Higher Ground
By Zillah

Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place was quiet save for a creepy house-elf muttering nasty things in a little cabinet in the boiler room and a solitary man up in one of the bedrooms. Late or early; neither elf nor man noticed or really cared. The elf was too busy hating everyone and the man, Sirius Black - escaped Azkaban prisoner, member of the Order of the Phoenix, animagus, and Harry Potter's much loved godfather - was stoned.

Blissfully, welcomingly stoned. Sitting sprawled on a ratty couch in his mother's old bedroom watching the Three Stooges and sharing a tube of cookie dough with a hippograff stoned.

It had been entirely too long since Sirius had experienced the warm glow of pot. Twelve years in Azkaban, one year on the run, and six months trapped in a house with first the Weasley family and now Kreacher the insane house-elf and a shrieking picture of his mother. Way, way too long. Infinitely too long.

Never again would Sirius bad-mouth Mundungus Fletcher's ability to procure illegal substances. Not the pot, mind you. Cannabis was a popular ingredient in potions so any potions maker worth his or her salt would have an ample supply of marijuana. Even Snape had quite a bit in his private stores.

No, the illegal substances were the tube of cookie dough and the Three Stooges tapes. The telly-vision and vee-sea-argh were Arthur Weasley's. He was hiding them in Sirius's home from Molly who was still recovering from a nasty toaster oven experience. Sirius was only too happy to help out.

Sirius took another bite of the cookie dough, offering the tube to Buckbeak. The hippograff took a bite and fluttered its wings happily. Sirius never would have guessed that hippograffs liked raw cookie dough so much.

Moe hit Curly over the head with a hammer and Sirius laughed uproariously, pointing his wand at the telly-vision. The scene rewound and he laughed again as Curly ran around in a circle before falling to the ground.

"Man, Moe is so stoned there," Sirius pointed at the telly-vision again. Buckbeak paid him no mind so Sirius looked at the cookie dough blearily. "You believe me, right?"

The cookie dough, thankfully, said nothing.

"Everyone is against me!" Sirius cried out, flinging the cookie dough on the ground. "How dare you mock me? I'll turn you into … into … cookies!"

Again, the cookie dough said nothing. Moe poked Larry in the eyes and Sirius was distracted from his battle with the cookie dough by Larry's squeal of pain.

"So stoned."

Sirius leaned forward and took another hit from the ancient bong he had found buried in the closet of his old bedroom. He held the smoke in his chest for a few moments before exhaling with a happy sigh.

"Oh yeah, that's the stuff," he picked up the cookie dough and took another bite. "This is absobloodylutely the best way to spend a quiet evening at home, eh, Buckbeak?"

Buckbeak fluttered his wings and shuffled around the room, leaving Sirius to his cookie dough and Three Stooges tapes. There was a gentle knock on the door a few moments later which confused the hell out of him.

"Oi, open up, it's Remus."

Sirius looked around the small room. Nope, no Remus, "Remus isn't here, man. Come back later."

"No, this is Remus. Open the door, Sirius."

"I just told you, man, Remus isn't here!"

"No, I'm Remus!"

"No way, man, come back later! Already told you, Remus ain't here!"

"Look, Sirius, have you got your kit on?"

Sirius looked down at himself. Does he have his kit on? Who the hell was this guy asking if Sirius had his kit on? "Remus ain't here!"

A moment later, the door opened up and Remus stalked in. Sirius looked up at him with a goofy grin on his face, "Remus! There was some guy here lookin' for you. Didn't get his name though, man."

"That was me at the door," Remus said, observing the lazy grin on Sirius's face as well as the cookie dough and Three Stooges on the telly-vision. "Having a good one?"

Sirius offered him the gnawed-on cookie dough, "Want some?"

Remus sat down on the couch next to him and pushed away the cookie dough. He inspected the bong for a moment and then sat back, "No, thank you. How much have you smoked?"

"I can still feel my feet," Sirius said proudly, lifting his legs to show Remus his feet. "One. Two."

"Very good," Remus sighed heavily. "Where did you get the drugs?"

"Drugs? I don't have any drugs," Sirius waved his hand. "I've got potions grade marijuana. There's a difference."

"Did you get it from Snape?"

"Snape?! Are you off your rocker?," Sirius laughed and slammed the now soft tube of cookie dough on the couch. "That bloody git wouldn't know how to have any fun. I bet he doesn't even know he can smoke this shit."

Remus backed away from the cookie dough in disgust, "Who did you get it from?"

"Not who," Sirius grinned, leaning close to Remus. "But what."

Remus closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose in exasperation, "From Mundungus then?"

"Where's Mundungus?"

"Never mind."

Sirius waved his wand at the telly-vision again, a spark of blue providing enough energy to keep the vee-sea-argh running, "Moe was so stoned, man."

"Have you thought about what Dumbledore is going to say when he finds you like this?"

"Dumbledore ain't here, man."

"Yes, I know he isn't here," Remus gritted his teeth. "Are you tired, Sirius?"

"Have you ever really listened to Dumbledore?" Sirius turned to look at him, his eyes narrowed into slits. "That man talks about the craziest stuff. Have you ever heard him talk about socks? He's got a thing for socks."

"Hey, I've got an idea," Remus stood up and reached for Sirius's hands, trying to haul him off the couch. "Let's go to bed."

"I think Dumbledore knows the value of potions grade marijuana, man," Sirius touched his own nose and then pointed at Remus, "You get what I'm sayin'?"

"Yes, Sirius," Remus pulled him out of the room slowly since Sirius was pretty much dead-weight. "You talk about this every time you're stoned."

Sirius allowed Remus to pull him down the hall to their room. When Remus leaned him against the wall to open the bedroom door, he began to stare intently at his hands.

"Why do they call them fingers?" asked Sirius, puzzled. "I've never seen them fing."

With a groan of frustration, Remus hauled him into the bedroom and slammed the door shut. Sirius stumbled and fell onto the bed, laughing as he looked at the ceiling. It had been enchanted to look like the night sky so Sirius could feel less trapped in his home.

"Hey, can you skin up a joint for me, man?"

"You've had plenty," Remus took off his worn clothes and sat down next to Sirius. "You're bloody slaughtered."

Sirius rolled over and flung his arms around Remus's waist, resting his head against his hip, "Want a bit of the slap and tickle then?"

"Not tonight," Remus rolled Sirius back over so he was lying on his back. "I've got little desire to snog someone who can't feel his feet."

"Nonsense!" Sirius yawned and stretched his arms over his head. "I'm sound as a pou…"

The rest of his statement was cut off by a loud snore as he fell asleep mid-sentence. Remus pulled the covers over them both and shook his head.

"Sound as a pound, all right. That's you."

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