Black Velvet (Remus' Version)

The business building was intimidatingly nice the kind of place that reeked of old money and exclusivity. Remus felt out of place the moment he stepped inside, his well-worn satchel slung over his shoulder as he took in the marble floors, the high ceilings, the polished desk where a receptionist barely spared him a glance.

In the lobby, a small group of people was already waiting. A blonde woman spotted him immediately, striding toward him with an air of practiced efficiency. "Remus Lupin?"

"That’s me," he said, barely getting the words out before she was pressing a credential into his hand.

"Mary McDonald," she introduced briskly, her voice clipped, professional. "PR for Sirius. Here’s how this is going to go: You’re here to observe, take notes, keep your questions brief. No off-the-record comments being published, and absolutely no prying into personal matters. This is about business. We have a strict schedule, and you’ll—"

Remus blinked. Was she always this fast? He opened his mouth to ask her to repeat whatever the hell she’d just said when...

"Professor!"

That unmistakable voice carried across the lobby before the man himself strode through the doors, all confident energy and easy charm. Sirius Black. Of course.

Remus turned just in time to see Sirius flash a grin, striding toward them like he owned the damn place. He was dressed more casually than Remus had expected for a business meeting, the man was wearing ripped jeans for God's sake. Everything about him screamed effortless rockstar.

Mary tensed beside him. "Sirius, I was just explaining to Mr. Lupin."

"Don’t worry about it, love," Sirius interrupted smoothly, giving her a wink. "I’ll fill him in."

Mary’s expression soured, and she shot him a warning look. "Sirius..."

"Relax, McDonald," Sirius said, raising a hand in mock solemnity. "I swear I’ll be on my best behavior."

Remus caught the movement a second later, Sirius’s other hand, held behind his back, fingers crossed. It was such a juvenile little thing, so utterly at odds with the multimillion-dollar business deals happening in this very building, that Remus couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped.

Mary, however, was not amused. "You better be," she warned, before nodding for them to move along.

The group Sirius, Remus, Mary, a photographer, and two other PR people, headed toward the elevator. As they stepped inside, Remus adjusted the credential around his neck, stealing a glance at Sirius, who was still smirking like he’d gotten away with something.

Remus couldn't stop the anxiety twisting in his stomach. He was going to meet James Potter. The James Potter. The man whose music had shaped his childhood, whose records he’d listened to until the vinyl wore thin. The weight of it sat heavy on his chest as the elevator doors slid open with a quiet chime.

His legs nearly moved before his brain did, already primed to step forward, but he forced himself to slow down, to keep a professional pace as he followed the group into the sleek office space. It was modern, expensive with black marble floors, dark wooden accents, and abstract paintings that screamed tasteful yet weird. The air smelled faintly of polished leather and expensive cologne.

At the door stood a woman, and Remus recognized her instantly.

Dorcas Meadowes.

His pulse jumped. Dorcas had played with James many times over the years, a legendary session musician with a reputation for making any song better. Up close, she looked younger than he’d expected, given that she was about to turn fifty. The only real signs of age were the fine lines near her eyes and the streaks of silver in her otherwise dark curls.

"Sirius," she greeted warmly, her voice sounded rich and familiar. 

“Dorcas,” Sirius replied, his smirk widening. He opened his arms as if expecting a hug.

Dorcas rolled her eyes. “Not happening, Black.”

He clutched his chest as if wounded. “You used to be nicer.”

“I used to be younger,” she shot back. Then, with a more genuine smile, she added, “James is waiting for you.”

Before Remus could process that, the photographer started snapping photos. The shutter clicks were sharp in the quiet space, and just like that, the business had begun.

Remus forced himself to focus. He dug into his bag, fingers fumbling over pens and receipts until they found his notebook. He flipped it open, trying to steady his nerves.

Dorcas led them down the hall to a glass-walled conference room. Inside, a man was practicing his golf swing. James Potter.

And beside him stood a fifteen-year-old boy, mirroring his stance with a practice club. The resemblance was undeniable, his son.

Remus barely had a second to take it in before the boy’s swing went slightly off course, nearly knocking over an expensive-looking vase.

"Christ, Harry," James called out, straightening. He adjusted his glasses, shaking his head with an exasperated sort of fondness.

Dorcas cleared her throat.

James glanced up, eyes landing on the group. He straightened further, setting the golf club aside.

Remus felt something tighten in his chest. This was not just an icon, but a man who carried an aura of effortless charm, someone who had shaped entire generations of music lovers.

Before he could even think of what to say, Harry’s eyes lit up.

"Sirius!"

The boy sprinted across the room, colliding into Sirius with enough force to make the older man stumble a step back.

Sirius barely caught himself before laughing. "Hell, kid, been lifting weights?"

Harry beamed, clinging to Sirius like a limpet. The sheer warmth in the interaction caught Remus off guard. This wasn’t an act. This wasn’t the rockstar with his carefully crafted persona.

Sirius Black cared.

Something shifted in Remus then. Just a little.

Sirius took the lead, introducing each person in the room to James, who greeted every single one with a firm handshake and a genuine smile. There was no pretense, no rushed formalities, he made it a point to look everyone in the eye, to acknowledge them properly.

When it was Remus’s turn, Sirius changed the scrip,instead he said: "This is Professor—I mean, Remus. He’s a journalist. Big fan of yours."

James let out a warm, easy laugh. "Professor, huh? What do you teach?"

Remus felt the corner of his mouth twitch, despite himself. "Nothing, unfortunately. I fear Sirius has a terrible habit of giving people ridiculous nicknames."

"Sounds about right," James said, shaking his head fondly. His grip was firm, his smile very charismatic. He didn’t look a day over forty, though Remus knew he was turning fifty in a few months as well. Still, James Potter radiated a kind of energy that made age irrelevant.

Remus cleared his throat. "Your music has been very important to me. It’s an honor to meet you."

James chuckled, his hazel eyes twinkling behind his glasses. "Well, the pleasure’s all mine, Remus. Hope he’s not giving you too much trouble," he added, nodding toward Sirius.

Remus huffed a quiet laugh. "Oh, he’s been very professional."

Sirius smirked but said nothing.

James then turned his attention back to Sirius, his expression shifting into something more serious. "Dorcas mentioned you wanted to talk about rerecording one of my songs?"

"That’s right," Sirius confirmed, his tone steady but eager.

James gestured toward his desk. "Alright, come on then. Let’s talk business."

As James sat behind his desk, Mary motioned for the PR team to fetch chairs, ensuring everyone had a seat. The photographer snapped a few more shots as people settled in.

Harry remained behind the desk, standing next to his father, arms crossed as he observed the scene with quiet curiosity. He acted in a very natural way, like he’d grown up around rooms just like this.

Remus flipped open his notebook again, glancing between James and Sirius. This was the moment he had come for, the real story. And for the first time, he wasn’t entirely sure what to expect.

James leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. “Alright, Sirius. Which song?”

Sirius didn’t hesitate. “Black Velvet.”

For a second, the room was still. Then, Harry laughed, a short, surprised burst of amusement.

All eyes turned to him. He raised his hands in surrender. "Sorry. I thought he was joking."

Sirius’s brows lifted, then furrowed. "I’m serious about this one. I know Black Velvet isn’t exactly a rock song, but I’ve got an arrangement in mind. It’ll work..."

James adjusted his glasses, but before Sirius could continue, he held up a hand. "I’m sorry, but I can’t allow you to rerecord Black Velvet."

Sirius blinked. "What? Why not?"

James exhaled through his nose, his expression calm but firm. “It’s nothing against you, not really. It’s just that Black Velvet is—” He stopped himself, shaking his head slightly. “It’s very dear to my heart.”

Sirius leaned forward, arms braced against his knees. "I know that, James. And I swear to you, I’ll do it justice."

James studied him for a moment, then nodded. "I’m sure you would. That's why I'm telling you, you can record any of my songs except that one."

Sirius sat back in his chair, looking like a child who’d just been told he couldn’t have his favorite candy before dinner. He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. "I’ll pay whatever it takes."

James gave him a small, almost sad smile. “It’s not about money. Not really.”

Sirius threw up his hands. "Then what is it about?"

James didn’t answer right away. Instead, his gaze drifted past Harry, landing on a shelf behind his desk. Remus followed his line of sight and, for the first time, noticed a portrait sitting among a collection of old vinyl records and framed awards. The boy in the portrait couldn’t have been older than seventeen. He had black hair, sleek and neatly combed, and sharp, refined features. Something about him felt familiar somehow. He flicked his gaze to Harry and felt the strangest sense of likeness. He couldn’t place it, but there was something connecting them.

Sirius, impatient as ever, pressed again. "What’s the reason, James?"

James was silent for a while, then he looked at him, then at Remus, his expression turning serious. “What I’m about to say now is strictly off the record.”

Remus’s fingers twitched around his pen, but he nodded, flipping his notebook closed.

James let out a long breath and leaned forward, clasping his hands together. When he spoke, his voice was softer, touched with something old and heavy. Grief, maybe. Or reverence.

"Black Velvet is about the love of my life," he said. "A man named Regulus."

The room went completely silent.

James’s gaze drifted to the portrait again. "I met him in 1950, the first time I came to the United States. I was just a British kid visiting family in Memphis, barely twenty years old. And then I walked into a blues club one night, and I heard him sing. I feel in love right then and there." His lips curled into the ghost of a smile. "Black Velvet was the song that made me a star. But before it was a song, it was him. His voice. His story."

Remus’s heart twisted unexpectedly at the way James spoke. The words weren’t just words, they carried a felling. A history. A weight. He’d interviewed hundreds of artists over the years, heard them talk about their music, their inspirations. But James Potter spoke like a man who had been broken by his own music.

James swallowed, adjusting his glasses again. "Regulus was my everything. We were in love, but the world wasn’t kind to people like us back then. He was a white boy, I'm a black man. We had to be careful. And then, just when it felt like maybe, maybe we could change things..." He broke off, shaking his head slightly. “He died. Just like that. And all I had left of him was that song.” 

Sirius had gone quiet. No arguments, no quick wit comment, nothing just silence.

James exhaled, looking back at him. “So you see, Sirius, Black Velvet isn’t just a song to me. It’s not just a melody or lyrics on paper. It’s him. It’s everything we had, everything we lost.” His voice dipped lower, steady but firm. “I can’t give that away.”

The weight of the words settled over the room. Even Harry, who had been standing quietly, shifted a little closer to his father, as if trying to comfort the man. 

Remus, for once, didn’t know what to say. His chest felt oddly tight.

Sirius finally spoke, voice quieter than before. “I get it.”

James held his gaze. “Do you?”

Sirius nodded once, but Remus wasn’t sure he really did. Or maybe he did, just not in the way James needed him to.

James sighed, his expression softening. “I appreciate that, Sirius. I really do. But Black Velvet stays with me.”

Sirius didn’t argue. He just sat there, lips pressed together, tapping his fingers against the armrest of his chair.

Remus looked at the portrait again. And this time he didn’t just see a boy in an old photograph. He saw a story. A love that had been hidden away, kept in whispers and longing glances. A love that had been lost too soon. And for the first time since this whole thing started, Remus Lupin wasn’t sure he wanted to write about it at all.

But Sirius wasn’t done. Not by a long shot.

His eyes flickered to the portrait again, to the boy with dark hair and sharp features. He stared at it, something shifting behind his gaze, something unsettled, something aching. And then, almost absently, he whispered, "Regulus..."

He said the name again, slower this time, as if testing how it felt on his tongue. As if it were something half-remembered, something just out of reach.

James watched him closely, his expression unreadable, but Sirius just took a breath, squared his shoulders, and shifted in his chair.

“I was born in Memphis,” he said, voice quiet but firm. “In 1952.”

James frowned slightly, confusion flickering across his face. “Alright… And?”

Sirius exhaled through his nose, then leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "My family is… complicated, James. Old Southern money. Stuck in their ways. My mother, Walburga, she was widowed young. And my father, Orion, he was her cousin. She married him as soon as the mourning period was over."

James blinked. His hands curled into loose fists on the desk, his jaw tightening, but he said nothing.

Sirius hesitated only a beat before continuing. “She had a son before me,” he said, voice quieter now. “A son who died in 1950, he was hit by a car.” He glanced back at the portrait, then back at James. “His name was Regulus.”

The room seemed to go still.

James inhaled sharply, the sound barely audible. Across the desk, Remus felt his stomach drop as the pieces clicked into place. His fingers twitched over his notebook, instinct screaming at him to write this down. This piece of information would for sure lend him the promotion. 

A sharp shake of the head from Mary made him stop. 

Remus clenched his jaw. His fingers curled against the cover of his notebook. This revelation would blow the music world apart. James Potter, one of the most legendary musicians of all time was gay. And now, sitting in front of him, was Sirius Black, a rockstar in his own right, claiming to be related to James' life long lover. 

Remus forced himself to stay still, to absorb every detail. Across from him, James looked back at the portrait, and for the first time since the meeting began, the warmth in his face dimmed. His fingers tapped against the desk, his jaw tight, his lips pressed into a thin line.

Beside him, Harry had gone still as well. He wasn’t looking at the portrait, he was looking at Sirius, his green eyes wide, lips slightly parted. And in that moment, Remus knew that the boy had finally connected the dots.

Sirius shifted in his chair, his fingers twitching like he was resisting the urge to reach for a cigarette.

 “James,” he said, voice quieter now, more measured, “I know this song means something to you. But given… everything, you have to see why it would mean the world to me, too.”

James didn’t answer immediately. He turned his gaze back to Sirius, studying him.

Sirius leaned forward, his voice gaining urgency. “I swear to you, I’ll do it justice. I know Black Velvet isn’t a rock song, but I have an arrangement that’ll work. Something that keeps the soul of it intact but also brings it to a new audience. The world deserves to know about him.”

James let out a slow breath through his nose, adjusting his glasses. “The world knew him,” he murmured, more to himself than to Sirius.

“Not like this,” Sirius insisted. “Not the way you knew him. And certainly not the way I could have, if things had been different.”

The room fell into silence again, heavy and charged.

James dragged a hand through his hair and turned to Harry. It was subtle, just the briefest flick of his eyes, but Remus caught it. They were having a conversation silent, but unmistakable. A father asking a son for guidance. A son understanding the weight of the decision.

Harry inhaled deeply, his fingers gripping the edge of the desk. He looked back at the portrait of Regulus, then at Sirius. Finally, he turned to James and gave the smallest of nods.

James sighed. He rubbed at his jaw, his thumb brushing against the faint stubble there. “You’re asking me to let go of something very personal, Sirius,” he said at last. His voice was steady, but there was an edge to it, one that Remus recognized as grief, worn down but never truly gone. “That song. It’s the closest thing I have left of him.”

Sirius swallowed hard. “I know.”

James exhaled slowly, then leaned back in his chair. His gaze flickered to Remus. “This stays off the record,” he reminded him.

Remus gave a curt nod, pressing his notebook shut.

James studied Sirius for a long moment. The room was so quiet that the faint hum of the air conditioning felt deafening. Then, finally, James spoke again, his voice low but firm.

“If I let you do this,” he said, “you don’t get to half-ass it. You don’t get to make it a gimmick, or some industry stunt. If you rerecord Black Velvet, it has to mean something. It has to be something.”

Sirius nodded immediately. “I swear to you, I’ll make it count.”

James’s lips pressed together. His fingers tapped against the desk again, once, twice, before he let out another slow breath and turned his gaze back to the portrait.

“Alright,” he murmured.

Sirius blinked. “What?”

James exhaled through his nose. “I said alright.”

For a second, Sirius didn’t move. Then, as the words settled in, his mouth split into a grin. A genuine and boyish, the kind that made Remus momentarily forget just how famous Sirius Black was.

James shook his head. “Don’t make me regret this.”

Sirius raised his right hand in a mock oath. “Scout’s honor.”

Mary snorted. “You were never a scout.”

Sirius flashed her a wink. “Nah, but I would’ve looked great in the uniform.”

James groaned. Harry rolled his eyes.

And just like that, the tension in the room softened, just a little, just enough. 

For the first time Remus understood that Black Velvet wasn’t just a song. It was history. It was love and loss, memory and legacy, grief and devotion. And now, for better or worse, it was in Sirius’s hands.

As they stepped out of James’s office and back into the main lobby, Sirius was still buzzing with excitement. He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling like he’d just won a battle. Beside him, Remus was deep in thought, still processing everything that had just unfolded.

Dorcas, who had walked them out, turned to Sirius with a soft but firm look. “Take good care of Regulus,” she said, her voice carrying a weight that made Sirius pause. “He was my best friend.”

Sirius swallowed, his usual playful demeanor briefly flickering into something more serious. He nodded. “I will,” he promised, voice quieter than usual.

Dorcas searched his face for a second, then gave him a small, approving nod before stepping back into the office.

The second the doors shut behind them, Sirius clapped his hands together. “Right, that was emotional... Let’s get drinks.”

Mary sighed. “Sirius—”

“No, no, none of that,” Sirius cut her off, wagging a finger at her. “We just made history today. We deserve a proper toast.” He turned to Remus, grinning. “You’re coming, aren’t you, Professor?”

Remus, still trying to process everything, blinked at him. “Oh... uh...” He hesitated, but the sheer energy radiating off Sirius was nearly impossible to resist. 

Sirius raised an eyebrow, challenging. “Come on, I can see that overthinking happening in real time. Drinks, Lupin. Let’s celebrate properly.”

Mary sighed again, rubbing her temples. “Fine. But, Sirius, no disappearing acts this time. And don’t do anything that’ll give the PR team an aneurysm.”

“No promises,” Sirius shot back with a wink, already walking toward the exit.

The team followed him out of the building and onto the bustling city street. The air was crisp, neon signs flickered against the darkening sky, and the hum of traffic filled the space between them. Remus stuffed his hands into his pockets, falling in step beside Sirius, who looked more alive than he had all day.

“So,” Sirius said as they walked, glancing at Remus with that damnable glint in his eye. “What’s your drink, Professor? Don’t tell me you’re a whisky neat kind of guy.”

Remus huffed a laugh. “And what if I am?”

Sirius grinned, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. “Then I’ll respect it, but I’d still bet you’d like something a little more exciting. Maybe something sweet, an old fashioned, perhaps?”

Remus shook his head, amused despite himself. “You’re very sure of yourself, aren’t you?”

Sirius leaned in slightly, his voice dropping just enough to make it feel like a secret. “Always.”

Remus felt something shift in his chest, something warm and unwelcome, something that made his pulse jump just a little. He looked away before Sirius could see the effect he was starting to have on him.

They arrived at a dimly lit restaurant tucked away on a side street, the kind of place Sirius clearly knew well. The staff greeted him like an old friend, leading them to a private corner booth. As everyone settled in, Remus found himself sitting beside Sirius, their knees brushing under the table.

Sirius smirked at him. “Still sticking with whisky neat?”

Remus sighed, shaking his head. “Fine. Surprise me.”

Sirius’s grin widened. “Now we’re talking.” He leaned back in his seat, satisfied. “Tonight, we drink to Regulus.”

...

Sirius was discreet about it, but Remus had caught him doing it more than once that night: stealing glances, watching him over the rim of his glass, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement whenever Remus said something unexpected. It was subtle, but Remus wasn’t an idiot. He ignored the warmth creeping up his neck and focused on his drink.

Then, just as Sirius was in the middle of a story, something about a disastrous hotel stay in Berlin and Sting, a man approached their table, hesitating before leaning in slightly.

“Sorry to bother you, but… are you Sirius Black?”

Remus could practically feel Sirius’s immediate instinct to brush the guy off, to shake his head and dismiss it. His lips parted, probably ready to say no, when...

“I am,” Sirius said instead, a smooth, easy grin slipping onto his face.

Remus blinked in surprise.

The man’s face lit up. “Man, that’s amazing! Listen, it’s my girlfriend’s birthday today, and she’s a huge fan. I was wondering if you could sign a napkin or something for her?”

Sirius grinned. “I can do you one better.” He pushed back his chair, standing, already abandoning his drink. “Where is she?”

The guy’s jaw dropped slightly. “Oh—uh... Over there, by the bar.”

Sirius threw a glance at Mary. “You know the drill.”

Mary barely looked up from her glass. “Got it.”

Sirius clapped the guy on the back. “Lead the way, mate.”

Remus watched as Sirius strolled over, his presence shifting the air around him the way only true rockstars could. He reached the woman’s table, leaned down, and wrapped her in a hug like they were old friends. She gasped, eyes wide, hand clapping over her mouth. The entire table burst into excitement.

Sirius didn’t just sign a napkin, he sat down with them, talking, laughing, asking questions like he genuinely cared.

Remus shook his head, taking a sip of his drink.

Mary, meanwhile, flagged down a waitress and gestured toward the couple’s table. “Whatever they order, put it on his tab.”

Remus raised an eyebrow. “He does this often?”

Mary smirked. “Every damn time. If he finds out fans are celebrating, he covers their bill.”

Remus looked back at Sirius, who was now taking a photo with the birthday girl, ruffling her boyfriend’s hair like they were all best mates. The warmth in Remus’s chest expanded just a little.

Sirius sauntered back a few minutes later, reclaiming his drink like he hadn’t just made some woman’s year.

Remus tilted his head, watching him. “That was very kind of you.”

Sirius took a casual sip. “No idea what you’re talking about.”

Remus huffed a laugh. “Oh, of course not.”

Sirius shot him a smirk, but there was something softer in it this time, something almost vulnerable.

Remus decided then and there: Sirius Black was a far better man than the headlines made him out to be.

Mary picked up the menu, flipping through it with practiced ease. “Alright, boss, you getting anything from the menu?”

Sirius barely glanced at it. “Yeah, I’ll have the curly fries.” Then he turned to Remus, tilting his head. “What about you, Professor? Anything calling your name?"

Remus skimmed the menu briefly before deciding. “Maybe a piece of cheesecake.”

Sirius barked out a laugh, shaking his head. “Bold choice. Their cheesecake is awful.”

Remus raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “Cheesecake is my favorite. I doubt it’s that bad, you can’t go wrong with cheesecake.”

Sirius grinned, amused. “Oh, you sweet, naive man. Cheesecake it is, then.”

Mary placed the order, and a little while later, the food arrived. Sirius immediately popped a curly fry into his mouth, looking entirely pleased with himself. Remus, meanwhile, took a bite of the cheesecake, fully expecting something decent.

The moment it hit his tongue, he froze. Then he chewed. Then he really thought about it.

It was, without question, the worst cheesecake he’d ever had.

Sirius, watching him like a hawk, burst out laughing the second realization dawned on Remus’s face.

“See?” Sirius smirked, reaching for another fry. “Told you. It’s absolute garbage.”

Remus swallowed, barely suppressing a grimace. “It tastes like they tried to make cheesecake but forgot what it was supposed to be halfway through.”

Mary snorted into her drink.

Sirius leaned in, mock-conspiratorial. “It’s like they heard of cheesecake once but never actually met one in person.”

Remus shook his head, laughing despite himself. “Alright, I concede. You were right.”

Sirius grinned, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “Music to my ears.