"Mmfrrggghhh.." Sirius was only vaguely aware of the half-grunt, half-groaning sound he elicited as the sun beat against the back of his eyelids like a sledgehammer made out of bright light. Making a valiant attempt to hide from the sun, his body did the natural thing and rolled around. Only it rolled where there was no sofa, and he ended up sprawled on the floor with his heart pounding in his ears.
"Fuck," he grumbled with feeling, dragging himself up into a slouched over sitting position. His palms glued to the side of his head as if his hands were the only thing keeping his skull together. It sure as hell felt like it.
Slowly, he took account of things. His tongue was parched and a bit sandy, his head had its own pulse, his stomach was churning, and if his cold toes were any indication, he'd lost a shoe. The night before was.. patchy. All he could recall was Fred, something about changing nappies, and thinking he needed to find Prongs or a faucet.
Squinting through the bloody sunlight and a bit of morning crust that gathered in his eyes overnight, Sirius made out a James-shaped head. No one else had his messy hair. "Prongs?" His voice was scratchy. Much like his head was a bit itchy. Reaching up, he felt the grainy feel of sand.