The Gala
Remus was so nervous he wanted to vomit. He’d been in this state for the last four days, anxiously counting down to the evening of the gala. His hands shook trying to carve feet on his leather hard pieces, resulting in several wobbly bowls, and he fucked up a bottle flipping trick at Mick’s that resulted in a smashed handle of tequila that cut his hand open and sent him into another panic attack.
Marlene had to call Sirius. Vince and Tony hurriedly rushed a wheezing Remus into the back room for some privacy, and he proceeded to have a terrible flashback of Greyback’s knife until Sirius arrived.
He’d found him slumped against the wall on the floor, squeezing his wounded hand so hard his fingers were purple, breathing erratically and unable to focus on reality. Remus remembered screaming when Sirius fished out a shard of glass from his palm.
It took him nearly twenty minutes to come back, and he cried for another twenty afterwards. He was so tired, so tired of being haunted. He hated how weak the attacks made him feel, how easily they affected him and inconvenienced his life.
He hadn’t had an episode at Mick’s before, and Remus was worried what Vince and Tony would think of him. Perhaps they’d think he was an unreliable employee and let him go, then he’d be out of another job once again.
Sirius murmured assurances while he carefully cleaned and covered his wound, telling Remus not to look at it. He couldn’t handle the sight of blood anymore, it reminded him too much of that night and the recovery afterwards.
Instead, he stared at the industrial piping above him, burning with shame and embarrassment.
Vince and Tony told him to take the rest of the day off, only after repeatedly rejecting Remus’ attempts to apologize for the disruption and insisting he come back to work when his hand was healed. He knew he couldn’t be away from work that long without getting behind on bills, but at least they were letting him keep his job.
He and Sirius walked home in silence. He was too lost in his own thoughts and fears, which Sirius must had sensed. He simply took Remus’ good hand in his own and provided a grounding touch for him, allowing his mind to float where it needed.
----
His hand still wasn’t fully healed, and Remus couldn’t bear to look at it. All he could feel was the sore aching and stinging of a recovering wound, a feeling he knew all too well. He let Sirius change the dressings and clean it, trying not to focus on the sensation too much.
The night of the gala, his hand was still in need of gauze. Lily offered to wrap some extra fabric from the scarf around it to blend in, but at that point, Remus was too depressed to care. Just one night, he wanted to feel whole and beautiful. The way the outfit had made him feel during the final fitting. Of course he couldn’t even have that.
So, an hour before they were due to arrive, Remus stood in Lily’s living room again, staring at his reflection in the mirror, all confidence from the last time gone.
Lily, Mary, Marlene, and Dorcas were in the other room, putting away the takeout they’d gotten. He couldn’t hear the low murmur of talk over his own thoughts, staring at the stark white gauze that stuck out like a sore thumb compared to the rest of him. He shoved the hand into his pocket.
“Moony?” Sirius said quietly, sidling up next to him. He’d changed into his outfit, all black with a lacy vest under an open suit jacket that showed off all his torso tattoos and eclectic silver necklaces, and leather pants with red bottom Louboutins. He’d pulled up his hair into an elegantly wild bun with a silver hair stick.
Remus, who had before been stuck in his own head, was suddenly stuck staring at the vision standing next to him. He hadn’t seen Sirius without a shirt on before, and the see-through lace vest wasn’t hiding anything. He didn’t know he had so many tattoos, but all he could do was rake his eyes up and down his smooth, flawless skin, take in every curve and freckle and dip. He hands suddenly itched to sculpt, to immortalize perfection.
He dragged his eyes up to Sirius’, stirring himself out of the haze he’d been swimming since his episode at Mick’s. He had the most peculiar way of bringing Remus out of his own head, and often times he didn’t need to do anything at all. He was the magnet that had always pulled at him, as a black hole at the center of every galaxy reigns stars in. Remus could get lost in him instead of his own mind.
“You look beautiful.” He said hoarsely. It was the first time he’d spoken in almost two days.
Sirius flushed pink, and Remus watched in fascination as it extended down his neck and collarbones.
“You do too.” He replied, reaching up to tuck a stray hair behind Remus’ ear. “C’mon, we need to do makeup.” He led Remus back into the bathroom where he’d set up his kit, and gently pushed him to sit on the toilet.
Remus watched him move about in rapt awe, openly admiring him. Even the way the dingy bathroom light hit his face was like a masterpiece.
Sirius stepped between Remus’ legs and held up a makeup sponge.
“Ready?”
“Nothing crazy, right?”
“Not tonight, Moons.” Sirius grinned. Remus huffed a small laugh.
“Okay.”
Sirius started dabbing on the foundation, and Remus went back to staring at him intently. A little crease formed between his eyebrows when he concentrated. He chewed at the inside of his cheek. His eyes were sharpened with focus as they roamed around his face, and Remus couldn’t bring himself to look away, only to gaze up at the immeasurable.
“Keep looking at me like that and I’m never going to get this done.” Sirius whispered, switching over to concealer.
“What do you mean?” He played dumb.
“You know exactly what I mean. With your big brown eyes and that smile you’re trying to keep to yourself.”
“I can’t look at you any other way.” Remus replied quietly. Sirius hummed.
“Good.” He picked up a brown eyeliner pen and put a finger under Remus’ chin, tilting his head up. “Don’t blink.”
“Wouldn’t want to miss a second of you anyway.”
Sirius blushed even more fiercely at that, and leaned in, carefully outlining the edges of Remus’ eyes with the pen. His skin tingled against the warmth of his breath, and he ached to hold some part of him.
Slowly, he reached up and slipped his hands under Sirius’ jacket to hold his lace-covered waist. Never looking away from his face, Remus hesitantly let his fingers drag against fabric and skin, palms fixed. He moved them as far as they would go, tracing the slightly raised outlines of a few of his newer tattoos.
Sirius bit his lip between his teeth, but kept working on Remus’ eyebrows. He continued to study him, cataloguing every little reaction to his fingers’ exploration, diligently committing each to memory.
“You’re quite the tease, Remus Lupin.” Sirius murmured, dusting some blush on his cheeks.
“You don’t seem to mind.” With another stroke of courage, he slipped a finger under the lace vest. Sirius’ nostrils flared.
“I certainly do not mind.” He said a little hoarsely. “But if that hand goes up much more, we’ll end up christening Lily’s bathroom for real, and she may murder us.”
“Mm.” Remus hummed. Right now, he was surrounded by all things Sirius, and the scars of his past were blissfully far away. For the first time ever, christening something didn’t sound like a dreadful idea. He certainly wouldn’t dare do it in the bathroom of a dear friend, but still…the fact that the idea didn’t immediately terrify him was…new.
“There.” Sirius said, straightening up. “All done.”
Remus regretful pulled his hands away and looked at the mirror.
Sirius had done a good job. He looked like himself, still with the freckles and scars, but he looked more rosy than before. His eyes looked sharper with the eyeliner, and while Sirius hadn’t filled in the gap in his scarred eyebrow, they looked more full. He didn’t look tired and sickly anymore, as the bags under his eyes had been expertly concealed.
“Thanks, Pads.” He said, kissing the top of Sirius’ head so as not to ruin his makeup too. “It’s perfect.”
Sirius took his good hand and squeezed it. “Are you ready for this?”
“As I’ll ever be. I’ll have you, James and Peter, and Regulus. Worst comes to worst, I’ll melt into a wall.”
“It’ll be fun. I won’t leave your side, I promise.”
——
Remus endured the quick photoshoot that proceeded afterwards, allowing Lily and Dorcas to take photos of him for their portfolios. He had no idea how to pose for a camera, and just let them direct him on how to stand or turn. Sirius didn’t let them fuss over him for too long, tossing him his coat and ushering him out the door to catch the car.
As quasi-adopted sons of the Potters, and James’ best friends, a car was rented out to bring them to the gala instead of using the subway or taxi. They all crowded themselves into the back—Sirius, James and Peter immediately talking and laughing merrily while Remus did his best not to throw up on everyone’s very expensive clothes.
Sirius kept a steady hand in his, pointedly drawing the conversation away from him so James or Peter didn’t ask how he was feeling. Remus did not trust to open his mouth, his stomach was churning that badly.
When they arrived, the streets were already crowded with people going in. Everyone was dressed as fancily as James described—pristine suits and glittering evening gowns, some were classic and others were elevated like Remus, or non-traditional like Sirius. It was easy to pick out the artists from the crowd based on fashion alone.
Remus’ legs shook and his chest clenched and trembled with nerves. A part of him wished he still had the cane he used during recovery.
But he forced himself to get out of the car after his friends, and silently followed them towards the museum, overwhelmed and scared out of his mind. The museum looked imposing and impressive lit up at night, its interior glowing into the street and filled with people and talk. The delicious smell of food wafted from the lobby, and as they joined the crowd, Remus saw over the sea of heads that the doors to the main exhibition room were wide open.
He caught a glimpse of that large room he’d been in with the Potters and McGonagall, filled with people milling about the artwork.
“Artist or guest?” The security guard at the door asked, holding a thick packet of names.
“We’re guests, he’s the artist.” Peter replied, pointing to him. “Remus Lupin.”
The guard spent a while flipping through his packet, and Remus had a nonsensical moment of panic that his name wasn’t on it, a worry that only grew as the guy kept flipping.
“Ah, yes. Lupin. And you three?”
“James Potter.” James stepped forward. The guard blinked.
“Potter?”
“Yep.”
The guard looked at him, then between the rest of them.
“Go right on in, sir.” He said, unhooking the stanchion and letting them pass without even vetting Sirius or Peter. James waggled his eyebrows at them and led them in.
“What in the top one percent bullshit was that?” Remus immediately blurted out the moment they stepped inside. The other three chuckled.
“My sweet Remus, the Potter name is like royalty in this business.” Peter grinned. “Wait until James does it to the dessert staff. Extra cheesecake all night!”
“Why did he look like he was gonna shit his pants? Are you mean to them?” Remus asked James.
“What? Of course not!” He said indignantly. “My dad plays poker with him on Tuesdays. He’s never met me before. And the rest of the staff just knows us, is all. My parents make sure they talk and tip each of them at the end of the night. Peter’s being dramatic.”
“Young Mr. Potter!” A wizen old man greeted them, hobbling around from behind coat check. “May I take your coats?”
“Hey Tom,” James smiled. “and yeah, thanks.”
Tom took each of their coats and dusted them off with a brush. “Don’t you worry about keeping a tag on you, I’ll personally fetch them myself at the end of the evening.”
“I don’t think Peter’s being dramatic.” Remus muttered to Sirius, who snorted.
“Thanks, Tom. How’s Lizzie and the grandkids?”
“C’mon,” Sirius nudged Remus. “James’ gonna be talking to him for a while. Tom’s a rambler.”
They split off to wander around. Sirius and Peter pointed out people they knew, curators and other artists, and the like. Remus had no idea they were so deeply ingrained in the network of the art world. His stomach twisted again at the bitter thought that he was much further behind in the subject than they were.
“Basil Fenwick, he’s a reporter for the Times’ art section—and that’s Gloria Finklestein, she’s got a gallery in Harlem that focuses on illusion work—oh hey! Monty and Effie!”
Sirius waved the Potters over, who had James with them, laughing merrily.
“Hello again, Remus darling.” Effie said, sweeping him into a tight hug. “My, don’t you look dashing. Where on earth did you find a suit like that?”
“My friend, Lily, made it for me.” Remus smiled, more and happy to network for her. “She’s studying at FIT. My friend Dorcas made the jewelry.”
“Oh! They both did an exquisite job, give them my congratulations on their success.” Effie beamed.
“I did his hair and makeup!” Sirius butt in, puffing his chest out proudly.
“Marvelous, dear. Truly marvelous.” Effie patted his cheek with all the air of a mother affectionately amusing her child. Remus couldn’t help but smile as Sirius half heartedly pouted.
“Remus, lad!” Monty boomed over the din of chatter. He clapped him heartily on the shoulder. “Your piece is already the talk of the event! Have you boys been inside yet?”
“We just got here, Dad.” James chuckled. “I think I gave Jorge a heart attack at the door.”
“Ah well, he’s never met you before. Was probably expecting you to come with me and your mother.” Monty chortled. “Come along, boys! No point lingering in the lobby!”
The Potters led them into the main hall, the spacious room feeling smaller with the number of people in it now. Art hung on the walls and from the ceiling, and others stood scattered around the floor, marked off by velvet stanchions.
Monty and Effie had no sooner showed them inside before they got whisked away by someone asking questions about the collection.
Remus very pointedly did not look for his piece, which he knew was in the dead center of the room. He was scared to see people looking at it as much as he was scared to see people ignoring it. He wanted to stand in the corner of the room and never go near it at all.
“Oh, Remus…” Sirius breathed next to him, and that was when he knew Carrion had come into view of them. He stared at the pool instead, watching the water splash down.
James and Peter were silent beside him.
Remus suddenly wished he hadn’t bore his heart and soul out for everyone to see, even though no one would suspect the figure of him. He was incredibly uncomfortable with even his friends seeing the piece with context. Art was supposed to be about showing his view of the world, not his own world. He shouldn’t have made it so personal, so tied to his own trauma and vulnerabilities—
“It’s beautiful, Remus.” James said, his voice faint.
“Dear god, it is.” Peter agreed, putting a hand on his shoulder.
“I wish I hadn’t brought it here.” Remus mumbled.
“Why?” Sirius asked, brows furrowed. “It’s gorgeous.”
“It’s too much of myself.” He shook his head, still staring at the water. “It’s too much of me. I-I thought it wouldn’t be a big deal, there’s no statement to explain what it means but…I shouldn’t have put so much of me into it.”
Perhaps Oscar Wilde’s views on art were correct.
“Remus,” James said softly. “There’s only a handful of people on the planet who know what this means, and every one of them loves you and sees you as a whole. You needed a way to express what happened—to help you heal. No one else will ever know. Just us. And you’re safe with us.”
Remus closed his eyes and took a few steady breaths, letting James’ words sink in.
After a moment, he opened them.
“Right. Okay.” He said. “Can…can we get something to eat?”
“‘Course.” Peter replied. “C’mon, let’s see what fancy dishes they’ve got tonight. Last year they had a potato bar!”
“What…what does that even mean?” Remus asked vaguely, already feeling steadier as his friends led him away from Carrion.
“They had mash potatoes and a bunch of toppings last year.” James explained. “They made it fancy by giving everyone martini glasses to put it in.”
“That’s…avant garde.”
“The snooty ones didn’t like it, but we had a blast with them. We’ll show you the pictures sometime. I hope they brought it back!”
There was no potato bar, but there was am impressive line of seafood and pastas to choose from, and Remus, gaining more confidence as his friends lifted his spirits, took advantage of his recovering appetite. It was heavenly—Remus did not have the income to buy expensive ingredients, nor the time to cook complicated dishes. So the crab cakes and buttery alfredo, paired with crispy garlic bread and delicate cuts of salmon were like tasting divinity.
Regulus texted him while they ate—
Going to be late. Barty and Evan showed up with a bag of cocaine they found on the street and now Pandora and I are trying to stop them from using it. I’m either going to the police station to report drugs or my friends. Or myself, for killing them.
Remus didn’t know whether to laugh or be concerned that Regulus’ friends brought illegal drugs into their apartment, so he just send a reassuring text and good luck.
“My roommate’s going to be late.” He announced to the others. “Friend issues.”
“Shouldn’t be a problem. This event goes on for hours.” James said cheerfully. “We can set aside a plate for him if he wants?”
“Yeah, that might be good. He doesn’t like tomato sauce, and don’t get anything with shrimp. He almost choked on one once and refuses to go near them.”
James flashed him a thumbs up and headed back over to the buffet.
——
After they finished eating, Remus was feeling much more confident. A few people passing by complimented his outfit, and the few nervous glances he cast towards his piece showed people around it all the time.
McGonagall swept by wearing a regal emerald green night dress, and congratulated Remus once again on his accomplishment. She told him some curator friends of her were coming by soon, and that she wanted to introduce him to them.
That made Remus feel even better at the prospect of getting further with his work because of Carrion. He wandered the rest of the hall with his friends, happily listening to Sirius gush about the paintings and talk about their techniques. He admired the way painting made him light up—his eyes sparkled with joy and he spoke with his hands, eagerly showing Remus the difference in each stroke and how the artist achieved a certain color.
James and Peter, who’s area of expertise were not on display, teamed up to charm the donors and curators milling around. They’d started to make it a game, competing for donor’s favors. No one seemed to mind, many of them were highly entertained by their antics. Judging by it all, Remus could only assume they’d done it before.
McGonagall swooped back around eventually and introduced him to Filius Flitwick, Elphias Doge, and Bertha Jorkins, all well known curators in Canada, Chicago and Los Angeles. She had been apparently talking him up to them, and had already shown them Carrion, of which they were all mightily impressed.
Sirius stood beside him, laughing at Doge’s bad jokes and charming Bertha Jorkins, helping Remus with his courage. He eagerly talked about his process when Flitwick asked, sparing no expense to include the people who had helped him along the way, and asked them all what sort of work they focused on curating.
The whole conversation was a smooth one, and Remus had actually managed to secure their personal emails by the time they were due to leave—
“Old people!” Flitwick had squeaked. “Very early bedtimes!”
“Excellent job, Mr. Lupin.” McGonagall murmured, her sharp eyes twinkling.
“Thank you, ma’am. For everything.”
“Don’t thank me. All I ask is that you never forget the reason why we do what we do, Lupin.”
“I won’t.”
McGonagall nodded. “Good. I shall do my rounds before retiring. Filius was right—us wizen folk have strict sleep schedules to adhere to. Goodnight, Remus.”
“Goodnight, Ms. McGonagall.”
Sirius tapped his arm.
“I’m going to grab drinks. Do you want anything?”
Remus, who was already pleasantly warm by the shot of whiskey James and Peter had goaded him into, shook his head.
“Just a water, please. I don’t want a hangover tomorrow.”
“Okay. And how’s your hand?”
It was just Remus’ luck that his wounded hand was his shaking one, so meeting everyone McGonagall or James or Sirius introduced him to, and shaking all their hands had left his palm aching and stinging uncomfortably. But Remus wasn’t ready to leave yet either—his earlier nerves were all but dissipated, and he wanted to actually enjoy the exhibition.
“It’s alright. Could you check it when we’re home?”
Sirius’ smile at the word ‘home’ made his entire body warm in an entirely different way.
“‘Course, Moony. Be right back.”
And then, he was gone, weaving gracefully through the crowd. Remus turned back to finally look at Carrion for the first time that night. It was easier to do knowing he was alone, that no one nearby except him could fully appreciate the meaning of his work. His earlier insecurities faded away, and he was suddenly struck with a thought that made him feel out of his body—
He had made it. He’d finally done what he’d been dreaming of doing since he first touched clay. It was finally his turn to step on the stairway and start climbing.
“It’s rather crude, don’t you think?”
Blinking out of his thoughts, Remus looked around to see a blonde man standing beside him, squinting critically at Carrion. The man had perfectly placed curls and round blue eyes that lacked any boyish kindness. He glanced over at Remus and flashed him what could only be a charming smile full of veneers.
“Gilderoy Lockhart. You’ve probably heard my name, I’ve been causing quite a stir in London for a few years now. I’ve never seen you at one of these events before—are you someone’s guest?”
“No.” Remus replied, doing everything in his power not to lean away from him.
“I’m actually here as Dolores Umbridge’s personal assistant.” Gilderoy Lockhart said, tossing his curls and flashing him another smile. It was like watching a dodo bird try and attract a mate. “She’s one of the most exclusive curators in Europe, in charge of almost forty galleries across the countries. Of course, plenty of my work has been in her collections, it’s how she hired me. She needed my expertise in sculptural work for her next curations. Are you a curator’s coffee runner? Since you’re not a guest?”
Remus narrowed his eyes. He’d heard of Umbridge before—a foul woman with extremely conservative views. She only catered to galleries that shunted all art movements beyond 1850. Galleries that focused on specific movements usually weren’t the problem—the problem was that the galleries she worked for, and Umbridge herself, boasted their racist, homophobic, bigoted ideals very loudly, and refused to work with anyone that didn’t fall under their standards. If Lockhart had earned her favor, then he was not a man Remus wanted to share air with, let alone a few words.
“This piece, for example,” Gilderoy barreled on despite Remus’ lack of an answer. He nodded to Carrion. “It has elements of Christianity in the body’s form and positioning, but the metal sheets and the water coming out the holes…it’s just all a bit too crude. The metal sheets are clearly just an excuse to attach the figure for stabilizing when they could have used wires to hang it! It would’ve looked much cleaner. The sheets ruin the classical feel, and the holes in the figure is clearly trying to look like the broken remains of an old Greek statue that the artist found. They should have made a whole figure and used that instead! Clearly the artist is trying to make the figure look like a rather crude version of Jesus during his crucifixion. The metal sheets are obviously the ignorance of God slicing down on him.”
Contrary to Remus’ insecurities regarding his work, he had always taken criticism well. He thrived on it, always looking for an outside perspective that could advice him on how to do things differently, or see things from another angle.
Gilderoy Lockhart’s perspective, however, was not only completely ignoring the basic functions of building required for large sculptural pieces, but a totally inaccurate knowledge of Christian artwork and biblical mythology. It was clear that, if he had gone to art school, he hadn’t paid attention to a single class the entire time he was enrolled.
“Ah! There’s my employer now. I’m sure she’ll agree on my assessment of this piece! Madame Umbridge!”
Of course she’d even given herself a snooty title. Remus fought not to let his lip curl up in disgust as the woman approached.
She was a squat, frog-like woman wearing the most atrocious shade of pink he’d ever seen. Her mouth and nose were already wrinkled with distaste, and she surveyed Remus with beady little eyes filled with judgement. He watched as they flitted around every scar on his face.
“Madame Umbridge, I was just telling this lad about our work here tonight.”
“Hm!” Umbridge sniffed. “A fat lot of work we’ve done. None of these pieces are representative of true artistry. Those Potters are too lenient with the kind of riff raff they allow in this museum. Absolutely no organization or unity in the movements here.” She looked Remus up and down again, and turned up her nose.
“Aren’t you supposed to be behind the buffet tables?” She said, her voice sickly sweet, full of malice and privilege.
“This lad is a curator’s coffee boy!” Lockhart laughed.
“Hm! It appears they’ll let anyone in these days.” She sniffed. “These events used to be exclusively for the finest of our trade. Now it’s just a parade of living Picassos, what horrid work he did. Shame they’ll let deformities in now too.”
Remus’ stomach twisted, and his chest was suddenly rattling again.
Deformity. Deformity. Deformity.
“And this piece,” Umbridge waved her hand carelessly at Carrion. “is not to the standard I work with. It would be better outside for the dogs to drink out of.”
“Excuse me.” Sirius voice was cold and sharp, cutting through Umbridge’s snide words like a bullet through ice. He was suddenly there, standing between Remus and Gilderoy like a frigid shield of lace and leather.
“Ah! Sirius Black!” Gilderoy bared his teeth again in a smile that seemed venomous. “How’s the old school doing?”
“I wouldn’t know. I haven’t been there in three years.” Sirius replied coldly. “I thought you were busy scamming your way through London’s galleries.”
“Oh you do know how to tell a good joke, Black.” Gilderoy laughed. There was no warmth in it. “That little incident with Quirrel is all water under the bridge. Madame Umbridge has taken me under her wing doing remarkable work throughout Europe. I daresay I’m only a few years away from being in an art history book. I’ve got publishers asking for a bibliography—“
“If you don’t mind, Lockhart, I couldn’t give less of a shit.” Sirius cut in flatly. Gilderoy’s false smile faltered slightly, and his eyes flashed.
“Of course,” he said with a note of derision in his cheery tone. “you never liked other people talking about their accomplishments. Do you know this coffee boy, then? He doesn’t work for you, surely not! You’ve barely got pieces anywhere, you couldn’t afford—“
“This is Remus Lupin. He’s an artist of the exhibition, and I’m in his plus one tonight.” Sirius interrupted.
“Is he now?” Umbridge said sweetly, turning a sugary smile to Remus that didn’t hide the way her lip curled in judgement. “Well, artists come in many forms, but I’ve never seen a deformed one before.”
“A what?” Sirius said loudly, making the nearby talk halt and heads turn. Remus, who had been standing in a state of shock, the word ‘deformity’ rattling around his head, suddenly found the ability to move. He grabbed Sirius’ shoulder, stopping him from stepping towards Umbridge and Lockhart.
“Don’t.” He said lowly. Instead, Sirius slammed the drinks he’d brought them onto a nearby table, the glass clinking against the marble like it was close to shattering. More heads turned.
“I think it might be best you two retire for the evening,” Sirius said, his voice level but dark with an underlying threat. He had straightened himself up to his full height, and looked down at them like shit on his Louboutins. “it’s clear you’re not going to find any pieces you’re interested in curating.”
Both Umbridge and Lockhart’s mouths twisted into identically sweet sneers.
“Quite right.” Umbridge agreed waspishly. “Now that I know the kind of people they let into their exhibitions, I don’t think they are deserving of our business. Come along, Lockhart.”
The two turned and disappeared into the crowd, which resumed talking once they left. Remus could feel Sirius shaking with anger under his hand, and gently turned him around.
Furious silver eyes met his own tired ones.
“It wasn’t worth it.” Remus said quietly. “Some people can only speak in insults.”
“I wanted to jam my hair stick down their throats.” Sirius growled. “And that she called you a…a—“
“It doesn’t matter.” He said hollowly.
“Yes, it does. And it clearly matters to you!” Sirius argued. He cupped Remus’ cheek with his hand. “It matters. You matter.”
“You shouldn’t have made a scene. You could’ve been kicked out.”
“Ha! I’m basically a Potter. They’d have to kick James, Monty and Effie out with me.” Sirius stroked his thumb under Remus’ eye tenderly. “You’re a Potter too. That shouldn’t have happened to you. I know that foul woman, no wonder Lockhart works for her. Two peas in a fucking pod.”
“You know him?”
Sirius took his hand away after seeming to assess that Remus was okay. “Yeah, we went to university together in London. He got caught trying to pass someone else’s work as his own in a gallery. He’s a right prick.”
“I gathered that.” Remus’ phone buzzed with another text. Regulus.
Just arrived. In lobby. Where are you?
“My roommate’s here.” He told Sirius. “I’ll go find him.”
“Alright. Remus?”
He looked around at his boyfriend.
“Don’t listen to anything those two assholes say. None of it’s true. Yeah?”
Remus smiled, and left to find Regulus. ‘Deformity’ still sat in his chest like a paperweight, but he pushed through it.
It was pretty rich of Umbridge to call him a deformity when she looked like a toad and a gnome had sex…
Regulus was standing in the lobby with his arms crossed, looking exceedingly pissed—although, he always looked like that. He was wearing some of his best posh clothes, and immediately walked over to Remus when he spotted him.
“I’m going to kill Barty and Evan.” He announced in lieu of greeting. “I spend the past three hours convincing the cops the cocaine wasn’t theirs only for them to follow me here wanting free food and alcohol. The guard at the door had to stop them from barging in.”
“Sounds like a rough night,” Remus snorted. “c’mon, my friend saved you a plate and it’s an open bar.”
Regulus grunted and followed him into the main room. There were less people with the night winding down, but still enough that Remus couldn’t immediately spot his friends in the crowd.
Remus was able to get the plate James set aside for Regulus, and by the time he got back to him, Regulus already had a glass of wine in his hand, and was standing in front of Carrion.
He silently passed over the plate, and Regulus took it wordlessly.
“Well done.” He said, still looking at the sculpture.
“How did you know it’s mine?”
Regulus leveled him with a flat look that looked so much of Sirius’ it made he blink in momentary confusion.
“Despite the fact that you never told me your mysterious backstory, I know more about you than you think I do, Lupin.” Regulus said. “And I assume the same of me for you.”
“Touche, Malfoy.”
“Remus!” He recognized Sirius calling from a little ways away. He nudged Regulus’ shoulder.
“C’mon, meet my friends.”
He turned, and saw Sirius, James, and Peter heading towards them. Regulus stepped around him and greeted them.
In that moment, several things happened. Remus saw the smile immediately disappear from Sirius’ face, James tripped over Peter’s shoe and nearly crashed into a table, there was a shatter from behind as Regulus dropped the plate and glass.
Everyone froze. Remus and Peter looked between Sirius, James, and Regulus, confused beyond belief.
“Regulus?” James whispered.
Regulus remained frozen, his eyes wide. But he wasn’t looking at James. His eyes were on Sirius, who’s face was pale and gaunt like he’d suddenly aged ten years. He looked like he did when he saw Remus for the first time—like he’d seen a ghost.
“Regina?” Sirius choked out.
“Regina?” Remus repeated. “Who the fuck is—?”
“No.” Regulus spat, the word laced with hatred. “Fucking no. Fuck this shit.” He jabbed a finger at Sirius. “Fuck. You.”
Before anyone could say another word, Regulus spun on his heel and pushed through the crowd until he was gone.
“What...the fuck?” Peter asked, breaking the stunned quiet that fell between them. Even the continuous murmur of the crowd, who had barely noticed anything beyond the shattered dining ware, couldn’t penetrate the painful silence between the four of them.
“Sirius?” Remus asked hesitantly. His boyfriend shakily sank down onto the edge of the pool, staring at the spot where Regulus had disappeared.
“James?” Peter asked, touching his shoulder. James jumped out of his frozen state like he’d been bit in the ass, and tore out of the hall after Regulus.
“Sirius, what…?” Remus asked, slowly sitting down next to him. Sirius was shaking violently, and his skin was clammy to the touch. He looked ready to pass out.
“Sirius—“
“That’s my sister. She’s been dead for six years.”