The sun was beginning to set on the snow-covered hill, signaling the start of the second New Year’s Eve for Sirius since his escape from Azkaban. And nearly nothing had changed. He was still wanted, still on the run. Still starving. And still alone. So there were five people in the world who didn’t think he was guilty of James and Lily’s murder. Well, la dee da. He would have cheered if he could have cared.
Because none of them knew the real truth. None of them knew that he really had murdered his best friend and his wife, nearly killing their son, his godson. Their death was completely his fault. If only he hadn’t told them to switch to Peter“the murdering bastard....There was no saying that they’d be alive even now, he could admit that. But their deaths wouldn’t have been his fault, because he would have died before betraying their location, their secret. Their trust.
He took another swig of Firewhiskey from the bottle, realized it was empty, and threw it to the floor, where it shattered into a hundred pieces with the remains of the three other bottles. The few drops he hadn’t sucked dry from it splattered onto the dust covered floor as he pulled a fifth out of the bag, popped the cork and tipped it down his throat. It burned on the way down, but it didn’t burn away the guilt.
He pulled a face at the taste and gulped down some more before looking around the room. There were so many memories in this room, this room which now boasted only dusty curtains hanging around a bed that was in danger of collapsing, one leg nearly broken in half. That was what filled the room: broken furniture and a broken man with broken memories and dreams. Happy memories. Angry memories. But memories, nonetheless. And they were haunting him.
There were the ghosts of himself and Remus, tussling on the floor, laughing and smiling in one of their mock fights.
They vanished, replaced by another set of ghosts, him and Remus again, but Remus was transformed now. His mouth opened in a soundless howl. Tears rolled down Sirius’s cheeks as he remembered“that had been right after James had gotten Snape away to safety; the night of The Prank. The moment when Remus had realized what Sirius had almost made him do. That many years ago, Sirius thought he would never feel again as helpless as he had that night. He’d been wrong. That helplessness had no measure against what he was feeling now.
The ghosts disappeared, and Sirius watched the ghost of himself reappear around the door, younger and flanked by James and Peter “ the murdering bastard “ horrified and fascinated as they watched Remus transform for the first time.
He seemed to be regressing.
So it was, with some surprise and regret at the loss of his younger self, that Sirius watched as the memories turned to wisps of smoke, reforming to become the self he had been before the summer, Remus and the three children: Harry, Hermione and Ron. The ghosts had joined him on and around the bed now, taking their proper places as he relived the moment when Peter“the murdering bastard“ had been forced to show himself. He remembered things he hadn’t before: the looks on the children’s faces. The utter revulsion on Ron’s face as Peter “ the murdering bastard “ reached out for him was almost comical.
He put out a shaky hand to push the ghost of himself away, but his hand went straight through and he lost his balance, toppling off the bed and crashing to the floor. The bedspread ripped with a satisfying sound as he pulled it down with him, spilling most of what was in the bottle over the front of his robes.
“Oh bugger,” he said to the room in general as he stared up at the dark and creaking ceiling, the ghosts now joined by the stars spinning around his head. Well, that’s what he tried to say anyway. It sounded like no more than a mumble to even his ears.
He downed the rest of the bottle and threw it at the newest ghosts: himself and Remus in fifth year. He’d never forgotten that night, but he had no interest in being reminded of it now. However, instead of hitting them, it sailed straight through their bodies, smashing against the wall.
“Sod it,” he said, grimacing at the sound of breaking glass.
He sat up, clutching the leg of the bed as the room tilted. He used it to hoist himself back up onto the bed and to the bag containing the rest of the fire whiskey. He leaned over the bed to pull out another, lost his balance yet again and fell to the floor once more.
“Bugger it,” he said to the ceiling for the sake of variety.
A howling wind roared outside, heralding a coming storm as it echoed the helpless fury filling him.
The ghosts were back, and they had brought a raging headache with them. He watched as they moved about the room, scenes interplaying within each other. One James running into the next. The Remuses melting into one another. Peters “ the murdering bastards “ running round and round the room. And then Lily was there.
Sirius laughed at the memory; it was the only one with her in the Shrieking Shack. And they had forced her to come, if the truth willed out. They had kidnaped her in seventh year, Remus, Peter “ the murdering bastard “ and himself, threatening to wipe her memory of James because they all thought he was spending too much time with her. It had been quite the laugh then and it was an even bigger laugh now. But the laugh was a bitter one. Maybe if they actually had wiped her memory they never would have married...Harry would have never been born...but James and Lily would still be alive; there would have been no reason for Voldermort to go after them.
Lily had meant the world to him because she had meant the world to James.
Tears rolled freely again as he laughed and sobbed at the same time, almost choking on the fire whiskey. It was nasty stuff and he made another face. How did people drink the stuff?
The door flew open to the room to reveal Remus. Ah, he was having another go at that night, then.
“‘Lo, Moony,” he said, waving the bottle at him.
“My God, Sirius, what happened?” Remus asked, walking towards him.
Sirius frowned, looking up at him. “Yer not s’posed ta talk,” he slurred.
“I’m not?”
“Nope. Ghosts don’“don’ talk.”
Remus bent down beside him, wrinkling his nose. “Sirius,
you reek. Have you been drinking?”
“Me?” Sirius asked, shocked, drunkenly pointing a finger at his chest. “Nah. Not drinkin.’ Drownin’.”
“Drowning,” Remus echoed, his eyebrows going up.
“Yep.”
“Drowning what, precisely?”
Sirius waved his arm out at the room. “Mem’ries.”
“Ah.”
“Ah what?” Sirius asked, glaring at Remus.
“You’re drunk,” Remus said simply, crossing his arms over
his chest.
“‘M not drunk!" Sirius protested.
“You’re not?”
“Nope.”
“Well, you’re damned hard to find, that’s for certain,” Remus said as his eyes surveyed the room. “I had gone halfway to Egypt before I thought to look for you here.” His nose wrinkled again as Sirius let out a heavy breath, and he coughed behind a fisted hand. “How many bottles did you have?”
Sirius squeezed his eyes tight, as though that would stir his brain into proper action. “Erm.” He held up a hand and looked. There were too many fingers on his hand. He closed his eyes, shook his head and opened them once more. There were still too many fingers there. “Five?” he asked.
“Five!” Remus exclaimed. “Merlin’s Beard, Sirius!”
“Too much?” Sirius asked, feeling ashamed. Remus had a habit of making him feel ashamed, but he’d never known why. Ah, right. He remembered now: it was because he loved him. “Four?” he asked hopefully.
Remus laughed.
“Alrigh’ then?” Sirius asked with a brilliant, if drunk, smile.
“No, it’s not all right. Sirius, you don’t drink.”
“I don’t?” Sirius asked, confused. If he didn’t drink, then it was only logical that he hadn’t been, wasn’t it? Only he was nearly sure he had been drinking. Maybe he was drunker than he thought he was, if he thought he’d been drinking and he hadn’t. But how could he be drunk if he hadn’t been drinking? He screwed his eyes shut again“his brain hurt.
Remus resisted the urge to laugh. “No, Sirius, you don’t. And five bottles would be a lot even if you did.”
“Five is a lot?”
“Yes Sirius, five is a lot.”
“Hell of a lot?”
“Yes, Sirius.”
“‘M drunk?” he asked, making sure.
“Roaring drunk,” Remus nodded.
“Ah. Thas’ alrigh’ then,” Sirius said, sending clouds of dust up from the floor as he fell heavily against it, passing out.
A/N: Hope you enjoyed! Humor picks up in the second chapter! Please review!