Blabla: okay, so, basically, rewatching all the films with a friend made me discover how much I love these two, and I cannot seem to stop writing about them. I hope it's not too bad; enjoy these drabbles. I've been having a ridiculous amount of feelings about Remus dealing with Sirius' death and the aftermath of the fifth book/film.

About the disclaimer, Harry Potter belongs to J.K Rowling; I'm only borrowing them for my entertainment.


Remus forces his tea down his throat and even the slight burn is nothing compared to the well of sadness and hurt eating his stomach—he feels like a shell of his former self, a shell lost between grey and blue, and the only colour popping up on his face is the reddening tone of pink covering his cheeks with the touch of cold, chilly mornings. The days are pieces of split hours stitched with veins, muscles, blood and emotions he cannot seem to fathom, and the dust covers everything—his fingers shake so much more than he wishes them to.

He's gone.