Stood Up
The restaurant was a cacophony of sound and activity, filled far beyond its legal capacity. Tables were arranged haphazardly in the confined and dimly-lit space, and it was all anyone could do to walk across the room without tripping over something or someone, to which Remus Lupin could personally testify; the bruise on his shin would probably be quite spectacular come morning. Somehow, though, he found that he didn't really mind. He had too much else on his mind.
Wincing only slightly, Remus made his way to the back of the restaurant where by some miracle he found two chairs that were unoccupied and gratefully sank into one. He removed the worn jacket and patched scarf he'd adorned himself with to ward off the chill of the autumn evening and scanned the crowd nervously, glancing at his watch. Sirius should be here already.
Remus tried to distract himself by observing those around him. Unfortunately this only served to darken his already apprehensive mood. The cheerful faces, the blare of the music, the chatter of carefree voices: it all seemed so incongruous when compared to the world as Remus currently knew it. He sighed. He had no right to begrudge others their levity; it was, after all, a holiday, and it did no one any good to stop living just because outside a war raged.
Remus' reverie was interrupted by the arrival of a flustered-looking waitress. He hesitated a moment before ordering, wondering if he should wait for Sirius, but in the end he succumbed to the rumbling of his stomach by ordering a bowl of minestrone. There was nothing like a thick, hearty soup to warm oneself from the inside out on an especially blustery day. And Remus was in particular need of warming.
An icy feeling had long since lodged itself firmly in the region of Remus' gut, the inescapable recognition that something just wasn't quite right. Sirius had contacted him early this morning by owl requesting that they meet for dinner, to "talk things over." Remus had been relieved to hear from Sirius, who had been curiously distant lately, but at the same time he had felt a deep dread wash over him. He didn't like the sound of these "things" that Sirius wanted to discuss. Surely it could only mean confirmation of what Remus already suspected—that Sirius had questions regarding Remus' loyalty to the Order. Well, fine then. He had a few questions of his own.
Presently Remus' soup arrived and he sipped at it absently, barely tasting it. He was really starting to get worried now. It wasn't like Sirius to miss an appointment—especially when food was involved—even if he had been acting a bit unusual lately. Something must have happened. What if he'd been attacked?
The thought had barely flitted across his mind before Remus was scolding himself for his paranoia. There were a million and one reasons why Sirius could be half an hour late for dinner that didn't involve death and destruction at the hands of the Death Eaters. Perhaps he had stopped to check in on James and Lily and had gotten carried away in playing with little Harry, or perhaps he had been on his way but his motorcycle had broken down. Or maybe he had just forgotten, despite the lure of food. Certainly Sirius had given every indication in the last few months that he had far more pressing priorities than spending time with Remus.
Once again he was ripped rather rudely from his thoughts, but this time the intrusion was slightly harder to ignore than a harried waitress. Someone outside was screaming.
Immediately the patrons of the small restaurant began a mass exodus towards the door. Remus rose automatically to join them and he immediately found himself shunted this way and that by those impatient to get outside. He wasn't sure what the hurry was. The pounding of his heart in his throat told him that he already knew what awaited them all outside, and he bore this knowledge with a kind of resigned dread of the inevitable that was unbecoming of his mere twenty years.
Finally, Remus found himself forced through the doorway by the momentum of the panicking crowd and thrust into the bitter night. He watched with a distinct sense of unreality as his breath floated up before him and he gazed numbly at the cloud-ridden sky; the Dark Mark glittered above them all in a sinister cluster of emerald light. More voices had joined the screaming. Remus could only stare as his brain tried vainly to register what he was seeing, what his heart had known was coming all along.
The first snowflakes of early winter began to float to the ground, their intricate crystals reflecting the eerie green glow, and Remus felt vaguely that he was watching the bits and pieces of his life spiral down around him.