London, June 6, 2020

Watch me, watch me
I'm not going anywhere
I've got just what you need, babe
A remedy
That will make all your troubles disappear
Fear me not dear
I'll get you out of here
I'll take on all your pains and fears

Sirius drew his hood up and stuffed his hair into it. He wiped at his bleeding eyebrow with his sleeve, but without a mirror, there was no way of knowing if it helped or just made him look even worse. He put on his shades, even though the sun was covered by clouds now, and flipped up his collar before pushing open the gate and leaving the church grounds.

The square was just as busy as it had been an hour ago, and walking across it, he felt people's stares but kept his eyes down, stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets, and drew up his shoulders with no idea where he was going. He ought to find a taxi and go to the airport, but he just couldn't face it right now. He didn't want to see James or the twins or anyone, and the thought of going on stage tomorrow, like nothing had changed, made his stomach churn. And he certainly wasn't ready to face the media circus that was waiting for him.

He could go home, but Dora shouldn't see him like this, and she would ask about Reggie. He didn't want to talk about Reggie. He didn't want to think about Reggie. He didn't want to think about anything—his head might explode at any second from the violent thoughts warring in it. He couldn't do this anymore. He couldn't keep pretending to be a normal, functioning human being. Because he wasn't. He'd been born with poison in his blood and there was no running from it. Everyone was just waiting for him to fail. The media clung to his every mistake like bloated leeches, fitting it in to their narrative of him as the tragic genius who would inevitably self-destruct one day. Another Morrison, Cobain, or Hendrix—the modern poète maudit. He saw it in the people close to him every day too; the way James watched him with wary eyes when he didn't think Sirius was looking and the way Caradoc swept away problems and temptations alike before they could even reach him, neither man trusting Sirius to make the right choices on his own. And the worst part was that he couldn't blame them. Time and time again he had shown that he wasn't up to the job. His father was right. He had been gallivanting through life and it was amazing how no one had seen through his act yet. People praised his ability to string solos together and build symphonies, but the truth was he'd been desperately sustaining the same note for years, plastering a smile on his face to cover the fact that all it took was a broken string or a blown fuse, and silence would come crashing in.

He wasn't paying attention to where he was going, just wanting to put as much space between himself and the church as possible. A gang of rowdy teenagers was coming towards him, so he crossed the road and was looking over his shoulder to make sure they weren't following him, when someone knocked straight into him, sending a sharp pain through his ribs where Dolohov had kicked them.

"Whoops, sorry there, mate," a man said, steadying himself on a rack of clothes in front of the shop he'd just exited.

"Sorry," Sirius mumbled and kept walking.

"Oi, I know you…!" the man called and jogged up beside him. "You're Sirius Black!"

"Nope, must have me confused," Sirius said, determinedly looking down at the pavement and drawing his shoulders further up.

"You look just like him, though," the man persisted.

"I get that a lot, but I'm not." Sirius sped up. He needed to get off this street. It was too busy.

"You are, though…!" The man laughed and grabbed his shoulder. "I'm a huge fan—"

"Do not fucking touch me, mate!" Sirius spun and pointed in the man's face, which paled as his eyes caught the blood running down Sirius's temple.

"Alright. Jesus. I'm sorry, man," he stammered and held up his hands.

Sirius ignored him and half-ran down the pavement. His hands were shaking, and spots were dancing in front of his eyes. He turned down a side road where there were thankfully less people. When he was sure the man wasn't following him, he leant against a wall and put his hands on his knees. He forced himself to breathe through his nose and coughed to loosen up his throat. A wave of dizziness swept over him, so he squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed a hand over his chest as if he could massage his heart into submission.

When he was reasonably certain he could stand without passing out, he straightened up and looked around. At first, nothing looked familiar, but then his eyes landed on the little deli on the corner. And the pub on the opposite side. The cheap barber and the repair shop. The second-hand shop that used to be there was now an Asda, though, and the tanning salon was boarded up.

Oh, shit.

Without permission, his feet had carried him here, and now they were leading him on, past the barber and into the passageway beside it. The stench of piss and other less pleasant things evoked an odd sense of déjà vu mixed with jittery excitement as his body realised what was happening. Overflowing skips took up half of the grimy backyard and a tinny radio was playing Rod Stewart from a windowsill of the repair shop, serenading the three men sitting around a plastic table in matching chairs, that may have been white at some point, but too much sun and nicotine had turned them a cracked yellow. Beer bottles littered the table and ground around it, and a thick cloud of smoke hung over the men, who were in some sort of argument about the card game they were playing.

Just as he left them.

As Sirius approached, one of them looked up and flashed a golden tooth.

"Well, well, well, look who we have here! Long time, no see!" he said and flung his cards down in front of him.

"Evening, Dung." Sirius nodded and looked around to make sure no one else was in the backyard.

"I'm sorry to hear about your brother. Absolute tragedy, that," Mundungus said, and the two other men nodded and grunted their condolences as well.

"Yeah, well…" Sirius said with a shrug. "Listen, can you help me out?"

"Always knew you'd be back." Mundungus grinned and tugged on the lapels of his threadbare jacket that had most likely never seen a cleaner. His mates sniggered. "Come sit down, have a beer. We can catch up." He reached behind him and pulled up an extra chair, patting the dusty seat.

"No thanks," Sirius said. "If you can't help me, just say so—"

"Blimey, hold your horses, what's the hurry? Fuckin' hell…" Mundungus laboured to his feet and pulled Sirius a few feet away. "I'll sort you out, don't worry." He smiled, and Sirius had to lean away to avoid his breath. The man had lost a few more teeth since he last saw him. "I've got just the thing, hold on," he said and began rummaging in his pockets. "Aha, here we are." He held out a tiny bag with a handful of white pills in it.

"What is it?" Sirius said.

Mundungus grinned, sour breath washing over Sirius's face as he leaned in. Up this close, his scalp looked red and irritated under his sad attempt at a combover. "Just a little mind eraser. I'm guessing that's exactly what you need, innit?"

Sirius made to grab the bag, but Mundungus snatched it away, grin widening to reveal two missing molars. Sirius glared at him but reached into his back pocket and drew out his wallet. He took out some bank notes and thrust them at Mundungus, whose gold tooth glinted as he counted them, but he quickly schooled his features as he looked up at Sirius again.

"You know, it's a tough market these days…."

"Fuck you, Dung, that was fifty quid!"

Dung sucked his upper teeth and shrugged. "I suppose that's enough for two of these, but tell you what, I'll throw in a third for old times' sake, shall I?" He winked and started to shake the pills out into his hand.

"Fine, here," Sirius said and handed him another note, before the pills could touch Dung's scaly, nicotine-stained hands. "And this is for keeping your mouth shut. Take some for your friends too," he threw some more notes in their direction, which all three scrambled to pick up.

"Pleasure doing business with you again, Mr Black," Mundungus said and finally handed him the bag.

Quickly stuffing it into his pocket, Sirius pointed at each of the men in turn. "I was never here, got it?"

"Got it," the men echoed and mimed zipping their lips. Sirius could hear them cheering and clinking their bottles as he hurried out the way he came.

"Filthy cockroaches…." he mumbled to himself, an involuntarily shiver running down his spine. Just being in their presence made him long for a shower, but he got what he came for.

Heart beating in his throat, he put a good distance between himself and the barber shop before he slowed again, trying to think of his next move. With the pills red-hot in his pocket, he really needed to get off the streets. Home was still out of the question—it was too far and Andy would flay him if he brought drugs into the house where her daughter was staying. A hotel would do the job, but there was nothing in this neighbourhood and the all-too-familiar itch was nearly over-powering now, the anticipation sweeping through him like an electric current, urging him to do it now, now, now. No time to search out a room and risk getting recognised.

His feet kept carrying him through the narrow streets, knowing their way better than his desperate brain. There was a little gated garden up ahead, and he quickly looked up and down the road before climbing the wall and jumping down on the other side, landing in some tulips. A big juniper tree loomed a few feet away, almost as big as the one in Grimmauld's garden and dense enough to block the view of the nearest house. The fucking irony.

He ducked behind it and sat down, leaning against the outer wall. Digging in his pocket, he found the bag of pills and pulled it out. He was about to open it when something fluttered to the ground.

A piece of paper…?

He frowned and picked it up, unfolding it with shaking hands. It was worn and frayed and almost fell apart in between his fingers, but some of the writing was still visible. A series of numbers and then a name.

Remus.

"Shit…." He exhaled and banged his head into the wall behind him. Once, twice, three times.

What the fuck was he doing? Why was he skulking back here with a bag of pills like some desperate junkie? Why was he throwing his hard work away? His life? It would only prove his father right if he went down this path again. Goddammit, why was he so hell-bent on sabotaging himself at every turn?

Spots danced in front of his eyes as he hit the wall a little harder, but he stopped when one of them suddenly resembled James's face, angry and sad and panicked like it had been that day in the hospital. James, who had been his brother more than Reggie ever had, his rock, his pillar, his conscience. Sirius had caused him so much pain already—how much more could their friendship take?

He had a sudden vision of his best friend, clad in black and sitting in a carved chair in St. Paul's Cathedral looking down at a coffin.

His coffin.

He couldn't do this to him.

He had promised to never do this to him again.

But he was just so tired.

Tears ran down his cheeks as he clutched the pills in his hand. These feelings weren't new, just kept at bay by busy schedules and lovely distractions. He had thought he was doing so good, but he had just been pretending, hadn't he? For James's sake, for the band's sake, for everyone's sake. And he had been so good at it that he'd even convinced himself. Why had he not seen it? Fuck, James had seen it all along, hadn't he? Hell, even Rob fucking Halford had seen it all those years ago. 'You'll be staring at a grave before you're thirty if you keep using that to run from that,' he had said, pointing first to the line of coke Sirius had been about to snort off the drunk bird in his lap, then to the drummer from the Weird Sisters, whom he'd caught Sirius ogling all night. His words had already been so close to coming true once, and instead of learning his lesson, here Sirius was, voluntarily reattempting to fulfil his prophecy.

He wrapped his arms around himself and drew up his knees. What he really wanted right now was for someone else to wrap their arms around him, to tell him that everything was going to be okay. He didn't want to take those pills. It was a temporary fix and when it wore off, he would fall apart all over again. He was tired of taping himself back together every morning. There wasn't enough tape in the world. But when he was with Remus, he didn't need it as much. When he was with him… his pieces fit together somehow. When Remus had stayed over, he had gone two blissful days without cravings and had even managed a proper night's sleep in the master bedroom. Wrapped in Remus's arms, the bed hadn't felt too big, like an ocean threatening to carry him away; it had felt like a safe haven, a place where he was free to just be. Missing Remus had been a good distraction and writing him little silly poems in his bunk at night had proven a far better way to clear his mind for sleep than those stupid meditation exercises the doctors had tried to teach him.

What would Remus say if he saw him now? He would surely be disgusted, and he had every right to be. Sirius was disgusting. A plague upon all decent people, that was what his mother used to say. And Remus was decent. In every way Sirius wasn't. In every way he wanted to be. If Remus had any sense, he'd stay far away, and if Sirius were stronger, he'd let him—in fact he had let him. Remus hadn't reached out that much, and Sirius had taken the hint and not sent the last four post cards he'd written, but right now, the desire to sink into his embrace, to fall asleep in his arms and feel his gentle fingers in his hair, was stronger than the need to play guessing games. Even strong enough to momentarily push back the urge to get high. It didn't go away but it receded long enough for him to stuff the pills back into his pocket and wipe his eyes. Long enough for him to get up and scale the wall once more.


A/N: Hope you enjoyed! Next chapter might be a couple of weeks since I'm going on a trip.

As always, I'd love to know your thoughts in the comments and thank you so much to anyone still reading.

Lyric credits:

Kira and the Kindred Spirits - Save me