Lord of the Guys: The Eighth Installment
James Potter and Sirius Black both possessed a certain, innate skill, in that wherever they were, and no matter how desperate the situation seemed, they were always able to procure alcohol.
James could remember with nostalgic fondness the first time he had been pissed. He was at the tender age of nine at the time, and it was one of those balmy, warm summer afternoons that 'Kiss the cook' aprons and barbeque grills were created for. Nine year-old James swung his bare legs over the edge of the porch, hungrily watching the hunks of meat rotate themselves slowly over the coals. Between bouts of frenetic, impatient kicking and blowing on a long blade of grass for amusement, James suddenly noticed that Uncle Richard had abandoned his third glass of Pimms on the veranda. James had been told firmly that he wasn't allowed any; he had to make do with orange squash until he was older. This might have worked, had James been of a patient disposition, but in his opinion, waiting to get 'older' meant waiting forever. A quick glance at the lawn confirmed that Mum was occupied elsewhere – Uncle Richard had complimented her on her blue sundress, and then Daddy had pretended to get cross and challenged him to a duel, and now all the grown-ups were laughing and shouting and loosening their collars and being quite immature, really.
James downed a gulp of the cool, forbidden liquid and grimaced. It had looked all right, with little wodges of vaguely exotic fruit sticking out of it at random angles, but the aftertaste was all wrong, too bitter, unlike anything else he had tasted before. James knew how to rectify that little dilemma. He promptly padded to the kitchen, made cool and airy by the open windows, and emptied half a bag of sugar into the glass. He then drank it all in one go, spooning the remainder out with his fingers, where the sugar hadn't quite dissolved. It tasted much better that way. A few minutes later, on a whim, he'd added sugar to the main pitcher of Pimms, too.
"Stop laughing," Mum said angrily. The 'duel' had resulted in Daddy tripping over the battered Quaffle 'someone' had left lying in the long grass. He'd sprained his wrist, but despite there being several Healers present, Daddy had decided the best cure for it would be a good long drink and a sulk. Thanks to James's intervention, the sulk was well underway, but the drink had to be postponed, due to the 300g or so of caster sugar that was currently soaking in it. Mum was really very cross. Her nice blue dress had grass stains on it and all the hair was coming messily out of her chignon. "James, stop laughing at once."
"I can't," James said beatifically. He wobbled over to the throng of disapproving adults and smiled up at them placidly. "It's wonderful." Uncle Richard bent down and placed his hands on each of James's shoulders seriously. It looked as if he was trying to dance with him. James began to sway in time to inaudible music.
"What are you doing, lad?" Uncle Richard asked, bemused. James side-stepped awkwardly in response, and giggled. "Look, your mother is very upset. It's not at all funny."
"It is," James stage-whispered, shooting darting glances at his mother. "It's funny because we're dancing, and because… because…"
"Because?" Uncle Richard inquired, eyebrows raised. They met in the middle of his forehead, James noted with some amusement, like two great, golden... wriggly, furry things.
"Caterpillars," James said triumphantly after a pause, and was sick in his lap.
The first time Sirius got drunk was a bit of an enigma. If half the rubbish he spouted in first year had been true, then the boy would have achieved full-blown alcoholism shortly after losing his first tooth, and his eleven year-old liver would have soon packed up under the strain and gone to a health spa to recuperate. As the years progressed, though, Sirius's booze-related exploits became more than pure fabrication. Certainly halfway through third-year he had staggered back to the dormitory, stinking of Firewhiskey mixed with bad eggs and retelling a garbled tale of heads staring at him, watching him all the time, and smashed inkwells and finely chopped hazelnuts. Horrified, the boys had put him to bed, still raving, and in the morning he claimed to have absolutely no recollection of any of the events. Nowadays Sirius still rather considered that to be the desired effect – who in their right mind wanted to remember what god-awful things they'd done or said the night previously – and the others conceded that he had a point.
Still, it had to be said that James Potter and Sirius Black were a formidable force when it came to getting hold of the demon drink for parties, for picnics, for performances and Potions lessons… they were like the patron saints of winos – that is to say, the entire sixth year - like twin incarnations of Dionysus (togas, bunches of grapes and circlets of leaves optional). And a small, trifling thing like being stranded on a tiny spit of land with no liquor for miles around was unlikely to stop them.
"Just drink it," Sirius was saying loudly.
"Nu-uh," James shook his head, brushing his sticky fringe out of his eyes. The sun was one of its more sadistic moods today, and had decided that the optimum temperature would resemble that of a blacksmith's furnace. "You try it first."
"Don't be a twat, Jamie. Just drink it, it's completely safe. You know it's safe."
"Why don't you drink it then?"
"It was your idea; you have to be the guinea pig."
"I had a guinea pig once," James answered stubbornly. "It died."
"I thought you had a toad."
"That died too."
Remus, seeking refuge from the sun, joined Sirius and James, who were bickering in the shade of a palm tree. Dark, hairy nut-sized pellets littered the ground beneath the branches, staining the dry earth ochre red and varying shades of crimson. Sirius was thrusting a coconut shell full of a glittering liquid at James, who was displaying the sort of cowardice a Gryffindor should be ashamed of, leaping away from the hollowed-out fruit. The liquid slopped over the shell's brim and gleamed damply where it splashed on the ground.
"What's that?" Remus asked. Sirius and James exchanged glances, then James snatched the makeshift cup from Sirius and proffered it to his friend.
"Water," James lied, his voice syrupy. "Are you thirsty, Moony?"
"Hardly," Remus replied, although his tongue felt as if it had been drained of all moisture and then superglued to the roof of his mouth, making it sound more like 'Harley'. "What's really in the shell?"
"Water," James insisted, his voice now taking on the sticky-sweet consistency of toffee and sounding strangled by the calories it had just gained. Remus shot James a tart look in response and he blushed, unabashed.
"Oh, I'll drink it," Sirius said in exasperation, prying the coconut husk from James's all-too-willing fingers and gulping down a mouthful of the mystery liquid, coughing slightly as he swallowed. The other two boys watched him closely as he set the shell down on the ground and wiped the excess droplets from his lips with the back of his hand. Sirius beamed. Not wanting to be outdone, James picked up the coconut and let the remnants of the fluid trickle down his throat. He licked his wet lips consideringly, grinning also.
"It's not bad, eh Padfoot?"
"Would anyone mind," Remus asked, with all the politeness of someone who is on the verge of giving up and leaving to gibber quietly in a corner if any more insanity ensues, "letting me in on what's going on here?"
"Wine," Sirius stated simply, and he and James traded gleeful looks. Remus felt a bit hurt and excluded. It was always like this when Sirius and James had private jokes that didn't include him; he felt like a gooseberry, an intruder. He tried again.
"So… that stuff isn't really water, is it?"
"From water into wine," James inserted cryptically, and the two boys fell over themselves laughing, knocking the coconut shell onto one side. Remus blinked graciously and waited until James hiccupped and pushed his glasses higher up on his nose.
"We discovered what this island's missing," James announced. "What the missing ingredient is, what'll turn us from miserable, marooned moaners to passionate, party-loving…"
"Alliteration won't help you attain coherency, Potter," Snape said, sidling over and scowling vaguely at them all. James paled as the large-nosed one hove into sight, then immediately buried his head in his blazer and screwed his eyes shut, repeating 'Buggerbuggerbugger' as if it were a soothing mantra. Remus tried very hard not to look at Snape, or to look at the air around Snape. Prior to The Prank, eye-contact with the Slytherin boy had been uncomfortable at best – an unfortunate consequence of having your two best friends humiliate him every chance they could. Sirius's little 'joke' at full moon had rocketed it up to somewhere in the vicinity of excruciatingly painful, and now, after The Bathing Incident, eye-contact with Snape fell into the category of things one had to avoid at all costs, on a par with turning up to the yearly Sorting ceremony in the nude, or being slowly eaten alive by rabid cockroaches. Actually, if Remus thought about it (something he was trying as hard as humanly possible not to do), it wasn't all that surprising that Snape was… gifted in that region. He had all the symptoms… huge feet, lousy personality, and the ability to instantly spark a small flame of distrust in all other males he encountered.
"Inebriation is the missing ingredient," Sirius continued smoothly, clearly choosing to ignore Snape's arrival and address Remus directly. Although they had not mentioned The Bathing Incident once since it happened, things were still distinctly cooler – if the temperature it was being compared with could be described as warm – between them all. Remus nodded mechanically and stared into Sirius's grey eyes so as to steer clear of looking at Snape's murderous expression. If looks could kill, Snape could have wiped out the entire student population of Hogwarts with a single glare. "…. Easy, you know… Prongs and I, we managed to collect loads…" Sirius carried on speaking until Remus concentrated enough for the words to begin making sense.
"Hold on," Remus croaked hoarsely. "You and Prongs think you've created some kind of alcoholic beverage… and you're actually going to drink it?"
"We're all going to drink it! It's called palm wine," Sirius clarified brightly, as James recited his calming chant of 'Buggerbuggerbugger' in the background. "We didn't create it… This tree we're under now is a palm-nut tree, and you make the wine by draining the sap stuff into a container… it's complicated. Anyway, it doesn't taste all that weird now it's done and Jamie here says he remembers reading about it in Herbology, about how in a pinch it can be used as a substitute for-"
"That," Snape interrupted sourly, "is the single most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. I do hope you both die of acute food poisoning."
"Tough luck, Snivellus," Sirius countered, grimacing at Snape, who gave him the finger in reply. "Practically everything growing on this tree is edible – you can eat the nuts too, I think, except they need to be roasted or boiled or simmered or something…"
Remus couldn't articulate the numerous objections he had to this 'drink' Sirius and James were formulating. Most importantly, as Snape had just pointed out, they could have tapped the trunk of the wrong tree, and were about to suffer painful and possibly lethal side-effects. Explaining two violent and gruesome deaths to Professor Dumbledore when he came to pick them up – and was he ever going to reply to their letter? – was not high on Remus's list of favourite things to do.
"Fine," Remus said helplessly, shrugging his shoulders. "If neither of you have died or anything in an hour's time, we'll try it."
The palm wine was very well received. It did seem to detract from the awful taste of the fish they had for the day's main meal –only the truly incompetent, as Lily said, could manage to both burn and undercook a meal. Lily had somehow managed to absolve herself of nearly all domestic duties. Political correctness dictated that as she was the only girl, none of the traditionally female roles could be assigned to her, in case she took offence. Snape was rather more willing to appear sexist than the others, but was shut up by James whenever he attempted to speak. They ended up smearing the fish with liberal amounts of the red face-paint (ketchup-flavoured), and consuming more paint than fish. After they'd eaten, everyone drank more of the wine – it was something to do - and feeling quite heady from its effects, wandered down to the beach, as a group, to 'stare at the horizon together'.
Peter and Snape, as it turned out, were both philosophical drunks. Given the chance (and the right volume of Firewhiskey), Peter would begin to pontificate on all kinds of philosophical and ethical matters, soul-searching and preaching, throwing words and phrases like 'transubstantiation' and 'moral basis' into anecdotes about pies, homework, and in this case, crabs. Snape, on the other hand, utilised his arguments to express his unconditional and absolute hatred for all of creation and whatever mythical being(s) might have created it. They both talked at each other, gesticulating wildly; Peter was red in the face and blustering on about a razor and infinite possibilities, and Snape was contorting his face increasingly vehement positions as he simultaneously argued back and tried not to listen.
James and Lily were moving closer and closer together. Every time you glanced away from them and then looked back, James had inched his way a fraction closer to where Lily was sitting, or Lily had leaned over again and was chuckling openly into his face, red hair akimbo, or James had stretched a hand out to casually brush Lily on the shoulder and close the ever-decreasing gap between the two. It wasn't immediately clear what they were talking about – their conversation seemed to consist mainly of humorous asides from James and Lily's tinkling laugh, punctuated by brief intervals of deliciously awkward pauses and deliberate touching and not-touching. They were encased in their own private bubble of flirtation. Every so often James would muster the courage to say something in Lily's ear, the threads of her strawberry-scented hair tickling his lips as he whispered. Lily's green eyes would gleam dangerously, and she would hit him playfully, or fiddle with the lapel of his blazer, and they would both laugh.
Not only was Remus sitting unnervingly close to Sirius on the sand, but his head was resting on his best friend's shoulder. The palm wine had put Remus in a shockingly good mood: now he was actually beginning to feel quite optimistic about being stranded – he was even considering paddling later on. Despite Remus's unconditional hatred for quantities of water that exceeded the size of his evening bath, it seemed quite an attractive prospect. He'd have to roll up the legs of his trousers so they wouldn't get all damp – Remus hated soggy clothing flapping at his heels – or maybe he could just paddle in his boxer shorts, a la James. Remus stifled a giggle of mirth at the thought, but Sirius didn't drunkenly turn and ask what he was snickering at. Sirius was being uncharacteristically maudlin, actually. Perhaps he was put out because Remus had put his head on his shoulder. Remus had noticed, even through the pleasantly muggy haze, that Sirius tensed and jerked his head in the opposite direction when he did that.
Remus hadn't meant anything by it, it was just that he was getting so tired all of a sudden, and he'd been looking at Sirius anyway – better than listening to Snape's increasingly cynical opinions on life, and Peter's increasingly purple-prosed rebuttals, or watching James and Lily's sickly play-fighting – and his shoulder was just there. And Remus's head was there, and they were there, and everything was just there, and it simply seemed natural to rest his head in the warm spot between Sirius's collarbone and his chin.
"Sirius?" Remus asked, but the word was swallowed up by his yawn, and there was no reply. Perhaps Sirius was sad about something. Remus moved his head reassuringly against Sirius, and suddenly felt all the tendons in Sirius's neck tauten. They had been inhaling and exhaling in the same comforting rhythm up until then, but Sirius's breath seemed to catch in his throat.
"Moony," Sirius said hoarsely. He sounded as if something was squeezing his ribcage tightly, as if he was only being permitted to use a small amount of oxygen at a time. "Moony, you are nuzzling me."
"M'not!" Remus replied indignantly, burying his face in Sirius's neck, which was tanned and smooth, not sunburnt, like his own.
"You are such a fucking lightweight," Sirius gritted out from behind his teeth. "Don't do that, Moony. You're pissed. Come on – stop."
"Not… doing… anything." Remus murmured indistinctly, blowing a wisp of Sirius's dark hair from his mouth with difficulty. Snape and Peter were debating the meaning of life in slurred tones. Next to them it looked as if Lily was practically sitting in James's lap, and they were both in hysterics.
"Remus, please," Sirius said suddenly, biting his lip and turning to face his friend. Remus gazed at Sirius's mouth. The skin was slightly chapped and rough, and his lower lip was quivering. Remus reached up with his forefinger and gently prodded the bow of Sirius's lips and laughed.
"Stop laughing," Sirius whispered.
"I can't," Remus answered, giggling.
"Remus, stop laughing at once," Sirius hissed.
"I tell you I bloody can't," Remus replied, and kissed him. Softly. And it was short and sweet and it wasn't at all bloody confusing because it felt right, and it was exactly how it was supposed to be, and Remus was there and Sirius was there and he couldn't even tell exactly where Sirius ended and he began.
By the time they pulled apart, Remus had managed to stop laughing.
It took a while for them to register the fact that James had also stopped laughing.
James's reaction. He is to be...
Ever so slightly homophobic.
Hurt and angry that he didn't know about it.
Hugely over-supportive and over-compensating to hide the fact that he feels weird about the whole thing.
Jealous. Not in that way.
Jealous. In that way.
Gratuitous ticky-box question - which word(s) should I slip into the next installment?
Ineffable.
Tortoise.
Mascara.
Ticky-box.
Xylophone.