"Here's to you." Remus solemnly lifted his glass and then brought it to his lips, downing the amber liquid in one gulp. He blinked back the bitter taste and set the glass, his fifth, down a little too sharply on the table. He would like you to know that this is not a regular occurrence; he had certainly not been drinking this regularly since the first war. Yet then again the death of your best friend is not a regular occurrence.
"Sirius." Remus mulled the word over wondering at the different meaning that it took on now that Sirius was dead. At this particular moment in time it no longer reminded him of the good times, of those years spent at Hogwarts and some of those spent more recently. He neglected to remember the years in the interim, where he had suspected Sirius of betraying James and Lily, of causing their deaths. And now he was dead. Remus felt like the last Marauder standing and in a way he was, Peter had left their ranks back on that fateful Hallow's Eve, perhaps even before that.
So now, he was reduced to this, drinking in Sirius' memory and he supposed in James and Lily's too, but he'd done his grieving for them years previously. Sirius would have liked this, seeing him drunk and dishevelled in his dirty bedroom. He would have laughed at him and made a comment about how the Prefect had fallen. Remus would have smiled and taken it, just as he always did. Sirius could do no wrong, did not wrong. Well, he did, didn't he? He died. That was wrong, leaving Remus alone now, in this rotting, menacing tomb.
Remus had not managed to remove himself from Grimmauld Place. He couldn't. The house did not belong to him, Sirius had of course left it to Harry and at this thought a slight sting of jealousy bit into his stomach, but of course Sirius had. He had loved the boy, loved him like he had loved James. Remus could not count the times that he had scolded Sirius and reminded him that Harry was not James, as he was sure that countless others had in those precious post-Azkaban years. But of course, that did not change anything. He had not made the most of Sirius when he was alive and certainly could not now that he was dead.
He was sure that Sirius would not come back as a ghost, not when presented with the opportunity to spend an eternity with James. He had spent most of his living days almost as a ghost as it was, trapped and unfulfilled. Remus knew that Sirius would not torture himself with yet another eternity alone, with only his mother's portrait to comfort him. No, he would move on, as Remus himself must do. But it was hard, there was so much that he had wanted to say to him and now could not. There was no point in rushing to meet Sirius again, to tell him these things, after all, everyone died eventually and with the second war gaining momentum, Remus was sure that it wouldn't be long. Not that he had long to afford to morbid thoughts.
He solemnly raised his glass again, although this time without any amber liquid and placed it back on the table in a silent, and sober, toast to his lost friend. Not long now, he thought. Not long now.