Nostalgia

–noun

1. A wistful desire to return in thought or in fact to a former time in one's life, to one's home or homeland, or to one's family and friends; a sentimental yearning for the happiness of a former place or time

2. Something that elicits or displays nostalgia.

--

The days had become longer in his mind. This week alone had to have dragged on hours more than necessary. The clock was not slowing down, but the clicking signifying seconds past seemed to be farther and farther apart each time he listened for them.

Tick.

Tock.

Tick.

Tock.

Remus was about to smash the bloody contraption into bits.

Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, autumn of nineteen hundred ninety-six. Good evening, hell. Nice to see you again. Kreacher, you too.

The werewolf had been sitting by himself, teacup in hand, sighing dramatically as his life slipped away to the beat of the clock's heart, his own almost falling in time with it. It was a bland brew, he thought, noting it was his own creation. Not enough sugar, the leaves hadn't sat in the kettle long enough. James' mother used to make the very best. His own mum had asked for the recipe when he was sick as a boy. Honey and lemon, they would both say. You'll be better in no time.

Ah, if only, if only the tea could do the very same right now.

It had been a few weeks since the rug had been pulled out from under him. The battle at the Ministry of Magic had created a complete mess of him, and the recovery process was slow, excruciatingly painful. Every word said to him was spoken in Sirius' voice, and how could anyone laugh when there was only one of the Marauders left? They were the original jokesters, they made every one laugh. How could they even smile without them?

He snorted into his teacup. He was as bitter as the tea he drank. Of course people would smile. They had to when everything was starting to fall down around them. How hypocritical of him. He was moping in his best friend's house, swearing at the world, as the clock drove him to madness. And he was telling the rest of the world that they should smile in spite of everything.

He stood up, but checked the cup and saucer for any odd shapes created, a habit he'd picked up from Sybil years ago. Trelawney may have been a bit of an idiot, but she was kind to him when she knew exactly what he was. She rubbed off on him quite a bit. He checked the constellations (particularly ones with the brightest star in the summer sky.) and sometimes, he would watch the clouds, see if they held any signs. But the tea leaves were usually the very best to tell for him. Today he caught a few pictures in the leaves. A closed book. Two tightly curled stalks and one loosely curled one. No clock? The irony.

He tossed the leaves on the floor, knowing they wouldn't ward of the evil spirits as intended, as Snape was supposedly headed near the former home of the Black family. Perhaps his company would be good, but two decades of ill will remained, and there was no hope of that dissolving. Remus would carry Sirius' grudge for him when he couldn't.

God. He missed him. Amber eyes stared down the length of the table, filling each of the seats with a member of the Order. That was Minerva's seat, and Dumbledore's, Molly's, Arthur's, Severus', Kingsley's... James and Lily had seats too, ages ago, but Dumbledore had always left two open, just for them. Sirius and Remus appreciated the gesture.

Now, there would be another seat left empty. Merlin forbid anyone would ever sit where Sirius did, where the last male Black stood up for everything he believed in, and put his heart and soul into avenging the deaths of millions of Muggles and wizards, but mostly his beloved friends for his godson's sake. Harry never knew how much that man loved him. He might've felt it a bit, but not the full extent. A complete shame, too.

Sighing, the former professor finally grasped the silence that surrounded him, only to have it be broken by the chime of the hour. Seven o'clock. A long time for him to be sitting, wallowing in tears and loneliness. It was only a few weeks ago he had sat to dinner with Padfoot, laughing like thirteen years apart had never happened.

It had never happened. Because if it did, they'd be strangers.

"'Apart' is a stupid word." Sirius had growled into a barely edible meal, (The dog had wanted to cook. Spaghetti with the consistency of oatmeal.) stabbing it ferociously. "You never left me, and I'm pretty sure I never left you. So what's the point of having that word if it's only used for permanence?"

Remus was thoroughly confused at that point. "Siri, I'm not sure I get what you're trying to say."

Grey eyes met amber, and the Pureblood smirked. "You remembered me for thirteen years. I was in your thoughts somewhere in there. And you were in mine as well. Just because we're not standing right next to each other all the bloody time doesn't mean we're apart, right?"

And he was right. Sirius continued, leaning back in his chair. "'Apart' is definitely a permanent state. I'm not next to you, or in your thoughts. I'd have to be gone completely from any memory too. When I leave, when I'm dead, and when you can't remember me to save your life, then... Then that's when we're apart. Got it, moon man?" A cheeky smile graced his lips.

"Of course." The werewolf couldn't help but laugh at Sirius' logic. The craziest part was that it was spot on.

He was startled from his reverie when he felt a warmth on his foot, thanks to the remaining tea in the cup he held spilling on his shoe. And that was his best pair, too.

He dragged himself to the kitchen, placing the teacup in the sink, and removing his footwear. Magic would solve this easily, but cleaning it up himself would take his mind off of things he'd rather leave alone for the time being.

Sirius did the very same thing when he was upset. When they went to Hogwarts together... Oh, those were beautiful days. James, Sirius, Peter, Lily, and himself. A happy group their seventh year. And even without their fiery redhead, the Marauders were completely content. Smarter than everyone else gave them credit for, save for a headmaster and a Transfiguration teacher, witty, absolutely bloody mad, and handsome to boot. Besides, they were best friends. The camaraderie was the greatest part for Remus in particular. Sirius found his rebel team, James was with people as crazy as he was, and Peter was finally accepted. The Marauders gave everyone everything they wanted, and then more.

Remus could remember times where certain lines were crossed, sometimes in broad daylight under tables, hands intertwined, or in the dead of night under sheets, trying to keep everything near silent. And it was only Sirius. No one else. There were girls throughout the years, but the very best memories were made with his friends. Like hell any woman could replace any of the boys he spent so much of his life with. He laughed when he thought of times where Sirius tried kicking the three of them out of their dorm so he could get with a bird.

Shaking his head, he returned to cleaning his shoe and the teacup (but not at the same time), making a mental note to himself to hit up a Muggle thrift shop as soon as possible. Perhaps Dumbledore would give him a mission forcing him to go incognito as one of the non-magical folk. He'd be able to clothe himself better that way. Patches and worn down shoes were not doing him too much good at this point.

Age was starting to show in him, and he was painfully aware of it, but it didn't matter. Regardless of if he looked 36, 26, or 56, he had a job to do for the entire world's sake. But the grey in his hair irked him slightly. He was not quite middle-aged, and there it was, streaked in sandy blonde locks. The very first time he found a grey hair was when he was thirteen, and he didn't hear the end of it for weeks. Of course, the end came when he cursed Sirius and James to have silvery-white hair for a bit. The fact he ended up grading papers with McGonagall was completely worth it, for those two never said a word about it ever again.

The little memories like the ones before came in waves, each with a fairly epic story behind them. And with each wave, he was stuck down slightly, reality hitting him a tad, working to break him down, erode him, dissolve him, forcing him to give into the tears.

Merlin, he missed Hogwarts. He missed waking up under the Whomping Willow with his friends right next to him. He missed all the detentions he served. He missed all the times Sirius unintentionally used him for beater practice. He missed running from Slytherins because of the potions 'accidents' they caused. He missed being caught with certain people by the lake in the middle of the night. He missed Slughorn, James, Lily, Dumbledore, Hagrid, Peter, hell. He even missed Snape.

But the person he missed the very most was one Sirius Orion Black.

Even thinking of his name made him want to fall to the floor and sob, but he knew Sirius would tell him to get back up, pull himself together, be Moony until he felt he could let himself be human again. It was the way they all learned to cope. He ran his fingers around the rim of the teacup he had abandoned in the sink, smiling softly. He was going to make his best friend proud of him because he knew he was watching him, wherever he was. Slightly disturbing at times, but constantly reassuring. The dog was loyal until the very end, and he couldn't help but laugh at the eternal stupidity of Sirius.

But there were some time when the stupidity was warranted. Picking up the teacup by the handle, the professor leaned against the counter, twirling it around it in his fingers. Amber eyes scanned over the porcelain, seeing the Black crest on one side, and Slytherin's on the other. It was probably worth more than he was, custom made and passed down through several generations, antique, and something any sane Pureblood would kill for. Not like the inbreeds were sane, though. Snickering, Remus thought of all the jokes Sirius used to make about the family he despised so much. But when he took residence in the home he had spent so many years trying to run away from, and have it become a prison once more... He went on a rampage, destroying anything he could get his hands on. He was kind to Regulus' belongings, but he demolished the tomes of his family's history, portraits, clothing from his mother that neither Narcissa nor Bellatrix saved. Remus could almost hear Kreacher sobbing upstairs. But that fueled the last of the Black's even more, especially in the beginning.

The china cabinet had been the very first to go.

It was a beautiful piece of furniture, but the dog didn't care for heirlooms too much. Wrenching the doors off of their hinges, he tossed them to the ground. He purposely ruined the finish on the hardwood floor, just to spite his long-gone family. The very first thing he picked up was a teacup, one that was much like the one Remus held in his hand at that moment. He held it delicately, glaring at it for a few moments, then smirked. "Moony, what is this?"

"A teacup?" He responded, confusion evident in his voice and expression.

"No, no. Look at it and then tell me."

Doing as he was told, the werewolf scanned over the glass in question. It was almost a piece of art, with gold engravings, and delicate flourishes. Someone had put many hours of time and effort into the whole set, if not just that particular cup. It gleamed, even in the dim light, as it was polished to perfection, with not one scratch or chip in sight. Even when he knew why it was created, Remus could actually appreciate it for what it was. He shrugged, smiling softly. "Would the correct answer be that it is beautiful?"

Padfoot laughed, mirth only halfway there. "No, love. The answer would be that it is a reminder of the evil people that I came from and what they did to innocent people, and what they're still doing." He dangled it from between his thumb and index finger, then let it slide from between them, watching as it shattered on the floor, a million pieces flying in every direction under their gaze.

"And now it's broken!"

Sirius giggled like a child presented with all of his Christmas presents early. He took another cup and did it again. He giggled harder. Then went the sugar bowl, and the teapot followed. He couldn't stop laughing. It wasn't an insane laugh, like one a framed mass murderer would be expected to have, but one of relief and joy. "Oh god, Rem. When I was a kid, I hated this tea set. I never broke it, though. Wanted to wipe out the whole set in one go."

Moony couldn't help but laugh too. His best friend was absolutely ridiculous in his logic. Grinning, the werewolf watched as Sirius demolished every bit of porcelain in the cabinet by smashing it against the floor. Everything went, and neither of them could tell what piece belonged to what object. Not like either cared...

When just about every object was in pieces by their feet, the dog stopped. One teacup remained. Just one. Both glanced to it, with Remus completely expecting him to shatter it as well. But he didn't. He left it, and turned his attention to collecting the shards on the floor. Sweeping them up, he chuckled. "Rem, what do you say we put these under Snivellus' chair the next time he comes over? You know. To counteract the stick up his bloody arse..."

And Remus snorted at Siri's words, recalling that they actually pulled it off when Snape came to the next Order meeting. Humming lightly, he held the teacup delicately in his hands, thinking of his lost love and the happiness he left him with. Smiling he asked himself a simple question aloud. "Remus John Lupin, what is this?"

Clearing his throat he responded, "Perhaps the right answer is beautiful?"

"Ah, actually, it is one of the last keepsakes of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black, one passed down for centuries, one of a set of china that your best friend genuinely despised." Snickering, he brushed the scar across the bridge of his nose, and looked it over for a moment letting it dangle between his index finger and thumb, the handle slipping a tad.

Then he dropped it.

Inside of him, he felt his heart break a bit with the cup, but Sirius was not there, nor was anyone else. They couldn't see him in such a vulnerable state, nor would they understand why. It was better this way, to be alone with his sad little wish of having James, Peter... Of having Sirius back. But he still smiled for all four of them: Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs. He wasn't in the best time of his life, and no matter how much he wanted to go back to a more carefree era, there was no time like the present.

The clock continued ticking, slow as ever, a reminder to him that it indeed was here and now, and not decades previous. Smiling softly, Remus picked up the shards on the floor, making it a goal to slip them under Severus' chair at the very next Order meeting, just for Siri. Even in death, the Marauders, and the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black would be a pain in Snivellus' ass. Placing his shoe back on, he checked over the door, hoping the tea leaves would serve their purpose. Exiting, the bittersweet happiness was evident in his amber eyes.

He didn't hear the clock chime eight inside, but he saw the dog star, right next to a waxing moon.

xoxo

A/N: The title of the story is a key to what came over me recently, in honour of returning to my Hogwarts Lake. There was full moon out, so I called up my darling Demi, and we conversed. She is a lovely source of inspiration. As is Imogen Heap. 'Headlock' was used for this one.

I missed the Harry Potter fandom, so here I give you a piece to show my love. Welcome home, indeed. I do hope I did Rem and Siri justice.

And I hope you enjoyed this as well~! Reviews would be lovely, but as long as you liked this, I have served my purpose.

--J