Title: mix a gin and sink into oblivion

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: alcoholism, incredibly depressing.
Word Count: 500

Pairing: Remus/Sirius
Prompts: Grimmauld palace, bottle, lies, the last time, getting caught.
Disclaimer: Characters are not mine and I make no money from their usage. Title from a Cold War Kids song "We used to vacation".

mix a gin and sink into oblivion


The scent of stale booze hits as soon as they walk into her bedroom. Empty bottles stacked high, full bottles squirreled under her bed. Mother dearest evidently spent the rest of her life drinking herself to death.

Sirius hates the way the stacks crush the room, the shadows distorted in the glass, morphing into cloaked figures. Remus holds him and for awhile the memories are banished.

Later Sirius hides the full bottles under the sink.

He has no idea what he is saving them for. It is not till Harry leaves and Remus is hardly ever there that he knows.


Straight from the bottle is the way to do it; it's too much effort to get up and get a glass.

Sometimes other Order members visit, saying things like "irresponsible", "terrible example", "liability," get a grip", "like mother like son", "when are you going to sober up?" Sooner or later they walk out, sigh, swim blurrily out of his vision and Sirius presses his cheek to the table or floor, whichever is closest.

He figures there must be something wrong with his body to make him feel so leaden and hopeless. He lifts his hand weakly. Time for another drink.


"Alcohol is a depressant," Remus says, curled up with him. "It won't make you feel any better."

"I guess," he says, unconvinced.

It used to work and he's convinced it will again. Screw Remus and his meddling and the way he offers his quasi-scientific advice when he doesn't know a thing about Sirius anymore. He could be a well-meaning stranger.

But then Remus grips his hand. "Tell me you'll try and cut down."

"I will," Sirius assures him.

It's not a lie, Sirius tells himself, because he did intend to try, for Remus. He just fucks it up, like always.


Remus said cut down, not quit.

So Sirius pours a glass and aims for moderation. He always overshoots the mark. It's always the last time it's going to happen.

He gets excited and fearful whenever anyone opens a bottle of wine over dinner. Wine is classy; he doesn't care what it is as long as it's booze. Everyone but him sips, toys with the remaining liquid in the glass and set it down. That's enough.

Sirius can never get enough.

"Other people know when to stop," Remus says. Sirius hates him for being right and loves him for still caring.


Remus comes back early. Sirius slurs hello, collapsed on the floor, bottle tilted at a jaunty angle. Remus's eyes are tired. They say 'not again'; not disappointed or surprised, just sad.

"Sirius-"he begins.

"Leave me alone," Sirius chokes out, revolted with himself.

Remus grants him his wish.

He's let down everyone; Harry, James, the Order, Remus especially. Sirius remembers drunken rows, cruel words, glasses thrown at the walls. Like mother, like son. All his life he's sworn he's nothing like them, but he doubts it now.

Sirius raises the bottle and toasts to oblivion. A few weeks later it comes.