Face the Music

Face the Music

**********************

"Why didn't Remus want to come?" Dung asked as he pressed himself forwards in the bustling crowd. "Just 'cos of Pug?"

"Yeah," Sirius muttered and trotted after him, still a bit irritated with his old friend for stubbornly refusing to join them. Pug Pommeroy wasn't his idea of the perfect concert partner either, but you didn't see him wining about it, did you? The crowd outside Little Norton Church Hall were going mad, half of the crowd chanting 'Hobgoblins!' and the other half crying for Stubby Boardman. "He was supposed to meet us here, wasn't he?"

"Pug? Yeah, 'e was gonna drive up 'ere, was gonna fix some'at to eat along the way."

"What? He's going to hit a cow with his car? Somehow I can't imagine that man eating anything but raw meat."

Dung laughed, but the crowd drowned the sound as the doors were opened and the swarm of people moved forwards. Like trapped by the tidal undertow Sirius and Dung got sucked into the Hall, where the sound of a guitar met them.

Alone on the stage stood Stubby Boardman with his guitar, greeting his fans with one of his well-known solos. He did not raise his head to look at them, he seemed to be completely absorbed by the sound and the movement of his own hands as they deftly glided along the strings. The long black hair hung down over his eyes, apparently already slick with sweat, though Sirius had a sneaking suspicion it was water added for dramatic effect.

"That's him, isn't it?" he shouted at Dung. His friend did not answer, but a look at his beaming face told Sirius everything he had to know. Sirius wasn't really that familiar with the band, he had heard some of their songs on the radio but that was all; what he had heard had spurred his interest though. Dung on the other hand, had followed the Hobgoblins since the beginning and had travelled all over Southern England to see them, and finally he had talked Sirius into coming as well.

There was another roar from the crowd as the other members of the group emerged on stage, carrying their instruments with them. Stubby himself was seemingly oblivious to this fact, he didn't even give any signs of being aware of the audience in front of him; but as he threw his head back finishing his solo, the band fell in beautifully and started playing their number one hit from last summer, 'The Winds of Hogsmeade'. Sirius nodded his head approvingly.

"'E always does that," Dung roared in his ear. "'It's 'is way of saying Welcome!"

The heavy rhythms soon sucked him in, and Sirius found himself enjoying this more than he had thought he would. The music went right for his soul, and the bustling crowd became one with himself as he reached out his hands and roared along with them on the refrains. In quick succession the hits came rolling- 'No Ministry, No Country, No More', 'The Apprentice', 'Lace and Leather', and his own favourite, 'Like The Rain'.

If only Remus was here now -but he wasn't, and Sirius decided to shove the thought into the back of his mind. He deserved a night like this. The wave of emotion was strong around him and he decided to go with it, and see where it took him. And it took him, all right; it grabbed a hold of him, shook him and he leaned his head back and drank it in, wallowed in the splendid sound that surrounded him.

After an hour, though Sirius couldn't believe it had been that long, the band retreated backstage for a short break, and he found Dung over by the wall with his hands up some young witch's skirt. "Want to go outside, get some fresh air?" Sirius interrupted.

"Sure. Wanna come?" Dung asked the girl, but she wanted to remain inside. Dung just shrugged and walked out without even saying good bye.

They sat down on the grass outside under a birch tree, and Dung picked up his pipe and started cleaning it out. For a minute they simply sat there, meditating over the music while Dung prepared the pipe, before simultaneously turning to each other to speak. "You first," Dung grinned.

"Have you seen Pug?" Sirius asked.

"No. 'Onestly I 'aven't been looking very 'ard," Dung muttered and lit his pipe. "If 'e doesn't make it... Well, 'is loss, I guess." He peered over to the car park across the road as he slowly let out the smoke. "Can't see that old banger of 'is. Maybe 'e 'ad some motor problems or some'at."

"Damn, I'm glad I'm not a squib," Sirius said as he borrowed Dung's pipe for a drag. "Add to that being a lousy driver."

"'E's young." Dung leaned his head against the trunk of the birch tree behind him.

"Too young, right? No way he's eighteen..."

"He's not ... We'd better get inside, it's starting again." Dung got on his feet and snapped his fingers to signal he wanted his pipe back.

Sirius sneaked another drag before giving it over and got off the ground. As they approached the entrance, a horn honked behind them and caught their attention. Soon Pug had parked his tattered old Volvo and came towards them, a black leather bag thrown over his shoulder. Sirius watched him with a certain apprehension "Where's the cow?" he muttered.

"Now, now, Sirius, 'e's a friend of mine as well, ya know. Try to be'ave," Dung replied with a low voice without taking his eyes of the young boy coming towards them with a sour expression on his face. "Pug! Just in time for the second round! Where'ya been?"

"Ran into some trouble while getting our food," the huge squib replied. "Looks like I left my wallet back home so I had to improvise, if you catch my drift."

"Improvising is good," Dung mumbled and turned to the door, eager to get the two of them into a place where they would be diverted by more interesting things than bickering.

"So, where's your Lupine friend?" Pug sneered at Sirius as they entered the hall.

"He had more important matters to attend to," Sirius frowned.

"And you didn't? Of course not...who would be foolish enough to entrust you with anything important?" The sneer became a mocking grin, and Sirius had to restrain himself from punching the oaf's ugly face in.

Ten feet ahead of them Dung turned back with a tired face, walking backwards with the palms of his hands stretched out to the giant in a gesture of resignation. "Could ya at least try to be civil, Pug? We're 'ere to 'ave fun, remember?"

As Pug gave him an ice-cold glare, Sirius wondered for a second why Dung bothered to drag this man along to anything, as he seemed to be completely incapable of having fun in the first place. Then he became aware of motion on stage, and with a sigh of relief he turned to see the band returning once more to their places. Forget about him, forget about everything and everybody. Run with the tide; feel the presence of the God that's named music.

"I love you, Stubby!" a girl next to him squealed at the stage, clutching her robe between her hands, nearly crying from the emotions that seemed to fill her. Sirius stared at her with fascination as she with her mouth open reached her arms out at the stage, as if she wanted to embrace the whole world with her love. She saw him and gave him a flashing smile; a strange feeling it was, being somehow united through the music without even knowing her name.

No. Feel the presence of the God that's named Stubby Boardman.

The music washed over them again, a quiet ballad this time -the beautiful 'Path Back Home'. The young witch who so loudly had proclaimed her love for the singer now approached Sirius; her eyes black pools to drown in in the semidarkness. Her hands slid under his arms and suddenly Sirius found himself dancing, a warm firm body pressed against his own. A soft voice against his ear- "You look like him," she whispered with a voice filled with promises.

Startled he opened his mouth to reply, when he heard angry voices behind him. "Excuse me... I'll be right back, don't go anywhere." Swearing loudly, he went off to check out the racket, leaving the girl behind.

Several people gave Pug and Dung angry glares. No wonder, their argument could have woken the dead -not very popular in the middle of a sensitive ballad. Sirius dug his way through the crowd of people holding up their lit wands and waving in rhythm with the music like seaweed in a storm. There was a little clearing around the two men, and soon Sirius stepped in between them. "What's going on?" he demanded.

"This bloody twit was s'posed to get us some'at to eat!" Dung spat with an uncharacteristic sneer in the squib's direction.

"And I have." Pug's face was cold as stone as he defiantly stared Dung in the eye.

"This ain't food! I gave ya ten quid, I did; I want my money back!"

"I've already told you, I forgot my wallet!"

"So, you didn't bring any food, then," Sirius confronted Pug with a chill voice.

"Yes, I did!"

Dung snorted and kicked the leather bag on the floor; it fell over with a peculiar movement, as if filled with rocks. "Yeah, right-o. Take a look in 'is friggin' bag..."

Sirius bent over and stuck his hand inside the bag and his hand grabbed something round and...earthy; it was the only description he could think of. With a stunned expression he saw that it was a turnip. "What the fuck...?"

"What did you expect, really?" Pug's upper lip curled in a mocking gesture as he watched Dung's accusing face. "That I'd hit a cow with my car on the way here? Cut out a bloody steak for you?"

"Something like that," Sirius replied.

Pug turned to him with an expression of distaste. "Oh, shut the fuck up, Black. Go home and pet that bloody werewolf of yours."

Sirius had to use all his willpower not to go for the man's throat, and waving the turnip in the squibs face he hissed out a warning. "You watch it, Pommeroy, or I'll stick this up where your head belongs." Then he turned and threw the vegetable as hard as he could in the other direction, without seeing where it would end up.

"If you truly love me, speak my name'," Stubby sang. "'Whisper in my ear as the moon lights our'... Ugh-"

Sirius watched with horror as the singer stumbled around the stage for a second before collapsing into a heap on the floor.

The audience was suddenly quiet and the musicians lay down their instruments, all except the young guitarist who was too absorbed in his music to pay attention to what happened. The drummer got up from his seat and pulled the plug on his guitar, before walking over to the sorry heap on the floor. After examining the body closer he looked up at the crowd in front of him. "Is there a healer in the house?"

Half a dozen female arms reached up on the first row only. After a few minutes, and an equal amount of failed revivals, it was clear that none of them were in fact healers, and the band members Apparated with Stubby's unconscious body to St. Mungo's. The audience was left alone and slowly the crowd dispersed; some of them Apparated home while others lingered, half expecting the band to come back, telling them it had been nothing but a practical joke. No one came.

The most daring of the witches climbed onto the stage in search of souvenirs and one of them held up a round object; it was the girl who had been curled up around Sirius only ten minutes earlier. "Behold!" she cried, with a fanatic shine in her eyes. "The turnip that killed Stubby Boardman!" The crowd gathered around her feet like vultures around a rotting carcass.

"And they call 'emselves fans," Dung muttered with a disgusted frown. "Let's get outta 'ere."

All the time Sirius had been standing like a pillar, staring at the scene played out before him unable to move, not feeling anything but a void in his chest where his heart should have been. Firmly Dung took a hold of his arm and dragged him along with them to the outside. "Are you able to Apparate?"

Sirius just looked at him with a blank, pale face. "I just killed Stubby Boardman," he croaked.

Dung sighed. "Get the car," he ordered Pug, and for once the squib did as he was told. "Now, Sirius, no one says 'e's dead, right? 'E's prob'ly just...shaken, ya know? 'E'll be back in no time!" Dung didn't sound very convinced by his own words, though. He pushed Sirius into the backseat of Pug's old Volvo, and soon they were on their way towards London.

Sirius stared at his hands through the whole journey. When they closed in on the metropolis, Pug put on the radio and with some difficulty he found the WWS, just in time for an extra news broadcast. "...Mr. Boardman is now being treated at St. Mungo's for head injuries, but his condition is reported to be stabile and satisfactory..."

"You see? I told ya, didn't I?" Dung was beaming, and Sirius dared to let out a shaking breath; he couldn't even tell how long he'd been holding it in.

"Merlin," he croaked and rubbed his eyes with a shaking hand. "I was so sure... I was completely convinced that I'd-" He shook his head quietly.

"...Although it seems Mr. Boardman and the rest of the group will take the rest of the year off. Since the release of their latest record in November last year, the band has been touring all over Britain and Ireland, promoting their album 'Like the Rain'. Mr. Jones of the Hobgoblin's tells the WWN that it will be good to take some time off to work on new material-"

Pug snorted loudly in the front seat and opened his mouth to speak, but Dung caught his eyes in the rear view mirror and he closed it again. For some strange reason Sirius felt grateful for that.

************************

Sirius was sitting in the Leaky Cauldron, leafing through the Daily Prophet, when Remus came in the door. He gave his old pal a short nod, before turning back to the newspaper in his hand with a frown. Remus brought his newly acquired pint over to the table, and sat down. "What are you reading?" he asked, taking a sip of the brew.

Sirius lay the paper down on the table, and waved his hand over the page while leaning back in the chair.

"New Ministry regulations on import of flying carpets?" Remus asked with raised eyebrows.

"Not that article," Sirius frowned and pointed.

"Lead singer of the Hobgoblins, Stubby Boardman, has decided to retire from showbusiness," Remus read out loud. "That's too bad! Think it's because of...you know-"

"Of course it is," Sirius said. "Not everyday you get a bloody turnip thrown at your head, making you deaf on one ear."

"What? Where does it say that?"

"Right here." Sirius folded the paper and gave it to Remus to read. "And the poor sod doesn't even know who threw that bloody thing. I have to confess, Remus; this whole mess is really bothering me." Sighing, he rested his head in his hands and let his eyes wander over the few people in the pub.

"Hmm. What are you going to do about it, then?" his friend asked and put the paper aside, having finished the article.

"Not much I can do, is there?" Sirius replied gloomily. "Except seeking him out and beg him on my knees to come back to the limelight." Sirius voice was filled with irony, until the moment his eyes caught Remus'. With a snort he sat back in his chair and shook his head. "You can't be bloody serious..."

"Like you stated yourself; what else can you do?" Remus shrugged, and took another sip. "There's really nothing I can do or say, you know. I can't tell you what to do in a situation like this, we all have to do what feels right for us, I guess. I would've sought him out if I were in your shoes. On the other hand, if I were in your shoes no turnip would've been thrown." He gave the pint a wry smile.

Sirius glared at him. "It's Pug Pommeroy we're talking about," he muttered.

Remus' smile faded. "Yeah... But still, Stubby had nothing to do with it. I think you owe him an apology."

Sirius looked like a lemon had just been forced down his throat. "Okay, St. Moony...but it wasn't my fault!" he muttered sourly, and swallowed heavily when he saw Remus' arched eyebrow. "I mean, it was...I threw the damned thing. But still! What kind of idiot brings a whole bag of turnips to a concert, and then expect people to eat it without complaining?"

"A Pug kind of idiot," Remus replied calmly. "I think you should talk to him."

"Damn you, Remus. You make it sound so easy-"

***********************

The Scottish Highlands were an unfamiliar place to Sirius; the only parts of Scotland he'd ever seen were Hogsmeade and the scenery through the window on the Hogwart's Express. Now his feet were firmly placed in little clusters of heather and early summer grass, toughened by thousands of years of fierce winds and biting cold. The moor stretched out before him, going on as long as his eyes could see, and the constant wind caught his hair and pulled it back from his face. The open landscape was quite overwhelming, the sun had decided to appear this afternoon and bathed the moor in bright light, giving the rocks and the curvy slopes an almost breathtaking softness and warmth.

Now, where was that commune Dung had talked about? He had entertained Sirius for hours with the story of his visit there, six moths back, when he had been invited by the drummer to one of the band's famous five-days parties. Sirius had been given distinct description of the location and its surroundings.

Slowly he turned to see a small castle, ancient like the moors itself, in the centre of a small island behind him; long-haired Scottish Highland cattle and a few sheep were grazing peacefully on the slope below. The grey walls caught the sun and made the building shine like silver, as if it were the castle in a fairytale. Sirius hesitated for a moment before Apparating once more.

He had Apparated to the rocky beach just below the castle to give himself a few minutes, when he caught a glimpse from the corner of his eye of something moving in the water. When he turned to look closer it was gone; nothing but his own reflection gazed back from the Loch behind him. With another sceptical glimpse at the water he continued into the courtyard, all the time feeling as if something was crawling after him, stretching long tentacles along the ground, reaching for his feet.

The castle was not as impressive from the inside, and the high walls shut the sun out leaving the courtyard with a rather gloomy atmosphere. Hens and geese walked around on the pavement sprinkled with hay, and a menacing-looking billygoat stood tied to the bumper of a Muggle car near the entrance. Where were the people? Sirius wasn't sure what he had expected, but he was certain it hadn't been this; it looked like he had travelled back in time and landed in the early thirteenth century. Well, except for the car, that was, and a little girl's pink bicycle leaning against the wall next to a Nimbus 1000.

Again a movement caught his attention. A man, wearing nothing but a tight pair of jeans stained with paint, stood on the other side of the yard with his back turned to him, keeping his eyes fixed at a large canvas leaned up against the wall. The canvas was decorated with a hotchpotch of colours, and so was the man; a thick red stripe covering his face from the ear down to his chin. His body was also covered in blotches of red paint, making him look like he had been mortally wounded in some medieval battle. "What do you think?" he asked loudly, without taking his eyes off his masterpiece.

"Er... Too much red?" Sirius replied, and the man seemed to ponder his comment.

"Yes... See what you mean-"

"May I help you?" a voice behind him said. Sirius turned to see an attractive young woman standing there, her face carrying a half-hearted smile as she watched him questioningly. "You are not from the Daily Prophet, are you?"

"No," Sirius replied. "I'm here to see Mr. Boardman. This is his residence, isn't it?"

She let out an audible sigh and relaxed, and the smile became wider. "Yes, it is. Is he expecting you? I cannot recall him mentioning any expected visitors today?"

"No, I've just...dropped by."

"Well, sorry for asking; lots of strange people around these days, you know," she smiled fondly. "Stubby's down on the slopes somewhere, looking after the cattle. I don't really know why, we're on an island and every predator in Britain has been extinct for hundreds of years...makes him feel useful, I guess. You know, artists-" She winked and returned inside the castle.

Sirius returned the way he had come and made sure to keep out of reach of the billygoat, who shook its head threateningly towards him as he passed. The sunshine outside made his mood rise again, and even if the wind didn't allow any real warmth the sun heated his back as he walked around the castle.

On a plank laid out between two rocks sat a lonely figure smoking, a black and white Border collie sleeping by his feet. Sirius half expected the dog to come running at him, but the animal looked like it had been struck to the ground. He was only ten feet away when the collie woke up with a jerk; the dog looked shocked to see him and broke into a fit of barking.

Stubby turned his head slightly to see who was approaching, and seemed to turn stiff at the sight of his guest. Then he appeared to relax a little and nodded lazily to Sirius, the sun reflecting in his sunglasses. "Don't mind Kevin," Stubby said quietly. "The stupid dog's even more deaf than I am-"

Sirius sat down on the plank, and the wood creaked under the combined weight of the two men. He took a closer look at the musician beside him; tall, thin and younger than Sirius had expected; he couldn't be much older than Sirius himself. Somehow this made the pangs of guilt even worse. "Do you have one to spare...?"

Stubby gave him a cigarette and Sirius lit it with his wand.

"Do you mind sitting on my other side," Stubby said. "I can't hear you very well on this ear, you see-"

Silently cursing himself, Sirius got up and swapped sides. "Yeah, I'm really sorry about that-"

"Ah, don't be. It's all written in the big book in the skies." Stubby nodded to himself and looked up at the sun, peering slightly from the blinding light. "I'm sure the good Lord has some meaning behind everything he does. He moves in mysterious ways, after all."

Sirius coughed from the cigarette but took another deep drag before replying. "Well, I'm afraid the Lord had very little to do with this incident."

Stubby turned to him with a frown. "What do you mean? Surely a happening as absurd as this must have some kind of relevance in the big picture. I take it as a proof that our Lord actually has a sense of humour. Okay, the joke was on me this time, but who am I to judge a being that much greater than I am? In a few years I might be able to understand why I had to be the chosen one." He let out a hollow laugh.

Sirius swallowed and stared into the water in front of them; this was going to be bloody hard.

"You might start with blaming a stupid London squib," he started. "And then you might want to blame me-"

There it was. Out in the open. And take what comes, Sirius, Merlin knows you've deserved it. He kept his eyes fixed on the hippie cows, not wanting to see the other man's expression. Then, out of the blue, he started talking; giving Stubby the whole story from beginning to end. When finished, he crushed the cigarette stub beneath his heel before seeking out the musician's face.

Stubby had removed his glasses and was staring at the dog, which had once more curled up at his feet, sleeping. For a minute Sirius was afraid he hadn't heard the story properly, and opened his mouth to speak again, but Stubby's low voice cut him off. "So, that's it, then?"

"Yeah," Sirius muttered, wishing for the ground to open up and swallow him.

"Well, that's... That's rock n' roll-" Stubby seemed stunned by the news, and Sirius didn't blame him for it. Who would?

"You know," he began. "A friend of mine has some records of a Muggle musician called Beethoven. Ever heard of him?"

"Yes." Stubby's upper lip curled into a sneer before he turned his face away, apparently knowing what was coming. "He was deaf on both ears, and he made some brilliant music. I know. I'm not Beethoven!" Stubby stared at him with an unreadable expression on his face; a mixture of confusion, anger and desperation. "What the Hell do you want from me, Black?" he spat. "An autograph? You want me to play Jesus and forgive you, say everything's all right? Want me to give you absolution for your tragic childhood?"

He got up from the plank, and walked down to the water where he stopped. For a while he just stood there, staring into the green Loch with his back towards Sirius. "Can't always get what you want," he hummed quietly, before returning to silence.

Sirius sat, staring at his hands, fighting with the urge to Apparate out of there; anywhere, it didn't matter. But he stayed. No matter what, he had promised himself he'd stay.

Stubby let out a snort that made him look up. He had turned towards Sirius again, and regarded the other with an eerie smile on his lips. "You know, sometimes..." He broke off, shook his head and let his eyes wander for a minute before slowly returning. The grin widened.

"Want me to sign your left buttock? God knows I've done that hundreds of times... I'm fed up with showbusiness, I'm glad to be out!" With a defiant grin he nearly hissed the words out, as if to emphasise that it didn't matter to him.

A sheep neared the musician; carefully it stuck its muzzle out and took a sniff at his left hand. "Piss off!" he roared, waving his arms, and the animal jerked and ran twenty feet away where it stopped and turned back to look at him with reproachful brown eyes.

Stubby looked shocked by his own outburst; staring after the sheep he ran his hand through his hair. "It's getting late," he muttered with a quick glance at his Muggle wristwatch. "Don't you have anything better to do?" He picked up a hip flask and took a sip before screwing the lid back on.

"Not right now, no," Sirius replied, not wanting to let him go just yet.

"Well, I do," Stubby replied impatiently. He picked up one more cigarette and lit it with his wand before nodding to Sirius, not meeting his eyes. "Good bye."

Sirius sat and watched the other man go up to the castle gates and disappear inside. He remained on the plank for another five minutes, imprinting the landscape in his mind, before he stood up and Apparated back home with a sinking feeling in his chest. So much for doing what's right, he thought.

Home in his own flat it struck him that Stubby had addressed him with his last name. But he hadn't introduced himself, had he?

He couldn't remember anymore.

**************

"You hungry, Stubby?" Lenore asked him when he entered the great kitchen. The enormous room was filled with the sweet smell of roasted lamb, but the thought of eating made his stomach churn. She stood among the pots, wiping sweat from her forehead with her arm while giving him one of her perfect smiles.

"Not now, love'," he replied. "I think I'll just go up to my room for a few hours-"

"Okay, I'll save you some," she said, and carved some juicy pieces off the lamb on the spit above the fire. Kevin trotted over to join yet another collie, sleeping beside the stove.

Stubby stopped in the kitchen door and looked at her. Just looked, without saying a word. Watched her as she poured the water out of the pot with the boiled potatoes, as she threw fat and skin from the lamb into two bowls and gave to the dogs, how she gave them an extra piece of the best meat. Watched as she cleaned off her hands on the apron thrown over a nearby chair. After a little while she became aware of him observing her, and she turned to him with a questioningly expression on her face. "Still here?"

He didn't respond, and he didn't move. She put her hands to her hips and gave him a quizzical stare, the hint of a smile playing in the corners of her mouth. Seemingly for ages they just looked.

"I love you," he said quietly.

"I know." The smile she gave him came from the heart.

He turned in the doorway and walked through the dining room. Will Ponsonby and Reggie Wilkes were already in their seats, Wilkes still had a spot of red paint on his jaw. "All right, Stubby?"

"Yeah, just going to my room for a while."

His room was located in the tower, with a magnificent view of the landscape outside. He didn't pay any attention to the dark and mysterious corners of the halls and the stairway, nor did he bother to turn to the window, he had seen it all before. He had seen everything; he wasn't even twenty, and there was nothing left for him to see. Little did it matter -as long as he could hide from the world behind the curtain of Lenore's hair he didn't need anything else.

He had told himself that, many times. So often that it had started to sound like truth.

Above the chest of drawers hung a mirror. A Muggle mirror, no comments, taunts or witty remarks; just a simple reflection of the face staring into it. Do mirrors lie? Mirrors can lie.

His hand sought out a silver box on top of the chest, and without taking his eyes off the mirror he let his hand trace every line in the box. Feeling the ornaments under his finger, he made a frown to his reflection. He unfastened the lock and looked down. Just a silly keepsake box. Pictures... And on the bottom yet another mirror.

He picked it up, turned it around in his hand. A tiny silver-framed pocket-mirror he had got on his sixth birthday. A gift.

A feeling of raging despair grabbed him, and with a roar he threw it at the larger Muggle mirror. With a deafening crash the mirrors broke, sending their shards into a mutual pond on the floor. That was his life lying in front of his feet now, his face broken and gone. Seven years of misfortune. No, fourteen.

He found he no longer cared.