Dynasty

Roughly one minute had passed since Sirius was sealed in this tomb of fluorescent lights, and his arm wasn’t getting any better. If anything, the pain had intensified since his two distractions had left. His mind began to wander, automatically trying to seek refuge from this onslaught of agony. It circled back to his short, yet illuminating interaction with James Potter. 

“Bigger, faster, stronger,” he had said. Well, that was right up Sirius’ alley. A new flash of pain went through his whole body this time. He breathed in sharply, gripped the armrests of his chair, and squeezed. The armrests creaked underneath his hands. 

“Well, that’s new.” Sirius mused. 

It was at that moment that three colorful individuals flounced in. Ah, Sirius thought, They must be my prep team. 

Each member had their own color scheme. 

One man, who seemed to be the unofficial leader of the group,  introduced himself as Benjy Fenwick. He was blue. Not just dressed in blue, he was literally blue. He was a short, spritely man with brown hair that fell to his shoulders. Cobalt streaks ran rivers through his hair. Robes of a deep blue hung off his frame and made him look much taller than he was. Navy eyeshadow was artfully smudged around his eyes, which were pigmented with a shade of indigo so dark, his eyes were akin to black at first glance. 

A woman dressed completely enveloped in a soft, baby pink stepped forward. Sybil Trelawney, unlike the District One escort, made the color work. Sybil seemed to be the utter antithesis of her leader; where he was loud, she was quiet and demure. Where he was deeply extroverted, she was obviously an introvert. She stated her name, eyes fixed on Sirius’ arm. That was all she said for the remainder of the preparations. 

Lastly, another man smiled at Sirius. His name was Adrian, he said, and he looked absolutely delighted to be there; he acted as if nothing else in the world would make him happier than to wax Sirius’ eyebrows. “You know,” the prep team member whispered, leaning forward conspiratorially as he winked a purple-powdered eye, “Your brother looked absolutely striking during his Parade. I like to think that one of the contributing factors to his overwhelming success was my waxing expertise. And now I get to work on the other Black brother! My goodness, dreams really do come true!” Adrian looked close to tears at the prospect. 

Sirius bristled. Well, bristled as much as he could while he was essentially strapped down by shockingly strong Capitol citizens. Again, with the comparisons. When would people see that Sirius was not his brother? He was better than Regulus and this was his time to show it.

After who-knows-how-long and his appearance was perfectly to his team’s liking, Sirius was promptly put back into his robe and told to wait for the true magician (Adrian’s words) to appear, his stylist. He snorted. Honestly, how much could clothing change his chances in the games? It was at this moment that Sirius’ stylist walked in. 

She was a surprisingly older woman, though it was obvious from her appearance that she had been a sight to behold in her youth. Piercing green eyes were housed within an exceptionally angular face that only served to amplify her incredibly stern expression. She obviously wouldn’t tolerate any mischief. (Sirius wondered if he would manage to make her like him. Likely not.) Salt-and-pepper hair was tied tightly into a severe knot at the top of her head. Robes of a deep green hung off of her. The woman just had this aura about her; it made Sirius both deeply intrigued and scared. 

She walked with a catlike grace to Sirius’ chair. “My name is Minerva McGonagall,” she said. “I am your stylist. You will wear the clothing I give you, and you will like them. Or not. Either way, I don’t particularly care. It only matters if the Capitol likes them.”

“Minerva?” Sirius asked. “May I call you ‘Minnie?’ I think it really suits you.” 

Her eyes glimmered with something. Was that mirth? “See that you don’t.” 

Sirius opened his mouth to speak but shut his mouth when the woman held up her hand. She had him take off her robe and began to dress him. This was done wordlessly. Sirius marveled at just how well his outfit fit him. How had the Capitol gotten his measurements? He decided not to ask; he didn’t want to push his limits with Minnie. She had him face away from the large mirror while she clothed him. “I always do a ‘big reveal’ when the tribute is fully dressed. It makes it special.” She stated.  “You know, you’re nothing like your brother,” Minerva said after a minute. 

Sirius raised a perfectly shaped brow.

“It’s a good thing.” she clarified. 

Well, that was good enough for Sirius; he didn’t really care about the fashion part of the Hunger Games, though he had to admit, he looked good. Minerva had clearly outdone herself; this was so much better than Reggie’s outfit from last year! Sirius was absolutely dripping in black. His suit was expertly tailored and the obsidian cloth clung to his skin in a way that would seem scandalous to the plainer districts, though that was probably the point; Careers often utilized raw sex appeal when gaining sponsors. It wouldn’t be Sirius’ strategy, but he wasn’t above using anything to get ahead. A flowing cape of the same fabric was artfully draped around his shoulders that made him look like, well, royalty. His makeup was expertly done. Benjy surely knew what he was doing. Black eyeshadow was artfully smudged around his eyes which intensified the grey of Sirius' eyes. It made him look absolutely lethal. He truly looked like a Career. 

Sirius turned to thank his stylist, but she was already gone, and his brother was in her place, a matte black box clutched in pale, shaking hands. “You look good,” Regulus stated. “You look like a Career. That’s good.”

“Aw, Reggie, you’re going soft on me.” Sirius cooed. 

“I’d hit you, but my hands are full,” Regulus drawled, “and you don’t want me to break what’s in here.”

The elder Black brother snorted, the breath of air turning into a strangled gasp when he saw what was inside. He choked. “The… head… Bella…” 

Regulus’ eyebrows rose higher and higher until his brother cut himself off with a rather intelligent “Huh?”

“I know this is supposed to be some grandiose ceremony, but I also am well aware of the fact that our cousin is prone to violence and wouldn’t hesitate to rip this out of your head.” He placed the crown, a circlet with raised black diamonds made to look like spikes of wire, on Sirius’ head with a reverence that almost made the action seem like a death sentence. “There,” he murmured, voice unusually soft, “now you look like a Victor.” 

“Reggie-”

The Victor held his hand up. “I don’t approve of what you’ve done, but that doesn’t matter. I’m going to do whatever it takes to get you out of this Arena alive.” Something in his eyes changed, shifting from brotherly to predatorial. “Welcome to the big leagues, brother.” Regulus clapped Sirius on the shoulder, chuckling as he did so. “Let’s go. Your chariot awaits.”

Now that the moment (whatever that was) was effectively over, Sirius thought it would be a good time to mention his little interaction with another Victor. “Oh, before I forget: James Potter came by. He said that this counts as your birthday present.” 

“Wha-” Sirius rolled his sleeves and held up his arm. The purple streaks hadn’t gone away. A spectacular range of emotions made an appearance on his brother’s face. “That rat bastard!” Regulus snarled. He stormed out of the room and Sirius followed. In fact, Sirius followed his brother all the way to the Parade grounds and watched the show unfold. He wished he had popcorn.

Regulus stomped up to the District Four Victor, shaking with anger. James turned to him. “Hey Regulus,” He smirked. “How’d-”

Smack!

“I am going to kill you, James Potter, and I will do it with the trident you love so dearly. I will hold your decapitated head in front of your weeping mother!” Regulus raged. 

The Victor in question’s dark skin suddenly had quite the grey pallor. “Reg-”

“Don’t ‘Reg’ me! You experimented on my brother right before the Hunger Games! What the fuck is wrong with you?” Regulus whisper-screamed. 

“It’s not experimental; it works! It’s been proven!” 

“On AVOXES, James! Not healthy tributes! What were you thinking?” Regulus began to run his hands through his hair, going through the possibilities of what could have happened to Sirius if he’d had an adverse reaction to the enhancement. Needless to say, none of the possibilities were very pretty. “You’re so lucky we’re in public. I-I can’t deal with you right now.” Regulus began to walk away and the many people milling about parted like the Red Sea. No one was stupid enough to get in the way of a raging Black. 

James grabbed his hand. “Reg.”

The District One Victor ripped his hand away as though James’ very touch would kill him. “Don’t touch me. Don’t you dare touch me.” He stormed off.

James looked forlorn in Regulus’ direction. Sirius had a brilliant idea. 

“Hey, lab-rat here.” James’ head snapped toward Sirius. “Listen, James. Reggie’s just annoyed right now. He knows you didn’t mean any harm, hell, you were trying to help me. He just doesn’t know it. I’ll put in a good word for you, don’t worry. You seem like his type anyway.”

“What exactly are you implying?”

“Seriously? A blind man could see how you look at Regulus.” James gaped. “Anyway, I think it’s time for me to get back to my dear brother.”

Sirius left before James could respond. As Sirius braved the short trek to the District One chariot, he checked out the competition from the Upper Districts. Well, if they could even be called “competition.” The only tribute that could be considered a threat was Evan Rosier from Two, who was talking animatedly to his mentor, Barty Crouch, Jr. 

Evan Rosier was of average height, but anyone could tell that he was incredibly strong. Regulus and Crouch were old friends, and the latter had boasted about the “star of the Academy” to the former whenever he could. Evan was dangerous, yes, but not because of his physical strength, though he had that in spades. 

Evan Rosier was dangerous because of his mentor. Normally, mentors weren’t incredibly invested in their tributes- they waited for them to die so they could go home to their families. The Career districts were normally the exception because of their genuine investment in the games; District One was even more so because many mentors are Blacks and end up fighting for their family members out of the Arena. Barty Crouch was dangerous because of his relationship with his tribute. He was prepared to do anything to get the love of his life (or so Regulus told Sirius) out of the Arena. That made him desperate, which made him unpredictable, which made him lethal. Still, Rosier would be a good ally. For a while, at least. 

Sirius nodded at the District Two tribute as he walked by. It was a good idea to form some relationships with the other tributes, regardless of how long Sirius kept them around. 

Regulus looked at his brother. “You have ten minutes until the Parade begins. Do what you will.” 

Well, then. Sirius had a District Twelve tribute to find. He walked calmly through the throng of tributes and mentors, steely eyes searching for one person, and one person only. After a few minutes, he found his target.

Holy fuck. Remus Lupin was even more gorgeous in person. It seemed that the District Twelve stylists went for a more avant-garde theme this year with their parade outfits. They obviously still leaned into the mining theme, but, well, Remus’ costume spoke for itself. His suit was perfectly tailored to his lithe form. It was reflective, almost, but not quite. It made him look like a literal diamond. The jagged edges of the suit certainly helped as well. His makeup team had certainly outdone themselves, too. Some kind of face paint was used on Remus’ scars that made it look like his skin was breaking apart to reveal diamonds underneath, as if he was literally the most sought-after substance on Earth; though, to Sirius, he was. He looked ethereal, and Sirius couldn’t get enough.

He approached the object of his desires who appeared to be alone at the moment. Jackpot. “Well,” Sirius drawled, his ever-present smirk plastered in place. “Aren’t you just a regular diamond in the rough? Though, there’s nothing regular about you, is there?”

Remus turned around and raised an eyebrow. Holy shit was he gorgeous. “Who are you, and why are you talking to me?”

“Black, Sirius Black. District One. And you, you stunning specimen, are Remus Lupin.” 

The District Twelve tribute started. “How do you know-”

“Your name?” Sirius laughed. “I make it a point to know interesting people. You are certainly interesting. Everyone else here is so boring.”

“Uh-huh.” Remus was skeptical. He began to walk away.

“Hey!” Sirius grabbed the brunette’s shoulder and turned him around a bit too forcefully. The enhancement was kicking in, then. “Don’t walk away from me. I-”

“Excuse me?” Remus asked, incredulously. “Who in the ever-loving fuck do you think you are? You do not get to tell me what to do. I don’t know how the ‘Princes of District One-'" he flourished dramatically as he said this, which made Sirius feel incredibly small, somehow "-were raised, but in Twelve, you don’t scream at someone for ending a conversation. So, do me a favor and fuck off.”

Remus was a spitfire. There was no denying that. Sirius definitely had his work cut out for him if he wanted the object of his affections to like him. He couldn’t help but take this moment to admire the brunette’s beauty. If Remus was pretty at the Reaping, he was stunning now. Sirius was already getting lost in his eyes. He voiced his thoughts. 

An incredibly cocky grin. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re gorgeous?”

Remus opened and closed his mouth like a fish as he reached up and traced one of the numerous scars that littered his face. Then, something in his expression darkened. What was originally annoyed and guarded became a mask of pure fury. “Go fuck yourself.”

Sirius, who had obviously not noticed the shift in the District Twelve tribute’s demeanor, plastered yet another one of his trademark grins on his face and leaned in. “Why would I when you could do a much better job?”

Remus reached up to the District One tribute’s throat but thought better of whatever he had planned on doing. He simply stalked away, throwing up a rather rude gesture that would have Sirius’ grandmother rolling in her grave as he did so. 

 A bark-like laugh. “Talk later, then?”

Neither tribute noticed that the District Twelve mentor, Alastor Moody, had watched their entire interaction.

________

Sirius strolled up to his brother. “So Reggie-”

The brother in question simply held up his hand. “What did you do now?”

“I may have talked to Remus Lupin.”

Regulus hit his head on the District One chariot. Hard.