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Sirius Black and artistic mastermind were once synonymous. Now his name was mostly followed by descriptors such as “boring”, “stale”, or “old news”. It’s heartbreaking honestly. His work was being discarded like yesterday's paper. Well, not literally, but essentially in the public’s mind and that’s just as bad. Or worse. It depends on your view of art preservation and Sirius has always been one for dramatics, so, of course, he sways to whichever side is more of a drastic statement at the moment.
Either way, it’s bad and it’s happening. It’s not like this is completely out of the blue. In all transparency, this day has been built up for the past couple of years. At the height of his career, any new statue would be met with praises worthy of the gods. Reporters would fall at his feet, begging for an interview, museums would pay him to showcase his work, adoring fans would plead to be his muse, et cetera, et cetera. It also was easy to create new masterpieces. Sirius loved working with the different stones to create slight variations of the same thing. A large dog. Sirius didn’t know why the one animal called to him so strongly, but whenever he sat down in front of a stone and let his hands take over while he drifted into faraway thoughts, he always returned to a large stone dog posed in front of him. He noticed the decline of interest in his dogs around the fifth or sixth one he made. Despite this, he still created them. Desperate to hold on to the attention. To hold on to the comfort. He would create those dogs until his tools broke and his hands bled. He’d spin the story of each statue to capture viewers. It worked for a while, but eventually, the public grew wary and moved on to another young artist to swoon over.
It broke Sirius to see his passion for his art reciprocated no longer, but one steady fan stayed with him throughout the withdrawal of public interest in his work: his best friend and local museum owner, James. It didn’t matter if his museum curator, Dorcas, advised against it or if Sirius thought it was his worst work yet, James would display his statues with pride until Sirius created a new piece to take its place. But no matter how much James loved his art, the public didn’t and it was an issue. So, Sirius traveled through the brisk London night to his quaint little art studio at the end of Hogsmeade Street and sat himself down in front of a chunk of stone. He wouldn’t sleep until he created something breathtaking and he refused to carve out a dog.
…
In his defense, he chipped off about an inch of stone on either side of the soon-to-be-career-renewer and made it three days without sleep, food, or water before he promptly passed out and whacked his head on the rock. He’ll probably never know whether the mild concussion or sleep deprivation knocked him out that hard, but he was grateful for whichever it was nonetheless.
…
When Sirius opened his eyes, he found himself swaying in a strange room. He’s definitely never been here before. The walls were painted a cool gray that was a couple of shades darker than the concrete floor. The room would’ve seemed cold and uncomforting if not for the unknown light source that filled the room with a warm glow. Sirius blinked a couple of times then let out a breath. He should’ve felt uneasy, being in a strange room and all, but an unwarranted calm had washed over him.
He turned around to scan the rest of the room. It was completely unfurnished except for a small wooden stool in the corner of the room. It was quite the contrast too. A natural wood, Sirius could tell, probably birch. It seemed out of the ordinary in the dark atmosphere, but not as nearly as jarring as the man strewn on it. He was flipping carelessly through a leatherbound book, the title Sirius couldn’t make out. The unfamiliar man didn’t seem to notice Sirius in the room, which made him feel quite awkward, honestly. Sirius shifted his weight back and forth before finally croaking,
“Excuse me, er, where am I?” The man looked up from his book to Sirius, the crease between his brows dissipating. He seemed to ponder the question, his amber eyes drifting somewhere beyond the moment, before replying,
“Not entirely sure myself.” Sirius accepted this with a small nod. He was quite accepting in his current state for whatever odd reason. He made his way over to the wall opposite the young man and leaned back, relaxing. He took a moment to run his eyes over his new… friend? Cellmate? Whatever. Whoever it was, he was quite attractive. The messy curls atop his head looked as if he didn’t care for them properly, but looked ridiculously soft anyway. Despite the hair, he looked quite put together. He had the sort of relaxed eyes that Sirius couldn’t tell if they were critiquing or admiring him. He didn’t think he would care either way as long as they were on him, honestly. But then again Sirius had always wanted to be the center of attention. They were the type of brown that toed the border of being gold, in the right lighting. The fella was lucky that his eyes were so gorgeous because each feature seemed to draw attention to them. From the light smattering of freckles to his arched brows, even the scar across his face pointed to his eyes. Sirius was snapped out of his thoughts when the other man cocked his head to the side as a curious, but playful, smile played against his lips. Sirius felt heat creeping towards his cheeks and promptly deflected with a question,
“So, what are you reading? Any good?”
“Oh, I have no idea,” he huffed out a laugh, “I can’t see anything without my glasses.”
“So you haven’t been able to admire my ravishing beauty?” Sirius gestured to himself and batted his lashes playfully.
“Well that spans all visual impairments,” he quipped back. Sirius blushed more than he would like to admit. He felt himself start to wake and of course, he was dreaming. He should’ve guessed it sooner, to be honest. In a last-ditch effort to preserve the interaction he threw out a final question,
“What’s your name?” His vision was starting to fade to black and he felt a throbbing in his forehead. A couple more seconds and he’d be back in the studio.
“Remus.”