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maraudererasmut · 5 years

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Black and White (Part III)

Part I

Part II

Part III

Part IV

Part V

Part VI

Part VII

Part VIII

Part IX

A week had passed since the opening of Black and White, and in that time, Remus had hastily completed four paintings, photographed everything he had and assembled his portfolio book. He had the opportunity to show his work to one of the most influential people in the London art scene, and he'd be damned if he let anything get in his way.

After a frustratingly long shift at the cafe, Remus trudged back to his tiny flat. He immediately hopped into the shower, letting the cool water run over his body, trying desperately to pretend it was warmer than it was.

Remus hurriedly got dressed, making sure to wear the nicest article of clothing he owned: his one and only suit. Before leaving the house, Remus caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and paused.

He looked dapper. Well, dapper for a poor artist living from paycheck to paycheck, scrambling to put food on his table. His face was clean shaven, his curls gelled back neatly. His suit was ill-fitting, but it wasn't too noticeable. At least his shirt fit him nicely, and it matched his tie, which was good enough for him. Remus flashed the mirror a smile. It didn't look real; it looked like the type of smile Remus used to wear during the holidays when he visited his extended family. Taking a deep breath, the artist steadied himself and tried again, smiling into the mirror. It was believable enough.

As Remus walked down the street, he couldn't help but let his mind wander. He was nervous. No, terrified. He had no idea what Sirius Black would think of his art, and he had no one to ask for help. None of his friends were artists. According to them, Remus' work was all "really nice, Remus! I love it!" Unfortunately, no one ever seemed to love it enough to want to purchase it.

Remus had been ridiculed in the past. He had heard gallery owners tell him his work was too high-brow, too low-brow, too literal, too abstract. They've said they hated his use of colour, they hated the absence of colour, his work was too derivative, his work was too unique. It wasn't palatable for a modern audience, it was too confusing for the mainstream, it was too mainstream for the artists. Remus had heard everything about his art, how he would never make it in the art world and he would never sell a painting. It had been disheartening, but Remus continued painting anyway. He had no other choice. His life would never be complete if he didn't paint.

Before he even realized it, Remus was standing outside of Black and White, his fingers gripped tightly around the portfolio case that he was holding. This was it. This was his chance. Remus lifted his hand to knock on the door and hesitated for a moment.

He couldn't do it.

Then the door opened.

"Remus!"

James' grin was the same one Remus remembered from the gallery opening, broad and bright and filled with abundant enthusiasm. It was infectious, and Remus couldn't help but smile in return.

"Hello, James."

"Come in, come in!" James opened the door, gesturing for Remus to enter. As Remus passed him, the man began babbling about anything and everything. "Sirius said you might be stopping by today, so I figured I'd hop over! I'm excited to see what kind of work you have! I tried looking for a website for you online or something, but you don't really have a presence, do you? That's something you need to change, Remus! All artists need an online presence, that's the only way that people can find their work! We'll talk about it over dinner some time, I can definitely help you out with that. And Lily—"

"James…" The voice that cut him of was cold and low, reverberating in the spacious gallery. Remus almost didn't recognize the voice; the last time he had heard it, the man had seemed so happy. "James, stop boring our guest with your inane chatter."

Remus bit the corner of his lip, slightly uncomfortable at being present while James was scolded by his friend. James, on the other hand, seemed completely unphased.

"Good luck," James offered cheerfully, clapping Remus on the shoulder. "I'll be here after your interview!"

Remus swallowed hard, his grip tightening on his portfolio case. He took a deep breath and headed to the back of the gallery where the voice had originated from.

Sirius appeared in the threshold, looking as handsome now as he did a week ago. His hair was left loose around his shoulders, a shimmering black wave splayed across his back. He was wearing a stark white shirt, the top buttons or which were undone, exposing creamy skin and deep grey tattoos, faded slightly from the wear of time. His hands were tucked into his slacks, which were clearly tailored, falling just above shiny black shoes, two little mirrors reflecting a twisted version of the man who wore them.

Sirius offered Remus a grin, which Remus tried— and failed— to return. Remus was fairly certain that whatever expression he did manage to make was some combination of deep-seated horror and completely awe-struck, with just a dash of panic. Sirius either didn't notice or chose to politely ignore Remus' face, opting instead to beacon him into the back office.

"Please, have a seat," Sirius said once Remus was in the room. The tone of Sirius' voice was still chilly compared to the warmth of the other day, making Remus feel more nervous than even he had anticipated. "What have you brought to show me?"

"Well," Remus began, scrambling to unzip his portfolio case. He pulled out his book and handed it to Sirius, stammering slightly as he explained himself. "I— I've taken some photographs of my work. I didn't really bring— I mean, I have one or two— but mostly I didn't bring any originals. But the photographs are good," Remus insisted as he saw Sirius raise his eyebrow.

Carefully, as if handling a venomous creature, Sirius opened Remus' portfolio book to the first page. Remus tried to read the man's expression, analyse his face, figure out what he thought of the art. Sirius was stone, completely still, his face unreadable. Remus felt a lump rise in his throat as Sirius turned the page without a word. Then another page. Then he skipped to a section in the middle.

Remus opened his mouth to protest, knowing that the gallerist had passed over one of his stronger pieces, but Sirius simply raised a finger, effectively silencing Remus.

Sirius flipped through again, staring at a few more pieces before snapping the book shut with a sharp sound that startled Remus.

"What else have you brought?"

"I— " That was all Remus had. Just the one portfolio book. He thought that was all he needed. The only other things were a few doodles in his sketchbook, a few originals that were represented in his portfolio and an incomplete painting that he had been working on and accidentally packed.

"Very well then," Sirius began, causing Remus to panic.

"No! I— I have some paintings!" Remus reached into his portfolio case and pulled one out, but he noticed the slight shake of Sirius' head, the purse of his lips. Remus pulled another out, hoping this would be what Sirius wanted to see. "I have these…"

Remus watched as Sirius' eyes shifted, lighting up ever so slightly.

"What else is in there?" He asked, nodding to the case.

"Oh, uh…" Remus peered inside his portfolio case, feeling uncertain. "No— Nothing… well, not nothing, but i— it's not done."

"Show me," Sirius said sharply. It wasn't a question.

"Oh, um…" Remus reached into the bag and pulled out his unfinished piece. It was something that had been on his mind for a while, something he kept going to and stopping, unable to figure out how to continue, how he should finish it. The painting had troubled Remus for so long, he had honestly forgotten that it was even in his portfolio case.

At once, Sirius' expression changed. It softened as his eyes danced across the canvas, darting back and forth, bright and shining in the gallery light. As they widened, Remus could see the sky blue in those eyes, the warmth of the grey. They were beautiful. Remus wanted to paint them.

"I want this," Sirius said under his breath, more to himself than to Remus. He looked up, as if he only just remembered that Remus was there. "This one. I like this. Do you have more if it?"

"Uh…" Remus wanted to tell Sirius that the work was unfinished. He wanted to say that it was the only one like it and that he didn't think he could ever create more. He wanted to demand why Sirius loved this one so much but hated all of his completed works. Instead, he reached into his satchel and pulled out his sketchbook. "I have these…"

Sirius held the book in his hands, almost reverently, and opened it. As he flipped through the pages, he scanned the artwork, taking it in, absorbing it. Unlike with Remus' portfolio, Sirius' mouth twisted slightly, moving as it shaped words under his breath. Page after page, Sirius kept going, taking in what he saw in the book. Liking it. Remus felt himself relax, felt the tightness behind his eyes, forcing back tears of relief.

The book closed and Sirius' eyes raised to meet Remus'.

"If you can give me more of this…" Sirius emphasized his point by placing his palm firmly on the textured black sketchbook cover. "And this," he said, nodding to the unfinished painting, "I have a spot for you in this gallery."

Untitled No. 1

(R. J. Lupin)

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