Alcohol
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"There isn't enough alcohol in the world to make me forget," Sirius Black says to Remus one night as they share firewhisky in the kitchen.
Remus nods. "I know. It's just…to numb the pain, right?" he murmurs, looking into the swirling fluid like it held the secrets of the universe.
They knock back two glasses respectively and stare into the ratty, destroyed ceiling. Years of neglect had not done any favors to the once opulent house of the noble and most ancient House of Black.
"I hate this house," he mumbles, the words slipping out of his tongue carelessly. "It's like, this festering cesspool of…terrrrible memories."
Remus shoots him a look of amusement. "Festering cesspool? How much have you had to drink, old friend?"
Sirius is half-tempted to scowl at him, but it really is true. The more drunk he gets, the more verbose and eloquent he gets. It is the cause of more than one amusing event.
"Hmm, half the bottle," Sirius thinks, screwing up his face in thought. "I think so anyway."
Remus laughs quietly into his cup. "That's terrible. I don't know how you do it."
Unsaid, lingering at the back of their minds, is Azkaban. It is a topic neither of them really want to open. It would be like looking into a pit of darkness and wondering to venture inside.
"Harry liked the book we sent him," Remus says, just to break the silence. Harry is a safe topic, somedays. Somedays, Sirius's eyes are too dark with memories of James and speaking about Harry is like jumping up and down on an open vein.
Sirius's eyes sparkle. "Yeah? I thought he might," he murmurs. "I would have liked to have a book like that when I was in Hogwarts."
Remus smirks at him, the memory of the school boy he had been shining through for a moment. "Yeah? Like hexing that really annoying Hufflepuff that kept ambushing you in the corridors for a snog?"
The dog animagi whines. "Remus, why'd you have to do that? I thought I had forgotten that pansy wimp. Though he was a good kisser, now that I think about him."
They laugh again. "What was his name though?" Remus mused. "I think I've heard it before."
Sirius screws up his face. "Merlin, not remembering the name of those who snogged me makes me sound like a manwhore."
They dissolve into laughter again, though still quiet. The house emanates that foreboding feeling and noise just seems to disappear into the woodwork before it could disperse in the air.
Eventually, the firewhisky runs out and things turn dangerously melancholic. For Sirius that is.
"Do you think Prongs would be mad at me, mate?" Sirius asks slowly, voice nearly a mumble. "I mean, I was – am the godfather. Wasn't I supposed to be like, taking care of him?"
Like a brick dropped, Remus's shoulders drooped. "Fuck it, Padfoot. How do you think Prongs would be at me? I didn't have the excuse of being framed. I could have – should have done something about Harry."
Sirius gives him the stink-eye. "Yeah? What with you furry alter-ego wreaking havoc every full moon?"
Remus mouths the words 'wreaking havoc' with some bemusement before saying, "Let's face it, you dog. What's been done is done. Prongs might as well kill us, but…nothing can be changed anymore."
In unison, they both knock back the last of the whisky.
