Remus fell down at his shabby old table, slumping over with exhaustion. His heavy limbs rested on the smooth surface and he absently picked at his rough hands with dull fingertips. His mind was muddled and his thoughts felt distant from him. His eyes were unfocused and absently gazing at the yellowing wall opposite him.
They were gone, all gone.
He felt his heart constrict painfully and for a moment his chest felt too tight to breath.
James was dead, Peter was dead, Lily was dead, Sirius was-bile rose from his stomach just thinking the name-Sirius might as well die for all Remus cared.
He clenched his jaw against the tears he felt rising from somewhere in the back of his throat.
He felt his chest clench again.
How could they? How could they just leave him alone? How could they just die and leave him here? He wasn't suited for the world without them. Well, without James and Lily and Peter. Good riddance to Sirius Black.
It wasn't fair.
Nothing about it was fair.
He was a werewolf, if anyone didn't deserve to live, it was him. The monster. The one they had tried to redeem, because despite all the hardships they had faced they still saw good in him, hoped for him. They still believed in him.
But Peter? With his naive optimism that good would win out in the end?
All his parents were able to bury was a finger.
And James and Lily? With all their promise and love and their little Harry?
Oh God Harry. That poor little boy.
His eyes finally pooled with the salty tears he had tried so hard to hold back. "DAMN IT!" Remus yelled out into the empty flat and slammed a fist down on the table.
He ripped the top off the firewhiskey bottle in front of him and filled the glass that sat next to it. All the way to the top. No one was there to stop him.
Not a single goddamn person.
He gulped it down in one swig. The burn of the spirit going down his throat didn't make him wince as it usually did.
He refilled his cup again, absently wondering why he bothered with the glass at all. But he liked the ritual and drinking straight from the bottle was something Sirius did. Remus had no desire of adopting the habits of a traitor.
At the thought of him, Remus' hands gripped the crystal glass too hard and it shattered. He felt a sting and blood began to pour out of several cuts on his palm.
"Fuck." Remus said more out of reflex than any real feeling of pain. He wasn't entirely sure if he could feel pain, let alone anything at all. He was numb, inside and out.
He stood and grabbed a clean towel from the small, tiled counter in his kitchen and wrapped it tightly around the wounds. He closed his eyes for a moment and leaned over the counter. He could almost hear the distinct "tsk, tsk" of Lily.
She would have rushed over to him from where she and James were sitting. They always sat so closely together. They were inseparable those two. Even in death, Remus thought darkly.
She would have examined his hand, holding it in her own with a gentle grip and cast a quick charm to make the cuts close and the bleeding stop.
James would have made a snarky comment about Remus having one too many. They would have laughed.
Remus shut the wounded hand tightly into a fist. It ached in protest and, if he could feel, the glass shards still within would have made him hiss.
They would have laughed.