Chapter 1
“You must be Moony.” Sirius says approaching the tall boy with a moon tattoo on the neck and a scar crossing his face.
“It’s Mooner, actually.” The boy says. “Not Moony.”
“I like Moony better.” Sirius smiles.
Moony rolls his eyes and doesn’t return the smile, “What do you want?”
“My brother’s friend told me where to find you.” Sirius says.
“You found me.” Moony confirms. “Why were you looking for me?”
“That’s a strange name, Mooner that is.“ Sirius says.
“That’s not my real name.” The boy says, a little bit annoyed.
“Yeah, sounds like a pseudonym. I like Moony better. Can I call you Moony?”
“What do you want, really? I don’t have time for these bullshits.” Moony rolls his eyes once more.
Sirius sighs. That boy doesn’t want to talk it seems, so he buys what he came to buy in the first place, before being astonished by the boy. The things are: Moony (Sirius decided that he doesn’t like Mooner, it’ll be Moony then) is absolutely marvellous, Sirius couldn’t shut up if his life depended on it.
“So,” Sirius starts again with a smile, giving Moony the banknotes, “your name. It’s only for the tattoo?”
Moony groans in exasperation, “That’s none of your business. Take your things and leave me be.”
Sirius rolls his eyes and smiles, that boy doesn’t seem sensitive to his charms but he’ll get him, “Alright. I’ll be back in a few days. See you Moony!”
Sirius turns heels. His usual dealer weed’s quality has declined and Barty’s is always high quality, so he asked him who was selling him and here he is! He didn’t expect Moony to be that beautiful, did Barty not see? Sirius shakes his head, if he’s late again, Peter is going to throw a tantrum and for the moment he is right on time to smoke before he joins the band.
Dorcas lets them practice on Wednesdays early afternoon because it’s one of the only moment the Blue Chair Bar is closed, and also one where they don’t have classes. When he enters the bar, James, Peter and Marlene are already here, waiting for him. Marlene is once again flirting with Dorcas who only half listen to her, James is tuning his guitar and Peter is walking around, an annoyed expression on his face.
“Here you are!” He bursts when he sees Sirius. “You’re late again.”
“Am I?” Sirius raises an eyebrow, looking at his phone. Maybe he shouldn’t have stopped to smoke. “Oh, yeah, sorry.”
“You’re always late Sirius!” Peter grumbles.
“Sorry, alright? Are we starting or not?”
Peter groans and jumps on the stage. Sirius passes next to Marlene and shuffles her hair.
“Don’t touch my hair with your dirty hands.” Marlene says turning away from Dorcas to focus on him.
“Hello Cas.” Sirius says continuing his walk to the scene.
“Hi Pads.” She says as he jumps on stage.
He sits next to James on the edge of the scene and bumps his shoulder with his best friend’s.
“Where have you been?” James asks.
“Oh, you know,” Sirius shudders, “here and there.”
James slowly nods. Sirius doesn’t doubt that James knows where he goes every Wednesdays, but every single time he asks anyway, and every time Sirius answers the same thing. What Sirius doesn’t know is why he keeps asking. Does he except a different answer? Or maybe a real one? They never talk about it, that’s one of the subjects they avoid.
Since Sirius escaped, now years ago, they don’t talk about everything like they used to. Or maybe it is just Sirius that doesn’t want to talk about certain subjects, and James that indulges him that. Sirius shakes his head to throw away the thoughts and he feels the drug really going to his head, not that it is still really effective.
He smiles and bumps once more James’ arm, “Alright, let’s go. We don’t have all day, do we?”
“Actually, you have until six today,” Dorcas calls.
“Great.” Sirius nods helping James to him feet.
Marlene joins them on stage and everyone takes their place. The world around is turning a little bit, but in a comforting way. They decide to practice the set planned for the next day’s night.
While he sings, Sirius doesn’t really think about anything at all, not even the lyrics of the song that he knows by heart. He dances and turns along, at times he goes to James, at others to Marlene, never too much to Peter who is hidden behind his drum.
“I should have a wireless mic.” He says when they finish the song.
“You asked for a wire.” Peter sighs.
“I did? Well, I can’t come to you with a wire.”
“Keep the wire then.” Peter says with a grin and Sirius laughs. It is funny. Peter is funny.
They take a break and Dorcas offers them a drink, she really spoils them.
“People come to the bar to hear you play, that’s only a backlash.” She says sometimes when they tell her she doesn’t need to do that.
While he drinks his Coca Cola (James doesn’t let anyone drink alcohol during practice), Sirius thinks of the way the band was created, a few years ago now. They were still in school in James, Sirius and Peter’s dorm. Marlene, Lily and Mary were there too and Mary didn’t stop praising Marlene’s bass skills. After that it all went a bit fast, or maybe Sirius was too high (at that time they used to all smoke together), but they decided to form a band: James, Peter, Marlene and him. James would play guitar, Peter drum, Marlene bass and Sirius would sing and sometimes play piano, since he knows how to (and is very good at it). At first, Lily was second guitar but not always and since her and Mary went to Ireland, she totally left the band. So that’s just the four of them and their silly nicknames now. The idea of nicknames came in the idea that no one they knew could recognise them if they became famous, but it’s not like if they were going to change their facial structures.
Sirius is the one who proposed using stage names, and he knows they all know the real reason of that. Well, they know what Sirius lets them know. So that’s how they became Padfoot, Prongs, Wormtail and Seastar (the idea of the nicknames came after Lily’s departure, when they focused more seriously on the band, so she doesn’t have a nickname). From the nicknames came the name of the band: Spiritual Animals. None of them were really fond of it at first, but it slowly grew into them.
Sirius turns his head to the poster “SPIRITUAL ANIMALS: PERFORMING THURSDAYS, FRIDAYS AND SATURDAYS” with drawings of them. He smiles. Mary did this poster when they complained about their lack of drawing talent. Around this poster are others of other bands that play on other days or who used to.
They discovered the Blue Chair Bar a few months ago , thanks to Marlene. An afternoon, she passed in front of the window and saw Dorcas’ face. She entered to talk to her and saw an announcement saying that they were looking for bands to play. That day, she didn’t talk to Dorcas (it was only a matter of time) but came back to them with a new place to perform.
That’s what Sirius likes the most: to perform. It is an even more drastic way to disconnect. More efficient than drugs, but also more temporarily and more exhausting. When Sirius sings in front of people, he is not really there anymore. Or maybe it’s the only times he is fully there, but without all his thoughts and nightmares. Sometimes it happens when he writes too, but it’s rather exceptional, and he is often high too or on some drug.
At their second break, Sirius gets out of the bar to smoke more weed and Marlene joins him, but she doesn’t smoke anymore. Stopped a while ago now, never smoked as much as he does. Never took anything else than weed actually.
“You want some?” He proposes still.
Marlene thinks. It happens that she does, smoke, but occasionally, and only at parties. Anyhow, today she accepts, “Just a drag.”
“Mh.” Sirius says giving her his joint. “What’s wrong?”
Marlene sighs, “Do you think I’m waisting my time? With Dorcas I mean.”
Sirius turns to gaze at Dorcas through the bar’s window. She’s laughing with James and Peter while she cleans a few drinks.
Well, for one thing, Sirius is not one to give up, for an other, he can be optimistic (some drugs makes him optimistic really, weed is one of them). He has no idea if Marlene is waisting her time flirting with Dorcas when the later isn’t what he’d call sensitive to it, but Marlene really likes the chick, so why not? Why should she stop?
“Mh, that’s good one.” Marlene says, making him focus back on her.
“Er? Yeah, right? Barty’s dealer. Gorgeous bloke. Tall and all.” Sirius grins.
Marlene grins back and gives him back his joint. “What do I do then?” She asks leaning back against the wall.
“I’d say you don’t throw away your shot.” Sirius grins.
“Don’t use Hamilton against me.” Marlene gasps, “The context is not even a bit similar.” Sirius laughs and she joins him soon after, and they both laugh like two idiots in front of the bar.
“I mean it though.” Sirius says still laughing. “She’s beautiful and she’s super nice and funny and intelligent. Her lost if she doesn’t want anything.”
“Her lost.” Marlene repeats, having regain her calm.
“Come on,” Sirius says passing an arm around her shoulders, “if we don’t go back soon, either James or Peter is going to rip out our hair.”
“No, not our splendid hair!” Marlene cries.
***
When Marlene first passed in front of the Blue Chair Bar, her first thought was that it was a weird arse name. Her second thought was that the girl behind the counter was the prettiest woman she ever saw. When she entered the bar to talk to her, she faced the announcement saying that the bar was looking for a band to play three nights a week. She immediately forgot about the girl and run to the flat they were back then sharing to tell the boys.
Of course, when the excitement came down she remembered about the girl and promised herself she would go back to talk to her.
This is how they first encounter went:
“Hi.” Marlene said with a grin.
“Hello. You’re the girl who went crazy in front of the announcement yesterday, aren’t you?”
“That must be me. I’m Marlene.” She said extending her hand.
The black girl accepted, “I’m Dorcas. Do you want anything, Marlene?”
At that moment Marlene knew there was no going back, Dorcas would be a part of her life, that was for sure.
She ordered a drink and told her about her band, Spiritual Animals, and that they would love to play there. Dorcas said she would have to talk about it with her boss, a middle aged man named Horace Slughorn who named the bar that way because he once got dressed as a chair (the costume is exposed in the bar and is more purple than blue but Horace is colour blind and it was already the Blue Chair Bar when someone noticed him). So they met Horace, Dorcas was also there.
This is how it went:
“So this is Padfoot, the singer, Prongs, at the guitar, Wormtail, our drummer and I’m Seastar, the bass.” Marlene grinned.
“That’s odd names.” Horace said.
“Our spiritual animals names.” Sirius smiled. “A dog for me, my boy Jamie a stag, Pete’s a rat and Marls a starfish.”
“And what’s your name boy?” Horace asked.
“Sirius.” Sirius said.
“Well that’s a singer name. Why changing?”
“To stay under the radars.” Sirius answered unbothered, but Marlene knew (and still knows) better.
“If you want our full names and personal information, we can provide.” She said. “But that must stay confidential.”
Horace nodded and Marlene smiled at Dorcas who smiled back.
And here they were, playing three nights a week (at first it was Mondays, Tuesdays and Wednesdays) at the Blue Chair Bar. Marlene was happy for several reasons. Everything was going great.
As time passed, she became friend with Dorcas, but Marlene will be lying if she said she only wants to befriend her. The issue is that Dorcas claims to be straight. Maybe she is, but Marlene’s gay radar was never wrong, and it rings when she sees Dorcas. But maybe it’s only because she’s more attracted to her than she has ever been to anyone.
“You’re staying?” Dorcas asks her after practice when the rest of the band leaves.
“Yeah.” Marlene says. “A problem with that?”
Dorcas shakes her head, “Of course not. I could go with a bit of company before people arrive.”
“I think I’ll stay a bit longer than that.” Marlene says, gazing at Dorcas who is cleaning a table. “To listen to the band you’re going to replace us with.”
Dorcas smiles and laughs a little, “Horace will never replace you all. He really loves you and your music.”
“I bet he does!” Marlene says thinking about the times she saw Horace Slughorn dancing along their music. Marlene is sure he knows half of their lyrics too, and he’s a fan of Sirius’ voice, but who isn’t?
When she saw him first at eleven, she was amazed by his hair and wished to be his friend. When she talked to him first a few days after, she wanted to burn his hair and to burry him alive. But somehow he liked her and did everything so they would be friends, and now she doesn’t imagine herself living without him. And since Mary and Lily left England, the only close friends she has left are the boys. They are always together and a few years ago, Marlene wouldn’t have think she could have support them that much, but they barely seriously fight.
But now she also has Dorcas, even if it is different. She’s not sure Dorcas knows Marlene is attracted to her, but Marlene does not hide it and Dorcas is not stupid, she’s actually extremely clever, the bitch. She’s studying for a degree in physics and her results are exceptional. Sometimes Marlene helps her studying before the bar opens, she likes those moments. She likes seeing Dorcas all focused, and the way she ties her braids, and her handwriting (oh, her handwriting).
“You don’t have to study today?” She asks.
“I studied earlier when y’all were practicing. The bar opens in ten.” Dorcas answers passing behind the counter.
“Oh yeah right.” Marlene says trying to hide her deception.
“But if you want to come tomorrow before the show you can. I start at eight, Emmeline takes the first shift from four to eight, I’ve got the rest of the night. But I’ll be there to study.”
“I’ll be there.” Marlene says with a smile. “You’ll help me with my eyeliner then, you do it better than me.” It’s a lie, Marlene’s eyeliners are perfect, she just wants Dorcas close.
Dorcas rolls her eyes and accepts. People start to arrive soon after. When the bar opens there is never a lot of people but as the night draws in, people arrive. At eight the other band starts to play. Marlene has to admit they’re good, but they’re not as good as Spiritual Animals. And their name is even worse, something like Cool Garbage maybe? Or is it garage? Marlene doesn’t know for sure. Their music is not bad, good even, but they don’t really perform. They don’t do much.
After half an hour, she resolves to go home, but she wants to say goodbye to Dorcas before she leaves. Dorcas is not behind the bar so she waits ten minutes but when Dorcas doesn’t come back, she goes to the employee room (Dorcas already brought her here, sometimes it’s where they study) and finds Dorcas snogging some random bloke. Marlene freezes as Dorcas pulls brutally away from the guy.
“Marls.” She says, a mix of shame and panic in her voice. “What are you doing here?”
“I–hum I was leaving.” She stutters stepping back and suddenly she runs through the bar to go outside.
Marlene doesn’t remember the last time she ran, she doesn’t run much lately (she used to do so a lot at school). What was she expecting, really? Dorcas warned her.
She hears steps behind her and comes to a stop when Dorcas calls her name. She doesn’t turn around, she needs a little bit of time to pull herself back together.
“I’m sorry.” Dorcas says.
Marlene takes a breath in and turns around, “For what?” She asks in a wanna-be-light tone.
Dorcas opens her mouth then closes it back. So she knew. She always knew Marlene was flirting.
“You don’t have to apologise to me Cas.” Marlene says when she’s sure Dorcas won’t respond. “Enjoy your life. I am sorry if I insisted too much and made you uncomfortable.”
“You didn’t.” Dorcas says quietly.
“Great.” Marlene forces a smile. “See you tomorrow then.”
She makes a sigh of the end, in a sort of attempt to show she’s not upset, then turns heels and heads back home.
***
Rabastan Lestrange can be so fucking annoying sometimes. Regulus puts his phone in his pocket and shakes his head. The negotiations for his next poetry book are a little bit difficult. Rabastan insists that some of the poems are too much graphic and somber while Regulus refuses to suppress a single one. He has put those poems together for a reason. Regulus Black is not one to do things without meaning, if he has put those poems in a certain order, they shall stay in that order. They won’t be moved, they won’t be suppressed. If Rabastan Lestrange cannot comprehend that, he’ll just have to find himself another ‘virtuoso poet of his century’ as the media called Regulus after his first collection.
His first book: an assemblage of the poems he wrote when Sirius and him were still there and in the time after. The book is called ‘Escapism’ and while Regulus didn’t dedicate the first book to anyone, deep inside he knows it’s mostly for Sirius. That second one, he didn’t dedicate it neither, because he didn’t know how to face Sirius if he knew that half the poems were for him, and the other half for his best friend.
Not that Regulus means to, really, he is forgetting James, writing his feelings down are just a part of the process. He isn’t in love: it’s a silly crush for the boy that rescued him and his brother when they escaped their parents and who never left since. That’s all. It’s no love.
He decides to go to Sirius apartment since he is one of the only person he knows who does absolutely nothing of their days, and he needs to evacuate. Actually, the only person Regulus complains to is Sirius. Well, there’s Pandora too but Pandora is more about finding solutions and Sirius more about talking shit, and he really needs to talk shit about Rabastan Lestrange right now.
Once he is in front of the door, he sighs, hoping that Sirius won’t be too high and knocks, “It’s me.” He calls. The door opens on James and he raises an eyebrow, “What are you doing here?”
James smiles, “Well, can’t I be at my best friend’s flat anymore?”
They stare at each other for a while, James still grinning like an idiot. He’s so stupid it’s crazy. After a time Sirius calls them to ‘come in or come out I don’t care you stupid brats but just decide’ and so James steps back to let Regulus enter.
“Hello.” Regulus says, sitting next to Sirius in the sofa, “It stinks.”
Sirius breaths in then smile and James sits in the chair in front of them, “Smells like pot.”
“You really should stop that shit.” Regulus sighs.
Sirius laughs, “Yeah yeah.” He closes his eyes.
Regulus turns to James, ‘how many?’, James holds up three fingers. Regulus sighs once more and stands up to open the windows. The smell slowly fades away and they don’t talk much. James proposes Regulus a drink but he refuses. He didn’t want James to be there, he wanted to talk with his brother about that dickhead of Rabastan Lestrange.
“You’re coming at Sunday’s dinner, right?” James asks after a time. How does he do for nothing to be embarrassing?
“I don’t think I’ll have the time.” Regulus lies. In general he avoids those dinners at the Potters, he always has the impression that he shouldn’t be there.
“Come on!” James cries. “Mum complains every time I see her that you didn’t come for weeks and Dad has no one to talk about books with him.”
“Yeah, come on Reggie!” Sirius cries in turn, finally opening his eyes. “Please come. I don’t like to see that empty chair where you should be seated every weeks.”
Regulus sighs. If Sirius insists, he doesn’t see how he can refuse. And it’s really been a while since he last saw Euphemia and Fleamont, it would be a lie to say that he doesn’t miss them a little.
In the end he accepts and the best friends celebrate.
After a moment, James finally decides that it’s late and that he should go home, Sirius tells him that he can stay for the night but James throws a look at Regulus and declines the proposition. Great, he’s not totally stupid then.
“Don’t go to bed too late!” James says at the door and Sirius grumbles something like ‘fuck off’.
When James is gone (Sirius is less high now, more like his usual state when he smokes), Sirius turns to Regulus, “What’s wrong? Who are we kicking the arse of?”
Regulus smiles a little, “We’re not kicking anyone’s arse. I’m here to complain.”
Sirius groans and lets himself fall on his brother’s lap, “Rabastan?” Regulus nods. “I don’t know why you work for him– with him? I don’t know–. His brother is married to our cousin! Our cousin Reggie!” He makes a disgusted face, “He’s basically family.”
“Don’t call those people family.” Regulus says. “Rabastan was the only one who accepted to publish the poems of a seventeen years old. We signed a contract.”
“Can’t you un-sign it?” Sirius complains.
“No, I can’t Sirius. You should know that by now.”
“I know, I know. I just hope.”
Regulus shakes his head and smiles fondly, “He wants me to take off a few of my poems. They’re not more graphic than from the first collection, I don’t know why he is making a whole story out of it.”
Sirius looks in the blank with a sad expression and Regulus knows why. He never read Regulus’ first book, couldn’t. Of course Regulus made him a selection of the ones that weren’t going to trigger him (which was a very short amount of poems) but he knows that Sirius feels bad about not being able to read the whole thing. Regulus is not mad at him, how could he be? He didn’t experience half the thing Sirius did, and that only thanks to his brother.
One of Regulus’ biggest fear is that, one day, Sirius will blame him for what their parents made him endure. He knows it is irrational, but he blames himself, so why wouldn’t Sirius? Regulus knows he never asked him to protect him, not out loud, not with words, but he knows he probably did with his actions, with his tears and with his eyes. He can’t stop blaming himself about what happened: and he doesn’t even know what really happened. He sometimes wake up at night with tears in his eyes, awakening from a nightmare in which Sirius blames him for everything, and on each of those dreams, Regulus accepts the words, head bowed, because he knows he deserves them. He knows he shouldn’t have let Sirius go through that alone.
“Rabastan really is a wanker if he doesn’t want to publish what you write, you’re the best poet of our time!” Sirius bursts.
“Don’t exaggerate Sirius, not everything the journals say are true, you’re old enough to know that.” Regulus rolls his eyes.
“The New York Times, the Guardian and even that other one I never remember the name of agree with me.”
Regulus looks away. It’s true he was praised a lot for his first book, and maybe that’s why Rabastan is that stressed about the second one. But Regulus doesn’t care about what the media are going to say of his work, he knows its worth, he doesn’t write for people.
Regulus is not usually the kind to step back and let an idiot like Rabastan Lestrange tell him what to do with his poems, but what if they really are too graphic? What if Sirius can’t read them again?
In the first one, he never really described what happened (Regulus Black is not one to spread his trauma with the world), but Sirius could understand: he lived it. His first book was more about feelings and blurry, very precise details that someone who wasn’t there, or close to it, couldn’t understand. But Sirius did understand, how could it be otherwise? This one, however, is not about the time they spent in that house. It has everything and nothing to do with the Noble House of Black. So Regulus doesn’t know.
“Do you think… do you think you’ll read that one?” He asks with a small voice, trying not to sound reproaching, because he’s not.
Sirius opens his mouth but no sound gets out. Regulus bites the inside of his cheeks: why would he say such a thing? He understands why Sirius couldn’t the first time, does that make him an horrible person to want his brother to read what he wrote partially for him?
“I’m sorry.” Regulus says looking away from Sirius. “I don’t want to force you to do anything.”
“I really want to read your collection, Regulus.” Sirius says. “I am sorry I couldn’t read the first one.”
“Don’t be sorry.” Regulus murmurs. “You have nothing to be sorry for, Sirius. Absolutely nothing.”
Sirius nods slowly and passes an arm around Regulus’ shoulders, “I love you, you know? I’m never letting you down.”
“I know.” Regulus smiles despite himself, “Me too Sirius, me too.”