the_debt_of_time

At the foot of the stairs, she lit her wand and moved through the shadows until she
found her boyfriend sitting in the middle of the large room in nothing but his trousers.
Sirius's long, black hair was messy and soaked in sweat as though he had just come in from
running. After Remus telling her that Sirius had been looking for a duel, she was not
surprised. She did wonder where the rest of his clothes were.
As she approached him from behind, she noticed that his face was angled toward
his left hand, where a half-empty bottle of firewhisky was. Walking around to face him, she
saw that he was not looking at his hand or the bottle. Instead, his focus was fixed on the
old scar on his forearm, from when Lucius Malfoy tried to brand him with the Dark Mark.
Mia frowned, figuring that he was replaying that night over and over in his mind.
Having seen it herself when she went into his memories through Legilimency, she
understood. She had watched as Sirius, bloodied and beaten, still tried to convince Regulus
to run away with him.
"Hullo, kitten," Sirius mumbled as he tilted his head back to look at her. "Didya
hear? I'm the sole livin' heir to the Noble and Most Fucked Up House of Black."
She held out her hand as she sat down beside him. "Sirius, give me the bottle."
"No, s'mine."
"Then share it with me," she insisted. "I'm not opening mine until that's all gone."
Sirius stared at her, one eyelid half closed.
She placed a sweet kiss to his mouth, tasting the remnants of the whisky on his lips.
At her touch, Sirius leant in, slipping his tongue into her mouth in an effort to deepen the
kiss.
Oh, no. That's not going to happen right now, she thought to herself and then pushed him
away.
"You've got the prettiest eyes, kitten.. ." Sirius smiled at her. "I ever tell you that?
Like firewhisky." He held the half-empty bottle out to her as though to compare the colour.
"Hey, your eyes aren't brown anymore. Not ever."
"I know." Mia snatched the bottle from him quickly and took a long drink straight
from it.
"Since when?"
She winced slightly as her throat burned—he had chosen a cheap vintage—setting
the bottle down between her legs. "The Pack Bond ritual. Even when a werewolf isn't fully