LINER NOTES:

Here's the second chapter of the day! Enjoy! But don't skip ahead to the reveal . . . let it come as it will.

3 JUNE 2005: UPDATE - I didn't want to refer to "Nate" as Nate in this chapter when I revised it (date given), so there are some places where things like "he Nate thought that he Remus didn't know just how good he Remus really was," and that kind of thing. If you're not sure who's who, don't agonize over it - it will be easiest to tell if you remember that the section in question is written entirely from Mystery Man's POV, so "he thought" actions will be Nate, and "he did" actions (what Nate is seeing) will be Remus. There is one sentence - I believe it's the very last one in the section - that could apply to either or both Nate and/or Remus, so interpret it as you like - my personal favorite interpretation of it is that it is both of them, but any of the interpretations will work fine.

DISCLAIMER: I'm back in the fuzzy blue bathrobe, amigos. No, I don't ownHarry Potter- but I do own most of the band. Sinelle Draconn is the creation of the wonderful Eleonora1, who also provided me with the name "Jason Tych" for the drummer, and Raven Knight is . . . well . . . she's kinda me, as I wish I were, only she still has The Long Legs From Hell. (I hate my legs - or at least, I like the way they look but I hate the inconvenience of them.) Consider Raven a sort of parody of me at my baddest bad-girl self.

ARCHIVING: See Chapter 1.

RATING: This is rated PG-13/T for language, homosexuality, mild drinking, and general maturity of content matter. Don't like, don't read.

REVIEWS:

tiffany: I'm glad you like it! Enjoy the reveal, buried somewhere in this chapter . . .

Enjoy!

The band wasn't too bad, he thought. He'd been here since nine thirty, about an hour and a half after they would have started. It meant sitting through a good deal of music he didn't particularly like, but he made a habit of trying to be early for everything for one, and for another he was curious – Rémy enjoyed his music, that much was certain, and he wanted to see where the appeal came from.

He'd been told to look for "the blonde guitar player (1) in the red shirt," but as luck would have it both guitar players (one was playing bass, actually, buthe didn't know enough about guitars to know which it was) were blonde and both were wearing red shirts. It didn't take him long to sort them out, though, because after they finished the number they were playing and the girl behind the keyboard let out the last quivering bit of vocals, the members all started to banter.

It started with the bigger of the two guitar players – a man about 5'10" or so, but beefy – walking over to the smaller one (no taller than 5'4", and weighing probably all of about 140 pounds soaking wet) and draping an arm around the smaller one's shoulders in an extremely familiar manner. The smaller one – who, incidentally, looked somewhat familiar ifonly he could determine where he'd seen him before – carefully picked the larger one's arm off his shoulders and lowered it with exaggerated care back to the bigger one's side, saying "Sonny, I believe we have a . . . rule, don't we . . . about hands?"

The patrons of the bar all laughed. Rémy had said they played this place, The Night Shift, every other Friday, and a good deal of the people seemed to be regulars. They probably saw something like this every time the group was in here – it seemed to come naturally to the people onstage.

"Oh, yes . . . of course. But that wasn't a hand, Rémy –" so Rémy was the smaller one, then – "that was an arm." More laughter. "Really, Sonny . . . I think you're a great person, you beat hell on a guitar, and you're a pleasant drunk. But I really have something against having sex with someone who looks like a younger version of my dad. I mean, maybe that's just me, you know, that could be a big craze, these days, I wouldn't know, but . . ." Rémy trailed off, allowing the crowd's guffaws to cover whatever he wasn't saying.

"I'm only eight months older than you!"

Rémy closed his eyes, took a deep breath, let it out, opened his eyes, and very slowly breathed, "Sonny . . ." He was good at getting these people going, wasn't he? "Sonny . . . I know you're only eight months older than me. But I'm – really – not interested. Go bother Jason," he added, patting Sonny on the arm and picking his guitar back up off its stand. As he did so, the lead female vocalist – a girl with shiny black hair down to her waist and legs thatthe man in blacksecretly thought would look less out of place on ahairless Acromantula – half-skipped over to Rémy, making an exaggerated production out of it (she was good at pulling in the laughs too, it seemed), and leaned her arms on his shoulder, and her head on her arms. Rémy turned his head toward her, looking bemused, as she asked him – in a voice obviously hussied-up for the purpose – "Does this mean I get a chance, then, Rémy?"

Rémy just raised his eyebrows and set his guitar back on the stand to his left, still looking bemused, pausing for a moment and folding his arms before answering. "Have you had any serious operations lately, Raven?" Again he paused for his laughs, most of which were coming from the peoplehe had assumed to be regulars. As the chuckles died off Remy stepped back, eyed the black haired girl - very closely - up and down,walked all round her, and then slapped the front of her thigh playfully. The girl jumped and let out a startled (and extraordinarily girlish) squeak. Remy shook his head. "Apparently I can still tell without looking. Definitely female," Remy announced. More laughs, and one man from a front table whistled at the stage. Remy raised a hand in a sort of casual half-wave of acknowlegement.

So it was no secret around here that Rémy was gay. That was a good thing – he had been getting nervous about what people would think, seeing two men sitting together alone at a table, deep in some kind of obviously intimate conversation. So far as he knew, this was Rémy's only paying job andit wouldn't be good for himto lose it. As the laughter died down,he turned away from his drink and peeredtoward the stage again.

"So unfortunately for you . . . no." Raven pouted. The girl behind the keyboard called out "So, Rémy, howzabout them Bulls, huh?"

The regulars fairly roared with laughter – apparently this was some kind of inside joke whose answerhe wouldn't get tonight. Rémy threw his hands up and raised his eyes skyward. "What is this, Hit on the Lead Guitarist Day, or something like that?" The laughter continued, andhe reflected momentarily on how easy it was to amuse a crowd of drunks, and how amusing it was to watch drunks being amused when you weren't one of the drunks in question.

Rémy reshouldered his guitar and sidled up to a microphone. "So – this next number, this is one we actually did because when we came up with the idea to cover it – have you ever had one of those, you know, crazy ideas that sounds really good when you're buzzed and it's one o'clock in the morning? It was one of those ideas, and if anybody had told me then how bloody difficult it would be to learn it I would've said no, I would've said – I just wouldn't have said anything, I wouldn't have done it. I just wouldn't have done it. But I did, like a complete idiot I said I'd learn it, and I did. And we all did, so – this is really fantastic even if it's a real dog to play, so – let's just get on the bloody number, why don't we? Sonny, where's my beer?" Most of the patrons laughed as he rather dramaticallytook a swig from the bottle he was passed, and Rémy gave everyone a look of overexaggerated, wide-eyed innocence as he passed it back. "What? It's still my first bloody beer all night and we've been here almost two bloody hours. See, and that's my idea of going to a bar, one or two drinks in six hours. That's why I can still do this."

He started a loop on the guitar (2). Scattered applause accompanied this – it seemed it wasn't a number they played very often, by the murmurs that floated for a few moments.He did something he very rarely allowed himself to do, and lost himself completely in the skilful blend of music and voice.

When the song was over Rémy stepped back from the mike and Raven's voice took over from the other floor stand. "All right, it's ten o'clock, people!" Applause and whistles. "We'll be back at eleven, until then we've got Sinelle Draconn on keyboards and backup, Jason Tych on drums, Remus Lupin on lead guitar and vocals, Sonny Barton on bass guitar, I'm Raven Knight, and we're the Irregulars!"

The applause picked up and then died down as the five Irregulars trooped off the stage and off in separate directions, buthe saw none of it. All he could think of werefive words, over and over: 'Remus Lupin? It can't be. . . '

Remus hurried back up toward the stage as he left the pay phones – Harry was watching a movie and planned on going to bed as soon as it was over. Now Remus had someone to meet.

He moved hastily toward the table he'd indicated to Nate in his letter. He saw a black-haired head bent down, far lower than if he'd merely been drinking, and Remus was confused for a split second until he saw the edge of the book beneath the man's arm. He chuckled softly. Yes, this must be Nate.

He moved almost directly behind the man and studied him from behind for just a moment – tall and thin with a black braid dangling down between his shoulder blades, pale skin, and – Remus grinned to himself – long, thin hands. So he'd been right.

"Excuse me – are you Nate?"

The man didn't look up. "I am." There was only a momentary pause before he continued, "Tell me, did you plan this whole thing out all this time or are some distant gods laughing at me?"

Remus moved behind the seat next to Nate, preparing to sit down. "What do you mean, did I plan this out? I only just got off just now –"

"I know that." The voice was clipped, strained, but not entirely cold. If anything, Nate sounded somewhat confused. "I was referring the whole thing. The letters. The whole personality in them. Was this all just a joke?"

Remus was stunned. "Not at all, never! Why would you think that?"

The dark head lifted, turned, and Remus' lips parted in complete shock.

Large dark eyes.

Italian nose and cheekbones.

Long neck, not now covered by a collar.

Two rogue locks of thick black hair falling over the left side of the face.

It couldn't be. The odds were next to impossible.

But not entirely impossible, it seemed.

Suddenly Remus understood why this man would have left laughing gods as an option. It seemed the gods were laughing at him, too.

How else could he explain the fact that he was currently looking directly into the eyes of none other than Severus Snape?

Yes, this was the original ending of the reveal (or very close to it, just a few style changes), no characters have been changed or switched around. . . -laughs evilly- See how hard I work to keep my plotlines secret, even if I don't succeed?

NEXT CHAPTER: The pair talk, and come to a conclusion. But only I know if it'll be the last chapter with the two going their separate ways, or if it might blossom into something wonderful . . . and I'm not telling, no matter how many times you email me begging for answers!

REFERENCE NOTES:

(1) Just for the record, this would be an electric guitar. Whether or not Remus plays acoustic guitar is something I've not yet decided.

(2) The song I have in mind here is "Wish You Were Here" by Pink Floyd. Because it's a bit slow in the beginning, it's harder to play and keep in tune. I don't know why exactly this song seemed to fit, but it did. In some ways it could be interpreted as Harry and Remus wishing Sirius were around, so maybe I drew off that . . . I honestly don't know.