DISCLAIMER: J K Rowling thought it all up and now I am playing with some of her characters and situations. David Bowie thought up quite a bit of it, too, including the story and chapter titles and some other sentences and situations.
THE BOY IN THE BRIGHT BLUE JEANS
"Shit! It's like punk never happened," Sirius grumbled, leaning even further back into the dark corner of the pub.
"It's so Muggle!" James enthused, craning round and staring at everything.
The atmosphere was heavy with cigarette smoke through which the young Muggles moved. The long-haired boys and highly painted girls pushed against each other, walking from the bar and the toilets to the little tables and back again. Most of them wore mostly denim and dark T-shirts. A few stood out courtesy of coloured stockings, a bleached fringe or an obscene slogan.
The ashtrays in the middle of each table were piled high with cigarette butts, surrounded by small cardboard squares of beermat, each advertising the same cheap, watery lager. Many of them had been ripped up or their surface images peeled off. Most of the glasses sat directly on the scratched varnish of the table tops.
The glasses contained varying amounts of different brownish liquids and greyish foams. They were being emptied enthusiastically and at high speed by the young Muggles, very few of whom had managed to find a low stool to sit on. They chatted and called loudly over the loud rock music issuing from the tinny speakers high up on the nicotine-coloured walls.
Remus gently pulled James back by the sleeve of his new leather jacket. The shorter boy was bouncing on the balls of his feet with obvious excitement.
"Try to be a bit cool," Remus advised.
"Cool. Right." James tossed his hair and stuck his hands in his pockets, pouting in a way he imagined made him look like James Dean. His eyes continued to dart all over the place.
The four Marauders were at the very back of the pub, far from the teeming bar and close to the small, dirty window. They clutched full pint glasses from which they sipped infrequently, unused to the yeasty, hoppy taste. The more regular, less magical, clients of The John Bull Pub, kept turning round to give them assessing looks, either wary or hostile.
Across the sea of people was a tiny stage with an oversized drum kit sitting on it. On the largest drum was scrawled in blood red marker pen "Toujour Pur" - the name of the band.
"How much longer do we have to stay?" Sirius asked sulkily, scowling at his surroundings.
"I like it," Peter announced brightly.
His loudly cheerful tone caused several nearby punters to stare at him. The tartan trousers which he thought so Muggle didn't help. Remus sighed.
"What are we drinking?" Sirius eyed his pint aggressively.
"Look, it's beer. Don't worry about it. Just hold the glass," Remus hissed. "Nobody's making you stay," he added.
A high-pitched squeak cut through all the other noise. Two tall, long-haired boys were plugging in guitars. It was impossible to tell which of them had created the feedback. With the clang of a dropped cymbal, the broad, black drummer climbed into place too.
"At bloody last!" Sirius exclaimed. "Where is he, then?"
Anyone would have thought he was there under protest, but it had been his idea to come tonight. Remus sighed again and looked over at his friend - one boot against the wall behind him, head cocked defensively. His faded jeans clung to his long skinny legs in all the right places. Even when he was being infuriating, Remus couldn't be angry with him.
There was a ripple of murmuring through the audience and Remus realised that he had missed the entrance of the singer. He looked up. Everyone else was still and silent as the confidant young man strode from the toilets in one corner to the stage in the other. His hair was long, straight and black. The people stared at the make-up on his face - a base of thick, white panstick, black lipstick and eyeliner and heavy multi-coloured glitter on his eyelids.
His movements were feline, graceful, arrogant and his face defiantly handsome. Just like his brother.
"What the hell does he think he looks like?" Sirius muttered into the silence.
A few of the young Muggles nearby tittered, releasing a wave of giggling and jeering through the room. Then the boy in the bright blue jeans jumped up on the stage and the laughter stopped. The drummer started a simple rhythm and the guitarists joined him. Regulus Black took hold of the microphone, closed his eyes and began to sing.
His voice was sweet and strong, carrying the dark sadness of his songs across the room, entrancing his listeners. All except one.
Sirius shook his head dismissively. "What a load of crap," he snorted.
The song seemed to go on for ever. Regulus played to the crowd, dipping his head to cover his face with his curtain of hair, then looking up so that it swung behind him, bringing the microphone with him, exposing his carefully decorated face to the single spotlight. The smooth, white skin of his upper arms was exposed by his plain white vest top and his arms swept the air as he sang, expressing the darkness, disgrace and dismay of his lyrics.
"Looks like a poof. What is he thinking?" his brother continued petulantly. "What's with the long silk gloves?"
"What do you think the gloves are for?" Peter responded with a note of disdain in his voice. "Hiding his forearms."
Sirius' sullen mask slipped for a moment as the inference of Pettigrew's words hit him. Horror crossed his features and he asked, "You think he's taken it?" Then he closed down his expression again. "Yeah, about right. He's stupid enough," he grunted.
Remus found himself swaying to the lilting tune. It was alright. The band were all together and Regulus certainly knew what he was doing. He was revelling in being the centre of attention, just like his brother did. His body shape was like Sirius' too, though a little shorter and slimmer, less muscular. Unlike Sirius, though, he was displaying his body in a way and a place that made it OK for Remus to stare at him. His movements were fluid, his voice enticing, his lips soft, full and mobile. Remus involuntarily touched his own mouth.
He wasn't the only one enjoying the singer as much as the song. Women had begun to unbutton their blouses, hitch up their skirts, reapply lipstick and tease their hair. They inched forward, swaying their hips in an exaggerated fashion as they emerged from the shadows, drawn to the figure in the light on the stage.
Some boys in the crowd shouted out encouragement, whooping and whistling. Those who had stools stood up on them. A few stood up on tables. They held their arms aloft and stomped their feet.
"Bloody waste of time," Sirius spat, moving up off the wall and starting to push his way through the crowd. "I'm going home!" he called back. "You coming?"
Peter and James looked at each other.
"There's another band later. I wanted to stay for them," James shouted over. Peter nodded his agreement.
"Fuck you, then," Sirius muttered and strode off through the enthusiastic mob.
The other three wizards looked at each other. After a moment, Remus shrugged and walked after him.