Written for Hogwarts One Shot War (Characters: Sirius Black, Severus Snape, Prompts: [emotion] depression, [word] golden, [word] deafening), Variety of Prompts (Object: Bottle).
Disclaimer: Ya, I don't own anything. Don't sue. I think that's the basis of that.
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One good thing about Grimmauld Place having been abandoned for so long, is that the alcohol there had been allowed to age splendidly. Reading the label on this particular bottle of Firewhiskey, Sirius thought that '67 had been a good year. But then again, with the thoughts he was trying to suppress, he could have been drinking piss and not cared otherwise. Whatever did the job. He sat the bottle down, and picked up instead the thick glass beside him. Slouching further in his chair, he downed the contents in one gulp. A fire raced through him - a much welcomed fire.
"What the hell are you doing?"
Sirius frowned at the voice. It was one he'd known for too long now. Glancing up at the man in the doorway, Sirius had a wicked remark on his tongue, but after four glasses of Firewhiskey, the sarcastic remark and his lips were just not working in unison. He was losing his edge. So instead he just glared, pouring himself another glass.
Before it reached his lips, a hand went over the brim. Sirius glared down at the pale flesh, debating about simply biting it in response. He chose not to.
"That's enough Black."
Sirius pulled the glass from under the man's hand. "Don't tell me when I've had enough, Snape. I know when I've had too much. I don't need you telling me."
Severus Snape sighed heavily and very audibly. He reached forward to grab the glass, but Sirius drew it closer to his chest. The two men frowned at one another, the hatred of their youth in their eyes.
"Give it to me." Snape outstretched his hand.
"Fuck off." Sirius sneered. "What's it matter to you anyways?"
"I'd rather you not die from alcohol poisoning." Snape's eyes were flat, his voice leveled. "It would be counterproductive at the moment."
"Counterproductive." Sirius chuckled. He swished the golden liquid about, watching as the lights refracted off its surface. It was a welcoming light to the darkness that was almost always in the corner of his vision. He could feel it growing once more, the shadows seeping forward and corrupting everything with their touch. He downed the glass of whiskey as a response, and was glad to see the shadows slipping back a few inches.
He made a move to pour himself another drink, but the glass was finally ripped from his hand. Glaring at the culprit, Sirius let out a string of offensive curses, mostly directed towards Snape's mother. The potions teacher didn't even flinch at the remarks. He simply set the glass inches from Sirius's reach.
"Do you have no self-control?" There was an anger to Snape's voice. "No care whatsoever for the people here?"
"No one's here." Sirius pointed out. "Every one left. It's just me. Or it would be, if you got your slimy arse out of here."
Snape seemed to consider the option of leaving. He decided against it though, and planted his feet firmer into the black carpet. "Grow up Black."
Sirius leaned forward, casting Snape an offended frown. "Grow up? What a load of horse shit coming from you?"
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me." Sirius slumped back into the chair. "Shit. That's what you're full of."
A smirk tugged at Snape's lips. "Says the man drinking himself to death?"
"Whatever." Sirius drew his arms over his chest, sinking into a pouting position. "You have no right to judge."
There sat a silence so loud that it was deafening to their ears. Neither of them spoke, or moved. They only looked at one another. Whenever Snape finally responded, it was with a heavily load of remorse.
"You're right." The words drew Sirius's eyes to the speaker. "I have no right to judge."
"Then don't."
"I may not have the right," Snape growled, "but I have the reason to. Damn it, Black. You have a life ahead of you, and you are wasting it away with that bottle."
Sirius knew he was right, but he would never admit it. He'd been out of Azkaban a little over a year now, he'd been safe at Grimmauld Place for two months, and it was true, he was wasting the life he'd finally gotten back. But he couldn't help it. Every Order meeting reminded him of what he'd lost. He'd see the faces of everyone there, and think of all the friends he'd buried. All the friends who'd gone on without him.
He always waited to see a few extra faces grace the table. Faces he knew where long gone, yet still he prayed would return. He'd often hear a sweet laughter in the crowd, and think it Merlene. He'd glance around, searching for the brunette ball of fire, only to remember that the girl he'd once loved was too in the ground. His pocket always seem to grow heavy with the reminder of the ring he had once carried, but been unable to give her.
Every time he saw Molly, he could only think of her brothers, Fabian and Gideon. Seeing those twin boys of hers, near replicas of the twins before them, only hurt more.
Tonks always brought about a pain of what little remained of the Black family. He thought of his mother, long since past. He thought of Andromeda, who had for so long thought him a traitor, and only just now reconnected with him. Narcissa, the one he'd been closes to, who had turned her back on him and followed the family's wishes. She had a son of her own now, one that Sirius would most likely never meet as anything other than an enemy if that husband of hers had any say. Bellatrix, who was more a monster than human. His younger brother Regulus, the naïve boy he'd been unable to pry from the darkness which had in turn taken his life.
With his biological one mainly gone, he remembered the surrogate family he'd lost. Lily, with her smile, and a softness that could never cause harm to anything innocent. James, the brother who had taken him in when his own had cast him aside. Peter, the man he had once stayed up with late into the night, playing cards and sneaking snacks from the kitchens. The man he had once thought of as a brother. And Remus, they had reconciled from the years of separation, but it was never the same for either of them, without the rest of the family.
Harry, now fourteen, hurt the most. He'd been unable to see his godson grow and mature. He looked so much like James now. He sounded like him, walked like him. But he had a heart like Lily's. It hurt to look at the boy, and know that all the horror he'd grown up with could have been stopped had Sirius just gotten their quicker. If he hadn't gone along with making Peter the Secret Keeper. Sirius would have never given up the Potter. He would have rather died. But he didn't. He lived, lived knowing that nearly everyone else he ever loved was gone.
And then, as if the pain wasn't hard enough, there was Mad-Eye. He didn't blame the Auror for arresting him, but every time he saw the crotchety man he wanted to scream in rage. Had they just listened to him! Had they believed what he said, than maybe things wouldn't have worked out as they had! Maybe, just maybe, they could have caught Peter sooner, never given the rat the chance to resurrect that Lord of his. He could have given Harry the home he deserved, not the one he was stuck in.
The shadows began to slither back into his views. They were dark, menacing, and for a moment, Sirius swore he heard the flapping of tattered cloth. A chill ran down his back, the hairs on his neck reaching out. His hands shook, his heard thumbed. His throat closed, and his chest ached. He reached for the bottle of whiskey, the golden liquid shinned in the surrounding darkness.
No sooner did his fingers wrapped around the bottle neck, did he find a second pair of hands overlapping his own. Glancing up, he saw Snape still there. He'd forgotten about the man.
"Let go." Sirius almost pleaded.
"No." Snape's voice had a solid, almost forceful approach. There was something in his eyes that – and Sirius knew he must be drunk for imaging this – resembled compassion, and empathy. It was enough to make Sirius laugh. The slimy Slytherin, actually showing care for someone.
"Let go." Sirius repeated.
The pressure on his hand tightened. Snape plucked Sirius's fingers away from the bottle, and with the other, he removed the whiskey from the table. The potions teacher held it by his side, out of Sirius's reach. "You need to sober up Black. Now is not the time for this."
The golden liquid of the bottle began to darken as did the rest of the room. Sirius felt it as the room grew black and cold.
"Please." There was a pleading to Sirius's voice. "Just give it back."
The words startled Snape, who almost let the bottle slip from his fingers in surprise. He tightened his grip, walking away from Sirius, and to the fire place of the drawing room. It was unlit, and with a flick of his wrist, he threw the bottle into the hearth. There was a shattering of glass, the golden liquid seeping into the bark of the wood. Sirius was on his feet, wobbling and unable to take a step forward.
Snape withdrew his wand.
"Don't." Sirius reached out.
Snape didn't turn, but cast the spell to light the fire. It burst into a spectacular flame, the alcohol soaked wood going up in a blaze. The room was lit with a warmth that didn't reach Sirius.
He dropped to his knees, to shaky and dizzy to stand further. He watched as the flames began to settle. The shadows still danced at the edge of the fire's light.
"You act as if you are the only one affected." Snape's back was still turned to Sirius, but his voice was hard and clear. "You act as if you are the only person who has ever lost something they cared about. Someone they loved. News flash Black, you're not the only one with problems. You're not the only one who's ever been hurt. The only one who has nightmares."
"What do you know?" Sirius challenged. "You don't know anything about what I am going through. So don't tell me you do! You don't! I can't close my eyes without seeing them. Without seeing James and Lily. Dead! I can't stop seeing, stop feeling this cold. It's as if I'm back in Azkaban, only this time, I can't seem to shake the dementors. Maybe I shouldn't. Maybe I should just let them do what they've wanted for so long. Maybe it would be better that way."
"No." Snape turned. "You are of no use to anyone like this Black."
"Well excuse me." Sirius glared up at the man. "It's not like it's a choice really."
Snape sighed. He looked back at the flames, the light bouncing off his black eyes. "The night Lily and James died, I almost ended my own life." There was a pause as if he were contemplating telling this secret. "I couldn't live with the guilt of what I had caused. What I had done. The lives that I had destroyed with my mistakes. I couldn't do it though. It wouldn't have been fair to anyone for my suffering to have ended that easily. I deserved the pain, every moment of it. But it was almost too unbearable."
Sirius felt his shoulders slump. "How did you deal? With this pain?"
"I almost didn't. If it hadn't been for Albus, I most likely would have ended up dead in a matter of months. Most likely drunk myself to death. But he pulled me out. He gave me a reason to continue. A purpose, something to keep going on for."
"And what was that?"
"Harry Potter." There was a light chuckle in Snape's voice. He looked at Sirius from the corner of his eyes. "And if I'm not mistaken, is he not the reason you continue as well? To keep that boy alive. If not for our sake, than for Lily and James. For their sacrificed. For all who have perished."
Sirius didn't respond, just looked at Snape. It shocked him to hear those words leave the man's mouth. For so long, he'd considered the man to be an enemy, and if not that, than a challenger at least. They had never gotten along, had hated each other for as long as both could remember.
And for what?
What good was this hatred ever going to do? There was too much at stake to keep up butting heads. There was too much history between them to ever be friends, but as the slightest bit of the shadows lightened, Sirius wondered if maybe they could stop hating one another.
Sirius watched the burning flames. He had a sudden desire to reach towards them. His view was blocked though by a set of billowing black robes, a single hole near the bottom of them. Snape stood in front of him, a frown on his lips, and a hand extended.
He didn't stop to consider the gesture. Sirius reached out, taking the offered hand and allowing himself to be pulled to his feet. The shadows danced on the sidelines, but they weren't as vivid and damning as prior. There was a warmth coming from behind Snape. Sirius assumed it was from the fire, but he thought that it might have been more.
"We're not friends." Snape spoke, there was a lack of harshness in his voice. "Far from it in fact. But we are on the same side here. We are fighting for the same reasons. Now, sober up Black. Stop letting whatever demons you may have destroy you. There's a war to fight and you stumbling around will only hinder our chances."
Sirius took in those words. He knew them to be true, and he wanted to act on them so bad. But the thought of the golden liquid, the prospect of keeping the hungry shadows away still gnawed at him. He knew the lost and despair would still reside in his soul. But Snape was right. Oh the irony of it, but he was right. He couldn't let himself stay in this slump. This depression.
But oh, if only it was so easy to push aside the demons.