"No way. No fucking way am I going in there."
"Sirius," Nora moans, rolling her eyes as if I'm being ridiculous.
"No," I say firmly, "lacking in morals though I may be, I'm not drinking alcohol in a graveyard."
She'd dragged me back to Nick's house, where I'd waited outside for about thirty seconds while Nora retrieved a brown paper bag and a backpack. Then we'd walked a couple blocks more, heading towards some place she refused to tell me. Now I understand her reluctance.
"What's the issue? The principle of it? Or," she leans closer to me, an impish smirk flickering on her lips, "are you scared of the dead?"
I bite my tongue because, Gryffindor though I may be, getting drunk on top of someone's corpse admittedly creeps me out. But there's no way in hell I'm telling Nora that.
"Whatever," I exhale, "lead the way, love."
She cackles at my reluctance, though she still leads me through the graveyard gate.
"There aren't ghosts here, anyways," she explains while walking, "they seem to avoid Muggle graveyards for the most part. And, here, we won't run into issues with either the police or our parents," she slows her pace slightly, "your parents do know you'll be out all night, don't they?"
"No," I say, "but I doubt they'll care. And even if they do, I don't."
"That's the spirit," she comes to a full stop now. We're situated deeply enough in the graveyard that we can no longer be seen from the street. The majority of graves seem to be rather old, and the majority of trees seem about two days away from their death. She slides her backpack onto the sparse grass, placing the paper bag down more gently. After unzipping her backpack, she pulls out a quilt and spreads it neatly on the ground.
"Take a seat," she gestures to the ragged blanket. I plop onto the ground, and Nora quickly follows suit. She rummages around in her backpack again before pulling out a glass that couldn't hold any more than a gulp of liquid. After tossing that between us, she reaches for the brown paper bag.
"I'll warn you now, this is going to be revolting," the bag crinkles loudly, and she pulls out a rather large glass bottle.
"Raspberry Smirnoff," she announces like that means something to me
"I've got no clue what that means," I respond.
"Well, you're going to find out," twisting the cap off, she picks the miniscule glass back up and cautiously pours liquid in. She then hands the glass to me, saying, "Don't let it sit on your tongue."
Without a hint of caution, I shoot the liquid into my mouth. When the alcohol hits my throat my stomach flips so hard I nearly spit it back out.
"Jesus Christ!" I cough, "What the fuck are you feeding me, woman?"
She doesn't respond, as she's taking a draught straight from the bottle. She grimaces, though by the time she pulls the bottle from her lips she's smirking again.
"Keep going," she hands the bottle back to me, "it's worth it, I promise."
With barely a shrug, I take the glass from her hand and pour myself another shot of it. When I anticipate the sting I'm better able to prevent it. By the time I'm taking my third, I barely taste it.
"Careful there," she grabs the bottle from my hand, "as this is your first time, it probably won't take you much to get drunk. And if you drink it all too fast you'll just pass out."
"Whatever you say," I lean back, resting my head on the top of the quilt. I still don't feel any different, but I'll trust Nora's judgment on this matter. "Where do your parents think you are right now?"
"Sleeping at Nick's," she takes another gulp of booze, before continuing, "they trust him, and he'll cover for me."
"Hmm," I gesture towards the bottle, and she hands it to me. After taking another, smaller drink, I ask, "So if he owns a house, and he's totally cool with this, why aren't we getting drunk there?"
"He's an annoying drunk," she shrugs, "I don't want to deal with that."
"Ouch," I whistle, "I hope that's not the reason you gave him?"
"'Course not. I told him we were going to shag."
"No fucking way- holy shit."
In my excitement, I'd sat up a little bit faster than I'd anticipated. The world around me is now spinning, hazy and bright.
"This is fucking weird," I murmur. My head feels like lead on my neck. Nora's grinning face is beginning to blur.
"I'm assuming it's hitting you then?" she asks. I laugh at the question.
"If not, you should probably be taking me to a hospital. This is not normal," I move my head, looking around the graveyard. Everything's moving so much more slowly than usual. Beeping, shouting – sounds that I typically barely notice - seem to have been amplified, blaring in my eardrum. My brain's getting woozy from the overload.
"I'm not sure this was a good idea," I say.
"Trust me," she takes another huge gulp from the bottle, before capping it and setting it to the side. "It was a phenomenal idea."
We lie quietly, side by side, enjoying the effects of alcohol and each other's company. It's late enough now that most of the air has cooled down. Though it's still humid as hell, it's at least not sweltering to boot. Despite my early misgivings I've become rather comfortable in the graveyard.
"How'd you ever figure that this would be a good place to get drunk?" I ask, lolling my head towards Nora. She doesn't turn to face me, instead looking at the sky above us. I look up as well, so I can take in the same sights. The smoggy air spurs a rather painful longing for Hogwarts' clear skies.
"I used to come here a lot," her voice is higher than usual – whether or not this is due to the alcohol, I couldn't say. "This is where they buried my mom, of course."
"Oh, of course," I jerk my eyes from the stars and almost jump upright, exclaiming, "what?"
She chews her lip, still avoiding eye contact. "Yeah. I could have lead with that, I guess."
"Where is she?" I take a more careful look at the tombstones, searching for a fresher grave. "Wait, you'll get to that. Continue your story."
"Whatever," she rolls her eyes. "I visited my mom a lot, the first few years after. Just because I missed her and all. My first foster home was really good – my favorite so far. But my foster mom got pregnant, and they couldn't afford to keep me around. My second home was," she exhales slowly, and her eyes gloss, "less good. I spent a lot of nights out here – just to get away from it all, you know?" I nod, "Eventually my social worker moved me. But during that time I realized I could do pretty much anything out here without getting caught."
It's only after she's ceased talking that she seems to realize the amount of personal information she's divulged. Lethargically, she pulls herself up. Even through my own haze, I can tell she's wobbling.
"That's heavy shit, man," I make an attempt at sympathy. She cackles at the effort.
A huge grin spreads across her face, though she tries to hide it, and through giggles she stammers, "Yeah, real heavy. Now that you mention it I can barely lift it."
I glare at her for three, maybe four seconds before we both burst into hysterics.
"That was, by far, the stupidest thing that's ever come out of your mouth," I say.
"Oh fuck off! Do you even listen to yourself talk?" she says, "You spew that kind of shit at least three times a day."
"Hey!" I exclaim, grinning ear to ear, "I think that means I'm rubbing off on you!"
She groans, flopping back onto the blanket, "Don't say that!"
"Who knows," I lean over her, still beaming, "maybe you'll end up getting pretty like me as well."
"No way," she rolls over to face me. She reaches her hand out and touches my face, saying, "You're way too pretty!"
I choke back a laugh, replying, "Oh really? You think I'm pretty?"'
"Shut up!" she yells. She throws her arms over her face, though I see a blush creep over her cheeks anyways. She mumbles, "You know what I mean!"
"Quite to the contrary, actually," I sigh dramatically, "if you could make me a list, darling, of all the things which contribute to this beauty you speak of-"
At this point Nora reaches out and smacks me, rather sloppily, on my nose.
"You talk," she exhales, "so much."
"Defense mechanism," I admit. "You said something that could've very nearly been uncomfortable, but my big mouth went right along and fixed it."
"Well, now I'm uncomfortable," she grumbles.
"I was aiming to do that, as well."
She glares at me, but her look quickly softens. With a look not quite melancholy, but not neutral either, she asks, "What's it like, to be pretty?"
I gape at her for a moment, pulling myself enough together to ask, "Do you think you're not?"
"That's not the question," her eyes slide away from mine, focusing on my neck, "I'm not as pretty as you are. People don't go out of their way to look at me, like they do you."
It strikes me now, that I find Nora to be very pretty indeed. I'm overcome with an urge to convey this to her, but my stomach ties into knots at the thought so I save it for another time – perhaps when I'm drunker.
I roll over, forcing her to meet my gaze. It's with a slight smirk I reply, "You know, as flattering as this is, a guy doesn't exactly fancy being called pretty."
She lowers her head entirely, mumbling, "Shut up. You know what I mean – it's easier to say pretty than anything else."
I blink, surprised. "No, actually. I'm not sure what you're trying to get at."
She chances a glance up, to discern whether or not I'm joking. When she finds my expression to be serious her eyes kind of widen. Tentatively, she says, "Well, you know. You're kind of - handsome, and what not."
I can smell the alcohol on her breath and I realized we've inched very close, aching to hear things more easily said in whispers. In the quiet, I can hear her slightest breath, can feel the soft heat radiating from her body. She stares at me with piercing blue eyes and I'm reminded of the first time I ever really encountered Nora Dotum.
"You?" I chuckle breathily, attempting to laugh away the lump in my throat, "You think I'm handsome?"
"Sure I do," she rolls her eyes, "how could I not?"
"I don't know," I exhale. It's something I've heard my whole life, that I'm good looking. But I guess it'd never clicked for me that Nora looked at people that way too.
"It never really occurred to me that you, you know, check people out."
She chuckles at this, "What, you think I'm an alien or something?"
"Alien?" I raise an eyebrow.
"Oh Christ. Wizards are so uncultured."
"There's no way you're going to explain what that means," I mutter.
She shakes her head, lazily, and lulls, "No way, Jose."
Without a retort, I reach over Nora and pick up the bottle. I'm shocked to find it nearly half empty – last time I held it, it was still nearly three quarters full. Nora can seriously drink.
I take a gulp – by now my senses are dull enough I don't notice the burn – before replacing the lid and tossing it back to her. Nora's returned to staring at the sky.
"The stars are ugly here," I murmur, following her gaze.
"That they are," she replies.
"There aren't even any stars," gesturing upwards, a little angrily, I say, "there's just a bunch of Muggle pollution. Trust them – Muggles, I mean – to fuck things up."
Without looking from the sky, she tosses her hand over top of my mouth.
"Sirius," she murmurs, "you talk too much. If you just shut up for just half a second, you'll appreciate the view."
I take her advice, looking intently above me. And, slowly but surely, the cloudy air does manage to soothe me. Things that annoyed me previously – the slightly too warm air, the grass poking through the blanket – all sink soothingly into my bones.
But tranquility gets boring pretty fast. Childishly, I lick Nora's hand. She shoots her fingers off my face, jumping upwards with a little shriek.
"What the fuck?" she exclaims. I shrug in return.
"You're seriously fucked up," she mutters, lying cautiously back on the ground. I'm unfazed.
"You should know better than to get handsy with me, love," I say.
"I'm seriously going to punch you someday," she replies. I groan, because I know she doesn't mean it, and I've heard this threat a thousand times before.
The graveyard goes silent once more. My head feels like lead, and my eyelids are beginning to heavy. I keep them open for Nora's sake – god forbid I fall asleep before she does – and attempt to find something to concentrate on. Against my will, my eyes keep falling on her face.
"Take a picture," she lulls, "it'll last longer."
And I know she doesn't actually think I'm checking her out, and really, I'm not. But I feel drawn to the freckles on her skin, the wrinkles in her tank top and the haze in her eyes.
"No need to be a dick," I reply, "I'm just drunk."
"Are you though?"
I move my head, observing my spiraling surroundings.
"Yeah," I say, "I'm pretty drunk."
"Good," she turns to me, lying entirely on her side, "that means I've achieved my goal."
An evil, evil notion occurs to me, and with a slowly growing smirk I say, "You want a prize?"
Contempt drops from her face, and she warily nudges herself backwards.
"What're you thinking, Black?"
I dart my hand behind Nora, grabbing the bottle and popping the cap off. I see realization strike fear into her eyes, but she's just a second too late. By the time she's sitting upright I've already dumped vodka all over her head.
"What the fuck!" she exclaims while I roar with laughter. I didn't pour much – there's still a healthy amount of liquid in the bottle – but her hair's dripping wet, and bound to reek for days.
"You are an absolute child," she sits back down with an almost pouty expression.
"Did you expect anything more?"
After a moment, she sighs, "No. I guess I didn't."
I watch her, soggy and sniffing, until she mutters, "I'm freezing now, I hope you know."
I shrug, "Is that my problem?"
She rests her head on my chest, and my heart kicks.
"Now it is," she grumbles, vibrating my chest with the motion of her jaw. While I can feel liquid seeping into my shirt, I'm not about to tell her to move.
"Glad I could be of use," I say. The statement was supposed to be bitter, but with her head weighing down my lungs the words sound strained.
"You should be," she mumbles.
"You're gonna have to return the favor one day, mark my words. And I'm certain your chest will be MUCH more comfortable."
I expect a response – rage, or scathing sarcasm, or something – so when Nora doesn't answer I look down in alarm. I can't see her face over her mess of dark hair, but if I push my head up I can see her eyes are closed.
"I'll lord this one over you for years," I say quietly. I've never seen Nora sleep before; I'm almost astonished that she's capable of it. But I can sympathize with her lethargy. My eyes are heavy as well. I put my arms around her, snuggling close for warmth, and close my eyes wondering, all things considered, who gets to tease who for this in the morning.