A/N: Okay, so it's taking me longer than I thought to get out the 8,000 word installments. So instead of two additional 8,000 word installments, I've decided to write four additional 4,000 word installments: this being first of the additional installments.

Warnings: homophobia, ableism, verbal abuse, depression, victim blaming, and angst

Rain starts beating down outside. Water droplets race down his window. Remus isn't sure if it's been minutes or hours since Sirius left. I hope he's getting soaking wet, Remus thinks bitterly as he stares out the window. He doesn't particularly feel any of the anger he wants to feel. Instead he feels a great pressure on his chest. The weight of it brings him to his knees without his permission. Absently, he touches his cheeks where wetness and heat have accumulated. The sound of the rain is deafening. Boom. Boom. Boom. Or perhaps that's the sound of his pulse in his ears. He isn't sure. He hugs his arms around his chest and just sits there on his knees watching the rain.

He's used to being alone. He has been alone his entire life. Yet he was never lonely before. Now he feels like the silence is hanging, ready to be filled by whimsical guitar strings and barking laughter. Remus rocks back onto his butt and pulls his knees up to his chest. His chin falls to rest on his knees. I deserve this. I deserve all of it. I should have said something, anything before the flirting even started, Remus berates himself. His eyes sting in retaliation. I didn't think… I couldn't have known… we weren't supposed to go that far… Remus's aching muscles only act as a reminder of his indecency. Even so he regrets ever explaining to Sirius the circumstances of him contracting the disease. I just thought if I explained… maybe… god, maybe he'd understand. Maybe he'd say it's not my fault? Remus thinks miserably. Do they ever understand? Long ago Remus had come to accept his pain and suffering weren't his fault. They were the fault of a nasty, cruel man. Yet, he feels responsible for Sirius's. If only he had said something sooner… if only…

Trust was a precarious subject for Remus. Intellectually, he knew he had no reason not to trust those around him. He had hung onto that idea for so long that he'd actually come to believe it. He opened his heart for a boy he wasn't even sure he cared for. It only ended up with both of them hurt. Trust, it's a bit like the ocean: all-consuming and powerful. Just when you think the tide will never recede, you're left cold and damp and covered in its salty residue on an unforgiving beach.

Remus snorts and rolls his eyes at the thought. How poetic, he laughs mentally. Something in him snaps at that point and the laughter bubbles out of his mouth. He falls onto his back and croaks a sour, desperate laugh. The story of my life, Remus thinks bitterly though awful laughter. Pain, pain, and more pain. Remus considers his options. He could get up and go back to work. Releasing his emotions on a canvas rather than on his fragile mind. That had worked in the past. It is a must a much more attractive option than wallowing in his misery and sitting there blaming himself for things he never could have predicted.

It wasn't like I didn't plan on telling him if we got there…Remus rationalized. I couldn't have known that we'd get drunk or what we'd do in our drunk stupor. Rationalizing only leaves a sour taste in his mouth. As much as he would like to pass part of the blame off onto the great Mistress Fate, he knows he's responsible. If Sirius gets ill, he'll be responsible for that too. If Sirius dies, it will be blood on Remus's hands. He's known since he was a child that his disease was his to deal with. There was no one else to blame for his slip in judgment. He should have told Sirius that day they sat on the couch laughing over the guitar. It would have been easy! Sirius, by the way, I have a highly contagious sexually transmitted disease that will end up killing me prematurely. Just thought I'd let you know. Yeah, that would have gone over splendidly. He probably still would have called me a slut with a monkey disease. The arse. Remus rolls his eyes and pushes himself up on his elbows. He nods to himself because, yeah, that's what Sirius Black is: an arse. An arse who isn't worth his time, more specifically.

The ringing telephone pulls Remus out of his thoughts. He glances at the jack in the wall and considers letting it ring. Being the person he is, he sighs and trudges over to pick up the phone.

"Remus Lupin's art studio, may I help you?" He asks in a tired voice. Typically his secretary/personal assistant Julia would handle phone calls, but since it was Sunday, she has the day off – a fact that had slipped his mind until just then.

"Remus, darling, is that you?" A high-pitched voice squeals. The gears in his head slowly begin turning as he tries to identify the voice. "So, babe, I know what you said before, but I'd really appreciate an inside interview. My boss – well, he's being a boss. You know, - or perhaps you wouldn't. I'm in a tight spot. Come on, I need you, babe."

"Ms. Skeeter?" Remus asks, his voice a bit higher than usual. "I don't believe I owe you anything."

"Oh but you do. An informant of mine – anonymous obviously, she works for Dr. Pomfrey. Oh, you know her, I know you do. She might have told me all about your dirty little secret." Remus could picture her with her legs crossed high, turning her fingers in her grey-blonde hair, and smirking wickedly.

"So you're blackmailing me?" Remus mutters bitterly. Fan–fucking–tastic. "About a secret you may or may not know? I can assure you: I have no secrets from the press. Only information less well-known – all of its public record though." He taps his fingers against the wall and checks the time as it idly ticks by. It wasn't entirely true, and that much is apparent in his voice. He hates it. He should be able to lie smoothly, but his voice cracks and wavers.

The line is silent for a few moments before she says, "I'll be over around 4 o'clock. How's that?" She purrs. He mutters a choked agreement before hanging up the phone.

He slumps against the wall and slides down it. His head falls into his hands, his shoulders curl forward, and his knees pull up close to his chest. Before he can center himself, his eyes fill with tears and sobs shake his body roughly.

Sirius kicks at pebbles on the sidewalk, his hands shoved deeply into his pockets. His face is hot and flushed. He swallows trying to rid his throat of the tight, dry feeling. He is halfway to James's flat when he feels a cool drop of moisture slide down the back of his neck. Then the heavens rain down without mercy on the poor unsuspecting pedestrians - okay, maybe not entirely unsuspecting. It is London after all. Sirius swears and side-steps closer to the brick building hoping to find some shelter. It just isn't his day. He shoves sopping wet hair out of his rain-blinded eyes.

"Oi, mate! In here!" a feminine voice shouts over the rain. He can barely make out a gray coat and a smidge of dark skin. Without a second thought, he slides into the door she held open. Once inside, he shakes his head in hopes of dislodging some water. He shakes his hair out with his fingers when that doesn't work. The woman pulls the door closed and shrugs off her soaked coat.

"Thanks," Sirius grimaces as he turns around. He looks around the small lobby and then outside into a blur of rain.

¨No problem," she shrugs. She begins heading towards the stairs. At the door she turns around and raises an eyebrow. "Are you coming or not?" He nods numbly and follows her. She didn't seem the type to viciously murder him or anything. Unlike some people he knows…

She leads him to the 1st floor and opens the second door on the right with a quick turn of her keys, practiced and smooth. Inside is a very colorful room that seemed right out of a LSD trip. There are paintings hung on every wall and art supplies scattered across the room. Sirius can't help but compare the disarray to Remus's own neat little system of organization…. the way he seems to cherish each brush like it was made of pure gold.

"Cuppa?" She calls from where she just disappeared.

"No thanks," Sirius replies automatically, numbness seeping through those careful walls. He had thought he had been careful, anyway.

¨Suit yourself," she shrugged returning most likely from putting the kettle on.

From the far room came another woman with her hair messed up by sleep and a nightshirt that is perhaps a bit too short to be decent. Sirius perks up when he recognizes her through the smudged, day old eyeliner and rats nest for hair. It was Melody! His Melody - well, not his Melody, but the only Melody he knows. Melody sleepily wanders up to the nice Indian-looking woman and presses a kiss to her mouth before muttering about a shower and tea. Melody enters the bathroom and shower without ever questioning, or perhaps recognizing, his presence.

The other woman raises an eyebrow as if daring him to say a word. He held up his hands in surrender under her gaze. She nods approvingly and turned around to get check on the whistling kettle.

"My name's Karishma, by the way!" She informs him in a bright, happy voice. "Got a name, stranger?"

"Sirius – Sirius Black," he mutters without the usual vigor and confidence. She returns and gives him a sad look as if she can see right through him. She takes a drink of her tea before she speaks to him.

"Like the star?" She asks unobtrusively.

"Yeah. Family tradition," Sirius shrugs, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "Yeah, I know it's weird."

"Not as weird as Karishma Smith," she smirks. "My mum's Indian. My father's English. It just makes for a clusterfuck of cultural mash-ups."

Sirius smiles weakly and chuckles. She raises and eyebrow but doesn't comment. "So," she drawls looking away.

"Who's the artist?" he asks perhaps too quickly. Her response is a laugh.

"My girlfriend," Karishma finally answers him. "She's wonderful too. She just needs the right break," she frowns gazing at the honestly mediocre work. Sirius blinks in surprise.

"I know an artist!" Sirius says suddenly, breaking the silence just as Melody walks out of the steaming bathroom. "Yeah, known him for years. He's in lots of galleries and things. I'm sure he could get her – you – some contacts. You heard of him? Remus-"

"REMUS LUPIN!" Melody shouts with surprise. Her eyes widened. "Oh fuck. The other day – that was, that was Remus Lupin with you wasn't it. I thought he looked familiar. Oh bloody hell. Remus Lupin thinks I'm a hooker. Remus Lupin knows I'm a hooker. Oh god." Melody went bright red and made a high whining sound in the back of her throat.

"So you've heard of him?" Sirius raises an eyebrow.

"Who hasn't?" Melody scoffs. The corners of his mouth drop. Was Remus that well-known? He'd never heard of him outside of his family. Karishma is grinning as she gazes at Melody like she had heard all too much about Remus Lupin. "Remus Lupin a god," Melody continues. "He does gorgeous hyperrealism and post-modernist paintings. I know – they so shouldn't go together but he makes it work! Plus his 'Boys of Darkness' series is absolutely haunting! I never thought realism could be so emotional until I laid eyes on his 'Broken Chains' in the gallery downtown."

"'Boys of Darkness'?" Sirius questions slowly.

"Yes! Oh god! He's got these series of painting about these four boys. One kinda looks like you – anyway, each is fighting his own demons. One's fighting unrequited love and protecting the meager family he's got left 'cause he's totally a war veteran."

"You can't know that," Karishma scoffs with a roll of her eyes.

"Yes, I can! You have to read the story in every stroke of his brush! Anyway, another boy is fighting his own cowardice. He's struggling to stay loyal to his friends or to join the enemy. I think in the newest one's he's just made a deal with the devil. Oh god! It's not going to end well. Another one is a boy from a broken home who tries really hard to mask all his pain behind reckless abandon and booze and women. He's in love with another boy who's got some sort of disease from what I can tell. It's heartbreaking!" Melody clutches her chest and falls against wall. Her eyes flutter shut, and she lets out a deep sigh.

"You'd think she was his girlfriend, not mine." Karishma laughs and throws some dirty clothes at the hamper.

"Don't have to worry about that one," Sirius mutters.

"C'est la vie! So it is true! Mon Cher prefers the company of men," Melody cries.

"You have a girlfriend," Karishma tsks. "Good to know you're faithful."

Melody quirks an eyebrow. "Like you wouldn't sleep with Stevie Nicks if she offered!" Karishma smiles guiltily in reply. Melody turns back to Sirius hopefully. "Can you introduce me?"

"Er… well…" Sirius rubs the back of his neck and shifts from foot to foot. He hadn't particularly thought this one through. "We sorta just had a bit of a falling out."

"Oh why?" Melody asks, her head cocking to the side and her smile dropping. Sirius opens his mouth and then considers what he's about to say. Because he's got a disease? Because I slept with him under my own free will and now I'm pissed off? Because of some stupid, drunken shagging? Because he was raped as a child and now has some life threatening condition that he likely would have told me about if I hadn't fucking rushed everything? No matter how he worded it, he felt like a dick by the end of his sentence.

"Just a misunderstanding," Sirius responses numbly.

I'm as bad as my parents. Shoot me in the face, he thinks. He's been told before that his greatest shortcoming was his inability to see past his own glamorize conceptions of reality. It's just easier to assume his friends walk on water than admit they're as human as anyone else. He knows that James is reckless, Lily has a temper, and Peter's awfully sketchy. However, when he looks at them he sees a best mate he'd die for, a woman who's worth more than ten of him, and a boy who always has his back even when he's in the wrong. No doubt Sirius could tell Peter what happened and get support. Lily would likely chastise him, and James would want him to just take a minute and think. Well now he's thinking that he's the biggest dick he knows. Before, when Sirius thought of Remus he thought of those brilliant golden eyes and timid smile and ugly sweaters and paint under his fingernails. He thought of dancing around Remus's studio and Remus's arms clutching to him as they rode on his motorcycle. He thought of a man he'd do anything for a chance just to be his friend. Now, Sirius can't help but associating Remus with bitter disappointment. Remus is the broken toy Sirius loved however briefly but he was never given the chance to become important. No, not exactly. Sirius thinks. He still thinks of ugly sweater and timid smiles and paint-stained nails and bad singing. It's all just buried underneath ugly tears, yelling, and feelings of betrayal – a betrayal Remus didn't intentionally commit.

"I hope it all works out for you two. You're adorable together," Melody smiles unknowingly. Karishma grimaces like she knows the expression of a broken man who Melody could never recognize.

"Yeah – uh, thanks guy-gals for… the shelter… and stuff… but I've got to..." Sirius mumbles.

"Go get your Romeo!" Melody grinned eagerly. Sirius nods vaguely and flashes a bittersweet smile. He leaves with the hopes James will have enough beer to make him forget what an arse he is.

Remus blinks his eyes open as he hears rapping on the door outside. He gazes around his studio slowly. Why am I on the floor? Who is at the door? Then his memories begin to rush to the forefront of his mind. The weight steamrolls him. He struggles to his feet, grabbing at his head with one hand and the wall with the other to stay up straight. Dragging his feet, he welcomes Rita Skeeter into his studio. Instead of a photographer, she has three women in perfect pink little dresses following behind her.

"Remus! Wonderful. So, I changed my mind. No exclusive. Your secret is safe," Rita informs him as she struts about his studio. He leans against the wall and stares at her with hooded eyes.

"Great. I appreciate that," he sneers despite truly being grateful. Too good to be true, he thinks.

"Uh huh. Instead, I'm going to make you a star, babe!" She yells with a smirk. She cocks her hip to the side and grins victoriously. "Everyone is going to love you. Now, we've got some work to do. You have a party tonight at eight. Then I'm going to be the journalist you give all your best interviews. Got it, kid?"

"Why?" Remus mumbles faintly.

"Because otherwise everyone's going to know you've got AIDs. Sorry, honey, got a musician now in the same boat, and he pulls it off better than you," Rita sneers. Remus honestly wants to rip her throat out for acting as if his disease was some fashion accessory for her manipulate him with. "He does a lot better job of hiding it, too."

"All hung up on Mary, the poor man," One of the women mutters.

"Alright, girls, we've got a lot of work to do," Rita claps her hands.

Instantly the three women buzz around Remus. One cuts his jaw length hair into a more manageable, stylish cut. Another plucks his eyebrows and waxes – waxes – his face despite protests that he's been trying to grow facial hair for years to end up with a very lame patch of peach fuzz. The third woman and Rita are debating which colors go best with his skin tone. Remus practically falls in the chair to let them take over. What else can he do?

"Now, Remus," Rita begins once deciding on the brown, tweed suit, "A make-over will be futile if you don't get over this whole anti-social thing. I want you to go out there and flirt. Flirt with girls. Flirt with boys. Flirt with your bartender and other artists. Make them love you – scratch that. Make love to them with your voice – though, I'd keep my dick in my pants if I were you. Anyway. If you go in there acting like a wall-flower, then I can't work with you. I'm really doing this for you, honey. You get to keep your secret. You get adoring fans and fame and everyone lusting after you. It's all for you. You've just got to take it," Rita practically purrs.

Remus frowns and rolls his eyes. "I'm glad you care so very much about my feelings," he mutters. Rita just smirks in reply.

Blazing stars of florescent light blind and momentarily paralyze Remus as he steps out of the limo Rita had ordered. He squints and covers his honey-colored eyes as the flashing stars of camera bulbs capture every acne scar and clogged pore on his late-pubescent face. He forces a smile and consciously keeps himself from wrapping one arm around himself just to feel secure. He makes it a few feet before he hears one reporter ask him about his new "friend" and another refer to said friend as his boyfriend.

"An acquaintance," Remus corrects them with a too-polite smile and a sharp turn of his feet to put as much distance as possible between them.

He finally stumbles into the upper scale party. There's soft music playing and people his age drinking champagne that wasn't really champagne. He rolls his eyes and feels himself pulled towards the uninhabited corner of the room. Everything is very white. In that corner is one of his own pieces. He doesn't remember who he did it for but he remembers it was a commission. He's a bit offended they sold it the stuffy hotel for use in their ballroom. It was a rather special piece featuring two intertwining dragons blooming from a lotus flower the commissioner had said where symbolic to him… or was it her? Symbolic my ass. I knew something so cliché couldn't be symbolic to anyone, Remus muses. He finds himself standing in front of it. He notices all the little technical errors his fourteen year old self had thought were artsy and interesting when really they were lazy and distasteful in Remus's current opinion.

"Beautiful piece, isn't it?" A feminine voice sounds from beside him. Remus looks over, trying very hard to go on a very long rant about why it is a terrible work of art and he's ashamed to have his name on it. The woman has pristine, long, red hair and bright green eyes. Her sapphire blue dress is immaculate. She smiles warmly at Remus. "It's free, you know? I hear the artist was young when he painted it. And you can just read the youth in the paint strokes."

"The artist was an adolescent moron," Remus chuckles and looks back up at the picture. God, how much money to have it burned? Remus wonders.

"One of yours then," Lily asks calmly.

"One of mine," Remus winces at the admission. He then raises an eyebrow at her. "This doesn't seem your kinda scene."

"It's not. A professor of mine knows the hotel manager. He invited me to quote unquote 'make connections'," Lily explains with a flurry of hand movements. She glances around. "Though, it seems like a lot of obscure celebrities. I'm going into the medical field. I don't see how this will help me, but Professor Slughorn says that knowing people can really pay off in a pinch. Who am I to argue, and what's one night?" Lily shrugs. "What brings you here?"

"Obscure celebrity-dom," Remus lies with a soft smile. "Is that Professor Horace Slughorn, by chance?"

"Yes… do you know him?"

"Guy showed up to my studio drunk once and asked me if paint was explosive. We've had an amicable relationship since," Remus chuckles at the memory. Lily smiles uneasily but not incredulously.

"Now I see what Sirius sees in you," Lily mutters. Remus's smile and shoulders fall. He takes a deep breath and looks away. Lily catches herself and gasps, "Oh god! Remus, I'm so sorry. I knew Sirius was acting off when I went by the flat. What happened? You two were was cute together."

"Ask him," Remus grunts and turns around to walk away. He has to get out of here. Anywhere but here. Lily catches up to him as he's walking out the door. The camera's flash as she wraps her hand around his arm. He pulls away from her and storms down the sidewalk. He does not want to deal with this. Not here. Not now. Not with so many witnesses. Not ever, preferably. Hell if Lily Evans would change that.

Sirius trips over his own feet with the coordination of a new-born foal standing on its own two feet for the first time. The liquid fire still burning in this throat and saturating his blood. The musky walkway of 12 Grimmauld Place serves the same function as the alcohol to dampen his senses and make him feel as if a malicious man with hammer attached a giant crucifix to his back with rusty, blunt nails. His sluggish body moves as if the weight has been physically manifested. As he passes the living room, the screeching echo of a bat's call begins to berate his late arrival home with slurs and verbal abuse. He barely catches the words "faggot" and "failure" before he makes it up the stairs and slams his door shut. He falls into the bed. Finally, the floodgates open and sobs consume his last minutes of consciousness that night.