Summary: Remus' rambling thoughts during Harry's sixth year... without Sirius, where does that leave him?

Ramblings

I miss him.

I guess that will never change.

Time is meant to heal all wounds, but there is still a gaping hole shaped just like his body in my heart. Time lied, apparently.

Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that time lets you get used to the pain flowing through your body, and the feelings… such feelings. I wouldn't mind never being able to feel again.

It's been… too long. People have stopped looking at me with their eyes overflowing with pity. They assume I'm moved on. I would assume it too if I was anyone but myself. It's been a while, they must reassure themselves. Surely he's moved on by now. And I'm sure they're relieved. There is not much room for pity in these dark war-filled days. There's not room for much at all. Every day is filled with strategy and plans and losses and deaths, but everyone keeps going. Because they have to.

I once asked him how he went on. And he answered, What else would I do? I don't want to die, so I shan't kill myself. I don't want to go mad, so I keep my thoughts in order. What else is there left, but to cope? I suppose he's right. What am I doing? I'm coping, I suppose, because I haven't died or gone mad. Sometimes I wish I had. Being dead would be a nice comfort and being mad would be quite easy. Perhaps I am mad.

Tonks has been trying to help me over this year. I think she believes she's in love with me, but I know this can't be true. I don't know what to say to her and can only think of stupid excuses. Perhaps it is this that has given her the idea, the feeling is mutual. Maybe I could fall in love with her. Surely, it wouldn't be so bad.

The house is empty: whichever one I happen to be staying in. I flit from Grimmauld Place to The Burrow to other hideouts; I never stay long. I sold my flat, but I can't remember why anymore. Even the Burrow is achingly hollow; full as it is with people and laughter. But I can't see anything to laugh about.

The death toll is mounting. Day by day more die by the hands of a madman. And each day everyone is getting more desperate. Dumbledore has lost some of the sparkle from his eyes; Snape is more taciturn and solemn than usual; Minerva has more of a tendency to snap and Tonks… I truly do not understand Tonks. I knew Andromedra and they have their similarities, but this doesn't really help me. She is so different, so… lifeless. I hate to see her like this, but what am I to do? She can't really love me. And I don't love her. But I could try.

Full moons are hard. Harder than ever before, I wish to say, but that is a lie. They were worse before the Animagus transformations; worse before the Wolfsbane. But, the Wolfsbane doesn't help so much anymore. The pain of the transformation itself was never stifled and now it is even worse. I'm not sure why. I don't want to know why. For, understanding the reason would mean understanding the wolf and that's something I don't want to do.

I honestly don't know what to do with myself. I carry on but that's only through routine. I fight but that's only through training. I breathe but that's only through necessity. I don't feel but that's only through practice.

He's gone. And, though families are ripped apart by the machinations of war; and the country is falling apart by constant onslaught, nothing else matters. Without him by my side, I don't care what happens to the world. Without him, how can I even be Remus?

But, if I'm not Remus, then I'm the wolf. And that is something I will not do. So, I carry on and I don't go mad and I don't commit suicide and I cope. I make myself human by defining the human things. I will not give in to the wolf.

Maybe falling in love with Tonks wouldn't be so bad. After all, werewolves don't fall in love.

AN: Reviews, of course, welcome!