Fading Stars

James sat in one of the many high-backed chairs arranged in a semi-circle around the grand hall, trying not to let his nerves show. The Black Mansion was massive, but this particular room—one of the more modern spaces—had been set up for the official introduction to the competition. A long, sleek black conference table stretched in front of them, and at its head stood Andromeda Black, her presence commanding yet elegant.

She was nothing like what James had expected from a member of the Black family. Her dark hair was streaked with silver, but her sharp brown eyes held none of the cold arrogance he'd heard whispered about the infamous Black lineage. Instead, she radiated authority in a way that was calculated, refined. A woman who had seen it all.

James glanced around at the other contestants, most of whom sat upright, their attention fixed on Andromeda. Even the usually laid-back Barty Crouch Jr. wasn’t slouching. Lily was seated two chairs down from James, a pen in hand as if she were about to take notes, while Marlene, next to her, looked half-excited, half-anxious.

Andromeda’s gaze swept over them before she finally spoke.

“Welcome,” she said, her voice smooth yet firm. “You are the top thirty candidates chosen from thousands of applicants. You are here because you have potential. You are here because we see something in you. However, potential alone will not be enough to survive this competition.”

James resisted the urge to shift in his seat.

“The next few weeks will test you in ways you’ve never been tested before,” she continued. “There will be exhaustion, doubt, and moments where you question why you are even here. But if you make it to the end, it will be because you have proven that you belong in this industry.”

James exchanged a glance with Marlene, who raised a single brow as if to say, Well, this is dramatic.

Andromeda gestured to the large screen behind her. “At the end of every week, we will hold a formal evaluation. Your performance in challenges, photoshoots, and runway walks will be assessed. Each evaluation will determine who continues in this competition—” she paused for effect, “—and who goes home.”

A few people inhaled sharply. James tightened his grip on his chair’s armrest. He had known, of course, that eliminations would happen. But hearing it so definitively sent a spike of adrenaline through him.

“You will be judged on technique, adaptability, presence, and creativity. Each week will bring new challenges—some will push you physically, others will test your ability to handle stress and fear. You will be asked to pose underwater, walk in conditions that are less than ideal, model in the air—harnessed, of course.”

James swallowed. Underwater? In the air? He wasn’t afraid of challenges, but he also wasn’t exactly a trained acrobat.

“You will walk runways that demand more than just a confident stride,” Andromeda continued. “Some will require acting, others will force you to think on your feet. This is not just about looking good in front of a camera. It is about storytelling, about artistry.”

James caught sight of Fabian and Gideon Prewett exchanging smirks. The twins seemed unbothered, as if this was just another adrenaline-fueled adventure to them.

Andromeda clasped her hands in front of her. “If you want to survive this competition, you must be willing to step out of your comfort zones. Fear, insecurity—these will be your greatest enemies. But if you trust yourselves, trust this process, you may just find that you are capable of far more than you ever imagined.”

A heavy silence settled over the room. James felt his heartbeat quicken, but instead of fear, there was excitement bubbling beneath the nerves. This was what he had signed up for. The pressure, the challenge, the chance to prove himself.

James barely had time to process Andromeda’s words before she clicked a button on the small remote in her hand. The screen behind her flickered, revealing a neatly organized timetable for the next few days. The sight alone made James’ stomach flip—each day was packed from morning till night.

Andromeda stepped aside, giving them all a clear view. “This,” she said, “is your schedule for the upcoming days. Study it well, because there will be no excuses for falling behind.”

James leaned forward slightly, scanning the text.

Day 1 – Orientation & Industry Expectations + meeting the staff
Day 2 – Makeover Day
Day 3 – Sedcard Photoshoot
Day 4-6 – Runway Training & Challenge Preparation
Day 7 – First Fashion Show & Candidate Reveal (Live Broadcast)

Marlene let out a low whistle beside him. “Straight into the deep end, huh?”

Andromeda didn’t acknowledge the comment, but a small smirk tugged at her lips as she continued. “Tomorrow, you will all receive a professional makeover. Our team of stylists, colorists, and designers will decide the best possible look for each of you. Some of you will get minor adjustments. Others—” she glanced around the room, “—will leave the chair looking like entirely new people.”

James heard a few nervous chuckles. He wasn’t particularly attached to his hair, but the idea of surrendering himself completely to someone else’s vision made him uneasy.

“The day after your transformations,” Andromeda went on, “you will have your first professional shoot—your Sedcard Photoshoot. These images will be the foundation of your portfolio. They will be used to introduce you to the fashion industry, to casting directors, to designers. They are your first impression—so you’d better make it a good one.”

James shifted in his seat. His first official shoot. No gimmicks, no elaborate sets—just him and the camera. It felt like the real beginning of his career.  Even though James had been modeling for more than a year, he had never had a professional sedcard shoot. His photo portfolio consisted of amateur shots taken by Lily or other hobby photographers. Getting a sedcard shoot with one of the House of Black photographers, whose work meets the quality of the Noble House of Black, significantly improves one's chances in the fashion world.

“Following that,” Andromeda continued, “the next three days will be devoted to runway training. Your ability to walk will be tested and refined under the guidance of top runway coaches. Some of you may think walking is easy.” Her sharp gaze swept over the room. “You are wrong.”

James heard Fabian Prewett whisper something to his twin, who barely stifled a laugh. Andromeda, however, didn’t seem fazed.

“The way you move, the way you hold yourself—it all matters. This is not just about looking good in an outfit. It is about confidence, precision, presence. If you cannot sell a garment with your walk, you will not last in this industry.”

She let the words sink in before continuing. “Because at the end of the week, you will put those skills to the test.”

James saw the next event highlighted on the timetable:

Fashion Show – Live Broadcast & Candidate Reveal

“This show,” Andromeda said, “is where your candidacy will be officially revealed to the public. It will be streamed live on television and across multiple platforms. Millions of people will be watching. This will be your first major exposure. It is your chance to make an unforgettable first impression.”

James’ breath hitched. Live?

He had known, of course, that the competition was a big deal, but somehow, it hadn’t fully clicked that he was about to be thrown in front of a global audience within a week.

Lily raised her hand. “What kind of show are we walking?”

Andromeda inclined her head slightly, as if pleased by the question. “The theme of the show is ‘New Icons.’ Each of you will be assigned a designer who has prepared a look inspired by the legends of fashion—past, present, and future. The challenge is to embody that essence while making it your own.”

James’ mind raced. He had spent years admiring the greats—Naomi Campbell, Tyson Beckford, Gisele Bündchen and of course Regulus Black as well as his cousin Narcissa Black. The idea that he would have to step into that kind of role so soon was both exhilarating and terrifying.

Andromeda clasped her hands together. “This is the reality of the industry. You must be prepared at all times. You must be adaptable, fearless, and above all, ready to deliver.”

The weight of her words settled over the room. James could feel it—this wasn’t just some competition. This was it.

And in a week’s time, the whole world would be watching.

Andromeda gave them a final look. “Any questions?”

James exhaled slowly. Let the games begin.

Remus Lupin had always preferred being behind the camera rather than in front of a crowd.  Yet, here he was, standing before a group of fresh-faced contestants, all eager, all a little nervous, waiting for him to speak. He had done this before—introduced himself to models, explained his process—but this was different. He had spent years capturing beauty through his lens, but standing in front of a room full of hopefuls, he was reminded of a truth few people understood—beauty alone was never enough.

This wasn’t just another job. This was The Noble House of Black Model Search, and these young hopefuls had no idea what they had truly signed up for.

He leaned against the edge of the long table at the front of the studio, arms crossed, scanning the faces before him. Some looked eager, some nervous, others—like the blonde girl in the back with arms draped over her chair—looked downright bored. He could already tell who had been trained to present themselves at all times and who still had rough edges.  Remus had already received the candidates' documents from Regulus a few days ago—photos from their portfolios to memorize their names, along with other important details. Thanks to his photographic vision, he had never had trouble remembering names. As a result, he could now proudly address each of the 30 candidates by name. He adjusted the sleeves of his linen shirt, rolled to his elbows. The contestants were seated in neat rows, their eyes fixed on him. Some of them recognized him immediately; he could see it in the way their expressions shifted—excitement, awe, and, in some cases, intimidation. Remus Lupin was no ordinary photographer. He was the photographer. He cleared his throat.

This is going to be interesting.

“Alright,” he started, voice steady, measured. “I’m Remus Lupin. If you haven’t heard of me, you’re in the wrong industry.”
 He let the words settle, watching as a few of them exchanged glances. A pause, just enough to make them wonder if he was joking.  
“I’ve been in this industry since I was a teenager, long before I had any business being here. I started with a secondhand camera and a few friends willing to model for free. Now, I work for the most powerful fashion empire in the world. That’s why I’m here. That’s why you’re here.”

He pushed off the table and started pacing slowly. “Most of your shoots in this competition will be with me. That means I’ll be the one seeing every angle, every mistake, every strength you don’t even know you have yet. My job isn’t to make you look good—it’s to make you look interesting. You want to survive in this industry? Be memorable. Be undeniable. This industry isn’t kind. You will be judged, criticized, and picked apart. But if you listen, if you trust me, I’ll make sure you get photos that can change your career.”

His words landed differently on each of them. Lily Evans, all fiery hair and sharp focus, sat forward, absorbing every word. James Potter, casually draped in his seat, had the kind of effortless confidence that could either be real or complete bullshit. Marlene McKinnon, the girl with the careless posture, was watching him like she was sizing him up rather than the other way around. And Barty Crouch Jr., slouched in his seat, looking like he wanted to be anywhere but here, rolled a silver ring between his fingers.

That one’s trouble, Remus thought absently.

There was a beat of silence before a voice cut through. “And what about the shoots you don’t do?”

Remus nodded slightly and turned his head toward the speaker. Good. They listen.
“For some specialized shoots, we’ll bring in other photographers,” he  answered. “Underwater photography, avant-garde editorials, extreme location work—that’s not my thing. But for anything high fashion, anything that truly matters, it’ll be me.”

James tilted his head, curiosity flickering in his expression. “What exactly makes a shoot matter?”

Remus exhaled through his nose. “When people look at a photo and don’t forget it.”

Another voice chimed in—Lily Evans. “You’ve worked with the Blacks for a long time, right?”

Remus kept his expression neutral. “Yes.”

Silence stretched for a beat. Then Marlene smirked. “So… any insider advice?”

Remus raised a brow. “For surviving?”

She grinned. “For winning.”

A slow smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Clever.  “Two things. One: This competition isn’t just about being the best model. It’s about being the most memorable. And two…” He let his gaze linger, shifting between them. “If you want to survive in the House of Black, you have to learn exactly which rules to break—and when.”

That got their attention. Even Barty, who had looked like he wasn’t paying attention, smirked slightly.

Remus straightened, glancing at the clock. He had already spent more time here than planned. “That’s all for today. Your first shoot is tomorrow. Come prepared.” He turned, heading for the door, then paused. Looked back.

“One last thing—if you’re waiting for permission to stand out, you’re in the wrong industry.”

And with that, he left.

James ran a towel through his damp hair as he made his way down the dimly lit hallway of the Black Mansion, his gym bag slung over one shoulder. The hot shower had helped loosen his sore muscles, but exhaustion still clung to his limbs. The last few days had been intense—early morning workouts, runway practice and the pressure to prove himself. Still, he wouldn’t trade it for anything. Of course, none of that was as exhausting as the weeks ahead would be. His training with Lily at their small model label  would be nothing compared to the intense training to come. After all, in just a few days, they were set to walk in a fashion show—which would even be broadcast live.

As he passed by an open door, a familiar voice called out.

“Oi, Potter! Get in here.”

James stopped, stepping back to glance inside. Lily was sprawled across one of the beds, her long red hair fanning out over the pillows, while Marlene lay with her head resting on Lily’s stomach, lazily flipping through a magazine. Barty sat cross-legged on the floor, half-distracted as he scrolled through his phone. The room had the cozy chaos of a shared space—clothes draped over chairs, open suitcases, a few empty coffee cups on the nightstand.

James leaned against the doorframe, arching a brow. “Am I about to get roasted for something?”

Marlene smirked. “Not yet. But give it time.” She tapped the magazine with her finger. “I was just telling Lily and Barty about this article. It says that people always end up looking like their pets. And honestly, looking at Lily’s cat? The theory checks out.”

Lily groaned, waving a hand. “It’s not my fault that Pumpkin and I both have red hair.”

James grinned. “And the attitude. Don’t forget that.”

She threw a pillow at him, which he dodged effortlessly. Marlene, still grinning, turned her attention back to him. “So, Potter, what about you? What was your pet?”

James hesitated, shifting his weight. “I, uh… I never actually had one.”

Barty finally looked up from his phone, raising a brow. “Really? Not even a goldfish?”

“Nope.” James shook his head. “My parents traveled a lot for work, and we spent every summer in Brazil. It didn’t really make sense to have a pet.”

Marlene frowned. “Well, that’s boring.”

James chuckled. “Hold on, I didn’t say I never had anything close to a pet.” He leaned against the doorframe, the memory already bringing a smile to his face. “My grandparents live in the countryside in Brazil, and one summer, they found an injured fawn near their property. It must’ve gotten separated from its mother. We helped take care of it—fed it, kept it safe until it got stronger. When it was finally ready, we let it back into the wild.”

Lily propped herself up on her elbows, intrigued. “That’s actually really sweet. Did you ever see it again?”

James nodded. “Yeah. It kept coming back. Every couple of weeks, it would show up near the house. My grandmother always left food out just in case. It wasn’t exactly tame, but it trusted us. I called it ‘Prongs.’”

Marlene grinned. “That’s adorable. You basically had a woodland spirit as a pet.”

“Exactly.” James smirked. “So if we’re going by that whole ‘people look like their pets’ theory, I guess that makes me… what? Deer-like?”

Barty, who had been mostly quiet, suddenly smirked. “Well, you do have those big brown eyes.”

James groaned. “Great. That’s what I’m taking from this conversation?”

Marlene laughed, tossing a balled-up sock at him. “Deal with it, Bambi.”

Barty suddenly sat up, stretching his legs out in front of him. “Alright, Marlene. Since you’re the expert, what do you think my pet was?”

Marlene looked him up and down, tapping her chin in mock contemplation. “With that sharp face and dramatic flair? I’d say… a lizard.”

Barty rolled his eyes. “Predictable.”

Lily chuckled. “Come on, it fits. You’ve got that ‘cold-blooded but secretly interesting’ vibe.”

Barty huffed. “Wrong. I had a Doberman.”

James raised his brows. “No way.”

Barty smirked. “Yep. His name was Ares. Absolute menace, but the best dog ever.”

Marlene snapped her fingers. “Damn, missed opportunity. Doberman actually makes sense—loyal, intense, but kind of an elegant bastard.”

Barty preened. “Exactly.”

Lily snorted, and Barty smirked at his phone again. James just shook his head, laughing despite himself. He hadn’t expected to stop by, but as he leaned against the doorway, listening to them joke and tease, he felt the exhaustion of the week fade slightly. The mansion might have been overwhelming, but at least he had found good company.

James lingers in the doorway for a while, listening to the conversations before finally making his way to his room. He pushed open the door to his room with his hip, letting it swing shut behind him as he collapsed onto his bed with a quiet sigh. The dim lighting cast a warm glow over the space, making it feel even cozier after the lively conversation in Lily and Marlene’s room. His phone buzzed lightly in his hand—a reminder of the promise he’d made to call his parents.

If he didn’t do it now, his mom would definitely send him a concerned message first thing in the morning.

With a small smile, he swiped to dial their number and pressed the phone to his ear. It only rang twice before someone picked up.

“Meu filho! Finally, we thought you forgot about us!” His mother’s voice came through dramatically, but he could hear the smile in it.

James chuckled. “Mom, it’s been a week.”

“Exactly! A whole week without a proper call! Only texts, and your father and I are not impressed,” she teased.

In the background, he heard his dad’s voice. “Let the boy breathe, Effie, he’s a busy man now.”

James laughed. “Dad gets it.”

“We both get it,” his mom corrected. “But we still want to know everything! How were the first few days? Are they treating you well? Are you eating enough?”

James leaned back against the pillows, feeling a wave of warmth at their concern. “It’s been… intense. Long days, early mornings, but I love it. The mansion is insane, and the competition is already tough. But I’m figuring things out.”

His father hummed approvingly. “That’s my boy. You were born for this.”

His mother agreed instantly. “Exactly! I keep telling all my friends, ‘My James is going to be the next big thing!’”

James rolled his eyes fondly. “Mom, please tell me you’re not bragging about me already.”

“Of course I am!” she said, as if that were the most obvious thing in the world. “You know how proud we are, right?”

James felt something tighten in his chest—gratitude, maybe, or just the comfort of knowing that no matter how stressful things got here, his parents had his back.

“I know,” he said softly. “I really do.”

His father’s voice came through again. “And how are the people? Are you making friends?”

James thought back to the way he’d just been lying on Marlene’s floor, laughing at their ridiculous conversation about pets. He thought about Lily’s sharp wit, Barty’s dry humor, the general sense of camaraderie forming between them all.

“Yeah,” he said, smiling to himself. “I think I am.”

His mom sighed dramatically. “Just don’t fall in love with a supermodel and forget about calling your mother, okay?”

James barked out a laugh. “I’ll do my best.”

They talked for a little while longer, his parents telling him about home, about his mom’s latest charity project and his dad’s work. Eventually, James promised to call again soon, and after a few more reassurances that they loved him, the call ended.

James stared at the ceiling for a moment, letting the silence settle around him. He still had so much to prove, so much pressure to deal with—but right now, knowing he had their support, he felt lighter.

With a deep breath, he put his phone on the nightstand, turned off the light, and let sleep finally take him.