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Madame Pomfrey was well-acquainted with inebriated students. By and large, the process annoyed her. They whined and begged as if she was the one that would give them detention. All she cared about was ensuring they didn't have alcohol poisoning. Some students made it more difficult than others.
She'd never had Sirius Black as a patient for this before. She wasn't deluded into thinking this was his first time getting sloshed, but it was the first time he'd wound up in her care for it. She didn't much care to guess as to the exact reasons why that was, but she knew the main reason was a few beds down; James Potter had been admitted to the Hospital Wing earlier in the day because of an accident in Care of Magical Creatures-- Pomona had told the professor to be cautious more times than she could count, to no avail.
Sirius Black was, as far as drunken patients went, rather palatable. When she directed him to sit, he sat. When she asked him how much he'd had to drink, he didn't lie and say that he hadn't touched a drop. However, because it was Sirius Black and he was a teenager and therefore felt a measure of invincibility, he responded, "I wasn't keeping count."
She kept in a sigh. His speech was largely unaffected, but alcohol didn't effect everyone the same as far as side-effects went. She couldn’t take his lack of slurred speech as a sign that he was fine. "How many fingers am I holding up?"
He peered at her hand and bat away his hair impatiently. "Four."
It was three. "What's your name?"
"You know who I am," he replied incredulously, looking at Madame Pomfrey as if she were the one who'd overindulged.
"Tell me anyways. First and last."
"Sirius... Erm." He frowned and licked his lips. "Sirius Potter?"
Pomona didn't even try to hide the smirk at that. He couldn't remember his own last name, but he remembered that of his boyfriend's. In all her years, she'd never seen two people as close as those boys.
"Yeah, Sirius Potter. See? I'm fine. Can I go?"
She was certain he'd bust his skull open if he tried to walk up all the stairs necessary to reach Gryffindor Tower. "No. What year are you in?"
He rolled his eyes but dutifully answered, "Seven."
Every question after that she asked, he got right. She took to calling him 'Mr. Potter' to amuse herself and see if he realised there was some sort of mistake, but there was no reaction.
Pomona was eventually able to convince him to stay the night in the Hospital Wing. She would like to say that she strong-armed him into it because she was a competent adult and he was but a drunk teenager, but the truth is that she played dirty. What could she say? She, herself, was tired and wanted to get to bed. The best way to get the new Mr. Potter to accept what was best for him, was to point out that James was already here. After she pointed that out to him, he readily agreed that sleeping here wasn’t that bad.
With all her patients safely tucked in, she headed to her own rooms, just off the main wing. She shook her head fondly; those two were attached at the hip, and it would never change. Perhaps she’d even be invited to the wedding when Sirius made his last name legal.