Work Text:
TW: vomiting happens once, not graphic. if you want to skip it, stop reading at "I think I'm going to be sick" and resume at "Better?"
April 17th, 1967
Sirius Black was seven years old the first time he tasted alcohol. And he hated it.
The Black family, Black cousins included, were eating dinner in one of their formal dining rooms. Andromeda was set to begin her 7th year at Hogwarts that fall; then she would be of age and ready to carry on the family legacy. She was still a woman of course, there was still much she could not do, but her 17th birthday would mark the coming-of-age of a new generation. The next generation.
“A toast!” Walburga cried, “to the Black Family. Toujours Pur!”
“Tojuours Pur!” the family echoed back, raising their glasses in synchrony.
Sirius was sandwiched between his mother and Regulus. He and Regulus made eye contact at his mother’s words, but didn’t dare speak out of turn.
Walburga took a long sip of wine, several glasses in, and smiled. It was the kind of smile Sirius rarely saw on his mother’s face; unguarded and seemingly genuine. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes bright and Sirius couldn’t help but wonder what magic wine contained to turn his usually cold mother into this seemingly warm imitation of her.
“Sirius,” Walburga purred, as if she could sense he’d been thinking about her, “why don’t you try a sip?”
Sirius’s eyes widened; unsure if this was a trap. Before he could verbalize an answer, Walburga was sliding her glass towards him, red liquid sloshing around inside.
Sirius consulted Regulus out of the corner of his eye, but Regulus only stared with wide eyes and a neutral expression. He was always superior at masking his thoughts, even then.
Sirius reached out for the glass tentatively, waiting for his mother to sharply slap his hand away, but she merely watched with twinkling eyes. The glass was bigger than his usual water glasses and he used two hands to bring it carefully up to his lips.
Sirius drank a mouthful of the stuff; his curiosity always got the best of him. The wine was bitter and strong and he hated the taste of it on his tongue. His ingrained table manners won out, however, and instead of spitting it across the table like he wanted to do, he swallowed in one big gulp. It absolutely burned down his throat and into his stomach, where it settled in a warm pool.
Walburga was watching him with one carefully raised eyebrow. “Well?”
“Thank you for letting me try, maman. But I don’t think it’s for me.”
Walburga laughed, then. A slightly mad laugh derived more from insanity than glee. Nonetheless, she regarded Sirius with something resembling a smile before saying “we’ll see about that.”
In hindsight, Sirius should’ve known. Should’ve known that anything offered to him by his mother was poison; hazardous and destructive and dangerous. But Sirius was a child, and if it made his mother seem so…pleasant, how could it be bad?
December 31st, 1971 (1st year)
Sirius was twelve years old the first time he felt buzzed, and suddenly, he understood.
Sirius’s first few months at Hogwarts retaught him what it meant to be alive. Being in Gryffindor with James, Remus, and Peter showed him a freedom he had never even dreamed of before. They played pranks and stayed up late eating junk food and laughed at inside jokes and Sirius had never known before that life could be so joyful.
His parents danced around his thoughts like a storm cloud, ominous and foreboding. At Hogwarts he was out of their reach. Bellatrix and Narcissa threw him all the disapproving looks they could muster, and hissed scathing remarks when they passed him in the halls, but it was nothing compared to the vitriol he’d been raised on. He ignored them easily, enjoying his time to the fullest, but as the days flew by and the holidays drew closer, Sirius had a difficult time ignoring the inevitable return to Grimmauld Place.
When he returned to Grimmauld for his first holiday break, greeted by Walburga with 3 broken fingers and a black eye, he cried on Regulus’s bed and wondered how he’d ever survived here. It was easy to survive in the tundra when the frost was all he knew, but after vacationing in the warm sun for the first time in his life, he found that he couldn’t stop shivering upon his return.
The Black New Year’s Eve Gala was a tradition older than Grimmauld Place itself; Sirius had attended every year since his birth, but he’d never felt so out of place. He stood with Regulus in the corner of the ballroom and watched the various guests mingle. He felt like an imposter wearing a Sirius Black costume; where was the young, charismatic heir everyone knew and loved? He usually talked circles around socialites at these parties, spending just enough time with each partygoer that they felt welcomed but not overly familiar. It was a game of sorts, to Sirius. He huffed, not for the first time, and Regulus shot him a look.
“Stop moping, Sirius,” Regulus said with an edge to his voice.
“I’m not moping,” Sirius retorted quickly.
“You are,” Regulus hissed back, face impassive but voice angry, “you’ve been moping ever since you came back from Hogwarts.”
“No I haven’t,” Sirius replied sullenly, not helping his argument.
“Yes, you have,” Regulus said pointedly. “I’m sorry I’m not as fun as your new friends, but huffing isn’t going to apparate them here.”
Sirius gaped at his brother. “Reg, it’s not that--”
“Save it, Sirius,” Regulus sighed, and Sirius was struck by just how tired he looked, “I’m going to go find Narcissa.” And he left.
Sirius watched Regulus glide across the room in search of their youngest cousin and let out a long sigh. His gaze shifted to the side where a table of champagne flutes sat waiting for guests. He looked back to the party, ensuring no eyes were on him, then he walked confidently over to the table and swiped a glass. He downed it in three sips and was struck by how much better this tasted than Walburga’s wine all those years ago. The taste wasn’t fantastic, but the burn as he swallowed felt like a little jolt of electricity and the warmth pooling in his stomach made him feel as warm as the Gryffindor common room’s fireplace.
Sirius surveyed the room again, and sensing no onlookers, swiped a second glass and drank it faster than the first. He coughed a little at the bubbles tickling his throat, placed the empty glass down on the table, and smiled for the first time that night. Maybe this stuff was magic.
A little while later, Sirius was convinced the bubbles from the champagne had gone directly to his head. He felt light for the first time in weeks, maybe for the first time in his entire life. He forgot about his tension with Regulus and disappointing his parents and missing his friends and he could just be . He flitted around from person to person, smiling and schmoozing and being the perfect heir, and it all felt so easy all of a sudden.
As the countdown to midnight began, Sirius raced to find Regulus. He found him talking to some boring adults and grabbed his hand as he dragged him away. Regulus spluttered protests but ultimately let Sirius pull him out of the ballroom and into the quiet hallway.
“I’m sorry, Reg,” Sirius said earnestly. His tongue felt freer, somehow, and he needed Regulus to understand. “It’ll always be me and you, yeah?”
If Regulus found his newfound attitude suspicious, he didn’t let on. “Course, Siri. I’m sorry for before, I just… missed you so much.”
“I know,” Sirius said quickly, “I know, Reg.”
“It’s so different without you here,” Regulus whispered quietly.
Sirius pulled him in tightly for a hug, trying to squeeze into Regulus just how much he loved him. “I wish you could come with me.”
“Me too,” Regulus said quietly into Sirius’s shoulder.
And they were okay; the way that only kids could be. Hugs and teary confessions were enough to forgive all transgressions, for now.
The cheers from the ballroom indicated that it was now the new year, and as the bubbles faded from Sirius’s head he acknowledged that he already missed the feeling.
March 27, 1974 (3rd year)
Sirius was thirteen years old the first time he was truly, properly drunk. And he loved it.
James Potter’s 13th birthday was cause for momentous celebration. It required, Sirius crowed to Remus and Peter the night before, a celebration as amazing as the boy himself. So, Sirius paid one of the 7th years to nick them a bottle of firewhiskey, and they smuggled snacks up from the kitchens, and got a cake from the house elves. While James finished up at Quidditch practice, the boys decorated their dorm room with streamers and balloons. When James stomped up the stairs and threw open the door to their dorm, sweaty and tired, the trio screeched “surprise!” and James’s smile held enough warmth to melt an ice cap.
“For you, Prongsy!” Sirius cheered, holding the bottle of firewhiskey high in the air. James’s eyes lit with mischief, causing Sirius’s own smile to grow impossibly wider.
“I still don’t know if this is a good idea…” Peter trailed off nervously.
“Of course it’s not,” Sirius answered cheerfully, “but why should that stop us?”
If Sirius had liked the champagne, he loved firewhiskey. The burning was different, stronger, and it warmed him from the tips of his ears to the bottoms of his feet. The taste was better, too, sweeter and spicier. The four boys quickly drained their glasses, laughing and talking as James detailed a past birthday of his where he’d gotten lost on a safari after wandering away from his parents. Remus put on a record, Hunky Dory by David Bowie, and Sirius felt the happiness seep into his very bones.
An hour later, Sirius was quite convinced he had never felt this good in his entire life. The warmth of the firewhiskey had somehow infused his brain with a buzzy, floaty feeling. He had a permanent smile fixed on his face and couldn’t imagine a reason why he would ever stop. James and Sirius danced around the room wildly to Star and the room seemed to move with them. Remus whistled from his spot hanging upside down on the bed and Peter clapped along to the beat. All Sirius knew was he never wanted this night to end; never wanted this feeling to stop.
Just after midnight, Sirius found himself in James’s bed. The firewhiskey still hummed in his veins, leaving him warm and happy as he stared up at the canopy of James’s bed.
“James?” Sirius whispered into the dark. He could hear Peter’s soft snores across the room, and Remus’s curtains were pulled tight around his bed.
James rolled over to face Sirius. “Yeah? All good?”
Sirius smiled into the dark even though he knew James couldn’t make it out. “Bloody brilliant,” he sighed, “I’m just not ready for it to end.”
James made a humming note of agreement. “It was one for the books, wasn’t it.”
“Definitely,” Sirius replied, yawning, “we made marauder history tonight.”
The boys fell into silence after that, drifting off quickly. The next morning, even their parched throats and pounding heads couldn’t dull the best night of their young lives.
April 21st, 1975 (5th year)
Sirius was fifteen years old the first time he regretted drinking. He was chasing a feeling, and for the first time, he wasn’t sure he was fast enough to catch it.
Sirius boarded the Hogwarts Express after the Easter holidays with a carefully blank mask fixed on his face. He found a compartment to sit in, sat closest to the window, and stared out, unblinking.
His ribs ached with each breath he dragged in, and although he knew Regulus had healed his swollen black eye, his face still throbbed with phantom pain. He kept his left arm tucked carefully next to his body; Regulus didn’t know how to heal second degree burns, he’d have to fake an injury once he was back at Hogwarts so Pomfrey could examine it. He knew he couldn’t tell his friends just how bad his holiday break had been, wasn’t strong enough to deal with their pity. So he turned it all off, Black mask carefully in place, and prayed his friends wouldn't come looking for him.
They did, of course.
James and Peter found him first. They barged into the compartment without knocking, laughter dying on their lips as they took in Sirius’s stiff form. James spoke first.
“Sirius? Alright?”
Sirius didn’t look in their direction, couldn’t stomach the concern he knew he would find on their faces. “Yeah, sure,” he answered distantly.
There was a pause, one where Sirius assumed Peter and James were having a silent conversation with their eyes, before the compartment door was shut with the three of them inside.
“You sure?” James asked softly. James, with his uncanny ability to be kind and genuine and considerate. It was twisting Sirius’s gut.
“Yup,” Sirius agreed easily, eyes trained on a nice looking family saying tearful goodbyes on the platform.
Peter spoke next, voice squeaky. “You don’t really look…”
Sirius’s temper flared. “I said I’m fine,” he said coldly, channeling Walburga into his tone, “drop it.”
And so they did, quietly settling into their seats. Until Remus arrived, throwing the compartment door open with a loud clang. Sirius fought a flinch.
“Sorry, lads” Remus started, slightly out of breath. But he didn’t finish, assessing the tension in the room. Sirius pointedly refused to look at him but he could practically feel Remus’s eyes on him. “Alright, Sirius?” he asked softly, closing the compartment door in an eerie imitation of James mere minutes before.
“Yup,” Sirius responded again, intent on making that his last word of the train ride.
He heard Remus cross the compartment and take the seat next to Sirius.
“Well Godric knows my holiday was shite,” Remus started, and he was off with an animated retelling of his week. Remus was great like that, Sirius thought to himself, knowing when to push Sirius and when to give him space. Remus reached out, then, to grab Sirius’s hand, and Sirius couldn’t stop the flinch at the unexpected contact. Remus froze there, unnoticed by the others while Peter took his turn regaling his holiday. Sirius, half to spite his own body and half because he wanted to, reached out for Remus’s hand instead. He still wouldn’t look at the marauders, couldn’t risk it, but he held Remus’s hand for the rest of the train ride, and nobody mentioned it.
After dinner, which Sirius had not eaten much of, Sirius found himself alone in the dorm room. James had a late-night Quidditch practice, Remus had needed to find Lily to discuss an upcoming Herbology assignment, and Peter was playing exploding snaps with Frank Longbottom in the common room. This is what he’d wanted desperately, solitude, but it felt all wrong now that he had it.
His eyes strayed to James’s bed then, and the half drunk bottle of firewhiskey caught his eye. He could really use a dose of sunshine right now, ached for the warmth of the liquid coursing through his veins. So, almost without thought, he stood up from his bed and retrieved the glass bottle. In mere seconds he uncapped it, brought the bottle to his lips, and took several long gulps. It burned going down in a way he had come to love, and faded too quickly. He took another swallow, relishing the way the burn distracted him from his ribs and his arm and his shitty family. He sighed, the closest he’d felt to content in weeks, and collapsed onto James’s bed, savoring the feeling of being surrounded by his best friend.
Sirius didn’t feel warm, not like the last time, but everything felt pleasantly dulled. His ribs hurt less, his arm hurt less, and his thoughts swam through his brain at half-speed. Sirius sighed deeply, grateful for some kind of reprieve from the noise in his head.
James was the one to find him, coming back from Quidditch practice deeply exhausted and ready for an early night.
“Pads?” he called out into the seemingly empty room; Peter had told him Sirius was up here. But there was no reply. Suddenly, movement from James’s own bed caught his eye. James walked over, and sure enough, Sirius was curled up in his bed. “Sirius?”
“Jaaaaaames,” Sirius drawled, “finally!” Something struck James as very, very wrong.
Sirius tried to pick his head up to locate James but was hit by a wave of dizziness and quickly dropped his head back onto the blankets. Sirius began laughing at this, giggles bubbling out of him without his consent. “Stop moving, I can't see you.”
“I’m…not?” James said slowly, scanning the room for a hint to the problem. His gaze stuttered on the bottle in Sirius’s right hand, far emptier than he remembered it being.
“Are you seriously drunk right now?” James gawked, too surprised to think of a way to soften the question.
Sirius laughed impossibly harder at this. “I--” he started, fighting through laughs “I’m Sirius!”
James was entirely at a loss for what to do. He went to grab Sirius’s free hand to pull him up, but Sirius’s words froze him before he could. “No not-- not that arm, please don’t.”
James paused with his hand outstretched. “Why not?”
“The burns, silly,” Sirius replied, and James felt like a black hole was forming in his stomach.
“Are you hurt?” James asked urgently, “let me see.”
“No no,” Sirius huffed, “nonononono! Doesn’t even… sound like a word.”
James was silent for a moment, scrambling for what to do, but Sirius kept on talking.
“I missed you, Jamesy, don’t leave me anymore! I always miss you when you’re not here.”
James smiled at this despite his rising concern. He decided the best possible thing he could do for Sirius right now was to put him to bed; his friend clearly needed rest and he needed more time to think of what to say.
“How about some sleep, Sirius?” James asked softly.
Sirius tried to pick his head up again but the room swam, forcing him back onto the bed. “Don’t want…nightmares” he mumbled, almost as if talking to himself.
“I’ll stay with you,” James declared, as if he could fight off the monsters in Sirius’s psyche, “and wake you up.”
“Don’t wanna move,” Sirius mumbled again. James relented and tucked Sirius into his own bed, taking his shoes off for him. James sat with Sirius and listened to the sound of his breathing, wondering what could have happened over Sirius’s holiday to make him implode like this.
“James?” Sirius said suddenly, “I’m sorry.”
James shushed him immediately, “we’ll talk tomorrow, Pads, just go to sleep.”
“Just wanted it to stop,” Sirius admitted quietly.
“Wanted what to stop?” James asked, curiosity getting the best of him.
“All of it,” Sirius whispered, “I wanted the sun back. It’s so cold there.”
“Go to sleep, Sirius,” James whispered again, not sure how to communicate with this version of his best friend.
“Sound like Reggie,” Sirius mumbled. He closed his eyes and quickly drifted off to sleep.
James hid every bottle of firewhiskey in their dorm room.
December 15th, 1975 (6th year)
Sirius was sixteen years old the one and only time he blacked out, and it changed everything.
The end of semester party in the Gryffindor common room was for 6th and 7th years only. The marauders had been itching to attend one ever since they had learned of their existence. The parties were notoriously wild, and Sirius Black prided himself on being a wild child, so it only made sense that he had everyone’s eyes on him. But he was also nervous. He wanted so desperately to impress everyone and knew he only had one chance. Teenage judgment was not forgiving.
So when the girls suggested pregaming upstairs, Sirius was in full support of the idea. They all gathered in the boys’ dorm room and played never have I ever while drinking Aunty Vera’s Rum. Its taste wasn’t as strong as firewhiskey, but the burn was sharper, and Sirius reveled in that.
“Never have I ever,” Marlene said thoughtfully, “been the heir to a Most Noble and Ancient House!”
Sirius glared daggers as he took a short sip.
“Never have I ever,” Lily said next, “had a younger brother.”
Sirius, Marlene, and Mary drank at that.
“Never have I ever,” Mary declared, “snogged a girl senseless in the alcove by Charms on the third floor.”
Sirius gaped at her before taking another sip; the only one, again.
“Never have I ever,” Sirius muttered darkly, “had tits.”
All the girls drank.
Sirius quickly realized that he had done almost everything mentioned, making it a very dangerous game, but the alcohol settled in his soul like an old friend and he embraced the feeling.
Some time later, Sirius and his friends danced wildly in the common room. A Night at the Opera was blasting, and Sirius found himself twirling Mary around the room in dizzying circles. She beamed at him, and he beamed back, feeling on top of the world. Mary MacDonald was a force to be reckoned with and Sirius’s favorite dance partner; the only one who he felt could really keep up with him. He opened his mouth to tell her as much, when--
He blinked. Suddenly, he was standing by a refreshment table with James, watching as Frank and Alice loudly sang a duet standing on the coffee table. James was mid sentence.
“--look at me, you know? I don’t know what else to do.”
Sirius found himself nodding along anyways, despite having no idea what James was talking about. James slung an arm around Sirius’s shoulder with enough force to make them both stagger.
“You're my best mate, you know that right?” James was clearly drunk as well.
“Of course, Prongsy, course. You’d have to kill me to get rid of me.”
James smiled at that, smiled so wide that his eyes crinkled and the dimple on his cheek materialized. Sirius loved this boy, the man that taught him more about friendship and life than--
“--so don’t go breaking my heartttt!” Sirius sang, one arm around Marlene’s neck.
“I won’t go breaking your heart!” Marlene sang back, hitting exactly zero of the right notes.
Sirius stumbled, slightly. When had he gotten up here with Marlene? He scanned the room, and saw James and Peter cheering him on. He was disoriented, and very, very drunk, but his love for the spotlight drowned out all his doubts for the time being. He and Marlene sang their hearts out to thunderous cheers from the rest of Gryffindor. When the song was over, Sirius hopped off the coffee table first, and stretched his arm out to help Marlene down like a true gentleman.
“We absolutely smashed that,” Marlene declared victoriously, “whoever goes after us--”
Sirius was upstairs in their dorm room. Sirius was upstairs in their dorm room and Remus Lupin was with him. Crying.
“--never want me when you're sober, Sirius,” Remus was saying with a heartbreaking crack in his voice, “it’s killing me.”
Sirius stared at Remus with wide eyes, what the fuck just happened?
“Moony, I--” and he was almost grateful that Remus cut him off, not even sure how he would have finished that sentence.
“Save it, Pads,” Remus said tiredly, “just go back to your party and leave me alone.”
Sirius was confused and disoriented and upset. He didn't like this loss of control; didn't like the gaps in his memory. The missing memories ached like burns, eating at his subconscious and making him sweat. He missed the light, buzzy feeling from before-- this was anything but. He never wanted to feel like this again. All these emotions swirled in his stomach in nauseating circles.
“I think-- I think I’m going to be sick.”
He sprinted to the bathroom seconds before vomiting, gripping the side of the toilet as the last hours of alcohol and chips emptied themselves into the porcelain bowl. Remus followed behind him and held his hair back, kind and gentle even when angry. Sirius wanted to cry.
Sirius wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, feeling worlds better now that his stomach was empty. Throwing up seemed to sober him more than black coffee ever had. Remus tutted slightly and cast a cleaning charm.
“Better?” Remus asked softly, anger drained away.
Sirius held his head in his hands. “You deserve better,” he moaned, without looking up. He couldn’t stand the thought of Remus feeling unlovable.
“What?”
“Of course I want you, I want you all the time. It’s just…you could have anyone, Re. You deserve better than me.”
Remus sighed. “And yet, it’s you that I want.”
Sirius swatted him, then. “You’re supposed to say something about how I am better; how I’m the best.”
Remus hummed thoughtfully. “You wanted me to lie?”
Sirius’s jaw dropped as he stared at Remus. “You have to be nice to me, I just threw up!”
“Seems like your own fault,” Remus tutted, but he was smiling.
Sirius shook his head, smiling in spite of himself. Despite the lack of alcohol in his system, his stomach felt warm and his cheeks felt flushed and he felt…happy.
Maybe there were some things that felt better than alcohol.