A/N: This is the second part of a festive fanfiction challenge I set myself: '5 Gold Rings' – 5 Christmas proposals in different fandoms.
Trigger Warning: Explicit description of self-harm
Alcohol abuse and mentions of smoking
Implied torture
References to psychological abuse/torture
5 Gold Rings
Part 2 – Firewhiskey
Remus paused in the doorway – transfixed by the scene before him and unwilling to tarnish the moment. Harry was lying curled on the decaying black velvet sofa, his head in Sirius' lap and his hand trailing on the floor. The tableau should have been familiar – reminiscent of the many occasions he had seen James lounging lazily in a similar position, lolling and posing in his exhaustion after a successful Quidditch match, or passed out drunk after an especially raucous party – but, asleep, Harry's resemblance to his father wasn't nearly so striking; James had never looked as vulnerable as Harry did in that moment – perpetually messy hair more rumpled than ever, his pale face screwed up in distress, peace alluding him even in sleep, his frame impossibly small for a fifteen year old. Nestled in his godfather's arms he could have been Sirius' son – as far as Remus was concerned, for all intents and purposes, he was. That too should have been something he'd seen before: Harry and Sirius relaxing together – just spending time together in relatively normal circumstances; but in fact it was bitterly unfamiliar - an aching, unfair fraction of what should have been – tantalising Remus with the hopeless longing of 'what ifs' and 'if only'…
Sirius was staring at the teenager's face – heartbroken love etched in every line of his beautiful, haggard visage – his forehead creased in sympathetic concern at the symptoms of anguish Harry could not conceal while unconscious. He tentatively but tenderly stroked an unruly strand of black hair away from his godson's screwed up brow so that the angry mark of all that they three, more than anyone else, had lost that Halloween night stood out lividly against his pallid complexion. Remus' throat tightened at the display of affection. This was a tiny taste of the life that had been meant for them – the two people he loved most in the world…
He must have made a sound because Sirius' head suddenly jerked up – his whole body tensing at the preliminary observation of a figure in the doorway (Harry stirred sleepily but did not wake) before relaxing when he realised who it was. He beckoned Remus over soundlessly and Remus came – perching on the precarious arm of the sofa to avoid disturbing the sleeping child that separated him from the other Marauder.
"What happened?" he mouthed questioningly – pointing unnecessarily at Harry (it wasn't as if he could be referring to anything else happening, not when his friend was stuck in this hellhole 24/7).
"He came downstairs in search of solitude, I think." Sirius looked sadly down at the fitfully dozing form on his lap and spoke in an exaggeratedly soft voice – clearly desperate not to disturb his much needed and long overdue rest. "I suppose he thought it would be deserted down here at two in the morning but I'm a regular visitor" his mouth – which Remus had not felt on his own in too long – twisted bitterly "Apparently I'm not the only one who gets nightmares."
Remus wasn't sure how to respond. He had suspected that his friend (although the word didn't seem to do even partial justice to what Sirius was – or at least, had been - to him) wasn't sleeping properly – had even intercepted his night-time wanderings on occasion, but he didn't presume to be able to comprehend the half of the horrors that must haunt him. Horrors some of which could have been prevented if only Remus hadn't allowed himself to be taken advantage of in his initial raw grief and convinced of the lie, made to doubt his instincts when he should have trusted them, as he should have trusted the wreck of a man now sitting before him – valiantly doing his level best to hold the shards of a young life (destroyed by his very absence from it) together, when he was struggling to battle his own demons in a place that exacerbated everything with the spectre of his childhood it cast over the more recent suffering… No. He could not go down this road again – he had trudged down it so many times before – searching for that crucial turning point, the one thing he would take back if he could redo their life, the wrong turn he had taken somewhere along the way, misjudging an apparently innocuous fork in the path…No.
What he still didn't understand was how Sirius and Harry had ended up at this intimate point of comfort and reassurance. He'd taught Harry for a year and every lesson, every extra session or conversation had been an uphill struggle to build Harry's confidence in him and gain his wary trust. He had certainly never been able to hug him – no matter how much he ached to hold the overwhelmed, determined little boy, who looked at him out of cautious green eyes swimming with the echoes of Lily and James, as he had once cuddled a squirming baby – Harry seemed to have an aversion to physical contact. Yet, having only met Sirius a handful of times, he seemed totally at ease in his arms and, despite his obviously disturbed sleep, Remus had never seen him so content.
"He trusts you so much Padfoot."
He had not anticipated the reaction his words would garner – had meant them as a reassurance and a compliment – but Sirius was looking at him with slightly wild eyes,
"I know Moony. I can tell. And it scares the hell out of me." His voice was shaky and slightly slurred "I don't want people trusting me – least of all someone as precious and fragile as Harry. I can't be trusted Moony, you of all people should know that…"
Remus felt the words – a reminder of how he had doubted - like a stinging slap though he knew that was not how they had been intended.
"I destroy the people who trust me. Reg trusted me, and Bella, and Lily and James…" his hoarse voice rose slightly hysterically – disregarding the exhausted Harry's sleeping state "You trusted me and I destroyed you –all of you-"
"You haven't destroyed me, Pads."
"Haven't I? Sometimes I wonder…" Sirius sounded grim and his eyes were unfocused – though whether with memories or alcohol, Remus couldn't tell. He reeked of firewhiskey though – it almost masked his Sirius smell. Remus hated it. Sirius only drank heavily when he wasn't around [when he was failing him again; leaving him when he needed him] and yet he couldn't remember an occasion since Regulus' death all those years earlier when there had encountered Sirius and there hadn't been at least a whiff of some dodgy substance about him.
"You're drunk Padfoot."
"You're not still on at me about that are you Moons?" he replied– his tone a little less cracking under the weight of his memories and guilt, more irritably amused. "You should know by now surely, that I'm not going to stop."
"You stopped smoking." Remus pointed out reasonably.
"I had thirteen years of going cold turkey in Azkaban to break me of my nicotine addiction. I'd probably have started up again when I broke out but I was skint and, besides, I could hardly just walk into a corner shop and ask for a packet could I? Even the muggles were looking for me. I know you won't buy them for me so I'm stuck raiding my father's supply of overpriced firewhiskey. At least it's proven good for something other than showing off his ill-gotten wealth and fuelling his rage…"
"But why do any of it Padfoot – the smoking? The drinking? You'll only make yourself ill."
"Because nicotine or alcohol in my veins seems a better way to go than letting the memories kill me slowly. The drugs are a fair price to pay to forget… for a few minutes of reprieve from the loop in my head that I can't shut up. The drinking mutes the memories Azkaban turned on, and eventually it will provide the off-switch." He spoke matter-of-factly – which only made it hurt more.
There was nothing Remus could say to that. Who was he to deny Sirius his coping mechanism when it was his fault he needed one in the first place? He knew, really, that it wasn't strictly true that it was his fault – Sirius had been using firewhiskey as a coping mechanism since long before Azkaban, way back to that night on the roof – but it didn't make him any less inclined to blame himself. He was so much at fault – what difference did one other crime added to the list make? Besides, it was better for Sirius to be poisoning himself slowly with ethanol than to be using his other method of choice for dealing with the memories: Remus wasn't sure he would ever get the sight of Sirius – unconscious from blood loss – blade (one of Bella's, he'd told Remus later, from when she was younger) still hanging from his limp hand, having cut himself deeper than he meant to (at least, Remus hoped he didn't mean to – couldn't think about the possibility that it wasn't an accident – that the man who held on through 13 years in Azkaban – clinging to sanity and life by a thread in hell-on-earth – could be finished by being forced to remain in that devil forsaken house)…blood staining the grey carpet – barely distinguishable from the other, older blood stains, that Remus couldn't bear to admit probably originated from the same person – and his sleeve, which, when pulled back, revealed a gory cross-hatch of cuts – some scars [that Remus pretended he couldn't guess came from summer holidays they never fully comprehended the reality of until it was too late], others half-healed thin red lines, one jagged one (he slipped, he didn't dig in – that's what Remus told himself) that dripped blood down his shockingly white wrist; all of them self-inflicted (clumsily done at first – using the wrong hand – neater as he became more skilled with practise) all of them defacing the ugly scar he'd always insisted didn't bother him: 'blood traitor' – etched into his arm like the slur that it was … but he'd worn it as a badge of honour…
Shaking himself from the darkness (it was Sirius who had the right to succumb, Sirius they had to ease back from the brink, not him), Remus had an idea. It was a risk – he knew it – but Sirius always did like risks.
"How about you let me be your firewhiskey for tonight?"
Sirius looked at him questioningly – bemused and perplexed – but before he could ask the question forming on his lips, Remus leaned in and kissed them – careful not to jar Harry.
Sirius responded with a ferocity Remus had not dared anticipate before pulling away, gasping and wide-eyed.
"Moony, Harry's right here!" he muttered weakly.
But Remus was having none of that. Sirius was a perfect surrogate parent but that didn't mean he got to pretend to be a responsible one – it didn't suit him (or Remus' intentions) at all.
"You never used to mind when we were babysitting."
"Harry didn't understand what was going on! I am not making out with you – however much I want to-"
"You want to?-"
"-when my teenage godson is on my lap!"
"Pads, he's asleep!"
"He's going to wake up if we carry on like this…" but Sirius' murmured retort was lost as he leaned into Remus' kiss. It seemed to last for an eternity but all too soon he pulled back again – colour high in his pale cheeks and his eyes bright with all the good memories literal firewhiskey couldn't bring.
"Yes I will let you be my firewhiskey-Remus! Stop trying to kiss me and listen!"
Suitably abashed, Remus sat on the floor so that he wasn't squashing Harry.
"I will let you be my firewhiskey but I don't just want it tonight. I'm an addict, Moony. If you want to be my alcohol you need to be that all the time.
"What are you-"
"I want to be with you Moony, forever – or for as long as our forever lasts."
"You are with me Pads."
"No, I mean – " He scrubbed a hand across his face in frustration, the other one still caressing Harry's forehead softly – gently smoothing out the anxious creases. "I'm trying to sound romantic but it just means I'm not saying it right." He took a deep breath. "Remus Lupin, will you marry me?"
Remus' mouth dropped open and Sirius rushed on.
"We talked about it once. On a roof. I don't know if you remember?"
"How could I forget?" asked the shell-shocked Remus
"It was your idea then and I just thought…I know it can never be proper or legal but just for us it would be real and…"He stumbled on, getting all tangled up in his words, his insecurities showing through and still Remus couldn't speak. "I know you'll say your dangerous, like you did then, but you're not dangerous to me and even if you were, I wouldn't care. You know I love danger..."
Remus' answering laugh was a little wild.
"I'm damaged – maybe beyond repair – but I think you're a bit damaged too. We're broken and we're missing parts but maybe together we've got all the bits to make a whole and I think it might be our one chance of happiness…and I'm rambling so I'll stop now." There was very long pause and the Sirius said in a very strained voice "It would be great if you spoke now."
"Yes." Remus breathed "Yes of course I'll marry you Sirius."
Sirius whooped and then clapped a hand over his mouth, glancing down at Harry who stirred groggily.
"Whasamatter?" the boy in question asked vaguely – eyes screwed up blearily – vision shot so that everything was just a sleep-deprived blur (Sirius had removed his glasses for safe-keeping – there were only so many reparo charms any one pair could take – as James had discovered to his cost and, the admittedly somewhat drunk, Sirius' hilarity).
"Nothing kiddo," Sirius reassured him "Padfoot just got engaged to Uncle Moony, that's all.
"Oh," said Harry sleepily, already dropping off again "that's good."
"Well," laughed Sirius "we've got familial approval and he's the only person I want at the wedding anyway, so…"
"Is this really happening?" Remus asked, still in a daze.
"Think so," Sirius replied gravely "Although I'm probably not the best person to do a reality check with. I would produce a ring to reassure you but I haven't been allowed to leave the house…I debated using dear old mum's, just to piss her off, but it was so hideous it wasn't worth it. Besides, we don't want a Black ring – I'm going to become a Lupin after all."
Remus kissed him. Hard. Hands tugging gently on Sirius' hair he breathed softly against his neck "You're wrong about one thing though, you can't only invite Harry."
"But we don't want-"
"You have to let Tonks come too. She'd never forgive us if she didn't get to be bridesmaid – it gives her a perfect excuse to have 'gay pride' hair."
"But which one of us is the bride?" Sirius asked and burst out laughing. Remus collapsed back onto the floor as he began to convulse with helpless laughter too. It was lucky that Harry was so deeply asleep their joy didn't wake him because, having gently relocated him onto another sofa, the two Marauders soon engaged in activities far less innocent than laughing and which no child wishes to witness his parents taking part in.