He woke, unable to breathe; sucking in great gasps of air. Lying sweaty and gleaming, twisted in his sheets.
Remus threw his arm to the other side of the bed; the side that he would never sleep on; always kept it reserved. He knew who it would always belong to. No matter what bed, what city... there was only one person who that side of Remus' bed belonged to.
It took him a few moments to register that the spot was empty. He was there alone. Alone.
It didn't matter that it had been ten years.
Sirius' side of the bed; Sirius' side of Remus' life, had been vacant for ten years. It didn't stop Moony from having to bite his lips sometimes, in the night, to keep from crying. To keep from screaming.
They had been warned that there were going to be losses. It was a hazard of the cause, and while James had been in it to impress Lily, and Sirius had thrown himself into it because it was considerably more exciting than anything else that he had planned, Remus believed that he was doing the right thing in resisting and fighting to destroy Voldemort. He felt that the risk was worth it. It was the right thing to do.
That was before it had happened; before he had lost his three best friends all in one go.
James; oh, God, James. He had heard that James had been brave. Heard that James had sacrificed himself for Evans... Lily, I suppose... and for little Potter. In his head, Remus wondered if James' hair had been extra tussled when he had done so. And whether his glasses had been slightly crooked. If he weren't so incredibly sure it wasn't the case, Remus would have wondered if James Potter had faced the Dark Lord with a sideways grin; risking a glance at Lily to see if she was watching before he gave up his life. Before he had to lose everything because of...
And then there was Peter, and if he was able to push away the cause of James' demise, and really ignore it, he couldn't do the same here. Peter was brutally and publicly murdered, and there was no way around that. Killed by...by...
And here's where it really hurt; where Remus couldn't breathe for confusion. He couldn't say it out loud, hadn't said the name for ten years, since the night he had found out, and he had repeated the name several times in disbelief, horror and fear. Sirius. Si...Sirius? Sirius!
Sirius Black.
Remus knew how Sirius' eyes sparkled when he woke up in the morning. He knew that Sirius coughed gently when he was deep in concentration. Remus knew that Sirius bit his lip when he was nervous; knew that Sirius really had loved his mother. He knew that Sirius sang in the shower, and that he talked in his sleep.
But for the life of him, Remus did not know why Sirius had done this.
It kept him up at night; time after time after time.
Sirius was never that reckless. Never. When you were on Sirius' side, you were there for life. There wasn't anything that he wouldn't do for his friends.
But that day, officials had dragged Sirius away, laughing like some madman, muttering and twisting. He had spotted Remus in the crowd; yeah Remus had been there, although he would have given his life to be anywhere else at the time that they were taking the last bit of Remus' life away from him.
Sirius had caught Remus' eye; misty, and shocked, and confused, and it was as if Sirius had realized the severity of his situation. He had stopped laughing.
"Moony! Merlin, Moony, don't let them... they can't. Remus! Moony, I didn't...I couldn't...James, Moony! Peter...get your hands off me, you fucking... Moony! I can't go there, it wasn't..."
His voice broke by the end of it, and he was gasping, struggling...
Remus had set his jaw, tears glistening in the corners of his eyes, and looked away with what should have been disgust.
Sirius was still in his life, somewhere; Azkaban, officially, in body.
But Remus had to believe, had to force himself to believe that Padfoot was gone, and had been since the moment he had betrayed James. The man rotting in Azkaban was not him. Was not Sirius, who sat by his side in the library, yawning deliberately every few minutes so that Remus couldn't properly concentrate. Was not Sirius, who hugged him so fiercely every time he had a bad day.
Ten years, most would say, would be sufficient time in which to get used to being without someone.
But Remus still forgot, almost everyday, that Sirius was gone. He still woke up looking for him. He would still whirl around to tell Sirius something before realizing that there was no one there. He still rolled his eyes and glanced beside him when he was annoyed, as if Sirius would be there, grinning, sharing his pain.
Sirius should have been dead to him. Should have. Or rather, the person who was responsible for killing James and Peter should have. But Remus had started separating them in his mind, Sirius and this murderer. It seemed natural for him.
He hated himself for not being strong enough to put two and two together, and move on with his life. To see that Sirius had never really been his friend; he had been a horrible person who was deeply disturbed and evil, even.
Remus must have been pretty fucking stupid not to have noticed it.
And, he kept to himself; he must be pretty fucking stupid for still being unable to believe it.
James would know what to do; in the morning he'd ask him...