere between playful and teasing. “Come on, man. I notice the way you look at him. I also notice the way he looks at you.”
Regulus opened his mouth to respond but found that he couldn’t form the words.
“I… look…it’s not like that,” Regulus finally managed to say. He set his drink down on the nearby table, feeling the heat in his chest rise again. “James isn’t interested in me. He doesn’t even—he can’t. I’m just… me.”
Barty’s smile softened slightly, and he reached out, patting Regulus on the shoulder in a rare gesture of reassurance. “Right, of course,” he said, but the tone was light. “You’re just some guy. No big deal.”
Regulus gave him a pointed look, but Barty wasn’t finished.
“Look, I’m not trying to make you feel awkward or anything,” Barty continued, his voice shifting to something a bit more conspiratorial. “But the way I see it, James doesn’t really hide things well when it comes to people he likes.” He paused, letting that hang in the air for a moment, before adding with a sly grin, “And he’s definitely into you.”
Regulus swallowed, his heart thumping uncomfortably in his chest. But Barty wasn’t done with his little game.
“Look, I’m not saying you have to go for it or anything,” Barty continued, his tone lighter, “but if you’re avoiding him just because you think he won’t want you, you’re wrong.”
Regulus, for all his experience with cynicism, found himself caught in the web of Barty’s words. His mind raced with possibilities—what if Barty was right?
Before Regulus could respond, Barty was already walking toward the back of the yard, the fire pit drawing him back to his guests.
***
The party had grown louder, wilder, looser. The music pulsed with a new kind of electricity, the bass humming through the ground like a heartbeat. Laughter echoed from different corners of the yard, glasses clinked, and someone had jumped into the pool in full costume to cheers and whistles. It had become that time of night where inhibitions dropped and the strange started to feel completely normal.
Regulus was curled into a patio chair under the string lights by the back wall, legs crossed, half-lidded eyes scanning the glowing water of the pool. His Lestat coat was slung across the back of his chair, revealing the crisp white shirt underneath, now slightly rumpled and open at the throat. He looked every bit the picture of calm detachment—except for the small, almost imperceptible twitch at the corner of his mouth every time Lily giggled.
Lily, leaning half into Pandora’s lap, was sipping something neon pink from a glass, her witch hat long since discarded. Pandora sat behind her in a sheer silver dress and what looked like… was that tinsel? Woven into her hair?
Pandora blinked slowly, her pale blue skin glittering faintly under the lights. “Do you think ghosts get jealous of shadows?” she asked suddenly, looking at no one and everyone all at once. “Like—because they both follow people around but only one’s got a body.”
There was a pause.
Lily burst out laughing. “Oh my god, you’re insane,” she said fondly, pressing a kiss to Pandora’s shoulder.
Someone else in the group chuckled awkwardly. A guy in a cowboy hat whispered, “What the hell?” but no one really cared. The night had blurred into a dreamy kind of haze where things didn’t need to make sense to be perfect.
Regulus huffed a quiet laugh through his nose, his attention half-focused on the way Lily’s fingers had curled around Pandora’s hip like she belonged there.
“Hey,” came a familiar voice, casual and soft, and James Potter sank into the seat beside him.
Regulus glanced over, and his heart thudded immediately. James looked even hotter than he’d remembered. His hair was in more disarray than normal and he had a sheen of sweat over his chest. But the most surprising part? He was holding a bottle of water.
“You’re hydrating?” Regulus said, arching an eyebrow.
James gave a sheepish grin and took a sip. “Someone has to stay alive to tell the tale,” he said, then added, “And I’ve already had, like, three absinthes and a tequila shot. Thought I’d do something vaguely responsible before I ended up in the pool fully clothed.”
Regulus smirked despite himself. “How noble.”
They sat in silence for a beat, the buzz of the party pressing in around them, but the energy between them charged.
“Pandora just said ghosts are jealous of shadows,” James murmured, leaning closer, like he was letting Regulus in on a secret.
Regulus huffed. “I heard.”
“She’s weird as hell,” James said, grinning again. “But like... in a good way.”
Regulus turned his head just slightly, eyes landing on James’s mouth for a flicker of a second before pulling away. “You like weird girls, then?”
James blinked, his grin softening into something more subtle. “I think I just like people who surprise me.”
The air between them shifted again. Regulus could feel it tightening, warming, settling somewhere between his ribs. He wanted to say something clever, something to keep the momentum rolling—but it got stuck behind his tongue.
James didn’t look away, and Regulus felt his pulse spike. That same frustrating flutter he’d tried to kill with absinthe and distance was right there again, alive and well.
Regulus didn’t even realize he was moving until he was already on his feet.
Regulus’s fingers curled into a fist at his side. His heart was beating like a warning bell in his chest, but his voice inside had finally gone quiet—the usual doubts, the cautious calculations, all of it drowned under one simple, searing thought:
Fuck it.
He stepped forward, wrapped a hand around James’s forearm—firm, but not rough—and said nothing. Just tugged. James blinked in surprise, opened his mouth to say something cocky, no doubt, but Regulus didn’t give him the chance.
He led him through the crowd, past Lily and Pandora, past Barty and Evan, past the tangled mess of other bodies and other conversations, straight into the house. James followed without question. The hallway was dim and quiet compared to the backyard chaos.
Regulus pushed open the guest bedroom door, pulled James in, and shut it with a soft click. His back hit the door as he turned to face him.
James stood in the middle of the room, chest rising and falling just a little too fast now. The blouse framed his chest in soft white fabric, and Regulus wanted to bite him for it.
He stepped forward. Slow. Intentional. Until there was barely any space between them.
And then, quietly but without hesitation, Regulus said “Do you want me?”
Shockingly, his voice didn’t shake.
James stared at him for a second—just one long, heavy second where everything in his brain clearly short-circuited.
Then he huffed out a breath, somewhere between a laugh and a groan, and said, low and a little hoarse. "Regulus… I’ve been trying not to."
He stepped in closer, voice soft now, almost like a confession.
"But yes. Fuck. Yes."
James’s fingers curled into Regulus’s hair, dragging a quiet groan from somewhere deep in his chest as their mouths moved together hungrily. Regulus grasped James, hands running over his chest like he was mapping something sacred. When he teased James’s lips open with his tongue and pushed in, it was with a need that had been building for years.
##
Then James’s shirt was gone—ripped over his head and flung somewhere careless—and Regulus’s mouth was on his throat, kissing, sucking, biting just enough to leave a mark. James gasped, his hands already working open the buttons on Regulus’s shirt with fumbling urgency. When the fabric slid off Regulus’s shoulders, James paused for only a heartbeat—just long enough to look at him, to take in all that pale skin and stubborn confidence—and then shoved him gently back onto the bed.
Regulus hit the mattress with a breathless laugh, but it cut off as James climbed on top of him, straddling his hips, eyes burning.
“I want you,” James said again, voice rough with need, his hands braced on either side of Regulus’s head.
Regulus’s lashes fluttered, his chest rising in quick, shallow breaths. He looked up at James—flushed and rumpled, eyes dark—and then whispered, softly, “Say it again.”
“I want you,” James whispered, slower this time, like a vow. “I want you so bad, Reg.”
Regulus exhaled like he’d been holding it in all night. Then he reached up, pulled James down by the chain around his neck, and kissed him like he finally believed it.
James sank down slowly, his chest brushing over Regulus’s as he lowered his body, every inch of contact hotter than the last. Their skin was warm, damp with the heat of the room, and James couldn’t help the way his breath hitched when their hips aligned.
Regulus’s hands clutched at his waist, nails digging slightly into the bare skin there, just enough to make James groan against his mouth.
Then James rolled his hips forward.
The friction was maddening—slick and slow, a perfect drag that sent a shudder down Regulus’s spine and drew a helpless sound from his throat. James did it again, a little rougher this time, and Regulus’s fingers tightened in response, one hand slipping into James’s hair, the other splayed across his back like he needed to anchor himself.
“You feel…” Regulus whispered, voice catching. “Fuck.”
James kissed the corner of his mouth, his jaw, his throat, grinding against him again with a deliberate rhythm that made thinking impossible.
“You drive me insane,” James murmured against his skin, “you have no idea.”
They stayed tangled like that, lost in the rhythm, the heat building between them with every slow grind of hips. James pressed his face into Regulus’s neck, breath hot against his skin, teeth grazing just below his jaw as he moved. “You’re—fuck—you’re beautiful,” he murmured, hips rolling again, deeper, slower.
Regulus arched beneath him, legs parting slightly for better friction, eyes fluttering half-lidded. “You’re the one humping me like a dog,” he managed, breathless, though his voice was thick with pleasure and the edge of a grin.
“Yeah,” James said, lips brushing his ear, “but you’re the one moaning about it.”
Regulus swore under his breath and surged up to kiss him, dragging him back into a hot, open-mouthed kiss that tasted like absinthe and lust. Every grind sent another jolt of pleasure through them and left them both gasping.
James’s hand slid down, slow and deliberate, fingers slipping past the waistband of Regulus’s pants like he had all the time in the world. Regulus sucked in a breath, his hips jerking just slightly in anticipation, lips parted as he watched James through dark lashes.
James didn’t break eye contact.
His hand closed around him with reverence and hunger all at once, a smirk tugging at his mouth as he felt the way Regulus’s whole body responded—tense, shivering, needful.
“You’re already so hard for me,” James murmured, voice low and rough with awe, like the realization knocked the air out of him.
Regulus’s breath hitched, his fingers gripping James’s biceps, nails leaving imprints on warm skin. “What the hell do you expect, looking like that and grinding on me for ten minutes straight?”
James laughed softly, kissed the corner of his mouth.
His hand moved again, teasing, learning, the heat between them sharp and dizzying.
Regulus swore under his breath and let his head fall back against the mattress, a flush blooming across his cheeks and chest.
“Don’t stop,” he said, voice rough. James found the right rhythm and soon Regulus arched against him, moaning in ecstasy and spilling over into James’s hand.
Afterward, the world slowed. They lay tangled on the bed, flushed and breathless, the room thick with heat and the quiet hum of the party still going somewhere beyond the door. Regulus shifted first, lips ghosting along James’s jaw in a lingering kiss, his fingers tracing lazy lines over James’s chest.
Then he nudged James gently onto his back, a flicker of mischief in his still-dark eyes.
“Your turn,” Regulus murmured, voice rough with satisfaction.
James blinked up at him, dazed.
Regulus smirked, swinging one leg over to straddle James’s hips. “I want to ruin you, Potter.”
And he meant it. The way he leaned down and kissed James like he couldn’t believe he was allowed to. The way his hands roamed James’s body with a kind of silent hunger, tracing muscle and heat, committing everything to memory.
James laughed against his mouth—low, shaky, delighted. “Please do.”
And Regulus did. Slowly, skillfully, lowering his face to James’s hips and unbuttoning those leather pants, taking James into his mouth, bobbing his head, sucking the tip and licking along the shaft, Regulus teased the pleasure from James until he could feel him shaking, could taste his release, could see the waves of pleasure roll across James’s face.
Regulus lay half-curled beside James, one arm draped over his stomach, his face buried against James’s shoulder like he couldn’t quite bring himself to move just yet. James’s fingers idly traced the ridge of Regulus’s spine, slow and thoughtless. They were both still coming down, their bodies warm, chests rising and falling in sync.
##
Eventually, Regulus broke the silence.
“We can’t—” He stopped, swallowed, then tried again. “No one can know.”
James blinked up at the ceiling. “Yeah,” he said, after a beat. “I figured.”
Regulus lifted his head just enough to glance at him. “Especially Sirius.”
James nodded, jaw tightening slightly. “Yeah. Especially Sirius.”
They were quiet again. Not uncomfortable, just heavy. Weighted.
“But…” James looked over at him, his voice quieter now. “This doesn’t have to be a one-time thing, right?”
Regulus looked at him—really looked at him, that vulnerable flicker in his eyes quickly masked by his usual cool. Still, he didn’t look away.
“No,” he said softly. “I don’t want it to be.”
James exhaled, a hint of a smile pulling at his lips. “Good.”
They didn’t say anything else, but they didn’t need to.
For now, the secret hung in the air like smoke—dangerous, intoxicating, and theirs.
Chapter 21: November 12, 1991
Summary:
CW: This chapter contains a lot of sex, but if you want to skip the explicit parts, stop reading at the first ## and pick up after the second ##.
Chapter Text
Marlene
Marlene's skin was still buzzing, a soft ache settling in her thighs as she lay sprawled across Dorcas’s bed, the sheets damp and tangled beneath them. Her chest rose and fell in lazy waves, lips parted as she stared at the ceiling, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
Dorcas was draped over her like a satisfied cat, one leg flung between Marlene’s, fingers idly tracing circles along her ribcage. She leaned in, nipping gently at the hollow beneath Marlene’s collarbone.
“You’re smug,” Marlene murmured.
Dorcas grinned against her skin. “I have every reason to be.”
Marlene rolled her eyes, but the flush on her cheeks deepened. “You’re just lucky I haven’t recovered enough to pin you down again.”
“You think The Marauders have a shot tonight?” Dorcas asked, voice roughened at the edges, anxious already.
Marlene sat up and straddled Dorcas. “Against The Nargles? Depends if you show up in that red corset top. You’ve got a shot at making half the room forget there’s even a band playing.”
Dorcas snorted. “True. But also, the Nargles are good. Like... weirdly tight for a band that looks like they live in a treehouse behind a record shop.”
Marlene laughed. “I think they do live behind a record shop. That one in Echo Park where the owner sells shrooms behind the counter.” Then she got serious. “Of course you guys have a shot. You are amazing and everyone would be crazy to vote otherwise. I think you guys are going to make it to the top for sure.”
Marlene rolled onto her side, propping herself up on one elbow. “Moonsick was lucky against the Shrunken Heads. I thought they were gonna wipe the floor with us.”
Dorcas raised a brow. “You guys were tight as hell. Those two new songs?”
“Yeah,” Marlene said, a little softer now. “Remus has been writing like crazy lately. I think... I think one of them came out of that first night back with Sirius.”
Dorcas’s grin turned wicked. “Oh? Sirius is his muse now?”
Marlene just shrugged, the corner of her mouth twitching. “I’m not saying anything. But the lyrics to Electric Skin are not about Peter, I’ll tell you that much.”
They both laughed, and Dorcas leaned in to kiss the edge of Marlene’s jaw.
“Whatever it is, it’s working,” she murmured. “You guys keep playing like that, and Moonsick’s gonna take this whole thing.”
Marlene flopped back onto the bed, grinning at the ceiling. “We’re not rehearsing six hours a day for nothing.”
Then, Dorcas asked, “What happens if it’s us in the finals?”
Marlene blinked. “You mean… Moonsick and The Marauders?”
Dorcas looked up at her, chin on her hand, eyes steady. “Would it be weird?”
“You mean, me trying to crush your band while still wanting to sleep with you?” Marlene said dryly. “No, not weird at all.”
Dorcas grinned. “Maybe we could weaponize it. Use the tension. Like Fleetwood Mac, but with hotter people.”
Marlene gave a breathy laugh. “You say that now, but wait until Sirius throws a mic stand at someone during soundcheck and Remus refuses to speak to anyone but Peter.”
Dorcas smirked.
Marlene ran her fingers down Dorcas’s bare back. “I mean it, though. If it comes down to us, I’m still gonna play to win.”
Dorcas sat up a little, expression soft but serious. “Good. I wouldn’t respect you if you didn’t.”
Remus
The Nargles were, to put it mildly, weird. But it was the kind of weird that made people cheer, the kind of weird that stuck with you. Their set had kicked off the night with a jolt—a trombone player in a neon green velvet robe spinning in circles, their lead singer dancing in combat boots and butterfly wings. The music was frenetic, ska with a sprinkle of psychedelic chaos—jumpy rhythms, offbeat riffs, and lyrics that seemed half nonsense, half poetry.
The crowd had loved it.
Remus had to admit, The Nargles were tight. They had charisma, and they worked the crowd like seasoned pros. But as soon as the stage cleared and the house lights dimmed again, Remus leaned forward in the crowd, heart already picking up its pace. Because it wasn’t The Nargles he’d come to see.
The Marauders filed onstage, and the energy shifted.
James did his usual bit, running his hands through his hair before launching into the opening chords of a crowd favorite. Lily looked sharp as she adjusted the strap on her bass and leaned into the mic for backup vocals. Dorcas, wearing a hot red lace corset, flailed away on the drums. The band was electric—but Sirius…Remus couldn’t take his eyes off him.
Sirius was shirtless beneath an open black vest, silver chains catching the stage lights. His hair was wild, sticking to his temples, damp already from the heat of the crowd. Eyeliner smudged under his lashes, lips curled in a feral grin. He moved like he owned the stage, stalking the audience with restless, manic energy.
Remus didn’t blink the whole set. Every time Sirius snarled into the mic, every time his fingers gripped the mic stand or his boots stomped the edge of the stage, Remus felt like his ribs were vibrating. He knew these songs—knew all the words – and he sang along in his head as he watched Sirius.
But then Sirius stepped forward, mic in hand, breath heavy, a dangerous sparkle in his eye. The crowd was still roaring, but his voice cut through with a low, almost shy edge.
“We’ve got something new for you tonight,” he said, glancing quickly—too quickly—into the crowd. His eyes brushed past the faces until, for just a second, they landed on Remus.
“This one’s… different,” Sirius said, with that crooked little smile that meant trouble. “It’s called Always Burning.”
James nodded. The lights dimmed to a single, warm red wash, and then the music started.
Slower than the usual. Steady drums. Sparse chords. A low, pulsing bassline. It was punk, still raw and loud and full of edges—but this time, the sharpness cut deeper. There was a softness at the center of it. A vulnerability that made Remus’s chest ache.
And then Sirius sang.
None of the usual snarling. No shouting or teasing. Just his voice—gravelly and low, carrying a melody that was slow and heavy.
“You were the spark,
And I was the match
I swore I’d never burn like that.
But here I am,
Still catching fire,
Still reaching for you
Through the static and the wire…”
Remus froze.
The crowd swayed, quieter now. Enchanted.
Sirius didn’t look at anyone else while he sang. His eyes found Remus in the dark, and they didn’t look away.
By the end of the song, Remus felt like he was unraveling, breath caught somewhere between his throat and his ribs. When the last note rang out, the silence cracked like thunder before the crowd erupted.
Remus stayed frozen in place, jaw slack, heart full.
Sirius Black had just sung a love song to him in front of hundreds of people.
***
The cheers were still echoing in Remus’s head when the announcement rang out, “And the winners of tonight’s Battle of the Bands round… The Marauders!”
The crowd roared. Dorcas whooped so loud she startled the host. James practically tackled Lily in a hug. Sirius grabbed Remus from the crowd and spun him around in a blur of leather, sweat, and adrenaline, then kissed him full on the mouth without a care for who saw.
As the band gathered backstage again, still buzzing, Dorcas yelled, “Kreacher’s for breakfast! We earned it! I want waffles the size of my head.”
“Seconded!” Lily called, already pulling her jacket on. James was nodding absently, eyes flicking toward the exit like he was already halfway out the door.
But Sirius and Remus exchanged a look. One of those looks.
“We’re gonna skip it,” Sirius said, voice rough from the set, arm slung lazily around Remus’s waist. “Think we’ve got, uh… other plans.”
Dorcas made an exaggerated gagging noise. Lily grinned and winked. James didn’t even tease—he just waved them off distractedly.
Within twenty minutes, Sirius and Remus were back at the beach apartment. The apartment door clicked shut behind them, and Sirius barely paused before backing Remus up against it, grinning like he knew exactly how this was going to go.
“Missed you,” he said, voice low and rough, mouth brushing against Remus’s jaw as he spoke.
“We’ve been together all evening,” Remus replied, but he was already tilting his head, giving Sirius access.
“Not like this,” Sirius murmured, hands sliding under Remus’s shirt, thumbs stroking slow lines up his ribs. “Big difference.”
Remus huffed a laugh, even as his breath caught. “You’re insatiable.”
“And you love it.”
Remus grabbed Sirius by the belt and tugged him forward until their hips bumped, tight and solid. Sirius exhaled sharply, pressing into him.
“You wanna keep talking,” Remus said, tugging the belt open with a practiced maneuver, “or…?”
Sirius kissed him before he could finish the sentence—hot and open-mouthed, all tongue and teeth. Familiar. They knew each other too well by now, every reaction like second nature. Sirius’s hands were already under Remus’s shirt again, dragging it up and off, tossing it somewhere without looking. Then his mouth was on his chest, trailing kisses down, sucking just hard enough to leave a mark because he knew Remus liked it.
“Fuck,” Remus muttered, reaching down to drag Sirius up by the waistband of his jeans. “Come here.”
They stumbled to the bedroom, stripping each other without much finesse. Sirius ended up on top, both of them stripped down to bare skin, bodies tangled and warm.
Afterward, they lay tangled in Sirius’s bed, skin still warm, sheets twisted around their legs. Remus’s head rested on Sirius’s bare chest, one hand lazily stroking the edge of a tattoo.
Sirius ran his fingers through Remus’s curls, still slightly damp with sweat. “So…” he murmured, somewhat shyly. “Did you like the song?”
Remus smirked against his skin. “Oh, I don’t know. It was okay.”
Sirius scoffed and lightly tugged one of Remus’s curls. “Okay? That was a masterpiece.”
“A punk ballad masterpiece,” Remus teased, tilting his head to grin up at him. “About fire and static and yearning. I mean, very subtle.”
“Subtlety’s overrated,” Sirius said. “Besides, you inspire a lot of yearning. It’s a problem.”
Remus laughed, burying his face in Sirius’s shoulder to hide how happy he was. “You’re ridiculous.”
Sirius smiled, eyes half-lidded as he looked at the ceiling. “Yeah, well. You’re my boyfriend now, so you’re legally required to tolerate it.”
Remus blinked.
His head snapped up. “Wait—what?”
Sirius turned to look at him, smirk tugging at his mouth. “I said—”
“No, no, I heard you.” Remus sat up a little, wide-eyed and pink in the face. “You said ‘boyfriend.’ Just like that. Casually. Like you never said that labels were stupid.”
“Did I?” Sirius mused, pretending to think.
Remus lay back down with a laugh and pressed a kiss to Sirius’s collarbone. “Okay. Yeah. You’re my boyfriend.”
Sirius tucked an arm around him. “Say it again.”
“You’re so annoying.”
“Say it.”
“…Boyfriend.”
Sirius grinned so wide it crinkled the corners of his eyes. “Damn right.”
A comfortable silence settled over them for a beat. Then Remus spoke again, voice quieter this time. “Do you think we’re gonna both make it to the finals?”
Sirius sighed, lacing their fingers together. “I think we’ve got a shot. Especially after this round.”
“Yeah.” Remus nodded. “Though the Nargles were good. Weird, but good.”
Sirius scoffed. “Weird doesn’t win. That new song sealed it for us. Who could compete with that?”
Remus rolled his eyes but smiled, “Moonsick could, that’s who.”
Sirius smiled and bit Remus’s lip playfully. After a beat, Sirius added, “You notice James lately?”
“Hmm?”
“He’s been off. Distracted. Like… weirdly quiet, sneaking off. Not his usual golden retriever self.”
Remus nodded. “I noticed. Think it’s something serious?”
Sirius shrugged. “Dunno. Maybe.”
“Probably some secret crush,” Remus said.
Sirius grinned again, pulling Remus in closer. “Whatever. Not our problem tonight.”
“Right,” Remus said softly, leaning in for another kiss. “Tonight’s for my boyfriend.”
Sirius chuckled. “Damn right it is.”
James
James felt like he was vibrating. The lights, the crowd, the high from performing—it was all humming under his skin, but none of it compared to the electric jolt he felt when his eyes landed on Regulus.
Across the room, half in shadow, Regulus stood still while the world buzzed around him. Their eyes locked for just a second, and James felt something in his chest stutter. Regulus didn’t smile—he rarely did in public—but there was a soft flicker in his eyes, a subtle raise of his brows that told James he saw him. That he’d wait.
James barely heard the congratulations, the plans forming around him. Dorcas was already shouting about waffles at Kreacher’s, Lily was tugging on her leather jacket, and Peter was babbling about The Nargles' horn section. Sirius and Remus were draped over each other, clearly ready to disappear into the night.
James caught the tail end of Sirius saying, “We’re heading out,” and Remus smirking at him like they had a secret—which, obviously, they did not.
“Yeah, I think I’m gonna skip Kreacher’s too,” James said casually, trying to mask the rush of anticipation blooming in his chest.
Lily raised a brow. “Since when do you skip waffles?”
James shrugged. She gave him a look, but didn’t press.
A minute later, James ducked out the back door into the alley behind the venue. The cool night air hit his flushed skin. He scanned the alley, heart racing, and there—leaning against the brick wall, hands in the pockets of a long dark coat—was Regulus.
“You waited,” James breathed, crossing the space between them.
“I said I would,” Regulus replied softly.
James didn’t even answer. He just grabbed the front of Regulus’s coat and kissed him.
Regulus kissed back instantly, urgent and warm, one hand rising to curl into James’s hair. The kiss was deeper than it should’ve been for a public alley, but neither of them cared. James pressed Regulus back against the wall, hands sliding around his waist, desperate for the feel of him.
When they broke apart, breathing hard, Regulus was the first to speak.
“You were incredible tonight.”
James huffed a laugh. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. The way you played… I couldn’t look away.”
James grinned, brushing his nose lightly against Regulus’s. “I was hoping you’d be watching.”
Regulus’s hand drifted to James’s collar. “I always am.”
James felt the words settle somewhere deep in his chest. “I’ve missed you,” he said, quieter now.
Regulus’s fingers tensed slightly. “Me too.”
There was a beat of hesitation between them—like they were both waiting for the other to ask for more.
Then James said, “Do you want to go back to yours?”
Regulus nodded without a word, and that was all it took. They left the alley quietly, unnoticed in the dark.
Regulus’s apartment was dim and quiet when they stepped inside, the hum of the city just a whisper behind the thick walls. James stood near the door, heart thudding, watching Regulus lock it behind them.
Neither of them said anything.
There’d only been one kiss since the night of the Halloween party—a stolen, breathless one in a shadowed hallway at the last Moonsick show. Barely more than a moment. But James had been thinking about it every night since.
Regulus turned to face him now, eyes luminous in the low light, something quiet and brave in the way he reached for James’s hand and laced their fingers together. He gave a small tug, wordless, leading James down the hall, past bookshelves and framed black-and-white photographs, to a bedroom that smelled faintly of cedar.
Regulus stopped beside the bed and turned to him, breath shallow. His hand let go of James’s just long enough to slide up beneath the hem of his shirt, fingertips skimming his stomach.
“Can I…?” Regulus asked, voice so soft James almost missed it.
James nodded, already gone, already undone by the reverence in Regulus’s touch.
Regulus undressed him slowly, like he was unwrapping something precious. His hands were steady, but his breath hitched every time another inch of skin was revealed. When James’s shirt came off, Regulus just looked at him for a long moment, eyes roaming, almost in awe. James felt naked in more ways than one.
Then Regulus leaned in and kissed down his chest—slow, gentle presses of lips over warm skin. James watched the soft fall of Regulus’s hair as he moved, the graceful curve of his jaw, the flush rising in his cheeks. He traced the lines of his face with his eyes, memorizing.
Regulus looked up at him again, lips brushing the space just above James’s heart.
And that was it. James couldn’t wait any longer. He cupped Regulus’s face and kissed him deep, tilting him back onto the bed with a slow press of bodies. He undressed Regulus with trembling hands, kissing every bit of new skin he uncovered until they were bare together, wrapped in the hush of the room and the warmth of each other.
They touched slowly at first, like they had all the time in the world. Fingers skating along ribs, thumbs brushing over hips, mouths finding places that made breath stutter. James kept one hand on Regulus’s cheek, just to feel the softness there, just to be sure this was real.
Regulus looked up at him like he couldn’t believe his luck. Like he’d been waiting his whole life for James Potter to be right there, breathing heavy and flushed above him.
##
Then Regulus’s hand slid into James’s hair and tugged, and something in him snapped.
James rolled his hips against him and straddled his waist, bracing one hand on the headboard as he leaned down to kiss along Regulus’s throat. He found the spot just below his ear and sucked, slow and filthy, until Regulus gasped and bucked up beneath him.
James grinned against his skin. “You like that?”
Regulus arched again, mouth parting, hands grabbing at James’s waist. “God, James…”
It was the most beautiful sound James had ever heard.
He did it again—dragged his mouth down the line of Regulus’s neck, sucking marks into pale skin like he wanted to leave proof. Regulus was squirming now, trying to keep still but so obviously turned on it made James dizzy.
“Can I…?” James murmured, voice thick.
Regulus nodded, eyes wide and dark. “Yes. Please.”
Regulus was flushed head to toe. James sat above him, straddling his hips, hands planted on either side of his ribs, drinking him in.
“You’re fucking beautiful,” James said, more to himself than anything. “You know that, right?”
He ran his palms up Regulus’s sides, slow and reverent, thumbs brushing the soft curve under his ribs, then down over the jut of his hipbones. Regulus’s muscles jumped under his touch, a soft gasp leaving his lips as James spread Regulus’s thighs to settle between them.
“You’re gonna kill me,” Regulus whispered, voice shaky but steadying as James dragged his tongue along his flat stomach. “This is actual murder.”
James grinned against his skin. “Nah. This is foreplay.”
Regulus groaned, head falling back. “Jesus, James.”
James rolled his hips once, slow and deliberate, the friction making them both gasp. Regulus clutched at his back, fingers digging in as James rocked against him again, finding that rhythm, slow but filthy, skin on skin and breath tangled together.
“You feel that?” James whispered, leaning down to kiss behind his ear. “How good we are like this?”
Regulus nodded, frantic now, voice catching on a moan. “James—fuck, yes, don’t stop.”
James kissed him hard to quiet him, his hand sliding down between them, slick fingers sliding inside Regulus, and the groan Regulus let out was sinful. His hips jerked up, desperate for more, and James gave it to him—slow, tight strokes, every motion drawing a whimper from Regulus.
“Look at me,” James said roughly, voice low in his throat.
Regulus forced his eyes open, barely able to focus, and when he saw James above him—lips parted, cheeks flushed, jaw clenched in restraint—his whole body trembled.
“I want to watch you,” James whispered, as he slowly pushed inside Regulus. James shuddered as Regulus took him, grabbing onto his waist. He felt so warm, so tight, so hot, it was all James could do to hold back his own pleasure from peaking right then. He slowly started to move his hips, and found a rhythm that he hoped would let him last long enough. He reached down to grasp Regulus in his hand to feel the wetness at the tip of his dick. James didn’t think he could stand it much longer.
“Now, baby,” James groaned. “I need to you to come for me now.”
Regulus arched off the bed, gasping James’s name like a prayer, and came hard between them, hips bucking, eyes fluttering closed as James fucked him with slow strokes and quiet words – that’s it, fuck, you’re so good.
James followed moments later, biting down on Regulus’s shoulder as he came, every muscle in his body taut before he collapsed on top of him, trembling and breathless.
They lay there, tangled in heat and sweat and stunned silence. James could feel Regulus’s heart hammering under his chest, feel the rise and fall of his breath, feel the slight tremble still in his thighs.
##
The room was quiet now, lit only by the sliver of light leaking through the blinds. James lay on his side, one arm draped over Regulus’s waist, fingertips tracing idle patterns across his back. Regulus was tucked against him, hair damp, skin still warm, one leg tangled between James’s.
James exhaled, soft and content. “Fuck. That was…”
Regulus hummed, a small, sleepy sound. “Yeah.”
They lay there for a moment longer, hearts slowing, breaths evening out. Then, almost too quietly to catch, Regulus whispered, “I had a crush on you in high school.”
James blinked. “What?”
Regulus kept his face pressed into James’s chest, but his body tensed just slightly. “I did. You were loud and charming and stupidly confident, and I couldn’t stop looking at you. Even when you were dating Lily. Especially then.”
James stared down at him incredulously.
“No way.”
Regulus finally glanced up, eyes wary but brave. “Way.”
James let out a stunned laugh. “You had a crush on me? You barely even looked at me back then.”
Regulus gave a small, crooked smile. “I was good at hiding it.”
James shook his head in disbelief. “I mean, I knew you were Sirius’s ridiculously pretty little brother, but I never – I didn’t think you noticed me. I was so in my own world with Lily and the band and… all of it.”
“I noticed,” Regulus said quietly. “I always noticed.”
James’s throat tightened. The way Regulus was looking at him now – eyes soft and open, like every wall he’d ever put up had been left at the door – it did something to him. Made his chest ache in the best way.
“I feel like an idiot,” James murmured. “For never seeing it.”
Regulus shook his head. “You weren’t supposed to.”
James fell silent for a long moment, his fingers curling into Regulus’s hip, grounding himself.
“I keep thinking about how we’ve only kissed twice before tonight,” James went on, “and somehow I already feel like I need to know everything about you. Not just the sex – not just this – but like… everything. What you eat for breakfast, how you take your coffee, what your middle name is….”
Regulus gave a small, disbelieving laugh. “Yogurt and berries, black like my soul, and Arcturus….”
James leaned down and kissed the corner of his mouth. “I think I’m falling for you.”
Regulus stared at him for a beat, like he wasn’t sure he’d heard right.
Then he whispered, “You are?”
James nodded, forehead resting against his. “Fast and hard. It’s a problem.”
Regulus smiled, cheeks going pink. “I don’t think it’s a problem.”
James pulled him closer. “Good. ‘Cause I’m not sure I could stop even if I tried.”
They stayed like that, curled around each other, warmth and trust radiating between them.
Sirius
It was late morning by the time Sirius stirs, the sun spilling in through the gauzy curtains of the beachfront apartment, painting the walls in soft gold. He blinked slowly, the sound of waves a distant hush beyond the open window. His body was heavy with sleep and last night’s high—a blur of adrenaline from the show, the win, and Remus.
Remus was still asleep beside him, sprawled half across the bed, one arm thrown lazily over Sirius’s stomach, curls spread on the pillow. His face was peaceful in sleep in a way it rarely was when he’s awake. Sirius couldn’t believe that this beautiful man is his, that he can reach over and touch him, kiss him, hold him whenever he wants.
Sirius shifted, just enough to prop himself on one elbow. He watched Remus, smiling to himself, and reached out and brushed a thumb along his cheekbone. “You’re so gorgeous, you know that?” he whispered.
“Mmm,” Remus grumbled, eyes still shut. “Keep talkin’. I like being flattered in my sleep.”
Sirius chuckled. “Didn’t know you were awake. Now you have to deal with me.” He kissed Remus’s neck.
“I’ve been dealing with you,” Remus said. “I’ve been dealing with you since the second you walked into the green room in that stupid leather jacket.”
“You love the jacket.”
“I tolerate the jacket. For the man underneath.”
Sirius grinned and slid half on top of him, burying his face into Remus’s neck. “You love me.”
Remus’s breath caught. He froze.
Sirius stiffened too. “Wait. I didn’t mean…. ”
“No, no, I…” Remus let out a shaky laugh. “You’re the one who called me your boyfriend last night.”
“I did, didn’t I?” Sirius grinned, propping himself up, rushing past the awkwardness. He hadn’t meant to use the L-word. But deep down, he knew he was feeling it, and he was pretty sure Remus was, too. God, he was turning into such a sap.
“You liked it,” Sirius teased, leaning down to kiss him. It was warm and lazy and slow, like neither of them have anywhere else to be. “Say it again.”
“What?”
“That you’re my boyfriend.”
Remus rolled his eyes but said, deadpan, “I am your boyfriend, Sirius Black.”
Sirius beamed. “Fuck yeah, you are.”
The front door creaked open just then, slow and tentative like someone trying very hard not to be heard. Unfortunately for James, Sirius had ears like a dog.
“Dude,” Sirius called, raising his voice just enough to carry. “And where the fuck have you been, Mr. Potter?”
James froze like a busted teenager sneaking in after curfew. He was still wearing his clothes from the night before – jeans slightly wrinkled, shirt half untucked, his hair somehow even messier than usual.
“Oh,” he said, trying to sound casual, “just, uh… picked someone up after the show. Stayed at her place.”
Sirius stared at him. Blinked once. “You what?”
James shrugged. “You know. Felt like it. She was cute. We vibed. One thing led to another...”
“Okay, what the hell?” Sirius said, walking into the living room, grinning now. “Who are you and what have you done with James Potter?” He crossed his arms, still amused. “Are we switching roles now? You’re shagging randoms and sneaking in at sunrise, and I’m…” He gestured broadly at himself. “...domesticated?”
James scratched the back of his neck. “It’s not that weird.”
Sirius tilted his head. “It’s so weird. You don’t even do casual.”
Before James could spin another excuse, Remus walked out from the bedroom, barefoot and wearing one of Sirius’s t-shirts.
He spotted James and grinned. “Morning,” he said, then walked over and dropped a kiss on Sirius’s cheek, totally casual.
Then he turned back to James and said, with a cheeky little smirk, “We haven’t been properly introduced, have we? I’m Remus. Sirius’s boyfriend.”
James snorted and coughed at the same time, caught off-guard. “Right. Hello. Yes. Great to meet you… officially.”
Sirius raised his brows at James and said, “You see what I mean?”
James rubbed his face. “Okay, maybe it’s a weird morning. You’re in a relationship. I’m doing the walk of shame. Remus is….sassy.”
Remus flashed a sharp grin. “I contain multitudes.”
Sirius walked into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. “So are you gonna tell me who she was, or am I just supposed to pretend like this isn’t a momentous occasion?”
James hesitated for half a beat too long.
Remus raised an eyebrow. Sirius noticed.
But before Sirius could press further, Remus jumped in smoothly, nudging Sirius’s side. “Let the man keep his secrets. Maybe he doesn’t kiss and tell.”
James mouthed “thank you” to Remus over Sirius’s shoulder.
Sirius narrowed his eyes but lets it go.
“Fine. But I want details later. And not vague ones. I want filthy specifics.”
James laughed, relaxing a little. “Yeah, yeah. We’ll see.”
Sirius headed back toward the couch, calling over his shoulder, “Breakfast?”
Remus was already making his way to the kitchen. “You making it or am I?”
Sirius smiled. The little domestic rhythm they’ve already fallen into. It hit him suddenly – how real it all is. How happier he’s been since Remus.
Yep, I’m definitely falling in love with this man. And weirdly enough – Sirius didn’t panic.
Chapter 22: November 25, 1991
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
James
The practice space reeked of stale beer and warm amps. Someone had cracked a window, but the air was still thick with sweat and sound. James flopped onto the threadbare couch, guzzling water, while Dorcas sat cross-legged on the floor. Lily perched on the windowsill, cigarette between her fingers, eyes half-lidded in the afternoon haze. Sirius paced near the drum kit, shirt damp with sweat and smirking like he’d won something.
“So,” Sirius said, casually spinning a drumstick between his fingers, “how was your little sleepover, Prongs?”
James raised an eyebrow. “Which one?”
“Oh come on, don’t play coy,” Sirius said, dropping onto the arm of the couch. “You’ve barely been at the apartment for the last two weeks. You’re practically a ghost.”
James smirked, tossing his empty water bottle at Sirius. “I needed a break. I can’t keep living with a couple of hormonal lovebirds playing house all over the flat.”
Sirius rolled his eyes. “We do not play house.”
“You made pancakes together,” James pointed out.
“Once.”
“While holding hands.”
“Remus burned them!”
James leaned back dramatically. “Exactly my point.”
Dorcas laughed, shaking her head.
But Lily didn’t laugh. She tapped her ash out the window and gave James a sharp look, a little concerned.
“James,” she said, “you’ve been disappearing a lot lately. Is everything okay?”
James blinked. “Yeah. Totally.”
“I mean it,” she said, her voice softening. “You get this way sometimes. You fall fast. And hard. And then…”
James waved a hand. “Lils.”
She tilted her head. “I just hope this mystery girl isn’t turning into something messy. You haven’t even told us her name.”
James hesitated.
Because she wasn’t a girl. And it wasn’t messy. It was… well, it was wonderful.
He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to play it off. “It’s not what you think.”
“Oh?” Dorcas asked, glancing up. “So what is it?”
James laughed a little too quickly. “Just… someone I’m seeing. Casual.”
It wasn’t casual. He’d been sleeping at Regulus’s apartment more nights than not lately. Quiet mornings tangled in sheets, Regulus making him coffee, curling up together with records playing low in the background. The way Regulus looked at him—like he couldn’t believe James had chosen him—was enough to keep James floating all day.
And yeah, maybe James was falling too deep. But not with the mystery girl they assumed.
With Regulus. Fucking Regulus. He suddenly felt the weight of the secret sitting heavy on his chest. He hated lying to them, especially Sirius—but he also didn’t know how to explain this. Not yet.
Sirius was watching him now, something unreadable in his eyes.
James forced a grin. “Can we just get back to the music before you lot turn this into a group therapy session?” James felt the guilt settle deeper in his stomach. Because this wasn’t just a fling.
Dorcas stretched her arms overhead, letting out a groan. “Okay, real talk—are we freaking out yet, or are we pretending to be cool about making it to the semifinals?”
Sirius let out a bark of laughter. “I’ve been cool this whole time.”
Lily shot him a look. “You threw a chair across the room when we made it through the first round.”
Sirius grinned. “Exactly. That was my cool reaction.”
“Second round’s done,” Lily said, more to herself than anyone else. “We’re in the final four.”
“Two more shows between now and Christmas,” Dorcas added, ticking them off on her fingers. “Then the final on New Year’s Eve.”
“But first, we’ve got to get through Thanksgiving.” Lily said, narrowing her eyes at Dorcas, “tell me you’re coming to Thanksgiving at my house. I have got to have a buffer between me and Petunia. She is bringing her jerk of a new boyfriend, and I need someone on my side.”
Dorcas smirked. “What about Pandora?”
Lily looked chagrined. “I cannot bring that beautiful, sexy, incredible woman to meet my family yet—she would run so fast. Plus, she’s flying to New York to be with her family.”
“Nope, sorry,” Dorcas said, clearly enjoying herself. “Marlene and I are going to Ojai…”
There was a beat of stunned silence, then Sirius let out a low whistle. “Meet-the-parents time?”
Dorcas gave a proud little nod. “Mum’s gonna love her. Marlene has that whole polite-but-could-break-your-nose energy that Mum eats up.”
James grinned. “Bold move. Holiday introductions are no joke.”
Sirius turned toward him with a wolfish grin. “Speaking of, I told Effie that I’m bringing Remus to Thanksgiving.”
James blinked. “Whoa, it really is meet the parents time, huh?”
Sirius just shrugged like it was nothing. “Figured it was time. Plus, I’m not showing up alone while you swan around with your mystery lover….”
Lily nudged him gently. “What about you, Prongs? Bringing anyone?”
He shook his head, forcing a casual shrug. “Nah. Just me. Well, and Peter is coming, too. But really, guys. We do need to get back to practice.”
Regulus
Regulus stood in front of his father’s desk, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his tailored slacks, like that would anchor him.
Orion didn’t look up as he spoke. “You’ll be at Thanksgiving dinner. No excuses this year. Celestina Warbeck and her people will be there. Her contract is up for renewal and we’ve got to keep her happy. She’s our most profitable artist ever.”
“Right,” Regulus sighed. “Yeah. I’ll be there.”
“And bring a date,” Orion added, casually, like he was asking him to pick up wine on the way.
Regulus frowned. “I’m not seeing anyone.” A lie, but for good reason.
“Then find someone,” Orion said briskly, flipping a page in the folder on his desk. “It’s important.”
Regulus hesitated. “Why?”
Orion looked up now, just slightly. “There are rumors, Regulus. I don’t want people talking.”
A pause. Regulus swallowed, then said carefully, “You mean rumors that I’m gay.”
Orion’s jaw clenched. “Yes.”
“I am gay.”
Silence. Heavy and immediate.
Orion set his pen down slowly. “Not if you know what’s good for you.”
Regulus blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You will bring a date. A woman. You will sit next to her, and you will smile for the people I need to impress.” His voice was cold, sharp like glass. “And you will not let your mother hear you talk like that again.”
Regulus stared at him, something hollow burning behind his eyes. “You care more about appearances than your own son.”
Orion leaned back in his chair, completely unmoved. “I care about legacy. Don’t confuse the two.”
Regulus opened his mouth, then closed it again. There was nothing he could say that wouldn’t make it worse. Nothing he could say that would make it matter.
He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, his voice flat now. “Fine.”
Orion flipped another page. “That Battle of the Bands thing. It’s still happening?”
Regulus straightened a little, the spark in his chest immediate. “Yeah. And it’s blowing up, actually. Bigger than I thought it would be. There’s been a ton of interest—scouts, indie reps poking around. Some of these bands are really making noise.”
Orion raised an eyebrow. Barely.
“I was thinking,” Regulus went on, trying not to let the energy get the better of him, “why stop with signing the winner? We could create an imprint. Something under Gringotts for this scene—grunge, alt, punk. It’d be small, niche. But it could be big. The timing’s right.”
Orion blinked slowly, like the idea physically pained him. “You want to build a division for basement kids with unwashed hair and combat boots.”
Regulus ignored the jab. “They’re not just basement kids. They’ve got followings. Real ones. People are paying attention. I’ve got footage—want to see?”
A small, dismissive wave of the hand. “Show me.”
Regulus pulled the small monitor onto the desk, queued up the latest Moonsick set. The screen glowed with dim club lighting, the band loud and beautifully raw. Remus’s bass snarled through the speakers, his vocals urgent and cracked in all the right places. The crowd pulsed in time.
Regulus kept his voice steady. “This is Moonsick. They’re pulling bigger crowds every week. One of the front-runners, easy.”
Orion watched in silence, his expression unreadable—until he flinched. It was quick, but Regulus caught it.
Orion leaned back and folded his arms. “There’s no way we’re putting the Gringotts name on something that sounds like that.”
Regulus blinked. “What?”
“You want to play label head, fine,” Orion said coolly. “But if you sign a band like that, they’ll need to change. Clean it up. Get an actual producer. Write songs that can chart.”
“That is the sound,” Regulus said, incredulous. “That’s why people care.”
Orion’s mouth flattened. “We built this company on legacy. On music with taste and staying power. Not whatever that is.”
“You promised,” Regulus snapped. “You said I could sign the winner.”
Orion stood now, voice calm, eyes hard. “Sign whoever you want. But if they want to make a record here, they’ll make a record that sells.”
Regulus stared at him. “You don’t get it.”
“I get it just fine,” Orion said. “You want to be taken seriously? Start acting like a professional instead of chasing fads in dive bars. I’m not wasting money on your vanity projects.”
Regulus turned without another word and walked out.
***
Regulus leaned against the cold marble wall outside Orion’s office, heart thudding with something too twisted to name. He exhaled slowly, trying to steady the shake in his hands, but it didn’t help. His father’s words still rang in his ears.
"Not if you know what’s good for you."
It wasn’t new. Not really. Just another brick in the carefully constructed prison of expectation Orion had been building around him since he was old enough to sit through board meetings in a blazer too big for his shoulders.
He ran a hand down his face, thumb pressed hard against the space between his brows.
And, as always, Regulus’s mind slipped back to that night.
The night Sirius left.
His mother was screaming again -she always did—but this time it wasn’t about grades or language or Sirius’s latest fuck-up at school. This time, it was about the band.
Orion had spent months crafting it: a clean-cut, photogenic, radio-friendly boy band to rival New Kids on the Block—only polished with the Gringotts pedigree. All industry insiders, handpicked producers, stylists, choreographers. Sirius was supposed to be the frontman. He had the look. The voice. The edge Orion thought could be sanded down into something palatable.
But Sirius refused. Flat-out, unapologetically, furiously refused.
“You want me to dance?” Sirius had said, laughing in Orion’s face. “Sing songs I didn’t write in a band with guys I don’t know, just so you can sell records to twelve-year-olds? No fucking way.”
His mother had lost it. Screaming about ungratefulness, about image, about legacy. She slapped him—twice, hard. Sirius flinched, not out of fear, but out of muscle memory. She’d done this before, many times.
Regulus remembered it all. Remembered standing outside the sitting room, frozen in place as he listened to the shouting. The snap of a palm hitting skin. The silence after.
And then the sound of Sirius going up the stairs. He packed a bag. Said he was leaving.
Orion blocked the front door, trying to spin it, like always. Promised him creative input. A solo project later. Money. Connections. Power. But Sirius laughed again, and that’s when Regulus knew it was real. That he was really going.
He left that night, duffel bag slung over his shoulder, blood on his lip and defiance in his eyes.
Regulus had watched from the top of the stairs, silent, gripping the banister so hard his knuckles ached. Sirius never looked up. Never turned around. Just walked out.
And Regulus had hated him for it. For walking away. For choosing freedom. For leaving him behind in that gilded prison with two parents who saw love as obedience and punishment as tradition.
He hadn’t understood it then. Not fully. But now—now he did.
Because Regulus had stayed. He had nodded and smiled and played the part. Let Orion mold him, groom him. Not into a boy band star, no – he wasn’t cut out for stardom—but into something quieter. The heir. The executive. The golden boy.
And now here he was, still dancing to the same fucking song. Still lying about who he was. Still swallowing the truth to make himself easier to sell.
He told himself he was building something better. That the battle of the bands, the energy humming through underground clubs across the city—it was real. It mattered. Sirius and James’s band mattered. Sirius mattered. James mattered.
But one conversation with Orion and already it felt like it was slipping through his fingers. And what would Orion do when he found out that Sirius was in one of the bands he wanted to sign?
Everything was falling apart. He was a coward. Deep down, he knew he wouldn’t stand up to his father. He knew he’d never be able to record the music he wanted. Just like he knew he’d find a woman to bring to Thanksgiving to hide who he really was. He didn’t have the courage to leave, not like Sirius had.
Regulus hung his head and sighed.
Notes:
I think Celestina Warbeck is basically a Whitney Houston....lovely voice if you like that kind of thing!
Chapter 23: November 28, 1991
Chapter Text
Remus
Remus had never spent Thanksgiving like this.
Not in a sun-dappled, creaky old house tucked into Laurel Canyon, where the air smelled like eucalyptus and rosemary and every surface was covered in a quilt or a stack of records. Not with a family like this—effusive, strange, full of loud laughter and real affection. Definitely not walking in next to Sirius Black, whose hand had casually brushed his as they approached the door, and who, once it opened, said, “Mom, Dad—this is Remus. He’s my boyfriend.”
Remus thought the ground might open and swallow him.
But Effie Potter—small, round, with long silver hair and earrings shaped like suns—clapped her hands in delight.
“Oh! Finally! Come in, come in—shoes off, please. We don’t allow evil spirits or outside dirt in the house.” She leaned in and hugged Remus like he was family already, a soft sage-scented hug that completely disarmed him. “Look at those cheekbones. You poor thing, are you eating enough?”
Behind her, Monty Potter appeared, tall and wiry in a fraying vest, a cigarette tucked behind one ear and a dog-eared paperback in his hand. He smiled at Remus like he was already in on some long joke.
“Don’t let Effie scare you. She means well, but she thinks ‘boyfriend’ means she can knit you things.”
“I can knit him things,” Effie said proudly, taking Remus’s jacket. “A scarf, maybe. In those nice browns and greys he’s got going on.”
Sirius looked smug. James appeared behind his dad, grinning wide. “Told you they’d be weirdly perfect.”
Remus’s nerves didn’t vanish, but they loosened. He followed Sirius inside, barefoot now, across Persian rugs and hardwood floors and past windows strung with beads. The living room was full of cushions and incense and plants that had clearly been alive since the sixties. A record spun lazily in the background—Joni Mitchell or something close to it.
In the kitchen, James rolled up his sleeves. “Come on, Moony,” he said. “You’re on yam duty. I’m mashing potatoes and making fun of Monty’s tofu loaf.”
“You will be eating that loaf, young man,” Effie called from the hallway, “and you will like it.”
Remus laughed in spite of himself, grabbing a mixing bowl as James handed him a pile of potatoes. He could hear Sirius and Peter outside on the porch, where Monty had pulled the cover off an old motorcycle. Sirius’s voice carried through the screen door—excited, boyish, like a kid in a toy store.
Remus looked around the kitchen. The clutter, the warm smells, the vague scent of cloves. The way James teased his mum and ducked when she tried to swat him with a wooden spoon. The way no one questioned why Remus was here, why he was holding Sirius’s hand under the tablecloth, why he didn’t go home for holidays.
Dinner was loud and chaotic. Effie served a mix of traditional and strange: stuffing, mashed potatoes, mushroom gravy, the tofu loaf, an actual turkey “for balance,” and about six kinds of pie. The mismatched plates and vintage silverware made it feel like a set piece from another era, but it was real. All of it.
Effie clinked her spoon against her wine glass. “Alright, darlings. Time for the ritual.”
James groaned. “Mom…”
“None of that,” she said firmly, eyes twinkling. “It’s tradition. One thing you’re thankful for. From the heart. No skipping. No sarcasm.” She narrowed her eyes at Sirius.
“I’m insulted,” Sirius said, placing a hand over his chest. “I’m never sarcastic.”
“Liar,” James muttered.
Effie pointed her spoon. “Peter, you start.”
Peter shifted in his chair, red creeping up his neck. “Uh. Okay. Um—I’m thankful for this. For being here. For not having to eat microwaved mac and cheese alone in my apartment.”
Everyone said “aww”, and Effie reached over to squeeze his hand.
James went next. “I’m thankful that no one burned down the house trying to cook. And for the band, and that I somehow haven’t strangled Sirius yet.”
“Rude,” Sirius said, stealing a roll off James’s plate. “You love me.”
“I tolerate you,” James corrected.
Monty cleared his throat dramatically. “I’m thankful that Effie still puts up with me after all these years. That I haven’t combusted from tofu intake. And that our home gets to be filled with music and messy kids and too much pie.”
Effie beamed. “I’m thankful for all my weird, wonderful chosen children, and for the fact that Monty hasn’t electrocuted himself with that ancient stereo setup. And also for Remus. Because I like him, and Sirius seems to light up around him like a Christmas tree.”
Remus flushed and laughed nervously, reaching for his wine.
Sirius, of course, jumped right in next. “I’m thankful for Remus.”
Everyone made exaggerated “ooh” sounds, and Sirius rolled his eyes, but his grin was impossible to hide.
“No, seriously,” he went on. “I’m thankful that I get to be with someone who sees all the worst parts of me and doesn’t walk away. Who somehow makes me feel safe and alive at the same time.” He looked at Remus, voice softening. “I didn’t think I’d ever have this. You. And I’m really fucking grateful.”
Effie put a hand to her chest. “That’s going in the scrapbook.”
James fake-gagged. Peter sniffled. Monty raised his glass.
Remus blinked hard. He hadn’t expected that. Any of it. The sincerity, the softness, the lack of shame. It made something ache in his chest in the best way.
Then they all looked at him.
“Oh,” he said, startled. “Right. Um… I’m thankful for music. And second chances. And…” He took a breath. “For being welcome at someone else’s table.”
Effie reached over and touched his arm gently. “You’re not just welcome. You’re wanted.”
“Exactly,” Monty added, with a nod. “You’re part of the madhouse now.”
“And you can’t escape,” James said cheerfully. “Effie already made you a stocking for Christmas.”
***
The backyard was dark except for the faint glow of string lights draped across the fence and the occasional flare of a lighter. The canyon was quiet at night—just the rustle of trees and a distant coyote or two. Effie and Monty were inside doing dishes while singing something vaguely Dylan-esque in harmony.
The four of them—Remus, Sirius, James, and Peter—were spread out on a patchwork of blankets, passing a joint between them and talking total nonsense.
“I think,” James said, exhaling deeply, “that my hands are trying to tell me secrets.”
Peter nodded solemnly. “Mine said I should invest in canned peaches.”
“Honestly?” Sirius said, head resting on Remus’s thigh, “canned peaches are an underrated pantry staple.”
Remus blinked slowly at the sky. “Am I the only one here not communing with inanimate objects?”
“Yes,” James said immediately. “You’re the least fun.”
“You’re the dad friend,” Peter added.
“Can confirm,” Sirius murmured, turning his head to squint lovingly up at Remus. “But like, in a hot, emotionally stable way.”
“Thanks,” Remus said dryly, patting his hair. “You’re high and clingy, my favorite combo.”
Sirius pointed at James suddenly, grinning like he’d just solved a crime. “Okay but seriously, when are you gonna spill about your mystery girl?”
Peter cackled. “Yes! Finally, the real reason we got him high. Loose lips, Potter.”
James groaned and tried to hide his face behind his hoodie sleeve. “She’s not a mystery, okay? She’s just… complicated.”
Sirius sat up slightly. “Wait, does this mean she’s real? You’ve been playing it so close to the vest, I thought maybe you’d fallen in love with a ghost or a barista who lives entirely in your dreams.”
“Or a ghost barista,” Peter added. “She only appears when you order espresso under a full moon.”
James blinked up at the stars. He let out a dreamy sigh. “It’s not a she.”
There was a beat of silence. Peter blinked. Sirius raised an eyebrow. Remus stopped mid sip from the wine bottle and lowered it slowly.
“It’s a he,” James whispered. “A ridiculously hot he. A he with cheekbones and trauma and mean little comments that make me want to write him sonnets.”
“Oh wow,” Sirius said, eyebrows shooting up. “Tell me all about him.”
James blinked at him slowly. “Well. I mean. It’s... kind of... secret.” And just like that, his dreamy haze cracked. James's smile faltered as if he’d suddenly realized what he’d said. His posture stiffened, hands curling in the fabric of his jeans. “Uh. I mean. You know. It’s not a big deal.”
Sirius tilted his head. “You good, dude?”
“Yep! Totally. Great.” James gave them all a thumbs up far too enthusiastically. “It’s chill. Anyway! Let’s talk about Peter’s nipples!”
Peter shrieked and covered his chest with both hands. “You swore you wouldn’t bring up the new piercings!”
Sirius leaned in with a devilish grin. “I just want to know how your girlfriend convinced you. Was it a bribe situation?”
“I’m a mystery,” Peter declared. “A man of shadows.”
“Shiny, metal-studded shadows,” Remus said, smirking.
As they dissolved back into laughter, the tension broke, but Remus glanced over at James one more time. James had that faraway look again, half smiling, but clearly somewhere else entirely.
Sirius fell back into Remus’s lap again and sighed contentedly. “God, I love us. We’re like… an enchanted forest of dysfunction.”
James nodded sagely. “Four spirits of chaos. One wolf. One dog. One rat. And one stag.”
Peter snorted. “What’s a stag even do? Just stand around looking majestic?”
“Exactly,” James said, beaming. “I am the stag, a symbol of nobility and grace.”
“You once ate an entire bag of Cool Ranch Doritos while crying to Dirty Dancing,” Sirius reminded him.
“I was emotional and hungry,” James said with dignity. He turned to Sirius. “You’re the dog. Obviously. You’re loyal as hell, a little reckless, and you act like you’re not always listening but you are, every if you don’t do what you’re told.”
Sirius opened one eye. “I’m also very handsome.”
“And dramatic,” Remus added.
“Dramatically handsome,” Sirius agreed.
James grinned. “Remus is the wolf. Quiet but deadly. Looks like he wants to be left alone but actually will absolutely destroy you if you mess with someone he loves. Also reads too much.”
Remus gave a soft laugh. “All true.”
“And Peter’s the rat,” James finished. “The rat. Survivalist. Sneaky. Good under pressure. Surprisingly agile. Probably would eat your leftovers.”
Sirius twisted around to look up at Remus again. “The wolf and the dog. You know, in ancient mythology, they’re cousins. They run together.”
Remus raised an eyebrow. “Where are you getting this, High Times magazine?”
“Don’t mock my spiritual journey,” Sirius murmured, nuzzling into Remus’s hoodie. “Also wolves mate for life, so.”
“Oh my god,” James groaned. “You’ve gone full mush.”
Sirius didn’t even pretend to deny it. “Why wouldn’t I? Look at him.”
Peter made exaggerated gagging noises.
As the teasing gave way to laughter and someone passed around the last of the joint, Remus leaned back against the cushions, letting the sounds of his friends wash over him like music. Sirius had flopped down beside him again, warm and long-limbed, already half-asleep and draped over Remus like a particularly dramatic human blanket. Remus smiled to himself and slid his arm around Sirius’s shoulders, pulling him in tighter, letting his cheek rest on the top of Sirius’s head. Sirius hummed something incoherent and burrowed in closer with a contented sigh.
Remus closed his eyes.
It hit him all at once—how lucky he felt. How rare it was to have a night like this, where nothing hurt and no one was fighting and he didn’t feel like he had to apologize for taking up space. Where he had a group of people who knew him and loved him anyway. Where he had Sirius, ridiculous and sweet and impossible, curled into his chest like they’d been made for this exact arrangement.
Regulus
Regulus barely had one foot inside the grand foyer of the Black estate before the air felt like it was pressing in on him.
The place looked perfect, of course. Walburga would’ve murdered someone before letting a single dust mote appear in front of company. Every surface gleamed, candles flickered from crystal holders, and a quartet played delicate strings in the corner of the parlor.
And there stood his mother, in an emerald silk gown with her hair twisted into a glossy updo, smiling with all the warmth of a blade.
“You came alone,” she said, without even a hello.
Regulus shrugged out of his coat, handing it to a housekeeper who looked exhausted already. “Nice to see you too, Mother.”
“I told you this wasn’t optional. Important people are here tonight, Regulus.”
“People like Celestina Warbeck?” he asked, deadpan. “Or her entourage of middle-aged men who think they invented soul?”
“Do not be flippant,” she snapped. “You’re a Black. You’re supposed to impress. Not show up looking like….” she waved a hand at his black turtleneck and charcoal blazer, “….an orphan artist from some bohemian dive.”
Regulus rolled his eyes, about to respond, when Orion’s voice cut in from across the hall like a blade.
“In the kitchen. Now.”
The staff, bustling through with silver trays and caviar tarts, glanced up and then quickly down again.
Regulus followed the voice into the kitchen, the smell of roasted duck and truffle potatoes suddenly nauseating. The kitchen was warm and busy, full of the clatter of ladles and the shuffle of staff in aprons.
Orion was standing beside the sink, sleeves cuffed, bourbon in hand, looking like a goddamn king surveying a battlefield.
“You’re a disgrace,” he said without preamble. “I told you to bring a woman. Smile. Be normal.”
“I’m not going to lie about who I am just to help you network over turkey,” Regulus said coolly, though his hands were cold. “I tried to find someone. No one was free. Shocking, I know. People have plans on Thanksgiving.”
“That’s not good enough.” Walburga swept in behind them, lips tight, eyes already bloodshot with fury. “We are trying to manage your reputation, Regulus. The industry watches these things. They talk.”
“They already talk,” he snapped. “What’s next, you want to hire someone to pretend to be my fiancée and feed me a script?”
Walburga got in close, her voice a razor. “You do not say those things in this house.”
“I’m gay,” he said, loudly, boldly. “You want me to lie at dinner? Shake hands and grin while I die inside for your precious image?”
Walburga’s face tightened like she’d bitten into something rotten. “You will not speak that filth where the help can hear.”
As if on cue, a young server passed behind her, tray in hand. Walburga turned like a striking snake.
“You- girl!” she barked. The server froze. “That gravy boat is for the duck, not the turkey. How hard is it to read a damn seating chart? Were you raised in a barn?”
“I…I’m sorry, ma’am…”
“Get it right or get out,” Walburga snapped, with a smile so venomous it almost sparkled.
The girl muttered a “Yes, ma’am” and fled like a shadow. Regulus watched her go, jaw tight.
Orion stepped in again, voice low and controlled in that terrifying way of his. “We’re being watched tonight. You think I want to explain to Celestina Warbeck’s agent that my heir is some... confused boy chasing feelings instead of thinking about the family business?”
“I’m not confused,” Regulus said, breathing hard. “I know exactly who I am. You just don’t like it.”
“You’ll keep your damn mouth shut, or I’ll cut you off entirely,” Orion said, voice hard as granite. “You’ll find some respectable woman and you’ll play the part, or you’ll lose everything.”
Walburga’s eyes gleamed like flint. “Don’t let your mother hear you speak like this again. Do you understand me?” She raised her hand and slapped him across the face, just like she seemed to always end up doing. Then, she smiled. A slow, dangerous smile. “Watch your tone. Now fix your hair and go sit at the table like a good boy.”
Dinner was a masterpiece of performance.
Celestina Warbeck sparkled at the head of the table in a crimson gown, laughing musically and waving her jeweled fingers around every time she spoke. Her manager, some silver-haired snake named Rodolphus, had Orion practically purring. Walburga nodded along to everything Celestina said, like her approval might be contagious.
They all praised the food, the ambiance, the company.
Regulus sat in silence, sipping red wine and hating every second of it.
His father made a toast about “family, tradition, and innovation,” with a self-satisfied smirk that made Regulus want to hurl. His mother complimented Celestina’s last album like she hadn’t spent the past year saying her voice was “overwrought” and “too urban.”
The caterers were invisible unless they made a mistake, and then Walburga’s voice would cut across the conversation like a guillotine.
Regulus watched it all, the silver and the shine and the rot beneath it. He couldn’t stop thinking about the girl in the kitchen. The look on her face when she’d been screamed at for nothing. How fast everyone had gone back to pretending.
Later, after the dishes were cleared and the wine flowed freely, Celestina sang an impromptu rendition of one of her ballads. Everyone clapped. Orion beamed. Walburga teared up, probably for show. Regulus excused himself early. No one tried to stop him.
***
Back in his apartment, Regulus sat on the edge of his bed, a glass of bourbon in his hand. He had long since lost track of the number of drinks he’d had, but the steady burn in his throat reminded him that it had been too many.
His head felt heavy, like it was filled with fog, but it was the ache in his chest that weighed him down most of all. That burning, gnawing ache that didn’t go away no matter how much liquor he poured down his throat. Every drink only seemed to make the emptiness inside him grow wider.
He should’ve been able to shake it off—they could. They always did. His parents, their glittering friends, their perfect masks. They thrived on cruelty, on keeping everyone in their place, and Regulus had never once been allowed to step out of line. And now, as he sat alone, drowning in the silence of his apartment, he could still hear their voices ringing in his ears.
His father’s command to fix himself. His mother’s sneering remarks about his “filth.” The sound of her slap, sharp and quick, cutting across his face as though he was a disappointment to be dealt with.
He hated them. His parents. Their hypocrisy. Their cruelty. And he hated himself for ever wanting to be like them. For thinking there was any way he could fit into their world.
But the real fear gnawed at him, hollow and jagged—What if he couldn’t get out? What if there was no escape from this suffocating world they’d built for him?
Regulus rose from the bed and staggered over to the window, gripping the sill with white knuckles. The city stretched out before him, a sea of lights and noise and life—and here he was, locked in his own cage, a prisoner of his birthright. His inheritance.
“God,” he muttered bitterly, looking at his reflection in the glass, the faint outline of his own face staring back at him, almost unrecognizable. “You’re a fucking joke.”
He took another deep drink of bourbon, staring at the skyline as if the answer to all his problems could be found in those distant lights.
He didn’t even know why he’d kept trying to please them. It had never worked. It had never been enough. They’d always found something more to ask of him, always found something wrong with him.
“Fuck,” he said again, this time louder, as if the word could somehow shatter the cage around him.
He was exhausted—exhausted from pretending, exhausted from the constant battle between the man he was and the one they expected him to be. They wanted him to bend to their will, but all he’d done was break under it. And no matter how hard he tried to fit in, to play the game, to wear the mask, it was never enough.
There was no way out. No way but forward. And if that meant becoming what they wanted—becoming what they’d groomed him to be—then maybe it would be easier to just disappear into it. To slip so far inside the mask that it consumed him whole.
But even as he thought that, a quiet voice inside him screamed no. A voice that reminded him he didn’t have to do this. And, wouldn’t you know it – the voice sounded a little like James.
Regulus sank to the floor, pressing his back against the wall, and closed his eyes.
Chapter 24: December 7, 1991
Notes:
So this comes with a warning: a homophobic slur is used toward a character.
Chapter Text
Severus
Azkaban’s set had been wild—Severus was still shaking with adrenaline as he stomped offstage, his black hair plastered to his forehead, leather trench coat swirling behind him. The crowd had eaten it up. Avery had gone feral on the drums, Lucius had killed his guitar solos, and Mulciber… well, Mulciber had threatened to bite someone, so all in all, a successful set.
Severus grabbed a bottle of whiskey someone left backstage and took a swig, trying to burn off the leftover rage in his chest. That’s when he spotted Lily.
She was standing just past the corridor near the green room, tuning her bass with one foot on the amp, hair pulled back into a bright red ponytail. Pandora was next to her, holding a glass of water, with her arm around Lily’s shoulder. Lily was laughing, looking so happy and effortless it made something cruel twist in Snape’s gut.
He stalked over before he could stop himself.
“Didn’t take you for a dyke,” he said, his voice cutting like ice.
Pandora flinched, her smile gone in an instant. Lily stood slowly, face hard.
“Fuck you, Snape,” she said, her voice like a slap.
Severus ignored Pandora entirely. “So this is the big secret? Trading in Potter for some campus feminist with thrift store boots?”
“I dated James in high school, you absolute moron.” She took a step closer. “Pandora is my girlfriend. Say that word again, and I swear to God, I will break your nose.”
He smirked. “You know you aren’t a dyke, Lily. You’re just trying to get attention.”
Pandora lunged, but Lily held her back.
“Walk away, Severus. I mean it.”
He did, retreating down the corridor in shame and rage—he knew he crossed the line—but he was so hurt to see her like that. Then, he caught the tail end of a hushed conversation around the tech crew.
Lucius and Mulciber were crouched by the power supply for the Marauders' rig, one of the lighting guys standing nervously nearby.
“…kill the main during their opening song,” Lucius was saying. “Just a flicker, nothing permanent. Throw them off. Malfunction the backup amp too. We’ll say it’s a fuse issue.”
Mulciber snickered. “And the fog machine’s been overloaded. Let’s see if they can even see their instruments.”
“Don’t forget the mic feedback loop,” Lucius added. “We’re going full sabotage tonight.”
Snape said nothing, ducking back into the shadows.
He watched as The Marauders took the stage ten minutes later—James with his guitar, Sirius all in black with a smirk that made girls scream, Dorcas steady and quiet behind her drums, and Lily, radiant in fishnets and a faded Misfits tee, with her bass. The crowd roared as the first chords rang out—and then immediately, chaos.
The lights blew in a sudden surge, sending half the stage into murky darkness. Sirius’s mic shrieked with a piercing feedback loop that made people cover their ears. James’s guitar dropped out mid-chord, the amp buzzing dead. Fog poured from the machine in thick waves, drowning the stage in choking gray mist.
The crowd turned restless. Boos. Confusion. People whispering.
Backstage, Snape gritted his teeth. He could walk away. He could let it happen. But then he saw Lily through the smoke, squinting into the crowd, trying to calm people with her hands raised. She looked panicked but determined—and beautiful.
He still loved her. Even if she hated him. Even if she loved someone else. She was his. Not in a romantic sense anymore—he could admit that—but in that raw, painful, forever kind of way.
Severus moved fast. He yanked the rigged audio wires from the back of the mixing board, shoved the lighting reset breaker down hard, and slammed a boot into the fog machine, silencing it with a hiss and a spark.
The lights flickered back on. Sirius’s mic cleared. James’s amp came back with a roar, and Dorcas took the cue like she was born for it—counting them in again with a grin, and this time, the Marauders played. They shredded the rest of the set, furious and brilliant, the sabotage only adding fire to the performance. The crowd lost their minds.
Afterward, after The Marauders had been proclaimed the winner of the night, Lily found Snape by the dumpsters out back, lighting a cigarette with trembling hands.
“You fixed it,” she said, arms folded.
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
He looked at her, face hollowed out. “Because I still love you. And I didn’t want to see you humiliated.”
Lily sighed. “I don’t know what to say to that.”
“Say you forgive me.”
She looked away. “I can’t. Not for everything. Not yet.”
“I heard what you said about Pandora,” he muttered. “That she’s your girlfriend.”
“She is.”
There was a long silence. Then, Severus said, “I always thought you’d be mine.”
Lily’s expression softened, but only slightly. “You were never in love with me, Severus. You were in love with who you wanted me to be. Who you wanted yourself to be.”
He looked like she’d slapped him. But then he nodded, once.
“I don’t expect anything. I just... wanted you to know.”
Lily reached forward and touched his arm. “You’re not a lost cause. But you are lost.”
Then she turned and walked back inside to her band, her girlfriend, and a crowd still screaming her name.
Snape stayed in the alley, letting the cold creep into his bones. Somewhere inside, Lucius was probably looking for him. He didn’t care.
He’d betrayed them all tonight. Maybe that was the beginning to being able to find himself.
Frank
Frank Longbottom hated hospitals, clinics, anywhere that smelled like bleach and buzzed with fluorescent lights. But he showed up anyway. The rehab center was a quiet, tucked-away place in the hills above Silver Lake, all white walls and fake calm. The kind of place rich people went to recover privately. Fabian wasn’t rich—just lucky his brother had found him in time.
A nurse led Frank through the halls until they reached the common room. Fabian was sitting by a window in an oversized hoodie and sweats, staring out at nothing. He looked like someone had drained the color out of him—pale, blotchy skin, tangled hair, hollow cheeks. Frank had seen him like this once before, in the early days of the band, when Fabian was first flirting with opioids. But never this bad. Never almost-dead bad.
Fabian glanced up and smiled weakly. “Well, well. If it isn’t the patron saint of lost causes.”
Frank sat down across from him. “You look like shit.”
“Good. I was worried I might still be charming.”
Frank snorted. “Gideon thought you were dead.”
Fabian flinched, eyes falling. “I know. Me too, for a second.”
“You were blue when he found you, Fab. They had to Narcan you.”
“I know,” Fabian said again, this time quieter, ashamed. “I don’t remember much. Just… the cold. And then lights.”
They sat in silence for a while. Frank leaned forward, elbows on knees. Fabian stared down at his hands, which trembled faintly.
“I messed everything up,” Fabian said after a long pause.
Frank raised an eyebrow. “You mean nearly dying or….”
“The Battle of the Bands,” Fabian cut in. “The Howlers blew it because of me.”
Frank exhaled. He hadn’t expected that to be the first thing on his mind.
“I could barely stand,” Fabian went on, his voice cracking. “I don’t even remember half our set. I was slurring, dropped my pick in the middle of the song. Couldn’t find the beat to save my life. Everyone knew.”
Frank was quiet.
“I looked at Alice when we walked off stage,” Fabian said, voice growing more strained, “and she looked right through me. Like I wasn’t even there.”
“You weren’t,” Frank said. “Not really.”
Fabian flinched again but nodded. “I let everyone down. You. Gideon. Alice. The people who came to see us.”
“You let yourself down,” Frank corrected. “We’re just the fallout.”
More silence.
“I started using because it quieted everything in my head,” Fabian said, his tone bleak. “But now I don’t even know what I’m trying to escape from. I can’t tell where the pain ends and the drugs begin.”
“You ever think maybe it’s time to stop trying to escape at all?”
Fabian looked up. His eyes were bloodshot, rimmed with exhaustion and grief. “Every day.”
“You’re still here.”
“Barely.”
“Still counts.”
Fabian gave the smallest of smiles, and it broke Frank’s heart.
“I want to get clean,” he whispered. “For real this time.”
Frank nodded. “Then do it. We’re not moving on without you. The band’s on pause.”
“Because of me.”
“No. Because we’re not gonna go forward with a piece of it missing. You’re not disposable, Fab.”
Frank could see the effect that had on him. The way Fabian blinked like he was trying not to cry, the way his posture curled in like he was trying to shield himself from kindness.
“I miss the music,” Fabian said. “I miss the way it used to feel.”
“It can still feel that way,” Frank said. “But not if you keep trying to numb yourself.”
“They’ve got this guy in group therapy,” Fabian said after a moment. “Told me recovery’s not about getting back to who you were. It’s about figuring out who the hell you are now.”
Frank nodded. “Smart guy.”
“Yeah.” Fabian wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie. “Do you think they’ll forgive me? Not just you and Alice, but everyone?”
“They already have,” Frank said gently. “They just want you to come home.”
Fabian closed his eyes. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Me. Alice. James. Even Dorcas came by last week and cussed out the front desk for not letting her in after hours.”
Fabian laughed, a little broken and surprised. “God, I miss Dorcas.”
“She misses you too. We all do.”
They sat in silence again, this time lighter.
Frank finally said, “I’ll be back next week.”
Pandora
The inside of Pandora’s head is not a place for the faint of heart.
There’s a party happening in one corner— somewhere between a basement punk show and an underwater rave. Bill Clinton is there in a sequined bodysuit for no reason, arguing with a talking lamp about guitar pedals. A swarm of bees wearing top hats keeps insisting they’re the reincarnated spirits of forgotten one-hit wonders. Pandora’s not sure if that’s metaphorical or just Tuesday.
In the center of it all, there's a giant golden record spinning on a turntable the size of a carousel, and every time it scratches, she hears her mother’s voice saying, “Darling, have you considered something more practical?”
"NO THANK YOU, MOTHER!" she screams across dimensions, and somewhere a chandelier shatters in applause.
She’s walking now through a hallway made entirely of guitar necks. The frets press into her soles and it feels amazing. A door labeled “Do Not Open Unless You Want To Feel Everything” swings open of its own accord and oh no, it's the FEELINGS CLOSET.
There’s Regulus, curled up on the floor of her imagination, chain-smoking existential dread and writing a press release in Latin. “He’s so repressed it’s practically art,” Pandora mutters to no one. “I could bottle it and sell it as cologne.”
Then there’s Lily, who glows like a disco ball made of sapphires. Every time she speaks, there’s a reverb trail like a love song played backward. Pandora is in love with her, probably. Definitely. Unless she’s just addicted to Lily’s voice, which is possible. There are worse addictions. Like glitter. Or vengeance.
Suddenly a version of Sirius floats by on a flaming motorcycle made of unresolved trauma, cackling, “You can’t spell dysfunction without FUN!” and vanishes into a cloud of cigarette smoke.
“Honestly? Truth.” Pandora says, taking a bite out of a metaphysical donut that tastes like lightning.
She trips over a cable marked “DON’T PULL THIS” and everything goes sideways. The ceiling becomes the floor, the floor becomes a memory from 1972, and for some reason, someone is playing the kazoo version of Stairway to Heaven.
In the chaos, she hears a voice whisper, “What if you’re just a footnote in someone else’s story?”
To which she shouts back, “THEN I’LL BE WRITTEN IN NEON PINK IN ALL CAPS, BITCH!”
Applause from the sentient pigeons.
She blinks. It’s quiet now. She’s sitting on a swing suspended in space, dangling her legs over the edge of the known universe. Regulus's voice is in her ear, asking about marketing budgets. Lily’s laughter echoes like bells in the fog.
Pandora smiles and opens her eyes.
Chapter 25: December 14, 1991
Summary:
CW: There is sex in this chapter, but it is not as explicit.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Sirius
The lights dimmed, and the crowd pressed closer, a tide of sweat and sound and smoke. And there he was.
Remus fucking Lupin, onstage with Moonsick, bass slung low, lips barely parted like he's about to sing backup—but doesn’t. Just gave this crooked little smirk like he knew every single person in the room wanted to fuck him. And Sirius watched from the wings, heart hammering, dick already stirring, because it’s almost unbearable how hot he looks.
Especially in that shirt. Sirius’s shirt. The Replacements one—black, perfectly worn-in, a little threadbare around the collar. Sirius hadn’t even noticed Remus slipping it on earlier, post-sex, all lazy-limbed and smug, like he’d earned it. Which he had. He definitely had. Sirius had barely caught his breath by the time Remus was already standing in front of the mirror, tugging the shirt over his head, no pants, eyes glinting.
“Hey,” Sirius had said, voice still raw from moaning. “That’s my favorite one.”
Remus had just smirked. “I’m your favorite one.”
And now here he is, wearing it onstage like a goddamn trophy. Sirius felt something deep and filthy twist in his stomach.
Remus’s hair was damp with sweat, curls clinging to his neck. His jeans were a little tight, the kind that make it impossible not to stare at his thighs. His fingers plucked the bass strings like they’re built into his body, and Sirius could die watching the way he moved. It’s not even conscious—Remus doesn’t perform the way other people do. He just is. And that’s what made it unbearable.
Sirius swayed a little where he stands, drunk on the sight of him. Drunk on memory too—of how Sirius had sucked on his fingers earlier while Remus fucked into him slow, whispering all kinds of filthy promises for after the show. Of how Remus had pulled Sirius’s head into the crook of his neck when he came, murmuring, “You’re gonna be thinking about this all night.”
He was right. Sirius hadn’t thought of anything else.
He licked his lips, felt heat flush through him again. Practically could feel the scratch of the shirt now as he thought about shoving Remus into some dark closet backstage after the set—crowd still screaming through the concrete walls—and sinking to his knees like a man starved. Because he is. Always, always starved when it comes to Remus.
The stage lights flared white-hot. Remus looked right at him for half a second—just a flick of his gaze, but it hit Sirius like a punch. There was a dare in his eyes. A promise. A memory. And that smirk.
Sirius grinned, lips curling around the edges of something feral.
***
The guitar shimmered with that layered fuzz, thick and swirling like fog. Veela’s Curse sounded like they were broadcasting from underwater, or from a dream that you couldn’t quite wake up from. The vocals floated—ethereal, aching—and the bass crawled beneath it like a heartbeat with something wrong in it. Very moody and reverb-heavy, all the emotion hidden behind effects.
Sirius sat at the bar, one arm lazily draped around Remus’s shoulders, his fingers idly playing with the hem of that Replacements shirt still clinging to Remus’s body. Remus, for his part, looked like he was trying to act casual, sipping his beer like nothing had happened, but Sirius could feel the way his leg jiggled under the bar. Too relaxed and too charged all at once—like the post-orgasm glow hadn’t quite burned off his skin yet.
Which, fair. Sirius had dragged him into the backstage broom closet after Moonsick’s set like a man possessed. Hands all over, mouth greedy, tongue reverent. Remus had barely gotten out, “You’re insatiable,” before Sirius was on his knees, and then neither of them had been able to speak for a while. Sirius had made good on every single unholy thought he’d had watching him onstage.
James raised his beer and pointed the bottle at Peter like it was damning evidence. “Look at you. Cozy as hell. Emmeline’s practically fused to your side. What’d you do, let her pierce you everywhere and steal your soul?”
Peter, half-blushing, half-smug, flicked the silver hoop in his left ear. “Jealous? She says they make me look dangerous.”
James snorted. “You? Dangerous? Pete, the last time someone lunged at you, you yelped and fell off the couch.”
“Yeah, well,” Peter said, not missing a beat, “maybe I was luring them into a false sense of security.”
“You screamed, ‘Get it off me!’ It was McGonagall’s cat from across the hall,” Marlene giggled.
“Still dangerous,” Peter muttered, and Emmeline just kissed his cheek and said, “He’s brave in other ways.”
James put a hand over his heart and fake-swooned. “That’s it. I’m gonna throw up. Someone hold my hair.”
Dorcas rolled her eyes and took a swig from her whiskey neat. “Leave them alone, Potter. Not all of us can have a secret boyfriend with high cheekbones and a tragic past.”
James choked slightly on his drink. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Marlene turned to Dorcas, eyes glittering. “He totally has a type. Brooding. Ethereal. May or may not be plotting murder.”
“Basically a Victorian ghost,” Dorcas agreed.
“I heard that!” James shouted.
Sirius turned slightly, raising his drink toward Regulus, who was seated a little apart from the rest. His posture was perfect, as always, but there was a small smirk on his lips as he glanced at James.
“You alright?” Sirius asked. “Haven’t seen you in awhile.”
Regulus sipped his drink slowly. “Thanksgiving was a nightmare,” he said. “Walburga and Orion gave me endless shit for not bringing a date. A female date. To make sure those pesky gay rumors about me would be laid to rest.”
The mood at the bar dipped a few degrees colder. Sirius frowned.
“They still…” he started, then stopped. He didn’t need to finish the question. He knew exactly what Walburga and Orion were like.
“Yeah,” Regulus confirmed dryly. “It was charming. Truly. Nothing like being screamed at over foie gras about your shameful lifestyle.”
Remus made a soft, sympathetic noise next to Sirius, reaching for Regulus’s forearm for a second before pulling back again, unsure.
“You seeing anyone?” Sirius asked, trying to keep it light.
Regulus hesitated. “Not really.”
“That cagey tone says otherwise,” Sirius smirked, cocking an eyebrow. “You’re as bad as James with his mystery boyfriend.”
James
James barely registered the clink of glasses or Dorcas’s latest round of shit-talking because Sirius had just turned to Regulus and, through a puff of cigarette smoke, said, “You’re as bad as James with his mystery boyfriend.”
James nearly choked on his drink, and Remus looks at him suspiciously. Luckily, Regulus looked calm and composed as he states “Well, isn’t James a lucky bastard.”
Sirius just leaned in to kiss Remus again, unbothered.
James dared to glance across the booth—and Regulus met his eyes. There it was. The subtle tilt of Regulus’s head toward the back hallway. A signal he’d been waiting on since they first sat down.
Regulus stood up a moment later, smoothing the sleeves of his fitted black button-up. “Gonna find the loo.”
James waited an impossibly long thirty seconds before standing up with a yawn that fooled absolutely no one. “I’ll be back,” he said, and practically power-walked down the hall.
James’s heart was hammering by the time he slipped into the dim hallway behind the bar, weaving past a stack of broken amp cases and an out-of-order jukebox, toward the single locked bathroom door.
It cracked open almost immediately. Regulus yanked him inside and slammed it shut with a sharp click of the bolt.
“Finally,” Regulus muttered, voice low and rough, and then James was shoved against the wall—hard enough to knock the breath out of him—and Regulus’s mouth was on his, devouring him.
The kiss was all teeth and tongue, like Regulus had been holding himself back for hours. James moaned into his mouth, grabbing at his shirt, his hair, sliding his hands beneath layers of cloth and skin.
“You’re going to kill me,” James gasped when they broke apart, their foreheads pressed together, breathing hard.
“You’ll die happy,” Regulus growled, his hands already unbuckling James’s belt with deft, impatient fingers. “Shut up.”
James bit back a moan as Regulus’s hand slipped inside his jeans—cool fingers wrapping around him. And then he started moving—slow at first, torturously slow, like he wanted to watch James fall apart bit by bit.
“Fuck, Reg,” James choked, head thunking back against the wall. His hands fumbled against Regulus’s back, fingers digging in, nails scraping just enough to make Regulus groan softly in return.
There was no time, no patience, just heat and friction and the sound of their breathing echoing off the tile. Regulus kissed down his neck, biting just hard enough to make James whimper, then whispered, “You’re so fucking hot. Look at you.”
James’s whole body tightened at the words. His stomach curled and his legs almost gave out, and then he whimpered “Oh, fuck….” He came hard, gasping, clinging to Regulus like he might float out of his skin if he didn’t hold on.
They stood there a moment, bodies pressed together in the aftermath, hearts pounding in sync. James finally blinked up at him, dazed. “What the fuck,” he mumbled. “What the actual fuck.”
Regulus looked infuriatingly smug. “You say that every time.”
He gave James a quick kiss—just enough to soften the sharp edges of his grin—then stepped back to fix his cuffs and smooth his shirt like they hadn’t just had a wild tryst in a bar bathroom.
James glanced at the mirror and winced. “I look like I just got dragged through a tornado and you look like a goddamn Calvin Klein ad.”
Regulus shrugged. “Some of us have composure.”
“You’re the worst,” James muttered.
“Tell me again when you’re hard for me in twenty minutes.”
James groaned.
Regulus left first. Smooth. Calm. Casually dangerous.
James gave it another full minute before slipping out and heading back to the table.
Dorcas looked at him. “You die in there?”
“Nope. Just... drafty,” James said, collapsing into his seat.
Remus gave him a look. The arched brow. The smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth that said I put this together, and I’m not telling. Yet. James pretended not to notice. Across the table, Regulus didn’t smirk—but only because he didn’t need to. His eyes said everything.
Before anyone could press further, a buzz came over the club’s little PA system. One of the organizers leaned into the mic and announced, “Tonight’s winner: Moonsick!”
The table exploded. And for a split second, James forgot about the secret burning a hole in his chest.
***
James lay with his head on Regulus’s chest, the thin sheet tangled around their legs, his fingertips tracing idle shapes against the pale skin of Regulus’s ribs. The room was quiet, lit only by the soft flicker of a dying candle on the nightstand and the glow from the city outside the high windows. Everything was warm and hazy.
Regulus had one arm slung lazily around James’s shoulder, the other hand running through his messy hair like he couldn’t stop touching him.
James exhaled slowly, then said, “I think Remus knows about us.”
Regulus stilled.
James could feel it—the way his body tensed underneath him, the way his fingers faltered for half a beat. “Yeah?”
“He gave me a look tonight. You know the kind. I think he saw something.” James tilted his head, trying to see Regulus’s expression in the dark. “He won’t say anything, though. Not unless I do.”
Regulus was quiet for a moment, jaw tight. Then, “He’ll tell Sirius.”
“Maybe.” James propped himself up on one elbow. “Maybe not.”
“He will,” Regulus said, more firmly now, eyes flicking to the ceiling. “And Sirius is going to lose his fucking mind.”
James frowned. “I mean… maybe he’ll be okay?”
Regulus gave him a sharp look. “Okay? James, he just recently stopped hating me, but it doesn’t mean he’s ready for this.”
James sighed. “Yeah, but—he’s different now. He’s got Remus. He’s not the same pissed-off teenage nightmare anymore.”
“That pissed-off teenage nightmare is still in there, just wearing better boots.” Regulus rolled onto his side to face him, eyes dark and serious. “You know how he is about control. And family. And me.”
James’s throat went dry. “I’m not giving you up.”
Regulus blinked.
“I mean it,” James said, voice low but steady. “If he wants to throw a tantrum about it, he can go ahead. But I’m not walking away from this.”
Regulus’s face softened, but only just. He reached up and brushed a thumb across James’s cheek. “You say that now. But once it blows up, and you’ve got to pick between me and the band….”
“There’s no picking.” James sat up more fully now, sheet sliding down his chest. “We’ll figure it out. You and me. And Sirius’ll come around. Or he won’t. But I’m not hiding.”
Regulus didn’t answer right away. He lay there staring up at the ceiling again, his hand still resting against James’s hip. “It’s not just Sirius,” he said quietly. “It’s the band. If this messes with the dynamic—if it causes tension—Dorcas, Lily… they matter too.”
James leaned down, kissed him slow. “You matter.”
Regulus closed his eyes like it hurt to hear.
They curled in closer again, James draped over him like he belonged there, like he wasn’t planning on moving any time soon.
They’d drifted for a while in the quiet hum of post-bliss, tangled together in sweat-slick skin and lazy warmth. But James noticed Regulus had grown quiet—still curled against him, but distant now. Somewhere else behind his eyes.
“You’re thinking too loud,” James murmured, brushing his lips against Regulus’s temple.
Regulus gave a humorless little exhale. “Something else has been bothering me.”
James shifted to look at him. “Yeah?”
Regulus hesitated, then sat up, running a hand through his hair. “My father… still doesn’t know Sirius is playing in the finals.”
James blinked, caught off guard. “Wait, what?”
“I didn’t tell him.” Regulus rubbed at his temple, tension crawling into his shoulders. “He hasn’t recognized him. He doesn’t really see musicians unless they’re wearing suits and kissing his ass. He has no idea Sirius is in The Marauders.”
James sat up straighter, the sheets pooling at his waist. “You’ve been planning this whole Battle of the Bands thing at your dad’s company, and you didn’t tell him your brother is a finalist?”
“I didn’t think it mattered,” Regulus said, exasperated. “At first I didn’t even know The Marauders would get this far. And now… I’m not exactly racing to bring it up. You saw how Thanksgiving went.”
James shook his head, still stunned. “Jesus.”
“That’s not even the worst of it,” Regulus added, more quietly now. “Whoever wins—Moonsick or The Marauders—they’re only getting the record deal if they agree to change their sound.”
James stared at him. “What?”
“To make it more radio-friendly. My father wants something clean. Polished. Commercial.” Regulus’s voice was flat now, distant. “He says grunge isn’t marketable unless it’s watered down.”
James’s mouth fell open. “You can’t be serious.”
“I’m dead serious.”
James was silent for a beat. And then his expression hardened. “You really thought we’d do that?”
Regulus looked at him, startled. “James…”
“No, seriously.” James stood up now, grabbing his jeans from the floor and stepping into them, fast and angry. “You think I’d sell out? That Sirius and Lily and Dorcas would just slap a shiny coat of gloss on everything we’ve built—just for a chance to be one of your father’s little puppets?”
Regulus’s mouth opened, then closed. “It’s not like that.”
“Isn’t it?” James’s voice cracked slightly. “You think we’re just another audition for your dad’s approval? That we’d ditch everything we believe in just so he doesn’t call us ‘filth’ like he does you?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“No, you just assumed I’d compromise. That I’d be okay with it. That maybe I was like you.”
Regulus flinched. “James…”
“You don’t know me at all if you think I’d let that happen. You don’t know any of us.”
There was a long, stinging silence between them.
Regulus, sitting on the edge of the bed, couldn’t meet his eyes. “I didn’t want it to go this way.”
James swallowed hard, chest heaving. “Yeah. Well. It just did.”
He grabbed his shirt, pulling it over his head in one sharp motion, then turned toward the door.
“James, wait…”
James looked back at him, eyes tired and betrayed. “I meant it earlier, you know. About not giving you up.”
Regulus’s face was tight with emotion. “Then don’t.”
James shook his head, bitter. “Don’t ask me to stop being me to be with you.”
And with that, he walked out the door, the latch clicking softly behind him—leaving Regulus alone in the quiet dark, staring at the space where James had been.
Notes:
Veela's Curse sounds like Smashing Pumpkins early stuff from the Gish album.
Chapter 26: December 17, 1991
Chapter Text
Evan
Evan leaned back in one of the chaise lounges by the pool, swirling the last bit of mulled wine in his cup. The backyard was strung with twinkle lights, blinking softly in the trees. Christmas wreaths were hung on the double doors. The smell of cinnamon and pine clung to the air.
Evan watched Regulus as he sat, hunched over, hands wrapped around his ankles like he was trying to hold himself together by sheer force of will. Evan had known Regulus Black for years—had seen him suave, cutting, calculating, victorious—but this was the version he saw most often now. Frayed. Exhausted. Miserable.
He sighed softly into his mug, letting the warmth of the mulled wine fill his chest.
Regulus had been miserable for a long time, even if he pretended otherwise. Evan had noticed it long before this whole Battle of the Bands mess started. Long before James Potter came into the picture and turned Regulus's insides into mush. Long before he started double-dealing himself between being a record exec’s heir and someone who wanted to be something else.
He’d tried to talk to Barty about it once. Asked if he thought Regulus would ever actually walk away from the Black family and all their poisonous grandeur.
“Regulus?” Barty had said at the time, flicking ash from a clove cigarette. “He’s been trained his whole life to think freedom is failure. He wants out, but he wants to do it in a way that still makes his father proud. You tell me if that’s possible.”
Now, sitting beside the pool, watching Regulus unravel in real time, Evan thought: It’s not.
“I’m just… screwed,” Regulus said finally, voice tight. “No matter what I do. James won’t pick up. Sirius is obviously off-limits. If my dad finds out his estranged eldest son is in the band that might win the label deal he’s personally overseeing, he’s going to lose his goddamn mind.”
Barty let out a low whistle. “That’s not just drama. That’s Dynasty-level plot twist.”
“I don’t know what I thought,” Regulus muttered, rubbing his face. “That I could juggle all of it? Be with James, keep Sirius out of Orion’s sights, let Moonsick and The Marauders both thrive without catching heat? All while pretending to be the perfect little heir to Gringotts Records? It’s delusional.”
“You know,” Barty said thoughtfully, “maybe the problem isn’t the situation. Maybe the problem is that you’re still trying to play by their rules.”
Regulus glanced at him. “Whose rules?”
“Your family’s,” Barty said. “Your dad’s. You’re trying to win a game they’ve rigged against you from the start. Maybe it’s time to stop playing it.”
Regulus snorted. “What am I supposed to do? Just walk away from everything? From the label, from all of it?”
“Why not?” Evan said, sitting up now, a little more sober. “You hate being their pawn. You’re miserable half the time. You’ve got friends who’d back you if you actually said ‘fuck it’ and did something for yourself for once.”
“And what would I do? Be James Potter’s secret boyfriend while his band hates me?”
“They don’t hate you,” Barty said, calm.
“Sirius will when he finds out I’m fucking his best friend.” Regulus let out a humorless laugh. “I screwed it all up. I told James about the label's plan to make the winning band go radio-friendly, and he looked at me like I’d kicked his puppy.”
“Did you kick his puppy?” Evan asked mildly.
“I basically told him he’d have to sell out to win.”
“Well, there’s your problem,” Barty said. “You told James Potter to compromise his artistic vision. You may as well have insulted his mom.”
They sat in silence for a minute.
“I miss him,” Regulus said quietly.
“You aren’t just fucking him, are you?” Barty asked.
Regulus sighed and went quiet for several seconds. “I think I may be in love with him.”
Barty tipped his mug toward him. “Then do something about it. Fix what you broke. And maybe, while you're at it, consider torching your father’s empire on your way out.”
Regulus looked at him sideways. “Metaphorically?”
Barty smiled serenely. “Sure.”
Evan laughed into his wine.
“I just want to be free of them,” Regulus said, voice raw now.
“Then stop asking for their permission,” Barty replied. “You’re grown. You don’t need it.”
And for the first time that night, Regulus looked like he might believe it.
Evan glanced sideways, his gaze settling on Barty, and for a moment, the whirlwind of Regulus's sorrow and the flicker of Christmas lights faded into a soft blur.
Barty sat there like he was confidence itself — legs stretched out, posture relaxed, one arm slung across the back of the chair. The firelight played along his cheekbones, and his eyes—sharp, calculating, always quietly watching. Barty was just so certain. Of himself. Of the world. Of the truth.
And it wasn’t arrogance—not really. It was conviction. Evan had seen him dismantle men twice his age with just a few words. He’d seen him give advice—cutting precisely, only as necessary, always to heal. And tonight, watching Barty lean forward, one hand resting lightly on Regulus’s knee as he spoke with that low, steady voice, Evan thought: he could rule the world if he wanted.
And maybe someday, he would.
Evan sipped his wine and tried not to look too lovestruck. But it was no use. His chest was practically swelling.
Because it wasn’t just that Barty was brilliant, or brave, or ruthless in the best ways. It was that he chose Evan. That this glowing, impossible man with the wit and the heart let Evan see all the softness he hid from everyone else. The late-night laughter. The sleepy I-love-yous. The way he pressed their foreheads together in the dark and whispered, I’ve got you. Always.
Evan smiled into his mug, heart full to the brim.
James
The lights were low in Godric’s Hollow, Led Zeppelin playing softly on the jukebox. James and Sirius sat side by side at the bar, nursing beers. James took a long pull from his bottle, then exhaled hard through his nose. “I’ve gotta tell you something,” he said finally, not looking at Sirius. “And it’s... kind of big.”
Sirius raised an eyebrow, cradling his beer between his hands. “You didn’t knock anyone up, did you?”
James huffed a laugh. “No. Worse.”
“Christ.”
“I’ve been talking to Regulus.”
There was a beat of silence. Sirius’s whole body went still. “You what?”
James finally turned to him, eyes earnest. “I know. I should’ve told you. But it just kind of... happened. And then it kept happening.”
Sirius blinked, shaking his head slightly like he was trying to clear it. “I…okay. That’s…okay, that’s not even the big thing, is it?”
James blew out a breath. “Nope. Regulus told me Orion doesn’t know you’re in the finals.”
Sirius sat upright. “What?”
“Yeah. Apparently your name’s not listed on anything and Regulus’s kept it off all the promo materials going to his dad. He’s been terrified about it.”
Sirius stood up, pacing a tight circle, his beer dangling from one hand. “So what, Orion’s going to show up to the finals and see me onstage and then what? Explode? Try to have me arrested? What the fuck, James?”
“I know. It’s bad.”
“Does Regulus even care what happens when my psycho father finds out?”
“He does,” James said quietly. “He’s scared, Sirius. He’s still stuck in that company, in that world. He thinks it’s all going to blow up.”
Sirius stopped pacing, jaw clenched. “Yeah, well, he’s not wrong.”
James looked down at the bottle in his hands, turning it slowly. “There’s more.”
“Of course there is.”
James hesitated, then said, “The winner of the finals? They don’t actually get to record unless they agree to change their sound. Orion’s forcing Regulus to make it radio-friendly. Slicker. Safer. No edge.”
Sirius stared at him. “You’re joking.”
“I wish I was.”
“Fuck that.” Sirius barked a laugh, furious and bitter. “We aren’t going to do that. Remus isn’t going to do that.”
James shook his head. “I told Regulus the same thing. I said he didn’t know us at all if he thought we’d go for it.”
“And?”
“And then nothing.” James looked up, eyes burning. “I don’t want it, Sirius. Not like this.”
Sirius dropped back onto his stool, scrubbing a hand down his face. “So what do we do?”
“We talk to the bands,” James said. “Tell Remus, tell Lily, tell Dorcas. Tell Peter and Marlene. If they all feel the same way…”
“We back out.”
“Yeah. We let the whole thing burn.”
Sirius leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling. “Jesus.”
“Yeah.”
Silence stretched between them for a minute, heavy but not unwelcome.
Finally, Sirius muttered, “Can’t believe I’m saying this, but I kind of feel bad for Regulus.”
Sirius was still leaning back, eyes closed like the ceiling might offer some divine clarity. The tension in his jaw had only barely started to ease when James spoke again.
“I have… one more thing to tell you.”
Sirius cracked one eye open. “You’re really stacking the gut punches tonight, man.”
James looked wrecked. Absolutely gutted. He didn’t laugh. Didn’t deflect. He just stared at the label on his beer, fingers gripping the glass bottle a little too tightly.
Sirius straightened up, alarm prickling at the back of his neck. “What is it?”
James swallowed hard. “I think… I think you might hate me after I say it.”
Sirius blinked. “James.”
James didn’t look at him.
“James. Come on. There’s literally nothing you could say that would make me hate you. You’re my brother.”
James lifted his eyes slowly, meeting Sirius’s with quiet intensity. “Regulus. The mystery boyfriend… it was Regulus.”
The room was dead silent. The only sound was the soft clink of glass as Sirius set his beer down on the bar.
James went still. “Say something.”
For a moment, Sirius didn’t move. Didn’t speak. He just stared at James, the words not landing all at once but one after the other, like bricks dropped on his chest.
“No,” Sirius said quietly. “No fucking way.”
“It wasn’t supposed to happen…”
“Are you kidding me?” Sirius shot up from the stool, the cigarette dropping to the floor. He didn’t notice. “You’ve been fucking my brother?”
James stood too, eyes wide, hands half-raised. “It wasn’t like that—Sirius, listen….”
“For how long?”
“A month.”
“A month?!” Sirius’s voice rose so sharp it made James wince. “You were sneaking around with him this whole time? You’re the one person I thought would never betray me like that.”
“I didn’t betray you,” James said, suddenly firm. “It wasn’t about you, Sirius. I liked him. I thought he liked me. But now he’s said shit that made me realize he never even knew me.”
“Oh, so now you’re the victim?” Sirius laughed, bitter and loud. “You were fucking Regulus while lying to me.”
James stepped forward. “You said nothing could make you hate me.”
Sirius’s eyes blazed. “Yeah, well—I was wrong.”
That silence was worse than yelling. Worse than anything. James froze, gut twisting.
Sirius grabbed his leather jacket from the back of the chair and stormed toward the door.
“Where are you going?”
“To see Remus,” Sirius said over his shoulder. “Someone who doesn’t lie to me.”
And then the door slammed.
James stood at the bar, the echo of it ringing in his ears.
And his best friend—his brother—was gone.
Remus
Remus looked up, startled, as the front door slammed open with a bang that shook the frame. The teacup in his hand rattled against the saucer. Across from him, Minerva McGonagall—his formidable landlady and sometime confidante—stiffened mid-sip, eyebrows rising above the rim of her delicate china teacup.
“Sirius…” Remus began, already on his feet.
“You are not going to fucking believe this!” Sirius roared, storming into the apartment with a wild energy like a thundercloud had possessed him. “James. Fucking. Potter. Has been sleeping with my brother!”
There was a long pause.
McGonagall cleared her throat, set her cup down with a quiet clink, and said, “Well. That’s certainly not what I expected when I agreed to tea.”
Remus pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sirius, please, maybe just...maybe wait until she’s gone….”
“No!” Sirius spun around, eyes wild. “This can’t wait, Remus! Do you have any idea what kind of betrayal this is? I’ve been hiding from my family for years, and now James—James, who’s basically my brother—is off sneaking around with my actual brother behind my back like it’s some Romeo and Juliet but gay and cursed kind of bullshit!”
Sirius was pacing now, frantic and furious. “And that’s not even the worst of it, Moons. No—Regulus, the little snake, has been orchestrating this whole Battle of the Bands circus with one hand and sabotaging us with the other. And guess what—whoever wins has to sell out. Has to change their sound to something more ‘radio-friendly’ like some vanilla corporate pop bullshit so his precious record label can package us like a fucking Lunchable.”
Remus blinked. “What?”
“Oh, it gets worse! Regulus never told Orion that I’m in the competition. If our father finds out—if he finds out I’m playing guitar in a bar with eyeliner on—he’ll burn the entire city to the ground. And Regulus is just sitting there playing both sides like he’s not terrified of our father. Like he hasn’t been covering his ass this whole time.”
Remus took a careful step toward him. “Sirius. Sit. Please.”
Sirius didn’t sit. He whirled around to McGonagall, his eyes flashing. “Do you have any sage wisdom to offer, or are you just gonna sit there?”
She stood up, smoothing down her cardigan. “Actually, yes. I do.”
Sirius blinked.
McGonagall fixed him with the most terrifying stare, sharp enough to slice granite. “Feelings are messy. Family is messier. But sabotaging your future out of spite won’t solve anything. Nor will yelling in someone’s parlor. I suggest you drink some water, take a walk, and remember that the only people who get to define your music are you and your band. Not your brother. Not your father. And certainly not a contract drawn up by suits who wouldn’t know authenticity if it bit them in the ass.”
Sirius’s mouth fell open.
“And if your brothers – your real one and your best friend – have found love with one another…isn’t that something to celebrate? Why would you deny something that precious to two people you profess to care about.”
Remus whispered, “She does this.”
McGonagall turned toward the door, then paused. “Also, Remus? Lovely tea. Let’s do this again sometime when your boyfriend isn’t auditioning for Macbeth.”
And with that, she swept out, leaving the door gently ajar.
Sirius dropped onto the couch, deflated. “She’s kind of amazing.”
Remus handed him a cup of lukewarm tea. “She really is.”
They sat in silence for a long beat.
Finally, Sirius muttered, “I still want to murder James.”
Remus shrugged. “Maybe just maim him a little.”
Sirius clinked his cup against Remus’s. “Compromise.”
Chapter 27: December 24, 1991
Chapter Text
James
The car crunched up the gravel drive, headlights sweeping across the porch of Effie and Monty’s house. The windows glowed gold against the evening darkness, a flickering promise of warmth and something like home. Before the car even fully stopped, Sirius flung open the door.
"Christmas, baby!" he shouted, leaping out into the cold, arms wide, stomping through the leaves. "Let the pagan festivities begin!"
“You’ve been listening to too much Bowie again,” Peter muttered, climbing out behind him, grinning despite himself.
Remus followed, hands stuffed into the pockets of his coat, scarf wrapped around his neck. He took a long breath of the pine-scented air and smiled. “He’s not wrong though. This place looks like a solstice postcard.”
James was last to emerge, dragging his feet just a little. He hoisted the gift bag from the trunk and stared up at the lights wound around the porch railing, his smile flickering like a dying match. “Looks good,” he said quietly.
The door opened before they even knocked.
"Get in here, you wild animals!" Effie called, laughing, her bracelets jingling as she waved them in. “You’re letting the heat out.”
Sirius swept her into a dramatic hug. “Effie, my queen of yuletide. You’ve outdone yourself.”
Monty appeared behind her, grinning in his flannel shirt and knit beanie. “Hope you’re all hungry. Effie made enough food for a commune.”
Peter stepped inside and stopped short, staring up at the fireplace where six stockings hung in a tidy row. The last two—bright red with gold embroidery—had their names.
"Wait, you hung stockings for us?" he asked, his voice soft with surprise.
“Of course we did,” Effie said warmly, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “You’re part of the gang now. This is a full-family affair.”
Remus approached his stocking slowly, touched the corner of it with careful fingers. “You even got my name right.”
“I double-checked with James,” she said. “Didn’t want to embroider ‘Reemus’ and look like a fool.”
They peeled off coats and boots, tossed bags near the tree, and collapsed into the couch and beanbags clustered around the hearth. The Pretenders hummed softly through the stereo—Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas—slow and a little dreamy. The scent of baked brie and rosemary drifted through the house.
Sirius had already made himself comfortable, legs flung over the arm of the couch, holding a little rice cracker topped with fig and goat cheese. “Okay. I don’t know what this is,” he said, chewing thoughtfully, “but I want twelve more.”
“They’re from that co-op cookbook Lily gave me,” Effie called from the kitchen. “Page marked ‘stoner-friendly small plates.’”
Remus chuckled, sinking into the beanbag next to Sirius. “She knows her audience.”
Peter had three deviled eggs on a paper napkin and was double fisting cider and beer. “Did you guys see the moon on the way up here? It looked… unreal. Like something out of E.T..”
“Alright, Spielberg,” Sirius teased, nudging him with his foot. “Getting sentimental on Christmas Eve?”
Remus took a seat in the corner of the couch with a cider in hand, eyes moving carefully between Sirius and James. Sirius hadn’t looked up since James walked in.
The two of them were on opposite ends of the room. Sirius lounged with his boots on the edge of the coffee table, a faint smirk ghosting over his mouth as he reached for a stuffed mushroom. James stood near the fire, hands in his pockets, jaw tight.
They didn’t speak.
And everyone noticed.
Effie kept moving, offering food, cracking jokes, touching shoulders. The Christmas album shifted to Stevie Nick’s Silent Night , slow and aching, as they all curled a little closer to the fire. The lights dimmed to a low amber glow.
When Sirius finally did glance up, it was sharp and fleeting. James didn’t meet his eyes. Just stared into the fire, face unreadable in the flickering light.
Sirius clicked his tongue and leaned back, taking a long sip of cider. “You’d think with all the peace and love in this room, we’d be able to at least fake it.”
Peter looked between them, blinking. “Are we... not faking it?”
Effie clapped her hands once, too loudly. “Who wants pot brownies?”
That got a laugh from Peter. Even Remus smiled, though his eyes lingered on James. Sirius didn’t answer. James didn’t either.
The fire crackled.
The tension didn’t break over cider. Not over fig jam, not over Monty’s too-strong mulled wine. It simmered, quiet and dense like fog in the bones, hanging between James and Sirius no matter how many times Peter tried to loop them into the same conversation or how gently Effie nudged a tray toward them both at once.
Eventually, James slipped out the back door without a word, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, breath clouding in the cold night air. The back patio was strung with old fairy lights, and beyond it the woods stretched out, dark and still, pine trees black against a silver sky.
Sirius followed a moment later, shutting the door with more force than necessary.
“You avoiding me now?” he said, voice low and sharp. “Or just too busy thinking about how great my brother is in bed?”
James doesn’t turn around. He closed his eyes, lets out a long breath that turns into steam. “Don’t do that.”
“Don’t do what?” Sirius snapped. “Say the thing out loud that we’ve been trying really hard not to talk about?”
James turned to face him finally, jaw clenched. “I didn’t plan for this to happen. You know that.”
Sirius laughed—one sharp, bitter sound. “Oh, well, as long as it wasn’t premeditated. You really thought you could sleep with Regulus and keep it quiet forever?”
“I wasn’t trying to hide it.”
“No? Then what were you doing, James?” Sirius’s voice rose, just a notch. “Because the last time I checked, Regulus is still my brother – even though we haven’t been close in years. He’s still the kid who used to follow me around in a stupid cape and want to be just like me.”
“He’s not a kid anymore.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” Sirius shouted. “Don’t you think I hate it? That he turned into someone I don’t even recognize while I was busy... doing this…” He gestured vaguely toward the house, the city, the whole life they’ve built. “And you are supposed to be my best friend. We tell each other everything!” Sirius stopped his rant long enough for a soft smirk to form on his lips. “Like you even told me about that time that you were so into fantasizing about your algebra teacher that you accidentally jizzed during class. Everything, James!”
“Oh Jesus, Sirius! Are you ever going to stop bringing that one up?” James widened his eyes and threw up his hands. “I didn’t start things with Regulus because I wanted to hurt you. I got carried away, like I tend to do with things, and before I knew it I was in deep.”
Silence stretches between them. The wind rustles through the trees like something breathing.
“He and I had a huge fight,” James says finally, voice low. “A few days ago. I kind of stormed out of his apartment and haven’t talked to him since.”
Sirius stares at him, anger cracking just slightly at the edges. “So what now?”
“I don’t know,” James murmurs. “But I miss him. Like... ache-in-my-gut miss him.”
For a moment, Sirius looks like he might say something cruel. But then he exhales and rubs a hand over the back of his neck.
“You’re still a jackass,” he mutters. “But I guess you’re my jackass.”
James almost smiles.
Sirius points a finger at him, stern. “You can date him. I won’t stop you. But don’t expect my blessing. I don’t have it in me.”
James nods. “Fair enough.”
They stand there in silence for a beat longer, the kind of silence that only exists between people who’ve known each other half their lives and still manage to surprise each other.
Then Sirius heads back inside, leaving the door open behind him.
James stays a little longer. Watches the stars flicker through the trees. Then he slips back in through the kitchen and quietly picks up the phone from the wall. He curls the cord absent-mindedly around his fingers. He dials the number by heart.
The line rings once. Twice. Then the soft click of Regulus’s answering machine picks up, his voice low and even: “You know what to do.”
James closes his eyes.
“Reg,” he says, voice breaking almost immediately. “It’s me. I know I’m the last person you want to hear from right now. And I don’t even know if you’re checking these. But I... I needed to say something. Or everything. I don’t know.”
He paces slowly, the cord pulling taut behind him.
“I meant what I said about The Marauders not selling out, but I shouldn’t have taken it out on you—I know how your relationship is with your father and I know you weren’t asking us to change. I don’t want to be without you. I miss you every second. I miss how you laugh when you’re not trying to be cool, I miss the way you always know what I’m in the mood for at breakfast. I miss the funny way your hair sticks up in the morning.” He laughs softly, voice catching. “I miss you. I miss us.”
There’s a pause, breath thick with emotion.
“Merry Christmas, Regulus.”
He hangs up slowly.
And then he leans his forehead against the wall, eyes shut, listening to his family and friends laughing in the next room. After a couple minutes, he pastes on a big smile and goes to join them.
Effie
The house had finally settled.
Effie stood alone in the warm hush of the living room, dimly lit by the fire’s dying glow and the twinkle of the tree lights. A plate with a few half-eaten spinach rolls sat on the coffee table. Someone’s sock—Peter’s, probably—was crumpled near the arm of the couch. Empty glasses sat on the coffee table next to Sirius’s pack of cigarettes and his Zippo.
She exhaled slowly, her hands resting on the mantle as she looked down at the stockings.
Her boys. Both of them, plus a bonus two this year, under her roof for Christmas. It filled her heart with joy.
She knelt beside the fireplace, the rug warm beneath her knees, and gently began her work. Each stocking was carefully stitched, made with love and affection.
For James, she placed a sleek silver watch inside. Something grown-up and handsome, something to remind him he didn’t have to race through life to prove his worth. She’d watched him all evening—smiling too hard, laughing a little too loudly, like he was trying to keep something from unraveling. Poor boy. Always falling so fast, so deep. She’d seen the tired ache behind his eyes. Effie didn’t know the full story—just that he looked like he was carrying something heavy, and trying to pretend he wasn’t.
She tucked a chocolate bar beside the watch, slid a candy cane into the loop, and added a little paperback of poetry by Sylvia Plath.
For Sirius, she smiled to herself before slipping a slim silver bracelet into his stocking. Matched with the one for Remus, tucked into the next stocking over. They were understated, cool, simple things. Not declarations, just acknowledgements. She wasn’t blind. She’d seen the way they watched each other, the push and pull, the electric silence. She didn’t know where it was going, but she hoped, selfishly, that it would be somewhere good. For both of them.
She added their bracelets, a handful of peppermint bark, dark chocolate, and for each of them, a worn little book. For Sirius, a used copy of The Picture of Dorian Gray. For Remus, The Stranger, dog-eared and lovingly inscribed by her own hand years ago.
Peter’s stocking was last. She folded a soft cashmere scarf—navy blue plaid—and tucked it in gently. Peter was always so eager to be helpful, to fit, to earn his place. She wished he knew he didn’t have to. That he already did. She added a copy of 1984, and a handful of sweets she knew he loved.
Four stockings, full and swaying slightly with the draft from the chimney. She stepped back and looked at them all—James, Sirius, Remus, Peter—and her heart ached with something enormous. Pride. Worry. Fierce love. The hope that they might all be okay.
“I just want their dreams to come true,” she whispered to the empty room, her eyes shining a little.
She stood slowly, her knees creaking, and turned off the last of the lights. Upstairs, Monty was waiting—probably half-asleep with a book resting on his chest and the bedside lamp still on.
When she slipped into the bedroom, sure enough, he stirred and blinked at her. “You finish playing Santa?” he mumbled, setting the book aside.
“Mmhm,” she murmured, crawling into bed beside him.
He lifted the blanket and wrapped it around her as she curled close, her cold hands finding the warmth of his chest. He kissed her temple without asking anything else.
Effie let her eyes close, holding him tight, listening to the quiet of the house she loved, full of boys she loved more than they could possibly know.
Christmas had come.
And for a little while, at least, they were all home.
Sirius
Sirius lay back on the roof, the cold shingles pressing against his back, and looked up at the stars without really seeing them. Remus was beside him—quiet, steady, warm under the blanket they shared. His shoulder pressed into Sirius’s, his hand resting between them, just barely brushing Sirius’s knuckles. He smelled like pine and wool and faintly like the cider they’d been drinking all night.
Sirius could feel the words in his chest. I love you.
They’d been rising for days, maybe weeks.
He thought it again. I love you.
It echoed through him like a bassline he couldn’t shake, humming just beneath his skin.
He didn’t say it. Couldn’t. Saying it would make it real, and real meant vulnerable. Real meant risking the way Remus looked at him now—like he saw everything and still wanted more. Real meant that if it all crumbled later, it would take him with it.
He'd been in relationships before. A couple had lasted close the four and a half months he’d been with Remus. Lust and rebellion, all tangled up in someone else’s bed. But this—his Moony—was different. Remus, who made space for his silences. Remus, who listened when Sirius snapped, who never flinched away from his darkness. Remus, who read in corners and made biting jokes and looked at Sirius like he was worth something, just for being himself.
He looked over at Remus now, at the curl of hair escaping his beanie, at the way his lips were slightly chapped from the wind. And the words rose up again, caught behind Sirius’s teeth.
I love you.
His heart was beating too fast. It felt impossible, and also like it had always been true.
He swallowed it. Again.
“What are you thinking about?” Remus whispered, turning to look at him.
“There,” Sirius murmured, pointing upward. “Canis Major. The Dog Star. That bright one? That’s me.”
Remus smiled, leaning against him.
Sirius looked up again, searching the sky. “Leo’s up there too. Regulus. That’s his.” His voice dimmed, the name weighted. “Funny, how we’re written into the stars. Like we didn’t have a choice.”
“And me?” Remus asked, his voice quiet, teasing. “Where’s the moon?”
Sirius turned, and in the starlight, Remus looked like something carved out of shadow and light. Beautiful and steady.
“Everywhere,” Sirius said. “You’re everywhere.”
And then Remus leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to the side of his jaw. His breath ghosted against Sirius’s ear as he whispered, “I love you, Sirius.”
Sirius froze.
His eyes snapped to Remus’s like he wasn’t sure he’d heard right. “What?”
Remus searched his face hesitantly. “I said I love you.”
The silence that followed felt infinite. Sirius blinked, mouth parting, but no words came at first. Just the look, the stunned, overwhelmed look of someone who’d wanted to believe this was real but hadn’t dared.
“Say it again,” he rasped.
Remus kissed him then, deeper this time, pouring it all into the way his hands cradled Sirius’s face, the way he pulled him close.
“I love you,” he murmured again against his lips.
And Sirius leaned into the kiss, into the moment, into the truth he’d been holding back. Sirius gripped the back of Remus’s neck, breathing hard, lips moving between his mouth and cheek and throat, and finally whispered into his skin, “I love you too, Moony. God, I do.”
Later, they climbed back in through the window, laughing softly, trying not to trip over their boots in the dark. They slipped under the covers and leaned into to grasp each other, kisses turning into promises. The night folded in around them. Outside the window, the stars and the moon burned brightly.
Chapter 28: December 26, 1991
Chapter Text
Regulus
The party on Christmas Eve had been everything Walburga Black could have hoped for—glitz, status, control. A grand piano in the foyer, four bartenders stationed throughout the house, a sea of sequins and tailored suits. Someone from New Kids on the Block had spilled champagne on a vintage Persian rug, and no one had blinked.
Regulus had arrived late with Amy on his arm—a friend from college, beautiful, and most importantly, willing. She lit up in the presence of fame, charming Walburga with practiced grace.
His mother had beamed. “This one has taste, Regulus. About time.”
Even Orion had been cordial, shaking Amy’s hand and offering her a drink like he gave a damn.
Regulus had spent most of the evening perched on the arm of a velvet sofa, watching Amy laugh with an up-and-coming boy bander whose face was plastered all over Charmed! magazine. His champagne glass had refilled itself like magic. The bubbles had been softening the sharpness in his chest until…
“Regulus Black,” had come the familiar, preening voice. “You’re a vision of brooding discontent.”
Gilderoy Lockhart, host of the syndicated dating television show Magical Hearts, had arrived beside him like a bad idea. He had shimmered in a well-tailored lavender suit. Not a hair on his golden hair had been out of place. His teeth had sparkled. Literally.
“You look like the cover of a shoegaze album. Where the band is standing in a field and everyone’s sad and wearing black.”
“Happy holidays, Gilderoy,” Regulus had muttered.
“Oh, don’t pout. I’ve always liked you better when you pretend you don’t hate me. Who’s the girl? She’s divine. If you’re not careful, I might steal her.”
“You’d have to get past the boy bander first,” Regulus had said, dryly.
Gilderoy had grinned. “Please. I’ve out-charmed bigger fame and tighter pants.”
Regulus had shrugged and left him still laughing to himself. He’d found Orion having a smoke in his study, sipping something dark and expensive, gazing out the window like he expected someone more important to arrive.
“I want to talk about the Battle of the Bands deal,” Regulus had started.
Orion hadn’t looked at him. “Not now.”
“I think we’re missing something. These bands—Moonsick, The Marauders – the ones in the final next week—they’re good. Raw, yes, but there’s a market for it. If we got in on the ground level…”
“No,” Orion had snapped. “We are not throwing this label’s reputation away on ripped clothing and screaming.”
“They’re not screaming. They're saying something.”
“They’re garbage, Regulus. Unsellable. And if you can't understand that, maybe you're just as useless as your brother.”
Regulus had stiffened. “Sirius is in The Marauders.”
Orion had turned. “What?”
“Sirius. That’s his band. He’s the singer.”
Orion’s glass had hit the desk with a sharp crack. “And you want me to invest in that? That disgrace? You think I’ll fund his adolescent rebellion, let his filth drag this company down?”
“I think you’re scared because the world is changing and you refuse to change with it.”
Orion’s hand had lashed out—fast, practiced. Regulus had staggered backward, jaw aching, vision white-hot.
Silence.
Then Orion had straightened his cuffs, voice low and cold. “Get out of my house.”
Regulus hadn’t argued. He’d walked back into the ballroom, found Walburga talking with a local weatherman. “I don’t think I’ll be at dinner tomorrow.” He’d said.
She hadn’t looked at him. “There’s no dinner. Your father and I are flying to New York in the morning.” No goodbye. Not even a glance.
He’d noticed Amy laughing in the lap of the boy bander, twirling her hair, blissfully unaware. Regulus hadn’t stopped her, hadn’t said a word. He’d just walked out into the cold night, coat slung over one shoulder, champagne still humming in his veins, and gone home alone.
The apartment had been quiet when he stumbled in, stripping off his coat and letting it fall to the floor. He’d bypassed the light switch, choosing instead the familiar dark—just the flickering of the streetlamp outside his window casting long shadows across the hardwood.
The voicemail light on his answering machine had been blinking red.
One new message.
He’d pressed play. And then James’s voice had filled the room. Low. Hoarse. Almost apologetic. It had started off trying to sound casual—like he wasn’t calling on Christmas Eve like a man unraveling—but it had cracked before the end of the first sentence. “…I miss you, I miss us…Merry Christmas, Reg.”
Regulus had sat on the floor, back against the couch, a bottle of whiskey half-empty by the time he’d hit replay. Again. And again. And again. James’s voice growing more and more familiar, anchoring him to the floor so he couldn’t move – if he couldn’t have him here, he just wanted to hear his voice.
He’d fallen asleep there, still dressed, head tilted awkwardly, and woken up on Christmas morning with a pounding skull, cottonmouth, and a crick in his neck.
Christmas day had passed in a blur of silence. He’d taken a shower and gotten in bed, the curtains drawn. A novel had lain open beside him, barely read. He’d kept staring at the same page. Wondering if James was serious or had just been drinking. Wondering if he should call. He hadn’t.
He left, Regulus had reminded himself. Like it was easy. Like I didn’t matter.
But the truth, the one buried deep beneath all the hurt, was that Regulus knew he’d forgive him. Of course he would.
By evening, the silence had felt too heavy to bear. He’d pulled on a coat and sunglasses despite the gloom and walked to the corner Chinese place with the flickering neon sign. The cashier had given him a free extra egg roll—a pity egg roll, he’d thought bitterly—as if his loneliness was written all over his face.
He’d gone home, sat cross-legged on the couch, and watched old reruns of game shows and infomercials, half-laughing at nothing, chopsticks in one hand, his heart aching in his chest.
***
Regulus sat behind his desk at the office, the sharp clack of a clock the only sound breaking the post-holiday stillness. The lights were too bright. His coffee was too bitter. Christmas was gone, and now all that was left is the pile-up of everything he’s been avoiding.
He had decisions to make.
The Battle of the Bands was looming closer. It was his idea, his brainchild, and his risk—his chance to prove to himself, and the world, that he’s not just a Black, not just another suit. After his father told him it would fail. Would the bands even agree to play now that there was potentially no record deal on the table?
Then there’s Gringotts Records, his day job. The place his father handed him a position in, the family’s so-called legacy. A label that still refuses to sign the bands he believes in. Staying means playing by their rules. But leaving? What does that even look like? Where would he go? Who would he be?
And then, there’s his life. His actual life—the one outside offices and deals and press releases. The one that involves a voicemail he hasn’t responded to. A man he’s probably still in love with. A loneliness that feels more like a condition than a mood lately.
He doesn’t have the answers yet. But he knows he has to choose something soon.
Peter
They were all crowded around a large circular table at the back of Ollivander’s, nursing mugs of coffee and pastries, jackets tossed over chairs. Sirius had already stolen someone’s biscotti and was dunking it dramatically.
"So… we’re really both doing this whole Battle thing even though the record deal's bullshit?" James asked, pushing his glasses up with one hand and stirring his drink with the other.
Marlene scoffed. "It’s a joke. Regulus Black promising a contract he can’t actually offer? Who’s surprised?"
Remus sat back, arms slung over his knees. "Still a big gig."
"Big crowd, probably press, maybe other record execs," Lily added. She glanced at Dorcas, who shrugged, clearly indifferent but present.
Sirius banged his fist on the table, rattling the silverware. "Fuck Gringotts. Who needs ‘em?" He lit a cigarette and passed it to Remus. "We never wanted to play for a suit. Even if the suit is my emotionally constipated little brother."
Remus gave him a look but didn’t argue. Instead, he said, "It’s still a big stage. Big crowd. That’s worth something."
Lily sipped her latte and tilted her head. "We’d get exposure. Even without a deal, other industry people will see us. Hear us."
"Fuck exposure," Sirius said, flicking sugar packets across the table. "We’re not playing to get signed. We’re playing to blow everyone’s mind."
The waiter—a guy Peter recognized as the singer for Durmstrang, that band that The Howlers had beaten in the first round of the Battle of the Bands, overheard and muttered just loud enough, "Regulus Black can’t organize his own closet, let alone a real scene. He’s just a wannabe in designer jeans."
There was a pause. Not long, but tense. Sirius stood slowly, the legs of his chair scraping across the old wooden floor. "You wanna repeat that for me?"
James stood too. Not quite as aggressive, but his tone was steel. "Don’t talk about him like that. You don’t know him."
"Oh come on, what—now you’re both suddenly loyal to Regulus Black?"
Sirius’s smile was cold. "No. But I don’t need to be loyal to him to recognize you’re an asshole."
The waiter raised his hands and slunk off. Conversation resumed with a low buzz. James sat back down slowly, glancing toward the fogged-up windows. His jaw was tight.
Dorcas, breaking the silence, grinned and raised her mug. "So we play the Battle. We kill it. We don’t owe Gringotts or Regulus or anyone a damn thing."
"We owe it to ourselves," Lily said, nodding.
"We do it," Remus confirmed, giving Sirius a small look that only he caught. Sirius nodded back and kicked his boots up onto a chair.
In the corner, Peter wrapped his fingers around his mug. He stared at the steam curling off his coffee, trying to smile at the others’ excitement.
Truth was, he would’ve changed the band’s sound. He would’ve gone cleaner, more commercial. He’d have softened the edge if it meant a deal, a paycheck, maybe something solid to show his parents. But he knew better than to say that out loud. He just nodded like he agreed, and tried not to feel like he didn’t quite belong in the rebellion.
Alice
The warehouse still smelled like mildew, like dust that had been kicked up by boots pounding through long rehearsals and late-night songwriting sessions. Alice Fortescue stood by the cracked window, letting a breeze cool her face, her hands wrapped around a Diet Pepsi. Across the room, Frank tuned his guitar, Gideon drummed an idle rhythm on his thighs, and Fabian…Fabian was back.
He looked thinner than he had, tired in a way that even sleep couldn’t fix. But his eyes were clearer now—brighter, alert. Present. It was the first time they’d all been in a room together since before Fabian had disappeared into rehab weeks ago, and Alice could feel the energy shift every time someone looked at him. No one said it aloud, but the tension was there, lingering just below the reunion smiles and cautious laughter.
Three years ago, it had been easy. Just four kids with a shitty van and a dream. They’d met at a club in Silver Lake—Fabian and Gideon were crashing at some dive with spray-painted walls, Frank had just quit another band, and Alice had walked in on open mic night and blown the roof off. They jammed once in someone's garage and that was it. The Howlers were born.
They'd toured the coast together, sleeping on floors from Portland to San Diego. It was in Seattle they first ran into Moonsick. Remus had been chain-smoking outside a record store, and Peter offered them a ride they didn’t need. The bands had clicked.
The first time she’d seen the track marks, it had been after a gig in Oakland. Fabian had passed out in the back of the van, shirt pulled halfway up, and Alice caught the constellation of bruises on his arms. Gideon had noticed them too. He hadn’t said anything at first—just clenched his jaw and drove the rest of the night in silence, fingers white on the wheel. But the silence hadn’t lasted.
There’d been screaming matches. Fights in the rehearsal space. Gideon punching a wall so hard he broke two knuckles. Alice and Frank trying to keep the band together while it all crumbled underneath them. The shows had gotten sloppier. Fabian would nod off mid-soundcheck. Once he’d disappeared before a gig and they found him hours later curled up behind a dumpster in Venice Beach, out of his mind, murmuring lyrics that didn’t exist.
And yet, despite all that, they’d been good. Good enough to secure the spot in the Battle of the Bands. Fab had promised, to everyone and to himself, that he’d really show up at the shows. And for the first round, he’d done it. They’d been tight, probably played as well together as they ever had. But the second round? That had been different. Alice had been furious, Frank had been disappointed, and Gideon – he’d be scared.
Alice frowned at the memory, but it faded when she looked at Fabian again. He was sitting on the amp case, picking at the strap of his bass like he didn’t know how to hold it anymore. His eyes flicked around the room like he was waiting for someone to tell him he didn’t belong.
“So,” Gideon said, leaning his drumsticks against his shoulder. “Madam Malkin’s for New Year’s Eve? We’re all going, right? Battle of the Bands. Moonsick’s playing. So are The Marauders.”
“Yeah,” Frank said. “Be good to see everyone. And no pressure, Fabian—you don’t have to come if it’s too much.”
Fabian looked up, a flicker of panic behind his eyes. “No, I want to. I wanna be there.”
Alice crossed the room, sat next to him. “Then we’ll make a plan. No drinking, no smoking pot. We’ll go in together, leave together. You tell us what you need.”
Gideon nodded. “We’ll all stay sober that night. For you.”
Fabian’s lips parted slightly, like he didn’t believe what he was hearing. His voice cracked. “You guys don’t have to do that.”
Frank smiled, crooked and warm. “We want to.”
Alice watched Fabian swallow hard and nod, wiping at his eye with the sleeve of his hoodie. She took a breath and let her heart settle. These were her people. Messy, loud, imperfect. And she’d go down swinging for every one of them.
Let him be okay, she thought. Let him make it.
They started warming up. It was rusty and awkward at first. But it would come back. It always did. The Howlers were still here. And they weren’t going anywhere.
Chapter 29: December 31, 1991
Chapter Text
Remus
Madame Malkin’s didn’t look like a club tonight—it looked like a dream. Glittering silver streamers hung from the rafters, catching the flicker of the fairy lights that wrapped around exposed pipes and vintage chandeliers. The crowd was dense, but the energy was buzzing and euphoric. It was New Year’s Eve, and The Marauders were on stage, setting the place on fire.
Remus stood in the crowd, slightly tucked to the side with Peter, Marlene, Emmeline, and Pandora. The bass from James’s guitar vibrated through the floor, and Sirius’s voice howled through the speakers like it was made for this room, for this night. The way they moved together—their precision, their passion—it was impossible not to be swept up in it.
Marlene stood beside him in a torn-up Melvins shirt, fishnets, and Doc Martens, her hair streaked with crimson and teal. Pandora, as usual, looked like she'd walked out of a time-traveling fashion closet—tonight she wore a sequined blazer over a long white satin slip-dress, and mismatched earrings that sparkled when she turned her head. Emmeline, classy and grunge, rocked a crushed velvet dress with a band tee knotted over it and black lipstick.
Remus couldn’t stop watching Sirius.
Before the show, he’d pulled each of them aside, quietly murmuring “good luck” like it was a charm. When he’d found Sirius backstage, it was like deja vu—he had quite literally run into him at that first show months ago. He remembered the way Sirius had looked at him then: with curiosity, with spark. Remus had been instantly starstruck.
He still was.
Now, Sirius wore a thin white t-shirt that clung to his back with sweat and tight leather pants that left nothing to the imagination. Under the harsh lights, he glowed. He looked like sin and salvation rolled into one beautiful man with a smirk and a voice like fire.
Remus was still on a high from the night before. They’d stayed up late in bed, talking in hushed whispers. When Sirius had rolled over and reached for his hand, Remus had seen it—a new tattoo on his wrist, tiny and black and simple that said “Moony.”
He hadn’t said anything at the time. Just kissed Sirius until neither of them could breathe.
Now, as the set built toward a final crescendo, Remus’s heart swelled. He knew, without a doubt, that he loved Sirius Black. It was terrifying, but also grounding. Like gravity. Like coming home.
He thought about what might come next. Moonsick was getting tighter with every show—they could put out an EP, maybe do a small tour. Maybe play Portland again, or San Francisco. Maybe Sirius would come with him sometimes.
He glanced at the side of the stage where their gear waited. After this set, it would be their turn.
He wasn't sure what the future held, but in that moment, with Sirius howling into the mic and his name tattooed on his wrist, he knew one thing for sure. He was exactly where he was meant to be.
Lily
The Marauders had just finished their set, and the crowd was still buzzing. Lily’s heart raced, not just from the adrenaline of the performance, but from how electric the energy was in Madame Malkin’s tonight. Gold and silver streamers dangled from the rafters, catching the strobe lights like stars in motion. New Year’s Eve in Los Angeles. Something about it felt magic.
She stood in the crowd now, holding Pandora’s hand. Moonsick was just starting their set—Remus swaying in his quiet intensity, Marlene shredding with fire in her veins, Peter thumping a steady rhythm. The whole place seemed to shift as they launched into their opening number. A little darker, a little moodier than the Marauders. Sexy and strange.
Sirius stood on Lily’s other side, drink in hand, still flushed from the stage. Dorcas and Alice were beside him, heads close in animated conversation, and Frank, Gideon, and Fabian completed their messy little circle. It was the first time Fabian had joined them since rehab, and he looked a little shell-shocked, but he was here.
James appeared, grinning and sweaty, with a tray of shots like a hero arriving from war. “For my beautiful friends,” he said, raising it dramatically.
Everyone reached for one—except the Howlers.
Alice, Frank, Gideon, and Fabian exchanged glances and stayed still. James blinked, processing, then smiled and nodded. “More for us, then.” He distributed the extras to Lily, Pandora, Dorcas, and himself. Lily took both of hers in quick succession, grinning at Pandora as they clinked glasses.
The music pulsed around them. Marlene stepped forward for a solo and Lily whooped. Then someone bumped into her shoulder and she turned—Mary MacDonald.
Mary looked radiant. She wore a black mesh long-sleeve shirt over a red leather bra, low-waisted plaid pants with chains hanging off the belt loops, and a pair of towering platform boots. Her dark curls were pinned back, and her eyes were lined on dark black kohl.
Gideon noticed. Immediately.
“Hey,” Mary said, flicking her hair and smiling at him.
“Hey,” Gideon replied, with more cool than Lily had seen from him all year.
Lily nudged Dorcas with her elbow. Dorcas grinned. As the flirting picked up beside her, Lily’s eyes wandered—and finally caught sight of the person she’d been looking for. Regulus.
He was standing across the room, leaning against a column, wearing all black as usual. Pale. Composed. Holding a drink he hadn’t touched. And – yes—he was looking at James.
Lily turned to look at James. He was watching Regulus, but the moment Regulus looked his way, James turned quickly, pretending to laugh at something Frank said. She exhaled.
Yesterday, they’d been curled up on the couch at her apartment when James told her everything. About how he’d promised Regulus he was all in. About the fight that followed. About the radio silence since Christmas.
“I’m such an idiot,” he had muttered. “I told him I was all in, and then I bailed the second things got complicated.”
“He’s not innocent either,” Lily had said gently, brushing his hair back. “But you did what you needed to do.”
“Yeah, well, I still hate myself for it.”
Now, here they were. Standing in the same room, watching each other when they thought no one noticed.
Lily squeezed Pandora’s hand. She glanced sideways. Pandora was glowing in her sequin-drenched blazer. Lily leaned in and whispered, “You’re the most beautiful person in this room.”
Pandora blushed. “You’re just saying that because it’s true.” Lily giggled.
The music kicked up into a fast, crashing rhythm. Lily pulled Pandora close and spun her in the crowd, and they danced—messy and wild and free.
Moonsick played like the world was ending and they had nothing left to lose.
Sirius
The final chord was still echoing in the rafters when Sirius found Remus backstage. The lights of Madame Malkin’s glimmered and remnants of gold confetti clung to everyone’s shoes. Moonsick had just closed the Battle of the Bands, and Sirius thought the room might actually be vibrating.
Remus was standing near the back, flushed and shining, bass still slung over his shoulder, a little out of breath. He looked so stupidly good—tousled hair, worn-out jeans, and that olive green grandpa sweater with the fraying neckline. The hole at the collar accentuated the line of Remus’s throat in a way that made Sirius want to sink his teeth into it.
Sirius didn’t say anything right away. He just walked up and pulled Remus into a hug.
“You were unreal,” he murmured into Remus’s ear. “Like. So hot I forgot what planet I’m on.”
Remus snorted, wrapping his arms around him. “You’re just high on adrenaline.”
“I’m high on you,” Sirius said, and before Remus could respond, he kissed him—deep and dizzying, the kind of kiss that made everything else fall away. When he pulled back, he grinned. “Back in a sec, I gotta do something.”
He gave Remus’s hand one last squeeze before disappearing into the crowd, weaving through friends and strangers until he found him. Regulus. Alone, as usual, leaning near the side wall, arms crossed and eyes scanning the room like he’d rather be anywhere else. Sirius stepped up without hesitation.
“What the fuck, Reg?”
Regulus didn’t even blink. “Hi to you too.”
“You lied to the bands. You ignored James. You betrayed me,” Sirius snapped, then added, quieter, “After everything.”
Regulus looked away, jaw tight. “I never should’ve asked anyone to change their sound.”
Sirius blinked.
“I knew neither of you would sell out. I think I was just desperate to make it work—to prove to Orion I could be what he wanted me to be.”
Sirius frowned. “So what now?”
“I’m done with Gringotts,” Regulus said, voice soft but sure. “I sent my resignation. Orion’ll get it when he’s back. I’m done.”
Sirius stared at him, stunned.
“I’m thinking,” Regulus went on, “about starting something new. From the ground up. A label that actually gives a damn about the bands it signs. And I happen to know this really great band I’d want to be my first.”
Sirius blinked once, then burst into laughter. Regulus smiled too. It was small, but it was real.
“You’re serious?” Sirius asked.
“You’re Sirius,” Regulus shot back.
“Touché.”
They stood in silence for a moment, something easing between them for the first time in years. Then Sirius nudged his brother. “James is miserable, you know. Why haven’t you called him back?”
Regulus’s face twisted, but he didn’t answer. Not really. “I was going to,” he muttered. “I just… I don’t know. I got scared.”
Sirius gave him a long look. “I was mad at first. But if it makes you both happy…” He shrugged. “I’m okay with it.”
Regulus raised an eyebrow.
“I don’t want to hear about your sex life. Ever. But I’m okay.”
Regulus actually laughed, which was weird. Nice. Then they hugged—awkwardly, stiff at first, but then Sirius held on, and Regulus held back, and it felt like a beginning.
***
When he returned to Remus, the lights were going wild and Gilderoy Lockhart had taken the stage in a gold brocade blazer, peacocking into the mic.
“Darlings, wasn’t I magnificent tonight?”
The crowd groaned and laughed.
“But really, we are here for the music. For the passion. And for the promise of a new year. So, without further ado, the winner of the 1991 Gringotts Battle of the Bands is…and this was a really close contest…”
A dramatic pause.
“Moonsick!”
The room erupted. Sirius threw his arms around Remus without hesitation, nearly knocking him over. They were laughing and kissing and the rest of Moonsick surged in—Marlene yelling “we fucking did it!” and Peter looking like he might cry. Even the Marauders joined in, clapping their friends on the back, the lines between bands blurring.
It felt like they had all won—and all lost—a little. But it didn’t matter.
And then the countdown began.
Ten.
Nine.
Eight…
Sirius looked around the room. Dorcas and Marlene were huddled together, and Lily was swaying with her arms around Pandora’s neck. Frank was holding Alice’s hand. Gideon had one arm around Fabian and the other around Mary MacDonald, who looked radiant. Peter and Emmeline smiled at each other.
James was nowhere to be seen. Sirius smiled. I hope he found Regulus.
Four.
Three.
Two…
He turned back to Remus, cupping his face.
He thought about the past year.
The band finding their rhythm.
Not letting alcohol rule his life and relationships.
The fragile start of a real relationship with Regulus.
And Remus.
His Moony. Who had looked at his wrist last night, at the fresh little tattoo that read “Moony” in delicate script, like it meant the world. And it did.
One.
Sirius kissed him—hard and full of every feeling he couldn’t say aloud.
Because in that moment, with confetti falling and friends cheering and champagne bottles popping, Sirius Black had everything he’d ever wanted.
James
The roar of the crowd still echoed in James’s ears, but none of it felt real. Moonsick had won. People were hugging, kissing, crying. Fireworks sputtered on the screens behind the stage, and Gilderoy Lockhart was still monologuing somewhere in the background, voice inflated with self-congratulation.
But James wasn’t listening. He slipped away through the crowd, past the confetti, the music, the laughter. He wasn’t looking for a drink. He wasn’t even looking for Sirius, though he’d seen him grinning like an idiot as he kissed Remus. No, he was looking for something else entirely. He was looking for Regulus.
He had made up his mind halfway through Moonsick’s set, standing beside Lily and Pandora with a shot glass in his hand, pretending he wasn’t staring across the club at Regulus every time the lights hit his face.
He was going to find him. He was going to apologize. Because fuck, he’d messed this up. Regulus hadn’t returned him call from Christmas. He hadn’t spoken to him after that night they argued. Not after yelling something stupid about how he couldn’t be with someone who didn’t believe in him—he realized now that Regulus had always believed in him.
He should have known. Regulus’s relationship with Orion—with Gringotts, with all of it—was complicated. Reg hadn’t asked him to change his sound. He’d just been honest about the pressure. He'd just wanted James to be ready. But James hadn’t listened. And now, maybe, it was too late.
He found Regulus near the back of the venue, away from the noise, the chaos. The lights back here were dimmer, reflecting off the silver streamers in scattered bursts. He was leaning against a column, eyes slightly red, jaw tense.
“Reg.”
Regulus looked up.
He opened his mouth, like he’d already prepared what he wanted to say—but James didn’t let him.
“I’m so sorry,” James said, fast and breathless. “I should have believed in you. The way you believed in me.”
Regulus blinked.
“You know me better than anyone else. And you never would’ve expected me to sell out. I should have trusted that. Trusted you.” His voice cracked, and he didn’t try to hide it. “I wish we could go back to the way things were. But I know you probably never want to see me again. I just—I had to tell you how I feel before I go.” He swallowed hard. “I love you, Regulus.”
The words hung there, fragile and raw.
James dropped his head, already turning away, blinking fast as tears slipped down his cheeks.
And then—warmth. A hand, sharp and sure, gripping his chin. Lifting it. James looked up, wide-eyed, stunned. Regulus stared back, his eyes shining. Steady. Unwavering.
“I don’t want you to go,” he said, voice soft but firm. “I want you to stay.”
And then Regulus kissed him gently, as if giving James a chance to change his mind.
James’s heart slammed against his ribs. His hands found Regulus’s waist, hesitant at first, then anchoring him to a reality he couldn’t believe was happening.
He pulled back just enough to look at him, wonder in his voice. “Really?”
Regulus smiled. “Really.”
And then, somewhere behind them, the crowd’s countdown echoed faintly through the club, as distant as a dream. James barely heard it. Regulus leaned in again, hands fisting gently in the lapels of James’s jacket.
Midnight hit. Cheers erupted across the room.
Regulus kissed him again, deeper this time, and when he pulled back—just for a breath—he whispered against James’s lips “And I love you too.”
Chapter 30: June 11, 1992
Chapter Text
Epilogue
The walls of Godric’s Hollow pulsed with music and golden fairy lights. A disco ball spun lazily in the center of the room, casting glimmers of fractured starlight across everyone’s flushed faces and shiny drinks. The scent of beer, pot, and warm bodies filled the space. The jukebox was playing ABBA, much to the chagrin of the men in the room, but all the girls had converged on the danced floor.
Lily Evans was right in the center of it. She and Pandora were laughing so hard they could barely keep time with the music. Pandora wore a green jumpsuit layered over a lace blouse and a pair of fuchsia velvet boots. Lily had opted for jeans and a slinky cropped tank, hair braided back from her face and glitter across her collarbones.
Alice, Marlene, Dorcas, Emmeline, and Mary danced in a loose circle around them, hands lifted, heads thrown back. Mary had arrived in a skintight leopard print minidress with a studded belt, and every time she twirled, her red lipstick seemed to burn even brighter. Effie, beaming, had joined the group and was doing a slow, floaty sort of movement with her arms that resembled an interpretive dance about ocean tides. “She’s like a witchy daisy,” Dorcas snorted approvingly, and Alice almost fell over laughing.
In the corner, Fabian and Frank leaned against the windowsill, talking shop with Monty, about their next gig at Godric’s Hollow.
“Next week’s set’s gonna be wild,” Fabian was saying, swigging from a bottle of water. “We’re opening with Whomping Willow and going straight into Devour the Need.”
Monty whistled approvingly. “You trying to burn the place down?”
Frank smirked. “That’s the dream.”
On the far side of the room, near a table covered in snacks, Barty, Evan, and Gideon were talking to Minerva, who had accepted an invitation out of politeness and was now nursing a neat scotch and a look of faint wistfulness.
“I’ll miss the noise,” she admitted, lips twitching into a smile. “Though I expect it’s only a matter of time before I’m chasing a new lot of hooligans down for rent every month.”
“They’ll be back,” Evan promised, touching her shoulder. “And I think you secretly like these hooligans.”
Minerva didn’t argue.
At the bar Peter, James, Sirius, and Remus stood huddled with bottles in hand. “To the tour,” James said, clinking his bottle against the others. “Two months, eighteen cities, zero regrets.”
“Twenty,” Peter corrected. “There was an update.”
“Twenty,” Sirius repeated, pretending to swoon. “Christ, I’m going to need new pants.”
Remus was leaning casually against the wall, legs crossed at the ankle, in ripped jeans and that gray cardigan that always made Sirius a little feral. “I’m just happy we’re doing it together,” he said, quiet and content. His eyes found Sirius’s, and Sirius immediately forgot how to breathe for a second.
Just then, Regulus appeared behind James and slipped his arms around his waist. James turned with a grin and kissed him, quick but full of heat.
“You’re here,” James said, as if Regulus wasn’t always exactly where James needed him to be.
Regulus looked flushed from the heat outside, in a black t-shirt and his signature silver rings. “I wouldn’t miss this for anything. And I wanted to celebrate.”
“Because of Galaxy Records?” Peter grinned.
Regulus nodded. “We’ve got a label. We’ve got funding. And we’ve got the two best bands in LA signed. You’re welcome.”
“That’s our Reg,” Sirius smirked, raising his beer.
“Uncle Alphard’s the real hero,” Regulus said. “He’s taking a risk on all of us.”
As if on cue, the front door burst open and a gust of warm air followed in a striking figure: Alphard Black, silver-haired and dashing in an ivory linen suit, with his equally debonair partner Jonathan at his side. The party exploded in cheers.
“Cheers to the man himself!” someone shouted.
Alphard waved his hand, clearly delighted. “To the musicians,” he said, accepting a glass from Emmeline with a wink. “To my dear nephew for building something new, and to all of you—family, friends, and fabulous weirdos. Cheers!”
Glasses clinked. Champagne bottles popped. Lily grabbed Pandora’s hand again and twirled her under a string of lights.
James turned to Regulus and murmured in his ear, “You did it.”
Regulus’s smile was small, but his eyes were glowing. “We did.”
Sirius drained the rest of his beer and set the bottle down. “Well,” he said, voice low and teasing, turning toward Remus, “I do believe it’s time for a completely innocent, absolutely necessary, not-at-all suspicious bathroom break.”
Remus arched a brow. “You’re not subtle.”
Sirius just grabbed his hand and tugged him toward the hallway, calling back over his shoulder, “Don’t wait up!”
Barty wolf-whistled. Peter groaned. Marlene high-fived Dorcas.
James laughed and leaned his head against Regulus’s. The music thumped louder, and someone started passing around cake.
It was wild. It was amazing. It was terrifying. Their future. They were on the edge of something new. Something big. And, most of all, something together.
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