| REPOST |
[07 Jan 2008|09:33pm] |
Who: James and Sirius
Where: Hogsmeade, mostly- aka where the alcohol is.
When: After Sirius confronts Regulus.
What: Sirius is in need of two things: his best mate, and enough alcohol to make him forget his own name.
James had said the statue, and so Sirius was waiting by the statue, sitting on the floor with his back against the wall and his knees drawn up. It was an uncharacteristically vulnerable position for him, but besides that there was no real indication that anything was wrong with the boy- his expression was composed, if perhaps a bit mechanical or emotionless, and he was perfectly still, no nervous tappings or anxious movements at all.
Which was in itself an indication, if you knew the boy; all the manic energy that usually attended Sirius was still there, except now it was turned inward, his mind moving frantically and helplessly and unstoppably until he thought his head might pop with it, and all he wanted was as many goddamn firewhiskeys as it took to shut it off, oh Merlin.
Five minutes. He'd give James five minutes, and then he'd go off to Hogsmeade himself, cloak or no cloak, best mate or no best mate.
It didn't take five minutes. James made excuses to the prefects he'd been talking to, and gave a severe look to the second year who'd been dragged before him, and made such a dire threat that said second year paled.
He knew this pattern, he thought as he ran through the corridors, teasing the little piece of silver from his pocket until a fluid blanket of nothing flowed out and across him. The Blacks - when they touched Sirius, with their cold, pure hands and brushed fingers through his mind, Sirius's mind which was quick and bright and vivid - it was like little pieces of his friend curled up and died, and he was angry; hot and thick and breaking things.
Except there had never been Regulus as part of the mix. James when younger had been a teensy bit jealous of Regulus, he admitted uncomfortably. Born Sirius's brother, with that bond and the thick family connections; each Christmas when the Black family gathered and his mother dragged him to another cool-as-ice gathering, he would hear the stories of 'what Sirius has done now' and seen Sirius and Regulus, with the satellites clustered around them of their cousins. It was only after James was told what it was like to really be Black that he lost that envy. He simply adopted Sirius into his family; a family where love was thick and comforting across them and no one need question if they were wanted.
As he rounded the corner, he saw Sirius and his heart sank, turning over and over in a sickened dance. He was sitting quietly, as though every part of Sirius that glowed were no longer there, all his twitchy energy extinguished. James's face beneath the Cloak became carefully composed, and as he tugged it away from his face, he seemed only calm and perhaps wise. He tossed a small purse at Sirius.
"Drinking money. Come on, let's go."
Sirius nodded as he caught the purse one-handed, pushing himself to his feet with the other hand and closing the distance between them to duck beneath the cloak without a word. It was crowded, now, under there; they'd grown too big to do this now, really, even just the two of them. Part of Sirius's mind noted that, coldly, and just as coldly noted that it was mildly heartbreaking, another shift in a litany of things that should never have had to change.
They were out of the castle and a good distance away before he actually said anything.
"Everyone was right, y'know. About him. Everyone but me." That was as close as he could get, right now, to explaining what had happened; the words my brother is a death eater weren't consenting to trip past his lips.
Everyone wondered why James had been made Head Boy - not Remus. James did not wonder, because only James was privy to the tucked away corners of his heart, where James was a knight, and did battle for those weaker and less fortunate than he. While many a first year could attest to this, how gentle and quiet James could be, they rarely saw this - the flicker of scorch-hot anger across James's face, settling in his eyes as he felt the prickle of desire to hurt the people who had done this; got to his friend, injured him.
He couldn't find words to speak about Regulus. In James's world, black was black and white was white and the complicated swirls of grey between the two was bound by the solidness and heaviness of the right things to do. That pressure that Sirius had seen - was unfathomable to James, and all he could do was squeeze Sirius's arm fiercely, as he wondered how one family could produce his brother, and Regulus of the same line.
"Firewhiskey," he said firmly, and led the way through the passages, unlocking the Honeydukes' store-room and letting the two both out into the chill air of the evening. "Hogshead, yeah?"
"Yeah," Sirius agreed steadily. Normally, he preferred the Broomsticks- the Hogshead's delerict air should have appealed to him, but didn't, not really, Sirius didn't like dark corners nearly as much as he pretended to- but tonight was not a night for Madame Rosmerta's well-meaning concern toward delinquent students. She knew them, and even if she didn't send them back to the castle, she'd want to know what was wrong. No one at the Hogshead would give a damn, as long as their money was good.
He took a deep breath of the cold air as they made their way toward the dingy little pub- the first deep breath he'd managed in hours, maybe days, maybe since the last time he was in this town, when everything had gone to hell.
"So. Date with Evans? How'd that happen?" Anything to avoid talking about the real reason they were here.
James's hand was steady on Sirius's arm, like a buoy to a boat caught in high wind, holding him still. He would not let go until Sirius had come to a stop, until he could feel his brother-friend back with him, but he was easily led to talk prattle to steady him, and this he did.
"Mistletoe, wasn't it? Got caught near the Hall, and I refused on principle, cos of Bashir. So she kissed me. Lips of magic, I have," he said with the same proud gleeful air as he would any other moment, but something not quite sparkling behind the eyes.
The smirk Sirius gave didn't reach his eyes, but it was, at least, a passable attempt. "Fwoar, good for you," he said as he shoved open the door to the Hogshead. The boys were met with a few disinterested glances from the patrons, who quickly returned to their drinks. "Just like that? One kiss and she was begging for a date?" The words were gleeful enough, and exactly what Sirius would say in this situation under any circumstances, but the feeling behind them was lacking, to say the least. He was trying. Usually, Sirius met unhappiness with a self-obsession that bordered on narcissism; it was only when something was really, truly, irreversably wrong that he coped by focusing on other things. "Take that, Bashir."
James didn't like this. When something, even a gnat sized something, was wrong for Sirius, he moaned. He moaned and moaned and until everyone had lost sympathy for him, he was the star of his very own performance of 'the Woes of Sirius Black'. Except he wasn't.
"How about that Firewhiskey?" he said, quietly, and spoke to the man polishing glasses before returning with two glasses, not exactly clean, but brimming with amber-gold liquid, and set one in front of Sirius.
Sirius didn't hesitate, and he didn't sip politely at the drink, no, he tossed it back, downing the whole thing in about three swallows and coughing violently once it was gone. There. Better already.
"Thanks," he gasped, still catching his breath around the burning, before calmly reaching across and taking James's glass, sipping from it more reasonably and giving his friend a defiant look, just daring him to argue instead of going to get himself another one. Sirius did not have time for social niceties, not when the only thing that really mattered was getting drunk enough to forget his bloody name as quickly as possible.
James understands; in a way that only someone who has seen the death of someone in their family, unjust and too-swift, probably can. Regulus's defection is like a death - no, worse. It is a living death, because every time Sirius will see him, he witnesses the death of his hope all over again. Instead, he gets a bottle and a glass for himself, and pours himself one.
"I'm taking her on a walk," he says abruptly. There is a need to fill in the silence between them, it is all corners and sharp edges where people could get lose and hurt. He will fill it with light and silliness and it might not scare the shadows away but there is an illusion of something there, at any rate. Illusions are all they need - presently.
"Can't take her into Hogsmeade, she'll kill me for rule-breaking. So I'm taking her on a walk."
"Down by the lake," Sirius advised with a nod and another big gulp of drink. "The sandy bit, the beach, like. If you're lucky it'll snow. Romantic. Birds like romantic." Another swallow, and a smile, this one grim but edged with real amusement. "'sides, if it all goes to hell you can always 'accidentally' rile the Squid up and then save her from it, knight in armor and all that rot. She might even like it."
"Squid is more likely to eat me," James points out, reasonably, because he and Sirius spent a lifetime (or the majority of second year) riling the Squid, and it decided it liked the taste of Jim Potter. "I think it's an ex-nay on the Squid, Sirius. But romantic is good."
He looks at Sirius bluntly, downs the last of his own glass. "You got over your awkwardness with Remus yet?" This is a gamble of a distraction, and James is prepared to run for it, metaphorically speaking.
"No. Yes. Dunno," Sirius says, both reasonably and coherently, he thinks, given the complicated nature of the situation. "Pretty sure he still thinks I 'hate' 'im, but there's only so many times I can tell him that's barmy, y'know? He'll get over it." He shrugs and looks away; Remus is one more thing he wants and can't have, but at least Remus hasn't gone and gotten himself a new tattoo, at least he's not completely gone. Let this be a lesson, he thinks, No matter how bad it is, it can always be worse. As to what would be worse than this, well, he can't come up with anything, but there must be something, and maybe it'll decide to happen too just so he can find out. He grimaces and finishes off his second glass, reaching for the bottle almost simultaneously.
James waits for Sirius to consume more, and he's still hung up on how their best friend - one of them, he remembers with the guilty knot in his stomach that always comes when he has forgotten Peter for a moment, and thinks he must make it up to him - has become something unobtainable, like Lily, to Sirius.
"You told him how you feel about him?" he asks, and yes, he is trying to get drunk quickly, because he does not want this conversation. But it is preferable, it fixates on the here and now, and the future rather than what is done.
Sirius snorts as he pours. "No, Prongs, I have not," he says with as much dignity as he can muster. "There's only so much bloody rejection a bloke can take, I'm not going to go 'round asking for it. He got drunk and experimental, I flipped out, that's all he needs to know." And that's the alcohol talking, already having its effect, loosening Sirius's tongue around the bitter, self-recriminating sort of things he'd never say sober, because he's Sirius Black and everyone knows he adores himself. "It's fine. Wouldn't be any good at that sort of thing anyway. Much better at the casual shag thing, yeah."
Unfortunately, James is more meddlesome than most. And he is coming very close to either knocking his friends' heads together, or telling Remus exactly what Sirius thinks. Instead, he reaches over and punches Sirius's arm.
"I'm certain he wasn't experimental," he rolls his eyes, slugs whiskey and chokes, from trying to do all three at the same time. "How many girlfriends has Remus had, Sirius? He's not been in love years, like me. He doesn't shag about like you. Out of Pete and Remus, I'd put Remus as gay." The word is there, out in the open, not just two-boys-kissing, but 'gay' with all the connotations it brings.
"Drink," he says, a little heavily, as if the implications are just rounding in on him.
"Yeah, and who better t'test it out on than your slaggy best mate who swings both ways, huh? He's gay, fine, doesn't mean it meant anything. Look, 'snice you're getting Evans finally, I'm glad, I am, doesn't mean I'm suddenly gonna get lucky too, yeah? 'sfine. I don't care anymore." It's a lie, yeah, but only partly, because part of him really doesn't care, can't imagine caring about anything ever again, not after today. And not caring would be so much easier. He's sick of caring. And he says as much, "I'm sick of caring," into his firewhiskey before downing a good half the glass. It's a wonder he's not swaying yet, given how quickly he's drinking.
James is not drinking nearly as quickly; his concern for his friend holds him back, slows his pace. And he slings an arm around Sirius's shoulders at this point, just propping him up as he slugs back another swallow of hot forgetfulness.
"And after Hogwarts?"
"After H'gwarts?" Sirius repeats, blinking his confusion at James. There is no 'after Hogwarts.' And even if there is, he doesn't see how it matters, it's not like things will change that much, it'll still be the four of them. Won't it? "Less homework, I reckon. After Hogwarts."
It'll be different. James knows it, when he is studying hard already for a programme as selective as any can be. He knows it, in that having been given a shot at happiness with a girl, he'll go carefully, to make it right. And that after Hogwarts, he will Grow Up. And not be a knight-at-arms with his three friends any more. But James does not voice this, does not speak of the fears that haunt him late into the night, and just nods.
"Yeah." He drinks, this time more heavily.
"Lots more fightin' Dark Wizards, though," Sirius adds thoughtfully before taking another long pull at his drink. "And Death Eaters. Only not Reg'lus, I made a promise, didn't I. Everybody thinks I break those." He glances quickly at James, eyes glassy. "Don't, though. Us'lly."
Sirius is slipping, letting people know. And James absorbs the knowledge, the definite certainty that Sirius's little brother is a soldier for the Dark. There is a cold, hard certainty deep within James that if it ever came to it, he would do something - he would hurt Regulus before Regulus hurt Sirius, or any one other he numbers as friends. It is a hardness, a steel to James that he wasn't sure was there before. He is, now.
"I know you don't," he says comfortingly and pours another glass - helpful, always.
Sirius barely even notices that his glass is full again, just picks it up and drinks. It's really starting to work now, the alcohol settling warmly through his limbs, making it harder to feel anything real. "You're a good mate," he says, airy and fond at the same time.
"I know," James says, his voice warm with laughter and affection at the same time, and just watches Sirius. He's alert still; the alcohol in his belly sits and warms him, but he didn't drink enough to make a real difference. He can watch over Sirius still.
"Good," Sirius says decisively. "'sgood firewhiskey, too. We should take some back. For Pete. 'nMoony. Don't you think?" Either logic has gone out the window, or Sirius has, in his current state, forgotten what happened the last time Remus was drunk, and what that set off.
"Er, no?" James says, who hasn't. Forgotten, that is, nor the price of Firewhiskey, nor that Sirius is usually very ill when this is over, or that three people throwing up is not as funny as one.
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