Disclaimer: See Chapter 1

Chapter 5: Escape

He stood by the lake for what seemed like an age, watching Remus walk away from him. The rain wasn't easing up at all, and the sky was darkening with the setting sun, glowing deep red in the west. Sirius frowned to himself and knew this wasn't a night to be spent in the library or common room. He traipsed towards the entrance hall, drying his clothes and hair with a quick charm as he walked through the thick oak doors. He stopped. The castle, home for so long, felt like a gloomy prison around him. Looking left and right, Sirius saw nothing but emptiness. He strode away through winding corridors, up staircases, past classrooms and offices and dormitories, everywhere was empty, everyone was huddled in the warm of their common rooms. On reaching his destination, he looked around one last time, then took out his wand and tapped the statue of the one-eyed witch.
"Dissendium", he muttered under his breath, then slid his slender frame through the gap which had appeared and down into the tunnel.

He snuck through the cellar of Honeyduke's with no problem: this route into Hogsmeade was second nature to him now, all the little details of which stone to move, how to unlock the doors without setting off the intruder charms, resisting the urge to taste test the shop's merchandise. He ran through the deserted, rain-swept streets and into the cosy warmth of the Three Broomsticks, where he settled himself into a booth near the back of the pub. The place was practically empty. Sirius sighed heavily as he swept his damp hair from his face and lit up a cigarette, his sad, dark eyes lit up for a moment in the flare of the match. For what seemed like an age he just sat there, smoking and staring down at the table, until a manicured hand appeared in the side of his field of vision, white hands with perfect red nails clasping a glass of deep amber liquid.

The hands were attached to a girl only a few years older than Sirius himself, her womanly figure clad in an elegant black skirt and top, with a black apron around her waist. Her red lips and earrings were perfectly matched to her red stilettos. She set the glass down on the table in front of Sirius, and he looked confusedly from the girl's face to the glass and back again.
"I didn't order a firewhiskey, Rosmerta," mumbled Sirius, stubbing out his cigarette and reaching into his pocket for another. Rosmerta smiled.
"I know, Sirius, I know," she said calmingly, "but you looked like you could do with a stiff drink. It's on the house." She smiled softly then sashayed back towards the bar, her short mahogany hair bouncing elegantly. Sirius sighed heavily then downed the whiskey in one, feeling it burn in his throat and tingle in his stomach. He drew gracefully on the cigarette and watched the smoke curl in tendrils towards the ceiling, before looking round furtively and tapping his glass with his wand, watching it magically refill itself. He'd been thrown out of pubs for using the same charm many a time, but he suspected that Rosmerta, the daughter of the landlord, had given him a glass that wouldn't give him away.

The evening passed quickly in a haze of smoke and liquor, and Sirius sat quietly staring down at his hands, wondering what to do. Remus was right. He didn't know what he wanted. He never knew. Everyone seemed wonderful and perfect when he wanted them, when he watched them across the hall, when they first kissed. And he didn't know why, but he always got bored. There was always someone more perfect, more beautiful to move onto. He didn't mean to hurt people. He didn't know why people let themselves get involved with him. He was hopeless. Remus was right, people were just conquests, just additions to the list. He didn't mean it to happen like that. And he couldn't let it happen to Remus. This guy was one of his closest friends. He couldn't help his attraction. He never expected it to be reciprocated so fervently. But the fire and anguish in Remus' eyes made him think – what did all this mean to him? Had he ever felt like this before? His chain of thought was interrupted by a voice, soft and deep and sensual.

"Sirius?" said Rosmerta gently, leaning on the table, "we're closing up now. Do you want to stick around?" Sirius nodded silently, and Rosmerta smiled and walked off, locking the doors and putting out the candles at the front of the pub. She poured herself a glass of red wine and then walked back to Sirius' table, sliding into the booth opposite him and crossing her legs, sipping elegantly at the dark liquid in her glass. Sirius downed another shot of whiskey. Soon they were both talking quietly but animatedly, pulling on cigarettes and leaning back into the soft velvet of their seats. Rosmerta sat up in her seat, perfect bob now slightly dishevelled, and fixed Sirius with a penetrating gaze.
"Tell me what was wrong with you when you came in tonight," she purred, "who are you moping over this time?" Sirius looked at the table then at his companion, and smiled sadly.
"Well, there's this guy," he started, as Rosmerta raised a well-groomed eyebrow, "and we've kissed once but I don't know where to take it." He stopped for a second, looking at the beautiful young woman opposite him. "I'm not sure it matters now," he said.
"I'm sure it doesn't," said Rosmerta, smiling wickedly. Sirius felt one of her scarlet-clad feet run up the side of his leg, and felt a shiver run though his inebriated frame.

They stumbled up the stairs, shoes and shirts left in a trail behind them. Their hands were all over each other, caressing each other, she entangling her hands in Sirius' long, dark hair. At the top of the landing he pushed her against the banister and kissed her roughly, urgently, wrapping his arms around her slim waist and taking in her heady perfume. She moaned softly, and pushed him across the landing into her bedroom.

The ceiling above Sirius's head swam into focus: he was in a brightly lit room, with the sun streaming in through the window. For the second day, his head was throbbing. He turned over and jumped: he was lying next to a girl he only vaguely knew. Inwardly he cursed himself. Outwardly, he groaned loudly and covered his face with his hands, wishing wholeheartedly that the soft feather bed would swallow him up. To his horror, Rosmerta then turned over and said,
"Oh, was it really that bad?" Sirius groaned again, but to his relief Rosmerta then began to laugh, and proffered him a cigarette, which he gladly accepted.
"I've utterly fucked up, Rosmerta," he said dejectedly as they lay next to each other staring at the ceiling. She asked him how and he continued, "I don't want to lead you on. I really, really like this guy and now I feel terrible about how hurt he'll be when he finds out about this. I'm really sorry." Rosmerta smiled brightly.
"I think that Remus will forgive you in time, Sirius," she said soothingly, "but do you realise what this is you're feeling?" Sirius looked at her quizzically and she sighed. "It's remorse, Sirius. Regret."

Realisation dawned on Sirius. Remorse. He couldn't just move on from Remus to the next pretty girl or guy that came along. He cared too much. And that was what was different. Rosmerta smiled as Sirius jumped out of bed and threw his clothes on. She followed him to the door in a black silk dressing gown, and grinned as he kissed her on the cheek before leaving in a hurry, running down the main street yelling "Thanks!" behind him. Rosmerta smiled as she watched him depart.
"Any time, kid," she murmured, before shutting the door.

A/N: Hahah! He's such a whore! And I love it. Sorry to anyone who doesn't share my vision of Sirius as a licentious, chain-smoking alcoholic, but that's the way it's gotta be. But what's he gonna tell Remus? Teehee. Tattva x