Consumption

Papers were spread across Sirius’ living room. Pictures taped to the wall and shakily written reminders etched onto sticky notes. He needed to figure this out. It was clawing at his skull, and he needed to understand this killer.

There had been a handful of unsolved murders that had the off chance of being The Artist, and even fewer that Sirius was positive about. The change in motives made him dizzy, and it was harder to read the scene without the fresh evidence. Some of these killings dated back a few years.

It had all become mush in his head by the time the phone rang, forcing him to sit back on his heels and contemplate his life. It was a Friday night. He was alone in his apartment looking at pictures of dead bodies.

He clicked the green ‘accept’ button on his phone, leaning his back against the couch, his legs sprawled out on the floor.

“Black.”

“Hello Mr. Black,” Remus’ voice echoed through the phone. “I was wondering if you would grant me the pleasure of having dinner with me this evening. I think it would be beneficial to go over this case one more time before we send in our reports.”

Sirius was slightly shocked, he hadn’t expected Dr. Lupin to call him, and he expected him to invite him to dinner even less.

“Uh sure, what time?” Sirius spoke hesitantly; he didn’t frequently go over to people’s houses.

“Let’s say 7? I’ll send you the address.”

Considering the man's office, Sirius was not at all surprised when he parked his janky truck in front of an ornate Victorian home. It was obviously well taken care of, the front yard neatly trimmed with a small garden nestled off to the side. Sirius knocked on the door, looking down the street as he awkwardly stood on the front step.

He hadn’t really known the dress code, but knowing Dr. Lupin, he played it safe, putting on his nicest button up and slacks, albeit not fancy compared to his mothers and probably Remus’ standards.

The door opened, revealing the man who promptly ushered him into the house.

“Very nice to see you Mr. Black, you can hang your coat on that rack. I have to get back to the kitchen before our dinner burns.” Sirius had never seen him in this state, he looked almost…human. His hair was slightly tousled compared to the neat way he usually wore it. He forfeited his usual suit, opting just for a standard button up which was still nicer than Sirius’.

Sirius hung up his coat, following the sounds of clacking dishes until he reached the kitchen, a heavenly smell wafting out.

“I wasn’t aware you were a Michelin star chef.” Sirius joked, standing in the doorway as he watched the man cook.

“Cooking is relaxing, it’s been a hobby of mine since I was young.” Remus recounted the memories as he cooked the potatoes and carrots.

“I’ve never been a fan; I survive on packaged ramen and pb&j sandwiches.” Remus grimaced at that, shooting a sour look over his shoulder at Sirius.

“Well then, you must allow me to cook for you more often. Food is crucial for the brain, and you use yours quite frequently.” The man paused, taking the vegetables off the heat. “Tell me Mr. Black, when was the first time you realized you didn’t think like the other kids.”

“I didn’t realize we were in therapy.”

“We’re not, just a friendly conversation.”

“Well then doctor, I get to ask you questions too, quid pro quo.” Sirius had many questions for the mysterious man, and now was the perfect time to take the tweezers to his brain.

“Very well, you first.”

“I was six. A man came to our house. I can’t remember if he was a family friend or just a repairman, but I remember his eyes. There was something dark behind them, and I immediately knew what he was. The second he left, I started crying, shouting that he was a bad person, that he did horrible things. My parents were not amused, as you can imagine.” Sirius laughed a bit at the memory. “But sure enough, a week later, he got arrested for human trafficking. He was abducting kids all around the city.”

Remus watched him for a second but stayed silent.

“Now, Dr. Lupin, why psychiatry?”

“I must insist you call me Remus; you’re in my home and I’m making you dinner, this is far from doctor titles.” Remus turned back to the stove, gently laying the piece of meat onto the hot pan. “I was originally a surgeon; I worked in the emergency room.”

“Why’d you stop?”

“I killed someone, or well I guess I couldn’t save them.”

“I’m sure that happens all the time, especially in the ER.”

“Well, it happened one too many times.” Remus seared the meat, encasing the room in the delectable scent of his cooking. “After, I decided to go back to school for psychology, I found the mind much more interesting anyways. Plus, no one has died as a result of my therapy.”

Sirius laughed at that, looking up at the doctor. “You’re European, where are you from?”

Remus tsked, shaking his head at Sirius. “Nope, you got your question, my turn.”

Sirius rolled his eyes, a small smile gracing his lips, waiting for the doctor to continue.

“What gave it away?” Remus continued at Sirius’ questioning gaze, “What made you see The Artist in the human cage?”

“Everything. It’s like he had to show me all of his capabilities, all of his thoughts. It was practically dripping with it. It was a different message, but the same voice.”

“Are you reconstructing these fantasies of his?” Remus took the meat off the stove, grabbing two pristine white plates. “What kind of problems does our killer have?”

“He has a few.” Sirius scoffed, watching Remus’ hands as they meticulously laid out the meal.

Remus paused, looking up at Sirius from under his lashes, an almost smirk resting on his face. “Ever have any problems, Sirius?”

The man startled at the use of his name; Remus had never said it before. It fell from his lips like syrup, smooth and sweet, it made Sirius want him to say it more.

“No,” Sirius shook his head sarcastically, “never.”

“Of course you don’t. You and I are just alike, problem free. Nothing about us to feel horrible about.” Remus picked up their plates, motioning for Sirius to follow him into the dining room. “I think dear old Dumbledore sees you as a fragile little teacup, the finest china used for only special guests.

Remus set the plates down and Sirius gently laid his napkin across his lap, smoothing out the bumps until it laid perfectly. Remus’ hand reached for the wine bottle.

“How do you see me?”

Remus poured the red wine into Sirius’ cup, the man entranced by the liquid, something thumping in his brain. A sense of recognition like the dull coloring on an old photograph, hard to make out, but still somewhat there.

“The mongoose I want under the house when the snakes slither by.” Remus moved away, settling down into his seat. “Bon Appetit.”