In the grand scheme of everything, like everything everything, it’s really not that big a deal.
However, today is not everything, and this job interview is probably the single most important thing happening to Remus in the next thirty minutes, that is if he can even get out of the house. But needless to say, spilling coffee on his interview shirt is not exactly the greatest start to a day.
He owns approximately one dress shirt that could even be conceived as business casual, and it currently has a hot scalding spill marring the front of it.
Suffice to say, things could not be more shit at the moment. He’s running late, he doesn’t have an outfit (anymore), and he is utterly underprepared and underqualified.
Remus hasn’t been able to hold a job for longer than a few months since he’d graduated from Drumstrang. Werewolves aren’t exactly in high demand occupation-wise. So, two weeks ago, he’d found himself jobless, which wasn’t anything new, but it came at a rotten time because he’d just had to use his emergency savings for last month's rent payment, meaning the usual refractory period to find a new job had been halved.
In essence, Remus was beyond desperate.
The job was for a bookkeeper's position for some entrepreneurial start-up company, or something of the like, it was a well-paying job for a well renowned company, and by far his least expected call back from the applications he’d sent out.
Getting into his own mind won’t solve the problem at hand though, so Remus makes halfhearted attempts with a dish towel to at least soak up the extra fluid from the spill. And from there throws on his least offensive, least pilled, least gangly sweater and simply has to hope for the best. He pulls the tie that had yet-to-be-tied from around his neck, flattening the collar and cuffs of the button-down over the sweater.
He rushes through the rest of his morning, stuffing his feet into untied shoes, grabbing his keys and wallet from the counter by the door, pulling his coat on, and all but running out the door of his flat and down to the tube station at the end of the block.
Thankfully, not all hope is lost as he skids into the station with enough time to catch his breath before the train pulls in and he piles on to thankfully mostly empty car. He opts to stand though, not trusting his knees to get him back up again should he take a seat.
The relatively short ride into downtown goes far too quickly for Remus’s liking and before he knows it, he’s standing in front of an office building that fits the address he’d been given and catches a glimpse of his reflection.
He doesn’t look half as awful as he’d expected, given the circumstances. Still, the bags beneath his eyes don’t make him look any less gaunt, nor the few meals he’d skipped in favour of saving a pound or two. His outfit is casual but not sloppy, and none of the coffee shows on the parts of the shirt not covered by his sweater. He tucks the ends of the shirt into his pants. He realises he’s still not tied his shoes and acts to rectify that. He finishes by smoothing the mess of his hair as best as possible and calls well-enough done.
With as little unease as he can muster, he walks through the building entrance, one of those stupidly fancy revolving doors that all kids seem to love, and is looking for the signs of his destination, which direct him to the fifth floor, and presses the up button on the elevator.
In no time at all he’s walked out the elevator, found the front desk, checked in, and is now waiting in a little hallway of doors in a not-uncomfortable chair, only half listening for when his name is inevitably called.
✦✦✦
“Remus Lupin,” calls a voice from a doorway a feet away. The voice Remus from his almost-slumber, eyes drifting open and blinking a few times, fully taking in his surroundings again.
He stands, walking towards the voice and is welcomed into a posh but small office backing a beautiful view of the London skyline. To be honest, he’d expected more but at least the view was phenomenal.
“Mr. Black is ready for you just through the doors there,” says the same voice that called for him in the hallway. What he assumes is the secretary; a twenty-something dressed smartly but with a forgettable face, gestures to the previously unnoticed set of doors leading to what he assumes is the actual office, instead of what he has now learned is the secretary’s area.
But Merlin, how many damn doors is he going to be walking through to get to this god-forsaken interview?
That’s not what his brain catches on though. No, what registers in his mind is the ‘Mr. Black’ referred to by the secretary. Certainly, Black is a common enough last name but Remus can only think of Sirius, which he hasn’t done in years at this point.
After the prank in fifth year, Remus transferred to Drumstrang, finding it easier to switch schools and start anew than deal with the fall out of being betrayed by one of the most important people in his life, being a secret told to get back at a bully.
Dumbledore was well-respected enough to get the Drumstrang staff to overlook his lycanthropy and have measures set in place (both physical boundaries for him to occupy during the moon, and social back of plans) should anything like Hogwarts happen again.
However, they needn’t worry, Remus transferred, but was determined to get through the rest of his education without distraction, that included lovers, friends, acquaintances, or connections of any kind beyond the absolute essential.
He talked to teachers when necessary, and his peers to, when required by assignment. Beyond that though, he was reserved and quiet, preferring to stay out of the way of any possible trouble.
At Hogwarts he’d been thrown into the limelight, being friends with a Black and a Potter had that effect. And certainly, he’d enjoyed it while it lasted, being well liked by most students for their pranks, and maintaining his ever-growing friend group.
Inevitably though, it had all fallen apart, and Remus cared not to have a repeat of that heartbreak. He’d cut off contact with everyone. Lily was the most persistent in her letters, though others had tried to reach him, at least in the first year.
But the ache was too painful, so he’d locked his life at Hogwarts away behind a door in his mind. It existed to be sure, but Remus would much prefer to not dwell on it.
Yet, all that had been undone with the simple mentioning of the name Black, dredging up unwanted and extremely unlikely circumstances.
Realising he’d probably been staring blankly at the secretary for what went beyond the acceptable reaction time. Remus pulled himself together and nodded, turning to the doors that were gestured to and walking through them.
The universe must truly hate him though, because lo and behold, Sirius fucking Black, in the flesh. He’s seated at a well-maintained desk, in an asshole-ishly large office. Bookshelves backing him, windows to the side, cushy chairs opposite of him.
He looks both exactly the same and entirely different simultaneously. His hair is longer, curls more defined than he’d let them be in school. He wears that same stupid grin on his face, undoubtedly tracking Remus’s every motion. His suit strikes Remus though, Sirius was never formal at Hogwarts, despite the dress code, he only dressed formally when forced by his family. Still, it works for him, the cut defining him well.
He’s done well for himself, a nice office, a secretary– two, technically speaking, a cushy top-job at whatever company this is, et cetera, et cetera.
“Remus, have a seat,” Sirius states, raising a hand to gesture to the chairs in front of him.
And that’s about all Remus can take of stupid-Sirius’s stupid-face. He has half a mind to just turn around and walk out the door, retracing his steps all the way home to his flat. That, however, jogs his memory of why exactly he’s here in the first place, sheer desperation.
The thoughts of having a warm meal and a warm flat tonight are enough to pull Remus to the chairs and take a seat. He needs this job and he’ll be damned if Sirius Black messes that up for him.
With an astonishing amount of will-power, he pushes any animosity he has for Sirius down and smiles amicably instead, reaching his hand across the desk, “Mr. Black, good morning,” polite indifference is all Remus can offer Sirius.
At this, Sirius balks, looking from his face to his hand, and back again. The smile slips from his lips, approaching a frown. He seems to be searching for something in Remus’s face, and whatever he finds, he clearly doesn’t like but nevertheless he takes Remus’s outstretched hand, giving it a firm squeeze before letting go.
Remus doesn’t miss the way Sirius’s hands immediately tend down under the desk, to no doubt rub against his thighs, old habits die hard, it would seem.
“Right,” Sirius says after a moment, slipping into a professional composure, rather than that of a friend, “Let’s get started.”
✦✦✦
The interview goes well enough with all factors considered. Sirius doesn’t try to breach the manner of professionalism until they seem to be reaching the end of the interview.
Sirius’s phone buzzes on the desk where it’s been face down for the duration of their time together. “Only be a ‘mo, that’s Prongs.” With that, Sirius grabs his phone and steps outside his office.
Rather quickly, Remus learns the walls of Sirius’s office are not soundproofed. And despite the conversation happening in a hushed tone, Remus is able to listen in with little difficulty.
“Of course, I’m going to give him the job, James,” Sirius states, “He’s qualified enough, y’know, as much as he can be given his circumstances. Merlin, he looks like shite though. The second I get the chance I’ll take him for a decent meal.”
There’s a brief pause where James must be speaking on the end of the line but Remus hardly cares, ice running through his veins at Sirius’s words. He shouldn’t have listened in. If he’d just kept his fucking ears to himself, Sirius would’ve offered him the job, Remus would’ve accepted having been none the wiser to Sirius’s less professional motives.
But he just couldn’t leave well enough alone and is now going to pay the price. He could only hope Sirius would finish his call soon enough for Remus to get the hell out of there.
Seconds or minutes later, Sirius walks back into the room, setting his phone on his desk. “Sorry ‘bout that, you know how James is, couldn’t have worse timing if he tried.”
Up till this point, Sirius hadn’t looked at Remus’s face. Upon returning to his seat though, the levity in his voice disappears as he scans Remus’s face. Sure enough, “Remus?” he asks curiously, cautiously.
At this, Remus allows the full depth of his anger to wash over him, voicing his true feelings for perhaps the first time in years.
“You have not and have never been my meal ticket. And I cannot, in good conscience accept a job that I am unqualified for, no matter how friendly we once were. You fucked up my life, Sirius, you never apologised. And for you to have the gall to act as if we are still friends when we haven’t spoken in years is appalling. We are not friends, get that straight.”
He stands now, placing his hands on the desk and leaning over Sirius, voice quavering but rising in volume. Sirius, to his credit, does look admittedly scared, for good reason.
“I needed this fucking job, but I don’t need or want a fucking handout. You’ve seen my resume; I can’t hold down a job and you know bloody well enough why that is. ‘My circumstances’ you mean the fact that I’m a goddamn werewolf? How did you refer to it in school? Oh yes, my ‘furry little problem’. Seriously, did you even offer an interview to anyone else? Or was seeing my name enough to call me here under false pretenses, get my hopes up, and then crush them?” Remus doesn’t have a proper conclusion to his rant, so he just does what he should’ve done at the beginning of the interview and turns to leave.
From behind him, there’s an almost inaudible, “Moony…”
Two syllables and Remus is alight, spinning on his heels and walking back to the desk, around it, and pulling Sirius by the collar, pinning him to the bookcases behind him, “I am NOT your fucking Moony. You lost that right years ago when you sold me out to Snivellus of all people. You were my everything, don’t you get it? I had nothing besides our friends. But clearly that was all for shit in your eyes. I hate you; I hate what you did to me, and I hate that I still let myself believe in you.”
At this, he releases Sirius from his grasp, Remus wipes at his eyes, both of them have tears streaming down their faces now. “I would have forgiven you; you know? If you had just tried, but I moved, and you just gave up. One letter and I would’ve come, that’s all I needed, was the effort to show you even fucking cared at all. But that’s not what happened, I was just expendable, like you didn't even care. There can’t be an us anymore because I just– I can’t do it again okay? I can’t.”
“Remus, please. I’m so– I’m so, so sorry,” they’re practically the only intelligible words he’s muttered since Remus began his ramblings.
“Well, you’re about ten years too late. Goodbye, Sirius.”
With that, Remus turns, slamming the door behind him as he walks out of the office, down the hall, to the elevator, and out into the grey abyss of downtown London.