He was standing in an empty, darkened kitchen. He knew it really couldn't feel different, he knew there was no difference between now and then: when Sirius was just in his bedroom, feeding Buckbeak, whiling away the hours. And it was stupid, he knew it was stupid, but the house really did feel colder; emptier. Which was ridiculous because ask anyone and they would tell you that the house always felt empty and dark and musty. Years of being neglected after years of being so dark; of course it was a cold house. It wasn't a home. But without Sirius there, it felt deeper. More painful. There was an aching emptiness in his chest that came from standing in the kitchen – one he'd never felt before.
Because even though it wasn't home, it couldn't be a home, because there was no love in it, and even though Sirius detested the place, and longed to be out somewhere that wasn't full of old memories and dark shadows, it kind of was home. To Remus. Not in the sense that the building was home. The building was a house, it was walls and rooms and Dark magic. But with Sirius there it had been home, because Sirius was home. Because Sirius managed to light the place up, even though he loathed it.
He made an effort, for Remus. It wasn't the same, it wasn't like it used to be when they were in their final year at Hogwarts, and could push away fears about war and the future. Back then it had been easy. They'd been young, and passionate, and sickeningly in love. And thirteen years on, there were cracks and both of them were a bit broken and they weren't the Marauders, not without the other two, but they were enough of themselves to be home.
But then there was the war, and the constant being away, and fuck it was really fucking difficult and there was death and bright lights and then –
And then there was an arch, and a veil, and a handsome, laughing face falling through.
And then there was a hole where his broken heart used to be, and a shattering of his soul.