Chapter Text
“Sirius, this is just me reminding you that you have a pap walk tomorrow around Hyde Park. You know the regular procedures, I don’t have to lecture you, just be on time.” The voicemail ended with a sigh.
That was Marlene McKinnon, Sirius Black’s PR manager, and one of his oldest friends. She’d stuck with him since the beginning of his career, both business-wise and as a friend. She’s one of the few people who truly know him, and what happened with his previous management and has continued to support him. He loves them to bits, but God, they really work overtime for him.
He had been a controversial figure to say the least…
In the four years he’s been in the spotlight he’s been labelled a womaniser, a loose cannon, difficult to work with, temperamental, and many more, but of course you can’t forget, a nepo baby.
Now of course Sirius would argue that all of these titles are completely untrue, but really, from an outsider's perspective, that’s exactly what he is. Those names don’t seem so far-fetched to the public eye, he’d been given these amazing opportunities so young and this is what he does with that: he gets drunk off fame. He would’ve never thought that’s what’d become of him, but alas, that’s what sold records at the end of the day. Eye-catching headlines and far-fetched articles that took one slip-up and ran with it.
Any publicity was good publicity after all.
That’s what his management had told him at 18 after an interviewer broached those topics.
“Now for Sirius, what do you have to say about the trail of broken hearts you continue to leave and would that have anything to do with your complicated home life, which clearly fucked you up in the head.” The interviewer had asked him, she didn’t even seem fazed by the words spewing from her mouth. As if any of what she just said was a normal thing to just ask somebody.
In the moment he’d frozen, all his media training went out the window; he felt like he’d been punched in the gut at the mention of his family. The House of Black he had run away from at the age of 16, the house he cried, screamed, and bled in, the house he vowed to never return to. It was common knowledge amongst fans and others in the industry that Sirius Black and his family had a rocky relationship; after all, that’s what started the band in the first place. Public discussion about his family was a forbidden topic by his management, out of fear of being sued for defamation or something, yet the interview still aired.
Sirius Black, who couldn’t keep his mouth shut for the life of him, was silent, but he didn’t have to say anything, his face spoke a thousand words. It makes him shake his head at the thought of how he had reacted in that moment, but he can’t really blame himself; he’d probably react the same way now, and that pissed the shit out of him. That the simple mention of the origin of his last name could cause such a visceral reaction from him.
So, of course, that’s exactly what the media spread.
‘Sirius Black of the Marauders blanches at mere mention of The House of Black, here’s what you need to know about their history’
‘Sirius Black refuses to comment on his relations, is this the result of fame or the substances he clearly engages in?’
‘Will Sirius Black be the reason for the downfall of mega band Marauders?’
Any publicity was good publicity.
As many headlines the better, reach as many audiences as possible, the more people knew about them the better, regardless of whether they were viewed positively or not.
And the worst part was, that it worked. He hates to admit it, but it’s true, the Marauders were on top of the world, at the time it felt worth it. If that was all it took in exchange for success he would do it, a few scandals here and there. If he had to be the one flamed, he considered it worthwhile if for his best friends. James obviously tried to talk him out of it but he never budged. Anything to make headlines. He turned to drugs and alcohol, “might as well give those media outlets something to write about”. Whatever he wanted to say he said, whatever or whoever he wanted to do he’d do, whoever he want to be seen with, he’d be seen with them, anything to make it on the front cover of any magazine.
“Marauders lead singer Sirius Black has gone off the rails during bands rise to fame”
“Sirius Black facing backlash over comments regarding rival band ‘The Pantheon’”
“Sirius Black opens up regarding notorious House of Black following his brother's tragic death”
It worked.
They continued to thrive as a band, and the three of them reached superstardom within two years. They already had three albums out and were working on their fourth, they were performing in stadiums and arenas every night, they went to celebrity parties, and they even had their own star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame which was sick. They had fan pages upon fan pages, they were the reason they were even discovered in the first place. It was hard not to lose their balance at the top of their winding tower of success, held up by only a few records and magazine scandals it was about as secure as a castle made upon a sand hill. So it was no surprise to them when it all crashed down after only 3 years, but he doesn’t like to think much about that it puts him in a sour mood for the rest of the day.
When he looks back on it now if the band hadn’t ended then he’s not sure what would’ve become of him. During the band he had been a shell of who he once was, hollowed out by the pressure, the hate, the drugs, the alcohol, the hurt. He was an explosive with its fuse lit and already burning out, no matter how long he thought he’d have before it burned him, it would never be long enough. He wouldn’t have been able to stall it. He could only hope that the others weren’t nearby when he finally blew.
Life post band had proven to be quite rocky as well, to say the least. Surprisingly, not many labels were interested in signing a loose cannon, party animal, irresponsible, trust fund kid. Who’d have thought? But he’d pushed past it all since then, he’d found a decent label and management company and was starting fresh, which led him to the present, right now.
Marlene had been bending over backwards trying to help him out and get him back in the public’s good books. Which can be quite hard when everyone thinks you’re the reason your band suddenly broke up so publicly. So, that means a lot of PR stunts, which he absolutely loathes. Picnic dates with models and walks in the park, very public charity work, and music that doesn’t sound like him. It feels so fake, so staged, but people eat it up anyway, which just makes it worse. His new image was a total 180 from his one in the band, yet still neither of them really felt like him. Or maybe they were, and he was just insane and really temperamental after all, just constantly changing.
Those kinds of thoughts kept him up a lot at night, who really was Sirius Black? Was he the wild, up-all-night life of the party who’d arrive to black tie events in full leather and never turn down a shot or five? Or the guy who sang pop songs about love, who fed ducks at a lake with his model “girlfriend” and who’d get caught very candidly doing volunteer work? Whenever he thinks too hard about these kinds of things, he finds it best to just drink them away. So, that’s exactly what he does that night until all his thoughts became warm bubbles in his being.
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He’d been woken up by his alarm at 7am sharp, he walked through his house like a ghost, picking up and doing things just to make sure he was still there. He makes a small breakfast, a croissant and a long black before he begins to pick out his outfit. He’s meant to dress casually, after all the pap photos are meant to be candid, but casual dress isn’t in his vocabulary. He picks out a pair of jeans, a white tank top and his favourite leather jacket, that was as casual as they were gonna get.
By 9 am he was out of the house and well on his way by bike to Hyde Park, and wow would you look at that, a whole crowd of paparazzi. They haven’t spotted him yet, but he sees them; they’re really, hard to miss.
He’s about to pedal towards them, when he passed a library, he starts to slow down to take it all in, its sign with swirly cursive writing sitting atop a large double wooden door, its brass handles inviting him in. He stops the bike just a bit past the library. The paps still haven’t noticed him; he could always just not go. He’s done it before, when these walks had first started and he was still bitter about the band and people in general, when flashing lights in his face was the last thing he wanted. Eh fuck it he thinks before making his way to the large dark doors.
He pushed them open and was immediately met with a warm woody and slightly vanilla scent, the whole scene felt like a massive hug, fitting for the autumn weather. He was too wrapped up in the strong smell that he almost missed the voice that welcomed him upon his entrance. “If you have any problems finding anything just give me a shout yeah” said the mystery voice. Now that Sirius thought about it, mystery man’s voice felt strangely fitting with the library, gruff yet slightly timid and soft – ok that was slightly strange to think about but whatever. There were rows upon rows of books, most sporting wears and tears in various places, a sign of much love throughout many years. All his life he’d associated libraries with emotions like boredom and wanting to die, but this library felt different somehow, he felt strangely at peace. He continued to wander amongst the shelves, familiar titles jumping out at him. After walking for a while scanning the titles and authors, he pulled A Midsummer Night’s Dream from the shelf, he’d read it before, and it was one of the few books his parents forced him to read that he had actually enjoyed.
With a book now in his grasp he continued aimlessly walking among the bookshelves, he’d yet to stumble across any other person, not even the librarian. He didn’t even know this library existed, but really whether he did or didn’t wouldn’t have changed that he’d never willingly step foot into a library, in secondary school, his friends had to practically drag him by his ears to get him in a library. But he felt drawn to this place. His eyes glazed over the high bookshelves and his gaze made its way to the ceiling, quite tall and lined with large dirty radius windows, if he’d seen those windows anywhere else he’d think how awfully neglected they were, but here, it felt right, almost intentional. The built-up dust blocked majority of the light that tried to illuminate the vast shelves almost isolating the place from the outside world. He noticed the windows were etched with a design, he couldn’t see it well, he wasn’t wearing his contacts as he’d run out a while ago and hadn’t bothered to buy more. But he was snapped from his train of thought by his phone vibrating in his pocket, he took it out to check who’d messaged him, it was Marlene, “shit” he muttered softly not reading it, no doubt asking him where the hell he was. He didn’t answer, just shoved his phone back into his pocket, he’d deal with it later.
He kept walking trying to find the front counter to check out his book and leave. Part of him hoped he didn’t find it, so he’d have a reason to stay longer. As he kept walking through the identical shelves, he noticed the smell that smothered him upon his entrance was getting stronger and stronger, he didn’t know that was possible, whoever ran this place must have been burning a shit ton of vanilla spice candles. The smell that was once subtle and comforting was now suffocating him in its scent, forcing him to let out a couple of sneezes.
“You hear that, Mary? Too many candles” said the mystery man sounding slightly exasperated.
“Sorry for trying to cancel out the smell of your cigarette smoke” Said, who he assumed was Mary in an equally exasperated voice. So, it was Mary poisoning the air of the library and slowly killing him. But more importantly, people! Finally, the maze of the library was over.
The voices sounded close, but he didn’t know how close, he walked to the end of the aisle of shelves and there it was, in the furthest corner of the library. He wasn’t really focusing on the fact that he’d finally found the check-out desk, because there was an extremely gorgeous golden-haired man sitting at, said check-out desk. He wasn't quite sure how his hair looked so golden considering how dim the place was, the man just seemed to glow. He simultaneously perfectly fit into the place with his large green and brown jumper and warm demeanour and stood out as if he was the only one in the library (which he kind of was aside from Sirius and Mary) with his cigarette in hand and pen scribbling away furiously. There was a woman next to him, lighting another candle on a nearby table, who must’ve been Mary; she was short with shoulder-length curly hair, and he would be sure to ask what products she uses.
Neither of them had seen him yet, the golden-haired man was too engrossed with writing in his notebook while Mary had begun to wander off among some shelves.
Sirius continued to walk towards the desk the man was sat behind, with his book in clutch. He felt slightly nervous as he was nearing the desk, which was dumb he kept reminding himself. The closer he got the clearer he could see the man’s face and goddamn he was really, gorgeous. He could see his face better, which was scattered with scars and as he got closer, freckles. He also had the prettiest eyes Sirius had ever seen they were a very pretty hazel, which went really well with his whole aesthetic.
Before he knew it he was less than 2 metres from the desk and the man was looking up at him with those hazel eyes. He hurried to put out his cigarette on an ashtray atop the desk, it had a smiley face painted on it.
“Hi there, did you find everything Ok?” He asked a little awkwardly, fuck they’re both awkward. But wait, he didn’t seem to recognise him. Sirius wouldn’t say he’s full of himself, he’s just used to most people knowing who he is with just one look. The man was looking at him weird, he realised hadn’t replied yet.
“Oh yeah, just gonna borrow this one” he said with a little wave of the book in his slightly sweaty hand.
“Shakespeare huh, frankly I wouldn’t have pegged you as a playwright fan” The man said with a semi-scoff semi-laugh.
“Well, I’ll have you know I tolerate it, A Midsummer Night's Dream is just objectively Shakespeare’s best work,” with that, the man’s jaw dropped.
“Woah I wouldn’t go that far” he began sputtering in attack
“I bet you think Macbeth is his best, don’t you?” Sirius shot back in joking retaliation. The man faked a hurt expression.
“As a matter of fact, I do, and I stand by that thank you very much” the man said with his head turned away from him before letting out a small laugh.
This stranger was pretty funny, and suddenly Sirius no longer felt so nervous, the light banter reminded him of how it felt to talk with James for the first time. But with this man, it was a combination of the fact this man had no idea who he was, and he was still being so friendly.
“Anyways I’ll take that book from you, what’s your first and last name, for the log” the man asked him getting a pen ready to write down his name in a large notebook.
“Sirius Black-“
“Like the star?”
“Yeah, like the star” Sirius shrugged, he got a bit scared for a second, that his name had suddenly reminded the man of a very public, troublesome rock star. Well, former rock star.
“I see your parents also went down the ‘let’s name our kid something they’ll never find in a souvenir shop’ road” he said with a slight shake of his head as he wrote down Sirius’ name.
“Shit, your parents too?”
“Yup, Remus Lupin” Remus said with a slight grimace.
“Yours may be worse than mine wolfy wolf man”
“Tell me about it” he groaned, handing Sirius his book back.
“Cheers” he said once he had his book back in his hands. It was then when the ma- Remus – smiled at him, like proper smiled at him and waved him goodbye.
Now he knows he should be feeling slightly anxious about missing his pap walk but how can he feel anything other than starstruck after coming face to face with such a gorgeous man. He could ride this high for days. As he was walking out, he made a mental note that he’d start going to that library more often, for the quality literature of course, he had to refresh his memory on Macbeth to see if it really compared to A Midsummer Nights Dreams after all.