Chapter Text
Early October, 1978
"Where the fuck is he!?"
Sirius spat, staring straight into the redhead's green irises. His pulse a war drum in his throat.
"I don't know, Black!" She looked down at her wrist where a very scratched metal watch sat. She shook her hand and clutched the yellow notepad in her other hand tightly to her chest.
Sirius kicked the creaky dark wooden wall beside him and swore.
"Fuck him!" He turned to James' startled face. "Pick up a bass, Potter. I'll take lead guitar."
"Why don't you play bass tonight, Black?" Potter retorted with a frown. "Where am I supposed to get a bass from, anyway?"
"Oh, I don't know, it's not like we're in the middle of a bloody gig where six different bands are playing!" Sirius fired back with a huff and a big hand gesture.
"Shit, mate, calm down." James' eyes softened and he sighed towards Sirius in a very brotherly manner. "I'll find a bass, alright?"
James left to the other room in the back, and Sirius, with his hands on his hips, turned back to Lily. Smoke filled the room, making the dark wooden walls foggier still beneath the haze and dim overhead lights, while sound pounded against them.
Rock music.
"I'm gonna fucking kill him," he spat at her, as he fiddled in his pocket for his cigarette pack. "Evans, would you help Potter find a bass? Please."
He knew James was a lightweight, and he'd already chugged six cans of beer within the first band of the evening's set. They were supposed to go on in a few minutes. The pub outside was packed with screaming people who'd come to get smashed and listen to loud music, and Sirius just happened to have his bassist disappear on the most important night of their careers.
This was their biggest gig yet: a multi-band set list, mostly doing covers, in an underground pub in London. Sirius knew a crowd of at least a hundred and fifty people was waiting, and you never knew who might be listening within the crowd.
Lily nodded ans trotted after James to the other backstage room.
Sirius lit his fag and took a long drag. Peter came up to him, a chuckle rolling off his lips with a pretty brunette engulfed in his embrace.
"Can I bum a fag, Black?" the dirty blond drummer asked. Sirius offered the open carton to him, and Pete took two fags with a guilty expression.
"Cheers," he sighed, cheeks pink and hair already plastered to his forehead.
"D'you know where the fuck Yaxley is, Pettigrew?" Sirius snapped, his foot tapping on the floor at an alarming rate.
Peter's eyes widened as he went still. "Yaxley's not here?" he asked, panicked.
Sirius was about to burst when his favourite spiky blonde came rushing to him, breath ragged and cheeks flushed red. Her eyes were wide, and she clutched her chest with a hand as she stopped abruptly in front of him.
"Just ran all the way from the front," she panted. "We have a problem."
A few seconds went by while Marlene caught her breath, and it felt like a bloody eternity to Sirius.
"Well, fucking tell me, McKinnon!" he blurted out, pinching the bridge of his nose.
She breathed again, regaining her composure. "The band that's playing right now… they're already called The Tea Sets. You have to change the band's name. There can't be two Tea Sets."
Sirius dragged his palms over his eye sockets. "Sod's fucking law couldn't wait one more day, could it?" He swung to his side and snatched a half-drunk bottle of Jack from a random passing musician, who protested while Sirius flipped him off.
The Tea Sets had been Peter's last-minute idea, and Sirius had let it slide, even though he thought the name was positively stupid. They could always change the band name later — even though coming up with a good group name had always been Sirius' kryptonite. Nothing was ever good enough, so instead, something truly terrible like the fucking Tea Sets suited him.
Peter raked his sweaty hair back with his hands, and Marlene just stared at Sirius, the band-list notepad and a pen held out towards him, patiently waiting.
"Fuck!" Sirius shouted, turning around and stumbling into a nearby room. He dragged his feet across the dirty emerald green carpet coating the floor and swigged a huge gulp from the stolen bottle. He found himself in a small office, its largest wall covered by a heavy duty floor-to-ceiling bookshelf filled with dusty old tomes.
Sirius leaned back against the closed door behind him. It was a disaster. His hands pulsed, and he could hear his heartbeat in his ears. He'd been planning his night for weeks. He'd even made his mates practise through bloody fingers deep into the wee hours of the night, until they sounded better than the bloomin' Rolling Stones.
He suddenly remembered a saying his old governess used to mutter all the time: Tell your plans to God, and he'll get rid of them. It hadn't made much sense to him then, but it sure as hell did now.
He took another long drag of his fag, another swig of whisky, and stared up at the old books. He recognised several titles — they were practically seared into his brain from staring at them blankly in the Black Manor library for so long. He'd even been forced to read a few.
He approached the shelf, pressing a finger along the dusty spines, leaving a trail behind. A specific tome caught his eye, and Sirius cocked his head as he pulled it free. With his Cigarette between his lips, he dusted the cover, and admired the title.
The True Discovery of the Self — Marcel Maraud.
Flashes of it slammed into his inebriated brain. He remembered reading it when he was about twelve when his mother had made him read it as part of his 'formation'. It was meant to teach him what it meant to be a Black — or a Black heir, more like.
But what the old hag hadn't counted on was that Maraud's words had seeped into Sirius in a completely different way than she intended. Among other things, he was pretty sure this book had been an important piece of his breaking-free puzzle.
Maraud had written about becoming the best at what you're already good at, and how that path could give a person what everyone truly sought: freedom.
Sirius' eyes twinkled beneath the yellow lights. He tossed the book away and strode out of the dingy office. The muffled music pounded into him as he crossed the threshold, sending a pang of adrenaline through him.
He approached Marlene, who was still talking to Pete and his girl. Peter was doing a little trick with a drumstick when Sirius yanked the notepad from Marlene's hands and scribbled a new name in neat handwriting beside a violently crossed-out The Tea Sets.
James came up behind him, draping an arm around Sirius' shoulders, and the other one around Peter's. He was holding an almost empty bottle of vodka in his right hand, sloshing it from side to side as the music on the other side of those walls died down, the last notes finally dissipating.
"We're up — hic! — lads!" James said with a lazy grin over his lips.
"Where's the bloody bass, Potter?" Sirius asked, noticing that James was utterly empty-handed, if not for that vodka.
James merely pointed at someone who was engulfed in the smoke and shadows of an obscured corner of the backstage, and whispered into Sirius' ear. "Sweet, pretty Evans got us a bass!" he drunkenly slurred.
Sirius looked up to find Lily standing next to a very tall, lanky bloke. He had light brown curls mopping the top of his head. He was leaning against the dark wood wall in a way that bothered Sirius to his very core. Half of his face was covered by his big, bony hand, which was expertly clutching a fag to his lips, as he straddled the neck of a beat-up cream bass guitar with the other.
The tall bloke looked up, locking eyes with Sirius for a moment. Something painful and odd and revolting twinged in Sirius' chest when the lad's eyes glinted orange, reflecting the light of his fag.
Lily moved towards Sirius. "I sorted us a bass-ist!" she said gleefully, as Sirius stood there, frozen, still staring at the golden-haired chap. He had a very neutral expression on his face, as if he were bored out of his mind.
Sirius disliked him immediately.
"Even better than just a bass, isn't it?" Lily added with a nervous smile, catching onto Sirius' expression of irritation.
"Guess I'll play lead guitar after all — hic! — Black," James said with a sheepish smile and heavy-lidded eyes, before shooting him a wink.
Sirius fumed, shooting a murderous look at their red-haired manager and shrugged James' heavy arm off of him, which had been resting atop his shoulder like a dead weight.
He took a very deep breath and approached the tall boy with confident steps. Lilt trailed after him and stood just a breath of space away, seemingly scared of what Sirius might do.
"Your name," Sirius demanded.
"Lupin," the bloke said casually, lifting the fag cradled between long, bony fingers to his lips again only to blow the smoke directly into Sirius' face right after.
"I already gave him the sheet music for the set, Black," Lily interrupted from behind, sensing the palpable tension swirling in the smoke-filled, musky room.
"You better be a damn good bass player, then," Sirius shot back, eyeing the rugged-looking bass guitar now leaning against the same wall Lupin was practically plastered to.
Lupin snorted and looked around the room, amused.
"I think I'm all you've got, Black."
Sirius' eyes sharpened, his blood getting hotter by the second. He glanced at Lupin's arm, where he'd scrunched up the music sheets into a roll and had stuck them between his bicep and his torso.
"Just—" he exhaled, folding to the situation. "We're looping the intro on the first song until we find some rhythm, alright?" Sirius gravelled. Even if he got the shivers just from looking at this lad, he truly had no other choice. "If those sheets are still legible, that is," he added, glancing at the mistreated bundle of paper.
Lupin took another drag of his cigarette. "Don't worry about it. You picked easy enough songs."
The smoke grazed Sirius directly in the face again, making him blink hard when the smoke stung his eyes.
Git.
"In that case, you better be bloody John Paul Jones out there," Sirius spat, looking straight into his dark, muddy-brown eyes with pure intensity.
"I will be — if you, by some miracle, sound just like Robert Plant," he shot back, curls flopping onto his forehead as he looked down to meet Sirius' icy eyes.
"You sodding bast—"
"You're on now!" Lily cut in abruptly, her fingers wrapping around Sirius' bicep to pull him away and toward the narrow corridor that led to the small stage. "Com on, the lot of you!" she barked at Potter and Pettigrew.
Sirius walked toward the stage, glancing back just in time to see Lupin pick up his bass and follow them. He was upon them in a few long strides, and before Sirius could say anything else to him, with his pulse going a thousand beats per minute, a big, blinding light drowned his fiery rage into a sad ember.
His eyes adjusted, and he saw the dirty black stage before him, with their instruments, amps, and microphones eagerly waiting for them, and right in front of him, a sea of heads, lights, and smoke at his mercy.
…
How could Remus Lupin refuse a pretty redhead the now two packs of fags (it was originally one) he was offered in exchange for a quick fill-in as bassist for the night in another band? Which, he thought, wasn't a big deal since the 'You're out of the band, Loony Lupin!' his frontman had shouted in his face mere minutes ago sounded very convincing, and final.
It was very embarrassing that this emerald-eyed girl — Lily — had heard the entire ordeal from the sidelines. She'd stared at him with puppy eyes as he wiped the spit Paul had sprayed onto his face while firing him, and then nervously offered him the substitute job.
He'd been reluctant at first, until he realised that having no band also meant having no home, since his bandmates had been letting him stay with them for free in a tiny flat for months now. Remus decided, right then, that he just wanted to play bass until his calloused hands bled like they did when he was a rookie, and get absolutely pissed so he could comfortably pass out anywhere by the end of the night.
Two packs of fags had made his eyes glint and his mouth water, so he'd accepted. What he couldn't really cope with, was the bloody size of Lily's frontman's ego. The bloke was a right tosser, as cocky as his hair was black, and the way his lips curled in disgust as he tried to boss Remus around truly irritated him.
He stood on the same stage he'd been in just a few hours ago, finding his spot on the left side and setting up his equipment. He blew out a breath of regret as he straightened the balled-up music sheets. He knew most of the songs by heart, except for the third one and last one, which he'd never heard of before.
He pulled the sheets he needed in front of him and strapped the bass around himself in the most familiar motion he knew, fiddling a bit with the tuning and strings before glancing up to find the other doing the same.
The golden-brown-skinned guitarist was clearly drunk out of his mind, his untamed black hair sticking up in every direction as he tuned his guitar with surprisingly steady fingers. The drummer looked alright — ready for action — but Remus couldn't help noticing how he was already drenched in sweat, and the set hadn't even begun. He saw Black's delicate hands fiddling with the mic stand last, his guitar hanging low over his hips, black waves like drapes hiding his face from view.
Wanker.
They glanced at each other to make sure they were ready, and then the presenter's voice boomed from the speakers.
"Let's hear it for The Marauders!"
There was a brief, out-of-sync clapping from the crowd, and a few drunken whoops. The air felt thick with anticipation, spotlights dancing through the smoke, and Remus could just hold onto the dear hope that, by some miracle, they wouldn't suck.
Remus' throat threatened to close, suddenly feeling very much on the spot, but then Black freed the mic from the stand, bundling the cord around his left hand so he could walk across the stage.
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen!" he said into the mic sarcastically, since the audience in front of them was a chaotic punk mess, confidence oozing out of his mouth and flooding the speakers.
"If we muck this up — no we didn't," he cooed. "We're all into performance art."
The sea of people before them let out a collective chuckle.
Remus thought Black must've winked at a girl standing right by the stage, because he leaned in and sort of nodded sideways, and the woman nearly swooned.
Bugger, so he was that kind of frontman.
"We're borrowing a bassist tonight," he added, charismatic as hell for Remus' misfortune, as he spared a quick glance back at him. Remus simply stared back at him neutrally. "So if he sucks, don't hold it against us!"
More laughter erupted in the packed pub.
"The Sex Pistols sucked at the beginning and — fucking hell — they bloody did the thing, didn't they?" The crowd roared, whistles and shouts fusing together. "Worry not, lads, we won't spit at ya."
Black moved across the stage to the left, staring at Remus with his unrelenting, stormy eyes.
"Can't make any promises for that one, though," he muttered mockingly, causing a surge of exasperation to swirl in Remus' chest as the multitude chuckled once more.
Remus clicked his tongue and tensed his muscles to stave off a reaction, fiddling with the cross that always hung on a chain around his neck, as he often did when he didn't know what to do with his fingers.
He would show that infuriatingly smug arsehole that if they mucked this up, it'd be because they were cocky and too wasted to even play, and not because they'd stumbled upon a mediocre bassist for the night.
"Right," Sirius followed after the amused crowd, nodding toward the drummer so he could set the beat. "Let's make this night the mistake your mum told you it was gonna be!"
"Ready, Pete?" Black said briskly, a full glinting grin on his face as the blond boy nodded back at him.
"Five, six, seven — GOOO!" he shouted hungrily into the mic, and Pete brought the beat to life.
It was fast-paced, and surprisingly grounded.
It didn't take long for the lead guitarist to roar the speakers to life with the loud intro of Paranoid by Black Sabbath. The place was vibrating ecstatically, making Remus' chest swell at the surprising force and steadiness of the pissed guitarist's strumming while he bobbed his head. Remus couldn't help a smile as he came in with the bass just in time, and after three or four loops on the initial chord progression, they managed to click together beautifully.
Remus was surprised to hear how well the three instruments melded together. He'd expected something a lot shittier, but the drums where booming, the guitar was rasping in his ears, and the crowd was moving, roaring, singing. Hid blood was pumping hard in his veins, the vibrations of his bass rushing up his long arms and into his ribcage.
And then bloody Black came to life, flicking his long hair back with a careless hand as he held the mic tightly in the other, in a way Remus hated to admit he'd rarely seen before.
The marble-skinned bloke transformed before Remus' eyes into a completely different chap.
His vice was raspy yet somehow smooth, hitting those high notes like they were nothing as he moved about the stage like a liquid — ragged enough to give it grit, but flowing with the audience with utter naturality. It was as if it ran in his veins, like he was specifically created for this.
Finished with my woman 'cause
She couldn't help me with my mind
People think I'm insane because
O am frowning all the time..
Remus felt a hideous sting in his chest as he thought, this prick is rock and roll as hell.
They were a swirl of beat, rhythm, and adrenaline as the song progressed. When the guitarist came forward for the solo, the girls closest to the stage screamed loudly at him, and Remus swore he could make out a "Marry me!" being screeched at the chap.
The song came to and end, and when the last note dissolved, they found themselves engulfed by the loud hollering of the crowd, which sent jolts of electricity down Remus's limbs, making his head floaty. He felt someone approach him from the left side of the stage and offer him a beer, which he happily took, chugging half of it in a long pull.
He looked at his three temporary bandmates. He noticed them exchanging a knowing look, and then Black gave Remus the tiniest nod.
Remus shot him a wide grin at that, and the other boy flipped him off before turning his body back to face their punk audience.
They kept their set list going. The second song didn't go as well as the first one, because the drummer messed up a few bars in the middle, but he was able to pick it back up almost seamlessly. The crowd didn't seem to mind, staying as wild as when they'd started their set.
Black took a shot offered by some girl in the front row and knocked it back greedily. Later, someone handed him a bottle of Jack, and he tipped it over his head to pour a stream of burning hot liquid from several inches above straight into his mouth.
"He's doing the Scorpion!" a groupie girl shrieked, pointing at the vocalist, who then passed the bottle to the messy-haired guitarist, who promptly smashed the empty bottle against the stage floor, shattering it into a million little bits.
They were show-offs, and the show went on.
Remus stayed in his corner through the rest of the songs, keeping composure and gulping beer can after beer can. The last song of the set rolled around, and it was one he hadn't recognised. When it started, he looked intently at the sheet music and quickly realised this was most likely an original — and it was a fucking ballad.
The song started slow and tender, and Remus thought it was a terrible way to end a set. He caught sight of the smug vocalist being completely in his element, drenched in sweat as he held the mic intensely. Suddenly, the song picked up, Remus' fingers plucking the strings in that possessed way he'd come to realise he did when he was reading the notes, the song slowly building up, in crescendo.
The build-up continued, and Black undeniably stayed the centre of attention, as if the crowd were an eclipse of moths and the frontman the only light in a dark night, and Remus came to the conclusion that he didn't just mildly dislike the long-haired vocalist — he despised him.
The track erupted, and Black sang his heart out. The air was buzzing, and Remus could swear the multitude before him hitched its breath for a moment before the song crashed down into a long-lasting outro. The vocalist was on his knees by then, dramatically finishing his performance.
The sound halted at once and the crowd exploded, shouts and whistles straining Remus' ears. Black stood up an bowed in all directions, as the guitarist waved and the drummer stood frozen in a perplexed grin.
Black lowered his lips to the mic once more. "You lot know how to do chaos!" he shouted, provoking another wild roar. "Try to keep it up for the poor blokes that have to play after us," he sighed and chuckled.
"Don't miss us too much!" he barked into the mic as he clicked it back into the stand, and with both hands raised in gratitude, strode back until he disappeared into the backstage.
The sea of people was still raging when Remus got off the stage, his bass strapped across his back as he followed his temporary bandmates into the backstage. The harsh overheard lights shocked him into what felt like another dimension, and he could immediately see the three blokes hugging in a tight embrace, sweaty and jittery.
"Blimey, Sirius, why The Marauders?" Remus overheard the drummer ask faintly.
"Because we are!" Black shot back, ecstatic.
"Still don't get it," the guitarist cut in, grinning as he shrugged. Remus could see his face more clearly now, and he looked as if he was in a perpetual state of bliss, eyes half-closed, his body very relaxed. Truly wasted.
"I'll tell ya later, Pete," Black assured them, grabbing his friends' arms and squeezing fondly.
The group broke apart as they noticed Remus approaching, and he was startled when the guitarist flashed him a grin and opened his arms to clap Remus on the back. "You were brilliant out there, mate!" the guitarist exclaimed, wiping sweat from under his round glasses. "It was mental!"
"Cheers," Remus offered with a genuine upturned lip. "You were brilliant, too."
"Yeah, mate, what the actual fuck?" You're like a pro!" the drummer chimed in, offering his hand to Remus, which he squeezed firmly.
"Been playing for a while, that's all." Remus shrugged, and looked intently into the blond boy's eyes. "You're a bloody good drummer yourself."
He smiled and ducked his head, staring at his feet as he blushed even redder, and Remus spared a glance at Black, whose expression had turned severe, his brows knitting into a tight frown.
"Bloody hell, I get why they call you 'serious'," Remus said, remembering how the drummer had just called him, and he raised an eyebrow at Remus.
He huffed, letting out a mocking chuckle at Remus, and planted his hands on his hips. "It's Sirius," Black said matter-of-factly, waiting for a reaction. "Like the star," he explained when Remus didn't budge. "It's my name."
Remus couldn't believe the entitlement with which he said those words, as if Remus was completely thick in the head. What sort of fucked up name was 'Sirius' anyway?
The brightest star in the night sky, my arse!
"Right," Remus shot back. "You did alright," he continued, calm and collected. "Rushed the bridge of that second track, though. Keep at it," he said, patting him once on the back.
Sirius tensed up, and his eyes darkened.
"I've seen wilted daisies with more stage presence than your sorry arse." Sirius fired back hastily.
"S'fine, I'm just the bassist," Remus retorted with a tight-lipped smile and a shrug.
Bastard.
A few moments went by as Remus witnessed the gears in Black's head turning, like he was trying to come up with a retort as he tried to figure something else out, and when Remus let out a breathy chuckle, he snapped. "I really don't like you," Sirius seethed.
"Good," Remus nodded. How creative. "Let's keep it that way."
The feeling was mutual.
High-pitched screaming sounded close by, and Remus turned to find Lily alongside a girl with short, spiky blonde hair, and a pretty dark-skinned girl with curls and striking features, with a big camera hanging from her neck.
"You were brilliant!" Lily shrieked, pride and fondness glittering in her green eyes as she wrapped her arms around Black and the guitarist. "You're the best band I've ever managed!"
"We're the only band you've ever managed!" the golden-skinned lad retorted, grabbing Lily's arm and squeezing it softly.
"Oh, well," the spiky-haired girl added, clapping a hand to the blond boy's shoulder. "Best be glad she keeps it that way, or you're toast."
"Oh, c'mere, McKinnon!" Black demanded sweetly, pulling her from Peter's side and into a tight embrace, where she just patted his back a few times. "You love us, really."
"God! Can't wait to see these pictures!" the curly-haired girl screamed, holding her camera up enthusiastically as she planted a wet kiss on Black's cheek. "They're totally gig-poster worthy."
"Yaxley show up?" Black inquired.
Lily shook her head.
Remus had taken a few steps back when the girls approached them, watching them hug and kiss and congratulate each other from the sidelines.
That was his cue.
He made sure his bass was fastened securely to his back and started for the exit of the filthy backstage pub area. His former bandmates were nowhere to be seen, so he simply nodded at the other musicians as he passed them until he was pushing the door open to step outside into the cold night. Trying to cobble together a plan for his sleeping arrangements now that he was most-likely homeless, Remus lit up a fag and welcomed the burning smoke into his lungs.
He'd probably end up sleeping in a tube station bathroom, sitting on the floor with his legs toward the door so he'd be alerted if someone tried to get in, as he'd done before in multiple occasions. He wasn't nearly as wasted as he'd hoped to be to get through the night, and he considered going back inside to steal a bottle, the buzz of that last mind-bending performance still coursing through his body.
He took the last drag of his fag and chucked the end onto the pavement, deciding to save his energy and just start walking into the darkness—
"Remus, wait!"
He turned back and saw Lily jogging towards him, her hands tucked into her jumper sleeves for warmth.
"You're not staying for the afterparty?" she asked, visibly disappointed.
"Er— not really, no." Remus glanced down at himself, clearly packed up for the night.
"Of course," Lily shook her head and stared at him like he was some sort of lost puppy. " Just wanted to tell you that you truly impressed me in there." She offered him a warm hand.
Remus nodded ans shook it firmly, feeling her press something into his palm, and when he pulled his hand back, there was a crumpled piece of paper on it.
He smoothed it out and found a telephone number written neatly inside. His eyes flicked up to find Lily's, finding a smile adorning her pretty face.
"We really need a new bassist," she explained softly. "Just fired ours for good, and I somehow happen to have a bloody brilliant one right in front of me." She raised a red eyebrow at him.
Remus just shrugged. "Who would've thought bassists would be the most problematic band members, huh?" he joked, and they both chuckled. "Thanks, really, but I'll figure something else out."
He held out the slip of paper to hand it back, but the redhead carefully took it from between his fingers, opened his palm, and placed it back inside before curling his fingers around it.
"Keep it. Just in case you change your mind," she insisted, and Remus obeyed, shoving the note deep into a pocket of his trousers.
Lily gave him a crooked smile, tenderness clearly laced with it, and turned slowly to begin her trek back into the pub.
"I won't," Remus called after her. There was no way he was going to put up with that nightmare of a vocalist. Sirius.
"Auditions will be held by the end of the week!" she yelled over her shoulder.
"I really won't, Lily!" he shouted back, his voice firm to emphasise his intention.
"Whatever you say, Remus!" she threw her hands into the air before disappearing through the pub's back door.
