"Why," Sirius says, with aristocratic flatness on the last letter of the word. He has the voice for it, and the gift of genetics that renders him able to look handsomely disgusted with just the slightest curl of his upper lip. It's the sort of face that someone else might wear when sending back an inferior wine at dinner, or when catching sight of an unattractive choice of wallpaper in the drawing room--or when dismissing Charles Xavier as a candidate for the inner circle.

Some of Sirius' scorn is residual, a habit of grudge. Some of it is a product of his mood, which is still not that good, if managed slightly--mostly by frequent jogs through the garden as a dog, and softened by the soak of alcohol. He still has the taste of terrible space whisky in his mouth. So that helps, a little. And so does this, a new thing to explore, lengthy corridors and mysterious rooms, and the two of them the first to embark. It's like Hogwarts all over again.

"We'll ring Mrs Cardigan," he suggests, from where he trails a little behind Remus. He rubs his mouth against his shirtsleeve, tugging up the cuff and exposing his tattoo. There's a strange feeling at the back of his head, something like déjà vu. The sight of his numbers reminds him, and he glances back over his shoulder towards the door they've just come through. "She's Xenogen as well, isn't she. Better company. Much nicer to look at. Dark," he repeats, somewhat dully, nearly in the same breath. "Stunning observation, Support. Shove over and let us see."

Wand in hand, he illuminates it with a muttered lumos, and prods at one of Remus' heels with the toe of his boot.

"Over."