Pollux caught the bottle and looked at it for a moment in idle curiosity. It wasn't anything he recognized--but then you'd never find cheap beer in the homes of any Black when there was whiskey, wine, and other liquor to be had. Pollux's own cabinet wasn't as expansive, impressive, or as well stocked as say.. Arcturus' was, but he wasn't a heavy drinker. He kept alcohol on hand for special occasions, such as when he was visited by family or hosting the year's celebrations. Which, hopefully, wouldn't be this year as he and Irma were barely--he brushed the thought back.
Eighty three years.
He felt dizzy but managed to move himself to the couch beside Sirius, sitting down rigidly, looking distinctly out of place and uncomfortable. There was no casual ease to his movement, appearance, or bearing while he fiddled with the bottle then made a gestured with his hand, exerting a bit of his magical will to pop the cap off. The beer fizzled a little and he watched in mild wonder then tasted it. He made a face and put the bottle down. It was disgusting.
"The future?" he questioned. "I'm not sure if this is the present or the future yet." He frowned. Perhaps if it were another period, the 80s maybe, and Pollux was alive he'd judge Sirius for his choices. Perhaps he'd look down on him and shake his head in disgust, but as it were he was too pre-occupied with his current knowledge to care. And what judge would he be when Marius, Pollux's own beloved little brother, was four years shy of being blasted off the tree himself? A squib. A squib Pollux was teaching himself to forget about, despite Marius being a scant thirteen years old.
Sirius would never know him.
Cygnus would never know him.
Alphard wouldn't remember him. But Lucretia and Walburga would. Pollux would. And his sisters. He rubbed his head again and reclaimed the bottle of crappy beer.
"It would be different if we'd made the choice for this to happen."