l'osservatore della bellezza | wolfstar

and in this place where roses bloom

Perhaps at a two mile distance from this corner of Florence was - well, not a corner, as such, but a street.

This street was home to a few of the richest people in the city. They lived in pastel-coloured, plant-edged houses, and watched the sun slip over the quiet cobbled roads before them, sipping their red wines and chatting idly with each other.

Roads in Florence weren't usually quiet. People had too many responsibilities and therefore very few opportunities where they could just sit down and do nothing - most of the time, it was difficult to find any space to put even one foot on the ground, let alone two. People upon people constantly lined the pavements, shouting at each other, eyes kept sharp to watch for pick-pockets.

But not here. This street was quiet. Because here, people were rich, and could therefore afford some peace.

One such house belonged to a Mr. James Potter. He was one of those who lived off an old inheritance, a respectable name, and an easy, charming smile.

One may naturally assume him to be nothing more than a pompous arsehole who squeezed benefits off the poorer populace and never gave them a second thought. One would be wrong, but could be forgiven (since far too many tend to take that path - human life is a rather cliché performance, after all. Once you've seen one, it's like you've seen them all).

He was close friends with a man called Sirius Black. The two of them had stumbled into each other early on in life, and had somehow managed to remain stuck that way.

Sirius Black was a common name in Florence. Everyone whispered about his striking beauty, and on the occasion someone got a glimpse of him, they would understand why he was so renowned.

There were not many like Sirius Black, with regards to physical appearance. And although he usually lived on very little, the wealth of his looks was often thought to be enough.

One sun-filled afternoon, the two friends were sitting on James' balcony, wine glasses in hand. A breeze drifted along the rooftops, brushing against their faces.

It certainly seems quite a relaxed setting, does it not? Unfortunately, when it came to James Potter and Sirius Black, life tended not to be so predictable.

"Just consider it," James whined desperately.

"No."

"Black, for heaven's sake, you can't sit here on your arse forever."

A bored hum. Sirius leaned further back in his chair, an arm over his face. His glass tipped dangerously between his fingers.

"Listen to me." James pulled his chair closer to his friend, looking pleadingly at him. "You have two weeks before you get kicked out of your... shack."

"I don't particularly care."

James scowled. "I'm not letting you stay here."

"I don't remember asking you to."

"Then where else will you live?"

Sirius stretched, falling forward with his elbows resting on his knees. A smile pulled his lips upwards. "Well, I have always wondered what it would be like to sleep under the stars."

"Good Lord - "

"Now's as good a time as any."

"Over my dead body."

Shrugging, Sirius righted his glass and took a sip of wine. "That isn't my problem. You are free to do as you choose."

"I'm trying to do what's best for you, you pompous idiot."

"Oh, do shut up." Yawning, Sirius leaned back again, eyebrows raised.

There was a quick, silent standoff, where they both glared at each other and tried to argue using merely their eyes. Which, for some reason, is equally a completely effective and totally pointless way of dealing with a problem. Some things cannot be explained.

After a while, James merely sighed, pushing his hair out of his eyes. "Why don't you just see if it works for a while? You can always leave if it doesn't suit you."

"These artists are all the same. Besides, very few of them can actually paint."

"This one can. Pettigrew says he is one of the finest artists in Italy."

"He would say that."

James nodded. "That is true, except I have seen Lupin's work before. It is in no way mediocre - I may even have to agree with Pettigrew's statement."

"Oh, really."

"Yes. One could even say he is exceptional. A man worthy enough to paint even you, your royal Highness."

"I believe there's a compliment somewhere in that."

"If that makes you feel better, then yes, believe whatever you want." James scowled, then sighed, rubbing his eyes. "Can't you at least go meet him? It really won't do any harm."

Sirius paused, considering the proposal. Despite his excuses, he had heard many stories of the great artist who lived only for his paints and his words and his fine, glossy marble. He breathed art - he created it.

True, Sirius had seen many artists before. Perhaps too many, so now he expected constant perfection and was vaguely disappointed when it was delivered. No one stepped out of line. No one teased the realms of normalcy with a dangerous imagination that reached beyond the heavens and into darkness.

No one, that is, except Remus Lupin.

Although he had many inhibitions, Sirius wanted to meet him. He wanted to see if the stories held any weight.

"What will the pay be like?"

"Enough."

Sighing, Sirius threw the last of the wine down his throat. "Very well. Give me his address, and I'll pay him a visit at the earliest opportunity."

A grin spread slowly across James' face. "You mean it?"

"Well, I suppose it wouldn't hurt." Getting up, Sirius walked back into the house, talking over his shoulder. "Besides, while it would be nice to sleep under the stars, I'm fairly sure lying for extended periods of time on the hard ground is not the best thing for anyone's back."

And with that, James could find no fault.