Post-Full Moon Revelations, Part 2: Closed RP for Lily and Sirius
((Continued from here, after a very distraught Sirius has left Remus's room))
The Ravenclaw bar was on the way from Remus's quarters to Lily's room, and Sirius was standing in front of it like a statue, staring and silent. Except for his breathing, which was slow and regular, the inhales barely audible and the exhales hot and slightly heavier, he was completely still. His eyes were hollow and unblinking, staring dully at the array of bottles containing liquids of various colours. Any wizard or witch who had been alive and living in Britain several years before would have easily recognised his face; although his hair was shorter and his skin had taken on a more healthy colour and was no longer stretched so tightly over his bones that his face looked like a skull, he bore an unmistakable resemblance to the person who had stared out from the mug shot that had been printed in every wizarding newspaper and appeared nightly on Muggle telly news programs.
For several minutes, Sirius just stood there, sad and exhausted and empty. He didn't think about anything in particular. In fact, he didn't really think about anything at all. It was as if a heavy veil had fallen over his mind, muffling any thoughts that might try to make their presence known.
Finally, with a good deal of mental force, Sirius made his brain re-engage, just the littlest bit, because there was something he needed to do. And once that was done, he could lie down and go to sleep. Being asleep meant not thinking about losing James again and about the way he had lost his own mind with the person he had thought was James, but wasn't, and right now that's all Sirius wanted - for the present time, and maybe for a long time after that. He really didn't know.
The thing he needed to do was to tell Lily that the James who had come to Hogwarts wasn't the person they had all thought he was, the person they had grown up with and loved. Sirius still didn't understand how some of the details had lined up perfectly, while others had been entirely wrong. He didn't know who this James was or where he had come from. But he did know that there was no way this James had been his best friend, had married Lily and fathered Harry, and had put himself in front of Voldemort to give the both of them some extra time to try to escape. And Lily needed to know this.
As much as the revelation had shattered Sirius, he genuinely hoped it would bring some sort of relief to Lily. She had already got her closure when she had visited her and James's graves at Godric's Hollow, but Sirius imagined it would make her feel even better to know that the person who had rejected her so unexpectedly and so coldly had not been the person who had become her husband after all.
Sirius stared at the glass bottles, wanting desperately to grasp one and drink as much of its contents as he could manage - anything to keep the ache inside his chest and the pain behind his eyes dull and distant. It would make things so much easier if he could just use the stuff - at least just a few swallows - to disconnect, to put some space between himself and the ache, to soften everything until eventually his mind didn't threaten to burst into fragments any more when he thought too hard about it all.
But Sirius also knew that Remus wouldn't like it. He had already emptied Sirius's flask of Firewhisky and told him he should handle his grief without it, tried to get Sirius to promise that he wouldn't drink except when around himself or Lily, and expressed concern about Sirius's 'non-social' drinking. And the last thing Sirius wanted to do was disappoint Remus, especially after the way he had listened to and consoled Sirius just minutes before.
With great effort, he forced himself to turn his head away from the bar and in the direction of Lily's room. His feet, however, didn't move, and as if it were bewitched, his head started to turn back to the bar.
He swallowed, his throat dry and sore from crying. Then, his eyes hollow and staring once more, he reached out towards one of the bottles sitting on the bar.
"Sorry, Moony," he whispered.