sirius black & james potter

Regulus Black, presumed dead for over 2 years, shows up at an Order of the Phoenix meeting with 6 mangled horcruxes and Voldemort's corpse. How does the wizarding world move on following the abrupt end of the war, and how does Regulus come to terms with the last four years of his life? Not on his own evidently, as his brother makes an effort to return to his life, James Potter tries to weasel his way into his heart and the friends he left behind in the name of the war aren't willing to leave him alone any longer. An endgame jegulus, wolfstar and rosekiller longfic with regular updates, angst and drama.

“You’re obsessed, huh?” “Absolutely, indefinitely obsessed.” “Good,” he said, feeling unusually bold all of the sudden, “we make a good pair, ‘cause I’m obsessed too.” A tale about human nature. Remus is an aspiring author, tasked with writing a book about the up and coming, wildly popular band, The Marauders. Sirius, front man, immediately dislikes him because he doesn’t want his life exposed, pried at by some stranger. Stranger becomes friend, friend becomes more. A love story told through music of the time, emotions disguised in lyrics, metaphors, colors, and the attitudes of struggling people.

He was Lord Sirius Black III, of the Noble and Most Ancient House, Duke of Sutherland, Marquess of Stafford, and Master of Godric Hall. He would not be sent into a tailspin by a simple tailor. He would not pine over a meagre suit. He was stunning, dripping in silver and black and deep shades of purple. It was him, his beauty, his body, not someone’s craft, that made him the powerful, imposing figure that commanded the attention of every insipid soul out there. More, they demanded. And he would be more. He would be everything. After the death of his father, Sirius takes up his place at the head of Britain's most influential aristocratic family. And Sirius is absolutely fine with it. After all, he has the wealth, the titles, the huge estate - plus everything money can buy. What more could he possibly want?But there’s something missing, a hollow ache he can’t ignore and that he's apparently determined to fill with suits. Which explains why he finds himself returning again and again to the quaint little atelier across the Welsh border. It certainly has nothing to do with the attractive tailor and his stupid smirk.