Perfect Illusion: Scars Saga 2

A Grave Conversation

A little warning... the beginning of this chapter is quite dark, but please bear with me.

Chapter 21

A Grave Conversation

September 1979

Remus awoke to a pounding in his head. He reached for the bottle on the table and tilted it against his lips. Empty. So he threw the bottle across the room where it clanged and clashed with the other empty bottles, and Remus grimaced against the pain the harsh sound caused.

He had never been much for firewhisky, but fellow Lycanthrope William had suggested it to cure a heartache when Remus had scoffed at his original suggestion to simply find another bird to bed. Still, Remus never drank enough of it to get pissed...well...not since that first week. He only took enough to be numb. It was the only relief he could find.

Remus stumbled into the kitchen and rummaged through the cupboards for another bottle. He knew he had one; he couldn't have finished them all yet.

Ah!

He pulled the bottle out at last and took a swig. And then another.... Until he found the release he was looking for. The burn on his throat was a welcomed friend.

Suddenly the pounding in his head was back with a vengeance. Remus put the bottle back to his lips and was about to take another sip when someone called out form the other side of the front door.

"I know you're in there, Moony! I can hear you! Open up!"

Remus stared between the door and the bottle in confusion before taking the swig anyways and stumbling over to the door. When he opened it he found a very wet, mousy man on the outside. Remus was even more confused.

"Peter?"

"Do you mind letting me in, Mate? It's a bloody typhoon out here."

Remus stepped aside allowing the passage of his old school friend, but he continued to watch him in confusion. Peter carefully navigated around the empty liquor bottles and the piles of dirty clothes, much of which appeared to be splattered with stains of various sizes. Peter wondered for a moment if the stains were blood or vomit, but then he decided he'd rather not know.

"Whatareyou doin' here, Pete?" Remus asked, bottle still in hand.

"It's nice to see you too, Mate. Oh, me? I'm well; thanks for asking. How are you?" Peter responded while he siphoned the rain off his cloak as best he could. He only looked up at Remus at the end. What he saw surprised him.

Remus' normally well-groomed hair was now shaggy and in complete disarray that could have rivaled that of James Potters'; the ends of it were sticking in all directions. His face had the makings of a scruffy, wiry beard, and his half closed eyes looked dangerously bloodshot. His shirt was miss-buttoned, crumpled, and tucked in on only one side with dark stains running down the sleeve. And his worn pants hung loosely on his bony waist.

"Bloody hell, Remus! You look like... well, bloody hell."

"You're a charmmmer, you are," Remus replied as he stumbled back to the couch. Peter noticed his crooked sway.