"Here, this'll calm your nerves."

Sirius swung into Remus's view, holding out a flute of shimmering golden champagne. To Sirius's surprise, Remus not only took the glass but quickly knocked his head backward and took a great swallow of the drink, emptying the flute with a gasp and holding the empty glass out to Sirius.

Sirius turned the glass in his fingers, grinning, "Damn Moony."

"I feel like my skin is on fire."

"What are you so nervous about?"

"I didn't think they were using any of my pieces!" Remus hissed. "And this particular piece - well - it's... you'll see."

"Self Portrait of a Werewolf," Sirius read the brochure they'd handed out to them at the door, "By R. J. Lupin." He grinned at the brochure, then up at Remus. "I like that you chose to use your initials for your artsy name."

Remus stared at him for a moment, then reached out and took Sirius's still full champagne glass and knocked that one back as well.

"Hey!" Sirius protested. "That was mine."

"Your nerves, as always, are just fine. It's mine what needs soothing." Remus drew a deep breath as Sirius took the second empty glass, holding both in one hand, the stems criss-crossed. "It was a stupid class assignment," Remus explained, "And I was goofing off with Lula and Stewie. He asked me about my scars and I joked that they came from a werewolf."

Sirius's grin crawled across his face, spreading over his cheeks and igniting that silver glint in his grey eyes which always gave Remus pause.

"Lula's the one who gave it the name," Remus said. "I didn't think I'd get a good grade on it, much less that it would be stuck in the art show. Nobody cares what your class assignment works are called." He flushed. "Now everyone who sees it and reads the title of it will know and --"

"They're muggles, darling, they think you're being silly." Sirius leaned closer, his mouth right up close to Remus's mouth. "They've no idea about the madness within." His voice was practically a purr.

Remus shivered and Sirius snickered, running a palm over Remus's back. "I'm just saying," Remus murmured, "We could potentially just turn around and go back home and forget all about the art show and just have some personal time instead, if you know what I mean?"

Sirius stared into Remus's eyes for several long seconds, then abruptly turned, shaking his head. "Nahhh - I'd rather look at this brilliant painting you've done that's been added in at the last moment." Sirius turned, slinging his arm around Remus's shoulders and pulled him over toward the temporary walls that had been set up to display the art all over the room. He laced his fingers of his free hand through Remus's and paused to deposit the two empty champagne glasses on a table. "Show me to your portrait, mon artiste." When Remus hesitated to take the lead, Sirius shook open the brochure again. "I mean, there's a map in here, Moony, I'm going to find it anyway."

Remus sighed heavily. "It's this way." He gestured and Sirius beamed as Sirius led him along.

Sirius didn't know much about art aside from whether he thought something was cool looking or not, which was the limit of his critiquing capabilities, but there was quite a few really cool looking pieces in the arts show and he pulled Remus to a stop more than once to look at some thing or another. There were sculptures made from clay and some from other sorts of materials - iron rods melded into the shape of skeletal figure holding an umbrella, and another that was a cloud and rain made of blown glass that hung from the ceiling on invisible wire. There were drawings - black and white sketches of landscapes and intricate hand-drawn city scenes with crisp black lines. There were paintings, small and large alike, stretched on canvas and hung with little spot lights that showcased color and movement, daubs that seemed to make parts of the compositions nearly three dimensional.

They cut through a cluster of students and Remus sighed heavily. "There it is."

Sirius turned and saw it - hanging up on the wall - unmistakably Remus Lupin, with pink scars and all, created in a style so familiar that even Sirius could recognize it as a knock off of Van Gogh. Or, Sirius thought, perhaps Van Gogh had time travelled, seen this painting, and gone back to replicate it himself. Maybe Van Gogh's was the knock off. He walked up to it and stared at it, smiling at it, and whirled about. "Remus, this is brilliant. I want it hung up in our room the moment this show is completed."

"God no," Remus argued. "The back of the closet maybe."

"How can you be hard on this?" Sirius demanded, looking at the painting and shaking his head in disbelief at Remus's callousness. "It looks exactly like you."

"And that is exactly the problem," Remus replied.

Sirius looked at Remus, then back at the painting. "Well I love it."

"And you're biased."

"I love it, too," Lula announced, appearing suddenly at Remus's shoulder, glass of champagne in her hand. Her fingernails were hot pink and she wore her leather jacket and hot pink Doc Martens again, but despite these accessories, she was wearing an evening gown. Somehow, she managed to make the sparkly cocktail dress with the high cut slit in the thigh work, even with the boots and jacket.

"You are also biased," Remus said.

"Maybe, but that doesn't mean it isn't good art," she said, sipping her champagne. "Hello again, Sirius Black," she greeted him.

"We meet again," Sirius replied and he swept himself into a little bow, bending to kiss her free hand like a distinguished gentleman.

Lula laughed. "You were right, Remus. Your husband does have proper manners."

"Je suis le définition même de l'étiquette," Sirius said.

Lula grinned, "Et tu connais le français. Trés chic!"

Remus raised his eyebrow.

Sirius laughed and stood upright from his bow, his eyes flitting over Lula's shoulder and his face registered surprise as he stared. Suddenly, it was like he was in a trance. He stepped around Lula, his eyes glued to a large canvas that hung on the wall. It was a fantasy painting - a scene from the Odyssey, with the great kraken-like creature, Schylla, rising up from the depths of the sea, bent on consuming the ship of Odysseus. The arms of the monster coiled around the ship, so lifelike, the stars in the sky reflecting in the white caps of the roaring sea waves below as the great creature crushed the ship in his thick rope-like arms...

Sirius stared at it, slack jawed, his eyes wide. The style was so familiar, and he felt a shiver slip down his spine. Last time he'd seen that artwork - it seemed like forever ago - it had been a submarine being crushed by the tentacles of the sea monster, and it had been done with simple pencils in a sketchbook, dirtied by the mud puddles in the square at Grimmauld Place. His hands shook with the memory of the weight of that book, when he'd held it in his hands on the stairwell inside, when Walburga had demanded answers of him - answers that he had been unable to put words to...

The sketchbook had landed in the mud when the horrid bullies from the next square over had come 'round and teased the boy in the square, Sirius remembered the squelching sound the mud had made when the boy bent and lifted it up out of the muck. He'd shaken it and mud had splattered out. "I think they're ruined," he'd frowned.

The thought of them being ruined ached in Sirius's heart too much to allow. "A quick siphoning spell would clean them right off," Sirius said.

"A what?" the boy looked 'round at him, confused.

Walburga's voice echoed at the edges of Sirius's mind.

"Let me fix your book for you," he'd begged.

The boy shrugged. "It's rubbish anyway, you can have it."

"I think the drawings are spectacular," Sirius had replied.

And they were. They were spectacular.

He'd kept that sketchbook. For years, he'd looked at it while laying in his bedroom at Number 12 Grimmauld Place, and although he had managed to get a lot of the mud off, he'd never returned the book. Mainly because he didn't see the boy out there much again after that... and also because even if he had, Sirius Black would've been heart broken to part with the book. It helped him to dream of places away from Number 12. For a long time, the book had been his best friend - his only friend. He'd carried it with him to Hogwarts that first year, kept it in his trunk, and he'd only lost it during the epic escape from Grimmauld, when he and Remus had gone to live in the woods. The sketchbook was in one of the drawers in his room back in that most Noble House of Black - assuming his parents hadn't destroyed everything that had anything to do with him in the house, that is.

And there was no mistaking it.

This was the same drawing just done in paints and with a slightly altered vessel for the sea monster's tendrils to coil about...

What was that boy's name? Sirius strained to remember.

"Spencer," he said, remembering suddenly.

"What?" a low voice behind him asked.

Sirius turned around and, just as unmistakable as the painting itself, stood the artist - the boy he'd once seen in the square at Number 12 Grimmauld Place - except now... now he was taller and leaner and had a great deal more hair, but nonetheless, Sirius could barely believe it...

Spencer stared at him, confused, "Do I know you?" he asked.

Sirius opened his mouth to answer when Lula interrupted, "That's Sirius! Remus's husband." She grinned and hung 'round his side. "Sirius, this is Stewie, my boyfriend."

Sirius's jaw dropped. "YOU'RE Stewie?"

The boy from the square was now the boy at the art show.

"JAMES!"

The moment dinner was over, James Potter was positively attacked by a herd of stampeding Gryffindors. All the players from the team over the last couple years converged upon him with shouts and clapping, most enthusiastically was Wally who leaped onto James's back, legs flailing about.

"Hullo you lot!" James said, grinning ear-to-ear.

"I CAN'T BELIEVE IT YOU'RE A TEACHER NOW!" cried James Zimmerman, whose face was red with excitement.

"I can't either, honestly," James said, "I dunno what Dumbledore was thinking."

"That you'll be bloody brilliant at it," Oliver's voice cut through the noise of other kids shouting answers and James grinned, looking over at him.

A glimmer of brass on Oliver's chest caught James's eyes. "Ollie! Are you a prefect?"

"Yeah the little wanker's gone and got himself on the path of the straight and narrow!" Wally lamented.

Oliver glanced at Wally, then back to James. "Speaking of, I've got to go show the firsties back to the dormitory. See you soon - welcome back!" He turned and rushed off to the waiting cluster of confused-looking eleven year olds that stood by the door of the Great Hall along with Macy, who was bent over one of the first year girls, gesturing with her hands as she spoke. Dexter stared after Oliver a few moments longer than necessary, his eyes following Macy's hands for a moment before he turned back to James.

"How's Mrs. P?" Wally asked.

"She's well, thank you," James answered. "She may come by to watch you lot practice sometime she said. She's also promised to send along some cookies."

"Excellent," Wally said. "Dex, wait 'til you taste Mrs. P's cookies."

"Whoa, I love cookies," Dexter replied, though he was a bit distracted, glancing over his shoulders as Oliver and Macy led the first years out of the Great Hall.

"Well Mrs. P's are the best ever," Wally said. He looked at James, "Are you staying at the castle? Won't Mrs. P miss you?"

"I'll be in and out based on the firstie's flying schedule," James answered, "And the quidditch practices and match schedules."

"You ought to stop by and visit the common room sometime," Wally suggested. He grinned, "The DWO has some great pranks planned for this year." He held his finger up to his mouth in a shhh motion. "Top secret operations, you know, but I'd love to talk strategies with you."

James laughed, "I'm sure we can carve some time out for it."

"Excellent!" Wally grinned. "See, I told you Dex, he's not going square on us just because of being a teacher!"

"Never," James said.

Dexter grinned. "Brilliant."

James waved good night to the remaining two-thirds of the DWO as they scrambled from the room, then said bye to McGonagall and Flitwick, thanked Dumbledore for the feast, and started the trek out across the grounds to the gates of the school to be let out by Hagrid, who walked along side him, humming, the keys to the grounds jangling at his hip.

"Yeh know I ain' seen no new teachers at Hogwarts receive quite as warm a welcome as yeh got t'night," Hagrid mused.

James grinned, "Nah, I'm sure loads of blokes have had fireworks set off on their first day of teaching."

"None that I ever saw!" Hagrid said, chuckling, "None that I ever saw!"

They passed the Whomping Willow and James couldn't help but stare at it as they made the descent down the pathway, turning right toward the gates. Hagrid let James out and locked them tight once again. "G'nite Potter," Hargrid said as he waved goodbye.

"Night Hagrid!" James replied. He watched the groundskeeper lumber off, away toward his hut, which had warm tendrils of some rising up from the chimney stack. James smiled and let his eyes wander up the silhouette of the castle.