There's nothing like knowing that you're supposed to be somewhere

Remus tossed the note into the fireplace. He was exhausted by their presence; which was everywhere he turned. Wherever his sight fell, it seemed that he would find one. It was impossible to say when Sirius had begun writing them, and he hadn't noticed when he was there. However, whenever their origin took place, they never ceased to taunt and bully him now. They were underneath clothes, in books, tucked even behind portraits that he'd idly gone to straighten. They were driving him mad. He didn't appreciated messages from the dead, and these were suspiciously insistent.

He'd been in Grimmauld Place for several months now, haunting his own room and Sirius' and absently reading in the attic as he was sure Sirius himself had often done. These places belonged to him and no one would come to disturb him, save for Molly insisting that he come join her or the rest for meals or tea.

There was only one place to look. It wasn't ever difficult to find Sirius in his old home. He haunted the same places each time he returned. This time he'd returned and become condemned however, and it was no surprise that despite his apathy towards the home eventually cultivated again into an intense hatred for all it's stairs, walls and windows.

He watched the fire curl the edges of the paper with embers. The words, though quickly taken, disappeared in sections. "othi" and "at y" were the first to go, making the message a phrase, then disjointed words, then abandoned letters. And then it was gone, the message taken away to small fragments of charred solids that drifted upwards and clambered along the brick. Its destruction didn't matter, burning them only kept it from others, but he wouldn't forget it, as he hadn't forgotten all the other scrawled musings. Each one held its sting, and this one was no different.

Remus stepped into the attic, met by a dark glare that softened once it registered who it was. It didn't soften enough for him to be comfortable however. That look was becoming too common, and it became harsher every time he saw it directed at him.

The feelings of frustration and sympathy were easy to detect in others as they were directed to him. It intermingled in them as they struggled to understand his loss, and mediate between the urgency his job entitled and the isolation he kept himself and what they couldn't do to help. He knew that some thought he was selfish, and he found that easy to agree with that sentiment. It wasn't that he didn't try to contribute and engage however, but once he'd found himself incapable of performing even the simplest spells there wasn't much he could offer.

In the house he'd taken on an eerily similar role to that which Sirius had played, driving out infestations, keeping to the home and sorting through the many suspicious belongings the Blacks had accumulated. The only room that lay virtually untouched was Sirius'.

No one had gone in to remove his belongings, out of respect for Remus. It was understood that it was his undertaking. Slowly, the room filled boxes, papers (especially those damned notes) were cast off into rubbish bins and the bed straightened. Of course, the boxes were hastily unpacked again, the papers read over and the bed set again to disarray as he lay in it. Usually by reading the papers, or going through belongs. He tried not to do it to often, but a cycle had been established. It might not have been a healthy routine, but it did have a security in it.

Remus held onto Sirius, glad to feel the warmth of their bodies together. It was the first desire they'd attended to when they had the chance. It was a simple desire and promised more, but for now though is was enough.

How aware the others were of how he was obstructing his path to moving on, he couldn't estimate. So far they hadn't intervened, resulting mixed feelings that he didn't feel worthy of. There was nothing they could do because there was nothing he'd let them do. Molly persisted, but was at a loss as to what to say to him. He appreciated her insistence on keeping a routine of attending meals, the most social gathering that took place underneath the roof of Grimmauld Place since Molly would glower at anyone mentioning the work of the Order. While it did play a part in preventing too much being said, she primarily did to secure some normality, a break from the hell they were trying to work through.

It was the best thing she could have given to any of them.

Silva Rerum
- translated as "the forest of things", found under a rug.

Each morning he'd wake up to the days light struggling to get through the window. A thin curtain that previously had been a deep crimson had faded into a pale maroon; this morning it sluggishly hid him from a overcast that promised rain.

The bed felt cold. The quilt that Molly had made was kicked halfway off. His sleep wear felt tangled around his body and whatever nightmare brought on the stranglehold of the fabric he was glad not to recall. Tonight was the full moon, and nightmares had been frequenting his sleep for several nights prior, as it often did. But those weren't important, not once he'd woken up. It was the other dream he had difficultly forgetting.

It happened more often then it should have, sometimes two, three times in the same night. It was the night at the ministry, how they'd first heard what was happening, the mad rush to get there, the last things they'd said to each other and how inconsequential and cold they came off in the single-mindedness of the rescue. That all moved forward in a blur, his dreams memory stopping only for moments at each place and then propelling him to the last moment where he was forced to recall in a dark vibrancy. In a cruel lack of vigour, that moment slowed nearly to a stop and dragged itself across the dreamscape like a slow blade to skin.

It happened the same each time, the exact replica of what he'd chosen to see in his mind's eye that night taking itâ–’s place. Most distinctive was the look in Sirius' eyes as his mind did what it had to do to cope as his body lost its balance. It was a blank startle that didn't know what had happened. The grey eyes looked at nothing, and no one, but drew into mans mind and went to far to reveal any last thought, good-bye, regret or promise. It was a look that went without fear, but the surprise and emptiness they conveyed played a role worse then fear could have done on its own.

Around the department, shadowed figures with no faces watched, and though he didn't see the faces each body's inaction was enough to prove their shock. There was a spell, there was something they could have done if they weren't so stunned, he was sure of it. He still couldn't fathom why he hadn't done better, been quicker. As Sirius fell through, his dream self tore the vision away and resumed it's hellish pace, grabbing Harry to keep him back and giving his voice to offer consolations of truths he didn't have the time to believe yet.

Then the dream would take its own shape and he was standing in front of the veil as though it were a mirror. Sirius was only just on the other side, but he couldn't move. He could see the outline of him on the other side, but the paralysis stopped any attempt to cross and the only feeling he felt was desperation. Then the world plummeted to black and he'd wake up, early night, early morning, disoriented and hollow.

He knew what the dream meant, it wasn't difficult to decipher, only difficult to accept. Believing the truth still wasn't first instinct.

Not wanting to dwell on it, Remus removed the blankets that obstructed his feet and undressed from the plain navy clothing that had tried to murder him in his sleep. If he weren't worried about Molly coming and doing as Molly does, he wouldn't have bothered with it. It only seemed polite to not risk bearing skin in an accidental encounter. Despite his despondency and strained dialogue, he adamantly held to manners and decency and it spoke volumes in the day's attire of familiar tattered robes. It proved that he was doing his best, and the sincerity of his effort was well received. Albeit, the deteriorating dignity of a set of shabby robes worked against him, but he'd long ago learned to work with what he had.

"You shouldn't worry about it so much, Moony," Sirius said, linking his arm around his waist and Remus felt himself recoil without meaning too. They were still having trouble falling into the rhythm they'd established before Sirius had been taken, but it was coming slowly, something Sirius moved along by clasping his other arm around him firmly. Remus smiled at their reflection in the mirror.

"Not everyone has such dismally low standards as you, Sirius."

"Fortunate for you, isn't it?"

"I just can't give them the excuse, especially once they find out I'm useless three out of every 30 days."

Sirius tipped his head into his shoulder and stayed there.

He moved down the stairs carefully, not wanting his still waking body to mislead him down the crooked, varying steps. With his usual quiet he went to the dining room where he was expected to frequent at least twice a day. Molly was no where to be seen, but she'd left out a vat of oatmeal that was already half finished. Helping himself he took a seat at the table and fingered through the Daily Prophet. The oatmeal burned on his tongue, scalding the roof of his mouth and there was nothing of interest in the paper.

The sounds of a wizarding home moved around him, but no one entered the kitchen. He heard dishes cleaning in the sink, and was overcome with the need to occupy his hands. The cloth gave little resistance as he took it under his own control. It was satisfying to plunge his hands into the lukewarm water, to get lost in the simple task. The control over the sounds of the room was relaxing, cleaning was the one helpful thing he'd been able to do all his life even when he couldn't get a job.

"Good morning, Remus, m'dear," Sirius said, voice dripping into the room. He'd been using a domestic language that sounded strange from his lips in the morning that seemed to ebb away by the afternoon. Remus smiled, looking up from the cutlery he was washing and permitted himself a moment to enjoy this emerging habit.

"Morning, Sirius."

A hand drifted across his shoulder lightly and lips kissed his neck softly as Sirius floated past in one smooth motion before seeking the tea leaves.

Once he'd finished and the dishes found their proper places, he got caught in the debilitating memories once again. The feeling of another's hands and breath on his skin almost felt like a reality where the water had gloved his hands and the heat caressed his face. The sensation faded as his body cooled and he found himself again left alone in the room, with sounds and thoughts beyond his control.

Calming the voices in my head would be easier if I couldn't hear everyone else's.
- found in tobacco tin.

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