He sat in front of the fire, not doing much, barely even thinking, just watching the flames flickering high and bright in the grate.  It was too quiet tonight, as it had been for months since- since Sirius had passed over.  Passed over.  Remus had always felt it was a rather bland term for something so final, so heartwrenchingly painful for those who were left behind.  He supposed it was to make it sound less blunt, to take away some of the sting, but dead was dead, as Sirius had been fond of saying.  Remus could still remember the evening, not long before Lily and James had died, and the conversation that had turned out to be rather prophetic for three out of the five present.  Sirius had had rather too much to drink, as he was inclined to do on occasion, and the conversation had taken a morbid turn.  Finally, to break the mood, Sirius had stated that at least dead wasn't going to jump up and bite you on the arse.  Remus snorted a little at the thought, but sobered abruptly.  It was a typical remark for the Sirius of those days.  It wasn't the same without him.  Nothing was.

Was it still supposed to hurt this badly after all this time?  It didn't seem to be lessening, easing, whatever the fuck it was that happened when the great, searing ache in his chest went away.  He knew he was grieving.  Most of them were, but they didn't know Sirius, not like Remus had.  They didn't know how he looked in the morning, how he'd laughed at all of Remus jokes, or how he had always seemed to smell like a bizarre mixture of liquorice, musk and rosehip.  They didn't know Sirius at all.

And now they never would.

Sirius had been his best friend at school.  Yes, he and James had been close, almost brothers, but somehow his relationship with Sirius, even in the very beginning, had held something more, something stronger, an almost sacred bond.  And the guilt Remus felt over having turned away from the one person whom he felt so strongly for ate away at him still.  That he could ever have doubted Sirius was something he would never forgive himself for.  Why hadn't he trusted Sirius?  Trusted himself?  How he could have believed that the man he knew - or, at the time, thought he knew - was capable of such a thing, Remus did not know.  He'd been a fool then, and he admitted it, but the evidence (which he now knew to be false) had swayed him into believing what he shouldn't.

It had only been in the last few years that they had begun rebuilding their friendship, regaining the trust and love between them.  It had been painstaking process, and painful at times, too.  They would never get back the years they had lost and it could never have been the same as before, as they were both older, and more jaded, by then. 

The intervening years had not been kind to either of them, but Remus refused to compare his dismal life with Sirius' lack of one in Azkaban.  That his friend had survived that awful place, that his spirit hadn't been crushed beyond repair by his experiences with the Dementors, was something Remus would forever be grateful for.

None of it had been easy.  What with Remus' tendency to freak out during full moon, as Sirius had once teased him, and with Sirius being on the run, it had been difficult to give everything to the friendship.  But they were making it work.  It had been much too important to both of them not to.

The last few year before Sirius death had brought a change.  Remus and Sirius had been together, almost as one person.  Sirius was his best friend, his partner, his love, his rock.  His...everything.  And then all was lost.  In what amounted to just a mere few seconds, all of Remus' hopes and dreams for the future were shattered.  And that evil bastard had won again.

How could Sirius be gone and Remus still be breathing, his heart beating slow and steady?  It wasn't fair.  No, it was torture.  Maybe he'd go mad?  That would sure prove right all those bastards who'd always said that Albus was a fool to have hired a werewolf.  It wasn't like he didn't know what was being said about him.  After all, quite a bit of it had been said to his face.

Without Sirius, he felt lost and alone, adrift in a sea of self-doubt.  All through school, his personality had been tied up in who he was when he was with Sirius.  And when they'd gotten back together it had been the same.  A vibrant and roguishly handsome man, Sirius had always commanded attention, drawing people to him like moths to a flame.  Always the driving force, he'd been the one people took notice of and listened to, even when he was rambling drunkenly in the Three Broomsticks at four in the morning.  Remus shook his head.  The man could charm the spots off a toad with just a smile.  That he had picked Remus to be with, to spend the rest of his life with, humbled the werewolf.  Even though it hadn't been long enough - but really, forever wouldn't have been long enough - he would always be grateful for the time he'd had.

But what did that leave him with, now that his lover was gone?

It wasn't that people didn't listen to Remus, or pay attention to him.  He had been a teacher after all.  And a damned good one, if Albus' opinion could be believed.  It was just that Remus had always felt less there than Sirius had, less connected.  Maybe it was the werewolf in him.  It just seemed like everything that was wrong in his life could be blamed on that one, long moment so many years ago, when he'd been attacked, mauled, changed.  Well, not everything, he supposed.  Sirius being gone had nothing to do with it.

The pain of it was a physical ache, a burning in his soul that felt like it would never go away.  And maybe it shouldn't.  Maybe he should mourn his lover until the day his pitiful existence was wiped from all memory.  He knew that wouldn't be what Sirius would want, but the silly bugger'd gone off and gotten himself killed and now he'd have no say in the way Remus lived what was left of his life.

Life?  Is that what this was?  It wasn't much of one any more.  Not without Sirius.

Remus had never wished to spend his life alone, not even when he'd been shunned by those he cared most about.  No, he'd always wanted to grow old, held tightly by strong arms, loved and protected until the end of time.  But there'd be none of that anymore.  He was alone pretty much all of the time now, apart from during meetings of the Order, or whenever the members were popping in and out.  Then the house would be inundated with people, with voices raised (the Weasleys) or in quiet conversation (most everyone else).  But they weren't with him.  They all had homes to go back to, and people who loved them.

Remus tried hard to at least pretend to be involved.  He knew it was important - vital, even - that Voldemort be defeated.  But Remus always felt too disjointed, too caught up in the sadness that was destroying his soul, to contribute much.  But he always made sure to hide all the empty whisky bottles in his room, and to shave the almost-beard from his face, and to wash away the stench of several days spent in the same exact spot he sat now, before Molly Weasley arrived.  The woman was a master at cossetting

You'd think she'd have gotten the mothering bug out of her system looking after all those kids, but apparently not.  She was constantly asking if he was eating enough.  Sure, he'd lost some - okay, a lot - of weight and his clothes were starting to hang a little on his frame, but he was going through a tough time.  He wasn't doing it on purpose, it was just that he forgot to eat sometimes.

"You never forget to drink, though, do you?" a nasty voice inside him sneered, sounding for all the world like that imbecile, Snape.  But he ignored it.  It was much easier that way.  Drinking numbed the pain.  Not all of it, of course, there was enough of an ache for Remus to just feel.

And it wasn't like he'd ever been stocky, not by any stretch of the imagination, nor was he emaciated as Sirius had been back at the Shrieking Shack when Snape had been about to turn him in to the authorities.  Remus' heart had bled for his friend then, and was bleeding still.

But what he really couldn't stand was her pity and the muttered sighs of "poor old Remus".  It was worse than her attempts to force-feed him Yorkshire puddings and gravy - always a weakness of his.  He may have been poor, but he wasn't old, not by a long shot.  Even though he knew he soon would be if he remained in this house.  It was sucking him dry, draining him of everything he had once been, and everything he'd aspired to be.

He needed to move.  He needed to move now.

Standing up, he remembered that he'd been drinking earlier - and drinking a lot -  before his most recent foray into self-pity.  There really was nothing like drowning your sorrows in a bottle or three of whisky.

Staggering across the room on unsteady legs, he giggled, almost a titter, as he remembered all the times he and Sirius had walked home from the pub in much the same fashion, a kind of stumble-run, much like a child learning to walk, only ten times more uncoordinated.  But back then he'd had someone to lean on.  Now, there was no one, and he couldn't stop his freefall across the room until he made contact with the wall.  Hard.  Damn, that hurt!

Sagging against the wall, he rested for a moment.  It would be too much effort to make it to bed tonight, not an uncommon occurrence these days.  He really was turning into one of those sad old men he'd read about in those Muggle magazines.  Men who couldn't scrape themselves together long enough to do anything, be anything.  Men who would be forgotten before they were even cold.  And right now he couldn't bring himself to care overly much.  Tomorrow morning - no, afternoon -  would be a different story altogether.  Tomorrow, he would vow once again not to let Sirius be forgotten.  Sirius was a man to remember.  A man cut down in his prime.  And still, just a man.  The man.  Remus' man.

Feeling dizzy he gave up the struggle to remain upright.  He couldn't remember why he'd gotten up in the first place, it had been a silly idea.  Sliding down the wall, he landed in an ungainly heap.  And was snoring before he'd even hit the floor.