Title: Sip

Rating: PG13

Pairing: Remus/Sirius

Warning: angst galore.

Summery: Remus needs a few sips.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, because if I did book five would have ended very differently, nor am I making any money off my writings.

Sip

One sip of Firewhisky.

Never really cared much for this drink myself; it always was suited more to your tastes. I suppose that could be why I'm drinking it. Classic transference, Tonks would say if she was in, but she's not. I think she's working late again, with Kingsley.

Normally I'd relish the solitude tonight brings me. What with you prancing around, making a ruckus out of nothing, trying to aggravate me as much as possible.

But now I just feel alone and very lonely.

That won't last long of course. The Weasleys will be here soon most likely, for now school is out and break has started. They'll be joined by Hermione and Harry, as well, and I would put money on Ms. Lovegood and Mr. Longbottom showing up. Or I would if I had any money to bet with.

We'll all have to be on our best behavior for Harry's sake. I can already hear Albus's speech, telling us to support the boy and let him react in whatever way he needs. I'll have to play the responsible teacher, the shoulder to cry on.

Guess I don't have long to relax then. I might as well make the most of the fleeting moments I have to rest.

A half a bottle of Firewhisky.

You never did like this old house. I never minded it really, until now. You said it was empty and too large, like it could drown you in one wave. I rather liked it, but now I'm starting to see your point. It really is much too big for only one person. Wasn't too bad when you were here, of course. The noise you make could pass for that of twenty people. It was never lonely with you, Sirius.

I think your family must have thrown parties here, when you were younger and they were at the top of the high society latter. You were probably forced to attend. I can picture your bored face, trying to act politely interested, whenever your parents would come into sight.

I suppose that's why you were never much of a partier, which surprises most people. Popular, attractive Sirius Black, who ran Hogwarts' social scene in his days, never went to the parties.

You attended occasionally, but only for things that were important, birthdays or graduation. But when the summer rolled along and the latest house party was all abuzz, you never went. You told me you'd rather spend time with me.

I was so stupid for believing you. I was even more stupid for falling for you.

Two bottles of Firewhisky.

I never should have kissed you. It could have ruined our friendship. It could have made me a laughingstock. But I kissed you anyway, and even to this day I blame it on the alcohol.

At sixteen, I could never hold much; nothing's really changed. That's why I did it; that's why I leaned over as he helped me up the stairs to our dormitory, stumbling and falling. That's why I pressed my lips against yours, letting out all the feelings I'd been harboring since second year.

You didn't kiss me back. And we didn't have passionate sex in my bed. You didn't take my virginity and declare you loved me. None of those things happened, none of them came close to happening.

Nor did you pull away, disgusted. Or push me down the stairs and call me nasty names. You didn't spread rumors about me the next day, you didn't even tell James. You just let me kiss you, and pull away, embarrassed, and helped me up the rest of the stairs and into my bed.

I never tried anything again, of course. I'm not that thick.

Not that I didn't think about it. I used to imagine that it was just because you didn't want to take advantage of me when I was drunk. I would pretend that the next day, when I was perfectly fine, minus one bad headache, you would come and whisk me to your bed and everything would end as I planned.

The next day you flirted with Alice at breakfast, missed herbology because Bridget had a promising offer you couldn't turn down, and came to bed late after a date with a Ravenclaw girl.

Two and a half bottles of Firewhisky.

You've done plenty of stupid things before, but this stunt has taken the cake. You should have stayed at Grimmauld place, you should have waited for Dumbledore to come back and explain things more thoroughly, you should have known more about the situation before jumping in and taking action.

You should have done a lot of things in your life, but you never really bothered. You were a thirty-seven year man with the intelligence and ideals of a twenty-one year old. I shouldn't have thought you'd have actually listened to any of us.

Sometimes I wish you'd just stayed and rotted in Azkaban. If you had, I could still be teaching at Hogwarts, instead of sitting alone, utterly depressed, drinking in front of a fire, wishing you'd never existed.

Three bottles of Firewhisky.

I doubt Harry will ever fully get over this. Few people fully get over you. The boy has enough problems to deal with in his young life. He doesn't have time to mourn for a dead godfather.

You did love him though. More than I'd ever seen you love anyone else. No, not more than James. No one, including dear Harry could ever replace him in your heart, but he came close.

I think that's why you weren't fond of Lily; she took your James away.

I was always a little jealous of him at school. He was the one you sat next to in all your classes. It was James who you whispered with and laughed with. It was James who had the other mirror in your set, not me.

But all that aside, you did love Harry. You loved him very much.

I couldn't see you as much of a father, but you may have been good for the boy. He has much too many serious things to deal with. You could have cheered him up a little, if you hadn't been locked in a place you hated and you hadn't felt like a prisoner again.

Four bottles of Firewhisky.

The floor topples and swerves as I stand. I fall clumsily to my hands and knees before pulling myself back to my feet.

I stagger from the parlor, tripping over a partially upturned rug, managing to catch myself on the wall.

The stairs don't seem so steady as I climb them. And I wonder if you were alive, would you be helping me, like you'd done when we were sixteen. But then again, I suppose if you were alive I wouldn't be drunk, and therefore wouldn't need helping. But I still smile, wondering whether you'd tuck me safe into bed and put a hangover potion on my nightstand like so many years ago.

I wouldn't trust myself. I'd probably try and kiss you again. I'm not sure how you'd respond this time. It's not at though you were the swinging bachelor anymore, with armfuls of women clinging to you.

Perhaps you would have kissed me back, maybe just a little. I might have had to ply you with some liquor first. But then again, you could always hold that stunningly well.

Maybe you'd have done the same thing as before, let me make a fool of myself and never speak of it again. Most likely the result, is my guess.

I suppose I'll never know. I stumble into my bed, fully clothed, as I pull the sheets over me and close my eyes. Ah, Sirius, look what you've driven me to again.

Fin