Empty Chairs
Freedom had bewitched Sirius: a familiar grin on a strange face. Let's go…! Come on, Moony…! Like old times…? Remus shook his head. Old, silly amusements. The antics of children.
Sirius began to speak—
There was a gap their mouths couldn't get around. It was called James. And then there was a stare. Desperate. Deprived. It was called Azkaban. Remus knew nothing of prison. He was however, far too well-acquainted with surrender.
They slurped fire-whiskey till their heads throbbed. They flicked their wands, muttering wingardium leviosa to lift the skirts of outraged girls. They smirked at Veela-porn. They snatched a pair of brooms and shot into the sky, howling at the top of their lungs like wild beasts, then cackled at the irony.
And once adult logic and cynicism had gotten the better of a flustered Remus, they trudged back to the Hog's Head and slumped down at the bar. There was a long, dragged-out stillness. And too many empty chairs.
"We're the last ones, Moony," Sirius breathed.