Remus lit a fire, gathered up all their pictures, opened a bottle of firewhiskey, and sat down on the floor, going through pictures and letters one at a time. Ariella McDowell. She was gone.

She had left the night before. He had finally told her the truth of his affliction, his "furry little problem". At first, she thought he was joking. When she realized he was telling her the truth, she had been out the door faster than he could have imagined.

It had been such a hasty departure that it hadn't sunk in at first. Ariella had left, but she would be back, he thought. She left through that door all the time and she always came back. But she didn't come back. She took all her things and walked right out of the life they had built for each other.

That had been three nights ago, and suddenly Remus realized he was alone. Three years, three years of their perfect love. It had been hard for him to open up to her, to open up to anyone, to the possibility of love. He had been sure that to keep the ones he loved safe, he would have to be distant, aloof, and not allow himself to love them too deeply. Aloof people don't keep people around very long.

But Remus had aloof down to an art: strong, silent, and not particularly expressive. Even when he had been with Ariella, it had been difficult to express his emotions, to show her how much he cared for her. With her, it hadn't mattered. She somehow knew all the things he couldn't bring himself to tell her or show her, without any doubt she knew how much he loved her. She was simply that spectacular.

Those pictures, flipping through those pictures… it was painful. Three years of beautiful love, of allowing himself to feel something for someone, more than he had ever dreamed possible. Now he looked back on all of their plans and realized how incredibly naïve he had been, thinking that even the love they had had would survive his condition. Werewolves weren't meant to mate with humans, and all those dreams about marrying, having children, a little house in the country…. Ariella really wanted those things as much as he did. The difference was, with someone else, Ariella could have them. He couldn't even afford a new set of dress robes, much less a house in the country. And children…. What business did he have as a father? What sort of selfish person would he be risking passing on his condition to a child? Ariella deserved better than that.

But knowing it didn't make it hurt any less.

He put on the record Sirius had left and skipped to the second track…a sad song all about loss and pain. Half the firewhiskey bottle was gone. Already? He typically didn't drink nearly that much. He liked to be in control of himself, but now it was the last thing he wanted.

Oh, that letter. He found the letter she had written him when they first started talking about the future, when they were going into their sixth year. She had written at the bottom, "Your love always, Ariella".

She lied.

The tears were coming faster than he could blink them away, and he didn't really want to blink them away. Between the alcohol, the pain, and the song moaning in the background, Remus curled up in a ball and sobbed brokenly. There was no one else around. Lily and James were in hiding. Sirius wouldn't be back from his mission in Wales until the next morning. Peter was taking care of his sick mother. Ariella was never coming back. What did it matter if he cried?

And Remus wanted to cry. It felt good to cry, to grieve, to remind himself that this was what happened, this was what it felt like when someone like him fell in love with someone whole.

Never again.

Never again would Remus put himself through this misery. Alone, he could handle. But this?

He drained the firewhiskey bottle and threw it hard at the opposite wall, watching the glass shatter. A week ago, the very thought of doing something like that would have repulsed him, shocked him. Now, it just seemed like the appropriate action.

He wandered around the room, not noticing that the fire was burning lower and lower, that the music in the background had stopped, that his heart was racing and his face was covered in salty tears.

Tomorrow, Sirius would be back. Sirius would want to know what was new in Remus's life. Remus did not want to face Sirius, or anyone else for that matter, until he felt better about Ariella.

Dumbledore. He would go to Dumbledore. At the meetings, Dumbledore had been hinting that he wanted Remus to look into things with the werewolves, but Remus had been resisting, not wanting to leave Ariella alone. Now, she had left him alone. It was the perfect excuse not to face his problems, his pain. He wouldn't have to see much of the others, he wouldn't be alone, and the last thing on his mind would be Ariella. When one walked amongst the packs of werewolves, one had to be concerned with survival at all times, especially Remus, who was very obviously "house-trained".

His pacing stopped when he saw red tracks on the carpet. He had been pacing over the broken glass of the firewhiskey bottle for at least a minute without realizing. As he cleaned the mess, tended his wounds, and found another bottle of alcohol, elf-made wine this time, Remus was oblivious to the tears still rolling down his cheeks, was practically numb to the pain still raging in his chest, and simply went about drinking himself to sleep, hoping that tomorrow it would be just a little bit easier to forget all about Ariella McDowell.