The next morning, Remus woke to James observing him from the doorway.
"Mmmmf... What do you want?" he muttered, clutching his head. He had a throbbing headache. Probably because you drank like a fish, last night, he thought to himself, grimacing.
"Brought you a hangover tonic," James said, offering him the vial in his hand.
Remus grabbed at it eagerly, drinking it down with one swig. "Thanks," he croaked, his throat dry. Probably dehydrated. "Water?" he asked, staring at James pleadingly.
James shook his head, laughing. "You're a wizard, Moony," he laughed, grabbing a clean glass off of the bedside table. "Aguamenti," he said clearly, swishing his wand and filling the glass with water. "Here," he said, handing Remus the glass.
"Thanks," Remus replied, greedily sipping at the water. The coolness soothed his throat, and his head started to feel clearer.
"So," James started, taking a seat on the foot of Moony's bed. "How was it?"
"How was what?" Remus asked, frowning.
"The kiss," James prompted, incredulously.
Remus' eyes widened, recalling the events of the prior night. He touched his lips, thinking of Sirius leaning close to him, pressing his lips to his. "It was... Uhhh..." he stammered, nervously.
"Relax. No one else saw. I only saw out of the corner of my eye," James assured him, grinning.
"Come on, Moony! Did Siri give you a right proper snog?" James asked, persistent.
"It was nice... Unexpected, but very nice," Moony affirmed, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
"I knew he fancied blokes!" James announced, grinning triumphantly.
Remus paused, wrinkling his brows in thought. "I dunno... I mean, he was pretty drunk, James. He probably didn't even realize what he was doing... And probably doesn't even remember it, now," he said softly, frowning.
"Come on, Moony. A drunk mind speaks a sober heart," James said brightly, continuing to grin at his friend. "Anyway, my parents prepared brunch. Come on now, downstairs," he continued, motioning for his friend to follow him.
Moony groaned, sitting up in bed. "I feel like I'm going to pass out," he moaned, carefully standing.
"Well come downstairs and have some breakfast. C'mon," he insisted, his impatience apparent.
Remus quickly pulled on a pair of brown cords, as well as a baggy jumper. Reluctantly, he followed James down the stairs to the dining room, where the others were already seated. He gave a nervous glance towards Sirius, who was staring at the spread before him, deep in thought.
"Moony!" Peter said warmly, grinning at his friend.
Sirius glanced up, looking at Remus. He nodded, a tiny smile creeping on his face. Remus breathed a sigh of relief, relaxing. Perhaps all is well, he considered, taking a seat between Lily and Peter. He poured himself a mug of coffee, adding cream and sugar to his liking.
Sirius stared at the spread before him, nervous. His head was pounding, and his stomach ached dully. He had had far too much to drink the night before; even the hangover tonic hadn't done much to improve his condition. Evelyn had made a hasty exit at the very mention of brunch. She had barely given him a kiss goodbye before gathering her handbag and apparating home. He glanced at the pile of crisp, buttery toast, considering. Maybe some toast will settle my stomach, he thought, biting his lip nervously. Shakily, he reached out, grabbing a piece of the toast. He took a bite, his taste buds overwhelmed with the flavor of butter; it had been so, so long since he'd eaten anything that wasn't bland, and the toast tasted so good. He glanced at the table, suddenly ravenous. He took a serving of breakfast potatoes, as well as two pancakes. He took a bite of potato, barely chewing, rather shoveling food into his mouth, and swallowing. He poured syrup over the pancakes, licking his lips in anticipation. He took a bite, enjoying the grit of the sugar in the syrup against his teeth as he chewed. His plate cleared, he grabbed a freshly baked breakfast bun. He took large bites, finishing the bun quickly, washing it down with orange juice. The acidity burnt his throat, but he ignored it, still staring, transfixed on the food before him. He helped himself to a serving of scrambled eggs and bacon, shoveling forkfuls into his mouth, not even registering the taste of anything. At last, he dropped his fork, his stomach full, protesting. His eyes glazed slightly, the manic frenzy of needing to eat replaced by fear and disgust. He stood, ignoring the pointed stares of his friends. "I'm going to take a shower," he muttered, stalking off towards the stairs.
His attempt to walk calmly away lasted until he reached the second step on the stairs, hurtling himself up the rest of the way, slamming the bathroom door shut. He clumsily grabbed his wand out of his pocket, muttering locking and silencing spells, before dropping to his knees. He clutched at his stomach, letting out a moan. He stared down hatefully; his stomach was distended, having eaten more than he had in months. A wave of nausea hit him, and he grabbed at the seat of the toilet, lowering his head and vomiting. He winced, gagging as he regurgitated large chunks of unchewed food, gasping for air. Running a hand across his stomach, he froze, panicked. He still felt the swell of his stomach, fear coursing through his veins. Viciously, he shoved his fingers down his throat, gagging as he retched up the remainder of the contents of his stomach. He continued until he was throwing up only stomach acid, terrified that he hadn't been able to get everything up. Shakily, he rested his head on the toilet seat, his chest tight, heart beating fast, too fast. He pulled himself upright, one hand clutching his chest, the other pinching the bridge of his noes, eyes squeezed shut. He flushed the toilet, grabbing onto the sink counter to keep himself upright. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve, staring into the mirror. His lips were cracked, his skin splotchy, his cheeks puffy, from purging. His eyes were red, he noted. He turned on the water, rinsing his hands, before cupping them, bringing a sip of water to his lips. His throat burned as the water trickled down, bringing painful tears to his eyes. He swallowed, hard. His mouth tasted like vomit, though overpowered by a coppery taste; blood. He took another gulp of water, desperate to rinse the taste of blood from his mouth, to no avail. Sirius turned the tap of the shower on, as hot as it would go. Stripping his clothes, he entered the shower, letting the hot water pour down on him. He carefully lowered himself to the floor, not trusting his legs to support him. He sat under the shower head for some time, dizzy, willing his heart to stop pounding. Once he felt stable enough, he stood, busying himself with shampooing his hair. He rinsed his locks, attempting to detangle it with his fingers. He soaped himself, trying to ignore the burning in his throat. He stood under the shower head for some time, letting the water rinse the soap off of him, feeling too tired to move. He turns his head, a pang of anxiety hitting him, as he hears knocking on the bathroom door.
'Padfoot? You okay?"
Sirius swallowed, willing himself to respond. It was James. "Yeah," he called out, turning the water off, exiting the shower.
He grabbed a towel, wrapping himself with it, his heart still racing. He grabbed at his stomach. It was still aching, the burning sensation still strong as before. Hands shaking, he unlocked the door, opening it just a crack.
"Are you okay?" James asked, a concerned look on his face.
"Yeah," Sirius replied, nodding.
"Bad hangover?"
"Yeah," Sirius agreed. "I'm going back to bed."
"The lads and I were thinking of heading to Diagon Alley today... We could postpone it until you're feeling better," James offered.
"Nah. You go ahead. I think I need to just sleep this off," Sirius replied, offering James a pained smile.
"Alright. We'll see you later, then," James replied, turning and heading downstairs.
Sirius breathed a sigh of relief, dragging himself back to his bedroom. He pulled on a pair of pajama bottoms, tossing his still damp towel towards the corner of the room. He climbed back into bed, nestling himself under the covers. He clutched at his stomach, the burning feeling unbearable. At least my heart stopped beating so fast, he thought to himself. Thank god for small miracles. He tossed and turned, struggling to get comfortable. His legs cramped, from dehydration. His stomach continued to ache, leaving him clutching at his middle, teeth gritted, barely able to stand the pain. At last, he drifted off into a fitful slumber.
Sirius slept through the rest of the day, not so much as fluttering his eyes open when James and the others attempted to shake him awake to come down to supper. The next morning, Sirius stirred, feeling feverish. He shakily rose from bed, reaching for his pouch of pills. He dry-swallowed a handful, shaking involuntarily. It's bloody freezing in here, he thought dully, rubbing his arms for warmth. He glanced at his watch, lying on his bedside table; 5AM. Shrugging, Sirius decided to take a shower, to warm up. He entered the bathroom, glancing at his reflection in the mirror. He instinctively touched his stomach, following his daily routine of body-checking. His stomach was flat as ever, to his relief. He grabbed at his hipbones, closing his eyes and breathing calmly;he found this start to his day to be completely relaxing, assuring himself that he hadn't somehow gained twenty pounds overnight. He glanced at the bathroom scale, nervously. Before he had left Grimmauld Place, Sirius had been something of a slave to his bathroom scale. During summer holidays, he'd weigh himself compulsively, sometimes fix or six times a day. Unable to resist the temptation, he stepped on, staring down at the flickering numbers anxiously. 6st 9. Sirius grinned, triumphant. He turned on the shower, waiting for the water to warm up before stepping in. He stood still for several moments, focusing on breathing an letting the water bring up his core temperature. He washed his hair, massaging his scalp, in an attempt to ward off the aching in his head. I feel dreadful, he thought to himself, groaning. He shook his head, rinsing the shampoo from out of his hair, detangling knots with his fingers. He felt a rush of dizziness, shooting his arm out to lean against the wall, holding himself upright. "Fuck," he mumbled, his vision blurred, the now-familiar black spots and sparkliness obscuring his sight. He squeezed his eyes shut, breathing deeply through his nose, willing the dizzy spell to pass. With his free hand, he grabbed at his side, feeling his rib cage, tracing the bones, beginning to become quite prominent, he noted. I'm fine, he assured himself, lightly stroking his bottom right rib. He inhaled slightly, grabbing at his lower rib; he was able to curl his fingers so that he was clutching the bottom row in his hand, his stomach beginning to concave. He found this reassuring, somehow. "I feel fine," he told himself, aloud, again. "I'm fine."