A/N: Sorry this chapter is shorter than the other two; ate the original one I did, which was a good deal longer, and I had a really hard time re-creating it ... I did it to the best of my abilities - hopefully if you don't like this one then the next installment will be better... Best read following Chapter 2 of Seirios Aster's fic, Some Nights, "Call it a Draw"

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Chapter 3: Under the Bridge

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"I don't ever wanna feel like I did that day ... Take me to the place I love; take me all the way ..."

~ Red Hot Chili Peppers

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Sirius stayed where he was on the floor for a long moment, even if he had very convincingly insisted to himself that alcohol was a lovely solution to any and all problems he might or might not realize he was currently having. He really didn't have much motivation to move, mostly because he wasn't exactly sure what he was going to do in so far as procuring said alcohol. Living paycheck to paycheck was fine in his opinion, he didn't need the security blanket of a bank vault he could never hope to spend the contents of, but it did have its drawbacks ... Like not providing the excess funds required for an emergency booze run.

Glancing over at the clock, he realized it was somewhere around ten. Drat. He had hoped he'd just slept through the rest of his birthday so that the horrible luck he had been suffering the entire latter half of the day could be put to rest. But, unsurprisingly, no such luck as it were...

"Well mate," he said to himself conversationally aloud, since there was no one else around and it was a habit he'd sort of fallen into recently, "happy bleeding birthday. May it end backways of how it started. Crawling into the bottle instead of out of it ..." the last part he muttered under his breath before slowly dragging himself off of the floor. Being a recent St. Mungo's patient, the crack to the head he'd taken via the low table next to the couch wasn't doing him any favors.

Dull blue eyes glanced around as he groaned, body stiff from the painful curse he'd been subject to earlier in the day. Maybe a painkilling draught and some sleep were a better plan than drinking and possibly finding some inconsequential company ... "Nah," he murmured aloud, managing to deposit himself back onto the couch heavily. "The minute you decide sleep is better than alcohol is the minute you stop being the Moste Cowardly and Self-Serving Black Sheep," sighing the words out quietly, Sirius threaded the fingers of one hand through his hair, grasping at a few stands as he put his elbows on his knees, "and we all bloody well know /that/ can't happen."

Well, the alcohol isn't just going to buy itself and walk back to the flat, though wouldn't that have been convenient? Standing and stretching, he waited for the momentary lightheadedness to subside before dragging himself to the door. Absently, he decided that May was a fine month to stop wearing coats outdoors as he reached for the handle. And, juuuuust as he was thinking maybe it wouldn't be such a good idea to attempt braving the stairs as the dizziness started to come back with a vengeance, he heard something fall over.

What the buggering ...? looking down, blue eyes lit on a festively wrapped bag that had been propped up against the door and been upset when he'd opened it. Stooping down to retrieve it curiously, he had to grab the door jam to keep from falling over. Apparently, lowering one's head below the knees when dizzy was not - oh and there he went, sprawling onto his head, arse over tea-kettle. Cursing loudly, he laid where he was, staring at the ceiling for a moment and trying to figure out exactly how he'd managed to land flat on his back.

"Well that's just great; sodding ... sod," he grumbled. He was going to need that painkilling draught after all. Signing after laying there a while and allowing his vision to clear, Sirius pushed himself up into a sitting position, and glanced at the package he'd risked life and limb to retrieve. It looked oddly out of place in his gray apartment with its bright blue bow and multicolor patterned bag. Picking it up, he saw that no, it hadn't been delivered to the wrong place; in fact, it's lack of postage suggested it had been hand delivered and he'd slept through any knocking that might have announced the implied deliverer's presence. Turning it over in his hands, it was heavy whatever it was ... but, rather than sit there and guess, he figured he might as well just open it. Pulling the tissue paper out haphazardly, he saw that underneath it was a box. And, as he quickly found, inside of that box was a bottle. A bottle of Dragon Barrel Brandy.

And low, all of his problems were solved. He noticed a tag on it, and glancing at it he saw it was a note. "Sirius - we figured you wouldn't read a card so we didn't bother with one. Happy 21st; may you spend it in the best way, which of course, if not in a muggle bar, is at the bottom of a bottle. Frank and Ann," he read aloud with a laugh, knowing that the message had been written by Frank, and Ann had just rolled her eyes and signed her name at the end. That was kind of them - especially with a little one of their own to provide for, they really shouldn't have.

But, the fact was that they had, and that meant he could happily continue his binging alcoholic tendencies without further endangering his life. Which sort of sounded like an oxymoron, but he wasn't going to cloud the issue with such trivial details. Pushing the door to his flat closed haphazardly with his foot, the eldest Black heir perseverated on the fact that he was quite on the floor, and that lovely painkilling draught was across the apartment. As was his bed. But the alcohol was not. So, if he forewent the draught, he needn't go anywhere, and he could just gorge himself on booze until he no longer felt anything adverse at all, and his problems would be solved via collapsing back onto his treacherous mechanical-bull-impersonating couch.

"Or, you could get up of your arse," he said with a grunt as he pushed himself up, "and have both, and then not know which way up even is." This seem need like the best plan of all, and as such, motivated him to get up and in fact go in search of the medicine cabinet and it's mind-numbing contents. Honestly he knew this was a not-so-great plan; not as bad as Veritaserum and alcohol would have been of course, considering his rather unfortunate deadly allergy to that stuff ... But there was no doubting the fact that alcohol and medical potions seldom mixed well. Whatever, he thought as he passed the couch and made his way towards the loo.

The world would just be rid of one more idiot that way, right? Right. And all rejoiced. Or something. Bottle in hand after he located it in the bathroom cabinet, he sat on the edge of his bed with it and the alcohol. Just looking at them - one bottle in one hand, the other in his other hand. Then, on the other side of said bottles, he noticed something; a small, vaguely festively wrapped rectangle. The present Moony had given him earlier that day that he had sort of skirted around opening. Grasping at the distraction from his half hearted attempt to shake hands with death, he set the bottles down and picked it up. It was a small, unassuming little present, but since Sirius knew money was tighter for the werewolf than it even was with him living in this admittedly too-large flat alone ...

"Just shut up and open it, Pads." Pulling off the paper from the gift Moony had given him that he'd neglected to open earlier, he paused as he looked at what it was, and couldn't help smiling in a nostalgic sort of way. It was a picture of he, Moony, James, and Peter. He remembered the day the picture has been taken - it was right before they'd graduated, a little ways away from the whomping willow. Someone had been taking pictures of the graduating class for some reason, and James, being the attention whore he was, had volunteered them. Glancing over the frame, he could just see the two bottles he had previously been holding, and he couldn't help the sigh through his nose. Even when he was momentarily contemplating suicide, leave it to his friends to try and cheer him up - and usually succeed.

Setting the photo on his nightstand, which was so cluttered full of junk already that one more addition hardly looked out of place, he put his head in his hands. To be quite fair and honest, he really was a waste of life, space, and talent, and he knew it. He was also an idiot, though it every idiot deserved to die for only that crime, the human population would be quite a lot smaller ...

Deciding at the very least to get the painkiller into his system, he uncapped it and took a swig - he never cared to measure potions, he just drank about what he thought was enough, and if it didn't seem to take effect within ten minutes or so he usually took more of whatever it was. He'd always been impatient like that. Now, what to do about this lovely birthday gift? On the one hand, he could just have a few nips; enough to get himself a little buzzed and a good degree more numb without causing any real laying damage. The question was, would he stop after only drinking a little, or would he talk himself into continuing the more tipsy he became?

Sirius ...? You going somewhere?

The dark haired no-longer-teenager shook his head slightly, setting the painkilling draught on the nightstand and pressing his hand to his eyes lightly. Well that was something he really didn't need - hallucinations. Never good for the mind or soul, or so he'd heard once or twice. Stormy blue eyes glanced over at the brandy that was still in his other hand contemplatively. That day; at the time he hadn't felt anything but anger and resentment; and he'd taken it out on his little brother for no reason other than Reggie had cared enough to ask him what was going on - what was wrong. He'd wanted to know what was wrong - whether it was to help his older brother or not didn't matter. Sirius had just been a spectacular fuck up and had, in a stunning display of teenage rebellion, up and left without so much as an explanation - not even to the only person in that house that had probably cared. You know, since his mother was insane and his father lived, breathed, and ate work. Not quite as much as he'd heard Crouch's father did, but enough that he was literally gone from the house for days at a time on occasion.

It had been ten minutes right? Still feeling the pain, so that meant time for another swig of that potion.

Which, after promptly downing another generous mouthful, Sirius realized was the end of that bottle - and, pulling it away from his lips he shook it a few times before realizing he likely looked ridiculous and was glad there was no one around to tell him so. Hastily bringing the bottle down, he was sure there had been at least half of it left ... Well, maybe there hadn't been - he didn't really know honestly; he could be mistaken. He was probably mistaken. Because that was probably too much to be taking in one sitting.

Ladies and Gentlemen, the dangers of allowing an idiot to self-medicate.

Sighing, he set the bottle on the floor this time by his feet, still holding the Dragon Barrel Brandy in the other hand contemplatively. The once-heir to the Most Noble and Assanine House of Black flopped backwards across the bed, still valiantly holding onto the neck of that booze bottle, sighing heavily. Well today was going swimmingly - and it had started off so well too ... Then Bellatrix had to spoil everything with here mere existence ... But then, wasn't that just par for the course?

Of course, even retrospectively, the title of 'Worst Day of his Life' was reserved for a much more recent occasion - one that had happened on a couple months ago, really. Was it really that long? Months? It had seemed like that long - but when he thought about it ... Well, the snow as already cleared up for the most part, since it was getting into the fifth month of the year ...

And remembering that day didn't help him feel any better ... The dark haired male didn't ever want to feel like he did that day; when he'd found out about what had happened to his younger brother - when reality had come crashing down around him. He glanced at his hand, with that bottle still in it. He'd probably taken too much of that painkilling draught - but that wasn't a big deal, he'd just sleep it off. But while that helped his body feel better, it didn't do much for his mental state. However, this stuff - any type of booze really - could fix that. It made him feel like he was riding on clouds; like he hadn't a care in the world. It made him forget all of the stupid, fucked up shit he'd done in his life; all the mistakes he'd made. It took him to that place, even for just a little while - and it was a place he really was getting to love more and more.

He knew it was cowardly, to just run away from his problems like this. But he'd become so prone to doing it, and so fond of going all the way there, that he found himself hardly caring any more. Call it a self destructive phase, call it depression, call it stupidity - it didn't matter what you called it. That bottle was definitely whispering his name with it's loving, misleading promises of bliss.

Sod it; you're a waste of space anyway, Black, he thought to himself as he uncorked the bottle of brandy in his hands, which took a little work on his part. He didn't bother sitting up from where he was laying, and through his struggle with the bottle that now fully had his attention, he managed to knock over the earlier potion bottle he'd set on the floor, which caused it to crack and split into a couple hundred pieces ... Not that he particularly cared now that the brandy was open and he was putting the mouth to his lips in some mockery of a kiss; he'd clean it up in tomorrow. Or something.

All that mattered was that he didn't want to feel like he did that day.

And this bottle was going to take him to that place he loved.

Take him all the way.

The End ...?