Muse

Chapter One

Four months later

‘Fuck!’

The loud curse echoed around the room as Remus grabbed the canvas and threw it at the white wall of his studio. The wet paint smeared across the stark surface; red, yellow and green streaking down the stark white to the floor where the abused painting now lay. Remus glared at the disorder in his orderly space then spun around and knocked the fruit bowl he’d been attempting to paint across the room, watching the colourful pottery basin shatter into tiny pieces as the red and green apples rolled across the floor. He didn’t get as much satisfaction out of destroying the inanimate objects as he hoped he would, instead the volcanic anger that had boiled over had now cooled, and had been replaced with a feeling of acute hopelessness.

Rubbing a paint-stained hand across his face, Remus groaned loudly then sat back down heavily. He slumped forward on his stool, elbows on his knees as he ran his hands through his hair, trying to ease the thumping in his head which had been freshly aggravated by his temper tantrum. The headaches, a remnant of the car accident he’d been involved in four months earlier, were reducing in frequency now, but they’d lost nothing in intensity. Clenching his eyes shut, his fingers moved to massage his temples as he took several deep, hopefully cleansing, breaths.

He’d been injured badly in the collision: broken limbs, concussion, and many, many cuts from where glass and torn metal had sliced into his flesh. The broken leg and collar bone had healed in the requisite couple of months; the only reminder was an occasional twinge in bad weather. The after effects of the head injury had taken longer to dissipate, the headaches an irregular annoyance that the doctors assured him would eventually cease. But it had been the scarring left by the deep gashes that had effected Remus the most.

He had never considered himself a particularly vain person: he kept himself neat and tidy and, while he knew that he wasn‘t going to win any beauty pageants, Remus had been attractive…

Before.

His finger traced the long scar that now adorned the side of his face. Glass from his broken windscreen had carved open his cheek from his temple to only a centimetre from the corner of his mouth. It was some kind of irony surely, that the curve was perfect, following the contour of his face and slicing his cheek almost exactly in half; he couldn’t have painted it on more symmetrically himself. But he failed to see the beauty in it, nor could he find it in any of the other numerous scars that were littered across his too-frail body.

Dragging a hand absently over his cloth-covered chest, Remus sighed and stood up, picking up the bottle of paint thinner then making his way over to the splattered colours. For a moment he admired the effect of the paint on the plain white background then soaked a cloth in the solvent before swiping it over the stain.

He finished cleaning up the evidence of his loss of control and washed his hands before moving into his cramped kitchen to make himself a sandwich. The bread was stale and, as he scraped the last of the strawberry jam out of the jar, he felt a jolt of panic. Just after the accident, he’d been offered space in a showcase at a large gallery for his artwork. He’d be displaying his pieces alongside recognised artists and he would be getting much-needed publicity for his work which would lead to sales and more commissions.

And therefore, more money.

Sorely needed money.

There was a problem though - the same problem that had led to him tossing yet another canvas at the wall earlier.

He couldn’t paint.

Couldn’t paint, couldn’t sketch, couldn’t draw a bloody straight line with a ruler.

After the accident, he hadn’t been able to pick up a pencil for weeks then, when he could, he didn’t have the mobility to sketch anything. Once the cast had come off his arm, his wrist had been weak and still required some physiotherapy to get back his strength. By the time he could physically paint or sketch again, he hadn’t drawn anything in months and when he tried, he just… couldn’t. It was as if all his talent had bled out of him along with the many units of blood he’d lost that day. His sketches looked stiff and graceless, his paintings muddy and formless.

He’d lost his inspiration.

He’d lost his muse.

And he was terrified of what that meant for the rest of his life.

Throwing the empty jam jar into the bin, he folded the bread in half and shoved it into his mouth as he sat down at the tiny kitchen table. Jam dripped out of the tunnel the bread had formed and onto the newspaper in front of him. Remus swore - he hadn’t read it yet - and used his finger to wipe the gelatinous blobs off the community notice section. He popped his sticky finger in his mouth, sucking off the jam when the now-stained notice caught his eye.

Sign up for classes at your Community Centre

Something for everyone! Places still available in:

Pottery

Model plane building

Sketching

Foreign language (please call for details)

Salsa dancing

Call 844-93022 to enrol.

His hand fell away from his mouth and he reread the advertisement. Maybe that’s what he should do - go back to basics, start all over again. Frowning, he chewed at his lip. He was supposed to having his own showing at a distinguished London gallery with other established, prestigious artists…and he was going to go to a beginners class? He’d be a laughing stock in the industry if anyone found out. His shoulders slumped as he thought of the two portraits and one lone landscape he had completed in his studio/spare bedroom.

You’ll be a laughing stock if you turn up with almost nothing, Lupin.

He heaved a loud sigh and reached for his telephone, which by some miracle hadn‘t yet been cut off, before he could change his mind.

‘I don’t have much fucking choice, do I?’

~*~

The next evening

‘And… Remus, is it? Take a seat anywhere you like. Welcome. Welcome everyone. Today we will be trying to paint something simple…some fruit. Get the feel of the medium…’

Remus tried not to snort. The airy-fairy, hippie-type woman continued to babble on about losing yourself and getting to know your inner artist, which she made sound vaguely dirty, reminding Remus of how long it had been since he’d gotten to know anyone other than himself.

And it doesn’t look as though that’s about to change.

He glanced around indolently, already regretting his decision to enrol in the community art class. The other students were mostly older, retired couples who looked inexplicably excited about the opportunity to spend the next three hours sketching fruit. There was a lone single woman, although Remus doubted she’d be back for the next class…she looked as bored as Remus felt.

He stifled a sigh and tried to focus as the short woman with the long, wildly curly red hair and love beads piled around her neck, placed two apples - one red, one green - on the pedestal in front of them then added a banana. Remus clenched his fists in an effort to stop himself going up there and rearranging the food: she had the apples turned all wrong and the banana was angled awkwardly…

Just bloody well draw the damn things, Lupin.

Three hours later, he had screwed up pieces of paper all around him and was tearing the twelfth sheet from his pad, wadding it up in frustration. The teacher, Serendipity was moving towards him with an admonishing expression on her usually tranquil face.

‘Now, Remus. That was lovely…’

‘It was terrible,’ he said bluntly and she shook her head.

No, it was probably the best in the room,’ she argued and Remus only just managed to stop himself from telling her that he didn’t doubt that, but compared to what he knew he could do…

‘It was disgraceful. I can do better,’ he insisted.

Serendipity frowned - it seemed he tested her eternally cheerful façade - but clapped her hands together and spoke enthusiastically to the rest of the class.

‘Ok! That’s it for tonight. Practice all you like at home and we’ll move on to flowers next time.’

Remus did groan aloud this time and Serendipity shot him a dirty look before she went to farewell the older, more pleasant members of her class, leaving Remus feeling decidedly ashamed of himself.

It’s not her fault your sketch looked as though a blind monkey with a tremor had done it.

It served him right for being so damn arrogant at the beginning of the class - his sketches had been awful. The perspective was all wrong, the balance, the shading…and he couldn’t keep blaming the arrangement of the fruit. He should have been able to make it look good, damn it. Last year he had done a portrait for a seventy-nine year old divorcee and made her look twenty years younger. If he could perform that miracle, he should be able to do a couple of apples and a banana justice. A terrifying thought hit him like a sledge hammer and stopped him in his tracks.

What if I’ve lost it for good? What if I can never paint or sketch again?

Art was all he’d ever known, all he’d ever wanted to do. From the moment he could wrap his chubby, little hand around a crayon, he’d rarely been without some kind of artistic implement. His art was his heart and soul and he was incomplete without the ability to capture beauty. It was everything he’d ever wanted. His chest tightened and breathing became almost impossible as all the questions he’d been repressing finally forced their way to the fore.

What if I can’t get it back? What do I do if I can’t do this?

~*~

Sirius yawned then yelped as a newspaper hit him in the raven-topped head.

‘Hey!’

‘You are not going to spend your entire existence lounging on my couch, Sirius Black,’ James warned, grabbing the coffee pot and pouring himself a cup. ‘There are jobs in that paper. Find something to do with the rest of your life.’

‘I don’t need to find anything to do, Potter,‘ Sirius retorted, sticking up his middle finger at his friend. ‘I’m a wealthy man, I don’t need to work…’

‘You need to get your arse off my couch,’ James said determinedly, opening a drawer and pulling out a sharp knife. ‘I’m starting my new job with the football team soon, mate. I’m not going to be here to entertain you anymore and a bored Sirius Black is a bad, bad thing for James Potter.’

Sirius snorted in laughter and grinned up at his bespectacled best friend. ‘Does this have anything to do with your desire to get a certain redhead on her back on this couch?’ He patted the cushion next to him and smirked when James flushed guiltily, his face as red as the tomatoes he snatched out of the fridge.

‘Shut up,’ he snapped, straightening his glasses. ‘The fact that Lily is moving in soon has nothing to do with you getting off your backside and earning an honest living.’

Sirius laughed again and pushed himself up. ’Sure, mate,’ he murmured, flicking absently through the newspaper. ‘You keep telling yourself you don’t wear the panties in your relationship.’ He clicked his tongue and flipped the paper shut, rocking back on his chair. ‘There’s nothing in here.’

James shook his head incredulously. ‘You’ve barely opened it,’ he objected and Sirius waved his hand dismissively.

‘I can tell there’s nothing to suit someone of my intelligence and good looks,’ Sirius said, smoothing his hair back then wincing when James slapped him across the upper arm.

‘Prat,’ he laughed before his amusement faded and his face became serious. ‘You know, you can’t just keep flitting through life, Sirius. You have to find some direction…’

‘Buggering fuck, James!’ Sirius exclaimed loudly, slamming his chair back down onto all four legs. ‘Does Lily keep your balls in her handbag next to her lipstick? Or has she finally managed to shove that stick up your arse and turn you into her puppet because you sounded exactly like her just then?’

‘Sod off you great ponce,‘ James said sharply. ‘I’m just trying to help you get a life - and so is Lily.’

‘I’m happy with my life just the way it is, thank you very much,’ Sirius told him. ‘I lounge on your couch all day, and I shag all night. It’s simple, and it’s…’

‘…shallow,‘ James finished quietly. ‘Simple and shallow - just like you pretend to be.’

Sirius scowled. ‘Suck my dick.’

With a snort, James refused the offer. ‘Not after I saw you shoving it up that fucking hippy’s arse a few months back,’ he said, wrinkling his nose at the memory and dislodging his glasses in the process. ‘I actually wished I was completely blind that day.’

‘You’re just jealous that I get to shag my way through half of the British population while you are stuck looking at the same pussy for the rest of your life,’ Sirius declared, but James chose to ignore his comment, instead tilting his head and speaking softly.

‘You have to grow up and settle down sometime, Sirius.’

‘The hell I do,’ Sirius huffed defiantly, crossing his arms over his chest. ‘I’m allergic to commitment - makes me break out in hives.’

James snorted his reluctant amusement. They were silent for a moment as James turned to pop a couple of slices of bread into the toaster and slice up a tomato. Sirius gazed lethargically over the headlines of the discarded newspaper, looking up when his bespectacled friend chuckled: low and deep and slightly wicked. James turned from his meal preparation to smirk cheekily at Sirius, whose expression changed from curious to wary at the sight of the mischievous grin.

‘I’ve got the perfect job for you,’ James declared with the air of one who’d cracked the code to the safe holding the crown jewels.

Sirius raised his eyebrows. ‘Really?’

James nodded and his smile widened as he said one word: ‘Modelling.’

Sirius blinked in surprise then beamed. ‘Now you’re talking…’

‘Nude modelling.’

‘Sounds fan… Hang on!’ Sirius said when he realised what James had said. ‘What now?’

James chuckled and grabbed a handtowel, wiping his hands as he sat down in an armchair.

‘Some woman from the community centre approached me on the street yesterday and asked if I would be interested in posing nude for her class in a couple of weeks,’ he explained. ‘Said I had a ‘sensual aura’ - I think that means I’m fit and she wants to perve at me.’

Sirius laughed and threw the newspaper at James‘ head. ‘Well, she’s going to love me then,’ he taunted good-naturedly. ‘I’m twice the man that you are.’

James narrowed his eyes. ‘You know, I always thought you never had a steady bloke because you wheeze when anyone says ‘commitment‘, but it’s actually because you love yourself too much to need anyone else, isn‘t it?’

‘Arsehole.’

James stuck out his tongue then stood again and went back to his chopping. There was a moment of quiet except for the snick of James’ knife then:

‘I’ll do it.’

James swore as he nearly sliced his finger off then frowned at Sirius. ‘What?’

‘I’ll do it,’ Sirius repeated and James’ lips curled up in a sceptical smile.

‘You won’t…’ he said and Sirius glared at him.

‘I will,‘ he insisted. ‘I’m no prude. I’ve got a very nice body, thank you very much, and those art students would be lucky to have such a fine specimen…’

‘It’s probably all old people, Sirius,’ James broke in, figuring out the reason for Sirius’ sudden enthusiasm. ‘I doubt you’ll be able to pick up.’

‘Oh.’

Sirius looked deflated for a second and James sniggered until Sirius’ disappointed expression turned thoughtful and he spoke again with a shrug.

‘I’ll still do it.’

James shook his head and went back to his tomatoes. ‘Twenty quid says you run screaming like a girl from the first class with your hands over your family jewels,’ he challenged and Sirius smiled brilliantly.

‘You’re on, mate.’