Grimmauld Place was dark and empty when Severus returned from his mission in the early hours of the morning. The brats were at school, the Weasleys had returned home and Black… well, was gone. Severus abandoned that thought as he hung up his cloak. He had hated the man, there was no question about that, yet… it seemed unfinished somehow. Like a book with the last few pages missing. It was frustrating and best not dwelt on.
He walked past the doorway of the living room, focused on going upstairs and throwing himself into bed before he stopped dead. Had he been anyone but Severus Snape he would have fallen flat on his face, but the undignified half-trip was the last thing on his mind.
Lupin was here.
He was an absolute mess, and beautiful despite (or because?) of it. Severus wondered if his sense of beauty was twisted, that he was so captivated by the wolf's grief, if that's what it was. His hair was tangled, his shirt was wrinkled and a faded orange. He looked old. The lamplight on his face revealed a surprising lack of emotion however. Everyone else was so twisted up by Black's death; one would think that Lupin of all people would be bawling with the rest of him. But his cheeks were dry and his gaze far away. Severus wondered how long he'd been sitting there.
And then he looked up, meeting Severus' gaze straight on. His calm was terrifying. Lupin had always been so transparent, but now, his gaze was opaque and mirror-like, a door with no handle.
He nodded. "Severus."
Severus said nothing as Lupin walked towards him, self-possessed and inscrutable. There was a moment, a slight pause in his step. Say something, Severus thought, anything, offer him tea for gods sake… but no words came.
And Remus continued past him, a slight whisper of robed shoulders and a shiver the only evidence of his presence.
After a long moment, Severus flicked his wand at the lamp with a muttered 'nox' and turned towards the door. He didn't feel like sleeping.