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"Thanks for letting me stay, Moony," Sirius said, flopping down on the sofa. He put his boots up on the low table and reached into his pocket for a pack of fags. He pulled one out and lit it with the tip of his wand, inhaling deeply.
Remus brought over two shots of Firewhisky, the bottle floating along behind him, and handed one to Sirius. "Where else would you go?"
"Not that mausoleum where I grew up, that's for sure." Sirius clinked glasses with Remus before tossing the shot back. He shuddered. "Nearly as bad as Azkaban, that shithole."
Remus sat down beside him—thigh touching his, Sirius noted, the tightness in his chest loosening—but sipped his drink slowly.
Sirius frowned. The full moon was over a week before but Remus was older than he used to be and he knew transformations were painful. "Stomach all right?"
Remus shook his head. "Yeah, I'm fine. Don't drink that much now. Makes my joints ache afterward.
"I've got just the thing." Sirius reached into the inner pocket of his robes and pulled out a couple of spliffs. "Best thing for aches and pains."
"It's been years," Remus said, taking the joint from Sirius and running it under his nose.
"Just like riding a broom." Sirius laughed and touched his wand to the end once Remus held it between his lips. Sirius watched Remus closely as he sucked in a breath, holding it far longer than he would with a fag, and then exhaled slowly.
"Remember that time with James, night before we went home for the summer?"
"And he fell in the lake?" Remus grinned in such a way that Sirius felt like they were fifteen again.
"McGonagall was none too happy with us the next morning."
Sirius inhaled, and remembered.