Chapter II
Sunday, 10 February 2002
Remus was heading in the direction of somebody’s flat whom he didn’t know to meet up and jam with his old mates from Hogwarts. What the actual fuck. His head ached with regrets the entire ride from Camden to Deptford. He was also hungover from the night before, which may have been a contributing factor.
The tube arrived at Deptford Bridge Station, Remus made his way to city level, and dug through his pockets to find the napkin Sirius had hastily written down the address on. He turned to walk down the right direction and hoped the next few hours wouldn’t be a colossal embarrassment.
It would be fun, he tried to tell himself. Last night was the lightest, most alive he had felt in years. This practice was only to fuck around with his best mates from school, relive their youth in a way. And though he had long put those rockstar dreams to rest six-feet under, it was just a bit of harmless fun. It didn’t mean anything. It was going to be fine.
Remus turned the corner and headed down Tanner’s Hill, looking for number 23. Once found, he hit the button next to the name ‘Longbottom, Frank’ on the intercom system, and waited.
“’Ello,” a cheery voice came from the box.
“Uh,” What was he supposed to say? Sirius hadn’t told him who this ‘Longbottom, Frank’ was. “I’m a friend of Sirius Black, he told me to come over. Name’s Remus.” Could he be more awkward?
“Ah, yes, of course he did.” The man sounded annoyed, his voice a bit depleted compared to his opening welcome. “Come on in.”
Remus heard the click of the door opening and he headed up the stairs for flat B. The building was nothing out of the ordinary for South-East London: some of the paint on the walls chipped away, creaky stairs, dust covering the wooden floors. Remus stood outside the door with a brass ‘B’ printed on it and knocked. The door opened with a whine, and a polite looking guy maybe a couple years older than Remus, probably late 20’s, opened the door. He had messy brown hair, a face littered with freckles, all topped with a kind smile.
“Hey, how’s it going?” The man held out his hand, as welcoming as he was when he first spoke through the intercom. “I’m Frank, nice to meet you.”
“Remus.” He held out his hand and tried his best to mirror Frank’s genuine smile; not that it was all that difficult. Remus could already tell Frank had the sort of demeanor that people didn’t have to pretend to enjoy.
“Come on in.” Frank held the door open and Remus walked through. The door opened into a small living room containing a settee, an old coffee table, and a small T.V. to the right of a window looking out to the street below. While the furniture may have been bare, not that Remus had any reason to judge, his own flat would barely look like he lived there if it wasn’t for the books littered on his floor, every surface—tables, shelves, the desk, walls—were covered in photographs of young fools, posters of classic punk bands, canvases filled with bright paints, you name it. It was kind of amazing. Just by walking in, it was obvious there was love here. Love for art, and a great deal of love for each other.
“There he is.” Sirius Black came out of a door Remus assumed led to the kitchen. For god’s sake, he still looked good. Remus had hoped his sudden infatuation with Sirius from the night before had been an exaggeration brought on by excitement and the alcohol. But here he was in a black long-sleeved shirt and black ripped jeans, looking like he should be in a god damn movie.
“Hey,” Remus tried to keep his voice as steady as he could, “James and Pete here yet?”
“Yeah, they’re down at the space already.”
“You’re welcome, Black,” Frank groaned from the desk where he was clicking away at a computer.
“Oh, you love me, Frank. Don’t even try to deny it,” Sirius shot back, affection in his voice. “You know, it’s not healthy to push down your feelings.” Sirius added that last bit with a look of genuine concern in his eyes.
Frank didn't even dignify it with a verbal response, only two lifted fingers in his direction.
“Come on,” Sirius said through his smile, grabbed his jacket and led Remus out of the flat and down the flight of stairs.
“Where’re we going?” Remus asked.
“Frank works at this practice place and he’s letting us play for a couple hours,” Sirius told him as they crossed the street.
“Shit, that’s nice. I should’ve thanked him or something back there.”
“Wow, Lupin. A real man with a heart. What happened to that rough street kid?”
“Oh, shove off. Like you’re the same rich snob you were back in school.” I mean, look at you. Remus did not say that part out loud.
Sirius led them across the street to a building where the words, ‘musicomplex: built for sound’ decorated the storefront. The bell over top the door rang as Sirius and Remus walked through. There was a man sitting at the counter looking to be in his mid 30’s tinkering with the inside of a guitar pedal. He looked up from his work at the sound of the bell, and immediately shook his head. “You paying this time, Sirius?” He asked in a gruff voice.
“Frank’s covering it,” Sirius responded in a cheery smile.
The man let out a sigh. “Whatever. Room 2.”
“Thank you very much, Kingsley.” Sirius tapped the counter lightly and springily started down the hallway. This seemed to be a regular occurrence by the way Kingsley just rolled his eyes and went back to the pedal.
Down the yellow hallway they went when Sirius opened a door, and gave a royal gesture with his arm to let Remus walk in first. Peter and James were already there, chatting like best friends, while Peter plucked something absentmindedly on the bass. The room was darkly lit, the walls lined with black foam. The drum kit was set up towards the back, and there were two guitars set up on stands on the floor.
Peter and James stopped their conversation to turn to the two of them. “Took you long enough,” James teased, walking over to clap Remus on the back.
“I was waiting on this one.” Sirius gestured to Remus. “Can’t have a band without a guitarist.”
“Shit, sorry.” Remus hadn’t meant to be late. When he woke up, he only had a vague recollection of the plans they had made the previous night, finding Frank’s address in the pocket of his jeans he’d fallen asleep in. Remus had no idea what time they had agreed to, if they even agreed to one, and he hadn’t had head over in a rush. Maybe he should have.
“Don’t be,” Sirius shrugged off Remus’ guilt. He walked over to one of the guitars, a blue Gibson SG, and handed it to Remus. “Not exactly your style as I remember, Moony. But it’ll work.”
Remus accepted the instrument, and there was a brief moment when Remus didn’t know what to do with it. It was a bit heavier than he remembered, and sat a little awkward in his hands. But he slung it over his shoulder and let himself fall into the warm grasp of the instrument. It had been since school that he seriously played; he tinkered with his acoustic now and then, but this felt different. He wasn’t alone in his flat, plucking strings that should’ve been replaced years ago. He was here, in a dingy practice space with the Marauders. Fucking hell, he missed this.
Sirius grabbed the other guitar, what looked like to be a shitty brown Strat, and draped it over his shoulder, James got comfortable on the drum stool, and Peter finished tuning up the bass. Pete, Sirius and Remus formed a small circle around James; they were playing for themselves.
“When was the last time you picked up a guitar, Moony,” Sirius asked, noticing the way Remus was reacquainting himself with the instrument.
“Been a while,” Remus replied.
“Remember anything?” There was a mischievous glint in his eyes as he asked the question.
Remus lifted his eyes to him, and accepted the challenge. He grabbed the capo clasped to the headstock of the guitar and moved it to the 5th fret, and began strumming the simple chords to the first song that came to his mind. Sirius’ face broke into a wide grin. He shook his head with fondness and began humming the words softly. Sirius let Remus have his moment to get into the rhythm and then in a low, sultry voice, began muttering the lyrics.
You can’t always get what you want
You can’t always get what you want
You can’t always get what you want
But if you try sometimes, well you might find
You get what you need
James and Peter joined in, James hitting the drums in transition to the first verse. Sirius joined in on his guitar, harmonizing with Remus’ movements. And then, they were alive.
They weren’t great, not by any means. Sirius barely knew the words except for the chorus, Peter had forgotten all of the bass line and just improvised, James was the only one on rhythm, and Remus started riffing whenever he felt like it. But they were playing. With each strum of the guitar, each time he switched chords, Remus felt himself opening up, getting closer to a person he hadn’t been in a long time—a person he didn’t think existed anymore.
It was when the song was supposed to lead into the guitar solo when the four of them gave up on trying to keep the song together and just started jamming. It felt so good to let go, to be side by side with these fools again. Sirius stopped playing his guitar, letting Remus have full reign, which he gladly took.
He moved his fingers up and down the fretboard, and yeah, it was sloppy as hell, but Remus didn’t care. After a guitar solo that would’ve gotten him booed off stage if they were in front of an audience, ending with sliding his pick up the strings, Remus went back to strumming simple chords to complement what Sirius had been doing before. Remus nodded to Peter, letting him have his turn. Peter slapped the bass with such finesse that, for a brief moment, Remus was embarrassed by his shit show. Peter let himself breathe through the instrument, as the other three were mesmerized by his control over it. He then let it come to a stop, and now it was James’ turn. Lord, did he take it. He banged the drums, going from toms to cymbals to snare, arms going wild keeping up his pace. Cymbals crashed, the bass drum pounded and James crescendoed into a stop.
Deafening silence filled the practice space, but none of them heard it. Everything was still. Everything was ringing.
“Holy shit,” Peter uttered in a quiet whisper.
“Fuck.” Sirius wore a grin as wide as his face would let him. “That was fucking fun.”
All four continued to stare at one another, confused on what the next step would be. Sirius seemed to make the decision for the group as he began strumming London Calling by The Clash, and just like that, James, Peter and Remus followed suit, having the goddamn time of their lives.
It had been an hour and a half, maybe two, since Remus had first walked into the recording space. He was now far more familiar with the guitar around his body, the old muscle memory coming back. For the last hour or so, the group of four had been alternating between generic riffs it was likely the others would know, or just talking to one another. It was nice.
“How’re Effie and Monty doing, Prongs?” Asked Peter. James was currently trying, key word: trying, to play Sirius’ guitar. Sirius, by the way, was helping his life-long friend by mercilessly laughing at his struggle.
“They’re good. I mean, they’re old, but they’re still doing well.”
“Does she still make those funnel cake things?” Remus asked, remembering the pieces of heaven Mrs. Potter would make whenever he would visit.
“Oh, yeah. Jalebi. She makes them time to time.”
“Usually around Christmas, she does,” Sirius added, reaching to take back the guitar from James.
“God, I remember Christmas at the Potters,” Peter reminisced. “I think I spent more Christmases there than with my actual family.”
Remus and Sirius exchanged a glance, sharing a small laugh between themselves. For most of their adolescence, the only traditional family Christmas they both had had were with the Potters, given that the other options were an abusive household or a boys reformatory. Peter had always been a bit blind to those around him. But, then again, Remus never remembered Peter as having a good relationship with his family, so who knew.
“So, how often do you come use this place, Sirius?” Remus asked. Kingsley at the front desk seemed to know him well enough, and there was no doubt he and Frank knew each other for a while. And, yes, he was curious with how Sirius had spent his days. He couldn’t help himself.
“Actually not for a while now,” Sirius said, mindlessly plucking strings on the guitar he had rescued from James’ grasp. “Me and Frank were in a band together, that’s how I know him, and we used to practice here.”
“Were?” Peter questioned.
“Yeah, mutual thing. Just kinda naturally ended.”
“Were you in any others?” Peter appeared to be genuinely interested, and Remus couldn’t say he wasn’t as well. It seemed that Sirius was the only one among them to ever actually try to make the musician thing work.
“There were a lot of shitty ones in art school. I even managed to get James involved in a couple of those.” James shook his head with his face twisted, clearly remembering something embarrassing. “But not many recently. I mean, I was in one not too long ago, but they were a bunch of knob heads.”
Even though he only gave up little information, Sirius’ tale mesmerized Remus and Peter. The closest they ever got to sex, drugs, and rock and roll was the music room back at Hogwarts. “Wait, Pads,” James called out. “That song you were writing, maybe we could give it a go?”
Sirius seemed to think about it, as if he was debating whether or not to give up something valuable. He looked down, pinching his chin. “Yeah, why not.”
Sirius beckoned Remus to join him on the amp he’d been sitting on. Sirius showed Remus the general shape of the verse and the chorus, muttering incoherent words along with his playing. It was kinda distracting having Sirius over his shoulder, showing him which chords to play, and the hums that escaped Sirius’ mouth that shouldn’t be so attractive. Remus managed to collect himself long enough to learn the chords and run it from the verse to the chorus a couple times. It was good; really fucking good. Remus was obsessed with how it sounded; how the verse went from some cataclysmic noise jam to a breakdown of simple guitar chugs.
“I’ve only really messed with the guitar parts,” Sirius told James and Peter, the latter seeming keen on joining in.
“Shit, this is good, Sirius,” Remus told him, genuinely.
“I know, that’s why I didn’t want to share it with you lot,” he said with a grin that Remus never wanted to look away from.
“Wait, play the run again, Moony,” James requested, having a look of eureka come over him.
Remus did so. When he got to the end of the chorus, James added a quick succession of snare hits to complement the transition to the verse. James raised his eyebrows, questioning what Sirius thought.
“I like that,” Sirius said, thinking. “What about some cymbal hits?”
“Where?” James prompted.
“Like,” Sirius struggled to describe what he was looking for. He resolved to flailing his hands around, hoping James would intuitively know that he wanted. James just broke out in laughter.
“Here.” Remus played the chorus again, a bit slower, so Sirius could try and explain what he meant for James. What he meant was to alternate between cymbal and snare hits for the chorus, and, to Sirius’ credit, it did sound really fucking cool. James and Remus kept playing the run over and over again, making it faster each time. Peter started adding some plucks of the bass, having no problem keeping up with the rhythm.
“Shit, this is awesome,” Sirius said when the run came to the end of the chorus. He came up right next to Remus and said, “Moony, what I was thinking is to go into a bridge and have it go…” he then broke off in some harmony, moving his fingers in rhythm. Remus went over it in his head, ignoring how close Sirius was standing, and replaying the little bit he had sung. “You know what I’m getting at? It’s just…”
Sirius couldn’t find the words he was looking for, but he didn’t need to. “No, I get it.” He was running through the melody in his head, trying to picture what it should sound like. Remus experimented with a quick transition between quick plucks as if it were a solo to spaced out chords.
“Kinda like that,” Sirius said, thinking deeply. “I like that fast part…If you put lyrics over it.” Sirius had gone silent, going over the rhythm in his head and moving his fingers around on a invisible guitar. Remus could see his mind working through his eyes.
“You know we’re here, too,” James interrupted, calling Remus and Sirius’ attention back to the group at large.
Sirius barked out a laugh. “How could we ever forget, Jamie. You know you–”
There was a harsh knock on the door and Kinglsey appeared behind it. “Sirius, out.”
“Okay, okay.” Sirius acted as if he was annoyed, but there was a smile breaking his facade. “We’ll be out soon.”
The door closed. “Well,” Sirius clapped his hands together. “I guess that’s it.”
James rose from the drum stool, returning the sticks to the drawer to which they belonged. Sirius unplugged the instruments from the amps, rapping the chords around his hands. Peter took off his bass and guided it back to a stand. Remus stood for a moment before joining the rest. He had trouble immediately splitting from the dream-filled fantasy he had been reliving for the past couple hours. He didn’t want to leave just yet. But, he had to rejoin life, so he removed the guitar from his shoulders and set it on its stand.
The four walked back through the building, bidding goodbye and thanks to Kingsley as they left. Remus was the last through the door, and Sirius immediately went back to his shoulder.
“I want the bridge to be…” and Sirius was off again, conveying to Remus what he wanted from his song while four of them walked back across the street, the noon sun shining above.
Monday, 11 February 2002
3:42 AM
Remus trudged up the stairs to his flat, legs barely carrying him up the measly two flights. His leg muscles hurt from standing, his arms hurt from mopping floors, and his head hurt from inhaling cleaning liquid that was probably destroying many braincells. He’d had to stay three hours longer that night at the office where he cleaned, and now he reeked of rubbish and sweat. Fucking corporate wankers and their Sunday night office parties.
As soon as he made it through the door, Remus crashed onto his bed. This was possible because his flat consisted of one 35 square-meter room to act as his kitchen, living room, and bedroom. He waited for sleep to come over him, relieve him for a moment of his exhaustion. He lied there, eyes heavy, but sleep wouldn’t come. He had a song stuck in his head, which had been there since that morning when Sirius hummed it into his ear. The melody had followed him from when he left the Marauders through the four hours he spent waiting tables, then another four hours of cleaning up after the dipshits that didn’t know not to throw liquids into paper recycling bags. But, the perpetual rhythm of the tune edged on the side closer to soothing rather than incessant, so he wasn’t upset at that.
Still, he couldn’t get it out of his head, and eventually gave up on sleep and opened his eyes. His gaze caught on the old guitar in the corner of the room. He had a deep urge to play right now, which wasn’t necessarily a new feeling, but he actually got up and grabbed the guitar, a behavior unprecedented for Remus.
He sat back down on his bed. There was an old pick lodged between the strings, and Remus took it between his fingers and strummed. A wail of a poorly taken care of guitar welcomed him back to the instrument. He was a fool, and very sleep deprived, to think anything else would come from the guitar—dust covered the body, and was even collecting between the strings. Remus worked on tuning the instrument, relying mainly on instinctual muscle memory rather than actually knowing when the string was in tune.
When the whine of the guitar became passable for in tune, Remus began a rendition of the piece Sirius had shown him, playing through the chorus. He started the bridge, the piece Sirius and him were talking about leaving the studio, humming the general pattern Sirius had sung. He went over it a couple times, repeating it out loud. Sirius had said he wanted this part of the song to be special, to be powerful. Remus thought over this as he paired the melody with individual plucks of the strings, trying to find something that bridges together the aggressive nature of the song with its potent breakdown and feeling. It needs something to culminate everything together.
Remus lost himself in the song. He forgot about his tiredness, his aching arms. All that existed right now was the guitar and this song. Remus didn’t know how long he spent playing, and, frankly, he didn’t want to know. He wanted to live in the soothing ignorance of this moment. Eventually, though, his eyes became heavy and decided it was best to stop for the night. As he laid the guitar on the ground and got himself back under the covers, the thought most prevalent in his mind was how we wanted to share what he had worked on with Sirius.