PLEASE READ! IMPORTANT!

I am not a member of the transgender community, I am a cisgender, female writer who identifies as bisexual. I haven't had the pleasure of meeting any transgender people yet either, so therefore I do not have any personal experience on the subject. I did a lot of research before writing this, and I genuinely hope I have done right by the transgender community, and haven't written any harmful stereotypes or portray Sirius/Adhara in a derisive/disrespectful form. I did my very best to just show Sirius'/Adhara's transition as a small fact about him, instead of making it his whole personality, and that is also why I didn't linger too much on it either. If you, as a member of the transgender community feel offended or disrepected in some way, PLEASE DM ME! I will immediately take the post down and educate myself on the things I have done wrong. Lastly, any form of hate will be instantly removed and you will be blocked. My account is a safe space for everyone but racists, sexists, homophobes, transphobes, antisemites, and everyone else who falls under the umbrella of rude, disgusting bullies. Constructive criticism on the other hand, is welcome!

Art Lovers

Disclaimer: Everything you might recognize from the Harry Potter world belongs to JKR and her team.

The scent of freshly baked bread wafted through Paris' cold spring morning air, flowers bloomed on every balcony, and the noises of cars and crowds echoed through the busy avenues and boulevards of the city. Remus Lupin walked briskly down a street in Montmartre, nose buried in a beautiful, leather-bound, signed edition of "Dead Poets Society" he held in his right hand. In his other hand, he balanced several heavy books neatly tucked under his arm and a brown paper bag stuffed to the brim with warm, freshly baked croissants. Brows furrowed, he flicked rapidly through the pages of his book, obviously looking for a very specific page, muttering something frustratedly under his breath. Passers-by and tourists sitting on the terraces of the cafés looked curiously at this tall, young, skinny man, dressed in brown corduroy pants and a cream knitted sweater, who seemed to be talking to himself and appeared oblivious to everything surrounding him. All of a sudden, as he turned yet another corner, he bumped into a stranger.

"Excusez-moi."

"I'm so sorry."

The unexpected collision sent his croissants flying into a puddle, as books crashed down on the ground all around them. Miraculously, he was still holding his "Dead Poets Society" copy tightly in his hand. As he tried to bend down and pick up the fallen books, Remus tripped on a loose stone in the pavement, falling right into the stranger's arms, who gasped, taken aback.

'My, my, you sure are a clumsy one," chuckled the unknown man as they looked around them. Numerous art manuals and textbooks, as well as sketchpads, lay scattered on the cold wet stones of the tiny street, surrounding them.

"Shit, shit, shit," exclaimed Remus worriedly as he hurriedly picked up book after book.

Some of the pages were bent and the covers were all slightly damp. He huffed, exasperated. His gaze fell on the croissant bag, soaking peacefully in a puddle. Great, not only were his precious books damaged but now he was left without breakfast too. What a fantastic way it was to start the day. He looked back at the stranger, ready to chastise him, but found himself unable to as he watched him retrieve his sketchbooks. The drawings were all ruined, as the water had made the ink smudge, leaving behind a mess of colorful blobs speckled with black on the wet paper. The handsome man, who was dressed casually in jeans and a black leather jacket, and whose hair was tied back into a particularly messy bun, Remus noted, made an angry, displeased noise.

"Well, this is certainly bothersome," he tutted.

He glanced up, his gray eyes shining with mirth meeting Remus' serious and thoughtful stare.

"Sorry about your sketchbooks," he said quietly, clutching his books a little closer.

"Things happen," sighed the stranger. "Speaking of which, I'm sorry for your croissant, they smelled heavenly. Tell you what, how about I buy you some new ones, mate? There's this bakery I know not far from here, and I'll be damned if they don't make the very best croissants in all of Paris."

An unusual, strange, foreign feeling genuinely made Remus want to accept the offer, but he still refused.

"I cannot, I'm sorry, I'm in a bit of a rush, to be honest, I have a course on the history of Impressionism in…10 minutes," he replied, checking his watch. He did not know why he had shared all of this unnecessary information, but he felt oddly at ease with this unknown, beautiful man.

"Oh, that course! It has been canceled, didn't you know? I just came from there. I believe the professor has caught some unexpected sickness. I'm Sirius, by the way, Sirius Black."

He held out his hand, and Remus gripped it firmly.

"I'm Remus Lupin."

"So, about those croissants…"

Remus, dressed in a well-tailored, navy blue suit, in which he appeared slightly uncomfortable, sat down on a tall leather stool at the bar. Soft jazz music played in the background, reinforcing the elegant, classy, and luxurious atmosphere of the Ritz Paris' dimly lit lounge. Everything from the big, soft, leather couches, to the crystal chandeliers hanging from the tall ceiling, screamed money. So did the present company, all dressed in the most ravishing evening war and sporting some of the most exclusive jewelry in the world, were all blatant displays of privilege.

He checked his watch. His client was set to arrive in 15 minutes.

"An Old Fashioned, please," he ordered, facing the barman.

Heels clicked loudly on the marble floor as yet another lady entered the lounge, making a straight beeline towards the bar. She was dressed in an elegant, velvet suit and a silk white blouse. The pearl-encrusted golden jewelry shone on her neck and ears, catching the light falling from the chandelier. She sat down one stool away from him.

"Un martini, s'il vous plaît."

Something about that poised, soft voice, the perfect enunciation, the silly black shoulder-length curls, the sparkling, gray eyes, and the mysterious, attractive, slightly ironic smirk struck him as very familiar.

"Excusez-moi, Mademoiselle," he said. Is there any chance you might be related to a man named Sirius Black?"

The woman's perfectly painted red lips, curved into a gentle, kind, smile as her silvery eyes lit up with recognition behind her long, dark lashes.

"Remus Lupin," she began. "It has been a long time since we last saw each other. I certainly did not expect to run into you here."

"You…know me?" Asked Remus confused.

"Of course I do, you are that lovely man I ran into, quite literally mind you, all those years ago in Montmartre, here in Paris. You and I both took part in that summer course, "History of Impressionism" if I recall correctly."

He blinked, still puzzled.

"You may remember me as Sirius Black," continued the woman. "My name is now Adhara."

"Oh…," mumbled Remus, shaking his head lightly as if to shrug off the confusion. "Right. Sorry, erm…What brings you to Paris, Adhara?"

"I am currently on a business trip, and I see my client coming in," she answered, gesturing vaguely to a tall dark-skinned woman dressed in an emerald green satin sheath dress, who had just entered the lounge and was heading straight towards them.

"Listen," she said facing him again, and taking a small card out of her purse, "it would be lovely to speak again, here is my number. Just send me a quick message and we can figure out the details later."

Adhara stood up, and planting a kiss on each of his cheeks, as it was the tradition in France, she bade him farewell and left. Remus looked down at the card, where, in swirling golden letters, one could read "Adhara Black" and a series of numbers under the name. He blushed: she retained the very same charm she had possessed all those years ago when he had first met her on the corner of a street lost in Montmartre.

"I am very sorry if this might seem like a rude question, and please do tell me so if it is, but how did you know?" Asked Remus.

It was the next day, and they had met up in a small book café on one of the Seine river's banks, not far from the cathedral of Notre-Dame. They had been talking for a while already, having fallen back immediately into their old, comfortable, friendly dynamic. Adhara was now working as an international fashion designer, while he worked as a museum curator and historian, specialized in the Impressionist era, traveling the whole world and visiting different museums, organizing the collections, and so forth.

"I think I always knew," she started slowly. "It took me some time to understand who I truly was, and then to accept myself, but I got there, eventually. To be fair, I believe the process of growing and discovering one's identity never truly ends, it is something ongoing which stays with you throughout your whole life, and is ever-changing."

"Hmm," said Remus, nodding. "I suppose you are right, it did take me some time to understand who I truly was and come to terms with it…"

They fell into silence. It was an oddly comfortable one, no hint of awkwardness hanging in the air as they just sat there quietly, drinking their tea. Remus looked up, meeting Adhara's sharp, sparkling black gaze. There was something very special and attractive about her, entrancing in some ways he supposed. From the cheeky grins and comments to her vivacious mind and stunning looks, everything about her made him want to get to know her better, understand who this mysterious, ever-changing person was. And he had had his fair share of romances, but no one had ever piqued his interest so much.

"Tell me something about you," she whispered. "Anything."

"Why don't I show you instead?"

They now stood in front of the imposing entrance of the Musée d'Orsay, a few minutes after 7 pm. The sun was setting already, tinging the blue sky with gold, red, and orange streaks. The late spring air was warm and peaceful, only interrupted by the soft hum of passing cars. Paris' streets were still quite busy, but not one single person was to be seen inside of the museum. The hallways were all quiet and empty, and on every wall, myriads of a painting hung proudly on display. Adhara looked at everything in awe.

"How?" She breathed softly.

"Perks of working in a museum," replied Remus, winking. "Come with me."

He took her hand, dragging her behind him as he turned left and right around corners, walking briskly down the vacant, silent hall. Finally, they stopped in front of a middle-sized painting.

"Les coquelicots or "Poppy field near Argenteuil" by Claude Monet, one of my personal favorites," said Remus gently, looking at the beautiful landscape in front of them with love. "There was a field just like this one not far from my home."

"It's breathtaking," answered Adhara.

They continued looking at it in silence, marveling at the beauty of every brushstroke, every color so tastefully placed, at the pure mastery displayed in front of them.

"Monet has always been the best artist of the Impressionist era in my eyes, although my favorite painting of his must certainly be Le Jardin de l'artiste à Giverny," whispered the black-haired woman. "But why this one? What is so special about it, if I may ask?"

"There's such a stunning, gentle, peace in this painting in my opinion," started Remus thoughtfully. "You see, it is such a mundane thing to paint, a poppy field, yet it is so beautifully represented, and his wife and daughter the painting are a symbol of family and love for me. I'm afraid I do not know how to express the tranquility and happiness this painting transmits with words…"

He kept on rambling about it, but Adhara wasn't listening anymore. Instead, she looked at him, seeing the way his eyes lit up with an uncanny fire as he spoke about something he was intensely passionate about. It was lovely.

"You are someone very, very special and interesting, Remus Lupin," she finally said, tracing an invisible line along his cheek with the tip of her fingers.

He looked at her bashfully.

"I wish to get to know you better. Let me take you to my favorite painting."

And hand in hand, they went to see Vincent Van Gogh's "Starry Night Over The Rhône".

author's note: I genuinely hope you like this and that I did well by the transgender community! All hate WILL be deleted!

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b-bye, daya