It wasn't often that Sirius opened his liquor cabinet. This may have surprised those that knew him, but the truth was his liquor rarely made it to the cabinet.

He liked what he liked, and he drank it with reckless abandon.

In spite of his demeanor, he was also vastly sentimental.

Over the years, many an impressive bottle had been gifted to him for birthdays and holidays, for accomplishments and award celebrations. He still had chardonnay from his first tour in '79, for God's sake. He'd been saving them all for a special occasion — something worthy of cracking the corks.

He stroked his chin, trying to determine what Remus might like.

The man seemed intellectual and quiet, but still a bit messy — there was definitely a little rock-and-roll beneath those tweed blazers of his. Sirius grinned at that thought. Under the right circumstances, Remus was probably quite the riot. In fact, he'd bet money on it.

If Sirius was lucky, he could find just the right tonic to unlock that side of him — but what would that tonic be?

Something that spelled class and elegance , but also relaxation and masculinity. He reached down to scratch his bits as he considered his options.

Wine was good for romance — but he wasn't sure the dinner was a date , per sé, especially since he was quite certain the girl would be there. Wine could give the wrong message. Class and elegance, sure, but also desperation and girlish gossip.

A bottle of rum caught his eye. He considered it: Rum was safe. Rum was cozy, but friendly. Nothing about it said he had interest in shagging the man — though he very much did .

It was , however, more of an autumnal choice.

"Could work in a pinch, though," he muttered to himself.

Tequila was a terrible idea — especially the unlabeled bottle from Mexico, worm and all. Vodka was for partying, he'd drank half his gin, and he truly wasn't sure what the hell cachaça was. He'd gotten it from some fellow that owned a strip joint in Rio de Janeiro, but he'd never drank the stuff.

He didn't think he had, anyway. Trips to Rio were always a bit fuzzy.

He'd nearly seized the rum before he noticed a bottle tucked in the back, hidden behind a jug of absinthe. He furrowed his brow and pulled it out to read the label.

"Small batch," he said to himself, nodding in approval. "Triple-distilled. Made in Ireland. Not bad." He chuckled. "Not bad at all."

Whiskey was safe. It was manly . It was academic, but rugged, and just fancy enough to make Remus feel special.

It was perfect. Hopefully, their evening would be too.

Old Man Slughorn, despite all his supposed connections, hadn't had many visitors in his later years. That pricey door-knocker of his had gotten less mileage than the Italian sports car Sirius bought in '81, only to sell a month later so he could pay off that brothel in Amsterdam. Sirius waited there, staring at the tacky thing, rocking on the balls of his feet. Maybe the old geezer would be happy now that someone was admiring it. Well, perhaps admiring wasn't the word, but he'd used it at least.

He leaned in to try and see his reflection, but the sunlight just caught the metal and blinded him momentarily.

Hopefully, his hair was still fine.

He'd spent hours choosing his outfit and setting that errant bit of fringe that always hung in front of his face. There was a way to finesse it so it looked the right kind of messy. Otherwise, he looked greasy — felonious, even. Back when he was in school, there was some prat called Snape that always waited for Lily Evans at the end of the day. He had hair like that, and that was the last person Sirius wanted to look like.

He took a shaky breath.

Anxiety raged within him. He wasn't really sure why; his obsessing over his appearance had paid off. The leather boots he wore were shiny enough to impress the stars in the sky, and his denim was holey enough to impress the Pope. He cradled the bottle of Irish whiskey like a baby, and that was sure to impress too.

Don't fuck this up, you tosser, he thought to himself.

Perhaps, it wasn't his appearance at all, nor was it the bottle he brought. It was the fact that he was a perpetual screw-up, and Remus was far too smart not to notice.

The door opened.

"Glad to see you found the place," Remus joked.

"Got lost three times," Sirius joked back. He cleared his throat and shoved the whiskey at Remus. "I erm — I brought a bottle, if you'd like to . . ."

"Oh! Thanks," Remus said, accepting it. He looked down at the label. "You really didn't have to — wow. This is —" He shook his head in disbelief. " — generous. At least I assume, based on my very limited knowledge of whiskey."

"No idea, it was a present."

"Are you sure you want to open it?"

"Consider it a housewarming gift," Sirius replied. "Er — re-gift."

"Well, if you're positive . . ." Remus said uncertainly. "Oh, bollocks . . . where are my manners?" He waved Sirius inside. "Come in, come in."

Sirius followed him into the house, tamping down the nerves in his gut.

The place was very much in the same state it had been the day before, sans a few boxes Remus and his ward had picked through. Their belongings were strewn about, dropped atop cardboard and nestled in the built-in shelves — books, candles, an itchy cardigan thrown over a wicker chair. Of all the things they seemed to need in their first week of living there, somehow academia had taken the lead.

Sirius wasn't surprised.

"I've not ordered yet," Remus said, snapping him out of his reverie. He led them through the mudroom, into the living room where the giant couch had accumulated a few things: A rogue remote control, a book of local coupons, a hand-knit blanket. "I wasn't sure what you'd like."

"Anything is fine," Sirius replied, though he was hoping for mushrooms. His hands were deep in his pockets as he looked around, eyes everywhere but on Remus's prying face. Fortunately, Remus headed towards the old La-Z-Boy in the corner. There was a weathered end table there, an unsightly mismatch from the new couch across from it.

"You'd be better off telling me now," Remus said. He set the whiskey bottle carefully on that rickety table, then crossed the room into the one adjacent, shouting to Sirius all the while. "Hermione's asked for every bloody vegetable they offer! It'll be impossible to pick it all off!"

"And what're you getting?" Sirius shouted back.

"Sausage and onion."

"That sounds fine," Sirius lied.

"Well, I'll eat the bloody thing all by myself," Remus yelled, sounds of kitchen clatter suddenly filling the air, "so unless your heart's set on it —"

"Actually, mushroom's good," Sirius finally admitted, "if you're ordering another, anyway."

Remus reappeared with a green plastic cup and a gimmicky, black coffee mug. Something illegible was scribbled across it, and there was a flaking apple too — it looked more like some faraway planet than a fruit.

"Just mushrooms?"

Sirius nodded. "Just mushrooms."

"All right," Remus said. "Mushroom then. Anything else? They do curry, but I'd be a complete bell-end if I didn't warn you off it."

Sirius chuckled. "I'm all right, mate. Pizza's plenty."

"Great, I'll call in just a mo', then." He held up the cheap dishware. "I'm afraid my good glasses are still boxed up. Hopefully, you don't mind?"

"I've drank out of worse."

"Fair enough. You know, you can sit down," Remus said, gesturing the couch. " You did move the bloody thing."

"Ah, thanks." Sirius started to sit, only to stop himself and ask, "Is there anything I can help with? Happy to pour us a bit of drink."

"No, no, I've got it." Remus waved him off and headed for the bottle. "Get a small start before ordering, I suppose. Could use it, after all the moving nonsense."

Sirius watched with interest as he heard the sound of the cork. He licked his lips in anticipation, eager for something to ease the tension.

It also didn't hurt that he had a fairly good view of Remus's backside as he bent over that miserable little end table. If it could bear the weight, he wouldn't mind —

"There we are," Remus said, spinning around. He carefully walked towards Sirius, cup and coffee mug in hand. "You know, I've not drank on an empty stomach since uni. Not hard liquor, anyway. Hopefully, the old belly can handle it."

Sirius accepted the cup and took a sip. It was well-aged — woody and smokey, perfect for their afternoon together.

"This is the good stuff. Less likely to make you sick, I reckon."

"Tell that to my thirty-eight-year-old liver."

"Thirty-eight?" Sirius took another sip, making a mental note that they were, in fact, the same age. "Would've suspected you were younger."

"Really? I guess all the pot and cigarettes haven't done their worst yet. Suppose I'll take it . . ." He took a quick swig and made a face. "Strong stuff. Good though, very good . . ."

His hazel eyes settled on Sirius, only momentarily. He tore his gaze away and let out a sigh, looking at nothing in particular — unless he was terribly fascinated by the stack of boxes by the hall entryway.

If Sirius didn't know better, he might've thought Remus was just as nervous as he was.

Of course, that was preposterous. Perhaps, he was distracted — or maybe he wasn't one for socializing. Sirius could definitely sympathize with that .

"Guess I ought to go order," said Remus. "I suspect it'll take them a while to get here . . . Mushroom, was it?"

"Yes," Sirius said all too quickly — and all too enthusiastically.

"Right, good. Mushroom. I'll be right back."

Remus headed back into the kitchen, leaving Sirius to sink into the large sofa. He closed his eyes. As much as he hated to admit it, it felt nice to have a social life again. It felt nice to be around Remus .

He swirled his cup. He'd have to be careful not to overindulge. Ruining the afternoon was a surefire way to destroy . . . well, whatever it was that they were. Friends? Acquaintances. Yes, surely just acquaintances.

"Remus! Have you seen the —" Sirius's eyes snapped open in surprise. The girl was standing in the hall entryway. She blinked at him. "Oh, it's you."

"Sorry to disappoint. He's in the kitchen."

"Right, thanks." She gave him a final glance, and started towards the kitchen. Only, Remus was barrelling out, mug still in hand, and they ran straight into each other. Sirius's breathing hitched. The whiskey had every opportunity to spill all over the both of them. If that wretched girl wasted —

He sighed with relief. The liquor was safe, having barely avoided the fate of soaking a teenage girl's ghastly jumper. (Surely, she knew periwinkle was out?)

"Hermione!" Remus breathed. "I'm so sorry, are you all right?'

"I'm fine," Hermione said, though her tone suggested she was nowhere near it. "Did you order the pizza yet?"

Remus nodded. "Just did, actually."

"Exactly how I asked?"

"Yes," he replied, his irritation growingly evident. "The same you always order."

"Olives, onions, green peppers, spinach, and tomatoes? With basil?"

Remus wasn't kidding. The girl really did want every vegetable in the book.

"Yes."

"And you asked if the basil was fresh?"

"I did."

"Good, thank you," the girl replied. "Also, have you seen my copy of Antigone? It's on the syllabus for my literature class and I'd like to get a head-start."

"I think I saw a box labeled 'Books' in the mudroom," Sirius supplied. "If that's any help."

"There are about ten of those," Remus muttered.

"It's worth a look, though, isn't it?" said the girl, brightening. It was the happiest Sirius had seen her since they'd met. "Thanks!"

She scurried off, leaving Remus to drop onto the couch a few spaces from Sirius. He held up his mug. "Lucky this didn't end up all over the floor. God was on my side, I suppose."

"D'you believe in that?" Sirius asked, cocking an eyebrow.

Remus reached out with the mug, looking for a cheers. "I went to Catholic school growing up. Of course I don't believe in that — don't tell my mum."

"My lips are sealed," Sirius said, grinning. They clunked their mismatched receptacles together. "What are we toasting?"

Remus thought for a moment. "To being neighbors."

Sirius gave a nod. "To being neighbors."

They both sucked down their drinks. Sirius let out a refreshed sigh.

"Bloody good, that is."

"Yeah, yeah it's great." Remus's voice was raspy from the whiskey sting. " Ahem . Pizza should be here in about forty minutes. Should probably slow down a bit."

"I can always grab more if we run out — well, not this, but I've got some good rum," offered Sirius, though he knew good and well that the last thing he needed was a second bottle. "Hardly a big deal for me to dash across the street."

" Another bottle? Are you trying to kill me?"

"Just figured I'd offer," Sirius laughed. Hopefully, he hadn't let on about his drinking problem. "So er — how's the new house treating you? Up to snuff?"

Remus put his mug on the floor and nodded. "Yes, I think so. It's an adjustment, but we do like the neighborhood."

"Do you?"

"It's better than where we were before, at least . . . but I could do without Sybill's staring. Every morning, with those Coke-bottle glasses of hers —" He made his fingers into circles and put them in front of his eyes, emulating the woman's rather unique appearance. " — just staring, sometimes I think she's trying to curse us."

"That's not entirely out of the realm of possibilities . . ."

Remus arched an eyebrow.

"I doubt it, though," Sirius amended. "She's much more likely to tell you if you've already got a curse, I think."

"I'm not sure that makes me feel any better," confessed Remus. He picked up his mug and took a swig.

Sirius did the same. "She's harmless, really, once you get to know her. She's always got some kind of crystal ball out — or Tarot cards, she loves those. Just the usual hippie shit. Nothing nefarious."

"Is the staring bit normal, then?"

Sirius nodded. "Stared at me the first six months I lived there, 'til my butler helped her jump-start her car. Been in her good books ever since."

"Maybe when fate decides to give her another dead battery, then."

"Ha. Indeed."

"What about the other neighbors?" asked Remus. "Besides Weasley — I've become more acquainted with him than I would've liked."

It was a good question. Sirius knew all of his neighbors, but he wasn't intimately familiar with any of them. He and Potter were friends in school, he supposed. That changed with time, though. They'd chosen different paths.

"Well, the first thing you should know is that Umbridge is the worst woman to have ever walked the Earth," Sirius said. He could say that without conviction. "Other than her, there's erm — there's the Potters. I used to be good mates with him in school, but the wife and I never quite got on. They've got a son that's always running about with one of Weasley's. Around her age." He jerked his head vaguely towards the other room, where the girl was still quietly rummaging through boxes.

"Yes, you mentioned him before."

"Right, right . . . Er — there's Crouch. Odd duck, doesn't say much. Always digging around in the garden, but can't seem to keep a bloody thing alive." Sirius made a face. "He does this mental thing with his tongue too. Completely mad, I've heard, so probably in your best interest to avoid him."

"Seems like sound advice."

Sirius nodded. "The rest of the street is pretty quiet . . . Dunno the folks closer to Talbot and Wincher, but on this side of the stop sign, you've got Sprout and McGonagall. Crotchety old couple of ladies, but likeable if you get talking to them . . . Oh, and you probably noticed all the chickens. That's Hagrid's place."

Remus frowned. "I didn't see any chickens."

"Umbridge might've called on him again," Sirius muttered grouchily. "There's some ordinance that says he can't have more than a few. Snitches on him whenever she catches wind he's got more than he's supposed to, then the city comes and takes them."

"Doesn't she have better things to do?"

"She used to work for Parliament, if that tells you anything."

"Ah. Always on a power-trip, then," deduced Remus.

"Big time. Honestly, so long as you avoid her and Crouch, you'll do just fine. Weasley's a decent bloke, but he'll drive you fucking mad."

"I'd figured that much already. He was here this morning, actually. Yammering on about the weather."

"Typical," Sirius scoffed. "Did he try for the bathrooms again?"

"Thankfully not. I think he didn't want to deal with getting around all this again." He gestured at the boxes in the corner.

"Ah, right. Speaking of which, if you need any help —"

Suddenly, fast footsteps and a shrill voice cut in: "Remus, did you already go through these boxes?"

"What? No, I don't think so," Remus answered. The girl leaned into the entryway, alarm spinning in her wide eyes. "Why?"

"Because they're completely out of order. I know for a fact I put all of the Chronicles of Narnia in the same box, but I found Prince Caspian underneath your Jack Kerouac novels."

"I don't recall putting it there," Remus replied.

"Well, I didn't put it there."

Never in Sirius's life had he ever met a teenager wound more tightly than this girl. He leaned back on the sofa. How Remus dealt with her was a mystery.

"Is it your copy or mine?" Remus asked her.

The girl's eyebrows slowly knit together in realization. She turned on her heel and hurried back into the other room.

"Cares about her books, I see," Sirius noted.

"Indeed." Remus crossed his legs, seemingly unbothered. "We both do. Kind of a hobby of ours."

"Not a bad one to have," Sirius said.

"Keeps the brain moving, anyway. What about you? How d'you pass the time?"

Drinking is probably not the best response here, is it, Sirius thought to himself.

He cleared his throat. "I take the bike out when I can help it. Obviously, that's a bit seasonal." Chewing on his lip, he added, "I like to get the old records out quite a lot, especially in winter when there's not much else to do. Something about a good fire and good tunes. Just gets the mood up."

"Oh yeah? What d'you spin?"

"The classics — Sex Pistols, Bowie."

Remus grinned. "Good taste."

"Oh?" Sirius perked up at that. "You like them?"

"I had a mohawk back when I was sixteen," Remus laughed. He shook his head. "Thank God those days are over. Don't have the right head shape for it."

"A mohawk? D'you have any pictures?"

"None I'd like to share."

"I'm sure you've seen my mullet already," Sirius said. "It's only fair."

Suddenly, his face fell, realizing he'd alluded to the fact that he was, once upon a time, a pretty recognizable face. He wasn't sure if Remus knew his history yet, and frankly, Sirius wasn't sure he wanted him to. That final record was truly an embarrassment.

"I'm not sure I have," answered Remus. "Either way, a mullet and a mohawk aren't really comparable, are they? The scalp's still covered."

Relief washed over Sirius. Maybe Remus didn't recognize him.

"Yes, I suppose it is . . . Anyway, that's what I do most days. A bit of telly here and there. Not much, not really my cup of tea."

"Mine either. We don't even have cable," Remus said, gesturing the corner television.

"Don't bother with it. The bloody TV license alone —"

There was a loud rap on the door, obviously thanks to the brass knocker.

Remus got to his feet, knees cracking loud enough for Sirius to hear, just the same as his did when he stood. They really were getting old.

"That must be the pizza," Remus said. "Mind holding this?"

Sirius accepted the mug of whiskey and twisted his neck to watch Remus fetch their dinner. The girl had beaten him to it. She'd abandoned Prince Caspian atop an unopened box.

She waited by the open door.

There stood a teenage boy who was balancing three pizzas with the coordination of a drunken stilt-man. His cystic acne threatened to burst at any second, as angry and red as his chapped lips, his voice a bird-like squawk as he announced the total.

"I've got it," Remus said, reaching out over her shoulder. He slipped the boy a bill. "Keep the change, yeah?"

"Cheers." The boy shoved the pizzas into the girl's hands and waved. "Have a nice day."

"Yes, you too," Remus said. He closed the door. "Hermione, d'you need any —"

She ignored him and was already headed towards the kitchen with purpose. Sirius stood to help, but Remus raised his eyebrows at him.

"Can I get you a plate?" he asked.

"Oh! That would be lovely, thanks."

The girl returned not long thereafter, not giving Sirius a second glance before marching back upstairs with her paper plate and far too many napkins. Remus emerged as well.

Sirius traded the mug for his plate. Two steaming slices were placed upon it, smelling much more divine than the pizza he typically ordered. He'd have to ask the name of the place.

"Thank you," Sirius said. "Looks delicious."

"Yeah, I like this spot. Zabini's," Remus said, sinking into his seat on the sofa. He took a sip and set his plate in his lap. "Ah, I suppose I should grab something for us to set our drinks on, shouldn't I?" It would be quite a task, unless he unplugged the lone lamp and dragged the old end table over. "Maybe one of these boxes."

He set his plate and mug onto the floor and got to his feet again. Sirius watched with amusement as he approached the stack of boxes and seized one.

"Sorry it's still such a mess," Remus apologized, trudging back towards the couch. He dropped the box in front of them and placed his mug on top, before collapsing back onto the sofa. "This whole move has been a bit of a nightmare."

"Always is," Sirius said through a mouthful of pizza.

"Yeah," Remus breathed. "Never thought I'd be moving into a place this big, you know? But I wanted us to each have a bit of room, all things considered . . . Our books alone are set to take up two thirds of the house."

"Yeah, you mentioned you have quite the collection."

"That's an understatement — especially since I had to take home all the ones I had at the school."

"Ah, yeah, you're a teacher." Sirius dropped his crust and seized the second piece. He really was hungry. "Which school d'you teach at again?"

" Former teacher," Remus corrected. "I was at St. Martin's for twelve years. I resigned after taking in Hermione . . . Wanted to be fully available for her, with everything going on at the time . . ."

"Taking a bit of a break, then?"

Remus shook his head. "Started that way, having trouble finding employment again though, now that I'm ready . . . Had a good bit of inheritance left to buy the house, but . . . Well, it goes quickly, doesn't it?"

Sirius gulped down a rather greedy amount of whiskey. "That, it does. I'm unemployed myself — retired, actually."

"No chance you'll be getting back to music, then?"

Sirius froze, half-empty cup still in hand. Had Remus known who he was? This whole time?

Denying it would do him no good.

"No," he replied softly. "I'm afraid not."

"That's a shame," Remus said. "I always liked that one song — what was it called?" He leaned forward and snapped his fingers, trying to think of the title. "The one about Zeus and Hades — it's all a bit of an allegory for the Royal Family. Oh, why can I not think of the name?"

"Hades Wears the Jewels," Sirius said, grinning. "Really? You liked that one?"

"It's a fantastic song."

Sirius scoffed into his cup. "Don't hear that very often."

"Why? D'you not like it?"

"The opposite. It's actually my favorite."

Remus nodded. "I spun that record a lot back in the day . . . There was that other one too — was always on the radio . . . Oh, they used to play it at parties when I was in uni."

"When were you in uni?"

"'81 to '84."

"Manifest Destiny?"

"No, no, not that one. Something about an airplane and beer bottles."

"Sky Buzz."

"Yes, that's it," Remus said. "Great records — especially the debut . . . I reckon Mötley Crüe stole a few of your tricks off that one."

Sirius smiled. It was bittersweet — his past was full of pride and memories most people could only dream to experience, but that's exactly what it was. The past.

"Yeah, it was fun, recording. Touring." He sighed. "We were at our best at the beginning, though. No sense in spoiling a good thing."

"D'you miss it?"

"Of course I do," Sirius answered, "but I thank Christ we stopped when we did. Have you heard that new Metallica album? Fucking abysmal."

"I'm not following."

"That could've been us," Sirius said, waving his cup around. "Looking like a bunch of jackasses in front of bloody stadiums, refusing to play all our old hits. Can you imagine two Metallicas? It'd be the death of rock-and-roll as we know it!"

"I'll have to take your word for it."

"What d'you mean?"

"I never listened to them much, if I'm being honest," Remus said. He smirked as he took a sip. "Sounds like you have some strong opinions, though."

"The problem with them is they were great," explained Sirius. "If you ever want a good metal album, Master of Puppets and Ride the Lightning blow anything I've ever done out of the water . . . But they should've quit while they were ahead — and I'll tell them that straight to their faces."

"What's so bad about their new stuff?" Remus dared to ask.

"It's all a bit cheesy," said Sirius. "Seems like they were just churning stuff out to appease their record label . . . What they should've done is replace Ulrich. Maybe if they had, they wouldn't be so deep in the shit."

"Who's Ulrich?"

"The drummer."

"Am I right to assume he's not any good?"

"Bloody awful. Complete arsehole too."

"Oh?"

Sirius nodded. "I played with them back in '83. Talented bunch, the lot of them — except for him. Complete bell-end just smashed his chinas for two bloody hours."

"Sounds like an interesting show."

"That's one way to put it."

Sirius leaned back on the sofa.

He could certainly get comfortable there. In fact, he already was.

The pizza boxes were empty. The bottle was too.

Croaking frogs and singing crickets echoed into the night, bathed in the darkness that blacked the windows. A cigarette hung from Sirius's liquor-soaked lips.

"Reckon I ought to smoke this outside," he said. "Don't want to stink up your brand new house."

"Mm, yeah. Reckon so," Remus said, his eyes flickering shut as he settled back into his seat. The man was beyond drunk.

Sirius stood with a sway. "It's bloody dark out."

"Has been for a while now," replied Remus. He reached outward, eyes still closed. "Help me up, will you?"

Sirius clasped his sweaty hand and gave him a heave. Remus rocked forward onto bandy, unsteady legs, resembling a newborn fawn — awkward and unstable. He patted his front.

"Where in God's name did I put my cigarettes?"

"You can bum one off me," Sirius said.

"I can what?" Remus slurred.

"I'll get you a cigarette outside. C'mon, let's go." His eyes widened as Remus stumbled forward. Sirius caught him just in time. "Oh! Oh boy, nope — oh no, one foot after the other, mate — yes, that's it."

Remus followed Sirius out the door, staggering all the way, but ultimately, they both made it there in one piece. They lowered themselves onto the stoop, grunting as their knees and hips protested. Sirius lit his cigarette and plucked out another, which Remus gratefully accepted, but of course, he was drunk, so he did drop the lighter a few times.

He took a triumphant puff. "Thanks, mate."

"No problem." Sirius sucked in a deep drag, reveling in the nicotine. "What time is it?"

"Dunno," said Remus. He leaned back onto his palms. "Can see some stars, though."

"Barely," Sirius muttered. "Bloody light pollution drowns them out."

"Better than my old neighborhood . . . Your name is a star, isn't it? Seer-ee-us. Yeah, that's a star. I think I remember covering it when I was doing my school rounds . . ."

"It's a constellation, actually. Bit of a family thing."

"Huh. Interesting."

"Guess so." Smoke billowed from Sirius's nostrils. He looked down at the concrete. "Thanks for the pizza, by the way. I er — I've had a good time, hanging out."

"Me too. Good to know I have at least one sane neighbor."

"That's an awfully generous term."

Remus yawned. It really was late. "Sane to you and me might not be sane to others, but there's that saying about the opinions of sheep and what-have-you."

"By sheep, you mean Weasley."

"Maybe."

"Well, I'll take it. I definitely don't want to be sane by his book." Sirius flicked his ashes onto the stairs below. "Asking to use strangers' bathrooms, then inviting my herd of children to do the same. You know I saw his underpants once? Came out in his robe and got waving at me, nearly flashed his pecker."

Sirius had been afraid of his own robe coming open in public ever since, but he decided to spare that detail.

"Did the carpet match the drapes?" asked Remus.

Sirius grimaced. "Ginger as an Irish racehorse."

Remus's nose crinkled.

"You know, I was thinking, maybe next week we could get the kids together like we talked about," Sirius suggested. His heart was hammering all the while. "I'm sure my nephew could use some time with his favorite uncle."

He was far from the boy's favorite uncle. Hell, he wasn't technically his uncle at all.

"That sounds great."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Remus confirmed.

"Well good." Sirius's stomach was doing flips, and he thought perhaps it was time to return to his tried-and-true method of quitting while he was ahead. "I er — I suppose I probably ought to be getting home. I imagine you don't need me keeping you and the girl awake."

"Ah. Yeah, all right. Erm — when you have a day figured out, maybe just drop by and let me know? Hermione won't be pleased if she's expected to entertain without any . . . any . . . oh, bollocks, I lost the word."

"Notice?"

Remus gave a goofy, inebriated grin and pointed at him. "That's the one."

"Yeah, that's no problem. Getting his mother to drive him here will be a chore and all, anyway. Ought to have plenty of time to get your girl prepared."

"Her name's Hermione," Remus said. He snorted. "You can't pronounce it, can you?"

"Sure I can," Sirius lied. Again, his knees cracked as he stood — he really needed to see a doctor. "Can you er — can you get back inside safe?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine. Just going to finish this smoke and get to bed."

Sirius nodded. "Brilliant. Well erm — I'll see you soon, then."

"Yeah," Remus said, a small smile pulling at his lips. "See you soon."

Sirius then staggered down the steps and crossed the street. He had to, after all. If he stayed any longer, he might've ruined the whole night by kissing Remus square on his stupid, drunken mouth.