We're All Crazy Now 1

Disclaimer: HP characters and various songs are not mine.

A/N: I have writers' block. It's quite a serious case. I have a story to finish for a friend for Christmas, and I have 2 on-running fanfics to add to, and I have an original story to finish. I think I let these things build up too much, and I had to find some escapism in the form of this new, relatively short fic, which has been bloody great fun to write. Enjoy, and rock on!

***

Remus Lupin sat with his legs crossed on the only couch which hadn't been shoved back against the wall. Sirius Black was perched on the back of the couch, James Potter was to Remus' right, and Peter Pettigrew twitched nervously on his left hand side. A pair of leather-clad legs encircled Remus, one foot planted on either side of him. He knew that is he leaned his head back, it could encounter a similarly leather-clad crotch, but he decided Sirius didn't need exiting any more than he already was.

The sofa was in the middle of the Gryffindor common room, and in front of it was a make-shift stage. On the stage was a magically powered amplifier, a microphone, and a slightly anxious fifth year girl, clutching a pair of drumsticks.

"Where's the kit?" she asked, frowning. James opened his mouth to say something crude involving the girl, and her kit, and the taking off of said kit, but Sirius predicted it and gave James a small kick in the ribs.

"We don't have one," said Sirius, "yet."

The girl stared. "You're auditioning for drummers. . .without an actual drum kit present?"

Sirius said, "Um yeah, something like that."

"Right. So. How does this work?"

"Turn around," said Sirius. The girl span in a circle. Sirius made a clucking sound. "Nope, you're no good, darling. Your bum's too big and your legs are too thin. Next!"

As the girl stormed off and the next person stood up from one on the couches and armchairs which had been pushed back to the walls, Remus glanced up at Sirius.

"We're judging them on looks alone?" he demanded.

"Of course. What else can we do?"

Remus shrugged slightly. "Ask them to bang some pots and pans?"

"What we'd get then," Sirius explained, "is a lot of people who can bang pots and pans. That's absolutely everybody, darling. If we can't find an actual drummer, what we can find is someone who's going to look bloody fantastic sitting behind a drum kit, pretending to play. That's all we really need."

Remus failed to look mollified. He got the impression that Sirius was no longer taking this idea seriously, which was a shame because when Sirius had come up with the idea of forming a band, and Remus had been reluctant to go along with it, it had been Sirius' sheer determination which had finally persuaded Remus to put his piano-playing skills to good use for once.

Sirius loved rock music, and this was the 70's. He was caught up in glam, loved stadium-sized rock bands who looked as good as, and often better than they sounded. Early in their fifth year at Hogwarts, Sirius had started dressing in satin and silk, fur and leather, painting his nails and making up his face. No one had minded. After all, this was Sirius Black, he had never been less than outrageous, and this was probably better than many of the alternatives Sirius could have chosen to express his individuality. By the end of the fifth year, he'd become something of a hero. He wasn't afraid of his sexuality. He wasn't afraid to wear heels or glitter or feathers. He wasn't afraid to speak his mind. As it turned out, there were a lot of people of both genders who would never have had the courage to do such things themselves, if Sirius hadn't gone before them. Subsequently Hogwarts was slowly being taken over by followers of glam rock.

And now Sirius was in the sixth year. Over summer, he had come up with the amazing idea, the plan which would no doubt catapult him to stardom outside of Hogwarts as well as inside. And Sirius Black went out and withdrew his life savings from the bank, and bought his first guitar.

"It's a piece of junk," Simon Potter, elder brother of James, had told them. But Sirius had pointed out that it looked amazing when he held it on stage, and no one disagreed with this. To Sirius, that was the most important thing. He taught himself to play, aided by Remus who had considerable musical skill. It wasn't long until Sirius was playing alongside Remus, who sat calmly at his piano and humoured Sirius' attempts at jamming along with him. The others had found Sirius' intense concentration while learning to play guitar amusing at first. Remus had never heard anything so painful. But then he actually got good at it, and suddenly no one was laughing. There was even less laughing going on when Sirius decided that his destiny was to form a rock band.

Thus far, the band had three members. Sirius was so enthusiastic about the idea that he talked about little else, and half out of loyalty to Sirius, half out of fear of being forgotten if he refused, James agreed to join the band. Remus was less easily swayed by threats of rejection. He was quite an excellent pianist, but dedicated himself to Mozart and Beethoven. The idea of applying his skills to glam rock had never occurred to him, and when Sirius suggested he play keyboard in the as-yet-unnamed band, Remus had bluntly refused. However, the idea gradually grew on him, if only because Sirius over-reacted dramatically and declared that he didn't want a boyfriend who rejected his ideas so readily. Of course, Remus knew Sirius would never leave him over something so insignificant, but the fuss Sirius made was almost as unbearable. Peter was the last of the friends, and Sirius quickly learned not to bully him into joining. Peter, now aged sixteen, was still in the habit of bursting into tears when under pressure, and seeing him do so in the middle of the great Hall was just embarrassing. So Sirius gave him the job of roadie. None of them really knew what a roadie did, but it sounded nicely official and didn't involve wearing any of the costumes Sirius had laid out for the band to wear on stage, so Peter was happy.

Ah yes, the costumes. Remus had quickly got used to Sirius' way of dressing, and found it incredibly attractive, although this was exclusively on Sirius. On himself, the satin, leather and glitter had a rather different effect. Sirius was tall and broad-shouldered, and had perfect, shoulder-length hair. He could have pulled off any style. Remus could barely pull off the swatty-yet-good-friend act without looking weedy. Although tall, he was almost painfully slender. And his hair refused to kink in the oh so sexy way Sirius' did. And he couldn't walk in platform shoes. And glitter made him itch. And even bright pink satin with sequins and feathers managed to look like smart and tidy on him, rather than exiting and kinky like it did on Sirius. However, the animagus had refused to give up on his werewolf lover. Sirius spent hours with Remus in front of a mirror, experimenting with makeup. It mostly made Remus look like either a panda or a clown caught in a bad storm, but Sirius insisted that it didn't matter all that much; what Remus was wearing was fashionable, and no one would care what he really looked like as long as all the right bits were in place. Remus couldn't see the logic there, but didn't argue. Sirius didn't meet very much opposition at all, until he suggested that Remus stuff some padding down the front of his painfully tight leather trousers.

"You've never complained before," snapped Remus, folding his arms and giving Sirius a smouldering look.

"Well no. That's because there's nothing wrong with. . .it. The point is, when we're on stage, a lot of people will be a long way off, and they won't be able to see anything."

"Good! I don't want them to. Anyway," Remus continued suspiciously, "why do you want other people to be able to see my. . .That area of. . .You know what I mean." He went pink.

"Sex appeal!" said Sirius, who scarcely noticed his boyfriend's discomfort. "I trust you implicitly Moony. I know you'd never go gallivanting off with someone just because they liked your bulgy trousers." Sirius picked up his guitar and played a few resonant chords, then he grinned at Remus. "It's just to look good on stage, darling. I'm not suggesting you're too small in any way. You know that wouldn't matter to me anyway."

'No,' Remus thought, 'I didn't know that. Or I'm beginning to doubt it, anyway.'

Back in the present day, Remus scowled. "I thought we were doing this properly," he hissed at Sirius.

"Remus, baby, you know nothing about rock. Let me handle this."

The next person on stage was a bassist. He had brought his own instrument, which was lucky, but Sirius eventually sent him away because he was too short. Remus sighed and started to lean back until he remembered the crotch behind him.

"Next!" yelled Sirius. And the next auditionee was slightly more successful. Sirius decided there was nothing wrong with her, and told her they'd get in touch. "Next!"

. . . Getting James into glam rock wasn't easy. He was the school's biggest Beatles fan, to Sirius' endless amusement. Remus had always had a faint suspicion that James wasn't that fond of little, round, hard insects, and when James showed him a picture of the band he idolised, he realised how wrong he was. But anyway. Glam James was something new. The pair of them were undoubtedly the most popular and attractive boys in the year, but James was ruggedly handsome while Sirius was elegantly beautiful. James was scruffy, which was worse than Remus being smart and neat. Nothing Sirius did to his best friend looked quite right, especially the makeup which was just hideously wrong. He didn't, like Remus, look like a panda; he looked more like a bad accident. The stuff just wouldn't sit on his face, it looked out of place. And his hair wouldn't straighten, and everything he wore ended up crumpled. No one else could have found spare material in skin- tight pants for creases, but James' red leather trousers creased unnaturally. Sirius was almost at his wits' end before Lily Evans stepped in and, magically, turned James into an androgynous sex god using nothing more than two hours, a selection of bright make up, some hair gel and a tub of Vaseline. Neither Lily or James ever revealed exactly what the Vaseline had been for and the others were too polite to ask, or at least Remus was too polite to ask and sucessfully distracted anyone else if they came close to asking. After that, Lily was adopted as Wardrobe Manager, and about a fortnight later, she had become James' girlfriend.

Nevertheless, Sirius insisted on one thing regarding James' appearance; he had to lose the glasses. James, unsurprisingly, protested. Remus protested when, during their first rehearsal, James knocked the keyboard off the stage and started panicking because he thought it was Remus who had toppled into the pit at the foot of the stage. Lily and Peter had protested when James tripped over them both twice backstage. But Sirius remained resolute.

"You might have looked handsome with your glasses on when you were old scruffy James," he said, "but Glam James doesn't wear specs. Really, darling, trust me on this." So James trusted him, and Remus trusted him, and Peter trusted him, and Lily rolled her eyes and eventually she trusted him.

James didn't get the music right away. It took him a while to learn that, actually, songs don't need a deeper meaning. They don't have to mean anything at all, and they often don't. He sat up for hours with Sirius, listening to a Sheer Heart Attack LP and pointing out that those "New purple shoes" which were "amazing the people next door" were a symbol of a hidden king (purple being a royal colour) living cluelessly in poverty in a run down urban environment when really he was heir to a kingdom and didn't know it. Apparently this represented the entire generation, who. . .But Sirius interrupted at that point and explained that the more likely explanation for the lyrics was that the writer of that particular song was a bit barmy and let his imagination run away with him at times. Eventually Sirius gave in and agreed that sometimes, songs do mean something. And what they often mean is that their writers ought to check into rehab. James also gave in, but only because Sirius could get tiresome after a while.

. . .To be continued.